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  “I need to lose myself in a crowd,” he thought frantically. “And I need to trade this car in for an older model without a computer or a GPS tracker.” Once he was safely in the city, he located a used car dealership and found just the type of car he wanted. He would do a straight up trade; no cash. A smiling salesman approached him and offered him a seat inside at his desk. There was a computer on it. Dennis told him, “No thanks. We can do business out here in the lot.”

  Just his luck, though. He got an honest, decent car salesman who suspected something was wrong.

  “Sir, am I hearing you right? You want to trade your 2014 Jeep Cherokee for this old clunker?”

  “Yes, that’s what I want.”

  “But your Cherokee is worth more than twice as much as this vehicle. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “That’s none of your business. I have my reasons.” Where were the shady salesmen when you needed them?

  The stupid man was so uneasy he wanted to call Liz to be sure the trade was okay. Dennis fled the car lot, abandoning his Jeep and his duffle bag.

  He somehow found his way on foot into the middle of the city. It was almost rush hour and people were hurrying and scurrying everywhere. He looked around at all the faces of the pedestrians in the crowd. So many of them had cell phones plastered to their ears. So many had iPods and smart phones. They seemed to be oblivious to their surroundings and all of them were walking with monsters! All of them had slimy, black, writhing tentacles that twined around their necks and wrists and snaked into their ears. Why? Why did they allow this abomination? Could they not see what was happening to them?

  He spotted an attractive young teenage girl walking with a friend. She was engrossed; ignoring her friend and texting someone on her smart phone, the loathsome black tentacles twining in her hair, around her ears. Fear shook him. Fear for this innocent young girl. He couldn’t stand it. He had to warn her. He couldn’t save his Liz. It was too late for her, but maybe it wasn’t too late for this girl who still had a lifetime in front of her. He rushed toward her, his eyes wild, shouting at her, “Wake up!”

  He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her till she saw what was happening around her. See that computers were invading her soul, cutting her off from real people. Making her, for all intents and purposes, into a zombie. Instead, he seized her phone and dashed it to the ground.

  She jumped back. “Hey! What’s the matter with you, you creep?!? You broke my phone!” Dennis saw the beginning of the red and purple rage in her face.

  “Don’t you know what’s happening to you? Can’t you see the evil? I’m trying to help you. Trying to save you,” he stammered. Her friend started to advance toward him and the girl was screaming for the police at the top of her lungs.

  Dennis’ eyes went wide in panic and he started to babble a bit. “Don’t cause a scene. Don’t alert the authorities. They’ll haul me in to a police station or worse, take me to a hospital. I’ll be at the mercy of computers and machines.” He spun around and ran as fast as he could. When he thought he had lost them, he ducked into an empty alley and hid, cowering and shaking, behind a dumpster to catch his breath and try to think of what to do next.

  He tried desperately to remember the “Y2K” scare back in 1999. Details. He needed to remember details about what was supposed to happen in the coming great computer crash and chaos that never came to pass. There was such a hue and cry back then that ended in a whimper. He and Liz really hadn’t paid much attention at the time. They thought it really wouldn’t affect them since they didn’t own a computer. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the alarmist news stories about all the possible consequences. He couldn’t go to the library and look it up since all the information was digitized and accessed by computer.

  The digital age, he thought with a mix of fear and revulsion. “Everything is digitized. Newspapers, documents, books, music, movies… How soon before people are digitized; turned into zeroes and ones in a computer? Can they digitize a mind, a soul? How soon before people can be printed out--manufactured--with the new 3D printing technology?” That thought almost threw him into another state of utter panic, but he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself and concentrate on the issue at hand.

  He needed to remember: when the clock ticked over to the year 2000, what devices would have been affected? Obviously, home and business computers, but what about transportation? Trains and planes, traffic signals and… what else? He already knew about appliances like televisions, microwaves and coffeemakers. But banks and hospitals and medical equipment would have been affected as well. Telephones, too. Not just cell phones, but even land lines. Almost everything has a computer chip in it. He remembered reading somewhere that tiny computer chips were even being implanted in newborn babies at the hospitals. And why didn’t people worry more about artificial intelligence? Maybe they’ve been fooled into thinking we’re light years away from that. “Hah! It’s here. I’ve seen it.”

  Dennis was becoming agitated, again. He was desperate. I have to get away. But how to get away from computers? Where can I go? I need to run, to hide. Away from machines and computers.

  I can sleep in church pews maybe. For a while. If the churches don’t have security cameras. Can’t do that for very long, though. Not safe. Maybe up in the mountains; in the wilderness, like the old-time pioneers. Why didn’t I ever take survival training? Why don’t they teach these things in school? Math and science; those are for machines, computers. Survival training is the only useful subject. The only important one.

  His thoughts were becoming a bit chaotic. In fact, he began to realize they were almost like computer bits and bytes. Terror rose anew in his mind and blocked out all rational thought.

  Have to keep going. Find a safe place; a place where there are no computers. No computer chips.

  Keep going.

