by Paul Seiple
"Damn, I forgot that was there. Sorry, Q."
"Subtle way to change the subject."
"You sure no one can find us here?" Q asked, tossing the backpack onto a cracked leather sofa.
"Bigfoot hunters have a better shot at seeing a Sasquatch."
Nick opened a small brown door that looked to be an electrical panel. He flipped a few switches, and a voice with a Scottish accent said, "Arming perimeter."
"Has anyone ever told you that your alarm sounds like Sean Connery?" Q asked.
Nick flashed a grin. "It doesn't sound like Connery. It is him. He worked with Dad on one of his documentaries. I practically begged him to record it."
"Perimeter secure." The voice was different, more robotic.
Nick shrugged his shoulders. "He drew the line at arming perimeter. Want something to drink?"
"How did you know I was going to Black Dog?" Q asked.
"Alcohol first. Scotch work for you?"
"Yeah, sure, but you're going to tell me how you knew." Q unzipped the backpack and grabbed one of the notebooks. The handwriting was barely legible. The smeared ink, possibly compromised by rain, sweat, or maybe tears, made reading nearly impossible. Q recognized the word GRISH. At first, Q thought the book was a journal, but a few pages in, there was a map of Hendricks's base in Black Dog. The notebook wasn't a journal. It was a manual.
"Figure anything out yet?" Nick asked, handing Q a glass of Scotch.
"It's a manual of Hendricks's operations in Black Dog. Whoever wrote it had first-hand knowledge of what was going on there." Q tossed the notebook onto a stack of Backpacker magazines on a coffee table. "OK, tell me?"
Nick took a sip of scotch and placed his glass next to magazines. He took an iPhone from his pocket and made a few swipes at the screen. "Ever played 'Nothing Common About Sense'?"
"The game?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not a big fan of games," Q said.
"About 30 million Americans play this daily. Worldwide, it's been downloaded nearly a billion times."
"OK, what does this have to do with me?" Q asked.
"The game was created by Haritex Games."
"Are you hoping I either get drunk or fall asleep from boredom so you don't have to tell me?"
Nick chuckled. "I am Haritex Games. I kind of got caught sneaking into parts of the government I shouldn't have been snooping in?"
"You hacked the government?" Q asked
"It's not that hard. Anyway, about two years ago, James Turner paid me a surprise visit. He offered me an alternative to jail. I took it. Turns out, Turner is a big gamer, which totally shocked the shit out of me. He loved what I did with the 'Rule of Thumb' games and gave me the option to create 'Nothing Common About Sense'. On the surface, it's a highly addictive trivia game, but the backend is a bit diabolical. Turner wanted me to create a game that would allow the government to spy on anyone playing it."
"Glad I never played it, but I still don't see what this has to do with me," Q said.
"I convinced Turner the game needed to be released to see how it was going to be received before we went to the effort of bugging it. So, after the first 50 million downloads, I got to work on the spying mechanism, or so Turner thought. The bug was there the whole time. I mean, if I'm being forced to do some shady shit, I'm going to do it on my terms. Turner thinks I'm still trying to get the whole spy thing to work." Nick opened his MacBook and clicked on a program. A voice came through the speaker.
"Did you see that new chick at Trader Joe's? I'm going to hit that by the end of the week."
"The only thing getting hit is your face when she slaps the soul out of you."
Nick closed the program. "That's just a random player. Every time someone logs on to play, this program grabs the user name. I click on the name, and it enables the phone's microphone. I can eavesdrop the entire time someone is playing the game. Whenever someone downloads the game and registers a user name, it goes into another database that records all the standard info——name, email address, location of the download, and so on. You'd be surprised to see how many people willingly give up their true identity to play a game. The databases cross-reference, so it takes less than a minute to pinpoint a subject to eavesdrop on."
"And you can sleep at night?"
Nick took another sip of scotch. "I have no intentions of giving it to Turner. He gets this." Nick opened another program. Static came through the computer's speakers. A male's voice cut the static. His words were choppy and impossible to decipher. "It's very tedious work to perfect this." Nick smiled.
