Ascension IX: After The Outside World Stopped In

 

The current camera shot disappeared and was replaced with a technical difficulties video loop.

Both Myra and Wyatt looked at the monitor. Several seconds passed, the video loop was replaced with the screen saver for the “Sunny Days,” vlog. A message apologizing for the disruption due to technical difficulties appeared as feed running along the bottom of the screen. It invited viewers to tune in for the next episode on Monday and wished everyone a pleasant day.

Wyatt set about preparing the equipment to be returned to storage.

“People being contained in hospital rooms.” Myra said as she placed her notes on the patio table. “Citizens with the virus being contained at Alcatraz.” She stood up. “Survivors of some transformation being transferred to Area 51 for testing?” She crossed the patio to Wyatt navigating around monopods, cameras, and microphones. Stepping over storage containers. “What’s going on out there?”

Wyatt did not respond.

“Wyatt!”

Wyatt’s phone lit up with a studio number. Wyatt looked at Myra before tapping the icon. Bill the hothead’s face popped up.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Bill asked. “How did those calls get through?”

Myra took a step back, out of Bill’s line of sight.

“I don’t know sir.” Wyatt responded. “I have not had a chance to look at the call log. Calls are forwarded here from the studio, how the calls got through is a question which could probably be answered better by the Productions office.”

Bill nodded. The executive looked at someone off screen and barked, “Get the Productions office on the phone. I want a meeting in five.” Bill turned back to Wyatt. “Is Myra with you?”

Wyatt looked at Myra, their eyes held for a moment. “No, she went inside. She said she needed a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“What should I tell Myra?” Wyatt asked. “How do I explain to her what she heard?”

“Don’t tell that airhead a goddamn thing, it’s not in her contract.”

“Considering today’s incident…” Wyatt began.

“I guess silence isn’t going to cut it, is it? Bill asked.

“No sir. I don’t think so.”

“What do you usually tell her?”

“I stay silent or remind her about her contract. Sometimes I tell her it was technical difficulties. But this…”

“Running out of bullshit to spread huh Wyatt?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay...tell her it was lies. All Lies. Those callers were lunatics who broke out of a local hospital. They are paranoid. Delusional. They called because they want to spread their delusions. The callers want desperately for someone to believe them. Tell her police are looking for them now. Do you need me to see to it something gets mentioned about it on the news?”

Wyatt did not answer.

“I can have someone crank out a paragraph or two if you think it will help.”

Wyatt watched Myra’s face. “No sir. She can’t watch the news. It would violate her contract.”

“Of course. What was I thinking. Stay close to her today Wyatt. Find ways to take her mind off what happened. Make her a nice dinner. Sit down and watch one of those two or three hour movies with her women always seem to have sitting around the house. Help her forget—the last thing we need is our poster girl for swallowing bullshit to no longer believe it. If she doesn’t believe what she’s saying no one who’s listening will either.”

Myra closed her eyes, just listening to Bill’s voice was becoming intolerable.

“Later Wyatt.”

“Later.”

There was a long silence before either of them spoke.

“Why did you tell Bill I was in the house?” Myra asked.

“It was wrong to keep all of this from you. It was beyond wrong.” Wyatt responded.

“Why did you? Why did you stay? Why did you lie to me?”

“To keep you safe. I knew if I stayed, although I might have to lie and keep things from you, I also knew if things got really bad out there I could trust myself to tell you what you need to know. Anyone the studios brought in would be…”

“...all about the business.” Myra said, finishing Wyatt’s sentence.

“Another PA might have tried to take advantage of their position in a situation like this. They might have stolen from you or done something worse.”

“Much worse.” Myra sat down on one of the patio sofas. She patted the seat inviting Wyatt to sit down next to her.

He complied, switching his phone to airplane mode as he took his seat. Wyatt held up the phone and pointed to Myra. He mouthed, “Where’s your phone?”

She pointed in the direction of the main house, indicating it was still inside. Wyatt nodded, he tossed his phone into a table drawer and closed it.

“Did you want to check the furniture, for bugs?” Myra asked.

Wyatt shook his head, “The patio is a no camera/no microphone area. It’s in our contracts. Besides I checked it this morning on my way to the main house.”

“What happened to us? How did we end up here?”

“Once upon a time there was a very talented actress…” Wyatt began.

“That’s not what I meant.” Myra looked out towards the beach. “I knew there was a pandemic. I knew important information was being hidden from me. But this?” She turned to Wyatt.

“I get everything Myra. Copies of your fan mail too. Regardless of everything else “Sunny Days,” is still doing good things. You really are helping people.”

Myra nodded and thought about Wyatt’s reassurance. “I’m glad. It’s good that some people feel better about what's been happening than they might have under other circumstances. You do understand, what we have been doing these last several months, doesn’t work for me anymore. I want full disclosure. Now.”

Obstacles -- (PE)

 

There is a long rust streak which runs along the new siding on the back of my house. It is located in an area repairs had to be made to last winter. I contacted the contractor I hired to do the repair requesting he stop by and take a look at it. It is not a large spot. It is unsightly, more importantly, there has never been any rust streaks running down the siding of the house before. This is new and clearly should not be there. I have confidence he will see the problem put to rights once he takes a look at it and we discuss it, but the stain is still there. In some moments it feels like a sign, a sign that I am a terrible homeowner. A sign I should get out now before I ruin the whole damn place.

That way of looking at the problem is my problem. An obstacle.

According to the dictionary an obstacle is something that obstructs or hinders progress.

Being able to identify your obstacles is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because you know something is in the way. If you can see it and identify it you can remove it or navigate around it if need be. The curse is when you develop this magic eye for obstacles, if you’re not careful, you see obstacles everywhere, in virtually everything. Everything is a big job. You become burned out and want to avoid as many obstacles as possible. Eventually, you can’t see anything that would make it worth your while to remove them.

There have been more obstacles than usual for everyone in recent months, I have had as much trouble as everyone else has had with them. No more. No less. This morning I am facing a tough one. The obstacle keeping me from the final polished draft of my work in progress, The Wizards In The Woods.

I made the mistake of asking for tougher comments on this novel. A mistake when you are going through the change or at least the period before the change because you never know how you are going to process new developments. Be careful what you ask for.

I have had a terrible time processing those comments. They have hurt deeply and immobilized my progress at times.

At first, I reprimanded myself for my feelings. Then I took some time and thought about why the comments hurt so much. Criticism kills the vision you have in your head of your work. When I explored the vision I had in my head, I admitted what I hoped the story had turned out to be was not completely accurate.

It was not like I felt the book was perfect either. This was not my first rodeo by any stretch. I looked to my feelings and admitted I have a strong emotional attachment to this novel. The story I imagined was stunningly beautiful, a love letter to the beauty of the family farm, what my parents spent the last thirty odd years building and to family. A gift to those I love. A fable for the coming generations. I wanted to write it. I needed to.

