Hard Reboot: Reboot, #1

By JF Erikson

In the wake of an apocalyptic war, one girl holds the secret to stopping the annihilation of the human race.

Brita Holt, devoted sister and daughter, must find a way to unite her crumbling family before a mysterious pandemic can ravage the rag-tag remnants of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erikson Press
• Release date: Mar 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393368960

Book preview

Prologue

THE ELEVATOR DOORS slid open and Dr. David Jones stepped out into the desolate hallway of the second level sub-basement. With deliberate steps, he ignored the flickering bank of lights down a side hallway and sauntered the twenty feet to the central conference room. He set a three-ring binder down at one end of the large hexagonal table and sat waiting. The warm glow that radiated through his body drew a relished breath from his lungs. His smirk grew into a wide smile as three men strode in carrying various papers.

You can't mean that, Doctor Zachary Smith said to a thin young man with short-cropped black hair. Radiation leaks could compromise more than just the intended targets. The devastation would be insurmountable!

The three noticed Doctor Jones sitting alone and each nodded a curt greeting.

Tell him, Davy. Radiation isn't viable. The men took their seats at the table and placed their documents in front of them.

"Au contraire, Zachary. Mr. Brown has a point. Radiation would serve our purposes well. Doctor Jones turned to Matthew Brown. The problem, however, is the collateral damage is incalculable. Finding a substance that would effectively irradiate the intended population spectrum without inundating the remainder would seem to be—difficult."

Doctor Jones went to a row of gunmetal lockers at the side of the room, unlocked one, removed a small metal box, and set it beside the binder at his seat. For example, he said, placing both hands on the table, cesium-137 could be effective if it can be implemented in some soluble form, such as a simple dish of water, in all locations. It is readily integrated into the system. However, the results are easily remedied and inconsistent.

Colonel Philip Greene shifted in his chair. The reflection from the ceiling lights writhed across the surface of his slick, black hair. His fallen brow belied his growing smile. I like the radiation angle. He stroked his bare chin. We could do some major damage with easy distribution. The only obstacle could be distribution without contaminating our own people. He shrugged. Not that I'm opposed to it.

Doctor Jones frowned. Colonel. That hardly seems fitting. Besides—his smile returned as he glanced at each of the others—I have the solution.

Doctor Jones lifted the box's lid. The others scrambled backwards from the table; a thin film of perspiration spread across every forehead. Relax, gentlemen. He held up a vial from the foam packing. It is completely inactive.

Doctor Smith tilted his head as he examined the small glass container. Metallic particles glinted in the clear spiraling liquid. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket. What is it? He dabbed his forehead before clutching the cloth into a clenched fist.

This—Doctor Jones lifted the vial a fraction—is what I like to call The Plan. He returned the vial to the box, before closing it. It contains nanobots designed to accomplish three tasks.

He strode around the table; three sets of eyes following his every movement. He stopped behind a waist-high counter, grabbed four glasses and a black bottle with gold lettering from the refrigerator.

First, he said, raising a single digit, the nanobots, upon activation, are to seek out all proteins in the body and alter them.

Alter them? asked Mr. Brown. What are you talking about?

In a moment, Mr. Brown. Doctor Jones cleared his throat. He added a second finger to the first on his way back to the conference table. Second, it acquires the raw material necessary to replicate itself from the host.

He paused a moment, glancing at each in turn. And last, it has a termination point of 30 minutes to prevent spreading the virus beyond the target population.

Doctor Smith stepped forward. Astounding, sir. What are your projections? Has it been tested?

Doctor Jones poured champagne into the four glasses, and set them in front of his compatriots.

We should effectively reduce the population of the planet by some seven billion people, with a margin of error plus or minus five percent. We will have a more accurate estimate once we have completed the trials.

Each member of the group stood awestruck, staring at one another for several moments. Doctor Smith's smile grew with each second that passed as he basked in their astonished admiration.

