Silo 49: Flying Season for the Mis-Recorded

by Ann Christy

  At the door she showed her apprentice badge and gave her name. The doorman gave her a look after he checked the list and asked if she wanted to be Drummed Out for her last night. She just shook her head and moved past him before anyone else heard what he was saying. The last thing she wanted was a public reminder of anything, let alone her last night here.

  She ducked into the girls changing area and stripped off her coveralls, earning a few gasps at her new wardrobe style. Here there was no need to hide her eyes or keep her hands tightly to her sides, no need to try to seem small or invisible. Here the looks were often admiring, if discreetly so. She slipped off her boots and wound her sandals around her legs tightly for the work ahead. Lizbet tried not to smile in victory as the girls around her looked with sidelong glances at how her outfit had been put together or touched their own clothes with regret. It wasn’t nice, but there were so few ways for her to be worth anyone’s consideration—even if that attention was just because of her clothes—she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

  The clerk at the bag-check took her bag and she waited long enough to see which cubby her bag went into out of habit. If one left early it could take forever for the clerk to find the matching tag to the one on a wrist. She ripped a quick salute at the clerk, who was older and only ever frowned back, then pushed through the thick curtains that enclosed 25 Drums.

  The heat of so many bodies, the dizzying mix of flashing red lights and the deep pressing sound of the drums engulfed her. As it did every time, the combination pulled her out and away from herself, making her worries and her past disappear like vapor. Lizbet closed her eyes, raised her arms and let her body carry her forward however it wanted. Inside the crush of bouncing, pulsing and dancing young people she let herself go. Other dancers created a gap in their groups when they noticed who she was, but there was none of the jerking away in avoidance she sometimes dealt with. Eyes watched her, sometimes subtly but most of the time not so subtly.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to think it was really her that they watched. It was the Other-blood they thought she had running in her veins. That hint of danger and wonder at what she might do. That her bones seemed to bend and flow as she moved around the floor didn’t dispel that notion. If anything, it made them whisper that it was proof of her Otherness. After all, Others only looked human and had no souls. The Others obeyed the urges of the body and it was their endless hungers that had destroyed the world and trapped humanity in the silo in the first place. Had she been ugly or plain and danced like a wooden stick they would have found a way to make that proof of Otherness, too. There was no winning in this matter.

  She pulled her mind back from the music with some difficulty in order to take in her surroundings. Everyone appeared to be here and in their places. Near the center danced the Mechanical boys with their cocksure grins, sly smiles and tousled hair. It was a good spot to be seen from and that was always the aim of the bad boys of Mechanical with their broad shoulders and strong arms.

  Near them—at a distance almost as precise as the ticking of a clock—danced a tight little huddle of Water Girls. With their complicated braids and vague scent of chlorine, there was no way to miss them and that was exactly as they wanted it. Blue, the color of water pipes, was their signature and this year they were staining a streak on each cheek with blue dye as well as the centers of their lips. It looked better than what they had been doing a few years back, creating a wide swath of blue dye that ran across their eyes and temples like a mask. They were so alike in their prettiness and they giggled whenever a Mechanical boy swayed their way or looked at them with heavy lidded eyes.

  Near the edge of the dance floor where the best lighting was, the farmer boys and girls postured eloquently to the pounding music, showing their lamp browned skins to best effect. They always wore the smallest possible amount of clothing and rumor had it they hid within the fields to baste themselves under the lamps without their clothes on. Given the tiny nature of the shorts she was seeing and the uninterrupted expanses of deliciously browned skin, she believed it. She had never dared to search out the spots they used in the farms to do this, but the temptation to strip down and baste herself like they did had always been a strong one.

  Here in 25 Drums serious IT girls met silly Service boys, studious Supply boys met fun-loving Porter girls and everything in between. There was no Up-Top, no Mids and no Down Deep in 25 Drums.

  In this place the whole of the silo youth met and mingled. As long as you were a shadow, unmatched and under the age of twenty, you were welcome. Matches were made here between people that would never have met otherwise and that was just as it was supposed to be. Mix, mingle and find a mate.

  Losing the bazaar and theater to drums and flashing lights every two weeks was a small price to pay for the benefits. Lizbet might not make a match here, but she was never turned away. The rules were simple: no fighting and leave your problems at the door. Here it was all about the dancing and the heated blood of healthy young people in high spirits.

  She felt eyes on her back and turned to find her wallflower exactly where he always was. He winked and smiled when she met his eyes and she threw back her head and laughed. No longer just her wallflower—hopelessly wooden no matter the dance and about as rhythmic as a fully laden bumblebee—he was now her Racer wallflower. The blue, red and white of his coveralls advertised his new status from all the way across the dance floor.

  She made her way over to him and grinned at his false discomfort when she swung her hips and took the last two steps. "Think you can do that yet? Maybe your new outfit will loosen you up a little," she teased, referring to his racing stripes.

