NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Lark is pushing bottles and jars thru a hole in the side of a huge purple recycling dumpster.
“Fred, how do you like breaking glass?”
“It can be very satisfying!”
She holds up a clear empty jar with no label, and a little water in the bottom. She tips out the water and looks through the bottom.
“There!”
“What?”
“It isn’t so different from what I saw on TV last night.”
“Is your screen curved or something?”
“No, the picture was focused but the image was crap.”
“You are talking in riddles.”
“I am talking about distorted views of the world.”
She pushes the jar hard, past the flap covering the hole.
“Yeah, I like feeding the great purple glass eater!”
The jar lands with a resonant crash and tinkling subsidence. A frozen fluid, it shatters like ice.
“Doesn’t sound very full.”
“No, this thing has plenty of room to get a really strong impact!”
She pushes through a blue, cream sherry bottle, her last piece.
“Here, use this opening. You will be standing in a puddle outside the other three.”
She stands back with her empty canvas carryall and pulls her mask up over her nose and mouth.
“I am really fed up with these damn masks!”
A Toyota Prius parks nearby, in electronic quiet.
“Who is this?”
“I can’t tell, Fred.”
Someone in white gets out of the passenger side and walks around to open the back.
“Looks like they are wearing hazmat gear.”
“Did we miss something?”
“It is the ghost of future plagues!”
The ghost waves with a free gloved hand while lifting the hatch. Picks up a bucket and closes the hatch.
“We are about to find out who this friend is.”
The figure approaches with glass-faced, full head protection, and a filter sticking out of the front like a proboscis.
“My God! Its Diddlie.”
She comes close to us, with smiling eyes behind her defenses.
“What? can’t hear you Diddlie.”
She puts down her bucket and adjusts something on her headgear.
“How is that, Lark?”
“You sound like a synthesizer.”
“This thing has a crummy speaker.”
“So, what’s with the hazmat?”
“Protection sweety, I don’t want to die of this virus or infect anyone else.”
“Well, neither do I.”
“So, why are you risking your life out here without protection?”
“I have a mask.”
“Listen, the air is toxic. Full of virus particles and that mask isn’t enough.”
“Diddlie, it isn’t radioactive fallout!”
“No, it is fallout from China.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No, I am serious.”
“Diddlie, I saw Serge and Tatiana a few weeks ago, sitting outside the Pie Shop and wearing masks, only.”
“Well, they should know better and you are all lucky to be around!”
“Did. I can’t believe you are serious about China fall out.”
“Listen, they told me about this site the other day.”
“Who? What site?”
“Serge and his girl.”
“Okay, what site are you talking about?”
“Oh, some kind of news site.”
“Diddlie, it was probably propaganda.”
“Anyway, I got a new PC delivered from the SnazE-Connect, the superstore.”
“About time! I know you were having a lot of trouble.”
“Serge talked me through over the phone and it is all set up and connected and all that.”
Lark walks around Diddlie, examining her suit.
“Can you get that thing on by yourself?”
“Sure, I have a special jig to kind of walk into and out of it.”
“How long does that take?”
“Took me thirty-seven minutes and twenty seconds, today.”
“What a hassle!
“This is only my second time out.”
“Congratulations.”
“I am on, ‘Backstairs’ all the time. It is my favorite site for local news and comment.”
“Backstairs, You, do Backstairs?”
“Every day!”
“You are really into cyber space now.”
“It is the only way for us, singles.”
“Where did you get an outfit for working in the nuclear industry?”
“Oh, I’ve got friends in the right places!”
“You are mis-led, Did.”
“Fred, Mr. Fawkes got me this suite. Brought it by last week and showed me how the filter works.”
“Was he wearing one too?”
“His is different. Not whole body, just his head and face.”
“How about gloves?”
“Sweety, I don’t let anyone in without gloves.”
“And a hazmat suite?”
“Well, yes, or something like it. I mean, I let Fawkes in, and he didn’t have the full body protection but that’s his problem.”
“So, was he wearing a full fishbowl, or what?”
“Okay, no sarcasm, please. This is serious!”
“Sorry, I meant that in all seriousness.”
“It was not a fishbowl! And it wasn’t an astronaut’s helmet or a diver’s, either.”
“Who told you, you need all this protection?”
“I tell you, check, ‘ChinaBugThreats.com’.”
