They won’t have to hunt hard for food, though. The morbid thought brought an equally graphic image that cleared her mind.
She sniffed. “How many people do you think died today?”
“We can’t think about that right now.”
“Cameron’s right. Three or three million, we need to focus on stopping it.”
Penelope wiped her face dry. “Focused. Like we’re the only ones who can save the world? You still think we should hole ourselves up here and try to hack our way through this?”
“It’s either that or we sit here waiting to die. Which would you prefer?” Cameron’s point was harsh but kindly delivered. Penelope wasn’t in the mood to participate, but Wesley was ready to jump right in.
“It’s obvious Joey was the transmitter.”
“He wouldn’t do something like that,” she whispered, knowing how absurd it sounded as she said it.
“I’d love to crack him open and look around,” Wesley muttered to himself. His gentle grace had a quick expiration date. He had long since stopped pretending Joey was anything but a subject to study, something to poke and prod and experiment on, but it still hurt.
Penelope gave Cameron a look as if to say, I told you so. Her weariness, both emotionally and physically, robbed any joy in being right.
Cameron responded with a twitch of the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t the boy change like the others?”
“I have no way of knowing until I run some tests. It could be as simple as not making eye contact. If we bring him into the same room, maybe we can replicate the event.”
“Or maybe it was a one-off signal,” Cameron suggested.
Wesley grunted, deep in thought.
“Maybe he disabled his Seed but the others hadn’t. Teenage boy, probably spends a lot of time online. He’d be the first to try it, I’m sure,” said Penelope. The thought of having to keep yet another innocent person restrained made her feel sick, especially one whose family they’d just destroyed.
“I’ll scan him,” the old man affirmed.
“Or we could ask him?”
The two men looked at her as if they both knew something she didn’t and were afraid to say it. She glanced back and forth between them, agitation growing by the second. “What?”
Cameron looked sheepishly at the old scientist, silently drawing the short straw. “We, uh. We found some pain meds and knocked him out for a little while. He was agitated and we thought it’d be the—”
“It’s the kindest thing we could do,” Wesley added.
She opened her mouth to complain, possible accuse the old scientist of trying to test on an unconscious boy, and realized she was too tired. Despite the open doors and windows, a river of sweat ran down her face and back. With a weary groan, she looked up at the house. “Let’s go check on them.”
Cameron touched her wrist as they crunched up the gravel drive to the house. He let Wesley go ahead into the house. “I know I don’t have to say this, but we’re in survival mode now.”
Penelope searched his eyes for the deeper meaning and defaulted to sarcasm. “You think so, huh? Is that your expert military training kicking in?”
He held fast, his grip on her wrist firm. “We probably have some tough decisions ahead of us and—”
“And what, Cam?” she snapped. “Did I not just help you move the body of a man you just beat to death? Oh wait! Right. Sorry. That was easy. You mean difficult decisions like killing a fucking teenage girl.”
“That wasn’t a decision. That was life or death,” he said, his sharp blue eyes full of pity. “With Joey in this current state, we might—”
“Don’t.”
“You have to see that what’s best for—” Penelope didn’t interrupt verbally, but the look she gave him stole the words from his mouth. He released her wrist and took a deep breath. “I need you clinical and sharp. I don’t plan on dying out here and I’m gonna do my damnedest to make sure you don’t either. But I need you.”
“Fine. But please stop reminding me every five minutes.
Chapter Fifteen
Alfreton, UK
July 15th
Like a thunderstorm bearing down from the distance, Alex could feel the pressure building. The world was the proverbial frog in the boiling pot of water, everyone was being slowly cooked alive, too oblivious and scared to do a thing about it.
Paradoxically, he was feeling better than he ever had in his entire life. The impending apocalypse gave him the motivation he’d always lacked. He was eating better and exercising, practically bubbling over with self-confidence. Alex did wonder about the sudden shift, but he was afraid to look into it too closely for fear of ruining a good thing. He remembered reading suicidal people sometimes appeared happier once they’d finally decided to kill themselves. That realization was a little too close for comfort, so he chose to put his faith in another theory.
It was simple. The pressures of life, the expectations he and others set on his shoulders, were now gone. It was about survival now, not some social construct of success. Get a job, find a wife, buy a house, fill it with kids. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. That was never going to be his path. And if he failed now? So what? If the world really was ending, it’s not like there was going to be anyone left to point and laugh.
Alex hadn’t seen his mother in weeks. She had called once, but only to check if she had left a pair of shoes behind. It surprised him how little that hurt, but it did unlock a final barrier for him. Piece by piece, over the course of a few days, he moved his computers out of the bedroom and into the living room. The house was truly his. This newfound freedom was exhilarating. It’d been a long time since he’d felt such joy as when he set up his server in his mother’s old bedroom. It was a rebirth. As always, he felt safely cocooned in those familiar walls but the outside world no longer pressed in. He was pushing out.
