CHAPTER 32
~T-minus 14:32~
There were many who had Sunday the 16th marked on their calendars and awaited it with the eagerness of youth. It was to be a day of great fanfare and celebration in Patmos - the dawn of a new era for the town, the nation, even the world. Instead, the sun rose over a town, a nation, a world smothered in a pall of fear and foreboding. The police were still out in force in Patmos, running checkpoints at every road leading into town and stopping cars at numerous intersections to check for suspicious behavior. In spite of the lockdown, though, there was life in the town, albeit of a much more grim variety. Few people stayed home - everyone found someplace to go, someplace to belong, if only for the day. Every church was packed to the rafters with lapsed and repentant sinners, praying desperately for a miracle. For those of less faith, the restaurants and bars of Icaria Street quietly opened their back doors for patrons eager to numb themselves to the world. Parents took their young children to any building with any sort of shelter or cellar, hoping that these structures would provide some measure of safety. Those with nowhere else to go barricaded themselves in each other's homes, gathering in groups to watch what news the lab allowed to pass through to the public.
Will was out as well, his own thoughts clogged with paranoia. There he stood on a side street near Amos, staring at his car and strategizing his next move. There was nothing obvious to arouse his suspicion - no men in dark glasses watching him, no unmarked cars circling the block. Then again, Jameson wasn't always so obvious in his own tactics, and there was something troubling about the whole situation. After everything that Jameson's men had done to interfere in his life, it seemed unlikely that they'd just let him drive off.
Finally, fed up with waiting, Will walked to the car, keys held over his head. "All right, I'm sure you guys are watching me somehow," he shouted. "If someone's going to swoop down, put a bag over my head and take me to secret jail, now's the time to do it." No response met him. "Oh, and if the car's going to explode when I turn the key, that's going to be really hard to explain in a town like this. So if that's your scheme, now would be a great time to stop me." Again, he was greeted by silence. "Okay, then I guess I'm off."
Will sprinted for his car, tossing open the door with a rusty groan and vaulting inside with his keys at the ready. To his delight, the car did not explode when he turned over the ignition - the thing ran exactly as badly as it had when he drove it there. Wasting no time on idle thanks, he pulled the car out onto the barren street and made for home. Again he readied himself for an attack, and again he was glad to learn that none was planned. He hastily gathered the supplies he'd purchased, piled them into his backseat and set off for Kiyama. This was a mundane task turned into a mission - with the city under a virtual police state, crossed over with checkpoints to supplement the revitalized cameras, travel was slow and risky. Will took all due care - A bag full of groceries or a cooler wouldn't normally be considered suspicious, but it was hard to say how the police would act given what had already happened and was coming.
As he pulled onto Icaria Street - minded still by Jameson's eyes, now increased in number - he spotted Sara Mills sitting on the curb outside of Mills Printing. He slowed as he drew near and leaned out of the window. "Morning, Sara. What, you got nothing better to do than sit around?"
"I'm watching the store while the folks are out," said Sara. "I suppose you're on another little quest, huh?"
"Yeah, but it'll keep for a little bit." Will pulled into a parking space in front of the print shop. "I suppose I can keep you company for a bit."
"I'd just as soon you didn't," said Sara. "You're bad news."
"Oh, don't be like that. Without me, your life wouldn't be nearly as interesting."
"All I keep thinking is that this whole story would have been a lot easier if I hadn't had the wise idea to chat with the crazy guy in the diner. Too late now, I guess." Sara walked over to the car. "At least now I know you're okay. I'm surprised they haven't disappeared you yet."
"Hey, I'm slippery," said Will. "How's the project going?"
"Incomplete. Hard to gather information with the cops all over the place." Sara peered into the backseat. "Geez, how much does your family eat?"
"It's for the party. I'm planning for a hundred and fifty people, but that's just to be on the safe side. Realistically, it'll probably be under a hundred."
"Yeah, that'd be my guess," said Sara. "Aren't you doing this on the hill? How are you getting up there? They've got security all over the place."
"I have my ways," said Will. "The tough part's gonna be setting up all the equipment without being seen."
"Equipment? What are you taking up there?"
