Shadows (2 page)

“
You worry
too much,
”
he replied.
“
And you quote too
much from the Order.
”

Charlie tucked his charcoal
pencil into his coveralls, carefully folding the scrap of paper as
he slipped it into his shirt pocket. Susan helped him carry the
pots back into the kitchen.

They both grabbed a cup of
hot water and added some dried fruit: slices of apple, a few
raisins and a shriveled apricot. It took a few minutes for the
flavor to infuse with the water and form a natural tea, so they
walked back to the table and sat down again, looking quietly at the
floor-to-ceiling wall-screen.

Light broke over the hills.
The dark, moody sky, with its patchy clouds gave way to pink and
red hues. For a moment, the sky was almost beautiful. Within
minutes, the sickly yellow tint of the day became apparent,
reminding her of the toxic world in which they lived. The hills
were lifeless. In the distance, the crumbling remains of several
towers still stood, jagged and broken, empty silos that had once
risen almost a thousand feet above the ground. Dust kicked along
the edge of the hill. What had looked like rocks in the soft light
resolved into the unmistakable form of bodies lying on the
hillside.

Although she didn't know
precisely where the silo lay, she understood it sat in a deep
depression in the ground, almost as though it lay at the bottom of
one of the salad bowls they shared on the cafeteria tables. The
smooth, curved hillside had a sense of manufactured consistency.
Neither she nor Charlie knew who built the silo, but it was clear
they had shaped everything about their subterranean enclosure,
including the view of the outside world. Those dead bodies
represented the futility of change. No one had ever made it over
the top of that steep incline even though it was probably only a
distance of a hundred yards, and a climb of roughly fifty feet.
Being a porter, Susan could have taken that hill without getting
out of breath had it not been for the poisons and toxic chemicals
that swirled through the air.

Susan sighed, not wanting
to say what she was thinking.

“
I
’
m not like him,
”
Charlie said,
apparently reading her mind.

“
I
know,
”
she replied, taking the crook of his arm gently,
wanting to communicate with more than words, hoping her soft touch
would speak of her hope for a good life within the silo.

“
I
won
’
t end up like that.
”

Susan
swallowed. She wanted to say, I know, but the words
wouldn
’
t form on her dry lips. She sipped at her
tea.

“
Why do you
come here every morning?
”
she asked, wanting
to change the subject.

“
Can
’
t sleep, I
guess,
”
Charlie replied.
“
Especially before a
cleaning.
”

Susan
’
s eyes
dropped.

“
It
’
s OK,
”
Charlie said,
turning and looking at her.
“
I
don
’
t think of going outside. I don
’
t want to climb
that hill.
”

“
Then why
look?
”
she asked.

“
Because this
is the only way we can learn. This is all we have, this one glimmer
of a world beyond ours. I need to know. I need to learn. I cannot
be content digging holes in the ground. I cannot spend my life
looking down. I have to look up.
”

“
Dirt farming
is honorable,
”
she said, instinctively knowing what
he was referring to.
“
And, and ... you
could do anything you want. You
’
re smart,
you
’
re intelligent. Everyone knows that,
there
’
s plenty of casters that would take you as a shadow.
You could even get into IT if you wanted.
”

Charlie shook
his head,
“
I couldn't turn my back on my family. To most,
death is tragic, but to me, its renewal, the chance to turn more
soil, to see tomatoes grow, to ensure the next
season
’
s cucumbers will be plump and juicy. No one
wants to think about it, but we
’
ll all end up there
one day. Soon or later everyone does. It
’
s only those
that clean that have a chance to break the
cycle.
”

“
Don
’
t say
that,
”
she remonstrated, looking around. The main
lights flickered. People were starting to mill around the lobby in
front of the cafeteria, waiting for breakfast to be served. Susan
sipped at her tea. She couldn
’
t eat, not when a
young man in a prison cell barely thirty feet away was about to be
sent to his death cleaning outside the silo.

“
It
’
s why my father went out,
”
Charlie
continued.
“
He
couldn
’
t stand the thought of his son burying him with
the worms. At least out there he has a memorial. In the Mids they
say, life in the shadows only ever extends two casters deep, that
no one will remember us beyond that, but he
’
ll be out there
for hundreds of years. Out there, there
’
s no time, no
rot, no decay, just the shriveled, dry, empty husk of what once had
been alive. Out there, he has a helmet for a tombstone and a pair
of boots to mark his grave.
”

Susan was
silent. She didn
’
t know what to say.
She could see tears in his eyes.

“
They say you
see paradise in those final few minutes,
”
Charlie
continued.
“
I
don
’
t know how anyone knows that, but the old timers say
that
’
s why they clean, that the cleaners go crazy outside
the airlock. Maybe it
’
s something in the
air supply, but they
’
re always happy to
clean.
”

Susan nodded. For Charlie,
there were no taboos. After recycling bodies in the dirt farm, what
was there that could shock him?

