Static blared next to my head. Fox was long gone, taking with him the thin veil of comfort his voice had provided. As that faded, the terror scratched at my memory like a nightmare you can’t quite grasp but don’t try too hard for fear you might just succeed. Another faint sound pulled me farther toward lucidity; the one I’d been begging for in my sleep.
//Syn!...Syn!// It was Howie! He sounded strange; crackly and weak. But there. Finally there!
//Howie are you alright?//
//I think so. It’s scary over here. You OK?//
//Yeah but, my dad... He...//
Silence, long minutes of nothing, then, //The tree.//
Walking the once familiar street put me on edge, although nothing had changed. Maybe that was it. There should have been upturned cars and fire everywhere. The air smelled of fire, but I wanted to see it. Test its scorching edges against the roiling within me. This boring quiet neighborhood stroll betrayed the carnage raging in my head.
It was so quiet, yet that lack of sound felt somehow... off. Birds still didn’t chirp in the trees. At least they had the sense to behave properly in this mad new world. But I couldn’t shake the suspicion that I was in the first few minutes of a bad horror movie.
The sirens had stopped, adding to the oppressive silence. Everywhere I turned there was a slight difference from the norm, under the surface. Just enough to throw me off kilter.
No people milled around. No car engines roared up and down the street. No newspapers on rustled driveways. Mr. Perl wasn’t standing by the curb in his bathrobe and flip flops waiting for Boscoe to finish peeing on Mrs. Hyster’s flowers. Everything was empty, like if I peeked behind the facade of my neighbors’ normal looking houses, I’d see blackness. Death. A void.
I half expected to see a tumbleweed roll across my normally bustling street.
I chuckled at my absurdity. “You don’t even know what a tumbleweed is.” Still, the weight of the air left me uneasy. Gravity pushed me harder to the ground and every step toward Howie and our tree trudged through invisible mud.
Beating me there as usual, Howie perched on the third branch of our tree, one leg dangling and hands folded in his lap. It always impressed and terrified me when he did that. I could climb with the best of them, but letting go and just being in the tree? I didn't have the stomach for that.
Seeing him there, composed and calm had the affect I was hoping for. The electricity in the air faded, as did the smell of distant fires. It was just me and my Buddhist Monkey.
It had been clear from the start that Howie was meant for greatness. When he was born, two years before me, his parents took one look at those emerald eyes and caramel curls and named him Howard Marshall Anderson, after his many times great grandfather. Howard used to mean 'warrior' back in the old days, before the Great Uprising. Now it might as well mean 'freedom'. Howie was free to be whatever he wanted.
My parents, on the other hand, took one look at my utter normalness and named to me Syntaxa... Just Syntaxa. One name, like everyone else, and mine meant 'boring computer drone.' As my parents and grandparents, I truly was destined to be nothing more.
When Howie was born the whole town was in an uproar. Not in many generations had a child been born with green eyes, much less light skin and soft hair that looked like a puff of clouds. No, the world they knew only had one color. Coffee. Hair, eyes, and skin were the same on every living human being. Until Howie.
I had always overheard adults talking about him the way they do when they don't expect you to understand what they're saying. Honestly, I didn't understand much anyway. Big words like paternity test and concepts of DNA were beyond me. But the world they alluded to, one with many different colors of skin and languages? My children's books didn't even attempt such fairytales.
"You gonna stand there and drool all day?" Howie called from over my head. I silently took back all the nice things I had just thought about him as I pulled myself up onto the first thick branch. Howie shook the smaller branches above his head and climbed a little higher. "I want to go up so I can keep an eye on my house."
"Good idea."
Howie settled a few positions higher and pulled me toward him. Up close, I noticed the bags under his eyes. Their forest green shined brighter somehow. I pushed the 'because he's been crying too' from my mind.
