Silo

Chapter 36

We packed light; everything we brought with us had to be carried and it was going to be a long walk. The idea of bringing the sleds was tossed around but the weather was still iffy, and they'd leave deep tracks in the snow if we loaded them down. Not that our boots wouldn't leave prints, but there was only so much I could control. 

Leaving the sleds behind meant Merry had to carry a pack. I put all of the heavy stuff in mine and filled hers with of blankets and clothes. She was getting stronger, the pale gray pasty look of her skin was gone. Even her eyes looked brighter...less hollow. But I wasn't going to push it; she still had a long way to go before I'd consider her healthy. 

My pack was weighted down with food and water, and Keith's was full of weapons. I wasn't sure what Evan had packed, but given the rope and belts he'd attached to the sides, I figured it was more of the same. 

Tyler struggled when we dragged him up the ladder, his jerking body sending us tumbling back down into our own silo more than once. Pissed that we were about to climb those same steps for a third time, wasting what little energy we had on a trashing Tyler, Keith suggested we knock him out. I didn't disagree. Dragging him six miles, kicking and grunting as he glared at Merry was not something I wanted to do.  

We dragged Tyler all the way back, his boots marking the ground as we went. It wasn't until we saw his Silo, that we finally stopped, let him fall limply to the ground as we huddled into the tree line to wait out the other six kids we knew were hunkered down below. 

Judging from the sky, I figured it was about six in the morning. We needed to make as much headway as we could before dark, when the cold settled in and we didn't have the daylight to guide our feet. If this was going to work, we needed to dump Tyler and get moving. 

I shot a quick glance at Tyler as the first of six heads emerge from the hatch. He was still out cold, courtesy if a second fist to his jaw from Keith. Meredith tensed beside me, no doubt fearing those kids would head in our direction, but they never did...didn't even left their heads long enough to see the Keith in the distance, in full view. It was as if they were moving on sheer memory, guided by the monotony of day to day life. 

It was hard maneuvering four flights of stairs with Tyler's dead weight. We'd already stripped him of anything heavy, but my muscles still protested as I tried to descend the ladder with him over my shoulder. Tired, anxious, and fueled with rage, I simply dropped him when the floor came into sight.  

"Jesus, Jake. You tryin' to wake him up?" Keith said as he slid down the ladder behind me and gave Tyler's limp body a prodding kick. 

"You try carrying him; kid's damn heavy." 

"I did, you ass," he fired back, and I laughed. Keith had carried him the last three miles, gave me his pack and slung Tyler up over his own shoulder to give me a break. Apparently, our adrenaline- fueled anger more than made up for the strength we'd lost in the past year.  

Making a quick sweep of the area I paused, noticing the stench that had greeted us the previous three times we'd entered was gone. Keith grabbed Tyler's arms, and I grabbed his leg. Together we dragged him down the narrow hall into the central room. It was almost unrecognizable. Meredith's ash-smeared name had been cleaned from the wall, nothing but a darkened area of cement left in its place. The burnt mattress was nowhere in sight. The buckets they used to collect waste were empty - a fact I could probably thank for the lack of bile pushing its way up my throat. Had it not been for the seven mattresses lining the wall and the store of food, I'd have thought they moved on and left Tyler to fend for himself. 

"You think we should leave a note?" Keith asked, as he thumbed through an old book lying face down on one of the beds. "Maybe 'screw you' pinned to his chest or something?"  

"Nah, I think returning his in this condition is notice enough," I replied, although to be honest the idea of jabbing a sharp pin through Tyler's chest was unsettling appealing. 

Keith agreed and moved to their cache of weapons. I lifted a rifle from the shelf. It hadn't been here the last time we cleaned them out or it would have been mine then. In fact, we'd depleted their weapons and food stores three times in the last week, yet they always seemed to have more...way more than we ever did. 

Keith motioned toward one of the three tunnels snaking off the main room, and I instantly knew what he was thinking. "No. Meredith and Evan are still up there," I said. I got his curiosity, but my instincts were telling me we needed to cut bait and leave before it was too late.  

"Five minutes won't kill us," Keith replied.  

Curiosity got the best of me. I pulled a flare from their pile of supplies, and scraped it across the cement wall, bringing it to life before handing it to Keith. I watched as Keith gauged our options; we didn't have time to search them all of the tunnels, so no matter which one he chose, it was a total crap-shoot.  

"That one," he said, taking a few steps toward the one on the far left. Stopping, he shifted the flare into his left hand and pulled a blade from his boot with his right. I followed his cue and did the same, except I borrowed a knife from one of the empty cots a few feet away not wanting to risk losing the one I had tucked in my boot. 

"You think this is a good idea?" I asked as we took our first step into the putrid smelling hall.  

"I'm almost positive it's not." Keith laughed, gesturing me forward. 

The hall closed up not more than a few yards from where we entered. It wasn't a tunnel, more like a shallow entrance to a side room, and I immediately wondered what the original purpose of this space was. No bigger than a closet, there were large bolts on the wall and chipped holes where something had been torn free. I waved my hand for the flare, and Keith pulled up beside me, straining against the dull light to read the half-century old writing himself.  

Unable to make out more than a few letters, I moved the light towards the center of the room, following the receding shadows with my eyes. It was Keith's voice that caught my attention.  

"Holy shit," he said, yanking the flare from my hand. In the far corner was a stash of weapons, more impressive than a hunting store. Next to it were boots, and clothes, cans of food, and what the hell was that...a baseball bat? 

I picked up the wooden bat, my hand curling around what felt like dried blood and "Holy shit," I said as I shook strands of hair off my hands. 

Keith picked it back up, carefully turned it around so he wasn't touching anything that had come from the once living. There were dozens, literally dozens of names etched into that bat, and I didn't recognize a single name except one. Jake Holloway.  

"Who the hell are all the rest these people?" Keith asked. 

I shook my head, certain he didn't want an answer. Judging by the rusty color of the clothes piled in heaps around the weapons, I'd say they were all dead.