Don't Jump to Conclusions

"The city of New York has issued an immediate evacuation order for its residents. Troops have been positioned along the Queens-Nassau County border, and the president has ordered Manhattan Island under lockdown. Based in Levittown, General Rylan has the 43rd Division ready to fight—

When Jenna Gray changed the station to ESPNet, the same show was still on.

"National emergency—"

"Not since Katya—"

"The division was brought in from Iraq and has been—"

Since the virus started its unrelenting journey from Africa to Europe and Asia eight months ago, bad news had dominated every station. There were very few signals coming from England and Ireland because the Euro Alliance had essentially closed off the continent.

London was now little more than a ghost town; millions had died across the British Isles. Before the Prime Minister could enforce a lockdown, the sickness, which was transported by trade ships, had already decimated the crowded cities. In England, those who were still alive had turned into zombies, and the three Variants had surpassed them.

Due to New York's lockdown, Jenna, a young forensic student at NY Tech, has not visited the city since the start of the academic year less than two weeks ago. She lived in a small one-story rental home in Teaneck, New Jersey, three miles away across the Palisades Hills crest, and within sight of the top of the George Washington Bridge. She considered herself lucky to have a modest home, which was a reflection of her youth and low resources.

She was suddenly compelled to call her mother in Connecticut, so she grabbed her cell phone from the table and leaned across the couch. A harsh knock jolted her door as she opened her contacts.

Fear seized her heart as her phone fell out of her grasp. Had the zombies already noticed it when she turned out the light?

As she edged toward the kitchen, she muttered, "Don't jump to conclusions, don't jump." There was another knock.

Jenna grabbed a knife out of the drawer and lunged for the counter. The door thumped heavily, as though a solid object had beaten against the handle.

"Press it once more," a quiet, muffled voice said. Outside, the lock was splintered free by a rifle butt. Jenna flattened herself against the wall, the knife quivering in her hand, wishing it were a gun as the door creaked inward.

"Is anyone home?" A male voice called, low and unsteady. United States Military, Citizen Guard

Jenna said quietly, "Here," before leaving the kitchen and placing the steak knife on the table. Turning the light back on, she turned to face the two soldiers who were framed in her door.

They were young and trying to be brave while hiding their dread. They entered her house with caution, carrying M-16s aimed downward and wearing fatigues with the 43rd Division's insignia on their shoulders. Their features were obscured by bulky straps and helmets; their equipment appeared more appropriate for the battlefields of Iraq than the streets of the suburbs.

Looking at a heavy clipboard, one soldier said, "You're Miss... Gray?"

"Yes." Jenna replied. "Am I required for anything?"

According to his insignia, the man on the left was a corporal, and he looked up. He had a slight scar over his eyebrow and thin-framed glasses on his little, shaven face. Gordy was the name on his nametag.

"All residents of Bergen County are being evacuated to safe areas at nearby armories and military installations," he stated sternly. "There are concerns about the Variant B infected strains," he continued, softening. Variant Bs are incredibly deadly, but we believe Variant Cs are less hazardous and yet have some human feelings.

Jenna remarked, "I thought Manhattan was locked down," and she remained motionless.

The other soldier, whose nametag identified him as Pressley, said, "That's right." "Ma'am, there's nothing to be concerned about. The Guard has it under control, so everything is good. We are relocating all residents in this area to the Teaneck Armory, so please join us.

Jenna retorted, "I'm not coming if there's no threat."

Corporal Gordy said, "Miss."

"Corporal, I've got this," Pressley said, smiling. "Everything's all right, ma'am, just calm down," he told Jenna. See, we can better guard you in the Armory. You mean that everything will be alright?

He gave a bright smile. Jenna scowled as she stared at him. "Why don't you tell me the precise nature of the threat we face without using the official army-guy lines? I'm not a moron, and unless one of you provides me with a compelling reason, I won't be moving.

Gordy adjusted his gun uncomfortably, his face unhappy and abashed, and Pressley's smile disappeared.

Gordy responded softly, "I don't blame you, Ma'am, and I'll tell you the truth." In actuality, we don't know what's happening. The President wants us to think that these Variants are merely ill, but I can assure you that they are homicidal. They are dependent on human blood to survive, and because the majority of divisions are occupied in Iraq, the sole defense is provided by individuals like myself, Guardsmen.

But do we face a threat? To me? Fearing the inevitable response, Jenna pressed.

"Miss Gray, we can discuss it at the Armory," Gordy said. "Resisters don't make my task of getting everyone to safety any simpler. The Armory can accommodate two thousand people, and we have roughly a hundred others in our group. Groups are coming quickly, so I advise you to reserve a space as soon as possible, before there is nowhere else to go.

Jenna hesitated, then gave in. "All right. I'll be there.

Using an authoritative tone, Pressley stated, "Give yourself two minutes to gather necessities." The toothbrush, cell phone, and so forth. We'll be waiting outside your house.

When the soldiers emerged, Jenna gave a nod. She rushed to her room upstairs.

She had two minutes to gather the things that were most important to her, things that, if she left this house permanently, she might never see again. She was thankful that she had never received the puppy she had originally desired because it would have devastated her to leave an animal to the zombies.

She packed a suitcase with her cell phone, personal hygiene products, three hundred dollars in cash from her drawer, and a few old notebooks and documents. She grabbed back for her phone charger, almost forgetting. A lockdown in the Armory may be drawn out and boring, so she instinctively grabbed her iPod as well.

That was it. She grabbed the necessities from everything she had and ran downstairs to meet the soldiers. Without bothering to lock the door, she closed it behind her. If the Variants caught up to them, looters, if any ventured, would perish.