From the sound of it, her decision not to hide in one of the plastic drums was the right choice. So was skipping the rolling tub filled with gloves. The men had checked both locations, identifying them as prime hiding spots.
Her plan was to retrace her path through the cannery and see if her map was still where she’d left it, then head out the same door she’d come in originally—the one by the mess of pallets that had torn her cheek open.
Who knows, maybe she’d even spot her necklace somewhere along the way.
CHAPTER 16
When Summer arrived back at the silo, the twinge in her gut told her that her troubles weren’t over. In fact, the sensation gnawing away at her insides was screaming just the opposite—that her problems had just started.
She knew as well as anyone that word traveled fast in an eight-story coffin made of rebar and stink, meaning most everyone had to know she was late. Again. All the whispers. All the hatred. All the disapproval.
Even so, she was used to it—the gossip, that is. And her reputation. In a way, her unpopular image was what made her different. And different was good when your days were strung together with the same conversations with the same people who all do the same things day after day after day.
She flushed the negative thoughts as she finished her descent down the air shaft that fed the silo, stepping off the last rung of the ladder. The towering cement chute was also the emergency exit, though she doubted many in Nirvana knew it existed.
At least her long trek was officially over, bringing a pressure release across her chest the moment her knees found their way into the short tunnel that led into the back of control room through a hatch.
In truth, you’re not really safe until you’ve made it home—all the way home—with both feet and your ass intact. Somehow, she had, despite everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.
Edison had placed trees, rocks, and bushes around the access point on the surface. He feared someone might use the air shaft as an entry point, like she had done many times, including today.
In fact, it was so well hidden that if Edison had not showed her its location ten years earlier, when he first brought her to the silo, she never would have found it on her own.
Back then, it was just the two of them after June died, right before Edison started recruiting others to join his new project.
Summer wondered if the Professor even remembered showing the access to her, given all the years that had passed. Likewise, she didn’t think the others in the silo knew about the air shaft, its ladder, or where it led. But then again, she hadn’t asked anyone, wanting to keep the secret a secret.
The passage allowed her to come and go undetected, or save a ton of time when she didn’t want to deal with the hassles of a multi-step check-in process through a series of heavy, vault-like doors. Today was one of those days—she knew Krista would be standing behind the last blast door, wearing a scowl on her face.
The way Edison explained it to Summer, the US Air Force built the Titan II Missile Silo with redundancy in mind, including allowing the rotating two-man teams to escape the facility in case of a catastrophic event.
Apparently, such an event had happened back in the 1980s at the Damascus, Arkansas silo—an exact replica of the one Edison had purchased and refurbished as Nirvana.
If she remembered correctly, a careless maintenance worker dropped a five-pound socket wrench down the eight-story missile bay, tearing a hole in one of the liquid fuel tanks near the bottom. The rupture eventually led to a massive explosion several hours later, sending the silo bay doors airborne.
The air shaft was the entry point for the rescue crew during the Damascus crisis, at least until the complex blew up in spectacular fashion.
Summer couldn’t remember how many people were killed, just that some had been. Death tends to make those in power rethink their plans. In this case, it led to the closing of all Titan II silos around the country, with the brass declaring the facilities archaic and obsolete, replacing them all with a new kind of missile, one that didn’t use liquid fuel as the propellant.
When she ran it all through her head, she came to one conclusion about death versus destiny. If it weren’t for a socket wrench accident, Nirvana never would have come to be. All those who lived in Edison’s cement cave today would have died along with most of the planet after The Event, including her.
“Thank you, Mr. Mechanic,” she mumbled, scooting her frame through the hatch that took her into the abandoned missile control room.
Edison told her the equipment in this area was technically classified as computer equipment, but the tubes, wires, knobs, and switches were ancient—from the electronic dark ages. She couldn’t believe any of this junk ever worked, let alone could deliver such fire and fury clear around the world.
When she walked past the controller’s chair, something caught her attention from the left, giving her pause. She turned and saw one of incandescent bulbs flashing on the console. It was a few inches below the red phone that hung vertically. Everything else in the room appeared to be dead, typical for this unofficial museum that Edison told her stood as a ‘testament to never-ending government paranoia.’
Summer leaned in to take a closer look at the lettering under the light. It was faded, leaving only two letters remaining: a C and an S, but they were not close together. Could mean anything, she decided. Probably sparked to life by some random surge of electricity. Or perhaps, someone had been in this room recently, tinkering with the crap that hadn’t worked in decades. Either way, it didn’t mean squat to her. She needed to keep moving.
Once in the hallway, she passed two Nirvana members she didn’t recognize. One was a heavy woman with a chest that hung down to her waistline; all of it moving like a bowl of Jell-O. The other was a tall, skinny man with no teeth. He had to walk hunched over to avoid his head clanking against the pipes overhead.
Summer made two more rights and a left before she found the storage closet she called home. She opened the door and went inside, putting her hand up for the pull chain she knew would be there.
A quick yank turned on the only light. She sidestepped her lumpy foam mattress on the floor and stood in front of the mirror hanging at an angle on the wall. One of its corners was cracked, but the rest of it was useable, even if it was only a few inches wide and twice as tall.
When she uncovered her hair, it sprang to life, sending out a web of tentacles like an octopus on amphetamines. Normally, she would take a few minutes to run a comb through her mop, but at the moment, she was too tired to care. What she needed was a good night’s sleep and some food. Oh, and a good excuse as to why she was late.
Her eyes found their way down to the bandage across her cheek. It was full of blood. She was tempted to tear it off, but she didn’t have a replacement.
As much as she hated her hair, walking around with an open gash on her face would be worse, especially in the humid, recycled air of the silo.
It seemed like there was always someone in Nirvana who was coughing up a lung or sneezing snot everywhere, especially the kids. They were walking petri dishes, touching everything with those germ-filled, busy little hands.
It was pretty obvious to her that viruses spread rapidly in air-tight quarters, a fact that Edison didn’t seem to realize. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care. About half of the time, he’d come back from a trip to the Trading Post with another family in tow, adding to the already crowded conditions.
Summer understood the man’s desire to help those in need, but there had to be limits. Edison couldn’t save the world—what was left of it anyway.
At least the handwritten sign on her door that said KEEP OUT was working. There were no signs of entry into her private space. Everything was where it was supposed to be, despite the lack of a lock on the door.