Filtered Page 8

  The bus ride home is full of joyous excitement. None of the other students can keep their enthusiasm for graduation or summer break in check. The emaciated bus driver, normally so keen to keep the noise down and keep us in our seats, seems to be turning a blind eye. It is a refreshing change. Having no one to share in the reveling, I assume my normal position at the window staring out into the swirling passing shapes. Today though, I listen to the delight and happiness the other students are pouring out in the forms of summer and life plans. This has to be the most enjoyable bus ride I’ve ever taken. It also gives me hope that this world is not totally grim and grey. The Great Society could be remade to radiate with freedom and joy instead of oppression and fear if only I can figure out how to pull down the veil they’ve cast over us all. The bus slows and then comes to a full stop. All good things must come to an end.

  Pushing my way through the crowded streets toward the airlock, I find a place in line and take small steps until it’s my turn to enter. Stepping into the cylinder I feel the air whoosh out then the doors to the lobby open and clean air rushes in. I pull my mask off, and my smile is now clearly visible. Strolling slowly to the elevator I see my smile find its way onto a few morose faces in the lobby.

  The soft whirring of the elevator is music to my ears, but when the doors open my smile begins to fade. Each step down the hallway forces me to conceal my happiness and my eagerness from being so close to completing my experiment. By the time I reach door 1745, the smile is gone, hidden behind the mask.

  I close the door behind me. The apartment is quiet and calm. Mother is in her room and Father is off at work. I take off my ash-covered trench coat and hang it on the hook by the door. Starting my routine, I throw a meal for one into the microwave then go to my room to get night clothes while it cooks.

  The microwave’s beep brings me back into the kitchen. Standing by the counter, I take my mask off for a moment setting it down on the granite countertop. I take several bites of the hot mash then toss what I can’t stomach into the trash.

  A quick shower washes the last bits of Neptus Memorial off of me for good. Watching the water swirl around the drain, I imagine the entire school being sucked into a mighty whirlpool and being pulled down to the depths of the ocean never to inter students again.

  Changed and dry, I spend a few hours watching the city through the windows. Everyone busying about down there with such import and haste it seems such a bizarre contrast to the apartment’s, and my own, stillness. I watch them buzz about until the glow of the sun fades away and the red tinge of neon lights up the city.

  Retiring to my room, I look past the magazines for tonight’s reading. Hidden in the back of my closet under a pile of old toys, I dig out a small newspaper clipping I found when I was a girl. It must have fallen out of one of the boxes when we moved in here ten years ago and it’s so small no one missed it. The words are not important; I keep it for the small black and white photo.

  A tall snowcapped mountain stands in the background and large full-leafed trees fill the rest of the frame. I’ve never left the city, but I’m told these kinds of places are few and far between these days. Finding out whether or not there are places like this, free from soot and ash, and the claustrophobic confines of narrow streets and looming buildings, is one of the pleasures I’m eager to discover. Staring into the mountains and the trees, I drift off to sleep.

  Waking up on the floor, I look up to my clock. Ten forty-seven at night. I feel groggy, unused to naps. Taking my mask off for a moment, I rub my sore face muscles. I hide the small article back in the corner of my closet then stand up. Stretching a little, I look at the clock again. It’s late, and I should rest for my big day tomorrow, but I can’t sleep now. Filled with energy from the nap, I’ll lay on the bed for hours. I might as well not waste this moment. Going out into the living room I take my spot against the window.

  The city is more interesting at night. The ghastly red glow of neon gives the bustling crowds and swerving automobiles a magical, abstract quality. Following the sweeping red lines of tail lights, I fall under the city’s nightly spell.

  Father opens the door. The flood of light from the hallway breaks the spell the lights have over me. So this is how late he’s been coming home from work. He wastes no time and is already planted in front of the screen by the time I turn to look at him. This is a rare opportunity, I’m glad for the nap now even with its grogginess. I walk over to him, lift my mask up, and kiss him on the cheek.

