The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 152: Simulacrum

Book 2: Chapter 152: Simulacrum

Dan stared suspiciously down at his phone, and the words scrolling across it. Abby stirred beside him, alerted by the sound of an incoming text. Dan glanced past her curtain of hair to his backyard window. It was late in the evening. Darkness had draped itself across the city like a blanket. He could see the stars, out beyond his fence line. He could hear distant cicadas singing their vexatious chorus.

"Whuzzit?" Abby mumbled drowsily, shifting on the couch to peer up at him. The two had drifted off together, some time after dinner. Checking the clock, Dan realized it was almost midnight. He glanced back down at his phone, and the alert he'd just received.

"I'm being called into Memphis," Dan replied, frowning. "They want me to assist with the evacuation.” His crisis response license had technically qualified him across the country. His specific classification allowed him to respond to a disaster faster than almost anyone else. It was possible that this was a legitimate request, but his sense of paranoia demanded skepticism.

Abby stared up at him, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She squinted, then flailed at the nearby table. She knocked over an empty cup, swore, then grabbed the television remote. The TV flicked on, still tuned to Memphis local news, and the two watched as the shrinking federal cordon was broadcast, live, to the country. Scrolling across the bottom of the screen in large, bold words was, ‘Champion spotted in Memphis? Watch the federal response!’

“It’s out,” Abby said. “They’ve gone public.”

Dan checked his phone again, checked the number, checked the wording. He googled the Memphis Crisis Response Office, pulled their contact information, then matched it with his own. It seemed legit. He supposed his skillset was fairly exceptional when it came to evacuations. He could cover an enormous amount of ground very quickly, and his sensory abilities would ensure no one was missed.

“It was inevitable,” Dan said. He passed his phone to her. “That look real to you?”

She accepted it, pursing her lips at the small screen. “I guess? You’re licensed for this, right?” He nodded, and she continued, “Then it’s probably real. I mean, Danny, our address is a matter of public record at this point. If someone is out to get you, they don’t need to lure you somewhere. They know where we sleep.”

That wasn’t as comforting as she’d probably meant it to be, but Dan tried to take the statement in the spirit that it was given.

“Okay. Then, if you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t worried,” Abby protested. “It’s still dangerous, but... they should have you doing evacuations. That’s a good thing, and you’ll be good at it. I think you should go; just be careful. When the fighting starts, run.”

“I’ve had more than enough excitement for a lifetime,” Dan reassured her. He leaned forward, kissed her on the forehead, then teleported upright. “I’ll be careful.”

Because she was right: it wasn’t safe, but neither was it unreasonably dangerous. It was, in fact, almost exactly the job that he signed up for. There would be a wall of heavily armed federal agents between himself, his fellow volunteers, and whatever enemies might lie in wait at the center of the cordon. The risk wasn’t even worth considering, not compared to some of the things he’d done already. He willed himself upstairs and found his duffel bag. He was on the clock, and there was work to be done.

It didn’t take Dan long to check his supplies and change clothes. He pulled a picture of his destination off a map app, and willed himself to the city. Base camp for the volunteers was a series of tents set up about a block away from the VRU command center. Seaweed green and gargantuan, they took up an entire intersection, spilling out into the cross-streets like overgrown weeds.

Long lines of civilians waited to be lead through, every human documented and processed so that a record was kept. The FBI was taking no chances that someone might slip through. DNA swabs were checked against a federal database; known criminals were pulled out of line and brought to a separate tent for holding purposes. Nobody resisted. Nobody protested. Not with this many guns and tense agents standing nearby.

They were outside the perimeter, here. Several dozen checkpoints were set up further into the city, and transport vans were constantly shuttling more civilians between the perimeter’s edge and central processing. It was a tremendously inefficient system, but between specialized upgrades and sheer numbers, there really weren’t many holes to exploit. Dan assumed they even had people covering the sewers, though he did not envy those poor souls.

Dan composed a quick text to Anastasia, as he made his way towards the check-in point. He kept the details light, merely alerting her to his presence in Memphis, and promising a pickup should Champion actually show himself. Dan was more and more certain that it wouldn’t be necessary to fulfill that promise. This was looking like a snipe hunt. He couldn’t imagine Champion—Echo, or anyone else wearing that costume—being dumb enough to stand around and wait for the inevitable.

He ignored Anastasia’s string of responses, and the four following phone calls, in order to endure a decidedly non-standard check in process. His mouth was swabbed, his identity checked and checked again, and his license examined with more scrutiny than he could ever recall. Finally, his authenticity confirmed, he was given a map and a grid, and ordered to evacuate half a city block.

It was immediately obvious to Dan why this was taking so long. The soldiers were assisting in the evacuation process, but only in a broader sense. Most manned the checkpoints, directed traffic, and drove the transport trucks; it was up to the crisis volunteers to do the actual door-knocking. The idea, as it was explained to Dan, was to leave the well-armed, well-trained federal agents available for rapid response, should such be necessary. Not that it would be, he had been assured, because they knew almost exactly where the danger was, and volunteers were being kept well away.

Dan was struck by the recklessness of it all. Either the briefing agent was a superb liar, or he was supremely confident in his information. It was explained to Dan like this was old news; like this was a play, and everyone, even their enemies, were following the script. Like nothing had been left to chance, when everything so obviously was. It was all balanced on tenterhooks; one assumption piled on another and another until everyone had forgotten the first, assumed all that followed was fact. It was a simulacrum of reality, and it made Dan’s skin crawl.

Still, Dan was a novice in all this, so his opinion counted for exactly diddly-squat. He attributed his discomfort to lingering paranoia, and went about doing what he was told. It wasn’t hard work. He went building by building, scanning with his veil, and knocking on doors. People were surprisingly cooperative, though plenty of dark looks were thrown his way.

Few were surprised by the evacuation request. It was well and truly public, at this point. Nobody questioned Dan’s authority when he asked them, politely, to leave. They just glanced at his orange visibility vest, and then at the armed men on each street corner, then hustled to obey. Most brought luggage, backpacks, provisions. It was a long process, even when they were prepared, and Dan fully expected things to go well into the morning.

Moods grew increasingly dark as things dragged on. Coffee was passed out, back at the processing tents. Some glorious individual brought an espresso machine, and Dan shotgunned about a gallon of the stuff. Another, brought some disposable cups, and drinks were handed out across the waiting lines. Tempers began to cool.

Then, it started to rain.

Fifteen minutes after that, Dan got a call: One of the evacuation teams had gone missing.