Once everyone understood the rules for entering the Quarantine Zone, the truth became clear: they'd all been played by the military. Whether they entered the zone or left the city, everything they'd worked so hard to gather would end up in military hands. The hot-tempered ones exploded immediately, cursing the outrageous conditions and refusing to accept them.
But others, hearing that if they didn't enter now they might never get another chance, said nothing. They quietly returned home to pack their belongings.
Some tried protesting again—marching, vandalizing—but this time the military showed no tolerance. They arrested people on sight, charging them with "disturbing public order during a state of emergency," stripping their eligibility for the Quarantine Zone and expelling them from the city.
The brutal crackdown silenced anyone who'd been thinking about causing trouble.
For freedom-loving Americans, the conditions felt unbearably harsh. But for people who'd been living in constant fear, the Quarantine Zone was still a sanctuary. Even those seething with resentment had no choice but to swallow their anger and accept reality.
Some refused to let their hard-won supplies benefit others. They found hidden spots around the city to hole up, planning to wait until everyone entered the zone before slipping away.
And so, time passed—each person lost in their own calculations.
...
A week flew by. Accompanied by the daily cacophony of construction, towering walls rose around Dallas—dozens of meters high, encircling roughly a fifth of the city. "FEDRA" was spray-painted across them in bold red letters.
Some had already packed and stood ready to enter. Others had found hiding spots and moved their supplies in early, waiting for the military to withdraw. Still others, completely disillusioned with "New America," chose to leave everything behind and depart with their families, carrying only the meager rations the military provided.
Though some left, most wanted in. Looking at the sea of humanity stretching endlessly in every direction, everyone knew the zone's capacity was limited. Some would inevitably be transferred elsewhere.
It couldn't be helped. Dallas was a critical hub for the south-central region. After the entire southern United States had fallen, most refugees had fled here. The result was severe overcrowding.
Once the perimeter walls were complete, hundreds of soldiers deployed to registration stations throughout the city, ready to fan out and record information from every survivor settlement.
Police cars with loudspeakers crawled through the streets, broadcasting the latest announcements:
"Attention all residents. Please have your ID cards or identification ready. Report to your nearest registration point at 9:00 AM. We will record your information and conduct a lottery to determine whether you'll be transferred to another Quarantine Zone. Those who volunteer for transfer should apply at their nearest administrative office—priority arrangements will be made based on your requests..."
Bryan stood at the roadside, watching a military vehicle roll slowly past, its loudspeaker blaring. His eyes followed it until it disappeared down the road.
He checked his watch. Just past eight o'clock. He glanced toward the registration station near the abandoned factory—empty. The officials hadn't arrived yet. After a moment's hesitation, he started walking toward the administrative office two blocks away.
Along the streets, everyone was watching the clock, waiting to sprint toward the registration points the moment nine o'clock arrived. Their faces showed naked anxiety. Bryan knew exactly what they were thinking.
A few days ago, a rumor had spread—no one knew where it originated—claiming that the first five thousand people to register would be recognized as "enthusiastic participants" and automatically guaranteed spots in the local zone, exempt from the transfer lottery.
Most people suspected it was just a rumor. But some wanted desperately to believe. Even with military escorts to other zones, who knew what conditions were like out there? Better to fight for a guaranteed spot here.
...
FEDRA Administrative Office, District 7
The building had originally been a local bank. The outbreak had forced it to close, but as the survivor population in the area grew, the military had requisitioned it as a district administrative center.
"They're not going to trick us, are they?"
"Why don't you go in first and check?"
"Nah, nah... I'll just wait a bit..."
A dozen or so men and women had gathered outside the office entrance, whispering among themselves and nudging each other forward. Everyone insisted someone else should go first. No one took a single step.
Dallas was packed with refugees from the south. Most of them had no family here. They didn't particularly want to stay, but fear of the infected outside kept them from leaving. They'd resigned themselves to spending their future in this strange city's Quarantine Zone—or being shipped somewhere equally unfamiliar.
But today's broadcast had mentioned that volunteers for transfer would receive priority placement based on their requests. The catch was, they didn't trust the military not to trick them. What if they walked in and got forced to "volunteer"? None of them wanted to be trapped here, but none of them wanted to be the first through that door either.
Two soldiers stood at rigid attention by the entrance, their expressions cold as they looked down at the group that had been dithering for nearly half an hour. Contempt flickered in their eyes. If not for duty, they'd have chased these people off long ago.
Just as the crowd continued its paralyzed debate, an Asian boy of about twelve or thirteen walked past them. Under their astonished gazes, he climbed the steps and pushed through the office door without hesitation.
One of the soldiers at the entrance glanced at the boy's calm face, then down at the adults still huddled at the bottom of the steps. He curled his lip and muttered: "Pathetic. Can't even match a kid."
Ding-dong!
The glass door chimed as Bryan entered. Inside, he found only a few administrative staff and some soldiers standing guard. No other civilians.
That wasn't surprising. The announcements had just started broadcasting—plenty of people hadn't heard yet. And those who had were probably as hesitant as the crowd outside, afraid of being deceived again.
Bryan walked to the counter and sat down across from a female staff member whose eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hi. If I volunteer for transfer to another Quarantine Zone, can I choose where I'm sent?"
The worker recovered from her initial shock. She didn't think much of it—Dallas had its share of children who'd escaped the infection zones alone. Without adults to care for them, they had to survive on their own. Unless some kind stranger took them in, this was their reality. This boy was probably one of them.
Not that the new government ignored these children—but those arrangements would come after everyone was inside the zone. Children, after all, were a precious resource for the future.
"Have a seat. Where would you like to go?"
"Washington."
Hearing that this child wanted to go to the capital, the worker's typing fingers paused. Then she slowly shook her head. "We don't have authorization to send people to the capital. If you have... special status... I can submit a request on your behalf."
"I see." Bryan nodded, his expression unsurprised. Washington was the capital—countless people were probably fighting to get there. Why would they make room for him? As for "special status," that probably meant children of high-ranking officials or important researchers.
"Is there anywhere you can send me that's close to Washington?"
"Let me check..." The worker nodded at the reasonable question and began searching her computer. After a moment, she looked up with something like pity in her eyes.
"The farthest destination we can reach is Greensboro, but they've stopped accepting survivors. The closest options to Washington that are still open are St. Louis and Memphis."
Bryan memorized the names, then stood and walked to a large map of the United States hanging on the wall. His eyes scanned for St. Louis and Memphis. His expression darkened. Both cities were painfully far from Washington.