The Dead World (The Dead Room Trilogy Book 2)

by Erickson,Stephanie

  “How difficult would that be, Mr. Ashby?” the president asked.

  “It would take time. Time we may not have. I would have to write a kill-switch code, and have each host upload it to their servers. Either that, or activate an EMP at all sites. That would be the fastest, but also the most destructive. It would affect all equipment nearby, which can hurt hospitals and facilities with…moving parts, for lack of a better term.”

  “Fine. Write the programming. What else?”

  Kill them. That was what they wanted to do, after all his years of hard work. They would die, just like that, and take his livelihood with them.

  One of the military men piped up. “We’re building airships, sir. Massive vessels meant to save and sustain what’s left of humanity. We started building them with the last president, after a particularly serious threat from the Middle East.”

  “Wonderful. How much time until they’re operational?” the president asked.

  “The ones in the US will be ready in about nine months. How about those in the UK and other countries?” the military man asked.

  “The UK needs more time,” the British man on the intercom answered.

  “As does France,” a woman with a heavy French accent answered, also over the intercom.

  “And probably all the others,” the president interrupted. He stayed silent for a moment, pondering his problem.

  “Sir, if I may…” Ashby said, hesitating to interrupt his train of thought. The President glared at him, and he took it as a go-ahead. Better to ask forgiveness later at that point. “Why destroy them? Think of all the good they’re doing. All the people you’ll be sentencing to cancer and polluted water.”

  “Your colleague, Mr. Mendi, seems to be on top of the cancer part of the equation, doesn’t he? He’s come up with a much safer and more versatile solution. Despite what the media would have us think of him, I find his methods quite elegant, and much safer. The way I see it, we’ll do something else about the water. That’s not an immediate problem in my book. The problem is saving lives.”

  “After only one hundred fifty people are dead?” Ashby said boldly. “More people were killed in the September 11th attacks than that. Perhaps it’s too early to—”

  “You don’t get an opinion on anything, Mr. Ashby. And how dare you discount the lives of those who’ve died at your hands.”

  “But I’ve saved ten times that with the bots,” he insisted, desperate to salvage some part of his life.

  The president seemed to soften a little at that. “Yes. And because of that, we’re allowing you to continue work. But it will be for us now, and if you step even a baby toe out of line, you’ll be shut down so fast it will make your head spin.”

  Ashby nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing. Not if he wanted to maintain his freedom.

  “Increase production on the airships worldwide. Finish them now. Divert funds, whatever you need to do. God willing, we won’t need them, and you can deal with coming up with money for your programs later. For now, the priority is ensuring our survival,” the president said.

  Then he turned to Ashby. “You will work tirelessly to reprogram the bots as quickly as possible.” His cold stare bore into Ashby, making him terrified to look at the president, but equally terrified to look away. “Humanity depends on it.”

  15.

  Approximate year, 2346

  Weeks. It was weeks of terribly slow progress for Mason. Everything was a milestone. The first time he sat up on his own, talked, laughed, ate, walked, walked long distances, got dressed, everything.

  He became very reliant on Lehman and Mattli, which he despised. Mattli helped him with bathing and dressing while Lehman did most everything else. They stepped back more and more each day, but even a month and a half after what Mason could only think of as ‘the incident,’ he still wasn’t at one hundred percent. Although the doctor tried to tell him he didn’t know if he’d ever be at one hundred percent, Mason refused to accept that. That one moment would not define his life. He was more than someone else’s choices.

  As soon as he could sit up for long periods and think coherently, they started making plans. Mason couldn’t stand being in limbo. The journal weighed heavily on his mind, even if he couldn’t do much for himself. It was all he thought about most days, and how they could use it to get back to the mainland.

  Finally, about three weeks after ‘the incident,’ they were gathered in Mattli’s sitting room. Mattli and Lehman were both reading books they’d grabbed from the library days ago, but Mason was stewing. They’d propped him up on the couch and given him a blanket and several pillows, but he was still uncomfortable. His mind raced, and his body ached.

  “What do you want to do about the journal?” Mason asked suddenly, breaking the silence in the room.

  Lehman looked over at Mattli, who put his finger on his page and shut the book.

  “Well, I was thinking we’d tell the islanders eventually and work toward going back,” Mattli said calmly.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” A sense of relief spread over Mason, giving him a calm he didn’t realize he’d lost. They were on the same page. He didn’t have to fight over this.

  Mattli had told him weeks ago about the changes he’d already made, and frankly, Mason was very proud of the old man. But he hadn’t said anything more about it, nor had any of them discussed the journal since.

  “I think we can use it to build something to kill the bots,” Mason said.

  “Now you’re talking,” Lehman said, sitting forward in her chair.

  “An EMP,” Mattli said, grabbing a card off the table in front of him and sticking it into his book.

  “Yes. Like the one Ashby talked about in the journal.”

  “But those didn’t work. They weren’t powerful enough. And now the number of bots is a bit staggering based on what you saw, and what’s happened,” Lehman said, more than a little pessimistically.

