Agents of the Internet Apocalypse (23 page)

“Yeah, I told you,” Tobey said. “The month I moved out here from Michigan, I hiked this with some hippies.

“I thought you hated hippies,” I said.

“I do, but who else would want to take mescaline with me under the Hollywood sign?”

We kept hiking up the back side of Cahuenga Peak getting farther and farther away from the somewhat convenient access point of the Oakwood Apartments parking lot we started from. We couldn't see our destination yet, but we did notice signs for Panasonic's “cutting edge security network.”

“Huh, I never noticed those before,” Tobey said.

“Really? Did you take the mescaline
before
the hike?”

“Maybe, or maybe I just didn't care then. I was getting high with hippies, not going on a covert mission as the co-Messiah of the Internet Reclamation Movement.”

“Okay, two things,” I said, literally pulling a sweating Jeeves up the hill behind me. “First, you're not the co-Messiah, you're the Tobey. And second, if you read the signs a little closer, you'll see they say the network of cameras is streamed for surveillance to recreation center headquarters via …
fiber optic cable
. So, yeah … oops.”

That calmed Tobey for a while, but even after it left my lips, I knew that was no cause for comfort, as there was every chance a closed network could exist in the Apocalypse. Still, nothing was going to stop me now, so I was glad the techno-talk worked, and soon we were also distracted by the terrain. Things only got harder when we crossed the access road. I'm not sure at what point a hill becomes a mountain, but we started climbing side by side because single file would have meant taking a falling rock to the head. I didn't think Jeeves could make it, and I was thankful my three weeks in captivity had helped me shed those ten pounds that had bothered me for a decade. Jeeves was wheezing heavily, but the complaints were actually coming from Tobey.

“You better be right about this, Gladstone,” he said. “I was twenty-five the last time I tried this and yes, come to think of it, you're right. We were already tripping balls by this point. What sober person would do this?”

Sometimes you reach a point where the only thing that keeps you going forward is the fear of the road behind you. Sure, it was downhill, but that also probably meant falling. We'd have to face it at some point, but all I could tell myself now was that even though I was thirty-seven, there was no way I would fail to do something a high twenty-five-year-old Tobey had done. But that wasn't enough to propel me. And neither was the bullshit twinkle in Hamilton's eye, his goading clues or feigned interest in my existence. It wasn't even finding the clue that would bring us closer to knowing who had the power to steal the Net and, therefore, return it that kept me moving forward. It was the need to win. To claim a prize. A golden ticket. I wanted this phone book, and I wanted to hold it over my head like a boom box and prove to Romaya that my time away from her was not wasted. That I could get the job done. That I was strong enough to face anything.

I don't know what sustained Tobey and Jeeves. Maybe it was my newfound focus, but I do know it helped when we reached the top and saw water below. It looked darker than the surroundings, the sun having now set.

“Hey, that's the Hollywood Reservoir,” Tobey said.

It doesn't seem possible that something man-made in the middle of Los Angeles could provide such comfort, but the climb leveled out and we could stand straight again. Sensing that freedom, we all sat down for real and rested. Tobey cracked open his backpack which, according to him, he hadn't opened since he first took this hill with the hippies.

“Anyone want some Faygo?” he asked, pulling out a half-decade-old soda bottle.

“Faygo?” I replied. “Were they hippies or Juggalos?”

“Shut up. I was broke when I moved here. Ralphs had a sale.”

We sat for about twenty minutes, drinking Faygo (as well as the water Jeeves and I were smart enough to pack) while we watched our blood dry. There were eagles and condors overhead. All the masculine birds. And then we walked again until we could see the back of the Hollywood sign clearly below us. The letters were easily fifty feet tall, obscuring Los Angeles from directly below all the way to the ocean.

“It just occurred to me,” Tobey said. “I mean, I think you're nuts, but
you
think we're at the hiding spot of the critical piece of evidence that will tell us which few people have the power to steal the Internet, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“And you also think we don't have to worry about all the security cameras because there's no Internet, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I know I'm just some dumb shit who gets high all the time, but did it occur to you that maybe if you're right, the people who were powerful enough to steal the Net might want to protect their secrets?”

