Off The Grid E-Book

E. Denise Billups

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Justine wakes to her android digital companion, DANA, attuned to her breath, heartbeat, and every emotion 365 days of the year.

The year is 2410, and technology runs every facet of human life. Convinced humans have sacrificed their autonomy, Justine wants to unplug from the digital world. When she learns of the off-the-grid community of Merrick, she believes these people have the right idea.

But after Justine's boss goes missing, strange events begin to take place, and people start going Off The Grid. Will human and computer merge to save their common future, or is it already too late?

Leseprobe

OFF THE GRID

E. DENISE BILLUPS

Contents

Acknowledgments

Knock, Knock, Anyone Home

Life Before Digital

No Cell Phones Allowed

Gone, But Still Here

You may also like

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 E. Denise Billups

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my Beta Reader, John Darryl Winston,

for his fantastic editorial advice.

“Technology is a useful servant but a dangerous master.”

– Christian Lous Lange

Knock, Knock, Anyone Home

DANA, my android digital companion, activates at 8:30 AM, waking me with a brisk, melodious chord inside my bedroom walls and ceiling. When the wall-integrated TV powers on, the window shades glide open, the air-conditioner hums, and coffee beans grind in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Justine,” DANA greets in a masculine voice set to my liking, sounding much too human for a computer. “It’s a brilliant spring day. The temperature is seventy-nine, rising to eighty-five degrees. I’ve run your shower, and the coffee is brewing. A replenishment drink is ready to restore low electrolytes in your body. Would you care for today’s news headlines?”

“No, thank you, DANA,” I reply to my twenty-four hours, 365 days a year digital companion always attuned to my breath, heartbeat, and emotions. Like an extra limb, DANA senses my health, needs, desires, and dreams. I wonder how people survived without the Android assistant in the past and worry we’ve become too reliant on technology. Have we lost autonomy? Can we cope without our digital companion? Of late, I craved privacy and unplugged from the digital world last night. When the magnetic field faded, it felt as if I’d lost a limb and a friend. But DANA never complains.

“You have ten missed calls from Claudette Windsor and three voice mails,” DANA states. The walls hum with an incoming call. “Do you wish to take a call from Ms. Windsor?”

“Yes, DANA, but I’ll pick up on my cell phone.”

“Hello.”

“Justine, I’ve been calling since five in the morning. Where have you been?”

“Oh, Claudette, sorry, I turned my mobile off last night. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I tried to call you last night, but it was getting too late, so I figured I’d catch you before your finals this morning. Jussie, you won’t believe it!”

“What?”

“After a month of trying to meet our anonymous artist, guess who sent an invitation yesterday?”

“Our unknown?”

“Well, not directly,” she says as the car meanders past a copse of trees. “You know the artist’s assistant always contacts us, but just the same, I couldn’t believe it.” The snaky road leads the car right to the unknown artist’s front yard. Claudette brings the car to a stop in the gravel driveway and squints at the two-story, solar-paneled home.

“That’s fantastic news!”

"The invite strikes me somewhat strange. It states to stop by the house at my convenience. Worried they'd change their mind, I acted hastily, jumped into the car, and drove four hours to Merrick last night. What was I thinking, Jussie? The hotels out here have crappy service and awful food. Well, anyhoo…" she says, pivoting the rearview mirror at her face, "… I found a halfway decent bed-and-breakfast. Oh, Paul is meeting with a client this afternoon, so I'm leaving you in charge of the gallery. Justine, you need to be extra alert and sharp today. If there's a problem, please, please call me on my cell," she says, studying her face and applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

"Oh, sure, no worries. As soon as I finish finals, I'll head to the gallery." Thank goodness she didn't use FaceTime. I couldn't contain the shock, doubt, worry, or curiosity skewing my face. She's never left me in charge of the gallery, and I'm stunned she'd entrust her business to an eighteen-year-old college student. Over the year, I've learned much from Claudette, my boss. I can run the gallery better than anyone. But with Charleston's Annual Art Walk and our unknown artist's exhibition, I'm surprised she chose today, one of the busiest times of the year, to visit Merrick. Couldn't she have waited until the Art Walk finished tomorrow? And geez, I'm sleep-deprived after studying for finals. "Did you say Merrick, the small autonomous city?"

"Uh-huh, I'm outside the artist's home as we speak, but there's no car in the driveway. Do they allow vehicles here?"

"Solar power cars, I believe."

Wind whips through the phone, and gravel crunch with Claudette's footsteps. "Have you seen off-the-grid communities?"

"No. Just ones on the Internet. I've often considered unplugging from the world and living a sustainable lifestyle."

"The houses aren't as rustic as I'd imagined they'd be. Simple, yet well-designed with modern, solar-paneled roofs. They're charming for two-story farmhouses. Hmm, ironic, I just realized our mystery artist lives in a town resembling a Van Gogh painting."

"Merrick could be the artist's inspiration."

"You might be right. If there were modern amenities, I'd move to Merrick in a heartbeat. But without a phone or computer, I'd go stir-crazy."

"I believe solar panels provide electricity. Isn't that how they get their power? I've heard many off the grid communities have Internet and satellite television. So, maybe Merrick does as well?"

"I doubt it. Justine, this might sound strange, but since entering Merrick, everything's felt surreal. And I'm a tad bit off today. Wow! And the colors, I've never seen hues so rich. Trees and grass are greener, houses and objects are sharper, even people's features. I think the bed-and-breakfast owner spiked my cocktail last night," she quips with a titter. "But seriously, something's not right. The moment the car crossed the town line, I sensed a disconnect as if I'd entered another world."

"Isn't the point of being off-the-grid isolation?" Justine asks, yawning and rubbing her bleary eyes.

"I guess so. The isolation doesn’t bother me, but the town does. It’s almost otherworldly."

An eerie silence cuts through the phone. I turn the volume up, trying to detect whizzing cars, chirping birds, or droning commerce nearby. But only an outer-space silence emerges.

"Anyway, I hope after a four-hour drive, little sleep, and the B & B's poor service, our artist is home. Oh, hold on, the front door is open," she states. The sound of her footsteps eclipsed the surprise in her voice. "I can't believe people are so negligent."

I've grown to hate that word used often at the gallery. Like one of the paintings, she demands attention to every detail. "I suppose Merrick is safer than the city, or they left the door open for their expected guest," I jest with a sarcastic giggle.

"Safer? No place is safe today, not even churches or schools. Justine, now I'm worried. I don't know these people. Do you mind staying on the phone until I'm sure there's no danger inside that house?"

“No problem. My class doesn’t start for another two hours.” Yawning again and rolling upright in my messy bed, study notes spill from the sheets to the floor. DANA’s ceiling sensors hum, detecting my movement.

Knock, Knock, Knock, sounds through the phone.

“Hello?” she yells and waits a few seconds. “Is anyone home? It’s Claudette Windsor from the art gallery in Charleston.”