Pocketing his ID card, Bryan nodded to show he understood. After a moment's thought, he asked: "Ma'am, do you know roughly when the Atlanta convoy will depart?"
"Hmm, let me think..."
Clarice considered the question. "Data collection should be complete by the end of September. Then comes the lottery, then moving people into the zone. Only after that will they start arranging transfers to other zones..."
"Hey, are you two done yet or what?!" A bald man waiting behind the line cut her off impatiently.
Bryan glanced at his watch. They'd been at the counter for nearly ten minutes—almost twice as long as everyone else.
He was about to turn and apologize when Clarice slammed her palm on the desk and snapped at the man: "Either wait or get the hell out of my line and go somewhere else!"
The outburst silenced the entire lobby. Everyone turned to stare at Clarice, then at the bald man, confused about what had happened.
"You—!"
The sudden explosion made the man flinch. He desperately wanted to fire back, but the woman was military. He didn't dare actually offend her.
He could feel everyone's eyes on him. Being shouted down by a woman in public, unable to respond—it was humiliating. His face turned crimson as he glared at Clarice.
"Hmph!"
After standing frozen for several seconds, the bald man still didn't dare push back. Unable to bear the judgmental stares any longer, he snorted, spun on his heel, and stormed toward the exit.
"Booo~"
The crowd jeered as he retreated. Whispers and snickers filled the lobby. The mockery followed him all the way out the door, quickening his pace as he fled.
Bryan watched him go, frowning slightly. He thought Clarice had overreacted. This could have been resolved with a simple apology—there was no need to escalate things this far.
But it wasn't his place to say anything. He wasn't about to criticize Clarice for defending him, even if the bald man hadn't really deserved such treatment.
Once the man was gone, the lobby returned to normal. People went back to their business, the incident already forgotten.
"Anyway, where were we?" Clarice turned back to Bryan and picked up where she'd left off.
"We'll prioritize convoys from nearby zones first—that'll ease the burden on Dallas. Atlanta is the farthest destination from here, so I expect it'll be scheduled last. My best guess? Earliest would be early November."
"Early November..."
The timeline surprised Bryan. That was later than even his worst-case estimate. And Clarice was talking about the earliest possibility, assuming everything went smoothly. Clearly, as conditions outside deteriorated, even the military's efficiency was declining.
"Thank you." Having gotten his answer, Bryan thanked her again, then left the Administrative Office with Sarah. The delay gave him more time to prepare—that was something, at least.
...
Back at the RV, Bryan started planning their next month.
One: Physical Training
Whether for the journey to Atlanta or long-term survival in the apocalypse, physical fitness was essential. Their age limited how quickly they could build strength, but even if they couldn't overpower threats, they needed to be able to outrun them. Morning runs would continue daily.
The exercise would increase their food consumption, but their supplies would be confiscated eventually anyway. Better to use them now for proper nutrition—they were still growing, after all.
Two: Food
The military would provide rations during the Atlanta transport, so in theory, they wouldn't go hungry. But nothing was certain. According to the announcements, volunteers could bring personal items. Just in case, they should carry some emergency food.
Space in their packs was limited, so they needed compact, high-calorie options: chocolate, beef jerky, canned goods. The hot weather made storing chocolate tricky, but the RV had a refrigerator. By departure time, temperatures would have dropped significantly—transport wouldn't be a problem.
Three: Medicine
In the apocalypse, medicine might be the most valuable commodity. Injuries or illness without proper treatment meant relying on your body to fight through it—and dramatically lower survival odds.
This was Bryan's biggest headache. Since the outbreak, all pharmacies had been placed under military control. The government clearly understood how valuable medical supplies were—even during the riots, no one had touched the pharmacies.
Fortunately, they still had medicine they'd scavenged in Austin and the first aid kit from the warehouse. That should be enough.
Four: Clothing
As temperatures dropped, they'd need warmer clothes. A cold or fever in this environment could be disastrous.
This was actually the easiest item on the list. Since most looters ignored children's clothing, they had plenty to choose from.
They wouldn't stuff clothes in their packs—just layer up before departure. But not too heavily—bulky clothing would slow them down if they needed to react quickly.
Five: Firearms Proficiency
This was the most important item. Beyond stealth kills, they stood no chance against infected in direct combat. Guns were their only real option.
But neither Bryan nor Sarah had extensive firearms experience. Unless an infected was practically on top of them, they couldn't reliably hit anything at range. That's why they'd rarely used guns during their escape—poor aim plus the noise attracting more infected made it counterproductive. The assault rifle in the warehouse had only worked because the fire rate was high enough that spraying blindly still hit things.
Fortunately, Osborne was a veteran. For the remainder of their time in Dallas, besides daily exercise, most of their hours would go toward learning firearms handling from him.
"Whew!"
Bryan exhaled heavily after writing everything down, flexing his cramped hand. This was all he could think of for now. If he'd missed anything, he'd add it later.
"Sarah, take a look. Anything I should add?"
He set down the pen and called over Sarah, who'd been staring out the window. He handed her the notebook.
"Huh?" Sarah snapped out of her daze and took the notebook. Seeing the dense handwriting covering the page, she immediately felt a headache coming on. She gave it a cursory glance and quickly put it down.
"I don't understand any of this. Nothing to add. You decide."
"That was incredibly lazy." Bryan shot her an exasperated look.
Sarah didn't seem to care. She swayed her head from side to side, pressed her hands into the seat, swung her legs rhythmically, and hummed a little tune—the picture of contentment. Clearly, she hadn't taken his complaint to heart.
Around noon, Osborne and Kelly finally returned to the RV. After spending all morning in the cold wind, their hands and feet were numb.
Bryan showed Osborne his notes and asked if he could teach them about firearms.
After reading through the list, Osborne smiled and agreed readily. But he had one condition: when they went running in the mornings, they had to take Kelly along. He was tired of her lazing around all day doing nothing. After their run, he'd teach all of them how to handle weapons.
Bryan had no objection. It was hardly any trouble to bring one more person. He agreed without hesitation.
"No way! I want to sleep in!"
They agreed quickly enough, but Kelly wasn't having it. She wailed and threw a tantrum, hoping to change her father's mind.
But Osborne wasn't the type to give in to that. He glared at his daughter and snapped: "All you do is sleep! You're the laziest one here. Were you a pig in a past life?"
Seeing she couldn't sway him, Kelly accepted her fate. She shot Bryan a glare, her eyes clearly saying: This is all your fault!
Bryan shrugged, indicating he had nothing to do with it. Everything was arranged now. All that remained was waiting for the notification to leave for Atlanta.