  “What if we could make something similar, but different—one that never turned off? Not a pulse, but a constant signal that would create a shield. If more came, they wouldn’t be able to touch us,” Mason suggested.

  “Well, that would work. We could live inside the bubble and rebuild,” Mattli said, sitting forward, leaning on his knees and chewing on his bottom lip.

  “But living in a bubble isn’t all that different from living on an island,” Lehman pointed out.

  “Lehman. No one invited Debbie Downer to the party,” Mason said, starting to get irritated with her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to see the potential problems with our solutions,” Lehman said.

  “There are more problems than that, Lehman. Like, how on Ashby’s island are we going to build an EMP? We don’t have power, or important things like that that an EMP would run on,” Mason pointed out.

  “Okay, but we do have smart people on this island. I think we could put something together with the supplies we have. I don’t think we have enough to run the island. But I do think we could build a pretty powerful EMP,” Mattli countered.

  “Second problem, how do we get it to the mainland? It’s not like we have massive boats,” Mason pointed out, suddenly taking on Lehman’s role as he thought through each scenario.

  “Okay. One problem at a time. There are plenty of trees and resources on this island to build barge-type structures to carry what we need to the mainland,” Mattli said.

  It gave Mason pause. “You’re much more hopeful about this than I expected, Mattli. Why?”

  He was quiet for a bit, looking at Mason with a soft expression. “Seeing you in the woods that night, it changed me.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Mason snorted, but the movement sent pain through his side, and he held his breath, grimacing.

  “The island can’t go on the way it has. Those methods were great for survival. But three and a half centuries later, we shouldn’t still be surviving. We should be thriving,” Mattli said.

  Mason smiled at the man.
“In spite of yourself, I’m starting to like you, Mattli.”

  “What about food and supplies after you’re there?” Lehman asked.

  “We will have to take them with us. Careful planning is in order, to make sure we leave enough behind for those who want to stay, but take enough to survive until we can start growing our own. It will be months, maybe even a year, before we have sustainable crops and things. And there are no animals or anything to eat like that on the mainland. It will be a struggle, that’s for sure.”

  “Those who want to stay?” Mason asked. He hadn’t considered that people wouldn’t want to go.

  “Well, yes. I imagine not everyone will be terribly enthusiastic about leaving this comfortable, secure life for a terribly unstable survival situation, where you could be eaten by robots at any moment if the EMP fails,” Mattli said.

  “For Ashby’s sake. You say it like that, Mattli, and it makes me not want to go,” Mason said.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I know, but still.” Mason thought for a moment. “We need the island to do this. They’ll want to know why. Why are we risking our lives, our livelihoods, everything?”

  Surprisingly, it was Lehman who spoke up. “We wouldn’t be doing it for us. We’d be doing it for the next generation, and the generations to come after that. Someone has to start the ball rolling, so that three and a half centuries from now, they can forget how things got the way they are.”

  Mason opened his mouth to respond, but there were no words. It was so perfect that nothing he could think of would match that.

  He cleared his throat. “So, when do we talk to the islanders?”

  16.

  Approximate year, 2346

  A few weeks later, Mason was up and walking short distances. He decided he didn’t want to wait any longer. The three of them started passing a message, telephone-game style, around the island for everyone to meet at the pyre in the morning for an announcement. All duties would be excused that day.

  They walked slowly to the pyre, setting out early to make sure they had enough time to get there. One of the islanders had constructed him a wheelchair, but he found bouncing on the rough roads and paths was more uncomfortable than just walking and stopping every few blocks.

  The doctor urged him not to overdo it. To let things heal. But Mason was antsy. So much happened in that first week, but the last eight had been a whole lot of nonsense. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed action. So they walked, if slowly.

  Finally, they made it to the pyre. Most of the island was already there. Even the dethroned elders, who, in spite of themselves, seemed quite happy in their new assignments. Even Mueller was enjoying himself helping to tally, predict, and control the rations.

  Once everyone was settled, the three elders sat rather informally at the edge of the pyre. Mason remembered building the structure. He hoped he would be that useful again one day soon.

  Mattli started things off by standing. Mason knew the informality wouldn’t last. “Thank you all for coming. We weren’t sure our message would still ring true by the time it got around to everyone.”

  “It didn’t,” someone in the far corner called out. “I was told to meet here in the morning ‘cause orange hippopotamus guts smell like tulips.”

  Everyone laughed, including Mattli. “Right. Well, glad the core of the message got around then.”

  He cleared his throat and wrapped his robe around him. He was the only one still wearing it. Mason thought he took comfort in it. Plus, it was getting pretty cold. “I promised you a few weeks ago that we would end all the secrets.”

  “A few weeks ago, Mattli?” a man in the front row needled him with a huge grin on his face. It was good for Mason to see everyone so happy. Ashley would have loved it.

  “Right. Well, someone was taking their time getting around.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mason, who shrugged.

  “At any rate, there are many things to discuss. And they all revolve around one central theme—leaving the island.”

