Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch

by Toasha Jiordano

  A shudder fingered its way across my spine. I didn't know any of the people in those countries, but the magnitude of the situation was not lost on me. Even at thirteen, I recognized just how many people had to die all over the world when nobody was left to be in charge. It made the endless loops of President Sturn less of an annoyance.

  "Let's get back to our roll call. And please if you haven't yet, chip or holo us that you're okay and we'll get the word out. Uh, Farmer... Smith... Landing..."

  As The Fox read a list of names and cities, I strained for Pettine's name.

  //Howie. You there?// I sent the message out into the ether.

  //What's up?// Came the quick reply.

  //The Fox is reading people's names. Have you heard it?//

  //No radio here. What names?//

  //People who are OK. I'm listening for Pettine. Haven't heard it yet, but I just turned it on.//

  There was nothing but silence for a moment. Then, Howie chipped, //She hasn't transmitted since it happened I'm worried...//He didn't finish. Nor did I. What could I possibly say to comfort him?

  Instead I turned up The Fox and concentrated on remembering everything he said.

  "Now I'd like to turn the remainder of this broadcast over to you, my listeners. Those of you who are still here with me, please chip, comment, holo... anything you can do. I'll get your transmissions on and we can discuss whatever you need."

  I considered chipping for a moment, but fear got the best of me. What if Mom heard and got mad? What if Howie didn't want me to interfere?

  A different voice took over the airwaves. "Hi this is Mason from Toledo and I'm looking for my uncle Morty. He was last seen on Coney Island."

  After that, Fox began putting callers directly on the air. A flood of voices, one after the other, filled the room. At first it was a bit jarring to know that all these people had missing loved ones. Then the shock wore off and it became an odd source of comfort. There were still a lot of people all over the world who didn't die. People just like me.

  Chapter Seven

  January 20, 5AG

  “Will you cut the touchy-feely crap and tell me what you were doing trying to sneak aboard my ship?” Guard One growled. Spit flew from the corners of his scowling mouth. Synta thought for a moment he was about to add ‘for Stone’s sake!’ That would have been interesting.

  Synta raised one eyebrow and one lip into a canine snarl. “Your ship? Ha!”

  Guard One took a cleansing breath and started again. “Look, whatever game you’re trying to pull ain’t gonna work. You’re stuck in this room until we get to the bottom of this.”

  So are you, Synta thought.

  From the far corner, Guard Two cleared his throat. Synta suppressed a startled jump, wondering if he’d heard the thought. She’d have to be more careful. Stone only knew what technology they had in here, stuff she’d probably never seen before. Adjusting herself in the chair, she waited for the next barrage of questions.

  Instead, both guards’ round heads perked simultaneously. They stared into the distance, unaware of Synta for the moment. Incoming orders no doubt.

  Synta took the opportunity to struggle against her chains, testing their strength. Although rusty and worn, they weren’t going anywhere. Changing tactics, she tugged at the braces around her wrists. Years of harsh living had shrunken her to a mere shell of her formerly vibrant self.

  The guards blinked and focused their attentions back on Synta, who sat motionless. She smiled innocently, “You were saying?” The words eased out of her mouth, dripping saccharine. She almost batted her eyes but thought better of it at the last second.

  Guard Two piped up from across the room, “No, you were saying... what the hell you’re doing on our launch pad.”

  “What the hell do you think? Trying to get off this damn planet!”

  Part II: One Month AG

  Chapter Eight

  The wall screen displayed the same images it had been running for the past month. Frazzled and beaten-down news reporters struggled to read their teleprompters. The ticker on the bottom of the screen ran the same loop of disturbing messages. President Sturn had declared a state of emergency for the entire continent. The stock market would not open as planned next week. Body Disposal Units were overwhelmed and unable to respond to the daily influx of new casualties. Most businesses and schools remained closed. It wasn't all disturbing news.

  "Mom I'm losing my mind." I kicked at the towels shoved into the threshold of our front door.

