Together

by mille_libri

Summary:

"I can't marry you, Major. Not now. Not ever." It was more than a punch to the gut. It was a gunshot, straight to the heart. Major and Liv's path after the boat party.

Chapter 1: I'd Be Lost If I Lost You

The sun woke Major as it streamed through the windows above his head. He squinted in the brightness, sitting up with a groan, finding the game controller still in his hand. He’d fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of a marathon session, apparently. The TV screen was black, but he assumed his character had died when he’d fallen asleep, and his last save had been … sometime after midnight. This was why he needed Liv in the house, to keep him on the straight and narrow, he thought, putting the controller down and reaching for the remote. He switched from the game screen to live TV and was about to turn the TV off entirely when the live news feed on the screen caught his attention.

“Boat Party Nightmare” said the loud red banner across the bottom of the screen. Major leaned forward, his heart thudding in his chest in sudden alarm. It couldn’t be the boat party Liv had gone to, could it? Without taking his eyes off the screen, which was showing increasingly violent images taken from someone’s phone, Major reached for his own. No messages. Nothing.

The camera panned across the lake shore, across … bodies. Bodies under yellow tarps.

Liv! Automatically he hit the speed dial, waiting to hear her pick up, to make some stupid joke about sinking or swimming, anything to wake himself up from this nightmare where literally the worst thing he could ever have imagined might be true.

Voice mail.

He tried again. Voice mail again. “Come on, Liv, pick up,” he whispered under his breath the third time, as though she could hear him.

Next he tried Peyton, who was watching the footage on the news with the same horrified fascination that had Major’s eyes glued to the screen, but she hadn’t been able to reach Liv either. “Come over, Major. Whatever—“ Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Whatever we find out, we might as well be together. Oh, Major, what am I going to do without her?” She was out and out crying now.

“You won’t have to find out. Neither will I,” he said, and wished he believed it. “I’ll be there soon.”

It was nowhere near as soon as he’d wanted. He had trouble tearing himself away from the TV, hoping against hope he'd catch a glimpse of her, and then he had to call in to work and get someone to cover his afternoon shift, and then he had to take a shower to hide the tears he could no longer hold back. Who he was hiding them from in the shower spray, he didn’t know. Himself, maybe.

Peyton was waiting for him at the door of the apartment. She threw it open almost before he had a chance to knock. “What took you so long?” she asked in a loud whisper.

Major blinked, surprised by the change in her. Peyton was concerned, upset, but not gutted. Not about to dissolve in grief. Did that mean— “What happened?” he asked her.

Still in the whisper, Peyton said, “She’s here. I was just about to call you.”

“Liv’s here? Liv’s—“ But he couldn’t say “alive”, couldn’t admit he had been so close to believing he had lost her.

Peyton nodded, but there was something strange in her face. Well, of course Liv would be acting unusually, Major thought. She had been through a traumatic experience. Reaching out, he squeezed Peyton’s shoulder reassuringly, and then went to Liv’s door, knocking softly. “Liv. It’s me.”

“Major?” Liv had been crying; he could hear it in her voice. Of course she had.

“Can I come in?”

There was silence in response, and then the door opened. She was across the room, her back turned to him, her arms crossed protectively, by the time he had opened it. There was a towel wound around her hair, as if she had just gotten out of the shower. Major shut the door behind him and leaned against it, all his training telling him to give her the space she so obviously needed, even though his heart was telling him to run to her, to hold her and reassure himself she was really there. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Can I— Liv, I was terrified. I thought …”

“I thought so, too.” She gave a watery chuckle. “I really thought so. But apparently not.”

They both stood in silence for what seemed like ages to Major, before Liv gave a little cry, almost a moan of pain, and turned around, running to him, putting her arms around him and holding on as though she'd thought she'd never be able to again.

Major held her close, content just to have her here in his arms. But eventually the closeness turned to need, and he tilted her face up to him, seeking her mouth with his own.

Liv pulled away as though his kiss burned her. “Don’t!”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I should have known better, after what you went through. Are you—are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No. You have to leave, Major. Please.”

“I—“

“Now.”

“Okay. I’ll call you later?” But of course, her phone was probably at the bottom of a lake.

“I’ll … I’ll come over. Once I’ve had a chance to—once I’ve made some sense of everything. Okay?”

“Okay.” He reached out without thinking to touch her cheek, and she flinched. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” There were tears in her eyes again, and as he closed her door he heard her start to cry, keening sobs like her heart was breaking.

“What is going on with her?” Peyton asked, coming toward him from the kitchen.

“She went through a lot. We just have to be patient until she’s ready to talk about it.”

“I just … I hate that I can’t do anything to help.”

“I know. Me, too. But Liv’s strong; she’ll come out of it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He had trouble settling in to his day, constantly checking his phone to see if Liv had called, unable to focus on any project or activity in case she showed up. By nightfall he had scrubbed his kitchen cabinets from top to bottom, reorganized his bookshelves, changed the batteries in all the smoke detectors, and had been reduced to walking through the house flicking the lights off and on to determine whether any light bulbs needed to be changed.

Even though he had been listening for her all day, it still startled him when the doorbell rang. Of course it did, he realized, hurrying to open it. Liv had a key. She had never rung the bell before. Maybe she had lost the key?

But he could tell, looking at her there on the other side of the door, that she had lost more than a key. Something was off about her, and it was more than the unfamiliar black stocking cap that she wore over her hair. Liv’s eyes were empty as she looked up at him, seeing through him … or not seeing him at all, still trapped in a mental image of nightmare.

“Liv,” he said gently, reaching for her hand, but she pulled it back.

“Major, I— I came here to say— There’s … no easy way to—“ Her voice rasped over the words as though they were physically painful. Reaching down, she fumbled with her left hand, and then abruptly, unbelievably, she was holding out the winking piece of gold and gemstone that he had placed on her finger with so much joy. “I can’t marry you, Major. Not now. Not ever.”

It was more than a punch to the gut. It was a gunshot, straight to the heart. Or, at least, what Major imagined a gunshot must feel like. Only the knowledge that she had just been through a terrible trauma and couldn’t possibly mean what she’d said kept him standing upright. “Liv, don’t do this. Take some time. Think—“ His voice echoed even in his own ears, like it was coming from a long way away.

“I don’t need time.” She shook her head. “The last thing I need is time. If I could— If I thought— Just … forget me, Major, please. I can’t—“ She placed the ring in his palm, closing his fingers over it, and turned to go.

With his free hand, he reached for her, managing to tug the stocking cap off her head. Her hair was bleached white. “Your hair—“ he said, as if that mattered right now.

With a look of terror, she snatched the stocking cap from him, tugged it back down over her head, and was lost in the darkness before he could manage another coherent thought.

Chapter 2: No Reasons Why

It took Major over a week before he could catch Liv. Despite a bewildered and increasingly worried Peyton’s best efforts, she couldn’t keep Liv home long enough for Major to get there, and Liv never returned any of his calls or texts or emails.

Finally he was reduced to hovering outside her building wearing a jacket he had borrowed from one of the kids at the shelter, a shiny over-sized Indianapolis Colts jacket that was as un-Major as he could possibly get. It worked, eventually—he caught Liv coming out just before midnight, and put himself in front of her before she had time to run.

“Please, Major, I’ll be late for work.”

He still knew the hours of her internship by heart—she shouldn’t have been needed for another six hours. He said as much, and Liv shook her head.

“I’m working in the morgue now. Assistant Medical Examiner. I … dropped out of the internship.”

The news sent Major reeling. He could understand her pushing him aside after the trauma she’d been through, but she had dreamed of being a surgeon for so long. How could she have given it up?

“Really, I have to go.”

She started to push past him, but he stopped her. He couldn’t let things go on like this. “Liv. Let me help you.”

“You can’t.” The words were so soft he could barely hear them.

“I can. You know I can. I’m trained in this kind of thing—and I love you. That has to count for something.”

Liv looked up at him, stricken. “I’m sorry. I wish I could. But I have to go.”

“Then meet me later. We can have coffee. Please, Liv! You owe me … something.”

She swallowed hard. “All right. The shop around the corner, with the great pastries.” Her face twisted as if the thought of the pastries made her ill. “I get off at eight.”

“All right.”

This time he let her go, and stood there in the uncomfortable borrowed jacket watching her go, torn between grief at the loss of everything she had been and fear that he might not be able to help her come back from it. Her eyes had been so empty—like she was still at that boat party.

She met him at the coffee shop as scheduled, which was a relief. Major had been afraid she wouldn’t show. Liv curled her hands around a mug and stared down into the coffee with that terrifying blankness still in her eyes. She drank it mechanically, with no jokes about how terrible it was or indication that she even knew what she was drinking.

“Liv. You can’t go on like this.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t know what I would give to be able to tell you—to talk to you—“

“You can. You can tell me anything. Tell me why you gave up the internship.”

“I had to. I just couldn’t … I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Just like you couldn’t marry me anymore. Liv, what the hell happened on that boat?”

She shook her head mutely, her eyes huge and dark in her pale face. Too pale. According to Peyton, she wasn’t eating, she was barely sleeping …

“Then … why the morgue? Please, you have to tell me something.”

“It’s quiet. And there are no—people.”

Major blinked and sat back. Was that what it was? She was afraid to be around people because of the boat party, because she couldn’t trust them not to go crazy? Surely she knew he would never be like that. Huh. Or maybe she didn’t. If it had been bad enough, maybe no one felt safe to her anymore. He leaned across the table again, meeting her eyes. “Liv, I promise, I swear, I’m not going to push you. What you’ve been through—you’re traumatized, I can see that, and you need time to recover. I’ll do whatever I can to give you that time, to make sure Peyton does, too. And your mom.” He smiled briefly, hoping to spark some of their mutual eye-rolling at her mother’s over-involvement in her life, but there was nothing. Just more pain, Liv’s eyes dropping again to her coffee. “All I ask is that you give me some hope, some … just … will you take this back? Please?” He took the ring out of his pocket, where he had carried it ever since she’d given it back. “Will you wear this as a symbol to both of us that some day we can be together again?”

Her face twisted as she looked at it as if she was about to cry, one hand lifting, reaching for it. Then she snatched the hand back, putting it in her lap, and shook her head. “I can’t.”

Clenching his jaw against the his own tears, his throat swollen and aching with them, he took the ring back, dropping it in his pocket. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Trust me, if there was any—but … “ She shook her head again.

This silent ghost was so unlike his Liv, who chattered and talked through things and went through a thousand thoughts a minute, it made his skin crawl. “Will you at least see someone?”

“Someone?”

“A therapist.”

“Oh. Huh.” She blinked, as though she hadn’t considered the possibility. He wished he’d suggested it days ago, but he had been so thrown by her returning the ring, he couldn’t think straight.

“You’ll think about it?”

Liv frowned. “I … can’t.”

“You can’t do this alone, Liv. I know it feels like that, that you can’t trust anyone and you can’t rely on anyone, and you have to just get through this. I know that’s who you are, and I know that’s how a lot of people respond to a trauma like this, but … you’re not really making your best decisions right now, and …”

She interrupted him, her eyes blazing, her voice stronger than he had heard it since he’d sent her off to that damn party. “Yes, I am. Major, I can’t make you understand, I wish I could, but the choices I’ve made, the things I’ve done—they were the only things possible. You have to trust me that I know what I’m doing, or I wouldn’t be doing it.” Liv leaned across the table. “Have you ever known me not to have a plan?”

He thought of the color-coded notebooks she kept, planning out the details of her schedule and her long-term plans and their wedding and future house projects. He had to admit that he never had known her not to have a plan. “And … leaving me is part of your plan now?” Major tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he couldn’t.

“It is. I’m sorry, more sorry than I can ever tell you.”

“Then tell me this—Liv, do you still love me?” She had to answer him. He couldn’t take it if she didn’t.

“It won’t change anything.”

“I have to know.”

She looked at him closely, then nodded. “I do.”

God, he wanted to shake her. If she loved him, why wouldn’t she let him help her? But she wouldn’t, that much was clear. Major felt their future hanging in the balance—he could accept that she needed to do things her way and wait, as patiently as he could, for her to come to her senses again, or he could totally lose his cool here in this cheap coffee shop and blow any chance of ever having her back in his arms again. When he put it that way, there was really no choice at all. He loved her, he needed her, he wasn’t giving up this easily. “All right. We’ll … do it your way. Just … don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here for you, you know that.”

Liv nodded. “I know.” She looked down at her coffee again, the cup still half full. “I have to go.”

“Yeah.” He’d expected as much. This was a longer conversation than anyone had gotten out of her since the boat party, as far as he could tell.

She stood up, then paused by the edge of the table. “I’ll … I’ll take care of calling and—canceling everything. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Thanks.” He hadn’t wanted to ask—in part not to burden her when she was so clearly hanging on by a thread and in part because if they canceled the church and the caterer and the florist and everything else it would all be real and Major had wanted to hold on to the dream just that much longer, to tell himself that she couldn’t really be doing this. But he hadn’t looked forward to making those calls, either.

“Bye.” It was little more than a whisper, and then she was gone. Major was left here with these cups of terrible coffee at an empty table where Liv used to be, and he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

Chapter 3: Come On and Give Me a Chance

Reaching for a clean shirt, Major kicked the box again. He scowled down at it. Not that it was the box’s fault that he’d left it on the floor of his closet where he would trip over it regularly. No, that was all him, and his inability to decide whether he wanted to keep it all to pretend a little bit longer that Liv might come back some day or whether he wanted to take it to her to give himself an excuse to see her and hope seeing him reminded her what a mistake it had been to break up with him.

Either way, though, he really couldn’t leave it there any longer—the constant kicking was making a dent in the box. And, after all, there was Corinne. Who wasn’t Liv, but she was nice, and she wasn’t constantly upset by his presence, and she seemed … normal. Like maybe he could have a normal life even if his fiance had left him to deal with her trauma.

Yeah. It was enough. He picked up the box and set it in front of his bedroom door so that he couldn’t accidentally—or not so accidentally—forget it when he left.

Later, he waited in front of their door, the box in his arms, bracing himself for Peyton to open the door, trying to prepare for Liv to open the door. He could be her friend, right? After all this time, he was used to not being her partner and he could be her friend. At least, so he told himself, until Liv opened the door in her shorts and a hoodie hastily pulled on over a tank top.

In order to keep his eyes off her, keep from remembering the time when he had the right to peel those off her and lock the door behind them and … he dropped his gaze to the box and immediately started babbling. “I was gonna rename this ‘Major’s excuse to come over’, but … I’m tryin’ to maintain an air of mystery.” As babbles went, that was a little too close to the truth. When Liv didn’t respond, he walked into the room. “No, but seriously, I figured after six months, you were kind of really missing your tiny face sander thing, and that magnifying mirror that makes your pores look like manholes.” No, that wasn’t passive aggressive at all. Shut up, Major. He could have slapped himself for letting his mouth run off with itself like that. “Thanks for leaving that behind, by the way.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, hoping she couldn’t tell how nervous he was. He hated being nervous around Liv. They never had been nervous with each other. From the first moment, they’d just—gotten one another, conversation and quips flowing so easily between them. He missed that so much.

He put the box down on the dining table, glad and sorry to be rid of it.

“You didn’t need to do this,” Liv said when he finally took a breath.

God, she was blunt. She’d always been blunt, but since the boat party she really seemed to be missing her filter. And sometimes she said the weirdest things, like she wasn’t even Liv anymore, and then she’d be right back to brooding and running from him, and everyone, again.

“No, it’s mostly just hair products, lingerie …” Really, Major? Lingerie? Shut up! “But there’s some books,” he added hastily, to keep either one of them from thinking too much about the lingerie. “Oh. And this.” He pulled out the T-shirt, holding it up to his chest, hoping … what? That she would be so overcome by memories she’d throw herself into his arms? It said “I left my heart in San Francisco”, with the word “heart” replaced by the image of one. And he couldn’t help being a little snarky. “Which might explain some things.” Yeah, she wasn’t going to throw herself into his arms. Not today.

Liv just stared at him, no response. No smile, no frown, no ‘shut up, Major’, which he probably richly deserved, nothing. He hated seeing her like this.

But he tried one more time, because here he was and here she was and he couldn’t not try one more time. “I’m thinkin’ maybe this calls for a road trip.” He gave her his best smile. She loved his lopsided smile, she’d told him so more times than he could count. But then, these days he wasn’t sure if she remembered what love felt like. Or any other emotion, for that matter.

Still nothing. He felt bad for trying, and mad at himself for feeling bad, and mad at her for making him feel bad, and—really awful that he hadn’t been able to help. All this time, all his training, all the love he felt for her, and he hadn’t been able to help her heal, even a little bit. Major folded the shirt again, and said apologetically, “I’m just—I’m just kiddin’.”

“I know.” Two hoarse, emotionless words. He was over here twisted into knots from everything he felt, and she had … nothing.

They stared at each other until Major couldn’t take it any longer. “Yeah, well, I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do with this stuff, and it just felt weird to throw it out.”

Liv nodded.

“I mean … what if you had an emotional attachment to …” He reached into the box and pulled out the first thing he touched. “This textbook. On rare skin diseases.”

“Well, thanks for bringing it by,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. So much for thinking she had any emotional attachments at all, he thought sourly.

Peyton came in just then, complaining about her parking spot, and Major had never been so happy to see Liv’s best friend. He and Liv shared a look, a ghost of thousands of other looks between them when being interrupted by Peyton, whose timing had often been scarily apt.

Dry cleaning slung over her shoulder, Peyton came toward them, frowning as she tried to parse the situation. “Should I not be here?”

“No, I, uh—I was just headin’ out,” Major said, wishing it wasn’t true, but glad it was. He gave Peyton a quick hug, and walked past Liv without a touch, which was harder to do than he would have thought possible. Before he left, though, he also had to deal with the other unpleasant task, the one he had been putting off for so long. He stopped to look down at her. “I, uh, I also have an entire closet full of engagement gifts, so let me know if you want anything.” Let me know if you want me, he meant, but she didn’t, and he couldn’t stand being told that any more. Hastily, he kept talking, hoping she had missed the subtext, angry that she definitely had missed the subtext. “Other than the panini press, which I’ve already used,” and what crappy paninis those had been, eating them thinking how much better they would have tasted if Liv had been there to make them with him, “and broken … and repurchased.”

“We’ll take a juicer,” Peyton said.

Liv glanced at her, if possible even paler than usual, and turned to Major ready to argue.

But Major saw an attempt by Peyton to give him another excuse to come by, and he had to hope Peyton knew something he didn’t know. Or he had to hope there was something to know. Or he had to keep torturing himself because this was his life now. Whatever way you looked at it, Corinne or no Corinne, any excuse to come over to Liv’s was one he couldn’t pass up. “I’ll, uh, I’ll drop it by this weekend.”

He heard furious whispers behind him when he closed the doors, and was perversely glad that at least something had made Liv furious. He couldn’t help contrasting this pale, emotionless woman with the colorful, vibrant girl he loved. If there was any chance of getting that Liv back, any chance of getting back on track with her, then he had to try, didn’t he? Which wasn’t fair to Corinne. But then, Liv wasn’t coming back—the last six months had made that abundantly clear, and Corinne was his chance to start over. Which wasn’t fair to Liv or to Corinne. But nothing about this situation was fair to him, either, and he was fumbling through it as best he could.

Chapter 4: Hidden Well

Major looked up from his email as Ravi came into the kitchen. “All settled in?”

“All but the most important bit. Are we ready to tackle the beast?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s get to it.”

They went into the living room, where Ravi’s massive TV leaned against the wall, ready to be mounted and hooked up. Between Ravi’s various electronics and his own, it was pretty much the gaming setup of Major’s dreams. He’d been skeptical when Liv first suggested that he invite her boss to move in, but the additional equipment was a total bonus, the work hours matched up pretty well, and Major even liked the guy. Plus, Ravi’s friendship with Liv had been good for her. She wasn’t her old self yet by any means, and she still acted weird on a regular basis, but she was starting to come back from that emotionless fog she’d lived in for so long, and even taking steps to improve her relationship with Major. Not as much as he’d hoped she would, but anything was better than nothing. Occasionally he wondered if that weird night when she'd showed up and sat in his lap and said she was going crazy not being close to him was really how she felt, but she was so careful the rest of the time to avoid anything that might even skirt the edge of romantic that he had to assume she must have been drunk at the time or he'd be the one going crazy.

Major thought about the scene with Corinne this morning uncomfortably. Of all the mornings for Liv to pick to show up and be friendly! But Liv had to have known that he’d move on eventually, if only as a way to force himself to get over her. And he couldn’t believe it was a coincidence that her suggestion that he let Ravi move in came right on top of her finding Corinne there wearing Major’s shirt and drinking out of Liv’s favorite morning coffee cup … just the way Liv should have been.

Or was it? Was this a subtle signal that Liv had moved on as well, and he and Corinne and she and Ravi could double couple it up on the reg? Major glanced over at Ravi, sizing him up, as they lifted the TV. Sure, he was tall. And smart. And good-looking. And had a killer accent. But surely Liv couldn’t—

“Ravi.”

“Right. Just a bit to the left there. That’s got it.”

“Huh? Oh, to the left. Yeah.” Major caught on in time to help Ravi maneuver the TV onto the mounting brackets. “So, you and Liv … Just friends?” Yeah, the segue wasn’t quite as smooth or as subtle as he had hoped.

Ravi tested the TV to make sure it was secure, then gingerly let go, holding his breath until he was sure it was securely mounted. Only then did he look at his new roommate. “Major, I think this will go a lot better if we put a moratorium on the Liv talk. I have no intention of carrying messages. Or tales, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He hadn’t actually thought of that, but it was nice to have it off the table. “Well, that’s a relief, I guess. But … you and Liv aren’t … together … Right?”

“What, me and Liv? No! No. Nothing like that at all.”

Major peered at him suspiciously. “That was fast.”

“It’s also true. Look, Major, I like Liv. She’s been through a lot, and she’s trying to deal as best she can, and I want to help her through it as much as she’ll let me. But that’s all there is to it. And all there’s going to be.”

“Good,” Major said, pushing aside the stab of jealousy he felt that Liv was actually willing to let Ravi help her when she would never even talk to Major about … anything. “I’m glad she has someone she can trust.”

“She trusts you, Major. She’s just afraid,” Ravi said softly. “It’s … complicated. Give her time.”

“I have been.”

“Give her more.”

They looked at each other, a spark of hope lighting in Major’s heart at Ravi’s words. It was enough. For now. “What do you say we fire this thing up and give it a spin?”

“Prepare to have your world rocked.”

“Ready and willing.”

They finished attaching the cables, took their seats on the couch, picked up their controllers, and the epic bromance was on.

Chapter 5: Back to the Place You Are

Why he had gone looking for Liv before he left Holly’s wake, Major wasn’t sure. Except that she was Liv, and she was where he turned every time things didn’t make sense. Between Holly dying so suddenly and Jerome missing, it had been a hell of a week already, and he wanted to hold on to Liv and feel like things were going to be okay, if only for a moment.

Only then he turned the corner into Holly’s den and found his worst nightmare in progress—Liv having a moment with one of Holly’s crazy friends that looked like quiet intimacy. The kind of moment Major had wanted for himself, just the two of them, talking quietly. He swallowed down the stab of hurt he felt as best he could as Liv looked up and saw him, her mind still on whatever she and the good-looking dark-haired guy had been talking about.

“Oh. There you are,” he said lamely. “I’m gonna take off.”

To his surprise, Liv got to her feet, adjusting her purse over her shoulder.

“I just wanted to say good-bye,” he told her, not wanting to interrupt. Well, of course he did want to interrupt, but he also wanted her to be happy, and if this was what it took, he was hardly in a position to complain that she was moving on.

After a moment of awkward silence, Liv said, “I’ll walk you out.” She left the guy without a word, which pleased Major, but surprised him even more. He wondered what the guy thought—but he didn’t really care. As they headed out the door, Liv looked up at him, concern in her eyes. “You’re leaving awfully early.”

He forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m really bringin’ down this wake.” Major considered leaving it there, but he missed talking to her so much, he couldn’t help letting his troubles pour out, if only just a little. “I can’t stop thinking about Jerome. It’s been over a week, he stopped texting …” They were next to his car now, but Liv was looking at him like she understood, that really listening look she had always been so good at, and he didn’t want to give this up. It was the closest they had been in—far too long. And he was terrified for Jerome, in ways that he hadn’t been able to make anyone else understand. They all thought Jerome was just another street kid, taking off whenever he felt like it, but he wasn’t like that. He had been making real strides at Helton, he and Major had talked about his future, and he had been starting to feel like he really had one. He wouldn’t have left this way, not just taking off without a word. “I—I think something happened to him.”

Unlike everyone else he had said that to, Liv looked stricken at the thought. Without a word, she stepped forward and put her arms around Major, holding him close. He didn’t want to go in for the hug, didn’t want relax and let himself be comforted by her the way he had been since … the very beginning, because if once he closed his eyes and rested on her shoulder, how could he give her up again? But he needed this, needed her closeness and her understanding and her silent comfort. He let his eyes close, his hand stroking her back. She didn’t smell quite right anymore, something under the perfume and the shampoo different than he remembered, but she felt the same, and he loved her as much now as he had the night she decided to go to that damned boat party.

Liv moved her hands, pressing his upper arms firmly, the comfort hug turning into her encouragement hug, and Major forced himself back to the present, little as he wanted to.

“He’ll turn up,” Liv said, as if she really believed it.

Major nodded. He didn’t think it would happen—something in him was sure Jerome was dead, or if not dead, then on his way to it. But he appreciated Liv trying, and her certainty. He should have turned and left right then, but his big mouth ran off with him before he could. “I’m sorry if I … interrupted something back there,” he said. Because he wanted to know if he had, and because he wanted her to know he could be okay with it. Because he wanted her to know that her happiness was important to him, even if they couldn’t be together.

“What?” She looked genuinely confused, and he couldn’t help smiling inwardly. She hadn’t realized something had been going on, but it had. Major could tell. He was happy for her, but something in the sudden realization in her eyes, in the way she tripped over her next few words explaining that it was all about work because she had just figured out that it hadn’t been, not really, told him that the door to their relationship was finally closing for good, and he wasn’t ready.

But he had to be ready. He had Corinne, after all, for all that she wasn’t Liv, and he needed Liv to know they could be friends even if they couldn’t be more. Because not being Liv’s husband was bad enough, but not being Liv’s friend was unthinkable. “It’s bound to happen someday,” he told her. And then he did turn to get into his car. Little as he wanted to drive away from her, if they were going to be friends he had to learn to take what he could get and be glad for it, and to stop clinging to thoughts of what could have been but was never going to be. This was better than it had been in a long time, and he was going to be grateful for that, and for Liv’s support, if it killed him.

Chapter 6: To Do It Right This Time Around

When he came to in the skate park, Major was pissed, embarrassed … and in a lot of freaking pain. He limped back to his car, feeling blood running slowly down his cheeks from the cuts on his face. It itched like crazy, too, but he couldn’t keep reaching up to scratch. He thought he might have broken a finger. How was that possible? he thought, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the space, even though he had no clue where to go in this situation. That Candy-Man guy was big, yeah … but Major was a former football player. All-Conference, for crying out loud! He was a regular at the gym, and no slouch in the ring. And yet the Candy-Man had wiped the floor with him. Literally. He was going to have to come up with some kind of lie to tell Ravi—

No, he wasn’t. Ravi could help. He pulled a totally illegal Uie and headed for the morgue.

He was glad Liv wasn’t there when he arrived, sneaking in the back so no one else could see his bloodied face.

Ravi turned around from his computer. “Major? What the hell?”

“You should see the other guy? Actually, you really should.” Major slumped against one of the tables. “He looks a hell of a lot better than I do.”

“What happened?”

Major lay back on the table, closing his eyes and letting Ravi clean him up, not even concerned that usually people were dead when this happened to them. He told Ravi the whole story.

Eventually the worst of the injuries had been bandaged, and he’d been mostly washed off, but the facial lacerations remained. Ravi clucked his tongue. “This is not my forte.”

Once that would have mattered. Major had always taken pride in his looks. But not anymore. Who cared? “Go ahead. Whatever.”

“You’re sure?”

“Just … do it.”

“All right,” Ravi said doubtfully. Things clattered as he arranged them next to the table and Major held still … until Ravi actually began the stitching process, which was painful enough that holding still really wasn’t an option.

“Ow!”

“You’re the one who asked me to do this.” Major twitched away from the needle. “Easy,” Ravi said. “You’re lucky you’re not dead. Although if you were, this would come much more naturally to me.” He did something fiendishly painful at Major’s hairline.

Major asked, “You know what you’re doing, right?” Ravi had said this wasn’t his forte, but Major had assumed he was just being modest.

“I mean, theoretically … sure?” Ravi tugged at the thread. “Did you consider a trip to the ER?”

“I’m a social worker. My insurance covers, like, one Band-Aid a year.”

“Major?” It was Liv. Major had hoped to avoid her, not wanting to have to explain what had happened, but now, in the face of Ravi’s obvious discomfort with the stitching process, Major thought he might be pretty happy Liv was here. She dropped her purse and hurried toward him. “What the hell?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly.

Liv came around the table, looking over Ravi’s shoulder. “Those are Y incision stitches. They need to be closer together … unless you’re going for that Frankenstein look.”

Frankenstein? Major’s eyebrows flew up. What was Ravi doing to him?

“The man’s too good-looking. I’m giving him character,” Ravi explained airily.

“Should I just take over?”

Major blessed Liv’s superiority complex, the one that would never let someone else do something because she always knew she could do a better job. Annoying while cooking together, sure, but damned useful when someone else was making a mess of stitches on your face.

Ravi must have agreed. He dropped the needle like it burned him. “Please, god, yes.”

Liv took over, her face scrunching up in concentration. “How did this happen?”

“He got into a fight,” Ravi said helpfully.

“I went looking for Jerome.”

“And found the Candy-Man.”

Major looked up at Liv. “Remember? The guy Jerome said was handing out Utopium, inviting kids back to his van?”

“He’s a real person, then? The Candy-Man?”

“He was wearing Jerome’s high-tops.” Major was angry all over again, just talking about it. The guy had known what happened to Jerome, and Major had utterly failed to get anything out of him at all.

“How did you know they were Jerome’s?” Liv asked. She tugged at the stitch, but somehow it didn’t hurt when she did it. “They were cool shoes, but they weren’t one of a kind.”

“They were Jerome’s.” The guy had as good as admitted it, after all.

“So our friend here went full vigilante,” Ravi added. “Batman versus the Candy-Man. Point: Candy-Man.”

“And I assume that fight solved everything?” Liv asked. “You and the Candy-Man shook hands, and he led you right to Jerome.”

Her sarcasm aside, Major didn’t know what else he could have done. “He knows something, I know it,” he insisted.

“You’re a social worker, not a cop. You could have been killed.”

Major grinned up at her as best he could in his current position, warmed by her concern for him, by the sheer familiarity of Liv in doctor-mode, Liv in caring mode. For so long, it had seemed like she didn’t care about anything at all, and now here she was scolding him for getting too involved in his work, too emotionally over-committed, just the way she used to. “I was an All-Conference strong safety for the Washington Huskies, baby. A head-hunter.” His smile widened, the conversation a familiar one. Liv had never been impressed by his physical prowess or his posturing as a tough guy—it was one of the things he had always liked about her, that she saw him for everything he was, not just for his physique. “I’m a dangerous man.”

She rolled her eyes, just like she used to. “The Candy-Man is dangerous-er. Please, promise me that that’s the last time you’ll take matters into your own hands. There’s a reason—“

Raising his voice to reach Ravi, who had wandered away from the conversation, Major said, “Liv tell you about the guy she met at the wake the other night? Musician-type? If I hadn’t stumbled in and totally rocker-blocked this dude— Ow!” He couldn’t help chuckling through the pain, though. Nice to know he could still get Liv’s goat, even if he had to be okay with her seeing other guys to do it.

“Quite an imagination you have there,” she said, her voice chilly.

He caught her gaze, looking into her eyes, no longer joking. “Have some faith in me. All right? I’ve been girding myself for this day.” He had, too, for months. Sleeping with Corinne, he had had to face the idea that Liv would eventually do the same with someone else, and he had accepted this as the price for her friendship. He gave her his best smile, the one that always made her laugh, no matter how mad she was. “Come on. Who’s your buddy? I’m your buddy.”

She didn’t laugh, but she relented, at least a little.

“Eager to share the highs and lows of your life,” Major assured her. He always had been, of course, but things were different now, and if being her buddy was what he could get, then being her buddy was what he would take, and be glad for it.

“Mm-hm.” Liv wasn’t convinced, he could tell, but she was getting there. What with the suturing and all, this might have been the most normal conversation they’d had in months. Major didn’t even mind when Ravi interrupted with news of a dead body. “Just a second. I don’t want it to pop,” Liv told him, tying off the stitch.

“It’s fine,” Major assured her. “Chicks dig scars.”

That got at least a half-smile, which was enough for today. He’d look forward to the day he could make her laugh again. But for now, this was enough. And he no longer felt quite so beaten, emotionally or physically. This was why he was lucky to have Liv, in whatever form he could.

Chapter 7: Wondering What in the World

Major was getting used to the throbbing pain in his face. The Candy-Man, the Hell’s Angels in the jail cell … next up, maybe the assistant football coach from his high school team would show up. That guy had had quite the temper. But it didn’t matter anyway. Nothing had seemed entirely real to him since he’d seen those brains in the Candy-Man’s car. What the hell would a guy be doing with human brains? Major couldn’t figure it out. A delicacy for rich people? Seriously, who was so rich they had to eat human brains?

He was so busy researching it, earbuds in, music blasting, that he didn’t hear Corinne ringing the doorbell until the door closed behind her. He pulled out the earbuds, resenting the distraction and trying not to. It wasn’t Corinne’s fault that he seemed to have fallen into some weird modern noir movie.

From the thud of her shoes on the floor as she crossed the room, he gathered she was mad.

“So, you missed our lunch date.”

They’d had a lunch date? “Things have been … kinda crazy,” he muttered. Did she know he’d been in jail? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t seem to matter. He tried to remember the Major who was a good boyfriend. “But, uh … I’ll make it up to you. Okay?”

Corinne moved closer, gasping as she saw his face. “Oh, my god. Major, what happened to your face?”

If she had been Liv, he could have told her. But sitting here, looking at Corinne, he wondered if he had ever really known her. Major shook his head. “It’s a long story.” She frowned, and he decided to take a stab at the explanation. “I—I broke into a guy’s car. Then the cops put me in a cell with these bikers, and … whatever. You know, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter!” She took a step towards him, and her attention was caught by the giant image of a human brain on his computer screen. “Why are you looking at pictures of brains?”

Major opened his mouth to answer, not sure what he could say that would explain the situation without making him sound crazy, but she spoke again before he could come up with anything.

“You know what, don’t even answer that. This is so not what I signed up for.” She headed for the door.

He got to his feet, following her. “Look, I know things—“

Corinne stopped, whirling to face him. “You keep getting into fights. You just got arrested. You’re in a running battle with someone known as the Candy-Man. What the hell? You were the dream combination of super-hot but funny, and … now you’re like some whackjob who doesn’t shower enough.”

Did she not get it? This was serious. People’s lives were at stake. “If you’d just give me a second to explain …”

“You should get some help.”

She was right, he probably should get someone to help him with this, but who could he tell that he’d found human brains in a cooler in the car of the man who had killed Jerome? And whatever Ravi and Clive said, Major knew it had been the Candy-Man. He stood watching as Corinne walked out of his life, and felt nothing but a sense of relief that he didn’t have to try to be normal anymore.

On her way out, she nearly ran into Ravi, who stared after her, then turned to Major. “I take it game night’s off?”

Major gave that some thought. He should take a break from worrying about this brain thing to go kill some virtual zombies.

Zombies. Brains. No way. But … brains. He frowned.

“Major?”

“Yeah, let’s, uh … let’s skip game night.” He turned back to the computer, entering some new search terms.

When the knock came at the door later that night, he almost didn’t answer it. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to talk to them. But he heard Liv’s voice through the glass, and thought better of it. If he could talk to anyone, explain what was going on with him to anyone … it was Liv. She was being bright and falsely chipper, so he could tell Ravi had told her about Corinne. But when the door opened and she saw his face, it was clear that Ravi had not told her about the biker gang beat-down, which had really added some nice colors on top of the half-healed beat-down from the Candy-Man.

“Oh, Major. Who did this to you?”

“I can’t talk about Fight Club.” He winced openly, ignoring the pain in his face, as if he had truly slipped up by mentioning it. “Crap!”

Liv didn’t fall for his comedy, and he couldn’t really blame her. He wasn’t finding much about his life funny at the moment, either. “I want to know what happened,” she demanded, stepping inside.

“Would you believe shark attack?”

She ignored him, touching the side of his face gently with her small, cool hand. Major walked away, not wanting the sympathy or the concern today.

“Did you go to the skate park again?”

“Rough night in jail,” he said breezily. “Turns out the police take umbrage when you accuse them of negligence.”

“You were in jail? Why didn’t you—” She caught herself even before Major could give her a pointed look. “You did call me. You called me from jail and I didn’t answer.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’m … glad you’re here now.” He really was. Even after everything, the only person he wanted to see every day was still her, the only person he wanted to talk to right now while the world was falling down around his ears was, still and always, her.

Liv sank into a chair, still mentally beating herself up, and picked up the paper lying there. “You made it on the police blotter?”

He hadn’t wanted to tell her, or anyone, the rest of it, the worst of it, but now he found he did want to tell her, and that he could tell her without breaking into tears, which was a step up from the rest of the day. “One of the kids at Helton Shelter brought that into a group session this morning. Unfortunately, my bosses weren’t nearly as impressed with my street cred as this kid was, so … If you hear of anyone looking for a youth counselor with a rap sheet …”

“They fired you. Major, I’m so sorry.”

There had been a time when he could have let her see how devastated he was, but … this was no longer that time. He looked away from her shocked and worried face, forcing the “life’s a beach” smile he kept for these occasions. “Look at me.” He knew what his face looked like, what a bad example he was setting for the kids. “I didn’t give ‘em much choice.”

Liv was searching for words, but he didn’t want platitudes. Having come this far, having told her the worst, he was ready to tell her the crazy part, too. He needed to tell her.

Reaching for her hand, he said, “I need to talk to you about something. I think you’re the only one who might listen to me.” He’d considered confiding in Ravi, but he hadn’t wanted Ravi to go all … medical conspiracy theorist on him. Maybe if they’d known each other longer, but—it had always been Liv he talked to, right from the start.

“Of course.”

“Those people in the woods didn’t kill Jerome and Eddie. All right? It was a drug dealer named Julian Dupont, the guy the kids call the Candy-Man.”

Liv broke in before he could finish. “They found their remains at the house.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t them. All right? This Dupont guy was wearing Jerome’s shoes. He practically admitted to killing him. The police, they’re covering this up, now, don’t ask me why—“ She was looking away, not believing him, and he could hear his own voice rising, the growing hysteria, and he tried to rein it in, bring the tone back down so she would take him seriously.

“The DNA was verified.”

“Just … listen. Please. All right? I saw something in the Candy-Man’s car, and it’s gonna sound crazy, all right, but I know what I saw.”

“Okay.” There were years of trust in her face and her voice as she watched him, waiting for the crazy.

“There was an ice chest in the passenger seat. It had a brain inside. A human brain. I’m sure of it.” He looked closely at her face, waiting for the disbelief. She seemed shocked, as if she were processing, but he couldn’t tell if she was shocked about the brains he’d found, or about the ones in his head that were clearly slowly turning to mush.

“Brains, huh?” she said at last, her voice carefully casual.

“You think I’m crazy.”

“No!” She got to her feet, looking past him with that thousand-yard Liv figuring things out stare. “It’s just that if the man worked for a butcher shop, like he told the police, then, it seems logical the brains came from an animal.”

“No. I’ve been looking at pictures of human and cow brains for hours, and yes, I know how crazy that sounds, but Liv, a cow’s brain is baseball sized. That’s not what this was.” God, it was a relief to be able to talk this through and be sure of what he was saying. She was looking at him in distress, and he needed her to be with him on this. Maybe no one else would be, but she had to be, or he really would go crazy. “I need someone to believe me. I’d feel so much better if that someone was you.”

She was struggling with her disbelief, he could see. “I know how close you and Jerome were,” she said slowly, grasping at some explanation, “how responsible you felt for him. I think you holding on to this case is a way of you holding on to him.”

He couldn’t help the crushing disappointment. Of course it was crazy. Of course she couldn’t believe him, not without seeing the brains with her own eyes. And maybe he was chasing ghosts just to feel like he had done something for Jerome even now that it was too late. She had a point. And clearly, he wasn’t going to convince her that he had seen what he had seen, so he was going to have to convince her instead that she had proved her point. “You’re right,” he told her at last. “I don’t want you to be, but you are.”

“I know it’s not easy to let go.”

“I—I’ve gotta get my act together. This—this isn’t who I am.” Liv released a breath he hadn’t even noticed she was holding, in relief that he had come around, he assumed. “You know, if I’m gonna get into a fight with a biker gang, it should be because I, I accidentally knocked over a row of their hogs outside a dive bar.” That one was probably pushing it, but Liv seemed to buy it.

She took a step toward him. “Just promise me that you’ll back off from this Julian guy?”

“I promise.” They looked at each other, a comfortable, familiar silence between them. “You’re a good friend, Liv.” She always had been, until she wasn’t. He was glad to have this part of her back again.

Major closed the door behind her and returned to his computer, putting his earbuds back in and typing “Uses for Human Brains” into the search engine. He had promised to back off from Julian, not from the brains. He was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter 8: Stop Chasing False Dreams

Major had been pacing back and forth half the day, it seemed. He was too wired to sit down, still filled with the adrenaline of last night’s attack and the astounding possibilities opened up by the guy he had shot in the chest—three times in the chest—getting up and walking out like nothing had happened. What the hell?

He’d been on the phone calling Ravi and Clive all day, barely restraining himself from adding Liv to the list, unable to stop spiraling in the midst of his own thing to really know how to feel for her. To lose someone you cared about suddenly, violently, the way she had lost Lowell, was horrible—but Major wasn’t sure he was ready to think about Liv caring about some other guy enough to let it get to her.

It was a relief when the doorbell rang. Major let Clive in, waiting anxiously to hear what the detective had to say. “Did you find Julian? Is he dead?”

“No, I found him at the gym. He was benching 350. Less than ten hours after you say you put three bullets in his chest.”

“Look, I’m telling you, I shot him!”

Clive pulled out his phone, tapped it a couple of times and showed Major a picture of Julian Dupont bench-pressing. “That him? It’s from this morning.”

It wasn’t possible. Major had shot this man last night. He knew he had, absolutely for certain knew it. “No, man,” he muttered. The evidence was in front of him, incontrovertible evidence … but he knew what he had done, and he knew what he had seen.

“You’ve gotta listen right now,” Clive told him. “I’ve been in a lot of rooms where guns went off, and that room doesn’t look like any of them. No bullets, no blood, and the man you say you shot, didn’t get shot. What you’re saying happened, didn’t happen. And if you believe it did, you’ve got a problem.”

Still clutching Clive’s phone, Major found his way to the couch, his legs giving way beneath him. There was no way that both Clive’s/Julian’s version of the story and Major’s could exist in the same universe. But they did. Unless what Major thought had happened had all been in his head. He’d been under stress, no doubt about that. He’d been obsessed with Julian and Jerome and the Candy-Man. Could he have hallucinated Julian’s attack on him last night? And if he had, could a hallucination really feel that real?

Watching him, weighing his words carefully, Clive asked, “You heard of a 220?”

Major shook his head.

“Involuntary commitment to a psych facility. We use it when behavior is erratic, dangerous, and escalating. You’re three for three.”

Studying the phone, the picture, Major wanted to argue with the calm, emotionless assessment, but he knew that if he were Clive and he was faced with one of the kids from the shelter acting the way it must seem Major had been, he would be recommending psych evaluation, too. Maybe he needed it. God knew he couldn’t make sense of what was going on on his own.

“Hear this,” Clive went on, not unsympathetically. “Get help. Now. Before someone gets it for you.” Coming toward Major, reaching for his phone, he asked, “You need me to call someone?”

Major could only think of one person he wanted right now, and she—was out of his reach. He handed Clive his phone back. “Thanks for being straight with me.”

Clive nodded, patting Major on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, man.”

He left, leaving Major sitting there alone, trying to make sense of the idea that what he had seen, what he had done, had never happened, when he knew as surely as he knew anything at all that it had.

By the next morning, he had decided. He hauled out his suitcase and began packing, glad to have a task, taking it seriously, packing nothing that didn’t pass the sniff test. He looked up only when Ravi, in pajamas and half-awake morning face, poked his head around the doorframe.

“Can I interest you in a coffee?”

“I’m good.”

Ravi came further into the room, looking more awake as he frowned at Major’s packing job. “You’re leaving me. What’s his name?”

Major didn’t look up, playing along only out of habit and a certain amount of affection for Ravi and his steadfast good humor. “Ah, it’s not important. Just know that what we had was real.” His roommate smiled, acknowledging the joke given and received, and Major went on, “Actually, I, uh, talked to my supervisor at Helton Shelter, she referred me to a guy who specializes in psychotic disorders. Yeah, he thinks I’m a good candidate for Blooming Grove.”

“Wait, you’re not checking yourself in to a mental hospital—you’re not crazy!” Ravi insisted. “You’ve been under enormous stress! You just need to get away, go on vacation.”

“Ravi, I’m seeing things! I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that guy Julian was here. I’d swear his eyes turned red, that I shot him. If someone at my psych internship told me that, and there was a picture of that guy at the gym the next day? There’s no question. It’s delusional disorder, with paranoid features. You can’t fix that with a vacation.”

Ravi’s face was pinched, as if Major’s pain was his pain, and Major appreciated that, but he couldn’t be swayed by well-meaning friends. He had to get help now, before things got any worse. Before he hurt someone.

“I don’t have a choice.”

Without another word, Ravi turned and walked out of the room, and Major returned to his packing, finding something soothing in the process. This, at least, was real. It was tangible. Right now, he was in control of his own mind, and when was the last time he had been sure of that? The night before that damned boat party, he thought bitterly. When his whole life started to go off the rails. Maybe now, maybe with some help, he could get back on track.

Chapter 9: Just to Hear You Breathing

Major had given up on talking to Liv before he went into the hospital. Much as he wanted to talk to her, he couldn’t impose his own craziness—literally—on her when she was still reeling from the loss of what Major guessed he had to describe as her boyfriend. He cared too much for her to burden her like that.

So he was surprised and relieved and disturbed, all at the same time, to get a call from some random bartender that Liv was in his bar, totally blitzed, and needed him to come get her. When had Liv ever gotten that drunk when Peyton wasn’t involved? It wasn’t like her to drink alone. Or maybe it was, now. So much of what she had done in the last year had been unlike her.

As he walked through the door of the bar, he felt almost normal. Like he was still Liv’s guy, coming to get her when she needed him, and he had to be grateful for that, for this last glimpse of his old life before he went away to make sense of the new one.

He found her at the bar, looking lost and alone, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You ready to go home?” God, he wished he was taking her home, to the home that had been supposed to be theirs—but going back to her place was almost better, since it didn’t have any fake memories of attacks by weird red-eyed guys who turned out not to have been there.

“Yeah. No. I mean … thanks for coming to get me.”

Major squeezed her shoulder. “Any time.”

He helped her make sure she had her purse and her sweater and everything she had come with, assisted by the bartender, who seemed like a good guy. This whole scene could have been a lot worse. Putting his arm around Liv, he steadied her as she stumbled. “Come on, my car’s right outside.”

“I don’t want to think,” she announced.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. Thinking’s overrated.” He smiled.

“You can say that again, buster.”

He considered doing just that, going for the laugh, but she was balancing between maudlin and belligerent and nauseous in her level of drunkenness, and he really didn’t want any of those to come out on top.

It was a fairly silent drive back to her place. Major wanted to talk—to tell her what was going on with him, to ask her about the guy and what had happened and help her talk through it, but he also didn’t want to talk to her about any of those things, especially not in her current condition. And Liv mostly seemed to want to not throw up, which Major appreciated, since he didn’t have time to clean his car in the morning before heading to Blooming Groves.

He led her to the door of her apartment, letting her lean against the wall while he found her keys in her purse and unlocked the door, and then he led her to her room, helping with her shoes before lifting the covers to let her slide into bed. She got in, curling up on her side, but she didn’t seem tired. She seemed—anguished. And empty. He hadn’t seen that blank look in her eyes in a long time, but now it was back, fighting for dominance with a raw pain that struck him in the gut. She had really cared for the other guy, then. This hadn’t been a Corinne-like excuse to move on, this had been a real connection. Major was glad for her, and sad for her, and consumed with envy, all at once. And maybe somewhere underneath there was some anger, that she had set all this in motion, the rolling ball that had chased Major all this way before utterly flattening him … but it was hard to be mad at Liv at the worst of times, and would have been completely unfair in her current condition.

Gently, Major tucked the covers around her. “Good-night. I’m … so sorry.”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice a monotone. With an effort, she continued, “Please. I’m trying so hard to stay afloat, and if you … say his name, or …”

“It’s okay.” Major understood. Or he thought he did. He turned to go, wanting to say good-bye, not knowing when he would see her again or what state he’d be in when he did, but not wanting to burden her, either.

Liv’s voice stopped him. “Wait.” When he turned to look at her, she asked, “Can you rub my back like you used to?”

God, yes. Being close to her was all he had wanted for such a long time. He lay down behind her, tugging the covers down just enough to be able to see her back, rubbing in small, soothing circles. So familiar. Hard to believe there was a time when he had done this to soothe her from the daily stresses of the life of a med student. That seemed so far away, so … utterly banal, now.

After a moment, Liv said softly, “Ravi told me about—that you’re checking yourself into—“

“We can not talk about this, too.”

“You’re okay?” she asked.

“It’s no big deal. My PR guy’s telling the tabloid’s it’s exhaustion. I’ll be doing The View when I get back.”

She actually smiled at that, a little breath of a laugh, and god, that felt good. He had missed making her laugh.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “It’s not for long. … I’m just sorry that when you need me the most, I lose my mind.”

“I screwed everything up,” Liv murmured, her words slurring so he wasn’t sure he’d heard her at first. “I want to explain, I want to tell you—“

“No. No, it’s okay.” It was, too. She had gone through something so traumatic at that boat party, her whole world had stopped. And now Major’s was swirling around him like a carnival ride he couldn’t seem to get off.

Liv shifted, burrowing a little further into the pillows. “My fault,” she whispered. “My fault.”

Him, or the other guy, or both? Major wondered, continuing to rub her back even as her breathing deepened, not wanting to pull himself away from her just yet. He hoped when she woke up in the morning she would know it wasn’t her fault … or at least, not all of it.

He lay there with her, watching her sleep, dreaming about simpler times, long into the night.

Chapter 10: To Pick Up Every Stitch

By the time Major had been in the institution for a couple of weeks it had become routine—mornings were for chess with Scott E. and another round of discussion of Scott E.’s favorite conspiracy theory: boat party zombies.

“I tell you, Major, it was the freakiest damn thing you ever saw. Their eyes were all red and they were chasing down everyone they could find. People were screaming and diving off the boat and having their throats torn out … I don’t even remember how I got away.”

“Come on, just make your move, man. You were imagining it. Like you do the devil. Giving the delusion voice only gives it power.” But Major couldn’t help remembering the red eyes of Julian Dupont—and the fact that the man had gotten up from multiple gunshots to the chest. It wasn’t possible that zombies were real … but it sure would explain some things.

“What if it’s not a delusion? What if I saw exactly what I think I did, and they’re calling me crazy to keep the secret under wraps? You ever think of that?” Scott E.’s eyes were wide and wild. He actually was paranoid and delusional, Major reminded himself. Zombies weren’t real.

“And you’re sure you never saw the brown-haired girl in the red dress?” He had tried to describe Liv, but found he had a hard time picturing pre-boat party Liv. Maybe she had always looked the way she did now, and his memory was playing tricks on him. In here, anything was possible.

“No, man. Wish I had.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Although at least Liv still had her sanity, even if her personality had altered almost completely. For the millionth time, at least, Major wished he had gone to that damn party with her.

When Scott E. turned up dead in his room, Major was shocked and saddened … but not entirely surprised. At least, not as long as he thought it was suicide. Once Ravi had declared it a murder, Major had to start thinking about the crazy conspiracy theories—and about the zombies. What if it was possible? Could he really afford to let it go unmentioned?

He was sitting there studying the chess board, trying to decide if it was crazier to give credence to the idea of zombies or crazier to let a potential lead go unmentioned when Liv came into the room.

“Careful,” she said as she approached. “Don’t open yourself up to the classic Reverse Sicilian gambit.” She looked at him hoping for a joke, but his wit was coming pretty slowly these days. “That’s a chess thing, right?”

“Sounds more like something a call girl would make you pay extra for,” he said, as the best he could come up with.

Liv took the seat across the chess board from him, giving up the attempt at banter. “Listen, I apologize for Clive going all Joe Friday back there.”

Major couldn’t blame the man—Clive had already been suspicious of him, and now here his closest companion inside turned up dead and Major was the first to find him. Suspicious circumstances all over the place. Without intending to, Major found himself approaching the topic that had been on his mind ever since Scott E. had talked to him after his first group session. “Scott E. did tell me something else.” He leaned forward, putting the chess piece he had been fiddling with back on the board. “It’s just … It’s so crazy.” Too crazy, Major. Abort. Abort! But this was Liv, after all, and if he couldn’t tell Liv, who could he tell? “Liv, did you see anything strange at the boat party?”

She looked stricken, and he realized too late that of course she was the last person he should have been bringing this up with. She was still recovering from the trauma of that party, how could he put this on her? “You mean, besides all the bloodshed … and the fire and the corpses?” she asked.

He had come this far. He had to know. If Liv had seen zombies, wouldn’t that explain some of her distress? “He said … He said he saw … zombies.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment he thought that was it, that was what she had been keeping to herself all this time, that she'd seen them, too. But then she smiled, like the idea was too weird to be considered. “Zombies? Like … real flesh-eating zombies?”

“Look, I—I know. But he said he didn’t just see these zombies, he got ‘em on video. On his phone.”

“Did he show it to you?” Liv asked, her smile fading.

“No. But he, uh, he said he sent it to a friend. Someone in local TV.” Liv was thinking rapidly, he could see it in her face, and he wondered what she really had seen. Maybe actually she’d seen zombies and was trying to wrap her head around the idea that someone else had as well. “Like I say,” Major continued, watching her closely, “crazy … right?”

“Yeah. Crazy. Right.” Liv got to her feet. “But whatever he did capture on that video may just have something to do with why someone killed him. Thanks, Major.”

“Sure.”

She looked at him, really studying his face. “You doing okay?”

“As well as can be for someone in here.”

“Take care of yourself, Major. I’ll—I’ll keep you posted on the progress of the investigation, as much as I can.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk away, wondering one more time just what the hell had happened that night on Lake Washington.

With Scott E. gone, it seemed more important to Major that he find out what had happened to his friend than that he continue his treatment, so he checked himself out of the hospital. He ended up spending the evening at Liv’s, watching a movie with her and Peyton and Ravi, wishing for the days when he and Liv would have ended up in the bedroom, the way Peyton and Ravi did, but glad that at least they could hang out together as friends now.

That night, he checked out Scott E.’s apartment, finding Julian there, and a blond guy with him. Major was sure he was on to something now—and he was definitely a step closer to believing in Scott E.’s zombie theory. He got out of the apartment by a back window as they came in a front one, found their car, popped open the trunk, and climbed inside. When the car had stopped for a while, and he was sure they must have gotten out and gone inside wherever they were, he got out as well, cautiously, finding himself in front of some place called Meat Cute. Inside through the window he could see Julian and the blond guy.

So he staked the place out, watching as it opened up in the morning. When he saw a big Asian guy come out with a bunch of small coolers, just like the one he had taken from Julian Dupont’s car, he knew he was on the right track. Would there be brains in those, too?

The Asian guy went back inside, and Major ran for the car, scooping up all the coolers and taking off with them. Now he would know. Now he would have proof that he had never been crazy.

He took them straight to Liv’s. She needed to know what he knew, to know she wasn’t crazy, either, if she had seen something she’d never told anyone about.

As the door closed behind him, she asked how the job search was going.

Major frowned at her. “Job search?”

“You told me mission one was finding a job—didn’t you?”

“No, must’ve been someone else.” He couldn’t wait or he’d lose his nerve. “Liv, I, uh … I gotta show you something. Don’t freak out, all right? I wasn’t crazy.” He looked around quickly. “No one else is here, right?”

Liv shook her head. “Just us.” She looked upset, and Major felt badly for upsetting her further, but it couldn’t be helped.

He ducked out the door and picked up the coolers he had left there, bringing them inside. “It’s the world that’s crazy. And I’ve got proof.” He put the coolers down. “Zombies are real, Liv. These coolers are full of brains. Now, it’s a lot to absorb, I know, but don’t worry, because I’m gonna explain everything. And don’t worry, because I’m gonna kill ‘em. I’m gonna kill ‘em all.”

“Major …”

“Yeah, we should probably sit down.” He carried the coolers over to the table and set them down, only then noticing that she was still standing by the door as if frozen to the spot. “Liv? Tell me—did you see anything the night of the boat party?”

“I … I’m not sure. I—“ She was trembling. He went to her and took her hands.

“So, this is what I found out. I went to Scott E.’s place, and while I was there, this guy Julian showed up. You remember him, the one I shot that Clive saw at the gym the next day?” Liv nodded, still looking dazed. “He was with another man, a bleached blond guy. They torched Scott E.’s apartment, but while they were doing that I hid in their trunk.”

“Major!” She clung to his hands.

“It’s okay, Liv. I can take care of myself, I promise,” he assured her. Whatever was going on here, it had to do with that damned boat party, and with whatever she’d been too traumatized to talk about all this time. He had to believe that if he fixed this, if he killed these creatures, it might go part of the way toward healing Liv, too.

“Oh, god,” she whispered.

Major led her to the couch, sitting with her, still holding her hands, which were ice-cold in his. “When I got out of the car trunk, I saw Julian and the blond guy inside a restaurant. It’s called Meat Cute, which … seems a little precious, don’t you think?”

Liv stared at him until she realized he was looking for a response. “A little?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He squeezed her hands reassuringly. “So then I waited until the next day, staking out the place. When I saw a guy come out with all these little coolers, just like the one I saw in Julian’s car before, I waited until he went back in—and I took them.”

“Major, can we—can you let me look into this now? You could get hurt.”

“I’ll be okay. And I have to do this. For Eddie and Jerome, for Scott E., for everyone these guys have hurt. I’m going to take these guys down.” He looked at Liv, deep into her eyes. “I know it’s a lot to adjust to, but—I didn’t know who else to talk to. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.”

“I know. I just … I think I need a little time to … get used to it. Okay?”

“Okay. Can I leave these here with you?”

She looked past him at the pile of coolers. “Why don’t I take one and have it tested, make sure what kind of brain it is?”

“Good idea.” Major was sure they were human brains, but if she tested them, she would be sure, too. “You’ll let me know what you find out?”

Liv gave him a faint, forced smile. “You’ll be the first.”

Chapter 11: Break These Walls Down

Major looked down at the bed, where the fruits of his purchase lay like so many pieces of exercise equipment. Except that the only muscle these were going to exercise was his trigger finger. Was he really doing this? Could he do this? Shouldn’t he wait for the results of the tests on the brains Liv had taken?

He remembered, as vividly as if it was still happening, Julian’s red eyes. Remembered the feeling of shooting him in the chest and watching him fall, knowing that he, Major Lilywhite, had killed a man … and then the feeling of looking at that bare floor with Clive, wondering if he had gone mad. Whatever was going on at Meat Cute, it was bad. They were zombies. Incredible, unbelievable as it was, it was the only explanation that made any sense. And because it was so incredible, so unbelievable that even Liv hadn’t been able to take him seriously at first, he couldn’t ask for back-up. If someone else got hurt in the process, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

No. He was doing this. He was doing this by himself. For Liv. For Peyton. For Ravi and Clive and the kids at the shelter and the people in Blooming Grove, and the rest of Seattle—and the world, for that matter.

And he was freaking terrified.

Major pulled out the chair from his desk and sat in it, facing the array of guns on the bed. Yeah, he was scared. Could he do it, even if he was scared? He thought so, but … it was easy to think you could do something, and a lot harder in the moment to actually get it done. He was glad he’d bought the self-help tapes. Okay, so they were pretty hokey, but since he could hardly go to anyone he knew and tell them what he was planning—even Liv, since her first response would either be to not let him go or to insist on coming with him, neither of which he could allow—better to have a disembodied voice trying to talk him out of his fear than nothing at all. He wasn’t even sure he was afraid to die. Life was good … or, had been good, but now there was really nothing ahead of him. No Liv, no job. Maybe that would all pass, or maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, he was okay in the long run with trading his life for the death of a nest of zombies. As okay as you could be, he supposed. But what if they caught him? He was kind of afraid of a slow, painful death, if he was being honest with himself. And—even more honest—he was even more afraid of being turned. Scratches, bites, he wasn’t sure how it happened, but he didn’t want it to happen to him. Life as Major Lilywhite, failed fiance and washed-up counselor, was bad enough. Life as a zombie? Eating people’s brains? Not being able to look at Liv, or anyone he loved, and see them for anything beyond his next meal? No. Too bad there wasn’t a zombie vaccine.

Still, afraid or not, it had to be done. By him, since no one else seemed to have found them out for what they were. Which meant he would have to do it very quickly, very clean, and very well.

He remembered his junior high football coach’s favorite saying: Proper preparation prevents poor performance. Mostly he remembered it because of how hard they had all rolled their eyes every time he’d said it, and not because his junior high team had been known for any kind of good performance on the field … but it wasn’t wrong. Resolutely, Major got to his feet and loaded the guns and the grenade into his gym bag. He would drive by tonight and case the place out, and then when everyone was gone, he would walk himself through a dry run, visualizing every move.

The tapes spouted their positive, fear-free message at him as he drove over, taking an extra couple of loops ostensibly to allow time for the shop to shut down, but really to keep listening, and to put off the moment he had to start making the real plan. At last he told himself what a wuss he was and forced himself to drive to Meat Cute, to park across the street, and to start thinking about how he would do it. In the front door with the shotgun, preferably when as many of them as possible were in sight. He didn’t know for sure how to kill a zombie, but given the obsession with brains, he figured shooting them in the head was probably the way to go. He hoped Julian was there—he really owed that guy a shotgun shell to the cranium.

A car pulled up and parked behind him, the headlights reflecting off Major’s rearview mirror, and he winced at the brightness, waiting for the lights to turn off and the guy to go away.

Instead, he got out of his car, leaving the lights on. Through the glare, it was hard to see, but he looked like a big guy. And he was coming toward Major’s window. Major prepared a casual smile and a quick story about waiting for a girlfriend who was at the salon in the next block—but he never got past the smile, because the driver’s side door was yanked open and a large fist collided with his nose, and Major lost consciousness only seconds after recognizing the beefy guy pulling him out of the car as Julian.

He came to with a gag in his mouth, and his hands bound above his head … in a freezer. In the meat freezer at Meat Cute. Great, Lilywhite. Just great.

So, he was their prisoner—but he wasn’t dead. Why wasn’t he dead? Because he had something they wanted, he realized. The coolers. They must have been valuable. Valuable brains? Maybe they were the brains of someone famous. That would be a thing, right? If you were a zombie, maybe a rich zombie, you’d want to eat special brains. Cool brains. Yeah. That had to be it. So if he didn’t tell them where the brains were, maybe they’d leave him alive long enough for him to figure out how to get out of here. Or to come up with a way to contact Liv, or Clive.

He heard footsteps outside the locker, and then the door opened and the owner of Meat Cute, the one with the bleached white hair, came in, with Julian just behind him. God, how Major wanted to kill that guy. He imagined taking his bonds down and wrapping them around Julian’s neck until his eyes popped out. Wait, did zombies breathe? He watched the bleached blond. Yes, it seemed like they did. Good.

The blond nodded at Julian, and that was when the hitting started. Major took it as well as he could, despite the pain in his face and his shoulders and arms. It stopped for a moment, and the blond got up close and personal. “You wouldn’t know anything about some brains, would you?”

Gagged as he was, all his quips would be wasted, so Major instead concentrated on breathing through the pain, ignoring the question.

“Brains. In boxes. Little plastic boxes, in little yellow coolers. Look, guy, we know you took ‘em. We just want ‘em back, that’s all.”

Yeah. Of course. That was all. Give the brains back so they could be fed to zombies. Too late, Major thought how much smarter it might have been to follow the delivery person and figure out where the brains were going first. Maybe next time, he told himself, before Julian’s fist connected with his solar plexus and pain was all he could think of.

After a while, they decided to freeze the answers out of him. At least they took him down, took the gag off. That was something. For now, it was enough, Major thought, curling into a ball around his pain, trying to keep as warm as he could. Somehow, he was going to get free, and then he really was going to kill them, and he wasn’t going to be afraid now. Now, after this, he was going to enjoy it.

Chapter 12: Lost Inside

Major had never really given a lot of thought to what it would be like to be held prisoner by a bunch of zombies and be tortured by them for information, and now he was kind of glad he had never wasted the time. He would have seriously underestimated how much it sucked.

He hadn’t minded the beatings. Those were pretty much de rigueur for being captured and tortured. And being locked in the freezer was a nice touch. Whimsical. And he could tell that the blond, Blaine, prided himself on being whimsical. He’d held his own against all of it, managing to match Blaine quip for quip without telling them anything.

The soup, though. The soup he had drunk so gratefully, as much for the warmth that he could feel moving through his body as for his body’s increasing need for food and fuel to fight the continued cold. And then to find that what he was eating was not, in fact, bratwurst, but brains. He had wanted to retch the whole disgusting concoction up, but hadn’t had the energy left to do so. But then, when they wheeled in Tommy’s body, on a hook, his eyes so empty, and turned him around to show Major the empty skull where the brain should have been … It was one thing to know what they were doing to these innocent, troubled kids. It was another thing entirely to have it shown to him so graphically. He’d wanted to kill them—and to weep for Tommy, and Eddie, and Jerome, and all the other kids whose lives had been cut short by these monsters. He’d attacked Blaine, only to be taken down by a fist in the gut from yet another of Blaine’s muscle-bound minions. Even that hadn’t caused him to upchuck the brain stew.

It had, however, determined him that this waiting game had gone on long enough. He wasn’t about to actually let them freeze him to death, and he no longer had any qualms about killing them, or anyone else in this place who might get in his way. He was going to stop them. Today.

Major was pretty cold by now, and his brain was moving sluggishly. He did some warm-up stretches to try to clear his head, thinking about what he could use in the freezer to get out. Frozen meats? Only if they came in unprepared, and Blaine seemed to pretty much always be prepared. Major glanced past Tommy’s body, trying not to look—but that was foolish, wasn’t it? Tommy was dead; there was nothing Major could do to help him or to hurt him, not now. And maybe … hadn’t Tommy been a smoker? He was pretty sure of it. Maybe he still had his lighter.

Little as he wanted to, Major forced himself to go through Tommy’s pockets. The lighter was there! Major felt like cheering—and like using the tiny flame to warm himself up. But neither one was particularly practical right at the moment, so he pushed himself to think further. What next? He looked out the window of the freezer, seeing the big silent one slicing meat. Real meat, it looked like. Unless they were cannibals as well as zombies. Major shuddered. Right now, he was thinking pretty seriously about becoming a vegetarian.

So, he could start a fire. They might let him burn to death, but they wouldn’t take the chance of letting the building burn down, if only to keep firefighters and cops from getting too close to the place. No, they would want to stop the fire. So one of them would come in. How could he get the drop on them? Create a patch of ice near the door? With what?

With the only thing he had on him. He unbuckled his belt, dropped his pants, and was glad that he had never had a shy bladder.

It worked like a charm. Bonus that it was the silent one, because he couldn’t call out for help. Even more bonus that apparently he was an idiot, because he didn’t go get help. But that was all to Major’s advantage. As the silent one lay there in front of him, dazed from the sudden fall, Major clocked him in the head with a leg of lamb, and then he rushed out of the freezer and locked Silent Bob back in. With Tommy’s burning body. Major felt bad about that, but Tommy would have appreciated the irony, or so he imagined.

So far, no one else seemed to know what was happening. Maybe they couldn’t hear over the sound of the meat slicer and the music coming from the front room. He couldn’t believe his luck. He took a moment to breathe, to feel the warmth of the room around him, before running out of the shop. By some miracle, his car was still where he’d left it. By an even greater miracle, whoever had searched his car for the missing brains hadn’t found the hiding place with the stockpile of weapons.

Major loaded up. He wished he had something with more pockets, better pockets, than his jeans, but you did what you could with what you had. It was now or never, and he was going to end this.

Two of the minions and the cook lady were pigging out in the front of the shop, still blaring the music. His first shot took down the window. He kept shooting as the three zombies ducked behind the table, hitting one, who ran into the back of the shop. Not an auspicious beginning.

The big bald minion was blinded by blood running into his eyes, shooting in entirely the wrong place. Major took the moment to make proper aim, then let go with the shotgun and had the satisfaction of seeing the minion’s brains splatter across the room. He turned immediately toward the open door to the back of the shop, not wanting to be ambushed; then it came to him—why not do some ambushing himself? He left through the open window, as quietly as he could, and walked around to the back, easing the back door open and slipping inside. He had the shotgun leveled at the other minion before the guy knew what was happening.

That left the woman, who was shivering in terror—almost convincingly, especially once she put down the butcher knife. She came toward him, begging for her life, swearing she was an innocent victim. The minions had been easy, but this woman seemed so normal. Like somebody’s mom.

Major gestured with the shotgun. “It’s okay. Just … get out of here.”

She looked like she was going to—but she passed by a conveniently placed mirror just in time for Major to see her pulling another knife out of her apron, so he was able to swing the shotgun up even as she charged him. He ended up hitting her with his elbow, knocking her charge off course, and she took care of herself by falling face-first into the slicer. It was gross, and Major was kind of sorry for her … but not too sorry. She’d been the one cooking up those kids’ brains, after all.

He pulled the handgun just as Silent Bob’s face showed up in the window of the freezer, and Major shot him right between the eyes without a second’s thought.

The shop was silent now, just Major and a bunch of dead people. He should get out of here, he thought. Someone would have heard the shots and called the police, and he did not want to be found here. But … Julian. God, he wanted to kill Julian. He promised himself he would wait until he heard sirens.

Fortunately for him, Julian showed up before he could. Even more fortunately, Julian walked right through the temptingly open freezer door, just the way Major had hoped he would. He shut the door with a feeling of absolute glee, and looked at Julian through the window as he pulled the pin on the grenade. “Walk away from this.” Then he ducked below the door, glad for its thick metal between him and the end of Julian—finally.

He stood up, looking in through the window and admiring his handiwork, and was feeling pretty damn good about tonight’s work—until he turned around to see Blaine standing there. Before he could react, there was a knife sliding into his guts, and it hurt. A lot. Like you would have expected it to, really, if you’d been thinking this night would end with you getting stabbed in the gut. Major sank to his knees, futilely trying to stop the flow of the blood by clamping his hand over the wound. It was bleeding too much, though. This would be the end. Overall, he wasn't sure he minded, but he wished he could see Liv again.

Blaine was taking stock of the damage, turning things off. He kicked Major over onto his back in a fit of pique. “Just what we need, a noise complaint. You got the slow and agonizing death thing under control, right? Great. Hope it hurts.”

It really did. So much that Major couldn’t summon up a quip. He was disappointed in himself for that. He’d have liked to go out giving Blaine as good as he got.

Vaguely he was aware of Blaine walking to the front of the shop, and a loud sound. Another gunshot? It was hard to care, not with pain moving through him, a whole different kind of cold starting at his feet and beginning to move up his legs. Voices now, arguing. One … familiar? He struggled to place it. No, she couldn’t be here. Could she?

He called her name, because he couldn’t not call her name, because she was all he wanted. “Liv!”

And then, in the greatest miracle of the night, she was there, on her knees next to him. “We have to stop the bleeding!” Always the doctor. She should have been a doctor, finished medical school. Why hadn’t she? He would never know now. Maybe he didn’t need to know.

“Just … be here with me. Okay?” She didn’t answer, and he wanted her to know that he had succeeded—that she was safe. “I told you there were zombies. You didn’t believe me.”

She lifted a hand, stroking his hair. He had missed her touch so much.

And then Blaine was there, in the midst of Major’s last moment, his beautiful moment alone with Liv. He was laughing.

“Wait. He doesn’t know.” Blaine had a wound, as well, his hand clasped over it, but it wasn’t so bad. Or he was a zombie and it didn’t matter. He looked down at Major. “Dude, you are about to go out with one large dose of irony. Seattle’s preeminent zombie hunter, not realizing the entire time that his own beloved …”

Major didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to believe. But in the increasing fog that filled his head, it made so much sense. Her hair and her eyes. The way she had withdrawn from everyone. Ending the engagement but still seeming like she loved him. No. Not Liv. That couldn’t be. His Liv wasn’t a monster.

“I mean, the hair, the eyes, the complexion,” Blaine continued, forcing Major to see it even while he tried not to. “You thought those were, what, just questionable style choices?”

“Liv,” Major murmured. “You.”

She wasn’t denying it. She was stricken, she was anguished, but she wasn’t denying it.

“Major.” She touched him again, and he couldn’t help but pull away. “Please, I—“

The fog was clouding his vision now, his ears ringing. Everything seemed very far away. Too far to care. He let himself go. There was no longer any reason not to.

Chapter 13: All You Do Is Think

When the fog lifted, Major was in a car. He knew somewhere deep in him that he’d been dying, and for a moment part of him hoped that this was the modern-day version of Charon, driving him across a bridge over the river Styx. But then he opened his eyes, just a peek, to see Liv driving. And not his Liv, but this new Liv, this (zombie) Liv, with her white hair and her pale skin, and he knew instantly what she had done. What she had made him.

The hunger hit him almost as soon as the realization struck. And not just any hunger. Thick juicy steak? No. Spicy hot wings dripping with sauce? Nuh-uh. He wanted brains. Somehow his mouth knew just how they would feel, thick and chewy, and his stomach growled.

“We’ll get you something to eat as soon as we can,” Liv said in response.

He grunted and turned toward the window, ignoring her. She pulled up eventually in front of her apartment building, and he thought about making a scene, refusing to go in—but he didn’t want to talk to her, didn’t even want to look at her, and underneath it all was the stridency of his hunger. He needed brains, needed them badly, and without Liv, who could he go to? Ravi?

It occurred to him, as he was allowing Liv to lead him into her apartment and get him settled in her bed, that Ravi must know. Ravi must have known all this time. So while Major was raving at him about human brains and zombies, checking himself into the loony bin, Ravi had been weighing whether to tell Liv’s secret. And Liv would have told him not to. Because, apparently, she could tell her boss, whom she’d just met, but she couldn’t tell the man she’d said she loved. Peachy.

He lay there in bed, brooding about it, wanting the last five hours—hell, the last five months—back, while Liv did something in the kitchen. She came back in with a bowl of … something on a tray.

“You should try to get this down. It won’t satisfy your … cravings, but it’ll help you get your strength back.”

Major kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want her food or her bed or her attention.

“It gets better,” Liv said, sitting down on the bed next to him. “But it would be lying to say you get used to it,” she added.

The bitterness bubbled up from his chest without thought. “Doesn’t lying come naturally to you by now?”

She looked like he had hit her. He almost wished he could.

He shifted in the bed. “You’re a zombie. Well, you’ve been a zombie since that night on the lake, and, instead of telling me the truth, you decided it would be easier to break my heart.”

“Better,” she said quickly. “Not easier. I know what you would have done if I told you.”

“You have no faith in me.” That was what hurt the most, that she hadn’t trusted him. After everything they’d been to each other, she hadn’t trusted him when it really counted.

“I have more faith in you than anyone ever. You would have told me that it doesn’t matter, that you loved me anyway—“

Major looked away. He would have told her that, and he did love her anyway, even now. Even after the lies and the betrayal.

“And you would have sentenced yourself to a life without sex, without children. It’s who you are,” Liv continued. She was in serious doctor mode now, spelling out the truth as she saw it, and while he had always loved watching her in this mode, he had never liked having it aimed at him. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You couldn’t ask that of me—but you turned me into a zombie without my permission.”

“Rather than watch you die.”

“You know what I want? What sounds good to me? Brains. Human brains. So you—you—you eat them. Don’t you? You must.” Somehow it was hard to imagine her eating brains, hard to see her the way he had seen Julian, or Blaine, or the minions. But she was like them. Maybe she’d even bought brains from them. Or … maybe she ate them when they came in on the slab. Of course. Medical examiner. Well, it all made sense now, didn’t it? “You eat the brains of people who come in the morgue.”

“When zombies eat brains, we get the memories of the deceased, and I help solve their murders.”

How generous of her. “So, that’s what helps you sleep at night. Hm. What about me? What’s the greater good for me?”

“Us?” Liv offered, hesitantly. “I hope. We can be together now. It’s not how we imagined, but …” She reached for his hand, holding it in both of hers. How many times these last months had he wished to have her here, offering him what they’d had before, holding his hand? How many times had he needed her, and she had been hiding from him, lying to him, all along. “It’s what fate dealt us,” Liv finished, looking at him hopefully.

Major pulled his hand away. He didn’t want this now, not this way. Couldn’t she understand what she had done to him? To them? “It’s not what fate dealt me, Liv. You did. The same person who let me check myself into a mental hospital, let me think I was crazy. When you had a chance to play god and decide whether I died or—became this, did you decide based on what you wanted, or what you thought I wanted? If it’s what you thought I wanted, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He rolled over onto his side, as much to avoid seeing the look in her eyes as to make perfectly clear that he wanted no part of her or her zombie-ism. What did he want? he thought. It had been so clear, but now … He couldn’t see any future that offered him fulfillment or happiness. She should have let him die.

At some point, Liv got up, picking up her unwanted tray of food and leaving the room, and Major lay there trying to decide what to do next. He should get up and leave—but in this condition, he would be a danger to the next person he ran into, he was so hungry for brains. He should give Liv a chance to explain herself … but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to think about what it must have been like for her. He wanted to hold on to his hurt and the sense of betrayal that filled him, to blame her and her alone for everything that had gone wrong all this time. Anything was better than admitting that he’d been nothing without her, that he hadn’t been able to move on because he still loved her, that he loved her even now, even as he lay here with the sluggish blood of a zombie moving through his veins because of her.

Lost in his misery, Major fell asleep at last.

He woke up to a sharp stabbing pain in his arm, turning his head sleepily to see Liv injecting him with … something.

“Whatever happens now, I hope you can forgive me,” she said with a calm that he could tell was hard-won only because he knew her so well. “I doubt humanity’s going to.”

“What? What did you do?”

Her phone buzzed on the table near the bed before she could answer, but he felt it in the renewed beat of his pulse and in his sudden hunger for steak, or fried chicken, or anything that wasn’t—brains.

Liv said into the phone, “Mom?” and then “Oh, god.” And then she was rushing out of the room, shouting to Major over her shoulder that her brother was hurt. He was left there in her apartment, newly human again, with no idea what to do, where to go, or even who he was anymore.

Chapter 14: What I Give

Liv didn’t come home. Major lay there in her bed until it felt too weird, then he got up and got dressed, grimacing as he put the bloodied shirt back on. His temporary zombieism had mostly healed the bullet wound in his side—he could barely even feel it now. So there was that, he guessed. On the whole, he still wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t rather be dead. What was there left? Beg Helton for his job back, or barring that, for a half-decent reference? Go get some kind of temporary job that wasn’t what he had dreamed of doing all his life, just to put food on the table and pay the rent? Play zombie-shooting games with Ravi and pretend that it wasn’t painfully ironic?

He understood finally why Peyton had skipped town. She must have learned about Liv and been unable to handle it. Major wished he couldn’t handle it. He’d have liked a nice mental breakdown right about now. But Scott E.’s death had really put an end to any respite Major might otherwise have found in a mental institution.

Just the thought of it made his blood boil. Liv had known. He had told her everything, and rather than trust him with the truth, even then, she had treated him like a child and let him go toddling off believing he was going out of his mind.

He couldn’t think about it another second, certainly not while standing here in the middle of her apartment. He banged out of there before considering that his car was still at Meat Cute.

It didn’t matter, though. He would run. He needed the exercise. God, did he ever. Pounding his feet into the pavement, even in shoes that were all wrong for it, felt good. Feeling the air in his lungs, the blood pumping through his veins, the sweat standing out on his forehead … It wasn’t all bad to be alive. And not a zombie. Liv probably didn’t feel any of this anymore, not this way. He had only briefly been a zombie, but he remembered that feeling of everything being distant, nothing being quite right.

A car pulled up next to him and he ignored it, continuing to run. So his shirt was covered in blood—did he really need the neighborhood busybody bugging him about it? But then the car honked its horn and he gave it an irritated glance. Ravi leaned over to open the passenger side door. “Major! What the hell— You know what, never mind. Just get in.”

Briefly, Major considered not doing it. But he was going to have to see Ravi eventually, and his boots were creating a hell of a blister. He sat back against the passenger seat. “What’s up?”

“You haven’t heard? Someone blew up Meat Cute.”

“Yeah … not really. That was me.”

“No, after you. There was an explosion. Captain Suzuki, Clive’s boss, was killed in it. They’re calling him a hero cop, saying he took out all those men himself.” Ravi shook his head. “They’re saying it was a drug ring.”

“And do you think it was a drug ring?” Major asked cautiously, not entirely sure how much Ravi knew.

The don’t-be-an-idiot look his roommate cast him was his answer. “Liv called. She told me what happened to you—that you know now.” Ravi frowned. “Wait. You don’t look like a zombie.”

“I’m not. Liv cured me.”

“She did what?” Ravi slammed his foot on the brakes, causing the wheels to squeal and the car to fishtail. Once he had it back under control and the chorus of honks from around them had slowed, he glanced at Major. “She cured you?”

“Yeah. Uh … Ravi, if she has a cure, then why—?”

“We had one cure. Maybe two doses. But I can’t synthesize more without it because I can’t recreate the exact chemical compound of the tainted utopium that was used to create the zombie virus in the first place.”

“She gave me her cure?”

“Looks that way.”

“Huh.” Major supposed he should feel bad—but he hadn’t asked her to make him a zombie in the first place, he thought defensively. “Ravi. Is that why Peyton—“

“Yeah.” Ravi studied the traffic to avoid having to look at Major.

“I figured as much.”

“You know, I can’t figure you two out. You’ve both known Liv for years. You’re both meant to love her. But you find out about her and Peyton bails and you treat her like she’s—“ Ravi stopped himself and took a breath. “Look, I get that it’s complicated, but can you at least take one moment and think about what those six months were like for her? Terrified, not knowing what was going to happen to her, afraid to talk to anyone, afraid to go near anyone until she was sure she understood how it was transmitted? Completely alone in the wreck of everything she had ever hoped to be.”

“Yeah, I can kind of imagine what that’s like,” Major said bitterly.

“You mean you can’t stop thinking of what it’s like for you long enough to think about Liv. Let me tell you, that is the strongest woman I have ever met. Anyone less so would never have survived it.” Ravi glanced at him as he pulled off the expressway. “And she still loves you. Which is why she couldn’t sit there and let you die. In her place, would you have been able to give up on her?”

Major started to say something, but the truth was he couldn’t have. Not ever. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew Liv couldn’t have let him go either.

“Good. Now get your head out of your ass before we go inside, because she is in no condition for your issues.”

“What?” Belatedly, Major realized that they were parking in the hospital parking lot. “Why are we here?”

“Her brother, Major. Evan was at Meat Cute—starting a job, I guess—when it exploded. He was caught in the blast. We’re going in there to be with Liv.” Ravi turned off the car and looked Major full in the face. “Can you do this? For her? And leave everything else at the door?”

Major took a breath. He really wasn’t sure he could. But he cared about Evan, too, and he knew how Liv must be feeling, especially after having given up her career as a surgeon, knowing intimately what her brother’s doctors must be facing. “Yes, I can.”

Chapter 15: Like I've Been There Before

Liv was staring at the door into the operating rooms, her face even whiter than normal. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and she was shaking. Her mother sat on one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, holding a magazine up in front of her face, her body rigid. She was studiously ignoring Liv, even though it was obvious she wasn’t reading the magazine.

She stood up when she saw Major, though, holding out a hand to him. “Major. Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah, uh … sure. What—what happened?”

“Why don’t you ask your ex-fiance. She seems determined to unburden herself of everyone in her life. Except for him.” Disdain dripped from every word, Liv’s mother’s eyes cold as she watched Ravi fold Liv in his arms and hold her close. Liv didn’t take her eyes off the doors even then, craning her neck to look at them over Ravi’s shoulder.

“I … I’m sorry about Evan,” he said, the words feeling lame and inadequate. He had never seen either of the Moore women this upset. Evan’s injuries must be extensive. He went to Liv, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here, Liv.”

Ravi let her go, muttering about getting some coffee, and left the two of them alone.

“Come on.” Major tugged at her shoulder, feeling the resistance, and then she relented and let him lead her to a chair. He sat across from her, holding her cold hands in his. “Tell me what happened.”

“He—he was at Meat Cute this morning.” Liv gave an anxious look at the doors again, but Major waited, and she turned to face him again. “There was a blast. Did Ravi tell you about the blast? Oh, Major, Clive thinks—Clive thinks you were involved, we need to talk about—“

“Later,” he said gently. “Tell me about Evan.”

“So many wounds. So much shrapnel.” Someone walked through the doors, Liv’s head whipping around at the sound, but it was a nurse in clean scrubs who went by them without glancing up. “I know her. She’s good. I wish she—“ Liv’s face twisted with pain, and Major knew she was wishing she was in there. Liv always had to be involved when the chips were down, to do it herself and see that it was done right. Not that they would have let her operate on her own brother, even if none of the rest of it had happened.

“He’s in surgery?”

Liv nodded. “They took him in … when? I don’t know. Long. Too long. He needed—he needed blood. We have the same blood type, so they asked me. They asked me to save my brother and I couldn’t even do that.” Her face crumpled and tears welled in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.

Part of Major was surprised a zombie could cry so easily, another part wondered why she couldn’t give blood—Oh. Zombie. He felt a flash of bitterness that she had been so willing to turn him into a member of the undead, but wouldn’t go so far for her own brother, but he swallowed it.

Or thought he had. Even distraught, Liv could read him. She leaned in closer to him and hissed, “I would have, Major. In a heartbeat. But how? He’s here, in the hospital. People would have seen. I couldn’t let them type my blood, or even take my blood pressure, because they would have known. I’d have been in quarantine. Or worse. I—there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t have put me in even greater danger than he is.”

Listening to her, hearing the thought process that was her normal now, Major understood far better than he had before what her life was like. “I get it.” He squeezed her hands more tightly.

“There was another doctor, he had Evan’s type, and he— So Evan has blood now. But … they’ve been in there too long …” Liv’s voice trailed off as her head turned toward the doors again.

Ravi came back with a cup of coffee in each hand. He handed one to Major, and put one firmly in Liv’s free hand. “Drink that,” he said sternly. “Doctor’s orders.”

“I used to be a doctor,” Liv said in a distant voice, her eyes still on the doors.

“Fine, then, your boss’s orders. Drink that, or you’re fired.”

Liv rolled her eyes, but she took a sip. She didn’t even grimace at the taste. Of course, at one point she’d been used to the terrible hospital coffee, practically lived on it.

Ravi settled into the chair next to Major.

“No coffee for you?” Major asked.

“I have strict rules about bean quallty.”

“Snob.”

“Connoisseur.”

Liv took another sip of the coffee, frowning at them both over the rim of the cup. “You can’t be here. If Clive comes in, he’ll want to ask Major questions, maybe even bring him in.”

“I’m staying.”

“We both are,” Ravi added. “If Clive comes in, you’ll tell him—“

“We’ll tell him the truth," Liv said. "That you were at my place. He can’t doubt me. I’m his partner.”

“Okay.” Major hoped this didn’t involve pretending to be back together. He still couldn’t look at her without remembering the pain and longing and heartache he had felt all these months, without remembering that she had let him think he was crazy rather than tell him the truth about herself.

Ravi looked skeptical and optimistic at the same time. Whether that was a doubt about the strength of Clive’s trust in Liv or a doubt about Clive’s overall ability to track down a lead, Major didn’t know. He hoped it was the second, for his own sake if not that of the murder victims of Seattle. For now, he wasn’t going to worry about that. For now, he was going to sit here and hold Liv’s hand for as long as she needed him.

Chapter 16: Just Need a Little Time

Major studied the short, polite, cold form letter email response from his latest resume.

“No again, huh?” Ravi asked.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Major frowned at the gym bag next to the door. “I guess that’s it—I guess I’m a personal trainer now. Hey, at least I had something to fall back on, right?”

“Right.” Ravi sipped his coffee, keeping any further thoughts to himself. They had already been through the cheerleader phase, the tough love phase, the ice cream and romantic movies phase—and what a weird night that had been—and had now entered the “life sucks, what’re you gonna do?” silent phase.

Major slapped the computer closed. “I suppose I should hit the gym. Wouldn’t want the pecs to sag. Nothing’s worse than a hypocritical trainer.”

His roommate nodded, taking another conversation-deadening sip of coffee.

Before Major could say anything further, give vent to any of the complaints constricting his chest and making it hard to breathe, there was a knock on the door, and then it opened. Major winced. Liv. She had taken to dropping by before her shift to drive over with Ravi, and Major hadn’t had the heart to say anything to her. Her brother and her mother had completely frozen her out after her inability to give him blood at the hospital. With Peyton still missing and Major unable to get past his knowledge of what she was and what she had done, that left Ravi as her sole source of comfort. And since Ravi was still nursing a pretty deep hurt at Peyton having abandoned him when she ran out on Liv, the two of them had been good for each other. But Major was about at the end of his rope with her constant presence. Liv wasn’t the only one who had lost everything she had ever cared about or wanted to be, and most of his woes were her fault to begin with. He was trying to be polite for her sake, but it was a greater strain all the time.

She marched into the kitchen with a cheerful smile. “Good morning! The sun is shining, the grass is green, and it’s a beautiful day. So draw a smile on that gloomy face.”

“Let me guess,” Major said, “kindergarten teacher?”

“Art therapist.”

The word therapist hit him in a particularly vulnerable spot after this morning’s email. “You mind taking your glitter and rainbows somewhere else? You’re harshing my downer.”

“Oh, does someone need their frown turned upside down?”

“Liv,” Ravi said warningly.

Major could see her trying to fight the influence of the brain, and the fact that this was their reality now pissed him off even further, beyond his capacity to restrain himself. “Look, Liv, you have to stop doing this. You can’t just come around here and fling your daily dose of crazy around and pretend it’s normal. This is not normal, it’s not okay, and I really don’t want to deal with it.”

The smile faded in a childlike slow bewilderment from her face, and she stepped back from him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought—after the hospital, and you were—“

“I know what you thought. I’ve known Evan since he was in grade school; I care about him, too. Of course I would be there for you then. But now—Liv, I can’t have you here. I can’t live with this reminder every day of what you are, of what you almost turned me into, of what this has all cost me. You have to stop coming here.”

“Major—“ Her eyes had filled with tears, and he hated what he was doing to her. He wanted to think about what this had all been like for her, he wanted to feel for her, but his career was over, his hopes for his own life destroyed, and that all came from that night at the boat party. That the initial scratch hadn’t been her fault didn’t matter. The way she had handled it, how she had shut him out and lied to him and broken his heart, that was on her, and he couldn’t get past that. “I’m sorry,” she said with that earnest-Liv look he wished didn’t still have the power to make his heart turn over. “I’m so sorry! If I had it to do over again—but I was so afraid of what would happen to you, that you would get hurt or—“

“Or die? Well, congratulations, you took care of that. Like you took care of everything else. All on your own, no consultation needed. You let me know when the god brains you ate wear off.”

“I wasn’t trying to play god! I was trying to protect you!”

At some point, Ravi had disappeared from the kitchen, not wanting to be a part of this conversation. Major couldn’t blame him—he didn’t want to be a part of it, either. “I know what you think you were doing. But at the end, all you did was treat me like a child, and ruin my life into the bargain.” He looked down at her, knowing that he was still in love with her, and that his anger came from the deep hurt and the equally deep love that were still fighting each other in his heart. “Liv, maybe … maybe someday I can get past this. I’ll try. But you have to give me time, and space, and let me figure out what my life is going to be on my own.”

She blinked back the tears, clearing her throat. “I’ll—I’ll try. And if you need to talk …”

“I’ll let you know,” he said, politely but firmly, hoping she understood that if he ever did need to talk, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“Okay.” Liv hesitated in the doorway, clearly wanting to try again, not wanting to give up. But Ravi appeared behind her, his hand closing gently on her shoulder.

“We’re going to be late. Clive wanted to interview the boyfriend today, remember?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Of course, I—“ She froze for what seemed like an endless time, before gasping for breath like something had struck her. “Ravi! I saw him. They were arguing about the affair she was having. There’s another boyfriend!”

“We should tell Clive. You can call him from the car.” Over Liv’s shoulder, Ravi met Major’s eyes. “See you later.”

“Yeah.” Major watched as Liv followed Ravi to the door. She gave him a last glance, clearly hoping for some kind of signal, so he turned away, his back to the door, and got down a cereal bowl, making an extra clatter on the counter as he set it down. He heard the door close behind them both and let go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, leaning his forehead against the cabinet door. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes. He wished for nothing more than to chase her down, to hold her close, to talk to her about everything and let her make it all right, the way she used to. But those times were gone now, and he was going to have to pull up his big boy Underoos and figure it all out himself now.

Chapter 17: A Devil to Pay

Major had been surprised and pleased to be called in by the head of Max Rager as a potential trainer. He hadn’t been doing this long, and he didn’t love the job, but that would be a big account, a lot of money, and would certainly boost his reputation. Maybe even enough to save something for the future and figure out what he wanted to do long-term.

He was led into the office by a hot redhead who looked him over with quite a bit of interest. Major wasn’t sure he was ready for hot redheads, but he appreciated the look.

Vaughn du Clark didn’t seem like the monster Liv had depicted him as. Maybe a little crazy, but a lot of guys at the head of companies were. Thinking outside the box and all, Major assumed. But then it quickly became clear that Major wasn’t here because du Clark wanted a trainer. He was here because, somehow, du Clark knew that Major knew about the zombies.

“Zombies, sir?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you did at Meat Cute.”

“Meat Cute? Oh, that. Drug dealers, so they tell me.” Major tried to keep his face open and guileless. He used to be good at that look; he wasn’t so sure about it anymore.

“Look, Major, let’s not try to evade the topic. You know, I know, and I know you know. And something has to be done to stop it.”

“Stop it? How?”

“I’m glad you asked. Because this is what I have in mind. You, out there, hunting zombies … and taking them out of our collective hair.” He held up a hand when Major might have objected. “I know what you’re going to say, but save it. Zombies don’t deserve our mercy, so just put that thought out of your head.” The redhead was standing next to him looking bored, but du Clark was all in, furrowing his brow as he muttered to himself, “How to explain? I love submarine movies. Big fan. And there’s always this moment. It’s the moment where the sub is torpedoed and the compartment is flooding and the captain’s got to give the order to seal it up, even though he knows that there are men still alive in there. Cut to the sailor who receives that order, tears in his eyes, closing that hatch on his comrades.” du Clark mimed closing a hatch, his face twisted with the imagined grief of the sailor. Then he dropped his hands and met Major’s eyes squarely. “The man who closes that hatch is a hero, isn’t he? But we’re both doing what needs to be done. We are saving lives. There are zombies living among us. And they are feasting on human brains. Where do they get these brains? Who knows? But don’t you think it’s a good idea to put an end to it?”

The redhead walked across the room to sit in the chair next to Major’s. He had to admit, she smelled pretty damn good.

du Clark went on, “Sure, they look like us, they sound like us, but if you think of them as brain-eating atomic bombs, you sleep like a baby.”

“You’ve got the wrong man for the job,” Major said. He wasn’t in favor of zombies, but between Liv and his client the nice family man who happened to be a zombie, and no doubt other perfectly nice people out there like Lowell, Liv’s ex, he didn’t think they needed to be killed. There had been a cure once—he knew that better than anyone. Surely there would be a cure again.

“Oh, I have the only man for the job.”

du Clark punched the button on a recording device, and Ravi’s voice came through it. “More than once now, Major’s run into people and he’s just utterly convinced they’re zombies. His heart starts racing, his hair stands on end. He’s a human zombie detector.”

Clicking the recording device off, du Clark grinned wildly across the desk at Major. “See? You’re singularly qualified.” Major kept silent, wanting to know how they had recorded Ravi and who he had been talking to, but not wanting to give du Clark the satisfaction of asking. But du Clark wasn’t waiting for him to answer anyway. He went on, “Now, we’ve learned a few things about zombies. Weird as it sounds, they can’t get enough of spicy food.” du Clark and the redhead both laughed at that, but Major didn’t find it funny. He remembered all too clearly what it had felt like to only want brains. “And in order to blend in, they require pretty regular tanning and hair dyeing. Our tech boys have developed an algorithm which scans credit card statements for charges which fit this zombie profile.” He pushed a computer printout across the desk to Major. “Those 322 people are suspected zombies. Your mission? Determine which ones are the real deal, and close that hatch on them.” He made the motion with his hands again.

“Kill them,” Major clarified.

du Clark looked as though he wanted to find a euphemism, or as if he was having second thoughts, but the expression disappeared from his face too quickly for his hesitation to have been real. “Yes. After all, aren’t you the greatest zombie killer alive?”

Damn Meat Cute. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but it had only made everything worse. Major wasn’t having any of this. He got up, heading for the glass doors of du Clark’s office.

“Forgot your list,” du Clark called after him.

“I’m not doing this.”

But Major stopped stockstill when another voice came from du Clark’s recorder. Liv. They had taped her call to him about Clive’s interest in Major’s Meat Cute alibi. They were tapping her phone. That must have been where they got the recording of Ravi, too. That was how they knew about Meat Cute at all. Unable to stop himself, Major turned around, facing du Clark and his redhead.

du Clark put the recorder down and said, “Got you over a barrel, big guy. Five murders, that’s a lot of years in the pokey.”

Major gave that one a brief thought, but really, did it matter if he went to jail? Not really. Not anymore. “Do what you gotta do.” He turned to leave again.

du Clark’s voice came after him. “Major, we are doing our civic duty here!” He came around the desk toward Major, his voice dropping as he admitted, “We played a big part in creating this problem, and we are going to be very aggressive in cleaning it up.” When Major didn’t reply, he went on, “We do know of one zombie, Liv Moore. We don’t have to start with her, but … we gotta start somewhere.”

No matter what had happened between them, the lies she had told, the secrets she’d kept, the many ways she’d broken his heart, Major couldn’t let anything happen to Liv. And du Clark knew it, that was plain to see. “Fine. Give me the damn list.”

“See, I knew you’d see it my way. You report in regularly, Major.” du Clark slapped his stomach. “After all, I really do need a trainer.”

Grabbing the paper from him, Major muttered, “Yeah, whatever,” and left the office.

The redhead followed him. “Don’t mess around with this. He wants results, and he wants them now, and he’ll make you regret it if you don’t provide them.”

It was pure bad luck that his client, the family man, was on the top of Max Rager’s list. Hating himself with every step, Major kidnapped him, wrapped him in plastic, shot him in the head, and dumped him in the river. Hopefully that would be enough to buy him some time … but what was he going to do? Vaughn du Clark had Major right where he wanted him, and that wasn’t going to change. From counselor to troubled teens to killer for hire. Not really a step up, he thought gloomily.

Chapter 18: Just a Lost Soul

Major hadn’t expected to sleep like a baby the night after he’d killed a man. He’d expected to toss and turn and beat himself up and try to find ways to get out of the devil’s bargain he had implicitly made with Vaughn du Clark. But his mind and body had entirely shut down. The last thing he remembered was throwing that poor man’s body off the bridge—and then he woke up in bed. He hoped he hadn’t done anything else in between, but it was hard to work up the energy to care, really. This was who he was, now. Personal trainer, zombie detector, hired killer. That he had been hired to do exactly what he had been so proud of doing at Meat Cute no longer seemed to matter. The Meat Cute zombies had been thugs. Murderers, drug dealers, criminals. He’d been doing society a favor.

But now he knew that zombies were—Liv—people. Just like anyone else. This man had been a loving father, a good man … who happened to eat brains. It probably hadn’t even been his fault that he’d been turned into a zombie. Which didn’t make him any less dead now.

His morning routine was set in his brain. He didn’t even have to think about it. Get up, get dressed, brush teeth, fix hair. Somehow he made it through that day, pretending to be just like everyone else. Pretending he hadn’t killed a man last night, pretending he wasn’t a murderer. Was a murderer worse than a liar? Was he worse than Liv now? Did he owe her an apology, did he have to forgive her? It was her fault he was in this mess, after all. It was to keep du Clark from killing her that he had taken a family’s father and shot him through the head and dumped him in the river. Not that Liv knew any of that, of course, and not that he could tell her. She would try to fix things, she would go after Vaughn du Clark herself and get herself killed.

No, he couldn’t tell Liv. Or Ravi, either.

All he could do was make it through the day, one foot in front of the other.

At home the second night, pouring a sad bowl of cereal because he couldn’t face cooking or ordering or going out, he turned on the news. He had avoided it all the first day, the day of Major becoming a killer, not wanting to know, but now he couldn’t stay away. He had to see what the news was saying. Part of him half-hoped he would be caught. It would serve du Clark right, for one thing, and prison at least would have to be easier. Three hots and a cot, right? A workout room, a prison job … all his questions about what to do with his life answered. Maybe he should turn himself in, lie about the zombieism and just say he’d gone crazy. With his history, they’d believe him.

The two kids were on the news. Their father was considered missing, his body not found yet. They were devastated, Major could tell, comparing the tear-filled face of the girl with the cheerfulness he had seen the day they’d met. Oh, god, did he have to go express his condolences? He’d only been there once in his capacity as personal trainer. Surely that would be inappropriate. It had to be inappropriate because there was no way Major could do it.

Looking down at the bowl, the mush in the white liquid, Major felt nauseous. He poured the whole thing down the drain, taking a dark satisfaction in the grind of the disposal cleaning it all up. He left the news running and went to his room.

And, of course, tonight was the night he lay awake staring at the ceiling, going back over every moment in his head, wishing he could take it all back. All of it. Before Meat Cute. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? Jerome had been a street kid, disappearing was what they did. If only Major had never gone after him, he would never have known.

But he wouldn’t have been a good counselor if he’d let Jerome go, and once he’d committed to finding Jerome, that trail led straight to Julian and Meat Cute and … Liv being a zombie.

If he had never sent her to that stupid boat party, he thought for at least the ten millionth time. If he had kept her home and they’d watched something stupid on TV, made love on the couch, and gone to sleep half-dressed in the living room, none of this would have happened.

Except that Blaine would still have been a zombie, and Jerome would still have disappeared, and Liv would have been in surgery, not knowing anything about it—and he would be dead. Would he rather be dead, Liv his widow?

It was a tough call.

Chapter 19: There's You

The Utopium had been a brilliant idea. Major felt so good, like he had no problems at all. The music was pounding in his blood, his body moving to it like it was what he was born to do. Nothing else mattered but what he was doing right now, how good it felt, and keeping that going as long as possible.

As soon as there was a lull in the music, he headed off to do just that—get more. And more. Maybe enough so he never had to come down.

How much he’d had, or when the euphoria receded and left him hanging over a toilet puking his guts out, he didn’t know. But when he came back to himself, back to the reality of the unfortunate Major Lilywhite and the wreck of what had once been his life, he was on the floor of a pretty gross and smelly men’s room, and Liv was there, picking him up, holding him close, saying, “I got you, bro.”

Sure she did. Because she loved him. In his current state, that was really all that mattered. Liv loved him, he loved Liv. They were meant to be. He rested his head against her white hair and let her lead him through the club. He didn’t really have the energy for much beyond that, anyway. The Utopium had ebbed from his system and he felt weak and sick and sad and awful.

Somehow Liv got both Major and Ravi into a taxi. Difficult task when Major collapsed any time she wasn’t directly holding him up, and Ravi wandered off looking for more fun any time she wasn’t physically hanging on to him. Major couldn’t quite summon up the energy to help her, but he tried. Or he thought he did. He was kind of in and out, and most of his ‘in’ time was spent trying not to puke.

As the taxi pulled away, Liv’s phone started making noises. Someone was texting her. She was texting someone. But she didn’t know that Vaughn du Clark knew everything that went on on her phone. She couldn’t know that, because if she knew about Vaughn du Clark she would know about Major, and he didn’t want her to know about him. But she couldn’t keep using her phone, either, because it wasn’t safe. Major reached out and took it from her hands and threw it out the window of the taxi, leaning his head back against the seat with a sigh of relief when he heard it clatter on the ground.

“What the hell?”

“They can hear you, and they’re … always listening.” She had to know, to protect herself.

But she didn’t have time to ask, because Ravi was still drunk and high, babbling on about something, and Major was lost in a sea of nausea and misery. He closed his eyes and let blackness take him.

Once Liv had him home, and he had puked a couple more times, he felt a little bit more like himself. His head was still aching and foggy and everything seemed very far away, but it was clearing. He leaned his head back against the wall of the bathroom, looking at Liv, who was preparing emergency supplies at the sink. He’d never seen that dress before. It was yellow, and tight, and looked pretty good on her. Major squinted at it. There was some kind of black pattern on it, with words.

“Am I that messed up, or are you wearing police tape?”

She almost smiled. “You’re that messed up.”

Of course, she really was wearing police tape. His Liv would never have worn police tape in public. He hoped wherever she’d been, she’d been having a good time. Not as good a time as he had been, because on the Utopium, he’d been happier, higher, than he’d ever been in his life. But at least the kind of good time people who wore police tape as dresses had.

Liv started placing things on top of the toilet tank for him. “Aspirin. Water. Electrolytes. And I thought paper towels were a good idea. You’re not gonna want to, but you should try to drink lots of fluids.”

If he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could believe they were married, that everything was the way it was supposed to have been, and that she was taking care of him because he had the flu. He wished for that reality, but it was gone, vanished into the mist that filled his head. He wanted that mist back, wanted to be able to pretend again.

Major looked up at Liv, wanting her to pretend with him, but she stood there in that yellow police tape that she shouldn’t have been wearing and looked uncomfortable, and he couldn’t pretend with her.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said softly. “Good luck.”

But he couldn’t let her go. Right now, she was all he had to hold on to. He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want anything from her, not after the mess she had made, but— “Can you stay?”

He wasn’t sure she would, but she stopped, and turned around, and looked at him, and then sank down onto the floor near him with her back to the wall. The tile floor must have been cold against her bare legs, but she didn’t say anything about that. Did zombies feel cold? Major didn’t want to know, didn’t want to care. He just wanted to be near her.

He let himself tip over, lying on his side on the bathroom floor with his head on her lap. After a moment, one of her hands settled on his shoulder, and the other one stroked through his hair, just the way she used to do. Major closed his eyes, feeling safe for the first time in a long time. He wanted her to know that she was safe, too, and would be as long as he had anything to say about it. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he told her.

“And I won’t shave your eyebrows,” Liv promised.

It didn’t matter that she was saying it because she had eaten someone’s brain and that had temporarily taken over her personality. It was the kind of ridiculous thing they used to say to one another. It felt familiar. Like home. And with her here, Major closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep for the first time since he’d become a killer.

Chapter 20: Here He Comes

The Utopium made the days go faster. Everything seemed far away, like someone else was behind his eyes watching as this sad, pathetic Major Lilywhite person went through his day. It wasn’t really him at all, which was comforting. He spent hours in the Max Rager gym, where it was quiet and private, feeling like he was at least getting something back out of this deal with the devil he had been forced to make.

His night on the bathroom floor with Liv was just another postcard in time, a brief flash of another Major. Nothing more. There was no future there. It was forgotten.

Major took pleasure in the workouts, the Utopium increasing the endorphin rush. It was about the only thing left that made him happy. But the fly in the soup was the presence of Vaughn du Clark’s secretary, Rita, who liked to drop by in the middle of a set. He wasn’t sure whether she wanted to watch or torment him, or if she got off doing a little of both. Either way, she annoyed him—as much because she was hot and smart and ruthless as because she was genuinely annoying. And he didn’t like it.

Today she had come, as she usually did, to hassle him about the list of people he was supposed to kill. Well, she could keep hassling him for all Major cared. He had already killed one person for them. That was enough for a lifetime. He had decided to just lie to them and tell them none of the people on the list were actually zombies, see how far that got him.

From the look on Rita’s face when he told her he’d eliminated a name, it wasn’t going to be far at all. That’s when she told him that du Clark had initially planned to kill everyone on the list, including potentially their families and friends. It was hard to see murder, especially serial murder on such a scale as that list, as a benefit, but that’s how Rita framed it for him. And underneath it, the implied threat—if he didn’t get moving on the list, du Clark would. As Rita put it, “Does a patient man invent an energy drink?” Apparently not.

He was going to need a lot more Utopium.

Picking a name at random, Major took a hit and went on the hunt that night, catching the guy in the elevator, feeling the prickle in his skin and the racing heart that said this was a zombie. He had tried to forget the name, not wanting to know. It was easier if he could pretend they weren’t people. Just more evil zombies. Like a movie. Not like Liv. No.

He waited outside the zombie’s apartment building until it came out, going for a jog.

It had a dog.

Zombies didn’t have dogs. Evil things didn’t have dogs. Dogs didn’t like evil things. This couldn’t be evil if it had a dog.

But Major had to kill it anyway, so it had to be evil, and he had to believe he was saving the dog. That was the only way he could come up behind the monster while it was jogging and inject the drug into its neck that would drop it in its tracks. He would bring the dog along, care for him, until he could decide what to do with him.

The zombie woke up on their way to its final destination, calling out from the trunk, pretending to be human, but Major knew better. So did the dog. He reached out and yanked the tag off the dog’s collar and threw it out the window of the car, and then he turned up the volume on the music. “Voices Carry.” Good song, sang the Utopium in his brain. It drowned out the voice carrying from the trunk, which wasn’t real anyway. So it didn’t matter when Major hauled it out of the car and shot it in the head and dropped it in the river. It didn’t matter in the least.

He left the dog at home. He didn’t know what to tell Ravi, so he didn’t tell him anything. And he went back to Max Rager with a bag full of Utopium, ready to hit his circuit and forget what he had done last night. What someone else had done. That couldn’t have been him. This couldn’t be him.

But if it wasn’t him, what was he doing standing frozen in the Max Rager lobby staring at someone who looked like Liv would look if she fell out of a snooty catalog while Vaughn du Clark taunted him? Because if that was Liv, he was Major, and if he was Major, then he was a killer.

Of course, it wasn’t really Liv. The feelings were hers, the hurt because he had been avoiding her, the eyes were hurt, the anger because she had found him here, of all places. But the words, the hair, the look … those were all zombie.

With Liv came Clive, Clive who hadn’t yet given up on his idea—his totally correct idea, of course—that Major had something to do with the murders at Meat Cute. It crossed Major’s mind to confess, to just tell the truth and go to jail and get it all over with. But Vaughn du Clark was behind Clive, smirking, and Major knew what would happen if he did anything to extricate himself from this nightmare. Liv would die. All of Liv would die, not just the part that was a zombie. And Major could no sooner let that happen than he could stop breathing.

So he let Liv yell at him, and he reminded her that he had no career any longer, and she slapped him, and then she was gone and he was alone here at Max Rager with a crazy man and a hot redhead who looked at him with smoldering eyes … and a bag full of Utopium to make it all better.

He had just taken another hit when the redhead walked into the empty workout room. Tight pants, loose tanktop over something with lots of tight straps, slow yoga moves, twisting her body in front of him. He should leave, he told himself. This was going nowhere good.

But she came up behind him as he was picking up his bag, and the Utopium was pumping through his veins, and why shouldn’t he get something good out of this deal, anyway, and he kissed her. More than kissed her. He let himself go completely and explored every hungry inch of that well-toned body. And he didn’t feel bad about it. No. Not at all. It was the Utopium, after all, and no less than he deserved.

He made it home later, feeling dirty and defeated as the Utopium receded from his system. There was one more hit in his room that had to hold him until he could get more tomorrow, and he wanted to save it for bedtime to be able to sleep and not lie awake long into the night trying to imagine how he could fix his life. So he was in no mood for Liv when the doorbell rang, and he was already practicing his cutting words when he threw it open—and saw Peyton Charles standing there.

“Hi, Major.”

“Peyton? Do you still live here?”

She winced. “I guess I deserve that. I’m back, ready to get back to work, thought I’d drop by and see how you are.”

“You mean how Ravi is.”

“Yeah, I deserved that, too.” The dog came trotting out from behind Major and she bent to pet it. “When did you get a dog?”

“While you were gone. Coming in?”

She stood up, giving him a wary look. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“You kind of seem to mind.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to … It’s been a long few months.” He forced a smile. “I’m just a little grumpy, don’t mind me.”

“I’ll try not to.” She managed a smile, too, tentative and hesitant, and they settled into a circuit of uncomfortable questions and answers in which Peyton didn’t mention Liv and Major didn’t mention Ravi, and he tried not to think of the last hit of Utopium upstairs in his room.

Eventually Ravi came home, and the moment they saw each other was exactly as awkward as Major had imagined … and he felt like exactly as much of a third wheel. And with some relief he was able to excuse himself and leave them to it—maybe he shouldn’t have? Maybe a good friend would have stayed and backed up Ravi and supported Peyton? But he wasn’t much of a friend right now, was he? No. He was a killer, and killers didn’t take care of people—and he climbed the stairs to his room and got into bed and took the last hit and drifted away into a dream world where none of this was really happening and from which he wished he never had to wake.

Chapter 21: When You Learn to Let Go

Rita rolled over, a graceful movement. She must have been a dancer at some point, Major thought, unstirred by her beauty. “Sure you don’t want to go again?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He pulled his shirt on, getting up to hunt for his shoes.

“You know, you could stay. You’re always out of here so fast.”

“What, you want to cuddle?”

She laughed. “Hardly. But every once in a while you could act like you actually want to be here.”

“I don’t.”

“I know.” She sat up, pulling the covers up with her, looking at him with interest. “Who is it, the girl you pretend I am? The ex-fiance? Or someone else?”

Major hid his face, bending over to tie his shoelaces. No, he never pretended Rita was Liv. Too much complexity there. Mostly, he pretended he was someone else. He wasn’t sure who, but anyone had to be better than being Major Lilywhite. “There’s no one.”

“Aw, so all that passion is for lil ol’ me?”

He straightened, turning to look at her. “Rita, the only person I hate more than you is myself.”

She almost looked like that hurt, but the moment passed, and she shrugged. “Works for me. Hate’s hotter, anyway.”

“You would think that.” She was all kinds of wrong—he remembered what it was like to make love, to be in love, and nothing could be hotter, or better, than that.

“See you next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” He closed the door forcefully, trying to make the point, but he could still hear her laughing. They both knew there would be a next time. He dug in the pocket of his bag for a vial of Utopium and snorted it, trying to erase the memories and forget … everything.

Later that night, he was sprawled out on the couch, the dog, who he refused to call Minor, resting against him, when the picture of the dog’s missing owner—and the dog—came on the TV. Was there nowhere he could go to avoid being reminded of the monster he was becoming? He dug in his pocket for another vial, chasing the oblivion that came when the Utopium hit his system. But before it could take effect, the doorbell rang.

Recent months had taught him that nothing good happened when the doorbell rang. He really didn’t want to deal with it. If he sat here long enough, whoever it was would go away. Except that they didn’t, and the doorbell rang again.

Major heaved himself off the couch, the Utopium buzzing in his head, but annoyingly, not pleasantly. He was irritated even before he opened the door and saw Liv standing there on the porch.

“Hey,” she said, putting immediately to rest the chance that she might have been here looking for Ravi, or Peyton.

“Twice in a week.” God, he was tired.

“I’m sorry, I know you want space. That’s kind of why I’m here. I … realized something tonight. I just—need to say it.”

“Okay.” He’d hear her out, since she insisted on it, but he was damned if he was inviting her in. She couldn’t come in without an invitation, right? No, that was vampires.

“From the moment that I met you, I knew that we were meant to be together.”

She had practiced this speech, he could tell. But it was hard not to follow the train of her thought back to that sunny afternoon when they’d met, the instant connection, the electric way he had felt just being around her.

Liv went on, while Major tried to fight the rush of memory. “I was sure of it, it was like fate. But that was before I had witnessed a mass murder. Before I had eaten fresh brain. Before I had lied to you, or let you put yourself in a mental hospital— It was before I’d watched you die.” She took a deep breath. “And it was before all this cruelty was directed back at me. Now, I don’t think space can fix what’s wrong with us. We’re a dream that’s dead.”

All his dreams were dead. Liv was the zombie, but Major was the one who was dead. His body just didn’t know it.

She hadn’t finished. Would she ever finish?

“I doubt that I will ever stop loving you. But it’s over now. I gotta let you go. Completely. Forever.”

The irony of her coming over here, when he had told her not to so many times, to tell him she was letting him go, was so galling, he wanted … He was too tired to want anything. He just wanted her gone. “Perfect,” he said. “Thanks for stopping by.” And he shut the door in her face. She wanted him gone? He was already long gone.

But he hadn’t even made it to the kitchen before the door swung open again and Liv charged in. “Hey. Stop. I’m coming here like an adult trying to talk to you. How can you be this cold to me?”

“Who exactly am I being cold to? Huh? Whose brain did you eat this week?”

“This is all me. And in case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t ask for this! I went to a party, because you told me I should. I woke up on a shore craving brains. Next thing I know I’ve cracked this corpse’s head open.”

He hated hearing about this. He’d pushed aside all the guilt he felt for making her go to that party. He just wanted to forget it. Forget her. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? Why did she have to come here and make him feel things?

“How could I bring that home to you?” she asked. “How could I be your wife? I had become a monster.”

She wasn’t the only monster. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t bring things home to the people they cared about. He saw Vaughn du Clark, he saw the dog’s owner, he saw Rita. He was a monster, only he had done it by choice.

“I was confused, and I was dangerous. Every decision that I made last year, I made trying to protect you from my new reality.”

Well, wasn’t that just the way it went. He had made a few decisions to protect her, too, things he couldn’t tell her about.

Liv went on, “I know, in your eyes, I’ve screwed up badly somewhere along the line, but I did the best I could.”

She had to go. He couldn’t have her here, telling him these things, making him want to understand her and forgive her. Not now. Not … ever, not anymore. “You know, I just— I keep asking you for some space, and every time I turn around, here you are.”

Her eyes widened, and he could see the faint shine of tears in them. Did zombies cry? He guessed they did.

They stared at each other, neither willing to give in, to forgive, and Major, at least, just wanting to forget. At last, Liv backed away, then turned around and walked slowly to the door, her shoulders a defeated slump. She stopped to look back at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Like he didn’t know. But he didn’t want to know, so he refused to know.

“Making me doubt the only thing in my life that I was sure was real.”

Well, nothing in Major’s life was real anymore. Why should hers be any different? He didn’t answer her, and finally she left, leaving Major standing alone in a house built of broken dreams.

Chapter 22: Another Word for You

He lost himself, then, deep in video games and oblivion, far gone in a world where there was no Major Lilywhite, no broken engagement, no broken anything. It was nice. Ravi coming in and yelling about the missing dog disturbed the fog a little, but mostly it just hung around him, hazy and comforting. It was a relief when they didn’t find the dog, one less thing to worry about, one less reminder of … everything.

It was startling to come in the next day and find Ravi there with Minor, and to find out that the dog had returned to the park where Major had kidnapped his owner. It was—he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to look in Ravi’s face and see the anger and the disgust he saw there. He pushed it off with bluster and promises, but he didn’t really want to get himself together, the way he’d promised to do. He didn't want to wake up and be Major Lilywhite again. He wanted—he wanted the fog back.

He left the house, heading downtown to the tunnels where the Utopium dealers hung out. He had to have more, to make everything go away again. He couldn’t live with it all. No one could be expected to live with it all, he told himself.

In the tunnel, over a burning oil drum, he asked for the drugs. It had been weird the first couple of times, but now it was just what he did.

The dealer squinted at him, pulling his headphones off his head, the band tangled in his curly blond hair, and squinted some more. “Major?”

Major stared back at him, trying to place the face.

Laughing, the dealer called over his shoulder to his friend. “Get me a couple brain-busters on the house for this cat. We go way back to Helton Shelter.”

Helton? This kid … Yes, he remembered him now. So, he had failed to get another boy off the street. Way to go, Major.

“This dude was tryin’ to keep us off drugs.” The dealer was still laughing, clapping Major on the arm like now they were the same. Well, hell, they were the same.

Major took the Utopium, staring at it like he had never seen it before. The dealer’s laugh was ringing in his ears as he walked out of the tunnel.

His phone buzzed. It was Rita. Booty call. He should probably go. What else did he have to do?

Then he put the phone back in his pocket. What the hell was he doing? Drugs? Sex with someone he despised? Giving up on his career, his life—everything? You would think after all the boys he had counseled not to do exactly all of that, he would know better. He would be stronger. But he wasn’t strong, not anymore. He hadn’t been strong since he lost Liv. Oh, he had tried to move on, but … Nothing was right without her.

Which was no excuse. How could he have fallen so low that he could look one of his own boys in the face and ask him for drugs? That was not any Major Lilywhite that he recognized. And he knew now that after all the hiding, all the wrapping himself in fog and pretending not to be there, he wanted to be Major Lilywhite. He wanted … well, if he couldn’t have Liv, he wanted his memories of her. If he couldn’t have his career, he wanted to be the person who had wanted to help people, not this ... waste of space he had become.

Could he hunt zombies for Vaughn du Clark and still help people? He felt a chill shake him, the craving for the Utopium in his pocket. No, not like this. Not this guy. This guy couldn’t find a way out of the box he was stuck in. But Major Lilywhite could.

And there was only one person out there who still knew who Major Lilywhite was, who still believed in him. He got in his car, driving there by sheer muscle memory, every instinct knowing where he was going.

He was almost too weary to stand by the time he knocked on her door. He didn’t know what he would do if she wasn’t there. Collapse, maybe. Fall down in a crumpled heap on the floor of the hallway.

But she was there, standing there in front of him. His Liv. The only thing that made sense anymore.

The words came from him even before he knew what he meant to say. “I need help.”

And without a word, she reached for him, pulling him into her arms, as some part of him had known she would. He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling right for the first time in such a long, long time. She shifted her head to look at him, maybe to say something, and their lips met, soft and tender. They pulled back long enough to look at one another, and Major kissed her again, Liv responding eagerly. Like it should be. Like what had been missing all these months. Like everything setting itself right again. Like coming home.

Chapter 23: A Feeling Like This

It felt so good to be here in Liv’s arms again, kissing her. Major had forgotten how much he loved to kiss her, how sweet her mouth tasted. Who needed Utopium when you could have this?

Slowly, one lingering kiss at a time, they were moving through her apartment toward her room. Major was in no hurry. He wanted to make this last, take his time.

Liv broke away at last. “What are we doing?” she asked breathlessly.

It was the old Major, her Major, who answered. “Well, it’s hard to put a label on it just yet, but I’ll get back to you in a minute.” He kissed her again, loving the way she couldn’t help but kiss him back. She had missed this as much as he had.

Finding a convenient wall at hand, Major pressed her gently against it and kissed the side of her neck, finding the spot unerringly. He knew all her spots. He couldn’t wait to explore each of them again.

But Liv was finding her way back to reality. “We should stop.” He ignored her, kissing her ear, her head tilting aside to let him keep going, even as she continued, “We don’t know enough about how zombie is transferred. All this kissing.”

“I’ve been kissed by blonde Liv before. Still human,” he breathed, reaching for her mouth again. He didn’t want to stop. He had missed this, needed this, too much.

Liv put her hand over his mouth, pushing his head away. “But that wasn’t as prolonged and there were no tongues involved.” He reluctantly stopped trying to kiss her, but he held her there against him, not wanting to let her go. “Do you have any open sores in your mouth?” she asked.

“Sexy.”

“How hard have you been brushing your teeth?”

“So hard.” She wasn’t really going to stop, was she?

She was. “That’s it. Kissing moratorium until we’re sure I didn’t just turn you into a zombie.”

But this was as close as he had been to happy as long as he could remember, and he wasn’t giving it up so easily. “So we’re going the Pretty Woman no kissing on the mouth route? I’m down.”

Liv rolled her eyes. “Oh, my god, horny boys are the worst. When all your blood returns to the normal locations in your body, you’re gonna care whether that makeout session’s left you living, or living dead.”

He supposed she had a point.

She stepped away, reaching a hand up to brush his hair back, the gesture so familiar and comforting that he closed his eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion roll over him. “Besides,” Liv said, “you look like you’re barely on your feet. Better hold on to your energy, anyway.” Her eyes studied his face. “You look awful. Major? What’s been going on?”

“I—“ He started to tell her about Ravi’s experiment with the Utopium, but this wasn’t Ravi’s fault, and he didn’t want her blaming Ravi for his failings. “Utopium.”

“Utopium? Oh, Major.”

He had been so afraid to tell her—to tell her any of it, really, how poorly he was coping with losing her and losing his whole life, and the terrible things he had done to make it seem bearable, afraid to see in her eyes that she despised him. But there was none of that there. Only sadness and love. She put her arms around him again and held him close, and for a minute he thought maybe everything was going to be all right.

Maybe it was more than a minute, because suddenly she was pushing at his shoulders. “Major. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“So comfy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She disentangled herself from his arms and took his hand. “Come on, let’s get you some rest.”

“Yeah, I guess. If we have to.” He yawned, then gave her the smile he knew she couldn’t resist. “Cuddles?”

Liv narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling, too. “Couch.”

“No, couch, really? Come on. Snuggles. I’ll behave.”

“Yes, well, maybe I can trust you … but I’m not sure I trust myself.” Her thumb stroked the back of his hand. “Let’s get you some sleep, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

He felt like crap when he woke up on her couch, but better crap than he’d felt like in weeks. Except that his arm hurt. Opening his eyes, he saw Liv sitting next to him, a stethoscope in her ears, and she was … taking his blood pressure? Not sexy. Not sexy at all.

She ripped off the blood pressure cuff as Major rolled over and stretched. “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Who doesn’t enjoy waking up to a beautiful woman cutting off his circulation?”

“Pulse seems normal. Color’s okay. BP’s 116 over 77.” Doctor Liv. He loved Doctor Liv. Even pale and blonde, she was beautiful. “No alarm bells yet, but the truest test …” She reached for the steaming cup of rich dark beverage next to her and handed it to him. “Coffee.”

He took a deep swallow, grimacing at the taste, and Liv immediately reached for the tray next to her.

“Is that look of disgust because you need cream and sugar, or do you need habanero?”

Major looked at her, then into the cup of disappointing liquid. “It’s because you’re still incapable of turning hot water and coffee grounds into a palatable beverage.” She frowned at him, clearly not appreciating him taking her concerns lightly. Honestly, he had forgotten while he was sleeping what she was worried about, and had thought all this concern was regarding the Utopium. Which, he realized, he still hadn’t told her much about. But he wasn’t about to ruin this moment with that depressing topic. “Liv, relax,” he told her, “I’d know if I turned into a zombie. I didn’t.”

“We got lucky,” she said, unconvinced. Then she realized what she’d said.

