Zona 5

By Dr. Maria J. Estrada

In 2055, in the high-tech streets of New Phoenix, Perdido Olivares is a street junkie. All he wants is to escape reality with Zona 5. Still, he considers himself a hero, a defender of children.

When he discovers someone is hurting kids, will he be strong enough to overcome his addiction? Will he finally emerge from the streets to save those weaker than himself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Maria J. Estrada
• Release date: Mar 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463444948

Dr. Maria J. Estrada

MARIA J. ESTRADA is an English college professor of Composition, Literature, and her favorite, Creative Writing. She grew up in the desert outside of Yuma, Arizona in the real Barrio de Los Locos, a barrio comprised of new Mexican immigrants and first-generation Chicanos. Drawing from this setting and experiences, she writes like a loca every minute she can—all while magically balancing her work and family obligations. She lives in Chicago’s south side with her wonderfully supportive husband, two remarkable children, and two mischievous cats. You can learn more about her other books and writing happenings at barrioblues.com.

Book preview

ZONA 5

María J. Estrada

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to dialogue, people, places, and events are purely coincidental and the work of the author’s hyperactive, barrio imagination. Any similarities to events or individuals, living or dead, of any vatos or chavas, are entirely coincidental y puros cuentos.

Copyright © 2019

María J. Estrada

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book or any of its content may be reproduced or distributed in any form or medium, without prior written permission of the author. Short quotes and academic usage are the exception. The author must be credited in such instances, so this barrio nerd can get her much-deserved credit.

First edition published by Smashwords.

ISBN: 9780463444948

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Zona 5

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Acknowledgements:

¡Muchas Gracias, Todos!

Un gran abrazo y beso to my amazing husband, Aaron, my supportive children, Antonio and Simona. Thank you, Ian Liston, for your copy-editing expertise and thoughtful comments. Amazing authors and brothers in the struggle: DW Brownlaw, Hector Cruz, Shawn M. Klimek, and Mark Kodama, this story sings of universes because of you. Support team, you all know who you are, and there are not enough words to express my appreciation. I have not forgotten you, readers—muchísimas gracias for supporting my creations. Finally, a special thank you to my ‘Ama and ‘Apa, whose sacrifices made this amazing writing life possible.

Zona 5

PERDIDO OLIVARES AWOKE to another confused night in an unknown alley that smelled of potent bleach. In the distance, the robot sentry announced that it was past curfew, 3:00a.m. He sat up feeling every joint in his body scream and stared at his bruised arms, as a rivulet of pus made a beautiful swirl all the way to his right elbow. The drug ports on each forearm were turning a moldy black. Even through the mental fog, he knew he would have to go to a doctor.

Fuck, he muttered, feeling the heat from the sidewalk seep into his body, an unwelcome step towards sobriety. He looked around at the sterile alley and longed for the dirt and trash of old Hollywood movies. Society was so efficient at cleaning and recycling. Soon they would be coming for him, but he wouldn’t give those fuckers the satisfaction. He was proud not to be part of the rat race. He was a hero, really, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him how to live his life. Not his dogmatic parents. Not his needy girlfriend. Not Father O’Neill.

He groaned as he stood up and cursed again, reluctantly heading for the St. Vincent DePaul mission. He pictured the gaudy billboard that was falling apart, but still bore an image of St. Vincent with a huge "All Are Welcome" lettered in calligraphy, a disgusting image of a clone hugging a human below it. Perdido spat juicy phlegm on the sidewalk. Why Father O’Neill didn’t use a hologram like everybody else was beyond him. It was excessive, a luxury, he would say.

Perdido debated taking The Bullet. He checked his arm port, the fuzzy letters indicated that he had 20 credits left. The train would need eight, and he was reluctant to spend his meager amount, but he doubted he could walk the distance. He stumbled down the nearest subway entrance and used the