First Shift: Legacy (Shift, #1)(11)

“That stuff’s awful,” he said.

“Yeah.” Troy looked around the office, his post for the next six months. The place, he figured, had aged quite a bit. Merriman, too. If he was a little grayer from the past six months, it was hard to tell, but he had kept the place in order. Troy resolved to extend the same courtesy to the next guy.

“You remember your briefing?” Merriman shuffled some folders on his desk.

“Like it was yesterday.”

Merriman glanced up, a smirk on his face. “Right. Well, there hasn’t been anything exciting the last few months. We had some mechanical issues when I started my shift but worked through those. There’s a guy named Jones you’ll want to use. He’s been out a few weeks and is a lot sharper than the last guy. Been a lifesaver for me. He works down on sixty-eight with the power plant, but he’s good just about anywhere, can fix pretty much anything.”

Troy nodded. “Jones. Got it.”

“Okay. Well, I left you some notes in these folders. There have been a few workers we had to deep-freeze.” He looked up, a serious expression on his face. “Don’t take that lightly, okay? Plenty of guys here would love to nap through their shifts instead of work. Don’t pull that trigger unless you have to.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Merriman nodded. “I hope you have an uneventful shift. I’ve got to run before this stuff kicks in.” He took another fierce swig, and Troy’s cheeks sucked in with empathy. “Man, that shit’s awful.”

He walked past Troy, slapped him on the shoulder, and started to reach for the light switch. He stopped himself at the last minute and looked back guiltily, nodded, then was gone.

And just like that, Troy was in charge. His bladder nearly emptied at the thought.

“Hey, wait!” He glanced around the office, hurried out, and caught up with Merriman, who was already turning down the main hall toward the security gate. Troy jogged to catch up.

“You leave the light on?” Merriman asked.

Troy glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, but—”

“Good habits,” Merriman said. He shook his thermos. “Form them.”

A heavyset man hurried out of one of the offices and labored to catch up with them. “Merriman! You done with your shift?”

The two men shared a warm handshake. Merriman smiled and nodded. “I am. Troy here will be taking my place.”

The man shrugged, didn’t introduce himself. “I’m off in two weeks,” he said, as if that explained his indifference.

“Look, I’m running late,” Merriman said, his eyes darting toward Troy with a trace of blame. He pushed the thermos into his friend’s palm. “Here. You can have what’s left.” He slapped the man on the arm and turned to go. Troy followed along.

“No freakin’ thanks!” the man called out, waving the thermos and laughing.

Merriman glanced at Troy. “I’m sorry, did you have a question?” He passed through the turnstile with a click and a metallic thunk. Troy followed. The guard never looked up from his tablet.

“A few, yeah. You mind if I ride down with you? I was a little...late with my orientation. Sudden promotion. Would love to clarify a few things—”

“Hey, I can’t stop you. You’re in charge.” Merriman jabbed the call button on the express.

“So, basically, I’m just here in case something goes wrong?”

The elevator dinged open. Merriman turned and squinted at Troy almost as if to gauge if he was being serious.

“Your job is to make sure nothing goes wrong.” He stepped into the elevator. Troy followed. Gravity loosened its grip as the car raced downward.

“Right. Of course. That’s what I meant.”

“You’ve read the Order, right?”

Troy nodded. For a different job, he wanted to say.

“Just follow the script. You’ll get questions from the other silos now and then. I found it wise to say as little as possible. Just be quiet and listen. Keep in mind that these are mostly second and third generation survivors, so their vocabulary is already a little different. There’s a list of forbidden words in your folder.”

Troy felt his head spin. When the elevator slowed and put some weight on his feet, he felt another bout of dizziness and nearly sagged to the ground. He was still incredibly weak.

The door dinged open. He followed Merriman down a short hallway, the same hallway he had emerged from hours earlier. The doctor and his assistant waited in the room beyond, preparing an IV. The doctor looked curiously at Troy as if he hadn’t planned on seeing him again so soon, if ever.

“You finish your last meal?” the doctor asked, waving Merriman toward a stool.

“Every vile drop of it.” Merriman unclasped the tops of his coveralls and let them flop down around his waist. He sat and held out his arm, palm up. His back was bent with apparent exhaustion, the hair on his chest grayer than on his head. Troy saw how pale Merriman’s skin was, the loose tangle of purple lines weaving past his elbow. He tried not to watch the needle go in.

“I’m repeating my notes here,” Merriman told him, “but you’ll want to meet with Victor in the psych office. He’s right across the hall from you. There’s some strange things going on in a few of the silos, more fracturing than we thought. Try and get a handle on that for the next guy.”