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Eminent Silence

Page 20

by Tristan Carey


  As I pushed the door to go inside, I tried to remember, when I was walking in those woods, if it had hurt. If there had been any indication that I could recall of being hurt.

  But I didn't. Aside from the cold, I had felt fine.

  I picked out two muffins, and didn't reconsider how much it cost even when the baker added the tax. One muffin should've been enough, but now that I was in here, my stomach twisted in on itself like that of a starving man. I had to have two, even if it took almost half of what money I had to pay for it.

  I left the bakery, already halfway finished with the first muffin, as I considered my previous thoughts. Maybe I had just been numb to the pain. Even now, the two scars on my back barely twinged under the bandaging. Maybe the snow had helped? I heard that low blood temperature due to the cold sometimes slowed bleeding from serious injuries. Could that have been it?

  I wandered over to a fruit stall, vibrant apples and pears enticing the eye. It was one of the few elements of color in what felt like the entire city. There wasn't anything exotic like oranges or bananas, which would probably cost more anyways, in a little market like this.

  I still couldn't quite believe the fact that I had been shot. Twice. Didn't such an occasion usually leave people a lot more dead?

  Just another question on an ever growing pile, and the coil of dread in my chest tightened. Why did I get the feeling that I was better off not knowing the answer to any of these questions? The mere fact that these things happened — all together, no less — was leading me to think that something truly horrible had happened.

  But what?

  That's when I saw the girl.

  The first thing I noticed was her long brown hair, billowing in the wind. It let me to her piercing hazel eyes, and I met them with a jolt. She was staring at me. She didn't even blink, but her expression flickered, something I couldn't interpret.

  Her clothes were, in a way, like mine — which I didn't know was a good thing or a bad thing. Her dress was threadbare, really just a long red plaid shirt tied at the waist with a ragged leather belt. A wool shawl was draped across her shoulders and arms, not nearly warm enough, yet she didn't look cold. It was slightly tangled with a red-patterned scarf around her neck, and beneath that a gold chain, maybe the nicest thing she wore. I couldn't make out the pendant that hung at the end of it, only that it seemed to be pointed.

  She had better footwear than I did. Black stockings, although torn, and old work boots, laces tied around her ankles. Nothing the girl wore looked new or clean. Of course, what made it worse was the fidgeting, her twitchy fingers and hunched shoulders. Knitted fingerless gloves completed the homeless look — a fact I knew all too well from the streets in New York City.

  As I took in her entire appearance, the way her hair hung over her face, something tickled in the back of my mind. A thought, a memory? I tried to grasp at it, but it was as slippery as soap in the shower. But I couldn't deny what I felt, that sense of déjà vu.

  Did I...did I know her?

  No. Impossible. I'd remember someone who looked as strange as she did.

  Speaking of: Who was she? And why was she starting at me? I didn't remember seeing her before, but I had the distinct feeling she'd been standing there the whole time.

  She was less than ten feet away. If I spoke to her, it wouldn't be awkward, right? So I opened my mouth, but the girl quickly shook her head, the movement so slight I almost didn't catch it. But her eyes went wide, her lips pressed thin.

  She was scared. Her face didn't show it, but I could tell. But why was she so nervous?

  Not going to lie, I honestly thought she was planning to take something, using the good ol' fashioned Five Finger Discount. Maybe I was making unfair assumptions based on her appearance, but there were a bunch of apples right in front of us, easy to palm if you were smart about it. And teenagers generally weren't known for their cool-headedness while participating in illegal activities.

  I thought about saying something anyway, breaking that unspoken contract between all kids of not snitching on each other in the name of fellow teenage shenanigans. No, the right thing to do would be to tell the stall owner the girl's suspicious behavior, maybe pray for some free food as thanks.

  But the girl wasn't reaching for the apples. She shifted restlessly on her feet, as though she intended to run at any second. Her gaze flicked over my shoulder, eyes focusing on something for one long second, before her gaze flicked back to mine. What was she looking at?

  I was about to look around, but the girl just shook her head again, in that same furtive movement, like she knew exactly what I was going to do. In return, I threw her a silent what-the-heck-is-up-with-you look.

  Then I spotted the men behind her.

  Like us, not moving, and thus they stood out from the regular hustle and bustle from the crowd. I counted three of them — and one woman, with red hair — milling about by a cafe about twenty feet behind the girl. I guess that would've been normal, but on top of their stiffness, they also weren't doing anything. They weren't eating, they weren't talking. Just looking out over the square, not looking quite at us, but eyes covering every corner.

