by Ison, S. A.
“God help us all,” Carl choked out.
Christina knew down deep that planes across the country, and perhaps across the world, had begun to fall from the skies. If that worm thing across her computer screen was any indication, things were going to get really shitty really fast. She wondered bleakly if it had been North Korea or China, or Iran, or ISIS that had done this. And how far reaching would it be?
Then she thought of the space station, and wondered, with sorrow and horror, which would kill them first, lack of oxygen or the icy grasp of space? One of her college buddies had gone into the space program, and had gone up to the space station thirteen months ago. Chuck Dupree was his name. Her eyes filled with tears. She sent a silent prayer to him and the others up there.
Confusion and fear filled her eyes, and she reached over to grab onto Franklin’s arm. Both sat riveted as they watched more and more planes fall in the distance. They both knew that thousands of people would die today.
USS Norfolk, somewhere in the North Atlantic
The USS Norfolk, a Los Angeles class submarine, was in the north Atlantic, doing angles and dangles exercises. Her crew were at their stations, each compartment clean and crowded. Petty Officer Willow sat at radar, humming; he was off duty in an hour. The submarine descended sharply at a 25-degree angle, and Willow could feel his body go forward. He enjoyed these drills; it was like riding on a slow roller coaster.
His pen rolled off the console and he caught it neatly. Behind the submarine, the antenna array trailed. Over the UHF SATCOM , the submarine broadcast information and virus were downloaded into the Norfolk’s communications and system’s computers. Like a tidal wave, the computer virus ran rampant through the systems, and Willow watched in horror as the worm worked its way across his screen. He called to the CDO, who was on the bridge. All around him, the men were calling out, concern and confusion starting to ripple, sending an invisible wave through the vessel.
Within moments, the submarine went completely dark and silent. Voices were raised in alarm and pen lights went on, flashing around the enclosed space. The Norfolk continued her descent, which steepened. The crew clung on to equipment. People moved slowly, many of them in total darkness, feeling their way. Voices clashed, and papers, books and other articles not stowed away crashed. People were trying to get to their stations. During emergencies, the crew of the USS Norfolk knew their roles and where they needed to be, but this was something totally different.
They were blind, their vessel without power. The normal battery powered lights were connected to the computers, which should have turned them on with the loss of power, but the computers were dead. The computer virus had jumped from system to system, and made its lethal way through all systems of the submarine with breathtaking speed. Their S.O.P had never imagined this kind of chaos.
***
The captain and executive officer found each other, their faces illuminated by small hand-held lights. The captain called for silence, as the communications chief made his way to the bridge.
“What’s the word, Chief Sanders?” Captain Ingalls asked, his voice surprisingly calm and even.
“Best I can make of it, sir, we have a computer virus that has come through with the broadcast. Looks like it’s system wide. Last thing we saw on our computers was a worm eating its way across the screen, the words “Welcome to the Stone Age” in front of the worm as it ate away. Once it went through, looks like it hopped through to each of the Norfolk’s operating systems, causing a cascade effect. I think it has killed the boat, sir.” Chief Sanders’s low voice quavered a little.
The captain checked his watch; the small light illuminated his features. It was 1405. Around them, men were checking their time pieces, small lights going on and off.
“Sir, we have no power, it has been knocked out, along with navigation and comms. Due to our downward descent, we have no way of stopping. I have my men working to restore power, along with engineering, but I don’t think we will have time to recover,” he finished softly, knowing he was telling the captain they were all dead men.
“Very well, Chief. Keep your men at it. See if the crew can release an emergency buoy, and let’s hope we can get a signal out for an SAR. Also, see if there is a way to manually blow the main ballast tank. Let’s see if we can’t get this old gal back to the surface, at least,” Captain Ingalls said softly. He knew they were dead too, but also knew that to their very last breath, they would keep the men hopeful and try to get the sub to surface. That virus had come through the computer, and he knew that if it had infected his boat, it had more than likely infected air craft as well. He wondered if it were North Korea, Iran, or China. With the intel, he would put it at North Korea’s doorstep. That was one crazy bastard over there.
***
Throughout their struggle, each man thought of his family, and knew he would never see them again. Brian Willow sat alone at his station. He’d listened to Captain Ingalls and Chief Sanders. The men around him murmured and continued to work in the dark. There was no fear. Only resolution. They would either live or die, and he knew deep down, they would die. He talked to God quietly in his mind, and thanked Him for the wonderful life he’d led. He wasn’t overly religious, in fact he didn’t really believe in organized religion, but he had a quiet faith that God was somewhere out there.
His life had been full of adventure and he had done what he loved. He regretted the inability to say goodbye to his family and friends, but knew they would remember him. He also knew he would see them again.
***
At 14:53 EST, the USS Norfolk went past its maximum classified depth and imploded, all hands lost. They never gave up trying to save themselves.
Grand Coulee Dam, Washington
In the control room of the Grand Coulee Power plant, personnel took their job seriously. The RTI Connext(TM) DDS system was state-of-the-art. They had better control, better performance, and better security. It controlled a total of 24 turbines and 12 pumps. It was said to be the ultimate in technological achievements. They had the best equipment at their disposal. Really, they felt with pride, the best in the world.
