“Alexa, home, quick route…” The car switched to drive mode and started to back out. I planned to look at the [journal] entry when I got home.

I skipped through remix songs as they streamed through the car speakers. The aroma of teriyaki and orange chicken filled the air, leaking out of the large bag. Condensation formed on the passenger window. The quick route took a county highway and bypassed the stoplights in the city. It was nice to also bypass city life. I cracked the windows so the cool night’s breeze could be felt passing through the cabin. A long guitar solo blared into the speakers and for the first time that day, I let my mind become empty. The thoughts that I filled my mind with were only of the wind, musical instruments, and trees I watched zip by. I could feel my heart slowly beating and the excess weights in my life being shed breath by breath. I made it through four songs before taking the exit home. The cloudy weather led to a darker than usual night making it appear well into the evening. The street lights were on and the headlights illuminated the street signs. The AAOS slowed the vehicle to a stop, detected no traffic, then turned towards my home.

I pulled into the driveway and commanded Alexa to disconnect Bluetooth and turn off the music. I pressed my body into the seat, gazed out the window, and let out a sigh. “Round two,” I thought to myself but didn’t yet realize how fitting that would be, on multiple levels. The macro ran and I grabbed the food. I shut the car door and manually locked it. As I walked toward the front entrance, a thought of Samuel torpedoed my mind. His voice started to replay in my head and I remembered the journals sitting inside of the car. I turned and went back to get them and felt my stomach growl as I juggled the food and journals below my nose. I imagined the bell ringing as I entered the ring for the next round. I had a mental to-do list and wanted to knock it out.

I entered the weathered door and sat everything on a small table at the doorway. I could hear music playing in the kitchen, where Maggie was working on her project. I slipped off my shoes and carried the pile into the dining room. The dining room had a 6 person seating arrangement and Maggie was working at one end of the rectangle-shaped table. While we do have an office each, she seemed to prefer the open space and lighting in there. The music also echoed nicely in the open space. “Hey,” she said not looking up from her Linx. I replied the same. I sat the food on the wooden tabletop and pulled out the foam containers. After checking the contents, I placed it off to the side of the computer. “How was your day?” I asked trying to spark conversation. I pushed my food container off to the side as I sat down at the table. I picked up the books and found the one that fell open on the floorboard. “W0-08” was written in the corner. She replied to me, looking away from her makeshift workstation. “It was long really – but I have been knee-deep in this project. So my time has mostly been overtaken.” I started to flip through the pages, searching for what I saw in the restaurant parking lot. “What about you?” She asked, seeing that I was somewhat mentally absent.

It took a moment for the thoughts to register as I scanned the pages in front of me. “It was an interesting day…” I trailed off halfway through the sentence as I found the page I was looking for. It was a floor plan and an entire living arrangement design. I continued my sentence, “I found some information about a tenant, one that survived the pandemic and then disappeared.” Forgetting that she was very politically charged, for a moment, she started discussing the history of the outbreak, the potential that it was a lab mishap, and also a couple more conspiracy theories involving us as sheep. I interjected “My dad also shot me an email…” which I knew would stop the rant, but that fell short of her feelings for my family. I figured I could engage with this one though since my mind was bound to wander elsewhere.
“Why do you let him do that to you?” She piped back. “What do you mean?” I asked looking in her direction.
“Jake… every… time!” she cocked back, which must have left me with a puzzled look. “Every time he contacts you, Jake, you get all weirded out or something.”
“I am thinking about the tenant case right now actually,” I said.
“Bullsh… Jake… he stepped out on you. He comes back in every so often, like he is making sure that he did not miss something. His distance was his choice, Jake. He abandoned you.” She lectured.
“Maggie – we have been over this. He decided… after mom died. No, it is not something that I agree with – nor do I fully understand… His separation was something that he must have needed. You’re right Maggie – I know how you feel – it was crappy…” I passionately explained.
“Crappy is an understatement, Jake. Not to mention I get to deal with the fallout.” She snapped.
“Excuse me, I was just sharing my day Maggie. It was factual. I didn’t even read it…” I submitted.
“Then don’t. You know the road and you’ve walked it before. It’s time to move on. You’d be an idiot to puppet in…” She stated.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I quickly fired back.

She looked back to her work and quickly started typing – realizing she had said too much. We never agreed on politics or my family. And while the conversations were never pleasant, this time felt very personal. It felt like a culmination over time. In the years we had been together, she had met my father once. And from her perspective, that was once too many. Maggie believed in technology and strongly felt that my dad’s separation was a cowardly way to deal with the loss of my mother. He was turning his back on the world and some other escapist mindset. While I did not think his actions were warranted, he had been on the edge of technology for as long as I could remember. I tended to empathize more. I remembered the funeral and his attempts to adapt to a new world after. I was just old enough to have full memories and those are many of my first. I glanced over at her, disappointed by the insensitive comments. “Please do not talk about my father that way again Maggie. You have the right to have opinions – but too far… Too far…” I instructed her in a stern non-feeling tone. She had no response and appeared to dive even more into her project work.

