Silo 49: Deep Dark (20 page)

While she was eating dinner with the group,
Piotr and Greta teasing Taylor to break him out of yet another sour mood, the unidentifiable something that had been nagging at her finally clicked into place. "Shit! Of course!" she exclaimed, spattering dressing off her fork with her sudden gesture.

Everyone at the table stopped mid-sentence and looked at her, Greta wiping a drop of oily dressing from her cheek.

"Ah, yeah," Marina stumbled with her words. She needed something —anything— reasonable. "I just remembered something I have to do." She dropped her fork to her tray and shoved it toward Taylor, who could be relied upon to eat anything on anyone's tray that was left over. "Can you eat that for me? I've got to go."

He gave her a cool look she assumed was related to the tray, but nodded. Greta and
Piotr just exchanged that "she's weird" look with each other they always did and waved her off. Squeezing her fists to keep from flying out of the room, she left as casually as she could. The squeak of excitement that escaped when she got to the deserted hallway was a quiet one. She broke into a run at the corner but she kept her footfalls as light as possible in her heavy boots.

The door shoved closed and her chair beneath the knob once more, she opened the book and looked again. Yes, there is was. What she ignored at first as a date of some sort could not possibly be a date. Null day had no date and it sure wasn't in the fifth month of the year. She considered the possibilities. Sometimes older people wrote dates by their age rather than the year and this could be that.
The fourteenth day of the fifth month of the sixty-fourth year of his life. What about the spare after it? What did that mean? No, Marina was sure of one thing and that was that she was following a trail not laid by accident.

What did he mean by 'I left it all for you' in the letter? It had to mean there was more than this book. And the only thing that doesn't fit in
was the date and the word spare. That was the clue. But what in silo did it mean? Compartment numbers were one possibility but they weren't labeled that way. Compartments were by level but then it was all one number. Her compartment was 95-0916R. Level 95, section 9 compartment 16. If it was a compartment then it would be Level 5, section 14 and compartment 64. That didn't make sense unless the compartments up there were a whole lot smaller there than the rest of the silo. She couldn't imagine how tiny the quarters would be to get at least 64 of them on a single section.

Still, it was possible. But where in any compartment could anything of any real size be hidden?
Nowhere. The walls are concrete, ducts are cleaned regularly. She looked around her room, seeking where that she might hide things if she were Wallis. Sink, no. Floor, no, nothing large anyway. No, no and more no. Still, she would have to go look. Maybe it was just the next clue. She let out a wry chuckle when she considered that maybe he hid a clue under a floor tile just as she had. How in the silo would she get the resident of that space to let her search it or start pulling up tiles?

Marina tucked the book back into her coverall, patting it like a puppy or child after she buttoned up her pocket. She tucked her mussed hair back behind her ears, gave her ponytail a tightening tug, smoothed her coveralls and plastered her normal smile back on her face before she went back out of the room. There was no one there to see the performance so she dropped it and rushed back to the archives where everyone was probably already at work.

When the others asked her what was up, clearly referring to her abrupt departure, she passed it off as a forgotten special occasion that needed a note sent. Piotr had apparently been in that situation before because he mumbled, "That never works," as he turned back to his work. Greta laughed at that and nudged his shoulder. She wasn't married but she could guess as well as Marina could that Piotr was either a forgetter of birthdays or anniversaries, or both.

Only Taylor didn't join in on the revelry. The way he looked at her made Marina feel uncomfortable, though it wasn't a mean look or anything
of that nature. It was just sort of a vague look that crept under her skin. She gave him a nervous smile and resisted the urge to pat the book again while she made her escape back to her corner of the archives.

The group had been making tremendous pro
gress and the archives were a different place. The shelves were absent dust and filled with organized files. The cabinets were beginning to empty and be refilled, now with newly greased skids and rust free rails. It was a beautiful thing, Marina thought. For decades this place had remained almost untouched. The historians had a case for expansion that couldn't be argued with if the timeline really did verify out and a mere handful of generations had passed since Graham and his group had made their stand.

Sadly,
not much more was being found but that didn’t matter when she considered all that they had done. It made her feel like they had accomplished something wonderful. The origins of the pocket watch would probably be forever lost, but in a way, that was fine too. It was a beautiful mystery for another time from another time.

Marina smiled and patted Greta's shoulder as she passed her to deliver yet more logs to the shelves. These hadn't turned out to be very useful, containing only the records of repairs without a consistent date pattern. She opened the first book to look where they wanted it shelved and found no
note. She put it aside and shelved the others before returning to it. Marina had been doing a lot of this organizing too so she thought she would see if she could place it herself rather than go ask for help yet again.

