“Once she won thirteen games in a row. I remember that because it was such an unlucky number. For me, anyway.”
The car drew closer. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Very sad thing. Margie died when we were twelve.”
My heart bounced around in my chest.
Was
it a cop? “How terrible. What happened?”
Mom sniffed. “Her pet rat killed her.”
“What?”
The car loomed closer. I could see lights on top. My pulse hitched.
Oh, God, please . . .
“She took his cage outside to give him some sun. Somehow he escaped. He skedaddled right across the lawn and into the street. Margie chased after him.”
The cop stayed behind us. I slowed. He could have passed me. But he
stayed
.
Any minute now he’d pull us over. I’d be done. What would happen to us once we were taken back to the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department? Would one of the Bad People somehow get to my jail cell and kill me? What if they turned me over to the “FBI”? What would happen to Mom?
“Are you listening, Hannah?”
“Yes. Listening.” My voice sounded distant to my own ears. The police car behind me may as well have been a fire-breathing monster.
“What did I say?”
Was the cop talking into his radio?
“Hannah!”
I swallowed hard. “Margie. Rat. Ran into the road.”
“Yes, he did. And she ran after him. Didn’t look for cars. She was hit.” Mom sighed deeply. “I lost my good friend.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words came automatically. My arms shook.
“Me too.”
The police car lights flicked on. He was pulling us over.
D
ave focused on his keyboard. Emily stood beside him, all nerves. “Okay,” he said. “First we’ll enhance the picture and slow everything down.”
He brought up a different program on his computer and moved the video into it. Played it again.
“There!” Emily pointed. “I saw something.”
“Yeah. But it’s still too fast.” Dave slowed the video more. And still more. The fourth time, the flash stayed longer, but they couldn’t make out what it was.
“Time for the Superman enhance.” He hit some keys, and they watched again. When the flash came up, he stopped the frame. Both of them leaned closer to the screen, frowning. “Let’s throw in Batman.” Dave punched keys, and the flash cleared some more. He leaned right up to the screen, trying to see. Then pulled back, shaking his head. “Maybe your eyes are better than mine.”
Emily pushed him out of the way and looked. That close up, she could make out the words on three lines.
Phase 1: 2/25/13 WECC 7 PM RFC 10 PM
Phase 2: 2/26/13 Eastern
Phase 3: 2/27/13 Texas
Her eyes widened. She waved her fingers at Dave. “Get me a pen.”
He put one into her hand. She wrote the message on the piece of paper she’d brought with her. Then straightened, her heart hammering.
What did this mean? Something about the electrical grid?
“Let me see.” Dave reached for the paper. She tried to pull away, but too late. He snatched it from her hand and read.
His expression flattened. “February 25. That’s today.”
Emily’s throat lumped over. “What’s WECC? And RFC?”
“Let’s Google it.” Dave typed in the search. “Look. WECC. Western Electricity Coordinating Council.”
Oh, no.
He typed in
RFC
and got a bunch of hits that didn’t have anything to do with power.
“Try RFC electrical grid,” Emily said.
Dave keyed it in. After looking at a few sites they had their answer. RFC—Reliability First Corporation. Part of the eastern electrical grid. There were only three main electrical grids in the U.S.: western, eastern, and Texas.
Emily looked at the paper. Phase 2 Eastern. Phase 3 Texas.
This couldn’t be real.
The western grid, WECC, covered states as far east as Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico. It even went up into Canada. That was a
lot
of territory. The eastern grid was bigger yet. It was broken up into eight regions. “Why put the RFC with western?” Emily wondered. The RFC included Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and some areas right above Virginia.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Emily knew the answer. She and Dave said it at the same time. “Washington, D.C.’s there.”
They wanted to shut down electricity to the
government
?
This had to be a joke, right?
But . . . this video. Fake FBI agents showing up at her mom’s door. A break-in at night just to take her mom’s computer. And two men dead—Leringer and some guy who worked in his security company. When Emily looked at all that, how could she
not
believe this message was for real?
