Digital Winter

by Mark Hitchcock

  Years of hard work and a superior education equipped him for life in the high end of the business world, but an MBA couldn’t prepare him for what he and his family now faced.

  He sat on the sofa and stared west over the ocean. The sun had burned off the morning clouds, revealing a cerulean sky through which white-and-gray California gulls rode air currents as they searched for food. Their smaller brethren, California least terns, provided competition. Before the Event, the gulls had grown lazy, able to find food from garbage on the beach or in landfills. But there was less of that now. The birds had to hunt the shore the way they had been designed to do. The gulls, the terns, the brown pelicans, the ocean, and the fish that swam in it went about their business as if nothing had changed.

  But things had changed.

  Stanley was a wealthy man, used to getting what he wanted by handing over a plastic credit card and knowing he could pay off the balance each month. But now there were no credit card companies. No machines to process transactions. No functional ATMs. No operational banks. His millions no longer existed. Being an accountant, he knew more about banking than most. Paper money was an anachronism. He seldom carried more than a hundred dollars in his wallet, and that only for the rare times he couldn’t pay for something with a plastic card. His money was kept in zeros and ones, a binary representation of everything he built over two decades of work.

  The money was gone, at least for now. It disappeared when the world’s power went out and its digital records were erased. Such information was kept in computer server farms around the country. Very few electronics survived whatever happened, so he doubted that those servers had been secure enough to keep such information safe. Big banks promised such security, but he knew enough bank CEOs not to believe the promises.

  So what if they were right? What good was money now? He couldn’t access it, and even if he could, people who had what he needed—food—no longer needed money. In only a few weeks, people had quit trading money and started bartering.

  Still, he was better off than most. For reasons he had been unable to uncover, his condo still had power, something he kept secret. Stanley couldn’t explain it and didn’t want to answer questions. He struggled to be thankful for electricity, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was…unnatural.

  He had other concerns. Donny’s behavior had changed. He spent less time in the wheelchair. He paced in his room. He paced in the living room, pausing only to eat oatmeal and whatever else Royce could get down the boy. Of the four—Royce insisted that Rosa stay with them until things settled and her husband could find a way to cross the country back to their home—only Donny ate three times a day. The rest rationed their food.

  On the second day of the blackout, Stanley became concerned about food. He and Royce were busy professionals, so they tended to buy food in bulk to cut down on trips to the store. All perishable food they kept frozen. Dry and canned goods they used sparingly.

  They did their best to keep a low profile. Cooking created aromas that could attract attention. Like many in the building, they used barbecues to cook meat even though their stove worked.

  First they ate anything that could not be frozen—mostly fruit and vegetables. Rosa made large pots of stew before the vegetables and potatoes went south. The stew could be frozen and left in the freezer. Stanley didn’t know why his appliances still worked, but that didn’t keep him from using the freezer.

  By the second week, people began knocking on doors of the condos, begging for food and medicine. Stanley opened the door only once. A man charged in, knocking Stanley to the floor. He carried an ugly-looking knife stained with a dark substance Stanley assumed was blood.

  “Give me food or I’ll kill you.” His eyes were wild. He looked ferocious and scared.

  Stanley raised a hand as the man leaned over him. Then came a thud, a snap, a cry of pain. The man stumbled to the side, his back arched. Rosa stood next to him with an upright vacuum cleaner in her hand. She lifted the heavy device again and swung it in a wide arch, catching the intruder square in the chest.

  The man screamed again and scrambled out the door. Rosa slammed it shut and shouted something in Spanish. Stanley had no idea what she was saying, but he got the idea it was something that wasn’t uttered in polite company.

  Royce sprinted to Stanley’s side. “Are you all right?” The color had gone from her face.

  “Yes. Caught me off guard.” Stanley looked to Rosa, who had locked the door and was leaning against it. Her hands shook, and the rest of her body began to follow suit. The vacuum cleaner, slightly bent, lay on the floor.

  “I think I broke it.” Rosa melted into tears.

  Stanley took her in his arms. It was the first time he could remember touching her. He let her cry against his chest for a moment before looking up and seeing Donny standing on the threshold of his bedroom. Most of the time, Donny was oblivious to events occurring around him. Not so now. He looked crushed.

  “Oatmeal…”

  He wasn’t asking for food. His tone said what his limited vocabulary could not.

  The days oozed into weeks, and Stanley grew more concerned. The streets of Coronado were silent and littered with abandoned cars. At night the San Diego skyline was little more than dark shapes. Each day seemed to bring a new fire somewhere in the city. The bridge saw only foot traffic and people on bicycles. Occasionally, Stanley saw an ocean kayaker paddling near the shore, not to enjoy a day on the water but to reach a destination. Sailboats occasionally moved through the channel and under the bridge, heading to places Stanley couldn’t imagine. Some sailed out of the bay, others sailed in. Maybe the recreational sailors just felt safer on the water than in the city. He couldn’t blame them.

  Along Coronado’s jetties, scores of people lined up to fish in hopes of bringing home dinner. Those with boats moored in the harbor fished from the side. Only sailboats and rowboats moved along the waters.

