CERTAIN HYPOTHETICAL
(Slowpocalypse, Book 1)
Prologue: Pushing the Button
Chapter 1: Everything Changes
Chapter 2: Almost Everything
Chapter 3: This is Hardly Working
Chapter 4: A Hard Day’s Night
Chapter 5: Not Being Paranoid
Chapter 6: Bit of a Dust-Up
Chapter 7: Scattering Dust
Chapter 8: Conspiracy Theories
Chapter 9: Clear as Mud
Chapter 10: Not So Covert Action
Chapter 11: Home is Where
Chapter 12: When it Pours
Chapter 13: Conspiracy Facts
Chapter 14: A Light Night
Epilogue: Battening the Hatches
Bonus Material
Prologue
Pushing the Button
8:45 p.m. Friday, November 22nd
ANTHONY stood behind a cedar, in the shadows beyond the glare of the floodlights, knowing that he could stroll right up to the guards and pass through the gate without difficulty—yet he intended to risk his neck breaking in.
He watched those guards for a few minutes as they inspected the occupants of each queued up and idling vehicle before waving them through into the compound. Even with the later curfew for Friday nights, the line of returning residents in their cars and trucks stretched down the road.
Everyone sat quiet and well behaved, aware that any disruption would delay the checks and that the guards were sticklers who would close and lock the gates at nine p.m. on the dot—no matter how many still waited. And yet, most people came back at the latest possible hour.
Anthony wondered if any of them would end up shut out of the community tonight—it happened—and if in this instance the result would be more unpleasant than usual. They still might be better off than those of us inside.
He admitted to himself that he was tempted to walk right in. He was physically exhausted, and the urgent information he possessed weighed heavily on his mind. But what seemed easy enough right now would only cause difficulties in the future. He had slipped out of the compound this morning without anyone knowing, and if he were to be logged back in without having been logged out in the first place, eventually there would be questions.
Questions and consequences. Anthony found his jaw had clenched as his thoughts turned to what might come of his actions this day. He sighed under his breath and banished the distracting speculation. Keeping his tread light, he backed across the carpet of fallen leaves and needles, stepping farther into the forest.
He started by skirting the security fence. The whispering breeze covered the sound of his passage, and the shadows of swaying branches hid his own fleeting figure. Anthony circled the compound for almost three miles before coming to the large oak standing not fifteen yards from the fence.
He lifted the underside of his left wrist in front of his face and gently rubbed it with his right thumb until the time started to glow softly under the skin. Plenty of time. He had memorized the schedule for the perimeter patrols—another strict routine that never varied and a flaw in their security measures that needed to be fixed.
After he had exploited it.
There were no low-hanging branches, but Anthony had climbed his share of trees—though he dreaded the effect on his clothes. Sacrifices have to be made. He unzipped one of his jacket pockets, pulled out his thick, ridged gloves and tugged them on and scurried up the trunk to a large, sturdy limb. Twenty feet above the ground he rested.
Standing roughly as high as the top of the fence itself, he reached his left hand up to steady himself with the branch above and walked out to where he could look over the perimeter wall and see the back of the Learning Labs Annex.
He grinned. The building and those around it stood closed and dim. On a Friday evening chances were slim anyone would be about in this area. From this distance at least, he couldn’t make out any people—and as long as he wasn’t observed entering the compound in such an unorthodox manner, he’d be able to maintain the fiction that he’d never left.
Anthony looked down at the branch beneath his feet. It seemed sturdy enough where he stood now, but the tree limb thinned as it stretched toward the top of the fence. Of course it had been trimmed to prevent it from extending too close, but even before the branch ended it would fail to support his weight. He took a few cautious steps further out on the limb and tested to see how much give there was—tested gently.
It would be difficult. Anthony calculated in his head—not with actual numbers, but with the intuition he’d developed from long experience. He saw how much momentum he’d need at the point where he’d have to jump. He saw just how he would have to place his feet, and how much spring the giving branch would supply. One small error alone could put him on the ground with a broken back, or enmeshed in the razor wire on top of the fence. Either scenario was unpleasant.
Anthony worried what would happen if he were to fail to deliver his report in time and felt the weight of responsibility settling upon his shoulders. Then he took a deep breath and just let it go. He wasn’t in control. The fate of the world didn’t depend on him, however much he might feel that way. He couldn’t begin to fathom all of the potential consequences of his actions. He could only do what felt right deep down in his spirit—and trust.
Anthony checked the time again. Soon enough the regular patrol would come through, examining the buffer zone between fence and wall. He let his hand glide back up to the higher branch and held himself still while he waited. A little movement of the branches would seem the work of the wind and likely wouldn’t even register with the guards, but a sharp rustle might attract their attention. And Anthony’s current position would not withstand any scrutiny.
Several minutes later, the two-man patrol appeared, casting casual glances left and right as they marched along. Very sloppy. Like the gate guards, they were rigid in their discipline but lax in their duty. Anthony used the interval while he waited to breathe slow and deep, gathering his energy.
