I was spending a lot of time alone in the car. It was mostly Maria's fault. And Rachel's. And Rob's. And Eric's. And Nate's. And Jess's. And mine.
It was Maria's fault because I could not be in the same room with her without her trying to attack me, either verbally or physically. Rob had had to jump between us more than once. So had Jess. Now that she was feeling better, Maria never seemed to shut up. The woman was constantly chattering in a mixture of Spanish and English that only Rob and Rachel understood—but I got the general idea. She thought I was evil and she wanted me to go away. She trusted no one anymore, not even her daughter, and was determined to leave. She was not allowed to leave—Nate would not let her and I got the feeling Rob would physically restrain her before he allowed her to abandon Rachel, so I was the one who had to vacate until things calmed down. I was only too happy to comply. There were many other reasons for me to leave the house.
It was Rachel's fault because she was confusing. She was not a normal human. She was quiet and timid and observant and obviously intelligent, yet I felt like she needed the most care out of everybody. She acted more like a Soul than a human, and when it came to her mother, she had no free will at all. She simply did what she was told. For a woman who was at least thirty years old—I had not asked her age, my human memories told me that might be rude—there was very little indication that she was even an adult. When she was away from her mother, she was a different person altogether, but in our tiny house, that was a rare moment. On top of it all, she seemed completely unaware that she was a beautiful woman and even more unaware that Rob was in love with her. So much drama surrounded her and her mother that I was exhausted just thinking about it—better just to drive.
It was Rob's fault because he had gone into military freak mode. While he sometimes showed his softer side when he was with Rachel, and was perhaps the only one of us that could handle Maria, it was his military side that most of us saw: controlled, calculating, and strategic. There were routines now. Weapons were concealed at every entrance—windows and doors. He was creating escape plans for every situation, with meet-up points, code words, and survival kits. He had the entire neighborhood mapped down to the smallest shrub. He had created a 24-hour surveillance schedule in which every human had to take a shift—Eric included. Eric was about to self-destruct.
It was Eric's fault because Eric is Eric and when he is unhappy, everyone is unhappy. He was furious that he had to share his "lair," irritated that he had to give up his bed, completely worked up about guard duty, and incensed that not just one, but three women had moved into our house. He was taking his anger out on everyone in the house, and everyone was doing their best to avoid him. I counted myself lucky that I was allowed to leave.
It was Nate's fault because even though everyone else in the house was grumpy, Nate was just bored. He would continue to be weak for a few more weeks until his body had remade all the blood he had lost, so I was determined to find him something to occupy his attention. He was flinging rubber bands throughout the house during every waking hour and constantly requesting company. His efforts at winning over Cole were slowly paying off and he managed to convince the German Shepherd to spend the afternoon with him. I discovered afterward that he had hidden a container of chicken scraps under his pillow to feed him at regular intervals to convince him to stay. I had tracked down some nerf guns in an antique store that specialized in human toys, a purchase that I immediately regretted as Nate considered any living, breathing thing a target, something which the easily annoyed humans, Eric especially, were not thrilled about. I tried to buy him a book of puzzles, but he said he did not want to do brain work. I picked up a coloring book, a sketchpad, and colored pencils, but he flung those away too. I finally hit the jackpot when I found some video games in a box downstairs. I vaguely remembered them from my host's childhood, so I knew they would be perfect. I gathered them up and presented the to him with a smile. "Have at it." I said. Nate was bored no more, but I was exhausted.
It was Jess's fault because she was infuriatingly hard to understand. She was avoiding me and I had no idea why. She was surprisingly hard to find in such a small house. Not that I was looking for her. I just wondered where she was and what she was doing with her time since Cole was spending so much of his with Nate.
It was my fault because I was frustrated and was almost rude to my friends. I was so tired and so worried and so frustrated. I needed time to think and be alone, so I got in my new truck—I had needed to replace the one we had crashed in the mountains—and went for a drive.
