Aftermath, No. 6

December 21, 2039

The tarmac was cold when I stepped off the plane yesterday. I could feel it through my boots. 

I wasn’t deployed until we lost the southern half of India. When I arrived on the airstrip in Surat, I was immediately surrounded by reporters and journalists. I immediately started wondering which of them would be able to go home and which ones would travel into the quarantine for the sake of a story. I would have answered questions, but I had been wearing a mask over the lower part of my face since we had crossed into Indian airspace and in was nearly impossible to talk. 

Travel to and from Mumbai had been cancelled one week after the initial outbreak. A month after that, travel to and from India was forbidden. Trade was closed completely not long after that. At first, people were advised not to move; now we’re closing roads and building fences. Scientists are working to figure out the contagion, but I’m not a scientist, so I’m on the ground out here. 

We’re trying to save India obviously, but the higher-ups are already planning contingencies and sub-contingencies. Officially: “We are trying to keep the spread localized to India.” What that means is: “We will not let this spread to China.” I’m constantly reminded of training programs I was forced to take in the event of citywide contamination, and how ridiculous they were. I don’t know how we were supposed to prepare for this. 

In the morning, I’ll be boarding a transport and taken to “collect samples in Mumbai.”

That means I’m going to bury bodies.