Deadman's Switch & Sunder the Hollow Ones (35 page)

But he hadn't scanned us. The guard. He'd just waved us through. Nobody knew we were there.

But what about after the bombing? The hospital, New York Medical? I don't remember that part, but people always said the place was a pit. People died there from colds. People disappeared into its bowels. At least according to the rumors. But Arc found us there. If they did, the police had to have known we were there, too.

Except, Arc owns the police.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts and refocus on the Link screen.

“We should've gone,” I say.

“Kelly insisted. We would've just been in the way.”

“It's Jake's fault. He's the one who secretly turned Ash and Reg against me, not Kelly. Jake's been a prick ever since Kelly came back for him.”

“Seems to me he should be grateful, then.”

Yeah
, I want to say,
except he wanted
me
to rescue him, not Kelly
. He'd confessed that he had a crush on me. When Kelly came back, he took it as me rejecting him.

A few more minutes pass. Neither of us makes any attempt to work on the failsafe program. We both know we'd just be wasting our time.

I wonder if Micah's thinking what I'm thinking: that it might be time to cut our losses and get off the island while we still can. At least then we'll be able to let people know what's going on in here and ask for help.

No! I will not leave without them.

I close my eyes, shutting out the image on the Link screen, but it hovers in my middle vision and doesn't change. I can't just sit here and watch nothing. Besides, I need to pee again, but walking through the darkened house and seeing the swing set outside might just be enough to finally unhinge me.

“Is there a bathroom upstairs?”

Micah nods. I don't move.

I rest my head in my arms and think about the failsafe. Stephen's nasty little evil application. He'd told us it was unbreakable. I fear that those might be the only truly honest words he'd spoken.

“What if we activate the implants?” Micah asks, as if sensing what I'm thinking. “You rejected yours and now the failsafe won't work on you. Maybe the others will reject theirs.”

“Tanya didn't reject hers. Besides, we have no idea how to activate them.”

Micah sighs.

I snap my head up. “Damn! Why the hell didn't we think of it before? Oh, Christ, it's so simple.”

Micah frowns. “What?”

“The failsafe. We've been trying to defeat it.”

He nods, puzzled.

“That's the wrong approach.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's all about the signal right? What if we—”

But the rest of my words are cut off by a scream coming through our Links.

“Ashley!” I shout, forgetting for the moment that there are IUs outside the house.

But I already know it's not Ashley who screamed. It didn't have that hollow-sounding quality like it had come from inside the stairwell.

It comes again. Micah and I lean into our Links. A moment later, Jake flies past, shouting Reggie's and Ashley's names. He returns, grabbing the doorjamb and swinging himself into the stairwell.

“They're inside!” he yells down. His voice echoes eerily and the slap-slap of his feet tell us he's racing down the stairs.

I look over at Micah, who stares at the screen with a grim intensity. “Who's inside? Aw, shit, if he means the IUs are inside, then…”

Don't say it, Micah. I beg you, please don't.

But the next sound that comes to us is unmistakable: the chorus of the Undead, and it's quickly growing louder. We sit, unable to move or intervene, wanting desperately to call out to our friends, afraid to do so. The noise will only draw them closer. It doesn't matter. The first IU passes our view, followed by a second. Then three more stumble past. A shout echoes up the stairs and the zombie in the screen turns and enters the stairwell.

And then Micah does say it: “This isn't good.”

 

“What are you doing?”
Micah asks me.

“I'm going.”

“What? Where?”

“To Jayne's Hill.”

“Whoa, wait a minute, Jessie.” He pulls on my backpack, trying to stop me. I spin around, slapping his hands away.

“You can come with me or you can stay here. I'm going.”

“We're surrounded by IUs outside. You know that, right?”

The truth of this only makes me hesitate a moment. “I don't care. I need to get to Kelly. I need to get to them and help. I can't just sit here and do nothing.”

