James Knapp - The Silent Army

Watch the door.

I checked the place out . It was empty. I saw a set of clothes on the deck, shirt still tucked in the pants. They were shot through with holes. Down the rows of bunks, there were more of them.

Some of the crew got caught sleeping, it looked like. There was dried blood on the bedding. One pillow still had the dent from a head in it. A fucking JZI sat in the dent like a big, fat bug.

The lockers hung open. If any of them had guns or ammo, it was gone now.

I checked my route to the med wing; I was close. Bomb or no bomb, I could use the backup. That’s if Wachalowski made it there.

The pain hit again, and I grabbed the bunk frame to keep from going down.

They rigged you with a bomb.

I peeled up my shirt and looked at my belly. Tucked in the crease of my abs were four red dots. I ran my fingers over them. They were sore and scabbed over.

Shit …

I leaned in and used the backscatter. Inside I could see the bottom of my ribs. Lower, under the scabs, something stood out. It looked like wires under the skin.

I followed them under my belt line. There was something down there, down in the bones of my pelvis.

Cal, how long?

Almost there. I was still staring at it. It was just like we used to do with the jacks back in the grind. It was in me. The fucking thing was inside me.

You don’t have much time. Hurry.

Someone knocked me out and wired me up. How long had it been there?

“Goddamn it …” I knew what those things could do. I’d seen them go off. I’d set them off myself.

There was no way for me to shut down a bomb like that, and I knew it. If Wachalowski had a plan, it was my best bet—maybe my only one.

I pushed myself off the bunk frame and ran for the hatch on the far side of the room.

The entry point into the ship put me in a stairwell where a major firefight had taken place; the walls were scarred with gunfire, and blood spatter that was equal parts red and black. Two sets of clothing were draped down the steps. Another set was crumpled on the landing. The revivors made their entry there. The crew made a stand, but from the look of it, they weren’t successful.

I headed down the steps and passed two more sets of clothes on the landing. Shell casings littered the floor. The air in the stairwell smelled of decomposition, but it was faint. Whatever happened there happened a long time ago.

I found the med ward on the blueprint and sprinted down the hall alongside an old blood trail. At the junction, they’d piled up metal cabinets that were crimped and bored through with holes. More remains were piled behind them.

The route took me through a hatch, past the barricade, where I passed different sets of clothing bundled in rough rows. Tied plastic bands lay on the floor near each one.

Wrist ties. They lined them up here.

I saw shorts, tank tops, and brightly colored shirts. They probably didn’t belong to the crew …pirates, maybe, or local mercenaries. If they used hired guns, then they must not have had the numbers to take the ship alone. Either way, no one got off the ship alive. The weapons and ammo were gathered up. The corpses were dissolved, eaten, or went over the side.

The deck drummed faintly under my boots. Over the sound of the engine, I could hear movement in the halls of the ship below me, a lot of movement. I couldn’t pinpoint locations, but the number of signatures I was picking up was off the chart.

In the corridor past the hatchway, moving walkways hummed along in opposite directions.

They’ve diverted power. They’re on the move.

Roger that. Wachalowski, we’re picking up signatures approaching from belowdecks.

I checked the blueprint again. The signatures were jumbled, but it looked like most originated from the hold and were spreading out from there. I stepped onto the walkway to the right and crouched. As it sped me down a long corridor, I heard a burst of gunfire coming from another part of the ship.

A revivor signature came up suddenly on the display, with a second one right behind it. Up ahead, two sets of eyes flashed in the dark.

We’ve got contact, one of the team called in. Surface-to-air missile teams spotted on deck at points B and C.

Roger that. Locking on.

A big boom shook the floor underneath me, and the emergency lights flickered. One of the revivors up ahead fired, and a bullet glanced off the deck next to me. I targeted the first one and fired a burst. Its left knee exploded and as its leg went out from under it, it went facedown on the walk. The conveyor jerked it back and it bowled over the one behind it. I caught the second one in the forehead as it tried to get up, and its gun clattered across the deck.

The revivor with the ruptured knee pushed itself off the walk and took aim down the hall. I fired three shots. It squeezed off a round before my third shot took it down. The bullet caught me in my left shoulder, and I staggered. Blood seeped into my shirt, and when I moved my arm, pain bored into my chest.

The floor shook again as the sound of explosions boomed through the corridors. They were firing missiles onto the deck of the tanker in response to the stingers.

Wachalowski, we’re getting swarmed. What’s your status down there?

I released a painkiller into my bloodstream, followed by one of the stim packs. Right away, the pain began to dull and the corridor seemed to get brighter. I moved close to the fallen revivor being carried on the belt along with me, and scanned for its signature. It was weak, but hadn’t cut out yet. I used the modification I’d installed in the grind to sample the wave.

I’m getting close.

Is the bomb still in play?

Yes.

The bulk of the revivor signatures were coming in fast. They’d be on me any minute. I recorded a full loop of the revivor’s signature and began to transmit it. Feedback spiked until I put a single round in the fallen revivor and the redundant signature cut out. It wouldn’t be perfect, but in the dark and the confusion, it would keep them off me long enough.

The walkway carried me along as a trickle of sweat rolled down my back. Adrenaline and oxygen flooded my system, keeping me alert. I fumbled a dose of blood-clotting serum out of my pack. Pressing the end to the wound, I pushed the plunger, and pain shot down my arm. The spent cartridge dropped from my hand and rolled off, trailing smoke. The tissue around the wound puckered as the blood hardened into a plug.

The hatch I was looking for was up ahead. I jumped off the walk and a wave of nausea hit. I clenched my throat, tasting vomit as I went through the opening and came out on a walkway above the cargo hold. I slipped, catching the railing, then made a sprint for the doorway on the opposite side.

Cal, where are you?

I made it. I’m in the med ward.

On the map, I saw several signatures headed her way. They’d picked up her heartbeat and her body heat.

Give me full access to your JZI. I’m going to try to connect to the device.

It’s in me.

I know.

Down in the hold, I saw stacks of stasis crates. There were hundreds of them. They cast shadows that flickered in the light of thousands of revivor optical cells. They were moving, flowing in the dark like traffic through a city street at night. They sensed a warm body on the walk above them, but the signature I transmitted had confused them. Several looked up, not sure what they were seeing.

“Stop!”

At the end of the walkway, I caught a glimpse of Faye standing below. She was with three other revivors. Our eyes met for just a second; then I was through the hatch and into the dark corridor behind it.