In the first scenario, he contacted government leaders and told them he knew how to locate demon gates. They had the resources and they were desperate for a solution. Yet some half-remembered history lessons told him that relying on the government would be a mistake. Too much bureaucracy, too many channels for information and decisions to flow through. He imagined objections, debates, and rhetoric flowing like so much sludge; people would be destroyed not by the ideology of a madman but by the slow machinations of contrarian people looking for political capital. Another concern: what politician would risk aligning himself with Amadeus, who one pithy journalist had called the “poster boy for privileged patricide?” He thought about the more powerful corporations; they had the resources and the motivation, but they would somehow find a way to make a staggering profit off the impending disaster.
No, a large organization wouldn’t work. He needed to address people directly. But how could he reach them without exposing himself to arrest…or worse? How did anyone bypass the gatekeepers and give their information to the world? The answer was like the picture window a bird slams into: right in front of him but invisible until impact.
He would build a simple website with video, instructions for making a gate crasher…and his version of the story. That was good, he decided. Give the information straight to people who could use it. And maybe, just maybe, take the first step toward clearing his name. No one group could be trusted with this information. But he faced two issues: the internet was populated by billions of websites, a vast majority of the tiny ones run by crackpots, cranks, perverts, and writers. How could he convince anyone his footage and plans are genuine? Two, even if his footage seemed credible, how would people find out about it? The world was desperate for a solution, but did he have time to wait until this went viral? No. He needed help. But who did he know that wasn’t inexperienced or insane?
Aunt Annie! Of course! She had talked about freelancing for the Times of America, had said she had a good relationship with a couple editors there. Through her, he could reach millions. More importantly, if the Times ran his story, he would have the most important ingredient: credibility. But did she think he had murdered her brother-in-law? That didn’t matter; the only thing that mattered was Annie taking the time to watch the video and read his account. He could even give her the location of a fully functional demon gate (complete with demons) to corroborate his story. If she ran his story, the information would propagate. Information propagation…as Amadeus chewed on this phrase, another face came to him: Salaman from Cambodia and his “marketing on steroids” business. He checked his bag; there was the copy of On the Road with his email address in the front. Perfect. He would contact him as well and ask for his help. A plan and a backup plan.
But first he needed a place to host his website, a place uninvolved with and ideally antagonistic to Tivooki Systems. He remembered a company his father had dealt with called Privihost; they catered to privacy activists and the paranoid. Their flagship product was “Tivooki-less” storage and hosting; they even offered a free trial. Amadeus laughed out loud. Hovering less than a hundred meters over an upstate New York lake, he began to write his story.
*
After two hours, Amadeus had used his phone to make a simple website, complete with detailed instructions for using the Gate Crashers, videos, structural weak points of the gates, and a brief version of his story. The copy began,
“My name is Amadeus Brunmeier. I know how to destroy the demon gates, but the world thinks I murdered my father. Here’s what really happened…”
Amadeus ended by imploring people not only to make their own Gate Crashers but to make mirrors of this website, because once it went live, he expected it would only last for a little while. He copied the files to the tablet computer. He called Annie but couldn’t get through. Using Grassal’s secure system, he sent her an email with an off-line copy of the website. He sent a copy of the site and his message to Sal. Almost immediately after he pressed send, someone called him. He answered, hoping it was Annie, but instead a familiar voice appeared on the chat screen.
“Amadeus, you are clever,” Jones said. “But you’re also terribly misguided. I’m in a real bind here and I’m incredibly sorry to tell you this but…I have to kill you,” Jones said. “You tried harder than anyone expected.” The call disconnected before Amadeus could say anything. Everything in the Pachyderm powered down. Amadeus felt his stomach twist as the Pachyderm lurched to the side. Instinct took over. He stowed the phone in a waterproof bag, pulled a helmet on, and opened the side door. Amadeus had imagined such a scenario more than a few times. He wasn’t ready, but he knew what to expect.