Once the distraction of their presence was gone, he again ran his mind over just how his body would need to perform to make it cleanly over the fence. Then he considered how he needed his body to hit the ground to avoid doing himself serious injury. Which he would if he didn’t land properly.
He calmed his nerves. This was the time for allowing his instinct and experience to take over. He focused his mind on precisely what he meant to do as he cycled through a few more deep breaths. And when his spirit was ready, Anthony pounded a few powerful strides down the length of the branch and launched himself through the air.
He stretched his hands out in front of him as if he were diving into a pool—a pool twenty feet above the ground, with the water’s surface facing him in the air. He imagined himself striking that surface above the razor wire. Then his body curved downward, and he focused on the approaching ground as it really was so he could meet it at a glancing blow.
He folded his hands inward as he impacted, not taking the brunt of the force but subtly altering his trajectory as he tucked into a roll. He kept rolling, transferring his energy into forward momentum. He tumbled across the ground most of the way to the perimeter wall before enough of his kinetic energy had dissipated to allow propelling himself up into a standing crouch.
Anthony grinned even as he winced. He stood with care and stretched his muscles as he took stock of his condition. He knew he’d be sore, but miraculously he had not broken, sprained, or even pulled anything. The perimeter wall still loomed ahead of him. Thankfully, it was only ten feet high, and the iron spikes on top were merely decorative. They’d make good handholds.
Anthony allowed himself another few minutes rest. Although the next part should be simple, his strength was starting to ebb. Finally he took a deep breath and a few steps backward. Then a short run and he was scrambling up the wall and grabbing the wrought iron to hold his head just over the top while he looked for signs of life on the other side.
Sat
isfied the entire area remained empty, Anthony heaved himself over with care and dropped down gently. He’d jostled his insides enough. He walked toward the back of the building, glancing around to confirm as best he could that he hadn’t been seen. Then he turned and drifted around the side to the front, casting his eye over the doors and windows. Now he was just doing his job. Now he had an acceptable answer if anyone questioned his behavior.
He looked down at the dirt and grass stains on his clothes, and the sight caused him physical pain. It wouldn’t be hard to come up with an explanation, but he’d prefer to get to his quarters without being seen in such a dilapidated state. Miles would have to wait while Anthony took the time to make himself look presentable.
So he weaved his way between the empty halls, hemmed around the back playfield to avoid the student dormitories, and strode past the front of the Ag Center. Then he circled around to the back door of Security Headquarters hoping to avoid his staff. At least until he’d managed to change clothes.
Anthony removed his FURCS pad from its hiding place in the wall and inserted his security key in the lock. Opening the heavy door just enough to slip inside, he took two long strides down the hall and into his darkened office by the side entrance. That brief trip had afforded a glimpse of someone at the duty desk but no one else.
Thankfully, Anthony knew his office space like the back of his hand and was able to strip and put on one of his spare uniforms without injuring himself. He stuffed his abused apparel in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet before turning on the lights. And then dashed to the mirror to examine himself.
Dirt smudged his face and forehead, and a few blades of grass hung in his hair. He grabbed a hand towel from one of his desk drawers and a water bottle, which he upended to soak the towel. Which he then used to wash his face and hands. He raked his wet fingers through his hair and checked the mirror again. He still looked a little ragged, but it was good enough. It would have to be.
He waltzed out his office’s front door and appeared right behind Officer Courdray. She whirled in her chair to stare at him. “I didn’t think you were in, sir.” But she made the statement a question.
Anthony smiled wide. “It’s alright, Lisa. I was just grabbing myself a catnap.” He glanced around the otherwise empty lobby. “Quiet night so far? I imagine that will change. But I’m still off duty. So, don’t you dare call me. I’m heading out, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Who’s the lucky woman?”
“Officer Courdray—” He tried to scowl at her. “That’s nonsense.”
She shook her head in sad denial, but Anthony didn’t care to dally. He turned on his heel and headed down the side corridor and out of the building to where they stabled their electric carts. Two of the buggies were gone, as they ought to be. He would wager his student volunteers performed their duties with much more diligence than Chief Gray’s guards. He slid into one of the remaining carts, backed out, and headed for the Green.
Despite the delays he’d already encountered, he still needed to avoid attracting undue attention this evening. So he decided to enjoy tootling along. It was restful for his mind and body as he glided with care along the wide walkway that outlined the giant circle of perfectly maintained turf, dodging inattentive pedestrians. He made sure to cast stern glances at the picnicking couples—in his uniform, it made him the very picture of normality.
Anthony parked his cart by the entrance next to Fielding Hall and walked up to the Admin Building and used his FURCS pad to enter by the staff door, leaving an electronic footprint of where he’d been. Though now that he was back inside the compound it should all appear quite routine. He wasn’t naïve enough to try using his pad or the net for anything he wished to keep private from prying eyes.
Taking one look at the central stairway, Anthony decided to ride the elevator instead. He used the short trip to the fifth floor to finish composing his thoughts, then stepped out into the deserted lobby. He glided around the reception desk to the security door—here he had to plug his security key into his pad, insert the key into the lock, and press his thumb against the pad’s screen. The door unlocked, and he passed through into a brightly lit office suite.
