Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  The Winter Soldier shook his head, already recovering from the grenade's effects. Without looking, he reached down with his metal arm and wrapped his fist around the grenade still attached to him, and ripped it off.

  My ears still rang with white noise from the grenade. On my hands and knees, I looked up, past the Winter Soldier, to where I last saw Wanda and Pietro.

  Wanda was still standing — just barely. With one hand she warded off the rest of the ground agents, who had surrounded her and Pietro, who was still on the ground. A sheen of sweat covered her face, exhaustion and pain marring her features. It was all she could do to fend off bullets, knock back the agents. Her energy blasts were weakening, only managing small kinetic blows, instead of the usual destructive force she managed.

  She was losing.

  I rose to my feet, wiping at my face. The Winter Soldier stood between me and them. He had just thrown away the remnants of the grenade, rendering it to a ball of scrap metal in his grip.

  My chances weren't high. But I ran for Wanda anyways.

  The Winter Soldier turned, struck out his arm. Probably to clothesline me, but I anticipated it. I slowed, ducked my head back before he could grab my throat.

  But his fist closed around the front of my shirt. It jerked me back — I twisted, spun on my heel, ducked under his arm. Came back up and brought my elbow down on the arm that had me — flesh, which bent under my blow, bringing me closer to bring that same elbow to the Winter Soldier's head.

  He let go, but not before slinging me around, back where I came. The Winter Soldier remained between me and where I wanted to go. I stumbled, spun around so my back didn't face him any longer than it had to. I knew if it did, then I'd be dead.

  I saw the knife at the last second.

  I gasped, skipped backwards at the last second, throwing my arms out. The combat knife, almost a foot long, flew past — my shirt ripped as the very tip of the blade caught against the fabric. The Winter Soldier swung at me again, flipping the blade into a reverse grip so its serrated edge was facing me again.

  Its blade sang as it sliced air. The Winter Soldier was unrelenting, just kept coming at me as I continued to back up. The second swipe missed; Two, three, four.

  He was fast, so fast. I barely had time to see it before I ducked, dodged, scrambled out of the way. My breathing was ragged, still suffering after being choked. I could barely keep up.

  The knife slipped past my hand. A second later I felt a burning down my arm — he had cut me. I had no idea how bad it was. There was no time to take stock of my injuries — of which there were undoubtedly many. I didn't have time to register the pain, just surge past it.

  The Winter Soldier moved like a machine. So smooth, so quick, it was like he was preprogrammed, not a person making split-second decisions, but a computer operating at a speed beyond human capability. I was just fast enough to avoid getting stabbed. I didn't have the spare thought to even think of attacking; I was entirely on the defensive now, just trying to stay alive.

  But whenever the Winter Soldier missed a blow with his knife, he followed up with a metal fist. I took a blow to the side and I couldn't breathe again, but I refused to collapse. Just keep moving. Just keep backing up.

  I knew his game. I knew what he was trying to do. Just pushing me further and further away from Wanda and Pietro, distract me so I couldn't help them.

  Well, it was working. Knowing it didn't help.

  Then my legs hit a car behind me. I saw the flash of the blade as it came down.

  I brought up my arm just before the knife buried itself in my shoulder.

  The Winter Soldier was even stronger than I expected. I nearly collapsed under the full weight of the blow. My knees buckled. The knife grazed my neck.

  It was instinctual, to hold this form, to keep pushing back. But I could already tell that the Winter Soldier would overpower me, so instead I let gravity do the work.

  My knees turned to jelly. I bent my head and threw myself forward, under and around the Winter Soldier, using his falling momentum to push past him.

  The blade slammed into the hood of the car behind me. I almost turned to Wanda, but didn't at the last moment. No, the Winter Soldier still had his knife, and I couldn't turn my back on him. As soon as I did, that knife would end up in my spine.

  I backed up just in time for the Winter Soldier to pivot — knife already removed from the car, back on me again. But I was ready for it this time. I just hoped I was as fast as him. No, I had to be faster.

  I was far enough away that he had to extend his arm, which is what I wanted. I caught his wrist with both of my hands — thankfully, he wielded the knife with his human arm — halting his momentum, and twisted down with all the strength I could muster. I wasn't strong enough to best him, but I could at least get rid of that damn knife.

  I watched, in a moment of victory, as he let go of the knife.

  As it fell, I kicked it in mid-air, sent it skittering away.

  The Winter Soldier was bothered enough to grunt. So far, he had been entirely silent, entirely effortless in his attack. I had just kicked the knife when he retaliated with a blow to my side — the same place he struck earlier.

  I let out a cry; this time, I felt something, bones cracking like lightning in my chest. The pain bloomed in my head, but I forced it back; no, don't get distracted. Keep up or you'll die.

  The blow was enough to send me back; I let go of the Winter Soldier, gasping. He kept coming at me; nothing seemed to slow him down.

