Sleep State Interrupt

by Ted Weber

  “So what happened to Waylee?”

  “Well, she’s got the flu or something, but they’re giving her medicine.”

  She never gets sick. “What about the breakdown?”

  “She thought I could take over the Super Bowl broadcast and show her video. But of course it’s impossible. You’d have to be in the control room and the satellite uplink and who knows where else.”

  Kiyoko didn’t know what to say. I thought Charles could do anything.

  “She won’t see anyone or talk to anyone now,” he said.

  “Look, Charles. My sister can be a bitch sometimes, but she’s got this condition she can’t control. If you set it off, it’s your responsibility to bring her back.”

  “That’s Pel’s job.”

  Anger boiled through her veins. “How dare you put this on him when it’s your fault.”

  Touissant sat on his saddle without replying.

  “We all thought you could break into MediaCorp, me included, and you never told us otherwise until now.” She felt betrayed. “We’re going through deep shit for busting you out of jail. Our music career’s probably over, and that’s my life. At least you can try to make it mean something.”

  Touissant spoke at last. “I’m sorry.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “I’ve been doing everything I can. They wouldn’t have gotten into the Smithsonian without me.”

  Poor boy’s probably cowering. “I know. All I’m asking is, please try.”

  “I will. I’m totally down with you.”

  Her sister always meant well. She saved her from Feng, raised her, even beat up her shitty ex-boyfriend. And what have I done in return? “I’ll help. Whatever I can do. Although I may have to run for it soon. Homeland’s on a rampage.”

  “Come join us. Waylee would joy out. And I…” He paused.

  “Yes?” She was still mad at him, but there was too much else to worry about.

  “I love you.”

  He didn’t trace a heart or anything cheesy like that. He meant it. Kiyoko considered all the possible responses. But none of them would work.

  * * *

  St. Mary’s County

  Shakti

  Wearing borrowed hiking clothes, Shakti jogged next to Pel toward a small house nestled in an orchard, a chicken coop on one side and goat pen on the other.

  She couldn’t believe Amy would betray them. But Charles had alerted them that she tried to call Homeland Security’s reward hotline. He cut all communications, and gave Pel a comlink that tracked her GPS coordinates. They had to act before she left the farm.

  Pel gazed at the comlink. “Target’s still in the house. Hasn’t moved much.”

  They approached the door and slowed. Pel pulled his stun gun out of a pocket.

  “I don’t think you need that,” Shakti said.

  “Three million dollars is an awful lot of money.”

  “Yeah, but…” Shakti knocked on the door.

  “It’s probably unlocked,” Pel said.

  “Who is it?” A woman’s voice, but not the one they were after.

  “Is Amy there? It’s Shakti.”

  “Target’s on the move,” Pel said, looking at his screen. “Out the back door.”

  “Oh joy.”

  Pel took off around the right side of the house.

  Shakti took the left.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw the front door open. She glanced back and saw Amy’s mother peering out.

  Shakti kept going. Chickens scattered out of her way, some flapping their wings in a vain attempt to get airborne. She almost chuckled. Just like running through alleys in Guyana as a child.

  Behind the house, Amy darted between dormant fruit trees. She was fast.

  Pel wasn’t far behind, but with her short legs, Shakti would never catch up.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot,” Pel yelled.

  Amy accelerated in response and entered the mid-aged forest that covered the southwest portion of the property.

  “Please stop,” Shakti shouted. “We just want to talk.” If they didn’t catch her, Amy could hop onto another network and call the police. And she’d almost certainly lose them in these woods.

  Shakti fell further behind.

  Ahead, Pel stumbled over a downed branch. He stopped and aimed his stun gun at Amy. It clicked.

  She faltered, apparently hit.

  He kept pointing it.

  She dropped, crashing face first into a spicebush thicket.

  Pel ran to the prone body ahead and checked her pulse.

  Shakti arrived. “Is she alright?”

