The Lucid - Season One: The Beginning

by Nick Thacker

  They’d be after him, of course. Especially since Kim had recognized him. But with the number of cameras festooning poles in the parking lot, not to mentioning covering every square inch of the building’s interior, there was little chance that they wouldn’t know it was him. They would have him nailed eight ways to sunday, with photos and video, shots of his license plate—heck, with all the blood they’d taken from him over the past few months they could even supply his DNA to authorities.

  But it would take them awhile. Adam knew the protocol: Secuirty personnel were not allowed, under any circumstances, to leave the campus grounds for pursuit while on duty. They were armed security guards, but they were also employees of the United States Government, and no one on the Hill wanted a civilian liability suit on their hands if it could be prevented. Jurisdiction would be handed over to city law enforcement, if it hadn’t already.

  Adam’s plan hadn’t included an early hit on the security alarm. That would dispatch to local authorities directly, with a code that indicated this was more than just a fire. Heightened alert for terrorist activity had never settled down—and in fact had only intensified over the past decade. Threats to a water treatment facility would get attention fast. You don’t mess with the water supply.

  So the explosion and “accident” would have been reported. Adam’s only hope was that facility security had counted on apprehending him, and his involvement might have only now reached the division office. He’d have a narrow window to get the rest of his plan moving. He could still do this.

  He might have about half an hour before they were at his doorstep.

  Fifteen minutes to get home, and fifteen minutes to pack up his family and hit the road.

  It wasn’t looking good.

  He accelerated. The truck was in the left lane, flying south down Interstate 25 through the southern half of the city.

  Downtown Colorado Springs was a mix of high-rise apartments and corporate skyscrapers. The city had grown quickly over the past decade, but city planners had pushed to keep the “downtown atmosphere” separate from the rather suburban surrounding area. The result was a massive, tightly-packed network of sprawling commercial buildings that fought for control of the skyline, all smashed together into a geographic area of about ten square miles.

  Wave after wave of tall, identical office buildings passed on Adam’s left, separated from squat apartment buildings and dots of mandated open spaces by a stretch of four-lane highway that seemed eternally in motion.

  Adam’s exit was two miles away, and he raced another truck for a spot in the lane next to his. The driver yelled something as Adam cut him off, punctuating his expression of displeasure with time-honored hand gestures, but Adam was beyond caring. He whipped into the right lane and then punched at the police scanner on his truck’s dashboard. The computerized “female” voice of the auto-dispatcher played over the scanner’s small speaker.

  “…Pursuit imminent. Repeat, vehicle pursuit imminent. All officers report to location…”

  Adam knew they were less than a minute away from ID-ing his truck and getting eyes out looking for him. Minutes after that, he’d have a squad of cop cars pulling up on his front lawn …

  Drive, he told himself. Get there now. Worry later.

  As he exited the highway, he couldn’t help but obsessively notice each of the solar-powered satellite cameras, mounted on poles at every exit, on-ramp, and corner of each of the city roads and highways. Touted as one of the most advanced surveillance systems in any American city, the direct-feed cameras recorded every movement, every activity, and every vehicle in a fifty-mile radius, down to the last meter.

  The capabilities of the tech were impressive, to say the least—finding and alerting authorities to possible crimes before they were committed, Identifying localized weather threats and traffic congestion, and providing a 24/7 “heartbeat” of the city to police, fire, emergency, and prevention services.

  Oddly, however, as the city’s surveillance system experienced massive evolutionary upgrades it had seemed to be less and less necessary. Over the past half year or so, the crime rate had dwindled to practically zero in Colorado Springs. Minor crimes, such as shoplifting and vandalism, had all but vanished. Those few times when something really required the attention of law enforcement or emergency services, however, seemed to get slower responses than ever before. The Unmanned Vehicle Force would show up, of course, and circle the area, controlling traffic and tracking suspects by tailing them as they moved. But the human police force seemed to become completely inept. They’d become increasingly slow to respond. Firefighters often showed up in time to douse an already destroyed home or business. EMTs frequently arrived to cart bodies to the morgue.

  Adam had been frustrated and even a little alarmed by this … but he seemed to be one of just a few people who even cared. His attempts to spark conversations about these things, about the increasingly disconnected human component of the city’s emergency response or even the increased reliance they seemed to have on the automated systems, was met with shrugs and vague smiles, glassy-eyed stares and grinning shakes of the head.

  No one cared. And over time, even Adam started to care less and less.

  At the moment, though, Adam cared a great deal, though he was more concerned with who was watching, and what they were looking for. He had an eerie feeling they were watching him, laughing at him as he tried in vain to hide from their all-seeing eyes.

  This is what the fly feels like, he thought. Trapped in the web, buzzing and trying to be free, while all the while hundreds of eyes watch you, waiting until you’ve tired yourself out so you can wrapped up tight and sucked dry.

  He slowed the truck a little as he swerved onto a side road leading into his neighborhood, and noticed a camera mounted on a stop sign slowly turn and tilt down, its lens pointed through his truck’s windshield.

  He sped up again.

  Too soon, he thought. There wouldn’t be enough time now. The police—ineffective or not—would be on his tail soon.

