Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  Well, that wasn't really important right now. I faced forward, facing the three agents coming in. This was going to be fun.

  The piece of the roof at my feet had been nearly torn free, and was now hanging by a thin shred, probably thanks to Wanda. I grabbed it, twisted it free. I raised the improvised shield just in time to deflect a fireball that had been coming right for my head.

  Damn lucky.

  I decided not to count on my so-called luck for too long. Using the metal sheet, I thrust the broad side against the chest of Lava Goon #1, who reached me first.

  Shoving him aside, I twisted around and slammed my heel into the thigh of Lava Goon #2, who went down on a knee with a grunt of pain. Ducking under #1's retaliating hook, I came up and slammed the top edge of the metal into #3's chin, knocking him back.

  It was the four of us, in a whirlwind of trading blows, with me at the center like the eye of the storm. I had to keep moving, keep spinning around, so I didn't leave any one of them at my back unguarded. #2 took a hit to the schnozz from my foot. #1 got his arm bent the wrong way when I caught it between my shield and twisted in just the right way. #3 got in a strike to my ribcage, nearly winding me before I swept under his follow-up and grabbed the back of his head.

  With that kind of torque, I threw him forward, straight into #2, who'd been coming at me at the same time. #2 wasn't fast enough to avoid #3, and their heads smashed into each other, and they dropped in unison.

  In the background, Wanda was still throwing magic bolts at the helicopter, but only managed to hit its skid rails and the open gull-wing door. Shrapnel took out the gunner, but that was more chance than skill. The helicopter was still up, and another man took dead gunner's place.

  And Pietro was somewhere in the back, bouncing between seven other agents (and Brandt) like he was in a demonic pinball machine. Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! What he lacked in strength he made up for in speed, and was nigh uncatchable for the increasingly perturbed agents, who couldn't move a single step without being struck again. Then Pietro zipped away untouched with a laugh, like the evil little gremlin he was.

  Back to Lava Goon #1. His broken arm already straightening itself, he came at me with greater gusto. I stumbled back, ducking and dodhing three consecutive swings he took at me, before my foot suddenly came down over empty air. I gasped as I fell backwards over the hold in which my impromptu shield came from.

  A split-second decision. I had enough sense to think and throw my weight back hard enough, so I landed on the other side, instead of falling into the hole. My back took the brunt of the fall. I winced, rocking back, pulling my legs out of the hole, just as #1 lunged for me.

  He leapt over the gap, arms outstretched to crash down on me. For a moment, he looked like a football player, about the catch the Hail Mary throw of the season, and win the Super Bowl.

  In reality, he was an idiot, leaving his entire chest open for me.

  I raised my legs further, planted my feet on #1's chest just as it came down to meet me. His hands were inches from my face, fingers splayed, curling, scratching at empty air — before lifting away again, as I launched him up and over my head.

  The goon cried out as he flipped over me, arms and legs flailing. He landed on the car behind me, falling hard on his face.

  Ha.

  I picked myself up, just in time to see Wanda throw her arms out, uttering a cry of frustration. The helicopter was still flying, still shooting, now at Pietro, who darted fast to avoid the spray of bullets.

  Wanda was just preparing another throw when Pietro suddenly went down with a cry. It made her turn just as she threw the bolt. 'Pietro!'

  He was down on one knee — his hands over his thigh, blood spilling. A bullet had caught him. Twenty feet away, I couldn't tell how bad it was, only that he was in pain, and Wanda's anger had just magnified tenfold.

  She slapped her hands together with such a force I felt my ears pop — from her fists exploded a bolt so large it knocked Wanda back. The magical energy went wild, expanding the further it got — there was nowhere for the helicopter to go, and it took the blast full-on.

  One of its wings burst into flames. A whine filled the air as the engines started to fail, the rotors slapping uselessly together as the helicopter was suddenly sent into a tailspin.

  Wanda was already running for Pietro, not even looking as the helicopter veered overhead.

  I watched, in silent horror, as it shrieked into the mountainside hundreds of feet over our heads, exploding into a massive ball of smoke, flame, and metal.

  Phweeeeeewwww-BOOOM!

  Wanda reached Pietro, helped him up. The agents were still recovering, a little slower. None of them seemed to notice the sheets of snow starting to slip down the mountain beneath the black plume of smoke, where the helicopter had smashed into.

  I stood there, awestruck, as the snow fell thicker. It piled and piled, slipping past crevices and trees, gathering in size. Although the train was leaving it fast behind, I realized that the snow was picking up speed.

  Oh no.

  Wanda, helping Pietro with his arm over her shoulder, had just crossed the last car back to me when she noticed I was staring at something. She and Pietro looked over their shoulders. Something heavy fell across the atmosphere as the same dreadful thought passed through everyone's heads.

