…continued from Devastation: The Life After Part 3

My mind was spinning. “What are you getting ready for?” I asked 116 in my mind. The audio suddenly stopped with a battery warning light flashing.

A sigh found its way out of my mouth. I was still a couple of miles away from the office. I reached up from the steering wheel and switched the driving mode to auto which sounded engaged. With my hands now free, I was able to look away from the road and picked up the mirco-recorder. It had been several years since I had Looked at one of those things, let alone replace the batteries in one. I flipped the unit front to back and side to side multiple times to see what I needed to do to resume playing the recording. Locating the charging port, which was common for electronics before the predominance of wireless and contact charging, I tried to come up with a charging plan. Impatiently, I hit play again only to hear 116 start to speak but then trailed off in a robotic voice.

Ejecting my phone from the dashboard, I needed to access the camera. It recognized my touch and unlocked as I looked at the screen. I Opened Amazon and took a picture of the micro-recorder. The app recognized the device and prepared a tailored list of accessories including the charger that I needed to make it work. Placing a charger in my cart, I noticed that the delivery was several days out. Several listings appeared in the search but most were imported. I altered my search settings for quickest delivery, but even the one available in California took several days. Stubbornly, I selected purchase local option, but there were no available items. Even with drone delivery, the charging cord was several days out. Several days that I did not have. I had convinced myself that I needed to answer the tenant mystery. Without a resolution, I knew the thought would nag at me; I knew that I would anticipate all of the outcomes which would consume me. I would dwell on it and not be able to move on.

I closed the app as a quicker plan came into mind. I opened the Meeting invitation, the one I was going to be late for, in my calendar app. I changed my response to “decline” and offered an auto-reply of “double-booked,” one of a dozen or so common responses for me. Clearing my throat I said, “Alexa, take me to the Longsdale Apartments.” The car’s auto navigation system confirmed with a question of keen insight. “Jake, you wish to return to the Longsdale Apartments, which you were at 20 minutes ago?” I confirmed and she recited the destination. Having mastered the commercial navigation and AI categories, the AAOS, Amazon’s Auto Operating System, was very intuitive. If there was a charger for sale in the area, I could have also been navigated to the purchase point. On my PVD, primary visual display, the quickest route appeared as the car started driving that direction. I was assumed that 116 would have charged the unit in his apartment.

The flashbacks from 116 left me scrutinizing everything that I looked at. As I looked out of the front and my driver’s window my imagination brewed, layering in what that life must have been like before. I visualized the uncrowded sidewalks bustling with people. I could see smiles and waves from people passing one-another. I imagined a guitar player on the street corner and homeless man sitting, tucked into all his worldly possessions. Now, the streets were ghostly in comparison. Everyone with similar features had started to look the same. Eyes hovering over varying air filtration systems. Drones would run their routes stopping at people to audit compliance. While people walked they instinctively avoided interaction and maintained proper distances; two like poles of a magnet adjusting and counter adjusting. All without thought. All was normal… now…

“You have arrived at your destination… would you like to exit?” Alexa asked prompting for an answer so she could run the exiting macro. There were no macros then back then, even in my imagination… Every action was distinct, not a series of steps that were automated by tech. “Yes,” I replied, shaking off the daydream. The lights clicked off, the seat belt pulled away, and the navigation system went to parked mode. Caught off guard I had to pause and rethink my current situation as the car shut down. The doors would open but were synced with my mask. The doors would not open until the mask was engaged. I was at the apartment to search for a charger and get back to my office. I was missing one meeting and could not afford to miss another. I needed to verify my schedule for the rest of the day so I held up my phone and said “calendar.” Facial recognition and targeted speaking recognized the context of my instructions. The device was able to verify that I was looking and talking to it. The app opened and the multi-colored boxes covered the screen. I had meetings for meetings and my calendar looked like a puzzle if truth be told. However, I was in luck that the one I played hooky from lasted for another hour and then an hour gap afterward. A sense of relief ran through my body. I could feel the muscles relax like dominos falling one-after-the-other. I placed the phone in my pocket. I engaged my mask and the car door opened once confirmed.

I grabbed my shoulder bag and exited the car which promptly locked up behind me as I passed the geofence. I walked to the entrance along the weathered sidewalk. The tarnished brass door nobs highlighted years of wear. I opened the large antique wooden door with a small grunt as I jerked leaning backward. The stale air rushing past me as I entered. Even with the scents in my PPE, the dank musk bled through. The dated red carpets lined the hallway and the visible original wood looked like a checkerboard from the patches and repairs through the years. As I stepped into the hallway, which creaked as if screaming from my weight. While I walked past old commercial paintings I noticed the layered dust at the very top of the frames, missed during cleaning.

My wrist vibrated from a text message. Maggie was informed me that she would work late again. The texts streamed in like business notifications: factual and to the point. She held a role in a large software development firm in their R&D department and was always having project planning meetings. I looked at my watch and said “See you later” a pause “send” and it automatically sent. Most of our conversations seemed to function that way. Functional. I refocused on to the hallway and walked down to 116. My steps continued to announce my path. I pulled a mass of keys out of my pocket and shook them untangled. I grabbed the large silver key and wiggled it into the lock, which clicked with a turn. I slid through the door and took a panoramic view of the room. I looked at my watch and checked the time then mumbled out loud “What can you tell me in an hour?”

