Tallahassee, United States
August 27, 2010
The morning of August 27 arrived in silence.
It wasn’t the same silence as before.
It wasn’t peace.
It was absence.
The absence of cars.
The absence of voices.
The absence of the living city that had existed only a few days earlier.
Inside the warehouse, everyone woke early, even those who had barely managed to sleep.
The children rescued from the orphanage had stayed together in one of the office rooms, sleeping on makeshift mattresses spread across the floor.
Jennifer had slept near the door, as though her presence alone could serve as a barrier against any nightmare.
Emily and Ethan, however, hadn’t stayed with the other children.
The twins had slept in Jason’s room.
Or, more accurately, they had slept clinging to him.
Jason had barely moved throughout the night, afraid of waking them.
When he opened his eyes, he found Emily curled against his left arm and Ethan gripping the hem of his shirt with his small fingers.
For several seconds, Jason simply looked at them.
After everything he had seen inside the orphanage, the sight seemed almost impossible.
Two living children.
Breathing.
Safe.
Jason closed his eyes for a moment.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
When he left the room with the twins, the warehouse was already in motion.
Robert was organizing the guard shifts.
Dennis and Miguel were inspecting the motorhome and the other mechanical equipment.
Donald, Olivia, and Peter continued improving the infirmary, while Sofía, with help from Melody and Claire, gathered pencils, paper, books, and anything else that might be useful for the children.
Jennifer was in the kitchen helping prepare breakfast.
The moment the children from the orphanage saw her, they ran toward her.
Jennifer knelt and embraced them one at a time.
“Good morning, my darlings.”
Some answered quietly.
Others simply clung to her.
They were still frightened and continued watching everyone as though any unfamiliar adult might suddenly become a threat.
But at least they were no longer alone.
After breakfast, Donald examined them again.
No bites.
No fever.
Only hunger, dehydration, exhaustion, and fear.
So much fear.
Meanwhile, Sofía began a small lesson inside the former conference room.
It wasn’t exactly an ordinary class.
She didn’t try to pretend that everything was normal.
She simply gathered the children in a circle, gave each of them paper and pencils, and asked them to draw something that made them feel safe.
Noah drew his teddy bear.
Isabella drew her mother.
One of the girls from the orphanage drew Jennifer.
Emily drew Jason.
When he saw the picture, he didn’t know what to say.
In the drawing, he wore enormous white armor and held both her hand and her brother’s.
Beside them was an open door.
Jason stared at it for too long.
Melody noticed.
She approached slowly and whispered, “To them, you aren’t the monster.”
Jason didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the drawing.
“To the other children, I was.
They were afraid of me.”
“They were traumatized,” Melody gently corrected him.
“That’s different.”
Jason took a deep breath.
“Maybe.”
Melody held his hand for a second.
“You went back for them.
That matters.”
Before Jason could respond, Robert called everyone into the conference room.
The radio sat on the table, still repeating National Guard messages about the safe zone at the university.
This time, however, the voice sounded different.
More hurried.
Through the static, they managed to understand fragments of the transmission.
“…entry control temporarily suspended…”
“…heavy influx of civilians…”
“…northern and eastern routes congested…”
“…remain inside your homes, if possible…”
The group fell silent.
James looked toward Jason.
“You were right.”
No one celebrated.
There was no satisfaction in being right about something like that.
Melody crossed her arms.
“They’re taking in more people than they can control.”
Donald gripped the edge of the table.
Melody’s mother was still at that university—or somewhere near it, perhaps inside a laboratory connected to the hospital or campus.
The uncertainty was consuming him.
Jason noticed.
“We still can’t go.”
Donald raised his eyes.
“Jason…”
“I know,” Jason replied more quietly.
“I know Eleanor is there.”
Melody went still.
Jason continued.
“But if we try to get inside now, with civilians arriving from every direction, the dead following the noise, and the soldiers beginning to panic…”
He shook his head.
“We won’t be able to save her.
We’ll only become part of the chaos.”
Donald visibly wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find an answer.
Robert placed both hands on the table.
“Today, we need to reinforce the warehouse.
If we want to carry out any rescue later, this place has to remain secure.”
Jason nodded.
