It was a cacophony of beats, fainter at first, but getting louder, stronger, thumping above our heads like a roaring river at an incoming flash flood.

It was the roar of engines and motors, and as I looked out of the bus's windows, black iron and steel swamped the skies. It wasn't the typical thing you'd see during sunrise.

Miguel gently pushed on the breaks and looked out. "What the hell is going on?"

Planes, helicopters, and drones flew above us, moving south toward Union City. They were military planes, that much I could tell, and some of the bigger helicopters, which looked like those twin-engined CH-47 Chinook models, transported large amounts of stacked crates secured by thick nets. At first, I thought that maybe they were supplies for the survivors, food, water, perhaps some weapons, but they weren't dropping it into the city.

"And are they leaving?" Logan asked.

"It looks like Uncle Sam is abandoning the city," I said.

Luke gasped, straining his neck out the window for a better look. "They can't be! What about that evac zone in Central Park?"

Logan scoffed. "Oh, just like them telling the entire country that the city has mostly evacuated? Yeah. I call bullshit on that one."

"But they're the army. They're supposed to help us!"

"If they're leaving, does that mean they lost control?" Logan asked nervously.

"We don't know that," Luke said.

"But something's off," I finally said out loud. "Something is really, really off."

I had a bad feeling. A deep knot in the back of my stomach churning like it wanted me to do back-flips. My head was swimming, and I suddenly had a massive headache looking at the planes and helicopters like a flock of birds flying away before a natural disaster.

"You okay?" Logan asked.

I nodded, but he wasn't convinced. I walked up to the front and tapped Miguel on the shoulder. "Go," I said, "and drive fast."

Miguel stared at me for a few seconds, his tough facade dropped like a pin, and he nodded without saying a word as he stepped on the gas. He saw something in my eyes that I didn't understand until now as I am writing this.

He saw trouble coming. I guessed for a man who saw the look in my eyes each day living on the streets of New York; it was enough for him to know when to flee as far away as possible.

As Miguel drove toward the cathedral, my mind was reeling.

——

"I don't understand why we aren't going to Central Park?" Aria asked.

Aria and the others in the cathedral had also heard the emergency broadcast on the radio. Though it might sound promising, a real hope, I've seen enough movies or heard from my father that when the military and the government said everything was going to be okay, trust your gut that some fucked up shit were going to go down.

My father said that.

"We're going for the boat," I said. "I trust my gut, and my gut tells me we should not go there," I said.

Aria ran her hands over her hair and sat down on the pew, huffing loudly. "Well, my gut tells me we should stay."

"We saw the military leaving the city," said Logan. "I think they're abandoning us."

"Yeah. Because of the evacuation," Yousef added. "That's what an evacuation is. They might be transporting people out of the city!"

I shook my head. "An armada of helicopters and planes transporting survivors out less than an hour after the broadcast? I don't think so; pack everything so we can get out of here? We might not have time."

Yousef huffed and dropped his bag on the floor. "No. Please explain to us why. Why are we always following your orders? Help is here now, Bren. And you're still hung up that you won't be our hero anymore? Is that it?"

I glared at him. "Hero? Where the fuck is this all coming from all of a sudden?"

"Nothing!" Yousef said. "I want to understand why you are deliberately pulling us away from real help. Men with better guns and better resources than we do!"

"Okay. Fine. Then, does it make sense to you that during an evacuation call, the army leaves first instead of, I don't know, us? And with the large resources, they could spare—"

"We don't know if they have that kind of resources, Bren," Aria interrupted.

I rolled my eyes and pointed to the ceiling. "I just saw their resources flying above us not awhile ago! Seriously! Am I the only one thinking here? Consider it for a second: Why not propose various strategic points in the city for evacuation sites—sites that the vectors have difficulty reaching? Those many twin-engines can what, air-lift twelve tonnes? One hundred people at once? And with a large armada, they can carry many people out to a better safe zone within a day outside the city than congregating into Central Park—which is at the center of the outbreak. But instead, they chose one spot. One. Easy. Spot."

Yousef went silent, his head lowered. Aria bit her lip, shaking her head.

I continued, "They chose one area in the city with nowhere to hide or to take shelter in, or to have cover, where healthy people like you and I gather for the promise of safety—for the promise of help. A place where the infected are also going. Where do you think they're transporting such a massive force and resources from to create a safe zone in Manhattan, in a freaking island? All the bridges and tunnels are down."

"Well, to be fair," Luke started, "they probably didn't blow up all the bridges. We don't know. They could be transporting the supplies from an intact one."

"Then why not tell us? Why not let us know that a theoretical bridge like that exists? If Central Park gets compromised, at least there are others. But No backup plan. No exits. No Plan C to Z. Don't you remember that they are the ones who blew up the bridges and the tunnels? Our government killed innocent people. They blew up a plane off the sky like it was nothing. I don't think they will let anyone out."

I turned to Logan, said, "You know my father well, Logan. If my father saw what I saw, knowing what I know...he'll kill me. For the greater good, he will, even if I'm his son. He might voluntarily not leave this city on a slight chance that he'll infect the country."

"But we're not infected," Aria said. "We're not sick."

"They don't know that. Think in their shoes, Aria. Would you let me out that I might have a chance of being infected? A chance to infect your wife, your son, your daughter, brother, sister, neighbors, friends, the rest? Would you?"

"Well, are you saying Central Park might be a trap?" Aria asked incredulously.

"Yes," I said, admitting it, adding, "if you want to get rid of cancer, you fucking kill it before it spreads."

Everyone went quiet, and I could almost hear their thoughts turning in their brain as they mulled over what I said except for Felipe, who translated what I said to Margot, explaining what was going on. Margot nodded, looked at me, and I saw understanding. I let out a small smile, and she did, too.

