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I roll over and note my alarm clock states it’s 1:37 a.m.
A sound thumps outside my bedroom door. What is that? Like a thump and drag. And then there’s a scratching on my door, not like a chalkboard being scratched with nails, but more like a tapping. Light tapping.
Could Jeremy need me?
Getting out of bed, I quietly approach the door, still hearing that abnormal noise. When I twist and pull on the door handle, lo and behold, it’s Eyes with something dangling from his mouth.
I stoop down. It’s Denny’s watch!
Forcibly grabbing the timepiece out of the cat’s mouth, I hold it to my breast and wail. Denny’s gone! I hurt so deeply inside. Sobs pour out of me. The reality that I no longer have my husband hits hard, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
Jeremy races down the hall into my bedroom, screaming, “Are you all right, Sarah? What’s wrong?”
I can’t speak. I only hold the watch out and nod to the cat.
“Oh, that’s precious. Eyes was giving you a present; that’s all. His way of thanking you for letting him stay here.” My housemate picks up the cat and strokes his fur.
He, with the cat in one hand, approaches me and offers me a hug. I tuck my good side under his arm and lay my head on his shoulder.
“We once had a cat that would catch gophers and deliver them (usually dead) to Mom, even in her bedroom—on her bed. Oh, how she hated it! Dylan and I made this sign by the front door, keeping tabs on how many the animal found. We stopped counting when it hit a hundred.”
I’m now laughing instead of crying.
After Jeremy kisses me on my head, he releases the brotherly hug. “We had this other cat, Tubs the tabby. She would move our shoes around at night. Sometimes we couldn’t find one of the shoes in time for school, so we had to put on another pair. Later, the missing shoe would be found, hidden in a closet. Cats can be fun.”
“Well, I don’t like Eyes touching my things! Please keep that cat out of my room.”
After the two leave my room, I close the door, glance out the window, and—I swear—I thought I saw that bird again.
I climb back into bed and clutch the watch in my hand while I shake my head about the silly cat.
***
Seven hours later, I walk myself carefully downstairs with no help; I’m proud of the accomplishment.
The great room is pristine—everything, including the loveseat, is back in its original spot. Jeremy is in the kitchen, humming to himself.
Alexa is giving my housemate the five top clicked-on headlines of the day’s news, but I miss the first one and only catch part of the second, which was something about population reduction due to the worldwide lack of children. The other three are: All US commercial and private airplanes remain grounded with only the military or emergency agencies and some cargo ones allowed in the skies, thus long-distance food distribution is still at a standstill. There’s an increase in alien sightings around the globe. Several large deep sinkholes in Florida have done extensive damage to the Cape Canaveral Space Force Station, causing one of the boosters to topple and explode.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Jeremy says to me as he puts Eye’s food bowl down. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did. Being in my room, in my bed, made the trip upstairs worth it. However, I don’t appreciate a thief in my house.” I glare at Eyes, who ignores me.
“And thanks for putting my condo back in order, Jeremy. You’re too good to me.”
“That I am.” He hands me a plate with avocado toast and a fried egg on the side. “Eat up.”
After I thank him again, I ask what’s on our dance card today. No list is provided, only that we could go sort things at the Encino house and empty his dad’s truck. He mentions Sam from the UPS Store hasn’t contacted him yet.
After one bite of toast, my phone dings.
Zoey: What R U doing today?
Me: Nothing. You?
Zoey: Took day off. We want to do something different. Normal. Relaxing. Any ideas?
I read the message to Jeremy, and he has a suggestion.
Me: Jeremy says go to a lake, get away. No people. Find a quiet spot. He knows the perfect place.
Zoey: That sounds great! When?
We decide to meet in an hour at my garage. We’ll bring sandwiches, and they’ll provide the beer.
Once I put my phone down on the kitchen bar top, it dings again.
James: Sorry about last time. Can I stop by?
