by Jim Heskett
Soothsayer, if you’re listening, we want to thank you for your service to the world in exposing the names of the ringleaders. If you’re not listening, I hope you’re somewhere safe tonight.
Like I said, this show would be a short one, as I feel we’re running on fumes already. Hopefully soon we’ll be broadcasting from someplace real, but since the CBC One building on Cambie has new tenants who will probably shoot us on sight, we’ll keep coming at you from the shadows until that’s possible.
Good night, Vancouver. Stay safe.
TRANSCRIPT: 27 APRIL, 19:05 PDT
Good evening out there, you’re listening to Annabelle on Radio Free Vancouver. Sorry about the three-day lapse in broadcasts, but we’ve had a bit of a setback. Our formerly reliable source of fuel for the genny has gone to ground, and we had to make some arrangements with some… I’ll say, less than desirable people. But we’re back on track and ready to bring you the latest in news, gossip, and rumors from up north.
A bit of a kerfufle happened at the border last night, as apparently a group of Americans calling themselves The Five Suns of Death shot four Canadians trying to cross into America. The name is an ode to the past, and just thinking about where it came from sends chills down my spine.
Oh, wait, hold on here, someone is at the door. Hang on a sec listeners, going to have to step away from the mic. I’ll be right back.
TRANSCRIPT: 2 MAY, 19:15 PDT
Good evening, you’re listening to Radio Free Vancouver. It’s been a rough few days, I’m not going to lie. If my voice sounds fuzzy or with too much static, it’s because I’m now a solo operation. The sound man, the one you’ve come to know as the handsome but silent Mr. Audio X, is no longer with us. He (audio portion unclear) but they came and weren’t happy with the (audio portion unclear) so they demanded twice the trade for fuel that we’d agreed upon.
I hadn’t known Mr. Audio X for long, but he shouldn’t have gone out like that. It’s troubling to think that a person can become desensitized to a thing like this, but, there you have it. Seeing friends and loved ones here one day and gone the next is the new normal. If you’re listening, I know you know what I’m talking about.
I think Mr. X would have wanted RFV to continue, so I’m going to do my best to be here, every night at 7, for as long as I can. I’m afraid that’s all I have for you tonight, I’m just not feeling up to going on.
Stay safe out there.
TRANSCRIPT: 3 MAY, 19:02 PDT
(audio portion unclear) but I’m committed to broadcasting, that’s for sure. Whatever happens to me as a result of the events of the last few days, I’d like to think that I’m providing a service here that the people need. Where (audio portion unclear) you get your news? There are no TV stations in operation that I’m aware of. No newspapers, no (audio portion unclear) and any of these so-called “mayors and governors” that are operating all over British Columbia don’t feel the need to share what’s going on out there.
People are dying. The Haves and the Have Nots are more distinct than they’ve ever been. What are we (audio portion unclear) if not get the information out?
I wish I could be a beacon for all of you, tell you about safe places to go, like the refugee camps I heard about in Denver and Winnipeg. But let’s not kid ourselves. Those places aren’t real, or maybe they were, right after all of this happened. Not now. There’s no one to trust, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
Sorry that I can’t find a positive note to end things on this evening, but I’m afraid I have to go off and meet our show’s… sponsors, I suppose you could call them. And if (audio portion unclear) then I hope you can all find a way to stay safe tonight, Vancouver.
TRANSCRIPT: 4 MAY, 14:37 PDT
Listen up, I don’t have much time. They’re on their way. If anyone is close to Hamilton and Nelson, near Yaletown park, I need help. I’m on the first floor of the building north of the Yaletown Parking sign, and I’m going to be in big trouble if someone can’t get down here right away. (audio portion unclear) and they were not happy about the new terms of the deal I proposed, so things aren’t looking good.
Maybe I was a fool to trust these people, or maybe I’m getting what I deserve. Maybe (audio portion unclear) and this is the way life is going to be from now on.
Oh, shit. There’s someone at the door. Hello?
(audio portion unclear)
Vancouver, listen to me. My real name isn’t Annabelle, it’s Sarah. I was born in Edmonton and I went to college in Virginia. My husband died in DC on the same day as the president. We have a daughter and I don’t know where she is. Haven’t seen her in two years. If you ever come across a little blonde girl named Delilah, please tell her that her mommy loves her and will see her again real soon.
(audio portion unclear) okay, fine, I’m opening the door. You don’t have to break it down.
END OF TRANSCRIPT
The Last Blog Post
(BEFORE THE FALL)
Wind ruffled the papers in Kellen’s hand. He stood waiting at 2nd and Massachusetts for the little red man to turn to a little green man so he could cross the street. They’d only restored power to this intersection within the last few days, and the lights ran erratically sometimes.
A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck, like a spider creeping. His eyes darted left and right, looking for the man in the brown hat.
The light changed and Kellen crossed the street. On the other side of 2nd, a row of trees lined the sidewalk, and he intended to tag each one. Many of the city’s trees weren’t standing anymore. Difficult to find an untouched block like this one.
They’re never going to let you get away with this.
