Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Page 12

  I left the old woman standing in line, fighting with whatever was in her sack.

  The bullhorn pealed again. “As you reach the front of the line, please leave your payment with my assistant.” He gestured to a woman in her early twenties sitting behind a folding table. Her hair was pulled neatly in a bun and her clothes were at least cleaner than the people’s around her. “Clerice will give you a receipt for your payment, whatever it may be, and give you a clipboard. You will fill out the packet and return it to her. Then get in line over there.” He pointed at a wall where a few people had gathered, not quite in a line. “You must be sure to check the boxes confirming that you will not hold us liable for any injury sustained during the procedure.” He held up a finger to count off his point. “You understand that recycled chips come with their former owner’s memories, some... quite unpleasant.” Another finger stood up. “And any malfunction after implantation, especially pertaining to a second Glitch, is not the fault of StoneCorp.” The third finger—“And finally, if you don’t sign the Nondisclosure Agreement you will not receive a chip!”

  “Also, for those of you who are interested, we have in our possession authenticated stones. Verified and serialed with the Geology Service’s seal. Only a few remain so get yours while they last.” With that he unclicked the trigger on the megaphone and jumped off the stoop.

  The line of people bunched up behind me, crowding to fill in the space. I studied their faces. Where did all these people come from? Recycled chips?

  So many thoughts flew through my mind at once. Memories of ancient stories. I knew the lore all too well. When my parents had decided to chip Brooks, Mom had been so scared he would ‘remember’ his previous death like so many others with recycled chips. Luckily, he had never said anything about it. We’d been spared.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Uprising (200 BCC)

  “Justice! Justice!” The crowd chanted, gathered in an undulating mass in front of a makeshift stage.

  Marcus Stone struggled in the clutches of his captors. Two massive Secret Service Agents—one on either side—dragged him along the ground toward the wooden platform. As if on cue, both sets of giant meathooks released their grips, sending Marcus face first to the gravel below. Dirt packed up his nose, mixing with snot and blood from the generous beating they had doled out to him on the way into town.

  “Justice! Justice!” The roar almost drowned out the Executioner’s speech at the podium. The leader, nearly as massive as his henchmen, raised a hand to silence the mass of people gathered for the show. Instantly they complied, all but the faint whimper of a baby in the distance. Marcus chuckled to himself at the thought of ‘baby’s first execution’.

  Executioner Cho, standing high above the yard on stage with a banner that read “Justice For Our People!” adjusted the microphone, sending a high-pitched squeal through the curved concert speakers behind him. “Citizens of Reidville, I promised to deliver the usurper and here he lies before you. Marcus Stone has been tried under the highest court of law in our land and found guilty of the worst offense imaginable. Treason!”

  The crowd roared to life. Marcus lifted himself to a sitting position, titanium shackles eating into his already raw wrists and ankles as he steadied himself. The guard on his left, who’d gone out of his way to make the last week a living hell, gigged him with the ZapStick.

  Marcus’s limbs contorted in full rigor, throwing his manacled hands above his head. With his abdomen exposed, the guard on the right welcomed the opportunity to kick him square in the chest. Marcus toppled over, still seizing.

  “Stop resisting!” The left guard shuffled his feet to get them out from under Marcus’s rigid drooling body.

  Executioner Cho continued. “Marcus Stone, you plotted against your own country, your fellow Continentals. You took unauthorized and undocumented liaisons to hostile territories. You sold this great nation’s secrets to combatant nations. And you incited your followers to disobey the law by destroying their identification records!”

  “I only did that last one.” Marcus choked on the dust in his throat, his vocal chords still paralyzed.

  “What was that?” Cho yelled into his microphone.

  “I said,” Marcus rose to his feet defiantly. “I only did that last part. And I’d do it again.” He turned in a full circle, shackled hands closed in front of him. “I love my country and would never do anything to harm my brethren. But you have to see what this world is coming to. This is the last year of our century. Is this the legacy we want to leave for our children?”