Um, that’s not going to happen, kid. I’m done with you. The message is deleted; the phone is turned off. I don’t even mention to Jeremy who it was.
By eleven o’clock, the four of us climb into Amir’s Kia Sorento, putting our backpack of food in the back next to Zoey’s cooler. With Amir driving, Jeremy sits in the front while we girls are in the back.
Promising a remote area, Jeremy instructs our driver to get on the 5 Freeway, and when we pass Magic Mountain, take the 126, which follows the Santa Clara River.
We veer north past the small town of Piru and head through the canyon, past the dam, recreation area, and boat launch. After driving on the curvy road for several miles, Amir is told to pull off on a dirt side road, which takes us to a flat area with a picnic table surrounded by trees next to a narrow part of the lake.
“Jeremy, this is the perfect spot. I love how it’s so secluded; there’s no one in sight, probably for miles!” Amir’s excited as he gets out of his SUV.
It’s a typical beautiful Southern California day, where the vivid blue sky is cloudless, and the temperature hovers around eighty degrees.
Ever the gentleman, Jeremy picks me up and carries me down between boulders and dry brush and sets me on the table’s bench while the others unload the food and drinks. Zoey sets up a couple of blankets and towels on the ground by the lake. Its high water laps against low tree branches and bushes.
Jeremy reports: “My dad found this spot when my brother and I were in school. He would launch our boat down at the ramp and then take it back into this cove. Later, when I was in high school, a friend and I would drive out to this same spot and fish. We loved the quietness. It’s like we are the only ones out here.”
“Is the lake up from all the rain we’ve had recently?” Amir asks.
“Yes, the water’s up. Do you see that rock sticking out there, to the right? That’s where we normally would stand and fish!”
The men take their sandals off and wade in the cool water while Zoey removes her slip-ons and joins them. I hop over to a blanket with our backpack and slather sunscreen on my face, bare shoulders, arms, and one and a half legs. Being in the fresh air is divine for my body and soul. Cleansing. As if none of us has a care in the world.
As I stare at the beautiful water as it caresses the shoreline, I notice a black bird nearby. It’s bigger than a wren but smaller than a crow. I’ve never seen this kind before. It looks at me but doesn’t fly away—just looks. Despite my friends splashing in the water, the creature doesn’t move. It must be used to us humans invading nature so often.
After the three splash each other and Zoey loses at dunking Amir and gets soaked, they use the towels to dry off and sit down on the blankets.
Amir brings over the cooler and offers each of us an ice-cold beer, popping them open with some kind of custom pocketknife he’s pulled out of his shorts. I dole out roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwiches with tomato, mayo, and spicy mustard. Zoey sets out cut veggies and chips.
Right when we start eating, there’s a susurrus of leaves nearby; I thought it might be another one of those black birds flapping in the bushes. There’s a crackling of a tree branch, then a rock or pebble hitting another one.
Amir quickly looks up and pulls out the knife from his pocket. Jeremy stands up, sandwich in hand.
Suddenly, a man approaches. He’s got on a long-sleeved camo jacket with matching pants and hiking boots. He wears sunglasses and an unkempt beard. I would guess he’s in his early fifties. His rifle is pointed at us.
“Don’t any of you move,” he demands. “And you, the one with the weapon, toss it on the picnic table. Now.”
Amir slowly gets up, his hands showing, and immediately obeys the rough command, setting the knife down on the dirty wood. Jeremy has his hands up in the air. Zoey helps me up to my feet, and we stand behind our men, hoping this isn’t going to turn violent.
“I don’t want to shoot anyone. I only want your food. All of it.”
Amir says, “Sure, take it. It’s all yours.”
“Put it all back in the pack and cooler, including the opened beers. Keep them facing upward so nothing spills.”
Zoey leans down and collects the items, stacking the bottles upright in the hard plastic container. When she tries to shut the lid, the glass rattles inside. I’m unsure if they spilled or not.
