by Schow, Ryan
“What makes you say that?” she asked, her full attention on him.
“You heard the part about a population of five hundred people, right?” he said. “I bet half of them have family trees that don’t fork. It’s just a guess, but the odds are fifty-fifty.”
“How long?” she asked.
“If I don’t run into problems, it’s eight hours there. I’ll stay the night somewhere, maybe in Medford—if I’m not shot for being a California Gweilo.”
Ignoring the comment, she opened her desk drawer, got the keys to a safe, then opened it under her desk and pulled out what looked like a stamp booklet. “Here, put this on your windshield,” she said as she cut off a corner of the book with the single sticker.
“I’ll be taking a motorcycle,” he added.
“You’ll need an escort,” she said, handing him the official pass.
“Not with this,” he said, taking it.
Frowning, looking at him like he pulled one over on her, she said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. Just let me know when it’s done.”
Standing up, he said, “You know, you’re prettier when you frown. You should try that more.”
She tried to smile, just to spite him, and it would have been great had her genetic sequence not been all kinds of wrong.
“Yeah,” he said, “but like the opposite of that.”
“I don’t like you,” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
And with that, he stood up, smiled all the way to his desk, then finished out his day and went home.
Chapter Twenty-One
When he walked into his apartment and saw Kim, she was in white panties and a charcoal gray tank top eating a bowl of noodles and watching state run programming on TV.
“You look exhausted,” she said. “Long day?”
“Long week,” he replied.
“Looks like someone came and got the bodies,” she said, looking at him extra long.
“Happened late last night,” he said. “You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. No one came over while I was at work? I mean, to ask or complain about the noise yesterday?”
“If you ran a slaughter house in here no one would complain,” she said, twirling her fork in the noodles. “So you got rid of them then?”
“I did.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, slurping a rope of noodles, “but you should have waited for me. What if you ran into trouble?”
“I did,” he said.
When he told her what happened, how he handled it, she said, “It used to be that a man was attractive if he had a good job, knew how to dress and liked to spend copious amounts of money on the ones he loved.”
“Did you ever have anyone like that?” he asked.
She laughed and it wasn’t a pretty laugh. It was rather gruff. Yet somehow it fit her personality. “I was nerd. The only guys who liked me were good in math, dressed totally spastic and had big dicks they didn’t know what to do with.”
“Sounds romantic,” he teased. “You must have been tickled pink.”
“I want you to tickle me pink,” she said, setting the noodles aside. “Unless that was a one-off.”
“It wasn’t a one-off,” he said. “But I’ve got some bad news and some worse news.”
“Can I have the worse news first?” she asked.
“There’s an EMP that’s about to detonate over the US. I’m not sure if it’s one or many nukes, but they want to knock the power out to take out the South American Army as it surges.”
“That’ll kill our entire grid,” she said, aghast.
“I know.”
Shaking her head, picking up her bowl again, looking not at him this time, and not at the television either, she said, “You’re not mistaken, are you? I mean, we thought this would happen. We were actually sure, but...”
“I’m not mistaken,” he said. “This is what Skylar needed to get to me. This was why she co-opted me I think. For a message like this.”
“So when is this EMP supposed to hit?” she asked.
“Seven days.”
“What?” she said, sitting up so fast a noodle broke off and fell on her shirt.
She didn’t seem to notice.
“I think there are several things they’re coordinating,” he said.
The second he got the all-access pass (sticker) from Ming Yeung, he’d sent a quick email to Tristan using the email address he’d found at Han’s desk. He knew by the password provided him that the contents of the server needed to be reported back to Tristan.
The hacker had gotten back with him right away, wanting to know what Logan had found at the physical location. Logan told him about the countdown to the EMP.
TRISTAN: That actually makes sense. The Arizona border wall has officially collapsed. Troops are converging into the country, splitting their forces three ways up the middle with the largest groups of soldiers and artillery heading to Southern California.
LOGAN: What about the ships?
TRISTAN: They’re halfway through the North Pacific Ocean carrying some very interesting parts.
LOGAN: Such as?
TRISTAN: A regiment of vehicles on two boats and replacement parts for nuclear generators on three others. Confirmation one hour ago. That’s why they’re going to hit the west coast with an EMP. They need to wipe out the SAA before it gets to CA, but not affect their incoming cargo. You have the time line. I think I have the location.
LOGAN: Are you going to be safe?
TRISTAN: Not sure my toilets will still flush. Pretty sure yours won’t either.
LOGAN: Will you still be online?
TRISTAN: We’ll see when it happens. 10-4 OAO.
Over and out.
As he sat there with Kim, looking at her, wanting only to be swept away in the essence of her, he knew what was coming. They were about to be tested in ways not even the Chicom regime could match. In fact, this being their operation, they were guaranteed to make a bad situation measurably worse. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the South American Army ransacked California.
