Timothy Muna
It'd taken him three and a half hours to get home, but when he finally arrived at his front door Joe couldn't bring himself to open it. He stood for what felt like days (though it was probably only five minutes) in near total darkness. The streetlights hadn't worked for months, and if the candles in his neighbour's window were anything to go by there wasn't any electricity to run them anyway.On the other side of the door he could barely see were the people he loved most in this world. People who relied on him to provide. People he had no idea what he was going to say to now, how he would explain—‘Joe?’He jumped a little and turned to find Amanda on the steps behind him. She was carrying a hurricane lamp that made her already-pale face and long, dark hair seem ghostly.‘It is you!’ His wife wrapped an arm around him, carefully. ‘You're finally home.’ She looked so tired even as she smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Trains again?’‘Hey. Yeah.’ He swallowed the lump in his throat that had been making him queasy all day. ‘Sorry, I…’ Why were words so difficult? ‘It's just…’Confusion and worry passed over Amanda's face for a moment before she got her expression back under control. ‘Come on.’ She unlocked the door and let them both inside. ‘You must be exhausted.’The rest of the family were gathered around a small cluster of rationed candles in the dining room. His kids, Abbi and Rob, were still dusty from a day working in the community food lot. Amanda's aging mother and Joe's stepdad were helping, providing what little education they could in the few hours the kids had to study. The books they taught from were ancient and well out of date, but at least they didn't need electricity or a virtual world connection to run.‘Hi dad.’ Rob looked far too tired for a fifteen-year-old as he glanced up from a maths problem. Abbi smiled and waved, glimpses of her thirteen-year-old impishness only just visible.In the end, Joe didn't have what it took to tell his family that the council had let him go. Him, and 90% of his co-workers. And yeah, there wasn't much food around to buy – or electricity, or water – but what little they could get would soon dry up without his income. What would they do then?‘You okay?’ Amanda asked, later that night, as they lay in the darkness and listened to the silence of the neighbourhood around them. When they'd first moved here, almost twenty years ago now, the place had been so busy it'd been irritating – trucks and cars, neighbours having parties, cafes opening up on every corner. He never thought he'd miss those days, never thought the quiet might feel threatening. How long would it even be safe to stay?‘Yeah.’ He placed a hopefully reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Just tired.’A pause. ‘You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?’He'd never been able to hide anything from her. But still, he tried. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But nothing is.’ And promised himself to make that statement true.#Joe left home the next morning as though nothing was amiss, but instead of taking the train to the local council offices, he went the opposite direction. Out of the suburbs he'd known for so long, through the ruins of industry and the high-density slums, to the heart of the old CBD.The power was on here, which struck him as unfair, but he supposed they needed it more. Because most of the people who lived here also worked here, and all of them worked in a virtual world of some kind.It was eerie, walking the empty streets – because it reminded him strangely of home, just for entirely different reasons. Here, he was surrounded by high-rise buildings, layer upon layer of tiny box-like apartments built or converted for virtual living. The people who lived here never left these rooms. They spent almost all day strapped into chairs, their minds unaware of the real world around them, as they lived out their lives in the virtual community of their choice.Joe figured they'd have to get up at least a couple of times a day to go to the bathroom. Eat? Although, he'd heard stories of catheters and feeding tubes…He shook his head even as he followed the scribbled map his mate Mike had given him yesterday, as they were ushered out of the offices in a daze and told their employment had ended.‘Try this place,’ Mike had whispered to him. ‘My cousin heard about it from a friend of his. They're taking refugees. They'll talk to you.’‘Refugees?’ The entire day had been one shocking thing after the other, refugees was the icing on the cake. ‘I'm not a refugee!’‘That's what they're calling us. You and me and the boys like us, who've never stepped inside a virtual world but whose lives are being ruined by the stupid things. Their ridiculous war over make-believe land has done this to us. Digital refugees.’The very sound of it made him feel sick.‘I'm a hard worker,’ Joe whispered into the quiet, empty street. ‘I'm a good worker.’ A plumber by trade initially, he'd run a crew of seven maintenance workers keeping the entirety of the local government area functional. Until the money ran out, of course. ‘I'm not a digital anything.’ And he'd never wanted to be.He'd honestly rather step in front of a train than step into a virtual world. But his family's future was more important than any opinion he may or may not have had. So here he was.He stopped at a corner, at an old shopfront mostly shuttered and dark, and glanced at the map again. ‘And here you are.’ This was it.Joe steeled himself. He wondered just what kind of jobs a virtual world might have for a digital refugee like him. Which side of the war would he be working for – not that he fully understood the difference. One pretend world was just the same as any other, surely? But whatever they were like, and whatever they were fighting for, as long as they helped him put food on the table, he'd do whatever they asked. For his family, and their future.