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霍斯顿一步步爬上楼梯走向死亡，而孩子们正在上面玩。他听到震耳欲聋、肆无忌惮的笑
闹声。只有无忧无虑的孩子才有办法笑得这么开心。霍斯顿步履沉重，绕着螺旋梯，一圈又一
圈，一步步往上爬，老旧的鞋子重重踩在铁梯板上，脚步声在楼梯井嗡嗡回荡。
那双鞋子是父亲留给他的，破旧不堪。破旧的鞋子踩着同样破旧的铁梯板。梯板上的油漆
已经剥落殆尽，只剩角落和梯板底下还有残留，因为鞋子踩不到。楼上楼下还有其他人也在爬
楼梯，楼梯井沙尘飘扬。霍斯顿扶着栏杆，感觉得到那震动。栏杆已经被磨得光滑油亮，那景
象总是令他惊叹。几百年下来，人的手掌就足以把钢铁磨平。
历经了无数世代无数人的踩踏，每片梯板都微微有点弯，而且边缘都被磨圆，乍看之下有
点像突出的嘴唇。看起来，梯板面上本来应该是有防滑用的钻石形小凸起。何以见得？因为左
右两侧的小凸起都还在，可是靠近中央的都不见了，只剩光秃油亮的铁皮和油漆的残迹。
霍斯顿抬起脚，踩上一步，老旧的鞋子重重踩在梯板上，一步又一步。看着眼前的景象，
霍斯顿不由得陷入冥想。多少年了，肉眼看不见的铁分子随着时间磨蚀，层层剥落，而一代代
的生命也随着时间消逝，灰飞烟灭。当然，这样的感慨已经不是第一次了，多年来，他偶尔会
忽然意识到，住在这里的人，也许本来不可能存活这么多年，就像这座螺旋梯，本来也应该撑
不了这么久。狭窄的楼梯井，像一长串绵延不绝的螺旋，深入地底，贯穿整座圆筒形地堡，仿
佛一条长长的吸管竖立在玻璃杯正中央。然而，当初设计这座螺旋梯的人，也许根本没预料到
它会承受这么长时间的损耗，就好像，很久很久以前，这座圆筒形地堡也很可能根本不是为居
住设计的。至于地堡原本是什么用途，如今早已没人记得了。如今，这座螺旋梯已经成为主要
通道，数千居民平日上下楼都依赖它，日复一日，年复一年。在霍斯顿看来，这座楼梯原本的
设计，应该是紧急逃生用的，而且使用人数限定在几十个。
又过了另一层楼——这一层是住宅区。在这个巨大的圆筒形结构里，每一层楼都像是一片
圆圆扁扁的薄饼。霍斯顿跨上最后几级梯板，也是他此生最后一次上这座楼梯。上头孩子们的
笑声越来越响亮，如倾盆大雨轰然而下。那是多么年轻的笑声，多么无忧无虑。他们还没有意
识到自己活在什么样的地方，还没有感觉到那来自四面八方的土壤的压力。他们还没有意识到
自己深埋地底，只感觉得到昂扬的生命力。青春洋溢的生命，未经沧桑，欢乐的笑声向下洒
落，弥漫在楼梯井中。只是，那高亢急促的笑声，相对于霍斯顿此刻的行动，形成强烈对比，
如此的不协调。霍斯顿心意已决，他要“出去”。
当他逐渐接近上面那层楼，发现孩子们的笑声中，有个声音特别高亢嘹亮。此刻，他忽然
回想起自己在地堡里的童年时光——就像这些孩子，他也曾经上学，和他们一样玩耍嬉闹。当
时，在他幼小的心灵中，这座巨大单调的水泥圆筒感觉就像一个浩瀚的宇宙、一个辽阔的世
界，一辈子也探索不完。也可以说，它仿佛一座迷宫，他和其他小朋友迷失在里面，永远出不
来。
只是，那已经是遥远的三十多年前，遥远的过去。霍斯顿忽然感觉，三十多年前的童年时
光，遥远得像是好几辈子的前世，仿佛那是另一个人的美好时光，仿佛那个孩子根本不是他。
他干了一辈子保安官，肩上的重担令他渐渐忘掉美好的过去。而且，这几年，他已经来到人生
的第三个阶段——不再是孩子，也不再是保安官。这几年，他活在一个秘密中。三年来，他默
默等待，然而，他所期待的却一直没有出现，到现在，他仅剩的生命力已经消耗殆尽。日子，
