Deep Silence

by Jonathan Maberry

  Then we get to the hidden goodies. All sorts of compartments inside the cabin have guns, first-aid kits, plasma, and lots of electronic gizmos. And concealed external pods that open up to deploy drones, chain guns, rocket launchers, spike strips, and more. We can roll up to any kind of party and start the fun and games. They even have an autonomous drive option, though I couldn’t begin to imagine any of us wanting to use it—although on reflection, it might be funny to have Ghost sit in the driver’s seat and let the car roll through town for an hour or so. Church would be pissed. I’d have to think about it, because the idea was beginning to feel like a moral imperative.

  We walked over to the Land Rover.

  “Driving,” said Top, not leaving it open to discussion.

  “Shotgun,” said Bunny, and I didn’t argue.

  “Not calling it Betty damn Boop, though,” Top said under his breath as he popped the lock on the back. Ghost wagged his bushy white tail and climbed in and over the seats to claim the middle row as his domain. I climbed in beside him and he looked deeply imposed-upon.

  Bunny leaned over and whispered in Top’s ear. “Betty Boop.”

  We drove off.

  INTERLUDE THIRTEEN

  THE GREEN CAVES

  BELOW TUVALU, POLYNESIA

  SIX YEARS AGO

  It was the screams that woke Valen. Even without his hearing aid they were so high and shrill that they stabbed at him all the way down deep inside his dreams.

  He sprang awake, swinging a punch at the green and scaly monster he’d been fighting in the nightmare, but his fist hit nothing and the effort sent him toppling onto the cabin floor. But Valen had lived too long on the edge to let surprise or stupor own him, and he sprang up like a cat, froze, listened to the night, and then launched himself into motion. He was out the door dressed only in pajama bottoms but with a GSh-18 9mm in his fist.

  Everyone else was erupting from cabins and tents all through the forested area near the cavern entrance. He saw Marguerite hurriedly belting a robe, and beyond her Svoboda, looking like a startled heron, blinking at the darkness and looking in the wrong direction. Then Valen turned and gaped at what loomed in the distance. Down the path, closest to the entrance, was the tent where Rig had been working.

  It was on fire, totally engulfed and raging.

  But the fire burned a fierce and ugly green.

  “Out of my way,” growled Valen, shoving people to one side as he ran. “Everyone get back to your quarters.”

  No one listened, of course. How could they when the world was being turned on its head?

  Valen raced to the clearing with the tent and then jerked to a stop twenty feet away. The tent was not burning in any normal way. The top had ripped open and something like a beam of rippling green light shot hundreds of feet into the air. The fabric of the tent had become nearly transparent because of the sheer intensity of whatever was going on inside. Ari Kostas was sprawled like a starfish on the ground with his clothes shredded and every inch of exposed skin flash-burned. His eyes were open and he was panting, but there was no trace of intelligence or recognition to be seen. Ari’s mouth worked like a fish’s, speaking words that made no sense at all. Without his hearing aid, Valen could barely make out the sounds, but none of them sounded like they were in any language he knew.

  “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh … Cthulhu R’lyeh … wgah’nagl … fhtagn…”

  Bloody drool ran from the corners of Ari’s mouth and he was weeping red tears.

  Inside the tent, silhouetted by the green light, was Rig. He stood with his head thrown back and his body gone impossibly rigid.

  And he was floating inches above the floor, surrounded by the fiery glow.

  “Oh my God, no!” Valen turned just in time to intercept Marguerite as she ran for the fluttering tent flap. He grabbed her in a bear hug and had to pick her up to drag her back, and he was not a second too soon, because there was a massive explosion—not of fire but of air. It flattened trees, tore plants from their roots, ripped all of the surrounding tents to shreds, and flung the dig team into the air. Valen and Marguerite were already turning, falling, when the blast hit them.

