M Banner - Silo - Summer's End

The bags under his eyes were pronounced, matching his wide nose that cast a strong shadow across his face. The man hadn’t used a comb on his brown, shaggy hair, looking as though he’d slept in his office all week. “Seriously, would it hurt for any of you grease-heads to knock once in a while? Constantly breaking my concentration is how accidents happen.”

“You mean that’s how design flaws happen.”

“Same thing.”

“Need a status report, Doc.”

“Same as yesterday. Still retooling. If all goes well, our refinery will be back online sometime next week, with something north of double the capacity, depending on how well the welding crew did its job with the refab. Still have a few bugs to work out, so don’t get pushy.”

Frost fumed, his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Look, last week you said it would be ready today and that’s what I need. Patrols are due back any minute and they’re gonna need fuel. Supply tanks are almost empty.”

“I’m working as fast as I can, but you need to be patient. Not to mention reasonable. Genius takes time. So does inspiration.”

“We don’t have time, not with the recent string of perimeter breeches. I need to keep the patrols out 24x7 and that takes fuel. Lots of it.”

“Maybe if your men would quit pushing the limits all the time, we wouldn’t have all these breakdowns. I’m not exactly working with the best equipment here.”

“Then you need to do a better job of improvising. We bend over backwards to get you what you need, usually at the expense of something else, so suck it up and do your frickin’ job.”

“Or else what? You gonna fire me?”

Frost sucked in a breath, holding back a punch. Doc knew exactly how to push his buttons. Plus, the scientist didn’t seem to care how often he did it, or where he did it. “Look Doc, your safety is on the line, too. Same as ours. We all rely on each other to keep things operational and secure.”

Doc laughed, shaking his head, sending his stringy hair into a wiggle. “Gotta love the logic. Or lack thereof,” he said in a mumble, fiddling with the hunk of machinery on his desk. “Do I need to remind you that you need me significantly more than I need you? This is not anything close to a symbiotic relationship. Without me, you and your crew would’ve been history long ago. You know how this works, so don’t stand there and pretend you don’t.”

Frost knew the man was right, but it still didn’t lessen the anger swelling within. He paced the room, working the situation through in his head.

It was one thing for Doc to disrespect him in private, but when the man’s insolence reared in front of the other men, it took another chunk out of Frost’s foundation as a leader. And that was something that could not be tolerated. It was all he could do not to take his blade out and rip open the Brainiac, but he kept his hand clear of the Ka-Bar knife strapped to his hip.

Doc continued, almost as if he had a death wish. “I know you and your band of street crawlers barely graduated high school and all, but if it weren’t for me and my skills, you wouldn’t have all your toys. And by toys, I mean advantages. Technological, that is. By the way, in case you forgot, I’m still waiting for that new mechanic. Can’t do it all by myself, not after you gutted the last one.”

Frost sneered. “Shaw left me no choice.”

Doc rolled his eyes after a snicker. “Yeah, where have I heard that excuse before?”

“Rules and discipline must be enforced. Otherwise, we have anarchy.”

“Spoken like a true caveman,” Doc said, putting his goggles back on. “I thought you were going to trade for one with Edison.”

“The meet is tomorrow, so hang tight. The plan is set.”

“Okay then. That settles it. If I have to wait, then so do you. Just make sure it’s a man this time. No more Annettes. Or Bettys. Or Veronicas. I can’t deal with all those emotional swings,” Doc said, motioning at a red and white satchel sitting on a table four feet away. “Your compound is ready.”

Frost snapped out of his funk. “The thermite?”

“Four batches, as requested.”

“Excellent.”

“I also included a propane torch.”

“Why?”

“It takes intense heat to ignite. Not like all that C-4 you’ve been stockpiling.”

“So no det cord?”

“Correct. I know instructions are not your thing, but try not to melt your legs off when you use it.”

Frost sucked in his lower lip, his gaze never leaving Lipton’s face. There were too many words on his tongue at the moment—all of them energized but none of them lining up correctly.

Lipton didn’t wait for a response, waving his hand in a rush, looking as though he just lost interest in the rest of the world. “Move along now. We’re done here.”

Frost hesitated for another beat, then decided to let it go as a dozen flashes roared through his mind. Each scene showed a different way to kill the former physicist.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Doc said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Frost clenched his fists, waiting for the man to speak.

“While you’re out there, bring me some chow. An empty stomach is quite the distraction. And make sure it’s none of that mystery meat this time. Bring me something I recognize. And can stomach. That smoky flavor is getting old.”

Frost couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy. He spun to face Lipton, switching to his most sarcastic tone. “Is that all, Doc? Is there anything else I can get for you? A massage, perhaps? Or some fine wine? Chocolate mousse? Hand job? Stripper?”

“Now who’s being an ass? Just bring me some real food. And a mechanic like I asked,” he snapped, holding up the tools in his hands. “I have work, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Summer Lane took a hard right to duck out of the whistling squall, taking refuge behind the corner of an abandoned 7-Eleven that bordered the frozen river. Its windows had been smashed long ago, leaving only a set of deteriorating walls and a hanging sign to mark the edge of the No-Go Zone. Unofficially, that is.

The frigid air stung her cheeks, even with the sun shining. It was almost as if the weather gods had taken notice of her course correction, deciding to punish her with a vengeance. Not that Summer could blame them; she’d deviated from her designated search grid—again. Even after the run-in with the Scabs and Frost’s band of deviants.

There were things to do—personal things—before she headed back to the silo and Professor Edison’s version of Nirvana, most of it buried deep underground and all of it laced with rules and consequences.

Summer pulled back the hoodie of her drab sweatshirt, removed the bandana with a single finger pull, and ran her fingers through her hair. The strands needed to be set free, much like she felt at the moment.

Freedom is measured on a sliding scale, she decided, thinking of her tiny bunk in the cramped storage room of the silo. It wasn’t much, but it was all hers—the only place where she could enjoy a modicum of privacy.

The numbers in the silo seemed to grow each week, taking up more and more space. Bunks, bodies, and bare feet seemed to be everywhere, banishing her to the storage closet when she couldn’t take it anymore.

Life after The Event didn’t afford many grooming options, certainly not any personal items that the head security stiff, Krista, would let her take from the complex.

Summer’s fingers would have to serve as a brush, trying to control the frizz of her shoulder-length hair. Always jet black. Always out of control. She knew it was a fruitless endeavor to fight the flurries whipping about her face, but she tried anyway.

It didn’t matter how many layers of clothes she wore, either. A shiver always seemed to be lurking just below the surface. And it wasn’t only when she was outside amidst Mother Nature’s fury. The cold was everywhere, even deep inside the silo with its eight-foot-thick walls of reinforced concrete.