The Next Big One

by Derek Des Anges

  He tickled the cat behind the ears, but she wasn’t having any of it, and only widened her eyes.

  Ben changed the channel: someone with enormous hair was sobbing on the shoulder of man whose stubble looked painted-on.

  There was a smash.

  “Is everything—” Ben began, and thought better of it.

  A few shards of broken ceramics fell off the work surface and onto the floor.

  “Fuck,” Kingsley shouted, and there was another smash. “Fuck it all.”

  Ben poked his head slowly over the top of the futon. “D’you want me to be somewhere else?”

  Kingsley returned to the living room with a face like collapsed thunder and snapped, “She’s known since January.”

  Absurdly, Ben looked at Minnie for a moment. He said, “Sorry?”

  “Fucking…idiot bitch has known since January and didn’t tell anyone. Anyone she worked with, didn’t tell her flatmates, didn’t tell her family, she carried on like everything was fucking normal.” Kingsley punched the back of the futon, far enough away from Ben that Ben only flinched slightly.

  “Are you o—” Ben began. For one stupid, illogical moment he thought his flatmate had found out about Natalya.

  “Literally anyone could have caught it,” Kingsley barked, clearing up one question but none of the others. “Fucking hell.”

  “Who—” Ben began again, his stomach pulling itself into a bewildered knot, but Kingsley wasn’t in the mood for questions.

  “We work with kids,” he spat, making a feint to punch the futon again but drawing back. “Kids. And if that — if they hadn’t come in we still wouldn’t know. She just wasn’t going to tell anyone. Didn’t think it was necessary.”

  Ben looked at his fingernails. “Um.”

  “Cate,” Kingsley said, after a long silence. “Cate’s doctor took blood for iron levels. Because she was a bit tired. She did the fucking sputum test when it came out and it said then and she just didn’t tell anyone, and then she went in about being tired, because that’s not a fucking symptom, and so she couldn’t argue her way out of blood tests, and he had the fucking sense to run a—” Kingsley passed his hand over his face. “How many other people have done that.”

  “Probably,” said Ben, uncomfortably, with Natalya and Natalya’s entire team at the forefront of his mind, “quite a lot.”

  “He called the police,” said Kingsley.

  “I didn’t know you could—”

  “Nor did I,” Kingsley said, distracted by his own hands for a moment. “She came here. For New Year’s Eve.”

  Ben looked at the futon and pretended he didn’t care about that. “Did you—”

  Kingsley shook his head. “I was fucking disappointed, man, I thought we were going somewhere with that, and she just kept evading it totally, and I thought fine, I’ve misjudged this, let’s just get shitfaced and have a good night.”

  Ben nodded, thinking about virus particles on the edge of every glass in his flat. It doesn’t survive very long outside the body, you idiot, he told himself, but the worry was still there.

  “Dodged a fucking bullet there,” Kingsley concluded, pulling at his own dreads briefly. “Jesus fuck, man, what if she’s given it to—”

  “Have you tested?” Ben asked, willing his muscles to relax.

  “Oh god, like once every two weeks at this point,” Kingsley said. “Had another one yesterday.” He paused, and added, “Okay, a couple of times, I lied about being spat at by the kids because I’d, you know, maybe? And I wanted to make sure some girl in a backroom didn’t have it.”

  Ben nodded.

  “I broke two cups,” Kingsley said, after a little longer, gesturing to the kitchen.

  Ben shrugged.

  “You think I’m a twat,” Kingsley said, with a faint laugh. “Your fucking sister — and I’m throwing a little boy paddy over some fucking co-worker and smashing all the shitting cups.”

  Ben shrugged again. “We’re all twats. I hope you weren’t too attached to the mugs.” He raised his hand for a fist bump, and exchanged a solemn touch of knuckles. Kingsley’s hand was dry.

  “Actually I think one was yours.”

  “Which one?”

  “That grey one with the gold triangle on it.”

  “Oh.” Ben thought about this. “That’s…Maggie gave me that one.”

