Isonation

by In Churl Yo

  Zoah allowed the darkness to settle in around her.

  The lights were off in her family’s home, disabled on a timer along with the motion detectors and alarm system. It was a simple hack, guessing her father’s admin password, that she utilized to cover her tracks, but now everything was pitch black, not that the rest of her family would notice. They were deep in sleep right now sawing logs. Hopefully.

  She swiped two fingers across her cufflink, and her surroundings slowly illuminated into a grainy, dark emerald feed on her visor.

  “I’m ready,” she announced, “Go on. Lead the way.”

  Heelo unlocked her bedroom door and floated into the hallway. As they entered the living room, Zoah couldn’t help but look around, absorbing the scene, wondering if this was going to be the last time that she ever set foot in here. The cold image from the night vision filter betrayed the memories and emotions that were suddenly flowing within her.

  Oh, please let Milton be right.

  Zoah squashed her doubt and headed straight into the kitchen, then punched in the access codes for the offloading bay, where her family received their weekly deliveries, and entered the room, closing the door behind her. She watched as packages traveled from the open hold of a drone ship through a complex conveyor system that tracked and stacked several boxes in the room, all in a completely sealed, safe environment.

  There was a time when you could simply go to your friendly, neighborhood superstore and just buy whatever you wanted—everything from eggs and milk to tripe and truffle oil. Produce and product piled so high and with such expertise, you couldn’t help being swayed to indulge in abject shopping serendipity as soon as you stepped into a store by end-cap displays, placements and sale prices to buy things you didn’t even know you needed.

  A state of plenty, Zoah thought, and waste.

  No longer. The lack of consumer discipline and impulse buying both perished because people no longer had the luxury of picking out their food. Instead food, furniture, even toothbrushes, all came via drone with selections curated by the Ceres Corporation.

  Using drones to deliver goods grew in popularity early during Ravendale’s rebirth as a customer convenience and cost-saver but surged as technology improved and the risk of exposure to the virus demanded it. The entire supply chain, from hydroponic farms and sealed manufacturing plants to quarantined commercial kitchens and processing centers, was controlled by Ceres not only to keep the illness from spreading but to make sure there was enough food and supplies for everyone to go around.

  Drones made weekly shipments to housing units. Inventories and consumption were monitored until an algorithm was attained that predicted the most efficient allocation of foodstuffs each household needed based on the sex, age and employment responsibilities of each member.

  Staples were provided to everyone, but additional items were thrown in from time to time to guarantee just enough variety to keep people from thinking they were being deprived. Of course, it helped to hold a position of some import or to have the right connections if you craved something unique or special.

  “What do you think, Heelo,” Zoah whispered, “any marshmallows in here?”

  For as long as she could remember, Zoah loved marshmallows. A quirk in programming had once delivered a bag to the Lightsea’s when she was little, and she became hooked. When the next shipment didn’t have any, and the one after didn’t, it soon became obvious that dad would either have to tell his only daughter she shouldn’t expect any more marshmallows anytime soon (or in fact ever), or that he’d have to make a few calls and promise a few favors. You can guess which course of action he took.

  Heelo offered a low buzz in response, which she interpreted rightly as, “I have no idea.”

  Yes, her father loved her. They all loved each other very much. So why was Zoah forsaking them, going against everything they’d ever taught and warned her about? Just the thought of a marshmallow now filled her heart with guilt.

  Heelo buzzed over Zoah’s head and settled near the bay’s UVGI control panel.

  The entire room was dedicated to moving cargo from delivery drones while minimizing the risk of contamination from the outside world. In addition to aerosol disinfectants, the system utilized ultraviolet germicidal irradiation to sweep the packages as they came inside. If she was going to sneak onto the drone they’d have to disable the UVGI or risk giving Zoah at best a bad case of sunburn or at worst skin cancer.

  Heelo worked the controls using Milton’s programmed instructions, and soon the ghostly blue lights flickered off, leaving the room dark again. The toy drone led the way onto the ship. Zoah followed as best she could, having to sidestep boxes and work upstream against the flow of the belts. Once inside, she let out an anxious sigh.

  “Alright, we’re in,” she said. Heelo beeped an affirmative.

  The temperature inside the drone was comfortable, and there were seats where she could lay outstretched for the long ride ahead. Small victories. She’d take them where she could.

  “Hurry up and close the door before I change my mind.”

  Heelo buzzed another affirmative before flying over to a command control module to hook into the carrier drone’s systems. The conveyer belts powered down and a small motor engaged, bringing the rear hatch down until it slid closed with a thud then a hiss as it sealed tight. A monitor on the wall lit up, and Zoah could see their course being plotted.

  Seattle. She wasn’t keen on meeting Milton there. It wasn’t even one of the cities that survived the pandemic. In fact, most of the larger metropolises were the first to fall. But she couldn’t argue with his logic that no one would be looking for them in a dead city. Also, Seattle sat about halfway between them both—a convenient place and as good as any. Zoah sat and clipped a belt around her waist, ready to go.

  The little companion continued its work at the controls—deactivating the ship’s tracking systems, wiping the logs onboard and in Zoah’s home, then powering up the engines from idle to begin their journey.

