Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  I scanned the keys. Maybe I could send a message…

  I just had to choose it carefully. Something anyone spying on us wouldn't know the meaning of.

  In a moment, I had it.

  AEF: Show me the way home, honey.

  I got an reply almost instantly.

  NL: WTF

  NL: wtf holy shit youre real

  AEF: Show me the way home, honey.

  NL: yoooo wtf? Wait what does that mean?

  AEF: Show me the way home, honey.

  It was all I was willing to type. Nothing more, nothing less. But repeating it meant Ned would remember. It meant he'd tell someone.

  NL: If this is some sort of sick joke, it's not funny

  NL: Im sooo doxxing you if i knew how

  I had just gotten up from my seat when Ned started a video chat.

  The window popped up and the webcam light turned on. My first instinct was to jump out of the way before the camera could catch me.

  'Hello?' Came Ned's tinny voice over the speakers as I hit the floor. All his feed got was my empty seat and the wall behind me. 'Hey, I know you're there! I can hear you! Who is this? Who the hell are you? What are you doing with Mia's email?'

  I army-crawled around the table, reaching up behind the laptop and slamming it shut.

  'Don't think I won't find out —' were Ned's last words before the computer shut down.

  I heaved a sigh, hanging my head. That was a close one.

  I was a little sad to be leaving Paris so soon.

  But my sadness was taking a backseat to my anxiety. It had been twelve hours since my chat with Ned, and I was a wound-up ball of nervous energy. Needless to, I didn't get much sleep.

  I managed to catch up on the train to London. I had heard of the Chunnel that went until the English Channel between London and Paris, but seeing it in person was way cooler than I imagined. The train ride itself was only an impressive twenty minutes. I had actually been hoping it'd be longer, so I could get more rest.

  So we left the Ambassador Hotel at 8AM, and arrived in London at 7:30AM…I thought I was going crazy when I read the time on the station's clock, until I remembered London is in a different time-zone than Paris. Unbelievable. To think it had taken half a day just to cross all of France, and in less time than it took for me to get to school in Manhattan, we were already in another country.

  'Are you okay?' Wanda asked on the train ride, pressing a hand over my tapping fingers. 'You didn't get any sleep, did you?'

  I threw her a wan smile. 'Sorry. Sleeping is kinda...difficult right now.'

  Pietro looked quizzical. 'Nightmares?'

  'Memories.'

  'Oh,' The twins nodded in unison. Pietro just shook his head. 'I do not think you have much to worry. You would not wake up a different person.'

  'But how can we be sure?'

  He didn't have an answer for that. But I didn't want to upset the about that, so I continued, 'It's not just that, really. I, um, I spoke to one of my old friends. From home.'

  'What?' Wanda stared at me, shocked. 'You did? How?'

  'It was through the email server. We were both on at the same time. I forgot to turn my status invisible. I just…' I tapped my forehead with my fist, still angry at myself. 'I was so stupid. Ned, my friend, he tried to start a video chat. Almost caught my face.'

  'Does he know it's you?' Pietro asked, brow pulling together nervously.

  'No, I don't think so,' I said with a shrug. The windows outside the train were dark, interspersed with the occasional flash of light. We were going over a hundred miles an hour inside the Chunnel, but I hardly felt a thing in my seat. 'I couldn't, really. I still think my family is being watched at home. And maybe my email, too, I can't be too careful. But I sent Ned a message. He won't understand it, but Peter will.'

  'Your cousin?' Wanda remembered. 'Ah. And what will he do once he knows?'

  'Not sure. Tell someone. My mom, hopefully.' I winced internally. 'They all think I'm dead. The Crucible faked my death, so no one would look for me afterwards.'

  Pietro only nodded grimly. 'They are clever that way. They know how to mask their tracks. And you're a better agent to them if you have no more records, yes? You become a ghost.'

  That didn't make me feel much better. 'Yeah, that too,' I agreed, a little disgruntled.

  'Think positive,' Wanda punched me lightly on the arm. 'Your plan is working so far. We are close to Frink and Crain now. We see them, and they helps us to America, yes?'

  'That's the idea, yeah,' I said, smiling a little. 'I don't think they're gonna tell us not after everything's that's happened.'

  'Exactly!'

  That thought spurred me onwards, as we eventually departed the train, to London on the other side. It was even colder here than in France, but not quite as bad as Sokovia. I kept a tight hold on my backpack; you could only take in so ugh culture shock in a day, and my eyes were a little out of whack, adjusting to the sudden English words everywhere, after days (months) of seeing and hearing everything but my native language.

  I had found Frink's address online, and made a route to it on the map I'd gotten from the hotel. The quickest route to there from the station. No more detours; we'd get food on the way. There was no way we were getting sidetracked, especially since this was my idea, and it would take us that much longer to get home because of it.

