*There has been talk of disasters that may occur due to the Y2K computer
problem. Here is another possible situation others have not reported.
These were the cleanest butchers
Jason had ever imagined. Petite and cruel with snow-white smocks, bloodless
faces and pale gloves - scrubbing bleached corpses spread out on gurneys
of shining stainless steel.
Rich red blood flowed and beaded
like mercury in neat rivers on the polished marble slab. It skinned, started
to congeal and pulse like veins - arteries that seemed about to explode.
The image became a pounding in his head, and he woke up, feeling his eyes
popping.
A splitting headache, a horrible
hangover, he opened his sore eyes to a vision of blinding white fuzz. It
spilled into his mind like a rush of nauseating fever and he rose in dizziness
and the reek of his own perspiration.
Jason grabbed the remote and fell
back in his chair. As he hit the button he saw the fuzz vanish from his
40-inch wall screen, then the preset programming started functioning and
the channels spun and opened on a scene of floodwaters.
Waves, debris and flotsam rushed
toward him and became memory returning - last night, New Years Eve1999,
the square, the rowdies, the blasting music, the wine, the dancing, the
laughter, the girl he'd kidnapped and locked up in the basement before
passing out at the TV. She was blond, voluptuous. Her image rose in his
mind with unquenchable thirst, and like a zombie ordered by his master
he rose, went to the kitchen and swallowed half a bottle of Coke.
His head cleared somewhat as he sat
back down and his eyes went to his watch. 3 p.m. - he'd been out for 12
hours solid.
On the screen the floodwaters were
still pouring. The scene pulled at his mind and grew soothing. Then he
saw something red and dark rising in the rushing murk - a corpse - grotesquely
swollen, a snake of black blood drooling from a ghastly face. There were
more of them drifting like hideous whales. Detached arms, legs and torsos
tumbled out of the foam. A woman's hair billowed in the deeper water, revealing
a medusa's visage of worms and staring eyes, then the scene suddenly switched
to the image of a Reaper swinging his scythe and a deep voice saying -
"Stay tuned for more."
He checked his control and saw that
he was tuned to web TV - Y2Kcarnage.com. This was the web channel he'd
programmed to play on New Year's Day. It had been listed in the newspaper.
Y2Kcarnage being a cult created by disgruntled Y2K activists at the end
of August 1999. People who were pissed at corporations, nations, city governments
and others who refused to cooperate in preparing for the year 2000. They'd
set up a world wide video network and web site, vowing to broadcast explicit
footage of any Y2K disaster as a way of getting even with those who would
not listen.
And wow! What a success! They already
had beautiful footage of the dead in a dam burst in Africa. He couldn't
figure out how a Y2K bug in some chip could pop a dam. And he really didn't
care how it happened. He just hoped there would be more because he needed
more - always more carnage - because after all, he was Jason, the Friday
the 13th copycat killer.
A swig of Coke and the screen flickered
back to the Reaper and stage thunder and lightning. "It seems some of our
modern American prisons did not properly test their digital locking systems
for Y2K errors," said the Reaper. "Let's take a look at this exclusive
footage from Maryland and see what this can mean."
Silver flashed as the scythe swung
and an image zoomed in to fill the screen. Some kind of prison, bars, Plexiglas
and a muscled and grinning psychiatric patient wrestling with a guard over
a shotgun. The madman knocked the gun free and managed to slam his opponent
into the wall so hard that blood flew like spittle from his lips. Still,
the guard recovered and stumbled forward, only to find that the man had
seized the gun. The trigger clicked, the camera view spun and a spray of
shot, blood, bone and brains showered the screen. Through the dripping
gore Jason saw a long hall and more armed prisoners running. "Did you check
your locks?" the Reaper said as his face reappeared on the screen?
"Here's an instant replay to remind you of what might happen if you didn't."
"Holy shit!" Jason suddenly said
as he flew to his feet in fluid motion. "I've got one of those digital
locking systems on the cell."
Hurrying to the basement door he
stumbled down the steps and through the cobwebby gloom toward the light
of a dim florescent lamp. He reached the cell and saw his captive crouched
on the cold cement behind the bars. She looked up, her face and hair soaked
in tears. Quickly passing her he went straight to the door and the lock.
It held firm so it appeared he wasn't
a victim of the Y2K bug. He was about to turn away then it occurred to
him that perhaps the bug only set in after the lock was powered down and
powered up again. Reaching over he hit the wall control panel, only to
find that the battery clicked in and the lock didn't power down. Opening
the panel he yanked out the battery and powered down. The lock clicked
open, and he powered up and it clicked closed. He tried it a few times
and as he was finishing the girl suddenly began to wail.
Jason turned and faced her.
"How long are you going to keep me
here?" she said.
Her face was red, her hair matted
with dirt. Jason felt aroused as he stepped up to her and stared, then
he stepped away from the cell to a row of lockers. "I'm going to keep you
here with the others," he said.
" What others?"
"These others," he said, and then
he opened one of the lockers, revealing a withered skull, moldered body
parts, hair and bones hanging inside.
She began to scream hysterically
and he felt torn between her and the TV. Due to his hangover he decided
he'd rather sit around and watch Y2Kcarnage.com.
"Later," he said, ignoring
her sobbing as he walked away.
The Reaper was back on TV with footage
of rioters and arsonists in Los Angeles, where an earthquake had added
its weight to Y2K power grid outages. The dead littered the highways, and
what appeared to be satellite coverage showed foggy images of marauders
gunning people down on the roadsides. Jason stared intently as the camera
zoomed in on a big man impaled on the spikes of an iron fence.
Minutes later a grisly scene of battered
bodies flying from a train wreck sent shivers up Jason's spine. He saw
the big wheels suck up a body and shower stewed tomatoes on a fleeing woman.
A creaking noise from the house made him jump. "Damn, is this good," he
said. "It's even scaring me."
"Say, I wonder what's happening in
this area?" he muttered. "Maybe I should go outside and see if the social
order has broken down. If so I can get moving with a new scene for my home
movie, Friday the 13th episode 10340832108675894930, The Toronto Chainsaw
Massacre." Thinking further he decided it was a great idea, then he
heard another creak and as he rose something smashed into his head. Blood
magma showered in his mind, a second crunch followed and everything went
. . . . . . .
Silver flashed as the scythe swung
and
the image of an empty neighbourhood and a small Toronto house zoomed in
to fill the screen. The Reaper grinned morbidly as the camera view switched
to the interior and focussed on a bloodstained corpse slumped in a lounge
chair. Its skull was smashed and brain matter had leaked like vomit over
the forehead. The hook of a crowbar bit through the crown.
"Here's a Y2K error that could happen
to you," the Reaper said. "Another lock failure, only Jason's lock was
Y2K compliant. He just forgot to put the backup battery back in and power
fluctuations allowed his victim to escape. So don't forget to power things
back up after those Y2K tests. Otherwise Friday the 13th might just come
early for you, too."
================
