The curtains fluttered.
“It’s Logan!” he said.
The man pulled the curtains back and peered through the door. Short brown hair with a hint of grey looked unkempt and nowhere near its usual tidiness.
Jack.
Eleanor’s son, who always came across as if he believed himself superior and couldn’t help bragging about his new investment properties. He liked to give out stock tips—as if Logan had money for anything other than paying the rent.
“Jack?” Logan asked and then promptly raised his hands, alarmed, as Jack slid open the door and pointed the barrel of a shotgun at him with bloodshot eyes. “Woah! What are you doing?”
Jack blinked, raising his gaze from Logan’s chest to his face, scrutinizing him in puzzlement before his eyes widened. “Logan?” he asked in disbelief.
Without a shirt and streaked with blood and dirt, Logan supposed he was quite the sight. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, sheepish. “I guess I should have tried washing in the lake.”
Logan was 6’2, and on his best days, he’d say he went for a scruffy look—with wavy, dark brown hair and bangs that often fell into his eyes. He was pale as shit, which was why he’d been trying to work on his tan when everything went to hell. Take that scruffy look, remove a toe, cover him with scratches and bruises, then layer blood and dirt on top of that? He could see why Jack hadn’t recognized him.
“What the hell happened to you? You look like you bathed in a slaughterhouse.”
Logan tried brushing off the dirt on his chest, but he suspected he’d managed to make it worse.
“Hell happened. If I told you, I don’t think you’d believe me. Shit, I wouldn’t have believed myself. I’ve been attacked repeatedly, almost blown up, and…” He glanced down at his foot. “Got injured.” Logan took his cell out and toggled on the power. Still no cell signal. “I have no service. I’m locked out of the cabin, and I don’t have internet there anyway. I’m hoping you have wi-fi or a working phone line.”
Jack lowered the shotgun and then rested it against the doorframe.
Logan studied it with a frown. “What were you going to do with that, anyway? Shoot me?”
“You never can be too careful.” Jack ran his hand through his hair before peering behind Logan anxiously. “The lookie-loos and looters will be out here soon, just you wait.”
“Are you going to let me in?”
Jack hesitated.
“Jack?” said a voice. “Who’s at the door?”
That had to be Eleanor. Jack’s hesitancy disappeared as he took a step back and pulled Logan inside. He peered through the window before shutting the door and closing the curtains.
Eleanor was pushing 85, but she was active for her age, using trekking poles on her power walks outside. She was whipcord thin and she had shrunk an inch in the last year, her back slightly curved as age warped it. But she continued to dye her curly short hair blonde, and she had a remarkably youthful face.
Logan didn’t know if it was expensive makeup or good genes, but whatever she did, he wanted it when he was older.
“Oh, it’s the pot fiend!” Eleanor said in that distinct lilting accent of hers, all full of teasing and contempt at the same time.
Eleanor had moved to the Okanagan from Newfoundland ten years ago. Proud of her heritage and willing to tell you all about her Irish ancestors, yet somehow convinced she didn’t have an accent.
Logan shifted awkwardly. “You know that wasn’t me, Eleanor. It was the renters.”
She sniffed. “So you say. Well, pot fiend, did you take a swim in a vat of fish guts? I was going to ask if you had a way out of here, but I don’t think I’d go anywhere with you even if you had. What a state,” she tsked. “Well, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Logan followed her past the living room, then paused and made a beeline for the flat screen TV.
A 24-hour news channel was showing a clip of downtown New York, streets empty of cars and trucks. What a bizarre sight. No vehicles anywhere, not even any parked on the sides. Paper fluttering down empty roads and the occasional scuttling rat flashed by the camera. Multiple jets flew at the sound barrier over the sky, patrolling and looking for something unknown.
Logan perked up for a second, suddenly hopeful as the camera panned to another street, which had one lone car parked on the side street. It looked like a Tesla.
Jack switched the channel.
“…The US government has commandeered all electric vehicles and will be using them to supplement the military. In the event of an emergency, continue to call 911. We’ve been advised that a plan is in place to use military and civilian helicopters to transport citizens to the nearest hospital.”
“We’ve received reports of stolen golf carts and farming equipment as people look for other transportation alternatives. In financial news, trading was halted after the DOW tumbled over 32% in one day, wiping away billions of dollars in wealth…”
The next channel’s anchor had a distinct British accent.
