Shift - Omnibus Edition (17 page)

There had never been a National Convention with such energy, such crowds. Downtown Atlanta loomed far beyond the treetops, but the city seemed far removed from the sudden bustle in lower Fulton County.

Donald shivered beneath his umbrella at the top of a knoll and gazed out over the sea of people gathering across the hills, heading toward whichever stage flew their state’s flag, umbrellas bobbing and jostling like water bugs.

Somewhere, a marching band blared a practice tune and stomped another hill into mud. There was a sense in the air that the world was about to change – a woman was about to win nomination for president, only the second such nomination in Donald’s lifetime. And if the pollsters could be believed, this one had more than a chance. Unless the war in Iran took a sudden turn, a milestone would be reached, a final glass ceiling shattered. And it would happen right there in those grand divots in the earth.

More buses churned through the lot and let off their passengers, and Donald pulled out his phone and checked the time. He still had an error icon, the network choked to death from the overwhelming demand. He was surprised, with so much other careful planning, that the committee hadn’t accounted for this and erected a temporary tower or two.

‘Congressman Keene?’

Donald startled and turned to find Anna walking along the ridgeline toward him. He glanced down at the Georgia stage but didn’t see her ride. He was surprised she would just walk up. And yet, it was like her to do things the difficult way.

‘I couldn’t tell if that was you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Everyone has the same umbrella.’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He took a deep breath, found his chest still felt constricted with nerves whenever he saw her, as though any conversation could get him into trouble.

Anna stepped close as if she expected him to share his umbrella. He moved it to his other hand to give her more space, the drizzle peppering his exposed arm. He scanned the bus lot and searched impossibly for any sign of Helen. She should’ve been there by now.

‘This is gonna be a mess,’ Anna said.

‘It’s supposed to clear up.’

Someone on the North Carolina stage checked her microphone with a squawk of feedback.

‘We’ll see,’ Anna said. She wrapped her coat tighter against the early morning breeze. ‘Isn’t Helen coming?’

‘Yeah. Senator Thurman insisted. She’s not gonna be happy when she sees how many people are here. She hates crowds. She won’t be happy about the mud, either.’

Anna laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry about the conditions of the grounds after this.’

Donald thought about all the loads of radioactive waste that would be trucked in. ‘Yeah.’ He saw her point.

He peered down the hill again at the Georgia stage. It would be the site of the first national gathering of delegates later that day, all the most important people under one tent. Behind the stage and among the smoking food tents, the only sign of the underground containment facility was a small concrete tower rising up from the ground, a bristle of antennae sprouting from the top. Donald thought of how much work it would take to haul away all the flags and soaked buntings before the first of the spent fuel rods could finally be brought in.

‘It’s weird to think of a few thousand people from the state of Tennessee stomping around on top of something
we
designed,’ Anna said. Her arm brushed against Donald’s. He stood perfectly still, wondering if it had been an accident. ‘I wish you’d seen more of the place.’

Donald shivered, more from fighting to remain still than from the cold and moist morning air. He hadn’t told anyone about Mick’s tour the day before. It felt too sacred. He would probably tell Helen about it and no one else. ‘It’s crazy how much time went into something nobody will ever use,’ he said.

Anna murmured her agreement. Her arm was still touching his. There was still no sign of Helen. Donald felt irrationally that he would somehow spot her among the crowds. He usually could. He remembered the high balcony of a place they’d stayed in during their honeymoon in Hawaii. Even from up there, he could spot her taking her early morning walks along the foam line, looking for seashells. There might be a few hundred strollers out on the beach, and yet his eyes would be drawn immediately to her.

‘I guess the only way they were going to build any of this was if we gave them the right kind of insurance,’ Donald said, repeating what the Senator had told him. But it still didn’t feel right.

‘People want to feel safe,’ Anna said. ‘They want to know, if the worst happens, they’ll have someone –
something
– to fall back on.’

Again, Anna rested against his arm. Definitely not an accident. Donald felt himself withdraw and knew she would sense it too.