We assumed our usual positions; me leaning against the base of the tree, seated on a small sheet of plywood that had always been there. Howie, Buddhist Monkey that he was, had fashioned his own section of wood cradled between two branches. I wouldn't dare trust that contraption, preferring to stay snug against the wide breadth of the ancient oak. Of course, Howie had explained the physics and engineering magnificence that was his wall-less tree fort. But since he didn't say it in ones and zeros I always tuned him out.
Now we both stared at each other trying not to bring up the reason for this emergency meeting. Finally, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I was so worried about you! You didn't answer for so long.” I held my breath after the words fell out to keep the tears from following.
"I heard some. But really I was too scared to transmit." Howie kept his hands in his pocket. I could see him absently turning his small stone. I checked my own and a sense of comfort washed over me as the cold hard circles of mine and dad's stones cradled in my palm.
I gasped. I'd been so worried about Howie I never considered the consequences. "But you're OK, right?" My hand reached for him.
"I think so." He instinctively fingered the chip behind his ear. "I didn't feel anything, but Mom and Marcus are really sick. And Mom's worried she’s gonna miscarry. I can't be gone long." He scanned the tops of the trees and buildings between the field and his house. The thick smog made it nearly impossible to see anything other than an orange glow of fires scattered throughout the city.
"We can't find Tangie." I blurted and let the tears flow. I had finally found something small and normal enough to grieve for. A girl and her cat.
Unable to speak or even breathe, I clung to Howie and let him comfort me as always.
WALKING THROUGH MY front gate, the first thing I saw was the crumpled blanket that Mom had been under the night before. Not moving. Fear gripped my throat as I tiptoed up the steps, not wanting to look but unable to stop myself. Just as I reached the top step, Brooks's shriek from inside the house elicited a shocking word from my mouth. My eyes darted straight for that unmoving pile of blankets. Mom wasn't under them. My wits caught back up to me and I ran inside to investigate the cause of Brooks's scream.
I flung the front door open and was immediately met by the sight of my mom, upright and smiling, in the kitchen with Brooks. My mouth must have hung open for at least a minute. The smell of smoke wafted into the house behind me, coating my throat.
"I know the electricity's off Synta but that's no excuse to leave the door wide open." Mom chastised with the smile staying firm on her lips.
Brooks peeled tangerines with his fingernails, dropping the pulverized orange chunks onto a paper plate. A clean-ish bandage covered Mom's chip. Dad's blood and slime was gone from her face. Relief washed over me as I realized Mom must have felt well enough to take a shower. A welcomed new normal was returning to my world.
"How about you give us a hand with breakfast? Wash 'em first!" Mom poured my favorite cereal into a waiting bowl. I chalked the slight hoarseness in her voice up to the days of crying. "Why don't you check the fridge for some cream cheese?" Mom added, holding up a half pack of bagels.
"Daddy ate all the strawberry." Brooks blurted out, oblivious.
All the pain and trauma of the past couple day flooded back. With it came a tidal wave of thoughts of future cream cheeses that my dad won't be here to eat. How could someone could be eating the last of the strawberry cream cheese one day then just gone the next? From the look on Mom's face that she was drowning in the same sea of anguish.
Letting go of the refrigerator door, I mustered a cheerful tone. "I'm cool with tangerines. You're doing a good job Bit
." I helped make a couple decent looking tangerine pieces.
"Probably for the best," Mom recovered. "We don't know when the electricity will come back on. Better leave the fridge closed as much as possible." Mom looked at the three bowls of cereal on the counter as an afterthought.
"I like my Oops All Berries without milk anyways." I offered.
"Yuck!" Brooks chimed in.
"Bit's right. Besides milk won't last as long as the rest of the stuff if the lights stay off. Might as well." Mom opened the refrigerator door just enough to pull the milk carton out. I could see the slight limp, the 'off' way she carried herself. I didn’t let myself consider what that meant. As if sensing my eyes on her, Mom straightened her back. "So how's Howie? His family okay?"