  They also weren't dressed like everyone else. While the citizens of this town had worn clothes, stained boots, and long scarves (still significantly better than what the girl owned), these people were different. Their clothes too nice, too dark, a unique selection of black and green. Thick boots and leather jackets, all similar in style. If I hadn't known any better, I would've thought they were in a rock band.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The very sight of them sent off alarm bells in my head. In front of me, the girl's eyes flickered over my shoulder again. I had to resist the attempt to look. Were there more behind me?

  Wait, was that what she was trying to warn me? Who were these people? Were they following me? Her? Both of us?

  I glanced back at the men and woman by the cafe, but I nearly jumped when I couldn't find them there anymore. They were just gone.

  No way. What the hell was going on?

  Over our heads, a church bell rang, calling out the time. At each subsequent gong, the people in the square started to disperse, called back to work or home for noontime. It was almost ritualistic watching people filed away in a low roar, leaving businesses sparse and the streets startlingly quiet and empty.

  Well, not completely empty.

  Five people didn't move.

  They appeared from the crowd, like rocks from beneath a low tide. Tall, muscular, imposing in dark clothing — all of them, male and female alike, with expressionless faces. They even wore sunglasses, which went all too perfectly with the creepy-ass Matrix vibe.

  Like them, the girl hadn't moved. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly, rapid breathing. I hadn't yet decided how I wanted to feel about all of this, but from her reaction I knew I should feel a lot more scared than I was right now.

  My chest tightened as I came to the realization that this was all very, very real. This wasn't just some crazy scene from a movie, this was my life, right now, and I didn't have anyone to make it better, to fix this. No Mom, no police, no Peter to tell me it was going to be all right.

  No, I was alone.

  A lone dove cooed, sad and mournful, and behind me I heard footsteps. I glanced to my left, saw something move in the store window's reflection. The shape of a men — no, two, if not more — walking slowly forward from around a parked black van.

  I couldn't quite figure out how close he was, but from the sound of it they would reach me in less than a minute.

  I had no idea who they were, if they were government or military or secret force, good guys or bad guys; not a clue what they had to do with this girl or with me, but I did know one thing: I didn't want any of them to touch me.

  Behind the girl, the team — because what else could they be? — started shifting closer. Then stopped. I had no idea why they weren't just rushing in. We were just two little girls,
why were they being so cautious.

  Just turn yourself in, said the passive part of my brain, the one that didn't want to make this situation any worse than it already was. You don't want them angry at you, do you? They might just be trying to help.

  The rational part of my braid responded with, Yeah, not gonna happen.

  If these guys were trying to help us, if that's why they were being cautious because they didn't want to scare us, they were sure doing one hell of a job. Going this slowly just meant they didn't want to get caught too soon.

  But I still couldn't fathom why. What were they worried of? That'd we'd run away? I had the distinct feeling they could catch up with little ol' me without breaking a sweat.

  So then what?

  Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to ask, and the girl in front of me went stockstill. Her eyes never left mine now, perhaps too scared to look at them and give herself away — as if there were any doubt either of us had any idea what was going on.

  Do something do something do something I have to do something

  Less than a minute had passed since I first saw the girl, and already I knew it was too late. I tried scanning for exits, the only thing I could think of at this point. There was no way I was running at the team in front of me, nor was I turning around to face the one in the back. With them so close, I couldn't waste time trying to decide where I wanted to go.

  The stall owner spoke to me, but I didn't hear it. Blood was pumping past my ears so loud I barely acknowledge anything else. I couldn't even tell if the people behind me were walking closer or not.

  Then I saw it. An alleyway to my right, across the street between two stores. But it seemed so far away, too close to the team in front.

  Could I make it before they cut me off?

  Or would I break out into an asthmatic fit before I even made it halfway there?

  The girl would have an easier escape, I figured. The apple cart was right on the street corner, and to the left was a side street, narrow but doable. Hopefully these guys didn't have any guns.

  I thought maybe the stall owner would ask me something again — but instead he seemed to notice the others surrounding us, made an odd strangled noise, before darting back into the store.

  That was all I needed to know.

  I looked at the girl. We held each other's gaze for a long moment.

  She nodded. Just once.

  Then we ran.Everything happened at once.

  The girl and I turned simultaneously — her to the left, me to the right. I took off, full-tilt sprinting.

  I heard a shout, and knew that the ruse was up.

  I wasn't even looking where I was going when I started to run, I was too busy watching the dark-haired girl disappear down the side-street before I remember I should be looking where I was going.

  I turned my head just in time to see the red-haired woman jump in my path, her arms outstretched to grab me.

  I gasped, swerved around her, nearly tripping over my feet in the process. I thought for sure my clumsiness would be the end of it, that I'd feel those hands clamp down on my arm.

  Only her fingers swiped past me, inches away but too far, too slow. I couldn't believe it as I stumbled forward, my arms flailing as I tore down the street, going as fast as my legs could take me.

