Miguel greeted Mark and Amanda by name, shortly before grabbing a beer with an eagerness he seldom demonstrated. He promptly took a sip, and then chased it with a gulp. It wasn’t enough - when he was younger, he’d developed a fondness for tequila that gradually developed into hatred once he’d had one too many nights of far too many shots. However, in the present he was finding himself yearning for a large dose of the hard stuff.<br/><br/>“Dad, what’s going on out there?” Isabella asked, eyes wide and fixed on his face as she broke the room’s persistent, uncomfortable silence. Her brother, his relief at the men of the house being back home having passed with the kind of speed one could only find in small children, was now seated cross-legged in front of the television.<br/><br/>“People are sick,” Miguel answered, after a moment of silent deliberation. If she didn’t already know just how bad it was, he wasn’t going to tell her. The image of limbs flying through the air and the sounds of a man being eaten alive flitted through his mind, and he shook himself. “Everything’s going to be fine, Bella. We’ll just wait here while it all gets sorted out,” he added, hoping very much that he sounded convincing. He was mindful of the gun tucked into his waistband; it felt foreign, and much heavier than an item of its size should have been, but perhaps that was because of how wary he was of firearms. In any case, he knew it was a necessary evil.<br/><br/>He grabbed the television remote from one of the couch’s arms and raised the volume, listening intently as the man standing behind the podium addressed the cluster of microphones in front of him.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“We have no new developments to report at this time. Rest assured, we will be providing updates as they come, but for the time being, all residents within the Mojave region are being asked to remain in their homes. The situation is being controlled, but we ask that you remain patient. Do not venture outside, for any reason. As before-”</span><br/><br/>Sick of hearing the same thing over and over, Miguel tuned the white haired man out completely. He wanted to believe that things were really under control out there, but everything he’d seen since the incident with Wes told him such a thing was impossible. At the same time, there’s wasn’t much they could do aside from wait and hope for the best. He went to take another gulp of beer but stopped before the bottle could touch his lips. He was feeling lightheaded, and then at that moment the sheer weight of what they’d gone through seemed to pile up onto him. He remembered the two people he’d been forced to leave behind, who died right in front of them, and then the man they’d abandoned in his truck, who had in all likelihood died slowly and painfully as they drove away.<br/><br/>Miguel moved quickly, headed straight for the small half bathroom just off the corridor running perpendicular to the kitchen. He dropped the beer bottle in the garbage can near the toilet and leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was momentarily alarmed by his appearance; there was something in his eyes that reflected the horror they’d seen, as well as a palpable fear of whatever would be coming next. But he needed to keep it together. They weren’t out of the woods yet, and he couldn’t leave it all to his brother. The kids needed him.<br/><br/>By the time he reentered the living room, the atmosphere had undergone a startling change. If he was seeking the cause, Miguel had only to look at the television screen, to which it seemed everyone else’s attention was currently glued.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“…at least the next twenty minutes, but the maximum time has not yet been confirmed. I repeat, people residing in the Mojave Region are being permitted the chance to exit the area, provided they pass a brief medical screening. Citizens are reminded to proceed in an orderly fashion, and- ”</span><br/><br/>“The truck,” Miguel said, his voice a hoarse, disbelieving whisper. “Get to the truck!”<br/><br/>The next few moments were a blur. Miguel didn’t even know who was seated where, when they piled into the vehicle; the kids were in the backseat, snugly seated between the front seats and the bed, but everyone else may as well have been invisible as he pulled away, headed towards what could very well be their only chance at getting out of this hellhole.<br/><br/>He’d feared that the kids might see something better left to the imagination, but he avoided the area near the remains of the garage and the route he chose was clear, more or less. At least there wasn’t much in the way of destruction and gore, which was something of a miracle given what they’d encountered earlier in the day. Maybe things were finally going to be looking up for them.<br/><br/>Redfield wasn’t a very populous town, which was fortunate; the roads weren’t nearly as hectic as they could’ve been, given the rush that was currently taking place. Still, there was the occasional motorist to contend with. Miguel barked out a request for everyone to hang on, before swerving to avoid a green sedan that had just run a red light coming from another direction.<br/><br/>“Jackass,” he spat, making a hard right to get off the current road; there was a three car accident up ahead that would’ve halted their progress.<br/><br/>“That’s a bad word, dad!”<br/><br/>They were getting close, now, and Miguel took them down a quick left, straightening the truck out as his eyes locked onto the scene ahead. “I rang up a big tab on the swear jar today, Danny.” There was a line of vehicles already assembled in front of the large fence that had been erected roughly half a mile ahead, and there was also a noticeable lack of movement near the barrier itself.<br/><br/>There was a pair of small structures, flat platforms supported by four thick beams each, marking the fence to either side of them. As he urged the truck forward, mindful of the vehicles coming up behind them, he spotted movement on the daises.<br/><br/>“I don’t get it. Is this the line for the screenings? I don’t see anyone on the groun-”<br/><br/>Gunfire rang out, and the sound of breaking glass mingled with screams as the soldiers aimed their rifles down at the cars in front of them and opened fire. A man opened his door, fighting to take cover behind his convertible, only to get half of his head blown off as a dark red mist rose up around him.<br/><br/>Screams filled the truck, and Miguel’s ears rang as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. There were other cars, behind him and to either side, and he was left with no choice but to slam onto the accelerator and try to turn, cutting another truck off so they could escape. Bullets tore through the air, and one left a deep crack in the windshield; the next one shattered it, and then he was screaming for them to take cover as the rifle’s discharge peppered the vehicle's interior.