She turned to Lukas. He was studying her, his lips pursed, and she could tell he knew. There was only one way this was going forward, and it scared the hell out of him.
Peter turned and opened the door. He looked back at Lukas.
“Can you give us a second?” Lukas asked, standing up and walking toward the door.
Peter nodded. He turned and shook Juliette’s hand as she thanked him for the millionth time. He checked his star, which hung askew on his chest, and then left the conference room.
Lukas crossed out of sight of the window, grabbed Juliette’s hand, and pulled her toward the door.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Did you really think I would just accept that job and—?”
Lukas pressed his palm against the door and forced it shut. Juliette faced him, confused, then felt his arms slide gently around her waist, mindful of her wounds.
“You were right,” he whispered. He leaned close, put his head by her shoulder. “I’m stalling. I don’t want you to go.”
His breath was warm against her neck. Juliette relaxed. She forgot what she was about to say. She wrapped an arm around his back, held his neck with her other hand. “It’s okay,” she said, relieved to hear him say it, to finally admit it. And she could feel him trembling, could hear his broken and stuttered exhalations.
“It’s okay,” she whispered again, pressing her cheek against his, trying to comfort him. “I’m not going anywhere for good—”
Lukas pulled away to look at her. She felt him searching her face, tears welling up in his eyes. His body had started shaking. She could feel it in his arms, his back.
And then she realized, as he pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers, that it wasn’t fear or panic she was sensing in him. It was nerves.
She whimpered into their kiss, the rush to her head better than the doctor’s drugs. It washed away any pain caused by his hands clutching her back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt lips move against her own. She kissed him back, and it was over too soon. He stepped away and held her hands, glanced nervously at the window.
“It’s a . . . uh . . .”
“That was nice,” she told him, squeezing his hands.
“We should probably . . .” He jerked his chin toward the door.
Juliette smiled. “Yeah. Probably so.”
He walked her through the entrance hall of IT and to the landing. A tech was waiting with her shoulder bag. Juliette saw that Lukas had padded the strap with rags, worried about her wounds.
“And you’re sure you don’t need an escort?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. She shrugged the bag higher up her neck. “I’ll see you in a week or so.”
“You can radio me,” he told her.
Juliette laughed. “I know.”
She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, then turned to the great stairwell. Someone in the passing crowd nodded at her. She was sure she didn’t know him but nodded back. Other chins were turning to follow her. She walked past them and grabbed that great curved bar of steel that wound its way through the heart of things, that held those pouting and worn treads together as life after life was ground away on them. And Juliette lifted her boot to that first step on a journey far too long in coming—
“Hey!”
Lukas called after her. He ran across the landing, his brows lowered in confusion. “I thought you were heading down, going to see your friends.”
Juliette smiled at him. A porter passed by, loaded down with his burdens. Juliette thought of how many of her own had recently slipped away.
“Family first,” she told Lukas. She glanced up that great shaft in the center of the humming silo and lifted her boot to the next tread. “I’ve got to go see my father first.”
Q&A with Author Hugh Howey
Q: Is this really the end?!
A: To quote every one of my favorite kung-fu movies: Every end is a new beginning. There are many more stories to tell. Not just the rest of silo 18’s story, but the future of silo 17, which is about to change. And then there are all the other silos crowding in around them. You won’t believe what’s going on in silo 40!
Q: Why no elevator?
A: The same reason communication is expensive. Those in power fear our ability to come together and share ideas, thoughts, and dreams.
Also: The Union of Amalgamated Porters.
Q: Why do so many people die in your books?
A: To make room for all the new ones!
Q: Can I tell you how awesome I think these books are?
A: Why, yes, you can! Even better if you tell others or write a review. I read every single review on Amazon, even though some of them upset my tummy. If you want to help other readers discover the stories you love, take a few minutes and craft a review. Do it for all the books you enjoy. As writers, our souls subsist on your feedback. It means a lot to us!
Q: When will this book become a movie?!
A: What if we do an epic TV show instead . . . ?
Q: What’s next?
A: I’m working on a sequel to Sand right now. If you haven’t read that one, it’s about a family of sand divers who live in that narrow and inhospitable strip of earth between the Sand Mountains and the constant warring in No Man’s Land. It is a truly dreadful place. Silo 17 would be their Shangri-La. Anyone who’s ever tried to leave Sand Land has either perished or has never been heard from again.
That is, until a young girl comes back from that elsewhere with stories from the other side . . .
Q: How can I keep up with your writing?
A: That’s an awfully convenient question! Thanks for asking.
You can follow me on Twitter: @hughhowey
You can visit my website regularly: hughhowey.com
And you can email me: hughhowey@gmail.com
Q: Tell the truth: Did you come up with all these questions yourself?
A: Yes.
Meanwhile, in silo 17 . . .
Epilogue
“Thirty-two!”
Elise danced up the steps of the down deep, her breath trailing in long curls of steam behind her, the clumsy feet of youth making a racket with their heavy boots on the wet steel.
“Thirty-two steps, Mr. Solo!”
She made it back up to the landing, tripped over the last step, and caught herself on her hands and knees. Elise stayed there a minute, head down, probably deciding if she would cry or be okay.
Solo waited for her to cry.
Instead, she looked up at him, a wide smile telling him she was fine. There was a gap in that smile where a loose tooth had come out and not yet been replaced.
“It’s going down,” she said. She wiped her hands on her new overalls and ran over to him. “The water’s going down!”
Solo grunted as she threw herself into his hip and hugged his waist. He draped an arm across her back while she squeezed him.
“Everything’s gonna be great!”
Solo held the railing with one hand and looked down past the rust-colored stain of old blood beneath his feet, looked past that memory and into the receding waters far below. He reached for the radio on his hip. Juliette would be the most excited to know.