Zero Day Code, page 31
part #1 of End of Days Series
Today he was more worried about whether he should open a new account to put his reward money in. Be just his fucking luck to score twenty-five grand from Uncle Sugar, only to lose the lot in a fucking stock market crash or banking collapse or something.
As he settled into an easy, loping run at the edge of town, passing the spot where he’d nearly come off his bike, he made mental note to himself to add another task to his online research later. He needed to know whether people were just being pussies about this run on the banks, or whether it was a real thing. If it was going to complicate getting his money, he might be better of just leaving.
Fucking hard to do though. Turning your back on money like that.
And he’d spent forty bucks on those drinks last night, too.
Man, he really needed to check his PayPal.
Feeling his temper rising with his frustrations, Jonas poured on the speed. He needed a clear head to think this shit through. He passed only a single car, travelling fast, as he accelerated to a sprint through the long curve of the downslope leading back to Seattle. The sun wasn’t high enough to have warmed the air at this altitude, and the cool mountain breeze he ran into felt good on his skin. Five minutes of hard running and he’d started to calm down again. The fucking globalist cucks in Washington weren’t gonna let their Jewish banker friends go bust. They hadn’t in 2008. They wouldn’t now. Jonas would just need to make sure that anywhere he stashed his money was federally guaranteed. He was probably at greater risk of an ass fucking by hanging out here too long – up in the woods, waiting on a payday – than he was from a market meltdown.
Even the Chinese thing was bullshit. Way Jonas saw it, those vicious old slants in Beijing had done the American people a fucking solid yesterday. That bitchslap with the drones and shit? That was gonna prevent a war, not start one. He almost fucking laughed at the brilliant, audacious fucking gall of it. Because again, there was no way that Wall Street was gonna let Washington fuck up their balance sheets by going to war with China. All the slants had to do was get their shit locked down. Make their boss level move a fait a-fucking-ccompli.
He ran and focussed on his breathing. He tried to let his mind fly out, into the dark green and brown vastness of the forests, and he felt through his soles the hard, irreducible reality of the mountain beneath his tread. It took a while but, in the end, he chilled himself out and was about to turn back, when something… something wrong… in the corner of his eye pulled him up so abruptly that he almost stumbled over his own feet. Jonas stood, breathing heavily, a couple of hundred yards before the road down to the coast turned abruptly into a series of switchbacks to negotiate a steep drop from the high plateau on which lay Silverton and thousands of acres of national forest. He’d cursed those switchbacks when he’d ridden up here yesterday. Felt like they’d added a couple of miles to his trip. He’d have preferred to just go straight at the mountain.
Jonas wondered whether the thousands of people dragging themselves up on foot through that zig-zag sequence of hairpin bends felt as he had. They were legion. Because of the switchbacks, the main body of walkers was probably an hour’s hike away from where he stood. Maybe two from Silverton itself. But there were a few dozen outliers, or forerunners, or whatever, who ranged ahead of the pack. They’d definitely beat the main cohort into town.
“What… the fuck?” he breathed.
But he knew.
Part of him had known last night and refused to believe.
This was it.
He was never getting that money from the government, because the government was done. They were done. The social contract was broken.
He turned and ran back for town as fast as he could.
And Jonas moved fast.
He didn’t make the mistake of sprinting the whole way. Matter of fact, he really eased up a couple of minutes before the final turn into the Main Street. When Jonas entered Silverton, he did so at a relaxed pace that he could have kept up for another hour.
He was very pleased with his fitness, and here it was, paying off again.
The town was not yet fully awake, but there were a few more people about now. Early risers and business owners and even a gardener in the little public park that divided Main and hosted a statue of… what? The town’s founder?
Jonas had no idea, but he jogged on past the strangely elongated town square, past Big Al’s bar and diner, and the Farmer’s Mutual. Sheriff Dave’s domain was a small modern annexe attached to a much older, grander-looking stone building identified by its signage as both the town and county administrative centre. It was still quiet there, but the lights were on next door in the annexe. A patrol car was parked out front and Jonas could see someone moving around inside.
Given the enormous pear-shaped silhouette, he was willing to bet Sheriff Dave Muller himself was on the job. Probably fixing or delivering breakfast for his prisoner. Jonas took the stairs in three strides and knocked before trying the glass door which was slightly ajar. It openly freely and he pushed through.
“Hello,” he called out. “You in, Sheriff?”
It had been three years since he’d had reason to cross the threshold of any law enforcement facility, but with time served as a bottom feeder in Florida’s criminal justice system, he felt like a prodigal son, finally returned. Thousands of miles distant, on the wrong coast, and seeming as though some malign wizardry had completely inverted the weather, he still recognised the familiar sour stink of body odour, stale pee, bad coffee and cop cologne. He knew that once upon a time the carcinogenic reek of cigarettes would have masked some of the stench, but Silverton PD was like all public buildings now in being smoke-free. Fluorescent tubes cast an unflattering white light over everything, draining the scenery of depth and colour. Not that there was much colour to begin with, and most of that provided by a couple of struggling ferns at a desk Jonas would bet was occupied by the station’s administrative assistant. She would either be three hundred years old and as mean as a cut snake. Or she’d be two years out of senior high and engaged to one of the deputies. Pregnant too, probably.
