Socially Distanced: A Quarantine Novella Read online

  Socially Distanced

  A Quarantine Novella

  Shay Savage

  Copyright © 2020 Shay Savage

  All Rights Reserved

  Editing: Chayasara

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without the express permission of the author, Shay Savage —except in the case of brief excerpts or quotations embodied in review or critical writings.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Clair Willis

  Photography: Jim Longshore

  Author’s Note

  For the past few weeks, I keep hearing that old saying in my head: “May you live in interesting times.” Meant to be ironic, since peace and tranquility are rarely interesting, and often referred to as a curse, these words seem to embody our lives today. As a writer, interesting times are exactly what I want for my stories, but reality is very different.

  A lot of wonderful people out there in the world are doing free online concerts, DJ sessions, reading aloud, and dedicating themselves to helping people through the monotony of isolation by using their talents. I’m not much of a singer, so a novella is what you get from me.

  This is my own therapy as well. I want to know that even if things get worse, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There is hope in our future. We will get through this and be stronger as a people than we were before.

  Check in on your friends and family, stay safe, and hang in there!

  Shay Savage

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue: Day 1

  Chapter One: Day 128

  Chapter Two: Day 132

  Chapter Three: Day 133

  Chapter Four: Day 140

  Chapter Five: Day 164

  Chapter Six: Day 166

  Chapter Seven: Day 167

  Chapter Eight: Day 176

  Chapter Nine: Day 182

  Epilogue: New Life, Day 17

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  About the Author

  Prologue: Day 1

  I wake with sore limbs and a throbbing head. As I slowly open my eyes to unfamiliar surroundings, I know exactly what’s happened.

  I bolt upright in the bed covered in sterile white sheets. Racing to the door, I reach for the handle only to find that there isn’t one. I run my hands over the solid door, but there is no way to open it from this side. At the base of the door is a plexiglass box about the size of a briefcase. I kneel to examine it. On the left side of the box is a blinking red light, and at the back is a closed slot. I see no way of opening it.

  I stand again, knees wobbling. All the blood in my body feels like it’s pooling at my feet. I glance around again. In the main room, I see the bed on which I awoke, a dresser with a small television, a round table and one chair. On the dresser is a small pamphlet marked “REGULATIONS.” Anther door, also without a handle, is next to the dresser. Along the far wall is a sliding glass door leading to a balcony, and behind me is a small bathroom.

  It’s a hotel room.

  The mirror over the sink reflects my bloodshot eyes, a couple of days’ worth of bristly stubble, and a drab grey-green T-shirt I’ve never seen before.

  I glance back at the main door, fighting against the desire to pound my fists on it, scream obscenities, and make as much of a ruckus as I can until someone comes. I could yell and kick and stomp all day long, but I don’t. I already know no one will come.

  Next to the door is a small, framed note.

  Meals delivered at 8am, 12pm, and 6pm

  Selection of luxury items available monthly

  Television provided

  No outside contact permitted

  I’ve been quarantined.

  Chapter One: Day 128

  I lean against the balcony rail, inhaling deeply on my cigarette and then blowing the smoke into the misty air. I look down on the empty city streets below and contemplate what they looked like just a few months ago.

  Six months ago, I was on a subway, laughing and spending quality time with my family.

  A family trip with my parents and my little brother, who had just turned twenty-one. My brother had been in the drama club in high school, and his favorite thing to do was to watch amateur theatre productions, especially if they were put on by kids. He was studying to be a theatre teacher. We took the subway to see a play.

  The subway. The crowded, stinking, disease-infested subway. The subway we took so we didn’t have to deal with parking fees. The subway that would allow us to drink if we wanted to and not have to worry about a designated driver.

  It’s amazing how much can change in such a short time. What should be busy city streets are barren. My active social life, family, and a job that I didn’t hate too much are all things of the past now. I turn around, my back against the rail, and look through the open glass door into the hotel room that is now my home.

  The basics have been provided. I have shelter, three meals a day delivered through the airlock at the bottom of the door, and a new book every week on my e-reader. Twice a day, I get running water for thirty minutes. Every month, I get a choice of luxury items, which is why I have cigarettes now.

  Could be worse, right?

  I turn again, trying not to think about what “worse” could mean. I have to actively stop myself from thinking about those I loved—those that are gone now. My shirt is starting to get wet from the misting rain, so I take a half step back and just look out at the quiet, dark office buildings around me.

  My father had worked in an office building much like the one across from me. He’d been a stern man but not unreasonable. My sister Julia never got along with him, which turned out to be in her best interest. She hadn’t been on the subway when the rest of us had been contaminated. She sill lives up in the mountains somewhere in her secluded little cabin. At least, I think she does.

