Tabula Rasa

They had all heard the announcement of course, but this was the confirmation, the details of the curfew. No-one allowed out of their houses until they have been tested — effective immediately. All shops were to be closed. There would be a food van once a week, and you were given a time and a voucher and they would provide you with what you needed. She waited anxiously by the door with her coat on and her voucher clutched firmly in her hand. She watched the minutes click past until she could leave. At exactly 11:10 she hurried out into the street, feeling the cool air on her face for the first time in days. The van would be parked at the end of the victorian terrace and she could collect her box of food. She hurried down to the end of the road, looking fervently left and right, feeling sick in her stomach. Where was the van? She checked her voucher for the umpteenth time. It was definitely 11:10. It was definitely Thursday. Her breathing quickened and she stepped out into the road to see if she could see it, but there was no sign. Perhaps it was running late? She nervously waited, glancing around. There were penalties for being outside without good reason, and everyone was allocated 5 minutes to go and collect their food. It was now 11:14 and there was still no van in sight. She wrung her hands and turned to head back down her road. It was her civic duty to keep everyone safe. She couldn't risk bumping into the next person going out to the van or she might spread the infection. She had heard that there were supercarriers of the disease, that they could stay infected without getting symptoms but still pass it on. That's why they were going round testing to ensure everyone remained safe, there was no other way. Hurrying down the street she nearly collided with the man exiting through the gate from Mr Patel's. It was a police officer. "What are you doing out?" He demanded. She gaped at him, startled by his presence and his question. "Well?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "I - I just went to get my food" She stammered. "Where is it then?" His colleague had joined him, cutting in before she could explain. "You are putting everyone's lives at danger by being on the street like this." He scolded. She went to explain but he waved his had to silence her. "Just get back in your house. Now." She nodded, shaking, and carried on to her door just a few doors down. As she was fumbling with her keys she noticed Mr Patel's door. Bright yellow biohazard tape stretched across it in a large cross. She glanced down the row of houses and noticed other doors crossed in a similar fashion — the Banmeke family, the Rayasam's, Mrs Thanki. She frowned, worrying, but managed to get the key in the lock and into the house. She explained what had happened to her husband who sighed. They had enough food to last until next week, although barely. He made them a cup of tea with powdered milk and they watched the news. Apparently there had been a breakthrough — some scientists had developed an algorithm which could detect who was a supercarrier just by scanning their face. They were feeding it photos from the passport and driving license databases and were able to ensure that those people were isolated from the community and taken to field hospitals where they would be treated. For everyone's safety the army would step in to provide the manpower to get it done quickly. There was no other way. That night she awoke to blue lights flashing through the gap in the curtains. Her husband was asleep. She slipped out of the covers and crept to the window. People filled the street, in-between the police cars and military ambulances. There were police officers, men in military uniform, paramedics and amongst them all, standing shivering in their nightclothes, were those who had had their houses marked. Some speaking to police officers, others being tested by paramedics. She could see Mr Patel being ushered into the back of one of the ambulances. One by one the others joined them, looking scared and cold. She thought that things must be getting really serious if they had to wake them up in the night. She silently thanked her neighbours for their sacrifice. Within a few weeks the restrictions lifted. They were confident that they had contained the outbreak and the supercarriers were getting treatment to ensure that they were no long a threat to their communities. Everyone slowly returned to normal, feeling sorry for the ones who had to be quarantined but they knew that this is what they had to do. Sometimes there have to be sacrifices for the rest of society. She tried to remember to water Mr Patel's plants for the first month or so, but then as time went on she kept on forgetting, until they all withered. The news updated them daily on the progress of their recovery, then weekly, then nothing. Three months later she was out for a walk with her husband and their dog, Jess, in one of their favourite spots. The weather was cold and the trees on the leaves in the wood had long since fallen. The sky was a sullen grey and it reflected back from the puddles, leaving a sense that all colour was leeching away. She stood and watched the tree line waiting for Jess to return. As her eyes wandered she caught sight of a yellow cross on a tree and she remembered the doors of her neighbours. She now knew what they reminded her of, like trees in a wood, waiting to be felled.