In a low, hollowed out voice, Kim said, “So basically the Chicoms are going to wipe out everything, then fight the foot soldiers with the troops and artillery now on boats headed our way?”
“Yes, that sounds right.”
“And then they’ll pick up what the South American Army attacked and claim it as their territory, effectively controlling half the nation.”
“Yes,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, blew out a breath, then looked at him and said, “Well I can’t say it’s a bad plan. It’ll suck for us, but at least we won’t be caught in the middle of their war.”
“That we know of,” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“All this talk of the end of civilization is giving me a softie,” he said. “I have to eat, then we can have sex, and after that, maybe we can eat some more and have some more sex.”
“So what’s the bad news?” she asked.
“I have to leave for Oregon in the morning,” he said. “I have to warn Harper and Skylar’s family.”
“What about Skylar?” she asked.
“She knew the risk.”
“That’s cold,” Kim said. He shrugged his shoulders as he made himself a peanut butter and nothing else sandwich. “Hurry up and eat something, if this is the last sex I’m going to get, I want it ASAP.”
“You should come with me,” he said.
“And miss all this?” she asked, looking out the dirty window and fanning her hand like this was a game show and the world was her prize. “I don’t think so.”
“You realize how much danger you’d be in, right?” he asked, the old bread breaking apart under the hard peanut butter.
“This fight was always going to be a one way ticket, Logan. We’re in it until the end. And we’re not coming out unless we win.”
“What if we don’t win?” he asked.
“Then we’ll take as many
of them down to hell with us as we can. Are you done eating already?”
He looked up and she was already peeling her clothes off. When she was done—and there wasn’t much to take off anyway—she looked at him, made sure he saw her, then sauntered back into his room saying, “I’ll be warming myself up while you mess around with that sandwich.”
Dropping the food, he walked back to the room after her, pulling off his clothes on the way there.
After banging out a historic session with Kim, he laid there over the sheets, his body covered in sweat and the smell of sex, his mind, body and soul in need of rest.
“What are you thinking?” she said, her hand flopping on his chest.
“I was wondering if they were going to move me into a nicer apartment with this new promotion,” he mused. “That would have been nice.”
“Is that normal when you’re promoted?” she asked.
“It can be. But then I was wondering if the housing authority took issue with you living here and Skylar gone. I mean, we haven’t been visited, so that’s good…”
“If Yoav said he’s got it covered,” she told him, matter of fact, “he does.”
“I trust him, but I’m also cautious.”
Getting out of bed, putting on her clothes, she said, “Let’s go get our Unfettered Hate out of the way, then come back and do it again.”
“Oh, you’re doing that now?” he asked.
“Yoav got me my fake ID, so technically I live here now,” she said. “You will be up for another round with me, right?”
“Mentally I’m up for the task, but I’m not sure my soldier is. I need rest, Kim. Serious sleep. In the morning, if we get up early enough, we can start the day out right.”
“Put on your clothes,” she said, waving him out of bed. “We have to be ready.”
She was suddenly super aware of standing before the television and participating in her Unfettered Hate.
He got out of bed, put on his pants and a shirt.
In the living room in front of the TV waiting for fake Mao to come on and tell them how glorious The People’s Republic of China was and how America now remained on a bent knee sucking the Communist banana, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Kim.”
With the phones pointed at them and the television on, the fake Chairman Mao Tse Tung—ruthless former leader and now dead dictator—appeared on the television saying the same thing he said every night for years.
When prompted, Logan and Kim screamed at the screen, and at each other and at the windows. They screamed their hearts out because their screams were being recorded, checked for authenticity by AI voice analytics, and stored to be measured against the past screams.
From what he understood of the rumors circulating amongst the staff at SocioSphere, if you failed to hit a certain level of energy during Unfettered Hate, they would take it that you were trying to hold on to your hatred and use it as fuel against them. Therefore, to not try was tantamount to conspiracy to commit treason against the state, and that carried with it a death sentence to be carried out on the spot.
Three software engineers, one of the IT managers and a hardware designer were all killed for not expelling enough hatred. They’d kept too much inside. That was wrong. If they had any hatred left, it was only a little and only because Chairman Mao said it needed to be stored for the next day.
But what if there wasn’t a next day?
“Enough!” the fake Chairman on television snapped.
Logan and Kim fell silent, their chests rising and falling from the strain of doing their part to reassure the state that in even the most mundane of tasks, they were loyal to the Chicoms.
Logan dared not show emotion for the cell phones were connected to the smart TV’s and they were connected to the Nest system both on the wall and in the kitchen.
Any significant deviance from the norm would be recorded and flagged for variance.
After it was over, Logan shut off the television.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, taking his phone with him into the bedroom. He looped the digital recording in the dark, then set the harmless phone on the dresser where it would be playing a recording and not invading their privacy.
