Wayside: A Serial Novel - Episode 2
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Episode Two: The Beginning
September 21, 2026
The day started like any other Monday at Wayside.
People rose from their beds, brewed coffee, got their kids up for school. Those who worked within the community got ready for their on-site jobs at the healthcare center, the K-12 academy, food service facilities, shipping and receiving docks, and other essential settings.
Those with remote jobs settled into their virtual workspaces. After the acquisition of YOLO, the Wayside Founder’s Council had wasted no time on the renovations needed to convert the campus from an amusement park to a residential community. First, many of the big thrill rides were disassembled and removed from the property to clear the land for development. Next, the hotels were renovated into apartments with upgraded HVAC systems and solar panels on the rooftops. Inside the rooms, carpets were replaced with tile flooring, bathrooms were refurbished with accessible sinks and walk-in/roll-in showers, walls were refinished after wallpaper was removed, and kitchenettes were added. In the extended stay hotels and villas, walk-in closet spaces were converted to workspaces for employees of Wayside Enterprises, the remote staffing agency supplying talent to the world outside the gates. The in-home workspaces had hardwired data ports, ergonomic desks, sound-blocking panels on each wall, and computer monitors custom-mounted at eye level for each individual.
Although Chris Corio’s workday didn’t start until 8 am, he’d been sequestered away in his workspace for hours. The overhead light was on but he’d left his computer off. He stared at his reflection in the dark monitor, noting it was time for a haircut again. As an IT analyst, he’d spent much of his career in data closets and server rooms. Because of all of the heat generated by the equipment, those environments often ran warm, even with measures in place for temperature control. Chris had inherited his mother’s tightly coiled curly hair, which was known for trapping heat close to the head. He vividly remembered the fateful day at his first job as an IT specialist when his supervisor witnessed a bead of sweat fall from his forehead onto his keyboard. “Just cut off the afro already, it will make your life so much easier,” she’d told him.
Fearing what it might mean for his career to ignore her advice, Chris bought a set of clippers and buzzed all of his hair off that evening after work.
Then once every week thereafter.
He ran his hand over his scalp, noting the first signs of the ridges, the coils, the predictable textures and patterns that were uniquely his. It was the first time he pondered why, after moving to Wayside the previous year, he was still shaving his head. His job was entirely remote. He never had to set foot inside of another stuffy room full of heat-generating equipment ever again.
Maybe he’d stop and let it grow.
Maybe not.
The world outside of Wayside was still there, along with all of its racism, injustice, and cruelty. He couldn’t avoid it forever.
Chris looked down at his watch, wishing he could fast forward to sunrise. His wife Cassie had been tossing and turning most of the night, mumbling about danger and pleading for someone – anyone – to listen to her. In the 8 years they’d been together, she’d only had two other nightmares that were bad enough to awaken Chris. The first time it happened was nearly two years into their relationship. As Cassie thrashed about in bed, he called her name and pulled her toward him in an embrace. He whispered into her ear that everything was okay.
“Never do that again,” she had scolded him upon waking. “I know you were trying to rescue me from whatever I was dreaming about, and I love you so much for that. But next time, no matter how much distress I seem to be in, don’t wake me up. Let me dream. Let me go through it. Trust me when I say that I need to. I have to. It’s important.”
As odd as the request had been, it didn’t seem unusual at the time. Chris had dated plenty of strong women who insisted on opening doors for themselves, paying for their own tab at dinner, replacing their own flat tires on the side of the busy interstate. Cassie was the same, but to the nth degree. Her need for self-sufficiency was so strong, it didn't come as a surprise when she insisted on traversing her own nightmares unaided.
The next night, she had the second nightmare. Chris fought the urge to wake her from the crying, the cold sweats, her whispered words that horrified him.
“The end. It’s beginning.”
The following morning, headlines spoke of an alarming outbreak in China; some specifically mentioned SARS. In the suburbs northwest of Atlanta where Chris and Cassie lived, no one seemed concerned. The popular opinion among their neighbors was that it was China’s problem, no reason for anyone in North America to worry. Even if it got out of China, the world had seen a SARS epidemic before in the early 2000s and it had been contained. There was solid trust in the World Health Organization and the CDC, headquartered just miles away. All were of the opinion that government and health authorities had the best and brightest scientists studying the outbreak, and would act swiftly to protect citizens of every nation should they foresee a chance of a global threat.