"So, why spy at all?"
"Turner's user name is JAMES1234. Pretty creative, right? You know me, Q, I always have to know the spoilers." He smiled again and took another sip of scotch. "There are perks to the game. If you keep it running on your phone while you're not actually playing, you are rewarded with hints—I call them Inklings—to questions. It's kind of like lifelines in that Millionaire game. The game is built to become an addiction. If you miss five questions within a 24-hour period, the game locks you out until the next day. Inklings are incredibly valuable to those addicted to the game. Turner is one of those people. He lets the game run constantly. I have a direct line to him."
"You were eavesdropping during that meeting with the president. That's how you knew about me going to Black Dog."
"Eavesdropping? I prefer to call it saving your life," Nick said.
"Did you know that Turner sent us there to kill us?"
"I did tell you not to go," Nick said.
"Does Turner know I made it out?" Q asked.
"Let's see." Nick opened the working program and searched for JAMES1234. No results. "That's odd. He's always on, unless he is sleeping."
Q finished off the scotch. "Does your little game do anything else I should know about?"
Nick ran a search for JAMES1234 again. "There's an Easter Egg of sorts in the Inklings. They are used to ping other users and ask for answers to questions that stump you. Users can't actually talk to each other. If you're stumped, just hit the lifejacket icon…" Nick paused to point out the icon to Q. "…and the question is copied and sent to a random player. The recipient can answer with anything she wants, but is encouraged to answer correctly by receiving an Inkling for a correct answer. That is the only communication between the two players…unless…watch this." Nick tapped the lifejacket. A text bubble popped up asking if he really needed help and gave the number of Inklings he had left for that 24-hour period. "If you type YES, the game pings another user. If you type NO, you return to the game, but if you type RESCUE, this happens." Another text bubble appeared on the screen with the words USER NAME. "Enter a player's screen name followed by #TINCAN and you can direct message each other. Of course, only a few trusted people know this. It's a completely off-the-grid way to communicate."
"I'm guessing you know quite a bit about what happened in Black Dog."
"My brother and I used the game's message system to chat with each other because it reminded us of the tin can set-up in a treehouse when we were kids. It was never meant to be used for doomsday prepping, but when James told me he was being sent to Black Dog, I figured this was the only surefire way to communicate safely. He stopped responding after he touched down in Black Dog. I figured he was too busy trying to save the world to chat."
"I'm sorry about James. I know it's tough. I still think about Carolyn every day."
Nick stood up. "Another scotch?"
"Sure."
Nick handed the glass to Q. "Here's the thing, Q…" He took a sip. "…James didn't die in a plane crash. He made it out."
Q sat his glass down. "Carolyn?"
"There was no plane crash. It was a cover up. Hendricks infected the entire town with that virus. It spread like wildfire, killing just about everyone. I'm guessing Turner invented the plane crash so there would be no one left to talk about what happened."
"Is Carolyn alive?"
"I'm sorry, Q. James contacted me through the game
about a week after Black Dog. He was the only one that made it out just before the bombs leveled the town."
"The town is still there. Hendricks developed a bomb with pinpoint precision that could be programmed to lock on to specific targets. In this case, people infected with the virus, which Hendricks named Judas." Q reached into his pocket and placed a small object on the coffee table. "This is a Judas Kiss. I found it lodged into the doorframe of one of the homes in Black Dog."
Nick picked the bomb up. "It's no bigger than a June bug." He ran his fingertip along a prong protruding from the bomb. "These are like June bug legs. The son-of-a-bitch made a bomb from a June bug mold."
"Apparently, the bomb was the money shot. Hendricks infected those people with the virus to show the government how well the bomb worked."
"What an asshole. At least we don't have to deal with Hendricks. He got what was coming to him."
"Hendricks is gone, but there are still people doing his work. Do you know Richard Knox?"
"Not personally, but I've heard of him."