I would have been surprised at how my mom knew what I'd been doing that morning, if it wasn't the millionth time that week she'd read my mind. I never knew if she was somehow tapping into my chip like a tracking device or bug, or if it was just a Mom thing. Probably both.
"He's fine. Worried about Pettine though. She's still not transmitting. They haven’t heard from her since..."
Mom frowned. "Poor Howie. And his mom. Maybe Pettine's chip just died." She caught the words halfway out. "Broke. You know, like mine." Mom waved her hand with the milk carton toward the kitchen table where their holopad was charging. "That thing's out right now. You kids might have to embrace old tech." Mom chuckled at herself.
"The radio worked at least. Fox had a doctor on his holo last night, too. I fell asleep though."
"That's good. I’m sure we'll be up and running soon. Haven't checked the Net. Maybe after we eat." Mom slid the sloshing bowls of cereal toward Brooks and myself and looked over our heads toward the sliding glass door.
The same dense fog that had followed me to the tree still hung in the air. Mom sighed, taking in the smoke that clung to my skin.
"It was really dark for a long time." I said with an open mouth full of cereal. "We couldn't see anything. Not even to Howie's house. He got worried and went back home."
"I'm sure it will clear up." Mom said. I didn’t believe her, and I don’t think she did either. She rummaged around in the clutter on top of the kitchen island. I knew she was looking for her phone. Ever since they made the new DR7, much smaller than anything we'd seen in my lifetime, Mom couldn't keep track of hers. She'd complained to Dad so many times about it. Dad. The reminder of him made me flinch.
"Mommy Syn 'tinks." Brooks pinched his nose for good measure.
Mom looked up from her futile endeavor and scrunched her nose toward me. I inhaled deeply, trying not to look too obvious about getting myself a once over. "It's just smoke," I said and sniffed again for real, "... and... electricity?"
"Well, regardless, I need you to wash it off." Mom pointed a screwdriver from the 'everything drawer' at the stairs.
"I'll tell you where your phone is." I bargained. Mom gave me her famous 'I don't think so, missy' look and resumed her treasure hunt. I stood, slurped the last of my milk, and dropped the bowl in the sink on my way out. "Check your pocket," trailed behind me as I passive aggressively stomped up the stairs.
//DID YOU HEAR FROM PETTINE yet?// I chipped to Howie and curled up on my bed all snug and warm. Gravity pulled at my eyelids, but I fought back, not giving Mom the satisfaction of being right about the bath. Teen heartthrob Dayne smiled from the posters plastering my walls. I allowed myself a moment to wonder if he was okay in all of this.
//No, she's not even answering her sat. Mom's talking about going to look for her, but...// The transmission trailed off.
//Maybe we should do it. My mom seems OK right now. I think I can go.// I rolled myself out of the soft bed and picked up the first outfit I found on the floor, assuming that Howie would just say 'yes.’
//Have you seen the news Syn? I don't think it's safe.//
I walked across the hall to the playroom that buffered mine and Brooks's bedrooms. I'd always wondered if it was meant to be a bedroom for a third kid, with the eight years between Brooks and myself, but never ventured to ask. Instead, I had watched as my toys disappeared over the years and baby things took their place. Now, all that was left for me to 'play' with in our playroom was the TV and MeFit docking station. Another thing I wouldn't do is let Mom know I lost the MeFit a few weeks after getting it, just as she had said I would when I begged for it. I made a mental note to find it before she started asking.
As I pinged the news channel from my chip to the TV screen, the most random thought occurred to me. If everyone's chips stop working how will they watch TV or drive their cars or do their homework? Before I could slide too far down that rabbit hole President Sturn's voice broke in. He wore a different suit. This one was cleaner and fit properly. His dark wavy hair had been perfectly manicured tight against his scalp. A new message, finally. Relief washed over me as I settled onto the pink recliner, my other last possession in our playroom, to watch the new public address. The grown-ups had this under control.
"... this difficult time. We are doing everything in our power to control the situation.