  “Booo!” Unanimously rang out.

  “All I did was ask for my right to privacy, and that of every one of you.” He turned again pointing at the crowd.

  “You are a traitor Mr. Stone!” Executioner Cho could barely contain himself, face red with hatred.

  Marcus faced his accusers, straightening his back. “I fight for what I believe in. If I don’t, who will? Do none of you see that we’re in a dangerous time, all of us. Constant surveillance. Improper searches of personal property. Children forced to scan their IDs before being allowed to eat?”

  He took a small step toward the crowd and they retreated in fear. “I’m not the monster they painted me to be. Just because they didn’t know where I was, doesn’t mean I was doing something wrong. I was just living my life.”

  “Enough!” Cho slammed a fist on the podium sending another squeal through the loudspeakers. “I will not allow you to poison the minds of these great law-abiding Citizens. We have rules in this country and you broke them. You are guilty, Stone, and you will be punished accordingly.”

  Marcus limped toward the stage, pulling the heavy chain behind him. “I accept my sentence. I’d gladly roll up my sleeve for you so I don’t have to see what world your kind is trying to create for our new century. I gotta say though,” he said, climbing the steps to the platform. “This is a bit cliche don’t you think?” he waved a hand at the crowd and the stage. “Public injections are so 21st century.”

  As Marcus reached the top step, Executioner Cho sauntered across the stage, taking the microphone with him and grinning the whole time. “There will be no needle for you Stone.”

  The chain yanked its prisoner off the platform. Marcus landed hard on his side, knocking the air from his lungs. He sputtered and wheezed as the two Secret Service Agents reeled him back to the center of the yard. The crowd closed in around him.

  Behind Cho the banner fell away revealing a wall of white screens. On each was a different person from Marcus’s life. His sister Marjorie could be seen in the top right corner, a red streak across her face in the shape of a hand. All around her were other members of his family and close friends. His mother, in her living room surrounded by Agents, occupied the largest center screen on the wall. At each corner of the stage multiple cameras dropped from the ceiling, all trained on Marcus on the ground.

  The crowd gasped collectively and fell silent. “For you, Marcus Stone, I think a death sentence more to your liking is in order. You want to live off the grid like ancient times, you shall die without the modern conveniences of our times.”

  Marcus’s mother cried out on the large screen and an Agent slapped her across the face.

  “But before we get to the main event... we need a little reminder for those of you watching at home.” Cho spun and smiled for the cameras. “Everyone you see before you,” gesturing to the screens, “has aided and abetted Mr. Stone’s crimes. They harbored a fugitive. They helped Mr. Stone evade capture by concealing his identity, destroying government issued documents. They all participated in his rallies against your government. It’s time that justice be served!”

  “Justice!... Justice!” The crowd sprung back to life.

  On the ground, a fresh boot print on his cheek, Marcus watched in horror as his mother wept, larger than life above the stage. His younger sister MaryAnn, on the screen right above her, spat at Cho through the camera in her face.

  Unfazed, Executioner C
ho continued. “Evelyn Stone will you please show Agent Maldanado your identification?”

  The woman wept, shaking her head.

  “You can’t, can you?”

  Another slow shake ‘no’, her entire body quaking. The Agent who had slapped her now held her pinned to the back of the couch.

  “In fact,” Cho plied the crowd, “none of the people you see before you today can show identification. These aren’t even all of his conspirators.”

  Another gasp from the audience.

  “No, these are only the few we could locate. There’s no telling where the rest of these dangerous criminals are right now,” pausing for effect, “or what they’re plotting!”

  Marcus met his mother’s gaze and wept with her, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’ The old woman composed herself enough to shine a loving smile on her son, kiss two fingers, and touch them to the camera lens.

  “Coward!” Marcus raged at Cho, straining at the end of his chain.

  Cho walked down, then stopped and crossed the yard. He stopped just short of Marcus’s reach and raised a hand to silence the crowd.