The interface controlled communication throughout the dam; it was the prototype and, across the country, other dams would be upgraded. For now, Grand Coulee Dam was on the cutting edge of technology.
“Sir!” Doug Tibbs called out.
“What do you need Tibbs?” Arely Hennequin, the floor supervisor asked, shoving the pack of Marlboros back in his shirt pocket. It irritated him that he couldn’t leave for his smoke break. They had a skeleton crew, as so many at the plant were either sick, dead, or afraid to come into work.
“Look,” was all Tibbs said as he pointed to his computer screen. Both men watched with growing horror as a worm with needle-sharp teeth chased after the words, “Welcome to the Stone Age”, chewing its way across the screen.
“What the fuck?” Arely breathed. Heads turned in his direction. Arely Hennequin was a church-going man, a family man. He never drank, and never, ever, cursed. People began to gather around him to watch the worm’s progress. Each tech looked at the other, unsure what to do, what this meant.
Loud clicking started resonating around the control room, and heads swiveled around. Everyone started talking at once, and then the room went dark. Total silence fell.
“W-w-what happened, Arely?” Nina McCray asked, her voice filled with fright.
“I’m not sure, Nina. Doug, see if you can open the door. And be careful around that equipment,” Hennequin said. There were no lights, no emergency lights, nothing. The control room was pitch black.
Groping his way around chairs and other new office equipment, Tibbs made his way to the door. He flicked his lighter once or twice to check his progress and for obstacles. The door was thick steel, and was operated by a cypher lock system and a badge swipe. This was the heart of the dam’s operations, and strict security protocols were in place. To obtain a position in this room, one had to go through extensive security back
ground checks. It had taken eight months for his own security clearance.
Tibbs knew the door was secure before he got to it. He knew they were trapped. He also knew that whatever ate the screen of the computers had trapped them all inside this room. Unless and until someone came, they were sealed in. Suddenly, he wondered if their air would last, and then he wondered how long they could survive, trapped inside this vault.
Dubai, U.A.E.
In Dubai, the Burj Khalifa stood majestically in downtown Dubai, the jewel of the city, a triumph of modern technology. The near 3000-foot structure was a testimony to the ability of man to shape and form his environment. The fifty-seven elevators were in constant use day and night. Tourist from all over the world came to Dubai, some staying at the Burj Khalifa, many visiting the impressive structure, wanting to have a bird’s eye view of the world from the tallest building. At night, the city was spectacular, beautiful in almost a surreal kind of way.
The building was kept cool by large air-conditioning units that move water around the enormous building, take out the humidity, and keep the air moving. While outside the temperature was a hot 105 Fahrenheit during the day, the interior was cool and inviting. The building maintained pools, fountains, and beautiful works of art. It was an amazing building.
The elevators were in constant motion, shooting up and down the building with amazing speed. Within, the residents and visitors marveled at the speed and efficiency. Akihiko Murakami and Isamu Fukuda were in such an elevator, descending from the observation deck. Both young men had been excited and happy to take a trip in Dubai on break from college. It had been a little frightening with all the sickness from the virus, but they’d been careful, wearing their masks and carrying hand sanitizer. The observation deck had been breathtaking, with the early night sky lit up from below.
A loud humming rattled through the elevator, and the elegant box stopped suddenly and went totally dark. Both young men exclaimed simultaneously, their hands going out blindly to find the other. All was quiet around them as they stood in the dark. There were no emergency lights. Akihiko groped inside his pocket for his phone. He could use that as a light source. He pressed buttons blindly, but the phone lit the small enclosure. All was silent. Both men watched as a worm chewed across the phone.
“Check your phone. Something is wrong with mine,” Akihiko said. Isamu tried to find his phone in his backpack. “What is this worm that is going across the screen? What is going on?”
Isamu finally got hold of his phone. As he did, both of their phones went blank, then turned off.
“What is going on?” Akihiko yelled, shaking his phone.
“I think it was a virus. Did you read what the words said? ‘Welcome to the Stone Age.’ What is ‘stone age’?” Isamu asked his friend.
“I don’t know, but it killed our phones. Maybe it made this elevator stop.”
“See if there is a phone or something in here,” Akihiko continued.
Isamu started moving around the small box, hands moving slowly up and down. He finally felt buttons. Then he found the access panel, and pushed to open it. Inside, he could feel a phone, and lifted the receiver to listen. It too was silent. “There is nothing on the phone, no sound,” Isamu told his friend in the dark.
“Maybe we should bang on the doors, get someone’s attention?” Isamu suggested, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Akihiko always teased him about being afraid of his own shadow.
Before they could begin banging on the elevator doors, they heard distant banging. Perhaps they were not the only ones stuck. They also began to bang. Akihiko suggested they also try to open the doors. This was impossible; the doors had no gap in which they could get a grip to pull. Their hands slid across the polished surface. Again and again, they continued to bang. After a few hours, they stopped, both tired from yelling and banging. The two sat on the floor, close to one another. They had no idea how far up or down they were.
