Bad Glass

“Shhhh … tomorrow. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

I grunted again. And then the Vicodin caught me. It grabbed hold like a warm wave, lifting me up high, then washing me back down, into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

Danny showed up in the morning. He was seated at the kitchen table with Charlie when I finally made it downstairs. Taylor was standing at the camp stove.

“Good morning,” Taylor said, greeting me with a warm smile and a cup of coffee. She looked relaxed and happy. “You looked tired, so I let you sleep.”

“Yeah, it’s—what?—ten-thirty?” Danny said, giving me a nod. “I’ve been up since five. And I swear, I’d kill everyone in the city just to keep your type of hours.” I blushed as soon as I saw him, suddenly struck by the memory of his stubbled head bobbing up and down in my lap. He, for his part, didn’t seem at all embarrassed, giving me that perfunctory nod as if there was nothing at all strange between us. Perhaps there wasn’t. Perhaps I was the queer one here, unsure of the protocol, unable to look him in the eye.

I’ve never been accused of being a prude, but Danny’s utter nonchalance made me feel old-fashioned and out of step.

“I got a fresh load of data,” he said, nodding toward Charlie, who was once again seated at his notebook computer. I could see the thumb drive jutting from the computer’s side.

Charlie looked up and smiled, beaming with pride. “It worked. Your post … it posted. And you’ve already got comments.” He spun the computer around, gesturing me toward an empty seat.

A flutter of nerves erupted in my chest.

I immediately recognized the website: Chasing the S. As far as message boards go, this one was fairly standard; there were countless more just like it out there on the Net, all assembled from the same free software packages. The view on Charlie’s screen was a simplified version of the site. All the standard images were missing: there was no black-and-white banner at the top of the page, featuring the name of the site flanked by satellite imagery of Spokane itself, and there were no tiny avatars to the left of each posting. Charlie had streamlined his application. He had programmed it to pick up text and formatting information while leaving all the bulky pictures and ads behind. The resulting design was stark and no-nonsense, and more than a little disconcerting.

I quickly scrolled through the topics on the front page. The title of my post—“Photos of Spokane: Views from Inside (week 1)”—was at the top of the list. According to the stats next to my entry, there were already seventy-six comments and over five thousand page views.

“It was up for twelve hours before Danny scraped the forum,” Charlie said, following my eyes on the page. “Right now it’s the only post getting any attention.”

I hesitated before clicking through to my thread. I was more than a little nervous. What if they hated my pictures? What if those seventy-six replies were all negative, nothing but dismissive mockery?

I braced myself and clicked through. Beneath my dismembered post—Charlie’s program had stripped away all the photos, leaving just a couple of sentences and a line of broken links—there was an avalanche of comments, a mad rush of words.

–Is this for real??? Is this bullshit???

–Please, can someone confirm?

–It’s Spokane. That’s Riverfront Park, and I recognize that storefront with all the people. It was a Tully’s before they evacuated us.

–It’s Photoshopped, you morons! They aren’t letting anyone in. You’ve seen the barricades and checkpoints!

–But that’s not true! There are civies inside! They catch people going in and out all the time!

–They’re real. According to the tags, someone used Photoshop (a student CS edition), but probably just to resize … It’s not so hard to believe, is it? We know there are people in there, and they can’t be in too good shape by now. Hell, even the weather matches. That’s Eastern Washington at the start of winter.

–Where’s the ghosts?

–Why aren’t we seeing this shit on the news? It’s a disaster area in the middle of America! It’s Katrina all over again!

–It is _not_ Katrina. These morons can leave anytime they like. Hell, they’d get _paid_ to leave! Big fat government checks!

–Where’s the ghosts???

After a half hour of short, gut-level reactions, the postings started to get longer, and they started to address me directly.

–Nice pictures, intheimage [this was the name I used on the forum, dating back to the summer months, when the first vague news stories had begun to escape Spokane]. Tell us more about the city, if you’ve got time. What are the conditions like? The people look destitute, how do they get along? And what is the military doing?

–If you are, indeed, in there (and I have my doubts), how’d you do it? You’ve got a picture of soldiers there, did you have to bribe your way in? I’ve heard people talk about that, here, but I want some firsthand info. Are they willing? How much would it cost?