Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  They retreated into the darkness of the store. The woman tried fighting against the Cheka , keeping the door closed, but it wasn't enough. With one good kick, he smashed it down, sending the woman sprawling back. The kids cried out as the large man stepped inside. They stood, gathered helplessly, as he raised his gun.

  Then — he was gone. Vanished from the doorway, as I grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him off his feet. There was a collective cry of shock as I threw him aside like a garbage bag. He landed on the trunk of a car, and didn't get up.

  I thought that was it, until something grabbed me from behind. A baton came up over my head, slamming against my throat, gripped by two hands on either side. I choked as my attacker tried to force me back, but I refused to bend to his will.

  Instead, I threw my body forward, bending at the waist while reaching up and grabbing his arms (in the process dropping my own improvised weapons). With my momentum, I used his own strength against him as I flipped the Cheka soldier over my head and slammed him into the ground in front of me.

  He was already unconscious by the time I kicked away his weapon, rubbing at the new bruise forming on my neck.

  The woman scrambled to her feet, rushing over to the kids and trying to wrap her arms around as many of them as possible, whispering quick assurances as a few began to cry.

  When they looked to me, I saw their fear, their awe. Their curiosity, confusion. The woman looked the most suspicious, and she demanded, 'Who are you?'

  I swallowed, lowered my arms. It didn't sound like she was asking who I was so much as what I was.

  'Just go!' I told them, pointing to the back door, the safest way out for them. 'Come back when it's safe!'

  I didn't know if they wanted to come back, if they had any intention of leaving the city, but I had to believe I wasn't the only one, that the protest had happened for a reason. That this riot, this death, had a reason.

  They all nodded, pushing back, rushing out. A few kids threw glances over their shoulders, giving me one last look before they disappeared back into Novi Grad.

  Considering my work done here, I turned around to face the square again.

  And saw the bullet sliding past my face.

  'Amelia!'

  Two hands clamped down on my arms, and I felt a sudden warm air surrounding me, like a summer wind. It was bizarre, on top of that, to watch the path of the bullet, passing me by in slow motion. I saw its spin, its elongated bronze shape piercing the air, missing me by inches, before slipping past, embedding itself into the wall behind me.

  My gaze pulled away as the ground disappeared beneath me in a silver rush.

  Woomph. I hit the ground again, stumbling at the sudden halt. Pietro still had a hold of my arm, steadied me while my head spun. 'Be careful! There are snipers out!'

  'Fantastic!' I said, as he pulled me down behind a low brick wall. The dizziness faded quickly and I saw that Pietro had zipped me away to the other side of the square, out of the line of fire of whatever gunman had been aiming at me.

  We were standing in the remains of an old building, only its thick brick chimney standing, while rubble surrounded us. I was sure I would've remembered a building getting destroyed in the last couple minutes, but now I wasn't so sure. Had this house always been this way, or was I only know noticing all the destruction the riot had caused?

  'Where were you earlier?' I asked, trying not to sound too accusing, because I could've used his help.

  'Disarming them,' He said, pointing to several Cheka standing around, staring at their empty hands in bewilderment, then to others, who were on the ground, unconscious. 'Too many for you to fight alone, yes? I promise, I did not kill them.'

  'It's fine,' I said, deciding to drop the point. With all the chaos, it wouldn't have been hard not to see Pietro running around. I mean, I couldn't see him at all when he was going super fast, so I guess that was the point. 'Thanks, by the way. Is Wanda all right?'

  'She is handling herself,' he said, just as an explosion to the right sounded off. We swiveled our heads in unison, watching as a burst of energy sent half a dozen Cheka flying into the air, while the metal doors of the gate started to bend. Another soldier turned his gun on his comrades, who cried out in terror before being shot. The dust cleared slightly, and there stood Wanda, her eyes alight and hands raised, conducting an invisible choir as she sowed destruction around her.

  'Good,' I placed a hand on Pietro's shoulder, squeezing it slightly. He looked to me as I said, 'Keep an eye on her. I'll take care of the snipers.'

  He gave me a brief nod, and a second later my hand was hovering in thin air, the silky silver residue slipping through my fingers. My eyes refocused as Pietro appeared next to Wanda in the distance, taking out a Cheka soldier coming up behind her with a swift punch.

  'Need a plan, need a plan,' I said, turning my attention back to the square, and the snipers that needed taking care of. I spotted flashes of light that corresponded with various gunshots, but before I could pinpoint each location, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

  My eyes flicked down, to a building directly to my left, across the street. There, low on the ground, was a man and a woman hunkered down behind the corner of the shop, mere feet away from the fighting, armed with — no less — a camera and a tape recorder.

  I blinked several times and shook my head. Was I having a stroke? Was I really seeing this?

  But they were still there when I looked again. Yes, a couple that looked to be in their mid-twenties, snapping photos of the riot taking place right in front of them, no care for the bullets and explosions that they had no defense for.

