Here We Stand (Book 1): Infected (Surviving The Evacuation) by Frank Tayell

and sail off to the Caribbean. Said I could live on the boat, but it was her way of stopping me from quitting. She knew I was thinking about it. I mean, I liked the children, but there are nice kids everywhere. Schools, too.”
    “You didn’t want to be a teacher?” he asked.
    “Who gets to be what they want? Trent thought the kids had to be scared. That was his strategy. Fear. I didn’t like him, but… I warned him. You heard me, right?” There was desperation in her voice.
    “Yeah. I heard you.”
    She lapsed into silence, and he didn’t try to fill it.
    A few minutes later, a truck overtook them. The back was closed, and Tom wondered if it contained soldiers, or those who’d failed the cursory medical exam. He flexed his hand. He’d not noticed until he was pulling his jacket back on, but there was a jagged cut along his forearm caused by flying debris on the bridge. The blood had mixed with the dust to form a paste over the wound, obscuring it from view. The white-coated soldier had missed it. How many other wounds had been missed, and how many of the injured were infected?
    A path had been cleared down the interstate, but like in Manhattan, it was full of abandoned vehicles. A few had their windows smashed. In most of those, there was a corpse, the head blown apart. Maybe they had controlled the outbreak. It was possible, wasn’t it?
    “There’s people,” Helena said, pointing to a building overlooking the highway. Tom didn’t care. He focused on the road, following it as the route took them off the interstate and down into the suburbs. Here the side roads were blocked. More faces were visible, these blank and expressionless.
    A helicopter buzzed overhead. It looked like a civilian model. Did it belong to a news agency? Was the image of this last, desperate band of refugees being broadcast across the nation? He turned his head down until the chopper had gone away.
    Step after weary step, he walked. One foot in front of the other, each step getting shorter, each breath more ragged, until the yards became miles and they reached the reception center.
     
    He’d been expecting the hasty order of a FEMA camp, but this was distinctly civilian. It was clear there had been a plan, but also that too many people had arrived for it to be properly deployed. Tents had collapsed or been dismantled. The only activity was outside those marked with a bright red cross. Military vehicles dotted the park, usually with soldiers nearby. Their bored expressions were the only reassurance amidst the chaotic disorder.
    A man in a heavy black coat broke off from a slightly larger group of soldiers and came to greet them.
    “Welcome,” he said. “I’m Rabbi David Cohen. You are the last, and you are just in time. Does anyone require immediate medical attention?”
    No one moved.
    “Good,” the rabbi said, “because we are about to leave.”
    “To go where?” Helena asked.
    “Home,” the rabbi said. “A curfew is being established. Everyone is to go home and stay there. You’ll do the same.”
    “Our homes are over there,” a woman said, gesturing to the east.
    “We have coaches that will take you to somewhere nearby,” the rabbi said with a weary but disarming smile. “Think of someone you know who lives within twenty miles of here. Family, friends, co-workers, anyone who might be willing to share their roof. The destinations of the buses are taped to their windows. Find the one going closest, give the driver the address, and you’ll be taken there.”
    “And if we don’t know the address?” a man asked. “It’s my secretary. She lives in Fort Lee, but I don’t know where.”
    “There are police officers by the buses, they can find the addresses for you,” the rabbi said.
    “And if we don’t know anyone nearby?” Helena asked.
    “No one?” the rabbi asked. “No friends, no co-workers, no family?”
    “I have a sister,” Helena said. “But she’s in Canada.”
    “Canada? There’s a bus leaving