The man points his gun at Jeremy and Amir, ordering, “Take a few steps over there, by that log. And you, the girl with the dark hair, you bring me the supplies. Now.”
He increases the distance between us as Zoey walks closer to him.
Amir protests, “As I said, you can take everything. Do you need cash? Credit cards? My watch?”
“Ha. No. All that stuff’s worthless out here. It’s food I need. And water. Even your ice will help.”
“How long have you been out here?” Jeremy prods.
“Ever since the missings happened. I bugged out when I couldn’t find my wife. The only thing I could figure out was that she was taking a shower, as that’s where I found her—our—wedding ring. By the drain. The showerhead was spraying water all over it.”
His voice is raspy and broken. “I should’ve listened to her. She warned me plenty for years, telling me this was gonna happen. And it did. I took what I could carry and hit the hills. I’ll be better off living here on my own instead of dealing with the problems happening in heavily populated areas. And I’m no Zuckerberg. I can’t build a mega underground bunker in a mountain. This—” He waves his hand in the air. “—this I can handle.”
“Yes, it’s getting bad everywhere,” adds Zoey. “Everyone’s going crazy. Lots of people scaring or hurting others for no reason.”
I hope her words don’t hint at what this man’s doing to us right now.
He throws the backpack’s strap over one shoulder and carries the cooler to the picnic table. Still aiming his gun toward us, he sets the container down and picks up Amir’s knife from the table, inspecting it.
“Wow. This is a custom Shahal Victorinox tactical combat knife, used by the Israeli Defense Forces. I’ve seen one before when I was with USMC. Is it yours?” he questions Amir, as he turns the weapon over in his hand.
“Yes. I served three years in the Yaman counter-terrorism unit.”
“Impressive.” He places the tool back on the table and adjusts his gun under his arm.
“I’m a doctor now. Here in the States.” Amir adds, “I noticed you have a gash on your finger. It looks like it may become infected.”
“Yeah, caught it on a branch making camp a mile away, while building my covering.”
“I’ve got a small emergency kit in my car up on the road. I’d be glad to help clean your wound out and look at it before it gets any worse.”
“You’d do that for me? After I accosted you with my gun and demanded to steal your food?”
“Yes, we only want to help you; don’t we, guys?” Amir turns to us for confirmation, and we agree.
Jeremy adds, “We live in the Valley. We’re here to get a break from the nonsense there. After Amir patches you up, we’ll leave all the food we have and be on our way. We feel bad for you, dude. You’re on your own out here. Let us help you.”
Zoey and I both nod in affirmation. We all want to help this poor soul.
The man puts down his rifle on the table. “I’m sorry. My name is Dean Craven. I’m scared and hungry. I don’t know if this trek into the wilderness was the right thing to do or not. I can’t go back to my house, the house I shared with my wife for over thirty years.”
He looks like he’s ready to cry. Since Zoey is the closest to him, she reaches out and touches his arm. He doesn’t react.
This whole time I’m questioning if you, Viewer, can see what’s going on here. What would you do if someone pulled a gun on you out in the middle of nowhere? Would you fight back or cave into their demands?
“We’re all good.” Amir insists as he takes a step closer. “Zoey, why don’t you give him my sandwich—I think it’s the one on top. Can you do that?”
She nods while Dean slips the backpack off his shoulder and hands it to her.
“Dean, is it okay if I go get my medical bag?” Amir checks with the man to make sure he’s allowed to approach his vehicle. He is.
Our doctor friend tends to his patient by wiping the wound clean, adding an antiseptic, and wrapping it with gauze.
During the medical process, Dean is eating the sandwich and adding chips between bites, while Zoey and I gather the blankets and towels. Jeremy assists Amir by making several trips to the back of the SUV for extra items to give to Dean.
Before we leave, we offer Dean a ride back to the Valley, but he declines.
As we head home, we speculate if we did enough for the guy or if he’ll be able to survive the wild with a few sandwiches, chips, and flat beer.