  Stanley wondered how long it would be before he was standing with them and fishing for his family.

  Donny was his biggest concern. Communication with his son had always been just one step away from impossible, and that hadn’t changed. Donny had never paid much attention to his parents except when he needed to be dressed or fed. Stanley assumed that Donny’s inability to bond was part of his condition. But shortly after the outages, Donny had changed. He no longer spent his days at the computer doing whatever it was he did. Three days into the Event, Stanley walked into Donny’s room and found it in disarray. The blankets and sheets had been stripped from the bed and spread over the computer monitors. The computers hadn’t been turned on since.

  Stanley continued to watch the gulls and for a moment admired their freedom and simple life. For them, life went on. They knew how to survive. He wasn’t sure he did.

  25

  Eli Shade

  Liam Burr arrived in Brussels and directed Benito Moretti to drive straight to the Espace Léopold, a complex of contemporary buildings that housed the European parliament, a legislative chamber of the European Union. After twelve hours in the car dodging pedestrians and abandoned vehicles, Liam wanted nothing more than a warm bath and a long nap, things he would normally get at his apartment a few miles from his office. They drove by that building, but looters had been there before them.

  No matter. He had a spacious office with everything he needed. What he didn’t have, he was certain Benito could find. Best not to be traveling the streets with the city in this condition. Liam understood human nature, and that knowledge told him that he needed to be on his guard.

  To navigate the city, Bento had to be creative. Cars and delivery vehicles rested in the lanes of the Rue de la Loi and other streets around the complex. Any truck or van that looked like it might carry food had been ripped open. A few had been burned.

  They passed several restaurants along Rue Stevin. All were closed and exhibited signs of forced entry.

  “It looks like a war zone, sir.” Benito sounded troubled.


  Liam sat in the backseat; Benito sat behind the wheel of the right-hand-drive vehicle. “It does, my friend. In times of crisis, people descend to the lowest level. Self-preservation becomes a priority, even if it means taking the property and lives of others. Desperation brings out the basest qualities.”

  “I’d like to think it would bring out the best.”

  “Has that been your experience, Benito? I don’t think so.”

  Benito slumped his shoulders as he worked the Rolls through the streets. “No, sir, it hasn’t. I’m an optimist most of the time.”

  “And now?”

  “As the Americans say, ‘Not so much.’”

  “Life has a way of making pessimists of us all.”

  Benito cocked his head as if thinking. “Have you given up on humanity, sir? No optimism at all?”

  The question made Liam smile. Benito could be quick tempered and rough. Pity the man who crossed him, but like a crème-filled candy, he had a soft center. “Not at all. We are in desperate times, but the end has not come. We will rise from all of this. We will rebuild a better world and punish those responsible for so much carnage.”

  “Dropping bombs on the city would have done less damage.”

  Liam agreed. “They turned the citizens of the world against their own governments and neighbors. It is a more cruel choice.”

  “Yes, sir. I agree.” Benito pulled onto the Rue Archimède, their brief tour over.

  The grounds of the European Commission, normally bustling, looked abandoned. Evidence of looters was widespread, but the buildings were largely undamaged, no doubt the result of security and soldiers stationed to protect EU assets.

  Benito pulled to the front entrance of the mid-rise and stopped the Rolls, exited the driver’s seat, and opened the door for Liam, who thanked him. Liam always thanked the help.

  “I’ll park the car after I’m sure you’re safe in your office.”

  “No need, my friend. I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Yes, I am sure you can.” Benito closed the car door with just enough force to make certain it latched. One didn’t slam the door of a 1931 Rolls Royce.

  “You’re going with me anyway?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Liam smiled. Benito had a temper that had brought him trouble several times, but he had never raised his voice to Liam. When safety was an issue, Benito could be more stubborn than his boss.

  The lobby of the building showed signs of intrusion. Once immaculate, the place bore scars of disrespect. Someone had taken a knife to the furnishings and walls. A circle encompassing a stylized “A” had been spray painted on one of the walls. Anarchists—people who believed the best government was no government. Liam wondered if that opinion had softened in recent weeks. It was easy to be critical of leaders when one had a full stomach and warm home. If any good came out of all this, it might be a new appreciation for government and business leaders who made the contemporary world contemporary.

  Benito walked in front of Liam, his attention fixed on every cubbyhole, hall, and dark place where someone might hide. They rounded the corner of the lobby and entered a wide hallway that led to the first-floor offices when a soft sound caught Liam’s attention.

  It caught Benito’s too. The stocky man spun and seized the shirt of a tall man behind them. Before Liam could speak, Benito had the man on his back. Weapons were drawn and a single command given: “Halt!” The word was spoken in French.

  Liam looked down the hall and saw three uniformed soldiers of the Belgian Army. A dark anger washed over Benito’s face before he realized what he was seeing.

  “Help the man up, Benito.” Liam turned his attention to the highest-ranking member of the contingent, a baby-faced sublieutenant. “My apologies.” He raised his hands. “I’m going to reach into my suit coat pocket for identification. I would be grateful if you didn’t shoot me.” He smiled and slowly removed a calf-leather wallet and opened it, revealing his EU identification.