Gentlemen—they turned to look back at him—as of this moment, we are no longer the Secularists Social Society. We can keep our monikers of misunderstood scientists, but the rest is history. I now dub us—he cleared his throat and raised his glass of champagne—the Ubiquitous Reboot League.

Chapter One

BRITA, I'M HEADING out. Do you have your Halo? Chandra Holt clipped a small, plastic device to her right earlobe then adjusted the waist of her black dress and smoothed the folds across the front.

I got it, Mom. Brita Holt held up the small device as she strode into the entryway.

Chandra patted the tight bun of her blonde hair, making sure that every strand lay in place. She looked Brita over to verify that she appeared presentable should, impossible though it may be, someone visit while she was at the memorial service.  Her heart clenched at the thought of leaving them home alone; they would always be her babies; however the Chief-Consul didn't issue a mandatory attendance order lightly. Brita and Bobbi would be fine because of their age and Bobbi's condition, but Chandra wouldn't be excused.

A spastic cough echoed from the back bedroom. Chandra fretted.

Bobbi will be fine, Brita said, tilting her head and clipping her Halo to her ear; her blonde ponytail bobbed behind her. I've been babysitting for years.

A small voice strained from the back as Brita mouthed in unison. I'm not a baby!

Chandra chuckled then shook her head at Brita's questioning look. Nothing. She smiled. Are you sure you'll be okay?

Relax.

So—she exhaled, forcing her tension out—the service starts at 8:00. Make sure you are watching, she said tapping her ear.

Yes, Mom. Brita rolled her eyes. She grabbed the wool coat from the back of a stuffed chair at the entrance to the foyer.

Chandra turned extending her arms as Brita slid the coat on her, then turned back to button it up. She held her arms out and twirled.

Am I presentable? She chuckled.

Brita chuckled back. Are you ever not?

She grabbed the black leather purse and tucked it under her mother's arm. You'd better get going, or you will miss the auto-bus.

Chandra frowned. It doesn't work that way. It's...

I know, I was teasing. Brita rolled her eyes. She turned her mother around and nudged her toward the door.

A sharp intake of breath made Chandra turn back around. The ghost of a worried frown evaporated from Brita's brow, as the 17-year-old shooed her on her way.

I love you, Chandra called as she stepped off the porch. Glancing over her shoulder, she returned Brita's wave as the MagLev auto-bus glided to a stop in front of the block. Three other families boarded the massive vehicle. Chandra dashed to the curb as the last of her neighbors, an older man with gray stubble covering his head, stepped aboard.

Evening Mr. McDonald.

He gave a curt nod as he looked around for her missing daughters.

Her smile vanished. This was supposed to be a somber occasion. She mumbled an apology; telling him that Bobbi was sick, and Brita was caring for her.

The auto-bus pulled away and, ten minutes later, glided to a stop outside the Holy Tremendum Tabernacle of Peace. Chandra joined the line to enter nodding to each member she knew. She passed through the doors, and the Reverend J. R. Dobbs, dressed in a tailored, black suit sprinkled water on her. Bless you, child of God.

Thank-you, Reverend, she said before entering.

Chandra shuffled between two men in tailored suits standing in the entry. Her muttered apology appeased their stiff glares—barely. She made her way through the crowd to find a single seat next to a family near the front, and sat down.

BRITA FINISHED WARMING a bowl of soup as her Halo announced the ten-minute warning. She placed the bowl of soup on a bed tray and shuffled to Bobbi's bedroom.

Soup's hot, Brita said.

I'm not hungry. Bobbi flopped away from her. Despite the illness, her sister's favorite shampoo left the scent of vanilla and lilies wafting around the room as the bed rocked. Brita put the tray on the side table and sat on the bed's edge. What's wrong, Bobbi?

Silence.

Come on, Barb.

Bobbi turned to glare at her. You know I hate that name.

But you get so prickly, she teased. Brita nudged her when she didn't respond. The one minute timer went off.

It's about to start, Brita said.  You need to get your Halo.

