The Flight of the Silvers

by Daniel Price

  As the beleaguered Silvers began to formulate their plans, Mia found her gaze drifting back to the little patch of air where she’d just split time. She’d only just gotten used to the idea of multiple futures. Now she had to process multiple pasts. She’d been so worried about destroying the Earth. Now she had to wrap her mind around the possibility that she’d just created one.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The 3 A.M. chime broke the silence in the interrogation room. Melissa yawned and checked her watch. The building had been on high alert for five hours now, with no sign of intruders.

  She sat cross-legged on the desk, her crumpled red bra resting in her lap. As caffeine and exhaustion pummeled her from both sides, a high and giddy chuckle escaped her throat.

  “My agents think I’m crazy. Even more so than usual. I’d blame you, Mr. Augur, but really the fault is mine. I’ve let the surrealism infect me to the point where I actually believe that an actress, an artist, and two minors would dare attack this place.”

  Theo lay on the folding cot, his arm draped over his eyes. He was coming down off a bevy of neuroleptic drugs, a dilating effect that made the ceiling bulbs burn like desert suns.

  In the sober light of reason, he regretted leaving his mumbled clue for David in Marietta. If he’d been wrong, he would have sent his friends on a wild-goose chase. Being right was even worse. He might have lured them into a trap, thanks to Melissa’s adaptive reasoning.

  “I still can’t shake the feeling that they’re coming to rescue you,” she said. “Perhaps they’re waiting for some kind of signal.”

  “For the hundredth time, I don’t know where they are. I don’t know what they know. If you’d just let me sleep—”

  “No, no. If I have to stay up, so do you. I blame you enough for that.”

  Theo clenched his jaw. “God, you’re ridiculous. Do you even have a life outside this job?”

  “Not much of one. No.”

  “Well then maybe you should live it up while you’re still young and hot.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, but I don’t do well with flings. We at least have that in common.”

  Theo raised his arm to glare at her. “Did you ghost my entire relationship with Hannah?”

  “Not the naughty parts,” she assured him. “We have rules about that.”

  “Oh good. So you didn’t chuck the entire Fourth Amendment.”

  She dangled her shapely legs off the table and swayed them like a bored child. “I know you don’t have ghost drills on your world, but do you even have Domestic Protections?”

  Theo rubbed his eyes. There was no point in pretending.

  “We call it the FBI. The Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Interesting. I like that. And what about the NIC?”

  “The what?”

  “The National Integrity Commission. I guess you don’t have that either, as such.”

  “I guess not, considering I have no idea what that is.”

  Melissa sighed a heavy breath. For his sake, she hoped he’d never find out.

  Howard poked his head into the room, his eyes dark and bleary with fatigue. Melissa could sense that even he resented her for the overzealous lockdown.

  “The tugs are here,” he announced.

  “Excellent. If I can have four men help me with the generators, I’ll escort Amanda myself.”

  “Okay. I’ll round some up.”

  “What’s happening now?” Theo asked.

  Melissa hopped off the table and grabbed her gun. “We’re leaving.”

  —

  In their long freeway travels, the Silvers had become quite familiar with the sight of the blue-striped Tug-a-Lug truck. The company had grown so dominant in the do-it-yourself moving business that “tug” was now the casual term for any rented hauler.

  At 4 A.M., a trio of sixteen-foot trucks left the field office and split up at the first intersection. The maneuver was a skittish ploy on Melissa’s part, a vehicular shell game to thwart any would-be rescuers. Two of the tugs returned to the building within the hour. The third kept moving east on Highway LXX.

  The atmosphere inside the trailer was downright eerie. The battery lamps on the floor created a sinister underlighting for everyone but Amanda. She continued to shine like an angel in the blue-tinted radiance of her solic generators.

  She and Theo faced each other from opposite walls, their arms handcuffed behind their folding chairs. Beneath the powerful joy of seeing each other alive and well was the pain of greater separation. Theo wished he could talk to Amanda telepathically, to pick her brain about the status of the others without alerting their captors.

  Melissa’s loud yawn bounced off the metal walls. She and Howard sat perpendicular to the captives, like bridge opponents.

  “We’ll be in Washington in two hours,” she told them. “Your accommodations there will be far more comfortable.”

  Theo couldn’t get over all the chains and safeguards the Deps were using on Amanda, as if this skinny nurse and Christian had become their personal King Kong.

  “You going to keep those machines on her for the rest of her life?” he asked Melissa.

  “We’re completing construction on a special cell that achieves the same effect. She’ll have more mobility. If we’re fortunate, we’ll find a drug that safely suppresses her access to the tempis.” Melissa looked to Amanda. “I imagine you wouldn’t be too upset about that.”

  The widow shook her head. Though she retained a wary fondness for Melissa, she didn’t like the other two agents in the trailer. Howard never took his nervous eyes off her, as if she’d disembowel him the moment the generators flickered. The other one, a strange and bookish little blond named Owen Nettles, seemed to have a creepy fascination with David. He spent the first few miles pestering the prisoners with questions about the boy. After his sixth failed attempt to gain answers, he sulked in a dark corner, resting on a blanket like the family dog.

