Seeking Silence

by E. A. Darl

  “Nah, he’s hiding something.” The first agent sneered at Peet. “Where have you been today?”

  “None of your business. Why should I answer you? Are you some kind of cop?” Peet scratched his beard as the federal officer flashed his badge. “You looking for terrorists or something? You might find a few drug dealers in this building, but that is about it.”

  “We are looking for a man who stole some private records from the hospital.”

  “Since when are the feds interested in hospital records? I don’t think you are cops at all. Now get out of my way.”

  “Dad!” gasped Alexa as the second fed put his hand on the door handle. Alexa’s head came up and she projectile vomited down the front of the dark suit. The force of her sick was so strong that it wedged in behind his collar and dropped with a sickening splash onto his shiny patent leather shoes.

  “Eww!” He jumped back from the car, shaking off his jacket. The vomit soaked into his shirt, and the sour odour of sick filled the air. “Let them go, dammit!”

  The first officer dropped his hands from the window. “Get out of here,” he growled.

  Peet rolled up his window and drove out of the parking garage. Two sets of furious eyes followed them as Peet rounded the corner. Once the officers were out of sight, Alexa pulled her head back into the car, grinning. Peet grinned back.

  “That was masterful, Alexa. Nice timing.”

  Alexa grinned, but then her smile faded. “We need to get you to your friend.”

  “Yes, and fast.” Now that the adrenaline was fading, pain slammed into his leg. Peet felt woozy from blood loss. “Keep me awake Alexa, I am losing a lot of blood.”

  She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I will keep you awake.”

  Peet took the ramp to the highway and sped off to find the only doctor he could trust. He prayed he would not pass out before getting there. But five miles down the road, he pulled over to the side of the road. Sweat covered his face once again. Putting the car in park, he sized up Alexa.

  “I cannot drive any further. I am afraid I am going to pass out behind the wheel. You must drive.”

  “Me?” she gasped

  “Yes. You can do it. You are tall enough. I am going to crawl into the back seat. Take the next exit and turn right off of the ramp. Drive to Timbers Gas and pull in behind the mechanical garage at the back of the property. The man you are looking for is named Steve.”

  Eyes wide, Alexa got out of the car then helped Peet into the back seat. He passed out as soon as his head hit the seat.

  Chapter 9

  The Envelope

  Avalon’s fingers shook slightly as she pull open the business envelope and tipped it, spilling the contents onto the scratched tabletop. She spread the items out, and examined them with a quizzical eye. The passports were self-explanatory. She picked one up at random and opened it to the photo page. Her mother stared back at her. Her hair was cut short around the ears but left long at the sides and spilled over her shoulder. It had been dyed a brassy blonde. She had made up her eyes so that they gave the impression of being larger than they normally were. A bright red lipstick traced her full lips. She wore a V-necked tight pink t-shirt.

  Avalon started at the picture, shocked. Her mother looked twenty years younger, as she had in her college days. She checked the date of birth as shown on the passport and it agreed with her assessment of the photo. Her mother had changed the date of her birth to eighteen years later than her actual date of birth. The name listed was ‘Mary Fullerton’.

  Avalon flipped through the rest of the passport but it was blank. She put the passport down and picked up the next one, flipping them open one by one. She saw a picture of her father, Alexa and herself, all with names changed. She recognized the photographs of herself and Alexa. Her mom had snapped them on Alexa’s birthday. Alexa had wanted a cops and robbers themed party, and in the makeshift cardboard jail house, her mother had set up a photo booth to take pictures of the criminals as they were arrested. Her mother, dressed as a police officer, had made them sit straight faced. Prisoners were not supposed to giggle, she’d said. She had made stay in jail there until they could stare straight into the camera and not laugh. Those were the pictures that she saw now, the straight-faced photos.

  She placed them back in the envelope then picked up a piece of paper. It was a print of a train schedule, showing the departure times for the Solace train station. It was the Monday schedule. She placed it back into the envelope with the passports. The third paper showed a series of three numbers: 22 17 38, and then the number 1008 circled in red ink.