Bobbi grabbed her Halo from the night stand and clipped it to her ear.  Their devices beeped together then projected the temple over the room.

Huge marble pillars lined the bedroom as if they sat beside their mother.

Reverend Dobbs stepped up to the podium, and Brita said We're here, Mom. The image bobbed once in response, then stilled. 

REVEREND DOBBS STOOD behind the podium with head bowed; hands clenched together. He stood still for several minutes of silence as more and more of the congregation joined him in that pose.

Chandra felt self-conscious, as if following his example would lessen the message. He raised his head scanning the group. A few looked up having finished their prayers, meditations or some other form of contemplation. Most looked to see if the good reverend had finished his own task. Chandra swallowed hard to restrain her chuckle.

Dear ones, he said raising his hands upward. Another year gone by. He bowed and shook his head. Six years to the day that tragedy struck at the very hearts and minds of our faiths. Our homes. Our hearts. He nodded continuously while searching the faces of those near and far.

Several people in the first two rows began raising their hands in mimicry.

But, he thundered, glancing back and forth. Chandra jumped in her seat at the force in his voice. They were unsuccessful. Thirteen cities where devastated on that day, within the borders of our beloved country. But we were not vanquished.

The many heads nodding around her drew Chandra's attention away from the Reverend Dobbs. Their eyes closed in prayer. Their nodding in agreement with his oration.

On that day, we did not sit on our hands, he said shaking his own for emphasis.

The congregation answered, No! and No, we did not!

No, He continued. We rose up, and struck them down in their dens—he danced from foot to foot—and the Lord smote them with his vengeance.

Hallelujah!

Praise Him!

Chandra shifted uncomfortably. She closed her eyes willing the images of the carnage from her thoughts. Broadcast images of bodies whole and in pieces flashed through her mind, defying her will. She shook her head, gently at first, then harder. She tried to dislodge them.

She felt vibrations thundering through her feet. Was it more explosions? More devastation? Oh, please. She opened her eyes. The entire congregation stood; dancing and stomping—except her. Raucous music compelled them to express joy, anger, and vengeance combined.

Brothers and Sisters, Reverend Dobbs called from the front as the music died down, patting the air with both hands to get everyone seated. But we are not here to celebrate his vengeance. He shook his head. No, we are not.

The crowd stilled.

We are here, once again, to remember and mourn those of our brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors, cousins and—

Tens of thousands of people killed simultaneously. Dirty bombs. Thirteen cities still uninhabitable. Then the retaliation. They got us, so we got them. Chandra shook her head. Others around her shaking their heads too. It felt unspeakable.

She bowed her head with the rest. Lord, if you are there, welcome those we have lost in this most dire tragedy, and protect those left behind from further harm and vengeance. Omane.

Not the same prayer the rest of the congregation said, Chandra knew. But it felt right to her heart.

THE IMAGE OF THE CATHEDRAL snapped off at the end of the service. Brita wiped the tear from her eye. She hadn't known anyone who died in the attacks. She'd only been eleven at the time. But she felt for the loss of so many people—not just here, but everywhere—on both sides.

She unclipped her Halo and slipped it in her jeans pocket.

She took a deep breath, looked around the room, thankful for everything they had. They didn't have a perfect life. But what they had felt good.

Come on, Bobbi, she said grabbing the tray and setting it next to her sister. You need to eat.

Chapter Two

BRITA JOLTED UPRIGHT to the sound of ceramics smashing. She jumped from the bed. A sharp pain shot from her left foot up her leg causing her to crumple to the floor. A sharp piece of ceramic bowl dug into the palm of her right hand. She got back on the edge of the bed. A trickle of blood pooled in her palm.

Sucking breath through her teeth, she pinched the edge of the shard between her fingernails to pull it out when the bed trembled with Bobbi's hacking cough.

The fragment slipped from her grip. She turned, saw her sister. She looked around, realizing the room wasn't hers. But Bobbi's.

