James Knapp - The Silent Army

“…it will start here, but it won’t end here …Fawkes will destroy this city and then, one by one, the rest will begin to fall….”

“They think he’s going to end the world,” I said.

Lev didn’t say anything. He dismissed the other two, then touched my hand.

“He’s going to end their world.”

I looked out over the mass of revivors. Lev was right; he had to be. The forces in that hold, even with the nukes, couldn’t destroy a country, much less the world. The localized horror that would play out soon was a necessary drop in the bucket.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll be reaching the shore soon.”

I looked down by the flood lamps, where hundreds of metal crates were stacked up high. Revivors moved in between the rows of them, guiding winches that moved the crates to the floor. The deck was wet with sticky, spent blisters and the thick residue of stasis fluid. They were waking up more of them, even now.

“Where did we get so many?” I asked.

“A military storage site overseas. They think these units have been decommissioned because of obsolescence.”

These were older models, then, from Fawkes’s generation. That policy had placed them in Fawkes’s hands.

“Don’t you think that’s ironic?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said, but part of me wondered if it wasn’t more than that.

Another crate was lowered into the hold. I watched as they opened the front panel and mist began to seep out.

I brought up the map and drew a path to the escape raft. It was a ways off, but if I was quick, I might make it. No one had tripped the alarm yet, but someone out there saw three M8s drop off their network. They knew something was up. I killed all the comms on each revivor so they couldn’t track them, then set up a POV stream for each over the command link.

“Up there,” a voice said from down in the hold, and I heard footsteps.

Go.

The three revivors made a run for the hatch at the far end of the walk. I stuck close as the first shot went off and a bullet sparked off the rail.

One opened the hatch and I sent two through while the last stayed to close it behind us. Gunshots boomed through the hold as the door clanged shut.

One, take point. Two and three, cover the rear.

The POV streams fixed along the top of my line of sight peeled off as they split up. The one in front picked up speed, giving me a view ahead. The other two kept pace, looking back and letting me see behind.

Those crates in the hold, are they full?

Most of them are still awaiting processing.

What was the node count on your network before I cut you off?

Two thousand three hundred and fifty-one.

Too many. Once they started moving they’d box me in for sure. If I got lucky, I could get to the launch bay before they found me….

A sharp pain stabbed into my gut, and my leg buckled. I stumbled and slammed into the wall, trying not to fall as I ran. It felt like I got knifed. The revivor in front pulled away, and one of the two in the rear clipped me when it passed.

“Damnit!”

Keep me in the middle. I saw myself whip by the frame of one POV as they adjusted.

Acid came up my throat, burning it. I swallowed, making a face. Buckster was right about one thing: that pain wasn’t nothing. Something was wrong. If I didn’t get to the boat, though, it wasn’t going to matter.

A hatch came up fast in one of the POV feeds, and the jack stomped to a stop up ahead. It grabbed the wheel and heaved, but it was stuck.

The door is secured.

I checked the map. The next-shortest path wasn’t short enough.

Use your charge to blow it. Two and three, follow me.

I tacked right down a side hall and hugged the wall. In the feed’s window, I watched the jack lock its arms through the wheel. It put its chest to the door and pushed the C4 bricks against it. I plugged my ears and hit the deck.

It set off the charge, and the floor bucked under me. The blast slammed down the hall, and I felt the shock in my bones. Fire lit up the dark, and I caught a blast of air hot enough to singe me. I smelled burned hair and smoke. My ears rang.

One in front, two behind. Go.

The one in front ran into the smoke, and I went in after it. I followed it, half blind, as it made it to the hatch. The door was warped, twisted on one hinge. It grabbed it, skin sizzling on the metal as it heaved it to one side and held it out of the way.

I jumped through, and they followed me in. Smoke burned my nose, and under it I smelled rot. One took point again as I ran through the room. Lying in the middle of the deck was a body on its back, bones sticking out. Four more lay near the wall, dead.

When I passed, the toe of my boot hit a jar with an inch of piss in the bottom, and it spun across the deck. The revivor on point gripped the wheel on the hatch across the room and turned. It squealed open.

The second hatch was open. Why didn’t they …

The jack went through. I saw the carnage on the feed just before I went through after it. The smell hit me, and I gagged. The deck was splattered with dried blood. Ripped pieces of clothes were stuck in it, mixed with bones. Up ahead, three sets of eyes glowed in the dark. They were sitting against the wall, waiting.

My foot came down on a shell casing and I slipped. I wheeled one arm then went down into a pile of remains. They were cold. When I tried to get up, I put my hand down on something spiny and sticky. Half a rib cage lay on the deck in front of me.

“Fuck!”

A cold hand grabbed my elbow as one of my jacks pulled me up, dragging me down the hall after it. Another cramp, like a sharp stick, twisted in my gut as I stumbled, kicking up bones.

Cal? Cal, are you there?

The words popped up as I ran, sweat beading on my face. One of the jacks kept ahead. The other still had my arm. Down the hall, the three revivors saw fresh meat and hauled themselves up. Past them, the light at the end of the hall was tilting.

Take them out.

The jack in front opened fire and ripped open the fat belly of the closest one. I heard shit spill out on the deck and then the stink hit me. My stomach turned. The pain dug in like a saw blade. Two more shots came, and the thing’s head blew apart.

Cal? Cal, respond.

My legs wanted to quit. The acid was burning my throat. I checked my comm link. It was Wachalowski. He got through.

I’m here.

Cal, I’m tracking you. Where are you headed?

Ship-to-shore vessel. In the docking bay.

The medical bay is on the way. Meet me there first.

Where the fuck are you?

I’m in a helicopter, approaching the tanker. I’m coming in. You need to go to the medical bay first.

Why?

Do you trust me?

Up ahead, I heard boots on the deck. There were a lot of them. Even getting to medical was looking dicey. Did I trust him?

I trust you.

My foot got snagged on a belt, and bones scattered across the deck as we ran toward the men up ahead.

In the back of the helicopter, fifty miles offshore, the Coast Guard Maritime Safety and Security Team looked at ease in spite of the extreme turbulence. They stared straight ahead as their team leader addressed me.

We’ll be touching down shortly. The helipad will put you close to the entrance here: