by Judd Vowell
“I know, I know...” I said in desperation. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see Jessica and Henry standing behind me, their maturity beginning to betray their young age.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Jessica said. “We got this. For Mom.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Henry followed up. “Triumphs for Mom. Triumphs forever.”
50.
T he most difficult part of leaving Meg was leaving Meg alone. On her own to fight her cancer, and to fight off the silent, dark world closing in around her.
The kids had to come with me. Meg wasn’t able enough to protect them, and they weren’t old enough to protect themselves. At least, that’s what I had thought at the time. We decided that if someone came to the house while we were gone, Meg would just play dead. Let them take what they wanted. And once they came to the bedroom, they certainly wouldn’t bother with a dead Meg. We had a good laugh that it wouldn’t take much of an acting job on her part. Cancer jokes. Sometimes they were all we had to get through the sadness.
Henry and I moved five crates of food and water from the basement up to the master bedroom that would become Meg’s sanctuary after we left. We surrounded the bed with books and old magazines. I also had Henry relocate the radio tuner to her bedside table so that Meg could listen to any of the random broadcasts that might come through, if she wanted.
It was the best we could do. But without knowing how long the journey there and back would take, none of us knew if it would be good enough.
51.
I sat in with Jessica and Henry for most of the afternoon as they memorized their new identities and learned the layout of the hospital facilities. They would be using their same given names to reduce confusion, but their made-up back-stories were fairly elaborate to prepare for the possibility of a lengthy interrogation. My biggest concern was their safety. But as the day progressed and the plans were fleshed out, I felt better. As long as the four of them could earn the ANTs’ trust, it should be a simple job. The only unknown variable was the building that held the medicine. They wouldn’t know how it was secured until they were inside the grid. If it was guarded, access would be impossible.
When the afternoon transitioned into evening, Anna reviewed the mission with the group one last time. Then we broke to get a few hours of rest. She instructed us to rendezvous at 11 PM in the central prison hall. That would give us enough time to hike to the grid and stake out observation posts for the three surveillance teams before dawn. The kids and I went to our living quarters.
As we closed our eyes to try and sleep an impossible sleep considering what lay before us, I asked Jessica and Henry a simple question. “Are you guys ready?”
“I think so,” Jessica said.
Then Henry said something introspective and prescient. “I’m pretty sure we could never be ready for something like this, because we don’t really know what we face. We can prepare all we want, but the only thing we should truly be ready for is the unexpected.”
◊◊◊
Some may have viewed the number in our party as unlucky: 13. I even had a fleeting moment of superstitious fear myself. Fleeting because I had confidence in the people who Daniel had assembled. Anna was a picture of conviction and stoicism. Clichés and grammar be damned, she was a force to be reckoned with. And then there were the six Lefty soldiers who would provide support. Disciplined yet good-natured and friendly. They were able to keep the kids somewhat relaxed on the journey to the grid.
Daniel and Anna had codenamed the mission Triumphant Return, taking a cue from our family nickname. I had told them the story of the Triumphs after Henry mentioned it earlier in the day. They appreciated the sentiment, just as they had grown to appreciate our dire situation. Still, I knew we were both a reason to go inside and a justification. I just didn’t know how much the justification would outweigh the reason if the mission started to fall apart.
We made good time traveling overnight. Within a few miles of Camp Overlord, the trees and brush started to dissipate as peripheral gas stations and strip malls began to appear. The road was empty, as were the buildings that we passed. An eerie quiet filled the vacant streets. I had been insulated from society for so long that the tall buildings and city blocks seemed alien to me as we trekked briskly toward our destination.
The glow from ANTI-’s powered grid had been visible from the edge of the city. But as we got closer, we could actually feel it. Man-made heat and buzz. The uneasiness about the mission that I had worked so hard to quell throughout the night was becoming harder to deny.
Two blocks from the grid’s border, Daniel stopped us. He guided us up the steps and under the canopy of a towering office building, maybe thirty stories high. It was black dark, but a clear night. The moon provided enough light for us to see each other in close proximity. He directed two of his soldiers to move toward the grid and locate good vantage points in the block next to it. The rest of us would wait.
Anna took the opportunity to go over the plan with Paul, Jessica, and Henry for the final time. She asked each one of them to tell their fictional history. Not as a list of facts, but as a tale you might tell a new friend or a first date. The kids weren’t nervous, which made me feel a little less apprehensive. Even so, I didn’t know how I was going to calm myself once they disappeared into the ANTI--controlled area later that morning. I knew it was going to be the longest 24 hours of my life, but I could never have predicted just how endlessly grim that day was going to be.
52.
J essica, Henry, and I used the morning on the day before we left the farm to pack. Tent, sleeping bags, extra sets of socks and pants and shirts, jackets, flashlights, two pairs of binoculars, and as much canned food as we could manage. We also cleaned and prepared the guns, planning to take as many of them as we could carry. I placed one pistol in the top drawer of Meg’s bedroom nightstand. Just in case her acting wasn’t so good after all.
