Continued from part 11 of the Devastation Series.

I had terrible dreams that night many of them I could not remember. I awoke in cold sweats several times throughout the night. The kind of sweats when you have some sickness that has taken over your body. It startled me upright and forced me to catch my breath. I tried to take off my soaked shirt but ended up changing into another after the suede-like cushion fabric clung to my skin. I tossed and turned in the two feet available to me, without landing on the floor. I was sure that the changes in life were setting my sub-conscience into a frenzy. A Freudian dream-reader would have had a racket with the circus in my head, whoever that self was.

The dreams were mostly of me helpless. Full of confusion and evil figures with familiar faces blocking me from one thing or another. In one segment, I recalled, that my dad was needing help and was just out of reach. We could not clearly communicate with one another despite our efforts and would then just fade away. It is funny how pent up emotions brew and your ego orchestrates different perspectives like a conductor for a choir. The night was long – and despite being safe on the couch, I felt far from it. It felt like I was onto something bigger… I was setting up the pieces of the mosaic… I just needed to be able to step back and see the larger picture. I figured I would continue to examine myself for some time and hoped that it gave way to deeper learnings.

Morning finally came and it was time to get back to work. I found the coffee that I brought from the house and set up the pot to brew. “Hey Alexa, play Hard Rock,” I called out. After a few moments, the Echo started working through a popularized playlist. I walked from pile to pile picking an outfit for the day then got dressed. The coffee was brewing, music was playing and I was starting a new day today, in a new life. It felt dramatic but the truth was that the changes were impactful. I had also tucked away my fascinations with Samuel, with everything else going on. I had a moment of excitement when I thought about digging back in tonight. That ended when I realized – I was technically homeless. It didn’t matter right this second, though. I grabbed a coffee and donned my PPE.

Rob checked in a couple of times that day, checking on the progress of the report for 116. I was able to delay any action for a bit since I was out yesterday. No one asked if I did anything fun – or if I was OK. We did not have that type of relationship in the office. It wasn’t that people didn’t care, it was that there was no time for it. Emotion took up space and muddied waters that people didn’t want to be in, in the first place. His inquires reminded though, of my current situation. I was staying in the apartment. I needed a plan. My first thoughts considered a hotel and then getting another apartment. While the most logical, I was not done with 116. Something was happening to me. I could not help but think that things happened for a reason and that I was supposed to learn something. For someone… 116 felt as if it was a rehabilitation, but I was unsure from what.

I did not have time to doddle for long, so I had to come up with a plan. I continued with my work for the day and fielded off email after email. I answered calls and worked on projects. I went to meetings about meetings and planned meetings to plan for meetings. The redundancy was humorous to me and passed the hours by. I performed my own research and weighed my options for housing. While I could afford a few options, I could not shake the feeling that I was having. I was going to find a way to stay in the apartment. I convinced myself that I would use that time to figure things out and make a plan from there. I saved a link to the internal housing applications to my favorites and contemplated just applying for the apartment outright. I would have to make some move soon.

I finished the day at work and pre-ordered from a restaurant before I left. I was not hungry but also knew that I did not have much at the apartment yet outside of my coop box. I decided to do order groceries later that night. It was Thursday, and I wanted things for the weekend. So I started making a mental list. I rested my mask over my head like ballcap, not slid on yet, as I picked up my computer and a copy of the file from 116 that was sitting on the corner of my desk. The office was nearly empty by now since everyone cut out after the last meeting. With no one there, I didn’t feel obligated to wear my mask as I strolled through the office. I walked along the isles and looked in doors and windows of each space as I walked by.

Each space looked like the other spaces. Some form of photo frame seemed to be present at each station. Most were 3D, some were holographic, a few 2D, and a couple of antique photo frames. Each had the standard company digital calendar board but only a few had personalized them. Some had birthdays – some tracked their hours – some just tallied them off like some form of a prison sentence. Many had their favorite books in digital format, which sent my mind to thinking about my dad’s bookcase and the tangible paper copies. It must have satisfied a texture sensory response. The SDI’s, or single digital issues lined several desks. Each small tablet-like device contained a standalone book and OS to navigate it. It seemed ironic to take the equivalent of a progressive step backward. Avid readers had their Kindle or GLAD, Google’s Library Android Devices on their desks. Each desk had sanitizer, UV lights, an extra mask, filters, and varying brands but similar personal care items.

As I started to leave the lights went black as I passed each cube, shutting down for the evening. It was apparent that I was the last person in the office at that time. As I walked by Rob’s workstation, I noticed that the system had glitched and froze before logging him out. In an instant, I found myself sitting at his desk. An adrenaline rush pulsed through my body as I wondered what the hell I was doing. Of course, I knew – but where did it come from? I could make 116 seem like the report was done already. I could skip all of that and just rent the place, somehow… The pressure was on to complete the reporting, moving 116 along, but I was not threatened yet. Not that I liked to gauge my professionalism by that, I was just processing options at that point. My conscience was screaming as I pulled the chair out and sat down. Like a snowball down a mountain, I just hoped no avalanches were in the near future.

I opened the company’s cloud dashboard and saw Rob’s username and information. He was still signed into that as well. I clicked through the portal entry and landed at the property manager and administration app. The properties were listed in categories and sorted by vacancies. To the right of the screen was an “incomplete properties” section. I expanded the view and saw the apartment complex 116 was at. Each unit had status indications next to them. The incomplete files were at the top followed by the oldest renovation date. Each unit inside of the property was marked as Renovation Needed, No Renovation Needed, Waiting on Survey, and Processed. The rooms that I had looked at and completed a report for, were staged for Renovation Needed. 116, being stayed by me, had several red flags and incompletes next to them. By this point I had silenced the angel on my shoulder so only the little demon and the cowardly, but a more intelligent voice, was present.

Naive to the process, I weighed the options. I weighed the likelihood of getting caught and if I was assuming that I would – what would the outcome of that be.” What was the administration process anyway,” I wondered? It was then that I noticed a small gray table at the bottom of the dashboard “Standard Work/Processing Instructions” in bold italicized letters. I opened the document and perused the table of contents. I picked a couple of sections and started to read. The document was very well written and detailed specifications for training, so it covered all aspects and perspectives of navigating the dashboard and property management from acquiring to selling. I found the details related to what the processes were and how to complete a renovation project followed by what that triggered – did it notify anyone, etc.? I finished reading and needed to decide.

I spontaneously felt pressured and rebellious which painted me into a corner. I felt like I had to bypass the system although I knew there were other ways. I didn’t have to make the apartment skip all the proper steps to renovate and rent. Surely, I could find another way… The questions continued: “What would I do if I got caught? Would I lose my job? Would I be fined?” I do not know how – but lots of nonsense rammed the front of my brain at that moment. I began selecting complete and N/A and decided that there was no turning back. I “selected all” for 116 and completed the unit out in the system. It would have been too obvious to only skip the renovation. If I only completed some things – it would require attention again. I checked the “Other” reason box next to the reason for or against renovation. In the other text box, I typed “special circumstances applied, per mgmt.” 116 was the only thing stopping the progress of that complex. As soon as I hit submit, the teams would be notified for the next steps and the work would begin; I doubted anyone would look back. I froze hovering over the button as if it was a nuclear code launch… In a split second, I cheated, breaking rules that a person should just inherently know not to break. I did not realize how much paranoia would come over me.

