Struggling through the deep snow along Twenty-Fourth, we followed the tracks of the sleds until they met the steep edges of the snowbanks lining Ninth Avenue. Chuck was intent on finding the thieves and hurried me along, but I was hoping we wouldn’t find them, scared of what might happen if we did.
My fears proved unfounded when we got to Ninth. The drag marks became hopelessly muddled with other foot traffic. Any hope of following farther evaporated into the swirling snow.
Chuck stood fuming, looking up and down the street.
Dark shadows materialized out of the white to trudge past us, walking along the ravine formed by the edge of the buildings where the snowbanks ended. I nodded to one of them but got no response.
I knocked my boots together and shivered. “Up to Penn Station?” I wanted to bring some news home to Lauren. I felt guilty.
Giving up, Chuck nodded, and we began climbing, hand over foot, up the steep slope of the snowbank edging Ninth Avenue. I followed him to the top, and we slid down the other side into barely ankle-deep snow.
In the distance, headlights gleamed through the sleet, and a low rumble vibrated up through my boots. At least they’re still plowing. We headed uptown toward the oncoming lights.
“Are you so crazy about your stuff that you’d really risk our lives?” I asked Chuck, walking in step beside him.
“It’s risking our lives not to be crazy about guarding our stuff.”
“Come on. The power came back on in less than a day on Christmas Eve, and even after Sandy most of New York was back up in a few days. There hasn’t been any flooding or wind, just this snow.”
“People don’t learn.” Chuck looked down and shook his head. “Critical systems are all interlinked, and this isn’t just a physical storm.”
“So what, you think it’ll take a week? Even most of Long Island—”
“Something is happening here that’s never happened before.” He stopped and looked at me.
“You’re always being dramatic. The power will probably be back on in a few hours.”
“Have you ever heard of the Aurora Test?” asked Chuck, walking on.
I shook my head.
“In 2007, Idaho National Labs conducted a cyberattack exercise with the Department of Energy. They sent a 21-line package of software code from a thousand miles away, embedded as a virus in an e-mail, into a DOE facility. It caused an electrical generator to self-destruct by rapidly recycling its circuit breakers.”
“So get a new generator.”
“You can’t buy these at Walmart. They’re a few stories high, weigh hundreds of tons, and take months to build.”
“Didn’t the DOE fix the problem once they knew about it?”
“Not really. Most of the generators are legacy equipment, built before the Internet existed, and they’re nearly irreplaceable.”
“If they were built before the Internet, shouldn’t they be immune from it?”
“They used to be, but someone had the bright idea of saving money by rewiring them using Internet controls, just like our building. It saves money, but now everything can be attacked via the Internet.” He sighed. “It gets worse.”
The snowplow was approaching us, so we stepped to the side, climbing up onto the snowbank while it growled past. A small light above the driver’s head illuminated the inside of his cabin through windows streaked with melting snow. He was hunched over, wearing a mask, and I glimpsed a picture pinned to his dash that I imagined to be of his family, a family he was away from.
The plow rumbled off into the distance.
“How does it get worse?”
“The US doesn’t even make generators like that anymore.”
“So who does?”
Chuck trudged on in silence for a moment, then said, “Guess.”
I could see where this was going. “China?”
“Yep.”
“So they can be wrecked remotely, and we might have no way of getting replacements?”
“They may have already wrecked them. Maybe no electrical grid for months or years. And it gets even worse.”
Now I sighed.
Chuck kicked a chunk of ice. “It’s more or less the same story for all critical systems—water, dams, nuclear reactors, transport and shipping, food, emergency and government services, even the military. Name something that isn’t wired into the Internet and doesn’t use Chinese parts.”
“Wouldn’t they say the same about us? I mean, if they attack us, wouldn’t we just do the same to them? Mutually assured cyber-destruction?”
“Not the same. We’re the most wired country on Earth. Everything here is accessible via the Internet, much more so than for anyone else, and way more than the countries we’re picking fights with. We’re totally vulnerable to cyberattack on a massive scale, but they’re much less exposed.”
