Pestilence Arisen

Many years had passed, or was it months, days? As patient 07734 paced the confines of his prison of tubes and needles, he remembered that distant afternoon when he had first heard the news: “a global pandemic”, they had called it. Suddenly, “quarantine” and “social isolation” became the new reality that all must face. He could almost remember the feeling of those months that blended into years, always wondering after every cough or throat scratch — is this it? Am I going to die?

Lock-downs increased after the first “vaccine” failed; it had, indeed, slowed the virus for a while, but the mutation developed beyond the reach of their clinical trials. As another year passed, the new strain emerged more deadly, killing nearly ten-thousand in a week. After that, no one was allowed to leave their homes for any reason. Food was distributed by the local government, and malnutrition ran rampant.

Patient 07734 was taken from his home, where his wife had been sick for weeks. One moment he was spooning thin broth into her mouth, the next, he was being dragged away. He had heard her rattling cough, then nothing. Next, a holding cell with a few others, who were just as afraid; finally, an individual room with a large observation window, a medical bed, a black television mounted to the wall, a metal toilet, and punishing lighting.

“Patient 07734, you will submit a stool sample in the provided specimen collection vessel.” Voices boomed commandments through a loud speaker, situated beside the window where many pairs of eyes scrutinized him over their medical face masks.

“Patient 07734, we will be taking blood samples today.”

“Patient 07734, today we will be extracting cells from your forearm.”

“Patient 07734, if you refuse to cooperate, we will be forced to anesthetize you.”

In captivity, time collapses. There was a duration when the lights would be turned down, but that was no way to track days: Eight hours of darkness and sixteen of unrelenting fluorescent. Or was it ten hours of darkness? Or six? He read books, watched mindless television, and was continuously ordered to provide samples or perform simple tasks.

“Patient 07734, you will be released tomorrow,” a doctor spoke flatly over the intercom. It was a “light on” time, but patient 07734 didn’t know what the doctor had meant. Had there once been a world beyond this?

“Huh?” Patient 07734’s voice croaked.

“You may go home,” the doctor clarified.

“My wife? Is she still alive?” He pleaded, through desperate tears.

“I don’t know.”

“How long have I been here?”

The doctor flipped a few pages on his clipboard, shadowed slightly beyond the window. “One-thousand five-hundred days. That is our maximum.”

Mortified tears streamed his face, he sobbed: “Why was I kept?”

The doctor was despondent: “We have injected you with all eight strains of the virus, multiple times, and you have not become ill. We hoped you… Needed you to save our planet.”

“Did I? Is… is that why I can go?” Patient 07734 smiled, weakly.

“No, you can go because it doesn’t matter any more.” The doctor coughed.