The Ghosts of Science

Western Georgia, Near the Alabama Border

Day 21 – The Journey to Nowhere

Dr. Evelyn Carter had once believed in maps.

She had trusted them her entire life—GPS screens, lab schematics, genetic sequences laid out in perfect patterns. Data never lied.

Now, the map in her hands felt like a cruel joke.

She ran a finger over the faded red circle, drawn in shaky pen strokes over a remote area deep in the Appalachian foothills.

Beside it, in desperate handwriting, were the words:

THEY’RE STILL WORKING.

Evelyn swallowed hard.

A week ago, she had been trapped in the falling CDC, watching everything she had worked for burn to the ground.

Now, she was chasing a ghost.

If there really was an operating research facility out here, it was her last chance.

If it didn’t exist…

Then science really was dead.

And so was everything that had ever mattered to her.

A Fractured Team

The group moved slowly, cutting through backroads and empty fields, sticking to the tree lines where they could.

There were only five of them left now.

Dr. Julian Cross – her only real ally, a microbiologist with a bad knee and a worse attitude.

Samara Lin – former lab tech, quiet, sharp-eyed, never more than five feet from a stolen pistol.

Grant Voss – an ex-military security officer who still thought orders meant something.

Maggie Trent – a nurse with a haunted expression, tending to wounds that never quite stopped bleeding.

Each of them had survived the fall of the CDC.

Now, the cracks were starting to show.

They were low on food, ammunition, and patience.

And worse—

They weren’t the only ones heading west.

The Roadblock

Evelyn’s gut told her something was wrong before she even saw it.

The road ahead was too quiet.

The air too still.

Then she spotted the bodies.

Two men slumped over an abandoned truck, their clothes stained dark with days-old blood.

Bullet wounds. Headshots.

Their weapons were gone—stripped from them, just like their shoes.

Cross swore under his breath. "Damn it."

Voss moved forward, rifle raised, scanning the trees. "Ambush site. Probably hit last night."

Evelyn took a slow breath. "Are they still here?"

Voss didn’t answer.

Which meant he wasn’t sure.

Maggie shifted nervously, her voice quiet. "Should we turn back?"

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

They couldn’t.

The research site—the one thing that might still matter—was out there, somewhere beyond this road.

They had to keep moving.

But if they ran into the wrong kind of people…

No.

Evelyn squared her shoulders. "We go around. Stay in the trees. Keep moving west."

Nobody argued.

Because they all knew the truth.

The only way out of this was forward.

The Unwelcome Discovery

The first real sign of life came five miles later.

Cross spotted it first—a thin trail of black smoke, rising against the setting sun.

"Campfire," he muttered. "Someone’s close."

Evelyn’s pulse quickened.

It could be anyone.

A lost family. A survivor group.

Or something worse.

Voss adjusted his grip on the rifle. "We scout. Quietly."

Evelyn didn’t like taking orders from military men, but for once, she didn’t argue.

She followed as they moved carefully through the trees, staying low.

Then, through the branches, she saw it.

A makeshift camp—half a dozen tents, crates of supplies stacked in neat rows.

And people.

A dozen armed men in military gear, moving with cold efficiency, checking weapons, talking in low voices.

Evelyn’s breath caught.

They weren’t just survivors.

They were organized.

Voss whispered, "Shit. That’s a militia."

Cross’s jaw clenched. "Not just any militia."

He pointed toward the torn banner hanging from a wooden post near the largest tent.

A red insignia, painted over an old American flag.

And beneath it, in bold black lettering:

ORDER THROUGH FIRE.

Evelyn felt her stomach drop.

She had seen that symbol before.

Back at the CDC, when military deserters raided their labs.

These weren’t just mercenaries.

These were the same people who had torn Atlanta apart.

And now, they were here.

Right in her path.

Nowhere Left to Run

Evelyn’s mind raced.

"We need to go," she whispered.

Voss shook his head. "We need to see how many there are. If they have vehicles, outposts—"

"They burned the CDC," Evelyn snapped. "They are not people we want to get involved with."

Cross nodded in agreement. "She’s right. We slip out now, we might still—"

A gunshot rang out.

Then another.

And another.

Evelyn ducked instinctively, heart hammering.

Then she realized—

The shots weren’t aimed at them.

They were inside the camp.

A fight had broken out—two men struggling, one of them bleeding from the gut, the other shouting something Evelyn couldn’t hear.

Then the second man fired again, putting a bullet through the first man’s skull.

The rest of the militia didn’t even flinch.

They just kept moving. Kept working.

Like it was routine.

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Who the hell were these people?

And what the hell were they planning?

The Choice

Voss exhaled. "We can’t stay here. They’ll spot us."

Evelyn nodded.

They had two options.

Go around the camp. Risk getting spotted.

Double back. Add miles to their journey—but avoid a fight they couldn’t win.

Neither was good.

But they had to pick one.

Evelyn clenched her fists.

This wasn’t a scientific equation.

No formulas. No test results.

Just a choice between bad and worse.

She turned to the others.

"Let’s move."

And they ran.