Brita frowned. Did I fall asleep watching Bobbi? Her brow furrowed deeper; her head cocked to the side, she struggled to remember the events of the previous night. She wasn't even sure if she remembered her mother coming home from the memorial service.

What are you doing in here? Bobbi asked wiping sleep from her eyes.

Brita shrugged. I guess I fell asleep. She turned back trying again to dig the piece of bowl from her palm.

What happened? Bobbi started another round of coughs, jarring the bed more.

Brita held up a hand, prompting Bobbi to hiss. Brita limped out of the room to the bathroom next door, and rinsed her hand in the sink. The blood-tinged water swirled down the drain. She pulled the chip out then pressed a wad of tissue into her palm.

Bobbi continued coughing from the bedroom.

Where is mom?

Brita sat on the edge of the bathtub, and let the water clean the blood from her injured foot. Clutching the tissue to her damaged hand, she removed a fragment from her foot, the sharp edge tickling the muscle of her arch. She washed the cut, grabbed a sanitary pad from under the sink, and pressed it to the cut.

She hobbled back down the hall to her room. She slipped a sock on to hold the pad in place. She sighed, shaking her head. Well, that's what they're made for. She grinned at her little joke. She finished changing then went looking for her mother.

Have you seen mom? Brita asked, limping back into Bobbi's room.

She shook her head, watching Brita limp. Are you okay?

I can't find her anywhere, she said ignoring the question. She should have come home last night.

Have you tried your Halo?

Brita stopped, amazed she could have forgotten. She dug in her pocket for the device, turning them out unable to find it. She looked back toward her room.

Try yours, she said. She checked her palm. The cut oozed blood when she pressed it.

Bobbi started to reach for her Halo when another set of coughs doubled her over.

Make them stop, she cried between gasping breaths.

Brita gave her some cough syrup then clipped Bobbi's Halo to her own ear.

Mom? she called. The device double-beeped in her ear. Call mom.

Bobbi slid down in her bed, stifling further coughs. Try 'Call Mommy.' She coughed into the comforter that wasn't very comforting at the moment.

Brita tried the command. Nothing. She handed the Halo back to Bobbi then retrieved her own from the clothes hamper in her room.

Locate Mom.

A map glowed in the air in front of her centered on Abundance-by-the-sea. Brita recognized Table Rock out in the waters of the Pacific Ocean. A violet dot pulsed at the edge of the beach near Coquille Point. A violet dot.

Bobbi gasped as a shudder cascaded down Brita's spine.

Call 911, Brita said jumping to her feet. A sharp pain flashed in her foot, she grabbed it falling back on the bed. The map vanished, replaced by a bust image of the 911 counselor.

911 Services, My name is Charmaine. How...

Forgive me, Charmaine, Brita snapped. My mother is near Coquille Point. She's showing violet.

Charmaine gasped as Brita fed her the coordinates. Not another one, she said covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

Another one? Brita asked.

Charmaine nodded curtly. We've been getting Haloed all morning. She looked upward shaking her head. Exigency Services are at capacity. She stopped, realizing what she said. Who she was talking to.

She sat upright, cleared her throat. I'm sure everything will be fine. She keyed information into her system. Someone will be with her soon, she said looking back up. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about this?

Brita yanked the Halo from her ear, disconnecting the call, and shoved it into her pocket.

What now? Bobbi asked sitting up in bed again.

Brita waved her quiet. She paced the room. I can't leave Bobbi here by herself. All the XS parishes are busy on similar calls. I can't just sit here not knowing.

She looked at Bobbi who returned a questioning look.

I can't take her when she's sick. It'll make her worse. And possibly get others sick too. Bad enough that she would have to go to the hospital.

The Hospital, Brita exclaimed. Of course.

No, Brita. Mom's on the beach.

Not mom, Bobbi. You.

Chapter Three

BRITA SUPPORTED BOBBI through the Exigency doors of the hospital twenty minutes later. The packed waiting room bustled with activity. Attendants dashed around checking vitals. Patients crowded the room: every seat occupied, every wall-space filled. They all mimicked Bobbi's hacking coughs with various intensities.

