The Best Laid Schemes (PG)

This is a piece of flash fiction that hit me like a bolt from the blue. It's angry, it's pointed, and it's not subtle at all, but I had to get it out of my head before returning to my larger, more ambitious works in progress. Hope you enjoy!

*****

Jason Michael Barrett was the safest man in the world — and had mere hours left to live.

Jason, alas, was unaware of the nearness of his demise. But in fairness to our hapless main character, no one had ever thought to look for the congenital weakness in that vessel at the base of his brain. After all, as far as Jason knew, he was perfectly healthy. How could he be anything else when he was so fastidious — so responsible?

Hefting himself from his desk chair, Jason walked over to a sterile cabinet situated by his front door and tapped its keypad. After a series of clicks and buzzes, the bottom drawer opened with a hiss, revealing the single-use protective gear he always donned before stepping outside.

Normally, Jason would spend the entirety of his day - as he spent most of his days - ensconced inside his first floor condominium, parked in front of the computer on which he penned his prize-winning columns for the Journal. But he’d just received a notification on his desktop that his grocery order for the week was sitting on his stoop — and unfortunately, that necessitated a short trip beyond his front door.

Thus began a peculiar ritual. First, Jason sat down on a stool with a huff and strained to pull booties over his slightly swollen feet. Then he pushed his massive arms through the sleeves of a paper gown and tied its sash around his ample middle. Third came the several-minute struggle with a pair of latex gloves, size extra large. And the final elements? A surgical mask tied around his rosy ears and a plastic face shield whose band he settled on his crown with a satisfied sigh.

This delivery, Jason knew, would require a round of irradiation. His security system had snapped a picture of the young Black man who’d dropped it off, and the kid had been wearing no PPE whatsoever. Jason shuddered at the very thought. He just couldn’t understand why anyone would take such a risk.

Jason stepped into his foyer, which served as an airlock for the rest of his comfortable abode. He was actually quite proud of this set-up. He’d designed and built it after the Zeta spike years ago, modeling it after a state-of-the-art clean room. Each time the outer door was closed and locked, an air shower blasted through the little closet of a room, clearing all particulate matter with a whoosh. 

By the time Jason had successfully loaded his groceries into the irradiation box and pressed a dull red button to start the decontamination cycle, he was sweating profusely, his heart fluttering from the exertion.  But this didn’t worry him in the slightest. Why should it? He was careful. He followed the science.

Silently, Jason’s aneurysm expanded just a bit more.

*****

Rapid Cart: There’s No Excuse for Your Carelessness.

Jason’s phone rang, and he blew out an irritated sigh the moment he glimpsed the identity of the caller. Jessica, his ex, had an uncanny knack for interrupting his creative flow.

“Can you make it quick?” he snapped. “I’ve got a deadline.”

On the screen, Jessica Barrett frowned. “I’m sorry, honey. I just —” She hesitated. “Your daughter and I were just wondering — if you would consider coming to Thanksgiving this year.”

“Have either of you been keeping up with the regimen?”

“Well, no —”

“Then absolutely not. I can’t believe you would even ask.”

“Jason, Melody and Stephen just got engaged. Don’t you want to meet your future son-in-law? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“And doesn’t public safety mean anything to you? Kappa is killing people, Jessica. Killing people. And yet the three of you insist on endangering others?”

It was an argument they’d had many times before. Quite frankly, Jason couldn’t understand Jessica’s reluctance to accept the facts. Didn’t she read the Journal? Dr. Chaudhari’s medical reporting represented the gold standard.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica apologized again, “but it just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. The semi-annual shots, the twenty daily pills, the restrictions —“ She took a deep breath before giving voice to her next thought. “Don’t you ever wonder if our son died because of the regimen? I’ve been reading some studies —”

“Nonsense, Jessica. Pure misinformation. I should report you to the authorities for accessing that dark web bullshit.”

“I — I don’t think it is bullshit. The authors of these studies have advanced —“

Jason disconnected the call with an impatient swipe of his thumb. How had Jessica become such a credulous idiot?  She was certainly smart enough when he married her.

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose and got back to work — heedless of threat that lurked within his skull.

*****

Official guidance has been clear: all essential service workers should wear masks and gowns while on the job to prevent the spread of the deadly Kappa variant. Yet just today, a Rapid Cart delivery person by the name of Tyrone Jenkins arrived at my door completely exposed. No mask. No gown. No nothing. 

Does Rapid Cart not have a company policy enforcing public health directives? And if not, why not? Do Rapid Cart executives truly believe their employees have the right to pollute the air other people breathe?

Rapid Cart should be held accountable for its lack of civic mindedness. Though the White House has yet to respond to the recent surge in cases by issuing an executive order reinstating critical PPE mandates, our businesses nonetheless have a duty to protect the most vulnerable members of our community from —

“Damn it!”

Jason had been interrupted again — this time by the squeal of a kid outside. 

Without missing a beat, he pulled up the current view from his security camera and uttered another - filthier - expletive. A small clot of uncovered, unmasked children had blundered near his postage stamp of a front yard, playing a game whose rules escaped explanation. And Jason knew exactly who they were.

“Mrs. Joyce,” Jason growled at his phone a few minutes later. “You better come shoo your plague rats away from my property before I call Child Protective Services.”

Mrs. Joyce immediately bristled. “They’re in the street, Mr. Barrett. They’re not trespassing onto your precious property.”

“But they are violating town ordinances, lady. Every child over the age of two is required to wear a mask outside of the home.”

“And what’s the logic in that rule, exactly? Since when do children spread this virus?”

“The rules are the rules. They’re for everyone’s protection.”

“They're for the protection of some adults, you mean. And I refuse to put that worry on my kids’ shoulders. Protecting their elders is not their job.”

And before Jason could formulate a suitably tart reply, Mrs. Joyce gave him the finger and hung up.

So Jason called CPS with relish — and then collapsed, blood from his now ruptured aneurysm filling the space around his medulla.

As Jason’s heart slowed - and eventually stopped - the cursor sitting at the end of his last unfinished sentence blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked.

*****

Jason Michael Barrett was the safest man in the world — and he died alone.