When the over-sixty cohort had exited, the soldier left without another word. The suited figure outside held up a green flag, and to Elliott’s surprise, the bus pulled away.

His head turned, and he stared past the white FEMA tents and the suited individuals milling around. His eyes were fixed on the entrance to the Georgia Dome, where Rose had gone in. Where he feared she might never come out.

The bus stopped at a giant parking deck. The doors opened, and the driver yelled for everyone to get off.

The passengers filed out, bewildered looks on their faces.

A woman in a space suit directed everyone to take the stairwell to level five. The people walked past her in silence, but inside the stairwell, whispers erupted, frightened voices asking questions.

Why one week? Are those people going to die?

They’re not going to let us go home. I knew it!

We should run now.

A booming voice from the landing above silenced the chorus.

“Keep moving.”

A suited man leaned over the rail, his muscular, unsmiling face ominous behind the helmet.

“Keep moving. All your questions will be answered. Keep moving, people. Fall behind, you go to quarantine.”

The horde surged forward after that, some pushing.

On level five, rows of booths were spread out. They reminded Elliott of voting booths on Election Day: each was just big enough for one person and stood on flimsy legs.

“Take a station. Any station. Spread out. You have five minutes to complete the questionnaire.”

Inside a booth, Elliott found a tablet propped up, a large green start button glowing. He tapped it, and the screen showed a graphic with a cell phone and a prompt that said:

Place your cell phone in the box to your right.

The black box slid closed the moment Elliott dropped his phone inside. He heard the faint noise of electric motors.

On the screen, a questionnaire appeared. Many of the questions he had anticipated. It asked for his social security number, name, date of birth, home address, occupation, education, his current symptoms, when they began, his health history, especially any immuno-compromising drugs or conditions, and his travel outside the country, especially to Kenya, Somalia, Ethiopia, Uganda, and Tanzania. Elliott lied about his date of birth.

Some questions struck him as odd: Was he comfortable using a firearm? Had he ever been to prison? Had he ever been in the military or had military training?

What does it mean?

At the end of the questionnaire, a large thank-you box appeared. The company logo below it was one he had never seen before: Rook Quantum Sciences. They must have developed the survey and database software the government was using.

The black box opened, and he took out his cell phone. The screen was now black except for the Rook Quantum Sciences logo.

He tapped the home button.

Two dialogs appeared:

You have completed your questionnaire for the day.

You have no new messages.