The highway into Houston was broken.
Cars lay in crooked rows, rust already biting into steel. Wind pushed dust through shattered glass. Some vehicles still held the outlines of lives abandoned too quickly child seats, suitcases half-open, a teddy bear on the dash with one eye gone. Michael kept Sarah's hand in his left and carried the rifle in his right, eyes never resting too long in one place.
They had been walking for hours. Days blurred together now marked not by sunrise or sunset but by how far their legs could carry them before they collapsed. At some point, time stopped being measured in numbers and started being measured in distance, in hunger, in silence broken by screams.
Ahead, the line of survivors thickened. At first, just a few stragglers a man limping with a bloodied bandage tied around his thigh, a woman carrying a baby that wouldn't stop crying. Then dozens. Then hundreds. All moving toward the same thing: the quarantine zone.
Sarah looked up at him, her eyes wide. "There's so many…"
Michael squeezed her hand gently. "Stay close. Don't talk to anyone unless I tell you."
Lena walked just behind them, her eyes scanning with the same tension he felt. She'd toughened quickly in the last stretch of road, no longer breaking down every time they stumbled on a corpse. But Michael could see her nerves in the way she gripped the hatchet he'd given her, knuckles pale.
By the time they reached the outer streets, the crowd had swollen into a mass. Hundreds of voices layered on top of one another pleading, shouting, arguing. The closer they got, the more desperate it felt, like a tide pushing forward but held back by something stronger.
And then they saw it.
The wall.
It rose high, a patchwork of concrete barriers, rebar, and welded metal plates scavenged from who knew where. Guard towers bristled with soldiers in helmets and body armor, rifles hanging over the edge, watching the sea of people like they were already enemies. Floodlights cut through the dust, glaring down on the crowd even though it was still daylight.
The gates themselves were massive slabs of steel, only one cracked open just enough to funnel survivors through. A checkpoint had been set up in front, soldiers waving people forward one by one.
The smell hit Michael before the sound did. Sweat, fear, unwashed bodies packed together. Then came the noise thousands of voices crashing together, punctuated by sharp bursts of commands from soldiers.
"Back up! Stay in line!"
"Hands where we can see them!"
"No pushing or you'll be shot!"
Sarah clung tighter to him.
At the front of the checkpoint, a man in uniform stepped forward. He wasn't just another soldier Michael could tell immediately. His posture was too steady, his voice carried too much weight when he finally barked into a megaphone.
"This is General Harwood of the United States Army. From this moment, all civilians are subject to federal quarantine protocols. You will submit to screening. You will obey all orders. Any attempt to resist will be met with force."
The crowd quieted, but only for a heartbeat. Then the shouting returned, louder, angrier.
A woman near Michael cried out, "You said we'd be safe!"
Another man yelled, "They're letting people die out here!"
The General raised a hand, and soldiers cocked their rifles in unison. The sound cut through everything like a blade. Silence slammed down again.
"You think the world outside these walls is safe?" Harwood's voice was iron. "Out there, the infected will tear you apart. In here, we maintain order. That is the only way any of you live another day. You don't like the rules? Then you can walk back into the wild and test your luck."
No one moved.
The line resumed.
Michael scanned the process as they edged closer. At the gate, soldiers forced survivors to stand still while another swept a crude handheld scanner across their skin. The device beeped inconsistently, green for most, red for some. The unlucky ones were dragged screaming to a separate line where no one came back from.
But Michael noticed the flaws immediately. The scanner was crude, rushed tech, maybe still experimental. Twice he saw it flash green for people whose eyes twitched with fever, whose skin had that telltale grayish tint. And the soldiers didn't seem to care they pushed them through anyway.
That meant infection was slipping inside. Quietly.
He filed that away.
When it was their turn, Sarah squeezed his hand so tight it hurt. He crouched down briefly, meeting her eyes.
"Remember what I told you," he whispered. "Stay calm. Don't talk. Just follow my lead."
She nodded quickly, her small face pale but determined.
The soldier waved the scanner over Michael first. It buzzed once, lit green. The man barely glanced at him before moving to Sarah. Michael's heart slammed in his chest, but the scanner blinked green again. Sarah didn't even flinch.
Then Lena. Same result. Green.
The soldier waved them through with no more than a grunt.
On the other side of the gate, the world shifted again.
Inside the quarantine zone, chaos wore a different face. Tents stretched in crooked rows across cracked pavement. Fires burned in oil drums for warmth, though the air stank of smoke and mildew. Soldiers patrolled the walkways, their boots heavy against the concrete. Survivors huddled together in clusters, whispering, some crying.
It was order, yes. But brittle. A shell of control over something that wanted to burst through at any moment.
Michael guided Sarah and Lena toward an open stretch near a half-collapsed building. He didn't speak until they were out of immediate earshot of the soldiers.
"You see what happened back there?" he asked quietly.
Lena nodded, frowning. "Those scanners… they're not working right."
"Exactly," Michael said. His voice dropped lower, meant for her and Sarah only. "That means this place isn't safe. Not really. Don't let the walls fool you. The infected will find their way in, one way or another."
Sarah looked between them nervously. "Then why are we here?"
Michael crouched in front of her again. His tone softened, but the steel stayed beneath it.
"Because sometimes, the best way to survive is to hide in plain sight. We'll stay quiet. We'll learn how this place works. And when it breaks and it will we'll be ready to move before the rest."
Sarah swallowed hard, then nodded.
Lena tightened her grip on the hatchet, glancing at the tents and the soldiers. "So what do we do now?"
Michael stood, scanning the zone with sharp eyes. "We watch. We listen. We learn. And when the time comes, we move. That's how we survive."
For now, they blended into the crowd. Just three more faces in the tide of the desperate. The General's voice still echoed in Michael's mind. The rules were clear. But he'd lived through enough to know rules like that never lasted long.
And when they broke, he would make sure Sarah and Lena lived through it.