by Nick Thacker
Over that year they had slowly started to repair the damage to their marriage, and now that was all coming unravelled. Adam started spending more time at the office again. And the time he spent at home was almost always filled with screaming matches. They tried to keep their fights away from the kids, but that was impossible. The fire burned so hot between them that it couldn’t help but set the whole family ablaze.
Until a few months ago.
It had started slowly and subtly at first, but it became more and more obvious over time. Adam would come home late, and expect the usual backlash and bickering, but instead Kate would calmly welcome him, tell him there was a plate in the fridge that he could warm up. She’d go back to whatever she was doing. She made fewer comments, fewer snide remarks.
At first, Adam thought this was the end. He was sure she had decided to file for divorce, or had otherwise given up on them. But he gradually realized that she wasn’t being cold to him. She was being sort of … disconnected.
And she wasn’t the only one.
He started to see the same with the kids. The fighting and bickering that was a part of children’s DNA had somehow faded. There were fewer arguments, fewer tussles over Playstation controls or the last Oreo. Instead there was a sort of complacency. A sort of dullness in the way they went about their days, doing the normal sort of things you’d expect, but almost as if they were sleepwalking through all of it.
Sarah was affected, too. And that, for some reason, made Adam feel an incredible sadness. He watched his brilliant young daughter slowly fade, becoming more docile and numbed as time went by. Her sharp mind was being dulled by something.
He had been so preoccupied with his family, with the nagging certainty that he was headed for a divorce, followed by his growing concern that everyone in the house was starting to drift away—at first he hadn’t noticed it was happening outside his home as well. He had been so focused on his home life that he only slowly started to notice the same behavior in some of his coworkers, the barista at the local Starbucks, the people who worked at the dealership where his truck was serviced. Over time, he started to realize that he was seeing this … suppression … happening everywhere. It was becoming more frequent, though still subtle enough to apparent go unnoticed by everyone else. It was when the local police and emergency response started behaving like clueless idiots that Adam really started to get concerned.
Something was happening to people all around him.
Actually, it wasn’t just all around him. In a Skype call to one of his friends in Houston, it had come up that people were acting strange there as well. “I actually had to tell my staff to go home when their shift was over,” his friend told him, shaking his head. “The battery in the clock died, and it still read 3:20. It was nearly seven in the evening and everyone just kept working like there was still over an hour left in the day. If I hadn’t finally come out of my office and asked why everyone was still there, I think they would have stayed through the night!”
“That’s … bizarre,” Adam said. Though he’d had something similar happen when one of his technicians had set off the lab alarms by showing up for work on scheduled maintenance day. Adam had found her going through her daily routine as if nothing had happened. Even the blaring alarm hadn’t shaken her from the pattern.
There was definitely something happening, and it was having a broad impact. Something was causing people to go into a sort of autopilot, from Adam’s perspective. It took a while to realize that it was the water. In the end, it was Sarah’s asthma attacks that clued him in.
He had been on his way home from work and spotted the Walgreens at the edge of their neighborhood. With a sudden and startled shock he realized that he hadn’t picked up Sarah’s inhaler three days ago, as he had promised he would. Hers was nearly empty, and she would certainly need the new one by now. How could he be so neglectful?
He had squealed into the Walgreens drive-thru, and waited impatiently as they took his information and sent out the prescription. He then rushed home, as if getting there faster would somehow make up for the last three days.
Why hadn’t Kate asked him about the inhaler? Why had she waited?
That isn’t fair, Adam had thought. It wasn’t her responsibility. This is on me.
But when he had arrived home, and apologized about the screwup, Kate had only smiled, dull and lightless, and said, “Oh, she’s fine. If she has an attack I just give her a sip of water. That seems to calm her down.”
Water? Since when was a sip of water a cure for asthma?
But as Adam watched over the next couple of weeks, he saw that it was true. If Sarah showed any sign of an attack, she could drink the water and it would subside.
But her mind also faded.
Before the attacks, he could see a bit of the old Sarah returning. Sharp. Smart. Quick to notice things. But after drinking the water, she would fade. The light would go from her eyes, and she’d become … well, not Sarah.
Adam had to know what was happening. So he had taken water samples, and used the facilities at work to test them. Immediately, he saw traces of something he recognized in it.
It was the same chemical one of his labs had been cleared to test as an EPA-approved additive—the chemical that suppressed the weird, trace heavy metal contamination. On the vials and paperwork its as referred to as H-451.
Was this the cause of his family’s weirdness? And if so, why wasn’t he being affected? He was exposed to H-451 as much as anyone. There were traces of it in their household water, used for everything from washing fruits and vegetables to making coffee. It was even appearing in some of the bottled water he drank—the cheap stuff Kate kept stocked in the fridge. Adam preferred Panna water—a brand that was supposedly imported from the island nation of Panna off the coast of Australia. That was probably all marketing, but Adam had always liked the brand. It had disappeared from shelves a little over a year ago, however, with no explanation.