  A chill silence fell over the air as we all realized the same thing. Pietro cursed loudly.

  An avalanche.

  We turned and broke into a run just as the avalanche slammed onto the end of the train. A massive shudder carried down the length of the locomotive, a long metallic groan as what must have been a hundred tons of snow crashing into it.

  Wheels screeched against the rails. Cries filled the air, before abruptly cut off. I risked a glance behind me, just in time to see some of the Komitet agents, much farther behind, disappear under the never-ending wall of ice.

  I would've smiled if that same wall of ice wasn't coming for me.

  The cars started disappearing as the train careened around the corner in the tracks; it disappeared behind the cliff wall, but the avalanche continued to follow us — the snow rushing in from greater heights, stopping for nothing, taking every tree, stone, and rock with it.

  Despite every urge screaming at me to run — run like hell — I made myself stop and wait for the twins to catch up. Pietro had momentarily forgotten his injury, racing along the cars, Wanda in the lead, hand in hand. He could've run faster, gone full speed, and not faced the danger of the avalanche, but the bullet had taken that away just when he needed it most.

  That's not to say he wasn't fast, especially when he wanted to be. Pietro was still faster than me, and I ended up bringing up the rear as we darted from car to car. The avalanche was practically kissing our heels as we tried to outrun it.

  A stitch grew in my side, but I couldn't slow down. Breath heaving, I couldn't take in enough air.

  There was this incessant, pounding roar in my ears as I ran. At first, I thought I was the sound of the avalanche, inches from sucking me in. But later I would recognize it was my pulse in my ears, nearly deafening me.

  There was a loud screech then — snap! — the car beneath my feet jolted, and I nearly lost my balance. I caught myself just in time, pushing off again.

  A quick glance over my shoulder, and I discovered the source of the disturbance.

  The back of the train, beneath all the snow, had been knocked off the track.

  I watched, in horror, as the cars descended into the valley below. With it, a massive spray of snow, sprinkled with the bodies of the agents left behind.

  My stomach did flips. More boxcars fell, and that when I realized — they were still connected to the train.

  At the same time, I felt car beneath me tilt.

  I cried out as my next step fell on thin air, and the car dropped. It wheels were yanked off the tracks, swinging over the thin edge of the cliff.

  I landed harder than I anti
cipated. A stabbing jolt in my ankles and knees, before I threw myself forward. One last desperate attempt to escape a fall to my death.

  I leapt over the gap, reaching for the edge of the next car. My palms slapped against the cold metal — before slipping. I yelped when the car slipped out from my hands, my legs hanging over thin air. My gut yanked up when I went airborne.

  This was it. This was the end.

  Then a hand appeared. My arm was nearly yanked out of its socket as I was caught. I gasped, my other arm snapping up to scramble for the miracle grip around my wrist.

  Pietro's face appeared over the edge of the car. 'Hold on! Wanda!'

  As soon as he called her name, the train car Pietro was on started to tilt and fall as well — before suddenly bouncing back up into the air.

  A loud crack — a flash of red light — and the car I had just jumped from broke away, along with the rest of the fallen train.

  But the important part — the engine, the twins and I — were still together and moving. The train kicked forward, picking up speed at the loss of the latter half of its cargo.

  The avalanche dropped back ten feet.

  The car returned to the tracks with a heavy crash. I almost let slip a sob of relief. Wanda appeared beside Pietro, grabbing my arm and together helping me up.

  Shaky legs scrambled on board. My heart was doing jumping jacks and I gasped, remembering to breathe. Wanda said something but I didn't catch it. The avalanche was still coming. Pietro was having trouble getting up. He may have hurt himself, saving me from my fall.

  The world was a blur. I was still breathing too hard. But my legs carried me into a standing position, and I didn't lose my balance again. My side had an awful cramp, and I bent over a little, wheezing.

  Exhaustion was starting to set in. I could see it in Wanda and Pietro's faces, and I could feel it in my bones. This had gone on too long, and that was about as close to death as I ever wanted to be.

  Once more, we kept going, at a slower pace this time. Not quite running now, as the avalanche continued to recede. Either it was losing momentum or the train was gaining speed.

  Either way, I felt safe now.

  Bang!

  A bullet ripped through the air right by my head. A second bullet struck Wanda in the arm. She cried out, went down, and Pietro went down with her.

  I whipped around. At the end of what remained of the train was one last man, pulling himself back up. In his hand, he gripped a pistol — apparently, the avalanche had forced him to draw back on the last of his arsenal.

  Without thinking, I charged at him, catching him before he could fire another shot. I wouldn't let him hurt the twins again.

  I grabbed his gun. I shouldn't have done that. In the attempt to jerk his aim away, to disarm him, the agent just used it as an opening to strike me in the face. The fist landed hard against my temple.