That’s not to say the news of the world wasn’t weighing heavy on him. The recent rash of violence had luckily missed his immediate neighborhood, but not by much. A horrifying clipped message from Kristine had finally come through. He had to read it three times before it finally sunk in that she and Mouse were safe. But the idea that either of them had been caught in the middle of it… too close to home.
The communication blackouts were as confounding as they were annoying. As far as he could tell, connections between different countries were encountering interference. He was inclined to blame the government, but didn’t think they were competent enough to pull something like that off.
Frustrated with the constant chatter in his own head, he turned up the volume on one of his monitors and pushed his chair out of the way. Rather than stuff his face with food during breaks, he’d developed a healthier habit of exercising.
“The Bloody Night, that’s what many are calling it. Others, a terrorist attack. Members of Parliament are unable to agree on a course of action.” The feed cut to a prerecorded session, frazzled MPs yelling over one another.
“Britain is strong in many ways. We have defenses that will protect us against attack, not least of which, is our geographical position. I believe it is a prudent and necessary step to temporarily close our borders until we know more.”
A man with graying hair and a red tie leapt to his feet. “Risking financial ruin out of fear is a ridiculous risk.”
The shot returned to the somber reporter. “The first burials for the thousands killed in last week’s attack were held today. Across the country, families struggle with the burden while continuing to ask, why and what will be done to stop it from happening again? The Under Secretary for Public Health had this to say.”
A pudgy middle-aged man with a sweaty face battled a sea of microphones. He looked as though he’d been caught and forced into addressing the media. By contrast, a younger man with dark hair and a placid, handsome face stood just behind him, almost eagerly waiting for a turn at the microphones.
“Trust that we are doing everything within our power to learn as much as we can.
”
Alex grunted as he finished the last set of leg lifts and flipped the screen to another feed, this one from America, the last one he could consistently tap into. The rhetoric was completely different. A panel of people sat around a large glass table, all speaking at once. He finished the last of his tea and walked to the bathroom.
“When the President of the United States implies that these attacks have been committed by an outside nation or group, I do pay attention, David!”
“Excuse me, excuse—the President doesn’t imply.”
“Then how do you explain his vague statement from last night? I found it of little comfort, if I’m being honest. I don’t need someone telling me there’s a boogeyman out there when towns and cities across the country are filled with bodies.”
“I agree. I want to know who has done this and what we’re going to do to stop it. This marks the most devastating terrorist attack in American, if not world, history.”
Alex stood at the toilet, listening to the news. He rolled his eyes and looked down, realizing with a growing smile, that he could see his cock for the first time in years. The brief joy was replaced with even more excitement when he heard his messenger app ding.
“Maybe it’s Mouse,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the elastic waistband of his trousers up.
He strolled over to the standing desk, another improvement on his old set up. The message blinking for him wasn’t from his dream American girl, but from The Gardener.
“I wish this guy would fuck right off,” he grumbled.
Another message popped up just as Alex lifted his hands to the keyboard.
That’s not very nice.
His breath caught in his throat. There’s no way he could possibly… Alex looked around the room, his forehead wrinkling with concern. At the same time, internally, he berated himself for being so paranoid.
What’s not nice?
***
Ignoring my message. How have you been? :)
Alex retrieved the tall stool he’d repurposed from the kitchen. With as crazy as the world had gotten, he hadn’t dedicated as much time to figuring out who this person was as he would’ve liked. But it was nice of him to keep popping up on his radar so he could fix that problem. Now was a perfect time.
I suggest you drop the smiley face bullshit. Unless you really are a 13-year-old girl.
***
Not last time I checked. Are you ready to talk?
Outside of conversations with Kristine and random forum posts online, Alex hadn’t had a lot of human communication over the past few weeks. He was feeling particularly snarky.
Was I meant to be preparing myself?
***
While we’re giving each other suggestions, you might consider dropping the attitude. This is your last chance, after all.
***
Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?
***
Just a fact.
Alex pushed the stool away suddenly, knocking it on its side. His heart thumped with adrenaline. His mind was sharp and focused. While keeping the conversation going, he used his other rig to start a trace on this mysterious Gardener. He was done messing around with some half-wit hacker wannabe.
You like facts?
***
I suppose I prefer them to fictions.
The first few searches came back in a dead end. He had to get a little more technical, but also had to keep the guy connected. It was the only open window he had.
Stories are how humans have learned for centuries. It’s how we cope with our lives.
***
If people spent as much time indulging in reality as they do fantasy, do you think we would be in the position we’re in today?
