The line moved slowly, the buses ahead releasing their passengers in waves that flowed out until they were empty. When Elliott and Rose’s bus came to a stop, along with six others, seven suited figures emerged from the tent and entered the buses. The man who entered Elliott’s bus wore army fatigues under his suit—Elliott could see the top of his uniform inside the helmet.

In front of the FEMA tent, a man held up a red flag.

The man at the front of the bus spoke via a speaker, giving his voice an unnerving, Darth Vader-like tone. “If you have been infected for seven days or more, please raise your hand.”

A few hands went up slowly. The suited man’s eyes darted across the bus, seeming to mark the people in his mind. He squinted as if something was wrong.

“Please, this is important. We need to know how long you’ve been infected to give you proper care. If you had a cough or were sneezing last Sunday, raise your hand now. This is very important.”

That’s odd, Elliott thought. A few more hands went up.

From his peripheral vision, he saw Rose raise her hand.

He was about to stop her, but the suited figure had already seen her hand go up.

Outside, the man by the tent lowered the red flag, as if calling for the start of a race.

“Okay, if your hand is raised, stand up and exit the bus. They’ll direct you outside.”

Elliott saw fear in Rose’s eyes. The suited figure remained at the front of the bus, watching, making sure everyone who had raised their hand disembarked.

Elliott stood in his seat. “Can you tell us—”

“Sir, please sit down.”

“I just want to know—”

“Sir, your questions will be answered inside. If you don’t sit back down I’ll have you removed and placed in quarantine.”

Elliott sank back down into his seat.

To Rose, the suited figure said, “Ma’am, please come forward.”

She stared at Elliott.

He gave her his bravest face. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Go ahead.”

Outside the bus, the entire cohort was ushered into the Georgia Dome.

When the last person cleared the FEMA tent, the figure outside raised a yellow flag.

The suited soldier spoke again.

“If you are over sixty years of age, or if you are unable to walk without assistance, please raise your hand.”

Elliott was sixty-three, and he didn’t look especially young; his time at the CDC had been rough on his body. But he kept his hand down. For her sake.

The soldier eyed him with blatant suspicion.

Elliott shrugged.

“I’ve got a stressful job. It ages you.”

The man shook his head but let Elliott keep his seat.