  "I know baby, but it's not safe. We have to stay inside until the air clears up." Mom smoothed my hair, her signal for me to stop pouting. "Come play Old Maid with Bit."

  "I'm gonna be an old maid by the time you let me out of this house." I gave one last good kick before succumbing to her will and flopping onto the couch beside Bit.

  "One can only hope," Mom snorted. She always thought she was funnier than she really was. But at least she was feeling well enough to joke.

  "It's been a month. Things have to be back to normal by now."

  "I wish they were, baby. Really I do. But until I say it's safe, we're inside. Now deal me in." Mom gently eased herself onto Dad's old recliner.

  Mom had avoided Dad's chair like the plague at first. Then two weeks after The Great Glitch — that name had stuck apparently – the BDU had arrived to take Dad's body. He was still in the dining room where we'd said our last goodbyes to him. Over those two weeks we had closed off the room and barricaded it with furniture and shoved towels under the door as we were doing now with the front and back doors.

  Still the smell quickly became unbearable. The Florida heat and closed windows turned the entire house into a sauna during the day. Dad's stench had forced us to take refuge upstairs in the playroom. Mom was the only one allowed to ventured downstairs, and only at night when the temperature dropped below ninety, to bring up the next day's food.

  Then one morning, the BDU had showed up with full-body plastic suits and had taken Dad away in a bright yellow bag. Mom had told us to stay in the playroom but I had peeked down the stairs. She stood at the door, kissed her fingers and placed them over the yellow bag where Dad's forehead must have been. Then she signed something on a clipboard being held by the giant man-shaped plastic suit. He ripped it from the clipboard and handed it to Mom. She folded it into a tiny square and put it in the front pocket of her night dress, where I knew she kept her little gray stone. The plastic man waved a hand toward some unseen person outside and all the lights in the house flicked on at once.

  "Synta keep Bit upstairs. I have to go take care of some things," Mom had called to me. Although she never turned around for me to see her face, I could tell she was worried about something. Her voice was too normal.

  I did as I was told and entertained Bit in the playroom the rest of the day. The next morning Mom called us to breakfast and before I opened my eyes I smelled it. Bacon!

  I carried Brooks down the stairs toward Mom's voice, avoiding the dining room. But when we reached the bottom floor of the house, the rotten pukey smell had disappeared. Strong bleach fumes replaced it and the door to the dining room was wide open. More unnerving, the table was set. Bit squirmed and I let him loose. My eyes didn’t leave the full spread of pancakes, eggs, bacon and cereal. After weeks of cold vegetables out of the can and crackers, my stomach lurched.

  Mom lifted Bit into his booster seat and placed a sippy cup of apple juice in front of him. She smiled in my direction and a white material poked out from behind her hair. The gauze pad was lower than I expected, almost on her neck instead of right behind her ear. She saw my expression and patted her hair down over the bandage. "Eat up."

  //Howie. Are you there?// I tried a connection. It had been spotty since the Glitch and with my solitary confinement, I'd barely had any contact with Howie for weeks.

  //Bringing in supplies from the shed. What's up?//

  //Your mom lets you go outside? No fair.//

  //Um, kinda no choice. The baby'
s... She's probably gonna miscarry.//

  My face caught shameful fire and I hoped Mom wasn’t looking. //I'm sorry. I...//

  //It's fine. How's your mom and Bit?//

  //I'm not sure. Mom was gone last night and this morning she has a bandage behind her ear.// I smiled at Mom and helped cut Brooks's pancake, as normally as possible. If Mom had any idea that I was chipping with Howie about her, she didn't let on.

  //Forced removals. We got a letter. She got her chip taken out.//

  //Hey is your electricity back on?// I changed the subject before my most private thoughts whirled right out of my head and into Howie's. What would a forced removal mean for me and Bit?

  //No, the letter said you only get back on the power grid when you take out your chips. Mom's too sick to go, so we're still out. If I eat one more stale cracker.//

  //Come over here. Mom won't mind. We have a lot of breakfast.//

  "Mom, can Howie get some food? They still don't have electricity." I asked out loud.

