Insufficient

By David Adams

US Air Force Airman Amanda Turner is trapped underground. Locked in a massive underground vault. The world outside is toxic, the ground below them solid rock. There is no way out. No escape.

There are three thousand, nine hundred, and ninety one men. And nine women.

Nine.

A novel in three acts, set in Hugh Howey's world of Wool.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Adams
• Release date: Oct 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386992103

David Adams

David Adams served as an Officer in the Australian Army Reserve, trained alongside United States Marines Corps and Special Air Services SAS personnel, and served in the A.D.F as a Platoon Commander of Military Police. He has worked alongside Queensland Police Officers and held investigative roles with The Commission for Children and Child Safety.

Book preview

Insufficient By David Adams

Copyright David Adams

2018

Insufficient

A Silo novel

ACT I

Insufficient

Human beings are deuterostomes, which means that when they develop in the womb the anus forms before any other opening. At one point all humans were nothing more than an arsehole.

Some people never change.

1

The Princess and the Monomolecular Pea

Airlock

Floor 1

Silo 3

Once upon a time, a princess was trapped in a silo.

AIRMAN AMANDA TURNER STARED AT the great steel doors to the world outside the Silo, as she did most days, half expecting them to open. Open and flood the facility with whatever toxic chemicals ate the outside world and stripped the trees of leaves, bark, leaving only the wood. Nothing but bones. Yet that death brought a measure of relief. Freedom.

But there would be no freedom for those trapped inside the Silo. There had been none for four months; they had all walked through the white fog, and now she was trapped below the Earth with four thousand airmen, a whole Group. Three thousand, nine hundred and ninety one men and nine women.

The princesses of the Silo. That was how she and the others had been treated, like princesses from her fairy tales. Given warm smiles, gifts of wine and food, visits. Every day she was bombarded by ‘how are you?’s and ‘if you need anything, just ask’s. They became like breathing; something so frequent that each event passed unnoticed and unremembered.

Turner had never wanted to join the military. She wanted to be a writer. She had an idea, as most people who choose this path do, for a story. A series of stories. Science fiction retelling of classic fairy tales, changing them slightly and bringing them to a new audience. The first of them was the Princess and the Monomolecular Pea. In her story, a planet would choose as their ruler the one with the softest, most sensitive skin. Each night, the women vying for the title of Princess would sleep on specially prepared beds. Brain wave analysis would verify if they could feel the atoms-thin bumps underneath their mattresses, which would become thinner and thinner every night, until they were the size of a single atom. If they could still feel it, they would rule over the land as Princess.

A new twist on an old idea. Now though, every day was spent living in this giant Silo, this tomb under the ground. There was no time for writing except in her mind.

Today was just like every other day. The airlock’s steel doors did not open and Prince Charming did not sweep into the Silo, save the princess, and carry her away to his castle. But neither did the doors open and the atmosphere outside kill them all. Midday passed and it was time to make herself ready for her shift in the converted apartment which served as an armoury.

Turner stood, turned her back on the metres of steel that separated the roiling death that was the outside from the impossibly clean, freshly constructed interior of the Silo, and nearly ran face to face with a uniformed chest.

Sorry, Airman, said Captain Vincent Nguyen, her CO. He was Hmong. Vietnamese. Six foot four with shoulders like a linebacker. A giant, even amongst the physically fit military crew she’d been stuck in this hole with.

Turner stepped back. My apologies, sir. I didn’t hear you. I was just—

Just seeing if the doors are going to open? Nguyen looked over her shoulder, to the barrier that kept the toxic outside in. I’ve spent some time here myself, wondering. Hoping. I think everyone has, although most have given up by now. We know that nothing’s going to change and, well, we’ve accepted we’re not going anywhere.

Maybe. I like to think that I don’t like to give up that easily, sir.

Nguyen smiled. That’s what I like to hear. His posture shifted, becoming more easy, and his tone suggested that formalities were to be relaxed. How’re you coping with all this?

That was her third ‘how are you?’ for today and it was only 1300. As well as anyone, sir. The enlisted personnel quarters are actually pretty decent. Private amenities, private bunk, private shower. Officers must live in luxury.

Oh yeah, this place is nice. Nice warm showers that never run out of hot water, steak every night. The people who built this place knew how to feed a guy.

Princes had to live well too, it seemed. Be careful with that stuff. I don’t think it’ll last, sir. There’s a reason why they put so much effort into the agriculture here. They expect us to grow what we can.

