JACKIE:

My pops, Baxter, waited for me at the back door of the Life Rite complex where wage workers emerged after their grueling day. His beat-up jumpsuit matched mine, but that’s about all we had in common. He had kind blue eyes, light blonde hair that was turning grey, and a heart-shaped face much fuller than mine. He threw his arm around me, and we walked into the dusty street.

“How was your day, pumpkin?” he asked.

“Uneventful,” I lied.

“I heard there was a fire in the main lab,” Baxter said. “Glad I wasn’t in that detail.”

I nodded. I trusted Pops with anything, but the less he knew, the better. That million dollar secret would go to the grave with me.

We walked in silence, past throngs of homeless living in makeshift tents on the littered sidewalks. A scruffy man held a sign that read, Trained Doctor Will Work for Food. Poverty was paramount. Indentured servants, imprisoned at birth, working off a never-ending tab they didn’t sign up for.

Baxter squeezed my hand and smiled. “Beautiful night.”

“Uh-huh.”

The night air was stifling hot. Even the sky felt oppressive. A red laser-like patchwork covered every inch of sky, known as the Grid. It made life feel like a prison sentence. The Grid served as a reminder that we were all stuck and suffocating, yet its constant presence was comforting at the same time.

“Let’s see if we can eat at Joe’s Place,” Baxter suggested.

I shrugged. “That place is harder to get into than first-class, but worth a try, I guess.”

We rounded the corner to scrounge up some dinner. As always, the line for free soup at Joe’s Place wrapped around the block, so we abandoned that plan and headed toward the subway.

At least we had a home. A roof above our heads made us better off than most.

As I descended the subway stairs, the shadow of an enormous overhead bird engulfed me. The twinkle of the Grid blinded me when I looked up. Upon second glance, a patrol drone hovered nearby, so I continued downward.

Unlike Alpha, patrol drones were more compact, with less functionality. Their only attachment was a gun in case a person of interest didn’t stop on command.

“Stop” was the only thing patrols ever said. In a crowd, instead of guessing who it was talking to, everyone nearby froze, just in case.

“Let’s try to fit. Don’t feel like waiting for the next one.”

Baxter and I squeezed into a packed subway car. Commuters huddled together in the aisle. Homeless and their garbage bags of random goodies owned the seats, a permanent fixture never to be evicted. The thick air reeked of body odor and spoiled food.

The train took off down the track. As we traveled through the ultra-wealthy communities, the subway doors locked to ensure undesirables couldn’t roam their clean, well-manicured streets.

You needed special clearance programmed into your Universal DNA Identifier to get into the guarded first-class cabins. Those were reserved for the maids, butlers, and drivers of the upper class so they could get to work. We had similar access implanted into our IDs to get to Life Rite, but since our job was janitorial, we didn’t get the luxury of the nicer cabin.

I watched a housekeeper in the first-class cabin through the single pane of glass that divided us. I wondered what secrets “the help” were holding, privy to the personal lives of the wealthy. Having stumbled onto one of Life Rite’s top secret projects, I might have a lot in common with Beatrice Claudi’s maid. I barely kept myself together in her presence in a professional setting. What would it be like to serve her at home? Seeing the way she lived, her personal life and affairs; the possibilities of Beatrice’s rich life flickered in my mind like a soap opera.

“You alright?” Baxter asked.

I faked a smile. “I’m good, Pops. Just tired.”

The burden of other people’s secrets weighed heavily on me. There should be a support group for the have-nots, the undesirables, those who serve silently in the shadows.

The train came to the surface and stopped at a high-end station. All doors remained locked with heavy bolts, except the first-class cabin. I stole a glimpse of the Grid from the train’s graffiti-covered window. Even the checkered sky looked prettier on the wealthy side of town.

I wondered what Beatrice’s mansion looked like. She wasn’t an employee of Life Rite; she ran the place. I bet she owned several estates with sprawling lawns of green grass; a rare sight since humans squandered precious water resources. Plants lost out, concrete took over, and the people lived off soda and beer.

My thoughts turned compulsive. I bet Beatrice drinks pure water… How old was she? How many pairs of shoes did she own?

