Glitch, page 6
part #1 of Epoch Series
But tonight, fighting the inevitable sleep, I set my two stones on the nightstand and kissed Dad’s. I flipped on his old radio and let The Fox sooth me into oblivion. I cranked the dial high to drown out the constant drone of the Holo News Network’s android announcer narrating the blood and guts pouring into my feed. Settling back in anticipation, I closed my eyes and drifted off, nestled in the sound of Fox’s low and slow broadcast.
“Tonight I think it’s important for us to focus on the positive things in life. Take a break from the constant fear and anxiety surrounding the Glitch. So let’s turn the airwaves over to you, the public. All forms of communication are open and I’m waiting to hear from you. How can I help you recover from this tragedy?”
A multitude of voices rose from the back of my mind, all with similar stories.
“I want to thank my neighbors, the Thatchers, for helping me restore power to my house. I have an infant. I was so worried, but they really helped me in my time of need.”
“I was stranded on the side of the road,” a brittle female voice came forward, “and these two nice gentlemen in a large truck pulled over to help me. I don’t know how long I would have been out there if they hadn’t come by.” That one made me laugh as I pictured Randy and Emmett helping a little old lady change a tire.
“Two nights ago a fire broke out at the electronics store by my house and nobody came to put it out. Then the neighborhood men, what’s left of them, all ran to fight the fire with me. Such bravery.”
“My friend told me they’re talking about putting up a wall for people to get in touch with relatives. That would be so wonderful. We’re still not able to reach my Aunt Geneva. I really hope it’s true.”
//Did you hear that?// My eyes flew open. Howie?
//How are you listening?//
//Mr. Farmer gave me his old radio and some batteries. Can you believe it? A wall! I could find Pettine!//
Months had passed with no word from her. I knew what that meant, but I didn’t want to crush Howie’s spirit. With his pregnant mom and little brother, Marcus, barely hanging on, this one thread of hope had to stay intact.
//If it’s on The Fox Show it’s gotta be true. He’s been right so far.// I fake yawned for effect, which turned into a real yawn. //I’m sure you’ll see her again soon, Howie. I know it.//
###
I rolled over, confused. The deep black outside my window confirmed that it was still the middle of the night. Something itched at the corner of my brain, a sound that shouldn’t have been there.
There it was again. I sat up. That was the sound of a table being tossed over. It scooted across the wooden floor downstairs and hit the wall.
Bit! Jumping to my feet, I leapt across the room and out the door in two steps. I made it around the corner in time to see his sleepy face at his door. He opened his mouth to speak and I shushed him, waving him back to his room. He let go of the door and I ran to him, looking both ways as if crossing a busy street.
Bits and pieces of voices drifted upstairs. What little I could understand scared the crap out of me.
“I’m telling you,” Mom whispered at the top of her voice, “nobody here has a chip! You can see my bandage!” She yelled the last part.
I signaled for Brooks to stay put and ran back to my room. Grabbing the gauze from my bedside table, I slapped it behind my ear.
Back in Brooks’s room, I looked around frantically for a plan. “Come on Bit. We have to go up to the attic.” I pointed to an access panel in the hallway.
“No! It scary up there.” Brooks jerked away and began to cry.
“I know, but there’s even scarier men downstairs. They want our chips.” I shoved him toward the door.
“Gimme that.” He pointed at my gauze pad, resisting every step.
From below, “Come on lady, we know you have a girl here with an E950.” This nearly stopped me in my tracks. Brooks wasn’t registered, so he wasn’t on their radar. All the more reason to hide him. But it was me they wanted. Me!
“Come on Bit, we have to hide!” I scooped him up and pulled the latch on the attic door. Pushing him into the attic I paused long enough for a click to sound below us. In my gut it registered as a gun being cocked. I shoved harder on Brooks and followed him up the ladder.
“Here look!” Mom’s voice said, “Look! A letter from Dr. Kaolin. My daughter’s chip was removed last week.”
The house fell silent. I held my breath, and my ear to the cracked trap door, waiting for the response. A doctor’s note? How did she get a doctor to say they removed my chip?