  The wave of air swept outward across the entire island, carrying with it the intense green light. The blast was so powerful that it went far beyond their remote camp and swept across the entire ten square miles of the island of Tuvalu. All ten thousand people living and vacationing on the island were shocked awake by the force of the blast.

  Back at the dig site, Valen and Marguerite lay bruised and bleeding and dazed. Valen hung on the very edge of consciousness, while Marguerite was out, her forehead swelling from where a heavy branch had struck her.

  The tent was nothing but rags fluttering on twisted poles. The guards stationed there were dead, half their skin ripped away. Of Rig, no sign at all was ever found. The table on which he’d been assembling the machine was slag.

  The machine itself, though, sat whole and complete, glowing with some inexplicable power, humming with energy. Valen stared at it, seeing that it was whole and untouched and bizarre and alien.

  “Wh-what…?” stammered Valen.

  It was then that the earthquake began.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  MARYLAND STATE ROUTE 295 SOUTH

  NEAR HANOVER, MARYLAND

  It was still raining all across the Eastern Seaboard. A steady downpour that fell in straight lines because there was no wind to push it. Morning looked like twilight, and even with the heater on there was a sense of deep cold. Not the numbing cold of an icy winter day, but the kind of soaking cold that keeps all of your nerve endings completely awake. Ghost snuggled in against me and leached my body heat away.

  While Top drove, I made a bunch of calls. The first was to Junie, and I got her answering service again. A moment later a text popped up:

  In a meeting. Will call later

  XOXOXOXO

  And a bunch of emojis. Hearts and palm trees and kissy faces. I think those things are totally ridiculous; a sign that, as a culture, our collective emotional maturity was approximately that of pre-K kids using precut shapes to make pictures for Mom and Dad. Absurd. So, I made sure my guys didn’t see me send twice as many back.

  Then I called the Hangar, but was told Church was in but not available except for missiles inbound or a zombie apocalypse. I left a message for a callback at his convenience.

  “Cap’n,” said Top quietly. “We got company. Black Lincoln Navigator three cars back.”

  I turned in my seat and studied the moderate traffic behind us. Top changed lanes a couple of times so I could see how the Lincoln adjusted.

  “Yup,” I said, “that would be an actual tail.”

  “Since when does the Secret Service drive Navigators?” asked Bunny.

  We hadn’t yet gotten onto Maryland 295 South, so I suggested Top take a side route. The Lincoln followed, keeping well back.

  “Does this boat have Calpurnia?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said the sexy voice of the AI. “I’m here, Joseph.”

  Bunny snorted. “Not sure where that falls. Somewhere between cool and I want to put a bullet into the dashboard.”

  “I don’t bite, Bunny,” purred the computer.

  Top shook his head. He hated gadgets.

  “Calpurnia,” I said, “Lincoln Navigator on our six. Deploy a drone. I want details.”

  “Done.”

  There was a soft click as the pigeon drone rolled out of a concealed compartment near the front fender. It waited until the Lincoln passed and then shot into the air. Half a mile rolled past.

  “Plates are federal,” said Calpurnia. “Registered to the Department of Homeland Security motor pool. However, there is a sixty-three percent possibility that the registration was the result of a hack into the motor pool server.”

  “Then they’re not friendlies,” said Bunny as he opened the glovebox to reveal a thumbprint scanner, pressed it, and was rewarded when a second door hissed up out of sight. “Nice.”r />
  “What’ve we got, Farm Boy?” asked Top.

  “Two choices. Heckler & Koch .45s with sound suppressors or a couple good ol’ Glock 19s.”

  “No Sigs?”

  “No Sigs. You want 9mm or a .45?”

  “Nine,” said Top. Bunny selected one, checked the magazine, and handed it to Top, who nodded and rested it on his lap, tucked in between thigh and belt. Bunny also handed him three magazines, which Top pocketed. He handed me the H&K and took the remaining Glock for himself. Our own handguns were in locked travel boxes in their suitcases, with additional trigger locks in place. We hadn’t come to Baltimore on business and were scheduled to take a commercial flight back home. But Mike Harnick would never leave us high and dry. According to the brief tour of the Betty Boop, there were enough handguns, long guns, and other weapons to start a war with a moderate-sized country. And likely win it. There were also some of what we call our “exotics.” Weapons based on tech we’d taken from the bad guys over the years. Hey, not everything went to FreeTech.

