The Infection

by Karen Cline-Tardiff

The doctor is repeating the questions. I think about giving different answers every time. A hundred years from now, in a dusty basement where someone in charge of excavating old files to find out the source of Infection, they will ponder over my answers. An elbow nudge, a “hey look at this,” and then blame it on a tired nurse who only ever took my weight and temperature. Would HIPAA cover their casual perusals, the investigations, the drilling down to find the answers? Nothing is private anymore.

The doctor looks up from her tablet and stares at me. I stare back through her, looking at this image I’ve created in my head. “No, not until Wednesday,” I answer. That mollifies her and the stylus begins scribbling across the glass again. That slight rubbing sound before moving along. The padded tump on the digital radials.

The doctor never asks me about my hobbies. She probably doesn’t have time for hobbies, has forgotten the joy of pulling thread through muslin instead of skin. Scratch that idea. There’s probably a good reason she doesn’t stitch her name on Christmas stockings or monogram napkins and towels. I couldn’t bear to see Cardinal red on cream towels hanging outside the shower.

I read somewhere the infection was a punishment for immoral women: women who thought too much, read too much, questioned too much. Then why didn’t the women doctors get the infection? Just another symptom of the infection, that it discriminated by social class. How convenient for me. I had thought and thought. I thought a long time about how I could have contracted the infection. I had been careful. Never had a drink without a test pill dropped in first. Never had sex without the requisite Safe Clearance papers. It was as if the nebulous “they” had no idea how the infection was spread.

“…in the past week?” My inner monologue has drowned out her question again. I consider throwing out a random number, something huge, improbable. I giggle as I think “sixty nine” then try to cover it with a cough.

“Is this cough new?”

“Sorry, no. I just had a tickle in my throat. What was the question again?”

“How many sexual partners have you had in the past week?” So she thinks it is transmitted sexually. Or she’s just gathering more information to pass up the chain.

“Just the one I told you about.” Unlucky fellow. He’s probably being interrogated by guys in white lab coats, rubber gloves, and face shields. “Tracing” is what they call it. The news shows entire neighborhoods with the white suited guys and a perimeter, no one in or out of their homes. As if they thought us common people would start having sex in the middle of the street. I read somewhere the government provided a daily ration box to each household. I imagine the box it comes it tastes better than the contents.

“…a single shot today, then the pill twice a day for the next six days. And of course no work, no socializing, no sex. I’ll have my nurse write you up a note. Any questions?”

“So am I being quarantined?” The thought of six days alone in my tiny apartment might be good for me. Maybe I could catch up on my reading list. Maybe I would be shitting blood: a fun side effect of the pills.

“Absolutely. Your work will be contacted directly. Of course you will receive a rations box while you’re quarantined. No Door Dash or interactions with anyone. No neighbor chats.”

“But I thought it was transmitted sexually. What is the problem with a neighbor chat?”

If doctors could get away with rolling their eyes, I know she would have lost her eyes in the back of her head. It’s been 3 months already and they still don’t know what is causing this. I am the one who should be rolling my eyes. Everything seems made up as they go along. She doesn’t even answer me, just taps some more on her tablet as she walks out the door.

I want to break their rules, go to the gym or a bar. Maybe pick up a guy and have sex in the middle of the street. But I just end up going home. Like clockwork, a rations box arrives by drone an hour after I get home, the bottle of pills inside. I contemplate doing one of those unboxing videos. I wonder if I could go viral in six days. Viral. Ha! I already am viral.

The shot doesn’t seem to have any side effects. I start the pills tomorrow.

*

I’ve been up all night sweating from every pore in my body. I check the online forums to see if this is a side effect or part of the infection. Apparently, it depends on who you ask. I end up going down a rabbit hole.

>the Dominus Regula are behind this. Why else no doctors sick? Keep the ruling class healthy

>pills are full of mini robots mining your body for the dominus reg

>Dominis Regular have the CURE why wont they share it it’s always about the money

I never even heard of the Dominus Regula before, but apparently they were the rich people who ruled everything. The more I read the more insane it sounded. I need to get off the internet before my brain turned to mush. Time for my first pill.

