Stasis: A Will Vullerman Anthology by J. Tobias Buller

connected to the phone, we need to be ready to answer it 24/7."
    Mrs. Torrey nodded. "I'll tell my husband." She turned and fled down the hallway.
    Will glanced at the phone again. Whatever it meant, he had to work, and fast. He felt, rather than knew, that things were progressing. Whoever was calling would make a move soon, and Will had to be ready.

    ************

    Will woke in the dark.
    For a moment, he blinked and stared at the ceiling. He started to roll over and closed his eyes, but then they shot open again.
    What had woken him up?
    The faint smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils. He sat up in bed like a gunshot, rubbing his eyes. What was burning?
    He inhaled deeply through his nose, and he caught it again, a smoky, sulfuric scent. It smelled like a match had been struck, nothing more. Mr. or Mrs. Torrey had probably lit a candle or something.
    But nevertheless, he glanced out the window. Nothing. It seemed like a quiet night. And late, too, a little too late to be lighting candles.
    And then he saw it. A dim, concentrated glow, barely visible, ten or fifteen meters away. Will stood up and leaned forward to get a better look, but as soon as he did so, the glow disappeared.
    Strange. He'd better check on things, just to be safe.
    Will dressed quietly and checked the clock. It was a little after two in the morning.
    He slipped out into the hallway and halted when he saw a soft light in the living room. He padded down the hallway and peered in; Mr. Torrey was on the couch, his head bowed and his blank touchpad in his lap, as if he had fallen asleep reading.
    He was about to slip back to his bedroom again when Mr. Torrey stirred. He stretched a little and looked up, blinking. He nodded to Will. “Mr. Vullerman. Is the light keeping you up?”
    Will shook his head. “No, no, you're fine. I thought I smelled smoke and got up to take a look around.”
    “I haven't smelled anything,” Mr. Torrey said. “If you're awake for a little while, feel free to have a seat.”
    Will sat down in a chair opposite to Mr. Torrey, gesturing to the touchpad. “Did you fall asleep reading?”
    “What?” Mr. Torrey glanced down at the touchpad. “Oh, right. Must have gone off. No, I was praying.” He leaned back on the couch, adjusting his glasses. “You a religious guy, Will?”
    Will shrugged. An odd question. “Yes, for the most part. My grandparents were Conservative Baptists. After they died, I slacked off on my church attendance somewhat. I've been trying to go more often.”
    Mr. Torrey nodded. “Will—you mind if I call you that?—I'll be honest with you. I'm at the end of my rope. There's nowhere else I can go. It's not just these phone calls—it's this house. The relocation program for American survivors is a generous international gesture, but I still have to pay fifty per cent for the house and all the bills. I still don't have a job, and we're several thousand short on this month's payment.”
    “I'm sorry.”
    Mr. Torrey laughed. “Not your fault, is it? Sure, we could borrow money from Danton, but I'm from the Bible Belt. Don't suppose you'd know what that is, but the thing is, I grew up paying for what I got. No debt. So far we've made it, but I don't know how much longer we can last.” He sighed. “Sorry, I'm unloading on you.”
    “No, it's okay.” It came out of Will's mouth before he realized it. “I don't mind.”
    Mr. Torrey stared out the window. “Thing is,” he said, “it's still hard. We've got all these great American testimonies on the news of people saved from a virtual apocalypse, but the news doesn't show the other side of it. The people we left behind. It hurts, Will.” Mr. Torrey's Adam's apple bobbed. “I've got friends that died—forty years ago. Mary's parents, too.”
    He laughed a little, but the laugh caught thickly in his throat. “I had the best in-laws you ever saw, Will. When the government called for volunteers to stay out of stasis to keep the country running, they