I finished the logout process and put Rob’s desk back the way it was when I snuck into his space. I hurried down the halls with lights rapidly snapping off with my escape. I adjusted my mask holster resting on my head and pressed the engage button locking everything into place. I opened the car door, threw my bag in, and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands firmly. My arms were locked and I stared out of the window with a 1000 yard stare. If someone was in front of me, I would have been looking through them. I had significant amounts of nervous energy and needed to get out of that space as soon as possible. I would suffer from my guilty conscious the remainder of the day. “What next?” I asked out loud.

As I got into the car, I removed my mask. “Alexa – take me to the restaurant that I ordered from,” I looked at the navigation panel and selected from the last artists played. Heavy guitars and vocals surrounded me as I began heading for the takeout ordered earlier. Traffic had died down for the evening as I pulled into Bravo’s Burger Bliss. I pulled up to the takeout kiosk and rolled down the window to scan my phone screen. After scanning had completed, the kiosk started warming up. The orders were mostly made to order so it always took a couple of minutes extra. However, everything still had a fresh taste and appearance if you ate it right away. The screen switched from preparing meals to delivering. The conveyance system brought the food capsule from inside of the restaurant to the kiosk that I was at. I opened the sliding door, removed the capsule, took out the food, and checked the order accuracy. I selected accepted on the screening questionnaire and rolled up my window to head to what I was calling home. I continued the music and Alexa began route.

It was 6 PM and Alexa had taken the highway due to an automobile accident on our normal route. The phone rang over the navigation system and “DAD” appeared on the navigation pane. I did not want to answer right then, I just wanted to check out, eat my sandwich, and maybe read some if I had the energy to expend. I still had not walked through all of the thoughts and wanted to move on. “Hey dad,” I answered. He does not normally call so I assumed that he would want to talk or needed something. “Jake, I wanted (excessive coughing) to tell you that I had to go to (coughing) the hospital, I am in the hospital.” He faded out. Caught off guard, I had to register what was being said. “Alexa pull over.” The car continued and when clear from traffic crossed the line on the shoulder. My next replies, scattered, “Wha-hey Dad? You’re in the hospital?” I was not thinking clearly. My mind roaming between worry and the need to take action.
“Yes, Jake (cough), I am St. Christopher’s Memorial.” He acknowledged.
“What’s up dad – what’s going on?” I questioned.
“Don’t know yet Jake, struggled to breathe. Became delirious and couldn’t think.” He shared.
“I’ll be right there…Alexa St. Christopher’s Memorial…” I said all in one sentence. Dad tried to detour me but that was not going to happen. There was no reason that I should, would, or could not go. The car pulled off at the next overpass and turned around on the highway. We would be at the hospital in 20 mins. I turned the music up and mentally buckled for a bumpy ride.

I parked close to the building at the emergency room entrance. I struggled to get my mask connected quickly enough to get out of the car. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my cheek as I entered the large revolving doors. I had not been in a hospital for many years, so I was slightly stunned by all of the changes. I should have expected it to coincide with the rate of change outside of the walls but had an older image hardwired into my mind. Small drones buzz overhead acting as surveillance and condiment robotics stroll occasionally down the halls with the basics – sort of an active vending machine. As with most things, the check-in process was automated. I walked to the kiosk and scanned my thumbprint. A standard inquiry appeared on the screen and I selected “visit a relative.” I entered his first name and date of birth then pressed enter. I selected my dad’s name and a room number appeared. I signed the standard PPE and visitation guidelines and followed the signs to the elevator.

I knocked before entering the room. He beckoned me to come in. The lights were low and the bed reclined. He lay staring up at the simple television. Many of the issued TV’s for places like this were 2D and only had 4K technology. He was watching a movie when I entered. “Did they beat you up yet?” I asked approaching the side of his bed. He was slightly distant and lethargic but conscious and aware of normal details. “I have had my meds and they gave me some muscle relaxers or something. My cough had become painful.” He looked in my direction. “I am glad to see you son…” He trailed off. His eyes were full of emotion and were comforted by my presence. I scanned the room and I deduced that the was brought by ambulance or someone else. 
“What have they got ‘chu in for?” I asked.
“The AIA said that it is likely pneumonia, acute pneumonia…” he replied. 
“Ambulance? What time?” I tried to confirm my assessment.
“Oh a few hours ago – I got to coughing and couldn’t breathe… yeah – ambulance.” He confirmed. The AIA, or artificial intelligent assessment, was a preliminary diagnosis based on measurable attributes. A more thorough analysis was likely run as well, but the blood and antibody markers took a little longer. The accuracy was in the 90th percentile, so without any glaring flags – treatment would begin with the AIA’s regimented care. The accuracy level only differs on subjective items. Millions of scenarios are processed at the time a patient arrives.

It was good to see my father and that he seemed fairly stable at the time. The immediate fear had subsided; he had a way of making a person feel comfortable. I sat around and chit-chatted for a little while keeping him company. We would not likely have results until tomorrow since it was late. About an hour into our visit, a nurse came in to do dosing. I asked several questions and it did sound like they were certain of the diagnosis. He had started to hurt from his coughing so they issued his pain meds again. I knew that our conversation would likely dwindle but was glad that they care was able to focus on the symptoms. He was fairly weak and let the nurse move his somewhat limp body around. He resembled a man that had given up. I pulled up the soft bed-chair, that was in the corner, beside his bed. With the volume low, the nurse did what she needed to and left. Dad turned slightly in my direction.

“Jake…” followed by a long pause, “what is on your beautiful mind? I can see you. You are somewhere else. You are going through some sort of fight.”
“Dad – I am fine…” I stammered slightly, caught off guard, “let’s focus on your current…” He cut me off.
“Before I get lost, here is Val’s info. Can you call here tomorrow and ask her to keep an eye on the place for a couple of days? We do that for each other when one person is out.
“Sure Dad. I would be glad to.” I replied.
“Now back to whats important now. Jake… it’s ok. This isn’t my first rodeo. This is what I want to talk about right now…” Dad pointed at me tapping his finger on my chest.
“Dad…” I started to say something deflecting, but the words started falling out of my mouth. I had been holding it in. Like a pressurized soda bottle, the fizz just spewed out. The lost feeling that I had been feeling, the hurt and regrets of Maggie, Samuel, and my adventure, and dad’s choices after mom. The tears that welled in my eyes burst and rushed down the contours of my face. I was lost somewhere between saddened, and vulnerable. There was also relief – the kind when you remove pressure from a wound. His voice was so comforting and soothing. He listened and slightly nodded as I continued. He pulled a tissue from the box beside him and touched it to my face. And when he spoke, it was like a key to a lock. It was a conversation that you could not have planned for. When you schedule a meeting, sometimes they turned out well, sometimes it was mostly a check-the-box activity. Sort of to say “you did it.” This was one of the rare, the few, that everything aligned – even at the unlikeliest of times.

