Stubborn Seed of Hope

by Falkner, Brian;

  She’d had a good day, jumping almost to the top of the leader board at chess club. He’d had a great day, too. They were both buzzing.

  It was outside her house that it happened. Standing in the shadow of the big stone wall with the broken glass top to keep out the mutant zombies and crazed Marburg killers.

  She stopped on the side, where the security cameras her father had installed could not see.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said.

  He leant forward but she put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently away.

  ‘Masks off,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You’re not infected,’ she said. ‘I’m not infected. Why not? Other people do it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jennifer and Gary,’ Samanthah said. ‘She told me.’

  ‘Not true,’ he said. ‘I heard about that. They clissed.’

  Cling film kissing, or ‘clissing’, had become popular since the outbreak of the disease. A layer of cling film provided protection and it was said to feel almost like the real thing.

  ‘That’s what Jennifer told her parents, and what she told Gary to say,’ Samanthah said. ‘But I know that after a couple of minutes they threw away the cling film and carried on without it.’

  ‘But Gary said—’

  ‘She swore him to secrecy. Doesn’t want her parents to find out. She only told me because I’m her best friend.’ She stopped, reflecting on what she had just said. ‘Don’t you say anything to anyone!’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I mean it. Don’t you dare breathe a word! If it got back to her parents—’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Really. I won’t.’

  The moment stretched, a bit uncomfortably. She wheeled her bike over to the wall and rested it against the stone surface, then looked around, checking for cars, or passers-by.

  On the other side of the street was a small park, deserted at this time of night. The nearest neighbours on that side were a long way down. Nobody could see them. Even so, she took Darren’s gloved hand and pulled him into the deepest shadow of the wall, before slowly slipping her mask down to her neck.

  He seemed uncertain, but eventually did the same.

  It was amazing to see his lips. Strong lips, not thin or dry like her father’s or soft and coloured like her mother’s. It made her realise how seldom she saw anyone’s lips, except those of her own family. Noses, too, were always covered by a medi-mask.

  His nose was straight, and not too big or small. He was quite handsome underneath his mask. The thought of what she was about to do thrilled her. It wasn’t just about a kiss; it was the thought of breaking all the rules that were making life so sterile and dull.

  She looked up at him and parted her lips slightly, waiting. He moved forward and slowly bent down. Closer, closer. Then there was just the lightest brush of skin, bare, unprotected skin, on skin. His lips on hers, a soft warmth that was only there for the time it takes a heart to beat, then it was gone. A butterfly dancing across her face, no more, and now he was pulling back.

  ‘We shouldn’t do this,’ Darren said. ‘That’s how germs are spread.’

  ‘But neither of us has any germs.’

  ‘Even so,’ he said.

  ‘Even so,’ she agreed, and in some inner place she was relieved. She pulled her medi-mask up quickly, and gave him a long hug goodbye so he’d know she wasn’t angry with him, then she opened the gate and slipped quickly inside, into their sanitised, isolated home.

  She could still feel Darren’s lips on hers as she parked her bike and took off her jacket. She could still smell him.

  And taste him.

  THE DEBATE

  The TV was on in the lounge room when she got home, but her parents were upstairs and Jenny was in bed. Some evening current affairs show was on, in the middle of a panel discussion about Marburg. Normally it wouldn’t have interested her, such things had been debated over and over for years, but tonight she dumped her jacket over the arm of a sofa and sat down, absentmindedly running her index finger around the outline of her lips.

  On one side of the argument was a woman named Claire Newbourne, an anti-masker, a member of a group opposed to the government regulations on Marburg. Presenting the case for the other side was Dr James Mahoney, a famous virologist.

  Melissa Woolley was the moderator. She had a reputation as a tough cookie.

  Newbourne had high cheekbones that jutted above her medi-mask. (She might have been opposed to wearing masks, but she wasn’t allowed in the studio without one.) Her cheeks seemed gaunt and her hair, although tied back, had escaped here and there and stuck out at odd angles.

  Dr Mahoney, on the other hand, looked exactly like the experienced professional that he was. He wore wire-rim glasses and what was left of his grey hair was cut extremely short.

  Newbourne was in the middle of a scathing attack on what she called the ‘nanny state’.

  ‘The government wants to interfere in every aspect of your life,’ she said. ‘They put fluoride in your water, they stick vaccination needles in your arms, they want to control everything you do. Our ancestors didn’t have to deal with this kind of interference and they survived okay.’

  ‘Ms Newbourne,’ Dr Mahoney said. He looked at her and smiled, considering how to frame his answer. He seemed to have heard these kinds of arguments many times before. ‘Fluoride is put in water because it reduces tooth decay and gum disease. Vaccinations save millions of lives around the world, including here in Australia, every year. But we are not here to debate either of those iss—’

  ‘Vaccinations cause autism,’ snapped Newbourne.

