Silence - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  She pushed all thoughts of Dylan and Tim out of her mind, as hard as it was to do that where Dylan was concerned. She needed to play her part, like an actress on Broadway. She headed back downstairs with her things, smoothing out her clothing before she came into view of Sean. For the split second it took before he noticed her, she saw that he looked impatient, even upset. All of that vanished when he became aware of her. He’s good about putting his mask back on.

  She said nothing as he handed her into the car, then took the driver’s seat. Only when they were on the way did she say anything.

  “I’m not gonna ask you what this is all about, ’cause I know that has to be all kinds of trade secrets and everything,” she said, putting a lot of simpering into her voice, and glad he couldn’t see her face while he was concentrating on driving. Which he was. Very fast. “I’ll just say I hope you have every bit of luck you deserve.” All of it bad. She kept her head down, just in case, so it would be harder to see her expression. A thought occurred to her, and she cleared her throat. “Um, could you drop me off near the diner instead of my house? I’m still hungry, that was kind of a tense meal and I didn’t eat much.”

  “You’re a gem, Staci.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m really sorry that we couldn’t have the weekend together again. I was so looking forward to it. But this…development can’t be put off, and needs my personal attention.” He grinned, showing his teeth. “I knew you would understand, though.” Their course changed, taking them away from the edge of town and down towards the docks. A lot shorter of a run from the diner to whatever “business” he has in town than from my house. Maybe I can keep up with his car if I use the back alleys…

  They passed the warehouse district. And…to her glee as they passed, she spotted a limo. Granted, one limo looked pretty much like any other, but how many people in Silence could afford one, and how many were likely to be parked at a warehouse at this time of night? Okay, maybe a drug dealer, except in New York drug dealers generally drove SUVs or sports cars. She committed the location to memory; if she hurried, she might be able to run back to where she saw the limo before it left.

  “And here we are.” He pulled up in front of the diner. She wanted badly to jump out—but that would be out of character, now. So she waited for him to come around, open the door and hand her out again. But he was clearly in a hurry; he only gave her a peck on the cheek before getting into the car and speeding off. He didn’t even wait to see if she went into the diner, he was in that much of a hurry.

  She had changed back into jeans and a polo shirt before leaving, making sure that both of the garments were dark colors. But what to do with her bag? Finally, after a little dithering, she stashed it deep in the overgrown bushes around the bottom of the diner. I really wish I had had time to learn that invisibility spell or whatever it was that Dylan had used for my bike. It was really hard to push the bag down in there, and she hoped that would keep her stuff safe. It would be a drag to lose that vintage clothing.…

  What am I thinking? This might be the key to keeping us all alive! Why am I worrying about some outfits?

  She looked around again, trying to make sure that no one—and no Red Caps!—were lurking around, but the street seemed completely deserted, and the two people inside the diner were intent on whatever it was they were eating. She crossed the street and took to the alleys as the best way of staying out of sight.

  She figured it took her about fifteen minutes to get to the warehouses at the docks; she slowed down when she got close to where she had spotted the limo. It was funny, now, how well she knew the streets and alleys of Silence. She couldn’t get lost now if she tried, and never again would anyone be able to run her into a dead end; she’d spent a lot of time with a real map of the town, and then with several walk-throughs, memorizing it all. Getting cornered once by people that wanted to kill her was more than enough for Staci. Still, she made sure to take note of the features of the alleys; no telling what she would have to throw in the way or jump over if she did get chased out by someone.

  Finally, she was there: the warehouse was identical to nearly every other warehouse in the area. Rusted metal walls, painted over dozens of times in the same shade of beige. Slowly, she edged to the corner at the end of the alley she was in. Crouching low and only allowing the edge of her face to show, she peered around the corner. The limo, it’s still there! And there’s Sean’s car. She didn’t see Sean or Bradan anywhere, just a couple of guys in suits. They did not look like limo drivers; too big and heavily muscled. Guards? She had never seen anything like guards around the estate; just servants and cousins, really. Whatever was going on here, it had to be important. And with the two heavies at the front door, there was no way she was going to be able to get in by that route.

  Staci slowly backed off from the corner, following the wall of the warehouse. She traced the route she had taken, making her way around the building. She walked, careful not to knock over bottles or otherwise disturb trash that might make some noise that would give her away; it made for slow going at certain points. There’s got to be another way to get in…jackpot! There was a window about six feet off of the ground; the pane of glass was hung on a vertical pivot, and it was open. It only took her a few moments to find what she needed; a wooden pallet and an empty 55-gallon drum. She moved the pallet under the window, then stacked the drum on top. With a few grunts of effort, she was able to scramble over the top of the drum; it was stable enough that she could stand on it without needing to balance too much. It was hard for her to button down on her excitement and nervousness; she couldn’t afford either right now, if she wanted to keep from getting caught. Standing to her full height on top of the barrel, she was able to see past the bottom windowsill and into the warehouse.

