"Get down! NOW!"
Bryan's pupils contracted. Almost on pure instinct, he shouted the warning, grabbed Sarah and Allen, and hauled them to the ground. The gun wasn't aimed at them, but caution trumped everything.
Anna snapped out of her shock at Bryan's shout. She sprinted several steps and dragged Marlene—who hadn't yet reacted—back into the alley.
Rat-tat-tat-tat—!
The man pulled the trigger. Bullets tore from the muzzle and ripped through the stunned soldiers. His companions—the outsiders still being held by the soldiers—were caught in the crossfire too.
Several soldiers directly in the line of fire went down instantly. The rest reacted with trained speed: those still inside the entrance ducked back in, while those farther away dove behind the trucks for cover.
"HAHAHAHA—!"
The man held the trigger down, his face a mask of savage glee, mad laughter pouring from his throat. With the soldiers dead or hidden, knowing his ammunition would run dry and his life with it, he made his final choice.
He swung the barrel toward the crowd of civilians.
He opened fire in a sweeping arc, not caring how many he killed.
"AAAGH—!"
Blood misted through the air. Screams erupted from every direction. People scrambled and clawed over each other in desperate flight.
Some, like Bryan's group, had the presence of mind to flatten themselves against the ground. Others froze in place, legs trembling, and were cut down by the spray of bullets. Within moments, over a dozen bodies lay on the street, the reek of blood hanging over the entire block.
Meanwhile, the watchtower nearest the perimeter wall had spotted the disturbance. Hearing the gunfire, the sentries didn't hesitate—they sounded the alarm and radioed command.
The piercing wail of sirens erupted from every loudspeaker in District A. Residents still on the streets bolted for their homes.
Every checkpoint connecting to other districts slammed its barrier gates shut. All soldiers went to full alert.
The rifle's magazine ran dry with a hollow click. The man knew his time was up.
But there was no fear on his face. He simply looked toward his daughter's body, drew the pistol from the soldier's holster, released his human shield, and pressed the barrel to his own temple.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart," he whispered. "Daddy's coming."
BANG!
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through his skull and took his life.
Thump.
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the shriek of the alarm sirens. The panicked crowd—some sitting, some prone—remained frozen in place, unable to process what they'd just witnessed.
Only when it was clear the shooting had stopped did Bryan slowly raise his head. He looked at the man's body crumpled on the pavement and let out a long, shuddering breath.
Then he turned and saw the line of bullet holes stitched across the wall directly behind where they'd been standing. A wave of cold terror washed through him, followed immediately by fierce gratitude for his own caution.
He'd pulled Sarah and Allen down purely as a precaution—he'd never actually expected the man to open fire on civilians. That split-second decision, made almost on a whim, had possibly saved all their lives.
Bryan picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. He stared at the dead man one last time.
"Goddamn psycho."
...
Anna's apartment.
Bryan dragged himself through the door, the others filing in behind him.
"Ugh—I can't—I'm done—"
Sarah let out a pitiful wail, sprinted to the bed, and faceplanted into the mattress.
Bryan found a spot and collapsed into it. Night had fallen. The sirens had gone silent. He rubbed both hands over his face, replaying the morning's events in vivid, unwanted detail.
Not long after the man's death, more military trucks had arrived to secure the scene and detain every single witness—no one was being allowed to leave.
The military hadn't been looking to assign blame, though. The detention served two purposes: confirming details of what had happened, and delivering an explicit warning that nothing they'd seen today was to be repeated to anyone. Everyone's personal information was recorded. If the news leaked, they'd be the first ones investigated.
Hours of bureaucratic processing later, the soldiers finally released them.
But as they left, they spotted Tracy waiting at the end of the street. In a uniform that now looked decidedly worse for wear.
After a brief reunion, they learned why she'd been waiting. The operation had gone sideways on her watch, and she'd been pulled from duty pending disciplinary action once things were resolved. She also filled them in on the full picture of what had happened.
It turned out that after the military had arrested the residents who'd been sneaking outside the QZ, they'd not only sealed the tunnels and confiscated the illegally obtained supplies—they'd locked the offenders up to await further processing.
That morning, one of the detained men, terrified of being sentenced to death, had confessed to something he'd done before his arrest.
While scavenging outside the walls, he'd encountered six or seven refugees. They knew about the QZ and had come begging for shelter, only to be turned away because the zone was at capacity.
The man had eyed the heavy packs of supplies they carried. Greed won out. He'd posed as a member of a large organized group and offered them entry into the QZ—in exchange for everything they had. He hadn't bothered checking whether any of them were infected.
Once inside, he'd led them through the darkened streets, shoved them into an empty apartment in a random building, and disappeared.
He was caught and imprisoned the very next day.
Armed with his confession, the military had dispatched a squad to apprehend the refugees. What followed was the disaster they'd all witnessed.
As for the Infected—a soldier had kicked open one of the apartment doors and found her inside. She'd been restrained against a wall, hands bound behind her back, making muffled sounds through some kind of gag.
With her hair hanging over her face, the soldier initially assumed she was a QZ resident the refugees had captured. The moment he cut her bonds, she'd raked her nails across him.
Only then did he realize what she was. He'd kicked her away on reflex, stumbling backward in terror, firing wild shots that missed anything vital—and then the Infected had charged him straight through the window.
...
Bryan surfaced from the memory with a quiet sigh. Even inside the supposedly safe walls of the QZ, safety was an illusion.
Anna came in last, shut the door behind her, and set her backpack on the table. She began unpacking food. "Come on. Eat something first."
"Coming!"
At the mention of food, Sarah—who'd been lying on the bed like a dead fish—shot upright and planted herself at the table. She eyed the spread but didn't grab anything immediately. Instead, she sorted through it, pulling out items closest to their expiration dates first.
Most of it was chips and other processed snacks. Nobody complained. Compared to the people struggling to survive outside the QZ, having anything to eat at all was a luxury.
Bryan grabbed a bag of chips Sarah had set aside, tore it open, and popped a handful into his mouth. After a moment's pause, he spoke.
"We're heading back to school first thing tomorrow morning."
"What? Why?!"
Sarah and Allen looked up from their food in unison, voices rising in protest. They'd been stuck with the soldiers all day and hadn't gotten to explore at all. Going back so soon felt deeply unfair.
"Why so sudden?" Anna, as always, was the calmer voice. She didn't know Bryan's reasoning, but she guessed it was connected to the morning's events.
Bryan leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "It's not that sudden. After what happened today, the controlled status they were about to lift will definitely continue for a while—especially here in District A. Security's going to be even tighter. We won't be able to move around freely anyway. We were supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon regardless. A few hours earlier won't make a difference."
Seeing his mind was made up, Anna didn't argue. District A was going to be under heavy scrutiny. Better to leave early. This wasn't their only chance—there would be other visits.
Bryan crammed the last chip into his mouth, tossed the empty bag on the table, and brushed the crumbs from his hands. "I'm full. Going to sleep. Don't stay up too late."
He walked into the corner office, looked at the makeshift bed he'd cobbled together from desks the night before, and shut the door behind him.
Standing by the office window, Bryan watched the darkening sky and the increased number of soldiers patrolling the street below.
He had a feeling that what happened today wasn't the end of anything.
It was just the beginning.
...
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