  I went down, stars flashing in front of my eyes.

  But that didn't stop me from rolling, avoiding two bullets as they went through the metal roof beneath. I swept out my legs. The agent dropped, too, and the gun skittered from his hand.

  My heart was pounding as I scrabbled for the weapon, trying to reach it first. The agent elbowed me in the side, in the same place I was struck before. I felt bone crack, but I bit my lip, held in a cry as I thrust myself forward by the balls of my feet. The agent's hands were inches from the gun.

  I kicked him.

  He slid a few inches away. His fingers grazed the edge of the weapon's handle.

  My hand fell over the barrel.

  I ripped it out of his grip, thrusting the gun over my head before the bullet could inadvertently strike me. But the agent still had the gun, and he grit his teeth as we fought over it — me on my back, him getting up, over me. He was stronger — the initial punch that brought me down was proof of that.

  His crushing weight on top of me. I could see the muscles in his face twitching, the narrowing of his pupils, as he forced the gun lower, between our chests. It was all I could do to keep the gun aimed away from my body or my face. My hands trembled against the smooth metal. I tried to crush it, the only thing I could think of, but I didn't have the right torque, not with the constant opposing force trying to rip it out of my hands.

  I didn't expect to be on the losing side so quickly. I had underestimated the damage I'd taken so far, and how easy it would be for someone to use that against me. The pain in my side was just the start. I could feel exhaustion starting to set into my bones. The twitching in my overextended and stressed-out muscles. I couldn't maintain an even control on the gun, even with my grip firmly on it. My breath came out in short, uneven gasps. I had to keep reminding myself to breathe, to think.

  The pain in my side was overwhelming. I gasped, struggled for breath against the stabbing sensation right next to my lungs. Something had to be broken. I hoped against hope that my lung wouldn't be punctured again.

  But I couldn't. Not when a gun was inches from my face. Not when both of our fingers were over the trigger.

  So instead I pushed.

  I didn't know what I was doing, only that I had to keep him from killing me.

  The agent wasn't expecting that. Although stronger than me, I myself still had a considerable amount of super strength on my side. My attempt to kick him off also shifted his stance.

  And jerked the gun under his chin.

  Without thinking, my hands twitched.

  The gun went off.

  This was the part where I wanted to black out. But I didn't.

  I saw all of it, watched helplessly — transfixed — in torturous slow motion.

  The bullet left the chamber in a bright flash. The agent's head jerked back as the bullet entered underneath his jaw, and exited out the top of his head.

  My jaw was slack. Warm, sticky blood splattered over me. My hands were hot from the gun, powder on my fingers. I didn't feel it though. My eyes were fixed as the agent tumbled off me. For a second, I swore he was still breathing.

  But he lied there, next to me, entirely still, as wind ruffled his hair, and an icy rain started to pelt us. I couldn't take my eyes off the gaping wound just above his neck.

  And I just sat there, gun in my hand, frozen with horror.

  Then I started to choke. Gagging, I finally peeled my eyes away from the sight, squeezing my eyes shut and hunching over to face the other side, towards the mountain range. I could taste blood in my mouth. Was it his? Was it mine? I'd been hit so hard in the face I couldn't remember anymore.

  The metal was still hot in my grip. The only warm thing here now.

  A part of me was still in denial. It had been over so quick. That didn't just happen. It was just a movie, with horribly realistic effects. We fought, we struggled, and then it was over. He was dead. My hands still shook from the adrenalin. I could taste the iron tang of blood on my tongue.

  And all it took was the pull of the trigger.

  My heart still pounded in my chest. Pulse loud in my ears, but I barely registered it. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at what I'd done.

  Instead, I got up. And walked away.

  I returned to Wanda and Pietro, unable to feel my legs, my face unflinching to the frozen rain pelting my skin. The train car three ahead had its side doors open, and I slipped down inside. In the far back the twins were huddled — Wanda crouched over Pietro, who rested against the back wall, injured leg straightened out before him.

  A thick stain of blood had spread across his pants. I stared at that, my stomach doing flips, before noticing that both twins were watching me. I met their gazes with a small jolt; it took me a second to register their pale faces, their wide eyes, drawing up and down; their fear, palpable.

  Fear. Fear of me.

  I couldn't comprehend it. Their eyes focused somewhere at my hip. I looked down. I was still holding the gun.

  My fingers snapped away immediately. The gun dropped with a dull thud to the floor, and I s
tepped away from it, heart pounding. I twisted my hand around, stared at my bloody palm, the red spots covering my shirt, my jeans.

  What had I done?

  I looked back at the twins. They had relaxed, just a fraction. But I could see the look in their eyes. I didn't have to tell them what happened.

  Wanda's voice shook a little, uncertain. 'A-are you okay?'