The Survival Code Read online

  Our bathroom is in between our two bedrooms with a door that connects to each room. After I hear MacKenna close her door, I head in there. There’s only a tiny bit of hot water left, but even a short cold shower is a little bit of heaven. I didn’t know it was possible to be this dirty. I scrub ash from behind my ears, from that spot on my head where I part my hair, from where it got stuck in my bra.

  Back in my room, I throw on a pair of yoga pants and a gray T-shirt and open the hall door.

  The whole house is as quiet as a museum after closing time. No scraping of spoons in chili bowls. No chitchat.

  It’s absolutely silent. The tiny hairs in the back of my neck stand up.

  I walk down the hall and into the empty kitchen. Someone has abandoned an open bag of shredded cheese and a pile of corn chips on a paper plate. The bar stools at the kitchen’s marble island are pulled out at odd angles. Jay’s laptop is open.

  I turn my head. From my position, I can see everyone silently clustered around the large television in the family room with the volume strangely low.

  I’m about to move in that direction when an alert sounds from Jay’s laptop.

  The console window is open. A script has been recently executed.

  16:55:01 janders CRON[69210]:

  (root) CMD ( cd / && run-parts /opt/dayzero/)

  In spite of the fact that I’m dead on my feet, my heartbeat picks up. This is weird. Super. Super. Weird. Jay isn’t especially techie. He certainly wouldn’t be running code in the console window. And the code isn’t anything I recognize. I have no idea what it’s designed to do.

  Day Zero.

  What the hell is that?

  MacKenna gasps at something happening on the TV screen.

  I approach and stand next to Mom.

  The screen is filled with images of flaming buildings all over the country, shots of crying people searching for their lost loved ones and the occasional image of an anchor trying to explain how or why this could have happened.

  Headlines scroll by.

  I struggle to make sense of everything.

  In wake of attacks, President Carver declares state of National Emergency.

  On screen, troops roll out of Luke Air Force Base.

  They cut to a press conference. To a close-up of David Rosenthal.

  The Spark’s defeated leader leans closer to the camera. Rosenthal’s weary face covers the screen. “Our worst fears have been realized.”

  Mom reaches out and squeezes my hand.

  “The collapse of civilization has begun.”

  Rosenthal’s face disappears and the screen goes black.

  DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:

  EVERYONE IN THIS WORLD SEEKS POWER. THOSE WHO WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO ATTAIN IT WILL ALSO NEVER WILLINGLY RELINQUISH IT.

  My superpower is pretending everything is okay when it’s not.

  But even I have to admit that Tuesday is off to a weird start.

  I sleep in late and by the time I roll out of bed and hit the kitchen, everyone else is already up. MacKenna is on the sofa with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She has her nose in a book. That part is pretty normal, but she’s also flipping between several different news stations and pounding out notes on her e-tablet.

  Both Mom and Jay are home. Jay because someone blew up the building that he works in and Mom because the town closed the schools for the day. She probably would have had to stay home anyway, to take us all to the doctor and for the way that parents want to hang around and observe you after something traumatic happens.

  According to the news, a bunch of roads are still closed due to the explosion, and an air quality advisory is in effect because of the dust.

  On TV, a long line of tanks and desert camo Humvees proceed down Main Street toward the remains of the First Federal Building. We find out that the explosion at our bank was one in a series of what is believed to be deliberate attacks. President Carver will address the country later today.

  Jay looks like he always does in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt in some cheery color. Today, it’s the orange of a popsicle. He’s outwardly calm. But he’s doing like a thousand things at once. He’s chopping fruit for some kind of salad and answering his phone and checking emails on his laptop, which is still on the island in the kitchen. Every couple minutes he asks one of us if we feel okay.

  Mom is out on the patio. Through the sliding glass doors, I can see her pacing as she talks.

  Charles sits at the breakfast counter in his plaid pajamas, his reddish-brown hair sticking almost straight up. He watches Jay cut cantaloupe, his legs swinging in sync with the chop of Jay’s knife. My brother jerks his chin in Mom’s direction. “Dad called a few minutes ago.”

  That’s reassuring, I guess. At least Dad’s checking on us. Maybe he’ll even want to talk to us.

  I hear the front door open and slam. MacKenna walks into the kitchen. “What the hell happened in the yard?”

  Mom comes inside. “Language, please, dear.”

  Nope. My dad didn’t ask to talk to me.

  Perfect.

  MacKenna focuses on her own father. “Dad. Where. Are. My. Signs?”

  Jay points to the device in his hands and mouths I’m on the phone.

  My pulse picks up. At first, I’m a little worried that the tanks we saw on TV might have started rolling down our street. But MacKenna is angry, not scared.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  She jerks her thumb toward the door to the garage. “Go see for yourself.”

  Charles tosses me a bottle of water as I pass. I’m twisting the cap off when I see what MacKenna means. In the garage, all the signs from the yard are stacked in a huge pile on Jay’s worktable.

  It’s a chilly morning, but my blood is practically icy.

  Jay is getting rid of the signs that we support The Spark. Literally.