  “I love you, darling,” he says.

  “I love you too, Dad. There is plenty of food in the refrigerator.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll get some later.”

  His voice aches of exhaustion. That passes as a good conversation as of late. I move back to my place at the window. Thinking about tomorrow, I try and recall how many days have passed since I started throwing away my new filters. Remember, a fresh filter everyday keeps death at bay! If the illuminated housewife on the billboard is correct I should have died months ago. That’s one lie down. Now is the time to move on to the next phase of the escape.

  With the television’s dancing light obscuring the view it takes longer than usual for the billboard wear your mask to fill my vision. I am finally ready to take it on. I’ve tunneled under the prison walls; now I’m anxious for a taste of the sweet air of freedom. Glancing over at Father, already asleep sitting up, dancing blue light reflecting off his shut eyelids, I wonder if I can get my parents out of their prisons too. Or have they been in them so long that it has begun to feel like home? Excited by my escape attempt tomorrow, sleep won’t come easy, but I need to try. I switch off the television. The room looks calm in the dark. I walk slowly to bed, making sure I close the door softly so I don’t wake him.

  As I stare at the celling, my thoughts are filled with the image of the dead girl on the billboard and the words wear your mask. Her twisted shape is replaced by Delia’s. That image is haunting enough, but soon the image of Cinnamon rasping with bloody breaths takes a hold of me and won’t let go. I don’t feel it approach, but soon sleep engulfs me. Visualizations of myself choking on polluted air fill my dreams the rest of the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even with my eyes shut and a pillow over my head my mother’s presence is palpable. Whirr pause, whirr pause; her rhythmic breaths resonate uncomfortably in my ears. Pulling the pillow off I see her vacant eyes behind the glass disks of her plastic prison cell. Obediently I pull the covers back and sit on the edge of the bed. Her hands extend, placing the filter in my hands. I’ve done this so many times that it’s second nature. The dead filter plunks into the trash.

  I am unable to gauge any emotion on her covered face as she turns and begins her long shuffle back toward the vortex in her bedroom. I hope it still makes her happy to know I’m not going to die. I wish I could tell her what I’ve been doing, but the shock might kill her in the state she’s in. I don’t know if I can ever tell her. Even if I took her out to the street and took my mask off in front of her, she probably wouldn’t believe you could breathe it. I still have a hard time believing Delia did it. Maybe she really would die if she didn’t wear her mask—from the shock alone. Hopefully one day I can figure out how to tell her.

  I’m already ahead of myself. I haven’t even broken free. And there is still the chance the posters, the news anchors, instructors, and my imprisoned mother are correct and the instant I take my mask off I’ll fall to the street writhing in pain for a few agonizing moments of burning, acrid breaths before my eyes gloss over and I exit this world.

  Either way I’m content with the outcome. If I live then I can begin to tear down the lies of our Great Society, and if I die then at least I will serve as a warning to all those people who have their own doubts. I wonder what it would be like for a camera crew, so used to sporting events and fluff pieces, to film a real dead body? I’m sure they could handle it, they do it every day right?


  I pick the filter from the trash and replace it with the new one my mother just gave me. I get up. I wait until Mother’s door closes then I slip out of my room and head to the bathroom. I take a quick glance over at the couch. Empty.

  I shower quickly, nervous excitement buzzing in my stomach. Towel-dried, I put on my outfit. Black leather boots, jeans, blouse, and my long wool trench coat. I grab my school backpack and quickly dump its contents onto the bed. I throw my mask into the bag then turn the lights off and exit the room. Maybe for the last time.

  Standing in my usual spot at the window, I give the poster a final look. My fear manifests and my face flashes over the girl’s and I take her place in death. I look away and head to the kitchen, I can’t back out now. Nothing in the fridge looks good. Going to the pantry all I see are the dozen or so boxes of Mother’s smoothies on the go. Curious, I grab one then head to the door. One deep breath, then out the door.