I am not entirely my mother or my father or any of those who have come before me. I don’t know what I’ll be able to contribute down the road, what I am capable of when it comes to the farm.

I know one thing, I am a writer.

The Wizards In The Woods, was a story I could tell.

I held it out and said, “Take it, this novel is my offering, my gift.”

I got, “Very nice, it needs work. Here and here and here and HERE!”

That was tough to process. I am working through it.

I found myself with time to work last night and unable to open the binder holding the copy of the novel I am currently working with. This morning I was awake, at five-thirty and still having trouble getting to work on it. I thought about the website I needed to be designing and the wood violets in the planters in the front yard which have sprouted seedlings where I don’t want them. They are threatening to take over an area occupied by rock. I thought about getting out in the yard early before the lawn service arrived to remedy the problem and give the lawn crew more to mow down.

Both the novel and the violet invasion are problems along with the roof and plumbing and that pesky rust streak. I felt sure if I didn’t get to work on the novel in some small way this morning, it might be lost to the land of unfinished projects forever.

This novel is one that should not be lost. If no one else ever feels the same as I do about the book, for me, it is a treasure. It tells a story I needed to read when I needed to read it. One of perseverance, magic, and love. A story of family, legacy, change, home, and a wizard named Kafka. More than avoiding my obstacles I want to see Kafka home. Safe.

Nothing shows you more clearly how many different kind of obstacles exist better than sharing your art with the world. Nothing seems to help me more than looking at why the obstacle exists, working through my feelings, and finding the thing that makes climbing over it, removing it, or navigating around it worthwhile. Getting Kafka home makes this obstacle worth climbing.

This morning I worked through my feelings and printed off a clean copy of the novel to work from. I am getting started on fixing a problem with my timeline. The main character’s life has taken a bad turn, when he returns home a few minutes after said incident his mam knows everything. He wasn’t that far away what does this woman have, a crystal ball? (I found that problem myself over the long weekend. :) ) It’s time to get back to it.

What makes getting around your obstacles worth your while? What is waiting for you on the other side? Once you find the answer to that question you’re golden.

Until next time…

Always Be You.

Ascension Part VIII: You're On With Myra Collins, What's Your Question?

 

“What did you just say?” Myra asked.

“The man on the beach, what did the military do with him?”

Myra looked at Wyatt. Wyatt shook his head and instructed her to end the call. Myra nodded.

“I don’t know what happened to him. If I did I am sure I would not be at liberty to divulge that information.”

“They really do keep you in the basement with all of the other mushrooms don’t they?” The caller laughed before she continued. “They took him away. The military put him on one of their trucks and took him away where he will be kept in isolation until his GRMN2 status has been confirmed. If he has the virus your house guest will be moved to the incubation wards of the nearest hospital. Once his transformation is complete he’ll be sent to Alcatraz until his talents manifest after which time he’ll be sent to Area 51 for testing.”

“What are you talking about?” Myra asked. She looked at Wyatt pointedly. “What is she talking about?”

Wyatt remained silent.

“Wyatt.”

“Why do you think the Knoblickers keep breaking into hospitals?” The caller asked. “Hospitals hold the highest concentration of the virus. I bet you didn’t know that so many doctors have been infected and transformed, authorities have been pulling homeless people off the street, the few that are left, and disguising them as doctors to keep the public from discovering what has happened.”

Wyatt shook his head and mouthed, “Not true,” to Myra.

“I don’t believe you.” Myra said looking at the camera.

“Believe what you want, you better hope you don’t break an ankle or need your appendix removed in the near future.”

Wyatt walked into the camera shot. He looked at the camera and said, “Which is not our topic for today. We’re sorry we could not answer your question. Thanks for calling.” He said as he ended the call. He looked at Myra and walked out of the shot.

She looked at the camera. “Thank you Wyatt. Let’s take another call. Hello, this is Myra.”

“I have a question about the rations. What do I do if someone steals my ration tickets?” The caller asks.

Myra looked at the paperwork sitting on the table in front of her. She quickly consulted the list she had drafted earlier. It was a quick reference guide showing her which piece of documentation held the answer to an anticipated question. Theft resolution was noted on the back of the ration book and the page laying directly under it, both were to the left of the reference sheet. She quickly scooped up them up. Laying the page across her lap, she held up the book of ration tickets. “If you could get a close up Wyatt.”

Wyatt zoomed in and focused the shot, making the phone numbers on the back cover easy for viewers to read.

“If your ration tickets are stolen, you are going to want to call two numbers. The first number is an automated system which reports the theft to local authorities. You will enter your name, address, as well as your contact information when prompted. You will be issued a report or confirmation number. You must call the top number first, you will need that confirmation number in order receive your replacement ration tickets. Although ration offices are still in the process of being set up, websites as well as phone lines are already up and working. When you call the ration office, the automated system will collect your information again along with the confirmation number you received when you reported the theft. You will immediately be issued ration tickets for a powdered nutrition drink mix. These tickets will allow you to purchase a fifteen day supply of the mix for all members of your household. Once the confirmation number has been verified a new set of ration tickets will be mailed to you. The entire process should take less than five business days.”

“Great. Thanks.” The caller responded.

With that, the ominous first call was erased from the minds of viewers and focus was returned to current problem at hand.

Myra began her next call. “This is Myra.”

“What happens if I don’t get my ration tickets by Monday?”

Myra picked up the page still resting across her lap and quickly perused it. “Call your local ration office or report it on the website. To report it on the website you will want to go to your local web browser and type in ‘food rations offices.’ The websites are live. I don’t have a specific web address for you. Those addresses were not available when my notes were compiled by the studio.”

“You are so helpful Myra. Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome.”

“May I ask one more question?”

“Sure. What’s your question?”

“Is it true Area 51 is currently housing all the GRMN2 victims in the country? How long do they anticipate the expansion of Area 51 is going to take? Are they going to keep building indefinitely?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ignoring Myra’s response, the caller continued, “I was also curious. How long does it take talents to manifest in the Transformed? How long before this new race takes over the planet? Are they really going to save us all?”

Myra looked at Wyatt.

Wyatt looked back at Myra as their broadcast fell silent.

Ascension Part VII: Hump Day

 

Myra opened one eye. The first thing she saw was the offending empty smoothie container. She fought to remember what she had been doing before she drifted off.

Myra lifted a hand to her brow. Glimpsing her sleeve, she opened both eyes and focused. She pushed away the duvet covering her and sat up. Myra found herself still fully dressed in old clothes, she remembered she had been preparing to explore the attic when whatever was in the smoothie had taken effect. She knew she had laid back on the bed and fallen asleep. At some point during the night she managed to pull up two corners of her duvet and cover herself. Myra turned on to her stomach and stretched across the bed for her phone. It was a little after 8:45 am. She sat up and contemplated her options.

