Complex City

by G H Edwards

  CHAPTER 6

  Sixteen miles southwest of block 33, a young IT professional named Simon sat at his dark workspace in the basement of a plain-looking 180-story skyscraper. The huge room was packed with cubicles that were all empty and dark, minus the lone employee’s, whose face was lit only by his computer screen. He was one of the many employees of the City of Houston’s Anti-Terrorism Office. Although the office was usually very busy, that morning everyone had been sent home because of the incoming hurricane, but Simon had volunteered to stay. He stayed not only because of a real dedication to his work but also because of the time and a half they offered to pay the employee who stayed behind.

  On an average day, Simon’s office reviewed millions of text messages and pictures, and recorded phone calls from across Mega City Houston. A computer program flagged various communications that contained a wide range of keywords or images; it was his office’s job to review the flagged items. Despite being alone in the office for the first time, Simon was having one of his slowest nights since starting there. Because of the storm, he was forced to read through what appeared to be the same message from five hundred different people: “Hello, honey/Mom/Grandma. We made it through the storm. How are you doing?” And of course there were hundreds of responses that Granny was fine and off to sleep…blah, blah, blah. The real bulk of his work that morning was filtering past the information from the Evergreen Power truck workers’ cell phones. Eventually, though, pictures people had taken of broken windows and power lines started to roll in. Simon expertly sped through the photos and saw nothing of interest. He was hoping his shift replacements would be coming soon because he knew the city would be starting to wake up and the traffic would increase. As he sipped his third cup of heavily sugared coffee, a photo sped by that looked different than the usual damage pictures. He backtracked to examine it further. It appeared to be a shot of soggy piece of trash. Simon couldn’t make out the words in the picture, but he saw the ground behind the page, which looked to be sand. This was a strange picture, and the beach was obviously in the background. Alarm bells went off in his head. The previous night, like every night, he was given a sheet of things to look out for and where to send the information if the items were flagged. On top of his typical list was a new instruction to look out for photos from the beach. Simon didn’t know why anyone on the upper levels of the anti-terrorism office needed to see photos from the beach, but he assumed it must have some valuable reason above his pay grade. He was paid very well and promised much better jobs in the future, so he had no desire to ask questions or rock the boat. After putting his cup down, he clicked “save” on the file containing the picture and the cell phone’s owner’s information and sent it to the upper level. And just like that, Claire Gale became a watched resident.

  CHAPTER 7

  Five thousand gargantuan apartment blocks were spread throughout the city. Despite being in a range of shapes and designs, most of Houston’s residents called these buildings “blocks.” According to official statements from Allen Corp., the company that owned them, every block was basically identical, with the same number of floors and apartments, but everyone knew that was untrue. The same official statements said that people were randomly assigned to the different blocks, but everyone knew that was false as well. If you knew the right people or were born into the right family, you lived in the higher-numbered blocks; it was as plain as that.

  The first one thousand blocks were built at the same time and were nearing fifty years old. These blocks were all built on the less desirable, north side of the bay and had no design flare. They all had a basic rectangle setup, and were packed with as many apartments as possible. The lower forty floors were three-bedroom units for families with more than one child. These floors were nicknamed “the playground” because there was always a child either running up and down the halls or you could always hear a child crying. The next forty floors were two-bedroom apartments for families with one child, or privileged childless couples. Often these were the floors that conducted black-market goods sales for homemade soaps, jewelry, clothing, et cetera. Both Claire and Michael had grown up on one of these floors, and most of their close friends lived there. The last and top thirty-one floors were for single people and childless couples. These apartments were bare basic studios, but the floors themselves were more lively and it was said that you could always find a party.

  What most residents of the blocks didn’t know was that people could be assigned to different floors if they had legitimate medical reasons. Once Claire found that out, she went to work convincing doctors that her fear of heights justified the need for her and her husband to live on a lower floor. She told them she couldn’t even have her curtains open in her apartment because she was so high up. After multiple appointments, however, she was soundly rejected. Out of desperation, she eventually forced herself to go to the seventh-floor window of a public place and have a very public panic attack. She screamed and flailed until the paramedics were called. The scary thing for Claire was that most of the panic attack was authentic. That finally convinced the doctors she was telling the truth. So Claire and Michael became an extremely rare, childless couple living on the fifth. But even that was too high for her, so she insisted that the curtains stay closed.