Another casual, easy smile from Nguyen. For now we have heaps. Come around sometime for dinner, Amanda. I’ll show you.

Amanda. Inwardly, Turner’s strategic hope reserve dropped another notch. The princess had earned herself another suitor. Perhaps she would rewrite her story to match her experience in the Silo. The line of princes, barons and handsome men waiting to woo her would stretch from one end of the kingdom to the other, all patiently waiting their turn to seduce her with their words. They watched with eagerness as the princess writhed on her bedsheets, invisibly small peas prodding her back.

Thank you, sir, but I think Colonel Eversman would have something to say about fraternisation of that nature.

Only if you told him.

The prince was deceitful. Not an attractive quality; a prince who would lie about having you over for dinner would lie about things much more serious. He who cheats at life may not cheat at golf, but he who cheats at golf would always cheat at life. These things have a way of getting out. I think it’d be best if we maintained our professional distance, sir.

The prince did not take rejection well. She could see it on his face, no matter how well he tried to disguise it.

Of course, Airman. I didn’t mean to suggest that we act in any way inappropriately. It’s not a crime to eat.

No, sir.

Nguyen brought his heels together. Dismissed, Airman.

And with that the princess left the door to her castle and went back to her quarters to shower, change and prepare for her shift.

Evening, Turner. How’re you doing?

Fourth ‘how are you?’ for the day. This time from Airman Jack Diaz, who shared her shift, as they made their way back from the armoury, being properly relieved. They walked along the stairway that descended to the second floor, the yellow paint still fresh.

Good. She shook out her shoulders. Standing guard over a barely stocked armoury was monotonous, mindless work but that appealed to her. She could stare down the long, featureless steel corridor and think. Her mind could fly away from where she was, to her stories. To flights of fancy about the Gingerbread Cyberman and Cinderella with her perspex shoe.

Diaz cracked his shoulder. How was your shift?

Was that a fifth ‘how are you?’, coming right on the heels of the fourth? That was a rude way to talk to a princess. Good. Uneventful, just how I like it.

Diaz and Turner began the long stairway down to level 6 where the enlisted crewmen had their lodgings. She never understood why the people who built this place had seen fit to install massive monitors showing the outside world, presumably at vast expense, but neglect to install an elevator. In a way, though, the stairs were a blessing. They maintained fitness, and a healthy body bred a healthy mind.

To be honest, Diaz said, I like a bit of excitement on a shift.

Are you kidding? Turner gave him a sceptical side-glance as they made their way through the crowd. The eyes of strangers, seeing her as a curiosity and an interest, were almost ignored. Sometimes I worry about you.

I’m serious. Diaz took the next flight of steps and Turner went with him. It doesn’t take much for you to fall into a routine, you know? A little excitement, a little variation keeps the mind alert. Boredom is the enemy down here.

I suppose there’s some truth in that.

The flow of people, even and fluid, became disturbed. It wasn’t something that she noticed consciously, but her subconscious mind noticed that not everything around her was right and jolted her out of the conversation. It was the years of serving as a guard, a unique skill set that allowed her to switch from monotony to maximum alertness almost instantly.

Raised voices. People were moving away from a single point, one of the railings that lead to the empty centre of the Silo. All heads turned toward the disturbance. One of the voices sounded familiar.

Anyway, continued Diaz, I don’t think—

Shut up. Turner grabbed his arm, moving towards the source of the disturbance. Diaz started to protest, but then he clearly sensed it too.

What the fuck? he said. Another fight?

She didn’t think so. Make a hole, Turner commanded, pushing her way through the crowd of people who stood, transfixed, all staring into the centre of a circle.

Senior Airman Craig Fischer, one of the her suitors. A chef who always spoiled her with a little extra corn beef, a second helping of dessert before seconds were officially announced. He’d presented her with flowers. She’d rejected him like all the others.

Now, this time instead of a spatula, Fischer had an M9 pistol in his shaking hand.

Put the gun down, buddy, said someone. Just relax.

Turner made her way through the circle, stumbling out into the open space between Fischer and the circle of spectators. Fischer looked at her, and in his eyes she saw a strange kind of pain; a mixture of frustration, anger, despair. There was recognition there, too. Blame.

Craig, hey—

Fischer put the pistol under his chin. Turner’s words turned into a shriek as the gun blew the back of his head out into the void, falling like rain down on the lower levels. Fischer’s body slumped over, an empty shell with hollow eyes. There was no sound except the ringing in her ears.

Fuck!

