The True Cost of Staying Alive

The beginning of the end for Brian began with an errant thumb. A simple mistake, really. In most cases, it would’ve resulted in embarrassment at worst. This was not one of those cases.

Brian learned of his aunt’s death on an otherwise uneventful Thursday afternoon. Uneventful, of course, when considering what was normal for the times. Aunt Janet’s killer was the latest virus in a revolving door of outbreaks since COVID-19 opened a viral Pandora’s Box. Novel MERS-22 in 2022. Another round of SARS in 2024. The tipping point came in 2025 when a new strain of Ebola killed almost half the population on Earth. Facemasks were as ubiquitous as fear and distrust. No one needed to be told to socially distance.

Global pandemics became an annual affair. The medical and scientific communities worked to get ahead of each outbreak only for the next to begin before they could. Populations declined. Fear surged.

Desperate Americans turned to the Cooperative. By 2029, the Cooperative was more powerful than the US Government. By 2031, it bought out the bankrupted US Government. Most Americans failed to notice that the viruses continued occurring at near-regular intervals despite the Cooperative’s ability to rapidly respond with new vaccines.

The latest virus, Novel H1N1-32, was fast-acting. Just one day before Janet’s death, she was at home posting her typical anti-Cooperative memes on Facebook when she tested positive for H1N1-32 on her CoopHealth App. By that evening, she’d had her third seizure in the Emergency Room. The next morning, she’d flatlined.

Brian learned of her passing that same morning as he went for coffee. They weren’t particularly close, but after he’d lost his mother to COVID-30, Janet was his closest family member left. And he would miss her ridiculous posts about government takeovers and conspiracies. She was the only person he knew who spent as much time on Facebook as he did.

For a moment, he considered the possibility of adding Aunt Janet’s picture to the empty side of the heart-shaped locket his mother left him. She was the last of his family, after all. But he dismissed the idea, not wanting to diminish the value of the trinket he still carried with him. He’d just post “RIP” on her Facebook page instead.

He thumbed through his Facebook while in line at the Brew Manchu café, scrolling through mostly satirical memes like “Cooperative is taking over one vaccine at a time” or “No viruses until we killed Harambe”. There were articles about the latest vaccine breakthroughs and the Cooperative’s record profits. His cousin Martin posted some graph showing how people in the Cooperative’s lowest premium membership tier were more likely to contract viruses than those in higher tiers.

I’m broke as hell, he thought, but I haven’t caught one yet. He swiped again, seeing his aunt’s face in the next post. “In Memoriam” was emblazoned across the top of her former profile image. Damn, that was fast.

He tapped on her profile. Most of her photos were from before the viruses began. She appeared happy, carefree, nothing like the conspiracy nut she became in her final years. His only interactions with her recently were comment thread arguments about her insane theories about the Cooperative.

An automated voice interrupted his thoughts. “Please scan your Cooperative Health App test results before ordering.”

Brian pressed his thumb to the Cooperative Testing Receptor on his phone. The instant test results came back negative for the five pandemic-level viruses still considered to be threats.

The automated ordering system unlocked, and Brian tapped on the black coffee option.

“Your order will be prepared in the order it was received. There may be a longer wait time than normal as we are experiencing a higher number of CoopPrime Ultra Plus members today.”

He was used to these waits ever since he lost his warehouse job two months back. He downgraded to CoopPrime Plus, the lowest level allowed by law.

Picking up his coffee, Brian proceeded to his favorite spot in the café: the cracked leather sofa in the back corner. Unlocking his phone, he returned to Janet’s page. Her posts were all some variation on “Congress sold us out” or “Cooperative Lied, Americans Died”. Her last post was different. She’d posted a link that wasn’t a Cooperative-approved source of news. He’d never heard of TotalTruth.org before. The article, titled “The Cooperative Creates the Viruses They Profit From”, seemed right up his aunt’s alley, though. The intrigue over the post passed; he swiped up.

His swipe registered as a tap on his touchscreen. He groaned as the link opened, making a mental note to look up new phones that evening. Having never meant to open it in the first place, and knowing how biased it would be, he exited the article without reading any of its contents.

Moments later, a notification appeared: “Alert: Mandatory two-hour virus test overdue.”

Brian squinted at his phone. Why was the CoopHealth app saying he’d missed a test? He’d just taken one and shouldn’t have needed another for a while.

Ignoring the mandatory tests would result to a 30-day stint in jail, though, so he shoved his thumb into the receptor and waited for the results. Brian stared slack-jawed at his screen when they came back. “H1N1-32: Positive. Proceed to the nearest CoopHealth Center immediately.”

That was impossible. He’d just tested negative to get his coffee.

He was first in line for CoopHealth’s H1N1-32 vaccine.

He’d gotten both boosters.

Another notification appeared. “Failure to comply will result in forced relocation. For your health and well-being, proceed to a CoopHealth Center immediately.” His brow furrowed as he read, then re-read, the message.

A non-compliance alert began blasting from his phone.

Every head in the café turned. He jumped up, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry”.