  Luckily, there seemed to be a stack of crates right below the window on the other side; she wouldn’t have to gather anything to get back out, just hop up on those and back out the way she had come.

  She realized immediately that this place was a lot older than it looked on the outside. Instead of having steel I-beams holding up the roof and as roof construction, it had massive wooden beams holding up the wooden ceiling two stories above. She’d only seen something like that once, when she’d visited a school friend whose family lived in a converted warehouse loft in Dumbo. The friend said that the building dated to around 1900, maybe earlier, long before steel-framed buildings were the usual thing even in New York. There were cone-shaped light fixtures dangling on long wires coming down from the center of the roofline. From the dim, yellow light they cast, she guessed that they were old-fashioned incandescent bulbs, not fluorescent. The floor was poured cement, now cracked everywhere. An angle beam right next to her led up to overhead support beams. Now, if I just had superpowers, I could climb right up there like a monkey and see everything…Stupid thought, even if she could climb the slanting beam, she’d probably fall off if she tried to scramble around the upper structure.

  There was no sign of overhead cranes, or machinery, just some industrial-sized air ducts and silent fans up there. So I guess the place gets heat in the winter. Figures they don’t care about summer, not that Silence ever gets warm. And whoever is hustling stuff into and out of this place is doing it all with forklifts. Because there were plenty of boxes of something piled up in neat rows, and an old, rusting forklift parked right by her window.

  At the end of the warehouse farthest from her, she saw what looked like a two-story office setup with lit-up windows. Whatever was going on, was probably going on there. She couldn’t make out anything from here because of the big stacks of boxes between her and it. She stayed crouched after she climbed through and down from the window; the crates must have had something heavy in them, because they held her weight and didn’t shift an inch. She thought that it was quiet in the warehouse, but it was hard to tell due to how large it was and how much stuff it had in it. She started towards the office, going slowly; even with the boxes in neat rows, they were pi
led high enough that she could get lost if she didn’t pay attention.

  As Staci got closer to what she thought was the center of the warehouse, she began to hear talking…and, quieter, whimpering. Crouching low behind a couple of boxes at the end of her row, she noticed that there was a break in the lines of crates.. The talking and whimpering was growing louder. She licked her lips; it wasn’t any more dangerous now than it had been, but she still felt like the stakes had been raised. As she looked around the edge, she came to the sickening realization that she was right.

  The first thing she noticed were the four kids: two boys, and two girls, all of them her age or maybe a little bit older. They were huddled together, and looked filthy; their clothing was torn, all of them were bruised, and they had clearly been treated roughly. They were all terrified, clinging to each other, but daring not to move so much as a muscle, save for the sag of their shoulders as they sobbed.

  Past the group of teenagers were Sean and Bradan, flanked by two “cousins” each. They were both appraising the huddled group of teens, talking with each other. She strained to hear what they were saying.

  “…procured earlier this morning. Hitchhikers who are also runaways; all of them originating far away from here, unlikely to be missed or reported any time soon, since they are already deemed missing. They’ll just enter that enormous database of ‘missing children’ that no one in this country seems to care about. I was alerted only a short time ago that they had been prepared and were waiting here, Father.”

  “Still, this is ahead of the projected schedule that you had initially supplied to me. This is very good, Sean. If the ritual works.”

  “It will. This is a small-scale, fast-acting test run; an accelerated version to highlight the effects and the resultant payoff. Once the Gate is prepared, we’ll be ready to begin the full-scale program. The police are already integrated for our purposes, along with the local media outlets; everything will be closed off and contained within our borders, so we’ll have full control to draw it out as long as we wish. And this is just the beginning, Father.” With that, Sean waved a hand towards the teens. The cousins on either side stepped forward, surrounding the frightened group, causing them to try to move closer to each other and their moans to grow louder. They were past the point of using words, they were so scared.

  Bradan nodded. “Well, as the humans say, show me the money.”

  Sean laughed. He held his hands, spread above his head; the two cousins on either side of him did the same. Staci had expected some chanting or something, but this was done in utter silence. First, a cold white circle of light formed on the concrete around the teens. Then, in the next second, a dome seemingly made of cloudy white light sprang up, covering them. One of the boys gave a high-pitched shout and ran at the dome, only to bounce off it. Whatever that magic was, it affected physical objects, too.

  Sean lowered his hands to shoulder-height, and so did the cousins; the milky color of the light of the dome shifted to pink, then to red, as the teens inside shouted or cursed or cried.

  Whatever was happening, it was bad. Staci panicked for a moment; she considered throwing her hands up, screaming, throwing a rock, anything to make them stop—make them stop! She reached into her pocket, pulling out her cell phone and snatching at the charm. It was a focus, and it might help her with what she was about to try. She cleared her mind, then started to concentrate, building up the emotions and energy inside of her. Her urgency added to all of it, ramping the energy up. She focused her will on breaking the spell that was being cast; she didn’t recognize it, but if she could put the right monkey wrench in the gears, maybe it would seize. Hell, maybe even spring back and hit Sean in his rotten face. She fed her disgust for him into the spell, and the energy built up until she felt that she couldn’t stand it any longer. Silently, she released all of it.