I learned that he gave up on technology for more than just mom dying. That was the catalyst for a desire that he had for a long time. He had lost faith in things. People. People and technology and how we chose to use the advances given to us. Manipulation of things beyond the original intent so that no invention ended being solely a good thing. Sure mom’s death was tragic – and solidified his view on certain things, but it was never the reason for the lifestyle that he chose. He was exposed to countless people that forgot how to do things. The art or the skill of simple and complicated alike. People learned to satisfy the machine requirements to get the outcome they desired. Like coins in a vending machine, the thing would just drop out with the right sequence fed in.

I learned that he never did like Maggie, but supported whatever I wished to do. He went along, always hoping for the best, and trying to convince himself the worst was just a phase. He told me that he saw a caged lion in my eyes. One that knew the wild – and yearned for it, but when confined, the fire was gone. The spark disappeared and the ashes were all that remained. In typical dad form, he did not harbor any ill feelings towards her, only regrets that I had not drawn boundaries for myself. And he assured me that if I wanted to go back to her – she would never know what we had talked about. He has learned hope for people again, and change. I found out, during that conversation, he had stopped by on several occasions, and as luck would have it, I was never home. I never knew he stopped by, The message never made it to me. He assumed that I was busy and chose something more important with my allotted time.

And just like that, his eyes grew heavier. His words started having longer beats between them and his blinks appeared to be exaggeratedly slow. He faded off as the medicine took over and I tucked him in. A memory of my bedtime as a child flashed before my eyes – and I pulled the blankets up his chest. I tucked in his sides and moved the serving table out of the way. My eyes bloodshot and red streaks eroded any tough guy appeal that I pretended to have. In a couple hours timeframe I released several months of anguish. I got to finally talk a lot of it through. I also had someone in my corner which was encouraging and would allow me to continue on. I wrote a small note on a hospital paper pad and set it on the table so he would see it when he woke up. It read:

“Dad, I love you. The pressures that you just released… but just listening. I am so sorry that we have lost so much time. Now rest up – I need you. I will be by tomorrow to check on you. If you need me before then, call. Number for work and cell on the digital writing board. “

I went to the digital whiteboard and sketched all of my contact information. I put on my PPE and exited the room then the hospital. I drove home with soft guitars and nostalgic vibes. I took the long way back to the apartment. I looked over to my cold burger and sighed – at least I have a microwave, I thought.

Read more of the Devastation Series.

Continued from part 8 of the Devastation Series.

That evening was almost harmonious until it wasn’t for me. Maggie and I enjoyed a healthy conversation and debated like we used to. You would have not known that we were angry and ignoring each other a half day ago. We had the illusion of being connected for the first time in a long time. It did not feel like we were talking at each other. Even with that though, my mind would not let things go. Dinner wrapped up and we cleared our plates. I tended to the dishes and she scooped a portion of watergate salad from the bowl she had caught it in. We took our small salads and moved to the living room. The still of the night had settled into the house.

We sat beside each other on the couch taking bites of our fruit salad. She picked up the remote and the projectors synchronized. The layered images danced on the video platform while my mind went elsewhere. As the first scenes started to appear, a scent of fresh grass spritzed in the air. The full immersion of the entertainment brought us to the grass being mowed in the show. However, I was fixated on my surroundings. I had a critical eye and was noticing everything around me. I looked around our home and imagined what Samuel would have lived in. Not in the apartment, I had a decent understanding of that. What was the day to day like, I wondered? Everything around us was synchronized for the show, like a symphony, for the full experience. Instead of appreciating it I noticed Maggie on her phone. She was shopping again.

I squinted from the new light. The sun crested the horizon and snaked up my body. I instinctively stretched and got out of bed as the animals alerted the world of the new day. I slid my coveralls on with the straps dangling by my sides and walked to the kitchen. I turned on the kettle then I poured beans into a small grinder. I set up the pour-over. Once the water boiled on the stovetop, I poured it over the mound of grounds, held in by a small paper filter. I remembered my modern kitchen and then I realized that I did not miss the automatic coffee maker. The richly flavored beans were much better when slowly prepared. I sipped from the steaming small cup and looked out of the window by the kitchen. The trees fenced the sun off and their shadowy silhouettes were blackened. I reached down and pulled my overall straps over my shoulders, one at a time. I could see the neighboring houses stirring with life as well. Valerie? Valerie walked out of her cabin across from me. “Hey babe?” I called into the bedroom. I walked back to the bedroom and looked at the bunched blankets, tangled from a night’s sleep. The bed was empty and Maggie didn’t exist here.

I was caught off guard, in the comfortable strangeness. I shook the feelings away and passed through the short hallways. I pushed the screendoor open. A crisp breeze pulled into my face and a white cloud appeared with my breath. “Morning Jake!” A fresh voice called to me. I stammered slightly and managed to bellow, “Morning Val.” Val? I stopped myself. I did not know her, everything suddenly felt unfamiliar. My procedural memory shut the screen door. I walked over to the shed beside the cabin-esk home that resembled a very weathered smaller log cabin. I reached inside the door and grabbed a tin bucket filled with mixed grains. I turned and headed to the open yard where the chickens were congregating. The roosters crowed and hens cackled at the sight of the tin bucket. I scattered seed over the group of birds and watched them peck away at the ground. Their beaks tapping like sending morse code with woodpecker like eating. Val walked towards me and stood at the fence line.

“I see you got out of bed sleepy head.” She tossed some sassy sarcasm my way. What am I doing, I wondered, still confused by the situation? “Yeah I guess so,” I conjured up. She rested her crossed arms on the wooden fence. Tiny clouds puffed from her mouth; I could feel the cold tingle on my nose. She started the conversation.”Do you have a few chickens ready for the Ed and Regina? I just harvested the last of the new crop of vegetables.”
“Sure, I, I, think so anyway…” I caught myself instinctively answering. I was very confused.
“You ok Jake? You seem out of it.” She looked at me inquisitively. I was not sure. All of my efforts were just trying to figure out what was going on. Where am I? I deduced that it was early in the crop season and that we were preparing things for some people. But where was I, I continued to wonder, I couldn’t get past it. “Well I will leave you to it – maybe go get another coffee? I have to get back to the cows – jus’ wanted to say morn’n.” She smiled wide and turned to head over to a rustic barn on the other side of the fence. “Coffee sounds like a good idea…” I stated. I walked to the fence and touched it. The split rails damp from a light dew. The weathered wood was so authentic, I thought. I gently ran my fingertips over the bark, as if I was reading brail. I turned and started to walk back towards the cabin-like home. The home that I came out of appeared to be like the one Valerie came from. The grass was wildly tall in spots and bare in others as if eaten by animals. I stood tall and took a panoramic view of the area.

