“Most importantly, I want to stress the fact that we don’t know the root cause of the malfunction at this time. Patches have always been safe. So I urge you to refrain from jumping to conclusions that may cause harm to yourself or your fellow man. We should all be in this together — united in the common goal of recovery. For the time being, please don’t request emergency aid unless you’re in imminent danger Our systems will be taxed while we do our best to serve every Citizen properly. Let’s work together to recover from this horrible tragedy as one.
“Take care Continentals.”
“Turn it off,” Mom said with a wave of her limp hand. She tried to sit up but couldn’t summon the strength. Brooks offered her the water in his sippy cup. Mom smiled as best she could and patted his brown mop of curls. Her hand brushed past the boy’s right ear. A shadow fell across her solemn face.
I knew instantly what bothered her. There was no need to transmit that thought. EC421. That’s the chip Dad had — and Brooks still had.
“Maybe since...” but I stopped. Since what? Since he didn’t die already? Since he had a recycled chip? What could I possibly say to comfort my mom at a time like this? Brooks was undocumented. Chip Removal Units would do more harm than good.
Instead, I tugged Brooks by the hand and patted my lap, beckoning him like a puppy. “Come on, Bit. Mommy needs her nite nite.” The boy shrieked at his nickname, which always meant playtime. I couldn’t help but wonder at hearing the innocence in my baby brother’s laughter, if this was our last chance at a tiny scrap happiness. What new quiet world waited for us, at just thirteen and four, when we dared open the front door again?
AS NIGHT FELL AND MY mom gained enough strength to move, it was time to address the elephant in the room; the one shaped like my dad’s corpse. I dreaded the walk to the dining room, where I vowed never to step foot again after this. The sight of him on the floor, covered in black blood and pink stained lace doilies, was disturbing to say the least.
More disturbing was the distinct odor of charred meat. My brain knew it was my dad, but my stomach didn’t. Yesterday’s breakfast was long gone. The hard way. My cheeks burned as guilty rumbles of hungry recognition bubbled through my abdomen. I shut my swollen eyes tight to push the image of medium rare meat out of my mind.
Dad was still where I had left him, which might seem like the most obvious thing. But in this strange new world I half expected him to have moved. Abnormal became the norm. Sometime during the night one of the news stations mentioned the possibility of malfunctioning chips turning people into zombies. That was a bit much even after everything I’d seen. But Howie was a sucker for that talk.
Howie!
I stopped at the doorway, inches from the creeping pool of my dad. //Howie. Howie are you there? Please tell me you’re OK.// I transmitted the plea to Howie as I braced myself against the wall.
No answer.
My gaze met Mom’s red-ringed eyes and I said, “I don’t think we can do this by ourselves.”
“You’re right.” Mom could barely stand on her own much less drag eighty percent of a dead body. “I’ll try to find help.” She nodded her head toward the sirens now blaring all around outside. Were they coming or going? Maybe both. The noise grated on my ears after the silence of the night before.
Mom edged her way out the front door, clinging to the wall the whole time. This was going to take forever. I looked back at Dad’s body and sighed.
Brooks tugged at my dress. “Daddy!” He darted past me before I could think. Trailing his blankie behind him, Brooks bent over Dad’s body. With one tiny finger he touched the blob where Dad’s chip had been. “Daddy’s owie.”
“No!” My wits restored, I snatched him away. “Daddy’s nite nite Bit,” I lied, turning to shield his baby face. I grabbed his goopy finger and wiped it across my dress, carrying him toward the hallway. Brooks wriggled and went limp, arms up in the air.
“If I let you down, you have to leave Daddy alone. Go watch cartoons.” I allowed him to win the struggle to get down and patted his bottom, scooching him toward the family room.
“I can’t. That man’s still on the TV.” Brooks pouted. Still, he left and I was alone again with the first person I’d watch glitch.
“Daddy’s owie,” I repeated under my breath.