  I begin to drink the smoothie while I walk down the hall to the elevator. It tastes all right, I suppose, but I can’t imagine drinking it every day. Reaching the elevator I quickly tap the call button a few times. Leaning up against the wall, I finish the smoothie just as the bell dings and the elevator doors open. I look around quickly for a trash can. Finding none, I give up the search and slip through the doors as they began to close. I close my eyes and listen to the familiar whir of the gears and pulleys.

  The elevator jolts to a stop and the doors open on the lobby. Slow, soft music plays from small speakers in the ceiling. I hear the musicians’ lack of enthusiasm in their sloppy playing and poor timing. The lobby is full with people rushing out of other elevators and down the stairs to make it off to work. I walk through the crowd toward the staging area. Waiting my turn, I pace forward step by step as people in front of me stop to put on their masks and then step into one of the many individual airlock doors leading outside. Unenthused to wear the mask, but not wanting to make my move in such a public place I bide my time. Step … step.

  Now at the front, I unzip my pack and quickly place the well-fitted mask over my head. Giving the straps a few quick tugs, I step inside the doors of an open airlock. As the doors close behind me, the bustle of the lobby fades away and for a few moments while the door behind me seals, I am alone with the sound of the rhythmic rasps of my filtered breath.

  Outside air hisses through the doors as they open. I walk out into the busy streets. I don’t care much for the view of the city from the street. Crowded, loud, and difficult to navigate, the city feels unnatural and foreign. The streets feel wider from the windows of the penthouse and the dense smog and falling soot seems less threatening. Visibility during the day is far worse than at night. The sun reflects off the smog creating a dim glow that washes out everything in the distance. From above I would know exactly where I was but down here on the street it takes me a few minutes to get my bearings. I’ve decide that I should test my hypothesis somewhere where no one can see me, I don’t want to be arrested, plus I don’t really wish to scare someone with the image of me convulsing on the ground if I’m wrong. Although, I would like my body to be found before I begin to swell up. I’ll have to find someplace that’s not too busy and just wait for a clearing. As I walk from street to street, it soon becomes clear that this will be harder than it seemed.

  The streets are full of people. Everyone is wearing a trench coat to keep the soot from ruining their clothes, making the crowd seem like identical ants in their gas masks. If it weren’t for the vast variety of colors available for coats, except for Peace Officer brown, people would have no identity on the street.

  Unable to see the position of the sun in the dim glow of sky between the cracks of skyscrapers, I have no ability to track the passing of time other than the growing pain in my feet, and judging by that, hours have passed since I began my search. Aching feet and a rumbling stomach are all I need to convince me to take a break.

  There are cafés on nearly every corner so it doesn’t take long to find a place with a short queue to get inside and grab a quick bite to eat. The line for the airlock moves quickly and I soon find myself inside.

  The café is a drab and lifeless grey with exposed wires and pipes covering the walls. The décor is a typical sight in a city where grey is an accent color. I grab a pre-made sandwich and a bottle of seltzer.

  The transaction is quick and wordless. I take a seat by the window. Observing the throng of multi-colored ants, I chew slowly giving myself more time to watch. Gulping down the last of my seltzer, I put my mask back on and give it a few tugs to tighten it up.

  Waiting in the queue for the door, I pause by a trash can. Finally a place to get rid of my trash from breakfast. Both breakfast’s and lunch’s trash plummet into the dark bottom of the can. The streets have cleared up significantly in the time it took me to eat lunch. Across the road, the connecting street appears promisingly empty. Looking both ways for traffic, I dash across the narrow street. The street bends off around the corner so I walk further along the curve in search of a deserted place.

  A few hundred meters down, the street curves again in the opposite direction. In the space between, I stand alone. I glance back and forth. The street is empty and silent. A deep breath flows out from my chest and nervous electricity dances on my skin. I am actually going to do this.

  My fingers run along my neck, stopping on the pressed-tight rubber of my mask. Nervous, I look around again. Still no one. Still uneasy, I look for a little bit more privacy. Only a few meters away there is a narrow alley. Jogging to it quickly was enough to get my already excited heart beating fast. A final look. Alone.

