Part 4 (1/2)

I didn't hear her footsteps carry her back through the house. I didn't hear the stairs creak as she climbed up to the second floor.

I was high. I was high and still half asleep, and I wasn't sure what I'd seen. Maybe just some dogs.

But what did Amanda see? I wondered, remembering that breathy, hopeful whisper.

I should have had my camera, I chided myself. It was the second straight time I'd been caught empty-handed.

At this rate, I'd lose my sanity before I ever managed to get a useful shot.

Video clip. September 7, 11:35 A.M. Press conference:

There's banner text running across the bottom of the screen, recounting headlines from around the world. In the bottom left-hand corner, an artful blur obscures the cable news channel's logo-it's a minor edit, somebody trying to avoid litigation, but it looks like a tiny thundercloud or a fogged and smudged piece of gla.s.s. The date and time are printed in the upper right-hand corner: September 7, 11:35 A.M. PDT.

The video starts in midsentence-a man at a lectern, talking over a gaggle of shouted questions. He is standing in front of a pale blue background, and the Spokane city seal hangs on a flag behind his head. The man's conservative blue suit is sharply pressed, and his gray-white hair sweeps back from his forehead in a perfect, unmoving wave. There is a pinched look on his face. He is starting to perspire. The words MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m are printed above the banner at the bottom of the screen.

MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m: ... be a.s.sured we are investigating every violent incident. I am in constant contact with our elected officials at all levels of government-including the president of the United States-and military intervention will only be considered as-

VOICE FROM OFFSCREEN: (Unintelligible) ... reports of hallucinations and possible terrorist attacks?

MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m: We are certainly investigating all possibilities at this time, but it's important for everybody out there-both inside the city and all across America-to know that all of our initial tests have turned up negative. And these tests have been quite extensive ... and, we've ... uh, we've seen no signs of chemical or biological foul play-

A VOICE BREAKS THROUGH THE GAGGLE OF QUESTIONS: (Unintelligible) ... water?

MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m: As I said, we've seen no signs of that. We're still checking the water and air, but at this point, those don't seem to be ... uhm, credible vectors. (Uncertain, the mayor glances to his right, offscreen.)

A SUDDEN, LOUD VOICE: How many dead, Mayor?

MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m: At this time, we don't have a firm number to give you. We'll be releasing those numbers when the time is right.

THE SAME LOUD VOICE: Have you finished counting?

MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m: Now that ... I do not appreciate the tone of your question! This city's local government is doing extremely well given these trying circ.u.mstances-with all you jackals, all the national media, watching and salivating. Let me tell you ... things are starting to fall into place, and normalcy is being-

Without warning, the mayor disappears.

In one frame, he is standing at attention behind the lectern, hammering his finger down to make a point. In the next, he is gone. There is no break in the tape, no sign of a splice; there is no hitch of digital editing. Just, suddenly, a vacant lectern set in the middle of the screen, the words MAYOR JEFFREY SLOc.u.m still superimposed beneath.

Now, where the man had been, there is nothing but pale blue background. And the city seal, swaying slightly in the air-conditioned breeze.

The mayor's disappearance is greeted with a sudden silence. Then the entire room reacts. Some of the handheld microphones withdraw in surprise, and others suddenly jerk forward. Somebody b.u.mps the camera, and the image shakes for a moment. After a couple of seconds, one of the mayor's staff moves slowly across the stage, glancing back offscreen every couple of steps. Stricken, the woman looks back and forth, then down, beneath the lectern. Finding nothing, she turns back and shakes her head, her eyes wide.

The video ends.

I heard them moving about the house while I dozed. Morning sounds. Footsteps and creaking bedsprings. Quiet voices and running water. Doors opening and falling shut. The smell of cooking tickled at my nose, but my sore muscles and foggy head kept me under the quilt. Finally, a beam of sunlight found the sofa, s.h.i.+ning orange-red through my eyelids, and I managed to pull myself awake.

By then, the house was once again quiet. The voices were gone, and there was no sign of movement. Maybe they all packed up and left, I thought. Or maybe, in the early-morning hours, I'd managed to dream them all away.

Still half-asleep, I got up off the sofa and went looking for signs of life.

I found Charlie in the kitchen, sitting at a table in the breakfast nook. The room looked different in the morning light: the sun poured in through the open curtains, bathing everything in a blindingly bright haze. Charlie was tapping away at a tiny notebook computer. When I stepped through the door, he cast a quick glance up, then went right back to work.

”Do you have a Gmail account?” he asked, still typing away.

”Gmail?” I grunted, wondering if I'd stumbled into the middle of someone else's conversation. I rubbed at my sticky, sleep-blurred eyes. ”You can't possibly have Internet access here-no power, no landlines, no cell signal. The military's got that all wrapped up tight. Right? Communication blackout ... all that happy s.h.i.+t.”

”I cobbled something together,” he said with a sly smile. He spun the computer around and showed me the program on its screen. It looked like a simple email program. There was a tab at the top with my name on it (next to separate tabs for Charlie, Taylor, and everyone else), and then, down below, there was s.p.a.ce for account information, an address line, a subject line, and a large text field for the body of a message. ”If you fill in your stuff, we can smuggle it out. It'll also capture your incoming mail.”

I stared at the computer for a moment, then, suddenly struck by what I was seeing, spun it back around and checked its rear panel. ”The battery ... it's charged? Where are you getting the power?”

”We've got a source.” Again he flashed that sly smile.

My shoulders slumped, and I let out a disappointed groan. I'd spent over a hundred dollars on an external grip for my camera-one that took disposable batteries in lieu of rechargeable power-and I'd stocked up on a s.h.i.+tload of AAs. Not to mention a second battery for my laptop.

I turned the computer back around and stared at the mail program for nearly a minute. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, tense, itching to write. But who could I contact? Who would understand? My friends in California? My father? Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely, I thought. At this point, there probably wasn't a soul in the world who had even noticed that I was gone.

As I was thinking, Taylor stormed into the house. She moved in a loud rush, cras.h.i.+ng from the front door, through the hallway, into the kitchen. She saw me at Charlie's computer and let out a deep cluck. ”No time for that,” she said. ”No time. I told Danny I'd be there at noon.” Charlie pulled the computer back across the table and resumed typing, faster now, trying to get something finished.