There was a tilled dirt patch along the fence line closest to the house. The tiller was still partially embedded inside of the fresh dirt. In the far distance, was a small pond with geese waddling at its banks. A duck swam in the middle of the water, the water ripples could vaguely be made out in the distance. The dawn hid some details but the horizon bled sunlight through like tiny spotlights, growing in number and size. Like a zombie, I shuffled forward looking over the land. Neighbors came out of their cabins, one by one. Each family member seemed to step outside to feel the crisp weather, gaze about, wave at me with an occasional greeting, and step back inside.

The smells of grass and hay trailed past my runny nose. As I sniffled I could make out distinctly different smells. The dew-covered grass. The farm smell of cattle, not overwhelming, well kept, if that was possible. The longer I listened the more animals that I heard. Geese honked overhead and by the pond. The birds were in and out of the water, fishing, and wagging their waddling behinds to remove the water. I surveyed the property, still trying to figure out what I was doing there. A farm cat brushed up against my leg, arching its back and circling my ankles. I reached down to pet the animal and felt intense pains shooting through my neck muscles. I cupped my hands on the back of my neck resting them on my shoulders. Walking through the sudden throbbing, I was enamored with the peacefulness of the surroundings. Everything seemed to function in unison. As I walked around the corner of the house, a sign became visible from a road: “Produced – Community Co-op.” The pain continued to increase and needles felt like they were shooting below my back.

I gasped abruptly and my eyes widened. I looked around and saw the projector lights in energy saver mode. The lights were dimmed and the room empty. I had been going full steam ahead and the mental strain was wearing on me. It was not uncommon for me to doze off – but I realized that I had been sleeping more, recently. Maggie had gone to bed. I wished that she would have nudged me awake so that we could have ended the night together. The odds were that she would be upset that I fell asleep. It was common for an argument to ensue the next morning when I fell asleep during a movie. My intention was not to fall asleep, but that did not matter. I rubbed my eyes and noticed the clock: 2 AM.

I had come back to reality but was still taken back by that dream. The realism of the dream and emotion that I felt… There was a sense of purpose inside of me in that dream. I felt a sense of belonging. I thought it strange since it was a dream and a completely fictitious scenario. I have had thousands of dreams in my lifetime, I supposed, but that one had been the most vivid. If it was possible, I would have gone back to sleep to relive those few moments. It was a different life; foreign to me for now. I was inspired although I didn’t have a plan. So I began to wing it; moment-by-moment. Shaking off the sleep, I walked to the kitchen. “Alexa, coffee, a to-go cup, strong – turbo shots.” The beans ground, cup dropped and I had a spontaneousness inside of me. Maybe it was passion, or curiosity, or confusion… I was not clear on that but knew sleep was not happening and I felt good. I grabbed the coffee, sipped it, and walked out the door.

The car door unlocked, opened and I got in. “Alexa, recent places…” The navigation screen appeared with an index of the recent addresses. “I am coming for you 116,” I mumbled. “Alexa, option 4.” I was going to grab more journals and learn more about Samuel. I wanted to know what happened next. I also was hoping that I would learn more about the lifestyle that he was pursuing. Deep down, I think that was more of a driver than I gave it credit for. I took a large gulp of coffee and selected driving music. The car performed its checks, backed up, and started the course. The midnight sky was clear and the moon was visible in the horizon. The pink super moon illuminated the concrete as the yellow stripes strobed the reflection of the headlights. I lowered the windows and stuck my head outside like a dog would in a silly gif. I closed my eyes and let the air blast over my face. The sound of the air was delightfully deafening. I could only hear the rubber spinning… with a humming vibration as I tallied up miles… I felt almost weightless floating in the breeze. Nothing else mattered. After a chill passed over me, I got back into the cabin, rolled up the window, and took a swig of my hot breakfast blend.

I grabbed a tissue from the console and wiped my nose. After several minutes of nursing my chill, I pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. The barren lot was not very well lit which did raise my alert to my surroundings. Other than my immediate safety the only thing that I could think about was how free I felt. I was not sure exactly what it was that I was free from – but the feeling existed regardless. I felt in my pocket to ensure that I had the keys and walked inside of the building. I unlocked the main door and locked it back behind me. The lighting was low and had an eerie atmosphere. The sort of feeling that you would expect to have before you would die in a horror movie. I was slightly startled by creeks of wood while I walked down the corridor.

I found the key right away and opened the door. It made a loud shriek as it swung inside. I used my hand and smacked the wall repeatedly feeling for the switch. I popped the switch and the lights flickered as the balas warmed up. The lights over the kitchen illuminated the rest of the small apartment and long shadows appeared from the apartment fixtures. I shut the door behind me and the bang echoed. The windows rattled and the musty stale air whirled around me. I looked around the apartment and saw the journals. I noticed some files sitting, that I had not paid any attention to when I was last there. Inside the bookshelf there was also a small library of hardback books that I had also missed. I walked over to the shelf and got down on my hands and knees and read the titles.

There was a US geography book, discussing the state’s resources. There were a couple of books about traveling. The last two books were very worn. The titles were unreadable and the spines were worn from weather and apparent use. I pulled out the book and studied the generic cover. I opened the cover and the title was “Self-sustainment: Building a life of natural sustainment.” I turned the pages and saw the writing, Samuel’s writing. He had made notes as well as highlighted important concepts. Several notecards bookmarked pages as well as have questions and comments. I opened to a bookmark in the center of the book and read the card out loud. “Figure out the simplest food cycle/web. Pg. 121.” I looked down at the page, 121, and read over the subheadings on the pages. The pages discussed the life cycle of several species and the important connections when farming. His notes were going to be valuable. I also remembered my dad making the same comment in his email to me.

I spent the next hour or so reading his notes inside of the books. Each book had similar notes. The location book, like an atlas, was of particular interest to me since it highlighted a few areas with indications of where they may have gone. I was certain that I could deduce their location between the journals as well as the index cards in the books. I used my phone to take some notes of my own as I flipped through the pages. Notes about techniques that were used, locations referenced, and facts about Samuel that came across. As I moved through the pages and sections I was also learning different ways to make a living. A new paradigm was being painted for me as I turned page after page with note after note and question after question – all with answers. Answers that were much bigger than the notecards.

I stretched my neck side to side and looked out the window. The crimson colors bled through the city buildings. The sun was a while away but it was bright enough that the clear skies of the morning were certain. I looked at my phone which read the time at 4 AM. If I did not want a real shit storm, I had to be back in the apartment before Maggie awoke. She was a creature of routine and habit – and I was way out of bounds at that moment. Not to mention, I fell asleep during the movie. I grabbed a box that was beside the bookshelf. I placed the library books inside of the box as well as the next journal installments. I also grabbed a few near the end. I was curious if there was continuity or if the writings changed in any way. I packed up everything, shut the lights off, and exited 116. I jingled the keys locking the door deadbolt and placed them back into my pocket. I carried the box awkwardly out the door of the complex.