  “If we’re going to do something,” mused Top, “I don’t want to get into a fuss in Beltway traffic, feel me? How ’bout we take this to neutral ground? Cash Creek Lake? Sound good?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  A few minutes later we were on a smaller road, cutting between Pheasant Run Community Park and South Laurel Neighborhood Park. Top didn’t slow down because those were residential areas. He headed south and east, leading the follow car and shedding incidental traffic like leaves.

  Soon it was just the two SUVs rolling along a country road. Then Top made a hard right down Powder Mill Road, which cut through dense forestland. The follow car began to speed up because, hey, nobody was fooling anybody by then. Top cut left onto the narrow Scarlet Tanager Loop and looked for the first major bend in the road.

  “Get ready,” he told Bunny, who already had a panel open on the center console. As soon as Top rounded the bend and the other car vanished momentarily from sight, Bunny punched the button. There was a metallic thump and rattle. Top made another hard turn, but this time he hit the brakes and steered through a hissing, screeching turn and then jammed the brakes to stop us facing the way we’d come.

  The driver of the other car was moving at about sixty when his tires hit the spike net Bunny had deployed. All four tires blew and the SUV went into a nasty, crunchy, turning, glass-shattering and metal-rending series of rolls until it dropped back onto wheels wrapped in rubber shreds. Smoke curled from under the buckled hood and was punched back down to the steaming asphalt by the rain.

  By then we were moving. Bunny ran along the right-hand side of the road; I was on the left. Top was still in the driver’s seat, but he’d hit the controls to drop the headlights down and allow an ugly pair of M230 chain guns to roll out.

  I yelled, “Federal agents! Step out of the vehicle with your hands on your heads. Do it right now.”

  Bunny roared, “Hands only, motherfuckers. If I see a gun I will kill you.”

  The two front doors opened as we approached. One fell off into the road; the other had to be kicked open. The driver stepped out and stood looking at us. His clothes were torn and he had bruises on his face, but he was smiling. The passenger got out and actually wiped window glass from his lapels like this was some kind of movie. He was smiling, too, and this was not a smiling moment.

  “Captain Ledger,” said the driver, “you are making a mistake here.”

  I pointed my gun at his face. “Then I’ll cry a little later. Hands on your head. Do it right now.”

  “We are not your enemy.”

  There was something weird about the way he spoke. His lips didn’t really move even though his words were clearly enunciated. It was like watching a ventriloquist. Neither of them looked anything at all like they’d just been bounced around a Maryland highway in a metal box. Ghost began to growl very softly.

  “Hands on your head,” I said, feeling my heart begin to hammer harder than I wanted it to. “I won’t tell you again.”

  “We are not your enemy,” said the passenger. In exactly the same way. Identical words, identical voice. It was like listening to a recording. And it sounded vaguely familiar, but I could not place from where.

  Then they both said it. Exactly at the same time.

  “We are not your enemy.”

  “Cowboy,” warned Top, using my combat call sign. Ghost gave a single savage bark. A warning of his own.

  Faster than the eye could see, the two agents crouched, spun, and came up with guns.

  Bunny and I fired at the same time, hitting each agent with round after round. The agents straightened, still smiling, and returned fire, filling the air with a sound louder than our shots. Both of their guns made loud, hollow tok sounds.

  And suddenly the world turned a bright green and caught fire. I felt myself rising into the air, punched off my feet by a fist of pure heat. Then I was falling as the green fires burned the world into a black cinder.

  INTERLUDE FOURTEEN

  THE GREEN CAVES

  BELOW TUVALU, POLYNESIA

  SIX YEARS AGO

  Valen walked through the camp like a drunken man.