I lost my appetite as anxiety rushed through my body. I felt defensive, offensive, hurt, sad, and confused all at the same time. I picked up my food container and put it in the fridge for later. The tension was thick in the room and it would have been overwhelming to stay in there with her. I grabbed my bags and slung them over my shoulder. As I turned and exited the room, I picked up the journals. I could not work through the things that I wanted to, or needed to, in that climate. I could feel her watching me quietly as I walked out of the kitchen and opened the door to the basement. While it was not quite a man cave it was where I spent my solitary time. Stepping off the last stair I called out “Alexa – set room to work-study mode.” The lights lowered from bright to just enough to be able to read without squinting. The audio systems engaged and a mix started playing that I liked to listen to when working through things: a light rock with minimal words and lots of guitar. It was perfect.

Downstairs we had a rustic leather couch in the center of the room with the latest comfort technology and a small entertainment system against the wall. The highlight, being the holograph which we splurged on when they came out. Three-dimensional television is what the trends coined it. It reminded me of a projector that met a hologram but with much more engaging detail. The mostly furnished basement also had a small desk that I sat at to work on things. I would often game at this desk for hours since I had my enviro-bubble set up in this area. I could easily control all of the environmental settings in a sphere-like space around the desk. The rest of the walls were lined with bookshelves or pieces of art that I had picked out over time. I still liked to collect books – having read the majority of them. While they were still made upon demand, they had become the vinyl of today, as the elderly would suggest.

Maggie didn’t appreciate many of the things that I did, which became more obvious over time. She believed in staying modern and was heavily invested in the newest things. I used to think that I wanted that as well, but time had an impact on things. I pushed feelings aside for a moment and pulled out the large executive gaming chair. I placed my bags beside the desk and sat the journals on top, still open to the sketches. The music helped lower the tension I was experiencing, and the smell of dragon’s blood carried through the air. Since I spent a lot of my time in the basement, I added sense appealing extras to the bubble which released your favorite aromas. I leaned back into the chair and looked up at the recessed lighting. The lighting auto-adjusted in the room based on my location and dimmed when I looked directly at them. I could not help but exhale and close my eyes. I had forgotten about my original excitement with the recent events, and I lost track of time while my eyes were closed.

I woke up 30 mins later, by startling myself. I was slightly disoriented from the abrupt waking and looked around the room to get my bearings. I strolled over to the fridge and got a soda out. I grabbed a cup from the small cupboard above the sink and tossed in a couple of ice cubes then poured a cold Dr. Pepper into a cup. Maggie preferred the beverage maker she purchased, while I preferred a simple old fashioned can. I got back to the desk and turned on the small light to the side. I opened my bag and slid out my Linx and pressed my phone into place. I opened the monitor and slightly bent the screen into a curve removing the tiny reflections. I opened my email and instinctively selected the note from my father. Maggie was right about one thing; it would have stayed with me until I read it. It read:

“Dear Jake,
It has been a while since I have talked to you and I just want to check in with you. There isn’t anything really wrong… other than I miss my son.

The farm is doing well. I have finally got my small acreage to work in harmony. I even got a few monitoring systems to make sure that the ph levels are within good ranges. It is, after all, much easier than manual titration. I have successfully been living “off the land” for several months now. You may scoff, but it is fascinating to see everything intertwined and functioning without the use of some gadget or widget to aid it along the way. I know, I know, you will likely point out the system I just purchased…”

He was right. My first thoughts ran straight to the tech he just purchased. I jokingly thought to myself that he must have been getting soft at his old age.

“…but, it wasn’t a need. My hands are just getting sore with my age and it was a nice alternative option. But, mind you, I can still run everything without it. (I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say that.)

The anniversary of your mom’s passing is later this month. It has been 33 years, this year, Jake. And I still miss her like it was yesterday. I still dream about her y’know? Whenever I get into my car, I imagine what life could have been like if we weren’t trying to keep up with the Joans’. (That saying is way past your time son.) When I get out – which I like to do – I see, almost everyone, driving… except they are not. The cars drive them. And I see everyone look at me, probably the only guy that still has a fully manual automatic. I have moved beyond telling them not to trust it, the tech… times have changed. Tech has improved, I suppose. At this rate – I may even listen to your anti-aging speech someday. Not today though.

I just want to see you when you have some time. Maybe over this weekend, or perhaps next weekend. I promise not to go into an anti-tech schpeal. You can even bring Maggie. (Remember, she’s the one that doesn’t like me). I am just curious how work is going, how the life has unfolded for you, what you’re thinking, what’s on your mind? Time has a way of slipping by… either following the trends or avoiding them. In either case, you are still left without something, I suppose. Shoot your dad a note back when you have time.
I love you, Jake.
Your Father.”