I had been so busy living spontaneously outside of my routines that I forgot about my PPE. The drone patrolling the area quickly identified my missing gear and approached me. I continued toward my car but was stopped by the mini siren and lights. In my hurry, I also forgot about my identification. While I had proof of who I was, I did not have the cards that are supposed to be worn when a person is walking in the world. The drone hovered at my height and a small monitor flashed as an officer’s face appeared. The officer was not in any mood for discussion as I explained what I was doing out at that hour and disregarding the PPE requirements. I was able to satisfy his questions but did not get off without a citation. The area has had suspicious activity so patrols have been increased around this section of town, which I greatly appreciated – but could have appreciated without the ticket. I did have an extra basic PPE version in my glove compartment as a backup, but that was of little help at the moment. The citation was sent to the account on file, which also happened to be shared with Maggie. A knot grew in my stomach.

After the lecture from the officer about our behaviors leading to bigger things, I was allowed to walk to my car. “Alexa?” I asked, standing outside of my car. She could hear me most of the time. If my hands were not full, I could have used my phone. “How can I help you, Jake?” She inquired from inside of the car. With sarcasm, several thoughts entered my mind. Since I was within the geofence and my voice-matched, she knew it was me and waited for my response… I opened the tiny trunk of the car and slide the box inside. I closed it, opened the car, and fell into a slump in the driver’s seat. A forceful exhale rushed from my mouth and I banged my head repeatedly on the headrest as if I would pound out anything that I wished. The skyline glowed even more as the sun started its ascent. The city had started to come alive as the new day began for the rest of the world. My “second wind” started to dwindle and I realized I left my coffee inside the building. I was not going back after all of that.

“Alexa – order coffee, drive-thru, nearby…” I stated. The navigation menu, showed the progress and Alexa confirmed with a question, “Do you wish to drive there now?” I acknowledged the question and the car backed up and headed there immediately. I turned up the volume and started a cruising playlist. My eyes were heavy but I was too energized to head back to sleep. I contemplated what to do next and weighed the options. I imagined that heading home and sorting the thoughts out would be the best option at the time. I pulled right through the drive-up coffee place; no one was out at this time of morning on a Sunday. I sipped the steamy bitter coffee from Joe’s and tried to breathe the calmness out of me. I was able to feel the tenseness subside for a moment. Until, I felt a ping and vibrate from my phone. “Why are you not in bed?” Maggie asked. And then like a ton of bricks the weight squeezed the air out of me. “Alexa – home.” The car started the route and I realized that I dreaded the destination.

Read more of the Devastation Series.

Continued from part 7 of the Devastation Series.

The downstairs sprang to life as I entered the room. I looked at the bookshelves and paced around the basement studying the art hanging. I had nervous energy. I also had a lot of unfinished thoughts scrambled in my mind and I needed the time to process them. I checked the clock on the wall and it read 3 PM as my stomach started to growl. With the trip to my father’s, earlier in the day, my mind had been occupied and I forgot to grab something to eat. Since I missed a meal yesterday, my body was trying to catch up.

I walked up the stairs and found the same scene as yesterday. The end of the table was still a desk and music was playing in the kitchen. I bypassed the kitchen and walked to the bedroom. I selected a plain-white t-shirt from the dispensary and pulled it out of the slot. I pulled my collared polo off and tossed it into the used clothes bin. The white t-shirt was crisply folded and possessed a hint of lavender scent. The calming scent splashed on my face and comforted me against my noted bits of anxiety. I’ve always been amazed at how changing clothes could reshape my focus and mood. As I turned in the bedroom I caught another glimpse of myself in the standup mirror; I still did not recognize that person.

I walked into the kitchen straight at the fridge. I grabbed a tomato from the table holding the produce from my dad’s. I peeled off the company sticker and stuck it to my shirt as I studied the dark red with firm skin tomato. It had been a while since we had fresh produce in the house. The majority of groceries came in bulk and many of them in canisters for the preparation machines. I grabbed a knife and searched until I found a cutting board. I washed the tomato and placed it on the cutting board while I made a selection from the fridge. I chose a Cobb salad, minus the tomato, and grabbed a bowl for it to fall in to. Moments after the salad was prepared I was signaled to collect the salad from the prep nozzle. I sliced the tomato into thick uneven slices and plopped on the top of my bowl. Maggie sneered at me; she didn’t know that I noticed.

I carried my bowl to the opposite end of the table as Maggie. Even more, things were scattered around than yesterday. She must have been working there for several hours now. I took a fork and stirred the salad to embed the fresh thick slices. “How’s work going?” I questioned. I grew tired of the silence and tension. She looked up and was hesitant with an answer. “Still knee-deep,” dismissing me. I took a bite of the salad and savored the flavor. The juicy tomato made more of a difference than I imagined it would. A prepared salad was never bland but did lack freshness. My tongue explored every bite. Maggie did try to continue a conversation and asked, “The salad good?” I stared at my nearly empty bowl. It was either smaller than I imagined or I was hungrier. I paused and evaluated my next move. “Yeah – the fresh tomato really changed it up – a lot more than I expected anyway…” I trailed off. 
“Did you stop by the store,” she inquired, “I think that sounds good. They were out last time…”
“Dad gave it to us.” I reluctantly said, afraid to light a bomb.
“Jake…” She stopped herself. 
“Maggie…” I chirped back. I did not want to argue but was tired of walking on eggshells. I had walked my thoughts back and forth and honestly could not see how I was in the wrong. I rarely yelled. I tried to keep an open mind and empathize with her views – even when I disagreed. Especially then. “You should be careful – it’s very easy to get E.Coli.” She said being passive-aggressive, not attempting to hide it. My heart raced, and I bit my tongue so I would not say anything that I regretted. I was simmering. “Tell me how you really feel Maggie. I went to my dad’s. You went to your sister’s. You have been angry – for God know what reason – since I got an email from him.” I managed to get out without changing much of a tone, but I emphasize a few words in my struggle.
“Jake… what do you expect me to say? Your crazy dad comes into your life when it’s convenient and I get to see you fall apart.” She replied in a neutral tone.
“You are right. It does impact me. It does. But have you considered walking along with me vs. bashing or propping up walls?” My voice raised an octave as I posed the question. I understood her points of view – and that she said she cares – but I felt alone most of the time with my struggles. I finished the final bite of salad and slid the bowl to the side. “Maybe I will die from some disease now.” I fired her implication back to her. I was boiling over and struggled to keep calm. 
“This isn’t working for me anymore Jake.” She spat out not even looking up.
“What does that mean Maggie?” I exhaled.
“I don’t know Jake. I don’t know… I need you to try harder,” she shared in an assertive tone.
“Me… ME? TRY? Harder…” My elevated voice stammered. I was in disbelief. It felt like she punched me in the gut then asked me for a bandaid. I immediately got up from the table and floated over to the dishwasher. I looked like a ghost in a classic horror film, in more ways than one. I was overcompensating and I knew it – but did not feel I would have a grasp on myself otherwise. I dropped the quick-door open for the dishwasher and fed my dishes in. It looked like what I imagined a DVD did going into a player. I sauntered to the bedroom and grabbed my vaping device. I pulled it from the charger, pressed it against the refill slot, and selected the strongest infused juice. It was not a habit that I was attached to – but would be an attempt at normalizing my ramped up body. “Jake…” she called to me. I reappeared into the hallway and our eyes locked. I visually bit my lips and returned to the basement. I had nothing else to say to her at that moment.