A middle-aged woman at the next table pushed her chair back and moved away. A father pulled his daughter behind him, shouting “You need to get the hell out of here, now!” Brian rushed through the front door.

Flashing lights from the CoopHealth Center ambulance greeted him. Of course they were already there; they probably knew he had the virus before he even contracted it. Janet would’ve gone one step further, insisting they were the ones that gave it to him.

The ambulance rushed him to the Confirmed-Positive entrance at the CoopHealth Center where masked guards hustled him inside. The receptionist, a featureless grey bot with a speaker and microphone, checked him in. He walked to waiting area.

The moment he touched the seat, a nurse opened the door to the back. “Brian Thurmond? Come on back.”

He was led to a room that was far nicer than anything he expected. Silk sheets, Ultra HD VR television. Personal chef and bar. He started thinking that being diagnosed might not be so bad after all.

The stay was short-lived. The nurse returned minutes later and informed him that there’d been a mix-up. Another Brian Thurmond checked in online, and they were calling for that Brian instead.

He trudged back to the waiting room. He hoped the wait would be short as no one else was present. He pulled his phone out and opened Facebook again. It was still on Janet’s page with the post containing the link he misclicked on earlier displayed. He’d seen the link as biased, fake news earlier, but earlier was an entire H1N1-32 diagnosis ago.

He clicked the link - this time on purpose. The subtitle read “Why invade a country when you can scare its people into handing it over?” Despite a healthy level of skepticism, Brian scanned over the article. It presented a timeline of events, starting in 2020, in which Johnson & Johnson and Amazon leadership became addicted to the monumental profits they enjoyed during the COVID-19 pandemic. The precursor to the Cooperative, J2A United, was not the benevolent company they portrayed. It was step one in a plan to corner the two biggest money makers during the first virus: vaccines and online shopping. To ensure that it happened, the scientists at J2A United were tasked with discovering new viruses to unleash.

Brian shook his head. That was ridiculous. This wasn’t a movie; people were really dying.

A masked woman appeared in front of him. He hadn’t noticed her approaching. “Sir, we need you to answer a few questions before we can see you.”

She wasn’t a nurse; that much was obvious. She wore her hair down and a grey skirt with a matching grey blazer over a navy blouse: a Cooperative uniform, complete with the Cooperative logo on her facemask.

Brian jerked a thumb toward the reception booth. “I already gave my info to the bot over there.”

“I know, but we have some additional questions beyond the baseline reception information. This will only take a minute.”

He sighed. “What do you need?”

“Confirm your name, date of birth, and CoopPrime level.”

“Brian Thurmond. 9 October 2003. CoopPrime Plus.”

After a few taps on her tablet, she continued, “I have you pulled up here. It says you were a CoopPrime Ultra Plus member; why did you reduce your membership level?”

“I switched jobs and started making… wait, what does this have to do with my diagnosis?”

“Please answer the question, sir.”

“What? I… I really don’t see how it’s relevant.”

She stared silently at him until he continued. “I make less money at my new job.”

“Will you be returning to Ultra Plus in the future?”

“Are you really pitching membership upgrades when I’ve just been diagnosed with a potentially fatal virus?”

“This will go much faster if you simply answer the questions, Mr. Thurmond.”

“Fine. I have absolutely no interest in upgrading again. In fact, if the law didn’t require me to have a Plus membership, I wouldn’t keep that either.”

More tapping on the touchscreen. “I see, you’re not happy with your Plus membership. Does that extend to the Cooperative as a whole? How would you rate the job that the Cooperative is doing in addressing these outbreaks?”

He gawked at her. “Are you serious? Honestly, this interaction isn’t doing any favors for your organization in my eyes. You don’t give a damn about me or my well-being. You’re trying to upsell me on membership while I’m facing a life-or-death situation. You’re giving me feedback survey questions when you should be getting me in the back of the hospital for the proper care.

“To be frank, I’m starting to understand why the conspiracies keep popping up that the Cooperative is the one behind these viruses. You only care about profits. I’m done answering questions.”

The woman snapped her tablet shut. “Understood, Mr. Thurmond. The nurses will call you back soon.”

For the next four hours he grew increasingly irritated as others arrived, were seen, and departed.

“Are you sure it’s me this time?” he snarled when his name was finally called.

“Yes sir. Please, follow me.”

The examination room was normal this time. Examination table, a chair for the doctor, and some cabinets were the only inclusions. No need for ritzy presentation when it’s just a Plus level patient it seemed.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse announced, backing out and closing the door.

He glanced about, tapping his knee. How long would he have to wait this time?

A bit of dust floated up in front of his face. He stared, wondering, then noticed a pleasant smell. Cedar? No … pine forest. He rather liked the scent. There was a muted sound of bubbling water, like a gentle stream in a forest glade. A sense of peace came over him, like he hadn’t felt in years.

“Who cares about this stupid virus” he said aloud. Standing, he began towards the door. He took two steps before he stopped, then blinked and settled back down on the examination table.

Maybe he’d just rest here for a few more minutes. Enjoy the atmosphere.