Leringer had told her mom to “be careful.”
Dave looked like a deer in headlights. “Does somebody think the electrical grid’s going to be hit here today? And in Washington? Then in the other areas?”
Think
it was going to happen? More like they were going to
make
it happen. Starting today. In less than twelve hours. Emily felt her face go white. She had to tell the police. Or the FBI.
Now.
What if the sheriff’s department hadn’t figured this out?
Dave frowned at the series of numbers and letters she’d written on the paper. “Is this the sequence you saw at the end?”
Emily tried to take the paper from him. He held onto it. “Is it?”
“I—Yes.”
Dave studied the numbers and letters some more.
“There’s no way you can decode that, is there?” Emily knew the answer.
He shook his head. “Not my line of work. Who gave this video to your mom? And why?”
The western states and D.C. today. Tomorrow, the east. Then Texas. In two and a half days, the
whole country
would be dark.
“Emily. Talk
to me.”
What if Harcroft and Wade
were
working with the terrorists, like her mom said? And they found out that now she—Emily—knew all this? They’d send people after her too. All three of them would be dead.
“Dave.” Emily looked down at him, her knees weak. “I have to go home.”
He gazed at her. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She had to get out of there. Had to do . . .
something
. “I need my flash drive.”
Dave pulled it out and gave it to her. He didn’t look too happy about it.
“And erase the copy in your program,” she said. “Please.”
He spread his hands—
why?
“Just do it.”
Dave’s mouth firmed. “I don’t think so.”
Emily hung there, willing him to listen. Knowing he wouldn’t. “At least don’t tell anyone you’ve seen this.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I mean it.
Nobody.
”
Dave shook his head. “
What
is going on, Emily? Is this for real?”
She reached for the piece of paper again. He let it go.
Clutching the flash drive and paper, she turned toward his office door. “I’ll tell you when it’s all over.”
If she lived that long.
T
he police car lights whirled.
My world seemed to narrow. So many horrible pictures flashed through my head—me in jail, Emily crying, Mom alone. The last was the worst. I
couldn’t
let something happen to me, because Mom needed me. I’d fight to the death for her.
A siren whooped. With a leaden heart, I signaled and pulled over.
Mom looked at me. “What was that?”
I couldn’t reply.
My eyes flicked back to the rearview mirror. The police car wasn’t behind me.
What—?
In my peripheral vision, I saw him speed by.
I gawked at the car, disappearing down the road. Was he chasing someone else?
“Hannah, what are we doing?”
Thick relief weakened me, the relief of waking from a horrible nightmare. I dropped my chin toward my chest.
“Hannah?”
I tried to breathe.
“Are you sick?”
“No, Mom. I’m . . . fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I raised my head. “I just needed to let the police car pass. He was after somebody.”
Mom pulled in the sides of her mouth. “At least it wasn’t you.”
A sick little laugh pushed up my throat. “Yeah.”
“Well, good then.” She raised her shoulders and let them fall. “Let’s go. I want my tea.”
I pulled back onto the road, my body numb. Within a minute I realized something. That policeman must not have heard the notification about me and my car. Yet. But he could at any time. When he did, would he remember seeing us?
Muscles wooden, I drove. The exit for Highway 99, leading to Fresno, seemed to take forever to reach. I turned south on it, watching my car eat up the road. I longed for it to gobble faster. Sheer willpower—and the fear of attracting another policeman’s attention—kept me from flooring the accelerator.
We reached the outskirts of town. Here we were in the most danger, with police cars liable to come along at any time. My heart beat harder, and my throat felt parched.
“Are we there?” Mom plucked at her pants, a sign of uneasiness.
“Almost.”
“Can I have my tea?”
“I hope so, Mom.”
“And a nap?”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it.”
I had no idea where my aunt lived. It had been years since I visited her.
