CLARE
San Francisco
Day 48
Everyone in San Francisco has had the same three ideas. To go home to wherever they’re from, to go north to Canada or to go east to the desert. But it’s too late.
I walk through the airport, being jostled and thrown about by people rushing, rushing, rushing. It doesn’t matter that I’m in a police uniform. What am I going to do, yell at them? Everyone is running away from death. They’re not scared of me.
There’s a huge crowd of people beneath every flight board. The red words, “Canceled, Canceled, Canceled,” are bleeding down the screens. Every few minutes another flight goes from “Delayed” to “Canceled” and a group of people groan and yell. Not enough pilots are here to fly the planes and half the countries in the world have closed their borders so the flights can’t land. The world is closing down.
I keep walking around the airport, ostensibly to “keep the peace” and “calm down any disagreements.” But the place has the feeling of a lit match edging itself toward a pool of gasoline. The city’s ready to burst. The tech bubble has officially popped. When the world’s financial markets are in free fall, the stock value of a tech company that relies on widespread internet connection and an ever-growing middle class and has never actually turned a profit goes down, fast. Billionaires have become millionaires, the value of money has evaporated and this city built on sexism and man’s ability to play God through technology is falling apart at the seams.
I need to stay calm, stay strong. I’m a woman. I’m not going to die. I’m always going to have a job as a cop. I cannot be fazed. There are plenty of cops here. The police are focused on the airport as the army deals with inner-city disturbances.
It would be easier though if every single flight was canceled and I could tell people to go home, but there’s still a tiny number of flights leaving. A flight switches, accompanied by the chime of an announcement, from “Delayed” to “Boarding,” and a horde of people start running toward the gate. The atmosphere shifts, becoming even darker. Everyone is seconds from crying or screaming or both and now they’re jealous too. Why does that guy get to fly out of here? Why is that flight leaving? Why not me?
A lot of gun owners are carrying their guns, which makes me antsy at the best of times but now it’s terrifying. They have nothing to lose and it makes them feel safer. They’re dead men walking and they know it.
I’m walking around a corner when I hear it. The crack of a gunshot. I run toward the sound as everyone else screams and scatters. I hear a splintering sound and look up. Fuck. The man is sitting on the floor, the gun still pointed upward. The glass roof is above him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Another shot. I hit the floor. The shots keep coming. I look up. Is it the first shooter? No, there’s a second man shooting and shooting. Oh God, please stop.
I can hear screams from all over the airport. There’s not enough space, there’ll be a stampede. My colleague Andrew arrives and shoots the second shooter in the arm. I get ahold of myself, get off the floor and shoot the first shooter in the shoulder. At the same time, Andrew shoots him in the head. More armed men are arriving, guns up and loaded. No, this can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
Andrew goes down. The second shooter is shooting at him. No, no, no. I shoot, aiming for his head, praying I get him before he turns on me. Please God, don’t turn around. Please let me survive this.
AMANDA
Glasgow, United Kingdom
Day 60
My boys are dying. I sit by their bedside, the two of them side by side in what used to be Will’s and my bed, watching them in disbelief. I should be amazed that they lasted this long. I’ve been exposed to the virus since November 1, the day I came home having treated Patient Zero, although I managed to keep away from them mostly, or so I thought. They’ve lasted eight weeks. They haven’t been to school or left the house, but I had to. We were running out of food so I had to leave. I was as careful as I could be, sterilizing cans in the garage before bringing them in the house, touching no one for days afterward, but the Plague spreads easily and fast. I don’t know exactly how it works, how long it survives on a surface. I can’t see it or smell it or taste it. It could be anywhere. It could have been me all along.