“Stop and think about this, Jess. You're going to get yourself killed going out there right now. Worse, you're going to get yourself bitten, and then what? It's not worth—”

“The failsafe! Christ, I almost forgot.”

I throw my backpack to the floor. “Give me the tablet!”

“What for?”

“The programs,” I say. “Hurry! We need to send everyone their failsafe program.”

“I'm not seeing—”

“We can't
defeat
the failsafe,” I tell him. Booting up the tablet takes a painful thirty seconds. “Come on, already! Okay.” The desktop screen appears. “Where's the— Never mind. I found it.”

I tap open the PROJECT REWIRE folder. The files are labeled with alphanumeric codes. I don't know which failsafe program belongs to whom, but it doesn't matter.

“How do I send files to people's Links on this thing?” I ask. “Come on, quickly!”

Micah frowns and grabs the tablet from me and attaches a cable to his Link. He doesn't ask for an explanation. “Which files?”

“All the failsafe apps. Send copies to Ashley's, Reggie's and Jake's Links.”

He taps a few things, then swipes the screen and taps a couple more times. “Okay. Done. You want to tell me why?”

“Can you open the apps remotely?”

“You want to
run
the programs on their Link's?”

“Yes. Come on, hurry. If they go too far underground we'll lose their streams.”

He shakes his head. “I don't—”

“I know you can do it, Micah. You hacked our Links before. You got inside them. I know you can control what's running and what's not.”

Actually, I'm not sure at all. But maybe if I can make him believe he used to be able to, then maybe he'll remember.

If
he knows how.

I can't believe I'm actually hoping he does.

He takes in a deep breath and frowns intently at the screen. He swipes a shaky finger across it and opens the command line program. The cursor blinks patiently; I sit impatiently
not
blinking.

Finally, he starts by typing in a few characters, stops, types some more. He stares at the screen before shaking his head. “Can't.”

“You can do it. Keep working on it.”

My initial panic falls away and I realize he's right. There's no way I'd be able to leave this house right now. It's the middle of the night and we're surrounded by zombies and who knows how many more are filling the streets between here and the hill. As desperately as I want to be with Kelly, I'll only get myself bitten trying.

“Where are you going?” he asks, startled by my standing up.

“Bathroom.”

“Why?”

“I have to pee?”

“Oh.” His face flushes before he turns away to stare at the tablet again. “Okay then.”

I scurry down the darkened hallway and find the stairs and start climbing them, keeping my hands on both walls for reassurance. I'm feeling imbalanced, scared for everyone on Jayne's Hill, exhilarated at the simplicity of the solution to the failsafe, worried that it's too simple.

The stray light from downstairs doesn't reach the top of the flight, but there's a window a few steps beyond the darkest section, where the stairs make a ninety degree turn. I hurry up to it, wading through the inky blackness, before thinking to wake my Link and use its wan glow to light my way.

Micah said he'd doublechecked these rooms. After the attack by Stephen, he'd gone through the entire house again and assured me that we were the only things in it. Except for Stephen's body, of course. Even so, I'm wary. The image of that girl on the swing haunts me.

But I make it to the bathroom and find it empty. The light blazes after I flip the switch. I make a quick inspection. I even check beneath the vanity.

Out of habit, I push the flush handle down when I'm finished. But, of course, there's no water. Instead, there's a strange crinkling sound coming from inside the tank. I lift the cover and find it dry.

Taped to the bottom of the lid is a plastic bag. I tear it away, holding my breath and hoping it's what I want it to be.

It's not. Not even close.

I still have the gun I found in Long Island City, but it's only got one bullet left. What I find in the plastic bag is a wad of old American currency—useless now—plus some jewelry and a stack of photos. I toss the cash into the toilet. The jewelry I pocket.

I'm about to toss the pictures as well, when something makes me stop. Instead, I turn and sit down on the rim of the tub and begin to thumb through them. They're old and brittle, the old wallet-sized ones. I wonder why they were put there under the tank lid. Why wouldn't the owners have taken them when they left?

