The Silent Army

Got it. I’ll get in touch as soon as I’m out of the field. We’ll meet there.

Right then a scrawny chick in a raincoat came around the corner, tailing the two suits that just passed. She was short and built like a stick with a big beak nose. Her hair was red and she was pale as a ghost. She looked down at the floor when she walked. When I got a good look at her face, it hit me like a brick.

You will remember Zoe Ott.

I got that weird flash again. I was underground. It was cold and dark. I could hear gunfire. Someone was chasing me. I pushed past a sheet of plastic and down a long hall to a room filled with cages….

Gotta go.

I cut the line.

“You got any other business here?” Noakes asked.

The stick with the red hair went by us. When she did, she looked up at me, then back at the floor.

“No,” I said. “Thanks again.”

“Welcome back.”

She was heading for the elevators, and I went after her. When the car showed up, I followed her in.

In the reflection off the brass, I saw her check me out. I knew her. She was down in that cold, dark place two years ago.

How the fuck did I just forget her?

I set the JZI recording, and got a good look at her face. I didn’t know why she was there, but it was a good a time as any to get some answers. The numbers ticked off on the LCD as the car headed down, and I went for the emergency stop button.

I didn’t do it, though. Something stopped me and I just stood there. When the doors opened, she scooted out and made a beeline for the front door. I stepped out, but I didn’t follow her. I just stood there.

“Elevator trouble?” some guy in a suit said.

“How the fuck should I know?” I said. He gave me a look and made a point of clipping my shoulder when he passed, but I still just stood there. Why the fuck did I just let her go?

I killed the JZI recording. At least I had a face to go by, and if she was there two years ago, then Wachalowski must know who she was. I bumped to the start of the footage and let it run so I could see her face again.

In a window I watched the footage play. The feed showed the shiny brass doors of the elevator, and I could see my own reflection in it. She was standing to my left. I got some good frames of her face, but that was it. Then I heard myself talk.

“Hey,” I said to her. She didn’t look up.

“Hey.”

I froze it. I stood there and stared at the image in the window. In it, I was looking down at her beak profile and she had her eyes on the floor. I hadn’t said anything to her; I knew I hadn’t. The whole thing happened less than a minute ago.

I leaned against the wall next to the door and let it keep running.

“Where do I know you from?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “You don’t.”

I hit the emergency stop and the car bucked as the bell rang and kept ringing. She jumped and looked up at me.

“What are you doing?” she squawked.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“What?”

“Goddamn it, I know you,” I said. “You were down in that fucking pit. I went in after—”

I remembered then. Last time I’d seen her, she was on the other side of a cage door. Everything was burning. People were shooting. I looked through the glass, and saw a stream of fire reflect off it. I went down there to get her. Somehow I knew her.

She knew me too; I could see it in her eyes. She knew me.

“You’re wrong. I—”

I stepped in on her and she stepped back, against the wall. She looked scared as I stuck my finger in her face.

“Don’t lie,” I said. “Tell me who—”

Her eyes changed then. The black parts got big, until the green part was almost gone. My voice stopped cold and I just looked at her.

“Sleep,” she said. Nothing happened for a few seconds; then she leaned close.

She looked scared before, but not now. In the recording, she looked at me like a bug under a magnifying glass. It happened just like that, like someone flipped a switch.

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

“Yes,” my voice said.

“You don’t know me. You have the wrong person. Whoever you think I am and whatever you think is going on, you’re wrong. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to tell you to unstick the elevator, and when I do, you’re going to forget this whole thing. Whatever you planned to do, you decided not to do it. We don’t know each other. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’ve got stuff I have to do during my lunch; don’t follow me. Now unstick the elevator.”

I watched my hand reach out and hit the button again. The bell stopped and the elevator kept going. We both just stood there the rest of the time. She left, and I stayed behind.

What the fuck?

I went back to a freeze-frame of that ugly face staring up at me, eyes gone black.

Who the fuck are you?

At the front door, I hit up the guard.

“Do you know who that was?”

“Who?”

“The stick. The one with the red hair.”

“Oh, her,” he said. “Name’s Zoe Ott.”

“Who is she?”

“Don’t know. Some contractor.”

“That’s it?”

“She drinks, I think.”

“Zoe Ott, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks.”

When I got outside, she was long gone. I had a name and a face, though. Ten minutes and twenty bucks later, I had more than that.

Name: Zoe Alia Ott. Sex: Female.Hair: Red. Eyes: Green.Parents: Harold Llewellyn Ott (deceased), Nichole Alia Donovan Ott (deceased).Citizenship tier: Three. Served: No. PH: No.Criminal Record: (7) counts of public drunkenness.Employment: Self/Other. None.Awarded monthly compensation in work-related death of Harold Llewellyn Ott. Currently contracts for Federal Bureau of Investigation in undisclosed capacity. I brought up her picture again, staring up at me in the elevator. It was like she just erased my goddamned memory. How the hell had she done that?

There was more info on her, but mostly stuff I didn’t care about. I skimmed through until I found the one thing I did care about.

Last Known Residence: Pleasantview Apartments, apartment #613. Zoe Ott—Mercy Greaves Medical