The comment gave Alex pause, the truth of it sinking in deeper than he first anticipated. He read it over twice between shaking his head and returning to the other keyboard. It struck so close to home, to the core of everything he believed in, it felt like a window to his mind had popped open. The search was still running, this one more complex and intricate than the other three combined. The trace fruitlessly bounced eleven times around the globe until the Gardener messaged him.
You can stop wasting your time searching for me, btw.
“You flatter yourself,” Alex replied aloud as he typed the same response, a little unnerved.
I’m watching you right now. If it’s any consolation, you’ve gotten closer than anyone else, including your government.
Alex slowly lifted his fingers from the board as if the keys might sting him. With one hand, he fumbled into space, searching for the stool he’d knocked over. Whether the user had meant to reveal so much information didn’t matter. He’s not British… The Gardener didn’t seem like the type to make mistakes which mean he was cocky that slip didn’t concern him.
What do you want?
***
Are we done playing word games?
***
Yes.
***
Can we talk plainly about what we each want?
Fingers trembling, he replied, “Yes.”
I want to help you with your collective dreamscapes.
***
How do you know about those?
***
Is that really the most important question you have for me right now?
Alex wasn’t accustomed to this sensation. In his world, he rarely came across someone smarter and more deft with technology. It was unnerving. He took a moment and considered his point.
Why? Why do you want to help me with it?
***
Better. I’ll answer your question with another. How well did your deactivation work?
His hackles raised defensively.
Millions of people were saved because of my work. Our work.
***
And how many were killed the other day? It’s obviously not working well enough.
***
There’s still no proof those attacks had anything to do with the Seeds.
He replied with a growl, slamming his pinkie down on the enter key so hard the table trembled.
No?
***
The reactions, the symptoms, they were nothing alike. There were no catatonics after the fact. No one killed themselves.
***
So perfectly normal mass hysteria?
***
Wouldn’t be the first time in history
Global.
***
Why not?
***
Then how do you explain this?
The Gardener sent a link to a privately hosted video. At first glance, it looked like a CCTV shot of a prison common area. The space was sterile and functionally designed. The walls were bare, the tables and chairs bolted to the floor. There were no windows and the only light came from above, artificial. The camera angle blinked to another feed from the opposite side of the room.
On closer inspection, it became obvious this wasn’t a jail. The wide variety of people were the first clue. Men, women, children, of all different ethnicities and ages mingled around the large room. They all wore the same outfit, devoid of logo or name; a white long-sleeved shirt, loose white trousers, and socks. Alex watched, unable to pull his attention away. He knew he was playing right into the Gardener’s hand, especially knowing he was being watched, but he couldn’t stop himself.
The people in the video appeared bored. There was little conversation, no agitation. He inferred they weren’t being held against their will, or, if they were, it wasn’t a new situation for them. This had been going on for a while. They paced and mingled around the space looking like fish in a large aquarium. But the calm didn’t last for long.
Alex knew what was coming. There had been hundreds of videos released from all around the world, from every possible position. Yet he never saw it kick off in such an isolated, controlled setting.
Simultaneously, a young brown-haired man and a middle-aged woman with one arm lunged out without warning. The young man gra
bbed the back of another guy’s head, fisting his hair between his fingers. He flung his full weight into his arm, sweeping his feet out at the same time. There was no chance to brace himself. The man’s face and head absorbed the full weight of the impact. The crowd scattered as the young man calmly stood, stalking into the thickest grouping of terrified people jostling to get away.
Alex’s eyes darted back to the older woman. He was surprised to find her wrapped around a child. She was on her back, choking the young boy from behind with her only arm. With her legs coiled tightly around his waist, his only hope for freedom came from clawing at the grip on his neck.
The child clearly didn’t belong to anyone in the room. Many nervously approached to try and help, but none committed far enough to risk harm to themselves. Before long, the boy went limp, his hands falling weakly to the side. The woman clung on for another minute more, squeezing the very last bit of life out of him.
Alex looked away in disgust, thankful that shots like this still repulsed him. He’d seen more people die in the last two months than he had his whole life and it didn’t get any easier.
What did you notice?
He knew the answer The Gardener was searching for.
The way it spread. They were able to infect each other.
He didn’t want to confess he already knew that from his conversations with Kristine.
And?
***
People dying? I don’t know, mate. What?
***
Watch.
Alex frowned and replayed the video back from the flash point. He slowed the speed and leaned close to the monitor, his eyes darting to the messenger as another popped up.
Watch the woman.
He slowed the video even more. Her expression didn’t change much. She stopped mid-stride and froze, as if suddenly turned to a statue. Bile crept up the back of his throat as he prepared himself to watch the scene again. She blinked. Looked to the left toward a man twice her size and half her age. He was the closest to her by several feet. Her gaze fell from him, dragging across several others before landing on the small boy who would be her first victim.
STASIS: Part 3: Restart Page 13