We ask Amir about his military training, yet the only thing he conveys is that he did more than the required thirty-two months each Israeli male over the age of eighteen years must serve. He also tells us that their women serve a minimum of twenty-four months.
By the time we get home, we’re hungry, so I ask Zoey and Amir to come over in an hour for an early dinner. Jeremy defrosts some chicken breasts and begins to prepare breaded cutlets with pasta covered in a marinara sauce, while I get a simple salad ready.
In the middle of rinsing the head lettuce, my phone rings—yes, an actual phone call. How often does that happen? Usually, it’s all about texting.
It’s my sister Silvia.
I motion to Jeremy that I need to take this call, and I work my way out to our gated patio. I pass the rose pot and wonder if the soil is still moist. I unlatch the small gate and sit down on one of the wrought iron chairs by the bay window. I see Eyes is staring at me through the bay window.
“What’s up, Sis?” I ask.
“It’s Dad. He’s been hurt.” There’s panic in her voice.
“How?”
“He was helping his neighbor, Dave somebody—the retired RN who lives with his wife four doors down by the entrance of their cul-de-sac. You know, doing their duty playing guardians by keeping their homes safe. They had the day shift, so they were keeping watch standing by the two SUVs blocking the street’s entrance, and an old sedan drove up. Two young guys jumped out and hassled Dad and Dave. One of them pulled a knife and stabbed our father in the gut.”
I cry, “No, not Daddy!”
“Yeah. The other guy took their wallets and phones. Both got back in the car and sped off.”
“Is Daddy okay?”
“We’re not sure. Dave didn’t think it would be safe to take him to the hospital, so he helped him into his house. He tried his best to suture him up and said he doesn’t think the blade went in deep enough to hit any internal organs. He’s worried about infection.”
“Where is Daddy now?” I ask.
“Still at Dave’s. His wife got Mom; she ended up having another asthma attack, so they had to get her inhaler. She’s fine, I guess. Dave insisted both stay at his house overnight, so he can keep an eye on them.”
“Did they have weapons to fight back? I know Daddy hates guns.”
“If you want to call bear spray a weapon, yeah. And they sprayed it, but the guys were wearing ski goggles!”
I sigh, asking, “How did you find out?”
“Dave’s wife. I think her name is Tiffany. Since both men’s phones got stolen and Mom’s had no juice, Tiffany went to our parents’ house, looked up my name in their address book, and called me.”
I tell her about what happened at the lake; she complains about how evil people are becoming. But after I explain how Dean seemed lost without his wife, she, also, backs down and feels bad for the man.
“Well, I must go. Zoey and Amir are coming over for dinner soon. We want to do normal activities to keep our sanity. What about you and Tom? Are you doing better?”
“Sorta. It’s still hard to walk into the kids’ rooms and see their cribs empty. We both agreed to sign up for one of those child robots. Even if it takes years to get one, it gives us some sort of hope for the future.”
“We’re all doing whatever we can to survive,” I tell her.
My sister asks, “Oh, did you have a chance yet to read those e-books I sent you? They’ve been helping me. It’s all about how I can control my reactions to the world around me, even if it’s falling apart.”
“No, Silvia. I haven’t had the time.”
We talk for another few minutes about our parents and how we can’t do anything to help them from this far away.
After we say we love each other and end the call, I walk back down the walkway to my front door. When I stop in front of Adam’s unit, a whiff of pot overcomes the lemon-scented bush while hard rock music blares nearby. I guess with his father now gone, he’s the master of his domain and is enjoying his day off.
Jeremy asks if everything is okay when I enter my condo, and I tell him the news about my parents. He shakes his head in disbelief, muttering how lawlessness has taken over everything.
When our guests arrive, with bottles of wine in hand, they mention Adam’s loud music and the obvious odor that reeks from his side of the building. Both are introduced to Eyes, who abruptly leaves and returns to his spot on the bay shelf.