“Alright lady. We’re gonna check this out. You better hope we don’t have to come back.” The man’s voice receded toward the door. Then a slam echoed up the stairs and vibrated the wooden attic door against my ear.
From below, my mom sobbed quietly as I hugged Brooks closer, hoping the men were fooled by the lie.
We stayed there that night, huddled together in the attic, Brooks jerking in fitful sleep and me jumping at every noise.
They would be back for me.
Chapter TWELVE
JANUARY 20, 5AG
Guard One slapped the table and roared. “Do you have any idea how many felonies you just admitted to? Illegal chipping. Evading Removal Squads. Multiple counts of unlawful transmission.” He turned toward his partner and laughed again. “I’m sure there are many more.”
Guard Two sneered. “Five more at least.”
Synta stared straight ahead, hands under the desk working her restraints. She squeezed her thumb as close to her palm as it would go, careful not to jangle the chains. “Look around you, dumbass. It doesn’t matter.”
Spittle flew from Guard One’s lips as he hurled insults at her. Synta’s opinion of his role as Top Guard Dog faltered each time he got so easily riled. No, he was merely a pawn. A dog on a leash.
She glanced over at Guard Two, who hadn’t bothered to move the entire interrogation. His dingy gray uniform, just a shade darker than the wall he leaned against, sported no chevrons or insignias. But that wasn’t much of an indicator. Synta doubted tassels were of the utmost importance anymore. Still, he lacked the air of authority it would take to run this two-bit operation.
Guard One broke her train of thought with another tirade that ended with a demand. “Move this along!”
“Hey, I was. You’re the one that interrupted.” She shot him a derisive eye twitch and began her story again, speaking even slower than before. As she did so, she let her mind wander around the sparse room.
Two landscape mirrors lined the walls beside her and behind her head. That’s where her target had to be, watching from what they thought was a safe distance.
PART THREE
SIX MONTHS A.G.
Chapter THIRTEEN
I met up with Howie at the prison fence which now separated our housing developments. It seemed to have popped up overnight; neither of us knew for sure which night.
“Thanks for coming,” Howie said, pulling the bottom of the fence toward him and creating a hole big enough for me to crawl under. His beautiful green eyes had gone dull with stress, the eyes of a mournful old man. His curls matted in dreads which really needed a shave.
I tossed my backpack over the chain link and hoped there was nothing fragile in it. Gotta be more careful, Syn. “No problem.” I blew out all my air and crouched down, wriggling my body through the small opening. It got easier with every skipped meal. Once on the other side, I wiped dead leaves and grass off my jeans. Not that it mattered, since they hadn’t seen the inside of a WashBot in weeks.
We started down the well-worn path toward Howie’s house. The brown field cracked and crumbled under our feet. Dust swirled behind each footprint. “The contractions have been coming for a couple days now, but Mom said it’s time. They’re close. My watch…” He tapped the MeFit screen. The light wouldn’t even flicker.
“It’s fine. There’s a patch for that.” I tapped my chip.
“You’re still patching?” Howie stopped walking and turned around to face me. His long legs had taken him quite a way ahead.
“No, I got it a long time ago. Remember when you thought you could beat me to the tree?”
“I don’t remember you timing us.” Howie’s face scrunched.
I shrugged.
A smile spread across his thin cheeks. “I guess that means I won, huh.”
Punching his arm, I asked, “Do you want my help or not?”
Howie’s smile faded and all the air went out of him. He lowered his head and trudged on past me. “Stone, it’s bad.”
I caught up to him and rubbed the spot on his arm where the blow had landed, trying to take it back. Poor Howie had been all alone since the Glitch. I knew how hard Mom and I struggled lately, and she’d recovered a lot more than Mrs. Anderson. With Pettine still MIA, and his father… “I’ve been reading up on labor for a while. We got this.” I brightened my tone.
“Good cuz I’ve been so busy trying to find food and supplies, warm clothes for Marcus.” Howie shook his head.
“Where is he? He’s too little to be in there with her. It will scar him for life.” The images I had seen in my research told me I’d be scarred for life, too. All the things that could go wrong, and even if nothing did. It was all so… gross.
