Internet Kill Switch (21 page)

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Scarlett didn’t sleep at all when she got back to camp. She couldn’t get the image of Abby out of her mind; whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Abby’s head go under the water, her dark hair dip beneath the surface.

What disturbed her most was that Abby just let it happen. She didn’t flail her arms and cry out fo
r help, suddenly realizing she was making a terrible mistake and wanting to live, after all. Now, tossing and turning in her sleeping bag, Scarlett’s mind corrected the story: she jumps in, grabs Abby and together, they make it back toward shore. They’re soaked and freezing, but alive. Abby thanks Scarlett over and over for helping her realize her folly and saving her. Scarlett hugs Abby’s slight body, telling her it’ll be OK; she just needs to hold on to life. Then the sun rises as the fade out comes.

That’s what would happen in a Hollywood movie; in
hard, bitter reality, Abby just gave up. Scarlett’s thoughts turned black as she imagined herself as Abby, experiencing her last moments. As she hits the water, the cold shocks her. The current starts pulling at her legs, her arms. It wants her life. She hears Scarlett screaming her name, making her pause momentarily in her plan. Maybe…

But no;
she’s decided this is her destiny. Instead of being frightened by the thought of death, Abby embraces the end of life. Instead of holding her breath as her head goes under, she takes great gulps of the river, so that death doesn’t even have to knock; she goes out gladly and takes his hand. Come, blessed death. Free me now. Into blackness, down, down…

Scarlett shivered. It scared her
that she identified so easily with Abby. She understood well how desperate the girl felt on that branch, because she’d felt the meaningless of life without the Internet, too.

Scarlett had never considered killing herself; she had a clear purpose
now, a purpose that included Tony. But since the Internet had been broken, she’d had more than a few moments where she felt isolated like never before. The friends she had on Facebook, on Pinterest, were in some ways more real than the people she saw every day, just like Abby’s friends. When she woke up in the morning, her first thought wasn’t breakfast or showering: no, she checked her texts first, then Twitter, then Facebook to see what updates she’d missed. Then, and only then, could she get to things like hygiene and food. At night, the same thing: she couldn’t sleep before texting her friends good night (and finding out what they were wearing to school the next day), and checking all her key social networks. If she couldn’t finish her routine -- if, for instance, her phone died -- she had a harder time sleeping. Anxiety about what she was missing kept her awake.

But things had started to ease up the last few days. She didn’t think about the Internet as often
, didn’t miss it as often. Rather than falling deeper into despair, as Abby had, Scarlett had begun to readjust her thoughts and discover more of life “out there”. Freed from the gravitational pull of her online existence, her mind roamed further now; her thoughts meandered, going here and there without being pulled back into the orbit of cyberspace. Life without the Internet wasn’t the blackness she thought it would be; instead, she saw stars in the dark that she didn’t know were there. Stars she never would have seen if someone hadn’t turned off the light.

And she cried anew, because Abby saw only the void.

53

Sleep didn’t come to Scarlett that night. She wondered if it would ever come again.

When she
told Tony and Rick about Abby when they woke up the next morning, Rick wasn't surprised. "I bet it's happening all over the country. I think it would actually be more surprising if it wasn't happening."

"Well, I'm at least glad you listened to Max," Tony said, seeing Scarlett turn an angry expression toward Rick. "There was no sense in you going under with that poor girl."
Unlike Rick, Tony was shocked at Abby’s suicide. What concerned him more, though, was the fear in Scarlett’s eyes when she described it.

Scarlett looked at the ground. "I don't know. I feel terrible, like I could have helped, could've done
something
."

"You did try to do something," Rick said, making Tony feel relieved
; there would be no fight now. "You tried to stop her, Scarlett. You tried to make her understand how stupid it was, and how the Internet wouldn't be gone forever. It's not your fault she didn't listen."

"Thanks, Rick, but I feel like it
is
my fault. Yeah, I didn't push her in, and I tried to stop her. But once she went in, I could have gone after her." She pushed a tear off her cheek. "I can still see her..."

"Rick's right," Tony said. "You did everything you could."