  “Amy!” Her mother’s voice sounded behind them, accompanied by footfalls and the snapping of twigs. “God, Amy! You people, what have you done?”

  Shit. Shakti turned the teen over. Her face was scratched from falling into the shrubs, but she was breathing.

  “She’s okay,” Pel said.

  Her mother grabbed Pel by the shoulders and shoved him aside. She knelt next to her motionless daughter and cradled her face. “Amy. Amy!”

  “She’s just stunned,” Pel said. He found Amy’s comlink on the ground and pocketed it.

  “We’re really sorry,” Shakti said, “but she tried to turn us in to Homeland Security. Let’s bring her back to the house.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” her mother said.

  “Well she did,” Pel said. “For the reward I assume.”

  “How long will she be out?” Shakti asked him.

  “Not long. She’ll be conscious in a few minutes, and able to walk in half an hour or so.”

  “How much is this reward?” the mother asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Pel said. “We’ve disabled all communications. We thought we could trust you, but obviously we were wrong.”

  Anger burned behind the woman’s eyes. “Get off our farm.”

  25

  January 10

  Waylee

  Her fever under control, Waylee sat on the front porch of the main house with a borrowed guitar, refining the chord pattern of a song she’d just written.

  The spiders gather,

  A world to drain,

  Entangling the living

  In nets and chains.

  Sally forth,

  Quixotic rube,

  Do your best,

  But know you’ll lose.

  Shakti, her sari smelling a little ripe, peered at her from the adjacent seat. She’d never been a big fan of Waylee’s music, preferring lighter stuff like Thievery Corporation or Arcade Fire. Which was cool, they had just as much to say, and were much better musicians.

  “Why don’t you write something upbeat,” Shakti said, “something in a major key?”

  “I play what I feel.”

  “Reverse that and feel what you play.”

  Waylee looked at her brilliant friend. “Sure, why not.”

  She launched into a briefly popular #M-Power Girlz song, an up-tempo affirmation in D major, full of bright keyboards and hand clapping. Not her style of music—but why should she hunker behind style walls? Even stripped down on guitar, it did cast the blues away, especially when she and Shakti sang together and swung their heads in unison.

  Tha corner boyz, they keepin’ you down,

  Don’t cop their shit or hide in a frown.

  Ain’t got time to play them dumb games,

  You got a brain and places to go.

  Hear the news, don’t throw up your hands,

  Use that energy and do something now…

  “Again,” Shakti insisted when she finished the song.

  Just beating the flu and four days of sleep had lifted her brain out of the abyss. Playing #M-Power Girlz helped even more. I can’t believe I never thought of this.

  Keep on striving, climb to the top,

  Give it everything that you’ve got!

  “So how are you doing with Dingo gone?” Waylee asked after the second time through.

  Shakti’s shoulde
rs drooped. “Maybe he’ll return, or we’ll meet up later.” She shook her head. “We’ve got other things to worry about.”

  The front door opened. Waylee turned and saw Sunshine. “You can come in now.”

  All fourteen adult residents sat in the big living room. Amy too. They had deliberated for six hours, trying to reach a consensus—exile Waylee and her friends, or not.

  None smiled at her. A bad sign. We have nowhere else to go.

  “Please, sit.” Sunshine motioned to an empty sofa. Waylee followed her suggestion, Shakti too.

  Sunshine peered at her. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m on the mend. Thanks for the antibiotics.”

  “All the kids here, we keep a supply handy. You can keep the bottle, make sure you finish the whole thing.” She exhaled and looked around at the others.

  Pel emerged from the stairwell, followed by Charles. They joined her on the couch.

  “How’s it going down there?” she asked.

  “We’ve keyed eighteen comlinks so far. No transmissions of interest, just users checking the time or sending Happy New Year messages.”

  “That’s it?”

  Pel patted her hand. “Wait until we actually replicate the comlinks. That’s when the fun begins.”

  Waylee leaned past him, toward Charles.

  He inched away.