每一天都比从前的一个月更漫长。跟现在比起来，从前还比较快乐。
最后，霍斯顿忽然发觉，他的手已经摸不到楼梯旁的栏杆，这才意识到自己已经爬到螺旋
梯的最顶端。弯弯的铁扶杆，多年来被无数的手磨得光滑油亮，此刻已经到了尽头。出了楼梯
井，眼前豁然开朗，一片宽阔。这个宽敞的大餐厅，还有旁边的大厅，是全地堡最宽敞的地
方。现在，孩子们的嬉笑声已经近在耳边，只见好几个亮晃晃的小身影在零零落落的椅子间窜
来窜去，玩捉迷藏。有几个大人想制止他们玩闹。脏兮兮的磁砖地板上，粉笔、蜡笔散落一
地，霍斯顿看到唐娜弯着腰在捡。她的先生克拉克坐在餐厅另一头的桌子旁，桌上有几杯果汁
和几盘玉米饼干。他向霍斯顿挥挥手。
霍斯顿根本没想到要跟他挥手打招呼。也许是因为他根本提不起劲，也或许是根本没那个
心思。那几个大人小孩身后，是大餐厅的一面大墙，墙上投映着一片模糊的影像。霍斯顿愣愣
地看着那景象。那是他们这个单调荒凉的世界里最辽阔的景观。清晨，死气沉沉的沙丘笼罩在
晨曦的微光中。那是多么熟悉的景象，从他小时候到现在，从来不曾改变过。从在大餐厅的桌
子间玩捉迷藏的童年，到现在哀莫大于心死的他，那些沙丘，永远是那么一成不变的荒凉死
寂。沙丘连绵起伏，丘顶上蜿蜒曲折的天际微光闪烁。而更远处，一座座钢铁与玻璃构成的高
耸建筑刺向天际，在晨曦的微光中若隐若现。据说，很久很久以前，人类曾经居住在那里。
这时候，那群孩子当中忽然有一个猛然窜出来，像颗流星似的撞上霍斯顿的膝盖。他低头
看看那孩子，伸手想去摸摸他的头。应该是苏珊的孩子。但转瞬间那孩子又一溜烟窜向那群孩
子，仿佛流星忽然又飞回轨道。
看着那孩子，霍斯顿忽然想起艾莉森。那一年，他和艾莉森终于抽到签了，然而，也就在
那一年，艾莉森死了。一直到现在，他还留着那张签，不管到哪里，都带在身上。他们本来也
可以有自己的孩子。本来，说不定这群孩子当中就会有他们自己的孩子。说不定，不管是男孩
女孩，现在也该两岁了吧。说不定，此刻他们的孩子会跟在那群大孩子屁股后面。他们，就像
地堡里所有的夫妻一样，都曾经幻想过自己会受到幸运之神的加倍眷顾，生出一对双胞胎。当
然，他们知道运气不会凭空降临。他们非常努力。她体内的避孕器被取出之后，一夜又一夜，
他们想努力兑现那张幸运之签。那些已经有孩子的父母都祝福他们，至于那些希望抽到签的年
轻夫妻则是暗暗祷告，希望这一年他们白费功夫。
他们明白自己只有一年时间，所以，他和艾莉森忽然变得很迷信。只要有助于他们生出孩
子，他们什么都信。在床头挂大蒜，女人会更容易受孕；在床垫底下放两个一毛钱的铜板，女
人会生出双胞胎；艾莉森在头发上绑了一条粉红缎带，霍斯顿把眼袋涂成蓝色……很多荒谬的
把戏他们都玩过，一方面是因为好玩；但另一方面，却是因为他们想要孩子想疯了。不过，还
有更多千奇百怪的方法，像降灵法会，或是各种荒诞不经的民间传说，他们都没有尝试。照理
说，他们应该要试遍所有的方法才对，那才真叫疯了。
然而，他们并没有继续尝试。那一年还没结束，生孩子的权利已经转移给另外一对夫妻
了。但那并不是因为他们不想，而是因为时间不够。因为，霍斯顿已经没有妻子了。
接着，霍斯顿转身走开，离开那些玩耍的孩子，离开那一大片模糊的景象，走向他的办公
室。地堡出口的闸门，就在大餐厅边缘，他的办公室就在那里。要从大餐厅走到闸门的密闭气
闸室，必须经过他的办公室。在走向办公室的途中，他脑海中又浮现出一幕景象：办公室门口
曾经有过一场挣扎拉扯。过去三年来，他每天都要经过那疯狂挣扎的现场。而他也不敢回头，
