Killowhat

“But doesn’t each level require more energy making the situation potentially even worse?”

    “The energy’s insignificant.  The point is, this can be a relatively pain free way to avoid an increase in rates.”

Dr. Hillerman stood at the head of the featureless boardroomanswering questions.  The chamber’s spareness suited the director of the GAMP Institute .  Dr. Hillerman was all angles and bone,  He looked about fifty.  So did the CEO of Ephron Utility, Lance Monroe, who sat at the far end of the table.  Smiles crept into faces of the executives at the mention rates might not have to go up, and that made Lance grin.  Unlike reed thin Dr. Hillerman, Mr. Monroe could stand to loose a few pounds.  

    “Let’s hear how bad it sounds,” another board member said.

    “Certainly,” Dr. Hillerman replied.

He pulled a remote out of the pocket of his lab coat.  All the others wore tailored suits.

    “We’ve calibrated three different volumes and tones depending on how critical the power situation is.  Here’s what it sounds like on level one.”

Dr. Hillerman tapped a button on his remote,  and a small metal box sitting in the middle of the room’s lengthy table began emitting a soft, rather pleasing if repetitious bell tone.  The sound bemused the fourteen men sitting in leather chairs around a table of fine wood.

    “That’s not so bad,” one said.

    “Not at all,” said another.

    “Hell, I like it so much I just might run the dishwasher to hear it awhile,” Lance joked.

The room filled with chuckles.  Mr. Monroe noted who laughed and who didn’t.

    “It’s not meant to annoy.  It’s simply to remind people that reserve capacity is low in the system and that it would be best if they used nonessential appliances later in the evening.  This innocuous reminder should prompt enough people to cut back on power that it will never be necessary to move on to level two.”

Dr. Hillerman clicked the remote again, and the box now began to aggressively beep.

    “That’ll get on your nerves,” someone said.

    “It’s designed to,” Dr. Hillerman replied.

    “Cut to the chase, give us level three,” Mr. Monroe ordered.

    “All right, but remember we don’t anticipate ever having to reach this phase.  Plenty of people will realize things are serious when they hear the level two beeping.”  

Dr. Hillerman again tapped his remote.  The box now emitted a scraping whine like a turbine gone out of whack.  It  didn't seem possible something the size of a muffin could make such a racket.

    “Wow,” several said.

    “Still, I can see people putting up with it,” Lance commented loudly in order to be heard.

Everyone in the room had hunched their shoulders and were wincing.

    “Exactly, if you really have to do a load of laundry at the very time when power supply is at a critical stage, you will, but I’ll bet you use a shorter cycle,” Dr. Hillerman shouted.

He switched off the sound with his remote to audible gasps of relief.

Someone at the far end of the room asked, “Won’t this discriminate against people who live in high density housing, apartment buildings and such?  They might comply, but the guy next door or down below who’s dumb as a post and just as deaf could have three or four of these things going off on various appliances driving the whole building nuts.”

    “Actually, we expect the highest compliance in those type of units for exactly the reasons you’ve mentioned, all the neighbors complaining, but I admit this is a bit of a problem which is why we’ve requested that the program be tested first in the Oakwood Knolls development,” Dr. Hillerman said.

    “Hey, that’s where you live.  Isn’t it, Lance?”  Someone said.

Everyone chuckled this time.

    “Damn straight, and you can bet I’m going to have to promise a pretty penny in neighborhood beautification funds to get the homeowners association to go for this,” Mr. Monroe replied.

Oakwood Knolls was a leafy neighborhood of large homes on oversized lots.  Developed in the halcyon days of the late 50’s when nuclear energy spawned a fictional future of power too cheap to meter, the houses were all electric.   

The Monroe’s had a typical two-story colonial on one third of a lushly landscaped acre.  Lance and his wife, Hildy, sat snug in the living room watching wind from an approaching storm tussle plants in the garden.  Two months had passed since Dr. Hillerman’s end of summer presentation.

    “It’s gonna be a cold one.  I’m glad you didn’t let them put those GAMP things on heaters.”  Hildy said.