‘I was really hoping to tour one of the
other
bunkers,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘It’d be interesting to see what the other teams came up with. Apparently, though, I don’t have the clearance.’

Anna laughed. ‘I tried the same thing. I’m dying to see our competition. But I can understand them being sensitive. There’s a lot of eyes on this joint.’ She leaned into him once more, ignoring the space he’d made.

‘Don’t you feel that?’ she asked. ‘Like there’s some huge bull’s-eye over this place? I mean, even with the fences and walls down there, you can bet the whole world is gonna be keeping an eye on what happens here.’

Donald nodded. He knew she wasn’t talking about the convention but about what the place would be used for afterward.

‘Hey, it looks like I’ve got to get back down there.’

He turned to follow her gaze, saw Senator Thurman climbing the hill on foot, a massive black golf umbrella shedding the rain around him. The man seemed impervious to the mud and grime in a way no one else was, the same way he seemed oblivious to the passing of time.

Anna reached over and squeezed Donald’s arm. ‘Congrats again. It was fun working together on this.’

‘Same,’ he said. ‘We make a good team.’

She smiled. He wondered for a moment if she would lean over and kiss his cheek. It would feel natural in that moment. But it came and went. Anna left his protective cover and headed off toward the Senator.

Thurman lifted his umbrella, kissed his daughter’s cheek and watched her descend the hill. He hiked up to join Donald.

They stood beside each other for a pause, the rain dripping off their umbrellas with a muted patter.

‘Sir,’ Donald finally said. He felt newly comfortable in the man’s presence. The last two weeks had been like summer camp, where being around the same people almost every hour of the day brought a level of familiarity and intimacy that knowing them casually for years could never match. There was something about forced confinement that brought people together. Beyond the obvious, physical ways.

‘Damn rain,’ was Thurman’s reply.

‘You can’t control everything,’ Donald said.

The Senator grunted as if he disagreed. ‘Helen not here yet?’

‘No, sir.’ Donald fished in his pocket and felt for his phone. ‘I’ll message her again in a bit. Not sure if my texts are getting through or not – the networks are absolutely crushed. I’m pretty sure this many people descending on this corner of the county is unprecedented.’

‘Well, this will be an unprecedented day,’ Thurman said. ‘Nothing like it ever before.’

‘It was mostly your doing, sir. I mean, not just building this place, but choosing not to run. This country could’ve been yours for the taking this year.’

The Senator laughed. ‘That’s true most years, Donny. But I’ve learned to set my sights higher than that.’

Donald shivered again. He couldn’t remember the last time the Senator had called him that. Maybe that first meeting in his office, more than two years ago? The old man seemed unusually tense.

‘When Helen gets here, I want you to come down to the state tent and see me, okay?’

Donald pulled out his phone and checked the time. ‘You know I’m supposed to be at the Tennessee tent in an hour, right?’

‘There’s been a change of plans. I want you to stay close to home. Mick is going to cover for you over there, which means I need you with me.’

‘Are you sure? I was supposed to meet with—’

‘I know. This is a good thing, trust me. I want you and Helen near the Georgia stage with me. And look—’

The Senator turned to face him. Donald peeled his eyes away from the last of the unloading buses. The rain had picked up a little.

‘You’ve contributed more to this day than you know,’ Thurman said.

‘Sir?’

‘The world is going to change today, Donny.’

Donald wondered if the Senator had been skipping his nanobath treatments. His eyes seemed dilated and focused on something in the distance. He appeared older somehow.

‘I’m not sure I understand—’

‘You will. Oh, and a surprise visitor is coming. She should be here any moment.’ He smiled. ‘The national anthem starts at noon. There’ll be a flyover from the 141st after that. I want you nearby when that happens.’

Donald nodded. He had learned when to stop asking questions and just do what the Senator expected of him.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, shivering against the cold.

Senator Thurman left. Turning his back to the stage, Donald scanned the last of the buses and wondered where in the world Helen was.

22

2110

Silo 1

Troy walked down the line of cryopods as if he knew where he was going. It was just like the way his hand had drifted to the button that had brought him to that floor. There were made-up names on each of the panels. He knew this somehow. He remembered coming up with his name. It had something to do with his wife, some way to honor her, or some kind of secret and forbidden link so that he might one day remember.