  “We’ve all been fucking up,” she told him. “But we’re still a team. Let’s move forward, however we can.” She offered a fist to bump.

  His eyes relaxed. He leaned toward her and tapped her fist. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I promised Kiyoko I’d help you, and I will, whatever’s needed.”

  Sunshine cleared her throat. “First things first.” She turned. “Amy?”

  The thin teenager stood. “I’m sorry I tried to turn you in. It’s so much money, and I wasn’t thinking. How it wouldn’t just affect you, but everyone here. Aiding and abetting fugitives, everyone’d go to jail. I thought maybe I could work some kind of deal, but everyone thinks the feds are all frowny on pot legalization, and can’t be trusted.”

  Sunshine folded her hands. “Thank you, Amy. There’s also principles to consider. These people are our guests, and extending kindness to guests is one of the oldest precepts of humanity. Furthermore, you have everything you need here, and we’re disappointed that you would succumb to greed.”

  Amy looked down. “I know.”

  Sunshine turned back to Waylee’s couch with a ‘your turn’ expression on her face.

  Shakti stood. “We’re sorry we chased you and used a stun gun on you.”

  Pel remained seated.

  “Thanks.” Amy sat back down.

  One of the younger men stood. “Like Amy says, everyone here could go to prison for aiding you. The farm confiscated. She said you plan to break into the Super Bowl?”

  My scumbag brain did it again… “The broadcast, not the stadium,” Waylee said. “But it looks like we can’t.” We’ve still got the video and data, we’ll figure something out.

  One of the older men shook his head. “That’s a relief. It’d be way too dangerous.”

  “And don’t forget,” Sunshine said, “this farm is the main source of funding for the Maryland People’s Party and its charities.”

  “We know,” Waylee said. “We shouldn’t have come.”

  Amy stood again. “I wanted to know, what happened to my comlink? I couldn’t find it. I’m not allowed Comnet access for six months now, but still, do one of you have it?”

  “I opened it up and threw it in one of the ponds,” Pel said, not looking the least bit contrite.

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Look, I don’t want anyone going to prison.”

  Sunshine waved a hand. “We’ve made a decision. Apologies have been made, and are much appreciated. But the fact is, your presence is too stressful for our community.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Waylee said. “But we have no vehicle, and no place to go.”

  “We’ll walk you to the front gate,” the brown-bearded man said, “and you can hoof it from there.”

  Several people nodded.

  “If we had a car,” Pel said, “we could make for the border. Canada’s only nine hours away, but Mexico’s an option too.”

  “What about the wall?” Waylee said. “La Gran Muralla? We can’t get through the checkpoints, and the rest is impenetrable.”

  “So Canada, then.”

  “We can’t give you a vehicle that might be traced back to the farm,” Peter, the white-bearded man who’d given them a ride from DC, said. “Even if we had one to spare.”

  “You’ve got plenty of money,” Pel said.

  The residents impaled him with angry stares.

  “We’ll give you a day to come up with a plan,” Sunshine said. “How’s that?”

  “How about two? And keep the Comnet filters on until we’re long gone.”

  The residents discussed Pel’s counteroffer but some wanted them gone immediately. Sunshine announced the consensus. “One day, but we’ll maintain the Comnet filters for a week afterward. Of course if someone wanted to, they could just walk to the next farm and call the police.”

  “Too bad we lost the RV,” Waylee said. “We could have stayed anywhere.”

  Peter buried a hand in his bushy beard. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

  * * *

  Baltimore

  M’patanishi

  “So all I’m sayin’ is, Dolphins gonna toss them long balls and burn their ass, yo,” M-pat said to his friend Phinehas, sitting in the chair next to him on his townhouse porch.

  Phinehas opened the cooler in front of them and pulled out another Natty Boh. “My ass.” He popped the top off and took a swig. “Giants got that pass rush, know what I’m sayin’? ’Kay, Fins got a decent line. But Giants just gotta rush four, maybe throw in some blitzes, and Armstrong’s gonna be running for his life. And you know being young and all, he got a tendency to act dumb under pressure.”

