Boxed In

It started off like every other day. As I woke, put the tea kettle on the stove, and watched the waves hit the shore, I recognized there was something peculiar about this day. The tea tasted the same. The water was as calm as ever. However, as I approached my front door, I felt a chill down my spine. The back of my hair perked up. Then, out the window, there it was.

A mysterious brown paper box sitting on my doorstep.

I hadn't received a package in three hundred and sixty days. I had forgotten what the outside even felt like. What fresh air even smelled like. I wasn't supposed to receive a package. I also wasn't supposed to open my door to retrieve it. Who sent this mysterious package? How would I ever know what lied inside it?

I went back to my kitchen for my communicator. It wasn't working. I knew immediately that something was up. It wasn't like the early 2020's where you could lose service without a signal. These communicators were designed for efficiency. I tried reaching out to my sister, the last person I spoke with. I remember how she would still tease me for wearing outfits that didn't fit me. Cassie loved to joke about how my spacesuit looked big on me during Command's big press conference. Some things don't change.

If my communicator wasn't working, surely my touchpad would.

I activated my touchpad device, and I wasn't able to send out communiques on that device, either. The holographic projections were not working, no matter how often I tried to reach Command. I could feel my heart start racing as I started pacing my cottage. Here I am, in the middle of nowhere. No connection to the outside world. No way to reach anyone. Under strict orders not to leave this cottage, no bigger than the cockpit of a space shuttle.

And now a mysterious brown paper box taunts me right outside my front door.

Command protocols stipulate that in case of an emergency to stay situated until help arrives. The uncertainty behind those protocols made my heart race even more. There's only five days until quarantine ends. Those five days could stretch into an eternity without contact from the outside world.

There's enough food to last several weeks, but what if the box contains harmful material? What if it was sent from scared inlanders who have become aware of my presence? As I paced my cottage, I removed the beads of sweat dripping from my forehead. I could activate the homing beacon, which would alert Command of an emergency situation. I had to think about this slowly. Training taught me this.

Then, a loud noise emanated from somewhere in the cottage, like a horrific snap of a tree branch. All of the electronics stopped working. I checked the kitchen, and the appliances were dead. The refrigerator was as dark as the blackest night. The homing beacon would not activate.

Then, I looked at my watch, which immediately kicked into emergency power mode. My life support was draining. My training kicked in. I remembered if life support started to fail, I only had 12 hours before I would need to replace the power energy source or else I would suffocate.

So many thoughts flooded my mind. The protocols for what to do during such an emergency were clear, but the obvious could not be overstated enough. There was naturally some kind of connection to what was happening and the appearance of this brown paper box. The most logical deduction only confirmed that. There was no approaching weather system, no atmospheric occurrences that would have hindered life support systems.

I patted down my brown hair, like my sister would when she was nervous, moist from the stress and anxiety. I wiped the sweat on my neoprene suit, loungewear - if you could call this outfit loungewear- from my time in outer space. They weren't even comfortable, but they were practical. In situations like these, practicality superseded comfort.

I thought about what my sister would do. She knew the solution to every puzzle. The answer to every problem. She literally invented alloys and metals that helped construct the spaceships I flew in. She was always the logical one in the family.

The only logical conclusion pointed toward this brown paper box. I stared out my front window for what seemed like hours. I knew every waking moment was a waste of precious breath. I could open the front door and retrieve the package, but that surely seemed like a trap. The compromised life support made opening the front door the only apparent solution, but I would be violating direct, specific orders if I broke quarantine. There had to be another way.

Then, it hit me like a wave of salt water to the face. If I re-directed life support to auxiliary power, I could temporarily activate the outside sensors to scan the box and determine the contents. As soon as the idea hit me, realization also set in. I would need to re-direct at least 75 percent of life support in order to have enough power to use the scanners on emergency resources. It would reduce the time I had from 10 hours to 2 hours. It would also mean putting everything on this brown paper box.

What if the box was simply sent here by accident? What could the box contain that would trigger Command's intricate power generator? There was only one way to find out. I rerouted life support to auxiliary power. The touchpad illuminated with life, humming like an old car engine sputtering awake. I activated the scanners, and positioned them over the box.

Then, nothing happened. This peculiar day that started ominously had now become terrifying. There was no way a brown paper box could remain hidden from Command's sensors. It would need to be laced with some kind of protective material. This was no accident. No mishap. No coincidence.