She had on a fleece lined bright blue blouse to keep warm while her husband wore an olive green Pendelton.  Her form fitting outfit showed off her trim figure while Lance’s loose garments rendered him amorphous.

    “I knew I’d never get the homeowner’s association to sign off on that.  This chill’s likely to activate alarms for the first time,”  Lance said.

    “I really do need to do laundry though.  Paul’s football uniform’s a mess, and he’ll need it for practice tomorrow, and I don’t want to stay up late to wash it.”

    “Go ahead.  If what Hillerman says is right, we shouldn’t hear anything worse than bells chiming.  That’ll cue enough people to shut off appliances that stage two won’t be reached.”

    “Do you think Hillerman’s right?”

The scrunching of Hildy’s face telegraphed concern.  Lance stiffened, but tried to sound nonchalant.

    “Well, the system’s been operating for two weeks without any alerts.  I think just knowing its there makes people more conscientious about power usage. We don’t want a repeat of the rolling blackouts we had during that heatwave back in July.”

    “But didn’t you say our neighborhood only accounts for a few percent of the utility’s power?”

    “Yeah, but it’ll all come out in the wash’” he said with a paugh that fell flat.

Lance chided himself yet again for his slim investigation of GAMP.  He didn’t even  

know what sort of doctor that Hillerman was.  Ringing in the laundry room canceled the  

thought.  A minute later, Lance turned up the volume on the news to drown out the beeps.   

The power grid was now at stage two.  Pitying Hildy who was still in the room with the  

noise maker, he strolled over to the small bar in the corner to make her a martini.  The  

newsman on TV was saying the snow level would drop to two thousand feet and that an  

inch of rain was expected at lower elevations.  An even stronger storm would roll in  

tomorrow evening.

While pouring himself a Scotch, Lance nearly dropped the bottle when the beeps morphed into deafening pulses.

    “Good God, I hope she uses the short cycle.”

He was only talking to himself, yet Lance unconsciously bellowed because of the awful noise.  His son, Paul, rushed through the living room heading for the front door.

    “Whoa, think I’ll go for a ride till that thing is over, he yelled in passing.

His track suit and hoodie signalled good as gone.

    “Just a minute, young man.  It’s your laundry your mother’s doing.  You go in there and offer to take her along.”  Mr. Monroe loudly admonished.

    “Sure thing, pop.”

Lance remained standing at the bar; Scotch forgotten.  Paul poked his head back into the living room.

    “Dad, I think you better take a look at mom.  She’s acting kind of weird.”

    “What do you mean weird?”

Both had to shout over the percussive grating.

    “Just weird.”

The boy’s words sounded very loud because the throbbing had ceased.

    “Hey dad, you’re bleeding.”

Lance looked at his hand in a daze as if it belonged to someone else.  It wasn’t until his son worriedly asked if he were okay that he realized the alarm had made him so tense he’d shattered his Scotch glass cutting his palm.  Blood was dripping onto the carpet.

    “Young man you’ll just have to wash your clothes yourself later tonight.  I’ll not put up with that racket.”  Hildy said.

    She breezed in and out of the room with the pronouncement.  Lance stared after her in shock.  His wife had looked right at his bleeding hand and hadn’t said a thing about it.

    The following morning, a Saturday, Lance headed out to the GAMP Institute after dropping his dozing son off at football practice.  Bewildered as he was, Mr. Monroe apprecjated the silence.  He’d phoned ahead for an appointment with Dr. Hillerman worried sick about what was going on with the devices.  Devices that he’d authorized.  All night, he’d been fielding angry calls from neighbors about bizarre behavior prompted by the noise blaring from appliances.

Lance let people know they were being taped because there woupd be an official investigation.  Herb Strathmore gave a tense description ofhis daughter emptying the refrigerator onto the floor while the dishwasher alarm thumped.  Frank Stellean’s wife had run out in the storm in nothing but a nightie after standing next to the throbbing from a clothes dryer for less than a minute.  Hildy had been so listless , she’d gone back to bed after breakfast. Hus son had practically sleepwalked through his morning routine.  Clearly the transmitters would have to be disengaged.  The whole neighborhood was ready to tar and feather him.   

