The opened official-looking envelopes mocked her from the makeshift crate-and-cardboard table. Mold grew where the old rug and wall met.
The second government shutdown and life has gotten worse for Andrea. Now on furlough, she searched through the internet, looking for remote work.
After an hour, she threw back her head with a loud groan. “I’ve been here, waiting for pages to load more than actual searching.”
She got up and glared at the stack of bills, betting on a couple of them already in collections. Being burned by the state before, she was less confident that any help would come.
She grabbed her mask on the way out and figured that if the cops stopped her, she’ll tell them she’s going grocery shopping.
The urine smell hit her hard as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Andrea cursed under her breath, wishing they would pick another spot to relieve themselves. The cops were probably too busy harassing some hapless kid breaking quarantine to deal the drunkards with bladder problems.
She wrapped her jacket tightly around her and began her solid march down the nearly empty street, praying that her grey attire blended with the grey buildings. A stung out homeless person grunted, throwing her off her steady and silent stride.
In a blink, she was on the ground, staring at what looked like a packet of cocaine. She stood up with it in hand, looking over the neatly printed, professionally-looking label.
“Hey! Bring that back!”
She spun around, still holding the package to find an empty park bench. The words seemed to echo into the distance, bouncing off the empty alleyways.
“Police! Don’t move!” Another voice came from behind her again.
Andrea closed her eyes and raised her hand, holding the package in the air as she slowly turned around. “I was going to give it to you!”
Again, only empty streets.
She reached back to put the package onto the bench seat but it ended up on a vender’s table filled with pot brownies, drug paraphernalia and random knickknacks. A merchant crossed his arms and glared at her from behind it.
Sounds of a busy street filtered in. Another spin showed two cops with guns drawn, but pointed down. People walking past with shopping bags and a few using their phones to record the scene.
“B-b-but you weren’t here. No one was!” Andrea’s heart raced. The noise from the street filtered in and out a few more times before becoming a constant hum. “Why is everything so bright?!”
The cops put their guns away, one of them putting his hand out. “It’s okay. You seem to be coming down from a bad trip. We will have to take you in to sober up.”
The other cop scoffed. “Even in Freeville, there are some restrictions.” He turned to the vendor. “Listen, you didn’t lose anything, so it’ll be best to just let us take her off the streets until she sober’s up.”
“Freeville?” Andrea squeaked out. “You mean LA?”
The cops exchanged looks.
“Oh, yeah, she’s high.”
The vendor sighed. “This is the fifth one this week. It might be the new designer drug. I won’t sell that crap for this reason.”
He yanked the package off the corner of the table and tossed onto the stack of more powder bricks.
“Yeah, I won’t press charges again. Especially since you seem to do a decent job keeping things in check.”
The first cop nudged Andrea towards a brightly colored vehicle.
“Now, now,” he said. “L.A. was destroyed in the last civil war. But you’ll figure it out when you sober up.”
He opened the back door and gestured her to sit on the back seat.
“No cuffs.” She gave him a sideways glance.
“Only if you are into that sort of thing.” He smirked. “In all seriousness, as long as you comply, we won’t restrain you. We have a room for you until you feel better.” He grabbed a device and held it out. “Your hand, palm up, please.”
She obeyed and, and he waved it over until it beeped. He furrowed his brow, bringing it up closer to read the display.
His partner finished talking to the vendor and slipped into the driver’s seat. “What is it?”
“She’s clean.”
“Of course she appears to be,” the driver said. “The cartel’s designer drugs won’t show until we can catalogue it.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all.” The passenger cop hooked the device into its holder on the dash and pointed at it. “She’s also been dead for three years.”
The driver shrugged. “Probably one of those sovereigns who faked their death. They won’t attempt to register on our system, which isn’t illegal here.”
“But I have a birth certificate. I was born at the LA community hospital. I have a social security number!”
The passenger cop glanced back at her. “Hey rookie! You forgot the sound barrier.”
“Oh, my bad.”
“I want to go home.”
Andrea’s voice sounded muted, and she found it odd that they would use their sirens just to transport her to a “room to sober up.”
“We are taking you to the Emergency room. You can’t go home right now.”
A flash of light in her right eye.
“I want… I want…”
The back of the cop car blurred into white and grey.
Another flash in her left eye.
“What is your name?”
“Andrea,” she responded. Her mouth felt like it was full of sand. Faces looking at her from above came into focus.
“Okay, Andrea, I’m going to give you some oxygen, alright?” The woman put a mask on Andrea’s face and nose. “Stay with us.”
“God, this is worse than Covid,” a voice remarked. “Fifteen people collapsing at once.”
“Right when the mini collider came on?” Another voice responded. “Some of those patients have been talking about going into another realm or something.”
Someone chuckled.
“Dude, this third wave pandemic is hitting hard. People are collapsing left and right and no one knows why.”
Rustling followed a brief silence.
“Well, it’s not the vaccine, since people who aren’t vax are also dropping like flies.”
“Dude, not cool.”
More silence.
“You know, some sailors said they saw Cthulhu.”
“Oh, c’mon. They ran the larger collider and nothing like this happened.” Some rustling. “Sailors have a tendency to tell fantastical stories.”
More chuckling. “So you think!”
A scoff. “No, it’s just a coincidence.”
