Rain streamed down Grace's face. The stench of blood was heavy in the air. She turned toward the wall, where screams echoed beyond the wooden gates, and drew the longsword at her hip. With one quick slash, the iron lock snapped in two.

"Open all the gates!" she shouted.

Her voice cut through the rain with absolute authority.

"Set up isolation areas now," she ordered. "Move the healthy to the clearing on the east side, and the infected to the west shelters. Move, now!"

Dustin conjured three beams of golden light at his fingertips and aimed them precisely at the wooden stakes lining the top of the wall. The sharpened stakes tumbled down in a rain of splinters, clearing the way for desperate climbs.

Medics pushed through the mud-soaked crowd, lighting the bundles of mugwort they had brought. Acrid smoke curled upward through the drizzle, but it helped mask the stench of rot lingering in the air.

"Is this… medicine?" the gaunt man whispered as he held the jar. A faint glimmer of hope