Karma of the Silo: The Collection Page 6

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to remember that it was fun to be on the beach, fun to be with new people, and that not every social occasion would result in my meeting Prince Charming. Or even Prince Charming-Enough-To-Hang-With-On-The-Beach.

  “So, what if a stranger asked you….” The voice came into my ear from behind me, which gave me both a freaky shiver and a frisson of excitement. The owner of the voice sounded strong and masculine and surprisingly confident.

  “… Since you look chilly, if he could offer you his jacket. Would you think he was just trying to pick you up?”

  “Umm…” I heard myself giggle, and then stopped. I was twenty-four years old, and no guy was going to intimidate me with flattery. No matter how hot he was. “I would be pretty sure he was trying to pick me up.”

  I was smiling, and I knew he could hear my smile.

  “And even if he was, and you knew it, could he still sit beside you and put his jacket around your poor chilly… delicious… shoulders?” I could feel his warm breath as he spoke.

  I laughed. “Delicious shoulders? That’s kind of forward, isn’t it? You don’t even know me. Are you into shoulders?” It was killing me not to turn around and find out what he looked like, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “So far. But that’s probably because that’s all I can see of you. I’m sure there are other parts that would be equally… delectable.”

  “Well, there won’t be any checking out of further parts until you tell me your name and convince me that your jacket is worth accepting on my… delectable shoulders.”

  And suddenly there was this guy beside me, and he had an amazing smile and dark eyes, and he was slipping his nice warm jacket around me. We started talking and we sat in front of that fire for the next three hours, sharing everything from the names of our first grade teachers to how we would spend a million dollars… if we had it. And every topic, whether critical or comical, intensified a kind of connection that I had never felt before. The night got dark and we barely noticed, so mesmerized were we by each other. Somewhere in there we shared buttery lobster bits and littleneck clams along with a foamy cup of beer, and as the beach temperature dropped off I snuggled deeper into his jacket, firelight reflecting in the eyes of this guy that I knew… though I realized it was crazy to think so… that I was falling for and would someday marry.

  And even as I thought that, it was crazy and true all at once.

  The party was breaking up and the girlfriend I’d come with wandered back from the dunes and said she was leaving, but my Shoulder Man said he’d drive me home. I was thrilled. Nothing in the world seemed as important as staying with him, talking to him, gazing into his deep brown eyes as they reflected the leaping flames.

  “Wait,” I said, pulling back a bit so that I could see him properly. “Are you an axe murderer?”

  “Oh my god,” he said, “usually girls don’t get that about me right away. You are really sharp.”

  It took me a minute, I was so bedazzled by him, and then I started laughing. “That is terrible! And I was slow to get it, too… you must think I’m dull!” I winked.

  “You make a good point,” he said, deadpan.

  I laughed again, shaking my head. It was at that moment that I realized I’d been sitting beside this guy, shoulders and thighs touching, for most of the evening, and he had not yet suggested a walk into the dunes or tried to kiss me. Desire was thrumming through my body at a high pitch. Didn’t he feel this? Certainly he felt it too, right?

  The only partiers still left on the beach were off in the distance on a towel. The fire was low, red embers glowing over the charred driftwood and only a small flame leaping in the center. Over the quiet lapping of the water I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat.

  I was watching the moon paint a path of liquid white across the gentle waves when he leaned in and kissed me, finally, finally. His hand on my chin, his warm lips on mine. I practically dissolved.

  It must be the romance of the summer night and the hypnotism of the flame, I thought. Or I’m losing my mind. I felt like crawling into his arms and living there forever. But I hardly knew him.

  “Am I the only one here trying to resist doing something brash?” I said, while still holding onto his kiss.

  “No. You’re not. If you feel anything like I feel, you’d better be stronger than I am, because I want you in the worst way,” he said, his lips nuzzling mine, his hand on my back, warm. “But I don’t want to waste this—I don’t want to waste you—I don’t want to take the chance of losing you by making you think I just want your body.” He was looking in my eyes as he said this, and I believed him. “And believe me, I do want your body.”

  At this point I moaned, perhaps giving him more encouragement than I meant to. I leaned in and kissed him again. He was still wearing his swimsuit, and I observed that it was getting tighter.

  Leaning back, I tried to focus my thoughts. “Um… okay… I probably should get to know you better, Mr. Shoulder Man.”

  “What do you want to know?” His voice was tight with desire. “I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Tell me something secret about yourself.”

  “Something secret?” He paused for a moment, his hand gently caressing my hair as he smiled at me with that amazing mouth. “I have a sixth toe on my right foot.”

  “Really?” This made me curious, and distracted me from more intimate parts of his body. I looked down at his feet, barely visible in the waning firelight. He was in flip flops. “Show it to me.”

  “Nope. I can’t do that.”

  “Why?” I was suddenly very petulant, like a small child who was used to getting her way. It was a strange way for me to behave, I remember thinking. I felt intoxicated… with the moonlight, with the ocean, with the kisses. With him. “Show me!”

  “It’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “Surgically removed when I was a baby. But see how there’s a little space between my pinky toe and the one beside it? That’s where it was.” He lifted his foot out of the flip flop and wiggled his toes in the light from the fire.