Flipping open the cover, she scanned the first pages of work to see the levels. That was easy to figure out. Then she looked at the repair types to see what type of repairs. Also easy, electrical and electrical related. Feeling rather satisfied, she trailed a finger along the spines of the books arrayed before her to find the level and the type. And then it hit her.

Stepping back from the shelves she opened the book again and looked at the locations. They were all strings of numbers with little dashes between them. A junction box on Level 20 read 20 - 14 - 37J. An electrical panel on Level one read 1- 11- 23F. They were all like that. The letters must be the codes for the type of box and the more she looked along the lines the more that seemed likely. Another listed as switchbox had an S. Another with a R was marked relay. It was simple, logical and very mechanical.

She shoved the book in the slim bit of space between the books and the shelf and took the
little book from her pocket. Opened to Walls’ letter, she saw how easy it was to read and figure out if only one knew what to look for. She considered this and wondered if Wallis had known that the only time his clues were likely to be deciphered was if there were many someones to do the deciphering, each contributing what they knew from their own lives.

She
tucked the book into her pocket again and shelved the log. She bit a ragged bit on her thumbnail as she tried to figure out her next move. It was a long climb to Level 5 and would take a good while for her to make. They were due for a day off but her family would be expecting her. That wouldn't work.

She felt a sharp pain
as the ragged edge let go so she shoved that hand in her pocket and leaned her forehead against the shelves. She had to figure out how to get a day alone. She might be wrong, true, but she could be right. It was worth finding out.

*****

Piotr died that night so making plans were the last thing on Marina's mind once she finally discovered the fact.  No one woke her so she had no idea what had happened when she stumbled out of her room to grab some breakfast before work and found the atmosphere strangely oppressive and still.

In the dining hall
there were vague whispers and sidelong looks that first made Marina check to be sure she was buttoned up and then that her coveralls weren't ripped in the back. None of her compatriots were in the room so she sat by herself to eat, the few others present clustered at the other end of the room.

She had already finished her breakfast grains, a bit of fruit and strong tea before anyone approached her. The historian shadow,
Florine, walked over hesitantly. Her hunched walk was out of character, more like a shuffle than her bouncing stride.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said in a quiet and serious voice.

Marina didn't know what to think. Clearly she had missed something vital here. Her thoughts went to her husband and daughter first. "What loss? Who was lost?" she demanded.

"Oh, I thought they must have told you. I'm sorry," the girl trailed off, uncomfortable now.

"What in silo's name are you talking about? Did someone die? Who was it?" Marina asked loudly, standing now, breakfast tray forgotten. "Did something happen to my family?"

The girl had been backing up, looking confused and a little frightened at Marina's response. Though she looked behind her, probably for someone better equipped than she for giving bad news, her head whipped back around at Marina's final words and she said, "No. No. I'm sorry.
No, nothing like that!"

Her body felt like it deflated all at once when she realized it wasn't her family. She didn't need the stumbling words,
Florine’s expression was enough. She sagged against the table and into her chair again. She put her head in her hands and tried to still her shaking limbs sourcing from her racing heart. She vaguely heard the girl give a little half sob and tell someone else that she was sorry. Marina didn't raise her head when someone started soothing Florine and the two moved away.

The sound of a clearing throat next to the table finally made Marina open her eyes and raise her head. It was Greta. Someone must have gone to get her. She said, "She didn't mean to frighten you like that. She's young and doesn't know what it's like to be a mother. She thought you knew."

"Knew what?" Marina asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Why did bad things always seem to come when they were least looked for.

Greta pulled one of the chairs around next to her and sat down, a bad sign for sure. She took Marina's hand and said, "
Piotr passed last night."

The words registered but the concept didn't.
Piotr passed last night. What is that? He was here and he ate dinner and he played a game of checkers with Taylor while Greta and she played a game of cards right next to them. Passed?

Marina shook her head and asked, "You
’re telling me that Piotr is dead?"

Greta winced at the word but she nodded. Marina could see her throat bobbing as the other woman held
her emotions in check. They said nothing for a moment. Greta must have managed to push down her feelings because she said, "It was an accident. On the stairs."

The stairs?
Marina put her free hand to her mouth. That would be a terrible death. How could that careful man have had an accident? What would he have been doing on the stairs anyway?

"I don't understand, Greta. How did he have an accident on the stairs?
When
could he have?"

"It was stupid.
Just a stupid accident." Her voice broke then and fat tears rolled down her face.

Marina didn't know how to ask delicately, so she decided the best approach was just to ask. "Did he fall?"

It was Greta's turn to put her head in her hands. A muffled sob came from under her hands and she nodded.

She didn't want to push
Greta any farther. Clearly, they were all friends now but Greta and Piotr had a long history of mutual work and that had been taking root as a strong friendship, the kind one didn't find all that often in life. She suddenly remembered his family and said, "What about his wife? His kids?"