“Exactly.”
Then the work began.
Dennis and Miguel reinforced the main gate with metal bars and parts taken from the repair shop.
Robert organized the weapons and established strict rules: no one would use them without permission, and no shots would be fired inside or near the warehouse unless absolutely necessary.
James took responsibility for speaking with the children, as well as the adults who were beginning to lose control emotionally.
Sofía established a routine for the children: lessons in the morning, rest after lunch, and simple activities during the afternoon.
Not because mathematics or reading were the greatest priorities in that world.
But because routine was one way to keep fear from consuming everyone from the inside.
Jennifer helped the orphanage children bathe, choose clean clothes, and eat properly.
Some of them ate too quickly again, and Olivia had to calmly remind them that there would be more food at dinner.
Jason watched from a distance.
It was a simple promise.
But for children who had spent two days hungry, it was almost impossible to believe.
During the afternoon, Jason climbed to the guard post with Robert.
The city appeared even more motionless than it had the previous day, but in the distance, toward the university, there was movement.
Not from the living.
From the dead.
Small groups were walking in the same direction, drawn toward something Jason and Robert couldn’t see from the warehouse.
Sound.
Crowds.
Engines.
Screaming.
Life.
Jason watched through the binoculars, his stomach tightening.
“They’re going there.”
Robert didn’t need to ask where.
“The university?”
Jason nodded.
“The broadcast, the vehicles, the civilians…
All of it is drawing the dead.”
Robert remained silent before taking the binoculars and seeing the same thing.
The groups were small but constant.
A slow stream.
Like water flowing toward the lowest point.
“If this continues,” Robert murmured, “that safe zone will be surrounded.”
Jason clenched his jaw.
“I know.”
The place was more organized than it had been the previous day.
Better protected.
More functional.
But no one felt safer.
Near the end of the afternoon, the radio received another transmission.
This time, it was almost impossible to understand.
There were screams in the background, military orders, and bursts of static.
Then a broken sentence came through.
“…southern perimeter compromised…”
The radio returned to static.
Donald closed his eyes.
Melody held her father’s arm.
Jason said nothing.
There was nothing he could say.
Dinner was served in silence that night.
The children ate better, with Emily and Ethan sitting on either side of Jason.
Little Ethan nearly fell asleep with the spoon still in his hand, while Emily rested her head against Jason’s arm.
Jennifer sat across the table, watching the scene with tears in her eyes.
She was still frightened by some of the things she had seen her son do.
But as she watched two children find safety beside him, something inside her changed slightly.
It didn’t erase the fear.
But it made room for something else.
Understanding.
After dinner, Jason went outside to get some air near the warehouse entrance.
Melody found him a few minutes later.
“You’re avoiding sleep.”
Jason stared at the closed gate.
“When I sleep, I see the orphanage.”
Melody didn’t answer immediately.
She simply stood beside him.
“I see it too,” she finally said.
Jason closed his eyes.
“I thought knowing what was going to happen would make me prepared.”
He released a weak, humorless laugh.
“But nothing prepares someone for that.”
Melody took his hand.
“Then don’t try to carry it alone.”
Jason looked at her.
For several seconds, the leader’s mask seemed to disappear.
Only the exhausted boy beneath it remained.
“I can’t break, Mels.”
“Yes, you can.”
She tightened her fingers around his.
“You just don’t have to break in front of everyone.”
Jason remained silent.
Then, slowly, he rested his forehead against hers.
It wasn’t an exaggerated romantic gesture.
It was exhaustion.
Fear.
Relief.
Trust.
From the guard post above them, Robert watched the street.
In the distance, occasional gunshots still echoed from the direction of the university.
Less frequently.
Farther apart.
As though the city were losing the last of its strength.
Inside the warehouse, the children slept.
The adults worked in shifts.
The gate remained closed.
And that night, Jason understood that August 27 hadn’t been a day of victory.
It had been a day of survival.
A day to count the living.
Tend to the wounded.
Bury whatever they could inside their hearts.
And accept that from then on, every new morning would have to be earned.
Not promised.
I’m using AI to translate this story.
English is not my native language.
If you would prefer to read it without an AI translation, you can find the original Portuguese version on this same profile.