Chapter 3

Elias

The military has locked down I-95. No one gets out of D.C. or the stretch of land that runs up to Baltimore. The whole area is sealed tight. I planned for this kind of mess years ago. Empty shelves, blackouts, government falling apart. The works. Officials keep saying they have everything under control, but they never tell regular people the real story. I work in national security. I know this sickness is not going away soon. It spread too fast. The President and the top people are already safe inside Mount Weather. I know more than I should because I still talk to someone at the CDC.

Soldiers set up checkpoints all over. Extra tents stand outside the hospitals. FEMA camps will come next. Fear hit the streets hard. Stores got cleaned out. People fight and die over food and water. The world turned upside down in just a few days. All I want is to get home, kiss my wife hard, and hug my kids tight. It has only been a few days since I last saw them, but stuck inside Fort Meade it feels like weeks have passed.

Of course this blows up while I am away from home. That is pure bad luck. I hope my family is doing the drills we practiced. We built a bunker in the backyard of our place in Montpelier. The land sits among old trees and open fields. It feels farther from the city than it really is. Montpelier was the cheapest spot that still gave me the space I wanted without buying a falling-down house. The two-hour drive to work ate up a lot of gas money, so I often stayed with a friend in D.C. for a couple of nights before heading back.

I sit at my desk and twist my tie between my fingers. The air already smells like too many people who have not washed in days. I want to walk straight out the door, but the things outside are not people anymore. The CDC in Atlanta is talking to labs all over the world, looking for a cure. So far they have found nothing. I do not think a cure is coming. That bad feeling sits deep in my stomach.

Sirens start screaming through the whole building. My eyes go wide. That means someone inside is infected and they are locking the place down to stop it from spreading. I shove my chair back and run for the nearest exit I know. People push and shout in every direction. Whoever got past the temperature checks must have been careful.

I reach the door. A soldier in full uniform steps in front of me.

“I can’t let you leave,” he says in a flat voice.

“You have to. My family is out there. I can’t stay locked in here while they are in danger.” I look down at him. I am a couple of inches taller. “Alright,” I say, and put my hands up. His shoulders drop for a second. I grab the rifle, shove the barrel toward the ceiling, and pull the trigger. Bullets punch holes in the tiles. When the gun clicks empty I slam the butt into the side of his head. He drops to the floor.

“Don’t make me use this,” I say, backing out while I keep the empty rifle pointed at the men who already have their guns raised. They open fire. I run. Bullets snap past my ears. Two soldiers chase me across the parking lot. My own car with the bug-out bag and the 9mm is too far away. I jump into the first unlocked car I see. Keys sit in the cup holder. The engine starts. I floor it. The main gate is sealed, so I cut across empty parking spaces and onto the grass. The four-wheel drive digs in hard. A gap in the rock barrier is just wide enough. I hit the gas, smash through the barbed-wire fence, and burst onto the access road.

I merge onto the freeway and freeze for a second at the wall of stopped cars and screaming horns. Both directions are packed solid. Home is two hours away on a normal day. Tonight it looks like I may never get there.