Going Zero

Dedication For Jennifer Joel, a great editor. And as ever, for Eva. Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Phase One 7 Days Before “Go Zero” 7 Days Later: 20 Minutes Before “Go Zero” 18 Minutes Before “Go Zero” 2 Minutes Before “Go Zero” Zero Hour Capture Window: 29 Days, 22 Hours, 21 Minutes Remaining 29 Days, 21 Hours, 59 Minutes 29 Days, 21 Hours, 14 Minutes 29 Days, 20 Hours, 47 Minutes 29 Days, 20 Hours 28 Days, 5 Hours 28 Days, 1 Hour 27 Days, 17 Hours 27 Days, 13 Hours 27 Days, 11 Hours 27 Days, 5 Hours 26 Days, 18 Hours 26 Days, 16 Hours 24 Days, 17 Hours 24 Days, 16 Hours 24 Days, 16 Hours 24 Days, 15 Hours 24 Days, 7 Hours 24 Days, 5 Hours 22 Days, 5 Hours 22 Days, 4 Hours 22 Days, 3 Hours 21 Days, 18 Hours 21 Days, 16 Hours 21 Days, 14 Hours 21 Days, 13 Hours 21 Days, 4 Hours 20 Days, 22 Hours 20 Days, 6 Hours 19 Days, 23 Hours 17 Days, 20 Hours 16 Days, 23 Hours 14 Days, 22 Hours 13 Days, 21 Hours 13 Days, 18 Hours 12 Days, 21 Hours 12 Days, 20 Hours 11 Days, 13 Hours 10 Days, 5 Hours 9 Days, 19 Hours 9 Days, 19 Hours 8 Days, 17 Hours 8 Days, 6 Hours 7 Days, 18 Hours 7 Days, 9 Hours 7 Days, 6 Hours 7 Days, 6 Hours 6 Days, 23 Hours 6 Days, 20 Hours 6 Days, 20 Hours 6 Days, 19 Hours Phase Two 6 Days, 19 Hours 6 Days, 18 Hours 6 Days, 1 Hour 5 Days, 16 Hours 5 Days, 23 Hours 4 Days, 7 Hours 4 Days, 5 Hours 4 Days, 2 Hours 3 Days, 22 Hours 3 Days, 20 Hours 3 Days, 17 Hours 3 Days, 15 Hours 3 Days, 7 Hours 3 Days, 3 Hours 2 Days, 7 Hours 1 Day, 23 Hours 1 Day 22 Hours 1 Day, 21 Hours 1 Day, 20 Hours 1 Day, 15 Hours 1 Day, 14 Hours 1 Day, 3 Hours 23 Hours 22 Hours 22 Hours 21 Hours 21 Hours 19 Hours 18 Hours 17 Hours 16 Hours 14 Hours 2 Hours 1 Hour 1 Hour The Future I The Future II About the Author Also by Anthony McCarten Copyright About the Publisher Phase One 7 Days Before “Go Zero” BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR IN THE lobby, there to lend a sense of light and space to the cramped entrance hall, is spotted with age, the corrosive grime picking at the silvering like a scab. Still, it works well enough for the rent-controlled residents—teachers, low-level civil servants, the owner of a bakery, and half a dozen retirees just grateful that the elevator works most of the time. They can pause and check themselves before going out, take one final glance to make sure skirt hems aren’t snagged in stockings, flies are done up, chins bear no toothpaste, hair isn’t hysterical, toilet paper isn’t clinging to shoes before they stumble into the street to be judged by their fellow citizens. It’s useful for the end of the day, too. As the residents shake off the chill of the windy streets, loosen their coats, and empty their mailboxes, it’s the old mirror that will give them a first look at the damage the day has done. The woman who has just come in glances at it reflexively. Here’s what the mirror shows: midthirties; black hair in a bob; big glasses that became fashionable again last year; long, wide-fit trousers with sneakers; and, under her good late-spring last-season coat, a stiffly ironed black blouse with a swirling floral print. She looks a lot like what she is—a librarian, or someone’s idea of the same. Bookish in her buttoned-up-ness, but independent-minded in the details: a huge pendant necklace, jangly earrings, a signet on her pinky. Could be on her way to a church bake sale, or to a #Resist event, impossible to say. She unlocks her mailbox, pulls out a handful of envelopes, presses the little door closed until she hears the snap of the latch, which is when she sees that the mailbox label is slightly askew, so she squares it. K. DAY APARTMENT 10 The K is important. Not the full Kaitlyn. Just that single initial to identify her: call it Single Woman Trick 273. Comes right after walking home with your keys (weaponized) in your hand. Write Kaitlyn Day on the mailbox or directory, and you’re asking for trouble; every passing creep now knows there’s a single woman in the building and could start hanging around just to see if she needs saving, mocking, following, fucking, killing. She sorts the mail over the recycling bin. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Junk. Bill. And then . . . Oh my God. It’s here. It’s actually here. The envelope has Department of Homeland Security printed on it. There’s even a frigging seal on the back; she thought that kind of thing went out with the Tudors. Inside, however, shitty government-grade paper where she had expected wedding-invite quality. Still, an invitation nonetheless. Going Zero Beta Test, it reads across the top of the single sheet. That part is bold and underlined. Dear Ms. Day, Congratulations! You have been selected as one of ten participants in the Going Zero Beta Test of the Fusion Initiative, a WorldShare partnership with the U.S. government. Per instructions, the Going Zero Beta Test will begin at 12:00 noon on May 1. At that time, you and nine other randomly selected participants will receive a message at the number on your application telling you to “Go Zero!” At 2:00 p.m. the same day, your name, photo, and address will be provided to the joint task force of the Fusion Initiative at Fusion Central in Washington, DC. While this test is in operation, you are at liberty to take whatever steps you feel necessary, consistent with the laws of the United States,