Sliding double doors separated the dining room from the rest of the house. The air was already stagnant enough and closing the doors made it harder to breathe, but I couldn’t risk Brooks barging in again. I pulled the tablecloth from the dining room table and I balled it up. Then I just stared at it.
Something banged on the window and I jumped. Opening eyes I didn’t know I’d shut, I could see Mom leaning against the big window in the front of the house. The blinding sun behind her seemed out of place, as if the world should now be shrouded in the same darkness that I felt. Her lips moved but I couldn't make out the words. She hit the window again with a bloody hand and pointed to the front door.
I ran around the kitchen island to keep Brooks from seeing me. When I reached the front door, Mom was nearly on her knees, clutching the doorknob. “Inside,” she panted as I tried to pull her into the house. We struggled for a minute but it was clearly a waste of time. I couldn’t drag a grown up.
Mom flopped to the ground and motioned behind her back where something blue poked out. “The garden tarp,” she said between shallow breaths. “Put it over Daddy. That’s the best we can do for now. There’s no help coming.”
Leaving my mom to regain her strength outside, I traced my same hidden path back around the island and through the kitchen. The garden tarp we’d used to cover Mom’s roses during overnight freezes dragged behind me like a giant blankie. Dad’s blankie now.
When I reached his body, still somehow exactly where he’d fallen, I felt that I should at least say something, give him a proper burial. I dug in his pocket and removed his stone, then slid it into the pocket of my dress. It clanked to rest beside my own.
As I stared at my dad’s corpse, the only words that came to mind were those of an old bedtime prayer Grandma always made him say when he was a kid. It was something passed down through generations, from before. With the tarp soaking in his goo, I tucked my dad in.
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
MOM STAYED ON THE FRONT porch long past sunset, unable to move the few inches it would take to come back in the house. I wished she’d hurry up, but would never say so. Sirens rang out all over the place now and it was so loud that even President Sturn couldn’t talk over them. Not that it mattered. It was still the same old speech.
I didn’t have the heart to close the door and leave her out there alone, but the noise from the sirens was upsetting Brooks and — if I was being honest — me. How could they be everywhere and not help us?
“It’s alright, baby. Just close it. I’ll be fine. Maybe take a little nap out here.” The edges of her cracked lips turned up in a smile that resembled a marionette tugging a string.
I stalled, stuck between slamming the door against the clamor outside and leaving it open in a much-needed show of solidarity. From the way she looked, distant dull eyes and dried white ooze lines down her neck, I was so scared she’d be dead, too, the next time I opened it.
Suddenly, Brooks appeared in the doorway with one hand shielding his ear from the sirens and the other full of supplies. He dropped a small pillow beside Mom’s blood-soaked head and shoved a banana in her face. I ran to help, picking up the old sheet that trailed behind him and laying it over her body. Her eyes kept closing.
“Want a nana?” Brooks asked, tapping Mom on the shoulder with the offered fruit. “Nana?”
“Here, Bit, let’s make Mommy some lunch.” I led him to the side of the porch and away from Mom’s rattling snore. We piled the banana, cheese slices, and other random contents of the bottom refrigerator drawer — ev
erything he could reach — close to Mom. “She’ll be very hungry when she wakes up. You did good.”
I patted Brooks on top of the head with my cleanish hand and ushered him back inside, taking the long way around Mom’s sleeping body so he couldn’t see the blood and gore still congealed in her hair.
Brooks struggled against my grip, “Tangie.” His bottom lip quivered.
I had forgotten all about Tangie. “He’s fine, Bit. Cat’s don’t have chips.”
//Howie. Where are you? Please be OK.// I tried another chip-to-chip. Anticipation and crippling fear stole my breath. What if he never answers?
Chapter Four
Brooks didn’t go down easily that night. Totally wired, he jumped on his bed singing the Choo-Choo song loud enough to drown out the sirens that still screamed way past midnight. I closed us both up in his room and sank into the corner. Through half-closed eyes I struggled to follow the brown curly blur back and forth from the toddler bed to the bean bag chair in the middle of the floor.