  In the red light she couldn't see him blush but she caught the flicker of light in his eyes as he took in her new tunic. He shook back his shaggy black hair and leaned forward to be heard, "I don't have the equipment to do that. I like your sort-of-tunic."

  Lizbet twirled for him and enjoyed the feeling of lightness as her skirt swirled up and away before brushing back down against her thighs. She leaned forward too, one hand on each side of his head against the wall. "You don't need this equipment; you just need to let go and stop thinking. Start feeling instead, Greg."

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and nudged her backward toward the dance floor. After years of supposed dancing lessons every two weeks with her, he could do only one thing reliably well and that was bob back and forth on his feet in time to the deepest drum. And he could only do that if he concentrated. It amazed her that anyone who could run like him, with such grace and agility, couldn’t hold a beat for a simple dance. Still, he enjoyed it and never failed to spend as much time with her on the floor as he could.

  Lizbet did the work for both of them. He bobbed and let her bump him into whatever shape was required. When her hips seemed to roll the opposite direction of her chest, he made room for them. When she threw her head and made a weapon of her hair, he ducked and laughed. But he never let her completely go for longer than the beat of a heart. His hands always found her and kept her with him.

  She didn't think he knew that she understood what he was doing. She understood he was keeping her grounded, keeping her safe. He was also keeping her from flying and if this continued beyond her time here, she would keep him from flying, too.

  The hours passed much too quickly, dancing and talking with Greg. As much as she wanted to stay with Greg and let the night roll away under his protective arms, this was her last night here and she had something she needed to do before it ended. During a pause, as the drummers rolled themselves toward a new song and a new rhythm, Lizbet took him by the hand and led him back to his wallflower spot. He looked disappointed so she squeezed his hand once before letting it drop.

  "I'll teach you again next time. I've got something I want to get done while I'm here." She looked around at the little clusters of people within the mass of heaving bodies. "You never get to see some of these people except here, so..." She let the sentence trail off, hoping he would take it to mean th
ere was a friend from a far off level that she wanted to see. He didn't.

  "No, you won't. You're aging out tonight," he said, his eyes hurt. "Did you think I didn't know that?"

  He was right. She had assumed that he didn't know. She had never had a birthday during club night and she never mentioned it to him when one passed. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the little cluster of people she wanted. They didn't have the look of people who would leave soon so she could spare a little more time for Greg. He had always been her touchstone, the one who waited by the wall for her and relieved her incessant loneliness, if only for a few hours. She plucked his sleeve and smiled. "I just didn't want to ruin the evening," she lied.

  He nodded, believing her. "Okay. But, hey, I wanted to talk to you about that. Can we?" he asked. It was hard to remember sometimes that he was two years younger than she was and had spent most of his 25 Drums time with her. His earnest expression and uncertain eyes reminded her of that. She hated to hurt him and this was going to hurt a lot.

  "Not tonight."

  "When, then? Will you meet me tomorrow morning, early?" he asked, determined to get an answer from her. His eyes held pleading in them and a need for her to acquiesce.

  Tomorrow seemed like an unfathomable distance in the future and her future didn’t match his. His future was so bright it shone like polished metal and his ticket was punched. Even if he didn’t win the race and get to run outside, he was a contender. Only three won that spot each year. And she had seen him run, watched him fly the rails, barely touching the stairs and swerving around anything in his way so fast he was almost a blur. He could win. With her, he would never get the chance to reap the benefits of that winning.

  “Sure. Tomorrow morning, first thing, on this landing. By the lift station?” She hated this lie.

  He smiled in relief and grabbed her arms to pull her in for a hug. It wasn’t the first time he had tried that but it was the first time she had let him. His embrace was a balm on her heart. She loved him and she knew that he thought he loved her. She just didn’t understand why.

  She pulled back and looked at the countdown clock flashing on the ceiling. She was running out of time. He saw her looking and let her go.

  “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow if you don’t make it back before last call. But, early!” He smiled his beautiful smile and shook back that perpetually shaggy hair.

  Lizbet tugged at a lock of it and said, “Early. And get a haircut, will you?”

  She laughed and danced her way back into the crowd, now growing more frenetic as the night grew late and time grew short. A new song began, the drummers joined by three singers. A few of the drummers now held pieces of metal and some sort of handle that drew eerie noises from the metal as they sawed away. The drums took on a deep beat that seemed to vibrate her very heart in time to the music. Buh – buh buh, Buh – buh buh. The words were just what the teenaged heart desired.

  Baby, I love you

  Whether we go up or down

  I don’t need to know

  We just have to go

  Baby, please love me

  Bring me up, bring me down

  Anywhere you want to go

  I’ll go anywhere with you, you know

  Her quarry was just where they should be. Near the stage and creating such a spectacle they actually had clear space around them. Melody, Jimmy, Sonya, Timothy and finally, Peter. In the center as always, he stood almost a head taller than everyone around him. When would those idiots finally get sick of each other, she wondered to herself.

  She bucked up her courage and plastered a smile on her face. She danced through the groups bordering the clear space around her former friends and spun into their space as if by accident.

