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　　Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fastJuliette forced her way through the inner airlock door and scrambled to get it closed. Darknessoverwhelmed her as the heavy door squealed on its hinges and settled against its dry seals. Shegroped for the large locking wheel and leaned on the spokes, spinning it and sealing the door tight.

　　The air in her suit was growing stale; she could feel the dizziness overtaking her. Turning around,keeping one hand on the wall, she stumbled forward through the darkness. The puff of outside air thatshe’d allowed inside seemed to claw at her back like a horde of mad insects. Juliette staggeredblindly down the hallway, trying to put distance between herself and the dead she’d left behind.

　　There were no lights on, no glow from the wallscreens with their view of the outside world. Sheprayed the layout was the same, that she could find her way. She prayed the air in her suit would holdout a moment longer, prayed the air in the silo wouldn’t be as foul and toxic as the wind outside. Or—and just as bad—that the air in the silo wouldn’t be as devoid of oxygen as what little remained inher suit.

　　Her hand brushed the bars of a cell just where they should have been, giving her hope that shecould navigate the darkness. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find in the pitch black—she had noplan for salvation—she was simply stumbling away from the horrors outside. It hardly registered forher that she had been there, had gone outside, and was now in someplace new.

　　As she fumbled through the office, sucking on the last breaths of air in her helmet, her feetknocked into something and Juliette went sprawling forward. She landed roughly on a soft mound,groped with her hand, and felt an arm. A body. Several bodies. Juliette crawled over them, thespongy flesh feeling more human and solid than the husks and bones outside—and more difficult tomove across. She felt someone’s chin. The weight of her body caused their neck to turn, and shenearly lost her balance. Her body recoiled at the sensation of what she was doing, the reflex toapologize, to pull her limbs away, but she forced herself forward over a pile of them, through thedarkness, until her helmet slammed into the office door.

　　Without warning, the blow was hard enough that Juliette saw stars and feared blacking out. Shereached up and fumbled for the handle. Her eyes might as well have been sealed shut, the utterdarkness was so complete. Even the bowels of Mechanical had never seen such deep and perfectshadow.

　　She found the latch and pushed. The door was unlocked but wouldn’t budge. Juliette scrambled toher feet, her boots digging into lifeless bodies, and threw her shoulder against the door. She wantedout.

　　The door moved. A little. She could feel something slide on the other side and imagined morebodies piled up. She threw herself again and again into the door, grunts of effort and frustrated tinyscreams echoing in her helmet. Her hair was loose, sweaty, and matting to her face. She couldn’t see.

　　Couldn’t breathe. Was growing more faint as she poisoned her own internal atmosphere.

　　When the door slid open a crack, she tried to force her way through, one shoulder first, squeezingher helmet past, then pulling her other arm and leg after. She fell to the floor, scrambled around, andshoved herself against the door, sealing it tight.

　　There was a dim light, almost impossible to notice at first. A barricade of tables and chairs waspressed in against her, scattered from her efforts to get through. Their hard edges and spindly legsseemed intent on ensnaring her.

　　Juliette heard herself wheezing for air and knew her time had run out. She imagined the poison allover her like grease. The toxic air that she’d let in was a cloud of vermin just waiting for her to crawlout of her shell so they could eat away at her.

　　She considered lying down and letting her air supply run out instead. She would be preserved inthis chrysalis of a suit, a well-built suit, a gift from Walker and the people of Supply. Her body wouldlie forever in this dim silo that shouldn’t have existed—but so much better than to rot on a lifeless hilland fly away, piece by piece, on a fickle breeze. It would be a good death. She panted, proud ofherself for making it somewhere of her own choosing, for conquering these last few obstacles.

　　Slumping against the door, she very nearly lay down and closed her eyes—but for the nagging of hercuriosity.

　　Juliette held up her hands and studied them in the dim glow from the stairwell. The shiny gloves—wrapped in heat tape and melted to form a bright skin—made her look like a machine of sorts. Sheran her hands over the dome of her helmet, realizing she was like a walking toaster. When she hadbeen a mere shadow in Mechanical, she’d had a bad habit of taking things apart, even those thatalready worked. What had Walker said of her? That she liked nothing more than peering inside oftoasters.

