“I shall lock it away for you, if you wish, Mr Singh?”
“Call me Devey. And yes, that would be helpful, Doctor. My biggest worry is my bosses. I haven’t called them, and they’ll see from their trackers that my van hasn’t moved from Blackstitch Lane in over two hours.”
“If you have a mobile phone, you’re free to make a call. If you need, I shall talk to your bosses and explain.”
Devey huffed. “They probably wouldn’t believe you. The Royal Mail does not make excuses. Sure I don’t need to tell you how it is as a fellow employee of the government. Is the NHS any better these days?”
“No,” said the doctor, then turned and retrieved something from a cart he had wheeled in with him. The penlight hurt as he shone it in Devey’s eyes. “All of your tests so far seem to be fine.” He moved slowly from one pupil to the next. “I am confident you are okay, but I must ask a nurse to take blood and urine to run further examinations.”
“What if I just walked out?”
The doctor lowered his penlight and took a step back as if Devey might try to dodge past him. “As I said, you are not under arrest, but I have strict orders to inform the police if you leave this room. The two officers you spoke to this morning are right next door, having the same tests as you. So are the paramedics. This is not personal, Devey. It is in the interest of public health. Would you want to leave if you could infect people with something dangerous? I do not think you are that man.”
Devey studied his hands and rubbed them together. “No. I’m a decent guy, but that’s what got me into this mess. If I hadn’t bothered to check on Mary… Man, why didn’t I mind my own business?”
“You did the right thing, Devey. I would have done the same in your position.”
“Thank you, Doctor. That almost makes me feel better.”
“You are most welcome. Please excuse me.” The doctor left to get the nurse, and Devey sat alone again. He needed to call work, but wanted to put it off for a few more minutes—he wasn’t calm enough to speak to his bosses yet. Willis was on today, and Willis was a twat. A strange urge came over Devey as he thought about making the call—he wanted to call his father. It had been three years since their last conversation—a shouting match really—and he’d been too angry to consider ever talking to him again. What was happening now eroded those feelings of anger and instead left him with a sickening fear that made him want to be with family. Even if that family consisted only of his father.
Would Dad even come if I call him?
Only one way to find out.
Devey reached into his pocket for his phone, but then the door opened and a nurse entered. She was pretty—fair-featured and blue-eyed. He couldn’t see her mouth behind her mask, but he imagined it was smiling. Also, she was heavily pregnant—the bump rising beneath the plastic apron she wore. He left his phone in his pocket and stood up. “Should you come near me in your current… state?”
“It’s okay,” she said cheerfully. “It’s actually very easy to avoid infection with the proper precautions. I’ll just take some bloods and then we should hopefully be able to find out what the score is. My name is Sonja. You’re Devey, right?”
“Yes. My actual name is Dayabir, but nobody calls me that. Or they try and get it wrong. Just easier to call me Devey. I like that more anyway.” Why was he babbling? He felt embarrassed in front of the nurse for some reason. There was a chance he might have a disease, and it made him feel dirty.
The nurse beamed at him. “Oh, how lovely. It’s nice to hear a name a little different. Dayabir? Did I get it right?”
“Yes, you did! Feel free to name your baby after me.”
“I’m having a girl. Would that still work?”
He thought about it. “No, it’s a boy’s name, I think. So when are you due?”
“Six weeks. I’m off the job in two. Can’t wait.” She prepared a syringe on a tray she’d wheeled in, taking it from a plastic packet. “You have any kids?”
“No,” said Devey with a firm shake of his head. “I’m only twenty-four. It’s the single life for a few more years yet.”
Sonja gasped behind her mask. “How can a handsome man like you still be single?”
He puffed out his chest as he gave an answer, then felt silly. “Just never found anyone to be close to like that. I’m too used to being on my own, I guess. Always figured I’d meet someone and settle down later, so what’s the rush? How about you? Have you been with your husband a long time?”