A few months later, W.H.O. announced that the SARS-Covid-2 outbreak was a public health emergency of international concern.
Chris was haunted by the dire words Cassie had spoken during her nightmare.
The end. It’s beginning.
Which was how it seemed in the early days of the pandemic. Every media source he followed featured a fresh stream of photos of the tragedies happening around the world. Many were captured from inside of hospital rooms, with unrecognizable patients on ventilators and healthcare workers in head-to-toe PPE. Some showed tearful faces of people standing outside of nursing home windows watching their loved ones decline alone on the other side of the glass. The images he remembered most were the mass graves and morgue trucks lined up on the streets wrapped around the high-rise hospital buildings throughout NYC.
So much death all at once, they were literally running out of space to put the bodies.
The following year, governments and health authorities around the world seemed to be in agreement that thanks to the new vaccines, the Covid-19 pandemic was over. The media was quick to carry the message of victory to the masses.
Chris wasn’t convinced. He continued to mask in public and stayed on top of updates to the Georgia Covid data dashboard. He knew the newly launched vaccines were bringing down hospitalizations, but was also aware that breakthrough infections were common. Chris was the first to voice alarm to his neighbors and employer when case numbers started a vertical climb in the winter of 2021. Suddenly everyone, everywhere was sick all at once. They called it mild.
And after they felt better, they convinced themselves that Covid had evolved into something much less worrisome.
Over the next couple of years, wave after wave of infections followed. Each seemed less mild and the burdens of death, illness, and new disabilities grew more obvious to those who were paying attention.
But everyone, everywhere, remained insistent that Covid had been defeated. Scientists who minimized Covid were given front page headlines. Data was wiped from public view. Testing, vaccines, and treatments were no longer as accessible as they’d been at the beginning of the pandemic.
His own primary care physician told him to unmask and get back to normal at a routine physical in early 2023. When Chris raised concerns about getting Covid, he was met with a dismissive laugh.
“I have it right now,” said the unmasked physician. “I feel fine. It’s not that bad. You’ll see.”
Chris still wasn’t willing to trust popular opinion, in spite of his doctor’s endorsement. He’d read plenty about the first SARS epidemic. He knew the majority of people who survived the initial infection had never fully recovered. Most were plagued with chronic health problems that began following their SARS infections. At least half were disabled and could no longer live independently. He worried that by the time everyone realized what was in store for them, it would be too late to undo the collective harm.
The end. It’s beginning.
This was the new normal, Chris had been told repeatedly. Most everyone acknowledged that returning to pre-pandemic life meant accepting exposure and infections. They also willingly admitted that there was a cost for such normalcy.
“The vulnerable will fall by the wayside,” they’d said. No one had the nerve to say out loud what that really meant.
Chris refused to let Cassie become collateral damage. Diagnosed with cystic fibrosis as a child, she’d spent much of her youth in in the hospital, where doctors told her she wouldn’t live to adulthood. She defied their predictions and received a double lung transplant at the age of 20. While she’d enjoyed relatively good health since then, Chris knew how fragile it was and how much was required to maintain it.
Once cities and states began implementing mask bans, Chris took to the internet looking for advice and support from others in similar predicaments. It was time to come up with a DIY survival strategy. He quickly found a Covid-cautious community of users across the globe on the social media platform, Cluckr.
Within a short while, big changes were underway at Cluckr. Users who’d been flagged for posting about the current realities of Covid were suddenly suppressed by algorithms and harassed by trolls. Some were banned from the platform without any apparent violation of the terms of use. When a well-known Covid-cautious scientist with a large following was doxxed, the community realized they needed a safer digital gathering space. Chris continued to log in and read what was in his timeline, but was hesitant to post anything for fear of being targeted.
One afternoon, he received a direct message from Ben Santos.
He almost deleted it at first, assuming it had to be yet another troll, bot, or scammer impersonating a public figure.
Upon further investigation, he determined the message had indeed come from THE Ben Santos.