“Sounds Trumpian!”
“No, it’s nothing to do with that jerk. They are survivalist s and anarchists.”
“Have you been talking to Serge?”
“Yes, I told you. They helped me get started.”
“Sorry, I get it. You have me really confused!”
“It is, simple. Serge, sent me the link. You get it, Fred?”
“Sure, I get it. When did you take on Anarchist sympathies?”
“I didn’t. They are all cooks, but some of their information is good.”
Lark throws her arms out and dropping her carry all.
“Well that can be the way with cooks. Mix a little truth with a lot of nonsense and defend the true part. It works by implication.”
“Lark, it is pretty exciting though.”
“Look, social media carry a big provocation game.”
Lark picks up her bag.
“Yeah, but I mean some of that stuff is really addictive.”
“It is designed to keep us clicking.”
Diddlie pulls on her leggings and lifts each leg in turn.
“You won’t be able to vote in that thing, will you?”
“Why not?”
“Do you think they can tell who you are?’
“Sure, I have all my ID in this.”
Diddlie points to a large rectangular pocket sewn on to the right thigh of her suit.
“Can you use a pencil with those big blue gloves on?”
“You can operate a nuclear power station with them on.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Diddlie steps over to an opening in the purple glass eater.
“How am I supposed to recycle a gallon jug through here?”
“Try it, my apple juice jug fit.”
She can’t get the jug past the flap.
“You need something to stand on.”
Lark holds out a hand to take the jug.
Here, let me try that.”
Lark pushes it through.
“Oh great! My turn.”
Diddlie stands on tiptoe, up close, with a pickle jar in her small blue hand.
“Why didn’t it make big noise?”
“Because you dropped it near the opening and that’s where the stuff is piled up.”
Diddlie looks over to the polling station across the parking lot.
“Looks like the line is growing fast!”
“They don’t open until one o’clock.”
“So what time is it now? I can’t tell with this suit on.”
Lark pulls her phone out of her back pocket.
“It is 11:43.”
“And they are lining up already!”
“Sure, people don’t trust the mail.”
“I don’t, do you?”
“Yup, I voted by mail two weeks ago.”
“Can you help? I’ve got to get this stuff in there fast!”
“Lark grabs her bucket.”
“Go and get in line, Did. I can do this and give you back the bucket in a minute.”
Diddlie starts toward the back of the block-long line at the polling station.
“Fred, have you dumped your glass?”
“No, I’ll do it while you feed Diddlie’s. We can alternate at this opening.”
Soon done, we walk over to Diddlie, in line, and return her bucket.
“Thanks guys.”
“Looks like you will be here for a while.”
“Yeah, I told my ride to go home and I’ll call later.”
“You mean you have a phone built into that thing?”
“No.”
“But your suit is in the way.”
“I’ll find a restroom and open the glass, see?”
She points out a catch on the right of her hood that releases the glass in its metal frame, from the gasket which holds in place.
“Pretty slick Did.!”
“You two ought to call Mr. Fawkes and get one of these.”
“That’s alright, I can get by without.”
“Fred, do you have a death wish?”
“No, but thanks all the same.”
“What about you Lark?”
“I think you are crazy, wearing that thing.”
The line has grown another block and it is hard to see the end.
“Lark, the virus fell on Theo Tinderbrush, didn’t it?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“On, my favorite our neighborhood gossip site.”
“You mean, “Backstairs?”
“Right, don’t you keep up?”
“My God, I can’t believe no one told me!”
“I thought you knew.”
“How is he doing?”
“He was on a ventilator, last I heard.”
“Who posted this?”
“I think it was someone from his school.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of days ago, I think.”
“Can I visit? You think they allow visitors?”
“What do you think Fred?”
“No, it’s a Covid precaution. You can’t get in there.”
“Call the Prestige U. Med. Center.”
Lark has her hands on her cheeks.
“Diddlie, does Boyd know?”
“I don’t even know where Boyd is.”
“Neither do I.”
“Do you know Fred?”
“No, have we haven’t spoken for months.”
“He isn’t answering my texts or calls.”
“Is he with Augie somewhere?”
“No, I checked. Augie is back in California.”
“What, do you mean?”
“Yeah, looks like it is over for us.”
“I’ve got to get over to the hospital, now!
Lark runs toward her car.