Although Myra was tired of being in the dark, she wanted to get to the truth without without anyone knowing what she was doing. If she mucked around in the attic this morning, she risked being discovered by Wyatt, he would know she was actively looking for something. Considering the events of recent days it wouldn’t take long for him to figure out what she was searching for.

Myra decided to wait. She would try again soon. During the day. The next time Wyatt was held up in the media room. She promised herself if something changed she would give up sneaking around and search the house any time Wyatt’s back was turned. Myra knew turning over a room whenever she had the smallest opening was not the best approach. Wyatt betrayed her trust when he slipped a sleeping aid into her smoothie. At the moment, she was not feeling concerned about betraying his.

“Come on. Come on.” Wyatt muttered as he searched through the furthest reaches of the small, tidy linen closet which housed any toiletries that wouldn't fit inside the bathroom medicine chest. He pulled out several items and discarded them pausing to wonder how a box of tampons had found a home at his place of residence. In the main house definitely, in the pool house sure, but here? He shoved the box back into its resting place. They might come in handy if Myra came back here and had an emergency or down the road, if things opened back up and he found himself entertaining a lady friend.

He reminded himself why he was mucking around in the linen closet, his third eye. “Who’s going to date me now?” He asked, releasing a sigh.

“Bingo.” At the back of a small shelf in the far left hand corner was a box of large bandages. He took them into the bathroom, placing gauze over the uncovered eye and the flesh colored bandage over the gauze, he surveyed his work. “That’s better. Now I need something to keep water out.” He returned to the linen closet for a shower cap. “Why this silly thing didn’t come with an eyelid I will never understand.” The only one he could find was tropical print covered complete with brightly colored flowers. He put it on and looked in the mirror. “Where did I put my swim cap? It’s in the pool house. It looks like I’m going to have to keep this on until I can get to the pool house at least. The things a space alien has to do to shower.” Wyatt shook his head as he removed his pajama bottoms.

By the time Wyatt returned to the bedroom his phone was going off. People were panicking about the new food ration tickets and they needed to get the new episode going by one o’clock at the latest. Wyatt sent text back to the studio outlining their plans for the episode.

The studio countered with: Don’t bother. Your packet is waiting for you at the main house, sit down with Myra, go over the information, there is a list of frequently asked questions and answers enclosed, get Myra ready and start broadcasting. Specific recipes can be addressed next week. Authorities need help NOW.

“I am being pulled from my own emergency into a five alarm blaze because a whole lot of people did not look at the potential problems that would arise when putting a plan into place without giving a head’s up to those being affected by said plan. Great. Never saw this one coming.” Wyatt rolled his eyes.

Myra had just finished showering when her phone beeped.

The studio has moved the broadcast back up to today. Our ration tickets and program packet are at the door. I will pick up the mailer and sanitize all reading material. Happy Wednesday. Meet me in the kitchen. Wyatt.

I just showered, will dress for the broadcast and do my make-up now to save time. See you in an hour. Myra.

This is a rush order make it thirty. Wyatt.

“Thirty minutes my ass.” Myra said as she turned from the phone back to the mirror. “I am the make-up artist and the boss, I will be ready when I’m ready.”

Myra arrived in the kitchen forty minutes later wearing an attractive yet conservative looking ensemble. Her hair was towel dried, combed and ready for styling, her make-up, immaculate.

“You’re late.” Wyatt said.

“Ten minutes with a third of your prep work done.” Myra countered. She looked at Wyatt, challenging him.

“Your make-up is a little heavier, rough night?” He asked.

“Rough morning. Something I drank didn’t agree with me.” Myra said, looking at Wyatt pointedly.

“Was the Greek yogurt too much?”

“No. It was one of your other special ingredients.” She looked at Wyatt and waited. No further information was offered nor would he admit he had done anything wrong. “Going swimming later?”

“What?”

“You’re wearing your pool cap.” Myra said, pointing to the black silicone cap with a gray stripe running through the middle stretched over Wyatt’s head.

“It’s the pandemic. I have gotten so lazy with my hair.”

“Something else is different…” She said as she stared at his head.

Both of their phones buzzed at the same time.

“It looks like this conversation is going to have to wait.” Wyatt said. He handed her a stack of paperwork carefully placed in sheet protectors. “You read this while I go set up the equipment. After I get your hair plaited we’re going live.”

Wyatt stood on the other side of the patio, behind the camera, “Three, two…” Myra watched as his mouth formed the word ‘One.’ No sound crossed his lips.

A man had been apprehended on her beach by the military, her best friend had betrayed her, and the studio was insisting on a question and answer session with the public regarding food rationing with practically no information at their disposal. Myra and Wyatt had been thrown into the deep end again with nothing but a single flotation device. At this moment she didn’t feel like she could trust Wyatt not to try and drown her.

“Good morning.” Myra smiled. “Welcome to another edition of ‘Sunny Days.’ Sit down, tune in because we are all weathering the storm together. I’m Myra Collins.” She and Wyatt changed angles indicating the opening was over and it was time to introduce the topic. Myra reset her smile to something more reserved and continued. “A new challenge has come to the state of California this week. A food shortage. The good news is there are plenty of food resources available, the bad news is there is an immense shortage of people available to process it. Until a vaccine can be developed for the GRMN2 virus and food processing can get back to normal food rationing will be taking place. California has implemented their program this week, it is anticipated other states will soon follow. Today is Wednesday, state officials are anticipating many people will get their books tomorrow, the number of recipients increasing on Friday and Saturday. Ninety-five percent of the state’s population will have their ration tickets by Monday afternoon. What does this mean for you and your family? It means when you go to the store you will be required to present a ration ticket for all food items being purchased. If you do not have a ticket for that item you will not be able to buy it. Keep in mind this is for the purchasing of food items only, it does not pertain to housekeeping, pet care or health and beauty supplies. Stores already have guidelines in place for the purchase of those items.”

Myra shifted positions again and turned. A speaker sat on the patio table in front of her. It was time to answer the screened calls the studio was forwarding to the house. Knowing she had fewer answers than some of her callers, Myra found these calls stressful and draining. “Wyatt...come say hello. Wyatt.” She smiled.

Wyatt waved his hand in front of the camera and called ‘Hello.’”

“Wyatt is shy, he’s also one of the best in the business. I am lucky to have him with me.” Myra announced. She hoped if nothing else guilt would help him open up later on. Myra returned to the task at hand. “Let’s take some calls.” She waited the cursory six seconds. “Hello this is Myra Collins and you’re on ‘Sunny Days.’ What’s your question?”

“What happened to the man on the beach?”