“…There have been unconfirmed reports of animals attacking people at random. We recommend crating your pet as a precautionary measure…”
Back to an American channel.
“…Rumors of Chinese spy balloons over Washington are just that, rumors and there is no evidence that China is behind these attacks. We ask for your patience as we gather…”
Jack paused on a Canadian channel and muted the volume. The news anchor had cut to a shot of downtown Toronto, showing the same eerily empty streets, with the people scattered throughout, running, tears in their eyes.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Then they transitioned to Trafalgar Square in London, showing the same empty streets but what looked like the remains of mutated pigeon corpses—blood and feathers coating a bronze lion statue as if it had been tarred and feathered.
“It’s everywhere, then?” Logan asked. “The cars are gone?”
“All over the world. But they didn’t blow them all up,” said Jack. “Only gas, diesel, and the hybrids. Hybrids! With all these messages about carbon, you’d think they’d want to keep those around. The battery-operated ones are still on the road. But that’s shit, what, a hundred in the Okanagan, if that?”
“Language, Jack,” Eleanor scolded, but she sounded distracted.
Jack bragged about his money non-stop, and if anyone had an electric vehicle, it would be him. “Do you have…?”
A haunted look passed over his face. “Marlene and I talked about it, but we were waiting until we replaced our Mercedes. Logan, she took the kids grocery shopping right before this happened.”
No wonder Jack looked frazzled. There were a few smaller stores on the highway though; it didn’t mean they went all the way to the city. “You don’t think…”
Eleanor braced her frail hand against the arm of the couch and lowered herself down. “Marlene is a natural food freak. She took my grandchildren to the city to go to that snooty store she loves. They left twenty minutes before those crazy messages blasted into everyone’s heads. This family, we’re realists. Although I would…” Eleanor’s lip trembled, and she cleared her throat.
Jack sat down next to her as if his legs had been cut. “Mom, it doesn’t mean… They could have pulled over, stopped for gas, any number of things. Just because she won’t answer her phone doesn’t mean—that.”
The nearest store was thirty minutes away and that was a convenience store. Marlene wouldn’t be caught dead in it.
“I’m sure they’re fine then,” Logan lied. “They were probably in the store when it happened and now, they’re stranded like everyone else. You can’t reach them because the phone lines are bogged down. I can’t reach my sister either.” He felt like a jerk for even asking, but he was even more worried than before. “Have you been able to get calls out? I tried calling 911, but I received a busy signal or a ‘call back later.’”
Eleanor pursed her lips. “You called 911 because you couldn’t get through to your sister? You should know better, Logan. Emergencies are for emergencies.”
“Yeah… about that.” He peered down at his feet. They were filthy, so Logan could see why they hadn’t noticed. “I kind of lost my big toe down at the cabin.”
Silence.
Then they both looked down at his bare feet with twin skeptical expressions before their eyes widened.
“You poor thing,” Eleanor said, wobbling to her feet with a hunched back and shuffling over to peer down at his missing digit. “But it looks… are you sure this just happened?” she asked, puzzled. “It looks weeks old. That’s not possible.”
“I don’t think I can explain it without sounding like I’ve lost my mind. It’s all from the notifications. You can both see them, right? Almost like text messages, but—” he cleared his throat, embarrassed— “…in your mind?”
Eleanor frowned. “Everyone received them. The news is calling it ‘the System.’ That’s how we know what happened to the cars. It’s a mass-murderer, some kind of eco-terrorist.”
“There were messages about the cars, but I don’t mean that. I have a stat sheet. It gives me personal characteristics, rating things like strength and intelligence. You can change the numbers and it… does things to you. That’s how I survived. I increased my constitution attribute which gave me some kind of advanced healing factor.”
Eleanor studied him, and then she seemed to sigh with her whole body. “I was hoping it was just my cataracts acting up or stress making me see things. I see something. Not that, though. There’s no option to change ‘attributes,’ dearie, and I can’t see any statistics.”
Logan furrowed his brow. Wait a minute. What was that message in the Settings Mainframe again? As soon as Logan thought about it, the System populated the menu again.
[Entering the Settings Mainframe.]
