I’m usually the first one to come up with some kind of conspiracy, but this is a little too far-fetched even for me. Besides, it’s all kind of a moot point, right. How would you test it? You’d have to wait until something happened, and by then, it would be too late to do anything. Your logic is taking some canyon-sized leaps,” Brown says.

“We could preemptively leave,” Clarke suggests.

“And this is where our discussions always lead,” Hayward says, rolling his eyes.

“So, you’re suggesting that you—we—should just pack up and leave? You know they have a term for that: AWOL. I’m pretty sure the army doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing,” Brown states.

A faint scream penetrates through the windows and walls into the tiny office. Brown has grown used to all kinds of noise, both here and at the Pineville campus. The background noise of chattering students and cadets as they stroll through the campus, shrill laughter that rises above a quiet moment, the shouts of senior cadets ribbing the plebes or instructors yelling on the fields, the shouts of those participating in athletics, even screams of pain or fear, which are sure to draw everyone’s attention. But the scream that arose from the quiet campus grounds of the academy is somehow different—shriller.

Brown edges to the window and looks out over the empty fields. Little has changed. The chime of the countdown alarm on his watch sounds. The five minutes he gave the cadets are up. Brown absentmindedly reaches down to shut it off. Another scream echoes through the emptiness, followed by another. Soon, it seems as if an entire section of campus has risen to arms. A bead of sweat breaks out on Brown’s brow, his stomach clenching with anxiety. He’s heard those sounds before.

As if a tap were turned on, screams begin erupting from all directions. Brown stands transfixed at the window, wanting some kind of visual confirmation of the thing that he’s certain is heading their way. He lived through one rolling tide of infected and he’s not sure about having to do it twice. He’s not sure that he even wants to try. The odds are certainly against him.

If Clarke’s right and this is not just contained in one city…, he thinks, leaving off the ramifications as he looks over to the two of them rising out of their chairs.

He realizes that he’s jumping to conclusions. Considering the topic of conversation, the shrieks, and his recent experience, he’s not surprised that his mind immediately leaps to that deduction. He locks eyes with Clarke, who is wide-eyed and trying to look out the window.

“Do you still think that I’m wrong?” she asks.

“Fuuuck me,” Hayward comments in a whisper, looking out of the side window.

Brown turns back toward the window. A massed group, most of them clad in a variety of uniforms, is running through an almost empty parking lot across the street.

That’s no group of joggers out for a morning run.

To Brown, it’s fairly easy to determine that those outside are exhibiting the exact same behavior as those groups of infected he ran across in Pineville—the screaming, the erratic running, and the chaotic way they’re bunched up. Thoughts crowd into his mind, erupting all at once, then clicking sequentially into place, like pieces of a puzzle forming a larger picture.

Clarke’s conspiracy theory has turned out to be not as far-fetched as he thought. What he thought was the flu has turned into the same virus he witnessed back in Pineville. The fact that so many have been affected, seemingly the whole campus judging by the rising intensity of shrieks, means that the virus is most likely airborne. He doesn’t know how long the pathogen can last in an airborne environment, but he’s going to treat it like it’s immortal. The mask surrounding his nose and mouth suddenly seems very flimsy.

With the worldwide spread of the flu, he has a feeling that this is, or will be, larger than just his surroundings. Either that, or he’s incredibly unlucky. However, the fate of the world isn’t a factor at the moment.