The Pachyderm fell towards the lake below. Using the manual controls, he closed the foils over the turbofans, slowing the descent somewhat. Amadeus drew himself up into a ball in the cargo area and braced for impact.
The crash roared like an apocalypse, jarring Amadeus’ body hard onto the cabin floor. His head hit against something and his vision went white for a long moment. Water rushed into the cabin, throwing Amadeus around like a rag in a washing machine. He thrashed around, fighting to regain his bearings. The Pachyderm was on its side, the open door below him. He had an air pocket, half a meter high, shrinking quickly.
Still holding the waterproof bag, Amadeus took in a deep gasp of air and dropped into the water, pulling himself out from underneath the Pachyderm and into the open water. Disoriented, he realized the sunlight was below him. He flipped and swam towards it. He was deep. His lungs screamed for oxygen. He swam harder. Air bubbles rose around him. Every muscle in his body ached as they sacrificed their oxygen for his starving brain. Finally he broke through and splashed out the top. He gasped until he was dizzy. Thankful for his childhood swimming lessons, he looked around. The lake that had almost killed him was rather peaceful. Bubbles from the sinking ship fizzled around him. Birds chirped in the surrounding forest. He wondered if anyone had seen the crash. The nearest shore lay almost a kilometer away, but a couple of trees growing from a small island nearby promised a place to rest. He swam towards the trees.
He thought about Jones as he swam. What had happened in Colorado? What changed? Did Jones catch Grassal attempting to monitor him? Had Grassal, or even Lilly, revealed their suspicions? What about Lilly? Was she safe? And his website, his story? Now, he realized, was not the time to address these questions.
Closer to the island, his feet scraped the bottom. He trudged his way out of the silty water and onto the weedy island. He stretched out and caught his breath. His body shook. The sandy ground underneath felt solid and reassuring. The longer he sat still, the more pain filled his body, like a cup under a leaky faucet, gradually filling up. Sitting under a tree, he felt detached from his body, unwillingly lulled into rest. He knew he should be in much, much more pain, but all he knew was the ground beneath him. He really wanted to sleep, but he knew that was a bad idea.
The sky glowed fire orange with the first hint of sunset. Amadeus heard the whine of a small engine. Faint at first, like the tinnitus that had stayed with him, it eventually grew louder as it drew closer. The sound was a boat motor. He thought that if he laid flat the scrubby trees could hide him, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Instead, he limped back into the water, went out a few feet and sunk down, keeping only his face above water. He knew his hearing was still not as good as it should be, but he knew the boat was closer. If he could hold out until darkness, he could avoid whoever was out there…unless they had scanning equipment. He remembered that some fisherman used a simple kind of radar technology to find clusters of fish. Would he show up as a man-sized carp?
At the same time, Amadeus thought, he had no idea where he was. And even if he did reach a town, he was still a wanted man, the message to his aunt notwithstanding. If he went into town, soaking wet and beat up like a punching bag, he would be at the mercy of the authorities. But since the news of the impending demon gates, hadn’t things gotten bad? He had read news of looting and riots. Wou
ld the police even bother with him? Or just shoot him on sight? Should he take his chances with the boat?
He was in bad shape. He was shivering. He needed help. But who was on a recreational lake at a time like this? If someone was out here, they either hadn’t heard the news, which Amadeus doubted, or they had made the decision to fortify themselves and hope the destruction, human and otherwise, never reached this far.
Just as the sun dropped behind a mountain, Amadeus gave up. He was tired of running, tired of evading and hiding and lying. He would have to trust the boat people and hope that his videos and plans he could convince them he was someone worth saving.
The growling engine was closer now. A searchlight scanned the water. In the dim evening light, Amadeus finally saw the source of it: a small pontoon boat. The light danced over the water but refused to fall on the island. Amadeus stood up, waved his arms, yelling until the light finally settled on him. The boat came closer to the island and shut off its engines. The searchlight shone directly on Amadeus, blinding him to whoever was on the boat. A voice tempered by whisky spoke to him.
