The smooth jazz flooding back onto the radio felt like a cruel joke. Jamal lay frozen, the CDC's stark words – Grey Flu, violent disorientation, extreme aggression, shelter in place – echoing in the sudden silence of his room. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum solo drowning out the returning melody. This is it. The thing the quiet voice warned about.
Downstairs, Rico's head snapped up from the battery bank he'd been diagnosing, the multimeter forgotten in his hand. His eyes, wide in the basement's fluorescent light, met Jamal's as he appeared at the top of the stairs. The easy grin was gone, replaced by raw apprehension.
"You heard that?" Rico's voice was tight.
"Every word," Jamal breathed, already moving. He grabbed his phone. No bars. He tried the landline. A dead, hollow tone. "Phones are down. Comms are out already?"
"Or jammed. Or overloaded." Rico scrambled up the stairs, wiping grease from his hands onto his jeans. "I gotta go, Jamal. Now."
Panic flared in Jamal's chest. "Go? Go where? They said shelter in place!"
"My mom, man! My little sisters!" Rico's voice cracked. "They're downtown, near the hospital where Maya volunteers! If that flu hits there first…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. The image of his vibrant family facing violent, disoriented mobs was terrifying.
Jamal understood instantly. Family came first. He gripped Rico's shoulder. "Okay. Okay. Go. But be smart, Rico. Please."
"Smart is my middle name," Rico tried for bravado, but it fell flat. He headed for the door, then paused. "Lock this place down, Jamal. Tight. Don't let anyone in you don't trust with your life. Not yet." His gaze swept the quiet street outside. "People get scared… they get stupid. Or worse."
"I will. Take this." Jamal grabbed the heavy-duty Maglite flashlight by the door – solid metal, a decent club in a pinch. He also handed Rico a small backpack he kept ready: bottled water, energy bars, a basic first-aid kit, a multi-tool. "Text if you can. Call Maya's hospital if the landlines come back. Tell her… tell her to get here. Fast."
"Got it. King Jamal's orders." Rico managed a tight nod, then slipped out into the unnervingly quiet night, disappearing towards his beat-up pickup truck. The engine roared to life, an alien sound in the sudden stillness, and then faded rapidly.
Jamal locked the deadbolt, slid the heavy security chain across, and engaged the newly installed steel reinforcement bar across the door frame. Rico was right. Fear did things to people. He moved to the front window, peering through a slit in the blinds.
Oakwood Estates was still mostly dark, but lights were flickering on in houses. He saw Chad Henderson's porch light blaze, the man himself appearing, phone pressed to his ear, gesticulating wildly. Probably getting the same dead tone Jamal had. Across the street, old Mrs. Gable's curtain twitched, her face pale and frightened in the window.
Shelter in place. The official advice. But Jamal knew shelter meant nothing without supplies. And he had them. The weight of that responsibility settled on him, heavy and cold. He couldn't save everyone. But he could save some. Maya. Rico and his family, if they made it. Mrs. Gable. Maybe others… if they listened.
He descended back into the Fortress. The hum of the batteries, the neat rows of supplies – they were suddenly more than just insurance. They were life. He methodically began his lockdown protocol: closing and securing the internal steel shutters over the basement's small, high windows, double-checking the battery backups for the security lights and perimeter sensors Rico had helped install, ensuring the hidden air filtration intake was sealed against potential contaminants. He checked the shotgun and handgun – legally purchased, meticulously maintained – locking them back in the heavy safe but keeping the keys readily accessible. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
Sleep was impossible. He monitored a battery-powered emergency radio. Static, mostly. Then, faintly, a panicked broadcaster: "…riots reported in downtown sector… hospitals overwhelmed… police advise extreme caution…" The signal faded. Downtown.Where Rico was heading. Where Maya was. His stomach clenched.
Dawn, Day 1:
The morning sun revealed a changed world. The usual sounds of suburbia – sprinklers, distant traffic, lawnmowers – were absent. An eerie quiet hung heavy. Jamal watched from an upstairs window.
