The Flight of the Silvers

by Daniel Price

“You remember our deal, Sterling? About the money?”

  “Of course. A thousand dollars for each of you. For each week of your continued cooperation.”

  “Right. Tomorrow it’ll be six weeks.”

  Quint’s stomach lurched. “And your point in bringing this up?”

  “You know why,” Zack replied. “Get your cash together. I’m leaving.”

  —

  The Silvers’ next meal was a loud one.

  “For God’s sake, Zack! Why?”

  He’d announced his upcoming departure with drab triviality, as if he were merely changing e-mail addresses. The others weren’t so blasé.

  “I mean, what will you do when the money runs out?” Hannah asked. “Street caricatures? You gonna go door-to-door offering to freshen up vegetables?”

  Zack smirked. “I like that. I’ll start a whole business. They’ll call me the Wandering Juve.”

  “This isn’t funny! This is the rest of your life!”

  “Right. My life. My decision. And I decided enough is enough. Every day I stay here, I feel more and more like Quint’s house cat. I eat his food. I lounge on his chairs. I beg for information about the world when I should be out there seeing it for myself.”

  “But where will you go?” Mia asked.

  “I’ll make my way to New York. If it’s anything like my hometown, it’s still Alien Central, which means there’ll be people hiring under the table. I’ll work for a living. And when I’m not working, I’ll look for my brother.”

  The dining room grew quiet as the others retreated into thought. David came back first.

  “Zack, I’m going to be blunt with you in a way you won’t like. I say this because I respect you—”

  “Just spit it out already.”

  “You won’t find your brother,” David said. “Even on the slim chance that a handful of people in New York received bracelets like we did, there’s no guarantee Josh is one of them. And even if he was, you’re not going to find him in a city of eight million people. It’s just unrealistic.”

  Zack tensely shrugged. “I suppose it is. But if there’s a chance, even a small one, I have to try.”

  “And to hell with us, right?”

  From the moment he dropped his news, Zack had simmered in the heat of Amanda’s harsh green glare. Her cast had come off an hour ago. She held her mended wrist, wiggling her fingers as if she were playing an invisible trumpet.

  “I don’t enjoy the thought of leaving you guys,” Zack insisted. “In fact, anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome.”

  “Bullshit. You never asked. You never even tried to convince us.”

  He looked at Amanda in flummox. “Wait. You’re mad because I didn’t ask you to come with me?”

  “No, I’m mad because you decided to leave us all without a second thought. You’re the most adaptable one out of all of us. Maybe we need you. Maybe you need us. Maybe it would hurt you to lose the only people you know from your world. Did any of that occur to you? Or does none of it matter because you’re feeling antsy?”

  “If you think I came to this decision lightly—”

  “That’s exactly what I think.”

  Sitting silent and rigid at the far end of the table, Theo awkwardly scanned his companions. He’d been an erratic presence in their lives over the last two weeks. Some days he’d join them for all three meals. Other days he’d never leave his second-floor sanctum. He wished today had been one of those other days. He felt like a guest at a family brawl.

  Hannah held Zack’s wrist. “Look, we get your decision . . .”

  “She doesn’t,” he snarled, in Amanda’s direction.

  “She wants you to stay. We all do. We just don’t understand the rush. Why can’t you wait a month or two?”

  “You think we’ll be any more prepared? It’s been two weeks since Quint’s presentation. Have there been any follow-ups? Where’s the net-accessible computer he promised us ten days ago? Wake up, Hannah. He wants us to stay clueless. He wants us to be scared and dependent on him, because we’re his meal ticket.”

  Mia anxiously twisted her napkin. She agreed with everything Zack said and hated the fact that Quint’s scheme was working. The thought of facing the outside world still terrified her.

  “I’d go if we all went,” she meekly offered.

  David tapped the face of his wristwatch in absent bother. “That’s not going to happen. I’m sorry, Mia, but I see no need to leave this place.”

  “I do,” Amanda declared. “But I’m not ready.”

  “Me neither,” said Hannah, with a tender glance at Zack. “Look, you’re right. It’s your life and you know what you’re doing. It just breaks my heart to lose you. It would kill me to learn that something bad happened to you out there on your own.”

  Amanda reeled with envy at her sister’s warm finesse with men. Even as a child, Hannah’s effortless charm had boys falling all over her. She disarmed them as easily as Amanda set them on edge.

  Zack’s tense brow unfurled. He patted Hannah’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to start a whole drama. But after everything that’s happened, I just can’t stay here anymore. I have to get out and do something.”

  He pushed his chair back and stood up.

  “I need a purpose.”

  As Zack retreated from the table, his companions glumly stared at their half-eaten dinners. Theo blew a hot sigh through his nose.

  “I’ll go.”

  Zack turned around at the door, wearing the same look of surprise as the others. Theo himself seemed caught unaware by the announcement. He had no clue where his idea came from, but assumed it wasn’t a place of bravery.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said. “If that’s all right.”

