“It was just a guess,” Juliette told him. “I only went down there the couple of times.”
“But it seems about right. Don’t it seem like a clock ticking down? Either the gods knew how much to stock away, or they don’t have plans for us past a certain date. Makes you feel like pig’s milk, don’t it? Anyhow, that’s how it seems to me.”
Juliette turned and studied her albino friend, saw the way the green emergency lights gave him a sort of eerie glow. “Maybe,” Juliette said. “Gina may’ve been on to something.”
Raph sniffed. “Yeah, but fuckit. We’ll be long dead before then.”
He laughed at this, his voice echoing up and down the stairs, but the sentiment made Juliette sad. Not just that everyone she knew would be dead before that date ever happened, but that this knowledge made it easier to stomach an awful and morbid truth: Their days were counted. The idea of saving anything was folly, a life especially. No life had ever been truly saved, not in the history of mankind. They were merely prolonged. Everything comes to an end.
49
The farms were dark, the overhead lights sleeping on their distantly clicking timers. Down a long and leafy hall, voices spilled as grow plots were claimed and those claims were just as quickly disputed. Things that were not owned by anyone became owned. It reminded Hannah of troubling times. She clutched her child to her chest and stuck close to Rickson.
Young Miles led the way with his dying flashlight. He beat it in his palm whenever it dimmed, which somehow coaxed more life out of it. Hannah glanced back in the direction of the stairwell. “What’s taking Solo so long?” she asked.
Nobody answered. Solo had chased after Elise. It was common enough for her to run off after some distraction, but it was different with all these people everywhere. Hannah was worried.
The child in her arms wailed. It did this when it was hungry. It was allowed to. Hannah clamped down on her own complaints; she was hungry too. She adjusted the child, unhooked one strap of her overalls, and gave the infant access to her breast. The hunger was worse with the pressure of eating for two. And where crops had once brushed against her arms along that hall — where an empty stomach was one of the few things she never need fear — burgeoning plots stood startlingly empty. Ravaged. Owned.
Stalk and leaf rustled like paper as Rickson climbed over the rail and explored the second and third rows, hunting for a tomato or cucumber or any of the berries that had gone wild and had spread through the other crops, their curly arms twining around the stalks of their brethren. He returned noisily and pressed something into Hannah’s hand, something small with a soft spot where it had rested on the ground for too long. “Here,” he said, and went back to searching.
“Why would they take so much all at once?” Miles asked, digging for food of his own. Hannah sniffed the small offering from Rickson, which smelled vaguely like squash, but underripe. The voices in the distance lifted in argument. She took a small bite and recoiled at the bitter taste.
“They took so much because they aren’t family,” Rickson said. His voice leaked from behind dark plants that trembled from his passing.
Young Miles aimed his flashlight toward Rickson, who emerged from the rows of cornstalks empty-handed. “But we aren’t family,” Miles said. “Not really. And we never did this.”
Rickson hopped over the rail. “Of course we’re family,” he said. “We live together and work together like families are supposed to. But not these people, haven’t you seen? Seen how they dress differently so they can be told apart? They don’t live together. These strangers will fight like our parents fought. Our parents weren’t family, either.” Rickson untied his hair and collected the loose strands around his face, then tied it all back up. His voice was hushed, his eyes peering into the darkness where voices argued. “They’ll do like our parents and fight over food and women until there aren’t any of them left. Which means we’ll have to fight back if we want to live.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Hannah said. She winced and pulled the baby away from her sore nipple, began working her overalls to switch breasts.
“You won’t have to fight,” Rickson said. He helped with her overalls.
“They left us alone before,” Miles said. “We lived back here for years, and they came and took what they needed and didn’t fight us. Maybe these people will do the same.”
“That was a long time ago,” Rickson said. He watched the baby settle into its mother’s breast, then ranged down the railing and into the darkness to forage some more. “They left us alone because we were young and we were theirs. Hannah and I were your age. You and your brother were toddlers. No matter how bad the fighting got, they left us kids alone to live or die by our own devices. It was a gift, the way they abandoned us.”
“But they used to come,” Miles said. “And bring us things.”
“Like Elise and her sister?” Hannah asked. And now she and Rickson had both brought up deceased siblings. That hall was full of the dead and gone, she realized, the plucked-from-above. “There will be fighting,” she told Miles, who still didn’t seem so sure. “Rickson and I aren’t kids any longer.” She rocked the baby in her arms, that suckling reminder of just how far from kids they had become.
“I wish they’d just leave,” Miles said morosely. He banged the flashlight, which gave forth like a burped baby. “I wish it could all go back to normal. I wish Marcus was here. It don’t feel right without him.”
“A tomato,” Rickson said, emerging victorious from the shadows. He held the red orb in the beam of Miles’s light, which threw a blush across all their faces. A knife materialized. Rickson cut the vegetable into thirds, with Hannah getting hers first. Red juice like blood dripped from his hand, from Hannah’s lips, and from the knife. They ate in relative quiet, the voices down the hall distant and scary, the knife dripping with life but capable of dripping with worse.
Jimmy cursed himself as he climbed the stairs. He cursed as he used to, with only himself to hear, with words that never had far to travel, moving from his lips to his own ears. He cursed himself and stomped around and around, sending vibrations up and down to mingle with others. Keeping an eye on Elise had turned into a bother. One glance in the other direction, and off she went. Like Shadow used to when all the grow lights popped on at once.
“No, not like Shadow,” he mumbled to himself. Shadow had stayed underfoot most days. He had always been tripping over Shadow. Elise was something else.
Another level went past, alone and empty, and Jimmy remembered that this wasn’t new. This wasn’t sudden. Elise was forever coming and going however she liked. He had just never worried about her when the silo was empty. It made him reconsider what made a place dangerous. Maybe it wasn’t the place at all.
“You!”
Jimmy rose to another landing, one-twenty-two. A man waved from the doorway. He had gold coveralls on, which meant something back when things had meaning. It was the first face Jimmy had seen in a dozen levels.
“Have you seen a girl?” Jimmy asked, ignoring the fact that this man seemed to have a question of his own. Jimmy held his hand at his hip. “This high. Seven years old. Missing a tooth.” He pointed past his beard at his own teeth.
The man shook his head. “No, but you’re the man who used to live here, right? The survivor?” The man had a knife in his hand, which flashed silver like a fish in water. The man in gold then laughed and peered beyond the landing’s rail. “I guess we’re all survivors, aren’t we?” Reaching out, he took hold of one of the rubber hoses Jimmy and Juliette had affixed to the wall to carry off the floods. With a deft swipe of the knife, the hose parted. He began hauling up the lower part, which dangled free far below.