"B!" Frank called for her in a weird half-whisper that was neither quiet enough to be safe nor loud enough to work.

Figuring she was too helpless to make it very far on her own, he had just stayed in the grass being pissed off and hot for a little while. But after half an hour with no sign of Bianca, he wandered around the museum grounds, steering clear of the bustling community garden. He searched behind every stone pillar and metal sculpture, around every corner and overgrown hedge. Wherever he went, he called out for her, but there was no response.

Bianca was gone.

Frank sat in the shadow of an overgrown topiary resembling a tumorous sheep that was long overdue for shearing. He pulled out his water flask and poured it out over his face and head before taking a satisfying swig.

Listen, Bianca had said. So he did.

In the near distance, a cacophony of voices mingled with the familiar low rumble of the patrolling Strategic Defense trucks. He closed his eyes and replayed the frantic activity in the garden. Dozens of Brewerytown residents hurriedly harvested anything that was even close to ripe, while others bundled the crops into bins and rolled them inside their co-op for safekeeping.

Behind those sounds, sirens. They carried from downtown, from across the Schuylkill River, from all directions. He tried tuning in to a news channel, but his device wouldn't link to any of the gated community's com towers.

"Ick, not the rabble on our signals," he mumbled. No matter. He didn't need Brewerytown's hallowed newscasts to know that shit was clearly going down.

Frank kneeled in the grass and scoped the area.

"B! You made your point!" he called one last time. Resigned, he kicked over some nearby stones and picked up a piece of shale. Sneaking back to where she had left him, he scrawled a note on the broken sidewalk like they used to do when they were kids.

B

STAY

BRB

F

He skirted the museum grounds, sticking to the fence line between the buildings and the river. Once he had safely passed the gardens, he edged closer to Brewerytown proper. Frank swatted grass and dirt from his pants, straightened his shirt, squared his shoulders, and briefly sucked in his gut. Then he strode with purpose onto Girard Avenue and strolled confidently toward the old college like he owned the place.

A few blocks away, a crowd formed in the street, everyone headed in the same direction. He shuffled forward until he was one with the group. Leaning into the man next to him, he whispered, "Can you believe it?"

Without so much as a glance, the man shook his head. "What a mess."

"What do you think will happen?"

The man shrugged. "They'll get what's coming to them, I guess."

"Yeah," Frank said, wondering what the unlucky bastards had done. "Let's hope so."

On the old college campus, Strategic Defense trucks formed an L that blocked Frank's view from the chaos on the other side. He could hear it, though. A Strategic Defense Officer issued directives through a bullhorn, temporarily drowning out the periodic shouts and murmurs of an angry mob.

He rounded the corner, scanning the overwhelmingly masked faces for one that looked familiar. A handful of Factors dotted the crowd, but the neighborhood had mostly shown up in person. He was about to circle around to the back when a loud CRACK broke through the noise, shattering the chaos. Frank covered his ears and instinctively ducked. Again, then a third time, the air split like a sonic boom. He waited for a fourth report. When it didn't come, he lowered his hands, wincing from the painful ringing in his ears.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

He looked around for the source of the sound, and his eyes rested on a broad, forbidding woman in uniform who stood atop one of the immense SD trucks. As she lowered her sonic rifle, the crowd went dead silent.

"There," she said. "That's better."

Then she turned her head and looked directly at Frank.

In the silence, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them, Frank and this mesmerizing fuckwad of a military goddess. He couldn't tear his eyes away. What was happening? Oh god. Oh GOD. She knew, didn't she? How could she know? He was suddenly a little kid again, five years old, standing in a dark hallway calling for his mommy after another dream about the very bad man. He thought he might wet himself right there in front of all Brewerytown. He desperately wanted to turn and run, but the woman's authoritarian stare rooted him in place.

"You," she spoke into a megaphone, "are a sad bunch of looky-loos."

Then, in a swell of relief so profound he nearly crossed himself, she looked away from Frank and out into the crowd.

