The Plague of Blood

Ch 2 - Quarantine

Quarantine

      Petra Bennett was fifteen and had attended St. Augustine's for the last four years. She considered it her real home. Her father was one of Europe's leading experts in the field of nanotechnology, and he spent most of his time teaching at universities around the world. Dr. and Mrs. Bennett were currently at the University of Padua, and Petra hadn't seen them since last Christmas. She spent most of her time at St. Augustine's, and preferred it that way.

     Usually the summer holiday was a time of fun for the small number of students who didn't return home. The rules were relaxed and the children spent most of their time exploring in the woods near the school, going on walks to the town or organizing large, wild games of football in the game field. The weather was warm and lovely and the school gardens were in full bloom. The children were encouraged to do extracurricular activities like painting or collecting insects. Because there were fewer students the sense of camaraderie increased, and new friendships might be forged. Summer was usually Petra's favorite season at St. Augustine's.

     But the school was different now. The tension had been building ever since they had learned about the epidemic in Ukraine. Then the disease had been reported in Britain, and now they were under quarantine. The stress had changed the atmosphere of the school.

     Petra found Quinn in the boys' bathroom washing his hands. She would never have gone into the boys' bathroom before, wouldn't have even considered it, but they were in a strange twilight world now where actions didn't seem to matter.

     Quinn was in eleventh year with her. He had been going to St. A's for two years, and, like Petra, his parents were too busy and important to have him home for summer holidays.

     Quinn was autistic, and sometimes he acted differently than his peers. For some reason, he liked Petra. She didn't know why, but he seemed to enjoy spending time with her. She liked him too, and the fact that he trusted her and allowed her to spend time with him made her feel helpful and protective of him.

     She hadn't seen him since the assembly a few hours earlier. Normally that might mean he was reading in the library, or drawing in his dormitory, or doing any number of odd Quinn-things like building models of towers out of toothpicks. But she'd looked in all the normal places and hadn't seen him, and she was worried about how the news of the quarantine might affect him.

     A group of older boys had told her he was in the dining hall bathroom. Now she watched him from the door. He was standing at the sink, his unkempt dark hair in a wild halo around his head. He was small for his age and thin, with a pointed face and low black eyebrows over squinty eyes. He wore his shirts buttoned to the top and always managed to look as if his school tie was strangling him.

     A cloud of steam was rising from the sink around his face, which was drawn in a scowl of concentration. He was scrubbing furiously with the nailbrush, and his hands were bright red. He'd obviously been at it for some time. As Petra watched he pumped the soap dispenser again and lathered his hands with bubbles.

     Petra frowned and moved closer. "How long have you been washing your hands?"

     He gave no recognition of having heard her.

     She reached over him and turned off the tap. "You're burning yourself!"

     He bared his teeth in her direction and yanked both faucets back to full, continuing to scrub. "I need to get clean," he hissed.

     She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him from the sink.

     "I need to get clean! Move!" He strained against her and then shrieked, erupting into a flurry of agitated hand flapping.

     She held onto his shoulders. She was taller than him and stronger, and she pulled him around to face her. "Your hands are already clean. They're clean!" He struggled against her, eyes screwed shut, upper body jerking back and forth.

     She held on, blocking his way to the sink. "You can't keep the virus away by washing your hands 'til they bleed! That won't help!"

     Quinn pulled free of her grasp and turned, breathing in little gasps. He leaned his back against the bathroom wall and sank to sit against it, hugging his knees. Petra sat next to him, not touching but close. Quinn rocked a little, keeping his eyes closed. The bathroom was quiet and smelled of disinfectant and hot water. Quinn's hands on his knees were red and chapped.

     Petra scrubbed her face in her hands. "I'm scared, too," she whispered. She knew, they all knew, the virus could be among them already, death lying in wait.

     Yesterday she'd spoken to her parents on the phone. Her mother had told her to stay at school and wait "for everything to be normal again."

     Petra didn't think anything would ever be normal again.

     She sat on the cold tile floor and watched Quinn rock back and forth. His hands were gripping his forearms so tightly that his tendons were standing out.

     "We're going to be fine," she whispered. But she didn't quite believe herself.