Artwork © Robert Fleming

 

Futureproof

Joe sighed as the ambulance barreled toward the local Walmart. This was the tenth call he had been on in his twenty-four hour shift. Almost every one for the same reason in one way or another. He couldn’t help but miss the way things had been before Nostalrus had been released. When an average night would consist of three or four calls. Now it was never less than seven.

They were living through an epidemic. Perhaps even a pandemic, though it was uncertain if the problem was global. This was nothing like COVID. He was not being called a hero by the news or the government. In fact, they never even acknowledged the problem. Left and right, lives were being ruined yet the news never named it. Instead, they would simply say, “man drowns in pool” rather than the truth that the man was so out of his gourd that he didn’t even know he was drowning.

The reasons seemed clear enough. For two long years, it had been legal and advertised everywhere. Multiple White House cabinet members had affiliations with the company who made it. Something that would have been a clear violation of the rules once. It took a whole new administration to make it illegal. Then they wiped their hands and acted as if the problem was solved. It wasn’t. Now it was a street drug, manufactured in the dark, laced with Fentanyl and getting stronger.

From the passenger seat, Denver asked, “You think this will be like the others?”

“Probably.”

“Seems like all we do is clean up the mess of this shit these days. You ever try it, Joe?”

“Me? Fuck no. You?”

“Once. Before it was illegal. My cousin had a script for it somehow. Convinced me to do it with him. Got out all these toys we had when we was kids and handed me a pill.”

“You at least have a good time?”

“Yeah. Impossible not to. Shits too good. Shuts the whole world out. We sat there drooling, giggling and playing with those damn toys. Just like the ads claimed. Like we were kids with no fears in the world. No anxiety. Nothing to do. I thought it might be dangerous before then. That cemented my position though. Can’t just dig yourself a hole.”

“What about your cousin? He do it more than once?”

“Last I knew the fool was still on it. Pathetic really. We adults and that’s fine. Things ain’t never gonna be as simple as when we was kids. That’s okay with me. Gotta move forward.”

Joe liked Denver. She had a good head on her shoulders and they saw eye to eye on most things. They didn’t mythologize their youths and talk about the “good old days”. They didn’t collect Pokemon cards, watch A.I. nostalgia porn or play retro video games to try and recapture something long gone. They were focused on moving forward.

The parking lot of the Walmart revealed devastation. A black early nineties two-door Honda Civic was wrapped around the yellow pillars out front. Two men in their early thirties were lying on their backs near their respective doors.

A mustached officer said, “The passenger seems worse off than the driver” and the paramedics sprung into action, Denver taking the passenger and Joe the driver. They worked well together. They didn’t have to plan. They just knew who needed to be where.

The driver looked relatively fine. There was some blood on his forehead and some scuffs on his face presumably from the airbag. Nothing else appeared broken though and he laid there with his eyes closed and a big dumb grin. Joe was certain he had some internal injuries but there was nothing he could do about that.

Joe flipped open an eye lid and shined his flash light, then switched eyes. It was exactly as he expected. The pupils were dilated, the eyes bloodshot and there was a slight twitch in the corners. He was on it.

“Sir, can you hear me? I need you to nod or give me a thumbs up if you can hear me.”

No response. Just that grin.

Joe gave him a light slap on the cheek and asked again. This time he managed to slowly nod. This was about as much as you could expect. Not even trauma could break them from its effects.

Looking at him and then to the car just a few feet from the Walmart doors, Joe found himself enraged. “What the fuck were you thinking? You know you could have killed someone, right? And for what? Why on Earth would you drive on that shit?”

No response.

Joe gave him another slap, this one harder than he normally would. “Sir? Explain yourself. Why the hell were you driving on that shit?”

The man’s mouth twitched and he slowly managed a few words. “Need for Speed.” Joe wanted to strike him again, but Denver rested her knowing hand on his shoulder and eased him back from the edge of something he would never be able to take back.

It all made sense. The Tokyo Drift looking car. The way he was dressed. The prick had taken it and driven that car to feel like he did when he was a kid playing Need for Speed Underground. Joe couldn’t help but hate him, but he did his job all the same, loading him onto a stretcher, taking vitals and loading him into the ambulance as Denver did the same with the passenger.

On the way back to the hospital, the passenger passed. Denver rushed to the back and tried to revive him as Joe sped into the emergency room entrance. The crew there came out and retrieved him first, four people surrounding him while they rushed. All the while, the driver laid with that stupid grin on his face, entirely unaware and unaffected by having just gotten his buddy killed.

On his way home, Joe let himself realize a truth he’d been hiding from himself. He hated his job. A job he used to love. A job that used to give him a sense of purpose. A job that made him feel like he was doing his part to help the world and the people around him. It had changed though. Every day they did their best but it just didn’t matter. They couldn’t even begin to make a dent in the problem that those who were put into positions of power had created and then ignored. He was Sisyphus and this was his boulder to push for eternity.

Still, though, he reminded himself of what the job provided. The money was good and the insurance was better. Insurance they would soon need once their adoptive child arrived. He took a deep breath and forced himself to smile before cutting off the engine of his car in the driveway of his nice little three-bedroom home.

Entering the home, he did his best Desi Arnaz impression. “Lucy, I’m home.” No sound greeted him and he chuckled. Each night, Terrance would do his best to stay up and greet him when he returned, but each night he failed. His husband was an old man by the age of twenty-nine and Joe loved that about him. He was stable and future-focused. Not a kid in any way. No desire to be one either. A man born to be a father and Joe couldn’t wait to see him in action.

Joe quietly made his way through the house and out into the backyard where he grabbed a pack of cigarettes he had hidden in the bottom of a planter. He had quit for a long time, but the stress of the last few years had driven him back to it, though now he did it in secret. As he smoked, he looked out at his yard and envisioned the future. There would be a swing. One of those little toy Jeeps. Perhaps a fire pit. Out there would be a beautiful life. The world might have been in flames all around them, but not there. There they would be good and happy.

After disposing of his cigarette, spraying himself with Bath and Bodyworks and taking a swig of mouth wash, he re-hid those items and headed in to join his lovely old man husband in bed. As he rounded the corner of the bedroom though, he saw something that made his jaw drop. Terrance was sitting on the floor, drooling a bit and giggling while making some Ben 10 action figures dance about on the floor.

Rushing forward, he turned his face up and saw everything he had feared. The pupils. The red. The twitch. He was on it. Even Terrance had succumbed. And just like that, the entire beautiful future that Joe had envisioned went up in flames before him. This house was no different than any of the others around. The fire had climbed their fence and here it was destroying everything he loved.

 

Cole Purdy is a writer from the southern Midwest. His short story entitled Glenn’s Dream was recently published in Schlock! Webzine. He has a BA in English from the University of Illinois and is currently working toward his master’s in creative writing at Eastern Illinois University.

Robert Fleming is a digital artist and visual poet from Lewes, DE. His books are White Noir, an Amazon best seller and Con-Way in 4 in 1 #4. Founding/contributing editor of Old Scratch Press and editor of Instant Noodles.