But they weren't the rescue operatives.

Cathy saw a tall, lanky man through the peephole. He was shouldering a hefty duffel bag and there was a woman with him and a boy stood next to the woman.

None of them were wearing the government issue hazmat suits with standard issue pistols on their hips and the government insignia on their arms. These were normal people. "Where are you folks coming from?" Cathy called out.

"From the west," the man answered. "Sector 21."

"And why are you here?"

"My wife's hurt," the man said. "We've run out of bandages and we gotta change those. Also I believe it's gonna rain. Would you please let us in? Only for a few hours."

Cathy stood frowning by the door, chewing on her lower lip.

"Please don't be worried about the wound," the woman said from outside, "my husband has dressed it well and I've kept it covered the whole time. It's not infected. I promise you it's not."

Cathy was still frowning, she touched the pistol that was tucked behind her back. The cold carbon-fiber was reassuring. She could handle them if they tried anything funny with her. With that final assessment, she said, "Okay, but come in from the garage. I don't have a decontamination unit on this door."

The hydraulics raised the garage door open. Motion sensors beeped and nozzles hissed before a sharp jet of disinfectant gas was fired down at the family. Decontamination complete.

The family took off their gas masks. The man introduced himself as Clint Harris. He held out his hand at Cathy.

"I'm Cathy," she said, without shaking his hand. "Let's keep some distance for now."

Clint shrugged, pulling back his hand. He was tall and slender and maybe in his early thirties. He had a big nose and he wore glasses that were equally big and his cheeks were fuzzy with a stubble. But the facial hair didn't seem to help with the boyishness of his face. Clint didn't look like a man--he looked like an overgrown version of a kid who got picked on in eighth grade gym class.

His wife, on the other hand, had striking blue eyes, short jet black hair and a heart shaped face--maybe in her late twenties, maybe younger or at least that's how she looked. She said her name was Marie. And then ruffling her son's identical black hair, she said, "This is Zack."

Zack just nodded in greeting and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. A shy kid.

Cathy led the family into the living room. The three of them settled on the couch by the window. She asked to see Marie's wound.

The woman rolled up the right sleeve of her shirt, revealing a forearm wrapped in a bandage. The wound was dressed well yet the bleeding had probably begun again. The gauze and cotton was damp and red with fresh blood. Cathy nodded and brought them the first aid kit. "You need any help to patch it up or you can do it yourself?"

"Don't worry; I'll take care of it," Clint said, taking the first aid box from Cathy. "I've done this many times."

"Well, that wound does look pretty well wrapped," Cathy said. Clint nodded with a smile and started working with the bandage. She shifted a few steps further from the three, her hand going back near her concealed gun, just in case. "So what are you guys doing down here in Sector 22?"

"Finding a place to live," Clint answered, shrugging as he unwrapped the old bandage from his wife's arm. "Our home was destroyed in the riots four months ago. And not much of Sector 21 remains as we speak."

"So you are moving into 22 now?"

"We are still unsure," Marie said. "Because it seems, not much is left here either. And I don't think it is any different down in 23."

"Well, the riots weren't as bad here as they were back where you came from at least," Cathy said. "But you might actually find a half-decent place to live here."

Clint scoffed. "I hope we do. And yes, it was way worse down there since that's where the riots actually began. The other two places were just inspired by what happened down there."

"It was awful," Marie said. "All that death and those explosions. All those killings." She shuddered. "It was hell on earth."

"I heard on the radio that people were also killing the rescue operatives," Cathy said. "They were really killing the guys who showed up to help them?"

"They were angry at the government, they said. But I believe it's just human tendency to bite the hand that feeds." Clint wrapped his wife's wound with a fresh roll of gauze. He let out a sigh. "It was sheer madness."

A moment of silence.

"Nick died too," Zack said, still looking down at the floor, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"It was the virus that got him, son," Clint said.

"But he still died." Zack's eyes welled up with tears. "Doesn't matter how it happened--he still died."

Marie put her good arm around her son, pulled him close. The boy buried his face in his mother's shoulder, crying softly. Cathy looked at the two of them, her chest tightening. She remembered how she'd wanted to cry embracing her own mom just like that, but couldn't.

Her mom had the virus too. All Cathy had been able to do was watch, like she was doing right now. (She thought of the shadow of her father on the back door. She shuddered.)

The girl looked away while Marie reassured her son and her husband kept working with the bandage. Cathy idly stepped up to the radio on the bureau and started tuning the knobs, trying to find the right frequency. She stumbled on an announcement.

"...and we have with us, Dr. Richard Neville, renowned in the field of geology and well respected by his peers. He'd been working with the C3 Meteorological Centre for some time now.

"So Dr. Neville, tell us about the cyclone that has originated on the west coast of C3."

"Well, there's really just one thing that I can tell you about it--do not worry," Dr. Neville said. "Because the cyclone that we are talking about is tropical in nature. And like most tropical cyclones, this one is gonna grow weak and disappear once it hits the land. So there's really nothing to worry about."

"Yeah but it surely has consequences, right?"

"Well yes. A bit of rain, some humidity for a couple days and that's it."

"But considering that the virus can be transmitted through water, wouldn't that affect the rain somehow?"