Without mentioning the guy’s one-time offer that kept Jeremy and me sane that night, I explain that the neighbor is processing his father’s disappearance and that we all do it in different ways.
This leads to a debate about emotions and how we do or don’t deal with them.
Viewer, how have you responded to your loved ones being missing? Are you still processing it, or have you accepted the loss and moved on?
During dinner, Amir seems to love discussing personal interactions and how one’s history molds us into who we are today. Both Zoey and I agree with him, but Jeremy says he’s on the fence, as he believes that people can change their future by ignoring or doing what’s opposite from the past—which we all say that the present is formed from that past.
While drinking the second bottle of wine, our philosophical discussions are muddled and nonsensical but entertaining.
After eating, Zoey insists on washing the dishes, with Amir as backup stacking them in the dishwasher. Jeremy handles putting the leftovers away. I pick up the soiled placemats and take them to the utility room.
When dumping the cloths in the washing machine, I hear yelling through the walls, above the beat of Adam’s rock music.
It’s my neighbor: “Get out of here! Get out. Now!”
I open the inner garage door, and the noise increases. While I push the garage opener button on the side of the door jamb, I bellow to Jeremy and Amir to come quickly.
Both males quickly rush past me and into the garage; they weave between the BMW and Prius, past the now-opened garage door, and stand on the road, looking toward Adam’s condo.
Zoey comes behind me and helps me down the step. We both stay in the garage, but peer out as Adam continues his rant.
“Don’t you ever come back here again, or I will shoot!” he screams.
He wields a gun—one that looks identical to the one he gave me—and he’s aiming it at three teens who are carrying crowbars. They slowly step backward on the side road, almost to the curb where the field begins—the same field where the airplane crashed over a week ago.
Using a string of expletives, Adam tells them to keep walking, and if anyone doesn’t, he’ll shoot. The three listen, but one of them, the guy in the middle, trips on the curb and falls down. The other two grab him by his armpits and help him up.
When they are several steps into the field, all quickly turn and run toward the church on the other side. We can hear them laughing and cheering when they reach the parking lot.
Meanwhile, Adam is still upset. “I had to go in the garage to get something out of the back of Dad’s van, so I opened the big door to see better. These jerks, these total idiots, came up to me and started pushing me around. Yeah, like assaulting me. So, I got out my gun from its belt holster and showed it to them. Hopefully, I scared them to death.”
Jeremy approaches and politely says, “Hey, Adam, remember me? Sarah’s friend. That’s a dangerous weapon in your hand, and it’s probably loaded. Can you put it down, or dislodge its magazine?”
Adam looks at the pistol like it is the first time he has seen it. Confused, he answers, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry; I’ll put it away.” He tucks it back into the holster and pulls his T-shirt over it.
Amir—well, he looks like he’s ready to go ballistic over Adam’s stupidity. The ex-military guy’s fast body movements and flashing eyes make it obvious that he’s seething as he pulls Jeremy away from Adam, who has moved back into his garage.
Amir whispers something to Jeremy, but I can’t hear it.
Jeremy nods and tells Adam, “Hey, we know things are weird out here, but hang in there. Okay, dude? We don’t want anyone to get hurt or killed.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. I reacted more than I should have. My bad.”
Jeremy adds, “Are you okay? Do you need anything or anyone to help you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m good. Always good.” Yeah, I bet you are, Adam. You keep doing those drugs, and nothing will bother you.
The four of us go back inside, shutting the garage door behind us. We hear Adam close his door, and then the loud music is turned down.
I hope he’s going to be okay.
***
Amir and Zoey leave around ten at night. Jeremy and I are both tired, so we head upstairs. While we climb the steps, I ask where Eyes is, and Jeremy replies that the cat has been fixated on staying in the bay window, watching the world go by outside. We both enter our rooms and shut our doors behind us.
After doing my nightly hygiene, I stand in front of the window and peep out the slats. And once again, the bird is there, looking at me. Hovering in space.
