So when Ruskin dialed the number, he was expecting someone to pick up right away, and that whoever that person was, he or she could run some sort of diagnostic on the Arrival system and find a way to reverse what was currently happening. Or, failing that, shut the whole fucking system down.

But what Ruskin, who had slipped back into the community center through a side door, got when he called in was this:

“Thank you for calling the Arrival help line. We are here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to answer your questions about your new Arrival automobile. We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls, but will get to yours as soon as we can.”

Cue the elevator music.

“Fuck!” Ruskin said.

He had slipped into a men’s change room just down the hall from the gymnasium, the smell of sweat and sour towels lingering in the air.

After twenty seconds of music, the voice returned. “Thank you for holding. We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls. In an effort to expedite assistance to you once your call has made it to the front of the queue, you may enter your car’s identification number, followed by the pound sign. Or you may continue to wait for one of our technicians to help you.”

“Fucking take my call!” Ruskin shouted into his phone.

There followed yet another twenty seconds of the kind of music Ruskin figured would play in hell’s waiting room. He was about to give up when there was an audible click, and then a harried, male voice:

“Yes! Arrival support!”

“Who is this?”

“Sir, you’ve reached Arrival support. My name is Denny. Can you please—”

“Denny who?”

“Sir, please, it’s a bit crazy here. Could you tell me you name and—”

“My name is Albert Fucking Ruskin, personal assistant to Lisa Carver, your late goddamn boss.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line while Denny, presumably, took a breath. Then, “Yes, Mr. Ruskin, sir. You’re on the line with Dennis McCardle. When you said my late—”

“Lisa’s dead. Everything’s gone to shit here on the island. The cars have all gone nuts. Go into the system and shut everything down. Pull the plug. Bring every Arrival out there to a halt. You hearing me? Kill the brains of the system. Stop the virus.”

“Mr. Ruskin, I’ve already been trying.”

Ruskin’s brow furrowed. He figured he would be the first to call in. “Has someone else from the island been in touch? Who? Who called before me?”

“No one, sir. Not from the island. But from . . . everywhere.”