  “It must be the combination to a locker,” she said aloud, to no one in particular.

  Trench took the paper from her hands and studied the writing. “Or, it could be the buzz code to an apartment.”

  “Or maybe a departure or arrival schedule?” she said, thinking about the train leaflet.

  Avalon tucked it back inside the envelope and picked up the last item. It was a page torn from a magazine. On one side was an advertisement for Betty Bees Honey Trees. A smiling woman in a bee keeper’s suit held up a large honey comb swarming with bees. Avalon flipped the page over but the reverse side did not seem relevant, as it was the final page an article about women’s rights. She returned to examining the advertisement of the bee trees, puzzling over its significance.

  “Bee Trees? Why would my parents be interested enough to put this in the envelope? It makes no sense.”

  “It must have made sense to them.” Trench took a swig of his root beer. “What are you going to do with this?” He gestured toward the envelope with his bottle.

  “I am going to chase down the leads, the same as I did today by coming here.”

  “How did you find us?” Cris’ eyes narrowed.

  “With the matchbook cover.” She glanced at Trench, who hauled out the confiscated matchbox cover out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

  “Where did you get that?” growled Magnum, pointing at the matchbook cover that Trench was turning over and over in his hands.

  “In the high security facility on the edge of town,” said Avalon.

  “I knew it! You’re a government spy!” Magnum’s hand shot forward and grabbed Avalon around the throat. “You lying bitch! I will —”

  Trench cut her off when he reached over to haul her hand away from the choking Avalon.

  “Stop it, Magnum. Let her go!”

  Trench wrenched her hand away and pulled her off of Avalon, who collapsed onto the bench gasping for air and massaging her neck.

  “You heard her, Trench! She was inside the government facility,” she shouted. “No one goes inside the gates, unless they have been cleared by security. She is a spy, and she is going to rat on us all.”

  A cluster of other gang members gathered at the table, pulling knives as they approached, drawn by the conflict. Trench stood up and blocked the others from approaching the table. He grabbed Magnum’s arm, hauling her to her feet, and gave her a hard shake.

  “Get a grip, Magnum. She is not a spy.”

  “How can you be sure? And what was that,” she pointed at the matchbook cover “doing inside of the warehouse?”

  All eyes swung in Avalon’s direction, as she slid back into the corner.

  “I found it in a scientist’s desk and I took it, thinking it might help me find my parents. I do not know why it was there. It was in a drawer with a picture of my parents with friends from their college days.”

  “Prove it. Show us this picture,” Magnum growled, as she placed both fists on the table and leaned toward Avalon.

  Avalon’s eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t have it with me! Do you really think I am stupid enough to carry around with me anything I have stolen? I barely got out of there without being caught!”

  “Oh great,” said Cris, “she is a fugitive too! She is going to bring the entire government down on us, Trench. I say we do away with her. She is a liability.”

  “Shut up, both
of you.” Trench stared at Avalon, sizing her up. Cris and Magnum glared at Trench. He took no notice.

  “Everything all right here, boss?” asked a tall, dark haired young man covered in tattoos. A silver ring pierced one nostril. On his right hand a set of brass knuckles flashed.

  “Yeah. Take Magnum and Cris and check our back trail. I want to know if anything so much as twitches, back to where we picked her up.”

  With a huff, Magnum pushed away from the table.

  “She will bring disaster, Trench. Mark my words.” Cris’ face darkened at her dismissal. “You betray us, bitch, and I will slay you first.”

  She kissed Trench on the cheek and got up to follow Magnum, who stomped away from the table, taking the toughs with her. The door at the base of the staircase slammed behind them.

  Silence descended. Only Trench and Avalon remained. He relaxed back onto his bench as Avalon straightened.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, as her eyes darted around the room, searching for more trouble.

  “Magnum is super protective of me. She is also a hot head who leaps first and thinks later. That is why I am the leader, I think things through. Without me, they would all have been dead long ago, most likely by each other’s hand.”

  “And Cris?”