“
You think he
was happy?
”
she asked.

“
Yes.
”

“
Is that why
you stare at the screen?
”

“
Yes. For me,
it would be sad not to look. To look away would be a wrong, a sign
of cowardice.
”

Charlie paused. She could
see he was thinking about his words, picking them with the
precision of a mender working with a needle and thread. He wiped
away his tears.

“
This is our
only window into the world, Sue. There is so much we can learn if
we take the time to look.
”

Susan looked at the quiet
screen. All she saw was the tragedy of death. The shattered frames
of distant buildings filled her with despair. Dead bodies littered
the hillside, leaving a dire warning not to mistake the cruelty of
the world inside their concrete walls as any different from the
poison outside: no one cleaned without being sent.

Susan didn't know who first
came up with the idea of cleaning, but it carried far more weight
than the physical act. There was something primal and cathartic
about the sins of many being borne by one. That the condemned would
always clean struck her as counterintuitive, almost pathetic. Why
would someone help a society that shunned them and sent them to
their death? To her mind, those scraps of steel wool cleaned away
far more than the grit clinging to the aging camera lens, they
seemed to clean the hearts of those left behind.

“
You see the
way the dust sits low,
”
Charlie said, sweeping his hand
across in front of her. She hadn
’
t noticed before,
but he was right. The sickly yellow tinge was heaviest low down,
forming a band across the lower portion of the screen, slowly
lightening as it reached higher. Death
’
s grasp was
strongest down low. Most of the bodies lay low on the hill, only a
few had reached the upper slopes. No one had made it over the
brow.

“
Look at
their suits,
”
Charlie said.

The bodies lower on the
hill were partially exposed to the elements. Moonlight glistened
off their silver oxygen cylinders. Sections of their suits had
either collapsed or been torn by the wind, but those that fell
higher seemed more intact.

“
Some of the
oldest cleaners are highest on the ridge,
”
Charlie
added.
“
They should be the worst, the most worn. They
get more of the sun, they
’
re more exposed to
the winds, but they look almost fresh.
”

“
I
don
’
t understand,
”
Susan
confessed.

“
It means,
whatever it is that has ravaged our world, it
’
s heavier
than air, sitting low in the valleys, hard up against our
silo.
”

Susan was silent, her mind
awash with the realization that their haven was so precariously
positioned, that some malevolent poison waited beyond the lock,
wanting to get in and kill them all.

Charlie
turned around, sitting up on the table with his back to the screen
and his feet on the bench. He was bucking the system, but
that
’
s what she liked about him. He wasn
’
t afraid
to push back against silly edicts, she only hoped it
didn
’
t escalate. She looked over at one of the waiters
frowning in disapproval. Today, though, with a cleaning about to
start, they had bigger challenges to deal with other than a mildly
rebellious teenager.

Susan turned
away from the waiter and sat next to Charlie on the table. She felt
outrageously defiant, as though she
’
d defied the most
sacred sections of the Order. There was nothing in the Order about
sitting on tables, but you wouldn
’
t know it the way
most of the old timers acted. For Charlie, though, defiance was
natural.

“
Every time I
come here, I learn more,
”
Charlie said,
clearly still thinking about the screen behind him. He may not have
been staring at it, but it was still there in the forefront of his
mind.
“
There
’
s always something
to observe, something to think about, something to
learn.
”

“
You
don
’
t worry about the rules, do you?
”
she asked
rhetorically.

“
Rules are
made to be broken.
”

Susan felt almost giddy
with his casual defiance.

“
You
’
ve got to be
careful,
”
she said, feeling as though she were discussing
some secret conspiracy. All she was doing was sitting on a table,
but even this small act felt strangely liberating.

“
Rules are a
feeble attempt at enforcing unity.
”

“
Rules give
us life,
”
she said, reciting a line she
’
d heard
from the Order.
“
Without them,
anarchy would destroy us.
”

“
Would
it?
”
he asked.
“
Selfishness might
destroy us, but not lawlessness. And selfishness is always there.
Selfishness reigns whether there are rules or not. The only reason
for rules is to suppress our selfish nature. Freedom allows us to
surpass that nature, allowing us to be better than ourselves, to
stop being selfish. We don
’
t need rules. We
need choice.
”

“
Don
’
t,
”
she said, batting playfully at his
hand.
“
Such talk will see you in a suit. You need to be
more wise with your words.
”

“
Ah,
”
he replied, putting his hands around
her waist and kissing her on the cheek.
“
What I need is
you to keep me grounded.
”