Shelf Life

Before the sunrise filtered through the low hanging cloud of smog, Posie started her car. This was Los Angeles. She could either commute early, tolerate the traffic, or not go to work at all.

If she were a librarian with more senior standing, her commute would be less arduous. She’d only need to take one highway to get to the Central Library from her studio in Silverlake. Though the 101 was less than glamorous, Posie fantasized about pushing a book cart beneath the main branch’s ornate tiled dome, or taking her tea breaks beside the fountain.

Instead, she braved the 5—or the 5 to the 210 if there was an accident— or the 101 to the 170 to the 5 on a bad day— or on really bad days, Wilshire to the 405 to the 5. Regardless of how she got there, Posie begrudgingly clocked in at the LA Public Library overflow book warehouse in Santa Clarita, dreaming of bigger things.

“You get a promotion or something?” Ted, the security guard, wolf whistled when she badged in.

Posie blushed. Warehouse staff dressed casually as library patrons were barred from the overflow stacks. Today, she wore a tight pencil skirt, cardigan, and sky-high heels.

“Nah, I have a date tonight. He’s taking me out in Santa Monica. It’s not worth it to take the 5 all the way back to Silverlake only to have to cut across on the 10 in time for dinner.” She made a mental note to remove librarian from her online dating profile.

Ted’s eyes glazed over, which surprised her. Usually, the discussion of optimal LA throughways was a rite of passage for city residents. Ted was from Thousand Oaks, so maybe that didn’t count.

He raised a finger to silence her and turned up the volume on the television wedged into the corner of his desk.

We’ve received reports of wildfire sweeping the Castaic State Recreation Area early this morning. Firefighters are on the scene, responding near Deer Peak Junction. Stay tuned for additional updates.

“That’s just over the hill,” Posie said. Maybe they’d be sent home early and she’d have extra time to primp.

“I’ll keep an eye on it. Do you remember the evacuation protocol?”

Posie flicked the laminated card next to her badge. “We’re to report to Assembly Point C, in the south parking lot.”

Ted nodded. “Keep an eye out for the flashing lights. You don’t want to be stuck in there. Best get started; those books aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

Tottering in her heels, Posie kicked the brake on the nearest flat-pack cart and rolled through the warehouse stacks.

When she’d trained to become a librarian, she envisioned more sliding ladders, grateful patrons who begged for recommendations, and at the very least, time to read while collecting a paycheck. This job was none of those things.

For one thing, only warehouse book carts and the mobile high-density shelving slid. There was absolutely no time to read, thanks to her boss’s weekly reports on circulation KPIs, a near-impossible moving target. And patrons? Posie was astounded by the things they checked out. So much self-help, so little fiction. Despicable; didn’t people realize they were practically the same thing, and the latter so much more entertaining?

She’d finished re-shelving Lucky by Design when the telltale blue lights started flashing. It wasn’t clear how long they’d been running; Posie was deep in the aisle. She remembered Ted’s warning.

You don’t want to be stuck in here.

Posie ran for the exit.

Running in heels was more difficult than she thought. She tripped within the first three rows, her shoe skittering down an aisle. Cursing under her breath, she made the rest of the journey barefoot. Her damn skirt would only allow for so long a stride. In a half-waddle, half-shuffle, she reached the warehouse atrium to find the doors locked and Ted gone.

Pounding the glass, she peered through the window for any sign of her co-workers. The sky was acidly orange. The fire was close and moving fast. Her brain whirred, trying to remember the rest of the emergency procedures she’d learned at orientation two years ago. The warehouse had a special fire suppression system to protect the books. She’d be safest in the stacks.

The environmental control panels took up most of the north wall; books, especially special collections, required precise temperature and humidity for optimal storage. Posie surveyed the readout. Temperature was holding steady: a good sign given the inferno raging outside. Humidity was dropping—not unexpected, and dry was ideal for paper. Two warning messages caught her attention.

First, the emergency response system automatically contacted first responders.

Second, the console displayed an ominous thirty-minute countdown. If not deactivated before the end of the timer, the environmental controls lowered the oxygen percentage in the warehouse and replaced it with nitrogen.

Good for books, bad for Posie.

She was going to die: her life’s end a mere workplace casualty.

Her date would never know what happened to her. There was no reason for him to assume she’d been consumed by a fire in the Valley. He’d probably think she’d ghosted him, if he wasn’t planning to ghost her first.

She took solace in the fact that she’d literally ghost him. A person only gets one shot at that.

Her mom might be sad. Posie wished her mom was with her. Then, she regretted the thought because she would suffer the same fate.

Heart racing, Posie crumpled to the floor, her back against a shelf. She took short breaths to conserve oxygen and checked the doomsday clock on the wall. She had twenty-five minutes of air left.

Would it be more efficient to break the glass and let the flames do their worst? Or would deoxygenation be a more pleasant way to go? Was she really debating the most efficient way to die?

There was no debate necessary. She was a librarian, first and foremost. Hypoxia was clearly the way to go: it was faster, cleaner, and kept the books safe.

To pass the time, Posie did the one thing she’d dreamed of doing on the job.

She read.

Blindly groping the shelf behind her, she selected the first spine she could reach. She was crouched in the adult fiction section, offering plenty of interesting options.

Ray Bradbury stared back from the cover. Fahrenheit 451.

Posie grunted. Very funny, universe.

The countdown clock blinked. Twenty minutes remained until deoxygenation. Posie’s eyes ran the length of the shelf. There wasn’t a book on here she could finish in thirty minutes.

What would be her last book?

She remembered her mom again, the woman who’d shared her love of fiction from a very young age. Every night, her mom tucked her in and read to her. They continued this tradition long after Posie could read on her own. Her friends made fun of her early bedtime, but it was often the best thirty minutes of the day.

Posie bolted to her feet. She could finish a children’s book in thirty minutes. Nineteen minutes, now. With one last look at the exit, she moved deeper into the warehouse in pursuit of old friends.

There were so many options. Alice in Wonderland. The Phantom Tollbooth. A Wrinkle in Time. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. All childhood comforts, promising wonder waiting on the other side of this life. But choosing was difficult, and she was wasting time. She had to go shorter.

Corduroy, but nobody was going to find her lost shoe and take her home. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, but food was useless to her now. Goodnight Moon, but no place felt less like home than the warehouse.

Finally, she found it. The Velveteen Rabbit. Fifteen minutes remained, enough to read it twice.

She only read it once. Her tears blurred the pages.

‘”You were real to the Boy,” the Fairy said, “because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone.”

Posie was real. She was loved by those who knew her and those who didn’t. To every patron who received a book from the warehouse; to every car she tailgated on an LA highway. To her mom, but maybe not to the date that never was.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She wondered if the environmental shift would make a sound.

Across the warehouse, glass shattered. Posie lay still as heat surged.

“Close the door,” she muttered. “You’re risking the books.”

Someone slipped an oxygen mask over her face and she breathed deeply.