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“I’ll rephrase. We dodged a bullet.” She looked away, her brow furrowing in thought. “You know what I keep asking myself?”

Major sat up. “Why? Why didn’t the Seahawks just give the ball to Marshawn?”

She ignored him, the way she used to when she tried to be serious and he tried not to let her. God, he had missed this. Missed her. Missed them. “How stupid must we be? Unless there’s a cure, we have no future as a couple.”

Oh, no, she didn’t. They’d already been down this road, and it had sucked. Hard. He wasn’t going another step in that direction, not when the road back was wide open, with no traffic and prepaid tolls. “You sure about that?”

“Well, think about it. You’ve always wanted kids, that could never happen. No sex—and I know you’re not ready to write that off.”

He reached for her hand. “I seem to recall a couple of items on the menu that don’t involve exchange of fluids.”

She really wasn’t going to let him sexy or cute her out of her head. “Well, I could be holding your arm walking down an icy sidewalk. I slip, I reach out for you, I scratch you. Instant zombie.”

Major sat forward. “So far, it sounds to me like all of our problems could be solved with condoms and rock salt.”

Liv put a hand on his shoulder. “You came over here because you needed help. We were best friends. Let’s be that again.”

She turned away as her phone buzzed, and Major watched her, feeling that indescribable warmth that came with being with Liv, being in love with Liv. This was what had been missing all this time. He wasn’t letting it go again without a fight, even if it was Liv he had to fight.

“It’s Ravi,” she said. “Got a body. Sorry. I’ll check in with you later. Okay? Friends.”

He smiled. “Friends.” And more. She just had to get used to the idea again. He could wait. He still had to tell her everything about the Utopium, to decide how much, or if, to tell her about Vaughn du Clark. But that could wait, too. As long as they were Major and Liv again, everything would be all right eventually. Major settled back against the couch cushions, feeling better already.

Chapter 24: In the End if I'm with You

Major thought he'd put Rita off by insisting on a more potent tranquilizer before he went after any more zombies, but that ploy wouldn't last long. He couldn't kill anyone else … but they weren't going to let him off the hook, either. He had to come up with a way to look like he was taking down the zombies on the list without actually doing it.

He was turning that idea over in his mind when he went to Rita's office, as he had been commanded to do, and was faced with the head of R&D, who seemed not to understand that zombies were people, living, breathing, intelligent members of the community. Rita and Vaughn didn't seem to understand that, either. With some pain, he realized he hadn't thought of them that way, either. He had thought of them only as killers, as things to get rid of. That was how he had seen Liv in that nightmare moment when he was dying and the blond zombie guy had told him about her. He had been punishing her ever since for not being human—but the first time he'd been asked to kill someone like her, he had seen that guy as more human than he had given Liv, the woman he loved, credit for being. He would have to make that up to her.

In the meantime, he was still being asked to kill people. Zombies, right, but people in every other sense of the word. All the defeat, the hopelessness, the longing for oblivion that had weighed him down for months came rushing back, and even the euphoria of kissing Liv couldn't hold it at bay. He went home and lay on his bed and reached for the vial of utopium, holding it in his hands, studying it, knowing the rush he would feel when he took it, the lack of concern for all the people, even himself, who needed him to be Major Lilywhite. What good was Major Lilywhite, anyway? Who had he ever helped?

He twisted the cap off the vial and held it to his nose, but before he could sniff it, he heard footsteps on the stairs outside his room. Hastily, he stuck the vial under the covers next to him. And just in time, because the door opened and Liv came in.

She looked around at the disaster of the room, the rumpled bedding, the sleeping dog, Major himself lying stretched out on the bed. "What the hell, Lilywhite? It's 7:45 pm. Are you 90?"

"Rough day is all."

Liv put her hands on her hips. "I'm gonna remind you of something, son. Something you already know. The world ain't all dilly bars and debutante balls. The world throws wicked punches. Wants to see who goes down easy. Some people stay on the mat." She looked down at him intently. "Not you, though. You were an undersized walk-on free safety at U-Dub." Major sat up straight, his back against the metal rods of the headboard, wondering where she was going with this. Wondering who she had eaten today—and wondering just a little at how not-weird that concept suddenly seemed. "Three years later you were a starter! It takes a tough, get-back-off-the-mat son-of-a-bitch to do that. But that ain't what impressed me. I fell in love with the guy who could have cashed in on his looks, his connections, his notoriety, but instead, he said, 'I've been blessed and I want to give back'."

She was beautiful when she was all fired up, even if it was someone else's fire. Actually … this was her fire. He had heard versions of this speech before, although he had never needed to hear it quite this badly.

"'I'm gonna be a social worker'," Liv continued, pacing back and forth beside his bed, "'I'm gonna be the guy who helps others get back up.'" She knelt next to the bed. "I know you've taken some haymakers lately. I know that this time it's harder to get back up than it's ever been. But you're Major mother-flippin' Lilywhite and you don't quit."

He loved her so much. He had needed her so much. He was smiling at her now just because she was Liv and she was doing what Liv did—refusing to give up. She was the one who didn't quit. "God, you're so weird," he whispered, but she knew what he meant.

She stood up, looking around at the room again. "Open a window. It reeks in here. Shower, for god sakes, and clean this mess up. And Lilywhite?"

He looked up at her, amazed at how quickly a night that almost went down that same broken road again had turned around.

"There still any utopium in here?" Before he could respond, she said, "And the answer better be, 'Not in my house'."

So he did what seemed like the right idea. He lied to her, hoping it would be one of the last times he had to. "There's not." She gave him a side-eye, waiting, and he finished, as instructed. "Not in my house."

"Speak up, son!"

Louder, feeling stronger, he said, "Not in my house."

"Good." She stood up straight, looking at him like she loved him—more, like she liked him. "I'll meet you downstairs when you're done. We can watch Hoosiers."

That got his attention. How many times had he asked her to watch that movie with him? "After all these years? You've always refused before."

"Well, back then I was worried that seeing you cry over fictional sports would adversely affect my sexual desire for you." She smiled, devilishly, and she was beautiful as hell and twice as frustrating. "But that's not an issue anymore. Friend."

Hours later, he said good-bye to her at the door. They'd watched the movie and thrown popcorn at each other and held hands at the end, tears in both their eyes as the credits rolled, and now Major wanted so badly to kiss her good-night, but Liv socked him on the arm instead and left, promising pizza for their next hang-out, as she called it.

When she was gone, Major closed the door behind her and leaned against it, completely aware of the goofiness of the smile on his face. The last time he felt this effervescent, this much anticipation of something great that was coming his way, was the night he had dropped her off at her sorority house. He hadn't kissed her then because he had known she was worth waiting for. She still was.

Chapter 25: What Do You Want to Be?

Of all the places Major might have thought his newfound ‘friend’ Liv would be taking him, a YMCA wouldn’t even have made the list. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her waiting for him … just like it used to. God, he was a lucky man. Friend-zoned or not, for the moment, she was his again. He had forgotten how good it felt, like he was ten feet tall and walking on air. He dug the gym bag and basketball he had brought out of the back of his car and met her at the door, trying not to grin like an idiot. But so was she, so he figured it was safe.

They walked together through the halls. “How was your day?” Liv asked.

“Oh, little of this, little of that. Yours?”

“Same.”

He glanced down at her. “I’ll give you this, you’re taking this friends thing seriously. I thought the friendship offer was something girls said when they don’t want to see you naked.”

She grinned up at him. “Like you’ve heard a lot of that.”

“I’ve read about it.” It felt so good to smile again. To smile with Liv again. “Seriously, though, Hoosiers last night, playin’ hoops today. What’re we gonna do tomorrow? We should eat some chicken wings and talk about whether or not the movie Casino was any good.”

“You … may be busy tomorrow.”

They rounded the corner and Major saw a bunch of kids in pinneys milling around the court, practicing shots and dribbles. “Liv, what’re we doing here?”

“You mean with this ragtag group of disadvantaged kids who tragically lost their coach a few days ago? Oh, did I forget to mention they’d be here?”

“Okay, I see what you’re trying to do.”

“Well, I’m not being subtle.”

She never had been. Apparently that, at least, hadn’t changed.

One of the kids shouted, “Is this the guy?”

Major guessed that was the question. He used to be the guy, that much he knew. Could he be the guy again? Did he want to?

Liv looked up at him expectantly. “Well?” She wanted him to. She believed in him—that, also, hadn’t changed. And he wanted to be the guy again, if not for himself, then for her. And, yeah, for these kids who had lost something important and needed someone to step up to take that place. He knew how to do that kind of thing; it was what he had trained for.

“Yeah. Hustle up!” He clapped his hands. “Guys, my name’s Major—yeah, my parents were mean and they hated me, let’s move past that. Let’s play some hoops!”

He separated them into groups, learning their names one at a time as he watched what they could do, finding out how their previous coach had worked. He got them into a scrimmage, paying attention to who had the feel for the ball and who needed to get a little more comfortable with it.

What he hadn’t expected was his assistant coach. Liv was behind him every step of the way, calling out advice and encouragement to the kids—and sounding pretty damned competent. Whoever the coach was whose brain she had eaten, he had known his stuff. Major thought he might kind of miss this brain when it was gone. He had never considered that it might have advantages, this constant change in personality.

Also, she was really hot, getting into the game and calling out strategy.

Two of the boys got into a bit of a scuffle, and Major stuck his whistle in his mouth, calling for a time out as he hurried onto the court, pushing the boys apart. “Hey! Break it up! Whoa!” He looked them each in the eye. “Is that the kind of team this is? Huh? The kind of team Coach Hayden would want you to be?”

One of the kids, Charlie, shook his head. “No.”

The other one, Jordy, frowned at Major. “Wow. You went there.”

“I’m shameless.” He looked at them both again. “Look, Charlie, keep your elbows down. Jordy, stop head-butting Charlie’s elbows.”

Neither one of them was convinced, but hopefully now they both knew what he would and would not put up with. He was going to have to keep an eye on them, though. One fight often led to more.

Liv was watching him from the sidelines, smugly pleased with herself.

Practice ended, and Major fielded the thanks, and the advice, both useless and not so much, of the parents as they picked up their kids. The kids themselves gave him grudgingly respectful good-byes, but he could tell they weren’t convinced. They knew he wasn’t a complete dud, but they didn’t trust him yet. No biggie. Trust wasn’t built in a single practice. He could work on it.

When they were alone on the court, Liv swatted him on the rear with a towel. “Give you some time, Lilywhite, we’ll get you up to speed.”

“Me? This from a girl who thought the paint meant they let a pony on the court.”

They stood there grinning foolishly at each other, moving slowly closer together until it would only have taken another step to pull her against him and drop his head just that little bit more and …

Liv stepped back. “I should … go.”

“Should you?” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remember the friends thing. “I thought we were going to see who could eat the most chicken wings and down the most beer.”

“Tempting. But Ravi’s in the morgue tonight so you have to get back and walk Minor.”

“I could do both.”

There was something about the mention of the dog that was cold water down his back, though. Little as he wanted to go home alone and face that room where he had spent so much miserable time in the last few months, he also didn’t want a casual conversation with Liv to lead down the road of where he’d gotten the dog or what he was doing working for Max Rager, both questions that so far hadn’t come up.

He smiled, squeezing her shoudler. “Good-night, Liv.”

“Good-night, Major.”

At least tonight when he drove home alone, he knew he would be seeing her again soon, which was more than he had known for a long time. That was something. For now, it was enough.

Chapter 26: The Man I Really Am

Major sat, sipping coffee, wishing he could enjoy the pleasant night and the peace he felt. But no. Because across the restaurant, finishing his own coffee while he read the paper, sat a zombie. And Major had to kill him, because freaking Max Rager had him over a barrel. As much as he was glad to have Liv back in his life, glad to have her weird coach brain tough love help him turn his life around and get himself back on track, he hated this part. He didn’t want to be the zombie stalker of Seattle.

But there was nothing for it. Vaughn du Clark wouldn’t hesitate to act on his threats if Major didn’t start dealing with the zombies on the list. He put his cup down and got up, making his way across the room.

He asked the zombie for part of the paper he was reading, picking it up and watching the hairs rise on his arm from the proximity. It was weird, spending so much time with Liv recently, he had come to feel this as a familiar sensation rather than a sign of danger, which made it even harder to see this man as someone he was supposed to take care of. But as he walked away, resigning himself to what he had to do, a woman and a little boy came past him, the little boy shouting out “Daddy!” as he ran toward the zombie.

Watching the zombie lift his child in his arms, Major made a decision. There could not be any more killing. These were people, men and women who were suffering from something they didn’t ask for. He was not going to be responsible for taking their lives. On the other hand … if he didn’t take them out of circulation, Vaughn du Clark would. And he would start with Liv.

So if he couldn’t kill them, could he talk them into disappearing? No, they would never go for that. They wouldn’t want to leave their lives and families behind, they couldn’t hide well enough to evade Max Rager’s long arms entirely. It just wouldn’t work.

He shook his head impatiently, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked along. It was getting chillier out as the fog set in. Later tonight he was sure it would be freezing …

Then it came to him. The freezer where Blaine had held him. Those kids from the shelter had been there, too—some of them de-brained, but others just … waiting to be thawed out. If you could freeze a zombie, then in theory, he could kidnap them and stick them in freezers. Keep the freezers in storage units scattered around town, rented in someone else’s name, until he figured out how to deal with Max Rager and Vaughn du Clark? It was worth a try, anyway, and far, far better than what he had been doing.

God, he almost felt like himself again. It felt good. He didn’t want to lose it. Never again.

The next day, he caught up with Rita in her office, handing her the list he had doctored. “Checked off eight potentials this week. None were zombies.” He didn’t expect that to hold her, or du Clark, off for too long, but all he needed was to buy himself a little time in order to get the freezer plan in motion.

Rita flipped through the pages. “You’re sure? None?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. He thought she was going to take this next part okay—they had never pretended any emotional entanglement—but you could never be sure how “I don’t want to sleep with you anymore” would go over. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to mix business with … whatever we were doing.”

She looked at him, her face unreadable, and gave a little nod. “We’ll play it by ear.”

Taking the papers, she took the seat behind her desk, tapping keys on her laptop. Major stood there a moment, having expected more … sarcasm, if nothing else, then turned and left the room, glad to have escaped a scene.

Rita’s voice followed him out into the hallway, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m not sure Vaughn explained to you the full extent of how our list is generated. There are statistical probabilities attached to each of the potential zombies we’ve given you. And the likelihood of these eight names all coming back negative is … low.” She looked up at him, and Major could see he wasn’t fooling her. Well, he hadn’t really expected to, not for long. All he needed was a few days to figure out exactly how to make the freezers work.

He smiled. “Never tell me the odds.”

Leaving the building, he thought it likely that Rita had no idea where that line had come from. Too bad—she was a smart, beautiful, capable woman. A little less evil and she’d be very good for someone. But not for Major. She never had been good for him.

Liv was, though. Having her back in his life was better by far than any high he had ever gotten from Utopium. He remembered the look the kid from Helton had given him, and shuddered. There was no way to be Major Lilywhite, to be Liv’s Major, and take that stuff. He should never have started. Going home, he dug out the last vial he had. No question, he craved it. The oblivion, the rush, the sensation of flipping off the world by actively screwing up his life that way … there was a temptation in all of it. But compared to the way Liv had looked at him when they were coaching those kids on the basketball court? Utopium was and always would be a distant second.

He could give up the Utopium, but there was no way he could give up Liv again. Not ever. She was what made him who he was. He loved her, more than he had known before that damned boat party, more than he could have imagined. And he wanted her back not just in his life, not just as his friend, but as his love, his partner, his … everything.

Major dropped the vial in the toilet and flushed it down, breathing a sigh of relief when it was gone and no longer even a possibility.

Then he did a few things that had fallen off his personal hygiene list lately—he shaved, and he put on cologne, and he gave some attention to his nose hairs and his eyebrows. Liv was coming over tonight, and he wanted to be her Major, top to bottom.

Downstairs, he found Liv crouched in front of Minor, ruffling the dog’s ears. He hadn’t known Liv was an animal lover. She’d always been so busy, so driven, when they were together. Maybe there were some hidden bonuses in this zombie thing after all, he thought, watching her. God, how he loved her.

Looking up, she saw him and her face lit up. “Hey! Sorry, I knocked, but no one answered, and this guy was talkin’ trash so I had to let myself in and show him who’s boss.” She came toward him, the smile widening on her face, as if she was as happy to be with him as he was to be with her. Reaching a hand up, she stroked his cheek. “There’s the Major I remember.” She reached into her purse, digging around for her keys.

“Are you leaving?”

“No. We’re just … going to get a bite? Pizza, maybe? What do you feel like?”

The words tumbled out. Not the way he had practiced, but he couldn’t hold it in, not standing here in front of her like this, so close. “Liv, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

She froze, looking alarmed. “Do what?”

“Pretend I’m okay just being your friend. I want more. I want us to be together again.”

Her eyes searched his, and he could practically see her thoughts written on her face, the worry about being a zombie and what that would mean, the fears of whether they were still the same people and if they could be to each other what they had once been. “Major, nothing’s changed,” she said at last. “I still—“

He couldn’t let her finish, putting up more obstacles between them. “I know all the risks, and all the reasons it can’t work, but I don’t care. I’m a better man with you in my life. Do you want to give it another shot?”

“Major …”

“Liv. Please.”

“But—“

He put his fingers over her lips. He couldn’t let her say no. She loved him, he could see it in her face. “I know what I’m asking. I really do. And we can be as careful as you want, take … things as slowly as you want. As long as I’m with you, that’s what matters.”

“Major.” The word came out in a faint whisper as she stretched up toward him and he leaned down toward her. And then she was kissing him and all was right with the world.

Chapter 27: How Happy I Can Be

Major woke to the sun streaming in through the windows and the crushing weight of another day ahead. He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, wishing to hold on to the dream he’d been having just a little longer. But then a very real body shifted next to him, a very real mouth kissed his chest, and a very real, very loved voice said, “Well, look who’s awake.”

He opened his eyes. “The Stay-Puft marshmallow man?”

Liv ran her fingertips lightly over his chest. “No marshmallows here. Try again.”

It was hard to think of any properly entertaining quips while she was stroking and kissing him. Major had trained for this moment once upon a time, but it had been a while. “Mr. Clean.”

“Really? That’s too bad. I was hoping for something a little more … dirty.” She licked the line of his ribs and Major drew in his breath sharply.

“Liv!”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s me.” She straddled his thighs, looking down at each other. “Looks like me. Don’t you think?” She grinned down at him.

Major was looking. Oh, yes. Being a zombie had paled her skin, but it was still smooth and soft, and if anything, she was more muscular than he remembered. He reached out, cupping her breasts. “There is evidence to suggest it’s you, but I think we need to do a few more tests.” He sat up, taking a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it. Liv sighed, letting her head fall back, her hands tangling in his hair as he moved his mouth to the other breast.

“Major.”

“God, I missed you,” he whispered, kissing his way up her chest to her collarbone and her neck and finding her mouth at last. Reflexively, he worried about morning breath, but he didn’t care, and from the abandon in her kiss, it was clear she didn’t, either.

Both of them had kept their underwear on last night, avoiding any potential exchanges of bodily fluids beyond saliva, and now the layers of cloth added to the friction as Liv’s hips rocked back and forth and she rubbed against him. He put his hands on her thighs, pulling her down more firmly against him.

But Liv pulled away. “Too close!”

Major wanted to protest, but he also didn’t want to become a zombie. Instead, he rolled over, leaning on one elbow while his free hand slid between her legs, stroking her through the fabric of her panties. “Better?” He kissed her just under the ear.

“Better, yes,” Liv gasped. She reached for him, thought better of it, and dug her fingers into the sheets below her instead, twisting and writhing and pressing against his fingers as he kissed and stroked her, keeping the barrier of the fabric between his fingers and her bare skin. He wanted to touch her, wanted to bury himself inside her and truly be one with her, but she wasn’t ready to take any chances, and he was happy enough to have her back in his life, his bed, and his arms that he wasn’t complaining just yet.

At last, Liv cried out, gripping the sheets more tightly as her body tensed and shook with her pleasure.

She opened her eyes, smiling up at him. “I can’t think of a better way to wake up.”

“Me, neither.”

“My turn,” she whispered, turning to her side so she could reach down between them. Since she didn’t have to worry about catching anything from him, she could touch him properly, and Major moaned and held her more tightly as she demonstrated again that she hadn’t forgotten anything he liked. Between her touch and the sheer intoxication of being with her, it didn’t take him long to get there, and then he held her there beneath him, feeling his heart pounding in the best possible way.

Liv leaned back into the pillows, her cool, slender fingers stroking his hair and his cheek and his neck and his chest, her eyes hazy and happy just like he remembered from before, and things might have gone to a second round if Major’s stomach hadn’t loudly reminded him that last night’s pizza had been a long time ago.

“You appear to be hiding a velociraptor in the closet.”

“Man, and I was saving him for a special occasion.” Major kissed her shoulder, and her cheek, and her nose, then bounced out of bed. “What can I say, I worked up an appetite. You want anything?”

“I’ll come down in a minute.”

He turned to look at her while he pulled on a pair of pants. “You know Ravi and Peyton will be down there, right? You ready to go public with this?”

“You kidding? I have all this lost bragging time to make up for.”

“Well, if you must. I am quite the catch.” He hadn’t been, not for a long time, but this morning he felt like maybe he could be again. Major grabbed a T-shirt and gave Liv a last grin, just in case this all really did turn out to be a dream, before leaving the room.

A delectable smell was coming from the kitchen. “Eggs!” He helped himself, straight off the spatula, making appreciative noises. Both Ravi and Peyton were fair cooks, but it wouldn’t have mattered this morning. Burnt, runny, Easter … any kind of eggs would have tasted good. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the music, bopping to the beat. Then he grabbed an apple, rolling it down his arm and tossing it up in the air before he slid into the seat opposite Peyton and Ravi and looked down at the crispy bacon with lustful eyes. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

“Body-snatchers?” Peyton asked, frowning at him.

Major grinned as footsteps were heard in the hallway upstairs, heart pounding in anticipation of what was to come.

Ravi eyed him suspiciously. “If that’s Rihanna coming downstairs, it would explain so much.”

It was hard to argue with that one, although Major doubted if he could possibly have been as happy to see Rihanna as he was to see Liv walk into the kitchen wearing only his shirt. “Hey, everyone!”

He got up, going to her and kissing her. He hadn’t even had a chance at the bacon or the coffee yet, but Liv tasted better than both.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Peyton said. “Is this happening?”

Liv’s smile was the biggest, happiest smile he had seen on her since before that damned boat party. “It’s happening,” she confirmed, resting her head against his chest.

Major put his arms around her and held her close.

“Well, about damn time.” Peyton was looking at them like they were Peaches and Herb—reunited and it felt so good.

Ravi was staring at them in what looked like horror. “It won’t always be this nauseating, right?”

“Suffer, bitch,” Major whispered at him before turning to Liv for another kiss.

Liv took his hand and led him back to the table, sliding in and grabbing a slice of bacon. “We make Mickey and Minnie look like the Bickersons.”

“Lovely. And this …” Ravi waved his hand in Liv’s general direction. “Smiley, happy, coupley thing is going to be happening at work, too?”

“Oh, I think so.” Liv took another piece of bacon.

“Wonderful. Look up from an open corpse and see that. Won’t be at all disconcerting.”

“Aw, can the big bad medical examiner not handle a little sunshine in the darkness of his life?” Major asked over his coffee cup, laughing at the look Ravi shot him, then snagged Liv’s third piece of bacon out of her hand and ate it.

Ravi looked at Peyton. “It goes away eventually, right?”

Peyton made a face, shaking her head. “No. They’re a constant sugar high. Voted Most Perfect Couple by the sorority three years running. They had T-shirts made.”

“Sometimes we wore them.” Major winked at Ravi, who made gagging sounds.

“Ooh, I think I still have mine. Maybe I’ll wear it to work,” Liv said brightly.

“Maybe I’ll fire you.”

“You would never. Where would you get a more interesting assistant?”

He frowned. “Point.”

“It’s kind of nice, actually,” Peyton said, watching them fondly across the table as Major ate the piece of bacon Liv was holding out to him, kissing her knuckles when he got to them. “Like the world is right again.”

“I suppose it is, at that,” Ravi agreed. “But stop hogging the bacon!”

Chapter 28: Welcome to Your Life

This was just the way it should be. Walking with Liv, talking with Liv, hearing about her day and all the gross medical details of it that used to make him secretly sick and now were just … part of life these days, telling her about his day. He’d always had to edit a fair amount in order to avoid breaking the confidences of the boys, so that was nothing new, either. As long as he avoided mentioning anything about Max Rager, he should be fine.

They would be fine. He knew that now, and a smile spread across his face.

“What’s that smile for, Mister?”

“Just thinking about this girl I met. She was … well, I think I may be smitten.”

“That better be the Starbucks mermaid you’re talking about, or I’m going to have to fight her.”

He laughed and tugged her closer. “The way you’re going after that ice cream, I may need to fight it.”

Liv glanced at the cone. “I think it could take you. This is some serious vanilla.”

“Come on, vanilla’s not a serious flavor. It’s the flavor that takes the place of all the other flavors.”

“Right … when they run away. Duh. Vanilla’s tough. Besides, you’re eating vanilla, too.” She looked over at someone who was waving at her, and lifted her hand to wave back just as Major recognized the man as her partner, Clive.

“Oh, no.” Clive was still after Major for more details about the Meat Cute situation, and no one wanted that. “Abort. Just turn around.”

“I’m already waving. That would be incredibly weird. Nut up.” As they approached the bench, Clive and the pretty blonde woman he was with stood up. “Hey, you!” Liv said brightly. “Didn’t know you existed outside the station. I thought you were just put back inside your Detective Clive box. Pull his string and he says, ‘Ms. Moore. Please!’”

Everyone laughed awkwardly.

Clive looked between the two of them and then at the blonde. “Liv, Major, this is Agent Bozzio from the FBI.”

Major went cold. He might as well have been made of vanilla ice cream, for the chill that went through him. What was Clive doing having dinner with the FBI?

“Dale,” Agent Bozzio clarified. She looked at Liv. “It’s nice to get a name. In my head you’ve been ‘girl from the morgue who somehow makes goth work’.”

“That is her Native American name.” Major gestured to himself with the ice cream hand. It was melting; he still felt frozen. “Hi, I’m ‘barely employed arm candy’.” But he couldn’t keep her from knowing his name, he realized, belatedly remembering that Clive had just said it anyway. He reached out his non-ice cream hand. “No, I’m Major.”

Bozzio gave him a quick look-over. “You certainly are.”

It was nice to be appreciated. It was even nicer to see the faint lift of Liv’s chin out of the corner of his eye. He loved jealous Liv. She was feisty.

“So, the FBI sent you to Seattle?” Liv asked Bozzio. “How are you finding it?” Clive was trying to throw out a napkin, but it was sticking to his fingers. Liv stared at him for a moment. “Ten bucks says you miss.”

Ah, the gambler brain. He’d have to see how he could make that work for him later.

“What, from here?” Clive frowned. “I’m automatic at this distance.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, then.” Liv grinned as Clive crumpled the napkin, ready to object. “Now you’re thinking about it. I’m in your head.”

“All right, seriously. Ten bucks.”

Liv grinned at Bozzio. “That is the sound of a man’s sphincter shrinking.”

“Well, it’s your money,” Clive said, and made the shot easily. Left-handed, Major noted, wondering if the detective was a lefty or just a good shot. Maybe he could use some help coaching the kids’ team. They could get close, cozy up, Major could find out more about the Meat Cute situation … Major could let slip something about Vaughn du Clark and the missing zombies, Clive could recognize Minor … No, not a good idea at all, then. Clive grinned at Liv. “Pay up.”

“What? I just made you look good in front of your date. You should be paying me.”

Clive gestured wildly around, loudly disclaiming the possibility of this being a date, while Bozzio gave Liv an admiring look. Because she’d ducked out on paying the bet, or because she’d broken the news to Clive that Bozzio was into him, Major wondered. Or maybe both.

Bozzio looked at Clive, mock serious, as he denied being on a date. “It’s not? Why did I pay, then? You’re saying that I’m not … getting any, or …?”

If Clive could have turned twelve shades of red, he would have. Major couldn’t help enjoying the moment. He thought, if she wasn’t FBI and didn’t represent all sorts of problems, he might like this Bozzio.

Recovering, Clive carried war into the enemy’s camp. He gestured at Major. “It’s good to see you two together. Last I heard, you were broken up.”

Major moved protectively closer to Liv, putting his arm around her. “And now we’re not.” He and Clive looked at each other, each completely aware that there was unfinished business between them.

Liv, either oblivious or doing a good job pretending, leaned into Major’s shoulder and smiled. “Seems like romance is in the air.”

Clive glanced at Bozzio, who was still amused by the whole thing, but let the rest of it go.

“Nice to meet you,” Liv said, with some finality, and she and Major turned to go.

Once they were out of earshot, Major sighed. “He’s not gonna let the Meat Cute thing go. He’s got the FBI involved now?”

But Liv shook her head. “No, that’s not why she’s here.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, good.”

But any relief Major may have felt was short-lived, killed to death by Liv’s next words. “No, she’s looking into all those abduction cases.”

“Abduction cases?” he said instantly, pretending not to know what she meant.

“All those rich guys that keep disappearing. It’s all over the news. The Feds think it’s some Manson-y ‘kill the rich’ nut.”

Major glanced back at Bozzio, sorry now that he had liked her. Sorrier still that she seemed so sharp.

“Anyway …” Liv tucked her arm through his. “What do you say we go back to my place and bet on some football.”

The last thing he felt like right now was having fun. But if he let the news that the FBI was coming for him get him down, Liv would notice, and eventually she would put two and two together. He forced a smile. “I can’t tell whether I find these brains disturbing or I kind of love them.”

“Well, in case there’s any question, all my brains kind of love you.”

Major kissed the top of her head. “That’s good to know.”

Chapter 29: On You, I See the Glory

Major’s phone beeped in mid-session with a client. A legit client, for a change, not Vaughn du Clark. Major could do without more time spent in the Max Rager offices right now. He still had to get back to the suspected zombie list, a task he had been pleasantly distracted from by reconciling with Liv.

Peeping at the caller ID, he couldn’t help grinning when he saw her name. He had never expected to be back together, or to be this happy, again, and now that he had it, he wanted to bask in every moment.

As soon as he was done with his client, he called her back. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Liv laughed. God, he loved to hear her laugh. “You’re as corny as Kansas in August, that’s what’s up.”

“Guilty as charged. Anything else?”

“Yeah, some potentially not so sunshiny news. Hang on.” There was a pause and a click as she presumably went somewhere private and shut the door. “Ravi thinks we shouldn’t have sex.”

“He’s that weirded out about passing you half-naked in the hallway? Wait—just at my place, or at all?”

“At all. He’s really concerned about the transfer of certain … things, and wants to run tests.”

“Ouch. I mean, on the one hand, I like that he has my best interests so at heart, but on the other … blocked by a tall, handsome Brit? Should I be concerned?”

“I love that you’re taking this so well,” Liv answered. “And, I know you’re not serious, but for the record, you’re all the tall and handsome I need, thanks.”

It was good to hear. Not that he’d ever been seriously concerned about her relationship with Ravi, but he couldn’t help the occasional dark thought in the dead of night. Speaking of … “You know, just because one menu is out doesn’t mean we can’t switch restaurants.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm. There’s something I always wanted to try, anyway. How do you feel about Skype?”

So they set up the date. Liv had a glass of wine in her hand when the call connected.

“Getting fortified? Kinda hurts my manly feelings that you need to be boozed up,” he told her.

“It does not. Besides, it’s not you I need to be boozed up for, it’s this thing.” She tapped the screen.

“Technology can be scary, but it can also be your friend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Monitor. Trying out for a children’s show?”

He laughed. “I don’t think what we’re about to do is for children.”

“No, but I’m hoping it’ll be quite the show.” She grinned at him wickedly, and he was glad to see her starting to get into the spirit of the thing.

“When do you want to get started?”

She drained the glass, refilled it, then toasted him with it. “Okay. Two glasses of wine. I think I’m ready.”

“It doesn’t get any safer than this.”

“We could just wait until Ravi finishes his research.”

“Nope. It’s on.”

“High card strips,” Liv said. “Draw.” He took a card off the deck in front of him and looked at it. “What did you get?” she asked.

“A two,” he bluffed.

“Liar. Show your card, Lilywhite.”

Reluctantly, he flipped the card over and showed her the nine. Liv drew, glanced at the card, and turned it around to him with a smile. It was a seven.

“Read ‘em and weep.”

He groaned with mock disappointment, then reached for the collar of his shirt, starting to pull it off over his head.

“Slow down, now, make it a show,” Liv said.

“Hey, don’t you dare make me feel cheap.”

“Come on, everyone knows this is how you put yourself through college.”

Major grinned, yanking the shirt off over his head. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but he’d been nervous about this, too, as much as it had been his idea and a long-time fantasy. But stripping for Liv now, anticipating her reaction to seeing him naked—always good for his ego—was even more of a turn-on than he had imagined it might be. He tossed the shirt off over his shoulder and leaned toward the screen. “Hey, how about a face card means you provide a little dirty talk?”

“We’ll see.” Liv had never been one for a lot of excess words in bed. She lifted the bottle of wine. “I may need to finish this bottle first.” Putting the wine down, she reached for her deck of cards.

“Wait. Let’s show each other at once. Build some drama.”

“All right.” She held the deck in front of her. “Three. Two. One.” They flipped their cards, showing each other, then glanced at their own. Liv had a four, Major a king.

“Well, luckily, I’m wearing four pairs of socks.”

“No, sir. Full monty. Gimme the goods.”

“All right.” He stood up and stripped off his boxers, showing her the little surprise he’d picked up.

Liv frowned at the screen. “What? A G-string? Uncool.”

“I play to win.” He sat back down—a little gingerly. The G-string had been tight when he put it on, and now, half-hard with anticipation as he was, it was fairly constrictive. “Now, draw, lady. Three. Two. One.” This time he had a seven and Liv had a queen. “Oh, yeah.” He folded his arms, waiting for the show.

Slowly, a little hesitantly, Liv pulled off her shirt, showing him everything that lay under it—no bra. God, she was so beautiful.

“All right. That did the trick for me.” Major grinned at her through the screen. “’Night.”

Liv laughed. “Chicken.”

“Oh, now, what kind of dirty talk is that?”

“I’m sorry, here I am showing you the girls in all their glory and you want dirty talk, too? Let’s see what you have first.”

He flexed, letting her see all the carefully defined muscles of his chest. “I think I went bare-chested first, if memory serves. Let’s see what else you have on.”

“Fine.” She stood up, showing him the toned muscles of her stomach, and unsnapped her jeans, shimmying out of them. New underwear, lacy and black.

“Damn, woman.” Major adjusted himself. “I think I’m going to have to move to the bed. Care to join me?”

“Oh, yeah.”

There was a pause in the action while they each got set up. By mutual agreement, they weren’t going to go the full full monty onscreen, but looking at her firm, soft breasts was arousing enough. Major shifted enough to pull off the constricting G-string. “Will you—will you touch them for me? You know, the way I like to.”

Hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as it felt good, Liv cupped and stroked her breasts.

“Then … with your thumbs. Oh, yeah.” He sighed with her as she rubbed her thumbs across her nipples. One hand drifted down over his stomach to stroke himself lightly in time with her movements.

“I wish you were here,” Liv said softly.

He refused to get drawn into regret over the situation. “Pretend I am. What would you do?”

“Kiss you.”

“And then?” Her mouth was shaped like a kiss right now, her eyes half-closed, as she massaged her breasts and imagined him with her.

“Kiss your neck, and run my hands across your chest.”

“Like this?” He slowly drew his free hand down across his chest and over his stomach.

“Yeah, like that.” Liv mimicked the movement, and he could see the moment her hand moved between her legs in the way she threw her head back.

“You’re so beautiful. Are you doing it the way I do?”

“Mm-hm.” She nodded, breathless. “And you?”

“I can feel your hands on me, Liv, your mouth. I love the way you touch me.”

“I love touching you. Oh, Major.”

The conversation devolved from there, gasps and muttered words and caught breaths and moans as they watched each other, the sight of one another’s pleasure so good after such a long time.

When it was over, they lay panting, coming down from the high, for a little while before each shifting and sitting up in bed, smiling through the screen. Despite the distance and the technology between them, it had been surprisingly intimate. Not as good as the real thing, but better than anything he had had with anyone else.

“Thanks for playing along,” Liv said softly.

Major thought about pointing out that this particular coping mechanism had been his idea, but he knew what she really meant. “It was fun.”

“It was. I know it’s not the same as—“

“That’s okay.” He smiled, remembering her, before. “You remember the last time?”

“You mean, the last time we—“ She smiled, too.

“That is what I mean.”

“Yeah. Laundry room, your apartment building. We’d fought earlier about how many of your teammates would get invitations to the wedding.”

“Make-up sex. Good stuff.” They smiled at each other. “Just a couple more days.”

“A couple more days.”

Major could see in Liv’s face that she wasn’t as sure as he was—but someone had to think positively, and that had always been his role in their relationship. “I love you, Liv.”

“I love you, too.”

The screen went dark, and Major set his laptop aside, sliding down under the covers. He might not be with her in the traditional sense, but they were a team again, and that was what counted. He went to sleep thinking of other ways around the physical stumbling block.

Chapter 30: Love Is All that I Need

“All right. We’re going to watch this whole movie and keep our hands completely to ourselves,” Liv said with determination.

“Right. Absolutely. No hands.” Without thinking, Major reached out and took Liv’s hand in his, their fingers weaving together. Absently he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, smiling when she shivered. He loved making her shiver.

“Hey! No hands.” She yanked hers back, leaning against the back of the couch and crossing her arms over her chest.

Major picked up the remote to start the movie. What movie? Who knew. “Of course. No hands.” It was impossible not to touch her. She was so beautiful, and she smelled so good, and he ached for her. He was hard just sitting here next to her, her leg so close to his. He moved a little closer, sliding his thigh against hers.

Liv shivered again. “Major.”

“What? I got the message. No hands.” He shifted a little closer, so that he could lean over and kiss her neck. “See, no hands needed.”

“Stop that.” But her voice was breathless and soft, and her head was tilting to the side, her eyes closing.

“You sure that’s what you want?”

“We have to wait for Ravi to finish his testing.”

“It’ll be fine.” Not using his hands was difficult; he settled for trying to undo the top button of Liv’s shirt with his teeth.

“You’re too much of an optimist.” But even as she said it, she was moving, straddling his lap, breaking her own no hands rule by reaching for the bottom of his shirt and tugging it off over his head.

“It’s irresistible, right? My cheery whistle and constantly positive outlook?”

“It’s annoying. Shut up.”

Easily done, when she was kissing him like this, like it was the only thing on her to-do list, her hands restless on his bare shoulders.

Since the no-fingers rule had been lifted, Major started in on the buttons of her shirt, making better progress this time.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Liv protested.

“No.” But he kept at the buttons.

“Well, maybe just a little.” She kissed him again, her body moving against his, warm and soft and perfect. Breaking the kiss, she said breathlessly, “Did you know condoms have a 98% success rate?”

Major pushed the shirt off her shoulders. “I have heard that stat somewhere.”

Another kiss, the urgency rising. “You gotta like those odds.”

Somewhere in the fog of his brain, he realized what she was saying, what she was suggesting—and what it could mean for him. Was he willing to risk becoming a zombie just to relieve the ache he felt here in her arms? Take the risk that a condom would be enough to stop the virus, potentially wake up tied to a diet of human brains the rest of his life?

Liv must have sensed the hesitation in him. “No pressure.”

“Let’s … stick to the safe stuff for now. Let Ravi finish his tests.”

“Absolutely.” She got off his lap, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go do some wickedly safe stuff.”

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

On the way to the bedroom, they resumed the kissing, pieces of clothing falling to the floor—all but the final two. They fell to the bed, hands moving, very carefully, stroking and touching even as their kisses became more feverish.

They were lying together, not entirely satiated, but certainly happy, when they heard Ravi’s frantic voice outside the door. “Stop what you’re doing! I’m coming in!”

Hastily they arranged the covers over their bodies, shouting out “Wait” “What” and “Whoa” even as the door opened.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, knocking!” Major called as Ravi entered the room, one hand clasped firmly over his eyes. “In this house we use knocking.”

Still with his hand over his eyes, Ravi asked, “Are you decent?”

“Decent enough.”

At Liv’s words, Ravi shifted his fingers so he could peek at them. Then he took his hand down. “Tell me you haven’t had sex yet.”

“Seems like a question you could have asked outside the door!”

“Have you?”

“No!” Liv shouted.

“Oh.” Ravi’s relief was palpable. “That is very, very good news.”

Liv sighed, her disappointment as sharp as Ravi’s relief.

“Zombie virus is a hundredth the size of a typical virus,” Ravi explained. “I tested every brand of condom, every material. One hundred and two samples. Zombie virus went through all of them. If you have sex, Major will become a zombie.”

It was what he had expected, Major realized. Somehow he had known that damned boat party was going to keep coming between them, that it wasn’t going to be just like before only without the chance of having babies until Liv was cured. No, it couldn’t have been that easy.

“That is not a risk,” Ravi finished, putting the final nail in the coffin. “That’s a certainty.”

Neither Major nor Liv said anything, neither one of them sure what to say.

Ravi went on, “Look, someday I’ll cure it. I will. But until then … I’m sorry.” He genuinely was, you could hear it in his voice. Major would have liked to be angry with Ravi for being the bearer of bad tidings, but how could you be mad at a man who worked that hard trying to get you laid?

“Thanks, Ravi,” Liv said softly. “Really.”

Major looked down at her, so beautiful, even pale and zombified as she was. He wanted a normal life with her—but the question was, could he live with having her and knowing that ‘normal’ was out of their reach for an indeterminate amount of time?

Ravi left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and Major and Liv looked at each other.

She was worth it, Major told himself. “There’s other stuff,” he offered. “The other night was fun.” He reached for her hand, holding it reassuringly, glad to see her smile, even a little.

“It was.”

“So we get creative.”

“We’re creative people. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah. This isn’t it for us.”

“It’s not.” Liv rubbed her thumb across the back of his knuckles. “So … what are you doing later? Want to catch a G-rated movie?”

Major didn’t bother to point out that was what they had been trying to do before they ended up mostly naked in bed. And he had plans for later tonight anyway—trying out his new scheme to get around Vaughn du Clark. He wished he could tell Liv what was going on, but the less she knew, the safer it was for her. “I’ve got work. Late-night training sessions. But tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Great.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Foot rub?”

“Yes! Wait—was that an offer or a request?”

Liv shrugged, grinning. “Both?”

“Great. Me first.”

“Of course.”

Chapter 31: On the Other Side

It was almost too easy by now. Stalking the prey, feeling the tingle on his skin, the hair rising along his arms as he got close, waiting until they were alone and pulling out the injector. This guy was older, short and skinny, so that helped. It was easy for Major to lift him, laying him out on the couch while he carefully prepped the scene, trying to make it look like a robbery as well as a kidnapping, spray painting the walls with anything he could think of. Anything to make it look like this was a vicious, violent attack rather than a precision strike carried out for a specific reason. He didn’t even know this guy—maybe someone did have a reason. But Major didn’t want to see some random relative’s life ruined by suspicion any more than he wanted to actually have to kill this rich old zombie, so he made things seem as generic and as much like the random violence of the modern age had invaded the man’s house as he could.

He tossed the body in the trunk alongside the filled garbage bag he had already prepared, and drove a circuitous route to the storage facility. He was pretty sure Max Rager wasn’t following him, so it was probably an excess of caution. On the other hand, they were probably tracking him electronically, either by his phone or by a bug in his car, so maybe he wasn’t being cautious enough. He had tried this before a couple of times, and so far neither Rita nor Vaughn du Clark had said anything to him. And what would they say? Slap his hand and tell him to get the zombies out of the freezer and kill them? At least he would have bought some time.

It had been a long time, hours, at least, of driving, before Major reached the bridge he had done his dumping from before. If they were watching for him, it would be here, he reasoned. On the radio, the news announcer described the scene they had found, the chaos and the graffiti. Apparently the police actually did suspect some kind of anti-corporate group of having done it. One step of the plan successfully carried out, at least, he thought, lifting the lid of the trunk and lifting out the garbage bag. He had been careful to weight it down so it would fall as heavily over his shoulder as if the body were really in it, and he placed it on the ground by the railing and shot it in the head before hefting it over the bridge just as he had the others. Just as if the real zombie wasn’t fast asleep in the trunk next to the cans of spray paint and the empty space where the garbage bag had been.

He watched until the garbage bag disappeared into the water, relieved when it did so. He had been afraid it would float.

For a moment, Major stood there, holding on to the bridge rail. Was this his life? Kidnapping zombies and making it look like they were murdered before he went home and didn’t sleep with the zombie he loved? How had he gotten here?

And would he get away with it? The very real threat to Liv’s safety was never far from his mind. If du Clark hurt her …

But that was why he was doing this, so Liv would be safe, he reminded himself. He got into the car and drove off, another long way around, taking back roads and narrow neighborhood streets until he was sure no one was following him, until he figured anyone tracking the moves of his car would be bored and not bother to look too closely at his eventual destination.

Pulling up in front of the storage unit he had rented, he left the car’s lights on so he could see what he was doing, and lifted the body out of the trunk, carrying it over his shoulder inside the building. The room was full of mannequins, having been rented previously by a football buddy of Major’s who had tried to start up his own sportswear line and lost his shirt. Major had taken the rental of the storage unit off the guy’s hands on the condition that it stayed in his name, letting his former teammate believe Major was hiding wedding presents that he couldn’t bear to get rid of but couldn’t stand looking at, either. They had parted with the mutual satisfaction of being able to pity the other person for a fool. Always a day-brightener, that feeling.

In the back of the storage unit was a chest freezer, chosen by Major for its sturdiness and size. He lifted the lid and hefted the body into it, on top of the other two. He looked at them for a moment, wondering if they dreamed in their frozen state or if they had no consciousness at all. Not too long ago, he would have given anything to have no consciousness. But now … now he had Liv back again. And if this was the price of keeping her—he would pay it, and gladly.

Chapter 32: Keep You Here with Me

Major rolled onto his back with a sigh of satisfaction. Getting creative had been more entertaining—and more satisfying—than he had imagined possible. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Liv was adventurous and up for anything … even more than she had been before, which was saying something. There was a freedom in her now that hadn’t been there when she was human. She was no longer watching the clock obsessively, calculating the minutes until her next shift, determining whether there was time for a Pilates class beforehand. It was easy to forget just how tightly wound she had been, and he vowed to appreciate this new more laid-back Liv for just who she was.

Next to him, Liv giggled, and he couldn’t help laughing with her. “Whoo. That was … pretty good.”

“Yeah.”

“It was almost as good as sex. The difference between a turkey burger and a hamburger.”

“When I was thirteen, I would have killed to do what we just did,” Major told her. He twined his fingers with hers, stroking her pale skin. “You and I are gonna be fine.”

Liv rolled over, tucking one hand under her head as her eyes searched his face, looking for his true feelings. “So you’re okay with it? Because if we’re gonna do this, we have to be totally honest with each other this time around.”

He smiled. “Of course I want to sex you up, girl. You’re very attractive, and I very much have a penis.” Liv smiled, stroking his arm, and took his hand again as he assured her, “But just being with you’s enough. Honestly.” He really couldn’t imagine being without her, ever again. Look at what a mess his life had been, he had been, without her. He wasn’t going back to being that guy. He was going to stay Liv’s Major from now on, whatever it took.

Liv’s smile had faded, though, as she considered the rest of the ramifications. “But being with zombie me is different than being with old me. It’s not just no sex—when I eat someone’s brain, it sets up camp in me. It’s like I’m always Britney, but sometimes I’m ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ Britney and sometimes I’m shaved head smashing car windows Britney.”

Major rolled over to face her. “Real talk?” Liv gave a tiny nod. “I thought both of those Britneys were hot.”

She wasn’t amused.

“I’m kidding,” he said immediately, smiling. Sometimes going for the laugh worked, but other times she needed the real deep down truth. That, at least, hadn’t changed. “I know this is serious. But I just want you to know that I can hang with whatever you throw at me.”

Liv smiled, a wide, genuine smile, and leaned in to kiss him. She pulled back, anxiously. “You’re sure.”

“Positive.” Major pulled her on top of him, kissing her again. “Zombie Liv is worth putting up with a little crazy for. I’d rather be here with you than bonking anyone else in wild monkey sex.” He thought guiltily of Rita, and pushed the image away. No comparison. Forget turkey burgers and hamburgers—even apples and oranges were too close.

“Ew. And thanks, I think.” Liv closed her eyes and sighed as he found just the right spot on her neck.

“Besides,” he murmured against her skin, “it wasn’t always a party in there before. What with the schedules and the color-coding …”

“Hey.” She reached for the pillow and smacked him with it while he held up his hands, laughing, to fend off the attack. “You know, you weren’t always available either. Football practice, soccer practice, ‘me time at the gym’ … it’s a wonder you got any work in while you were sculpting the golden bod here.”

Major arched into her touch as her hands wandered down his ribcage. “I didn’t notice you complaining.”

“Well, a girl does appreciate a well-toned set of abs.” She licked the area in question to prove her point. “Besides, what kind of a trophy husband would you have been if I couldn’t show you off to all my sleep-deprived, sex-starved fellow residents?”

“Good point. Now all you have to show me off to is Ravi.”

“And don’t think he doesn’t appreciate the show. Or envy it. One or the other.” Liv shifted herself intimately against him, erotic even through both layers of underwear, and grinned wickedly at his groan. “That doesn’t sound good. Should we do something about that?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” He moaned again when her hands found him, and for a long while neither of them had enough breath or concentration to do any more talking.

Chapter 33: You Decide What's Good

Major entered the kitchen to the sound of the blender, as Peyton made a smoothie. It was kind of like old times having her always around, and Liv in and out of his bed—and kind of like new times, too, with Ravi here. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

As Peyton shut down the blender, Ravi smiled at her in a “just-been-bested” kind of way, the two of them clearly in the middle of a conversation. “You’re the worst.”

Looking between the two of them, Major asked, “I miss something?”

“Just Peyton, showing no mercy to my neurosis about womankind.”

“Oh, okay, let’s get it all out in the open, manthing.” Peyton gestured with her empty glass, the full blender in the other hand. Major watched it with some trepidation. He’d seen what Peyton could do once she got into an animated conversation, and he didn’t relish trying to squeegee smoothie off the wood floor. Then Peyton carried war into his camp. “What about Liv?”

“Huh?” Major looked up, not having anticipated this line of questioning.

“She’s not glomming onto you, is she? Not ‘cramping your style’? Not being too needy?” The words were aimed at Ravi, but they didn’t describe Liv, regardless.

“No. It’s all good.” It sounded inadequate, so he added, “Real good,” then cringed, because that sounded like protesting too much. They were happy. So happy. Except for the lack of sex, and Liv’s mood swings, and Vaughn du Clark … Super happy. Better than not being together, so none of the rest of it mattered … or so he told himself.

Peyton stared at him, waiting.

And out it came. Here, where everyone knew about the special circumstances, here he could explain how hard it was, how he worried sometimes about whether they could keep this up. Right? “I mean … today she left me a voice mail about how drowning would be a beautiful way to die … but otherwise—you know—same old Liv.”

Peyton took a gulp of smoothie and Ravi winced, looking down at his hands. They knew what it was like. They lived with it. So did Liv, and it wasn’t as though she liked it, or chose it, and he was the one who had sent her to the damn boat party, and this was what life was now, so he might as well just get over it, shouldn’t he?

“Uh, yeah,” Ravi said into the silence. “She’s rolling hard on a death-obsessed magician. It’ll pass. She just needs to eat someone else’s brain.”

It was still startling to Major how calmly Ravi took all this. Sure, he had been the first to know about Liv’s new normal, and he understood it better than anyone else, but to hear him talk about eating brains as if it was everyday stuff … Major wasn’t sure he was ever going to get there.

“Is that all?” he asked, pointedly.

“Mm-hm.”

“Right.” He should let this go, just be okay with it all and be the Major Liv needed him to be. But here in this kitchen, where everyone knew, here he could ask, right? Here he could talk about it. “So, uh, question? Since the two of you have … really experienced Zombie Liv firsthand: How extreme can her personality swings get?” He thought he had seen some stuff in the past few weeks, but he wanted to know if it got worse. Actually, he didn’t want to know—but he needed to.

Peyton made a considering face, but didn’t answer.

Ravi said, “She can be a bit mercurial. But most of the time I enjoy the variety. Of course, I don’t have to date her.”

“There was the one time when her eyes turned red and she killed someone, but I’m thinkin’ that was probably a one-off,” Peyton offered. Ravi nodded over his coffee.

So this was what it had come to. From saving lives in surgery to taking them in her kitchen, and everyone else seemed able to accept it calmly. Of course, Peyton had left town for months, Major reminded himself. She’d had time to think, to consider, to come to terms.

“A one-off,” he repeated.

Ravi nodded again, but his face was a bit twisted, as though he didn’t entirely believe it was a one-off. Maybe he knew about other incidents. Maybe Major should ask about them.

Maybe Major didn’t want to know.

“That’s good,” he said, instead of asking.

Peyton put her glass down, and reached for his hand. “Hey. You’ll get through this. She’s still Liv, just … with hella PMS. All the time.”

“Every man’s dream.”

“It’s not forever,” Ravi told him. “I am going to find a cure. I won’t let her go on like this forever. I promise you that.”

“I know you won’t. I’m … very glad she stumbled into you.”

“Me, too,” Peyton said softly. “When I think of what her life was like after that boat party, and then there you were and you understood, and you helped her, and let her know she wasn’t alone … Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Ravi cleared his throat, uncomfortable with sincerity. “I … Not only is she my friend, she’s a fascinating test subject.”

“Just what every guy wants to hear his roommate say about his girlfriend. Seriously, do I have to check your room for saws?”

“No, but do keep an eye out for rats.”

Both Major and Peyton stared at him in alarm.

“Kidding! Kidding! The rats are all in the morgue.”

“Don’t tell me what they eat.” Peyton shuddered.

“They eat a very carefully balanced diet, thank you very much, none of it brains. Well … there was the time New Hope got out of her cage and ate all her fellow subjects, but …”

“One-off?” Major asked.

“One-off.”

“Right.”

Ravi got to his feet, carrying his coffee cup to the sink. “Look, Major, hang in there.”

“I will. She’s … she’s worth it.”

“Damn right she is,” Peyton echoed.

“Thanks, guys.” Major wasn’t sure he felt better—but he wasn’t alone, and that counted for a lot.

Chapter 34: Here As I Am

Liv opened the door to Major’s knock, looking somber. “Good evening.”

“’Good evening’? I thought that was a vampire thing, not a zombie thing.” Major carried his takeout bags into the apartment, frowning. “Hey, if zombies are a thing, then does that mean vampires and werewolves are on the table, too? Because I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder every full moon waiting to see if Ravi grows a lot more facial hair.”

“Creatures of the night are all around us, as are the shades of the departed.”

“Lucky us. Hey, you want a quesadilla?”

Liv wandered toward the living room, taking a seat on the couch and studying the roses Major had brought her a few days ago, gazing intently at one that was drooping. “This flower had color and good bloom once. And yet death, blind to the beauty of all living things, even one as vibrant as this, has swept over it, wrenching it closer to the ground, until ....” She reached out and touched the curling petals, plucking one. “It breaks.”

Major frowned, wondering if he should engage with her depressive state, or simply carry on and hope she could pull herself out. Not that he blamed her—if he were a zombie, he’d likely be a little obsessed with death, too—but it didn’t seem like a healthy state of mind. He decided to carry on. “So is that a yes, you want a quesadilla? Or no?”

“Sorry. I’m good. It’s this brain I’m on—it can get pretty dark.”

“Hey, no. Listen, we promised we were going to be honest with each other, and, uh, I want to know what’s going on in that beautiful undead head of yours.” Unsaid was that he wished he could hear more of what Liv thought and less of what the brain of the day thought. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself. Damn boat party.

“Well, you know those missing rich people?”

Oh. Maybe he would rather hear more from the death-is-beautiful brain. “Yeah.”

“They’re zombies.”

Hell. How did she know that? If she knew that, who else did? Not the police, or there would be a public panic about the existence of real zombies in the world. He left the quesadillas, no longer feeling particularly hungry, as Liv continued.

“Someone is going around the city, taking out zombies.” She paused. “I could be next.”

That was the last thing he wanted. He was doing this to keep her safe, after all—he didn’t want her afraid of some random zombie hunter. He sank down on the couch next to her, putting his hand over hers. “I promise that’s not going to happen to you.”

Liv smiled, not buying it. “That’s not something you can promise.”

He should tell her, he thought. All about Vaughn du Clark, and the zombies, and his situation—but if he told her, she would go off after du Clark, and she would get herself hurt. Or worse. He had just gotten her back, he wasn’t going to risk losing her again.

“I can if I’m with you.”

“You can’t be with me all the time, Major. Neither can Ravi. I can’t be constantly with someone, not and do my job or live my life.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to live in fear.”

“Maybe … you could fight this person off if he came for you. You’re strong. Zombie strong, right?”

“So were the others.”

“Yeah, but they were rich. They could have been weak, unprepared, not used to fighting their own battles. Not like you.” He shook her hand affectionately. “You’re very tough. And scary.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide and worried. “Are you scared of me, Major? Really. I want to know.”

He considered that, taking his time, wanting to give her an honest answer. “No. I’m really not. Maybe I should be, I don’t know, but … you’re Liv. My Liv. I know you would never hurt me.”

“No. I never would.” She shifted so she was in his lap, tucking her head into his shoulder. They both forgot about the time when she had hurt him badly, breaking his heart, because that wasn’t ever going to happen again. They were together now, and nothing was going to tear them apart—not even the forces of the undead, Major thought fiercely, holding her close.

But then, a couple of nights later, he came home to find her kneeling in his living room, surrounded by candles and draped in black lace, communing with a ouija board.

It was too much. He had had enough of this death-brain, of Liv’s obsession with darkness. Things were dark enough without embracing it. They were supposed to be looking forward; they were supposed to be happy to be back together and optimistic for a better life without death and zombieism someday. And here she was trying to talk to spirits. He couldn’t deal with it. Not tonight.

Tomorrow he hoped there would be a new brain—or did he? What if it was worse? Clingy, or bigoted, or mentally disturbed in a way Liv wasn’t ready to manage? He just wanted Liv, the real Liv, all the time. And even though he knew it wasn’t her fault, and he knew she fought it as well as she could … he couldn’t help resenting it.

For the first time since they had been reunited, he went to bed discontented, worried, and not entirely sure being back with Liv was what he wanted after all.

Chapter 35: Somebody Here that I Can't See

Major was surfing Amazon on his phone, waiting for Liv to come to bed, completely content for once. He had Liv, he felt good, no pesky side effects from his dalliance with the Utopium, and no one at Max Rager seemed to have caught on to what was happening to the zombies from the list. Life was about as good as it could get.

Liv came in from the bathroom and without looking up, he said, “Hey, would it be weird if I got Minor a tiny Seahawks jersey and on the back it said ‘Ruff L. Wilson’?” He grinned at the idea.

He was taken aback when her response was to brandish a bottle of shampoo at him and demand to know who the bitch was who was using his shower.

“Uh …”

She didn’t even give him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Or did you suddenly switch to Sinful Diva shampoo? 'For the shine that gets him to notice you'?” He couldn’t tell if she was offended by the presence on the bottle or the vaguely sexist ad slogan or both.

Major squinted at the bottle. “Oh. That’s Ravi’s. Smell it.”

She did, still frowning, even as she admitted that it did smell like Ravi.

“You okay?”

Liv put the bottle down on the nightstand and shifted the covers to get into bed. “I’m gonna plead temporary insanity.”

“Hey, a little jealousy makes a guy feel wanted.” He went back to browsing for cute dog outfits. His phone beeped while he was scrolling, and Liv glanced sharply at it.

“Little late for a text, isn’t it?”

He looked at her, shutting down the browser. “But let’s not overplay it.” She’d been possessive in the past, but never suspicious. Possessive could be hot. Suspicious was just annoying.

Liv met his eyes, then looked back at the phone, still appearing distressed. He could see her working to calm herself down. “Right. Sorry. Brain.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Major left it at that, not wanting to say something he might regret later in his increasing irritation with the way the brains affected their lives. “Come here.” He switched off the light and snuggled down under the covers, pulling Liv close, feeling the way her body slowly relaxed against him. They would get through this, she’d eat another brain in a day or two, and they’d move on, he told himself. But it was a long while before he could get his own body to relax enough to sleep.

She wasn’t in bed when he woke up, and he assumed she must have had to go in to work early. He wandered down the hall toward the bathroom, hearing a faint sniffing sound as he got close, recognizing the voice as not Ravi's through his early morning fog seconds before he saw her. “Liv?”

Liv was sitting on the toilet seat, fully dressed, with his phone in her hands, distressed almost to the point of tears. “Who’s Rita?” she demanded.

The fog dissipated fast, leaving him all too clear on the situation. “You went through my phone?”

“’Yesterday was so hot. Hope there were no security cameras in that elevator’,” she read from the old texts, and Major wished to hell he had deleted them. He also wished Liv had never eaten these damned brains, because he was so angry with her right now he wasn’t sure he could stay in the same room with her.

“I can’t believe that you—“

“Here’s another good one,” she went on, ignoring him entirely. “’Three rounds in one night! That’s my kind of triathlon.’”

Major wasn’t about to dignify this situation by explaining. “Give me back my phone.”

“’You up?’ She sent that one the night that you showed up at my place begging for help. I’m so glad I could be there for you when your booty call fell through. Or did you come to my place after?”

“That’s not what happened.” Couldn’t she see that he had come to her because she was the only one he wanted to be with? Not on these brains she couldn’t. On these brains she was barely Liv. Who the hell was he in a relationship with, anyway?

“Oh? Well, should we give Rita a call? Put her on speaker, maybe get some confirmation?”

“No, don’t—don’t do that.” He could only imagine how that conversation would go. What would Rita tell Liv about his other activities? Their sexcapades were hardly the worst secret she could reveal.

“Answer the question! Who’s Rita?” Liv was desperate now, really rolling on her jealousy high, and he hated this whole situation more than he could possibly have said.

“She was meaningless! All right? She—she threw herself at me during a real low point. It ended the moment that we got back together.”

Major could see in Liv’s face that she wanted to believe him, that she was trying to.

“I don’t deserve this,” he reminded her.

And then she was back, the real Liv, stricken and guilty and ashamed of herself. As she damn well should be, Major thought.

“It’s this brain I’m on,” she said softly. “Apparently the woman was an unhinged stalker. I didn’t know when I ate it.”

He wanted to forgive her—he was trying to understand what it must be like to have your mind and your whole self taken over by someone else’s personality traits and how terrifying and disturbing that must be. But it was hard not to take this personally, this betrayal of his trust.

“Going through my phone was not okay.”

“It won’t happen again.” She nodded, trying to convince herself as much as him. “I can fight this.” She got to her feet, taking a deep shaky breath as she tried to pull herself back together. “I’m already late for work.”

She handed him his phone, kissed him quickly, and went by, leaving him with the distinct impression that she was nowhere near as in control as she was trying to pretend. Were some brains stronger than others? Did some tap into unexpected hidden places in her own brain? He wished he understood better how it worked.

Then it struck him—if she was going through his phone, how much longer before she went through his stuff? Before she found the things he carried around to take out the zombies with?

He hurried into his room, unzipped his gym bag, and dug out the trank gun and the list, opening the closet door and keying in the code to the safe he had put in there when he was hunting Julian. He had only just locked it again when he heard her voice behind him.

“You have a safe in your closet?”

Major stood up, refusing to answer the question. “You’re back.”

“I didn’t like how we left things, so I came back to apologize. When did you get the safe?”

“I got it when the giant zombie broke into my place last year.”

“Open it. Please,” she added, as a clear afterthought.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you just promised you’d fight the brain.” That caught her. She blinked and swallowed and looked away. “Prove you meant it.”

She wasn’t in control, he could see that, but she was trying. Would it be enough?

“I meant it,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

And then she really was gone, off to work, and Major breathed a sigh of relief and annoyance. He wanted Liv, he did, but could he handle all the other people who took up short-term residence inside her? He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the safe wouldn’t be safe for long.

Once he was sure Liv had left the house on her way to work, he unlocked the safe again and took out the list and the trank gun, putting them back in his gym bag for the moment. He’d hide them at the back of the closet in the box of leftover wedding invitations that he had never gotten around to throwing out. He looked at the other occupant of the safe, a small rectangular box, and decided to leave it there. If she demanded to see the safe again, she could see what he kept in there, and maybe it would remind her who she was, and who he was.

Chapter 36: Walls Are Closing In

Major sank down in the metal chair and picked up the communicating phone, concern flooding him. Liv was pale, even for her. This extended incarceration with no brains wasn’t good for her. But she made a game attempt to smile at him.

“Oh, baby,” he said softly through the phone, wanting to break the glass and pick her up and carry her away from here. Wanting, strange as it sounded, to get her some fresh brains to eat so she wouldn’t look so sick and exhausted. “We need to get you out of there.”

“Twelve more hours,” she breathed. “I can make it.”

Big words, but he could practically see her vibrating with the effort of holding back her hunger. Damn boat party, he thought, for at least the millionth time.

“I worry about you,” he told her.

“Well, I’m likely unemployed now, so … Silver lining—my inner stalker has left the building. You can invite some girls over tonight. Play some Twister. See if I care.”

Tender as the subject still was—he hadn’t really been able to get past the breach of trust, even reminding himself how little control she had—he couldn’t help feeling for her, trying so hard to joke and be normal when it was clear she was hanging on to her patience, and her sanity … and possibly her humanity, by a thread.

“These girls I’m inviting over? I’m warning you, they’re basically adult film stars.” She gave him a faint smile, so he kept going. “And not even the under-contract ones; I’m talking ‘anything goes’ kind.” Her smile widened a little, some warmth coming back to her eyes, and he smiled back at her. “I’ll be here when they let you out.”

There was a pause, and he could see her worrying if she could make it that long, which scared the daylights out of him, much as he tried to hide it. “I can’t wait,” she said softly, meaning every word.

“Me, neither. Love you, Liv.”

“Me, too.”

It was hard to hang up the phone, and harder still to get up and watch her being led from the room, seeing the way her body tensed as the guard pushed her shoulder.

Major left the jail and went straight home, standing between Ravi and the screen so he couldn’t see the zombies he was shooting.

“Major.”

“Ravi. What the hell?”

“Well, I just died, so I guess I’m about to find out.” Ravi tossed the controller on the couch. “Something I can do for you?”

“You can do something! Anything!”

“Ah. You’ve just been to see Liv.”

“She’s hanging on by a thread, man. I don’t—what if she can’t make it through the night?”

Ravi got up off the couch, gripping Major’s shoulders tightly. “She can. She’s very strong.”

“You didn’t see her tonight. She was so tired …” Major shook his head. “I’m scared.”

“I know. I have a special drink in the fridge, I’ll take it to her when she’s released first thing in the morning. She can make it.”

“And if she can’t? What happens when a zombie doesn’t eat for too long, Ravi?” Something told him his roommate knew, and the way Ravi winced at the question confirmed it. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, but that’s not going to happen to Liv. We’re not going to let it.”

“She should—maybe she shouldn’t be putting herself in these situations. She’s only in jail because she was trying to get evidence. If she stopped working with Clive—“

“Major.” There was alarm in Ravi’s voice. “You can’t do that to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this is how she lives with it. After everything she lost, everything she can’t be, at least she can do this, she can bring people to justice. You think she wouldn’t rather have a scalpel in her hand? I’ve watched her work on autopsies—she loves it. She’d love to be cutting living flesh, saving people, but we both know she can’t take that risk. So this is the next best thing. You know that as well as I do.”

“I’m just—she keeps putting herself in harm’s way. Someday …”

Ravi sighed and nodded. “I know. But she’s got special powers now; she’s stronger and faster than most people, and she can’t be killed without a direct shot to the head, so she’s safer than most people in her position would be. It just so happens that being incarcerated is worse for her than it would be for anyone else, and that doesn’t happen that often.”

“What if she scratches someone? She’s never made someone else a zombie—I mean …” He trailed off, remembering all too vividly what that terrible gnawing hunger for brains had felt like. Liv must be feeling that times a thousand right now. It was a wonder she was still standing, much less holding on to her sanity.

“She won’t. You have to trust her, Major. We both do. The way she trusts us.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Ravi picked up the controller, holding it out to Major. “Care to take your mind off it for a while?”

“Only if we pick a different game.” He couldn’t handle zombie hunting, even virtually, right now. “Dance Dance Revolution?”

“You’ve seen my sweet moves. If you’re sure you want to go up against them, I’ll have no qualms about wiping the floor with you.”

“Oh, you’re on, Chakrabarti.”

Chapter 37: Once You've Had a Taste

Only a text from Ravi with a picture of a smiling Liv holding a shake whose contents Major didn’t want to think about had him approaching his training session with Vaughn du Clark with anything approaching enthusiasm today. du Clark was always a bit of a trial—arrogant, boastful, entirely too sure of himself and of his dominance over everyone, including and especially Major, he was a nightmare of a client. Worse, he thought he was a lot stronger and tougher than he actually was, so Major was forced to constantly dial back the weight and intensity of the workouts while maintaining the fiction that he was increasing them.

Today was no different. God, he was bored, standing here watching du Clark strain away at way more than he could handle. “Come on, boss man,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “Two more.”

du Clark managed one, then dropped the weights back into the machine with a heavy clang, panting with relief.

Across the room, the other guy working out here today groaned loudly as he stood up, his weights balanced across his shoulder.

Annoyed, du Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we get it. We get it, big boy,” he shouted at the guy. “You’re workin’ hard!” He reached for a can of Super Max, swigging it down hard.

“I hate to break it to you, you being the owner of the company and all that, but all the sugar and caffeine in energy drinks just makes you crash.” That was only one of the many reasons Major wished like hell he could drop this particular client and everything to do with him. Up to and including Rita, who was sure to be around here somewhere and had a nasty habit of showing up just when Major was least expecting her.

“Super Max is no energy drink, my friend.” du Clark put the can back down. “It is a revolution in liquid form.”

“Right,” Major said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. That was what they all said.

du Clark chuckled, reading Major’s skepticism loud and clear. “Max it out,” he said, inclining his head toward the stack of weights.

“Why? You were burnt out on a half-stack.”

“I got Super Max coursing through my veins, my friend. I’m TNT. I’m—“ He slapped his hands together loudly in front of his face, his eyes wide. “Dyno-mite!”

He did seem noticeably more energetic—and a lot more crazy—since he’d had the Super Max, but then, energy drinks were supposed to create that effect. Well, maybe not the crazy, but in Vaughn du Clark’s case, crazy was always just the blink of an eye away anyway. Major didn’t believe for a moment that all of a sudden a can full of caffeine and sugar were going to double—more than double—du Clark’s strength, but he was the client, after all, and a particularly demanding one at that.

“All right.” He went to the back of the machine, moving the pin to the bottom of the stack of weights. “As your trainer, I can’t recommend that you—“

His words were cut off by a sudden shout from du Clark as the stack moved with ease. And again. Major watched with widened eyes as the man who couldn’t move the half-stack moved the whole stack like it was a loaf of bread.

Pausing between reps, not even winded, du Clark said, “Look in my bag.”

Major did, seeing several cans of Super Max nestled there. He picked one up, turning it over to look at the ingredient listing, not surprised to see that there wasn’t one.

“For you,” du Clark told him, continuing the set. “In case you need a leg up during your night job.”

Staring at him, startled and impressed despite himself, Major said, “I’ll give it a try.”

du Clark finished the set, letting out a loud “whoo!” “If you take nothing else away from our time together, let it be this.” Whatever he was about to say was disrupted by the groans from the guy across the room, who had begun another set with his own weights. du Clark’s face tightened into a furious scowl, and he bent forward, picking up the heavy medicine ball that lay at his feet, and chucked it straight at the guy, hitting him square in the midsection. As the poor guy crumpled to the floor, groaning in an entirely different way, du Clark started shouting at him, “Groan again! Groan again! Groan again, you big baby!” His face was twisted and distorted in anger that appeared completely uncontrolled.

Major looked from du Clark to the can of Super Max. If that kind of unbridled anger was a side effect of their product, it was no wonder that something du Clark’s company had done seemed to have created zombies. The real wonder was that it hadn’t created something worse, frankly. He wished he could talk to Liv, or Ravi, about this, to tell them what was going on at Max Rager and explain what he was doing at night with the other zombies … but another look at the black and corrosive anger in du Clark’s face reminded him why he could never do that. His hand closed tightly around the can of Super Max. No question about trying that now—he wanted nothing to do with the stuff.

du Clark got to his feet, his usual smile returning. “Time to hit the showers. See you tomorrow,” he said to Major, punching him lightly in the arm. “Looking forward to a full report on your evening’s activities.” Throwing a towel over his shoulder, he left the room, whistling, stepping over the poor guy still groaning on the floor like he was a piece of waste paper.

Chapter 38: If You Don't Expect Too Much

Major had hurried through the zombie hunting tonight, eager to have Liv back in his arms, and in his bed. Even the limited amount of action available to them seemed precious tonight, after how afraid he had been of her losing herself entirely over the weekend in jail.

He came home to find her on the couch watching a cooking show with Ravi and Peyton, and she immediately hopped up and threw herself into his arms, their kiss long and reassuring. There was nothing else quite like kissing Liv—intoxicating, yes, but soothing and comforting and affirming, like being home and safe. Major held her tight, never wanting to let her go again.

They spent a few more minutes with Ravi and Peyton, but neither of them was in the mood for more than just the two of them, and it was a race to see who would get into their pjs and into the bathroom to brush their teeth first. Liv won, closing the door in Major’s face with a giggle that sounded so much like old times he almost forgot the new normal.

At least … until he came back into the bedroom, teeth brushed, breath fresh, wanting to tell Liv all about the kids’ basketball tournament this weekend as they settled into bed together, only to find Liv on her knees in his closet, fumbling with the combination of his safe. He breathed a mental sigh of relief that he’d had the foresight to move everything to his car, at least temporarily.

He watched her punching in wrong combinations for a moment, sighing openly with exasperation. He’d thought this was done. He'd hoped this was done. “What are you doing, Liv?”

She looked distressed, as though she knew what she was doing was wrong, and crazy, and hurtful, and couldn’t help it. Maybe that was true, but somehow it was hard to believe that she could know all that and still not stop. “There’s something in there that’s gonna break my heart," she whispered. "I can feel it.”

Major crossed the room, kneeling down next to her. “I thought this brain was wearing off.”

“I was starving when I got out of jail, and stalker brain was all we had on hand.”

He studied her, seeing in her face the Liv he fell in love with, the Liv he still loved, the new Liv he was trying so hard to learn to understand, and he smiled, reaching up a finger to tap at her temple. “I know you’re in there. Somewhere. How do we fix this?”

Liv looked distressed, and a little ashamed. He didn’t want to make her unhappy, but he couldn’t live with this. Not with this level of distrust. Some things had to be constant, or how could you have a real relationship?

For a moment, he thought she would come out on top, but then she turned to him, her eyes pleading, and said, “You open the safe.”

“You promised you’d fight it.”

“I tried!” she protested. “And I lost. I’m begging you. Open the safe.”

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want this brain to win; he wanted her to win, to wrestle down the insecurities that weren’t really hers, but it was clear that, at least tonight, she didn’t have it in her. Maybe her resistance was low because of the long exhausting weekend. Maybe the brains had hit her system harder because it had been such a long time between meals. Maybe this one time he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Major sighed, and leaned forward, punching in the code. When the electronic lock turned blue, he opened the door of the safe and sat back, letting her see the single small box that sat in the middle of it, looking so innocent and carrying so much inside it.

The distress and anguish in Liv’s face eased and softened and turned to wonder mixed with a little guilt as she picked up the box and opened it. The ring that sparkled inside it was intimately familiar to both of them, and Major remembered with a pang of grief and loss the way it had felt to slide that ring on her finger, the pulse-pounding excitement of that moment when their future together was secured—or so he had thought.

“My engagement ring,” she said softly, looking up at him. “I thought for sure you’d sold that when I gave it back to you.”

He held her gaze with his, remembering despite everything that had come between that dizzying, heart-stopping moment when she’d said yes and now that he still loved her, more than he could ever imagine loving anyone else, and that it was all worth it if there was a chance they could be together again. “I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else ever wearing it. Besides, I never gave up hope that you’d want it back.”

Liv’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached for him, holding him close, nestling her head against his shoulder. It was right, it was Liv … but it was different and a little bit wrong, too, and Major couldn’t quite let that go, even as he lifted her and carried her to bed.

Chapter 39: I'm Your Hell, I'm Your Dream

Entering the bar, Major was relieved to see the girl there. He had been tracking her movements for a couple of weeks now; he needed to make the approach, to confirm that she was what he, and Max Rager, suspected she was, before too much more time went on. du Clark was amused by Major dragging his heels and taking his time with the job for now, but he wouldn’t be forever.

Major took a seat and started to order a beer, then thought better of it. Tonight, he needed a real drink, something strong. The memory of last night’s/this morning’s fight with Liv came back to him, making him feel distressed and dirty and downcast. He had thought he could handle it. Really he had. The no sex thing had been surprisingly easy to get around, the care he had to take regarding her teeth and fingernails had been easy to remember, and he had even gotten used to the pale hair and skin. But the brains she ate, and Liv’s variable reaction to them, were the last straw.

What were the ethics of forgiveness when your girlfriend used your finger to unlock your phone, sent a text to a girl you used to date while pretending to be you, and then refused to acknowledge she’d done anything wrong? She had awakened him in the middle of the night, crying and screaming at him, showing him a picture Rita had sent her of some lingerie with Rita’s admittedly attractive body inside it, and nothing Major could say would move her past it. All his protests that he had ended things with Rita, that she had only texted that picture because Liv had asked her to, that Liv was the only woman he wanted, had fallen on completely deaf ears. And all because Liv had eaten the wrong brain. What would have been the right brain? Major asked himself. What part of Liv still existed if half, or most, of the time she was more the person she’d eaten than she was herself?

It hurt Major’s brain that he could be so blasé about the fact that his girlfriend ate people’s brains, but that was her reality, and he didn’t blame her. He blamed himself for sending her to that damned boat party in the first place, and he was willing to accept the results, even to embrace them if that was what it took to be with Liv while they waited for Ravi to make more cure. But it felt more and more like she was losing herself, like the brains were taking a greater toll on her. He had to imagine that was scary and sickening and terrifying to live with, and he wanted to feel badly for her … but where was the line? How far over the personal boundaries that had always existed in their relationship could he let a brain push her and still pretend he was in this with the real Liv?

He took a sip of the whiskey, wishing it would quiet the way his mind was going around and around in circles. He’d need a lot more than just one glass for that, though, and he couldn’t risk that. Not with as many secrets as he was keeping these days. Loose lips sank ships … and they also got people killed.

Taking another sip, he pulled his mind back to the business at hand. He was here because he had a job to do, and that job was no less important because he was pissed at Liv. He would get over it, they would draw new boundaries and find a way to make sure her various brains stayed within them, and that was that. One more swallow, feeling the burn of the whiskey going down his throat.

Major glanced down the bar, happening to catch the girl just as she turned her head in his direction. She was beautiful, definitely, with an elegance and an individuality that caught the eye. He had been hoping all along that once he got in proximity to her he’d find out she wasn’t actually a zombie. He really didn’t want to have to kidnap her. Catching her eye, he gave her a smile. Less of one than he would usually have used because he wasn’t feeling particularly charming today, but it worked anyway—she gave a little laugh and looked away.

Getting to his feet, Major brought his drink with him as he moved down the bar toward her. She was drinking white wine, or possibly champagne, out of an elegant fluted glass. Somehow it suited her—but what he liked about her was that he could just as easily imagine her in an oversized sweatshirt with a beer watching the game. She was that kind of girl, a little bit of everything.

Setting his glass down next to her seat, he said, “Excuse me. Do you know what time it is?”

Not one of his better openers, for sure. Man, he was off his game today. And the girl laughed, clearly seeing it. “It’s time to be honest. That is some lackluster effort, buddy.”

Major had to acknowledge the truth of that. Still, it had worked anyway, which was a relief. Less of a relief was the way the hair prickled on his arm. Damn it, she was a zombie. This really wasn’t his day.

“I’m not saying you had to bring your A game,” she went on, “but … yeesh.”

He was about to offer some slightly more sparkling repartee when she caught sight of something over his shoulder. Major turned to see that she was looking at a man in a suit who had just come into the bar and was looking impatiently in her direction.

“Ah.” She put her glass down, preparatory to getting up and joining the man. “For future reference, I think you’re a ¬guy who can probably just get away with saying ‘hi’ and introducing yourself.” She gave him a little nod of encouragement and got up to join the man in the suit.

Major watched her go. He liked the way she walked—with purpose and confidence. She was sure of herself. Much as he probably shouldn’t admit it, he was a little sad not to be seeing more of her. He wondered what she was like if you got to know her. Something in that brief encounter had been charming, easy, filled with something that felt like promise. He hadn’t felt like that since—well, not since Liv went to the boat party. Even now, what they had was … not easy. Worth it, he thought, but not easy.

With an inner sigh, he finished his drink and left the bar, unwillingly beginning to plan his abduction of the girl.

Chapter 40: How It All Goes Down Tonight

Little as he wanted to have to kidnap the girl from the bar, Vaughn du Clark wouldn’t wait forever. And it was better for Major to make her disappear than to let du Clark do it. He went to her house, sneaking into her garage and watching her through the window, hating how creepy he felt. Kidnapping was one thing; stalking a woman was quite another.

She was wearing jeans and an oversize cardigan and a cheery red top, and he was right—she looked just as good in them as she had in the dress at the bar. She hummed a little to herself as she refilled her bird feeders. Then she retrieved plastic sheeting and a tree stand and went inside. She was decorating for Christmas. He, Major Lilywhite, was about to kidnap a woman who was decorating for Christmas. There would be coal in his stocking for sure.

He looked around at the neat garage filled with a lifetime of memories, most of them in neatly labeled boxes. Flipping off the lid of the nearest one, he opened the green leatherbound photo album that lay at the top of its contents and opened it. The girl’s face stared out at him, heavily made up for some kind of costume. Princess, judging from the shiny fabric. There were high school photos of her being goofy, and college photos of her with a best friend that reminded him of Peyton and Liv.

Inside the house, she was putting the tree in the stand, and Major really, really didn’t want to do this. Not today. Not ever. Damn Vaughn du Clark, anyway.

If only any of it was up to him.

It took him until dark to work up the nerve, alternately looking through her boxes and watching her decorate her tree, but at last he climbed in through her bedroom window, crawling across her bed, feeling badly about the wrinkles he was making in the bedspread. She was so neat, this girl, everything carefully chosen and equally carefully tended.

Ignore that, he told himself, pulling the trank gun out of his hoodie pocket. Time to get it over with—he had mooned around long enough.

He moved quietly through the house, taking note of the decorations in blue and silver and green, with hints of red, that festooned every room. Just enough, not too much. He was out of place here, in his black kidnapper getup.

Looking into the living room, he saw that the plastic sheeting was draped over the couch. That was odd. He had thought it would be for the tree, to catch the needles. Then, coming around the corner of her chimney, he saw what the sheeting was really there for: The girl was seated on the couch, facing her beautifully decorated tree, with a gun to her head.

Major didn’t stop to think. He leaped forward and knocked the gun out of her hand, landing at her feet as she gasped in shock.

Because she was a zombie, shock turned into anger, which turned into red-eyed, pale-faced, veiny rage. She was growling in a very classic zombie fashion, moving toward him, and he shrank back closer to the tree, talking as soothingly as possible. It occurred to him that Peyton had first seen zombie Liv this way, and that he never had, and how jarring that must have been—and would be for him when it inevitably happened. This brought home the zombie thing to him like he had never thought about it before.

She was holding him down, her grip on his neck incredibly strong, and Major was begging for her to stop, trying to get enough breath to explain the situation. At last he managed to get it out. “These people—they’re forcing me to hunt zombies or they’ll kill my girlfriend. She’s a zombie, too.”

Some part of that got through. The grip on his neck eased, and the girl sat back, her face returning to normal. “So … you’re the boogeyman?”

“Boogeyman?” he repeated.

“The person taking out zombies. My pimp told me there’s a boogeyman out there thinning the zombie herd.”

“Your … pimp.”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “You want some tea?”

“Sure. Tea sounds … nice.”

Major lay there getting his breath while she went into the kitchen. He trusted her not to be calling her pimp, or anyone else, and was only a little surprised when she emerged from the kitchen with actual mugs of tea in her hands.

“I was a call girl. The normal human kind,” she explained, handing him a mug. “Upscale clientele. Then this mystery man contacts me, we have our date, and next morning I wake up and guess what sounds tasty to me.”

“Brains.”

“Exactly. Then this john drops back by, welcomes me to ‘Team Z’, and explains that I was a zombie now, and in exchange for the brains I needed to survive, I would have to service his zombie clients.”

As bad as Liv had had it, Major hadn’t really thought about how much worse it could have been. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. I literally got screwed into becoming a zombie hooker.”

He couldn’t help admiring her sense of humor.

“Before that,” she went on, “it was all on my terms. I’d screen like crazy, weeded out the skeezoids, had some generous regulars, work a little, make a lot, live my life. Pre-zombie, I went to Japan. Twice. Cambodia. Malta.” She pointed to the wall, and Major turned to look at the photographs framed and hung there. They were good. Really good. “I spent three weeks taking pictures of the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro.”

“So you took all these?”

“Yeah. Maybe my choices were different from most people’s, but … they were mine. I liked my life.”

“And I guess you can’t just get on a plane now, can you?” Major asked, seeing so clearly the ruin zombieism had made of her happiness.

“Even if I could, my savings are gone. I get paid in brains. I have sex for food. Try living with that for a while. These zombie men have me whenever they want me, and I spend the rest of my time hating myself. And showering. So.” She put the mug down next to her and stood up. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me my gun back, and then skedaddling—“

Major was not about to let this smart, vital, interesting woman lose her life that way, not if there was a possibility she could be cured. “You don’t really want to do that. How badly could you want to die if you spent an hour untangling Christmas lights?”

“I was setting the mood.” She stepped a little closer, her voice so soft he could barely hear it. “Being a zombie hooker is horrible. Being a zombie hooker when you’ve eaten the brain of a Benedictine nun, or a man with dementia? That is … an extra level of devastating. A few weeks ago I shot a deer,” she went on, her voice breaking. “I started being a vegan when I was sixteen, and hunter brain made me kill Bambi. You have a zombie girlfriend—I’m sure you’ve seen what these brains do to her.”

“It’s coming into sharper focus.” He felt vaguely guilty that it took another woman’s pain for him to begin to understand what Liv went through every day, without factoring in how it affected his life.

“I’m either being controlled by a pimp or being controlled by a brain.” There were tears gathering in her eyes now. “I’ve had it. My gun?” She held her hand out for it. When he didn’t reach out to give it to her, she asked, “What? You want the honors?”

“No. Look, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“If there’s another option, I’m all ears.”

“There is. I … well, I’m not killing the zombies I’m taking. I’m—freezing them.”

“Does that work?”

“Yes. Someday I’ll thaw everyone out. Someday when there’s a cure.”

Her eyes brightened. “A cure? You think there will be?”

“I really do. I—“ It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that being turned into a zombie had saved his life, and that Liv had given him the cure that had been meant for her, but he felt strange about it. “A friend of ours is working on one. He’s going to succeed, I know it.”

“And until then, you do this?”

He took a deep breath, not sure how much he should tell her. But she was going to die if he didn’t convince her to try it his way, and god, how he wanted to get this off his chest, to tell someone what was going on. “I told you I got into this because these people are forcing me to hunt zombies, and threatening my girlfriend’s life if I don’t. They’ve given me a list of suspected zombies, and they expect regular progress reports.”

“Suspected zombies? How do they make that list?”

“Credit cards, mostly. Spray tans, hair dye … hot sauce.”

“Smart.” She nodded. “Which people are these, exactly?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He slid off the couch, settling on the floor and leaning his head back with a sigh.

The girl sank down next to him. “Try me.”

“Max Rager.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not even a little bit.”

She laughed. “Well, there’s irony for you. Do you know how much Max Rager I used to drink? I kept them in business for years.”

“Then you’re part of the problem,” he said, deadpan, and she laughed again. She had a beautiful laugh, and a beautiful smile. “Now I’m making my way down this list as slowly as possible. I mean, I’m 99% sure that when I get to the end, they’ll just kill me and my girlfriend, too.”

Her sympathy with his plight was evident. She frowned thoughtfully, trying, as he had, to work out an escape hole. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

“The guy who owns the company thinks he walks on water, that he can charm anyone, so I’m trying to figure out a way to use that.”

“You sound like the sort of quality boyfriend I’d only heard about.”

Liv’s distressed face from their fight this morning came to mind. That had been on her, yes, but he hadn’t been overly sympathetic to the struggle going on in her brain, either. “Yeah … I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“You’re doing all of this to keep your girlfriend safe. She’s got to appreciate that.”

“She doesn’t know. I can’t tell her. Liv would try to stop Vaughn. I’d end up getting her killed, and … I can’t risk that. I won’t risk that. It’s like a cult over there, and he’s their messiah offering up immortality in a can. I’m working on a plan, but in the meantime, I have to keep abducting zombies, taking them away from their families, and proving I’m a good soldier.” Saying it out loud felt good. Really good. And made it all the more clear why he could never tell Liv—she was all black and white, so few shades of grey. She would never understand the waiting game he was playing. “And I’m pretty sure that Liv would find that … reprehensible.” He was silent for a moment, then felt moved to be completely honest with this girl, who had listened so patiently. “I know I do.”

“You’re not ripping me away from my life or loved ones. I have no one, and I already want to die.” They both laughed a little, as if it was funny, and she reached out and put a hand on his arm. “This could be your easiest job.”

God, he hated to do this, to put this girl on ice with no idea how long she would be there. But he had to, and she was offering, and it would be a kindness to take her away from the life she’d been leading and give her hope that she could go back to the life she had loved, someday.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

They closed up her house, carefully enough that her things wouldn’t be damaged, but not so carefully that it looked deliberate, and taking his usual precautions, he took her to the storage unit. She was remarkably calm about it all, even about stepping up and into a freezer already occupied by several other frozen zombies.

Then she hesitated, looking up at him. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work, if the cure doesn’t happen—“

“It’s going to.”

“But if it doesn’t. I don’t want to come back as a zombie. Not like this. And definitely not like one of those mindless drooling monsters you see in the movies.”

“Well, there’s going to be a cure,” he promised her. There had to be. “And you’ll be sending me postcards from Tasmania—“

“But if there isn’t,” she insisted. “You’ll make sure?” When he couldn’t answer, she pressed him again. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said at last, hating that he had to, hating that he understood why she needed it.

She smiled, relieved, and he tranked her and eased her gently into the freezer. He stood there for a long time with the freezer door open, looking down at her beautiful, peaceful face, before he could bring himself to close her up inside the box.

Chapter 41: It's the Best that I Can Do

Major couldn’t get Natalie’s words out of his mind, her heartfelt pain at having to live with someone else inside her head, having to try to be herself when her very brain was telling her something diametrically opposed to who she was. Why that resonated with him so much more clearly than when Liv had tried to tell him the same thing, he wasn’t sure. Maybe because he wasn’t bound up in Natalie being who she used to be, so he had more space to think of her as something new.

Either way, he felt badly for not understanding Liv and what she was going through better. To make it up to her, he let himself into her apartment with the key that she had never asked him to give back, a small ray of hope in all the darkness that had been his life after that damned boat party, and found the Christmas decorations in the back of her closet. Humming to himself, slipping into the darker, more dirge-like carols whenever he lost focus, he carefully decorated her apartment, putting everything up just how she liked it, including the lights hanging down over the cabinet doors. He had always hated that, because then you had to move the lights every time you wanted to get something out, but Liv liked the swooping effect.

When she came in, he was putting the finishing touches on the best part. “Spiced apple cider!” he called out. “Holiday staple.”

He turned to give her a mug, excited to see the smile on her face at what he had done, but his own smile faded and disappeared when he saw how distressed she looked.

She took the cider, but didn’t look up at him.

“I’m not here to fight,” Major promised. “I’ve done some soul-searching, and I think I get it now. The brains, and how they affect you? I’m going to be more empathetic.”

Liv’s face brightened at his words, but not enough. Cradling the mug of cider, she turned away from him. Only then did he see that her white hair was stained. Stained red.

“You’ve got blood in your hair.” When she turned back to him, still concerningly silent, he noticed a hole in her jacket. “Is that a bullet hole?”

“Shop teacher brain was a little intense.” Her voice was hushed, and the words came out like it was everyday stuff.

Which it was, Major reminded himself. What wasn’t everyday stuff was Liv coming home having been shot and … bludgeoned? If she’d been alive, not a zombie, either one of those could have killed her. Maybe he was grateful? Maybe he couldn’t help remembering that if she hadn’t been a zombie, she’d have been safely in the hospital operating on people’s hearts.

“Yeah. I … saw on the news.” Although the news hadn’t mentioned the ME’s assistant having been so deeply involved in what had gone down. “Sidelined as a superhero.” He had been thinking all day of potential solutions to her problem, and couldn’t help bringing one up now. “You know, maybe there’s a way for you to get brains that are a little … milder.” She stared at him blankly, so he forged ahead. “I was reading about some research that’s been done on synthetic brains. Now, it’s a long way off—“

“I’m not eating synthetic brains!” she broke in, looking at him as though he had just kicked her cat.

“Well, they might work just like regular brains, but without you having to—“

“What? Serve a purpose? If I have to eat brains, I’m helping solve murders while doing it.” She turned away from him, putting the cider down, still untouched.

“Okay, look, obviously this brain is affecting you—“

Liv turned around and stared at him, the hurt in her face deeper, more real. He had cut her to the quick somehow and he didn’t even know what he’d said. “There it is. You think you get it now, but you just don’t. This isn’t the brain, Major, it’s me.”

Damn it, how much farther did he have to go to meet her halfway? How many ways could he put his foot in this brain mess before they could just be together and not have it be all about her condition? “You know, I’m sorry, but how am I ever supposed to know which is which?”

“Can we just be honest for a moment?” Major thought he had been, but there was no use pointing that out. Liv went on, “We both know, deep down, that this can’t work.”

Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

“Being a zombie has changed me. You love the woman I was before. You tolerate the woman I am now.”

“But who you are now is only temporary.”

“This brain is temporary. But the not being able to have sex, the day-to-day personality changes, that’s the new normal. And that’s what neither one of us is okay with. You’re not,” she said, before he could protest. “The truth is, we belong with our own kind.”

She couldn’t really be doing this. She didn’t mean that. She was still human, just … not for the moment. Someday there would be a cure. They had been holding on for that, hadn’t they?

But she was doing this. It was there on her face, the calmness, the resolve.

“Is this— Are we breaking up?”

“We have to.” It hurt her, he could see that, and he hated to see her hurt. And some part of him had known that things couldn’t go on the way they had been. But that didn’t make it feel any better.

Without a word, Major put down the mug of cider that he had been holding all this time and picked up his jacket, slowly moving toward the door. He stopped there, looking back at her. “It isn’t going to be like this forever. Ravi’s going to find a cure.” He knew that better than anyone.

But it was clear from the way Liv struggled to find any semblance of a smile that she didn’t believe it. “Maybe,” she offered, in a voice that quivered with unshed tears. Major wanted nothing more than to hold her and reassure her that it was going to be all right … but he couldn’t, and she wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

“Be careful out there,” he told her, and went out the door.

Chapter 42: Ain't Nothing in This World for Free

Coming home from Liv’s, Major couldn’t quite get a handle on how he felt. Whatever it was—sorrow, loss, relief, anger, disappointment, fear, the whole jumble—felt far away. It would have been an effort to reach for any particular emotion, so he didn’t bother. Time enough in the morning to figure out what life looked like without Liv. Not that he hadn’t already experienced that, but it had been unwilling the first time. He’d been lost and confused and angry and hadn’t understood anything that was going on. Now he knew, and he could imagine her feelings of reluctance about their relationship, and even in some part share them. He was leaving her with his eyes open this time, and that had to make a difference.

Or so he told himself.

The first day went fine—work, zombie list, food, games. Not exciting, but normal. At least, until Ravi came home with a face as long as a dental appointment. “Have you seen Liv? I’ve been texting her, but she’s not answering.”

“Why are you asking me?” Major immediately felt guilty for snapping.

There was unmistakable concern on Ravi’s face as he looked Major over. “You’re feeling all right?”

“Yeah? I mean, it was leg day, so that’s gonna hurt tomorrow, but otherwise fine.”

Ravi opened his mouth, looked at Major, hesitated, then shut his mouth again.

“Something up?”

“Yeah. Kind of. I mean … I’d rather wait until Liv was here, so we could all talk together.”

Hope flared bright in Major’s chest. “Is this about a cure?”

Ravi winced. So clearly, Liv wasn’t about to be cured. Major couldn’t imagine what else might be going on that he and Liv would need to be there for. “Are you all right?” he asked Ravi. What if Ravi had been infected? What were the signs of zombieism, anyway? Major looked his roommate over, but couldn’t see anything different about him.

“I—have to look some things over. I’ll come down when Liv gets here and explain everything.” And Ravi disappeared upstairs into his room.

Major considered worrying about whatever had Ravi so agitated, but decided there was time to worry later when Ravi told him what was going on, and returned to his video game.

Liv was going to come over for whatever this was, he thought. That was a thing that was happening. Not that he hadn’t expected to run into her, but the very next day? He was sure it would be fine … but he had kind of hoped for a few more days before he had to decide how to react to her, how to be around her. Were they still friends, the kind of good friends, best friends, they had once been? Or were they acquaintances who said hey occasionally? Or what?

They didn’t hear from Liv until the morning, when she showed up at the door. Ravi hurried to open it.

“Hey, I just got your message. I came as soon as I could,” Liv said, shutting the door behind her.

“I texted you last night. Several times. Where were you?” Ravi asked her.

“Out thinking.” She looked down at his muddy shoes. “Where were you, big guy?”

“Out digging.”

For the tainted utopium. So Ravi was still searching for a cure. That was good news. Whatever was going on, it didn’t mean the cure was a lost cause.

Ravi came into the living room, where Major was sitting on the couch. “You should probably have a seat,” he told Liv.

“Why? What happened?” She glanced at Major.

It took a moment for both of them to get past that initial first look at each other, the immediate jump of the heart and then the reminder that there was no more reason for the heart to do calisthenics in her presence—and from the frozen look on her face, she was telling herself the same thing. Lack of love had never been the problem for them. Clearly it never would be.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it, Major remembered Liv’s question. “He wouldn’t tell me, either.”

Ravi was standing, clearly too agitated to sit, staring down at his muddy boots and frowning. “I, uh … think you should both hear this at the same time.”

“Oh, no. Are you and Mom getting divorced?”

Liv glanced at him with her “isn’t this serious time?” face, and Ravi frowned, clearly too focused on whatever was going on to be prepared for Major’s flippancy.

Major and Liv both stared at him expectantly, and finally Ravi managed to get started.

“Last night, our cured rat New Hope reverted back to her previous state as a zombie.” When neither Liv or Major reacted, Ravi continued, “Which means that the cure was only temporary.”

“In rats, temporary,” Major said slowly, trying to avoid letting the implications of that particular statement sink in.

“Likely humans, too, I’m afraid.”

Well, that blew.

Ravi went on, “It appears a latent form of the virus was lurking in New Hope and … somehow reactivated. There’s no reason to think it won’t do the same in you.”

Yep, that pretty much blew. Major was trying to hold back the panic that wanted to set in, trying to be logical about this. Liv put her hand on his knee, a reminder that she was a zombie, at least he’d have someone to teach him the ropes. “How long do I have?”

“Could be a day, six months, a year … I should know more after I run some tests.” Pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, Ravi sat down on the arm of the couch. “Silver lining, you two finally get to have hot zombie sex. Right?” His chuckle turned nervous when both Major and Liv looked away, wincing. “Room temperature zombie sex?”

“Yeah, about that …”

“We broke up,” Liv said.

Major turned his head so Liv couldn’t see and mouthed to Ravi “She dumped me.”

“Ah. Right.” Ravi looked at Liv. “I see why you were out all night thinking.”

“The digging,” Liv said. “Were you—?”

“Searching for the tainted utopium. We need it to make more cure,” he explained unnecessarily. He grabbed Major’s arm and began tying an elastic around it, preparatory to taking a blood sample.

“So where do you think it is?”

“In the stomach of a dead drug dealer with a prosthetic leg.”

Before Major could react to that particular oddity, Ravi added, “The good news is that we’ve managed to narrow the location of his unmarked grave to a single hundred-acre field.”

Major blanched. “You really need to work on the whole ‘good news’ concept.”

They were silent as Ravi inserted the needle into Major’s vein and pumped a vial full of blood. “I’ll run some tests on this, let you know if I can clarify anything.”

“Great. I’ll just … be here, waiting for the brain cravings to settle in.”

Ravi got to his feet. “We need to go see our other cure subject,” he said to Liv.

“A trip to see Blaine. Just when you think a day can’t get any better.”

“Right. Let me grab my gear and we’ll go.”

He left Major and Liv sitting there on the couch together. Between the break-up and this news, Major was too numb to speak. He had kind of hoped Liv would be, too, but she turned to him, hesitated a moment, then said, “I am so sorry this is happening. But—I’m still not sorry I saved you. No matter what, I would do it all over again. I … I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it.”

Major turned his head to look at her. It hadn’t occurred to him—yet—to blame her for this current predicament. It probably would have later. He wondered, would it really have been worse to have died at Meat Cute? But he couldn’t help remembering her these last weeks together, and playing games with Ravi, and saving Natalie from whoever du Clark would have sent after her if Major hadn’t been around … He reached out and squeezed Liv’s shoulder. “I don’t much like the idea of a world without me in it, either. I’m … okay with you saving me the way you did—even if this is what it means.”

“Good. You’ll—you’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Okay.”

Ravi came back down, bag in hand. “Ready, Liv?”

“Ready.”

And they left Major there to listen to his breathing and feel his heart beat and wonder how long he had.

Chapter 43: Faithful Friends

Ravi’s hundred-acre wood was in the middle of nowhere. Of course it was—you were hardly going to put a dead body full of utopium in a shallow grave in the middle of downtown Seattle, convenient though that would have been, Major thought, grimacing as the muck stuck to his boots. Or maybe it would have been less convenient—it was less noticeable to dig in an empty field than it would have been to jackhammer up a street. Or a sidewalk.

They settled into a routine, Ravi working the metal detector and Major wielding the shovel. He might have complained about that division of labor, but the exercise felt good, and kept him from having to think too much.

He found a dented and rusty can, which was undoubtedly what had set off the metal detector, and carefully filled the hole back in again. Apparently even in the middle of nowhere, people noticed if you started leaving holes everywhere. Tamping down the dirt in the refilled hole, he leaned on the shovel, breathing hard. “My high school coach thought digging and refilling holes built character.”

Ravi turned to look at him. “He’d be so proud.” He picked up another flag marker off the stack.

From the edge of the refilled hole, Major saw another piece of metal poking up, pulling an old license plate out of the ground. He looked at it, looked at Ravi, and looked back at the license plate.

Shrugging, Ravi said, “Add it to the not-utopium pile.”

Major tossed it away and went back to digging. He and Ravi dug another six holes, finding six more not-utopium items, before calling it quits for the night.

“Too bad we’re not metal scrappers,” Major reflected, kicking at the pile they’d made.

Ravi held up a twisted piece of metal whose original use was no longer obvious. “Or industrial artists. You could make quite an intriguing sculpture out of some of these pieces.”

“Be my guest. Nice new career for you.”

“Maybe when I retire.” Ravi eyed the rest of the field. “Which might well be before we ever find anything out here.”

“Come on. Let’s head back. I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Sold. Actually, let’s call Liv and get her to bring food.”

Major didn’t point out that they could have ordered takeout. After all, Liv knew perfectly well what they would have ordered—and she might as well contribute somehow, since she wasn’t out here doing the dirty work. “That works, too.”

They went home, where Ravi got out his map and marked off the section they had just finished. Major looked over his shoulder, discouraged by how little marking there was in comparison with the blank part of the map. “At this rate, we’ll have dug up the entire field by Easter.”

Neither of them had noticed the knock on the door, so Liv let herself in. “More digging? God.” She was wearing a Santa hat and carrying a bag, which she put down on the coffee table, beginning to pull little white boxes out. “Rest, ye merry gentlemen. I brought the traditional Peking duck.”

“Ah, I love how giving you are on this Santa brain.” Ravi reached for a box.

Major was right behind him, although he’d stopped to pick up a bag he’d left by the tree. He handed it to her. “I got you a little somethin’, Liv.” He’d actually picked it up before they broke up, but the gesture was meant to indicate that they were still friends and he was okay with moving on that way.

“Aw!” She took the bag and opened it, and gasped with joy. “Zombie High: The Complete Second Season!”

Ravi glanced at Major. “What’s my gift?”

Major grinned. “Not having to watch that.”

“Oh, come on, we have time for a few episodes.” Liv held it up in front of her face, batting her eyelashes at them. “Please?”

“What about tradition, Liv? White Christmas, followed by Die Hard. The classics.”

She frowned. “You make a good point.”

“Of course I do. Besides, you’ll want to watch straight through, and you won’t want us making snarky comments in the middle of the episode.”

“You would do that, wouldn’t you?”

“With bells on.”

Liv narrowed her eyes at him, and he grinned back at her. “Fine. But I get to act out the choreography number this year.”

Ravi lifted his eyebrows. “Act out?”

“Oh, yeah. She really gets into it.” He leaned over and stage whispered, “And she cries during Die Hard.”

“Come on, everybody cries during Die Hard! The scene in the bathroom, where he’s afraid he won’t make it out of there?” Liv looked up at Ravi. “He tears up, too, when he thinks I’m not paying attention.”

“That was one time, and I had something in my eye.”

“Something a little bit like the Christmas spirit?”

“Something like a stray piece of glitter.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

“Children!” Ravi interrupted. “If you keep this up, dinner will be colder than my Grinchy little heart. And where does the old Grinch fit into your tradition, anyway?”

“’You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,’” Liv sang. “What do you say, Major, can we add that to the list? It’s short.”

“Why not?”

So he got the movies, and Liv got the plates, and Ravi got the beers, and they settled in for a long winter’s night.

Chapter 44: Workin' Up a Sweat

Major was glad today that training didn't require him to actually use his own muscles—Liv had had a vision in the middle of their latest field-digging session yesterday and run off to tell Clive about it, which had left Ravi doing all the metal detecting and Major doing all the digging. They'd dug up half the damn field so far and found nothing but a whole mountain of beer cans. If the dead guy they were hunting for hadn't been the only way to find a cure and keep him from having to turn back into a zombie, Major would have strongly encouraged Ravi to give the whole thing up as a futile exercise—or bad info. But as it was, he had little choice other than to trust Ravi, and by extension, Ravi's source, and keep on digging up that stupidly large field.

It was almost a relief to be back to his real job—no zombies in sight, just Vaughn du Clark, pushing himself to the max, as he liked to say.

"Thirteen," Major said, in his deliberately patient schoolteacher voice, which he used because he knew it bugged du Clark but he was too breathless to say so. The stack dropped with a clank, then began to rise again as du Clark pushed himself to do one more. Major had to give it to the guy—he didn't go easy on himself. He expected a lot from others, but he led by example and exceeded his own expectations more often than not. "Fourteen. You got it, one more."

The stack crashed back and du Clark panted, clearly close to hitting the wall, if he wasn't there already.

"One more," Major repeated. du Clark pushed, blowing his cheeks out with the effort. That was bad form, as far as Major was concerned—breath control was key—but it was the last one, so he'd let it slide this time. He actually kind of enjoyed the contortions du Clark's face made in the process. "Push." With a loud groan, du Clark straightened his arms all the way and then let the weights fall. Major would have liked to see him use a more controlled drop, but it was what it was. "Fifteen! Way to work, V.d.C.! Good guns, son." He held out a hand for a fist bump, genuinely pleased with today's workout.

du Clark tried to reach Major's fist and gave up, chuckling a little. "I can't lift my fist that high."

Major laughed, too. "Well, we're doing something right. But—it's time to kick things up a notch." He noted the set on his clipboard, then bent to reach into his bag, pulling out the little something he had brought with him and handing it to du Clark.

"No," du Clark said, taking it and studying it. "My own fitness band?" He slid his hand through the blue plastic circle and fastened the band around his wrist. "Guess this means we're going steady, huh?"

"He said yes!" Major quipped, pumping his fist in the air, and they both laughed.

Settling the band more comfortably on his wrist, du Clark said, "Hey, you know, I really appreciate your dedication. To my training, and to your extracurricular duties. I mean, you are really plowing through your list."

Major smiled, although he did have some concerns about that. Those freezers were filling up, and he wasn't certain how many unique ways there were to get to the storage units, or if he could continue to shake whatever surveillance there might be. He had been lucky so far … he just had to keep being lucky, but one slip, one wrong move, and he and all those zombies—and Liv—would be done for.

An intercom beeped, and a woman's voice—not Rita's, thankfully—came through. "Mr. du Clark? Dr. Lockett is anxious to show you something."

"Yeah, tell him I'll be down there when I can." du Clark took the clean towel Major tossed him and wiped off his face.

"Down where?" Major asked. "Thought this was the lowest level." He was trying to be casual about it, but he worried he might have overshot. He really should have taken that improv class in college as an elective, he thought, not for the first time. It would have come in handy in his old life as a counselor, too.

du Clark looked up at Major over the towel. "I got a lab in Tacoma." Yeah, he hadn't bought the casualness. Damn it.

"Tacoma's, what, forty miles away? Seems like a good goal for the week." Major clapped his hands, reverting to his trainer persona—which was, after all, easier to maintain than the fake innocent act. "To the treadmill! Come on."

Taking a deep breath, du Clark got to his feet, following Major to the machine in the corner.

Major set it for a steady pace and the full forty miles, climbing up on the second machine to cut down on any more potential need to talk. So far so good—du Clark hadn't seen anything strange about the fitness band, and hopefully he would brush aside any strangeness he found in Major asking about the lab as well. And if Major could find out what Max Rager was doing in their secret lab, and maybe bring some information home to Ravi, then maybe they would be that much closer to a real cure, a lasting cure, and that much closer to life going back to something approaching normal. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed that line of thought or du Clark's labored breathing and increasingly pained face as the session went on more.

Chapter 45: Just a Question of When

The Fitbit he'd given Vaughn du Clark had been the best idea Major had had in ages. He’d added some tech he got from another old football buddy—damn, those boys were useful, spread out as they were across the industries of Seattle—so that he could try to prepare for the inevitable moment when du Clark decided tailing him and blackmailing him weren’t quite enough and he needed to be tested to prove he could be trusted.

He’d heard enough on the recording so far, muffled as it had been by du Clark’s sleeve, to know that a test was coming, just not what it would be, or when. So he waited, and he upped his training game. When he inevitably took down Max Rager, Vaughn du Clark was going to be the fittest guy in prison.

He was packing up after a late session when the door opened, admitting Dr. Lockett, officially Max Rager’s foremost developer, and almost certainly unofficially affiliated with whatever du Clark had going in the underground lab.

Major got to his feet. “Dr. Lockett! Looks like we’re both putting in some OT.”

Before he could say any more, the doctor put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”

Moving closer, Major waited to hear what this would be about.

“I’m going to expose Max Rager,” the doctor said. “I’m taking all our research to the press.”

“Why tell me this?” Was any of what the doctor had on Max Rager or Vaughn du Clark likely to implicate Major? He thought rapidly, wondering if his first two kills were documented somewhere, with evidence, just in case. He wouldn’t put it past du Clark—or Rita, for that matter. Maybe Lockett was offering him a chance to get out in front of the inevitable fallout.

Looking around, Lockett stepped closer. “Because if I fail—if I suddenly just disappear like my predecessors—you need to be the one to tell the world what goes on here.”

Ah. Well, that made sense. To the outside world, Major had only the most tangential connection with Max Rager. The CEO’s personal trainer hardly had a stake in the company’s future—he could always get more clients, after all. He’d make a credible witness to what he might claim to have observed in the course of his training sessions.

“About your work. About my work,” Lockett went on. “About the existence of zombies.”

Even though he had known what they were talking about, the word spoken out loud here in a place as normal as a gym startled Major. He suspected Lockett had meant it to.

Without another word, Lockett held out a data stick, and Major took it from him. This felt strange—Lockett was very calm. Weren’t whistleblowers supposed to be afraid? Especially whistleblowers who knew about the existence of zombies and knew the company they were about to betray was perfectly willing and able to kill them? Or maybe he had worked past all that and he was prepared for whatever happened. Major could believe someone in Lockett’s position must have given himself up for dead by now.

“How long do you want me to sit on this?” he asked. “Just hold it until you disappear?”

Lockett frowned. “Exercise your own judgment. But … if I disappear, it’s probably too late. You know what they’re capable of.”

Yes, he did. “All right.”

“Thank you. And good luck.” The doctor nodded to him briskly and left the room.

So, was this the test? It could so easily be legit. A man in Lockett’s position, a man who had taken the oath to do no harm, a man who knew everything that went on here and was in a perfect position to document it? Major was so tempted. He wanted to know what was on the data stick. He wanted to take it to the press and watch them knock down Vaughn du Clark’s door and haul him away in chains … but what would that do for Liv? If people in authority found out about zombies, they would take them out with no more hesitation than du Clark had—and they wouldn’t use a blackmailed lackey with a conscience to do it, either. They’d round up everyone like Liv and put them in cages and probably run experiments on them before they executed them as being a danger to the public.

On the other hand, with du Clark out of the way, Max Rager’s secret experiments would stop, and maybe there would be no more zombies. Ravi would have a free hand in creating a cure, and Liv would take it and Major would take an updated version that wouldn’t wear off, and life would go back to normal. He wanted that. He wanted that so much he was willing to consider believing in anything that might get him there.

Well, he wasn’t going to decide anything standing here like a statue. Major opened up his bag and tucked the data stick in with a roll of socks. No sense leaving it where it could be easily found, no matter what he was going to do with it.

Chapter 46: Security

Major thought about the data stick all through his shower and while he was changing from his gym clothes to his street clothes. The problem was, he was sure it was a test—and he so badly wanted it to be real. So even though he knew he shouldn’t take the stick home and look at what it contained, the temptation to do just that was nearly overpowering.

If this wasn’t a test and he took the data stick to du Clark, Dr. Lockett would be killed. But Major would have won big points with du Clark, and maybe could get something out of it that could help Liv, or the girl from Christmas, or one of the other zombies in his freezers or on his list. And if it was a test, and Major didn’t bring du Clark the data stick, he’d have proven that he couldn’t be trusted and he would probably be killed—and whoever du Clark got to do Major’s job next would very likely not have his scruples, and Liv and all the other zombies would be killed.

No, there was no way around it. The smart money was on turning in the data stick.

He pulled on his jacket and left the showers, finding du Clark dancing along with the moves of a little white robot on his desk. “Nice robot.”

“It was a gift from a Chinese business associate.” du Clark bent over it, turning it off and picking up the manual. “Sorry, there’s nothing in here about it being able to hunt and kill zombies.”

“Yeah, right now I think we have an even bigger zombie problem.”

du Clark didn’t look up from the robot. “Oh, yeah? What would that be?”

Major pulled the data stick out of his pocket. He had thought this would be harder. “Dr. Lockett gave me this.” He tossed it onto the desk, where it slid to a stop just in front of the robot. “Said it contained all of Max Rager’s secrets.” As du Clark straightened, picking up the data stick and studying it, Major added, “He’s going to give one to the press, too, if you don’t stop him.”

“Well, let’s go talk to him about that, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Major hadn’t expected that. He’d assumed du Clark would want to deal with the situation more privately. But du Clark was already on his way to the elevators.

“No time like the present,” he called over his shoulder. “You coming?”

“Sure.” Major followed him to the elevator, which went down, down, and down some more. The secret basement lab! Well, this was either way better than Major had expected the reveal of Lockett’s plans to go, or he was about to be killed.

“Dr. Lockett really shouldn’t have told you all this,” du Clark remarked as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “Well, the damage has been done—might as well see what he was talking about."

He led the way off the elevator and into the lab, which looked—like a lab. Major hadn’t taken a lot of science classes, so one of these looked like another to him. He wished Liv or Ravi were here, or that he’d had the foresight to bring down some kind of camera so he could tape it and show them later.

du Clark held his hands out, looking around. “Welcome to Tacoma.”

Just then, Dr. Lockett came around the corner. He saw Major and froze.

“It’s okay, Doc. Just wanted to show him a feeding,” du Clark said. “Mind doing the honors?”

A feeding? He couldn’t mean what Major thought he meant. Could he stand here and let du Clark feed the doctor to a zombie?

“Of course,” Lockett said, because what else could he say? He reached into a refrigerator and took out a brain in a plastic box, and Major breathed a sigh of relief.

du Clark explained, “We get our brains from a medical testing facility. Not exactly the freshest supply, but then again, our patrons aren’t what you would call choosy.”

As the doctor reached for the handle of a door set in the far wall, du Clark went to a control station farther down the wall. They nodded at each other, du Clark pressed a button, a buzzer sounded, and the doctor pulled the door open. He carried the brain into the chamber while Major watched with fascination.

“Did you ever see a zombie, Major?” du Clark asked him.

“Yeah. You know I see them all the time.”

In the dimly lit chamber, the doctor put the box down and removed the brain from it, leaving the brain on the floor, while du Clark went on, “Real zombies. Old school zombies. Horrible creatures. That’s why we’ve got all the safety doors.” He punched a button on the console.

The doctor came to the door, trying to get through, but it was still locked. He knocked on the window, calling du Clark’s name, gesturing for him to open the door. du Clark gestured back that he was trying, although as always where he was concerned the truth and the effect he intended to convey weren’t necessarily the same. Lockett knocked harder, his alarm growing, while du Clark continued to pretend he couldn’t find the locking mechanism.

Then du Clark hit a button and the lights went up, and Major saw the zombies. Real zombies, as du Clark had said. Rotting faces, torn and dirty clothes, no alertness or intelligence there. This was what people thought of when they thought zombies. Not Liv, beautiful and smart and vital, but these things. Dead things.

The doors holding the zombies in their separate compartments slid open while du Clark snapped his fingers at them and shouted, “Come on, people! Look alive. Ish.”

Meanwhile, Lockett was terrified, knocking on the glass, begging to be let out. This was his punishment for the data stick, then. And it appeared Major would have to stand here and watch him being eaten, because there was nothing else he could do, short of knocking du Clark out—and he had a feeling du Clark was prepared for him to try it.

The zombies, all three of them, were fighting over the brain on the floor, snatching pieces of it. Lockett was shouting and banging on the glass, du Clark studying the zombies with interest.

As the doctor continued to scream, appealing directly to Major now, who stood there feeling helpless, the zombies finished the brain and turned toward the living human, with the fresh brain. Lockett was banging on the door now, the zombies closing in on him—and du Clark hit a button and the door opened, Lockett stumbling through at the last second. He slammed it shut behind him and stood leaning against it, bent over and panting for breath.

du Clark was laughing. “You did it, you did it!” Major turned toward him, confused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to put you through that—you, too, Doc.”

“So he’s not a whistleblower?” Major asked. It wasn’t hard to feign shock, not after all that.

“No, no, no, course not. It was just a charade, man, it was a test, and you passed with flying colors!”

Relief flooded him. He’d known. He’d known, and he’d resisted the temptation, and he was alive for another day—and so was Liv, and all the others.

Major was glad to escape the basement. The minutes after du Clark’s big reveal had been tense, as he tried to pretend to be happy to have passed the test, playing the good little soldier. Going home and dropping on his bed and simply lying there being alive were the best feelings he’d had in a long time.

Chapter 47: Up the Wall

It was ribs night in the morgue. Between living with a pathologist and having dated one, Major had long ago gotten over any squeamishness he might have felt about eating in here with dead bodies surrounding him. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that his former girlfriend was one of those dead bodies, only reanimated.

Still, when confronted with spareribs covered in a red sauce, Major couldn't help but wonder if maybe something that looked a little less like it had just come out of a body wouldn't have been a better choice.

Thoughts of body parts gave way to thoughts of trying to dig up bodies. How was it possible this had become his life?

"I can't believe all the crap we've found in that field," he said, getting up for another pile of napkins.

"It does make the average citizen look rather more like a slob than one would generally expect," Ravi agreed around a mouthful of rib.

"But why do people bury license plates? Do they think cars are going to grow out of the ground?" He dropped the napkins in front of Ravi, who could use them, and sat back down. "All this digging in the field, still no tainted Utopium, but I have license plates from thirty states."

"I'm booked tomorrow, but I could do the day after," Ravi told him, ignoring the whole commentary on the license plates.

Liv had been standing in the doorway, staring at them, for a bit now, and both of them had ignored her. Major was half afraid of what might come out of her mouth—Ravi had warned him these were 'rather unusual' brains. "Have you guys ever wrestled?" she asked suddenly. "Stripped down, oiled up, seen who winds up on top?"

Major pretended to give that a moment of thought. "Have we?"

"Strangely enough, no," Ravi replied.

Nodding, Major looked up at Liv and shrugged. "The night's young."

"Sorry," she told them. "Porny librarian sneaking through. It's just—you two." She pointed at them, and then pretended to discover some sauce on her finger. "Oh. Oopsie!" She stuck it in her mouth in an admittedly sexy move that several weeks ago would have had Major hauling her off somewhere private. But not tonight. Tonight he was free to be glad he didn't have to deal with brain-related mood swings in his bedroom any longer. Liv flicked her tongue against her fingertip with a smile as Ravi and Major both stared at her, waiting for the real Liv to resurface.

Fortunately, Clive walked in just then. For some reason, she seemed to manage to be herself around him more than around most other people. "Liv, our flight attendant neighbor just reached out. You available if she comes in now?"

"Sure."

Clive's phone pinged, and while he was looking at it, Liv turned back to Major and Ravi. "If you do wrestle, film it."

Major nodded. As if they would—either of the above. Still, it didn't cost anything to humor her, and it was almost kind of fun now that it wasn't his future.

"Change of plans," Clive announced. "That was Bozzio."

"Oh, your lover?"

Clive winced, but he didn't argue. Liv was probably right, Major gathered. Good for Clive—Bozzio was easy on the eyes.

"FBI agent Bozzio," Clive corrected. "We'll bring in the flight attendant tomorrow; I've got to follow up on this GPS thing. They finally turned it on."

"Good luck," Liv called as he headed back up the stairs. "He really fills out those fitted shirts, huh?" she added when he was gone.

As one, Major and Ravi nodded and agreed. Why not? Clive was in pretty good shape for a detective. He probably worked at it, in Major's professional opinion.

"What's the GPS thing?" Ravi asked.

"One of the missing rich guys had a dog. The dog has a GPS tracker, and they turned it on. They're hoping it leads them to the Chaos Killer."

Major was glad he had finished his rib, because otherwise he would be choking on it. Damn it, Minor had a chip. Why hadn't he thought of that? Now they would find the dog and it would lead them to him, and it would all be over, and Vaughn du Clark would kill every zombie on that list, starting with Liv.

Minutes seemed to pass, hours, as he tried to get his heart rate under control and stay calm and think about what the hell to do now. He pushed his chair back, fighting to remain casual as he got to his feet. "Well, gotta run, kids. Duty calls."

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the stairs.

"Why leave now?" Liv asked. "It's rush hour."

"All the more reason."

He didn't wait to find out if she thought that answer made any sense. Instead he booked it up the stairs and hustled for his car, hoping he had been sensible enough to leave those cans of Super Max du Clark had given him in his car. Popping the trunk, he saw them there in his gym bag, gleaming at him. Mocking him for having to turn to this thing he was trying to fight against in order to save his own sorry skin. But he ignored them, grabbing one and popping it open and downing it without a second's hesitation.

Then he shut the trunk again, pulled his hood up over his head, and ran. The SuperMax fizzed in his veins, practically bubbling, and he felt … effervescent. Lighter than air. Stronger than Superman. Like he could do anything.

The traffic was heavy, which was just what he had hoped for. He raced through the mass of cars, sliding across the hood of one, and was on his way, sure that at this pace he could get there ahead of the police.

Major burst into the groomer's hardly even breathing heavy. He had to hand it to du Clark—this stuff was good. Probably illegal, and definitely bad for you, even when it didn't turn you into a zombie, but it worked. "Hello?" he called. "Hello!"

The groomer came out, smiling at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just—I need my dog."

"Oh, he's not quite ready yet—"

"Just give me my dog!" he yelled at her, the stress and the SuperMax coming together to send his anger through the roof. He recognized it in the widened eyes and sudden fright on the groomer's face, and worked really hard to rein it in. Yeah, this was the other reason SuperMax was a bad idea. "Wait, wait, hold on," he said to her, more calmly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell, it's just—" He glanced hastily over his shoulder. No cops yet, but it wouldn't be much longer. He had to get out of here, with Minor. "Look, Minor's stolen. I—I stole him."

"What?"

"I'm a personal trainer, okay, and Minor belonged to …" He was thinking rapidly. "A guy I was training, a cop. But the cop abused him. Beat him."

"Oh, my god." The groomer was buying this completely. She was a soft-hearted type, and he felt almost as badly about abusing that trait as he did about the way he was painting Clive as a dog abuser. God, this whole thing just sucked, and he hated the things it made him do.

"I know, it's scary. But I need you to cover for me. Please, just—just give me Minor, and when the cops show up, I was never here."

"The police? You want me to lie?"

This had to go faster. They would be here any minute, and if Clive caught him here, Clive who had never quite gotten over his certainty that there was something wrong with the way the Meat Cute murders had been solved … "Please! Please. This guy is a monster." Major was the real monster, he accepted that, but it wasn't just he who would be hurt if he got caught now.

"All right." She still wasn't certain, but she got the dog for him and he got out of there in time to find the chip, take it off the collar, and toss it in the bushes, throwing things off long enough. But it wouldn't be enough. He knew that now, and he knew what he had to do next.

Chapter 48: The Weight of Lies and Contradictions

Major knew what he had to do; the question was where. He took Minor on one last walk, watching with affection as the dog snuffled the ground and marked the bushes. For a moment, he could almost let himself believe none of this had ever happened and he was with Liv, married, with a baby on the way, and this was their dog.

But there was no point in going there. That future was over, gone, vanished—it was never going to come, no matter how much he wished for it. And Minor was a danger. Sooner or later, he would lead the police to Major. This time it was a chip in the collar, but there could be one in the dog, too, that they didn’t know about yet, or pictures might come out and someone would see them and connect Major to them. No, he couldn’t afford to keep the dog.

He took Minor on a bus, sitting in the back, holding the dog in his lap, stroking him and petting him and letting his ears flop all around. “You’re gonna be famous, buddy. Yeah. You know that? Huh?” The dog whined and snuggled in closer, like he knew what was about to happen. “Everyone’s lookin’ for you. Yeah, I know. This time tomorrow you’ll have a great home, maybe a couple of kids … I’m sorry, buddy. I’m gonna miss you.”

The bus pulled to a stop, and Major bent down, kissing the top of the fuzzy head. Then he slipped out from under the dog, leaving Minor lying on the back seat, flipped his hood up so he couldn’t be recognized, and hopped down off the bus.