  “Sorry, man,” Kingsley said, with more composure.

  “No,” Ben said, finding a weird smile had crept across his face. “It’s just a mug. I don’t care.”

  “We can argue about this all day,” said a minister, in the tones of someone who fully intended not to argue about it all day, “but the fact remains that as KBV is only transmitted by saliva, blood, and seminal contact between people, it is containable. An intense programme of prophylactic use, rigidly-policed quarantine measures, and regular mandatory testing can keep this under control while we try to build on X/X’s work and find a solution.”

  “You can’t force people to take tests,” insisted the woman opposite him.

  “Actually,” said a second minister, from a different party, her hair close-cropped and her expression painfully sensible, “if they declare a state of emergency, they very much can.”

  “And I suppose you object to a state of emergency,” said the first minister.

  Ben toyed with his toast.

  “I’m not sure it’s necessary,” said the second minister, ignoring the woman between them entirely. “I think you have to have more faith in the ability of the public to make the right decisions for themselves.”

  “It only takes one person unable to do that,” said the first minister, with a grim look, “for that to fall apart. Think about how KBV got into this country. A man committed rape. He committed multiple, serial rapes. He wasn’t thinking about being responsible. We have to protect people.”

  Ben put his toast back down and checked his emails instead.

  To: Ben M

  From: Change38

  Subj: Demonstration against militarised quarantine

  Beginning at 11am in Parliament Square, hundreds of thousands of people will stand up for their right to continue living normally in the face of an epidemic, and tell the government that we have the right to make our own decisions about our health.

  The government have yet to vote on WHO’s recommendation of militarised quarantine and enforced testing, measures which our own Public Health England say need evidence before they should be implemented, and which may cause undue stress and panic to vulnerable people, as well as removing our rights as civilians.

  Will you join us in saying NO to calling in the army?

  James, Tina, and the Change38 team.

  Ben picked up his toast again and deleted the email.

  He also deleted a pointed email from Victoria, asking him why, as far as Moodle was concerned, he hadn’t handed in a piece of work to her in four months, and one from Kyle asking if he ever planned to progress beyond an outline or indeed show up for a class.

  To: Ben M

  From: Khoo, Daniel

  Subj: Fight the good fight etc

  Are you planning on going to this protest thing?

  Ben put his toast within Minnie-sniffing range, giving up on breakfast altogether.

  To: Khoo, Daniel

  From: Ben M

  Subj: not fighting any fight

  Yeah, great idea, I’ll head down to the middle of inevitable police brutality with a bunch of potentially contagious people and wait for the blood to start flying around. Magic.

  He sat back on the futon, realised that if he wasn’t going to continue watching Question Time it was probably a good idea to stop streaming it, and changed iPlayer for the adverts.

  To: Ben M

  From: Khoo, Daniel

  Subj: 60 whitmore street

  Okay then, come up here ASAP, I need you here in one piece. No questions, no excuses.

  Ben looked down at what currently passed for his pyjamas, and wondered if “I’m s
till in my underwear” counted as an excuse. Probably not.

  There were a lot of people carrying banners on public transport.

  There were a lot of people carrying banners and talking energetically on the way to Daniel’s work, which Ben suspected was because there was a massive university fairly close by. He hurried past them. The sun shone down in the gaps between a threatening, dark grey cloud, and vanished again.

  It had just started to rain when he got to the reception of the building.

  He texted Daniel a simple, “Here”, and then had to tell to the dubious security guard what he thought he was doing anyway. It occurred to him that there hadn’t been a uniformed security guard on duty at the last visit.

  “I’m here to see Daniel Khoo,” Ben explained, trying not to sound impatient.

  “You have an appointment?”

  “No…” said Ben, making an additional effort.”

  “Does he actually know you’re coming?” asked the security guard, unimpressed by this answer.

  “I just texted him,” Ben said, trying not to sound as if this was quite obvious to someone who had been watching him like a hawk since he came in through the door.