  Trench smiled. “She is protective...for other reasons.” His attractive mouth twitched into a smile.

  Avalon wrenched her eyes away from his mouth. “She hates me.”

  “She is jealous of you.”

  “What is there to be jealous of? I live on the street the same as you do.”

  The lie fell from her lips and she crushed the swelling guilt. She did not technically live on the street, but it came to the same thing. Until Mitch and Peet had entered her life, she had lived as they did, stealing to survive.

  “You know who you are. You know the faces of your parents, even though they are gone. Cris has no idea. She was found in a dumpster after she was born. She was found by a garbage picker, who sold her to a pimp. She worked the streets for him from the age of seven, until she killed him at age eleven and fled. That was three years ago. Not a night goes by that she doesn’t wake up screaming, thinking he has found her.” Trench stated Cris’ history in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, devoid of emotion.

  Avalon’s eyes widened in horror at the retelling. “She has nothing to fear from me.”

  “I am convinced that you believe that, Avalon,” he fingered the envelope, “but she is right about one thing. You do bring trouble on your shoulders. It was not a coincidence that brought you here today, but a planned event. You need to tell me everything you are up to. We need to know the facts so that we can prepare for what may come. I need the truth and all of it. If you don’t tell me, I will have to kill you.”

  “What?” Avalon shot to her feet. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  Trench’s face hardened.

  “I will not let this gang fail because you bring the feds down on us. This is the only home we have. We will defend it with our lives. But perhaps there is something we can do to help you find your parents. If it wasn’t for them, you would be dead already. We do not allow trespassers on our turf.”

  Avalon stared at him for a minute, and then sat down with a sigh.

  “Ok, I will tell you, but only you. This must be kept between us. If this knowledge were to get out on the street, there would be rioting. I do not want to be the cause of a civil war, nor get caught in the middle of one. First, let me first tell you about my family...”

  Trench reached outside the booth and pulled the sound proofing curtain closed, sealing its sides.

  Chapter 10

  The Bunker

  Mitch followed Pam through the welcoming crowd and to the most highly decorated tent of the village. The patched leather hide was tanned to a chocolate brown and stitched with thick bindings of cream leather. It was long and rectangular, anchored to the ground by pegs driven deep into the soil. At the entrance, two warriors stood guard, faces painted with multiple eyes and images of lightning bolts. Mitch could not help staring at their fierce makeup. Pam paused at the door and bowed, then straightened. Mitch mimicked her posture.

  “We seek the counsel of the Chief Elder. Could you request an audience for us?”

  The warrior on the right nodded and ducked inside the tent. He returned a short time later, and held back the tent flap, gesturing to them to enter. They passed through into the interior. The longhouse was set with benches of carved wood, set in a semi-circle around a tall chair set on a small platform. The pale chair was carved from bleached wood, and glowed in the natural light that filtered through several openings in the roof. In the chair sat a man with long red hair, braided into two plaits that ran down the front of his chest. On his chest he wore a vest of hollow bird bones, interspersed with beads and shells. Leather leggings and boots clad the lower half of his body. In his right hand he held a long scepter crowned with a petrified egg. The shell was pale blue and luminescent. Pam crossed over in front of the chief and bowed low once again.

  “Elder, I would like you to meet my brother, Mitch. He is an officer in the Melina police department.”

  Mitch elbowed her.

  “Excuse me,” she amended, “he is currently on leave from the Melina police department.”

  Mitch grinned at the description, and Pam scowled at him.

  “He carries an object of utter secrecy,” she continued, “one that has now made him into a fugitive from his own co-workers, and from the government itself.”

  Pam reached out to take the backpack from Mitch. He slid it off his shoulders and placed it gently at her feet. Pam unzipped the pack and withdrew the blinking cylinder full of the hive colony. As soon as it was brought out of the back pack and into the light, the chamber began an angry buzzing.

  “What is this thing?” the chief asked, his eyes on the container.

  “Possibly the answer to the plague that is causing the land to die. It was stolen from the government research facility.”

  The chief sat straighter. Stark realization flickered in his unusual, green-eyed gaze. “You have bees.”