“Yeah, but you're forgetting one thing,” I said. “I don't care. We're here. Somehow, we got to the clue that will break this open. And look! The sign's not even fenced in. They've just fenced the closest road to it. A road we never took because we're badasses. So I don't fucking care. I'm going.”

Just then a black helicopter came into view, similar to those I first saw in Central Park, when New York shut down. Tobey, Jeeves, and I all hit the ground while its searchlight scanned the hills.

“Uh, you still going on?” Tobey asked.

“Yes! More than ever!” I shouted over the sound of propellers chopping the air. “The fact that there are black ops helicopters protecting this place proves I'm right.”

“Well,” Jeeves said. “Maybe it's just a normal helicopter, and maybe it's because the Net is down so the cameras aren't working, and they still want to police the area for trespassing and vandalism.”

“Yeah, that,” Tobey said.

I waited and watched the helicopter sweep over and get farther away. I was determined not to let it break our momentum. “Do you think I'm crazy, Jeeves?” I asked, but interrupted myself before he could reply. “I don't mean delusional crazy, in-need-of-help crazy. I mean, do you think it's crazy to believe there is a clue hiding up here?”

“Yes,” he said. “It makes absolutely no logical sense that I can understand.”

“Then why did you haul your ass up this mountain?” I asked.

“Because we're you're friends, asshole,” Tobey said, and I could see even in the moonlight, they were both smiling. I supposed that should have been comforting—having two friends beside you to provide the strength to go somewhere you were afraid to go. But that's when I realized I hadn't taken a Wellbutrin in over a month and this was all too familiar. Once again, I'd gone to the heights of a coastal landmark in search of something improbable.

“Fuck!” I screamed, but neither Tobey nor Jeeves asked why. Maybe they thought I was angry about being thwarted by the helicopter, which now seemed to be looping around for a return sweep. Or maybe I'd been making friends again. The kind that don't exist or question you. I was scared, but I knew Wellbutrin wasn't an antipsychotic, and I was sober. And there was real blood making my jeans stick to my skin. There was dirt under my nails. But, ultimately, it was Jeeves who provided the most comfort.

“It's not just friendship,” he said. “I do feel something. I don't know what I'm feeling, but you're right. This place is important. I just don't logically understand why. That's all I was saying. But that's always been the deal, right? From the very beginning, we knew you saw fantastic things. So either you're a crazy deluded mess or you are what I said you were over five months ago, in Central Park. So no, I don't understand why we are here or how this could be right, but I already went all in when I proclaimed a thirty-something drunk the Messiah.”

“Well, then,” I said, trying to sound like the more attractive of the two options, “let's get digging because we have a phone book to find, and I say it's right there.”

I pointed to Hamilton's letter. The “D.”

“Two problems,” Jeeves said. “One, you're really not at all concerned about that helicopter? And two, did you bring a shovel?”

I was confident. “If they wanted me in jail, I'd be there already,” I said. “They know I have nothing to do with these bombings, and surely that's a bigger concern than trespassing. And as far as the shovel, yeah…” I said, losing all momentum. “Fuck, yeah. No shovel.”

“Not so fast, Mr. Pottymouth,” Tobey said. “I think I have a hand spade in here at least. We used it to build a fire pit.”

“How the fuck did you climb a mountain high on mescaline and then build a fire without killing yourself?”

“Well, one of the hippies did catch fire. We buried him somewhere around here with this,” he said, pulling out the spade.

Jeeves and I looked around for a grave.

“Just kidding,” Tobey said. “I mean, Starfinder totally did catch fire, but we put him out with the Faygo.”

We worked our way down the mountain backwards, gripping at the grass and dirt to prevent ourselves from falling. The ground leveled out when we reached the back of the letters standing fifty feet tall in corrugated steel. We could still hear the helicopter, but not over us. A shovel would have been easier, but I was grateful for the spade. I was even grateful for Tobey despite all the shit he gave me while I dug sixteen, three-inch holes all around the “D.”

Finally he said, “Look, if your D's turned up nothing may I again suggest digging under Hef's letter? I mean, he rebuilt this place. If he wanted to hide something, seems like that's the way to go. And I still think my porn theory for who stole the Net is better than your, y'know, no fucking theory.”