The SuperMax had faded from his system now, leaving behind it a bone-deep weariness that went well with his sense of failure and loss at having to leave the dog behind, especially in such an irresponsible way. This wasn’t the man he had ever meant to be, and even though most of the missing people were in freezers, waiting for the day they could be safely returned to their lives and families, the fact was Major had killed two men who hadn’t done anything to anyone. He never regretted the men and woman he had killed at Meat Cute, but he regretted those men. He had traded their lives for Liv’s. For Natalie’s, and for all the others. But they hadn’t had a choice. They probably hadn’t had a choice in becoming zombies, either, just as Liv and Natalie hadn’t, so it had sucked for them all around.

He watched the bus, with the dog watching him out the back window, until it was gone, wondering how long it would take for the bus driver to notice there was an unaccompanied Minor on board. Probably not long.

With a sigh, Major turned and headed home.

He didn’t see Ravi until the following night, having avoided his roommate this morning, pretending Minor was in his room, putting off the inevitable. Ravi came in late from digging up the field, calling for the dog, carrying bones from his dig. Hopefully not human bones, Major thought reflexively, but really, what did it matter? There was no dog to feed them to anymore anyway.

Major was grabbing some orange juice—anything to get the residual taste of SuperMax out of his mouth, which nothing so far had been able to do—when Ravi came into the kitchen.

“Hey. Good night making rich white people less fat?”

Grabbing a mug, Major shook his head. “Yeah, it’s god’s work, what I do.” Some parts of it, anyway. And Vaughn du Clark certainly did think he was some kind of deity, no question there.

“Where’s Minor?”

Major carefully didn’t look at his roommate when he answered. “Gone, I’m afraid.”

“Gone … gone where?”

Still focusing on pouring the orange juice, like it was important, Major said, “I saw a missing dog flyer on a telephone pole with a photo of Minor, so I called the number, the owner swung by, and picked him up.”

“Oh. They must have been thrilled.” Ravi was flummoxed, it appeared, but he was buying it. Major wasn’t sure why he’d thought Ravi wouldn’t—his roommate was a good-hearted, trusting soul. Lucky bastard.

“Yeah. Happy ending.” Poor pup. Major hoped he was going to get a happy ending, with a family who loved him. He deserved that. “Bummer for us, though.”

“I, uh, do wish I could’ve … said good-bye.”

“Well, I’m sorry, I just—well, they got here so fast.” Orange juice in hand, Major pushed past his roommate, hoping this would be the end of the discussion. He wished it could be the end of all of it, but tomorrow he would have to suit up again and start hunting the next person on his list, and so on and on and on. The list would never end because new zombies were made all the time, or so he believed, and he would never be off the hook, and Liv was gone, and Minor was gone, and everything Major had ever set out to be in life was gone.

Chapter 49: What Is Truth?

On top of the loss of Minor, the revelations of the kidnapping of the D.A. in the same way Major managed his abductions had not added joy to Major’s life. Far from it. He had told du Clark in no uncertain terms that Baracus was clean. To have him disappear this way would cause some questions in the head office of Max Rager … and Vaughn du Clark did not like things that caused questions.

Major waited for the summons, which didn’t take long to arrive.

Rita was there with du Clark when Major showed up in the office, and another man Major didn’t recognize.

“Major! Come on in.”

“I was summoned?” Major no longer had the energy to pretend any kind of enthusiasm for this job or these people. The sooner they were out of his life, the better—not that he saw any way to accomplish that particular feat.

du Clark wasn’t paying attention to him, though. He was looking at the giant screen in his office, scrolling through what appeared to be his Twitter mentions. “’Max Rager tastes like the ass of a turtle swimming in a dirty river,’” he read.

Major had to give the Tweeter props for originality, if nothing else.

Rita rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he does this to himself.”

“Thank you, @Sambulo21 from Swaziland. I just love this guy’s comprehensive knowledge of how turtle ass tastes.” He looked at Major finally. “Thanks for dropping by, Major. You know our security consultant, Janko?”

That would explain the rigid bearing and the total lack of any kind of facial expression. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Six years in Iraq.”

Major nodded, turning to Janko. “Thanks for your service.” Still no response. Not a twitch of the jaw or a change in the steady hostile stare.

“Private military contractor,” du Clark clarified.

“Ah.” Of course. Mercenary for hire. Major shouldn’t have expected any other kind of person to be working for Max Rager.

“He’s in charge of ass-kicking, name-taking, really doesn’t like when I brag about him, but he’s such a good egg.”

Now Janko’s face did change, ever so slightly, expressing his distaste at being called a ‘good egg’, especially in the faux baby talk du Clark was using. At least that was something he and Major had in common.

du Clark was no longer paying attention, his eyes back on the screen full of tweets. “Unlike these haters here,” he muttered.

“Max Rager has over three million Twitter followers,” Rita protested. “Why obsess over the trolls?”

“No troll left behind, my dear. Nobody should slip through the cracks.” His eyes were on Major now. Well, here it came. “Isn’t that right, Major?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

du Clark turned fully toward Major now, leaning across his desk, his attention fully on this one topic. “So why is it a man you told me is not a zombie gets taken out by the Chaos Killer?” Rita walked around the desk and handed Major a paper with the kidnapping story front and center, right above the fold. “Now we are …”

As du Clark searched for a suitable word, Janko offered one. “Concerned.”

“Okay. I mean, you’re really underselling it, but … whatevs.” du Clark glanced at Janko and then focused on Major again. “So the question is, what the hell is going on here, Major?”

Major studied the paper. “I’m as confused as anyone. I mean, it looks like someone else wanted Baracus gone and stole my M.O. to do it. I checked Baracus; he wasn’t a zombie.”

“Interesting,” Rita said, giving Major a hard stare. “Because his credit report tells us otherwise.”

To Major’s surprise, Janko spoke up. “Seven hundred dollars at Spice Mountain. Ghost pepper hot sauce, weekly spray tans, and salon dye jobs. Suspicious, don’t you think?”

Major shook his head, not quite sure how to get out of this one.

“Sounds pretty undead to me.” du Clark got up from his desk chair and came toward Major.

“Or just as likely, metrosexual foodie,” Major protested.

“I’m gonna be so upset if you’re not telling me the truth. And I don’t get mad, Major.”

“You get even?”

“Oh, god, no. No, where’s the fun there? No, I get even, with interest. I embrace the Chicago way. Someone pulls a knife, I pull a gun.” He shifted to some kind of Sean Connery accent. “Someone sends one of mine to the hospital, I send—“

God, this man was batshit crazy, and with all sorts of money and power. Really just a terrible combination.

Major broke into the monologue. “I got it.”

“You got it, Major, do you? Don’t just say the words. Reflect—on their meanings.” du Clark looked back at the screen full of tweets. “These internet trolls, for instance. Who say the most hurtful things about this company which I built from the ground up.”

“So someone sends a mean tweet. You—“

“I know, yeah. But there’s definitely gonna be some escalation.” He looked at Rita and Janko, as if for approval. “Hey, why don’t we send them some really embarrassing magazine subscriptions, huh? Chub Hub. Or Bathhouse Monthly. Or, wait, what’s that really freaky one you like, Slow Torture and Gardens?”

Janko sighed almost imperceptibly, as if du Clark was enough to try even his patience, and looked at Major, who was starting to feel like he was being set up for more than just a denial of Baracus’s undead nature. He should have expected as much—nothing was ever straightforward with Vaughn du Clark.

So he wasn’t surprised when du Clark turned to him and asked, “So which one should we go after first, Major? Huh? Which one of these rat bastards gets hit?”

There wasn’t going to be any getting out of this one. He was going to have to choose. “Uh … @Trickster107.”

“@Trickster107!” du Clark seemed delighted by the choice. “From Bangkok. Who tweeted to his fourteen followers that he thinks our product caused his father’s heart attack.” He turned to Major, smiling broadly. “Oh, game on, pal!”

Major felt sick. Whatever happened to this man now would be at least partially his fault. Whatever had happened to Baracus was at least partially his fault. At what point did what he was doing harm more people than it helped?

It was a relief to get out of that office and away from the lunatic who lived there … but only partially. Because no matter how far Major went, he could never entirely escape Vaughn du Clark.

Chapter 50: Every Move

They were eating in the morgue again. Major had put the kibosh on the ribs, though. Too reminiscent of what lay beneath the cold skin of the occupants of the drawers, especially dripping with sauce. Too reminiscent of the brains he might have to eat if they couldn’t find that tainted Utopium before the cure reversed itself.

Sandwiches. Nice, normal, healthy, picnic-lunch sandwiches. Nothing brain-like about them. Although he thought maybe next time something with a stronger flavor to cut the aftertaste of formaldehyde that always seemed to hang in the air might be nice. He said as much to Ravi, who took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich, clearly trying to taste the formaldehyde.

“It’s no good,” he said at last. “Too many years in morgues. I think I’ve grown to think of formaldehyde as just another condiment.”

“Ew. Why do I hang out with you people again?”

“Look what a hopping place this is. You can’t get much more excitement than this.”

Before Major could retort, Liv appeared.

“Hey,” Major called to her. He was about to offer her a sandwich, before he remembered that they hadn’t ordered an extra. Well, he wasn’t giving up his, so she’d have to go without. Of course, he reminded himself, she ate brains. He wasn’t even clear on whether she needed human food or just enjoyed remembering what it was like. With extra hot sauce.

“You okay?” Ravi asked her. She had that determined Liv walk that said something was wrong and she was about to try to fix it.

“Seattle’s missing district attorney is a zombie, and he’s currently hiding out in a crawl space under his cabin.” She picked up the box from Ravi’s sandwich and began cleaning everything out of it. “Can I take this?”

Ravi shrugged. “I believe you just did.”

Crap, Major thought. If she knew, then he would have to go get Baracus and put him in hiding. No more pretending he was wrong. How was he going to explain that to du Clark without getting himself, and her, and every other zombie in Seattle, killed?

“Wait, I thought he was abducted by the Chaos Killer,” Major said as she shoved the box in her purse and swung the purse back onto her shoulder. He needed her to tell him more if he was going to go find Baracus and get him to safety before whoever else du Clark had on the case got to him. That guy Janko, for example. He wasn’t about to gently put Baracus to sleep in a nice chest freezer.

“No,” Liv corrected him. “Three of Mr. Boss’s hitmen. They did up his place Chaos Killer style.”

Damn it. Wasn’t that just what he needed, Mr. Boss horning in on what he was trying to do.

Liv continued, “Big mistake abducting a zombie. We just found their heads in Baracus’s fridge. I’m going to take the poor guy some brains, see if I can figure out a way to help him out of this mess.”

Major couldn’t let her go without finding out where Baracus was. And he couldn’t risk her finding out who Major was. God, this was a mess. Putting his sandwich down and reflexively wiping his mouth—like it mattered if he had sandwich guts all over his face, in the face of people who ate real guts—he got up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, but I got this.”

“Liv, think about it. You’re going to a cabin where there’s a desperate zombie who just decapitated three men. That’s not safe.” He rarely pulled the big strong boyfriend card, even when he had been one. Liv liked to be able to take care of herself, and generally could. But it was the first excuse he could pull out of thin air.

“It’s not safe for a non-zombie,” Liv pointed out.

Well, damn. He couldn’t argue with that. And the last thing anyone wanted was for Baracus to attack Major and eat his brains. All sorts of things would come out, then, when he had his visions, things Major would prefer Liv not find out about—at least, not until and unless she absolutely had to know. Besides which, Baracus might not see enough to know where the freezers were hidden. He had it written in code in his safe, but even that was a gamble.

Liv got the brains she needed and left the morgue. Major grabbed the remains of his sandwich, shoving it back into the box. “I’ll see you later,” he said to Ravi, who looked confused but not interested enough to ask for details.

“Sure. Have a good one. Xbox?”

“Doubtful.”

“Oh. Huh. Hot date?”

“I wish.” He did wish. He wished for normalcy, and dating, and not being blackmailed to kidnap people.

On his way to his car, he reflected on all the new skills this job had taught him. Kidnapping, tranking, avoiding being followed, lots and lots of lying, and now he was going to get to tail someone. Not just any someone, but Liv, who knew his car and how he drove. He was hoping she’d be distracted enough by her concern for Baracus that she wouldn’t notice Major.

He knew where she parked, so he was able to catch up with her not long after she had pulled out of the employee parking lot, and he did everything he could to stay close without being noticeable. Hovered in the lane just behind her, in her blind spot, so she couldn’t see it was him; shifted into her lane two cars behind her so he could still see her but he was less likely to be noticed; at one point, cut through a fast food parking lot to avoid being stuck at a red light. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t noticed a thing, because she led him straight out of town. It was harder on the dark lonely back roads to Baracus’s cabin, but then it was easier, because Major could leave more space between them and still see her car. Eventually, she pulled up in front of the cabin and hurried inside, and Major sat outside, making note of where they were and drawing himself a map so he could come back again when Liv wasn’t here.

Maybe someday this would all develop into a fabulous career as a private detective and he’d get his own TV show, but for now, it all just really sucked.

Chapter 51: Caught in a Trap

When the update on Mr. Boss’s involvement in Baracus’s kidnapping came out in the paper, Major knew it was only a matter of time until he was summoned to the great glass office in the sky.

The summons came shortly, a brief phone call from Rita. “Someone’s been a naughty boy. And not in any enjoyable way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. One hour, his office.” She cut off, not waiting for his response. Like he had a choice, anyway.

One hour later, he presented himself in du Clark’s office, as commanded. “Major. Have a seat. I was just perusing this fascinating story in the newspaper. Intrepid folk, our journalists. They know how to get the answers … and they don’t lie about them, do they?”

Major sank down in the chair across from du Clark, ignoring Rita, sitting next to him, and Janko, who stood silently attentive just behind him. He figured he was still too valuable to du Clark to do away with just yet … but all the same, he’d have preferred to have Janko where he could see him.

du Clark lifted the paper, waving it around a little, then tossed it aside. “So. A doughy, 40-something man gets abducted by a trio of experienced killers, is taken aboard a boat, where he’s supposed to meet his fate. What should happen in this situation?”

Really, it was worse than having to go to the principal’s office. At least the principal had rarely been so certain that Major had lied. But du Clark had to know, and what the hell was Major going to say? If he pretended to have lost his mojo, they’d kill him, they’d kill Liv, and they’d mass kill all the zombies they could identify—or thought they could identify, which meant a lot of innocent people were going to suffer.

When Major didn’t respond to the rhetorical question, du Clark prodded, “Hm? Nothing?”

Rita put her hand up. Yep, just like being in the principal’s office. “I know.” She looked over at Major like she was the school know-it-all … which he supposed she was, if you wanted to look at it that way.

“Doughy 40-something man is supposed to end up dead, and three experienced killers do not get beheaded!” du Clark lifted a finger, brandishing it with emphasis. “Unless.”

“I know this one, too,” Rita said. Show-off. Teacher’s pet.

“He’s a zombie,” du Clark finished.

Rita snapped her fingers and lifted one in agreement.

“But that should not be possible, because our zombie hunter swore to me that the district attorney walked among the living.”

Major had finally put his finger on what made this particular meeting seem so sinister—the lack of playfulness and the total focus in du Clark’s tense, angry voice. He appeared completely sane, which was the craziest thing he had done yet.

“And now, I don’t know what to believe. How many zombies have slipped through the cracks?”

Thus far, Major had done all right sitting there silently, taking his medicine, but the moment was coming when he was going to have to have an explanation. Really, you would think this was all his fault, rather than being a problem du Clark had created all on his own.

“Should I have Janko here go through the list with much less discretion?”

This was it. Truth time. Nothing like it for getting you out of a tight spot, Major decided. “The night I zombie-checked Baracus, his kid came running up to him. This five-year-old boy, throwing his arms around his dad. And I couldn’t. Couldn’t take him from his kid.”

du Clark would never be swayed by something like that, but he might just understand the possibility that someone else would be. It might be the kind of whimsical detail that would touch him. Or it might be the kind of whimsical detail that sent him into a rage and got Major killed. You never knew. It was hard to read du Clark’s face, which stayed still and mostly immobile. Next to Major, Rita briefly raised her eyebrows, then her face returned to blankness as well. Two very good poker faces.

Major finished, “But that is the only time I have ever skipped a zombie.” They had to believe that, or he was dead in the water. “You have my word.”

“You do respect me, Major, don’t you?” du Clark asked, leaning across the desk to look intently at Major’s face.

“Of course.”

“And you are aware that when I want something to happen, it generally happens.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Without responding, du Clark sat back, reaching for a remote. “Well, why don’t we check in on your friend in Bangkok, @trickster107, the one you hand-picked? See what he’s been up to.”

Major was confused by the sudden change in topic. Relieved, maybe, by the reversion to unpredictability and the lifting of the mob-like intensity that had charged the room’s atmosphere for the last few minutes … or was he? Who would you rather be held hostage by, the mob, or the Joker?

They all turned to the screen, which lit up with the Max Rager logo. “Okay, what file am I looking at here?”

“YouTube watches,” Janko offered. It was an odd thing for him to be saying, Major thought. A man like that shouldn’t even know that something as frivolous as YouTube existed.

“Okay. Here we are.”

The screen filled with a news report from Bangkok, showing a crashed motorbike in the middle of a street, with a smiling picture inset in the top right corner. @trickster107, Major assumed.

“Ah-ha. Oh. Oh,” du Clark said, in hushed tones, as though he hadn’t had the accident arranged and it was a total surprise to him. “Looks like he’s had something of a bad day. Yeah, that’s Thai for ‘pool of his own blood’. Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to be thumbing through any of those magazine subscriptions.” He sat back.

Rita swiveled her chair around to look at Major. “Wonder if he had any adorable rugrats.”

“Max Rager is a global brand, Major. We are everywhere. Like Starbuck’s. Or the Eye of Sauron. Tell you what. I can tell you’re not comfortable with taking lives, so I’m going to make things easier for you. You can save them instead.”

Oh, that didn’t sound good.

du Clark went on, “Each day one of those rat bastards trolling us is going to have a similar accident until I get proof that you’ve sent Floyd Baracus to his watery grave. Oh, yeah, we know. So it’s time to play ‘whack-a-zombie’. But if you’re not sure which hole Baracus is in, ask Liv Moore. We know she knows.”

Chapter 52: Only Shadows Ahead

Major was generally not a violent man. Ironic, for someone who had managed to become the “Chaos Killer”, but it was true. He liked to resolve things peacefully … or he had, until zombieism had entered his life. But he didn’t remember ever wanting to see anyone disemboweled as much as he wanted to see Vaughn du Clark’s guts strewn across the pavement just like that poor kid in Thailand. All the way to his car, he tried to work out ways to get to du Clark and make him disappear—a lot more permanently than the zombies had. The way Major looked at it, that would be a public service.

But as far as he could tell, du Clark never left Max Rager, and the layers of security throughout the building meant that he was practically untouchable. Sure, Major had opportunities alone with him, but never when it wouldn’t be obvious who had killed him, and Major wasn’t ready to give up his life for du Clark. Not yet. Not while he could still make a difference.

Which meant that D.A. Baracus had to be the next name on his list, and he had to scratch off that name tonight, or some other poor kid was going to be obliterated for the high crime of criticizing Max Rager on social media.

So he drove out to the lake house, cutting the lights as he rolled to a careful stop near enough to the house that he could get the body out without being noticed but not so near that it would be obvious Baracus had a visitor. He snuck in through the unlocked door, but purposely made a noise in the process, so Baracus got up and came to look, and Major jumped him, trank gun at the ready. He was better at lifting and carrying limp bodies now than he used to be, but he made sure to seem to have some trouble with Baracus as he carried him to the car, just in case Max Rager was watching. It was always a good bet to assume that they were.

Major took an even longer route than usual to the storage area, constantly checking his rearview mirror. Was that a car just behind him? Had another one joined it? He was paranoid, but anyone would be, doing clandestine work for Vaughn du Clark. It wasn’t until the roads were nearly clear as the middle of the night closed in, and he began to hear muffled sounds from the trunk that indicated that Baracus was waking up, that he finally pulled up in front of the storage area.

The D.A.’s eyes were wide open and blazingly angry.

Still masked, Major leaned over him. “I can explain everything, and I will … but if you make a sound, I can guarantee you will never see your son again.” Baracus’s glare didn’t ease. “Do I make myself clear? Blink once if you’re going to behave.”

There was a noticeable pause as Baracus weighed his odds: a zombie, bound and gagged in the trunk of a car, still recovering from the effects of a heavy dose of tranquilizer—zombie sized—against a masked assailant who had proven already he could take down that zombie, as well as carry his dead weight.

At last his eyes closed and then opened again.

“All right.” Major grabbed Baracus’s bound hands and tugged on them to help him sit up. “You probably won’t be surprised to know that this time, it really is the Chaos Killer that came for you. Except that I’m not a killer. At least, not if I can help it.”

There was curiosity in the D.A.’s eyes as Major helped him out of the car.

“Now,” Major went on, “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth and untie your wrists. If you make a sound, I won’t be able to help it. If you come after me, you won’t get far. Trust me, I am the only person coming for you who wants to keep you alive.”

Baracus gave an obvious sigh, as if acknowledging the truth of that statement. Between Mr. Boss and Vaughn du Clark, he was in a tough place, and he didn’t even know how tough.

Major nodded, and removed the tape and the zip tie. Then he took off his mask, and held out his hand to shake. “Major Lilywhite, Mr. Baracus.”

Bewildered, Baracus shook. “What is this place?”

“It’s a storage unit.”

“I can see that. Why are we here? And … why are there freezers in the middle of the room?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Major lifted the lid, and Baracus leaned over, catching his breath in shock when he recognized several of the frozen faces.

“They’re … not dead.”

“No, sir. Just waiting until the heat dies down. The … people who employ me want the zombie virus dealt with by killing all the zombies, and they hired me to do it.”

“Why you?”

Major closed the freezer, as much to avoid the reminder of what he had become as to keep the occupants cold. “Because I know the signs, and because if I don’t help them, they’ll kill my g—ex-girlfriend. She’s also a zombie, and they know it. So I work my way down the list they gave me, clear anyone I think I can get away with clearing, and the others … I bring here, or to another couple of facilities I rent. You’ll go quietly to sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll have a cure. My friend is working on one.”

“A cure. Really,” Baracus said skeptically.

“He believes he can do it. He used to work for the CDC, and he’s … well, he’s basically a genius. But cautious. He’s testing on rats right now, hoping to have something ready for humans eventually.”

Baracus echoed the last word. “Eventually … like when my son is fifteen, or thirty, and has forgotten all about me?”

“I hope not. I hope it will be sooner than that. I tried to tell my employers that you weren’t a zombie, because I saw you with your son, but Mr. Boss and his people took care of that.”

“How do they know? What tipped them off?”

“They track the spending patterns. Hot sauce. Spray tans. Hair dye. The zombie trifecta.”

“I guess they are, at that. So what happens if I refuse to comply with this crazy freezer plan?”

“I won’t have any choice, sir. They know about you now, because of the paper. They’ve already had one person killed to show me what happens when people lie to them, and I barely got out of that one. If you don’t disappear, tonight, then more people will die. I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that.”

“What if I just … ran? Went somewhere no one can find me?”

“The person that was killed by my employers? Lived in Thailand. They can find you. And if they find you, and they know I let you go, they won’t just kill you. They’ll kill me, and my girlfriend, and every zombie on their list will die instead of being kept safe until there’s a cure.”

Baracus sighed. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“No, I’m afraid you don’t.”

“So what will people think happened to me? Not another Chaos Killer attack, I presume?”

Major shook his head. He took a piece of paper and a pen out of his coat. “You need to write a suicide note.”

“You want me to pretend to kill myself? No. I won’t do that to my son.”

“Sir, the alternatives are you disappearing without a word to him, or you being killed for real. Do you really want either of those?”

Baracus’s face twisted as he fought against the inevitable, but at last he looked up at Major and nodded. “All right. What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you want, as long as you’re not giving anything away about me, or this. That would put a lot more people than just you in danger.”

“Okay.” He thought a minute, then wrote quickly and decisively before folding the note and handing it to Major.

Over his shoulder, Major had seen that the note was addressed to his son and spoke largely about his hope that they would see each other again one day. He tucked the note inside his coat pocket. Then Baracus took a deep breath, readying himself, and he nodded at Major, who tranked him one last time, catching the body as it went limp.

He spread the paper out over Baracus’s chest and took the picture du Clark had demanded, texting it to Rita, who would pass it on. Then he lifted the limp body and dropped it into the freezer, taking the boots off so that they could weight down the suicide note and make the scene more believable when he staged it. Which he still had to do. God, would this night never end?

Dejectedly, he closed the lid of the freezer and closed and locked the storage unit. He had put on a brave face for Baracus, but … they were no closer to finding the tainted Utopium. Major was beginning to believe it wasn’t buried in that field at all. And without that … would there ever be a cure? Could there be one? Or would he go on forever stealing people from their lives, lying to them about a cure, and locking them in freezers? Was this really all there was to his life?

Chapter 53: You Don't Believe a Word

More digging. More and more and more digging. Major couldn’t believe by this point that they hadn’t put a shovel in every inch of this field. It certainly felt like they had. And why couldn’t they have done this in the spring? Well, then there would be rain. And in summer, bugs. And in the fall … well, they had started in the fall, to be fair. It was only because they hadn’t had any luck, none at all, whatsoever, that they had ended up doing this in winter.

He kept at it, however. So far, there had been no sign of either him or Blaine turning back into a zombie … and he wanted to keep it that way. So, digging.

Attacking the ground with the shovel, he felt something wonky. He tapped at it gingerly with the tip of the shovel. Still wonky. Not a license plate—he knew what those felt like the moment the blade hit them by now. Or a can. No, this was something else. Getting down on his knees, he moved the dirt with his gloved hands to avoid damaging whatever it was. Pulling it out, he saw that it was a flashlight—and that flashlight had come from a hand. He’d found it! He’d found the body.

It took him four tries to get Ravi’s attention. He did not want to know what kind of intensely geeky podcast his roommate was listening to. But at last Ravi turned and saw Major’s frantically waving arm and came over to inspect the hole.

Major kept digging, stopping only when a dirt-encrusted face was staring back up at him. So weird that this was what he had wanted to find, because even so, it was damned creepy.

Still … no more digging. A cure on the way. He turned to Ravi, who was hunkered down next to him. “We did it! There he is, huh?”

Ravi hung his head, which felt like a bit of an anticlimax, so Major tried again.

“Zombie cure, here we come!”

But Ravi was shaking his head. “That isn’t one of our guys.” As Major stared at him in confusion, Ravi got to his feet. “Ours have been dead for nearly two years. This one’s only a couple of months gone.”

Major stared down at the body. Damn it all. The wrong body? What were the freaking odds? “Then who is this?” he asked.

Ravi already had his phone in his hand. “I don’t know, but we’re going to have to find out. We’re also going to have to come up with a good reason why we were digging up the field.” To the phone, he said, “Clive, it’s Ravi. I’ve … found a body. … In a field. … It’s a long story. Just get Liv and get out here. … You’re welcome.” Putting the phone back in his pocket, he shrugged at Major. “He doesn’t think digging up bodies for him to investigate is doing him any favors. Wait till next Christmas, see if I get him anything.”

When Clive came out, he looked over the body, then left Liv to direct her team on how to get it out safely while he spoke to Major and Ravi. “What were you guys doing out here again?”

“Geocaching,” Ravi said readily.

“Geo-whating?”

“Geocaching. It’s a real world outdoor treasure hunting game. Strangers leave caches, post the GPS coordinates, and then people like us go out and find them, that’s what we’re doing.”

Clive eyed them both skeptically. “What sort of treasures?”

Damn. This part they hadn’t practiced. They hadn’t figured he would be interested enough to ask. Major blamed Ravi, who was supposed to load Clive down with geocaching jargon until he threw up his hands and walked away. Well, Ravi could get them out of this one.

“Matchbox cars,” he said at last. “Box of crayons …”

“I found a wheat penny once,” Major offered, seeing that his roommate was flailing.

“So … treasures for children.”

Yeah, that hadn’t helped their cause.

“It’s more about the joy of discovery,” Ravi explained. “Why do men climb mountains, Clive?”

“Because it tests their endurance, their courage, their sense of themselves as men?”

It was a surprisingly poetic response—but then, Major had always suspected Clive had a hidden poetic streak in him. He had to, buying Liv’s psychic story all this time.

Ravi fell silent, and Clive looked smug. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you drawing a comparison?”

Liv approached them at that point, thankfully, before Ravi lost any more dignity. “Clive? The victim appears to be in his thirties. Gunshot wound in his chest, one in his back. No ID, but a coaster with a phone number.” She handed it to him.

“Maybe whoever answers this number can ID our vic.”

Just when Major thought they were off the hook, Clive’s gaze flicked away from the coaster in his hand in his direction. “Major. Can I have a word?”

Oh, this was not going to be good. As if the Chaos Killer didn’t have enough trouble without Clive’s continued obsession with the Meat Cute murders. He followed Clive a ways away from Liv and Ravi, waiting to hear what gem was going to ruin his day this time.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“Some new evidence came to light in the Meat Cute case, and I wanted to ask you a couple more questions.”

Major let himself sigh in exasperation, since the alternative would have been to weep with frustration.

Clive ignored him and went on with his questions. “You were arrested for breaking into a man’s car. You said this man, Julian Dupont, was in possession of a … human brain.”

There was no good response to that, so Major didn’t give one.

“This was the same man you later claimed broke into your house.”

“Look, I said a lot of things. And was urged to seek medical treatment. By you, if I recall.” Clive glanced away, clearly having forgotten that bit in his zeal to connect Major with whatever new evidence had come up. “Well, good news, the doctors at the mental institution were able to cure me. So, I realized it was all just in my head.”

Clive nodded, but appeared unconvinced. “You don’t have any plans to leave town?”

“Well, there is a geocache in Walla Walla I was thinking about checking out.”

“Right.”

“You know where I live, Detective. If that’s all for now?”

Reluctantly, Clive waved him away, and Major tried to walk toward the car rather than run … but it wasn’t easy. Clive wasn’t letting this go, and someday he was going to find the wrong piece of evidence and put the right interpretation on it, and then Major would have much greater things to worry about than the fact that he still had to keep digging up this damned field.

Chapter 54: The Game He Would Play

Later, Major would blame Clive for what happened, for throwing him off his game. He was off-balance all day, trying to figure out how to get Clive off his track once and for all—before he picked up on any of the clues that would lead him to Major’s other clandestine activities. This whole thing where all his friends were cops, and hung out with other cops, made being secretly a kidnapper of the rich, famous, and already dead a lot more complicated than it had to be.

For that matter, probably he should blame Vaughn du Clark. After all, if it weren’t for Max Rager, none of this would be happening in the first place.

Or maybe he should blame himself. If he had taken the ring back and gotten on with his life, he would have been out of Liv’s, and then no one could have used her to blackmail him. Except that she’d be dead, because Major was sure she was first on the du Clark hit list.

Maybe if he thought about it hard enough, he could work this around so it was Ravi’s fault.

Anything to avoid having to admit that he got trapped in a panic room that he hadn’t even noticed when he first scoped out the house, gassed, and was now in some kind of bag being transported by two guys with very loud, obnoxious voices and very ungentle hands. Or maybe that was just his post-gassing headache talking.

It was a relief when they finally put him down. At least he wasn’t being bounced around, his head banging painfully into the shoulder of a big guy who definitely worked out. Maybe when they unzipped the bag they could all have a good talk about weight-lifting techniques and power shakes. Or maybe he’d wriggle out of the zipties and the duct tape and make a run for it. Sure. In his present state of wooziness, he’d probably slalom all over the place, evading them easily, and get away by tripping and falling down a long hill into a bank of tall grass that would hide him until they got tired of looking for him. Hell, if he was going to live in a movie, why couldn’t it be an action film instead of a horror flick?

Major, Major, Major, he thought in disappointment with himself. You’re losing it, buddy.

Could be the gas talking—or, rather, thinking—for him. With this tape over his mouth, he couldn’t have talked anyway. With luck, some of that would wear off by the time they opened the bag. Which he hoped would be soon, because staring into blackness was getting to be a little on the panic-inducing side.

Outside the bag, someone was singing “Happy Birthday,” and really butchering it. It was hard not to butcher “Happy Birthday,” which was a ridiculously pitchy song for how popular it was, but this guy was really doing a spectacular job of missing all the notes.

Whoa. A sudden wave of nausea swept through him as whatever he was lying on started to move. Glide? Roll? Urgh. He hoped he didn’t puke with the tape on. That would be messy. And he’d probably choke, and what an embarrassing way that would be to go out. He thrashed around as best he could, hoping that struggling would take his mind off the nausea.

Then he heard the sound of a zipper, hands at the edges of the bag, and light stabbed his eyes, accustomed to the darkness of the inside of the bag by now. He managed to open them a little, and blinked in confusion when he recognized Blaine, the guy from Meat Cute. Damn it, why hadn’t he killed this guy when he had the chance?

“Chaos killer,” a guy was saying. He looked just like Scott E. from the mental institution. But Scott E. was dead. Wasn’t he? Yes. He was. But this guy looked just like him.

“What?”

“He had spray paint cans on him—“ Scott E. disappeared for a moment and came back with Major’s trank gun. “And this.”

Blaine laughed while Major frantically looked around to see if there was any way out of this mess. There wasn’t, at least, not in his current position.

“We meet again, old friend,” Blaine said, leaning over him. Then his fist came down on Major’s face, and merciful blackness descended again.

When he woke again, Scott E.’s face was hovering just above him. This had to all be a sick dream. A nightmare. He’d wake up tomorrow in his own bed and tell Liv all about it, maybe write a screenplay. Scott E. ripped the tape off his mouth, but Major was too groggy to focus on how much that hurt.

“Scott E.?”

“Nope. I’m flattered, though. He was one good-lookin’ man.”

Blaine appeared behind Not-Scott E. and pushed him aside. “Rise and shine, Major bummer.” He put a hand under Major’s shoulders and lifted him up. Only then did Major realize they had moved him from a bag to a coffin. Well, that was unpleasant. As was the rest of the room—white walls, bottles on a table near the stairs, a freezer in the wall. They were still supplying zombies, apparently. “What do you think about this little business venture? Your girlfriend gives it the old zombie stamp of approval.”

That was a lie. Liv would never work with this monster. “Liv doesn’t …” he managed. His mouth was dry and his brain wasn’t working at full speed, so his voice drifted off before he could finish. He worked his tongue around his mouth so he could speak more clearly next time he had a reason to.

Blaine let him drop back into the coffin and took a seat next to it. “No, she’s totally down with me getting my brains from people that don’t need them anymore. We’re BFFs now. Who else is going to feed Seattle’s zombies?” He grinned, leaning over the coffin. Major wished he still felt nauseous—he would have loved to puke all over that smug face. “At least until you kill them all. Right?”

“I’m not killing them—“

“Sh-sh-sh. The lying to save your life section comes later.”

Major kept quiet, waiting to see what they wanted. If all they wanted was to stop the Chaos Killer, they already would have killed him. No, there was more to this.

“So,” Blaine went on, “you’re the Chaos Killer. Did you know that those are my customers you’ve been taking out? My income stream? I’m sure you do. Don E.!” he called. “How soon can you have a grave dug?”

“I have plans, actually,” Don E. whispered. Blaine glanced at him over his shoulder and Don E. rolled his eyes. “A few hours.”

“Well, let’s get ‘er done.” As Don E.’s footsteps receded, Blaine leaned over the coffin, his face very close to Major’s. “Bad news, brother. Today is the last day of your life. So you better get straight with your god, ‘cause here comes the big one.” He patted the edge of the coffin and started walking around it, spouting his monologue. “You comfy in there? I ask because it’s where you’re going to be spending eternity. But. Because I am a forgiving man, I’m going to let you decide which way you go out.”

Major had to wonder if this guy had been this crazy before he was turned into a zombie. For once, he actually wished Max Rager followed him to his victims’ houses. Seeing what’s his name, Janko, come bursting in and shoot Blaine in the head would be really satisfying—until he had to explain to Vaughn du Clark why he got caught, exchanging one crazy for another. No, he’d have to get out of this one on his own.

Blaine started listing off types of death on his fingers. “There’s quick and painless, a bullet straight to the heart. I know, a head shot would be quicker, but that brain of yours is gonna fetch a pretty penny.” He resumed his seat next to the coffin. “Or—“ He cleared his throat. “We turn you into a zombie. And we bury you in this box, where you will suffer forever with an abiding hunger for brains that you will never sate.”

Oh, how little he knew that that was quite likely how Major would end up anyway. God. No. “Wait,” he whispered. “What do you want to know?”

Leaning an elbow on the coffin, Blaine leaned in farther. “Well, it’s obvious there’s a leak in my organization. I mean, how else are you finding my zombies? Gimme a name, and we’ll go the quick route.” He held up two fingers together. “Scout’s honor. Otherwise, it is …” He moved his finger toward Major’s neck, pantomiming scratching. “Express train to zombieland.”

“You’re not a zombie,” Major pointed out. “Right, so what are you planning on doing with that finger?”

Blaine sat up. “Chief!” As footsteps approached, he smiled at Major. “So, you’ve got Zombie-dar. That explains so much.” A really big guy—no doubt the shoulder Major had banged into earlier—appeared behind Blaine. “Of course, you’re not just wandering around the streets waiting for it to go—“ He looked down at Major’s arm, watching the hair stand on end as the big guy got closer. “Off.” He leaned in next to Major’s ear. “Do you believe me now? Hm? The part about me turning you into a zombie?”

“I was given a list. Three hundred names, all suspected zombies. All connoisseurs of fake tans, hair dye, and hot sauce. My job was to figure out which ones were zombies, which ones weren’t, and get rid of the ones that are. I was told that if I didn’t do it, they would take out every single person on the list. And they would start with Liv.”

“Oh. Who’s the they? Let me know who’s making you do this.”

“No.” The last thing Seattle—or the world, really—needed was Blaine and du Clark in the same room. Besides, he had to keep some leverage.

“You must have a pair on you the size of watermelons.”

“If I told you, you’d have no reason to keep me alive. And aren’t you a little bit interested to know if you’re on their list?”

“Maybe a few more hours in the dark will make that quick death more appealing. Close him up!” As Major tried ineffectually to struggle, Blaine added, “I’m not going to miss you.”

The big guy slammed the casket closed on Major’s face, and he lay there trying to think and not to panic—but god, it was hard.

By the time they opened the casket again, he had managed to drop off for at least a bit of a snooze, which had helped with the after-effects of the gas and with the pounding headache from where Blaine had punched him earlier. They were all there—Blaine, Don E., and the big guy. “So?” Blaine asked.

“Your customers aren’t dead.”

Judging by the lift of his eyebrows and his head, Blaine was intrigued.

“I can bring them back to you. Eventually.”

“They’re not dead?”

“Hey, Blaine, you can get your dad back,” Don E. put in, to Blaine’s clear annoyance.

“How badly do you want to see your dad again?” Major asked him.

Seemed like pretty bad, from the sudden interest in Blaine’s eyes. “Where is he?”

“Let me out.”

They looked at one another, not bothering to go another round. “Fine,” Blaine said at last. “Chief?”

Major gestured with his chin at the beer Blaine was holding. “I’ll have one of those, too.”

“Don’t push your luck.” But he got Major the beer anyway, which he drank down in a few long swallows. “Feeling better now?”

“A little, yeah.”

“All right, start singing, pigeon. Where are they?”

“Hidden, naturally. They’re ... on ice.” He followed Blaine up the stairs. “My handlers don’t care which zombie I take out next as long as I make my way steadily down my list.”

“And they have you freeze them?”

“They think I’m killing them.”

“Killing them sounds easier.”

“Yeah. Except I’m not a murderer.”

Blaine picked up Major’s trank guns. “Why don’t you tell that to all the families grieving for their loved ones? So—how did they find you? Help wanted ad—‘Zombie Killer Needed’?”

“They knew Liv was a zombie so they bugged her phone, and learned stuff.”

“So who would want zombies gone but want it done quietly?” When Major did nothing but raise an eyebrow, Blaine grinned. “I’ll figure it out.”

Major wondered how long it would take a motivated Blaine to get the answer. He had to admit he was a little curious about it.

“In the meantime, I’m going to need my dad back. You gotta know I miss that man.” His face crumpled, his mouth quivering, then snapped back. “Nope. Can’t do it. Need me to show you a photo, or—?”

“No. I have no doubt which one is your dad. Imperious, fancy dresser, owns a bust of himself.”

“That’s the guy. And from here on, I tell you which zombies you take out. I think we can solve a few of each other’s problems.”

Major lost track of what Blaine was saying—or maybe blocked out that he was now as firmly under Blaine’s thumb as he was under Vaughn du Clark’s, a state of affairs that would make him sick later—and looked out the window at what appeared to be a surveillance van. “I think there’s someone out there.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Blaine caught his arm as he approached the window and moved the curtain aside. “Whoa, hey, hey, hey, hey.” He pulled Major away from the window. “It’s the FBI, man. They’ve got a crush on me. They’ve got it in their head I’m the Chaos Killer. You’re going to have to leave here the same way you came in. In the back of a hearse. Chief will take you. Oh, Major?”

“Yeah?”

Blaine held out the trank gun. “I know where you live. I know where Liv, um, lives. You get my dad, or things are going to get ugly fast. Kay?”

“Got it.”

Major left without another word, glad just to be getting out of there. The rest of the logistics would come later. First, he had to talk to Liv.

Chapter 55: Your Smile Is a Thin Disguise

Major drove around Seattle for hours, it felt like, trying to work out a way to get out of this new situation. To be handled by both Vaughn du Clark and Blaine DeBeers? Nightmare. Double nightmare. Both of them were absolutely batshit crazy, unpredictable, and dangerous as hell—and somehow Major had to stay on each of their good sides without letting either one know about the other, and manage to protect Liv and a couple dozen frozen zombies in the process.

He couldn’t help but feel that somehow this was Liv’s fault. How dare she keep this from him? How dare she make a deal with Blaine, of all people? After he had tortured and killed all those kids? He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to face her down and have her tell him that Blaine had lied, that she had never had any intention of letting him get away with what he had done, much less signed off on him continuing to run his zombie-feeding business.

It had been his intention to calm down with all the driving around, so he could be understanding when he spoke to her, but all the delaying was doing was making him more angry. He did a U-turn in the middle of an empty street and headed straight for her apartment.

He waited a moment outside, centering himself, trying to remember to ask first and not leap straight to conclusions. At last he knocked, hoping she wasn’t out somewhere.

Fortunately, she was home, and she answered the door promptly despite the late hour. If he’d had to wait, he didn’t know what he would have done.

She was surprised to see him. Surprised and distracted. Briefly, he wondered what brain she was on now—gamer brain? Was she deep in the middle of some quest in the heart of Riversong? Honestly, did it even matter?

“Hey. You’re not really pallin’ around with Blaine. Are you?” More blunt than he had hoped he could manage, but less angry than he had expected to be. Not bad, all things considered.

But the wide-eyed look of surprise on her face, the lack of a plausible denial, told him all he needed to know. “Come inside,” she stammered at last, very quietly. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have in the hallway.”

Considering that it seemed to be a long-overdue conversation, Major didn’t particularly care where they had it—but he knew from long experience that not everyone in her building appreciated late-night chats outside her door, so he let her tug him into the apartment and close the door behind him.

Still whispering, she asked, “What makes you think I’ve been palling around with Blaine?”

“Well, it must have been when he said you two were BFFs now.”

“Shh!” She gestured toward the far door, the one that used to be Peyton’s. “My roommate’s sleeping.”

Major glanced at the door and back to Liv, raising his eyebrows to indicate that he thought she was stalling.

Which she confirmed when her next response was to attack a question with a question. “What are you doing palling around with Blaine?”

“I-I’m not.” Fortunately, he had thought this one out, since he could hardly admit to her that he had been captured kidnapping a rich zombie and brought to Blaine’s in a body bag. “Look, I’m taking my grandmother on a tour of cemeteries, and surprise, surprise—“

Liv nodded. “You visited Shady Plots.”

“So you do know what he’s up to.” He had hoped for a different answer, but he hadn’t really believed he would get one. Seattle wasn’t that big, and the world of Seattle’s zombies was considerably smaller. To think she hadn’t known what Blaine was up to when he was working directly under her nose would have been naïve.

“But I’m not palling around with him! One of the weird, um, perks of my job is that I get to know just about every funeral director in the city.”

Every funeral director in the city wasn’t a multiple murderer—or at least, it seemed unlikely. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah! Because I thought you might do something unwise with the information.”

Major looked down at her with disappointment. That was the best she could come up with?

“Drop by the grenade store,” she added, to illustrate her point.

Because that had worked out so well the first time, Major was just rarin’ to go for another round of murder and mayhem. And that was entirely beside the point, anyway. He leaned down toward her. “Okay, anything I might do to him, he’d deserve.”

“No arguments there. But you’ve got to know that he serves a purpose.” At Major’s skeptical look, Liv continued, “He’s in charge of feeding Seattle’s zombies. That’s his gig. At least now he’s doing it without murdering people.”

Damn it. She wasn’t wrong. But she was also playing with fire. Too many people knew who she was, and what she was, and Major couldn’t protect her as well now that they weren’t together. “You need to move.”

“What?”

“He thought it’d be cute to mention that he knows where you live. Look, just a building with a doorman. Security cameras.”

“He knows where I work, too. So—“

A door closed. A door not behind him, where Liv’s roommate was sleeping, but in front of him. Where Liv had been sleeping—or so he thought. It hurt surprisingly a lot, given that they weren’t together anymore.

“You have company?”

“Sorry?”

“Seems like there’s someone movin’ around in your bedroom.”

“Oh, no. That’s—that’s my brother.”

Like hell it was. Damn it all. “Oh, really?” he said, pretending to fall for it. “So, you two have patched things up?”

She smiled, in the fakest of fake Liv smiles. “Everything’s hunky-dory.”

“Must be, if you’re having slumber parties.”

“His buddy dropped him off here. Evan tied one on, and he’s crashing here so he doesn’t have to face Mom ‘til he’s sobered up. And you know he’s allergic to pet dander, so …”

It was a totally plausible story—except that not a word of it was true. He knew Liv, and he knew Liv’s lies, and this one was a whopper.

“No. I didn’t, actually.” And he would have, and she knew that as well as he did.

“Yep. And … my roommate is dog-sitting her uncle’s mini golden doodle. So cute—the dog, not the uncle. Anyway, there’s dog hair all over the couch and … if Evan gets close …”

It had been entertaining for a few minutes, but now it was just sad, and sickening, and it really still hurt more than Major would have expected it to. “Okay. I got it.”

“Long story short, I am sleeping on the couch tonight. But I should get back to Evan because I was just on a mission to get his puke bucket.”

She really was committed to the story. Major nodded, pretending to buy it.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” she said, coming closer and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

The kiss of death. The kiss of the death of their relationship. Well, wasn’t this just the best day ever.

“All right.” He couldn’t fight with her anymore, and he couldn’t pretend to buy her story, or pretend to buy it while making sure she knew he really didn’t buy it. “I’m sorry for swinging by so late. Tell Evan ‘hi’ for me?”

Liv nodded as he moved past her, walking behind him to the door.

Major leaned against it for a moment after it closed, sighing. Come to get one question answered, get a bonus question—one he didn’t even know he should be asking yet—for free. Lucky him

Chapter 56: If a Man's Gonna Make It

Without much other choice in the matter, Major figured he might as well get the dirty work over with. Little as he liked visiting the storage units in the daytime, it was going to have to be done. Blaine was not a patient man, and the last thing Major wanted was to give him time to rethink the deal, or to decide to send Major some kind of message to make sure he stayed motivated.

So he backed carefully up to the door of the unit, opening the door only enough to be able to duck inside, so no one could see him reaching into a big chest freezer and rearranging frozen bodies while he dug out the one he needed. He stared down at the frosty face for a moment, thinking he should have known. There was an arrogance in this man’s face that more than matched the arrogance in his son’s. He bet they shared other delightful personality traits, too. He devoutly wished he had put an actual bullet in this particular zombie’s head … except that if he had, he couldn’t have used the guy as a bargaining chip and he, Major, would currently be dead. And he didn’t really want to be dead, so there was that … although some days it was hard to remember why.

He wrapped the body in a body bag, raised the door of the storage unit enough to be able to open his trunk, and wrestled the body into it as quickly and quietly and discreetly as possible. There appeared to be no one around, for which he was grateful—but really, when you were at the beck and call of two men who liked to know everything that was going on, it was hard to be too paranoid about being followed, watched, bugged, videotaped, and generally violated right in the privacy.

It was easier once he got to the funeral home. After all, this was a place designed to receive dead bodies. Maybe not frozen ones, but what difference did a few degrees really make?

He found the big zombie, Chief, hanging around outside and let him know what he was here for, and as he had hoped, Chief helpfully took the feet of the frozen corpse. Major could have wished maybe he would have taken the heavy end, but any help was useful at this point. Frozen zombies were heavy.

“Warning,” he said when he saw Blaine sitting on a stool inside the embalming room, “your dad’s still frozen.”

Blaine got up and came toward the bag with a delighted smile on his lips. “Okay, someone’s gotta make an obligatory pop-sicle joke, right?”

Chief rolled the eye not covered with a leather patch. Not a fan of puns, then. So few people were, Major reflected. He appreciated a good pun … but not from Blaine. He really didn’t appreciate anything about Blaine.

Looking between the two of them, clearly disappointed by their lack of reaction, Blaine frowned. “No? When did it get so high-brow in here?”

Major couldn’t help but notice Blaine was looking a lot more zombie-like than he had the last time they spoke. There was a woman there who must have been doing Blaine’s make-up. And why? he wondered. Did Blaine’s clients think he was still a zombie? He supposed that was probably good for business. “Hey,” he said, gesturing to his face and then to Blaine. “This isn’t for my benefit, right? I still know you’re not a zombie.”

“Well, that’s only a matter of time, though, isn’t it? If we’re on the same path as Ravi’s test rat? Might as well get comfortable with it.”

He couldn’t decide which he liked less—that Blaine was privy to the secrets of the lab, with Major’s roommate and his ex-fiance, or that they shared the same likely fate. Either way, he really didn’t like that Blaine was using it as some sick kind of bonding material.

Without waiting for Major’s response, Blaine unzipped the body bag, leaning over and looking down at his father’s frozen face. “Oh, they’re so cute when they’re sleeping.”

“So,” Major said, wanting to get the hell out of there, “I held up my end of the bargain. You?”

Blaine stood up, gesturing to his face. “Why do you think I went to all this trouble? Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure. A minute.” Major stood back and crossed his arms.

“It was a figure of speech, big guy. He’s on his way.”

It was more like fifteen minutes—fifteen of the longest minutes of Major’s life, watching as Blaine cooed over his father’s body in triumph—before the doorbell upstairs rang.

Blaine ushered in a portly reporter whose face Major remembered seeing on his list, and distracted him with his makeup girl dressed up in a satin and lace corset. Major didn’t let them get too far before he tranked the guy—it seemed like the least he could do for all of them, since the reporter seemed like a hell of a sleaze. It was also apparent that he had been one of Natalie’s clients, which made Major even happier to put him on ice. He’d put him in a different freezer than Natalie, though. Putting them in the same one just didn't seem right.

“You see?” Blaine asked, when the reporter’s body hit the floor. “Wasn’t that easier?”

Then he and the makeup girl took off, leaving Major alone with the sleeping undead. “Little help here?” Major called after them. “Where’s the big zombie?”

But it appeared that he was on his own with this one. God, this week just kept getting better and better, he thought, grabbing the shoulders of the guy’s jacket and dragging him toward the back door, where his car was parked. Seriously, this job just didn’t pay enough for all this trouble.

Chapter 57: One Day to a New Beginning

Major’s phone buzzed as he was sitting in the drive-through lane waiting for his burger and fries, a much-needed indulgence after wrestling that reporter's chubby body into the freezer. He had to admit, having Blaine lure the guy to his funeral home had been a lot easier than the stalking, the breaking in, the Chaos Killer scene staging, and the sneaking the body out of the house mess required to do the job on his own. But was it easy enough to be worth the constant dosage of Blaine’s mouth? Or his superior smirk? Or the knowledge that Major was basically the guy’s cat toy?

It was going to have to be, he thought morosely, taking the bag and dropping it onto the passenger seat. After all, he didn’t have any other choice.

His phone buzzed again, and he pulled into a parking space, grabbing a handful of fries and downing them before checking the caller ID. Ravi.

“Hey. What’s up? You need someone to rock the casbah?”

“What? No, my casbah is just fine, thank you, and I resent the implication that I can’t do my own rocking.”

“Fair enough. My casbah-rocking doesn't come cheap, anyway.”

“I have good news,” Ravi said. “We know where—“

“In the world is Carmen Sandiego? That is good news,” Major broke in, not wanting Max Rager to know what they were really looking for. He didn’t think they monitored his calls—but he knew they could, which was reason enough to be cautious. “I’ll meet you at home and you can draw me a map.”

“Uh … yeah. Okay. Sounds good.”

Liv was at the house when he got there, and she explained that she’d had a vision showing her where the man in question had been shot. She was cagy about where she’d been when she had the vision or why it had been triggered, but Major wasn’t sure he cared. If there was a chance for a cure, a way to keep himself from turning zombie and a way to save Liv and take her off Max Rager’s hit list, a way to bring back all the bodies in the freezers and return them to their families and their lives … that was enough. That was everything.

They gathered up their digging equipment and drove out to a fairly under-dug part of the field, near a derelict playground. They hadn’t focused on this section because they had assumed no one would bury a body near a playground, regardless of its condition … but apparently these people were no respecters of the simple joys of childhood.

Liv led them across the cracked concrete of the playground to the hard-packed dirt and the patchy grass, stopping to look intently at the swing set and gauge her distance. She shone the flashlight on the ground near her feet. “Right around here.” Kneeling down, she put one of their red flags in the ground, and reached into her pockets for her little shovels, grinning up at Major. He couldn’t help smiling back. Things were looking up. Life could get back to normal. He and Liv could think about being together again. He could be free of Vaughn du Clark forever.

He hadn’t felt this much energy at the digging since the first couple of weeks, this much optimism behind every thrust of the spade into the ground.

Major turned up the grass, always the hardest part, then Ravi joined him to excavate the top layer of dirt.

“Wait,” Ravi said eventually. He tapped the ground with his shovel. “I feel something. Best be careful.”

So all three of them got down on their knees and dug through the dirt with their hands, scraping away at it heedless of the damp, the cold, the late night, or the fact that they were doing all this to dig up a dead guy. As Ravi raked through the dirt, Major happened to look over and saw it shining in the beam of the flashlight—a human skull. “Ravi!”

“I see it. I see it,” his roommate said tensely, and dug more carefully, but still rapidly, exposing more of the bone. Major was at the feet, and he worked at uncovering the artificial leg of the veteran who had gotten in with the wrong crowd, tugging at it until it came loose so abruptly he was knocked back on his rear. He held it up, laughing with glee. Liv came to him, holding him in a way that told him how worried she was about his eventual reversion to zombiedom, while Ravi took the artificial leg from him and ran around the open grave, brandishing it in the air and whooping with delight.

It felt damned good.

Digging out the rest of the body, and wrapping it up for transport so Ravi could carefully scavenge for the tainted Utopium, felt like a bit of an anticlimax. Major devoutly hoped that neither of his companions noticed how comfortable he was carrying and wrapping dead bodies. Fortunately, they both did it professionally, so it didn’t occur to them that he had no reason to be a pro at it.

They drove home fighting over the radio and whose triumphant music they were going to sing along to, and got to the morgue, where Liv distracted the other shift long enough for Major and Ravi to sneak the body in where it would be ready for Ravi to work on the next day. From there, they finished up the night at an all-night taco place with a celebratory feast. Major felt freedom fizzing in his veins. Soon. Soon this long nightmare would be over.

Chapter 58: Worse Yet to Come

Ravi had gone back to the lab after the taco bar, and Major and Liv went back to his house, where they ended up falling asleep on top of the covers together because they were both too excited to sleep alone, and because they each wanted so badly to see the other one cured and back to normal they couldn’t bear to say good-night.

They woke in the morning to the buzzing of their phones. Liv reached hers first, blinking at it until she was awake enough to read it. “Ravi. He’s got some results. He wants us in the lab.”

Major was out of bed in a single bound. “Let’s get there! It’s cure-time, baby!”

Liv grinned at him. “I like the sound of that.”

In the lab, Ravi was still wearing his waders from the digging excursion. Probably sensible, Major thought—given the smell of the decomposing body, digging into its cavities for Utopium had to have been a messy job. Ravi seemed pretty okay, though, and not as tired as Major would have been in his situation. No question about it, this kind of thing got his roommate all fired up. It was nice to see someone really enjoying their work that way.

Ravi gestured to a tray lying near the body, filled with deflated condoms and some kind of liquid that didn’t bear too much thinking about.

“Stomach acid ate through all the tainted Utopium-filled condoms they swallowed. But, luckily, one of them had the good sense to stash these in his prison wallet, allowing me to salvage enough powder—“

“If not your dignity,” Major put in. Much as his roommate—and his former fiance—loved digging into people’s bodies, he could have lived just as long and as happily without ever having to know these two bags of salvation had spent a year and a half in some corpse’s decaying rectum.

“To create more cure,” Ravi finished, ignoring Major’s contribution. He put the bags down and picked up a bottle of liquid. “Starting with this. The exact same formula as the stuff Liv used on you ten months ago. I’ve got it ready to go, just plug and play.” He picked up a syringe.

“Yeah, but now we know the effects are only temporary,” Liv protested.

Major added, “Yeah, then it’s reversion to zombie state followed by death.” He didn’t understand why Ravi would have made the same thing over again when the first one didn’t work.

“Still, should keep you human for a few months until I can properly develop and test version two of the cure.” Ravi drew some of the liquid into the syringe.

“Oh, yeah, a couple more months of not being a zombie sounds good to me.” Rolling up his sleeve, Major glanced at Liv. “No offense.”

“I’m gonna take a little offense.”

Ravi looked at Major’s bared arm and shook his head. “Sorry. Not for you.”

Major sighed, following his roommate and Liv as they headed for the room with the rat cages.

“He’s got to make sure it’s safe first,” Liv explained.

“We’ve never used it on a previously cured subject.”

Liv took the lid off one of the rat cages, lifting the furry white rodent out. “Fortunately, we have the perfect guinea pig.”

Ravi prepared the syringe and injected the rat, and Liv put it back in the cage.

“Well, how long?” Major asked.

Frowning, Ravi studied the rat, who seemed … pretty much like a rat, as far as Major was concerned. “Talk to me again in two days, and we’ll see if there have been any effects.” He held up a finger warningly. “Not that I’m promising anything, you understand.”

“All right. I get it.” Major was trying to, at least. But he was no scientist, and proper scientific procedure just seemed to be getting in the way, leaving him in the same place as before—sitting and waiting for that awful urge to eat brains to take him over.

But he couldn’t wait two days. By the middle of the next afternoon, he was itching to know if the rat was cured or not, so he casually dropped by the morgue.

Ravi was leaning over a microscope, studying something. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

“You know, saving the world.”

“Oh. Don’t let me interrupt.” He bent over Ravi, looking at the reflection of what was under the microscope on the big screen. “Or slow you down.”

Ravi looked up from the microscope, frowning. “This is how it’s going to be now.”

It was. No arguing with that. “You know, imagine how put out the guy who invented the polio vaccine must have been, you know, what with all the impatient children dying of polio stacking up.”

“Jonas Salk is the man’s name. Perhaps if he scored a touchback for your Hustlers,” Ravi snapped, burying his face in the microscope again.

“Well, a touchdown for the Huskies,” Major corrected.

Ravi tried to concentrate for another second, but gave it up for lost, which had been exactly Major’s intention. “I suppose our test subject is due for a look-see.” He got up, turning to Major. “I should remind you, it’s only been a day since I injected her. We might not see any results for a while. Science is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Major followed him back to the rat room. “Yeah. Sorry. You know, it’s just my life. It’s not like whatever happens to this rat happens to me. Oh, hey! Maybe he’s grown wings, and, like, super powerful—“ Or not. Major stopped talking as soon as they turned the corner. The only thing the rat had grown was a massive bleeding sore along its back.

“Balls,” Ravi said.

It was as good a word as any for the disappointment. The rat was covered in sores, bright red against the white fur, and clearly dying. As they watched, it launched itself at the window, screaming, and scrabbled at the glass, trying to get at them through it. Major couldn’t help but understand—he’d want to do the same thing to someone who did that to him.

“So. Prognosis for me is, uh …”

“Look, Major, this isn’t the end,” Ravi assured him. “I have more of the tainted Utopium. I’ll tweak the cure.”

“Before or after I turn into a zombie again?”

“Before. I hope.”

And Major was going to have to live with that … or die with it. Whichever came first.

Chapter 59: Baby, You're Sick

He couldn’t let it go. Major went about his daily routines—some legit training clients, his own workout, scouting out the next suspected zombie on his list—and tried to just relax and trust that Ravi was going to work his scientific magic and come up with another cure. But he had come so close to this being over! Now it felt farther away than ever, and he twitched at every unusual sensation in his body, every food craving or hunger pang, wondering if this was the moment, and he had lost his life for good, gone over to the dark side, the brain-craving side. He felt vaguely disloyal to Liv for still being this disgusted at the thought … but it was only because of her that he was in this situation to begin with, so he decided he was okay with a little vague disloyalty.

On the other hand, he loved Liv. Always had. And if something happened to him, if turning back into a zombie didn’t go well, he wanted her to know—well, either way, he thought it was time she knew who he was and what he had done. For her, yes, but that was beside the point, which was that he was tired of lying to her, trying to pretend to her and to everyone that he was a good man when in actuality he was … whatever he was.

He went to her apartment, preparing himself to tell her all the things he hadn’t wanted her to know.

Liv opened the door with a big smile. “Hey!” The smile faded a bit when she saw him, though she held on to it valiantly, and Major tried to pretend that he didn’t know she was waiting with that smile for another guy. “You.”

“Got a couple minutes for a doomed man?” he asked, walking past her into the apartment.

“Um, sure.”

“I’ve—I’ve been thinking a lot lately about death and whatnot, and I—“ He stumbled over the words, knowing what he wanted to say but not how to say it, and scared of how she would react. “I keep thinking about, you know, what if—if I just, out of the blue, bit the big one.”

Liv looked distressed. He could tell she wanted to comfort him, but they both knew what he was saying was possible.

“There are things I’ve done,” Major went on. “Things that—things that someone needs to know about.” He thought of Natalie in the freezer, buried there, thought of the freezer failing in his absence and all of them thawing out, clawing at the inside … He pushed those thoughts, the visions of his nightmares, away.

Liv’s wide eyes studied his face, her distress and her worry for him written on her face. “Okay.”

“Look, last year I was upset with you ‘cause you didn’t trust me with your big secret.”

“I … was just afraid of what you might do with the information.”

“No, you see, I—I get that now. I mean, more than you can know. So here it is.”

A sound came at the door and Liv whirled toward it and looked back at him, speaking quickly. “Listen, Major, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, too, uh …”

She looked like she was getting at the new guy, whose key was turning in the door. Major couldn’t believe she’d given this guy a key already … but then the door opened and they both saw that it wasn’t a guy. It was Liv’s roommate—a very beautiful redhead whom Major knew. Biblically. Rita stopped in the doorway and stared at him, clearly not having expected him to be here.

As far as lack of expectations … well, this was a doozy. So this was how Max Rager knew so much, how they kept track of him, how they spied on Liv. Rita was living in her apartment! Those absolute utter bastards. He thought immediately back to the texts he’d received out of the blue after he’d ended things with Rita, on a night when she knew he was with Liv. That had been on purpose. It had to have been on purpose.

His first reaction was a dark, heavy rage. But his second was to wonder how he could use this to his advantage, to wiggle out from under Max Rager’s thumb, at least a little bit.

Liv sighed with relief, totally unaware of the unspoken recognition between her ex and her roommate, just glad that it wasn’t the new guy. “Major,” she said, “this is my roommate Gilda, Gilda, this is Major. How weird that it took this long for you two to finally meet,” she added brightly.

“Yeah. Weird,” Major echoed, his eyes still on Rita—or Gilda, if she wanted to be called that here.

Rita had decided to gut it out. She collected herself, closing the door that had kept her stunned face hidden from Liv, and stepped toward Major, holding out her hand to shake. “I’ve certainly heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you in person.”

Major shook the hand, keeping his eyes on hers. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” It certainly wouldn’t be. He’d have some words for her at the office.

Glancing at Liv, Rita said, “What a day. I’m gonna take a shower.” And she was gone, headed down the hall toward the bathroom.

When she was on her way, Liv turned back to Major. “I’m so sorry, Major. I was going to tell you I’m expecting company. Could we talk some other time?”

Behind Liv, Rita turned to watch, and listen. But Major had had enough of that. And the revelation of who Liv’s new roommate was had knocked all his intentions of confessing right out of his mind. Not that it didn’t sound amusing to out Rita at the same time that he was telling Liv everything … but it also didn’t sound particularly safe, especially not for Liv. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” he said. “You know, I … I should have called.” He gave Liv a hug, holding her tenderly. He really didn’t want anything to happen to her, but she was only safe as long as he took care of Max Rager.

“’Night, Major.”

“’Night, Liv.”

Then, as the door closed behind him, he called out, “’Night, Rita!” A slip of the tongue … but one that would tell Liv quite a few things. Maybe enough to convince her to get rid of her new roommate while she still could.

Chapter 60: Your Little Girl

Fresh from the revelation that Rita had been masquerading as Liv’s roommate, spying on both Liv and Major, all this time, Major was feeling something less than properly respectful when he was called into Vaughn du Clark’s office the next day.

du Clark was typing rapidly with one hand and downing a can of Super Max with the other. Major supposed it was too much to hope that Super Max in massive doses was toxic.

“So,” he said, when it appeared du Clark was in a fugue state and not entirely aware of Major’s presence, “you wanted to see me?”

“One second …” He kept typing, then poised one finger above the keyboard and stabbed a button triumpantly. “And … boom! Just finished my keynote for RagerCon ’16 and it’s not even 10. Super Max, man! Super Max! My mental energy is like—it’s—“ He was out of his chair, waving his hands around like moose antlers. If this was your brain on Super Max, Major would pass. “It’s off the charts. And physically? Forget it. Ask the Aer Gaul flight attendant how many petit morte she morted last night. Go ahead.”

God, Major wanted to be elsewhere. He would have contemplated catapulting himself through a window, but he was pretty sure they were shatter-proof. “Sounds like a personal question for a total stranger.”

“Six! You’re welcome! Saved you the embarrassment. This is what boundless energy looks like, Major—this!” Motioning to himself, he picked up the can and downed some more.

“Yep. But it can make you a little …”

“What?”

“Aggressive.”

du Clark grinned. “Aggressive is good. Now, we’ve got some new zombie names for you to deal with.”

“More names?”

“Well, we’re constantly monitoring hot sauce, hair dye, and fake tan spending in the Pacific Northwest. We would not want any zombie-come-latelys crashing our party, would we? Rita’s coming in with the list.”

Major had been wondering how and when to work around to this in the conversation and whether he would think better of broaching the topic when he was actually in the room. In the moment, though, he didn’t think twice. “Rita. About that. I just found out that she’s been Liv’s roommate?”

du Clark made a face to indicate that yes, she had, and what was the big deal, and Major should just let it go. But that wasn’t going to happen.

“Have I not been doing a good job?”

“Well, you know what, let’s find out.” du Clark picked up a freaking Magic 8 Ball, of all things, and shook it. “’Ask again later.’” He made a sad foghorn sound.

“I’ve been takin’ out zombies, I’ve passed all your nutty little tests …”

“Everything we’ve had you do, and it’s a privacy issue that gets your panties in a twist?”

“I assumed the deal was if I cooperated, you kept Liv out of this.”

“When you assume, you …” du Clark made sounds to replace the rest of the cliché. “There’s always a method to the madness, my boy.”

“Was having Rita seduce me part of the madness?”

That got du Clark's attention. “Gaylord says ‘what?’”

Major caught on immediately. “You didn’t know.”

“That you were doing the featherbed jig with … my daughter? Mm … no.”

His what? This was news. At no point in all the time he had spent with either one of them had he gotten the faintest father-daughter vibe. Major was at a loss for words. “Your …?”

And at that opportune moment, Rita came in.

“Daughter!” du Clark shouted. “With the list.”

She handed it to Major. It was hard to see her expression because she had big sunglasses on, but she looked pretty pissed. “Twenty new names.”

“So, sweet child of mine,” du Clark began, “who’s always telling Daddy not to sleep with the help …”

Rita looked disgusted. “Really, Major? I didn’t figure you for the kiss-and-tell type.”

“Came up by accident,” he muttered, glancing quickly over the list to see if there were any familiar names.

“Accident, huh?" she demanded. "Kind of like last night was an accident?”

So, Liv had heard him call her Rita. Well, good.

du Clark’s thoughts went in a different direction. He slowly got up from his chair. “Rita, sweetheart, c’mere.” He took the glasses off her face while Major craned his neck to see. Had Liv hit her? Go, Liv. His mouth twitched with amusement, picturing the way that must have gone.

But Vaughn du Clark hadn’t factored Liv into this situation, and he had jumped to an entirely wrong conclusion. “You think this is funny?” He threw the sunglasses at Major’s face. As Major dodged, he reached for the Magic 8 Ball. “You think you can hurt my daughter? Huh?”

Major dodged the Magic 8 Ball, which embedded itself in the wall with a thud.

“Stop it!” Rita got in front of her father to hold him back. “It was Liv, not him!” She turned to Major. “You’ve got the list, you should go.”

As he was making a hasty exit from the room, he heard du Clark shouting after him, “You don’t mess with my daughter!”

He felt for the guy. He did. Hard to see your little girl get hurt … but if he hadn’t raised his little girl to be such a cold, manipulative shark, he might not have had to see her hurt.

Chapter 61: A Fragile Line

Armed with his new list from Max Rager, Major headed for Shady Plots. He couldn’t help thinking how odd his routine was these days—he spent most of his time in a morgue, a funeral parlor, and an energy drink company. And the morgue felt the safest. Not a lot of people could say they felt safe in a morgue. There was something to be said for being unique. Or just messed up.

There appeared to be no one home at the funeral parlor. What if Major had wanted to buy a burial plot? Plan a funeral? Steal a coffin? He leaned toward the last one, personally. It sounded like more fun. Why had they never done that back in his football days? Steal a casket, throw a party, have a blow-up doll inside it and pop the lid at an opportune moment? He missed college some days. Everything had been so simple.

He called for Blaine a couple of times, but there was no answer. Still thinking back to college parties and imagining the effect of a coffin at one, he thumped the nearest casket with his fist. Even as he did so, the hair rose on his arm. Was there a zombie hiding in the coffin? That seemed like a good way to scare off customers, Major thought, but who knew what kind of schemes Blaine might have for tricking people into buying. Zombie pops out of a coffin, touring grandma drops dead of a heart attack, Blaine gets an immediate sale? He put a hand on the coffin, wondering if he should open it. Half-turning, he saw Blaine standing directly behind him and jumped back in shock.

“What’s the word?” Blaine asked softly. “Boo?” He seemed … paler than yesterday. And it didn’t look like make-up.

With dismay, Major did the math, looking at his arm, where the hair still stood on end. Damn it. “This is you? You’re a zombie again?”

“Yep. Back on the brain gang. Dang.”

“Crap.”

Blaine nodded his agreement with Major’s assessment.

“I got the impression we might have longer.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Ravi factored in mitochondrial metabolism and the effect on the interaction.”

Major frowned at him. That was kind of science-y for Blaine, and completely lacking in his trademark whimsy.

“Whoa. I’m … so sorry,” Blaine said. “This nerd brain I ate is so annoying.” He sighed. “Um, bottom line is—“

“I’m gonna end up a zombie again.” The last thing he wanted. Those few minutes as one had been … soul-destroying. Like everything he was and everything he wanted to be had been taken away from him, leaving—nothing. Emptiness. A hunger for brains. A dulling of the senses. He didn’t want that again, not even for a few minutes.

“And then die. That’s part of it, too, apparently. Heavy, right?” They looked at each other in dismay, momentarily bonded by their shared totally crappy fate. Then Blaine’s general good cheer and eye for what he could get out of a situation reasserted itself. “Anywho, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. We got our best minds working on the cure. Now, I assume you’re here because you need another zombie for your freezer?”

With some effort, Major pulled himself out of the spiraling unhappiness that had taken hold of him, pulling the new list out of his pocket. “Yeah.” He looked it over, prepared to make suggestions, but Blaine was ready for him.

“Drake Holloway.”

A quick scan confirmed it. “On the list.”

They nodded at each other, and Blaine stepped back, waving Major toward the door. “It’s nice doing business with you.”

“Yeah,” Major whispered, pushing past Blaine toward the door.

‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly the way Major would have put any part of his interactions with Blaine. Convenient, perhaps, but not nice. And certainly nothing about today had been nice. He’d just been given his death sentence. If Blaine was a zombie again, and they had received the cure on the same night, only hours apart, Major couldn’t have more than a couple of days left. A couple more days of being human, and then … how long after that? How long until the combination of zombieism and the cure for it killed him? Long enough for Ravi to come up with a new cure?

Panic filled him. He wanted to scream, to tear his hair, to go to Liv and throw himself into her arms—or, alternatively, wring her neck for getting him into this mess. But really, he was the one who had burst into Meat Cute and shot up the place and gotten shot himself, so maybe … maybe he should just be glad for the time he’d had. Time he otherwise would have lost.

Could he do that? Could he go into this dark, unknown future focusing on appreciating the time he had left, rather than allowing his fear of the return of zombieism to drag down every one of his remaining moments? Or did he have a choice? He had to continue his work for Max Rager, or du Clark would kill him anyway, no passing zombie or collecting brains on a plate. At least this way, he was doing somebody some good.

He scanned the list for the Drake Holloway entry, going over Rita’s notes on known associates and hang-outs. This guy shouldn’t be too hard to find. Might as well get back to work and stop worrying about everything else.

Chapter 62: The Way It Should Be

It was easier to push his fear of becoming a zombie again away than Major had anticipated. Max Rager was happy with Drake Holloway crossed off the list so he had a few days’ worth of breathing room, and Rita had been kicked out of Liv’s so he didn't have to worry about being stalked when he went over there—less of a concern than it used to be, but their lives were thoroughly enough intertwined that it was definitely a consideration. Meanwhile, Peyton and Liv had decided to be roommates again, to everyone’s relief, so Major and Ravi had been elected to provide the muscle.

Okay, Major was providing the muscle. Ravi was mostly providing the complaints. He had found a dozen different excuses to avoid carrying the actual furniture, so once that was all loaded into the truck, Major made sure the boxes that remained to be moved were all the books. Law books. Very heavy. Watching his roommate try to heft two at a time and not look like he was dying in an attempt to impress Peyton with his musculature was one of the most entertaining things Major had seen in days.

Liv was still in her robe when they started hauling boxes into the apartment—Major and Peyton had wanted to get an early start, and Ravi was putty in Peyton’s hands, as usual.

“Hey, zombie muscles. Think we can get a hand here, or are you busy doing your nails?”

Studying her hands, Liv frowned. “I would hate to chip my fresh manicure.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I took that from Peyton, but I know you better than that,” Major told her. “Unless … you’re not on some fancy brain that requires immaculate nails, are you?”

“No. Just coming off retired accountant.”

“Damn. You mean I could have had you do my taxes? If only I’d known.”

“There’s a reason I kept that one to myself,” Ravi said. “Come on, let’s get some more boxes. Madame Peyton, will you be joining us?”

“I kind of want to start getting settled …”

“If I’m helping, you’re helping,” Liv said. “Let me get dressed.”

And then it was … awesome. The four of them, unloading the truck, getting Peyton’s furniture set up, helping her unpack, Major and Ravi staying for Chinese takeout. If things were different … if Liv wasn’t a zombie … if they could be together …

But things weren’t different, and if Liv wasn’t a zombie they wouldn’t have met Ravi in the first place, so Major made a conscious effort to take the situation for what it was worth.

Peyton opened the refrigerator, studying the contents. “Major, you want a beer?”

“It’s not Yosemite Sam’s Flamin’ Hot Lager, is it?”

“No. And ew. Does Liv really drink that? I may have to reconsider my life choices.”

“No, don’t listen to him, Peyton.”

“Why did you move in here?” Ravi asked her. “I thought your new place was all fancy and special, so much better than living on our couch.”

“Well, it was. Not that the couch wasn’t great. Super comfy.” Peyton grabbed two beers and closed the refrigerator door. “I really thought the new place was going to work out, but there was this loud tenant living above me who my landlord refused to evict. Plus, I’m a lawyer, okay. If I can’t get out of a one-page lease, I should be disbarred.”

She dropped onto the couch next to Liv. Major couldn’t help smiling, seeing them there. How many times had he seen the two of them side by side on a couch with beers in their hands? Too many to count. They were good for each other—always had been.

Liv glanced at Ravi, one eyebrow lifted quizzically. “What is happening over there?”

Major realized that his roommate was trying to drink his beer without lifting the bottle, which looked … odd. And a little sad.

“I literally can’t lift my arms.” He turned and frowned at Major. “Why did I get all the boxes of books?”

“Because you made me carry all the furniture all by myself.”

Ravi accepted that as the logic it was.

Peyton smiled at them both. “Aw, this is fun. Please try and rent the apartment across the hall.”

“So we can be like the friends from Friends,” Liv agreed.

“Yes!”

“Fantastic idea.” Ravi gestured at Peyton with his beer bottle. “Peyton is Monica-esque.” Looking at Liv, he added, “You’re clearly a Rachel.” When she gave him a questioning look, he explained, “Type A, relationship drama.”

“Ooo.”

Major couldn’t help appreciating the dig. He didn’t blame her for the most recent break-up … but it still stung a little, nevertheless. “Do you remember the episode where Ross and Rachel break up because she’s a zombie who wants to solve murder cases?”

Clearly Liv was stung a little, too, judging by the good-humored venom in the look she gave him.

He pointed his beer bottle at her. “That was so us.”

The rest of the evening was interrupted by Peyton getting a phone call from one of her sources, who was then murdered in mid-call. Everyone else bundled up to go see about the body and start working on the case, while Major volunteered to clean up the food and lock up the apartment before he left. He wondered if, when they changed the locks, he would still automatically be given a key. He wanted to be part of Liv’s life—had to be, if he was going to keep her safe—but she had moved on, found someone else. Maybe he should be thinking about that, too. Of course, dating someone new would require lies and sneaking around to cover up his side gig, and it would be hard to explain to any woman why he spent so much time in morgues and funeral homes …

He should just give up and go goth, Major reflected. That was the only kind of woman who could put up with his current lifestyle. He imagined himself in black eyeliner … and decided against it.

Chapter 63: A Pack of Lies

Major was just putting his updated list back in the safe in his closet when Ravi burst through the door into his room.

“Ooh! Sorry. I didn’t know you were home; I was looking for my nail clippers.”

Wasn’t that just what he needed—proof that Ravi had no boundaries and nothing was safe. Major was glad he had been taking precautions all along … but maybe he needed to go a step further. Feigning casual acceptance of the intrusion, he said, “Be honest, man. When I leave the house, you like to try on my clothes just to feel close to me.”

“Sometimes.” Pointing at the closet, Ravi asked, “When did you get a safe?”

Crap. He had thought he’d moved fast enough to prevent Ravi from seeing it.

“I should get one, shouldn’t I. Seems very adult and—“

Ravi stopped babbling when Major shut the closet door. Firmly, hoping to cut off any further conversation in the process.

Major waited for his roommate to go away, but it was hard to get Ravi off a topic when he was interested. “Is it fireproof?”

“It’s just a safe.”

“Well, do you have room in there for my green card, and my—“

“I don’t. It’s … full. There’s lots of stuff!” ‘Lots of stuff’? Yes, that lameness was absolutely guaranteed to squash Ravi’s endless curiosity. Major could have kicked himself for not having come up with a better story just in case this happened. He should have been more prepared.

Ravi’s face twisted in confusion. “All right, then. That’s that.”

But Major was willing to bet that was not going to be that. So on top of everything else going on, he had to find a new place to hide things because he wasn’t secure enough in his own house. And, just to rub it in, Ravi spotted the nail clippers on Major’s nightstand on his way out and took them with him—ostentatiously.

Tension persisted within the house until the next day, Ravi making a lame excuse to avoid game night. The following morning, as Major was grazing for a light breakfast, Ravi was reading the paper, pointedly not sharing his usual running commentary. It stung. Major had come to like and respect his roommate in the time they had lived together, and being at odds with him was not enjoyable. He hated that this situation forced him to lie to the people he most wanted to tell the truth to.

He took a drink from the milk carton, gagging at the taste and pouring it out. “Guh. The milk’s gone bad.”

“Did it? I just bought it yesterday.” Ravi’s tone was carefully neutral.

“The world’s an imperfect place.” Wasn’t that the truth.

Ravi flipped a page of the paper. After a moment of silence, he called out urgently, “Major, look at this.”

Major came to look, alarm spiking through him when he saw the headline: “SEATTLE IN SHOCK OVER CHAO$ KILLER’S REIGN OF TERROR.” His greatest hits. Literally.

Worse yet, while every other victim was shown in a headshot, Minor’s owner was shown with his dog. Damn it!

And Ravi was pointing right at the picture. “Doesn’t that look like Minor?”

“Just looks like every other basset hound in the world.”

Ravi frowned at the picture, studying it closely. “No, but the markings … Look at the timeline. Colin Andrews went missing on November 13th. That’s the day you brought Minor home.”

It was? Major had been so strung out on Utopium at that point he wouldn’t have known what day that had been. He frowned at Ravi. “You remember the exact day I brought him home?”

“Same day Peyton showed up on our doorstep, so … yeah.”

“Ah.” Major nodded, understanding perfectly. He wondered if Ravi was ever going to get anywhere with Peyton. She showed little sign of any real interest in Ravi other than as a friend, but with Peyton it was hard to tell. Sometimes that meant she liked you more, if she was comfortable enough to be casual with you. He had hoped that Peyton’s name coming up in the conversation would distract Ravi from the dog, but no such luck.

Still staring at the picture of the dog, Ravi exclaimed, “This is unbelievable! Maybe you should call the police. It’s possible you saw the Chaos Killer and you don’t know it.”

Oh, he’d seen the Chaos Killer, all right, and he knew it all too well. And he could only imagine Clive’s response if he called the police and fessed up to having had the dog of one of the victims at his house.

“Ravi, that’s not even Minor.”

“Colin Andrews’ dog Penny was found on a bus on January 14th. Isn’t that right around the time you took Minor back to his owner? How’d he wind up on a bus?”

Major forced a laugh. “I think you’re losing it, my friend. That’s not Minor.” Unable to continue the conversation without throwing up from anxiety, he punched Ravi lightly on the arm and turned to leave the kitchen. “I gotta go to work.”

“Major!” Ravi called after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His roommate was skating way too close to the truth as it was. He had the sickening sensation of time running out, and the even more sickening awareness that he didn’t have the faintest idea how to stop it.

Chapter 64: Something Has to Happen

Major came into the house feeling surprisingly good—he’d worked with actual clients today, avoided anything to do with Max Rager, and he wasn’t a zombie. All positives on his list. His stomach was growling from having been too busy to eat, but there were chips and hummus in the kitchen ready to take the edge off until he could talk Ravi into ordering pizza. He was glad his roommate was home; they hadn’t spent much time together recently, and their last two interactions, over the safe and the dog, hadn’t been as friendly as Major would have liked. It was time to bro out, hard.

He came around the corner into the kitchen to find his roommate standing there. Good. Maybe Ravi hadn't eaten, either, and they could get right down to the pizza ordering.

“I should warn you,” Major told him, taking off his jacket and dropping his bag, “I haven’t been able to eat all day, and I am just crossing over from low blood sugar to downright crabby.” He walked past Ravi, vaguely wondering why he was just standing there, unmoving, like a statue or something, until he noticed what was laid out on the counter.

Trank gun. Cans of spray paint. Oh, crap—Ravi had broken open his safe. He should have moved all that stuff as soon as he could, but he’d thought he had more time.

“Ravi,” he said softly. He needed his roommate to understand, but what could you say? ‘Oh, hey, I’m infamous and I’ve killed people but only some people and for good reason, so don’t hate me’?

Shaking the book Major used to keep track of his progress down the list in the air, Ravi spoke in a carefully controlled voice that was somewhere between rage and betrayal. “It took me a remarkably long time to understand what this was.”

“Y-you, you have to let me …” God, he wished he had been more prepared for this. He was so stunned, he didn’t even know what to say. How stupid had he been not to anticipate that Ravi would eventually figure this out?

Ravi began to read from the book. “'Tim Ellis, Monday Wednesday Friday.'”

“I can explain.”

But Ravi didn’t stop. His voice got louder as he began to lose control over his anger. “'Drives kids to school, 7:30-8. Evelyn Morris, housekeeper, leaves at 4:30, no alarm.'”

“Ravi, please.”

“You knew Colin Andrews went for a run with his dog in Seward Park every evening. ’Course we know where that dog ended up.”

Major was starting to get a little angry himself, more so every time he started to explain and Ravi made it clear he didn’t want to listen. “Why did you do this?”

Ravi lost his control, then, shouting into Major’s face as he shook the book at him. “Because I have a right to know if I’m living with a murderer! I should know if my friend is killing people!” There were tears in his eyes.

“I’m not killing people!”

But Ravi took that the wrong way. “What, they’re not people, they’re zombies? So what’s Liv to you?”

Major could feel his own anger boiling up, bolstered by the way his hunger had started gnawing at his stomach. With a serious effort, he tried to remain calm, to get Ravi to stop shouting long enough to listen and understand the situation, but it was hard to think. “Please. Ravi. You don’t understand!”

“You stalk them, Major. You hunt them, and you drug them, and I am terrified to find out what you’ve—“

“Stop!” Major shouted. It looked bad, he knew that, but this was his friend, his best friend, if you came down to it, and he wasn’t giving Major the benefit of the doubt or a chance to explain or a moment to take the edge off his growing hunger, or even a breath in which to think and know what to say.

God, he was hungry. He was so hungry. His stomach cramped, his heart racing, his breath coming short. Was he having a panic attack? He turned away from Ravi, trying to get himself under control, panting against the sudden pain.

That was when it happened. It was hard to say exactly when he turned the corner, but in the space of a heartbeat he went from being a living human who hadn’t eaten all day to a member of the undead who was starving for brains. And he was angry, too. So angry. He wanted to turn and break into the skull of the body shouting at him, fill up on those rich pink brains, scarf them down, sate this desperate hunger.

He tried to hold on, his hands clenching tight on the edge of the counter—and then the world went black as blissful unconsciousness overtook him.

Chapter 65: The Things that Changed

His head was pounding, like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, his mouth was thick and dry, and god, he was so hungry. What the hell had happened to him? Why was he on the couch? Had he gone out and gotten drunk, or worse? No hangover had ever felt quite this bad, though, not even when he was on the Utopium.

Major couldn’t believe how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten much yesterday, but this was over the top, a gnawing, aching, sharp pain in his stomach that only one thing could satisfy.

Brains.

Oh, god. He was a zombie.

Then it all came rushing back to him. Coming home to find all his Chaos Killer supplies laid out on the counter, the argument with Ravi, and then the sudden change from living to undead. He remembered, too, that he had never had a chance to explain the truth to Ravi, so his roommate still thought he was a serial killer. Given all that, it was a surprise that he was neatly laid out on the couch and not trapped in a locker in the morgue or something, he thought.

As he stirred, Ravi came into the living room. He was tense and wary, eyeing Major as if he thought he might become the next victim of the Chaos Killer.

“What happened?” Major asked the question to buy himself some time and to hear what was going on in Ravi’s head—but also a little bit to hope that maybe he was entirely wrong about the whole situation and he wasn’t really a zombie and Ravi didn’t really know.

Yeah, nice try, Lilywhite.

Ravi pretended to think. “Let’s see, what was it? Oh, yeah! Um, I accused you of being the Chaos Killer, you turned into a raging zombie, I tranquilized you.”

Major sighed. Well, there went that last-ditch desperate hope.

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly? Hungry.” He didn’t want to admit how tempting Ravi’s shiny pink brains sounded right now, but he figured he probably should. “Like, zombie hungry.”

“I can help with that,” Ravi said quietly. He clearly had decided to deal with the more present, more imminent danger first. “We’ll head down to the morgue soon, but let’s not bury the lede.” It was obvious he was trying really hard to control his voice, and his emotions. “You’re the Chaos Killer.”

Major drew a breath and released it, preparing himself to come clean. Funny, for how much he had dreaded this moment, how little prepared he was to find it actually here. “Well, technically, I’m the Chaos Kidnapper. No one’s dead; they’re frozen.”

“In preparation for their long-haul interstellar journey?” Ravi spread his hands out, giving Major a hard look that indicated he was going to need a lot more details.

All right, so he wasn’t going to be able to hold any of it back. It should have been a relief to finally be able to tell his roommate everything, but it really wasn’t. The whole thing sounded so unbelievable, he wouldn’t blame Ravi if he didn’t buy a word. But there was no help for it. “Okay, Max Rager knows about zombies. And they know that they’re at least partly to blame for them. They want to get rid of the evidence.”

Ravi was still staring at him as though he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and Major couldn’t blame him.

He went on, “They’ve identified potential zombies through purchases. Okay? So, hot sauce, tanning, hair dye.” He enumerated them on his fingers.

That detail seemed to have sparked Ravi’s interest. For the first time since Major had come home tonight, there was more curiosity in his face than anger or suspicion.

“There are hundreds of names,” Major continued. “They learned that I can detect zombies. So now they have me going down the list, taking out anyone who sets off my zombie sense.”

Ravi frowned, shaking his head. “Did you consider turning down their offer?”

Well, duh. Did Ravi think it was that easy? Clearly he had never met Vaughn du Clark if he thought that was a man you could just say no to and then go on your merry way. “They said they’d murder everyone on the list, starting with Liv.”

“I see.” Ravi nodded, if a bit grudgingly, accepting that Major at least believed he hadn’t had a choice. “That’s a … tough first offer.”

“I mean, I thought that if I could make Max Rager think that I was killing them, freeze them instead, you would come up with a cure and there would be a big happy ending for everyone.”

Ravi winced and sighed at that one, sitting down on the stool on the other side of the coffee table. Major was glad that at least his roommate was no longer keeping a careful safe distance between them, but damn, that brain smelled good. “We have to tell Liv.”

“We can’t.”

“I’m going to tell her, then.”

“Okay, look, everything I have done has been to protect her.”

“Not to be funny, but that’s what she said,” Ravi pointed out.

He wasn’t wrong, but Liv had broken up with Major for a reason. “You see more of Liv than anyone. Just answer this question honestly: Has she or has she not decided the only way she can make herself feel vital is to be some crusader for justice?”

It took a moment for Ravi to be willing to admit it. At last, he nodded. “It’s brought some meaning into her life, to be sure.”

“Okay, then ask yourself: If we tell Liv the truth, do you think this new version of Liv is liable to do something that’ll get herself killed?”

Ravi couldn’t argue with that one. “All right. I won’t tell her. For now. But we have to figure out a way to get you out of this.”

“Dude, I’ve been trying! Don’t you think I’ve been trying? And god, what do you put on your brain? It smells amazing.”

“O-kay.” Ravi got up. “Let’s get you to the morgue. I like my divine-smelling brain right where it is, thank you very much.” He looked sideways at Major. “I don’t have to handcuff you or anything, do I?”

“No, I think I can hold it together long enough to get to the morgue. And please, don’t ever tell me why you have handcuffs.”

“They’re yours.”

“Oh. Right.”

At the morgue, Major watched with a mix of starvation and disgust as Ravi stuck some pieces of brain in a blender with hot sauce and whirled it all into a red mess. This was his life now. He ate brains. People’s actual brains. But he was so hungry, he could easily have cracked open his best friend’s skull and eaten his brains raw, so it was hard to get too high and mighty about the blended brain of someone who was already dead. He took the jar off the blender and chugged down the contents.

He couldn’t believe how instantly everything turned around. From desperate hunger to a feeling of power and vitality like the end of a really great workout. “Mm! Tastes nasty, but feels great! Whew!’

Ravi turned away and threw his gloves into the hazardous waste bin.

“So, how close are you to a new cure?”

“Yeah … about that. Um … I’ve been successful turning a zombie rat back into a normal rat.”

“So now it’s time to try it on a two-legged zombie.”

“A two-legged zombie has already taken it.”

“Blaine?”

Ravi twisted his face up in pained confirmation. “He injected himself before I could do proper testing. He thought he was dying.”

“I know I should want you to say that the cure worked perfectly …” The idea of Blaine dying a horrible death from an improperly tested zombie cure would almost be worth knowing that there wasn’t a cure.

“Well, he’s no longer a zombie,” Ravi offered.

“But?”

“Side effects may include complete memory loss. He’s still functional, still Blaine in many ways, just can’t recall anything he did or anyone he met prior to taking the cure.”

Well. Wasn’t that a kick in the head. Literally, he supposed. Live as Major Lilywhite, zombie, or live as a human who was no longer Major Lilywhite. Not remember the day he met Liv, or the first time they kissed … No.

“Unless, of course, he’s faking it,” Ravi added.

That was always a consideration. With Blaine, you never knew. But Major wasn’t willing to gamble his memory on the possibility. At least, not yet.

Chapter 66: A Beautiful Feeling

“Man. Life is good! I mean, here I am, a zombie, but I’m alive, and you—you’re a great guy, you know that, Ravi?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told it once or twice.” His roommate had a grin that Major thought he should find suspicious—but really, why go around suspecting people? Life was better if you took them at face value.

“You keep a really neat morgue, too. I’ve always admired your—“ Major caught himself halfway through gushing about the cleanliness of the morgue. What was he doing? Who even was this person talking?

Then it hit him. Brain. He was on a brain. Well, at last he really, truly understood how hard it must have been for Liv to fight the influence of the brains she was on. He was still himself, but he felt … bubbly. Effervescent. Absolutely certain everything would turn out for the best. Except for the part of him that hated it because it was fake and he was a zombie, he could really kind of like this brain.

“Major, why don’t you go take a rest? You’ve had kind of a long day,” Ravi suggested.

“Yeah. That sounds good. A nap. Why don’t people take more naps? They’re refreshing little bites in the middle of a hectic day. This is gonna be a great nap!”

“I bet it will be.”

Ravi turned back to his work and Major settled down on the lumpy couch in Ravi’s office, letting the power of the positive lull him to sleep.

He woke up feeling refreshed and just really high on life. Taking a deep breath, he took in the formaldehyde smell of the morgue. It was a great day to be alive. “'Oh, what a beautiful morning!'” he chorused. “'Oh, what a beautiful day!'” Still singing, he left the office to find that Liv was in the morgue, talking to Ravi. They both turned to look at him, and neither of them looked like they understood what a real gift it was just to be alive.

“We’re inside,” Ravi pointed out, as if a person couldn’t enjoy a beautiful day from wherever they were.

“Well, that is where the warmest rays of light come from,” Major pointed out to him. He gestured at his heart, smiling at both of them. His wonderful roommate and his beautiful ex-fiance. “Inside.”

Liv frowned up at him, and he wanted to reach out and nudge that frown into a smile. Then it occurred to him that maybe she hadn’t expected the white streak in his hair and his changed life circumstances.

“You told her, right?” he asked Ravi.

“She would have noticed.”

“Well, turns out all I needed was a little disco nap to turn my frown upside down.” He smiled at both of them to prove it. “You know, being a zombie ain’t so bad.”

“Leslie Morgan,” Liv said, looking accusingly at Ravi. “You gave him leftover positivity brain?”

Positivity. That was a good word. People should have more positivity. Liv should have more positivity. She was great when she let loose and just had fun. They should have more fun.

Ravi put his hands up in acknowledgement of what he’d done. “I did. But that was the last of it.”

Liv turned to Major. “You know that this elevated mood you’re experiencing is temporary. Right?” She was wearing her doctor face, that Liv-explains-all look he’d seen so many times before. Usually, he found it annoying. Today, it was kind of cute. Nice of her to be looking out for him.

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Look, let’s not worry about tomorrow until we’re done enjoying today.”

Liv’s eyes widened with what looked like trepidation. Surely what tomorrow brought couldn’t be that bad. She put a hand on his arm. “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “But, when this ‘everything is awesome’ brain wears off, I want you to know how sorry I am.”

“Shh.” Major put his finger on her lips. “Sh, sh, sh.” He took his finger back and gently explained to her, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” As she processed that bit of wisdom, he smiled at both of them. “I’ve got some hair to dye and some skin to spray tan. Carpe diem!” On his way out he leaped in the air and clicked his heels together. He’d always wanted to do that and it had always felt corny. But today it was right—a spontaneous expression of happiness. Yes.

He left them both there and headed straight for a drug store, looking through the hair dye aisle. A young woman was there next to him, looking at shades of red. He turned to her with two boxes. “Which one do you think matches better?”

She started to say something sharp to him, then looked him over and decided against it, pointing at one. “Decided that shock lock wasn’t the right look for you, huh?”

“Oh, no, it’s … just a phase I’m going through. Not as bad as I thought, really. Life is good.” He reached out and picked up a box and handed it to her. “With your skin, I think you’d look great in this color.”

Taking the box, she frowned at it for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have a perfect day.”

He headed for the spray tanner, finding his skin tone more easily than he had his hair color, and paid for his purchases … remembering to use cash. The last thing he needed was for his name to show up on one of Vaughn du Clark’s lists. Of course, maybe he could find a way to turn du Clark around. After all, what was wrong with a few zombies? Surely everyone would be happier if they lived and let live, Major thought. He whistled happily as he exited the drugstore, enjoying the raindrops on his face and the clean smell of the air.

Later that night, after a truly lovely day, he came back to the morgue, finding Blaine there talking to Ravi. He walked in as Blaine was asking, “How could I have done all these horrible things?”

“My guess?” Major put in, stepping through the office door. “If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to hate.”

Blaine frowned at him and then across the desk at Ravi.

“Yeah, um … Remember how I was telling you about that guy whose life you ruined? How you turned his fiance into a zombie and cost him his job, killed a bunch of kids that were close to him, kidnapped him, locked him in a freezer, and tortured him before finally stabbing him to death? This is him.”

During Ravi’s monologue, Blaine looked increasingly unhappy and Major felt for him. It couldn’t be easy to learn you were a sadistic asshole. Maybe it would be good for him in the long run, this memory loss, give him the chance to see what kind of man he could have been under better circumstances.

He gave Blaine a little wave. “Hey.”

Blaine nodded back with a little wave of his own, his face twisted with self-loathing. Poor guy.

“I thought the worst part about this whole thing was forgetting the people I loved,” Blaine said. “Or the people that loved me. But maybe nobody did.”

“You know, who we were, isn’t who we are.” Major was certainly a poster child for that concept. “It’s practice for who we want to become.”

“Huh,” Blaine said, not sure how to take that wisdom.

Ravi rolled his eyes and sighed.

Major felt for both of them. They really needed to look on the bright side of life more often.

“I should go,” Blaine said at last. “Thanks, Doc.” He got up and left, giving Major another little awkward nod in passing.

Watching him leave, Major could feel his innate hatred of the man warring with the positive good feelings that were coursing through him. The good feelings won—mostly. “I wouldn’t wish that on … well, him,”
he said, as Ravi got up to join him. “You know, ‘cause he’s my worst enemy? You get it.”

“Listen, Major. What happened to Blaine might not happen to you.”

“Oh, I know. He could totally be faking. And even if it is the truth, it’s not like I don’t have other options. I don’t have to take this new cure.”

“I’m … sorry, but I think you do. If you don’t want to die.”

“Whoa, hold on. I mean, New Hope died. She’s a rat. Last time I checked, Gepetto, I’m a real boy. So I might be more resilient.”

“You might,” Ravi conceded. “But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”

“Look, if I take the second cure and I survive, but I have no idea who you are, no idea who Liv is, if I don’t even know who I am, what’s the point? I mean, whose life is it I’ll be saving?”

Ravi couldn’t argue with that. “You know what we need? Talking rat. Then we’ll know if Blaine’s telling the truth.”

Major laughed. Then it hit him. “Ravi, you magnificent bastard, that’s it.”

“I hope whatever’s got you excited doesn’t require me to build some rat mind-reading device.”

“No, no, no. Vaughn can be our talking rat.”

“Uh …”

“Look, I scratch him, turn him into a zombie, we give him the cure. If he doesn’t lose his memory, we know Blaine’s lying. And if he does lose his memory, well, maybe the upside is he becomes a harmless shell of himself. Like Blaine.”

Ravi was frowning, liking the plan but clearly not entirely on board. “I mean, there are some ethical hurdles I need to wrap my head around.”

“He’s planning on killing Liv and me as soon as I’m done with that zombie list.”

“Okay. Ethical hurdles cleared. I’ll go prepare a syringe.”

It was perfect. The right idea, the right way to get them all out of this. Yes, it really was a beautiful day.

Chapter 67: There's No Running Away

Major felt great. Even above the influence of the upbeat brain, he was elated. He had the perfect way to get them all off his back—Vaughn du Clark, Blaine, everyone. And the perfect revenge on du Clark: Turn him into a zombie, or turn him into a zombie detector himself. It worked either way.

He had to suppress a smile as he walked into du Clark’s office, the vials of virus and cure safely tucked away in his bag.

du Clark was on the phone, his chair turned toward the window so that his back was to Major. While he waited, Major took a quick, nervous look into his bag, just to reassure himself that the vials were there. If this didn’t work—but that was ridiculous. Of course it would work. It was the perfect plan. Nothing to worry about.

Finishing up his conversation in what sounded like fluent French, du Clark turned the chair around and put the phone on his desk. He put his hands on the glass top and got ready to stand up, grinning at Major. “We ready to do this thing?”

“If not now, I never will be.” Major couldn’t help the smile this time, his words even more apt than du Clark could know. This could be the day, this could be it. If the cure worked …

A side door opened and the unsmiling security guy, Janko, came in. Major’s smile faded as their eyes met. Janko, for all his lack of expression, seemed—triumphant? Gleeful? Major couldn’t quite put his finger on the look in Janko’s eyes, but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this interruption was not going to be good for him.

Without a word, Janko walked to du Clark’s side and bent over to speak quietly into his ear.

du Clark listened, frowning a little. “Really?” he asked softly.

Janko whispered some more, then stood up, looking at Major. No, this definitely was not going to go well. Major held his ground, hoping to bluff his way out, but he was fighting the instinct to run. They’d catch him, even zombified, he was sure. Or they’d stop him in the elevator. There was no way out of this that wasn’t going to require charm.

Fortunately, he thought, thinking positively, charm had always been his strong suit.

He waited, not liking the serious look on du Clark’s face. du Clark got slowly to his feet, clearly thinking things over. Whatever it was that Janko had told him, he hadn’t been prepared for—and Vaughn du Clark did not like not being prepared. “You know what,” he said, “I think we’re gonna put the gym on hold, Major. Take a little trip to Tacoma, instead. Something down there I—I need you to see.”

The whimsy was back on his face, which really didn’t bode well for Major at all. Had they figured out that he was a zombie again? Had they kidnapped Liv, or Ravi?

Major pulled himself together with an effort, giving what he hoped was a ready-for-anything smile. “Okay. Just gonna … put my bag in my car, I’ll be right back.” He backed up, then turned and walked out of the office, concentrating on walking casually, normally, wondering how far they were going to let him get before they came for him. Janko was following him, he was sure of that.

But he hadn’t gone three steps from the office door before Janko was no longer his biggest problem. The elevator doors opened in front of him, a woman’s voice shouting “Stop!”, followed by the sound of a lot of guns being cocked.

That FBI agent, Dale something, the one who had been with Babineaux, was standing in front of him with a truly impressive number of armed people backing her up … and they were all pointing their guns straight at Major.

“Turn around!” she told him. He put the bag on the floor and did as she asked, putting his hands up in the process. He didn’t know what would happen if he got shot as a zombie—and he really didn’t want to find out. As he turned, he looked at du Clark and Janko, who were standing in the doorway of the office, both appearing fairly nonplussed by this turn of events. There would be no help for him there. Not that he had ever expected any.

“Down on the ground, hands behind your back,” the FBI agent ordered.

Major fell to his knees, putting his hands behind his head. She kicked the bag away from him so he couldn’t reach it.

“Down!”

Adrenaline was kicking in, and he could feel anger rising along with the panic. Even as he complied with her orders and lay face-down, he was fighting off a nearly overwhelming urge to attack, to get free, to rend and tear and kill and eat.

Over the pounding rage in his ears, he dimly heard Dale somebody reading him his rights as she handcuffed him. He fought to keep from going into—what did Liv call it, full-on zombie mode? He couldn’t go into that here. Not now. Not and have his life again.

Where was positivity brain when you needed it?

Chapter 68: Altogether Mighty Frightening

What the hell had he gotten himself into this time? Major restrained himself from pacing the cell—his cellmate had already threatened to beat him up for being annoying, and for the sake of his cellmate’s brains, Major didn’t want to push it. But he felt excess energy building up inside of him, entirely separate from the hunger that was gnawing at him, making it increasingly hard to think.

The question burning in his mind was how much they knew. Well, that, and was this about the Chaos killings, or was it Clive and his FBI partner’s continuing obsession with the Meat Cute massacre? Then again, it was entirely possible it was both. Had Blaine rolled over on him? Of course not. Blaine didn’t remember him, or their deal, or anything about his own business. If it wasn’t such a well-deserved punishment for the smarmy bastard, Major would have felt sorry for him.

How long were they going to keep him in here? It had already been overnight, with no sign of questioning. It was entirely possible Ravi and Liv didn’t even know he’d been arrested. It was even more possible that they’d searched his house and Ravi was in trouble, and that Liv wasn’t speaking to him. The not-knowing was driving him crazy. The hunger was driving him crazy. His cellmate’s snoring was driving him crazy. If he didn’t go out of here soon, he’d be a mindless … zombie. God, he really did need to get out of here before he lost control entirely and chowed down on his cellmate’s juicy pink brains.

“You want to shut the fuck up?” demanded his cellmate.

Major hadn’t been aware he was making any noise. “Sorry.”

“Better be.” The snoring resumed.

Biting his lip, Major tried to sleep, but when it came it was fitful and filled with terrible dreams.

At last, a cop came to the cell. “Major Lilywhite?” He made the name sound completely ridiculous, and Major was in no condition to offer any of his patented snappy retorts.

“Yeah.”

“They want you in interrogation.”

He went with the cop, his hands cuffed in front of him, and was shoved roughly in the door of an interrogation room and into a seat, chaining his handcuffs to a bolt in the table. Major sat and stared at his haggard and hungry self in the mirror and did some more waiting. He tried not to give them the satisfaction of fidgeting, but it was difficult to do.

At last Clive came in with the FBI agent. “Major.”

Major nodded, not sure if it was appropriate to call the detective who was about to question you for murder by his first name.

“You know why you’re here?” Bozzio asked him.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“You’re mouthy for a serial killer.”

“Serial killer?” He managed to put just the right amount of outrage into the question.

“Yeah, the Chaos Killer? I know you’ve heard of him. Because you are him.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Really.” Bozzio put a bunch of files down in front of him. Major recognized the Max Rager list. So they’d been to his house, they’d found the combination of his safe. They undoubtedly had the body bags and the trank gun. Well, he had expected that, hadn’t he?

“Am I supposed to know what all this is?”

“It’s yours, so … yeah.” Clive looked down at Major, shaking his head. “All you have to do is tell us why, Major.”

Major looked at them both and kept his mouth shut.

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. The bodies,” Bozzio said. “Where are they?”

Major looked down at the table covered in incriminating evidence and said nothing.

“Brooding expressions don’t show up on tape,” Clive snapped. “Use your words.”

“You think I killed these people.” Major looked up at them, hoping he looked properly aggrieved. “Why would I? You think I’m some sort of kill-the-rich nutjob?”

Bozzio clearly hadn’t ruled that idea out. “I don’t know. Are ya?”

“No. So you’ve got no bodies and no motive.”

“So, what motive would you have for taking out that guy?” Bozzio put a file in front of him with the smiling picture of a police officer facing up. “For instance.”

Major remembered the guy—he’d been Blaine’s first pick off the list. Otherwise, he had no idea who he was. He shook his head.

“So it’s just a coincidence that Liv Moore’s boyfriend’s one of the victims. Police Officer Drake Holloway.”

This was Liv’s boyfriend? The guy who had been in her room that night? The Chaos Killer had kidnapped Liv’s boyfriend? Damn it. Major tried to keep his face still, but he had to think his surprise showed.

“Remember what I said about brooding expressions, vis a vis the tape?” Clive asked.

“I didn’t know, uh …” Major glanced up at Clive, who didn’t believe him. “This must be hard for Liv.”

“That you murdered her boyfriend? Probably.”

Major cleared his throat. “I told you, I—I—“

The door opened, and a man in a suit came in. He pointed at Major. “You, shut your mouth.” He pointed at the detectives. “You, shut your mouths.” He aimed his thumb at the door behind him. “Leave me with my client.”

To Major’s relief, they did as they were asked. Bozzio leaned over the table, saying, “Think about what we discussed, Mr. Lilywhite,” but she gathered up her evidence and left, as the lawyer exclaimed, “Don’t think about it! Exit quietly, please.”

When the door closed behind the detectives, the lawyer started pulling files out of his briefcase.

“Okay, wait, uh …” Major hoped Liv and Ravi weren’t paying for this guy. Did they have that kind of money?

“Our mutual friend Vaughn du Clark has an interest in your case.”

Well, that made sense. So did the wait in his cell, cooling his heels and experiencing the terror felt by those who crossed Max Rager.

“Brant Stone,” the lawyer continued. “You can call me Mr. Stone or Washington State Defense Lawyer of the Year Brant Stone, or don’t call me anything at all, since it’ll mostly be me talking. This case is Oscar the Grouch’s dream house. It’s a pile of garbage, okay? Serial murder case with no bodies? Ha! So best case scenario I call my good friend Federal Judge Danny Hirschfield. Hirschy bar, he throws this case into the Puget Sound.”

“Worst case?”

Stone looked directly at him for the first time. “Depends.” He moved his eyes back and forth as if looking for eavesdroppers and whispered, “Did you do it?”

Taken aback, Major wondered exactly how much Vaughn du Clark had told this guy.

Then Stone shook his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. Ah, worst case, you go to trial, you walk, ‘cause there’s no bodies. Either way you walk. So. Sit tight, relax, and most importantly, shut your mouth.”

Major obediently did so. He was led back to the lockup and booked, and transported to the county jail, where he sat and wondered exactly how long this would take, and how long he had before he became a raving lunatic who attacked the first passing guard for their brains.

Chapter 69: All His Nowhere Plans

Trying to pass the time in the county jail was an exercise in frustration. Major couldn’t concentrate on thinking about how to get out of this situation because he was so frantic with worry and hunger; he couldn’t exercise because he was afraid to tire his body out and increase the hunger past what he could control; and he couldn’t even begin to try to sleep. Holding himself still was nearly impossible.

It was a huge relief when the guards came to tell him he had a visitor, and an even bigger relief when he saw the visitor was Liv. Just the sight of her face made everything feel better.

They both took the phones down, and Major couldn’t help but smile at her. “It’s good to see you. It—It’s great to see you. I … I thought you might not—“

There was no answering smile on Liv’s face. Her eyes were wide and intense in her pale face as she interrupted him. “Drake Holloway was my boyfriend.”

“I’m …” What could he say? He couldn’t tell her Drake was alive, he couldn’t tell her anything, for fear that he would be overheard and incriminate himself. “I’m not supposed to talk about—“

“Is he alive?”

He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the guard. Whose eyes were forward, unblinking, for all the world as if he was a statue, granted, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of what was going on around him. And without knowing whether Liv had talked to Ravi, it was impossible even to talk around the situation. So he opted for the tried and true response of accused criminals the world over. He looked Liv in the eye and said, “I didn’t do this. All right? I swear. I’m sure … Drake is fine.” Liv’s face didn’t change at the assurance, or at the denial, so it appeared Ravi had yet to tell her what he knew. “You should talk to Ravi,” he told her. Then, because he still loved her and he needed a moment, a single moment, of something good to happen today, he added, “Just tell me you believe me.”

Liv hesitated, and he could see that she was trying to work past her worry and suspicion to belief. “I want to,” she said at last.

They looked at each other, neither sure what more there was to say.

Finally, Liv managed to move past her concern for her current boyfriend to her concern for her ex. “Are you okay?”

How he wanted to tell her all of it, to lay everything on her and have her support, her quick mind taking over from his weary and overburdened and hunger-addled brains. But he was in jail, and she was worried enough, and he couldn’t do that to her. “Yeah. I’m just … you know … hungry.”

Liv didn’t downplay the concern, and he remembered that she had spent a couple of nights in jail without the sustenance she needed. “I do know,” she said softly. “We’re going to try to find you some accommodations for your diet.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Major, I—“ But she stopped herself, whatever she was going to say. “Hold on, okay?”

“I’m trying.”

They looked at each other again, under the circumstances not even really able to take comfort in each other’s presence, and then Liv shifted in her seat. “I should go.”

Major wanted to protest, to beg her to stay as long as they’d let her, that looking at her was far, far better than anything else he could be doing with his time—but the fear in her face made that less true than it might have been, as did the knowledge that he couldn’t tell her anything real, or comforting, as long as he was in here. “Okay. Thanks for coming.”

She nodded briefly, hung up the phone, and was gone, and Major was walked back to his cell where the exercise in futility began again.

His torture wasn’t endless. He was called in for questioning again after a couple of endless hours had passed, brought to the police station, and chained to the table. This time his lawyer was there, and he hoped they could somehow make it so they’d let him go. There were a lot of healthy brains in this room, and they smelled so good.

The lawyer opened up his laptop, reading over a deposition or something while he let the questioning continue. Clive and Bozzio took up their seats across the table from Major, their files laid out in front of them.

“Ready to talk today?” Bozzio asked.

Major glanced at the lawyer. “Am I?”

“Nope.”

He looked at Bozzio. “Nope.”

“You may find that telling the truth is better than hiding behind … legal counsel,” Clive put in, the tone of his last two words indicating exactly what he thought of Brant Stone.

“Fine.” Bozzio opened the file. “Let’s get started.”

“I told you I’ve got nothing to say.”

“They all tell me that.”

He would have admired her confidence if it wasn’t so focused on getting him to incriminate himself.

Bozzio slid a picture across the table to Major, of a smiling Chaos Killer victim. “Recognize this man?”

Major glanced at it, briefly. “No.”

“He’s Sam Adams, one of your first victims. His kids say you trained him the day before he went missing.” When Major didn’t answer, keeping his expression as even and emotionless as he could, Bozzio leaned forward a little, appealing to him. “Tell us where to find the bodies. Give the victims’ families some closure.”

Stone snapped his computer shut at that, sitting back in his chair. “He can’t tell you that; my boy has no idea. And you have thirty hours to either charge him, or let him go.” He looked toward the door, shouted “Guard!”, and got to his feet, while Clive and Bozzio looked frustrated and unhappy. Major was a little bit frustrated and unhappy, himself. He had been hoping the questioning session would either result in his release or take up a lot more time. Stone, uninterested in all their feelings, put his briefcase on the table and tucked his laptop back into it. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my office and rub ointment on my shiba inu’s ass, because the breeder sold me a thousand-dollar dog with mange. So if you’re looking for a real crime to go after …” He turned to the guard, who had come into the room at his call, and gestured that Major should be unchained from the table. “Take my client back to jail.”

Back to jail. Major’s heart sank. It would almost be worth telling them, if only so he could get something to eat. But that wouldn’t happen if he told them the truth, or any part of it. What remained of his rational mind knew he was best off following the lawyer’s advice. He could hold out a little longer. He had to.

As the guard unlocked the chains, Bozzio and Clive got to their feet, watching the interview end with dismay written plainly on their faces.

Stone looked at them both matter-of-factly. “This conversation is not getting anybody anywhere.” He followed Major as the guard led him from the room. In the hallway, he stopped Major. “Remember, the mouth stays shut everywhere, not just in that room.”

“I remember.”

“Good.” He nodded. “We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Major wholeheartedly wished that wasn’t just a figure of speech. He hoped the bus transporting him back to jail got stuck in traffic. A lot of traffic. Even being chained in a bus looking out at Seattle had to be better than sitting in his jail cell and dreaming about eating brains. Somewhere back in time he’d had a normal life. He wasn’t even sure he remembered what that was like anymore.

Chapter 70: I'll Show You a Place

“Lilywhite!” The open mockery in the guard’s voice made Major cringe—and then sent a flush of rage through him that he dimly recognized as being not his own. He wanted to rip the guard’s head off and tear his brains out of it and swallow them whole. He could almost feel the strength and power that would fill him if he did.

Clenching his hands around the bars, he held on until he could regain control of himself, looking up to see the guard staring at him in something that was a little bit past contempt and starting to edge into wariness. “Visitor, Lilywhite.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He followed the guard, feeling like he was in a fog. Visitor? Liv had come earlier, or so he thought he remembered, so who was this now? His lawyer? Was he getting out, was this how that worked?

It was Ravi. Well, that made sense. Ravi was probably pissed at him for all of this. He probably deserved that. Sitting down, Major picked up the handset and watched Ravi do the same on the other side.

“So … hello,” Ravi began awkwardly. “How’s jail?”

Major wasn’t really in the mood for their usual banter. He wasn’t sure he could manage it if he tried in his current situation. “Well, the food’s not quite to my taste.”

“Right. Um, Liv’s looking into that.”

So much for hoping they might have solved the problem. Major sighed, steeling himself for hours, at least, more of this endurance test. Still, they were trying, and he appreciated the difficulties. “Thank you.”

There was a moment’s silence, then Ravi said, “Sooo … the reason for my visit.”

This should be good.

Shifting in his seat, craning his neck in the direction of the guard who stood behind him, Ravi seemed to be having difficulty figuring out how to approach whatever he’d come to talk about. Major could imagine he would—nothing about their situation was exactly suited to being discussed in public, much less in a jail. “Um … I … uh, actually want to ask you about a, um, video game thing.”

Major raised an eyebrow, completely confused. “Video game?” What game could Ravi be so stuck on that he’d need Major’s help to get through it, especially under these circumstances?

“Um, um, I’m playing that … zombie … game we play, and … I’m stuck.”

Anyone watching the way Ravi’s face was contorting would think he had lost his mind. Major was leaning that direction, frowning at his roommate, trying to figure out why he was here talking about video games.

Ravi continued, “Uh, and I have to get to the … frozen zone.” He stared at Major through the glass as though there was something about the frozen zone in some zombie game that was of actual importance. When Major couldn’t figure it out, Ravi added, “Where everything’s frozen,” in an intense voice.

Unfortunately, Major was totally at sea. “What game is this?”

“Zombie … T-own?” Ravi suggested hesitantly.

They didn’t play a game called Zombie Town— Oh. Now Major got it. Not a game. They lived in Zombie Town. Ravi and Liv were trying to find the freezers. They were trying to find Liv’s boyfriend Drake, because if an undercover cop who was a Chaos Killer victim surfaced, there wouldn’t be a case at all.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said, feeling stronger already just thinking there was a light at the end of this tunnel. “Zombie Town.”

“Yeah,” Ravi repeated with relief. "I, uh, I need to find the frozen zombies to beat the level. But I don’t know how to get there.”

“Right. Right. Okay, um … yeah …” Major’s voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how to give Ravi directions while still sounding like he was talking about a video game. “Frozen zone.” He considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. All right, what, what you have to do is … go to the edge … of … water. World.”

“Edge of Water World?” Ravi repeated doubtfully.

“Yeah. On 15th. Level,” Major added, glancing over his shoulder at the guard, who looked as stiff and unobservant as usual. Who knew what he heard. “15th level.”

Ravi just sat there, and Major was worried that he would forget. His roommate was incredibly smart, but not always good with the details outside the lab.

“You might want to … jot this down?”

Hastily, Ravi reached for a pen and a notepad, pulling them out of his jacket pocket. “Edge of Water World, 15th level,” he recited as he wrote them down. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, you’re going to want the White Wizard companion for this one. She has the … special code-breaking skill.” That is, the combination on the lock of the storage unit was the date he had proposed, which only Liv would know.

“White Wizard.” Ravi smiled a little as he wrote that down, and Major couldn’t help smiling, too. Liv would like that. “That it?”

“I … think so. That should be everything you need to clear—the level. And Ravi?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“Hurry.”

Ravi was all clinician as he studied Major’s face through the glass. “Will do. Fast as I can. You hold on.”

“I’m doing my best.”

There was real understanding in Ravi’s look as he hung up the phone, and that helped more than Major had imagined it would.

Chapter 71: Wastin' Away

Major sat through the hearing at his lawyer’s side trying his best to follow the instructions he’d been given: Sit up, be alert, and look like the kind of clean-cut All-American football player who would never in a million years kidnap and kill rich people. That one should have been easy for him—other than the fact that he’d been blackmailed into kidnapping rich people, he was exactly that kind of All-American boy. He’d even been a Boy Scout, for heaven’s sake!

But now he was rapidly becoming less and less Major Lilywhite and more and more hungry zombie. Every minute that passed without brains felt like an eternity. Every time someone spoke to him, he stared at their heads as if he was listening but actually he was thinking about how tender and juicy their brain would be, how filling and satisfying.

As he sat there, looking as alert as he could, he was mostly letting the words spoken by the lawyers wash over him in a meaningless blur of sound. Sound made by brains, he thought longingly.

At last everyone was standing, so he stood, too, trying not to sway in his utter exhaustion. Only when his lawyer turned to him with a clap on the back and some more words that sounded like waves breaking on the shore in his ears, like the inside of a seashell, did he realize he was able to leave. To go home. To sink into his warm bed, to eat—

“Let’s get you home,” said a familiar voice, cutting through the fog of hunger. An equally familiar arm wrapped around his waist just as he was about to reach for that big fat lawyer brain.

Major looked down to see Liv there. “Liv.”

“It’s me. Come on, let’s get you out of this crowd before—well, fast.” She glanced up at him. “Faster than fast.”

There were so many people. So many brains.

“Liv, what happened?”

“In the courtroom? Weren’t you listening?”

“I’m so hungry.”

“I know. We’re getting you out of here, just hold on.” She found a space between two people and maneuvered Major through it. He was content to let her lead; he trusted her. When they were in the flow of the crowd, moving as best they could, Liv said, “You’ve been charged with the Chaos Killings, but they let you out on bail.”

“Bail?” What he meant was that he hoped Liv and Ravi hadn’t spent their money on bail.

“Yeah. Max Rager put it up.”

“Max Rager?” God, he sounded like an idiot, repeating everything she said. He supposed it made sense that Max Rager would put up his bail—after all, they didn’t want the truth coming out any more than he did.

At last they were outside the jail. The fresh air on his face helped, as did Liv’s comforting presence at his side.

“Okay,” she said as they started down the steps. “Almost there. Ravi’s waiting for us in the car,” she told him, ignoring all the reporters who kept trying to shove microphones in Major’s face. “And there’s a nice shake with your name on it.”

He sighed in relief. Almost there, then. This nightmare was almost over.

There was a TV camera pointed at him now. He was not going to look good on the nightly news. Once that would have mattered. Right now, he wondered what would happen if he tore the camera out of the man’s hands and ripped his skull open with his bare hands.

Whoa. No ripping of skulls, he thought. None of that.

“Okay,” Liv said again. He dimly understood that she kept talking in order to keep him with her, to keep him Major. “Just down the steps. Another hundred feet, and we’re home free.”

He could see the car ahead of them. Ravi got out, holding a shake in his hand. Major’s mouth watered. He could almost taste it. It would taste—well, it would taste horrible, but it would feel so good once it was in his veins, warming him all the way through.

“Sure,” he said to Liv, feeling bad that she’d been doing all the talking. “Thank you.”

They kept moving down the steps. Which were endless. Was this the Twilight Zone? Would he be moving down these steps with Liv at his side forever? Sure, it was better to have Liv at his side than go it alone the way he had in jail, the way he had all these months as the Chaos Killer, but he wanted the steps to end, the nightmare to end, this whole life as something he hated to end. He wanted a cure.

Liv looked up at him, worried. “Almost there,” she assured him. “Almost there. Almost—“

By the car, Ravi lifted the shake cup in a silent toast, smiling.

Then a large man in a uniform stopped in front of Major, blocking his way. For a moment, Major considered tackling him, just like they were on the football field, and making a run for it. He could maybe get to Ravi, close enough to grab the cup and take a life-renewing chug of those beautiful brains …

“Excuse us,” Liv said, “we—“

Clive pushed his way through, past the big man in the uniform. “Major Lilywhite, you’re under arrest.”

How could he be under arrest? He’d been granted bail.

At his side, Liv said, “Clive, what—what are you—?”

“You’re under arrest for the Meat Cute murders,” Clive said triumphantly.

He’d wanted to nail Major for those murders for such a long time. What had happened to let him do it now? Was this grandstanding to keep Major in jail, to hope he would crack eventually? They had to have noticed how badly he was doing in jail, even though they didn’t know why. Maybe they thought if they came at him from a different angle it would throw him just enough off-guard to make him slip up and tell them something.

But whatever they thought—he’d been just steps away from the life-giving brains in the cup Ravi was holding, and now he was going back to jail, back to sitting and shivering and fighting to remember who he was and who Liv was and why he couldn’t have the brains that were so close and so tempting.

Clive was reading him his rights, taking him by the arm and dragging him away from Liv, from Ravi, from the brains.

They dragged him straight back to the precinct, where his lawyer was waiting for him. At least that was something—at least he wasn’t sitting through this interrogation on his own. He had someone to speak for him.

Major was chained to the table—probably a good precaution, considering that Clive’s brains sounded damned good right about now—and his lawyer had some papers spread out on the table that he was studying.

“Detective,” he said in annoyance as Clive came into the room, “I don’t even know where to begin. Constitution, maybe? Arresting my client again after he’s just been charged, that is textbook cruel and unusual. I mean, look at him. Look at my client. He looks like a …” He studied Major, trying to come up with the right analogy, eventually settling on “day old-dog dump.” He leaned over to Major. “No offense.”

None taken. Major felt about like that—only if the dog dump was in a horror movie and it was endlessly hungry for brains.

Clive ignored it all, taking off his jacket and carefully hanging it on the back of his chair. “Bryce Butin. Name ring a bell?” he asked Major.

Major knew better than to answer. Not that the name meant anything to him in this state. Maybe it would have if his brains hadn’t been busy wanting other people’s brains.

“Inmate at King County,” Clive went on. “Claims he sold you some items. A Grizzly twelve-gauge, Smith & Wesson .44. A hand grenade.”

Oh. That guy. Crap, they found that guy? Maybe this was more than a tactic. Maybe Clive really had found the evidence he’d been looking for all this time, something hard that could connect Major to Meat Cute.

“All of which match shells and slugs found at the Meat Cute massacre site.”

Stone looked up from the paper he’d been jotting notes on. “Okay, slow down a second, I’m just getting up to speed here. Just slow down.”

Clive ignored him, continuing on with the layout of his evidence. “Which is interesting because I also had them test some urine found in the Meat Cute freezer, and guess what?”

Major didn’t have to guess. He knew. He remembered that freezer all too well.

Leaning across the table, Clive said, “It matched your DNA.”

“You’re saying my client shot up a butcher shop and peed in the freezer?”

“You used to do social work, isn’t that right, Major?”