The memory of my mother’s accident is all that I remember while being 5. The casket and cold lifeless body. She was there, but she wasn’t… and I could not understand. I remember her skin – firm, and cold to my kiss. Clammy to my tiny lips. I lost both of my parents that year, looking back at it. The AAOS was not around at that time. Amazon and Alexa were just a retailer, slowly branching out into new things. Navigation AI was new at the time. I remember hearing my parents talk about drones delivering packages. We ordered something just to see the same day delivery work. I remember that it only took hours, but paved the way for so much more. I do not recall the name of the company of that automotive operating system. I should, it was significant, but I did not. Some details seem to get pushed out of the way to make room for others. The technology was still new… The crash changed so many things.

I wiped my face with my hand, I refocused and remembered the email from my father. Heavy feelings started to weigh on my body again. A tiny spark inside of me smoldered for some time after reading the letter. I knew that I needed to see him. Perhaps it was dealing with the baggage, Maggie, or maybe even just making time… The reason I did not go see him seemed to change like excuses from a child caught in a candy jar. But, none of the reasons were good. His health has faded over the years, and despite his positive attitude, it had taken its toll and he wore his age. I worked through the feelings that brewed inside of me. Battling reasons to not go, I accepted that it was time to see him. I would need to arrange a time, figure out what to do about Maggie, and prepare for a hard few days ahead. I clicked reply and pecked out, “I will come soon.” with one hand. After I sent the email, I texted Maggie, “Going to see him.” I figured I would stay downstairs in my bomb shelter during the fallout after the text message was read. I heard stomping upstairs and Maggie talking to herself through the floor. I learned she was passive-aggressive much later in our relationship.

I scooted the Linx to the side and slid the open composition book into view. The lines were bold from several strokes and words accented the shapes. The drawing appeared to be a draft of a farm or something similar. I flipped through the prior pages and confirmed it was the first drawing. The blocks resembled a floor plan but were greater than that. Grass, garden, and animal stock were just several of the words on the preliminary draft. I studied the drawing for a few moments more before turning the page. Unlike the other entries, this one had no date. Sequentially, I guessed that it was June or July of 2020, based on where it was located in the book. Several ink types lined the page so I guessed that it had been a work in progress. I started to read the document which read more like a textbook that journal entry, unlike the others.

“The community will serve multiple purposes. Freshwater irrigation and natural filters will clean the water. Rain collection barrels will catch the large amounts of rain. Animals will be protein as well as a garden full of produce and beans. I need to study the food chain and life cycle of a chicken. There could be natural filters in place for the cabin to cleanse the air. There will be a greenhouse and solar capabilities for year ’round food sources. I’d need to stock up on rice, beans while making the system work.”
The short notes and incomplete sentences went on for an entire page. The next few pages supported refined renditions of the first drawing. I continued reading and decided to get a drink before starting the journal entries.

I scooted back in my chair and walked up the long stairs. I could hear Maggie moving around, and her keys were clanging with her movement. As I crested the hill I heard the door slam behind her as she exited. The clanging got quieter, and the garage door roared open in the still of the evening house. The table was left full of her work progress and a sticky-note was posted on the fridge. “Meeting some friends.” She did not need to sign it since it was just us living in her apartment, but her lack of other words confirms the stomping I heard overhead. I opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of Southern Comfort. It mixed well with my soda, I have found.

I ventured back down the stairs and slid back into my desk chair. I turned the volume up significantly and took a couple of shots straight from the bottle before mixing it into my nearly empty soda. I really should have eaten something before my nightcap. I moved the journal back into sight and began reading…”We have started talking about alternative living plans. There are so many sustainable things available to us. I have found others that think the same and it is so refreshing to have conversations. A couple of my neighbors are really into the concept. Contact has been limited since the beginning and it has been months since this all started. I cannot keep track of opinions, facts, and fiction in the news. Even the federal government is exhibiting reactive tendencies and only the state has provided real clarity, but nothing makes sense right now. Companies have started using thermal scanning to go to work. Since I work over the phone mostly, I can work in the apartment. So much is changing. Using meeting apps and other technology we have been able to continue working. With the apps growing popularity – even the neighbors now use it to connect with their people.

While I was passing a neighbor, going on an essentials run, I created small talk. Just staring out the windows for a moment. We saw one another as people. Thankful for that, we occasionally chat on the apps as well, now. Humanity is life-giving. Essentials are becoming harder and harder to get. As companies go through infections and protocols are put in place for larger groups, several items are not available anymore. The stores once full of many brands only have one (if that). Daily, I wonder, what normal is any more. Nearly half a year into this – insanity seems to appeal to me. I wonder if a crazy person conceives that they are or maybe…”

The words trailed off as my vision blurred…

Read more of the Devastation Series.