Scarlett looked at Tony. "I don't think so. You would have gone in after her, wouldn't you?" She was thinking of the chase down the alley, and how Tony put his body in front of hers, how he jumped on the thug’s back.

Tony didn't know how to answer. If he said
“yes, I would have,” he might look more heroic in Scarlett's eyes. But that might also increase her guilt, the feeling that she didn't measure up to him. It was a ridiculous thought, of course; she more than measured up in his eyes.

But he honestly didn't know if he would have.
He didn’t think he was any kind of hero. "I don't know, Scarlett. Diving into a river at night, after someone who wants to drown, I just..." He trailed off, letting the sentence disappear into the wind.

Scarlett looked away. "Well, I could'
ve done more," she repeated, stirring the dirt around her with a stick. No one else knew what to say.

As if the confession gave her some peace, Scarlett started yawning and soon drifted off to sleep, although it was now mid-morning. Neither of the guys felt like talking after hearing Scarlett's story, so they each fished a book out their backpacks and started reading. Tony had an Orson Scott Card novel; Rick had one by Stephen King. Books didn't require any electricity, and they were small and light; it made them the perfect diversion for a post-online world, Rick had said when he bought them along with their supplies in Nashville.

Rick read a chapter in the book, then closed it
.

"I can't focus," he told Tony. "I need to get up and do something, go somewhere."

Tony looked at Scarlett, who was breathing heavily in deep sleep. "OK, but I want to stay near Scarlett. She's been through a lot."

"Sure. But I can't. I'm jumpy."

"No problem. Just be careful, you know? It's dangerous everywhere."

"For sure. I'll probably just head into town for awhile, see what's going on. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Have fun."

"That, Tony, is
always
my goal." He smiled and headed out of the woods and into Anderson, not sure what he wanted to do, but knowing that sitting around reading a book wasn't it.

Once in the city, Rick wandered up the
town’s main street, Valley Road, looking for… he didn't know what, exactly. He didn't find an open store, although there were a number of merchants selling fruits, vegetables and other food on the sidewalks. I guess that's how it'll be done for now, he thought. Open-air markets, like it used to be. He bought a bagful of green apples for the three of them, and immediately ate one. It was delicious, especially after their continuing diet of junk food. He felt a pang of guilt -- he should have probably bought more healthy things during his last shopping trip than Fritos, cookies and Monster drinks.

The street was bustling
. He guessed that without cars and electricity, people didn't have much to do but get outside and walk around. In a way, he thought, this is one positive effect of the situation: more face-to-face interaction with other people. He noticed that folks were talking and shaking hands. Kids were running in the streets, freed from the worry of speeding cars. Fathers carried children on their shoulders. Young couples walked hand-in-hand. These things, of course, happened regularly, everywhere. But they were usually isolated incidents, unless people were gathered for a specific purpose, like a parade or county fair. Now, it seemed that they gathered here
just because
.

And no one, of course, was talking on a
phone, or texting on a phone, or Tweeting on a phone. Their heads were up, looking around. It was actually a strange experience, to see people engaging each other, rather than devices. In the midst of the worst thing he’d ever experienced, he found this comforting. Rick had a knack for finding silver linings.

He passed a looted music store, and gave a sigh. It looked like so many stores he'd seen lately:
a smashed window, leaving bits of glass across the sidewalk in front of the store, and obscene graffiti spray-painted on the other window.

This act of vandalism bothered Rick more than most, as music was close to his heart. He went into the store to see if anything was left.
There were a few instruments lying around, which annoyed him in a way. It figures, he thought; music had less practical use with the current state of things, and was therefore a less-tempting target. It was also likely that Anderson, being a small town, had fewer thugs and criminals. Whatever the reason, his annoyance turned to gladness when he saw a cheap Yamaha guitar lying on the floor, strings still attached. He tuned it by ear, reveling in the sound of music again. Even out-of-tune music sounded great.

Rick took the guitar outside. He had no intention of stealing it, so he didn't feel bad about taking it out and playing it in the street. Maybe
others had forgotten the joy of music in the midst of this blackout, too.

