Thierry Crouzet

Resistants

The world wakes up one day seriously ill. Nobody escapes Agent π, except for a few young women and men who are mysteriously spared.

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Post|6

Cabin

I managed to lose the SUV. I changed route several times before reaching the cabin built by my great-grandfather. If they want to find me, they’ll succeed in the end. In the meantime, while Mystic went hunting for mice in the attic, I lit a fire, checked the solar panels and the charge in the batteries, and then linked in by satellite. Before me stretches the lake where I learned to kayak and to shoot my first ducks. My closest neighbor lives six miles away. He won’t bother me. Bears and bobcats are a bigger fear.

I’ve been reading your questions, even yours, Alexa. No, I’m not kidding around. My mom texted me in code because, from work, in case of a crisis, she’s not supposed to communicate with the outside world. All the staff members there are locked down. She can only communicate trivial things, like “I can’t go bowling with you.” Imagine the panic if word of an impending terrorist attack spread by mistake. The government will inform us later, once it has a plan, probably too late, as usual. But until then, I won’t let you down.

You think I’m trying to scare you? Look what I just found on the Net. When you know what to search for, you’ll find it. At noon, the President was attending a charity banquet somewhere in the suburbs of Washington D.C. After the shrimp cocktail and before the tenderloin steak, she excused herself and rushed back to the White House. This is public information you can check yourselves. The sudden change in her schedule is a sign.

Since the government agency my mom works for is linked to health, I deduce that there must be some kind of medical problem involved. Bingo! In New Zealand, the Wellington Times published an article headlined: Suspect illness at the U.S. Embassy. I’ll cut-and-paste it into my next post.