  Mom's face lost its pallor. I could tell that she was working it out in her head. No electricity meant Howie's mom refused to remove her chip. Recovering her cheerful expression, Mom smiled, "Sure, tell them to come on over. And after we eat, you go to the garage and find some extension cords to give him. Maybe the Farmers next door have power."

  Now, two more weeks after that, Mom's bandage was gone and we had full run of the house. As I watched Mom slowly ease herself into Dad's — now her — chair, I couldn't help but notice the green tint to the skin behind her ear. Her chipectomy scar still oozed this yellowy white stuff. The stitches had popped and bled for days but Mom refused to go back to the doctor. Instead she stayed packed into the house with us, clearly growing weaker by the day.

  Later that night, after reading Brooks four books, Mom looked like she would drop where she stood. From the doorway behind her I transmitted to him, //Let mommy go nite nite. She has to get better.//

  "Nite nite Mommy!" Brooks chirped and rolled over. It was obvious he still had too much energy, but Mom gladly took the permission to leave. She stood slowly and turned toward the door. When she saw me staring at her, her weak smile widened. "Thank you," she mouthed.

  As we headed down the hallway, Mom didn't turn toward her own room. Instead she followed me and sat on my bed, patting it for me to join her. "I've been meaning to talk to you..." she said, lifting her hand in a gesture toward Bit's room, "about everything."

  Tears instantly welled in my eyes. This was the talk I'd been dreading. I didn't know the words that would come, but I knew the outcome. Every morning Mom had been harder to wake up than the day before. The cabinets lay empty and we were close to being back on canned vegetables.

  "I'm sure you and Howie have been talking and you have an idea of how bad things are right now," Mom started. Actually, transmissions with Howie were barely audible those days. I didn't want to say it out loud though, for fear it meant one of us was glitching. I felt fine, and Howie never mentioned anything. But what else could it be? Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders and blinked, letting two full drops erupt from my eyes and plummet down my cheeks.

  Mom sighed and placed a hand over mine, which trembled in my lap. She pulled a small half-folded half-wadded piece of paper out of her bra and handed it to me. The Removal Letter. Howie had told me what it said already so I didn't bother to open it. The round government seal bled through the back of the page.

  "You're a very smart girl Synta. I know you want things to be magically back to normal out there, but they aren't. They won't be. So, we have to do what's best for our family. That's why I had my chip removed. So we could get power again... and help." Mom's voice trembled.

  I remained perfectly still and silent while my mom composed herself. I couldn’t even will myself to comfort her as she, too, blinked away tears. The sight of it shattered something deep within me that had started cracking the day I saw my dad Glitch. Somehow, as clean and calm as this was, compared to the violence of Dad's death, its impact was more destructive.

  "I think I went too far by blocking the TV. I've tried to shelter you kids. But... I wish I was as strong as Mrs. Anderson. We could have found another way. Gone underground." Mom shook her head. "But Bit's too small for that. If they found out he's got a recycled chip..." Again her voice betrayed her and she stopped.

  "What will they do to us?" I managed.

  Mom pursed her lips tight, visibly willing herself to say what she'd been leading up to. "We have to remove your chips. It's mandatory. I have to protect you. It’s time."

  "I can't! I won't! Mommy I need my chip. It's mine!" I was amazed at how quickly I regressed to a spoiled child, so soon after being told how smart and mature I was. But I didn't care. I couldn't lose my chip, my lifeline to Howie. To the outside world.

  "Calm down. What I really wanted to say," Mom gave up so quickly it worried me more than the prospect of losing my chip. "... is that we need a different approach."

  That raised my eyebrows. I shifted my body, stiffening my posture to a more mature pose. "What type of approach?" I asked, dabbing my tears away with my free hand.

  "I need you to gather as much information as you can. Prepare yourself for what comes next."

  "What comes...?"

  "We don't know how long the Net will be up, or the lights, any of this." Mom waved an arm around at nothing. "I don't think removing my chip did any good. I'm still getting worse. We need to be prepared for the future. Whatever that may bring."