  I backed up a few steps, before getting wind back and deciding to change the tides a little. Stop backing up, start going forward. My back was to Wanda and Pietro, but what else could I do now but cross the Winter Soldier?

  I didn't know what else to do. I threw a fist at him. He slapped my hand away, followed up with a swing to my face. I raised my forearm to block the metal fist — absorbing blows from his powerful cyborg limb wasn't the best idea, but in the heat of the moment I couldn't think of something better.

  And it went on like that. Me trying to deliver blows, failing, only put on the defensive again trying not to get hit, and failing at that, too. I took a heel to the leg, fist to the hip, a knee to the abdomen; I managed to strike him all of two times; two ineffective blows to the chest and arm. It was like he didn't feel it at all.

  He deflected my blows with quick, efficient ease. It didn't matter what I did, it was like he expected it. I briefly wondered, in a moment of desperate frustration, if the Winter Soldier could actually read my mind.

  It wasn't like I could ask.

  I almost wished I had a weapon, but I already knew how bad an idea that would be. It would only take a second for the Winter Soldier to use it against me.

  I was way out of my league and I knew it. I knew it as soon as he had thrown me to the ground. But I couldn't conceive the thought of surrendering. Not after everything I fought for. Not after escaping those memories, not after what I'd been through with the twins. We'd gotten so far. How could I stop now?

  He was just playing with me. I wasn't sure of it, but far back in my mind I was aware of how unchallenged the Winter Soldier seemed to be. Somehow, I had the feeling he could just end it right now, but for some unknown reason, didn't.

  One wayward fist and he grabbed my arm, sent me careening over the front of a van. I landed head over heels, before crashing to the ground in a daze.

  I tried to pick myself up, but my body was moving slower, resisting. My head swam. I tasted blood in my mouth. There wasn't a single part of my body that didn't hurt.

  I could see him, just out of the corner of my eye. A black shadow, getting closer and closer. Heavy bootsteps. I thought of getting up, getting away, but I knew I didn't have the energy, the speed left.

  I had just managed to rise on my elbows when a cold hand fell on top of my head. I grimaced as metal fingers gripped my hair, hauled me up, roll my head back so I was looking at him again.

  The
Winter Soldier leaned over me. The only sign of exertion was the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. Did he ever run out of breath? I was almost dead weight. How could he lift so much with one arm?

  Those same expressionless eyes. He didn't even seem annoyed, much less angry that I was putting up such a fight — so unlike those Extremis soldiers, unlike Brandt, who were all rage, all heat, all the time.

  They never shut up. The Winter Soldier, however, didn't speak at all.

  He was only one man. But he was more terrifying than the entire Komitet put together.

  Something came over me then. A strange, foggy notion in my head. The Winter Soldier had me at his mercy. He never hesitated a single blow. Why wasn't I dead yet?

  Then, slowly, I reached up. One lone, shaky hand, towards his face. The Winter Soldier jerked his head back, but I was just a little bit faster. My nails caught on the edge of his mask, and it pulled away. It dropped to the ground, my hand following, grip not strong enough to hold it.

  I stared.

  A face. A whole face. Blue eyes completed by a square jaw, a stern mouth. For a moment, the briefest expression crossed the Winter Soldier's face — lips parted, eyes widening just a fraction.

  Surprise.

  And that's when I realized: I knew him.

  He trained me.

  In that moment, I knew I had already lost.

  He continued to stare at me; the surprise slipped away, erased in the next moment by an invisible hand. Like he'd already forgotten. As if his face shouldn't be a concern for me.

  I didn't know what it meant. I couldn't look away. My heart was racing, a rabbit trying to escape from an eagle's penetrating sight. I didn't know what he would do next.

  I didn't have time to wait.

  Beneath me, my other hand scanned the ground. It brushed against something flat, round, metal. My fingers slipped through wide holes. My grip tightened.

  Still holding the Winter Soldier's gaze, I swung my arm around. The hubcap struck him.

  It glanced off his chin. The Winter Soldier recoiled, caught off guard, letting me go.

  I wrenched myself away, scrambled to my feet, facing the Winter Soldier again. To my right was the edge of the bridge, the banister all that was left between us and water. To my left, the rest of the bridge, Wanda and —

  'Pietro!'

  The scream ripped through the air. I spun around, heart leaping into my throat at what I saw.

  Pietro's unconscious body, being lifted into the helicopter.

  Wanda, being wrestled to the ground, before an agent slammed the butt of his rifle against her temple.

  Her cries came to an abrupt end and she crumpled.

  'Wanda!' I called, but my voice was weak, hoarse. I realized I hadn't said a word this entire time; too focused on fighting, I never thought of keeping up communication with the twins. If I had, maybe I would've known sooner how much trouble they were in.

  And now it was too late.

  They were already lifting Wanda into the chopper as I started to run.

  No no no no no no no

  I didn't even make it two steps before a hand grabbed my arm. My second cry was cut short as I was yanked back.

