The next day.
Bryan's internal clock jolted him awake at seven on the dot. He slowly opened his eyes and went to stretch, only to realize he couldn't feel his left arm anymore. Turning his head, he found Sarah still using it as a pillow, her body wrapped around his like an octopus.
He sighed and carefully extracted his arm with his free hand. The pins and needles hit immediately, making him wince and grimace as sensation flooded back.
A few minutes later, the tingling finally faded. Bryan slowly disentangled himself from Sarah's embrace, bit by bit, until he was finally free. Only then did he let out a breath of relief.
Standing up, he glanced down at Sarah, who was still sleeping peacefully. He crouched beside his backpack and retrieved a map of Texas from a hidden pocket—something he'd grabbed from a bookstore they'd passed the day before.
After scanning the area around the car and confirming nothing looked amiss, he tiptoed to the warehouse door. He cracked it open just wide enough to slip through sideways.
The moment he stepped outside, harsh sunlight hit his face. He squinted against the glare, and after a moment his eyes adjusted. He walked over to an abandoned car and spread the map out on its trunk.
Finding Austin on the map, his finger traced northward—past Round Rock, Temple, Waco—until it finally stopped at Dallas.
Looking at the journey ahead, Bryan scratched his head and muttered to himself, "No telling what kind of trouble we'll run into along the way."
BOOM!
Just as Bryan was carefully planning their route, a thunderous explosion echoed from somewhere not too far away. It was immediately followed by the staccato rat-tat-tat of rifle fire and the unmistakable sound of human screams—sounds of disbelief and terror. His heart lurched, and he snapped his head toward the source of the noise.
But there were too many obstructions in the way. He couldn't see what was happening. Still, a sense of dread welled up inside him. He quickly folded the map, stuffed it away, and sprinted back toward the warehouse.
He shoved the warehouse doors open and shouted inside: "Sarah! Wake up—we need to leave. Now!"
The words had barely left his mouth when Sarah came scrambling out from behind the car. Seeing Bryan was okay, she let out a breath of relief. "What happened just now?"
The explosion had jolted her awake. When she'd noticed Bryan wasn't beside her, anxiety had gripped her immediately. She'd rushed out to check, and only now that she could see he was unharmed did she finally feel her racing heart slow down.
Bryan quickly explained what he'd heard as Sarah approached. Then he opened the driver's door of their car, his expression grim. "Whatever's going on over there, it's none of our business. Grab our stuff and get in. We're leaving right now."
"Okay!"
Sarah nodded in agreement. He was right—whatever was happening, it didn't concern them anymore. They were leaving. She jogged over, grabbed her backpack from the warehouse floor, and hurried back to climb into the passenger seat.
Vroom—
The moment Sarah was in, Bryan didn't hesitate. He navigated the car through the maze of abandoned vehicles in the lot, then floored the accelerator. The tires kicked up a cloud of dust as they shot down the road like an arrow loosed from a bow.
From the driver's seat, Bryan's eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror, watching for any sign of trouble behind them. Only after they'd put considerable distance between themselves and the warehouse did he finally begin to relax. Ahead, he spotted a sign for the highway on-ramp and turned the wheel.
"Son of a bitch!"
The moment they rounded the curve, Bryan's eyes landed on a military truck blocking the highway entrance and several fully-armed soldiers standing beside it. Frustration surged through him—he had half a mind to start cursing.
He had no idea why soldiers had suddenly appeared here. But when he saw them spot his car and immediately raise their weapons without hesitation, he knew they weren't here to help. Connecting the gunfire and screams from the town, and remembering what had happened when the outbreak first began, he was certain these men meant them harm.
It might have seemed like a rash judgment, but Bryan trusted his instincts. Besides, he wasn't the type to put his life in someone else's hands.
"What... why are they here?" Sarah's brow furrowed as she stared at the soldiers ahead. After everything she'd witnessed, she had no love for these so-called military men. She couldn't fathom when or how they'd arrived.
"No idea. But it's definitely not good news for us."
Hearing Bryan's words, Sarah understood their predicament. If this entrance was guarded, the others probably were too. Even if they turned back and hid in town, they'd likely be found and dragged out. Her voice was tight with worry: "So what do we do?"
"Hold on tight. Get down low. We're going through!"
Bryan tapped the accelerator repeatedly, building speed. They had no choice left. With a low growl, he slammed the pedal to the floor. The car rocketed forward toward the highway entrance as Sarah let out a startled cry.
On the other end, the soldiers guarding the checkpoint stared at the vehicle barreling toward them from down the road. They raised their rifles, exchanging confused glances—they'd only just arrived. The last thing they'd expected was a car appearing out of nowhere.
The apparent squad leader stepped forward. He grabbed a megaphone from a supply crate nearby and addressed the now-stopped vehicle:
"Attention! This is the National Disaster Response Unit. Please exit your vehicle and submit to inspection. We will escort you to—"
But before he could finish, the car suddenly accelerated and charged straight at him. His heart seized as realization dawned—somehow, they knew. No more pretense. He raised his rifle and bellowed: "Open fire!"
Rat-tat-tat-tat—
Bullets rained against the car's exterior, sparking off the metal with sharp ping-ping-ping sounds. The windshield was riddled with holes almost instantly, spider-webbing into a fractured mess.
Bryan pressed himself as low as he could manage, bullets screaming past. Fear and exhilaration warred inside him. His heart pounded wildly, his breathing grew ragged, and adrenaline surged through his veins.
As the soldiers loomed closer, Bryan suddenly wrenched the steering wheel hard, aiming the car at a stack of supply crates piled beside them.
CRASH!
The impact sent the crates flying, scattering toward the soldiers and conveniently blocking some of the incoming fire.
The soldiers recoiled from the tumbling crates, instinctively stepping back. Their gunfire ceased momentarily.
Seizing the opening, Bryan gunned the engine, swerved around the military truck, smashed through the barricade and the checkpoint barrier, and burst onto the highway.
"You two—stay here and hold this position! Everyone else, in the truck—after them!"
The squad leader watched the fleeing vehicle with bitter frustration. If only they'd finished setting up their blockade, that car never would have slipped through so easily.
He quickly ordered two soldiers to remain at the checkpoint while the rest piled into the truck. He jumped into the driver's seat, started the engine, and roared onto the highway in pursuit. At the same time, he grabbed his radio to report to his superior.
"Sir, a vehicle broke through the northern blockade and entered the highway. I'm in pursuit now. I guarantee we'll intercept them. Over!"
But the voice that crackled back through the radio wasn't his captain's. It was an unfamiliar man—his tone cold and sharp:
"Who authorized you to pursue? Return to your post at the northern checkpoint immediately. I'll send someone else to handle that vehicle. And remember—if anyone else escapes from your position, there will be consequences."
"Y-yes, sir! Returning immediately!"
The soldier's face went pale. An invisible pressure seemed to crush down on him. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he hit the brakes, made a U-turn, and drove back to the checkpoint.
Meanwhile, in a military encampment on the western edge of the town, a middle-aged man in tactical gear tossed the radio back to a captain standing beside him. His voice was ice: "Get to the northern checkpoint. Make sure there are no more slip-ups."
"Yes, sir!" The captain saluted, then turned and strode quickly out of the tent.
The middle-aged man watched him go, then closed his eyes. At some point, the corner of his mouth had curled upward into a satisfied smile.
He'd been worrying about how to discreetly let some survivors escape—and now one had delivered themselves right to him. Even God, it seemed, agreed that what they were doing was right. That they were meant to help America end this disaster.