Ascension Part VI: Obstacles

 

Myra waited exactly twenty minutes. She walked to the window and looked outside. A light showed across the patio, disappearing along the beach. She watched as a light came on in the kitchen of the guest house and extinguished a few minutes later. Lights came on upstairs. Wyatt was doing his online chatting from his bedroom tonight. He was probably going to bed after his call ended. Wyatt seemed to tire more easily lately. The sleep would be good for him.She opened the homemade smoothie Wyatt recommended she taste and waited.

As anticipated, Wyatt’s bedroom light went out twenty minutes later. Myra waited and watched a bit longer, she wanted to be sure he had retired for the night before she risked turning on anything in the main house. The only way any of this was going to work was if Wyatt knew nothing about her plans.

Using the flashlight app on her phone Myra lowered the lamp from her nightstand to the floor before turning it on. She peeked through her blinds one more time to make sure nothing had changed at Wyatt’s. The lights were still out. The coast was clear.

Myra needed to get more information about what was happening in the world outside. Her days of living in the dark were coming to a close. They needed to end soon. If only she could get into the media room...without the password it was not an option. Getting a look around the guest house wasn't a possibility either.

Myra sat down on her bed, fluffed some pillows and leaned back against them. She thought about what she knew about her PA. What might lead her to the information she sought.

Wyatt is smart, kind, loyal, a morning person (which can be annoying at times), organized and forgetful. Forgetful...he is forgetful.

“He used annoy the crap out of me with all his sticky notes.” She thought back to earlier days, the first major film he assisted her through. Wyatt had only been working for her a couple of weeks. She stepped into her trailer to get changed at the end of a long and difficult day to find sticky notes around the entire perimeter of the bathroom mirror. In the center of the mirror was a birthday reminder for her sister. Myra recalled pointing out that she was not a stereotypical dumb blonde, she was an actress who rarely forgot her lines, there was no reason for him to be concerned she would forget her only sister’s birthday without the aid of a sticky note in front of her face.

The look on Wyatt’s face. It was at that moment he confessed he was forgetful at times, usually when stressed or nervous. He said working for her was a dream come true and confided he had been using all the sticky notes because he did not want to forget anything important, but everything seemed to be so important he seemed to be writing sticky notes all the time. She and Wyatt sat down together that evening and worked out a list of the types of things he should keep close track on and what type of things could fall through the cracks from time to time without being a complete tragedy.

Wyatt learned how to hide his sticky notes and adopted other techniques for remembering important information. As they got to know each other he learned how Myra did things and began anticipating her needs. He was the best PA she ever had as well as a good friend.

“I have to figure out where he’s been hiding his reminders.” Myra picked up her phone and opened a note taking app. “No not on the phone. Wyatt monitors my phone.” She pulled a notebook out of her nightstand. “A notebook is a bad idea too. He might search them if he thought he needed to. What about...” She slid from the side of her bed down to the floor. Myra reached out for her phone and pulled up the flashlight app. Using the light coming from the phone to look under the bed, she reached out and carefully pulled out an “under the bed” storage box. “Bingo.” She whispered. “I was hoping the last decorator hadn’t noticed you.” She lifted the lid and opened the container. Inside she found photo albums, one of her college yearbooks, copies of her first head shot, clips of her first reviews and planners. Each year had its own planner, full of the details of everything that needed to be done to keep an acting career moving. Her life...before Wyatt. She opened one, reading the entries, realizing how much simpler her life had become since Wyatt had entered it.

“You’ve always been there for me Wy.” She said, caressing the cover.

Myra put everything not needed away and settled herself back on the bed to brainstorm. She needed to compile a list of the places Wyatt was most likely to hide his reminders. She put her lamp back on the nightstand and got to work. Within a few minutes she had the possibilities narrowed down.

Attic

Garage

Pool House (not likely, he might have put a note there when pressed for time)

Spare Bedrooms

The storage room for the video and sound equipment.

Kitchen

Satisfied with her list, she hid the planner in her dresser underneath her heavy winter gloves and scarves, along with other items she only used when traveling.

“Where do I begin?” She asked. Her eyes traveled to the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll start at the top and work my way down.”

Myra yawned as she put on jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Attics were usually dusty. There might be spiders or something. Is five years long enough for spiders to move in? The yawning continued as she searched out the big flashlight Wyatt insisted she keep in the depths of her walk in closet for emergencies. What good a flashlight does hidden in the darkest corners of closet does she'd never understand. “Men.” She muttered under her breath. “I’m going to search the attic after I sit down for a minute.” She said, sticking the flashlight under the bed as she sat down. A wave of drowsiness hit her. She laid down, “Maybe if I lay down.” She had the urge to close her eyes, fighting it, she looked at the clock, it was only ten. She continued looking around the room her eyes stopping at her nearly empty smoothie bottle.

Myra whispered, “Wy?” The urge to sleep won the battle for control, pulling her into the depths of a dreamless slumber.

The bedroom shone bright with sunlight when Wyatt finally opened his eyes. With his headache gone he slept longer and more deeply then he had in weeks. Wyatt moved slowly, feeling no aches or pains, he climbed out of bed and crossed the room to the window. He needed to check on the main house. Myra’s blinds were closed, she was still in bed. He looked at the clock, 8:45—not too late. He would let Myra sleep until ten. They could follow the late morning schedule.

Wyatt went into the bathroom to take stock of what he had done the night before. He looked into the mirror as a space alien looked back at him. He did not know how to react, Wyatt liked to think of himself as a problem solver, finding comfort in resolving problems when they sprung up in life, he stared, taking in all the details, all of the changes. His head was a different shape. It appeared to have elongated. Most of the hair on his head was now gone. A single clump remained, standing stubbornly on top. Wyatt looked at his new oculus. It was the same shape as the other two, same color. It didn’t change focus as he leaned in to the mirror or backed away from it. He had a third eye but it didn’t seem to be doing anything.

What does the eye do? How do I make it work?

Wyatt closed the other two eyes. He waited several minutes, thinking if the third eye’s purpose was sight, he had just given it a good reason to begin working. Nothing happened.

“Experiment Two.” He said. Wyatt returned to his bedroom for an oversized bandanna. Folding it carefully he covered both eyes with the bandanna and secured it, tying both ends together behind his head. Wyatt waited for several minutes, once again nothing happened. He removed the bandanna. “I contracted the GRMN2 virus, managed to avoid spreading it to others, and recovered only to lose most of my hair, and grow a third eye which appears to do nothing. This is awkward.” He leaned in and studied it in the mirror. Wyatt looked into the third eye deeply. “An eye isn’t something which can be hidden easily with make-up either. What are you going to do Wyatt? What are you going to do?”

Ascension Part V: Secrets

 

Myra studied Wyatt, his face, his eyes. He believed he was telling the truth.

He continued, “I don’t think you or anyone could do what you’re doing if they knew the whole story. Let me keep doing what I’m doing so you can keep doing what you’re doing.” He looked into Myra’s eyes. “You really are helping people.”