因为他心里明白，一旦回头，就会看到她那一动也不动的躯体。一旦回头，就会看到墙上那辽
阔的景象。由于地堡外监视器的镜头污垢日积月累，越来越脏，空气中飘散着灰尘，使得画面
一片模糊，但隐约可见一条步满足迹的小径延伸到沙丘上。他知道，如果视线顺着那条小径越
过泥泞的沙丘，看向远处地平线那废弃的城市，可能会看到她，看到她躺在沙丘上，弯曲的双
臂压在头底下，整个人仿佛一颗沉睡的卵石，而空气中的剧烈毒酸不断地腐蚀她。
也许会看到。
其实，很难看得到，很难看得清楚。即使在那件事刚发生不久，镜头还没有开始脏，画面
还很清楚的时候，就已经很难看得清楚。更何况，画面上看到的，是真实的景象吗？其实非常
可疑。于是，霍斯顿决定干脆不看。他走近办公室门口。当年，就是在那里，他太太忽然发
狂，拼命挣扎，那记忆犹如梦魇缠绕不去。他穿过门口，走进办公室。
“唷，谁起得这么早啊？”马奈斯笑着跟他打招呼。马奈斯是他的副手，副保安官。
说着，马奈斯关上档案柜的铁抽屉。由于卡榫太老旧，抽屉发出刺耳的“嘎吱”一声。接
着，他端起一个马克杯，杯口热气蒸腾。这时候，他注意到霍斯顿神情凝重：“老大，你还好
吧？”
霍斯顿点点头，伸手指向办公桌后面的钥匙架。“羁押室的钥匙拿过来。”他说。
副保安官脸上的微笑立刻消失，皱起眉头。他放下杯子，转头扭身去拿钥匙。这时候，他
背后的霍斯顿把警徽拿在手上，手指轻抚着冰冷尖锐的星角。这是他最后一次碰这个警徽了。
然后，他把警徽放到桌上。马奈斯转回头，把钥匙递给霍斯顿。霍斯顿伸手接过去。
“要不要我去拿拖把？”
说着马奈斯抬起手，大拇指朝大餐厅的方向比了一下。通常，只有在两种情况下，他们才
会进羁押室：第一，有人关在里面。第二，打扫。
“不用了。”霍斯顿朝羁押室的方向扭了一下头，意思是要副保安官跟他一起过去。
说完他立刻转身走向羁押室。坐在办公桌后面的马奈斯猛然站起来，椅脚摩擦地面“嘎
吱”一声。他飞快跟到霍斯顿后面，而霍斯顿已经走到羁押室门口，慢慢把钥匙插进钥匙孔。门
锁设计精良，保养得很好，发出清脆的“铿锵”一声，接着，门被拉开，铰链合页“嘎吱”一声，霍
斯顿毅然决然踏进去，“砰”的一声关上门。然后，羁押室陷入一片寂静。
“老大？怎么回事？”
霍斯顿的手从铁栏杆中间伸出来，钥匙在手掌上。马奈斯低头看看钥匙，愣了一下，然后
拿起来。
“老大，你干吗？”
“去请首长来。”说完，霍斯顿深深叹了一口气。这口气他已经憋了三年。
“去告诉她，我要‘出去’。”
Part 1 Holston 2
Part 1 Holston
2
The view from the holding cell wasn’t as blurry as it had been in the cafeteria, and Holston spent his
final day in the silo puzzling over this. Could it be that the camera on that side was shielded against
the toxic wind? Did each cleaner, condemned to death, put more care into preserving the view they’d
enjoyed on their last day? Or was the extra effort a gift to the next cleaner, who would spend their
final day in that same cell?