  It strikes me that MacKenna managed to collect many posters.

  The Spark for a New Generation.

  Some are professionally printed and some she must have made herself.

  The Spark for Prosperity for All.

  Bold type in various shades of deep blue.

  Inside the house, I take a seat next to Charles where someone put out a plate for me. I stab a steaming pile of biscuits and gravy with my fork.

  MacKenna stares at her father.

  Jay is finally off the phone and doesn’t look at us when he says, “I couldn’t sleep. I thought it might be a good idea to tidy things up a little bit. The election has been over for a while now. You know, Everyone’s for Rosenthal. But still. Better safe than sorry.”

  Jay Novak was out before dark removing MacKenna’s political signs from the yard.

  Even worse, he didn’t throw the signs away. While we’re eating, he returns to the garage. After breakfast, I follow MacKenna back out there, and all that’s left of the signs are a few posts sticking out from behind one of the heavy storage cabinets.

  He’s hidden the signs.

  When MacKenna gives him an accusatory stare, he mumbles something about not wanting to take up too much space in the trash can.

  Mom comes into the garage carrying a laundry basket full of the dirty towels from our showers last night. She’s holding up better than Jay.

  But she’s not the head of security at a building that just had a massive breach of security.

  She’s in a pair of yoga pants and a tunic top and manages to move to the corner of the garage where we keep the washing machine without seeming stiff. She gives me and MacKenna a reassuring smile while she measures the laundry detergent.

  “You girls need to get dressed,” she says. “You have an appointment with Dr. Piacintine at ten.”

  I roll my eyes. I don’t know how old you have to be to not go to the pediatrician anymore, but apparently, even at
seventeen, I haven’t hit that magic number yet. I’ve been seeing Dr. Piacintine since I got the chicken pox in the first grade. He still gives me a lollipop.

  “You should take those letters out of your window,” Jay tells MacKenna.

  It takes me a second to realize that he means the blue, backlit letters that spell THE SPARK.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “Oh, because. You know. It seems like the right time,” he says, staring at his phone.

  She steps closer to him. “Why?”

  He’s pressing the screen and doesn’t answer.

  “It’s still a free country, right?” she says.

  “Yes,” Jay answers. “But these attacks are serious. They don’t know... I don’t know... This is a good time to err on the side of caution.”

  “We know about the attacks,” MacKenna says. “We were almost killed in the attacks.”

  Once again, she’s speaking for all of us, but I wasn’t up at the crack of dawn reading the news. I don’t know anything about the other attacks.

  Mom’s smile falls into a worried frown. “You girls should get ready.”

  Jay frowns too, and for a second his expression is appropriate for the crappy situation we’re in. He pats MacKenna on the back. “Good idea. And don’t worry about the letters. I’ll take care of them. There’s no reason you should have more to worry about, after what you’ve been through.”

  MacKenna’s on the verge of arguing, but Mom puts an arm around both of our shoulders and herds us back into the kitchen. “We need to leave in ten minutes.”

  I make sure that Charles is getting dressed and then I run to my own closet and jam on a clean pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. I watch TV while I wait for MacKenna. Clicking through the channels, I see that, rather than explaining what happened, most of the news stations have moved on to figuring out who to blame for the attacks. Attractive people blame The Opposition. Or The Spark.

  When we’re all ready, we return to the garage.

  Mom and Jay are still there, standing close together, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

  “I think we should at least consider speaking with a lawyer. You don’t know—” Mom is saying.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong and any investigation will show that,” Jay says.

  “Yes. But, Jay, in cases like these—”

  Jay leans against the Suburban and sighs in frustration. “Stephanie. Don’t you believe me when I say that I will handle this situation in the way that’s best for our family?”

  “I’m worried about what’s best for you,” Mom answers.

  Jay sees us first. “I have a conference call in a few minutes. Keep me posted about what the doctor says.”

  Mom nods and walks to the driver’s seat. I help Charles in the back. MacKenna gets in on the other side, sitting next to my brother, leaving me to sit in the front with Mom.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  Even though she’s clutching the steering wheel so hard that her fingers turn white, she says, “I think it’s important that Jay is protected, especially since we don’t know how the bank will decide to handle things.” Her gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, to my brother’s small face. “We can discuss the rest later.”

  In the backseat, MacKenna squirms around. “Why would my dad need a lawyer?”

  “He probably doesn’t,” Mom says. Mom puts the car into autodrive and turns her attention to her phone. Her words have a finality. We won’t be discussing this further.

  I consider asking Mom if we’ll be able to get new phones but then think better of it. She has a lot on her mind, and I can probably solve that problem on my own.

  Rancho Mesa Pediatrics is about a five-minute drive from our house, but the appointment itself takes forever. Mom does a bunch of paperwork while Dr. Piacintine changes the bandages on MacKenna’s feet. When she can’t answer questions about what she might have stepped on to his satisfaction, he orders a tetanus shot. Meanwhile, I have a physical and the nurse asks a bunch of questions that seem designed to figure out whether I’m mentally stable.