“If you’re not going to take me for another ride,” she said, “then at least let me cuddle.”
“If I had known you were like this outside class, I would not have been so hateful toward you.”
“When you get back into town, if you come back and there is no EMP, then I will go harder on you than before.”
He laughed and pulled back the blankets. Watching her as she undressed, he was actually looking forward to her crawling in bed beside him. To think he’d spent all that time dreaming of Skylar only to now be sharing a bed, his body and his affections with Kim…
Who would have thought?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harper didn’t remember falling asleep, she didn’t remember dreaming, and when she opened her eyes, just the right amount of sunlight was cutting through the window. She woke rested, relaxed and ready for the day.
It wasn’t like that back in the city. She never smiled, for every day was you praying something would give or change. It was you hating your life, the people around you, everything that eviscerated the world you once loved.
Making matters worse, each day somehow managed to bring about more pain than the last.
It wasn’t like that now. Not up there. Not in the woods on the outskirts of Five Falls, Oregon. For that, every day felt like a gift. Something to treasure.
She moseyed into the kitchen where Connor left some literature for her on the table with a note that said: New girl—start reading.
Laughing, she picked up the first of half a dozen old books about making ammo and thought, I guess it’s better than writing software the enemy would later use to enslave you.
She’d been reading a thin manual with old ink that felt dry on the page. A yellowing around the edges, and the slightly crispy feel of it, gave the indication that this book had been passed down through the generations.
This book was short, easy and pretty clear. She got the fifty-foot overhead view of what making your own ammunition was all about. It seemed pretty simple. Basically, you took the old casing, removed the primer and set a fresh primer. After flaring the end of the casing, you add the gunpowder and the projectile, and then you run it through the press and bingo, you’re done.
Easy peasy, fast and sleazy.
It was the measuring of the gunpowder and the making of the bullet itself that required both precision and artistry. At least, that was her assumption. That’s where Connor came in. Ammo was his specialty.
“Morning,” Connor said. Cooper trotted into the kitchen after him, sniffed her, then sat down closer to Connor than her.
“Good morning,” Harper said.
“I see you got the literature I set out for you,” he said.
“I figured it was for the other new girl,” she joked. “Thought I’d start reading it anyway.”
“Sorry, I forgot your name for a second. I kept thinking Harley, but that’s because I miss my Hog.”
“It’s Harper,” she said.
“I know that,” he replied, sitting down and waving off the comment. “Now if I could only get Cooper to remember.”
“Is it Harley?” he said to Cooper. The dog just sat there. “Or Harper?”
Now Cooper raised an eyebrow and looked at her. This caused her to smile, and to feel like maybe she wasn’t such a stranger there anymore.
“Good dog!” Connor said, scratching the pup’s neck.
“So which one of you is Connor and which if you is Cooper?” she asked. “I keep getting the old dog confused with the new dog.”
“I named him for that very reason alone,” Connor grinned. “See, Orbey took to yelling at me a decade or so ago. Maybe even more. It’s not my favorite thing, I’ll tell you. Now, when she wants to yell at me or him, she has to stop and think of which one of us is named which.”
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“Clever,” she conceded.
“She started yelling at the dog, calling him Connor. I used to say, ‘That’s Cooper!’ and laugh and that would piss her off. Then she’d yell at me, mistakenly calling me Cooper because she’d been yelling at the dog all day, and I’d say, ‘Darling, I’m Connor,’ and this would piss her off even more. She got frustrated, I got amused, and soon the yelling stopped.”
“So you got your way,” Harper laughed.
“It only took a few weeks. But then she found she’d gotten her way, too,” he said. “Soon as she stopped yelling, I started behaving more. It was kind of a give/give situation I forced through sheer brilliance.”
“How long have you been married?” she asked, picking up one of the other books he’d left her.
“Gonna have our fortieth here in a few years,” he said, proud. “Don’t tell her how happy I am about it, but know that even though I grouse like a fussy old fart, it’s because these bones are getting creaky. It’s not her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Awe…that’s sweet.”
His eyes flashed with worry. “Don’t tell her I said that either. Knowing her, she’ll use it as leverage for later.”
Harper started laughing again, something she hadn’t done in years. “You guys are funny,” she said.
“It’s a balancing act we got down a couple of years ago. This is the most at peace I’ve ever been and I don’t want anything getting in the way of my Zen life. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s all about to go sideways. I just want to enjoy it while I can.”
“Speaking of your Zen life, I read enough of this little book to understand some about you making fresh rounds.”
Of course, when she told Connor she understood the process, he smiled at her, then looked at Cooper and said, “You hear that, boy? The new girl understands the process.”
“I mean from a general overview,” she tried to say. Looking at the dog, she said, “You know what I mean, don’t you Connor?”