"He was in Black Dog when we touched down. He killed Dickson and tried to kill me. The original plan was for Dickson to murder me, but I guess he still had a little decency left and decided against it. Knox was the back-up."
"And you think Knox worked for Hendricks?"
"I think Hendricks was part of something bigger than his organization, ARMA. Dickson pointed out an owl etched into Knox's holster. He said Turner has the same owl stitched onto his wallet."
"There is a secret owl society?" Nick asked.
"Maybe. Hopefully, those notebooks and hard drives will tell more. Do you still talk to James?"
"Last time was about two weeks ago. He was near the Pigsah National Forest and signal was patchy. I'm the only one who knows he's alive."
"What did he tell you about the virus?" Q asked.
"Be careful not to become someone's lunch. Other than that, nothing. I'm not sure if he doubts my knowledge of science or is trying to protect me. Hopefully, the latter. Have to pee."
Q grabbed the backpack and pulled out one of the small black notebooks. The name WINSTON FLEMING was printed in red ink on the inside cover. Q thumbed through the first few pages. There was nothing important, just personal stats such as birthday, social security number, etc. Things got interesting at about page five.
Fleming's wife Marianna was one of the first infected. He refuses to accept that she is dead, or, in the very least, exhibiting signs of death. I'm not really sure if these people are dead or under the control of Judas.
Q thought back to one of the houses he went to in Black Dog. The picture. The note on the back of the frame, Winston and Marianna, Disney World 2012. He flipped to another page in the book.
Fleming met with Byrd. She's infected. She told him how the disease progresses. The bastard is holding that info hostage. He wants a cure for his wife in exchange for the info. There is no cure.
"Carrie?"
"What?" Nick asked, returning to the room.
"Nothing. I think these books are journals of the people who lived in Black Dog."
Q flipped to the end of the book.
Fleming is sick. He's hiding it well. But there is a thin film over his pupils. I've determined this is one of the first symptoms. Although, it doesn't seem to hamper vision. I hoped he was immune. He was the last uninfected resident. Richie is dead. I'm assuming Mark is dead too. No one is getting out of here alive.
Winston Fleming, deceased on 10/22/2016.
Q reached in the bag for another notebook. The name on the inside cover read MARK FOSTER. Q knew Foster. They were colleagues. He skipped to the last page.
Hendricks is a madman. He shot Mark and left him for dead. If the virus doesn't kill us, Hendricks will. Rest in peace, my friend. I'm sorry you were pulled into this mess.
Mark Foster, deceased on 10/19/2016
"Hendricks was a real bastard," Q said, grabbing another book.
“People that try to the end the world usually are, Q.”
The name on this journal was BOB SALK. Another name Q knew all too well. Salk was a mentor to Q. This book was different. There were no personal stats, most of the pages were blank. There was one journal entry.
To say that I'm sorry would greatly devalue the tragedy I played a major role in. I only hope lives can be saved from my last actions. I'm writing this with the hope someone will find it after the bombs. If the bombs work as planned, no one will be spared, as everyone is infected, but hopefully, only the virus will be eradicated, and the world will see how evil ARMA is. I take comfort in knowing Hendricks will never leave Black Dog.
It is my hope that James gets out. If he follows the plan, he will be on a boat in about fifteen minutes. The bombs are being released in twenty minutes. Charlie can get him there in time.
He is the only hope to expose ARMA. Hendricks will die here, but the monster he created will live on.
I've witnessed my colleague, Richie Kincaid, devolve from the greatest mind I've known to, for lack of a better term, a zombie. This virus (JUDAS) is the definition of evolution. It's smarter than all of us.
There is no time to break down Judas. If the computers survive, the answers are there. I watch Carolyn beat herself up over being the one who created the mutation to make Judas airborne, but the truth is Judas would have eventually found a way. It's only function is survival.
I cannot reverse the things I've done. Lives have been lost because of my actions. Families are changed forever because of my greed. I cannot live with the guilt. Some will say it's the coward's way out, but I will trade my life for that of another's. I could die a thousand times and still be in debt to my foolish actions.
