"Look—it's snowing!"
"Snow already? It's so early this year..."
"Wow, it's beautiful!"
"I hope it doesn't mess up the road to Atlanta."
". . ."
The falling snow quickly drew everyone's attention. Some marveled at how early winter had arrived; others worried about travel complications.
"It's snowing!" Sarah stretched out her pale hand, watching flakes melt against her palm, her face alight with joy.
Bryan ruffled her hair, but his eyes held a shadow of concern. This snow wasn't a good sign for what lay ahead.
. . .
Three hours later.
With every identity in the assembly area verified, military personnel directed the bus drivers to position their vehicles. Civilians began boarding in organized groups.
"Here, careful now."
Bryan guided Sarah up the steep steps, cautioning her to watch her footing as a soldier directed them aboard.
They'd arrived early, so the bus was nearly empty. They walked to the middle and claimed two seats side by side.
Through the window, Bryan observed the soldiers outside loading onto military trucks. A rough count suggested nearly two thousand troops.
Two thousand soldiers to escort five thousand civilians?
The answer came quickly: these troops weren't just escorts. They'd be clearing a safer route for subsequent convoys.
Moreover, previous evacuees had been required to surrender all weapons. This convoy, however, allowed one pistol per person for self-defense—likely because command anticipated scenarios where civilians might need to fight alongside soldiers.
While Bryan pondered, the seats around them filled. The bus grew noisy with chatter.
Once everyone was seated, a young female soldier carrying a rifle boarded and addressed the passengers: "Please remain in your seats. If you have any issues, come to me directly."
She then took the empty front seat, eyes forward, waiting for departure.
. . .
While civilians finished boarding, final preparations proceeded in the military staging area.
In a temporary command room, a detailed map of the United States lay spread across a table. Three tall men in military uniforms stood around it, deep in discussion.
The one with a scar running down his face sighed as he studied the map. "The route was already risky enough. Now it's snowing. Just our luck."
Captain Harry—commander of the Atlanta convoy—looked to his two adjutants: Colbert and Justin.
Colbert offered reassurance. "It should be fine. If everything goes smoothly, we could reach Atlanta by noon tomorrow via the interstate."
"That's the best-case scenario." Harry returned his attention to the map, tracing the marked route through designated QZ territories. "We don't know what's out there. We don't know the highway conditions. I'm just praying nothing major goes wrong..."
Justin watched his colleagues' worried faces with amusement. "You're overthinking this. One step at a time. Worst case? We run into Infected. With two thousand troops, what's there to fear?"
Harry shot him an exasperated look. "The Infected are dangerous because of their numbers and the virus, idiot. Otherwise, we'd have ended this outbreak already. Plus, we're escorting civilians. Try using that brain occasionally instead of just relying on firepower."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
As they prepared to discuss contingency protocols, someone rapped on the door.
The three fell silent. Harry called out, "Enter."
The door swung open. A stone-faced soldier stepped in, saluted sharply, and announced, "Sir, preparations are complete. Awaiting further orders."
"Already?" Harry checked the time—nearly 9 AM. He nodded. "Are the fuel tankers ready as well?"
"Fully loaded, sir."
"Good." Harry nodded again. "Notify all units and radio the control tower. Convoy departs in ten minutes. Have everyone stand by."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldier saluted once more, pivoted, and exited.
Harry turned to his colleagues. "Alright, let's get moving."
They gathered their materials and, flanked by soldiers at the door, left the command room. A military truck waited outside to transport them to the front of the convoy.
Ten minutes later, dozens of military trucks took point as nearly a hundred vehicles—the Atlanta convoy—rolled out under the watchful eyes of Dallas's remaining residents.
The control tower had received advance notice. As the convoy approached the perimeter gate, it slowly swung open. Every soldier on duty stood at attention, saluting as another convoy departed.
The convoy followed the marked route onto Interstate 20. Due to the vehicles' size and the continuous snowfall—combined with uncertainty about road conditions ahead—they maintained a cautious, steady speed.
On one of the buses, Bryan leaned against his seat, gazing absently out the window. A yawn from beside him snapped him back.
Sarah slumped in her seat, chin propped on her hand, staring vacantly at the headrest in front of her. He waved a hand before her eyes. "What's wrong? Didn't sleep well?"
She glanced at him sideways, her voice listless. "No... just bored."
"Should've said something earlier."
He'd anticipated this. Reaching into his backpack, he produced several comic books. "Think these'll help?"
Sarah's eyes lit up. She snatched them eagerly. "When did you pack these? How'd you know I wanted them?!"
Watching her brighten, Bryan smiled inwardly. I was a kid once too. I know exactly what entertains you little punks.
She dove into the comics, instantly absorbed. He left her to it and began surveying the bus.
Most passengers chatted quietly in hushed voices; others, like him, stared out windows to pass the time.
Some, understanding this would be a long haul with unpredictable events ahead, had closed their eyes to rest—conserving energy for whatever might come.
Finding nothing unusual, Bryan settled back. He wasn't in the mood for scenery anymore. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the book he'd brought.
"U-um, excuse me..."
Before he could open it, a small head popped over the seat in front of him.
Both Bryan and Sarah looked up. A shy boy of eight or nine peered at them, clearly nervous about addressing strangers.
Sarah offered a warm smile, her voice gentle. "Hi there. What's up?"
The boy's eyes darted to the comics stacked between them. Hope flickered across his face. "C-could I... borrow one? Please?"
He'd spotted them through the gap between seats—couldn't help himself. He'd mustered all his courage to ask.
"Of course!"
Sarah wasn't stingy. She selected a comic and handed it over.
"Thank you, miss!" The boy beamed, accepting the book gratefully. "I'll give it back as soon as I—"
"Allen! What are you doing? Get down here this instant!"
A woman's sharp voice cut him off mid-sentence. He flinched, ducked below the seatback, and vanished from view, obeying immediately.
Bryan and Sarah exchanged amused glances but said nothing, returning to their reading.
Half an hour later, the bus fell quiet. Conversations wound down as fatigue from the previous night's poor sleep caught up with people. One by one, passengers drifted off, and soon, near-total silence filled the cabin.
Time slipped by. Then the bus began to slow. The final jolt as it stopped jarred everyone awake.
Passengers sat up, pressing against windows, hearts pounding with the same first thought: Something's wrong.