The Wipe

by Nik Abnett

  Verity was surprised that the queue wasn’t longer.

  “There are only a dozen people in front of us,” she said, as she and Sage joined the line waiting for the campus infirmary to open.

  “Everyone’s gone,” said Sage. “At least everyone who isn’t already sick, who’s got somewhere else to go.”

  “Well, now we have somewhere else to go,” said Verity, smiling, and reaching for his hand.

  Sage took it, and squeezed.

  “Are you sure your dad’s okay with this?” he asked.

  “I told you,” said Verity. “It was his idea.”

  “Yeah, but he only invited me so that you’d go home.”

  “Pa loves you,” said Verity.

  “‘Pa’ hardly knows me,” said Sage.

  “I love you, so he’ll love you.”

  “That has not always been my experience with girlfriends’ fathers,” said Sage.

  “And here I was thinking that I was the only one.”

  “You are,” said Sage, dropping a quick kiss on her lips.

  “Don’t let anyone see you do that again,” said Verity, smiling broadly. “It’s not allowed, and, besides, you could give me this horrible thing.”

  “I was checking the net today. They’ve got to find a better name for it than ‘TRRNT/41/pan-virus’.”

  “Some clever nutter on the internet will come up with something.”

  “Or some witty speech writer for the Prime Minister.”

  “Whoever we get to replace this one,” said Verity. “He was diagnosed and quarantined overnight. Miserable ancient bastard isn’t going to survive, is he?”

  “Jeez, I didn’t know,” said Sage.

  “Do you care?”

  “He’s a person. You’ve got to care.”

  “I think you’re stretching the definition of ‘person’, right there,” said Verity. “Pa didn’t vote for him the first time, and none of us voted for him the second time.”

  “No,” said Sage. “How long do you think this is going to take?”

  “Nice way to change the subject. She looked along the line, and checked her watch, just as the doors to the infirmary were opening.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Couple of hours, maybe.”

  Two hours later there were still two people ahead of them in the queue, but at least they were inside the building. They’d had to strip, and go through a shower that smelled of something that reminded Verity of a nasty mixture of strong vinegar and bad eggs. Once out of the shower, they’d been given paper suits, face masks and shower caps. Verity had struggled to pile her hair on top of her head and tuck it all under the disposable cap. The men had all been required to shave, too. It didn’t look good on the large, flabby man, sitting three chairs away on the other side of the waiting room, who’d stood in the queue, sporting an impressively dense beard. He hadn’t been able to fasten the closures on his suit, either: One size didn’t fit all. Verity decided not to look at him, but was still relieved when he stood up and disappeared behind one of the four doors that led off the waiting room.

  “You go first,” said Sage. “There’s no point me getting checked out if you don’t pass.”

  “Pa would still have you,” said Verity.

  “Maybe he would, but he’d hate me for ever, and forever is a long time to hide hatred.”

  “Okay. I’ll go in first.”

  Another half-hour passed before it was Verity’s turn.

  She’d watched a dozen people go through those doors ahead of her, and none of them had come back. She wasn’t sure whether they were all being quarantined, whether their time was up, or whether they were simply leaving by a different exit, so they didn’t have to walk back past the rest of the people waiting for their checks. Either way, she hated leaving Sage. Worse still, they’d been told not to touch anyone once they’d gone through the shower, so she couldn’t even hold his hand while they waited, and she couldn’t kiss him when ‘next’ was called. She wanted, very badly to kiss him.

  “See you on the other side, V,” he said as she stood. “Love ya.”

  He was trying to keep things casual, but Verity was scared, and she knew that Sage was too.

  She smiled down at him, his face tilted up, haloed by the strange shower cap.

  “See you on the other side, pardner,” she said, in a hinky American accent

  As she walked towards the door, she wondered why she’d done that. To break the tension she supposed. It felt weird. How do you break that kind of tension?

  The tests were not altogether pleasant, but almost the worst of it was being confronted by two medics in hazmat suits. She’d seen them on the TV, of course, and on the internet, but they were really weird up close, and Verity hadn’t realised how strange the voices would be, filtered through the suit’s headgear.

  An instrument table had been set up with a kit on it, shrink-wrapped and foil-backed. Once she was naked again, the kit was opened. Swabs were taken from all over her body. A broad spatula was first passed over large areas of her skin. It was placed in a large tube so that the paddle was inserted into a liquid. The liquid changed colour.

  Verity didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know if the swab was positive or negative.

  Small swabs followed. The mouth swab wasn’t so bad, but the nasal swab was pushed deep into her sinuses, and made her gasp. It wasn’t much fun having several hairs pulled out of her scalp, either. Then, more swabs were passed across her armpits and groin, and into her anus and vagina, and all while she was standing in the middle of the sterile room on a square of thick blue paper, which felt scrunchy, so clearly had a foil backing.

  All the swabs were dropped into tubes of liquid, and they all changed colour. They all turned the same shade of acid yellow.

  Verity had taken precautions from the beginning, mostly because her father had insisted on it. Pa was a pharmacist, so there was no reason to question his judgement. If anyone knew anything about any of this, it must surely be her father. She hadn’t shown any symptoms, either.

