The sun had barely dipped beyond the horizon when the guards barked orders, herding survivors toward rows of canvas tents pitched around the looming central building. The place hummed with movement—voices, footsteps, the occasional wail of a child—but beneath it all lay an eerie restraint, like everyone was terrified to breathe too loudly.
Lexi, Lisa, and Kelvin were separated without ceremony. A clipboard officer scribbled their names down, handed them each a thin blanket, and waved them toward different directions. Lisa's eyes filled with tears, her hand reaching helplessly toward Lexi before she was pushed along. Kelvin didn't even glance back.
Lexi didn't resist. She allowed herself to be led into a tent with faded, sagging walls, the faint smell of sweat and damp earth lingering in the air.
Inside, about ten others were already settling in. She swept her gaze over them quickly, filing away every detail.
An old man with trembling hands and sunken cheeks. His cough rattled like broken glass.
A heavily pregnant woman shifting uncomfortably on the thin bedding, one hand rubbing her swollen stomach protectively.
A feverish girl no older than ten, her skin clammy, her mother beside her wiping sweat from her forehead.
A high school girl, pale and shivering, dark circles under her eyes. Infection, Lexi thought immediately.
The rest were middle-aged—two men with hardened eyes, three women who carried themselves with quiet weariness.
The guards had dropped off stacks of folded blue jumpsuits, stiff and uniform. One by one, her tentmates shuffled out toward the communal bathroom, returning clean but subdued, their ragged clothes replaced with the same shapeless blue. The act stripped them of individuality.
Lexi waited. Always last.
When her turn came, she walked calmly into the bathroom, rinsed herself quickly under the icy water, and changed. The jumpsuit fit snugly, almost too tight around the shoulders, but she didn't complain. She studied herself in the cracked mirror—blue, just like everyone else. A number, not a name. She smirked faintly, then walked back.
That evening, a guard delivered food: a stale slice of bread and a bottle of water for each of them. The others devoured theirs instantly, desperation in every bite. Lexi sat cross-legged near the tent entrance and ate hers slowly, each chew deliberate, her eyes darting between faces.
The tent was dim, lit only by a lantern flickering in the center. The air was heavy with exhaustion, but no one could sleep just yet. Trauma had a way of demanding an audience.
he old man cleared his throat, a rasping sound that drew everyone's eyes. "Name's Mr. Harlan," he said, his voice weak but steady. "Used to be a schoolteacher."
His gaze dropped to his trembling hands. "My wife… she didn't make it past the second week. She thought the government would save us." He gave a dry laugh that turned into a cough. "Guess she was half right—they saved some."
A young woman sitting near him, her belly swollen beneath the thin jumpsuit, rubbed her stomach protectively. "I'm Nora," she said softly. "I had a husband. He stayed behind to distract the things so I could run."
Her lips quivered, but she forced herself to smile. "He said he'd meet me in the next life." Her hand tightened on her stomach. "This one here… this is all I've got left."
There was silence, broken only by the feverish whimper of the little girl lying on her mother's lap. The mother, a frazzled woman in her thirties, introduced herself as Clara.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice ragged from crying. "This is Anna," she whispered, stroking the girl's damp hair. "We were three when we left—me, her, and her father. He was bitten two days ago. I…" Her voice cracked. "I had to put him down myself. She doesn't know."
The others shifted uncomfortably, some looking away.
A high school girl with short-cropped hair spoke next, her voice hoarse with fever. "Maya. My parents didn't make it past the outbreak. They turned… I locked myself in the attic for two weeks, listening to them scratching the door. When soldiers came, I thought they'd help." Her lip curled bitterly. "They burned the house. Didn't check if anyone was inside." She leaned back, shivering violently.
The two middle-aged men exchanged a glance before one of them spoke. He had broad shoulders, a scar across his cheek, and eyes that never settled.
"Name's Brant. Me and my brother, Carl." He gestured to the slimmer man beside him. "We came from a camp outside the city. Thought it was safe. Wasn't. Raiders hit it—humans, not dead. Took everything, burned the rest." His hand balled into a fist. "We barely crawled out."
