Chapter 3 The Burning

12:20 p.m. The same day.

The sirens started at midnight. Not the familiar wail of ambulances or fire trucks, but something harsh – a mechanical shriek that bounced off buildings and burrowed into the skull.

Maria Santos was feeding her infant daughter when the sound began. She froze, bottle halfway to the baby's mouth, listening to the electronic voice that followed: "Attention residents of Sector 7, Eastern Quarter. Mandatory evacuation order in effect. Exit buildings immediately. Proceed to designated collection points. Bring identification documents only. Resistance will not be tolerated."

The message was repeated several times.

Maria's husband, Carlos, appeared in the doorway, his face pale. "We have to go. Now."

"Go where? What's happening?"

"I don't know. But we can't stay here."

Through their apartment window, Maria could see other buildings lighting up as residents woke to the sirens. Shadows moved behind curtains. Doors opened. People emerged into hallways, confused, frightened, clutching children and valuables.

Then she saw the smoke rising from the southern blocks, thick and black against the night sky. And beneath it, the orange glow of flames.

"Carlos..."

"I see it. Get Elena. We're leaving."

Maria grabbed her daughter, wrapping her in a blanket. Carlos threw documents into a bag -IDs, passports, and the baby's birth certificate. Everything else would have to stay.

They stepped into the hallway. It was in chaos. Neighbours streamed from apartments, some dressed, some in nightclothes, carrying only the essentials. Old Mrs. Stephanie from 4C struggled with two suitcases. The Rodriguez family from 4A had three children, the youngest crying in terror at the sirens that wouldn't stop.

They descended the stairs in a crush of bodies. The stairwell echoed with footsteps, crying children, shouted questions no one could answer. Maria held Elena tight, shielding her from the press of people. Carlos kept one hand on her back, guiding her down toward the ground floor.

They emerged onto the street.

She heard explosions. She glanced towards the sound and saw flames rising from structures three blocks south, consuming apartments and shops.

"This way," Carlos said. They winded through the street packed with people, all flowing in the same direction, herded by GCRI enforcement officers in tactical gear. Armoured vehicles blocked the intersections. Drones circled overhead, their cameras sweeping across the crowd.

"Move! Keep moving!" A soldier's voice commanded through a megaphone. "Proceed to Collection Point Alpha. Have identification ready. Do not deviate from the marked route."

The crowd flowed like a river of humanity, stumbling over each other, clutching belongings, searching for family members swept away in the current.

A woman screamed, "My son! Has anyone seen my son? Marco! Marco!"

No answer came. The crowd swallowed her voice.

An old man collapsed twenty feet ahead. People tried to stop, to help, but the press from behind kept pushing forward. Someone stumbled over him. Then another. Within seconds, he disappeared beneath the flow of desperate bodies.

"Keep moving!" the soldiers shouted.

Maria saw a young couple trying to go back, fighting against the current, screaming that they'd forgotten their daughter.

Two soldiers intercepted them.

"You can't go back. The building is marked for clearance."

"Our daughter is in there! She was sleeping..."

"The building is marked for clearance. Move forward or you will be detained."

"She's seven years old! She's alone..."

One soldier raised his weapon.

The couple stopped struggling. The woman collapsed into her husband's arms, sobbing. The soldiers pushed them back into the crowd, into the flow that moved relentlessly forward.

Collection Point Alpha was a parking lot four blocks from the burning zone. Temporary barriers had been erected, creating a maze of checkpoints and holding areas. Thousands of people packed into the space, surrounded by soldiers and surveillance equipment.

Giant screens mounted on trucks displayed EDEN's logo-the stylized eye that saw everything.

Maria and Carlos joined the line at Checkpoint 3. Elena was crying, picking up on her parents' terror, her small face red and wet with tears.

"Shh... baby," Maria whispered. "It's okay. We're safe."

The line moved slowly. At the front, each person underwent retinal scan, facial recognition, and fingerprints. Data was cross-referenced against EDEN's databases. Some people passed through quickly. Others were pulled aside for secondary screening. A few disappeared entirely, escorted to unmarked vehicles that departed with their windows tinted black.

Maria watched a family of five reach the checkpoint. The father presented their IDs. The scanner beeped. Red light glowed.

"Step aside, please," the officer said.

"What's wrong? Our papers are in order..."

"Secondary screening. This way."

"But our children..."

Two soldiers appeared, hands on weapons.

The family stepped aside. The mother's eyes met Maria's as they were led away, a look of pure terror spread on her face.

What had triggered the red light? She didn't know.

Maria and Carlos reached the front of the line.

"IDs," the officer demanded.

Carlos handed over their documents. The officer scanned them, eyes flicking to a tablet display.

Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity.

Green light.

"Proceed to Transit Area B. Next!"

They moved quickly, not questioning their luck, not looking back at those who'd been pulled aside.

Transit Area B was another holding pen, with buses lined up at the far end.

"Where are they taking us?" someone asked.

No one answered.

The crowd waited, pressed together, while smoke from the burning quarter drifted overhead. Maria looked back and could see the flames spreading faster. The entire southern section was ablaze.

How many people hadn't made it out? How many were still in there, trapped, dying? Maria asked herself, holding her daughter tightly.

A bus door opened. "First fifty! Move!"

The crowd surged forward. Maria and Carlos were pushed onto the bus with dozens of others, packed in like cargo. Elena cried throughout, her wails joining those of other terrified children.

Through the window, Maria watched more people being herded into checkpoints, scanned, sorted, and directed.

The bus doors closed.

The engine rumbled to life.

And as they pulled away from Collection Point Alpha, Maria saw something that made her blood freeze. Trucks arrived at the far end of the lot with reinforced sides and locked rear doors. The kind used for prisoner transport. People were loaded into them.

"Don't look," Carlos whispered, turning Maria's face away from the window. "There's nothing we can do."

He was right. There was nothing they could do except survive. And, comply.