A-Void by Babak Govan (phonics readers txt) 📕

I wake up on the dusty rug beside a breathless fireplace. My head is hurting again; I press against the sides of it. I sit up and an empty bottle rolls off my abdomen.

Then, I sit still and stare outside. “Today is the last day.” Today I will figure out what has happened. Today I will know what will happen.

I wash up quickly and gather my belongings from around the cabin. In the garage, under a cover, I’m pleased to discover a Ferrari 288 GTO. This will be our white carriage.

Only after fully exposing the car do I remember it is a two-seater, and this forces me to free the bird into it, where it perches confidently on a railing behind the headrests. It lowers its head for me and I pet its soft and silky feathers. Cleveland takes his seat and I stuff Zebra, Isabella’s unicorn, M_____’s box, and my bat between us. Steamboat Willie sits on the dash.

I grab the doorframe and feel the dust covering the hard metal. I move my hands over my leather seat. I look at Cleveland, at the saliva droplets on the fur around his mouth.

I stare at the steering wheel for a few minutes before I am able to turn on the ignition. Bright sunlight splashes across the windshield as I open the garage door. The monstrous roar of the engine derails me temporarily, but then I drive it cautiously over the snowmelt. I look for the bear.

As I round the lower bends of the mountain, taken by the car’s roar, I notice that the flood spared the roads on the opposite riverbank, and after a few false starts at the base, I discover a passageway. Once through, the ramp to reenter the I-80 arrives easily.

After a few minutes, the latest shock fades and I notice the beautiful day. The sun is shining clearly, the sky is deep blue, and the air is crisp. I’m coming, Jasmine. I’m coming, Isabella. I’m coming, Joaquin. Wait for me!

Soon, the island rises and falls on our approach. Our speed slows as we maneuver past the increasing piles of wrecked cars. Still there is no sign of human activity, and my heart beats faster and faster. I whisper, “One person, I just need to find one person.”

Somehow, we maneuver past the cars onto the I-95 Express/New Jersey Turnpike and, once it becomes the George Washington Bridge, begin our challenged crossing of the Hudson River.

I remember the magical, dirty, futuristic, and melancholy city we entered over the Queensboro Bridge the last time we were here. After watching The Fantasticks, Junior’s for cocoa, coleslaw, and pickles was the perfect winter evening’s ending. I wonder what it will be like now.

An exit arrives and I close my eyes.

I drive the car straight down the elevated ramp. Finally, after three thousand miles, we are here, inside the metropolis. I turn right onto Amsterdam Avenue and then left on West 182nd Street. My mouth feels dry. My throat feels weak.

On Broadway, I drive toward Midtown. I see cars gridlocked at the crossings, but there are no people inside them. I keep going. I look for steam rising from the underground, but the air is clear and empty. There is nobody. “One person, I just need to find one person.”

At the next street, I see movement, but it’s not people—I watch a herd of antelope parading down 56th Street, stopping intermittently to nibble on overgrown sidewalk weeds, nests of rabbits among them. As I stare, an elephant somewhere trumpets. Tears flood my face. “There can’t be people here!”

We arrive at a vacant Times Square, and I get out of the car. No people exit the subway station for the N, Q, R, W, 1, 2, and 3 trains. The jumbo screens and billboards display static. There is no news, no stock tickers, and no scrolling ads.

I return to the Ferrari and drive it until we can go no further because of gridlock, at Broadway and 34th Street. Nothing moves. “Hello? Hello? Is there anyone out there?” My echo returns to me.

I look to the sky for planes and notice that the vertex of the Empire State Building is missing. In the middle of 34th Street, a large metal “G” lies on its side. Behind it I find the letters, “R,” “E,” “A,” “T,” C,” and “O” among broken slabs of concrete.

Framed into the building’s facade are large gold plates:

MGM-Paramount-Universal-Sony-Warner Bros.-Fox-CNN

Ralphs-Safeway-Whole Foods

Honda-Toyota-Chrysler

Staples-Target-Home Depot-Costco

Macy’s-Bloomingdale’s-Saks-Kohl’s

Amtrak-Greyhound-Budget-U-Haul

United-American-Continental-U.S.-Alaska

McDonald’s & Carl’s Burger King

Marriott-Hilton-Hyatt

Mercedes-Benz-Audi-BMW

I return to the car and get my bat. I walk up to the stores beside the car. “Jasmine!” Smash! “Isabella!” Smash! “Jasmine!” Smash! “Isabella!” Smash! Suddenly, my hand loses its grip, I drop the bat, and I kneel on the floor, sobbing with a thorny chest. “There’s nothing else to do! God!”

Feeling faint, I manage to wobble into the nearest store, a coffee shop. I take four tiny teacups and saucers from a pyramid rack on the countertop. I pour tap water into each of cups, take them outside on a plastic tray, and place the tray on the sidewalk. I go back to the car, perch the mynah bird on my finger, stuff Willie and Zebra under my arm, and call to Cleveland. He licks my face, and for once, I don’t mind. I simply wish a human were here to kiss me.

I sit them in a circle and place a teacup in front of each of them. “Cleveland, did you enjoy the merry-go-round? Do you think your kind will continue to live? What will it be like if humans are not here anymore?” I swing my hand at the mynah and it flies away. “Fucking bird!”

I remember.

“Let’s see, Kayla Carrington? How does that sound to you?” she asked.

I left the hospital for home to pick her up a book, but I called her, concerned. “Can you hear me?” I asked her. She replied, “Don’t worry. I can still hear you