The crowd of onlookers exploded into motion. Someone moved forward, ejecting the magazine from the pistol. Someone shouted out for a medic. Someone put their hands to the gaping hole at the back of Fischer’s head, as though staunching the blood could save a man missing half his brain.

But so many more hands reached for her, sheltering her, protecting her.

Come on, Turner, you don’t need to see this.

Turner, are you okay? Six.

Jesus fuck, Turner. Don’t look.

In the sea of hands she found Diaz’s, grabbing his arm with both of hers, using it as her anchor through the crowd. The ringing in her ears faded as they got further away, although they had to fight the tide of advancing, curious airmen trying to see what the commotion was all about.

She barely recognised anyone in the sea of faces and she didn’t feel safe. She let Diaz take her away from Fischer’s body, away from the railing where the corpse was being attended to and down a level, to where things were quiet.

Fuck, said Turner when they arrived, her breathing shaky.

Fuck, answered Diaz. His eyes widened in concern. Wait, you got some blood on you. Hold on.

Blood. Diaz might well have told her she had lava on her face. A wave of goosebumps travelled up her legs, up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She froze as Diaz fiddled in his pocket, producing a napkin and dabbing it uncomfortably close to her left eye. Already she could feel it staining her skin. Sinking into her body, never to be removed. Hurry, she pleaded. Hurry.

There. I think I got it.

The prince was kind, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have an agenda. Thanks.

Don’t like blood?

She shook her head emphatically. No.

I got it all, don’t worry. Anyway. We should get you checked out. Blood contact and all.

The idea of being checked out worried her, but the idea of having blood on her terrified her. She knew she wasn’t at risk for anything serious. Screening for the military meant that the very worst things she could possibly get were unlikely. Yeah.

Hang on, there’s a bit more.

The prince enjoyed touching her face. Turner flinched unconsciously as the napkin returned. Diaz stopped, not quite touching her.

What’s wrong?

Nothing. Just get the blood.

He did so, then Diaz tucked the napkin back in his breast pocket. You’ve been on edge lately, he said, and before this, too. What’s wrong?

How could she explain that four thousand men locked in a hole for four months with fewer women than she had fingers made her uneasy, without offending him? Nothing.

Sure seem pretty rattled for ‘nothing’.

"It’s nothing, okay? It’s just… it’s just the blood."

It’s because Fischer was interested in you, wasn’t it?

Everyone’s interested in me. The words just tumbled out of her lips, escaping from the pressure of being held there.

Phh. Not me.

This prince might be deceptive too. Turner glared at him.

Diaz rolled his eyes. Well, let me put it this way for you. The odds of me getting laid are much better than they are for most of the other guys in here.

She scrunched up her face in confusion. What?

Let’s just say that there’s a reason I enlisted in 2011. Specifically.

I—what? The prince made no sense.

"I’m gay. As in, well, you know. 2011 was when Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell ended."

The prince courted princes. Suddenly it all made sense. The tension flowed out of her with an almost palpable hiss. Oh, thank God.

You seriously didn’t know?

No!

But the posters in my quarters?

I thought you just liked that band. Um…whatever it’s called.

"Oh, I like the look of the band a’right. Their music’s shithouse."

Turner smiled, wide and genuinely. Right.

Diaz just shook his head. Darling, you are as oblivious as my poor, conservative, painfully Mexican parents. He tossed his arm around her shoulder. Come on. Let’s go get you checked out.

And so they went towards the infirmary, her uniform splattered in blood, hugging a gay man tight enough to hurt. She hated the feeling of blood; the thought of it on her body gave her chills. She wanted nothing more than to strip off out of her tainted clothes, to squirm free of the cloth that disgusted her so. All the way she felt as though her clothes were chafing her skin raw.

Every princess had their pea.

2

St. George and the Dragon

Infirmary

Floor 1

Silo 3

YOU SHOULD BE FINE. THERE was only minimal exposure, the risk of any kind of transmission is pretty low.

Of the nine princesses that lived locked in the castle of Silo 3, one was a doctor. Lieutenant Jennifer Sinclair. Turner was infinitely glad for the short, energetic woman’s presence. She was exactly how she thought of St. George, in one of her stories. Small but strong, brave but friendly. A warrior and a healer.

Thank you, Turner said. She knew she was imagining it, but she could still feel the blood on her skin, even though Sinclair had used a thick sponge and a strong disinfectant. It stained her armour. She couldn’t resist rubbing at her arm, the skin red and raw. But are you sure you got it all?

I’m sure.

She felt as though there were little legs crawling on