After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1) (5 page)

“And in the meantime you’re going to sit around with me? Hang out with a broken clank who sits in his apartment, staring out the window? Not exactly riveting stuff.” There was a soft buzzing sound, and he turned his head. “Light’s giving out,” he said, glancing up at the lamp. Sure enough I could see it beginning to dim, the coils inside becoming more yellow and distinct as they lost their brilliance. For the first time I noticed a black cabling snaking out the window and upward into the night.

“Is it solar?”

“Yeah. It’s hooked up to a battery that stores enough charge for a couple of hours’ light. Some days it holds out longer than others.” He jabbed a finger upward. “Receptor’s up on four.”

“Why didn’t you run it to a room on the ground floor? Might have saved you some effort on those stairs.”

“I never installed it.  It was like that when I got here.  Besides, the TV reception is
way
better on this floor.” He stuck a sarcastic thumb over his shoulder at the useless panel hanging on the wall.

The lamp was draining rapidly, and in moments it would be dark.  Max seemed to fall silent with it, settling back into his chair and linking his fingers across his chest as if getting comfortable for sleep.  I took the photograph from my pocket and held it up.  I had a few seconds to study it, to take in every detail.  To
remember
. Then the blackness came.

5

Synthetics didn't sleep, but I found that if I rested and let my thoughts wander, it helped to refresh my mind in much the same way. In that mode, the hours of darkness passed quickly.

When day broke Max unceremoniously clattered out of the chair and set off for the stairwell without a word. He scraped and jostled through the doorway and then made a racket as he plunged headlong down the stairs. I cringed to hear him thumping and banging his way down. It had to hurt. He grunted once or twice but didn't slow down.

From the window I watched him slither across the courtyard.  The morning air was cool and there was a thin layer of condensation on the windowsill.  For the first time I noticed several copper coins there as well.  I picked one up and turned it in my fingers.  It was so tarnished that I couldn’t make out any inscriptions at all.  I placed it back on the stack with a soft
clink
.

Making my way downstairs I followed Max at a safe distance, keeping well clear of his flailing leg stumps. In a few minutes he made his way back out to the street and found the resting place he had favoured yesterday.

“This again?”
I called out, incredulous.  Not unexpectedly, he offered no reply.

Returning to the apartment, I gathered up my satchel and headed out. There were things I could do in the city while it was light, such as hunt for supplies, so I figured I might as well make the most of it. I was only going to be here a couple of days before I had to move on, so I didn’t have time to sit around with Max. Maybe he would be in a more communicative mood later in the day.

I followed the morning sun, heading east toward the river.  Although I’d traversed this same path yesterday, there was contrasting light now, and the street itself seemed like a different place.  Sunlight glimmered off the wrecks of cars and cast illumination into the ruin of cafes and hotel lobbies that had been obscure the day before.  When I neared the river, one structure in particular caught my eye.  It was several stories high and clad in a conglomerate of thick plate steel and metal bars.  Walking the perimeter, I ran my fingers along the walls to assess their integrity.  There were scorch marks in several places and I imagined
those outside hurling Molotov cocktails ineffectually at the plate metal. Elsewhere there were gouges in the pavement and buckled walls where more concerted efforts had been made to breach the exterior. But it had not been compromised. I rounded the entirety of the place and could not find a single weakness.

“This thing’s a
fortress
,” I muttered in appreciation. If the looters hadn’t gotten inside there might be a chance I’d find something useful in there.

But how to get in?

I made my way around again, this time more carefully as I searched for an entrance. I pulled, pushed, and hammered my fist on the plate metal, searching for hollowness that might indicate a cavity. There didn’t appear to be one.

I tried climbing the walls but, apart from a few metal bars, there was no chance of finding handholds. I was running out of options.

I backed up and tried to get a wider view. 
Think outside the box.
  Maybe there was access from the roof.  Using a winch from a nearby skyscraper might have provided a way to get in back in the day, but I had no such mechanism to help me now.

My eyes fell on a rusted manhole cover further down the road. It piqued my curiosity. Making my way over to it, I lifted it aside, scraping noisily on the asphalt. Peering down the hole, I noted it was dark down there, too dark to see. I slung my satchel to the ground, pulling out the lighter, the canister of whiskey and one of the spare shirts I’d acquired. In the rubble nearby I also found the wooden leg of a chair. Tearing up the shirt, I wrapped a piece of it around the end of the chair leg and doused it in whiskey. I snapped the lighter. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Nothing but sparks. I bent in lower to the ground, using my body to create a windbreak. On the next try the flame ignited and my makeshift torch was ready.

Gathering my gear, I carefully made my way down into the inky blackness of the sewer.  Once at the bottom, the blue light of the torch flame cast an eerie glow all around me.  My boots scuffed on the floor and echoed noisily.  Although somewhat uninviting, at least it was dry and the footing was sure.

The tunnel curved toward the river, in the direction of the fortress, and I headed that way, treading carefully. Although the walls seemed secure, I had to be ready to take evasive action should there be any sign of instability.

The glint of something pale on the floor ahead brought me to an abrupt halt. It wasn’t moving - not much in this world did anymore - but I wanted to be sure it wasn’t a sign of structural collapse.

As I moved closer, I realised it wasn’t part of a cave-in. It was a skeleton. And there were more than one.

