The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2021

Three days later, a battered off-road vehicle, booming with unfettered bass and with wheels stinking of well-manured farmland, rattled up the driveway of the diagnostic lab and screeched to a halt across three clearly marked parking spots. A pair of youngsters—​one tall and cord-thin, the other small, round, and shy—​bounced out and began unloading boxes from the rear.

Scowling in irritation and bemusement, Audra went out to see what they wanted. The tall one paused very briefly to shake her hand in greeting and kept a running explanation going as he continued to gather his equipment. “Good morning—​no wait, it’s afternoon already. Good afternoon, ma’am. We’ve been tasked to set you up on a private network. How’s your solar? Good system, good. But we’ll have to boost it a bit so it won’t suck resources from your other work. You have a nice, flat bit of roof there over your lab. Can we use it? Oh, and do you still make that ginger lemongrass cordial with the special ingredient? No?”

Audra breathlessly summarized the capacity of her solar grid, showed them the roof access ladder, and explained to them that they needed to speak to Ms. Roberts, the pharmacist and herbalist, who used to work out of her lab until they decided to completely separate diagnostics from pharmaceuticals after the plague. And was that special ingredient coca or cannabis? Because there were two popular lemongrass cordials brewed by Ms. Roberts.

“Coca,” said the shy one, speaking at last in a soft, husky voice. “We work very long hours.”

“Oh. And you are?”

The leader seized the reins of the conversation once more. “Call us the Guerrilla Network Unit—​that’s who we are, that’s what we do. Fighting the good fight against ignorance and misinformation in this plague-ridden apocalyptic landscape. Whoops, I’ve said too much. By the way, greetings from Bad Gastein.”

His laugh was infectious, and before Audra could ask any more questions he was on the roof shouting directions to his assistant, moving with professional haste to construct and connect a medium-sized satellite dish.

It took Audra a full hour after they’d left to realize they had never given their names, and the vehicle had no license plate or other visible identifying numbers. And it wasn’t until later that night that she fully understood what they had done. The free but limited voice-and-text chat app their group previously used had spontaneously upgraded into something less familiar and far more expansive. Dagmar appeared on her screen, ruddy and blond with flyaway hair and buckteeth, and proclaimed to Audra and others pinging into the group chat, “Oh, isn’t Alexander wonderful?”

“He certainly is,” Audra said, looking in admiration at the crisp detail of the transmission. Dagmar’s lab, though not much bigger than hers, was bright with the reflected light of stainless steel and glass. In contrast, the white ceramic tiles of the interior walls of Audra’s lab made the rooms look like the showers for a sports team, and the concrete floors and tables were muddy gray and untidily covered with that same plastic sheeting used for Maisie’s quarantine. The effect was that of a slightly unmade bed, or a lived-in set of clothing . . . i.e., nowhere as tidy and spare as Dagmar’s surroundings.

Weekly conferences with Dr. Pereira and the rest of the team in her clinic continued, while online meetings both formal and casual with overseas colleagues expanded from daily to almost hourly. Video meetings improved communication and companionship. It reminded Audra of her earlier days of working with the community clinic team, before the plague and regular Monday autopsies. They’d shared the same building, taken tea breaks together, bonded. The plague had fractured that, and now the plague drew her into a new community of colleagues. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.