DAY NINETY
As dawn broke, the three trucks remained stuck, wedged together midway along a nondescript suburban street. They were unable to go forward or back, every scrap of space between and around them packed tight with an ever-increasing amount of cold flesh. They’d had no choice but to wait for morning, despite knowing that by the time the sun came up, the crowds might have doubled.
During the night, Chapman had managed to get to David and Ruth, climbing from the back of one truck to the next, clambering over cab roofs and jumping the gaps. Squeezed into the front of the first truck together, the reality of their situation had hit home. The blockage stopping them from going any further forward had been deliberately placed. They’d walked into a trap.
Doing nothing wasn’t an option.
