Free Fog City: A Short Story (Voices of the Apocalypse Book 5) by Simone Pond Page B

I thought about the years of stress and anxiety, pulling all-nighters and missing out on my personal life, including visits with the family, just to please the company. All of that meant nothing. I had been duped. My life revolved around my job, and now I was jobless. What did that say about me? The Repatterning had finally dug its claws into my personal space and I was pissed. I wanted to fight back. To do something. Anything.
    Back inside the Summer Place, I dropped into my chair. While I was outside checking my notifications, Crow had played his final tile, winning the game. I shoved the dominoes off to the side and chugged down my entire pint.
    “Got any more cigarettes?” I asked.
    He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crooked but smoke-able cigarette. I ripped off the filter and leaned across the table so he could light me up. In a fuzzy attempt to be alluring, I swept my long auburn hair over my shoulder and tilted my head, Greta Garbo style. All I needed was an evening gown and some dark red lipstick.
    “So, you were right,” I said, blowing a stream of smoke toward the dangling year-round Christmas lights.
    “About what?”
    “The firm closed its doors. Well, they will in forty minutes. None of this shit matters. Not all of our hard work. Not the fact that I sacrificed a good portion of my twenties for a company that doesn’t give a shit.
I
don’t matter.
We
don’t matter. None of us do.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his Guinness. Crow had been dropping hints about things getting ugly for a while. I had always laughed at him, thinking the repercussions wouldn’t affect me. I had a job at a top PR firm, for heaven’s sake! I was
necessary
. The Repatterning should’ve breezed right by me. It was supposed to be another fad, like fat-free cookies, gluten-free bread, and kale.
    “I didn’t wanna be right,” he said.
    I exhaled the smoke, feeling a wave of nausea churn through me. It was my first smoke in ten years. I had quit during my freshman year in college. But now the weight of losing my entire purpose in life entitled to me to a damn cigarette. A buzz trickled through me, easing my nerves. The cigarette was working and I started worrying about where I’d get the next one. What about my next meal? I looked at Crow and got serious, more serious than I had ever been in all twenty-eight years of my life.
    “Maybe we should go by the office? See if there are any provisions we can nab before the rest of the buzzards stake their claim,” I whispered.
    He leaned in and held my wrist, his fingers searing into my skin. I stopped breathing for a second. I could’ve melted right onto that disgusting table. He pulled my hand toward his mouth and took a long drag off the cigarette. I wanted to freeze frame the moment and hold it forever. The way he grinned as he blew a cloud of smoke into the dingy air, still holding my wrist.
    “Let’s go,” he said, standing up.
    We left the Summer Place for the last time.
    ***
    We reached the office just before five o’clock, and when we stepped inside, it sounded like an emergency room on a Friday night. The entire staff, including the ones who had been working from home, had shown up to pilfer whatever they could. Professionals I had been working with for the last seven years ran around like heathens, grabbing equipment and yelling at each other. Were they planning on taking 3D printers and eco-chairs to their shantytowns at Golden Gate Park? A fistfight broke out in the communal area, with a group of people gathered around, shouting and shoving each other. Crow took my hand and pulled me toward the elevator. The door slid shut, sealing the two of us together in awkward silence. We had taken that same elevator together hundreds of times, but this was different. I could smell his manly scent. I could
taste
the pheromones darting in the air between us. Crow pulled me close and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I inhaled his scent and heat rippled