SILVER:
Quietus
Written By
Keira Michelle Telford
Copyright © Keira Michelle Telford 2012
Venatic Press
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chimera & Cover Artwork by
Kitt Lapeña
www.facebook.com/scarypet
scarypet.deviantart.com
Other Books in the Series…
SILVER: Acheron (A River of Pain)
SILVER: The Lost & Damned
SILVER: Entropy
SILVER: A New Age Dawns
WWW.ELLACROSS.COM
JOIN THE FIGHT
Amaranthe
(Circa 2348 CE)
Chimera
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ZERO
PV32
The Sentinel District
Amaranthe, 2348 CE
– One Day Ago
Deep in thought, Maydevine rolls a small vial of blue liquid between his fingers.
It’s the middle of the night, and Eleanor Grant’s apartment is sparse and clinical. Everything she owns fits on the color scale somewhere between beige and white and downright bland. The furniture is placed so precisely that Maydevine feels uncomfortable just pulling out a chair to sit at the table.
Only two months into his retirement, and not yet used to dressing in casual clothing, he’s wearing a suit that he would’ve worn as the Commissioner. He’s still got the same black trench coat and the same polished shoes. His once jet black hair seems to turn grayer every time he looks in a mirror, and the lines on his face appear deeper with every new worry, marking sixty-four years of stress and violence.
When Eleanor returns from the kitchen with two glasses of water, Maydevine sets the vial down on the tabletop.
“The kids are on their honeymoon, you know.” He accepts one of the glasses. “They left this morning.”
“Good for them,” Eleanor mumbles, taking a seat opposite him.
She seems to have lost a bit of her edge tonight. She’s visibly tired, and her shocking red hair is ruffled at the back as if she were recently woken from a nap. Not even her strangely piercing blue eyes are as vibrant as Maydevine is used to seeing them.
She’s in her home and her guard’s down, he surmises. Her suit jacket’s been abandoned and her shirt’s untucked. She doesn’t look imposing, she just looks … normal.
She leans her elbow on the table and rests her cheek on her palm. “Was it absolutely imperative that we have this conversation tonight? The morning couldn’t have sufficed?”
“The vaccine is due to be distributed to the public in the morning.”
“And?” Eleanor seems disinterested.
“Well, that’s just the problem.” Maydevine nudges the vial across the table toward her. “This isn’t a vaccine.”
Silence.
“Gabriel, I—”
“What is it?”
Some of Eleanor’s edge returns, her lips becoming taut and her posture defensive. “It’s none of your concern.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Is it too much for me to ask that you do your job and don’t overstep your bounds?”
“My job? I resigned two months ago, remember?”
“Even more perplexing, then, that you should come to my home in the middle of night with an accusatory expression and a threatening tone, demanding answers that aren’t yours to have.” Eleanor snatches up the vial. “How did you even get this?”
“Alex didn’t want his time off to interfere with the release of the vaccine, so he asked me to step in and ensure that everything goes according to plan in his absence.”
“How nice for you.”
“Given your apparent genetic lineage—”
“Silver told you?”
“Of course she did. And you should’ve known that I’d find a way to run some of my own private tests on your little concoction.”
“You’re a real go-getter, aren’t you?”
Maydevine thumps his fist down against the table. “Tell me what it is!”
Eleanor matches his attitude. “It’s a vector.”
“A vector for what?”
“Use your imagination, Gabriel.” Eleanor admires the vial. “The Fusion virus.”
Silence.
Maydevine takes a moment to absorb the implications of that. “You’re going to infect the city?” he presumes.
“Okay, that’s far too much imagination.” Eleanor suppresses a yawn. “It eliminates the fatal side effects of exposure to the virus, that’s all.”
“And you think you’re actually going to get away with this?”
“Who’s going to stop me?” Eleanor is wholly unconcerned. “I think you’re forgetting something, Gabriel.” She rubs sleep out of her eyes. “I got your little girl back. I repatriated her, and gave her a position in the Hunter Division. For that, you still owe me.”
Maydevine’s jaw tenses. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Eleanor studies him closely. He doesn’t seem in the least bit fazed by the reminder of his impotence, and that can only mean one thing.
“You’re not here to stop me from releasing the vector,” she infers. “You want me to consider your silence as payment for the debt. Is that it?”
“In part.”
Eleanor quirks an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I want you to spare her.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll keep quiet about the vector, because I owe you that, but I want you to spare Silver from the virus.”
“Always looking out for her.” Eleanor sighs.
“Of course. I’m her father.”
“And your intentions are always so noble. Unfortunately, there’s no deal to be made here. Silver’s already been exposed to the virus.”
“Yes, and it changed her entire immune system.” Maydevine bolsters his petition with the few facts he has in his possession. “There’s no way of knowing how this vector of yours might react with her, and I can’t risk that it might compromise her immunity.”
