Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Read online

  “Just be careful, OK. There’s looters on the main roads.” The he added with a half grin, “Don’t think they’ll bother you at the library.” He stepped aside and shined the flashlight along the road. It caught a glint of metal on the grass shoulder, tucked into the tree line. I recognized it as a bike that had to belong to Officer Babyface.

  “Have a nice day.” I punched the start code back into my scooter’s console and eased away.

  Howie’s house was in the other direction but I wasn’t about to tell him that. So I drove off toward the library, muttering under my breath, ‘Have a nice day? Really Syn?’

  After taking the long way around, I pulled my scooter to Howie’s curb. He threw a long leg over the seat in front of me and asked, “What took you so long?” I inched back to let him drive. Even though it was my bike, and pink, he never minded being seen driving it around. And I never minded not being able to see over him.

  “There was a road block. Can you believe it?”

  “I can’t believe anything that’s going on right now, Syn,” he replied, sounding more sad than disbelieving. I placed a hand on his back, as I would do for Brooks when he was upset.

  “Well, I had to take the long way because I told the ‘cop’ I was going to the library.” I finger quoted.

  “Yeah I saw on Channel 2 that the police were taking volunteers.” Howie entered the bike’s code and revved the tiny engine a little too long, as he always did. “Scary.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, not really knowing what was so scary about Officer Babyface.

  By the time we reached the library, it was lighter out, but still not enough for almost noon. The gloominess added to my confusion at the library being closed. “What day is it?” I asked, realizing that this was the first time in a month that I had thought about the days of the week.

  Howie looked at his MeFit, the orange back-lit screen cast a Halloween-ish shadow across his face. “It’s Tuesday. They should be open.” He revved the bike again and coasted around the perimeter. There were no cars in the back either.

  “What do we do?” I asked, hoping Howie would take charge so I didn’t have to.

  Taking a deep breath, Howie lowered the kickstand and gently leaned the scooter over on it. “Wait here. I’m gonna try the doors.”

  I dropped my legs to keep from tipping off the back and watched him cross the empty parking lot, jiggle the door handle, and the other. He walked around the side of the building and tried to lift some of the windows, then turned and shrugged, “Now what?”

  “I don’t know.” Looking around for anyone to come help, all I saw was thick dust swirling in the air. Still no cars or other people, same as before. I waved him back and as he started to cross the parking lot, there was a loud rumble behind me. I closed my eyes and waved frantically at Howie to hurry up. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to run home and get under my covers. I turned ever so slowly toward the sound.

  A huge black truck flew around the curve and pulled into the lot, coming straight for me. Howie broke into a full run and jumped between me and the truck. He held out his arm to cover me from the opening passenger door. The truck loped in front of us, growling and smoking as a long hairy leg appeared. My grip on the back of Howie’s shirt tightened and I cowered behind him.

  “Whatchu kids doin’ out here?” A voice as grizzled as the truck’s engine reached around Howie and rattled my nerves.

  Howie puffed his chest, making himself appear bigger, even as his skinny frame betrayed him. “We’re looking for books, sir.”

  “Books? Why you want those fer?”

  “Research.”

  The large man laughed. His meaty arms, folded on top of his ample belly, jumped with each jiggle of said belly. “Well you hurry up and git done.” Scary Santa told us. “It’s dangerous out here. Some bad people drivin’ around.” He shooed us toward the library.

  “It’s closed.” Howie said.

  “Everything’s closed now boy.” Scary Santa laughed again. “Hey Emmett,” he called into the truck. “You reckon we got somethin’ for that lock?”

  “It’s alright...” Howie put his hands up in protest. “You don’t have to...”

  “Yeah I got a lockpick right here,” came an equally grizzled voice from inside the truck. A shot gun barrel peeked around the door.

  I tried to yell over Howie’s shoulder but a whispered, “No!” was all that came out.

  “Aww don’t worry. I’m a good shot.” Scary Santa waddled toward the library.

  I squeezed Howie’s arm tight. “Oh Stone! He’s gonna shoot it!”

