羊毛战记 part 4 the unraveling 51-凯发k8官网

　　51

　　this day’s black fate on more days doth depend:

　　this but begins the woe others must end.

　　the waiting was interminable. it was the long silence of itchy scalps and trickling sweat, thediscomfort of weight on elbows, of backs bent, of bellies flat against an unforgiving conference table.

　　lukas peered down the length of his fearsome rifle and through the conference room’s shattered glasswindow. little fragment jewels remained in the side of the jamb like transparent teeth. lukas couldstill hear, ringing in his ears, the incredible bang from sims’s gun that had taken out the glass. hecould still smell the acrid scent of gunpowder in the air, the looks of worry on the faces of the othertechs. the destruction had seemed so unnecessary. all this preparation, the toting of massive blackguns out of storage, the interruption of his talk with bernard, news of people coming from the downdeep, it all made little sense.

　　he checked the slide on the side of the rifle and tried to remember the five minutes of instructionhe’d been given hours earlier. there was a round in the chamber. the gun was cocked. more bulletswaited patiently in the clip.

　　and the boys in security gave him a hard time for his tech jargon. lukas’s vocabulary hadexploded with new terms. he thought about the rooms beneath the servers, the pages and pages of theorder, the rows of books he’d only gotten a glimpse of. his mind sagged under the weight of it all.

　　he spent another minute practicing his sighting, looking down the barrel and lining up the smallcross in the tiny circle. he aimed at the cluster of conference chairs that had been rolled into anobstructing jumble by the door. for all he knew, they would be waiting like this for days and nothingwould ever happen. it had been a while since any porter had brought an update on what was going onbelow.

　　for practice, he gently slid his finger into the guard and against the trigger. he tried to getcomfortable with the idea of pulling that lever, of fighting the upward kick sims had told them toexpect.

　　bobbie milner—a shadow no more than sixteen—made a joke beside him, and sims told themboth to shut the fuck up. lukas didn’t protest at being included in the admonishment. he glancedover at the security gate, where a bristle of black barrels poked through the stanchions and over themetal duty desk. peter billings, the new silo sheriff, was over there fiddling with his small gun.

　　bernard stood behind the sheriff, doling out instructions to his men. bobbie milner shifted his weightbeside lukas and grunted, trying to get more comfortable.

　　waiting. more waiting. they were all waiting.

　　of course, had lukas known what was coming, he wouldn’t have minded.

　　he would’ve begged to wait there forever.

　　????

　　knox led his group through the sixties with just a few stops for water, a pause to secure theirpacks and tighten their laces. they passed several curious porters with overnight deliveries whoprodded for details about where they were heading, about the blackouts. each porter left unhappy.

　　and hopefully, empty-headed.

　　pieter had been right: the stairwell was singing. it vibrated with the march of too many feet. thosewho lived above were generally moving upward, away from the blackouts and toward the promise ofpower, of warm food and hot showers. meanwhile, knox and his people mobilized behind them tosquelch a different kind of power.

　　at fifty-six, they had their first spot of trouble. a group of farmers stood outside the hydroponicfarm lowering a cluster of power cables over the railing, presumably toward the small group they hadseen the last landing down. when the farmers spotted the blue overalls of mechanical, one of themcalled out, “hey, we keep you fed, why can’t you keep the juice on?”

　　“talk to it,” marck replied from the front of the queue. “they’re the ones blowing fuses. we’redoing what we can.”

　　“well, do it faster,” the farmer said. “i thought we just had a rat-damned power holiday to preventthis nonsense.”

　　“we’ll have it by lunchtime,” shirly told them.

　　knox and the others caught up with the head of the group, creating a jam by the landing.

　　“the faster we get up there the faster you’ll get your juice,” knox explained. he tried to hold hisconcealed gun casually, like it was any other tool.

　　“well, how about giving us a hand with this tap then? they’ve had power on fifty-seven for mostof the morning. we’d like enough to get our pumps cranking.” he indicated the trunk of wires coilingover the railing.

　　knox considered this. what the man was asking for was technically illegal. challenging himabout it would mean delays, but telling him to go ahead might look suspicious. he could sensemclain’s group several levels up, waiting on them. pace and timing were everything.

　　“i can spare two of my men to help out. just as a favor. as long as it doesn’t get back to me thatmechanical had shit to do with this.”

