The otherworldly stillness of the predawn hours was broken when Edward awoke to the distant hum of engines—a sound with which he had become far too well acquainted. Squeezing his tired eyes, heavy-lidded and agitated from sleep, the sound grew louder. As he shuffled towards the front window, already the street was carnival stage scenery of terror.
Two black military vans, soon CDC vans, drove up to his neighbor's house. Combat-fatigued soldiers marched with military urgency, seizing the street as hazmat-clad CDC personnel arrived at houses. They carried large medical packs on their backs, and their gait was stiff and robotic.
Edward's own breath froze in his throat as the horror of reality finally caught up to him. This was not this freaky aberration. This was real life. And it was happening on his front porch.
He saw the soldiers standing with guns outside, rifle butts in waist level, eyes scanning over the floor in dignity. CDC workers, on the other side, began laboring with cool professionalism. They went from building to building, knocking, and when doors opened, they politely asked them to step outside.
Edward watched as a CDC worker checked the temperature of an elderly woman, another pinched her finger and obtained a blood sample. There was no discussion, no apology. The workers were professional, but their eyes were empty—unfeeling, as if they were going through a rote procedure. The whole scene felt quasi-robotic.
Edward's stomach roiled as he saw just how terrible it actually was. This wasn't an isolated event. This was systemic, systematic.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another text from Kyle.
He glanced at it for a moment but didn't have the energy to respond yet. His eyes were fixed on the activity outside.
The CDC workers moved from door to door, meticulously examining each occupant the same way. Some were disoriented, others anxious, but none questioned the workers, even when their hands shook with fear. They seemed to be under a spell, accepting this intrusive ritual as their only reality.
Edward's gaze rested on Laura's house as a CDC worker went to her front door. She was never with anyone, a loner who never had anything to say to anyone. Edward had greeted her a few times, but that was all.
Laura stood on her porch, and Edward's breath was stuck in his throat. She was white, swaying, shivering in her hands as she leaned against the doorframe. She wasn't herself. She leaned off-center—sagging, like she didn't have the energy to stand upright.
The CDC employee took Laura's temperature, then drew her blood. Laura's expression was blank, but there was something in her eyes that unsettled Edward—something hollow, almost empty.
And then, suddenly, Laura collapsed into the worker's arms.
Edward's heart skipped a beat.
The worker fought to grab her, but Laura was already having convulsions. She hacked violently, and Edward's gut churned as blood streamed from her nose and mouth in huge, pounding gouts. The CDC worker, now obviously panicked, stepped back, but Laura's body thrashed forward, her legs locked under her.
The other workers of the CDC came to her rescue and tried to immobilize her. They rushed in a dissociative kind of hurry as if it were part of the common spectacle.
Edward stood near the window, helpless. Workers were trying to figure out what to do. One was on a radio speaking in a hasty voice, and another was rummaging through a medic's bag for something to place under her to stabilize her. The soldiers standing around did not budge—they just stood there grim-faced, staring at the medics.
Edward's breathing caught. This wasn't an illness. Laura wasn't ill—she was something else. This wasn't an outbreak. This was a crisis that had gotten out of hand.
Laura's body was quickly placed on a stretcher, her dead face still smeared with blood. The staff moved with detached speed, strapping her to the stretcher and rolling her towards the waiting CDC van. The doors slammed shut with a sharp clang, and the van sped away, its engine roaring as it vanished from the road.
Edward stood glued to the window, his thoughts in shock.
His phone vibrated once more. Another text from Kyle.
Kyle: "They're door-to-door testing. It's picking up speed more quickly than they had predicted. The infected are gaining more than symptoms. We must go undercover. Stay away from people. It's picking up momentum at a very fast rate."
The words danced before Edward's eyes, the meaning overwhelming. Accelerating. The word hit him like a punch.
Things were getting out of his hands. It was going better than he had expected.
His phone buzzed again. Another text from Kyle:
Kyle: "Be careful. I'll call you if there's news with Sam. Just keep your distance. It's worse than we thought. Be careful, Edward."
Edward read the texts, his head reeling. He couldn't respond. Not yet. His legs were trembling, heart pounding, as the magnitude of what was occurring swept over him.
The CDC workers canvassed door to door, systematically working their way up the block with mechanical precision. Edward couldn't help but stand and gawk. People came out of houses singly, the workers taking temperatures and pricking fingers with the same cold efficiency. It was like an annexation, as if they were reaping people for something far worse than he could even comprehend.
The town was being turned into a cage, and he was powerless to stop it.