“Jonas,” Sheriff Muller said, looking both surprised and pleased to see him. “You taking off on your ride again?”
Jonas smiled ruefully.
“Not just yet, Sheriff. I’m a little sore from yesterday, and to be honest with you, I want to cross all the I’s and dot all the T’s on that reward you put me in for.”
Muller, who was holding a plate covered in silver foil, seemed satisfied with that response.
“If you’re free to wait a few minutes, I gotta deliver up Morena’s breakfast. Ham and eggs from Al’s in fact. He got the contract for our catering. Hell of a turn, isn’t it?” He rolled his eyes just enough to convey his opinion of that unfortunate irony. “I can be with you in two…”
“That’s fine, Sheriff,” Jonas said. “But there’s something else you need to know.”
Muller frowned.
“Yup?”
“You got some trouble headed your way up the mountain. Looks like about a thousand people on foot. Some of them armed. I’m pretty sure they’re… well, they’re fleeing, I guess.”
“Goddamn. What now?” Muller griped. “Just… gimme one minute.”
The sheriff disappeared with the hot breakfast for his prisoner and came back before Jonas had much of a chance to check out the office. On first impressions, it was small operation. Muller reappeared, balling up the aluminium foil from the breakfast plate. He tossed the silver ball into a bin. Wiped his hands on a wad of tissues he took from a desk and indicated with a wave that Jonas should join him.
“Better come along. You can tell me all about it on the way.”
They left the office, climbed into the police cruiser parked out front and Muller keyed the ignition.
“Down the hill, you say? Back towards the city?”
“Yes sir,” said Jonas, a little surprised to be riding up front in a squad car. “Where it gets real steep and the road starts zig-zagging, you know? I went out for a jog this morning. Took me about twenty minutes to run the distance.”
Muller nodded as they pulled out onto Main Street.
“I’m guessing you don’t work a desk job then?”
“Personal trainer,” Jonas adlibbed. He’d done that once, yet another side hustle for about five minutes after his divorce. Thought it might be a way to grab up some fresh pussy. And it was. But he needed a license, and he didn’t have the money for accreditation, and then he got fucked by Alvarez and… long story short, he moved to LA for a disastrous three months, before fetching up even further away from Miami, in the rainy northwest. Most of the PT’s he met were fucking flakes anyway. It would explain his patchy work history the last few years. And he couldn’t tell this walking tub of donut lard that he worked for Amazon. Nothing good would come of that.
Muller didn’t turn on the siren or even his flashers, but he did put on a good turn of speed as they headed for the edge of town.
“What makes you think they’re fleeing?” the sheriff asked. He had to lean all the way back in his seat, because of all the extra belly hanging over his utility belt.
“They’re dressed for it. Most of them anyway,” Jonas said. “Like they’re going camping. Some of them are carrying rifles.”
“Hunting rifles?”
“Long arms like that, yeah. But AR-15s and stuff too.”
Muller sighed heavily.
“Damn. You really think people are heading for the hills? It seems, I dunno, a bit dramatic.”
Jonas shrugged. They were quickly eating up the road he’d ridden and run so hard to cover.
“Seattle was a mess when I left,” he said. “Like, insanely gridlocked. But all that stuff on the news. And the banks and China. It’s gonna freak some people out for sure. You’re gonna have some nervous types headed your way. You know. Sort of people would jump at their own shadow…”
“But?” Muller asked, knowing there was more because Jonas had freighted his delivery with that implication.
“But,” he said as they sped downhill, the dark green and brown blur of the forest flashing by on both sides, “you’re probably gonna have some crazy survivalist types too, and whackadoodle militia and you know, the whole fruit and nut bar.”
He was enjoying himself more than he would admit, watching poor Sheriff Dave try to digest all this. But he had his reasons too. A long game he could see coming into focus.
“Goddamn it,” Muller muttered as he wiped some speed off the clock as they closed on the switchback section. “Survivalists I can handle. They just buy up supplies and move on. Leastways that’s what happened last time.”
“Last time?” Jonas asked, curious.
“That week in 08. Looked like the banks were going under.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “Right.”
“But some of those militia assholes caused all manner of problems down Oregon way, and across in Idaho. I know we had our share too, but I wouldn’t have thought there was too many in Seattle. It’s all computer nerds and fancy coffee down there.”
Jonas snorted. He couldn’t help it.
“It’s not a big city, but it is right out on the edge of the wilderness, and you got open carry. A lot of guys in those militia outfits, they’re not real woodsmen or anything. They’re suburban fantasists. And this week is like all of their fantasies coming true.”
Muller slowed down even more as they swept around a final curve in the road and the view opened up over a steep descent through two or three miles of zig zag blacktop.
“Damn,” the sheriff muttered again.
