Part 3 - May 20 The Pine Ridge Research Center

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Sam alternated Jack between his bone-jarring trot and a walk to cut the travel time between her camp and the main office to under an hour. She emerged from the young forest and stopped to let Jack take a drink from the stream.

She gazed across the stream, over the meadow of young, lush grass to the old colonial farmhouse that served as the base camp for the team of scientists she worked with. The new hybrid timothy hay they were testing this year was about a foot high, and it appeared this would be a very good crop if Mother Nature would cooperate. Last year, they lost a quarter of the crop to a late rain.

Jack jerked on the bit, wanting to get to the young grass. “Okay, boy, wait until I get that bit out of your mouth and I’ll give you ten minutes. Let’s get up to the house first.” She gave him enough pressure with her legs to keep him at a steady walk. They had just made this long trip twice in less than twelve hours, and Jack was still not happy about having his usual daily routine changed.

As Sam approached the house, she scanned the area, looking for someone in the yard. Usually, Stuart and Odell were working on some piece of old farm equipment. The old mower always needed something fixed, and if something didn’t need to be fixed, they were always making or improving something. She didn’t expect to see Ted—he stayed in the office, and he was the person she needed to see to get to the bottom of this communication breakdown.

With each step Jack took toward the house, Sam felt more nervous. This just didn’t feel right. Even Jack started to twitch his ears and act skittish. She frowned—Jack was just picking up on her silliness. Whatever was going on appeared to have everyone in the office trying to figure out the problem. Sam laughed to herself. They better not let Odell get ahold of the web connection—he’d remanufacture the whole system, and his idea of “improved” didn’t always sync with what the rest of the team thought would work best.

She rode up to the barn and dismounted. She led Jack into the corral and stripped off his tack, then found his brush and gave him a quick grooming before throwing him a small section of hay. “I’ll make good on that grass promise later, buddy, as soon as I find out what’s up.” She gave him a pat on his round rump and headed for the house.

She walked in the front door and yelled, “Hey, where’s the coffee!” She strolled into the kitchen and found Stuart and Odell sitting hunched over the kitchen table.

“Hey, you two, don’t you say ‘hi’ anymore?” she said, giving Odell a friendly slap on the shoulder—then snatched her hand back. His body was rigid and seemed to be vibrating. Sam stopped and leaned closer. “Hey, Odell, you alright?”

She bent over and looked into his face. There was no expression—his features were frozen in place.

Sam kneeled down and peered up into the older man’s face. His eyes were twitching spasmodically—in fact, there was a twitch running through his whole body. Sam stood and backed off a step. She turned to Stuart and found him in the same condition. Sam stepped back toward the door.

“What the hell,” she swore.

She frowned at the two men and looked around the old farm kitchen, then went over to the house phone to dial 911. As she placed the phone to her ear, she realized it wasn’t working—just a static buzz. She put the phone back on its base and headed toward the back of the house to Ted’s office.

She found him sitting at the computer. He and his beloved machine were in the same condition as Stuart and Odell. She noticed the flicker of the computer screen appeared to match the rhythm of the twitching that all three men exhibited. The screen just flickered—no image, no text—just a faint, rhythmic flickering of light.

She started to step back when she was startled by a noise behind her. Sam spun around to see Carl standing in the hallway.

Carl Lowery appeared to be in his mid-50s, his dark brown hair sparsely sprinkled with silver. He was a tall and powerfully built man, the kind that indicated he had performed manual labor most of his life. He had a broad back with square shoulders and walked with a rolling gait. She knew he had been in the military when he was younger, but he seldom talked about that time.

As imposing as he appeared, when Sam looked into his eyes, she saw Santa Claus looking back. His eyes twinkled with what she could only classify as an inner merriment. Despite his daunting appearance, Carl was one of the sweetest, gentlest men Sam had ever met. She would tease him that if he were twenty years younger and she was a few years older, she’d chase him around the barn.