The sun peered out from behind the clouds and sent a beam through the window highlighting the table 116 appeared to have sat at. The dust shadowed the silhouette where the recorder was and resembling sidewalk chalk in a crime scene. I walked towards the table, scanning it, and then moved towards the bookshelves and desk. Suspecting the item to be located in the cedar desk, I slid the tiny boxes sitting on it side to side, fading the dust as I disturbed it. I opened the drawers and saw a set of wound up cords laying inside. I pulled them out and looked at the end to confirm that it did indeed match. Finding a match, I placed one of the cords, a portable charger, and a small charging block into my pocket. As I looked up I started to read the notes on papers on the desk. The scratched off lists seemed meaningless to my search. Full of apparent things to do such as tasks or chores.

I moved over by the bookshelf which was lined with composition journals. With quick mental math, I guessed that nearly one hundred journals lined the shelves. I pulled one from the center and fanned it open. Various ink types were woven throughout with multiple dates, followed by sections of text. The books appear to be journals and a timeline. Closing the book, I looked at the front cover. On the outside were a set of numbers. “05.05.20 W2-48” was written on the cover. I assumed it to be the date and some form of a coding system. I put the book back and reached in the upper left for the first book. I opened the book as I pulled it down to reading level. The code on the cover read “12.31.19 W0-01.” Inside the front cover had “Samuel Winsor” written on it. I caught sight of my watch and realized I had only had 40 mins until my next meeting. I glanced at the first entry. The date in the upper right corner was “02.01.20” and the first entry followed.

“Patient zero was first documented as 12.31.19. We have learned so much since then. But we don’t know anything yet. Such a scary place to be actually. Not knowing. The news cascades with conflicting stories. And the anticipation of what’s next and it’s daunting, like the anticipation of an inoculation. My name is Samuel Winsor. I live in a small city outside of New York City. I am not sure if I am writing this for someone else, or myself. I think this is more for me though. To capture my thoughts and to tell the story as straight as possible. If you were to only look at the headlines, the slanted views would ping-pong you back and forth winding you into a confused knot. I am writing what we have figured out. What I have figured out…

Today, the country did something that I no one anticipated would actually happen. We went into lockdown. Suddenly, abruptly, we stopped. The country closed all non-essential businesses and only left open what we need to continue living. Not just the basics though. So many things were able to stay open by sneaking in through loopholes. At least, that is what I am hoping is happening. Starbucks is not essential to survival. I believe I would be more worried if that were deemed so. Reports are coming in with claims of infection. The diagnoses vary. The incubation period is wildly different from person to person as are the effects. The documented cases are on the incline and we really do not have a plan outside of limiting the ability to spread…”

I received a push notification simultaneously on my watch and phone. There were 30 minutes until the next meeting. “Sh*t!” slipped out of my mouth. I found time escaping me and I felt the answers I sought were in grasp. The next meeting was for a major project that was coming and other than my peaked interest, my actions would not be seen as being responsible with my resources. I started to put the journal back, hesitated, then I decided to grab several more. I placed the collection under my arm and rushed out of the apartment door, manually locking it before darting to the vehicle. I engaged my PPE in motion bursting out of the complex. My car prepared when I was in its proximity and I jumped into the driver’s seat. “Alexa, drive to work.” I confirmed while the car locked me in and started moving. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the coiled charger and cord. I plugged it into the micro-recorder and the portable stick LED turned green and “33% ” appears on the tiny LCD. For once, it felt like luck was on my side. I pressed play as Alexa weaved into traffic. The raspy monologue resumed. I would be late, returning to the office but only slightly.

The audible exhale that I left off during rushed to the microphone and the female voice repeated: “I am.” Samuel’s voice resumed, “As the Federal Government collapsed, everyone, scrambled. Opportunist groups popped up all over. Being closest to New York, I was able to stay in the loop for this state and then most of the surrounding area. In a matter of days, the local governments controlled their cities and the state government took charge of those cities. Marshall Law was in effect. At first, nothing changed, outside of visual displays for power. My news feeds were overpowered with speculation and uncertainty. Over the next six months, the states began adopting their own sets of rules; all to keep order and prevent the spread. (pause) Crossing the state line had become just as intensive of a process as what leaving the country used to be. States had become independent and coming into was a petition of impossible.

By this point, we had had enough of this world. Not being in it would be just as pleasant if not more pleasant than going along with it. The seeds had been planted and would take root over time. Getting out of this life – became all that I thought about. And with all the closed quarters the neighbors talked. A group of us committed to ending it.”

“You have arrived at your destination.” Alexa interrupted on the arrival back. My mind was following the story and I lost track of the outside world. The car prepared me to exit. I put on my PPE the door opened and I slung my backpack over my shoulder. The little black box sat in the passenger seat on top of the journals. The top one had “…W0-08” in the corner. As I left the geofence I had to put this out of my mind for the next few hours.

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Read more of the Devastation Series.
Devastation: The Life After Part 1
Devastation: The Life After Part 2
Devastation: The Life After Part 3
Devastation: The Life After Part 4
Devastation: The Life After Part 5 (Coming soon)
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