Page 130 of A Silence So Divine

I don’t make it one hundred yards before I’m tackled to the ground. One swift explosion of pain strikes my temple.

As I lose consciousness, I hope for my friends.

May the paths Fate pave be just.

Fifty Four

Cecil

The ride to town has never felt so quick. Packed into six vehicles, we race down winding country roads until buildings become more frequent and close together. Once gravel turns to brick, the familiar scene of the townsquare comes into view. What was once a bustling city center has emptied into something of a ghost town—outdated storefronts, crumbling sidewalks, overgrown shrubs and weeds peeking through pavement. As a teenager, I wandered these streets in search of work. It’s almost poetic that this is where my work for the Brothers will end.

With the orphanage a few blocks East, we pull into a deserted parking lot, deciding to travel the rest of the way on foot. In my passenger seat, Sylvie’s chin is held high, her shoulders thrown back. There’s not an inkling of worry that mars her face. My pride hopes I’m able to mirror the look.

“You better fix your face. If the others see you like this, they’ll go running with their tail between their legs.”

Well, so much for that.

I don’t respond, choosing to ignore her as I hop out. In the bed of the truck lies a gun bag, and I make quick work of the zipper, tossing a rifle to Sylvie as she approaches.

“That was shitty,” she says through a heavy exhale. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

I throw my own rifle over my shoulder, patting down my pockets and holster.

“No, it’s not. Sometimes I forget what it’s like to worry about other people. To have family.” The sincerity of her words throws me for a loop. “I want you to know I’ve got your back. You’ll see them again.”

An unwanted emotion surfaces, and I distract myself by yanking each weapon from the bag. The rest of our group ambles toward us, and I divy out the guns. In the corner of my eye, Sylvie comes to my side. Her hand rests on my upper arm, and she squeezes once. “I promise.”

I glance at her, lingering on her forced smile. Shaking my head, I turn to face the cluster of buildings that surround us. The city is eerily silent. “We’ll see.”

Each footfall is in time with the thumping of my heart. The journey thus far has gone on without a hitch, and only a block separates us from the orphanage. We’ve split into two groups, closing in at both sides and hoping to remain undetected. In the heart of downtown, the streets are somehow even more desolate than they were on the outskirts.

The plan was to arrive before the Brothers and evacuate the children. Running the streets is better than whatever Hell Curran has planned for them, and with the aid of the workers, we should be able to get them far enough before we’re faced with any opposition.

We’re close enough to make out the faded brass door knobs of the orphanage. The hairs at my nape stand up, the wind warning that something is amiss. Eyes scanning each alleyway, everywindow, there’s not a soul to be seen. My stomach turns sour, my body urging me to turn back.

But we’ve made it this far. I chalk it up to anxiety.

Sylvie stays close to my back, keeping an eye behind us. The pace we’ve set slows as we reach the steep stairs that lead to the building’s entrance. Bringing a finger to my lips, I wait until everyone has stilled before turning an ear to the building. Complete silence surrounds us, not even a peel of childish laughter or a distant footstep.

Each time I’ve visited, life is apparent. But now, it’s as vacant as the rest of the street. The gnawing in my gut grows more feral, and my grip on the gun grows slick with sweat.

It’s apocalyptic, the quiet.

Reaching into my front pocket, I pull out an old watch. The glass is shattered, but the arm still ticks, and it reads 10:59 a.m. We’ve got one minute before the rest of our group will enter the building from the back. I force myself up the stairs.

The moment my hand closes around the doorknob, electricity zings up my arm. I yank my hand back an inch. Sylvie steps up beside me, a questioning look on her face. I swallow hard, shake out my hand, and try again.

When it swings open, the sight stops my heart.

Empty. I can tell without searching the three stories that there’s not a single child in the place. The lights are off, and with the dreary skies, it’s cast in an unnatural darkness. Sylvie’s breath hitches, and I hear a few muttered questions from behind me.

Foregoing stealth, I march across the worn wooden floorboards and head straight for the main hall. Pictures have been knocked from walls, small wooden chairs sized for little bodies thrown and broken. The place has been ransacked.

It’s in the dining hall that we meet the other half of our group. They appear just as shaken as the rest of us, eyes flitting over the deserted building.

“What do we do?” Sylvie asks, verbalizing my very same thought.