Carolyn is the only person left here that I care about. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure she gets on that boat with James.
Time is almost up. There are journals for everyone who lived in Black Dog, as well as those who died while trying to clean up the mistakes made. I want the world to know these people. They did not die in vain.
Novelist Wendell Berry said, "To cherish what remains of the Earth and to foster its renewal is our only legitimate hope of survival."
I hope the Earth can survive our negligence.
Bob Salk, deceased 10/22/2016
Q closed the notebook and held it with a tight grip.
"You OK?" Nick said, diverting his eyes from his phone.
"She's alive," Q said.
"Carolyn?"
"Bob Salk wrote these journals." Q held up the notebook. "He helped her get out before the bombs."
"Q, James told me he was the only one who made it out."
Q opened the book and read the paragraph about Carolyn aloud. "She left with James. Try to get him again on your game."
"I've been trying. He's not online. It's late. Let's get some rest. Tomorrow, I'll try again, and we can go through those hard drives."
"I need to know, Nick."
"If she is alive, James is protecting her." Nick turned on the television. A Breaking News ticker scrolled across the screen as a news anchor cut to Emily Morgan. Nick knew Emily from a previous story she did on him about his game. They remained friends and became drinking buddies. He turned up the volume.
"We're left with a lot of questions," Emily said. "Something horrific happened at that apartment today, and we are not getting the whole story. We may never get the whole story."
"What can you tell us?" the news anchor asked.
"One person is dead. His name has not been released. That's all the media has been given, but sources tell me this wasn't just murder, it was cannibalism. The incident happened in the apartment of…"
"Cut the feed." The male's voice interrupted Emily. "Emily Morgan, you're under arrest."
The camera continued to roll against the orders of the FBI agent.
"For what?"
"I said, cut the feed."
The camera swayed before crashing to the ground.
"What the hell?" Nick said.
>
"Perimeter breach to the West." The robotic voice echoed through Nick's cabin.
"Shit." Nick snatched his MacBook and the faulty Judas Kiss as headlights seeped through the closed blinds. "Get the backpack."
Q grabbed the bag as another set of lights pierced the blinds. He followed Nick down a short hallway. Nick stopped at an old refrigerator.
"In here."
Nick moved the refrigerator, exposing the entrance to a storm shelter. There was a loud crack. Someone kicked the front door open.
"Hurry," Nick said, pushing Q into the cellar.
"He's somewhere. Find the bastard."
The male voice wasn't too far from the hallway. Nick swiped across his phone and tapped on an app. The lights went out as he hit the first step of the cellar. There was a makeshift handle attached to the back of the refrigerator, which made pulling it back in place easy.
"Turn on the goddamn lights." The muffled voice was barely audible from behind the refrigerator.
"We have until someone finds a light switch to get out of here," Nick said, pushing by Q to a ladder. "There is a drain to the right. Go up and head for it."
Q shimmied up the ladder. Nick followed on his heels. They hit the drain just a loud clap resembling thunder reverberated through the tunnel.
"What was that?" Q asked.
"They found the light switch," Nick said. "I created an EMP to wipe out everything at the cabin if someone ever breached it."
"What about all your data?"
"Most of it's on the Mac, but I have a back-up hidden in some thirteen-year-old kid's PS4 cloud account in Fresno. It's safe. Once we get through the tunnel, there is a small junkyard to the right. Head to the second row of cars. Find the white Datsun 240z. It looks like shit, but I promise it runs."
"Let me guess, you changed the oil," Q said, popping out of the tunnel.
Nick was right behind. They jumped the small fence and entered the junkyard.
"Over there," Nick said.
Q turned to run but tripped. His knees slammed against the unforgiving ground. Something pawed at his ankle.
"Hu...ng...ry."
Nick aimed his phone's flashlight at the voice. It was a middle-aged man with a long grey beard. He wore a torn blue flannel shirt, dirt-stained khakis, and weathered boots.