“I told him not to leave the attic. He basically lives up there since the Glitch anyways. He thinks he’s hiding something but I know he’s stashing candy.” Howie snorted.
“Any little bit helps.” The image of skinny little Marcus guarding a pile of candy made me smile.
“He ain’t sharin’!”
The old Howie flashed across his face and for a moment, everything was felt right again. We both burst into nervous laughter and walked in silence the rest of the way.
I used the quiet to rehearse the events that were about to unfold. Mom had been worried about me doing this, but we both knew she was in no shape to help. She’d attempted leaving the house a few times in the past months, but each trip depleted her energy worse than the one before.
Helping Mrs. Anderson deliver the new baby would have been exciting if I hadn’t done so much research. In an effort to be thoroughly prepared, I’d seen things that no one my age should see. Worst of all, I could already smell the feces the books had warned me about. Pooping on your baby’s head before it’s even born. I shook my head to jostle my senses back to the present. There’d be plenty of time for that soon enough.
Distracting myself from my worries, I mentally checked off each item that I’d thought to bring. Clean towels, hot water, scissors, blanket, sewing kit. Check.
I hadn’t been to Howie’s much in the few months since the Glitch. We’d been so preoccupied with survival. I had also assumed that he didn’t want me to see the state his house was in. With his mom still not recovering, and worrying about the baby in her belly, she was no longer capable of being a parent. She was more a ward of Howie’s care than a caretaker herself. The thought of it made me glad I still had my mom in relatively one piece.
Howie opened the door and the acute odor of blood assaulted me. It wasn’t fresh blood either. Weeks old gauze pads stared at me from the overflowing trash can. I cast a startled look at Howie’s ear, relieved to find no sign of puss or ooze. Then my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I found the origin of the stench.
Mrs. Anderson sprawled across the couch, hair and face matted with sweat. The emaciated body that had once been my best friend’s mother startled me into inaction. A vivid image of a skeleton giving birth to a tiny baby skeleton flashed through my mind. There’s no way she’s gonna survive this.
Howie nudged me into the room and flipped on the light. The scene before me burned into my retinas forever. Howie’s mom was green. Her skin, her fingernails, her eyes. But not in the cute way like Howie’s eyes were green. She had a disgusting how-are-you-still-alive putrid tint that should only exist in B movies.
The woman reached out a scrawny witch finger and beckoned us to her. “Where’s Eide?” Panic flitted across her face as she realized my mom wasn’t with me.
“I’m sorry. She’s… don’t worry. I studied up. I can do it.”
Waving my words away with the same emaciated hand, she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s time.”
Holding back, I waited for Howie to step foot into the horror first. When he took his place at his mom’s side, wiping her brow with his shirt, I inched into the room.
“A-alright, let’s time the contractions.” I twitched my right eye to bring up the stopwatch app on my chip. “Let me know when the next one starts.”
“Too late for that, hun.” Mrs. Anderson unfurled the dark sheet from across her spread legs, revealing a bloody mess. In the center of that mess was a patch of black curls. It’s breathing. I gasped and stumbled back.
She let out a timid grunt and the undulating mass between her legs emerged slightly, then her body closed back around it. This in and out struggle continued between the two of them until she fell backward, out of breath.
After her panting slowed, she opened her mouth toward Howie. He dropped a handful of ice chips in, and set the cup back on the end table. “You’re gonna have to cut me,” the woman growled.
Eyes wide, I shook my head and inched farther out of the room.
“Come on, Syn. We need you,” Howie begged.
I breathed deep, sucking in the rancid air of the house, and whatever courage was laying around. Digging in my bag, I pulled out an old pair of orange scissors and wiped them on my jeans. I examined the discolored, black in some spots, blades. Then I picked a ball of lint off the tip.
“Here.” Howie swished a bottle of pink liquid in my direction.
I tugged at the cork. It popped out and rolled under the couch. I poured the wine over the scissors and counted to seven, as the prepper guide had advised.
