I stood in the slow moving line waiting for my turn. I watch as person after person gets their blood drawn then signs a piece of paper.
Nobody reads the paper anymore. Nobody even knows what it says anymore. Except the Pure Ones- they're only called that because of the white coats they wear. And the white hazmat suits, the white tables and the white labs.
Step.
The testing is quick and nearly painless. It has to be. They test thousands of people every day.
The U.S. is a quarantined country. It shall stay that way that till a cure develops. Until then, we will get tested every two weeks.
Another step.
I feel a tickle creeping up my throat.
Don't cough. Do not cough. I think to myself. The tickle turns into an itch. I make an effort to clear my throat. The person in front of me looks back and eyes me suspiciously.
Another step.
A Pure One walks past me and just when I think I'm in the clear, I cough. I suppose I would've been labeled Infected when I reached the front of the line but this is so much worse.
A Pure One grabs me from behind.
"Hold still!"
"No let me go! I'm not infected!" I yell. I make a move to run but he grabs my arm and that's when I see them. The black veins webbing their way up my arm. I look to the other one and it's the same.
"I'm infected." I whisper.