"And I would like to address the initial death toll reports. While it's too early to tell with any certainty, we do estimate that the number is somewhere around one to two million. Not the 'billions,’" he finger quoted, "theory that is being spread. Now, this is a rough estimate, based on initial communication between the Continents. Communications breakdowns have made it difficult to ascertain the correct figures. But rest assured we are working diligently to restore communication methods so everyone can reach their loved ones.
"I must caution you to please remain calm and stay indoors. If you have the ability to remove your chip, please do so at this time. Until the problem has been identified and corrected, we have no way of knowing if more damage will be done.
"You will notice an increased Armed Forces presence in larger cities. This is for your protection and safety. We will not tolerate any acts of violence toward our Citizens or establishments. Looters will be handled with the utmost severity.
"Please," President Sturn stared directly through the camera, into my saucer shaped eyes, "my fellow Continentals, I must urge you to trust me and my staff to get this country back under control. We are the greatest nation in the land and we will continue to be. We can get through this, together.
"Thank you."
The screen went black for a moment and my reflection appeared, zombie-like and unmoving. Then the news came back on and the images they showed sharply contrast the serene and reassuring face of our president.
Buildings engulfed in flames. Bloody corpses scattering the ground. Cars lined the roads, doors open and bodies hanging out. These people had glitched right there in the middle of the street, alone. I buried my face in my hands.
"We're coming to you live from downtown Apollo," the female news anchor's voice spoke over the news reel, "where our very own Anala has been trying to get an interview with Mayor Councelle."
As they cut between the video loop of the horrible scenes around town, a giant graphic flashed across the screen. THE GREAT GLITCH appeared in computer-y font like a movie trailer about to start. More unbelievable scenes assaulted my eyes, which still hid behind my hands.
Soldiers marched beside army tanks on streets that I recognized. The really old theater where I saw Peter Pan on my class field trip was gone. Fire leapt out of the smashed windows and two mean looking soldiers stood right in front of it, their backs to the chaos, machine guns hugged to their chests.
In the distant background, skyscrapers with their white flashing rooftop lights, smoked and wobbled, ready to fall at any moment.
The thick fog I had walked through earlier that morning blanketed my city. I squinted to see through the grime covering the camera lens, a mix of ash and please don't be blood. The horrible smells from the morning inundated my nostrils, burning all over again. I reflexively coughed, working the taste of smoke back up into my mouth.
"Synta are you alright up there?" Mo
m's voice carried up the staircase.
"I'm fine. Drying my hair."
"Come back down here. And stop watching that stuff." The TV died and the screen saver message 'parental lock' ping-ponged from corner to corner. "And don't even think about going back out there."
AFTER THE THINGS I had seen on TV earlier in the day, I was hesitant to turn on Dad's old 'boombox', not knowing what I’d hear. But something about The Fox's voice reassured me. I needed it.
So I tiptoed into Brooks's room, careful not to wake him. Mom had spent so much time tucking him in and he had spent so much time fighting it. I knew I'd be in big trouble if I woke him back up. Quietly I picked up the radio and sneak-jogged back to my room.
Hidden away, I turned the volume as low as possible. I didn't want to risk waking Brooks or Mom, but mostly I didn't want to share The Fox with anyone. Clicking the 'power' button, I climbed onto my bed and waited.
Static filled the room.
My heart sank and tears threatened my eyes. Come on Fox. I twisted the volume dial, hoping to magically summon him. More static.
Despair turned to rage and I released it upside the radio's head with a good smack.
"... our twenty-seventh straight live hour for you folks. I gotta say I'm feeling a bit delirious." Fox!
"For those of you joining us, it's been less than a week since, well, we don't know exactly. Reports differ, but there seems to be one consensus. We're not alone in this. Our seven Sister Nations are all suffering along with us. The Eurasian continent and Africana are both struggling with no representation. It seems as though large portions of their government fell victim to the Glitch."
Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Page 3