  “Evelyn Stone, you are hereby found guilty of Treason.” A shot rang out and the white screen flashed orange, then red. Through the spray on the lens her body slumped over.

  More shots, one by one, from each screen as Marcus watched helpless in a ball on the white sand. After all had flashed orange then smeared red they went black.

  “Stand up and be counted.” Cho taunted, motioning for the guards to lift Marcus.

  Slowly he rose to his full height, wiped his blood and mud caked nose and glared at Executioner Cho.

  “Mr. Stone the blood of those you loved is on your hands. And now it’s time for you to suffer the same fate.”

  Marcus closed his eyes and braced himself for the bullet. A sharp pain tore at his shoulder. He stumbled but didn’t fall. Then another in the center of his back. Again, he stumbled but didn’t fall. Marcus opened his eyes in time to see a rock hurtling directly at his face.

  “Since you want to live like a savage Mr. Stone, it’s only fitting that you die like one.” Cho picked up a baseball sized gray rock and smashed the side of Marcus’s head. A loud crack reverberated through him and warm blood oozed over his temple. Still he refused to fall.

  Suddenly dozens of stones pelted him from all angles. He raised a protective arm to his face but the guards snatched the chain. His arms fell to his waist as a sharp pain exploded in his mouth. He spat chunks of tongue and teeth on Cho’s polished shoe.

  A swift kick from the other shoe buckled his knee backward, sending him to the ground at last. All around him the cries for ‘Justice!’ sprang up again. People rushed forward, their newfound courage flying from their hands and tearing into his flesh. Others picked up already bloodied rocks at Marcus’s feet and bashed him in the head with them. Eyes swollen shut, Marcus could only claw at the ground vainly in search of refuge. What he found was the butt of a rifle shattering all the bones in his hand.

  “Mr. Stone!” Cho’s voice froze the crowd, giving Marcus a momentary respite from the onslaught of rocks. “May your story serve as a cautionary tale to those who dare follow you. And may your death bring our great nation the peace it deserves as we turn the pages of history to a new century, a new world!”

  Executioner Cho stood over Marcus’s head and hefted a boulder as high as his wingspan would allow. He brought the rock down hard and swift. Marcus twitched briefly as the sand turned red under the boulder. With the excitement over the townspeople dropped their stones, filed back into their cars, and drove back to their lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  January 20, 5AG

  Guard One was livid. “We know the story of The Uprising. Geez, I thought having to listen to you retell The Glitch was bad enough. You didn’t have to take us all the way back past Genesis!”

  “Bit’s chip... and that man selling... it just reminded me of the story.” Synta rubbed the chafe marks on her wrists. “Can I get these off?” She raised her hands.

  Guard Two snorted and Guard One shook his head. “Too risky.”

  Synta laughed; a pure bubble of absurdity erupting from her mouth and bouncing around the tiny room. “You scared?”

  Guard One shot her a snarling dirty look.

  Synta’s laugh evaporated.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Synta couldn’t help but think about Marcus Stone, getting stoned. Poetic to some; those in power. But the Children of The Resistance, they felt it. Every time Synta heard the story, or told it has she just had, her bones ached with a thousand tiny fractures. A thousand angry rocks pelted her skin.

  “Do you think it really happened that way?” Synta asked after a moment, quietly.

  Guard One’s head snapped up. From the look on his face, Synta could tell he’d been thinking the same things. “Fairytales to corral the masses.” His voice barely broke through his lips. None of them believed him.

  Part IX: 4 Years AG

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I woke up early that morning to meet Howie for our weekly trip to town. All the stores had long since closed, buildings already crumbling in disrepair on every corner. The ones that stood did so only because they leaned heavily on their downtrodden neighbors. But we knew where to go by now, and how to get there unseen. Howie, on his own ‘commandeered’ motorbike, glided around corners and traversed the back streets a few feet in front of me.

  //I need gas.// I chipped to him. The red light on the panel flashed in my face.