Hello Chris, I’ve seen you mention in some of your posts that you have an IT background. I’m currently building a social media app for the Covid-cautious community and I’d like to invite you to be a beta tester. Would you be interested in checking it out and giving us some feedback?
It was the easiest decision Chris had ever made.
A few months later, the development team for the new app invited feedback from beta users on what to name it for the public launch.
How about Waysidr? Chris wrote in a group chat, purely in jest. To his surprise, the suggestion was a hit, and ultimately received the most votes in a 10-choice poll.
When the Waysidr app launched in early 2024, half a million people from around the globe signed up on the first day. Within a week, membership was up to 2 million. A month later, the number had doubled. More than 4 million users were actively engaging with the app, with thousands of new users signing up daily.
One of the themes which quickly emerged in discussion threads was the shared sense of relief over having a safe space to gather online. It was just as quickly established that the community longed for physical spaces in the real world where they could gather for safety and survival.
That summer, Chris posted a link to a news story about the foreclosure of YOLO Amusement Park & Resort in Pine Tree, North Carolina. “I did a summer internship here with the IT Department while I was in college,” he wrote. “Very sad to think about what happened here, but it got me thinking about what could be done with the space. I lived in the seasonal staff dormitory for two full months and I had everything I needed within a short walk. Maybe we should start crowdfunding to buy places like this, where we could live together and take care of each other.”
His post went viral on the platform. Ben Santos gave it a ‘like.’
Then he gave Chris a call. “I love your idea. Let’s do it.”
The Corios were the first couple to officially move to Wayside in the summer of 2025. Leaving the ‘new normal’ world behind had taken a great weight off their shoulders. Chris no longer lost sleep wondering if a doctor’s appointment – or even a hello exchanged with neighbors on the way to the mailbox – might lead to Cassie contracting an infection that would likely end her life.
Cassie was thrilled with her new care team at Wayside Health Center. They listened to her and validated her own experiences with her conditions. They invited her input on her plan of care. They read and reacted to the peer-reviewed studies she brought them. Best of all, they masked at all times while caring for patients – all of whom were willingly masked as well.
Fast forward to April 2026, when Cassie became ill with nausea, vomiting, insomnia, hot and cold flashes. The doctor who saw her that day ran some tests and came back with a conclusive diagnosis.
She was pregnant.
Chris vividly remembered the conversation with the doctor at that appointment.
“Was this a planned pregnancy?” Dr. Sheila Bercerra pushed her computer aside and sat across from them, giving them her full attention.
“No,” said Cassie. “I don’t know how it happened. I’ve been on the pill since I had my transplant surgery 16 years ago. Never missed a dose. Not even once.”
“I believe you.” Dr. Bercerra smiled. “No birth control is 100% effective. I've had other patients get pregnant while on a method they’ve been using consistently for years, so know you're not alone. It happens. The important question right now: do you want to continue this pregnancy?”
Chris and Cassie faced each other. They squeezed each other’s hands.
“Yes,” they said in unison, after which they broke into tears.
“Then let me be the first to tell you congratulations.” Dr. Bercerra smiled warmly as she handed them a box of tissues. “I want to see both of you later this week so we can talk about keeping mom and baby healthy. Cassie, I know with your medical history, you’re already aware that a pregnancy will mean some significant risks for both you and the baby. I’d like for us to talk about those risks and work on a plan for doing everything we can to keep you safe. I’m going to prescribe some medications today that should help you with the nausea, and I’d like for you to start journaling your symptoms till we talk again. How does that sound?”
It sounded like a far cry from the way her previous doctors had spoken to her before the move to Wayside. Dr. Bercerra hadn’t shamed Cassie. She hadn’t attempted to influence her decisions. She hadn’t made cavalier predictions about Cassie’s death. Those differences had made all the difference.
Had the pregnancy diagnosis happened before Wayside, their answer to the question do you want to continue this pregnancy? would have been different.
Week by week, Cassie’s belly grew in tandem with their neighbors’ curiosity and delight. The Corios were beloved public figures as members of the Founders’ Council and the literal first residents to move in, but the real excitement was all about the baby.
Baby Corio would be the first child born in Wayside.