The dusty pair on my feet were my only ones. Everything in my life seemed to be covered in dust. As the train rattled on, I lost myself in restless thoughts of luxury, aimless fantasies of another life in which Beatrice and I were equals.

“Here we are.”

Luckily, Baxter was paying attention and nudged me to get off at our stop. They didn’t lock the doors for our neighborhood. Any low-life was welcome here.

We spilled out onto Wright Road amongst a throng of commuting bikers. Few cars drove through these streets any more. The gas was too expensive. Even electric cars were pricey to run, not to mention the insurance and government fees. There were plenty of lived-in parked cars that looked like a comfy alternative to sidewalk sleeping.

The corner grocery store boasted a sale on bread for half a million dollars a loaf.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“I’ll buy two,” I joked to myself.

“What was that?” Baxter asked.

“Nothing.” I ran up the cement stairs of our two-story duplex with a cracked brick facade. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

Baxter moved to unlock the front door, but found it already ajar.

“Damn it, Johnnie never closes the goddamn door.” Baxter’s voice raised as he walked into the foyer, for the benefit of whatever random roommate might overhear it. Boxes lined the hallway.

“Hey.” I passed three roommates sitting in the living room, all too exhausted to acknowledge me with a wave.

I turned into my bedroom and nosedived into the pillow on the lower bunk bed.

“Home sweet home.”

Finally alone, I let the incident in the lab sink in. The sound of flesh and bone against the linoleum. The melting skin, the warmth of the blaze… Who, or what, rose from those ashes?

Rumors swelled about the upper class living longer with zero titans of industry dying in recent years. My mind spiraled. Was this how the rich stayed alive longer? If that were true, would Life Rite let me live with such a secret? Could I have negotiated a larger hush fee? Opportunities are scarce… Did I miss a big one?

“Hey Jackie. Rough day?” My roommate Gabby walked in and jumped on the top bunk.

“The worst.” I moved to the adjoining bathroom, needing space to process it all.

I splashed my face with water; looked into the mirror, and combed my hands through my dark blue hair with red streaks.

My eyes looked sad and tired. Dark circles and a few dreaded wrinkles already set up camp on my face.

I’m not ugly; just poor. I could look as attractive as Beatrice, or better, if I could afford a little Life Rite cream. But on my measly salary, I was aging by the minute.

For the first time in a while, I cared about my appearance. Average life expectancy was forty, so at eighteen, it seemed okay to look middle-aged already. But now I longed to be pretty, wealthy, respected…

My roommate knocked on the bathroom door. “You done in there? My turn.”

Never alone in communal living, but a decent option if you were lucky enough to have some sort of down payment for a mortgage. Pops took good care of me like that, but add property taxes onto the mortgage and you get eight other roommates in your single family home.

“All yours.”

I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was practically empty except for a few ketchup packets and half a stick of butter. My stomach growled. I filled a water filter with rusty liquid from the faucet. The pitcher slowly filtered out dirt and spat out murky water that was probably still not safe to drink. I opened the cupboards to find them completely bare.

“Who ate my last can of spaghetti?” I yelled.

No response. My nose flared as I breathed through my mounting rage.

Baxter entered with a smile, now in sweatpants.

“Look what I have.” He pulled out a can of corn from his pocket.

“Oh, thank you, yes!” I exclaimed.

Baxter cracked the can open and spilled the corn into a bowl for the microwave.

I saw a glimpse of my roommate Johnnie’s slicked black hair and tired pinstripe suit pass by in the hallway, so I called out, “Hey Johnnie, you got rent?”

“I have something even better.” Johnnie entered the kitchen with a baggie full of pills.

“I don’t want your drugs!” I scoffed.

“You'll want these!” Johnnie lifted his bushy black eyebrows. “This here is Life Rite. Take one of these every day for a month, and you’ll have immortality. They’ve been developing this for the elites, but I got a hookup.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why would I want a longer life? So I can live in this dump with you for eternity? No thanks. Where’s your rent?”

Baxter chimed in, “I hope you didn’t spend your rent money on that street crap. Life Rite isn’t a pill.”

“How do you know, old man?” Johnnie asked.

Baxter shrugged. “Your low-life dealer is trying to get you hooked to, I don’t even know what. A month of those, and you'll be his customer for life. Don’t do it, kid.”