  //I thought you stocked up.//

  //I did but the generator leaked the other day and I had to use it. Come on, it’ll just take a sec.//

  We pulled into a car lot and I immediately got to work. I pulled a six-inch section of garden hose from my hip bag and scanned the parking lot for the oldest truck.

  “Over here,” Howie yelled from behind the building. “This one looks old enough!”

  Grabbing both of my backpacks I followed the sound of his voice, throwing a leg back over the scooter and walking it across the cracked pavement. The bumpy ride reminded me that I’d neglected to go to the bathroom before leaving. Rookie move, Syn.

  The truck in question was a ‘57 Correro. Perfect. Spain had been the last to convert to natural gas. A 2257 Correro should still run on gasoline. To be sure, I checked the dashboard for the gas can icon. Shielding my eyes from the growing light of dawn I pressed my face to the driver side window. “I can’t see.”

  “Break it.” Howie shrugged, digging in his bag for what I assumed was the hammer.

  “Better.” I stood back. The last time we didn’t double check before siphoning we’d accidentally put natural gas in Howie’s bike, which ran on a mix of gas and kerosene. That was a disaster.

  As Howie smashed the truck’s window with his sledgehammer I glanced at his dirt bike. The ugly contraption we’d had to manufacture on the gas tank to make it run on LPG was an eye sore. Effective, but ugly. He was fine with that, but me... not so much.

  “Gas can. You’re good. I’m gonna check for supplies.” Howie pointed at the rear toolbox in the bed of the truck.

  “Good luck.” I wasn’t sure what he’d find as far as supplies went, in a car lot vehicle, but he was always so happy when he did.

  I set both backpacks on the ground beside me. Although I was used to the weight of both packs—complete with full canteens, extra clothes, batteries, and a whole garage worth of other gear—I welcomed the break from lugging it around. I carefully navigated the hose into the tank and squeezed the siphon pump until liquid began to flow into the gas can. The sound reminded me, again, that I had to find a bathroom fast.

  “Hey watch this while I... look for supplies inside.”

  “K.” Howie slammed the stainless steel toolbox lid, grinning.

  “What?”

  He held up a filthy ball cap and his smile grew.

  “Don’t,” I warned, but it was too late.

  Howie positioned the moldy
cap over his beautiful hair and pulled it down almost covering his bright green eyes.

  “You’re disgusting!” I called over my shoulder while half running to the car lot’s office.

  The doorknob didn’t budge as I jiggled it. I surveyed the windows for a moment, squirming with urgency. No holes. I unhooked the flashlight from my belt loop, covered my face with my other hand, and smacked the glass as hard as I could. It shattered; an alarm instantly blared inside.

  //Oh Stone!// Howie’s voice in my head barely came through over the alarm.

  //I know! They still have power!// My excitement took over. Visions of running water and a flushing toilet danced in my mind. How long had it been?

  //Turn it off!// Howie snapped me back to reality.

  I climbed through the window and shined my flashlight through the room. On the wall by the front door was a white square box with flashing red buttons. I ran to it and smashed its shell with the flashlight handle. Nothing. It took three more swings before the thing cracked enough for me to fit my fingers inside and rip out the wires.

  Finally silence filled the room. I breathed a quick sigh of relief before Howie ruined it. //We gotta get out of here. They had to hear that!// From the window to my side I could see him shoving the nozzle of the gas can into my scooter’s tank.

  Torn, I stood at the alarm panel for a moment. //Come on! Help me with this stuff!// He yelled between my ears.

  I unlocked the door and ran back around the building. When I finally reached him he was stuffing the last of our siphoning tools back in the bag. I helped him finish and flung both backpacks over my shoulder, jumping on my scooter. I keyed the start code into the control panel and the engine purred.

  Sirens rang out in the distance, prompting Howie to rev his engine and speed off ahead of me. “I hope that stupid hat flies off!” I yelled in his direction, pulling out of the parking lot at a normal speed. I still had to pee!