•

So apparently there is a cure in China that the government here won’t let us have because the FDA refuses to let the pharmacy companies import the ingredients needed from overseas. Who thought I would be on the side of Big Pharma? Whew, these sweats are getting worse. I can’t believe there is an ounce of fluid left in my body. I should be reading through some of the books I had been meaning to read, but it is so hard to concentrate. I don’t know if it is the infection or the side effects.

>cure is worse than the infection

>rations are spiked with infection to keep you sick

>easier cheaper to kill you than treat you. Wake up!

On the plus side, the food in the rations box is not as bad as I thought. Today’s ration box was some kind of meat with gravy and mashed potatoes. Not exactly homestyle but better than my mother’s. She was never a great cook. I wonder what she would think of the infection. She would probably try to pray it away. I should see if there are any recipes online to help make the meat and gravy a little fancier.

*

Day Three and still no blood. The sweats have been replaced with chills and a low-grade fever. The online forums say the chills only last for a day. Something about the infection working its way out of the system. The pills that are supposed to help have not really helped as far as I can tell, but I still have three more days.

I read the President knew about the infection and was using the CIA to spread it among the urban areas of the opposing political party.

>of courz the pols have the cure from China

>The Dominus Regula Are Making Money From The Government! They Sell Them The Pills! Nothing Works! We Stay Sick! They Stay Rich!

>Doctors are in on it. They get to stay safe and shove the fake pills on us.

One thing about the online forums is they are amusing. Slightly delusional, but in a funny way. I could probably post something insane and everyone would believe it. I thought about starting a rumor about the ration boxes, but someone else already did. There are lots of theories about the contents and even the label itself. I peeled back my label just to make sure. There was a little chip, but it is for the drones to know where to deliver the packages. Supposedly.

*

My fever spiked last night but this morning was probably the worst. The chills came back and then the vomiting started. Spikedbear751 said Day Four was the absolute worst. I haven’t had anal bleeding yet and perry4prez said if it hasn’t started yet, it won’t. I couldn’t find anything when I went online to find the ingredients in the pills. Not surprising.

>the “pills” aren’t the cure

>you have to crush them before you flush them or they’ll know you didn’t take the pills

>there might be a guy who can get the Chinese pills, the real ones

I am not one to give my address to strangers on the internet, but I sure like the idea of getting rid of this infection. I was hugging the toilet when I heard the drone drop off my rations box today. I think about leaving the ration box on the front porch but they would know I wasn’t eating. If they think the infection is getting worse they’ll send the White Suits to my apartment. They might take me to a hospital and no one would ever see me again. There is no way that is going to happen. I half-crawl half-walk to the front porch, make myself look presentable as possible in case they are watching, and pick up my Rations Box.

The spaghetti and meatballs make me want to vomit again. They might be poisoning them at this point, so I throw the rest of it down the toilet. I go ahead and crush my afternoon pill before flushing it, too.

*

Day Five is even worse than Day Four. Spikedbear751 said I’m detoxing off the Poison Pills.

>these fucking doctors, don’t even listen, just give you pills

>no one even knows how it started or how it spreads

>my doctor asked me how many sexual partners I had. I told her sixty nine.

I’m still detoxing off the Poison Pills when I crawl into bed around midnight, exhausted and soaked in sweat.

*

Spikedbear751 >hey how you doing today

Perry4prez >gigglebox you out there? Did the White Suits show up?

Spikedbear751 >anyone seen from gigglebox today

Spikedbear751 >did you take the Poison Pills. Tell me you did not take the Poison Pills!

Spikedbear751 >my Chinese connection has the pills send me your address

Perry4prez > Day Six! You should be good tomorrow!

Spikedbear751 >The Infection is population control!

Spikedbear751 >you there?