  “How you feeling?” Amanda asked Theo.

  “Better. No pain. No visions. Whatever they gave me did the trick.”

  Amanda looked to Melissa. “You must have gotten the results of his hospital tests by now.”

  “I have them,” Melissa confirmed.

  “Don’t you think he has a right to know what you found?”

  Melissa fought the urge to withhold the information as leverage, but they had a long struggle ahead of them. She had to start building trust.

  “The scanners discovered a foreign object in your thalamus,” she told Theo. “A perfect ring, no larger than a crumb. Any idea how it got there?”

  Theo had every idea. His only surprise was that he shared it.

  “The Pelletiers. Has to be.”

  “Why?” Melissa asked. “What’s the purpose of the object?”

  “I have no idea. I can’t imagine it’s there to kill me. There are easier ways.”

  “Is there anything you’re willing to tell me about this Azral and Esis?”

  “I know you’ll never find them unless they want to be found,” Theo responded. “You’ll never get them in an interrogation room. I just hope for your sake that you never become a problem to them. They slaughtered two dozen of their own employees by remote control. They wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

  Howard’s leg bounced in anxiety, sending soft tapping echoes through the trailer. Melissa stroked her jaw in rumination.

  “So what do they want from you? Why did they bring you here?”

  Theo shrugged as best he could. “I don’t know. None of us know.”

  “I hope we never find out,” Amanda said.

  The truck veered to the left, then rolled to a quick halt. Melissa raised her radio.

  “Carter, what’s going on? Why are we stopping?”

  The receiver hissed loud static. “We got an
accident up ahead. Overturned truck across both lanes.”

  “Is anyone on scene yet?”

  “Yeah. An ambulance and two local poes.”

  Melissa muttered a curse. Something didn’t feel right. “Okay. Talk to them and see if you can get an estimate.”

  She scrutinized Theo’s face for hints of canny awareness, finding none. Frustrated, she turned to Howard. “Call Michael with our coordinates. I want the rest of the team on standby.”

  Amanda and Theo watched her closely as her thoughts once again bounced with mad leaps of logic. When it came to the fugitives, no assumption was too far-fetched. Nothing was out of the question. Melissa was living in their world now. She didn’t like it at all.

  —

  Carter Rutledge stepped out the driver’s door with a tired grunt. At five-foot-four, he rivaled Owen Nettles as the shortest man in the unit. He battled his stature with a ferociously overpumped build. Even his loose wool blazer flaunted the pneumatic bulges of his biceps.

  Like Ross Daley—his colleague, gym partner, and current copilot—Carter did not like having an eccentric female foreigner as his supervisor. They certainly didn’t enjoy driving a tug through the sticks in the wee hours, all because their batty new boss was jumping at shadows.

  They closed their doors and examined the fracas on the highway, a gaggle of emergency lights in the dark middle of nowhere. A fourteen-wheel bread truck had flipped onto its side, spilling across both lanes at a forty-five-degree angle. A young paramedic pushed the injured driver on a squeaky-wheeled stretcher while three doughy state troopers chatted beside their cruisers.

  Ross smirked at his teammate. “I love flashing my badge at these country duffs.”

  “Careful,” Carter teased, “I hear they shoot duskers on sight here.”

  “In that case, maybe we should bring the boss out.”

  They laughed and approached the policemen. Ross held up his ID. “Excuse me, gentlemen . . .”

  The cops kept conversing, oblivious. Ross cleared his throat and raised his badge higher.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen . . .”

  Still no response. Ross looked to Carter in outrage. “Can you believe this?”

  “I can understand why they wouldn’t see you in the dark . . .”

  “This isn’t funny anymore.”

  Ross moved to the nearest officer and reached for his shoulder. His hand passed right through it.

  “Oh shit.”

  The entire accident scene disappeared in a blink, leaving nothing on the road but a lone female figure. In the light of the moon and the tug’s distant high beams, they had no trouble recognizing Hannah Given and the deadly .44 she aimed at them.

  Zack’s open sketchbook dangled in her left hand, a large message scribbled in thick marker ink.

  ON YOUR KNEES.

  HANDS ON YOUR HEADS.

  NOW.

  Though she had no way to measure it, Hannah was shifted a speed just shy of 22×. She had over a dozen prefabricated messages written out in Zack’s pad, one for nearly every anticipated occasion. She would not slow down for purposes of comprehension. She would not take her eyes off their hands. Though her weapon experience didn’t go beyond stage pistols, she was ready to fire a warning shot before they even touched their guns.

  The Deps processed her ferocious expression, fueled as much by acting as it was by adrenaline. She impatiently shook the pad at them.

  Carter raised his palms. “Okay, look, you don’t want to do this . . .”

  “She’s shifted, you idiot. She can’t understand you. Now do as she says. This is your last warning.”

  Ross and Carter looked around, unable to see the young Australian who just spoke in their ears. David’s command was a ghosted echo of words he’d uttered fifty-five minutes ago. He’d created some prefabricated messages of his own.

  Stymied, the agents grudgingly kneeled on the pavement, their palms on their scalps.

