A-Void

Notices allowing us to enter New Jamestown. There, they would provide vaccines and take us through quarantine, but we had applied to move long before the Contamination—just to get out of this mess.
“I hope it says ‘Yes,’ Billy,” Federico said. “I don’t know what we’ll do.” His voice broke. “Like Armand Vander said, we’re humans in captivity, just like zoo animals. Have you seen pictures of captive killer whales? Their fins are flipped sideways.”
“Yeah, and polar bears in zoos pace and walk backwards. Some even hurt themselves intentionally.”
“We definitely feel trapped. I think it’s getting to everybody else too. Whenever I say ‘Hi’ to people—even neighbors—they glance at me in this traumatized, angry way, as if I’m a rabid dog that’s about to maul them. You know what I mean?”
“Everyone’s losing their minds. A neighbor down the street found Jasmine’s wedding ring, and you won’t believe it—he wanted a damn reward. Can you believe it? A fucking reward for doing what’s decent.”
“I know. Everyone thinks they’re owed something nowadays. Everyone wants gratuity for just doing their job.”
“I’m surprised when someone actually does his or her job anymore. They all need constant reminders, they’re so distracted. It’s easier just to do everything yourself.”
“We’ve stopped eating out because it seems they’re always getting our orders wrong nowadays. And, every time we’ve brought something up, they say, ‘It’s the first time we’ve heard this.’”
I lowered my window again. “Anyway, how are the third-graders doing?”
“I didn’t teach anything again,” he said, “but I made sure I covered everything the higher-ups want me to.”
“So it’s not getting any better?”
“All this technology is great, but I feel like I’m old and I’m just forty! I have no idea what they’re doing on their Organelles. I go faster and faster and I’m still behind. There’s just this huge divide between us.”
“The laws can’t even keep up. Kids at Isabella’s school are sending each other nude photos and no one knows how to stop it, and we’re all mandated reporters.”
“I feel they don’t need me anymore.”
“There used to be this distinction between adults and children, but it’s going away. I wonder how it’ll be in the future.”
Then, after a long pause, Federico asked, “Are you still stuck in traffic?”
“They’re doing construction again. Hour and a half, watching people get into the carpool lane with a pet,” I said.
“What’s the point of continuously constructing a new lane if by the time it’s built it’s gridlocked?”
“I’ve developed this problem in my hip just from sitting in traffic. And I keep gaining weight no matter what I eat. My doctor keeps telling me to exercise more and to eat better. How? When? The solution is the problem.”
“I tried to walk the other day and all these messages kept coming in. It’s like you can’t get away anymore. You can’t just get lost.”
“My doc’s just stuck in The Centrifuge like the rest of us, preprogrammed, zombified,” I said, sighing. I watched heat waves above the cars far ahead and wondered if they were having the same conversations.
“People get ill from working so much,” Federico said, “and then they make you use your vacation to get well.”
“That’s another form of captivity.”
“I’m afraid to take time off, there’s so much work piled up when I return. As it is, I’m already scared to open my email.”
Something must be wrong if everyone’s taking antidepressants or antianxiety medication. What’s normal then? Who’s ill? People or society?”
“Billy, hold on!”
“What?”
“This guy in front of me just got out of the car in the middle of the freeway. He’s just walking down through the traffic. He’s giving up!”
I’m pulled back into the present when I hear a loud radio broadcast fade in and out. It sounds like it’s coming from outside the house. Already, Cleveland is at my feet barking. We hurry clumsily through the halls toward the front lawn.
I track the sound to the neighbor on our left. “Hello? Anyone inside?” As I step into their house, smoke suffocates me. I cover my face with my T-shirt. “Hello!”
I cannot withstand the smoke. As I retreat, a fireball lands in front of me and I stumble to the ground just as another fireball slams on my back. I roll on the lawn. Cleveland sidesteps, barking. I grab his collar and we drag each other back to our home.
As we enter the house, I hear explosions from the back of the house. Cleveland turns his face away and heads back outside. I run into the foyer and grab my keys. Through my watery eyes, I watch orange flames twist out like ghosts, their shadows shattering our walls into little puzzle pieces. I turn to run, but I see Isabella’s shiny unicorn lying on its side and grab it.
Dizzily, I leave the house, surveying for aid—neighbors, the Fire Department. Where is everyone? “Cleveland?” I yell as I enter the Honda-Toyota-Chrysler. Blinding smoke sweeps across the windshield. “Cleveland?”
As I reverse, the seat stings my back and I realize my back is burned. On the street, I pound the horn. I drive slowly past the houses and roll down the window. “Cleveland?”
I notice my shirt is soaked with sweat. “What’s happening?”
I watch the fire eat the flesh of our chimney. The roof collapses sideways. Coughing squirts tears from my eyes.
I reenter the Honda-Toyota-Chrysler and discover my blood smeared against the backrest. Something brushes my leg.
“Cleveland!” He is shaking as I pat him.
I see the smoke of other fires burning around us.
The lights at Ralphs-Safeway-Whole Foods are on. Leaving bloodied tracks behind me, I dig through the pharmacy shelves, but as usual there are no bandages left. I peel off my ashy shirt; dried blood and skin hangs off me. I pour alcohol in graduated amounts over the burn on my back, stretching in between to diffuse the stabbing pain.
Most of the shelves and the entire Customized Once-a-Day Pill department are empty, but I am lucky to find a few bottles of water, some cans of Fanta soda, a loaf of Wonder Bread, a