Approaching, I could see that they were human. It wasn’t uncommon to see the remains of people in this world where everyone had died. They had all decomposed, eroded or been buried under sand, but there were still more than enough to stumble across around the place. Even though I was used to seeing them, it still saddened me to be reminded of such terrible times.

In the blue light these skeletons looked ghostly, ethereal, as if they might dissolve into mist and blow away at the slightest stirring of air. Stepping between them, I could see they hadn’t died peacefully. There were holes, possibly gunshot wounds in several skulls, as well as broken ribs and other trauma. I counted eight sets of remains in all.

Suddenly, from the depths of the tunnel behind me, I heard the deep groaning sound from the day before.  It was like the mournful, wailing voice of a mountain, the intonation of the earth itself, calling out in anguish and solitude.  I waited for something to come rushing at me out of the darkness, something terrible and primal and worthy of such a voice.  The tunnel vibrated all around me.

I realised then that it emanated not within the tunnel itself but out on the surface, travelling down to me in muted tones as I stood amidst the dead. Although comforted by this thought, the sound still disconcerted me. I considered turning back, but, having come this far, I decided to keep going and find what lay at the end.

Beyond, the tunnel was barricaded by sandbags, barbed wire, planks of wood, and behind that, a steel mesh that had been concreted into the walls, ceilings and floors. There were two small gaps in the mesh through which a defender could point a rifle or shove a spear. It was little wonder that these attackers had failed in their assault. These fortifications were formidable.

Pulling myself upward, I found that I could wriggle and bend my way through one of the apertures, but only just.  With the torch and the satchel in tow it was no mean feat.  With no
handholds to keep myself up on the other side, I slid down and then fell out in a heap on the sewer floor.

Above, a channel had been rough-hewn through the ceiling, leading upward into the gloom, an iron chain hanging motionless within. This must be the only way in or out of the fortress.

I clasped the chain and tested my weight. It seemed sturdy. Heaving myself upward, I pulled one hand over the other, the torch gripped in my teeth, and ascended into the darkness.

The blue flame sent shadows bouncing around the room. It was a large open space, probably a converted warehouse or workshop. And it was cluttered. I could see propane tanks stacked against the walls between diagonal steel struts that had been used to reinforce the exterior, plastic water containers, a desk bearing a ham radio. A pile of books lay nearby. There were rifles, handguns, but no ammo, old batteries that had leaked brown fluid, a huge pile of discarded tin cans. Lamps, flashlights.
 
A deflated soccer ball.

Something glimmered on the desk. It was a small, military green compass inside a cast metal case. The exterior paint was chipped but the compass itself was
in good working order.  I wiped dust away from the glass face and dropped it in the satchel.  Underneath where it had lain was a handwritten note, brown with age.

Aimee,

The food is running out here. Not enough to go around. Jeb says there’s cryotanks at the old military base that we might be able to get working. Our only real chance. Not all of the children are coming, too sick. Breaks my fucking heart but there’s no other option.

If no one is here when you get back, follow the map. Come looking for me.

G.

There was a mud map scrawled below the message with lines and notations all over the place, but not knowing the lay of the land, I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.

Could there really be survivors out there at the base, waiting in cryosleep right now? Did the military possess an advanced tech that might be able to sustain brain function over such a long period?

People. Living people. Was it possible?

This could be an incredible discovery.  With technology destroyed, machines could no longer create new machines.  We were dying out. 

That’s why the Marauders were becoming more prevalent. Their bodies were wearing thin and they were seeking replacement parts, but in reality they were just treading water. There was no long-term solution, no way to rejuvenate our power cores to provide greater longevity. Once those gave out in fifty or a hundred years, there would be no machines left to roam this world. With our inability to create our own offspring, synthetics would have no descenda
nts. 

Humans, on the other hand, could procreate. They had a future.

If they were out there, I had to find them.

I snatched the note from the desk and folded it carefully into the satchel.

Before leaving, I checked the sleeping pallets in the corner.  Bedsheets, covered in a thick layer of dust, had been drawn up over huddled shapes.  One by one, I drew them back.  In all, I
counted the skeletal remains of five adults and seven children, but it was difficult to be exact. In one bed, several children were huddled together, their crumbled bones mingling as one.

There were no other material goods of any value here. I could only surmise that they hadn’t built this place to protect a hidden fortune. The treasure they’d been protecting, the reason they’d gone to such lengths to fortify themselves, was these children. I was saddened to think of them here in the last days, starving, cold and afraid and in darkness as the last can of food was emptied.

The protectors of these children had held off the looters and the cannibals, the thieves and murderers, the maniacs and the desperate who ran rampant across the city when the world fell apart. They’d repelled every danger that tried to overwhelm them.

But they never stood a chance against the Winter.

6

It was late in the day by the time I returned to Max’s place. He’d already retired to his chair, and to my surprise he nodded at me in welcome when I appeared at the door.

“How was your day, dear?”

I gave him a wry look on my way to the couch. “Yeah, right.”

“Find anything out there?”

I made a noncommittal gesture. “A few bits and pieces.”

He made a disparaging sound in his throat. “I don’t know why you bother.”

“It’s getting harder to find anything useful out there. Everything is rusting up, buried under sand, or just falling apart. Hopefully soon I can get home.”

“So where
is
that?”

I jerked my head. “Back west. A long way,” is all I would say. As a redirection, I decided to change the topic. “Say, did you know where the military base around here was located?”