She had the needle assembled now and held it out in front of him, almost like a threat. “I’m not married.”
“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“That’s okay.” She pointed to her belly. “What you’re looking at is the result of a one-night stand.” She pulled a face, but only ended up looking cuter. “Not my finest achievement, admittedly, but I can’t wait to meet my daughter. I grew up without a father in my life, so I know what she’ll need. Me and her will be a team.”
Devey enjoyed learning about people—the part of his job as a postman he liked the most—but he felt uncomfortable to hear so many personal details, especially when they reminded him so much of his own. Sonja was clearly a person who hid nothing of herself, and he supposed it might be a defence mechanism. By being upfront about the things people might knock her for, she diffused their power to hurt her. He did the opposite and showed as little of himself as possible. “So is this where you stab me in the arm with your needle?” he asked.
“Afraid so. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
He held his breath and looked away, focusing on a poster on the wall. CATCH IT. BIN IT. KILL IT. It was an info sheet about sneezing into tissues and washing your hands afterwards. Basic stuff, and it surprised him that people even needed to be reminded of such basic hygiene. Then he wondered how Mary had caught whatever had killed her. Had someone sneezed on her? Was it contagious? He shuddered as he remembered almost taking her hand. Those skeletal fingers.
Mary’s last moment was asking him for help, and him recoiling in horror. “Do you know if Mary had any family?” he asked as the needle went into the crook of his arm. He winced, and kept his eyes locked on the inane hygiene poster, reading each word earnestly.
“The poor lady who died?” said Sonja. “I haven’t been told much about her. She’s being dealt with by Public Health.”
“Who’s that?”
She adjusted the needle in his arm, making clinking sounds as she changed the cartridge. Devey glimpsed his own blood leaking out and went woozy, chiding himself for not keeping his eyes on the poster. “Public Health,” she explained, “deal with any health threats to the public, like when we get cases of bird flu or someone gets Mad Cow Disease. They also get involved if something infectious or unidentifiable shows up. It sounds like Mary had a flesh-eating disease, which is uncommon, so they’ve taken ownership of her case.”
The needle withdrew from Devey’s arm and he sighed with relief. “Believe me, that works out better for you,” he said. “Mary was a real mess. I doubt your squeamish, being a nurse, but it was a nightmare.”
She tilted her head and gave him a lopsided smile that he realised was pity. “I spoke to Lucy, one of the paramedics who attended, and she told me how bad it was. And trust me, paramedics are used to dealing with everything.”
“What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?” Devey asked, then felt embarrassed for being so morbid. He let the question stand though.
To his surprise, Sonja seemed happy to answer it, and did so without hesitation. “They brought in an elderly man once who hadn’t washed or changed his clothes in years. His toenails had fused with his slippers and they tore off when we removed them. The smell was the worst thing imaginable.”
Devey groaned as he imagined it. Could it have been worse than what he had smelt in Mary’s kitchen? Both were smells of rotting human flesh, so perhaps they were the same. “I don’t know how you do this job.”
“It’s not all bad,” she said, pu
lling a plastic stick from a clear packet. “Open wide. I need to take a swab from inside your cheek.” He did as he was told and the swab darted in and out of his mouth before he knew it. Without even watching what she was doing, Sonja had popped it back into the packet and pulled a zip. Bodily fluids were mundane to her. Maybe that was how nurses and doctors coped. “Okay, then!” she said. “Last thing we need is a urine sample. I’ll leave you this plastic pot here. There’s a toilet behind you, so I’ll pop back in a bit to see how you’re getting on.”
“The blood results…” Devey nodded to the three tubes of his blood on the cart. “Will they take long?”
“We’re not entirely sure what we’re looking for, so they’ll probably need to run several tests. Just sit tight and I’ll try to keep you updated. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
Devey almost gushed with joy. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was, or how wonderful a cup of tea sounded. “God yes! White, two sugars, please. Man, that would be great.”
