Quarantine

“What do you want?” the woman demanded, glaring down at Reyna. The woman, Timmy’s mother, was so skinny and pale, like a skeleton. Like death.

Anybody living in the city of Lindbourne knew of somebody who had died or was dying from the plague. Despite their efforts, the plague had come, like a snake, slithering around the city, slowly squeezing the life from every corner, every crevice, until there was nothing left but darkness and death.

Reyna was no different; she’d lost her family to the plague months ago. Then her boss died, and she was unemployed and she could no longer afford her house. She owned nothing but the clothes on her back.

Which forced her to do things she didn’t like, things she’d sworn she would never do when she still had a family and a job and a house. But times had changes, and so had Reyna.

Timmy’s mother stood in the doorway of their house. The siding was falling off, paint chipping, windows rotting. It was a miracle the house was still standing at all, but the whole neighborhood, the whole city was like that. It was a miracle anything existed anymore.

Reyna lifted the small plate of cookies she’d managed to snitch when nobody was looking at the market this morning. “Is Timmy home? I’ve noticed he’s been sick the past week.”

Alarm spread across the woman’s features and she pulled the door closer, squeezing herself in the doorframe. “No. He’s not here.”

“Ah,” Reyna said, jiggling the tray of cookies. “I thought these might cheer –“

“Mama?” A small voice rasped. Timmy’s mother turned, revealing a child clinging to her worn skirts. Ugly purple and red rashes, dry and cracked and bleeding, coated his face and arms, and his eyes were glassy and hazed. Reyna’s heart pounded as she recognized a victim of the plague.

“Timmy!” the mother cried, glancing at Reyna in horror before slamming the door in her face.

The plate of cookies fell from her hands, clattering to the ground as she raced down the steps and to the road that led to the palace.

…

This was the fifth time Reyna had reported a plague victim to the crown.

Reyna stood on the opposite side of the street, watching as soldiers nailed board after board to the window, wincing at each thump of hammer against nail.

Timmy’s mother stood on the porch, crying, shouting, begging them to stop. But the soldiers didn’t stop, didn’t even hesitate as they nailed every window and door shut. She made to move from the porch, but another soldier aimed his bow at her, barking at her to get back inside. She kept her place on the porch, arms wrapped around herself.

Earlier that day, soldiers had swarmed the house, carefully hauling Timmy away to the outskirts of the town, or wherever they hauled plague victims to die in isolation, in hopes of keeping the plague isolated. Reyna hadn’t been there to witness it, she couldn’t stand to watch that, but she’d heard the news from the neighbors.

Timmy’s mother looked up, meeting Reyna’s gaze. Her face contorted in anger and she started shouting obscenities, but Reyna dropped her head and walked away, blocking out the angry shouts and words.

Forty days. That's how long Timmy's family would live in quarantine. Given enough food and water for that long, they would not step outside their house or have any human contact until the forty days passed and they showed no signs of the plague.

A small bag of coins jingled at Reyna's side, the reward for turning in a plague victim. Guilt clung to her heart, and she tried not to think about it – what it must be like to live for forty days, locked within your own house alone, to not be able to –

“Miss, miss,” a voice called, and Henry, one of the many orphaned children, ran up to Reyna with a large grin.

“Hello, Henry,” she greeted, reaching for her bag of reward money and handing him a coin, watching as he gleefully ran away. This was the fifth time she’d handed out money, and the street children now easily recognized her. She was soon swarmed by a small crowd of children, patting her dress, calling her name, begging for a coin.

She handed out coin after coin, until all the children had at least one coin in their pockets and they had all run off. She settled into a park bench, absently scratching her arm, wondering how she’d spend the last few coins.

Perhaps she’d buy a new pair of shoes. The ones she had now were worn and had multiple holes along the heel. With winter coming they would provide no warmth or protection against the harsh cold and snow. She would also need a winter jacket, and hopefully new gloves…

With a sigh, she leaned back on the bench, rubbing her arm as the itching grew insistent. She rolled up her sleeve and her heart plummeted. A red and purple rash was forming, spreading along her forearm like spidery veins. Reyna knew it was only a matter of days before the plague took her life.

She loosed a bitter laugh. Fitting, she thought, peeling from the bench to search for Henry and the children, careful not to touch anyone or anything.

At least the children would benefit from her death.

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A/N: This is a short piece I was thinking of entering in a contest... let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!