The first of a new generation to inherit a home, a community, and a way of life that rebuked rugged individualism and personal responsibility as suitable approaches to public health and safety.
Chris ran his hand over his head again, staring back at his reflection in the computer monitor. He pondered for the first time what the baby would look like. No doubt their child would have curly hair. Between his natural curls and Cassie’s strawberry blonde ringlets that cascaded down the length of her back, straight hair was out of the question. Chris hoped their little one would have her beautiful hazel eyes. He suspected the baby might inherit the slight gap between his two front teeth. Whatever genes made for his signature smile must have been strong. His mother had the same gap, as did his brother, Chase. His maternal grandmother had it too. He thought about each of them whenever he smiled in the mirror. He loved the gap and secretly wished it for the baby. He knew Cassie would too.
Every woman he’d dated before her had something to say about it.
I don’t have a problem with it, but other people judge you based on your teeth, you know.
It’s not that bad, but if you got braces, you’d have a perfect smile.
You’re in your thirties and you still haven’t let a dentist fix that?
Cassie was the first person who hadn’t chimed in with criticism. The closest she’d ever come to mentioning it was in her reply to a selfie he’d sent her a few weeks after they’d started dating.
I love your smile, she’d texted back with a smiley face emoji surrounded by hearts.
He knew then he’d love her forever.
Soon they’d have a baby that he’d love forever.
The idea of that changed everything.
As strong as the genes were for his gap-toothed grin, so was the defective gene which caused Cassie’s cystic fibrosis. The stakes were higher now. Chris had twice as many people to live for. Twice as much to lose if he couldn’t keep them safe, if he failed them somehow.
They’d be safe in Wayside.
But the world outside the gates was still there.
From their bed, Cassie moaned loudly in her sleep, then mumbled something unintelligible. Chris stepped out of his virtual workspace to peer around the corner. She was sprawled out across the middle of the bed, hands resting on her belly. Suddenly, she curled her fingers into fists and whimpered. Chris wanted to wake her so badly he couldn’t stand it. He needed to step out of their apartment before he caved in.
He sent her a quick text.
Good morning, angel. I’m walking up to the Black Sheep to get us some coffee and bagels. Text me back when you’re up.
As sunlight crept through the blinds of their bedroom window, Chris got dressed, masked with an N95, then quietly let himself out of the apartment. He exited the building and turned onto a paved walking path that fed into Wayside’s Main Street. Throughout the property, loudspeakers that were once used to pipe instrumental scores from action movies into YOLO were now tuned in to the community’s radio station. Doing his best to put Cassie’s nightmare-in-progress out of his mind, he gave the broadcast his full attention.
“Good morning, Waysiders! You’re listening to the Wayside Morning Show with your hosts, Raj and Stacey!” bellowed out a baritone voice.
“Or… the Morning Show with Stacey and Raj, if you prefer,” crooned his co-host.
“Hey, what if we combine them into one, like a celebrity couple name?”
“Because Racey doesn’t have the same ring to it. Staj is even worse.”
“Uh… yeah. I see what you mean.”
Both laughed.
“Anyway,” Raj continued, “today is a special day in the good ol’ Wayside. In recognition of International Peace Day, Wayside Community Enterprises and Wayside Community Academy will be closing at 11:30 this morning. All are invited to join for a moment of silence for world peace at noon at Bonfire Pavilion, followed by a service led by Chaplain Reese. Check your text alerts or the events calendar on the Wayside website.”
“And as many of you already know, that’s not the only special event happening today. This evening is the BIG one.”
“REALLY big one.”
“HUUUUUGE one. You’ll want to be back at Bonfire Pavilion – or tuning into the livecast – no later than 7 pm. We expect record attendance at this event, so get there early for best seating.”
“There will be opening comments from members of the Founders Council, followed by the broadcast of tonight’s edition of the news commentary show, ‘Chat with Chatleigh,’ which will be projected on the big screen.”
“And tell our listeners, Raj… what’s so special about Chat with Chatleigh tonight?”
“You wanna give me a drumroll for this?”
“You got it!” An audio clip of a drumroll was added to the broadcast.