“Then allow me to alleviate your fears.” The Governor shatters his illusions. “She’s not immune.”
Maydevine feels a sudden flash of anxiety. “What do you mean?”
Eleanor picks up the vial and locks eyes with him. “How do you think I made this?”
No answer.
“You can’t save her this time, Gabriel.” Eleanor sets the vial back down. “She’s already been infected.”
Silence.
Maydevine’s blood runs cold.
CHAPTER ONE
Compass Mentis
The Rec Zone
Outside Amaranthe, 2348 CE
– Present Day
Splat! An enormous, gooey bird shit lands on a map of the Rec Zone.
Comprised of several Old World islands nestled beneath the Sentinel District, including Old World Broad Channel, Canarsie Pol, and Ruffle Bar, the Rec Zone is Amaranthe’s one and only vacation destination.
Vacation.
Not a word that Silver’s too familiar with.
She’s sweaty and irritated. Her long blonde hair, pulled into a tight ponytail, is clinging to her skin and making her itch. Her feet are hot and clammy inside her Hunter Division boots, and her combat pants are covered in dirt. Her tank top isn’t faring much better: it’s got grass stains all over it.
She tries to shake off the map, but the poop just smears and dribbles all over the Unknown Territories.
She tosses it at a nearby tree. “This is d
umb.”
The map hits the tree sticky side first and clings to the bark like mud on boots … for a few seconds at least. Gravity soon takes control and pulls the map downward, leaving a smear of bird turd behind it.
Alex zips up his fly and emerges from behind the tree. “The map is fine. It’s the person reading it who’s defective.” He retrieves the map from the ground, careful not to get poop all over his fingers in the process.
“We’re lost,” Silver pouts.
“Don’t be so melodramatic.” Alex wipes the map off on a nearby Gunnera plant. “We’re on an island. How could we be lost? There’s nowhere to go.”
This particular island, Canarsie Pol, is over three-hundred acres of uninhabited nature reserve. From north to south, it’s densely packed with trees and lush greenery. It’s idyllic and quiet, with nothing but the rustling of leaves and the soft chattering of nesting birds to break the silence.
So far, Silver’s not impressed.
“We should’ve just stayed home.”
Alex folds up the map and stuffs it inside his backpack. They’re only a day into their first vacation together, and already he can see that she’s itching to return to work. Her left hand is pinned to her hip, her fingers tapping impatiently against the spot where her gun holster would normally be.
She’s bored.
She wants to kill something.
Relaxing isn’t her forte.
Alex gives her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re really not enjoying yourself? Not even a little bit?”
“We’ve been walking around aimlessly for the last three hours.” She shrugs off his hand. “I’m hot, I’m thirsty, and I don’t want to miss the next boat back to the main island.”
“If you hadn’t lost our compass, we’d be back at the dock by now.”
“I didn’t lose it,” she protests. “A flying rat stole it.”
“It was a squirrel, and I told you not to get so close to it.”
“I was admiring nature. That’s what we’re supposed to be here for, right?”
“To admire it, yes. Not to harass it.”
“He was watching me pee.” She huffs. “I was the one being harassed.”
She looks so serious, and Alex can’t help but smirk.
“You’re determined to hate every last minute of this, aren’t you?”
Looking up into his soft brown eyes, Silver realizes that this is one of ‘those’ moments. He’s already accepted defeat, and all it would take is one more word of a complaint from her and he’d set them both on the first bus back to the Sentinel District. He’d be disappointed, but he’d hide it. He’d settle for a week cooped up at home with her if that’s what it’d take to make her happy, but she can’t bring herself to deprive him of this.
He’s more excited about this trip than he’s letting on. She saw the glint of childlike excitement in his eyes when Maydevine presented them with the Rec Zone tickets, and a day hasn’t gone by since without him making at least one mention of it.
They’d never been on vacation together, and he’d never been on vacation at all. Not a proper vacation anyway. Sure, he’d taken time off work, but lying around the house in your underwear and drinking light beer might just as well be a symptom of depression than a holiday. Besides, looking up at him now, his dark hair tousled and covered in pollen, his t-shirt hugging the contours of his chest and his skin glistening, denying him anything would be impossible.
Sighing, she prepares to do the noble thing.
“I’m just cranky because I’m hungry. The sooner we figure out how to get back to camp, the sooner I can get some meat in me and I’ll be fine.”
Alex’s smirk returns. “I tried to get some meat in you back by the lake, but you weren’t having any of it.”
Silver slaps his shoulder playfully. “I told you, that damn squirrel was a pervert. He was watching us the whole time.”
She sets off in a completely random direction, but Alex grabs her by the elbow, swings her around, and points her east instead. Urging her forward, he directs her through a thick copse of trees and down to a small strip of sandy beach.
The coastline.
The dock.
Silver’s eyes light up. “Holy crap! You found it.”
Turning to grin at Alex, she catches a hint of smugness tugging at his lips.