Johnnie popped a pill. “Suit yourself. More eternal life for me. More time to hustle.”

Baxter shook his head with disappointment as Johnnie bounced out of the room. Baxter handed me a bowl of corn, and I shoveled it into my mouth.

“You really think there’s an immortality drug?” I asked, but didn’t pause for his answer. “I know there’s always been rumors, but for real? And how do you know it isn’t a pill?”

Baxter winked. “You’d be surprised what you learn when no one sees you.”

“What have you seen?” I asked.

“What have you seen?” Pops poked back.

I shook my head. Had he heard about my involvement in the lab fire? If only Beatrice hadn’t seen me… I should have run like all those other lab workers. The small payout wasn’t worth the stress.

I’m sure Pops sensed my strife.

“Pumpkin, it’s not our job to right the wrongs we see. It’s our job to keep our head down, mouth shut, and clean the place. Got it?”

I nodded silently, jaded from the repeated lesson. Could I make it my job to right some wrongs in this messed up world? Someone should.

Arguing echoed from the living room, so Pops and I went to investigate.

Johnnie and Gabby bartered aggressively, so we sat to watch it unfold. Roommate squabbles were more interesting than television.

“I'll give you half a million for five pills,” Gabby offered Johnnie.

“No way, these are way more valuable than that.”

Steve, another deadbeat roommate, sat in my recliner. “I’ll pay your rent this month for ten pills, Johnnie.”

I interjected, “I like the sound of that. Payable to me.”

Gabby sighed. “Too rich for my blood, but this could be a story for my ViewMe channel.” Gabby pulled out a pocket-sized camera and pressed record.

Johnnie pushed the camera away. “If you keep that out of my face, I'll give you one pill for a quarter million. You can vlog about the effects of Life Rite as long as you don’t mention where you got it. I take five percent of your clicks.”

“Deal.” Gabby took a pill, and they both popped one. Gabby turned the camera on herself as she swallowed.

She said to the camera, “Does eternal life come in a pill? I just took Life Rite, y’all. Follow me for immortal updates.” She threw the camera a peace sign and kissy face.

With that drama settled, I turned on the TV and flipped through channels. A commercial boasted that the lottery jackpot was up to Ninety-seven trillion dollars. On another channel, a thin woman bragged that one container of yogurt only cost a hundred and fifty thousand and might kill up to ten percent of those pesky parasites living in your gut.

I clicked the remote again, and the Life Rite logo filled the screen. Despite seeing that logo every day at work, I never noticed that the R resembled a bird’s beak. An odd detail that struck me in that moment. Feraz rebirthed first as a baby bird-like creature…

The fear of what I saw at Life Rite nagged at me, so I flipped the channel and settled on the local news. Doom and gloom newscasts were another popular form of entertainment. The reporter filled us in on the messed up state of the world, lulling us ever deeper into our trance of indifference.

“A controversial bill has passed in Congress to set up mandatory checkpoints in all major cities to test for the PX virus. Activists say the checkpoints are a threat to personal freedoms.”

“What the heck is the PX virus?” I wondered aloud.

“Never heard of it,” Johnnie responded.

The newscast cut to a well-dressed congressman. “It’s our job to protect the health and welfare of the population, no matter what the cost. These checkpoints are for your wellbeing. PX has already killed five people nationwide, and it’s extremely contagious. Checkpoints will go into effect immediately.”

I scoffed. “Since when does anyone care about our health and wellbeing?”

Gabby interjected. “They better catch those PX gutter rat freaks. Nobody’s gonna give me no virus.”

Gabby and Johnnie burst out laughing. Clearly, the effects of the drug they’d taken had already kicked in. That was fast. I wished I had taken some. Maybe I’d buy some pills when my bonus payment kicked in…

Everyone stopped laughing when a patrol drone hovered near the window before continuing its routine scan of the neighborhood.

The reporter wrapped the story with, “The health and wellness mega corporation, Life Rite, has joined forces with the government hoping to find a cure for PX. They expect a vaccine to be ready within mere months.”

Life Rite had their hand in everything, it seemed. A realization set in. I couldn’t escape them. A deep-seated fear bubbled inside me, a new anxiety to add to the pervasive malaise of life.

Am I safe with their secret?