Even Jonas was moved to grunt in surprise. There were many more people in the crowd than he had estimated. Maybe four or five thousand that he could see, and the first of the front runners was most of the way through the traverse. Muller reached across Jonas, excusing himself as he popped the latch on the glove compartment. It dropped open and he took a small pair of binoculars from inside.
He put them to his eyes and frowned at the host slowly making its way towards his town.
“You seem kinda knowledgeable on this topic, Mister Murdoch. Militias and such like.”
Jonas noted the return to a more formal tone of address. He needed to play this just right.
“I used to be a lawyer,” he said. “In Florida. Property management mostly. Condos and such. Retirement homes.”
That was usually enough to kill anyone’s interest in his former occupation. Usually.
“You swapped a salary in real estate law for personal training?”
Good pick-up, Jonas thought.
“It’s honest work,” he said. “Unlike lawyering.”
Dave bobbled his head. He bought that.
“But,” Jonas continued, wanting to move the conversation along. “I did have one client in dispute with a militia group who kept using his land without permission for their so-called training weekends.”
He put deliberate air quotes around the word ‘training’.
“I got to know the type well enough,” he said. “These guys won’t be any different. Look see.”
Jonas pointed to a small group of similarly dressed men—they were all men—striding ahead of the main cohort. They wore battle dress uniform, but it was all desert pattern, not forest, and one of them ruined the already questionable camouflage with a bright orange scarf. Even without the binoculars Jonas could tell that the uniforms weren’t uniform at all. They would all be personal expressions of the owner’s particular issues. Over the last few years Jonas really had “got to know the type well enough” but not because of any property dispute.
Dave Muller was chewing loudly. A tell, Jonas thought, for his growing concern or even anxiety. He had no gum or chaw to work. He was just gnawing away at his worries.
“Okay then, just excuse me” he said, mostly to himself as he performed a quick, three-point turn and accelerated away from the oncoming horde, speeding back towards Silverton. He made a call while he drove, undoubtedly breaking a bunch of his own local ordinances as well as state law. Muller held the phone to his ear while he steered with his free hand. Somebody answered on the other end.
“Hey, Mac. Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to call so early but I’m gonna need you, Dan and Laura Marie on shift early today. We got some trouble coming upslope. Looks like some sort of damn refugee march out of the city. Helluva thing. You can probably see it from your top deck if you still got the telescope up there. Oh, and we better tell Doc Cornwell too. Figure she’s gonna get some work outta this. Blisters and heat stroke an’ such like.”
Jonas couldn’t hear whatever this Mac said in reply. Muller was traveling fast now, but he obviously knew these forest roads well and he kept talking while driving. The deputy appeared to have taken up the suggestion of scoping out the crowd from his upper deck, given their discussion of the crowd’s composition. The other man confirmed the presence of armed men in at least three separate cadres. A few singletons and families were also coming heavy, but they were more conventionally dressed and armed with hunting rifles.
Jonas wondered where this guy lived that would afford him a line of sight. Somewhere even more elevated, and possibly outside of town. He imagined some dude in his robe, drinking his morning joe and putting one eye to his kid’s telescope while he chatted with Muller on his cell. The two men discussed the logistics of a huge crowd suddenly dropping on them from the morning sky, and how they might handle the armed elements. Delicately, they agreed.
Jonas kept his own counsel while they talked. The corner where he’d nearly crashed his bike came up on them quickly, but Muller took it at speed with no apparent regard for the laws of physics or the likely consequences of testing those laws. Jonas felt his foot pressing hard on a phantom brake pedal, but the cruiser negotiated the sharp bend with ease and as they roared into Main Street the sheriff gave his sirens a quick burst to warn a street sweeper out of his way.
He sped on, still talking to Deputy Mac, until they pulled up at the Sheriff’s office again.
“Anyway, I’m back now,” Muller said. “Get Dan and Laura Marie and meet me here.”
He signed off and let go a long breath.
“Your first ride along?” the cop asked.
“First and last time in a squad car,” Jonas lied, before adding, “I hope.”
“And it appears I owe another favour, son. You know when you’re heading out, yet?”
Jonas took his time answering. He had to get this right. His lack of any real certainty helped with the act.
“Given this, I dunno, Sheriff. If you don’t mind, I might let this circus pass through town before I hit the road again.”
“Nothing for me to mind, son. We’re glad to have you here. Albert most of all. I’m sure you’re welcome at his place as long as it’s convenient for you to stay. And… er, yeah, probably the right call not to get yourself tangled in with this mess coming up the hill. Whatever it is.”
“Yes,” Jonas said as they climbed out of the cruiser. Muller had been running the AC, for which he was grateful after his exercise, but now he really felt the heat and climbing humidity as he left the chilled interior of the car. “About this mess,” he said, jerking his thumb back in the direction they’d just come. “I won’t tell you your job, Sheriff, but if this was my town, I wouldn’t be encouraging anyone to linger.” He smiled, slightly abased. “I know how that sounds coming from an outsider.”
Muller nodded cagily.
“What’s your thinking, son?”
