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"In consultation with local government bodies," the bureaucrat says distinctly, making sure we all got the point that it wasn’t his idea and he didn’t deserve blame, "it was decided to evacuate the towns of their healthy residents, and herd the sick into certain designated areas."

"But you said that the sick were moving north with refugees from the coast, so how did you separate them?"

"We couldn’t," the witness says heavily. "That was an impossible thing to do. Even if we had the time to separate them, before the disease spread further, it would’ve been impossible."

"I see. Could you tell me what you decided had to be done?"

"There was no alternative," he replies. "We evacuated the townspeople we knew, could be certain, were healthy. As for the rest, and the refugees from the south – " He pauses and glances quickly at me from his twin caves.

"Yes?" Sama prompts.

"We quarantined them all."

Two days after I’d taken charge at Banabash one of the refugee groups arrived.

I stood on a low ridge south of the camp watching them. There were about a couple of hundred people in all, the dust swirling around their feet as they trudged, heads down, towards the town. From a distance one couldn’t make out features, but they were both sexes and all ages, from babies in arms to at least one old person carried along in a litter. They didn’t look up as they walked, intent only on putting as much distance as they could between them and the disease sweeping up from the sea.

That suited us. The southern side of the town was still open, without trenches or barriers, though I’d had temporary barricades readied for quick placement. As soon as they’d entered the alleys of the town, bulldozers pushed the barricades into place. Another group was penned, and without violence.

I’d have used violence without a moment’s hesitation if I’d had to, of course, but it was more satisfying when things went exactly as planned.

Did they try to break out? Of course they did, once they found they were stuck in the town. But none of them succeeded, because my troops were there, waiting.

I remember one particularly determined attempt. It must have been later that same day, just after dusk. As part of our equipment, I had a brace of drones which I normally used to scout the countryside for refugee groups. That night, I directed them over the town, to see what was going on and what the new arrivals were doing. The drones saw almost nobody in the streets in most of the town, which was quite strange. So I had them do a section by section search of the slum, and soon discovered where all the missing were.

 A large group of them, perhaps three or four hundred strong, was accumulating in the alleys opposite the barriers to the east, obviously planning to try and break out during the night. I ordered all spare troops shifted from other parts of the perimeter to that side, as well as our three water cannon-equipped trucks to move opposite the barrier as well.

We had only just completed the deployment when they rushed the barrier.

I’d made a mistake, one which nearly cost us dear. I’d thought they’d try to cut through the wires in ones and twos, filter out in groups small enough to bypass the sentries. Instead, they charged the barrier with long wooden boards which they must have stripped from the buildings in the town. They threw the boards on the rolls of barbed wire, boards long and thick and heavy enough to press the wire down so they could run across it. Then they picked up the boards again and threw them over the trenches, which they could swarm across like rats.

They almost made it.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for the warning given by our drones, they most certainly would have succeeded. The normal guard would have been overwhelmed, especially since the breakout group had armed itself, as we later found, with iron rods and sharpened staves to use as spears. And they had enough determination or courage not to hesitate even when, at their first rush, we illuminated the entire area with floodlights and flares.

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