Downing a tall, cool glass of water, I immediately felt refreshed. I should go for a run, I thought to myself. That would burn off some stress and get the gears going. There was nothing like a good run to fire up the imagination, and my mind was already cycling with ways to get back at Bertram and my boss.
So I moved back off to my bedroom to put on some cool weather sports gear, and moments later I was off jogging down my street, drinking in the cool autumn air and enjoying the crisp bite of the year’s first frost burning off in the early sunshine.
I admired the scenery, completely devoid of any ads, the streets sparkling and walls scrubbed clean, with no vagrants to spoil the view or inspire guilt. It was perfect. I jogged along 75 towards Central Park.
It was calm, but gradually I began to get the feeling it was too calm. There was a complete lack of other people walking on the streets, or even any people in cars. It was early morning on the weekend, but even so. As I made it to the corner of the park, I decided I’d better check in with Kenny to make sure my pssi was working properly.
“Kenny!” I demanded. “Kenny, could you check the pssi system for me?”
No response. I slowed up my jog a little, suddenly nervous. Maybe he was hung-over too.
“Kenny!” I yelled out again, and then stopped jogging and halted, waiting for a response.
“Kenny!” I yelled, and then screamed, “Kenny!!”
My voice just echoed back from the empty space of the park. No sounds at all. Panicking, I turned around and began to sprint as fast as I could back to my apartment, calling out people’s names as I ran.
Nobody answered.
“Pssi interface!” I screeched as I ran.
“Dr. Simmons!” I pleaded, but there was no response.
Maybe the pssi was just broken, I thought, maybe I should just try my mobile. I burst in through my front door and rummaged around my purse for my mobile. I popped it in my ear and began calling out people’s names, but still, nothing. Alarm settled into my gut. I ran back out into the street in a panic.
There were cars lining the street but no one driving them, no people anywhere, and no Mr. Tweedles. How was it possible I was walking around in the street, right down the middle and not seeing anyone? How was it possible?
My mind raced. I’d told Kenny to set the system to erase anything I found annoying. I’d given Kenny root executive control, and I certainly found Kenny annoying, as well as my doctor. My God, what had I done?
I ran down the street, tears streaming down my face, my chest burning. I would get to my office, someone would be there even on the weekend, they would see me, they could fix this even if I couldn’t see them. My legs tired and I began to walk, calming down. This was ridiculous. Don’t panic. Just stay calm.
Eventually I rounded the last block before my building, and, turning the corner, I thought of all the ways I was going to laugh this off with everyone, but then my heart fell through my stomach. My office tower was gone, replaced by some other morphed amalgamation that looked similar but dissimilar at the same time.
I began to weep, waving my arms around. Of course I’d found work annoying. In fact, I found almost everything and everyone annoying.
“Please, someone help me! I’m stuck in the pssi! Please someone help me!” I cried out into the empty streets, looking desperately around me.
I was utterly alone in one of the world’s most densely populated cities.
I let out a slow moan of dread.
10
AT FIRST I’D wandered through the empty streets of New York. In desperation I’d taken the New York Passenger Cannon, operating perfectly to timetable but yet empty of passengers, to San Francisco. Arrival there had just made things worse, however, as it was as empty as New York.
For the first few days, I’d tried to remember the deactivation gesture that Kenny had tried to show me, the hardwired failsafe, but I hadn’t been paying attention. What was that sequence, what was the motion? Walking around, I pulled and scraped at my chest, twisting and turning and muttering random words, hoping one of them would be the deactivation sequence. But nothing happened.
With a mounting sense of horror, I began to realize that perhaps I was the only person left, the last person on Earth, or at least the last person on whatever version of the Earth I had led myself onto.
I stopped at the end of the pier at Fisherman’s’ Wharf. This place was usually packed with tourists, but of course it was desolately empty.
Opening my purse I stared at the pack of cigarettes inside. It had become endless. No matter how many cigarettes I took from it, the next time I opened my purse, it was full again. I’d even tried throwing it away in a fit of frustration, but then there it was again the next time I felt an urge coming on. Shaking my head, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
I’d explored everywhere, tried everything. I didn’t need to bring any luggage with me for traveling as I could just pick up clothes, any clothes I wanted, right off the racks.
Restaurants were always open. At first I tried going into buffets, and row upon row of fresh, steaming food would always be waiting for me. After a little while I’d discovered that if I had an urge for anything, I could just go into a restaurant, and magically the meal I wanted would be there, ready for me to sit down and eat alone.
All of the mediaworlds were still broadcasting, but the news was filled with stories about families, about happy reunions and lost children newly found. I often spent my afternoons sitting alone in cinemas and watching endless reruns of old romance films.
Something had to be wrong with the pssi system. Weren’t the smarticles supposed to wash out of my system by themselves eventually? Somebody out there would figure it out, somebody would save me, and then just as suddenly as it had started, it would be over.
Perhaps I’d been upset with everyone, angry at the world, but I wasn’t anymore. I just desperately wanted to see someone, anyone, it didn’t matter. I’d become beyond terrified of being alone.
But still, nobody appeared.
11
HAD IT BEEN weeks or months? It was hard to tell. My psyche had begun to unglue itself as my conviction slipped that somebody out there would notice my absence.
How long could this last? My mind kept returning to my own marketing campaigns, to pssi’s main selling feature of dramatically stretching the human lifespan. Was it possible that I could be left wandering alone for years, decades, even a century? Or more?
My mind frantically circled around and around the thought, unable to fathom it, clawing desperately at the edges of this prison without walls. I suspected that the system wouldn’t even let me kill myself. There was no escape.
Today I was wandering around Madrid, through Beun Retiro Park. It was as devoid of people as everywhere else my lonely travels had taken me. I was walking between rows of skeleton trees, across carpets of golden leaves that they’d shed like tears just for me. It was a beautiful day under a perfect sky as winter settled in.
At least, it could have been beautiful if there’d been anybody else there but me, by myself.
I thought a lot about Mr. Tweedles. Everywhere I went, I kept thinking I saw him, just up ahead, just passing a lamppost. I’d feel him brushing up against my leg, and then wake up, realizing I was still stuck in this nightmare. I think he’d been the only creature who’d ever loved me. I hoped someone was taking care of him.
My life hadn’t ended, but without anyone else, it had ceased to have any meaning.
Stopping next to the Crystal Palace in the middle of the park, I opened my purse to take out another of the endless cigarettes. I lit up, and then bent down to pick up one of the beautiful golden leaves from the gravel path. I studied it carefully and began to laugh, and then to cry.