  “Yes,” said Mitch. “Genetically altered bees, we believe.”

  The chief stared at the container. “We do not know what was done to them, do we?”

  Mitch shook his head. “No, we do not. We need to study them. By ‘we’, I mean a team of scientists. Pam thought you might know of a place where we could do so without the government detecting us.”

  The chief’s gaze roved between Pam and Mitch. “We know of such a place. But the danger to my people is very great. The government does not bother us while they think we don’t have access to any technology. But if they were to learn certain ‘truths’ they may not leave us alone any longer. I repeat; the risk is very great, not just because of what you carry but who is interested in it.”

  Mitch met the chief’s eyes with his own and held them.

  “I swear that the government will not learn your ‘truths’. I will destroy all evidence of the bees before I would let that happen. We will keep your secrets as our own.”

  The chief studied Mitch, and then he addressed Pam.

  “Daughter, you are a part of our people, one of our tribe, sworn to our protection and secrecy. Do you trust this man, as a Seiko tribeswoman?”

  Pam picked up the chief’s hand and pressed her lips to the back of his wrinkled hand.

  “I swear on my familial oath, that my brother is honest and worthy of your trust. He will not betray the Seiko tribe. I swear that if this is not true, I will slay him by my own hand after cutting out his deceitful tongue and feeding it to my dogs.”

  The chief nodded, satisfied.

  “Then you have my permission to travel to the sacred caves. Take however many warriors you need for security. Remember your oath.”

  Mitch and Pam bowed low, twice, then returned the container of buzzing insects to the backpack and left the lodge. They passed out through the tent flaps and between the two
sentinels. As they walked away, one of the young warriors ran off in a different direction, into the village.

  Mitch leaned over and whispered in Pam’s ear, “You would cut out my tongue and feed it to your dogs, would you?”

  Pam’s head turned and her eyes twinkled.

  “It was the least painful of oaths. The other favoured way that the Seiko deal with the deceitful is to pull your intestines out through your belly button and wrap them around your lying throat, then hang you from the highest pole in the village square. You choke twice then, you see? Strangled by your own twisted gut and hung for good measure. My choice of death for you is much more merciful.”

  “Gee, I feel so much better now,” muttered Mitch as Pam laughed.

  “Come on, if we hurry we can be at the caves by nightfall. I want to show you them while it’s still light.”

  Pam quickened her step and soon had Mitch jogging behind her as she hurried through the village, returning the greetings of the women they passed. By the time they had returned to the motorbike a group of six warriors were waiting for them, three women and three men.

  Pam climbed on the bike and kicked it to life, Mitch once again taking his precarious seat on the back of the bike. Pam eased off the brake on the handle, and sped off toward the hills in the distance. The warriors ran. Fleet of foot, they had no trouble keeping up with the motorbike. Mitch was amazed at their speed but as he soon found out, riding the bike was not an advantage. The terrain became ever rockier and the climb steepened until the bike moved slower than the human feet. They inched their way along the rough terrain and forty painful minutes later, just as the sun flattened and the colour of the sky morphed to reds and oranges, the caves came into view.

  The face of the cliff was sprinkled with holes, but the largest of them gave the cliff the appearance of a grinning skull. Bats flew in and out of the eyes of the face, blinking away into the dusky light, in search of their breakfast. The heated winds of day died away, as they parked the bike and began the last part of the climb to the largest cave. It was the nose of the rocky face, a flattened outcropping with two lopsided bores for the nostrils. Mitch pulled a crank-style flashlight from his pack. He spun the handle as he climbed behind Pam, building the charge in the battery. The sun plunged below the horizon just as they reached the lip of the cave. Mitch snapped on the flashlight and shone it into the dark hole in the face of the cliff, and nearly dropped it in shock as the beam revealed a shiny metal door. A weathered sign hung over the entrance and announced in barely legible paint “Integrated Blast Facility” and then in smaller letters below “Danger! Keep Out.” Over the sign an aged bell lantern hung, rusted and pitted with age.