  Credit cards. Cell phones. Cars. Traffic cameras. Security cameras. Have manufacturers started putting smart sensory webbing in clothing yet? Don’t know. Don’t want to be tracked. Better not buy any new clothes. Need to stay out of stores. Security cameras, the eyes of the machine, will be watching. Maybe I can ransack a clothing donation box without getting caught.

  I can find food in restaurant and grocery store dumpsters. I can slink in the shadows. I can avoid the eyes and ears of the infernal computers. I have to stay hidden, avoid people, cell phones. I can find glorious freedom from computers in the safety of the wilderness. No computers there. I can be safe there.

  Keep going.

  ***

  Some weeks later, Liz answered the door to find herself face to face with a uniformed police officer.

  The young policeman seemed nervous. She could tell he was attracted to her; thought she was very pretty. She studied him noncommittally while he spoke. He was talking about Dennis.

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am. He was found in the woods by some hikers. It seems your husband died of exhaustion and exposure.”

  She stared blankly at the handsome young police officer on the doorstep. She seemed not to comprehend his words. He felt pity for her. So pretty; so young to be a widow. Then, from the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a bit of movement inside. It almost looked like a big black snake writhing around the computer desk in the corner, but when he turned to look at it directly it was gone. It was probably just a shadow from the blowing curtains, he thought and dismissed it.

  “One more thing, ma’am,” He added. “We found this piece of paper in his hand. Do you know what it means?”

  He handed her the small scrap of paper and she read the last words Dennis had written.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” she murmured.

  As she turned away, she let drop the warning note and the corner of her lip curled up just a little.

  The paper fluttered to the ground and landed face up. The officer bent down to pick it up and again read the baffling words:

>   “I know for a fact that the devil does NOT have horns and a pitchfork. The devil has a USB port.

  “Beware!

  “Diabolus ex Machina.”

  13

  Necrophobia

  fEAR OF DEAD THINGS

  Laura Harner

  Chapter One

  I dreamed the dream again last night, so the episode on my way to work shouldn’t have been any surprise. And yet, as always, the reality of the situation and the speed with which it overtook me caught me unaware.

  “I can’t breathe--” My words faltered, along with the oxygen that had stopped feeding my lungs, somewhere between Schofield Hill Road and Chambers Street--predictably, one block shy of the Juniper Springs Cemetery. Jerking the wheel to the right, I pulled from the road--not that there was any traffic at this ungodly hour, but I’d always found it best to pull over before passing out.

  My heart thundered, sending my pulse skittering, the blood pumping so fast I couldn’t hear anything except the roaring in my ears. I slammed my palm against the gearshift and pushed it into park as my vision started to fog around the edges and the claws tightened around my neck.

  “God, no…” My plea came out as a strangled whisper. A nameless, shapeless creature crept toward me, darkening the periphery of my vision even further, blocking out the meager pre-dawn light.

  “No…” I rasped again. Gathering every bit of my remaining strength, I struck out, uselessly slapping away the nebulous blackness. As my arm dropped heavily onto the center console, my numb and shaking fingers landed on a familiar object. Fighting against the inevitable unconsciousness, I pushed the button, praying Siri would understand.

  “Call Monica…” The words wheezed out on my last panicked breath.

  The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was a rich contralto voice assuring me she was “Calling Monica.”

  * * *

  I blinked slowly back to consciousness as my best friend and boss leaned into my ten-year-old Land Rover, her long, graceful fingers slapping gently against my cheeks. Judging by the change in light, I’d been out a lot longer than usual.

  “Hannah? Come back, girl. Come on, Hannah, you’re okay. It was just a little panic attack.” Her reassuring words were undermined by the slight waver to her voice. I knew I’d scared her. That made two of us.

  “M’kay,” I said at last. My mouth felt like I’d been sucking on paste. “Wh-what time is it?”

  “Seven. Good thing you had the location share activated on your phone. Why are you out so early?” Monica asked. She looked at my outfit then back at the road and the direction I’d been heading. I could practically see the pieces fall into place.

  Monica owned a jewelry boutique in the cutesy tourist section of Sedona and I was scheduled to work today. In addition to helping her at the counter, I was one of the many artists whose work she featured. Whenever I was in the store, I needed to appear “put together” so our clients could see how a unique piece of jewelry could complete an outfit.

  This morning had started out well enough. Determined to put a confident face forward, I’d selected my favorite work outfit: a black and white bandana handkerchief skirt, a white tank, and a nubby gray and white open knit cardigan. When I’d left the house my outfit was perfect--from my chin-length bob to my extravagant-but-worth-it Jimmy Choos. My coordinating jewelry and subtle makeup were perfect accents. Now black and white beads were scattered around the front seat from when I’d clawed at my neck, and no doubt I had a serious case of raccoon eyes going on.

  “You left at the ass crack of dawn in case you couldn’t drive past the cemetery again, didn’t you?”

  Heat crawled up my cheeks at the disappointment layering her words. Since my answer was evident on my face, I said nothing. She would never understand anyway.