I felt like I had a lot of things to figure out. All of the emotions from the last couple of days were cresting and burning in several senses. I stomped around the downstairs and turned on an angry rock mix. The mix contained several songs that both fed my anger and allowed me to work through things at the same time. I grabbed my desk chair and slid into it. I took a long drag and puffed a large vapor cloud into the air. The nicotine and CBD mixture started to instantly soothe me. I rubbed my eyes and yawned from the side effects. I followed up by laying my chin in the palm of my hand, which balanced my head from my elbow. I slipped my phone into the Linx and scooted it into view adjusting the monitor angle. The dragon’s blood at the desk was calming.

I started to weigh my relationships and compare my so-called-life with others. I could not rationally and objectively think about Maggie so I meandered in other thoughts. Some… bigger thoughts. The blaze may have been in front of me this time, but the smoldering had been going on for far too long… I wondered what it was that I had done or was doing with my life? I seemed to have been lost in translation, to me. I decided to replay the last several weeks, even before 116 entered my life. I got into my desk drawer and pulled out one of my breakthru meds to calm my nerves; I had to do something. I got up from my slouch and went back to my bed from last night. I switched the room mood to a more relaxing playlist and adjusted the lights. I needed to reset. I needed to think.

As the medicine started to loosen up my muscles, I took a large draw of vapor. My body sensation matched my mental space – heavy. I do not know when it began but I realized that I had started losing interest in meaningful things. The flood of sensations started to bleed in. The news felt like a barrage of arrows. Between the negativity and tech advertisements I was overloaded. I longed for a relationship with my father; I said it out loud to myself. The day with him was nice – we were able to rekindle a select group of memories. In reflection, I regretted selling the great life speech and even more so now that I know he saw past my front. When was the last time a pandemic broke out? Is that because of our measures or have we been living this way because no one remembers how to go back? What was it intrigued me about Samuel? It could not be the cold-case factor now, since I had all but confirmed that they existed beyond the apartment. A tomato made a highlight in my day. Or was that just a symbol? Damn questions plagued my mind. I returned to slouching into the couch. I yawned and gave in to my body’s direction. My droopy eyes fell closed.

I woke up after a short nap. I did not have answers but felt like I had more clarity. I had more energy to power on. I got up and sat back down at the Linx. I caught a glimpse of the sticker on my shirt and pulled it off. I opened a browser and researched the Co-op my father used. There was a lot of information about this community. It was about 100 acres of combined land with multipurpose uses. The membership could be paid for outright, or shares could be purchased for a different duration. The website also indicated that they had open units; the community was also a village. I entertained the thought for a few moments, then succumbed to my current reality. I was happy, I thought. I needed to make amends with Maggie. I needed to find my reset and had to restart… somewhere.

I went back upstairs and sat down at the table and laid all of my thoughts and emotions out for discussion. Maggie and I argued at first but we were able to reframe and recenter the conversation to be symbiotic. We were similar in some manner. We were comfortable and neither of us wanted to disturb that. I convinced myself that the sensitivity that I felt to the conversation impacted my ability to reason. And while I was questioned my motives – merely coexisting was not a desire of mine. We closed the conversation and the tension diminished. The awkwardness was still present – but we were talking about it at least. Afterward, we made up and reconnected in the bedroom. I rinsed off in the shower and grabbed another cup up coffee before heading back downstairs.

I attached my phone to the computer and looked at the open co-op page. I thought of the fresh taste of produce and signed up for a sample box which took about a week to get. I was intrigued to learn more about this process, but wanted more of that fresh taste, for now. I set the delivery address to my dad’s and sent him a quick email explaining that he convinced me and to let me know when it arrived. I looked over to the notebook pushed off to the side and made a curious connection with Produced and Samuel. I went back to my browser and searched for “starting a co-op.” I also searched “self-sustainment.” I spent the next couple of hours researching the fundamentals of establishing the system. After I felt that I grasped the basics, which seemed like a lot of work, I went back to the journals and started to read. I ended up going through all of the journals that night as the hours sped by.

Line by line Samuel designed another world. He painted a picture of the world as he saw it and detailed the changes. The journals that I had with me detailed the onset. It told the story of a person figuring out what life after this pandemic would be like. It described his desire for a different place – with a different outcome. He saw the things put in place as barriers to humanity and I think that he wanted to get that back. I felt a connection with him. There was something about how I felt and the way he expressed his thoughts. I also started to see similarities in what he expressed and the life that my father was leading. My fascination continued to grow and I was not sure what that meant yet. An email banner came across the screen. It was work reaching out.

I opened the email and started to read it. My team needed an answer to the apartments surveyed. I had not completed the report; I had lost track with my excitement. Between my dad’s, exploring Samuel’s world, arguing with Maggie, and finding myself, I missed sending the report after the survey. I wondered if I still had time to finish working through the materials at the apartment which I had planned to do the following week. I would need to hurry up though, the group is preparing to rent out the units and I was holding up their process. They would have inventoried the apartment and recycled the content. I had watched that happen numerous times. So, I hit reply-all and assured the group – that all of the units were ready – which they were – besides 116. I wanted to make another pass through that room – to understand what these big plans were. I felt as if I was being freed for some reason and I did not understand it. I wanted to.

Maggie and I had dinner together that night. I was to prepare the entree and sides while she prepared the appetizer and desserts. We both liked to cook and I was in a creationist sort of mood. I got all of the materials out and placed butter inside of a warming skillet. “What are you doing, Jake?” Maggie inquired, as she pressed a sequence and captured what the fridge prepared. “I am cooking,” I said confidently. 

“We have a processor for that,” she countered, “do you even know what you’re doing?” I raised an eyebrow and continued to prepare. I opened the fridge and pulled two chicken breasts from the preparation container. I grabbed a rub that I had purchased a while back and coated the chicken. “I think I will be just fine.” The butter started to melt and I placed the chicken into the pan. The smell of butter sizzling in the pan made a savory smell in the kitchen. The garlic herb seasons whiffed past my nose as the steam rushed from the pan. The butter danced along the sides of the pan making a loud hissing sound. I pulled the tongs from the drawer and rinsed the dust off of them. I grabbed one of the breasts and flipped it to the uncooked side searing the other side. I did the same for the second breast. I waited a moment, put the lid over the skillet, and lowered the temp. I grabbed another skilled and prepared it the same way. I placed butter into the pan and turned the burner on. 

“What has gotten into you?” Maggie asked, with some impatience. I was not sure how to answer her. A lot of thoughts streamed through my mind. “I just wanted to do something, myself.” I placed a couple of potatoes into the microwave, then pulled them back out to poke several holes into them with a fork. With my inexperience, I had almost forgotten. “Alexa, microwave two large potatoes,” I instructed, and it started. I grabbed a frozen bag of green-beans not yet in the dispenser and opened the bag, I shook some into the sizzling skillet and then put the rest back into their container. I turned the green-bean skillet down to medium heat and sprinkled some garlic over the skillet. I was proud of myself. I felt like a conductor at a symphony with aromas as the musical notes.