That afternoon, I prepared the meat from two rabbits that the kids had hunted earlier at dawn. I gathered and chopped some carrots and potatoes, along with a selection of herbs from our garden. After building a fire in one of Quinn’s old barbeque pits, I added the ingredients into a mixture of flour, water, and oil. To finish it off, a half a bottle of red wine from Quinn’s vast collection, something I had happily discovered the second week of our stay there. My own version of rabbit stew, which had become a specialty of mine.
Meg summoned enough energy to join us downstairs for a final family meal before our expedition. She ate as much as she could, and complimented my cooking. But her appetite was fading. That wasn’t a good sign, and made the urgency of our trip that much more intense.
She and I held each other as we slept that night, both of us wondering if that would be our last together. I was up and dressed before daybreak. I woke the kids, then went outside to start a fire and cook some eggs. We ate breakfast in silence, knowing the inevitable departure was minutes away. When we finished, I told Jessica and Henry to go tell their mother good-bye. Then I did the same.
◊◊◊
I held on to the image of Meg in her bed that morning. I willed my brain to recall it every night before I fell asleep. It was a very specific reminder of why we were on the journey. And as the sun rose on that empty city the day I let my children go into the hands of unknown danger, I closed my eyes and imagined Meg again. Except this time she was healthy and strong and happy. And in all my worry and trepidation, I had a brief moment of relief. And I knew that we were going to save her life.
53.
W e split up at 5 AM. The nine of us that were in support roles needed to use the cover of remaining darkness to establish our positions. Although the group of four that were set to infiltrate the ANTI- stronghold wouldn’t be making contact for another two hours, it was time to separate.
I gave Jessica and Henry each a deep hug, and they both squeezed back. I huddled them up with me and did all I knew to do: I gave them a pep talk, the old coach in me coming out again. “Alright, g
uys, go-time. You’ve only got each other on this one. Grow eyes in the back of your heads, and for the love of God watch out for one another. And if you get yourself in a fix, run. Don’t think, just run. Understand?”
They both nodded. I saw tears beginning to form in the corners of Jessica’s eyes. “No time for tears, Jess,” I directed, as hard as that was to do. “Focus on the mission. This is for Mom. This is for us.” I kneeled down so that I could see their faces from underneath their bowed heads. “I’ll be right above you, guys. Don’t forget that. Triumphs forever.”
Daniel came over and interrupted us. “Gotta go, Gordon.” I nodded once in recognition. Then he said to the kids, “Listen, guys, you’re doing a brave thing today. You should feel proud. And don’t worry. We’ll have eyes on the grid at all times.”
We said our “I love yous” and hugged one more time. And then, with reluctance, I was off.
◊◊◊
Daniel stationed us in three different venues, varying in height along the northern half of the western border of ANTI-’s territory. I was at a point closest to the planned meeting site, on the fifth floor of a former office building, with Daniel and another soldier. The other two teams were positioned south of us, each with a different sight line. Each group had three sets of high-powered binoculars plus an observation telescope and tripod.
The sunrise was beautiful that morning. Its gradual brightening revealed to us the number of ANTs stationed along the border that we were facing. There were a dozen of them at each intersection, which they had blocked with military-style all-terrain vehicles. These were all black in color with .50-caliber machine guns mounted to the top of them. They appeared to be former police vehicles, with many city departments having purchased this type of equipment from government surplus in the years before the Great Dark. The ANTs themselves were dressed in urban camouflage, the gray- and black- and white-pixeled sort. They carried assault rifles at their chests, and their faces were hidden behind black goggles and masks.
At the northwestern corner, where they had directed Paul and the others to meet them, there was a gathering of twenty ANTs and two large cargo vans. It was as if they were preparing for an ambush. But I thought to myself after seeing their defenses that you’d have to be a fool to attack them. I was feeling that uneasiness again.
We didn’t have a good visual of Paul and Anna and the kids until they were across the street from the grid. They approached the opposite corner with their hands raised and walked slowly, deliberately. They stopped on the double yellow line in the middle of the street and lowered themselves to their knees, obviously instructed to do so by the ANTs, even though we couldn’t hear what they were saying. I tried to see if Jessica and Henry were trembling through my binoculars, but they seemed calm. That was all about to change.
Four of the ANTs walked toward them until they were a few feet away. The ANT standing in front of Paul drew a pistol from his side and moved closer. He put the end of the gun’s barrel against Paul’s forehead and started speaking, aggressively. I wished that I could hear what was being said. My uneasiness was transforming into fear.
Paul seemed to be responding to questions that were being asked, one after another. This lasted for maybe two minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. Finally, the questioning appeared to stop. The ANT holding the gun against Paul’s head glanced to the others and said something. And it was in the next few moments that I understood the reality of true terror. As Daniel held me back from jumping out of a five-story window to get to my children. As Paul was shot at point blank range, the back of his head flying away from the rest of his body. And as Anna and Jessica and Henry were hooded, shackled, and dragged to the awaiting vans, to be transported into a hell that I had commissioned.