Had he? It was hard to remember.

“Working with troubled kids?”

“Don’t answer that,” Stone told him.

“Yeah,” Major said, tired of sitting in misery. Clive already knew this part anyway.

“And several of your kids wound up dead. Isn’t that right?”

Major nodded a little. Or his head bobbed in weariness. It was hard to say which.

“There was a kid in the Meat Cute freezer. His brain missing. He was one of yours.”

“Missing brain, what?” Stone asked, clearly thinking someone in the room had gone a little over the deep end.

“Yeah,” Clive said. “That’s come up a lot, brains. Missing brains, brains in people’s freezers.”

Major really wished they could stop talking about brains.

“Here’s my theory,” Clive told him. “There’s some kind of weird brain cult out there. They killed some of your kids, you went after them.”

“Okay,” Stone said, throwing up his hands, “can we just get Jules Verne in here, because I am only licensed to practice law in this dimension, all right?” He turned to Major. “What the hell is he talking about? Don’t answer that.”

Clive got to his feet. “I want you to think about your next move, Major.” He leaned across the table, looking Major in the eye, and Major did his best to hear the words and not the siren call of the brains. “This case is different. We’ve got bodies, we’ve got DNA, we’ve got witnesses. I think we’ve got you. So just think about it.”

What Clive didn’t know was that Major’s thinking time was numbered. Before too long, he would lose this fight and give in to the primal urge of his body to feast on a brain—and then the entire city, the country, would have a problem. If only he could have reached Ravi in time for just one sip!

He would have to trust that Liv and Ravi would think of something. They had to, because time was running out.

Chapter 72: Can't Hear Yourself Think

Major spent a long, long night shivering on his bunk, thinking back over all the best parts of his life that he could remember. As long as he could hold on to Liv, and football, and his work with the kids, and gaming with Ravi, then he was still Major. But it was hard to focus on any of it, because there was another inmate snoring just feet away, and Major could practically taste his brain. More and more of his mind and his being were just hunger now, and he was afraid to sleep for fear that everything he was would be gone when he woke up.

“Lilywhite! Visitor.”

It took him a moment to remember that he was Lilywhite, and what a visitor was. He got slowly to his feet and shuffled after the guard. All his spare energy was going toward not getting brains and remembering who he was, leaving very little for keeping his body moving.

The visitor was Liv, her face going even paler than usual when she saw him.

He eased himself down on the stool and picked up the phone.

“Oh, Major,” Liv whispered into her handset.

“Hey.”

She immediately launched into a story, and Major tried to follow what she was saying and why it mattered to him, but it wasn’t easy. “So, Clive came to see me, and he pretty much said that he doesn’t think my alibi will hold up—“

There was more, but Major couldn’t focus on it. “Liv. Look at me. You need to get me the cure. Soon. Very soon.”

Liv didn’t seem to realize how far past rational thought he’d already gone. She tried again to get him interested in the details of something other than his hunger. “Major, I mean about the case, and—getting you something decent to eat.”

“It’s too late for that, Liv. It is taking everything I have to stay myself. And if I’m not myself in here, it’ll be bad.”

“Major! No. No, we can’t. It wipes away your memory … everything!”

“You have to make a choice, Liv. ‘Cause we’re gonna lose me one way or the other, and we both know one way is a lot worse.” She was hesitating. Couldn’t she understand how hard this was for him, how much he needed her support right now? “Please. Liv.”

“No. No. I’ll think of something. We’re gonna work it out, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t agree, Liv.”

But she was Liv, and she thought she could fix everything. Mostly, he loved that about her—except when it meant she didn’t realize when he was really at the end of his rope.

“I’ll figure something out,” she said again. “You’re gonna be fine.” She hung up the phone before he could try again, and he shuffled back to his cell and returned to sifting through memories, savoring them, because one way or the other, he was going to lose them soon.

Later—how much later he couldn’t have said; the passage of time was losing meaning for him—he was brought back to the precinct to be questioned. He submitted to being chained, wishing he could be chained all the time for the protection of everyone around him, and waited while Clive took his time about getting his papers situated.

“Okay,” Clive said at last. “Let’s get started. What I want to review is—”

Stone, sitting next to Major, held up a hand. “Before we start, Detective, do you mind if I give my client something?” Hunting in his briefcase, Stone explained, “He’s a fitness guy, on a regimented diet, and he’s gone days without his, uh, essential amino acids.” He held up some kind of fitness bar, waving it at Clive.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead. He’s clearly lacking some vitamin or other.”

Some dim part of Major that was still Major wondered if Max Rager had decided to poison him before he talked. That would be like them.

“Here you go,” Stone told Major, putting the bar down in front of him. “Your friend Peyton said that this is the kind you like.”

Peyton. Peyton? Peyton! Liv. Liv had thought of something. She was a genius. Major reached for the bar, his fingers shaking as he ripped into the packaging.

“Ah, that a boy,” Stone said, watching him. “Kid clearly needs his essential amino acids. Eat it up.”

Major tore into it. Chocolate, vanilla … and nothing else. He stopped chewing, the food like dust in his mouth.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t that the kind you like?”

Swallowing some of what was in his mouth with difficulty, Major asked, “My friend gave you this?”

“Yeah! I mean, not that exact one, my shiba inu ate the one that she gave me, but I got you the same kind.”

Damn it, Major thought, over Stone’s long-winded detailing of his deliberations as to which kind of bar to buy. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He felt an instant of such pure rage, such pure hunger, that he could practically feel himself getting up and turning over the table and tearing into Stone’s brain. He controlled it with everything he had left.

“Yeah. So. Okay,” Clive said. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can we turn to these questions?”

Major tried. He really did, but concentrating was so hard. It was a relief that Stone wouldn’t let him talk, because most of what he said would have been gibberish, anyway. Come on, Liv, he thought. Get me the cure. I can’t hang on much longer.

Chapter 73: The Cutest Jailbird I Ever Did See

“Lilywhite! Lilywhite! Lilywhite! LILYWHITE!”

By the time the repetition of the word had drawn Major’s attention long enough for the idea to filter through what was left of his mind that the sounds involved had to do with him, the guard was pissed at having had to repeat himself so much. He grabbed Major by the arm.

This close, the brain smell was divine. All-consuming. Major looked at the guard, and he dropped Major’s arm abruptly and backed away. “You’re out, Lilywhite.”

Out. That should mean something. Major tried to pretend it did.

“Let’s go,” the guard said, getting angry all over again.

Confused, Major shuffled behind the guard.

“Jesus. Whatever you’ve got, I hope it’s not catching,” the guard muttered.

What did he have? Major wondered. He was so hungry. Everything was hazy, only the scent of brains was real.

They stopped in a room, where the guard threw a bag at his feet. “Get your shit on.”

Major didn’t understand, so the guard dumped the contents of the bag on the floor and picked up something at random, brandishing it at Major. “Put on your damn underpants, Lilywhite!”

Underpants. Underpants? Hungry. Underpants.

With a disgusted noise, the guard threw the underwear at him. “Hurry up. I don’t have all day. And don’t die in here. I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.”

Major couldn’t make any promises. He was so hungry, he thought dying sounded okay. He could just give up, let himself go, eat the brains …

In the pile of things on the floor, a face smiled up at him. Pretty. Familiar. He searched for the name … Liv. Liv. He had to live. Right.

Somehow he managed to fumble on his clothes, forgetting half of what he knew about how to get dressed and having to figure it out. The guard led him down another hallway, smelling so strongly of brains that Major was tempted to lick his bald head.

“Here. The rest of your shit.” The guard slung a bag over Major’s shoulder, backing away when Major turned to look at him. “Get on now, get out of here.”

A door swung open in front of him, fresh air breaking through some of the haze that filled Major’s brain. He was … free? Out of jail? How?

Then he looked up and there was Liv, standing there waiting for him. She came toward him, hurrying, as Major slowly put one foot in front of the other, the door swinging shut behind him. Liv took him in her arms, and he rested there, relieved as much by the lack of brain smell as by the embrace. To be able to stop fighting the urge to feed, for just a moment … He closed his eyes, clinging to her.

Then she drew away and handed him a bottle. He took a pull, and immediately felt the jolt as the brains hit his system, the fog clearing. He was Major Lilywhite, and he had made it. He was going to live. He kept drinking as Liv led him up the steps and toward her car.

He sank back against the seat of the car, still sucking up that life-renewing goodness, feeling health and strength returning to his body with each mouthful.

At last, he was himself enough to wonder. “How did you do this?” he asked between gulps.

“I … told Clive. About us. About zombies.”

“You told him? What did he say?”

“Well, I had to show him, so he didn’t say much for a little while. But then he said ‘That explains some things’. Which I suppose it does.”

“So he let me out? What about Meat Cute?” God, it was so nice to remember his life and who he was and not be consumed by the need for brains.

“He understands about Meat Cute. And I told him about Blaine, and the memory loss, and the cure, and … He knows everything.” Liv glanced at him. “You’re looking so much better.”

“Amazing how much better it feels.” He thought about making a sarcastic comment, but they were past him being able to blame this on her. And she had been suffering right along with him, trying to get him out of jail, and had had to tell her partner the truth, which couldn’t have been easy.

Liv pulled the car into a parking lot, turning it off and reaching for his hand. It was astonishing how good it felt to feel again, to be aware of her hand in his and the softness of her skin. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”

“I was afraid you were going to lose me, too. In more ways than one.” He thought about the anger he had felt toward her, the blame and the bitterness. He had to let that go now for good. He couldn’t hold a grudge, not after everything. “Did … Ravi tell you? Everything?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about Drake,” he told her, clinging to her hand. “You have to believe me, I didn’t know who he was.”

“I know. Major … the bodies are gone.”

“Gone?”

She nodded.

It all fell into place. What Vaughn du Clark had wanted to show him, what must be down in Tacoma. Max Rager. He said it out loud. “Max Rager.”

“Had to be.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

With a final squeeze of his hand, Liv turned the car back on. “We’re going to take you home, you’re going to rest, and then we’re going to figure it out.”

Major would have liked to argue with her, but the car was warm and comfortable, his belly was full of brains, and he hadn’t slept in … days, at least. He was asleep before she left the parking lot.

Chapter 74: No More Looking

Major had slept for what felt like a year, and gotten up to drink more brain juice. He was even used to thinking of it that way now. After a few days of starvation, brains no longer sounded disgusting to him; they sounded life-giving and amazing.

He found himself energized, ready to get up and face the world … and rhythms were bouncing in his head in a way he’d never experienced them before. He had to tap them out, with the toothbrush, the fork, a handy pencil—he even found himself drumming on Ravi’s shoulder until his roommate growled at him and threatened to slap his hands if he didn’t stop.

“Let me guess—drummer brain.” Major was bouncing on his toes to the invisible rhythm, letting it flow through him.

“Unfortunately yes.”

“Great! This’ll be fun!”

Ravi appeared to be in no mood for fun, so Major left his roommate alone and headed for the door.

“Dinner at Liv and Peyton’s!” Ravi called after him. "No going home until we shake the news crews!"

“Even better! I’ll drum for all of you!”

“Lucky us.”

He picked up an electronic drum kit at Radio Shack and lugged it back to the morgue to practice on. And Ravi’s best efforts couldn’t convince him to leave it there when they headed for Liv and Peyton’s.

Over beer, he suggested a little Name that Tune, and didn’t wait for agreement before he started tapping out drum patterns.

Peyton did most of the guessing, and ended up about fifty-fifty. He tried another pattern, an easy one, just to see if she’d get it.

“’Billy, Don’t Be a Hero’,” she guessed, gesturing at him with a cheese puff.

“C’mon! ’50 Ways to Leave Your Lover’?!” How could she not hear that?

Liv and Peyton both rolled their eyes, but Major didn’t care. The sheer euphoria of being out of jail and not starving and not wanting to rip his best friends’ heads off to eat their brains—and knowing he could go to sleep tonight and not worry about waking up full zombie—had him high on life. “I’m loving this brain,” he told them all. “I’m going to stay on this forever. Okay …” He considered what to try next. “All right, how ‘bout this?”

He started pounding on the drum kit, losing himself in the rhythm, stopping only when Liv gasped audibly. He paused in the rhythm, glancing over at her shocked face, pale even for her. Ravi and Peyton turned to look as well, recognizing the symptoms of a vision.

“He’s alive. Drake’s alive!” She looked at Major. “I just saw your zombies. They’re all alive.”

Relief flooded him. He might have managed to save them after all. Except— “Wait, where?”

“A lab of some kind. Lots of glass enclosed cells. Like jail, only—more experimental. They’re pretty packed in there, too.”

“Tacoma.”

Ravi frowned at him. “Tacoma has a secret lab studying zombies?”

“Wait, I thought you said Max Rager must have them,” Liv said, frowning.

“They do. Their secret lab in the basement? du Clark calls it Tacoma.”

Liv nodded. “I saw Vaughn du Clark, too!”

Major was glad to have proof Max Rager had found the zombies—and proof that du Clark had held on to them rather than taking them out on a boat and blowing them up or something. He thought of Natalie. He had really hoped when she woke he could cure her. “What did— How did they look? Are they … hungry?”

Liv considered that one, replaying the vision in her head. “No. Mad, but not starving.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“It’s something, but it’s not enough. We don’t know what Max Rager is doing to them,” Ravi pointed out.

“No.” It was a sobering thought. “I don’t know what experiments they have going on down there. They showed me the place once, as a loyalty test, but no explanations.”

Peyton shook her head, taking a pull off her beer bottle. “I doubt Vaughn du Clark really understands it.”

“He probably sets a doctor to work and just pretends to know what’s going on,” Ravi agreed.

“Guys.” Major looked around at them. “Please, take it from me. He’s a lot smarter and more on the ball than he seems. Crazy, but not stupid.”

Liv nodded. “I wouldn’t bet on him letting anything going on in his building get by him.”

“So what do we do?”

“We get them out.”

Chapter 75: Into the Groove

Because Major and Ravi’s house was swarmed by reporters after Major’s unexpected release from prison, they couldn’t go home. Or, they could, but they would have had to answer a lot of awkward questions in the process. So Liv and Peyton agreed to put them up in their apartment, temporarily … on the condition that Major stop drumming on things.

It was a hard condition. Rhythms and beats were rolling in his head, pounding in his bloodstream, and he wanted to let them out, make them sing in the air. This was, bar none, the best brain he had ever been on, and he never wanted to go off it again. Just fall into the drumbeats and never come out.

He bellied up to the counter, watching Liv as she cut and chopped, prepping tacos. Like Taco Tuesday, once upon a time. Cooking had always eased Liv’s mind and straightened out her thoughts. As a zombie, she was no different, regardless of what brain she was on. There was a rhythm to her knife strokes, and Major tapped it out against the counter’s edge with a pair of chopsticks, barely aware that he was doing it.

She emptied the contents of the cutting board into the pan, the vegetables and brains sizzling up immediately with a mouth-watering scent. Watching her, Major was glad they were in this together, all the secrets and hard thoughts that had lain between them erased. Liv was the best friend he had ever had. He never wanted to lose that again, whatever happened.

“Thanks for letting Ravi and me stay here,” he told her, wanting to make sure he let her know how grateful he was rather than leave it to be assumed. He really didn’t know what he would have done without her in this situation—his house was absolutely out of the question. “I drove by my place—my front yard is still occupied by reporters and lookie-loos.”

Liv gestured at him with her butcher knife, making him aware that he was still drumming the air with the chopsticks, which he hadn’t noticed until now. “I know you’re still rolling on drummer brain,” she said, “but you need to switch to this. Janko brain.”

Having met Janko more than once, Major didn’t feel much like sticking himself with that humorless bastard’s brains. No, thanks. He’d keep drumming, keep on keeping time.

Sensing his reluctance from his silence, Liv continued, “Vaughn sent Janko to kill me. it’s pretty clear he wants both of us eliminated. We need to stay alive long enough to rescue Drake and the rest of your kidnapped zombies from Vaughn’s basement. Our best chance is you joining me on this soldier-for-hire brain.”

Major put down the chopsticks and picked up his coffee cup. Liv was right. He didn’t want to agree with her, but … he couldn’t help it. Much as he wanted to continue hiding in the beat from what he had to do, he couldn’t leave her to face this situation herself. “I know,” he told her. “Look, we need to get them all out. I promised our district attorney he’d see his kid again. And there was this woman, Natalie. I promised her I’d be the first thing she saw when she defrosted.”

Looking at Liv’s still, pale face, her eyes wide, he wished he could take that back, keep what had passed between himself and Natalie—that spark, that connection—private, and not parade in front of Liv that he had been moved by another woman. Yes, she had a boyfriend who was in that basement, and she seemed determined to get him back … but this was hardly the time to let her know that he had been thinking of moving on himself.

He dropped his eyes, not knowing what to say.

Fortunately for both of them, Ravi and Peyton came in with groceries just then.

“I can’t believe that murdering little troll is just going to get away with everything,” Peyton was saying.

“Well, let’s hope karma bites Mr. Boss in the arse,” Ravi remarked, following her into the apartment.

“What’s up?” Major asked.

“The Major officially shut down the Mr. Boss task force, what with my star witness, Blaine, losing his memory,” Peyton admitted reluctantly. “And you know that smug son-of-a-bitch is going to take this as a sign that he can do whatever he wants.”

Ravi frowned, trying to parse her sentence. “Uh … Blaine or Mr. Boss?”

Peyton rolled her eyes at him and turned toward the kitchen, just as the handle ripped off the bag of groceries she was holding and it dropped onto the tile floor.

They all stared at it for a moment, and then Liv asked, softly, “Eggs?”

Glaring at the ruined groceries, Peyton said, “Seriously, could anyone be having a worse day than me?”

Liv gestured at the frying pan, where the taco ingredients were cooking down, smelling delicious. “Janko’s day is going pretty badly.”

“Actually, that kind of makes me feel better.” Peyton opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine. “But not as much as this will.” Gesturing to the pan with her chin, she asked, “Is there any of that for non-zombies?”

“No, but there can be. While you’re in there, hand me some peppers and an onion.”

“And we’ll take care of the groceries,” Ravi said, gently nudging Peyton out of the kitchen once she had handed Liv the vegetables. “You go sit down and put your feet up.”

“I’m not pregnant, Ravi, just pissed.”

“Relaxing on the couch is good for both,” he told her.

Major listened to them, picking up the chopsticks and letting the rhythm of the conversation flow through him. If he had to trade drummer brains for mercenary brains, he was going to enjoy them as long as they lasted.

Chapter 76: All My Dearest Companions

“Major.”

He was startled out of a vision of Janko sharpening a knife with exquisite precision. “What?”

“Sorry. Bad time?”

“No, it’s fine.” He got up off the couch, stretching to work the kinks out. Ravi got the couch tonight, and Major wasn’t sure if he was relieved not to have to sleep on it again or nervous about sacking out on the floor with a pile of blankets. “Never been a fan of that couch.”

Liv nodded. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Has the couch complained about me, too? I mean, I am a restless sleeper. It’s probably a little bruised as well.”

“It has it in for you,” she said solemnly. “Which is why we need to go pick up some supplies if you and Ravi are going to continue staying here. Sleeping bags, maybe, or an air mattress.”

“Great. I know just the place.” Together, they said, “The Army-Navy store,” and then nodded sagely at one another and added, “Mercenary brain.”

On the way, Liv drove past Major and Ravi’s house, hoping to pick up a few personal items, but there were still too many news vans camped out there to go in and grab anything.

“Damn,” Major muttered from his position awkwardly crouched behind the driver’s seat. “I really wanted my favorite coffee mug. Oh, and my own coffee and coffee maker, since neither you or Peyton has the first idea how to create a drinkable caffeinated beverage.”

“Yes, well, I’d like my couch back. Although I have to admit, it’s nice to have another zombie around to cook for. I … missed cooking for you.”

“Me, too.”

They were silent for the rest of the drive. Major was thinking about how strange it was that now they were both zombies. Even once he had managed to wrap his head around zombies being real, or his girlfriend being one, now he was one, too, and they had that in common … and yet he still felt as though they were so far apart. Maybe there had been too much water under the bridge to get back a more intimate relationship—and he wasn’t sure right now that he wanted one. So much baggage.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Natalie. Her blue eyes, her self-assurance, her bravery. He had meant to fulfill his promise and be the first person she saw when she woke up, and now … now Vaughn du Clark had taken that from him. In the long list of du Clark’s crimes, that was higher up in Major’s estimation than it probably should be.

The car pulled into a parking place and came to a stop. “Here we are,” Liv said in the bright tone that meant they were done talking seriously and were going to forget it ever came up. He wondered about Drake—what the guy was like, how much Liv liked him, whether Major would like him—but it was oddly not with jealousy. More like protectiveness. He didn’t want to see Liv hurt any more. He wanted to see her happy with someone she could trust, someone who wouldn’t remind her of how things used to be and everything she had lost. If this Drake was that guy, Major would be okay with him, he promised himself.

He followed Liv into the store and they spent a good hour wrangling over the best knives and stealth gear for a raid on Max Rager, in addition to picking up that much-needed air mattress, before heading back to Liv’s place.

As Liv reached to unlock the door, Major’s phone buzzed. He dug it out of his pocket, reading the text. “What the hell? ‘Can you believe the news, tell me you have stock options too, see you at the company party tomorrow’.”

“Who’s that from?”

“Dr. Wyatt Tomlin, one of the younger guys I train at Max Rager.” Major stuck his phone back in his pocket as Liv opened the door.

“A party could be the perfect opportunity to sneak into the basement.”

Whatever else she might have said was forgotten as they both stopped short at the sight of Ravi and Peyton making out on the couch. Peyton didn’t notice them, but Ravi pointed at them over her shoulder. “Uh … company.”

Peyton stopped covering Ravi’s face with kisses and looked at them. “Oh. Hey,” she said, breathlessly.

“Hi,” Liv said, clearly not sure she was okay with this.

“’Sup,” Major added, finding it highly amusing. Coming home to Liv and Peyton’s apartment to find Peyton with a guy was nothing new, and that the guy was his roommate only meant her taste had improved. Also, Ravi uncomfortable was all kinds of entertaining, and Ravi was practically squirming.

Unphased by all of them, Peyton got to her feet and grabbed Ravi’s hand, dragging him off in the direction of her bedroom. “Okay. Good-night.”

Ravi cleared his throat and gave them a weirded out look before disappearing behind Peyton and closing the door.

“I’m guessing we won’t be needing this inflatable mattress,” Major observed. He was grateful; little as he liked the couch, it was better than a pile of air on the floor. In Major's experience, the things always deflated overnight, leaving the unlucky occupant basically sleeping on the ground.

“Yep.” Liv grinned. “Peyton never changes.”

“It’s her charm. Come on, this seems to call for popcorn and a movie with a lot of loud explosions and gunfire.”

“Platoon. Full Metal Jacket.”

“You’re rolling hard on that Janko brain, aren’t you?”

“You could say that. Apocalypse Now?”

Major rolled his eyes. “You pick.”

“I have it. The Magnificent Seven.”

“Now, that’s more like it.”

Chapter 77: What to Do

Major had spent a fair amount of the morning texting back and forth with his doctor friend from Max Rager, trying to get details on the party. Wyatt was being surprisingly cagey about the info, but Major finally managed to convince him to spill some. Immediately he headed to the morgue with the update, hurrying down the stairs. Janko’s brain was hard at work in his head, making plans, and he wanted to share those with Liv and get her input.

“Hey! Dr. Wyatt finally returned my texts—“ He broke off when he saw Clive standing there. It was the first time they had seen each other since Major had been an accused murderer sitting across the table from Clive in an interrogation room, and it felt just about that awkward. “Clive,” he said. “I never got to thank you for everything you did to get me out of jail. You saved me.”

“Well, it had a bit more to do with the future of the species.”

“Still.” Major held out his hand.

Clive looked at the hand, clearly still processing and not entirely sure if he was ready for bygones to be bygones, but eventually he returned the handshake.

“Be like Private Ryan,” he said. “Earn this.”

“That’s the plan,” Major told him. Liv had explained some of what Clive had lost, the bridges he had burned, to make this happen, and Major could only imagine having to wrap your head around the existence of zombies, come to terms with your partner being one, know you had a murderer in custody, and have to set him free without being able to give anyone the very good reasons why that was necessary. In addition, apparently the FBI agent had left, and wasn’t returning Clive’s calls. Major may have come within a hair’s breadth of losing his sanity while in prison, but Clive had paid, too, and Major wasn’t about to forget that, any more than he was going to forget the basement full of zombies locked up by Vaughn du Clark. Looking at Liv, he said, “So, turns out the party at Max Rager tonight is a lock-in, down in an underground parking lot, prison-themed.” Clive frowned, not following the relevance of the prison theme, and Major explained. “Because of their new Super Max drink.”

“A prison theme,” Clive said with some bitterness, and muttered under his breath, “White people.”

“So the party starts at 8 pm. By 10 pm, the gates will be locked and no one will be allowed in or out.”

“That’s a pretty tight window to make something happen,” Liv said.

Clive turned to her. “And by ‘make something happen’ you mean …?”

“We’re going to break into Max Rager and free Drake and the other zombies in the basement,” Liv explained. Her tone was matter-of-fact, like it was something a person did every day. Of course, Janko probably had, and his brain was fueling Liv’s thoughts as much as it was Major’s. “The biggest hurdle,” she continued, “is that the elevator doesn’t go all the way down without the hand print of someone with authorization.”

Major thought of Janko, and his brains, and the rest of him, which was probably still here in the morgue. “I have an idea.”

“Great. Let’s hear it.”

He tilted his head in the direction of the body drawers, waiting for the light to dawn.

Ravi groaned. “Are we really thinking about this?”

“It does make sense. Why waste an asset when you have it on ice?” Liv said.

“You all want to fill me in?” Clive asked.

“Come on.” Liv led the way to the drawer, opening it to reveal Janko’s body, its head cut open and brainless.

“So, what,” Ravi asked, “you plan on Weekend at Bernie’sing a dead Janko through the halls of Max Rager?”

Major frowned at him. What a ridiculous suggestion. “’Course not.”

“We’ll just take his hand,” Liv added.

Ravi and Clive both grimaced, which surprised Major, because he thought the idea had been an obvious one.

“You’re going to cut off a dead man’s hand and use it to open an elevator?” Clive asked.

“I think it’s Janko’s mercenary brain that’s making them think this is a reasonable idea,” Ravi told him.

Major supposed it was. Still … he hadn’t heard any better suggestions yet. “I guess it is kinda grisly,” he admitted.

Liv was clearly thinking the same way he was. “I’m not hearing other ideas,” she pointed out.

Decisively, Ravi pushed the body on its slider back into the drawer, shutting the door firmly behind it.

Major racked his brains for another idea. Then it came to him. “Maybe Dr. Wyatt.”

“Who?” Ravi asked.

“One of the doctors who works in the basement lab. Young guy. I train him. He likes me, and I’ve heard him say some things that make me think he might be sympathetic to the zombie cause. Maybe I can talk him into letting us downstairs, everything goes right, we could be in by the time the party starts and out before lockdown.”

“Even if this guy lets you in the basement, what do you do when you find the zombies?” Clive asked. “I mean, how are you going to get out of the building?”

“We’ll have twenty nearly invulnerable zombies,” Liv told him. “We’ll figure it out.”

“No warrant?”

“We don’t plan on arresting anyone.”

“And if someone gets in your way?”

“Then things will likely go south for that someone.”

Clive rolled his eyes, clearly not happy with Liv’s plan.

“They have Drake,” she told him.

He held up his hands, shaking his head. “I can’t help you with this.”

“I would never expect you to.” She looked up at Major. “This is a zombie thing.”

Ravi asked, “Are you sure this Dr. Wyatt is even someone you can count on?”

“Well …” Major hesitated. “He’s all we’ve got. I guess …”

“I guess we’re going to have to count on Major’s charming personality,” Liv finished for him. “It’s never failed me before.”

“Right.” Major grinned and pointed at himself. “Charming. That’s me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ravi said skeptically.

“I wash my hands of this plan,” Clive said. “Liv, are you sure?”

“I have no choice.”

“Then … good luck, and I’ll see you if I see you.”

They watched him leave the morgue. Major regretted that they hadn’t been able to come up with a better plan, but there was so little time and so much to do, they had none to waste on regrets. “All right,” he said to Liv, “where do we start?”

Chapter 78: Around Again

The first step of the plan was to infiltrate the catering staff for the party. Peyton helped out there—it was a company she had worked with before when setting up events for the District Attorney’s office. She convinced the catering manager that Major and Liv were old college friends currently down on their luck. Not far from the truth, really, Major thought.

There was something oddly comforting about getting dressed up in full riot gear, helmet and all. For catering uniforms, they were decent quality. Maybe that was the Janko brain, but at least he felt somewhat prepared to storm Tacoma. Maybe even to deck Vaughn du Clark if he had the good luck to run into him at the right time. And beneath all of that, and the nerves, was the excitement of maybe seeing Natalie again, of reassuring himself that she was okay and apologizing for not having been there when she woke up. He assumed Liv felt something similar about the prospect of being reunited with Drake, although they hadn’t talked about those details, by mutual accord.

It was, as expected, a lavish set-up. du Clark had spared no expense. And Major and Liv, their faces covered with helmet and visor, could move through the party with ease and no one would know they weren’t just collecting empty glasses.

Major put a tray of empties down on one of the long tables as their manager for the evening, Jeff, shouted instructions at the other waiters. Running low on food already, and the party had barely begun. Major was glad this wasn’t really his job, because Vaughn du Clark would not be happy when he found out.

Liv came up next to him, carrying an empty tray—metal, and made to look like a tray from a prison cafeteria. No detail had been overlooked. “No sign of your buddy Dr. Wyatt,” she muttered at him, “and we’re almost out of time.”

“I don’t know where he could be.” Nervous energy was pouring through Major, and he just wanted to get this over with, get his zombies out safely, and put this nightmare behind him. “Let’s take another lap.” Wyatt had to be here somewhere.

A buzzer was sounding as they re-entered the main party, a voice letting them know the lockdown was going to begin in three minutes. Damn it, where was this guy? They should have been out of here by now.

“What should we do?” he asked Liv.

“We’re inside now, we see this through.” He could hear the tension in her voice, too, even through the mask covering her face. “You know anyone else who works in the lab?”

Major looked around, finally finding someone he remembered. “Twelve o’clock. Plaid shirt. Tats. Pretty sure he’s one of the basement guys. I’ve seen him with Wyatt. He’s a total dick in the gym; I doubt he’d help us.”

“We should have taken the damn hand,” Liv snapped.

She was right; they really should have. Major cursed the squeamishness that had left them in this position.

“Hey. You two. Get some drinks and pass them out!” It sounded like the catering manager, although it was hard to tell given that they all looked the same. Reluctantly, they left the search for Wyatt and grabbed trays, moving through the crowd together, hoping no one wanted anything.

Finally Major saw Wyatt on the other side of the room. “There’s Wyatt,” he told Liv. “Ten o’clock.”

As he watched, though, Wyatt and the group he was with turned around and went out a door behind them, taking them out of the party and farther away from where Major and Liv stood.

“He’s on the move,” Liv observed.

They sped up, trying to make their way through the crowd quickly in order to catch Wyatt before he could get too far, but then Major saw the last person in front of him that he wanted to see right now: Vaughn du Clark. He was chatting up a blonde woman in a power suit, who looked like du Clark was boring her to tears and she was too polite to bother telling him so. She was way out of du Clark’s league, too—she looked like she could knock him down with one well-placed kick and walk over him in her high heels and never notice it. Major respected that in a woman.

du Clark turned just as Major came up to him, but fortunately his focus was entirely on the brightly colored drinks on the tray Major was carrying. “Ah! Cocktails! Perfect timing.” He grabbed two of the glasses and turned back to the woman, having forgotten the cater waiter entirely as soon as the drinks left the tray. The guy was a dick, but in this case it worked.

Major and Liv looked at each other in frustration as they saw Wyatt and his friends making their way past a staircase across the room.

The woman in the power suit shot down du Clark’s frou-frou drinks and walked off—not sparing a glance for the waiters, either, Major noticed—leaving du Clark standing there with two drinks looking foolish. Score one for the lady. du Clark followed her, finally freeing Major and Liv to go after Wyatt and his friends.

Before they found Wyatt again, Rob Thomas had come on stage. The music was nice, but it was hard to hear over it, and the dancing made it even more challenging to look for a particular person. At last Liv spotted Wyatt again, just as he and his friends were disappearing through a door into the stairwell.

She and Major weaved their way through the crowd, ditching their trays on a table near the wall, and hurried on. With any luck, they’d catch Wyatt and he’d let them into the lab and they’d be home free. Not that luck had been particularly on their side yet tonight … but it had to be eventually, Major thought, trying to stay optimistic.

Chapter 79: Down, Down, Down

Major and Liv burst into the stairwell behind Wyatt and his friends, but it was empty. No sign of them. Removing her dark glasses, Liv turned to look at Major. “What do you think? Up or down?”

While he was deciding, the door opened behind them and Clive appeared, to both of their surprise.

“You didn’t tell me the dude from Matchbox 20 would be here. I might have come.”

Liv chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re here now.” Clive had made his unhappiness with their plan tonight and its lack of officialdom very plain.

“You were supposed to be out by now,” Clive reminded her. “I was worried.”

“We saw Dr. Wyatt head to the stairwell.” Major glanced around, still seeing no sign of Wyatt or his friends. “But we’re not sure which direction they went.”

“Let’s start downstairs,” Liv said. She was growing more and more anxious as the time ticked by. Major couldn’t blame her—he was feeling some of the same urgency.

The three of them started down the stairs, only to be stopped by the sound of guns cocking. They turned to see Vaughn du Clark standing there, flanked by several armed guards. “Ah,” he said, “Detective Babineaux. And …” He looked closely at Major and Liv in their riot gear uniforms. “Daft punk.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking disappointed. “See, normally, this would be a great surprise, but I really hate party crashers.” There was no whimsy in his face right now. This was Vaughn du Clark, shady businessman with secrets to keep, and that, in Major’s experience, was when he was most dangerous. “I mean, if you’re not invited, just … don’t come. Simple manners, really.” He glanced at the guard standing next to him. “Take them down, throw them in one of the cells. We’ll use them for parts.”

He turned and left, leaving Clive and Major and Liv standing at gunpoint. Major could feel Liv’s body tensing, ready to move, and he felt the same, but what could they do, with the all-too-human Clive in between them and the armed guards?

The guard du Clark had spoken to approached them. “All right, turn around.”

Clive put his hands up, and Major looked behind him, hoping to find some way to get out of this situation, with the result that he didn’t see the person who jumped off the upper stairs onto the guard and started eating him.

He heard the screams, though, as several other people launched themselves off the stairs at the remaining guards. The stairwell filled with the coppery scent of blood and the screams of both attackers and attacked. Major didn’t wait to see what was going on; he turned and ran for it down the stairs, with Liv and Clive close behind him. Well, Liv was. Clive was moving, but not fast enough, staring in fascination at the carnage they were leaving behind them.

“Come on!” Major shouted at him. They didn’t want to be caught in that. Clive with his human brain, especially.

But Clive was frozen in place. He had never seen a zombie eat before, and this was a feeding frenzy. At last, Liv grabbed his arm and yanked him down the stairs. “Come on!”

In an empty parking garage level, with closed, barred doors between them and the stairwell, the three of them stopped to regroup.

“What was that?” Clive asked.

“What do you think?”

“So … those things back there with the red eyes, they’re zombies, too?”

“Just like the ones at the boat party,” Liv confirmed.

From above their head, they heard screams and gunshots. Clive knelt to remove his backup weapon from the holster at his ankle. He handed it to Liv. “Take this. I’ll walk you through how to use it—“

But the tutorial wasn’t necessary. With Janko’s brains fueling her, Liv handled the gun like it was her job, holding it ready with a steely resolve in her eyes that looked just like Janko had the last time Major saw him. She looked at Clive. “Let’s rock and roll.”

Clive, as stunned by the transformation of Liv into a mercenary as by the rest of the night’s events, turned to Major, shaking his head. “Sorry, that’s—that’s all the firepower I’ve got.”

Major nodded. None of them had expected to have to fight their way through full Romero zombies tonight. He glanced around, hunting for a weapon, finding the perfect thing right in front of him. “There’s always 'in case of fire' power,” he muttered, walking to the glass case and breaking free the axe that was kept in it.

“Okay, if we run into more of those red-eyed things, we’ll be ready,” Clive said, as though he was trying to convince himself.

“You need to aim for the head, all right? That’s the only way to kill them.”

“You should also probably know they’re not interested in the two of us,” Liv added. Clive frowned, and she explained, “The only brains they want are human ones.”

Clive digested that one unhappily. He gestured with his service revolver to the elevator vestibule nearby. “Shall we see if that elevator takes us out of here?”

The screams and gunshots above their heads were growing louder. Major hated to think of the people up there and the terror and pain they must be facing.

Liv echoed his thoughts. “Those people up there …”

The three of them looked at each other and nodded, reluctant but sure they knew what they needed to do.

“Let’s go see if they need some help,” Clive said at last, and they headed for the elevators, ready to deal with whatever they found up there.

Chapter 80: You By My Side

Emerging from the elevators, Major and Liv and Clive found the main party room essentially emptied. Bodies lay here and there, and the smell of blood and brains was strong, but nothing moved.

“Everyone’s dead,” Major whispered. He was surprised not to find any zombies, and equally surprised that most of the victims seemed to have been able to make a run for it.

“Or undead.” Liv moved forward, her gun held in front of her, ready to raise and fire at the slightest sound. This silent emptiness was too good to be true. “Watch your backs,” Liv added, clearly thinking along the same lines as Major.

On the stage, they found the band members dead, instruments and equipment tumbled around.

“Poor Rob Thomas,” Clive said.

“This is how a skull breaks.”

Major was studying one of the other bodies. “Hey,” he called to the others. “I think I found our ticket to the basement.” As they came over to him, he nudged the body’s arm with the end of his axe. He recognized the tattoo on it—this guy had clearance to Tacoma.

Liv looked at Clive rather triumphantly, and he rolled his eyes and looked away. Major would never have guessed that Detective Clive Babineaux would be this squeamish. Then again, Major suspected that if he and Liv weren’t rolling on Janko brain right now, they’d be a bit more squeamish, too. Maybe not, though. Maybe eating brains gave you a greater comfort with all the dead body parts. He hoped he never again had to find out.

“Heads up,” he said to them, and they moved back in time to avoid being spattered with blood when he used the axe to remove the man’s hand.

Picking up the hand, Liv clipped it to her belt. She must have sensed some reluctance on Clive’s part—and possibly on Major’s—because she gave both of them an exasperated look. “A massive zombie outbreak means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Before either of them could respond, they heard voices to their right. People who were still alive. Clive pulled his gun and was off the stage before Liv and Major could move. They hurried after him, but not fast enough, because within seconds after disappearing from their sight, he was sprinting back into the room, shouting “Move! Move! Move!” at them, with two gibbering Romero zombies chasing him. He shot one in the head and Liv got the other one.

“Clive, get in there,” Major shouted, gesturing at the parking garage office, which looked fairly secure. “They’re coming after you!”

More zombies were emerging, all of them converging on Clive, who seemed stunned by it all, a sitting duck there out in the open. Liv picked off zombies with precise headshots as they came toward him, and finally Clive shook himself and finished the run for the office. Major swung at an oncoming zombie, taking him down, but the axe lodged in his head, and Major couldn’t get it back out again. A big bald zombie was racing toward the door of the office, really booking it. Behind him, Liv shouted, “Major, come on!”, and Major abandoned the axe and ran for the office, getting in there just in time to slam the door in the bald zombie’s face. He locked the door, grinning at the bald zombie’s desperation. The plexiglass panel of the door shook as the zombie banged on it, but it held, as did the rest of the windows. For the moment. But it was only a matter of time. More and more zombies were coming in, making their way toward the office, drawn by the scent of Clive’s brain. Probably the last living human brain in the building. Major wondered what had happened to Vaughn du Clark. Had he gotten away, or was he out there somewhere enjoying the fruits of his labors?

Major turned to look at Liv and Clive, who were bracing themselves, ready for one or all the zombies to come through the windows, guns at the ready.

“This is why I self-park,” he said to them. “How many more rounds of ammo we have left?”

Clive dug in his pocket, bringing out a single clip and staring at it bleakly. “Not enough.”

“Any signal?” Liv asked.

Holding up his cell phone, Clive glared at it, then shook his head. So, no calling for help.

The volume was increasing outside as the population of hungry zombies grew.

“These windows aren’t long for this world,” Clive pointed out, just as a grate in the ceiling broke and a zombie fell through it. Turning, Clive and Liv both shot it. Clive shook his head. “Not the most efficient use of our bullets.”

Major looked up into the vent shaft the zombie had come through. “We’ve been breached. There’s no way to close this up.” He looked at the others. “Look, more are going to find this way in.”

“I’ve got six rounds left,” Liv said.

“I’ve got three, but only two for them.” Clive gestured at the dead zombie. Catching the meaning behind his statement, Major and Liv both looked at him in surprise. “No way I’m getting eaten alive,” he told them.

Liv gave Major a stricken look, but he didn’t see any other way out of this for Clive. And he wouldn’t have wanted to become zombie food while still alive, either, so he sympathized.

“There’s another option,” Liv said. “I could scratch you.”

Clive gestured with the gun at the mindless brain-eaters banging on the windows. “And, what, I turn into one of them?”

“Not one of them.”

“One of us,” Liv clarified.

Clive looked at both of them, clearly not liking either of his options, but too polite to say so.

Time passed. More zombies came through the ceiling. More bullets expended. God, Major wished he hadn’t lost the axe.

Another zombie poked its head through. Liv shot it, and it fell onto the growing pile of other zombies who had tried for Clive’s brain and failed.

“Clive,” Liv said, staring at her gun in distress, “that was my last round.” He, too, looked down at the gun, his eyes wide and fearful. “We don’t have enough time or ammunition to argue about this,” she told him. “I need to scratch you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll stick with my original plan.”

It seemed foolish to Major to court death that way, but he remembered when Liv had scratched him to save his life wishing she hadn’t, so he could sympathize with Clive’s point of view. Still … he didn’t really want to watch a good man die if he didn’t have to.

Then, before either he or Liv could argue with Clive’s resolve, they heard gunshots outside. Lots of gunshots. And zombies started falling away from the windows. Outside the office, he saw the woman Vaughn du Clark had been talking to at the party. She was mowing down zombies with gusto, shouting at them as she did so.

“Come on,” she shouted, trying to draw out more zombies. “Get some!”

“Who the hell is that?” Major asked.

Cautiously, they emerged from the office. As Major retrieved his axe, Clive approached the woman. “Uh … thank you?”

“Vivian Stoll, Fillmore Graves Enterprises.

“Clive Babineaux, Seattle PD. This is Liv Moore from the Medical Examiner’s office.”

“You’re gonna be a busy girl,” Vivian Stoll observed.

Since the introductions seemed to have been stopped before they got to him, Major added his name. He added “personal trainer”, but felt a little awkward about it, given the more impressive credentials of his companions.

Vivian Stoll looked him over, but then she turned her gaze back to Liv and Clive. “Guess those reports about Max Rager causing manic episodes were true.”

“Looks that way,” Clive agreed. “We were out of ammo. You got here in the nick of time.”

“I’m the new owner here. Starting to think I overpaid.” She looked around her at the carnage. “We should go.”

“We think there may be more survivors down below,” Liv told her.

“We’re gonna check it out.”

Vivian Stoll looked from Clive to Liv, her eyes settling on the dismembered hand at Liv’s belt. “Right. Okay. Well, good luck. I’m going to head up to the gate and call for reinforcements.” From her waistband, she withdrew two more guns, holding them out butt-first. “Take these.”

“What about you?” Liv asked.

She took two more guns from the front ofher waistband and the inside pocket of her jacket.

“Think you’re gonna need both of those?” Major asked.

Giving him a look, she handed him one, then turned her back and headed off into the fray. Hell of a woman, he thought. He bet she’d be a lot more fun to train than Vaughn du Clark.

Chapter 81: The Way You've Been Treating My Friends

In the elevator, Liv removed the severed hand from her belt and held it to the touch pad. Major held his breath, hoping this would work, not sure what the hell they would do if it didn’t.

But it did work. The computer said brightly, in a startlingly normal voice, “Thank you, Jeffrey Grunderson,” and the elevator began moving. “Live to the Max!” the computer added.

Liv and Major looked at each other. Maybe this would all be over. Maybe. “Yeah,” Major said breathlessly. “Thanks, Jeffrey.”

The elevator doors opened behind them. Clive whirled around with his gun pointed almost as soon as the doors binged, but there was no need. Everything down here was silent. Still. Abandoned.

Major pointed with the axe. “Okay. Zombie cells are behind those doors.” He raised the axe as they moved cautiously out of the elevator. “I’ll try to get some lights on.”

They made it to the touchpad with no problems—which shouldn’t have been a surprise, what with everyone being dead, but really was—and Major started punching buttons, looking for the lights, while Liv and Clive explored the area, guns at the ready. At last Major got the lights on, displaying the zombie cages. Clive cried out when he saw what they contained. Classic zombies. A full Romero in both cages. God, Major hoped that hadn’t happened to all the people he’d kidnapped. Saved just to be used as experiments? What a cruel joke.

“What the hell are these?” Clive demanded.

“They’re Romeros,” Liv told him. “This is what we’d become if we didn’t get any brains. Once you’re this far gone, there’s no coming back.”

It was what Major almost had become stuck in jail, but he didn’t bother to point that out to Clive. Not now.

Then, from another cell, the last voice Major had expected to hear. “Hey, roomie.”

It was Rita, white-haired and zombified.

“Well, if it isn’t the poster child for poetic justice,” Liv said. “Did someone have a lab accident?”

Rita ignored the sarcasm. “I’m going to guess, based on that dismembered hand on your belt, that you weren’t invited down here. But I know what you’re looking for. Who you’re looking for.”

Major had had just about enough of her games. “Where are they?”

Rita gave him a smile and a little wave. “Hey, baby. I can access the control panel to get you to your zombies.” She pointed to her left. “They’re right through that door.”

Clive tried to pull the doors apart while Major started punching buttons, hoping to hit the right combo. Rita watched them both with her usual superior sneer.

“It’s locked,” Clive told him unnecessarily.

“Come on, guys!” Fake pouting, Rita knocked on the glass of her cage with her fist. “We’re all on the same side here! We all hate my dad. We all want to survive the night. We’ve all seen Major naked.”

Clive made a face. “I haven’t.”

“Do it, Major!” Liv called. She lifted her gun. “If she makes one false move I’ll put a bullet in her brain.”

Rita clapped, grinning. “That’s the spirit. Just punch in 8675309,” she told Major.

He looked up at her, unable to believe it could be that simple a code.

“What can I say? Dad loves the ‘80s.”

He keyed in the numbers and the door slid open. Rita emerged, holding up her hands and pulling her sleeves up to show her arms. “Nothing up my sleeves,” she said to Liv, who kept her gun trained on Rita’s head nevertheless.

“Come here,” Major said. “Open those doors.”

Rita reached for the control panel, pulling it toward her. Major came with it, axe at the ready. “Sheesh,” Rita groaned. “I mean, I’ve had bad breakups before, but, really, Major?”

He ignored her, gesturing at the control panel. “Go.”

She punched some buttons and behind Clive the doors opened. He moved through into the rooms beyond, his voice floating back to them. “It’s clear.”

As Liv followed, Major looked at Rita. “Move.”

“I’m guessing, no funny business?”

He gestured with the axe, and she went around the glass wall toward the doors. Major’s anticipation was rising. Natalie. She had to be there. But before he and Rita reached the doors, they slid closed again, trapping Liv and Clive—and all the kidnapped zombies—on the other side.

Startled, Major and Rita both whirled around … to see Vaughn du Clark, clean and pristine and untouched by the disaster that had been his party, standing at the controls. “Welcome to the after party, folks! Are we having fun yet?” du Clark was watching a monitor off to the side, hidden behind the glass wall. “Oh, Major,” he said pityingly. “It’s such a shame you’re not seeing what I’m seeing, ‘cause there’s a whole Lifetime movie playing out in the next room.”

Liv and Drake, Major assumed. He would have liked to think ‘good for them’, but du Clark’s tone made it sound like maybe it wasn’t so good. Poor Liv.

“Seems your gal had a zombie on the side,” du Clark went on. “Good-night, sweet zombie. Cue the strings. Aw.” He looked back at Major, who was fuming in impotent rage. “Yeah, I’m bored. Seems to me the key demo here is men thirty to …” He pointed at himself with a little smile. “48. And our demo loves action. Don’t we?”

Clive was in there. Vulnerable, human Clive. If all the zombies were Romero, he was dead. If only a few of the zombies were Romero, he was probably dead. “Vaughn,” Major said urgently. “Please don’t.”

“Action it is.” Vaughn punched a button and watched, fascinated, at what was happening on the screen. “Damn! Oh, man. She shot him! ‘Kay? Shot him dead! Well, more dead.”

Oh, Liv.

“Couple more deaths, we’re gonna be able to change this Lifetime movie into a Greek tragedy.”

Major didn’t have a snappy comeback. Or any comeback. He couldn’t help imagining what Liv must be feeling right now.

Unmoved, Vaughn held a finger above the control panel. “Hey. Wonder what this button does.” He punched it, looking up expectantly, then he turned to Rita. “Uh-oh, honey. All our guinea pigs are escaping. And with them, your chances for a cure.”

Rita approached the glass, genuinely upset. Near tears. “Did you ever care about me?”

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear yourself?” du Clark shouted. “Making this moment about you! ‘Cause I’m the one who stands to lose a billion dollars tonight, not to mention my reputation! One hundred dead employees, one dead Rob Thomas! I mean, this just looks bad. You think Twitter’s gonna be kind?”

“Vaughn,” Major said through gritted teeth. “Let us out!”

Pointing his finger at Major, Vaughn went on, “And you! You made a lot of bad life choices, Major! You could have been on my Gulfstream! Party stops to Rio, Berlin, Ibiza … I bet you’d have made a hell of a wingman! Nothin’ wrong with my sloppy seconds.” He held up a finger, wagging it back and forth. “But no super you, my friend. Whatever’s happening up there, you’re to blame!” He punched another button. As the cage doors slid open, he shouted, “Dinner’s served! Go get ‘em, guys.”

Major turned and watched as the Romeros threw themselves at the glass, trying to get through to du Clark.

“What’s the dealio? Will no one rid me of this meddlesome Jason Priestley-type?” du Clark demanded. “Hey! Hey! Dummies,” he said to the Romeros, pointing at Major. “There’s your first course. Hot cross brains, right there!” As the Romeros continued to ignore Major, the light dawned on du Clark’s face. “Ohhhh, snap. Yeah. I’m arguing with a dead guy. Et tu, Major?” He thought for a moment. “Okay, this seems hardly worth my time. Tell you what.” He punched another button and some kind of machinery started running, something coming from the air vents above their heads. “That gas should deanimate you. It’ll work in about a minute or so. I’ll come in after you’re … out for the count, take that axe and put everybody out of his misery. Sound like a plan?”

Major was trying to think of a plan. After all this, he was damned if he was going to be taken out by this guy. He decided to gamble on the glass not being bullet proof. From his waistband, he took Vivian Stoll’s gun, turned, and shot du Clark through the glass, catching him in the hand, then he attacked the glass with the axe where the bullet had gone through, as du Clark staggered back toward the elevator, cradling his bleeding hand. He made it through just as du Clark reached the elevator, the doors closing. But the elevator didn’t move, du Clark’s bloody hand not allowing him access, and Major pried the doors open with the axe, sticking his face through and crowing “Here’s Major!” in his best Jack Nicholson voice.

“I can see you’re upset,” du Clark tried, shrinking back into a corner as Major lifted the axe.

But instead of attacking du Clark, Major banged the axe against the access panel in the elevator ceiling. “I would not go out there,” he advised. “There are zombies and poison gas … whew! And they’re gonna be in here any second.” He used the axe as a piton, and climbed his way out of the elevator even as the doors started sliding open again behind him.

du Clark shouted as the Romeros stuck their faces in the doors. They sounded less like Jack Nicholson, but seemed to have more impact. Major crouched at the top of the elevator, watching as the Romeros—and Rita, who seemed to be losing her grip, as well—forced their way through the doors.

“Help me! Help me, my friend.”

“I know you’re a fan of submarine movies, so I’m sure you’ll understand.” Major dropped the axe down. “Good luck.” As he closed the hatch, sealing du Clark in with what he had created, Major had to admit he felt pretty damned heroic.

Chapter 82: Victims of the Game

Before Major could face the climb out of the basement, the elevator started moving. He flattened himself on the top of it, hoping wherever it stopped wouldn’t be close enough to the ceiling to crush him, and tried not to think about all the empty space below this fragile hunk of metal he was riding.

He heard the door bing, and below him the sound of a hungry zombie leaping to attack—someone. He opened the hatch, poking his head and arms through, gun at the ready, just in time to shoot Rita in the back of the head. He felt bad about that … at least, a little bad. With better parents, Rita could have been something. As it was, she would have grown to be just like her father.

Dropping through the floor, he gave only a glance to the carnage in the elevator, du Clark dead at his feet with his brains spilling out. Liv was standing in front of him, in one piece, and his heart went out to her. “I’m so sorry about Drake,” he whispered as they came to each other, holding on for dear life. At the end of the day, whatever they were to one another, if Liv was still here, that was all Major could ask for.

As they broke the embrace, Liv whispered, “I killed him.” She looked lost and shaken, her face even paler than usual under the black helmet.

Next to them, Clive said, “He was already gone, Liv. That wasn’t him.”

Major looked over her shoulder. “Are there any survivors?”

Clive gestured with his gun. “Yeah. Vaughn’s office.”

Major left them there, hurrying toward the office. He had to know, had to see for himself, make sure he had done at least something right in all this mess.

Behind him, he heard Clive say, “I have to call this in.” He didn’t envy him that phone call. How exactly did you explain a zombie outbreak and a whole party full of people killed? Clive was thinking along the same lines Major was, because he went on to say, “Even though I have no idea how any of this is going to get explained away.”

“Super Max,” said Liv. “It created a violent chain reaction, armed guards lost their heads and began firing on rampaging employees.”

“You really think that’s going to fly?”

“You think zombie outbreak has a better chance?”

Clive made the call, as Major pulled open the door to Vaughn’s office, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw so many of his kidnap victims standing there, looking tired and drawn, but still in possession of their faculties. He looked over them, grateful that no one seemed to be greeting him with hostility or threats. Not a lot of smiles of recognition, either, but he was okay with that. What he didn’t see was Natalie. He looked again, but she really wasn’t there.

“Hey, was there another woman with all of you?”

They looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Her name was Natalie. She has dark hair, she’s about 5’6”, she’s pretty, about thirty years old?”

One of the men pointed at him. “I recognize you. I’d just hired you to train me.”

It hadn’t occurred to Major until that moment that the riot gear made him hard to recognize. Maybe they were going to attack him after all. He probably deserved it.

Behind him, another man said, “You were in the elevator the day I got kidnapped.”

They were all starting to close in on him, staring at his face, murmuring in recognition. “You’re that guy.” “I remember you, too.”

D.A. Baracus, who seemed to be in better shape than the others—and was the only one other than Natalie who had gone into the freezer knowing what was about to happen—came toward him. “Yeah, I saw Natalie.”

“Where was she?”

“This tattooed guard led her away. They never brought her back.”

Major couldn’t believe it. After all this, and the one promise he had wanted to keep—wanted more than he had realized—he couldn’t. She had awakened in a cell, she had been taken away, she had probably died in fear and hunger and rage. He hadn’t saved her from anything.

Clive knocked at the door, and Major went to it, opening it a crack. “What’s up?” There were soldiers in the hall, surrounding Clive.

“Fillmore Graves. Liv went to talk to their boss.”

“All right. Keep me posted.” He turned back to the others. “Everyone, there’s just going to be a bit of a delay while we talk to the new owners, and then you can all go home, I promise.” He hesitated, not sure what he should say, and then decided to go with the truth. “Vaughn du Clark hired me to kill all of you, because you were zombies. He was trying to cover up the fact that Max Rager had created a zombie outbreak. I … didn’t want do it, but he blackmailed me. Threatened my life and the lives of people I care about. So I hid you in freezers, hoping I could find a cure, or some way to return you safely to your homes. Unfortunately, while I was … detained, Max Rager found you instead, and I’m … sorry. Very sorry. For all of it. Rest assured, I’m going to make sure you get home to your families.”

They nodded dully, too exhausted and drained to respond, and Major leaned back against the doors to wait, feeling pretty damned exhausted and drained himself.

Chapter 83: I Think You Lost the Plan

Major had to hand it to these Fillmore Graves people: They knew how to get things done. Within minutes of Liv going downstairs and finding her, Vivian Stoll had taken charge. She had men moving everywhere, and had brought all the zombies down from Vaughn du Clark’s office and was having them looked over. She gathered Major, Liv, and Clive together in a little worried knot.

“Okay. We all have to get our stories straight,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the approaching sirens. “Here’s mine: Max Rager employees were knocking back cans of Super Max, lost their minds, began attacking each other. Vaughn’s armed guards started spraying them down with bullets. Chaos ensued.”

“We should go with something close to the truth,” Liv urged.

“Zombie outbreak?” Clive asked dubiously.

“Major had information about Chaos Killer victims locked in a secret basement lab. We used the party as a cover to check it out, and we found the Chaos Killer victims.”

Vivian Stoll seemed to agree. “You guys are the heroes here!”

“Not sure that’ll be the takeaway.” It seemed a bit too much to hope for.

Behind Major, a school bus pulled out, and Stoll gestured to it as it went. “We’re taking the survivors to the medical facility on our campus. We’ll debrief them, make sure they’re all on the same page before they have to talk to the press or the authorities.”

Clive held up his hands, cautious as always. “I hate to rain on the parade here, but there’s probably a hundred dead bodies downstairs. Forensic evidence will be everywhere.”

He had barely finished his sentence when two soldiers came running up the ramp from the garage where the party had been held, shouting “Move! Move! Move!”

“Get cover!” Stoll shouted, diving for some herself. The rest of them hurried to follow, crouching behind one of the SUVs.

“Fire in the hole!” Major heard someone shout, and then a ball of fire burst out, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. So much for Clive’s forensic evidence.

Stoll turned to them with a cocky grin. “We think of everything.”

Major, Liv, and Clive were debriefed as well, and sent home by Stoll. Back at Liv and Peyton’s apartment, they found Ravi and Peyton already there, learning the story of Peyton’s abduction by Mr. Boss’s men, and her subsequent—and bloody—rescue by Blaine. Peyton was shaken and exhausted, Ravi was beating himself up for having let it happen and not being the one to rescue her, as well as nursing a big goose egg on his head where he had been struck by the kidnappers.

They were a silent and morose bunch, sitting in separate spots, lost in whatever thoughts they could muster in their current drained state. Liv, caretaker that she was, poured drinks and brought them on a tray. White wine for Peyton, Guinness for Ravi, a can of beer for Clive, and glasses of spiced whiskey for herself and Major. She sank down on the couch between Major and Peyton. Like old times in college, the three of them together. Major was too tired even to miss those simpler, happier times.

He couldn’t bear to think of what had happened tonight—the zombie outbreak, the death of Vaughn du Clark, killing Rita … not finding Natalie. It was too much, too painful. So instead he thought about Peyton’s night, held hostage by Mr. Boss’s men to flush out Blaine. Which was weird, he thought.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” he said. They all turned to look at him, although no one expressed any interest in what he might not understand. “Why would Mr. Boss think that Blaine would show up to save Peyton?”

Peyton and Ravi exchanged looks, bitter on Ravi’s end, distressed on Peyton’s.

Liv had seen the looks, too, and she jumped in before one of them had to say anything. “The important thing is that Peyton’s safe.”

Lifting his beer, Clive said, “It sounds to me like Miss Charles here was romantically involved with Blaine.” Everyone turned to look at him while he was sipping from the can.

“What?” Major exclaimed. That couldn’t be. Peyton and Blaine? Not possible.

Clive and Peyton exchanged looks this time, and Clive shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, was that not it?”

Liv broke in again. “I’ve got a proposal.”

But Major had to hear the answer directly, or he wasn’t going to believe it. Looking at Peyton across Liv, he said, “You and Blaine?”

“Major,” Liv said loudly, to cover Peyton’s silence, “this is important. I propose that from this day forward, no big secrets between the five of us. From now on, we’re all on the same team, working in the same direction. I’m a zombie. Major is a zombie.”

“Peyton’s sleeping with Blaine,” Ravi added. Bitterly.

“Slept with. Once!” Peyton corrected.

“Is it too late to say that I kind of liked being out of the loop on some of this?” Clive asked quietly.

Liv was not daunted by the rest of them and their issues. “It’s in the spirit of this new honesty that I want to tell you about a moment I shared with Vivian Stoll.”

“Who’s Vivian?” Ravi asked.

“The private military contractor lady,” Peyton explained. “The one that saved their asses.”

“Right. When I went back down there, she and her mercenaries were snacking on Rob Thomas’s brain.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“They were zombies, too?” Clive asked.

“Yeah. And she knew that I was one.”

“You don’t do much too hide it,” Ravi pointed out.

Liv ignored that bit, probably because it was true. “She told me that Seattle was going to be the capital of a zombie homeland.”

“A zombie homeland?” Clive echoed.

“People weren’t gonna want to see that happen.”

“Yeah, I can see a few closed-minded people objecting.” Like, all the people, really, Major imagined.

“She wanted to know if I was with her or against her,” Liv went on.

“With her or against her how? What does that even mean?” Peyton asked.

“Well, I think it means that Fillmore Graves wants to make Seattle a zombie-friendly city.”

“Zombie friendly? Like, ‘eat all the brains you want, we’ll make more’?” Clive looked distressed by that. And, really, who could blame him?

“I didn’t get details. They were in a bit of a rush to get out of the building before they blew it up.”

“I don’t think I can roll with this,” Clive said, agitated. “I mean, what if in the history of the zombie wars, I’m the human who had a chance to say something, and I sat on my ass?”

“I mean, bright side,” Ravi put in, “the writer of the history of the zombie wars will very likely be a zombie and you would be viewed as a hero.”

Clive didn’t seem to find that outlook comforting.

“I’m not saying that we should just roll with it,” Liv assured him. “We should go visit Vivian tomorrow. You, me, Major. Find out exactly what she means about Seattle being a zombie homeland and then we can decide what we want to do with that information.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Clive raised his beer can. “Fine.”

“I’m in,” Major promised.

“And now, I think everyone needs a shower and to get some sleep. Ravi, Peyton, one of you want to go first?”

“Let Peyton. I have to set up the couch.”

Peyton nodded, getting up and taking her wine glass into the bathroom. Clive got up, too.

“Will you be all right? You saw … kind of a lot, tonight,” Liv said.

“I’ll be fine.”

She watched him go, worried. Ravi was setting up the couch, not looking like he wanted to talk. Liv turned to Major. “I won’t be sleeping much; you can have my bed if you want.”

“Liv. You need to rest.”

“I can’t, Major. I shot Drake. I can’t—“ A spasm of pain crossed her face.

“Hey.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we both sleep in your bed tonight? I get the feeling it might help us both to get some rest, just … having someone there.”

Liv rested her head in the curve of his arm, nodding. “It’s worth a try. Thank you, Major.”

“Thank you, Liv. I could never have gotten to them all without you, and they would have died down there.”

“We did a good thing tonight.”

Neither of them asked the question on both their minds: What will we do tomorrow?

Chapter 84: This Town Is Our Town

Liv had finally dropped off late in the night, after tossing and turning as restlessly as Major had ever seen her. He lay awake long after she fell asleep, staring up at the ceiling. So many things had happened tonight, but of them all, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind was the absence of Natalie. She hadn’t been one of the Romero zombies, Major was sure of it. So where had she been taken, and by whom? He had to get to the bottom of this. He had to find her. At last he determined that the best thing he could do, in the absence of anyone from Max Rager left alive to ask, was to call the remaining Chaos Killer victims and ask them what they knew. He didn’t look forward to the task at all, but it had to be done, or he’d have no peace.

In the morning, he and Ravi drove back to their place and he tried to explain the plan.

“Major … are you sure you want to do that?”

“I am. I mean, it’s gonna be awkward. I’m gonna have to talk to all the people I kidnapped and drill down on whether they saw anything that might get me to Natalie.”

Ravi was looking past him. “Ah, Major,” he whispered, and Major turned to follow his gaze.

It was bad. Their house was trashed, with graffiti spray-painted on it and garbage strewn across the lawn.

“Our heroes return,” Major muttered to himself as he and Ravi crossed the street.

They stared at the mess, including a hole in the glass of the front door where a rock had been thrown through it. “It’s gonna get better now,” Ravi offered. “Now that you’ve been cleared.”

“You think?” Major wished he had his friend’s optimism. Then again, from Ravi’s silence, it appeared he wished he had it, too.

Fortunately the inside of the place hadn’t been touched, so other than a stale smell and some milk that needed to be thrown out, they were back up and running, showered and changed, before long. Ravi headed off to work, and Major waited for Liv to pick him up, starting to work his way through the list.

He was still at it as he and Liv stood on the Fillmore Graves campus waiting for Clive. At the tone, he launched into the message he had memorized by now. “Hi, this is Major Lilywhite. I was at Max Rager the other night, and I was hoping to talk to you about that girl Natalie. If you remember anything, call me back at this number. Thanks.”

Clive appeared just as Major was hanging up. A group of soldiers ran by, shouting out a cadence that was all about not being able to be killed. Clive watched them go. “You think those were all zombies?”

“We said 0900,” Liv informed him crisply.

He looked at his watch. “It’s nine right now.”

“If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late.” It seemed simple to Major, but then, he was still on Janko brain, as was Liv.

“Just so I understand, if we can find you two some new non-soldier brains, you won’t be like this?”

“Depends on the brains.”

“If we ate the brains of a train conductor, for example, similar issue,” Major said.

Clive decided not to take this conversation any further. “We should head in. Maybe we’ll run into a normal person we could murder.”

Vivian Stoll made a good show of being glad to see them when they were shown into her office, ushering them to seats. “Have you been watching the news? So far, so good. The Chaos Killer victims are coming through like champs.”

“I downloaded Major and Clive on what you told me,” Liv said, jumping right into the middle of things. “About Seattle being a zombie homeland.”

Stoll hadn’t expected that, and wasn’t thrilled, although she kept her face mostly blank. “Huh.”

“I’m guessing I’m the only non-zombie in the loop,” Clive said.

“Oh, no. Far from it. We probably have a couple dozen human employees who are fully briefed.” She leaned toward Clive with a tight smile. “But those are humans I know and trust.”

“Clive has already witnessed a full-scale zombie outbreak,” Liv pointed out. “That’s a genie that can’t really be put back in the bottle. We want to know what you mean when you talk about Seattle being a zombie homeland. How can we know if we’re with you when we don’t even really know what we’re talking about?”

“Fair enough,” Stoll conceded. “We here at Fillmore Graves are preparing for D-Day. Discovery Day,” she clarified when Clive looked uncertain about the term. “The day when humans en masse learn of our existence. What do you think happens then, Liv?”

“I thought it would be in our best interests if it didn’t get out.”

“Maybe it won’t … but it probably will. So what happens when it does? What happens when humans learn that there’s a few hundred brain-eating, highly contagious zombies in their midst? You think they’ll ask us to raise our hands and then they’re gonna do their best to help us survive and assimilate? You think they’ll help us get the brains we need to survive?”

“Where do you get your brains?” Clive asked, cutting into what sounded like a rehearsed speech.

Stoll leaned further toward Liv, cutting her eyes to Clive and then back to Liv. “See what I’m talking about? It’s a touchy subject.” To Clive, she added, “There are several crematorium owners here in the Pacific Northwest who are paying cash for houses in upscale neighborhoods for doing nothing more than debraining the deceased and sending those brains our way. But … nobody’s answered my question. What happens on D-Day?” She looked around at the three of them like they were students in a senior seminar taking a final exam.

“They exterminate us,” Major said softly.

“Ooh, check out the big brain on Major. We here at Fillmore Graves do not plan on going gently into that good night.”

“What do you plan on doing?” Liv asked.

“Well, for a start, we’re well-armed and well-trained. We’re also the proud owners of the formula for Super Max. No one else gets it. Max Rager is no longer, and with Super Max we are faster, stronger, and have more endurance than the humans who would annihilate us.”

Major found that an interesting strategy. He wondered if they knew about the side effects of anger and loss of control. He wondered if they cared.

“Can we get a straight answer on what you mean when you say Seattle’s going to be the capital of the zombie homeland?” Clive asked. “Are you declaring war?”

“You want a straight answer? Come see.” Stoll led them across her office, where she called up a file on a wall-mounted screen: a field of blue with a pink dot in the middle. Some kind of topographical map, Major thought. “See this dot?” Stoll asked. “It’s an island. And we own it. Zombie Island.” She surveyed their blank faces with a smile. “Sounds like the name of a summer blockbuster, doesn’t it?”

“You’re moving all zombies to their own island?”

“Our own island, Liv. Show some team spirit!” She showed them a few pictures of construction workers on a project. “We’re building the infrastructure now. We’re at least a year and a half away, but it can hold all of us. We can self-segregate. This here—“ She switched to a picture of a framework going up. “That’s gonna be the schoolhouse.”

“Schoolhouse?” Major wasn’t sure he had heard that right.

“There are zombie children?” Clive asked.

“Why should that be a surprise?”

Major supposed it wasn’t, once he thought of it. If you were a zombie and you had kids, how easy would it be to scratch them? While rough-housing or playing sports, or just in the course of daily life? They should have thought of it. But they were so used to looking on zombieism as being contained, just them, something small. They should have expected it to get bigger.

Looking at their shocked faces, Stoll suggested they take a walk. She took them to another part of the facility where the children’s classrooms were. Major had so many questions about how that worked, but he didn’t feel comfortable asking them. Mostly he tagged along at the end and kept his thoughts to himself. After all this time, all the hunting for brains and the managing on their own, there was a seductive comfort about this whole massive company whose entire resources were devoted to making life as a zombie livable and safe.

On the way, Stoll explained that her husband had been scratched and then extorted for brains—Blaine’s work, no doubt—and that she had chosen to be infected rather than live without him. Her husband had found a way to get his own brains and stopped paying the bribe, and had disappeared a week later. Again, likely Blaine. Damn the man, Major thought. And Peyton had slept with that guy? He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

Stoll went on to explain that a number of the soldiers had been the victims of a biological attack, and had spread that sickness during a Fourth of July retreat, leaving no choice but to scratch them, since she couldn’t bear to watch them die.

A line of children was filing into a classroom as they arrived. Many of them smiled and waved at Stoll, calling her “Miss Vivian”. But one stopped short, his face lighting up, and called out Clive’s name. He and Clive embraced like long-lost brothers. It was a side of Clive that Major had never seen before, and he had to admit he liked it. Before the kid when back to class, he looked at Liv with pity. “You should tan and dye.”

Clive told them that the kid’s family had lived in his building for a while. He was clearly shaken by the encounter.

As Clive looked through the window at the children, Stoll said, “That biological weapon that the general dropped on his own people?”

“Yeah?”

“The people who were infected developed lesions on their faces. All over their bodies. They were incredibly contagious. And the people who weren’t infected became so terrified of those who were, they started shooting the infected on sight. That’s what’s gonna happen when the people of Seattle realize there are zombies living among them.” She paused to let the impact of her words sink in, then addressed Liv. “You really should tan and dye. We’re trying to keep a secret here.”

Outside, the three of them stood together trying to make sense of what they had learned.

“Super Max powered zombies armed to the gills, ready to do battle once they’re discovered? And I’m not supposed to say anything?” Clive was clearly struggling with this concept. When Liv and Major didn’t respond, he continued, “Aren’t we the ‘no secrets’ club?”

“We’re the ‘no secrets between us’ club,” Liv clarified.

“I think what they’re doing here is smart,” Major said. “I mean, do we really believe there’s going to be a ‘let’s talk things out with the zombies’ phase once the human population learns we exist?” Major’s first reaction on discovering zombies existed was to take out the staff of Meat Cute … how could he deny that others were going to have the same response?

“I do,” Liv offered.

“Once they hear that we eat brains … Pew.” He mimed shooting himself in the head.

Liv and Clive didn’t like that idea, but they couldn’t argue with it, either. People were people … and they didn’t like what they didn’t understand. Or, worse, what they thought they understood all too well.

Chapter 85: The Wrong Side of Rock Bottom

Leaving the Fillmore Graves campus, Major felt strangely light. Free, almost. It took him a few minutes to figure out why, and then it struck him: No more Max Rager. No more Vaughn du Clark. No more list. No more zombies hidden in freezers. No more lying to Liv. He felt free because he was free.

This was the first day of the rest of his life.

The fact that he had no idea what to do with life as a zombie, or even life in general, anymore, wasn’t going to hold him back, he told himself. It was going to propel him forward. It was going to allow him to try anything that looked interesting.

Feeling chipper and upbeat, he headed for a coffee shop. It seemed like days since he’d had a decent cup of coffee. He’d sit, he’d sip, he’d look through the want ads—he’d see what jumped out at him. For someone who had always had a plan, it seemed so refreshing to let himself go.

Waiting in line at the coffee shop, he idly grabbed a bottle of OJ, tipping it back to read the label. It looked organic, but you could never tell until you checked. As he looked down, he caught sight of the newspaper rack out of the corner of his eye, and the picture on it looked familiar. Turning his head to look more closely, he saw that the picture was very familiar—it was him. A bad shot, admittedly, but completely recognizable. And above the picture, the headline: “Chao$ Killer Victims Found in Secret Basement Lab.” The lead story was about the shootout and fire at Max Rager, but … there it was, in black and white. “Chao$ Killer.” With his picture.

His good mood deflated. He grabbed the paper, reading over the part of the article that was above the fold, forgetting that he was in line until the barista called, “Sir?”

Then he looked up at her, over the paper, and smiled as he stepped toward the counter, and he watched the blood drain from her face. Some part of his mind found that interesting. He had never seen someone go pale that way. Her professional smile faded as he approached, and he sighed, his shoulders hunching with defeat. So, still the first day of the rest of his life—as the Chao$ Killer.

“Uh … this, this,” he held up the orange juice and the paper, “and a large Americano, please.”

She wanted to refuse him service. He could see that in the hesitation in her movements as she rang him up, and in the slight curl of her lip that she couldn’t control. But these places had strict rules, and he was not a convicted killer, not even under indictment, so there was no legal justification to kick him out.

He took the paper and juice, remaining polite, and carried them to a table, where he sat circling want ads in red while he waited for his coffee. He focused on reading the ads, trying to picture himself in each of the various menial odd jobs he was even partially qualified for, and tried not to pay attention to the fact that he had nearly finished the bottle of juice and still had no coffee. An Americano wasn’t a particularly difficult or complicated drink, and the line at the counter, while steady, wasn’t overwhelming. Apparently this was his life now.

“Large Americano,” he heard finally, and he got up to retrieve his coffee, taking a sip as soon as he picked it up. Cold. Well, tepid, at least. Definitely not hot. And more water than coffee. He stopped to look at it the cup and frowned. They hadn’t been subtle: The name written above the cardboard sleeve was “Chaos Killer.”

Yes, this definitely was his life now. So much for a fresh start, or freedom, or trying new things. No, he’d be lucky if he had any options at all.

Putting the cup down on the table next to the open newspaper and the nearly empty bottle of juice, Major walked out. Let them think the Chaos Killer was one of those people, the ones who didn’t clean up after themselves. What did it matter? They were going to think what they wanted, anyway.

All of which left him—where, exactly? He couldn’t go back to work with kids. Helton had seen to that. He wasn’t going to have a lot of luck as a personal trainer, not with Chaos Killer written on his face. And what else was he good at? What did he have to offer that hadn’t been taken from him?

The answer came to him. One place he could go where he would be accepted for who, and what, he was; where he could use his skills; where they already knew the true story. The one place in Seattle where he could be himself.

He drove across town and found himself standing in Vivian Stoll’s office.

She looked up from her computer and smiled. “I was expecting you half an hour ago.”

“I like to make my decisions deliberately.”

“That’s good. I like a soldier who thinks. You’ll fit in here nicely, Major.” Stoll stood up, offering him her hand to shake. “HR is on the third floor, they’ll get you set up with everything you need, all your paperwork, the whole nine yards. Welcome to Fillmore Graves.”

Later, after about a mountain of paperwork, he headed for the morgue, figuring Ravi would still be there. Which he was, hunched over the desk in the outer office.

Major was smiling as he came downstairs, but Ravi was definitely not. He looked like a balloon with all the air out. “Someone’s in good spirits,” he said, looking up at Major with an attempt at a return smile.

“Guess who found a job? A job where no one cares if you’ve been publicly accused of being a serial killer.”

Ravi frowned, apparently trying to figure out what kind of job that was, but before he could ask, Major looked past him into his office, where he saw Liv asleep.

“Why is Liv sacked out on your couch?”

His roommate grimaced. “Bad day. She drowned her sorrows.”

“Ah. And she’s here in case she pukes in her sleep?”

“Something like that.”

“She’s taking Drake’s death really hard.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Ravi shook his head. “None of us have had a very good week.”

“No. No, we haven’t. Maybe … maybe next week will be better.”

“We can only hope.”

Chapter 86: Work to Do

Major was about halfway through his list of Chaos Killer victims. Most of them had hung up on him when he told them who he was. The few who had stayed on the call long enough to find out what he was calling about listened to his description of Natalie and then told him they didn’t know anything. Only one so far had given him any useful information at all. He supposed one was better than none, but it was getting tiring saying the same things over and over again, making the same apologies. They had been held in the Max Rager basement, most of them had dealt with Vaughn du Clark—was it really that hard a stretch to understand why he had done what he had done? Then again, he supposed that waking up in a freezer was fairly traumatic in and of itself.

He should probably be more sympathetic, he told himself, but it wasn’t easy, not with his increasing concern for Natalie’s whereabouts. If she was gone, she alone amongst all the zombies from those freezers, she must have been very valuable to someone, so he was sure she was still out there somewhere. But wherever it was, it couldn’t be pleasant for her. He thought of her lovely house, her photographs, her love of freedom, and then of her trapped somewhere, being used, no doubt, and he wondered if it wouldn’t have been kinder to let her shoot herself the way she had intended to do.

Between phone calls, Major passed the time worrying about the cure. So far, he hadn’t felt any ill effects, but he could see the way Ravi watched him. It was only a matter of time. His lungs would fill with fluid, and he would suffocate. Or he could take the new cure and lose everything he was and ever had been. All his memories, all the time he had spent with Liv—they would be nothing but blankness. A black hole where Major Lilywhite used to be.

Enough of this, he thought firmly. He was hungry, that’s what it was. Janko’s brain had been a while ago now, and he needed something new—new brains, new thoughts, new personality traits. Anything to get his mind off this hamster wheel it had been stuck on.

He texted Liv. What’s cooking?

Chili dogs. Come get some. You must be starved.

You have no idea.

Tripping down the stairs to the morgue, he could smell it. The chili, the spices, and that certain something that said brains to a hungry zombie. “Mm, something smells good!” On the Bunsen burners stood two saucepans. They looked the same, but just to make sure, he asked, “What are we looking at here?”

Liv pointed to the first pot. “This is Stanley Chen, fifty-year-old bank manager, and this is his fifteen-year-old ice-skating enthusiast daughter.” She pointed at the second pot, which Major noticed was more full.

Hoping that didn’t mean what he was afraid it meant, he said, “Dibs on the dad. You guys know I hate the cold, and I would love to get my finances in order.” To give Max Rager credit, they had paid on time, and fairly well, but Major hadn’t had any time to deal with the mess of debt he had built up after he was fired from Helton.

“You should eat the daughter,” Clive said, and then swallowed, looking a little green around the gills. “Words I never thought I’d hear myself say.”

Ravi grinned at him, clearly enjoying no longer being the only non-zombie in the conversation. “The new normal.”

“God, I hope not.” Clive went on, thinking it through as he spoke. “High-powered banker, odds are he, not the high school sophomore, was the intended target. Liv’s already partaken of … banker brain.” Major had to give him credit, he was rolling with this better than expected, but it was hard to get used to this whole idea of eating someone’s brain and taking on their personality.

“Uh …” Major looked at the bubbling pot of brain chili, then at Liv, and then at Clive, and then back at the pot. “It’s just … I’m not sure this is the best time for me to be on teenage girl brain? I—I’m getting closer to finding Natalie, and I just started mercenary training …”

“And what?” Liv asked. “You’re worried there’ll be math?”

“No.”

“Suck it up, Lilywhite! I was a teenage girl for seven whole years. I think you can handle a week. Besides,” she added, as Major reached for a bun and stuck a hot dog inside it, “you might have a vision of a license plate or something.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Next time, he’d get to the morgue sooner. That’s what he’d do.

“You’re close to finding Natalie?” Liv asked him.

“Closer. One of the Chaos Killer victims told me he thawed out in the Max Rager basement in time to see Natalie begging Janko to call a number. She said the guy on the other end would pay big bucks for her. Guess who had a vision of Natalie whispering that number to Janko?”

“I want to say … Major Lilywhite!” Ravi said, in his best game show voice.

Major plucked the number out of his shirt pocket. “Boom!” It was the first time he’d ever had a vision that he wished would never end. Even when scared, Natalie was a sight to be seen.

“That number seems like a dangerous thing to have,” Liv cautioned him.

Clive held out his hand. “I could run the number, see if it’s traceable?”

Major felt oddly reluctant. This was his quest; he had intended to see it through on his own. He’d had fantasies of himself breaking into wherever Natalie was being held and setting her free. But it seemed foolish to turn down the help when it was being offered, and he and Clive had some fences to mend. “Sure,” he agreed, and handed over the paper with the number on it.

“Look at us, all working together to solve mysteries,” Ravi mused. “We should get a van and a dog.”

Finally, Major bit into the brain chili-covered hot dog. It really was damned good. Liv was such a good cook, and the brains were so satisfying. While he moaned with pleasure, and Clive recoiled in disgust, Liv and Clive got ready to head out to investigate the crime.

Chapter 87: Strange Voices

Major wasn’t scheduled to report to work until later, so he hung around the morgue with Ravi. So much had happened in the last few days, they needed a good chance to catch up, to really delve into each other’s souls and see what was there.

But he couldn’t get his mind off Natalie, and the vision he’d had of her. She had been so scared, but still so brave and smart, convincing Janko to call that number. The number! He had given it to Clive to look up, but he still had it in his phone. Maybe—

“Major?”

He realized that he hadn’t answered Ravi’s last question. “Sorry. I was thinking about Natalie. Do you think I should text that number? I don’t know. I’m worried that it could put Natalie in danger.” He wanted to try to reach her; how he wanted to. But he was so afraid to mess things up for her in case they weren’t already, or make them worse if they were already bad.

“I think you should wait to see if Clive has any luck tracing it,” Ravi told him.

“I need to find her before things go south for me.” Even as he thought of what could happen, he took a deep breath. Yes, lungs still clear. It was becoming a habit, and he didn’t like it. A constant reminder of his mortality, of the ticking clock. “Or take the cure and lose my memory,” he added softly.

“Well, maybe you won’t lose your memory.”

Major turned his head to look at Ravi. “You think Blaine’s faking the memory loss?”

“Actually, I was thinking of getting my memory cure dialed in—if you can hold on long enough—but I wouldn’t put anything past Blaine.”

There was a bitterness in his roommate’s tone that was unusual, even given the subject matter. They all hated Blaine, but this was different. Darker.

At Major’s inquiring look, Ravi muttered, “Sorry. Any mention of Blaine hurtles me into the abyss.”

Major didn’t ask, but he wanted to. Clearly Ravi could hear the question, even unspoken as it was.

“Peyton left me a message saying she wants to talk.”

Ah. Blaine and Peyton. Who always had been drawn to the bad boys, and now had been saved by just such a one, charming and fascinating and seeming so completely fixable. And now she was going to throw Ravi over for a guy like that? Ravi who was tall and good-looking and sweet and just the best guy ever? Major sat up, completely disgusted with Peyton and girls everywhere. “She wants to talk?” he said indignantly. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, I’m fairly certain it means she wants to … talk.”

Major was dumbstruck. How could she leave Ravi hanging like that? He moved down to sit on the arm of the couch closer to his roommate. “Okay, is she the single most selfish person on the planet? She literally made you Eskimo brothers with Satan. She doesn’t deserve face time with you!”

“She doesn’t?”

“She slept with Blaine, which, first of all, ew. Second of all, I can’t even.”

“Oh.” Ravi nodded with sudden comprehension. He got it. Major was so pleased they were on the same page. Sitting back in his chair, Ravi asked, carefully, “Do you think, perhaps, you might be reacting a bit more dramatically than usual due to your recent meal?”

How could he think that? Here was Major trying to feel what Ravi felt, and all Ravi could think of was brains? “It’s actually called being supportive,” Major told him. “You should maybe try it sometime.” Then he heard himself. Poor Ravi, reeling from what Peyton had done to him, and now Major was going to snark at him? “Oh, my god, was that just so super bitchy? I am so sorry.”

Ravi was staring at him open-mouthed, clearly stunned by the depth of Major’s feelings. “Oh, good god.”

“It just really hurts me when someone hurts you, you know? You’re like my best friend ever. For real. Wait—we’re totally best friends, right?”

There was a pause while about six different expressions fought it out on Ravi’s face, but finally he managed a smile. “Yes.”

Major gave a sigh of relief. “Great. That’s all I needed to know. Hey, you mind if I use your laptop? I really have to catch up on my Instagram. And, hey, maybe we can run out later? I could use … a Coke. And maybe some candy. Like those gummy fruit rings? God, those sound so good right now.”

“Yeah. Sure. Why don’t I go out now? I’m about due for my break. If anyone comes in, just … don’t talk to them.” Ravi hurried out of the office, leaving Major to look after him with affection. What a great guy.

He got some tunes going, lightening up the morgue, and sat there eating candy and singing along, feeling the lyrics in his soul. These songs could have been written just for him, and for his friends. He couldn’t believe how he had never noticed it before!

Liv and Clive came back, and Liv winced at the noise. “Oof! How about turning it down a couple hundred decibels, sparky? I don’t think Miley Perry Gomez wants her fans going deaf.”

Miley Perry Gomez? Who said things like that? “Oh, my god, you are so embarrassing!” Major snapped at her. “Stop trying to be funny.”

“Lower the music, young man.”

“It’s not even that—“

“Major.”

“I’m just tryi---“

“Don’t make me ask you again!”

There was no winning with her. God. He reached for the dial. “Whatever. I’m turning it down.”

Ravi and Clive looked at each other. “So, this is happening,” Ravi said. He sounded pained. Yeah, Liv could do that to a person.

“It took me twenty minutes to get out of the parking lot because Liv insisted on checking my oil.”

“In here it’s been all selfies and sour gummies and Demi Lovato.”

Major drank his soda and didn’t bother to defend his music. What did Ravi know? He was British.

“How’d you make out at the bank?” Ravi asked Clive.

“We came up empty.”

“And this guy right here?” Liv clapped Clive loudly on the back. “You cannot believe how good he is at interviewing people.”

“We talked to all of Stan’s coworkers. Everybody loved him.”

“What did they say he was again?” Liv asked.

“Enthusiastic and supportive.”

“The memory on this guy!”

Ravi and Clive exchanged looks again. “See, I know what’s happening right now, with the brain, but it still freaks me out,” Clive said.

“Oh, if anyone can get used to it, it’s you,” Liv told him.

Clive ignored her. “I guess I’ll start looking into his friends at Knights of Columbus and his bowling league.”

Major got up and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you off to, kiddo?” Liv asked.

“I have mercenary training. God!” Could he not just go to work without being hassled?

“Don’t text and drive!”

“Stop trying to control me!” He stormed off, his good mood gone. So much for all that sugar. Maybe he'd stop and get some more gummies on the way to work.

Chapter 88: Gone All Wrong

Walking up to campus at Fillmore Graves, Major couldn’t help feeling super cute. He took a few selfies before going in, just to remember this day and how it felt, starting a new job as a real zombie, alongside other zombies just like him. It felt right, like he was finally where he belonged.

But on his way to the locker room, passing all those buff soldiers, tough and trained and ready for anything, he couldn’t help starting to feel insecure. God, they were so much better than he was! How would he ever measure up? In the locker room it was even worse, seeing how cut they all were. They must have great trainers here. Maybe he wasn’t going to be fit enough. Maybe they were all secretly laughing at the wimpy new guy. Major cringed, wanting to climb right into the locker before they had a chance to stuff him into it.

He couldn’t even put on that uniform. They would all see how completely inadequate he was if he did. And let them see his abs, those flabby things? Not a chance. He wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled another one over his shoulders so no one could see his pale skinny chest.

Across the locker room two guys were discussing their uniforms and how the holster should fit. Both of them were like gods, muscular and trim and perfect. Major was not worthy, he thought, unable to take his eyes off them.

One of them saw Major staring at them and turned to him with a frown. “Help you with something, newbie?”

“Your abs make me want to kill myself,” Major announced. “You’re basically carved out of marble and I’m just like, like this hideous blob of dead fat.”

They looked at each other and then back at Major, and he was sure they saw it, too, how gross he was and how he didn’t belong here in their locker room. He should totally just go, just slink away and forget he ever came here.

And then it struck him, the absolute over-the-top ridiculousness of what he had just said, and what they must think of him right now. He cringed, so embarrassed. How would they ever take him seriously now that he had started off as the guy who ogled people in the locker room? How would he explain the words that had just come flying out of his mouth? With some relief, he remembered that they were all zombies here—if anyone could understand the mood swings that came with certain brains, it was his fellow soldiers, so he came clean.

“I’m on teen girl brain. I’m sorry!”

“You’re not on the tubes,” said one of the other soldiers knowingly.

“Tubes?” Major echoed.

“We all get these.” The soldier turned and pulled something from his locker. Like an individual yogurt packet, but gray and, frankly, not appetizing. Still, brains were brains, and if you mixed it with something … “Bunch of brains mashed together. No visions, no crazy mood swings.” The soldier nodded, clearly finding the tubes an improvement.

God, that sounded amazing. Major knew the visions were important to Liv, and she was willing to live with the mood swings and the personality changes in order to be able to do her job and make a difference solving crimes, but he wanted his own brain, his own mood and thoughts, not someone else’s.

“Oh, thank god! I cannot stop taking selfies.” He grabbed his phone out of his locker, calling up the photos and scrolling through. “I stare at them, and then I just, I criticize myself.” He swiped past a few inadequate images of his pale flab. “I mean, look at this! Ugh. I look like ass in every picture!” He held the phone out so his fellow soldiers could witness the grossness that were his pictures—

And suddenly he could see an Asian man leaning forward to stare at an outstretched phone and hear a girl’s voice saying, “Gross, right?”
“We have to take this to the authorities!”
“What? We can’t! Winslow will never forgive me!”

As quickly as it had come, the vision went, leaving Major gasping for breath as his mind returned to his body and the Fillmore Graves locker room.

The other two soldiers looked at him. One of them said, “Newbie, you’ve got to get on the tubes, because this is weird. It’s one thing to get the visions, but a whole other thing entirely to watch someone else have them.” He turned back to his locker.

The other one was still peering at the phone. “Dude, I think these are okay. All you need is better lighting.”

Major realized he was still shoving his selfies in the guy’s face. He took the phone back, glancing at the pictures. Yeah, better lighting would help. At least, it couldn’t hurt. “Thanks.”

“Anytime."

Later, Major headed for the morgue to tell Liv and Clive what he had seen. Clive listened thoughtfully, thinking through the clues involved in the vision. “I went through a list of Cindy’s classmates; she had four classes with a girl named Winslow Sutcliffe. Winslow’s the name you heard in your vision, right?”

Major had staved off the teen girl brain as best he could during his shift, but it had come back, sassy and smart-mouthed, as soon as he left the locker room. “Yeah,” he said to Clive, obviously meaning “duh”.

“Look at you having helpful visions!” Liv gave him a supportive punch on the arm.

“You have no idea what was on Cindy’s phone?” Clive asked. “Why she was worried Winslow wouldn’t forgive her?”

“In the visions, the phone was facing the wrong direction. Like this.” He held out the phone to Clive. “She was telling her dad, and he was all ‘we have to take this to the authorities’ and she was all ‘you’re ruining my life’ and I was all ‘why can’t I just eat a Fillmore Graves brain tube thing because visions are super annoying’.”

Ravi frowned. “Whoa, what’s a ‘Fillmore Graves brain tube thing’?”

“It’s like a yogurt tube filled with mashed-up brains. No personalities, no visions … I’m pretty psyched to try it.” He was, too. It sounded like heaven.

“No, no no no! If they want to eat brain mash, let them eat brain mash. But in this house, we eat whole brains, and we solve murders.” Liv was laying down the law, and it was super annoying. Who made her the boss of what Major could and could not eat?

“Can we get back to the point here?” Clive asked, still not comfortable with brain talk.

“If we want to know what’s on Cindy’s phone, seems like a pretty easy problem to solve. Cindy didn’t see what was on the phone, but Stan did. All we have to do is—“ In a single move, Ravi whipped his phone out of his pocket and shoved it into Liv’s face, shouting, “We have to take this to the authorities!”

Liv blinked. “What the—?”

Ravi tried again, from a different angle. Still nothing.

“Great idea, champ, but it’s not working.”

From behind them, a funereal voice called, “Detective Babineaux?” They turned to see a tall … person dressed all in black standing on the stairs. They held out their arms. “I was summoned?”

“I asked IT to send me down a guy—I didn’t use a ouija board,” Clive said, coming around the table with the baggie containing what was left of Cindy’s phone. “Do you think you can get something off of this for me? I have reason to believe there’s a photo on this phone that would be useful on the Chens’ case.”

“That’s a phone?”

“I figured it was a long shot. You mind pulling up the female victim’s phone records and checking her social media?”

“That … is within the realm of the possible.” The IT person turned and left, presumably to go back to Halloweentown, Major thought.

Chapter 89: How You Do It

Another day, another botched training. Major was getting pretty tired of being the screw-up newbie. Not as tired as his team was, as they had reminded him during every step of their extra five mile run this evening, but still … And he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Nothing in his past had prepared him to become a zombie mercenary. He’d hoped his years as a football player would have helped, but so far they really hadn’t. Tonight he’d been shot in the head, full-on, like the newbiest newb there had ever been. Even he was disgusted with himself. He didn’t blame the rest of his team for being pissed.

He was pretty depressed by the time he’d finished showering, and just wanted to get out of there. But before he could get dressed, one of the other soldiers, a guy named Stoll, came around with a handful of brain tubes. Major had avoided these so far, in order to appease Liv, but he had to get off teen girl brain, and the tubes were part of Fillmore Graves life. Didn’t make them look any more appealing for all that, though.

“Lunchtime! Get ‘em while they’re goopy.” Stoll went around the room tossing a tube to everyone.

Major caught his, tearing off the end, and looked at it doubtfully. It really wasn't appetizing. Like … a mushed-up tongue. Ick. He studied it for a minute, trying to work up the nerve to try it, and caught Stoll watching him. “Just … new to the processed kind.”

“Better get familiar with ‘em,” Stoll told him, heading off for his own locker.

Looking around him, Major could see everyone else downing their brain tube with every evidence of enjoyment. Or, at least, lack of nausea.

“Yum-yum.”

He looked up to see another guy, Justin, who seemed moderately more friendly than most, grimacing at him, clearly sharing his opinion of the looks of the tubes. His was almost empty, though, so clearly he’d been able to choke it down. Major nodded and took the first bite. Yep, just as gross as it looked.

At home later, watching Ravi shoot zombies on their TV, he tried to explain what it had been like. “It’s like if someone ate brains, and old yogurt, and then mama bird-ed them into a tube.”

“You should put a note about the texture in the suggestion box.”

Yeah, that would go over well. Newbie doesn’t like his brain tubes. He was sure that would help him fit in just peachily. “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining about the tubes. It’s probably better to be on white noise than teen angst brain while I’m tracking Natalie.” That was contributing to his growing depression, as well—he was having no luck finding out anything about where she might have been taken, and it was wearing on him. He had promised her, damn it, and he had wanted to keep that promise. He was just going to have to try harder, but there weren’t many avenues left that he hadn’t gone down. “I think I can find her … if I can just figure out who all of her old clients were and where they lived.”

Ravi took that piece of last-ditch bottom-of-the-barrel thinking more seriously than Major had expected. “There’s actually one person who may have that information.” Major turned to look at him and Ravi made a face that said he was picturing that person’s face on the zombie he was about to kill. “Blaine.”

Before Major could follow up on that idea, Liv came into the room with a tray full of Chinese takeout, frowning at both of them. “Oh, no, no, no, we are not playing the murder everyone game, we’re playing my dance game.” She put the tray on the table.

Craning his neck to see around her, Ravi muttered to Major, “Did we lose a bet?”

“I bring the Chinese food, you play my game. That’s the deal,” Liv informed them. Or reminded them—Major was pretty sure he had a vague memory of this coming up before, followed by Ravi’s blithe “She can’t be serious” dismissal. Apparently they should have known better, because she looked pretty serious. She popped open the disc tray while Ravi was in the middle of taking out a whole herd of onscreen zombies, to Ravi’s vocal unhappiness. Listening to them argue was at least familiar, Major thought, leaning forward and picking up a carton of Chinese food.

“Major! Weigh in on this. Did we not agree that she who buys the food picks the game?”

He gestured to his mouth, pretending that it was too full of food to reply.

Liv rolled her eyes. “Look here, Chakrabarti, just because you can’t dance—“

“I can so dance! I have moves that Fred Astaire would have killed for.”

“Then let’s see ‘em.” Liv gestured at the floor in front of her with the controller.

“While we’re eating? I mean, shooting people is much more conducive to being able to digest one’s food. You can’t be jumping around with a pair of chopsticks in your hands—you’ll put someone’s eye out!”

Major gestured at his roommate with his chopsticks. “He makes a good point.”

“He’s a total wimp who knows I’m going to wipe the floor with him, you mean.” Liv put her hands on her hips.

“Isn’t that why you picked the game, so you can win for a change?”

“Says the man who’s too lazy to get up off the couch …” She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. I win a round of shoot-‘em-in-the-face, we play my dance game, and you don’t whine about it. Deal?”

Ravi looked at Major, clearly hoping for some help, and Major shrugged. “Fine,” Ravi snapped. “Get it set up.”

“You’re goin’ down, Chakrabarti.”

Major leaned back with his carton, letting them duke it out for victory in the game. He was happy just to be here with them and let the rest of his life wait before he had to pick it up again.

Chapter 90: After That I Never Was the Same

The next training session, Major really thought he had it down. He was on the ball, aware of his surroundings, kept his cover while going around corners, kept his team informed of his movements—and came carefully around a corner without looking to his left and was shot in the back of the head.

It was Stoll who had gotten him, and he put a hand on Major’s shoulder, grinning at him. “Gotta watch your six, newb.”

Smug s.o.b., Major thought, pissed at himself. Not half as pissed as the rest of his team, though.

The instructor came in. “Lilywhite. Along with right in front of you, what’s another place that bad guys might be?”

“Right behind me, sir.”

“That is correct. Now … what would be a good reminder?” He looked Major straight in the eye as he dropped the hammer. “Five miles, White Team. Do it!”

At this rate, Major would be lucky if his own team didn’t shoot him in the back. He purposely ran slower than the rest to keep from having to look at their faces. Sure, he was new, but he had to learn eventually. He didn’t blame them for being pissed, or for not being more supportive. They hadn’t asked for a green as grass newbie to come along, after all.

They were mostly gone by the time he finished the slow five and started undressing next to his locker. All but Justin. He hadn’t looked particularly friendly after the training session, and Major kept quiet and didn’t look at him as he slid off his vest.

But Justin surprised him. Casually, he said, “Know what all those guys did before they were zombie mercenaries?”

“I don’t know, Justin. Play villains in ‘80s movies?”

“They were human mercenaries. And before that? They were Army. The only thing that’s changed for them are the rations.” He glanced at Major with a half-smile. “You and me? We’re just the fellows that wound up here.”

Major wasn’t sure he felt comforted by that. If these guys had been soldiers for the better part of their lives, he was never going to be able to catch up, keep up, or even hold up.

Justin was grinning now. “Or you are a lifelong soldier for hire, and you just suck at it.”

“What did you do? Before?”

“You heard about the July Fourth Fillmore Graves retreat? Where the whole company zombified?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah … I was the dj.”

Major couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, that may be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” It made him feel a little better, too. If a dj could learn to be one of the team, surely a former Huskies football player could get there.

“Yeah, well, not much call for a dj in the Fillmore Graves day-to-day operations. So … here I am. Zombie mercenary.” He looked less thrilled about it than Major felt. Wrapping his towel around his waist, Justin went past Major toward the showers, clapping him on the shoulder as he went by. “There’s a learning curve. You’ll get there.”

He’d get there, Major thought. That was comforting. Hopefully before his whole squad decided to just shoot him in the head and put him out of their misery.

A sudden cough caught him unawares. And then he couldn’t stop, couldn’t catch his breath. He wondered if this was what dying felt like. Maybe he’d put himself out of White Team’s misery before they had to bother.

When the fit had passed and he could breathe again, his first thought was of Natalie. He had to find her—now, while he still had time. He would have to take Ravi’s advice and go to Blaine. There was no other choice if he was going to get a move on.

Once he was dressed, he went straight to Shady Plots. Blaine was, understandably, surprised to see him. “Well, this is unexpected.” Then he paused, as if wondering if they had more of a history than he’d been told, and asked, “It is, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Major confirmed. “Can I come in?”

“Looking a little wan,” Blaine observed as Major pulled the door shut behind him. “You need somethin’ with a kick?”

Major didn’t want to stand here and trade quips, or even polite small talk. He got straight to the point. “Do you remember a zombie named Natalie?”

“I’ve heard her name. Some of my customers ask about her.”

“She was a call girl. You scratched her and forced her to service your clients.”

Blaine winced and sighed. “Maybe my dad had a point,” he muttered.

“Now, I think one of her old clients is holding her against her will,” Major went on. Blaine looked at him quizzically, and he took the phone number out of his pocket. “I got one lead. This phone number.” He held it out hopefully, and Blaine took it from him.

“I’ll take a look. Alone. You stay here.” Blaine went to his desk, bending over the computer.

Left by himself, Major looked at the two caskets displayed in the room in front of him. He couldn’t help walking toward them, wondering if he would be in one of them soon. “You remember what it felt like before you took the cure? When you were dying?”

“I don’t. Probably wasn’t good.”

No, Major imagined it probably hadn’t been.

“Here you go.” Blaine came back to him with a piece of paper. “Name and address. And—don’t hurt him. ‘Kay? This is my livelihood.”

Major wasn’t making any promises. “Thank you,” he said, surprised to find that he meant it. Maybe there was hope for Blaine.

“Just a heads up—he ordered double brains last week, so he, uh, might be on vacation.”

Panic filled him. “He’s not here?”

“Just a few days extra. A week, max. Not too long. Whoa, patience not your strong suit?”

Major wouldn’t have been able to admit it to anyone else, but here, in the midst of all this death, it was hard not to come face to face with the reality. “I may not have that long.”

He went straight from Shady Plots to the morgue. Ravi was there, staring off into space with a dark and unhappy look on his face. Major knew the feeling.

“Hey. Long day shooting people?”

“Long day being shot in the head,” Major corrected. “And if I don’t get my act together, White Team might decide to make that literal. I got the name of the person who took Natalie—“

“From him?”

“Yeah. From him. But he’s out of town, maybe for a week or more.”

“I know you’re impatient to find her, but doesn’t that just give you more time to plan?” Ravi asked.

“It’s not that … I saved the worst part for last.” He cleared his throat. “I think—I think it’s starting.”

“You think—oh.” Ravi got to his feet. “You’re sure?”

“It was a hell of a coughing fit I had. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stop.”

“All right. Hop up here and we’ll have a look at you.” Ravi was all clinician; he was at his best this way, and Major started to feel better even as he took his seat on a gurney.

Taking out his stethoscope, Ravi listened to Major’s lungs in front and in back.

“Inhale. And exhale.”

Major tried to keep his breathing even, but Ravi’s silence was making it difficult.

Liv appeared in the doorway before Ravi could say anything. Catching sight of Major having a check-up, she frowned. “What’s going on?”

Ravi sighed. Apparently nothing good. Wearily, he said, “The good news is, the fluid currently in his lungs is draining. But it will return. With a vengeance. And he won’t be able to fight it.”

“How long do I have?”

“Weeks.” There was no hesitation in Ravi’s answer. Not that Major hadn’t known—it was the answer he’d expected—but there was a difference between being sure of something yourself and being told it by someone you trusted.

But Ravi wasn’t finished. He added, “Maybe,” just when Major was coming around to the idea of “weeks” not being so terrible. “Then you’ll have to take the cure. Memory loss and all.”

Liv put her arms around Major, resting her head against his chest. He appreciated her sympathy, but he was too shaken to return the embrace.

“Identity’s just a hallucination of the unenlightened mind, anyway,” she told him.

He couldn’t help but smile. Interesting brain she was on. “Makes total sense.”

“It’s not a lost cause yet,” Ravi told him. “My serum to reverse memory loss is ready. … Hypothetically,” he added, before Major could get too excited. “Human memory’s more complex than a rat’s. And I have no way to test it.”

“There’s never a chimp suffering from dementia around when you really need one.”

Ravi’s face twisted. “There is … one way.”

Liv looked up at him, reading the expression. “Blaine.”

“I doubt he’ll take the risk,” Ravi objected, even though it had been his idea. “He doesn’t trust us.”

“He trusts Peyton,” Liv pointed out. “I could get her to ask him to hear us out.”

The three of them looked at each other, pondering the idea. Then Liv’s phone buzzed. She looked up at Major apologetically.

“I have to go. But I’ll call Peyton—we won’t know what Blaine says until we ask him.” Reaching out, she squeezed Major’s hand. “The path to enlightenment has many bumps.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chapter 91: The Time of Your Life

Major started the training session feeling like it might be his last. Well, if it was, he was going to make it a damned good one, he promised himself. He was careful, he was sneaky, he was fast on his feet. He was everything they used to say about him at UDub and more.

And he led White Team to its first victory since he joined them.

He couldn’t believe it as the lights came up and Black Team guys with big white splotches on their helmets started getting to their feet. Finally! Finally, he had done it. He was one of them. For how long remained to be seen, and he wasn’t going to worry about it right now. He was going to savor this moment, as the rest of his team crowded around him, patting him on the chest and back, smiling for a change. He even got a “Nice work, son” from the training coordinator.

It was his best day in quite a long time.

He and Justin were showered and changed when Stoll came through the locker room with their brain tubes. Major caught his in midair, turning it over in his hands. He could use it, for sure—but it wasn’t what he wanted. Not tonight. If his time as a zombie was coming to an end, he wanted … real brains. Mood swings. Visions. Fun.

Looking over at Justin, he gestured with the brain tube. “Hey. You ever had the real deal?”

“The uncut stuff? Never.”

“Hm.” Major pondered that for a minute. Making a new friend, having some fun—how long had it been since any of that had been part of his life? “You know, I have a hook-up.” Blaine owed him one. More than one. Justin looked at him warily, and Major smiled. “All the cool kids are doing it.”

“Why not. You only live once, isn’t that what they say?”

Or a few times, if you were a zombie who was about to have to take the cure. But Major didn’t want to think about that. He and Justin drove to his house, with a pit stop at Shady Plots, where Blaine owing him one still cost an arm and a leg. As they entered the house, he decided, mostly on a whim, that this night was already missing something. The best thing. He texted Liv. “Something’s come up. Get over here STAT.”

Then he laid out the brain he had bought in little shot cups, put Liv’s dance party game on the console, and he and Justin got down to the serious business of having fun.

They had so much fun that he didn’t hear Liv knocking or see her texts, and she had to let herself in with her key. He was in the middle of a sharp turn, keeping up with Justin just fine for all that his friend was a former deejay with some sweet moves of his own to add to Zumba instructor brain, when he saw Liv standing there, and hurried to pause the game.

Liv was smiling, her beautiful smile that he had loved for so long. She waved a hand to tell them to keep going. “By all means. This is the highlight of my week.”

“Liv, this is Justin, my friend from work. Justin, this is Liv.” He didn’t bother to explain who Liv was—and from the look on Justin’s face, he would have been wasting his breath, because Justin wasn’t paying attention to him at all.

“Hey, there,” he said, shaking her hand, a little more breathless than could be blamed on the game.

“Hi.” Liv smiled at Justin before turning her attention back to Major. “Your text freaked me out. ‘Get over here STAT’?”

He grinned. “We’re on Zumba instructor brain.”

“That explains a lot.” She looked back at Justin. “I hope you’re a zombie, or the snacks here may have been more than you bargained for.”

Major leaned in and whispered to her, “I saved you some.”

“Can’t.”

Justin made a noise indicating what a shame he thought that was, but Liv was not daunted by lack of appropriate brain. “That said, I don’t need Zumba brain to kick your asses.”

Major laughed as she moved to restart the game. This was exactly what he had hoped for. They played a few rounds and then Major left the other two to battle it out for final dance domination while he went to the kitchen to make more snacks. Low-maintenance snacks—plain brains on Saltines. Liv would be mortified that he hadn’t done something more creative with the Zumba brains.

The cough caught him by surprise. Deep and rough, coming all the way up from the bottom of his lungs, it felt like. He had hoped to have more time before it came back. Would this be the last time, or would it resolve itself again like it had last time?

Didn’t matter, he told himself when the paroxysm passed. Not tonight. Tonight he was going to party like it was 1999 … or like it was the last night of his life. In the living room, Liv and Justin were in the groove, laughing and having a great time. It was so great to see her happy, for once, he could have stood here and watched her all night. They might not be a couple, but he loved her. Always had, always would. If this was his last night as Major Lilywhite, with all the memories that implied, spending it with her, watching her have fun, was all he could ask for.

“Hey, I’ve got winner,” he called, bringing his snacks into the living room.

Liv grinned at him. “Give me a minute, will you? I’m not done wiping the floor with this guy.”

“Oh, I think I have a few moves that might surprise you,” Justin told her.

“Yeah? Let’s see ‘em.”

Major watched, letting them dance, wishing this night could go on and on, because he didn’t think he wanted to know what tomorrow would bring.

Chapter 92: The Right Words to Say

Peyton had worked some magic on Blaine—how or what kind Major didn’t really want to contemplate--and he showed up in the morgue to be given the pitch on why he should take the memory cure. She went to go grab Liv, who was in an interrogation with Clive, while Major and Ravi entertained Blaine. Only Ravi was too pissed at Blaine to be entertaining, and Major was too scared to think about anything but how little time he had left, so Blaine yammered on mostly to himself.

“Later I’m off to the bar. It’s actually a pretty sweet gig. Get to pick my own songs, play a little piano …”

“So … you’re a lounge singer now.” The part of Major’s mind that was still able to listen thought that was pretty perfect casting for Blaine. He had that smooth, insincere way about him. Like he was constantly ready to break into Barry Manilow.

Blaine didn’t seem so into the term. He ducked his head and practically blushed. “Uh … yeah, I guess.”

Over Blaine’s shoulder, Major saw the girls coming, to his great relief. He didn’t think he could have kept up even this minimal level of small talk much longer, and the effort of trying to distract Blaine from the great black pit of Ravi’s anger was taxing what was left of his good will.

“All right,” Peyton said. “Gang’s all here. Did I miss the big news?”

“Ravi was waiting for you,” Blaine told her.

They all looked at Ravi, who wrung his hands and cleared his throat before finally looking up and at Blaine—with a reasonable lack of hatred, Major thought. It was somewhat impressive. “I’ve developed a serum that could potentially undo the memory loss that accompanies the second zombie cure.”

Blaine sat up straight, finally taking something seriously. Major didn’t miss the way Peyton glanced at Blaine while Ravi was talking, but it was hard to tell what she was thinking.

“Now,” Ravi went on, “it could take several days to know if it worked. If it does, you’ll get your memories back. Which would also mean we’d have seventeen doses of a viable cure.” He was smiling at that, proud of himself. Well, he deserved to be.

Liv was smiling, too, looking at Blaine as though confident that he would see this as the unmitigated plus it was.

Blaine seemed unconvinced, however. “And … what if it doesn’t work?”

Ravi wasn’t prepared for that question. “Most likely risk is it doesn’t do anything at all,” he said slowly, as if he was thinking it through while he spoke. Even Major had to admit it wasn’t much of a confidence builder.

“And the less likely risks?”

“There could be side effects,” Ravi admitted reluctantly.

“Could it kill him?” Peyton asked, with a catch in her voice Major didn’t much like.

Ravi clearly didn’t, either. “It probably won’t,” he told her, in a tone that conveyed all too clearly how little he cared if it did.

“But it could?”

Hearing no answer to that one, Blaine hopped down from the dissecting table he was sitting on. “Sorry, guys. I gotta pass.” He almost looked apologetic, too, as he glanced at all of them—except Major—before turning to go.

“Fear of death is the lock of humanity’s prison,” Liv called after him.

“I’m not afraid of dying, Liv. I’m afraid of remembering. Find a guinea pig who wants to remember his old life, huh?”

Pissed, Ravi said, “It’s a chance to atone.”

Blaine stopped at that, looking at Ravi like he was crazy. “Atone?”

“If you won’t take the serum, the first person to take that risk will be Major. Who, let’s be honest, is only a zombie because of you.” He pointed at Blaine.

“That’s not who Blaine is anymore,” Peyton objected. “You’re asking him to be the guinea pig so Major doesn’t have to.”

“She’s right.” Major didn’t need Blaine affecting any more of his life than he already had. “When I’m dying, I’m going to take the cure. And when my memories start fading, I’m gonna take the serum. See, ‘cause,” he looked at Liv, and then at Peyton, “I’m gonna want to remember my whole life. I understand why you may not.”

Blaine nodded, taking the offering for what it was—a thinly disguised way to call him a coward and still let him leave with his dignity intact.

Ravi, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. “A fundamentally decent person would realize you owe him,” he snarled.

“Ravi.”

Before Peyton could go on, or Ravi could snap at her, Liv said, “Let’s take a breath. Try to visualize ourselves in one another’s shoes.”

“Okay,” Ravi said with obvious sarcasm, “I’ll try that. I’m Blaine. I killed people for money—“

“That’s not what I—“

Ravi ignored Liv’s objection and kept going, pointing at Major. “I tortured you. I literally killed you.”

“Ravi! Enough!”

“Open your eyes, Peyton!”

“Oh, my eyes are wide open.” She went around the table, going toe-to-toe with Ravi. “Why are you being such a dick?”

“It isn’t obvious? It’s because I’m in love with you.”

None of them had expected that response. Peyton blinked at him, not knowing how to respond. Liv stepped closer to Major and took his hand. He closed his over her cold fingers, glad for the comfort of the simple contact. And Ravi stood there with his mouth open, not sure how to get around what he had just put out in the open.

In the middle of the silence, Blaine stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve and holding out his bare arm to Ravi. “I’ll do it. Shoot me up, Doc.”

Quietly, Ravi said, “Thank you,” and went to get the serum.

As soon as his back was turned, Peyton said to Blaine, “You don’t have to do this.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Ravi paused a moment after he had tied off the arm, before he put the needle in, looking up at Blaine as if to ask if he was sure.

Blaine nodded again. “Do it.”

And the needle went in. Now only time would tell.

Chapter 93: Things Just Couldn't Be the Same

Feeling guilty about letting Blaine be his guinea pig, although he knew he shouldn’t, Major agreed to go with Liv to the lounge where Blaine sang and listen to his set. To his surprise, Blaine wasn’t bad. He was a little pretentious and full of himself—it was Blaine, after all—but for the purposes of the music, it worked.

Major sat at the bar with Liv and had a drink, and watched her face as she watched the music, and for a moment he could pretend that nothing had ever happened and they were here together the way they used to be. If he were honest with himself, he still wished they could just go back to that, and get married, and make it so that none of this had ever happened. If he could go back in time and tell her to come home with him, stay up all night watching old movies and making love on the couch, and not go to that damn boat party, he would. Without a moment’s hesitation. But … he wondered if Liv would. She found a fulfillment in her work with Clive, solving mysteries, that he had never seen in her as a medical student, dedicated as she had been to her studies and the idea of being a doctor.

It didn’t matter, anyway, because he couldn’t go back in time. He was stuck with things the way they had happened, and with his own imminent loss of life—or of self, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Whoo!” Liv called next to him, cupping her hands around her mouth. “'Free Bird'! 'Free Bird'!”

Blaine looked over at her in exasperation, giving her a little shake of the head, and launched into a bluesy version of Stevie Nicks’ “Leather and Lace”. He really was pretty good at this.

Liv settled back on her stool, pouting. “Spoilsport.” She stirred her drink with the little plastic straw and drained it, turning to set the glass down on the counter and signal for another.

Major was ready for round two, as well. Getting blitzed sounded pretty good right about now.

“We should dance,” Liv announced, sliding off her stool.

Catching her by the arm, Major pulled her back. “I’m not drunk enough yet.”

She considered that, nodded, and hopped back up. “Later in the night.”

“How long does this go on, anyway?”

“As long as Blaine can keep playing?”

Major groaned. “We’re going to be here a long time.”

“Well, on the bright side, at least he’s not—“ She caught herself and leaned in to him, whispering, “You know. Because then we really would be here all night.”

“Good point.” Her mentioning that effectively killed any buzz Major might have been building up, though, as he watched Blaine closely for any sign that his memories might be returning. He could tell Blaine had noticed his scrutiny, because the next song was “Try to Remember,” accompanied by a little smirk. Major leaned over to Liv. “I hate that guy.”

“You and everybody else.” Over his shoulder, Liv seemed to see someone near the door, and she sat up straighter. “Almost everybody,” she amended.

Major turned to follow her line of sight and saw Peyton coming in. She wasn’t happy—he had known her long enough to be able to see that in the slump of her shoulders and the shortness of her steps. She didn’t look at Blaine as she came in, either, which heartened Major until he noticed how tight her face was. She was working hard to keep from crying. Something had happened tonight, and it wasn’t good.

By the time she reached Liv, Peyton had lost the battle with her tears. Liv put out her arms and Peyton put her head down on her best friend’s shoulder and cried, right there in the bar. Blaine missed a note, and Major looked over to see that he, too, was watching Peyton with concern on his face.

With an obvious effort, Peyton pulled herself together before too many of their fellow patrons noticed that she had fallen apart. Liv grabbed a cocktail napkin off the bar and dabbed gently at Peyton’s eyes, wiping away the traces of tears and the faint streaks of mascara they had left behind. Forcing a smile, Peyton leaned her forehead against Liv’s for a moment before turning to look at Blaine, a more genuine smile lighting her face, and giving him a little wave to say she was okay.

He looked relieved, and the music changed. Major recognized the opening bars of “Pretty Woman”. He wondered what it would be like to have music coming from your fingertips that way.

“Peyton, what happened?” Liv asked.

“Ravi.”

“What did he do?” Liv’s tone did not bode well for Ravi’s future.

“He … I went there to talk to him, because he said he loved me, and—we kissed, but then I heard something, and … This woman was there. He had slept with her, tonight, after what he said earlier, and then he let me kiss him while she was in the kitchen wearing his shirt!” Peyton’s tears had gone, and were rapidly being replaced by anger. For Peyton’s sake, Major was glad to see that. For Ravi’s, he was sorry. Once Peyton got mad, it was a lot harder to get her back. If Ravi even wanted that now that he had blown it with her so badly. For an otherwise incredibly intelligent man, Ravi was a bit of an idiot when it came to women.

Then again, Major thought, looking at Liv, and thinking about Natalie, wherever she was, his track record wasn’t much better.

Blaine was singing “Close to You” now, clearly serenading Peyton, and Major had to admire the guy, seducing Liv’s best friend so openly after he had turned Liv into a zombie and indirectly made sure Major became one, too. Peyton sure didn’t remember any of that right now, watching Blaine’s fingers dance across the piano keys with fascination. Maybe Major would be happier someday when he didn’t remember, either … but he didn’t want to think about that any further tonight. So for now he would forget his sorrows in the traditional manner—with a liberal application of alcohol.

Chapter 94: I've Got All My Life to Live

Sitting with Ravi, a rare quiet night just the two of them, Major popped a game into the console, interested to see if he could beat his high score on this run. “Hey,” he said to his roommate as the game loaded, “guess who’s about to be a real mercenary?”

“Pinocchio?”

Major grinned. “This guy, right here.” He blasted a few obstacles on the screen. Well on his way to a record. Never mind that it was only the first level. “It still doesn’t seem real. I mean, Fillmore Graves has got my unit on call. In the next few days, our boots could be on the ground halfway around the world.”

Ravi poured tea into his cup and added milk. “I should go in your place.” He retrieved a bottle and added a generous splash of whiskey. More like a stream than a splash, really. “I’ve got nothing else to live for.”

The cough came again, out of nowhere. Major tried to fight it, pretend it wasn’t happening, but it hurt like hell, and it was too strong for him. So much for his high score; he could barely hold the controller, doubling over with the force of the coughing.

“Your inhaler!” Ravi said urgently.

Major gestured to his bag, and Ravi hurried to dig out the inhaler, bringing it back to Major.

He was almost afraid he was going to die before Ravi got to him, the coughing was getting so strong. He couldn't get enough air, couldn't ... Reaching out for the inhaler, he managed to fill his lungs with the medication. The cough faded, but his throat felt raw and sore and he was very, very afraid. He sat there, trembling, and tried to remember how to breathe properly as Ravi sank onto the couch next to him.

Measuring his words carefully, Ravi said, “I think it’s time.”

Major didn’t want it to be time … but Ravi was right. He nodded, unable to fight it any longer, and Ravi picked up the phone. “Hey, Liv, are you still at the morgue?” He glanced at Major. “It’s time. Can you bring them?” Closing the phone, he said, “She’s on her way. Hey … for what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s come to this. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix the cure sooner.”

“You did all you could.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ravi was silent, and Major knew he was thinking of Peyton, and the way he had been distracted by her, and then blown things with her. And as much as he liked his roommate and sympathized with his issues, Major could have told him all along that he was handling the situation with Peyton all wrong … and he really didn’t have it in him to hold his friend’s hand. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow. If he was still himself tomorrow.

Major returned to his game while they waited for Liv, but the fun had gone out of it.

She let herself in, looking at Major anxiously as she came around the corner. “Are you … okay?”

He shrugged.

“You brought them?” Ravi asked.

“Yeah, they’re here.” Liv held out a rolled up package.

Ravi unrolled it on the table in front of Major, displaying a case full of syringes. “These seventeen syringes constitute the world’s entire supply of the cure.”

“Side effects might include complete and total memory loss.”

“It won’t be long before you have an episode too severe for that inhaler to help.” Ravi took a syringe out of the case, holding it out to Major. “You keep it somewhere you can get to it.”

Major took it, studying it, not wanting to have to take it, not wanting any of this to be real. But he didn’t have any choice, after all.

Ravi looked over at Liv, who was rocking back and forth in her chair, clearly bursting to say something. “’Sup with you? You look like the zombie who ate the canary’s brain.”

“It’s just …” Liv had a prissy look about her, lips pursed disapprovingly. Major wondered what kind of brain she was on now. She didn’t seem like herself at all. Leaning forward, she let her news loose. “Blaine and Peyton? I saw them duck into the alley last night after his set.”

“No,” Ravi said.

Liv was too caught up in the need to share to see the pain she was causing their friend. “They were out there for quite a while. Doing what? You tell me.”

Ravi and Major looked at her, and then at each other.

Then she clapped a hand to her mouth, gasping. “Oh, Ravi, I’m so sorry. This woman was a horrible gossip, and I … I’m really sorry.” She got up hastily. “I really shouldn’t be around people until this wears off.”

Neither Major nor Ravi bothered to disagree with her or stop her before she left. Once she was gone, Ravi lifted the bottle of whiskey. “Shall we drown our sorrows?”

“You know, I held the UDub college record for best gaming while drunk.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, it is.”

“All right, then.” Ravi reached for the controller and handed it to Major. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chapter 95: Gonna Hit the Highway

Ravi was in the midst of slicing a field full of orcs’ heads off their shoulders—virtually, at least—when Major came in to watch, setting a bowl of potato chips down on the table. “Hack, slash, hack, slash. I mean, really, what’s the point?”

“Oh, come on, the point is to use your wraith abilities to exact revenge on the forces of Sauron.”

“In the larger sense,” Ravi corrected impatiently. “In a world absent meaning and justice. In a world where Peyton, in front of you, and Liv, and my own eyes, actually defended Blaine for not wanting to take the memory serum.”

He had a point. Major was about to agree with the point, but make his own argument in favor of Peyton’s general good sense, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, he frowned at it.

“Who’s it from?”

“Blaine.”

Ravi rolled his eyes. Loudly. And turned over so he was facing the back of the couch.

“He got a brain order from Osborne Oates. That’s the guy who bought Natalie out of the basement of Max Rager. He’s back in town.” He looked over at Ravi. “You want to come help me stake out his place? Look for Natalie?”

“I hate sex slavery as much as anyone, but I don’t feel like going out in public at the moment.”

“Ravi, it’s a stakeout! All right? We’ll hunker down in my car. You don’t even have to have pants!” He regretted the suggestion the moment it was out, and hoped that his roommate would, indeed, wear pants.

But Ravi slowly rolled his head to face Major, his interest piqued by the offer. He gave an exaggerated, and sulky, shrug, muttering, “Why not?” Major grinned as his roommate sat up with a groan, holding out his arms in a gesture of martyrdom. “I’ve got nothin’ else to live for.”

“And we know you’re good at waiting in cars.” Major got to his feet before that last dig could sink in properly.

Osborne Oates lived in a very nice neighborhood. So nice that Major’s beat-up old car—with the Chaos Killer graffiti painted over, at least—stood out like a sore thumb. He pulled in on the street anyway, watching the house as best he could over the brick walls and through the iron gate.

“What’s this Osborne Oates do, anyway?” Ravi asked.

“He’s in the diamond biz.”

“Ohhh. A Bond villain. Good. You think Natalie’s somewhere in there?”

Major had thought about it, but decided it was unlikely. “He’s got a wife and kids. I doubt he’d want his mistress living here. I figure Natalie’s in a second location, which Mr. Oates is going to lead us to. All we have to do is affix this GPS tracking device to his car.”

“The one parked behind those massive gates?”

“Don’t pitch problems, all right? You’re the brainy sidekick! The guy with answers as sharp as his wit is dry.”

Ravi leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes, giving a minute shake of the head. Apparently the answers had dried up as his wit had dulled. Major sighed, looking toward the house again. It was going to be a long stakeout.

By the time he saw movement outside the house, Ravi had been out cold and snoring for hours, and Major’s eyes were irritated and dry from staring across the street. He was only grateful that everyone’s lawns in this neighborhood were big enough that no one could see past them to tell how long his car had been there with two men sitting in it. They weren’t exactly subtle … and he imagined you could probably hear Ravi snoring from the top of the Space Needle.

Two men came out of the house—Oates must be the older man in the suit, and his security the younger man in all black who opened the door of the waiting car for him.

“Hey,” Major whispered. He hit Ravi in the chest and his roommate jumped and snorted himself awake. “Go time.”

“Then go already.”

The car in front of the house moved off, pulling smoothly out of the driveway.

Ravi frowned at him. “Do I really need to be awake for this part?”

“There’s that dry wit.” Major put his car in gear and followed, carefully keeping a reasonable distance between them.