He would love to get his hands on some right now, because from the look of things all other sources of water were contaminated with H-451.
And what, exactly, was this stuff doing?
Over the next month, Adam had secretly investigated H-451, testing to see what, exactly, it was doing in the body. What effect was it really having?
The answer wasn’t entirely clear. The best Adam had come up with was “something.” And in conversations with a few experts and friends across the country, he knew that the “something” was widespread.
He suspected that there was some dark and clandestine purpose behind all of this, and he had determined to blow the whistle on it. It was affecting his family for God’s sake! Something had to be done!
This decision had prompted this sudden break-in and escape at the Colorado Springs Water Treatment facility—his employer of fifteen years. All of this, from the explosion to hiding out in this cabin, had been the result of his determination to find out what the government—or whoever—was up to, and put a stop to it.
Things hadn’t gone off without a hitch, clearly. But here they were—safe, if only for the moment. They could stop and think. At least they could breathe a little easier while Adam figured out what to do next.
SIX
Sleep came easily for the family, but Adam found his mind wandering as the evening turned to night. Kate was in the master bedroom, and the kids were bunked in the small room at the other end of the hall.
After Sarah’s episode, Adam thought she might put up a fuss about bedtime, trying instead to persuade him to let her stay up and watch TV or play on the computer. But almost as soon as she was calmed down and breathing normally her eyes fluttered closed.
Adam remembered all the difficult years of late nights and shouting matches with the kids, using every trick in his parenting book to get them to go to bed. Now it was as simple as subtly mentioning bedtime, and everyone — Kate included — immediately started yawning and rubbing their eyes.
It shouldn’t be that easy.
Adam knew their willingness to comply wasn’t due to great parenting or fantastic persuasion skills on his part, but something more sinister. The episode with Sarah had rattled him, but it was the larger truth behind it all that prevented Adam from feeling even the slightest bit tired.
He stood up from the couch and made his way to the computer sitting against the wall in the corner. The view from the windows above the computer was beautiful in the daytime—a lush mountain valley covered in pines and aspens stretching out and down from their location, covering the curve of the horizon like a blanket until all you could see for miles was forest. He could picture it now, even though the darkness outside was deep and impenetrable.
He remembered the first day they’d come here — just him and Kate, visiting before they made the decision to buy the place.
The price was fantastic. But the owner—an aging widow who had no family left to bequeath it to—wanted them to see it first so they wouldn’t be surprised about its “quaint” and “rustic” style. The realtor told them those were keywords for “run down” and “small,” and that they should keep their expectations low. “There are plenty of cabins in these mountains. Most of them are at least updated enough to have modern amenities.” But Adam and Kate fell in love with the cabin from the moment they stepped over the threshold. It had taken some updating, and a bit of money they really didn’t have at the time. But in the end, after all the issues with Sarah and the hospital bills and the long hours at work, this place had been worth all the effort and expense.
Adam was snapped out of his reverie when the computer chirped, signaling that it was connected to the phone he’d placed on the desk. The phone would provide a faster connection than the small satellite on the roof of the cabin, if the signal was strong enough. There was always a mild technological paradigm shift when they visited the cabin. Having to deal with a spotty cellular or internet connection was a thing of the past in most cities, and even many rural areas had boosting stations that stretched the signals put out by the “broadcast bubbles” over the metropolitan regions. Here in the mountains, however, you could find yourself hurled back to the proverbial stone ages of internet connectivity. It could be frustrating. Which was why Adam and Kate had agreed on their “golden rule” for the cabin: No working here, if it could be helped. This was a place of refuge.
At the moment, though, the work just couldn’t be avoided. Their refuge could end at any second.
He clicked on a chat window at the bottom of his screen and waited.
Signal. Good.
Good enough.
He opened one more program—a security program he’d borrowed from his IT director back at the treatment facility. He wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but he knew it involved something with “tunnels” and “256-bit encryption,” a technology that was already outdated, but still considered secure enough for basic business.
Adam didn’t need Pentagon-level security to send the message he needed to send — they’d be on him soon enough anyway — but he didn’t want to be completely transparent.
The list of contacts in the messaging software was short, and he scrolled through it quickly to find who he was looking for. He double-clicked the name and a small blank window came up, a cursor blinking at him at the bottom.
AB: We’re here. You awake?
He waited for a response, but none came.
Impatient, he opened a web browser and pulled up a local news station’s website. Most of the articles were standard “slow news day” content. A list of ways to stay healthy without working out, the top restaurants in the area, and one on the best breed of dog to own when you have children.
Then he found the one he was looking for.
Water Treatment Facility Evacuated After Explosion.
The article was short, its author no doubt having suffered from a lack of eyewitness accounts and factual knowledge regarding the incident, but it was bold enough to mention “possible terrorist attack” as one avenue the police were investigating.