  “Now if you value your lives,” said David, “you won’t move a muscle.”

  He emerged from behind the rocky embankment and seized their guns and radios. Ross clenched his jaw as he watched his pistol fall into a knapsack.

  “I don’t care how young you are, boy. I’ll tear you open for this.”

  “Yes, we’re all impressed by your manliness. Put your hands behind your back. Hurry.”

  Melissa’s tinny voice crackled through the fabric of David’s bag. “Carter, what’s going on? Report.”

  David motioned to Mia, who’d been watching from behind the rocks. The moment she reached him on the asphalt, he passed her two pairs of handcuffs.

  “I need to help Zack. Will you be all right taking over?”

  She glanced at the men, then gave David a shaky nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Don’t worry. Hannah will keep you covered.”

  He stood behind the two agents and hissed a whisper into their ears. “Stay still and do exactly what the girl says. You touch one hair on her head, I’ll kill you with your own guns.”

  Mia could only watch in slack-jawed stupor as David dashed toward the truck. Between the shock and concern over his murderous threat was a savage thrill that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She existed in a dreamlike state, only half-present. Only half-scared.

  She studied the handcuffs in her grip, then squinted at the Deps. Her voice fell two octaves.

  “All right. You heard the man. Hold still. Don’t fuck with me.”

  —

  Melissa scanned the road through the three-inch crack in the trailer gate. She raised it four more feet and climbed down to the dirt. Howard followed her out.

  “Keep them quiet,” she told Owen. “Watch Amanda closely.”

  The agent croaked a querulous mutter, then closed the gate. Melissa raised her gun and motioned Howard around the other side of the truck. She advanced up the driver’s side, cursing herself for letting Theo spook her about the Pelletiers.

  Soon she spied Carter and Ross up the road, both handcuffed and seething as Hannah and Mia led them behind the rocks. A soft sigh of relief escaped Melissa’s lips. The only thing better than a foolish enemy was a nonviolent one. This situation could be turned. If Melissa was lucky, she might even reach Washington with a complete set of fugitives.

  She heard soft footsteps behind her, then spun around with her pistol. Zack stood at the rear of the truck, his palms raised high.

  “Whoa. Easy. I’m unarmed.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Well, I’m as unarmed as I can get. In any case, you don’t want to shoot.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But if I see one flash of temporis—”

  “It already happened,” Zack informed her. “Look at your gun.”

  Melissa studied her weapon. While she was staring up the road, the barrel had aged several decades. She studied the muzzle, now thoroughly clogged with oxidation.

  “Goodness. That’s quite a trick, Zack.”

  “I’ve been practicing.”

  “You realize you could have rifted my hand.”

  “Exactly why I’ve been practicing.”

  “I appreciate the extra care, but this was foolish. You won’t succeed here.”

  “We just want our friends back. We’re hoping to do it without hurting anyone.”

  Melissa spun at the sound of Howard’s brief yelp at the other side of the truck.

  “Seriously hurting anyone,” Zack qualified.

  “What just happened?”

  “A flash of light in the eyes. He’ll be fine.”

  With a futile sigh, she holstered her gun. “Zack, listen to me. My name’s—”

  “Melissa Masaad. Yes. I’m aware.”

  Melissa blinked in bafflement. She could never tell which of the fugitives knew her name already.

>   “You can’t keep running,” she insisted. “You’re smart enough to see that. Sooner or later, your luck will run out and someone you care about will die.”

  “As opposed to the long and fruitful life we’ll enjoy in your Area 51.”

  “I don’t know what that is. If you’re talking about scientific dissection, that’s not the plan for you. That’s not what we want. You have to believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  David weaved around the front of the tug with a captured Howard in tow. The handcuffed agent squawked in pain as David pushed him to his knees. Melissa held his shoulder.

  “Howard! Are you all right?”

  “No! That son of a bitch blinded me!”

  “Quit whining,” said David. “It’s temporary.”

  Melissa watched him with muted concern. She’d observed the boy through countless ghosts and transcripts. There was always something about him that bothered her, a hint of polished reasoning well beyond his age. Now as Zack flinched with moral unease, David stood eerily calm. He aimed Howard’s pistol at Melissa’s head.

  “On your knees, please. Hands behind your back.”

  She did as he said, keeping her cool gaze fixed on David while Zack handcuffed her wrists.

  “You seem to be a natural at this,” Melissa told David.

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment. I’ve chased enough killers to recognize one in the making.”

  “If that’s the extent of your psychological insight, it’s no wonder we keep outsmarting you.”

  Zack plucked the radio from her belt. “As much as I’m enjoying this BBC growlfest, we’re on a clock. We know you have one last agent in the back of the truck. If you care about him, you’ll tell him to come out with his hands up. We won’t hurt him. I promise.”

  Melissa clenched her jaw, formulating her strategy. Howard had called for backup four minutes ago. They had at least twelve minutes before the rest of her team arrived in shifted aerovans.

  “Okay, you both need to listen to me very carefully—”

  “No we don’t,” David snapped. “Stop trying to stall us.”

  “I’m trying to save your life, boy. You have problems you don’t even know about.”