The Trigger (17 page)

Today, Randall passed all the buildings without a glance, but he had to stop for a group of kids in the road.

He tried to appear casual, managing to smile at the young students, then spoke to Tina, their teacher. “Gorgeous day to be outside. What is your class up to?”

“We checked on the vegetable sprouts we started. The green beans were ready so we moved them into the planting beds.”

“How are the tomatoes? I can’t wait for the new crop.”

“Coming along.”

Randall nodded and moved on. Social niceties were almost impossible with the fate of the world on his mind and all the shit that was coming down later.

As he passed the turnoff to the creek, the memory of his argument with Grace surfaced. Oh man, that had gone from bad to worse. What a tragedy. Why did she have to be so bitchy? The whole accident could have been avoided. Now they had no engineer. The thought made him feel vulnerable. Were they really ready to be on their own?

Rounding the curve, he glanced back over his shoulder. No one was on the road behind him. Randall regretted bringing the cart. He would have to leave it parked out here, and if someone came along, they would wonder where the hell he was.
No one would come along
, he reassured himself. Sonja was with Spencer, the hacker never went outside, and the rest of the community was busy with their day jobs. Earlier, he’d spotted Sam, their main field hand, moving the irrigation wheels, a long tedious chore. So everyone was accounted for.

A few minutes later, Randall hurried up the hill, dreading facing Emma as he dodged familiar shrubs and protruding rocks. Had it only been a week since he and Spencer had hiked up here, carrying the baby in a backpack and pulling Emma along between them, drugged and half-conscious? So much had happened since. He needed, more than ever, to be in control of events, but it felt like everything was spinning away from him.

A big boulder marked the entry. Behind it, a small downed tree still lay across the grass-covered trap door. Randall lifted the dead foliage aside and found the small handle. Once he began to pull, the counter-balance kicked in, and the heavy rectangular hatch opened with ease. Ducking down, he grabbed the railing and descended the stairs. A motion-sensor light came on to guide his steps.

Powered by an electric car battery, the bunker operated with minimal super-efficient lighting and a few small appliances. Plumbing, wiring, and supplying the bunker had taken a big chunk of their cash reserves, pushing them into buying The Highland as source of income. Excavating for the bunker, then burying it again with the mounds of earth they’d dug out, had been a huge job. Randall had run the backhoe until his hands went numb, and the repetitiveness of moving dirt to reshape the landscape made his mind go numb too. At the time, he and Spencer hadn’t worried much about satellites spying on them. But the government had become much more aggressive in the last decade, and once they’d started planning the trigger, he’d become a little paranoid about eyes in the sky.

At the bottom of the stairs, the smell of wet earth filled his nostrils. Randall punched the numbers of his mother’s birthday, backward, into the keypad. He changed the code every day to keep his wife from figuring it out. He braced himself and stepped inside—senses alert. The first time he’d visited Emma, she’d come at him with her fists and called him a bastard. He’d let her hit him a few times to get it out of her system, but he’d been married to Emma long enough to know she was still unpredictable.

As he stepped through the door, Emma rushed him. “Where the fuck have you been?” Her face contorted with rage.

“I had some important business to take care of this morning.”

“What could be more important than your family?”

A little extra weight from the baby still clung to her hips, but the sight of his wife always aroused him. More exotic than beautiful, she commanded attention—a striking mix of Irish and Polynesian with platinum blonde hair, full breasts, and long legs. Damn, he missed her.

She shoved a palm against his shoulder. “Tate is running a fever. We need to take him to the ER.”

Panic shot through Randall and he rushed to the corner where their baby lay in the middle of a large mattress. He knelt beside him. At five months, the boy still looked more like Emma, with chubby cheeks and hazel eyes. But he was a miracle. They’d tried for years before Emma finally got pregnant. Tender joy brought tears to Randall’s eyes. He’d never loved anyone the way he did Tate. Yet when the baby was out of his sight for a while, he sometimes forgot about him.

The boy was asleep, but his breath seemed shallow and his cheeks were watermelon red. Randall touched his forehead. Quite warm. He turned to his wife. “No need to overreact. Babies run fevers all the time. I’ll bring some Tylenol.”