  Blocks 1001–2500 were also built in a rectangular shape but were much larger and offered each apartment more space. Courtyards and play areas were built around them. These blocks were scattered throughout the massive city. It was well known that they were much better places to live than the lower one thousand. Blocks 2501–4750 were much more creatively designed and included balconies, larger courtyards, and much better views because of their better locations. These were all located on the south side of the bay, and many were right along the water. But the top two-hundred and fifty blocks were the newest and nicest by far. These were beautiful glass buildings with a sloping circular design and a huge courtyard in only the most premier locations, right along the water. These blocks were commonly called “the palaces.” One of Claire’s claims to fame was that when she was nine she had gone into a palace. She was playing at a park with her mother and had befriended a girl her age. The young girl and her mother invited them up, and Claire remembered how nice and quiet everything had seemed—and the place had an amazing view of the ocean. Claire’s mother had spent the time schmoozing with the other mother and acting like the block wasn’t a big deal. But young Claire couldn’t contain her excitement; she knew then that she wanted to live there when she grew up. She had wondered why her mother always took her to parks hours away from their block and realized that was probably the reason. She had even heard her mother lie about which block they lived in.

  Since the official statements said that every block, every floor and every apartment were the same, each size of apartment was the same price, no matter if it was block 2 or block 5000. The only difference in the prices of apartments was that the studios were slightly more expensive than the two bedrooms, and the two bedrooms were slightly more expensive than the three bedrooms. When asked about the strange pricing structure, the owner of the apartments, Arthur Allen of Allen Corp., said that the smaller apartments were more expensive to build and maintain because they required more material. But more important, he said, having children was expensive, so they were kindly trying to help these families by giving them lower rent. Many people in the studios talked often about having children just to lower their rent and get more space. That, coupled with the fact that birth control was expensive and hard to get, meant that most couples didn’t spend a long time in the upper floors.

  Claire and Michael were part of the 98 percent of Mega City Houston residents that called the Allen Corp. blocks their home. Everyone Claire had ever met or known lived in the block. Sometimes she felt this was a curse instead of a blessing.

  CHAPTER 8

  Claire was at a near jog as she blew through her block’s front door. There were no locks on the door or guards in the lobby for blocks below five-hu
ndred, so she was able to make a straight shot to the bank of elevators. Once an elevator arrived, she rushed in and mashed the button for floor five. The moment the doors closed, she pulled the wet ball of paper from her pocket. Very gently she unfolded the page and read it again: “From the company that brought you the cure to gerivirus.”

  She read it three more times, each time slower and more deliberately. Claire’s confusion was turning into anger. Anger at this joke, anger at the timing, and anger at herself for getting so upset about this. Obviously this was a prank someone was playing on someone, but who in the world would joke like this? And who in the world would find it funny? Claire felt her ascent slow and heard the familiar ping of the elevator when it reached its destination. She slowly stepped off now while she stared at the paper. She walked down the long hall, failing to notice two of her neighbors walking past. In an automatic motion she turned the corner, reached her door, and unlocked it. She pushed open the door and reached around to disarm their homemade security system. Many of the residents of the lower-numbered blocks had security systems installed, and most were off-the-shelf kits but Claire and Michael’s was different. Michael had designed and built it himself based off skills he had learned from his time in the Houston Standing Army. Every able-bodied male in Houston had to give two years of service to the army, and Michael was mildly proud of his time because of the skills he acquired that he still put to use. The system he built was simple but genius and one of a kind. It worked by having a metal plate on the floor just inside of the apartment that would electrocute an intruder once they stepped in unless a normal looking light switch was flipped off to disable the system. When Michael designed it, Claire didn’t think it would work, but he explained that intruders don’t burst into a house like in the movies; they sneak in slowly. And an intruder would never flip on a switch by the door for fear it would be a light and would arouse the owner. Plus, since to his knowledge this was a unique system, no intruder would be looking for it. Every time Claire looked at the metal plate, she felt a wave a pride at the level of genius her husband displayed.

  Despite flipping the switch to turn off the security system, she still stepped over the metal plate in the floor just to be safe. She looked up for the first time since reaching the floor and saw her tiny apartment with her husband lying on the bed in the corner, facing the wall. She could always tell when he was asleep and when he was lying awake. She wondered how she knew; it wasn’t as if he was snoring or breathing louder—she just sensed it, like an undiscovered signal was being emitted from him that only she picked up.

  Quietly she closed the door, removed her jacket and shoes, and placed them gently near the door. She wondered why she was trying to be so quiet. She wanted Michael awake; she wanted him to read this. She felt if he read the page, it would somehow cure him of the virus that was killing him right at that moment. Or at least he would read it and know it was a joke, and that would calm her down. But she didn’t wake him yet; instead she set the paper on their desk in the corner, which was usually covered in clothes. Silently she crept to the refrigerator and fished out a bottle of grapefruit juice from among the dozens of other bottles holding the same juice, which was pretty much the only thing she or Michael drank. After cracking it open, she turned on the small lamp over the desk and laid out the paper. She then very gently unfolded the edges and flattened it with her palm. A small tear appeared on the bottom-left corner.

  “No,” Claire said in a whisper that was closer to a cry.