The car led them down a dark, winding road in the midst of a fairly wooded area. It was hard to stay too close for fear of being too noticeable, but hard to hang too far back because the road twisted enough that Oates’ car could pull off and be lost entirely if Major got too far behind.

“Damn it,” Major said tensely, “we’re losing them.”

“I told you to drive faster.”

He glared at Ravi as they came around a curve—and looked back toward the road just in time to slam on the brakes. The other car was stopped just ahead, and the security guard was standing in the middle of the road. He approached the car with a handgun drawn, and tapped on Major’s window with the barrel. “Get out. Both of you.”

The two of them muttered at each other for a moment, but it was clear they weren’t getting away from this situation without getting out of the car, so they did, Ravi with his hands held exaggeratedly high above his head.

“Over here.” The guard gestured with the gun to a spot in front of him, lit up by Major’s headlights. “Now, grab some hood.”

They both did so, hands spread on the top of the car, Major tense and ready to spring into action the moment things looked like they might be going south. He strongly regretted getting Ravi involved in this situation in the first place.

The guard grabbed their wallets out of their back pockets. He tossed Ravi’s aside, but looked at Major’s with interest. “Major Lilywhite. if we ever see you again, I’m going to kill you with this gun.” He tapped the side of Major’s head with the barrel for emphasis.

“Got it?”

“Got it,” Ravi said immediately. “Loud and clear.”

Major, on the other hand, wasn’t sure he did have it—and he was damned if they were getting away and he was losing his chance to find Natalie. He took his hands off the car and rushed the security guard. His best tackle, and the guard wasn’t even phased. Whatever Oates was paying him, he deserved every penny. Major sprawled on the ground in the middle of the road while the guard kicked him in the ribs. For once, Major was grateful to be a zombie.

The security guard turned around to look at Ravi. “Now he’s got it!” Except that it was the guard who had it—Major had shoved the tracking device in his pocket when he tackled him. The guard walked away, climbed into the car, and it drove off. Major got to his feet, groaning with pain.

Ravi retrieved their wallets from the ground, frowning at Major in confusion as Major started to laugh. “You look awfully pleased for a man that just got kicked in the kidneys. What on earth were you—” He stopped short, realizing what had just happened. “Oh, god, the tracking device.”

“Slipped it in his pocket.”

“Are you mental? He just threatened to kill you.”

“If they see me again. We just have to make sure they don’t.”

“Listen to me, Major. You’re not responsible for Natalie!”

Major stared at him. Of course he was. “I made a promise.”

“Of course you did! She was going to kill herself. But now you’re the one acting suicidal! You’re not Galahad questing for the Holy Grail! You’re Don Quixote, tilting at windmills. These guys are zombies. They know how to eliminate zombies.”

His roommate wasn’t wrong. He did see himself as Galahad … or maybe Lancelot, rushing in to save Guinevere from the flames. But there was no reason to freak Ravi out any further about it. “You’re right. I’ll stay away. Let’s get out of here.”

He followed Ravi to the car, already thinking through how he would keep Oates from seeing him when he followed where that tracker would lead.

Chapter 96: To Get to Where You Are

The next day, Major found himself in front of an expensive apartment building, watching as Oates and his very competent security guard exited. They both looked around before Oates got in the car, but they didn’t see Major. He looked up at the balconies with binoculars, but couldn’t tell which apartment was Natalie’s. Should he buzz every one, hoping she would answer? No, they’d have a doorman, maybe even security guards, to make sure that wouldn’t happen.

With a sigh, he pulled out of the parking space, resolving to be back again the next day, and the next, and the next. As long as it took.

The next day was a bust, but the day after he was there again with the binoculars, and he saw her! Standing on the balcony in the light rain, drinking a cup of coffee, looking out across Seattle, and probably dreaming of far-off lands. As he watched, she turned and went in, and Major opened the car door and burst out as if something was impelling him forward. If this was his windmill, he would tilt at it with everything he had.

As luck would have it, the doorman was having a nice smily chat with a very cute delivery girl, and a man in a suit had just come out so that Major could catch the door before it swung closed. He was in the elevator, banging on the buttons, before the doorman called out to him.

Major came out onto Natalie’s floor into a warren of hallways. Which way? Which one? He wouldn’t have long before the doorman—or security—followed him up here.

It looked like the last one on the left was hers. It had to be. This might be his only chance. He knocked, and then waited what seemed like forever. The elevator binged at the end of the hall, the doors sliding open, and Major looked to see the doorman getting off, calling “Sir!” at him as he came toward him. He knocked again.

And, finally, there she was, her eyes wide with surprise … and as beautiful as he had remembered. More, even. “Oh, my god,” she said. “Major!”

The doorman was still calling to him. “Sir, can you come with me?”

“Why did you come here?” Natalie demanded.

“Sir, I’m going to have to call security!”

“To save you,” Major said to Natalie, in a desperate hope that she would understand. That maybe, just maybe, she had been unable to stop thinking about him the way he had been unable to stop thinking about her.

She rolled her eyes at that, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the apartment, shutting the door behind them. He made a beeline for a closet, guessing correctly that her suitcase would be in it. He took it out and headed for her bedroom.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

“We need to get you out of here before your benefactor’s muscle shows up.”

“And where do you propose I go?” She yanked the bag out of his hands.

“Look, I know a place. It’s an organized group of zombies, they can protect you from Oates and provide you brains.”

“You don’t get it, Major. Seattle doesn’t work. This man, he will hunt me down. So unless your group of zombies has offices in Sri Lanka or the Amalfi Coast, I can’t go.”

Major had grabbed a handful of clothes and was stuffing it inside the bag. “I can’t walk away and leave you here.”

“I agree. You can’t walk away.” She tugged on his arm and made him look her in the eye. “You need to run. You have no idea what he’ll do to you if he finds you here.”

Everyone seemed to think he was some kind of complete innocent here. He wasn’t. He was a trained Fillmore Graves mercenary, and he knew what he was doing. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

Natalie stared at him, shaking her head. Then she turned away, running a hand through her hair. She walked to the window, looking down on the street below. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure a way out of this. Someday.”

“I left you once. I’m not going to leave you again.”

Her face softened, but before she could say anything, she glanced down at the street again, and her eyes were full of fear when she turned back to Major. “Okay, you need to go. Now!”

She was right—he couldn’t help her if he was dead. So he did what he had planned to do as a last resort. He put his hand in his pocket and took out the syringe full of cure. “Here. Let me give you this.”

“What is it?”

“It’ll turn you human again. You won’t need brains anymore. You can go anywhere you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Natalie stared at the vial in disbelief, but hope was dawning in her eyes, and it was a beautiful sight. “I’ll be human again?”

Major smiled at her. This was what he had wanted to give her all along—her life back.

“That’s wonderful, Major. Oh, my god.”

This part was less wonderful. Carefully, he told her, “After a couple days, the memories of your life and your loved ones, they’ll all start to fade.” He wasn’t sure if that was exactly the way it worked, but it seemed kinder to describe it that way. “Eventually, you won’t remember anyone or anything. You’ll be starting life as a new person.”

Wide-eyed, Natalie absorbed the news. Then she nodded, understanding. She looked outside, then toward the door, listening. “Please go, Major.”

He held out the vial.

Natalie looked at it, weighing the risks and the possibilities. Finally she took it. “Now will you go? Please?”

Major nodded. “It was good to see you. You look beautiful!” he called, hurrying toward the door. He made it out of the apartment and down the hall and around the corner just before the elevator doors binged open and Oates and his security guard got out. He took the stairs down, hoping he could make it to his car before they realized Natalie wasn’t hiding him.

Apparently she stalled them long enough, because he was driving off before he saw them come out of the building.

“Ha-ha!” he whooped, punching the ceiling. Don Quixote, huh? Well, some windmills were actually giants.

Chapter 97: Keep On Fighting

The high from the visit to Natalie’s carried Major through the rest of the day. The way she looked, the way she sounded, the light in her eyes … He hadn’t realized exactly how much he would love seeing her again. He was disappointed that she wouldn’t come with him, let him keep her safe, but at least he had given her the cure. She would be protected now. She could be—human. Able to travel and be a photographer and be her own person. No more being forced to have sex for brains.

It felt great. After all this time, he had finally been able to come through on his promise to her, finally been able to do something good for someone. Sure, she would lose her memory, but … she would be human. It wasn’t the purest win he could have imagined, but it was a win.

His phone pinged with an urgent message from Fillmore Graves. It was time. This was no drill; this was going to be the real thing. His first mission. The jolt of adrenaline added to his high from seeing Natalie, and he made it to work in amazing spirits, fist-bumping Justin as they changed in the locker room.

The rest of the squad seemed energized and ready to go as well, laughing and joking.

Major made a quick trip to the bathroom—nothing more embarrassing than having nature’s call come at the wrong time—and while he was zipping up, the cough came. It doubled him over, one hand braced against the wall to keep from falling to his knees, fumbling in his pocket for the inhaler. He managed to get a good puff of the meds down him, but it took longer to work than it had before. What if next time it didn’t work at all? he thought, trying to catch his breath, feeling his eyes watering from the force of the coughing. What if, in the middle of a firefight, the cough came and he couldn’t stop it and the inhaler didn’t help and he … died? Giving Natalie his dose of cure had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and he would make it again if he had it to do over … but now he had no backup. Nothing between him and death but one little plastic and metal tube of medication, which was a stop-gap measure at best.

He felt like a deflated balloon as he came out into the locker room. Justin was waiting for him, and a few stragglers were still getting their gear on, but it was clear that everyone else was on their way to the plane. Justin looked at him closely. “Dude, you all right?”

“Fine. Just …” Major shook his head. It wasn’t even worth making up a lie. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.” Justin nodded, but didn’t look convinced. Still, he walked to the plane with Major without bringing it up again, and they climbed aboard, taking their seats.

The plane took off, more smoothly than Major had expected. Fillmore Graves had spared no expense on any of their equipment, it seemed.

Once they were in the air, Stoll got up, pacing the aisle between the two rows of zombie mercenaries. He explained a bit about the mission, in a loud voice that Major tried to listen to, but his mind kept wandering off. Liv … Natalie … Ravi … Blaine … the syringe full of cure … the inhaler … his cough … his memories. Would it really be so bad to forget all this? he wondered. Not to have to worry about any of it, just … start over somewhere, be a new person, one who could just live?

“All right, people!” Stoll shouted, the words barely penetrating past the dull throb of the engines and the fog of Major’s thoughts. “Kevlar up! This is not a drill! This is the real deal—with real bullets. So let’s make sure they do not leave you real dead!”

Around him, the other Fillmore Graves soldiers were putting on their helmets, so Major followed suit. Somehow, for all Stoll’s words, this still didn’t feel real to him. Maybe the bullets would be a shock, being shot at in actual combat, but for the moment he felt far removed from any of it.

From his pocket he dug the inhaler, taking a quick puff, just to be on the safe side. He didn’t know the soldier sitting next to him, but the guy clearly thought it was weird to see a zombie using an inhaler. He gave Major a suspicious look. Major ignored him, shoving the inhaler back into his pocket. He hoped it would be enough.

Across the aisle, he saw Justin’s worried look, and it occurred to him that his distraction was bad for the rest of the team, as well. If he was out of it, he wasn’t going to be a teammate they could trust.

All right, Lilywhite, he told himself. Get your head in the game. It’s not even half-time yet—no time to be looking forward to the after-party.

He could almost hear his old coach’s voice as the familiar words repeated themselves in his head, and for a moment he felt like the old Major. It was enough. He met Justin’s eyes again, and some of the worry cleared itself from his friend’s face. He was ready; he could do this.

Live today, and tomorrow would take care of itself.

Chapter 98: When Your Wellness Is Not Well

Real-life combat was … not as much different from a football game as Major had imagined. There was a lot going on, too much to see all at once, so you focused on your particular part of the battlefield and your role in it, and you did that well, and in concert with your fellows.

He found himself hunkered down behind a Humvee with Justin and another Fillmore Graves guy, Otis, as bullets whistled through the air and embedded themselves in the metal on the car’s other side. The sound was definitely different than football, and he wouldn’t have minded a cheering crowd right about now.

And of course, his over-taxed lungs picked this minute to decide they needed some attention. He fumbled for the inhaler, while the other two soldiers sank down on either side of him, trying to determine the next move.

“It appears we’ve lost the element of surprise.” Justin had to raise his voice to be heard over the barrage.

“Thanks for the intel, Captain Obvious,” Otis snapped.

Major puffed on the inhaler, feeling the meds start to kick in. Breathing wouldn’t be easy, but at least he could do it. That was something.

“Gonna live?”

He glanced at Otis as he put the inhaler away. “Affirmative.”

Otis looked up and through the bullet-riddled front windshield of the Humvee. No let-up in the hail of bullets in sight. “All right, time’s a-wastin’. There’s hostages in there who aren’t going to rescue themselves. Chug ‘em if you got ‘em, boys.”

Obediently, Justin and Major both reached for their cans of SuperMax, popping the tabs and guzzling down the contents. Major felt a hundred times better almost instantly. If only Vaughn du Clark hadn’t been such a crazy bastard, he could have really done some good with this stuff.

Once the cans were drained, Otis told them, “I’m gonna take that rooftop. Cover me!”

They did their best, returning the hail of fire that was coming down from the roof, but it wasn’t enough. Otis was cut down by the force of the bullets striking him … and since he didn’t get back up, Major assumed at least one had been a head shot. He should have been sobered by the nearness of death—but he was energized. Part of it was the SuperMax filling his veins, and part of it was seeing a member of his squad killed and wanting revenge. He and Justin hunkered down behind the Humvee and looked at each other.

“When I get out of here,” Justin said, “I’m transferring to accounting.”

“See you on the rooftop.”

“Yeah.” There was a determination in Justin’s face that matched the way Major felt. As one, they burst out from behind the car, firing as they ran, hoping the stab of flame from their guns would provide cover, or at least distraction, and spoil the aim of the men on the roof.

Once out of the line of fire, Major let his gun hang over his shoulder and just sprinted for the side of the building. He had never felt so strong, so fast, so … invincible. He was Superman, leaping tall buildings with a single bound. Well, it was two or three bounds, really, but no human could have made the leaps he did, scaled the wall as quickly or as easily or as tirelessly. He hit the roof and took out the two men there with brief bursts of gunfire.

There was only a second to enjoy how easily that had all worked out, before a strong arm was over his shoulder, grabbing his right arm to immobilize it and his weapon, and stabbing him rapidly in the kidney, over and over. Fatal blows, if Major had been human. Even as a zombie, they hurt like hell. Then a burst of gunfire behind him stopped the stabbing, and Major fell under the sudden weight of the dead body of his assailant.

Behind him, he heard Justin speak through his comm. “Rooftop secure. Go. Go, go!” And then his friend was leaning over him, rolling him over. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, just a flesh wound.” He counted back, amending the statement. “Thirty-five flesh wounds.”

They grinned at each other, the damage just a side effect of their success in the mission. It felt good to get something right for a change, Major thought.

Justin helped him down from the roof and left him in the tent set up as a field hospital, where the medic saw to sewing up Major’s knife wounds. “How’d we do?” Major asked.

“Otis is dead, but a dozen Komarian separatists won’t be kidnapping any more American citizens.”

Major nodded, accepting that math as the reality of life as a mercenary.

The medic finished digging a bullet out of Major’s shoulder and came around with it held in his forceps. “Souvenir?”

Major held his hand out for it. Such a small piece of metal to change people’s lives so completely. He was lucky it hadn’t changed his.

“Couple days, you’ll be good as new.” The medic clapped him on the back and headed out of the tent to see where else his services might be needed.

Outside, the shaken hostages, wrapped in blankets, were being comforted by a Fillmore Graves soldier. Major saw the woman hostage reach up to hug the soldier, and he smiled a little. They had done something good today. It was a nice feeling.

Stoll came in while he was watching the scene. “Nice work out there, Lilywhite. Chalk one up for the good guys.” He was carrying something in a sack over his shoulder, and he dropped it in an open chest and pulled the cover down.

“Yeah. Back at ya,” Major said, distracted, wondering if that was what he thought it was. When Stoll was out of the tent, Major got up, going to the chest and lifting the lid. Yes, it was exactly what he thought. Heads. Heads of the dead enemy soldiers. On ice. Because zombies needed brains.

Well. Maybe today didn’t feel so nice after all, Major thought, sitting back down again. Maybe not.

Back in Seattle, Major and Justin were the last ones left in the locker room—everyone else had showered and changed in a hurry, but Major wasn’t moving any too fast with his side full of knife wounds. Zombie healing or not, those things hurt. Justin appeared to be waiting for him, which he appreciated.

“You ready to head to the bar? We’re gonna pour out one for Otis.”

“Almost.” Whether it was a reaction to the adrenaline of combat or his advancing lung condition, Major wasn’t sure, but he was suddenly exhausted, his chest feeling tight and full. He sank onto a bench. “That was something else. Seeing an ice chest full of heads?” He had mentioned it to Justin on the plane, but there hadn’t been time, or privacy, to really talk about it.

Justin didn’t seem nearly as bothered by this as Major was. “Yeah, well, zombies need to eat. And there are never enough brains to go around. Besides, those guys weren’t using them anymore.”

“No, I thought a lot about it, I get it.” Maybe because Justin hadn’t seen those heads on ice, it wasn’t the same for him. A cough took Major unawares, but it passed quickly after a puff from the inhaler, and he leaned his head wearily against the locker.

“You should really get a medic to look at you.”

Major shook his head. “I’m fine. Just need to puke my guts out for a minute, then I’ll head over to the bar, raise a glass for Otis. That cocky son-of-a-bitch no one liked.”

“Phrase it just like that.” Justin grinned. “See you there?”

“Yeah.”

Justin headed out. After a moment, Major got to his feet. But he barely made it to the doorway before the cough took him, harder and stronger and more vicious than it had ever been before. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the inhaler, but he couldn’t stop coughing, his body convulsing with it. He was only dimly aware of Justin coming back, kneeling over him. Major managed to gasp out, “Take me to the police morgue,” and then everything went black.

Chapter 99: Always

Major woke to a familiar gentle touch, fingers stroking his hair. He opened his eyes to see Liv sitting there with him. God, she was beautiful. “Hey.”

“Sh-h-h. Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

He realized that he was lying in bed, in his own room, when he was sure just a minute ago he’d been in the locker room at Fillmore Graves. “What happened?”

“The pneumonia was going to take you out. But we couldn’t give you the cure until your combat wounds had healed a bit.” She gestured at his side, and he remembered now—the battle, being stabbed, the box full of frozen heads, collapsing in the locker room.

Sleep was out of the question now. Knowing he was on borrowed time, he didn’t want to miss another minute with her. As a last-ditch hope, he asked, “What happened with Blaine? Did the memory serum work?”

He could see by her face what the answer was. She shook her head. “It didn’t. I’m so sorry, Major.”

Well, that was only to be expected. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could take it. He would have to. “Then this is it. Once I heal up, I take the cure, and … everyone I’ve ever known is wiped from my memory.”

“Maybe the cure won’t have the same effect on you. Maybe you—“

He knew what she was doing, but he couldn’t pretend to hope. Not now. “Liv. Stop.”

Somewhat to his surprise, she did.

In the silence, he said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Name it.”

“Once I’m new me, keep reminding me of what we meant to each other?”

She nodded. The very idea of forgetting her, forgetting everything that had been between them, broke Major’s heart. In everything, all the ups and downs, it had never occurred to him to imagine a future in which he didn’t love Liv, and he didn’t want to start now.

He sat up, smiling at her. “And give me a new name. One that’s less silly.”

“Garden Plantston.”

“Why not.”

She laughed.

“Tell me about the first time we kissed.” He could remember it as if it was yesterday, the sheer joy of being in her arms for the first time. “That’s one memory I don’t want to lose.”

“It was more of a heavy makeout session, actually. You’d come over to ‘study’—“

“Remember what you were wearing?”

Liv smiled. “I don’t.”

“Pajamas. Laundry day pajamas.” She laughed. He had always loved making Liv laugh. “I thought, ‘there is no way this girl’s into me’.”

“I was comfortable around you. It’s a gift you have, Garden. You put people at ease.”

Major reached for her, putting his hand on her thigh. She covered it with her own, and they looked at each other. It felt so warm, so familiar—so just the way things should have been. Despite everything, she was still the best thing that had ever happened to him, the person who belonged in his heart. “You looked beautiful,” he told her. The memories of when they met were so clear in his mind; he had been so blown away by her smile and her eyes and everything about her. “You know, there’s one silver lining to forgetting everything.”

“What?”

“You’ll knock me off my feet all over again.”

He leaned forward, cupping her cheek in his hand, and kissed her, soft and sweet. Not like the first time they’d kissed, when he couldn’t get enough of her, but like the second time, outside her door, when he knew he should go but couldn’t quite seem to stop kissing her. When the kiss broke, he dropped his hands to the buttons on her shirt, undoing them and sliding the shirt off her shoulders as Liv kissed him again, moving closer. It had been such a long time. He wanted to learn how she tasted, how she felt, all over again, and Liv felt the same, her hand curving around the back of his neck to hold him to her.

Careful of the wound in his side, she reached for the left side of his shirt, tugging it up, and they broke the kiss again long enough for him to pull it off over his head and drop it on the floor. Liv kissed her way down his throat and across his chest as Major closed his eyes, drowning in her touch. He had missed her so much.

“Liv.”

She lifted her head, looking up at him, and he drew her up so that she was straddling his lap.

“I’ve never— All this time, I never stopped—“ It was hard to hold on to the thread of the thought while he was cupping and stroking her breasts through the lace-trimmed camisole she was wearing.

Liv leaned forward into his touch. “Me, neither.”

He stripped the camisole off over her head and let his mouth explore where his hands had been, drinking in the sounds she made in response. She rocked back and forth on top of him, pressing herself more tightly against him, and Major groaned. He tried to turn her over, but she shook her head.

“You let me do the work this time. Can’t risk it,” she said, nodding at the injury in his side. Getting up, she shimmied out of her jeans and underwear, and tugged the covers off, but as she was about to climb back into bed he stopped her.

“No. Let me look at you.” He took his time, tracing his fingers along her skin. She was more fit as a zombie, more muscular, but she was still the same Liv he had fallen in love with, every curve and dip and line so familiar to him. He could have spent a lifetime making love to her and never grown tired of looking at her and touching her. “You are so beautiful.”

She smiled. “So are you.” Gently she worked his pajama bottoms off, and then she was on top of him again, bare skin pressed against bare skin, so good.

He had to kiss her again, and he reached for her, hands in her hair, holding her close against him. She kissed him back with equal fervor. One of her hands had slid between them, stroking him, and Major groaned with pleasure, returning the favor, finding her center. They pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed, as they touched each other, until it was too much. It had been such a long time.

She fit him as perfectly as she always had. They were still a moment, savoring the feel of being connected so intimately once more. And then she began to move, and Major could only think how much he loved her. He needed her to know that, before— He forced his eyes open, his hands on her hips stilling her movements for just a moment. Just long enough to tell her.

“Liv.”

“I know, Major. I know.”

“Always. Always, always.”

“Always,” she said, kissing him even as she started to move again. And then words were beyond them.

They lay together after it was over, just letting their hearts beat, listening to each other’s breathing. Major hadn’t meant to, but it was so sweet and so perfect to be lying here with Liv in his arms that he fell asleep.

Chapter 100: Time Is Gonna Change

At some point in the night, they had woken up long enough to get dressed, and then fallen asleep again. At least, Major had. When he woke in the morning to bright light streaming in through the windows, Liv was out of bed, pulling on a jacket. He wondered how much she had slept.

“Liv.”

She turned around, and they smiled at one another. So many things to say, but so many had already been said, and the most important ones were understood. They always had been.

Before either of them could give voice to any of that, a knock came from the hall.

“Come in,” Liv said. Major sat up, scooching to the middle of the bed, as Ravi opened the door.

He stopped in the doorway, looking from Major to Liv and back again. Gesturing toward the hallway, he said, “I can come back.”

“It’s okay,” Liv told him softly.

‘Okay’ might have been putting it a little strongly, but … what was the point in putting things off any further? Of prolonging a goodbye Major had never wanted to say in the first place?

“How’s our patient?” Ravi asked.

“Keepin’ it together.” It was about as far as Major was willing to go. He lifted up the side of his shirt to show the knife wounds.

Ravi sat down on the bed, frowning intently as he studied the wounds. At last he nodded. “You are healing enough to survive, even as a relatively fragile human.”

Liv climbed onto the bed next to Major, her familiar presence equal parts comfort and torture under the circumstances. All too soon, he was going to forget just what it felt like to sit next to Liv, to hold her hand or kiss her or hear her laugh. But she was here now, and he could still remember how much he loved her, so he would take it for as long as he could.

He looked at Ravi, nodding in agreement with his friend’s assessment. He didn’t exactly look forward to being a human with thirty-plus healing knife wounds in his side, but he didn’t look forward to being a zombie who couldn’t breathe, either. “It’s time.”

“The memory loss won’t be instant. It’ll feel like a slow fade. With Blaine, it took a couple of days.” Ravi still couldn’t say Blaine’s name without it sounding slippery and unpleasant.

“Got it.” As much as Major dreaded this moment, as much as he wanted to put it off, he also kind of wanted to get it over with. Except that he didn’t.

Ravi looked at the two of them, and he smiled. “You know, I had this whole speech planned. It was funny and heartfelt—profound. But it feels like a waste if you’re just going to forget it anyway.” Major smiled back. He was going to miss this strange, funny, dedicated, British man. Well, he wasn’t, but he would. Somehow he would know he was missing something, he was sure of it. “Let’s just agree it was brilliant,” Ravi finished.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything you want to add, Liv?”

She looked at Major. “It’s already been said.”

It had. Last night was a memory he would have kept all his life, under other circumstances. Major fought back the tears that were stinging at the back of his eyes. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

Ravi nodded agreement, looking like he was holding back some waterworks of his own, but Liv reached for Major’s hand, looking him in the eye. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Of course they weren’t. Whatever mistakes Major Lilywhite had made over the course of his life, he had made some damn good friends. If anyone could see him into a better future, it was these two. He would have to trust them to do so. With that thought, he stretched his arm out toward Ravi, making a fist.

Ravi uncapped the dose of cure, readying the injection. Liv squeezed Major’s other hand, trying to reassure him.

It took Ravi a moment to be sure he had the vein ready. Major had never seen him so nervous where medicine was concerned. He supposed that was flattering, really. And then the needle poked into his skin, and Ravi pushed the plunger, releasing the cure into his bloodstream.

It was amazing how quickly it changed. The heightened feeling in his skin as the blood in his veins warmed; the sudden sharpening of his sense of taste and smell so that the aroma of Liv’s perfume filled his head rather than just teased at the edge of his mind—and the comparative dulling of his sight and hearing to go along with it, as the preternatural sharpness of those zombie senses faded. He was aware of being hungry for real food, a reassuringly familiar feeling still.

Ravi and Liv were watching him closely, concerned looks on their faces, and Major mustered up a smile for them. “I don’t suppose there’s decent coffee in the kitchen? I could really go for some right about now.”

Liv got up off the bed as if she was eager to have something to do. “I’ll make some.”

He grimaced. “Your coffee? That hardly counts as the real thing.”

“Barely human for ten seconds and he’s already insulting my coffee. What a guy.” Liv grinned at him, disappearing through the door. As a zombie, he would have heard her footsteps in the hall on her way to the bathroom, but as a human, he couldn’t hear a thing.

Ravi patted him on the arm. “I’ll leave you to get your bearings.”

Major nodded. Before his roommate could leave, he called to him. “Ravi? Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Major. Really. I only wish—“

“You did your best. I believe you’ll get there. I have faith in you.”

“Hold on to that thought.”

“I think you’re going to have to hold on to it for me.”

“Right. It’s a promise.”

And he was gone, leaving Major alone in his room, singing the ABCs under his breath just to see if he still remembered them.

Chapter 101: A New Appetite

Major might have spent longer lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplating his life as a human and his future as an amnesiac, but his stomach, denied the joys of human food for far too long, growled loudly, and he was conscious of just how hungry he was and just how much he wanted to remind himself what food really tasted like with human taste buds.

He put on clean pajamas and slung on a robe, making his way downstairs to the kitchen. He rummaged in the refrigerator for a few minutes, but nothing looked quite right for his inaugural human meal. Then it struck him. He knew exactly what he wanted. The perfect, ultimate "I'm human again" celebration. Pulling his head out of the fridge, he saw his roommate just coming into the kitchen.

“Ravi! Where’s the ice cream?”

His roommate stopped where he was. “Ice cream?” he said innocently. “What ice cream?”

“The ice cream you house at night when you think I can’t hear you. That ice cream. I know you have some.”

“But—that’s my ice cream.”

“Uh-huh. Which you’re going to share with me now, while I can still remember who you are and be grateful to you.” Major turned on the puppy-dog eyes. No one ever said no to the puppy-dog eyes.

Ravi was no exception. His eyes narrowed, acknowledging that he was being manipulated. “Fine. But that’s a low blow, and if you remembered it later, you would have been ashamed of yourself.”

“Maybe it’ll come to me in the middle of the night, an odd feeling I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“I hope it does. I hope it disturbs your sleep for years to come.”

But Ravi dug out the ice cream from the back of the freezer, behind the bag of frozen peas neither of them was ever going to eat, and Major scooped himself out a generous bowl full while Ravi watched him sadly.

“You going to leave any for me, or just … finish the whole thing?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to enjoy ice cream?” Major took a big spoonful. God, that was good. It was so good.

“Fine. I’ll put it on the list, and I’ll hide it better next time. Now, can I draw your attention to these?” Ravi waved a pile of what looked like postcards under Major’s nose.

Around another mouthful of ice cream, which might be the best thing he had ever tasted in his life, Major asked, “What are they?”

“Flash cards. So that we can gauge how your memory is doing.”

“Can I eat while we flash?”

Ravi sighed. “Sure.”

Major waded through that bowl of ice cream and started on a second, adding chocolate sauce to this one. There was ice cream all down his chin, and he didn’t even care. “Oh, god, it’s so good!” he exclaimed. Looking up, he focused on the cards Ravi was holding up. “Peyton. Hospital.” He took another bite and dropped the spoon, because this was just hands down the best thing ever. “Oh, my god. So creamy. Mm!” He closed his eyes in bliss and leaned back against the wall, sighing happily.

“Okay,” Ravi said, “I’m glad you’re human and are again able to experience the concept of flavor, but could you at least dial down the noises?!”

There was a bag of potato chips lying open next to him, and Major crumbled a handful into the ice cream. “Clive,” he said in response to the next card. “Coach Reeves. Aw! Minor. Low blow,” he added, frowning at his roommate before shoveling in another spoonful of creamy salty crunchy sweet goodness. “Oh, my god! It’s the crunch, with the salty, and the chocolate? Boom!”

Ravi made a face. “And we’ll stop here.” He tapped the cards together on the table, laying them aside. “No lingering zombie signs, that’s good.”

Liv came in just then, fresh from her shower, and Major looked up at her with a grin.

“Liv, hear that? The cure works! I’m human again.”

She frowned as she came toward him, looking at the ice cream on his chin and the giant spoon in his hand. “But … it also turned you into a baby?”

“His reunion with human food has been intense,” Ravi explained. “The good news is, his memory seems intact thus far.”

“Yeah. I remember everything.” Major looked up at Liv, thinking of how she had been last night, the way she had felt in his arms. Just like it used to be—like it should be. “Including last night,” he said softly. “Which was … you know … spectacular.” He hadn’t felt like this with her since … the early days. Back on campus, feeling all fizzy and light-headed every time he saw her. God, he had missed being with her. More than he’d missed food, and that was saying something.

Ravi cleared his throat. “Still in the room.”

Liv’s eyes were soft as she looked down at him. She was thinking of last night, too, he could tell, how special it had been, and how good they were together. “Yeah. Also complicated, but I—“ Her gaze dropped to his chin. “Okay, no! I can’t have this conversation with you looking like this. And, also, I need to get home.”

“All right. I got things to do, too.” Coffee. He could smell the pot Liv had made, but he wanted the real stuff. The good stuff. Then maybe a steak. And bacon. But first—he dug into the ice cream again. So good!

Chapter 102: Slow Change

It had been a great day to be human again. Major had gone on a long run, relishing the sweat on his skin and the feeling of his muscles warming and stretching and just reaching the point where he knew they would ache pleasantly the next day. God, he had missed this! It just wasn’t the same to work out as a zombie. And the hot shower afterward, the spray really soaking into his skin, the scent of the soap and shampoo, and a snack. Fresh-squeezed oj, carrot sticks and celery with that nice fresh crunch … and coffee. Lots of coffee.

By the time Ravi came home, he was ready for the next round of “god, I missed this” food—nachos. Fully loaded. Lots of guac. While he was making them, they did another round of flash cards. A couple of the pictures weren’t immediately familiar to him, but he was in the middle of cutting onions. Likely he was distracted, he figured. He was sure he’d be fine. A few more days and they could assume Blaine was faking, and Major could just be happily human. Maybe Liv, too. The very idea had him singing as he piled toppings on the nachos.

“Oh, please, must you? Liv has been singing in the morgue all day, to the point where she hasn’t managed to focus on anything else.”

“Oh?” Major was pleased. She must be thinking of last night, the way he had been on and off all day.

But Ravi dashed those hopes almost immediately. “She’s on a new brain. Apparently the girl was a hot mess. Seeing Liv today—well, that appears to have been an understatement.” He gestured to the living room. “You want to go shoot some zombies?”

“Shoot some—?” Did Ravi mean Liv? Were they going to go to Fillmore Graves and try to—but Ravi was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, and it clicked. “Game. Right. Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.” Ravi watched him with concern as they headed to the living room with their nacho-licious snacks. “Maybe we’ll play the shoot-Nazis one instead.”

As they played, Major was pretty sure he noticed more instructions than usual coming from his gaming partner. They made a good team, able to overcome most levels with ease, but Major didn’t remember ever hearing so many reminders of how to play before.

“Watch the machine gun nest,” Ravi murmured, even as Major was handily taking care of it. As the nest blew up, Ravi nodded. “Good. You still know your way around Battle of Pegasus.”

“Nazis are the bad guys, right?” Major grinned. “Nachos, gaming—we talk girls it’ll be like old times. Nazi!” he shouted, watching Ravi attack the one he’d pointed out.

“So. Liv?”

“There’s still somethin’ there.” Understatement. Everything was still there, underneath all the brains and the time apart. “But, I’m human again, so we’re back to square one. Or two, or … I’ve lost count of the squares. Nazi!” They managed a quick brawl, coming out unscathed. “And stuff with Peyton?”

“She made her choice with Blaine. I probably drove her into his arms. Nazi.” After they took care of the next group of assailants, Ravi added, “I left a lengthy apology on her voice mail.”

“How’d she respond?”

“She didn’t.” Ravi cleared his throat, indicating that was as far as he wanted to go on that topic.

Major winced. That was a bad sign. A bad, bad sign. He collapsed against the back of the couch, letting his onscreen character stand there useless as he considered their current situation. “I remember girl-talk being more fun.”

Ravi elbowed him in the side. “Go! The bunker. Do your thing.”

Dragging his thoughts back to the game, Major did … something, but from the total disaster that erupted on the screen, he was pretty sure it hadn’t been “his thing”.

“And we’re dead,” Ravi noted unnecessarily, since it had been pretty obvious. He frowned at Major. “We, uh, throw grenades. Drop behind the wall. Remember?”

Suddenly he could picture it, remember the corresponding movements of thumbs and fingers that got it done. He winced. “Oh. Right, right, right. Brain fart.” He sat up, readying the controller, resolutely refusing to look at his roommate, not wanting to see any expressions of pity or alarm over his potential memory loss. One missed opportunity in a video game didn’t mean he was going under. He wouldn’t let it. “Let’s get it back.”

The rest of the game went fine, but a lot of the fun had gone out of it. By the time Liv arrived, Major was cleaning up the nacho fest and thinking about where next to turn on his “remembering what food tastes like” odyssey. But he got distracted halfway through, seeing Ravi’s stack of flash cards on the table, frowning at the ones he couldn’t recognize. He thought there were more of them than there had been earlier.

He barely noticed when Liv came in, talking in a higher voice than usual, and a lot faster, while Ravi’s voice was lowered to a whisper.

“Major?” she said loudly, coming toward him. “It’s me. Liv. Remember? We used to be engaged, and—” She slid into the seat across from him.

“You became a zombie, then I did, now I’m not. It’s complicated, but, yeah, I remember!” He had meant it to be a joke and ended with genuine relief that he did still remember all the steps along the way.

“Complicated. That is so us. We’ve always been complicated.”

They hadn’t, really, not until she became a zombie, but Major let it go, savoring the idea that he still remembered, and that Liv would, too, when she was on another brain. Or, human.

“It’s okay,” Liv told Ravi. “He remembers me.”

“Yeah, but not Minor, his old football coach, or our coordinated bunker attacks on Battle of Pegasus.” Liv glanced at Major to see if that was really a big deal, before Ravi continued, “We should do shifts. Checking in to make sure he’s okay. Did you get the stuff for the blue solution?”

Liv’s face was a total blank. Major would have to guess that was a no.

“The memory enhancing fluid I’ve been working on,” Ravi reminded her. “I emailed you!”

She grimaced, groaning loudly in some semblance of apology. “Sorry. I’ll get it tomorrow.” She reached for Ravi’s hands, shaking them with her fingers, and in a baby voice said, “You’re not mad. Say you’re not mad!”

Major looked at her, glad he didn’t have to do that anymore. No more brains for him, thank you very much. And he’d be very glad when there weren’t any more for her, either.

Chapter 103: Learn to Let Go

Once Ravi had gone to bed, not without several concerned looks that only made Major more self-conscious, Major sat down to go through the flash cards. He had to look at the names on the back of more of them than he felt he should have. This was really happening, then. He was losing his grip on himself, on his life and his past and who he was. He needed to face that—and he needed to say good-bye.

He thought of calling everyone who mattered to him, but that sounded depressing. And for those who weren’t zombies, or were zombies and didn’t know about the cure, too hard to explain.

Instead, he decided he would write letters. Digging around in a drawer, he found paper and, to his surprise, a box of envelopes. He matched the photos on the flash cards with envelopes, writing down a name on the front of each envelope. He thought about adding two names that weren’t on the flash cards: his mom and her girlfriend, Dalia. He hadn’t seen or spoken to or heard from either one of them in a very long time. Too long, really. But if he was going to be … gone, then he probably owed them an explanation, or a good-bye, or … something, anyway. He decided to put that one off. He didn’t have the faintest idea what he would say.

Fortified with coffee, and oh, how good that tasted, he started writing. Coach Reeves first, a quick note to thank him for everything he had taught Major on and off the field. His first boss when he became a social worker, for her mentorship, and to apologize for how things had ended at Helton. He gave some more thought to writing one to his mother, but no words had magically found themselves since the last time he’d considered it.

He took a break, then, grabbing a long nap before he tackled the more difficult set of letters.

When he woke, he wrote feverishly, filling pages with memories of his life. Peyton—all the great times they’d had in college, the movie nights while Liv studied, the endless support she’d given both of them, her generosity and kind heart, and how much he appreciated them. His dad—the fun they’d had together, the way they’d become closer after Major’s parents’ divorce, apologies for some angry words spoken at various times. His mom—he still didn’t know what to say. Maybe now he never would. That was sad, but everyone left their lives with something unfinished, didn’t they? Ravi—what fun they’d had together as roommates, their marathon gaming sessions, Major’s appreciation for how hard his friend had worked to try to improve the cure before Major had to take it. Major’s eyes welled up with tears as he finished: I’ve never had a better friend. I never will.

Liv. What was there to say to Liv that hadn’t been said so many times before? But this was the last time, the time she would read over and over again. Maybe simple was best.

Dear Liv:
The minute I met you, I knew I wanted our relationship to last as long as possible. Despite everything that has happened, that has never changed. I love you more than anything. I always will.
Major

He had just started on a note to Justin, to thank him for being a good friend when Major had needed one and apologize for abandoning him to the gung-ho professional soldiers of Fillmore Graves, when the doorbell rang. He went to answer it. When he saw that it was Liv, he put on a blank, questioning look, as if he didn’t recognize her. It stopped her in her tracks as she was about to walk in.

“Hello?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, god. Major.”

He let that one sit for a second, then grinned at her.

“That’s not funny!” she said in outrage, smacking him on the arm.

“Hm? You sure about that?” She smacked him in the stomach that time. She was a lot stronger as a zombie. Or he was weaker as a human. Either way— “Ow.”

“I’m sure,” she told him.

“Come in. I’m mid-project in here.”

She looked at the papers strewn on the table. “What’s all this?”

“Well, if Major as we know him is going to vanish soon, he should make some proper good-byes to the important people in his life. Leave somethin’ behind to remember good old Major.”

“Is good old Major planning on new Major being a real dick?”

“If only to make people appreciate good old Major. The guy was a sweetheart.”

“I’m cool with that. If he doesn’t speak in third person, like good old Major used to.”

“Yeah, good old Major was pretentious in that way.”

Liv rifled through the pile of envelopes, stopping when she got to the one with Ravi’s name on it. “Dear god. Is this Ravi envelope tear-stained?”

Major reached for the envelope, plucking it off the top of the stack. “All right. You can’t shame me. I’m pouring my heart out. I want people to know how I felt about them. God, good old Major was a softie.”

Frowning, Liv studied the envelopes. “I don’t see one here for Sue and Dalia.”

“I tried. I just—I couldn’t. There’s just … too much to deal with in a letter.”

“You’ll feel better if you do.” Liv reached for an envelope and a pen. She wrote “Sue & Dalia, Walla Walla” on it, and tossed it on the pile. “Here. In case you forget.”

Major smiled at her, relieved to have her here. She knew every part of his life in a way no one else did. No matter what had happened, he was so glad she was with him now, as he faced the end of his life as he had known it.

She picked up the envelope with her name on it. “Pretty thin. What’s it say?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell you. The whole point is—“

Her eyes widened. “’Cause it’s bad?” He started to reassure her, but she talked over him, stuck on the idea. “It’s bad. You don’t want to tell me ‘cause it’s bad. Oh, god, I’m a terrible person. Everything I put you through!”

Major stepped closer to her, taking her hands, breaking into the flow of her panic. “Spoiler alert,” he said gently. “It says that good old Major loved you like no one else ever.”

She studied his face. “This is so totally a moment, right?” she whispered. “And you won’t even remember.”

He kissed her, so she would remember, certain that some part of him would remember her no matter what. But before he could voice that thought, Liv put her finger on his lips.

“Don’t speak. This might be our last time as us. Let it just be.” She turned and walked toward the door.

“Liv!”

“Shh. Just be.” At the door, she stopped and took a selfie, tapping some buttons on her phone. “Sent. For when you forget.”

And she was gone, leaving Major to wish it had been their last time as “us” and not whoever’s brain was Liv was running on.

Turning to the table, he picked up the envelope for Sue and Dalia. This was one last thing that he didn’t want to leave out there. Not if he could fix it. He finished the letter to Justin and went upstairs to pack. In the morning, he would go to Walla Walla.

Chapter 104: Where Am I Going To?

Major was relieved to wake up the next morning and still remember who he was. Lying in bed, he ran through a list of the most important people in his life. Liv, Ravi, Peyton … Blaine. Natalie. Yes. He knew them all. And his mother and … Dalia, yes. He was going to Walla Walla today to see them, to talk to his mother, a long, long overdue conversation, before it was too late.

He had his bag ready, so he grabbed it and shoved the envelope Liv had written his mother and Dalia’s name on in his pocket. Maybe on the way he would come up with the words to say to fill that envelope, to bridge a gap of too many years and too much silence. He had never felt quite right about the way he had treated his mother—but his father had been so devastated when she left. She’d had Dalia, and his dad had only had Major. He couldn’t regret those years too much. He and his dad had so much fun together, and he had seen his dad through all the tough times after the divorce—and vice versa, really. But he did wish he had been nicer to his mother, not closed the door between them so firmly.

He hoped when he showed up on her doorstep out of the blue, she would feel the same way. She’d be perfectly in her rights to slam the door in his face instead.

Well, nothing for it but to get there, he thought. He leaned back in his seat, meaning to think out what to say, but the miles slipping by beneath the bus’s wheels lulled him to sleep.

He awoke, startled, having his arm shaken by a big man in a blue uniform. “Hey, man. You gotta wake up! We’re here.”

“Here? Where’s—where are we?”

“Walla Walla.”

Apparently that was supposed to mean something to him, but he had nothing. “And?”

“And you gotta get off the bus!”

Obediently, he got up. The man in the uniform moved aside to let him pass. That must be the bus driver, he realized. But where was Walla Walla and why was he here? Maybe it would come to him once he got off the bus.

He stepped out into the fresh air, filling his lungs with it. Man, it felt good to breathe deep. It was a beautiful day in … Walla Walla. What state was Walla Walla in, he wondered. Washington? That sounded right. So, he was in Walla Walla, Washington. That seemed like a good start.

Now, what was he doing here? He was kind of hungry. Maybe he came for breakfast? Or lunch. What did he like to eat?

Something honked loudly right behind him, and he realized he was standing right in front of a bus. He waved at the driver in apology and moved aside, letting the bus go by. Well, there was a question—had he meant to come to Walla Walla or had he intended to go on to somewhere else?

He dug around in his pockets for a ticket or his wallet or something, but all he seemed to have on him was an envelope. It said “Sue & Dalia, Walla Walla”. Okay, so he was meant to be here. But who were Sue and Dalia, and how was he supposed to find them?

Maybe they were waiting for him. They might have planned to meet the bus. He looked around, but didn’t recognize anyone. Of course, since he didn’t know who Sue and Dalia were, he wouldn’t recognize them, would he? And for all he knew, they might not know what he looked like, either.

He saw two women standing together and went up to them. “Hi, are you Sue and Dalia?”

One of them frowned, and the other one said loudly, “Get out of here, you creep!”

Apparently not, then.

He looked around again. He didn’t see any other women standing together, no one who looked like they were waiting for someone on a bus, and no one who seemed to recognize him. So what now?

Maybe he would know something in the office. He went in and stood there for a while looking up at the list of destinations. None of them meant anything to him other than as places he had heard of at some point.

Outside, he could see the women he had spoken to talking to a man in a brown uniform. They pointed through the window at him, and the man nodded, coming into the office and heading straight for him.

“Sir, were you bothering those women?”

“What? No. I just asked them who they were.”

“And who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your name?”

He thought about that one for a minute. “I’m … not sure.”

“You’re not sure what your name is.”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

That one was a blank, too. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Huh.” The man frowned. “I’m going to need to see some I.D.”

He searched his pockets for it again, but found nothing. “Sorry. I guess I must have left it somewhere.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have this, though.” He held out the envelope. “Maybe you know these people? I thought those women might be them, but I guess not.”

The man took the envelope, reading it aloud. “Sue and Dalia, Walla Walla.” He looked up at Major. “Sue and Dalia? You know them?”

“Do you know them?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He considered for a moment, then jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, we’re going to take a little ride, see what’s going on here.”

“Okay.” He followed the man, glad that someone seemed to know what to do.

Chapter 105: Live Again

He woke up in a room that looked familiar. Like somewhere he’d been before in another life.

And when he searched his memory for where this might be, everything else came flooding back. He was Major Lilywhite. Former college football player, former social worker, former fiancee of Liv Moore, former kidnapper for hire, current … zombie mercenary. Except that he wasn’t a zombie, and it was hard to be a zombie mercenary if you weren’t dead.

Utter delight filled him as he lay there reliving the best memories: the first football game he’d won in college, the day he’d met Liv, their first kiss, the way she had looked when he proposed. Ravi. Peyton. His life, all back safely in his memory where it belonged.

Which meant that the cure worked. Liv could be cured. They could be together again, get married, have a family—everything they had ever dreamed of. He bounded out of bed, eager to tell her all about it … as soon as he figured out where he was. The bedroom looked like it could have been his when he was a kid. In fact … it had been his, he realized, when he was a teenager, but briefly, and only when he had to stay in it. He was in Walla Walla, at his mother’s house. Oof. That was a whole conversation he wasn’t sure he was ready for first thing in the morning, especially when topped off with a dollop of “why did you show up at my house with amnesia?”, which was a question Major wasn’t exactly prepared to answer.

Still, he was going to have to face the questions at some point, and there really was no time like the present.

He made his way cautiously downstairs, the house vaguely familiar but buried so deep in his memory it felt like he had dreamed it at some point. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw a dark-haired woman in the kitchen. As he moved closer to the door, she was joined by a blonde woman, older, but so familiar and loved, even if that love was buried under years of teenage angst and resentment. Yes, it was time he mended this. Long past time.

“Hello?” he said cautiously from the doorway, not wanting to bother them.

The blonde woman turned around, and he was looking into his mom’s face for the first time in … years. He held his breath, waiting for her to be angry, to send him out of the house. He deserved that from her.

Instead she smiled, the kind of smile that said she was holding back tears. “Major.”

“Mom.”

They moved across the room toward each other until they could reach for one another. He couldn’t remember when the last time was that he had hugged his mom, and certainly not with the kind of heartfelt joy that filled him now. She was crying, trying to hold it back, even as she rubbed his back the way she used to, and Major could feel himself tearing up as well.

After a long time, she let go, stepping back. Holding him by the arms, she said, “Let me look at you.” Her eyes searched his face. “You look tired. Have you been all right? The way you were last night …”

Over his mom’s shoulder, he saw Dalia watching him warily.

It was to her more than to his mother that he said, “I’m okay. Really. I’m not on drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve been … sick. A bad flu,” he lied. “I guess some interaction of the meds I was taking for it made me a little delirious.” He looked down at his mom. “All I could think of was how long it had been since we spoke, and how I owe you—both of you—an apology. I’m sorry if I worried you showing up here uninvited.”

A certain tension in the lines of his mom’s face eased at the explanation. Dalia still looked uncertain, but she had always been a tougher sell, and he really hadn’t treated her well at all, blaming her for breaking up his parents’ marriage.

“Come,” his mom said, “come sit down and have some breakfast and tell me everything about you. Are you still working at the shelter?”

“No, not for a little while now. I’m working for a private military company, actually. Good money, good benefits, and I get to travel and see the world.”

Dalia flashed him a look that suggested she understood exactly why you saw the world while working for a private military company. Major basically agreed with her.

“But, really, enough about me. Tell me about both of you. You look well.”

Reaching a mug down from the cupboard, Dalia held it up in his direction. “Coffee, Major?” They were the first words she had spoken directly to him since he was fifteen, if his memory served—and thankfully, it did.

“Yes, thank you.” He reached for the filled cup gratefully, while his mom told him about her work as assistant principal of the local high school, and her gardening club, and the local nonprofit whose board she sat on. Dalia interjected a comment here and there, but mostly she watched his mom’s face, so animated and happy, telling him about her life. Major was glad to see that after all this time, Dalia was still in love with his mom. He wished he could have known ten years ago that she would be—he didn’t know if it would have made enough of a difference, but it would have made some.

By the time she had gotten through everything she wanted to tell him, he had polished off a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, made just the way she used to make them when he was little, and he was ready to have the long, long overdue talk that had brought him here.

Chapter 106: To Start a New Day

“Mom. Dalia,” Major began. “I came here because I wanted to apologize, to both of you, for the way I was when I was a kid. I—“

His mom turned away from him, her face crumpling as she fought tears. Dalia frowned. “It still hurts her.”

“I know. And that’s why I came. Not to reopen old wounds, but to ask if maybe we could start fresh. Try to be a family.” He reached for his mom’s hand. “I’ve learned a few things in the last few years about life, and what’s important, and I was hoping you would give me another chance to be the son I always should have been.”

Dalia and his mom looked at each other, and Dalia reached out to dab away his mom’s tears with a tissue. “I’ll leave the two of you alone,” she said gently. On her way out of the kitchen she looked at Major. What she said was “Thank you,” but what she meant was “It’s about time.” And he couldn’t argue with the sentiment.

“Let’s … let’s go in the living room,” his mom said. Leading the way, she sat down on an ottoman, motioning Major to a chair across from her.

He took her hands. “I am so sorry for the way I treated you. When you and Dad split up, I just … I got so lost, I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. I mean, no one I knew had a mom who left their dad for another woman, and I—I handled it badly.”

“Why didn’t you ever come to me, Major? Why didn’t you ever let me tell you anything, let me explain?”

“I should have talked to you about it,” he told her. “But … I was in high school. I was confused. And Dad was a wreck. I felt like I had to pick a side, and it was so much easier to choose the parent who didn’t have a new girlfriend.”

His mom was silent for a moment, accepting that. Then she squeezed his hands. “So … now you have to tell me everything.” She laughed. “I mean, the last I heard, you were engaged to some woman, and then she just broke it off.”

“Liv.” He smiled, just thinking of her, thinking of going home to her and telling her that the cure worked, watching her take it, and then … their life, starting again. “Yeah, she, uh, she did do that.”

“I’m so sorry. What about now? Is there someone new in your life?”

“Actually, I’m thinking there might still be a chance for Liv and I to have a future together. The timing might finally be right.”

“Why did she break it off?”

“She was … going through some stuff. She had to work through it. She had been studying to be a heart surgeon, and had to leave the program, and that was—devastating for her. But now she has a new job, as a forensic scientist, which she likes. Actually, her boss, Ravi, is my roommate, and—and my best friend. Best friend I ever had,” he added, thinking of how Ravi would look when he, too, knew that the cure had worked. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait another minute. “Actually, Mom, would you mind if I gave them a call? Since I was—sick when I left, they’re probably worrying about me.”

“Of course.” They both stood up, looking at one another, and then his mom reached up to give him another hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too, Mom. You, too.”

His phone was … gone, somewhere, so his mom let him use the phone in the kitchen. He dialed Liv’s number from memory, so glad to have that at his fingertips again, waiting for her voice, hoping she would pick up even though it was an unknown number. He was so happy to hear her voice. “Liv!”

“Major!” There was a world of relief in her tone. “I was so scared, Major. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Really, I promise.”

“What’s this number? Are you hurt? Is this a hospital?” The questions came all in a rush.

“No, I lost my phone. This is my mom’s.”

“You’re in Walla Walla? How did you get there? Major, are you sure you’re okay?”

“No, I told you, I’m fine. Better than fine. Liv! It works.” He turned further toward the wall, lowering his voice. “The cure works. My memory’s back.”

“All your memories?”

“Yeah.”

“Good!”

“Everything all right there?”

“It’s a long story,” she told him. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

“Of course. I’ll see if my mom will drive me back.”

He could practically hear the smile in her voice as she said, “I can’t wait.”

“I can’t wait, either.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He put the phone back on the cradle, unable to stop smiling.

His mom came to the doorway of the kitchen. “I don’t have to ask who that was—or why you’re willing to give it another shot after she broke things off. Not the way you look right now.”

“She’s … special. There’s really no one like her.”

“I hope to meet her someday.”

“I want that. I do.” Hopefully after Liv stopped being a zombie. “Mom, would you mind, maybe, driving me back to Seattle?”

She frowned, looking at her watch. “Yes, I think I can do that. And on the way, you can tell me everything about your job, your roommate, Liv. Everything.”

“Everything,” he promised, already working on the heavily edited version he was going to have to tell her. He wished he could tell her the full story—but why? After today, it wasn’t going to matter anymore.

Chapter 107: Plans for Nobody

On the ride home, Major did, indeed, have to tell his mom everything—or as close to it as he dared to get. In return, she told him about Dalia and herself, and they talked about his childhood, and the divorce, and they both cried a little.

She pulled up outside his house. “I wish I could come in, but I really have to get back. It’s so late, and Dalia will worry.”

“There will be other times.” Better times, Major thought, when Liv wasn’t a zombie, and they were back together. “I promise.”

“Do you?”

“I do. Mom, I’m so sorry it took me this long.”

She shook her head. “Not another word. You came, and that’s all that matters. Thank you for coming.”

“I’m really glad I did.” He reached across the car and they shared a long hug. “I’ll let you know my number when I get a new phone, and I’ll see you again soon.”

“Okay.” There were still traces of tears on her face as he climbed out of the car, but she managed a smile and a cheery wave as she pulled away from the curb.

Major turned to look at the house. It seemed all new, the lights glowing from the windows into the dark night, suddenly shiny and comforting, and … home. Where his friends were, where Liv was, where his life was. He hurried up the walk to the door, letting himself in.

They were all there waiting for him. Liv, Ravi, Peyton. “Major!” “You’re home!”

And Liv, coming toward him, looking so beautiful, smiling at him in relief. “We seriously thought we’d lost you this time.”

He didn’t waste a second, going straight to her, taking her face in his hands, and kissing her the way he had wanted to since he woke up this morning and remembered who he was—who they were together. He never wanted to spend another minute of his life not being with her.

Drawing away, he watched her face, the smile that passed across it telling him everything he wanted to know about her future.

“God, it’s good to be home,” he told her. “I’ll tell you guys everything. Just, uh, let me jump in the shower and then we can celebrate.”

Ravi waved his arms to halt him before he could move toward the stairs. “Actually, this can’t wait. Someone stole all the remaining doses of the cure from my office.”

Major frowned. “Someone stole …?”

“Well, let’s not dwell on that,” Ravi said hastily. “I gave you a syringe a few weeks back. It’s the last one, and we need it for Liv. Do you have it with you?”

All his castles in the air, his plans for the future, his buoyant delight at the idea of being with Liv again, suddenly collapsed. Gone, as if they had never been. He looked at the three eager, expectant faces of the people he loved most in the world, knowing he was about to have to disappoint them—and break Liv’s heart, and cost him any chance with her for who knows how long. Possibly forever. “I … I did. Um …” He wanted to lie. He wanted to say he’d put it away for safe-keeping somewhere he couldn’t get at right now, or anything, really, to keep from telling the truth, just to hold on to his dreams a little while longer. But they would have to know eventually, and not telling them, not telling Liv, now would only make it that much worse. “I … didn’t tell you …” He turned to Liv. “I—I gave it to someone.”

“To whom?”

“I—I gave the cure to Natalie.”

The words hung in the air between them. Major couldn’t have known at the time he gave that syringe to Natalie that it would be the only one left—he hadn’t even known the cure worked properly at the time. But standing here in front of Liv, telling her that he had given what might well be her last chance to be human to another woman … He knew he had made a choice, somewhere along the way. And so did she.

Liv’s shoulders slumped.

“I am so sorry,” Major whispered.

“Who’s Natalie?” Peyton asked.

“Major’s zombie hooker friend.” Liv turned away from him, her face paling even more than usual, if that was possible.

“Liv.”

“No. I’m sorry, that’s not fair. It doesn’t matter what she was.”

“I thought there were another sixteen doses. I was just trying to save her.”

“This is Blaine’s fault, not yours.” Major could tell how hard Liv was fighting through her disappointment, and it broke his heart that he was the cause of it. “If he hadn’t been faking this memory loss, I would have taken the cure months ago! Now that rat bastard has stolen the rest of the doses,” she added.

“The thief might not be Blaine,” Ravi argued. “Don E just offered me fifty thousand dollars for a dose of the cure. He said some zombie offered him a hundred grand.”

“It’s Blaine,” Liv insisted. “And if I find him, I will beat a confession out of him.”

“Liv!”

“He’s still got his regular singing gig tonight,” Peyton told her.

Ravi turned to her. “Peyton!”

Major had apparently missed more than he thought, if Peyton was offering Blaine up to be beaten and Ravi was defending the guy.

“Look,” Ravi went on, turning back to Liv, “I don’t think this … hot mess brain has completely worn off.”

Liv shook her head decisively. “This is me, Ravi. This is me controlling my anger.” Her voice was shaking with it, though, and Major didn’t give Blaine much of a chance if she got her hands on him. Neither did Ravi, from the look he was giving her. Liv whispered, “I can just picture him … Smug. Pleased with himself. King of the world.”

It was an accurate description. Heartsick, Major couldn't bring himself to try to talk her out of it. He was in the mood to land a few punches on that bastard's smug face himself.

Chapter 108: This Is Now

Major and Justin had been assigned to stake out D.A. Baracus’s cabin in case any of the zombie truther people Liv and Clive had discovered decided to come after him, as a mayoral candidate and a survivor of the Max Rager massacre. It was an easy job which mostly involved standing around and sampling his hot sauce, or so it seemed. Justin dropped a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster, getting a brain tube set out ready to spread on them.

“Baracus doesn’t mind us raiding his pantry?” Major asked him.

“He told us to.” Justin moved to the table, spinning the Lazy Susan. “Whoo! Red hot sauces from around the world! Like we can’t afford.” He grinned at Major.

Behind him, Baracus came out from his office.

“Sir!”

Justin turned to him. “Mr. Future Mayor.”

“Pfft. Mr. Alternate Reality Mayor, maybe. I’m down fifteen points,” Baracus replied, putting a glass in the sink. “Any more intel on the gun-toting internet crazies?”

“Same as before,” Major told him. “Still heavily armed, still out to get anyone from Max Rager’s basement.”

“Well, that is a bummer. Good-night, gentlemen.” He headed back to his bedroom while Major and Justin called ‘good-night’ after him.

Justin’s toast was done, and he plucked it out of the toaster, dropping it on the plates. Only then did Major notice that there were two plates. Oh, crap. It hadn’t occurred to him that he couldn’t eat brain tubes any more, or that he was going to have to pretend that he could.

“I hope both those plates are for you,” he said, “’cause I already ate.” He watched Justin squeezing the brains out of the tube and onto the toast, and tried not to be nauseous. It seemed utterly impossible that only a few days ago he was scarfing those things down as readily as anything he’d ever eaten in his life. He could remember having that feeling, remember the icky, gluey texture of the brains and the rush of vitality that followed when he swallowed them, but he couldn’t believe it. Not really. If it wasn’t for Liv and Justin and Fillmore Graves, being a zombie would already be a distant memory.

Justin eyed him skeptically, but didn’t challenge the statement. “You hear the rumor about a zombie speakeasy? Zach swears it’s true.”

“He’s leading an expedition there tomorrow night. He wants us to go with.”

“Okay.” Justin chose a bottle of hot sauce and sprinkled it liberally on his brains. He took a big bite, moaning and laughing at the taste. “Dude. This sauce is Tibetan. Have the Tibetans ever let you down?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man, just try it!”

“No, really, man, I’m full.”

“You’re full?” Justin repeated incredulously.

“Yeah.” Major smiled, but it felt weak, even to him.

Justin glanced over his shoulder to make sure Baracus had really gone to bed, then he came closer to Major, saying softly, “Or you’re human.”

Major just looked at him, not sure what to do. He couldn’t confirm, but Justin was too smart, and too good a friend, for him to deny it, either.

“When I took you to Ravi and Liv, when you were in bad shape,” Justin continued, “they talked about giving you a cure.”

That settled it. Justin knew too much to lie to him. Major glanced over his friend’s shoulder, making doubly sure Baracus was nowhere near, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m human.”

Justin turned away, laughing, and clapped his hands together.

“I—I don’t want that to change anything,” Major told him.

“I can’t believe there’s a cure! How’s that even possible?”

“It’s not anymore,” Major hurried to say before Justin could get his hopes up any further. “Look, Ravi engineered it with tainted utopium that he can’t replicate. And the only fifteen doses of the cure that we had left were stolen.”

“Okay, it’s gone, then.” Justin let that dream go as quickly as he had created it. “So is doing mercenary work a good idea for you? There’ll be plenty of jobs where you don’t get shot.”

“Not after you’re accused of being a serial killer,” Major reminded him. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than at Fillmore Graves. Nowhere.”

“You planning on telling anyone else? Any of our superiors?”

“They’d kick me out.”

“Yeah.”

“Think you can keep this between us?”

Justin looked at him like he was crazy. “Yeah. Your secret’s safe with me, man.” He held out his fist for Major to bump.

It felt good to have a friend he could be honest with. But Major worried—if Justin had figured out so quickly that he was human, what would happen when he tried to go to work? How quickly would his secret get out? What if he couldn’t keep up? Or the first time he got injured? Or the first time he was in battle and afraid to go out of cover because he didn’t want to die? For all that he wanted to stay at his job, and didn’t know what else he could do if he wasn’t working at Fillmore Graves, he was hardly as confident about it as he pretended to be. Any one of a dozen things could go wrong and he’d end up broke and humiliated on the job hunt while people sneered and whispered about him being the Chao$ Killer. No. He wasn’t going back to that. Not ever. He’d find a way to stay at Fillmore Graves, and prove that a human could keep up with a team of zombies … He just wasn’t sure how.

Chapter 109: Have Some Fun

It was a small group the next night out hunting for this mythological zombie speakeasy—Major and Justin, Zack Stoll, and two other guys. Major was torn between being glad to be included, glad to be out with a group of friends who didn’t include his ex-fiance for a change, and worried that if they did find the place, it would be all too obvious that he lacked a certain prerequisite to enjoy himself at a zombie speakeasy.

Still … the alley they were walking through hardly looked like a hip spot to go score some high-end brains, so he couldn’t say he was too worried.

The other guys, however, were absolutely convinced that this place existed, and that it was nearby. They whooped and barked and whistled, their spirits high.

“Come on, Zack, your source was messing with you. There’s no such thing as a zombie speakeasy,” he said, hoping they could turn back and find a more human-friendly bar to go to instead.

“He swore to me. Booze, ladies …” Pointing at a rusty chain-link gate, Zack said triumphantly, “This is it!”

“There’s no sign,” Justin pointed out.

“That’s how you know it’s cool. Let’s go!” Zack swung open the gate and the others hurried through it after him. Major brought up the rear, feeling increasingly bad about the chances that this night would go well.

Down a flight of stairs—cleaner than Major would have expected—they found a rusty door set into a concrete wall. Zack grabbed for the handle. “It’s locked.” He rapped on the metal and a window in the door slid open, a face appearing on the other side.

Zack waved, and a tray swiveled out from the other side of the door, loaded with peppers. “Eat it,” the bouncer instructed.

Picking one up, Zack looked at the others.

“That’s a ghost pepper. A million Scoville heat units,” Tanner said in awe.

As Zack crunched down on the pepper, Major and Justin exchanged apprehensive glances. How was he going to down a ghost pepper and make it look like he was still a zombie? He had a decent tolerance for spicy food—more now than he used to—but nowhere near what a zombie could handle.

Zack showed his empty mouth to the bouncer, and one by one the others followed suit.

“Tina Majorino. Time to clear those sinuses.” Zack held the last pepper out to him, while Major frantically tried to find a way out of this situation.

Then fate stepped in—fate in the guise of Don E, the last person Major had ever imagined looking on as a guardian angel.

“Major! You found the place.”

Hearing the voice behind him, Major turned to see Don E coming down the stairs in a white tux jacket with a very nice-looking woman on his arm. He clapped Major on the shoulder. “Dino!” he called to the bouncer. “This guy’s cool. We go way back.”

Major breathed a sigh of relief—and disbelief. To think that Don E of all people would be in charge of the zombie speakeasy. Major wouldn’t have thought he had the initiative. Or the brains … both literally and figuratively. He wondered who was really behind the place.

But for now, he wasn’t going to worry about it. He was going to have as much fun as a human could have in a room full of zombies.

It was bustling, too, full of people. Don E made a table appear for Major and the rest of the guys, and handed them out menus. You really could order whatever kind of brain you wanted. It was ingenious.

“I can’t believe this place!” Tanner exclaimed. “Who’s down for cerebellum on a half-skull?”

“’This establishment serves cruelty-free brains’,” Major read off the menu. How Seattle.

“I wonder who all these zombies are. They definitely don’t work for Fillmore Graves!” Justin said.

Behind them, a waiter appeared with a plate, setting it down in the middle of their table. “There you go, boys! Deep-fried goodness.”

“Eat that brain like nobody’s watching!” Zack said. “We’re with our people!” He stood up, shouting, “Any zombies in the house tonight?” A cheer answered him, coming from nearly everyone in the place. Major thought it was entirely possible—likely, even—that he was the only human here.

Max reappeared from the crowd. “Zombie compadres! They have zombie girls here with whom you can purchase time.”

“Thank you, Lord!” Zack shouted.

“Who’s gonna float me two hundred bucks?”

“Follow me, lads. Once more into the breeches,” Zack said in a passable Scottish accent. The three of them headed off into the crowd in search of zombie women … zombie women like Natalie, Major thought with a pang. Much as he understood his fellow soldiers’ desires, he couldn’t help wondering if the girls servicing them tonight wanted to be doing that job, or if they, too, were being forced to in order to get the brains they needed. Of course, that wasn’t different from human prostitution, he supposed, and he wouldn’t have encouraged his friends to do that … but at least there were a lot of human women out there with whom one could pursue a relationship. Zombie women were much harder to find.

Justin hadn’t moved. Instead, he was digging into the brain delicacy in front of them.

“You don’t have to sit here for me,” Major told him. “Go!”

“Naw, man. It’s a point of pride that I don’t pay for sex.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” As Major picked up his drink, Justin leaned closer, looking somewhat apprehensive. “Listen … there’s no good way to ask this, so I’m just going to put it out there.”

“Okay?”

“Liv.”

Oh. Major supposed he should have seen this coming, remembering how much fun they’d had the night they played Liv’s dance game together. But he wasn’t prepared for it, not after he’d thought there was finally a chance for him to be with Liv the way things always should have been.

He was saved, once again, by Don E, who was standing on the bar behind them. “Hey, you dead bitches! Are we having fun yet?”

A chorus of cheers answered him, and Major used the chaos to cover his rapid thinking. Liv was a zombie now for … as long as it took to either find the cures, or find more tainted utopium for Ravi to make more. He couldn’t be with her anymore. They had tried that once, and it wasn’t fair to either of them. So should he stand in her way now when a nice guy, a good friend, might be able to make her happy? He couldn’t, in all conscience.

He leaned over to Justin. “How serious are you?”

“About Liv?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty serious. Would you mind if I … courted her?”

“Courted her?” Major echoed. Well, that clinched it. Any guy who was willing to court her probably deserved her. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask her.”

“But you’d be cool if she said yes?”

“I’d be cool.” He’d have to be.

“Great. Great! Whoo!” Justin lifted his glass, and they toasted. “To Major, a heck of a guy!”

“To Justin … a true friend. Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.”

Chapter 110: A Clear-Cut Alternative

Justin and Major left the Scratching Post together, the others having elected to stay behind with the young ladies they had discovered. Justin headed home, but Major was still keyed up from the club, and couldn’t wait to see the looks on Ravi and Liv’s faces when he told them about the place. So he went to the morgue, knowing they would both be there.

“Major! Come down and liven up the place. Nice to have another human around,” Ravi called when Major appeared on the stairs.

Liv frowned at her boss. “Hey!”

“No offense intended. I just sometimes feel a little underrepresented, that’s all.”

She rolled her eyes, turning to Major. “And where have you been this evening, young man? Up to no good, I expect.”

“You expect correct … ly. I have been at a place that I would never have believed existed, let in by the last person I would have expected to save my bacon.”

Ravi cocked an eyebrow at him. “No fair. You’ve been imbibing.”

“I have, in fact, none of which makes my night any more believable.”

“So? Out with it. Where were you, and who did you see?”

“Well, it all started when Zach heard about a zombie speakeasy.”

“A … zombie speakeasy.” Liv and Ravi exchanged concerned glances. “There are enough zombies in Seattle to support a speakeasy?”

“Oh, yeah, and then some,” Major confirmed.

“Blaine.” Ravi spat the name with his usual venom. “Don’t tell me you saw him.”

“Hey, who’s telling this story, anyway?” Major asked.

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“So we go, me and Zach and Justin and a couple other guys, and we find the place, buried in an industrial district behind a rusty gate. Get this—it’s called the Scratching Post.”

Liv made a face. “Ew. What are we, zombie cats now? Do they serve feline brains?”

Major laughed. “No, real human ones. In surprisingly creative concoctions, too. So, anyway, we go inside and find this unmarked door. When we knock they swing out a tray full of ghost peppers.”

Ravi frowned. “Ghost peppers?”

“Genius! To prove they were zombies, right?” Liv nodded. “Super easy, and doesn’t scream zombie to anyone who doesn’t know the symptoms.”

“Exactly. So there I am, not a zombie, and none of them can know or I’ll lose my job—again. And I’m sweating like I’ve already eaten a ghost pepper. They all go, and it’s my turn, and I’m trying to figure out how to fake being a zombie, when someone calls out my name from behind me. It’s Don E.”

“Don E? I take it he’s a regular,” Ravi said.

“Would they even let him in?”

“Not only did they let him in, he vouched for me so I didn’t have to do the ghost pepper thing. He owns the place!”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“Don E runs a zombie bar.” Ravi gave that one some thought. “He doesn’t exactly give off an upper management vibe.”

“I’d say more of a ‘huffed paint at critical developmental stages’ vibe,” Liv agreed.

“The place is wall-to-wall undead.”

“Where did all these new zombies come from?”

“And where is Don E getting brains to feed them all?” Ravi added.

“I’ll ask him,” Liv said. “When I ask him about those stolen doses of the cure.”

“You’re going down there by yourself?” Ravi’s tone left no doubt what a bad idea he thought that was.

“The place is full of rowdy, boozed-up, horny zombies. And, frankly, you’re not at peak badass on preschool teacher brain.” Liv frowned at him, and Major added, “You see the potential in everyone.” He sank down on the couch next to her.

Ravi nodded. “You told me I could be an astronaut if I studied hard enough.”

“Me, too! We don’t all want to be astronauts, Liv,” Major told her.

“But the point is, you could be. Or firemen! Or the President.”

Major and Ravi looked at each other. As brains went, preschool teacher wasn’t terrible, but Major did wish she’d be a little more creative in her potential career options. Besides which, no astronaut or fireman or president was getting into the Scratching Post. She needed a real undead zombie, and preferably one with some fighting skills. And Major knew just the guy. “You could take Justin,” he suggested. “He’s already been there and he knows how to handle himself.” He debated adding the next bit, but Justin was a good friend, and Liv deserved to be happy, and until they had a cure again, there was no way Major could be that guy for her. “Also … he asked my permission to court you.”

Liv and Ravi both looked at him, Ravi clearly doubtful about the concept of courting, and Liv surprisingly interested. Which hurt both more and less than Major had imagined it might.

“He did?” The interest, and the preschool teacher cheeriness, faded from her face. “Maybe you should explain my boyfriend history to him.”

Ravi laughed. “It is sort of like being the drummer for Spinal Tap.”

Major smothered a laugh of his own while Liv looked at Ravi with outrage.

Swallowing back his amusement with some difficulty, Ravi managed to look shame-faced. “We were all thinking it,” he muttered.

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Liv announced.

On her current brain, Major didn’t necessarily believe that. To prove the point, he sang, “What’s gonna work? Team-work!” Ravi joined in the song, and Liv froze, clearly in mid-vision. She came back with a gasp, trying to reorient herself.

Ravi took an unperturbed sip of his tea, more than used to this by now. “Good stuff?”

“Okay,” she said, still looking a bit shaken. “Justin can come with me to the Scratching Post. I need to find Clive.”

She hurried out of the room. Major looked at Ravi. “I guess teamwork does work.”

“Who knew?”

Chapter 111: A Little Company

Major just happened to casually drop by the morgue the day after he knew Justin and Liv were due to hit the Scratching Post. Not that he was jealous. Or curious. He just … wanted to know. Because he was a concerned friend. Exactly.

“So?”

Liv looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Is that how we ask a question?”

He rolled his eyes. “How did it go with Justin last night?”

“Good. I think good. I had fun. I hope he did. Actually … would you mind giving this to him?” From the pocket of her lab coat, she took an envelope with Justin’s name on it, covered in stickers and glitter.

Major shook his head. Preschool teacher brain. “You knew I would come by, didn’t you?”

“To have a friend, you have to be a friend, and you, Major Lilywhite, get an A in friendship today.” She poked a sticker onto his jacket and turned back to the body she had just taken out of the drawer, humming the ABCs. Major wondered exactly when it was he had learned to stand over dead bodies without noticing them. Possibly around the time he had started eating their brains, he supposed.

He tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket.

Later that night, he and Justin were on watch together at DA Baracus’s house again. It was another quiet night—Major hoped it would stay that way. He came out onto the deck, handing Justin a beer. “So?”

Justin gave him the same lifted eyebrow look Liv had. “So?”

“How’d it go last night with Liv?”

“I thought it was going good.” He looked at Major, frowning a little. “It was weird. I mean, I really opened up to her, but when I took her home, she just bolted for the door.” Lifting his beer, he added in a stage whisper, “I think she may be racist.”

Major laughed. “Or, worse, frigid.” He knew better than anyone that wasn’t true. But hard as he was trying to be cool with this, it did hurt to think of Liv with someone else just when he had thought they could be human together again, get their lives back on track. Still … he couldn’t hold on to that forever, and it wasn’t fair to Liv—or himself—to be alone because they couldn’t be with each other. He reached into his pocket for the glitter-covered envelope. “Actually, she wanted me to pass along this note.”

Justin took the note and opened it. His whole face lit up. Major was glad to see it—clearly he really liked Liv. He would be good to her, and Major could be okay with it. Taking a pen from his pocket, Justin marked something on the paper. Then he put the paper back in the envelope and handed it to Major. “You mind returning this to her?”

“Sure. But this is officially the last note I pass between you two.” He brandished the envelope at Justin for emphasis and tucked it back into his pocket.

In Justin’s pocket, his cell phone buzzed. He took the call. “Yes, sir? … Understood. … Yes, sir.” Putting the phone down, he looked at Major. “The tracker they planted in the gun nut’s truck shows him headed for our 20. I’ll get eyes on Baracus, you go and throw down the spike strip.”

Abandoning their beers, they headed into action.

By the time the beat-up pickup hit the spike strip Major had planted in the road, he was ready, black ski mask over his head and flashlight in hand. As soon as the pickup came to a stop, he shone the light straight into the car to dazzle the eyes of the occupants. Keeping his pistol trained on them, he went around to the driver’s side. “Gentlemen. This is a private road. What’s your business here?”

“We heard there was a party out here,” the driver lied lamely.

Major took a closer look at the paraphernalia in the back seat. “Duct tape, blood pressure cuff? What kind of party y’all headed to?”

“Uh …” Without a better story prepared, the driver did the next best thing—he threw the car into reverse and slammed on the gas. Unfortunately, neither he nor Major had seen Justin come up behind the truck, and it knocked him down and rolled over him. Major hurried to his friend’s side, but before he could get there, Justin was up on and on his feet, the pain of the injuries throwing him into full-on zombie mode. Full Romero, as Ravi would say. And he raced after the rapidly retreating truck, everything in him bent on catching up to those juicy fresh brains.

Major could only watch helplessly, knowing he couldn’t catch his friend in this condition, and couldn’t stop him if he did catch him—and not entirely certain he wouldn’t look good as an alternative meal in any case.

He hurried as fast as he could anyway, watching with horror as Justin leaped on top of the hood of the truck. He was thrown off again as the truck backed up to turn around, and then the truck gunned its way back down the road, blown-out front tires or not.

Justin had himself under control by the time Major reached him.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.”

“Yeah. We just gave them all the proof they needed to know zombies are real.”

“It’s a good thing they were too freaked out to get you on tape.”

“I don’t think Fillmore Graves is going to look at it that way.”

“Probably not,” Major agreed bleakly. So much for a quiet night.

Chapter 112: The Consequence at Hand

After the debacle at DA Baracus’s, it didn’t take long at all for a video with a picture of Justin’s Romero-fied face to show up on the internet. Major couldn’t believe they had never considered that the zombie-hunters would have a dash cam.

So it was no surprise to him when, after an intensive debriefing immediately after they called in the incident, he and Justin were called in to an emergency meeting at Fillmore Graves the next day. Clive and Liv were invited along, since they were investigating the zombie-hunters on Vivian Stoll’s behalf. They took their seats on one side of the conference table, Major feeling very much like a chastened child and hoping none of the zombies in the room could sense his heightened heartrate, and Fortesan and Stoll and Carey Gold on the other side. The first thing Stoll did was to pull up the video on the large screen behind the conference table, and they all watched in horrified fascination as a red-eyed Justin chased down a moving pickup and launched himself on top of it. All of them had seen the video multiple times, but that didn’t diminish how bad Major felt that it existed at all—or the danger it represented to Justin, and to Liv.

The video ended and Stoll and the others swiveled their seats to face Major and Justin, Liv and Clive. “Our zombie truther friend Harley Johns posted that footage on YouTube last night,” Stoll said, her tone matter-of-fact, for the moment without judgement.

“How many views?” Carey Gold asked.

“Almost a thousand. There was no way we could have avoided this little … anti-zombie recruitment video?” Stoll's eyes were on Major and Justin.

There really wasn’t anything to say to that, but Major had to say something nevertheless. It had been his fault—he should have known where Justin was. And if he hadn’t been human, none of it would have happened. “Look, we had the drop on ‘em. Then they ran over Justin and …” His voice trailed off and he gestured at the screen.

“And you let them get away.” There was no doubt about Fortesan’s feelings. He was highly disappointed. Major had been on the receiving end of that tone more than often enough to recognize it now.

“It’s my fault,” Justin offered. “I shouldn’t have let myself get run over.”

“They protected Baracus from harm. That was their assignment,” Carey Gold argued.

“And the enemy gained intel,” Fortesan spat. “They released documented proof of the existence of zombies!”

“It’s only proof if people believe it. So far, the comments seem to suggest they don’t.”

Regardless of Gold’s optimism, Major knew it was only a matter of time before enough people believed what they saw to start truly hunting zombies, and then what would happen to the people he cared about?

Turning to Clive, Gold went on, “It certainly looks like these guys were responsible for the Tuttle-Reed murders.”

“Harley Johns and his three brothers are still our prime suspects,” Clive agreed. “But we don’t have enough solid evidence yet.”

“Plus, a few hundred people posted on their anti-zombie message board. Any of them could have killed Juan’s family,” Liv pointed out.

Fortesan leaned forward. “I propose that we handle this in-house.”

Stoll smiled. “Down, boy. Bright side: Our mayoral candidate is still among the nearly living, and I’ve got a good feeling about Clive and Liv, that they’re going to catch the bad guy, or bad guys, and we’ll all be able to sleep soundly. That’s it,” she finished briskly. “Meeting adjourned.”

Major admired her ability to give orders while appearing to merely carry on a polite conversation. But he couldn’t believe he and Justin were going to get out of this so easily. He tried not to let it be obvious that he was holding his breath, waiting on the other shoe to drop.

So he wasn’t surprised that while everyone else was getting to their feet, Stoll looked at him across the table and ordered him to stay put. Alarmed, definitely … but not surprised.

The others left, Liv and Justin both giving backward glances of concern, hovering a bit in the outer office until it was clear Stoll was waiting for them to be gone. Once they finally headed for the elevators, she gestured for Major to move to the chair across from her desk, taking her own seat and studying him thoughtfully. “Major Lilywhite. Talk about a big-league debut. Pinned down in Kumar, your lieutenant dead, and you clear a rooftop of enemy snipers? Your rookie card’s gonna be a collector’s item, and all those heroics while taking multiple stab wounds to the stomach? You know what that shows me?”

“That there’s no such thing as abs of steel?” Major tried to relax and smile a bit, to follow her light, breezy lead … but she was going somewhere with this, and he was all too afraid that he knew her ultimate destination.

“Look at you. Joking around, no PTSD. What it shows me, is that you’re the same Major who went to Kumar. You are, aren’t you? The same Major?”

He wasn’t, actually, but he could hardly tell her that, not and keep his job. What had happened to Justin last night indicated that he probably should come clean, that maybe he couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain. “Actually, I um …” But he couldn’t bear to lose another job that meant something to him, another opportunity to do something he liked and was good at. “I came back more committed than ever,” he told her, projecting as much confidence into his voice as he could.

“I love it.” She got to her feet, coming around the desk toward him. “I want to shake your hand, soldier.”

He could hardly say no. He got up and held his hand out. Stoll’s handshake was as firm and no-nonsense as everything else about her. But then she gripped his wrist with her other hand, holding him there. “I hope this isn’t too personal. But … is that a human pulse I’m feeling, or are you just happy to see me?” She smiled, the confident smile of a woman whose suspicions had just been confirmed.

Major pulled his hand out of her grasp. Nothing for it now. She knew. He would have to tell her the truth, little as he wanted to. He stammered, trying to find a way to deny it that would sound plausible. Before he could say much, her assistant knocked on the door, reminding Stoll that the helicopter was ready.

As the assistant withdrew, closing the door behind her, Stoll said, “The problem is, when you do so well in Kumar, and you fail back home, people notice. I was out there, during the debriefing, wondering ‘how did our new star soldier let that zombie-murdering hick escape?’.”

“Everything—it was happening so fast.” It sounded lame even as he said it, and Stoll interrupted him before the words were half out of his mouth, not buying it at all.

“Not too fast for a zombie. And how is it that you are no longer one?” He hesitated and she looked sternly up at him, brooking no more delay. “Major. Tell me.”

It couldn’t hurt. After all, the cures were gone, so what could Fillmore Graves do with the knowledge that they existed somewhere? Maybe they could even help. “There’s a cure. Or … there was a cure.”

“What happened to it?”

“There were only a few vials—one vital ingredient is almost impossible to get—and they were stolen. We think we know by whom, but we can’t prove it.”

“So. You’re a human, but you have no means of making any of your other fellow soldiers suddenly unable to do their jobs properly?”

He shook his head, and Stoll nodded briskly.

“Very well. I wlll want to talk to your scientist. After all, we have resources. Maybe we can help.” She looked at her watch. “I’m late. I want you benched while I’m gone, and I’ll consider what to do about you before I get back. It’s a shame, Major. You were going to be a real asset to us. But I know you understand that a human in a troop full of zombies is little more than a liability.”

He nodded, dejected. It was hard to remember right now why he had been so happy to be human again. Here he was, no Liv, soon no job, complicit in creating danger for all the zombies he knew … What had it been for, then? Other than not dying, which he supposed was still a worthy reason. Still, it was hard not to wish himself back again, one of his company, just like them.

Chapter 113: Gone

After Vivian Stoll dismissed him from her office, Major met Liv and Clive outside.

“So,” Liv asked, “did she promote you? We get to start calling you Major Major?”

If only. Even as ridiculous as that sounded, it would be better than being benched, likely on the way out of a job entirely. He looked down at Liv and the smile faded from her face immediately. “She knows I’m human,” he told her. “She’s taking me off active duty.”

Liv’s face paled even more than it already was, if that was possible, her eyes widening with sympathy for Major’s plight. “Maybe I could talk to her.”

What could she say? Nothing Liv might think of changed the fact that he was human. No longer a zombie mercenary. A danger to himself and others. But it had been sweet of Liv to offer, so he let her down gently. “It’ll have to wait. She and Fortasen are heading out to Zombie Island.”

Even as he said it, he could hear the rotors of the helicopter. It came into sight over the top of the buildings.

The three of them headed for the car—no use standing around here. Major, at least, had no further reason to be there.

“She wants to talk to Ravi about how I was cured when she gets back,” he told Liv. “Ravi is not going to be—“

But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. Above his head came a single “boom” and he turned to see a giant fireball in the sky, and all that remained of the helicopter falling from the center of the explosion. As it landed, it went up in more flames. Not even a zombie could survive that. Vivian Stoll, gone. Fortasen, gone.

“Oh, my god,” Liv gasped.

Major had no words, but those were as good as any.

The three of them ran to the accident site, but the Fillmore Graves soldiers currently on duty didn’t want Clive or Liv there; they wanted to handle things themselves. Carey Gold told Major to go home and take his friends with him, to report as scheduled for his next shift. It occurred to him that Vivian Stoll hadn’t had time to tell anyone that he was human. Horrible as it was, her death meant he still had a job.

Major took Liv and Clive back to his place, where they filled Ravi in on the events of the day, and spent a long dark afternoon watching news coverage of the helicopter explosion with a plentiful supply of beers, and wine for Liv.

After several hours of speculation, finally a breaking update gave out the official word: The crash had been caused by mechanical failure.

“Mechanical failure, my ass,” Liv shouted at the TV even as Major clicked it off. “This is another attack on zombies.”

Clive had been very quiet in the corner of the couch all afternoon, but he spoke up now. “We don’t know that, Liv.”

She glared at him. “Clive. Harley and his people are targeting zombies. These murders are all connected.”

“Don’t you think it seems a bit advanced for Harley Johns and his band of zombie truthers?”

Clive wasn’t wrong; the guy Major had seen the other night didn’t look like he knew the first thing about how to get near a military-grade helicopter at a private mercenary company, much less blow it up.

Ravi had been studying the news on his laptop, looking for anything that might indicate why Fillmore Graves’ helicopter had been targeted. He shook his head. “If they know Fillmore Graves is a zombie organization, they’re not bragging about it. No mention of the crash on the message boards.”

Leaning forward to look at Major, Clive asked, “Any idea who’s gonna be in charge of the world’s only zombie military force now?”

That same question had been asked and speculated on all afternoon in Major’s texts. Carey Gold had taken point at the accident site, but she wasn’t military. The troops wouldn’t follow her. “The scuttlebutt is that Vivian’s brother-in-law, Chase Graves, is flying back from Tripoli to take the reins.”

“Well, let’s try to have some answers for him when he gets here.”

Ravi spoke up, eyes still glued to the laptop. “According to the message boards, our zombie truthers are gathering this Saturday at Harley’s gun range. All the die hards will be there. If we want answers, that’s a good place to start.”

“Harley’s met me and Liv,” Clive said. “He knows we’re investigating zombie murders.”

“Yeah, I doubt they’d be too cuddly with a guy who sprang zombies out of Max Rager’s basement,” Major added.

They all looked at Ravi, whose face froze as he realized how the process of elimination had fallen. “Harley hasn’t … met me,” he said.

“If I spray tan and throw on a wig, Harley would never recognize me,” Liv suggested. “I could go with Ravi.”

It made Major feel better to know Liv would be there if something went wrong … although if something went wrong, it was just as likely to be because Liv was there, so he really wasn’t that relieved after all.

Clive put his concerns into words. “If they decide you’re infiltrators, not true believers, they won’t play nice.”

Liv looked at Ravi. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Yeah. Uh, clearly. Very,” he said, trying to talk himself into it as he went.

“We can come up with another way. You don’t have to,” Liv told him.

“No. No, I—I’ll be fine. I’m the poster boy for zombie truthers, aren’t I?”

“You could tell them a thing or two,” Major agreed.

Liv rolled her eyes. “Please don’t. They already know—or guess—more than enough.”

“No, this is a purely information gathering mission.” Ravi nodded. “Yeah. More than ready.”

Major, Liv, and Clive looked at each other. There really wasn’t anything else to do, after all. Peyton was too well known to bring her in, and they didn’t know a lot of other humans they could trust. “I’ll take care of him,” Liv said confidently.

Of course she would—but who would take care of her? Major couldn’t help but worry.

Chapter 114: Changed Direction

It was a fine wake. The whole crew was in good spirits—figuratively and literally, given how much alcohol had been consumed. Major tried to keep his own consumption limited, not just because he now lacked the zombie resistance to the stuff, but because he didn’t want to find himself drunkenly shouting out anything a room full of intoxicated zombie mercenaries didn’t need to hear. Like how he had himself a fresh, tasty human brain right in the middle of them. None of them would think of eating Major’s brain, especially when he was still using it, while sober, but blitzed out of their minds? He wouldn’t put it past them.

Vivian Stoll had been a good woman, and a good leader. She would be missed. And Fortasen had been a hell of a guy. Major was going to miss him a lot. He was only the soldier he was because of Fortasen’s training. But here they were all together, the zombies of Fillmore Graves, and they were going to be okay.

Or so he thought as they all linked arms and drunkenly shouted out the lyrics to the traditional “Finnegan’s Wake”.

They were really into it, leaping up and down, singing at the top of their lungs, when the record scratched suddenly and the music stopped. With a last few lame whoops, so did the singing, as they all recognized the uniformed figure in the middle of all of them in their civvies. There was no humor in the face of their new leader. It was drawn, and sad, as though he was really grieving the deaths of Stoll and Fortasen.

He let the silence go on for a long time, while he looked at them, his eyes meeting those of each soldier in turn. Major fought to hold his gaze, knowing as he did that if Chase Graves knew who—what—he was, he wouldn’t be here any longer.

At last, Chase Graves spoke. “Discovery Day is coming.” He let that sentence hang in the air as he walked between them. “Or haven’t you heard?” Softly, but still completely audible in the total silence that had fallen, he finished, “What’s it going to take to wake you zombies up?”

No one responded. They were awake, all right, and they were listening.

“There are six dead already,” Chase Graves continued. “Six of our own! You’ve gotten soft. And lazy.” He looked at several of the guys in turn. Everyone knew he wasn’t wrong. Stoll had believed she was on top of things, that she could handle the threat. She had been proven wrong in the most violent way. They should all have taken a lesson from that. “We’re supposed to be protecting the zombies that came out of the basement of Max Rager,” Graves went on. “Why aren’t we?”

It took a moment for Major to realize that wasn’t a general question, it was a specific question about tonight’s guard rotation, many of whom were here right now.

Next to him, a particularly brave soldier said, “Carey Gold gave us the night off for the wake.”

Chase Graves walked up to that brave, and possibly foolish, man. The two of them might well have been the shortest men in the room, but Chase Graves had everyone’s attention, without having to raise his voice in the slightest. “From now on, you need more toner for the copier, or you want to get your kid in a new elective, you see Carey Gold. Anything relating to the defense of our species, you see me. And only me.” His voice rose, the words an order, signed and sealed. “Understood?”

As one, every soldier in the room shouted, “Sir, yes, sir!”

Graves resumed his tour of the room, his leisurely inspection of each of them. “I went through Fortasen’s inventory. And I noticed he was missing six cans of SuperMax. I’m wondering if someone thought it would be fun to steal it for the party.”

In the silence that followed, a voice said, “Uh …” And Major winced as he followed the sound to where Justin stood behind the turntable. Removing his headphones, Justin said, “That was me, sir. I … I took them. I didn’t think anybody would—“

Without so much as blinking, Chase Graves drew his gun and shot Justin in the stomach. Justin reeled back against the wall, holding on to the wound. Major felt the pain of it himself, and the fear of knowing that if Chase Graves did that to him, he would be dead. Maybe he would have to come clean after all, little as he wanted to.

“Don’t do it again,” Chase Graves said, his voice emotionless. He didn’t give another glance at Justin—or at any of the rest of them to see their reaction to his punishment—as he headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “We’ve got lots to do tomorrow. Girls? Be on time.”

And then he was gone, and the rest of them were left shocked and sobered and very aware that life was about to change.

Major hurried to Justin’s side. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Nothing a brain tube can’t fix.”

“I can’t decide if you’re brave, or stupid.”

Justin managed a grin. “How about both? At least I didn’t tell him I used it for a date. He might have shot me higher up … or lower down.”

“Ouch.” Major winced at the thought, and tried not to think about who had been sharing the SuperMax with his friend. The last thing he needed right now was to be thinking about Liv.

Chapter 115: Picture Postcard Honesty

Where was it? Major got down on his knees and looked under the bed. He even swept his hand underneath the bedside table. No dice. “Ravi,” he muttered under his breath. If his roommate didn’t stop stealing his toenail clippers … Clearly, he knew what was going in Ravi’s stocking next Christmas. Maybe a dozen pairs would be enough. No, two dozen.

Grumbling to himself, he went into Ravi’s room. The clippers weren’t on Ravi’s bedside table, either. Major looked under Ravi’s bed, pushing aside a full paper bag to see if the clippers were there. They were, but Major barely noticed, too distracted by the envelopes that spilled out of the bag when he moved it. Envelopes addressed to Major Lilywhite.

“What the hell?” He grabbed one, sliding his finger under the flap and removing the single sheet of paper that was there. “Oh.” Well, now he knew why Ravi was hiding these. It was a drawing of Major, crudely done, and with damage to enough vital and sensitive places drawn in slashes of red to make it clear what the artist thought of people who kidnapped other people and left them in Max Rager’s basement. The legend “Chaos Kiler Sucks!” across the top was hardly necessary.

Major pulled the bag out from under the bed and carried it down to the kitchen, sorting through envelopes and packages, all addressed to him, all expressing the strongly negative feelings the citizens of greater Seattle had toward him.

He grabbed a couple of handfuls and carried them back up to his room, spreading them across the bed, where he could go through each of them at his leisure, wallowing in each well-deserved epithet, each crudely drawn picture, each vivid and detailed death threat. So. The Chao$ Killer lived, and had lots and lots of angry haters. Typical. Also, it appeared that many of his haters were women. Beautiful women, to judge from the photos captioned “You’ll never get to see these”. Major ignored the fact that he was, of course, seeing them now via the pictures, because the underlying message wasn’t lost on him. Human women didn’t want him, and he couldn’t get near zombie women.

His door opened suddenly and Ravi rushed into the room, wincing visibly when he saw the letters strewn across the bed.

“Heyyy,” Major greeted his roommate. “You know that stealing mail is a Federal offense, right?”

Ravi lifted a finger to indicate that Major’s assessment of the situation was slightly off. “I was hiding mail. Why are you—?”

“Opening my hate mail?” Major finished for him. “Better question: Why were you hiding it from me?”

“Because I’m kind and … empathetic.”

Major ignored that one. “And you know, I used to do all right with girls.”

“I suppose I can believe that.”

“The only girls who don’t avoid me completely these days are the ones out at Fillmore Graves. And they’re zombies, so that doesn’t do me much good. I may never be loved—or have sex—again … unless I move to some backwoods civilization that doesn’t consume news. Like Pullman.” He grinned. “Oh, sick WaSU burn.”

“WaSU?” Ravi echoed.

“Washington State? Share my cultural touchstones!” He picked up one of the letters, a personal favorite. “Ah, listen to this love letter. ‘When they make a Chaos Killer TV movie, I hope you watch it in hell with your pal Ted Bundy’.” Dropping the letter on the pile, Major sorted through, looking for another gem to read out loud.

“But you didn’t actually kill anyone,” Ravi objected. Which wasn’t entirely true, but it was mostly true.

“Yeah, joke’s on them,” Major agreed. “I’m not pals with Ted Bundy, either.” He retrieved another letter, this one written in red marker, scanning it. “Ah, this one wishes I had been blown to bits in the Max Rager explosion." And another. "This one wants my future family kidnapped so I know how it feels.”

“Enough, Major! Stop torturing yourself.”

Major ignored Ravi and opened one more. “This one says, uh,” he frowned at it, “I didn’t do it.”

“Really?”

“’I know how crazy it must be to get a letter like this from a total stranger’,” Major read. “’But I was also accused of something I didn’t do. If you ever need a sympathetic ear, I’ve got two. Shawna.’” He and Ravi looked at each other, wondering if this could possibly be on the level. But—what were the odds? Major shook his head. “Monster. She must have done whatever she was accused of.” He dropped the letter and searched for another one, while Ravi picked up Shawna’s letter and the envelope it had come in.

“Well, she included her phone number,” he said. “And this.” He took a photo out of the envelope. “She’s cute.”

Major looked up at him. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just saying—are you really in a place where you can afford to let an opportunity like this slip by?”

“What, a kidnapper groupie? How quickly we’ve gone from kindly and empathetically hiding my hate mail to trying to set me up with one of the writers. You must be so bored.”

Ravi rolled his eyes. “Right. Trying to resynthesize the cure without the tainted Utopium, looking into how we could find the missing vials and get them back, and, oh yeah, going undercover with the zombie truthers and trying to keep them from kidnapping and torturing zombies. I miss being bored.”

“Well, we could always go drown our sorrows in killing some zombies.”

“Sold. I’ll call for Mexican food?”

“You really do know the way to my heart.”

Ravi dropped Shawna’s envelope on the bed as he left the room, and Major picked it up, looking at the photo. He had to admit, she was cute. He hesitated a moment, then tucked the envelope and its contents into the drawer of his bedside table. A man never knew when he might need a sympethetic ear, after all.

Chapter 116: :Legends to Behold

Major stepped back to let Liv in, looking with some suspicion at the books and various paraphernalia piled in her arms. “This is new.”

“This is a quest. The great quest to gain knowledge and adventure with one’s fellows—and perhaps to gain a bit of treasure, as well.”

“What, now?” He looked over her head at Clive, who was following her in, looking pained.

“New case. He was a dragonmaster or something—“

“Dungeon-master,” Liv corrected.

“And now Liv wants us all to pretend to be fairies.”

“Elves!”

“Whatever,” Clive muttered.

“Wait, all of us?” Major followed them, watching as Liv cleared off the dining room table and started setting things up. She was wearing a weird witch’s hat or something, and speaking like Robin Hood.

Ravi came downstairs and groaned. “She didn’t.”

“She did. She is.” Major shook his head at his roommate. “No heads up on this madness? Not cool, man. Not cool.”

“How could I possibly have done justice to this?” Ravi gestured at the table and went to let Peyton in.

It took a remarkably long time to go through the rules of character creation, especially with Clive and Peyton both just itching to find a way to escape the whole ordeal. But finally they were ready to start.

Liv held out her hand, holding more kinds of dice than Major had known there were in the world. “You each start the campaign with this many gold pieces.” She rolled the dice and Ravi leaned forward, quickly doing the math and coming up with twenty-seven.

“I buy a small farm and retire from adventuring.” Clive took a long swallow of his beer as if hoping enough of it would get him through the night.

“We’ve been diddling around for two hours!” Major pointed out. “We haven’t actually done anything.”

“The creation of characters is an essential part of the game,” Liv informed him.

Clive rolled his eyes. “The actual point of which is?”

“Oh! To trigger a vision to help solve Dungeon Master Dan’s murder,” Ravi explained with the annoying grin of a classic teacher’s pet.

Liv smiled at him approvingly. “And who might this hirsute stranger be? Introduce yourself.”

Ravi eagerly picked up his character sheet. “I’m Moscoe Bandywax of the Mirkwood Bandywaxes,” he said, putting on a whole different British accent from his normal one. “I’m a halfling monk.”

Looking past him at Major, Liv said, “And you, good sir?”

“I am Sirjay Esquiborne, a human paladdin.”

She frowned. “I don’t remember your character earning a knighthood.”

“Oh, he’s not a knight. His first name is ‘Sirjay’.”

“Clever. I’ll be watching you,” Liv said. Ravi offered Major a fist to bump.

“And you, madam?”

Liv’s gaze turned to Peyton, who looked up from her phone, startled. “Hi. Uh … Brangelina Darksbane. Dark elf assassin.” She nodded and returned to her phone.

Last but not least, Liv turned to Clive. “And who might this stout fellow be?”

He looked at her with the pained gaze of the long-suffering. “Earl. Dwarf fighter.”

“Earl,” Liv repeated, making it sound a lot more exciting than Clive had. Then she gazed upon all of them and with surprisingly engaging storytelling, said, “Your story begins. Night falls on Astergrove, a hamlet on the frontier of the human kingdom of Ustoglovia. You’ve never seen each other before, but you find yourselves gathered in the study of Georgie Fogglebottom, last wizard east of Gloomy Glen. You regard each other uncomfortably.” When none of them reacted, she repeated it, waving her hands for emphasis. “You regard each other uncomfortably!”

They did so. Clive asked, “Anyone know if Gloomy Glen is a person or a place?”

“Either way, we should steer clear,” Ravi said, still in the fake accent.

“Silence!” Once they were all looking at Liv, she continued, “A door opens in the back of the room, and in walks a small, unarmed woman holding a teacup.” She lifted her wineglass for authenticity. “She takes a sip.” Liv did so, putting the wineglass down afterward. “Sits down, and regards the group.” Twisting her face up, and using an old woman’s voice, she said, “’This was the best I could do? Very well,” she added, ignoring the smiles the rest of them passed back and forth across the table. “’You’ll kill the lich of Castle Rumskottle.’”

“Lich, please,” Major muttered.

Liv turned to look at him, still speaking in the old woman’s voice. “’If you survive, you’ll bring me his head. Then, and only then, will you be showered with treasure befitting your efforts.’”

Major looked at Ravi. “Sounds dangerous, Moscoe. Maybe you should go outside, wait on your horse.”

Ravi looked uncomfortably across the table at Peyton and didn’t respond.

Leaning forward and putting her wineglass down, Peyton asked, “What’s a lich?”

“'Oh, a lich is a terrible creature. A member of the undead.'”

“Gross,” Major said.

“Kill it! Kill the undead creature!” Ravi cried.

“Let me get this straight. So, we can go and find Castle What’s-his-nuts, fight that thing, come back, and we’ll get rewarded by this little old lady, or we could just … tie up this little old lady and take what we want now.”

Liv glared at Peyton, but Major nodded. She had a good point.

“Georgie begins to mutter an incantation,” Liv announced. She mumbled some syllables Major didn’t quite catch. “Electricity fires from her hands and strikes Brangelina!”

“I try to dive in front of the lightning bolt. ‘Not on this day, Miss Fogglebottom!’” Ravi reached his hands across the table as if to stop the bolt, not noticing as Peyton rolled her eyes.

“The lightning bolt has already struck Brangelina and Moscoe lands on the ground in front of her looking foolish,” Liv said. She rolled some dice. “Brangelina, you take … 34 points damage.” She gave Peyton a side-eye. “How many hit points do you have?”

Peyton reached for her paper, studying it. “34. Well, I’m dead. Good luck with the lich, I bid the Fellowship of the Dorks good-night.” She gave a little salute and began to stand up from her chair.

Ravi pointed at her across the table. “I begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“I move toward the light,” Peyton insisted.

“Moscoe won’t give up. He keeps performing chest compressions, keeps engulfing her mouth with his, breathing his life force into hers.” Ravi pounded the table with his fist. “’Live! Live, damn ya!’”

Peyton looked at Ravi with frustration, and glanced beseechingly at Liv.

“Brangelina’s eyes flutter open,” Liv whispered dramatically.

Rolling her eyes, Peyton sank back into her seat, while Ravi looked insufferably pleased with himself.

“’So,’” Liv said in her Georgie impersonation. “’What say you, Fellowship of the Dorks? Do you venture forth, and face the lich, or stay, and take your chances with me?’”

They ventured forth. As the campaign went on, Major surprised himself by finding it surprisingly fun. Ravi had been into it from the start, and Peyton did as little as she possibly could. Clive, on the other hand, started off scoffing at the whole thing, but little by little he was drawn in.

At last they were nearing the end of their quest, exhausted, battle-worn, but determined to prevail.

Liv was standing up at the head of the table. “You enter the lich’s quarters. You hear muttering. You look up, and you see the lich perched on a giant wooden chandelier. A fireball comes hurtling down at you.” She rolled the dice.

“Not good,” Clive said, studying the board intently.

“Everyone takes 38 points damage.”

“I’m dead,” Peyton announced, knocking her avatar over on the board.

“I bind her wounds! I begin to—“

Liv unceremoniously knocked Ravi’s piece over as well. “You’re dead, too, halfling.” She looked at Major. “Your turn. What do you do?”

“I swing with my longsword.”

“At what?” Liv asked, resuming her seat. “The lich is ten feet above you.”

“Well, throw something!” Ravi cried out. “Isn’t there a stone somewhere, don’t you have a dagger?”

“The dwarf!” Major pointed across the table at Clive.

“Say what?”

“I throw the dwarf up to the chandelier! I’ve got 18 strength.”

“Does the dwarf allow himself to be thrown?” Liv looked at Clive, who studied the board, considering the question.

“Yeah, fine,” he decided.

“Sirjay throws Earl up to the chandelier.” She rolled a die. “He sticks the landing. Earl, what do you do?”

Visibly relieved, Clive announced, “I cleave this undead hellspawn in twain with my Axe of the Dwarven Gods.” While Major and Ravi watched tensely, he shook the die in his hand and rolled it. A 19.

“You hit. Roll for damage.”

Clive did so, rolling a 12. “Booyah!” He got out of his seat, speaking directly to the piece representing the lich. “How do you like old Earl now, you damned dirty lich?”

Major thought that might be some premature celebration. “Is it dead?” he asked Liv.

“The lich looks badly wounded.” Liv stood up and reached for the piece. “But it launches itself from the chandelier and disappears from view as it enters this antechamber.”

“We give chase!” Ravi cried out.

“You go into the chamber, but the lich is gone.”

“We search the room for secret doors,” Clive said.

Liv gasped and froze, clearly in the middle of a vision. As she let her breath out, Peyton asked, “What did you see?”

“A secret door. In Dan’s apartment!”

“Great. We’re done here.” Peyton got up from her seat, but Clive put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back down again.

“No, we’re not,” he said, staring intently at the board. “Where is the lich?!” he shouted, as if something on the board was going to answer him.

They all looked at Liv, whose eyes sparkled as she drew them on to the next part of the quest.

The game ended late in the night, with the lich satisfactorily dead and oodles of treasure in everyone’s Bags of Holding.

Chapter 117: To Get Me Through the Night

The next night, Liv called Major before her big date with Justin—they were going together to an event for DA Baracus. Justin was attending in official capacity as security, but thought he would look less conspicuous if he had a date. At least, that's what he'd said. Major assumed it was just a convenient excuse to see Liv all dressed up.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Liv said.

“You want me to call you at a certain time so you can bail if you’re not having fun?”

She smiled. “No. I need some brains.”

“Kind of fresh out of other people's, I’m afraid. And mine are tender and juicy, sure, but you can't have them.”

“I mean brain mush. Do you still have any?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do. Let me look.” He did so, finding a whole bunch of tubes lurking behind a bag of frozen peas. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Great. Can you bring one over?”

“You want to eat brain mush? I thought you were opposed to the stuff. ‘Young man, in this house we eat whole brains’,” he quoted.

“Not tonight. Tonight I would like to be Liv Moore on a date, not Dungeon Master Liv on a quest.”

“Ah. I see. I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks, Major. You’re a life saver.”

Liv let him into her apartment, taking the brain tube he held out. She was wearing a beautiful dress, dark blue and flowy. It clung to her curves nicely, without actually reveailing anything at all. Classy. “You look nice. New dress?”

“Thanks. Yes. What do you think? Too much, not enough?”

“Just right.”

She nodded her appreciation, warming the tube up in a cup of hot water. When it was ready, she squeezed the contents down her throat, grimacing as she did so. “Thanks for the brain mush.”

“That is the first time anyone has ever been thanked for that stuff.”

“I just really want to be myself for Justin tonight.”

“No problem,” Major told her. “I got a freezer full of Z-rations since I took the cure.”

“She discards the empty tube, eager to escape the clutches of the Dungeon Master’s brain, but knowing that—“ Liv dropped the empty tube in the trash. Realizing that she was still narrating what she was doing as if running a quest, she lifted her arms in supplication to the brain gods if such things existed, and looked at Major in frustration.

Before he could comment or commiserate, a knock came at the door. Liv looked at it, panicked, then started walking toward it, reminding herself as she went, “Don’t narrate; just be.” Then she stopped and turned to Major, holding out a handful of dice to him. “Here. Take these. Don’t let me have them back, even if I beg.”

He tucked them into his pocket, smiling a little bit as he watched her open the door to his friend. Much as he loved her, tonight he was Major the good buddy, Major who showed up with the brain tubes and took the dice and saw her off with a song in his heart.

Nevertheless, it felt weird to be standing here watching as Justin took in the first sight of her with obvious appreciation.

“The young woman melts as her suitor makes sound indicating that her dress is a success,” Liv murmured breathlessly.

“All right, I should get goin’,” Major said. They had officially moved past weird and into awkward, and he needed to leave before they got to creepy. “That video game’s not going to play itself.”

“I’m sorry you’re not helping out with security,” Justin said as Major went past him through the door.

“Baracus is already down in the polls. He doesn’t want the Chaos Killer at his fundraiser.”

Liv smiled at him. “More shrimp for me.”

Major considered stopping to banter with her about her unholy love of shrimp, but he had already overstayed any normal 'ex-boyfriend at the date’s arrival' time, so he nodded at her and took his leave.

The night was beautiful … but he had nothing to do with it, nowhere to go in it, and no one to share it with. Sighing, he got in his car and drove home, where the house was empty with Ravi at work. Just another reminder that everyone he knew had a life—except him.

He collapsed on the couch, intending to get to the next level of … some game or other, but he couldn’t be bothered to turn on the system. Or to find the controller. Instead he flicked on the TV, idly flipping through channels. When he found himself beginning to watch a Love Boat rerun he clicked it back off. Love was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight. Sighing again, he managed to lever himself off the couch.

Up in his room, he found himself staring at the letter. The desperate letter from the serial killer groupie. Was he really stooping to this? As he picked up the phone and began typing in the number, he accepted that apparently he was.

Shawna said she would be right over.

Major got ready—fresh shirt, deodorant, the works—while still half sure he was going to text her back and tell her not to come any minute now.

But before he could make up his mind to do so, the doorbell was ringing and he was walking down the stairs and opening the door to—a surprisingly good-looking and normal-seeming woman. “Shawna.”

“Major.”

“The Chaos Killer in the flesh. Come on in.” Only after he had said it did he realize what a bad idea it was for a defenseless woman to enter a serial killer’s house. But by that time she was inside, and there was no turning back.

Chapter 118: A Little More Action, Please

There wasn’t a ton of talking after Shawna arrived, which was fine with Major. It had been a long time, and after the frustration of knowing he couldn’t be with Liv, sex with a total stranger seemed like a fine way to go.

And Shawna was good at it. Enthusiastic, responsive … it was some of the best sex he’d had in a long time.

They took a nap, scrounged for snacks in the kitchen, and went for another round. Somewhere in there they found time to talk enough to determine that they both had the next couple of days free, and both thought the best way to spend those days was in bed. Together.

The morning found them starting the day off right. So right that Major almost didn’t hear his phone buzzing. At last he decided whoever it was didn’t seem like they were going to stop calling, so he snaked an arm out from under the covers to grab it.

Shawna pouted at him. “Don’t answer it!”

Major frowned at the phone. Ravi. Ravi really would just keep calling and calling. “It’s my roommate. Again. Calling to remind me to set the DVR.”

“No,” Shawna said, nibbling on his ear.

But she didn’t know Ravi like Major did. He swiped to answer the call and put the phone to his ear. “World’s Deadliest Plants, NatGeo, tomorrow. Got you covered, bro!”

“Not why I’m calling. Listen. My parents got a wild hair, decided to renew their wedding vows. My dad just called, surprised me with a plane ticket to London.”

Major was kind of listening. Sort of. But Shawna was licking his neck, breathing in his ear, tugging his earlobe with her teeth, and it was hard to concentrate on anything but that. “That’s so fricking good,” he said, but he meant what Shawna was doing, not whatever it was that Ravi had said.

“O-kay. So, I’ll be back in a few days. Can you get word to Liv?”

Something about talking to Liv. Right. Major could do that. “Totes magotes! Bye, now!” He turned off the phone, dropped it on the nightstand, and returned to the previous more interesting activities, to Shawna’s vocal pleasure.

When that round ended, Major could no longer deny the call of nature. “I’m starving. For food,” he clarified. “But I don’t want to get out of bed.”

“Me, neither.” Shawna pouted again, which made Major want to kiss her, which halted the conversation for a few minutes. Then she looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve just had the best idea.”

“What’s that? Mm. I approve,” he said, as she shifted her hips beneath him.

“No, not that. I mean, that’s a good idea, but this one’s better.”

“What could be better?”

“If we want food, but we don’t want to get out of bed, what if we moved the bed … downstairs?”

“You mean, like, on the couch?”

“No, I mean like a fort.”

“A sex fort!” Major was delighted. “I’m down with that.”

So they carted pillows and blankets and sheets downstairs, making a fort out of the entire living room, and Major ordered a pizza, bringing the box inside the fort with them. They dug in with gusto. Major could feel energy moving back through his body.

“This fort of ours is giving me all the feels,” Shawna said between bites. “When I was a kid I went to this camp. Once a summer, they’d take us half a mile into the woods, and we’d rough it for a night.”

“We did that at Camp Skookum, too!”

“Shut the front door! Camp Skookum? You went there, too?”

“For five years in a row.”

“Good old Camp Skookum. Did you know that ‘skookum’ is Chinook for ‘good and solid’; but also a ‘yeti-like monster with clawed foot’?”

Major nodded. “Um, who didn’t know that? Remember the camp song?”

“’Course! Do you?”

She was challenging him, and she was going to lose. Major took a deep breath and dug back into his memory. “’Let’s slather on the sunblock/ and use the bug spray, too/ always have your epi-pen if that pertains to you!’”

Shawna laughed, grabbing her phone. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Okay, fine.” He wasn’t sure he loved having this on camera, but, really, what could it hurt? He mugged a little for the video as he went on, “’Don’t share your brush with anyone/ there’s lice for heaven’s sake/ and poison ivy in the woods and leeches in the lake/ Hey!’”

“Something that adorable had to be documented,” Shawna said, tapping on her phone.

“Post that and die.”

“Too late. It’s already on my Tumblr. Oh, my God, look at those comments. All your old football teammates think you’re pretty cute, too.” She held the phone away from him.

Major leaned over her. “Gimme the phone, or suffer the consequences.”

“Do your worst.”

“Okay. But you’re not going to like it.” He positioned himself on top of her and kissed her. By the time her hands wound around his neck, no phone in either one of them, he had forgotten all about it and the video. And the pizza, but that would be great cold later.

Another day went by, and another night. Shawna was delightful. And voracious. And inventive. And Major hadn’t had this much fun since … before Meat Cute. Possibly before the boat party.

They finally got around to a shower the second morning, since they’d both begun to take on a bit of a sex and takeout odor. It was a long shower, which used all the hot water. But at least they both smelled better afterward.

Major took a while longer shaving, promising to be smooth as a baby’s butt, as Shawna went downstairs. When he followed her, he found Liv standing in the hall, and the juxtaposition of the two of them there together rocked him back a bit. “Hey, Liv,” he said weakly.

She seemed equally weirded out, which he was glad of. “Hey. I just came by to pick up Ravi’s supply closet key.”

“Yeah, yeah. I think it’s, um …” He scanned the cabinet nearby, where Ravi usually dropped all his stuff. “Right here.” Fishing the key out of the pile, he held it out to Liv.

Liv took the key, looked over at Fort Lust, seemed to find something very disturbing about it, and backed away slowly. “Well, I know some rats that won’t feed themselves. You kids have fun.”

And she was gone.

“Who was that?” Shawna asked. “And what did she say about rats?”

“Oh, just … someone who works for my roommate.” He felt vaguely disloyal about it, but he imagined describing Liv as his ex-fiance might spoil the mood a bit. “And the rats … the office pets.”

“Pet rats?”

“Some people, right?”

“Yeah.”

But the moment was awkward, and so Major jumped in to try to save it. “Who’s up for a smoothie? I make a great smoothie.”

“Smoothies give a person lots of energy, right?” Shawna lifted an eyebrow.

“So much energy.”

“Then let’s get to it. So we can get back to other things. Fort Lust’s looking pretty empty.”

Major grinned. “And we can’t have that.”

Chapter 119: I'm Lost and I'm Found

Major arrived at Fillmore Graves to find out that his unit was being called out. Nowadays, he couldn’t help feeling a chill every time that happened. Someday they were going to call him up and ask him to go someplace a human couldn’t go—or he was going to have to decide whether it was better to be shot or stabbed and potentially killed, or unemployed again. Given that there was nothing much else in his life other than work, dying had seemed like a reasonable option so far.

But that was before Shawna. Three days of nonstop sex really had a way of turning a guy’s outlook around, and he was whistling jauntily as he got dressed in the locker room, drawing catcalls and comments from the rest of his unit.

Let them laugh. None of them had a hot woman texting them all the things she wanted to do to their bodies when they were off work.

“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked Justin in the truck on the way over.

“Zombie truthers, I think. They’re livestreaming some zombie they captured—we’re going in to stop it.”

They pulled up outside, taking formation. The glass of the door was shattered, as if someone had broken in. Friends of the captured zombie, maybe? Before Major could speculate further, two men, clearly truthers from their armament, burst out the door. They stopped short when they were faced with the bright lights of the trucks and the flashlights, blinking in confusion. For a moment, he thought they would surrender.

Chase Graves spoke loudly and firmly. “Put your weapons down and your hands up. This is your only warning.”

The two men looked at each other, nodded, and made a break for it. They didn’t get far.

Major hated to see it—he would have preferred to find a less lethal way to handle things, personally. But that wasn’t Chase Graves’ way, and Chase Graves was the boss, so he shot at the men right along with the rest of his unit.

“Lilywhite! Dennison! Collins! Inside!” Chase Graves called out. “Deal with whatever you find there.”

So they went in, shouting loudly, wanting to make sure their approach wasn’t a surprise. It looked like there had been fighting, and somehow Major wasn’t too surprised to find a very familiar face looking up at him as he shone his light into a caged area in the back of the building. “Liv?”

“It’s been a hell of a day,” she told him. From the looks of things, she meant it. In the cage with her were Ravi, Blaine, and Don E, who was digging heartily into the brain of one of the truthers. “You mind telling your friends to quit pointing those guns at me?”

He lowered his own, smiling at her, glad to see her in one piece. “Men, stand down! They’re with us.”

Collins and Dennison looked at Liv and Blaine, and the blood smeared around Don E’s mouth, and nodded crisply.

As he was checking the basement, he caught sight of his roommate, and remembered suddenly that Ravi was supposed to be in London. Meaning to get to the bottom of that particular confusion, he hurried after Ravi, calling his name.

Ravi looked stressed, and not just because of the bloody wound on his head. “There you are. Have you seen the girl?”

“Just Liv. Who are you looking for?”

“Rachel.”

Major frowned. “Your zombie truther friend?”

“She escaped first, but I can’t find her.”

There hadn’t been any sign of her—Major’s unit had secured the perimeter, making sure that no civilians were around to take away zombie knowledge they didn’t need to have. If they’d found Rachel, she’d have been held for questioning, and Major would have heard it on the radio by now. “Sorry, man.”

Ravi sighed unhappily.

Major gestured to the wound on his head. “You should go get that checked out.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Then you should go home, get some rest.” Guiltily he remembered Fort Lust, which he hadn’t even begun to clean up. It probably smelled like a combination of a brothel, a zoo, and a pizza place at the house. “It’s kind of a mess, but I’ll clean up after my shift.”

“Right. Yeah.” Ravi was looking around, distracted, and Major didn’t think he’d heard a word.

“If anyone sees any sign of her, I’ll let you know,” he told his roommate, and moved past him into the basement, looking for anything they could use against the truthers, and confiscating whatever weaponry he found.

Later that night he let himself into the house. It was very quiet; he suspected Ravi was asleep. No point in cleaning up now, might just wake him up, Major decided. He went into the kitchen for some sustenance, and was just rinsing his dishes when he heard Ravi come downstairs.

He met his roommate at the bottom of the stairs with a beer.

Ravi looked at him in confusion, clearly not quite awake yet, and then looked across into the living room at Fort Lust in all its glory. “What you got going on there?”

It looked a bit less glorious now than it had when a naked beautiful woman had been stretched out in it, Major conceded. “That’s a sex fort,” he said baldly, not bothering to explain further. He handed Ravi the beer. “So … how was your London trip?”

Ravi rolled his eyes. “Witty. Harley made me call you with that excuse so no one would wonder why I didn’t show up for work.” He sank down into a seat at the table and jerked a thumb toward Fort Lust. “No, really, what, you had a slumber party?”

“Mm, more of a staycation. Remember Shawna? The girl who wrote me that sweet letter?”

“The big Chaos Killer fan girl? You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did.” Major grinned. “Several times.” Ravi made a face, and Major grinned wider. “It’s not just sex, though. No, I mean, it’s mostly sex, but she has a lot of … other qualities, and I … I cannot wait to experience whatever those are, as well.”

“I’m sure propriety and modesty are high on that list.”

Major nodded. “All right, Carson. Just worry about Lady Mary.” The bowl in the middle of the table was empty of snacks, and he was just getting up to get some more when the doorbell rang.

He expected it to be Liv, but instead it was Ravi’s truther friend, Rachel. Major could hear them talking as they made their way toward the kitchen. He filled the snack bowl, grabbed some dip, and went out to join them. “Hey!” he said cheerily. “You must be Rachel. I’m—“

She was staring at him. If there was any doubt whether he needed the introduction, it was dashed when she turned to Ravi in shock. “Your roommate is the Chaos Killer.”

Ravi, playing it cool like always, looked at Major like “what, him? Nah!”

But Rachel was having none of it. “I need to get out of here.” And she was gone. Ravi tried to chase after her, but she wasn’t waiting for any explanations.

“Chaos kidnapper, if you must know,” Major muttered under his breath.

Ravi glared at him. “Thanks a lot.”

“Sorry, dude. I didn’t think you were in the clinches after the night you just had.”

“Probably not. Still …”

“Yeah, I didn’t think about how hard it must be for you to bring home girls when you live with such a notorious monster.” Major sighed. Definitely time to do some healing sexting with Shawna.

Chapter 120: Never Get Enough

While Ravi sulked the sulk of righteous indignation, Major discovered that Shawna was up for in-person sexting … and more. It cramped his style a little not to have the house to themselves, and he thought he could hear the annoyed huffs as his roommate started clearing up Fort Lust even a floor away, but he managed to perform to mutual satisfaction despite the challenges. The sign of a true master, he thought happily, lying in bed taking a breather while Shawna rummaged in the kitchen for a snack.

She came back with a pint of ice cream. “Met your roommate downstairs. He ravished me with his eyes.”

Given that she was eating Ravi’s ice cream, Major thought she might be off a bit on her interpretation of what his roommate’s eyes had been saying.

“I’m going to need you to kick his ass.”

With her half-naked body back in close proximity to his Major had returned to thinking with his testosterone. He could totally take Ravi. “Can do.”

“I’m really excited that you’re taking me dancing,” Shawna said, leaning in close while she ate a spoonful of ice cream.

Major was the first to acknowledge that he’d been a little sex-fogged, but he was pretty sure he would have remembered that agreement. “Who said I was taking you dancing?”

“I did. Just now. I’m meeting my friends at Club Brush with Death for Disco Nigh; I want you to come.”

It was a sweet offer. And he kind of longed for a normal life where going clubbing was still on the table … but he couldn’t forget Rachel’s reaction to seeing him here in his own home last night. “Yeah … I’m not so into going out these days, in public. Like, ever. I mentioned how Ravi’s lady friend ran away at the sight of me, right?”

“Only five or six times.” Shawna put the ice cream away and moved to embrace him. “Who cares what she thinks?”

“It’s not so much her as the three and a half million other people in the greater Seattle metro area, who feel roughly the same way about me.” He put his hands on her hips as she settled on top of him.

“Do they get to dictate how you live your life?” She leaned down toward him. “I’m not getting off until you say yes.”

Since this particular position was rather delightful, it wasn’t much of a threat. “Aw, I don’t think you understand how ultimatums work.”

Shawna laughed. “Okay, smartass. You’re not getting off until you say yes.” She began to rock back and forth.

Major was pretty sure she wouldn’t go through with the threat, but … well, maybe she was right. Maybe he should stop living in fear. He knew what he had and hadn’t done, and who cared what the greater Seattle metropolitan area thought they knew? He laced his fingers together with Shawna’s and nodded. “All right. I’ll give it a shot.” She laughed again, triumphant in her victory, and Major added, “Now, I believe we had a deal?”

“Hold that thought,” she whispered, stroking his chest and his abs, but stopping just short of things getting more interesting. “I need to immortalize this moment.” She leaned over and grabbed her phone.

“A selfie stick?” Major asked in disbelief as she lengthened the stick and curled up next to him. He grimaced. “I knew you were too good to be true. What else are you hiding?”