PART TWO: MOMENTUM
1.
I t was a blue room, small with no windows, sixteen feet by twenty. There was a single light bulb hanging from a cord that disappeared into a hole in the center of the ceiling. It was bigger than normal-sized bulbs, and it emitted a large amount of light that was soft and natural. It illuminated every corner of the room, and brightened the shade of ocean blue that covered the four walls. The room was empty except for two chairs, comfortable yet sturdy. Jacob Marsh had been sitting in one of them for twenty-three minutes when Salvador Sebastian entered through the solitary doorway.
2.
S imone Vincent was stunning. Jacob could see that from across the coffee-house – angular and lean with long jet-black hair and lightly-olive skin. She possessed that rare mix of beauty, confidence, style, and allure that few women could wrangle together and keep subtle enough to maintain intrigue. But there was also a streak of bitterness that ran through her core, invisible to others. It was born out of childhood tragedy, and fostered by contempt of corrupt authority. She kept it tamped underneath the rest, but it was always there.
She had first contacted Jacob online. It was virtually the only way he communicated then, keeping himself hidden from the outside world by choice. She wanted to meet him in person to discuss a business opportunity. She had seen his work, and she was impressed. Anyone who knew anything about computer-hacking at that time was impressed with the work Jacob Marsh was doing.
He agreed to meet her over a cup of coffee just around the corner from his apartment in one of the hundreds of coffee-houses that had seemingly appeared overnight in his Seattle neighborhood. He didn’t mind the caffeinated entrepreneurial uprising that had been occurring around him. Coffee was lifeblood for him then, as he spent days-long hack benders creating viruses and unleashing them on the unsuspecting infantile Internet. When Simone contacted him, Jacob didn’t know what to think. He didn’t even know how she found out who or where he was. In the end, that’s what enticed him to meet her in person.
“Simone, I assume?” he asked sheepishly as he walked up to her table. His go-to tactic with women was to approach them with a self-effacing demeanor. It made things much easier if they had dropped their guard. Jacob did very well with women, regardless of his occupational stereotype. He was the rare basement-dwelling computer guru with charm and charisma. Often in life, there are two sides to every coin.
“Yes,” she answered, as she looked up from the newspaper she had been pretending to read. She revealed her astonishment in his appearance through a brightening in her eyes. He was boyishly attractive, with shaggy hair and strong cheekbones. “Jacob?” Her questioning nature revealed her astonishment even more.
“That’s right,” he said, as he sat down across from her.
She collected herself. “Forgive me. Mr. Marsh, I should say. Thank you for joining me.”
He leaned his back into the top of the chair and slid down until he was comfortable. “No problem. But after all, it was you who made the trip all the way up here. Maybe I should be thanking you. Or maybe I should wait and see what this is all about first.”
She folded up her newspaper. “Well, Mr. Marsh, I’m not one to beat around the bush,” she said directly. She never understood the need for small talk. Neither did he. “My employer has been watching your online activities for quite some time now. And he likes what he sees.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘online activities,’ Miss Vincent?”
“Let’s not play any games here, Mr. Marsh.” She was regaining her conversational footing, shaking off her initial surprise and attraction to Jacob’s appearance. He knew that she was accustomed to being the intimidating woman in a situation like this. She couldn’t hide it from him. He didn’t want her to.
“Ok, so let’s say you know what it is that I do. How exactly do you know that?” He was not typically apprehensive, but this had become downright mysterious.
“My employer is deeply involved in your sort of business. He is constantly searching for new talent to recruit. You are talented. Very talented.” She had begun charming him. “If you have an interest in taking your skills to another level – in getting out of the basement, so to speak – he would like to meet with you.” She
was clever. She could compliment and insult in the same breath.
“I need verification that this isn’t a setup,” he said. “There’s plenty of talk going around about the FBI taking interest in our ‘sort of business,’ as you say.” He leaned in and asked with a wink, “You FBI, honey?”
She smiled, then reached down into her handbag. She slid a letter-sized envelope across the table to him. “I have a feeling that you’ll be able to answer that on your own soon enough, Mr. Marsh.” She stood up and gathered her things. “Please contact us as soon as possible. Our project is moving forward rather swiftly.”
And with that, she turned and made her way to the coffee-house’s exit. He watched her walk until she was out of sight.
3.
J acob Marsh taught himself code. That and everything else that comes with being a super-hacker: software, programming, and so on. He was, in a word, a natural.
His high school was the first in his city to install a computer lab and create a course teaching computer science. Mr. Sutcliff, fresh out of college with a mathematics degree and duly assigned to instruct the class, knew almost nothing about the new technology. He tried to learn just as the small handful of students who signed up for the extra-curricular program did. They would stay an hour after the last bell every day and experiment with the primitive machines. It was barely enough time to even get them up and running.
But before long, good fortune turned Jacob’s way. For it was that school year’s would-have-been scandal that he and his best friend Bobby agreed to conceal that truly opened the computer world up to him.