Hugh Howey: Shift

The central lift shaft emptied onto a narrow hallway, which funnelled him towards a security station. The floor plan was vaguely familiar and yet somehow alien. It was unnerving to note the signs of wear in the carpet and the patch of dull steel in the middle of the turnstile where thighs had rubbed against it over the years. These were years that hadn’t existed for Troy. This wear and tear had shown up as if by magic, like damage sustained from a night of drunkenness.

The lone guard on duty looked up from something he was reading and nodded in greeting. Troy placed his palm on a screen that had grown hazy from use. There was no chit-chat, no small talk, no expectation of forming a lasting relationship. The light above the console flashed green, the pedestal gave a loud click, and a little more sheen was rubbed off the revolving bar as Troy pushed through.

At the end of the hallway, Troy paused and pulled his orders out of his breast pocket. There was a note on the back from the doctor. He flipped it over and turned the little map around to face the right direction; he was pretty sure he knew the way, but everything was dropping in and out of focus.

The red dash marks on the map reminded him of fire safety plans he’d seen on walls somewhere else. Following the route took him past a string of small offices. Clacking keyboards, people talking, phones ringing — the sounds of the workplace made him feel suddenly tired. It also ignited a burn of insecurity, of having taken on a job he surely couldn’t perform.

‘Troy?’

He stopped and looked back at the man standing in a doorway he’d passed. A glance at his map showed him he’d almost missed his office.

‘That’s me.’

‘Merriman.’ The gentleman didn’t offer his hand. ‘You’re late. Step inside.’

Merriman turned and disappeared into the office. Troy followed, his legs sore from the walk. He recognised the man, or thought he did. Couldn’t remember if it was from the orientation or some other time.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Troy started to explain. ‘I got on the wrong elevator—’

Merriman raised a hand. ‘That’s fine. Do you need a drink?’

‘They fed me.’

‘Of course.’ Merriman grabbed a clear Thermos off his desk, the contents a bright blue and took a sip. Troy remembered the foul taste. The older man smacked his lips and let out a breath as he lowered the Thermos.

‘That stuff’s awful,’ he said.

‘Yeah.’ Troy looked around the office, his post for the next six months. The place, he figured, had aged quite a bit. Merriman, too. If he was a little greyer from the past six months, it was hard to tell, but he had kept the place in order. Troy resolved to extend the same courtesy to the next guy.

‘You remember your briefing?’ Merriman shuffled some folders on his desk.

‘Like it was yesterday.’

Merriman glanced up, a smirk on his face. ‘Right. Well, there hasn’t been anything exciting for the last few months. We had some mechanical issues when I started my shift but worked through those. There’s a guy named Jones you’ll want to use. He’s been out a few weeks and is a lot sharper than the last guy. Been a lifesaver for me. He works down on sixty-eight with the power plant, but he’s good just about anywhere, can fix pretty much anything.’

Troy nodded. ‘Jones. Got it.’

‘Okay. Well, I left you some notes in these folders. There have been a few workers we had to deep-freeze, some who aren’t fit for another shift.’ He looked up, a serious expression on his face. ‘Don’t take that lightly, okay? Plenty of guys here would love to nap straight through instead of work. Don’t resort to the deep freeze unless you’re sure they can’t handle it.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Good.’ Merriman nodded. ‘I hope you have an uneventful shift. I’ve got to run before this stuff kicks in.’ He took another fierce swig and Troy’s cheeks sucked in with empathy. He walked past Troy, slapped him on the shoulder and started to reach for the light switch. He stopped himself at the last minute and looked back, nodded, then was gone.

And just like that, Troy was in charge.

‘Hey, wait!’ He glanced around the office, hurried out and caught up with Merriman, who was already turning down the main hall towards the security gate. Troy jogged to catch up.

‘You leave the light on?’ Merriman asked.

Troy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, but—’

‘Good habits,’ Merriman said. He shook his Thermos. ‘Form them.’

A heavyset man hurried out of one of the offices and laboured to catch up with them. ‘Merriman! You done with your shift?’

The two men shared a warm handshake. Merriman smiled and nodded. ‘I am. Troy here will be taking my place.’

The man shrugged, didn’t introduce himself. ‘I’m off in two weeks,’ he said, as if that explained his indifference.

‘Look, I’m running late,’ Merriman said, his eyes darting towards Troy with a trace of blame. He pushed the Thermos into his friend’s palm. ‘Here. You can have what’s left.’ He turned to go and Troy followed along.

‘No thanks!’ the man called out, waving the Thermos and laughing.

Merriman glanced at Troy. ‘I’m sorry, did you have a question?’ He passed through the turnstile and Troy went through behind him. The guard never looked up from his tablet.

‘A few, yeah. You mind if I ride down with you? I was a little… behind at orientation. Sudden promotion. Would love to clarify a few things.’

‘Hey, I can’t stop you. You’re in charge.’ Merriman jabbed the call button on the express.

‘So, basically, I’m just here in case something goes wrong?’

The lift opened. Merriman turned and squinted at Troy almost as if to gauge if he was being serious.

‘Your job is to make sure nothing goes wrong.’ They both stepped into the lift and the car raced downward.

‘Right. Of course. That’s what I meant.’

‘You’ve read the Order, right?’

Troy nodded. But not for this job , he wanted to say. He had studied to run just a single silo, not the one that oversaw them all.

‘Just follow the script. You’ll get questions from the other silos now and then. I found it wise to say as little as possible. Just be quiet and listen. Keep in mind that these are mostly second- and third-generation survivors, so their vocabulary is already a little different. There’s a cheat-sheet and a list of forbidden words in your folder.’

Troy felt a bout of dizziness and nearly sagged to the ground as weight was added, the lift slowing to a stop. He was still incredibly weak.

The door opened; he followed Merriman down a short hallway, the same one he had emerged from hours earlier. The doctor and his assistant waited in the room beyond, preparing an IV. The doctor looked curiously at Troy, as if he hadn’t planned on seeing him again so soon, if ever.

‘You finish your last meal?’ the doctor asked, waving Merriman towards a stool.

‘Every vile drop of it.’ Merriman unclasped the tops of his overalls and let them flop down around his waist. He sat and held out his arm, palm up. Troy saw how pale Merriman’s skin was, the loose tangle of purple lines weaving past his elbow. He tried not to watch the needle go in.

‘I’m repeating my notes here,’ Merriman told him, ‘but you’ll want to meet with Victor in the psych office. He’s right across the hall from you. There’s some strange things going on in a few of the silos, more fracturing than we thought. Try and get a handle on that for the next guy.’

Troy nodded.

‘We need to get you to your chamber,’ the doctor said. His young assistant stood by with a paper gown. The entire procedure looked very familiar. The doctor turned to Troy as if he were a stain that needed scrubbing away.