“Leave me alone,” Kellen said. A few people nearby eyed him, but he was used to that.
He slipped the stapler from his back pocket, pressed a sheet of paper against the tree, and stapled it at the top and bottom.
He attached papers to each of the six trees along the side of the road. A single line of text and a website that would change everything.
“‘The meteor hoax was just the beginning’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
A short-haired woman holding the hand of a small child looked at the stapled flyer. They were at the end of the Red Cross line. A banner hanging from a truck at the front read: Food and medicine today only.
“Go to that website later today,” Kellen said. “I’m going to publish a blog post that will blow the doors off this whole damn thing.”
The lady scowled and looked at her child, then back at Kellen.
“I used to work as a staffer for the people that did this. The meteor was only phase one, the thing to keep us occupied while they put the real plan in place. The bombing in Austin? That wasn’t Jihadists. That was our own people.”
The woman sighed and tugged her child’s hand. As she turned back to face the Red Cross station, she tossed Kellen a sour glance and said, “don’t you have something better to do with your time? The riots are over. We can go back to our lives now.”
Kellen looked at his paper stack. About thirty left.
Then out of the corner of his eye, the man in the brown hat appeared, waiting at the bus stop. Except today the hat wasn’t brown, it was black. Definitely the same guy, though. Had to be.
***
Kellen saw the second man in a hat when he had about twenty papers left to hang. This one stood under the arch in front of the Metro station, newspaper in hand, but he kept slipping his head over the top of the paper. The two men in hats had a direct line of sight between them. With Kellen, they formed a triangle.
No one had questioned him since the woman with the kid, but several people stopped to look at the fliers he had stapled to the trees. That was good. The TV stations, the newspapers, the well-trafficked political blogs… none of them wanted to hear the truth about the Five Suns Movement. If he could drive enough clicks and shares to his blog aside from his regular readers, someone might listen.
The man in th
e black hat crossed the street as he made a call on a cell phone. He walked in an arc toward one of the trees Kellen had already tagged.
Kellen tried not to let on that he knew he was being watched, but they probably would have anticipated it. Was he crazy to put these papers on trees? Maybe they had people following him, ripping them down. Maybe all this… exposing himself, was for nothing.
It’s worthless. You’re worthless. And everyone is going to know it, as soon as you publish that post.
Then it happened. The man in the black hat approached a tree and ripped the paper down, and no one around seemed to care or take any notice at all. There had been rioting in this town only a few weeks ago. People didn’t want to see.
Kellen dropped the stapler and rushed toward the crowd in the Red Cross line. He started waving the papers, and as soon as he met the crowd, he pushed copies into the hands of each person he could find.
“Learn the truth about the Five Suns. They’re not who they say they are. If we don’t do something now, they’re going to destroy everything we love.”
He thrust a flier at a woman and accidentally brushed against her breasts. The heavyset man next to her apparently didn’t appreciate this, because he smacked Kellen across the mouth.
Kellen felt his lip split, tasted blood. He spit it out. Maybe everyone knew the meteor was a hoax, but that hadn’t stopped the whole of DC from acting like assholes.
“Hey freak, keep your hands off my wife,” the man said.
“I’m gay, you idiot,” Kellen said.
Out of the corner of his eye, the man with the newspaper pivoted and walked directly toward him. Kellen turned his head and saw the man in the hat also approaching, from a different angle.
He threw the papers into the air and dashed toward the Metro entrance. Ran down the stairs while scrambling to get his wallet out of his back pocket. His heart pounded, his split lip throbbed, but his hands found the card and he tapped it against the Metro faregate, then leaped over the divider.
He rushed through the tunnel toward the platforms, barely stopping to breathe. He knocked over an elderly man, felt a pang of guilt, but resisted the urge to stop and help him up.
Down the stairs, onto the platform, and through the train doors as they were closing. No sign of the men following him.
***
Kellen’s apartment looked like the aftermath of a drunken frat party or a rock star’s hotel room stay. Bookcases turned over. The contents of his kitchen cabinets strewn about the floor. His television cracked and dying on the living room carpet.
Oh shit. The cat.
“Jada?” Kellen said, stepping over broken glass through the hallway. “Jada, honey, where are you?”
A tentative mewl came from his bedroom. He rushed in and nearly cried when he saw his luxurious memory-foam-topped mattress split into two pieces. The stuffing from his down pillows flooded the room as if a goose had exploded.
He checked the closet, and Jada was on top of his suitcase, staring at him. “My honey, I’m so sorry.”
She blinked and jumped off the suitcase, then arched her back to brush against his ankle.
Kellen had to make a decision, one that he couldn’t likely change once he started down the path. But he didn’t have time for a pro and con list.
He picked up the cat and held her against his shoulder, running his finger through her thick fur. So soft.
He stifled tears and left his apartment, then walked the long hallway to the last door on the right. He knocked, then sniffled as he tried to blink his eyes clear.
A moment later, a woman in yoga pants answered the door.
“Hey Kellen,” she said.
“Hi. I need a favor. Can you watch Jada for me?” He held out the cat.