  The spell rebounded, fizzling out; she could see the pent-up magic sparking out into the air in front of her. Some of it kept coming back, though, and she didn’t even have time to throw her hands up before it struck her. It felt like all of her nerve endings were on fire for a split second, and she was frozen with the shock and the pain of it. All of the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood up on end, and she was thrown backwards to land hard on her rear. Her entire body felt drained of energy, vitality even, and her joints felt sore. It felt like she had been exercising for a couple of days straight with no water or rest breaks, and her vision was fuzzy.

  She scrambled to her feet, just in time to see the dome turning a dark, old-blood red, and then there was a sudden flash of light inside that blinded her for a moment.

  When she could see again, the dome was back to being milky white. But inside the dome, things were…horrifying.

  The teens were clearly all suffering from the immediate onset of some sort of disease. Their bodies were rapidly being covered with boils, their eyes were bleeding and there was blood coming out of their ears. Their veins were dark, swollen.

  And they were screaming in pain, dropping to the floor, curling up and writhing. Their hands contracted into fists, or they clawed at their faces, leaving bloody furrows. Blood was oozing from the corners of their mouths now, and when they opened the mouths to scream, their gums were bloody.

  Staci clamped her hands over her ears, torn between wanting to rush at Sean and beat him until he reversed whatever it was he was doing, and wanting to run away, far away. Her stomach churned.

  And she was completely terrified.

  The screaming stopped…not because the kids were dead yet—they weren’t; horribly they still kept writhing on the ground—but because all that could come out of their mouths was a bubbly, whispery rasping.

  Just as quickly as it had began, the spell stopped. The dome was still in place around the dying teens. She immediately saw why; even the concrete around the teens was seemingly infused with corruption, the ground cracking and buckling in some places with a horrid-looking ooze. Sean looked back to Bradan; the older man was nodding approvingly.

  “That was…magnificent. The pain…what is the prognosis for the final version?”

  “Two months, with medical care. Three weeks without, after the onset of stage three symptoms. Stages one and two weren’t properly displayed here, but should be equally…delectable, in the suffering produced. The rate of infection will be carefully monitored and controlled, so that the population isn’t reduced unnecessarily or too soon. With proper cultivation, we should be able to draw out the total harvest for a full year, maybe more depending on any influxes of population. Cleanup has already been established, as well; chemical spill, rendering the entirety of the town uninhabitable.”

  “And what are the prospects of repeatability?”

  “If we apply this model to suitable candidate populations…I’d say the prospects are high. This will be enough to sustain us for generations, especially once the process has become more refined. No more piecemeal hunting—well, save for sport. The power that this will generate will ensure our position, and the elevation of our clan.”

  My god. They’re not just planning on killing Silence. They’re going to do this anywhere else that they can. Staci felt a wave of nausea at the thought of other small towns like Silence; there one moment, gone with hardly a whisper the next. From the sound of things, the Blackthornes had already planned out exactly how they were going to keep it all a secret, too. Like Dylan had said, how many Rust Belt counties, ghost towns, and other blips on the map had been ground under the heel of Unseleighe?

  With a final gesture towards the dome, there was another flash. Staci had spots in her vision, and felt lightheaded. When she was finally able to see again, the area where the dying teens had been…was scorched clean. The dome had disappeared, and the concrete that it had been containing was blackened. There was nothing left; not the teens, not the evil-looking ooze, not even ashes. A fresh wave of nausea washed over her.

  She put out a hand to steady herself. And moved a little too quickly, knocking
over an empty soda can that was balanced on the nearest stack of boxes. It fell to the floor with a clatter that was horrifyingly loud in the silence. Staci felt as if her insides had turned to ice, and for a split second, she froze in place. She didn’t bother to check to see if Sean and Bradan were looking in her direction; immediately, she started running, keeping low and thanking all the stars that her sneakers were nearly silent against the concrete. It was a good thing she had taken a moment to memorize the organization of the crates; it would have been far too easy to get confused in the rows and get lost. Before she knew it, she was at the rear wall again, scrambling up the stack of crates as quietly as she could and slipping out the window.

  Staci nearly fell when she landed on top of the 55-gallon drum that she had stacked up under the window early, with the drum tipping wildly to one side before she caught her balance. She didn’t even think as she climbed off of it, running as soon as her feet hit the ground. She must have run nearly the entire way back to the diner, weaving through alleys and side streets, before she realized that she hadn’t heard any sounds of pursuit. No gang thugs, no guards in suits, nothing. She spent the next few minutes catching her breath, tamping down on her fear and the feeling that she was going to be sick. Watching those four kids…it had been like something out of a horror movie, but worse; worse because it was real and they were right there in front of her. Those weren’t special effects, or anything like that; those kids were dead, and had died in agony. And there hadn’t been anything she could do to stop it.