“A lady never tells.” Shawna gave him a secretive smile and set her head next to his, looking up at the phone. Major dutifully smiled, but he had to admit he’d been a lot happier ten seconds ago before the phone appeared.

He wasn’t overly unhappy to say goodbye to her the next morning, and he was afraid his responses to her excited texts about dancing were a little tepid. He liked Shawna … but he wondered if maybe she was a bit much. Could a guy get tired of meaningless sex? He was pretty sure he had read in the manual that this was the dream, and he was living it, and yet it seemed a little less perfect than it had over the weekend.

“Your little friend go home?” Ravi asked snidely when he came into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

“She has.”

“Only to return again tonight so the two of you can ruin my sleep with your endless yowling?”

“Jealous?” Major snapped, and immediately felt guilty. “Sorry. Sorry, I thought we were being quiet. We’ll keep it down.”

“You might. I’m less convinced you have that much control over your groupie.”

“Ravi.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were being held prisoner by the truthers,” Major told him, hoping that was the real source of his roommate’s irritation.

Ravi sighed. “No, that’s all right. I didn’t try to send you a coded message or anything. I probably should have. I was operating on pure adrenaline by that point. I’m amazed I was able to put together a coherent sentence.” He opened the dishwasher and put a few things in before looking up at Major again. “I’m glad you found someone. Really, I am. But …”

“But what?” Major was genuinely interested.

“Be careful.”

“Of course! Always.”

“I don’t just mean condoms.”

“What could go wrong? It’s just sex. I mean, a lot of sex, yeah, but she’s clearly over eighteen, and—“

“And you know literally nothing else about her. She could be married, or undercover as some kind of truther spy.”

“Shawna?” Major considered that briefly. “Nah. Besides, those guys don’t look smart enough for that.”

“They may not be … but someone else might. Just … think about it, all right?”

“I promise to observe the utmost caution. Heck, if I just keep her naked all the time, she can’t hide anything.” Major grinned, but Ravi didn’t return his levity.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered darkly, and stalked out of the room.

Watching him go, Major shook his head. Ravi clearly needed to get laid. Maybe Shawna had a friend who was a British medical examiner groupie.

Chapter 121: Just What You're Doin'

Major’s squad was ordered to investigate the family cabin of Harley Johns, zombie truther. They separated into teams of two—he drew Justin—and closed in carefully, a bit at a time. None of them knew what had happened to Harley after Don E had been freed, or how many more truthers were out there. It would be to everyone’s benefit to take as many alive as they could, so no one wanted to spook anyone who might be in residence.

It looked like a bit of a bust, though. The cabin seemed deserted. Not only was no one there now, in Major’s estimation, but he didn’t think anyone had been there in a long time.

Still, making that decision was above his paygrade, so he and Justin took shelter behind a large moss-covered pile of rocks, as ordered. Major hit his comm button. “Lilywhite and Bell, in position.”

Chase Graves had taken position at a high point in the surrounding rocks where he could see the cabin and keep an eye on as many of their men as possible. His voice came through the comm. “Hold tight.”

“Copy.”

Before any further orders came through, there was a buzzing sound. Major and Justin looked at each other—it was both of their phones at once. They reached for them. Against protocol, but nothing was happening in the cabin. It would be easy enough to put the phones away and pick up the guns if something moved. “Text from Liv,” Major said, reading his.

Justin frowned at his phone. “Same.”

Major read the text aloud. “Harley knew his truck was bugged. He wants you to know about the cabin.” Damn it. That was why the place looked deserted. No one came here, because this wasn’t the place.

Justin voiced what they were both thinking. “It’s a trap.”

Hitting his comm button again, Major said clearly and with urgency, “Sir, our intel is faulty. Repeat, intel is compromised. Over.”

“What makes you say that?” Chase Graves responded.

“I just received a text from Liv Moore. She said Harley knew about the bug in his truck.” There was silence while Major waited for Graves’ response. Would he take Liv’s word, or would he yell at Major for looking at his phone during an operation and taking intel from civilians?

Then Graves’ voice crackled through the comms. “All units fall back. Confirm receipt.”

“Early, Boyd, confirmed.”

“Clark, Falwell, confirmed.”

Major hit his comm again. “Lilywhite, Bell, confirmed.”

More silence. Then Graves’ voice again. “Finnegan, Coombs, acknowledge. Do not press forward. Fall back. Finnegan, Coombs, acknowledge!” he repeated, his voice more urgent this time.

Justin and Major cautiously began to fall back from their position behind the rocks. They hadn’t gotten very far when there was an explosion nearby. They hit the deck while debris rained down on them. When the dust settled, Major looked in front of him and saw a severed foot lying on the ground. For Finnegan and Coombs, the message had come too late. It could have been any one of them—or all of them, if Liv hadn’t found out the truth in time to warn them.

He looked at Justin, both of them feeling sick. And angry. These truthers had taken two more good men from them. How many more before they were all caught? How many more could they afford to lose?

Major was still reeling from what had happened at the cabin by the time he got home. To his surprise, he found Liv there waiting for him. She came to him as he walked in and he was glad to put his arms around her and just hold on. “If you hadn’t texted when you did—“

“I know. Justin texted me about Finnegan and Coombs. I’m meeting him at my place in half an hour.”

“Good. He can use the support.” Major was already thinking about seeing what Shawna was up to. Mindless sex felt like the right kind of cure for this particular moment.

Liv drew back and looked up at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. And that’s why I’m here. I need to show you something.” She led him to a table and set up his laptop on it.

“What am I looking at here?”

“Shawna’s Tumblr page.” The top of the page didn’t look like much, just a picture of Shawna. But Liv added, “Scroll down.”

So he did. And there he was, shirtless, in Fort Lust. And more. Every picture she’d ever taken. “Oh, my god. The hell? I’m all over it. Those are texts we sent each other.” Texts he had definitely not meant for public consumption.

“Yeah. Can’t unsee some of those,” Liv said.

And there was the video of him singing the Camp Skookum song and eating pizza. Did the world need to see that? “Videos she took of me, all these pictures!” Why would she do this? Major asked himself. Without telling him about it, without even asking if he minded? In fact, he was pretty sure he had objected out loud to having his picture put on the internet at least once, although he’d spent his time with Shawna in such a haze of lust he doubted he’d been too forceful.

“I’m sorry.” Liv sounded genuinely unhappy for him. “I thought you should know. Oh, I almost forgot,” she added, and stuck a piece of gum she’d been chewing over the laptop camera.

“Gross! There’s literally a trash can right next to you!”

“They’re always watching,” she told him. “And I don’t want you to freak out, but I think that Shawna’s—“

“Crazy?”

“A zombie hunter, trained by the CDC. Getting close to you is Step 1 of a nine-step plan. Step 2—“

Major really didn’t need the conspiracy theories. Today was bad enough without them. “I’m going to stick with she’s crazy, and … she’s using me for some kind of weird notoriety.” Which hurt more than he would have expected it to.

To her credit, Liv let the conspiracy theory go. “I’m so sorry, Major.”

He supposed he should be grateful to her current paranoid brain for checking up on Shawna … but he kind of wished she’d waited a little longer. Now he was sick and angry over the loss of his squadmates and angry and sick about Shawna’s betrayal, and his mindless sex option for working through either or both was long gone.

Chapter 122: Words for You Are Lies

While his righteous indignation at being used was still at its strongest power, Major debated whether to text Shawna to break their date—and to break up—or if he should wait until she arrived. She was expecting to go dancing. Maybe it would have been kinder to tell her before she came over. But he had been brought up to believe that bad news was best given in person … and he wanted to see her face when he told her he knew about the website, about the way she had used him. So he waited.

As he did so, he cleaned up the remains of Fort Lust, thinking what an idiot he had been to trust someone who had written a sympathetic letter to a serial killer. Of course she had only been out for what she could get from him. What had he expected, some kind of soul connection, understanding? No, he was honest enough to admit that really all he had been looking for was exactly what he had gotten: the chance to drown his sorrows in hours of athletic, mind-numbing sex. He should be grateful to Shawna for providing that, and he should be man enough to accept that whatever else had come from the experience was his own fault for not being more cautious.

He met her at the door, standing firmly in the doorway. Shawna looked him up and down and frowned. “What’s goin’ on? Why aren’t you dressed? You okay?”

“Not really.” He took a deep breath and decided just to get straight on with it. “Saw your Tumblr page.”

“Okay.” Shawna didn’t seem to see why he should be upset.

Which only upset him more, really. “I—I get that exploiting other people for their fame is a thing, but couldn’t you have at least asked me first?”

She followed him into the living room, not missing the half-finished clean-up of the reminder of their great weekend of mindless sex. “Whoa! Who was exploiting you?”

Major stared at her. How could she not get what she had done? “You posted stuff that was private, that was just between us.”

“I’m trying to help you, Major! You’re basically a hermit because all anyone sees when they look at you is the Chaos Killer.” She came toward him as she spoke, her hands coming to rest on his chest in an intimate manner that she apparently expected was still appropriate. “I’m showing them the real Major—the one who is sweet, and smart, and funny, and charming, and, okay, pretty easy on the eyes.” She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. “Don’t you think it’s time someone told that story?”

He supposed he understood that, but he couldn’t understand how she thought it was okay not to ask him, not to talk to him about what she planned to do, not to give him a choice. If only she had given him a chance to explain how he felt, what he wanted. “I don’t want to be any story. Right? I just want to go back to when nobody knew who I was.”

Shawna looked at him with pity written on her face. “Oh, baby, that ship has sailed.” She stroked his arms and shoulders. “Look, if the posts bother you that much, I’ll take them down. Okay?”

Major stood frozen, not sure what to think. If he took her at her word, if he believed her explanation, she had still done this without asking, or thinking about what he wanted—and she was way more emotionally invested in this than he was. And if he didn’t believe her, then she was deeply embedded in her crazy, and that was not a place he needed to go.

She couldn’t read his thoughts any more than he could hers, though, and she went on, “Can we call that the end of our first fight? Maybe hold a peace treaty signing ceremony in Fort Us?” She caressed his chest, preparatory to stepping in for a kiss, and Major knew he couldn’t let this go any further. It was tempting to stay with it, to keep using her for sex in order to take his mind off of how crappy everything else was—but that was what it would be, using her. And he used to be better than that. He needed to be better than that again.

“I’m sorry, Shawna,” he said softly. “I can’t see you anymore.”

Staring at him in open-mouthed surprise, she asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

She took a moment to make sure she understood, and then, to her credit, accepted it. “Fine.” Taking her hands off him, she turned away, with a final, and fair, parting shot. “Good luck finding a time machine.”

When she left, he stood in the middle of what had seemed like a good idea at the time and now felt like only childish self-indulgence, and wished with all his heart for a time machine. If zombies existed, surely so could other staples of science fiction, right? To turn back the clock, all the way back to the boat party, to tell Liv not to go, to spend that night with her on the couch, watching movies and making love, and then to marry her the way it always should have been. A normal life.

But there was no such thing. Time continued forward, and forward, and forward, and he had to go with it, even if he didn’t see any future that appealed to him. This was the life he had, the life he was stuck with. And if the last bit of comfort had just walked out the door—if a probably manipulative psycho was the only comfort he had left—then he would just have to live with that.

Leaving the mess he had made of the living room behind, he climbed the stairs and got into bed, under the covers, staring at the wall in the dark, wishing for oblivion.

Chapter 123: If We Changed It Back Again

The mood in the locker room was somber, suiting Major’s downcast spirits perfectly. Everyone was thinking of the men they had lost, trying not to look at the little shrine that had been set up in their memory and yet unable to look at anything else. Except Major, who was more than capable of not looking at anything or anyone. He had reached a depth of unhappiness that left little room in his mind for anything else.

He slowly started to unbutton his shirt in preparation for changing into his uniform, although he was increasingly uncertain what the point was. He was going to be found out as human any day now. Why prolong the agony? Why not just tell all these guys he was a human and walk out with his tail between his legs? Like anyone would notice he was gone anyway.

Stoll broke the silence, marching in and announcing loudly, “Outside in ten, gentlemen. We’re running D-Day simulations. We know what’s out there—let’s make sure we’re ready for it.” He turned around, looking at each of them. “And get your butts to a polling place when we’re done. We’ll need one of our own running this city when all hell breaks loose.”

‘One of our own.’ Major couldn’t help but wish he still was, that he still fit in somewhere. It was hard to remember now why he had chosen to die rather than become a zombie in the first place, why he had wanted so badly to be human. What was out there for Major Lilywhite, useless human?

As Major reached into his locker room for his uniform top, every movement weighted down with the futility of his entire life, Stoll turned away from him, unzipping his jacket. “And if you happen to pass by Pike Place on your way home, make sure you grab one of these.”

Laughter echoed through the room. Major looked at Stoll, wondering what was so funny—and when his fellow soldier turned around, he saw that it was him. It was a T-shirt of the picture Shawna had taken of him naked, with the caption “KILLER ABS.” Great. Wasn’t that just what he needed. He forced a smile, but didn’t think it convincingly covered how humiliated he felt. Looking at Justin, who was also smiling, he read pity on his face. So. He had made a big mistake, he had wallowed in sex in order to escape his misery, and he would be paying for it. For a long time.

He wondered if any of his fellow soldiers could be convinced to snack on his brain, just to rid him of the need to spend any more time thinking with it.

Major finished his shift and forced himself to accept the good-natured ribbing of the rest of the team, little as he wanted to. Then he dutifully went to vote, and did, indeed, cast his vote for Baracus. After all, Major had kidnapped the man, it seemed only fair that he made up for it by making him the mayor of Seattle.

He returned to Fillmore Graves later that night for the traditional wake. As he pulled up in front of the building, the radio station he was listening to had turned its evening discussion to—what else—Major Lilywhite, Chao$ Killer. Because of course they had. Because all he had wanted was to disappear, so now Shawna was making sure everyone who hadn’t already heard of him did so, and in the most tawdry fashion.

“How is he walking around a free man?” “Isn’t there a law against profiting from your own crimes?” “If I ever see him walking around, I’m going to show him a little chaos.”

Shaking his head, he got out of the car, thinking of the old adage, “Be careful what you wish for.” He had wished to be anonymous, and now he never would be again.

The wake helped. Being surrounded by his squadmates, drinking a lot, looking back on their fallen with sadness but also honesty about their many flaws … There had been too many wakes, to be sure, but the familiarity of the event, the camaraderie in the room, lifted Major’s spirits. He wasn’t alone. If something happened to him, the rest of Fillmore Graves would come together and sing “Finnegan’s Wake” for him, and that meant something. It meant he was part of something.

Even Chase Graves was there. He hadn’t joined in the dancing, but he was singing along with everyone else. He understood how much they needed this reminder of who they were and what they stood for—and that they stood together, no matter what.

Major stepped out for the second verse, feeling unself-conscious as he lip-synced to the song. These were his people; they understood him. As much as you could understand someone who was keeping a big secret from you, granted, but his restored humanity was only a small detail, and in the effervescence of the moment it seemed insignificant. Even the T-shirt Zack had worn earlier seemed like a gesture of affection, something to laugh at and let go.

And, after all, wasn’t that what a wake was about? Learning to laugh at your losses, to accept them and show your love for the departed, knowing that tomorrow life would go on?

Tomorrow, life would go on. He would still be Major Lilywhite, Chao$ Killer—Chao$ Kidnapper—reviled by much of Seattle, but he would also still have this. These men. Peyton. Ravi. Liv. It was enough to give him a reason to move forward.

Chapter 124: All Good Things Must End

When Chase Graves called any given soldier to his office, it was nerve-wracking. But only Major and Justin knew exactly how much more fraught with peril any interview with the boss could be for Major; anything out of the ordinary that happened at Fillmore Graves was a chance for him to be outed as a human and lose the last of what made his life worth living.

As he pushed open the glass doors of Graves’ office, Major tried not to think about it. He was convinced Graves could smell weakness, and that was an odor Major couldn’t afford to give off. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked, keeping his voice deliberately casual.

“Major.” Graves didn’t look up from the computer monitor in front of him, waving Major at the chair on the other side of the desk. “Sit. Join me for lunch.” There was a faint smile on Graves’ face as he popped open a box on his desk. A box full of brain tubes. Disgusting as those things had looked when he was a zombie, they were downright revolting now that he was human again.

But he took the tube Graves tossed onto the desk in front of him because he couldn’t afford not to.

“Mm. You haven’t lived until you’ve had these gourmet brain tubes made especially for the top brass.” The faint smile had moved up to Graves’ eyes, as though there was a joke he was privy to that Major wasn’t.

With an effort, Major brought the tube to his mouth and choked down a swallow. It tasted like death. Like decay and rot and slime. But he swallowed, because he had to, and even managed to nod as though it tasted okay.

“See? Now you know. We eat the same nasty brain sludge as everyone else.”

That was the joke? Apparently that was the joke. Major forced a laugh. “Well, I never doubted it, sir. Just not hungry,” he added, putting the unfinished brain tube on the desk.

“Hm.” They stared at each other across the desk. Then Graves motioned to the monitor in front of him, which was facing away from Major so he couldn't see what was on the screen. “The internet, huh? Weird to think there was a time people didn’t post all the details of their lives for everyone to see.”

“Yes, sir. I remember it. Vaguely.” Major’s pulse was racing. This had to be about Shawna. Damn it.

The next words confirmed it. “You take this shameless local girl, for instance. ‘Sex Tent: A Haiku.’”

Major winced.

But Graves wasn’t done. He read the whole poem. “’We built a sex tent/ We did it in the sex tent/ Then we did it some more.’” He waved his hand as though trying to find words that would adequately express his thoughts. “Not even a proper haiku, is it?”

He turned the monitor toward Major. Yep. There it was. The picture of him in bed with Shawna, the texts between them, posted without his permission. “Sir, I ended that.”

“Wise—but not the point. From Shawna’s ramblings it seems you had an intimate relationship with a human, and she did not turn into a zombie. So. Either you discovered a revolutionary form of prophylaxis … or you’re human.”

In the silence that followed, Major considered trying to bluff, but there was no chance that would be successful. He let his gaze fall, confirming his superior’s suspicions.

“Anyone else here know this?”

“No one, sir.” He wasn’t about to drag Justin into this. For once, his problems were going to remain his problems. “Look, I just wanted to serve.”

“What you want doesn’t matter! What matters is that you put zombies at risk every time you went out in the field. That’s not something I can allow to continue. You’re no longer an employee of Fillmore Graves, effective immediately.”

It was what Major had expected, but the emptiness that filled him at the words was deeper and more hollow than he had imagined it could be. He leaned forward. “Sir, I am sorry. I … Put me at a desk. I’ll mop the floor. It’s just … this is my family.”

For a moment, it looked like Graves was actually considering alternatives. But then he stood up and held out his hand. “Thank you for your service.”

If it had been Vivian Stoll, Major might have thought he had a chance if he continued to argue. But Chase Graves was a marble statue, and you couldn’t argue with marble. He shook Graves’ hand and left the office.

He was fortunate security wasn’t frog-marching him out of the building, Major reflected as he opened his locker and began gathering his things. It was a sign of respect, and he appreciated it, even if he would have preferred to be respected by being allowed to keep his job.

Leaving the room, he took a brief final look around. No point in lingering, really. This part of his life was over. So many parts of his life had ended over the course of the last few years, he thought he really ought to be used to it by now—and he really, really wasn’t.

In the hallway, he saw several members of his team coming back from exercises. They fell silent as they saw him, stopping in the middle of the hall in front of him.

Stoll looked down his nose, warily. “So, is it true?” He came closer. “You’re human?”

“Yeah.” Major wasn’t going to be intimidated. Yesterday—hell, an hour ago—these had been his friends. “I’m sorry.”

“What’d I always say?” A glimmer of a smile came into Stoll’s eyes. “Major Lilywhite is a bad man.” As Stoll reached to clasp Major’s hand, the others murmured their agreement.

“The stuff you did and you’re not even bullet-proof?”

“Sucks, man,” Justin said. “You might be human, but you’re one of the good ones.”

“We’re not gonna let you go quietly, man,” Stoll told him. “You’re gonna get a proper send-off. Squad house, Friday, farewell bash for the ages: You in?”

“I’m in!” Hell, yeah, he was. He was filled with gratitude and relief as they all surrounded him, laughing.

Chapter 125: To Make Me Feel Alive

Major brought his stuff home from Fillmore Graves and dropped it on the bed. He should unpack it, he thought. He should really unpack it and put it all away before the pile of bags started mocking him and it became utterly impossible to deal with it. Half-heartedly, he opened a bag and started pulling stuff out, dropping it on the bed.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Zack Stoll with party plans? Justin commiserating with him over his lost job? Chase Graves to tell him to sign the confidentiality papers that were sitting in his email? Did he really want to know?

Instead, to his complete surprise and delight, it was Natalie. “What’s new pussycat?” her text read.

Major stared at it for a moment. “No way,” he whispered. Of all the people, she was the last one he would have expected to hear from—and, it occurred to him, the one he most wanted to. Quickly he texted back, “Where the hell have you been?”

“Everywhere. Here’s where I am now.” She followed the text with a photo: Natalie under the space needle, wearing a broad smile … and a “Killer Abs” T-shirt. For the first time, Major thought that stupid shirt looked cute. He was laughing as she texted again: “Meet for a drink?”

“Abso-frickin-lutely!”

It took him only a few moments to put on his coat and hurry downstairs, happier than he’d been in—it felt like months. Maybe could have been years, the way his life had been going recently. He opened the door—

And she was standing there, on his porch. “Come on,” she said, grinning. “Like I’d be seen at the Space Needle with the Chaos Killer.”

He remembered that if he had never been the Chao$ Killer, he never would have met her, and suddenly that part of his life didn’t seem so bad, either. “Come on in. Get you a coffee?”

“Please.”

Natalie followed him through the house as he went to the kitchen and got the coffee started.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told her. “I was worried about you.”

“I was worried about you, too. I thought—well, I figured you’d land on your feet. You always seem to.” She frowned slightly, studying him. “And … you’re human?”

“Yeah. I had to take the cure. The rest of the doses were lost, though, stolen from the morgue.”

“You mean, your ex-fiance …”

“Is still a zombie.” He didn’t tell her Liv was a zombie because Major had given the last dose to Natalie, but she seemed to understand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Liv has Ravi, he’ll find a way to make more cure eventually. You needed to be able to get out of there. You did, right? You’re safe?”

“I’m safe.”

“You look it. You look great.” He felt nervous, suddenly, and focused on the coffee again. “Cream?”

“Black.”

“My kind of girl.” He handed her a cup and led her to the living room.

“I’m going to need an explanation of this, though.” Natalie gestured at the T-shirt.

“I’m an idiot?”

“Major.”

“Fine.” He sighed, settling down on the couch. “It’s been a … long few months. I had to become human, and I had to hide it from all my squad, because if they found out I’d be out of a job—which they did, and I am, but that’s another story. This woman, Shawna, wrote to me. I get—I mean, the Chaos Killer gets a lot of mail, and hers was one of the few that didn’t want me to die horribly. So …”

“You called her.”

“I was looking for something … fun. Something that wasn’t doom and gloom and dead things all the time.”

“I get that.”

Major smiled, gratefully. He was glad she did. “And she came over and we had sex—a lot of sex.”

“So I gathered.” Natalie pointed at the shirt again.

Blushing, Major took a sip of his coffee. “Anyway, she turned out to be a psycho. She put my picture and videos of me and texts between us all up on her Tumblr, and when I broke up with her, she did that.” He gestured at the shirt. “I guess she wanted her fifteen minutes. And the fan mail has tripled, so, lucky me?”

“So, some fame-hungry floozy reminds all of Seattle why they hate you, and then the zombie army outfit that’s like your only family throws you out because the floozy outed you as a human?”

Put that way, it kind of sucked. Actually, it sucked any way you put it. “Pretty much covers it.”

“That’s terrible.” She studied him, her sympathy and her outrage for him warming him all through. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well, lately, I’ve been really into … lying on the couch, and looking up, sometimes sideways … But enough about me. What about you?”

Natalie smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and Major loved seeing her look so happy and content and confident. “Well, since you liberated me and gave me the cure, I’ve done what I said I was going to do. Traveled the world, looking for a perfect place to call home, and I found it. Italy. Amalfi Coast. I rented a place in Positano. Six-month lease—as long as a tourist visa allows.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“I may have been a working girl, but I was no dummy. I saved.”

“Like Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places.”

“Hm?”

He pointed at the TV. “It was on cable.” Natalie giggled. “I watched it on the couch.”

“I just came back to move the stuff from my house into storage, and … of course, to thank you for what you did for me.” They were silent for a moment, looking at each other, Major thinking that she represented the few good things he had accomplished since … since the boat party. Natalie smiled again, pointing at his face on her chest. “And then I saw this shirt, and—well. Anyway.”

“Here you are.”

“Here I am.”

He wondered where this went from here. She was special to him, had been since the moment he met her, but she was also a former prostitute who had been forced to trade her body for brains—Major wouldn’t feel right putting the moves on her, wouldn’t want her to get the idea that somehow she owed him because he had given her the cure. No, if this was to become anything non-platonic, that would have to come from her. “Hey,” he said, “if you need help moving stuff tomorrow, I mean, my schedule is …” He pretended to think. “Wide open? Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.”

Major thought he could never get enough of seeing Natalie smile.

Picking up her coffee cup, she drained the last of it. “Well, I’m hoping to get an early start tomorrow, so I better get home and keep packing. You’re serious about the moving?”

“Totally.”

“Well, you know the address. 8:30?”

“I’ll bring the coffee.”

“It’s a date. A deal.” They stood there looking at each other, Major wanting to kiss her but holding himself back, and Natalie seeming not entirely sure where she wanted to take this, before she said a hasty good-bye and left. Major closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, smiling.

Chapter 126: We're Not Alone

Major remembered Natalie’s house, but he had forgotten how much stuff she had. Most of it was going into storage—and what she would have done about moving it without him, he had no idea. It took them all day, and he was worn out by the time they were finished. Natalie looked around at the empty house. All that was left was a couple of bags of trash and a pizza box from their hasty dinner. “You know … I didn’t leave myself anywhere to sleep.” She glanced at him sideways. “Any chance I can crash on your couch?”

His heartrate sped up, but he tried to stay calm. “I think that can be arranged.” He almost made a joke about Fort Lust, but decided against it for myriad reasons.

Natalie followed him in her car, parking behind him on the street.

After sitting in the car for a while, Major’s muscles had rested enough to not want to start moving again, and he groaned a bit, playfully, as they climbed the steps and he unlocked the door. “How can one person have that much stuff?” he asked her. “Ah, now I see why you tracked me down.” He dropped his jacket and keys on a chair and got to his knees, stretching out across the carpet. “Free manual labor.”

“Curses, he’s on to my plan,” she said. Getting to her knees next to him, she added, “You poor fragile thing. Tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere!”

She made a little sound in the back of her throat that made Major wonder if this was going where he hoped it was going—and glad that he had flopped down on his stomach, so he wouldn’t be tempted to start something before she made it clear what she wanted. “Here, definitely,” he said, pointing at a spot on the small of his back that did actually hurt.

He felt her hands, gentle and delicate, on his sides, her thumbs digging into the spot. It felt good. It felt incredible, really.

“Here.” He pointed at a spot higher up on his back, and her hands moved higher, making little circles on his back. Light circles, a touch that felt like it was going somewhere other than working the knots out of his back after a day of moving. He couldn’t take it any longer, and he rolled over. Natalie didn’t move, and her hands followed him, resting lightly on his chest. He put one of his hands over hers, briefly, and she didn’t flinch, or pull away, or speak, so he pointed at a spot on his shoulder. She leaned over him, a faint smile on her face, and he no longer had any doubt about what she wanted. He pointed at his lips. “Here.”

“Okay. Hey.” Her smile widened. “You stole this whole bit from Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Yeah. Saw it on the couch. Good movie.” The last two words were lost in the first touch of her lips, the kiss slow and soft—and a long time coming. His hand slid up the back of her neck, cradling it gently as he rolled them over. He looked down at her, wanting to be perfectly sure they both knew what was happening. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“I know it. You don’t have to, either.”

Major shook his head. “I need to do this. I need you. I have, ever since I met you.”

Natalie smiled. “Then kiss me again.”

He did, slowly at first and then eagerly. But here, on the living room carpet—it didn’t feel right. Memories of Fort Lust were too strong here. Breaking the kiss, he stood up, reaching down a hand for her. “Come upstairs?”

“My pleasure.”

In his room, he stripped off his shirt and sent it sailing across the room and turned to her, grasping the hem of her shirt and tugging it off over her head. Bare skin to bare skin, he held her, kissing her again, moving his mouth to her ear and the side of her jaw as he deftly unsnapped her bra and slipped the straps off her shoulders. Between them, his hands found her breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs stroking the nipples to hardness.

Natalie’s hands clutched at him, the nails digging into his skin, as he let his mouth follow the path of his hands, walking her back bit by bit until her knees hit the side of the bed. Her fingers slid down his back and across his stomach to the snap of her jeans. Hastily they removed the last of each other’s clothes and got into the bed, kissing again and again as their hands explored and their bodies moved together. She cried out when they were joined, her head back, her legs wrapped around his waist, and Major lost himself in the sight of her pleasure.

When the storm had passed, he rolled over and lay on his back, panting.

Next to him, Natalie was panting as well. “Wow,” she said at last. “I didn’t fake that one.” She laughed a little. “That’s the first time in years.”

If anyone had asked him before tonight, Major would have imagined he’d be nervous making love to a former prostitute, someone who had been with enough men to know what was good and what wasn’t, and that his ego would be flattered if she didn’t have to fake her climax … but he hadn’t felt like that. He had been making love to Natalie, someone he had admired and dreamed of, someone he liked and respected, and he was just happy he could make her happy. Next time he might be nervous, next time when there was time to think instead of feel, but he wasn’t going to worry about that now.

He turned his head, grinning at her. “Well, I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

Natalie smiled back at him. “Whew!” And then, unexpectedly, she said, “Why don’t you come with me?”

It took him a moment to be sure what she was saying.

She turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand, and spelled it out for him. “Come away to Positano.”

“Right.”

“Why not? You were just telling me about your life here and how people treat you. What’s keeping you here?”

His first thought was amazement, that she was serious. His second thought, inevitably, was Liv. She was what was keeping him here. But she had her own life, and they could never be together again, not the way they were before, not even with a cure, and Natalie … Natalie was special. Vibrant. Captivating. He turned on his side to face her, making the decision in a moment. “When’s our flight?”

She laughed and smacked him lightly in the chest. “I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, so am I.” The more he thought of it, the more excited he was by the idea. “You’re right. I just need to pack. My old squad’s throwing me a send-off, I gotta go to that, but then … why not?”

Her face lit with happiness, and he leaned in to kiss her, to seal the deal. A new life, a new love, a chance to decide anew who Major Lilywhite was and wanted to be … He couldn’t wait.

Chapter 127: The Time of My Life

The party was in full swing when Major and Natalie arrived. He couldn’t get over what a difference a day had made. When this party had been proposed, he had expected to slink in, ashamed of being human and of having nowhere else to go with Fillmore Graves no longer part of his life. Instead, he was walking in at the peak of happiness—accompanied by a beautiful woman, and days away from running away with her to a whole new life in an amazing place by a much warmer sea than Seattle could boast.

He was able to smile whole-heartedly when Stoll pushed his way through the crowd toward him, shouting “Man of the hour!” Stoll grabbed him by the arm and dragged him through the house, as all their fellow soldiers raised their glasses to Major and cheered him. He just barely managed to hang on to Natalie’s hand in the process, bringing her along with him.

In the center of the living room they came to a stop. When the “Hey!”s had cleared and he thought anyone might be able to hear him, Major raised his voice and called out, “Everyone, this is Natalie. Natalie … everyone.” She raised her hand and waved, and they cheered her, too, calling out her name.

Stoll gave him an envious look. “Must be nice to be free, son.” He reached out and shook Natalie’s hand.

Justin had made his way through the crowd to Major’s side, and Major caught his eye. “Hey, uh, so is Liv here yet?”

“Just texted—crime stuff. She’s going to be late.”

Major vividly remembered what that was like. He wondered what kind of brain Liv was on at the moment, but let the thought pass away as someone called out invitingly “Drinks? Drinks?” He raised his hand. “Yes, please!”

It was a great party. Natalie seemed to be enjoying herself, and for a minute Major felt a pang, thinking about what life could have been like here, working with these people, Natalie at his side. But Natalie would be at his side, anyway, and they could go and explore Italy and she could take pictures and he could give some real thought to who Major Lilywhite wanted to be for the rest of his life. It was more than enough.

A couple of hours or so in, Stoll climbed up on a table, raising his beer. “Everyone! Everyone, can I have your attention?” Major and all the others turned to look at him. Stoll met Major’s eyes across the room. “Everyone, if I may—a toast. To Major Lilywhite.”

Natalie pressed in close and Major put his arm around her, trying not to think about how much this was like going to his own funeral … except that he was alive, and everyone else here was dead, much as it felt like the other way around.

Stoll went on, “A good man; a good friend. Too pretty … too human … too tan, alas, yes. But I say, let us not judge a man by the color of his skin but by the content of his character.” He lifted the red Solo cup high over his head and cried out, “To Major!”

Everybody whooped and raised their cups in return. Major lifted his, only to have it practically knocked out of his hand by someone bumping into his back. As the precious beer spilled out onto the floor, he turned around, protesting, “I have a beverage here! All right. I’m gonna miss you guys, too.” Stoll had climbed down and come toward him, and Major hugged him. It was hard to remember back to the early days at Fillmore Graves when Stoll had seemed so professional, so unapproachable, and Major had despaired whether he could ever catch up to the others, ever fit in. Now here he was, leaving them, but one of them. One of them always.

“I mean it,” he added, stepping back from Stoll and looking around. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

Justin smiled at him. “We got you, man.” He leaned in close, saying quietly in Major’s ear, “Listen, can we talk?” The smile had faded from his face.

“’Kay.” Major looked at him with concern. He shared a glance with Natalie, making sure she knew where he would be, and followed Justin through the party and out onto the porch in the cool, peaceful Seattle night. It had begun to snow lightly, so they grabbed their coats on the way out.

Justin stopped on the sidewalk, looking up into the sky, watching the snow come down.

“What’s up?” Major asked.

“I hate to pull you out of there. It’s Liv.” Turning to look at Major, he went on, “She was supposed to be here a couple of hours ago, now I can’t get a hold of her. Is this a thing she does, or—“

Major hated to tell his friend that it sounded like whatever brain she was on was stronger than she was; without knowing what kind of brain it was, he didn’t even want to begin to speculate. He shrugged, instead, and said brightly, “Sometimes she gets caught up in her work. I’m sure something just came up.” But he didn’t believe it, and he didn’t sound like he believed it, and from Justin’s face, he didn’t believe it, either. Major was sorry to see it—he liked Justin, and he loved Liv, and he would have felt good leaving them together knowing they could take care of each other.

“I just wish she’d tell me what she was up to, you know?”

“I know. But it’s important to her; it gives her purpose. Still, it’s why we weren’t together even though we were both zombies.” They turned and started up the stairs toward the party. Major was saying, “I told Liv I didn’t want her out there, putting herself in danger—“

And then something exploded in front of them. Major felt himself flying off the steps, blown backward, and everything went black.

Chapter 128: In All This Pain

Major lay stunned on the sidewalk, looking up at the burning wreckage of what used to be a house. Debris, some of it still on fire, was raining down, mixing with the snowflakes, landing all around him. He turned his head, somewhat painfully, and saw Justin lying there, looking as shocked and bewildered as Major felt. What—what—what … The word kept repeating over and over in his head, but he couldn’t seem to get past it to the next word, to make it all make sense in his head.

He was aware of a ringing in his ears, and he closed his eyes, squeezing them tight closed, as if that would make the ringing go away. It didn’t, and he realized that what he was hearing were sirens, a lot of them, closing in on where he lay. When he opened his eyes again, he seemed to see more clearly, and he could start to think again, to realize that his squad house had just blown up, and most of his squad in it.

Not just his squad, Major thought. Natalie. Natalie had been in there. Without knowing what he was doing, he found himself on his feet, rushing up the steps toward the burning house, screaming her name over and over again. She had to have lived. She couldn’t have come this far, gone through so much and made it to the other side, only to be gone.

He became aware of hands holding him back, a voice in his ear. “She’s gone, man. And if you go in there, you’ll get killed.”

Turning, Major looked into Justin’s face, soft with sympathy. “We’re going to Italy. We’re—a new start.”

“I’m sorry.”

Focusing on Justin’s face, Major realized that if Liv had made it to the party, they would all have been inside. Liv had saved his life, saved Justin’s life, and she didn’t even know it. He heard himself make a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and Justin tugged at his arm.

“Come on, man, let’s get off this porch. We need to … We need to call someone.” Even as he was pulling Major down the steps and back to the sidewalk, Justin had his phone out and was calling Chase Graves. “You need to get to the squad house. What’s left of it. … Yeah, it … it’s gone. Exploded. … I don’t know how many.” Justin looked around at the scattered survivors starting to come together in a huddle in front of the house. “Most.” His voice broke. “Most of the squad. Just—get here.” Ending the call, he looked down at a splintered board at his feet. “He’s on his way. He says not to talk to anyone until he gets here.”

That wasn’t going to be hard. Major wasn’t sure he could string two sentences together. Staring up at the house, he whispered to himself, “We’re going to Italy.”

But they weren’t. They weren’t going to Italy because Natalie—Natalie was gone. Judging from the body parts strewn across the steps, Natalie had literally ceased to exist.

He stood there, trying to make it all make sense, until he became aware of an authoritative voice barking orders. Chase Graves. It was a relief to have him here; the man was a machine. He’d get things done. Members of other squads who hadn’t been at the party were there, too, pushing back against the police who had gathered and who were starting to ask questions of the survivors. Major was was aware that the fire was out, that the firemen were soaking the roofs of the nearby homes to extinguish any sparks that could cause trouble, that others were rolling up their hoses.

Gathering his scattered wits together, Major approached Chase Graves. “What can I do?”

“Lilywhite. Go home.”

“No, sir. These were—these were my brothers.”

“Who were here to give you a big send-off.”

Major was rocked back by the implication. “Sir,” he whispered. This wasn’t his fault. This couldn’t be his fault. But Chase Graves was looking at him like it was.

“Sir, that’s not fair,” Justin protested.

“The party wasn’t for Major?”

“This one was,” Justin admitted, “but there have been plenty that weren’t.”

“You’re saying this could have happened at any time.” Graves turned and looked up at the ruins. “You think this was a deliberate attack?”

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see anything. We came out to … get some air, and then—“ Justin gestured around them.

“I see.” Graves lifted his chin as if something he saw in the rubble surprised him, and he walked away from them abruptly. He spoke to a couple of soldiers nearby, and they went up into the remains of the house, picking their way through carefully. After a few moments, Major heard gunshots.

“What—“ he asked, and then he and Justin looked at each other in horror, realizing what at the same time. They were putting bullets in the brains of zombies who had been blown to pieces but were still alive. “Oh, God,” Major said. He wanted to cry, to scream, to throw up, and he could do none of those things. He could only stand here and stare at the house where so many of his brothers had been just a little while ago, stare at it and wish it had never happened, stare at it and be glad Natalie was spared this final indignity, stare at it and feel completely helpless.

“Lilywhite.” Chase Graves’ voice cut through the fog surrounding him. “Go home.”

Major didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

“Bell. Does he need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so, sir. He’s just shocked.”

“Do you?”

“No, sir,” Justin answered.

“Good. Then take him home. Get him out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Major felt Justin’s hands gentle on his arms, leading him away from the scene. Home. Home where Liv was. Yes. Maybe that would be better. It could hardly be worse. He craned his neck, walking backwards to keep his eyes on the house as long as he could, as if somehow if he looked hard enough, he could see Natalie. But he knew he never would, ever again.

Chapter 129: Beyond Power of Speech

Major still felt numb by the time he and Justin pulled up in front of his house. The horror of what had just happened was beginning to sink in, but he was able to hold it off, at a manageable distance, where it felt as though it had happened to someone else. Not to him.

The lights were on in the living room, so Ravi, at least, was here, and he could hear the TV going as he climbed the steps onto the porch. Letting himself in, he found Liv in his arms almost immediately. She clung to him and he let her, but having her here, holding her, only made the night feel more surreal, like it was part of a life that belonged to someone else and somehow he was the old Major, the one who wanted nothing more than to marry Liv and help people.

“You’re alive,” Liv breathed in relief, resting her head on his shoulder.

The door closed behind him, and Liv let Major go and turned to Justin, calling his name and taking him in her arms in his turn. Major walked into the living room, hugging first Ravi and then Peyton, grateful for their familiar presence. Not everything was lost tonight, then. Just most things.

“We were so scared,” Liv said, holding on to Justin’s hands.

“I’m okay.” He glanced at Major. “We’re okay.”

It was more than Major would have been willing to say, but really, what could you say? We weren’t in the house, so we lived, while all our friends died, and we still don’t know who killed them or why? No one could help them with that. They were going to have to deal with it on their own.

Liv looked at him. “We thought you were dead.”

“Natalie’s dead,” he told her. Maybe if he said it out loud, it would feel real. “Coyne and Hurley and Zach … Most of my squad.” He was alive, that much was true—but it didn’t feel like it. “Only reason we’re alive is—“ He nearly said ‘you’, but of course, it wasn’t Liv’s fault that they had been outside talking about her. If she’d been there, they would all have been inside; they would all be dead. But Liv didn’t need to hear that, and he didn’t need to say it. “Dumb luck,” he finished, instead.

Justin didn’t seem to have gone through the same thought process Major had. He looked down at Liv and asked, “So what happened to you tonight? Where were you?”

Wherever she had been, Liv wasn’t happy about it. She hesitated, then gestured for Justin to follow her into the kitchen.

“Major,” Ravi said once they were gone. He held up his French press. “Coffee? Beer? Pizza?”

Shaking his head, Major sank onto the couch. He couldn’t imagine ever being hungry, or thirsty, again. And not for beer, or pizza, nothing that reminded him of parties. Or Natalie. Ravi poured him a cup of coffee anyway, and set it in front of him.

Justin came charging back into the room from the kitchen with Liv following him, calling his name. He stopped and looked at her, spitting the name “Chase Graves” back at her. Liv stood frozen.

The picture was very clear. Instead of being at the party, Liv was with Chase Graves. Sleeping with him, Major guessed. So instead of being there for Justin when the world went to hell, Liv was across town in another man’s bed. Their boss’s bed. He winced, the painful irony of it all piercing some of the fog surrounding him. A brain, no doubt—or at least, that’s what she would say, the excuse she would make. But he noticed she only claimed she couldn’t fight the brains when they were leading her to do things she secretly wanted to do anyway … and every time Major had seen them together, he’d noticed an undeniable interest in Chase Graves’ eyes when he looked at Liv. She’d been oblivious—but apparently she wasn’t any longer.

Justin left the house without another word, closing the door firmly behind him, and Liv stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, her bare feet and the fanciness of the dress she wore combining to make her look like someone taking a walk of shame. Her expression said she knew it.

She turned and hurried back into the kitchen, and Ravi followed her. Peyton reached out and put a hand on Major’s knee. “You going to be all right?”

He shrugged.

“I’ve got some sleeping pills back at my place. I could get you some, just for tonight. You’ll need a good night’s sleep.”

Major nodded. He supposed he would.

“Major.” Peyton moved closer, looking into his face. “You may not feel like it now, but … it’s okay that you’re still here.”

“Is it?”

She nodded, shaking his knee and smiling a little, gently, like she got it. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

Major didn’t want to think about this, not yet, not even to accept her sympathy. “Thanks for the offer. I think I will take those sleeping pills.”

“Okay.” She got up, glancing toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Don’t … do anything.”

“No.” He couldn’t have done anything if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t want to. He just wanted oblivion. “No, I won’t.”

“Okay.” Peyton leaned down, hugging him again, and then grabbed her purse and keys. She stopped in the kitchen briefly to explain what she was doing, and then she was gone, and Major was left alone with only the murmur of Ravi and Liv’s voices from the kitchen, and the memory of the explosion slowly unfolding itself over and over again in his mind.

Chapter 130: How to Live

By the next morning, Major was able to see things more clearly than he had in a very long time. Peyton had been right; the pills had allowed him the luxury of a full night’s sleep, dreamless and free of the constant image of the exploding house. He was able to cry now, weeping in the shower for all the lives lost, all the futures destroyed.

He cried again, tears of anger and frustration, as he watched the morning news coverage and checked his texts. The group chat was so small now, so few of them left, but those who were still alive were angry at what had happened. Humans. Humans killing zombies. It made Major ashamed to be one of them—ashamed of how reluctant he had been to be a zombie in the first place, and how quickly he had readjusted to not being one. What a relief it had been, how much he had looked forward to leaving the entire zombie lifestyle behind him. All of that felt so … wrong, now.

He got dressed and went back to the familiar compound, certain now of what his next action should be, of where he belonged.

As he approached Chase Graves’ office, he saw Blaine coming out of it. Blaine didn’t look happy, which only increased Major’s sense of how right it was that he should have come back here. Any day that was bad for Blaine had to be good for Major.

“Well, if it isn’t Killer Abs,” Blaine said to him as they passed in the doorway.

Major had nearly forgotten about that—it felt so long ago and so far away. He glanced at Chase Graves, who nodded at him, and then turned to Blaine. “Restroom’s just down the hall,” he said.

Blaine decided not to bother continuing his attempts at witty repartee, taking his leave.

Chase Graves regarded Major with a set, unreadable face. “Lilywhite. I don’t believe we have an appointment.”

“If you’ve just … got two minutes.” That was all he needed.

Graves sat heavily on the couch behind him, gesturing for Major to take his seat on the couch facing it. “Hell of a day,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’, Major. You don’t work here.”

Major didn’t beat around the bush. “I want back in.”

“We’ve been through this,” Graves said wearily.

“Scratch me. Make me a zombie.”

Whatever Graves had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. They looked at one another across the room for a moment, Graves studying Major’s face and Major utterly certain for the first time in what felt like years of exactly what he wanted.

“We’ve all been through a lot. We lost a lot of good men.”

“Twelve,” Major clarified. “We lost twelve.”

Graves sat forward, taking Major seriously for possibly the first time. “You need to know what becoming a zombie now means.”

“I think I do.”

“Trust me, you don’t.” Graves got to his feet, walking to the window and looking out over Seattle. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Discovery Day is on us. Those humans out there are going to be in for a big surprise, and no one knows how they’re going to react.”

Major joined him, gazing out over the familiar buildings, trying to imagine the people inside them, what they would do when they found out the horror movies had come to life. “They’re going to be terrified.”

Graves nodded. “If we’re going to survive, we might have to do a few things that can’t be undone.” He turned to face Major. “If I scratch you, you’d better be damned sure whose side you’re on.”

Faces flitted through Major’s thoughts: Liv, Ravi, Peyton—Zach. Natalie. Faces he would never see again. Something had to be done. He held out his arm and pulled up the sleeve, exposing the tender skin. “It’s not even close.”

“You have any idea what this will do to you? If memory serves, you’ve gone from human to zombie to human to zombie to human … and the last change was because you were going to die if you stayed a zombie. Are you prepared for that to happen again?”

There were no more cures, Major knew, at least, not anywhere that Ravi could get his hands on them. If this went south, if his lungs started filling up with fluid again, Ravi couldn’t save him. No one could. Well, that was a risk he was just going to have to take, because he couldn’t remain human. Not any longer. With so many men gone, Fillmore Graves needed everyone they could get, and he was going to be there for the men who were left. He was one of them; he would take this risk. “I’m prepared.”

“All right.” Graves reached out, drawing a sharp fingernail along Major’s inner arm. The red line of blood healed itself almost immediately, and Major could feel the telltale shifts inside his body—the sharpened hearing and vision, the sudden deadening of his senses of taste and smell, the dispelling of his body heat. The familiar hunger for brains.

Graves went to the minifridge behind his desk and removed a brain tube. He tossed it to Major. “Here. Report for duty on schedule this afternoon.” He hesitated, and Major wondered if he was going to bring up Liv, but apparently he thought better of it. “Welcome back, Lilywhite.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He was going to have to break this to Liv somehow, and Ravi, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to do that … but it was worth it to be back here where he belonged.

Chapter 131: We Can't Go On Together

When Major had decided the only course of action left to him after the bombing was to be turned back into a zombie, he hadn’t known that what would follow would be worse than any horror movie. The mutiny of Carey Gold, and Chase Graves killing several of the soldiers loyal to her, and then the revelation that the vaccine being used to stop an outbreak of Aleutian flu contained zombie blood, turning the city of Seattle into a home for a teeming horde of zombies, were outcomes he could never have predicted. Carey Gold, he supposed he should have—or, at least, someone high up, who could have arranged for the helicopter accident. But that she had set into motion a chain of events that could only end with Chase Graves pursuing the nuclear option, setting the zombie virus free in the world and infecting a large percentage of a major city’s population? That he couldn’t have imagined.

For the most part, he was kept out of it, his loyalty apparently somewhat in question. He could see that, having bounced from zombie to human and back again, and his closeness with Liv and Ravi. After all, it had been Liv who had broken the story, going to Johnny Frost and putting it on the air for all of Seattle to know about. He imagined she was persona non grata amongst the rest of Fillmore Graves right now.

Not that he minded being given a grunt work assignment. His task was to go to the hospitals, to find the patients already sick with Aleutian flu, people who were going to die if something wasn’t done, and to scratch them. He hesitated the first time, holding a stranger’s arm in his, fingernail hovering over the delicate skin—he’d never made a zombie, and he really didn’t want to. But this was the right thing to do, the humanitarian thing, and so he did it. And as he followed the nurse from bed to bed, as he drove across Seattle to another hospital and started it all over again, it got easier. It actually began to feel good to be saving lives, like somehow he was finally back to what, and who, he had always intended to be.

Major didn’t know what was going to happen next, not in Seattle, not to Fillmore Graves, not across the country and the world; he was glad it was above his paygrade to worry about it. His job was clearly defined, and he kept his head down and did it, keeping his phone turned off to avoid any texts he might have to answer.

The following day, he and what remained of his squad were sent out into the streets with a truckload of brain tubes wrapped up in a handy, and colorful, guide to how to be a zombie. He wondered if someone had hastily written that up last night or if it had already existed, ready to be used if necessary. Knowing Chase Graves, he suspected the latter.

It felt good to be feeding people, to be showing new zombies that it was possible to live a normal life under their current limitations.

Unfortunately, many of the remaining humans in Seattle didn’t feel the same way about zombies, or about living with them. As the soldiers were distributing the brain packets, a group of determined human citizens decided to make that point, rounding the corner armed with bats and clubs and various sharp objects. A few of them carried guns.

Justin, who had lost his good humor to a combination of the party bombing and Liv’s betrayal, had taken charge of the squad. Now, watching the humans close in, he called out, “Take cover!”

The hungry zombies scattered.

Major and the others readied their weapons.

“One round above their heads!” Justin called out. “Fire!”

They fired, but the humans didn’t stop. They didn’t even pause. Major watched them coming on in pain and sorrow. He didn’t want to have to do this, but it seemed he wasn’t being given a choice.

Justin saw it, too. Because he knew his friend well, Major could hear the quiver in his voice as he shouted, “Aim!” Then one of the humans fired off a shot, and there was no more hesitation in Justin’s voice. “Take ‘em down!”

Reluctantly, Major squeezed the trigger, and he saw the man who had taken the shot fall, a red stain spreading across the front of his shirt.

The first volley, mercifully, sent the humans running. This time. Next time, they would be expecting it. Or they would attack from cover. Or they would bring bombs. The city of Seattle, the city Major loved, where all the best things in his life had happened to him, was about to become a war zone, unsafe for zombies and humans alike.

Where had things gone so horribly wrong? Could he have stopped this? He supposed, way back when, if he had killed Vaughn du Clark, maybe something might have changed … or Fillmore Graves might have bought up Max Rager sooner, and all of this would have happened much more quickly. It was hard to know.

And in the end it didn’t matter. Seattle was a zombie city now, like it or not, and they were all going to have to learn how to live together. Major had to be part of that, and to be part of it, he had to be willing to take the shot when necessary. He would be a good soldier; he would follow orders. And he would hope that somehow it would all work out for the best.

Chapter 132: How to Cry

It took a while for things to settle in Seattle, for the humans who were planning to leave to get their things together and go, for the zombies and humans who remained to achieve a mutually hostile standoff. For most of that time, all the remaining soldiers of Fillmore Graves were on watch pretty much constantly, snatching sleep an hour or two at a time when they could. The first time Major got a chance to go home, sleep in his own bed, stand in his own shower, and actually see his roommate he was surprised he still recognized Ravi.

So it was a bit of a shock to him to see Ravi casually throw a handful of brains into the scrambled eggs he was making for breakfast.

“Dude. Something we need to talk about?”

Ravi twisted his face up. “Maybe?”

Major looked pointedly at the sauteed brains his roommate was about to eat. “Seriously? I didn’t think you were yearning to join Team Z.”

“Well, I’m not, really.”

“No one eats brains because they taste good.”

“Right. See, I made a vaccine. I didn’t have enough tainted utopium to make any more cure, but I did have enough to make an experimental dose of vaccine.”

“I take it it didn’t work.”

“No, I mean, it did … mostly.” Ravi wolfed down a mouthful of eggs and brains and sighed in satisfaction. “Except for three days out of the month, it seems.”

“You mean, you’re having a zombie period?”

“Pretty much exactly.” Putting half the mixture on a plate, he motioned to Major. “You want the rest of this?”

“What kind of brains are we talking?”

“HVAC repairman. Collected butterflies.”

Major considered. “What the hell. I have the day off, and I can always scarf down a brain tube before I head back tomorrow. Hand me them brains, son.”

They sat together over breakfast catching each other up on the events of the last couple of weeks.

“So what are you doing for your day off? Vegging on the sofa?”

Major shook his head. “I’m going to start going through Natalie’s storage unit. I figure I’m basically her executor, no point in spending her savings on the unit when …” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “When she won’t be coming back for her things.”

Ravi looked at him sympathetically. “Don’t rush yourself. These haven’t exactly been easy times for you.”

“I know. I just—I think I have to do this, to say goodbye, you know?”

“I get it. You want some company?”

“No. Thanks, though.”

Major volunteered to wash the breakfast dishes, after which he got the keys to Natalie’s storage unit and drove there, unlocking it. The boxes smelled like her. It was crazy, he knew, to imagine he could feel her presence here in this sterile white cube, but it was as close as he was ever going to get again. He opened a box and saw her Christmas ornaments, the ones that had decorated the tree the day they met, when she had intended to shoot herself. Maybe he should have let her, he thought. At least she would have gone out on her own terms, she would have been spared the nightmare of the Max Rager basement and the enforced prostitution that came afterward … but she also would never have recovered her humanity, never traveled and seen the world and planned to settle down in Italy.

Thinking of the rental in Positano that she would never see again, the lifetime of adventure that she no longer had, Major bent his head over the box of Christmas decorations and wept—for her, for himself, for Liv, for Seattle.

When the storm had passed, leaving his throat sore and aching and his heart not much better, he closed the box of ornaments again. Definitely he did not need to start there.

Her clothes were easier, all the cold weather gear and rain gear and camping supplies she had been leaving behind until she needed them again. He would take them to a thrift shop and donate them. Her furniture he would load up and donate next time he had a day off. The Christmas decorations … those he would take home and store in the basement, along with her photos. Her camera was back at his place among the other things she had left there, and he would keep that, too, as a reminder to himself to cherish every day, to remember the good times and the people who were part of them, to see the beauty in the world around him. Natalie had been good at that.

He finished up around dinnertime, loading his car with the boxes he was donating and locking the door behind him until the next time he could come back for more. At the thrift shop, he had help unloading the boxes, a young man with zombie-white hair and a hungry look that made Major think he should start carrying a cooler full of brain tubes around with him. Afterward, he drove home, taking the long way around, looking at the city—houses boarded up, store windows broken, bands of people roaming together and watching each other suspiciously. He was sorry it had come to this. Natalie wouldn’t have wanted this; neither would Stoll, he thought, tears rolling down his face.

The sharp honk of a car behind him made him realize the light was green. He gave an apologetic wave and continued on, making his way home.

The house was empty, which Major appreciated. He carried the box of Christmas ornaments downstairs to the basement and patted it gently. “I’m going to keep going,” he told Natalie, as if she was still there, as if she could hear him. “I’m going to make things better. And I’m going to miss you every day. I wish—I wish I could go back, change things, and not have left your side. Not even for a minute.”

As he climbed the stairs, he reflected that in his life, he had really loved two women—and he had lost both of them at parties. He didn’t know what the lesson was there, or if there was one, but he was pretty sure he didn’t like the irony. Didn’t like it at all.

Chapter 133: Who Cares If It's Right

A fog hung thickly over Seattle as Major pulled up to the curb in front of his house. New Seattle, he reminded himself, unhappily. Like Columbus’s New World, only a lot darker. Light spilled out the windows of the front room of the house, and he smiled briefly as he got out of the car and locked the door. If Ravi was home alone, the light would have been blue from the giant TV screen as he played a game. Bright light meant guests, and more often than not meant Liv.

Major was about 50/50 on whether he stayed out to avoid coming home to find her there or hurried home in hopes she would show. Ever since he had asked Chase Graves to scratch him and become a zombie again, and resumed his position at Fillmore Graves, he and Liv had been at odds. He hated it, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. They were on different sides of the debate—not polar opposites, but not close, either—and hadn’t found a way around it. Still, she was Liv, whether they were on the same page or not. She filled a room like no one else ever could.

He turned his key in the lock of the front door, hearing animated conversation that stopped as soon as he closed the door behind him. Not awkward. Not awkward at all.

“Major?” Ravi called.

“Just me in here,” he answered, and winced as soon as he’d said it, hoping Liv wouldn’t take it as a dig against her brain-eating habits. New Seattle was developing all new norms, and one of them was the attitudes of people who could afford to eat whole brains and take the consequences versus the attitudes of people eating brain paste out of tubes. Just what everyone needed, new social minefields. After he dropped his keys and hung up his jacket, he poked his head in the door, seeing the two of them on the couch, glasses of wine and snacks for Ravi on the low table in front of them. “Hey, Ravi. Liv.”

Her face was like stone, not just pale but cold, too. “Major.”

Ravi groaned, looking from one to the other. “I see it’s going to be one of those nights again.” Abruptly he stood up, snagging his jacket off the back of the couch. “Well, don’t let me get in the way of a good silence.”

“Where are you going?” Liv asked him, looking distressed at the idea of being alone with Major.

“Out. There must be some human bar out there where I can get drunk and piss off Americans by instructing them in the proper rules for football.”

“Be careful.” Liv and Major spoke at once, each knowing all too well the dangers that stalked the streets of New Seattle.

“I’m immune, remember?”

Liv frowned, not liking to be reminded that Ravi had used himself as a guinea pig to test the zombie vaccine—or that it had only partially worked, leaving Ravi a zombie three days a month. “You’re not immune to everything.”

“I’ll be fine, Mum.” And the door closed behind him, leaving Liv and Major alone in the house.

“I should go, too,” Liv said, standing up and smoothing her skirt nervously. It was harder to read her now—the months when she’d had to hide her zombieism had changed her, given her a better poker face, and you never could be sure what kind of brain she was on, but some of her tells were still the same as they had always been.

Major knew he should let her go. He was tired, it had been a long day, and he was in no mood to have his faults cast up in his face again. But with Ravi gone, if Liv went he would be alone, and he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for that, either. “You don’t have to go.”

Liv sighed. “If I stay, we’ll only end up fighting again.”

“No, we won’t.”

She smiled. God, she was pretty. “You’re already disagreeing with me.”

“I don’t have to. Uh … how was your day?”

“Same old. Ate some brains, had some visions. I think this brain is wearing off, finally.” She shuddered. “Telemarketer.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly. And, um, how was your day?”

He shook his head, feeling the weariness settle on him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. He could practically see her bristle. “Does that mean you spent it shooting humans again?”

“God, Liv, that was only one time!”

“Well, it was one time too many.”

“They were going to kill us. What was I supposed to do, stand there and let them?”

“You were supposed to protect them!”

“And who was going to protect us?”

“Aw, did the big old soldier boys need their mommies?”

“Does it get lonely up there on your high horse?”

She pantomimed looking down around her. “It’s got a good view.”

“You know, it must be nice to always be on the side of the angels. But the rest of us have to live here, in New Seattle, where things aren’t so easy.”

“You wouldn’t have had to live this way! You were human, Major. You’d been cured! How could you go back to this?”

“After what they did to my friends, blowing them to bits that way? How could I not?”

“’They’?” Liv demanded. “It was one guy—and he was a zombie!”

“He was a truther, turned by accident … and does it matter? There’s always going to be that one guy, and I wasn’t going to lose another person I—cared about that way.” He’d almost said “loved”, but he didn’t want to go there with Liv. She’d been remarkably cool about the whole thing with Natalie, but he didn’t feel the need to rub her nose in it.

“Fillmore Graves started all of this. How can you still be working with them?”

“They did what they had to do.”

“What, by turning thousands of people without their consent?” She was standing closer to him now, her eyes blazing up at him from her white face.

“They explained what to do, and they’re going to take steps against anyone who creates new zombies.”

“How does that work, Major? A lot of those new zombies are kids. Kids who have no impulse control, who might be out there making zombies of all their human friends without even meaning to. Are they going to take steps against kids?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, because she wasn’t wrong, and even Chase Graves himself was wrestling with these problems. Chase more than anyone, really, Major knew, since it was all his responsibility in the end. It occurred to him, as he looked down into Liv’s eyes, that if everything had continued normally between them, if she had never gone to that damned boat party, they might have been considering a family now, might even have started one. He was struck with a sense of loss, a longing for the days when everything made sense and the future seemed—understandable. “Do you ever wish none of this had happened?” he asked Liv wistfully. “That we had gotten married and our lives had gone on like we planned?”

He had expected her to agree immediately. After all, she’d spent all this time with Ravi trying to find a cure, trying to be human again. But she hesitated, and it was like a knife in the gut.

“I guess not,” he said bitterly. “Being a zombie is better than being married to me.”

Liv frowned at him, puzzled, then her eyes widened as she realized what he had said. She took his hands, holding them tightly in hers. “Oh, no, Major, not you! You were the best part of that life. But the rest of it …” She shook her head. “Don’t you remember what it was like, how busy I was all the time, how I pushed myself to do everything perfectly, how I beat myself up over every mistake? We used to fight about my not making time for myself, for us, and I lost all my friends but Peyton. And even she was frustrated with me half the time. I think we only ended up staying roommates because she worked almost as hard as I did.”

“Yeah,” Major admitted. “I remember.”

Liv nodded. “And now I have Ravi, and Clive, and my work—I help people. Not in a clinical way, behind a mask and through gloves, but out there in the world. I want to be human again, but … I wouldn’t want it to never have happened.”

“I get it, I do.” He lifted his hands to cup her face. “I just … Liv.”

Her face was turned up to him, her eyes soft, and he kissed her, lightly at first, and then harder, the sweet welcoming familiarity of her mouth and her body filling him with warmth. The kiss ended, but she stayed, her head against his shoulder. It felt so right to hold her this way, like a part of him that had been missing was back again. “Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had already been married when this happened?”

She chuckled bitterly, pulling away from him. “You mean, how much harder it would have been for me those first months, having to hide being a zombie from you while we were living together, risking losing you entirely because I couldn’t take the risk of scratching you by accident? Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

Major wanted to argue, to protest that it wouldn’t have been that way, but he realized it had been such a long time since he hadn’t known about zombies, about Liv, that he had completely forgotten what that had been like, what it must have been like for Liv to be living that way all alone. He followed her, catching her by the arm about halfway across the room. “I’m sorry. That must have been … unimaginably hard. And you had to do it alone.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “It was. I hated having to be so cold to you. I wanted to tell you, so badly, I wanted you to tell me it would be all right, but I was so afraid I would hurt you if I got close to you …” She looked away from him. “Or that you would hurt me.”

“Never,” he said immediately, pulling her against him again, holding her tight. “I would never hurt you.”

Liv chuckled against his chest, acknowledging that they had done their fair share of hurting each other over the past few years, but that didn’t change the bedrock truth beneath what he’d said. “I know,” she told him, her arms slipping around his waist. Her hands rested against the small of his back for a moment … then dipped lower and took hold of his uniform shirt, untucking it. He held his breath waiting to see what she would do, then let it out slowly as her hands found the bare skin beneath the shirt.

“Liv.”

“Shh.” She lifted her head, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again. Harder this time, deeper, slower, exploring her mouth the way her hands were exploring the muscles of his back. Then she moved around to the front, the nerves under Major’s skin jumping and quivering at her touch, and she pushed the shirt up until Major raised his arms to take it off. But that meant breaking the kiss, and as he dropped the shirt behind him their eyes met, the moment fizzling in the harsh reality. “This … probably isn’t a good idea,” Liv said reluctantly.

“It won’t solve anything,” Major agreed.

“That’s not my fault!”

“Isn’t it? Which one of us is trying to have it both ways, to keep a foot in both worlds?”

Liv’s jaw dropped. “A foot in both worlds? What about Ravi? And Peyton? They’re humans. Does that mean you can’t be around them anymore, because they don’t fit in your world?”

It hit uncomfortably close to home. Major was awkward around Peyton now. Ravi not as much, not just because he was some kind of weird hybrid now that he’d taken the vaccine, but because they lived together, and Ravi’s clinical brain always made him seem something other than zombie or human.

“Wow.” Liv shook her head. “You really have drunk the Fillmore Graves Kool-Aid, haven’t you?”

“You turned on them awfully fast for a girl who missed the party where half my squad was blown up because you were boning Chase Graves.”

“That was the brain!” Liv shouted, looking guilty despite the protest.

“Was it, Liv? How much of that ‘it was the brains’ bit is just you being weak-willed and unable to control yourself?”

She reached up to slap him, and he caught her wrist. Holding her gaze, he asked, very softly, “Is that because you’re mad—or because I’m right?”

Liv wrenched her arm out of his grasp, glaring at him before she turned away.

Major sighed, hating this. “What are we going to do about this, Liv?”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to quit Fillmore Graves.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

She whirled back around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you think your way is the only way, and you can’t seem to understand that it’s not that black and white for the rest of us. Some of us have to live in New Seattle, as zombies, trying to do our best for everyone involved. And yes, sometimes that means protecting zombies from humans. You used to understand that.”

“I know,” she admitted, her shoulders slumping. “I do know. It’s just … I can’t stand to see you like this, Major. You look so tired.” She came back to him, one hand raised to cup his cheek. Major leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“It just never ends. And it keeps getting worse.”

Liv took his hand and led him over to the couch, and then curled up next to him with her head on his shoulder as he leaned back. Automatically he put his arm around her, holding her closer.

They sat like that for a while before Liv said softly against his chest, “I’m sorry, Major.”

“I am, too. I wish … things were different.”

After another pause, she said, tentatively, “They … could be. If we wanted.”

Major opened his eyes, lifting his head to look down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well … we’re both zombies now. And … I don’t know about you, but I could use the occasional stress reliever.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Stress relief, huh? You think I’m that easy?”

Liv grinned, bending down to kiss his chest. “I am.”

“You could have mentioned that before.” He reached for her sweater, beginning to unfasten the buttons. He wasn’t really sure this was a good idea, but he wanted to it be. God, did he want it to be.

“Funny, I assumed you knew.” Liv shifted until she was straddling his lap, and by that point the decision was made. This was happening. Major surrendered himself to it completely, pulling Liv against him and kissing her with all the love and frustration and desire and longing and desperation that had been building up in him all this time.

Quite a while later, they were lying together on the couch under a blanket enjoying the afterglow when they heard Ravi’s keys in the door. He came around the corner, looking at them blearily. “You may think this is an improvement, but it really isn’t.”

Feeling Liv snuggling in just a little more, Major tightened his arms around her. “Good-night, Ravi.”

“Hmph.”

As Ravi made his stumbling way up the stairs—apparently he had really tied one on—Liv lifted her head. “Can we do this again?”

Major wanted to say yes, but … “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s better than shouting at each other all the time.”

“Marginally.” When Liv poked him in the side, Major chuckled. “Seriously, how long can we go without talking about—all the rest of it?”

“A lot longer if we’re too busy to talk.” Liv suited the action to the words, kissing his neck and shoulders.

“You make an excellent point,” he gasped. Maybe it wouldn’t last, this truce between them, but to have her here in his arms the way it always should have been, he’d willingly bite his tongue as long as he could. Or, he could let Liv bite it for him, he thought, kissing her.

Chapter 134: What It's Like to Be Me

Major couldn’t say he was particularly enjoying life in New Seattle. Most of the city, both zombie and human, looked on anyone in a Fillmore Graves uniform with suspicion, blaming them for everything that had happened. Since it was easier to point fingers at a uniformed bunch of mercenaries than try to go back to the boat party and blame it on a dead eccentric millionaire, that attitude stuck regardless of how many times Major tried to explain.

Other than the occasional bout of “at least we agree on this much” sex with Liv, his days ranged from tedious to irritating to downright awful. Patrolling the streets to make sure the increasing numbers of empty houses didn’t get looted; enforcing the incredibly unpopular midnight curfew; keeping his men from overreacting to the many people who threw things at them. All of it made him wish … well, it was useless to wish. Life in New Seattle was what it was; it couldn’t be wished away.

He was summoned to Chase Graves’ office one afternoon after a patrol the night before had been ambushed by a bunch of teenagers, an increasingly common event. Taking the seat on the other side of the desk, he waited to see what Graves wanted.

“I hear last night was eventful.”

“Goley and Chu were hit by a Molotov cocktail, but they’ll be okay in a couple weeks.”

“I hear you caught one of our human terrorist friends. What do they call themselves? Human Shield? Up with People?” There was a faint smile on Graves’ face. Nothing was funny, but Major supposed you had to keep your sense of humor or go crazy—and he’d had enough of crazy bosses.

“Dead Enders,” Major said. “We’re not sure he’s a member—I mean, the kid’s only fifteen.”

Chase Graves leaned forward. “Well, that kind of segues right into what I wanted to talk to you about.” He looked up at Major. “I noticed you have a background in youth counseling.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s a problem in this city. You must have noticed. Young zombies. They’re homeless because their parents kicked them out. Starting to roam around in packs—packs become gangs. We need productive, contributing zombies, fully integrated into the fabric of this city. You think you can give me that?”

Major nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Back to what he had always wanted to be? Helping to create, to build, rather than to patrol and punish? It was the best news he’d had in a very long time. “I can give it a shot.”

Graves smiled back at him. “Excellent.”

They had their first meeting the next day, a group of kids brought in from the streets. The kids were all slurping down brain tubes as if they hadn’t eaten in a week when Major came into the room. He stood for a moment looking at them, the scene so familiar. Here he knew what he was doing; here he was the highly trained professional. It felt good.

One of the kids was putting his half-eaten brain tube away in his bag. Another one leaned forward. “You’re not gonna eat that?”

“I’m … saving the rest.”

“Give me a bite, dude. I’m starving, and you weigh like forty pounds.”

“I’m saving it,” the first kid repeated.

The second one moved forward in his seat. “Give it to me. Or when we get out of here, I’m gonna rip off one of your arms and beat you with it.”

A third kid got out of his seat, walking quietly over to stand in front of the aggressor. “He said he’s saving it,” he said, his voice even and mild.

The aggressor stood up, going nose-to-nose with the quiet one. “And who are you? Captain Seattle?” He had about six inches on him, but the quiet kid didn’t back down. The aggressor started to laugh and a bunch of the other kids did, too, relieved by the break in the tension and the quiet.

Major decided it was time to step in. Raising his voice firmly, he called out, “You two. Sit.” They both turned to look at him, then back at each other before returning to their seats. Major took his own, waiting until both the boys were settled before continuing, looking around the room at each kid in turn. “I want to thank all of you for agreeing to come here to Fillmore Graves headquarters.”

A girl across from him was having none of it. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re all ‘volunteers’.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Major went on, “Well, you’re here for a reason. You’ve been living on the streets. Most of you were thrown out of your homes for being zombies.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” the girl said, leaning forward. “The ‘turning us into zombies’ part.”

He had no defense for that, so he let the comment go. “Look, what’s done is done. It’s time to make the best of it. All right? Our goal here is to get you off the streets; prevent the formation of zombie street gangs. The key to our survival is integration.”

“Tell that to the Dead Enders,” the aggressor pointed out.

From the back of the room, the quiet kid, “Captain Seattle”, spoke up. “Is it true that Fillmore Graves soldiers get all the brain tubes they want?”

“We get double rations.”

The girl pointed outside the room. “Did everyone see that brain vending machine in the hallway?”

All the kids leaned forward, following her pointing finger. Apparently they hadn’t.

The aggressor turned to Major. “Not really! Is there?”

Major nodded. No point in lying about it. “There is.”

“So, I’m out there every day trading sex for brain tubes to feed my little brother and sister, and you get to eat them like they’re candy bars?” the girl asked.

“You really …?”

“No,” she said, not impressed by his shock or his sympathy. “I work at coffee stands. But I do know plenty of girls who are putting out for tubes.”

“And some dudes,” the aggressor put in.

The girl pinned Major with her direct gaze. “My brother and sister really are starving. And the brain tubes they distribute barely have any brains in them anymore.”

Major looked around the room. “That the case for all of you?”

All the kids nodded.

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll see what I can do. For now, let’s … get another round of tubes in here for you to take with you.” That at least should help start building some trust, but this shortage of tubes was a real problem. One that Chase Graves wouldn’t thank him for making a stink about, but they couldn’t risk a city full of starving zombies going full Romero. Not if they wanted to avoid giving some government—particularly their own—a reason to nuke Seattle out of existence once and for all.

Chapter 135: Nothing that Anyone's Giving

At home, Major pottered around in the kitchen, digging ingredients out of the refrigerator. He didn’t really need the health benefits of a smoothie anymore, but old habits died hard … and after all, it couldn’t hurt. He felt good about today’s work with the kids. Mental muscles he hadn’t used in a long time felt pleasantly sore. But he also was disturbed by the session. The kids weren’t wrong—zombies in Seattle were going hungry, and not just because there weren’t enough tubes to go around. What was in the tubes was less and less nourishing all the time.

As he put his smoothie cup into the sink, the doorbell rang, and he answered it to find Clive and Liv waiting outside for him. “Hey, Major, can we come in? It’s—official.”

“Official?” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. What could Clive want to interrogate him about now?

“We’ve got some questions about a Fillmore Graves soldier. Not you,” Clive assured him.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I can …” He left unsaid the idea that he wasn’t going to be ratting one of his men out to the police. Fillmore Graves took care of Fillmore Graves—the bad along with the good. But he was pretty sure they understood the subtext.

At the table, Liv handed him a sketch. “Do you know this man? I saw him in a vision, wearing a Fillmore Graves uniform.”

He studied the picture. As most police composites seemed, it really could have been anyone. Major looked at Liv, struggling with whether he should help them out or not. “What are you saying he’s guilty of?”

“Uh, murder,” she said, as if that should have been obvious. He supposed it should’ve.

“Possibly,” Clive amended.

Liv went on, without acknowledging her partner’s caution. “Plus, I saw him talking to another Fillmore Graves soldier about selling brain tubes on the black market. So we know he’s doing that.”

It was what Major was afraid of; what he knew Chase Graves was afraid of. With brain tubes at such a premium, so tantalizingly available to Fillmore Graves soldiers, the temptation to sell them for the large amounts of money they were worth was strong. He studied the drawing, pretty sure he knew who it was. He’d had a suspicion anyway. But should he say so, or should he just go to Chase Graves with what Liv had told him?

Clive and Liv exchanged a glance, and Liv said, insistently, “Major!”

Okay. They were already on to the guy, and if he had killed someone, the authorities should be able to continue their investigation. He could always put a word in Chase Graves’ ear about him anyway. “His name is Russ Roach. And the black market thing makes sense. I hear he’s been going to the Scratching Post every night, throwing money around like there’s no tomorrow.”

Yeah, he would definitely mention this to his boss tomorrow. Roach was giving Fillmore Graves a bad name in so many ways, a bit of disciplinary action couldn’t hurt.

Behind him, he heard Ravi’s voice calling out their friends’ names delightedly, and he winced, knowing what they were seeing. Ravi, now a zombie three days a month, thanks to his self-inoculation, had recently eaten the brain of a nudist.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Ravi asked, lifting his teacup to his lips in a surprisingly delicate manner for a man who had all his parts on display.

Both Clive and Liv’s eyes widened in horror.

“Ravi, you’re um—“ Liv averted her gaze, and Clive finished her sentence for her. “Naked.” He seemed too horrified to look away.

“As a newborn,” Ravi confirmed, smiling gently at them.

Now Clive managed to turn away, his hand over his face. “I can’t. Mm-mm. Uh-uh. I—I can’t.”

Major nodded. “I should’ve given you guys a warning. Apparently this physicist whose brain he’s on … yeah, must have been a big-time nudist as well.” Actually, he didn’t feel too bad about not having tossed them a heads-up. If he had to suffer, they might as well, too.

“Naturist,” Ravi corrected. “I’m in harmony with nature, and I’m never going back. Anyone else like tea?”

Liv blanched and pushed her chair back, getting to her feet. “I think I’ve seen enough teabags today, thank you. Damn, son, put those things away.”

“Offended by my utterly natural body, Liv? You should try it. It’s so freeing.” Ravi swayed his hips gently from side to side, and all three of the others scrambled away from the table—and away from him.

“Thanks,” Liv called from the entryway. “I’ll pass.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Clive made a face. “Humans I can handle. Zombies I can deal with. This parts of one and parts of the other thing? It’s just weird.”

“I beg you,” Major said, “not to say parts.”

“Right. Thanks for the intel, Major.”

“I hope it helps.”

Clive headed out to the porch, breathing the cool night air—untainted by naked people for the moment, although Ravi was moving this way, and Major didn’t think the neighbors were ready for him to naturist on the porch. Liv looked up at Major. “See you later?” she asked softly. Their current arrangement was a bit controversial amongst their friends, so they tried to keep it discreet. Besides, sneaking around was more fun.

Major grinned. “Will you wear my Udub jersey?”

She considered that. “Well, it is a Seahawks feeder school.”

“Exactly.”

Liv winked at him, and he shut the door behind her contentedly. That would be the perfect ending to a pretty good day, he had to admit. Turning around, he saw Ravi heading for the couch, and grimaced. And the perfect start for tomorrow would be to take the cushions in to get cleaned.

Chapter 136: Laughing a Bit Too Loud

Major’s second session with the kids started off better. Like any teenagers, they wanted to talk about themselves—they had things to say, grievances to air. Whether they had any interest in listening to Major’s advice or not was another question, but he would start off by letting them talk and go from there.

The brain tubes had been handed out before he got there and he watched as the kids relaxed once the brains hit their systems.

“Man, I was this close to raging out,” one of the boys said. “This stuff is the bomb.”

“Yeah, hangry’s one thing, but hungry for brains? We should have a word for that.”

Everyone chuckled at that.

Captain Seattle leaned back in his chair. “The first time I raged out it freaked me out so bad. It was like my first, um, uh … nocturnal emission. I was like, what just happened?” He winked at the aggressive kid from the last meeting while everyone in the circle giggled like little kids.

Major watched, bemused. Zombie teenagers were really just like all other kinds of teenagers. It was nice to see that some things didn’t change.

The aggressive kid leaned forward. “My first time—my dad was whalin’ away on me, as usual, and then, suddenly, I’m like—AAAAAHHHH! Scared the hell out of him,” he continued, as the rest of the circle jumped and laughed. “I chased the son of a bitch around the block.”

The girl from the last time, the one with the brother and sister she was taking care of, was looking much brighter today, even wearing a headband with a pink bobble thing that stuck up into the air, a little brain on the end of it bouncing just over her forehead. “So, at my school, there’s this stuck-up bitch named Gretchen Nelson, who kinda knew I was a zombie, but I hadn’t come out yet.”

Major was trying to pay attention to what she was saying, but he was distracted watching Captain Seattle sucking on his empty brain tube, as though somehow he needed every last trace of what it contained. It looked—concerning. And he could have sworn the kid had already finished his tube. “Captain Seattle,” he said, interrupting the girl’s story, which he regretted having to do. “How many brain tubes is that for you?”

There was a pause before the kid answered. “Uh, two.”

“Dude,” said the aggressive kid. “Lie.”

“Where’d you get two?” Major asked him. “You were only supposed to get one for showing up.” Looking around the room, he could see the others awkwardly shifting in their chairs, hands moving to cover their concealed extra tubes. “Looks like everyone got extra tubes.”

“Oh, well, the lady handing them out said she had extra,” the girl told him.

The aggressive kid added, “And she made us promise not to tell, so … don’t be a dick and get her in trouble.”

The girl looked at Major, her gaze direct and challenging. “So, this is what you well-fed Fillmore Graves soldiers feel like all the time. Happy. Ready to kick ass.”

All the kids were looking at him now, waiting for his response. Major didn’t have one. It was how the well-fed Fillmore Graves soldier was supposed to feel … and he knew how hungry the rest of Seattle’s zombies were, and he couldn’t fix it sitting here. “We were talking about, uh, our first times raging out,” he said lamely, pointing to the girl to indicate she should resume the story he’d interrupted.

Behind him, the door opened. “Lilywhite.” He turned to see a fellow soldier standing there. “You know why the machines are out of tubes?”

Major glanced around the circle. None of the kids could meet his eyes. So, as he had half suspected, the “lady” handing out extra tubes was just a lie, and one of them had broken into the vending machine. He should have expected it. He turned back to his fellow soldier. “Uh-uh.”

“Ugh. Sucks, man.” The guy let himself out of the room, and Major pointed again at the girl to resume her story.

“Jordan?”

“Yeah.” She tried to pick up the dropped thread of her story, as Major got to his feet and paced around the edge of the circle. “So, Gretchen … is saying stuff like ‘You look pale, Jordan’, ‘do you need to borrow some of my makeup, Jordan?’. Uh, ‘is that a streak in your hair? It’s so punk rock’. And … I’ll be honest, I was kind of dreaming of cracking her head open.” Major stopped next to Jordan, nudging her backpack with his toe. She paused, looking up at him with an unmistakably guilty face. “But I wasn’t sure there’d be a brain inside,” she finished. No one laughed, too focused on Major leaning down to open her backpack. As he’d suspected, it was full of brain tubes, right next to the screwdriver she’d used to open the vending machine. Major looked at her, and she met his gaze unapologetically. “My family’s starving. No lie.”

Before he could respond, the door opened again and Chase Graves called out his name.

Major put the backpack down. Softly he said to Jordan, “Don’t touch that. We’ll talk.”

“How’s it coming along?” Chase Graves asked as Major approached.

“Uh … it’s a bit of a mixed bag.”

“Any standouts?”

“Standouts in what way?”

“In a ‘I’d want this zombie in a foxhole with me’ way.”

For a moment, Major thought he was joking, but Chase Graves never joked. “Ah. So, that’s what this is about.”

“In case you missed it, Major, we’re hanging on by a very thin thread. There aren’t enough trained soldiers to control this city.”

“These kids aren’t trained,” Major argued. He felt betrayed. Graves wasn’t wrong; they did have too few soldiers. But that wasn’t what this had been supposed to be about.

“Well, then, they’re going to have to learn on the job. So, who’s in a foxhole with you?”

Major didn’t want to name anyone. It was sure to be a death sentence, sending an untrained teenager into combat. But there was not going to be any getting out of this, so he looked over his shoulder, weighing the options. “Captain Seattle. Jordan. Over here!”

Confused, uncertain, wary, they both got up and came toward him.

Chase Graves frowned slightly. “You sure?”

“Not really. Sir.” Turning to the kids, he said, “Jordan Gladwell, Fisher Webb, this is Chase Graves.”

Jordan smiled. “The Big Kahuna.”

“Sir,” Captain Seattle said, as Chase Graves reached out to shake both their hands.

“I just asked Lilywhite here who he thought had the right stuff to be a soldier at Fillmore Graves. For whatever reason, he sees something in the two of you.” They both looked at him, surprised and, surprisingly, pleased. “So, until you wash out, get killed, or usurp me, you’re working for us. You’ll be in charge of keeping the peace in this experimental city. Can I count on you?”

Both of them nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be in Major’s squad. He’ll teach you everything you need to know to survive out there.” He looked at the two kids. “Don’t screw up.”

And then he was gone, leaving Major to hope to hell he hadn’t just signed both kids’ death sentences.

Chapter 137: Head First

Ever since Seattle became New Seattle, the zombie city, Major had dreaded his patrols. None of the citizens were happy to see Fillmore Graves soldiers—not even the zombies, many of whom blamed them for the city’s current predicament. Fairly, granted, but still, Major and his squad were all that stood between them and the humans who wanted them dead. He would have liked to see a bit more mutual trust.

He looked forward to today’s patrol even less than usual, as it was the first time Jordan and Captain Seattle would be suiting up. He was nervous that they weren’t ready, he was nervous they would do something stupid, he was nervous that they’d freeze up—he was terrified that they were going to get themselves killed. Or someone else.

But he hid it, because that was what a leader did. He pretended everything was okay so his squad would think everything was okay.

It helped that both kids were genuinely enthusiastic and eager to get started. Major tried to remember the last time he’d felt that level of excitement about … anything, really, and failed to come up with a time in recent memory.

He also didn’t remember having this much trouble getting all the gear on. Captain Seattle needed to be walked through every step. The kid was super nervous, anxious to get everything just right. Which was good, up until it caused him to hesitate at the wrong moment and get himself killed.

But Major couldn’t afford to think that way, because if he was too afraid for them, that would be bad, too. So he forced himself to remain calm and patient, to take everything one step at a time. Jordan was less willing to accept help, but eventually she let him walk her through all the steps and make sure all her buckles and clips were fastened.

“See? Now you got it.”

“Wow. I managed to get dressed. Watch out, human terrorists!”

Major grinned, reaching into his locker for his helmet.

“Major. When do we get rifles?” Captain Seattle asked.

The last thing he wanted was to see these kids with rifles in their hands—for their safety and everyone else’s. But he kept that thought off his face, too, as he turned to them. “Week two. As long as you make us proud this week.” They accepted that in silence, but it was clear they were either not happy or so anxious and keyed up they were about to vomit. “Look,” he said more softly, trying to calm them, “I know you’re a little nervous, and that’s natural before your first patrol.”

Jordan, of course, was having none of that. “Who’s nervous?” she demanded. “I’m tired. They got me rooming with a bitch that smells like a zoo animal. I can’t get any sleep. Plus, I’m talking to this guy. The boy is dull.” She pointed at Captain Seattle, who admittedly did not look all that scintillating at the moment. “Try talking to him. You’ll see.”

“You can run your mouth all you want,” he said to her, “as long as you don’t run when we’re out in the streets.”

She wasn’t about to take that from him, and Major wasn’t sure he liked how quick she was to step up to her fellow soldier in challenge. “You got something you want to say to me?” she demanded.

“Yeah. I just said it.” Captain Seattle turned to Major. “You heard me say it, right? That thing about don’t run?”

The soldiers around them were ignoring the back-and-forth between the two teenagers, but Major could see some covert smiles being passed between his comrades. They were all very happy he was the one babysitting and not them—and he didn’t blame them.

“Guys! No one’s running. All right? Remember that you’re stronger than the humans. You have guns. What’s the only thing that can hurt you?”

“Duh! Head shot, General,” Jordan replied, knocking her fist against her helmet. She was going to have to learn some respect for the chain of command, or things were going to go badly. She was also going to have to learn to fasten on all her equipment.

Major made both points by gently knocking the helmet off her head, letting it clatter to the floor. “Then maybe you should secure that. Rook.”

She glared at him, but she kept her mouth shut this time as she bent to retrieve her helmet. Captain Seattle started to rag her about it, but a look from Major shut him up. He wasn’t going to have as much trouble taking orders, it was clear to see, which Major was grateful for. One insubordinate subordinate was going to be more than enough.

“Let’s move out!” he called, heading for the door. He didn’t bother to look back to see if they were both following. Today they would be. How things went out there—well, that would help determine whether tomorrow would be the same story. He had chosen correctly when Chase Graves had come to group looking for recruits. Both of these kids had the makings of good soldiers. But both of them had their issues, as well, and those issues were going to have to be trained out of them. By him, a challenge that Major both looked forward to and dreaded, in about equal measure.

Chapter 138: Some Kind of Beautiful Stranger

When Major got home, pumped from patrol, which had gone unexpectedly well, Ravi looked like he’d just found a spider in his biscuit. His lip curled as Major came into the kitchen. “Her nibs is upstairs. Please keep her there.”

Major raised his eyebrows. “Bad brain?”

Ravi made a long-suffering face at him. “It’s not quite as bad as radio psychologist brain … well, I suppose that depends on who you’re talking to. But it comes close.”

“Great.” Major took the stairs more slowly than he would have otherwise, wondering where this fell on the scale compared to jealous girlfriend brain. He opened his door cautiously, to see Liv posed on his bed wearing some peach satin lingerie that definitely met with his approval. Her hair was done weirdly, all upswept and stiff, but otherwise … she seemed like Liv. “Hey. You say something to Ravi?”

“What? No. I only asked him if he minded detailing my car while I was here.”

“Detailing your car?”

“It’s absolutely filthy. Also, I may have suggested that he chauffeur me home.” She showed him a set of perfectly manicured nails. “I wouldn’t want to chip, after all.”

“No. Definitely wouldn’t want that.” So, prissy, bossy, and snobby. Major could understand Ravi’s displeasure, and he wondered how this brain had gone over with Clive. From his perspective … well, as long as she didn’t mind putting the manicure in jeopardy for a little naked fun, he thought he could live with it. “You mind if I get changed?”

She smiled, a predatory smile that Major didn’t mind at all. “Please. I like a good show.” As he started unloading his pockets and putting things away, she managed to become Liv again long enough to ask, “How did the new recruits do today?”

Major shook his head. “I wasn’t sure how they were going to handle it. They were so nervous in the locker room, and then we got out there … I mean, it was seriously scary on that street. Have I told you that humans just blast away on shotguns randomly when they see our patrols? They think it’s hilarious. So, of course, we’re all jumpy, and I’m thinkin’ ‘these kids are gonna blow it’—totally green, first day on the patrol …” He grinned, thinking about how it had been, the two of them so serious, so anxious to get it right. “But they hung tough. Kept their cool, listened …”

“Great story,” Liv interrupted as he approached the bed. She patted the spot next to her. “Now, why don’t you come over here, you dirty little soldier boy, and let Mama show you a trick I like to call ‘the Loni Anderson’.”

Loni Anderson? He vaguely remembered her. “Do I want to ask what brain you’re on right now?”

“Why don’t you just work on being the strong, silent type.”

He could handle that. Something about her—dominant, sure of herself, predatory, hungry—was working for him just fine. He joined her on the bed, surprised as she winced when his hands settled on her.

“Watch the hip.”

For a minute, he wasn’t sure how this was going to go, but then she was kissing him, with a directness and a determination that sent Major’s brain spinning. By the time they got to the Loni Anderson, he was as aroused as he could remember being in a long time, and life was good. Life was damn good.

His upbeat mood was still with him when he woke up in the morning. Liv stirred and grumbled and hid her face under the covers as he got up and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee and a little bit of fresh brain breakfast.

Ravi was reading the paper in the breakfast nook. “Pancakes?” he asked, watching Major get the ingredients out.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently snobby rich white lady brain is good for something, then,” his roommate snarked.

“You have no idea.”

“No, and I beg you not to tell me.”

“You going to want some of these?”

“Yeah, I could do with some, thanks.”

“With or without?” Major lifted the bowl of brain bits.

“Without. It’s not my time of the month.”

The things you got used to, Major mused, adding a handful of someone else’s chopped up brains to his pancake batter. Being a zombie, being a mercenary, patrolling the streets keeping horror movie monsters safe from humans, your roommate being a zombie only three days out of the month … having casual sex with a woman you would otherwise have been married to. Surprisingly, all of that was working out pretty well. He flipped his spatula in the air, cheering himself as he caught it, before pouring several rounds of batter into the pan.

The first batch was done on one side, just starting to brown on the other when he heard Liv’s voice. “Good morning!”

“Morning!” He leaned over the counter toward her. “Liv. Last night? The Loni Anderson?” She gave him a very self-satisfied look, clearly as pleased with herself as he was with her. “That was a next-level maneuver,” he whispered.

But not quietly enough, because Ravi cleared his throat and slurped his tea loudly and pointedly, without raising his eyes from the paper.

Major noticed Liv already had her things together. “Where you rushing off to?”

“I have things to do, darlin’,” she said lightly. “And I’m not in the habit of crashing this swinging bachelor pad filled with sweaty young men.”

“Seems like a habit,” Ravi snarked, eyes still firmly fixed on the newspaper.

Liv frowned at him. Major thought about that for a moment. She did stay over more and more often these days, as they blew off steam, coming together to forget the troubles involved in living in New Seattle. Did that mean they were … together? Did that mean they had settled their disagreement over the zombie-human debate?

Ravi’s voice, sing-songing “Something’s burning,” recalled Major to the moment—a moment in which his pancakes were a burnt mess. He grabbed the pan off the stove and dropped it into the sink, opening a window to let the smoke out.

“Guys! “ Ravi complained.

Meanwhile, Liv was frozen, staring off into space in unmistakable vision mode. “What’d you see?” Major asked as she gasped and came out of it.

“Were you losing your virginity to Howard Hughes?” Ravi asked.

She glared at him. “I believe I’ll be saving that information for my driver.”

“Liv. Clive isn’t your drive—“

Before Ravi could finish the sentence, Liv had pulled a miniature bottle of booze out of her purse and uncorked it. “But first I need to get in nine holes at the club.” She drained the bottle and set off down the hall, walking stiffly. Apparently the brain really was affecting her hip.

Ravi returned to his paper and his cup of tea, asking, “Does she have a country club membership?”

“I don’t think she has clubs,” Major responded. She looked damned good, though.

Once she was gone, he returned to his pancakes, although some of the fun had gone out of them without Liv to cook for.

Chapter 139: Too Much in This World

Major was still riding high on yesterday—the kids’ great first patrol, his adventures with Liv, this morning’s pancakes—as he set out on today’s patrol. The kids knew what they were doing; they’d do it again today. Yes, things in New Seattle were looking up.

It was disappointing to walk up to a scuffle in progress between citizens, but after all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. People were just learning to live together, to get along. It would take some time, and some patience.

A young man was holding an older man by the collar—likely the owner of the store they were in front of, based on the way they were both dressed. As Major and his squad approached, the older man said, “Just get out of here! The soldiers are here.”

Plastering a smile on his face, Major corrected him. “Actually, we prefer to be called the peacekeepers. How’s it goin’, fellas?” he said lightly to the younger man and a few of his friends, all of whom turned toward the squad as they came closer.

Once freed from the younger man’s hold, the shop-owner stepped up next to Major. “Very bad,” he said, answering the question. “They’re harassing my customers.” He pointed to a garish Z painted in red on the door. “Look what they did.”

“We’ll take care of the clean-up,” Major assured him. He looked at the young hooligans, remaining pleasant. He had stressed that with his squad—don’t be mad, don’t act like you’re here to punish. Just calmly, cheerfully, step in the middle of what’s happening and quiet it down. “How about you gentlemen take your business elsewhere?”

The one in front, apparently the spokesman, definitely a loud-mouth, shook his head. “Uh, no. We’re real happy right here, thanks. We love the—uh, what’s the word I’m looking for? Ambience!” He smiled at Major, clearly thinking he had the upper hand. How he did, when Major and his squad were armed and armored and, oh yeah, practically indestructible zombies, and all the humans had were their soft clothes and their even softer and more vulnerable bodies, Major couldn’t imagine.

Behind him, another loud-mouth decided to throw her weight in. “Well, I don’t know about ambience,” Jordan said, pronouncing it the way the human had, like the sleeping medication, “but you’re going to need an ambulance if you don’t get moving.”

“Aw, relax,” Major told her, hoping she would. He felt a bit less pleasant as he returned his attention to the humans, wanting them to know his smile didn’t mean he could be discounted. “These guys are smart. They know they can either leave here on foot—or in cuffs.”

“You gonna miracle those cuffs on us? You and some girl?” the human leader asked. “I mean, yeah, sure, you guys got guns—but we got guns, too.” A couple of his friends lifted their shirts to show the butts of guns tucked into their pants.

“Theirs are bigger,” the shop owner pointed out, gesturing toward several of Major’s squad, who had put their hands on their weapons and stepped closer to the group of humans. “Shoot them,” he told Major. “I’m sick of them. Every day with them. No one does anything.” The guy sounded tired more than anything else, and Major put a comforting hand on his arm, nudging him gently toward the shop.

“No, we got this. Why don’t you go inside, cool down, we’ll get it all figured out.”

The shop owner did as he was asked, to Major’s relief, contenting himself with glaring at the younger men as he went by them.

The loud-mouth leader looked around at his friends. “You know what? Let’s bounce. This place smells like spoiled meat anyway.”

The others chuckled at that, and Major, relieved to see they weren’t going to have a problem, moved past the group of them into the shop to formally take the shop-owner’s statement.

They hadn’t gotten far, unfortunately, when Captain Seattle appeared in the doorway calling for Major, who hurried out of the shop to see Jordan, helmetless, chasing down the loud-mouth human leader, who was carrying her helmet under his arm, blowing by other humans as they went. She screamed in anger and tackled the guy, straddling him and punching him in the face. She’d gotten in four good blows by the time two other members of the squad got to her and pulled her off the guy. He was rolling around on the ground, holding his wrist and shouting that she had scratched him.

Major’s heart sank. That was the last thing they needed. He got to the guy, holding him down, telling him he was going to be all right.

The human leader looked past Major at his friend. “I’m not going to be a zombie! We made a pact, so do it!”

The friend reached for the gun in his pants.

“No, don’t do that! He doesn’t mean it!” Major shouted, but the leader was calling out “Do it, do it!” The friend drew and aimed his gun, and might have pulled the trigger if Captain Seattle hadn’t pushed him back against the wall and knocked the gun out of his hand, turning him around and cuffing him exactly the way he had been taught.

“Let him go!” the leader screamed. “Let him kill me, please!”

Then Major noticed the very worst part—the third member of the human group with his phone out, filming the whole thing. He called to the guy, who took off running, with his camera, leaving Major on the ground with a human who had been scratched, a soldier who had totally lost her cool, and video evidence that this experiment had gone completely wrong. He’d like very much to be able to tell Chase Graves that he had told him so—but he was pretty sure the person getting the blame for this disaster was not going to be Chase Graves.

Chapter 140: Another True Love Going Down

To Major’s surprise, his squad didn’t get called in for any disciplinary actions or discussion. Instead, they were assigned checkpoint duty the following night. He relaxed a bit—there usually wasn’t much to do at a checkpoint other than provide an official-looking force to deter anyone from doing anything stupid. It was much easier to keep the kids in the background at a checkpoint.

His relaxed mood and relative lack of worry lasted until he was called over for a suspicious car and recognized, with a sinking heart, the morgue wagon. He was unsurprised, and unhappy, when he hunkered down next to the driver’s side window and saw two very weirded out familiar faces inside the car.

Ravi had been putting on a fake smile for the supervisor. The smile faded when he recognized his roommate. “Oh, hello, Major,” he said, without any noticeable enthusiasm. Liv’s face paled even further, if that was possible. Major didn’t even have to know her to see that she was terribly nervous. And Liv nervous was generally a bad thing.

“What’s your business?” Major asked, all seriousness. Anyone who knew him was aware that his roommate was the medical examiner and his ex-fiancee was the medical examiner’s assistant. He couldn’t afford any hint of favoritism or the faintest suggestion of anything unprofessional where the two of them were involved.

“We’re, uh …” It took Ravi a beat too long to come up with the answer, and his voice held more than a hint of uncertainty. “Picking up a body.”

“Pretty sure I’d know if there’d been a murder in this sector.” He looked past Ravi at Liv, speaking louder so she wouldn’t miss the import of his words. “The sector where it’s dangerous for zombies—particularly those who refuse to tan and dye.”

“Look, do you want to know our business?”

Major’s heart sank. Typical Liv. No subtlety, jumping right in to barreling through the obstacle. Couldn’t blame this on a brain. This was vintage Liv.

“If you want to know our business, I’ll tell you,” she went on, her voice shaking, “but ignorance, in this case, may be—”

“Major!” Captain Seattle was shining a light into the back of the wagon. As Major straightened and looked at him, the kid added, “I saw something moving back there.”

What the hell were they doing? They were going to get themselves killed, him fired—or worse—and all for some typically quixotic poorly-thought-out shenanigans.

“Should we check?” Captain Seattle was waiting for his response.

Major looked in the window again. God, they were just terrible actors, both of them, looking like deer in the headlights, staring at him expecting him to save their asses. As he remained silent, weighing the options, Liv’s eyes widened in some combination of fear and anger and disappointment. He hated that look—but he wasn’t going to turn her in. Not right now, not at a checkpoint in the middle of the night and see her hauled off in cuffs. And she knew it, which pissed him off. He stood up and looked toward the back of the wagon. “They’re clear. Let ‘em through!”

Jordan was with Captain Seattle, both of them looking in the back window now, and she stood up on her toes to see Major over the top of the car. “But—“

“Let ‘em through!” he repeated, louder, over the sound of Jordan’s protest.

Ravi drove on, and the two kids converged on Major. “There was something moving back there, Major.”

“Probably a rat. He studies them.”

“Big rat,” Jordan muttered.

“The size of dogs,” Major confirmed. She didn’t entirely buy it, but it was the best he could come up with.

He spent the rest of the shift fuming, his anger filling him until he could hardly see straight. After all her high-and-mightiness with him, after everything Seattle had gone through, she thought she could just sail through a checkpoint with god-knows-what—or who—in the back of her car and everything would be fine? And then to basely use their connection to get them out of trouble, without even trying to come up with a story … He wanted to throttle her.

When he got off shift, he drove straight to Liv’s apartment, banging on the door without a moment’s concern for her neighbors, or Peyton, or anyone else who might be asleep right now. They were having this out, right now, regardless.

She opened the door, and he started immediately, keeping his tone as measured as he could. “Liv.”

“Before you start in on me, you should know that I am in no mood,” she informed him, shaking a finger at him.

She was in no mood? That was rich. Two major mistakes in two days—Major was in no mood, either, and wasn’t about to cater to hers. He followed her into the apartment as she launched into her explanation.

“We were saving a sick child, okay? Getting him out of Seattle.”

It was functionally what he had expected, but he still felt sick. Of all the things she could have turned to. “So, human smuggling? If anyone found out I let you do that, I could spend years in a deep freeze—or worse.”

“Yeah, well, if Fillmore Graves hadn’t caused this whole zombie epidemic to begin with, then we wouldn’t be living in a walled city that required such things.”

“I may have just saved your life by risking my own,” Major pointed out, not letting her drag him into that argument again. They both knew there was no winner if they went down that road. “I know you’re not feeling very chatty, but how about a simple thank you?”

She put her arms out in a ‘well, if I have to’ gesture. “Thank you.” The words dripped sarcasm.

“God, you’re holier-than-thou.” He walked away, trying to regain some amount of self-control, then turned back to her. “You— You think you’re the only good zombie. The only zombie trying to make things right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Maybe it’s just that I remember a Major Lilywhite who would have stood by a sick child.”

The worst of it was that she wasn’t wrong. It would have been so easy for him to have come down on her side of things—if it hadn’t been for that bomb, for Natalie and Stoll and the others. And getting a sick child out of Seattle was a laudable goal, all things considered. Maybe if she had asked, if she had trusted him … but she didn’t. She and Ravi tried to run the checkpoint with a thin-as-a-dime story, and when he caught them, hadn’t even tried to give him plausible deniability. Anyone could have seen there was something hinky about them. He’d be lucky if Chase Graves didn’t take disciplinary action. But of course, nothing mattered to Liv but the cause du jour. She never thought ahead or considered what might come of throwing herself headlong into danger.

Well, he was out. He couldn’t do this with her. Not anymore. “This thing we’ve been doing, sleeping with each other because we can, because it’s easy … we can’t do that anymore.” He still wanted to; underneath everything he still loved her. But he couldn’t come in second to her causes any longer. “Not when I know that my life choices so offend you.”

Liv stared at him, her eyes red-rimmed. From weariness, from emotion? It was hard to tell. “Agreed,” she said, her voice cracking on the word.

He hesitated, not wanting to break things off between them this way, wanting her to apologize, to make some gesture of understanding.

Instead she said, forcefully, “Good-bye, Major.”

And he left, without another word.

Chapter 141: I Don't Need Your Reasons

To Major’s surprise, the news about Jordan’s scratching of the human hadn’t hit the news—or made it to Chase Graves, if the silence from that quarter was to be relied on. Unfortunately, it had made it to Fillmore Graves’ legal department, who called Major in and handed him a file containing details on the lawsuit the human kid’s family was bringing against Fillmore Graves for wrongful scratching. Even more unfortunateiy still, this meant that Major was going to have to take the news to Chase Graves himself, which was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do. He also had to tell Jordan that she was being sued, which didn’t go well at all. Major blamed himself for not having kept a tighter rein on her those first few days, but that didn’t change the situation, and Jordan was freaking out.

Making an appointment with his superior to fill him in on the story appeared to be more easily said than done. Even once he explained the situation to Chase Graves’ assistant, Alice, she still couldn’t find so much as five minutes in which Major could tell him about the situation. Eventually, he managed to charm Alice into giving him a sneak peek at Graves' schedule so Major could hang out in the hallway outside a conference room and wait for Graves to come out. Even that approach didn’t work the first two times, as Graves came out with other people in the midst of intense conversations.

Finally, Major managed to catch him alone in the hallway, and got him to stop long enough to hand him the file on the lawsuit, and tell him the further bad news that somewhere out there was a video of a Fillmore Graves soldier, in full uniform and full rage mode, scratching a human civilian.

Graves accepted the situation far more calmly than Major had anticipated—he wouldn’t have been surprised if Graves had shot him just to make the point and wouldn't have blamed him if he had—and ordered Major to hunt down the video.

Because a human in possession of a hot video such as that one, a human who had yet to put that video up on any kind of social media and could thus be assumed to be holding it back as evidence, was so easy to find. Major put a lot of effort into it—he interviewed the kid who had been scratched, who told him nothing; interviewed that kid’s parents, who told him little more; spoke to the storekeepers on the block where the scratching had happened, in hopes that they knew the names of the kids in the gang. None of it helped, particularly. While he had a good idea of what part of Seattle the videographer lived in, he didn’t have a name, not even a nickname, to go on, and no one on his squad had taken pictures, so he only had the faintest memory of what the guy had looked like.

By the time he made it home, he just wanted to collapse on the couch and watch something mindless, maybe over a pizza liberally sprinkled with hot peppers. There was music blasting when he came in, playing somewhere upstairs, which was odd. Ravi liked music, but usually he listened downstairs, where the surround sound was better.

As he climbed the stairs, Major realized with some surprise that the music was coming from his room. To his even greater surprise, he found Liv and Ravi dancing in his room, both of them wearing his clothes, while Peyton applauded.

When she saw him standing in the doorway, she hastened to turn off the music. Ravi and Liv, startled by the sudden loss of their jams, straightened up and turned to look at Major.

“What is going on here?” Looking more closely at Ravi, he realized that the shirt he was wearing—Major’s shirt—rather than being tucked up to show off his roommate’s hairy belly, had actually been cut off. “Dude! My shirt.”

“Sorry, mate. Fashion casualty,” Ravi muttered, shame-faced.

“We’re going to human-zombie night at the Scratching Post,” Peyton explained.

“Why?”

The reason—which he should have guessed—stepped forward, and he tried not to think about the last time Liv had worn that particular one of his shirts. Softly, she whispered, “Major. There is no easy way to tell you this … I’ve met someone. And I think he may be the love of my life.” Her smile was the kind typically shown in cartoons with hearts replacing the characters’ eyes. He wondered what brain it was this time.

Behind Liv, Peyton caught Major’s eye and made the international symbol for letting him know his ex-girlfriend was currently off her rocker. Not that it wasn’t obvious, but he appreciated the confirmation. Well, fortunately for him, he didn’t have to get involved with the lunacy this time.

He reached out and rubbed Liv’s arm. “I’ve had a very long day unsuccessfully tracking down an incriminating video, plus we’re in a fight, so … I’m gonna go make myself a burrito.”

And without another word, he did just that. Behind him, there were hasty whisperings as Liv and Ravi blamed each other for getting caught dancing in Major’s clothes. The three of them finished getting ready and left for the club, stopping to say good-bye to Major, who made sure he had a mouthful of burrito at just that moment.

The front door closed behind them and he was left at home, alone, in blissful solitude, filled with nothing but relief to be off the Liv Moore roller coaster. His life was crazy enough without that.

Chapter 142: Gotta Keep It on the Down Low

Major and his squad were gearing up for another patrol, Major hoping as they did so that this one would go smoothly and without incident. As he watched Jordan poking at Captain Seattle and trying to get under his skin, he wasn’t feeling overly confident of their ability to straighten up and take things seriously.

“Yo, Seattle,” she said, and he turned his head toward her, smacking his jaw into her fist, which was hovering there just for that purpose. She giggled and took her fist back. “It’s too easy.”

To his credit, Seattle smiled and left it at that.

Behind Major, he heard a familiar voice echoing against the metal and tile of the locker room. “I’m glad something is.”

Chase Graves. His boot still not tied, Major straightened and turned to face him, and all three of them snapped to attention.

“Since it’s been three days and no one can find the camera phone video of Tucker Fritz getting called up to Team Z by our very own cadet.” He pointed at Jordan, his displeasure evident. Jordan sensibly kept her mouth shut and her eyes down, and Chase Graves turned to Major. “What’s the plan to correct the situation, Lilywhite?”

“We’re going to start hitting places where zombies aren’t exactly welcome,” Major told him. He wasn’t wild about taking a newbie crew, and one that had already proven it could be nettled too easily by anti-zombie sentiments, into those locales, but he had very little choice in the matter. They had to find that video, and the owner of the phone had almost certainly gone to ground somewhere that he was sure they wouldn’t—or couldn’t—follow. “Dead Ender territory.”

If Chase Graves shared Major’s concerns it was impossible to tell from his utter lack of reaction. “Good. Get it done before this video bites us in the ass!” He turned to leave, utter silence following him …

Until, to Major’s disappointment and irritation, at the end of the line he heard Jordan mutter, “We get it, bro.”

He closed his eyes. God, she really was stupid.

No. She was a teenager. Just a kid, thrown into a situation she wasn’t prepared to handle, expected to act like a seasoned soldier without the time for anything close to an adequate amount of training. Still, the lesson of when to keep your mouth shut was an early one to learn, and she was not getting it so far.

Unfortunately, Graves had heard her, too. He stopped short in the doorway, one balled fist lifted. Major wasn’t certain if he was going to hit the wall or Jordan, but then he appeared to think better of it, opening his hand before he turned back toward his insubordinate subordinate. Standing in front of Jordan, he looked down at her with his trademark intense stare. “Do you, Gladwell?” he said quietly. “Then you also must get that the only reason you’re not a popsicle already is because those breeders don’t know what they have.”

She shook her head. “They have a video of me scratching a douchebag.”

Major winced. She really had no idea how serious the situation was. None at all. He had tried to get through to her, but apparently he hadn’t gotten far enough. He stepped out of line, spelling it out to her in small words. “They have a video of a Fillmore Graves soldier scratching an unarmed human civilian. That’s America’s worst nightmare.”

Jordan didn’t have a response to that.

Without another look at her, Chase Graves turned to Major. “Find the video. Before Tucker and his friends figure that out.” His tone made it clear that he would not accept failure.

When he was gone, Major turned to the two kids. “Look, I know you’re new at this. I know you’ve had no time to get used to New Seattle, life as a zombie, working as a mercenary—any of it. But this isn’t a game. It isn’t funny. The consequences to that video getting out could be dire.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Come on, Major. You and Colonel Mustard need to lighten up. So the video gets out—what’s the worst that can happen? I look like a badass and everyone in New Seattle is scared of me?” She held up her fist for Captain Seattle to bump, but he looked at her with alarm, Major was glad to see.

He got close to her just as Chase Graves had done, holding her gaze until the smile faded from her face. “Try this on for size: That video gets out, the rest of America sees it. Someone takes it to the President, tells him that’s what America can expect if zombies are allowed to continue to hold Seattle, he believes them … and they nuke us.”

“Nuke us? No one’s going to nuke an American city.”

“You forget that we’re not really American any longer. Do zombies have a country? Do we have citizenship? What rights do we have? None of that has been decided yet. Chase Graves is trying to get answers to those questions, but he can’t do that if he’s having to come down here and be smarted off to by teenagers who don’t know enough to take what’s going on seriously. As far as the rest of America is concerned—as far as the Dead Enders are concerned—you killed a man, in broad daylight and in cold blood, and they have video of it. Do you get that?”

“But he’s not dead!”

“In every way that matters to humans, he is. They think we’re monsters, Jordan. Our job is to teach them that we aren’t—and that means showing restraint when we deal with them. Do you think you can do that, or should I recommend to Chase Graves that he put you in the deep freeze until you can learn to control yourself?” He really didn’t want to follow through on that threat … but he also didn’t want to see her get hurt, or have her bring more trouble to the innocent zombies of New Seattle.

She looked away. “I can do that.”

“Good. Let’s move out.”

Chapter 143: The Danger There

It had already been a long day of pounding the pavement, with no results, and Major was increasingly concerned that the hostile inhabitants of this sector weren't going to let them leave quietly, much less point them toward a human who happened to be holding on to incriminating anti-zombie, anti-Fillmore Graves evidence. Still, he was as aware as Chase Graves was that the video needed to be squashed or the consequences could be dire, not just for the zombies of New Seattle, but for everyone who still lived within its walls.

With that in mind, he pushed open the door of a bar and stepped inside, noting all the anti-zombie propaganda and artwork that covered the walls of the entryway.

“Friendly bunch,” Jordan muttered, seeing the way the patrons of the bar turned to stare at them.

“Aren’t they,” Major agreed, deftly stepping over the foot someone had stuck in his way. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. He understood that no one else could be spared for this, and it was Jordan’s duty to track down the video since she was the one who had caused it to be created—but he’d have felt a lot better if he was being backed up by people with more than a week’s worth of training right now.

“Major. Isn’t that our guy?” Captain Seattle pointed to a group of young men clustered around a pool table. One of them looked a lot like the videographer they were hunting.

“Stay here,” Major told the kids quietly. Naturally, neither one of them listened, keeping pace with him as he approached the pool table. He put on his best smile. “Hey, fellas. Where’s the video? And don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A scrawny long-haired kid looked him over. This one must be the leader now that the guy Jordan had scratched was out of commission. “You want that video, huh?”

“We do.”

“So killing my best friend wasn’t enough—you want to cherish the memory.” He looked at Jordan challengingly.

Major looked past the spokesman to a taller kid at the back of the table. “You. It was your phone. I’m prepared to give you a thousand dollars for it.”

“Your unlucky day, I guess. My phone was recently stolen,” the phone’s owner said. He stepped up behind the long-haired kid, shifting the pool cue in his hand so that it could more easily be used as a weapon.

Figured. Well, Major hadn’t expected this would go easily, had he? “Stolen, huh?”

“By a shiftless zombie. Of course.”

“You know this zombie’s name?”

“Tucker,” the long-haired kid said, pronouncing the word like it tasted bad in his mouth. “Probably didn’t want the world to see him get his ass kicked by a little zombie bitch.” He was looking at Jordan again, which made Major nervous. They knew where the weak link was, and she still didn’t have enough of a sense of how important it was to hold on to her temper. The kid stepped closer to her. “Wonder how tough you’d be without that gun.”

Jordan shifted, and Major tensed, ready to stop her from moving, but Captain Seattle got there first, stepping in between Jordan and the long-haired kid. He was very calm, and projected an air of more authority than Major would have thought him capable of just yet. “Back. Off.”

“Be cool,” Jordan said softly.

“Listen to your girlfriend, man. Be cool.”

Major, aware of the need to get out of here before the stand-off could escalate and while Seattle was still in control of the situation, looked back at the videographer. “I need your number so I can track the phone down. I’ll give you five hundred dollars for it.”

“Yeah, but I know you got a thousand bucks on you.”

The kid wasn’t stupid, Major had to give him that.

The long-haired kid was still focused on Jordan. “If you were gonna turn me into a zombie, I’d want you to do it the fun way. Know what I’m saying?”

Her eyes widened, her body tensing. The kid was advancing on her, and she took a step backward, giving Major room to ram the butt of his gun into the kid’s stomach. Lifting the weapon, he pointed it toward the bar, and without looking, he shot out half the liquor bottles lined up along the wall. The patrons of the bar ducked and cried out, and Jordan and Captain Seattle drew their weapons.

When the sound of the gunfire had faded, Major faced down the long-haired kid, who was getting back to his feet. “Way to go, pal. You just lost your friend five hundred dollars.” He stepped toward the videographer, taking a pen out of a pocket in his sleeve. “Give me the number, or you’ll spend the next week in a Fillmore Graves reeducation camp.”

“Or, for your dumb ass, an education camp,” Jordan said.

The videographer stared at him for a moment, just long enough to make Major scramble to think of a next step to take if the kid continued to refuse. Then the kid grabbed the pen and scribbled down a number on a napkin. Major hoped to hell it was the right one.

Chapter 144: Preacher Man

Leaving the human bar, with a sigh of relief he hoped no one else noticed, Major opened his phone, punching the number Tucker’s friend had given him into the tracking app. He frowned at it, waiting for it to load. The signal in New Seattle was as spotty as everything else here.

At last it came up, a bright red dot in the middle of the map. “Let’s move!”

They followed the dot to an old movie theater, shut down like almost everything was these days. But it wasn’t empty, or deserted. There were people going in and out, and a crew was changing the letters on the marquee.

“What is this place?” Jordan asked. “A church for zombies?”

“That’s what it looks like.” The marquee proclaimed it to be the Triple Cross Church, Zombies Welcome. The sign, for now, said “BEWARE OF”, which Major figured was good advice in New Seattle.

“Beats a church for humans,” Captain Seattle observed. He wasn’t wrong.

“Let’s check it out.” Major led the way, noticing that the red dot on his tracker app was pulsing, all of a sudden. He stopped and looked at the zombie at the foot of the ladder being used to change the marquee. Last time he’d seen that particular soul, he hadn’t been a zombie. “Whoa. Is that the guy you scratched?”

“Once a zealot …” Jordan shook her head.

“Hey, Tucker!” Major called. The zombie looked up at him. Yep, that was the guy. “Can we have a word?”

Fear crossed Tucker’s face as Major and the others began to approach—not that Major could blame the kid, entirely. Tucker turned and hurried inside the theater church, and Major and his squad followed him. Inside, he tried one more time to get the kid to stop and listen to him. “Hey. Tucker!” The room had a couple dozen or so zombies in the various rows of seats, none of whom looked all that enthused about a team of Fillmore Graves soldiers appearing among them. Major ignored them, hoping to get this done before there could be any trouble. “We need the phone,” he said, softly but firmly. He didn’t want to start something, but he also didn’t want to sound like he was asking for a favor. “The one you took? Don’t tell me you don’t have it.”

Tucker looked uncertain, his eyes darting around the room. While he hesitated, the other zombies began to close in, encircling Major’s squad. He hoped the kids would stay cool. They’d held it together okay in the bar, but here in close quarters with a bunch of zombies they hadn’t expected to be hostile could be another story altogether.

Once he knew he was being backed up by his people, Tucker’s cockiness reappeared. “Okay. But it’s not going to do you much good.” He handed the phone to Major, continuing, “Brother Love says that the age of Fillmore Graves’ greed is at an end.”

Who the hell was Brother Love? And why did he have it in for Fillmore Graves? Major knew they weren’t entirely popular with the zombie population, but greed? Chase Graves spent every waking moment trying to feed Seattle’s zombies, to keep them safe from outside reprisals, to keep the streets clear of hostile humans. Fillmore Graves was not profiting off this situation—in fact, as far as Major could tell, it was running more deeply in the red every day.

However, this didn’t feel like the time to make that point, not with these unfriendly zombies closing in around them, making it clear how unwelcome they were in this zombie church, so Major said calmly, “Let’s go,” and started backing up, slowly, the rest of the squad moving with him, step by cautious step.

A woman’s voice from the crowd called out, “Our God is a vengeful God!” and a woman in front of Major hissed in his face. A man in the back said, “Humble yourselves.”

In his peripheral vision, Major could see that both the kids had their guns out, aimed and cocked. Let them not start shooting zombies, he thought. Please, not that. Aloud, he said, still calmly, “Just keep walking.”

A zombie with his arm in a sling got in Captain Seattle’s face. “Every devil falls from grace.” Seattle lifted his gun, aiming it at the man’s face, but held his fire.

Very softly, Major said, “You shoot, they’ll tear us apart.”

Jordan muttered in his ear, “I think they’re planning on tearing us apart regardless.”

At the back of the group, Chang bumped into one of the zombie church members, and Major could hear the ratchet of his gun being cocked.

“We starve; Fillmore Graves steals our brains,” said an old man at the front of the crowd. He frowned into the barrel of Captain Seattle’s pistol, not impressed by it, or the soldiers.

“Repent your sins!” another woman called.

“Major!” Seattle whispered, sounding like he was coming to the end of his endurance.

“Hold tight,” Major told him. “We’re good.” They had made it about halfway to the door by now, moving slowly and deliberately, and even though the parishioners were surrounding and taunting them, no move had been made to do anything but intimidate. He got the sense that it wouldn’t be, not without permission from this Brother Love.

“I don’t think you know what the word ‘good’ means,” Jordan told him.

Somewhere in the crowd, a man said, “They that take the sword shall perish with the sword.”

And then, from above them, a loud voice cried out, “Behold!” Major turned to see a figure in a white robe standing on a balcony. He was backlit, so Major couldn’t make out his face at first. “What devil is in our midst, disturbing the house of God?” His arms were raised at his side, and he held what appeared to be a hammer in one hand.

Major squinted, the face coming into focus. It was hard to be sure, because the last time he’d seen that face it had ice crystals frozen on it, but it looked like … “Angus?” he whispered. Blaine’s father, here, posing as some kind of minister? What fresh hell was this?

Angus seemed to recognize him at the same time, the threat vanishing from his face and being replaced by … interest, possibly. A calculating look such as Major had often seen on his son’s face, the ‘how can I turn this to my advantage’ look. “And lo,” Angus breathed, “my eyes have been deceived. For now they are witness to a miracle. My children, standing before us is the Angel of Chaos.” He pointed his hammer at Major. “Celebrate our guest, for he stormed the gates of hell, liberating tortured zombies from their prisons. A reminder that even the best of us can lose his way.” He clasped his hands in front of him, holding the hammer like a crucifix. “So we will pray for you, Brother Major, as you find your way back to your people. The chosen people.” His voice deepened, the threat in it unmistakable, and he waved the hammer. “If I ever see you here again, wearing that devil’s cloth, I’ll knock your skull clean off your body.”

There was silence when he finished speaking. Major didn’t dare say anything. He tapped Jordan on the shoulder, pushing her a little, and the squad began to move again. With Brother Love’s promise of safe passage, the zombie church-goers let them go, but Major felt their reluctance. This was a deeper antipathy toward Fillmore Graves than he’d known existed. He’d bet Chase Graves didn’t know how deep it went.

And now Angus McDonough was leading them. That could not be good.

Chapter 145: What a Life

Despite the news about the zombie church—and their hostility toward Fillmore Graves uniforms—Chase Graves had been pleased with the day’s work. The phone was in their possession, with the video on it, and as far as they can tell, the video hadn’t been shared. Graves was willing to call it a win, and Major was more than happy to go along with him. Anything to erase from his memory the sight of Angus McDonough waving a hammer in the air with the light of zealotry in his eyes. That was not going to go anywhere good.

“Major. Why the long face? We did it—we won!” Jordan was beaming. Probably he ought to yell at her right now, to impress upon her that it wasn’t a win to stop disaster from happening, that the win would have been not having had the disaster in the first place. She didn’t seem to have learned anything from this situation, and that also made Major worry about the future.

But she wasn’t entirely wrong, and you burnt people out by not giving them a chance to feel like they got something right, to let off steam. What the hell, he decided. “When you’re right, you’re right. You guys ever been to the Scratching Post?”

“The zombie club?” Captain Seattle’s eyes lit with excitement. “Are we going there?”

“I happen to know the owner.” Mostly he wasn’t thrilled that he knew Blaine and Don E, but it did come in handy every once in a while—like when you were sneaking underage kids into a bar. “Go get cleaned up, meet me out here in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir!” Jordan looked as excited as her comrade. Both of them hurried off.

Major drove them to the club, still feeling a certain amount of misgiving about this plan. But they were zombies; Fillmore Graves zombies. Someone was going to introduce them to the place eventually. It might as well be Major.

The place was packed. Major strongly considered turning around and walking back out again before the kids could get into any trouble. But it would be hard to drag them both out, it would make a scene—hardly good for morale, or their respect for his leadership.

“Can’t believe you guys talked me into bringing you here,” he said as they descended the stairs into the main part of the club, conveniently shoving under the rug the fact that it had been his own idea. “All right, here are the rules: two drink maximum; no hookers!”

Captain Seattle groaned at the unfairness, and Jordan complained, “But I want a hooker!”

Major ignored them both—that was one of the few rules he wasn’t worried about them breaking. “Definitely no blue brains,” he continued, “and, most definitely, an order of nachos for Major. I’m hitting the head.”

He left them at the bar, trying to tell himself to relax, that it had been the right idea to come here, that they were kids and they needed to have fun.

When he returned, there was an order of nachos at the bar, just waiting for him, and he dug in eagerly. Oh, melty cheesy goodness, this was what he had needed all along. The brains were concealed under the cheese and other toppings until it was too late to notice that they were blue. Spying the color at last, he eyed Jordan and Captain Seattle, who were smirking in a way that made him very concerned. “All right, what is it? What—is—it?” He felt a sudden urge to get up and flex, so he did, to the open admiration of a couple of ladies on the dance floor.

The kids were outright laughing now, and he hulked over them, envisioning himself pile-driving them into the floor. They glanced at each other, and each felt the need to get up and rush toward the door. Major followed, feeling bigger and more powerful all the time. He caught up with Captain Seattle and got him in a half-Nelson, while Jordan tried to help and couldn’t because she was laughing too hard.

“What—is—it?” Major asked again.

“Wrestler brain,” Jordan managed to get out between giggles.

He tightened his grip on Captain Seattle. “You—gave—me—wrestler—brain?” He could hear it in his voice now, the strain on the vocal cords, the slow deliberate cadence. “That—makes—me—soo—angry.” It kind of did, too, but he was having too much fun to care that he’d been dosed. He was the one who’d left the kids alone, after all. He lifted Captain Seattle off his feet, and then let him go, both the kids still laughing.

As he let go of Captain Seattle, Major recognized the people who had just entered the club as his favorite people ever—Ravi, Peyton, and Liv. He hulked at Ravi, who frowned dubiously. “Um …”

“I—got—dosed—with—wrestler—brain.”

“We heard you. All of New Seattle heard you,” Ravi told him.

Turning to Liv, Major decided to throw her an olive branch. She meant well, he knew, and at heart, they didn’t entirely disagree. “Hey—Liv—how’s—it—goin’—with—the—new—boyfriend?”

She took a step toward him, looking earnest. “I’m sorry, Major, but it’s only right that you should know. I have a new new boyfriend. And if there’s such a thing as love, he’s in there, and I must go to him.”

