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“I said move!” he shouted, frightened to find them in his own backyard.

The crowd stood huddled together, remaining still and unmoving. With an unwavering pace, he began stomping his footsteps, to amplify his demeanour and approach. But as he came closer toward the dozen or so vagrants, he caught sight of some movement, hidden within the round of their collective feet.

They should have all scattered, at his first hint of approach, but then again he had never before seen more than three or four gather together, clasping hands in this way.

With a pause in his step, he leaned his chin into his right shoulder and reported. “Check that 32. I got a Hub here. Count…” his eyes danced around the enclosed circle of bodies, counting silently with trembling breath. “…count 12 confirmed. Over.”

As he awaited instructions, a thought nagged at him: Why here, at my home? Is it not enough, chasing them in the streets? Despite being so close, he couldn’t make out what writhed in the earth where they stood. Emboldened by their vacant expressions and pearly, dead eyes, a hungry curiosity coasted him down onto his knees by their side.

Touching at the black soil with arrested fingers, he was flushed into panic as he unearthed a newborn child.

A hiss in his earpiece returned a reply. “Unit B3. This is 32. Clear the area. Sending extermination unit. Over.”

Something older than his training set him to tear the root-bound fetus from the ground, and run.