  As if on cue, chatter burst through the scanner as a few officers reported their locations and awaited a response for the automated system. In a few seconds, Adam would hear the dispatch computer issue a command to begin pursuit, once his vehicle had been positively identified.

  “Officer 5034, officer 3042, officer 5039, please engage in vehicular pursuit at this time. Remain open line. Driver identified. Driver: Adam Bolland, 38 years of age, male. Height: 5’10.” Weight: Approximately 200 pounds. Vehicle identified: Toyota Tundra, color: midnight black. VIN number…”

  Adam cursed as the auto-dispatcher recited details of his physical appearance and those of his truck. He was, oddly and unreasonably, a little miffed at the weight. Two hundred pounds? I’m only 180, tops!

  He shook his head, chastising himself for vanity while he was possibly running for his life. It was all part of the surreal nature of the day. Nothing about this could be real. Could it?

  He had hoped for more time. He had counted too much on the bureaucracy of the facility, hoping it would slow things down just enough, give him more of a window for his escape. But it seemed like someone was nudging things, watching from somewhere and making sure Adam didn’t catch any lucky breaks.

  He made two left turns, then finally a right, keeping his speed right on the upper edge of what was safe in this neighborhood. The last thing he wanted was to lose control and careen into someone’s house. Or, worse, to hit one of the neighborhood kids, who were used to chasing a ball into the street with no fear. He had complained about this to Kate a thousand times, only receiving eye rolls and shoulder shrugs in response. She thought it was quaint, that the neighborhood was safe to the point of being backwards.

  Adam pushed his speed as much as he dared. Even if he’d been moving at light speed it would have felt too slow.

  His house was an updated bungalow in a small community of homes, each well-maintained and painted one of a set of HOA-approved colors. Each mailbox wa
s white, and a short, white, picket fence ran along the grass in front of each front yard. Kate had fallen in love with the idyllic scene when they had moved here. The picket fence had sold her instantly. It was everything she had ever dreamt of—the kind of neighborhood she’d always wanted to live in.

  Adam hated it.

  As he neared his own house, he thought about the neighbors he’d lived next to for years now. He barely knew any of them. None of them had come to bring cookies when they’d moved—something his mother would have chastised them over. And none had ever thrown a get-together, or even invited them to dinner.

  Of course, Adam and Kate hadn’t invited them to anything either. The world had changed since his mother’s time—suburban America was as fragmented as any other place. The days of people greeting each other as they stepped out for the morning paper, or chatting in the yard as they took a break from mowing—long gone. No one greeted one another, and no one seemed to care when another family moved in or out. It was just the circle of suburban life. One family leaves to make room for the next, and each acts as an anonymous cog in the community, serving the HOA with endless rounds of lawn moving and weed pulling and house painting. All serve the HOA.

  Still, despite everything, this was home. Adam didn’t mind the hands-off neighbors, actually. Everyone kept their lawn clean, and noise was virtually non-existent. It was a safe place. Kids could run and play here without being in any serious danger. It was, maybe, the most boring of neighborhoods. But at least it was home.

  Adam sighed. It’s all over now, anyway.

  He squealed into his driveway. He’d forgotten to call ahead, but it shouldn’t take long to round everyone up and get them on the road. They had prepared for this. He had outlined exactly what was going to happen. He’d left detailed instructions.

  Adam grabbed the cooler from the passenger’s seat, ran to the front door and burst through it, startling his youngest daughter.

  “Dad! Are you okay?” Sarah asked from the living room. She was sitting at the family computer. On the screen was a fantasy game they’d gotten for the kids last Christmas. Seeing her there, calmly playing a game while Adam had just raced in from utter chaos, while their world had just been shredded to bits—it seemed completely unreal. It made him pause.

  “Sarah, hey.” He said, catching his breath. In his head time was still racing in a torrent around him, field by his adrenaline. He had expected everyone to be standing and waiting, suitcases in hand, worried looks on their faces. Not calmly playing video games, startled by his sudden arrival.

  “Where’s Mom?” he asked, swallowing and trying to calm himself, to catch his breath. “I need you to get ready to go.”

  “Adam? Honey, is that you?”

  Adam saw his wife round the corner of the living room at the end of the hallway. She saw his face, wild eyes and unkempt hair.

  “Adam. What’s happening?”

  Adam blinked. “It’s time. Get the kids. We need to go.”

  “Adam —“

  “It’s time, Kate. Now.”

  “Now?”

  He didn’t answer, instead he walked past her, into the living room and through to the master bedroom beyond—the only bedroom on the ground floor.

  From behind him, Kate yelled up the stairs. “Charlie! Sammie! Time to go!” Adam heard pounding feet from the floor above as the two fourteen-year-old twins—one boy, one girl—raced each other down the stairs as if this were a trip to soccer practice instead of the five of them making an escape.

  Adam concentrated on what he was doing. He had already pulled his backpack from the closet, where it had been hidden behind piles of clothes and shoes, and checked the straps. He tested each zipper, and verified the contents. Satisfied that everything was ready, he placed the cooler filled with the three samples into the backpack’s main compartment, finally zipping the whole thing closed. As he finished, Kate walked in.