  Heelo gave a long whistle, and Zoah responded with a nod. The vehicle broke its pressure seal with her house, and she was disconnected from her family for the first time ever in her life, but not for forever she told herself.

  Zoah prayed they would all be back together again soon as she lifted off and flew away into the night sky.

  # # #

  Milton was stuck in traffic. A long cavalcade of drones sat ahead of him, and although there were no real lanes to adhere to, the ships were programmed to travel through urban centers this way for inventory purposes—certainly not for any kind of practical one—which meant when one got delayed, they all did.

  Since evading capture in Busan, Milton had raided a half dozen Ceres distribution sites along eastern Asia and Australia, collecting the pieces of a puzzle he hoped Zoah would soon be able to solve. Along the way, he learned that there was indeed more going on in the outside world than they were telling (most notably that there were still people out in it). He also discovered that his belief that natural air was poison, populated with a virus that would kill him on the first inhale, wasn’t true at all. Probably.

  “Ugh. Traffic sucks!” he cried to no one.

  Milton had chosen this cargo drone as his means of escape, and he was supposed to be well on his way to meet Zoah by now. But to remain undetected, he could do nothing except wait for the logjam of ships to unsnarl on its own, which at this rate felt like it could take hours.

  Or years. Do something, Milton. Make yourself useful.

  He sat down and punched in a few commands on his cufflink and donned his visor. Then he produced a portable mini-drive and plugged it into the connector on his arm.

  Using a virtual keyboard, Milton accessed the drive and began sorting through the Ceres files, opening a few for inspection. He hoped some of the data might look familiar to him or that maybe he could discern a pattern in the numbers. Milton could decrypt the documents all day long but figuring out what it meant? Zoah could do it better
.

  He couldn’t wait to see her. He couldn’t wait to be with her for real, not just some virtual version of her. From the minute Milton first met Zoah, he knew it would happen. They’d break out of the Ceres system and find each other out here in the world somewhere, which was a stupid and reckless idea, really, when you considered just how many ways they could as easily end up lost or dead.

  But that feeling was so strong, and it only grew as he got to know her. Now that they were going ahead with it, Milton could hardly contain himself. They were about to start a new bold chapter of their lives together. Hard to believe their story almost began in total disaster.

  During the early days of Milton’s hacking career, he had spent a lot of time not only lurking in the dark corners of the global network, but its more traditional ones as well. Sneaking into a Virt university course on Advanced Enterprise Data Management and Design seemed like a good idea at the time. Overlaying his visual ID using a cracked subroutine he’d found to disguise himself maybe wasn’t.

  The program was supposed to make him look like some random middle-aged accountant type to anyone who saw him in the Virt, and the camouflage had claimed to be foolproof. But as soon as class was dismissed, Milton was immediately confronted by another student.

  “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “Sorry?” he replied, feigning confusion.

  “You’re not on the class roster.”

  “Auditing. I’m auditing the class. Checking to see if it’s something I want to take next semester.”

  Zoah then leaned closer Milton and whispered in his ear: “I know your secret.”

  “What?! I mean…what are you talking about?”

  “Follow me.”

  He watched her hands dance in the air before she blipped out of the auditorium, then saw a chat room invite in his visor’s periphery. Milton could have disappeared back into obscurity then, just scrubbed his tracks and chalked it up to a lesson learned, but there had been something about this girl…

  Zoah stood in the middle of a forest clearing, arms crossed with a smirk on her face. Milton remembered all of like it was yesterday.

  “You’re masking,” she said.

  “Masking? What’s masking? Look, I’m very busy. I have two more classes I need to sit in on. Now if you’re done harassing me…”

  “Your eyes gave it away.”

  “They did? How?” Milton replied, now dropping all pretense.

  “There was a recursion pattern to your blinking. Once every three seconds, but to make it look more natural, an extra blink was inserted every fourth cycle, first after the first blink, then the second, etc. The sequence repeats after that.”

  “That’s insane. You’re kidding, right? No one’s that good.”

  She laughed. “I see patterns. It helped that today was a test review day. I was totally bored out of my skull. You should have used a Poisson process instead to randomize the blinking.”

  “I didn’t write the code,” he replied, sulking a bit.

  “Show me your real face,” Zoah said, and for whatever reason then that he couldn’t remember now, he did. She’d looked at him and her smile had captured him immediately.

  “I like your eyes better… Um, you know, I really should tell my dad about this. He’d likely skin you up and have your Virt credentials revoked.”

  “But you won’t. At least I hope you won’t… I promise I’m trying to do something good here.”

  “By auditing my data management class? You’re funny.”

  Milton had to laugh at that. In time, he’d explain it all to her. After a while, he’d even convince Zoah to join him, and eventually they’d fall in love. Well, he hoped it was love.

  Maybe once this stupid drone started moving again, and they finally got together in person, the two of them would be able to figure all of that out. In the meantime, he could only hope and dream (and stew in traffic).

  A warning light flared. Someone was trying to trace his position. Where was it coming from? He cursed and started his own tracing program. So much for his trip down memory lane.

