Then there were the buildings themselves. I could have counted the number of unbroken windows I saw on one hand and had fingers left over. Anything resembling a business of any sort had been broken into and thoroughly looted. Most of the houses we passed weren’t in much better shape, occupied or otherwise, and those were the parts of town not ravaged by fire. There were entire blocks burned to the ground, ruins of blackened brick walls and incinerated roof struts jutting toward the sky, piles of refuse left to molder in the open. In some places, there were craters that could only have been caused by bombs or artillery.

I looked at Mike and said, “What the hell happened here?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was bad.”

We continued following the signs until we reached another gate at the AFB, showed our pass again, and proceeded to the parking lot of a large, empty storage building. There were about a hundred other cars already there, a few more streaming in behind us. A wooden sign at the entrance read: NEW ARRIVAL ORIENTATION: 1130, 1400, 1600.

Mike glanced at his watch. “11:15. Looks like we picked a good time.”

We locked up the Humvee and walked toward the storage building. It was beige in color, four stories tall, and made of prefabricated metal. By its domed roof, I figured it must have been a hangar once upon a time. A polite airman greeted us at the door and directed us toward several dozen rows of metal chairs arranged in front of a low stage.

As tends to happen in uncomfortable social situations, the people who arrived before us had scattered throughout the room, putting no fewer than two chairs between groups. The front three rows were empty, and there were at least twice as many seats as people. Mike walked ahead of me and picked three unoccupied chairs a few rows forward of the middle. We drew looks from a number of people on the way in, Sophia especially, but no one tried to talk to us. It was strange to be around that many human beings in complete silence.

At precisely 11:30, a door behind the stage opened and a gray-haired Air Force officer took brisk strides up to the stage. A sergeant followed him out a moment later and began checking the sound equipment. He flipped several switches and fiddled with a few plugs before giving the old man a thumbs-up. “Ready to go, sir.”

The aging officer tapped the microphone eliciting a puffing sound from the speakers. He cleared his throat and said, “Good morning.”

No one said anything. The officer looked around to make sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel John Sherman. Welcome to Colorado Springs.”

Another pause. More silence. He cleared his throat again. “I don’t want to keep you all in suspense, so I’ll get straight to the point. As you may have noticed on the way in, the city around us is in severe disrepair. I can only imagine what you all must have gone through getting here, and I understand if you’re a bit underwhelmed at the state of things.”

He got a few nodding heads. It was at this point I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the tired stoop to his shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands, and I wondered how much of that gray hair had occurred during the last few months.

“Before you judge the place too harshly,” the colonel went on, “you need to understand that things were much worse up until a couple of weeks ago. You see, despite the best efforts of this city’s law enforcement agencies and emergency response services, as well as intervention on the part of the Armed Forces, the infection found its way into Colorado Springs.”

He stopped again to let his statement sink in. A low murmur of alarm rippled through the scattered audience. “Now let me assure you,” the colonel held up a hand, “at this point, we have the problem firmly under control. We removed the last of the infected four days ago. But as I’m sure you have noticed, the battle to take the city back from the infected was a bad one. Nearly two-thirds of the population died in the fighting, and much of the city was rendered uninhabitable. That’s the bad news.”

He waited, letting anticipation build. “The good news,” he said, “is we are better prepared now to deal with any further incursions from the un- … from the infected. You no doubt saw the wall on the way in, as well as the large number of troops providing security. There are, at this time, more than fifty-thousand troops stationed in the city, as well as armored cavalry and air support. We have infantry, artillery, and a host of support troops, vehicles, and equipment. We have enough fuel to last us several months, and access to vast strategic reserves. This includes ammunition, medical supplies, food, clean water, and the materials to build new shelters for you and any other refugees who may arrive.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. I felt tension release from my shoulders and let out a breath I did not realize I was holding. Sophia and I smiled at each other and reached out to hold hands.

“Now before we go into all that,” Sherman went on, “there are some things you need to know about life here in the Springs. You’ll find out most of this for yourselves in due course, but I want to give you a heads-up so you know what to expect.”

He spoke for another hour, stopping occasionally to answer questions, but the gist of his speech was as follows:

The first thing all of us would be doing upon leaving orientation was driving to The Citadel Mall, part of which had been repurposed into the Colorado Springs Federal Refugee Intake Center, where we would present our entry passes and apply for housing assignments. After that, those who wished to do so could apply for a job with the city, speak to an Army recruiter, or submit an application for a business license. Skilled tradespeople such as carpenters, masons, welders, mechanics, medical professionals, electricians, and plumbers were in high demand, as were engineers, doctors, scientists of all stripes, and anyone with military or law enforcement experience.

The colonel warned us that water and sewer services as well as electrical utilities were extremely limited. The city’s residential areas were divided into small districts, each one assigned a manager who oversaw health and safety duties such as distributing fresh water and ensuring proper waste disposal. We would be briefed on our responsibilities in this regard upon arrival at our housing districts, and we would all be required to do our part to keep our area livable. Additionally, if we had any questions regarding the location of medical facilities, law enforcement, fire, or other services, we were to direct them to our district manager.

Toward the end of the speech, Sherman explained that while weapons were allowed in the city proper, we were expected to conduct ourselves responsibly. Any violence perpetrated for reasons other than self-defense and defense of others would be punished to the full extent of the law. Additionally, he warned us if any infected found their way into the city, or if there was an outbreak, we should report to the nearest military personnel as soon as possible. We were not to engage the infected unless we had no other choice. Any person killed on suspicion of being infected would be tested by medical personnel, and if the victim was not infected, whoever killed them would be charged with murder.

Thinking it over, I understood why the military did not want civilians killing walkers. If they allowed it without restriction, anyone involved in a dispute could simply shoot their antagonist in the head and claim they were infected. Not the kind of thing that contributes to a peaceful society.

Last, he explained the rules and regulations all refugees were expected to follow, which boiled down to treating each other with respect, avoiding violence, not robbing, raping, or defrauding one another, and staying the hell out of the military’s way. All things I intended to do anyway.