Julian Vance kept his knees firmly planted on the ribbed rubber floor runner.
“Forty-eight seconds on the gate timer!” Lin Mei called out.
Above Lane 04, the mechanical counter clacked downward like an executioner’s clock.
[48 SECONDS]
[47]
[46]
Heavy iron chains groaned in their overhead tracks. Rust flakes fell across the windshield in thick orange clouds. The quarantine portcullis was slipping lower, its jagged steel teeth hovering six feet above the front bumper.
Outside Toll-Booth #04, the faceless collector thrust its damp paper arm further through the pay slot. Its grey, featureless hand hovered two inches from Clara’s front medical chart clipboard.