He stopped for a long and lasting sigh. A square of desks in the middle of the space was ringed by an outer row of offices, with the director’s rooms in the far corner. Since Miles had been living there lately, Anthony had little doubt he would find the man in. He banged a perfunctory knock to give warning and pushed inside. As he’d suspected, Miles was behind his desk. Awake and at work.
The light shined even stronger here, revealing the creases in Miles’ shirt and the dark circles under the man’s eyes. Anthony couldn’t help thinking the director needed more rest. He pushed that twinge of sympathy to the back of his mind—none of them would be getting much rest. Not now, and not anytime soon.
Anthony settled himself into the soft as butter leather sofa—no need to stand on ceremony when it was just the two of them. He leaned forward to prop his head on his hands as he looked Miles in the eye. “It’s worse than we thought, Jon.”
The corner of the man’s mouth dared to twitch. “I take it you’ve had a hard day, Anthony?”
“And I’m about to have a difficult night.” Anthony rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve got a lot to report, so let me get it all out.” He went ahead and gave the director a detailed report on his day’s activities, with verbatim quotes from his sources. It took nearly an hour to go over everything.
Miles refrained from interrupting, but partway through the story he grabbed his FURCS workpad and started tapping out messages. Apparently a decision had been made.
Anthony finished and added his own comment. “It’s not quite what you planned for.”
Miles shook his head slowly. “No, indeed. The governor’s actions are precipitate, and they leave us with little choice.”
Anthony felt his jaw clenching again. “Then you are decided.”
“What would you have me do? If we don’t activate the emergency protocols immediately, what do you imagine will happen tomorrow? And this is one of those hypothetical situations in the charter that gives me the authority. I’ve summoned Ms. Belue to assist us with the preparations."
Tony scratched his chin. “How much does she know about what’s going on?”
“Well, she’s thoroughly familiar with all the procedures and policies contained in the charter—she actually wrote most of them. But I’ve never told her what it all means. Still, I doubt she’ll be terribly surprised by anything.”
“But will she go along with it?”
Miles shot Anthony a look of irritation. “Do you think I’d have made Verity my right hand if I wasn’t convinced I could trust her? She’ll do what needs to be done.” The director cleared his throat and softened his tone. “Speaking of what needs to be done, we’re going to have to make some additions to our plans to deal with the new complications.”
Complications. Anthony took a deep breath and set aside the subject of Ms. Belue. There were more urgent considerations. “When do you think Roberts made his decision?” He recalled the line of vehicles outside the compound. “Someone will need to examine the visitor logs. Anyone recently arrived will be suspect.”
Miles shook his head. “We already know of one mole the governor has had in place for a long time, whom you’ll have to keep your eye on. There may be others, so don’t limit your investigation.”
Miles sighed. “But we have more urgent worries than the threats from enemies within. We dare not move against them until we’ve dealt with the larger problem—the governor attempting to take over by force.”
“With all your preparations, Jon, the protocols weren’t designed to protect us against the kind of assault Roberts can launch with the State National Guard at his disposal.”
Miles nodded. “There are some pieces in place, though. We couldn’t have done more—it would’ve been obvious, and ruined everything. So now we’ll have to use a slow lu
re.”
Anthony thought again about the residents who might have tried and failed to return home tonight. “If we push the button now, we’ll be creating certain problems.”
“If I push the button, you mean.” Miles stopped and removed his glasses to massage his temples. “I value your opinion, Anthony. You know that. And you’re right—the way this is all going down makes everything dashed awkward. But.” Miles stood up from his chair and walked around to the side of his desk. “This represents an existential threat to the project.”
Anthony understood. He didn’t appreciate the situation, but like Miles he didn’t see any other option. “What about the other communities?”
“They’ll have to make their own decisions, and they’re in an even tougher spot, since they’ll have far too many options to consider. The Northwest Complex is the only one that is even ready to go online. Anyway, I sent them a message, but it’s delayed so they won’t receive it until the morning, and coded. We can’t risk tipping our hand.”
Anthony did admire his friend’s ability to plan ahead. “One last thing. Those additions to the plan you mentioned. I hope you meant you’ve got some notion how to keep us all alive.” Despite his words, Anthony found himself grinning.
Miles essayed a brief smile in return. “An idea, yes, but we can flesh that out later. First we should eat, while we go over each of the steps we’ll have to take right away. If we don’t start enacting the emergency protocols now, we might not get the chance.”
Anthony nodded. That weight had returned to his shoulders, and sleep was distant on the horizon. He started to stand but got waved back down.
Miles smiled at him. “You’re exhausted. I’ll go make the tea. Before Ms. Belue arrives.”
Anthony nodded and gave his friend a long look. “And now it begins. Or ends, as the case may be.”
Chapter 1
Starting the Slowpocalypse (Books 1-3 Omnibus) Page 4