  Of course, Pa had wanted her to isolate herself entirely. Verity had decided on day one that she wouldn’t and couldn’t do that. Her roommate had left on the day the story had broken in the press, but that was weeks ago. She’d always been nervy, and took medication for anxiety, so Verity wasn’t surprised to see her go. In fact, she hadn’t had a chance to see her go or say goodbye to her. When Verity had returned home the afternoon of the Prime Minister’s announcement, the flat had simply been stripped of everything that didn’t belong to her, and the girl was gone. The note on the wipe-board was brief and to the point: ‘Can’t stay. Might be back next term. K’.

  Verity didn’t dislike her, but they weren’t close. The big advantage of her roommate leaving was that she and Sage could go into isolation together.

  “Do you really want to?” Sage had asked when she’d phoned him. “Do you really think we need to?”

  “That’s not the point, Sage,” said Verity. “Three or four weeks in our own little love nest might be fun.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Sage moved into Verity’s flat late on the same day her roommate had left. He brought one backpack with a change of clothes and study materials, and several bags of food. Sage lived off porridge, baked beans and ramen noodles, and he hated to shop, so he had enough to last them for weeks. Whatever happened, they wouldn’t starve.

  “You’re so clever,” said Verity. “Who knew that eating badly could be a good thing?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sage asked, smiling. “We’ve got all the food groups covered: Breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

  And that’s how it had been. They’d studied, separately, one in each of the tiny single bedrooms, and they’d shared the living room with its pull-out sofa. Sage even managed to make porridge taste good without milk.

  They’d left everything behind when they’d gone to the infirmary. All they had were the clothes on their backs, their phones, their ids an
d debit cards, and some small items of jewellery, including Verity’s watch. It had all been taken away for fumigation while they had their checks.

  One of the medics in a hazmat suit took several minutes filling out a form on a steel clipboard. She finished with an odd flourish, obviously a signature.

  Suddenly, Verity was sweating. She felt a bead on her forehead, and a drip from her armpit. This was it. It felt like some kind of terrible judgement day.

  The medic divided up the form, which Verity assumed to be in triplicate, dropped one into a ziplock folder and sealed it, dropped one into a slot in the wall, slid one into a covered tray under the metal table, and finally handed a copy to Verity.

  Not triplicate, quadruplicate, Verity thought as she took her copy. She studied it, but didn’t have a clue what all the numbers and tick-boxes signified. She looked at the medic.

  The medic smiled, and gave Verity a thumbs up.

  “Acid yellow just became my favourite colour,” said Verity. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”

  She wanted to hug the medic, as she felt herself tear up.

  “You’re welcome,” said the medic. “You’re one of the very lucky few, so look after yourself. Now, off you go.”

  “Really, thank you.” Verity looked around for her clothes, since she was still naked and the paper suit had disappeared.

  “Through there,” said the medic, pointing to a door on the left. There were two other doors, besides the one that Verity had entered by, and they were identical. It was all very anonymous. “By the way, I’d also recommend you cut your hair,”

  “Yes. I’m guessing going to the hairdresser’s is out of the question?” She was beaming, but the medic didn’t respond.

  “Here,” she said, handing Verity a pair of scissors that were in the kit, along with all the swabs and tubes.

  “Now?” asked Verity.

  “Why not?” said the medic. “We can incinerate it for you. Best practice.”

  Verity hesitated, looking at the scissors. She wondered why they were in the kit, if it wasn’t for cutting hair. She didn’t know where to start.

  “Just hack everything off, up to your chin for now,” said the medic. “You can sort out the rest when you get to where you’re going… Home to your parents, I presume.”

  “Yes,” said Verity, the full weight of realisation falling on her all at once. “I’m going home.”

  She cut her hair off, parting it down the back, and shearing through half of it at a time. The medic stepped on the pedal of a medical waste bin next to the instrument table and Verity dropped the hair in. Then she took hold of the other half of her hair, and repeated the process.

  “Good job,” said the medic.

  “Thank you,” Verity said, through tears. It wasn’t the loss of her hair but the thought that soon she would be home with her parents and with Sage, and then she’d know for sure that they’d all live through this. She hadn’t realised how much pressure she’d felt over the past few weeks, cooped up in the tiny flat. At first it had been fun, but for the last week or so there had been nothing new to study on the boards from her professors and tutors. The food had got boring a while ago, and they’d begun to ration it over the past fortnight.

  The only good thing about their isolation was that Verity and Sage had become a team and a great comfort for one another.

  Verity hadn’t realised how emotional the check-up would be, but now she was certified to travel and had the form to prove it; and she had the e-tickets on her phone to get on the next train home. She felt overwhelmed.

  Verity thanked the medic again, even going so far as to blow her a kiss, before going through the door into the tiny room, to dress in her freshly fumigated plastic-wrapped clothes, and pick up her freshly fumigated plastic-wrapped belongings. There was a laminated instruction card, with time and transport details, presumably also fumigated. She checked the time. Fifteen minutes before she had to leave the infirmary. She also noticed that, while the room was empty of furniture, there was a clock on the wall. Clearly, time was of the essence.