Adam’s name wasn’t mentioned—a minor exclusion he was grateful for, but he knew it didn’t matter. They’d know who he was by now. Releasing his name to the public would only slow down their search, not help it.
The messaging app dinged, alerting him to a new message.
EG: Glad to hear it. Hopefully safe and sound.
He quickly typed his reply.
AB: Yes. Thanks for the help. Did you make contact?
EG: I did. He’s standing by, ready at his lab in Denver.
AB: Not willing to meet us?
EG: Doesn’t want to risk it. He’s already going out on a limb for us.
AB: Okay, what’s the timeline?
Adam shifted in his chair, the wooden seat feeling harder and colder than when he’d first sat down. He had a hard time focusing on the plan—he’d been over it a million times in his head, and a few times with Ethan Greer—the man on the other side of this chat. But it was different now.
This is real.
He shifted again as he read the response.
EG: Same as before. Give me time to get to the city, and I’ll meet you day after tomorrow. Same place.
AB: Got it. Any news on the breach?
Adam already knew what Ethan would say; he’d read the news report himself. The local stations were reporting only on what they knew and what would get clicks and views: There was an explosion at the water treatment plant, and no one knew exactly what had happened yet, but as long as “possible terrorist attack” was still on the table, they’d keep touting it until it was on the nightly news.
EG: Not much, a few articles mentioning the explosion. Stay out of trouble and you should be fine.
Ethan clearly wasn’t as paranoid as Adam felt right now. He wasn’t the one who’d been chased out of his house and city by UVF vehicles. Even though the UVFs wouldn’t be able to traverse the rutty dirt road that led to the cabin, they would have already uploaded the coordinates of the chase and the video footage of the getaway. Police officers of the old-fashioned human variety could be at his door within a couple days, once they’d mapped the area and developed a plan.
But there was nothing more Adam could do. They’d find the cabin, but it would still take a few days to put everything together. Waiting was the last thing Adam wanted to do, but the plan was all he had. They’d stick to it, no matter what. People were counting on him.
His own family was counting on him.
The night stretched thin, like too little butter on too much toast. It was lasting forever, but there wasn’t enough substance to it to give Adam any rest. His eyes opened every fifteen minutes, silently pleading for his alarm to ring. He watched the hours ooze by as he lay next to Kate, listening to her rhythmic, light snoring and wondering how she could possibly be so calm, even in the grip of the suppression. Finally, after decades of purgatory in the night, the faintest whispers of light trickled in from the window above their bed.
Finally he rose and made his way to the kitchen. He mindlessly flicked the switch on the coffee pot, waiting to make sure it had water inside before moving to the computer desk.
Adam wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but it should certainly have been something more than what blinked up at him from his screen.
Nothing.
There weren’t even any junk emails, much less a distress call or emergency warning from Ethan.
He shook his head, coming to grips with the situation. His family was safe for now, and there was no one within miles of their secluded cabin. The police were on to him, and they’d be here eventually, but he planned to be long gone before then.
Adam wondered if his own paranoia was getting the best of him. He spent the rest of the morning arguing silently with himself, trying to decide if his increased stress levels were in fact keeping him on his toes or causing him undue worry. By the time the rest of the family meandered into the kitchen and living area, he’d prepared a massive feast of pancakes, bacon, and egg. He also chug
ged his way through three cups of coffee.
They shared a solemnly quiet breakfast together, at once peaceful and nerve-wracking. On many of their “first mornings” here, the kids could be so excited and rambunctious and impatient that it was almost impossible to have a conversation at all. They’d spent countless weekends up here over the years, countless breakfasts lounging in pajamas while laughing and sharing stories about frogs they’d found or logs trees they’d climbed, or about all the exploits they’d gotten up to at the waterfall.
The waterfall—what a metaphor. That’s how it felt to him right now, to sit with these memories of loud and laughing mornings while surrounded by silence. The memories pushed him downward, threatening to take him off of his feet and send him hurtling down the river if he wasn’t careful.
Beautiful things could be dangerous.
He remembered telling the twins during a visit years ago that a secret cave could be found behind the waterfall, and they’d spent the rest of that afternoon and the next morning searching in vain. That breakfast had been a blur, the twins trying to cram enough food into their mouths to appease their parents, then darting out the door and up the path that led to the river without so much as a “good morning.”
This morning’s breakfast stood in stark contrast to all those that had come before. He watched each of his family members in turn, pausing to make eye contact before moving on the next. No smiles were exchanged, no emotions expressed, and no words were spoken.
He looked at the large container of orange juice at the center of the table and suddenly had a thought. He rose from the table and lifted the container. No one seemed to notice. Adam brought the container back to the small refrigerator they’d installed under the counter and placed the container back inside.
A minute later he returned to the table and set down a glass carafe, filled with water from their sink. It was spring-fed water, taken directly from the stream outside the cabin, and filtered through a three-phase carbon and UV filter he’d mounted on the other side of the wall. He poured himself a glass after finishing the remainder of his orange juice.