羊毛战记 part 3 casting off 29-凯发k8官网

　　29

　　the climb up was to take three days. longer than it should have, but there were protocols. a day tripup to hank’s office, a night in his cell, deputy marsh coming down the next morning from the midsto escort her up another fifty levels to his office.

　　she felt numb during this second day of climbing, the looks from passersby sliding off her likewater on grease. it was difficult to concern herself with her own life—she was too busy tallying allthe others lost, some of them because of her.

　　marsh, like hank, tried to make small talk, and all juliette could think to say in return was thatthey were on the wrong side. that evil ran amok. instead, she kept her mouth shut.

　　at the mids deputy station, she was shown to a familiar enough cell, just like the one in hank’s inthe down deep. no wallscreen, only a stack of primed cinder blocks. she collapsed onto the bunkbefore he even had the gate locked and lay there for what felt like hours, waiting for night to comeand pass to dawn, for peter’s new deputy to come and march her up the last leg of her journey.

　　she checked her wrist often, but hank had confiscated her watch. he probably wouldn’t evenknow how to wind it. the thing would eventually fall into disrepair and return to being a trinket, auseless thing worn upside down for its pretty band.

　　this saddened her more than it should have. she rubbed her bare wrist, dying to know the time,when marsh came back and told her she had a visitor.

　　juliette sat up on the cot and swung her legs around. who would come up to the mids frommechanical?

　　when lukas appeared on the other side of the bars, the dam that held back all her emotions nearlybroke. she felt her neck constrict, her jaws ache from fighting the sobs, the emptiness in her chestnearly puncture and burst. he grabbed the bars and leaned his head against them, his templestouching the smooth steel, a sad smile on his face.

　　“hey,” he said.

　　juliette barely recognized him. she was used to seeing him in the dark, had been in a hurry whenthey’d bumped into each other on the stairs. he was a striking man, his eyes older than his face, hislight brown hair slicked back with sweat from what she assumed was a hurried walk down.

　　“you didn’t need to come,” she said, speaking softly and slowly to keep from crying. what reallysaddened her was someone seeing her like this, someone she was beginning to realize she caredabout. the indignity was too much.

　　“we’re fighting this,” he said. “your friends are collecting signatures. don’t give up.”

　　she shook her head. “it won’t work,” she told him. “please don’t get your hopes up.” she walkedto the bars and wrapped her hands a few inches below his. “you don’t even know me.”

　　“i know this is ratshit—” he turned away, a tear streaking down his cheek. “another cleaning?”

　　he croaked. “why?”

　　“it’s what they want,” juliette said. “there’s no stopping them.”

　　lukas’s hands slid down the bars and wrapped around hers. juliette couldn’t free them to wipe hercheeks. she tried to dip her head to use her shoulder.

　　“i was coming up to see you that day—” lukas shook his head and took a deep breath. “i wascoming to ask you out—”

　　“don’t,” she said. “lukas. don’t do this.”

　　“i told my mom about you.”

　　“oh, for god’s sake, lukas—”

　　“this can’t happen,” he said. he shook his head. “it can’t. you can’t go.”

　　when he looked back up, juliette saw that there was more fear in his eyes than even she felt. shewiggled one hand free and peeled his other one off. she pushed them away. “you need to let this go,”

　　she said. “i’m sorry. just find someone. don’t end up like me. don’t wait—”

　　“i thought i had found someone,” he said plaintively.

　　juliette turned to hide her face.

　　“go,” she whispered.

　　she stood still, feeling his presence on the other side of those bars, this boy who knew about starsbut nothing about her. and she waited, listening to him sob while she cried quietly to herself, untilshe finally heard his feet shuffle across the floor, his sad gait carrying him away.

　　????

　　that night, she spent another evening on a cold cot, another evening of not being told what she’dbeen arrested for, an evening to count the hurts she had unwittingly caused. the next day, there was afinal climb up through a land of strangers, the whispers of a double cleaning chasing after her, juliettefalling into another stunned trance, one leg moving and then the other.

　　at the end of her climb, she was moved into a familiar cell, past peter billings and her old desk.

　　her escort collapsed into deputy marnes’s squeaking chair, complaining of exhaustion.

　　juliette could feel the shell that had formed around her during the long three days, that hardenamel of numbness and disbelief. people didn’t talk softer; they just sounded that way. they didn’tstand further from her; they just seemed more distant.

　　she sat on the lone cot and listened to peter billings charge her with conspiracy. a data drivehung in a limp plastic bag like a pet fish that had gobbled all its water and now lay dead. dug out ofthe incinerator, somehow. its edges were blackened. a scroll was unspooled, only partly pulped.

　　details of her computer search were listed. she knew most of what they had found was holston’sdata, not hers. she wasn’t sure what the point would be of telling them this. they already had enoughfor several cleanings.

　　a judge stood beside peter in his black overalls while her sins were listed, as if anyone were reallythere to decide her fate. juliette knew the decision had already been made, and who had made it.

　　scottie’s name was mentioned, but she didn’t catch the context. it could have been that the e-mailon his account had been discovered. it could have been that they were going to pin his death on her,just in case. bones buried with bones, keeping the secrets held between them safe.

　　she tuned them out and instead watched over her shoulder as a small tornado formed on the flatsand spun toward the hills. it eventually dissipated as it crashed into the gentle slope, dissolving likeso many cleaners, thrown to the caustic breeze and left to waste away.

　　bernard never showed himself. too afraid or too smug, jules would never know. she peereddown at her hands, at the thin trace of grease deep under her nails, and knew that she was alreadydead. it didn’t matter, somehow. there was a line of bodies behind and before her. she was just theshuffling present, the cog in the machine, spinning and gnashing its metal teeth until that one gearwore down, until the slivers of her self broke loose and did more damage, until she needed to bepulled, cast off, and replaced with another.