I did not have a lot of experience cooking, baking, frying anything. I spent some time earlier in the day researching how to make the meal. I was not a master chef and did get some of the timing off, but the meal turned out much better than I expected. And other than impatience, Maggie was pleasantly surprised. The artwork did not hang like most artwork. It was nourishment. The tender slices of chicken and buttery baked potatoes paired well with the garlic-seasoned green beans. I knew that the meal was a symbol. I knew that I would raise eyebrows veering off the beaten path. I figured out how to do something that I had not done. I created something, and it was good. The meal was exactly what I needed. It was also the last meal that I remembered my mom making. Dad would be proud.

Read more of the Devastation Series.

Continued from part 6 of the Devastation Series.

The words trailed off as my vision blurred…

I jolted forward as my head rolled to the side. A small string of saliva rolled down my chin. I used my arm as a napkin and looked up to the clock on the wall, which read 03:00 AM. With a throbbing pain behind my eyes, I walked up the stairs to a still house. Night lighting activated as I walked through the house, showing me the way. I stuck my head into the bedroom and saw that the bed was still empty. Groggy and squinting from the shooting pain, I walked into the bathroom to get something for my head. I selected an acetaminophen cocktail from the OTC-Lite, a small medicine dispenser, which contained almost anything over the counter that you would need. It dispensed and I slurped it from the small shot-like cup. I wondered where Maggie could be, but I was still too out of it to panic or express much concern.

I did not want to be upstairs. Maybe it was the alcohol talking or the lingering tension from the argument earlier. Food crossed my mind, but my stomach was turning from rapid drinking. I stumbled through the house back down the stairs, and relied on the handrail to get down. I stopped by the desk and ejected my phone from the Linx while I set the room to relaxation mode. The notebook was open to an entry but I was in no shape to read it at that moment. As I replayed what I could remember of my day, I scooted over to the couch. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and sat down. I maneuvered through the apps and opened our locations app. Maggie was at her sister’s, which meant that she was probably expressing how she felt about things. While I liked her sister, their relationship is full of storytelling and victimizing. I can imagine that I have put her through so much; I could hear the words falling out. I bit my tongue and switched to text. I replied to my last message to Maggie with, “I am sorry that you’re upset with me. Be safe.” and closed the app.

My mind – free of most normal confines started to think of life as I knew it. I laid back on the couch, accepting my bed for the night. Typical drunk thoughts streamed through my mind, but I soon became hung up on my meaning of life. With the argument, the contact from my father, this tenant, and memories of my mother, I was stuck in a cycle of reflection. Everything seemed to be in extremes in my life. All or nothing, as it were… Maggie was pro-tech and could not pass up the next new thing. My father was against everything that substituted what a person could do for himself or herself. Where did I fit into this equation? Am I happy… really happy? I felt like I was ping-ponging my way through life. A chameleon in my environment that successfully navigated without being seen. Thoughts of imposter syndrome were not foreign to me but were enhanced under my current condition. What was it that I was missing? I felt like work was going well and aside from this case… Case… The thought sent my brain in a frenzy. My job was to check out the apartment and prepare it for renting that was it. I have made it so much more this time. What was it about this case that intrigued me? I imagined what the world would have been like before the “Devastation” which led me back to thinking about my father. I closed my eyes and explored my thoughts.

 ***

I looked at the clock and it was 8 AM. The initial “did I sleep in” panic stirred me and then I remembered it was Saturday. I laid my head back on the couch pillow. I rubbed my eyes and held my head which ached from last night’s choices. My stomach ached from being empty so I sat up slowly and swiveled around on the couch. I replayed the evening and early morning thoughts back and stopped while wondering what I am really doing? Is Maggie home? I slowly stood up and staggered up the stairs. Slightly hungover and still waking, I headed towards the fridge.

I chuckled to myself, remembering the thoughts of what it would be like… before. I wouldn’t have had this modern kitchen, I answered my question. “Alexa brew coffee, strong, to-go cup.” Across the kitchen, a cup dropped and the beans started to be ground. “Alexa, prepare the oven, making an egg,” the command illuminated the stove and a click as it turned on. I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and found the beaten egg from the menu on the fridge. I held the bowl underneath the spout and pressed the button sequence for two scrambled eggs. The fridge automated and the sound of two shells cracking and being whipped together added life to the kitchen. The coffee started to pour while the yellow mixture streamed out of the prepared food nozzle. I grabbed a pan from the hanging wall shelf and poured the mixture in setting the skillet on the stove. “Alexa, two toasts, thick, cooked medium,” several clicks echoed in the kitchen as the two pieces of bread were sheared off to my liking. The smell of yeast as the toast baked accented the kitchen air.

I finished breakfast and my first cup of coffee. I could be a real caveman before the first cup. I grabbed another then walked to the bedroom. I selected the first casual clothes set shown on the menu from the dispensary. It prepared and I took the folded set into the shower room. I chose a massaging high temp shower setting and then disrobed before entering the stall. “Alexa, morning summary.” The news headlines and weather showed in the LCD wall across from me. I was trying to find one that interested me to have it read out loud. The shower transitioned from rinse to soap and I chose a headline while closing my eyes during the application. The article played and a beep signified that the rinse phase had started. Standing in the shower, I decided that I would go see my dad after getting ready. For once, maybe I could be spontaneous and surprise him. “Jake, are you ready to exit the shower?” Alexa asked as the cycle finished. I was. The water slowed to a trickle, then off. The air began to intensely blow from all angles and removed the majority of water from my body. I stepped out and got dressed. I caught a look of myself in the mirror and froze. “Who are you?” I stared into the distance of the mirror. The aged lines… the receded hair… the lazily shaved face… I grabbed more acetaminophen, took it, and walked out.

I gathered my Linx and tossed journal “W0-08” into my messenger bag. After I finished switching bags, I headed down the hall towards the door. I stopped at the counter and grabbed a sticky note and then stopped myself, putting it back, I realized that I did nothing wrong. Walked through the house door and squinted adjusting my sobering eyes to the daylight. Even with overcast, the outside light intensity could be felt in between medicine relief. I opened the car and got into the driver’s seat. “Alexa… we’re going to Dad’s.” With nonjudgemental actions, the car finished startup diagnostics, secured me, backed out of the driveway, and started the course. I panned through the audio options. The Bluetooth automatically connected and I realized the micro-recorder was still in the car hiding in the floorboard. “It must have fallen when the journals did…” I muttered to myself. I placed it in the console storage as the raspy voice began to surround me. 

The audio automatically replayed the last few seconds when it resumed. “I am going to wrap up here… (pause/exhale) There has to be another world out there. A world where we are going down a different path than we are currently going down. (clears throat) One where people rely on each other and regardless of your lot in life – you have a voice in that grind.” I looked out of the windows and watched life on the country road speed by. I enjoyed the scenery but paid close attention to the story. “Every infection came – and went. People did get sick and people did die. That will never change. We started using tech well beyond its original intent. We lost the human element along with our natural way. It feels like everything is automated now or requires some check, scan, or input to use it.