  Verity thought about that blown kiss, and the hinky accent she’d used when she’d said goodbye to Sage. She thought about the crying and the smiling she’d done in front of the medic, and the range of emotions she’d experienced in so short a time. This stuff changed people. It made her feel differently, think differently, even act differently. She guessed it was the same for everyone: they were all reacting in odd ways to their new situations.

  None of it really mattered, because today was a good day. She had the all-clear, and she could go home. All she had to do was wait for Sage.

  When her fifteen minutes were up, Verity hesitated for a moment, before pushing the handle on the fire exit door. It swung closed behind her. A limo had pulled up, its engine running. Verity knew that the car was for her, but was surprised that it was a limo rather than an ordinary taxi. Then it dawned on her that it was a limo because of the screen. The driver was separated from the passenger cabin by a privacy screen. He glanced at her, and she could see the precautions he’d taken. He was wearing one of the shower caps, and a face mask, and his uniform appeared to be one of the same paper suits that she’d worn in the infirmary.

  Clearly, no one was taking any chances.

  Verity hesitated, reluctant to leave without Sage. She didn’t have to wait for long.

  She heard the clunk of a fire door opening to her right, and she turned. Sage stepped through the door, looking pale and anxious. He hadn’t seen her yet.

  “Sage!” said Verity, surprised by the pitch and volume of her voice.

  Sage didn’t care that Verity’s voice was too high and too loud, he was simply thrilled to see her; more thrilled than he had thought possible, despite his anxiety in exiting the infirmary. He’d barely had time to dress before he had to be out of the building, in time for his transport, according to the clock on the wall of the little room.

  He walked towards Verity and stopped short.

  “Your hair!”

  “It’s better this way, and Mum can help me tidy it up when we get home.”

  “No, I like it.” He hesitated. “Should we touch?”

  “I don’t know. I want to.”

  “Me too,” said Sage. “It’s all been a bit crazy, though, hasn’t it?”

  “Crazy?” asked Verity. “More like scary as hell.”

  They both smiled.

  “Glad I’m not the only one feeling it,” said Sage.

  “You’re definitely not the only one.”

  Sage became aware that the limo driver was watching them.

  “Better get in. Don’t want to miss our chance, and that guy looks antsy.”

  “How can you tell behind that mask?”

  “Oh,” said Sage. “I can tell.”

  They got into the back of the limo, one through each passenger door. The inside was big enough to seat six, with three seats facing each other. They both chose the middle seats, opposite each other.

  As soon as they’d closed the doors, the driver pulled the limousine away on the first leg of their journey.

  “Just us,” said Sage.

  “Looks like.”

  “We could have caught it right there in that queue.”

  “But we didn’t,” said Verity. “And we don’t know we’re the only ones. Some of the others might have left an hour or more ago.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Me too,” said Verity, “even though I’ve got everything… everyone I need, right here.”

  They expected a short drive to the station, especially as there was very little traffic on the roads, but they were in the limousine for close to an hour, taking them three stops further down the track.

  Sage checked his phone.

  “It’s fine,” he said, as he could see Verity’s growing anxiety. “They’ve closed a lot of the smaller stations, and they’re monitoring passengers through mainline stations. The trains are still running. It’s all a precaution.”


  “According to who?” Verity asked.

  “According to the government.”

  “We still have one of those?”

  “It looks like it, and I suspect there’ll be a whole lot more government intervention before this thing’s over.”

  “It was supposed to be over by now,” said Verity.

  “Things change. I sometimes wonder if anyone really knows anything.”

  “We know we’re going home. At least, we know we’re going home.”

  They encountered more hazmat-suited workers on their journey, and had to show their certificates before getting on the train. Even so, they were blasted with hand-held air jets that had the same funky smell as the showers in the infirmary.

  They were allowed to sit together on the train, but there were only three other people in the carriage, and their seats were assigned, so that they wouldn’t come into contact with each other. The same awful smell permeated the inside of the train. There was no access to a bathroom.

  It took a couple of hours to get to St Pancras, and there was no one to meet them there: No buses, no taxis, and the underground was closed.

  “There’s nobody around,” said Sage.

  “Hardly anybody,” Verity agreed, as she gestured towards a man walking around a street corner a hundred metres away.

  “Wasn’t he on the train with us?” asked Sage.

  “I think he was. Apparently he knows where he’s going, but I thought there was going to be a pick-up, so we could get home.” She looked at her travel documentation.

  “I’ll check my phone,” said Sage.

  Verity waited as Sage scrolled for information.

  “There’s no public transport in London, apart from the mainline trains, and travellers have to carry current certificates,” he finally told her. “The car services were suspended as of about an hour ago.”

  “So, what do we do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m gonna call Pa.”

  “Not a bad first move. I don’t expect he’ll be able to do much, though. It’s not as if he can drive up and get us.”

  “Pa,” said Verity. “We’re in London, outside St Pancras station.” She paused for a moment while her father said something.