by Simone Pond
FOG CITY
A Short Story
VOICES OF THE APOCALYPSE SERIES
By Simone Pond
This short story was inspired by the New Agenda book series, which currently includes: The City Center, The New Agenda, and The Mainframe. The Torrent is coming soon. There are ten stories in the Voices of the Apocalypse Series. For more information, visit: simonepond.com.
© 2015 Simone Pond
Table of Contents
Title Page
Fog City
BOOKS BY SIMONE POND
Fog City
On that foggy afternoon, I wasn’t supposed to be sitting in a dive bar with a guy from the office, not during work hours anyway. But that’s where I was on that dreary summer day––the day everything changed.
Crow and I were playing a heated game of dominoes on one of the sticky bar tables in the back of the dank hole. Crow only went by his last name. I say the game was heated not because of the competition, but for the sexual tension that had been building between us for the last eight months. Every time I was around him, a fire ignited in my groin, and it was burning hot by the second game. The two pints of Guinness I had already guzzled down couldn’t contain the flames. How badly I wanted to kiss him––so much that concentrating on the game was nearly impossible. I’d been able to hold my own at dominoes, but that day I was a colossal mess. He was up by at least fifty points. I kept my mouth shut and feigned coolness with regards to the “sexual tension” thing. Crow wasn’t dating material and I was up for a promotion, so I figured it’d be best to keep it professional between us. I understood hanging out in a dive bar with a fellow co-worker during work hours wasn’t very professional, but I blamed it on the pheromones.
Our pint glasses were half empty, or full, depending on your perspective, and I debated whether or not to order another drink. I didn’t need any more booze to fuel the uncontrollable yearning, and I worried that another drink would loosen the chastity belt around my lips, spilling out my secret crush on the unavailable Crow. But I wanted to spend another few minutes silently pining over him before going back to the office up on California Street. And we had a game of dominoes to finish, of course. I decided against getting another pint to stay clearheaded. I wasn’t yet prepared to proclaim my affections to Crow, at least not in some crappy bar that smelled like stale beer. I had some principles. Plus, I wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure he wouldn’t brush me off like a lap full of crumbs. I looked at my tiles––all high numbers. I was about to throw down a double five to garner twenty-five points and redeem myself when I thought I saw someone from the office walk by.
“I think I just saw Jenny,” I whispered to Crow, as though she could hear me through the seedy bar’s brick wall.
“So what?” he said. “Not like she can see us in here.”
“Probably wasn’t even her.” I drank down the last few gulps of beer and tried to downplay my obvious paranoia.
Even if it were Jenny, she wouldn’t have wasted a second of eyesight looking into the Summer Place. It wasn’t the type of establishment you’d notice, unless you were thirsty for a cocktail at 6 a.m. The crappy bar was situated between some nondescript shops on Bush Street, near Union Square. Most San Franciscans were in too much of a hurry to notice anything, unless it sparkled. This place did not.
“Want another?” Crow asked, lighting a cigarette.
Besides offering privacy, the Summer Place was one of the last few bars in the city where you could smoke. That is, if you could score an actual cigarette. They were hard to come by since e-cigs had taken over the marketplace. During the early phases of the Repatterning, finding real cigarettes was costly but possible––as long as you had some serious black market connections, which I’m sure Crow had plenty of. He was that kind of guy.
I glanced down at my tablet poking up from my bag and noticed forty-two red notifications waiting to be answered. Looking up at Crow, my heart did that flip floppy thing it does whenever our eyes met, and I started sinking into a whirlpool of lust. I grabbed the edge of the sticky table to keep myself straight.
“I need to get back to the office. I have a bunch of messages,” I said.
“Come on, just one more.”
“Nah, no more for me.”
“At least finish out the game,” he said.
“Fine.” I smiled with hubris, placing my double five on the table to tie the game. I counted my points out loud just to rub it in.
“Hmm.” He laughed under his breath. “Game’s not over yet.”
He acted casual, but I sensed a touch of desperation in his voice. Almost as though he didn’t want me to leave him behind to go back to the office. I thought that was strange since he wasn’t the desperate type. I figured he was lonely for company. I don’t think it mattered who it was.
He got up and went to the bar, carrying the empty pints. He nodded to the scraggly bartender for two more, overriding my decision. The bartender had to be at least a hundred years old. He had a permanent claw hand from pulling so many drafts over the years. It would’ve been interesting to sit at the bar and listen to stories about the good ol’ days of San Francisco, but he looked like he might have trouble remembering some of the details. A lot of years––and alcohol––had passed through his system.
Crow set the pint down in front of me, and I watched the tan bubbles cascade down into the dark brown beer. I hadn’t eaten lunch and it was almost four o’clock. There was a good chance I’d be wasted by the time I got to the bottom of the glass.
“Why bother going back? Place is a ghost town,” he said, looking down at the dominoes.