“My wife has a twelve-gauge shotgun aimed at your head. Now, son, why don’t you tell me who you are and why you’re sitting on an island in the middle of Raquette Lake.”
“My name is Amadeus Brunmeier, and I know how to destroy the demon gates.”
46
The man and woman scrutinized Amadeus and murmured among themselves. Amadeus felt heat rising under his collar before they motioned for him to come aboard. They asked him no more questions as they made their way back.
The two-story lodge was in the old Adirondack style: pine siding, a low-sloping roof, and a wrap-around porch on both floors. Native stone ran around the base of the house. Their upgrades included a couple generators, barbed wire, and metal gates over all the windows. The family was named Conner. Some teenage children were holed up in their rooms.
They sat around the fire. Mrs. Conner brought Amadeus coffee and a first aid kit. Her body was as thin and rigid as her shotgun. He went to the bathroom to clean up. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he winced as he pulled the damp gauze back off his leg. Some clotted blood stuck to it; removing it renewed the bleeding. After more alcohol, iodine, a fresh bandage, and a lot of pain, he felt better about his wound, but not much else. Amadeus returned to the living room.
“Sorry about the shotgun,” Mr. Conner said. His silver hair stood in contrast to his dark skin and young face. “Impending apocalypses make people a little crazy. You understand. Just the other day, we had some people running up here on four wheelers. They shot at our house but when we shot back, they turned tail and ran. Reckon they were looking for some abandoned place to wait till this thing blows over.”
“I don’t think it’s going to blow over,” Mr. Conner said. “Except if this boy here is right. He sure sounds confident. So, Amadeus Brunmeier, tell us what you’ve got.”
“Let me show you,” Amadeus said. The screen was cracked, but the phone started up. He found his site but it was impossible to read the text. “Um, do you have a computer here?” Mr. Conner said they did. “Can you turn off the internet connection, Mr. Conner?”
“Call me Charlie,” Charlie Conner said. “That’s funny. You won’t find any internet out here, not these days. Used to be, but somebody cut the cord years ago. Part of the charm, don’t you think?” He fetched an old notebook computer from the storage room. “About the only thing we use this for is pictures.” Amadeus copied the site to the flash drive then opened it in the notebook. The Conners huddled over it, their heads close together, as they read the text and watched the videos. Mrs. Conner mumbled the words as she read. Amadeus studied their faces as he watched them watch his videos and read his story. He spent nearly an hour answering their questions. As he answered them, he became aware of places where he could improve his narrative for clarity. Amadeus thought himself a competent writer, but their questions showed him places he needed to clarify. Finally, the tension in the room seemed to melt. Everyone relaxed, and Amadeus smiled; they believed him.
When all their questions had been answered, the urge to sleep fell over him like a fleece blanket. As Mr. Conner talked about something, Amadeus closed his eyes, intending only to rest them for a moment. The next thing he knew he was awake in a strange place in front of a stone fireplace. He sat up with a start then relaxed as he remembered all that had happened. In the dark of the cabin, he felt safe for the first time in a long time. He liked that feeling. Eventually the ticking grandfather clock lulled him back to sleep.
In the morning, he awoke to the smell of biscuits and the prelude to a plan. Amadeus sat with Mr. and Mrs. Conner at a sturdy wooden table. Four young teenagers, three girls and a boy, sat at a smaller card table nearby. The oldest girl looked to be about sixteen, and she gave Amadeus a furtive smile. Aside from that, they talked among themselves in hushed tones, occasionally looking over at Amadeus and giggling.
“I need to get to a town with a fast internet connection and then to a train station. The people I’m trying to stop, they’re powerful, paranoid technocrats; they’re the reason my craft crashed. I want them to think I’m dead, but if they watched that on satellite, I could have brought them here. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe they couldn’t see because of the dark,” Mrs. Conner said.
