“And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” she sneered. “None of you people are my responsibility. Not one of you.”
How could one person be so numb? No wonder she lived alone with her mother before everything happened. She probably had a lot of really smelly cats, too.
And just as Felice stood and opened her mouth again to say something else really nasty, Andrew decided to relieve himself while sitting on his perch directly above her head.
I saw it happen. I saw him lift his tail feathers. I watched him suck his head in and open his beak just a little bit, while closing his eyes with a look of supreme pleasure on his feathered mug.
Felice screamed when she got splattered.
I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, that was one of the most satisfying dumps I experienced in a long, long time.
43
NEDRA TOOK FREAKY Big Bird to gargle.
Well, Nedra took a hysterical Freaky Big Bird to gargle, with a fair amount of shrieking and squawking, and anything else a giant canary would do if a crow pooed in its mouth.
I never loved Andrew more than at that moment. No one could ever say he was a stupid bird.
Still, in a great show of trying but failing to be mad at him, Jimmy kept saying “Andrew. You’re a bad bird. You’re a bad, bad bird.”
“Bad, bad bird,” Andrew repeated over and over again.
No one bought it.
Even my dad had an amused look on his face. I guess watching someone get a mouthful of poo at the exact nanosecond they most deserved it tickled his funny bone, too.
When the after-effects of Andrew’s little bomb died down, Charlie Buckman cleared his throat. His mother put one hand on his as if to stop him. He gently brushed it away and smiled lovingly at his parents.
“I’d like to say something if I may,” he began. All I could picture was this good-looking guy with the white teeth pouring gasoline on his poxer wife and sending her to oblivion. That must have been the hardest thing in the world to do—even harder than me torching Uncle Don. Even harder than that.
Prianka took my hand and gently pulled me back to the floor.
Aunt Ella nodded her head and said, “Please.”
Charlie Buckman cleared his throat. “I’m amazed,” he said. “I’m amazed at all of you. I can’t put into words how much you all embody the best of humanity.”
“Except for Freaky Big Bird,” mumbled Bullseye as he sat on the picnic blanket with us, chewing on one potato chip like it was the last potato chip in the world and he was going to make it last. Thankfully, no one heard him but those of us sitting on the floor.
“This had been hard on everyone,” he continued. “We’ve all been through more than any of us ever thought we could handle. Still, we’ve survived because of our strength and our spirit.”
I liked Charlie Buckman. I suppose I would listen to him on Sunday mornings at church, if my family actually did that sort of thing. I would probably even listen to him if he was the principal of my high school and he was addressing all the students in an impromptu assembly. I just hoped that he wasn’t going to get all religious on us. I think that was probably the last thing any of us needed at the moment. We didn’t need prayer. We needed something more concrete than that.
Instead, Charlie turned to me and said, “Tripp is right. We can’t run anymore. I’m as big a pacifist as they come, but these people have no right to pick and choose our fate based on some inane criteria of looks, or age, or anything else. At some point, we have to say ‘no.’ If that means fighting, then we must fight. We have to be David against Goliath and we have to win.”
There were murmurs among the adults. They didn’t sound happy, that’s for sure. All I could picture was Trudy Aiken dressed in enormous armor with a sword in her hand, or maybe even Dorcas, wielding an ax like a wizened troll out of some fantasy story.
My shoulders slumped. Who were we kidding? These people weren’t fighters. We were up against soldiers with guns and bullets and a whole network of sites.
“What are you saying, Charlie?” asked my father. It was the first time he had actually chimed in. “I don’t want my family in some sort of fight with armed soldiers. I think they’ve been through enough. I think we’ve all been through enough.”
As more murmuring traveled through our group, Nedra Stein came back through the aisles followed by a humiliated Felice LeFleur. She deserved to be humiliated. She deserved everything Andrew had dropped on her head.
“I’m not a young woman,” Nedra said. “I’ve never been in a fight. I’ve never seen a war except on television, but my parents did see war. They were in Europe, in Germany, in World War II. I remember the tattooed numbers on their arms. They never wanted to talk about them. They never wanted to talk about genocide. They wanted to forget.”
Sanjay cleared his throat. “Those who forget history are condemned to repeat it,” he said. “This quote is attributed to the American philosopher George Santayana in his work, The Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” said Nedra. “I don’t want history to be repeated. I don’t know what it means to stop these people. I don’t know what it means to fight, but if I can, that’s what I intend to do.”
“But how?” Randy Stephens said as he stood and spread his long, thin arms. “We’re not fighters. I almost fainted having to burn a few poxers when we first got here. How are we supposed to fight Diana’s people? We’re not equipped.”
There were more grumblings from the adults. Meanwhile, Jimmy leaned over to me and said, “Tripp, dude. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, because I didn’t. My eyes found my friends’ eyes. Everyone looked a little miserable. We’d already done our fair share of fighting and barely made it out without getting bitten or eaten, or something even worse.