  Quint’s lantern jaw went slack as he continued to monitor the discussion from his office. Azral had already assured him that Trillinger’s departure was an acceptable loss. The cartoonist was expendable and wouldn’t be missed. But if Zack turned his exit into an exodus, if he convinced even one of the crucial Silvers to escape with him . . .

  The handphone on Quint’s desk suddenly lit up with a new text message.

 

  Quint rubbed his eyes in tension. Of course. Of course Azral already knew.

  He stroked his neck in dark contemplation before keying a reply.

 

  Azral responded immediately.

  Quint scowled at the screen. He was hoping Azral would do the dirty work himself. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Quint typed.

 

  The esteemed physicist could only sigh.

 

  Four minutes later, Azral’s final message arrived. Quint could see the smile behind the words.

 

  Quint leaned back in his chair and pondered the variables of this new equation. He promised Zack he’d have his parting cash on Monday. That gave him two and a half days to plan his attack. Two and a half days to rid the world of a man who shouldn’t exist at all.

  —

  The rest of the weekend was tense for all six Silvers. The sisters snapped at each other over silly little trifles. Mia barely left her suite. David followed Zack around like a cloud of doom, raining negative scenarios about his impending journey. Zack was, as David cautioned, a fairly obvious Semite on a solitary trek through a regressed American south. Zack told him it sounded like a great screenplay, then rem
inded him he wouldn’t be traveling alone.

  “Yes you will,” David attested. “You’ll lose Theo at the first liquor store. If you’re lucky, he won’t steal all your money beforehand.”

  Though Zack scoffed at the unkind notion, it had already made several laps around his own head. Even Theo found the idea far too credible for his liking. His tricky demon never stopped reminding him that sweet relief could be found just outside the property. It filled him with increasing dread about staying there. By the end of the weekend, the voice in his head had fallen to abject panic. Get out. Get out. Get out now.

  Of all the Silvers, none seemed more anxious than Future Mia.

  On Sunday night, the younger Farisi received four portal dispatches. The messages ranged from the obscure to the alarming:

  The steering column is the gearshift. Press the white triggers on the inside of the wheel to switch the van out of Park.

  The motorcycles have sped ahead to set up a tempic barrier on the highway. There’s no getting around it, but Zack will know how to get through it.

  The winter blonde’s name is Krista Bloom. Use it. It may buy you a few seconds.

  The fourth and most disturbing note had been scrawled across an entire ripped page, filled with a large and shaky version of Mia’s handwriting. The author was clearly not in a good state.

  Do not let Amanda get out of the van. Listen to me, you stupid girl. Do not let Amanda get out of the van. If she gets out of the van, they will shoot her. They will shoot her and she will die.

  Mia’s hands trembled as she transcribed the notes into her book. Her sunniest thought was that all these warnings were from a future that, for one reason or another, had become moot. Or perhaps these events wouldn’t occur for years to come.

  At midnight, a final message dropped to her bedspread. The ivory scrap had been ripped straight from her journal, the words written hastily in bloodred ink.

  They hit you all at sunrise. Sleep with your shoes on. Get ready to run.

  TWELVE

  Erin Salgado was the first to meet the newest guests.

  As the pink light of dawn washed over the premises, she carried her gun down the winding driveway. She had no idea what to expect from her last-minute patrol. All she knew was that Mia had scared her something fierce.

  Shortly after midnight, Erin had spotted the girl on camera, fretfully pacing the third-floor hallway. Mia paused at David’s door in dilemma, then Amanda’s, then Zack’s, and then repeated the cycle all over again.

  Soon Erin went upstairs to find her. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Mia hugged her journal, her face a quivering mask. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to start a whole panic over nothing. I mean I once got a note saying ‘Don’t trust Peter,’ and then another note saying to disregard the first note. So I’ve gotten bad messages before.”

  Erin stroked Mia’s shoulders, hopelessly lost. The physicists didn’t go out of their way to explain things to the Salgados. Most of what the family knew was gleaned through surveillance and eavesdropping. Erin had overheard some very odd chatter about Mia.

  “Is there any way I can help?”

  Mia’s eyes lit up. “Can I come with you to the security room? Is that where you see everything?”

  Erin knew her clients would frown upon her bringing one of the subjects into the monitoring station, but Mia had a way of tugging her heartstrings. They were both husky gals, both from a large family of men. Erin could only imagine how she’d be if she lost her dad and brothers.

  She took Mia downstairs to the cramped little office that, to everyone on night watch, had become synonymous with boredom. As Mia perched at the console and watched the nine color screens, Erin sat behind her and twisted her long hair into braids.

  “What exactly are you looking for, kitten?”

  “I have no idea. It’s probably too early to see them anyway.”

  Erin eyed her nervously. “People here are saying you can tell the future. Is that true?”

  “I don’t tell the future,” Mia replied, through a gaping yawn. “The future tells me.”

  At 3 A.M., she finally succumbed to fatigue. Erin led her to the worn green couch at the back of the room and draped a blanket over her.

  “Wake me up before sunrise,” Mia mumbled. “They’re supposed to hit at sunrise.”

