There were only two men waiting in front of Jason in line. One wore a t-shirt and some ratty jeans. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, had so far managed to keep his hair in check, and didn’t reek of anything fetid. In front of him, a bald man, probably late forties sweated profusely. He wore a sweater and a coat, which may have been the only thing he owned, but were certainly not the right attire for the moderately warm climate in which the quarantine zones had been established. Jason debated risking another night outside the fence, letting person after person go ahead of him in line. Even if you managed the almost Sisyphean task of even getting in the gate, you went into quarantine tents and if so much as one random stranger in the tent got sick, everybody was out, permanently.