The body was already gone.
Not carefully. Not ceremonially. Zipped, tagged, and pushed out through a side corridor that still smelled like bleach trying—and failing—to erase copper. Daniel Price stopped being a person the second his heart quit. After that, he was paperwork. A case number. A series of samples logged under time stamps that meant more than his name ever would again.
Ellis hadn't moved.
He stood at the edge of the table, helmet off, gloves discarded, hands flat on cold steel. His shoulders were tight, jaw locked. A faint ache had settled behind his eyes, the kind that came from too much adrenaline and not enough sleep. Techs had come in, done their jobs, avoided his eyes. Someone had wiped blood from the floor. Someone else had sealed evidence containers and stacked them neatly on a rolling cart. Ellis stayed where he was and watched the clock over the door tick forward.
No counting. No dramatics.
Just time slipping past.
Twenty-four hours gone.
Forty-eight left.
The lab didn't feel sealed anymore. It felt buried—set deep inside something big and angry that was waking up piece by piece. The vibration under his boots was constant now. Not the hum of equipment. Not airflow. People. Vehicles. Boots running in patterns that meant the base was pushing back, reorganizing itself through force and repetition.
Gunfire cracked outside the reinforced glass.
Short bursts. Pauses. Clean. Controlled.
Not panic.
Training.
Ellis exhaled slowly through his nose and finally straightened. His back protested. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, before turning toward the console wall.
The screens were stacked three high, stretching nearly the length of the room. Exterior feeds. Interior corridors. Heat maps. Motion sensors. Red and blue overlays painted the base in harsh colors that reduced people to shapes and movement. He tracked them anyway.
A fire team advanced through Hangar Three, boots slipping slightly on something dark that had dried unevenly across the concrete. Bodies had been dragged to the side, lined up without ceremony. One of them moved—just a twitch of a leg—and the nearest soldier fired once into the skull without breaking stride.
Ellis didn't flinch.
Near the admin wing, a group of soldiers forced open a door with a hydraulic spreader. Smoke rolled out, thick and sour. They went in shoulder to shoulder and came out a minute later dragging two bodies. One screamed until it didn't.
A mounted weapon barked near the motor pool. Heavy. Final.
They were taking it back.
"Perimeter's tightening," Mike said behind him, voice loose, almost conversational. He leaned against a counter, arms folded. Dried blood streaked his forearms and the side of his sleeve. He hadn't noticed. Or hadn't cared. "Command's opening the footprint. They're done waiting."
Ellis didn't turn right away. He watched a squad secure a stairwell, one soldier taking a knee while another sprayed disinfectant over something that had once been a person.
"They don't have a choice," Ellis said.
Mike huffed quietly. "People don't sit still when the lights go out."
"They run toward walls," Ellis replied. "Toward uniforms. Toward anything that looks solid."
Mike tilted his head. "Hope's a hell of a drug."
Ellis switched feeds. Gate Charlie.
Floodlights blasted the fencing in white glare. Shapes pressed against it. Too many. Men with their hands up. Women clutching kids who didn't understand why they were being told to stay quiet. A teenager climbed the fence halfway before being shouted down by a soldier with his rifle leveled—not firing, not yet. A car sat crooked against a concrete barrier, doors open, engine still running. Someone inside pounded the steering wheel again and again, forehead pressed to glass.
Ellis leaned closer without realizing it.
"Command's nervous," Mike went on. "Doesn't want a camp. Doesn't want a riot. Doesn't want the wrong kind of footage if any of this ever makes it out."
Ellis keyed the console and patched into command without asking. His fingers moved automatically, muscle memory filling in the steps.
"Leesburg," he said.
A pause. Static. Then, "Go."
"You're opening the gates," Ellis said. Not a question. Not phrased gently.
Silence stretched long enough to be deliberate.
"We're securing the base," Command replied. "That's the priority."
Ellis watched medics take a man who could barely stand. Blood soaked his pant legs. The man kept looking back toward the fence, mouth moving, trying to say something that got lost in the noise.
"You already opened them," Ellis said. "You're just pretending you didn't."
Another pause. Longer.
Mike watched him now, attention sharpened.
"Doctor," Command said carefully, "your assignment hasn't changed."
Ellis's jaw tightened. "My assignment doesn't work without people."
"That's not—"
"You want timelines?" Ellis cut in. "You want patterns? You want to know why one kid turns in five minutes and another lasts an hour? You don't get that from locked doors."
A distant explosion rattled the ceiling. Not close enough to be a threat. Close enough to feel through bone.
Command exhaled audibly. "You're asking us to take on risk."
Ellis didn't blink. "You're already doing that. You just haven't named it."
The channel went quiet.
Mike let out a low whistle. "You don't ease into things."
Ellis kept his eyes on the screens. "They'll come."
"And if they don't?" Mike asked.
"They will."
Because Sharon would look for structure. Because Justin would look for walls and fuel and soldiers. Because Tally would look for anywhere someone told her she couldn't go.
Because Ella Belle—
Ellis shut that thought down hard. He couldn't afford it. Not now.
The radio crackled again, overlapping voices bleeding into one another.
"—Civilian intake authorized—"
"—All gates—"
"—Screening mandatory—"
"—Lethal force approved—"
Ellis closed his eyes for half a second. Opened them.
"Set intake protocols," he said. "Bites isolated. Scratches monitored. No exceptions."
Mike's mouth twitched. "You realize what you just bought us."
Ellis glanced at him. "Time."
"And a flood of variables."
Ellis nodded once. "Good."
A tech approached hesitantly. "Sir—Gate Charlie's already overwhelmed. They're asking for guidance on minors."
Ellis didn't hesitate. "Same protocol. No exceptions."
The tech swallowed and nodded, already turning away.
Mike watched him go. "You're going to make enemies."
Ellis's voice stayed level. "I already have them."
Gunfire echoed closer now. A string of shots, rapid and precise, followed by shouting. A scream cut off abruptly.
Ellis pulled up another feed. Near the outer barricade, a woman dropped to her knees as soldiers dragged a small body away from her. The body was limp. Too small. A soldier hesitated, then another stepped in and pulled him back into formation.
Ellis stared.
Mike said nothing.
The base didn't slow. It didn't pause for grief. It absorbed it and kept moving.
"Command's reinforcing airspace," a voice crackled over the internal channel. "Inbound support delayed. Weather interference."
Ellis nodded to himself. Delays meant time. Time meant possibilities.
He shifted screens again. Heat signatures near the perimeter spiked and scattered as more people arrived. Some moved too fast. Some not fast enough.
"Ellis," Mike said quietly, no jokes this time. "You really think they'll make it here?"
Ellis didn't answer immediately.
He thought of Sharon's hands—steady, capable, never shaking when it mattered. Of Justin's shoulders as he leaned over an engine, grease-stained and confident. Of Tally's mouth running faster than her brain. Of Ella Belle's laugh, too loud for quiet rooms.
"They know where to go," Ellis said finally. "I made sure of that."
Mike studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Then we buy them time."
Another report came in. "Gate Charlie—child confirmed infected. Resistance from parent."
Ellis's fingers tightened on the console edge. "Proceed."
The response was immediate. "Yes, sir."
A single gunshot echoed faintly through the feeds.
Ellis didn't look away.
The clock above the door kept ticking.
Forty-eight hours.
He didn't know how his family would reach the base. He didn't know if Command would bend again. He didn't know if the road would still exist by morning.
But if there was a way in, Sharon would find it.
And if there wasn't—
Ellis would make one.