Emma’s arms were crossed. “I gave him some from the first aid kit. It’s not helping.”

“Give him a cool sponge bath.”

Emma punched him in the shoulder, and Randall fought the urge to hit her back. During all their arguments, he’d never done more than push her around.

“Tate shouldn’t be here!” she shouted. “Take him back to the house. What if he gets sicker and needs to go to the hospital?”

She was right, but it was too much of a risk. They couldn’t let anyone in the community see the baby. “You know Spencer has a lot of medical knowledge. I’ll have him come out. Maybe Tate just needs antibiotics.” Randall’s panic eased. They could take care of this. In the near future, they might have to handle emergencies themselves. That’s why Spencer had a wall full of medical texts.

Emma’s shoulders slumped. “How long are you going to keep us here? We need fresh air and sunlight!”

“It’s only for a few more days.” He decided to tell her a partial truth, even though he’d promised Spencer he wouldn’t. “We’re going to test the financial system, which is near collapse.” Randall stepped toward Emma and softened his voice. “It’s what we want. To live here in peace, without the threat of annihilation hanging over us.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You’re finally going to trigger the financial meltdown?”

They had talked about this, but only in theoretical way. “It’s just a test. But yes, we think the system will fail.” The power grids were next, but Emma didn’t need to know that.

“Of course the system will fail, but a collapse will take weeks,” she argued. “If not months. And law enforcement will be one of the last government functions to shut down. When will you trust me enough to let me out?”

Randall reached for her hands, but she brushed him aside.

“It won’t take weeks, I promise.”
Should he tell her? She would find out soon enough anyway.
“I have a supplemental trigger in place. This meltdown won’t just be financial.”

Emma blanched. “What are you saying?”

“We’re going to knock out network hubs and tech companies. The lack of internet will add to the chaos and accelerate the meltdown.”

For a long moment, she was silent, and Randall watched her eyes run through a range of reactions. Finally, Emma said, “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

Her acquiescence made him want her. “Yes. It’s what we’ve prepared for. What we’ve dreamed of. A better life and a long-term future for humans.”

“You don’t have to keep me in here. I can stay in our home until the collapse takes effect.” She reached out and stroked his crotch, sending a shiver of lust through his body. “Don’t you miss sex with me?” she whispered.

Oh god, he wanted her
.
Right now. Right here in this secret underground place. Randall pulled her to him and kissed her mouth hard, his body pressing into her.

Emma jerked away. “Only if you let me out.”

It was so tempting to bring her back into his bed. But too risky. Could he get past her resistance right now? He knew how to get her turned on in a few seconds.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Randall suppressed his frustration and willed himself to relax. “Be patient, Emma. It’ll only be a few days. Everything will happen this weekend.” He wanted so much to make her smile at him. He reached for the backpack, dug out the books and chocolate, and tried to hand them to her.

Emma knocked them to the floor. “Don’t try to placate me. As long as I’m a prisoner, we are not a couple.”

“Don’t say prisoner. It’s only a little while more.”

Again, she was silent, her eyes calculating. “What exactly are you going to do?”

It occurred to him that if she knew about his plans, once he let her out, she would be complicit. Not that Emma would ever turn him into the authorities. She’d already proven that. “I have people in place who are prepared to set off explosives at tech companies in Silicon Valley and at internet hubs in New York, Seattle, London, and other major cities. All I have to do is send the email, and they go into action.”

“Oh shit! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“That’s why we’re doing it over the weekend. The buildings will be empty.” Another lie, but she had to realize there could be collateral damage. Spencer had rejected the idea when Randall mentioned it long ago because of the possibility of harming someone.
Such hypocrisy!
The financial collapse would cause millions of people to starve.

“I’m sorry for keeping you here,” he finally said. “I’ll make it up to you in time.” He tried to pull her in for a squeeze, but Emma turned away.

Tate woke and started to cry. His wife rushed to the baby, calling over her shoulder, “Just go! And bring more Tylenol, antibiotics, and rubbing alcohol.”

