Wool Omnibus Edition (Wool 1-5)

her arms as much as she could, but her helmet slammed into the runs of pipes at the top of the hallway.

There was a bang—and the water all around her went black. She fumbled for her flashlight, to turn it back on, but it wasn’t there. Something bumped her arm in the darkness. She fumbled for the object with one hand, knife in the other, felt it spill through her gloved fingers, and then it was gone. While she struggled to put the knife away, her only source of light tumbled invisible to the ground below.

Juliette heard nothing but her rapid breathing. She was going to die like this, pinned to the ceiling, another bloated body in these corridors. It was as if she were destined to perish in one of those suits, one way or another. She kicked against the pipes and tried to wiggle free. Which way had she been going? Where was she facing? The pitch black was absolute. She couldn’t even see her own arms in front of her. It was worse than being blind, it was some new ability to see the nothingness, to know her eyes were working but somehow taking nothing in. It heightened her panic, even as the air in her suit seemed to grow more and more stale.

The air.

She reached for her collar and found the hose, could just barely feel it through her gloves. Juliette began to gather it in, hand over hand, like pulling a mining bucket up a deep shaft.

It felt like miles of it went through her hands. The slack gathered around her like knotted noodles, bumping and sliding against her. Juliette’s breathing began to sound more and more desperate. She was panicking. How much of her shallow breaths were coming from the adrenaline, the fear? How much because she was using up all her precious air? She had a sudden terror that the hose she was pulling had been cut, that it had been sawn through on the stairwell, that the free end would at any moment slip through her fingers, that her next frantic reach for more of the lifeline would result in a fistful of inky water and nothing else—

But then she grabbed a length of hose with tension, with life. A stiff line that held no air, but led the way out.

Juliette cried out in her helmet and reached forward to grab another handhold. She pulled herself, her helmet bumping against a pipe and bouncing her away from the ceiling. She kept reaching, lunging one hand forward in the black to where the line should be, finding it, grasping, yanking, hauling herself through the midnight soup of the drowned and the dead, wondering how far she’d get before she joined them and breathed her very last.

15

• Silo 18 •

Lukas sat with his mother on the thick jamb of the open server room door. He looked down at her hands, both of them wrapped around one of his. She let go with one of them and picked a piece of lint off his shoulder, then cast the offending knot of string away from her precious son.

“And you say there’ll be a promotion in this?” she asked, smoothing the shoulder of his undershirt.

Lukas nodded. “A pretty big one, yeah.” He looked past her to where Bernard and Sheriff Billings were standing in the hallway, talking in low voices. Bernard had his hands tucked inside the stretched belly of his coveralls. Billings looked down and inspected his gun.

“Well, that’s great, sweetheart. It makes it easier to bear you being away.”

“It won’t be for much longer, I don’t think.”

“Will you be able to vote? I can’t believe my boy is doing such important things!”

Lukas turned to her. “Vote? I thought the election was put off.”

She shook her head. Her face seemed more wrinkled than it had a month ago, her hair whiter. Lukas wondered if that were possible in so brief a time.

“It’s back on,” she said. “This nasty business with those rebels is supposed to be just about over.”

Lukas glanced toward Bernard and the Sheriff. “I’m sure they’ll figure out a way to let me vote,” he told his mother.

“Well, that’s nice. I like to think I raised you proper.” She cleared her throat into her fist, then returned it to the back of his hand. “And they’re feeding you? With the rationing, I mean.”

“More than I can eat.”

Her eyes widened. “So I suppose there’ll be some sort of a raise—?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’d think so. And look, you’ll be taken care of—”

“Me?” She pressed her hand to her chest, her voice high. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“You know I do. Hey, look, Ma—I think our time’s up.” He nodded down the hallway. Bernard and Peter were heading toward them. “Looks like I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Oh. Well, of course.” She smoothed the front of her red coveralls and allowed Lukas to help her to her feet. She puckered her lips, and he presented his cheek.

“My little boy,” she said, kissing him noisily and squeezing his arm. She stepped back and gazed up at him with pride. “You take good care of yourself.”

“I will, Ma.”

“Make sure you get plenty of exercise.”

“Ma, I will.”

Bernard stopped by their side, smiling at the exchange. Lukas’s mother turned and looked the silo’s acting Mayor up and down. She reached out and patted Bernard on his chest. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking.

“It’s been great to meet you, Mrs. Kyle.” Bernard took her hand and gestured toward Peter. “The sheriff here will see you out.”

“Of course.” She turned one last time and waved at Lukas. He felt a little embarrassed but waved back.

“Sweet lady,” Bernard said, watching them go. “She reminds me of my mother.” He turned to Lukas. “You ready?”

Lukas felt like voicing his reluctance, his hesitation. He felt like saying, “I suppose,” but he straightened his back instead, rubbed his damp palms together and dipped his chin. “Absolutely,” he managed, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Great. Let’s go make this official.” He squeezed Lukas’s shoulder before heading into the server room. Lukas walked around the edge of the thick door and leaned into it, slowly sealing himself in as the fat hinges groaned shut. The electric locks engaged automatically, thumping into the jamb. The security panel beeped, its happy green light flicking over to the menacing red eye of a sentry.

Lukas took a deep breath and picked his way through the servers. He tried not to go the same way as Bernard, tried never to go the same way twice. He chose a longer route just to break the monotony, to have one less routine in that prison.

Bernard had the back of the server open by the time he arrived. He held the familiar headphones out to Lukas.

Lukas accepted them and put them on backwards, the microphone snaking around the rear of his neck.

“Like this?”

Bernard laughed at him and twirled his finger. “Other way around,” he said, lifting his voice so Lukas could hear through the muffs.

Lukas fumbled with the headphones, tangling his arm in the cord. Bernard waited patiently.

“Are you ready?” Bernard asked, once they were in place. He held the loose jack in one hand. Lukas nodded. He watched Bernard turn and aim the plug at the banks of receptacles. He pictured Bernard’s hand swinging down and to the right, slamming the plug home into number 17, then turning and confronting Lukas about his favorite pastime, his secret crush—

But his boss’s small hand never wavered; it clicked into place, Lukas knowing exactly how that felt, how the receptacle hugged the plug tightly, seemed to welcome it in, the pads of one’s fingers getting a jolt from the flicking of that spring-loaded plastic retainer—

The light above the jack started blinking. A familiar buzzing throbbed in Lukas’s ears. He waited for her voice, for Juliette to answer.

A click.