Greta's sobs intensified then and whatever she
said then was entirely unintelligible, but Marina assumed it was just more sad confirmations. She shook her head, thinking of Piotr, thinking of him falling, of what a fall can do to a body. What his family would face when they heard about it over and over as time passed was even worse. The joke all falls became with time would prevent them from ever truly healing.

"You're sure it was an accident?" Marina asked, though she regretted it the moment Greta raised her head. Her eyes were red and wet and very hurt at the question.

"Never mind. It had to be an accident," Marina answered herself.

They sat there, Marina's leftover breakfast congealing on her tray and the tea developing an oily slick on top. After a while, Greta took her kerchief from around her neck, blotted her swollen eyes and blew her equally swollen nose. She hiccupped a few times but the storm had passed and this was all just the aftereffects. Marina waited.

"It was the lights that did it," Greta said suddenly. It meant nothing to Marina so she raised her eyebrows in question. Greta saw and explained, "The lights didn't shift right. You know that moment of dark you sometimes get before the red lights come on after the half-dim lights go out?"

At Marina's nod, she continued, "Well, the red ones didn't come on last night. Something was wrong with the switch. Taylor and
Piotr were on the stairs and he just...missed." She waved her hands out, a perfect mimic of a person missing a grab for something.

"Why wouldn't he just wait? Or call for a light or something? That's not like
Piotr at all," Marina said, trying to picture the scene. She wouldn't have moved at all if there wasn't enough light. She would have called out and someone would have come with a light eventually. Or just turned them back on.

Greta shook her head. Marina could tell that she was equally baffled. No one in the silo would be careless like that. There were just some things everyone knew and what to do if the lights went out was one of them. It happ
ened now and then. Things broke. You waited for them to be fixed and you definitely did not wander around near the stairs. When the lights went out anywhere in the silo, it could get so dark it made a person dizzy.

Even in primary school kids learned how to find the floor when it
went dark. They had been put into the dark to learn how hard it was to tell up from down and how to safely get down to the floor. If you were with someone else, you were supposed to hold their hand on the floor because it helped. It sounded so simple that it was funny, until you had to do it and couldn't tease out which way was up. But that was a closed room with no light. Some light, however weak, would have traveled through the stairwell from the other landings. Perhaps not much, but some.

Once Greta was calm again, Marina helped her to her room, a supporting arm around her waist
, and put her to bed. She brought her a cup of herbal tea and a cool, damp towel for her eyes. She tried not to be impatient to leave and sat with her. As soon as Greta's breathing took on the measured regularity of sleep, Marina quietly made a quick exit.

She didn't need to go looking for the scene because the landing was still awash
with people. Deputies tried to keep gawkers from the rails overlooking the 'splash zone', as it was called. Porters struggled up the stairs while the lifts were unavailable and were grumbling as they trudged upward.

But all the re
st, and there were a good many, were gawkers. They might be there under the guise of being on their way to a shift or home from a shift or on an impromptu visit to the Memoriam, but they were really pausing too long because they were hoping for a tidbit of information. As Marina stood there by the entrance, she heard people betting on whether or not it was a fall or a jump. She was disgusted. People were usually so good, but when something like this happened they were positively gruesome.

Marina saw her husband before he saw her. She pushed her way through the gawkers until she got near him
. His arm went across the chest of the man in front of her with a rough, "Stay back. Let them work."

She stopped short as the man in front of her
did. She gaped at him, never having seen this side of him before. He was intimidating.

He saw her over the shoulder of the man he had stopped and grimaced. "Sorry, honey!"

The man pushed Joseph's arm off his chest and exclaimed, "Don't call me honey!"

Joseph rolled his eyes and motioned for Marina to go back toward the Memoriam then called for
Sela to take his spot. He waited until she got there and Marina could see the very serious expression on her daughter's face. She wasn't the least bit intimidated by the onlookers. Joseph stepped through the little crowd and gave Marina a one armed hug when he reached her.

She wasted no time and asked, "Why are people still here?"

He sighed and said, "You don't want to know. It's a bad one."

Marina blanched at the matter of fact way her husband said it. He was
Piotr yesterday. Today he was a bad one. It was too much to try to tie together. She took a handful of his coverall sleeve and tugged, "Tell me. He was my friend."

Joseph's face lost the hard edge and he patted her hand, "Yeah, I know. Are you sure you really want to know all this?"

She nodded and bit her lip.

"Well, it's
an Othered mess down there. He hit the landing on 73, the lifts and from there he basically fell apart and went everywhere," he said, back in deputy mode and speaking with such a lack of feeling that Marina felt nausea rise in her belly. She put a hand over her mouth and choked back a cry. Joseph cleared his throat and went on, his voice less clinical, "He wouldn't have felt it. For him it was over as soon as he hit that first landing."