The Quarantine Chronicles: Day 2

I felt the pain first before anything. For a while it was the only sense out of the five that was working. Sharp. Piercing. It grew from a distant cry to a deafening roar in a matter of two seconds. I opened my eyes. The pain was too overwhelming; I closed them again. I could feel the hard vestibule floor beneath me, the faint aroma of urine. Taking a deep breath, I forced my eyes open. The building foyer came into focus. I sat up and looked around; no one. Lightly I touched the back of my head and felt the moisture. My hand came away dark red. How long had I been laying here, I thought to myself and looked at my watch- Rather I looked at the place where my watch used to be. I sighed heavily. I loved that watch. My wallet was thrown on the ground in front of me. Cash and credit cards gone. My phone was still lying next to me, however. Not entirely surprising. The places that you could sell a stolen phone were all closed now and tracking nowadays is so advanced it wasn’t worth the risk. I hit the button on the phone 11:25pm. “Damnit!” I exclaimed. Curfew was an hour and a half ago. My head throbbed uncontrollably thinking about the shit I was in. The trains, buses and cabs stopped precisely at curfew and there was no money left to pay them anyway. I didn’t know anyone near that had a car and even if I did no one would let me borrow it after curfew. If I got stopped, it would be impounded immediately. Military would be all over me in seconds. Living in the outermost borough it would be simpler for me to stay where I was and just go to straight to work in the morning. I thought about returning upstairs but it occurred to me whoever did this probably clocked me on the roof. Maybe they even heard that I was EP3. Luckily I keep my EP3 ID inside the cell phone’s protective case most of the time. I was lost for several moments. Stuck would be the best way to describe it. Didn’t know what to do. Slowly, I had an idea. A dumb one, granted, but eighty percent of my mind was preoccupied with keeping me standing upright as the pain from my head turned to nausea. Besides, I had no other plans. I held onto the wall for a brief moment and then wandered out onto the street. I thought that I had experienced the emptiness these past months of being one of the few in the streets, but it was different at night. I’d seen movies of the desolate World War II areas in combat torn territories. The buildings half open, rubble and rocks everywhere. However, because of the bombs and the conditions, your mind accepted the desolation. They did not, although, depict the eeriness of how empty the streets were without a single shot fired. We did this to ourselves. Unprepared and under-informed, we allowed the narrative to dictate our fate to us. Looking around, it was as if the city was encased in its original packaging waiting for someone to open it and begin to play. The buildings blocked whatever sounds still emanated. There were no horns blowing or tires screeching. There were no people talking. There was nothing. Just the hammering in my head and the sensation of blood dripping down the back of my neck. In the distance, I could hear a rumbling but I knew it wasn’t the train. Wasn’t a car either. I listened closer. It finally cut the fog in my head. It was tanks. I quickly made the first left heading uptown at the corner. In the distance I saw the fruition of my foolish plan. The Citibike rack that I had passed on my way here. The curfew time was just adjusted, there was a chance that they hadn’t gotten to it. I entered the code from my app. The bike unlocked. There was a sense of relief that rushed over me, until I realized I had an hour and forty-five minutes worth of riding to do according to Wazes. I started out. The squeaking of the gears against the chain the loudest sound on the road for miles.

---

The spotlight from the police car behind me lit up the entire night. Where did he come from? My brain screamed. I made the first right I could up on the sidewalk pedaling faster than the Citibike was accustomed to, it creaked loudly in protest. I dropped it and sprinted left between two nearby buildings. I could hear the police doors slam close and heavy feet begin chasing me in the distance. I rounded the first corner. Henry Jackson Park laid in front of me. It was an obvious choice to hide, lots of trees and a playground. I stayed unmoving, holding my breath; waiting as the cops ran past me. They headed in Henry Jackson Park apparently thinking it was a great place to hide as well. Emerging from behind the dumpster, I doubled back to the bike. The site of the bike and the physical toll it would take to get home made my headache kick into high gear again. I looked at the running police car ten yards away and contemplated stealing it for a second. Though that would have been the definition of making a bad situation worse. I grabbed the bike and immediately froze. I hadn’t noticed the two figures across the street. They were dressed in dark suits and judging from their tone and body language they seemed utterly unbothered by the hour being beyond curfew. I put the bike on my shoulder and quietly carried it behind a nearby van. The police who gave up on finding me were returning to their car. The pair looked up and saw the two men and began to walk towards them. They exchanged a few casual words. The shorter, balding man of the two seemed to do most of the talking. Never did the men seem to care about the police’s presence. In due course, they crossed to the side of the street where I was hiding. As they walked back towards their respective vehicles, I could hear the conversation. “How many do think are left in the building?” The shorter, heavier man in the suit asked the cop. “Not sure. Definitely several hundred.” “Well they have to come out sometime. When they do…” “You know some of those people are pretty stocked up right now, they might not come out.” One cop said. “Once we get the numbers low enough, we have options. Besides no one knows the timeline on this. We could have several months left.” I waited numerous moments after the cars had left before I started the barbarous second half of my journey.

