Silo 49: Dark Till Dawn

by Ann Christy

  She looked each of them in the eyes and only when she received acknowledgement did she sit back down. They were silent a short moment and when that moment passed, Lillian asked, “Leo, how much longer till we eat?”

  Eleven

  The unavoidable hubbub associated with the injury of a racing candidate and his subsequent withdrawal from the race kept Lillian and Leo within the confines of the training facility. By itself that wasn’t so bad. They spent almost all their time hard at work in the unseen depths behind IT on Level 34. But that almost didn’t mean always and those precious minutes when they stood on the landing and breathed the air and felt the breeze were sorely missed. Leo, in particular, grew increasingly bored and frustrated.

  Eventually, the urgency of the news passed and the natural questions about why there wasn’t a new candidate being brought up were answered to everyone’s satisfaction. Throughout the silo the general consensus ran that it would be unfair to any candidate to run with so much less training time. A loss would be almost guaranteed and the opportunity lost forever. Even the betting groups got into the action, giving any runner brought up very long odds of a win even before the announcement was made.

  The top two candidates not chosen on the original draft were consulted and both were more than happy to agree that waiting to try again next year was far better than trying to race at such disadvantage now. Stories were written up in the lift-post newsletter on both potential runners, whose names were released. Each had spoken well and wished the two candidates for this year the best of luck.

  Back in the training area, their work was tough and getting tougher. Both were becoming accustomed to the punishment their bodies took. Lillian found that the weight on her back in the water didn’t bother her as much as it had at first. The promise that she would feel like she ran on air after a tank session turned out to be true. She felt as if she were flying afterward and should be tethered to the floor to avoid being lost. Leo said he felt the same and their laughter after a tank session as they ran the circuit of the training center drifted through the corridors and rooms until one trainer or another bellowed that they weren’t running hard enough if they had enough left to laugh.

  Being around Greg was getting both more difficult and easier, as the days went by. She felt disturbed in a way that she liked when he was near. It was like an itch exactly in the center of her back, unreachable and maddening. But she was getting used to the feeling and found she could, if she tried, still concentrate on what was going on around her.

  Leo had noticed, of course, and teased her mercilessly about it at night before they retired to their beds. Lillian was just grateful that he always did it when they were alone because he could have made her miserable with his remarks if others were around.

  One evening his tone turned serious and he asked her, “Don’t you worry about his age? I mean, what if he doesn’t want to match up with a person half his age?”

  “Then he doesn’t. And who says I’m thinking about a match anyway?” Lillian tried to sound casual when she said it, like it really didn’t matter. Leo saw through her as usual.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Because you’re just the sort of person who goes all swoony over everyone,” he replied, a sly look in his eyes.

  She patted his hand and sighed. The truth was, she didn’t know what she would do. She’d never been interested in anyone and it was a worry for her family. Until Greg, she thought she was going to be one of those few who had a single child using the Gift and never found their mate. That might not be so bad, she had thought. But now, she’d just have to see how things went.

  The final week of training came up so quickly it seemed like a joke. The days were flying by. During those last seven days they were pushed far less in physical terms to avoid injury, but each was also restricted from the stairs. They could risk no more injuries or accidents. Instead of going for visits, they received them. Lillian’s mother, Ruby, brought Clara up. Leo’s parents brought up Sweetie and when he saw her, he practically drooled which made everyone laugh except Clara, who gagged.

  The group had an overnight visit, complete with meals, hugs and supportive pep talks for both runners. It was Leo’s mother that finally asked the question they all wondered about; how did the pair feel about racing only against each other. How will each feel if the other wins?

  Leo grinned at Lillian and tapped two fingers in her direction. She had won the private bet between them that at least one person would ask before the family retired to bed for the dim-time.

  She grinned back at him, eliciting a look from her mother, so she coughed and answered. “We want to compete against each other. I’ll be overjoyed if he wins and overjoyed if I win. It’s the same thing, really. We both win if one of us does.”

  Clara gave her a skeptical look and quipped, “Hence my belief that you are both stupid.”

  Ruby poked her daughter in the upper arm, eliciting a yip from Clara. She rubbed her arm and scowled but kept her mouth closed for the moment.

  Ruby then turned toward her other daughter and said, “You have to admit, that does sound a bit, I don’t know, perhaps overly cheerful?”

  Leo broke in and replied, “We know that. And the truth is there will always be some part of either of us that might feel disappointment, but there would be equal disappointment if the other lost. It balances out.”

  “And whichever of us doesn’t win will be the stand-by in case something happens to keep the winner from going. So, there’s that,” added Lillian.

  She was still satisfied with their arrangement and she would never begrudge Leo anything, even a win, but the urge to go, to simply run in a straight line with no wall getting closer, was growing in her every day. She thought it might have to do with the water tank. In there she never turned or curved along a wall or a rail. She didn’t leap over obstructions or have to bolt to the side to avoid a porter or load. She could hang on to the straps and close her eyes if she wanted and then let her feet and mind fly.