  “You full of shit, yo. Armstrong don’t get to no Super Bowl by being a fizzle.”

  “Whoa, change of topic, yo. That fly shorty up the street’s comin’ this way.”

  Kiyoko strolled down the sidewalk toward them. She had silver robes on and a long, light blue wig that fluttered in the breeze.

  “What’s up there, cutiecakes?” Phinehas said when she arrived. “You are looking especially fine today.”

  Kiyoko ignored him and leaned toward M-pat. “Can we talk in private?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He pointed to the cooler. “Leave me one at least,” he told Phinehas.

  Inside, his wife was in the kitchen starting dinner, his son upstairs napping. “’Sup?” he said.

  “This place been sweeped?”

  “Just like yours was.”

  Kiyoko placed her blue-nailed hands together in a prayer position. “You’ve been looking out for us since the day we moved here.”

  He shrugged. “Ujamaa. Goes both ways. Waylee helped me organize the neighborhood, then Shakti moved in and brought money from the People’s Party, set up the patrols, the community garden, all the cleanups.”

  “You always made me feel safe,” she continued. “You’re a good man.”

  She obviously wanted something. “What do you need?”

  “I’m ready to go. Got some suitcases packed. Everything else’ll be looked after, shipped once I settle. The lighter stuff anyway. I got a plan to lose the surveillance. It’s just drones so it won’t be that hard. So all I need is a car. The cops confiscated our RV.”

  “A’ight. Where you goin’?”

  “First, southern Maryland.”

  “Huh?”

  “Charles said they’re staying on a farm, friends of Shakti’s. I’ll go pick them up, then drive up to Vermont. I got contacts there who’ll help us cross into Canada. They know this smuggler.”

  “Well, the hood won’t be the same without y’all. But they catch your sister, she doin’ time. So I guess wh
at it come down to, how we get you a car?”

  Kiyoko shuffled her feet. “I thought maybe I could rent one off the books? Borrow from someone and reimburse them?”

  M-pat stifled a laugh. “We talkin’ one-way trip, no return.”

  Kiyoko nodded. “Yeah, and I don’t wanna get anyone in trouble.”

  “We could check with Paulo. He got cars if you got money.”

  Kiyoko frowned. “I don’t have much cash. And I don’t like supporting criminals. How’d you like it if someone stole your car?”

  “I’d find the motherfucker and break their kneecaps.”

  Kiyoko averted her eyes.

  “Look,” M-pat said, “I’m gonna help you. Whatever it takes.”

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “It’s part my fault you’re in this shit,” he said.

  “How’s that?”

  “I let Waylee do most of the planning. She did good, but she ain’t no pro, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Kiyoko cocked her pretty head and scrunched her face.

  “What I’m sayin’ is, we shoulda been better prepared for that smackdown. Anyway, what we gonna do to get you safe?”

  “Maybe I could trade for a clunker,” she said, “but one that’ll still make it to Vermont. We’ve got band equipment and house stuff, if Waylee and Pel are ok with it.”

  “You need somethin’ off the record. You buy from someone ’round here, word gonna spread. Dingo and I got those vans last month. I could get you another one. We surrounded by factories and wrecking yards, no lack of choices.”

  “So steal something?”

  Why she gotta be so difficult? “Not from someone who’ll miss it. We talkin’ spare inventory, somethin’ that won’t be missed for a while, from some company that’ll just write it off and collect the insurance.”

  Kiyoko nodded. “Okay.” Then she hugged him. “You’re the best.” Her hair smelled like flowers.

  Movement caught his eye. His wife, frowning at them from the kitchen doorway.

  He pulled out of Kiyoko’s embrace and eyed his wife. “Business, baby.”

  Kiyoko waved. “Hi Latisha.”

  “Hello Kiyoko.” Her voice was cold, even though M-pat had not once cheated on her since Baraka’s birth.