“Wait. You knew where we were the whole time, didn’t you?”
He takes her by the hand and pulls her down the golden dunes toward the dock without saying a word. The next boat back to the main island is just a few minutes out on the tide, and they’ll be settled back at camp within the hour.
Silver pulls her hand away and shoves him. “You manipulative little—”
He doesn’t give her a chance to finish that. He grabs a fistful of her shirt—actually one of his, worn over a tank top and tied at the waist—and drags her into a kiss.
“You’ve been resisting this since we left home this morning. It had to be your choice to stay, otherwise you’d just make us both miserable.”
He winks, presses another kiss against her cheek, and jogs off to meet the boat while she contemplates hurling a piece of driftwood at the back of his head. If he were virtually anyone else on the planet, she would hate being puppeteered like that. Still sore from Alice’s lies, the mere thought of someone else steering her emotions is enough to make her feel tetchy and defensive, but their history together buys him some slack. All she feels is a slight sting of annoyance and it passes quickly.
Catching up to him on the shoreline, she declines his half-serious offer to carry her onto the boat. Even if she weren’t self-conscious about another human being picking up her less-than-delicate five-ten frame and almost one hundred and seventy pounds of muscle, she’d never let James Harkin see her as anything less than a Hunter.
Commander James Harkin.
Retired.
He was a Hunter for nearly twenty years before an injury forced him into early retirement at the age of thirty-five. Almost a full decade older than Silver, he was her Commander back when she was just a mouthy rookie. They’d always had a great deal of mutual respect for one another, and he’d been a loyal friend to her when she and Alex were having an affair behind Omega’s back.
She’d never live it down if he saw Alex carry her onto the boat like some dainty little flower who was afraid to get her feet wet, so she opts to remove her boots and wade for it. The boat itself—the same one that brought them to Canarsie Pol earlier in the day—is little more than a motorized dinghy. It’s been patched up so many times it looks like it’s made more of duct tape than it is of rubber, and the filthy motor doesn’t even belong to it. Crudely transplanted to the rear of the dinghy, the motor looks as though it could fall off or catch fire at any moment.
Nevertheless, they make it back to base camp by twilight.
Located in the middle of Old World Broad Channel Island, just beneath the banks of East Lake, the Rec Zone base camp is a hub of activity. Here, campers are allocated a lot number and instructed to pitch their tents in the corresponding spot. It’s first come first served, so it pays to book your trip well in advance. If you leave it till the last minute, you’re likely to end up sleeping on a rock for a week. Or worse, your whole tent might gradually start to slide down the banks of the lake.
Inevitably, there’s always one late-booker who’s determined to make a grievance out of his less-than-prime patch. Tough luck for him, though, ‘cause Jimmy Harkin is no soft touch. He’s been running the Rec Zone since his retirement, and he brought his Hunter Division attitude with him. He still wears Hunter Division boots and combat pants, and he’ll take his dog tags with him to the grave. He shaves his head every day with the blade of his hunting knife, and his arms are covered in tattoos.
He looks fierce.
He puts to rest this particular camper complaint, not by allowing the irate man to re-pitch his tent elsewhere, but by offering to fell a small sapling tree that was brushing up against the side of it. Apparently, the
rustling of the leaves was keeping the camper up at night.
Silver watches Jimmy fumble with something hanging with the dog tags around his neck.
A key.
Intrigued, she keeps watching.
He takes the key in his hand and makes his way over to a large building at the head of the campsite. Erected over the ruins of an old chemical toilet warehouse, the long, two-storey building functions as the Rec Zone HQ. Staff lodgings are upstairs. Downstairs, there’s a small but well-equipped pantry, Jimmy’s private office, and a first aid station. On the north end of the building, there’s a communal men’s bathroom. At the south end, a communal women’s bathroom.
Not exactly the creature comforts, but the basics. The pantry has enough food and water to sustain all the guests, and extra water is collected outside in large rain barrels whenever the skies decide to let loose. Beside one of these barrels, on the face of the building, there’s a glass fronted, bright red emergency box.
Inside it: an axe.
Jimmy inserts his key into the lock and withdraws the axe, using it to fell the tiny sapling tree before putting it safely—and securely—back in its place.
If the glass were smashed, it would set off an alarm—Silver knows this from experience. She smashed one just like it on Hunter Division Academy property during a particularly rebellious phase of her teenage years.
Still, she’s glad that it’s there. Even though it’s off limits, it’s quite possibly the only weapon in the Rec Zone. She was forced to surrender her guns before she could pass through the checkpoint at the Sentinel District border—despite making her objections clear—and being separated from the tools of her trade makes her anxious.
Waiting for dinner to cook on a spit roaster above a fire pit, Silver tries to take her mind off her empty stomach by exploring her surroundings. Other campers—Alex included—are sitting around a larger campfire playing a game of charades.
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