Authors: Keith Varney
Rest assured fellow patriots, they will not be able to keep this under wraps for too long. When a city disappears, people tend to notice. Keep refreshing for more updates.
Sarah hits refresh on the computer. The browser spins for a second and the page is replaced with an error message:
Error. The server at http://www.govwatch.org can’t be found, because the DNS lookup failed
Sarah hits refresh again, and gets the same result.
“Maybe it crashed from too much traffic?” she says while clicking back to Facebook.
“Wait a minute. What the hell? Scroll back up.”
They stare at Sarah’s Facebook feed. It now reads:
Becky Dawson: Lions are totally going to win. Tom Brady is so overrated.
Michael M. Bulston: My Wicked tour heads to Dallas this week. Gonna get me some BBQ! I think I’m on for Boq for the Wednesday matinee. #stagedoorismyfrontdoor #tourlife #workingactor #grateful #productioncontract
Scott Wolvington: My puppy just pooped on the couch. #adorable
Trig Roland: Look at my hamburger! It is magnificent! Look at it!
“They deleted all the posts about the… whatever this is! How is that possible?”
“Even if it’s possible, there’s no way that it’s legal.”
For the first time, Chris finds himself truly frightened as well. “Assuming this is true, the depth and scope of this cover-up is staggering. I mean, its audacity is ridiculous. Because no matter what the government tries, whichever shady agency it may be, a problem of this magnitude could not possibly stay a secret for more than a few hours, days at the most.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea. Water-borne virus? Shady cover-up? It’s all a little X-Files, don’t you think?” He pauses to think for a moment. “But if there really is a quarantine, it seems like an act of desperation. What could possibly merit all of this?”
Sarah shakes her head. “Maybe it’s all just some big hoax. I mean, do you really buy that the government would—or could—cover this up? What would be the point?”
“I don’t know. The money thing seemed most plausible I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“If there is some sort of disaster, it could crash the international stock markets. Remember what happened after 9/11? People lost a shit-ton of money.”
“Sure, but if this is really happening, they can’t hide it forever.”
“Of course, but maybe they don’t have to. They just have to delay the news from getting out until they can freeze their assets internationally and shut down the exchanges domestically or whatever. Right now, I don’t think anybody knows what’s actually going on, and nothing crashes markets like uncertainty.”
Sarah gives him a skeptical look. “You’re a finance expert now?”
“Remember when we lost the remote? The TV was stuck on CNBC for two hours. I’m pretty sure I have a good understanding of international trade markets now.”
She is too frightened to give his joke more than a nod and a smile that comes out as more of a grimace. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What of this does make sense to you?”
“None of it. But we should behave as if it’s real. I’d rather be a red-faced dupe than… an infected or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what do we do?” Sarah knows this is the obvious if somewhat unanswerable question, but somebody has to ask it. “Call 911? Or 311?”
“I think they shut down 311 last year when they ran out of money. Besides, nobody in any official capacity is going to give us information. They’ve stopped the media, legit and otherwise, from reporting it. They’ve somehow been able to remove information from Facebook, they’re definitely not going to answer questions.”
Sarah nods. It doesn’t seem possible, but based on what they’ve seen, he’s right.
“What about calling your folks? They’re on the other side of the country. Their TV probably works. Maybe they know something we don’t?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Chris picks up his cell phone and attempts to call her parents in Wyoming.
“Not going through. I can’t get a signal.”
Sarah checks her phone too. The same.
“Did they shut down the cell networks?”
“I guess they’d have to.” Chris thinks for a second. “Oh, let’s try the hard line.”
Like the fire alarm and sprinkler system, the strange building codes created by the conversion from a public to a private building forced them to install a traditional telephone line despite it seeming unnecessary. They never even bothered to install an actual phone, but in the back of a closet, Chris finds a cheap plastic telephone they bought at a dollar store to test the line. He plugs it into the jack.
“Shit. No dial tone. Try e-mailing them. They won’t get it until the morning, but at least it’s something.”
“They won’t get it at all,” Sarah says with a mixture of frustration and anxiety.
“Why not?”
“The internet is down now too.”
“All of it?”
“Yep, the modem’s not getting anything from the cable line. I already rebooted. I think this means we’re officially cut off.”
Frustrated, Chris sits down on the arm of their couch. Something in his ‘man brain’ is struggling with the growing sense of danger and his being completely at a loss for what to do about it. His father always told him even in danger, or perhaps especially in danger, a man is supposed to be able to reason out the situation logically. You’re supposed to be able to figure out a plan that guarantees the safety of yourself and your loved ones. But tonight he can’t think of anything to do. The situation is so bizarre he doesn’t have enough reference points to put together a plan of action. It temporarily short-circuits his ability to act.
“I need a drink.” Chris says finally.
“You need to help me find our flashlights and any candles we can find.” Sarah’s brain has no such male limitations. She doesn’t need all of the data, she’s working more on instinct than logic.
“Why? What do we need those for?”
All of the lights abruptly shut off. Power to the city of Detroit has been severed and they are swallowed up by darkness.
“That’s why. If they’re truly trying to stop all traffic and communication out of the city, they’ve got to shut off the electricity too.” Lighting her way by her iPhone, Sarah walks down the stairs into the kitchen, where they keep the flashlights.
Chris heads to the linen closet where he remembers they stashed some candles last Christmas. They continue their discussion, now shouting between rooms.
“Even if they think they’re protecting people outside of the city, what about the people
in
the city? They can’t just abandon us. Where’s the CDC?”