  “Um, sir,” Howie tried to reason with the man. “Please, you don’t have to do this. We can just...”

  BLAM!

  Fire shot from the gun barrel, kicking Scary Santa back a step. Smoke and burnt gunpowder swirled around his head, the smell already wafting toward me.

  Emmett roared with delight from the truck and laid on the horn. “Woooo!”

  Coughing and holding his ears, Howie yelled, “You alright?”

  “What?” I yelled in return.

  Scary Santa pushed the library’s door and glass crumbled to the ground. He turned back to us, gave a ‘thumbs up’ and grinned wide, showing off two black molars.

  “Alright Randy, you had yer fun!” Emmett hollered from the truck. He gave one more good honk. “Let’s go before they think we ain’t coming!”

  “Hold yer horses.” Randy crossed the parking lot as quickly as his weight allowed. As he climbed into the truck, grunting at the effort, he smiled back at us. “All yers.”

  The engine roared to life. The truck lurched to attention, and we stared blankly as it thundered off.

  Howie was the first to come to. “I can’t believe we just saw that.”

  “I know, right.” I looked back at the library. Smoke from the shotgun blast dissipated, giving me a clear view of the missing door. Leaves swirled on the ground, made their way into the building.

  “Be careful,” Howie warned as he tiptoed over the broken glass and opened the empty metal door frame. I followed step for step into the dark building. Howie flipped the light switch up and down a couple times before giving up. He tapped his MeFit watch and a beam of light illuminated the first foot or so in front of us.

  I inched closer to him, berating myself again for losing my MeFit.

  “You have any idea where we’re supposed to look?” His flashlight app scanned the room.

  “Reference stuff. Prolly in the back.”

  “Hope you know the Dewey Decimal System.” He waved the light over the ‘Reference’ sign on a tall bookshelf and the four other shelves behind it.

  I huffed an obvious ‘nope’.

  We had leafed through a few books on the lower shelves when I found what I needed. “Farmer’s Almanac 2200.” I held it up for Howie. “Kinda old but it should be fine.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think vegetables have changed much in forty years... or ever.” Howie shrugged. “How about construction? You need to know any of that?” He flipped through more pages.

  “Probably not but she said get everything.” I shrugged and opened my bag. Howie tossed the book, along with a few more, overhand like he was dunking basketballs.

  He picked up a large book with both hands and asked, “Hey Farmer Syn, wanna know how to milk cows?” He howled with laughter and put the book back on the shelf.

  “Alright Howard. Let’s wrap this up. I need to get back to Bit.” I dropped more random books in my bag and zipped it.

  As we turned to leave Howie squealed like a teenage girl and ran to a display table. “Look who I found!” He shined the MeFit light on a book cover that set my face aflame. “It’s your boyfriend Dayne!” Howie flicked page after page of glossy pictures. Dayne’s high cheekbones and straight black hair glinted in the light.

  “Stop it!” I swirled to leave without Howie, sending the heavy book bag tumbling into a display table. A stack of books fell to the floor at my feet. Howie stopped giggling
long enough to point the light over the pile and I gasped. “Oh! Good Morning Butterfly! Bit loved Goodnight Caterpillar!”

  “So get it.”

  Clutching the children’s book to my chest, I looked around as if someone would jump out of the darkness and catch me.

  “Nobody’s here Syn. You heard the rednecks.” Howie walked up behind me and grabbed the backpack. “Come on.” He took the book from me and shoved it into the already overflowing bag, which now wouldn’t zip.

  I saw the Dayne book sneak itself into the bag as well and smiled, deciding to give Howie the satisfaction of taking care of me. Sighing for dramatic effect, I clapped my hands. “Well I don’t know about you but I’ve had my fill of creepy libraries.”

  “Yeah let’s get you home. You got some learnin’ to do.” Howie affected his best Randy impression, patting an imaginary belly.