“Don’t look at me,” whispered Manny. “I’m just getting used to a hot meal and people who aren’t jumping out of helicopters and throwing photographs in my face. I’m not down with the fighting.”
Niki cuddled up against him and he put his arm around her. “I’m scared,” she said. “I just want to go home.”
It wasn’t up to me to tell her that there was no home left to go to. She was going to have to figure that out on her own, or she wasn’t going to survive.
Then Trudy Aiken stood up, slowly letting Krystal slide to the ground. For a moment, I thought about how the soldiers back on the road tried to get her to spill the beans about where Trina and I were, but she didn’t give us up. She was such a good person. They all were. How could I expect any of them to put themselves in harm’s way?
“I’ve been thinking,” Trudy said. “I’ve been thinking a lot.” She was wearing new clothing like the rest of them. She looked rested because she had slept behind the locked doors of Walmart. She had eaten. I no longer cared about how big Trudy Aiken was, or if she had taken an extra frozen banana out of the freezers. She was a good person. She was a kind person. That’s all I needed to know about her.
It turns out I was wrong.
44
“SITE 37 WAS JUST one of the places experimenting on people,” Trudy said. “Black Point Fort was probably another. Who knows how many sites are out there?”
“Those poor people,” my mother said, with tears in her eyes.
She was right. Finding and rescuing my parents and the rest was a total fluke. For every one of them, there were so many more people likely being locked up and experimented on.
“We don’t even know if Diana is the one who’s ultimately in charge,” continued Trudy. “She may be in charge here, but what about the rest of the world?”
She was right again. I’m sure there was a big boss. Diana acted like it was her. Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t, although putting the big bo
ss of an operation like Necropoxy right here in the hill towns of Western Massachusetts would have been a stroke of genius.
Talk about remote.
“Whether she is or whether she isn’t doesn’t matter,” said Trudy. “What does matter is that these sites communicate with each other. They have helicopters. They have soldiers. Unless I’m wrong, they must be using computers somehow.”
“You can’t have computers without electricity,” muttered Freaky Big Bird.
“Not exactly,” said Trudy. “Yes, you can’t access the Internet without electricity, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. The Internet is built of thousands of computers, and servers, and networks all over the world. Many of them have backup power systems that can keep things running for a long while. I have no doubt that it will eventually break down, but that will take time.”
“So?” spit Felice.
“So,” added Randy Stephens, our resident electrician, “if they have their own power source they can access whatever clandestine area of the Internet they need. I’m sure it’s protected and running.”
“They do have their own power,” I said. “Look at the McDuffy Estate. That place was lit up.”
“Okay,” said Trudy. “If they have power and computers that can communicate with each other, their sites are probably networked.”
“English, Trudy,” Dorcas croaked. “I don’t know nothing about computers.”
“Networked means that their computers can all access the same information and communications,” Trudy explained.
“That sounds right,” said Aunt Ella.
“Well, if they lost computer capabilities, they would be on their own like the rest of the world.”
What Trudy said made sense, but making sense and making it happen were two very different things.
“Okay,” I said. “So where’s the plug to turn off their power?”
Randy Stephens shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that easy. Power grids have backups, and backups to their backups. Turning off their power isn’t like flicking a switch.”
Trudy chewed on her lip for a moment. “Turning off their power isn’t the only way to disable their computer systems,” she said. She got a funny look on her face, like she was a little nervous, but I couldn’t tell why. She began wringing her hands together. Finally she nodded and took a deep breath. “Back before this all happened, we all had jobs, right? Dorcas, you drove a school bus. Doug was a doctor, Randy was an electrician.”
“Whatcha getting at, hon?” croaked Dorcas as she took another cigarette from her pocket. No one even flinched.
Trudy shifted from one foot to another then finally cleared her throat. “Back before everything, I had a job, too, and I was very good at it, or very bad, depending on the situation.” She took a deep breath. “I was . . . I mean, I am . . . a white hat.”
Dead silence.
A white hat.
So Trudy was a chef? Big whoop. I kind of figured as much. Not being mean or anything, but people didn’t get as big as Trudy Aiken without playing with pastries.
Once again, I was completely wrong.
“I don’t understand,” said Nedra. “What is a white hat?”
Sanjay stood up with Poopy Puppy at his ear and walked into the middle of the circle of people. He nodded his head then slowly let the doll fall to his side.
“White hat,” he said. “A hacker.”
Trudy’s face got all red. “That’s right,” she said, as though she were admitting to a crime.
Sanjay went on. “A white hat hacker is a computer security specialist who breaks into protected systems and networks to test and assess their security. White hat hackers use their skills to improve systems by exposing vulnerabilities before malicious hackers known as black hat hackers can detect and exploit them.”
“That’s mostly true,” Trudy admitted. “I worked for big corporations, breaking into their own systems and bringing them down so they could fix their mistakes.”
“You broke computers?” I said. “Like when people used to bring down parts of the Internet for fun?”