“What about the man those soldiers picked up on the beach? He was hurt.” Myra pointed out.

“Now that he’s in military custody he’s getting medical attention. Everyone is safe now Myra. Let’s get back to work.”

Myra watched as Wyatt waited for her to nod quietly, agree, and move on. She looked for something, some hint he might relent, come around. Eventually open up to her. She realized as she looked at him odds were good nothing was going to change. If she wanted the truth she was going to have to extract it from the media room herself. In order to do that she was going to have to make Wyatt believe that she swallowed his story for a little while longer. She gave him a gentle smile, a quick nod of assent, sat down on the couch and looked at the floor like a disappointed child.

Wyatt nodded back. “Let’s forget all of the nasty business we saw earlier and get through the episode meeting,” he said with a quick clap. “Tomorrow we delve into the exciting world of food rationing.”

Myra’s mouth dropped open, “Rationing? Food is being rationed? What’s going on out there Wyatt?”

Myra was yelling. Myra rarely yelled. It was one of the things he loved about her. Wyatt turned away from her and walked into the kitchen. He could feel her as she followed.

He stopped at the stove, picking up the kettle, Wyatt crossed to the sink. He closed his eyes for several seconds and took a deep breath before filling the kettle with water. He placed the kettle on the stove top and turned on the burner before responding.

“As you know two devastating waves of the GRMN2 virus have come through in less than a year. We have lost so many. Workers in every field. Food production is down. Markedly. It’s been difficult to keep people living in heavily populated areas of the world fed. California included.” Wyatt looked at Myra. “People with financial resources are panicking, emptying store shelves, hoarding groceries. More than just the homeless are having a tough time. Some families with little to no income due to closings are living on a good meal every other day. More and more are at risk of starving.”

“Can food be brought in?”

“No. It’s not a lack of resources to get the food here. It’s a lack of food being produced. Supply and demand. The demand outweighs the supply several times over. All grocery stores closed at midnight last night. State wide. Not a single customer walked inside one today. Only emergency deliveries to the elderly, the disabled, and medical facilities were made. Books of coupons allowing the purchase of food in predetermined quantities are being delivered to residents’ homes. Many will receive their ration books by Friday and the rest on Saturday, a few might not see theirs before Monday. Ours will arrive before air time on Friday.”

“Oh.” Myra said. She thought for a bit then began listing possible points of discussion for the episode. “We start with a brief summary of the week’s events, greatly reduced food production, hoarding of food, demand being much higher than available supplies, confirm that food is being rationed until the pandemic is more controlled, more non-contaminated workers hired and food production can be brought up to previous levels. How often will people be issued coupon books?” She asked.

“Monthly.” He answered. The throbbing in Wyatt’s head was becoming stronger. Wyatt looked at the clock. The headaches were always worse at night. He hoped it would stay tolerable a bit longer. Myra was becoming less and less agreeable with the current arrangement. 

He feared leaving her alone before she usually retired for the evening. Left alone in a mood like this she might push a bit harder. He couldn’t take the chance she would find something.

“People will need tips on how to stretch their coupons.” She looked at Wyatt. “Is it a coupon or is it a stamp?”

“I’m not sure. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It would be useful to get a list or a copy of the template used for the ration books before Friday. We could find recipes and menu ideas. What happens if a family runs out of coupons before the month is out?”

Wyatt thought, his head pounded as he tried to picture the content in the email he was reading before he saw Myra arguing with the soldier on surveillance feed. “Containers of powdered nutrition mix.” He closed his eyes. “Each family has coupons for up to four cans of a powdered nutritional beverage of their choice. I have a list of the items that are going to be in the coupon book. I’ll go into my office and print it up.” He took two steps and stopped. He felt a burning pain in the center of his forehead. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach.

“What is it?” Myra said, looking at him.

“Nothing.” He looked at her. “A bit too much excitement today that’s all.” Wyatt continued, looking at the wall behind her. He stepped past her and walked to his office quickly hoping she did not follow. Wyatt let out sigh of relief when he reached the door to his office without her in pursuit. He reached out to enter the password on the security pad, his hand stopped seconds before the tip of his finger met with the keypad. He could not remember the entry code. “This is inconvenient.” His heart began beating faster, there had to be a way to end this meeting and get the hell out of here before his headache got any worse. “You are the one and only assistant to one of the greatest actresses in the world, this is easy, come on Wyatt.” He whispered. “Tomorrow is Thursday. The new episode doesn’t record until Friday and I have sat in on plenty of acting workshops.” Wyatt stood up straight, took a few cleansing breaths, turned, and walked out the direction he came in.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I completely forgot.” He said walking down the hall and into the living room.

“Forgot what?”

“It’s my grannie’s birthday. I’m supposed to video chat.” He looked at his phone. “In five minutes. Mom’s probably already at the nursing home setting things up.”

“I thought all homes were closed to visitors.” Myra said.

“Her quarters are separate from the main building and she has private staff that does not assist with other patients. Mom doesn’t go out much and when she does she double masks. The non-visitor rule doesn’t apply.”

“The show is Friday.” Myra said. “Do you want to finish this tomorrow?”

“Could we?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want you to miss your grannie’s birthday.”

Wyatt looked at the door leading to the patio, past the pool house, to his own quarters where he could weather the pain in privacy.

“Can I come?” Myra asked. “I would like to wish your grannie a happy birthday. I haven’t seen your mother in ages.”

He thought quickly. “No unapproved online appearances. It’s in your contract.”

“Surely it can’t mean online visits.”

“You know it does.”

  “I’ll just go up early tonight. Get some extra rest.”

“If you want to watch a video I can probably get back in an hour and make you some dinner.” Wyatt answered. Please say no, please say no.

“No. I’ll just grab one of those smoothies you make.”

“I have a new flavor in there for you to try. Blue label.”

Myra turned off the stove. She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out one of the smoothies with a blue label.

“Blueberry.” She said, reading the label out loud. “You’ve made this flavor before.”

“It’s a new recipe. Greek yogurt and a few other twists. Let me know what you think.”

“Sure.” Myra looked at Wyatt. “I thought you hated those things.” She said as she pointed to her head.

“Kerchiefs?” Wyatt asked touching the one wrapped around the upper portion of his head.

“You always said kerchiefs were for the uncivilized and the chronically late.”

“What can I say? I changed my mind.” Wyatt watched as Myra walked down the hall and upstairs to her bedroom. He turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room locking the door behind him. He stopped on the patio. He watched as the lights came on in Myra’s bedroom and were extinguished several minutes later.

The throbbing in his head grew stronger. If only the headaches would stop. If only he could get some relief. Wyatt turned in the direction of the pool house and began walking home to the guest cottage on the other side. The aching in his head grew stronger. Another bout of nausea rolled through forcing him to stop and rest his hand on a nearby patio table. Wyatt managed to stay upright when the feeling traveled through the rest of his body causing his forehead to break out in a sweat. Cursing to himself he removed the kerchief.