The slimmer man, Carl, nodded silently, his jaw clenched.
For a while, everyone fell into a hushed silence, the weight of loss pressing on them like another body in the tent.
Then Nora's eyes watered as she looked around. "Maybe this place is different," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Maybe we'll be safe here. Maybe the baby will… have a chance."
Mr. Harlan shook his head slowly. "Hope's a dangerous thing, little girl. But I don't blame you for clinging to it."
Clara broke into quiet sobs, burying her face in her daughter's hair. Brant stared at the dirt floor, jaw tight.
Through it all, Lexi sat cross-legged near the entrance, silent, her plate of bread untouched. Her eyes flicked from face to face, cataloging every story, every weakness.
'Mr. Harlan — old, frail, coughing. Won't last a month.
Nora — desperate, vulnerable. Baby makes her a liability.
Clara — emotional, distracted. Dependent on a sick child.
Maya — infected, weak. She'll die soon.
Brant and Carl — strong, but reckless. Anger will kill them.'
Lexi chewed slowly on her bread, eyes glinting in the lantern light. They thought she was mute, an invisible shadow. That suited her just fine. Shadows learned everything.
When the conversation lulled, Nora turned to her with gentle eyes. "You haven't spoken once," she said softly. "What's your name?"
Everyone looked at Lexi expectantly.
Lexi tilted her head, expression unreadable, then returned to nibbling her bread in silence.
Maya gave a weak laugh. "Guess she's mute."
Mr. Harlan sighed. "Maybe that's for the best. Too many words won't save anyone."
Lexi knew, instinctively, who would live through the week and who would not. The old man, the sick girl, the high schooler—already doomed. She filed it away without emotion. Survival was arithmetic, nothing more.
As night deepened, the tent filled with quiet chatter. People introduced themselves—broken stories of lost families, homes overrun, long treks to reach the camp. Some had been there three months, some only a few weeks, others mere days. They spoke in hushed tones, voices carrying a fragile hope that this camp was salvation.
Lexi stayed silent.
Soon the conversation drifted to the shooting that had happened earlier at registration. The man who had shouted. The blood on the dirt.
"I heard he was trouble from another camp," one woman murmured, clutching her arms.
"No," said another, shaking her head. "He was right… but saying it out loud? Foolish."
Everyone nodded solemnly. The lesson was clear.
Lexi's eyes narrowed. The fear in their voices was more revealing than their words. She tucked that detail away.
When laughter—nervous and fragile—began to ripple through the tent, she rose quietly. No one noticed her slipping out into the night.
The camp was alive even in darkness. Lamps glowed faintly, casting long shadows. She moved silently along the edge, her gaze sharp. And then she saw it.
On the far side, beyond the rows of tents, two guards escorted a small group of survivors—old, wounded, frail. They were guided toward a side gate, their families reassured with promises of "treatment" and "special care." Lexi watched as the children clung to their parents, the pregnant woman in her tent's eyes flashing briefly in her mind.
But Lexi's lips curved. Promises. Lies. Those people were not coming back.
She didn't need proof. She knew.
"Hey!" a harsh voice cut through her thoughts.
She turned slowly to find an officer blocking her path, flashlight beam cutting across her face. His hand rested on the butt of his rifle. "What are you doing out here? It's curfew."
For the briefest moment, she considered lying, or perhaps provoking him. But no—this wasn't the time. She softened her expression, lowered her gaze. "Bathroom," she said simply, her voice steady.
The officer's eyes narrowed, studying her, then jerked his chin toward the tents. "Back. Now."
Lexi dipped her head in false submission and walked away calmly, her mind racing with everything she had seen.
Back in the tent, the others were already lying down, exhaustion pulling them into uneasy sleep. She lay on her thin mat near the entrance, eyes open, thoughts swirling.
The man's death. The uniforms. The dragging away of the weak. The lies.
Lexi closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come. Only plans.