Hollis
Once they hit I-90, Vance set the cruise control at three miles over the limit. Behind them, in the second truck, Nickels followed suit. The last thing they needed now was to be pulled over by an overzealous state trooper.
Leaving the snow and clouds behind, they passed Cle Elum and the larger city of Ellensburg, both communities shining like bright islands in an ocean of night. The fertile Kittitas Valley seemed empty, but Hollis could see pinpricks of light marking houses and barns, wherever men and women had made their homes. Every bit of it a reminder of what would be lost when the Dark Time came.
Then the landscape grew desolate and empty. Aside from navigation lights atop wind turbines, a few tractor-trailers, and the highway itself, there was no visual evidence that man had ever existed. Just thousands of stars shining down with infinite indifference.
Hollis thought of what would happen when the power went outand the Industrial Machine died. And how many millions of people would die along with it.
He wondered again if he was doing the right thing. Not that he doubted the Messenger. The end was coming sooner or later, Hollis could feel it in his bones. All you had to do was read the news. Mankind was eating itself alive. So-called progress led only toward their doom. But unlike the Messenger, Hollis’s faith sometimes faltered. Who was he to make this choice? Who was he to wave his hand and turn out the lights?
Still, he had done as the Messenger had asked. With only a high school diploma, Hollis had figured out how to get things done. In the chat rooms of the dark web, he’d discovered Geoff Reed and his knowledge of the grid’s weaknesses, and how to exploit them. He’d found Nickels and convinced him to build twelve hundred assault rifles and make twelve thousand armor-piercing rounds. He’d recruited Troy Boxall, the first member from the tech community, who’d made introductions to others like him. Reed had left Troy everything he needed to start the cascade of failure that Reed had designed.
Hollis knew he should be proud of what he’d accomplished. The Messenger had told him that repeatedly. Sometimes, when he looked around at what they’d built, the self-sufficient community on the mountain, he felt that lift of pride. Other times, mostly when he was apart from the Messenger, he thought of the Time of Undoing and wondered if it was the right path. If he had made the wrong choices. He no longer thought of himself as a person without worth. Now he knew he was intelligent, capable, resourceful. What else might he have accomplished in the world if he’d committed himself to it entirely, the way he had to the Movement?
Not that it mattered, he told himself. There was no room for secondthoughts. The past was gone. The course was set. They were a few hours from changing the future.
They crossed the Columbia River at Vantage, then left the interstate at the tiny town of George, heading northeast toward Ephrata, where they would follow the Columbia up to the dam. This was the Quincy Valley, irrigated by the river and filled with orchards, cherry and apple and pear. Hollis had recruited three farmers from the valley, convincing them to sell the land that had been in their families for three generations. It had happened before the Messenger’s word had reached the tech community, whose subscriptions provided all the money they’d ever need. The Messenger’s accounts still had millions they hadn’t had time to spend.
Hollis checked his phone for the fourth time. He’d texted Durant to make sure the execution at the punishment wall had gone off as planned, but Durant still hadn’t answered. He reminded himself that cell service was nonexistent up there. They had Wi-Fi that covered the central compound, but it came from a satellite connection that got spotty when the weather got rough. Durant’s lack of response meant nothing.
They drove through tiny Lakeview and Soap Lake, then Coulee City, the town lights bright and cheerful in the depth of night. It wouldn’t be long now. He looked at Vance behind the wheel. The big brute always seemed so certain, so convinced of the righteousness of their movement. For the thousandth time, Hollis wondered what was so broken in himself that his own faith faltered so often.
He glanced into the back seat, where Simon, their young drone operator, was curled up against his door, fast asleep. Beside him, Troy Boxall set aside his laptop and picked up his AK, fiddling with it. “This is going to be so fucking cool.”
Hollis had never liked Boxall. He seemed to long for thedestruction of the Dark Time. He’d once told Hollis he was looking forward to killing people. Unfortunately, for now, the Movement needed him.
Hollis said, “Remember, Troy, you have one very important job. Keep your mind on that.”
“Are you kidding? The way Reed set this up, he’s automated everything. He’s already got worms inside all the systems. All I have to do is trigger his code. It will only take about five minutes for everything to propagate through the system. After that, it’s all rock and roll, baby.”
They came to Electric City, then the town of Grand Coulee, where the road split and Vance headed left on 174. The main substation was just ahead. They could see it now, brightly lit, wires feeding the huge metal high-voltage towers that marched west toward the coastal cities. Vance slowed for the turnoff, then swore and hit the gas and kept going.
“What the hell,” Boxall said.
“Cops in the parking lot,” Vance said. “At least six of them.”
“Maybe they’re running some kind of exercise,” Boxall said.
“At three in the morning? No. Something’s wrong.”
Hollis checked his texts again, hoping for something from Durant. Nothing. Then his phone rang. It was Nickels, still behind them. “This ain’t good, Hollis.”
With the need to act, Hollis’s certainty returned. “We knew this was a possibility, that the Industrial Machine would learn to defend its weaknesses. Stick to the plan. Past the curve, we kill our lights and Troy does his thing. Once that’s done, six of us walk downslope and come up on them from behind. We’re armored and loaded with black-tips. They’ll punch through ballistic vests, vehicles, anything. Once they’re down, we get the drones in the air and finish it.”
“Roger that,” Nickels said, and hung up.
Boxall whooped.
Beside him, twelve-year-old Simon blinked bleary eyes. “What’s going on? Are we there?”
Boxall said, “We’re gonna kill some fucking pigs.”
Vance laughed. “And that’s just for starters.”
They found the turnaround and pulled over. Boxall pulled his computer onto his lap and hit a few keys. “Okay, I’m good to go.” He giggled like a child taking pleasure in being naughty, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “Hollis? Should I do it?”
Hollis opened his mouth, not sure what would come out. His faith faltering again. All he’d ever wanted was some kind of home. People to care for, work that mattered. It’s all any of them wanted. Was that so much to ask?
