Hugh Howey: Third Shift - Pact

A blinking light on the neighboring comm station signaled Silo 6 attempting to make a call. They would have to wait. Donald sat and listened to the ringing in his headset as he placed a call of his own.

It rang and rang. He checked the cord, traced it to the jack, made sure it was plugged in correctly. Between two of the comm stations lay an unfinished game of cards, hands set aside from Donald ordering everyone out. There was a discard pile with a queen of spades on top. Finally, a click in his headset.

“Hello?” he said.

He waited. He thought he could hear someone breathing on the other line.

“Lukas?”

“No,” the voice said. It was a softer voice. And yet harder, somehow.

“Who is this?” he asked. He was used to talking to Lukas.

“It doesn’t matter who this is,” the woman said. And Donald knew perfectly well. He looked over his shoulders, made sure he was still alone, then leaned forward in his chair.

“We’re not used to hearing from mayors,” he said.

“And I’m not used to being one.”

Donald could practically hear the woman sneer at him. “I didn’t ask for my job,” he confided.

“And yet here we are.”

“Here we are.”

There was a pause.

“You know,” Donald said. “If I were any good at my job, I’d press a button right now and shut your silo down.”

“Why don’t you?”

The mayor’s voice was flat. Curious. It sounded like a real question rather than a dare.

“I doubt you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” she said. And Donald wished he still had the folder on this woman. He had carried it everywhere his first weeks on shift. And now, when he needed it—

“A long time ago,” he told her, “I saved your silo. It would be a shame to end it now.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

There was a noise in the hallway. Donald removed one of the cups from his ears and glanced over his shoulder. His comm engineer stood outside the door with a thermos in one hand, a slice of bread in the other. Donald raised his finger and asked him to wait.

“I know where you’ve been,” Donald told this mayor, this woman sent to clean. “I know what you’ve seen. And I—”

“You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve seen,” she spat, her words sharp as razors.

Donald felt his temperature go up. This was not the conversation he wanted to have with this woman. He wasn’t prepared. He cupped his hand over the microphone, could sense that he was both running out of time and losing her.

“Be careful,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying—”

“Listen to me,” she told him. “I’m sitting over here in a roomful of truth. I’ve seen the books. I’m going to dig until I get to the heart of what you people have done.”

Donald could hear her breathing.

“I know the truth you’re looking for,” he said quietly. “You may not like what you find.”

“ You may not like what I find, you mean.”

“Just … be careful.” Donald lowered his voice. “Be careful where you go digging.”

There was a pause. Donald glanced over his shoulder at the engineer, who took a sip from his thermos.

“Oh, we’ll be careful where we dig,” this Juliette finally answered. “I’d hate for you to hear us coming.”