That all lay in the past, deep in the mist, a dream forgotten. Before his shift there had been an orientation. There were familiar books to read and reread. That’s when he had chosen his name.

A bitter explosion on his tongue brought him to a halt. It was the taste of a pill dissolving. Troy stuck out his tongue and scraped it with his fingers, but there was nothing there. He could feel the ulcers on his gums against his teeth but couldn’t recall how they’d formed.

He walked on. Something wasn’t right. These memories weren’t supposed to return. He pictured himself on a gurney, screaming, someone strapping him down, stabbing him with needles. That wasn’t him. He was holding that man’s boots.

Troy stopped at one of the pods and checked the name.
Helen
. His gut lurched and groped for its medicine. He didn’t want to remember. That was a secret ingredient: the
not wanting to remember
. Those were the parts that slipped away, the parts the drugs wrapped their tentacles around and pulled beneath the surface. But now, there was some small part of him that was dying to know. It was a nagging doubt, a feeling of having left some important piece of himself behind. It was willing to drown the rest of him for the answers.

The frost on the glass wiped away with a squeak. He didn’t recognize the person inside and moved on to the next pod, a scene from before orientation coming back to him.

Troy recalled halls packed with people crying, grown men sobbing, pills that dried their eyes. Fearsome clouds rose on a video screen. Women were put away for safety. Like a lifeboat, women and children first.

Troy remembered. It wasn’t an accident. He remembered a talk in another pod, a bigger pod with another man there, a talk about the coming end of the world, about making
room
, about ending it all before it ended on its own.

A controlled explosion. Bombs were sometimes used to put out fires.

He wiped another frost-covered sheet of glass. The sleeping form in the next chamber had eyelashes that glittered with ice. She was a stranger. He moved on, but it was coming back to him. His arm throbbed. The shakes were gone.

Troy remembered a calamity, but it was all for show. The real threat was in the air, invisible. The bombs were to get people to move, to make them afraid, to get them crying and forgetting. People had spilled like marbles down a bowl. Not a bowl – a
funnel
. Someone explained why they were spared. He remembered a white fog, walking through a white fog. The death was already in them. Troy remembered a taste on his tongue, metallic.

The ice on the next pane was already disturbed, had been wiped away by someone recently. Beads of condensation stood like tiny lenses warping the light. He rubbed the glass and knew what had happened. He saw the woman inside with the auburn hair that she sometimes kept in a bun. This was not his wife. This was someone who wanted that, wanted
him
like that.

‘Hello?’

Troy turned toward the voice. The night-shift doctor was heading his way, weaving between the pods, coming for him. Troy clasped his hand over the soreness on his arm. He didn’t want to be taken again. They couldn’t make him forget.

‘Sir, you shouldn’t be in here.’

Troy didn’t answer. The doctor stopped at the foot of the pod. Inside, a woman who wasn’t his wife lay in slumber. Wasn’t his wife, but had wanted to be.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ the doctor asked.

‘I’d like to stay,’ Troy said. He felt a bizarre calmness. All the pain had been ripped away. This was more forceful than forgetting. He remembered everything. His soul had been cut free.

‘I can’t have you in here, sir. Come with me. You’ll freeze in here.’

Troy glanced down. He had forgotten to put on shoes. He curled his toes away from the floor … then allowed them to settle.

‘Sir? Please.’ The young doctor gestured down the aisle. Troy let go of his arm and saw that things were handled as needed. No kicking meant no straps. No shivering meant no needles.

He heard the squeak of hurrying boots out in the hallway. A large man from Security appeared by the open vault door, visibly winded. Troy caught a glimpse of the doctor waving the man down. They were trying not to scare him. They didn’t know that he couldn’t be scared any more.

‘You’ll put me away for good,’ Troy said. It was something between a statement and a question. It was a realization. He wondered if he was like Hal – like
Carlton
– if the pills would never take again. He glanced toward the far end of the room, knew the empties were kept there. This was where he would be buried.