  His pajama bottoms were torn to rags and blood ran in lines down his body. He was missing two teeth on the upper left side, and one eye was puffed shut. There were corpses everywhere. Dr. Svoboda sat with his back to a portable generator, eyes wide, mouth agape, hands clutched around a split stomach from which everything of importance had slid out into the dirt. He called for his mother in a high, plaintive voice.

  Dr. Chu was missing her head and left arm. The senior staff officer was impaled on a tent pole. Several of the miners had been caught in the jaws of the hungry earth as the quake sent the land into a feeding frenzy.

  Valen had no idea what time it was. Dawn, or a little after, perhaps; though the pale light could have just as easily been midday viewed through a curtain of dust. There were helicopters in the air, but closer to the towns. Not here.

  All that he saw here was death and destruction.

  The machine.

  The machine.

  The fucking machine.

  It sat there. Without a scratch. Silent now, though. Even as the whole island seemed to tear itself apart, the machine sat there. Unmoving except for a slight vibration. The ground rumbled and churned beneath it, but the machine simply stayed there, as if it was governed by a different set of physical laws than the rest of reality.

  Ten minutes ago, Valen staggered through waves of green pulsing energy to tear one of the plates away, and that seemed to stop it. The green glow vanished as surely as if a light switch had been thrown. There was a faint whoomph sound, something that Valen felt more than he heard, and the machine died.

  The earthquake stopped at that precise moment.

  Valen stood for long minutes, looking at the plate he held, at the machine, and at the incredible devastation around him.

  “What…?” he asked aloud, but there was no one alive or awake to hear him. Ari Kostas was alive, but he had two broken legs, a broken jaw, and was unconscious. And Marguerite seemed to linger at the edge of the big fall into blackness with a concussion and possibly a skull fracture.

  Valen was awake, mostly whole, and alone. The earthquake had torn the island apart. The cave system had collapsed, burying their dig under a million tons of broken rock. Everywhere he looked were the jagged stumps of broken trees, and far away, on the populated side of the island, towers of smoke from fires smudged the sky.

  He wandered back to the machine and found the plate he’d torn loose. He picked it up and for a moment considered hurling it into the jungle. With all of the uprooted trees and torn earth no one would ever find it again. Maybe that was what he should do. And then dismantle the rest and carry the pieces to the roiling surf, smash the quartz on the rocks. End whatever ancient or alien madness this thing was.

  That was what he should have done. Valen knew it. The human heart inside his chest warred with the colder e
xigencies of political agenda and patriotism. Gadyuka and her superiors had selected him for a reason. Did they know this might happen? It seemed likely. Or, if not this specific thing, then something equally unnatural.

  He stared at the machine as he bent and picked up a piece of twisted tent pole.

  Smash it and be done with it, he told himself. No one will know. No one can see.

  He could claim it was destroyed along with everything else. Whatever it was, this thing was too powerful. What if it had been activated in a city? What if it had been assembled in Moscow? What kind of devastation would it do?

  And then something occurred to him. Something Gadyuka had alluded to but not really explained. He spoke a name aloud and knew that it, all those years ago, and this right here, were part of the same new skewed reality.

  “Chernobyl…,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE CAPITOL BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  There were no Secret Service agents waiting in ambush for Aunt Sallie when she entered the Capitol Building. She made her way to the chamber where the House of Representatives was gathering. She made it in time to see the Speaker call the House to order, then yield to the chaplain to offer a brief prayer. It was nondescript and the amens were perfunctory, even among the more devout representatives. If the bill on tap this morning had been one dealing with a hot-button topic, there would have been the usual grandstanders needing to be seen as openly devout, especially those up for reelection. Then the Speaker offered up the legislative journal from the previous business day, which was approved by all. After that they stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. It was all rote, and done without passion or fuss, clearing the decks for that day’s legislative business.