Major let her pass, noting the starry eyes and the un-Liv-like poetic speech. Brain, then. Somehow that made him feel better … and in other ways, it didn’t. “That’s—cool!” he called after her.

Ravi looked at him pityingly. “You sound like a maniac.”

“I—feel—great! Let’s—dance!” He grabbed Peyton’s hand and tugged her toward the dance floor. She shrieked in surprise, but she followed him, with Ravi close behind.

They stopped on the balcony when they all spied the same thing—Liv in a heavy liplock with some guy on the dance floor. The new new boyfriend, then.

Ravi and Peyton both groaned at the sight. Major felt himself hulking again, and it took a certain amount of will to keep from rushing down there and breaking the two apart. “That—is—not—an—easy—thing—to—see,” he told Ravi. “But—I—am—glad—she’s—happy.” That was a lie, but it was a well-meant one. “That—makes—me—happy.” Another lie. He forced a laugh to go with it.

“That’s very mature,” Ravi said, nodding, clearly not sure how to take either of his zombie friends at the moment.

Major made his way into the crowd, dodging Liv and the guy. He managed to avoid them for a little while, until he saw Liv on her own getting a refill at the bar, and couldn’t stop himself from going to her. “Liv! I—know—this—is—a—weird—thing—to—scream—in—your—face, but—I—hate—the—way—we—left—things—after—our—fight.” He waved a finger in the air, pointing it at her dramatically. This whole wrestler thing had him talking like an announcer, and he couldn’t seem to stop. Still, he needed to get this out, and there was no time like the present. Liv was smiling indulgently at him, but she was listening. “And—I—want—you—to—know—that—no—matter—our—politics—I—care—about—you—and—I—want—us—always—to—be—friends.” That one wasn’t a lie. He couldn’t imagine a world without Liv in it.

She smiled at him, clearly touched by the sentiment. So much so that she faked a wrestler brain voice in her reply. “Thank—you—Major!” In a more normal tone, she added, “You’re the best.”

“So. Tell—me—about—this—new—new—guy, huh? What’s—he—like?”

“His name is Tim … he likes the Scratching Post … he’s tall. Uh, tall-ish.” She frowned. “Or maybe he’s more medium height.” After a second’s thought, she went on, “I actually don’t know that much about him. I should probably fix that.”

It was a good sign—she was coming off whatever brain this was. “You—do—you—girl,” Major told her.

She smiled at him, indulgently, again, and took her glasses to the table.

Major found Ravi and Peyton in the crowd and started showing Peyton his wrestler-brain dance moves. She found them hilarious.

And then Liv joined them—apparently the new new guy wasn’t going to last the evening.

“Did—you—find—out—what—he’s—like?” Major asked.

“Yeah. He was a creep.”

Major was glad he could stop pretending to be supportive and just be happy to be hanging out with her.

An air horn blasted through the noise of the crowd, and the DJ shouted, “Time for the Human-Zombie Dance-Offfffff!!!”

The crowd cheered, Major and his friends along with them. Major and Liv took the zombie side, Ravi and Peyton the human side, and they danced the night away. Just how it should be.

Chapter 146: Goin' Places

Whoever’s bright idea it was to have Major drive on a road trip with Don E clearly had it in for him. Yes, they wanted him to suffer a special kind of torture, Major decided, as his copilot bounced and wriggled in his seat and kept up a running stream of irritating commentary. The only bright spot was the thought that Blaine was stuck with this all the time, and sooner or later Major could deposit Don E right back where he belonged and return to blissful silence.

Currently, Don E was cycling through radio stations, listening to the briefest of snippets before moving on, saying “No whammy, no whammy” over and over again. Major gave some serious thought to driving the car into a tree—but since that was unlikely to kill Don E, it probably wouldn’t be worth the satisfaction.

Don E stopped channel-surfing long enough to shout out, “Oh, cows on my side!” under some delusional idea that they were playing cow poker.

Major wished he had stopped by the morgue for a snack before they left. Nice as it was to live on brain tubes, being somebody else for this trip sounded pretty good right now.

As if he had read Major’s mind, Don E asked, “When we stoppin’, Majey-Maje? I’m havin’ a snack attack.”

“We’re not stopping.”

“We’ve been on the road for hours! You know you’re not in charge here—this is a joint operation.”

Major rolled his eyes. Fillmore Graves had the power, they just made Blaine think he had a stake in what was going on to keep him quiet.

“Lighten up, Ma-hor. Look at us! We’re out of the city. Open road! Wind in our … hair.” Don E pointed to Major, since he was the only one of the two of them who actually had hair. “If you can’t enjoy the little things, I don’t know what to tell ya. Punch-buggy green, no punch back.” And he socked Major in the shoulder.

Having had just about enough of this, Major socked him back. Hard. He’d been on hours-long road trips with entire football teams that hadn’t been this annoying.

“Ow! I said no punch-backs!” Don E whined.

From the trunk came a sudden racket, as their cargo had apparently woken up, and was shouting “Let me out!” It was futile—they weren’t going to—but moderately less annoying than listening to Don E’s constant stream of jabber. Don E turned the radio up to drown out the sound of the screams from the trunk, and they rode together in grim silence.

Eventually they were low on gas—the old station wagon they were driving had plenty of storage space to haul a body, but it was not the most fuel efficient machine on the road. Major pulled into a small gas station. Don E immediately unbuckled. Recognizing that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his copilot in the car short of physically restraining him, which would attract attention, Major snapped, “Make it quick.”

“Aye, aye, Corporal. You need anything? Protein shake? Eyebrow comb?” He laughed and climbed out of the car.

It took forever. Major had finished pumping the gas and was back in his seat, buckled up, bored and frustrated and irritated, by the time Don E finally approached the car, his hands full of snack foods. He leaned over and opened the car door, since he didn’t want to sit here forever while Don E tried to figure out how to do it himself without wasting more time by dropping things all over the ground. “All set?”

“You bet.”

Finally they were able to pull out and get back on the road, much to Major’s relief.

At last they reached their destination, checking into their hotel room to wait for their contact. Major headed into the room first, finding the remote to turn the TV on, make sure Seattle hadn’t exploded in their absence, wishing he didn’t think that was such a likely possibility. Behind him, Don E called out in irritation, “It’s okay, I’ve got it!” as he hauled in the duffel bag their cargo was zipped into. “Save your strength for the crossfit games.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to find out if anyone’s reported her missing yet,” Major told him, not moving his eyes off the TV.

Don E helped their cargo out of the duffel bag. She was a young woman, still wearing the clothes she had worn to the Scratching Post last night. “What’s wrong with you?” she screeched. “Do you know who I am? Huh? Do you know who my father is?”

Pointing a pistol at her head to shut her up, Don E said, “I know exactly who you are, Sloane.”

Still not looking, Major said, “Put the gun away, Don E.”

“Thanks,” the girl said. She looked sideways at Major. “My wrists hurt. Can you untie me? Please.”

Don E relented and cut the zipties holding her. Immediately she got to her feet and socked him in the jaw. A good punch, too, felling him like a log. A living log, since he was still groaning, but it was a satisfying moment.

And a short one. Even as Don E swore and got up off the ground to hit her back, a report came on the news of a zombie attack at a gas station. A gas station north of New Seattle, which was where they were. They even had footage—of a raged-out Don E punching the plexiglass trying to get at the clerk. Don E and the girl had stopped fighting and were watching the coverage, as fascinated as Major, albeit for different reasons.

Major turned to him, wishing he didn’t have to ask. “Don E, what the hell did you do?” even as the girl cried out “Oh, my god! You’re zombies?”

“It was nothing. She overreacted. I just wanted some hooch, and she wouldn’t sell it to me without ID. I mean … don’t I look over 21?”

Getting to his feet, Major backed Don E across the room with the force of his anger. “Really? All you had to do was get your food and not go into rage mode!” He had to whisper so people in the rooms around them didn’t hear all the intimate details of the zombie kidnappers in room 5.

“Forgive me, it’s called having emotions. You should try it sometime!”

“Do you realize that half the cops in the state are probably out looking for us right now, and we still have an hour before your smuggling contacts get here?”

“You saw that old bat! She’s the kind of redneck who claims aliens probed her.”

“There’s video, Don E.” Disgusted by the entire day’s events, Major pushed past Don E to the bathroom to splash his face with water and hopefully calm down enough to figure out what to do.

Behind him, the girl asked if Don E had any whiskey left, but since he’d never gotten the whiskey in the first place, that was a big no. “Even if I did,” he told her, “it’d be my whiskey, wouldn’t it?”

“Please?” There was real desperation in the girl’s voice. “I’d been partying hard all night when you grabbed me. I have, like, no serotonin in me.”

“What can I tell you—make better life choices next time.”

The girl laughed in disbelief. “Next time I get kidnapped? Come on, you must have something that’ll take the edge off.”

“No! Go to sleep or somethin’, dream you’re someplace else.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Major said wearily. He stretched out on the second bed. “Wake me when your people show up; keep your eye on her.”

“What are you guys planning to do with me?” she asked.

Major looked at the girl, then at Don E. “You tell her.” And he closed his eyes, dropping off to sleep with surprising ease to the background noise of Don E loudly refusing to talk and the girl pestering him.

Chapter 147: When the Chips Are Down

Major slept hard. He woke to the sound of Don E’s snoring from the other bed and the honk of a semi outside the room. Coming gradually to wakefulness, he reached for the clock on the table between the two beds, turning it toward him and squinting at the hands until they made sense.

When the time made its way through the fog of sleep in his mind, he was wide awake instantly. “Wake up!”

“What?” Don E sat up groggily. “What do you want?”

“Your smugglers were supposed to be here two hours ago. Where are they?”

“Relax. They’ll be here.” Don E slumped back into the pillows, his eyes closing like he was about to go to sleep again. Only then did Major remember that there was supposed to be someone else in the room with them.

“Sloane! Where’s Sloane?”

Don E reached out to pat the other half of the bed he was in, as if to point her out. When all he touched was mattress, he sat up, his eyes open for real this time.

Major rushed to the door. Had she fled? Was she out there somewhere in the middle of nowhere? God, how many ways could this mission get fucked up?

From behind him, he heard Don E shouting his name. Seeing no sign of her outside, he rushed back into the room. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news,” Don E called from the bathroom. He pointed to the floor as Major joined him in the doorway. Sloane lay on the floor, on a bath towel, blood crusted around her nostrils.

“Oh, no.” Major bent to feel for a pulse. “Oh, no, no, no. She’s not breathing.” He grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her out of the bathroom.

“Oh. Looks like she took two rides on the U-boat,” Don E called.

Two capsules of Utopium? Where had she even gotten those? Major thought they’d checked for whatever she might be carrying. He started chest compressions, begging her to wake up as he did so. Don E joined them, grabbing Sloane’s arm to check for any signs of a renewed pulse.

“She’s dying, man! What are we gonna do?”

Just then, they heard pounding fists on the hotel room door. The smugglers, two hours late and ironically just in time to end the chain of disasters this day had turned into.

Major gave up on the chest compressions. They weren’t doing anything anyway. He and Don E exchanged a look of panic.

“Dead girl is no bueno!” Don E hissed.

While that was true, it wasn’t exactly helpful. Major looked down at her still face, and picked up her arm, desperately hoping for any sign of returning life. There was none. He looked up, meeting Don E’s eyes, seeing the truth there. Only one thing was left—the last thing they had wanted, the thing that was going to keep them from completing their mission regardless. Don E nodded, and Major took a deep breath and drew his fingernail, hard, in a line down the tender skin inside her wrist.

Blood welled up along the line of the wound, a good sign, but nothing happened. For a very long moment, while the pounding on the door continued, while Major and Don E looked at each other in panic, neither with any clue how they were going to explain a dead girl to the smugglers—

And then Sloane gasped and opened her eyes, coughing a little as life returned to her body, so to speak.

Of course, Major reflected looking over his shoulder at the door, where the pounding of fists continued, explaining an undead girl wasn’t going to be easy, either.

“What do we do?” Don E asked.

“We? These are your contacts. Go … do what you do.”

Don E frowned. Then his face brightened. “You mean charm the shit out of these assholes? Done. Major-man, you are a genius.” He patted Sloane on the shoulder. “Just lie here and watch Don E pull this messed-up day right out of the fire.”

He stood up, grabbing his shirt off the counter and putting it on, straightening his clothes, preparing himself, and walked past the two of them toward the door.

Sloane sat up. “Is he for real?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“What happened?”

“You ODed, you idiot.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “So why am I not dead?”

Major looked at her, while behind him Don E opened the door and started glad-handing the smugglers, leading them out of the room, spinning some kind of wild story about a mission gone wrong in all sorts of ways that weren’t actually his fault, offering expensive bottles of booze next time they were in New Seattle. His voice faded as he and the smugglers got farther from the room, and Major looked back at Sloane, who had realized from what he didn’t say why she wasn’t dead.

“You bastards!”

“Would you rather be dead?” He dimly recalled a time when he would rather have been dead than be a zombie.

“No,” she admitted, “but … why didn’t you stop me?”

“Stop you? I frisked you for contraband before we put you in the trunk!”

“Yeah, I had it hidden in my bra.”

Major sighed. So much for having been a gentleman. Of course, if he had stayed awake and not left Don E to watch her, she’d be safely in the hands of the smugglers right now, and he would be on his way back to New Seattle with his annoying little copilot. None of them had exactly been at their best on this little mission. “Well, you’re a zombie now. Hang on, I’ll get you a brain tube from my bag.”

“Brain tube? Gross.”

“It’s better than nothing,” he told her, watching as she took the first bite. She made a face, but then he could see when the brains hit her system, and she sucked the rest down with gusto.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait,” he told her, hoping to hell Don E could get them out of this mess. He had to be good for something, didn’t he?

Chapter 148: You Never Know

Major had to give it to Don E—he did as good a job getting them out of the mess as he had done getting them into it. Before Major knew it, he and Don E and Sloane were packed in ice in crates of brains and being smuggled back into New Seattle. It wasn’t the most comfortable method of transport he’d ever experienced, but the ice slowed down his metabolism enough that he could slip into a state that was not exactly sleep but definitely not full wakefulness, either.

Still, it was a relief when the crate came to a stop in what Major assumed to be Blaine’s basement, and an even greater relief when the lid was pried off and he could return to light and warmth … even if he was right and it was indeed Blaine’s basement.

He rose from the ice to the sounds of Don E and Blaine exclaiming with joy at the sight of one another, which was pretty jarring after hours of listening to nothing but ice moving around.

Blaine was grinning at him. “GI Joe!”

Half-frozen as he was, Major wasn’t going to let an apt cultural reference pass him by. “Destro.”

“Everything go according to plan?” Blaine asked, the grin fading.

Major shook his head. “Not everything.”

One of Blaine’s minions popped the lid on the third crate and from the midst of the chunks of ice, chowing down on one of the fresh brains she had been packed with.

“Well, I guess not,” Blaine observed.

“Hey! That’s my brain, missy!” Don E complained.

Sloane tried to explain … in French. Well, Major guessed they knew where that brain had come from.

Blaine pointed at him. “I’m going to let you handle this.”

Why not. Another zombie in New Seattle that they couldn’t feed, a zombie created by Don E’s negligence, yes … but also by Major’s own attitude. He should have known that if he wanted things done right, he couldn’t trust them to Don E. He nodded to acknowledge his responsibility.

Once out of the crates and de-iced, he took Sloane back to Fillmore Graves and introduced her to Chase Graves. To his credit, Graves did not fly off the handle when presented with evidence of how spectacularly Major had screwed up his assignment. He took it, instead, with what was becoming his signature weariness and resignation. Not that he agreed with Liv’s holier-than-thou pronouncements, but Major did wonder how often Chase Graves regretted what had happened to create New Seattle and his own role in it. Carey Gold had forced his hand, to be sure, but he could have taken steps to mitigate the situation, and instead he had given in and let it happen. Contributed to it. Major regretted it occasionally—but he remembered how high emotions had been running, his included, after the squad house was blown up, and he wasn’t sure there had been another option Fillmore Graves as a whole could have accepted.

While Major showered and changed into clean clothes he kept in his locker, Chase Graves took on the job of handing Sloane her zombie info packet and dealing with her rising hysteria over having been turned into a zombie. On the ride over, she had complained bitterly to Major—partially in French, which was a relief, because then he couldn’t understand her—and he had wondered what she expected them to do about it. If there was a zombie cure that worked, none of them would be in this situation.

Late that night he was heading out after finishing up some reports on recent patrols and trying to make the Sloane Mills mission sound like something other than a complete mess when he passed one of the common rooms and saw his boss sitting alone in the dark, with a drink in his hand. Major nearly went by and left him there, but he had to admit he was worried about the guy. Even a machine like Chase Graves could break under the unrelenting pressure he was carrying.

Pushing open the glass door, Major said, “I thought I was the only one here this late.”

Graves held up his nearly empty glass. “Ran out of booze in my office. Good work on your assignment. You may have saved us all.”

Major had to admit he hadn’t thought of it quite like that. But he supposed it made a difference that the daughter of a high-ranking general in the Defense Department was now a zombie living among them in New Seattle. Maybe it meant the inevitable military solution to the existence of zombies could be held off until Ravi could finally make a reproducible cure. Stranger things had happened. “Well, it didn’t go exactly according to plan.”

“Ah, it so rarely does. We’ve all had to do things that we never would have imagined ourselves doing.”

It seemed clear from the late-night boozing, the unusually defeated posture, and the resigned tone that something specific was bothering Graves, some task that lay ahead of him that he was struggling with. Major didn’t know what it was, but he knew that despite his emotionless demeanor, his superior had a good heart, and generally made the decision that seemed best for everyone at the time. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he said, hoping he was being encouraging.

Chase Graves looked at him, swirling the remaining booze around in the crystal glass, but didn’t say anything. Major decided he had said enough about whatever they were talking about, and he left Chase Graves to his thoughts.

Chapter 149: Tell Me Who Has Won

Major found out the next day what he had encouraged Chase Graves to do—perform the first public execution of a zombie. A woman calling herself Mama Leone, a woman who smuggled humans out of New Seattle, and smuggled humans who wanted to be zombies back in. A clear law-breaker. Still … it made Major uncomfortable to think of killing her. And he could see it made Chase Graves uncomfortable, too.

Was this who they had been forced to become?

It was all hands on deck for the execution. There hadn’t been a formal announcement of the execution, in hopes of keeping the crowds down—and because Chase Graves was unhappy he had been forced into doing this at all and wanted as few spectators as possible—but people would find out. People always found things out. So they were preparing for any possibility.

Major dutifully helped set up the guillotine, building a perimeter of fencing around the structure to keep anyone from trying a last-minute heroic stunt. He thought of Liv, Liv smuggling that child out of New Seattle, and his heart grew cold within him. If anyone would think she could get through the barricades and save the day, solve this problem, it would be Olivia Moore. He hoped that somehow, some way, she wouldn’t be here. If things went terribly wrong today—and he thought there was a good chance they would—he didn’t want Liv caught in the middle.

As expected, a small crowd, shouting and largely appearing displeased, had gathered by the time they were ready to begin. Many in the crowds had white hair. The zombies were out, and they weren’t happy about this.

Chase Graves took the stage. It was his company, he was in charge, he was taking responsibility for enforcing the laws he had set. But it was clear he was holding himself together with considerable effort. “Fillmore Graves takes no joy in this act. But this is a new world. The laws we’ve enacted are essential to ensuring our place within it.”

Shouts of “Save her!” came up from the crowd, and a particularly loud voice, from a guy in a green coat in the front, shouted out, “You’re a monster, Graves! Let her go!”

Major thought Chase Graves probably agreed with that assessment of himself today … but he had no other choice, not if he was going to try to keep the zombie population even somewhat manageable, not if he was going to maintain order in this city.

Over continued shouts of “Save her!” and “Let her go!”, Chase Graves spoke loudly and clearly and calmly. “Penalties for breaking these laws are necessarily severe.”

Another voice, this one from a tall guy in a black leather jacket, screamed out, “Crush her skull! Kill her!”, countered by green coat shouting, “You have no right to do this!”

Through it all, Mama Leone remained silent, maintaining her dignity. Major was glad he was placed so he didn’t have to look at her. He hated what they were doing, although he understood why it had to be done.

Chase Graves spoke again: “Any action that endangers our survival cannot be tolerated. There are those outside our walls who want to destroy us. And there are those in our city working toward that same end. We will show the world that humans and zombies can co-exist. Our survival depends on it. The smuggling of humans into Seattle, and creation of new zombies, stops today.”

Then, over the crowd, he heard the voice he had been expecting, and dreading, to hear. Liv, calling his name. And like a good soldier, he didn’t turn to look at her. He didn’t even acknowlege her presence. Because she wasn’t wrong, and Chase Graves wasn’t wrong, and if Major turned to look at her, if he responded to her, he didn’t know which side to be on.

The crowd was louder now, competing cries of “Save her!” and “Kill her!” Without looking, Major could imagine Mama Leone being brought to the guillotine, forced to kneel before it, to put her head on the platform, facing those who had come to watch her die, being strapped in. Was she weeping? Was she angry? Was she afraid to die? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

Liv had gone silent, which also worried him. The Liv Moore he knew would be shouting with the crowd, above the crowd, would be trying to stop this thing from happening, would be standing in front of him begging for his help. But she was doing none of those things. Had Liv given up? Had this broken her? Or was she trying some hare-brained scheme to effect a last-minute rescue?

Chase Graves had also gone silent, but Major had no trouble imagining his face. Even though zombies didn’t age, there were lines in his superior officer’s face now that hadn’t been there a few months ago. They hadn’t expected it to be easy, but they hadn’t expected it to be this hard just to feed their people, to broker peace between zombies and humans. Maybe they had been foolish optimists. Certainly, Chase Graves had never expected to have to use this instrument of barbarism.

Behind him, Major heard a gun cock, and one of his fellow soldiers ordering, “Stand down.”

He closed his eyes. That had to be Liv. Please stop. Please just let this happen, he thought. He couldn’t lose Liv today, not in some quixotic attempt to stop the inevitable. But there was nothing else from that quarter, and Major breathed a moment’s sigh of relief—only to stop breathing entirely when the guillotine landed with a sickening sound he would never forget.

It was done. They were monsters. There was no walking back from this—they had made a statement today and they were going to have to stand behind it.

Now that it was over, he turned his head at last. As he had expected, Liv was standing there, and the look on her face as their eyes met made Major feel dirty, and foul, and guilty, and mad as hell. He despised himself for being part of this, yes, but Liv also had no idea what it was like to have to run New Seattle. She had no idea how lucky she was that she didn’t have to know.

Chapter 150: Morning

Major remembered when breakfast was something to look forward to. Fresh-squeezed orange juice (no hot sauce), baked goods (without bits of brain in them), eggs, bacon, toast, avocado, fresh fruits … all the bright and savory and sweet flavors that were lost on him now, when his idea of breakfast was a toasted bagel with brain tube mush spread on it. Having Liv around had helped make food seem at least somewhat interesting, but the way Liv had looked at him after the execution, he didn’t think she was ever going to speak to him again.

Glumly, he carried the plate with the brain-spread bagel on it to the table, half-listening to Ravi’s side of a phone conversation.

“Oh, yeah. Swedish. Plenty of hot rocks. And have the peeler get in there—I want to be flayed alive.” As Major sat down, Ravi said, “Thanks,” and ended the call, putting his phone down. “Know what I’m doing tomorrow?” he asked Major, digging his fork into a plate of eggs and bacon that Major wished smelled to him as tasty as they looked.

“Taking a super weird trip to IKEA?”

“This week, in all of New Seattle, no one got murdered. So I’m off to the spa for a me day.”

“Aw. A me day?” Major asked in a syrupy sweet voice. Must be nice for Ravi to be able to celebrate a week with no murders. Major wished Fillmore Graves could say the same.

“I choose to ignore your tone.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I’d come with, but I’ll be subduing terrorists … or dodging Molotov cocktails, you know, stuff that men do.”

“Please. I’ve seen your, uh, skincare collection,” Ravi retorted, pouring hot sauce on his eggs.

Major watched as his roommate banged on the bottom of the bottle, trying to shake the last dregs out of it, and it occurred to him that it was the third time in this brief conversation that Ravi had added hot sauce to his breakfast. He shoved the plate with his brain-covered bagel on it across the table toward Ravi. “Have some of this.”

Ravi took a bite, and Major watched the utter bliss and relief that came over his face as the brains hit his system. Yup.

“Oh, my god. That is fantastic. What is this, strawberry cream cheese?” Ravi asked, his mouth still full of Major’s breakfast.

“Actually, it’s pulverized human brains.”

Ravi stopped licking his fingers, his eyes widening in horror. “Oh, god. My monthlies.” He leaned across the table, shoving the top of his head into Major’s field of vision. “Is there any white showing yet?”

“No. But you do seem emotional.” Major grabbed his phone. “Hey, make that face you made when you realized you were eating brains? I want to send a pic to Liv and Peyton.” They’d both get a kick out of it. Maybe Liv would even respond.

Instead of the horror-struck face, Ravi made a face like he’d just had a really good and really terrible idea. “Peyton,” he muttered.

“What about her?”

“Oh. Uh, nothing. she just made me think of Peyton … Manning.”

“Peyton Manning,” Major echoed. “Who played what sport, exactly?”

“Water polo?”

“Right. Most famous U.S. women’s water polo captain ever.”

“Exactly. Sorry, mate, have to run.” Ravi dashed from the kitchen, leaving his hot sauce covered eggs, which Major finished. Not as good as they would have been once upon a time, but once he added some of the brain paste scraped off the last of his bagel, not half bad. He hoped whatever Ravi was doing, he wasn’t about to get himself in trouble.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hours later, he had his answer, as Liv came in with a clearly not well Ravi draped over her shoulder. She settled him on the couch. Ravi was moaning, and Liv was singing along, and Major was totally confused about what had happened since breakfast.

“Man, you do need that spa,” Major said, frowning in concern as his roommate doubled up in agony, shaking and crying out.

“Comfy?” Liv asked as she tucked a blanket up around Ravi’s shoulders.

“No. I, uh …” Ravi tried to focus past her at Major. “I ate the brain of a heroin addict.”

So much for hoping he wouldn’t do anything stupid. “I better hide my China White.” Major took a bite of his lettuce wrap.

Ravi’s eyes widened immediately. “You got some?”

Major frowned at him.

“Bucket,” Ravi said urgently to Liv. “Bucket bucket bucket bucket bucket.” She hastily snatched up the trash can and put it down next to him. But Ravi moaned again and shook his head. “No. It passed.”

“And you’re doing this why?” Major asked.

“To help a friend in need.”

“Ravi, she specifically said not to do this,” Liv told him.

“She?” Oh. Of course. That’s what he meant by “Peyton” at breakfast. Major had to hand it to his roommate—he was devoted to winning Peyton back. “Ah! This is an ‘impress Peyton’ thing.” He looked at Liv. “Why did Peyton—?”

But she wasn’t listening to him or looking at him. Or, it seemed, answering his questions. “Ravi! Have your roommate make sure you don’t do anything dumb. In fact, give him your wallet.”

Apparently seeing the sense in this order even in his current extremity, Ravi dug his wallet out of his pocket and tried to toss it across the room to Major. It landed weakly next to the couch instead, and Liv retrieved it, setting it down on the coffee table.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Major observed.

“I’m fine,” Ravi protested. “I’m better since I barfed.”

Liv turned to go and Major frowned at her. “What, you’re just going to leave him here?”

“Well, this is where he lives. Unless you and your sandwich have more important plans.”

She was acting weird again, and Major decided not to ask what brain she was on in favor of the more important questions. “Well, where are you off to?”

“I’ll be saving the world,” she told him dramatically, and headed out the door.

He wished her good luck. The world could use saving. He just wished she had saved Ravi from doing this really stupid thing before she headed off to leap tall buildings with a single bound.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Major stuck it out with Ravi until it was nearly time for his shift at Fillmore Graves. There were no signs of improvement in his roommate’s condition, so he did the only thing he could think of—he texted Peyton, using a long-standing SOS code he and she and Liv had worked out back in college.

She took a little longer to get to the house than he had expected, leaving him worried that he would have to leave for work with Ravi in this condition. Fillmore Graves was short-staffed enough that not going in was a dire emergency kind of thing, something that Major would rather save for something more drastic than his roommate pulling a hare-brained stunt to impress a girl.

He opened the door as Peyton knocked on it imperatively. “You’re here, thank god.”

“Yeah, I’m here, and I’m having a heart attack. An SOS text at two in the morning? What’s going on?”

Major would have thought that would be obvious. “I’ve got work—and Ravi can’t be alone.”

Peyton frowned at him. “He can’t?”

“He already got into the medicine cabinet. I had to pry a bottle of cough syrup away from him. He bit me, I think he stole my only other work uniform but won’t tell me where he put it … he offered to ‘pleasure me’ for my car keys.” Major laughed at the absurdity, trying not to think about how much it had sucked watching someone he loved go through that. “Yeah, I think he was kidding, but I’m only sixty percent sure.”

“I’m … I’m lost. What’s wrong with Ravi?”

“He ate some junkie’s brain. Thought he did it for you.”

“He did?” Peyton looked blank. So she hadn’t known—Ravi had gone off half-cocked and hadn’t even told her.

“Yeah. He did. And he’s really suffering, the idiot, so … be nice to him. Try to get him to eat some brain paste. I offered, but he won’t do it. Maybe he will for you.”

“Okay.” Peyton seemed to be getting the situation into her head now. “Okay, you go. I’ll take care of this.”

Major went, but he wished he felt more certain of her ability to take care of it.

Chapter 151: The Boss Man

Major was enjoying a relatively peaceful day at work—nothing untoward to report in his paperwork, Ravi back to human again and no longer jonesing for heroin, Liv off his radar almost completely, Jordan and Captain Seattle settling in and learning to be decent soldiers—when he got a call from Chase Graves, summoning him up to the big glass office. That was never good; almost certain to lead to some talking-to or assignment that would mess with Major’s peace of mind.

Still, he imagined that Chase Graves would give a lot to have even the half day of contentment Major had just enjoyed, so no use complaining about his own lot. He tucked his paperwork away in his desk and headed up to the top floor.

When he arrived, Graves’ assistant Alice motioned him to go on in. Chase Graves was standing behind his desk fiddling with something that looked like a walkie-talkie receiver, only smaller.

“You asked for me, sir?”

“I did.” Graves focused on the receiver for another moment before remarking, “General Mills hasn’t said a peep about nuking Seattle, since you smuggled his daughter into the city.” He looked up at Major at last, and Major tried to keep his continued chagrin over how that particular mission had gone off his face. Graves smiled and put the receiver down. “That’s one problem solved on a very long list. There’s a brain shortage out there. Most of our problems come back to that. We’ve heard rumors that our own men are skimming brains and selling them on the black market. I want you to find out who’s behind it.”

Major hesitated. It was true, there were guys out there doing just that, and he had a fairly good idea of at least some of their names, but … if he went behind their backs and reported on them, their buddies would make his life miserable.

At Major’s silence, Chase Graves turned to look at him, disappointment and impatience clear on his face. “You want me to find someone else to do it?”

“You give the order, I’ll do it.” Major was a good soldier, after all … and he knew as well as Graves did how much of their trouble stemmed from a city full of increasingly hungry zombies. Loyalty was fine, until it came up against the potential for a serious disaster because of your fellow soldiers’ greed.

“You just don’t want to be a rat. Am I right?”

Major didn’t need to respond to that one; Graves knew.

Smiling, Graves dispensed some advice. “Get over it.”

Well, if that was the mandate, Major was going to go all in. “There is one name I know. Russ Roche.”

“Ugh! Roche is a dolt. No way he’s the ringleader.” Graves thought about that for a moment, then added, “I want you to buddy up to him.”

“Fun, fun.”

“If he likes getting a colonic, you take him out for his-and-his colonics. Make him a colonic-themed mixtape. Just find out who’s calling the shots.”

As they talked, Graves had been moving around his office, running the receiver along pieces of his furniture, picking up anything loose and passing the receiver over it. Major realized suddenly that it wasn’t a receiver at all—it was a scanner for listening devices.

“Sir, is there a reason you think your office is bugged?”

“Yes.” When nothing further was said, Major decided he’d been dismissed and headed for the door, but was stopped before he could reach it by Graves calling his name. Turning, he saw Graves looking at him, really focusing on him, for only the second time in this conversation. “Be careful with Roche,” Graves told him. “He’s not smart, but he is a killer.”

Major nodded, understanding, and headed out the door to figure out how to start buddying up with Roche without making it seem obvious.

He caught up to him in the rec room, where Roche liked to monopolize the pool tables. Major managed to get himself into a game with Roche, carefully losing just enough to make Roche feel like he had accomplished something when he took Major’s money. In the process, Major dropped into the conversation some dark allusions to Natalie’s birthday, which was coming up and did bother him, and how it was humans who had killed her and all their friends. This was popular stuff, and went down well, in addition to being true.

Enough progress was made that Roche told him at the end of the night, while he was counting Major’s money, that Major should come hang out with him and his buddies at the Scratching Post. Because where else did bored zombies with money to burn from selling illegal brains go, after all?

He reported to a very distracted Chase Graves the next day intending to give him a progress report, and was asked to stay for a staff meeting, which turned out to be a long and hopefully cathartic rant by Graves about the newspaper coverage of Mama Leone’s execution. Turning the paper over, Graves ended with, “And you can probably guess what they say about me. Let’s see. Ah! I spend more time at the gym than I do at my desk. I’m a demagogue who uses the city’s tax dollars to eat brains at Romero’s.” He put the paper down.

It was shoddy reporting—anyone who knew Chase Graves at all knew that he was rarely away from his desk, and ate brain tubes in his office more often than he went out anywhere, much less Romero’s.

“One article. In one newspaper,” said one of his advisors, in a tone that clearly indicated she thought he was making a tempest in a teapot.

Another advisor, an older man named Hobbs, leaned forward uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Commander. Can I ask what …” he paused and looked over his shoulder at Major, “Lilywhite is doing here?” He pronounced “Lilywhite” as if the word tasted bad. “Did he get some kind of promotion we weren’t made aware of?”

Graves looked at him blankly. “Huh? Did I forget the paperwork?” The advisor stared at hm, startled, and Major wondered just what exactly he had been promoted to. This was news to him. “I might have,” Graves added thoughtfully. “I’ve had my hands full.” He stood up, still eyeing the advisor, and announced, “Major is the new vice president of getting stuff done. Which means he outranks any of you because, well, he gets stuff done.”

There were some smiles at the table, the advisors seeming not to realize that Graves was completely serious.

“Everyone out,” Graves announced suddenly.

Major nodded and turned to go. The rest of them moved more slowly, gathering papers and generally taking the order as more of an invitation.

Over the sounds of their paper rustling, Graves shouted, “Except my VP of getting stuff done! You, get back in here.”

At the order, Major stopped with the door partially open, holding it for the rest of the meeting’s attendees as they filed out, looking at him with expressions ranging from curious to patronizing to hostile.

Once they were gone, Major turned to Chase Graves. “Sir?”

“Have you made any progress with Roche?”

“Oh, I’ve lost a hundred bucks to him playing pool, buddying up to him, and we made plans to hit the Scratching Post next week.”

“What do you say we turn you into besties?”

Major was pretty sure whatever this plan was, he wasn’t going to like it.

“Take Roche’s unit down to the offices of the 206 Weekly and shut them down.”

Yes, Major definitely didn’t like it. The 206 Weekly was the paper Graves had just been ranting about. It was also the paper that had blown open the truth about zombies after that girl reporter had wormed her way into Ravi’s trust. Still … shutting down the press felt—wrong. “Do we have the authority to do that, sir?” Major asked carefully.

“We are the authority.” Graves said it quietly, with some regret.

And Major had to accept that. He agreed to the assignment and left the office, gearing himself up to become someone everyone he loved was going to hate.

Chapter 152: Manipulation. Fabrication.

Russ Roche was delighted when Major told him their mission for the day. Of course he was. Major was sympathetic—this was the paper that had laid out everything about zombies, the reporter who had betrayed Ravi, the article that had made Liv the face of zombies everywhere. Major wanted to send a very strong message about how he felt about that.

But under other circumstances, he would have respected the freedom of the press. The reporter had been unprincipled, yes, but from her point of view she’d been chasing down an important story, something the public needed to know about that was being covered up by the very top of Seattle’s leadership. He didn’t blame her, not entirely.

Still. In the name of cozying up to Roche, in the name of making a statement to the press that New Seattle wasn’t necessarily going to be operating under the old rules, timeless and deeply honored though they might be … Major would do what he had to do.

At the head of a squad of zombie soldiers, Major marched into the paper’s offices. An older man, likely the editor, was standing in the middle of the room with Ravi’s ex-crush. Rachel, if memory served. Both of them turned to frown at the soldiers. “What the hell? What is this all about, here?”

“Are you in charge?” Major asked him.

“I’m the editor.”

“I need you to direct your people to shut down their computers, pack up their personal belongings, and exit the building.”

“Why? When can we return?”

“You can’t. Your newspaper is being closed down for the public good.” Major couldn’t deny that he was enjoying this, just a little. He took an extra pride in keeping his voice even and his bearing professional.

“The public good?” Rachel repeated incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“You’re printing fake news,” Roche told them. “That Mama Leone lady was making more zombies when we can’t feed the zombies we already have.”

“We are on the precipice of destruction at all times.” Major wished he was lying … or even stretching the truth. But he wasn’t. Any day, this could all come crashing down around their ears, and these people were chipping away at the foundations in a way none of them could afford. “The old rules of freedom of the press no longer apply.” Over the shoulders of the two people he was talking to, he noticed a man at a desk beginning to unplug a laptop, as if to take it with him. “You!” Major pointed at him. “Do not take any computer equipment. This includes any kind of hard drive, thumb drive, memory stick. It all stays here.”

“No. No way.” Rachel headed for her desk. “If you’re shutting us down, I’m taking my work home—”

Before she reached the desk, shots rang out. People screamed and ducked behind their desks as computers all around the room exploded from the impact of the bullets.

When there was silence again, Rachel was the first to stand up, glaring at Major. Behind him, Roche was silent, as he damned well better be, Major thought grimly. As leader, it should have been his call if there was going to be shooting, and he couldn’t even make that point to Roche without ruining all the progress he’d made in cozying up to him.

Rachel understood the chain of command, though, and her disgusted gaze remained firmly on Major. “What do you expect from the Chaos Killer?” she asked. She picked her laptop, which was flat enough to have survived Roche’s shooting spree, up off her desk, and without a second’s thought, Major drew his sidearm and shot it out of her hands. She dropped it, crying out, and turned to him again, in shock this time.

Major forced a cocky smile. “That’s my name, baby. Don’t wear it out.” He exchanged satisfied glances with Roche, hoping no one could tell that he’d far rather have been helping clean up than causing more chaos. “Now, if there are no more objections?”

The editor clearly wanted to object, as did Rachel, but the rest of the staff went quietly, even submitting to being searched as they left.

Rachel was the last out, stopping to glare at Major one more time. “You’ll be sorry.”

“That,” he told her, “is what they all say.”

Roche hovered over her. “You let me know if you want me to give you an interview, sweetheart. Because I’ll be happy to get … in depth with you, anytime.”

Major met his eyes and shook his head slightly. Roche grinned and stepped back.

“Pigs. You’re all pigs, and murderers.” Another of the squad made a motion as if to hurry her out the door and Rachel lifted her hands up in a surrender motion. “I’m going. But you won’t have things all your own way forever. New Seattle is on the precipice, all right … and Fillmore Graves will be the first to fall.”

“What do you mean by that?” Roche demanded, stepping toward her. Major stopped him as she scurried around one of the other soldiers and out the door.

“She doesn’t mean anything,” Major said. “She’s just talking big so she can feel like she scored on us.” He gestured at the room. “We all know who won today.”

And what was lost, he reflected to himself, giving the room one last look before he locked the door and watched the squad put up caution tape over it. Truth, justice, and the American way. New Seattle was no place for Superman. Or Clark Kent, either.

Chapter 153: Harden My Heart

Major was not surprised to be called into a meeting the next day, with Russ Roche in tow. He was surprised, however, to find that Peyton Charles was one of those present, along with the current mayor of Seattle. She was the last person he wanted to have to face after shooting up the offices of the press—well, last after Liv, he supposed. But he couldn’t afford to let her see how badly he felt, not in front of Roche. That would undo everything he had tried to accomplish. So he sat stone-faced while Mayor Baracus calmly laid out all the reasons their actions at the newspaper office the day before had been emblematic of an incendiary level of overreach by Fillmore Graves.

Next to him, he could count on Chase Graves’ own stone face to keep the meeting calm. He was less sure about Roech, without whom they wouldn’t be having this meeting, after all.

But he couldn’t take the risk of craning his neck to see what Roech looked like, and he certainly couldn’t look Peyton in the eye. He fixed his eyes on the wall on the other side of the room, above her head.

Baracus finished speaking and paused, waiting for Graves’ reaction, but there was none. So Baracus smiled, a calm and reasonable but tense smile. “Come on, Chase. It was a mistake. Admit it and move on. Shooting up a newspaper office, shutting them down, it’s like you’re begging humans to riot.”

Chase Graves spoke up for the first time since they had all taken their seats, his voice emotionless. “Are they rioting?”

“No reports of riots,” Russ Roche responded. His tone was not emotionless. In fact, it sounded smug. God, Major hated that guy. Still, he was supposed to be pretending to be on his side, so he tried to look smug to match.

Baracus was not amused. The tension ratcheted up in his expression and the smile faded.

Graves leaned forward across the table. “I’m placing a bet. I’m betting that no one cares enough to take to the streets over one rinky-dink alt-weekly closing its doors. I suppose all the city’s sex workers will have to find a new place to advertise.”

Peyton spoke up for the first time. “Shutting down the press over a critical story. Isn’t that what an autocrat does?” Her voice was as emotionless as Graves’, but to the point. Major was hard put not to wince. But then, Graves had little choice. He was presiding over a divided city, as much as or more than Baracus was, and he was charged with keeping the peace and keeping people alive.

His eyes on Peyton’s face, no visible reaction to her words, Chase Graves spoke quietly into the silence that followed her accusation. “That’s what I am.”

Her eyes widened at the admission, and she looked at Major, who immediately looked away.

Graves continued, “You want to know when democracy doesn’t work? It doesn’t work when you’re sitting on a powder keg. It doesn’t work when your people are starving. It doesn’t work when your entire species is on the brink of extinction.”

Peyton crossed her arms, clearly not buying it. Major realized that she was the only human in the room, and he wondered if she felt that, if she felt the differences between them, or if, to her, they were all the same. He couldn’t really remember what it had felt like to be human any longer.

“So,” Chase Graves concluded, “you can lament the closing of the 206 Weekly. But they tried to make a hero out of a woman who made it harder to keep our population fed.” Even as Peyton’s head tilted, outrage clear on her face, Graves’ voice rose, loud and determined. “I want human smuggling stopped so I can save lives. I don’t regret the execution of that woman.”

“I didn’t ask if you did,” Peyton said. “Your soldiers didn’t just lock the doors of the 206 Weekly. They terrorized the staff. They caused thousands of dollars in damages—”

Before she could really get rolling, Russ Roche cut her off. “Fake. News.”

Peyton and Baracus both stared at him in disgust. Even Major couldn’t keep himself from turning to his fellow soldier, wishing the guy would just keep his damned mouth shut.

“Fake, huh?” Peyton demanded. “You didn’t shoot up the place?”

“Nope.”

“You sure about that?”

In the increasingly charged atmosphere, Peyton’s anger rising and Baracus utterly done with all of them, Chase Graves said, “Lilywhite, clear this up. What happened?”

Major would have given all the Xbox games in his collection not to be here at this moment, not to be put on the spot in front of someone he loved and respected having to lie about something he was ashamed to have done and pretend it was okay. But that was what the job demanded of him today. Peyton would understand if she knew everything, he told himself. She would.

But he still couldn’t look at her, addressing himself solely to Mayor Baracus. “The situation was under control until reporters failed to follow instructions. They became belligerent and attacked us. The limited gunfire was warranted to control the situation.”

“So, there you have it.” Chase Graves got to his feet. “Well, we always appreciate a visit from the mayor’s office. We need to do this more often.”

Everyone else stood up as well, Peyton not taking her eyes off Major’s face. He couldn’t look at her—she would read the truth if he did. As she left, Roche grinned and slapped Major on the back, spouting some nonsense, but Major wasn’t listening. He was wishing he could haul off and hit this guy, throw him out the glass windows of Chase Graves’ office … and as he met Graves’ eyes over Roche’s shoulder, he could see that his boss was wishing the same thing.

It made Major feel somewhat better to know they were in this mess together.

Chapter 154: Night Is Dark

After the horrible meeting with Peyton and Baracus, Major felt sick to his stomach. But Russ Roche was jubilant. “We showed that bitch, didn’t we? ‘Autocrat’. Graves showed her an autocrat, didn’t he?”

Forcing a matching jovial mood, Major grinned. “He sure did.”

“We should celebrate! This calls for wine, women, and song. Or, you know, shots, brains, and whatever trouble we can find to get into.”

“Scratching Post?”

“You know it! Got a shift tonight, but I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

“It’s a plan.”

As Roche made his self-satisfied way down the hall, Major frowned after him. He didn’t have a shift tonight. Apparently Major hadn’t made it into Roche’s inner circle just yet. More time spent playing along with this guy was going to turn Major into some kind of monster … but that was the job he’d signed up for, so he might as well go along with it.

At the Scratching Post the next night, Roche dropped thousands of dollars on top-shelf booze and the top seller on the menu—cowboy brains. Major sure hoped that turning into a cowboy didn’t make him spill the beans, but he also couldn’t afford not to partake, not without making Roche suspicious.

So he ate, and he drank as sparingly as he could manage, and he laughed at all Roche’s misogynistic jokes. Knocking back a slug of whiskey with imported hot sauce, he let out a “yeehaw!” that echoed through the bar.

“You like to party, don’t you, boy?” Roche asked admiringly.

Major laughed. “Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?” It was time to ante up, he decided. Letting his tone go more serious, he said, “But Russ—I can’t afford all of this. You keep spottin’ me; it ain’t right.”

“Hey, you ever need a few more coins in your pocket, you just tell me.”

Recognizing his opening with relief, Major said, “I am so dadgone broke, partner, I’d do anything.”

To Major’s dismay, before Roche could continue, Don E approached their table. “Hey. Stop requesting songs about tractors and cold beers. You’re makin’ everybody wish they were more dead.”

“I’m just treatin’ my partner here to a night on the town,” Roche told him. He put his arm around Major’s shoulders. “Shoot, I’d’ve been knocked into a cocked hat if it weren’t for this buckaroo’s loyalty.”

“Skittles. We’re a pack of wolves, ain’t we? We stick together.” He and Roche howled together. Don E looked horrified, and backed away from their table like cowboy brain might be catching.

Later, full to the brim with good whiskey and cold beer, they went to a zombie fight club together.

“You’ll love this place,” Roche assured him. “The Zombie Thunderdome. Blood everywhere.”

“Russ, this has been the best time I’ve had since the last time I bucked my bronco, if you know what I mean.”

Roche grinned. “I aim to please, partner.”

The atmosphere was enough to pump a person up—the two fighters making grandiose promises, everyone screaming for their heads, the noise enough to deafen a human. Major had to admit, he was feeling the excitement in the air. Maybe a little too much. He thought he might need a moment to remember who he was. Leaning over to Roche, he said, “Reckon I oughta shake the snake before it starts.”

“Don’t fall in, partner.”

“I’ll surely try not to.” He hurried off … and ran smack into Liv.

“Lord Major of the Lilywhite.” She shook her head at him in disappointment. “My lady Peyton doth tell me that your knights have acted with little honor.”

“Liv, I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Forsooth, what better time could there be than the present moment?”

“Pretty much any time would be better than this one.”

“And what, pray tell, causes thee to exeunt with such unseemly haste?”

He frowned. This brain must be a doozy. He pitied Clive for having to parse all these highfalutin sentences. “The need to pee, Liv. So unless you want to be standing in a puddle …” He gestured for her to get out of his way.

“Chivalry hath expired,” she said sadly, but she moved, and he headed for the bathroom to try to simultaneously calm himself down and remember why he was here, and psych himself back up after that unsettling encounter. At least this Renaissance festival brain or whatever it was had kept her from making a scene that would have drawn Roche’s attention, but man, that had been a close one.

He left the bathroom and they finished the night, but something had gone out of it for Major, despite the excitement of the fight. Roche seemed to have lost some of his energy as well. He was pretty quiet the rest of the night, and when he dropped Major off at his car, he had no response to any of Major’s hints about ways to make extra money.

Major hoped it was something he ate—or drank—and prepared to get back to the pretense of being a jerk with no conscience again tomorrow, exhausting though that charade was becoming.

The next day, he was playing a quiet solo game of pool in the empty break room when he saw Roche go by. Roche saw him as well, but his pace didn’t slacken. Alarmed, Major called out his name. When Roche came into the room, he gestured to the table. “Want to win some more money off me? I’m feeling unlucky.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Roche’s tone was clipped.

“Everything okay?”

Roche hesitated before stepping slowly into the room, frowning. “Last night. What were you telling that cop?”

“Cop? I didn’t talk to a cop.” Then it sunk in: Russ had seen him talking to Liv. Damn it. Speaking of feeling unlucky—of all the places to run into her!

Roche didn’t believe him. “I saw it, bro. The blonde zombie that works with the police? She’s a medical examiner, I think.”

Major thought fast. Roche wouldn’t have described her that way if he knew Major’s history with her—it seemed likely that Roche wouldn’t have talked to Major at all if he knew his history with Liv. Unless he was significantly smarter than Major had given him credit for, but that was a risk Major was going to have to take. “Look, man, I just saw a pretty girl and was chatting her up.”

“Any luck?”

“Nope.”

Major tried not to openly hold his breath while Roche stared at him, weighing whether to believe him, and tried equally hard not to give an obvious sigh of relief when Roche decided to believe him and smiled. “Yeah. So, you free to meet up tonight?”

Was he ever. “Sure,” he said casually.

“Still eager to make some extra money?”

“You know it.”

“Cool.” Roche fist-bumped him. “I’ll text you the address. We can meet there.”

“Yeah.”

Roche paused in the doorway. “And, uh, what we’re doing? It’s not exactly legal.”

Major suppressed a whoop of victory—finally!—and made it into a cocky grin instead. “I ain’t dumb, son.”

With an answering grin, Roche left the room, and Major breathed a sigh of relief. At last he was getting somewhere.

Chapter 155: How Far I Could Go

Major arrived at the address Roche had texted him with some misgivings. Actually, a lot of misgivings. It was near the docks, a conglomeration of warehouses, and it appeared completely deserted. A perfect place to get rid of someone, in Major’s assessment, and he should know, given that he used to be someone who got rid of people.

He stood beneath a street light and waited, trying to be patient and calm, ready to run for it if he had to.

He was just starting to type a text to Chase Graves when he saw headlights coming around a corner. Deleting the text and shoving his phone back into his pocket, he waited while an unmarked black van pulled up in front of him. Squinting through the headlights, Major tried to see into the van, but he couldn’t make out anyone’s faces.

Men armed with axes piled out of the van, standing between it and him. Finally, Roche climbed out of the driver’s seat, also carrying an axe. Major waited, warily, until Roche came near enough to toss him the axe. He caught it deftly, trying not to show how relieved he was.

“Ready to get your hands dirty?” Roche asked him.

Major looked at the axe and then back at Roche and nodded. “Born ready.”

“Let’s go pay some folks a visit.”

He followed Roche and the others to a warehouse down the block, hidden amongst a lot of boats. Rich people’s toys, mostly, although they were pretty handy for getting out of the Seattle area, as well. You saw a lot less boats these days than you used to.

At a nod from Roche, Major bent down and grasped the handle of the warehouse door, rolling it up swiftly.

The two zombies inside looked up, panicked, at the sound. One of them started backing away, but the other showed more defiance. Even as Roche was coming toward him with a pistol leveled at his head, the zombie was complaining, “No, man! These are our tubes. We bought them. We’re just repackaging them.” Roche had closed with the mouthy zombie by now, grabbing him by the coat collar and shoving him back into a support column. “Please!” the zombie begged. “No!”

The other one tried to run, and Major decked him, knocking him backward into a pile of barrels.

Roche grinned over his shoulder. “Nice.” Then he looked back at the zombie he was holding, gesturing with the pistol. “I should probably make an example out of you, don’t you think?”

The zombie shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Roche glanced at Major over his shoulder again. “What do you think, Major? Should we waste him?”

Part of Major wanted to say yes. Seattle had too many zombies as it was, and these two were endangering everyone by cutting the tubes with gelatin—underfed zombies were a menace, and Seattle already had more than enough of them without these guys getting in the way. On the other hand, this zombie had been a person, with a life and a family, most likely, before he was turned—possibly by Fillmore Graves itself, in its bid to make Seattle a zombie city. It wasn’t his fault. And he was likely starving just like all the other zombies in the city, just trying to make a little extra money to buy more brains.

Either way, Major couldn’t outright say no to Roche without a good reason. Then he had an idea, and grinned at its simplicity. He dug a coin out of his pocket. “Call it.”

Roche nodded. “Heads we waste him.”

Major flipped the coin, slapping it down on his hand, and looked at it, carefully, ready to move his hand and make it fall if anyone came near enough to see that it had landed heads. “Tails,” he reported, pretending to be disappointed.

For a moment, he—and the zombie—thought Roche was going to pull the trigger anyway, but eventually Roche put the gun away and took his hand off the zombie’s throat. “There won’t be a next time, will there?” he asked.

The zombie shook his head. “No.”

Turning away from him, Roche called out, “Put those axes to good use, boys!”

Major was glad enough to do so. Brain tube chop shops like this one were bad for everyone. He was relieved that his first job for Roche had been fairly innocuous, but disappointed that he wasn’t going to come away from this with anything he and Chase Graves could use to take Roche down. More pretending to be a monster, then.

He slammed the axe into a pile of barrels, finding it therapeutic. At least he was getting a workout from this situation, if nothing else.

Chapter 156: There's No Return

“Every Fillmore Graves soldier will be out there hunting for Cain,” Major told his squad. They were getting ready to go out on special search duty, hunting an escaped zombie serial killer. “All right? I want our unit to be the one to bring him in.”

Before any of them could respond, Chase Graves appeared in the room. Somehow he looked smaller than he used to—the cares of New Seattle were taking a real toll on him. “Major. A word?” It wasn’t a request.

“Yes, sir.” Major followed him around to the other side of the bank of lockers.

In a low voice, Graves said, “Bring me up to speed on our friend, Russ Roche.”

“I’m making progress. He took me out with his crew.” Not much progress, so Major hoped this wasn’t supposed to be an extensive interrogation. “We busted up a few brain stills, roughed up his competition.”

“Great. Keep at it.” Graves didn’t move, and Major wondered what else had brought him down here.

He took the opportunity to ask the question on every Fillmore Graves soldier’s mind right now. “Sir, if I may ask, how the hell did Cain escape?”

“A zombie horde attacked a prison transport bus. Cain was on the bus, and somehow he got away.”

“Any chance that horde was from the Triple Cross Church?” Major asked.

Graves frowned at him. “’Triple Cross’ what?”

“A church for zombies. The preachers work them into a lather. My unit dropped in when we were tracking down that phone video; we almost didn’t make it out alive.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then Graves punched the locker next to him, hard enough to dent the door. He kept punching until the door had come completely off its hinges. “Why am I just hearing about this now? I can’t do my job if I don’t know what’s going on in this city!” He sank onto the nearest bench.

“I put it all in the report, sir. I left nothing out.” It was a weak excuse, and Major knew it. He should have brought the church up to Graves personally—there was no way he had time to read all the reports that hit his desk cover to cover. He’d just been so shook up to see Angus McDonough there that he’d tried to put it all out of his mind.

“I never saw it.”

“Maybe it got misplaced?”

“It wasn’t misplaced. It was withheld from me. Deliberately.” Graves got to his feet, moving closer to Major, his voice dropping. “I’m not sure who I can count on here, Major.” He looked up into Major’s face, then moved past him, his gait halting, as though he had taken a blow. He finished, “But I’m sure I can count on you.”

“Of course.”

Graves left, and the rest of the unit turned to look at Major with curiosity, which he chose not to satisfy.

“All right,” he told them. “Let’s head out.”

Captain Seattle cleared his throat. “Yeah, but …”

“What?”

“That was my locker.”

Everyone laughed. Much needed, too. Major appreciated that about Captain Seattle—he knew when to be serious and when a well-placed joke helped ease the tension. He was turning into a good soldier.

Before he could respond, his cell phone went off. “Hey, Ravi.”

“Major. I forgot my briefcase this morning. Would you mind picking it up, bringing it by the station?”

“Yeah, sure. ‘Cause I’ve got nothing else to do.” Major frowned. What was Ravi thinking?

“I’m sorry to be a pain. It’s just, it’s vital to something I’m working on.”

A cure? Could Ravi be close? Major thought through the night’s schedule. “Well, patrol will take me right by the house.”

“Oh, splendid! You’re a savior. Thanks, mate!”

“Yeah, later.” He closed the phone and finally was able to move his unit out of the locker room.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In the morgue, Liv was standing in front of a tray full of dismembered arms. Her outfit was some kind of sweatsuit—Major didn’t even want to know what brain this was—and there was a girl with her. A little girl, maybe twelve. Major was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what that was about, either.

“Hey, Liv.”

“Yo, why you rolling up?”

So, rapper brain. Interesting. “Looking for Ravi.” He lifted the briefcase. “I’m supposed to bring him this.” He looked at the girl. “Hey, there. I’m Major.”

“Hello, sir.”

Liv laughed. “’Sir’? Bitch, please. This is just Major. Major, this is my neighbor, Isobel.”

“And Ravi? He’s—” Major looked around and didn’t see his roommate.

“Somewhere. Not here.” Her tone made it clear that she wished Major was also not here.

Behind him, Major heard Jordan, tripping down the stairs exactly like he had told her not to. “Major, Seattle is getting on my last nerve.”

“I told you to wait upstairs.”

But then, of course, Captain Seattle was right behind her. He walked straight up to Jordan. “So now you just walk away in the middle of a conversation?” Then he caught sight of the tray of arms. “Ew!”

“They’re hands,” Jordan snapped. “Man up.”

Major snapped at both of them, “Hey, you two are getting on my last nerve.”

“They got beef, Major. Let them sort it out,” Liv put in. When all three of them turned to stare at her, she looked at Captain Seattle. “What’s your situation, son?”

“I thought we had something, but apparently we were just hooking up,” he explained, gesturing to Jordan.

“I never said we were exclusive!”

“Your body made a promise.”

“Thought my boo was ride or die till I got the 411,” Liv rapped. “’Cause he just a blank-faced coward with a narrow mind and a big-ass gun.” The look on her face as she glared at Major made it very clear who she meant.

“Liv, I know you’re on a brain, but seriously, what’s your problem?”

She stared at him like she couldn’t believe he was asking. Captain Seattle frowned at him. “What did you do?”

“Wait in the lobby!” Major ordered.

Seattle and Jordan reluctantly left the morgue, and Major stepped up to Liv. “So what am I in trouble for now?”

“You have to ask? You were right there when Chase Graves crushed Mama Leone’s skull. You probably had to wash bits of her off of you!”

So that was it. He should have known. Things moved so fast in New Seattle that the execution already seemed so long ago. “Renegade was breaking the laws and fully aware of the consequences.” It was the party
line, and it wasn’t wrong. Whether he believed it or not … well, that was above his pay grade. “Her death, while tragic, probably saves lives.”

Liv’s eyes widened in outrage. “Hey, Major, I’ve seen that movie, too. You’re quoting the bad guy.”

Before Major could respond, Peyton appeared from Ravi’s office, standing between them. “Will you two knock it off? You both love each other. You’ve been through tough stuff before, and this, too, shall pass.”

Major and Liv looked at each other. They did, in fact, love each other. That wasn’t in question. It never had been. Could they really let being on opposite sides of zombie politics make them enemies? But she wasn’t going to back down, and he couldn’t afford to, and Major didn’t see a way out.

Fortunately, just at that moment, his cell phone rang. “It’s Ravi,” he said with some relief. Glaring at Liv, he told her, “We should do this more often.” Then he left the morgue, and was glad to go.

Ravi had texted that he was in one of the interrogation rooms, so Major headed up there, wishing he was far less familiar with the layout of the police station. He knocked on the door, calling out Ravi’s name.

His roommate’s face appeared in the crack of the door, and he took the briefcase, but over his shoulder, Major heard the unmistakable sound of a die rolling. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on in there? I heard huzzahs.”

“Uh, official police business. Strictly need-to-know.”

Major pushed past Ravi into the room and saw exactly what he had expected to see: a D&D campaign in full session. Without him. “Quite a police emergency. So I guess Sirjay decided to sit this one out, huh?”

“What with the lockdown, you know …”

“Open the briefcase, Ravi.”

There was silence. Ravi propped the briefcase up on his knee and opened it, revealing one item within: his character figure. “Huzzah?” he offered weakly.

Major frowned at him. “So, you know, I’m out on the streets trying to catch a murderer.”

“I catch a murderer every week,” Clive muttered into his coffee mug.

“Did you know Peyton is downstairs?” Major asked Ravi, whose eyes widened in panic.

“She is?”

“But you’re gonna stay and play, right?” the police sketch artist asked him.

“Mmm,” Ravi said indecisively.

“Be your own man, Mosco,” Major counseled. “She’ll understand you staying up here playing D&D while you know she’s downstairs.”

“How will she know I’m playing D&D?”

“Oh, she’ll get the text I’m sending right now.”

Major pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“I hate you.”

“Next time you tell me it’s important, make it so.” Major frowned at the room in general and left, as Ravi hurried out and down the hall toward the morgue.

Chapter 157: His Moment of Doubt and Pain

After the police station, Major's team's next stop was the Scratching Post, where Blaine and his people had a drunk Fillmore Graves soldier who needed to be picked up, taken home, and dried out. Hardly glamorous work, but Major was kind of relieved to have at least one relatively normal and innocuous thing to do tonight.

He approached the bartender—the same Helton kid he had tried to buy Utopium from, and how long ago had that been? It felt like years. But the bartender gave no sign of recognition, and Major was hardly anxious to renew the acquaintance. “I hear you have something of ours?”

“They’re gettin’ it.”

And sure enough, moments later Blaine showed himself, accompanied by a large man with a body slung over his shoulders.

“Is that … Lil’ Bones Jones?” Jordan asked.

Major frowned at her lack of protocol. “You mean Major Jones.”

“Major Jones. With a major booze jones, Major Major.” Both she and Captain Seattle chuckled, and Major turned away from them. A lesson in respect would do them a world of good. Or maybe just him.

“Where’s good?” the minion asked, gesturing to Jones' limp form.

“Out in the Humvee.”

Blaine held a hand out, keeping the minion in place. “You’re welcome. Damn it, jumped the gun. I should’ve waited for the ‘thank you’.”

Just once before he died, Major hoped he had the chance to punch the smarmy smile right off this guy’s face. “Tell you what … I’ll trade you two annoying baby-faced soldiers for one workhorse goon.”

Blaine looked Jordan and Seattle over, and made it plain that he wasn’t too impressed. “I’m good.”

“Uncool, man,” Jordan said, glaring at Major.

“Oh, no, no, I wasn’t talking about you two. It was two other soldiers. You guys don’t know them.”

Both of them turned and stalked out. Blaine stayed quiet for once, and Major followed the minion out to the Humvee and saw Major Jones stowed securely away.

They got Jones back to headquarters and into a chair in the common room. Major sent the kids for water and enjoyed the peace and quiet while he waited for them to come back and watched Jones start to come to. When they finally came back with the water, he handed the bottle to Jones. “Here you go. You should drink ten of these.”

Jones guzzled down some of the water. “I’m hungry. I need a brain tube. Use my card.” He pulled his wallet out of his pants and stared into it, dumbfounded. “Where’s my ID?”

“With respect, you’ve got to get a handle on your drinking, sir. Losing your ID—”

“I wasn’t drinking,” Jones protested as he patted his pockets with increasing urgency. “Did it just fall out?” He leaned down to check his boots.

Jordan bent over to see the back of Jones’ neck. “Major, he’s bleeding.”

“Someone must’ve clocked him.” As Jones sat up, Major leaned in closer to him. “Who hit you?”

“I don’t remember.”

Major thought rapidly. Who would want to hit Jones, and why? Then he realized—zombie serial killer on the loose, missing high-level ID ... “Oh, no.” He reached for his phone.

“What is it?” Captain Seattle asked.

“He’s got level five security clearance. His ID authorizes entry into any area of this building. Go find Justin in the armory. Tell him to lock down the campus!” He called. The kids were already out the door by the time he’d finished speaking. Maybe they weren’t such bad soldiers, after all.

There was no answer in Chase Graves’ office, so he went up there, double-timing, and arrived just in time to shoot a man who had Graves down and was about to kill him—Cain, he presumed. From his prone position, clearly in pain, Graves yelled, “Go check the school dorm! He might have gone there first!”

And Major went, without another word, hoping he would find all the students safely tucked into bed.

After he did, indeed, find that all was well in the dorm, he reported back to Chase Graves, letting him know the status. “The perimeter is clear.”

The knee of his pants shredded and blood-stained, Graves was in the middle of picking something out of the wound with tweezers. Wearily, he said, “Well done, Major.”

Looking at the wound, Major guessed, “Buckshot?”

“Yep. If I collect them all, I win a prize.”

A trail of blood led around behind a sofa. Major followed it and found the man who had been threatening Graves earlier lying there, still alive, but not in good shape. “You’re aware Cain is back here?”

“Sure am. He still breathing?”

“Barely. Should I get him medical attention?”

“Let’s do him one better,” Graves said. “Scratch him.”

Major looked over his shoulder at his boss, not sure he liked this idea at all.

“Just let me die,” Cain begged. “Please.”

“Scratch him, soldier. That’s an order. He has an appointment with the guillotine.”

Saving a man’s life just to execute him. That wasn’t why Major had signed on for this. How much farther would they come from where they had started before this was all over?

Chapter 158: Larger Than Life

Wearily, Major unlocked his locker and started the process of changing out of his uniform. He used to come to work in such a good mood, ready for the day, and end it feeling like he’d accomplished something, feeling glad to have spent the time with his squadmates and friends. Now he dragged himself into work, gritted his teeth through the mind-numbing tedium and the never-ending political headaches, and ended the day wishing he was anywhere but here. He missed his old life, his old self, his relationships with Ravi, Liv, and Peyton … He missed Seattle the way it used to be.

He finished getting dressed, barely even registering the presence of his fellow soldiers until he heard the overloud voice of a new guy, Joey, hired since the disastrous party that had left them so short-handed. “Look at him, Tommy. Look at the way he buttons those buttons. Such dexterity. Such panache.”

Major looked at the guys and shook his head, trying to cover his irritation with resigned amusement.

“He looked at me,” Joey said with mock appreciation. “He looked at me!”

“Oh, be careful, Joey,” Tommy told him. “He might have just gotten you pregnant. He can do that, you know.”

Russ Roche came around the corner from the bathroom to catch the tail end of the mockery. “Hey. This man just saved the Commander from certain death. What’re you known for?”

Tommy and Joey replied without hesitation. “Playing grab-ass, sir.” “Binge-drinking, sir!”

Roche and Major looked at each other and grinned. Gesturing to Major, Roche said, “That man’s got a portfolio you could only dream about. He’s training cadets. He’s capturing Zombie Killer Cain. He’s saving the Commander’s life.” Then he laughed and smacked Major on the ass. “And in about twenty minutes, he’ll be tucking Chase Graves into bed.”

All the guys laughed, and Major forced a smile.

“Does Chase like a kiss on the forehead?” Tommy asked.

“Does he have a favorite story, or—” Joey didn’t get to finish the dig, because Chase Graves himself entered the locker room, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Damn straight, he has a favorite story. It’s Goodnight Moon. And he likes his kiss on the mouth, lots of tongue.” Graves tapped his lips with one finger, grinning.

Major was glad to see his boss in such an unexpectedly good mood. It had been a long time since Graves was in anything like a joking mood. Still … “Mmm,” he said, shaking his head. “And I mean this … You guys are all dicks.”

“Ooh, you were hoping for some hoopla?” Graves asked. “Find the new Renegade for me. Then you’ll get your Star Wars ending. You and Chewie and Han collecting your medals.”

Knowing that the Roche sting was already underway, Major didn’t worry too much about the Renegade comment. After all, the new Renegade couldn’t be up to speed just yet, not without a lot of backup from the old Renegade’s squad, and they had pretty much disappeared after their boss was murdered.

He headed out of the locker room, and Roche hurried to catch up to him. “Holy hell, Lilywhite, you can get away with murder around here.”

“Already have,” Major said lightly. “More than once.”

Roche grinned. “Times are good, my friend. Our product is selling like hotcakes.”

“Our product? I don’t even know who I’m working for.”

“You work for me,” Roche assured him. “You get paid, don’t you?”

“Barely.” Major lowered his voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am tremendously popular around here. I have the Commander’s ear. When am I gonna move up a tax bracket or two?”

“Well, aren’t you the ambitious one.”

“Uh-huh.”

Roche nodded. “I like that in a person. Let me give it some thought, I’ll see what else I might have for you.”

“All I ask for. Thanks, man.”

“Hey, for the hero of Fillmore Graves? Anything.” Roche punched Major playfully in the shoulder and headed off down the hall.

The next night, Major was called in on emergency duty to patrol a house where they were holding one of Renegade’s coyotes, captured as he tried to slip out of New Seattle. The coyote, a human, not much more than a kid, really, had sent Chase Graves and Lambert in the direction of Brother Love, and Fillmore Graves was holding him while they checked out the lead.

It was a boring patrol, nothing noteworthy until a car alarm suddenly started going off outside. Major and the others went to check it out, and while they were gone, someone broke a window and scratched the coyote, making him a zombie, and removing the option of eating his brain in order to get a vision of who Renegade was.

Unhappily, Major took his squad back to the campus the next morning and reported to Chase Graves’ office to give him the bad news that their prisoner was now suddenly a zombie.

Graves, still limping from Cain’s attack, got very close to Major and asked softly, “How is that possible?”

“Someone knew where he was. They broke a window to his room and scratched him.”

“And the sound of a breaking window failed to alert any of you?” Graves only spoke this quietly when he was very, very angry.

“We assume whoever did it set off one of our car alarms,” Roche said.

“My car alarm,” Major clarified.

“And used the cover of the alarm to get the job done.”

“Everyone get out their cell phones right now and unlock them. I want to know if any of you might’ve sent a signal. Unlock that,” he told Roche, looking over his phone.

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, Major found something he hadn’t known was there: a tracker. A tracker that someone had slipped into his pocket. Someone who had access to his house, someone who he knew had already been involved smuggling a human out of New Seattle.

Palming the tracker, he played innocent while an increasingly furious Chase Graves found nothing substantive, and thanked his lucky stars he had enough credit built up with his boss that Graves allowed it to seem like he was mystified and privately spoke to Major later assuming it must have been Roche.

Major held his own anger at bay long enough to get through his work day, but as soon as he could get away from Fillmore Graves’ campus, he knew exactly where to go.

Chapter 159: What Lies Beneath It All

Major didn’t even bother to change out of his uniform before driving to Liv’s. He called Ravi on the way, barely hiding his anger as his roommate confirmed that Liv was off work and thus likely to be home. He didn’t blame Ravi—it didn't seem likely that he could have known Major was going to be on patrol at the safe house last night, and Liv at best could have only guessed, using her one contact to try to save her friend. It might be time to move the hide-a-key, though, and make sure Liv didn’t have any other keys to his place. This could never happen again.

He rapped on the door, hard, and burst in past Liv the moment she opened it.

“Hey, Major.”

“Don’t you ‘hey, Major’ me. I know what you did, and I can’t believe you. I really can’t.”

“What do you mean?” But she had her guilty look on, as if he had needed the confirmation.

“You know exactly what I mean, Liv. You put a tracker in my pocket? You could have gotten me killed!” Chase Graves was fully angry enough to kill or seriously injure whoever had been responsible—even Major might not have escaped unscathed if that tracker had been discovered. “Did you even consider that?” He waved the tracker at Liv for emphasis.

She gave up the pretense of innocence. “You’re too close to Fillmore Graves, Major. You’re a true believer. You wouldn’t understand.”

“How the hell are you even involved with a coyote? A coyote who works for the biggest human smuggler in the city, no less.” Liv didn’t answer, and Major kept going. “Look, I know that you smuggled a kid out of the city, but I had—”

From behind him, a guy’s voice called out, “Hey. Buddy.” When Major turned to look at him, some dark-haired guy who looked vaguely familiar told him, “I think you need to leave.” There was a girl there, too, the young one Major had seen in the morgue the other day.

“Levon—” Liv began, but Major didn’t let her finish.

“Who are you?” he demanded of the stranger. No one was going to tell him when he needed to leave Liv’s place, not when she still didn’t understand the position, the danger, she had put him in.

The girl spoke up. “He’s one of the good guys. That’s who he is.”

“Isobel! I’ve got this,” Liv said firmly. “Okay?”

Ignoring Liv, Major pointed at the girl. “I remember you. From the morgue.” Then he looked at the guy, remembering now where he had seen him. “And you were at the execution.” He turned back to Liv, starting to piece together what had been going on here since he and Liv had stopped speaking. “You two huddled up, and I watched you, and I thought ‘what are they doing?’ And you know the word that popped into my head?” He remembered all this now, when at the time it had barely registered. “Conspiring. That’s what they’re doing. Conspiring. Isn’t that weird?”

All three of them were silent. Major looked at Liv, and she glanced at the guy. Major looked at the dark-haired guy and he dropped his eyes for a moment before looking up at Major. And suddenly the pieces fell into place. Liv wasn’t just a friend of the captured coyote. Liv was his leader.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he asked her. “You’re Renegade.” She didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t confirm. But she didn’t need to. He should have known it already, and felt stupid that he hadn’t guessed. “Of course you are. Seattle needed a hero, and guess who volunteered. The girl who can’t find meaning in her life any other way.”

A tiny part of him, the part that was still in love with her and always would be, was so proud of her for stepping up, for doing something so hard and so dangerous. The rest of him was angry beyond measure at her for being so stupid, for not seeing how much harder she was making things for everyone in New Seattle. And all of him was terrified for her. “This is going to get you killed, Liv. But hey, you were willing to get me killed, too. And for who? For that guy Curtis? Huh? Who is he to you? Was he worth risking my life?”

Major had forgotten they weren’t alone until he suddenly felt the dark-haired guy’s hand on the back of his uniform. “It’s time for you to go, buddy.”

Whirling, Major caught the guy by the arm, shoving him up against the wall face-first with his arm twisted behind his back. The girl from the morgue screamed, and Major slammed himself up against the guy, making the point that he would go when he was good and ready, and not until then, before letting him go.

Liv was angry now, too, and she glared at him. “Get out! Just go! Go!”

Major turned and went, because he really didn’t trust himself to stay any longer. Outside the building, he stopped and took a long breath. Liv was Renegade. What the hell was he going to do about that?

Chapter 160: Trouble

The adrenaline from pushing Liv’s new boyfriend around lasted until Major got home, when he realized he couldn’t talk to Ravi about what he had just learned, because either Ravi didn’t know and Major couldn’t afford to tell him, or Ravi did know and Major had to deal with the fact that his roommate had been keeping that secret from him.

Liv was Renegade. How had he not realized that before? Of course she would be. It was just the kind of over-the-top crusadery she wouldn’t be able to resist. But what the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t turn her in to Chase Graves. It was unthinkable. But he also couldn’t allow her to continue operating—every new zombe brought into the city increased the pressure on all of them. How could she not see that?

He lay in bed awake most of the night trying to decide what to do; he dragged himself into work the next day still wrestling with the knowledge and how to use it to make things better. He had to struggle to focus in the meeting Chase Graves had called—a dangerous distraction, considering this was the meeting when they were planning to roll out the bait to draw Russ Roche and whoever he was working for out into the open
once and for all.

Graves had started the meeting with the standard problem—not enough brains, and the brains that did come in disappearing somewhere between arrival and final distribution.

Leaning over the table, Graves concluded, “We may, however, have a solution.” He pointed to a box in the middle of the table. “High-tech crates, manufactured by a Japanese security firm. If breached, they signal their location.”

“They look expensive,” Lambert pointed out.

“They are. Major will test them out in the field; if they work, we’ll make the switch.”

“Yes, sir.” Major was the test; the boxes were the bait. Now to wait and see if Roche would bite.

He didn’t have long to wait. Roche came up to him in the locker room as he was changing out of his uniform immediately after the meeting. “Hey, you serious about wanting to pitch for the majors … Major?”

Feigning a smile at a joke so old he thought he’d heard it while he was still in diapers, Major nodded. “I’ve been warming up in the bullpen. Put me in, Coach.”

“It’s not quite as simple as that. There are steps to take.”

“One small step for zombiekind?”

“Something like that. Just … be ready for anything. These people are serious—they’re not going to take you on just my word.”

“And here I thought you were the guy.”

“Oh, I am. I am.” Roche grinned. “You wouldn’t get this far if I didn’t trust you absolutely. But caution is important, if the whole thing’s not going to fall apart.”

“Well, you just let your people know that I am a cautious man. Until it’s time for boldness, and then, watch out.”

“And that is what I like about you.” Roche punched him in the arm and headed out.

Major finished changing and left the locker room. Chase Graves caught up with him and they walked together to Graves’ office.

“Has our friend Russ Roche taken the bait?”

“He has. He says it’s time to meet with his boss.”

“Be careful.”

He didn’t have to tell Major twice.

In the office, Lambert and Hobbs were watching a video on the big screen over the conference table. “Commander. You need to see this.”

Major followed, his eyes widening as he recognized Angus McDonough, in his preacher’s robes. Angus was in the middle of a sermon, zombied out with his white hair and red eyes. “The only creature more despicable than a human is a zombie who murders other zombies! These infidels go by the name of Fillmore Graves, because they want to fill more graves with you, brothers and sisters.” The audience was into it, whooping and calling out “Yes, brother!” in the background. “They have the guns, but we’ve got God on our side.” Angus turned and pointed his hammer at the screen, and Major read the title of the video in the lower part of the screen: “Brother Love: Humans Are Food.”

“This went up last night,” Hobbs said. “It’s blowing up.”

“Oh, boy,” Major breathed, for lack of the profanities he would have liked to have spouted. This man was doing his level best to tear New Seattle apart. He only wished he knew what Angus was getting out of it all. Fame, he supposed … but there must be money, too. The McDonoughs didn’t do anything unless there was money in it.

Chapter 161: To Say It Right This Time

In response to a text from Roche, Major swallowed the tracker that would allow Fillmore Graves to follow him to his location, and drove to a mall parking lot, where Roche, in a black van, was waiting for him. He handed Major a black hood. “Here, put this on.”

“Really, dude?”

“Really. I told you, these guys don’t mess around.” The usually cocky Roche was subdued and nervous, glancing around him constantly. “Come on. Put it on and get in the van.”

“Okay, man.” Major made a show of reluctance that wasn’t entirely feigned as the hood came over his head, blurring sight and sound.

They drove for a long time, twists and turns so Major couldn’t have kept track of where they were going even if he’d been familiar with this part of Seattle. At last the van stopped. Roche’s door opened and closed, and then Major’s. Roche helped him out of the van and walked him into a building, then gave him a shove, forcing him to walk forward on his own, barely able to see enough in front of him to avoid tripping on anything that might be in his path. He nearly stumbled over a chair, and Roche forced him down into it, cuffing his wrists to the arms of the chair. “Uncool, Russ,” Major called out. “I thought I was a valued employee. This seems like overkill.”

Major could see people coming toward him now, not much more than shadowy shapes dimly seen through the hood.

“We’re here,” Roche said, plucking the hood off Major’s head.

The first thing Major saw was the light directly above him. He blinked as it stung his unprepared eyes and looked away. “That was fun.”

Once he could focus, he finally was able to see the faces of the men in front of him. All Asian, none of them anyone he recognized.

The one who appeared to be the leader said, “Sorry about the bag. It’s just … until we get to know each other.”

“You the guy in charge?”

“That’s him,” Roche confirmed.

“Name’s Major. I’m ready to be rich. Russ says you’re looking for a man who has Chase Graves’ ear to make all your dreams come true.”

Leader guy smiled. “Whoa, there. You may be rich before you leave this room, but not until I know I can trust you.”

Loudly, Major called out, “I’m also ready to be uncuffed and offered a drink.”

Roche and the leader looked at each other, appearing mildly entertained by Major’s chutzpah, but not as impressed as he’d hoped they’d be. “Patience, dude,” said the leader. “First, you gotta pass a little test.” He held his hand out for a bowl handed to him by one of his minions. “This brain is from a Russian gang member, a rival, who we captured and questioned. Every time he told a lie, we gave him the old bzzzt.” He laughed, finding himself hilarious.

Major forced a smile. He wondered if there was a way to counteract a brain’s effects so it wouldn’t take hold when you ate it. He’d have to ask Ravi sometime, if he was ever on speaking terms with any of his friends again.

“We did this for weeks,” the leader continued, “until his brain was rewired. By the time he died, he was, like, literally incapable of lying. Just like you’re about to be.” He popped the top on the bowl and took out a frozen chunk of blue brain. “It’s never failed us.” He held the chunk of brain out to Major like a parent feeding a toddler. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Major didn’t open his mouth, trying to sell his reluctance as annoyance.

The leader kept his smile as he asked, “Am I going to have to break your teeth with a hammer to get you to eat this, or will you be a big boy?”

“I’ll eat it,” Major agreed. “Just seems … inhospitable, that’s all.” He opened his mouth and allowed the chunk of brain to be deposited inside.

“Now chew. Annnd swallow. You know how to swallow, don’t you, just close your lips and—”

Major made a show of chewing and swallowing, opening his mouth to show it was empty as he loudly interrupted the leader. “Now what?”

“Now we wait. And then we’ll find out whose side you’re really on.”

“Bring it on.”

So they waited, Major interjecting the occasional snarky comment, playing up his boredom, pretending to have no secrets. They kept asking him innocuous questions like what sports teams he rooted for, and gradually he found that when he tried to lie what came out of his mouth wasn’t what he’d intended to say. So. The brain was going to work, and he was going to spill everything. Well, he might as well lean into it, then, and hope to get as much information out of their rising anger as possible … and hope, as well, that they wouldn’t just kill him as soon as they discovered he’d played Roche like a fiddle.

“Tell me,” the leader said, his smile disappearing for the first time. “Have you ever considered getting into bed with Chase Graves?”

Major decided to take the question literally. Or the brain decided it for him. He was no longer sure which. “Has it crossed my mind? Yeah. I mean look how he’s built. Where does he even find the time to work out? But hey, it’s not like I have pictures of Chase Graves taped up in my locker.”

Roche laughed. “Okay, I think it’s safe to say the truth brain’s kicked in.”

“Then let’s get right down to it. Are you with us or Fillmore Graves?”

The answer spilled out without conscious thought. “Fillmore Graves. Duh.” He kind of enjoyed seeing the superior look fade out of the leader’s eyes, to be replaced with alarm and irritation as the leader turned on Roche. Major went on. It felt freeing, after holding back his real thoughts for so long, just to let them fly. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been pretending to be on your side the whole time, just playing Russ, gaining his trust, hoping he’d eventually bring me to you. Which he did, because he’s not exactly Ivy League material. Like, maybe Brown, if he’s got connections.”

Roche charged Major at that, as thin-skinned as he was stupid and greedy, and the leader caught him, holding him back.

“It’s actually kind of interesting how he did it.” Major wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from talking, so he leaned into the flow of words. “See, Chase and I figured that if he announced that I was in charge of deciding whether or not to buy the fancy security measures, which never even existed, by the way, we just made them up, then Russ would bring me to you so you could convince me to veto it, which is exactly what Russ did, because Russ is a, um … Oh, what did Chase call him? ‘A dolt.’”

Roche was angry, but he was also scared, too scared to challenge Major, and the leader had his back to Major, seeming to be trying to decide which one of them to kill first.

Major grinned and leaned back in his chair. “So, yeah. Short version, I’m here to take you down.”

“AJ, I had no idea,” Roche said urgently. “I swear.”

“Shut up! Well—” the leader barked, turning back to Major. The smile was back on his face as he assumed he was on top of the situation. “Too bad things won’t work out the way you planned, Major. Looks like you’ll never get that gondola ride with Chase Graves in the Grand Canal.” He drew a gun, cocking it, and aimed it at Major’s head.

Major talked fast. “Actually, things worked out exactly as I planned because I swallowed a tracking device before coming here. And I’ve got cotton in my ears.”

As he spoke, a canister spun across the floor, bursting with an explosion that was loud to Major even with the cotton in his ears. It was followed by Major’s squad storming the warehouse with guns drawn and the leader’s entire team, including Roche, getting on the ground as directed by the armed soldiers.

Major grinned. “Hey, guys. Great work! My squad’s top-notch. Three of the four of them at least.” He winced at that one. Still on truth brain, it seemed.

“Major, zip it,” Jordan snapped.

Obediently, Major zipped it. He had talked enough for one night.

Chapter 162: Blow It Away

The party to celebrate their victory over Roche and his boss was off the hook. Fillmore Graves had taken over the Scratching Post, and everyone was feeling the relief of getting a chance to relax, to stop worrying for just a moment—maybe even to have hope that the future would be brighter.

Even Chase Graves looked as though some of the tension that had been weighing him down was easing. “This, my friends,” he announced, standing over boxes of confiscated brain tubes, “is what it looks like when a plan comes together!” Over the cheers in response, he continued, “I know what some of you cynics might be saying: ‘A hundred cases of brain tubes? Is that all we have to show for this operation, Commander?’ Well, you cynics would be forgetting about the traitors we’ve ferreted out. You’re forgetting about your zombie brothers and sisters who will sleep with fuller bellies. But most of all—you don’t know what’s in these cases.” Graves even cracked a rare smile as he reached into a box and took out a roll of money. “So tonight—and just tonight—we’ve got you covered. Eat what you want! Drink what you want. It’s all on Cobra Kai. Wait, that’s not right.” He was openly grinning now. “What were they called? Major? Where’s Major? The man of the hour?”

“The Blue Cobras,” Major called out, feeling a glow of pride.

“The Blue Cobras. That’s it. Let’s hear it for Lilywhite. He gets the job done!”

Major lifted his beer, smiling dutifully. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this victory was too little, too late, but he wasn’t about to bring down the party for his own forebodings.

“Hey, DJ!” Graves called out. “Play something from the aughts for this old soldier.”

The music blasted and various soldiers came up to Major to slap him on the shoulder. He wondered how many of these guys secretly sympathized with what Roche had done, and tried to squash the thought. New Seattle only worked if they trusted each other.

He made his way through the crowd to Chase Graves, who had come down to mingle with the men. Graves clapped him on the shoulders. “So, what do you say we get a picture with your team in front of the spoils of war, huh? We’ll hang it up in the lounge.”

“My squad isn’t back,” Major told him. Jordan and Captain Seattle had been with the team taking Roche to the deep freeze.

Some of the cheer slipped off Graves’ face as he checked his watch. “Why?”

Even as he spoke, the doors clanged open and Jordan and Captain Seattle came in. Major looked up at them with relief. “There they are.”

“Get ‘em, and let’s do this.”

Major climbed the steps to meet his team, feeling a tingle of anxiety down his spine. They did not look like they were victorious and ready to party. As they explained what had happened, the tingle became full-out chills. He had known things were going too well.

Reluctantly, he turned from them and went back to Chase Graves, with pretty much the last news he wanted to have to give his boss tonight. “Sir, there’s, uh … there’s been an incident. During the transport, Russ Roche managed to get his hands on a weapon, and he escaped.”

“He what?” Graves’ tone was low, but there was black rage in it.

“Sir, I swear to you, I will personally find him and bring him—”

“And whose weapon did he take?”

Major wasn’t about to throw one of his kids under the bus. “This is my squad, sir. It’s my responsibility.”

“Whose weapon?” Graves demanded.

“I will handle the discipline internally, sir.”

Graves turned and pointed at the DJ. “Shut that off!” His voice carried through the room, over the music, which obediently stopped. Then he turned back to Major, shouting, “I said whose weapon was it, Lilywhite?”

Major didn’t want to tell him.

From behind him came Jordan’s quiet voice. “Mine, sir.”

In the silence that followed her admission, Major vowed, “Sir, I swear, I will find Roche and I will drag his ass right back to your office.”

“Yes, you will,” Graves agreed.

Major stood still, barely daring to breathe, hoping this would be the end of it, and even as the thought formed in his mind Graves drew his weapon and shot Jordan. He shot her again and again, her body jerking with the impact of the bullets, all body blows, painful, but not fatal to a zombie. But Captain Seattle, acting on instinct and emotion, didn’t process that. He drew his own weapon and shot Chase Graves, striking the commander in the neck.

Even as Graves’ hand closed around his throat to stop the bleeding, as his weapon raised, Major tried to put himself in front of the gun, shouting “No!” at the top of his lungs—but he was too late.

A single, perfectly aimed shot caught Captain Seattle between the eyes.

Major turned from the wounded Graves to run to his squad. Jordan was twitching as he lifted her into his lap—but Seattle was dead. And the party was over.

Chapter 163: Never Should Have Been This Way

Before the dust cleared, before Chase Graves could deal with the bullet wound Captain Seattle had given him, before anyone could look at Jordan and decide what to do with her, Major slung her over his shoulder and got her the hell out of the Scratching Post.

Her wounds weren’t life-threatening, but she had taken enough lead that she wouldn’t heal instantly. Shocked and horrified by what had just happened, Major couldn’t think straight—but as it happened, his instincts led him to the safest and best place for Jordan to recover: his own house, where Ravi hadn’t left for work yet.

Major carried Jordan into the kitchen and laid her down on the table, with Ravi hurrying in after him.

“Isn’t this one of your squad?”

“I don’t have a squad,” Major told him, his voice still raw with grief. “She—she screwed up, and Chase Graves shot her, because that’s what he does to zombies who disappoint him, and then this kid, this brave smart young kid who happened to think he was in love with her, he shot Chase Graves—”

“Chase Graves is dead?” Ravi’s eyebrows were practically in his hairline as he asked the question.

“No. No, he’s not. But the kid is. Shot between the eyes.” Major was barely aware of Ravi pushing him aside while he inspected Jordan’s wounds.

Looking down at Jordan’s still face, Major fought against the tears that stung his eyes, not sure if they were tears of anger or grief. Jordan had screwed up, badly, again. How many of New Seattle’s issues had been caused by her these last few months? How many times had she gone off unprepared or been cocky or … But whose fault was it she was out there on the streets when she should have been home with her family, anyway? Major’s. He had picked her for his squad. He had covered for her, over and over again.

But why had he been forced to add untried teenagers to Fillmore Graves’ roster in the first place? Because Chase Graves had tricked him—asked him to bring these kids in, asked him to gain their trust, asked him to pick some of them for the kind of soldier training they weren’t anywhere near ready to handle. For that matter, they were only zombies because Fillmore Graves had decided to make them zombies.

“I wish he was dead,” he said suddenly.

“Who?” Ravi looked up. “Chase Graves? I thought you two were buddies.”

“I … thought so, too,” Major admitted reluctantly. “I thought we were doing the right thing, Ravi. I thought we were protecting people, keeping them safe, doing what had to be done. And now … I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

On the table, Jordan stirred.

“Hold her down, please,” Ravi said, and Major moved to her other side, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“M-Major?”

“I’m here.”

“It feels like I got shot.”

“You did. A lot.”

She frowned. Whether at Ravi probing her wounds for bullet and fabric fragments or the memory of what had happened was hard to say. “Fisher?”

It took Major a moment to recognize the name—he had grown so used to referring to the kid as ‘Captain Seattle’. He shook his head.

Jordan’s face twisted. “Was it … because of me?”

He didn’t want to tell her. But he had to. “Yes.”

“God.” She tried to sit up, but Major held her down.

“Don’t do that again,” Ravi told her sternly. “You may be a zombie, but bullets still aren’t good for your body.”

“Just … let me die. I screwed up so many things.” Tears leaked out of her eyes, trickling down into her hair.

“That’s not my job. I fix people. Well … mostly I fix dead people. Which I guess is still what I’m doing.” Ravi motioned to Major to turn Jordan onto her side so he could deal with the wounds on her back.

“Jordan, I’m so sorry,” Major told her.

“What are you sorry for? All you ever did was try to make me a better soldier.”

“I’m the reason you were a soldier in the first place. You should never—”

“Oh, yeah? What should I have been, then? When you took me off the streets, my little brothers were starving and I was days away from turning tricks for real in order to score enough tubes to eat. Now, because of you, we’ve all been well fed all this time. They have a dorm to live in with a lot of other kids just like them. They’re safe. That’s what you did. Everything else—that’s on me, Major, and you have to let me own it.”

Ravi looked up over her shoulder at Major. “She has a point.”

“She does,” Major admitted. “Still, I can’t help thinking I could have stopped this somehow, done better.”

“Yeah, well, me, too,” Jordan said, wincing as Ravi tugged a bullet out of her back. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“No. I guess it doesn’t. What’s the prognosis?” he asked Ravi as his roommate stood up and removed his gloves.

“She’ll be okay. But she’ll need a lot of rest and brains to make a full recovery.”

“Major?” Jordan sat up gingerly. “Are you going to take me back to Fillmore Graves?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but when she asked, he knew he couldn’t. “No. No, I’m not. At least … not until you’re well. Then we’ll talk, and we’ll decide together what the next step is for you.”

“And my brothers?”

“They’ll be okay. I promise.” He suspected no one would remember her brothers were in the dorm, the way Fillmore Graves was running these days. “I’ll check when I go back in.” If he went back in, which he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to do. “Meanwhile, let’s get you to bed.”

He put her in his room, got her settled, and collapsed on the couch.

“You want to talk about it?” Ravi asked.

“No. Not now. Maybe not at all.”

“You going to be okay if I go to work?”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Ravi.”

“Anytime.” With a final concerned glance his roommate left for the morgue, and Major slumped on the couch, turned on the TV, and stared at the screen without the faintest idea what he was watching.

Chapter 164: The Same Mistake

Major didn’t bother to go to work the next day. He told himself he was focusing on Jordan’s care, but really he didn’t know how he was going to face Chase Graves after what had happened. He couldn’t stop seeing Captain Seattle’s face in his mind’s eye, and he was afraid of what he might do if he he went back to Fillmore Graves in this frame of mind.

He wasn’t too surprised that no one called to ask where he was. He imagined Chase Graves didn’t much want to see him, either.

He was surprised, however, when there was a knock at the door and he found Hobbs standing on the other side. Pretty much the last person he'd expected Fillmore Graves to send for him. “This is—”

“Unexpected?”

“I was looking for a stronger word.” After a moment’s deliberating, Major decided to let the man in and hear whatever he had come to say. He stepped to the side, gesturing for Hobbs to enter. “Come in.”

Hobbs looked around him before he came in, and Major wondered why. Was he ashamed to be seen with a man whose squad had screwed up so badly? He followed Hobbs into the living room, taking the chair while Hobbs sat on the couch. They looked at each other for a moment before Hobbs shifted so that he was perched on the edge of the couch, leaning toward Major. “Listen,” he began, “what happened to those soldiers in your unit last night … Chase crossed the line. I’m sorry.”

Major looked at him in surprise. That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear.

Hobbs went on, “All of this … violence, this unrest— We’re losing the few friends we have in Washington. Our allies need a sign that we’re righting the ship.” He looked Major directly in the eye. “We need new leadership.”

So Hobbs wanted to take over Fillmore Graves. Major thought maybe a few days ago he might have cared enough to be surprised, but he really couldn’t muster up the energy right now. “Well, if you want literally the worst job in America … I’ll support you.” He liked Chase Graves, always had, but Chase was deep down the rabbit hole now. Something needed to be done.

To Major’s surprise, Hobbs looked away, clearing his throat. “No. Um … Fillmore Graves has never been led by a pencil-pusher,” he admitted. “A soldier leads Fillmore Graves.”

Major wondered what Vivian Stoll would have said to that. Although he suspected she always saw herself as more soldier than pencil pusher, so likely she would have agreed.

“A soldier respected by the men and women who make up our fighting force,” Hobbs continued. He paused, then took the plunge he had come for. “A soldier like you.”

Major frowned. “That’s … nice of you to say, sir, but I’m hardly qualified.”

“Think about it, Major. The troops like you. They would follow you.”

Getting to his feet, Major shook his head. “I don’t know. Granted, Chase is out of control. If we’re going to survive as a species, as a force capable of keeping the peace, he’s gotta go, but … I don’t think I’m the man for the job.”

Hobbs rose, as well. “Just give it some thought. We need a change—before it’s too late for all of us.”

Mulling the conversation over, Major went into the kitchen to make Jordan’s lunch, and carried it up to her on a tray.

She sat up in bed, wincing a little. “Who was it?”

“Captain Hobbs.”

“What did that whiny kiss-ass want?” She frowned at the tray. “Soup?”

“Suffer,” Major snapped back. This was hardly a five-star restaurant, and she was lucky to be alive, much less be brought her lunch in bed. His bed, at that. As Jordan made a face and picked up her spoon, he added, “He wants to overthrow Chase and install me as the new commander.”

Jordan smiled in surprise. “I meant, what did that brilliant strategist and white knight of the rebellion want?”

“Put the thought out of your mind.”

“You’d have the backing of the soldiers. You’re the guy who could do it.”

Major was surprised how little he wanted the job. No one knew better than he did what a toll it had taken on Chase Graves, what a shell of the man he used to be the commander had become. No, Major really didn’t want that headache—although he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging thought that maybe it was his duty to take it. “I don’t want it,” he said.

“You see the latest tweet from the Fillmore Graves account?”

“Hm-mm.”

“Chase is going to execute some human smuggler unless Renegade surrenders. Good luck on that,” Jordan continued, oblivious to the sudden chill that had turned Major’s bones to ice. “Like Renegade’s just going to walk in and say ‘here I am, let’s get to head smashing’.”

Little did she know that that was just what Renegade would do.

Chapter 165: More than a Desperate Man

Major couldn’t stop thinking about Fillmore Graves’ message to Renegade. Liv would do it—she would absolutely turn herself in to Chase Graves in exchange for her coyote. And in the mood he was in, confronted with Liv, of all people, as his bitterest enemy, Chase Graves would have her executed. That was, if he didn’t shoot her between the eyes the moment she walked in the door.

With the image of Captain Seattle—Fisher Webb, he reminded himself—fresh in his mind, Major could see the bullet hole in Liv’s forehead all too clearly, all the life gone from her admittedly undead face. He couldn’t take it. Everything else he could find a way to handle, but not that.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to stop her. If Liv wanted to turn herself in, she was going to do it, and no one would keep her from it. Unless … unless she wasn’t here. Major suddenly remembered some paperwork that had landed on his desk about a safe house in the middle of Oregon. A married couple had been staffing the place, but apparently had gone AWOL. He was supposed to assign someone to go check it out and see what had happened. Might as well go himself, he thought. And take Liv with him. Far from Seattle, where no one would be able to find her.

But how to keep her there? Liv in Oregon would be just as determined to find a way to get back to Seattle and turn herself in. The only answer, Major decided, was that she couldn’t be Liv once she got there.

He packed a bag and also dug the remnants of his Max Rager zombie kidnapping kit out of the back of his closet, glad he had thought to keep it. The trank gun would come in handy. Jordan watched him from the bed, but didn’t ask. Not until he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“You going somewhere?”

“Uh … yeah. Would you mind giving a message to Ravi for me?”

“I guess so. I wondered if you were going to tell me what was up."

“Yeah. Sorry. Just … trying to get it all straight in my head. Just—tell Ravi I’m taking Liv out of Seattle to keep her from surrendering to Chase Graves.”

Jordan frowned. “Surrendering? Who is your ex-fiance going to surrender to?”

“Oh. Right. So … Liv is Renegade.”

“She’s what?!” Jordan sat up straight. “How long have you known?”

“Not long.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look, just give him the message, all right?”

“Major. You coming back?”

He nodded. “After Curtis’s execution, when it’s too late for her to surrender.” He wasn’t sure he meant it, though.

Jordan seemed to follow the subtext. “Well … if you don’t … thanks.”

“Good luck, Jordan.”

“Yeah, you, too.” She put her headphones over her ears and sank back against the pillows. She’d be fine, Major told himself, hurrying down the stairs. She’d be just fine.

His next stop was the Scratching Post.

“Major! Just the party-pooper I didn’t want to see,” Don E exclaimed as he came in. “Seriously, you know how much money I lost when your boss raged out and started shooting people?”

Biting back his sharp retort about the relative importance of Don E’s money and Fisher Webb’s life, Major shook his head. “It’s a real shame.”

“You can say that again. Now, what can I get you?”

“Menu, please.” He scanned the available brain options, landing on a pair about halfway down the page—a married couple who had died together in a car accident after fifty happy years. Major couldn’t help but smile, thinking of it. The way it always should have been—him and Liv, happy together. “I’ll take these.”

“Good choice! Who’s the lucky lady?”

Major wasn’t about to tell Don E about his plans. “I think I’ll take them both, and really just … love myself.”

Don E looked at him sideways. “You do you, Majey-Maje.”

But he got him the brains, which was all that mattered. Major made sure he labeled which one was the husband and which the wife carefully. He took them home, as quietly as possible used the food processor to turn them into mush, packed them into brain tubes, tucked the labeled tubes into his bag, and made the long-familiar drive to Liv’s apartment.

He had waited until late enough that he could sneak out of the city without being detected, but all the way to her place he worried that he had waited too long, that he would get there and she would already be gone. In her hallway, standing outside her door, he wished he still had a key, a way to get in without waking Peyton or anyone else who might be there. Liv wouldn’t be happy to see him, not after the way they had left things.

Then the doorknob began to turn, the door quietly opening just enough for Liv to back out into the hall. Major’s heart started beating again, relief flooding him. He wasn’t too late. He was just in time. This was going to work—they would go away, they would be together, and she would be safe.

Liv closed the door and turned around, and froze in her tracks when she saw him standing there. “Major.”

“I was just working up the courage to knock. I should’ve listened to you,” he admitted. “You were right about Chase. You were right about everything. And now, you’re turning yourself in to save Curtis.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of this.” She was in full Liv-on-a-mission mode, sure of herself and what she was doing. She was right again—he wouldn’t have a chance if what he had come to do was talk.

He nodded. “I know. But I … I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted us to part on good terms.” He held his arms out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Liv came into them, her arms around his neck. And Major, with all the ease of practice, took the trank gun out of his pocket and shot her up with the sedative before she knew what was happening.

He caught her as she sagged against him, lifting her over his shoulder, and carried her to the car, where he deposited her in the trunk in the most comfortable position he could manage.

Then he climbed behind the wheel, took a sip of coffee from his thermos, and began the long drive to safety.

Chapter 166: Recreating a Love

By the time they reached the farmhouse in Oregon, Ravi had called twice. Major ignored the calls, not quite ready to admit to or talk about what he had done. Not until he had Liv settled and deep under the influence of happy married lady brain so she wouldn’t try to run back to Seattle and sacrifice herself.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself, and opened the trunk of the car. Liv stirred and blinked at the sudden light, frowning up at him.

Major forced a smile, suddenly nervous about how he was going to manage this conversation. “Hey, buddy.”

Liv climbed out of the car. “Where are we?”

“Oregon.”

“Oregon? Major, what the hell?”

“Look. Liv. I couldn’t let you do it.”

“You couldn’t let me? Where did you get the idea that what I do is in any way your responsibility?"

"Because I love you, damn it, Liv! I always have, I always will. Whatever happens, I was not going to stand there and watch while you went to Chase Graves. Not with him in his current state.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ravi must have told you what happened at the party the other night. Chase—one of my squad screwed up, and Chase shot her. Again, and again, and again. And the other one—he loved her, so he shot Chase, and then Chase killed him. A bullet between the eyes. An eighteen-year-old kid, Liv, and he shot him without a second thought. What do you think he would have done when he found out that you, of all people, are Renegade? When he felt betrayed the way he would when he knew it was you?”

Liv stood there a moment, silenced for once, but Major could see she wasn’t convinced by the blaze of anger in her eyes. “At least Curtis would have been safe,” she said at last.

Major shook his head. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he held his hand up to stop her. “Chase Graves used to be an honorable man, but the burden of running New Seattle has changed him. He’s exhausted, and angry, and distrustful. I don’t know if the offer to exchange Curtis was a real one—and regardless, I wasn’t going to take that chance with your life.”

“You had no right.”

“I only did what anyone who loved you would have done if they knew you as well as I do. Ravi, Peyton, that guy you’re seeing—any one of them would have been here if they had been as sure of what you were going to do as I was. Liv.” He grasped her hands. “You are important to people. We love you. None of us want to see you give up your life in an exchange that isn’t even certain.”

“I … Major, they’ll kill him,” she said, tears gathering in her eyes. “He has a fiance, and a baby on the way. He has something to live for.”

“So do you. Look, Liv, if I was sure Chase would make the exchange, maybe things would be different.” It was a lie; he would have done it anyway. But he told it to make her feel better. “But not knowing ... I can’t lose you, too.” He took a deep breath, letting go of her hands. “Look, it’s been a long drive. Come inside, have a brain tube and some coffee, maybe a shower, and then if you still think this is the right thing to do, we’ll talk about it and I’ll take you back. Okay?”

“Curtis may not have that long.”

“Chase isn’t going to give up his leverage until he’s sure it’s not going to work.”

Liv seemed to accept that argument, albeit reluctantly. She agreed to come inside. Major grabbed his bag, fishing out the brain tubes. He had made sure to label them so that he could tell which was which but it wasn’t obvious that they were any different from regular brain tubes. When he handed Liv the wife brain she tore the tube open and squeezed out the contents without suspicion. Major toasted her with the husband tube, downing the brain.

“Here, let me show you the upstairs.” He led the way. The house was silent, empty. For the moment, he was too glad for the safety and solitude of it to worry too much about the Fillmore Graves couple that was supposed to be here, but he’d have to give the whole place a look at some point to see if he could figure out where they’d gone.

The master bedroom was neatly made up, clothes still hanging in the closet, and the bathroom was sparkling clean. “Here,” he said, rummaging under the sink and coming out with a towel. “I’m sure you’ll want a shower after being stuck in the trunk all that time.”

Liv sighed. “I might as well. I don’t suppose you snuck any of my clothes or my shampoo out when you kidnapped me.” She glared at him again, and Major hoped the brain would kick in soon, before she moved past tired and bewildered and irritated into really angry.

“Sorry, no time. Looks like there’s some extra here.” He handed her a bottle. “Strawberry. You’ll smell like just springtime, beautiful.” Oh. Well, husband brain was on its way in, he could tell.

Frowning at the endearment, Liv shooed him out of the bathroom, and he could hear the water running.

Crossing his fingers that the brain would be working its magic on her by the time she was out of the shower, Major headed downstairs to see if there was food in the cupboards. He caught himself humming a very old, very cheesy love song on the way down, and couldn’t help but smile. Him, and Liv, alone together at last. It had been a long time coming.

Chapter 167: Fill My Heart with Love

Liv did, indeed, come out of her shower feeling the effects of the brain tubes. A cheery smile, a rummage through the closet to find something to wear, and she declared her intention of baking a pie. Major went out to get firewood, imagining a cozy night in front of the little wood-burning stove, just the two of them.

By the time he had chopped enough for a couple of days and piled it next to the fireplace, the air in the house was filled with the aroma of fresh-baked pie. “Olivia?” he called. The more formal name seemed to fit better than the nickname at the moment, so he went with it.

From the kitchen, she replied, “Just a moment, darling!”

He dropped the last of the firewood and followed the sound of her voice and the scent of the pie, smiling. When was the last time he had smiled just because he felt like it? He couldn’t remember.

As Major leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, Olivia turned around with the pie, baked to perfection, in her hands, an answering smile on her face. She was wearing a pretty flowered dress, her hair and makeup done, the very picture of a charming wife. Major sighed happily. This was the way life should be.

“Now doesn’t that just look marvelous?” Olivia asked. She meant the pie, but Major thought she was the real sight for sore eyes.

“Not as marvelous as you, dear.”

She fanned herself teasingly. “I may have freshened up a bit.” Gesturing to the dress, she said, “I found this in the bedroom closet. I sure hope the lady of the house won’t mind my borrowing it.” She smacked him gently on the arm with her oven mitts. “You could have packed an overnight bag for me, you stinker! Why, I don’t even have a nightie.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Olivia sighed, giving him that look that said he’d been naughty—and she kind of liked it.

Major felt his smile stretching wider, just thinking about the rest of the day ahead of them. “You know, I’ve fixed the broken front step and brought in the firewood.”

“Well, I think that deserves another martini.”

He followed her to the living room, where the cocktail supplies were set out.

As Olivia began to mix their drinks, she asked, “So, who does live here?”

“This is a safe house operated by Fillmore Graves, darling.” He turned on the radio, searching for a good station. “One of our married couples lives here, and I can’t for the life of me figure out where they’ve gone.” Underneath the artificial good humor of the brain, he was really a little worried. The house seemed like the couple had just walked out, leaving everything in place, and that felt wrong to him. But it was hard to hold on to the concern when the strains of a beautiful and familiar song came through the radio, and with Olivia there with him just as life should be.

“Then we’ll pretend it’s ours till they return,” Olivia declared. “If we wind up staying, we could put a tomato plant right outside that window.”

Major tapped her on the shoulder, turning her around and taking her in his arms as the strains of “Only You” filled the room. Olivia gasped in pleasure as they danced, their bodies moving to the beat like they had so many times before. Major was vaguely aware that he was conflating his own history with Liv and the brain’s history with the other brain, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were together.

Olivia laughed up at him. “Now, what will the neighbors think?”

“There are no neighbors. It’s just us.”

Her smile faded, her hand clasping his more tightly. “How I’ve missed being held in your arms.”

Was that the real Liv, or the brain? It was hard to know, but he believed at least some of it was her. It had to be.

“Aw, that’s just the gin talking,” he murmured.

“No, it isn’t. It’s me.” She frowned. “Isn’t it?” Major looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “You sneaky pete, those brain tubes we ate weren’t the regualar kind, were they?” She asked it with a smile, but he suspected that the Liv underneath the brains was seething at his little trick. If only he could make her understand …

“They come courtesy of a blissfully happy married couple who died together at the ripe old age of ninety-five.” He dipped her, enjoying her gasp of delight. “I always did want to grow old with you.” Which was nothing more or less than the truth, no matter whose brain was talking. Olivia laughed as they straightened and continued dancing, and Major added, “I know it’s not real, but I’m having too much fun to care.”

“Now, the brain isn’t in total control,” Liv told him, “and the truth is … I’m rather fond of you, you big Magilla.”

“That suits me just fine.” He dipped his head and kissed her, soft and slow, savoring the moment, because he had no idea how long it would last.

As the song ended, Olivia stepped back, straightening his jacket lapels. “What about some pie?”

“I love pie.”

“Why don’t we look and see if there’s some ice cream in the icebox? And then maybe we can play some cribbage.”

Olivia hurried into the kitchen. Major looked after her with a sense of well-being that he hadn’t felt in ages. Ice cream and cribbage. If only that was the way they could spend all their nights from now on.

Chapter 168: We Could Be Married

The afternoon wore on—simple, quiet, peaceful. Happy. Liv busied herself in the kitchen and did some cleaning up, Major obligingly got up whenever needed to lend a hand and otherwise leafed through a book while listening to the radio.

Just as he was thinking he might need to follow up that pie—and the martinis—with some actual food, Olivia came to him with a plate of sandwiches. As she set the plate down, Major caught her around the waist and pulled her into his arms. She laughed in delight, protesting … but not too much.

“The people who own this house could be home at any minute. What would they think if they found us necking in their parlor?”

“That I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” He was, too. No doubt about it.

“I know you said we’re in Oregon … but it feels more like cloud nine.”

“This is how it could always be for us. We are not the problem; it’s the rest of the world that mucks everything up. What if we leave all that behind? Ignore the rest of the world.” Suddenly, he was sure this was the right path for them. He got to his feet, tugging Liv with him, and held her there in front of him, hoping she would see it his way. “Let’s never go back.”

“How would we eat?”

The answer came to him so quickly and clearly. He had never been more sure of an idea in his life—except his idea to ask Liv to marry him, all that time ago. “There have to be cemeteries around here somewhere. I’ll buy a shovel.”

“Well, what about money?”

“I’ll work. I’ll pick apples, I—I’ll sell vacuums door-to-door. I just want to be with you.”

She smiled. She felt the same way. This was right, Major could feel it.

“And gosh,” he went on, “if Ravi finds a cure someday, we can go back to the way things were before any of this happened. Before boat parties. Before zombie outbreaks.”

“I’d be your fiancee again.”

Yes. Oh, please, yes. “You could be my wife.”

“Mrs. Major Lilywhite.” She leaned up and kissed him, her hands tucked in his. “Well, that sounds perfectly lovely. Almost perfect.”

Major could feel her objection coming, and he thought quickly, trying to forestall whatever it would be.

In all seriousness, Liv looked up at him and said sorrowfully, “We’re out of Tom Collins mix.”

He really didn’t have an answer for that one. “Oh. There has to be some somewhere.” Either she was teasing him or this brain really had her turned around. Either way, he wasn’t about to let the first happiness he’d tasted in far too long get derailed by Tom Collins mix. “I’ll go take a look.”

Olivia’s smile returned, sunshine restored. “My hero.”

She followed him as he hunted through the tall cabinets in the kitchen where she couldn’t reach without a stepladder, and then rifled through the pantry. No luck. Off the kitchen, he spied a door. A basement! That must be where these things were kept.

With Olivia behind him, he carefully made his way down the steps into the basement. “Now, where in the Sam Hill …”

As he was frowning into the darkness, a light went on. He turned to see Olivia smiling at him next to the bouncing chain of the overhead light. “Really, darling. What would you do without me?”

He was about to answer that he hoped never to find out, when over her shoulder he spied the last thing he had expected to find in the basement: zombies. Other zombies, to be exact. Full Romero zombies.

Liv saw the way he was staring past her, and her smile faded. “What?”

When Major didn’t speak, she turned and saw what he had seen—a metal gate, closed and locked, and behind it, two Romero zombies. A piece of paper was taped to the gate, but Major didn’t need to read it to know who he was looking at. “These are our people.” The married couple. What had happened here to bring them to this?

He and Liv approached the gate. Major took the paper down, reading quickly through it, while Liv looked apologetically at the zombies. “You have a lovely home.”

Maybe something in them still recognized speech, still remembered their home and took pride in it. Maybe. But maybe not; maybe these people were just gone and their bodies didn’t know it.

“It says Fillmore Graves stopped sending brain tubes,” he said. “They were afraid they’d go Romero and hurt somebody. They decided Jeff would shoot Tammy and then himself … but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bear the idea of living without her—even for a moment.”

They stood looking at each other—two couples who loved one another. If he and Liv stayed here, would they end up like this, locked in a basement, slowly decaying? Or if they went back to Seattle, would they lose each other like they almost had already, even though they kept themselves? Major wasn’t sure that sounded like the best option any longer. Jeff and Tammy were still together, after all, which was what they had wanted. Maybe it wasn’t quite the way they’d imagined once upon a time, but it had to be better than being alone.

The thing was, he thought as he and Liv quietly turned off the light and returned to the main portion of the house, minus the Tom Collins mix that had seemed so important just minutes ago—the thing was that Liv didn’t think that way. And there was a limit to how long he could dose her with happy wife brains before she remembered all the reasons she had to go back to the real world.

Even Major’s happy husband brains couldn’t overcome the gloom of that thought.

Chapter 169: You Don't Fight Fair

Major was spending a blissful afternoon with the radio, singing along to all his old favorites. Or the brain’s old favorites. Or something like that. Olivia appeared to enjoy his singing, based on how it spurred her along in her cleaning and cooking. Her movements went faster the more he sang, and when he offered to help she snapped an immediate “no”, which he took to mean he should keep singing because she was finding it motivating.

Along toward mid-afternoon, she was shaking their martinis—within an inch of their lives, it appeared, from how firmly the shaker was moving—and broke into Major’s song with a comment. “I have to say, I do think it would’ve been better if Jeff had shot Tammy.”

Major got to his feet, ambling toward her, thinking that over. It seemed romantic to him that Jeff hadn’t been able to bring himself to live without the love of his life, not for so much as a moment. But he could see Olivia’s point, as well—surely death was better than an unending afterlife of shuffling around with the only thing left inside being a hunger for brains. Still … at the end of the day, he had to come down on the side of romance. He said so, approaching Olivia with thoughts of romance on his mind. “Romero and Juliet,” he said poetically.

As his hands closed on her shoulders, Olivia—still shaking the martinis, incredibly thoroughly—said, “You know what I have a hankering for?”

He leaned in, whispering gently in her ear, “I know what I have a hankering for.”

“Oh, you …” She turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “I spotted that hot sauce that I love down in the basement. Would you be a lamb and fetch it for me?”

“Your wish,” Major murmured, “is my command.” He lifted her hand and kissed it gallantly. Take that, Romero and Juliet. Major Lilywhite was all about the romance.

He left her, heading down to the basement, humming as he went, thinking about the evening to come. Olivia in his arms, music on the radio—what more could a man ask for?

Plucking the key to the gated-off area where Jeff and Tammy shuffled along in their shared unlife off its hook, he jauntily approached the gate. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said to his two fellow former Fillmore Graves employees, “but the little lady has her heart set on hot sauce.” He opened the gate, turning to wink at Jeff. Or what had once been Jeff. “Women.” Major chuckled, looking at Tammy, who had shrunk back as he opened the gate. “I’m just kidding, Tammy. But if it’s hot sauce my Olivia wants, it’s hot sauce she’ll get.”

The two of them closed in on him as he entered their space, sniffing at his clothes. If they were hoping for brains, they were out of luck, Major thought, sidling between them. His brains wouldn’t do them any good.

He spied the box on the floor, stooping to open it up and extract a bottle of the desired hot sauce. “Whoops, here we go. Let’s hope this will earn me a couple of brownie points.”

Behind him, he heard a clatter as the gate was shut. He—along with Jeff and Tammy—turned to see Olivia standing there, outside the closed-off area. “Olivia? What are you—”

“I’m sorry, darling.” She was still smiling, but Major thought it was looking a little forced. “I really hate your singing and there a big part of me that isn’t keen on being kidnapped.”

Major was really wishing that he had brought the key into the gated area with him instead of leaving it in the lock. “Now, Olivia, you know that I—”

She cut him off, the forced smile gone from her face. “I cannot let someone die for my crimes.”

And they were back to this. Back to Liv the sacrificial lamb. He admired that about her. Really he did. But he hated it, too, because he was going to lose her in the worst possible way, to people he used to respect, and she was making sure there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He thought of his phone, forgotten upstairs in his coat. He wouldn’t even be able to call and warn Ravi that she was on her way back to the city.

Liv bent and placed a bundle of brain tubes in front of the gate.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded in a last-ditch effort to make her reconsider.

“Who am I if I don’t?” Her eyes were fixed on his face, as though she was really waiting for an answer.

“You’ll still be you. You’ll be alive!”

“Darling, sometimes I think you don’t understand me at all,” she told him. She forced another smile. “But I would really appreciate it if you’d tell me where you hid the car keys.”

Oh, he understood her. He understood her too well. That was the problem. And what she didn’t understand about him, and never had, was the lengths he would go to in order for her to be safe and them to be together. In the grand scheme of things, refusing to tell her where the car keys were was a pretty easy decision. “No!”

“Hm.” Olivia frowned. “Then that’s that.” She bent and took a brain tube off the stack she had laid in front of the gate.

“Sweetheart, now really, you’re not just going to leave me down here.”

“Oh, I most certainly am.” She smiled a very superior smile. “But I will send someone back for you.”

Jeff and Tammy had closed in on him. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn they were laughing at him for assuming this would work; for hoping that deep down somewhere Olivia loved him as much as he loved her, and that she could be happy with him.

“Olivia, wait!” Major called desperately after her. “This could be the last time we see each other.”

That stopped her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at him. “Well. That is very sad, isn’t it?”

But it wasn’t going to change her mind. After everything they had been together, been to each other, she was just going to walk away and leave him here without … anything. With nothing but Jeff and Tammy and a small pile of brain tubes.

At least she’d left the light on. Major wondered morosely if the bulb would burn out before someone came back to get him. He tried to be grateful that he wouldn’t have to watch her die … but he couldn’t be. If she was going to die, he wanted to be with her, and she had denied him that, too. Probably he should feel guilty for kidnapping her and dosing her with happy wife brain, but he couldn’t be that, either. He’d had to try some way to save her life. He only wished it had lasted longer.

Chapter 170: The Way that You Came Back

After a thorough search of the enclosure, and a lot of useless straining to reach the keys through the grating, Major resorted to using the tongue of his belt buckle to try to pick the lock on the gate. Backwards.

Jeff and Tammy clustered close to him, what was left of their minds working overtime as they watched his hands with fascination. One of them gurgled at him.

Major had had just about enough of being locked in with these two and their complete lack of brains. “Yeah?” he snapped. “You got any better ideas?”

From upstairs came the sound of footsteps, and Major’s heart leaped. “Liv? Please let me out! I’m sorry!” He couldn’t believe it—she was back. She hadn’t left him after all. She had seen the light, and was coming to tell him she loved him and wanted to stay with him and never wanted to go back to New Seattle. She—

… was Russ Roche. Of all people. As if this day hadn’t been bad enough.

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” Roche said as his boots hit the basement floor. He stepped into the light. His skin was pasty, his eyes reddening. He was days, if that, away from going where Jeff and Tammy had gone. And he had never been any too stable to begin with. “Thought I smelled a rat down here,” he added. “Look at Major Lilywhite now. They put you in here for ass kissing?”

Major kept his mouth shut. He had nothing to say to the man before him, and no reason to piss him off, either, given that he was still locked in a cage.

Roche’s eyes turned to Jeff and Tammy. “First time seeing rotters in the flesh.”

Jeff and Tammy hissed at him. Even Romeroed, they had good taste in people.

“Less drool than in the movies,” Roche said. Then his eyes fell on the pile of brain tubes at Major’s feet, and they lit up like Christmas morning. “Give me those tubes.”

Major looked down at the tubes, then back up at Roche. “I’d rather not.”

Roche pulled his gun, loading it. “You remember Monty Hall? Let’s Make a Deal?”

“You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever missed an episode.”

“Then you know how this works. I’ve got six bullets here, and you can buy my bullets for one brain tube each. And that’ll be one less bullet I put in you.”

On the one hand, Major didn’t much want to die. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to give Roche his brain tubes at all. Not that he would need them if he was dead, but he suspected he wouldn’t be dead. Just very, very injured. Russ enjoyed playing with his toys too much to kill Major straight off. And if Major could string this out long enough, Russ might just be desperate enough to come in after the tubes, giving Major the chance to get the hell out of this cage.

“Young man,” he said jauntily, “if I’m going to die, I’d rather die knowing you starved.”

Predictably, Roche took the bait. “Who said anything about you dying?” And he shot Major in the stomach.

It hurt. It hurt pretty damned bad. Major dropped like a stone, clutching his stomach and crying out with the pain.

“Five more to go, pretty boy!” Roche shouted.

It didn’t hurt badly enough for Major to give him a brain tube, that was for sure. Next to him, Jeff snarled at Roche. He could tell who was a friend, Major thought affectionately.

The snarl got to Roche. “What’s that, laddie, you want to play, too?” He shot Jeff between the eyes.

Major felt a stab of grief on Tammy’s behalf, since she was no longer capable of feeling it. At the same time, he counted bullets. Four left. One spent on Jeff rather than on Major, which, with all due respect to Jeff, was probably good for both of them.

“Give me the tubes, Major,” Roche demanded.

Not gonna happen. Major shook his head grimly.

Suddenly the lights went out. “Who’s there?” Roche shouted. He shot the gun wildly in the direction of the stairs, once and then twice. In the darkness, Major heard someone groan in pain. Then the lights came on again and he looked up to see the fire poker sticking out of Roche’s forehead, having been shoved through from behind. Roche fell forward, and with relief, Major saw Liv standing behind him.

She looked past Major at Tammy. “Sorry about your husband, dear.”

Major got to his feet, still holding his stomach. “Look, you want my keys, they’re yours, all right? Just let me out.”

Liv was bending over Roche’s body, searching for something. Major’s heart sank when he realized that now she had Roche’s car keys and no longer needed his. She waved the keys in the air mockingly. “’Fix my drinks.’ ‘Do my dishes.’ ‘Rescue me.’ Try taking care of yourself for once, darling.”

That was at least as much about the brain couple as it was about them, but it still stung that any part of her thought that about him.

He clutched the grate as she stomped up the stairs. “Olivia. No.” But it was too late. She was gone, again. He had failed to save her, again.

Chapter 171: The Finish of a Long Day

By the time someone else finally entered the basement, Major had paced back and forth so much he thought he might have worn a groove in the cement. Tammy had paced with him, clearly agitated by the presence of Jeff’s body. Major had pulled the body to a corner, but it would start to smell soon—already did, really—and so would Roche’s, but then, that was hardly something to worry about compared to being locked in here and knowing that Liv might already be dead.

He had done his best, hadn’t he? He had tried to get her out, tried to convince her to think about herself and the people who loved her. Maybe he had gone about it in a heavy-handed way, without asking her, but if he had asked her he wouldn’t have even gotten her out of her apartment building, much less out of Seattle.

When the basement door opened, he braced himself. One of the brain tubes had mostly taken care of the bullet Russ Roche had left him with, but he was still hardly in peak condition, and god only knew who had come here.

The man who walked down the basement steps was a total stranger to him. He stopped at the bottom and looked at Major, his face blank.

Major raised his eyebrows. “Something I can get for you? I’ve got a pretty well-stocked larder back here.”

“Uh … no, thanks. Renegade sent me.”

“Renegade—Oh. Is she— What happened?”

“She turned herself in.”

Major closed his eyes, not wanting to see the guy’s face when he asked the next question. “Is she dead?”

“Not yet. They’re—your people are executing her tomorrow.”

Opening his eyes, Major grasped the bars. “Please get me out of here. Fillmore Graves—they’re not really my people anymore. I tried to get her out of there, but … you know her. You know she wouldn’t have let someone else die for her. Please, help me get there before it’s too late to—too late to save her.” His voice broke on the last words.

The guy’s face didn’t change, but he nodded. “She told me to tell you she understands, and she forgives you.”

Forgave him. For trying to save her life. If he ever laid a hand on her again, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug her or shake her. Maybe both. “How fast can we get back to Seattle?”

“Fast enough.”

As the guy unlocked the gate, Major grabbed his brain tubes, and upstairs, collected his stuff as quickly as possible.

The guy was waiting for him outside, leaning against the hood of Major’s car.

“Thanks,” Major said to him.

“Orders.” The guy hesitated.

Major leaped at the opening. If there was any way he and Renegade’s outfit could join forces … “Look, if there’s a plan— You have to let me help. I love that woman enough to give up everything else in my life to keep her alive. I want to make sure she doesn’t get killed tomorrow. If that’s what you and your people want, let’s work together.”

There was a silence, and then the guy gave a quick nod. “We’re pretty shaken up. Haven’t managed to come up with anything yet. You have a plan?”