  Here in quarantine, reliable news is as readily available as social interactions.

  In the beginning, the hotel balconies were full of other quarantined carriers like me. Though we were distanced from each other, we could still talk. Now, I only occasionally see people on other balconies, and most of them are far away. We can wave at each other, but the distance is too great for any kind of conversation. For a while, I had a neighbor named Jake in the next room. Though the concrete wall between our hotel balconies separated us by about six feet, we could still talk. It was better than nothing, which is what I have now. I wouldn’t consider myself an extrovert by any means, but having no interactions with anyone for over a month now is starting to take its toll.

  If I’m here, and no one hears me, do I still exist? If I do, what’s the point?

  I don’t regret the decisions that brought me here, but I’m tempted more and more often to just throw myself off this balcony and be done with it. My room is on the seventeenth floor, and it shouldn’t take that long for it to be over.

  How long would my body lie there before someone discovered it? I look down again, checking for any signs of life on the streets I can see from the balcony but find very little. Occasionally a police car or delivery van drives through the empty streets but not often. When was the last time I saw a person down there? All of the downtown shops in major cities had been closed a month before I was detained. I recall a black, unmarked van driving by once, but that was weeks ago. At least, I think it was.

  Time doesn
’t mean much here.

  Days are long though. Really, really long. In the beginning, I kept the television on, but the news started to make me feel even worse, so I have had it off for several weeks now. I used to sing to myself, but I stopped that, too. I spend more time just sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into space, or hanging out here, staring at the empty streets and getting excited about a vehicle going by.

  I sigh, take a long drag off the cigarette, and blow the smoke out into the cool, heavy air.

  “I don’t suppose I could convince you to give me one of those?” A feminine voice calls out from my left.

  I startle slightly. I didn’t realize someone had been moved into the quarantine pod next to mine. Jake has been gone for over a month, and I only know he didn’t make it since he stopped talking to me. It has been so long since I’ve spoken to another person, I have to clear my throat before I can talk.

  “What? A cigarette?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not sure how I’d get it to you without getting it wet.”

  “It shouldn’t get that wet,” she says. “There’s no wind. You throw it; I’ll catch it.”

  I consider this for a minute. Jake and I exchanged a luxury item or two in a similar way though it was strictly forbidden to have any contact with anyone else, quarantined or otherwise.

  “You’d better catch it,” I say. “If it falls, I’ll be pissed.”

  “Not as much as I will be,” she says with a hollow laugh.

  I pull a cigarette out of the pack and lean over the rail. A brunette with long wavy hair and dark eyes leans over as well, smiling at me.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Ready!”

  I toss the cigarette carefully, trying to give it a good angle to fall on the balcony in case she misses, but she manages to catch it with both hands.

  “You rock!” she says. “Thanks so much!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She moves back and out of my field of vision for a moment. I stay leaning against the railing and inhaling the fresh air. Though the rain chills my skin, it’s better than being inside with the stale, recycled air that fills my small room.

  “I’m Kendra,” she says, waving at me with the now lit cigarette clasped between her fingers.

  “Sean.” I return the wave. “Did you just get here?”

  “Yeah, they finally caught up with me.”

  “Caught up?” I glare at her, understanding the implications of her words. If I had known she was a runner, I wouldn’t have given her a cigarette. I’m a little surprised she’s so forthcoming with the information. “You ran?”

  “What can I say?” She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m a little claustrophobic. How long have you been here?”

  “Over four months. Not exactly sure.”

  “Wow. Since the beginning then?”

  “Just about. I was on that subway with my family.”

  “Oh shit.” Her voice drops low. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I clear my throat again. “They went fast, at least.”

  “I was in my second year of school at Boston U when it started,” Kendra says. “My parents were in New York, and they caught the second wave or whatever they’re officially calling it. They went quick, too.”

  “It’s better than the alternative,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

  I close my eyes as if that could stop the brief memory of my mother’s hospital bed. Images of lights flashing, overworked medical staff unable to respond in time, and that sickening feeling of utter and complete hopelessness invade my mind.

  “I was only with them for a couple of hours,” she says. “It was my dad’s birthday, and we went out for dinner in the city—his favorite Italian place. I didn’t think…well, I thought I was fine. It was more than a month later, and I had no symptoms or anything.”

  “I’m familiar with that feeling.” I grit my teeth, wondering how long she’d been running around, potentially infecting others. I make a wide gesture at the hotel balconies all around us. “All of us here are. No one wants to be here, but we have to be for the common good.”

