He’d figured this was a long shot, but the assistant backed into the store’s mostly empty racks and returned holding a bulky pack in each hand. They were some weird brand Ellie had never seen, but it was still a miracle.

‘Size two, ninety-two per pack,’ the assistant said, holding them up to the glass. ‘You want?’

‘Yes I want,’ Ellie said triumphantly. ‘I ordered a super-jumbo pack online, but they’re not gonna show until the quarantine ends. Do you just have the two boxes?’

‘The only others I have are size four,’ the guy said. ‘Anything else you need?’

‘All good,’ Ellie said.

‘The total with tax comes to one hundred and forty-eight, sixty-two. The credit-card system is down, so it’s cash only.’

Ellie felt stung, knowing ninety Huggies cost twenty-eight bucks in Walmart. But he counted seven twenties and two fives and dropped them into a counter tray saturated in sterilising UV light. His change rattled down a plastic chute. He grabbed the diapers through a hatch and threw them on to the back seat, before settling back behind the wheel.

In the two years since SNor the US government had spent billions on planning for another synthetic virus outbreak, and three blocks down Ellie turned right into a checkpoint manned by National Guard officers in bright yellow biohazard suits.

A rubber-gloved hand made a halt signal and tapped Ellie’s registration into a computer strapped to the opposite wrist. After a few seconds, the suited creature stepped forward and signalled for him to put down the window.

‘Do you have an emergency travel authorisation?’ she asked, a speaker on her mask giving a Darth Vader quality to her voice.

Ellie shook his head. ‘I tried to submit an application, but the online system is swamped.’

‘What’s the purpose of your journey?’

‘I’m picking up my mother-in-law from her apartment. She’s sixty-nine and diabetic. Her carer can’t get to her so she’s going to stay with us till this blows over.’

Or we’re all dead …

The hooded guardswoman nodded. Her colleague waved a police car and a couple of other vehicles through as Ellie handed over his licence and gave his mother-in-law’s name and address. When this was done, the woman disappeared inside a truck and returned with a quarantine authorisation sticker, which she stuck to the windshield.

‘Mr Gold, I’m giving you ninety minutes to collect your mother-in-law and return to your home address. I’m going to waive the six-hundred-dollar ticket for breaching quarantine, because we appreciate there have been problems with the trip-authorisation website. However, if you are stopped a second time, there’ll be a twelve-hundred-dollar fixed penalty, and people who persistently breach quarantine regulations may be detained for an indefinite period.’

‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ Ellie said, shuffling to peel his sweaty back off his seat before rolling through the barricade and on down the deserted street.

46 DEAD BIRTHDAY