First Shift: Legacy (Shift, #1)(10)

“Oh. Well. I’ll have to get back with you on that. My schedule here is crazy. It’s different every day.”

He imagined what Helen would say to he and Anna getting together once a week.

“We could, you know, set up a shared space in AutoCAD,” he suggested. “I can link you into my document—”

She nodded. “We could do that.”

“And email back and forth. Or video chat. You know?”

Anna frowned. Donald realized he was being too obvious. She scrunched the ball of plastic film in her hand, the material squeaking in complaint. “Yeah, let’s set up something like that,” she said.

There was a flash of disappointment on her face as she turned for the box, and Donald felt the urge to apologize, but doing so would spell out the problem in neon lights: I don’t trust myself around you. We’re not going to be friends. What the f*ck are you doing here?

“You really need to do something about the dust.” She glanced back at his desk. “Seriously, your computer is going to choke on it.”

“Okay. I will.” He stood and hurried around his desk to walk her out. Anna stooped for the box.

“I can get that.”

“Don’t be silly.” She stood with the large box pinned between one arm and her hip. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. She could’ve been leaving his dorm room in college. There was that same awkward moment of a morning goodbye in last night’s clothes.

“Okay, so you have my email?” he asked.

“You’re in the blue pages now,” she reminded him.

“Yeah.”

“You look great, by the way.” And before he could step back or defend himself, she was fixing his hair, a smile on her lips.

Donald froze. His brain shut down completely.

When it came back online some time later, Anna was gone, leaving him standing there alone, soaked in guilt.

4


2110 ? Silo 1

Troy was going to be late. The first day of his first shift, already a blubbering mess, and he was going to be late. In his rush to get away from the cafeteria, to be alone, he had taken the non-express by accident. Now, as he tried to compose himself and stop his nose from running, the lift seemed intent on stopping at every floor on the way down to load and unload passengers.

He stood in the corner as the lift stopped again and checked to see how bloodshot his eyes were in the elevator’s silvery wall. A man wrestled a cart full of heavy boxes onto the lift. A gentleman with a load of green onions crowded behind him and stood close to Troy for a few stops. Nobody spoke. When the man with the onions got off, the smell remained. Troy shivered, one violent quake that traveled up his back and into his arms, but he thought nothing of it. He got off on thirty-four and tried to remember why he had been upset earlier.

The central elevator shaft emptied onto a narrow hallway, which funneled him toward a security station. The floor plan was vaguely familiar and yet somehow alien. It was unnerving to note the signs of wear in the carpet and the patch of dull steel in the middle of the turnstile where thighs had rubbed against it over the years. These were years that didn’t exist for Troy. This wear and tear had shown up as if by magic.

The lone guard on duty looked up from something he was reading and nodded in greeting. Troy placed his palm on a screen that had grown hazy from use. There was no chit-chat, no small talk, no expectation of forming a lasting relationship. The light above the console flashed green, the pedestal gave a loud click, and a little more sheen was rubbed off the revolving bar as Troy pushed through.

The guard smiled at him before returning his attention to his small tablet, probably some smut or a detective novel. At the end of the hallway, Troy paused and pulled his orders out of his breast pocket. There was a note on the back from the doctor. He flipped it over and turned the little map around to face the right direction, was pretty sure he knew the way, but everything was going in and out of focus.

The red dash marks on the map reminded him of fire safety plans he’d seen on walls somewhere else. Following the route took him past a string of small offices. Clacking keyboards, people talking, phones ringing—the sounds of everyday work made him feel suddenly tired. It also ignited a burn of insecurity, of having taken on something far larger than himself, a job he surely couldn’t perform.

“Troy?”

He stopped and looked back at the man standing in the doorway he had just passed. A glance at his map and a twinge of recollection showed him he’d almost missed his office.

“That’s me.”

“Merriman.” The gentleman didn’t offer his hand. “You’re late. Step inside.”

Merriman turned and disappeared into the office. Troy followed, his legs sore from so much walking. He recognized the man, or thought he did. Couldn’t remember if it was from the orientation or somewhen else. The dreams faded with each moment he was awake. It was like those nightmares that washed away in the morning shower, spiraling down and out of reach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Troy started to explain. “I got on the wrong elevator—”

Merriman raised a hand. “That’s fine. Do you need a drink?”

“They fed me.”

“Of course.” Merriman grabbed a clear thermos off his desk, the contents a bright blue. Troy remembered the foul taste. His tongue flinched as if he were suffering the same swig that Merriman took. The older man smacked his lips and let out a breath as he lowered the thermos.