And why are you putting yourself through this torture?

The picture on top is of a woman, young and pretty, straight brown hair, a slightly mousy face. The wife, I guess, based on the photos downstairs. The next photo is of the same woman standing alongside a man, their arms intertwined. Both are smiling. Everyone's smiling. Everyone's happy. It's a snapshot in a park somewhere. Central Park, maybe. They look to be in their mid-twenties, a young couple, probably newly married.

Back before the maximum Life Expectancy was mandated, people wed and had families later in life. Now, the average marrying age is nineteen. You're a spinster if you're unwed at twenty-two.

The next series of pictures are all of the couple—at a party, on a boat, a professional sitting. The next is flipped over, as are the remaining. I turn them and gasp at the one on top. The little girl is so beautiful. Her golden hair shines like the sun, and her blues eyes are stunning. In one photo, she's a tiny baby, a tuft of downy hair rising from the top of her head like delicate tendrils of smoke.

The last is a photo of her on the swing in the backyard—new and shiny—her rabbit stuffy on the freshly mown lawn next to her. She's laughing into the air as the swing carries her higher. I can almost hear it. I can imagine the crick of the swing on its chains and soft whisper of the breeze. Daddy's barbecuing and the smell of hotdogs comes to me. I close my eyes. My mouth waters. Mom laughs too, as she tries to angle herself for the perfect shot.

There's a knock on the door and the vision breaks up and drifts away, leaving nothing but emptiness inside of me, the emptiness of a family torn apart by this evil created by my own father and misused by his.

“It's done,” Micah says, sticking his head in without waiting for me to answer. His eyes drift down to the photos in my hands. “Not sure I actually managed to do it, but at least I tried.”

He stands there a couple more seconds while I stare at the photo. Finally he sighs and asks, “You want to tell me why I just turned their Links into failsafe transmitters?”

I stand up and slip the photos into my back pocket. “So we can leave the island,” I answer. “All of us.”

 

Micah shakes his head
and gives me this smile that tells me he thinks I'm right. “I can't believe it was so simple,” he says.

“You think it'll work?”

“Do I? It's brilliant,” he says, pacing excitedly. “Using our Links as mini-transmitters. They communicate directly with our implants, and we carry them around with us everywhere we go. Why none of us thought of it before…” He rubs his face, and the lack of sleep suddenly settles back over him. “Sometimes the simplest answer is the hardest to find,” he finishes.

We're back in the laundry room, sitting with our backs against the old machines. The bottom corner of the washer is rusted away, the thin metal flaking and crumbling. I stare at the screen of my Link at the empty doorway to the stairwell. All is quiet there. Outside the house, the Infecteds have calmed down again.

“If it works—”

“It will!” he exclaims.

“If it works, then Ashley needs to get her link back.” I gesture at the image on my screen. It's still connected. It still shows the empty stairwell.

Micah nods grimly and stares at my screen, as if willing the guys to come back.

A shadow tilts against the far wall. I shush him, not sure if it's one of our friends or an IU. The shadow moves, wavering from left to right, but whoever—or whatever—is casting it doesn't move into the screen.

“Think it's one of them?” I whisper.

Micah doesn't answer. We watch a few more minutes until it moves away again.

I let out a whoosh of air. “So, what if we make noise? It's not like they can do anything to us, right? And if it's the guys, then we'll know they're okay.”

Micah considers this for a moment, then nods. “Just not too loud.”

I cup my hands around my mouth and lower my face until it's right next to my Link and call out.

Nothing.

I repeat it, once, twice…

Then there's a sound.

“Was that a word? Did someone speak?”

I shake my head. “Don't know.”

“Try again.”

“Kelly? Reg? Jake?”

The rasping noise gets louder and the screen fills with a pair of old faded jeans, too close and too blurry to tell who they belong to.