The first time I went for a drive, I had no destination in mind. I just drove. It was finally the beginning of December and though there was no snow on the ground, it was very clearly winter. Or almost winter. It even looked cold outside, and the thermometer on my truck confirmed that—only 7 degrees. I drove alongside the foothills, the road curving as it traced the nearby mountains. Our little gang was getting big quite quickly. My small house was not nearly large enough to handle them, and even though moving into a silo in winter might be dangerous, especially if there were no working generators, I knew that we needed to consider it soon.
The drive was invigorating, but after 24 hours at home, I found that my frustrations had returned and I was escaping to my truck, hollering my excuses at the rest of them as I brought my truck to life in the garage. Sweet, sweet escape.
This time, I had an idea of where I was going. I navigated through the traffic of Boulder, got on the interstate, and headed southeast. It took me a few hours to get there, and even then, I was not sure if I was in the right place. I got out of the truck, and walked up to a chain link fence. My heart fell. This one was definitely not going to work.
I was staring at a Titan Missile Silo in Elbert County—or at least the top of one—and it was clear that whoever owned it was fully aware it existed. I did not even ask to tour it, just turned and walked away. At least now I knew what they looked like.
I went home and joined the others for dinner. I said nothing about my failure but tried to enjoy the conversation. Finding somewhere to live would have to be put off for at least one more day.
The third time I went for a drive, I was even more prepared. I had flashlight, sturdy boots, a length of rope, and even good cover story thought up in case I needed to use it on either my human friends or my Soul sisters and brothers.
I drove to the eastern outskirts of Denver and approached the former Lowry Bombing and Gunnery Range. There were two silos located on the property, and I had little hope that I would be able to access them because their exact locations had been so easy to find. Beyond them, there were two more, one on city property and one on a former army base. As I feared, all four were either in areas that were populated or inaccessible. We would have to find another one. I was running out of hope.
My research indicated that one more silo had to exist somewhere else in Colorado. Probably much further east on the plains where no one lived. We had no data to go on, no leads to follow. It was time I shared with my comrades what I had been doing on my afternoon drives.
None of them were surprised. I had not fooled a single one—except for maybe Maria, and she did not care. We began brainstorming locations and mapped out places for me to scout in the coming days.
December dragged on. I worked, went for drives unsuccessfully scouting locations, chatted with Nate who was regaining more strength every day, and tried to avoid all the drama that was contained in my tiny house. Rob, Rachel, and Jess were working together to finish the basement with Nate as their coach and a week before Christmas, everyone happily moved into their new sleeping quarters—three girls in one room and two guys in the other. Eric, who had apparently never planned on moving into the community housing, joyfully took up residence in the guest bedroom again, and announced the completion of his own project, a complete surveillance system for the house. I asked him in surprise when I had bought the cameras to which he haughtily replied, "I got them online and had them delivered to the house."
I moved back into the master bedroom to keep up appearances and truth be told, I was grateful for the solitude. The mood in the house was so uplifting and wonderful it was tangible. We all had our own beds for the first time, and life was good again. With the exception of Maria and Eric, people were not cranky anymore. Christmas was coming, and the holiday spirit was in the air. The women baked delectable Christmas cookies and deserts and Eric cooked amazing meals every night to let off his own stress. My scouting missions continued through it all, but each failure convinced me more that no more silos existed in Colorado. We would need to start looking out of state. Kansas, New Mexico, Arizona, and even Washington, had records of silos. Perhaps we should move on.
December 23rd, I made what I vowed would be my last silo scouting mission of the year. I drove to a tiny town in eastern Colorado named Deer Trail, through acres and acres of farm country. I worked my way through the patchwork of wheat and corn fields, singing along to the Christmas carols on the radio, looking for any sign of a silo under the snow.
It was the snowman that tipped me off.
He was out in the middle of nowhere.
And the footprints of the snowman's creator disappeared under a big, flat, piece of metal.