Sonja patted his shoulder then left him alone. Not wanting to sit and think, he took his plastic beaker into the toilet. A mirror caught his eye, and he took a moment to study himself, pulling at his eyelids and staring into his own pupils. He didn’t know what he expected to find—black threads of poison or swirling parasites creeping around, he supposed—but he seemed to be okay. He was pale, and oddly weary for what could only have been early afternoon, but he was still himself. Not sick.
Satisfied, he turned to the toilet bowl, which was flanked by handlebars and various pull cords. He prepared to take a leak, prompting his mind to conjure images of him pissing bucketfuls of blood, so he undid his fly apprehensively. It was a relief when a bright yellow stream appeared, and he got a majority of it in the beaker and only a slight amount on his fingers. The chance to wash his hands at the sink was welcome, and he soaped them up for a good ten minutes. He wished he could scrub his insides too.
What if he had what Mary had? Would his skin start peeling away? Would his organs melt? Would he end up a pile of cat food on the kitchen floor? No, he would die here in this hospital while doctors ran an endless battery of tests, his final moments consisting of suffering heaped upon suffering.
Come on, man. You’re going to send yourself crazy.
To calm himself, he had to give himself some positive possibilities to offset the bad. Number one, he felt fine. Two, even if he wasn’t fine, they could treat him right away. Most things could be treated if you caught them early enough, right? Mary might have only needed antibiotics, but she’d been an old lady not wanting to make a fuss. Maybe the fact she was old had led to her death. He was a healthy young man, his body would fight off whatever Mary had caught. Thirdly, he told himself that she might not even have had an infection. She might have been tortured by a skin-flaying psychopath, or victim to a nasty blood disorder. A virus was only one possibility out of many, and all he should be thinking of right now was how poor Mary must have suffered. He’d liked the old lady, and it was a tragedy what had happened to her. Once, when it had been raining, she’d invited him in for a biscuit.
What the hell happened to her?
Devey decided, that if nothing else, he would at least find out that.
Sonja returned ten minutes later for Devey’s urine sample. She switched on the television and handed him a cup of piping hot tea. Then she left again. For a while, he’d sat and watched a Friends episode—one where Ross still had Marcel the monkey—but he was now surfing for something else. He’d been in the hospital for over three hours now, and he was still yet to call his bosses at work. He’d now left it so long, he decided to wait until he left the hospital. At least then he could get into a long—potentially loud—conversation. The trauma of the morning had worn off, and he no longer felt so worried. Instead, he was simply bored. He wanted out of this room. He flicked through the Hospital’s limited TV channels, hoping to find something to get him through the next bout of waiting, but everything was old or out of date. Jeremy Kyle had gotten stale years ago, and Morecambe and Wise were only acceptable at Christmas. They even ran repeats of Porridge on BBC Two. Didn’t they make new programmes anymore?
Then he caught the end of the news.
The main report concerned a rumoured sex tape featuring Meghan Markle, and how it would shame the Royal Family if true, but the ticker across the bottom of the screen featured a public health warning. It read:
Bengali Flu Strain to hit Britain. People advised to wash hands and stay indoors.
Not the most alarming news he’d ever read, but ill timed considering the morning he’d had. Was that what Mary had caught—Bengali Flu? What the hell was ‘Bengali Flu’ anyway? Flu from India, he supposed, but what was the difference? Swine Flu, Spanish Flu, Bird Flu, Australian Flu… Wasn’t the flu just the flu?
Did Bengali Flu make your flesh rot away like Mary’s had?
A ridiculous theory, and he knew whatever killed Mary had been something truly awful. A flesh-eating disease, the nurse had said. Like something out of a horror movie.
The door rattled, making him jump out of his skin, but he settled down in time to be sitting calmly by the time Doctor Zantoko entered the room. The man was smiling, which he hoped was a good sign. “Devey, you’re looking much better. Have you recovered from the shock of such a terrible morning?”