  We traveled by foot, on the off chance things went bad and we had to make an escape. It was easier to get away from danger when we didn't have to get out of a car or bus first. Trains were claustrophobic enough as it was.

  Still, I didn't mind that my chosen route also took us sightseeing a bit. We had to cross the Thames, and it just so happened that the closest bridge between here and Frink's was Tower Bridge, by far one of London's more iconic landmarks, and another thing I could cross off my bucket list.

  I didn't think I'd take my bucket list so seriously. Before, I had made one half-heartedly. I'd knew I'd die eventually, but never with the hopes of ever leaving New York City in my sickly condition. Now, I was still probably going to die, just in more terrible ways; so the bucket list still had prominence in my mind.

  It was midmorning by the time we reached the bridge, after making a pit stop for some bagels and coffee. We (and by we, I mean Pietro) had eaten all the food in our suite before leaving, but nervousness and excitement always whetted the appetite.

  We blended easily in the bustling crowds of London, which looked a lot like the bustling crowds of France. We still looked like we were dragged across the entire country of Sokovia, but at least I felt better. As Tower Bridge came into view, I thought about what I would say to Julia Frink; especially after reading that TIMES article. I wondered if she was in any danger, too, because of what happened.

  The walkway passed through on either side of Tower Bridge, with lanes of traffic in the center. Although a chilly wind coursed through the metal and stone framework, the sun was warm, gleaming down from clear skies.

  Despite their earlier hesitation, the twins both seemed to be enjoying day. Pietro had a spring in his step and Wanda's laughter sparkled in the air. I walked a few paces behind them, and seeing them smile made me smile. This was turning out better than I thought. I never imagined to actually be enjoying the moment, while currently being on the run, so far away from home…

  I checked the map again, the route I outlined in red sharpie. After crossing Tower Bridge, it should only take us twenty minutes to walk to Frink's apartment.

  Cars passed relatively slowly around us. Pietro made some comment about being faster than them, but Wanda pointed out the 32km speed limit, and that he'd probably get ticketed for using his powers on the bridge.

  I would've laughed at this and Pietro's incredulous reaction, had I not noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

  A large freighter ship heading towards the bridge.

  I glanced by it at first, then did a double take. Not only was the fre
ighter, laden with stacks of large storage containers, awfully close to the bridge — less than a quarter mile out — it was coming in fast. I tried to estimate its speed. The freighter looked like it would pass under the bridge in just under a few minutes.

  Only it wouldn't pass under the bridge, because it was too tall.

  I frowned, looked around me. The bridge was packed with people and vehicles. We were between the two towers, too far away from either side of the Thames to make it off in time. What was happening? Shouldn't the bridge be clearing for ship passage? Was that even possible now?

  I kept watching the freighter for a few more seconds, just waiting for it to slow down.

  But it didn't.

  'Amelia?' Wanda called — they had stopped twenty feet ahead, realizing I was no longer following them. Wanda cupped her hands over her mouth to be heard over the noise of traffic. 'Amelia, what's wrong?'

  I pointed to the ship, trotting up to them. 'Look! The ship's coming in too fast!'

  Pietro and Wanda's heads swiveled towards the south end of the river. Pietro asked, 'Uh, is it supposed to be doing that?'

  'I don't think so,' I said, already scanning the area, trying to think of something to do. It was possibly we could get off the bridge in time, but what about all the civilians?

  Other people were noticing as well — but instead of hurrying like they should, they just stopped and stared, pointing at the incoming ship as if it were some strange wonder rather than an immediate threat. The crowd was getting thicker now — traffic was slowing, too. I couldn't tell if it was a jam up ahead, or if the drivers were interested in the ship, too. Either way, it wasn't making the situation any better.

  'Should we do something?' Wanda asked as I shifted past her, catching sight of a black-and-white uniform. An officer, maybe police or just bridge security, was standing amongst the crowd, hand on his shoulder radio. I caught the tell end of his call as I got closer.

  '...we must clear the bridge. Is there any radio contact with the ship? The bridge is not clear for lift, I repeat the bridge is not clear for lift!' The officer said into the radio, his voice rising to a shout as the ship kept getting closer and closer. He paused, as if caught in a moment of shock, then demanded, 'Hello? Hello, can anyone hear me?'

  I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn't need to speak to the policeman to know that his radio signal was dead.

  Shit. A cold prickle of dread crawled down my spine. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

  Wanda and Pietro was directly behind me. I didn't look at them when I suddenly said, 'We need to get off. Now.'

  This time, the twins didn't question me, merely cast worried looks over the bridge as they came up to my side. Pietro said, 'I will take Wanda, run to the other side, and then come back for —'

  He was cut off by shouting, and we spun around to see another policeman sprinting down the bridge, waving his arms. 'Clear the way! Clear the way!'

  Beneath me, I felt a tremor. The ship was less than fifty feet away. A rush of people pushed back, catching me off guard. I was nearly thrown off my feet three different people ran into me.