  Unnerved, Erin popped a can of orange vim, then resumed the monitoring. At 6 A.M., her twin brother Eric arrived to relieve her. He eyed Mia quizzically.

  “Let her sleep,” Erin whispered. “She had a bad night.”

  “What, like nightmares?”

  “I think so.” I hope so, she thought. Otherwise, trouble was coming right about now.

  Instead of driving straight home, as her weary thoughts demanded, Erin drew her pistol and took a cautious sweep around the perimeter of the building. She walked down to the front gates, testing them. The property was sealed within a ten-foot iron fence. Good enough to keep most stragglers out.

  By the time Erin returned to the family van, the sun had climbed above the trees. She stashed her gun and texted her brother.

  Okay. This is silly. I’m going home. Keep an eye on M

  A reflective gleam caught her eye. She turned to spy a wiry man standing on the front lawn, forty feet away. He cut an ominous figure in his dark jeans and black leather jacket. Erin couldn’t see his face through the shaded visor of his motorcycle helmet, but he was clearly looking at her.

  The gleam had come from the three-foot Japanese sword in his right hand.

  Wide-eyed, Erin reached for her gun. Her fingers barely touched the holster before the man sped past her in a dark blur. She felt a hot blast of air, then an odd tug in her midsection. Erin Salgado considered the very strange thing she just witnessed, then fell to the ground in two pieces.

  —

  Eric was pouring sugar into his coffee when his sister’s death occurred on the upper-right screen. It wasn’t until the image looped back to the driveway, fifty-five seconds later, that he glimpsed the long blood spatter on the side of the van. His coffee mug shattered on the floor.

  “Erin!”

  Mia woke up, startled, as Eric sped past her. He ran down the hall and stopped short at the lobby. Two intruders stood by the reception desk. One was petite and unseasonably dressed in thick winter clothes. A long blond ponytail poured from a hole in the back of her ski mask. The other was tall and wore a simple gray tracksuit. His face was covered in a rubber novelty mask molded in the smiling semblance of Teddy Roosevelt.

  Both strangers turned to Eric as he reflexively aimed his pistol.

  “Don’t—”

  With fearful eyes, the woman raised her hand. A quick burst of light enveloped Eric, freezing him solid in an instant. Everything within five feet of him glistened with a fresh coat of frost.

  The man in the Roosevelt mask flicked his wrist, causing long tempic whips to emerge from his fingers. They broke off little pieces of Eric, toppling his corpse like a statue.

  The woman glared at her companion. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I wanted to see if he’d shatter.”

  “You really are sick.”

  “Maybe. But you’re the one who killed him when you could’ve just frozen his gun.”

  The blonde looked at her victim in dismay. Winter mist escaped with each shallow breath.

  “I panicked.”

  “No fooling. You need to mettle up, honey. We haven’t even started yet.”

  She glared at him. “Just go upstairs and help Rebel. I’ll take care of the one down here.”

  Mia swallowed her scream. She’d witnessed Eric’s death on the monitor and now frantically scanned the security console for something, anything that could help. One button caught her attention: hot red, with a flame-shaped icon.

  She slammed it hard, and the
building came to life.

  —

  Czerny launched awake in the futon. A chain of loud woops filled his office. The entire ceiling flashed with red lumis. He scrambled for his shirt.

  Beatrice blinked at him several times, holding the blanket to her naked chest. “What’s going on? Is it a fire?”

  “Don’t know. I’m hoping it’s just a glitch.”

  Czerny donned his glasses and keyed a three-digit number into his desk phone. He was surprised to find a frightened girl on the other end of the line.

  “Hello?” she said, in a frantic half whisper. “Who is this?”

  “This is Dr. Czerny. Who . . . Sorry, I was expecting someone else. Who am I speaking to?”

  “It’s me! It’s Mia!”

  “Mia? What’s going on? Why are you in the security room? Where’s the guard on duty?”

  “He’s frozen or petrified. And I think Erin’s hurt. I see four different people on the monitors. One of them’s really big and he has a gun.”

  “My God!”

  “There’s a woman in a ski mask. I think she’s coming this way. I don’t know what to do!”

  Panicked by proxy, Beatrice rushed to get dressed. Czerny cradled the phone and finished buttoning his shirt.

  “Okay, Mia. Listen to me. I want you to stay calm. If you haven’t already locked the door—”

  “I locked it. And I pushed the couch in front of it.”

  “Good. Smart girl. Now I want you to deactivate the fire alarm. Just press the red button twice.”

  “Should I? I mean—”

  “Mia, please trust me, all right?”

  Five seconds later, the clamor came to a stop. The emergency lights disappeared.

  “Good. Good, Mia. Now you just stay where you are. Help is coming.”

  “I think they all have a—”

  He hung up before she could finish. For lack of a better term, she was about to say “weirdness.”

  Beatrice clutched his arm. “Constantin, what’s going on?”

  He fished a small item from her purse, a gray metal gadget that resembled a baby air horn.

  “If our youngest guest hasn’t lost her poor mind, then I fear we have armed intruders.”