  “So. Now you know a secret of mine.” He put his hand on the back of my head and pulled me toward him. He kissed me, harder this time. “Your turn.”

  “A secret?”

  “Yes, of course. You owe me. And then we will know each other well enough to do it.”

  I widened my eyes. “Do what?”

  He just smiled.

  I looked out toward the moonlit waves and took a deep breath. “This is probably something I should keep to myself,” I said. “But my secret is that I think…” I shook my head and looked directly in his eyes. “I think that I’m falling in love with you. And that I definitely want to do it.”

  So we did.

  And it was amazing.

  15

  Rick comes into the bedroom and puts his arms around me. He starts to nibble on my lower lip. His hands roam across my back and down to my ass, moving, caressing, kneading. It could all be very pleasant. But it isn’t.

  Who is this man who calls himself my husband? I wear a simple ring on my left hand… but it isn’t the one I was married with. There was another man… I remember that now. A man who kissed me on the eyes and called me Helen of Troy. I can see him, sometimes, in dreams. He had dark eyes and was not as tall as Rick.

  My husband… my real husband. I can’t remember his name. That kills me.

  As Rick pulls my loose sleeping shift off and starts to kiss my neck, I remember that husband’s nickname… Mr. Shoulder Man. We met on the beach. I married him in my parents’ backyard, in Georgia. He was a Congressman. We had a dog… Karma. I stifle a laugh as I remember the etymology of my name. A name I can’t even remember selecting.

  Rick takes my response as enthusiasm and he eases me on to the bed, his hands running down my body and over the peaks of my nipples, now ripe and responsive.

  My body is listening but my mind is not. What was my husband’
s name? How did I lose him, and how did I end up with this man?

  Rick is starting to nuzzle my neck and his lips are coming closer to my breasts. I realize I’d better get my diaphragm.

  “Honey—let me run to the bathroom, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  He growls in mock annoyance, and lets me go. Athena will be asleep, so I don’t bother to replace my sleeping smock. I pad out the door of the tiny bedroom and into our cramped bath. In my cubby I look for the diaphragm. It’s not in the usual place. I start pawing through all the things in my personal compartment.

  It’s gone.

  More alarming than the fact that I’m now at risk of pregnancy is that someone—Rick?—must know that I have… or I had… such a thing. We are supposed to be making babies now. All the married adults are urged to reproduce.

  But I don’t want another child. It’s sad enough raising one child in this underground tomb. Why would I bring another one into this life?

  Hastily I put back all my things. I have no idea who could have taken it. But it could hardly have been accidental. So now someone knows. And now… I can get pregnant.

  I return, trying my best to look excited, to Rick. He’s undressed and he meets me at the door with a look that I can’t decipher. Did he discover my birth control device, crude as it was, and turn me in to the Sheriff? Or does he have no idea, and the only message his eyes are conveying is desire?

  Smiling and putting on my most enthusiastic show, I submit to his wishes, feeling him enter me while I silently pray to whatever gods there be that this night of coupling does not end in conception.

  16

  Rose and I have worked out a routine. She comes up once a week after my classes. If anybody asks, I am giving her drawing lessons.

  Today when I hear her tentative knock and tell her to come in, she is followed by a tall teenager. A blonde beauty, with the kind of legs that manage to draw attention even in coveralls, she smiles at me with an openness I don’t see in many of the teens here. Not that there are too many teens to compare her to.

  The Silo has definite age gaps in the population—with many people in my age range, from mid-thirties to late forties, but not a whole lot who are sixty and above.

  My neighbor Grace is one of the few. She’s probably in her late sixties, which is rare down here. I’ve met hardly anyone that looks to be twenty-something. And there are some older teens and adolescents, but my class of five and six-year-olds is tiny. Those are the kids born just before or just after we got into the Silo, like Athena. We lost a lot of pregnancies in the first year or so, and new babies were coveted.

  I guess they still are. The younger women are encouraged to marry and get busy making new Silo residents. But those like Athena who were born since we went underground have had a device inserted at birth, so when they get to puberty they won’t be able to procreate without permission from those in charge.

  I stand up and offer Rose’s friend my hand. “I’m Mrs. Brewer.”

  “Right,” she says, shaking my hand firmly. “Rose told me. Thanks for letting me come. I’m, like, dying to talk to someone.” She plops down into a child-size chair and pulls her long hair up into a ponytail with a piece of yarn. “I’m Delta.”

  I look at Rose. She looks at her shoes. “Sorry. I meant to tell you.”

  For a moment I feel a sense of panic. It’s one thing for Rose to share her childhood memories with me. But if she starts talking about our “art” lessons outside of this classroom, it could be very bad. For me and for her. Though I doubt they’d send a child of eleven to Cleaning, I have little doubt they would send me.

  My hand goes to my throat, and I try not to frighten her. “Rose… um… have you been sharing our discussions? You know—”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Brewer,” Delta says. “Can I call you Karma?” She’s looking around the classroom at the drawings done by the children. She pulls a book over, flipping through the plastic-covered pages quickly and reading as she goes. “I remember this book. Only, I think they changed it. Didn’t the terrible teeth gnashers scare him and then he sailed home for dinner with his mom? They took the same story but had him eaten up by the monsters. That’s pretty funny.”