“Tonight,” Raj continued, “On Chat with Chatleigh, the featured guest will be none other than….” The drumroll sound intensified in the background. “The one… the only…. Stacey, you want to tell them?”
“BEN SANTOS!” She shouted with gusto. Both clapped their hands and cheered.
“That’s right,” Raj continued. “You won’t want to miss this. This will be the very first televised interview that Ben has done since Wayside opened its doors last year to the first residents. There’s been growing curiosity from around the world about Wayside, so he’ll be on national television talking about our journey and answering questions about what we’re doing here.”
“You know, Aileen Chatleigh is pretty tough in the interviews she does on her shows. I wonder if she’ll go easy on Ben or if she’ll grill him as hard as she does her other guests?”
“We’ll find out in a matter of hours.”
“Indeed we will. Anyway, Raj and I will be at Bonfire Pavilion tonight and we hope to see you there. We’ll jump on camera and say hello to those joining virtually as well, and we’ve got some new Wayside Morning Show merch to give away. Make sure you stop by and say hello!”
The first song in the morning’s playlist started as Raj continued to speak over the music, cramming in the last of his scripted notes before the vocals began. “We’ll be back in a few minutes with today’s headlines, the weather forecast, and local and national infectious disease surveillance reports. In the meantime, let’s get the morning kicked off with ‘September’ by Earth, Wind, and Fire!”
The music from the brass horns in the song swelled, then halted abruptly.
“Do you remembah…?”
Chris paused in his steps, smiling under his mask at the visible effects of the music. Throughout Wayside, residents who were tuned in were bobbing their heads and tapping their feet. Those who were making the trek to work or school on foot walked in time with the music, while trams full of riders sang joyfully along with the lyrics, even if the chorus was the only part they knew.
“Hey, hey, hey, bah-de-ah!”
Deaf members of the community signed the lyrics of the chorus as they danced in sync with their hearing neighbors.
Those who were tuned in from home danced to the music while their pets watched with amusement. Some of the bedbound members of the community used what little strength they had to mouth the lyrics or tap their fingers on the guardrails of their beds.
There was a palpable feeling of connectedness. The song made it bubble up to everyone’s awareness, but the feeling was ever present. It was one of the many things about Wayside that was hard to describe to people on the outside.
For those on the inside, there was no need to put it into words. They knew it. They felt it.
They lived it.
As Chris reached the to-go window at the Black Sheep restaurant, he slowed his pace. His heart continued pounding to the beat of the music, to the beat of every other heart in Wayside. Suddenly there was a knot in his throat. He loved this place with every fiber of his being and was so damned proud that his ideas and talent had helped make it happen. He stood in awe of his fellow founders, and every battle they’d fought and won for the cause of flipping an amusement park into a community for the Covid-cautious.
And he loved his neighbors. Every single one of them. Everyone who’d had faith in Wayside, even when the vision for it had been nothing more than a random post on social media. Everyone who believed that no matter how unconventional the concept was, it would mean a better life than the struggle to survive on the outside.
After a lifetime of wondering what they’d done to deserve being excluded and discarded by the rest of society, the vulnerable and their allies had finally found themselves in a place where they weren’t alone. They had a community. They were safe. They were free to live out their lives in peace.
They were home.
Chris realized in that moment it wasn’t just his family that he couldn’t bear to lose. It was Wayside, too. This was his home now. This was the only place he could envision himself and Cassie spending the rest of their days. This was where he wanted his child to grow up and become a leader for the next generation.
A chill passed through his spine when his thoughts returned to Cassie’s nightmares.
The end. It’s beginning, she’d prophesied from a restless slumber on the eve of the Covid-19 pandemic. If nothing else had happened throughout their marriage to convince Chris that Cassie had a sixth sense, that would have been enough.
She'd never discussed it with anyone but Chris, but even before she'd acknowledged it to him, he knew she was different. She could sense things others couldn't, see things happening in real time elsewhere in the world before they made the news. She could hear the future. It was always speaking to her, with the most dire messages manifesting in her dreams.
Chris wondered what Cassie’s latest nightmare would reveal. What would logically follow? Was the end of the end near?
No, he silently prayed. Not now. Not while we’re this safe. Not while we’re this happy.
Not here.
For the love of God, not here.
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