James Knapp - The Silent Army

“I said shut up!” I yelled. I’d started crying, but I didn’t care. “All I have to do is say the word and those people will kill you. Do you get it?”

His fists started opening and closing, like he was going to have a seizure or something. His face was beet red and his sweaty jowls shook.

“You tell me you’re sorry,” I said. “I won’t make you do it. Admit what you did and—”

“I didn’t mean to kill her. She asked for that.”

“I should have stopped you. She deserved better than you. She—”

“Karen was a fat-assed slut,” he spat. “I warned her what would happen, and she didn’t listen.”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to be tough, but I was crying and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t believe he could just stand there and say those things after what he’d done. He wasn’t even sorry. He’d killed her, and he knew she was my best friend, and he still kept saying those things….

“How many times did the bitch have to get slapped before she fucking figured it out? Did she fucking want to get hurt?”

The others were back there somewhere, watching me. They were watching me stand there and cry with my face in my hands while the man who killed my friend shit all over her. The wind picked up and blew my hair in front of my face, covering it up so no one could see me.

“Cry all you want, you fucking stupid, ugly bitch,” I heard him say. “She was fine before she met you. You had to get her going. You weren’t happy until she got put in her place. This happened because you—”

I didn’t think about what I did before I did it. My eyes were covered by my hands and my hair covered my face, but I could see the part of him that mattered as clear as day. The storm of colors floated there in the dark like a ghost of him, and all at once they got clearer than I’d ever seen them before. I stopped crying, and while he spit and yelled, I reached past the reds and yellows and all of his violence and anger and hate. I reached in as deep as I could, until everything was gone except a single hot, white band. Everything else was connected to it. It was the source of everything he thought and everything he was. It was the source of everything he’d ever done and would ever do.

He was still ranting when I focused on the stream and turned it off. When I did, his voice stopped. The flow of light stopped and went dark. The reds and yellows scattered and faded until nothing was left behind.

I moved my hands away and opened my eyes. When I brushed my hair from my face, I saw Ted standing there, but his eyes were blank. His mouth hung open, and a string of drool dangled from his bottom lip, getting blown in the breeze. The smell of pee hit me, and I saw he’d gone to the bathroom in his pants.

“Ted?”

He went back on his heels and fell, completely limp, off the platform and down onto the tracks.

I heard him hit, and I was going to look when the train blasted by. I screamed. It was all over before I could even move. The wind from the passing train blew my hair across my face and made my jacket whip and snap around me. The side of the train was a blur that filled up everything, and then just as fast, it was gone.

My heart thumped in my chest as I stared, unable to move for a minute. The wind died down, and the sound of the train faded into the distance. When I looked, I saw the red lights zoom off into the distance.

Finally, I moved to the edge of the platform and looked over. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what was down there, but it turned out that except for a spot of red that the rain was washing off the side of the concrete, there wasn’t anything at all. Ted was gone.

Wachalowski, where are you?

I was stepping off the elevator when the call came in from Vesco.

I’m at Flax’s apartment. What have you got?

Buckster’s long gone. Looks like he cleaned out a safe and left in a hurry.

You find anything?

Yeah. There’s something you need to see.

A window opened and live footage streamed in. Vesco moved through Buckster’s apartment and into the bathroom. He looked down into the tub, where a set of women’s clothes were sprawled. They were arranged in the shape of a person. The body that was in them was gone. One high-heeled shoe was lying on the floor next to the toilet.

Looks like he killed an unknown female and then used Leichenesser to dispose of the body. Trace particles indicate it happened recently. Could it have been your civilian?

The stream moved closer, looking over the shirt and pants. They looked expensive. A pin on the collar of the shirt looked like a diamond set in gold. The shoe had a three-inch heel.

No.

You sure?

Someone died in Buckster’s place, but it wasn’t Calliope. Whoever it was, she was wealthy and fashion conscious. She didn’t leave any components behind.

Flax has a JZI.

Got it. Nothing like that here.

Any sign of the radiation signature?

Nothing. If he was hiding something here, it wasn’t the nukes.

Understood.

What about your end?

I’ll let you know.

When I knocked on Calliope’s door, there was no answer. I listened, but didn’t hear anything inside.

Alice, I need an override on a residence at my location.

No.

What?

I’m denying that request.

Do you want to find the case or not?

Yes, and tracking down those weapons is more important than tracking down your friend.

I hadn’t told anyone at the bureau about getting Calliope involved. It was a safe bet Calliope never told them.

Are you watching me?

Yes. Your friend is fine. Get back in the field and—

Are you refusing to give me the override?

Yes. Don’t go in—

I cut off the connection and aimed my gun at the lock housing. Using the backscatter, I found the bolt, then fired two bursts into the door.

It bent but didn’t break. I stomped my heel down over the still-smoking hole as someone shouted from the floor below. With gunshots and a break-in reported, it was only a matter of time before the police showed up, but with everything else going on they’d be tied up for a while.

I threw my shoulder against the door and it finally gave, flying open and slamming into the wall as I stumbled in after it. I turned on the lights. The place looked okay. It was a mess, but it hadn’t been tossed.

“Cal?”

The living area was set up with a couch, a TV, a weight bench, and a heavy bag that hung from a chain. According to the thermal scan, she’d been gone for a while.

I looked over the floor, turning up the filter’s sensitivity until faint footprints appeared. I knelt down for a closer look.

There was more than one set of them. I counted maybe four in all, but it was hard to pick hers out of the mess. The freshest ones were small. They looked too small to belong to her. I followed them from the kitchen through the living area. They passed out of the room to a short hallway that led to a bathroom and a bedroom. Whoever it was had sat on the toilet.

I smelled the air. It smelled like sweat, but there was something else under it, something antiseptic.

Wachalowski, this is Noakes. I’m getting grief from Agent Hsieh. What are you doing?

Following a lead on Buckster.

Well, wrap it up there. It looked like the satellite just got a hit on your missing ship.

Where?

About fifteen miles offshore, and getting closer by the minute.