Even in my haze I smiled, remembering the day my little brother threw one of his famous Bit-Fits to get the ugly thing. His high-pitched squeal coursed through my chip and bore a hole directly into my brain. He’d only had his own chip a couple days but he was a natural. I knew recycled chips were dangerous and my parents had fought over whether to let the then two-year-old Brooks get one. In the end, Dad won out by telling Mom they’d only get a ‘clean’ chip from Sector A since those were harvested from only verified natural peaceful deaths.
Some underground peddlers tried to say theirs were pure, only from infants and children who’d rejected their implants for whatever reason. “Yeah and they only drove them to the grocery store and back once a week, too,” Mom had said, scrunching her nose the same way I sometimes do. I hadn’t understood what she meant, but I knew that tone all too well.
And so it was that two days after implanting his new chip, Brooks had mastered thought transfers. His first order of business? That nasty bean bag chair.
Dad had just smiled at his boy and pulled the tattered old thing out of the neighbor’s “FREE” pile of junk by the roadside trash, saying, “You know Mommy’s gonna have my butt for this.”
Now, the rhythmic squeak-thump of Brooks jumping from bed to bean bag lulled me into a fitful sleep. I rubbed my burning eyes and pushed myself up the wall to a somewhat standing position. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Although my parents’ bedroom was never off limits per se, we still never ventured in there unless it was absolutely necessary. After recent events, I was even more hesitant, worried about disturbing the items that would now become a shrine to my poor dad. And maybe Mom, too, I caught myself thinking.
The enormity and eeriness of the day made me expect the Boogeyman himself lurking around every corner. I couldn’t turn lights on fast enough to kill the long shadows growing up the walls. Thoroughly creeped out, I snatched my dad’s old radio off the end table and ran back to Brooks’s room. All the while chanting //Howie// into my chip with no response.
Brooks showed no sign of slowing, the Choo-Choo song more annoying than ever. I set up the radio and breathed a sigh of relief as the smooth deep voice of The Fox filled the room. The Fox was Dad’s favorite radio guy. Brooks and I always groaned when he turned on the radio because The Fox only talked. He talked and talked and talked and never played any music. Boring. Plus it was only radio. No hologram, no 4D haptic feedback. Just his voice. Extra boring.
Now, however, his baritone soothed the frayed edges of my nerves. Even Brooks seemed to calm, jumping back and forth a tiny bit slower and thank Stone, forgetting the Choo-Choo song.
“Until we know more,” The Fox said, a little too upbeat for my liking, “I’m going to refrain from giving you listeners casualty numbers. I think that would be highly irresponsible of me. For those of you who can still get online, my comments section is open and will remain so as long as possible. Feel free to conspiracy theory yourselves out in there. You’re going to anyway. But I won’t put any of it over the air until we have confirmation. Remember, these are real people — friends, neighbors, humans — that we lost today. Keep it civil.”
Also, a bit of housekeeping. We only have two moderators right now. Go easy on them or I’ll sic the bots on you and nothing will fly.”
Brooks had stopped jumping and started snuggling with Andy Panda on the bean bag. Any minute now. I knew I should put him on the bed but wouldn’t dare move him and risk breaking the spell of The Fox’s deep monotone.
The Fox continued, “All I can confirm at this time is basically what we’ve all heard from President Sturn. The EC421 chips aborted mid-patch. I read the fine print myself regarding this patch and nothing jumps out at me. It’s pretty standard Geo-locating and routine maintenance stuff. The reason for the abort in, what we know so far, only the EC421 is unknown.”
I could feel myself fading and snuck a peek at Brooks. His mouth did that sucking thing, a telltale sign that he was down for the count. I knew I should use that time to get some sleep. My whole body begged me to, but I couldn’t give in until Howie answered. My constant mayday transmitted to him in the background while The Fox kept his show going.
“I have a holo call here with Dr. Abend. Doctor, do I have your permission to broadcast?”
“Yes, I give permission,” a scratchy female voice broke in.
“Dr. Abend, we’ve been hearing multiple reports that the chips, these EC421s, were purposely targeted with the new patch. Now, I’m not feeding into any conspiracies. I already told my audience to keep that stuff in the comments sections.”