[All new users start at Level 0. You will not be granted personal statistics until you kill your first entity. Once the user reaches Level 1, the System will automatically allocate stat points based upon personal characteristics.]
Logan dismissed the text. “You both need to kill something. The attribute points aren’t available until you do.”
Eleanor took a wary step back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Animals, Eleanor, animals, not people. I know it sounds crazy. But you won’t mind killing these things, trust me. They aren’t normal animals anymore.”
“We’re not killing anything. We’re not that type of people.”
“Have you looked at the ranking system? It said everyone had a year to grow strong. I think that means it’ll force us whether we want to or not.”
Jack scoffed. “This terrorist isn’t going to know what hit it once we pool our resources together. We won’t need to worry about any of this once we blow it out of the sky.”
Logan wasn’t so sure. What power on Earth could read your mind and make you physically stronger with a text message? Based on the rankings, there had to be millions—perhaps even billions—of people like Jack and Eleanor who hadn’t yet leveled. If they weren’t given a chance to see what happened when they reached level one, what would happen to all those people a year from now?
Jack seemed to get new life as he shot to his feet, pacing. “We’ll blow this fucker out of the sky! Show it what we do here in the free world when you screw with people we love the most. They’ll regret hurting Marlene. Hurting the kids. Maggie and Lilly better be okay!” He hit his palm with fist, a muscle in his neck bulging.
Eleanor huffed and sat back down on the couch. “You know swearing gets my blood pressure up. Since we can’t get to a hospital anytime soon, you better behave.” Eleanor sighed and stroked the top of her knees in a self-soothing gesture. Logan suspected it wasn’t swearing that was upsetting her. Those were her grandchildren Jack was talking about. “I can’t take this stress, Jack. Go do something productive and help Logan clean up. His stench is turning my stomach.”
Jack deflated, becoming a squirrely businessman once again. “Sorry mom.” He shot his mother a worried glance. “It’s best if we leave her for a bit,” he said, lowering his voice and leading Logan out of the living room and down the hallway. “She doesn’t deal well with stress in the best of times and with everything going on, plus speculations about Marlene and the kids…. I’ve just upset her.”
The hardwood floor was cold against Logan’s bare feet as they made their way upstairs to the second floor. “I don’t blame you. If it were Lara and the kids out there, I’d be feeling the same.”
And he had no way to know if that wasn’t the case. Worry for her had his heart racing, anxious butterflies making him feel like he wanted to do a million things at once. “I want to blow these assholes out of the sky, but…”
“What? This is a non-judgmental zone here. Don’t hold back.”
That was Jack’s corporate boardroom voice. Logan finally just spit it out. “Who are we blowing out of the sky?”
“The terrorists.” Jack opened a door to a guest room and started rummaging through the dresser.
“But the terrorists….” Logan dropped his voice into an embarrassed mumble. He knew how it would sound. If Logan had passed someone on the street ranting about aliens, he’d be walking around them in a wide circle.
“No,” said Jack, holding out a pair of bright orange swim trunks. “I want to know.”
Logan straightened. “I don’t think this ‘System’ is from around here, if you know what I mean.”
Jack ran a finger over his bottom lip in thought. “Aliens? You think the idea hasn’t passed through my mind? It’s possible, Logan. There’s too much we don’t know. For all our sakes, though, I hope it isn’t. I sure hope it isn’t. Something from here, a threat, a terrorist? We can fix that. I don’t know if we can fix the unknown.”
Logan wanted to ask for something more than shorts. He needed pants or something with layers to help protect against the next attack. A sense of normality was back now that he was inside with access to creature comforts, but he knew it would be short-lived. If this past day had taught him anything, it was that.
Logan opened his mouth, but there was a wild look in Jack’s eyes, and he appeared one question away from unravelling. “Thanks for the clothes,” he said instead.
Jack seemed to focus as he glanced down at the swim trunks. “Yeah, sorry about that. My mom bought them for guests as a lark. They have printed pictures of Buttercup on them from when she was a kitten. Cute, don’t you think? That reminds me. We can’t find Buttercup. Mom thinks she might have gotten out. Be on the lookout, huh?”
Shit. Logan thought back to the furry tabby tail he’d seen in that monster snake’s stomach.
His voice was strangled. “Sure. I’ll do that.”