He had a point. Most people had transited to working remotely during the Career Reshaping phases of the Repatterning. I chose to keep working in the office because I refused to wear one of those wrist straps. I didn’t like the idea of being monitored all day. I’d rather show up to the office and enjoy what was left of my diminishing freedom. Going into work to prove a semblance of freedom sounds ironic, I know, but it made sense at the time. In the office, every second of my day wasn’t being tracked. The Planners were determined to make the Repatterning look like an opportunity for economic growth and independence, but I had been in PR long enough to know a bag of bull. Since the initial phases of the Repatterning, the entire city had been morphing into a police state. Curfews were instated, companies closed their doors, buildings emptied out, and tourists were almost non-existent. Only big-name corporations remained––and the PR firms they had hired to make them look good.
“Well, if you’re forcing me to stay, I’m at least checking my notifications.” I took a sip of beer.
“It doesn’t matter if you go back. None of this shit matters.”
“Sure it does.” I smiled proudly. Crow might’ve blurred my focus, but I still had a strong work ethic and cared about my job. I was also concerned about losing it. Like real cigarettes, work was hard to come by. Crow didn’t seem worried—part of his nothing-ruffles-me attitude.
I stood up, trying not to wobble. “Be back in a few.” I stepped outside to get some fresh air and sober up a bit. The combination of beer on an empty stomach and Crow’s overpowering presence had a dizzying effect. Sitting on the curb, sandwiched between two beat up sedans that looked like they’d been there since the turn of the century, I scrolled through the notifications. Most were threads related to the big launch our clandestine clients called “the game changer.” Our firm had been working on the PR for months. The kick off would be in Los Angeles that very evening, and roll out to other major metropolitan areas. We didn’t have the actual details of the event, b
ut the PR firm was responsible for getting butts in seats.
I opened the last notification from my company’s CEO and read it a few times to make sure I was reading it correctly. The message stated that as of five o’clock that evening, the firm would be closing its doors for good, and our services were no longer needed. I almost dropped my tablet to the cement. Closing its doors? No longer needed? The information had come out of nowhere, and her callus note about the whole thing made no sense. I thought about the years of stress and anxiety, pulling all-nighters and missing out on my personal life, including visits with the family, just to please the company. All of that meant nothing. I had been duped. My life revolved around my job, and now I was jobless. What did that say about me? The Repatterning had finally dug its claws into my personal space and I was pissed. I wanted to fight back. To do something. Anything.
Back inside the Summer Place, I dropped into my chair. While I was outside checking my notifications, Crow had played his final tile, winning the game. I shoved the dominoes off to the side and chugged down my entire pint.
“Got any more cigarettes?” I asked.
He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crooked but smoke-able cigarette. I ripped off the filter and leaned across the table so he could light me up. In a fuzzy attempt to be alluring, I swept my long auburn hair over my shoulder and tilted my head, Greta Garbo style. All I needed was an evening gown and some dark red lipstick.
“So, you were right,” I said, blowing a stream of smoke toward the dangling year-round Christmas lights.
“About what?”
“The firm closed its doors. Well, they will in forty minutes. None of this shit matters. Not all of our hard work. Not the fact that I sacrificed a good portion of my twenties for a company that doesn’t give a shit. I don’t matter. We don’t matter. None of us do.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his Guinness. Crow had been dropping hints about things getting ugly for a while. I had always laughed at him, thinking the repercussions wouldn’t affect me. I had a job at a top PR firm, for heaven’s sake! I was necessary. The Repatterning should’ve breezed right by me. It was supposed to be another fad, like fat-free cookies, gluten-free bread, and kale.
“I didn’t wanna be right,” he said.
I exhaled the smoke, feeling a wave of nausea churn through me. It was my first smoke in ten years. I had quit during my freshman year in college. But now the weight of losing my entire purpose in life entitled to me to a damn cigarette. A buzz trickled through me, easing my nerves. The cigarette was working and I started worrying about where I’d get the next one. What about my next meal? I looked at Crow and got serious, more serious than I had ever been in all twenty-eight years of my life.
“Maybe we should go by the office? See if there are any provisions we can nab before the rest of the buzzards stake their claim,” I whispered.
He leaned in and held my wrist, his fingers searing into my skin. I stopped breathing for a second. I could’ve melted right onto that disgusting table. He pulled my hand toward his mouth and took a long drag off the cigarette. I wanted to freeze frame the moment and hold it forever. The way he grinned as he blew a cloud of smoke into the dingy air, still holding my wrist.
“Let’s go,” he said, standing up.
We left the Summer Place for the last time.
***
We reached the office just before five o’clock, and when we stepped inside, it sounded like an emergency room on a Friday night. The entire staff, including the ones who had been working from home, had shown up to pilfer whatever they could. Professionals I had been working with for the last seven years ran around like heathens, grabbing equipment and yelling at each other. Were they planning on taking 3D printers and eco-chairs to their shantytowns at Golden Gate Park? A fistfight broke out in the communal area, with a group of people gathered around, shouting and shoving each other. Crow took my hand and pulled me toward the elevator. The door slid shut, sealing the two of us together in awkward silence. We had taken that same elevator together hundreds of times, but this was different. I could smell his manly scent. I could taste the pheromones darting in the air between us. Crow pulled me close and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I inhaled his scent and heat rippled through my body. It still wasn’t the right time to share my affections, but I figured there’d never be a right time.