A breeze came in from the sea, cooling him before his knees gave way. Wyatt stood still and enjoyed the respite. The sweat dried and his forehead cooled. His breathing slowed. The throbbing slowly began again. When he dropped his hand against the outside pocket of his shorts, he felt something solid. Something was inside it. Wyatt pulled the object out and looked at it. It was a knife. A sharp one.

The throbbing began growing stronger. Wyatt’s hand began to move. In coming years he was never able to tell anyone, even Myra, what compelled him to the raise the knife to his forehead. It was like his hand was moving of its own volition.

It only hurt for a moment, much like that bit of pain one feels as the body adjusts to the pressure of liquid slowly being forced inside as is done with an injection. A groan escaped Wyatt’s lips.

Once the cut had been made to the correct depth his hand found a spot, a strange groove. He slowly followed it. The more he cut, the better he felt. The throbbing became less intense. For the first time in weeks, Wyatt was feeling better. He released a relieved sigh as he finished cutting and whispered, “Finally.”

Wyatt palmed the removed skin in his outstretched palm, it was dangerous and would have to be burned. He wiped the bloodied blade on his shorts, leaving the knife on the table before he continued across the patio to the guest cottage and bed, grateful the broadcast was scheduled for Thursday. Tomorrow morning he would be sleeping in.

Ascension Part IV: The Face Off

 

Myra turned back and faced the soldier. 

 The soldier did not move either.

“Sweetie, this is really scaring me. Would you come back inside?” Wyatt continued.

Myra recognized Wyatt’s act and refused to acknowledge it. The soldier to the left of her opponent spoke, “Sir. Sir? We’ve been called back to base.”

Her opponent turned away from her, “The area hasn’t been swept completely.” He countered.

“We are to load up what we have and return to base. There’s been a change in plans.”

Myra watched as the soldier’s jaw tensed. He turned to face her as he lowered his weapon. “It looks like we’re done here. For now.” The soldier turned to Wyatt. “We’ll be doing regular sweeps of beaches and outlying areas. It would be best if anyone on premises stayed within its gates.

Wyatt nodded. “We’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.”

The soldier looked at Myra, “Ma’am.”

“Good-bye.” Myra stood watching as they boarded the helicopter and disappeared from sight.

Wyatt’s phone began vibrating with a string of messages. “They called the studios. Meeting in two.”

Two faces were on screen waiting when Wyatt flipped on the living room display. No one said hello or asked if they were alright before the questions started. “Not following rules. Arguing with military personnel, refusing to comply with orders? What the hell is going on there?”

Myra looked at Wyatt. “Did I break my contract?”

“Technically, no.”

“The bitch argued with a commanding officer of the United States military! Damn addle brained bimbo!”

“One that happened to be standing on my beach.” Myra countered. She found herself in her second confrontation of the day. Or was it the third?

“While he was protecting you!”

“That’s funny because what I saw was at least a dozen soldiers surrounding a wounded man while holding semi-automatic weapons!”

“A half dozen.” Wyatt said.

Myra looked at Wyatt.

“It was only a half dozen.” He repeated.

“That is still six to one. He was unarmed, wounded, and there were no bulges under his clothes indicating he had anything hidden on his person.”

“They were doing their jobs!” The hothead continued.

“It was overkill.” She countered.

“Bill.” Another one of the suits said, “Let me try.”

Bill, the hothead nodded.

“You are safely quarantined at home with every comfort imaginable, one of the only actors still working during this mess and making millions of dollars for every broadcast. What else can you possibly want?”

“I’m not sure we’ve met sir. What is your name?” Myra asked.

“Mike. I’m Mike Bradley.”

“Nice to meet you Mike. She said looking at him. “The first thing you need to know about me is I didn’t do this for the money. I was told there was a public health crisis, one that spanned the globe, the studios and the U.S. government decided the world would need something to focus on during this whole mess. Something that might give everyone a sense of normalcy. A bit of hope. I didn’t like all these restrictions and rules but I trust Wyatt. I decided to trust him a little bit more. I signed on because I believed I was helping people.

“Of course Myra.” Mike agreed. “That’s always been the goal. Helping others.”

All three, even the hothead, nodded solemnly.

“We can’t have you obstructing military personnel.” Bill shouted.

“They were trespassing.” Myra pointed out.

“The military personnel you encountered...” Mike said.

Wyatt’s phone, sitting on the coffee table in front of her began beeping, all of Mike’s comments faded into the background as she spied the news headlines popping up.

“We all want to help citizens around the globe Myra.”

She scooped up the phone and read the hottest one before Wyatt could stop her. “That’s good to hear because your biggest box office draw has just been picked up at a sex house in Amsterdam. It seems participating in orgies during a global health crisis is not only illegal but also creates a major health risk to the public. He’s been arrested.” Myra holds up Wyatt’s phone. “I know I’m just an addle brained bimbo but I’m thinking this might be a golden opportunity for you to help your fellow man.”

Bill turned red from the neck up but said nothing.

“Looking at Wyatt’s phone is breaking the rules Myra. Two million will be deducted from Thursday’s wages.” Mike said calmly. He turned to Wyatt. “Wyatt, keep your phone put away.”

The screen went blank.

Wyatt raised the remote, turning off the monitor. “What is going on with you?” He asked.

Myra looked at Wyatt. She did not utter a single word.

“No response? You have been following the terms of your contract to the letter for months and now all of the sudden you go Dirty Harry on me?”

She sighed. "Yes, I have been following the terms of my contract all of these months, I haven’t been happy with this for quite some time. I thought a caring, sensitive person like you would have noticed by now. Also, what happened today could hardly be construed as going Dirty Harry. Dirty Harry had guns. I have not fired a single shot.”

He sat down. “It may not have been a Dirty Harry moment for the rest of the word but for you that was some major ass kicking.”

“It was unusual for me.” Myra agreed. “Wyatt, this isn’t working for me, being in the dark when so much is happening out there. It’s not working for me, at all.”

Wyatt looked into Myra’s eyes. “How long have I been your assistant?”

“Seven years.”

“How long have we been besties?”

“Six years, eight months and thirty days.”

“I know everything. I know everything that’s been going on this entire time, trust me when I tell you this. You don’t want to know what’s happening.”

Ascension Part III: Unexpected Visitors

 

It looked like today was not going to be that day. By the time the alarm on Myra’s phone went off an hour later she had seen nothing of interest. Nothing of disinterest either. No delivery trucks, no mailman. She looked at her phone to check the date. It was not a Sunday. It was Tuesday but there was no mail. That had to be an important detail but until Myra had more information she was not sure what it meant. She left the balcony and her beloved telescope resting against the outside wall of the house. She returned inside undetected.