  It’s the damn mini-drive.

  Someone had hidden a little present in the files he’d downloaded: lines of Trojan code that compiled a tracking application that launched as soon as he tried to access the data. He unplugged the drive, but it was already too late. The program was operating, and it forced a signal shunt across the network which gave away his position. He got sloppy, missed it and now couldn’t shut it down.

  Milton threw off his visor and ran to the front compartment to look outside. Two powerful lights glared back at him from a pair of military-grade drones as they took position on either side of his vessel to block any escape routes. He rubbed his eyes, then peeked through the windshield again hoping to gain a better assessment of his tactical situation.

  Thinking about his chances, Milton did the math and came to a wholly unsatisfying conclusion.

  CHAPTER 6

  A child was crying—no, that’s not right. He was crying. In the backseat of his dad’s Jeep, crowded and small amongst piles of provisions and clothes, Caleb howled with a sadness that pervaded so deeply he felt empty inside, as if everything he was, everything that made him, was just…gone.

  He must have been 5 years old at least. They were going somewhere. They were traveling fast, and it was bumpy. Caleb knocked his head against the door panel on a hard swerve, which made him wail louder. Why the hell was dad driving like that? Where was he taking him?

  That’s right. He’d been taken.

  His toys had scattered across his room when his dad had picked him up off the floor, and they were running. Caleb was building his blocks. He didn’t want to leave, but they had to go. Dad tossed him in the car, strapped his belt on, and they’d been driving like madmen ever since—but to where?

  “Please, please, stop crying, Caleb,” Dad had said. It must have been Halloween. He was wearing a mask. He could barely understand what Dad was saying. “We’re going to be okay, I promise. I promise.”

  Was it Halloween? It was hard to see anything—hard to breathe from the mask Caleb was also wearing. He didn’t want to put it on, but his father made him swear not to take it off. He had yelled at him to make sure he understood, squeezed his arms so they hurt. The Israeli-made NATO filter gas mask had saved his life.

  “I want Mommy!” the little boy screamed.

  “Mommy’s not coming. Mommy… left,” Dad answered then started crying too. Caleb wasn’t sure which response had scared him more, but Daddy was wrong. She was coming back. Mommy always came back.

  “Caleb, listen to me. Shh. Listen up,” his dad said. “Do you remember Daddy’s cabin out near Priest Lake? Do you remember when you caught that fish?”

  Caleb nodded, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

  “We’re going to head out there and go camping for a while. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  Only it wasn’t fun. That’s where Dad changed. That’s when you stopped playing games or with your toys or with friends, and instead everything became a lesson or a test. Everything was serious and important because your life depended on it. It was where you grew up, became a man and buried things down deep inside you, so far down it was hard to remember the world being any other way.

  It was where you buried your dad, too, but that was later.

  “We’ll make s’mores, sing campfire songs,” Dad had said while wiping his eyes, but it was obvious he was still sobbing. Caleb sat up to get a better look at his father. A tired, broken man looked back at the boy in the rearview mirror. It was the last time Caleb ever saw him cry. “Can you remember Row, Row, Row Your Boat, son? I’ll start, okay? Row, row, r—oh, shit!”

  Caleb’s dad turned hard on the steering wheel. He remembered it all. The scene played out now in slow motion—the SUV banked right, striking several objects with a sickening, squishy thud, and shadows casted a pall across the windows as bodies flew up around them. His father’s arms flailed over one another
as he tried to regain control. Then just as their truck’s momentum slowed, a final hard impact as they fishtailed into another vehicle, pinning the body of a woman they had swept along with them as they turned.

  He cried again. He found more tears. After everything that had happened to him today, Caleb was in shock—unable to catch his breath, unable to reconcile his new reality to the life he’d known before.

  The child raised his head and looked at the infected zombie corpse pressed against the backdoor window, her face a smear. She looked hollow and gray to him, like an apple left too long in the sun. Caleb gazed into the woman’s lifeless, dead eyes and screamed and screamed and screamed when they suddenly blinked and looked back at him peering deep into his soul.

  # # #

  It was that damn memory again—always when he was tired, when he let his guard down. He couldn’t shake it. The vision followed him, haunted his thoughts.

  Caleb bolted up from his makeshift bed and scanned the room. He was disoriented and sweating but managed to clear his mind. There were times when he’d cry out at the end of it, but those were rare.

  Still, he had to take a quick reconnoiter of his surroundings to make sure he hadn’t drawn any undue attention to himself. He opened the apartment door and examined the empty hallway.

  Caleb held his breath to listen but didn’t hear any noises. He walked toward the end of the corridor and the window. Using the barrel of his pistol he brushed the curtain aside. The street below was still empty. Not a creature stirring.

  It was likely safe to stay put for a while if he wanted, but a voice inside told him that it was time to move along. Caleb had learned long ago to trust that voice and did whatever it said. Not always a voice of reason, but it was usually right.

  He went back into his room and packed his things. The meeting was far enough away that Caleb still had time to get there early and look around. He exited the abandoned apartment building and took off on a quick trot down the street, making sure to scan his surroundings for any signs of trouble.