  The pictures in her mind were what she saw outside, the same things everyone else saw, but in her mind it was like the breeze that came up from the center of the silo to cool her face when she leaned over the rail. It wasn’t the rough and terrible thing the trainers described, but soft and cool and welcoming. She could run like that, immersed in the dream, for hours in the tank until a dim-time attendant came to turn out the lights and told her it was time to leave.

  She was jerked back to the present when Leo shook her arm and asked her if she was okay. Everyone was looking at her strangely so she said, “What? I was just thinking.”

  Clara said, in a skeptical tone that carried more than a little disdain, “Yeah. You were thinking with your mouth hanging open, your eyes closed and your feet twitching like you were running in your sleep.”

  “I was?”

  Ruby nodded, a line of concern between her eyes and asked. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you training too hard?”

  Leo barked a laugh. “According to the trainers, we’re never training hard enough!” He waved a hand as if to dismiss the state Lillian had just been in and added, “I do it too. You get to thinking about the routes and how you’ll run them.” He trailed off then, as if it was all self-explanatory from there.

  The attendant came in soon after and reminded the candidates that they were supposed to get the full dim-time of sleep until the race was over, casting an apologetic look toward the assembled family.

  No one wanted to see any trouble come to their children, so it was off to the guest rooms both families went, leaving Lillian and Leo to make their way to their own beds. A soft knock sounded on Lillian’s door almost as soon as she closed it and she opened it, thinking that Leo had forgotten to tell her something.

  Instead it was her mother standing there with a hair brush and a cluster of pins in her hands. She asked, “Would you like me to brush and pin your hair? Just once more.”

  Lillian knew that her mother’s fear was still lingering but she had been h
andling it so well for her sake. She was tired, far more tired than she had ever been when she still lived at home, but her mother seemed to need her at this moment. She would understand, of that Lillian was positive, if Lillian expressed her need to just lie down and sleep. But it would hurt and that wasn’t something Lillian could bear. Her mother had dark smudges beneath her eyes where poor sleep and worry had made the skin appear bruised. Her skin seemed thinner and stretched from stress and worry and Lillian felt guilty once more for wanting to do this so badly.

  She drew her mother into the room with a smile and said, “I can’t think of anything I would rather do.”

  Her mother’s smile was worth far more than the loss of an hour of sleep.

  Twelve

  At dinner that last evening before the drawing, she learned her sudden inability to sleep was a condition almost universal to candidates in the days before the race. Greg laughed as he regaled them with his firm belief that he would find himself in dire need of a pee the moment the race started and the half a hundred visits he made to the bathroom before he took his place at the line. Zara confessed that she had bitten her fingernails so badly and deeply that she wore bandages on four fingers so that she wouldn’t leave bloody marks on things during the run.

  Leo suggested that he and Lillian should probably drink warm milk, but Zara shook her head and said, “No, absolutely no milk. You’ll be given exactly what you need to eat and drink until the race begins. For sleeping, we’ve gotten you rest tea. It will help you get to sleep and should keep stressful dreams at bay.”

  Lillian nodded, relieved to hear that they would be given a little help in the sleep department. Her mother used that sometimes and was probably being prescribed some by the medics again, given the situation. It was a common and largely benign mixture of herbs but it lost effect if used too often and could cause a woman to miscarry if she was newly pregnant, so it was doled out by medics only. It tasted terrible, but a little honey lifted it from tasting of dry dirt to tasting of honey with a little dirt in it. A small, but significant change.

  In the hours of the half-dim, Leo and Lillian sat and tried to make small talk, but both of them were retreating into the state of mind they would need to face the next day and conversation was difficult. Before bed they sipped their tea and held hands rather than spoke, the simple touch doing more than any other words could to convey their love and support for the other.

  *****

  From the doorway beyond the common area and out of view of the two candidates, Zara and Greg paused in passing to watch the two young people as they sat, silent, in their chairs.

  Zara whispered, “They’re an odd pair, aren’t they?”

  “Perhaps. I just think they are like twins that were born at different times,” Greg responded and shrugged, as if there weren’t any words he could find that worked better to explain.

  Zara looked at Greg more closely, as if considering if she should say what she wanted to. Greg glanced at her and returned his gaze to the young people. Zara didn’t speak so he did. “And no, I don’t think they are.”

  “Are what?” Zara asked.

  “Don’t be cute. You know what you were going to say. After what Toby said and with them doing stuff like that,” he nodded toward their joined hands, “you would have to wonder, right?”

  She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face, as if she were trying to decide the question for herself. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t think so either. I think they just don’t spend as much time as I did at their age worrying about what others think. I envy their absolute confidence.”

  Greg took her by the elbow and drew her away from the doorway before he spoke again. He said, “And they will need every ounce of that confidence and more. Let’s just give them some space.”

  Thirteen

  The drawing itself was strangely anti-climactic. Lillian thought it would be earthshaking or profound or just exciting. Instead, the drawing consisted of a great deal of waiting, far too much hand shaking and smiling mixed in with a lot of being stared at.

