Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at Fan Fiction so any pointers or advice on the genre is much appreciated. I also seem to have gotten carried away with my introduction to Rori and the political atmosphere surrounding the virus; but don't worry, the Dixons (and later the rest of the WD crew) will be brought in shortly! Enjoy!
Chapter One: Eastbound
The streets of Washington DC had always been too packed and jammed for driving like this. Living in the District was like living in a beehive; nowhere was peaceful and everyone had a mission or a job or a passion of the day to accomplish. The only reprieve to be found was in the dark bedroom of your apartment, and even then the continual chattering coming from your cell phone interrupted any true rest. The pings and the chimes and the flashing light on the touchscreen, indicating that someone somewhere needed you right away to solve the next mini-crisis or to dampen the flames of the newest fire that burned away in someone's precious corner of the world.
DC was a boiling monster. Choking on government and crime and one-too-many fundraisers.
And the streets were never clear. And you could never do 80 on them. Not like this.
Rori clung to that thought as if it were of some paramount importance. As if mulling over the everydayness of her home could serve as a distraction from what had become the very un-everydayness of the world around her. She grimaced as her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel of the silver Honda Civic. Her foot pressed the pedal. 85…90…
She needed to not think about the un-everydayness. Just for a while. Just until she was clear of Atlanta.
Her mind needed a break. It needed to think about something inconsequential for a while, because Rori was certain that if she continued to think about all the consequential that had taken place over the last few weeks…
Well, she'd probably just fucking lose it.
Her foot pressed harder against the gas pedal. 95…
Inconsequential. Think about stupid shit. "Don't let your mind wander," she instructed.
It just wasn't in her nature to think about the mundane, though. It wasn't how she was wired and it damn sure wasn't what her job required of her. She was conditioned to constantly consider the grim details, to focus only on what was important and let someone else deal with the fluff and the noise. And for the past three weeks it had been her job to tirelessly pour over all the facts about the virus. Her job to desperately scramble, to keep a country that was falling apart state by state from completely erupting and destroying itself.
"Just don't think about it," she mentally urged herself. But it wasn't that easy. She couldn't just turn her mind off like that.
"Think about getting away from Atlanta, you don't even know where the fuck you're going."
That was very true, and also kind of important. It killed her not to be able to stop and warn people. She wanted to tell them to get out of the city, to seek refuge somewhere else. But that was an impossible task. The interstate into Atlanta was choked with traffic, with people under the misguided notion that the city was some mecca of hope and safety. Rori didn't know how the rumor had begun, but it had spread like rogue wildfire and while she had been so desperate to get out it seemed everyone else was desperate to get in.
The rumor fed the panicked desire people had to coalesce against their foe. It gave people a sense that the world hadn't completely fallen into ruin; that somewhere out there someone was still calling the shots. That there was a place to go, a place to make camp and recoup and regather some sense of normality in the face of this collapsed humanity. Beyond that, though, was the infant hope that at this place there would be a plan detailing how to deal with this unprecedented pandemic.
Because that was what the rumor about Atlanta represented. Hope. Hope that everything wasn't lost. Not yet.
But Rori knew different.
In a grim and terrible way she'd rather not think about, the rumor about Atlanta's safety served her well. The eastbound lanes of interstate 85 out of Atlanta were clear and unhindered. No one was looking to face the world beyond the city's borders, no one wanted to venture into the angry and the unknown of rural Georgia.
Besides, even if she had been able to convince a few of the refugees that staying in the city wasn't safe, they would have wanted to know how she knew. And that was something she couldn't tell anyone.
She had been there…she had seen how people revolted against their government. How they screamed and wailed and demanded answers that the Capitol didn't have. Rori had barely escaped the DC riots and the fires and she was terrified that if people knew who she was they'd again demand answers. And she'd already seen what people did when answers weren't given.
It would be best to spare everyone the misery. No one needed to know who she was or how she knew that Atlanta was nothing more than a metal and concrete deathtrap.
The city was doomed. And Rori needed to put as much distance between herself and Atlanta as she could before it was burned and purged.