  I’m tongue-tied. Here is an anachronism. A teenage girl who is not woozy from the drugs in the water, who remembers clearly the time before, and who reads swiftly and speaks openly to adults. I fear for this child.

  Reaching across the round table, I put my hand on hers. “Delta—please. I’m not sure that it’s safe for us to speak this way. Even in here.”

  She puts down the book and grins at me. “My Dad works for IT. I think I’m safe.”

  Rose looks at her older friend in wide-eyed admiration. She turns to me. “Delta is on my floor. She babysits me sometimes.”

  “So what’s the deal? We just, like, talk? About stuff we remember?” Delta has her elbows on the table and is looking ready for business. I flash back to the world before the Silo, and I can see her sporting the teen fashions of the day—hot colors, leather pants, tats on her cheeks. This was a girl who would be at the head of the pack in any environment.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, girls. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. I think about Ethel, the first person to tell me that there were others who remembered the time before—and the one who told me about drugs in the water. Ethel clued me in to drinking only vegetable pulp before she was pushed off the spiral staircase to her death.

  And of course Andy, who was my only link to the chain. After he was sent out to Cleaning I had expected to be contacted by his link. But I never was. Were they all gone? All pushed or hanged or poisoned… or filled with so many drugs they forgot it all? A shiver runs over my skin as I think about the danger.

  It was lonely, but safe, to be silent. Until Rose, I hadn’t spoken to anyone about the time before in… at least two years.

  Someday I had planned to tell Athena. But the longer I went without speaking about it, the more forbidden it seemed. And the more it receded into my memory. Sometimes I wondered if there had ever been another way of living; a life aboveground. Sometimes, when I drank water because I couldn’t refuse without arousing suspicion, I sank into that comfortable blankness of forgetting the truth.

  Sometimes I considered just giving up and staying drugged, like everyone else in the Silo.

  I realize that Delta is still speaking. “Well, if you won’t talk to me, I’ll find someone who will.” She sounds like a rebel, one with the energy to defy the powers that be and lead her people. “I bet there are a lot of us out there.”

  Reluctantly, I nod. “Perhaps. But let me ask you… how do you remember? Why? You know they…” I can’t help but lower my voice, although I’m pretty confident there are no bugs in here due to my ever-vigilant examination of every nook and cranny in the classroom. “…they put drugs in the water.”

  She laughs and slaps her thigh. “That’s it! I always wondered. I never drink water. I make Dad bring me soda from IT. He has a secret stash. That’s what I always drank, even when I was Clementine—isn’t that the awfullest name you ever heard? I was so glad when we got the chance to pick new names.”

  This girl was either going to get us all killed or be a welcome breath of honesty. Maybe both.

  “So, Delta—we better stick with your Silo name—tell me about yourself. Tell me what you remember.”

  “I remember everything! Cars, dancing, that hot new boy group—Sextupelo! With the six guys that sang without their shirts on? I was only eleven when we got herded in here but—”

  “Wait.” I hold my hand up to stop her. “You remember the day the bombs fell? When everyone came down into the Silo.”

  “Yup. Don’t you?”

  “No. Well, a little. But it’s fuzzy. What do you remember?”

  “Okay, so I was eleven. And it was kind of a crazy day… my Dad was running all around because he had something to do with the tours of the Silo, and of course we didn’t know then that we were gonna end up
living here.” She stops and looks at me as though something has just occurred to her. “You don’t think he knew, do you? I mean, we were just lucky that we were at a place where it was all set up for people to go in and be safe when the bombs started to fall, right?”

  I hesitate to say anything to her in response to this, and she seems content to plow on.

  “So then, a bunch of people are trampling along going down into this place, pounding down the stairs, and I’m tall for eleven only not that tall. My Dad takes me to Level thirty-four and orders me to stay there. I’m pretty scared, but less scared to stay inside this funny underground building than to be outside with the explosions and the big clouds like mushrooms. I was pretty happy that day, too, ‘cause I got to wear my new sunglasses with the rainbow reflections.” Delta takes a piece of stray hair and tucks it behind her ear. “I never saw them after that day, though. They must have gotten stomped on the stairway.” She smiles at me in a slightly wicked way. “Jared—that’s the guy I like—tells me I must have looked hot in sunglasses. I told him what they were. He doesn’t remember, like, anything, and he’s already eighteen.”

  Once again, I am alarmed at her seeming disregard for the danger of what she’s saying. If she talks this way to her boyfriend, what is she saying to the adults around her?

  I know I need to stop the flow of chatter, but I want to know one more thing. “Do you remember how they changed our names, Delta… how they got us into new families? I can remember the day we all went in, vaguely, but then it’s all a blur until I found out I was pregnant a few months later.” As concerned as I am with Delta’s safety, I am savagely interested in what she can tell me. What is locked up in those precious memories she holds and I don’t?

  “Well, I remember you.”

  My stomach flips. “You do?”

  “Sure. You were with that guy—I guess he’s your husband now, ‘cause he and my Dad know each other—and—”