  Retracing their path, my fingers press under the rubber seal. Swiftly I rip the mask off. Involuntarily holding my breath, panic sets in. What the hell am I doing? How stupid am I? Of course the advertisement lied to me, why would I change my filter everyday if they lasted a long time? A filter a day is good for business, but what reason does the government have to flat-out lie to millions of people? Fumbling with the mask, I attempt to loosen it enough to slide it back on.

  “Stop!” The ferocity of the command leaves me breathless. Two brown-coated Peace Officers have turned the corner. Their batons in hand, they start to sprint toward me while shouting with their mechanical sounding voices enhanced by the synthesizer in their gloss-black rebreathers. Without a conscious thought, I turn and run.

  Mask swinging free in my hand, I dart down the narrow alley. My small frame allows me to pass through at full speed. Chancing a glance back, I see the Peace Officers have had no such luck with their broad shoulders and thick coats and they are struggling to push their way between the constricted brick walls. Deep breaths of the outside air burn slightly in my lungs, but it’s most likely the soot. I’m not dead. Free from the mask, I breathe deeper than I ever have before. I feel my muscles working harder and springing back faster than I’ve ever known.

  The gap between us widens significantly with my newfound energy. The alley is beginning to widen. Once it widens enough for them to run, their longer legs will surely make up the gap. I have to lose them. In a flash I catch a glimpse of another alley running perpendicular to this one as I pass by. Attempting to stop quickly, I slide on the damp stone and come down hard on my left knee. The impact stings but adrenalin keeps me moving and I quickly clamber up. Now staring back down the alley I see the Peace Officers rapidly approaching. Without hesitation I turn the corner and take off at full speed. Thankfully this alley is narrow at first which should buy me a few seconds. I begin paying more attention for another intersecting alley. I spot one with plenty of time to prepare for the turn, and make it effortlessly. I hope they didn’t see me make this turn but I can’t stop to find out.

  Their footsteps echo loudly behind me. I need to find another alley. My eyes dart back and forth searching for another path but none appears. The sound of their splashing steps echo against the narrow alley walls. They’re still on my tail. Fear s
ets in. What would they do to me with those batons? Would I go to prison, or worse? Desperate now, my eyes search ceaselessly for a way out. There! A few more seconds of sprinting and I make the turn. I turn too quickly and my feet fly out from under me. I slam into the alley floor around the corner. Having lost my momentum and my wind, I manage to pull myself up into a stoop. I pause for a moment, white hot pain radiates in my chest. Bruised, winded, and covered in muck, my escape seems hopeless.

  But being close to the ground, I see my way out which would have otherwise eluded me. Only inches above the alley floor a low, wide window, barely high enough to squeeze through, stands open. Without further pause, I leap through the tiny opening. The window seal scrapes along my chest and back. Tucking in to try and save my head, my shoulder bears the full impact of the fall to the concrete floor below. Ignoring the burning pain, I jump up and slam the window shut. Collapsing against the wall, I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. Time slows. The sound of their footfalls grows louder with each agonizing instant—louder and louder. I sit petrified. Landing in a puddle outside the small window, their feet send a shower of soot-water against the glass. Even with my eyes closed I can sense the drastic drop in light. Finally a break. Even if they stop to look through the window the soot should make it impossible for them to see in.

  They don’t stop. I listen to their footsteps fade away. Waiting until I feel they are far enough away, I crack open my lips and draw in a breath. Air never felt so good. Taking a moment to catch my breath I keep my eyes closed. Still trying to process what has been happening to me I don’t feel the need to see anything new. My life has shifted so radically in the past few months. How can everyone go around with their masks on? Was this some big joke no one remembered to fill me in on? Seventeen years of wearing masks, of fearing for my life, for what? So filter companies could rake in profits with the market up or down? No, this was beyond that, and, I fear, far more nefarious.