“Nope, I’m just too old and you’re too young,” he’d reply with a friendly hug.

But the friendship was completely platonic—Carl was more like a father, brother, and uncle all rolled into one. He was that rare kind of friend she treasured as a member of her family. Sam trusted Carl implicitly—something she did not feel about most people.

“It’s no good, Sammie. Everything controlled by that damned computer system is dead, and the boys are near so, too.” He shook his head sadly. “They’ve been that way all morning, as far as I can figure. I’ve tried to call for help, but all the phones are dead, and those damned computerized vehicles hooked onto that electronic system won’t start either. I’ve said it over and over—linking all services on that damn Internet would backfire someday.”

“What’s happening?” Sam asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Carl answered. “After I checked everything here trying to call for help, I went out to the south pasture to get Rusty and figured I’d ride down the hill to the fire station to get help for the boys there.”

“I’ll come with you. I don’t want to stay here alone.” She looked at her friend immobilized in front of his computer. “Let’s get everyone into some comfortable position and make sure they’ll be safe until we get back with help,” Sam suggested.

Carl put a fatherly arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “I am really glad to see you. I was worried sick about you up there with no way to communicate.”

As they carried Odell to the couch, Sam quietly asked, “How long have they been like this?”

“As I said, I’m not too sure. I went out this morning a little after five to take care of the animals and make the rounds, started back here sometime after nine to get some breakfast, and found everyone like this,” Carl said.

Carl and Sam put Ted and Stuart onto the cots in the back room of the small farmhouse, checked to make sure everything was shut down, and that the house was as safe as they could make it before leaving their friends to go find help.

“Well, better get that brat of a pony saddled back up—he’s gonna be real pissed at you taking him off that hay. He’s not used to working more than once or twice a week,” Carl chuckled.

They saddled up the horses and started off down the hill to the local fire station.

Carl and Sam rode down the quiet country road in companionable silence, pushing the two horses as fast as they could without injury. When they slowed to give the horses a breather, they tried to pick apart what was going on, trying to grasp what was happening to their friends back at the farmhouse.

As they entered the edge of the small community, Carl pulled Rusty to a stop. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for Sam not to speak, then cupped a hand to his ear, signaling her to listen.

Sam realized there were no sounds coming from the neighborhood around them. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything in the distance. She was used to being alone with only the sounds of the wind slipping through the trees, the singing of the birds, the chittering of the squirrels, and other subtle forest sounds—she hadn’t noticed the obvious lack of human noise here.

She looked around and realized there weren’t any human sounds at all. The only sounds were the slight breeze, a few birds, the horses breathing, their shifting hooves on the pavement, and the creak of the leather as she turned in the saddle to listen. The total lack of urban noise was eerie.

Sam swiveled in her saddle to listen in the other direction, toward a neighborhood one street back from the road. There was absolutely no sound at all from the houses. It was like riding through a ghost town.

As they rode past the small local grocery store, she could hear the metallic screech of the rusty sign above the carriage corral in the parking lot as the gentle breeze rocked it back and forth on its metal hooks. She and Carl saw a few people on the pavement. One person lay on the ground next to a shopping cart with her early morning purchases. Carl and Sam did not stop—it appeared whatever had happened to their friends at the research center had happened here too.

They continued into town, making their way toward the fire station. As they turned the final corner onto the main street, they were startled to hear something—children playing. They glanced at each other and urged the horses to a faster walk, following the sounds.

About one block away from the station, Carl and Sam could now see children playing with a kickball on the lawn beside the fire station. One of the children stopped after picking up the ball, looked up the street, and pointed toward them.

Carl raised his eyebrows and looked at Sam. “That’s a lot of kids.”

Sam just nodded. “Yeah,” she said with a frown, “That’s too many kids for me.” She growled, “I hate kids.”

Carl shook his head and smiled. “You just haven’t met many nice kids yet. Well, let’s go meet these people.”