  As Charles is having his diabetes sensor disk recalibrated and MacKenna is getting her shot, I wait outside in the courtyard. The doctor has a large swing set and slide a few feet from the front door of the office. Several kids travel together down the slide with smiles on their faces.

  They’re happy.

  It’s still cool and cloudy outside.

  A familiar figure looms in the shadows.

  Dad.

  “How did you know we’d be here?” I ask.

  He ignores my question and comes closer. “Jinx,” he says, with the kind of impersonal nod that would be perfect for a coworker or a store clerk. “I’m relieved that you’re all right.”

  Dad’s in full-on Drill Mode. He’s in his utility jacket and khakis, his beard unkempt.

  I remember a time in the past, before The Opposition, Ammon Carver and the drills, when Dad used to hug me.

  That was a long time ago.

  I suck in a deep breath and fight off the combination of dread and sadness about to overtake me. “Dad. Did you see the news? About the explosions? About Ammon Carver?”

  “Yes,” he says flatly. He stares at me. “I have to go off-the-grid for a while.”

  “What? Why?” Hot panic threatens to overtake me. “They’re saying you’re responsible for—”

  “I know what I did,” he interrupts. “It’ll be better for you and your brother if I go away for a while.”

  “Better?” I ask, grateful for the anger I’m now feeling. “Didn’t Mom tell you what happened? We almost died!”

  “Safer,” he corrects. He gives me a small, sad smile. “I’m very proud of you. But, of course, with your training, I’d expect nothing less.”

  He glances to his left and, in the far corner of the courtyard, a tall, gaunt man smoking a cigarette watches two children play on the swings.

  “Dad—” I begin.

  Again, he cuts me off. “Jinx, I need you to take care of your brother. I need your word.”

  What does he imagine is going to happen to Mom?

  “Dad—”

  “Your word, Jinx. You’ll keep Charles safe?”

  “Yes, Dad. But where are you going? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Dad stroked his beard in his maddeningly calm fashion. “Not yet. I’ll contact you when it’s safe.”

  It doesn’t seem to bother Dad that those two statements don’t go together at all. Desperate to be seen or heard, I wave my hands around. “But you helped him. You helped Ammon Carver. He’s supposed to be your friend. And now he’s president. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Dad considers this. “Yes. Just not what you think.”

  My father hasn’t spent enough time listening to me to even know what I think.

  A woman carrying a crying baby ushers several sick children out of the doctor’s office.

  “Stick to the drills and you’ll be fine.”

  With that, Dad turns to go, and I’m left there wondering if I should chase him down. If it would make any difference if I did.

  He’s halfway across the parking lot and climbing into an old pickup truck when Mom, MacKenna and Charles come out of Dr. Piacintine’s office.

  “I really hate that old dinosaur of a doctor,” MacKenna says.

  “He told you to take a lollipop,” Charles answers.

  Mom squints at Dad’s disappearing form. “Was that your father?”

  “Dad was here?” Charles cranes his neck in each direction.

  “He left us.” I’m unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back,” Mom says.

  She’s speaking more to Charles than to me.

  My anger flares up at her. “Why are you alwa
ys covering for him?”

  “I’m not covering for him.” Mom stares into the vacant space as if she expects Dad to return. “He’s just afraid.”

  This one time, I force myself to say what’s really on my mind. Hoping for some kind of an answer to fill that hollow space in my chest. “That something terrible is going to happen?”

  “That if you spend too much time fighting dragons, you become one yourself.”

  I don’t know what that even means, and Mom doesn’t say anything else.

  She’s lost in her own thoughts as we drive home.

  When we get home, MacKenna’s window is cleaned out.

  THE SPARK letters are gone.

  Our house looks exactly like every other one on our street.

  DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:

  DON’T RELY ON STATE-SPONSORED AUTHORITIES.

  THEIR MISSION MIGHT NOT BE TO HELP YOU.

  Back at home, Mom tries to make us take a nap.

  I do go to my room, but I sit at my desk and power on my desktop computer.

  The feeling of my fingers on the cool keys comes as a relief. Something familiar.

  The instant my screen is working, a bunch of messages from Terminus pop up.

  Terminus is probably the closest thing I have to a friend. We used to see each other in real life every week in computer club back when his name was Harold and my dad wasn’t busy preparing for the end of the world and things were normal. Terminus graduated last year, but he’s still one of the best Republicae players of all time. Some Silicon Valley millionaire even offered him fifty grand for his account. He’s that good. He didn’t bother taking it, because he’s got some other data mining operation going on and he still does raids with me.

  Oh. Yeah. The raid.

  Terminus: It’s 6:30. You there?

  Terminus: Hellllllooooooooo...

  Terminus: Where the hell are you? The whole guild is asking.

  Terminus: You missed your own raid.

  And. Well. I missed the raid because I was in some...some kind of catastrophe? I type a message to Terminus.

  Me: Hey? You there?

  While I wait for him to answer, I open a browser window and do a search for the explosion at First Federal Building. The images that fill the screen aren’t of the Rancho Mesa branch. The worst attack was in New York. The explosion took out three massive buildings.