A.I. Apocalypse by William Hertling Page B

firetruck a few blocks distant, lights blinking and siren going, but totally still. It sat at an intersection with room to move if it wanted too, but it was just stopped there. Half a block up he saw a police car, lights flashing as well. The police officer stood in the street, radio in hand.  
    Leon jumped off the mailbox and ran over to the cop. “What’s going on?”
    “Dunno, kid. All the cars just stopped about half an hour ago. The radio doesn’t work either.” The officer turned to fiddle with the controls again, and Leon slowly walked away, his brain addled, struggling to put two plus two together.  
    He trudged the few blocks to school, deep in thought, to find a crowd gathered outside the main entrance. The principal stood on the steps, and behind her, the school janitor struggled with the front door.
    “School is closed,” the principal yelled, her voice sounding hoarse. “We can’t admit any students. We can’t get the security doors open, and the Internet is down anyway. Go home.”  
    A loud whooping went up from the crowd of kids, and they scattered quickly before the principal could change her mind.  
    Leon stood still in astonishment. Could this be? It had to be. His head swam. Was all this from his virus?
    He was suddenly thumped on the back, and he spun around to see Vito and James. He gave his friends a hesitant fist bump, and they joined the rest of the kids streaming away from school.  
    “Where to?” James asked.
    “Diner,” Vito replied, and they crossed the street, only to find that a few hundred other kids had the same idea. And it was moot anyway, because when they got there, the door was locked. A handwritten sign hung on the inside of the door: “CLOSED: Kitchen down due to computer bug.” A waitress in a blue uniform stood inside, shooing kids away through the glass door.
    “Shit,” Vito said. “I’m starving.”
    “Let’s walk back to my place, guys. I’ve got something to tell you.”
    When they got back to Leon’s building, they found the front security door propped open and the elevator was still not working. They walked up the stairs to Leon’s apartment. Vito raided the fridge and Leon started to talk.
    “Are your phones working?”
    “What? Yeah, of course,” James replied, looking at his.
    “And yours?”
    Vito took a break from grabbing cold cuts and mayonnaise to look at his phone. “Yeah, why?”
    “Because none of the adults’ phones are working, and not their computer equipment either. Not anywhere in the world.”
    “What are you talking about?” James asked, getting interested in the food raid, and helping himself to leftover chicken.
    “Look, did I ever tell you about my uncle Alex?”
    The two other guys shook their heads no, mouths full of food.
    “He lives in Russia. He went to college in the U.S. ten years ago, and then went back. I never really knew why, but we stayed in touch a little bit. Then he sent me a message last week. He told me he worked for the Russian mob.”
    “What, he said that?” Vito asked, his tone incredulous.
    “Well, not exactly, I don’t think, but I was reading between the lines, and it was what he meant. He works for the mob, and he writes computer viruses for them. He’s one of the guys that makes botnets.”
    “You’re talking about those big networks of computers that have been compromised,” Vito said, ”and that the Russians use to blackmail companies and do denial of service attacks, and stuff like that?”  
    James paused in mid-bite to see how Leon would answer.
    “Exactly. And he said he was in big trouble. Over the last year, the viruses he wrote were not nearly as effective. He didn’t know why, but the botnet was only a tiny fraction of the size it had been. He made it sounded like he’d be in serious trouble if he didn’t write an exceptional virus, and soon.”
    “What kind of trouble?” James asked, chicken leg now dangling forgotten in his hand.
    “Like they would kill him.