Hugh Howey - Wool Omnibus Edition (Wool 1-5)

“Just go,” the teenager whimpered. “We’ve been fine without you.”

Juliette put down the knife. It felt strange to relinquish it but more wrong to have it in her hand as she approached the bed. “I can help you,” she said. She turned and made sure the boy heard her. “I used to work in a place that cared for newborns. Let me—” She reached out her hands. The girl turned more toward the wall, shielding the child from her.

“Okay.” Juliette held up her hands, showed her palms. “But you’re not going to live like this anymore.” She nodded to the young boys, turned to Rickson, who hadn’t moved. “None of you are. This isn’t how anyone should have to live their days, not even their last ones.”

She nodded to herself, her mind made up. “Rickson? Get your things together. Only the necessities. We’ll come back for anything else.” She dipped her chin at the younger boys, saw how their coveralls had been chopped at the knees, their legs covered in grime from the farms. They took it as permission to return to packing. These two seemed eager to have someone else in charge, maybe anybody other than their brother, if that’s what he was.

“Tell me your name.” Juliette sat down on the bed with the two girls while the others rummaged through their things. She fought to remain calm, to not succumb to the nausea of kids having kids.

The baby let out a hungry cry.

“I’m here to help you,” Juliette told the girl. “Can I see? Is it a girl or a boy?”

The young mother relaxed her arms. A blanket was folded away, revealing the squinting eyes and pursed red lips of a baby no more than a few months old. A tiny arm waved at its mother.

“Girl,” she said softly.

The younger girl clinging to her side peeked around the mother’s ribs at Juliette.

“Have you given her a name?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

Rickson said something behind her to the two boys, trying to get them not to fight over something—

“My name’s Elise,” the younger girl said, her head emerging from behind the other girl’s side. Elise pointed at her mouth. “I have a loose tooth.”

Juliette laughed. “I can help you with that if you like.” She took a chance and reached out to squeeze the young girl’s arm. Flashes of her childhood in her father’s nursery flooded back, the memories of worried parents, of precious children, of all the hopes and dreams created and dashed around that lottery. Juliette’s thoughts swerved to her brother, the one who was not meant to be, and she felt the tears well up in her eyes. What had these kids been through? Solo at least had normal experiences from before. He knew what it meant to live in a world where one could be safe. What had these five kids, six, grown up in? Seen? She felt such intense pity that there was this sick, wrong, sad desire for none of them to have ever been born—

This was just as soon washed over with a wave of guilt for even considering it.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” she told the two girls. “Gather your things.”

One of the young boys came over and dropped her bag nearby. He was putting things back into it, apologizing to her, when Juliette heard another strange squeak.

What now?

She dabbed her mouth on the towel, watching as the girls reluctantly did an adult’s bidding, finding their things and eyeing one another to make sure this was okay. Juliette heard a rustling in her gear bag. She used the handle to separate the zippered mouth, wary of what could be living in the rat’s nest these kids had created, when she heard a tiny voice.

Calling her name.

She dropped the towel and clawed through the bag, past tools and bottles of water, under her spare coveralls and loose socks, until she found the radio. She wondered how Solo could possibly be calling her. The other set had been ruined in her suit—

“— please say something,” the radio hissed. “Juliette, are you there? It’s Walker. Please, for God’s sake, answer me—”

“What happened? Why aren’t they responding?” Courtnee looked from Walker to Shirly, as if either of them could know.

“Is it broken?” Shirly picked up the small dial with the painted marks and tried to tell if it had accidentally moved. “Walk, did we break it?”

“No, it’s still on,” he said. He held the headphones up by his cheek, his eyes drifting over the various components.

“Guys, I don’t know how much longer we have.” Courtnee was watching the scene in the generator room through the observation window. Shirly stood up and peered out over the control panel toward the main entrance. Jenks and some of his men were inside, rifles pinned against their shoulders, yelling at the others. The soundproofing made it impossible to hear what was going on.

“ Hello?”

A voice crackled from Walker’s hands. The words seemed to tumble through his fingers.

“Who’s there?” he called, flicking the switch. “Who is this?”

Shirly rushed to Walker’s side. She wrapped her hands around his arm, disbelieving. “Juliette!” she screamed.

Walker held up his hand, tried to quiet her and Courtnee both. His hands were trembling as he fumbled with the detonator and finally clicked the red switch.

“Jules?” His old voice cracked. Shirly squeezed his arm. “Is that you?”

There was a pause, and then a cry from the speakers, a sob. “Walk? Walk, is that you? What’s going on? Where are you? I thought—”

“Where is she?” Shirly whispered.

Courtnee watched them both, her cheeks in her palms, mouth open.

Walker hit the switch. “Jules, where are you?”

A deep sigh hissed through the tiny speakers. Her voice was tiny and far away. “Walk, I’m in another silo . There’s more of them. You wouldn’t believe—”

Her voice drifted off to static. Shirly leaned against Walker while Courtnee paced in front of them, looking from the radio to the window.

“We know about the others,” Walker said, holding the mic below his beard. “We can hear them, Jules. All of them.”

He let go of the switch. Juliette’s voice returned.

“How are you—? Mechanical— I heard about the fighting. Are you in the middle of that?” Before she signed off, Juliette said something to someone else, her voice barely audible.

Walker raised his eyebrows at the mention of the fighting.

“How would she have heard?” Shirly asked.

“I wish she were here,” Courtnee said. “Jules would know what to do.”

“Tell her about the exhaust. About the plan.” Shirly waved for the microphone. “Here, let me.”

Walker nodded. He handed Shirly the headset and the detonator.

Shirly worked the switch. It was stiffer than she thought it’d be. “Jules? Can you hear me? It’s Shirly.”

“Shirly—” Juliette’s voice wavered. “Hey you. You hanging in there?”

The emotion in her friend’s voice brought tears to Shirly’s eyes. “Yeah—” She bobbed her head and swallowed. “Hey, listen, some of the others are routing the exhaust feed to IT’s cooling vents. But remember that time we lost back pressure? I’m worried the motor might—”

“No.” Juliette cut her off. “You have to stop them. Shirly, can you hear me? You have to stop them. It won’t do anything. The cooling is for the servers . The only people up there who—” She cleared her throat. “Listen to me. Make them stop—”

Shirly fumbled with the red switch. Walker reached over as if to help, but she finally got the device under control. “Wait,” she transmitted. “How do you know where the vents lead—?”

“I just do. This place is laid out the same. Goddammit, let me talk to them. You can’t let them—”