November 26, 2013.
Winter.
Day 64 after the outbreak.
Atlanta Quarantine Zone.
"Hssss—"
The bone-chilling cold jolted Bryan awake. Shivering, he opened his eyes and sat up from the floor. Everything around him was dim—he could barely make out that they were inside some kind of small arena.
People lay scattered all around him, their soft snores rising and falling in the darkness. Everyone was still deep asleep.
Bryan tugged at his partially unzipped down jacket and scanned his surroundings. The blanket that had been covering him was now wrapped around Sarah, who lay beside him. No wonder he'd woken up freezing.
His gaze drifted upward, passing over Allen, Lucy, and the mother and son who had helped him. He'd learned their names after entering the QZ—the mother was Daphne, and the boy was Dick. But his eyes ultimately came to rest on Anna, curled up beneath her blanket, her body shaking with quiet sobs.
Ever since Wilfred's death yesterday, Anna had been in a terrible state. She'd become dazed and listless, visibly deteriorating before their eyes.
Bryan couldn't truly understand what it felt like to lose a loved one like that. But he knew it had to be a pain that cut to the bone.
Sigh...
He let out a soft breath and pulled his thoughts back to the present. The images from yesterday—being chased by that horde of Infected—were still seared into his memory.
After they'd entered the safe zone, soldiers had loaded them onto trucks and driven them into the Quarantine Zone proper. He hadn't witnessed the Infected crashing against the perimeter fence, but he figured the outcome was obvious. If larger swarms in the past hadn't breached the barrier, yesterday's numbers certainly wouldn't have either.
At the QZ entrance, Atlanta's soldiers had conducted screenings. Beyond the standard infection scans, men and women were separated for full-body inspections, after which they received new clothing.
All firearms had to be surrendered. According to the soldiers, civilians inside the QZ weren't permitted to possess weapons—only the military had that right. Other items in their packs were left alone, though. If someone had anything rare, they could choose to keep it or turn it in for supply cards of equivalent value.
Once inside, soldiers were taken elsewhere while survivors were gathered in this small exhibition hall near the main gate to rest for the night. They'd be given proper assignments tomorrow.
They'd arrived at the hall around one in the afternoon. Throughout the rest of the day, more survivors trickled in. Despite wearing newly issued clothing, exhaustion and shell-shock were plain on their faces.
After nightfall, no one else entered the hall. Bryan did a rough headcount. Of the nearly one thousand survivors who had started the journey, fewer than half had made it into the QZ.
Before entering the hall, he'd sought out Tracy to ask a question that had been gnawing at him. If their group of a thousand had faced such brutal odds just to reach the QZ, what would happen when the reinforcement convoys from other zones arrived? Those wouldn't number in the hundreds—they could be tens of thousands strong.
Setting aside other quarantine zones, even just the remaining convoys from Dallas... how were they supposed to get in? Surely not the same way? How many would die?
Tracy had laughed at his question—a weary, helpless laugh. "I asked the commander the same thing. The short answer is: we got unlucky. The carpet bombing had only just ended. Atlanta's military was planning to carve out a direct corridor to the QZ gates. Those tanks and vehicles staged in the safe zone? They were prepped for exactly that operation. But our timing was off, and our numbers weren't large enough to justify the military mounting a full support mission. And since we needed to get inside quickly..." She trailed off, her expression growing heavy.
She didn't finish, but Bryan understood what she'd left unsaid. A thousand people simply wasn't worth mobilizing the military to escort them safely in.
From a strategic standpoint, the decision made sense. In an apocalypse, every resource had to be maximized. But for the survivors caught in the middle of it, the calculus was brutally cold.
Bryan slowly rose to his feet and pulled out the letter Wilfred had entrusted to him. He crept over to Anna's side.
Seeing her curled up completely beneath her blanket, he crouched down and carefully slipped the letter through a gap in the fabric. That way, she'd find it first thing in the morning.
He returned to his spot and checked the time. Three in the morning.
Yawn... "Might as well sleep a bit more."
He reached over, intending to pull his blanket back from Sarah. But the moment he tugged at it, the sleeping girl instinctively grabbed hold and murmured, "Cold..."
His hands froze. He let go of the blanket. A strange feeling stirred in his chest.
He sat there in silence, watching Sarah's sleeping profile. He realized that somewhere along the way, this girl who had been by his side through everything had become incredibly important to him. Back when he'd first transmigrated, if he'd been in yesterday's situation, he would've abandoned her without hesitation. But now...
Thinking back on how he'd risked his life to save her yesterday, even Bryan found his own actions hard to believe.
He leaned back against the wall, tilted his head, and half-closed his eyes. His thoughts were suddenly a tangled mess. What... was happening to him?
...
BANG! BANG! BANG!
When the first rays of morning light filtered into the exhibition hall, the front doors were thrown open. A one-eyed officer strode to the entrance. Seeing the survivors still asleep, he pounded his fist against the door three times and bellowed:
"Attention all personnel! Assemble outside the exhibition hall in ten minutes! Anyone who's late will face the consequences!"
Without another glance at the startled crowd, he turned and left, leaving two soldiers standing guard at the entrance.
The moment he was gone, the once-quiet hall erupted into activity. Everyone scrambled out of their makeshift beds and started gathering their belongings.
Bryan had been in a light sleep, so the banging had woken him instantly. He looked around and saw that Anna, Lucy, and the mother-son pair were already up. But Sarah and Allen were still sound asleep.
He walked over to them, crouched down, and showed absolutely no mercy as he shouted directly into their ears: "Wake up! WAKE UP!"
The piercing noise hit them like lightning. Both shot upright immediately. When they saw Bryan's smug grin, their expressions twisted with indignation.
While rousing them, Bryan's peripheral vision caught Anna's direction. The letter was gone. Anna had already folded her blanket. Though sorrow still lingered on her face, she looked noticeably better than yesterday. She must have read it.
Seeing this, he felt a small measure of relief. After all, people needed something to hold onto—a reason to keep going. When that reason was destroyed, despair set in, and with it, thoughts of giving up entirely. That's the state Anna had been in yesterday.
But now she seemed completely different. It was obvious that Wilfred's letter had given her a new purpose.
...
Ten minutes later.
In the open area outside the exhibition hall, all the survivors had assembled. After the soldiers finished their headcount, they nodded to the one-eyed officer at the front.
Noting their confirmation, the officer's lips curved upward. He nodded with satisfaction, his gruff voice carrying across the crowd: "Not a single troublemaker this time. Good. I'm already starting to like you people."
He began pacing back and forth, continuing: "First, welcome to the Atlanta Quarantine Zone. You're the fourth convoy to arrive here. But I'll be blunt—you're also the unluckiest."
"Now that you're inside, I'll go over the most important regulations. Listen carefully." He raised his hand and began counting off on his fingers:
"One: The QZ operates under complete military governance. All residents must present their identification to any patrol officer upon request and submit to inspection at any time. Your IDs will be distributed shortly.
"Two: Strict firearm control is in effect. Civilians are not permitted to possess firearms. If caught, you will be expelled from the QZ immediately. If you cause harm to others, you will be executed on the spot.
"Three: All QZ residents are required to work—producing resources for the zone and earning supply cards in return. Supply cards are what you'll need to collect your food rations. Think of them as currency.
"Four: Every resident must participate in QZ maintenance tasks at least once every six months. Details will be announced separately. Refusal to participate will result in restricted rations and loss of residence rights. This policy won't be enforced immediately, so don't worry about it for now. Just know that it exists."
...
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