A Fiction: Part IV

She is showering when I creep from bed and steal out the door, a few necessary belongings in a pack on my back. For a quick moment I pause and wonder what she will do with her life now that I am gone. Has she become so helpless that she cannot pull herself together? Or is this the wake-up call she needs to get her life back on track? I descend the stairs, pull open the door and toss myself into the human traffic and am swept away, the ground slick from the overnight rains, not taking another moment to look back.

The crowd carries me the four blocks to the entrance of the parking garage where my car is stored. I work my way to the edge of the stream in time to grab on to the frame of the doorway and pull myself in. I reach into my bag and pull out the small red book where I keep pass codes, addresses and personal notes on various subjects. Thumbing through, I locate the page with the facility access code. I type it in and wait for the CLICK that marks the unlocking of the heavily secured door. A blast of cool air envelopes my head as I pull the it open. Feels good on my damp skin. As the door closes behind me, I am suddenly in another world – full of hollow white noise and echoed drips and drops. My smallest movements reverberate around me in a swirling cacophony of sound.

I shuffle up the concrete staircase ahead of me and exit to a large chamber filled end to end with covered vehicles, many with years of dust built up on top. I stop and once again consult the red book to find the space assignment for my car. Wiping the dust from the multi colored floor plan hung on the wall, I find the block I am looking for and head off in that direction. There is no sign of any other life in this facility and I reckon I am the first to step foot in here for months if not years. I kick up a haze of dust with every step – like walking on a distant moon. Row after row goes by, the dust as thick on this as the next. Driving in the city is nearly unthinkable for those of us who live here.

It’s been some time since I have driven; although I have kept my license active in case of emergency or pure desire. Films and adverts still are woven with those romantic images of cars on the open road, wind-blown hair and action chases, although most of the younger generation have never driven a vehicle – public transport being the primary mode these days. But I have retained the bug, and have enjoyed a ride now and again – several years though it has been.

I reach the area my car should be, stroll down the row of covered cars and find my numbered space. Closing my mouth and eyes, I reach below the front and grasp the elastic cover and pull up, a cloud of dust and rodent excrement flying up and around me. I walk around the driver’s side, pulling the cover along to reveal the blue shine of my car. I stuff the cover into the storage bin attached to the wall at the back of my space and move around to the driver’s door. I place my fingers into the black insert behind the door, a green glow emanating from within. The interior lights come to life and the door pops out and slides back towards the rear of the car. I climb in and the door slides forward, the quiet hum assuring me it is ready to move. I throw my bag onto the opposite seat and strap in, a series of diagnostic displays appearing on the windshield before me. My hands on the control wheel, the car smoothly rolls forward and into the narrow lane.

THIS VEHICLE IS UNDER FACILITY CONTROL. PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHANGE DIRECTION OR SPEED. YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED WHEN MANUAL CONTROL IS RESTORED.

I ease back and wait as I am driven through the endless maze to the exit ramp. I scroll through the list of environmental soundscapes until I find some appropriate music for long term driving.

PREPARE FOR MANUAL CONTROL RESTORATION. TRAVEL SAFELY. WE LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR RETURN.

“I won’t be back here again,” I say not expecting a response. “So long Mr. Facility Control… A pleasant end to you…”

For those who live here, the city is an easy place to leave. One scan gate verifies your registration status and you are given access to the Overpass Skyline. This is a direct route out - no stops. It is not so simple for visitors. They have to pass through a series of secured gates to ensure they have paid all local tariffs on purchases and have been given every opportunity to declare their reasons for having visited. All vehicles are scanned for hidden contraband or undeclared items. This exit process has been rumored to take hours if there is any sign of deception. City residency has its privileges.

There is a Skyline scan gate just outside the exit to the parking garage. Once passed, I relinquish control to the automated traffic control system and look out at the cityscape below. The brown haze that has filtered my view of the sky the vast majority of my life begins to break and clear, the suns edges sharpened in the clear. Looking forward, I notice vegetation beginning to show itself from between scarred buildings and sidewalked lanes; a slow transformation from urban sprawl to forested habitation – ultimately the vegetation will break and the sea will appear. I close my eyes in anticipation and fall into the throbbing music that supports my travel. I lose all sense and slip into dream.