He stood in the middle of the street, and started pl
aying the old AM radio classic
Amie
, by Pure Prairie League. It was one of the tunes guaranteed to lift his spirits, and the first few strums of his hands on the strings did exactly that. Rick was instantly into the song, and played it through quickly.

It fel
t great to hold a guitar again; made him feel more alive than he had in days. He immediately started playing
Amie
again, and this time added vocals. Some nearby people stopped what they were doing, drawn in by the music. By the end of the second time through, a sizable group, maybe 20 people, had congregated around him, many singing along. At the end, they started clapping. "Another one!" someone shouted.

Rick was happy to oblige. He decided to go with another vintage song, something sunny, guitar-oriented, one most ev
eryone would know. He picked Lynyrd Skynyrd’s
Sweet Home Alabama
. By the end, the crowd had grown to at least 50 people, and they were fully into the performance: Foot-stomping, full-throated singing, and dancing, too. Rick found himself in the middle of his own impromptu concert.

Sometime during the song, a couple of guys brought out a drum set from the store, and an old guy with an American flag scarf covering his head sat down at the kit. He was good, and they finished the song together. At the end, they got a roar from the crowd.

Then a 40-ish woman joined them with another guitar. "I ran home and got it," she said breathlessly as she tuned her Taylor. "I'm Violet. This is just what I needed!" They now had a three-piece band.

"Let's rock this place!" yelled Violet, jumping up and down with her guitar. The drummer -- Dave, who looked like a 60-year-old hippie with a beard right out of
Duck Dynasty
-- laughed and let out a whoop.

Rick whooped with him, and turned to the crowd.

"Here's one that fits what we're going through now!" he yelled, breaking into the Rolling Stones'
Satisfaction
. The crowd went wild as the trio dove into the song, pouring all the pain and frustration of the last week into it. The musicians hammered their instruments, not caring if they missed a chord here or there.

Neither did the crowd. Everyone sang along, screaming out the chorus.

I can’t get no satisfaction

‘Cause I try and I try and I try

AND I TRY!

Rick suddenly realized that t
he town was bonding, here and now, forgetting about everything else. The singing and dancing released their tension and misery, forming a bubble of bliss that extended as far as the music.

The band realized it, too. They played song after song,
first through their fatigue, then through their exhaustion. They didn’t mind. They were helping these people; helping themselves. They played as if their lives depended on their playing. Sweat flew off drummer Dave's forearms, and Violet's hair got damp and started uncurling. Rick's hands were a blur over the strings.

After an hour and a half of frantic playing, Rick's hands and arms quivered with the
continued effort. Dave rubbed his arms, and his hands were also cramping. Violet was in the same situation.

Suddenly, an idea struck Rick; the perfect way to end the show. "One more, guys?" he said.
Screams came from the crowd (and a few groans that it was ending). His new bandmates nodded enthusiastically, even though he could see the tiredness in their eyes and limbs.

He started playing the Beatles'
Drive My Car
, only he changed the words to "Baby You Can't Drive My Car." The crowd, which now seemed to include the entire town, went bananas at the in-joke on their car-less existence. In a way, they were thumbing their noses at their situation. We’re down, but not out. We’ll get through this. We’re proud people. Hear our pride.

People had now climbed poles to get a look at the newest rock stars. Those with lighters lit them and held them high. The crowd swayed with the music, people entwining arms.

Finally, the music stopped. Rick, at the center, raised the guitar over his head and shouted at the gathered. "Thank youuuu! Rock on, America!" A tired cliché normally, but not today. Not on
this
day.

Pandemonium broke out as people yelled and screamed as if World War II had ended. Some set off fireworks
stolen from a nearby store, and a few fired guns and rifles into the air. The dancing and singing continued long after the band finished. Rick, Violet and Dave were swarmed by admirers. Many who hugged them or shook their hands were crying, grateful for the break in the awfulness that had been their recent lives. They desperately needed this respite from chaos.

It was another hour before Rick left, after returning the guitar to the looted store. He'd touched these people, and they'd touched him right back.

For the first time in a long time, he started to think that things might all work out after all.