ust (Silo, #3)(74)

She found a small chart in one of the folders, a map of numbered circles with many of them crossed out. People lived in those circles, Charlotte thought. And now another of them was empty. One more X to scratch. Except Charlotte, like her brother, now felt some connection with these people. She had listened to their voices with him on the radio, had listened to Donald as he recounted his efforts to reach out to them, this one silo that was open to what he had to say, that was helping him hack into their computers to understand what was happening. She had asked him once why he didn’t reach out to other silos, and he had said something about those in charge not being safe. They would have turned him in. Somehow, her brother and these people were all rebelling, and now they were gone. This was what happened to those who rebelled. Now it was just Charlotte in darkness and silence.

She flipped through her brother’s notes, and her neck began to cramp from holding the flashlight like that. The temperature in the box rose until she was sweating in her coveralls. She couldn’t sleep. This was nothing like that other box they put her in. And the more she read, the more she understood her brother’s endless pacing, his desire to do something, to put an end to the system in which they were trapped.

Careful with the water and food, taking tiny sips and small bites, she stayed inside for what felt like days but may have been hours. When she needed to go to the bathroom again, she decided to sneak to the end of the hall and try the radio once more. The urge to pee was matched only by the need to know what was going on. There had been survivors. The people of 18 had managed to scamper over the hills and reach another silo. A handful had survived – but how long would they last?

She flushed and listened to the surge of reclaimed water gurgle through overhead pipes. Taking a chance, she went to the drone control room. She left the hall light off and uncovered the radio. There was nothing but static on 18. The same on 17. She turned through a dozen of the other channels until she heard voices and was sure the thing was working. Back to 17, she waited. She could wait forever, she knew. She could wait until they came and found her. The clock on the wall showed that it was just past three, the middle of the night, which she thought was a good thing. They might not be looking for her right then. But then nobody might be listening, either. She squeezed the mic anyway.

“Hello,” she said. “Can anyone hear me?”

She nearly identified herself, where she was calling from, but then wondered if the people in her silo were listening in as well, monitoring all the stations. And what if they were? They wouldn’t know where she was transmitting from. Unless they could trace her through the repeaters. Maybe they could. But wasn’t this one of the silos crossed off their list? They shouldn’t be listening at all. Charlotte moved her tools out of the way and looked for the piece of paper Donny had brought her, the ranking of the silos. It listed at the bottom all of the silos that’d been destroyed—

“Who is this?”

A man’s voice spilled from the radio. Charlotte grabbed the mic, wondering if this was someone in her silo transmitting on that frequency.

“I’m … Who is this?” she asked, unsure how to answer.

“You down in Mechanical? You know what time it is? It’s the middle of the night.”

Down in Mechanical. That was the layout of their silos, not hers. Charlotte assumed this was one of the survivors. She also assumed others might be listening in and decided to play it safe.

“Yes, I’m in Mechanical,” she said. “What’s going on over— I mean, up there?”

“I’m trying to sleep is what, but Court told us to keep this thing on in case she called. We’ve been wrestling with the water lines. People are staking claims in the farms, marking out plots. Who is this?”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “I’m looking for … I was hoping to reach your mayor. Juliette.”

“She ain’t here. I thought she was down with you. Try in the morning if it ain’t an emergency. And tell Court we could use a few more bodies up here. A decent farmer if we’ve got one. And a porter.”

“Uh … okay.” Charlotte glanced at the clock again, seeing how long she’d have to wait. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll try back.”

There was no response, and Charlotte wondered why she felt the urge to reach out in the first place. There was nothing she could do for these people. Did she think there was something they could do for her? She studied the radio she’d built, the extra screws and wire scattered around the base, the collection of tools. It was a risk being out and about, but it felt less terrifying than being alone in the drone lift. The risk of discovery was far outweighed by the chance of contact. She would try again in a few hours. Until then, she would try to get some sleep. She covered the radio and considered her old cot in the barracks down the hall, but it was the windowless metal box that claimed her.





44



Donald’s breakfast arrived with company. They had left him alone the previous day and made him skip a meal. He figured it was some sort of interrogation technique. Same with the boots stomping noisily past in the middle of the night, keeping him up. Anything to throw off his clock, perturb him, make him feel crazy. Or maybe that was day and this was the middle of the night and he hadn’t skipped a meal at all. Hard to tell. He had lost track of time. There was a clean circle on the wall and a protruding screw where a clock had once stood.