"A bunch of stuff I rented. We've got a big grill, the sound system, portable generator...oh, and a bunch of chairs, but I might pass on those. Blankets are a lot easier to carry, and I've always liked that picnic feel anyway." Will snatched a small notepad off of the dashboard. "Am I forgetting anything? Let's see..."
Sara peered into the back of Will's car. The backseat was completely filled with grocery bags, a pair of coolers sitting awkwardly on the floor. "Holy shit, how much food do you have?"
"Well, let' see..." Will flipped back through the notepad. "We've got...twelve pounds ground hamburger, eight packs of franks, four of Polish sausage, five packs of veggie patties...fifteen bags assorted potato chips, eight bags pretzels, four vegetable platters with dill and ranch dip, ten bottles of mustard, six of ketchup, twelve jars-"
"Let me see that." Sara grabbed the notepad from Will. "Shit, Will. Twenty-four two-liter bottles of soda? Twenty-four? Eight pounds of macaroni salad? Five sixty-four pack cubes of...Will, do you realize how much beer this is?"
"Hey, if there's ever a time to drink, it's now. Not like there'll be any morning after regrets."
"How much is this costing you?"
"Like four hundred dollars, give or take." Will snatched the notepad and tossed it onto the passenger seat. "Of course, there are a few more things I need to pick up. I need a whole bunch of ice, for one. Also, I should really swing past the liquor store and get a few bottles of rum. Maybe whiskey too, I'm not sure. Oh, and the grocery store is making me a bunch of kebabs, providing they're still open, of course. So, let's add...I don't know, a hundred dollars onto that."
"And renting all that equipment?"
"About seven hundred, not counting deposits. You know, they make you rent that stuff for a minimum of two days." Will's expression descended into a rare frown. "What's your point?"
"My point is that you're a grand into a party that was never going to attract...what? A few dozen people tops? And that was before the lockdown. What do you do for a living that lets you spend like that?"
"Well, nothing at the moment, given that I quit a few days ago. But I have enough in my bank account to cover everything."
"Enough to cover..." Sara broke out into a morbid cackle. "Have you ever stopped and thought about how much you have invested in this? And I'm not talking money, I'm talking your whole life. What exactly are you going to do if you wake up tomorrow and everything's still here? What if the machine works exactly like they said, or it doesn't work at all? What if they decide not to turn it on? Then what?"
"Well...then I'll deal with it. Hey, it's not like it's the end of the world or anything." Will's chuckle faded to an awkward silence. "Look, I know that's not what you want to hear. I know that everyone is expecting me to be some kind of hero here, but that ain't me."
"I'm not expecting anything," said Sara. "Except trouble for you. Will, think about this: You're going to be up there on the hill in a spotlight of your own making, full view of lab security and the cops, no one around to watch your back, with a soundtrack to announce your presence. Even you can see what's going to happen."
"I ain't a martyr, either," said Will. "I guess I just don't care what Jameson does now. This party isn't a celebration anymore, Sara, it's an act of defiance. Jameson and Richter and all of them want us to sit down and accept whatever they decide to do. Well I, for one, am not doing that. I'm going to be up there, spitting in his face, and God willing I'll have a crowd to help me out. This is how I'm going down. This is my legacy, and they're not taking it away."
"This party is your legacy?"
Will was silent for a moment. "...I have to take Sam to the bomb shelter, that's first. Then the liquor store, electronics place, and the grocery store. But first things first." Will put the car into reverse. "By the way, I have a present for you."
"Take it back. You can't afford to buy anything else."
"Don't worry, this cost me nothing." Will pulled the microcassette recorder out of his pocket and passed it to Sara. "Enjoy."
Sara studied the device. "...A decades-old voice recorder. Will, that's just what I've always wanted."
"Not the player, the tape in it. Let's say we luck out and the world's still here tomorrow. That tape will make your project. You'll be famous." Will pulled the car out of the parking spot. "Oh, be sure to listen to it a few times. It's short, but it's intense."
"Thanks," said Sara. "Good luck with the party and all."
"Hey, I don't need luck. I just need to be crazy." Will threw Sara a salute - an odd gesture, but the only one that sprang to mind. "Have a good life."
Will took off like a bolt for Kiyama Hill. There was never enough time to do everything that needed to be done, and not a second to waste.