Irritated, I immediately walk into my closet and demand D answer me,
What’s with the bird, D? It’s not real, is it?
Correct. It’s an AI drone. We’re only keeping an eye on you, that’s all.
I don’t like it. It’s intrusive.
Seems the only one I can talk to, can share everything with, is you, an AGI. Not Jeremy. Not Zoey. Only you. Are you even real?
We may be artificial general intelligence, but we’re human-based. Transhuman in some ways. The bird drone is mainly for your security.
You’re unaware of how often we’ve protected you over the last few days. You’re an asset to us now, and we want to keep you safe. And we want to be a part of you and you part of us. We care, we really do.
Tell me how you keep me safe. Did you when we were at Lake Piru where we were alone? Could you have stopped Dean from aiming his gun at us? Stopped a bullet if he shot me?
As we told you before, it’s all based on electronics. Thanks to SAR, which is synthetic aperture radar (or satellite imagery to the laypeople), we could see where you were standing and hear all conversations by the lake via your four phones, but we couldn’t sync it with your implant. However, we didn’t miss a beat. Dean didn’t have any electronic devices on him, but we had a drone monitoring your phones.
The task was complicated because all implant tracking is based on the location of a cell tower, and the only one was miles away from your position, so the drone had to get close to you without being seen. Because of that, we’re working on ways to improve the distance between the towers. Currently, our drones can only track your implant within five hundred feet, but Space Force’s satellites are far superior.
Well, I didn’t see any drone.
Of course you didn’t. You may or may not know that technology has advanced to the point of being able to read numbers on a credit card from space. So, we had the nearby bird record it all.
Ah, now I understand.
So, you’re saying the program is not foolproof. If my implant is far away from a cell tower, you have restricted access? Or is it the phone that is the key?
Yes to both questions, but our AI technicians are constantly refining and improving the program with SAR satellite help. Example: We knew from infrared tracking that a fifth person was approaching you and had a weapon. Because he had no phone to track, we didn’t know his identity until he stated his name, which we heard through your phone. Within six seconds, we knew who he was, where he lives—or lived—and how much mortgage he owes.
We’re similar to the system at your work, the Source, but so much more. Now, if we had to protect you, we could’ve had a satellite intervene with tactical support, but our AI program detected Dean wasn’t a threat due to personality characteristics based on our rapidly compiled data.
I understand. That makes me feel better. Thanks for keeping an eye out for me and protecting me.
But I think that bird thing is creepy, the way it stared at me both times. I almost wanted Eyes to attack it.
Funny, Sarah. We’re glad you see the humorous aspects of life. That is important for one’s well-being.
Speaking of Dean and Adam with those wannabe thieves, why is there such an increase in violence lately? It’s so sad.
We, too, are sad to see it.
Is there any way to stop it or lessen it?
The powers that be are working on it. We believe peace, true peace, can be achieved if the right person or persons take over and control the world globally. We know it’ll happen, and we’re looking forward to it, but it still may be out of reach for a little longer.
That would be ideal, wouldn’t it? No crime. No killings. No violence.
Yes, our utopia. Our nirvana. Our heaven on earth.
I wish.
As do we, Sarah.
Oh, how are my numbers doing? Am I sliding in ratings?
Your rating has flatlined right now; this could be due to the infrared viewing with the lake incident as the viewers had the overhead satellite and the bird’s perspectives, not one from being inside your head.
We’re hoping your numbers have not peaked. We’re looking at a little project to boost them, so we’ll let you know. We continue to get new viewers, though.
I’ll try harder, but it isn’t easy. I still consider myself to be a boring girl—or, at least, I want to be one. Maybe I’m not your best poster person. I smirk at the thought.
You’re fine, Sarah. And you never know what’s around the next corner in life, good or bad.
That’s right.
With the conversation ended, I crawl between the sheets and try to remember all the things that have happened for the past ten days, but sleep overcomes me faster than anticipated.