Silo

Chapter 27

Since the day I'd first saw that water-stained journal, I'd been dying to get my hands on it. I'd spent hours at night, watching her sleep, debating whether to just slip it out from underneath her and read it. But I never did, never wanted to give her any reason not to trust me. 

I carefully thumbed through the first few pages, bracing myself for what I knew was coming. As pissed as I had been just thinking about what she'd lived through, reading the details might move my needle into the red, send me crashing back into that asshole's silo with nothing but a machete and a vendetta.  

Meredith had retreated into her corner as silent as she was the day I first brought her home. I watched her for a few seconds, her hands pulling at a loose thread in her sweatshirt, her eyes never meeting mine. 

"Are you sure?" I asked, not expecting an answer.  

I took her silence for a yes and returned my attention to her words. The weathered, blue ink looked stark against the yellowing paper, misplaced just like her beautiful, fragile body in that hellhole I found her in. The word he stood out in several places, and I clenched my fists, fighting off the urge to demand his name.  

This kid needed a name. I needed him to have a name, a face, an identity to attach all the violence brewing in my mind. But asking her would be wrong. Maybe she didn't even know it. Didn't matter. I'd figure it out eventually. And when I did, he was going to answer to me for what he'd done.  

I flipped through the pages, skimming over the entries as I searched for one set of words, one particular action that would put everything else into context.  

Today was okay. He looted a farmhouse and brought me a new shirt. He watched as I tore it into shreds and tied it around his brother's leg. I don't think it will work. The bone is showing and the smell is getting worse.  

The journal entry was dated May 29th. A quick replay in my mind put that at about seven days after the storm. I glanced at Meredith, trying to visualize her down there, her tiny hands bloodied as she tended to someone's wounds. She waved her hand, gesturing for me to keep reading. 

I turned five or six pages at once, my eyes stumbling over the sudden change in her handwriting. The jagged edge to her letters looked raw and hurried. 

                                                                 June, 10th 

The other kid died today. He blames me, said if I'd been more careful when I cleaned out his wounds, then they wouldn't have gotten infected. I'll miss him. For as much pain as he was in, he was always kind, apologizing for his brother's behavior. 

I smiled, happy at least someone had shown her a bit of kindness. "The brother...the one who was kind to you, what was his name?" I asked. 

Meredith shook her head, her attention completely focused on the thread she was working free. "Keep reading." 

                                                                August 26th 

He brought a new kid in today. That makes four now. I don't think this new one knows the other three. He doesn't talk to them and keeps his distance. I don't know where he is finding them, but they're in bad shape when he brings them in. They don't seem scared. He tells them he'll take care of them so long as they do what he says.

                                                                September 4th