ust (Silo, #3)(75)

Two men in security coveralls arrived with Thurman and breakfast. Donald had slept in his coveralls. He pulled his feet up on his cot while the three men packed into his small room. The two security officers regarded him suspiciously. Thurman handed him his tray, which held a plate of eggs, a biscuit, water, and juice. Donald was in incredible pain, but he was also starving. He searched for silverware and saw none, started eating the eggs with his fingers. Hot food made his ribs feel better.

“Check the ceiling panels,” one of the security officers said. Donald recognized him. Brevard. He had been chief for almost as long as Donald had been up on shift. Donald could tell Brevard was not his friend.

The other man was younger. Donald didn’t recognize him. He was usually up late to avoid being seen, knew the night guard better than these guys. The younger officer scampered on top of the dresser welded to the wall and lifted a ceiling panel. He pulled a flashlight from his hip and shined the light in all directions. Donald had a good idea of what the man was seeing. He had already checked.

“It’s blocked,” the young officer said.

“You sure?”

“It wasn’t him,” Thurman said. He had never taken his eyes off of Donald. Thurman waved at the room. “There was blood everywhere. He’d be covered in it.”

“Unless he washed up somewhere and changed clothes.”

Thurman frowned at the idea. He stood a few paces from Donald, who no longer felt hungry. “Who was it?” Thurman asked.

“Who was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. One of my men was attacked, and someone dressed as a reactor tech logged through security right here on this level the same night. They came down this hall, looking for you is my guess. Went to comms, where I know you’ve been spending your time. There’s no way you’ve been pulling this off on your own. You took someone in, maybe someone from your last shift. Who?”

Donald broke off a piece of biscuit and put it in his mouth to give his lips something to do. Charlotte. What was she doing? Ranging the silo in search of him? Going to comms? She was out of her mind if it was her.

“He knows something,” Brevard said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Donald said. He took a sip of water and noticed his hand was shaking. “Who was attacked? Are they okay?” He thought of the possibility that it was his sister’s blood they had found. What had he done, waking her up? Again, he thought of coming clean and telling them where she was hiding, just so she wouldn’t be alone.

“It was Eren,” Thurman said. “He got off the late shift, ran for the lift, and was found thirty floors down in a pool of blood.”

“Eren’s hurt?”

“Eren’s dead,” Brevard said. “A screwdriver to his neck. One of the lifts is covered in his blood. I want to know where the man who did this—”

Thurman held up a hand, and Brevard fell silent. “Give us a minute,” Thurman said.

The young officer standing on the dresser adjusted the ceiling panel until it fell back into place. He jumped down and wiped his hands on his thighs, leaving the dresser covered in lint and snowflakes of styrofoam. The two security men waited outside. Donald recognized one of the office workers passing by before the door shut, nearly called out, wondered what the hell everyone must have thought when they found out he wasn’t who he had said he was.

Thurman reached into his breast pocket and procured a folded square of cloth, a fresh rag. He handed this to Donald, who accepted it gratefully. Strange what accounted for a gift. He waited for the need to cough, but it was a rare moment of respite. Thurman held out a plastic bag and kept it open for him. Donald realized what it was for and dug out his other rag, dropped the bloody mess into the bag.

“For analysis, right?”

Thurman shook his head. “There’s nothing here we don’t already know. Just a … gesture. I tried to kill you, you know. It was weak of me to try, and it was because I was weak that I didn’t succeed. It turns out you were right about Anna.”

“Is Eren really dead?”

Thurman nodded. Donald unfolded the cloth and folded it back up again. “I liked him.”

“He was a good man. One of my recruits. Do you know who killed him?”

Donald now saw the cloth for what it was. Bad cop had become good cop. He shook his head. He tried to imagine Charlotte doing these things and couldn’t. But then, he couldn’t picture her flying drones and dropping bombs or doing fifty push-ups. She was an enigma locked away in his childhood, constantly surprising. “I can’t imagine anyone I know killing a man like that. Other than you.”

Thurman didn’t react to this.

“When do I go under?”

“Today. I have another question.”

Donald lifted the water from the tray and took a long pull. The water was cold. It was incredible how good water could taste. He should tell Thurman about Charlotte right then. Or wait until he was going under. What he couldn’t do was leave her there alone. He realized Thurman was waiting on him. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Do you remember Anna leaving the armory while you were up? I realize you were only with her for a brief time.”

“No,” Donald said. And it hadn’t felt like a brief time. It had felt like a lifetime. “Why? What did she do?”