Slipping down a busy street, I looked for a 7-Eleven or gas station. Something with a pay phone. I could swear my car pulsed with light and sound. Everyone who saw it would be reaching for a phone to call the police.
What if my aunt had seen the news? Would she turn me in the moment I called?
Maybe I shouldn’t do this.
But what, then?
Blocks went by before I spotted a phone at a Quik Stop. I turned into the parking lot and cut the engine. “Mom.” I looked her in the eye. “It’s very important you stay in the car. I’m going to try to call Aunt Margie.”
“Who?”
“Aunt Margie. Remember?”
“Oh. Roses.”
“You’ll stay in the car?”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
Praying she wouldn’t change her mind, I hurried to the pay phone and looked up Aunt Margie’s number—and found it listed.
Thank You, God.
I punched in the number and turned around, watching Mom and the street as the phone rang. One ring. Two. My eyes closed.
Please
.
The third ring cut off. “Hello?” My aunt’s rich alto voice.
“Aunt Margie. It’s Hannah.”
“Why, Hannah, how nice to hear from you.”
Her unsuspecting tone thumped me in the chest. She hadn’t seen the news. Maybe she’d let us stay for a while and rest.
But what if she got into trouble for helping me?
“Aunt Margie, I’m in Fresno, and I need to come see you.” I couldn’t keep the tension from my voice.
“Of course, dear. Is your mother with you?”
“Yes. She’s fine. Can you give me directions to your house? It’s been so long since I’ve been there.”
“All right. Where are you?”
I told her. With no pen and paper, I repeated her directions twice. She lived about two miles away. “Thank you. Do you have room in your garage for my car? I’d like to pull into it.”
“All right. Less walking for Carol.”
“Great. See you soon.”
I crashed down the phone and got back in the car.
“Where are we going?” Mom asked. She had donut sugar on her lips. I wiped it off for her.
“Aunt Margie’s. Remember her?”
“I had a friend named Margie once.”
“Yes. You told me.” I started the car.
“Oh.” She lay back against the head rest and closed her eyes.
Two miles, and we’d be home free. For the moment. My eyes flicked again and again to the rearview mirror, searching for a police car. By the time we reached the house I’d swear we’d gone ten miles.
The garage door stood open. I pulled inside and saw Aunt Margie waiting for us, hands clasped at her waist. She was a large, no-nonsense woman, round and soft-skinned, her hair pepper-gray. As I stepped from the car, she hit a button to slide down the door.
“Well, my dear.” She put her hands on her ample hips. “According to the news, I’d say you’re in a bit of trouble.”
T
ex checked his watch for the tenth time. Nine o’clock. Three and a half hours since he’d been given his do-or-die assignment.
Eight hours and thirty minutes left.
Fear and determination burned in his soul.
Before he’d found Stone’s organization four years ago, never in the nineteen years of his wretched life had he thrilled to such purpose. People in America just didn’t get it. Did not understand. The country’s government was evil, bent on its citizens’ destruction. Just like his own abusive father and worthless, runaway mother. Two of his older brothers went off to war for their country and came back in boxes. The third and oldest returned alive from Afghanistan in body only. At night when he slept, he screamed of death. During the day he spewed hopelessness. He’d fought for his government—for what? To tell people in some faraway country how to live?
Now the American government wanted to tell its own people how to live. It wanted to run Americans’ lives in every way. This country had been founded on freedom, but the expanding government was taking that away, piece by piece. Just this year had come news of the IRS targeting certain groups for no reason—as if taxing everyone in the first place wasn’t enough. Then there was NSA, spying on millions of people. Their phone calls and emails.
No one
was safe from the government anymore. The only way to keep the country strong at this point was to start over. As the famed anarchist Edward Abbey said, “Anarchism is not a romantic fable, but the hardheaded realization, based on five thousand years of experience, that we cannot entrust the management of our lives to kings, priests, politicians, generals, and county commissioners.”
Tex had printed out that quote and framed it. His girlfriend, Bo, had hung it above their bed.