Holston preferred this last explanation. It made him think longingly of his wife. It reminded him
why he was there, on the wrong side of those bars, and willingly.
As his thoughts drifted to Allison, he sat and stared out at the dead world some ancient peoples
had left behind. It wasn’t the best view of the landscape around their buried bunker, but it wasn’t the
worst, either. In the distance, low rolling hills stood, a pretty shade of brown, like coffee mash with
just the right amount of pig’s milk in it. The sky above the hills was the same dull gray of his
childhood and his father’s childhood and his grandfather’s childhood. The only moving feature on the
landscape was the clouds. They hung full and dark over the hills. They roamed free like the herded
beasts from the picture books.
The view of the dead world filled up the entire wall of his cell, just like all the walls on the silo’s
upper level, each one full of a different slice of the blurry and ever-blurrier wasteland beyond.
Holston’s little piece of that view reached from the corner by his cot, up to the ceiling, to the other
wall, and down to the toilet. And despite the soft blur—like oil rubbed on a lens—it looked like a
scene one could stroll out into, like a gaping and inviting hole oddly positioned across from
forbidding prison bars.
The illusion, however, convinced only from a distance. Leaning closer, Holston could see a
handful of dead pixels on the massive display. They stood stark white against all the brown and gray
hues. Shining with ferocious intensity, each pixel (Allison had called them “stuck” pixels) was like a
square window to some brighter place, a hole the width of a human hair that seemed to beckon
toward some better reality. There were dozens of them, now that he looked closer. Holston wondered
if anyone in the silo knew how to fix them, or if they had the tools required for such a delicate job.
Were they dead forever, like Allison? Would all of the pixels be dead eventually? Holston imagined a
day when half of the pixels were stark white, and then generations later when only a few gray and
brown ones remained, then a mere dozen, the world having flipped to a new state, the people of the
silo thinking the outside world was on fire, the only true pixels now mistaken for malfunctioning
ones.
Or was that what Holston and his people were doing even now?
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Holston turned and saw Mayor Jahns standing on the
other side of the bars, her hands resting in the belly of her overalls. She nodded gravely toward the
cot.
“When the cell’s empty, at night when you and Deputy Marnes are off duty, I sometimes sit right
there and enjoy that very view.”
Holston turned back to survey the muddy, lifeless landscape. It only looked depressing compared
to scenes from the children’s books—the only books to survive the uprising. Most people doubted
those colors in the books, just as they doubted purple elephants and pink birds ever existed, but
Holston felt that they were truer than the scene before him. He, like some others, felt something
primal and deep when he looked at those worn pages splashed green and blue. Even so, when
compared to the stifling silo, that muddy gray view outside looked like some kind of salvation, just
the sort of open air men were born to breathe.
“Always seems a little clearer in here,” Jahns said. “The view, I mean.”
Holston remained silent. He watched a curling piece of cloud break off and move in a new
direction, blacks and grays swirling together.
“You get your pick for dinner,” the mayor said. “It’s tradition—”
“You don’t need to tell me how this works,” Holston said, cutting Jahns off. “It’s only been three
years since I served Allison her last meal right here.” He reached to spin the copper ring on his finger
out of habit, forgetting he had left it on his dresser hours ago.
“Can’t believe it’s been that long,” Jahns murmured to herself. Holston turned to see her squinting
at the clouds displayed on the wall.
“Do you miss her?” Holston asked venomously. “Or do you just hate that the blur has had so
much time to build?”
Jahns’s eyes flashed his way a moment, then dropped to the floor. “You know I don’t want this,
not for any view. But rules are the rules—”
“It’s not to be blamed,” Holston said, trying to let the anger go. “I know the rules better than
most.” His hand moved, just a little, toward the missing badge, left behind like his ring. “Hell, I
enforced those rules for most my life, even after I realized they were bullshit.”
Jahns cleared her throat. “Well, I won’t ask why you chose this. I’ll just assume it’s because you’d
be unhappier here.”
Holston met her gaze, saw the film on her eyes before she was able to blink it away. Jahns looked
thinner than usual, comical in her gaping overalls. The lines in her neck and radiating from her eyes
were deeper than he remembered. Darker. And he thought the crack in her voice was genuine regret,
not just age or her ration of tobacco.
