The Last Delivery

I have what you don't want

Image from Pixabay

Azumi Taniguchi’s lungs burned and her legs wobbled close to collapse, but if she stopped, her pursuer would catch her. She had barely escaped him moments ago. 

Civilization ended a week ago—a week was her best guess because she no longer had a phone to track the days. Although her iPhone contained her family photos, she had thrown it away. Without electricity, her phone had no purpose.

She wondered if she would ever discover why the world ended. The last thing she remembered was organizing her spice rack from most to least-used. Then a white flash surrounded and blinded her. Wind that felt like a giant hand shoved her across her kitchen and into the living room, where she landed on the couch. After a few minutes, her dizziness passed, and she went outside to investigate. 

With the power out and no news, she had no way of knowing if she was the last person alive in Tokyo or on Earth, but there were no signs of life anywhere—no laughing children, rumbling car engines, or store staff shouting their come-hither greeting “Irasshaimase!” 

Buildings, cars, stores, parks, trains—everything was intact, but there were no people. 

Azumi, a devotee of the world’s greatest minimalist, Marie Kondo, still had her mission. Every morning after waking, Azumi recited her guru’s truth, “Keep only those things that speak to your heart. Then take the plunge and discard all the rest.”

She started with the house next door. With the homeowners gone, she threw out as much as her heart desired, which was most everything. 

Nobody would return to re-clutter her decluttering. Azumi smiled at the universe, a smile broader and brighter than ever before. When she finished with the first house, Azumi decluttered the next home and the one after that. Three houses down, five million to go. Her skin tingled. 

Just before sunset, someone knocked on her door. She shrieked and her heart skipped several beats. Azumi grabbed an iron skillet off the kitchen rack and slunk over to the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Amazon delivery.” The voice cracked as if the person hadn’t used it for years.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I don’t care. I have a package to deliver, and you’re the only person in Tokyo, and possibly all of Japan, to whom I can deliver it.”

“What’s in the package?”

“I don’t know, just stuff.”

“Go away!” Azumi engaged the double lock. “I don’t want your clutter.”

“Please, lady, just let me complete my job. When the world ended, I was left with this one package. Once I deliver it, I can live my life and try to make sense of the universe.”

“I’m not taking it. Go! The package is your problem, please don’t make it mine. I refuse delivery.” 

“I’m going to leave the box and check it off on my form as delivered. Because you’re home, I can do that.” His pen clicked.

Azumi snapped the door open. No person, no delivery. 

The Amazon delivery guy was a man in his twenties with opal eyes and a blonde streak running through his jet-black hair. She glimpsed his ID badge, which read: Haru Mori. My nemesis.

Azumi bolted out the door, past Haru, and down the block toward the jumble of empty restaurants and shops that bordered her neighborhood. 

“I’m not giving up until I hand over this box.” His words trailed behind her like a swarm of determined bees. 

Azumi ran for six sunrises and sunsets before she stopped counting the days. She ran from Roppongi to Ginza, past the neighborhoods of Ebisu, Gotokuji, and Kagurazaka. She hid in temples, behind ghostly ramen restaurant counters, inside purikura photo booths, and under the stages of karaoke bars whose only sound were her footsteps.

Wherever she ran, the squeaks of the Amazon delivery guy’s sneakers filled the air. He was never far behind. His words echoed off Tokyo’s abandoned skyscrapers and empty streets, “Amazon delivery. I have a package for you.”

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If you enjoyed The Last Delivery, I think you’ll also like my story, The Train to Nowhere.