“No fucking clue.” Sarah shines her flashlight on Chris and hands him another one. “Let’s find those candles. We should save the batteries. We don’t know how long the power is going to be out.”
“It’s almost dawn. We’ll have light in a couple of hours.”
“What makes you think the power will be up before it gets dark again?
Chapter 4
“OW! OW! OW!” Mikey was shrieking.
Sarah’s heart started pounding in her chest. Mikey had only been out of her sight for thirty seconds, a minute tops.
FUCK
. Scrambling up the embankment while pulling her pants up, she slipped and almost face-planted into the steep wet carpet of rocks and leaves. With a flash of dexterity she didn’t have time to appreciate, she managed to grab on to an exposed root to keep her balance. Adrenaline coursed through her teenage body as she desperately tried to get to the top.
They were on a brother-sister camping trip. That’s all that Mikey wanted for his ninth birthday. Not some wimpy day hike like on a school field trip, but a full week in a national park where he would get to camp in a tent and cook marshmallows by the fire. Most importantly, it had to be with his kickass older sister Sarah. The only girl he knew that wasn’t gross or worse… girly.
Not a lot of nine-year-old boys want to go camping with their sisters and even fewer seventeen-year-old girls would, secretly, be just as excited. But Sarah was thrilled. She enjoyed being outdoors, but even more—she loved her little brother. Being eight years apart in age helped them avoid most of the typical sibling rivalries and petty arguments about toys or chores. He was a bright and enthusiastic kid. Something about his child-like optimism and love of life helped ground her when she stepped into the bleak world of teenage angst and perpetual misery.
Mikey looked up to Sarah because she seemed so adult. She drove a car, she had a job, she had money so she could buy all the candy she wanted. She seemed to be so mature, but she was still cool. Most adults seemed to talk
at
him not
to
him. They always treated him like he was either much younger or much older than he was. They looked at the top of his head or at their own feet, as if looking him in the eye would be weird or dangerous. To Mikey, it felt like adults didn’t remember what being nine felt like. Sarah was different. She made eye contact with him. She talked to him like he was her equal but in a way that made it clear that she understood, and more importantly, was interested in the intricacies of his nine-year-old boy’s thoughts.
They had long discussions about the various bugs and worms he discovered on their father’s farm. He was obsessed with insects, the weirder the better. He spent hours reading books well above his grade level to learn as much as he could about the insect world. Sarah often helped him navigate the bigger scientific words. She would pronounce the words for him, and then he would explain what they meant to her, because often he had already heard them on a Discovery Chanel or PBS program. He had posters of spiders, beetles and dragonflies tacked over every surface of his bedroom. Finding his enthusiasm irresistible, Sarah had cemented her status as the coolest sister ever when she presented him with a live ant colony on his eighth birthday.
“Ooooooooooowwww!”
Sarah could hear fear in Mikey’s voice. She tried to run faster up the steep wooded slope and tripped on a stick, banging her shin on a rock. Seventeen was an awkward age for Sarah. She had one foot in adulthood, but another still firmly planted in childhood. Her favorite doll still sat on the same desk as her college applications. Hanging out with Mikey usually made her feel very grown up, in control—powerful even. But in that instant: alone in the woods and responsible for keeping her brother safe, about to face some sort of injury she wasn’t qualified to treat—she felt very much a child. She was not ready for this. She had just stepped behind a tree to pee and now Mikey, the child she was supposed to keep safe, was wailing in pain.
Sarah finally reached the top of the ridge and looked down to see Mikey sitting on the ground holding onto his leg. Blood was streaming down his calf and was starting to saturate the top of his sock.
“Oh my God! What happened?” She knelt down next to him looking for the source of the blood.
How deep is the cut? Did he break his leg!?
Mikey’s words came out in broken little spurts between sobs. “I…I…I climbed… that rock…and…and…slipped.” A new gale of sobs began. He seemed so young to her. He really was small for his age.
Sarah cursed herself for not bringing first aid supplies. As an adult she would always wonder why her parents didn’t insist that they bring them. Perhaps they didn’t care about first aid due to some ‘farm-tough’ vanity. ‘We’re tough country folk. Just rub some mud in it’ or some bullshit.
She tore off a piece of her t-shirt and started to wipe the blood off his shin to get a look at the wound. She winced when he whimpered from the pain, but knew she had to see what they were dealing with. When she did, Sarah almost laughed with relief. He was cut for sure, but it wasn’t that deep. There was a gash about four inches long, but it was shallow and already starting to clot. There was a startling amount of blood, but it was just that: startling.
“Shh… shh… it’s OK Mikey. You’re going to be fine. It’s just a cut.”
Mikey looked up at her. The sobs started to thin out. He was more frightened than in pain and when she said it wasn’t that bad, he trusted her.
“OK. Let me just wrap this. It will stop bleeding soon.” She tied the piece of fabric tightly around the gash. “See, now, you look badass!”
The swear word broke through Mikey’s sniffles. He almost started to grin.
“I’m… a… badass.” He tried out the swearword and waited to be admonished. When he wasn’t, the grin spread. “Bad… ASS!”
“Alright, alright. Let’s not take that term home to Mom. But we should start heading back.”
Mikey’s face fell. “What? No! We just got here. I don’t wanna go home. You promised! A whole week!”
“Mikey you got injured. We don’t even have any Band-Aids.”
“No! I’m fine! See, I’m not crying. It’s OK. Pleeeeaassssse can we stay?”
It was just a cut. He had indeed stopped crying and was walking around in circles, as if to prove he was alright. Sarah could never seem to say ‘no’ to Mikey, even when she knew better. Why not stay? The weather was great. They were having fun.