Suddenly, Holston saw himself through Jahns’s eyes, a broken man sitting on a worn bench, his
skin gray from the pale glow of the dead world beyond, and the sight made him dizzy. His head spun
as it groped for something reasonable to latch on to, something that made sense. It seemed a dream,
the predicament his life had become. None of the last three years seemed true. Nothing seemed true
anymore.
He turned back to the tan hills. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw another pixel die,
turning stark white. Another tiny window had opened, another clear view through an illusion he had
grown to doubt.
Tomorrow will be my salvation, Holston thought savagely, even if I die out there.
“I’ve been mayor too long,” Jahns said.
Holston glanced back and saw that her wrinkled hands were wrapped around the cold steel bars.
“Our records don’t go back to the beginning, you know. They don’t go back before the uprising a
century and a half ago, but since then no mayor has sent more people to cleaning than I have.”
“I’m sorry to burden you,” Holston said dryly.
“I take no pleasure in it. That’s all I’m saying. No pleasure at all.”
Holston swept his hand at the massive screen. “But you’ll be the first to watch a clear sunset
tomorrow night, won’t you?” He hated the way he sounded. Holston wasn’t angry about his death, or
life, or whatever came after tomorrow, but resentment over Allison’s fate still lingered. He continued
to see inevitable events from the past as avoidable, long after they’d taken their course. “You’ll all
love the view tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than the mayor.
“That’s not fair at all,” Jahns said. “The law is the law. You broke it. You knew you were
breaking it.”
Holston looked at his feet. The two of them allowed a silence to form. Mayor Jahns was the one
who eventually spoke.
“You haven’t threatened yet to not go through with it. Some of the others are nervous that you
might not do the cleaning because you aren’t saying you won’t.”
Holston laughed. “They’d feel better if I said I wouldn’t clean the sensors?” He shook his head at
the mad logic.
“Everyone who sits there says they aren’t gonna do it,” Jahns told him, “but then they do. It’s
what we’ve all come to expect—”
“Allison never threatened that she wouldn’t do it,” Holston reminded her, but he knew what Jahns
meant. He himself had been sure Allison wouldn’t wipe the lenses. And now he thought he
understood what she’d been going through as she sat on that very bench. There were larger things to
consider than the act of cleaning. Most who were sent outside were caught at something, were
surprised to find themselves in that cell, their fate mere hours away. Revenge was on their mind when
they said they wouldn’t do it. But Allison and now Holston had bigger worries. Whether or not
they’d clean was inconsequential; they had arrived here because they wanted, on some insane level,
to be here. All that remained was the curiosity of it all. The wonder of the outside world beyond the
projected veil of the wallscreens.
“So, are you planning on going through with it or not?” Jahns asked directly, her desperation
evident.
“You said it yourself.” Holston shrugged. “Everyone does it. There must be some reason, right?”
He pretended not to care, to be disinterested in the why of the cleaning, but he had spent most of
his life, the past three years especially, agonizing over the why. The question drove him nuts. And if
his refusing to answer Jahns caused pain to those who had murdered his wife, he wouldn’t be upset.
Jahns rubbed her hands up and down the bars, anxious. “Can I tell them you’ll do it?” she asked.
“Or tell them I won’t. I don’t care. It sounds like either answer will mean the same to them.”
Jahns didn’t reply. Holston looked up at her, and the mayor nodded.
“If you change your mind about the meal, let Deputy Marnes know. He’ll be at the desk all night,
as is tradition …”
She didn’t need to say. Tears came to Holston’s eyes as he remembered that part of his former
duties. He had manned that desk twelve years ago when Donna Parkins was put to cleaning, eight
years ago when it was Jack Brent’s time. And he had spent a night clinging to the bars, lying on the
floor, a complete wreck, three years ago when it was his wife’s turn.
Mayor Jahns turned to go.
“Sheriff,” Holston muttered before she got out of earshot.
“I’m sorry?” Jahns lingered on the other side of the bars, her gray, bushy brows hanging over her
eyes.
“It’s Sheriff Marnes now,” Holston reminded her. “Not Deputy.”
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