  ...which turned out to be pretty fast, actually.

  I swung around the corner, nearly overshooting it because I underestimated my momentum. I grabbed the corner of the building to swing myself around and propel myself forward.

  My hand let go a split second before the brick exploded, shattered by bullets. The sound of gunshots rang out behind me and I cried out, pulling my hand back to my body. Holy shit, they did have guns!

  But why? I wasn't dangerous! Why did they need to shoot me?

  I didn't have time to think about. Just keep going, you idiot! Don't slow down!

  The alleyway stopped at a wall, went into two directions. I had no idea how fast I was going — and my shoulder slammed into the wall. I gasped, surprised, before bouncing off. Without thinking, I went left.

  I had no idea what I was doing. I just had to get away.

  The alleyway, which I was beginning to think was a maze, split off in different directions again. It extended down maybe a block, walls so tight that I couldn't hold out my arms all the way. Hearing footsteps behind me, I took the first right I saw.

  My feet flew over the dirt and cobblestones. Paff! Paff! Paff!

  The building walls blurred around me. The world moved too fast. I looked down at the ground, watching as my white shoes snapped in and out beneath me.

  It was so light, so easy. And yet so hard. My arms flailed, my knuckles bashing off the walls because I had no idea how to freaking run. Holy shit, I hadn't this fast since I was on Peter's skateboard. I didn't even know I could go this fast.

  I glanced behind me. I didn't see the team chasing me. Was I actually outrunning them?

  My lungs should hurt. I knew that. But they didn't. Climbing up a flight of stairs winded me; I shouldn't even be breathing right now, but here I was, in an all-out sprint, like I was being chased by a T-Rex, and I wasn't slowing down.

  ...In fact, I might just be getting faster.

  I swallowed air by the mouthful. More air than I've ever breathed in my life. Instead of choking it down, it just flowed.

  No cotton in my throat, no soda straw and smoothie.

  Just air.

  How was this happening? I've never felt this good in my life.

  Unfortunately, answering that question right now might be difficult. As I turned another corner, I was confronted with a very bad sight: a chain-link fence blocking the way.

  There was no way around it. No other turns, and I didn't even consider double-backing. I had to climb it, but the fence had to be at least ten feet, if not more. I barely graced five, how could I get myself over that?

  'Crap!' I skidded, slowing down, but not stopping. My momentum still carried me forward, slamming me into the fence — but instead of letting it stop me, I grabbed it, hauled myself up. I'd seen Peter do it thousands of times, cutting through alleyways to get home faster. How hard could it be?

  With a huff, I tensed my arms, hooked my fingers in the loops, stuck my toes in and pushed myself upwards — my legs took me higher, my reach was longer than I expected. In less than two seconds I was already at the top. So... Not hard at all, in fact. It was easier than climbing a ladder, and even though the chain-link bent and wobbled beneath me, it held as I scrambled up, and with one incredible haul I vaulted myself up over the top and down to the other side.

  I landed in a somersault I didn't even know I could do, before recovering into a run again.

  'Ha-ha!' laughter broke out of my mouth despite myself; what, did I just do that? And I didn't eat shit? That was so cool! Guess that fence wasn't so tall after all.

  Still amazed and bewildered, I looked behind me as I left that once-presumed-insurmountable fence behind. I was pleased by the sight of the team of four crowding at the chain-link as they tried to get over it at the same time.

  The woman uttered a frustrated growl as the four of them came to an abrupt stop. They're collective clambering made it impossible for anyone to get over.

  So instead, she raised her gun, and a loud bang echoed down the cramped walls, followed by a window shattering. My laugh was quickly cut off by broken glass raining down on my head.

  I cried out, raising my arms over my head to protect myself, closing my eyes and hoping I didn't step on it.

  In that split second of blindness, I tripped over some garbage. The bags cushioned my fall (although the smell kind of ruined any appreciation I'd have), and by the time I picked myself up again, one of the men had already gotten over the fence.

  I saw him charging at me and scrambled back up to my feet, breath caught in my throat as panic gripped me.

  I didn't remember to breathe again until I broke out of the all
eyway onto another street. I slowed down to look both ways trying to figure out where to go, uphill or downhill — before a car honk had me diving out of the way, still in the middle of the road. The driver yelled at me, shaking his fist out the window.

  'Sorry!' I held up my hands as I sidled around the bumper. Another gunshot had me taking off again.

  The driver started swearing when the bullet knocked off his side mirror, but I didn't hang around to see what happened next. I went down downhill, the path of least resistance, throwing myself right into traffic because I was a complete and total idiot who thought that might somehow slow down my pursuers.

 

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