November 8, 2013.
Two months since the Cordyceps outbreak.
Dallas's streets stood eerily quiet. Spotting even one or two people had become rare. After a month of mass evacuations, fewer than a million residents remained—all waiting for the second or third wave of departures.
"Attention! All residents departing for Atlanta, please gather your belongings and proceed to the Central Bus Terminal. Have your ID cards ready for identity verification."
At the massive bus terminal on Dallas's outskirts, the open lot bristled with countless large buses. Armed soldiers formed a perimeter while, in the distance, an endless sea of people surged toward the assembly point.
Along the terminal's outer edge, military trucks stood in precise formation. The escort troops gathered there, standing at attention in neat squares, listening to their commanding officer's briefing.
Bryan held Sarah's hand as they moved through the crush of bodies. Both wore bulging backpacks; Bryan also carried a travel bag. They followed the flow toward the military checkpoint.
The first wave bound for Atlanta numbered just under five thousand. Under the direction of a dozen soldiers, the crowd gradually organized into orderly lines. A soldier moved down each line, verifying identities in sequence.
Bryan and Sarah stood near the front of their line, so their turn came quickly.
The soldier stopped beside Bryan, lowering his clipboard. He glanced around. "Kid, is there an adult with you?"
"No." Bryan shook his head, indicating he was unaccompanied. He gestured toward Sarah. "We're together."
"Understood."
A flicker of sympathy crossed the soldier's eyes, though he betrayed no surprise. Children traveling alone, without adults, was uncommon but not unheard of—he'd seen plenty over the past month. Returning to routine, he said, "Please present your ID cards."
Bryan caught the sympathy in the soldier's gaze and suppressed a grimace. He didn't appreciate being looked at that way. Still, he produced both ID cards and handed them over.
The soldier checked the photos and information against their faces, nodded, and returned the cards. Then he conducted a quick pat-down, discovering the pistols at their waists—but showed no concern.
Regulations permitted one handgun per person for self-defense. Anything beyond that had to be surrendered immediately; anyone caught with excess weapons faced severe punishment.
Finding nothing irregular, the soldier's attention shifted to their bags. "I'll need to inspect your bags."
"Sure."
Bryan set all three bags on the ground, crouched, and unzipped each just a crack—enough for inspection. He'd observed others doing the same earlier, likely to prevent bystanders from seeing inside.
The soldier knelt and peered through the narrow opening. The first bag held food—more than expected for two kids, but nothing suspicious.
He reached in, rummaged briefly, found nothing else. Moving to the second bag—same result. Finally, his gaze settled on the travel bag.
Bryan's pupils contracted. His heart rate spiked.
The soldier began unzipping the travel bag—then froze.
It was packed with feminine hygiene products.
His eyes flicked involuntarily toward Sarah.
Feeling his gaze, Sarah noticed the open bag and flushed, turning her head away, refusing to meet his eyes.
The soldier felt awkward himself but dutifully reached in to search. His hand barely brushed the contents before he withdrew, hastily re-zipping the bag. He stood and moved on to the next person. In his mind, two kids couldn't possibly be hiding another weapon.
Bryan watched the soldier proceed down the line, finally exhaling. He quickly gathered the bags, redistributing them between himself and Sarah, then waited in silence, privately thanking his luck.
The shotgun lay at the bottom of that travel bag.
It had been a massive risk. Getting caught would have meant severe consequences.
But Bryan refused to surrender such a powerful defensive weapon to strangers. The compact shotgun disassembled easily and concealed well. Combined with the feminine products as camouflage, he'd decided to gamble.
He turned and gave Sarah a subtle thumbs-up, silently applauding her performance.
"D-damn it, officer, I don't know how that gun got there! I swear I wasn't hiding it—someone must have planted it!"
Just as Bryan congratulated himself on dodging disaster, a frantic voice nearby drew his attention.
He looked over to see a disheveled Black man, his bag open on the ground. A white soldier beside him held a revolver—clearly just confiscated.
After hearing the man's excuse, the soldier laughed dismissively, signaled a colleague in the distance, and addressed the detainee: "You can explain that to someone else."
Panic set in. The man broke into a sweat. Then something clicked—his gaze snapped to a heavyset white man nearby, whose face wore undisguised schadenfreude.
"Nelson! You were lurking around my bag earlier—did you plant this?!"
"I—I didn't!" The man called Nelson flinched, shaking his hands frantically. "Officer, don't listen to him! I barely know the guy!"
"You son of a bitch—say that again!" The accusation sent the Black man into a rage. Features twisting, he clenched his fist and lunged.
"What's going on here?!"
Before things could escalate into a brawl, a commanding voice cut through the chaos. A Black officer in captain's insignia strode toward them, his tone sharp.
All three froze, turning toward the voice.
"Sir!" The white soldier snapped to attention, executing a crisp salute.
The captain stood his ground, his piercing gaze slicing between the two civilians like a blade. "Report, soldier."
The white soldier stepped close and relayed the situation in detail.
After listening, the captain nodded. He pointed at Nelson, then addressed the other man. "You're claiming he planted that gun in your bag?"
"Yes, sir—he definitely framed me!" The man latched onto the captain like a lifeline.
Nelson's eyes bulged. "Sir, I didn't! You can't believe him!"
"You bastard, I'll kill you—"
"Enough! Both of you, shut up!" The captain's scowl deepened. A cold grunt silenced them.
Once quiet returned, he considered for a moment, then spoke slowly: "I don't care whose fault this is. I don't have time to waste on your petty problems. Neither of you will be punished—but for the remainder of this journey, your daily rations are cut in half."
With that, he dismissed the white soldier and walked away without another glance.
The Black man's face flooded with relief—narrowly escaped. Meanwhile, Nelson looked like he'd swallowed a mouthful of sewage.
"So, who do you think was lying?" Sarah had been watching with interest, hoping for more drama. Disappointed by the anticlimax, she leaned toward Bryan, curious.
"No idea. Figure it out yourself."
Bryan replayed both men's final expressions in his mind. He'd already drawn his conclusion—but shrugged, feigning ignorance.
Sarah knew him too well. Catching his evasion, she puffed her cheeks in protest. "Hey! That's not fair!"
"Ha—"
Her adorable frustration lifted his spirits, and he couldn't help but laugh. Then something cold touched his face. He brushed his cheek instinctively—nothing there.
He looked up. Countless white specks drifted down from the sky, vanishing the instant they touched the ground.
Snow.