  The sublieutenant stepped close enough to retrieve the ID but only after he motioned Benito to stand next to the wall. After a moment, the man handed it back. “I am sorry for the interruption, Signore Burr. Things have been…stressful.”

  “On the contrary, Sublieutenant. It is I who should apologize. My friend provides for my protection. I’m afraid your man surprised us. We would have called ahead but…” He shrugged.

  “I understand, monsieur. As you can tell, we’ve had a few problems here. Anarchists mostly.”

  “I commend you for staying with your post.” Liam moved to the man whom Benito had felled. “You are brave and loyal men. When life gets back to normal, I will remember your service. I feel safer knowing you are here.”

  “You are too kind, monsieur.”

  Liam watched the man’s chest swell. “I suppose the only way to the fourth floor is by the stairs?”

  “The executive elevator is working. It’s electric. Army engineers were able to rebuild the drive motor. The diesel generator provides enough power to run it. It is not as fast as it used to be, and at times the ride can be uncertain.”

  “Uncertain?”

  “It lacks smoothness.” The young man smiled.

  “It sounds like an experience that shouldn’t be missed.”

  Liam took his leave and moved to the executive elevator. Once the doors closed, Benito apologized.

  “Nonsense, my friend. The imbecile should not have crept up behind us as he did. You were in the right, and I appreciate the way you handled things.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The elevator ride was slow and the speed of the cab inconsistent. Liam made a note to take the stairs next time. The more people who showed up, the more the generator would be taxed. Liam didn’t like confining spaces.

  Liam’s office on the fourth floor looked unscathed. He found a handwritten note on his desk—a list of commissioners already in the building. There weren’t many. He didn’t expect a full house. It would be days before others could get here. Some would be unable to figure out a means of travel. Some wouldn’t bother to try. The realization made Liam smile. Fewer people meant fewer problems.

  Benito excused himself to park the car. Liam removed his coat and hung it on an old-growth Honduras mahogany coat rack that was forty years older than he and walked to the window. From nearly fifty feet above grade, he could better see parts of the city. It reminded him of World War II photos of Europe. There was less damage, but Brussels, like Rome, London, and every other city, looked anemic.

  “Not the view one expects, is it?”

  Liam jumped and spun. Standing in the doorway was a dark-skinned man dressed in black, an ebony fedora on his head and cocked an inch to the right. His eyes were two chunks of anthracite. Thin lips almost devoid of color tipped up at the ends, giving the impression the man had forgotten how to smile.

  “Who are you?”

  The man in black entered without invitation, removing his hat. His long-sleeve shirt, trousers, and shoes were coal black. “I apologize if I startled you.” He spoke in Italian but in a fashion that made Liam think it was not his first language. He could detect no accent. The man stepped to the sitting area of the office, a space marked off by a large Persian rug and a pair of custom sofas crafted after the style of French Empire settees. A matching pair of chairs completed the collection.

  “You have a well-appointed office, signore.” The man pointed to a painting hanging from one of the walls. “Is that a Renoir?” He rose and moved to the painting of a woman in a cobalt blue dress with a bustle. “The Parisian, if I’m not mistaken. 1874.” He turned and stared at Liam. His gaze made Liam’s heart stumble. “Isn’t this supposed to be in the National Museum of Wales?”

  “It’s a copy.”

  “Is that so?” The man turned back to the painting and leaned close. “A copy, is it? Yes, of course. I’d say the same thing.”

  “I believe I asked your name.” Liam tried to sound authoritative, in charge. He wasn’t as convincing
as he wished. He tried to calculate when Benito would return.

  “Yes, I believe you did.” He paused. “Why does an Italian surround himself with so much French…stuff?”

  “Since you refuse to show me the basic courtesy of your name, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He walked to his desk and picked up the phone.

  The man laughed. “Are the phones working now?”

  “The intercom should. It’s low voltage, and as you can tell by the overhead lights, we have a generator.”

  “So you do.” The man looked up, and the lights went out. “Had, Signore Burr. Had a generator.”

  “How…how did you know the generator would go out?”

  “A small trick, signore.” He paused. “Sit.” It was an order not a request.

  Liam did.

  “My name is Eli Shade.”

  “Eli Shade.”

  “For now that name will do.”

  “What do you want, Signore Shade?”

  “You, sir. I have come to collect your help.”

  Odd wording. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy, the world being the way it is. I’m sure you may have noticed.”

  “Noticed? I did more than notice. I caused it.”

  Liam leaned back in the chair. He was dealing with a madman. “I see. That’s not something I would go around telling people. I imagine there are a great many people who would like to get their hands on you.”

  “Would you be one of them?”

  Liam rolled his response around in his mind before speaking. “If I believed for a moment that you caused all this, then yes. I’d wrap my hands around your throat.”

  “Ah, I knew I chose wisely. I’ve noticed that the more gentlemanly a man is, the more violence he harbors. Do you agree?”

  “Perhaps. I’ve not given it any thought.”

  “Now you’re lying to me, Burr. It is never wise to lie to me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I am many things, Burr, far more than your tiny brain can understand, but patient I am not. I also have an enormous ego, just like you. I have a compulsion to protect it.”