Friday, May 10, 10:45 a.m.

Spencer sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and logged into his blog. He’d been ignoring his online community for a few days, and he missed the social media support and stimulation. He also needed to recruit a new engineer to the community while he still could.

He responded to comments on his most recent blog and on his Google page, then started a new post. First he updated his followers about the progress on the generator and posted a picture of the lithium batteries, asking for suggestions on how to keep them from overheating. He was careful to post disclaimers about everything he shared publicly, knowing other futurists were thirsty for information and would try to replicate everything they did in Destiny.

Grace’s voice tried to haunt him, but he kept shutting it down. He would mourn—and honor her—later, when the Emma crisis and the collapse were behind them. In the second half of his blog, he called for people with engineering backgrounds to contact him directly about joining the community, offering free housing and a part-time salary to the right candidate. He uploaded the post, hoping he wouldn’t be inundated with opportunists.

His final task caused more unease. He crafted an email to Destiny members, explaining that Grace had been called away by a family emergency. He wrote that she’d taken the train late the night before and didn’t know when she’d return. Spencer’s mouse hovered over the send key. Would this cause anyone alarm, especially after Emma’s disappearance? Grace had been estranged from her ex-husband and son, and she’d never talked about her parents or siblings.
It would be fine,
he told himself. The members were loyal and had no reason to jump to worst-case scenarios. As long as the feds didn’t learn about Grace’s sudden departure. Another woman gone, with her car left behind.
Damn.
They should have hidden Grace’s car. No, they hadn’t had time, and cars tended to surface eventually. The meltdown would start within the next forty-eight hours. Some elements were already happening. They just had to keep it together for a few more days.

Moments after he sent the email, Lisa’s bell rang. Surprised, Spencer rushed to her room. She hadn’t summoned him much lately, because the morphine made her sleep. But she was wide-eyed and signaling for him to raise the bed.

“Are you in pain?” He kissed her cheek, her skin cooler than it should be.

“No, honey. I feel better today, and I’d like to meet our new member while I’m awake.”

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat. This would be awkward, but he wanted Lisa’s blessing. “I’ll call Sonja and see if she’s available. She’d like to meet you as well.”

“You should have told me more about her.”

They had talked about Sonja, but he still felt guilty. “I know. But you’ve been asleep a lot, and I wanted to get Sonja settled in quickly.” Lisa knew he was working hard to recruit young people to Destiny.

“Call her now. My little revival won’t last long.”

Spencer reached for his phone, hoping Sonja wouldn’t answer.

She did. “Hello, Spencer. I’m glad you called.”

“Will you come to my house, please? My wife would like to meet you.”

Only the slightest pause. “Sure. I’ll be right over.”

He turned to Lisa. “Sonja was an ideal applicant.”

“Remember the last young woman who came out for an interview?” Lisa laughed, then started to cough. “When she mentioned hanging a crystal around my neck to heal my cancer, I thought you’d lost your mind.”

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes the kooks seem okay on paper.”

“I hear Sonja is special… and very pretty.”

Lisa knew Sonja was her potential replacement. Spencer tried to make peace with the whole scenario, but guilt tore at him. He should have waited. He shouldn’t have let Randall pressure him into speeding up their plans.

“It’s all right. Just don’t forget me too quickly.”

“Never.” He pressed his face to hers, tears welling in his eyes.

The doorbell rang a moment later, and Spencer hurried to let Sonja in. He was tempted to coach her as they walked back, but he resisted. Sonja would handle this well. She was that kind of person, and he’d made a good choice.

After he introduced them, Lisa asked him to bring her some tea. Spencer obliged, curious about what Lisa would say to his would-be girlfriend.

* * *

Dallas smiled brightly and said charming things while part of her brain sent alarming messages. She felt like an exposed adulterer, even though she and Spencer had never kissed and her seduction of him was entirely staged. In addition, Lisa was challenging to focus on. The woman was so gaunt, she barely seemed human, as if the billowy pink nightgown was hiding a skeleton. Dallas had witnessed some horrible things, but this scenario had her nerves jangling.