Bobbi coughed again. A young gentleman on one of the wall seats got up, nodding to Brita, and sat at the feet of an older woman. Probably his mother. She nodded thanks to him.

Brita limped to the service desk, returning with a face mask for Bobbi.

The boy on the floor gave her a questioning look, glancing at her limp.

It's nothing, she said, handing the mask to Bobbi. Bobbi put the mask on. Another set of racking coughs overtook her.

He raised an eyebrow.

Brita blushed. I stepped on a broken dish. But I took care of it.

He smirked, and turned his attention back to his mother.

I'm going to check you in, she told her sister. Bobbi nodded.

Brita limped to the desk as an attendant noticed her. A face mask wrapped around her black hair serving double-duty.

Are you okay, honey?

I'm fine, but my sister is—

The Attendant began coughing like the rest of the patients. I'm sorry, she said when the coughing subsided. Your sister?

What is going on? I thought it was just Bobbi: my sister. Is everyone sick?

Another one. She sighed with fingers poised above her workstation. Name?

Brita told her.

When did the symptoms first start?

Two days ago.

The Attendant looked up. What did you say?

Brita repeated her answer.

She called a doctor over. Doctor Bandon, this young woman says her sister started showing symptoms two days ago.

Patient Zero? Doctor Bandon murmured, shocked. Is this true, Miss?

Brita nodded; worried. My mom said it was just a bad cold.

What?

Everyone here—his arm swept including everyone in the room—came down with the same symptoms in the last six to twelve hours. The severity varies among those affected, but most find it debilitating. He looked her over. Why aren't you sick? he asked accusingly.

Brita shrugged, taking a limping step back.

Doctor Bandon grabbed her arm. What's wrong with your foot?

Nothing. I cut it this morning.

The doctor looked around, noticing a passing attendant. Get me a wheelchair.

The new attendant dashed off. Returning a moment later, he helped Brita to sit.

Let me look at your foot. Doctor Bandon crouched in front of her.

What about all these people? My foot can wait, Brita said.

Everything that can be done is being done. He crouched by the chair indicating she should give him her foot. This is something I can take care of now.

Brita thought of her mother on the beach - alone. She needed to get to her.

Doctor Bandon nodded at her foot. Brita relented, putting her left foot in his hand.

He removed her sock, and chuckled. That is incredible. Did you think of this?

Brita blushed, nodding.

Brilliant. His eyes smiled. Clean, he said. Efficient. He turned her foot one way, then another. Wait here.

Brita clenched the tissue in her hand while waiting. The tenderness returning with each movement.

Doctor Bandon knelt, setting a blue plastic caddy at his side, and then grabbed her foot again. He swabbed a sharp-smelling brown liquid around the wound before wrapping it in a padded bandage. I disinfected the area. This should work as well as the pad you used. He chuckled again, shaking his head. Genius.

He noticed Brita clenching the tissue. Your hand too?

Brita nodded as he released her grip to inspect that wound as well.

Bleeding has stopped. Minor cut. He swabbed it, but left it open. Just needs to breathe. Well, he said getting up, I've got to get back to work on this... He looked up at Bobbi who was coughing again. Wait with your sister. We'll get to her as soon as we can.

He strode off.

The attendant asked questions.

Brita finished her answers then went back to her sister.

What now? Bobbi asked sweeping her short brown hair over her left ear.

Brita shrugged. Now we wait.

What about Mommy?

Brita sighed. I don't know. I was going to leave you here with the hospital staff to take care of you. But, I'm worried.

Bobbi looked around at the other coughing people. They're way worse than I feel. Another deep cough shook her frame.

Brita looked skeptical.

Really. Bobbi patted her shoulder. I'll live. Go find Mommy.

Brita struggled. Sister. Mom. Sister. Mom.

Seriously. Go.

She looked at the staff. Bobbi was in capable hands, sort