  I collapsed into my mom, a blubbering mess. The words 'don't talk like that' muffled into her lap.

  She petted me quietly for a minute. "I'm sorry that you have to grow up so fast, face this type of thing, but it's very important for you to be ready for whatever comes. You will have to take care of Bit, do whatever's necessary."

  "Like what?" I sniffed and sat up, pushing the reason why I would be the one left to take care of Brooks out of my mind.

  "You need to horde data. Gather as many holos as you can. Go to junkyards and find printers, cables, everything you'll need to be able to make your own reference books."

  "What about?"

  "Everything. Farming, weather patterns, cooking, survival. Just get everything you can and we'll worry about it being useful later."

  "Like real books? From before?" I couldn't wrap my head around any of this.

  "Yes, real physical paper books. We have to make our own new library. We'll start with paper and printers but I want you to keep an eye out for journals, pens, pencils, all of that stuff too."

  "So I'm going back outside?" Even with the dire circumstances that led to it, I couldn't help but feel the excitement bubble up. Outside.

  "Yes, as much as I hate, we need you to go out there and see what you can find. There is a library on 14th Ave. It may have some dated reference materials, but it's the best we can do for now." Mom touched me behind my ear, feeling the outline of my chip. "I want you to wear a bandage at all times. If anyone sees you, make them think you just had your chip removed. That will buy us time while you gather resources. Then, we get started."

  Chapter Nine

  The door creaked shut behind me as I fought the urge to run full speed to my scooter. It was early morning, but not so early that the sun should be hiding this well. Forcing a slow and steady pace, I flung my backpack off my shoulder and secured each arm strap to its own handlebar. After checking both mirrors and flicking on the lights — and maybe sneaking a peek behind me for the Boogeyman — I tapped the start code on the console. The engine buzzed to life, lurching for a moment before I could steady myself.

  //You ready?// Howie’s voice flitted between my ears.

  //Yeah, be there in a sec.// I released the brake and rolled down the driveway.

  Howie lived less than two blocks away in the next housing development over. Normally I’d just jump the wooden fence and walk across the soccer field, meeting him halfway. Then we would set off for whatever no good we could find. Now, however, I had t
o take my scooter on the road. Mom hated it and even now, with permission, I couldn’t help but feel like I was breaking some rule by pulling onto Addison.

  So lost in guilty thoughts, I didn’t see the roadblock until my dim headlight shined right on a large cop’s brown pant leg. I squeezed the handle brake and drug my feet across the blacktop. My back tire squealed, catching and jerking the scooter to a stop in the middle of the road. The cop motioned ‘closer’ with his flashlight beam. I fumbled with the brake release and revved the engine too hard with the other handle grip. A sputter and click signaled that the scooter and I would move no further.

  The cop sighed and walked the couple paces toward me, light shining right in my eyes, until he was nothing but a giant black dot with humungous feet. “Where you going?” His voice betrayed a much younger age than I expected. I shielded my eyes from the light as the cop repeated, “Where are you going kid?”

  “Um, the library... sir.” I added that last part as an afterthought. With my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see that the cop in question, while large and round, was barely twenty. The uniform fit snug around his middle. He didn’t have a belt or a badge. No police cruiser or other officers surrounded us.

  “Your parents know you’re out here?” He continued, finally lowering the flashlight and allowing me to see his red and black Southerland sneakers. Definitely not standard issue. He pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, clicked a button on the side, and waited.

  “My mommy told me to go find books... for my baby brother.” I flinched at the slip into ‘little kid mode’ but it worked.

  The makeshift cop let go of the ‘call’ button and dropped the walkie back into his pants pocket. I thought I heard it clink against a stone. He wrung his hands for a moment. “What’s your name?”

  “Synta.”

  “And you live here?” He flicked his flashlight toward the entrance to my development.

  “I live right there.” I pointed in the general direction behind me. It was too dark and smoky to see that far anyway, but something inside me knew not to be too specific. I did, however, turn my head enough to show off the bright white new bandage behind my ear. That did the trick.