He saw Chad Henderson loading suitcases into his SUV, face grim. Mr. Peterson from two doors down was arguing loudly with his wife on their driveway, pointing towards his car. Fear was manifesting as flight.
Then, the first sign of the outside chaos intruding. A car, dented and missing a hubcap, screeched around the corner too fast. It slammed to a halt outside the large, imposing house at the end of the block – the Carlisles. Two men Jamal didn't recognize jumped out. They weren't wearing masks, but their movements werejerky, frantic. They started pounding on the Carlisle's ornate front door.
"Open up! We know you got stuff! We need food! Medicine!" one yelled, his voice raw with panic.
Mrs. Carlisle appeared at an upstairs window, face terrified. "Go away! We're calling the police!"
"Phones are dead, lady!" the other man snarled. "Open the damn door!" He picked up a decorative garden gnome and hurled it through the Carlisle's front window. The crash of shattering glass echoed through the silent street.
Jamal's hand tightened on the windowsill. This was it. The thin veneer cracking. He saw Chad Henderson freeze halfway into his SUV, watching the scene unfold with wide-eyed horror, not helping.
Before Jamal could decide what to do, the Carlisles' garage door suddenly rumbled open. Mr. Carlisle stood there, holding a hunting rifle, pointed shakily at the intruders. "Get off my property! Now!"
The two men hesitated, glancing at the rifle. The element of surprise was gone. They cursed, scrambled back into their battered car, and peeled away, leaving the broken window and palpable fear behind. Mr. Carlisle quickly lowered the garage door again, his face ashen.
The incident sent a shockwave through the visible neighbors. Curtains snapped shut. Garage doors that had been open slammed down. The impulse to flee seemed to war with the instinct to barricade. Jamal knew he had to act. He couldn't wait for things to get worse.
His first thought: Maya. He needed her safe. He tried his phone again. Nothing. The landline: dead. The hospital. He had to risk it.
He scribbled a quick note: Maya - GONE TO HOSPITAL TO FIND YOU. GET HOME IMMEDIATELY. LOCK DOWN. WAIT FOR ME. - J He ran across the street, knocking urgently on Mrs. Gable's door.
Her face, pale and lined with worry, appeared in the crack of the security chain. "Jamal? Oh, thank heavens! What's happening? Those men…"
"It's bad, Mrs. Gable," Jamal said, keeping his voice calm but urgent. He slid the note through the gap. "I need to find Maya. If she comes here before I get back, give her this. Lock your doors, stay inside, close your curtains. Don't answer for anyone you don't know *personally* and trust."
"But… but my arthritis medicine… I only have a few days left…" Her voice trembled.
"I'll help you, I promise," Jamal said, meeting her frightened eyes. "But right now, safety first. Please, Mrs. Gable. Lock up tight. I'll be back as soon as I can."
She nodded mutely, taking the note with a shaking hand and closing the door. He heard the deadbolt slide home.
Jamal sprinted back to his house. He grabbed his sturdy backpack, loading essentials: water, first-aid kit, protein bars, pepper spray, the powerful Maglite, his multi-tool, and, after a moment's agonizing hesitation, the legally concealed handgun, loaded and secured in its holster under his jacket. He prayed he wouldn't need it. He locked the Fortress down tight, leaving the house looking deceptively normal from the outside.
He took his Civic, not the flashy choice but reliable. The streets were unnerving. Abandoned cars dotted the roads. People hurried along sidewalks, heads down, carrying bags. He saw a convenience store with its windows smashed, people scrambling inside, grabbing whatever they could. Looting had begun. Police? None in sight.
The drive to Oakwood General Hospital, usually ten minutes, took twenty. He navigated around stalled cars and detoured past streets clogged with panicked crowds. The hospital loomed ahead, a scene of controlled chaos spilling into uncontrolled disaster. Ambulances were abandoned haphazardly at angles, lights still flashing uselessly. People spilled out of the ER doors – some crying, some shouting, some slumped against walls looking dazed or ill. Medical staff in scrubs looked overwhelmed, trying to direct a tide of humanity with no clear plan.