  Pietro had already taken Wanda's arm. I stumbled to catch myself, then shouted to the twins, 'Go! Go before it —'

  WHOOM.

  Ahead of us, the bridge exploded.

  Fire and smoke erupted from right beneath the tower. A truck rear ended a taxi. Pietro stumbled.

  Then another explosion went off behind us.

  My head snapped in the other direction, just in time to see a police car tossed into the air. It crashed upside down over the pedestrian lane. Its sirens went off, ringing uselessly.

  It joined the screams filling the air.

  Cars that hadn't already stopped were now slamming the brakes. They piled on either end of the bascules, unable to pass underneath the towers — now in flames.

  The pedestrians turned into a stampede, scattering every which way. At first I thought the explosions had scared them.

  Then the freighter smashed into the bridge.

  A massive, unholy screech ripped through the air. The bridge kicked beneath my feet, and I was knocked flat to the ground.

  The barge's radio tower hit first - upon collision, it bent back, cutting through the guardrail and tarmac before folding underneath the bridge.

  The ship released its horn, as if the bridge could magically move out of the way. But the bridge didn't move. The ship still didn't stop. It had too much momentum.

  The containers hit. Metal and stone flew into the air. The containers attached to nothing, snapped back at impact, before behind shoved off. They came crashing down onto the road.

  The ship carried straight on through, cars and containers plowed aside. I cried out as giant metal boxes fell around me. One landed behind me only a foot away, sending me into the air upon landing — like some twisted version of a trampoline.

  I hit the ground again; taking the brunt of it on my chest, I was winded instantly. Then I saw the shadow, and rolled out of the way just before another container could fall and crush me underneath.

  I covered my head as the bridge's suspension rolled and jumped. I tried calling out for Wanda and Pietro — I'd lost sight of them only a second ago, but the entire geography of the bridge had changed in that short amount of time.

  They couldn't hear me, anyways. The air was a cacophony of more explosions, grinding metal and more people screaming.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, too terrified to see what was happening. I just curled up into a ball and prayed that the twins got out of here in time.

  Tower Bridge shuddered and groaned as the freighter tore right through it, then onto the other side.

  Things stopped falling. I felt the ground tilt beneath me. Cars and containers creaked and groaned, sliding a few feet — but they didn't fall into the river beneath. The sound dipped a few decibels; a small moment of peace after a disaster.

  I risked a glance up. At first, I couldn't see anything. There was too much smoke, turning a once sunny, cool day into something dark and acrid. Rubble fell off my shoulders as I picked myself up. Rubble and glass fell from above - the overhead walkways had bent under the crash, but hadn't fallen yet.

  I turned to face the way I came. What was once a serene, flat roadway was now a gaping hole ten meters across, jagged edges dipping down to the black river below. Pieces of tarmac and concrete swung from torn rebar and steel.

  People were crying out. I couldn't see them in the wreckage. The fallen containers stood twenty feet over me, like the walls of a maze. Underneath them, cars and trucks had been crushed into lumps of metal.

  In the distance, sirens shrieked.

  For a moment, all was still. The bridge was holding. Just barely.

  'Amelia!' Wanda's voice echoed off the metal, and I spun around, nearly falling, caught in a daze.

  Wanda appeared around a container, her pale, stricken face covered in soot. There was a new gash across her arm, her knees were bloodied, but otherwise she looked perfectly fine.

  Behind her was Pietro, wiping at his face. 'We saw the boxes fall - we thought you were crushed!'

  'I-I'm fine,' I stuttered, my hand shaking as I wiped at my mouth. My palm came away bloody, and a new burning appeared on my cheek. Something must've hit me and I hadn't noticed. 'J-just a little shaken. I-I thought I told you guys to get out of here —'

  A bullet ripped by my face.

  Pietro knocked me down just in time.

  My head cracked against the concrete. By the time my vision cleared, the helicopter had risen from beneath the bridge. It now hovered over us, at the other end of the bridge — the only way off.

  Three ropes whipped beneath its hull. I hadn't seen anyone get out.

  Pietro dragged me against the wall of one container, pressing our backs to it. He said something, but I didn't catch it. My ears were still ringing.

  Wanda was on the other side. Her eyes were wide, brilliant red, pupils
tiny pinpricks. Her expression was one of utter terror.

  'Not just the Komitet!' She said, apparently responding to Pietro's earlier comment, as another bullet ricocheted off of a car a few feet away. I didn't see any civilians around. It was just us, and whoever dropped out of the helicopter.

  'It's him!' Wanda cried, as Pietro peered over the corner. 'Pietro, they sent him!'

  Pietro ducked back, just before a spray of bullets glanced off the side of our cover. His only reply was a string of Sokovian curses.

  'Who?' I asked, but Wanda was utterly petrified; I was too curious not to look. I leaned over Pietro, stuck my head out from behind the container.