"If you mean to ask that whether the virus can be transmitted through the rain? Then my answer is yes. That is absolutely possible. But I'll repeat myself--do not worry. All you have to do is stay inside your houses or find some shelter, stay away from the rains and you'll be fine."

"Please tell us which areas would be affected by the cyclone once it hits the land or which places would experience the rain?"

"A couple of sectors of State C3--Sectors 38 and 39, since they are closer to the ocean. As for the rains, Sectors 20, 21, 22 and 23 would be the ones experiencing it. That's our estimate."

"And the only thing the public should do is stay inside the houses and do not worry, right?"

"It works just fine."

"I'm sure it does. Thank you for sharing the information with us, Dr. Neville."

Then the radio went silent. "Seems like you were right about the rains," Cathy said, turning to Clint.

He ignored her. "And there you go." He smiled at Marie after fixing her wound.

She smiled. "Thank you." Marie looked at Cathy. "Where should I dump these?" She asked, pointing at her old bandages.

"You can put it in the waste bin. It's in the kitchen." She walked down the hallway, waving at Marie to follow her. She led her into the kitchen and pointed at the bin.

Marie dumped the bandages and stood by the kitchen counter. She looked around, glancing at Cathy a couple of times as if she was about to say something. "So...is the entire Sector 22 really empty?" she asked.

Cathy shrugged. "Maybe not entirely but a lot of people left after the hell raised by the riots. And the strafe had pretty much killed everyone else." She looked out the window above the counter, at the empty street outside. "However, I wouldn't deny that not much is left here." Not much except me. Somehow just me.

"Yeah it does look like that," Marie said and then let out a long sigh. She looked out the window too. "My family and I have been traveling for more than a couple months now. We've seen some places--ones that were destroyed by the strafe and the ones that were nearly unaffected. Let me tell you, there wasn't a lot of difference between the two. We found houses that were either stuffed with infected corpses or bombed beyond repair." She scoffed. "Sometimes, there wasn't a house at all--only a fading memory of one." She paused. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you Cathy?" she said.

"Seventeen."

"So you've seen the normal times. Do you remember any of it?"

"Well, some of it," Cathy said, shrugging.

"Would you share any of it with me?"

"I don't remember a whole lot."

"You do some of it. Hey you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just like to talk about those times."

Cathy frowned a little before looking away from the window, away from the empty street. "I remember the fishing trips. Every third Saturday of the month--the only day when Dad would be free. Fishing was his idea though he was the worst fisherman in the world." She felt herself smiling. "He didn't catch any fish but he would crack a lot of jokes as he sat by the shore. He knew how to make us laugh. Mom and I would lay out the picnic. Most of the time, the lake would be empty on the third Saturday--it was almost as if we had the place to ourselves--almost as if we were alone in the world. But it didn't seem to matter. We were together."

Marie smiled too. "That's a sweet memory," she said. "What was the name of the lake?"

Cathy frowned. "Does it matter?"

Marie didn't seem offended by the bluntness. She just nodded with a sad look. "I don't think it does."

"I visited the lake a few months ago actually." Her frown deepened. "The water had turned purple," Cathy said, "just like the sky and dead fishes floating on its surface. There was a yellow mist hanging about, rising out of the ground. It was horrible."

Marie gave her another sad look and her eyes became more gentle. Despite all the kindness in her expression, Cathy felt uncomfortable. Marie was looking at her the same way she would've looked at a wounded animal. "Why haven't you left, Cathy?" Marie asked.

The girl perked up a little. "Huh?"

Marie's expression grew more tender, more motherly. "If I would've been in your place, dear, nothing would've killed me more than living in a town where I had such sweet memories," she said. "It would've been especially painful after the town was bombed and dying with a disease. How does one bear all of that?"

Cathy kept looking at the woman. "Marie, I want to leave too but..." she trailed off. Her gaze was drawn to the backyard door, her eyes fixating on the blinds she'd dropped over the glass screen. The shadow of her father was still visible against the blinds. His blank, vacant face lurking just beyond the door.

One of the reasons for firing the flares up at the passing planes was that when they'd notice her and come to her rescue, she'd tell them about her Dad and ask them to take care of it for her. It's all fine as long as I'm not the one who has to pull the trigger. I don't think I want to. I don't think I can.

Cathy was still staring at the backdoor when Marie gasped.

"Is it just me or is that really an operative walking down the curb?" Marie pointed at a man hobbling down the street.

Cathy frowned. "What?" She rushed up beside her and looked out the window. A man dressed in dark blue hazmat suit was shuffling down the sidewalk. They could just barely make out the golden patch on his arm but they knew that it was the government insignia; and this was indeed an operative.

"Unbelievable," Cathy muttered.

And then Clint rushed into the kitchen. "There's an operative outside!" he cried out.

Both of them turned to Clint. His face was flushed and his eyes were wild. "Yeah, we saw him too, honey."

"But that's not it!" Clint cried out again.

"Then what?" Marie asked.

"He looks injured," Clint said, his voice frantic.

"Yeah, the guy does seem to be hobbling a bit," Cathy said, glancing out the window.

"But that's not the point!" Clint almost screamed.

"Clint," Marie said slowly. "What's going on?"

"Za--Zack...he ran out to help the man!"

Marie's eyes went wide. "All alone?!"

Clint looked too flustered to respond. But his wife already knew the answer

Marie stared at him, incredulous. "You idiot!"