As she stood in the hallway outside her office she listened for signs of activity from the living room. All was quiet. It appeared Wyatt was going to be occupied a bit longer.

She went to her room and tidied herself up. Returning to her office, she sat down to begin writing the letter she had mentioned to Wyatt earlier.

Myra had managed the words:

Dear Sara,

Hello. How have you been doing? It’s been ages since your last letter

when her phone beeped with a text notification.

Memo: Changes to program schedule.

Changes to the program schedule are pending. A meeting is requested today at 4 pm with Wyatt regarding this matter. Click here to accept.

Myra clicked on “Accept” and returned to her letter without giving any of it much thought until her phone beeped a second time.

Congratulations My Sweet Toilet Repair 101 has been replaced. We’re going back into the kitchen for Thursday’s broadcast. Tell you more at 4. Smooches. Wy.

Myra continued to struggle through her letter, not sharing much about her own life, as stipulated in her contract, she focused on inquiring about how Sara was faring and how Sara’s children were. Myra’s questions focusing on the specifics of their lives at home. She asked nothing pertaining to their lives in the outside world. It was becoming difficult to find new ways to recycle the same tired questions. Eventually she gave up and contemplated a nap. She opted to do some cleaning instead, starting with the abandoned mess from breakfast. After the kitchen was in order Myra cleaned the floors and tackled the bathrooms.

Her options might be limited but they had not disappeared entirely. If things did not pick up in Hollywood after the pandemic perhaps she’d simplify things. She’d spent a lot of time during the last few months dreaming about selling her properties. All of them. She’d find a modest home in Europe or New Zealand? No. Not New Zealand it was too far removed from the rest of the world. Wyatt would never go with her. Canada? Canada might be an option.

A modest home, a dependable car, work that she loved, and a tidy savings to keep everything going looked very appealing at the moment. She might even have time for a pet. She’s always enjoyed spending time with her Aunt Mimi’s cat, Boudreaux, a gray and brown striped Tom that was not allowed inside. He hated everyone. Everyone except Myra, Aunt Mimi, eventually he even warmed up to Sara. He had become a dear companion after they lost Aunt Mimi. She didn’t know what she would have done without him when Mom and Dad began fighting all the time. Then they divorced. The divorce was the worst. She was fairly sure there were law schools that referred to the Collins divorce in their curriculum. It was one for the record books. Boudreaux had always been there for her and Sara on the worst days.

By three pm things had grown quiet. There was a pandemic and most of her neighbors had opted to wait it out in their European or tropical vacation hideaways making things quiet to begin with.

This was a different kind of quiet. It reminded Myra of the change in atmosphere before a big thunderstorm or the tension she sensed when coming home from school after Mom and Dad had one of their fights. She remembered the sick feeling she would get while walking through the house slowly, not knowing if she would find busted windows, broken knick knacks and someone no longer living in the house or just a disheveled living room, both parents in their separate corners doing their own thing and working very hard to pretend that nothing was wrong.

Myra stopped dusting. Turning, she walked across the living room and through the open glass doors to her patio not stopping until she reached the gate to her estate’s grounds. She looked at the sky, the beach, and studied the ocean. She saw something moving. A figure was stumbling across the beach. It appeared from just beyond the pool house and across the sand heading south. He or she was having trouble moving quickly.

That was when she heard the helicopter. Myra watched as it stopped further up the beach. It hovered low, allowing time for several soldiers to drop easily from its cabin to the sand below. They drew their weapons and moved quickly towards the struggling figure.

Was it a he or a she? Myra looked more closely. He. The figure was a man. When he spotted the soldiers he turned back in the other direction only to find his way blocked by a second group of soldiers. They walked forward slowly, weapons drawn.

Myra watched as the soldiers closed in on the wounded man until a face appeared in front of her.

“Ma’am. Ma’am. You need to go inside.”

Myra looked at the rest of the man blocking her vision. His helmet, the camo fatigues, the gun he was holding. Two identical soldiers stood with him, one on each side. “What?” she asked.

“Ma’am this is government business. You need to go inside.”

At that moment Myra felt tired. Tired of her contract, of being monitored, tired of being made to feel like an incapable child in her own home; mostly she was tired of being told what to do. She managed to say, “Government business that is taking place on my private property,” before Wyatt was standing at her side.

“These men are here to protect us.” Wyatt said cheerfully. “Let’s go in the house.”

“If he’s here to protect us then why is he pointing a semi-automatic weapon at me?” she asked without pulling her eyes away from the soldier’s.

“I’m sure he’ll lower it when we go into the house.”

“I’ll go into the house after he lowers it.”

Myra heard a strange sound in her ear and looked at Wyatt, his face was pale, his green eyes wide.

“Please Myra.” Wyatt whispered. “Just, come inside the house.”

Ascension: Part II Searching The Skies

 

Myra was grateful to find breakfast waiting when she stepped out on to the patio in her favorite denim shorts and t-shirt. She lifted her face to the sun. Closing her eyes she took in the ocean breeze. She opened them and admired a bright blue sky. Wyatt had been right, it was entirely too beautiful to stay in bed. She sat down at the table and sipped at her coffee while reaching for toast.

“Nah...ah...ah.” Wyatt corrected as he sat an egg white omelet down in front of her. “Low carbs Missy...low carbs.”

“It’s toast.”

“You can have one piece. One half teaspoon of low sugar jam or less. No butter.”

“I can’t eat all of these eggs with only one piece of bread.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry. Let me get you some pasta to go with those eggs.”

Myra sighed surrendering the second piece of toast.

“Good girl.”

Myra held her hands up in front of her like a pair of doggy paws and pretended to pant.

“There’s my favorite golden retriever. Would the good girl like an ear scratch?” Wyatt asked not missing a beat as he reached for her head.

She dodged Wyatt’s hand seconds before he made contact and slapped it away.

“So it’s toilet repair today.” Myra said as he took the seat next to her. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

A grin appeared from behind the rim of his mug. “You’ve been asking to do something fun lately so...tomorrow we are starting a week long tribute to landscaping.”

Myra’s fork stopped millimeters from her mouth. “We can’t do that Jacques would kill us for touching his grounds.”

Wyatt’s grin disappeared, his brow furrowed. “Jacques can’t hurt us because,”

“Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.” Myra looked at Wyatt.

Her PA’s silence confirmed what she had forbidden him to share.

“When?”

“Last week.”

“He died last week? We’ve known Jacques for years. I met his wife, played with his children! I should have been told. I would have gone to the funeral.”

“Con-tract.” Wyatt sang.

“Fine. I could have sent flowers.” She said hanging her head.

“Jacques lost his family during the first wave. Who would you have sent them to?”

Myra put down her fork and tossed her toast onto the grass for the birds. “It looks like you’ve won the carb war, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“I’m sorry sweetie but the ‘no news’ clause in your contract…”

Myra shook her head.