　　“like i care,” the farmer said. “i just want water moving.”

　　“shirly, you and courtnee give them a hand. catch up when you can.”

　　shirly’s mouth dropped open. she begged with her eyes for him to reconsider.

　　“get going,” he told her.

　　marck came to her side. he lifted his wife’s pack and handed her his multi-tool. she begrudginglyaccepted it, glowered at knox a moment longer, then turned to go, not saying a word to him or herhusband.

　　the farmer let go of the cables and took a step toward knox. “hey, i thought you said you’d lendme two of—”

　　knox leveled a glare harsh enough to make the man pause. “do you want the best i got?” heasked. “because you’ve got it.”

　　the farmer lifted his palms and backed away. courtnee and shirly could already be heardstomping their way below to coordinate with the men on the lower landing.

　　“let’s go,” knox said, hitching up his pack.

　　the men and women of mechanical and supply lurched forward once more. they left behind thegroup of farmers on landing fifty-six, who watched the long column wind its way upward.

　　whispers rose as the power cables were lowered. powerful forces were merging over thesepeople’s heads, bad intentions coming together and heading for something truly awful.

　　and anyone with eyes and ears could tell: some kind of reckoning was coming.

　　????

　　there was no warning for lukas, no countdown. hours of quiet anticipation, of insufferablenothingness, simply erupted into violence. even though he had been told to expect the worst, lukasfelt like the waiting so long for something to happen just made it a fiercer surprise when it finally did.

　　the double doors of landing thirty-four blew open. solid steel peeled back like curls of paper. thesharp ring made lukas jump, his hand slip off the stock of his rifle. gunfire erupted beside him,bobbie milner shooting at nothing and screaming in fear. maybe excitement. sims was yellingimpossibly over the roar. when it died down, something flew through the smoke, a canister, bouncingtoward the security gate.

　　there was a terrible pause—and then another explosion like a blow to the ears. lukas nearlydropped his gun. the smoke by the security gate couldn’t quite fog the carnage. pieces of peoplelukas had known came to a sick rest in the entrance hall of it. the people responsible began tosurge through before he could take stock, before he could become fearful of another explosionoccurring right in front of him.

　　the rifle beside him barked again, and this time sims didn’t yell. this time, several other barrelsjoined in. the people trying to push through the chairs tumbled into them instead, their bodiesshaking as if pulled by invisible strings, arcs of red like hurled paint flying from their bodies.

　　more came. a large man with a throaty roar. everything moved so slowly. lukas could see theman’s mouth part, a yell in the center of a burly beard, a chest as wide as two men. he held a rifle athis waist. he fired at the ruined security station. lukas watched peter billings spin to the floor,clutching his shoulder. bits of glass shivered from the window frame in front of lukas as barrel afterbarrel erupted across the conference table, the shattered window seeming insignificant now. aprudent move.

　　the hail of bullets hit the man unseen. the conference room was an ambush, a side-on attack. thelarge man shook as some of the wild fire got lucky. his beard sagged open as his mouth parted. hisrifle was cracked in half, a shiny bullet between his fingers. he tried to reload.

　　the guns of it loosed their own bullets too fast to count. levers were held, and springs andgunpowder did the rest. the giant man fumbled with his rifle but never got it reloaded. he tumbledinto the chairs, sending them crashing across the floor. another figure appeared through the door, atiny woman. lukas watched her down the length of his barrel, saw her turn and look right at him, thesmoke from the explosion drifting toward her, white hair flowing about her shoulders as if the smokewere a part of her.

　　he could see her eyes. he had yet to shoot his gun, had watched, jaw slack, as the fighting tookplace.

　　the woman bent her arm back and made to throw something his way.

　　lukas pulled the trigger. his rifle flashed and lurched. in the time it took, the long and terribletime it took for the bullet to cross the room, he realized it was just an old woman. holding something.

　　a bomb.

　　her torso spun and her chest blossomed red. the object fell. there was another awful wait, moreattackers appearing, screaming in anger, until an explosion blew the chairs and the people amongthem apart.

　　lukas wept while a second surge made a futile attempt. he wept until his clip was empty, wept ashe fumbled for the release, shoved a spare into the butt, the salt bitter on his lips as he drew back thatbolt and let loose with another menacing hail of metal—so much stouter and quicker than the flesh itmet.