　　Juliette sat up and tried to focus. She was losing sensation, and with it the will to live. She shookher head and pulled herself to her feet, sent a pile of chairs crashing to the floor. She was the toaster,she realized. Her curiosity wanted it open. This time, to see what was outside. To take one breath andknow.

　　She swam through the tables and chairs, wanting more and more distance between herself and anybad air she had let in. The bodies she had crawled over in the sheriff’s office had felt whole. Naturallydead. Trapped inside and starved or asphyxiated, perhaps. But not rotten. Still, and despite her light-headedness and need to breathe, she wanted to somehow douse herself before cracking the helmet,wanted to dilute the toxins as she would with any other chemical spill back in Mechanical.

　　She escaped the barrier of tables and chairs and made her way across the open cafeteria floor. Theemergency lights in the stairwell leaked a green glow to dimly show the way. She passed through theserving door and into the kitchen, and tried the taps on the large sink. The handles turned, but thespout didn’t leak a drop, didn’t knock with even a futile try from distant pumps. She went to thedangling hose over the dish station and pulled that lever—and was similarly rewarded. There was nowater.

　　Her next thought was the walk-ins, to maybe freeze the nastiness she could feel crawling all overher suit. She staggered around the cooking stations and pulled the large silver handle on the door, herbreath wheezy in her helmet. The light in the back reaches of the kitchen was already so dim shecould barely see. She couldn’t feel any cold through her suit but wasn’t sure if she’d be able to. It wasbuilt to shield her, and built well. The overhead light didn’t come on, so she assumed the freezer wasdead. With the door open, she peered inside, looking for anything fluid, and saw what looked likevats of soup.

　　She was desperate enough to try anything. Juliette moved inside the walk-in, letting the doorswing slowly shut behind her. She seized one of the large plastic containers, a bucket the size of thelargest cooking pots, and tore the top off. The door clicked shut, returning her to solid darkness.

　　Juliette knelt beneath the shelf and tipped the massive bucket over. She could feel the liquid soupsplatter over her suit, crinkling it and splashing to the floor. Her knees slipped in the stuff. She felt forthe next one and did the same, ran her fingers into the puddles and coated herself in it. There was noway of knowing if she was being crazy, if she was making things worse, or if any of it mattered. Herboot slipped, sending her flat onto her back, her helmet cracking against the floor.

　　Juliette lay there in a puddle of tepid soup, unable to see, her breath raspy and stale. Her time hadrun out. She was dizzy and could think of nothing else to try, didn’t have the breath or energy,anyway. The helmet had to come off.

　　She fumbled for the latches, could barely feel them through her gloves. Her gloves were too thick.

　　They were going to kill her.

　　She rolled to her belly and crawled through the soup, her hands and knees slipping. She reachedthe door, gasping, and fumbled for the handle, found it, threw the door open. There was a rack ofknives gleaming behind the counter. She lurched to her feet and grabbed one, held the blade in herthick mitts, and slumped to the floor, exhausted and dizzy.

　　Turning the blade toward her own neck, Juliette groped for the latch. She slid the point along hercollar until it caught in the crack of the button. Steadying herself, her arm shaking, she moved theknife and pressed in, shoving it toward her body against all her most human instincts.

　　There was a faint click. Juliette gasped and groped along the rim with the blade for the otherbutton until she found it. She repeated the maneuver.

　　Another click, and her helmet popped off.

　　Juliette’s body took over for her, compelling her to take deep gulps of foul air. The stench wasunbearable, but she couldn’t stop gasping for more. Rotted food, biological decay, a tepid filth ofstenches invaded her mouth, tongue, nose.

　　She turned to the side and retched, but nothing came out. Her hands were still slippery with soup.

　　Breathing was painful; she imagined a burning sensation on her skin, but it could’ve been her feveredstate. She crawled away from the walk-in, toward the cafeteria, out of the fog of rotting soup, andtook another gulp of air.

　　Air.

　　She took a lungful, the odor still overpowering, the soup coating her. But beyond the stench,something else was there. Something faint. Something breathable that began to force away thedizziness and the panic. It was oxygen. Life.

　　Juliette was still alive.

　　She laughed madly and stumbled toward the stairwell, drawn to the green glow of light, breathingdeeply and too exhausted to appreciate this, the impossible life still in her.