of the central one. The engine's in the bottom of the central silo, control room is at the top of the upper central one. The outer silos are packed full of fuel and cargo. They're detachable just in case we need to swap them out."
"Why Silos?"
"Why not? Fairly cheap, fairly rigid. We had to shore them up, but it's easy."
"But they're not airtight, are they?"
"We spackled them."
"So, wait," Susan said, "The upper silo is the upper stage in this thing?"
"Oh, no, my luscious young pudding cup," Steve said, "No stages. This is all one stage."
* * *
When the sirens started, they went outside to see what the matter was. There was a long line of police cars and black vans snaking their way down the dirt road.
"Ah, crap" Steve said.
"What's going on?" Lee asked.
"My landlord—Phil—he must have gotten antsy about you and called the cops as soon as he got home," Susan ventured.
"Yeah—wait: Landlord? I thought he was your boyfriend or..."
"Now is not the time, Lee."
They waited for the cops to park; figuring just standing there innocently was the best way to deal with it. If they could see Susan was fine, and there of her own volition, what possible problem could there be? A lot of cars pulled up, a lot of cars. Steve edged back to the farmhouse and opened up both the front doors, then came back to rejoin them.
"Just in case," he said.
"I'm sure it'll be nothing at all," Lee said. Just the same, the four of them backed unconsciously closer to the door.
"Geez, are there even this many cops in Nebraska?" Grapeape asked. He was looking sweaty and twitchy. He started to hyperventilate, and went down on one knee.
"Put your hands over your heads and step forward" a voice on a megaphone commanded.
"If this is about me," Susan said, "I'm a reporter, and I'm here of my own free will!"
"Put your hands over your heads and step forward," the voice commanded again. It sounded angry this time. They all complied, excepting Grapeape, who looked like he was having a stroke despite his youth. He stayed on one knee, and put one hand on his head, the other hung down by his thigh. His hand twitched out something that looked like a baseball signal, and Elder Tom instantly took a bullet to the head.
His body fell backwards on to Grapeape, who himself flopped over to the side. Susan shrieked. Crazy Uncle Steve tackled her, scooping her up in a running bear hug and screamed "Back into the house! Back into the house!" Gunfire rang out, a few shots at first, then more, then more, like the sound of popcorn, a lot of popcorn. Before he even realized what he was doing, Lee grabbed Grapeape by his lapel and awkwardly dragged him back towards the house. He fell over as Grapeape stumbled to his hands and knees, grabbed Lee, and dragged him back towards the house. They fumbled over each other, then Grapeape managed to get to his feet and ran to the door. He glanced back and saw Lee on the ground, then ducked back into the line of fire, grabbed Lee, and bodily threw him up the three steps on to the porch. He ran forward as Lee crawled towards the door. Grapeape kicked Lee in the ass screaming, "Move! Move!" and both of them finally made it in.
"Close the doors! Close the doors!" Grapeape screamed.
"Wouldn't help, the walls are just wood, wouldn't even slow their bullets down," Lee gasped. A volley of bullets tore through the walls and shattered the windows. The power went out in the farmhouse. Headlights from the police cars projected eerie fingers of light into the darkened living room through the new holes in the wall.
"Down here! Down here!" Steve yelled from the kitchen. They scrambled—half commando-crawl, half disoriented toddler—to the kitchen, and found the older man standing by the basement door, waving them on. "Into the rocket!" he stage whispered.
They literally fell down the stairs, lading in a heap at the bottom. Steve hopped down three steps at a time, stomping on their piled bodies without even stopping, screaming and
"Why Silos?"
"Why not? Fairly cheap, fairly rigid. We had to shore them up, but it's easy."
"But they're not airtight, are they?"
"We spackled them."
"So, wait," Susan said, "The upper silo is the upper stage in this thing?"
"Oh, no, my luscious young pudding cup," Steve said, "No stages. This is all one stage."
* * *
When the sirens started, they went outside to see what the matter was. There was a long line of police cars and black vans snaking their way down the dirt road.
"Ah, crap" Steve said.
"What's going on?" Lee asked.
"My landlord—Phil—he must have gotten antsy about you and called the cops as soon as he got home," Susan ventured.
"Yeah—wait: Landlord? I thought he was your boyfriend or..."
"Now is not the time, Lee."
They waited for the cops to park; figuring just standing there innocently was the best way to deal with it. If they could see Susan was fine, and there of her own volition, what possible problem could there be? A lot of cars pulled up, a lot of cars. Steve edged back to the farmhouse and opened up both the front doors, then came back to rejoin them.
"Just in case," he said.
"I'm sure it'll be nothing at all," Lee said. Just the same, the four of them backed unconsciously closer to the door.
"Geez, are there even this many cops in Nebraska?" Grapeape asked. He was looking sweaty and twitchy. He started to hyperventilate, and went down on one knee.
"Put your hands over your heads and step forward" a voice on a megaphone commanded.
"If this is about me," Susan said, "I'm a reporter, and I'm here of my own free will!"
"Put your hands over your heads and step forward," the voice commanded again. It sounded angry this time. They all complied, excepting Grapeape, who looked like he was having a stroke despite his youth. He stayed on one knee, and put one hand on his head, the other hung down by his thigh. His hand twitched out something that looked like a baseball signal, and Elder Tom instantly took a bullet to the head.
His body fell backwards on to Grapeape, who himself flopped over to the side. Susan shrieked. Crazy Uncle Steve tackled her, scooping her up in a running bear hug and screamed "Back into the house! Back into the house!" Gunfire rang out, a few shots at first, then more, then more, like the sound of popcorn, a lot of popcorn. Before he even realized what he was doing, Lee grabbed Grapeape by his lapel and awkwardly dragged him back towards the house. He fell over as Grapeape stumbled to his hands and knees, grabbed Lee, and dragged him back towards the house. They fumbled over each other, then Grapeape managed to get to his feet and ran to the door. He glanced back and saw Lee on the ground, then ducked back into the line of fire, grabbed Lee, and bodily threw him up the three steps on to the porch. He ran forward as Lee crawled towards the door. Grapeape kicked Lee in the ass screaming, "Move! Move!" and both of them finally made it in.
"Close the doors! Close the doors!" Grapeape screamed.
"Wouldn't help, the walls are just wood, wouldn't even slow their bullets down," Lee gasped. A volley of bullets tore through the walls and shattered the windows. The power went out in the farmhouse. Headlights from the police cars projected eerie fingers of light into the darkened living room through the new holes in the wall.
"Down here! Down here!" Steve yelled from the kitchen. They scrambled—half commando-crawl, half disoriented toddler—to the kitchen, and found the older man standing by the basement door, waving them on. "Into the rocket!" he stage whispered.
They literally fell down the stairs, lading in a heap at the bottom. Steve hopped down three steps at a time, stomping on their piled bodies without even stopping, screaming and
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