Dark clouds obscured the horizon north, and distant thunder made the drive feel ominous.  The feeling grew once Lance turned onto the lonely road leading into the foothills.  The GAMP Institute occupied a terrace overlooking the town.

Pulling onto the small campus, three single story bland buildings of glass and concrete grouped around a greensward, Lance feared he’d misjudged Hillerman.  A couple of utility company CEO’s had recommended him, but both ran places out of state, and they were merely passing acquaintances.

A thirty-foot tall antenna stood at the center of the grassy commons.  GAMP was stenciled in gold letters down the side of the structure that resembled an oil derrick.  A year ago, Dr. Hillerman had told County Supervisors GAMP stood for Great AMP.  The supervisors were so relieved the parcel would house a research center that they ran through the permitting process posthaste.   Originally, the site had been headquarters for a dot com, but it had failed, and the place had stood vacant for over a decade.   

Lance had been out here multiple times starting in spring when he first toured the facility and met Dr. Hillerman.  This led him to expect that he could  just walk through the front door and turn left down the hall.  Hillerman’s office was second door on the right, but now there was a long counter in the foyer behind which a uniformed security officer was monitoring half a dozen small video screens embedded in the desktop.  They showed ever shifting shots  around the complex.  Lance spotted himself on one of the screens as he approached.

    “I have an appointment with Doctor Hillerman.  Lance Monroe with Ephron Utilities.”

    “Yes sir, you’re expected.  It’s down that hall, two doors…”

    “I know where it is.”

     ‘Yes sir, if you’ll please just put on this visitor pass.”

Down the corridor, a large guard blocked the way.  He was armed.  Lance backtracked to the counter, picked up and put on the pass, and started down the hall.  The guy with the gun had vanished.  

Why were thesse cautions needed?  The GAMP Institute issn’t the sort of place likely to attract trouble.  Unless they figured something bad might happen, Lance thought.

Dr. Hillerman called out to him through the open door of his office.

    “Mister Monroe, come in, have a seat.  I understand there’s been a bit of a problem with the alarms we installed.”

    “I’ll say.  They’re driving people nuts, literally.”

Lance stared at the large painting, half the size of a door, hanging behind the doctor.  This was new.  It showed something like a prating mantis drawn in bright gold lines.  Bold letters in the same color reading The Great Amp ran along the bottom.

    “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  Personally I find the noise less offensive than much of what passes for music these days,” Hillerman said.

    “Lucky for you Oakwood Knoll residents don’t have your home phone number.  I’ve been deluged with complaints which I’ve recorded.  You’ll get a copy.”

    “People love to complain and exaggerate.  Those alarms are the only thing that saved the region from rolling blackouts when last night’s storm knocked down power lines at South Pass.  That was a far more genuine threat to the community than anecdotal tales of woe.”

    “My wife’s still not right, and my son may now  be sleeping behind some bleachers, and if something’ wrong with  either of them, I assure you you’ll be facing charges.  As it is, I intend to ask the board members on Monday to authorize a full investigation.”

Dr. Hillerman raised his hands as if to surrender.   

    “I don’t mean to make light ajy of this, whatever this may be, and I hope it’s nothing, but I am of the belief there is another cause.  As for an investigation, GAMP welcomes it.  Listen, you know we’re hoping to market those devices nationwide.  If there’s any problem with them, we want to know.”

    “There’s a problem.  Now you know.  I refuse to take any chances of more bad things happening.  I want the system neutralized now.”

    “Fine.”

    “What’s that going to take?”

    “Nothing.  The system’s triggered by radio waves.  We just won’t transmit the activation signals.”

The storm hit South Pass shortly before sunset knocking down power lines that work crews had labored half the day to restore.  An hour after sunset, the storm was at North Pass where more lines were downed plunging the whole utility district into a stage three alert.

    “Damn it,” Lance said leaping out of his living room chair.

The whole house was throbbing with awful whirs.  Mr. Monroe’s first thought was that Hillerman had screwed him by failing to disengage the system.  Then it hit him.  Hildy was lying in bed upstairs with a headache.  Paul was also upstairs, on the computer no doubt.  No one was downstairs to run the washer, dryer or dishwasher, yet the devices on all three had gone off.