She accepted the cat, who nuzzled her chin. “Sure, for how long?”
He swallowed. “Just for a few hours. I have some things I need to do and I’ll be in and out. It’s better if she isn’t at home.”
“Sure, Kel, no problem. Is everything okay?”
He hesitated, then spit it out. “Yeah, everything is fine.”
“Alright,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “When you come back to get her, we should catch up. I’ll make us some chai, and you can tell me all about your day.”
“Sounds great. Thank you.” He took one last look at the cat and returned to his apartment.
They had broken nearly everything in and on his desk, including his laptop and his external hard drives.
But Kellen had learned a few things about redundant backups since Beth’s betrayal while working on LaVey’s campaign. He kept all his research and a good-enough draft of the blog post on the flash drive he wore on a chain around his neck.
All the suspicious bank account activity. The secret meetings with the internet and phone providers. The federal building and military base bombings. The insiders placed in Wall Street and the White House. Kellen had uncovered it all, every dirty little secret, and he could expose them.
All he needed now was a computer, somewhere safe. Somewhere away from this apartment complex, where he wouldn’t be putting his neighbors or anyone else in jeopardy. He couldn’t go to any friends’ houses, because the people who did this to his apartment would kill them too.
Library. It was a public place, with internet access and plenty of nooks to hide in, if it came to that.
He had to do this one thing, to expose the truth, and then it didn’t matter what happened to him after that.
***
Kellen watched the front of the library for fifteen minutes and couldn’t see anything unusual. People came and went, holding stacks of books in their arms, backpacks and messenger bags slung over their shoulders. Funny how this one establishment seemed mostly unaffected by the riots and chaos.
No sign of the men in the hats or anyone else giving him the eye.
He crossed the parking lot and entered the big glass door into the lobby. On the ground floor to his right was the fiction section, and the stairs in front of him led to the reference books, smaller study rooms along the sides, and rows of cubicles. Some of the cubicles would have desktop computers.
He’d spent many an evening here in college, learning about Jefferson and Washington and Franklin, reading their speeches, analyzing their ideologies. He dreamed of being like them, of writing a speech that would change people.
He clutched the flash drive in his hand as he ascended the stairs. Before he reached the top, he glanced back, and there stood the man with the black hat, lips pursed, raising a cell phone to his ear.
Kellen ran.
At the top of the stairs, he reached an information desk. A woman sat behind it, glasses on her face. The chains attached to either side of the frames jiggled as she shook her head in disapproval of Kellen’s hasty entrance.
He didn’t explain himself. He dashed left, past the desk and into the tall rows of books.
“Sir,” she called after him, but he didn’t hear anything after that. He hid in Religion, Spirituality & The Occult, and he leaned up against a rack to steady himself. The cut on his lip pulsed.
He pulled a couple of books from the shelf to peer through to the other side, but saw nothing. At the edge of the row, he braced himself and peeped his head out. Nothing.
Creeping back toward the information desk, he noticed a blob on the desk, something shapeless and brown. He focused. It was the disapproving lady, slumped over the desk with her glasses dangling from her neck. Blood dripped onto the floor from a bullet hole in her eye.
Kellen spun around but saw no one.
Computer, now, while there was still time.
He couldn’t remember where the computer cubicles were, and the height of the bookshelves obscured his view. He ran toward the side wall, hoping to work his way back from there.
Something clicked behind him. Kellen dropped to the floor, and crawled toward the open door of a study room.
“Kellen m’boy,” said a booming and familiar voice. “The library is now
empty, and locked from the inside. The only people here are you, me, and three of my associates. You know who we are, and we know who you are. We know what you’re here to do, and you also must know that we can’t allow you to publish anything to the internet.”
Kellen slipped inside the study room. As soon as he made his way through the door, he noticed a peculiar smell. Then, a woman, probably college-aged, sitting against the wall. A pink Hello Kitty backpack dotted red with blood. Hole in her forehead. Her eyes were open and her pale face was frozen into a grimace. Would Kellen look like that when they killed him too? He hoped he could shut his eyes, at least. He didn’t want to see it coming.
“Kellen, the windows on this floor do not open. The emergency exit on the north side has been locked. The only way out is down the stairs past me, so why don’t you please make this easy on everyone and come on out.”
Kellen took deep breaths to steady his nerves. Didn’t work. He was preparing to capitulate and oblige the man in the hat when he saw it. A computer. The dead girl was clutching a silver laptop in her arms.
He reached across the room and pulled it from her grip. He had to tug; apparently, she didn’t want to let it go. He understood, and felt bad about taking it, but he needed it more than she did.
He opened the lid, and the screen lit up. His heart skipped a beat. He watched the little icons in the taskbar for a few seconds as the WiFi signal searched. Then the icon turned solid. He was on the internet.
He jammed the flash drive into the USB slot and waited for it to recognize his files.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask you to come out. In exactly one minute, I’m going to start tossing tear gas canisters onto this floor.” A pause, and then his voice sounded muffled. “Have you ever been tear-gassed? It’s not a pleasant experience.”
He’s right. It’s awful, and you’re going to suffer before they kill you.