  Apparently not expecting an answer, Monica shook her head. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “I-I think so.” Then a sudden fear swept through me and I began to tremble. “Wait. Where? Where do you want me to drive?”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “To my house. I haven’t had breakfast yet and the store doesn’t open for two more hours.”

  “Oh… uhm… I was going to eat breakfast at the Canyon View. We could meet there in an hour?” I said, eyeing Monica’s sweat pants and Red Dirt T-shirt.

  “An hour.” Monica’s voice was as dry as the Sonoran desert. “So you can drive out to the interstate and come into town from the south end?”

  “I think maybe today--that’s for the best,” I said, my voice low and ashamed. “It’s either that or I’m going to go home and try again tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” Monica said on a sigh. “An hour. Make sure they put a pot of coffee on the table. I’m going to need it.”

  As Monica stalked back to her Tahoe, I started to pick up the small glass beads, dropping them into the cup holder on the console. I would have to restring my necklace once I got to the store. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed my makeup was equally in need of repair. I took a few minutes to wipe away the black and wasted another minute wishing the rest of the shadows would disappear as easily.

  Finally, having delayed as long as possible, I put the Rover in gear and executed a three-point turn to come perpendicular to the road. I looked both ways. Repeatedly. A left turn would mean a fifteen minute drive east to the interstate, another twenty minutes south and back west, then ten minutes north through town to the Canyon View Cafe. Forty-five minutes to the next cup of coffee. Or I could turn right and be there in five.

  With my foot on the brake, I took a deep shuddering breath then dragged my palms over my skirt before taking a white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

  I closed my eyes briefly and prayed for strength to any passing gods or goddesses, as if that might help. When no flashes of lightning appeared signaling the arrival of divine intervention, I sighed and turned left.

  Because this is how I go on. Gripping the wheel and driving forward--even if it appears to others as if I’m headed in the wrong direction.

  It was how I imagined all mad people act when confronted with the truth of their lunacy. When the clouds mix with the morning sunlight to create shadows in the images of dead people—one says nothing. Because really—what would there be to say?

  Just continue to drive, pretending only to see that which was visible through the front windshield--counting the next breath, the birds, or trees… anything to keep from noticing the very thing I sought to leave behind. The raised arm, the grasping hand, the breath cold and damp on the back of the neck.

  This is how I go on.

  Chapter Two

  Canyon View Cafe was the local’s choice in a part of town full of tourist traps. Tucked two blocks behind the Old West facade and wooden sidewalks of the shopping district, the small restaurant avoided most of the foot traffic, even at the busiest of the season. Which made it a logical choice for those who worked the galleries and boutiques. Talk often centered around the latest rude customer or the drag of always working the tourist trade. Not that Sedona was ungrateful for the income infused into the local economy. It was just that the tens of thousands of annual visitors to the majestic red rocks region made it hard for the citizens to enjoy the serenity for which their town was famous.

  Gulping in one last deep breath of the crisp fall air, I looked around, smiling as usual when I caught sight of Cathedral Rock. I’d only been in Sedona for a year, but the place felt like the home I’d always wanted. Feeling more settled after my drive, I pushed open the door to the diner and stepped inside.

  “Hey, Hannah,” said the cheery redhead behind the register. “Sit at the counter?” She nodded in the direction of my usual stool when I came in alone.

  “Can’t today, Dot. I’m meeting Monica in a few minutes.”

  Dot gave me a grin. “Hope the boss is buying.” She winked and waved her arm toward the two remaining empty booths. “Take whichever you want. I’ll bring a pot of coffee.”

  I laughed. Dot knew us we
ll. Monica would be ready to scold me the minute she arrived, so I selected the smaller booth tucked into the back corner and sat with my back to the door. Maybe I could keep half the people in town from learning about my most recent “spell.”

  As soon as the coffee arrived, I grabbed the sugar jar and a spoon. I deserved several teaspoons worth as a treat for the morning I’d had so far. Then I remembered I didn’t like sweets, so slid the sugar next to the condiments and promised myself a double side of bacon instead. Sometimes life was fair.

  Cradling the white ceramic mug in a two-handed grip, I breathed deeply of the rich aroma, then blew little ripples across the deep dark surface. Finally, having paid the proper homage, I took the first life-sustaining sip.

  “I hope that was as good for you as it looked…” an unfamiliar deep baritone said from my right.

  Coffee sloshed when I jumped slightly at the unexpected comment.

  A man in his mid-thirties, wearing gray slacks and a long-sleeved button front blue and white striped shirt stood practically at my shoulder.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked, although he slid into the seat opposite me without waiting for an answer.

  This was a small town and an even smaller diner. Dot would have her foot up his ass in a nanosecond if I so much as made a squeak, so I was more annoyed than frightened by his presumptuousness.

  “Sorry, that seat’s taken--”

  “By me,” he agreed. He reached for the pot of coffee and filled the second mug while I watched with my mouth hanging open. The nerve of some people.