The world is bland. Brown boxes vs. a labeled on products. Removed. Drones vs. officers. It is the people that we miss the most. We take shortcuts. One day – cars will drive. People will not know how – the rules of the road… When I was a kid it was the calculator. Teach people to use the calculator – not how do actually solve the problem. We depend on tech for, what feels like, everything. We have taught our kids to press buttons and satisfy machines… not what is actually happening. Not how to do… whatever… This world is changing and the AI is driving it. The machines will break and we will wait for another machine… (deep inhale/exhale)

Like everything else, we will forgo the skill for convenience. I say all of this… all of this… in hopes that one day this will be looked back on. This message will be heard… We will remember people. How to… (pause) Until that time, I am finished here. We are leaving for our new world where we can add humanity back in. (long pause) I wish you the best, friend. We are off…” Sounds of a chair scooting and movement could be heard. The audio continued streaming but the voices were indirect and came across choppy. As the door opened in the recording, the voices echoed into the hallway. “It’s a long way to…” the door creaking layered over the next words. “We have enough food and gas…” could be made out before the door slammed shut. I rewound the audio and listened over and over again. The door creek overshadowed the voices. I gazed outside at the trees passing by; I was still a few minutes out.

I became frustrated as I looped through the audio at full volume. Samuel was doing something big – and it was right there in front of me, but I could not make it out. Realizing that I was not going to figure it out, I exhaled and spew a long list of profanity. Irritable from my headache, I realized the cold case had more info. They did not want to be found; they wanted to start over. I felt the context of the audio, along with the journal entries pointed to that. As my headache waned, the excitement started to flow through me again. I realized the tenant story went even deeper. “Where are you… Samuel?” I asked into the cabin. “Alexa, play ultra-rock remix.” The next song started like a movie intro and brought my motivation back for the next several minutes. The car slowed to a stop, analyzed, and turned onto my Dad’s country road.

The plains were empty fields awaiting their crop. Many of the farmers in the area had started preparing their equipment. Drones were flying and scouting the properties and farmers were calibrating their tractors. Dad’s farmette was only 10 acres, but it was a lot to manage by yourself. He had met several life partner candidates but they usually veer off the course at some point. He, not wanting to marry again, had not made it easy… on anyone. His goal all along was to become self-reliant, in every facet a person could imagine and few cared to be a part of that long journey. I think by doing all of this he worked away his sorrow, anger, and depression on that farm. I just wish I knew more about it.

As I rounded the corner to his property, I noticed a mid-00’s Honda SUV was parked behind his late 20’s truck. I switched the auto to manual pulled off of the driveway into a worn patch of grass. My father was outside by the small barn that he built. A young woman walked out of the doorway as I grabbed my bag getting out of the car. I placed my PPE on, and noticed that neither of them were wearing masks. She had a pear-shaped figure and wore jeans with a tucked-in button-up blouse. She had an empty crate in one arm, resting it on her hip as she talked to Dad. She was tan, with pulled up black hair, and talked with confidence. They looked my way as I approached. “Dad,” I said soft greeting-like tone. I nodded to the young woman. “This must be your son,” she politely suggested. “That he is… that he is,” he confirmed. A huge surprised smile crested his face. I think he expected me to come, eventually… But we both knew eventually seemed to get misplaced. “Well, I’ll let you two get to it,” she smirked. Her eyes had a natural glow about them. Creases formed lines on her face, accenting his deep smile. She continued, “I should have more produce next week if you’re interested.” My father nodded and thanked her. “Thanks, Valorie, I will see you then.”

After the young woman got into her car and started to drive, the awkward silence took over. I stood staring at my dad. Months of separation stood between us as we sized each other up. Moments passed and we walked into each other with open arms hugging and unmake-able muffled words were spoken into shirts and shoulders. As we stepped back I could not resist a comment, “…keeping younger company – eh?” A small laugh escaped me. “Valorie runs a co-op, Jake, that’s all. It is called Produced.” He reassured me, then offered me a beer. Still recovering, I nodded along with the introduction but I passed on the drink and opted for sweet tea. I removed my mask. My dad was more at risk from me – than I was from him. We continued the conversation with normal pleasantries and walked inside his house. I had not visited for years and even then, I did not go inside of his home.

His house was pristine inside. As a very prideful man, he was very clean and organized. As I walked through the kitchen, I was amazed at the jars of produce that lined the pantry. We walked the humble sized home and headed to the living room. His desk was in the corner and the computer that sat on it appeared as if it didn’t belong. A small bit of tech was peppered into his living space but it was like stepping back several decades, or at least my imagination of what that would have looked like. He has security cameras, thermostats, a modest entertainment system, but nothing more sophisticated than his laptop, which was special in the fact it was marketed to people just like him. He guided me to the couch, also rustic looking, as he relaxed in a recliner. Everything in his place – could have been mine – we had such similar tastes.

The conversations wandered for some time. Each of us asking about the other person; we were catching up from large gaps in time. He talked about his home, life, how he has created a food web within his property. Dad was very honest and wore his emotions on his sleeves, but that did not stop him from any conversation. We talked about memories of mom, work, and what we were doing with life. I felt beside myself as I talked about how great life was. It was as if I jumped out of my body and watched a perfectly rehearsed press release happen. I felt like I could do many things, but lie or shade the truth from my father, was not one of them. It was obvious from his mannerisms that he knew there was more to the story. That did not stop our conversation though. I could see the age setting in on my father. The gray had turned to white and the wrinkles multiplied and were drawn with dark lines. He coughed, and had to catch his breath a couple of times – his health was declining faster than I imagined.

We carried the conversation for a couple of hours until I became uncomfortable. My busy life was catching up to me and I felt like I needed to be doing something. I did not have time to sit. Sensing my jitters, he explained that he had an appointment that he had and had to be going for now. We exchanged some finishing conversations and we both stood to start an exit routine. As we walked through the house, he went into the pantry and came back with a couple of jars of salsa. He also had a handful of fresh produce and handed all of it to me. The label on the produce said “Produced,” and had an address. The salsa was made by him and I looked forward to enjoying the richness.

As we walked outside and towards my vehicle, he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You do not have to figure it all out, Jake.” He said in a fatherlike tone. “You will when the time is right.” My dad did not know everything that I was dealing with, but even at a distance, he got me. Dazed by his comment, I nodded and waved as I got into the car. The car did its thing and I called out the destination. I got back on to the driveway, exiting the property, and drove back to my normal everyday life. The confusion was woven into my face and a heaviness settled in my heart. I started playing music and got lost in my thoughts on the country road. I realized midway home that there was a good chance Maggie was home. I would have to deal with that. I was not sure why but great sadness and dread filled my body and I sat quietly gazing at the beauty.

I pulled in and saw that Maggie was home. Storm clouds seemed ominous in the distant horizon. The sun peaked through the remaining sky as I exited the car. I carried my bags and the produce inside and was smacked in the face with tension. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she issued as a greeting. “You never do,” I piped back as I dropped off the goods then walked straight downstairs. For the time being, we were going to lead separate lives.

Read more of the Devastation Series.