  “Only we’ve been getting a lot of people in recently trying to make a nuisance of themselves,” said the security guard. “You’re not here to cause problems, are you?”

  “Literally never,” said Ben, watching the door to the rest of the building.

  “One kid threw a bottle of blood in here last week,” said the security guard. “We had to call in a sterilisation team. Colleague of mine had to go off and be tested. Fuckers.”

  “Right,” said Ben. “I promise I’m not going to throw anything at anyone.”

  “Not going to these protests either, then?”

  “No.”

  “What’re you wanting to see Dr Khoo for?” the security guard went on, checking the computer.

  “I don’t know,” said Ben, “he wants to see me.”

  The back door opened, and Daniel’s arm came through. “Get, come on, quick as you like—”

  Ben hurried through. Daniel made an aggressive meal of getting them through the security door with his pass, and grabbed Ben’s hand as soon as they were through.

  “Wh—”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No?”

  “Come on.” Daniel more-or-less dragged him up the stairs.

  At the landing, Ben caught sight of his t-shirt: black, emblazoned in a serif font with the words:

  In the midst of death

  I will have life

  “That,” Ben said, trying to get his breath and point at the t-shirt at the same time, “that’s not the usual fare.”

  “Song lyrics,” Daniel said abruptly, pushing Ben into a familiar corridor. “Apposite ones.”

  “I didn’t think you liked music with lyrics.”

  “Shut up about my t-shirt choices or I’ll skin you alive,” Daniel said in impatient, conversational tones. He shoved Ben ahead of him along the door-lined corridor as if he was trying to move furniture. “LEFT.”

  Ben turned left into the same half-cluttered lab he’d first seen Daniel in: dancing to Journey, dressed in red, absurd and glorious and intimidating.

  “I’m shit-broke,” Daniel explained, “or I’d have suggested coffee first.”

  “I could have paid—” Ben began, looking around the lab. Nothing appeared to be in progress.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Daniel opened up a drawer, stopped, and leaned on the surface beside it. “I’ve been dumping money into mum’s mortgage, by the way, not sticking it up my nose.” He made the noisy, universal gesture for cocaine. “Just in case you were wondering, which I know you weren’t.”

  “That’s nice of you,” said Ben, looking out of the window and into the windows of the building opposite. They were darkened, and he couldn’t work out what they usually contained.

  “Partially,” Daniel said, returning to the drawer. “Mostly I’m trying to butter her up.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m moving out,” said Daniel, straightening up again.

  Ben looked at him curiously. “…I didn’t think you were going to,” he said, at last. “You said you couldn’t.”

  “Oh,” Daniel said, with a dismissiveness Ben didn’t entirely believe. “She hit the fucking roof. Cried all over the house, bitched me out for being ungrateful, asked what she’d done wrong, told me I didn’t need to move, hours and hours.”

  “Sorry,” said Ben.

  “Eventually my dad just said, please let him go and she was so shocked she didn’t say anything else.” Daniel pulled two cardboard boxes out of the drawer, slammed it shut, and put them on the bench behind him. “I said, I can keep paying your mortgage anyway, the rent’s basically nominal to cover the bills, it’s not that big a deal, I’ll be just around the corner. She still won’t talk to me.”

  “Nominal rent sounds nice,” said Ben, the realities of renting in London overtaking any kind of sympathy.

  Daniel grinned at him. “Renting Natalya’s flat off her.”

  “…oh.” Ben thought about this for a minute. “She’s staying with D—with Bill?”

  Daniel shrugged. “That’s what she said.” He picked up the two boxes again and pointed them at Ben. “Left or right?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What do you think?” Daniel said, waving them at him. They were plain white, with black writing on the side.

  “You still haven’t taken one?” Ben asked, accepting one of the boxes as if he was taking a loaded gun.

  “You still haven’t taken one,” Daniel reminded him. “I don’t—” he lowered his voice, and said so quietly that Ben had to strain to hear, “I don’t actually want to do this on my own.”

  Ben opened the kit, and snorted. “How many potential candidates for infection were there this week?”