I nodded at Tobey and then completely ignored him, holding the spade up to Jeeves. “Tell me where,” I said.

“Boo,” Tobey said. “Y'know, Jeeves is always looking for the D.”

Jeeves and I turned to Tobey. “Was that just a joke about … man, you are the worst,” I said.

“Actually, Gladstone,” Jeeves said. “I was just about to make the same joke. Anyway, I'm out of touch with my feelings. I wish I could close my eyes and walk around this place without falling to my death.…” Jeeves took the spade and paced slowly behind the letters, holding onto them for support and making sure to avoid the potholes I'd made behind the “D.” Then he kneeled behind the second “O” and ran his hand over the dirt, back and forth, before jabbing the spade into place. “Here,” he said. “Best I got.”

“Whose letter is that?” I asked.

“It's the one Alice Cooper bought.”

Tobey was pleased. “Ooh, I like the sound of that.”

I pulled back on the spade popping out a patch of dirt with the dig that Jeeves had already started. Then again and again as the helicopter grew louder and louder, returning from its loop and flying directly over us.

“We were totally just in its spotlight,” Tobey shouted. “Maybe we should go.”

“Leave if you want, Tobey,” I said, shoveling as hard as I could. “I'm digging for gold.”

Tobey worked his way a few feet down the front of the mountain, looking more nervous than I'd ever seen him, but he did not leave. Jeeves knelt down beside me and started using his hands to swipe away at the loose dirt until we could see more. Tobey contemplated the descent for the moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm plotting our escape in case we have to take off. We shouldn't go back the way we came. The hippies warned me. That access road we crossed is the first place they pick you up if you're spotted.”

The theory made sense, but I didn't give it much thought. Probably because my next dig made a sound. A metal, prize-winning sound. I shoveled more. Each dig produced a thunk and a scrape.

“Hey, fuckwad,” I shouted down to Tobey. “Why don't you come back and see how crazy I am now!”

Tobey joined us and I stopped digging so we could all stare at this shine in the Hollywood Hills together.

“Even the box is gold,” I said. “Even the box!” I laughed and pulled the world's most needlessly ostentatious book holder out of the ground. Square, heavy, official, and with something definitely inside.

“It's locked,” Tobey said.

“Well, y'know,” I said, “I do know how to pick locks.”

Jeeves put his arms around both of us.

“I'm sorry,” Tobey said. “I'm proud of you, G-Sauce. You were right. I was wrong, and I'm sorry I doubted you. Repentant enough?”

It was the most sincere and forthright I'd ever seen Tobey and it felt very good to know he could be that way—pure—but our moment was interrupted when the helicopter returned. This time, however, it seemed to drop directly out of the sky, hanging in front of the letters.

We hid behind the “O” as a voice came from a bullhorn. “Halt!”

“Gladstone,” Tobey said, “Jeeves and I will head for the access road. Wait ‘til they follow us, and then bust down the front of the mountain.”

“But the car's not there,” I said.

“You'll end up in Burbank somewhere. You'll be fine. I mean, if you don't eat it falling down the front of the mountain. Just get that box opened and the book to Quiff.”

“Good idea,” Jeeves said to Tobey. “Man, you make it hard to hate you.”

Using that compliment as jet fuel, Tobey busted back up the mountain as overtly as possible, with Jeeves tagging along behind. The helicopter rose higher in the sky and I put the box into my backpack so it wouldn't reflect the spotlight. I waited until Tobey and Jeeves got closer to the road and the helicopter followed, then I looked down the front of the hill. I stepped out from behind the “O” without being spotted, taking one last quick look through the hole before stepping forward. The second step didn't go as well and I lost my footing on gravel that sent my right leg shooting out while I slammed my left knee into the ground. There was no time to concentrate on the pain, though, because once I hit, especially with the weight of a backpack, I went into a roll. I couldn't see where I was falling, I didn't know when it would end and took comfort only in the density of the sticker bushes that snagged and slowed me as I tumbled. When I finally stopped moving, I looked up to find the sign more than fifty yards away, and seemingly on fire, but I assumed that was just the helicopter's searchlight flickering at the top of the mountain.