Lance heard things breaking overhead and started for the stairs.  He didn’t get far. Paul was standing on the landing above slashing the air with the blade of his Swiss Army knife.  His eyes looked dead.

    “What are you doing, Paul?”

    “Must reduce power consumption.  Turn off all unnecessary lights.”

The boy’s voice was deader than his eyes, and he was saying the phrase over and over.

    “This isn’t funny, Paul.  I need to get to your mother.  Now put that away.”

Over his son’s shoulder, Mr. Monroe could see his wife dressed in her bathrobe coming down the hall.  She was holding a pair of scissors in her hand mechanically cutting the air with them while trudging along.  Nearing, she could be heard repeating the same thing.

    “Must reduce power consumption.  Turn off all unnecessary lights.”

His wife and son stood abreast before him brandishing their weapons repeating their mantra in unison.

    “Must reduce power consumption.  Turn off all unnecessary lights.”

They slowly started down the stairs in lockstep.  Lance backed away before them.  Halfway down, he turned and ran down to the foyer.  Darkness gathered behind him as his wife and son switched out lights.  Paul slapped over the glass shaded lamp on an end table, and it shattered.

Mr. Monroe ran out the front door leaving it open.

    “Look at all the lights there are to turn off out here,” he shouted.

Wind was blowing leaves across the lawn, and the air smelled of imminent rain.  Lance hid to one side of the threshold.  The moment his wife and son stepped outside, he slammed the door shut.  Throbbing sounded from all the houses on the block.   

    “No lights near.  Still more inside,” his wife said dully.

She turned and began stabbing the front door with her scissors.  Paul did the same with his knife.

    “I know where there’s lots of lights to turn out.  Just get in the car, and I’ll take you right there,” Lance said.

His wife and son stopped attacking the door and headed towards the driveway.  Rain began falling adding to the chill, but Hildy and Paul seemed not to notice despite one wearing only a bathrobe and the other jeans and t-shirt. While trying to herd them along, Mr. Monroe spotted Frank Sipowitz coming out of a darkened house across the street.

   “Frank, are you okay?  Is your family all right,” he called out.

Frank let his gun do his talking.  First he shot out the streetlight in front of his house, then he aimed the rifle at one down the block.

    “For God’s sake, get in the car,” Lance said shoving his wife then his son into the back seat of their SUV.

Hildy made a clumsy lunge at the dome light before he cut the switch.  Mr. Sipowitz had apparently run out of bullets, but as he got behind the wheel, Lance could see in the rearview the man was still trying to fire his weapon while crossing the street headed for their still half lit house.  Gunfire was erupting all over the neighborhood.  It was hard to determine from exactly where over the monstrous alarms.  As Mr. Sipowitz came within the sphere of illumination from their porch lights, Lance noticed he was loading bullets into his rifle.

After starting the car and backing down the driveway, Lance saw Sipowitz swing  

round and take aim at the car as soon as the headlights came on.  Lamce shut them off in  

time, but Sipowitz shot at the taillights when Mr. Mpnroe jammed on the brakes out in the  

street to stop then speed forward. The bullet hit the car puncturing the metal somewhere  

in back.

   “Are you hit,” he shouted flooring the SUV.Lance had his head turned around searching the faces of his wife and son in the gloom.  Night had fallen.  Rain had started.  Most of the street lamps were gone.  He was moving forward with his lights off still looking back when he plowed into a pedestrian.   

    “Christ,” he shouted slamming on the brakes.

Lance put the car in park and jumped out to see who he’d hit.  Old man Jellicoe from up the block was lying flat on his back staring up at the rain falling down on his face.

    “Are you all right, Jellyroll?”  Lance asked genuflecting next to his neighbor.

The codger’s nickname had never sounded more ridiculous.

    “Must reduce power consumption.  Turn off all unnecessary lights,” the old man mechanically intoned.

A flash of lightening momentarily illuminated his expressionless face.  The clap of thunder barely registered over the droning alarms.