Whoever sent this, intended this to arrive here.

I had an hour left on my life support. I started breathing more heavily. I could feel my chest tightening. There was only a matter of time before I would collapse from the lack of oxygen. Colors started to blur together.

I thought back to my sister. She was always so smart. She would have found a solution to this problem hours ago. I thought back to the last time we saw each other, before I left for my mission. The last words we exchanged.

"I'll miss you, sis."

"Be safe up there, Moe. Make sure your spacesuit fits".

She never said "I love you" back, but that was okay. I knew she meant it even if the words never left her mouth. Sometimes I just wish she expressed it more.

As I started panting, I leaned down against the front door, watching the brown paper box as my eyes became heavier. I could see my sister's face so clearly. The freckles that covered her cheeks. Her cobalt blue eyes that lit up every room, no matter how dark.

The way her hair parted, always so neat and perfect, like just her. I thought, if this was the end, I might as well feel the air on my cheeks. I leaned over to open the front door, but I couldn't even muster enough energy to do that.

"I'll miss you, sis." The words left my lips so gently, I could barely hear them.

Then, the last words my sister spoke to me rang in my head like a firewarm going off next to my ears. Make sure your spacesuit fits.

I had a spacesuit in my closet for emergency purposes, just like this one. It had enough oxygen to last me for at least another six hours. I crawled to my closet, using all of my strength to reach the closet door. I thought about seeing my sister again as I leaned upwards to touch the doorknob. I thought about telling her about how I nearly died one day during quarantine. I thought about telling her how she saved my life.

I thought about getting to tell her how much I love her, and how I plan to never wait this long to tell her that ever again.

I managed to open the doorknob. The suit was there, as pristine as it was the first time I wore it. I looked at my watch. Ten minutes left on my life support. I started to tap into my training even more, preserving my energy as I slipped into the spacesuit, a form-fitting outfit that was designed, once more, for efficiency.

Once it was sealed, I activated the suit. The tidal wave of oxygen was like a rush of dopamine. I had to take a moment to reorient myself. If training taught me anything, it was to do things slowly.

Once I collected my bearings, I checked the touchpad and communicator. Both of the devices were still inoperable. I looked out the front door, as the sun was setting. A cerulean shade of blue masked the approaching night sky. The spacesuit offered me the protection I would need to violate quarantine. It wasn't going to last forever. The answer was presented to me all along. I would need to open the front door.

I gripped the doorknob tightly. I started to calm my breathing. As I opened the door, even inside the spacesuit I felt a slight push from the evening winds. I stepped outside for the first time in three hundred and sixty days. I walked around the brown paper box, as if in awe that this paper box could disrupt so much.

I leaned down and noticed the edges. They were sealed with tape, of all things. I gently used my fingers to open the sides, slicing the tape with the sharp edges of my gloves. As I opened the sides of the box, I noticed what looked like a metallic box-shaped device. The substance might have been chosen for its protective properties, which would explain why the sensors couldn't detect what was inside.

"This is a unique alloy".

I learned just how unique it was when I opened the device. The only item to be found was a photograph and a small note. The note read: "Hey, Moe. Don't ask how I found you. I hope I don't get you in trouble. Always thinking of you. I wanted to remind you of home. I love you."

As I held the photograph in my hands, I instantly recognized the two children. There we were, two rambunctious kids, not a care in the world. My arms were wrapped around her shoulder. We were smiling so big it looked like our cheeks were about to burst. At that moment, I smiled for what felt like the first time in three hundred and sixty days.

I took the metallic device and walked the grassy knoll to the shore. The water was as calm as ever. Then, in the distance, the power reactivated in the cottage. I received a notification on my watch from Command. "There was a slight power outage. Please confirm vitals to report status." As I used the scanner on my watch to reaffirm my vitals, everything came back normal. Then, one last message from Command: "Vitals confirmed. You are approved to end quarantine."

As I thought about those words, I raised my hands and unlatched my helmet. I took a deep breath, and took my helmet off. I placed it on the ground, and looked out into the water. As I exhaled the biggest breath, I felt the wind on my face for the first time in over a year. It touched every nerve in my face. My cheeks felt so cold, but so alive.

As tears streamed down my face, I thought to myself: I can't wait to tell my sister how much I love her.