  They didn't look like participants, didn't have any weapons, nor were they trying to run away. No, it almost looked like they were trying to get closer, to get a better shot.

  'Hey!' I called out, running over to them, raising the shield over my head for protection. I came to a skidding stop when I reached the corner, coming down to a crouch next to them. 'What're you doing? Get out of here!'

  'We can't!' The man said, flinching as a bullet snapped off a chunk of brick overhead. I raised the shield up a little higher to cover us as he continued, 'We can't leave now! It's too important!'

  'What?' I demanded, utterly nonplussed. He was speaking Sokovian like I was, but his accent was off. Was he...was he a foreigner? I didn't think there were any in Sokovia left.

  'We're reporters! This is our job!' The woman called back, having to raise her voice over a peal of gunfire. She had the recorder in hand, and spoke into it in carefully enunciated words: 'We've just been confronted by a young female Sokovian, who appears to be one of the rebels —'

  'I'm not a rebel!' I snapped, although I wasn't sure why that offended me, because it was clearly true.

  And there was another thing. She spoke in the same accented Sokovian as her partner. I still couldn't figure out what it was, but now I didn't care. 'Look, never mind! You guys need to get out of here before it gets any worse! It's not safe for you!'

  I couldn't believe that I, a teenager, was lecturing two adults at least a decade my senior. Apparently, the man thought this was pretty ridiculous as well, because he only laughed, pushing his smudged, smoke-covered glasses further up his nose. 'Trust me, it's not safe for us anywhere! Not in Sokovia!'

  And that's when it hit me. I squinted at them, lowering my head as I blurted, 'Are you English?'

  It came out as English, too, although that was my shock kicking in, rather than any deliberate intention. Just the same, because the two gave me equal looks of astonishment.

  In English, the man exclaimed, 'You're American?!'

  'What the bloody hell is an American child doing in Sokovia?' The woman added before I could even confirm one way or another. I suppose I regretted letting the truth slip out, but I guess if anyone had to know, it would be the ones who also weren't supposed to be here. 'Good grief, how did you even get here?'

  'I could be asking you the same
question,' I retorted.

  'We're foreign correspondents from London,' The man replied, pressing his back against the wall as he searched for something inside his coat. They were both dressed in dowdy clothes — aside from their accent, they would fit right in with the typical Sokovian populace. He pulled out a badge, showed it to me, 'Frank Crain and Julia Frink, with the BBC. Although, technically, we're not supposed to be here.'

  'The world's been dying to know what's really happening inside Sokovia's borders,' Julia replied, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear as she held the recorder between us, not forgetting her duties, even for a moment. 'So we volunteered. British government and some Sokovian rebels helped sneak us in, but we've lost all contact. We have to remain in the dark until extraction, but that's six months from now, and I don't think we can last that long.'

  'I don't know how the Cheka got wind of us,' Frank Crain shrugged. 'Maybe they're suspicious of any and all newcomers. But we've been here for less than a year and already things are getting too hot. And the worst thing is that no one outside even knows about it. We're all alone here.'

  'We've been following the rebels because no one else would protect us,' Julia added. 'But with their constant provocations, its just putting us in more danger. We've got all the information we need, its just a matter of surviving long enough to tell it.'

  'So tell us,' Frank said. 'What's your name? What happened to you? How did you get here?'

  'Look, its a long story,' I said, hunkering down next to them, really not in the mood to go over my life story. 'But the short version is that I was kidnapped and now I'm here, trying to get out. The Cheka know I'm here — well, they know spies are here, and I really don't want to get caught. I didn't realize they might be after someone else.'

  'You were kidnapped?' Frank asked, his eyebrows shooting up. 'By who?'

  'The Chairman.'

  'The Chairman?' The two exchanged serious looks, apparently understanding the gravity of the situation. 'Why?'

  'I-I don't know,' I lied, deciding not to get into semantics at this moment. I just raised my hand, waving the thought away, 'The point is, I'm trying to go home. And that's not going to happen if those gates stay closed. I'm escaping with some friends of mine. Are you staying here?'

  'Hell no,' Frank snorted, peeking around the corner to snap another picture. 'Like you said, the Cheka are looking for us. We'd help you get home, of course, but right now our chances aren't looking so good.'

  'Who're your friends, by the way?' Julia asked, raising the recorder to me.

  I glanced past the building, towards the flashes of silver and red light. Pietro and Wanda were putting up a hell of a fight, trying to break down the gates, but I wasn't sure how much longer they could last without me. 'They're Sokovians, and they want out, too. I can't tell you their names, I don't want them to get hurt, but I trust them. I trust them with my life. And they're gonna help me get home. That's all I want.'

  The two nodded like this made total sense. Julia pulled her arm back, saying, 'Well, you may not realize this, but you've been caught in the middle of what appears to be the start of a revolution. This is history in the making. Whatever happens next will change the future of Sokovia forever.'