“However... these rumblings seem to come from reputable sources, one of which is a high-level officer with Global Defense. One, why would Galactic Security even be involved in a routine patch, and two, is it even possible to target one model of chip specifically?”
“I won’t speculate as to GSA’s involvement, as I’m not privy to any of their communications. However, as to your second point, yes. It’s entirely possible to specifically sync... I won’t say target... but sync to individual models. More likely a scenario is that the code for the EC421 wasn’t clean.”
“Each generation of chips will have its own code, own parameters. That’s only logical as technology evolves. The issue we’ve faced for years now is that new scientist coming out of school aren’t familiar with the outdated technology of older chips like the 421. This entire tragedy could be because of the gap between old tech and new minds.”
“Wow,” Fox interrupted. “It’s hard to imagine something so trivial being the cause of all this suffering.”
“I know. So sad and so preventable. Remember the Council issued the removal order for all chips just five years ago. If more people followed the initiative, this wouldn’t have been as wide scale as I fear it will turn out to be.”
“Yeah, but come on. We all know that billions of people still have chips. I still have mine. I’ll admit it.”
The doctor butted in. “I’m not saying it’s the public’s fault. I still have my chip as well. Had it since I was an infant. Can’t seem to bring myself to remove it.” She sighed, wistfully. “And I count myself extra lucky that I wasn’t affected. Nor anyone in my immediate family.”
“So true. We’re among the lucky few.” The Fox agreed. “But Dr. Abend, how would the chip fail in such a ‘catastrophic’ way, to quote President Sturn?”
“My best guess, albeit educated as it is, would be that they simply froze. The same basic principle behind your holopad freezing. Only problem with chips, especially older generations, is no reboot capabilities. The patch didn’t download properly and the chips just kept trying until the froze.”
Chapter Five
January 20, 5AG
“Alright, that’s quite enough.” Guard One rose to his full height, towering over Synta who still sat lounging all the way back in her uncomfortable chair. He cracked his knuckles one by one as he rounded the table and got right in Synta’s face.
He was scary as hell, but she wasn’t about to let him know it. Synta forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly, regulating the oxygen flow through her jumpy nerves.
Guard Two didn’t budge. He didn’t even glance in their direction, choosing to study the crooked plaque on the wall opposite his corner. Either he was used to this display of machismo, or he knew not to interfere. Synta wasn’t sure which, or if it mattered. It was obvious who was in charge.
“What are you hiding?” Guard One’s breath smelled of expired rations. They weren’t living too high on the hog up here. He was stuck eating the same garbage as she was. The equality of it emboldened Synta.
“They’re not gonna let you on either.” Synta leaned up, what little she could with him in her face, and smiled. Her light brown eyes steady on the man’s thick neck. Behind his ear, the telltale lump of his own chip.
The guard’s eye twitched, but he regained his composure. “This thing?” He pointed at his implant. “Occupational necessity.”
Synta noticed that he didn’t touch it, just pointed. She examined it closer, now that it was also right in her face. Mottled skin sagged low but didn’t ooze. It held up pretty well considering. “Is that what they told you?”
Guard One smiled. “Don’t you worry about me, missy. I got a seat on that ship.” His gaze drifted to the thick concrete wall behind Synta’s head.
At least now she knew which way to go when she got out of this room.
The light flickered again, its cadence slowing. Synta wondered how long they had until total darkness and formulated her new plan of escape.
“Who did you come here with?” Guard Two spoke for the first time.
“I’m quite alone.” Synta said slowly under her breath.
Chapter Six
May 15, 2241
Reality invaded the cozy edges of darkness in my mind. I raised my eyebrows high in an attempt to loosen the glue that welded my eyelids shut. Sweat pooled around my neck and in the creases of my arms and legs. With the one eye that cooperated, Brooks’s empty bed came into unfocus. The recognition of where I lay brought with it the dread of realization that none of it had been a dream.
Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Page 2