Devey smiled. “I’m beginning to, but I imagine it will have a lot to do with what you are about to tell me.”
“All your tests came back normal. We will need to monitor you for the next few months, or until we find out more about what killed Miss Mallon, but as of now you are perfectly healthy.”
Devey wasn’t sure if he heard bad news or not. “So I might still have something? What do you mean, you need to monitor me?”
The doctor perched on the bed beside him. “Sorry, let me explain. Many viruses have incubation periods, so we will need to see you every couple of days to run more tests, but in the meantime we will give you a course of antibiotics and a mild steroid to amp up your immune system.”
“I thought antibiotics didn’t affect viruses. They create superbugs or something, right?”
“That is entirely correct, but there could be a bacterial infection or parasite at play, in which case we should treat you accordingly. The steroids will help your immune system fight off any potential viruses and the antibiotics will fight most everything else. But understand, Devy, we are just being overly cautious. You had no physical contact with Miss Mallon, and I believe you to be healthy. Come back in if you feel unwell, but today you may leave and go about your day.”
Devey sighed, overwhelmed and teary. He cleared his throat and steeled himself before he stood up and shook the doctor firmly by the hand. “Thank you so much for looking after me, doctor.” Before he left, a question found its way to his lips, and it made him stop before he reached the door. “The paramedics? Are they okay?”
Zantoko nodded. “It appears so. The police officers too. I shall pass on the same good news to them in a moment.”
A crash sounded next door. It startled both men. Devey looked at the doctor. “What was that?”
“I…” He looked concerned. “I do not know.”
He disappeared out the door in a hurry, white coat billowing behind him. Devey stood alone in the room, fidgeting. He’d got the all clear, so could he leave? No, he should wait for Zantoko to come back and discharge him. There must be paperwork involved, there always was. He decided to fill the time by making that call he’d been putting off. Pulling out his phone, he dialled work. Odd, that he felt so guilty, as he’d done nothing wrong, but he reminded himself he’d gone into a private residence uninvited. Royal Mail was very clear about trespassing. The front porch was as far as a postman should ever go. He’d seen guys get chewed up and spat out for dropping a parcel into someone’s hallway, or even a lounge in one case. If the homeowner complained it was a serious matter—an actual crime being reported.
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.
Deve
y pressed the phone to his ear for over a minute, but it kept on ringing. Kept on ringing past the point where he expected voicemail to kick in. It seemed no one had turned the service on. If they were busy at dispatch, his absence would be appreciated even less.
Ring-ring.
Devey waited a few more seconds then put the phone away. The telling off would have to wait. Maybe he’d go get his van and finish his round before facing the music. It would help his case. Better late than never.
Another crash sounded next door.
“Enough of this shit!” He needed out of this room, out of this hospital. The more he knocked around here, the more his head filled with things better left unremembered. At first, he’d been preoccupied by the possibility he might have a flesh eating disease, but now he was hanging around and waiting. Thinking.
Time to leave.
He headed for the door, trying to ignore the ruckus coming from the next room. Who was in there? The paramedics? The police officers? Or some drug addict having a fit? The corridor outside became a rushing river of people and equipment. Something was happening. He hurried, but couldn’t help looking into the room next door as he passed it. What he saw turned his stomach.
3
The door hung wide open, allowing Devey to see inside the next examination room. Doctor Zantoko stood with the nurse, Sonja, and two orderlies flanking him left and right. They were all trying to calm the female paramedic who was shouting at them hysterically. The woman had shed her jacket and now wore only green trousers and a white vest. Sweat drenched her chest. She looked terrified.
She looked ill.
Devey wanted to rush for the exit, but his feet disobeyed and took him into the room. His mind failed to provide a full understanding of what was happening, but his gut told him it was something bad. Something he needed to know about.
The World's Last Breaths: Final Winter, Animal Kingdom, and The Peeling Page 45