Jamal parked a block away, his heart in his throat. He pushed through the throng near the ER entrance, scanning desperately for Maya. The air was thick with fear, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. He saw a man lurching violently, held down by two orderlies before being dragged inside, screaming incoherently. *Grey Flu?*
"Maya!" he yelled, his voice swallowed by the din. "Maya Johnson!"
He pushed deeper, dodging gurneys and frantic families. He spotted her near the triage desk. She was trying to calm a hysterical woman, her white coat smeared with dirt and what looked like blood. Her braids were escaping her neat bun, and exhaustion etched deep lines on her face, but her eyes were focused, professional.
"Maya!" Jamal shoved his way towards her.
She looked up, her eyes widening in shock and relief. "Jamal! What are you doing here? It's insane! You shouldn't be…"
"Phones are down," he cut in, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "I came to get you. We have to go. *Now.*"
"I can't just leave!" she protested, gesturing at the chaos. "People are dying! They need help!"
"Maya, listen!" Jamal lowered his voice, leaning close. "They said shelter in place. This hospital… it's a target. It's not safe. You saw that guy they dragged in. Aggression, disorientation… that's the flu. It's here. You can't help anyone if you're sick… or worse." He saw the conflict warring in her eyes – duty versus survival. "Please, Maya. Come home. To the Fortress. We have supplies. Medicine. It's safe."
The mention of the Fortress, his secret project she'd teased him about, landed differently now. She looked around at the crumbling order, the rising panic, the exhausted, terrified staff. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "Dr. Evans… he collapsed an hour ago. Fever. Delirious. They think it's… it." Her voice broke. "Okay. Okay, Jamal. Let me just grab my bag from the locker room. Two minutes."
Relief flooded him. "I'll be right here. Hurry."
Maya disappeared into the staff area. Jamal kept scanning the crowd, the tension coiling tighter. He saw Chad Henderson's SUV idling poorly a little way down the street, Chad himself arguing through the window with a harried-looking nurse who shook her head vigorously. *Even Chad came for help?*
Suddenly, shouting erupted near the ambulance bay. A group of men, looking desperate and angry, were trying to force their way past security guards to get inside, yelling about needing medi"Maya!" Jamal yelled again, pushing towards the staff door she'd disappeared through. Just then, she burst out, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her face set.
"Let's go!" she shouted over the rising noise.
They fought their way back through the surging crowd towards the Civic. Jamal kept himself between Maya and the worst of the jostling. He saw Chad's SUV lurch forward, cutting off another car trying to leave, then speeding away, tires squealing.
They reached the Civic. Jamal shoved Maya into the passenger seat and jumped in, locking the doors instantly. He started the engine just as the crowd spilled into the street around them, some pounding on car hoods, demanding rides or help. He saw faces twisted by fear and anger. He carefully, slowly, edged the car forward, refusing to stop, refusing to engage. Maya gripped the dashboard, her knuckles white.
As they pulled away from the hospital chaos, the relative quiet of the suburban streets felt surreal. Maya slumped back in her seat, letting out a shaky breath. She looked at Jamal, her eyes filled with a mixture of terror, exhaustion, and dawning realization.
"Jamal…" she whispered. "You were right. About all of it." She reached over and squeezed his hand on the gearshift, her touch cold. "What do we do now?"
He met her gaze, the responsibility settling on him fully. He wasn't just Jamal the student anymore. He was Jamal the Prepared. And his Fortress wasn't just his secret anymore. It was their sanctuary.
"Now," Jamal said, turning onto their street, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him, "we get home. We lock down. And we get ready. Rico's trying to get his family. Mrs. Gable is alone. We have space. We have supplies." He glanced at the fortified basement door visible as he pulled into his driveway. "We build our bridge, Maya. Right here. Starting now."
He saw Chad Henderson standing on his own porch, watching them return, his expression unreadable but far from friendly. The challenge wasn't just the virus or the chaos outside anymore. It was holding onto their little island of safety in a rapidly flooding world. The Kingdom of Oakwood was about to be tested. Jamal parked the car, took a deep breath, and prepared to open the gates.