“He’s talking about Tivooki Systems here, pumpkin,” Charlie said. “I’m sure they’ve got thermal imaging and things like that.”
“I need to leave. For my safety. And yours.”
“That’s right, you do. No offense. Boonville is a little over an hour away,” Mrs. Conner said. “Charlie and I could give you a ride out there”
“Does Boonville have a train station?”
“Nope. Utica has a bus station and it’s only a little further. From Utica, you can take a bus to Albany. There you can catch a train. Boonville isn’t good for much except for drinking beer and playing the lottery. In fact, I have a librarian friend in Utica who would love to help you out; he’s on a committee to end the Tivooki monopoly,” Charlie said. “We can get you there, don’t you worry.”
After breakfast, the men got a battered blue truck ready. They loaded a big metal tank in the back. Amadeus asked what it was for. “Diesel fuel, just in case your plan doesn’t work and the world rewinds back into the dark ages. At least we’ll be able to generate electricity if we need to,” Mrs. Conner said.
Before Amadeus stepped into the truck, the girl who had smiled at him during breakfast came off the porch and stood pigeon-toed before Amadeus. She handed him a little bracelet made of baling twine and glass beads.
“Um, I made this and I want you to have it. It can, like, ward off evil,” she said. Amadeus smiled and fumbled with one hand to attach it. She gave a mock-exasperated sigh, took it from him, and deftly fastened it to his wrist. “Good luck, for what it’s worth.”
“Thanks,” Amadeus said as he climbed in the back and shut the door. Charlie turned around and placed something heavy in Amadeus’ hand. It was a six-shot Colt revolver.
“Just in case her bracelet doesn’t work,” he said.
47
They listened to the radio on the way. The news made Amadeus shiver. Another document had been leaked, apparently by someone within the Washington security establishment. This document detailed an overhead phone conversation between two parties. One said to the other: “it starts sooner than we expected. The speaker had used voice cloaking technology; taking an imprint was impossible.
The news kept pouring out of the radio like sludge from a factory. All three listened with rapt attention: governments in lockdown mode. Security perimeters erected. The military deployed. Empty shelves. Pockets of looting. Firearms and ammunition hoarded. Communications blackouts. Amadeus tried to shake the feeling that none of this was real, that this was just a radio drama. Or a movie. Or a nightmare. His throbbing leg told him he was definitely awake.
They passed an uncovered military transport. Rows of soldiers
sat in the back, holding their weapons on their lap. Amadeus watched them pass and made eye contact with a man who looked his age. His face was painted with a look of forced bravery. As the convoy passed, they locked eyes. The transport passed and the mud flaps caught his eye: a jolly roger. The smiling skull and crossed femurs reminded him of pirates, of hackers, of Grassal and…file sharing. Slightly illegal, Cohen-protocol sharing. With his site on a single server, even with multiple mirrors, it wouldn’t last ten minutes against Ross’ agents. But spread the file out over hundreds then millions of people, and the battle was over. He only needed to seed the file long enough until a few people had complete copies. Once they were seeding, Amadeus expected it would spread like an epidemic.
When they arrived in Utica, Amadeus wondered if everyone had left. Only a couple cars sat on the street. Bits of paper and trash tumbled along deserted sidewalks. The downtown reminded Amadeus of something he had seen in a zombie movie, of sleepy, small-town America, complete with the art deco signage of the Stanley Theater. On the changeable marquee of the Now Playing sign, someone had arranged the letters to say “Man vs. Demon. Arm Yourselves. Protect the Weak. Help your Fellow Humans.”
Above the theater, something glinted from a window. He squinted. The barrel of a rifle sat on the window sill. Scanning the other windows, Amadeus counted five more rifles and riflemen spread out over the next two blocks, and these were just the ones he could see.
People, he realized, were taking action. While the cities might be clusterfucks, at least this little town had banded together. Amadeus wondered why people would start looting electronics. He could understand groceries, medicine, and firearms, but stealing televisions and computers?
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