Trudy nodded. “I was good at it, too.”
Freaky Big Bird grumbled again. I think she was still stuck on the whole notion that she had a responsibility to the rest of us. Meanwhile, all I could think was that she was the person in the movies that you rooted for to get eaten by the monsters before everyone else got saved. “That and a dollar,” she muttered.
Sanjay, in his perfect way, turned to her with Poopy Puppy in his hand and said, “The saying is ‘That and a quarter will get you a cup of coffee.’” Then he cleared his throat. “For someone of your advanced age, the saying most likely began with, ‘that and a penny.’
Dorcas’ cigarette flew out of her mouth and had to scramble to retrieve it.
My father snorted.
“Sanjay,” Prianka scolded, but she did it with the same amount of gusto that Jimmy used when scolding Andrew.
“How rude,” huffed Freaky Big Bird, but it wasn’t rude at all. Felice had it coming. Between Andrew pooping on her and Sanjay sort of talking back, you’d think she’d get the hint. Instead, she tucked her head down between her shoulders and went back to sit at her spot next to Professor Billings. She immediately scanned the rafters, but Andrew had already moved to another perch.
Meanwhile, the professor scooted over just a bit, widening the space between the two of them.
I think she got the hint that Freaky Big Bird might have cooties.
“Okay, okay,” said Aunt Ella. “Suppose you’re right, Trudy. Suppose they’re using computers. What then?”
Little Krystal reached up with both her hands, so Trudy bent down and picked her up. “Then we hack their systems and bring them down.”
A murmur ran through the adults. Meanwhile, Manny leaned into our little group and said, “Can we do that?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know,” said Prianka as she gently waved for Sanjay to come back and join us. He slowly walked over and sat down beside Newfie and Whitby. The thin whippet licked his face, and he put his hand on her back.
“Hey Buddy,” I said. He nodded his head.
“Sanjay,” whispered Prianka. “Can Trudy do that? Bring down their computers?”
Once again, like dozens of times before, he pulled Poopy Puppy to his ear. That strange little doll had survived a poxer attack, gotten sewn back together by Stella Rathbone up in Greenfield, and still appeared perfectly able to keep helping Sanjay access the contents of his enormous brain.
Frankly, I needed a Poopy Puppy of my own.
Sanjay sat for a long while with Poopy Puppy attached to his ear. The adults kept talking but the rest of us were intent on what our little walking computer was going to say. He closed his eyes and clutched onto Poopy Puppy for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally he opened his eyes and said, “Yes, if we can find a computer that’s connected to the Internet and has power. I can even help. Poopy Puppy says so.”
45
THE UNIVERSITY.
Jimmy was the one who said it first. Even then, he whispered it to our group on the picnic blanket like it was a big secret. “There were loads of people studying computer science at the University,” he told us. “There’s got to be networked computers there.”
I took his comment and ran with it.
“What about the University?” I said a little too loudly before I had a chance to really think it through. “They teach all about computers there. I’m sure there’s a computer lab or something.”
Randy Stephens stood up, pointing his long arm at me with a long finger attached to the end of it. “That’s good,” he said. “Tripp’s right. The University would most certainly have a computer lab. They’d also have backup generators in case of blackouts.
”
“I think our situation qualifies as a blackout,” Aunt Ella said. “The University. I haven’t been there in years.”
Professor Billings cleared her throat. “Computers aren’t my specialty,” she began, “But yes, there is more than one computer lab on campus.”
“See,” whispered Jimmy.
“You’re the man,” I whispered back then immediately heard Trina’s voice in my head as though we had telepathic powers. I gestured to my sister. “I mean her man.”
“Got that right,” Trina said, then leaned in and kissed Jimmy like my parents and my aunt weren’t ten feet away.
Professor Billings continued. “I know of a computer lab in the science complex, another one in the administrative offices, and a lesser known lab in the library.”
The University library. I remember going there once on a field trip when I was in fifth grade. Prianka and Trina had been there, too. Our teacher, Ms. Wentworth, was still all about the Dewey Decimal system then, even though we had the Internet. She even sang this really goofy rap about it. Something like, ‘My name is Melvil Dewey. Nice to meet you . . . ,’ then a bunch of beat boxing and stuff.
During lunch that day, while she had been rapping, I took the opportunity to stuff a wad of paper into my chocolate milk straw and shoot a spitball in Prianka’s hair.
She almost disemboweled me with her plastic spork.
Thankfully, Ms. Wentworth was too busy grooving to Melvil Dewey to catch either of us in the act, so no blood was spilled and we got off detention-free. Back then, detention or dissection both seemed worth it for just that one glimpse of a gooey, slimy mess, tangled in Prianka’s dark hair.
I guess things change.
A lot.
Now we were huddled in a Walmart in Apple, Massachusetts, and thoughts of the University library were once again front and center—without spitballs.
This wasn’t an ordinary library. When it was built almost fifty years ago, the University library gained international attention.
Dead End Page 18