  During the long wait they stood and as each successive person made their own little speech, Lillian couldn’t help but notice Leo’s fidgets and increasing boredom. Usually, it was she that had trouble standing still but somehow all her twitches and bounces had passed over into him for the day. Lucky for her, Zara was standing next to him and had no problem reaching out and poking him with her sharp fingers in the back when it got to be distracting.

  After the Race Director spoke at length, working up the crowd that always showed up for the drawing, the various members of the council made their way up to speak. Each somehow drew parallels from this most popular of silo events to their own specialty. It seemed to Lillian that she had heard almost the exact same speech each year with only slight variations.

  Resident Affairs talked of the event binding them as one people and showing how far they could go when they worked together. When the council member representing the physical structure of the facility came up, Lillian whispered in Leo’s ear, “And the silo shelters us until we can finally reclaim the outside.” When the council member said almost those exact words, Leo had to pretend to cough to cover up his laugh, earning a frown from Zara.

  By the time the Mayor came up, the gathered crowd of hundreds spilled from the landing on Level 72 and covered the stairs going up and down. People crowded the railings on the level above and below, straining to hear the words even after being amplified through the speakers placed everywhere. Faces were shining and fervent, filled with inspiration.

  Lillian felt a shiver travel up her spine as the sheer number of those gathered hit home. All of these people were counting on runners like her. Each one hoped anew each year that this year would be the year. And they never lost that hope. Whatever disappointment they might feel, they gathered with their dreams refreshed and renewed the next year. She had been the same way and now she was standing before them, showing them by just being where she was that she was ready to try and fulfill that dream for them, whatever it may be.

  She wondered what that dream was for her. Each new accomplishment was one step forward but what would make it all come true. The only thing she could categorically call a final success had nothing to do with runners. When the Others died out and the world was reborn, then that would be the fulfillment. As a runner, the best she could do was to advance their knowledge and their reach.

  On the other hand, she would get to run outside with no far wall approaching and no person to dodge around. That was enough dream for her.

  The clapping and cheering broke her reverie right about the time Leo’s elbow contacted her arm, prompting her to join the applause. She did, smiling broadly at the crowd in front of the dais as she slapped her hands together so forcefully her palms stung. Eyes had begun to shift from the Mayor toward the two runners and she felt her face flush.

  Keeping the smile in place started to take effort and began to feel fake and forced. This whole event was a strain but it was also a good data point. During the race there would be people everywhere and they would all be looking. The pressure of their looks and smiles was an almost palpable weight on her skin she would need to account for. A quick glance at Leo told her that he was feeling it, too.

  The Mayor raised his big hands above his head and then lowered them, bringing the noise of the crowd down even as his hands returned to the top of the podium. He paused a moment and turned to look at the two racers standing to the side and behind him. He gave them a nod and a look that told them to brace themselves because the time had come. Leo and Lillian both nodded back and he smiled as he faced the crowd once more.

  “The winner for this year’s route drawing is from Primary Class Three!” At his words a large section of people to the side of the crowd and a smattering of those pressed close to the rails on the level above let out raucous cheers and hoots of support. The Mayor smiled and waved up at the whistles from above before he said, “Everyone –and by this I mean everyone who
isn’t already cheering—let’s give a warm welcome to Genet Parker from Level 95!”

  Little Genet practically bounced forward from her spot to the side of the dais, where she had been ensconced in a chair during the proceedings. As she came into view of the wider audience, rising in height first on the dais and then on the little steps used in every drawing, the cheers intensified. Those cheers were augmented with a rising chorus of “Awws”. She was adorable in every way. Chubby cheeked as many young children were, her dark hair had been curled into ringlets and then into tails on either side of her head. Tied with a red and blue ribbon, the curls cascaded down past her shoulders from the two tails and bounced as she walked with hard, little girls steps up the stairs.

  Once on the platform she was almost of a height with the Mayor. She glanced behind her and at some prompting that Lillian didn’t see, she turned back to the crowd and made a perfect little bow. The “awws” increased, as did the applause, until the Mayor once again held up his hands to silence them.

  “Genet, it might just be me, but I think they like you.” He gave her the warm smile of a grandfather and Genet ducked her head for a moment before she leaned toward the microphone and said, “I like them, too.”

  Laughter greeted the tiny voice, still sweet and small despite the artificial amplification. The crowd quieted more quickly this time. Everyone in the crowd knew what was expected of them as the route lottery unfolded. It was the same every year. The drawing was always done by a child in primary school, who was also drawn by lots. That meant a cute kid played this role each and every year. Once in a while, like this time, the child selected topped the cuteness scale and drew a reaction like the one Genet was garnering from the crowds.

  A young deputy stepped forward with the locked box that held the route jar nestled inside. He stood exactly so that both the Mayor and the tiny assistant could both reach the box. It was not very big, made of wood and polished so that it gleamed under the landing lights.