"Damn it—what the hell happened here? How are there this many cars blocking the road?!"
Harry stood on the highway, palm pressed to his forehead, staring at the wall of nearly a hundred vehicles piled in a massive chain collision. Utterly speechless.
So much for an easy trip. They'd barely started, and already this.
He turned to a nearby soldier. "Where are we exactly?"
The soldier produced a map, studying the markings. "Sir, Hyde Park is approximately three kilometers ahead."
Harry surveyed the obstruction, then the steep embankments flanking both sides of the road. He considered breaking through the guardrails and routing around the wreckage.
But after a long moment, he abandoned the idea with a sigh. Their military trucks might manage those slopes—barely—but the buses and fuel tankers? No chance.
Resigned, Harry opted for the brute-force approach. He waved dismissively. "Post guards front and rear. Radio the buses—all able-bodied adult males report to the front. We're pushing these vehicles off the road."
"Yes, sir!"
Within minutes, every soldier on the buses received the transmission. On Bryan's bus, Private Tracy rose and addressed the increasingly anxious passengers:
"The road ahead is blocked by vehicles. All adult male passengers must exit and assist with clearing the obstruction."
The announcement brought relief—just a traffic jam, not an attack. But the second part sparked immediate objections.
A young man with multi-colored hair shot to his feet, face twisted with indignation. "You're supposed to be escorting us to Atlanta. Why should we do your heavy lifting? It's freezing out there—what if someone gets sick? Are you going to take responsibility?!"
Several passengers who'd been nursing their own grievances saw an opening. They rose to back him up.
"Yeah! Why should we?!"
"If we're doing all the work, what do we need you for?!"
"Exactly! This isn't our job!"
". . ."
The chorus of support inflated the young man's ego. He crossed his arms, chin raised, sneering at Tracy—the picture of self-appointed leadership.
Tracy regarded the protesters coldly, irritation flickering across her features. "Let me be clear about something. We're all going to Atlanta—not just you. Minus the guards, we're shorthanded. I'm asking for everyone's help. I assume you'd rather get moving again than sit here indefinitely?"
Her words gave pause to the undecided. She was right—refusing to help only delayed their own journey. And this was minor, really. Antagonizing the military protecting them seemed unwise. Better to cooperate, clear the road, and leave this place behind. Besides, Infected could appear at any moment.
"I'll help." One man stood without hesitation, nodded to Tracy, and headed for the exit.
Others followed. One after another rose—first a trickle, then a stream—until the exodus became general.
Even some of the young man's supporters reconsidered, quietly slipping away to join the work crew.
"You... all of you..." The young man gaped as his allies abandoned him, bewildered by the sudden reversal.
Sarah had been watching with interest, hoping for a proper uprising. The anticlimactic collapse disappointed her.
"Weren't they just about to rebel? What happened?"
Bryan's cheek twitched. "Nobody's stupid. Fighting the military over something this trivial gains them nothing. Even the ones who got caught up in the moment followed the herd once they saw everyone leaving. This guy's the only idiot who doesn't realize his position." He gestured subtly toward the isolated protester. "First to stick his neck out. Tallest nail gets hammered. He's about to learn that the hard way."
Indeed. Once every adult male had departed, Tracy focused her full attention on the remaining troublemaker.
A contemptuous smirk curled her lips. She advanced slowly, sizing him up with cold amusement. Even in the apocalypse, she mused, people like this still existed.
Fear replaced the young man's bravado as she approached. He retreated step by step, expression morphing from defiance to panic.
He regretted everything. Why had he spoken up? Why had he made himself a target?
"W-wait—I'll go help move the cars—"
Tracy didn't give him the chance to finish. She closed the distance, slammed him onto a seat, and produced a zip tie from her belt, binding his wrists behind his back.
She hauled him upright, marching him toward the exit. At the door, she addressed the remaining women and children: "You may exit to stretch your legs. Restrooms are in the tree line—guards are posted at the perimeter. Just don't wander far."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, she dragged the protester outside, heading toward an open area where over a dozen others already knelt in the snow.
"Want to go stretch our legs?" Now that they could move freely, Bryan slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Could use some fresh air."
Sarah's eyes sparkled with mischief at the falling snow. She nodded eagerly, and they exited together.
The instant they stepped off the bus, bitter wind knifed through their clothes, finding every gap. Both shivered, pulling their jackets tighter.
Other passengers had already disembarked, though soldiers kept them within a loose perimeter. Nearby, a few children played in the snow under their parents' watchful eyes.
Sarah broke away to join them, catching snowflakes, shaping them into little figures, laughing with pure, unguarded joy.
Since the outbreak, Bryan had rarely seen her smile like that—genuine and carefree. His own lips curved upward.
His gaze shifted to the clearing where the troublemakers knelt. A small crowd had gathered to watch. More protesters were being escorted over from other buses—the total approached thirty.
Leaving Sarah to her fun, Bryan drifted closer, curious about the punishment.
A towering soldier paced in circles around the kneeling prisoners, saying nothing.
Only after the last offender arrived did he finally halt, studying the assembled group. "Quite the brave bunch, aren't you? Stirring up trouble. Looks like you don't actually want to leave."
The threat was clear. Thirty faces went pale. They understood immediately—being abandoned here, in the freezing cold, on an isolated highway, with Infected potentially nearby... The mere thought was unbearable.
Pleas erupted. Desperate apologies. Promises of compliance.
"Hmm?"
The soldier merely grunted, arms clasped behind his back, and resumed his slow orbit around the prisoners.
Silence fell over the group. The spectators held their breath, afraid that making any noise might land them in the same situation.
"Done already?"
After several minutes of absolute quiet, the soldier stopped again, an unsettling smile crossing his face.
"Relax. These are special circumstances—we're not going to waste manpower. You won't be severely punished. But mistakes have consequences. You all agree with that, don't you?"