  'Thanks for the warning,' I said, a little wry, getting ready to stand up.

  But Frank grabbed my arm, and I paused to hear him say, 'Wait, you're going back to fighting? How even old are you?'

  I stared at him for a long moment before I answered. 'Fifteen.'

  Frank gaped at me, releasing me in surprise; Julia's hand flew to her mouth, but I didn't hang around to see their next reaction. Instead, I shot to my feet, pointed a finger at them, and ordered, 'Just stay back, okay? Until I say it's safe to go. I'm getting us all out of here.'

  Maybe I was jinxing it, making such a bold statement, but I didn't come this far just to be pushed back now. Turning around, I faced the square, and all its turmoil.

  The sniper was still on the roof, picking off rioters while fending off return fire from the inside of storefronts. I counted at least three Cheka shooters, working as a team, spaced out along the square.

  I saw a flash of light in the corner of my eye and raised the shield just in time, ducking as a bullet whipped past me. It hit the corner of the shield, snapping it right off and nearly taking out my eye. I gasped, dropped down behind my former hiding place behind a collapsed wall. Glancing behind me, I saw the two British reporters had done what I said and remained in place — but were now deliberately following me with their camera and their eyes.

  Oh, good. I had an audience.

  Trying not to let it get to me, and hoping I didn't have the misfortune of having my death recorded for all eternity, I got back up and faced the building which Frank and Julia hid behind. Taking a deep breath, I dropped the shield, and ran.

  I've never scaled a building before, but the know-how came to me nonetheless, just as the initial idea had. How did I know I could scale buildings now? The same way I knew how to speak Sokovian, how I knew to fight and take down enemies who should've been far superior to me.

  I grabbed the drainage pipe sticking out of the brick and used it to heave myself upwards, kind of like the rope-climbing lessons in gym class, which I always had a note to sit-out for. So maybe, it was nothing like rope-climbing, because I'd never done that before, but I'd seen it enough times to know that I definitely beat Midtown's record for the Thirty-Foot Vertical Dash. Two-point-four seconds. Eat your heart out, Astor.

  The drainage pipe turned horizontal, bending under a window, which I latched onto. With nothing but my upper body strength, I pushed myself up, snapping my arms out and grabbing the upper lintel of the window, before continuing my climb up along the side.

  A second later, I hauled myself up over the upper wall, and dropped down onto the roof. Right in front of me was the first sniper, and he hadn't noticed my arrival.

  Keeping to a crouch, I came up right behind him — and in a move I didn't know I could do until now, caught him in a half-nelson, locking my arms around his head, and squeezed the sides of his neck until he passed out.

  He struggled only for a few seconds, and I dropped him carefully beside his fallen weapon. The take-down hadn't made a single sound.

  Picking up the gun, I ducked down again before any of the other snipers could notice my handiwork. Looking down, I hesitated for a moment before I twisted the barrel into a pretzel; I wasn't sure how easy it would be to bend the metal, but it yielded to my grip like it was made of rubber. Without a second thought, I tossed it over the back end of the building, where no doubt Julia and Frank would notice.

  They'd probably take a picture of that, too. Would they know it was me?

  I pressed myself against the far wall, where they wouldn't see me, and tried not to dwell on how easy that had been, how I'd known to make it quick and silent. Why did I feel more like an assassin than a soldier?

  I eased myself with the knowledge that the sniper wasn't actually dead, before vaulting over the roof and landing onto the next.

  It was a careful venture across the rooftops, keeping low and making sure I wasn't seen. I knew to keep my head down, to stay on the balls of my feet, to measure my breathing and check the amount of noise I was making as I crossed the rooftops. There could be more enemies beneath me, and I didn't want to let them on what I was up to.

  The other two snipers hadn't seen me, nor had anyone else noticed the disappearance of the first sniper.

  The second one was hunkered down in the attic of a building on the back end of the square, directly opposite of the gates. I had to sneak in through a door on the rooftop, which was entirely devoid of cover. Luckily, no one shot at me, and I managed to get one up on the second shooter as I had with the first one. Still keeping as low as ever, I came up from behind, and with a mighty heave, I grabbed the back of his coat and threw him over the edge of the roof.

  The man let out a cry of surprise before hitting the groun
d below. The rifle soon followed with a loud clatter, pretzeled as the last one.

  Two down, one to go.

  The third and final sniper was on a roof opposite of that to the first one. Together, all three created good closure of the square. No one escaped their notice, no one escaped alive. Julia and Frank may have been one of a dozen bodies now littering the ground, had they not been taken care of.

  I spoke too soon.

  It took me less than a minute to reach him, and maybe I should've been more careful. I got overconfident in the idea that no one else could shoot me, that they couldn't see me, that I hadn't considered if they already had.

  The third sniper was crouched down, taking potshots at someone down below. I was just about to grab him about the shoulders when the gun whipped around, striking me across the head, and knocking me back.