  “I wasn’t in a city,” she says quietly. “I got away from the population centers, didn’t touch people, wore a mask—all of that shit. I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Yeah, we all did that,” I interrupt. “We were sure we weren’t infected. We were sure we wouldn’t be the one to pass it along to others. We were careful. Except we weren’t. Don’t make excuses, especially not to me. I had all the same thoughts when I realized what was happening, but I didn’t even get an opportunity to run. I was picked up before I even had a chance to think about it.”

  “If you had the chance, what would you have done?”

  “I don’t know.” I grit my teeth. “Not endanger everyone around me would have been first though.”

  “Sorry,” she says quietly.

  “For what? Getting caught?”

  She tucks her long hair back behind her ear and plays with the cigarette for a moment before taking a long drag. Eventually, she turns back to me.

  “For everything that happened to you,” she says. “I’m sure living here isn’t easy.”

  “It beats dying.”

  “Does it?”

  I glance over at her, but she’s leaning over the rail, looking way down to the street below. The mist is gathering in her hair and darkening the shoulders of her green, government issue T-shirt. I don’t have an answer to her question.

  “When did you know?” I ask.

  “Know what?”

  “That you were a carrier?”

  “I didn’t,” she says. “I got the notice to report for testing and just left. I didn’t know for sure until they caught up with me last week, and I tested positive.”

  “How many people do you think you infected?” I can’t help the disgust in my voice though I’m not sure why I’m so angry with her. Maybe it’s because she may have spread the virus to others, or maybe it’s because she had all this time out in the open, and I didn’t. Maybe it’s just because her presence is a reminder of everyone I lost.

  “No one, I hope,” Kendra says in a low voice. “Like I said, I got away from everyone.”

  “That was because you didn’t want to get caught.”

  “I was heading for the mountains,” she says.

  “My sister’s in the mountains. Did you meet up with her? Shall I count her among my dead now?”

  “I never made it that far,” she says quietly.

  “Well, kumbaya. At least I have one family member left!” I throw the cigarette butt out over the balcony railing before moving back into the room and slamming the sliding door shut.

  Chapter Two: Day 132

  “Sean?”

  “Don’t even think about asking me for a smoke.” My words are harsh, and I don’t care. I’m still angry. I know it’s not really directed at her, but she’s the only available target for my anger.

  “I wasn’t going to,” Kendra says. “I just…well, I wanted to apologize.”

  “Don’t do that either.” I’d been avoiding the balcony for the past few days just to keep from seeing her. It figures that the first time I come out, she’s right there beside me.

  “I know I can’t take back what I did, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Upset me?” I laugh hollowly. “What could possibly be upsetting?”

  “I’ve been out in the world, and you’ve been confined here. You’ve been locked up in here with the absolute worst, scratchy, one-ply toilet paper I have ever encountered.”

  “Yeah, that shit is bad.” I chuckle.

  “I had to wrap it around my hands about twenty times just to make use of it, and it never does get any softer.”

  “It is almost not worth the effort. I can’t argue with you there.”

  I look over at her as she leans against the rail, her hair falling around her face. When the sunlight hits the strands, some of the strands look reddish
rather than brown.

  It’s not her fault.

  I sigh and attempt to rein in my emotions. Logically, I know my anger has nothing to do with this woman I’ve never met before. She didn’t start all this. As much as I want someone to blame, it’s better to have someone to talk to.

  “You want a smoke?” I ask.

  She glances at me, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

  “Are you offering?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  I toss her a cigarette, and she catches it easily.

  “I’ve got a trade for you,” Kendra says. “Ready?”

  Before I can answer, she tosses a pocket-sized brown square in my direction. I catch it and glance down at the small chocolate bar.

  “I got my first luxury item. Figured I could share.”

  “Wow! Thanks!” I hold the small square up to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells divine. “I haven’t had chocolate since…well, a long time.”

  “You never get it?”

  “I usually get cigs or whiskey,” I say. “Helps pass the day.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Better than the television.”

  “Right? They make a big deal about it in the beginning, but there are only three working channels, and it’s ‘round the clock, depressing news.”

  “Exactly!” She chuckles. “I want my streaming movies!”

  “We used to get them,” I say. “When I first got here, there was a movie streaming every Friday and Saturday night plus another channel running old western TV shows.”

  “Old westerns? Ugh!” Kendra scrunches up her face.

  “My dad loved them.” I shrug. I’d never really liked them before, but now that they’re gone, I miss them.

  “All those grimy men sitting on horses and spitting every five minutes.” Kendra laughs. “Definitely not my thing.”

  “What is your thing?”

  “Science fiction,” she says quickly. “Well, it used to be anyway. Now I kind of feel like I’m living in a dystopian future, but it’s happening right now.”

  “Welcome to district whatever. We’re the ones who don’t get much.”