  A collective gasp rang through the islanders.

  “I know. It’s a shocking prospect. And I don’t expect all of you will want to go. I can’t stress enough that go or not, it’s your decision. If you don’t want to join us, I do hope you’ll help with the preparations. There’s a lot to do.”

  At once, people started shouting out their questions, but there were so many that Mason couldn’t make out any singular inquiry.

  “Let me get through the information first. Then if you still have questions, and I’m sure you will, we will do our best to answer them,” Mattli said. Reluctantly, the islanders settled down.

  First, he told them about the journal, and he gave a brief synopsis of how Mason found it on the mainland, what the mainland was like, and what to expect upon their return.

  “The plan is to use the journal, and the blueprints therein, to make an electromagnetic pulse device that will disable any and all bots that try to attack,” Mattli explained.

  Mason couldn’t stand it anymore, so he interjected. “But it’s not quite that simple.”

  “Simple? What is an electromagnetic pulse device, and how are we supposed to build something like that?”

  “Trial and error mostly,” Mason admitted. “And it doesn’t end there. We will need teams. Teams to build some kind of power source to run the EMP device, to build boats to get us and our supplies to the mainland, and to divvy out rations to keep us alive once we’re there.”

  “It’s a complex endeavor to be sure,” Mattli added.

  Mason wasn’t sure how to read the silence that descended upon the crowd.

  “Why would we leave? We’re safe here,” a woman asked. She had a child who couldn’t have been more than two in her arms.

  “We’d like to recolonize, to make things better for future generations. And maybe go back to the way things were before, eventually,” Mason said.

  “Is that our responsibility?” she asked.

  “If not us, then who?” Lehman said, sitting casually next to Mason. The woman nodded and sat back down.

  “I’d like to reiterate that not all of you have to go. In fact, no one has to go. But we will need a tremendous amount of help preparing. So, if you’re willing, we’ll take all the help we can get,” Mason said.

  No one moved.

  “Well, don’t everyone jump at once,” Mason said, a little in jest, but also frustrated.

  He was starting to despair until an old acquaintance of his stepped out into the aisle in front of him.

  “Mason Hawkins, I know you’re a hard worker, honest to a fault, and always have the best interest of those around you at heart. I’ll follow you anywhere.” The tall man held out his hand.

  With some effort, he hoisted himself off the pyre and shook it. “Gabe Merrik, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He and Gabe had worked together welding pipes and engineering new, more-efficient systems. He’d even asked him to help with the pyre. The man was gruff, but he had a good heart. Mason was glad to see him on the team.

  “And you’re getting punier by the minute. Can’t even stand up straight. Don’t expect you to be much help building things, huh?”

  “Don’t count your chickens, Gabe. Ashby knows I won’t let you take all the credit.”

  His laugh was loud and boisterous, and Mason could see it setting the other islanders at ease.

  “Wonderful,” he said, clasping Mason’s hand in both of his. “When do we begin?”

  17.

  Approximate year, 2346

  Once Gabe broke the ice, almost every islander volunteered to help with something. Mueller was in charge of counting rations and figuring out what they could take with them. Some of the fishermen had volunteered to build boats. Knowing the sea in the immediate area well, they thought they might be able to construct some flotillas that would handle the water.

  Charlotte Evie volunteered to head the power team. She was a well-known handyman on the island, someone people called on any time
of day for any problem, knowing she could fix it.

  Each team head had their own friends willing to help out, and the groups sort of naturally fell into place on their own from there.

  Mattli, Lehman, and Mason were left to float between the teams, making sure they had what they needed, and to try to troubleshoot issues as they arose. And did they ever arise.

  First was inside the dead room. It was a small space, and the EMP team was rather impressive. More people than Mason had anticipated were curious about the technology and wanted to be a part of it.

  While the other two teams managed to be above ground, out in the open, the EMP team was confined to the dead room. And Mason wasn’t making things easy for them.

  “Before we begin, I need to have two things kept intact inside the dead room, if at all possible. The timer and the release signal on the box. That way we can test the device later,” he explained. “And obviously, leave the bots alone.”

  “How are we supposed to use anything from here without destroying the two main elements of the room?” Gabe asked.

  “There’s the rub,” Mason said.

  Gabe scrutinized the panel and shrugged. “Well, no sense in guessing. Let’s pull this panel off and see what we’re really dealing with. If Ashby did us some favors, maybe there’s some redundancy back here, and it won’t even be an issue. Or if we need to take some things apart, maybe we can bypass others to keep the main components operational.”

  “I like how you think,” Mason said.

  “That’s because I’m smarter than you.”

  It took weeks just to get the panel apart and analyzed, assigning jobs to each wire so they knew what everything did, before they could start taking it apart. While they were doing that, the other half of the team sat topside, trying to design possible options for an EMP. They’d all read the journal, taking care to focus on any discussions about the device. Mason stressed that it couldn’t just be a pulse. It had to be a constant stream of energy, or else they’d be dead between the beats. Or at least maimed.