Click.
“0800 hours, three days since the house was branded CLEARED with these massive yellow letters. That's how I know that dad was evacuated and didn't just like, up and wander into the fields and get Infected. He didn't even leave a note or anything, but the bastard remembered to take all the McVities digestives I've been stocking up on. I'd already taken all the McVities ones from the Co-Op to store them, so now I'm stuck with their shitey knock off “homebrand” version. Dickhead.”
There's a pause, swiftly filled by the idle tapping of fingers on wood.
“I hope I get Infected before I run out of those too. I mean, I've already accepted that I'm probably gonna die a grisly brutal death before I make it to a Sanctuary, and dad getting evacuated without me only confirms I'm right. God, I hope it's sooner rather than later: I don't know how long I can last on shitty Hob Nobs and Co-Op homebrand digestives —”
The voice is interrupted by an almighty slam.
“... I thought this house had been evacuated.”
“Wha'?”
“There's, uh... They've wrote CLEARED on the door and I haven't seen anyone come in or out since, so...”
“Ok, two things: who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?!”
“...My name's Cye. I, uh, I saw them evacuate this place a few days ago, so I figured I could just —”
“Just what? Barge in and set up camp? Steal all our stuff? How old even are you anyway? And why aren't you evacuated?”
“Look at my wrist, you tit.”
“Whoa, fuck, is that a biohazard tag? Are you Infected? 'Cause if you are, I'll have to politely insist that you get the fuck out of my house please!”
The newer voice sighs deeply, exasperation tingeing the tone.
“I'm not fucking Infected, Jesus. D'you think the Evac team would've just let me away with a biohazard bracelet if I was?”
“I guess not... They'd probably give you a bullet to the brain. Now that you mention it.”
“Exactly. You don't have to worry. I'm not contagious. I was deemed 'unsuitable for the continued survival and subsequent re-population of the human race'.”
“Why?”
Another sigh punctures their exchange, this time a bitter puff of stale air.
“... I'm gay. Why waste a perfectly good place at a Sanctuary on someone who isn't even going to help repopulate the planet?”
“Oh. That's a bit shit.”
The voices halt for a third time, but only to allow a wryly amused snort.
“So why weren't you evacuated? You don't look Infected to me. Or did they just decide that you were too fucking annoying to save and — ”
“You literally just broke into my house, told me your life story and then proceeded to call me annoying.”
“— opt to leave you behind with a small mountain of crappy Co-Operative digestives?”
…
“The Evac team were late. Like, really late. So I went out to stock up on food and stuff, and by the time I got back they'd came and went. They didn't wait for me. It's like I was deliberately left behind.”
“...You probably were.”
“Excuse me.”
“They're running out of room and resources in the Sanctuaries. They'll only evacuate someone new if someone already in a Sanctuary dies. Hence the massive delay between your scheduled evacuation date and the actual deed. And they're looking for excuses not to take people now. Asthmatic? You're a risk to the healthy. Can't have kids? You're a drain on the resources. Not here for evacuation?”
“Left behind...”
“Exactly.”
“Oh...”
Click.