Isamu stood up and told Akihiko to get on his shoulders. Surely there was an access panel in the roof of the box. Perhaps they could climb up, or at least look up into the shaft of the elevator. Isamu grunted as Akihiko climbed up onto his back. Akihiko was a slightly built man, but he was heavy for all that.
“Move left, I don’t feel anything yet,” Akihiko said, one hand braced on Isamu’s head while the other patted at the ceiling. Isamu felt Akihiko’s body shift and he could hear the man’s hand shifting around. “It’s locked. There is nothing to grip or pull on,” he said, defeated.
“Well, there is nothing to do but wait, Akihiko. Someone will come and get us out of here; they are probably working on the other elevators too. I have some water. Do you want any?” Isamu offered.
“No, we better save it. And I don’t want to have to piss in here if I don’t have to,” Akihiko said.
Both men sat back down in the dark. After a while, they became drowsy, and both fell asleep. When they woke several hours later, they noticed it was becoming increasingly warm within the small space.
“How long do you think it has been?” Isamu wondered out loud.
“I don’t know, but I wish they would get us out of here,” Akihiko said. Isamu could hear the fear in his friend’s voice.
As the minutes and hours ticked away, and the sun rose over the city of Dubai, the Burj Khalifa began to heat up; no air circulated through the massive glass structure. It was like shining the sun through a mammoth magnifying glass: the interior began to heat up rapidly. There was nothing to cool the air, and many of its residents had come down the long flight of stairs, their faces full of worry, confusion, and exhaustion from the long trek down.
Isamu suspected that most of the hotel staff may have deserted their posts, to return to their families. If what happened was possibly country or even worldwide, the he suspected the hotel staff had seen the worm eat across their computer screens, and had read and understood the possible meaning. He knew deep down that they had been abandoned, that he and Akihiko were alone.
“You know, I always liked your little sister, Isamu. Do you think she liked me?” Akihiko asked his friend, his voice barely audible. Both men were panting in quick shallow breaths now, each breath a tortured intake of heat and little oxygen. The temperature in the closed box had risen to over 125 Fahrenheit. The trapped occupants of the elevator were being baked to death.
They had long since drunk all the water, and their bodies were bathed in sweat as they lay on the floor of the elevator.
“She knows you like her, but she always thought of you as a big brother,” Isamu breathed, laughter in his last breath.
Isamu’s hand slowly sought out Akihiko and he gripped his friend’s hand when he found it; he died in the dark, but not alone.
Florence, Colorado
The wind blowing across Florence, Colorado, a town nestled along the Rocky Mountains and the Arkansas River, was warm and carried the smell of dust and sweet wild flowers. It is a high desert, though not barren, its landscape teeming with wildlife and wild flowers. Huddled like a low-lying crab is the supermax prison ADX Florence.
It houses some of the most notorious prisoners. Locked away in their own little hell, over four hundred men are secluded from the rest of the world, no daylight, and no reprieve. Many of the prisoners have gone mad over the years, their hold on reality dissolving like the mist that shrouds the town of Florence in the cool early morning.
Within the prison are heavy doors, and they are impenetrable. Getting in and going out takes coordinated effort with a series of electronic doors, key pads, cyphers, and sliding doors. It is a clean and quiet place, unless you stand near a cell. That’s where you hear crying and howling, moaning and chanting.
Officer Matt Robinson pushed the meal cart down the long passageway. He had been buzzed through, and was now delivering meals to the prisoners. He slid the meal through each door slot. He could barely hear the crying, his MP3 player up enough to drown out the miserable tenants. It wasn’t protocol to listen to his MP3, but the other
guards looked the other way. They too had walked these corridors and heard the insanity that curled around the air like wood smoke.
Robinson was about to deliver his thirtieth meal when the corridor went dark. So dark, in fact, that he could not see his hand as it reached up to pull the MP3 headphones from his ears. Some of the crying stopped, some did not. For a moment, Matt Robinson was frozen to the spot; he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Then his brain kicked in: power outage.
Slowly, Officer Robinson worked his way back down the hall, leaving the food cart where it was. Reaching the door, he gave a tug, knowing it wouldn’t budge. But a human needed to try. With the flat of his hand, he banged against the 3-inch-thick door, the sound almost insignificant. Nothing. He could hear nothing from the other side. He then kicked the door; the thud made him feel better. He knew his voice wouldn’t penetrate, but he called out anyway.
Primitive fear began to tendril out, curling around the back of his skull. He knew he shouldn’t panic, but he’d never liked the dark. And being trapped in here with these criminals what not what he would call fun. When a kick reverberated from the other side, Robinson let out his breath. Hearing that sound made him feel better, though he was still trapped and in the dark. Pressing his ear to the door, he tried to hear, but nothing came through. He tapped out a little, and then waited. The return tap reverberated up the door and into his head. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Placing his back to the door, he slid down and sat on the concrete floor.
The sounds of the men along the corridor began to rise again, moaning and crying, screaming and howling. Matt put the earbuds back into his ears and turned up the volume. The sounds of human misery rose and bounced off the walls to circle around his head. He could still hear it over the music. Drawing up his knees, he locked his arms around them and rested his head on his forearms. It was going to be a long wait.