“It’s up to me to monitor what’s going on out there to keep you from being exposed to too much negativity. If I do my job and keep you from feeling down, it makes it easier for you to do your job and keep the rest of the world sane.”

“Have you ever wondered if keeping me so removed from things might be doing more harm than good?”

Before Wyatt could answer Myra’s phone beeped with a text message. The studio was canceling their broadcast due to a major news event. Wyatt’s phone beeped seconds later.

“I have to go check the news. Are you going to be okay here?”

Myra nodded.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen when I get back and then we’ll talk.”

She nodded and quietly watched her suddenly less beautiful ocean view. Myra finished her coffee and looked at the time. Wyatt had retired to his media room ten minutes earlier. She rose from her seat, heading back into the house. Myra stopped at the media room door.

The media room was the only room in the house that still had internet access. Wyatt could watch anything and everything that was going on in the outside world. Myra could not.

She could not turn on a television and get local news, could not stream a movie unless Wyatt downloaded it first for her to play back later. Wyatt accessed any digital books or music she wanted, although anything produced after the pandemic started had to be approved by Wyatt first. Myra couldn’t even do her own cyber shopping. Everything was pre-screened or pre-approved. Any correspondence with family or friends had to be written out long hand and mailed. Wyatt read everything before she sent it out and any responses before she saw them. All paperwork had to be placed in plastic sleeves so Myra was not exposed to the virus in any way. It was a long and drawn out process. She was finding it tiresome.

Myra knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Wyatt responded.

“I’m going to my office to write a letter to my sister.”

“Okay. Tell her I said, ‘Hi.’’

“Okay.” Myra continued walking down the hall. She stopped at her office door and took off her shoes. Picking them up she continued to the end of the hall. She opened a door and began climbing stairs. The door at the top led to a service balcony near the roof of the building and a telescope no one knew Myra had. She smiled to herself, it was nice to have one secret. Whenever it looked like a big news day Myra would sneak up the stairs and look out at the world around her in her own way. She did not know what she was looking for. A bit of information, anything that would show her what was really happening, what everyone was being so careful to keep hidden from her. She adjusted the stand and looked out across the sky. It was empty. No fires in the distance. Nothing to indicate large crowds out in the streets. Myra didn’t know what the big news events were she suspected some sort of rioting had been going on. Rioting was the one thing that would explain the number of broadcasts that had been canceled in recent weeks. That or a war and if there was a war going on surely it would have touched her and Wyatt more directly by now. As long as she kept her eyes and ears open. As long as Myra kept looking she was sure one day she was going to discover the truth.

Ascension

 

The pandemic had changed them all. The population, the population as she saw it at least, was split into three groups.

One was doing all that they could to avoid the illness. A second smaller percentage, every 10 -20^th person, believed that there was no illness at all. Their numbers were rapidly dwindling. The remaining forty-five percent, they were truly dangerous. They were the Knoblickers.

The Knoblickers believed that the governments of every country in the world was involved in a massive cover-up. This pandemic was not a disease. It was a mutation. A bonding of the human race and that of an alien one. Space aliens of a far greater intelligence than our own.

It is why no one had ever actually seen a single body. The ill were not really dying. People were ascending to a level of mental and biological superiority no one had the intelligence to understand. Governments were keeping members of the new race separate from the general population until more could be learned about them. To say the Knoblickers were excited about this biological development coming along is a bit of an understatement.

In recent months, Knoblickers had been sneaking into public venues, hospitals and places closed due to virus contamination. They would lick things in their race to become evolved. Door knobs, faucet handles, toilet levers, anything touched by many, anything that had a strong chance of being contaminated. These believers were sick of the world they were living in, they were ready to move on, hence the name Knoblickers.

In the midst of all this, Myra Collins found herself quarantined on her estate with no one except her PA Wyatt for company. She was being very well paid by the studios to produce a vlog designed to boost morale. The pair would spend thirty-two minutes a day filming, unless the Knoblickers were rioting some place, taking calls, cooking up two and three ingredient meals, talking books and streaming options, and sharing easy tips for weathering this pandemic of epic proportions. Myra portrayed an upbeat and optimistic woman. A completely well-adjusted person. It was then, after working in Hollywood for over a decade, that she had truly learned how to be an actress. On the outside she was a perky, beautiful shoulder for the world to cry on and on the inside a fucking mess. Every morning she woke feeling like a fake and a phony and praying someone would save her from her life.

It was becoming damn hard not to drink. All the time.

Myra opened her eyes and looked at the cell phone on her nightstand quietly willing it to malfunction. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do another broadcast. Not today. Myra closed her eyes and went back to sleep only to be caught in a horrible dream. The same dream she seemed to be having all the time. She was out, hiking in the wilderness, alone. Birds sang and squirrels ran along tree branches. She watched as a doe and her fawn drank from a creek. Myra stopped at an open area, looking around and wondering where she parked her Jeep. It was getting late, time to head home. Instead of a parking lot she found herself standing on the edge of a cliff. The view before her quite beautiful. Breathtaking. Above, below, everything in front of her. Until the ground underneath gave way. Myra’s body moved rapidly as she fell only to be saved by her unconscious reaction to grab for something, anything that would stop her from meeting the ground below. She prayed gravity would not get the upper hand. Myra called out in her sleep for help. There was no one around. She called out until her voice began to fail her. Nothing happened, no one came. She watched as the rock she was holding on to slowly gave way. Myra was falling, falling, falling…

“Are you getting up?” A male voice asked.

Myra opened her eyes and found Wyatt standing at the edge of her bed. “No.” She responded. “I’m staying here until cannibals storm the grounds and eat what’s left of my deteriorating body.”

Wyatt shook his head. “There are no cannibals. Staying in bed would be a complete waste of a beautiful day.”

Myra doesn’t move.

“Come on. Get up lazy butt. We have a show to do.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“You are all that is sunny and good in this apocalyptic world. They need you.”

A tug of war for Myra’s duvet ensued leaving Wyatt in custody of the blankets.

“Time to get up. We were going to work on the pool house toilets after breakfast.”

“They haven’t magically fixed themselves?” Myra asked.

“No Sweetie, they didn’t magically fix themselves.”

Myra got out of bed, wrapping her robe around her. “I’ll have you know that as an overindulged Hollywood personality I’m not supposed to have to do these things.”

“There’s a pandemic, everyone has to do these things. And you’re not overindulged. You have butt loads of money there’s a difference. Money means nothing when most of the plumbers are dead.”

“But not all of the plumbers.”

“The ones that are left are really expensive. Only people much richer than you are can afford them. Ones with penises.”

Myra raised an eyebrow.

“That’s right Sweetie you have to be a rich white man to get anything fixed during this mess and I don’t know if you looked in the mirror lately but you aren’t one of them.”