Julia's Diary

The girl was still strikingly beautiful - even though she was dead. Thomas had seen enough death to know that she'd been dead for a few days, maybe more, and that she had probably taken her own life. Lots of people did these days. Though what was she doing out here, deep in the bush two miles outside Newport, Vermont was anyone’s guess. Thomas came here often, just to find a place to think and be alone. He'd never seen another soul until now. He guessed that she was was close to his own age – say, seventeen or eighteen. The tear in her blouse revealed a small tattoo above her left breast. It was a crudely drawn butterfly in a circle with a line across it. There was a gold, heart-shaped locket on a chain still clutched in her hand. Thomas stooped and gently took the locket and clicked it open. Inside were pictures of two people; a woman in her thirties and a man who looked about five or ten years older. They were probably her parents.

“Were they still alive?” he thought. Probably not. Reaching anything past middle-age had become rare since the last pandemic, well, for most people anyway. He tucked the locket into his front jeans pocket. Just then, a rustling sound in the brush startled him. Someone or something was moving through the trees. He practically dove for cover in a thicket of Sweet Fern. His heart raced as slid under the dewy leaves. When he settled down enough to feel it was safe enough, he peeked out to see that it was just a deer – a small buck. Still jittery and getting back on his feet he saw that he almost landed on a well-worn backpack. It was likely lost or stashed in the underbrush by ... whoever the girl was that lay dead only twenty feet away. Thomas decided that, under the circumstances, it would be okay if he looked inside.

He found a smart-phone (it was dead too), a few tampons, a travel pack of Kleenex, a slingshot, a pen and a curious faux-leather notebook. It was a diary – most likely her diary. It had a leatherette strap with a flimsy lock. He rummaged in the pack and found a small key. It fit the lock! He opened the diary and started to read.

Personal Diary of Jessica Goldbloom.

Sunday June 1, 2034

I did it. I joined F3. I get my tattoo on Friday. Can't wait. Maybe I'm making the biggest mistake of my life, but, I just feel it's what I have to do. Since I met Steven everything has changed. God, my dad thinks I'm insane for dating a French-Canadian guy. If he knew Steve got me to join the Future Freedom Fighters he'd kill me. If anyone else knew he wouldn't have to kill me...the government would be happy to do that. Rather, they'd suicide me like so many others. Anyway, I've made up my mind, so I'm gonna do what's right. It's the only way that Steven and I could ever hope to have a normal life. Normal life, that's a laugh. Does anyone know what normal is anymore?

Thomas stopped reading and snapped the book closed. “Holy shit!” he thought. This girl was a Freedom Fighter. That explains why he found her body out here - in the middle of nowhere. Now he wondered if this wasn't a suicide, but an execution. Everyone knew that joining any kind of resistance group was dangerous, but the F3s were public enemy number one. He stashed the book in the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt over it. He would have to find a safer place to read it, and that was just about anywhere else but here. He reflexively looked up to see if he was under cover of the trees. He was. Good. The hi-definition satellite scans wouldn't pick him up. Heart pounding, he got back on his aging Yamaha Enduro and headed straight back to town. “I should just throw this book into the ditch and forget all about Jessica Goldbloom,” he thought. But he knew he couldn't do that. There were too many questions. He had to find out more about this girl and what led her to...this.

Thomas drove down Highway 139 where it turned into Province Street. He rapidly down-shifted the bike as he neared the gas station next to his one room apartment. Stopping around back, he dropped the kickstand, pulled off his helmet and killed the engine. He looked around furtively and quickly made his way up the steps and inside. Closing the door, he reached around and pulled the book from his belt.

Thomas drew the dingy curtains partially blocking out the afternoon sun that streamed through the dusty windows. There was still enough light to read.

June 6

Tattoos hurt more than I thought. Well, now I know why the F3s have anti-monarch tattoos. Steven told me that the Future Freedom Fighters started in Canada. They were rebelling against their King. William I think his name is. Steven says he repealed their constitution (or whatever they call it) when the United Nations officially took over a few years ago. I guess they used to elect a prime minister or president, sort of like here in America. Steven gets so passionate talking about the way things used to be, freedom, equality, democracy. Anyway, I guess it didn't take long before things started to get really bad here too. Fate is a funny thing. If he hadn't snuck across the border he would have been arrested or killed by now. I will get to meet our circle of 'friends' – that's what we call our five member cell – any day now, but I won't know where or exactly when until it happens. All the secrecy and precautions make me nervous, but I guess it's the way things have to be. It kinda sucks not being able to carry a cell-phone anymore.