  ‘Well, no, actually they don’t,’ Mahoney said. ‘That lie has been thoroughly debunked. But we are not here to debate vaccinations. Marburg is much simpler to understand. It is a virulent, deadly, contagious disease. If you contract it, you will almost certainly die. Three-quarters of all people infected die within two weeks. There is no cure. There is no treatment. Only prevention.’

  ‘It’s a conspiracy,’ Newbourne said. ‘All this logging. Do you really believe that’s about some obscure virus? It’s about the government monitoring where you are. Who you meet. Controlling every aspect of your life!’

  She had a fiery zeal about her. That didn’t make her wrong, but it did make her seem like a bit of a psycho.

  ‘It is not an obscure virus.’ Mahoney spread the fingers of his right hand and pressed them to his forehead as if he had a headache. ‘Millions of people have died. More are dying every day.’

  ‘But not in Australia,’ Newbourne said.

  The moderator jumped in at that point.

  ‘It is a valid point, though, about the logging, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s worse than 1984. The government knows your every movement, because you, by law, are required to tell them.’

  Mahoney nodded. ‘That is true. It’s a terrible invasion of privacy. I don’t dispute that, and I don’t like it. But I am a virologist, not a politician. Without that data there would be no way to contain an outbreak. And there are laws in place that prevent anyone accessing the private information unless there is a Marburg outbreak.’

  ‘We are a first world country,’ Newbourne said. ‘This is a third world disease. It affects India and Africa – places like that.’

  Her opinion of ‘places like that’ was clear from the expression on her face.

  Mahoney sighed. ‘The problem is far greater in those countries because of poor sanitation. But that doesn’t diminish the problem here. If one infected person was to use public transport without taking the proper precautions, then everyone else on that train or bus would be at risk.’

  The moderator leant forward. ‘The question I am going to pose to you, Ms Newbourne, is simple. Is it worth the risk?’

  ‘This is scaremonge
ring,’ Newbourne said. ‘The solution is out of all proportion to the actual problem.’

  ‘Dr Mahoney, your response to that?’

  Mahoney took off his glasses and polished them with a cloth he took from a pocket. He was stretching out the moment, rather than unsure what to say next. Perhaps he wanted the viewers to consider Newbourne’s words carefully before he responded.

  ‘It’s easy to say things like that, but it doesn’t make them true.’ Mahoney poked the cloth back into his pocket. ‘Say them often enough and some people will start to believe you. And that’s the real danger here. The reason we have such a low rate of Marburg infection in Australia is precisely because of the early government intervention. The insistence on masks and gloves and other precautions. If we can stop this virus spreading, then eventually we will wipe it out.’

  ‘It is a government conspiracy. Many people, many very intelligent people, some of the best, have suggested that the disease was created by the government simply to control the lives of the population.’

  ‘That is simply absurd,’ Mahoney said. ‘Even disregarding the fact that the disease began in Africa, not Australia. Let me describe what we are up against. It starts with a headache—’

  ‘Scare tactics.’

  ‘No, I am just stating facts.’ Mahoney turned to the moderator. ‘If your viewers would rather not hear this I could direct you to a fact sheet on our website.’

  ‘Carry on,’ she said, and Newbourne glared at her.

  ‘Painkillers do not help the headache.’ Mahoney shrugged. ‘Then comes the backache, then nausea and fever. You become sullen and withdrawn as the virus multiplies in the brain. Your eyelids appear droopy and your eyes themselves turn bright red.’

  Newbourne looked away.

  ‘By now you have severe diarrhoea and are vomiting, constantly,’ Mahoney said. ‘Your vomit is black and frothy. It smells like an abattoir. Already the virus has started eating into your insides, and you are bleeding internally. This vomit, by the way, is seething with the virus, as is all of your blood by now. Your entire body is becoming jammed with blood clots. It is as though your whole body is having a stroke. And then comes stage four. I won’t describe that in detail, but let me just say that it is as though your body is dissolving, on the inside as well as the outside. And every part of it is infectious. It is ludicrous to suggest that our government, that any government, would deliberately inflict that on their citizens.’

  Newbourne clapped slowly. ‘Very descriptive, doctor, and yes, accurate. But that doesn’t change the fact that the risk of contracting the disease is still very low. Especially with everyone else walking around in masks and gloves.’

  Mahoney was suddenly quiet. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘So that is your solution? Everybody else takes precautions so you won’t have to?’

  Newbourne tried to backtrack, but her cause was already lost.

  Samanthah turned the TV off. She sat quietly and thought of the taste of Darren on her lips.

  THE CALL

  Darren rang the following afternoon while she was studying history. Not her favourite subject. Basically it was pretty interesting, learning about places, people and societies in the past. But school somehow had a way of taking a really good subject and making it incredibly boring. She would love to have learnt about the Romans, or Egyptians, or one of the great world wars. But their topic was political parties in Italy.

  It was hard to find anything to get excited about there.

  She let Darren ring two or three times before answering.

  ‘Hello, lover-boy,’ she said.