  I turned my head, just in time to see the metal fist coming towards my face.

  I didn't feel it hit. I did, however, feel the ground leave my feet. The banister at my back. The air as I flipped over.

  My side slammed down on the small lip on the other side. I bounced off. My eyes flew open. Tarmac, concrete, a blur.

  Fists closed. Fingers clenched around metal. I caught myself on a piece of rebar. My grip was sure as my body continued to fall.

  I cried out weakly as my shoulder took the weight of the fall, pulled between my arm and the rest of me as I swung precariously from loose rebar, sticking out from the damaged bridge.

  I looked down. Black waters churned thirty feet below. I vaguely remembered Plan B.

  My grip was slipping. My muscles were tired, palm covered in sweat. I didn't have the strength to lift up my other arm, to pull myself up.

  I looked up. Blood in my eyes. I didn't know what to think, when I saw the Winter Soldier leaning over the side. His eyes were on me. Maybe he'd come to see the job finished.

  I thought he would pull out a weapon. Put a bullet between my eyes. At least make it quick. I probably wouldn't even feel it.

  Instead, he reached out.

  I blinked, uncomprehending.

  Then my hand slipped from the rebar.

  I didn't even scream as I plunged into the Thames.

  The last thing I saw was the Winter Soldier still reaching for me. One metal palm, fingers outstretched.

  The world turned black.

  'Describe to me what you just saw,'

  The Crucible.

  It was earlier this time. Not many weeks into my stay here, after I'd...changed. Not that I could tell, from the scene around me. A dark room. Desks all around me. A single projector light, showing something on the opposite wall. It looked like a classroom from the 70's...which, admittedly, is a familiar look to me thanks to Midtown, but it felt much older here. At least Midtown had windows.

  The glare of the projector was hard against my eyes. I couldn't quite see the source of the voice. It was rough, male, grim. I recognized it. But in that moment, reliving this memory, I couldn't put a face to it.

  'A car crash.' I replied. I was strapped in that wooden chair again; this wasn't the first time I'd been in this room. A classroom, indeed, where I was taught less physical material. Words, languages, smaller, subtler skills. Today, I was shown pictures, photographs.

  This photo in particular, which I had been given about sixty seconds to look at (with no previous instruction), and it was only now I was getting any clue as to what it was about. This was a new lesson; I was not told what the purpose of it was.

  'How many people were there?'

  'Four.'

  'And how many were men?'

  'Three. One was a woman.'

  'And what color was the woman's hair?'

  'Blonde.' I said, pausing a second. Was this important somehow? What did it matter what color hair she had?

  'How many cars were there, and what colors were they?'

  'Three. Red, yellow and…' I couldn't remember for a second, closing my eyes. 'Green. The last one was green.'

  'And what were their license plates?'

  'The license plates?'

  'Yes. Their numbers. What were they? I want to know all of them.'

  'I…' My memory of the image was a blur. The license plates were practically nonexistent, just a white haze and some vague dashes. I didn't remember even looking at them for that long. Even if I could recall them, why? Who needed to memorize three license plate numbers at once? 'I-I don't…'

  Closing my eyes didn't help, so I opened them, focused on the Winter Soldier, sitting in one corner of the room. He was cleaning his rifle, seeming to not even be paying attention. How did he know what the picture looked like from that angle? When I couldn't come up with an answer right away, he called, 'Try again. Tell me what province they were labeled. Country.'

  As if I could tell at first glance. I could only shrug helplessly, my wrists aching from the straps. Those scientists needn't have bothered strapping me in; I wasn't going to try and escape while in the presence of a cold-blooded assassin armed with the biggest weapon I'd ever seen in my life.

  When I couldn't come up with an answer, the Winter Soldier finally picked up his head, scowling. His gaze sent a chill down my back, and I averted my eyes. I whispered, 'I don't remember.'

  'Wrong answer.' he said. 'The license plate numbers were Two-Four-Alpha-James-Seven-Niner, Hotel-Eight-Kilo-Bravo-One, and Victor-Zero-Six-Three-November-Lima. They were all American plates, two from Pennsylvania, one from Michigan. And you forgot to count the child in the backseat of the red car. You would know this, if you paid attention. Now, try again.'

&nb
sp; He flicked his hand, and whoever manned the projector filtered in a new image. Blinking rapidly to the new light, it took me a second to take in the photograph, then try to pick out things that I thought would be important to the Winter Soldier. This image was now of a cafe, the interior with the camera facing the window, a bright street outside. I just barely managed to register the signage written in French before the projector just off again.

  It was gone faster than I anticipated. 'Wait, I wasn't done -'

  'You don't get second chances,' the Winter Soldier cut me off, his tone as flat and dead as his title implied. Just hearing it made me shrink in my chair. His metal arm gleamed in the projector's light, and I wondered if he was even human at all. 'Now tell me. How many people were in the room?'