  Daniel said, “None, actually.”

  “Last week?”

  “None. I’ve been busy.”

  Ben looked up from the instruction leaflet. “I — not that busy?”

  Daniel shrugged, unpacking his box with deft fingers. “I’ve still been going out,” he said, pulling a small vial and a swab out. “I just decided I was only there to dance.”

  Ben gave him a sideways look, and said nothing.

  “Okay,” said Daniel. “Rub the swab down the inside of your cheek—”

  “I know.”

  “Make sure you get it good and soaked with spit—”

  “I know.”

  “Do it, then,” said Daniel, swab in hand. “Count of three. One — two — three—”

  Ben put the swab inside his mouth and ran it down the inside of his cheek. He wondered if the overall acidity of his mouth would melt the damn thing. If KBV would actually even show up in a mouth regularly bathed in stomach bile.

  “Into the vial,” said Daniel.

  “I know, I know.”

  “Then put it in the fucking vial.”

  “You haven’t done it either—”

  Daniel dunked his swab into the developer and folded his arms. “There. I’ve done it. Now put yours into the fucking vial.” He gestured with one finger, without unfolding his arms.

  “How long is it meant to be in here—” Ben checked the instructions. “Okay, okay.” He set up a timer on his phone.

  “If this comes up positive,” Daniel said, pointing at the vial again, “don’t you fucking tell anyone about mine.”

  “You should—” began Ben, then thought of Natalya. Then Cate. Then Natalya. Whose wisdom should you trust?

  “Yeah well,” said Daniel, thickly, “I might have shit I need to do, okay.”

  “Can we not talk about this, please,” Ben said, staring at the timer on his phone to avoid staring at either the swab — potentially crawling with pathogens — or Daniel’s face, creasing up with the effort of the wait.

  “Is it—” Daniel began.

  “No, a bit longer.”
/>   “Fucking fuck,” Daniel said, looking at the ceiling.

  “You can wait through god knows how many cycles of Borna growth and you can’t wait through this?” Ben asked.

  “Borna doesn’t result in me being locked in a hospital until I die,” said Daniel. “Or you.”

  “Three…” Ben said. “Two. One. We can check.”

  Daniel took his swab out and held it up. He looked around the lab for a moment, and handed it to Ben. “You do mine.”

  “I was going to do mi—”

  “I’ll do yours. You just…do mine, please.” Daniel sounded as if he’d rather be handling raw sewage than his own test.

  Ben passed him his own vial. Daniel took out Ben’s swab and held it up.

  “Does it matter which order the strips go in?”

  “No. Just…just rub it on the strips.”

  Ben did as he was told, and stood back. Daniel was still holding his up, watching the strips intently.

  “Do mine, then,” said Ben, his voice thick.

  “In a minute,” said Daniel, still watching. “Is that pink?”

  “It’s still white, stop being a dick.”

  “I’m not being a dick—”

  “Now’s a terrible fucking time to be colourblind.”

  “While I’m sure it would explain a lot about my dress sense,” Daniel said archly, dripping developer and staring as if eyelidless at the strips Ben had dabbed, “there is nothing wrong with my colour vision. THAT ONE’S GONE BLUE.”

  “Is—” Ben squinted. “I think it’s a bit bluer?”

  “It’s blue, you shit, don’t do this to me.”

  “No that’s definitely blue,” said Daniel.

  “The middle one’s blue as well,” Ben noted, pointing at it. It was only a light blue so far, but it was recognisibly blue. “Well, whatever colour the last one goes—”

  “BLUE,” Daniel barked. “Thank fuck.”

  He half-collapsed on the bench.

  “You haven’t done mine,” Ben said, a certain tightness in his chest. “You said you were going to—”

  Daniel shushed him with one hand, and dabbed the swab on all three strips in quick succession.

  He stood back.

  After a few seconds he added, “Give me your hand.”

  Ben gave Daniel his hand. The swab lay on the bench beside the strips: all three still white. Daniel squeezed his hand gently, and Ben scowled at the strips.