  Melody noticed her first. Her scar always turned bright red with the heat and exertion of 25 Drums and it drew the girl’s eye. Melody slapped a hand on the Jimmy’s arm to get his attention and he turned to see what was so important, a spoiled boy’s frown on his face at having his fun interrupted.

  Lizbet gave him a sideways grin when he started at the sight of her. “Miss me, Jimmy?” she purred.

  “What the fuck do you want? You know the deal. We stay away from each other.” His eyes were bloodshot and his words a little slurred. This was unexpected and she considered just leaving things as they were, but only for a moment. Him—or any of them—being drunk from hooch would not improve the situation.

  She turned to Peter, his armed draped over Sonya’s shoulder and an unpleasant grin on his face. “Got a second, Peter?”

  Before he could answer, Sonya yanked on his arm and said in a low voice, “Don’t Peter.” Her expression was suspicious, but also worried. Out of all of them, the loss of Sonya had been hardest. They had been inseparable until what her father had done ended their friendship.

  Peter pulled his arm away and gave her Sonya a little push aside. It wasn’t an ungentle push, but it was clear that he meant for her to leave it. He had learned something, it seemed, about how to behave with girls. Not enough though, because his grin grew when he looked at her scar.

  “You’re still wearing my badge, eh?”

  Lizbet tossed back her hair and stepped up to Peter. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders so she crooked a finger for him to bend down. He wagged his eyebrows over his shoulder at his friends and then did as she asked.

  When they were face to face, or as close to it as they could get, she grabbed the back of his neck and pressed her forehead to his. “I know you, Peter.” She looked into his eyes, now a little alarmed and repeated the words, “I know you, Peter. I know your heart. Don’t let the past ruin you.”

  She put all of her memories and all of her pain into that look and held his neck tight. If he had tried to pull away, he would have pulled her with him her grip was so firm. She wanted him to remember and know her too.

  Three – Six Years Earlier

  The bazaar was crowded and home was too far to go for the bathroom. She needed to buy food for her mother and herself. There was just nothing left at home so she had to shop today. There was simply no other choice. Her mother had been crying again and couldn’t get out of bed. Why hadn’t she made sure to visit the bathroom before she left?

  People usually sold her things and weren’t unkind to her at the stalls, but there were just too many people today. There were too many looks in her direction and a few even held up their fingers to ward off bad luck or evil thoughts. She snuck down the little corridor that snaked around to the restrooms. Before she rushed in and did what she needed to do, she peeked in to be sure it was empty. She should have made sure the corridor was empty before she left the restroom but she was rushing too fast, wanting to leave before someone else came in and found her there.

  It was too late to turn back when they saw her. These one-time friends and most reliable tormenters had her cornered in a dead end corridor. Her only escapes were the corridor that twisted back to the bazaar or the service door that led to a darkened path behind the bazaar and the storage rooms. They stood between her and both of those paths.

  Sonya, once the best friend she had in the time before her father was caught, squealed about Other germs in the restroom. The others laughed. Jimmy poked her in the chest with his bony finger and told her to go clean it. She tried to slip past him and leave but Peter stepped in and blocked her way, looming over her like a malevolent wall of meanness.

  “What’s your hurry? You have another mis-recorded Other to meet somewhere? Maybe make some little baby Others?”

  Lizbet gulped so loudly that they all laughed at her. It seemed to make them want to do more, made their eyes shiny and scary, the way she imagined her father’s eyes were when he hurt all those women.

  Peter grabbed her ear and pulled her head down sideways. “Show us what an Other looks like down there. Come on…” He reached out to grab the front of her coveralls and Lizbet went from fear to panic at the rough touch. And anger bloomed in her as well.

  She dug her
nails into the back of his hand and he let go with a shriek.

  She backed up a few steps until her back came up against the wall. Her fingers touched the cool concrete and she knew there was no escape from whatever was coming. Once more she was trapped. But her anger had come on like a pot boiling so hard that it couldn’t be contained anymore. Like the pot, her lid was about to fly off. She was almost fourteen and none of this was her doing.

  “So which is it, Peter? Am I mis-recorded or am I an Other? You can’t have both. If I’m mis-recorded then he wasn’t my father, right? For all you know I’m your sister.”

  She jerked her hands in the direction of Sonya, her words coming fast and bitter now. “She could be your sister too from what I hear about your dick-happy father. Half the silo might be a mis-recorded member of your family. Making little monsters with all that mis-recorded screwing around. Maybe you’ll make a nice little monster with her.”

  She saw the words hit home like a blow in the widening of his eyes. It filled her with a feeling so good she couldn’t stop. Sonya gasped, stepped back and away, shooting a fearful look at Peter as she did. The rumors about his father were too frequent to be just rumor and everyone in that corridor knew it. “Is that why your brother died? Too much of that incest going on? Maybe it was you. You do a little incesting up on your mother and make a little monster? Have yourself a nice little dead brother-son?”