  Chapter Ten

  I waded through a sea of garbage leading to an overflowing green dumpster. Flies buzzed around my head, so fat from the free smorgasbord that I could easily catch one, if I were so inclined. Bags of trash piled well past my mid-section, almost covering the white Refuse Management logo on the green metal container. I pushed past them and crouched between it and the back-alley wall.

  “Stupid bread,” I said to no one. Stupid scooter, too, I thought. Now wasn’t the time for that thing to act up on me. I readjusted the heavy backpack over my aching shoulders.

  Some good Citizen had tried to compact the mass of plastic bags with the two heavy black lids, which now stood straight up in the air, blocking my view. //I sure could use a little help here.// I chipped to Howie.

  //Wish I could. I’m stuck with Marcus all afternoon.// He sounded way too nonplussed for my current level of panic.

  //I don’t even like bread.// I transmitted the thought, although it was more for my own benefit. Howie had enough on his plate. Of course he couldn’t come help me every time I called. But still. This was a boy’s job.

  //I heard that.//

  Oh Stone!

  //And how very progressive of you.// Howie teased.

  //Shut it.//

  //Just run. You got this.//

  Peering around the corner, I touched the yellowing gauze pad behind my ear. It was still there, just as it had been the previous twenty times I checked it that morning. Pumping myself up for the dart across the street, I took a deep breath, and regretted it immediately. Choking and gagging, I stumbled backward. My backpack knocked stray unbagged items off trash mountain. A fading dartboard rolled past me like a 2D snowball and settled on the pavement beside something I hoped was spaghetti noodles.

  Recovering my balance, I hiked my shirt over my mouth and nose, and tried again. This time the air was less putrid, and I held my composure. Alright, let’s get this over with.

  Without thinking, I ran full speed across the deserted alley. My heart pounded in my chest and I expected shots to ring out at any moment. My shoulder crash-landed against the red brick facade of the bank building. I counted the changing exteriors to its right; white concrete, brown and red brick, and beige stucco. Target acquired.

  It took a full minute to inch my way to the third one. A thick gray metal door loomed over my head. I jiggled the handle in a futile attempt at something going my way today. Something rustled in the distance and I flattened myself against the door. Glass crunched under my feet. It looked new. Following the trail, I found a shattered window on the side wall.

  I jumped up, barely grabbing the bottom frame, jagged glass tearing at my sensitive finger tips. Falling back to the ground, I cursed at the burning pain that soaked my knee and jeans in crimson. I shed the backpack, heavy with jugs of water I’d collected from the stream behind the dairy farm. I shuddered as the stench of those poor dead cows assaulted me once more.

  Brooks’s plastic yellow bat stuck out of a side pocket like a sword in its scabbard. I tucked it into the back of my jeans. The handle poked out over the top of my head. I yanked it out, practicing my quick draw, then replaced it and repeated.

  Once secure in my ability to defend myself, I stood on top of the backpack and jumped to the window again. Shards of glass stabbed ten fresh holes in my fingers. But I held firm and pulled myself up, legs clawing at the wall for support. At that exact moment I was rather glad Howie hadn’t accompanied me on my shopping trip.

  My arms shook as I forced my head inside the window, only to get stuck half in and half out. I tried again, and went nowhere. Each time I pushed, a tiny scraping noise accompanied the stopping. With one hand I snatched the bat out of my pants and threw it, as the other hand shoved me in the pitch-black room.

  I had no time to revel in my bloody victory. A click beside my ear made me regret the hasty decision to throw my weapon.

  MY EYES ADJUSTED TO the darkness in time to see a shiny black dress shoe coming at my face. I rolled out of the way and into a shelf of rotting pies. I only knew they were pies from the fermented fruit goo that lodged itself up my nose.

  The offending shoe grazed my ribs as “Get up!” echoed through the room. I obeyed.

  “What are you doing here?” The voice, which belonged to a barrel-chested soldier holding a giant machine gun, didn’t instill in me an urge to speak.

  The gun smacked me upside the head and words fell out. “We need bread.”

  The soldier looked me up and down and I shrunk to a timid shell of myself. “Why didn’t you use the front door like a normal person?” he asked down the barrel of the gun.