"I will have order now. Yes? Alright then,” she said, removing her protective ear muffs. “This is simple, folks. Anyone caught jumping fences will be arrested. Anyone caught resisting orders will be arrested. Anyone lingering without good reason will be arrested. We're not here to put on a show. This is for your own safety."

She paused. "Now, since you're all here, I'd like to ask for your assistance." The woman nodded at an SDO on the ground below her, who turned and murmured something to another officer. SDOs spread out swiftly. Within seconds, the crowd was surrounded.

"I am Sergeant Foster. I am here to collect fence jumpers, I am here to collect afflicted, and I am here to protect you. If you do not belong in Brewerytown, now is your chance to come forward. Do so of your own accord, and you will receive humane treatment, just like these fine folks,” she said, tapping the SDO truck with her foot. “If I have to sus you out—and believe me, I will—then I make no such promises."

She paused again. A murmur rose from the crowd, low at first, then increasingly insistent. Foster raised her hand for silence, then continued. "Those among you who are sick, best come with us now, too." She nodded. "Come on, then. We'll escort you to a medical facility."

When nobody came forward, Foster said. "Every second matters, folks. This is not a drill. We are facing an affliction of pandemic proportions." Her use of the trigger word was effective, and panic rippled through the crowd. "That’s right, I said a pandemic," she repeated. "Our very survival depends on your actions at this moment. Do the right thing."

"Her!" a man shouted. He shoved a nearby woman forward. "Take her! She's sick!"

The woman backed away, slowly shaking her head. "I—I'm not!"

"She is!"

An SDO rushed forward and grabbed the woman by the arm, raising something to her face.

"No," Frank whispered. A woman turned around and locked eyes with him. Frank shook his head and put a finger to his lips. A scream pierced the air, and they turned to see an SDO shove the accused woman into a truck.

"Fever," the officer said.

"Good, good," Sergeant Foster shouted. "That's what protection looks like, folks. It isn't pretty, but it'll keep you alive."

As if on cue, a dozen fingers pointed in a dozen different directions. Her, someone shouted. Take him, take him! Officers wielding infrared thermometers and batons scrambled toward the accused. Within seconds, half the crowd was lunging forward, forcing their own toward the SDOs and their trucks.

A child of five or six ran forward and raised her hand to Sergeant Foster, who nodded in her direction. "It's my Daddy, miss. He's awful sick. Can you help him?"

Behind the child, a man let out a wail that strangled Frank's heart. The man reached for the girl, who said, "It's okay, Daddy. Please let them help you. Please!"

"It's a cold!" the man cried. "I swear, it's just a cold! I've been to the clinic. I have meds!" He reached for his daughter just as two SDOs grabbed his arms. "I have meds! I can show you. Don't, please. Ada! No! Don't!" They dragged his kicking body to a truck and shoved him inside.

"The girl," said Foster.

An officer lifted the girl by her waist and hauled her toward a different truck. Frank lunged forward.

"Hey, no! What the hell? Put her with her dad," he said, tugging the SDO's arm. "Don't put her in there by herself! She's just a kid!"

The officer threw the girl into the truck with one arm and whirled around with his baton in one fluid motion. He struck Frank in the head so hard Frank buckled and fell forward, scraping his palms on the gravel.

"Ah, fuck!" Frank rolled back and forth on the road, clutching his head. "Fuckity fuck! You fucking fuckers. Ah!"

"Take him!"

Frank looked up to see the woman who had been standing in front of him in the crowd. She jabbed a finger in his direction, practically bouncing with sadistic glee.

Frank glared and flipped her off. "Off with your head!"

He curled up in a ball as the officer's boot connected with his head. He writhed on the ground for a few seconds, groaning until he found his voice again.

"Inbred totalitarian pigfucker!" Frank wiped what he thought was sweat from his forehead and came away with blood. "Ah, goddamit."

"He's a fence jumper!" the woman yelled. "And he's sick. My god, just look at him—he has to be!"

The SDO reached down and yanked Frank up by the shirt, ripping his sleeve. The officer gasped. The woman gasped. Frank gasped as his scaly purple bicep hit the light.