  From the silence on the other end she knew immediately that something was wrong.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, before he could get a word out.

  ‘I’m getting re-tested.’

  ‘Re-tested? Why?’

  ‘The whole team’s getting re-tested.’

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  Her heart was pounding and there was a knot of fear growing in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Preston, he plays fullback—’

  ‘I know where he goddamn plays! What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He just tested positive.’

  Time stopped.

  ‘How— What—’ she managed.

  ‘His brother’s girlfriend is one of those anti-maskers. They think she gave it to the brother and the brother gave it to Preston.’

  ‘They’re testing you.’

  ‘This afternoon,’ he said.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Positive! Nobody she knew had ever tested positive. That happened in isolated communities or crowded city centres where people didn’t bother, or sometimes forgot to be careful. Not Preston! She thought of Mahoney’s description of how the disease progressed and felt bile rise in her throat.

  ‘But you’re okay, right?’ she said.

  Another silence.

  ‘Darren? Darren!’

  ‘Sure. Sure. I’m okay. We’ll know for sure when they get here to do the test.’

  ‘What do you mean when they get here? Aren’t you going down to the testing clinic?’

  Silence.

  ‘Darren, you better talk to me,’ she said.

  ‘We’re in quarantine,’ he said. ‘Anybody that had any kind of contact with Preston is in lockdown. I’m not allowed to leave the house, and neither are any of my family.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘Just until we get tested,’ he said. ‘After that, everything will be fine.’

  The knot in her stomach had turned into a hard lump, as though she had swallowed a hockey ball.

  ‘Will you tell them?’

  He frowned. ‘Tell them what?’

  ‘Don’t be a dick,’ she said, thundering in a whisper. ‘You know what. The kiss.’

  ‘I have to,’ he said. ‘I have to list everybody I’ve had contact with since the game.’

  Samanthah swore. She was glad her mother had the TV up loud in the other room.

  ‘Don’t tell them,’ she said.

  ‘I have to, Sam.’

  ‘No you don’t. If you do, then next the men in white jumpsuits will be plastic wrapping my house. Don’t tell them.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice,’ he said.

  ‘Then wait. Wait till after you’re tested. If you’re clear, then I’m clear, right?’

  ‘I guess,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. And neither is anyone else in this house. Dad’ll be home soon, too. So even if we’re all infected, we’re not going to do any damage tonight, right?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Call me as soon as you know,’ she said.

  After he rang off she closed her study books. The House of Medici was going to have to wait. There was no way she was going to study now.

  The knot of fear kept growing. Could a simple touch of the lips have been a death sentence – not just for her, but for her whole family?

  Had she infected them? Maybe. Through surfaces she touched, plates, cutlery, taps in the bathroom, the flush button on the toilet.

  By dinner time she had no appetite at all. Her stomach was just a solid tight balloon.

  Her mum had made spag bol but the red sauce looked like blood and vomit on a bed of intestines and after bravely lifting the fork to her mouth she put it back down.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Just worried,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  She thought about that. She couldn’t tell them. Not yet. After Darren’s test, if it was positive, then she’d have to. But until then …

  ‘I was watching TV last night.’ She’d decided to stick to safe truths. ‘A doctor gave a pretty detailed description of what Marburg does to the human body.’

  ‘Eww
w,’ Jenny said. ‘Gross!’

  ‘That’s irresponsible.’ Mum put her fork down.

  ‘It’s not irresponsible,’ Dad said. ‘She should know. Everyone should.’

  ‘Well, they’re scaring them,’ Mum said, her voice rising.

  ‘And they should be scared.’ Dad nodded. ‘Other-wise—’

  He never got to finish.

  Samanthah’s stomach heaved and she yakked the remains of her lunch all over her spaghetti bolognaise.

  THE BATHROOM

  Ten minutes later, she was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. She had already heaved her stomach dry, but now it was pouring out of the other end.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’

  ‘I can’t believe she kissed him,’ she heard her father say in a low voice, trying not to be heard. ‘Without any kind of protection!’

  ‘The … ambulance is on its way,’ her mother said in a much louder voice.

  From the slight hesitation, ‘ambulance’ meant the Emergency Medical Teams that had been set up to deal with the outbreak.

  The police would probably be the first to arrive and seal off the area. The ambulance would be next, to take her to the isolation ward. The house would be sealed; her logbook was already open to investigators. Her life was over, and so maybe was that of Jenny, the tuba player, her only sibling. Maybe her parents’ lives also.

  Outside of that, people were safe. At school, at the shops, everywhere she’d been she had worn her mask and gloves. She should not have spread the disease. It was funny that at a time like this her first concern was how many other people she might have infected.

  The pain inside was intense. Her stomach was on fire. Her skin felt like it was crawling and she was shivering, which she knew was the first sign of fever.

  Eight to nine days. That was how long she had to live. Two weeks if she was lucky.

  All because she had desired those strong full lips.