The Deadheads were worse than ever now. Several years had passed since Catherine had lost Gary to the devices. Now screen and goggles zombies were everywhere. She’d returned to the city, hoping to see if she’d see him.
Although the last time she’d seen him, it was fleeting, he appeared gaunt and dirty. His clothes that he once filled hung loose, pants pulled tight with a string visibly hooked over his protruding hip bones. Who knew if he dressed himself, or if he’d simply stood there zoned out as a missionary dressed him?
There were more of them now, in the past the Deadheads outnumbered the Addicts, it appeared the council's decision to extend the power mesh to cover the park had triggered a shift in the demographic. Perversely Catherine thought this was probably deliberate, the deadheads were easier to manage, and less trouble than the drug addicts.
Cleaner some would say, for when they collapsed, they simply collapsed, whereas the addicts would have needles, spew, and even shit themselves.
Second, the council were perversely doing a service for people, by having the power mesh here at Central Station families could come and collect their screen zombies and take them home. No need to drive in, simply catch the train.
Catherine sat on the park bench at the Eddy Avenue end of Belmore Park, facing away from the road into the park central. A girl sat next to her, her goggles on, hands moving in front of her as if she was playing a piano.
She simply watched, she knew what she was here to do. She waited.
A siren sounded off to her left, from the Firestation facing onto Pitt St. running down the western side of Balmoral, it got louder as the fire-truck passed behind her before turning north onto Elizabeth St towards Redfern.
A woman, a mother from what she could tell walked past, barely glancing at Catherine. Naturally, there was a fleeting acknowledgement as they were the only two not wearing goggles, or staring at the screen oblivious to everything around them.
She looked at the slip of paper in her hand, ‘7285’.
Odd. Could all be undone just by entering those four numbers into a black box.
They said it was an EMP, Catherine had gone home and googled it. She was smart enough to do this using an anonymous browser. Electro Magnetic Pulse. They said it would be enough to destroy the power mesh and the wifi within several blocks.
I wonder what will happen, she thought. She remembers when Gary’s Oculus was tethered, and the wifi would fail. He’d go manic, screaming, yelling, demanding that it get turned back on, even when he was the only person to turn it on. He’d never throw his goggles. No, not his goggles but he’d throw other things, vases, books, cups, anything within reach, anything that could hurt or damage the space.
What would happen here, not a lot to throw around, maybe they’d drop to the ground screaming, maybe they’d fight, perhaps they’d rip the plants out from the ground, who knew?
Screaming, yelling can from the centre of the park ‘Fuck Mum!! What are you doing here? I was, I was about to wind, about to kill the BBEG, Fuck Mum!! WHAT!!’
She’d found them, the woman looking for her loved one, she’d found them.
She waited, and the screaming stopped, replaced by sobbing, not one person but two. Catherine watched as the sound got louder, the woman walking with her arm around the shoulders of a young woman, skinny, wearing a singlet, her skin grimy from days without a bath.
The girl walked, hunched over, hands forward holding a snapped headset in her hands. Sobbing over the broken goggles.
What was it that was so addictive? Catherine did not know, she’d never been game to look. She caught Michael looking once, he’d snuck some goggles into his room, they’re cheap and easy to get hold of. Thankfully those didn’t work, thank god.
Doug didn’t know she’d gotten in touch with the Luddites. That’s where she’d gotten the EMP.
They said noon sharp. Her watch vibrated, and she glanced down. Two minutes.
She lifted the sports back from the ground beside her feet and placed it between herself and the piano player. She didn’t even notice, but they never did.
It was leather, with a high-quality zip, and it slid open easily.
Pulling the bag open the keypad was revealed, touching it, simply moving her fingers near, the numbers lit up. She’d done that a dozen times before leaving the house worried the batteries would go flat.
Glancing at her watch, only a minute now.
Electro Magnetic Pulse, She’d read a little more than its meaning, not enough though.
“EMP can be caused by a natural effect, such as a solar flare, lightning strike, or man-made effects, such as a nuclear explosion.” She didn’t read anymore.
They said, just enter the number ‘7285’. She didn’t need to look at the paper, that was a habit, she knew the number. They didn’t say anything about an explosion. Her watch vibrated, and she looked at it.
7285
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NOTE - This is an extension/re-write based upon a story-a-day entry in 2017 - Day 17 - Deadheads
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