Callsign: King - Blackout

26

“What are they saying?” Alexander repeated.

Fiona gaped at Alexander. Yet, even if the intensity of his expression and the barely subdued violence of his hold on her shoulders had not left her speechless, she would have been hard pressed to answer his question. She was faintly aware that Sara had moved close, hugging protectively, seemingly trying to pull her away from the big man’s grasp, but Fiona did not move.

She didn’t know how to begin describing what she felt when she looked at the pieces of stone in the display cases. It was different than with the artwork. The paintings and sculptures seemed to both sing and glow, and while she couldn’t quite put that into words-into English words at least-she was starting to feel like she understood. It was like trying to describe a color; there were no words for it, you just had to find an example. She understood that the pieces of rubble had once been art, but whatever message they contained, ought to have been destroyed when the original statues had been blown up. The message of art wasn’t an intrinsic thing; a message written on a piece of paper didn’t fundamentally alter the paper.

Or did it?

Maybe it was like with a computer hard drive, where no matter how hard you tried to erase old data, there were always ways to retrieve the files. At least that was how it worked in all the police shows she watched on television.

Maybe what she was looking at was the original message, but all distorted and jumbled.

She was still trying to figure out how to put that idea into words when a hideous shriek ripped through the room, overpowering the atonal hum from the speakers. She clamped her hands to her ears, but the sound was undiminished, vibrating through every fiber of her body. Behind Fiona, Sara had collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony under the sonic assault that was playing havoc with her sensory disorder.

Alexander whirled to look at his equipment, undisguised concern on his face, then turned back. “Get out of here! Now!”

Fiona didn’t need to be told again. She knelt beside Sara and tried to help her to her feet, aided by an uncomprehending Julia. The electronically amplified shriek changed pitch, cycling randomly through different frequencies and occasionally falling silent, but even when she heard nothing, Fiona could sense that the sounds were still present, albeit at a range inaudible to the ordinary human ear.

Then, with an almost painful abruptness, true silence came.

Sara, now on her feet and braced between Julia and Fiona, gave a tortured gasp but seemed to regain some of her strength.

Julia, sensing that her assistance was no longer required, relaxed her grip and turned to Alexander, who was now hunched over a laptop on the table. The curator hastened to confront him, but whatever demand she had been about to make died on her lips when she reached the big man’s side. Her gaze was riveted to something on the table and after a moment, she reached out and plucked up one of the plastic disks. Even from halfway across the room, Fiona could see that something had changed; the center of the disk was now almost black.

“What does this mean?” Julia asked, thrusting the dosimeter into Alexander’s face, her voice trembling with fear.

The big man’s expression tightened, as if trying to hold back unimaginable grief. “You know what it means. We’ve all been exposed to a concentration of gamma radiation.” He took a breath. “A lethal concentration.”

The pronouncement was too mind-boggling for Fiona to process. Radiation? Lethal? That just didn’t make any sense.

“Gamma rays?” Julia countered, her voice edging on hysteria. “From what?”

Alexander’s reply, if he had intended one, never came, for in the next instant, the room heaved and Fiona felt herself falling sideways into oblivion.