The gravel road crunched under the tires, the bike bumping gently with every rut. Malcolm led them off the main highway, instinct guiding him more than logic.
Fields stretched wide on either side, lined with irrigation ditches and overgrown hedges. This was the kind of place that hid fences, tripwires, maybe even buried sensors.
The grass along the edge was pressed down, fresh tire tracks scarring the dirt.
They rounded a bend.
WEST BRIDGE
Under ERG Authority – All Violators Will Be Shot
The paint was chipped, but not faded. The letters were still legible.
Malcolm stopped the bike.
Iyisha leaned forward. "ERG's still running zones this far out?"
He studied the fence line in the distance. "They were. Maybe still are."
They stashed the bike in the tall grass, covering it with brush. Then they climbed a low rise, crawling to the crest until they could see over.
The settlement was fenced. Solar panels lined the west side. Tin-roofed buildings sat in neat rows. A small group of people moved between them, carrying crates, pulling carts.
Clean. Ordered. Alive.
Then she saw them.
A woman. A child. Holding hands.
"They let families in," Iyisha said.
"Doesn't mean they'll let us in," Malcolm answered.
They watched. An hour passed. The sun inched lower.
As twilight set in, Malcolm lowered the binoculars. "Let's go," he said quietly. Iyisha nodded, eyes on the sun dipping below the horizon. They didn't have options.
At the gate, armed guards stepped forward, rifles slung but hands near triggers.
"Weapons down. Hands up. We scan first."
Malcolm raised his arms without protest, jaw locked tight. One guard took his rifle. Another circled with a handheld scanner, checking for bite marks, fever.
Iyisha hesitated when they reached for her pack.
"It'll be returned if cleared," the woman said.
Iyisha let go.
"State your purpose," one of the guards asked, already tapping notes into a handheld console.
Iyisha opened her mouth, but Malcolm spoke first. "Rest. Just passing through."
The guard glanced between them. "Relationship?"
Malcolm didn't hesitate. "Husband and wife."
Iyisha blinked, startled, but didn't say anything. She caught herself just in time and nodded once, playing along. She trusted him.
They were marched down a narrow gravel path, then through a decontamination lock. Beyond it stood a long, low metal structure with barred windows and heavy doors.
A sign above the entrance read:
QUARANTINE – 24HR SETTLEMENT ENTRY HOLD
Inside, the air was sterile. Too clean. A row of simple cots. Water jugs. Blankets.
A reinforced glass window revealed a middle-aged officer on the other side.
"Welcome to West Bridge," she said through a speaker.
She listed off the rules like a script: vitals monitored remotely, food and water provided, no leaving the cells without escort.
"Any attempt to escape will be treated as breach of settlement security."
Iyisha nodded. Malcolm didn't.
The officer's eyes narrowed when she noticed the brand on Iyisha's arm.
"Redridge exile?"
Iyisha lifted her chin. "Yeah."
"For what?"
Iyisha didn't answer.
The officer studied her a moment longer, but didn't press.
"We don't turn away tagged citizens. But if your presence causes problems, we reserve the right to remove you without trial."
Iyisha nodded again. Slower this time.
"Standard protocol next. Strip inspection for bite and contraband checks," she announced. "You'll be escorted to the decontamination room after. Undress fully."
Iyisha froze for a second. She knew the procedure even Redridge had done it but she hadn't expected to undress in front of Malcolm.
Malcolm, on the other hand, had already started stripping. No hesitation. Shirt, belt, boots.
Iyisha closed her eyes in humiliation. No one had ever seen her naked, not like this.
She began removing her clothes slowly, folding them and placing each piece on the nearby chair. Her hands moved mechanically. When she was done, she stood upright, bare and stiff with tension.
"Put up your hair," the officer instructed.
Iyisha tied it in a quick, nervous knot as the officer looked at them from the glass.
"Turn."
She turned and her breath caught.
They weren't turning away from each other.
They turned toward each other.
She kept her eyes locked on Malcolm's face, even when they wanted to drift lower. Her nipples stiffened in the cold air or maybe it was his eyes, dragging down her like hands. From her peripheral vision, she could see the lines of muscle down his chest, the scars that crossed his ribs.
And she knew , with equal dread and heat, that he could see her too. Her breasts, bare. Her shame, exposed.
She expected disgust. Or indifference. But not… that look.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Her cheeks burned.
"Turn," the officer said again.
They rotated slowly, their backs then sides then front — until every angle was inspected.
When it was over, they dressed in silence. Iyisha couldn't look him in the eye, not even when they were led into separate holding cells.
"Wait for your food and water," a voice instructed through the speaker.
The cell was small, steel and concrete. A cot. A jug. A bowl. Like a normal jail — but colder, quieter.
"That was fun," Malcolm said after a while, voice dry.
Iyisha shot him a sharp glance.
"It was your choice." He said smirking.
She turned her face to the wall, cheeks still burning.
She lay on the cot, knees drawn up. The word 'wife' still lingered like smoke in her ears. It shouldn't have mattered but it did.