The Burden of Denial

Banging exploded across the breadth of the door as people tried to break in. My worry was fleeting. It wasn't impossible to break down a VouchSafe steel door but you'd need specific tools to do it.

“Let us in, you bastard!” Voices shouted in waves, muffled and metallic-tinged through the door.

I slumped under their assault, more affected by the fear that was feeding their anger, than the words themselves. Steeling myself, I leaned over the microphone and read the message that I'd received a few hours ago. “Due to the breach, extreme quarantine measures are in effect. Non-cleared personnel are prohibited from entering this facility--”

The pounding doubled in intensity. “Isn't this a safe zone? Those things are right behind us. You're killing us. Damn it, there are children out here!”

Letting anyone in would almost certainly compromise the safety of the families who had arrived before the doors closed for the last time.

I offered them the only thing I could—hollow, useless words. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”