Mrs. Anderson groaned and I looked up in time to see the top of a large forehead peek out of her. I rinsed my hands in the stream of sticky alcohol and rubbed my fingers around the circumference of the baby’s head. Howie’s mom grunted and strained, but again the head slipped back inside. “Do it now.”
My grip tightened on the scissors’ handle. I place a finger in the space between the baby and Howie’s mom. Gently pushing the scissors into the crevice I snipped once, taking a quarter inch bite. She sucked in a quick intake of air at the pain and water burned my eyes, blurring the already unrecognizable mess.
“Alright, sweetie. You did great.” Howie’s mom whispered. Howie, who’d shut his eyes during the worst part, now cooed encouragement at his mother. He wiped her brow again with his shirt and pulled it the rest of the way off. I lowered my gaze to the floor. The image of a tiny patch of brown chest hair stored itself away to be dealt with later.
Another moan signaled it was time to get back to work. The mass of matted black hair emerged farther, revealing the baby’s eyes and the tip of a wide nose. Mrs. Anderson bore down, lifting her legs in the air. I took hold of the left leg and pushed it high. The baby’s face popped out. Mrs. Anderson grunted through clenched teeth, “Pull!”
Wrapping both hands around the baby’s head, I obeyed. I tugged gently at first, then harder. The shoulders wouldn’t budge. Then Mrs. Anderson let out a puff of hot putrid air and fell back again. The baby’s head sucked back in, wearing its mother like a scarf.
“Airway,” Mrs. Anderson’s chest heaved.
“I don’t have a sucker thingy. I couldn’t find one.” Panic prickled my fingers. Howie’s mom sat upright. Her green skin reddened and her eyes bulged as she forced the squirming baby out of her. She pulled the baby by its shoulders. Blood and white fluid gushed out behind it.
Through my blurred eyes I watched as Howie’s mom squeezed the limp baby’s chest. I held my breath, waiting for the cry, but none came.
Howie put his hand over his mouth. A low squeak escaped, anyway. It reminded me of a puppy crying for its mommy.
Come on baby.
Mrs. Anderson put her mouth over the baby’s and sucked. She came up for air a moment later, spitting white goo on the floor. The baby’s nose and mouth scrunched up. She repeated the sucking and spitting again. This time much more goo came out and puddled with the first spit.
My chest pounded and the veins in my temples pulsed, but I held on. I wouldn’t breathe until the baby did.
Once more, Howie’s mom bent toward the baby’s face. This time she blew instead of sucking. She turned the baby over on its stomach and smacked its back like a ketchup bottle. Milky liquid poured from the baby’s mouth, along with a wet gurgle as its lungs expanded for the first time.
Three sighs filled the room; Howie’s, mine, and a phantom one from the hallway. Marcus.
Howie waved the nine-year-old into the room, both chests puffed with brotherly pride. “Come see your new…” He looked down at the baby.
“Sister,” his mother said.
A girl! Since Pettine had moved away, I’d been stuck with nothing but boys to play with. Not that Pettine, who was three years older than Howie, ever played with me. Or that I hated gravball and Soldiers vs Rebels. I was good at both. But a girl! Finally!
“Evelyn.” Mrs. Anderson hugged the baby close to her chest.
Howie and I exchanged wide eyed looks. “Uh, Mom. Don’t you think that’s pushing it? You already named Marcus… Marcus.”
The spent woman reached a frail hand toward her son. “We must never forget. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough with you and Pettine.” Everyone hushed at the mention of Howie’s missing sister. All eyes turned from the squiggling baby, to Mrs. Anderson. Pettine’s name had become sacred in her absence, none wanting to mention the girl and risk upsetting the fragile woman.
With my job done, I felt like an intruder, watching this intimate familial scene. I wanted nothing more than to run, but didn’t dare move.
Instead, I raised my hand to pat Howie on the back and reassure him that things would be fine, saw the flaking blood and mucus around my fingernails, and dropped it to my side. Mrs. Anderson motioned for the scissors and used them to cut the umbilical cord. She wrapped a rubber band around the tip still attached to the baby.