  I shrugged.

  His sausage finger stayed on the trigger and he nudged me with the barrel into a dimly lit storefront. “You get three things.”

  Rows of empty shelves lined the outer walls. The overhead lights around the perimeter were dark, the only beacon of light shining in the middle of the room. There a mass of people stood in a single file line which zigzagged around “Wet Floor” cones. Everyone waited their turn to peruse the scant selection of perishables and dry goods stacked on display tables. Two open refrigerated bins sat beyond the tables; the smell of barely edible meats hung in the air. A diesel generator rumbled off to the side, connected to the coolers by two lengths of drop cords. Beyond it I was glad to see the front doors wide open.

  I took my place in line behind a tall man with a crinkled plastic bag hanging out of his back pocket. I recognized him as the guy who washed cars in the Kwik Stop parking lot by school. I smiled at him but he didn’t acknowledge my existence. In the long line of what was left of my neighbors, every set of eyes examined the floor beside their feet.

  Soldiers in pressed green and black uniforms stood around the stash, guns downcast like the people’s heads, trigger fingers ready. As I wound my way through the line, one step at a time, I watched the people before me pick one item from the table and one from each cooler section. When I made it to the front, another armed guard held out a hand for me to wait. The old man in front of me took his sweet time deciding between the last loaf of bread and a six pack of noodles. Dropping Mom’s bread in his bag, he shuffled to the cold foods and across the empty store to the exit.

  The soldier waved me on and I grabbed my consolation prize — moldy hot dog buns. Then I bent over the cooler and dug through the expired lunchmeat, looking for dogs to go with the buns. I found them, stuck to the bottom, and tore a hole in the plastic packaging as I struggled to rip them free. Rancid juice ran down my arm. I resisted the urge to shake it off, fearing I’d spray a soldier and get shot.

  The second bin held more of the same, plus thawed fish sticks and questionable chicken nuggets. I opted for the nuggets, choosing the risk of salmonella over whatever lived in expired fish.

  Then I saw it.

  Hiding behind a soggy bag of pizza rolls, the unmistakable silver foil wrapper of a Mr. Icey ice cream candy bar. I dropped the hot dogs I’d fought so valiantly for and held the semi-frozen candy bar tight. The air deflated from a rather large soldier to my right. Someone must not have stuffed it as far into the corner as he thought.
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  I hurried out the front doors and around the building. Sitting beside my abandoned backpack I opened the candy bar and savored every crinkle of the shiny wrapper. My back held up the wall as I nibbled at my treat, fighting every urge to inhale it. Happy Birthday Syn.

  A good ten minutes later, licking the last molecules of chocolate off my fingers, I gathered my haul and headed home. By the time I got to the main road, less than a mile away, shame soured the creamy goodness in my gut. That selfish treat cost us eight hot dogs. I could still smell their taunting juice on my hands.

  As I turned the last corner into my neighborhood, my house came into view, and I could hardly force my feet to continue. I knew the moment Mom looked at me she’d know what I’d done.

  I stood outside my front door, spreading out my fingers and taking one last breath before turning the knob.

  “Surprise!” Mom, Brooks, Howie, and Marcus all screamed from the black room. “Happy Birthday Syn!”

  I burst into tears.

  Chapter Eleven

  My eyes would not stay open. The world outside had long since turned black, but these days I couldn’t tell if it was the time of day or the smoke and ash hanging in the air. Fires still popped up randomly and often since the Glitch. There was talk over the Citizen Network that a hydro station had exploded. I hated hearing about those things. Every day there was a new reason to fear for your life. And since it was a government controlled transmission, there was no turning it off.

  Images of destruction and chaos bombarded my chip day and night. It almost made me miss the stupid ads that had been hacked in by Global Asset Handling a couple years before. At least every now and then I had gotten to look at cute puppies eating MegaPup dog food, or watch a LiveFeed of GameTubers playing the newest 4D fantasy RPG Mom would never allow me to have.