Макс Брукс - Devolution - A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

No, I just looked back over my first description of this place. Sorry. We’ve got one. Part of our HOA dues includes a medical insurance package that pays for an emergency medical evac. According to Tony, if anyone gets sick or hurt for any reason, they can zip us to a downtown Seattle hospital. “Faster than driving from right there in the city.”

He really has thought about everything.

Anyway, as the drone’s rotors stopped, Tony opened the basket, checked the contents of the bags, removed them, and tapped an app on his phone. The blades zeeeezzz ed back to life and then it was gone. “I’m sure yours is coming,” he said, turning to me with those sapphire eyes that made my fingertips tingle.

I just nodded and pretended to look past him for what should have been my incoming drone. I hadn’t ordered my food by air. I’m still not ready for that. But Tony didn’t know that, and I wanted any excuse to spend just a few extra seconds with him.

“Pretty amazing”—he nodded at the next approaching automaton—“civilization coming to us.” And with a wink that tickled my vertebrae, he said, “Now if only they’d legalize ‘certain products’ nationally so we could order those online as well.”

Even walking away, the feeling I got from his confident stride, the muscles in his back showing through his thin T-shirt… And there was Yvette, waving to me, opening the door for her husband in a twenty-first century version of—what was that ’50s show all my professors used to rail against? Ozzy and the Beaver ? Whatever. Their life looked pretty damned good to me.

As I watched them disappear inside, the second Y-Q landed a few feet away. “Here it is!” That was Carmen, calling back to her house as Effie, in the doorway, fumbled to get her Crocs on. We hadn’t talked much since we’d moved in. Carmen had been gone for a few days at a conference in Portland and Effie always seemed busy homeschooling Palomino. She was there too, trailing behind Effie as the three of them gathered around the now-silent drone. She wouldn’t say anything to me, even as I tried to include her in my morning greetings. “Hey, ladies. Hi, Palomino.” Nothing, just a blank, silent stare. Creepy kid.

Our awkward moment was compounded as Carmen riffled through both bags before sending the drone on its way. “No broccolini?” A glare at Effie, who tried to come up with an answer, but ended with an embarrassed sigh. Carmen must have suddenly remembered I was there because she recovered with, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to survive somehow!” They both chuckled. Effie’s seemed a little forced.

I was almost happy when Mostar came along. Almost.

“What, no van yet?” Loud, terse, barreling in from behind us. Carmen and Effie traded a quick, almost imperceptible look, then both smiled at me and started back for their house. “We’ve got to get together for dinner soon,” said Carmen, then, Effie, looking embarrassed like she didn’t think of it first, said, “Yes, yes, yes, soon, next week.”

That was when the van rolled up. I almost didn’t hear it. So quiet! All electric. And that wasn’t the crazy part. No driver! A cab with a steering wheel, but nobody behind it. Okay, it’s not like I haven’t seen driverless cars before. Tons of videos on Dan’s iPad and a few, I think, in L.A., but those always had people behind the wheel. Something about a city ordinance, that they can only be used in “assist” mode, like an autopilot in an airplane. Not in this van though. Just a giant, empty land drone.

“Finally!” Mostar stomped over to the building’s charging station, connected its cable to the van, then typed her password into its side access panel. With a chirp and flashing green light, the back doors slid open. And there were the groceries: Mostar’s, Reinhardt’s, the Boothes’, and mine. I’m not much for ordering food online. I’ve done it a few times, Postmates, FreshDirect. But I like physically going to the store, smelling the produce, picking out just the right branzino. I used to spend hours roaming the aisles, which, now that I think about it, might have also been an excuse to get away from Dan. Maybe I was lingering on that thought too long, and maybe Mostar thought I was weirded out by the idea of a driverless car. “The only thing I miss is a delivery boy to help me.”

I saw she was struggling a little bit with her grocery bags. “You need some help?”

She smiled with, “Oh, that would be lovely, thank you,” and gestured to three large paper sacks. I set down my grocery bags and hefted one of the sacks. The label said something about a “silicon-polymer blend.”

“Careful, it’s heavy. Raw materials for my work.”

I must have been wobbling, because Mostar asked, “You all right?” and when I said I was fine, she just clucked over at our house.

“Why isn’t your man helping?”

My man. Who uses that kind of language? So possessive.

But there he was, on the couch, on display for all the world. She grimaced at the sight, then at me. “C’mon, let’s get him.”

I felt like a character in an action movie, or a cartoon making fun of that movie, the iconic scene where someone screams “Noooooo” in slow motion. I didn’t do it, but it’s exactly how I felt as she trundled right up to our living room window, knocking hard on the glass, shouting, “Hey, c’mon, Danny, get up!”

It definitely looked like a cartoon, Dan flopping off the couch, flustered, terrified.

“Danny! Give us a hand!”

I’d just reached Mostar as Dan came blundering out the front door. If he was the deer in the headlights, then I was in the car’s passenger seat.

Mostar didn’t notice our silent exchange, or didn’t care.

“Danny, I got two big sacks in the van. Just like the one your wife’s carrying.” He hesitated, slack-jawed, “Uh…”

“Go on, your highness!” And then she hit him! Not hard, just a slight slap on the arm. “Go!” I caught my breath, so did Dan, but he took off for the van just as Mostar turned back for her house.

It was the first time I’d been in her home. I’m not sure what I was expecting.

Those sculptures!

They line her walls. All glass! So beautiful, delicate. A lot of natural settings like birds and flowers. And flames! A lot of flames. Some blue and simple, like a stove’s gaslight. Others red and crazy, like wood fire. One particular piece, an explosion? Bright yellow expanding to orange, red, and fringed with cloudy brown.

My favorite were the golden lilies. They’re exquisite little flowers about a foot high; three thin green stems topped with orange lightening to yellow petals. And all growing out of what looked like a maelstrom of burning detonations. I can’t imagine the kind of skill, patience, and talent it took to make.

I was entranced, lost in their colors and shapes. The way the light would pass through them, all of them, as I walked by.

“You like them?” She gestured to the flowers and said, “My early work. Paddle and parchoffi, before I got into this 3-D printing racket.”

We were standing in the entrance hall, not far from the open door to her workshop. I could see the printer humming, next to what she described as a “space age kiln.”

“It’s really quite simple,” she said, waving her hand over the machinery. I hadn’t asked for a lecture, but got one anyway. She prattled on about making a 3-D CAD file, converting and importing it to the printer, loading it with the raw silicon-polymer blend, then waiting for it to extrude a nearly finished piece before popping that piece into the kiln to melt away the polymer. I do have to admit, this new process seemed interesting, and the finished objects were undeniably cool.

There were at least a couple dozen of them, all lined up on shelves above the workbench. Rows of little houses, none more than an inch or two high. And one larger, arching structure. A bridge, maybe. All cute, and I guess amazing when you factor in how they were made, but nothing compared to the handblown works of art right in front of me.