Holding Breath

Glass shattered with a crash, shards scattering across the sidewalk.​

"Quick and without fuss — get in and out," commanded the masked man.​

Within minutes, the sturdy men had carried out all the oxygen tanks they could find from the store, loaded them into the van, and moved on.​

"We can still hit a couple more places before dawn," the leader estimated.​

***

This was happening all over. The police were running ragged and out of breath — literally. Oxygen tanks had become high-demand commodities; stores began placing them in specially secured sections and locking them up, but it helped little.​

***

"24% remaining," Akemi glanced at the gauge, her forehead pressed against the cold tram window. She yawned wearily. Tomorrow, the percentage wouldn't be any higher — was it even worth worrying?​

***

"It's definitely worth it!" Raifenberg retorted with uncharacteristic fervor — "especially since it wouldn't require much from the government — just reopening the old shelters!​"

Every Wednesday, the government convened at 9:30 AM, and every Wednesday, Raifenberg, as Minister of Health, was present. The longer he attended, the more he doubted the sanity of the participants, however.​

Initially, they discussed deploying a network of shelters equipped with near-unlimited oxygen supplies — a sound idea Raifenberg fully supported, especially since the bomb shelters had been unused for thirty years —reactivating them wasn't that difficult.​

But then they veered off course — he couldn't understand why they were still discussing anything else in such a routine manner. Trade wars, tensions with the Chinese, the Russians, anyone — good grief, were they serious?​

"Did you want to say something, Raifenberg?" the Chancellor asked.​

"With all due respect to my colleague's arguments," he glanced at the Foreign Minister, "I strongly doubt that the topic he raised deserves such thorough attention when..."​

"When what?" the Chancellor prompted.​

"When this is happening," Raifenberg pulled a hose from under the table and demonstratively took a deep inhale with a soft hiss. "Ladies and gentlemen, I propose adding another item to the agenda, if no one objects," Raifenberg folded his arms, awaiting a reaction.​

He managed to steer the agenda and the conversation in his direction. Perhaps his father would have been proud.​

***

Ivan's father couldn't be proud of him anymore — he was dead. His stepmother had sent a message in the morning.​

"Funeral tomorrow — if you can, come to Dubrovnik," he reread the message.​

Ivan could have gone, but he didn't want to. His father had asked him not to look at him in the coffin, and he was willing to honor that last wish. He had been seriously ill lately, and the lack of oxygen had clearly taken a toll, so the news wasn't a shock to Ivan — and his stepmother had mentioned that in Croatia, there were no living trees left, and the air was so stifling that one couldn't go outside without a mask — probably what finished him off. Ivan readily believed that.​

Here in the north, it was somewhat better, but wearing an oxygen mask when going outside had become a habit.​

He had been expecting this any day, but pretending it didn't affect him... no, that was pointless.​

***

"Project 'Airhole' has been halted," Raifenberg reported via internal communication. "Birmingham and Fukuoka have just announced they've shut down the program and are redirecting efforts to life support."​

"What about ours?" Akemi wrote.​

"They're discussing everything except what's necessary. I tried to bring them back to the shelter topic. To hell with 'Airhole'—how's 'Heimlich'?"​

"We've determined it's a natural mutation of lilac, particularly resistant to elevated carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere. The variety hasn't been described anywhere before."​

"And?"​

"And we're planting it throughout our botanical garden," Akemi replied. "You, Mr. Minister, didn't lie in your letter— it's indeed easier to breathe near it, and it grows at an incredible rate — I've only seen such growth in bamboo before. And what about your 'source' — are you acquainted?"​

"Good question," Raifenberg thought and reached for his phone.​

***

"I need to urgently speak with your source tomorrow morning," Raifenberg adopted a convincing, assertive ministerial tone and added some steel to his voice.​

"Alright," Tai Ming agreed. "I'll let him know."​

***

Linda had been delivering oxygen tanks around the city all day — the demand had skyrocketed. She had stocked up herself, but the queues in stores were troubling. To bread and circuses, "air" had been added.​

"This could lead to riots," she thought, watching the quarrels in the line for tanks through the windshield. "But if someone has to die from lack of air, let it be my father first," she thought and grimaced unpleasantly, recalling the scene in the store.​

She started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.​

***

Reinhardt had given away all the lilac he had yesterday —he was afraid to prune the bush further, so today he just sat at home, his mouth covered with a mask. The phone rang.​

"I'm listening," Reinhardt pulled the mask from his mouth and answered the call, wiping sweat from his forehead.​

"Good day. We haven't met yet. My name is Raifenberg."​

"Minister? Heinz Raifenberg?" Reinhardt asked.​

"Yes, that's me. Let's skip the preliminaries. I know you're the source of 'Heimlich'."​

"Yes, our mutual acquaintance has already spilled the beans," Reinhardt chuckled.​

"Good, that simplifies things. How are you managing now?"​

"Sharing the asset on a voluntary basis," Reinhardt replied evasively.​

"So you're sharing 'Heimlich'?"​

"Listen," Reinhardt coughed, "I understand that local self-governance and grassroots organization are a federal official's nightmare — but what do you want? I'm just helping neighbors. I don't know how things are in Berlin, but here we literally can't breathe. And the lilac helps, albeit poorly. I have no idea what games you're playing with Tai Ming, but you'd better leave us alone. You and your government have already failed."​

"Mr..."​

"Krumpf — my surname. Reinhardt Krumpf."​

"Thank you. Mr. Krumpf — we don't really need anything else. Continue your work, spread the lilac. Now that the 'Airhole' project is officially closed..."​

"Oh, seriously? So you've messed up here too?"​

Raifenberg ignored the jab.​

"We can assist you in spreading 'Heimlich' — to the extent of our capabilities."​

"Yeah, right," Reinhardt replied sarcastically, "by the time the money arrives, we'll all have suffocated — literally."​

Raifenberg swallowed nervously. Why did he always encounter such stubborn old men?​

"I'm speaking not as a minister now — but as someone who also wants to breathe and let others breathe."​

"Do what you want — just don't get in my way," Reinhardt cut him off.​

"Then continue your work," Raifenberg nodded, "and also stock up on oxygen and check the address of the nearest shelter."​

"Will do," Reinhardt concluded the conversation.​

***

In the evening, all channels broadcasted a special government address.​

"Look at that, they weren't lying," Reinhardt smirked.​

The Chancellor repeated almost verbatim what Raifenberg had reported earlier that day—about the full-scale deployment of the oxygen shelter network, the decreasing oxygen levels in the air, and so on.​

On Reinhardt's table stood a lilac bouquet — a few branches he had recently cut and placed in a jar of water. He inhaled the aroma deeply. 16%.​