Somewhere between the third and fourth floors, I blurted out, “I’m in love with you.”
He just smiled in that casual way he always did and gently touched my cheek. I didn’t regret telling him my feelings, even though he didn’t return the sentiment. I was happy to get that barrel of wet cement off my chest. I was much lighter. It didn’t matter what he thought.
The elevator door opened to the fifth floor––the one reserved for the top execs––and he led the way. The entire floor was dead quiet, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the lunatics would make their way up. We stood in front of the CEO’s office. The door was locked and neither of us had the access code. Crow took out a credit card-like object from his wallet and plugged a cord into it, then attached the other end to the access panel. The card lit up and numbers flashed like ticker tape along the top part. I didn’t know where he got the jammer thingy, but I was grateful he was prepared. When the lock clicked and the door opened, I let out a cry of jubilation––I was on the winning team in the game of survival.
We stepped into the CEO’s office and I lost my breath. The grand space looked like a palace built for a billionaire princess, not a place of business. The wall-to-wall windows overlooked downtown, all the way out to the Bay Bridge and beyond. There wasn’t a desk anywhere in sight, just white leather couches and different seating areas. A giant fountain sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by fireplaces along the interior walls. Endless rows of alcohol lined the bar, taking up an entire wall. At the far end of her office, Asian-styled partitions sectioned off an area. While Crow worked on re-jamming the lock to keep out the nut-bags, I wandered over to the private area in the back.
It turned out to be a master bedroom, with an extravagant king-sized bed, a small cocktail table, and hundreds of candles in varying heights, placed along the edges of the windows. I doubted much sleep took place in that bed. Off to the side, gleamed a white marble bathroom, which I used before Crow made his way back.
He stood in the doorway while I washed my hands. “Nice digs, huh?”
“How’d you know about it?”
“I have my ways.”
A flash of jealousy pierced my chest. Did he know about this place because he’d been here with the CEO? She was best known for her ability to seduce a man in less than thirty seconds, and get rid of him even faster. They called her “the Succubus.” She had turned many young men into VPs over the years, while the rest of us females struggled to get a two-percent pay raise.
Crow widened his dark eyes and reached out to touch my shoulder. “Not what you think. I’ve never been one of her victims.”
“Too low on the totem?”
“Too smart.”
“I wonder if she’s coming back to get her things?” I asked.
“She’s long gone by now. Off on some island, far away from the final stages of the Repatterning.”
“How do you know all of this? And if I’m stuck with you during this insanity, I need more than ‘I have my ways,’ okay?”
Crow smiled and pulled me close against his sturdy chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and listened to the sound of air going in and out of his lungs.
“Okay.” He pulled away and walked to the bed. “Sit down.”
“You think the sheets are clean?” I joked, dropping down onto the fluffy comforter.
“We’ve been hanging out for what, six months?”
“Eight,” I said. But who’s counting?
“I told you a while back that things were going to get ugly, didn’t I?”
I nodded.
“I knew about these final stages because I’ve been spyi
ng on the Succubus for the last year. I’m part of an underground team who has been around for decades. Our job is to keep close watch on the elites. Most of my people are scattered, and I lost touch with my main contact about a month ago. Not sure what happened, but he’s off the grid. He’s the one who told me about the real rollout plan, which is why I was stationed in San Francisco––to keep an eye on the firm. The project we’ve been working on at the firm is not some gala event, or fundraiser, or whatever horseshit they’ve been saying. It’s a mass genocide. Starting with Los Angeles.”
I laughed because he sounded nuts. “This isn’t the holocaust, Crow. We’ve moved beyond that brainwashed mindset. We’re a little more civilized than that.”
“You think?”
I wasn’t sure what I thought. I had just lost my job and I was sitting on the CEO’s sex slave bed, while the office and possibly the entire city crumbled around me. “It’s all so fantastical. Why would the elites want to kill off everyone? They need us.”
“What do they need us for?”
“To buy and sell their products. It’s called capitalism.”
“You think they give a monkey’s tit about capitalism? They don’t need us. We’re vermin to these people. Just a bunch of unruly rats that need to follow the Pied Piper into the Weser River. The Repatterning is the Pied Piper, and we’ve entered the river phase of the plan.”
My stomach twisted up and I needed a drink. I didn’t want to listen to his paranoid ramblings. I walked over to the tray of crystal bottles containing various types of alcohol and poured a tall glass of vodka. I drank down a few hard sips. “What the hell does that even mean? The river phase of the plan? You sound insane.”
“They begin the final phases of the Repatterning in Los Angeles tonight. They’ll start with the low-income neighborhoods. Taking them out one by one. They’ll collapse what’s left of the local economy, and by the end of the week, the whole grid will be burned to the ground. They’ll say it’s for the greater good. That they’re cleaning up the mess the virus left behind. But they’re just clearing out the remaining people. They’ll keep a handful of them to finish working on the Los Angeles City Center. Some will be shipped off to plantations to work for the elites. And then they’ll start rolling out to other major cities and all the places in between.”