Thomas stopped reading panicked as he heard a siren wailing in the distance and getting louder. He stashed the diary under a pillow and peered out the window. Once he realized it was an ambulance, he closed the curtain and his thoughts shifted back to Jessica. She was a very brave girl. Either brave or careless. In any case, he couldn't help but feel admiration for her. “The world needs more Jessicas,” he thought.

June 8

I supposed I should be careful what I write down. As long as I leave out the names of our friends, it should be okay. There's an old retired guy in our cell who was a telecom engineer. He's a goddam genius. They've built an 'electromagnetic pulse generator'. I don't know how it works but they say that it overload (I think) out a big section of the government surveillance and communication grid in town. All those 6G microwave things they use to track everyone's mobile devices and do facial recognition. This is only going to be a test though. There's another group that is building a much bigger one. They plan to take out an entire data-centre used by the NSA. Steven teases me. He asked me if I liked being a 'terrorist'. The stuff they are planning is beyond me. For now, I'll stick to shooting lead balls at spy cameras. I don't trust Karen. She's the other girl in our cell. She asks too many weird questions. I wouldn't be surprised if she's a mole. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I plan to keep my eye on her. Thank God were are all using aliases, even with each other.

Thomas cracked a wry smile thinking about a recent item on his news-feed. The local council condemned 'anti-civic' vandals for smashing cameras near the downtown area. He thought it was just some kids doing what they sometimes do. Apparently the authorities had no idea that it wasn't just random acts of destruction. Then again, maybe they did, but they weren't letting on.

June 13

It's Friday the 13th alright. OMG, the patrols are everywhere and they are looking for us. At least for now, they don't know who 'us' is ... I think. The EMP worked great. Apparently, half the cop cars that weren't parked in a garage or near the edge of town have electrical problems. A lot of their voice and data comms are toast. We have no idea what damage was done to the local 'spy-net', but I am guessing quite a bit. Even if some or all of us get caught...it's almost worth it.

A lot of things were starting to make sense to Thomas. A little more than a week ago, there was no cell service for almost two days. The 'official' story was that there was a power surge on the local electrical grid. He supposed that was partially true. Now he knew the whole story. He was also starting to admire these people. Maybe they were a bit crazy, but they were also totally badass in a really good way.

June 16

I don't know what to do. Things have gotten too hot. We don't dare meet-up in one place. Now I'm sure that Karen is a traitor. Today I was on the bus stopped at a red light. There was a black SUV beside us and you'll never guess who was sitting in the passenger seat. It pulled ahead and, sure enough, it had a United Nations license plate. I need to figure out a way to let the others know. Dammit. I wouldn't be surprised if I am being followed. I need to get rid of anything that might expose the others...including this book too. I don't know who I can trust to get a message to Steven. I used to always count on my parents when I was in trouble. I wonder. I wonder if mom and dad can help me now. We used to hike up in the hills past Lake Road. It's probably the best place to try and hide out, at least for now.

“She was murdered for sure,” Thomas thought. If she hadn't tried to hide out in the forest, she might still be alive. At least she hid her back-pack well enough. He knew she couldn't possibly have contacted her parents though. He supposed they must still be alive ... weren't they? He reached for the locket and opened it again. The picture of her father was sitting at an odd angle. That bothered him. He pried the small frame open with his fingernail. The fading image of her father dropped to the floor and landed face-down. Reaching for it, Thomas froze. The back of the photograph – as small as it was – had something printed on the back. He picked it up and held it in the thin ray of late afternoon sunlight between the faded curtains. Stunned, he could clearly make out a QR code. “Now that's an odd thing to be printed on the back of a photograph,” he thought. Almost nobody used QR codes anymore.

Thomas walked to his desk and powered-on an ancient laptop computer. He hadn't used it in over a year and hoped it would boot. He logged on and double clicked the icon for an app that could read QR codes. He held the back of the photograph in front of the built-in camera. Several sentences appeared in the bottom frame of the window:

Steven is Stephane Larouche - 47 Cross Road, Newport Center. Tell him that Julia Goldstein sent you.

Thomas smiled knowingly. She wasn't just beautiful and brave, she was damned smart too. He stuffed the locket back into his jeans pocket and picked up the diary. Grabbing the keys for his motorcycle, he knew exactly where he had to go.