---

I finally arrived home. 1:40am. Brittany awoke at the sound of the door and made her way downstairs to give her customary tongue lashing. Despite breaking up some habits died harder than others. Once she saw the condition, I was in she seemed to tone it down a bit nonetheless never veering from her unconditional stance that whatever happened it was all likely my fault. I protested as a proper victim would. I, of course, failed to mention that I wasn’t coming from work but rather from Sara’s rooftop party. That kind of information, I felt, would not be in the best interest of my headache. Brittany cleaned the wound and I passed out immediately. I woke up feeling slightly high. I couldn’t remember what Brittany gave me last night for the pain or how much I took. Actually, the last thing I remember in certainty was getting in the house and seeing Brittany’s disapproving face. I thought of calling in sick to work but then thought better of it. If I started missing days soon, I would end up mugging people in LSE buildings. I dragged myself to the train, sharing a car with only three people and I dozed off.

---

At the site there was a gathering and commotion near the hoist entrance as I walked in. A group of men angrily shouting amongst themselves. It was hard to distinguish who was saying what between the masks and my groggy state. “What the hell is going on!” I shouted, pissing off the knot in my head. “London, this guy here is sick and is refusing to go home. He’s infecting the site!” Mitch said, the panic was in his voice again. His voice sounded like someone drowning a ferret. The guy who was supposed to be here to help us deal with these situations. I pushed past him. Surrounded like wounded prey amidst wolves, I saw one of the workers. I wanted to say his name was 'Gio'. He looked truly nervous. “What’s up?” “Mr. London,” he said in a thick Paraguayan accent, “I have allergies, I have them every year around March, April. Then again around November. That’s all! Just allergies.” His voice trembled slightly. I could tell he was looking past me to the surrounding hordes. He was worried about his job and income. I was pretty sure the subcontractor he worked for paid him off the books which meant two things; he was probably an unregistered immigrant and two he couldn’t file for unemployment like everyone else if I threw him off. This had been one of the side effects of the panic. People always start to turn against those who looked different than they do when they were afraid. Even in the most progressive city in this country. I wanted to nip this in the bud before it started. I needed to make a statement. Without truly thinking, I reached out and hugged him with both arms. “Play along,” I whispered in his ear, laughing loudly when I pulled away. I could hear the muffled gasps of the collective behind me. I turned back around to the crowd with my best confused look. “What are you guys doing?” I said, mixing my tone with two parts confusion with one part genuine interest. “Is it break time or something?” I pushed passed them all and headed casually to my office as the crowd dispersed to their respective trades. With the weak now having the strongest ally in the building, the pact of bullies backed off. Once the door to my office closed behind me, the façade fell off me like dust in a strong wind. I headed to the bathroom instantly. Stripping my jacket and coat I sprayed them with a Lysol can, then even faster still, I ripped my shirt off. Within thirty seconds of entering the bathroom, I found myself washing my entire upper body in the sink at a furious pace. My skin was reddening, and I had used half the soap dispenser when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The image stopped me cold. I broke eye contact with myself. It had gotten me. Not the virus but something much worse. The fear. I was disappointed in the face I saw in the mirror, the pitiful man pointlessly scrubbing his skin off. I was supposed to be a leader, a provider, a father but what I saw in that reflection is someone just like everyone else. Influenced by the media and masses; a coward is what I stood there staring back. Not the man I thought of myself to be. Not the man I am. ‘Momentary lapse’ I told myself. ‘Residual effects from a blow to the head yesterday,’ I assured myself. “Get it together, London.” I said to the foreigner in the mirror. “Shake it off.” There was a knock on the door. “Bossman,” A voice called. The ferrets apparently weren’t completely drowned and I recognized it as Mitch. “One second,” I replied. I put my things back on quickly and flushed the toilet. Calmly I strolled out. There was Mitch standing next to a chiseled jawed army officer in full uniform, standing straight as an arrow. “You are in violation of Executive order four-fifteen; as such you and your staff need to remove yourselves immediately. My men will issue you all four-hour passes in order for you to return to your homes.” He announced this without any pretext to no one in particular. It was almost as if he was talking to the air in the room, not me specifically. “I apologize, sir. However, I think you should recheck this address.” I responded calmly and respectfully, “We will not be leaving.” The officer met my eyes for the first time and took a step closer. His gaze was sinister. He looked at me as you would regard a pothole: annoying and inconvenient. “Evacuate the premises or we will evacuate you.” “You sure you want to do that?” I said stepping in slightly closer, “Legally, my C of C supersedes the Executive order four-fifteen.” “What are you a lawyer? I tell you to go, you go.” He said dismissively. I stepped in closer still. Something I learned from my father, ‘you don’t respond to the strong with retreat you just give momentum for their advances.’ The officer rested his hand on his hand on his service pistol. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a job to do and a headache so bad that it makes you question if there really is a god that would allow this kind of suffering.” The officer drew his weapon. “Move!” He shouted. If this was a cop, I would have ignored this outburst. It’s literally in the training manual to do this, but this wasn’t a cop. I put my hands up and stepped back. I lowered them slowly but to his surprise I simply walked behind my desk and took a seat in front of my laptop. “Let me explain this another way,” I started flatly. “You see, you can’t get authorization to be here unless the state, which is the Governor, or the Federal, which is the President, allows you to be here. Last I checked the President couldn’t tell you what day it is and you were given access by the Governor, who then loaned you to the Mayor of this city to stop him from pissing himself like a hysterical teenager on CNN every night. Which means currently your boss’s boss, the Governor, plays golf with my boss.” This seemed to give him pause. “As a matter of fact,” I continued, “my boss, got your boss’s boss elected. Don’t you think it’s strange that my entire company has E3 classification? We don’t need your four-hour passes. How do think we got here this morning?” I said flashing him my pass. “Not sure how you ended up here, but again, I suggest you check this address.” The dots were slowly connecting for the man. “Hold one.” The officer said turning on his heel leaving the room. “Are you crazy?!” the hysterics of Mitch, the resident Site Safety Supervisor were back on full display. “you know what’s going to happen?” He said at the top of his lungs. “I do Mitch,” I said. I looked at him and saw him clearly for who he was, “He will make a call…. And then he will leave. There’s no way they were sent to one of Mr. Rennet’s sites.” Mitch looked at me dumbfounded. He started to leave the office when I called after him. “Did you call them Mitch?” Mitch stopped at the door but didn’t turn around. “Did you think this way you’d bear no responsibility?” Mitch sighed loudly and finally turned. “What do you think you’re proving by making these people stay here? By exposing all of us to the virus. I have a family ok? My wife is a smoker. You act like you’re not scared. That’s either a lie or you’re too fucking stupid to realize what’s going on out here.” I simply held out my hand. “I need your pass.” Mitch looked like he was going to explode. He started to speak many times but ultimately just threw the pass on my desk and stormed out. I glanced at it. In the distance I could hear the military convoy pulling away. At least, I thought it was military. With the number of states declaring a state of emergency they were allowed to hire private militia. Blackwater clones. Whoever he was, he’d made the call and left. I thought about what Mitch said. Of course it was a lie. I was as scared as the next guy. Terrified, to be precise, but my fears of the pandemic were dwarfed by fear of failing. I had everything to lose. I’d finally gotten to the point where all that I worked for was at my fingertips. The culmination of a decade of hard work was finally bearing fruit and then, in a matter of a few days, it all got turned on its’ head. I was on a boat in the middle of a hurricane trying to sew the torn sails of my ship together with a needle and thread while the gale-force winds whipped at my body and saltwater sprayed in my eyes. Grasping at the ropes, trying to hold it together just a little longer; thinking if I could just crest this next wave. Just weather this storm. Just fight a bit more. Then there was nothing but blue skies ahead of me. I couldn’t lose it right now. I couldn’t lose everything. From sleeping in my car six years ago, I had made it to the top level of this game. I fucking intended to play it. Was it risky? Sure. Once though I heard a saying: ‘If you think taking chances can be costly, wait until you get the tab for not taking them.’ I wasn’t signing up to pay that bill. I had the perfect child, the perfect girl, a job at the top with money to spare; all while I was relatively young enough to enjoy it. It was all going to come together in a couple of months. I wasn’t going to let that dream go because of some disease; the virus was going to have to pry it out of my cold, dead fingers. The phone rang. It was my brother. “Hey, how are you?” I answered. An indecipherable yell came through on the other end. “wait say that again……. WHAT?”