10
At first I’d wandered through the empty streets of New York. In desperation, I took the New York Passenger Cannon, operating perfectly to timetable but empty of passengers, to San Francisco. But that foggy city was as empty as New York.
For the first few days, I’d tried to remember the deactivation gesture that Kenny had attempted to show me—the hardwired fail-safe—but I hadn’t been paying enough attention. What was the sequence; what was the motion?
Wandering around, I pulled and scraped at my chest, twisting and turning and muttering random words, hoping that something would deactivate it. But nothing changed. With a mounting sense of horror, I slowly realized that perhaps I was the only person left—the last person on Earth, or at least the last person on whatever version of the Earth I’d led myself onto.
I stopped at the end of the pier at Fisherman’s Wharf. This place was usually packed with tourists, but, of course, it too was desolate.
Opening my purse, I stared at the pack of cigarettes inside. It had become endless. No matter how many cigarettes I took from it, the next time I opened my purse, it was full once more. I’d even tried throwing it away in a fit of frustration, but there it was again the next time I felt an urge coming on. With shaking hands, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, realizing I was smoking some kind of virtual cigarette but not able to stop.
I’d explored everywhere, tried everything. I didn’t need to bring any luggage with me for traveling, as I could just pick up clothes, any clothes I wanted, right off the racks in empty department stores. Everwhere I went, the stores and restaurants were always open, but totally empty of people. At first, when I got hungry I just grabbed things off shelves in corner stores. After a while, I’d discovered that if I had an urge for anything, I could just enter a restaurant, and magically, the meal I wanted would be there, ready for me to sit down and eat alone.
All of the mediaworlds were still broadcasting, but the news was filled with stories about families, about happy reunions and lost children who had been found. I often spent my afternoons sitting alone in cinemas, watching endless reruns of old romance films.
Weren’t the smarticles supposed to wash out of my system by themselves eventually? Somebody out there would figure it out, somebody would save me, and then just as suddenly as it had started—it would be over.
Wouldn’t it?
Something had to be wrong with the pssi system; it wasn’t working as it was supposed to. I’d gone to the orphanage in New York where I’d helped out, but it was gone too. I hadn’t been annoyed with them, had I? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps I’d been upset with everyone, angry at the world, but certainly I wasn’t anymore, so shouldn’t people be appearing back in my sensory spaces? Beyond terrified of being alone, I just desperately wanted to see someone, anyone.
11
Was it weeks or months?
It was hard to tell. My psyche was ungluing itself.
How long could this last? My thoughts kept returning to my own marketing campaigns, to pssi’s main selling feature of dramatically stretching the human lifespan. Was it possible that I could be left wandering alone for years or decades? Or even longer?
My mind frantically circled around and around this thought, unable to fathom it, clawing desperately at the edges of this prison without walls. I suspected that the system wouldn’t even let me kill myself. There was no escape.
My wanderings had taken me to Madrid, and I walked around Beun Retiro Park. It was as empty of people as everywhere else my lonely travels had taken me. I walked between rows of skeleton trees, across carpets of golden leaves that they were shedding like tears just for me. It was a beautiful day under a perfect sky as fall settled in.
At least, it would have been beautiful if there’d been anybody else there to share it with.
I thought a lot about Mr. Tweedles. Everywhere I went, I kept imagining I saw him, just up ahead, just passing a lamppost. I’d feel him brushing up against my leg, and then wake up, realizing I was still stuck in this nightmare. I think he’d been about the only creature who’d ever loved me. I hoped someone was taking care of him.
My life hadn’t ended, but without anyone else in it, it had ceased to have any meaning.
Stopping next to the Crystal Palace in the middle of the park, I opened my purse to take out another of the endless cigarettes. I lit up, and then bent down to pick up one of the leaves from the gravel path. I studied it carefully and began to laugh, and then to cry.
It was so peaceful. It was what I’d always wanted, just to be left alone, and I only had myself to blame, or to thank. My sobs of laughter rang out through the empty morning sunshine, under a faultless, empty blue sky.