  She softly slid the page back together and tried her best to make the rip less obvious. Then she leaned back and took in the page in front of her again: “From the company that brought you the cure to gerivirus comes the next generation of weight-loss pills.”

  Despite being confused, Claire felt a slight thrill that not only was there a possible cure, but she also had a mystery she could investigate. Second only to reading mystery novels, her favorite thing to do was open random pages of the encyclopedia and read and learn. She had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge about nearly everything. Feeling the thrill of the search, she turned to the small bookcase next to the desk. She ran her index finger across the top row of books until she found it: The Houston Encyclopedia. She hooked her finger in the top of the “G” volume and slid the book out. She quietly placed it on the edge of the desk, careful not to disrupt the wet page. She thumbed through it until she found the entry for “gerivirus.” She wasn’t surprised to see that the section took up nearly a full page.

  Gerivirus is a virus with a 100 percent mortality rate that usually only affects the elderly. The virus is generally believed to be genetic and most likely not contagious. Currently there is no cure.

  Gerivirus was first discovered in New York City. It is largely believed to have been created there by scientists who were looking for a virus to eliminate the population of the other cities. Although New York City officials deny this claim, it is widely known that New York City has engaged in biological warfare against its own people—and the populations of other cities—multiple times. Because of the fast spread of the virus the Gerivirus Spread Prevention Act was created and passed through the Central Government, which temporally forbade air travel between the seven major cities.

  The article went on to describe how the virus attacked the body and led to death, but that was the last thing Claire wanted to read about now. She took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, wondering how old this information was. She flipped to the copyright page and saw the volume was printed in Houston and was four years old. She closed the book and felt even more confused. She wondered if maybe there had been a cure within the last four years and she just hadn’t heard about it. But she knew if a cure had been discovered, it would have been all over the news. People would be talking about it and everyone they saw dying at the hospital today would have been getting that cure. Without a second thought, Claire retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and pulled up a Houstonnet search page. After typing in “gerivirus,” she found a medical website. She thought about how she usually avoided using medical websites because she was tired of them always telling her that she might have cancer. She scanned the page and wasn’t surprised to see that the Internet page nearly mirrored the encyclopedia page; there was nothing about a cure.

  Clicking her phone off, she concluded what she found at the beach must be fake. This was someone’s sick joke. There were no other options; it was a trick and she had fallen for it. She reached up and was about to crumple the sheet up when she stopped. She had nearly forgotten about the small print at the bottom: “Miami Fashion / August 5th / page 12.” She had never heard of a magazine called Miami Fashion, but that didn’t surprise her. The only thing she’d heard about Miami was the constant chaos and the only thing she’d ever seen from Miami was that old soda bottle. So then it could be a joke; someone had made up a magazine and made it look like a real page. It must be a very elaborate joke, because this seemed like real magazine paper; it was in color and even had a back page that looked extremely professional. She wondered if maybe Miami had the cure and refused to give it to Houston. It sounded like something Miami might do.

  A chill ran through Claire as she thought about a city holding a cure and refusing to release it. Thinking of the millions who had died from geri, she felt the rage build inside her; Miami must be holding the cure. When the rage was followed by another chill, she realized she was shivering. She stood up; her clothes were so cold it almost felt painful. She hadn’t noticed there was a puddle of water on her desk chair and the floor. She put her jacket, shoes and socks in a plastic “Law Co.” shopping bag and quietly passed across the room toward the bathroom. She spun the knob to turn the shower full blast at its hottest setting. As the water became hot and steam filled the small bathroom, she peeled her wet clothes off. After what seemed like torture she’d finally stepped into the shower. The water was so hot she had to slowly ease in until she was fully under the spray. She let the water flow over her head and body and
finally felt her temperature begin to rise. Her mind raced as she mindlessly went through her shower routine. When she had finished, she felt exhausted. Just a few hours before, they had sat in a hospital room and learned of Michael’s deadly affliction, and now she was wondering how she could get to Miami.

  CHAPTER 9

  Claire opened her eyes to see the red of the alarm clock showing 9:47. Was it a.m. or p.m.? She didn’t know. She rolled from her side onto her back and started a long stretch. As she reached the peak of the comfortable movement, she was reminded of everything that had happened. The doctor, the virus, the hurricane, the paper. She nearly bolted up, looking across the dim room for the desk with the sheet of magazine paper. She threw off the covers and quickly stepped across the studio. Her heart was pounding, and she didn’t know if she was scared that the page was there or that it wasn’t. She saw the sheet and read it again. She decided she hated that paper. She had heard that hope was a dangerous thing, and she now understood what that meant. She didn’t even notice she was naked and Michael was sitting up in bed, watching her with a confused expression.

  “Did you have a bad dream or something?” he asked, sounding weak.

  Claire, unsure if she should tell him the truth or lie, stood frozen.

  “Sorry. Did I wake you up?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “No, not really. I was just lying here thinking.”