“But then we would just bomb them, right?” I pointed out. “Who would risk that?”
“Not so simple. How do you figure out who attacked? Half the world has an ax to grind with us for one reason or another. We can’t bomb everyone.”
“Sort of been the plan up until now, no?”
Chuck laughed. “I do like the way you keep your sense of humor.”
We reached Thirty-First Street and began to battle our way along the block to get to the back entrance of Penn Station. Hugging the concrete walls of the huge New York City Post Office building, we made our way first along the row of shipping bay doors, and then along the side of a low wall that formed the edge of a protective moat around the building. The shadowy top of the Empire State Building loomed over Madison Square Garden as we approached.
The guard shack halfway down the building was empty, but there were lights shining in many of the windows. Staring up at one of the windows as we passed, I asked, “What’s that saying?” I was thinking of the motto of the postal service inscribed on the front of the building.
Chuck knew what I meant. “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor … I dunno. We can go have a look if you want.”
“Nah, but I think the mail may be late today. I don’t remember cyberattack on that list.”
Chuck laughed, and we kept walking.
Climbing on top of the snowbank at the edge of Eighth, we had our first glimpse of what emergency services had managed to accomplish so far. My heart sank. Hundreds of people were crowded outside the back entrances to Penn Station and Madison Square Garden, with masses more visible in the distance down Thirty-First.
“My God, so many already?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” replied Chuck. “People are scared, want to know what’s going on.”
With a few steps we jumped down the snowbank, crossed Eighth, and climbed the other side to join the teeming crowd. As we picked our way through, we heard murmurs of war and bombings from the huddled groups surrounding us. National Guardsmen were manning the entrances, trying to bring some order to the chaos. A line snaked up Eighth under the protection of some scaffolding and hastily erected plastic sheets meant to stop the wind. Gray blankets bearing Red Cross symbols were being handed out to people waiting.
Crowding around the entrance was an angry mob, some yelling and crying, all wanting to get in. The Guardsmen held their ground and kept shaking their heads, pointing to the back of a line that was getting longer even as we watched. Chuck waited for a few moments on the periphery and then waded in, dragging me along behind him.
“Sorry, sir, back of the line,” said a young Guardsman, holding up his hand to us and pointing toward Eighth.
“We don’t want to go inside,” said Chuck loudly. “Are we at war?”
“We are not at war, sir.”
“So we’re not bombing anyone?”
“Not as far as I know, sir.”
“Would you tell me if we were?”
The Guardsman sighed and looked down the line of people. “All I know is that help is coming soon, the power should be back on soon, and you need to get inside and stay warm and safe.” He looked into Chuck’s eyes and added, “Sir.”
Chuck moved closer, and the Guardsman stiffened up, clutching his M16. “Mask, sir,” he said, nodding up at a sign warning of bird flu.
“Sorry,” mumbled Chuck, pulling out the masks he’d brought from his stash. He gave me one, and I put it on. “So is this bird flu thing real?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you don’t know much more than me, do you?”
The Guardsman’s shoulders sagged. “Stay warm and safe, sir, and please back away.”
“There’s nobody I could speak to inside that knows anything more?”
He shook his head, and his expression softened. “You could wait in line, but it’s a mess in there.”
The kid looked like he’d had enough already.
“Thanks,” said Chuck sympathetically. “I bet you wish you were with your family.”
The Guardsman blinked and looked skyward. “That’s the truth. I hope to God they’re okay.”
“How did they call you up?” asked Chuck. “Phones are down, no Internet—”
“I was on active duty. We didn’t manage to reach many when the order came in. And coordinating is hell—some land-based radio but not much else.”
“Should we come back tomorrow, see what the news is?”
“You can try, sir.”
“Did you hear of any people being shipped in from Newark Airport?” I said.
A crowd of people pressed in against us, pushing us into him. “Back!” he yelled, his face hardening again as he shoved against us with his M16. He found my eyes and shook his head before yelling again, “Back, goddamn it!”
Chuck grabbed me from behind and pulled me away. “Come on, I think it’s time we got out of here.”