APARTMENT 905
Copyright ® 2021 by Ned Sahin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
First paperback edition: 2021
ISBN: 978-1-09833-732-2
www.apartment905.com
To the people who had hard times
during the COVID-19 pandemic
Stay safe. Stay strong
Chapter 1
Early morning light fills my bedroom. I don’t need an alarm clock to wake up anymore. The loud beeping sound would be dangerous in this new world anyway.
It has been over a month since the second wave of the deadly virus hit the world. Health authorities didn’t expect the mutated version to be any deadlier than the original form of the virus. They assumed the quarantine measures that helped the world survive before would've been sufficient to get through this new wave as well.
They were dead wrong.
The mutated version is a lot smaller than the original. With the mutation, the virus had become airborne, which made it ten times more contagious. It is not just about washing hands or keeping a distance from people anymore. You may get infected by winds carrying the droplets even if you are far away from any human.
It’s been over four months, and I haven’t left my apartment ever since the initial virus began spreading in the United States at a startling rate.
I haven’t had issues staying inside and keeping myself busy at home. However, knowing that I may not be able to talk to another person again for a long time has made it harder to cope with the new normal.
I force myself out of bed and walk toward my window to check out what’s happening on the street. It feels good to see people around, but there is one difference: They are not people I want to see.
Society collapsed within weeks of the mutated virus first appearing. Healthcare workers were the first to get infected because their surgical masks couldn’t prevent it, and it had been too late to distribute advanced masks.
With the increased rate of transmission and fewer doctors and nurses, hospitals got overcrowded and became the epicenter of the new outbreak. Patients had no choice but to go home, which caused the virus to spread to every corner of the cities.
We waited for help from the United Nations, but since the rest of the world was not in better shape, the support never came.
After the decline of the healthcare system, people panicked in greater numbers. Police and National Guards, who tried to calm the streets and restore order, were the second group of victims against the virus. The president and senior government officials secluded themselves to underground bunkers along with the top military generals. At least, that’s what we were told before the TV channels went off air.
First, we lost electricity and cell phone coverage. Then water and gas stopped flowing.
Following the massive civil unrest, truck drivers didn’t show up at work just like anyone else worrying about their safety. Without restocking, grocery stores got emptied quickly.
They say that if grocery shelves are empty, you are nine meals away from anarchy. It didn't even take that long for everything to be gone. Within two days, millions of people became desperate for a can of food or a bottle of water.
With the absence of law enforcement, the mob quickly took over the streets. The gangs that already existed before the pandemic no longer needed to hide underground. They first looted the medical supply stores to stock up on the advanced masks, which is the only type of mask to prevent against the mutated virus. Then they started guarding and controlling the grocery stores, pharmacies, gas stations, and any other place that seemed valuable in the post-apocalyptic world.
Having an advanced mask is the difference between life and death in this world. Whoever has the mask stock decides who lives and who doesn’t.
I peek through a small narrowing at the edge of the curtain to watch the gang patrol the streets.
It seems like they’ve divided the city among themselves. I have been seeing almost the same group of people on the streets surrounding my apartment building. I know one of them, his name’s Steven. He is a member of the friendly concierge team in our building. Or, he was…
Steven started working in our building about six months ago before the entire world went upside down. I used to see him on my way to work or to my apartment. We had brief conversations several times, especially while I was picking up my packages or waiting for food delivery. He was a part-time fashion designer. I had loved his colorful bow ties and matching jackets until I realized that he joined the gang. I don’t know if he was forced, or he willingly joined these human trashes who called themselves Saviors.
I sometimes hear them screaming their gang’s name and inviting people who are hiding at home to join them for revolution.
I see new faces in their group every once in a while. Most of them are young women and men who are probably too desperate to keep their integrity.
There is a haze of smoke coming out of a high-rise building a few blocks from me. Without firefighters to put it out, it will grow until the entire building burns down.
I hear the dog in apartment 1007 barking again. He is in the apartment crosswise from mine, which is 905. I know his owner Kathleen. We first met at the coffee shop on the ground level of our building before the pandemic. I had gone to grab something to