    “Right, let me help you up.  We’re all going to the hospital now.  They have a lot of lights on that we need to shut off,” Lance said gently helping the frail man up.

Putting Jellyroll in the front seat, Lance  drove slowly hunched over the wheel.  He made his way down his street mainly from memory.  The darkness was near total, and the wipers could barely keep up with the downpour.  He hoped they wouldn’t short out. Sipowitz’s shot had damaged the vehicle’s electrical system.  The lights on guages and the speedometer kept blinking on and off.

Dark shapes loped across lawns occasionally lit like snapshots by lightning.  Muzzle flashes marked spots where guns were fired.   House after house was going dark, yet alarms droned on within them like a legion of cicadas amplified to a soul searing cacophony.

A car was speeding towards him with its lights on.  It swerved crazily through a hail of bullets before slamming into a power pole.  The impact caused the transformer mounted uptop to short out in a shower of sparks.  The block now went completely dark, and the alarms fell silent.  Mr. Monroe jammed on the brakes stopping in the middle of the street.

    “The alarms are off.  Is everybody normal now,” he asked.

    “Must reduce power consumption.  Turn off all unnecessary lights,” his wife, son and Jellyroll said in unison.

As the alarms ceased, the sound of gunfire became very clear.  In the rearview about fifty yards back, Mr. Monroe saw the car that had crashed into the pole.  Its headlights were still on, and people were firing shots at them.  Some were close enough to be illuminated by the beams.  They appeared quite calm though bedraggled by rain.

Continuing  down the block, Lance drove below the steel archway emblazoned with “Oakwood Knolls.”   When he glanced back again, the car being shot at exploded.  The sound of gunfire receded, and as they neared thehighway. Lance turned the headlights on.  Just before the onramp, he pulled the car over.

    “Okay, I’m going to blindfold everyone now,” he said.

The job went easier than expected.  Lance found his passengers would follow simple instructions.  Jellyroll had been wearing a tie.  Mr. Monroe ordered him to take it off.  Then he had the old man turn his head and used the tie to fashion a blindfold securely over his eyes.  All the while his wife and son waited quietly in back.  Then it was their turn, and they fashioned their own blindfolds, his wife using the scissors and his son the Swiss Army knife to rent a towel left on the backseat.

While they worked, Lance wondered why he hadn’t become zombified.  No conclusion came before entering the highway, but the profusion of lights from the traffic was a comforting sign.  Relief was short-lived.  After turning on the radio, Lance listened to a report of gunfire around Citrus Mall.  The Highway Patrol had closed Brocade Boulevard in response.  That  was the offramp for the hospital.  They’d have to go the back way through the hills.   

The road felt even more lonely and dark after  the radio shorted out.  Trees swaying in the gusts looked like lumbering giants, and the pavement was puddled  with water.  Struggling to see the way, Lance realized they were  approaching the turnoff for the GAMP Institute.

    “What’s say we see what’s going on,” he muttered.

As he turned onto thedriveway, a spotlight set on the grassy commons shot a brilliant beam of light up at the rain spattered sky.  Lance longed for the military’s biggest tank so he could knock over that damned tower and start blasting the whole complex to ruble starting with that spotlight swinging a blinding beam skyward.  After jumping the curb, the car stopped next to the front door of the main building.

    “Okay, everybody remain quietly in the car.  Do not touch your blindfolds,” Mr. Monroe said.   “I’ll just be a minute.

He hoped the admonition would be enough and gave his passengers a final look.  They appeared deathly still so he exited into the storm and dashed inside the institute.  The security desk was manned by the same guy who was there this morning.   That seemed so long ago.  Lance realized he made quite a sight running in out of the rain.

    “Where’s Hillerman?”  He yelled.

    “Do you have an appointment?”

    “Does this look like a scheduled meeting?  Is he in his office?”  Lance asked already

heading down the hall.

   “Sir, I’m afraid you’re not authorized to enter the premises,” the desk clerk tonelessly  

pronounced.

The same beefy armed guard was coming down the corridor towards him.

    “Let Mister Monroe pass.” Dr. Hillerman called from his office.