　　pam brought her oatmeal and fried potatoes from the cafeteria, her favorite. she left it steamingoutside the bars. notes were ported up from mechanical all day and passed through to her. she wasglad none of her friends visited. their silent voices were more than enough.

　　juliette’s eyes did the crying, the rest of her too numb to shake or sob. she read the sweet noteswhile tears dripped on her thighs. knox’s was a simple apology. she imagined he would rather havemurdered and done something—even if he were cast out for the attempt—than made the impotentdisplay his note said he would regret all his life. others sent spiritual messages, promises to see heron the other side, quotes from memorized books. shirly maybe knew her best and gave her an updateon the generator and the new centrifuge for the refinery. she told her all would remain well, andlargely because of her. this elicited the faintest of sobs from juliette. she rubbed the charcoal letterswith her fingers, transferring some of her friends’ black thoughts to herself.

　　she was left at last with walker’s note, the only one she couldn’t figure. as the sun set over theharsh landscape, the wind dying down for the night and allowing the dust to settle, she read his wordsover and over, trying to deduce what he meant.

　　jules—

　　no fear. now is for laughing. the truth is a joke and they’re good in supply.

　　—walk

　　????

　　she wasn’t sure how she fell asleep, only that she woke up and found notes like peeled chips ofpaint around her cot, more of them slipped between the bars overnight. juliette turned her head andpeered through the darkness, realizing someone was there. a man stood behind the bars. when shestirred, he pulled away, a wedding band singing with the sound of steel on steel. she rose hurriedlyfrom the cot and rushed to the bars on sleepy legs. she grabbed them with trembling hands andpeered through the darkness as the figure melded with the black.

　　“dad—?” she called out, reaching through the grate.

　　but he didn’t turn. the tall figure quickened his pace, slipping into the void, a mirage now, as wellas a distant childhood memory.

　　????

　　the following sunrise was something to behold. there was a rare break in the low dark cloudsthat allowed visible rays of golden smoke to slide sideways across the hills. juliette lay in her cot,watching the dimness fade to light, her cheek resting on her hands, the smell of cold untouchedoatmeal drifting from outside the bars. she thought of the men and women in it working through thepast three nights to construct a suit tailored for her, their blasted parts ported up from supply. thesuit would be timed to last her just long enough, to get her through the cleaning but no further.

　　in all the ordeal of her handcuffed climb, the days and nights of numb acceptance, the thought ofthe actual cleaning had never occurred to her until now, on the very morning of that duty. she felt,with absolute certainty, that she would not perform the act. she knew they all said this, every cleaner,and that they all experienced some magical, perhaps spiritual, transformation on the threshold of theirdeaths and performed nonetheless. but she had no one up top to clean for. she wasn’t the first cleanerfrom mechanical, but she was determined to be the first to refuse.

　　she said as much as peter took her from her cell and led her to that yellow door. a tech from itwas waiting inside, making last-minute adjustments to her suit.

　　juliette listened to his instructions with a clinical detachment. she saw all the weaknesses in thedesign. she realized—if she hadn’t been so busy working two shifts in mechanical to keep the floodsout, the oil in, the power humming—that she could have made a better suit in her sleep. she studiedthe washers and seals, identical to the kind employed in pumps, but designed, she knew, to breakdown. the shiny coat of heat tape, applied in overlapping strips to form the skin of the suit, she knewto be purposefully inferior. she nearly pointed these things out to the tech as he promised her thelatest and greatest. he zipped her up, tugged on her gloves, helped with her boots, and explained thenumbered pockets.

　　juliette repeated the mantra from walker’s note: no fear. no fear. no fear.

　　now is for laughing. the truth is a joke. and they’re in good supply.

　　the tech checked her gloves and the velcro seals over her zippers while juliette puzzled overwalker’s note. why had he capitalized supply? or was she even remembering it correctly? now shewasn’t sure. a strip of tape went around one boot, then the other. juliette laughed at the spectacle ofit all. it was all so utterly pointless. they should bury her in the dirt farms, where her body mightactually do some good.

　　the helmet came last, handled with obvious care. the tech had her hold it while he adjusted themetal ring collar around her neck. she looked down at her reflection in the visor, her eyes hollow andso much older than she remembered yet so much younger than she felt. finally, the helmet went on,the room dimmer through the dark glass. the tech reminded her of the argon blast, of the fires thatwould follow. she would have to get out quickly or die a far worse death inside.

　　he left her to consider this. the yellow door behind her clanged shut, its wheel spun on the insideas if by a ghost.

　　juliette wondered if she should simply stay and succumb to the flames, not give this spiritualawakening a chance to persuade her. what would they say in mechanical when that tale spiraled itsway through the silo? some would be proud of her obstinacy, she knew. some would be horrified ather having gone out that way, in a bone-charring inferno. a few might even think she’d not beenbrave enough to take the first step out the door, that she’d wasted the chance to see the outside withher own eyes.

　　her suit crinkled as the argon was pumped into the room, creating enough pressure to temporarilyhold the outside toxins at bay. she found herself shuffling toward the door, almost against her will.

　　when it cracked, the plastic sheeting in the room flattened itself against every pipe, against the low-jutting bench, and she knew the end had come. the doors before her parted, the silo splitting like theskin of a pea, giving her a view of the outside through a haze of condensing steam.

　　one boot slid through that crack, followed by another. and juliette moved out into the world,dead set on leaving it on her own terms, seeing it for the first time with her own eyes even throughthis limited portal, this roughly eight-inch-by-two-inch sheet of glass, she suddenly realized.