"People do worse things to others they don't understand," Logan said, breaking the silence. "Sick or not. We're all already guilty. Fear does a lot of ugly things."

"They're not leaving us to die, are they?" Aria mumbled.

"They already did," I said, grabbing the box from the pew and walked out toward the parking lot at the back of the school.

Miguel waited on the roof with the rifle. "What the hell? You guys are taking too long in there," he said.

"We had a discussion," I said.

Miguel clicked his tongue: tsk, tsk, tsk. "Man, we don't have time for that."

I chuckled. "We're just a little tense. That's all."

Henry peeked out of the window, sitting on the very front, and waved his little hand at me. The eight-year-old had taken Daniel's death too well, although I could tell it was a front. The two boys were close to each other, being the only children in the cathedral, but I feared he seemed to accept the concept of death willingly at such a young age. I'm sure when I was young, I never thought of it much. Now, little Henry saw it every waking moment. His parents were dead. Now, it was his friend. I let him grieved in his way. It was the only kind thing I could do for him at the moment.

The others came out of the lot and packed their stuff at the back, along with the rest of our supplies. I still had no idea how we're going to fit nine people in a six-person boat. Maybe with little Henry, we could fit a seventh. Two or three people had to stay behind. I prayed that the marina had a life raft somewhere.

Yousef suddenly sat next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was a dick. I guess I was just—"

"We're all scared. You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"If you don't mind me asking," Yousef started, "if the government won't let us out, what makes you think they'll let us leave the bay? The navy could be waiting for us."

Logan and Felipe heard Yousef's question and turned around from where they sat to listen to what I had to say.

I cleared my throat. "Well, we know we can't cross to Jersey City since it's also infested with those freaks, and we can't go out to sea, as you said, because they'll see our boat on their radar. So, our only option is to go up the Hudson River. To the countryside."

"Upriver?" Felipe asked. 'Isn't that a bit...risky?"

"Yes. It will. But it beats staying surrounded by thousands, or millions, of vectors. We'll find a dock that is hopefully far away enough from the city, maybe find a vehicle, and then we drive west."

"What's west?" Felipe asked again.

"Home," Logan answered, then looked at me. He tried to hide his smile, but I noticed it.

"Yes," I said, nodding. "Home. And for you, Felipe and Margot, we'll find a still operational airport, drop you two off so that you two can fly away and reunite with your families in France. Maybe we can also buy tickets to get to Portland."

Felipe smiled. "I like that plan. Thank you."

"Alright, you guys ready?" Miguel shouted from the driver's seat. Miguel started the engine and stepped on the gas.

We were moving out of the parking lot; then we're back to the streets. A few vectors started chasing us, but they soon lost focus, were drawn to some noise at a closer reach and ran that way. Others maintained their speed until they lost sight of us.

Other people—living people—tried to hail the bus to stop, wanting to get inside, but we didn't have enough space. The bus could only sit up to twelve people, and our bags and supplies occupied a quarter of the area. We passed a few groups fighting over an SUV and another one with a van. One man stabbed another for a motorcycle right before a vector climbed on top of him. Those who wanted the vehicle ran away, probably thinking they'd stand a better chance fleeing than risking their neck for some motorcycle.

I brandished my shotgun close to my chest and sat way at the front. When people saw the weapon I carried, they backed away. I felt guilty doing that, knowing I had no way of helping them, even if I could. We probably passed a lot of people, risking their lives to get to Central Park. I wanted to shout and scream that they shouldn't, but we're draining time, and I didn't know how much we had left.

More people were out on the streets now, leaving their apartment buildings, many of them families, tagging along with their children with them. I didn't see a lot of firearms. Guns were heavily regulated in New York City compared to the rest of the country, which meant those that had a license could only carry a pistol and not a rifle—A law that was supposed to curtail down inner-city gun violence. This outbreak left more than half of the city defenseless. Instead, I saw people carrying makeshift weapons of ax and knives secured onto poles. Some carried bats and batons, while a few had police shields and homemade body armor made out of thick magazines and cardboard.

I heard screams sometimes, followed by gunshots at a distance. Some shattering of windows. A few cries for help. Vectors followed the survivors' trail toward Central Park. By the end of the hour, both the healthy and the infected would mingle out on the green fields in the most horrific picture I could imagine. Hopefully, more people would have the common sense to leave.

We were the only ones heading in the opposite direction.

——

As I was busy getting to the harbor and pissing myself scared watching the rest of New York scrambling to Central Park for an evacuation zone that might not be there, there was something much worse coming from the horizon, thousands of miles away.

They called it the Mother of All Bombs, MOAB for short, and it was a hell of a bomb, alright.

Three Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, America's deadliest stealth heavy bomber planes, were deployed from Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri, one thousand miles away from New York. Designed to penetrate and to carry large air-to-surface missiles (and nuclear bombs), it was capable of flying at an altitude of fifty thousand feet and covered almost seven thousand nautical miles. With the speed of six hundred miles per hour, it would reach New York within two hours. And right now, all three planes each carried four GBU-43/Massive Ordnance Air Blast, ordered to drop on New York City and the surrounding areas.

MOAB was the most massive and most powerful non-nuclear bomb in the entire world, with a blast yield of almost twelve tons of TNT from just a mass of twenty-two thousand pounds in a length of thirty feet.

Once detonated, a blast radius of over 1.5-mile wide would literally suck the air and suffocate you with heat before killing anything within a three-mile range. The shockwave would do enormous damage within ten miles. It would act like a nuclear bomb, minus the fallout. Now, try imagining it with twelve of them dropped at once.

If you wanted to make sure something stayed dead, you'd drop a MOAB.

And without knowing it at the time, it was coming straight for us.