  “What’s that?” she asked, seeing the backpack for the first time.

  “Supplies. Are the kids ready?”

  “I — yeah, I guess. Adam, can we talk about this?”

  He whirled on her, catching her by surprise. “Kate, now. We don’t have time! We already talked about this, remember?”

  She swallowed, then nodded. “Sorry. Yeah, they’re ready. I’ll get them into the truck. How long?”

  He thought for a moment, remembering the broadcast from the police scanner. “Less than ten minutes. Maybe five.”

  She nodded once and ran around him out into the living room. “Kids! Let’s go! Now!”

  Adam walked past her into the garage as he heard the three kids filing into place in the entrance hallway. The automated system recognized his handprint, and he hit the command to open the garage door. It slid quietly upward.

  He walked to the tall row of cabinets lining the wall, and opened the first. A can of gasoline, and a storage bucket full of bottles that contained vehicle fluids and oil. He placed the gas on top of the storage container and carried both outside to the truck, where he placed them into it’s open bed. During his second trip he grabbed two more pre-packed storage containers and then closed the garage door.

  “I didn’t lock it,” Kate said as he approached the truck once again. He opened the door to the driver’s seat and climbed in.

  “It won’t matter.”

  The kids were crammed into the back seat of the truck, already complaining about the lack of legroom, but doing so as if reading a script. Their voices were somewhat flat—they’d become increasingly disconnected over the past few months, as if running on autopilot or otherwise suppressed.

  Suppressed, he thought. That was the word for it. More people, every day, were succumbing to whatever this was. It was spreading through the community. People had started wandering aimlessly, sometimes late into the night. One night he’d caught Sammie doing it, and that had sealed the plan for him.

  Without checking to see if seat belts were fastened, Adam put the truck in reverse and backed it down the driveway, a little faster than usual.

  “Where are we going, dad?” Charlie asked.

  Adam didn’t answer, listening instead to the police scanner.

  “…Suspect in custody… 10-4…”

  Another situation. That could be good. It might provide a little distraction, and give Adam and his family a gap.

  “…Report on vehicle pursuit…”

  Dammit, he thought.

  That was him. One of the police officers responded a few seconds later, giving his location.

  Less than a mile away. They would be within view in less than a minute.

  He turned, taking the long way back to the highway. He’d have better luck navigating around the busier areas, taking cover from the houses and buildings. But he’d eventually need to get on the highway itself.

  He looked at each of his children in the rearview mirror. Calm. No indication of worry or anxiety.

  Kate, too, was quiet. She hadn’t said a word since they’d started moving. It was as if they’d just defaulted to standby, with no directives to follow.

  This isn’t right.

  Adam raced toward the alley at the end of the road — nothing more than a driveway for this last row of houses, but one that connected to another street on the other side. It wasn’t on GPS maps, and was often unknown to people who didn’t live in the neighborhood.

  The street appeared in front of him, and he slowed a little to check for inbound traffic. Satisfied, he turned right and sped up. Only three cross-streets between him and the highway.

  We’re going to make it.

  A police siren cut through the air behind him, and he saw it pull into view from an intersection he’d just passed. From this distance he couldn’t tell if it was a UVF or manually driven, but the squad car was clearly on the hunt for him. The car was sleek black, low to the ground, and he knew it was built for power and speed.

  Worse, it was speeding up.

  There was no outrunning it.

&nbs
p; Adam gunned it, ignoring the last stop sign before the access road. He had to think of some way to scrape this guy off his bumper, and it wasn’t going to be easy—he was seriously outgunned, in every sense of the word. But he had something that resembled a plan.

  He let the cop car behind him close the distance, and he could see that it was in fact an unmanned police cruiser. The UVF—Unmanned Vehicle Force—was used for reconnaissance in unsafe areas, and as a first responder in dangerous situations. It was another of the relatively recent safety developments that had been touted on national news, though Adam had always suspected they were less about safety and more about reducing the need for manpower on the police force. Why pay hourly wages to police officers when you can replace them with automated pursuit vehicles? A one-time charge to the budget, and no pension, retirement, or vacation and sick days to worry about.

  Adam pulled up to the next intersection and stopped, knowing the unmanned car could do nothing but follow him and call for backup.

  Sure enough, an automated voice came over the scanner. “UVF unit 567 In pursuit of suspect at present location,” it said, followed by a set of grid coordinates that dispatch would continuously translate into street names for the human police force. The UVF would act as a GPS beacon broadcasting Adam’s location, providing headquarters with a moment-by-moment update as well as a 360-degree roof-mounted camera image.

  Adam waited as another car pulled onto the access road, just down the block. The UVF cruiser would calculate the speed and distance of the oncoming car and adjust its speed accordingly to prevent accidents. But today, Adam was in the business of creating accidents.

  He pulled out onto the access road and into the far lane, waiting for the UVF cruiser to measure the speed and distance of the oncoming car. As anticipated, the cruiser judged that it could make it into the far lane and continue its pursuit before the oncoming car was too close.