    “Do you know what’s going on out there,” Lance said brushing  past the guard rushing in coming face to face not with the doctor, but with the glarlrig gold stick figure on the poster.

Had it gotten bigger?  The director seemed small sitting beside it.

    “I’d say everything’s going according to plan.  Have a seat, Lance.  May I call you Lance?”

    “No you may not call me Lance, and I won’t have a seat.  I’m on the way to the hospital taking in my wife, son and a neighbor, all of whom seem to be brain damaged because of your damn alarms.”

    “We like to think they’ve become receptive.”

    “To what?”

    “GAMP.”

    “Damn you.  I’m ordering you to stop transmitting those signals now.”

    “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

    “Why the hell not?”

    “I answer to a higher power.”

    “Who?”

    “GAMP.”

    “You’re nuts.  I’m taking my wife and son and neighbor to the hospital, and as soon as I get there, I’ll  alert the authorities to come stop you.  If I hadn’t been dumb enough  to forget my phone, the police would already be on their way here.”

Lance was screaming, but Dr. Hillerman’s voice was soothing in response.

    “Your whole neighborhood’s on the way here.  The spotlight will draw them.”

    “What are you going to do to them?”

     “They need to see GAMP.  It will be inspiring.  For you as well.  You’ve been immunized because we want you to work with us.  Hook us into utilities all across the country.  All across the world. You’ll be surprised at what you can do.”

    “You’re going to be surprised at the amount of jail time you’re going to do for this.”

    “And I’ll accept that.  With GAMP there are no surprises.  Only wonderment.  Come, I’ll show you.”

Dr.  Hillerman rose from his seat and accompanied Mr. Monroe down the hall.

Outside, there was a lull in the rain.  Lance was glad of that because his wife, son, and Jellyroll were standing near the spotlight.  They swayed side to side.  Not from the wind, but in sync with the beam of light shooting heavenward.

Lights of the city glittered beyond, but there was a swath of darkness that Lance recognized as the locale of Oakwood Knolls.  Through the trees on the slope, he could see dark figures rushing towards the institute.  He watched them swarm ontp the grounds and make for the light.

    “Go join your family, Lance.  The show’s about  to begin,” Dr. Hillerman said.

    “We won’t be staying.  I swear to God, Hillerman…”

Lance had grabbed the doctor’s arm then jumped back from an electric shock.

    “I  swear to GAMP,” Dr. Hillerman said with a chuckle.

He continued, “Your more receptive than you realize.  You received a treatment during one of your visits.  Remember that lovely afternoon last summer when we enjoyed veal cutlets in the luncheon  room.  You started sweating and laughed it off as a hot flash.  Your enhancement went virtually unnoticed, and our techniques keep improving.”  

    “What’s going to happen to my wife and son?”

Lance sounnded subdued now.

    “Well the conservation commitment must remain since manifesting GAMP consumes a lot of electricity, but they’ll normalize in several months.  We want you to help us shorten the process,” Dr. Hilleman said.

    “Like  hell,” Lance  replied and began striding purposely towars the gathering crowd.

He had to elbow his way through the throng milling around the spotlight.  All  heads tilted upward to follow the light. Their bodies rocked tracking the illumination.  When Lance reached his wife and son, he put an arm around the shoulders of both and tried to turn them around, but they wouldn’t budge.  Everybody about faced though when the spotlight shut off.  Dr. Hillerman’s voice came booming over a loudspeaker.

The doctor was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower like antenae back-lit by lights from the administrative building.

    “Behold The Great Amp.  Praise be to GAMP,” he proclaimed.

Sparks erupted out of the top of the tower.  They lengthened into lightening flashes that solidified into gleaming lines of gold tangling overhead. The streaming beams threaded and and unthread growing larger and brighter.  When the sky was covered by this heaving jumble, the lines rearragned themselves into the outline of a dragon cloaking the heavens.  The display shut off in seconds, and the sky returned to gloom.  The whole city had shorted out.

    “Damn, but I’d like to see that again,” Lance said lustfully.

He took his wife and son by the hand, and they began running with the rest towards  the distant lights of cities beyond,