“I think so. The beginnings of one, anyway.” They worked through Major’s idea quickly before getting into their separate cars and beginning the drive back to Seattle. Roche’s car was gone with Liv, and Major tried not to think about Roche and Jeff dead in the basement and Tammy still shambling back and forth in the locked area. He should have taken care of her before he left, but, like Jeff, he hadn’t had the heart.

The miles rolled by, their rhythm saying “too late” over and over in Major’s head. They had gone by so much faster, the tires sounding so much more cheerful, on the way out of Seattle. Then he had been with Liv; he’d had something to look forward to. Now … now all he had left was fear.

Eventually, Major stopped off at a cheap motel. Once he’d checked in, he locked himself in the room and called Ravi. Their conversation was brief—Ravi, Peyton, and Clive were going to see Liv and try to say goodbye. Next, he called Jordan, who had left the house to go check on her brothers. Apparently Fillmore Graves had remembered their existence after all, and they were no longer in the dorms.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“You remember that terrible horse-themed motel where we busted the Dead Enders?”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Which was a total lie. But that didn’t matter now. “Listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay.”

He explained. Jordan hesitated, but, as Major had hoped she would, decided that she owed him enough to do what he was asking her to do.

Now, to wait. A sensible man might have tried to get some sleep, but how could he sleep with Liv’s clock counting steadily down?

He did some push-ups, flipped some channels, did some more push-ups, and counted the minutes, which ticked by with agonizing slowness and dizzying speed, simultaneously.

Chapter 172: At the Barricades

At last, Major couldn’t take the waiting anymore. He left the hotel, stopping by a Goodwill to pick up some gross old clothes and a wig and fake beard as the best disguise he could manage, and went to the place where the execution would be. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d stood here, in his Fillmore Graves uniform, and let the first Renegade die. He regretted that now—it hadn’t been the right way to handle the situation, and had been an indicator he should have paid more attention to that Chase Graves was going off the rails. If he had spoken up then, would they still be in this mess right now?

He found Ravi and Clive standing off to the side and approached them. “Fillmore Graves. Papers, please.” Clive instantly pulled his gun on Major, who danced backward, holding out his hands. “Whoa, whoa, wait. It’s me.”

“Major!” Ravi whispered, looking him over in surprise.

Major turned to Clive, hoping he’d be ahead of the game. “We have a plan yet?”

Ravi shook his head, and Clive frowned. “Working on it.”

Before Major could ask for clarification or offer his thoughts, Ravi pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it quickly before answering. “Peyton. What’d you find?” After a second, he relayed, “She’s got good news. What is it? … We’re in business.” Then, while Major and Clive watched his face, he added, “Liv said to release it.” He listened to Peyton, his whole body going still, then shook his head. “No. … Yeah, well … I know.” He smiled. “I’m kidding. I love you, too.”

Major couldn’t help an answering smile. Only his roommate would pull a Han Solo right at this moment.

But then Ravi couldn’t let it go. “I love you mucho. I love you mucho grande. I love you like gangbusters. To infinity and beyond …” He saw Major shaking his head and tried to explain. “I was doing Han Solo. I thought it would be charming. … I can grovel some more.” He yelled “I love you” at the phone again as he was ending the call, glancing up at Major and Clive.

Major nodded in geek solidarity. “Well played.”

“She thinks she has a solution. We just have to … figure out how to get Liv and Levon free and …” Ravi looked around. “Maybe that’s not the easy part.”

Levon. Major had forgotten all about Liv’s boyfriend. Not that it mattered—he’d have saved just about anyone if it meant also saving Liv. But it did end any thought he had that he and Liv might end this together, once he had saved her life.

“We’re releasing a documentary about Liv’s work as Renegade,” Ravi told him as they strolled the perimeter of the execution grounds. “Hoping that will make people understand and sympathize with what she’s done.”

“I have Jordan infiltrating Fillmore Graves,” Major replied. “She’s going to lead them to me—or so they think.”

“Good plan. Can she do it?”

“I think so. We should get back. There’s a motel she’s leading them to—I want to be there when they arrive. Or near it, anyway.”

Clive glanced at the anvil. “Yeah, we’ve seen all there is to be seen here.”

They drove to the motel—which happened to be across the street from where Renegade’s operation worked. The guy Liv had sent to get him out of the basement had told him that much. Major set up the room for maximum frustration for whoever Chase Graves sent after him, and then he and Ravi and Clive retreated to the room across the street, where Peyton joined them. Major watched out the window, waiting for his former comrades to appear, while Renegade’s people argued about him.

“This guy was one of the Fillmore Graves guards when Chase Graves was threatening to eat me.” Curtis, the coyote whose capture had started all of this, was vocal in his disapproval of Major’s involvement. “Let’s just waste him now. They’ve killed enough of ours.”

“Hey, now,” Ravi snapped.

The guy who had come to Oregon for him spoke more calmly. “Curtis. This is the guy Renegade had me bring back.”

Outside, Fillmore Graves was leaving the motel. Chase Graves had come himself, as had Lambert. Inside, Ravi called Major's name quietly. He turned to see all of Renegade’s—Liv’s—people lined up and staring at him. “The floor is yours,” Ravi told him.

Major spoke earnestly. If they were going to save Liv, these people had to be willing to work with him. “The woman you call Renegade used to be my fiancee. She’s someone I care about deeply. Look, I know how Fillmore Graves is going to defend the park. We don’t want to get into a gunfight. We need to surprise them and use the crowd to our advantage.”

A dark-haired woman spoke up. “At the last execution, at least half the people there were fans of executions.”

“Well, that won’t be the case this time,” Clive told her. “You want to know how many people have watched that documentary? Almost two hundred thousand. That crowd will be very pro-Renegade.”

“How many views was that?” Curtis asked.

“A lot. Hopefully enough.” Peyton swallowed hard, clearly trying not to cry.

“It’ll be enough,” Major assured her. He wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

Chapter 173: Push the Shift to Overdrive

The Save Renegade motel room was humming with people working on plans for the big rescue when Major’s phone buzzed. When he saw that it was Jordan calling, alarm raced through his system. She wasn’t supposed to call except in an emergency.

He put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Major, change of plans.” Her voice was hushed, and he could hear the familiar sounds of the locker room in the background. “Big change of plans. They’re afraid of all the people gathering, so they’re moving the time and place. It’s at nine, now, not at noon, and at the warehouse. You know the one? Colorado and Hines?”

“Yeah, I know it,” he said grimly. He felt sick at how close they had come to missing it entirely. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“Yep. Gotta go.” And the line went dead.

Major put his phone back in his pocket. He took a moment to breathe, to be grateful that they knew now, at least—but all those plans for nothing. Everything they had put in place, gone to waste. A whole new plan needing to be made, and in such a short amount of time. Less than an hour. He needed to think, to shift everything, but all he could think of was Liv. Her brave face, her earnest eyes … He couldn’t let her die.

Clearing his throat, he spoke above the noise in the room. “Let me get everyone’s attention.” He waited a moment while everyone stopped what they were doing and turned in his direction. “I just got word from my source that Fillmore Graves is moving the execution to a warehouse they own on Colorado and Hines.”

The purposeful vibe of the room ebbed away quickly, people’s shoulders slumping as they realized all their planning so far had been for nothing.

“It gets worse,” Major continued. “They switched times on us. They’ve moved it up three hours.” He looked into the corner where Ravi, Peyton, and Clive stood together, hating to dash the hopes of these people who loved Liv as much as he did.

Peyton closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, he could see the fire that had driven her as long as he’d known her. “Mm-mm,” she said decisively. “No. Mm-mm.” Major could see she was fighting back tears. “No, no, no. This will not happen. This cannot happen. No. Absolutely not!” she shouted, and she left the motel room, with Ravi right behind her.

Major turned to Clive. “Where are they heading?”

Clive looked thoughtfully at the door. “If I had to guess, I’d say they were heading somewhere that they can let all of Renegade’s supporters know where—and when—to go.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I think it can’t hurt.”

Clive went to the room’s TV and turned it on, tuning it to the local station. Johnny Frost was doing a cooking segment with a fresh brain. Major shook his head, annoyed. Half of Seattle’s zombies were starving, barely getting enough brain tubes to get by, and here they were using a whole brain in a demonstration?

As he watched, Peyton appeared on camera. Some enterprising staffer got a chiron on the screen with her name on it, listing her as Mayor’s Chief of Staff, rather than acting mayor, but that hardly mattered at the moment. Taking a deep breath, she began speaking, letting all of Seattle know what Fillmore Graves was planning. She pointed them in the direction of the warehouse, and then left the screen. Johnny Frost went with her, leaving the zombie chef alone.

Turning off the TV, Clive turned to the rest of the room. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

“We don’t have a plan!” one of the coyotes argued.

“There’s no time for a plan,” Major said. “We have to go now, and we have to do … whatever it takes.”

The dark-haired woman from Renegade’s team faced him challengingly. “Will you? Do whatever it takes?”

“If I have to die to make sure Liv doesn’t, that’s what I’ll do.”

“And if you have to face off against your buddies?”

If? She really didn't know what they would be facing if she had to ask. “I’ll have to. That’s a guarantee. Liv’s life is what’s important right now. That’s all that matters to me.”

The dark-haired woman nodded. “All right. Let’s go, people!”

Major caught Clive by the arm in a last-minute panic, letting people file past them out the door. “What if we’re not in time?”

“We will be. We have to be.”

Wishing he felt as confident, Major followed Clive and the others out the door. He got into Clive’s car, pretty sure he was in no shape to drive safely right now—and Clive had the police bubble to clear traffic ahead of them and get there faster. What they would do when they arrived, Major didn’t know. But they were going, and they would do everything they could, and that would have to be enough.

Please let it be enough, Major thought to himself, staring out the window as the car sped through the streets of Seattle, and seeing nothing but Liv’s face.

Chapter 174: Get It Right This Time

People had gathered at the doors of the warehouse, more of them arriving every minute. Major was at the front of the crowd with Clive and Ravi, using a crowbar to try to pry the doors open, and increasingly certain it wasn’t going to work. Desperation filled him. To have come this far, this close, and be halted by a hunk of steel? If Liv died because he had failed …

The doors were moving, but agonizingly slowly. Too slowly. From somewhere appeared a longer pole of steel, stolen from a street sign or something like it. Seeing it, Major thought there might be a chance. If they could wedge that in the door … but they were going to need someone with a lot more strength. Someone like a raged-out zombie.

He caught Clive’s eye and called his name. Liv’s partner understood immediately and punched Major in the face. Maybe he had been waiting years to do just that. Major felt the rage building in him with the pain, the adrenaline rush that came with raging out. He grabbed the pole out of the hands of whoever was holding it and jammed it into the opening of the doors, using all his zombie strength on it. The doors creaked and groaned as they began to open. Ravi joined him, throwing his own weight against the pole. One of Liv’s coyotes was there, as well.

Finally the doors slid open enough to admit a person. Ducking under the pole, Major was the first one inside, screaming with anger and fear and outrage. This didn’t have to happen. None of this had to happen.

Inside, a cadre of Fillmore Graves soldiers stood in front of a central dais. Liv, thank god, was still alive, standing near the guillotine, but the weapon was prepared. Major and the others were just in time—minutes away, maybe.

Still raging, Major screamed “No!”, the word echoing through the room and across the crowd.

Chase Graves moved to the front of the dais, screaming in his own turn. “Take him down!”

As one, Major’s former fellow soldiers turned and lifted their guns and cocked them, aiming them right at him. It was an impressive display of training, he had to admit. Chase Graves shot at him, too, as Major ran toward him. His bullet caught Major in the shoulder before Liv threw her chained arms around Graves’ neck and pulled him backward.

Behind Major, people were pouring in through the open doors. But all he could see was Liv, standing there in front of the guillotine, still in danger. She was grappling with Chase Graves, practically choking him with her bonds. He cried out, “Don’t shoot!”, even as Major used his zombie strength and agility to leap over the heads of his former brothers-in-arms, landing on the dais and knocking Chase over.

Major and Chase Graves landed on the floor behind the guillotine together, both of them spying Chase’s fallen gun at the same time. Chase leaped for it, throwing himself over the base of the guillotine, even as Major grabbed his legs to hold him back.

At some point in the melee, someone triggered the anvil, and Chase Graves, once such an honorable man, was gone.

The thud of the anvil brought silence to the room. Major looked up to see Liv at the controls of the guillotine. So she had been the one to end it. He could feel the rage ebbing from him, himself returning to normal, even as Liv turned away from him.

He got to his feet, watching as Liv approached Justin with her hands held out. He took out the key and unlocked her handcuffs, freeing her, and she walked silently off the dais.

She was safe. It wasn’t the way Major would have wanted it—even after everything, he had still hoped Chase Graves could be brought back to what he once was—but it was done, and Liv was alive, and that was what mattered.

Before anyone could move or react, a Fillmore Graves soldier came sprinting into the room. He stopped short, looking wildly around the room, and shouted, “Where’s the commander?”

Major looked back at the guillotine, where Chase Graves’ body still lay, and thought about making a snarky reply, but honestly, he couldn’t think of one.

The soldier didn’t wait for a response anyway. “Gate six has been overrun!” His voice was filled with panic.

Still, no one else said anything, and slowly, each head in the audience turned until everyone was looking up at the dais. At Major.

Behind him, he heard Hobbs’ voice addressing him quietly. “Commander?”

Him? Commander? After everything?

Justin stepped up to him on the other side. “Major. What do you want to do about gate six?”

What Major wanted to do was have it be Chase Graves’ problem, but that option had been thoroughly eliminated. “I want someone else to figure it out,” he muttered anyway, in the vain hope that maybe Justin would decide he wanted to lead. Or Hobbs. Or anyone, really, other than him. Head of Fillmore Graves was possibly the worst job in the world.

“Too bad,” Justin told him. “It’s yours now, like it or not.”

Everyone was looking at him. The soldiers, the coyotes, Clive, Ravi, Peyton.

So be it. Major took a deep breath and started issuing orders. “Shut every other gate down completely. Send all available personnel to gate six. Find us a Humvee and let’s get down there,” he added to Justin.

“Yes, sir!” Justin headed into the crowd, relaying Major’s orders. Major glanced out at the crowd one last time before following him. Someone had to do it—if it was him … well, then, he’d do his best.

Chapter 175: A Moment of Truth

At the head of his troops, Major was able to quell the uprising—aided outside the walls by the US Army, who killed every zombie who poured through the opening and took them away. Including Angus McDonough. They got that execution on video, for all to see, much to Major’s relief.

Without “Brother Love” stirring up zombies, and without Chase Graves’ draconian measures stirring up humans, maybe New Seattle had a chance. At least, that’s what Major had to believe, since the problem was now firmly in his hands. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything for anyone if he didn’t believe it was possible. So he firmly squelched the little voice that said there was already more than ample proof that humans and zombies couldn’t live in harmony, and set to work trying to figure out how to run Fillmore Graves, how to make sure all of New Seattle’s zombies got fed properly, and how to keep the peace.

One of his first stops was Liv’s apartment. Peyton told him Liv was still sleeping. After the week she’d had, Major didn’t blame her. And to have had to watch her new boyfriend be executed right in front of her, after she’d been the one to put the final bullet in Drake’s head, after she’d seen her first zombie boyfriend murdered before her eyes … It was a lot. It was too much for one person, even one with Liv’s strength.

He realized Peyton was still standing in front of him waiting for a response, and he nodded crisply. “I understand. Let her sleep as long as she needs. If you can let her know that—”

Liv’s voice broke into his sentence. “By ‘her’, you mean me? What do I need to know?” She came toward him down the hall looking exhausted and wary.

Major couldn’t take his eyes off her, so grateful they’d been in time yesterday, that he didn’t have to live in a world with no Liv in it.

So Peyton spoke for him. “Liv, Major is the new commander at Fillmore Graves.”

“Congratulations,” Liv said sarcastically.

Major ignored the sarcasm. It was well deserved. “I was just telling Peyton that we’ve instituted a change in policy. Smuggle all the humans in you want. We encourage it. Your enemy won’t be Fillmore Graves. It’s the US Army that will be standing in your way. They’re still dead-set on stopping you.” He was hoping, by placing the blame on the government outside the walls, he could bring together those inside the walls in some kind of solidarity.

“They won’t be stopping me. I’m retired.”

He was relieved to hear it, although a bit alarmed, too. Liv giving up her crusade was a Liv to be concerned about. Fortunately, she had Ravi and Peyton and Clive looking out for her.

Justin, who hadn't left his side all day, seemed less relieved. “Really?” he asked, concern and surprise in his voice.

Liv went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And in a couple hours, I won’t even be a zombie.”

“The same cure I saw you two give Major, I assume?” Justin asked.

Ravi shook his head. “No. Something new.”

“Mass producible?” If that was true, if it were possible … But Major had only begun to dream when Ravi shook his head.

“Far from it.”

Major looked down at Liv. He needed to leave—a thousand things were calling his attention—but he had to speak to her first. “Liv. I am so sorry we didn’t get there in time to save your boyfriend.”

“Me, too. His name was Levon. And he’d be alive if you hadn’t kidnapped me.” She was holding back tears, and Major wished he felt guiltier, but the truth was, if he had it all to do again, he absolutely would.

Gently, he said to her, “I know. But you’d be dead.” She didn’t have to like it, but her safety was always going to be his priority.

Figuring that they had said enough, he left her apartment and went back to the compound, where he was expected at a particularly galling meeting.

While he waited for the other half of the meeting to show up, Major thought about the challenges ahead of him. “What do I do about Hobbs?” he asked Justin. Hobbs had clearly played up Chase Graves’ insecurities, and his endgame was still in question. The man couldn’t be trusted.

Justin leaned over the desk, considering the question. “Head on a spike?”

Major smiled. “You know, he came to me before all this went down, asking if I would take Chase’s job.”

“Deep freeze, then.”

That sounded reasonable.

At that moment, the office door opened and Hobbs himself came in. “Commander, I’ve retrieved the men you wanted to see."

And behind him, two of Major’s least favorite zombies: Blaine DeBeers, and Don E. “Commander, huh?” Don E drawled. “Quite a day.”

Blaine made an exaggerated bow. “And why have we been summoned, Lord Commander?”

God, this guy was an ass. Major wished he could have him killed. Instead, he was going to have to reward him. Funny thing, life. He got straight to the point. “I’m sure you two have heard that we will no longer be receiving brain shipments from our friends in the United States.” Blaine nodded, and Major continued, “You now possess the most valuable asset in all of New Seattle.”

Don E frowned. “We do?”

Blaine gestured for him to shut up.

“You know how to smuggle brains into the city.” Major pushed his chair back and came around the desk to face Blaine. “We’re going to need you to increase the flow of brains by a factor of twenty. It’ll be dangerous, but you’ll have the muscle of Fillmore Graves working on your behalf.” In the silence that followed his statement, Major appealed to the only part of Blaine that could be relied on: his greed. “I could ask you to help us because failure means the destruction of our zombie homeland, but I know that wouldn’t count for much with you two.”

“You can’t pay the rent with patriotism,” Blaine said.

Major ignored him. “Instead, what I’ll offer you is wealth. And, better than wealth, respectability. Where you were once pirates, scoundrels, villains …” He smiled. “Why mince words? A couple of low-life murderers. A year from now, you’ll be patriots. There’ll be statues of you in the town square. Zombie children will be taught nursery rhymes about your exploits. Zombie teenagers will go to DeBeers High.” He could tell by Blaine’s silence that he was very tempted by the worm, despite his awareness that there was a hook there, as well. “There’ll be Donnie’s Deep-Fried Brain Stands all across the city.”

Blaine stepped forward, his eyes on Major, trying to decide how far he could push him. “All of our debts, forgiven.”

Hobbs raised a finger. “Uh, maybe we should—”

But Major had anticipated this one. It hardly seemed to matter—Blaine was never going to pay, anyway. “Done.” He reached out and shook Blaine’s hand, much as it made his skin crawl.

And the deal was made. Major only hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him—and, by extension, the city of New Seattle.

Chapter 176: Media Overload

Six months had come and gone in New Seattle: months of plastering on a smile for zombies and humans alike who blamed him personally for all the decisions made by Fillmore Graves personnel. Months of digging into the ebb and flow of brains and the creation of brain tubes to get the most brains into the most zombie hands in the most efficient way possible. Months of stroking Blaine’s ego to ensure that brains arrived in Seattle on schedule. Months of second-guessing what lay behind the respectful “sir” and the blank face of every Fillmore Graves soldier.

Months, in short, of incredibly hard work and very little sleep.

On the other hand, Major had actually managed to get enough brains coming in to claw their way back from the edge of starvation, reducing the tension in the city for humans and zombies alike. He had kept Blaine on track—admittedly making his least favorite zombie rich beyond his wildest dreams in the process, but he tried not to dwell on that part. Peace had held amongst the citizens remaining in New Seattle, especially as he began to allow humans to trickle out into the rest of the world, under the watchful eye of the United States Border Patrol. He kept quiet the equally steady trickle of humans into the city under Renegade’s operation. No one needed the provocation of thinking the zombie population was increasing.

But if the residents of New Seattle were—comparatively—peaceful, the relationship of New Seattle with the world outside its walls was significantly less so. The United States government had made its displeasure with Chase Graves’ rule of the city more than evident, and Major could tell that the officials he dealt with were restraining themselves from outright threats only with difficulty. Border Patrol had surrounded the city, keeping as tight a rein on the inflow and outflow of people from the city as they could manage. Major had the impression that Renegade’s operation was under as much pressure now as it had been when Chase Graves had made it his life’s work to track down Renegade.

He knew this only from Peyton and Ravi, as Liv had yet to forgive him for the death of Levon. Which was fair, and Major was aware that his refusal to be in the least sorry for trying to save Liv’s life regardless of what it had cost wasn’t helping—but he wasn’t about to pretend that anything else had mattered to him in that moment, either. He might never again have the freedom to make a decision based on what was most important to him, but in that moment he had been just Major Lilywhite. He wasn’t going to apologize for that, to Liv or to anyone.

One of the parts of his new job Major had been forced to turn a blind eye to—if not actively collude with—was Blaine’s bribery of the border patrol agents. It was the only way to get enough brains into the city. But slowly it appeared that the inflow of brains was slacking off, meaning that Major had to do one of his least favorite things: seek Blaine out and ask him what the hell was going on.

He took Justin with him. Justin had been his right-hand man and sounding board from the start, and Major was grateful for his friend’s support.

“Oh, what do you want?” Don E griped when he saw them.

“Your boss. Or your head on a platter. You pick.”

Don E rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Leaning on the bar, Justin asked, “Did you see the form from the TV producers?”

“No. What’s up?”

“They want two of our human citizens released to go on Dancing with the Stars.”

“They’re petitioning me to let two humans out of the city for a dance contest?” Major frowned.

“Mm-hm. Dance of a lifetime.”

Well, that was at least an easy decision. “No. I’m not letting humans out to dance.”

“Producers say they’ll give us a one-minute commercial spot in each episode.”

“To advertise what?”

“Our tourism’s way down.” Justin grinned.

Before Major could respond, the kitchen doors swung open and Blaine’s obnoxious voice called out jauntily, “Commander! Welcome. Welcome.” He came around the corner of the bar, with Don E right behind him.

“Blaine.”

“It’s been too long, old friend.” Too late, Major realized that Blaine’s outstretched arms meant that he was about to be hugged. He’d rather have been blown up by an incendiary, but these were the things the commander of Fillmore Graves had to put up with, apparently. “I really do hope this is a social call,” Blaine added as he stepped back from the unnecessary embrace.

“Sadly, no. I got a call from the brain plant this morning with some disturbing news.”

“They told you, then. That we live in a quarantined city teetering between self-destruction and annihilation?”

Major was in no mood for Blaine’s witticisms. He held the other man’s gaze, waiting for an explanation.

Don E cut in, for Blaine’s benefit. “We delivered twelve hundred fewer brains this week.”

“Yeah. Annihilation may come sooner than any of us would like if that trend line continues. You’re responsible for brains making it to the city. It’s how you live like a king. It’s why people are willing to pretend that you’re just Jack Sparrow and not Jack the Ripper.”

Blaine frowned, thinking it over. “Sounds like you’ve got a PR problem. You should arrest a couple of zombies, say they did it, smash their heads. Humans sleep easy at night knowing we live in a just society and Border Patrol agents remember they like money. Bing, bang, bing, bong. All our problems are solved.”

“We don’t smash heads anymore,” Major reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. How’s that hopey-changey thing working out for you?”

“Stay in your lane, Blaine.”

“Make a new plan, man.” The prompt counter-quote made Blaine entirely too pleased with himself.

Not to be left out, Don E chimed in, “Hop on the bus—” but Blaine held his hand up and Don E stopped midsentence.

“Commander, you might not like the way I problem-solve. I’m not known for my light touch.”

Major, in fact, hated the way Blaine problem-solved. But this was the cost of doing business and keeping the zombies of New Seattle fed. “You’ve got a good thing going. I suggest you do nothing to screw it up.”

“That’s always my first choice,” Blaine agreed.

Clapping Blaine hard on the shoulder, hard enough to make his point that the might of Fillmore Graves could as easily be brought to work against Blaine as it currently worked in his favor, Major smiled. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

He and Justin left the Scratching Post. On the one hand, he was pretty sure Blaine was highly motivated to solve the problem. On the other hand, he was equally sure he wasn’t going to like the solution. Just one of the many compromises involved in keeping this city at some kind of equilibrium.

Chapter 177: Everything's Out of Control

One thing that had definitely carried over from Chase Graves’ leadership into Major’s was the late nights in the office. Major arrived early in the morning, and left long after darkness had fallen, pretty much every night, and even that wasn’t enough time to stay on top of everything. He was grateful for Justin, who took up as much of the slack as he could.

Tonight’s issue was a frequent inbox item—the stack of applications filed by humans who wanted out of New Seattle. Major hated it. He could only let out so many, no matter what their sob stories were. "I should ask Hobbs to do this,” he muttered. “Hobbs likes telling people no.”

“You brought this on yourself,” Justin said. “Chase Graves didn’t let people leave the city.”

“Ah, but Chase Graves had no interest in being popular, whereas being popular is what I live for.”

The office door opened, Jordan popping her head in. “Commander?”

Major and Justin looked up, both relieved at the interruption. “Jordan. Come in.”

She came across the office, holding some object in her hands. “Thought you might want to see this.”

“What is it?”

“Deck of cards.” At Major’s questioning look, she explained. “We raided Warmbloods, that human bar on Third?”

“Uh-huh. I know the one.”

“People were playing poker with these.”

Major gestured for her to take a seat on the couch next to him and reached out his hand for the cards. Turning them over and beginning to fan them out, he understood why she had brought them to his attention. They were zombie cards, with Fillmore Graves as the spades, the police as the clubs, Blaine’s people as diamonds, and the rest of the city’s zombie population as the hearts. “Ah.” Grinning, he handed the deck to Justin. “Well, if they’re playing cards, they’re not making IEDs.”

“Hey, you’re the ace of spades,” Justin commented. “The Saddam spot.”

“Yuck it up, Uday,” Major told him.

Jordan was flipping through the folder of applications. “What are these?”

“Applications to leave Seattle.”

“Oh. What about this lady?” She pointed to a picture of a smiling woman. “Cynthia Rybnicki. Says here she was visiting Seattle when the wall went up. Her husband and kid are in Chicago.”

“Does she require medical assistance only available outside of Seattle?” Justin asked.

“No.”

“That’s why it’s in the reject pile.”

Jordan twisted her face, understanding the problem. “Man. Your job sucks.”

Justin grinned at her. “Now you’re just feeding his self-pity.”

“No, seriously. I can’t think of anything worse.”

Major thought that one over, taking the pack of cards back from Justin and sifting through them. Blaine, naturally, was the ace of diamonds. Don E was the king. “I could be Don E,” he said. “That would be worse.”

“The man’s making himself rich,” Justin objected.

“And he still has to deal with Blaine every day.”

Jordan and Justin gave that due consideration, deciding that he had a point, after which they ganged up on him and told him he’d stayed late enough at the office for one day and all but forced him at gunpoint to go home.

He went, appreciating their friendship and support, but the cares of the office went with him, dancing in his head all night as he tried to sleep.

The next day, he went out in the streets on patrol. Major considered this an important part of the job, and one of the biggest mistakes Chase Graves had made. If you let other people be the only contact you had with the population at large, you lost the ability to make judgments on what was going on outside the office for yourself. And when you lost that, in Major’s opinion, you became vulnerable to manipulation by others.

Justin came with him, the two of them looking in on one of the checkpoints, where all seemed to be going smoothly. As they walked, Justin spoke up. “I got a call from our friend in Tacoma.”

“Yeah?”

“He says five of the six border agents who worked the South Bay? Gone off the grid. Snatched up as if by alien abduction.”

Major shook his head, knowing just who had decided to resolve his problems in such a hands-on manner. “Blaine.”

Before Justin could respond to the speculation, Jordan came rushing up to them at the head of her team. “Major!”

“Commander,” Justin said firmly.

She corrected herself without a hint of sarcasm. She’d really come a long way. “Commander, you need to see this.”

“See what?”

“There’s a brain line a couple blocks that way. Couple of humans are taking pictures of everyone in line, saying they’re going to post them online and out them as zombies.”

Tader, one of Jordan’s team, said, “I’m not saying we shoot them, but I’ll bet if we smack them around a bit, we can get them to give up photography.”

Another one of her team disagreed. “Technically, they’re not breaking any laws. Our new mandates don’t allow—”

Major had heard enough. He wanted to see for himself before he decided which side to come down on. “Let’s take a look.” He and Justin led the team around the corner.

By the time they reached the brain line, there were no humans there. “Photographers must have seen us coming,” Jordan said.

“They sure high-tailed it out of there.”

“They’re going to keep coming back if we don’t do something about it,” Tader said.

Something felt weird to Major about the whole situation. He was just trying to put his finger on what was bothering him when he heard a squeal of tires and looked up to see an old van come speeding down the road toward them. “What the hell?” It didn’t slow as it went past them. In fact, it sped up, heading straight for the checkpoint. Too late, Major realized what must be happening. He broke into a run, trying to get there in time, knowing he couldn’t. “Oh, god, no!”

The rest of the team followed him, all of them shouting at the people at the checkpoint, trying to warn them to get out of the way, but they were too far away to be heard or understood. The soldiers at the checkpoint stood their ground, leveling their weapons at the van, but it continued screeching toward them, even in the face of the bullets spattering the front of the van as it got closer.

When it was clear the van wasn’t going to stop, the soldiers dove out of its way. But it was too late. The van exploded in a giant ball of flame, taking entirely too many people with it.

Major stared at the carnage, hearing his people scream, wishing he had been just a little bit quicker on the uptake, wishing he knew why a person would crash a van full of explosives at a Fillmore Graves checkpoint … and terribly afraid he was going to find out.

Chapter 178: No Reason to Smile

The following day’s staff meeting was a tense one. Fillmore Graves had been attacked; soldiers had been killed. But no one knew who was behind the van bombing, and no one knew why it had happened. And everyone wanted answers, right now.

Major just wanted to find these people, whoever they were, and lock them down. Running Fillmore Graves, being in charge of the well-being of all the zombies in New Seattle, was hard enough, without now having to start looking over his shoulder watching for a van bomber … or whatever the next attack was going to look like. Because there would be a next attack. That he was sure of.

The worst of it was that the investigation seemed to have no leads whatsoever. Even the day after, they ought to know something, and there was just … nothing.

“Have we found the VIN on that vehicle?” he asked impatiently. At least if they could track down where the van came from, that would be a start.

Hobbs looked at him, distressed. “We’re still sifting through the wreckage.”

Both of them looked up as the door opened and Justin came in. The look on his face made it clear that he was not bearing any kind of good tidings. As he met Major’s glance, Justin tipped his head to the side, indicating that his news wasn’t for the ears of the entire staff meeting. Well, that definitely wasn’t going to be good.

He got up and joined Justin away from the conference table.

“Just heard. Four border agents in Tacoma back on the job, the brain plant’s back at capacity.”

That was good news. So why was Justin looking like someone had just kicked his dog? Oh, crap. “There were five border agents.”

Justin nodded, following Major’s train of thought accurately. They had set Blaine loose on the border agents, and Blaine had done what Blaine did. Whatever had happened to that last border agent was, arguably, Major’s fault. Damn it.

“You did what you had to do,” Justin told him.

More than a single person would have died if the brain plant hadn’t gone back to full operation. They couldn’t afford a town full of starving zombies, and choices had to be made. And the morals behind those choices had to be compromised. That was the way things were. Didn’t mean Major had to like it.

“We can’t prove he did anything.”

“No.”

“So we can’t stop him from doing it again.”

“No,” Justin agreed.

That was the worst of this calculus, Major reflected. That every time a morally questionable decision was made, it encouraged Blaine. And Blaine, encouraged, was never a good thing. It only made him think he could get away with something else. And he did! Every time. The man led a truly charmed life.

“So we ignore it.”

Justin nodded. “We do.”

“But we don’t thank him for getting the brain plant back to full operation. We don’t have to go that far.”

“That we don’t.” Justin smiled.

“Excuse me. Commander?” Hobbs was looking impatient.

Major had completely forgotten about the staff meeting. “All right, meeting adjourned. You all know what’s top priority around here: Find out who was behind that bombing. Get me someone in here I can question. And do it quickly before they decide they got away with it and do it again. Is that clear?”

There were hasty murmurs of “Crystal, Commander” and “Of course” and “Right on it” as everyone gratefully packed up their papers and left his office.

Once they were alone, Major walked to the windows, looking out over the city. “Do you think there are people out there who think this is a glamorous and fun job?”

Justin laughed, joining him. “No one with half a clue.”

“Lot of people out there with less than that. Maybe one of them could take over for a while.”

“Only if you want the city to burn down in the process.”

Major started to joke that it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but he stopped himself. Because it would be the worst thing, and he couldn’t afford to get comfortable making jokes that the wrong person might hear and misinterpret. “I guess I’m stuck with it.”

“Could be worse,” Justin offered.

“Yeah? How?”

“You could be doing all this without me.” He reached out his hand and Major clasped it. “You and me, brother. We’re in this together.”

“Yes, we are. Thank you. I don’t know how I could do this without you.”

“Well, you never have to find out.”

He was grateful for Justin’s friendship and support. It didn’t extend outside of the office, not anymore, and they never spoke of Liv. But inside Fillmore Graves, there was no one Major trusted more, no one he would rather have at his side.

Chapter 179: Don't Hand Me No Lines

The staff meeting the following day had no more useful information on the bombing than had been reported already. Whatever had happened at that checkpoint, no one seemed to be talking. Certainly no one was clamoring to take credit for it, which Major found surprising. It had been a successful attack—why did no one want to brag about it? He found that possibly the most disturbing part, other than the damage done to his people.

Joyce Collins had been to the infirmary and was giving the status update on the wounded. “In addition to the three dead, Sullivan and Cortez each lost a leg. McIlleny lost an eye.”

In the sober silence that followed her report, Justin asked, “And the suicide bomber?”

“Still no leads,” Lambert said, looking, as usual, like this was someone else’s fault, and not at all like he was part of the investigating committee that had failed to find said leads. “A Dead Ender, no doubt.”

Hobbs spoke up hesitantly. “Commander, if I may: Some of our soldiers are expressing concern that your policies are …” His voice trailed off, as he was unable to find a properly obsequious way to be critical of Major’s decisions.

Lambert said something in French, leaving it hanging there. Major frowned at him. Apparently they were holding multilingual meetings now.

Meanwhile, Hobbs had found his careful way to complain. In fact, once he got started, he had no trouble going on. “They felt safer before the curfew was eliminated. They aren’t thrilled by the body cameras. They feel that engaging in ‘community outreach’ and ‘conflict resolution courses’ is, well …” He looked at Major, catching himself, but couldn’t help finishing the thought. “A waste of time.”

Major really wanted to stand up and offer his chair to anyone who actually thought they could do a better job. After all, he had been all but forced into this position by several of the people in this room. But he didn’t, because he was afraid someone would take him up on it, and he didn’t think anyone here could keep the streets of Seattle safer than he could.

Justin, of course, came to his rescue, frowning at the table in general. “So, what? Are we voting on policy now?”

“I’m just giving the commander the lay of the land.” Hobbs was smirking a little, proud of himself.

Collins spoke up. “We need to be seen as part of this community. Not an occupying force.”

“We are an occupying force,” Lambert corrected her.

“Perhaps,” Hobbs offered, “if the commander spent more time out in the field …”

More time? Major thought. He already spent considerably more than Chase Graves had.

Justin, again, made his point for him. “Maybe you and the commander should compare bullet scars, Hobbs.”

“So, we should just kill them with kindness, these, uh, Dead Enders?” Lambert asked.

Major decided it was time for him to speak up. “I’m not asking you to hand out flowers. I’m saying we will hold ourselves to higher standards.”

Diaz, who had been silent up till now, burst out, “Screw standards! Those soldiers were my friends!” He got out of his seat, leaning across the table toward Major. “Do you even know their names?”

Justin stood up between them. “You are out of line, Sergeant Major.”

“Justin.” There was no need to escalate, or even to meet them at that level. Not now.

Diaz quieted and retook his seat. Justin looked at Major, who nodded slightly, and then sat down again himself.

Quietly, Major said, “Adrian Flores moved here from Tallahassee when he was seventeen. Never missed an FSU football game. Danny Cozza was a local. Dad runs a fishing charter. Heather Schooley was from Olympia. Worshipped Sleater-Kinney.” He was silent a moment, thinking about the three of them. Flores’s slow drawl. Cozza’s endless fishing stories. Schooley’s off-key singing. “We will not rest until we have found those responsible for this attack. But let’s keep in mind, there are half a million humans in Seattle, and ten thousand of us. If they decide that we only have zombie interests at heart, this city will collapse.”

He waited to see if there was going to be any more complaining, any more attempts to blame on him their inability to get the answers Fillmore Graves needed, but there was none.

Major stood up. “Dismissed,” he said crisply, and he watched them file out of the room.

Collins understood; he wasn’t worried about her. Diaz’s issues had been put to rest by Major’s demonstration that he knew Fillmore Graves was made up of people, people who mattered. But Hobbs was a long-standing malcontent who was positioning himself more and more openly in opposition to Major, and Lambert was an arrogant jackass who thought he was smarter than everyone else in the room combined.

“You should keep an eye on those two,” Justin said darkly, his eyes on them as well as they headed for the elevators outside the glass walls of the office.

“Both eyes,” Major agreed. “Hobbs doesn’t want this job; he just wants to be free to bitch about whoever has it. But Lambert? I wouldn’t put it past him to be building up a coup attempt.”

“Already? You just took the job.”

“That’s why I’m vulnerable. I haven’t had a chance to establish that any of my ideas work.”

“Streets are quieter than they’ve been since Z-Day.”

Major shook his head. “I’m not sure they think that’s a good thing. Chaos is good for some people.”

“I’m glad you’re not one of them.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Although he couldn’t help but wonder what he was missing while he tried to create order in the midst of everyone else’s chaos.

Chapter 180: Dreams and Memories

The longer he was head of Fillmore Graves, the more Major appreciated the quiet familiarity of home to come back to. The peacefulness of an empty house was a balm after a day full of answering other people’s questions. And on those occasions when he came home and Ravi wasn’t at work, it was restful to be around someone he knew he could trust with his life—or his afterlife, as the case might be.

Tonight there was a delicious smell pervading the house. Ravi was home and in the kitchen, it seemed. Part of Major missed the days when delicious smells meant meat or vegetables or baked goods, but these days, ‘delicious’ pretty much meant brains.

He frowned, dropping his keys on the table on his way to the kitchen. “You cooking brains, Ravi? I thought you already had your monthlies.”

Then he stopped short, because the chef in his kitchen was Liv Moore. There was a dizzying moment when Major felt as though time had rewound and spun forward again the way it should have been, and she was his wife, home cooking dinner in their kitchen on a normal night after work. Then it spun back again, and he reengaged with the real world, where she was cooking brains in his kitchen and hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him since her boyfriend was executed.

She was smiling at him now, though, which made Major wonder what kind of brains she was on today. “Ravi told me you’d been having a tough go of it. I know, your favorite comfort food is double chocolate brownies, but brain cannelloni just felt right.”

While she shook the sauteeing brain bits in a skillet, Major stood in the doorway and watched her, living that strange split double life where she had been supposed to be here, and now she was here again, and all he cared about was having a few moments with her, just the two of them, knowing that she was still alive—so to speak. And it didn’t hurt that she seemed to be just Liv right now, no strange brains guiding her words or actions.

Liv had made a whole meal—salad, and bread, and wine, to go with the cannelloni—and they sat and ate like old friends, chatting about the lightest of topics, neither of them wanting to delve into the darker issues of New Seattle.

Major told her about the two dancers who were applying to leave Seattle to go on their reality show, and she shook her head.

“How does that work? So, you let the winners out of Seattle to compete on the show and they give you ad time?”

“Mm-mm.” Major shook his head. “There’s no way I’m doing that. Besides, could you imagine the commercial? ‘Dance of a Lifetime, sponsored by Fillmore Graves, the zombie mercenaries who built the wall your uncle’s trapped behind’.”

Liv laughed, as he had intended her to. Then she got serious on him. “How are you holding up over there?”

Major sighed, not ready for the real world to intrude on this precious moment with her. “It’s the worst. My job is pretending to be RoboCop, but knowing the Buzzfeed quiz explicitly told me I’m a C-3PO.”

Reaching across the table, Liv put a hand on his arm. “Well, I am on board for all your reforms, for what it’s worth.” She started collecting the dishes.

“And Ravi keeps reminding me that C-3PO’s an Ewok god, so I’ve got that going for me. The cannelloni was amazing, Liv. Thank you.”

“I thought you could do with a pick-me-up,” she said, heading for the kitchen with their plates. “So, I dropped by the Scratching Post, picked up some fitness-guru brains. It seemed like a safe bet.”

“Fitness guru. Huh. Hence the sudden urge to gun my lats.”

Liv leaned over and plucked an empty brain tube from the trash, waving it as she turned to him. “You sneak a little appetizer? Was my cannelloni a failure?”

“I … replaced your delicious brains with disgusting brain tube paste while you were dressing the salad,” Major admitted.

“Dude …”

“I’m sorry. You cooking for me means the world to me.” He wished he could tell her—show her—just how much it meant. “But I can’t really afford anyone else living in my head at the moment. Not now.”

“I … understand. I should have thought of that. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Really, I loved the dinner, and the chance to sit and talk with you about stuff that has nothing to do with Fillmore Graves. Feel free to drop by anytime.”

“But with brain tubes.”

“For now. At least until we have Seattle calmed down.”

Liv smiled. “When will that be? Ten years from now?”

Privately, Major wasn’t convinced Seattle would still be standing ten years from now. He only wished he was. But he didn’t want to spoil the mood, so he grinned back at her. “Fortunately, we’re zombies, so in ten years we’ll still be just as young and beautiful and ready to rock a fitness guru brain as we are today.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.” Liv turned her head toward the kitchen. “Well, I feel the sudden need to go get a run in. I don’t suppose you’d mind …”

“Cleaning up the mess you left in my kitchen?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Major got up and walked her to the door. “Liv.”

“Hm?”

“Just … be careful. Something’s weird about this van bombing. I’m afraid there’s worse to come before it’s over.”

“You know something?”

“I know nothing, which is what makes me worry.”

She punched him in the arm. “Endorphins are good for what ails ya, son.”

And the brain takes over again. Major nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chapter 181: To Do What It Takes

Later that night, Major was back in the office with Justin—New Seattle’s zombies didn’t rest, so apparently neither did the commander of Fillmore Graves—going over files of human applicants trying to leave Seattle. Frankly, he couldn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have minded leaving Seattle himself, if he’d thought that was a possibility.

“How about these two?” Justin asked. “John and David Mendez? They have a father in San Diego dying of cancer and a senile mother. She’ll be all on her own once he passes.”

“And the brothers themselves? They’re healthy?”

Justin studied the file. “Mm-hm.”

Major sighed. “I’m going to hell. Reject pile.” With every human application he rejected he made an enemy—or more than one. He knew that. But he couldn’t just let every human with a sob story out of Seattle. The fewer humans who lived here, the more likely it was that the government of the United States would decide they were an acceptable loss and nuke the hell out of this city, humans and zombies and all. For everyone’s safety, he had to keep people here.

He was relieved when a soldier stepped off the elevator and approached … at least until the soldier got close enough that the grim expression on his face was readable. “Commander. Our squad was ambushed in an alley off Hayes Street.”

Major and Justin looked at each other with concern. Every incident made the next one more likely.

“Sir … Jordan didn’t make it.”

For a moment, he didn’t follow what the young man had said. Then it sunk in. Jordan, the brave teenager he had first met. Jordan, who had made such a mess as a soldier at first. Jordan, who had improved so much over time and become someone you could really count on. Jordan, who supported her little brothers. Jordan, who was only out there because Major had forced her to become a soldier.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. “I’ll … I’ll suit up and—if you can just give me a minute, please.” He got hastily to his feet and hurried from the room, heading for the empty locker room. He changed into his street uniform, rushing, not wanting to stop and think, not wanting to break down until he had done what he had to do. But he couldn’t hold it all back. Jordan had been so young, so brave, so foolish, so loyal, so funny …

Major braced his arms against the edges of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. This was what he had become—a monster who sent children to their death. He started to cry, unable to stop himself. But there was no time for that. Not now. There was work to be done first.

He nearly had himself under control when he heard voices from the other side of the locker room.

“Give me Chase Graves over Lilywhite any day,” one of them said.

“Oh, you can say that again.” He recognized that voice as Spud, a guy from Jordan’s squad.

“Yeah, he’ll get his,” the first voice promised. “Yeah, you knew which side he was on.”

“What do you think Flower-Power’ll do about it?” Spud asked. The whole squad was coming in to the locker room now. “Put on some Bob Marley?”

“Bus in a few more grief counselors. Remind us how outnumbered we are. We need to clap back before this can’t-we-all-get-along crap gets us all killed.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Spud said mockingly, “I can’t help but notice that you’ve got a high-powered rifle pointed at my skull. I must warn you that if you shoot me in the head, I will then, and only then, be given permission to return fire.”

Major had sunk down on a bench and listened at first, blaming himself as much as they did. But who did they think they were? Did they really think it was as simple as that? What would they have done in his position? He stood up and moved around the edge of the lockers, facing them all.

Spud chuckled at his own cleverness, noticing that the others had stopped laughing. “What? You know I’m right.”

He turned around to face Major.

Keeping his temper, remembering that he had trained to deescalate situations filled with high emotions, Major spoke softly. “You think your anger makes you special, Spud? When I found Jordan, she was digging brain tubes out of bus station garbage cans. I brought her here and I trained her. She died saving your sergeant.” He moved closer to Spud, keeping eye contact. “What were you hiding behind when she was putting herself in danger? I know what Jordan’s done for her fellow zombie. You, I’m not so sure about.”

Spud didn’t have an answer for that, but he wasn’t willing to back down. He looked away, but his face made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m—I’m asking you to be smart,” Major continued. “Don’t you get it? They want to provoke violence. Only ten percent of the human population wants a war! CHICs. Dead Enders. Are you going to give them what they want? Yes, some of us are going to die. So that all of us don’t die.” He emphasized each word of that sentence. They didn’t understand the stakes, but they needed to. “If that’s not what you signed up for, then go.” He looked around at the rest of the squad. “That goes for all of you.”

The sergeant in question, his neck still bandaged, said, “Commander, if we catch the shooter, the people who made that truck bomb, what are you going to do to them?”

All of them were looking at him now, challenging him to have their backs, to avenge the fallen, to be strong. There was only one answer that they would accept, that would keep them behind him. And Major couldn’t give them that answer. He had to give them the answer that law and decency demanded. “They’ll be turned over to the court system.”

“Human judges? Human juries?”

“It’s the law. It’s what we do.”

He left them there, knowing he should have said what they wanted to hear, and half wishing he was the kind of person who could have.

Chapter 182: Downtown

Major was on patrol—something he did fairly frequently, despite what the media and Hobbs seemed to think—when he heard about the body in in Warmbloods, a human bar. That wasn’t exactly Fillmore Graves territory, but right now, anything out of the ordinary was something he wanted to check out personally.

To his relief, Liv and Clive were at the bar when he arrived. “What do you know?” he asked them, glad that at least from them he could be sure of an honest answer.

“It was a drive-by,” Clive told him. “Two people in masks.”

“How many casualties?” As usual, Lambert made the simplest question sound condescending. Major would have liked to have done this without Lambert’s help, but the man was the head of Fillmore Graves’ detective division, so no such luck. Someday, if he was able to hold on to this job—and this city—long enough, Major hoped to be able to staff Fillmore Graves with people he actually trusted, whose competency he was certain of. But they weren’t there yet.

Clive looked down at the dead body at their feet and back up at Lambert. “One.”

“Witnesses saw the shooter and driver take off in a blue Civic hatchback,” Liv added. “Matches with the vehicle we saw racing off on our way over.”

Quietly, Major said to Lambert, “See if any of our guys own a car like that.” He didn’t like the look Lambert shot him in response, but like it or not, Fillmore Graves’ first responsibility was to police its own, and Major wasn’t going to back down from that, distasteful as it might be.

“Of course, Commander.” It was so hard to tell if Lambert was just being Lambert or if he was subtly being insubordinate. Maybe both. Probably both.

Turning to Liv, Major started to say something, but he was interrupted by a loud human voice calling to him. “Hey, Commander!” He looked up to see a man standing at the end of the bar, clearly trying to get control of himself. “How are you all going to cover this one up? What are we going to hear on the news?”

A woman standing next to him took up the attack. “’Eddie Diggs died of natural causes’,” she said, as if quoting a news article. “He is survived by his wife and two kids.”

Major didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t in the business of covering things up, but it didn’t pay to broadcast the growing unrest in New Seattle, not if he was going to keep the United States from writing the city and all its inhabitants off for good. He wished people would just stop killing each other, just for a little while, just until they could get the city on its feet and find some kind of equilibrium—but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Our investigation is ongoing,” Liv said into the silence.

“Yeah, because Renegade is all about defending humanity,” the woman sneered.

“Look.” Clive moved toward the bar patrons. “We treat this like any other homicide. We investigate, we find things out, we arrest and prosecute the offenders. Anything you can add to our investigation would be appreciated. And if you have nothing to add, then I would appreciate it if you would step aside and let us do our jobs.”

The man and the woman looked at each other, and then they got out of Clive’s way.

Clive turned back to Major. “I think it might be best if you left us to it.”

“You’ll follow up with my people?”

“Of course.”

Major nodded. Just as he was turning back to Lambert, Liv put a hand on his arm. “Major.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll get there.”

He tried to force a smile and was pretty sure he had failed completely. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“Optimism? Endorphins, son! Got my workout in this morning, a little bit of extra iron pumped over lunch, and now you couldn’t bring me down with a bazooka.”

The sheer nonsense of it elicited the smile Major hadn’t been able to muster. “That brain tube is looking better and better.”

She flexed for him. “You just wish you had these guns.”

In a different time and place, Major would have enjoyed this brain—showing off his own physique for her, maybe doing a little stripping to bare more musculature, maybe going beyond that … But they weren’t doing that anymore, and this wasn’t the place anyway, and New Seattle needed him not distracted. “Yeah. That’s it. You got me.” He squeezed her shoulder.

Lambert was waiting near the door. “I take it we are leaving?”

“We’re going to let Seattle PD handle this one. They’ll check in with us as their investigation progresses.”

“Indeed.” Lambert’s tone and his raised eyebrows said clearly how unlikely he thought that was, but he knew what was good for him and didn’t argue as Major led him out of the bar.

Outside, Major stopped to look back. “I wish they trusted us.”

“They are not trustworthy. Why should we care what they think?”

He shook his head. If this was Lambert’s position, how many others on both sides shared it? Too many. They made it damned hard to keep this city together … and as far as Major could tell, they didn’t care.

Some part of him wished he was still in that little house in Oregon with Liv, and that New Seattle had someone else charged with keeping it from going up in a giant mushroom cloud. He was probably a bad person for wishing that, but he couldn’t help it.

“Come on.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Chapter 183: Mysteries without Any Clues

Major’s phone rang in the middle of another boring meeting. He took a glance at it, seeing a text message from Ravi that said it was important and couldn’t wait. Well, any excuse to get out of hearing more complaints from Hobbs and sneering from Lambert was a good thing in Major’s book. He ended the meeting, shooing everyone, including Justin, out of his office, and called Ravi back.

“If this is about D&D, Ravi, I swear …”

“No, not this time. Emergency meeting in the morgue tonight. This is a big problem, and we can’t let it get out.” His roommate’s tone left no room for doubt.

“I’ll be there.” Major closed the phone and used the rare moments of solitude in his office to get through some long-overdue paperwork.

He arrived in the morgue to find everyone assembled—Peyton and Ravi, Liv, Clive and Bozzio. “What’s up?” he asked.

“We were waiting for you,” Ravi told him. He nodded at Clive.

“We found the car from the attack video. We also found a wig, and—”

“Mucho empty calories worth of dyed corn syrup,” Liv finished.

“What?” Bozzio frowned.

“There was no attack.”

“So, the video was a hoax,” Peyton said slowly. “No one’s dead?”

“Every person whose cell phone pinged a tower at the time is still alive and accounted for,” Clive confirmed.

“The corn syrup blood in the car is a pretty dead giveaway.” Ravi looked proud of his pun, although in Major’s opinion he could have done better. “And the blood found at the convenience store was from multiple people. All humans.”

Liv added, “We also found a wig that matches the victim’s hairstyle.”

“What kind of a sicko fakes a zombie attack?” Peyton asked.

Major was way ahead of her. He was already seeing the fallout from that faked attack, in the increased hostility of humans to his patrols … and quite possibly in the van attack. Retaliation? He answered Peyton’s question grimly. “Someone who wants to see the city burn.”

She nodded. “I’ll call a press conference, expose the video as a fake.”

“And what are you going to say?” Major stood up, frustrated that even these people, whom he respected and trusted, didn’t seem to get what was happening out on the streets. “’Hey, everybody, the video you saw of two zombies ripping a woman to shreds? It never happened. Oh, and we don’t know who’s behind the false flag, so, just take our word for it’.”

No one was happy with his sarcasm, least of all Peyton, who looked nearly as weary as he felt.

“Well, Major, it has the advantage of being true,” Liv said, shaking her head as if that was all they could offer.

Maybe it was, but it wasn’t enough. “Well, the truth’s not going to cut it. Look, our words won’t trump their images, okay? People saw a murder. All right? If we’re going to claim it was a hoax, we’ve got to put some meat on the bone.”

There was silence, as everyone digested the reality of his comments.

“What are you suggesting?” Peyton asked.

What was he suggesting? He had a murder that never happened, an attack no one was willing to own up to … Maybe they could solve both problems at the same time, draw the attackers out into the open by giving them a new target. “We get people to confess. Say they fabricated the murder. They want to stir up zombie hate with fake news, fine. We’ll fight them on their terms.”

Bozzio frowned. “And you expect Seattle PD to get behind this?”

“Only if it wants to keep its homicide rate in check.” They had to know how bad things were getting out there, how angry everyone was, how ready to be at each other’s throats.

Ravi was looking at him with concern, really thinking over the idea. “Are you sure about this, Major?”

Major looked around the room. If anyone could save Seattle, this group of people could, if they would work together and get a little creative about it. “There’s going to be a lot of heat on whoever takes the fall for this. We need to get them out of Seattle, and we’ll have to do it discreetly.” He looked at Renegade. This was going to fall to her. “Liv?”

“What?” Then she realized what he was asking. “No.”

How could she possibly think she could stay clear of this? Disappointed, he shook his head. “I want to live in your world.” Apparently this was one more thing the commander of Fillmore Graves was going to have to do on his own. He looked at the acting mayor and the head of Seattle PD. “Peyton, Lieutenant, expect my instructions.”

He left them there, already working through in his head the denizens of his prison and freezer, identifying those who could be used as the scapegoats he needed. He had to fight fire with fire—none of his friends had argued with that premise. But they were only going to get one shot at this, and he intended to make it count.

Fortunately, when he arrived at Fillmore Graves, Lambert had a gift for him—the two zombies who had been behind the murder at Warmbloods. They were both Fillmore Graves soldiers, which sickened Major. He was led into a room where they both knelt.

“Voila,” Lambert said. “Officers Chris Tader and Buddy Jackson. Jackson owns the blue hatchback, and residue shows Tader fired his weapon. Both have confessed.”

“Couldn’t keep it in your pants, huh, Spud?” Major asked coldly. These two were a violation of everything Fillmore Graves needed to do in order to keep this city safe.

Jackson lifted his head, displaying his beaten, bloody face. Major turned to Lambert in outrage. They couldn’t have arrested these men without that?

Lambert looked away. “They resisted.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Jackson said.

“And you’re judge and jury now?” Major demanded.

“Well, someone’s got to be … Ol’ Softy.”

“That is your commander, soldier!” Lambert snapped.

“Chase Graves is my commander.”

Lambert drew his weapon and moved to attack Jackson again, but Major caught him and pushed him back.

Jackson’s eyes were on Major’s face, challenging him.

“Your move, Commander,” Lambert said stiffly.

As always. Major considered his options. Could he do this to his own men? But he couldn’t keep these men on the force, not this insubordinate, and he needed a pair of scapegoats. “Lock them up. I’ll deal with them later.”

No one in the room saw this as a decisive move, but then, they didn’t know what he knew. Major returned to his office to set his plans in motion.

Chapter 184: The 'Who' in the 'Whodunit'

Hours later, Major stood in front of the guillotine—the guillotine he had decommissioned, the one he had sworn he wouldn’t use—and watched his men put it back together, oiling it and preparing it. Two of his men would appear to die on it tonight, sacrificed for the greater good. It was the last thing Major wanted, and the only thing that could prevent a human-zombie war from erupting. The city of New Seattle was simmering, ready to boil, and it was his job to keep the heat down as long as he could, by whatever means necessary.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He had the men brought in and placed, one by one, with their heads on the block. Their fellow soldiers didn’t like it, but they did it, because they took orders well. Or, Major hoped, because they understood, at least in part, what he was trying to do.

Major had personally arranged the hidden video camera to record the footage, and later, he personally arranged the “leak” of the footage to the news. He also made sure to be somewhere that the news vans could happen upon him and chase him down to ask questions. When KGMQ’s reporter asked him why they were using the guillotine after he had promised to get rid of it, Major turned to give his carefully crafted answer to the camera.

“I promised that Fillmore Graves would police itself. When my soldiers break the law, they pay a price. Every human and zombie in the city would be wise to understand that,” he added, directly to the camera. Then he got into the car.

When added to the confessions the police had gotten from the three people who had set up the fake zombie attack, hopefully this would be enough of a bone tossed to each side of this mess to keep them quiet for a while.

But it was a band-aid on a mortal wound, nothing more. There would be more attacks, both by and on humans and zombies, and it would take everything Major and the others could muster to keep tamping down the outrage and unrest that followed each incident. And eventually, the city would blow. The question was how long until it happened, and how many people they could preserve from the fallout.

He watched the news at Liv’s hideout. She turned to him after his onscreen image had gotten back into the car and driven off. “Hell of a performance.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“You think they’ll keep quiet?” She looked over her shoulder at the three humans “arrested” for the crime of faking the zombie attack. They would be quietly smuggled out of Seattle, as promised. Meanwhile, the two Fillmore Graves soldiers “executed” on the leaked video had been quietly sedated and put into the deep freeze, dummies put in their places for the city to see. Only a few, carefully picked people knew that they weren’t currently being buried on the Fillmore Graves property.

“They’re getting what they want: passage out of the city,” he answered Liv, watching as the three humans conferred with the coyote. “They’re incredibly grateful. Thanks for getting them out.”

She smiled. “It’s what I do.”

It’s also what she had told Major she wasn’t going to do any longer. They had never talked about why she had taken up Renegade’s mantle, but now he wanted to know. “Why’d you change your mind?”

She turned and looked at the three kids one of her other coyotes had smuggled into the city. He had died bringing them in, and Liv felt responsible for the whole situation. “I was already living in your world,” she said softly. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

He was tempted to reach out and put an arm around her, but they weren’t quite back to that yet. She moved off to help her coyote with the escape plans, anyway, so Major followed her.

Major would have liked to have stayed longer, but he could tell that his presence was making the coyote nervous, and the soon-to-be-smuggled humans weren’t any too happy to have him around, either. He supposed he had no choice but to go back to work, to face the mountain of paperwork and the army of people asking him questions at his office.

He looked around with a sigh. It was quiet here. The kids were playing some kind of game in the back room, the coyote murmuring to the humans, Liv with them, reassuring them. There were bedrooms upstairs; he wondered if he snuck off to one of those, if he could just lie down and take a nap and wake up when it was all over and Ravi had found a cure. Or New Seattle had been blown up, which was more likely, especially if Major took a Rip Van Winkle snooze.

Catching Liv’s eye, he gestured toward the secret door. She waved, half-heartedly, already thinking about something else, and he took himself off.

If anyone at Fillmore Graves knew that he knew the secret entrance to Renegade’s headquarters—even Justin—it wouldn’t be good for anyone. Fortunately, he’d had half a lifetime of keeping Liv’s secrets to make her trust that this one would be safe with him.

He came out the other end into a sunshiny day, breathing the air in deeply. So, he was a zombie, and he was in charge of keeping the peace in this powder keg of a city, and he had no idea if the woman he loved would ever fully forgive him, much less love him again—but he was alive. And while there was life, there was hope.

Nodding briskly to himself, Major made his way to his car, ready to take up the reins of Fillmore Graves again.

Chapter 185: No Use Talking at All

Major’s contractor was whining in his ear like a mosquito about how everything wasn’t his fault. Since pretty much every buck in New Seattle stopped at Major’s desk, or so it felt, Major had very limited sympathy with other people who not only refused to pull their own weight, but then complained about everyone else.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” he snapped finally. “It matters that the backup generators don’t work.” Power, like everything else, was a precarious issue in New Seattle, and if they lost it, they’d be hard put to get it working again with the decided unsupport of the Federal government.

Before his contractor could reply, his office door opened, and Peyton Charles walked in, followed by a security guard. “Sorry, sir, I asked her to wait.” He sounded like Peyton’s response to that hadn’t been exactly polite.

“My patience expired after my third unreturned phone call,” Peyton snapped.

“Stuart, I have to call you back,” Major said into the phone before putting it down.

The security guard had backed out of the room, relieved that the acting Mayor was no longer his problem.

In a calmer tone, Peyton said, “We were supposed to help each other, Major. I keep the frightened humans from freaking out, you get your men to behave themselves. That was the deal, right?”

“It was. It was,” he agreed. “But you didn’t need to come all the way down here to apologize for failing to keep your end of the bargain.” If she expected to come in here and intimidate him, she had misjudged New Seattle entirely. Peyton Charles didn’t even make the list of the things that scared him these days. What did make that list were line-ups in schools that pretended to be about lice and were really about detecting zombie children, which was what he was pretty sure she was here to talk about. Yes, his men had drawn their weapons on school-children, but also yes, they’d had pretty good reason.

She didn’t seem to get that, though. Arms firmly and aggressively folded over her chest, she advanced across the room. “Excuse me? I assume we both agree that parents of seventh graders might be forgiven for losing it when soldiers point M16s at their kids.”

“That’s what you heard, huh?” And this was the problem. She’d already been mad when she called him; she’d never asked for the full story.

“Yeah, I heard it, I saw the movie. It had some great dialogue in it: Soldier number one, ‘These kids look yummy.’”

Major looked up at her, startled. That part had not been in the briefing. “One of my soldiers said the kids look yummy?”

“Delicious. Tasty. Yes, something like that.”

“And you’ve seen this?”

“Yes. One of the kids recorded it on their camera phone.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and started tapping on the screen. “Here. I’ll send it to you now. Enjoy the show.” Peyton walked to the door, but halfway through she came back in. “You know, I’m keeping my end of our bargain. If you’re too overwhelmed to return a phone call, maybe you’re a little out of your depth.”

This time she did walk out, but Major wasn’t done. “Hey, Peyton!” he shouted, hurrying after her. “You know why that squad was there? The school was doing a lice check. They do lice checks to identify zombie children. Then, they lock them up away from the other kids like they’re lepers.”

She stared at him. Apparently there was more to this story than she’d known, too. “They didn’t need to pull their guns,” she said firmly.

“They leveled their weapons when one of those kids tried to grab one of my men’s sidearms.”

“The video doesn’t show that.”

“Maybe you can take my word on it.” They went back a long way, the two of them. Right now, they led the two factions that made up the city, but that meant they should trust each other more, not less.

Peyton turned and left without another word. Apparently today was not the day they were going to trust each other.

Major went down to Peyton’s office later that day in response to her request, so they could try to reach a détente. She was on the phone when he stuck his head inside the room. “Yeah, well, I’d like to ride a lollipop horse down Gumdrop Mountain, but I keep those expectations to myself.” She looked up and saw Major in the doorway and motioned him to come in.

“The difference between us,” she went on to the person on the other end of the line, “is that I’m actually representing the rights of every citizen in this city.”

Two boys were sitting in her office looking miserable. They turned their heads as Major took a seat next to them at her conference table.

“I don’t know why you guys aren’t happier,” he said softly so as not to disturb her phone call. “It’s super fun in here.”

“You’re Major Lilywhite,” one of them said.

“I am.”

“I want to join Fillmore Graves.”

Major couldn’t help seeing Jordan’s face. No. No more children soldiers. Not on his watch. “Oh,” he said casually, trying not to let the kid see his grief on his face. “You’re a little young. Maybe wait a couple of years?”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Why is that?”

“I want to start killing humans now.” His friend nodded, not looking up.

Peyton was wrapping up her phone call, which kept Major from having to respond. What kind of place were they making for these kids, that killing each other was the future they were looking forward to?

“Major,” Peyton said.

“Yeah.” He got up, leaving the boys at the table.

“Thanks for coming over.”

“I was planning on dropping by anyway. I didn’t like how we left things.”

“Yeah, me, either,” she agreed.

“I’ve got so much crap raining down on me. I may have let myself think that I was the only one in Seattle who had a tough job. I’m sorry about that.”

She smiled, acknowledging the truth of his words. “I’m sorry, too. And you were right about my constituency. They are bald-faced liars. Their lice check was a zombie check. I went down to the school to tear the principal a new one.”

“Hell, yeah,” the bloodthirsty kid said.

“I witnessed a fight, and this young man here got into it pretty bad with a human student. Raged out. That’s why I wanted you to come over here.”

“I’m not sure what I can—”

“They’re orphaned,” Peyton explained.

“Peyton, I can’t—”

“Their sister was the Fillmore Graves soldier who was killed. They said you knew her but I didn’t know if that was …”

Major stared at the boys over his shoulder. These were Jordan’s brothers. He was the reason they were on their own, at the end of the day.

He hunkered down next to the table, looking at the boys. “That means you’re Michael. And you’re Jalen.”

They nodded.

“I knew Jordan very well. She was special to me. She talked about you guys all the time. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah. So are we.”

Major looked up at Peyton, who indicated the corner of her office where they could talk quietly. “There’s a youth shelter that takes zombies.”

“No. That’s no good.”

“Agreed. They need someplace safe. Preferably a loving and nurturing environment. Any ideas?”

Chapter 186: Won't Let Nobody Hurt You

Peyton and Major looked at each other, both of them with the same idea. They knew just where the boys would be safe.

She canceled her meetings for the afternoon and Major had Justin take his—there was nothing that needed his personal okay today, just a lot of hand-holding and smoothing ruffled feathers, and frankly Justin was better at that these days, anyway, as Major’s patience thinned.

Together they took the boys to the back route to the safe house, careful to cover their eyes with blindfolds so they could never be used to reveal the location or how to get there, and then ushered them through the tunnels. They buzzed the safe house, and waited for the door to open.

Liv opened the door for them and they came through the closet.

Peyton went first, keeping her voice low as there seemed to be a meeting going on of the coyotes that looked pretty intense. “Hey, Liv.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry for the surprise visit. Uh, something came up.”

Liv looked past Peyton to Major and then the boys. “I—I see that.”

Major smiled at her. God, she was pretty. By now he was so used to the zombie look on her he thought he might actually prefer it to what she had looked like when she was human. But that wasn’t the point today. “Hey, Liv.” He turned to the boys. “Michael, Jalen, uh, why don’t you guys go take a seat by the other kids?” He put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and gestured toward the living room, where the three kids were sitting away from the rest of the meeting.

Without a word, the boys went over and took places on the empty couch.

“Uh … who are they?” Liv asked.

“Orphaned zombies,” Peyton said.

Major wanted to explain why these orphaned zombies were so special to him. “Yeah, their sister was in my squad.”

“And she can’t care for them?”

It still hurt to think about it, much less say it, but Major managed. “She was killed by a sniper.” Jordan. So full of life, so much potential, such a pain in his ass, such a loyal soldier and friend.

Liv turned to look at the boys. It appeared they had been accepted instantly by the other kids, because all five of them were watching Liv to see what she would say. “Uh, well, we have plenty of room upstairs,” Liv agreed at last. “This place has sort of become an accidental orphanage.”

“No, no, Liv,” Peyton protested. “We weren’t trying to put this on you. We were just looking for advice.”

That had been Peyton’s plan. Major had hoped for exactly this outcome. He didn’t think there was anyone other than Liv he would have trusted to care for Jordan’s brothers, since he couldn’t take them himself under his current circumstances.

“My advice is … leave them with me,” Liv said.

Major and Peyton looked at each other and smiled, glad for one crisis to have had the right solution on the first try. They followed Liv further into the house, discovering that the meeting in process was more of a wake, for the coyote who had been lost bringing the children into Seattle.

Too much death, Major thought, looking at the man’s face on the screen in front of him. Too much sacrifice of good people. Too much loss. And for what? To have humans and zombies across Seattle constantly at each other’s throats? To have people still trying to kill each other out of hatred born of fear? He sympathized with the original plan to retreat to Zombie Island—if it was still there, if you could ensure a supply of brains large enough to feed the population, if, if, if.

Liv and Major turned to look at the kids, who were quietly watching the video, already seeming to be forming a bond, then they looked at each other. “You did the right thing,” she said softly. “This is the best place for them.”

“I hope so. Jordan—their sister—she was … she was special to me. It was … She was in Fillmore Graves because of me. She— If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be alive.”

“Major. You can’t take every death on yourself.” She gestured toward the TV with her head. “If you do … You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“I think I already have. It’s pretty much in the job description.”

“I understand. But—we have to accept that other people have agency. Jordan could have left Fillmore Graves if she’d really wanted to, but she stayed.”

“I could have told her to go. I could have—reassigned her where she’d be safer.”

“I didn’t know Jordan, but I’m willing to bet she wouldn’t have appreciated that.”

Major smiled. “You’re probably right.”

Liv put a comforting hand on his arm. “So you’ll leave the boys here, and you’ll let me and my people take care of them. And you’ll go back to Fillmore Graves and you’ll stop blaming yourself for things you can’t control.”

“The first half of that sentence is easier to do than the last.”

She laughed softly. “Yes. That’s true. If it was easy, someone else would be doing it.”

“I guess I’m more like you than I thought.”

Liv nodded. “I know. Welcome to the club.”

“Are there benefits?”

She pretended to think. “Stress? Pressure? A constant stream of headaches?”

“With a recruitment speech like that, I’m not surprised it’s so exclusive.” Major put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Take care of yourself, Liv.”

“You, too.”

He went to Michael and Jalen and squatted down next to them. “Liv and her coyotes are going to take care of you, and I’ll check in as often as I can. You’ll be safe here.”

Both the boys nodded, their eyes wide, and he patted Michael on the shoulder before standing up. With a brief wave for Peyton and Liv, he let himself out of the quiet of the safe house and made his way back through the tunnels, back to the rest of Seattle, where nothing waited for him but stress, and pressure, and a constant stream of headaches.

Chapter 187: If We Take It Slow

Later that night, exhausted by the stresses of the day, the week, the month, the year, Major considered his options. He should stay in his office and file paperwork and make plans and try to figure out how to get the zombie population of New Seattle through another day. But he wanted to go home, to stretch out on the couch, to eat a pizza, to talk to Ravi, to sleep.

Sadly, sleep was a commodity scarce as brains these days. He’d close his eyes, he’d toss and turn, he’d see people’s faces, he’d try to work through the problem of the moment—or worse, problems of a world long-gone, continuing arguments with people he’d never see again, who were probably dead by now.

No, going home was no option. And staying in the office really wasn’t one, either.

Suddenly, it came to him. He’d go to the safehouse and check on the kids, make sure they were settling in okay.

Neither Michael or Jalen seemed all that happy to see him, which was fair. They must associate him with the loss of their sister. Rightfully so, in Major’s opinion. But they accepted his presence, as did the other kids, and he sat down on the couch and watched TV with all of them for a while. They settled on an old black-and-white movie, which none of them had ever seen before, chatting a bit.

Major enjoyed the peace and quiet, the presence of people who didn’t expect him to fix their problems—although they probably should have—and the knowledge that no one knew where he was or how to find him.

Except Liv, of course. She came in after he’d been there hanging out with the kids for half an hour or so, squinting at him to be sure it was really him. “Major?”

“Hey.” He got up and left the kids watching the movie. “I was just checking on Jalen and Michael. But … did you hear their favorite teacher got outed as a zombie and fired?”

“Mr. Moss?”

“It’s the Dead-Enders.”

Both Major and Liv turned at the sound of Curtis’s voice. Major hadn’t even known Curtis was there.

Curtis went on, “They’ve got this website where they post photos they take outside zombie clubs, brain dispensaries, tanning salons.”

Another thing that needed to be fixed. Just what he’d needed. But this couldn’t stand—teachers were scarce enough outside the walls, damn near impossible to replace inside the walls. Major wasn’t about to let a good one lose his job because he happened to have contracted a virus. “I’m going to visit their principal tomorrow, get the school fixed.”

“And what is ‘school’?” Liv asked.

Major frowned at the apparent non sequitur.

“Merely an indoctrination into a system of acceptable thoughts,” she went on.

“Hmm. Liv, is this some kind of brain you’re on?”

“What are our decision points? Being bullied at school, favorite teacher fired, security issues going in and out? Occam’s razor suggests the simplest answer.” Major started to speak, but Liv cut him off. “Hire Mr. Moss to tutor them here.”

As one, all the kids shouted, “Yes!”

She wasn’t wrong—the kids here did need a tutor, and Mr. Moss seemed like a good, and popular choice. But the overall problem remained, and the other students at the school were now down a good teacher because of willfully blind prejudice.

Before Major could put any of that thought into words, Liv folded her arms over her chest and said, “And yes, I am on a bit of a brain.”

He smiled at her. Brain or not, it had been a good idea—a very Liv kind of idea. “All right. I’ll track down Mr. Moss and speak to him, and I’ll bring him here—if he agrees,” he finished before the kids could get too excited. “It’s his decision. But I’m still going to speak to the principal. We can’t afford to lose good teachers.”

Liv nodded sharply. “Agreed.”

Major turned to the kids. “So, no more mindless TV for you guys. Enjoy yourselves tonight, because it’s back to the real world—studying, and homework, and mean lunch ladies—tomorrow.”

They groaned, but they were grinning, too, arguing amongst themselves which one was going to take on the role of mean lunch lady for the first day.

“You’re really good with them,” Liv said softly. There was a wistfulness in her eyes that made Major wonder if he was thinking what he was thinking—what their own children would have been like, if everything was different. Liv, the real Liv, would have made a really good mom. Whatever happened with New Seattle, and with zombieism, and with the two of them, he hoped she had a chance to become one someday.

“Good-night, kids! Liv, I’ll let you know what the teacher says.”

“I’ll walk you out.” She stopped at the closet, holding the door open for Major. “I’d say you’re welcome anytime, but you appear to have figured that out.”

“Sorry if I overstepped, I just—I needed to be sure they were going to be okay.”

Liv glanced over her shoulder at Michael and Jalen, watching the movie with rapt attention. “Thanks to you, they will be.”

“Thanks to you,” Major corrected.

“Both of us. We make a pretty good team.”

“I’ve always thought so.” For a moment, he hesitated. What if he spoke to her now, told her that he had never stopped loving her, never—

No. Not while she was on some weird brain. If she had been fully herself, maybe. But even at that—life expectancy for the commander-in-chief of Fillmore Graves was not long. He couldn’t afford to start over knowing there was every chance he might not live through the day.

Instead, Major nodded at her and stepped through the door.

Halfway through the next day, he got a cryptic text from Liv. “Plans in motion. Class in session tonight.”

Major frowned over the text, puzzled. What could she be getting at? Then it came clear. The teacher. Mr. … what was his name? Moss. He was going to be at the safe house tonight. Major had forgotten all about him in the daily chaos of meeting after meeting, but he was more than happy to cancel a few now that Liv had taken the initiative. He’d rather be at the safe house with the kids than in some boring old meeting anyway. He texted Liv back: “Ready to get schooled.”

He was waiting with Liv when the teacher was brought in, a bag over his head so he couldn’t find his way back here—assuming he decided not to stay, which Major thought was a decent possibility. Then again, he was out of a job, and wasn’t likely to find another teaching position in New Seattle, so maybe he really just didn’t have another choice.

Curtis removed the bag and turned Moss’s chair around, and the teacher frowned as he tried to get himself oriented.

“Sorry about the cloak and dagger, Mr. Moss,” Liv said.

“Renegade. Wow,” Moss breathed. Clearly he hadn’t expected this was where he was being taken.

“So,” Major began, “what we wanted to see you about is—”

“Whoa. The Fillmore Graves guy.” Moss’s eyes were wide, and he was grinning like a maniac. Apparently they were celebrities now, which Major thought felt … weird.

“Yes,” Major confirmed, before continuing what he had been saying. “Is a job. We have five zombie kids here who need tutoring.”

Liv spoke up. “Ideally an open curriculum, conducive to independent thinking and creative problem solving.”

“You— You mean me?”

Both Liv and Major nodded.

“Yes, I’m in!” The decision had been made with very little hesitation.

Major wished he didn’t have to be suspicious of that kind of thing, that he could just take people at face value and believe that a devoted teacher was just that … but that wasn’t the line of work he was in. And even devoted teachers could get themselves deep into something without having any idea what they were promising. “Before you commit,” he said, “know it’s not just about teaching. This is the hub of Renegade’s operation. Secrecy is key. You have to follow very strict security protocols.”

He was glad to see the smile fade from Moss’s face as he took in the gravity of what he was agreeing to. “Of course. I understand.” He nodded, looking from one to the other seriously, wanting them to see that he was aware of what was at stake.

“Good. Lives depend on it.” Major couldn’t help looking at Liv. It was her life that depended on it. Much as he cared about Jordan’s brothers, much as he felt protective of the other kids and respected the coyotes … it was Liv’s life that his was tied to, irrevocably, and his job to make sure she was safe.

Chapter 188: To Forget

Major sat in his office the next day, listening to Lambert’s accent, wishing he could prove it was fake, wishing he was back in the quiet peace of Renegade’s safe house. Not very Commander-like of him, he supposed, and he imagined all was not always quiet peace at the safe house—in fact, he knew it wasn’t—but pretty much anywhere but his office sounded good right now.

With some effort, he brought his attention back to Lambert.

“So, with all due respect, rumors persist on anti-zombie message boards that CHICS is planning a coordinated blockade of our dispensaries. If this comes to pass, how do we intend to respond?”

It was a fair question, but Major was tired of being questioned by this poser. “Machetes,” he said decisively, enjoying the way Lambert stopped pacing to stare at him. “Hand grenades.”

“Excellent, Commander.” Lambert immediately started writing it down.

“That was a joke,” Major called as he started to leave the room, enjoying the way Lambert’s eyes rolled in what he seemed to think was a subtle manner. “We’ll have Lieutenant Collins prep the trucks for mobile brain tube delivery. And I’ll get Captain …” The name suddenly completely escaped him. He searched his memory, but his mind felt fuzzy. Like he needed a nap. “Um … uh … uh …”

“Hobbs,” Lambert finally supplied.

“Hobbs. Yes.” Major tried to pull his mind back to the conversation at hand. What had he been saying? Oh, right. “I’ll get him to draw up prospective routes. And—”

“Mon Dieu,” Lambert protested, “this is our food supply. Any attempt to interfere with zombies receiving that which sustains us must be put down by force. An example must be made.”

“How about we don’t seek out confrontation,” Major suggested quietly. “If the intel changes, we can reassess.”

Lambert didn’t like the response, but he accepted it, at least for the moment, and left the room.

Major was leaning over his desk looking at a report in his hand. He had meant to do something with that report. What was it? He couldn’t even really remember what the report was about. He studied it for another moment, trying to call to mind what he needed to do, and eventually dropped it on the desk, giving up the attempt.

Looking up, he saw someone standing in his office door. “Commander?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I have an issue that requires immediate attention.”

Who was this guy? He looked familiar, but Major couldn’t place him. The name was just—gone, vanished out of his mind like it had never been there. “Hey … you,” he said lamely.

The man gave a small, tight smile. “Guard gate requested we send them six more soldiers. They called back later, asked for two additional soldiers. I cannot determine how many to send him in total.”

Major sat down behind his desk and stared at the man. What was he asking? He wasn’t sure. His head felt like cotton wool had been stuffed in it. Thick, warm cotton wool. He shook his head, as much to try to clear it as to indicate he couldn’t answer the man’s question.

“Is that … six, plus two?”

He tried to focus on the numbers, but they kept slipping away from him. What did they mean? “Uh, you … you figure that out,” he said.

“You know, I think I have.” The man nodded at him as if to thank him for himself and left the office, leaving Major to stare at the papers on his desk in bewilderment.

Eventually, unable to focus or concentrate on or understand anything on his desk, Major went home. Which was probably also a mistake. Any time he tried to concentrate on the road, he made all sorts of mistakes, and was lucky he didn’t cause an accident. Only once he got distracted and drove home on pure muscle memory did he make it safely.

But once he was inside the house—he couldn’t remember what to do. He eventually managed to change clothes, but then … mostly, he just wandered from room to room, staring at the walls.

His roommate came in eventually, muttering a greeting as he closed the door behind him. Then he looked over Major’s shoulder, trying to figure out what he was staring at. “What are you looking for? Major, are you all right?” he asked when Major didn’t—couldn’t—respond.

“Where are my shoulder pads?” Major asked, sure now that he needed to leave for football practice. “Mom will know.”

The man with him put a hand gently on Major’s shoulder, guiding him into the kitchen. He made a phone call, worriedly speaking to someone, and then leaned over Major, talking at him about … well, nothing that made any sense.

A woman came in some time after that, a woman Major thought he recognized. He smiled at her, then went back to sitting there, letting his mind drift.

An appetizing smell filled the kitchen. Someone was cooking something. His favorite. What was it? It would come to him. When it was important.

The woman set a plate down in front of him. “Hey. Big guy. Eat up.”

Small cubes of … something were in the bowl in front of him. Major picked up a fork, putting one in his mouth. God, it was good. So good he finished the whole bowl.

After that, it was like a fog clearing. He recognized Ravi, and Liv, and the expressions they wore when they were worried about him. “What’s up?”

“Oh, thank god.” Liv rushed to him and put her arms around him, holding on tight. Major returned the hug.

“Something happen? I feel like …”

“Yeah, your brain took a bit of a vacation today. Alzheimer’s brains. We think they were put in the tube supply in order to sabotage the city’s zombies.”

Still fighting the effects of the brains, Major took a moment to get up to speed. Once he did, he was livid. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“The police will look into it, too,” Liv promised him.

“And I’ll get the Mayor’s office on it,” Ravi added.

It was reassuring to have them both on his side, but he couldn't help worrying about what this meant. Tampering with brain tubes now? What was next?

Chapter 189: When Everybody's Insane

Major checked in with the office immediately after Liv and Ravi had left. If he had been taken out of commission for most of the day by those tainted brains, he could only imagine what might have happened to other people—zombies who operated heavy machinery, who looked after small children, who were just going about their daily lives lost in a fog. Fortunately, it sounded like there hadn’t been a lot of incidents, and he ordered his people at the production plants to check into the contents of the brains being ground into the paste. Such a heavy concentration of one type of brains shouldn’t have been allowed to happen. How many people were involved in this, how many were embedded into his various systems? He got Justin started looking into it, and went to bed to let the fresh brains Liv had fed him finish clearing the fog from his head.

The next morning, he felt as chipper as ever. Up and dressed and downing his first cup of hot sauce-doctored coffee for the day. He called Ravi before he left for work, leaving a message to thank him and Liv for having Major’s back—as they always did. “I’m still a bit fuzzy on yesterday,” he went on, walking into the living room, where the TV was blaring the morning news, “but, you know, maybe it’ll come back. Anyway, you complete me. See you later.”

He ended the call just as the newscaster said something about armored vehicles, tear gas, and water cannons. Turning, Major saw his own people on the screen, attacking humans. The newscaster went on, “After a tense standoff, Fillmore Graves turned the high pressure hoses on CHICS protesters, including women and children, without warning.”

Major watched the rest of the footage, outrage building in him. So. He had been taken out of commission for one day, and someone within his organization had leaped into action to undo all of Major’s careful work to try to build a détente between humans and zombies.

He went to the office, using routine paperwork to refocus his mind and determine how to deal with the problem—whose name, he was fairly certain, was Lambert. Finally, as evening fell, he called Lambert into his office.

Major and Collins were watching the evening’s newscast as the Frenchman made his appearance. “… giving rise to concerns that the return to the police state instituted by the previous regime may be imminent. Earlier today, CHICS spokesperson Dolly Durkins had this to say.”

The camera cut to Durkins’ smug, self-satisfied face. “Fillmore Graves may not be guillotining people anymore in the town square, but make no mistake, they are an authoritarian regime with no regard for human rights. Okay? We will resist, we will fight back, we will prevail.”

Behind him, Lambert cleared his throat. “You asked to see me, Commander?”

Major muted the TV and turned to face him. It took all his control not to throw the jackass through the plate glass windows and hope he smashed his head on the pavement below like a watermelon. “I did,” he said calmly. “The water cannon. The billy clubs. You were acting on my orders?”

“Your direct orders,” Lambert lied.

“Really. ‘Cause that doesn’t sound like me.” He turned to Collins. “Does that sound like me?”

“No, sir. It does not.”

“What are you suggesting?” Lambert asked.

“I’m one of a couple hundred zombies in Seattle who got dosed with a tube of brains from Alzheimer’s patients.”

Lambert frowned unconvincingly. “Mmm.”

Major leaned toward him, saying quietly, “But I think you know that.”

“You seemed fine when we spoke.”

“Did you know anything about the bad brains going around? A number of our men suffered the same effects.”

“I did not.” God, Lambert was a terrible liar. Either that, or he was sure Major couldn’t prove anything, so he wasn’t bothering to try.

But Major was one up on him. “Interesting. ‘Cause Corporal Wells said he briefed you.”

Lambert stood silent, knowing his lie had been poorly thought out.

Major turned away from the Frenchman before he could decide that punching him would be a good idea. “You gave the Dead Enders exactly what they wanted. You walked into their trap. I bet every time that footage runs, another hundred humans sign up. I don’t know what you’re up to, Enzo, but you’re going to go away for a while.”

Two of their men had arrived in the doorway, standing at attention and waiting for Major’s signal. Lambert hadn’t anticipated that, it appeared, from the panic on his face when he saw them. Then he turned to Major and lifted a fist into the air. “Vive Chase Graves!”

If Major hadn’t been so concerned about how deep the problems went in the organization, that would have been laughable. Chase Graves hadn’t had any more use for Lambert than Major had. “Whatever,” he said.

“I did what had to be done,” Lambert declared as the soldiers took him by the arms and escorted him from the office. “Your failure of leadership will be the destruction of us all!”

Major worried about exactly that. What was going on under his nose? How had the brain supply been tainted? Who else was working with Enzo? Was there anyone left in Fillmore Graves he could truly trust?

Collins came in the next morning to confirm that Enzo’s sentence had been carried out. He thanked her, but she hesitated. “I … noticed something when I was there, however. Prisoners Tador and Jackson are missing.”

“Missing?”

“They aren’t the only ones. I ordered a full accounting. Seventeen prisoners gone in total.”

He stared at her, trying to figure out what was happening. “Who’d want to unthaw our prisoners? And why?”

Whatever the reason was, it couldn’t be good. What was happening here under his nose—and who was behind it?

Chapter 190: If It All Fell to Pieces

Major was sitting at his desk, rubbing his eyes, wishing for an extended vacation on a tropical island—preferably stranded and alone—when Justin came into his office.

“Bad news.”

“Is there any other kind?”

“This is worse than normal.”

Major sighed. “It always is. What’s up?”

“We’re almost out of brains, and shipments have all but dried up.”

“Blaine’s current run of bad luck.” Major groaned, leaning his head back. Blaine was in jail for all his past crimes, a turn of events Major would have liked to have applauded. Sadly, he didn’t have that luxury, because without Blaine there were no brains.

“Yeah. I think someone’s going to have to go talk to him.”

“Can I send Liv?” She was fresh off the brains of a boxer—Major would have loved to see her go after Blaine with a few of the moves she had stored in her head right now. “Yeah, I know,” he said, having forgotten that Justin was easy-going about everything except for having Liv’s name mentioned in front of him. He got up from behind the desk. “I’m going.”

There was an annoyingly long wait for the head of Fillmore Graves to interview an incarcerated prisoner. Once Major was finally sitting on the other side of the glass from Blaine, he was in no mood to baby the jerk along.

“Here’s the situation,” he said, plunging right into his problem and hoping to avoid being dragged into Blaine’s. “Shipments of brains into Seattle have stopped. We have supplies for three days. I need you to tell me the details of your operation so we can get the brains moving again.”

“You make these charges disappear and get me out of here, and I’ll have brain operations back up in a day.”

It was more or less exactly what Major had expected Blaine to say, and to promise, and he really didn’t think he believed a word of it.

“Because I can’t take it,” Blaine went on. “The rec room TV is just repeating the edited-for-television version of Snakes on a Plane.”

Did this jackass actually think Major cared about his boredom? Or anything else about him? “You’re toxic,” he said. “If I let you out, people will riot in the streets.”

Blaine laughed, as if he was proud of it. Probably he was. “Well, I guess we’re all screwed, monkey fighter.” When Major frowned, not understanding the reference, Blaine cried, “You see? Samuel L. Jackson just doesn’t work edited for TV!” He put the receiver down, mugging at Major. He knew who held the cards right now, and it wasn’t the head of Fillmore Graves—or the starving zombie population of Seattle.

God, Major hated this guy. He wanted to kill him. Briefly, he pictured putting Blaine under the guillotine and watching his head get smashed. But that didn’t get him any more brains. The only thing that would was somehow finding a way to get Blaine’s brains out from behind bars.

Galling. Absolutely galling.

However, Blaine wasn’t the only possibility. There were options.

Hobbs accompanied him from the jail and Blaine, to the Scratching Post and Don E. On the one hand, Don E didn’t have half Blaine’s brains—not in any sense of the term—but on the other hand, Major didn’t itch to murder him every time he opened his mouth. So that was some improvement, anyway.

Sitting across the desk from Don E was still pretty maddening, though, especially as he tried to play stupid games. He was digging his finger in his ear, seeming to have focused all his mental capacity on the job. “Like, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just work here.”

Did Don E really think Major had forgotten everything he knew about their operation? “You’re Blaine’s right-hand man. I have a hard time believing you don’t know how the system works.” He could easily believe Blaine might have tried to keep Don E from knowing … but Don E had an eye out for number one at all times. He knew.

“I just do what he says. It’s brains Blaine’s, man.” He frowned. “Or … you know what I mean. Look, I’d love to help. But …”

Major got to his feet. “Okay, look. I’m going to leave this contract for you. Same deal we had with Blaine. It’s a good deal.” He was counting on Don E’s essential greed to override whatever loyalty he might feel to Blaine. “And a chance to step up. Be a hero.”

“Well, I have to ask Blaine because it’s Blaine’s …”

He trailed off, frowning over Major’s shoulder, and Major finished, “Brains? Yeah. Got it.”

Someone else had joined the conversation suddenly, however. A big tattooed guy Major didn’t think he’d seen before. And then, behind him, the small dapper figure of Stacey Boss. “Gentlemen,” he said, as if he suddenly owned the place. “Let’s make a deal.”

Well. This changed the face of things a bit. Stacey Boss was as unrestrained a killer as Blaine was, granted, but he didn’t like to kill if there were less messy and drastic solutions—and he was a businessman, not subject to Blaine’s streaks of erratic brilliance.

“Stacey Boss,” Major said. “Thought you were dead.”

Boss laughed. “I was close. You have no idea how hot a Bangladeshi summer is in a three-piece suit.”

“You’ve been hiding in Bangladesh?” Hobbs asked.

“Hiding?” Boss shook his head. “Working. Bangladesh, Sudan, Ukraine … Anywhere there’s brains, I’ve been. That—that’s how it works. I procure, Don E distributes. Blaine does jack.”

Major looked at Don E for confirmation, which he didn’t get.

But Boss wasn’t interested in Don E’s opinion. “I’d be willing to solve your little problem right here and now. We cut Blaine out; Don E and I handle the brains ourselves. Everybody’s happy—except Blaine.”

“The catch being?” Because there always was one.

“A slight cost adjustment. Say, double what you’re paying Blaine?”

They always asked for more than was available. “We don’t have the budget. I can’t agree to that.”

“I get it. Budgets are stubborn things. But let me just say this: When zombies start tearing humans limb from limb, my price is not likely to have come down.”

Major nodded. “Taken under advisement.” After all, if Seattle fell, Boss’s brain business would be dead before it began. He only had a product if Major had customers.

With Hobbs behind him, he exited. Some progress had been made. All in all, he’d rather be playing hardball with Stacey Boss than begging for cooperation from Blaine DeBeers.

Chapter 191: No One Listening

Major had left some insurance on Don E’s desk—a hidden microphone in a pen he had happened to ‘forget’. He and Hobbs and Collins listened in as Don E and Stacey Boss did some negotiating of their own. Don E was dragging his feet about cutting Blaine out of the deal, which rather surprised Major, given how Blaine treated his subordinate. It apparently surprised Boss, as well.

Don E wasn’t sure if be believed Fillmore Graves’ budget issues; Boss didn’t care about them. He saw a jackpot in front of him. And he probably wasn’t wrong. Whatever it took to feed Seattle’s zombies, Major would have to find a way. And that way didn’t look like it was going to come from Blaine’s network, even under new ownership.

He had no choice but to get on his knees, figuratively, at least, and go hat in hand to the United States government, even knowing that they would rather see the city of Seattle blown into the ocean than feed its zombie citizens.

That attitude was buried, and not too deep, either, in the response he got from the suited and uniformed people sitting around the oval conference table on his call with the Joint Chiefs of Staff that night. “I’m sorry, Commander, but we cannot be responsible for Seattle’s issues. We had an understanding. You have to find a way to live up to it.”

“I—I understand, General,” Major replied, holding on to his temper with both hands. He couldn’t afford to yell at these shortsighted idiots. He had to placate, to soothe, to cajole. If only he had the energy to do any of that. He was so tired, and so worried, and so close to the edge of scared, that all he had was the honest truth. “But the situation here is truly dire. I can’t state it any more bluntly. We’ll be out of brains in 48 hours. After that, zombies might turn on the living. Some might try to scale the wall. I know that you think this is our problem, but it could end up being all of our problem.”

The woman at the head of the table, General Lane, cut him off. “Thank you, Major.” She seemed to have to search for his name. “We’ll discuss it, and get back to you later.”

“Or sooner, if you can.” He cut transmission and took a few minutes to swear and slam his fists on the desk. Which neither help nor made him feel any better, but he had to do something, and that seemed to be the only recourse left to him.

The nightmare was coming. Night of the Living Dead type stuff, starving zombies attacking innocent humans for their brains, zombies escaping the walls of Seattle and spreading the virus far and wide. Major could see it there, like a tsunami wave hovering just over their heads, ready to crash, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The next day, the news was out. Literally. The local stations were playing Dolly whats-her-name blowing the whistle on New Seattle’s critical brain shortage. Major watched it from his desk wondering who her source was. She said it was the plant workers, but he had a hard time believing that.

Hobbs came in while Major was trying to decide how to respond to this latest development. Damage control was needed, and quickly, but could he lie to the whole city? “So, Commander, the Joint Chiefs called while you were out.”

He’d gone home for half an hour to shower and change. From Hobbs’ tone, you’d have thought he’d taken a vacation in Aruba. “Fine,” he said. He hit the comm button on his desk. “Alan, let’s call back the Joint Chiefs.”

“Actually, sir, they, uh, left a message.” Hobbs produced a small pink slip of paper. “Basically, since it’s the official position of the US government that Fillmore Graves is a terrorist operation, they do not—”

“So, no.” Major sat back, his heart sinking. He had been afraid this would be their answer—he had mostly expected it—but he had held out some hope that they wouldn’t consign American citizens to a horrifying death quite this easily.

“So … no,” Hobbs confirmed. “Oh, and, uh … it looks like Blaine DeBeers … made bail.”

Well, at least someone was having a good day.

Major arranged a press conference, went on camera promising that the brain issues were being resolved. He was getting better at lying through his teeth, even coming up with a way to explain to need to ration the current brain supply. Never mind that he hated himself, hated the situation, and was rapidly coming to hate the government, who would rather let its citizens starve and become feral nightmares than feed them.

From his face to the newscaster’s: “Lillywhite’s assurances come amid ongoing concerns about Seattle’s brain supply. CHICs leader Dolly Durkins stood by her own claims.”

The screen cut to Durkins: “They’re running out. And when they run dry, the zombies are gonna come after us.” She was staring straight at the viewer, inviting them to share her outrage and her paranoia.

Except it wasn’t paranoia, because it was true.

“Surplus stores and gun retailers are reporting record sales, and police reports of robbed graves have skyrocketed,” the newscaster reported.

Hobbs had come in again while Major watched, trying to figure out what to do. “Looks like the alarmist view is carrying the day so far,” he said.

“Things will calm down once we get the brains flowing again.”

Clearing his throat, Hobbs handed him a folder. “Speaking of: transcript from our bug in the Scratching Post. Boss and Don E have cut DeBeers out of the operation.”

Major looked at the transcript and then back up at the TV, where the announcer was asking, “Has Seattle reached the end of its tenuous zombie-human peace?”

Not if Major had anything to say about it, it hadn’t. There had to be a way. He just had to find it.

One thing he could do—he could try to neutralize Dolly Durkins. He went down to her fish truck, ringing the bell jauntily. She turned to him. “Hi. Can I help—” Her words stopped as she recognized him, her mouth pursing as though someone had just shoved a brain in it.

Major gave her his best smile. “Hi! Cute shirt.” It said ‘Dead Fish for Live People’.” “Does it say on the back what zombies get, or is it the same dead fish idea?”

“We don’t serve your kind here.”

“Oh! If I have to shut you down for discrimination, you won’t get to do any more of those fun little TV interviews.”

They looked at each other, but he had her there, and she knew it. Reluctantly, she stuck a piece of fish and a couple of fries in a basket and dropped it in front of him.

As he paid, he grinned at her. “Excellent service!” Lifting his walkie-talkie, he said into it, “All good, boys! They do serve zombies here. Anyone hungry?” He winked at Dolly Durkins, whose face fell as she saw all the Fillmore Graves soldiers crowding around her truck.

Major tossed the overcooked and overpriced fish into the garbage. Durkins marched up to him. “Do you think you and your jackbooted thugs can obstruct my business? You brain-eating, undead abominations.”

One of the young soldiers had come up behind them without Major noticing until he said, “Geez, Mom. Just chill out.”

“You gave up the right to call me that when you became one of them,” she snapped, storming off.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Murphy,” Major said to the kid. “Dolly Durkins is your mother?”

“Not anymore, I guess.”

“Wow.” Major couldn’t imagine someone giving up on their own child like that.

“If I may speak freely, sir: Don’t underestimate her. She really hates zombies.”

Major turned to look at Durkins, who was back in her truck, glaring at him. Or her former son. Or both. What he wouldn’t give to scratch her and let her feel what it was like to go hungry for brains. Maybe then she’d understand.

And none of it helped him get more brains for his people.

Chapter 192: Change in Policy

When Major came home that night, Liv was there, sitting on the couch with Ravi while he powered through a few levels of their favorite zombie-hunting game. As Major shut the front door behind him, he heard her say “Major has a proven willingness …” and then something about sex, which made him think he had heard her completely wrong. Surely Liv wasn’t sitting on his couch talking about his sex life, which at the moment was not only nonexistent but not really possible. Even quickies took time, and that was something Major really didn’t have.

“The willingness to do what?” he asked, wondering what Liv had actually said.

“Oh! Major.” Liv looked uncomfortable, making him wonder if she really had been speculating about his sex life. She got up, holding out her phone. “Do you want to meet a new friend of mine? She’s a lawyer.”

Over Liv’s head, Major met Ravi’s eyes. “Matchmaker brain?”

“Yup.”

“Nailed it.” He held out the box he had picked up on the porch. “Hey, it’s addressed to you.”

“Ooh!” Ravi bounded up off the couch to take the box, while Liv fiddled with her phone.

“I have a picture of her.”

She really was gone on this brain if she thought there was a chance he was interested in any kind of matchmaking right now. “Uh, Liv, I appreciate the thought, but unless this girl can get a massive quantity of brains into the city overnight, I think I’ll pass.”

He wanted to think there was some relief in Liv’s face as she put the phone away, but the matchmaker had clearly taken over and left none of the Liv Major still hoped was in love with him, somewhere deep in there.

“I’d put a ring on it if she had some tainted Utopium. Peyton would understand.” Ravi had grabbed a knife from the kitchen and he bent to slit open the tape on the box.

“That reminds me … Does the name ‘Beanpole Bob’ mean anything to you?”

Ravi and Liv looked at each other, mystified, and shook their heads.

“No. Why?”

“The name came up in an intel file. The Da Vinci of Utopium, apparently.”

Liv turned to look at him as though that had sparked something in her memory, but Ravi continued to look blank. “Uh … I can ask Clive,” he offered. “See if he knows a Beanpole from his vice days.”

He finally had the box open, and he removed an electronic contraption from it and pulled it on over his head.

Major frowned. “Night-vision goggles?”

Ravi lifted the visor on the goggles. “Because the CDC couldn’t find any trace of tainted Utopium in the vial I sent, I had the bright idea to sneak into Blaine’s mansion and steal back my cure with the assistance of a cat burglar brain and a pair of …”

“Night-vision goggles,” Major repeated. He had to give it to his roommate, it was worth the try. At least, it was something they had never considered before, and if they could get the cures back, maybe there would be a way to replicate them. Not soon enough to save New Seattle from going full Romero, but maybe it would help the rest of the country once Seattle’s zombies got through the wall and the disease started spreading.

Ravi gave him a thumbs-up sign.

“You know I command a para-military force, right?” Major asked him. “I could’ve gotten you those for free.”

Removing the goggles and returning them to the box, Ravi sighed. “They were only eight hundred bucks. And with UFreightEze select membership, you can get literally anything delivered to your doorstep in under twenty-four hours.” He delivered the line like a cheesy TV commercial actor, and Liv and Major grinned at him.

But then Major stopped grinning, because he needed things delivered to his doorstep in under twenty-four hours, and UFreightEze seemed like it might just be the outside—or rather, inside—the box solution he had been looking for.

UFreightEze, fortunately enough for Major, was headquartered in Seattle, and thus had a vested interest in keeping the population fed. Hard to run a business while half your staff was slowly losing their minds in their desperate hunger for brains.

He was glad for once for his exalted, if thankless, position, because it meant he got an interview with Tyler Griss, the CEO of UFreightEze, first thing the next morning. Griss didn’t sit down the whole time, and they ended up all over the facility putting out fires. Major liked a CEO with his fingers personally in the running of the company, but it was difficult truly laying out his proposal while on the move.

Once he understood where Major was coming from, Griss shook his head. “I want to help this city in any way I can, Mr. Lilywhite, but this sounds like it’s beyond even me.”

“It might sound like it, Mr. Griss, but … See, we’ve disassociated with Blaine DeBeers, and our alternate brain supplier is too difficult.”

“Well, I get it. You need a supplier. But here’s the problem as I see it: I have no clue how to get thousands of brains. I mean, we’ll get you a TV in a day, but our deliveries have the advantage of being legal.” He turned to Major, finally standing still for a moment. “I’m not a smuggler. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“What if I told you none of that mattered?”

Griss looked intrigued for the first time.

They put out the ad campaign, promising that UFreightEze was taking care of the brain business from now on, and then Major sat at his desk and waited.

Right on schedule, he had Don E and Stacy Boss in his officec. Hat literally in hand.

Major launched into his glowing review of Fillmore Graves’ new relationship with UFreightEze. “And UFreightEze will handle both the supply chain and shipping. Which is, of course, their specialty.” It was hard to keep his smile from edging past triumphant into smug.

“I’ll give you this, Lilywhite,” Boss said. “You got moxie. But we both know Ty Griss can’t handle this volume of brains.”

“Well …” Major leaned back in his chair. “He doesn’t have your network of third world hospitals to plunder, but he’s going heavily into western healthcare. And he’s including a brain donor card in every package. There’s millions of customers a day getting a direct appeal from one of the world’s greatest philanthropists.” He added the cap, and yes, he was pretty sure his smile tipped into smug territory. "And he'll do it all for ninety percent of our original deal with Blaine. So. Unless you’ve got a better—”

He didn’t even have the words out before Don E, always impatient, jumped in. “We’ll do eighty percent.”

Boss glared at him, Don E glared back, and Major looked up at both of them, all innocent curiosity. “Is that an official offer?”

Unhappily, Boss confirmed it.

“Hmm.” Major considered the proposal, as the three of them looked at each other in silence. At last, Major said, “The billboards stay up. We need a new face on the brain business. I’ll let the brain plant know to expect your next delivery tonight.”

Boss nodded. He wanted to say something, to salvage a win out of this loss somehow, but he was well and truly boxed in, and he knew it.

“That’s all,” Major told them.

Sour-faced, the two of them left his office, and Major returned to his work, feeling suddenly like Kenny Rogers. You had to know when to hold ‘em, didn’t you? It felt damned good to win for a change.

Chapter 193: The Wound Is So Fresh

Major had wracked his brain long and hard about the best ways to try to convince the government not to give up on a couple million of its citizens, but had come up with nothing. The United States was more afraid of a spreading zombie virus than it was of nuking what was left of Seattle. They counted the zombies as no longer existing and the humans as an acceptable loss if it prevented further spread of zombie-ism. A group was coming to survey the place, ostensibly to see what it was like in New Seattle, but Major wasn’t fooled. They were coming as a sop to those who would weep for the lost lives, to be able to say they had tried, they had wanted to help, but New Seattle was too far gone. He was down to probably days, maybe weeks if he was lucky, before they decided to reach for the nukes.

So, at last, he came around to the last-ditch plan: appeal to the humanity of the leaders. One leader in specific.

He called General Mills’ daughter and her boyfriend into his office and laid out the pitch to her.

Sloane Mills was not biting. She stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “Seriously?” When he didn’t blink, she leaned back on his couch. “Okay, let me get this straight. First, you kidnap me and turn me into a zombie. And now you want me to do Fillmore Graves a favor?”

“I want you to do the people of Seattle, zombies and humans, a favor,” Major corrected her. “Look, I’m talking self-preservation here. Your dad wants to see you—”

She waved that idea away. “General Mills and I haven’t been on speaking terms for a long time. He’s not particularly open-minded.”

“He’s going to be here with the contingent from the US government. The man holds sway at the Pentagon. It’s in our best interest not to piss him off.”

Before Sloane could respond, Major’s assistant came into the room without knocking, a sure sign of trouble. “Commander. Captain Bell just called from lockdown. Something about a break-in, then the line went dead.”

Leaving Sloane and her silent boyfriend in his office to consider their options, Major went down to lockdown, where he found Hobbs had already arrived, but too late to stop the mass slaughter that had occurred down there. Bodies of Fillmore Graves soldiers, good people every one of them, lay scattered around, all with a single clean bullet hole in the center of their foreheads. Whoever had come in, they were very well-trained.

“It was quick and well-planned,” Hobbs told him. “The intruders killed two outside, four in the break room.”

“Why weren’t they at their posts?” Major asked. That many soldiers in the break room at this time of night? Unusual. Highly unusual.

“Don’t know. They took eight prisoners from the deep freeze,” Hobbs continued. “All known Chase Graves loyalists. Enzo included. Oh, and Peters is missing.”

“Peters?” Shocked by what he was seeing, Major couldn’t bring the face to mind immediately.

“He was post at the entrance.”

“He must have been their inside source. They had to have one.” Then Major realized what was nagging at him, who was missing. “Where’s Justin?”

Hobbs nodded and took out his phone, dialing Justin’s number. They could hear it ringing somewhere in the building. Major felt a chill. Not Justin. His friend, the first person he had learned to trust here at Fillmore Graves. They couldn’t have gotten him, too.

They followed the ringing into a disused hallway filled with discarded furniture and barrels, where they found Justin’s body slumped against a wall. While they stared at him, shocked, he groaned and shifted. He was alive! Relieved, Major hurried to his side.

“Oh, buddy, am I glad to see you.”

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell us.” But now was not the time. Justin needed some recovery time and some brains. Major and Hobbs helped him up and took him back to Major’s office, where he got cleaned up, downed a brain tube, and took a quick nap to let his body heal its wounds.

Once he was up, they went over what he could remember.

The two of them looked over the schematics of lockdown, trying to figure out how this had happened. What leaped out to Major as he traced the path of the intrusion was how many soldiers were out of place. “If people had been at their posts, most of them would still be alive.” So many of them, all in one night. Major remembered when there had been time for wakes, when the entire garrison would come together to mourn the loss of one soldier. The loss of all these would go unmarked, unmourned, because they couldn’t spare the people for a wake. He looked at Justin. “Any idea what drew them away?”

“Boredom?” Justin shook his head. “I was afraid of that. I kept trying to drill them, keep them sharp.”

“Where were you when you got shot?”

They both bent over the map and Justin pointed to his location. “There. They must have thought they’d got me in the head.”

“You get a look at ‘em?”

“Yeah. Not our guys. I don’t know who they were. They were efficient, though. They’ve had some training.”

That had been obvious from the clean headshots, other than Justin’s, and the precise entry plan.

“Best guess? Dead Enders,” Justin concluded. “They’re getting bolder.”

“Dead Enders?” That sounded off to Major. “Yeah, they pulled eight of our most militant soldiers out of the deep freeze. What purpose would Dead Enders—”

“You asked for my opinion.” Justin’s tone was sharp, surprising Major, until he remembered that his friend had been shot and left for dead. That surely bought him the right to some testiness.

Still, though, that hadn’t been exactly what he’d said. “I asked if you saw them.” He frowned at the map. “I know you don’t want to think Peters could be involved. You trained him, right?”

Justin nodded. “He’s a good guy. Lousy soldier, though.”

“Capable of planning an operation like this?”

“Oh, god, no.” They both laughed a little, thinking of the perptetually late snack food junkie that was Peters trying to plan a precision strike like this.

But Major couldn’t quite dismiss the idea that easily. If not Peters, it had to have been someone, and it was awfully suspicious that they hadn’t found his body.

Chapter 194: Trouble on the Way

Major was just pulling up to the house with a pizza when his phone rang. To his surprise, it was Liv. They were on good terms, but she didn’t usually call him. “Hey. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean … I’m not sure.”

“Okay. You want to start at the beginning, or—”

“I just saw my mom.”

“Oh.” He winced. That never went well. Even now that she knew about the zombieism, Liv’s mom couldn’t forgive her for not donating blood to Evan. It was willful ignorance on her mom’s part, in Major’s view, but then again, he had never liked Liv’s mom. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, deeper cut than usual this time.”

“What happened?” He got out of the car, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“She told me about my dad.”

“Whoa, what?” Major nearly dropped the phone. All her life Liv had wanted her mom to talk about her dad, at least to tell her who he was, and the woman never let out a word.

“Yeah. He’s not Uncle Art. He’s some … other guy.”

Major let himself into the house, flipping on the light. “So the guy you thought was your dad isn’t your dad?”

“That’s what she told me.” Liv sounded like she was barely holding back tears.

“Heavy.”

“Yeah. Hey, you want to come by the Hub on Friday night?” she asked in her trying-not-to-dwell fake cheerful tone. “I’m on evil chef brain, and I might as well get some use of the brain’s upside. I’ve been making a mess over everything else.”

“Sounds fun,” Major told her. He wasn’t sure it did, but any excuse to spend time with Liv instead of the myriad other things that constantly tugged on his time was a good thing.

“I’ll text you the time,” she told him. He could hear voices in the background. New business for the morgue, apparently. “Bye.”

“Yeah, bye.” He put the pizza on the table and the phone down. He was just picking up the lid of the box when he heard a voice behind him.

“Commander.”

Whirling, Major had his gun out and pointed at the person sitting on his couch in the darkness before he had even processed that the voice was that of his missing soldier, the one he suspected of having set up the whole massacre at lockdown. “Peters. We’ve been looking for you.”

Peters put his hands up in surrender. “I need your help. They’ll kill me if they find me.”

Major moved slowly toward him, gun steady in his hands. “Who says I won’t? Six soldiers died the other night. Best case, you’re the deserter who abandoned his post. Worst case, you’re the traitor who helped orchestrate their deaths.”

“I’m neither of those things, sir! But I know who the traitor is.”

“Who?”

“Captain Bell. Your good buddy—Justin.”

Justin? Impossible. But … was it? Major lowered his gun. “Talk.”

“I left my post, just to get a snack,” Peters admitted. “I was gone maybe five minutes. When I come back, the rest of my squad is dead. There’s four more dead in the break room. I heard noises down the hall toward the freezers. When I turn the corner, I see them: heavily armed soldiers. I’ve never seen them before. And they all just huddled together, and they’re just having a chat …”

“Yeah?”

“With Captain Bell. Now, he’s bloody but he’s fine. Just standing there casual as can be.”

Justin was his friend. Justin had been his friend, all this time. Since the beginning. “No.”

“Think about it,” Peters urged him. “No one was where they should’ve been. Why? ‘Cause Captain Bell ordered an inspection. People were polishing boots, making beds … Commander, he wanted them exactly where they were.”

Major stared at his soldier, stunned. It made so much sense. He didn’t want it to make sense, he didn’t want it to be true … but it could just possibly be true.

What the hell was he going to do now?

“All right,” he told Peters. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” And he laid out the plan.

The next day, he took Peters in, wrapped up in bandages, attached to a very real-looking IV, thanks to his roommate.

Justin’s face was unreadable when he looked down at the heavily bandaged body. “So that’s Peters. You got him."

“Yeah, but he’s in bad shape. He ran from my squad right into Mike Hughes’ flamethrower, and nearly melted his face off. If we can get him stabilized before he dies, he could have some interesting stories to tell us.”

Peters gave a very realistic groan of pain.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Justin suggested. “We’ll take care of him here. I’ll let you know if he starts talking.”

Well, that sounded off. Telling the commander to go take a nap while someone else got to the bottom of a major infiltration?

But Major knew his cue when he heard it. He stopped walking and let the stretcher keep going without him. “Yeah. Rest sounds good.”

He and Hobbs turned around and let Justin and his squad take the stretcher down into lockdown. Then they watched on the camera to see what would happen. Watched Justin send the other guard away. Watched him unlock the door and walk into the cell.

“Maybe … maybe Peters is a liar,” Hobbs suggested. But he’d had the same reaction to the news that Major had—surprise, but not too much. Not enough.

Major leaned forward, watching tensely to see what his friend was going to do.

“Don’t lose faith.”

Sadly, Major had run out of faith a long time ago. “Too late.”

He left the observation room and headed for the cell, arriving just in time to hear Justin say “You picked the wrong team, brother,” and see him put a pillow over Peters’ face.

Major pulled his gun and pressed it against the side of Justin’s head. “I’m thinking maybe you picked the wrong team, brother.”

Peters pulled the pillow off his face and sat up, and Justin turned to Major, his face closed off. Hobbs and the rest of the squad arrived, one of them taking Justin by the arm to another cell, a more secure one. As he walked away, Major heard Justin calling his name, and turned to see what he could possibly have to say for himself.

“I love you. I do,” Justin told him. “I tried to support you, but you took it too far. You were willing to sacrifice zombies for humans. How could you be so naïve? You, Liv … There is no middle ground, Major. It’s us or them! It’s time to pick sides. You’re a zombie. I recommend you get on board the team.”

“I picked a side,” Major said. “Good humans, good zombies. Side by side.”

“That’s not a side! That’s blowing out a candle, making a wish!”

They looked at each other, each convinced he was right, neither willing to believe the other was. “I trusted you, Justin. Cuff him.”

Hobbs, somewhat reluctantly, moved toward Justin with the cuffs. Before he could put them on, Justin had grabbed Hobbs’ weapon from its holster and was using the nearest soldier as a human shield. All the others had their weapons ready, but couldn’t shoot Justin because of the soldier in the way.

“Everybody stay back!” He dragged the soldier with him as he backed away. “I’m sorry, Major. You’re a good guy, but the wrong guy for bad times. You’re soft.”

Major stared down the barrel of the gun, trying not to let the fact that this man had been his friend keep him from doing what needed to be done.

“You don’t have the nerve to—”

And Major fired. The bullet struck Justin dead center in the forehead and he went down. Looking at his former friend, the only emotion Major could find within himself was regret that he hadn’t been able to find out how far the conspiracy went first.

“Clean this up,” he ordered, and walked out of lockdown.

Chapter 195: Feeling Like This

Major made it all the way out of the building before his legs started shaking too much to keep walking. He leaned against the wall and tried to hold back the tears. His friend. His good friend. Hiding all of this, leading a whole separatist movement right under his nose.

And he’d had no choice but to shoot him. His first friend in Fillmore Graves, the guy he’d introduced to Liv when they couldn’t be together any longer. Justin with his big smile and his great jokes and his stalwart support. Only the support had been a lie. What else had been a lie, and when had it started? How long had the friendship in Justin’s eyes been covering up disdain and pity and a determination to take down everything Major stood for?

It was no use. He wasn’t going to be able to fight the tears. Hurrying across the campus, Major made it to his car before he really broke down. He sobbed his heart out. For Justin, yes, but for all the others—the ones killed in Justin’s bid to make New Seattle a place where zombies and humans were constantly at each other’s throats. Good people, all of them.

When the storm of weeping had passed, Major felt drained and wearied. He couldn’t face more of Fillmore Graves today. Every stack of papers in his office would remind him of Justin—both the friend and the traitor. And he couldn’t do it. Not tonight.

Instead he drove home, spending a really long time in the shower, drowning his sorrows in video games, although not the zombie one.

Fortunately Liv texted him in the middle of his misery, reminding him that he’d agreed to come feast on the fruits of her current brain—that of a high-level chef. He texted “Be right there” back in relief. Liv and the kids were exactly what he needed tonight.

By the time he’d made it through the tunnels and was knocking on the wall, he had decided not to tell Liv what had happened with Justin. Not tonight, at least. For tonight, he would simply enjoy being here, the peace and quiet of the safehouse.

Liv was in the kitchen, creating something that smelled absolutely amazing, and the four kids were settled around the table, passing around a plate of something else. Major took his coat off, still caught up in the events of the day, unable to shake the feeling that if one of his best friends had betrayed him, others were lined up, just waiting to do the same.

“Hey, Major,” the kids called to him.

He looked up and said hi back, hanging his coat on the back of a chair. Liv had settled down at the head of the table and she smiled at him across it. Maybe that was how he got through tonight, he thought. Pretending that this was their life, their family, and these were their kids, and that was all that mattered.

One of the girls came toward him and gave him a hug, as if she could tell he needed it, and she led him to the table. He took his place at the foot, opposite Liv. The kids had already filled his plate for him. All that was needed was for Major to pick up his fork and take a bite—and what a bite. Whoever the chef had been, compliments to them. And to Liv, who had always been a good cook in her own right. Major closed his eyes, chewing blissfully.

Opening them, he looked at Liv across the table, lifting his wine glass to her in a toast. All the kids lifted their water glasses, copying his gesture, and he smiled for the first time all day.

The meal was over too quickly. Major desperately wanted just to hide here, not to have to go back to the rest of his life, not to have to deal with the fallout of Justin’s betrayal.

“Major, can you help me with my math homework?” Jalen asked him.

“You sure you want this guy’s help?” Liv was smiling at him from the kitchen, where she was stacking and scraping plates. “I happen to know how he got through his college math classes.”

“Low blow, Moore. And I’ll remind you that you weren’t around to help with my middle school math.”

“Yeah?” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Which one of your girlfriends was it, then?”

He pretended to think. “Katie Sullivan.”

“You were pretty quick to come up with that one. Still carrying a torch?”

Major watched as Liv turned to the sink and began rinsing the plates. He was still carrying a torch, but not for Katie Sullivan, who was married with three kids last he’d heard, but for the beautiful woman in the kitchen who was the only thing in his life that had ever really mattered.

He turned to Jalen. “Let’s see those math problems.”

After Jalen’s math, it was someone else’s history report to look over. Major could get used to this simple domesticity, the quiet peace of an evening of homework, watching Liv as she worked with the other kids on their science project, catching her eye over their heads and smiling. In another world, another life, this was their family. These were their children.

Damned boat party. If it hadn’t been for that …

Major swallowed and pushed away an image of Justin, dead on the floor. Only one of many, many things he’d been forced to do since the boat party that he never wanted to think about again. Only, he didn’t have that luxury.

He got to his feet eventually, reluctantly. “Thanks for having me, guys!”

They all called a good-bye to him as they were being sent off to brush their teeth. Liv came up to hug him. “You okay? You seemed very quiet tonight.”

“Just … tired.”

“I get that.”

He knew she did … but she didn’t, either. Some burdens you had to bear alone. “Good-night, Liv.”

“Good-night, Major.”

Chapter 196: How They Toss the Dice

When Peyton came back from Washington, the four of them got together for dinner. Only, given that Ravi had missed Peyton only slightly less than an amputee missed their lost leg, it was really more like Ravi and Peyton sneaking off into corners all the time and Major and Liv hanging out.

Not that Major was complaining.

They’d talked over dinner about Major and Peyton’s ongoing attempts to convince the government that Seattle’s zombies were real people, with lives and rights and full American citizenship, but neither of them were optimistic about it. Major would have preferred to stop thinking about the issue, which was feeling increasingly unsolvable, but Liv didn’t want to let the conversation go.

As they sat together on the couch, and Major tried not to think of what they used to do whenever they were alone together on this couch, Liv turned to him, asking, “So, what are the chances you reach an actual agreement with our friends in the US government?”

“Slim.” He hoped that by keeping his answer brief, she’d get the message and drop the subject. But then he thought better of it. Everything felt better after he’d talked it over with Liv; her perspective was always valuable. “One of the generals has a daughter stuck here in Seattle. He wants to see her, and we can’t find her.” And god, hadn’t that whole fiasco been just one mess after another. Major wished he had never smuggled her into the city in the first place. “Not good. Hey, we’ll still keep trying, but, uh—”

Before Liv could respond, Ravi came in, dropping his voice to announce dramatically, “It’s time! Hi, Zombie dropped forty seconds ago.”

Peyton’s big idea—to make zombies seem relatable by making a web series about them. Major was skeptical that it would get them anywhere, but he sympathized with the underlying truth: At this point, they were all willing to try anything to buy themselves a few more days.

The four of them squeezed onto the couch together. Ravi put a giant bowl of popcorn on the table, and Peyton passed out glasses of wine. Major was willing to bet they were going to need them.

“So, how nervous is the executive producer right now?” he asked Peyton.

“Well, since she’s bet her entire career on its success … very.” She clicked on the picture. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

And it was actually really funny. All four of them laughed their way through it.

When it was over, Peyton took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “Maybe it’ll help.”

“It won’t hurt,” Liv assured her. “That was really funny and light. It makes zombies seem—”

“Human,” Ravi finished.

“That was the hope.”

Major reached for Liv’s hand, squeezing it. He wanted this to help; all of New Seattle needed it to help. But he was very afraid that it was too little too late.

Still … he wasn’t about to say that out loud. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I think it’s a winner.” And hoped like hell.

The next day was an even more high-pressure sales job. Major and Peyton were making a presentation to the delegation from the US government.

Major was pitching Zombie Island. It had been a good idea once; maybe it could be a good idea again.

He put the photo up on the screen in front of the delegation, beginning to explain the idea. “Zombie Island. A free zombie state, located on a remote island in the Puget Sound. My predecessor, Vivian Stoll, was preparing it for the three hundred zombies she knew existed at the time. Now we’re looking to relocate all ten thousand zombies to this—”

“Zombie Island?” One of the generals glared at Major as if he thought it was some kind of a joke, when in fact Major could not have been more serious.

He wasn’t about to let himself get sidetracked that easily. “It’s ambitious,” he agreed, “but we believe this is our best solution. Short of a cure, which we’re all working on.”

One of the politicians spoke up. “You want me to ask voters to spend their tax dollars on dead people instead of live ones?”

“Senator,” the head of the Joint Chiefs admonished.

“He wants you to ask your voters to save the planet,” Peyton corrected.

“I understand your concerns. But I believe if we work together in good faith, we can find a way forward toward a more peaceful tomorrow.”

Major surveyed the hard faces in front of him. He really didn’t think he had reached any of them. And how could he have? If you didn’t live with them every day, zombies were movie monsters. Shambling dead things with no feelings, no spark of life. When you did live with them, when you loved them, when you were one, they were … real. Human. All he had to do was somehow convince all these people of that—but if they could look at him, knowing he was a zombie, and still feel as though it would be better if he were dead, how could he talk them into taking any other zombies seriously? Wanting to save their lives?

He was so tired of fighting, so tired of … all of it. He just wanted this to be over, and there was no indication that it ever would be.

Instead, he plastered on a pleasant expression and got started answering the probing, critical, frankly quite insulting questions from these people who had no idea what anyone in New Seattle was going through.

Chapter 197: Dignity

All of these meetings were exhausting. And in Major’s opinion, were getting them nowhere. A lot of obediently turned faces, but not a lot of open ears, as far as he could tell.

Peyton seemed energized and optimistic, though, and he hoped she knew something he didn’t.

The meeting broke for lunch, Major’s office emptying out of the big brass. All except one. Major approached General Mills, who was waiting for him. “Lilywhite, I thought we agreed my daughter would be here.”

“I hoped she would, General.” For the sake of everyone in Seattle—and the rest of the world, for that matter. “But she chose not to come. For her own reasons.”

“You know what this is, don’t you?”

“It’s a difficult situation.” It hadn’t been that long ago that Major had been estranged from his own mother. He understood, he thought, from both sides.

General Mills scowled at him. “It’s a hostage situation. You zombies are terrorists holding half a million humans hostage until you get what you want. I don’t even know why we’re here. The U.S. government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. I’ve been biting my tongue a long time. But now—now that you couldn’t produce my daughter? I’m going to walk through the rubble of Seattle.”

Major considered his options. Nothing he could say would change this man’s mind; nothing he could do would make the situation any better. Best to hold his tongue. “I believe there are sandwiches and drinks available in the commissary.”

General Mills left the room, leaving Major alone. So. That attempt to find a creative way to gain friends and allies had failed. Now what?

The delegation left, without saying a word one way or the other. Status quo remained, at least for now. Which was a good thing in some ways … but left everyone still on edge, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Major supposed they were used to it now.

He went home to find Liv there, filled with nervous energy. “What’s up?”

“I, um … Major. Major, I found my father.”

“You what?” He stared at her. Of all the things he had expected to happen, that was the last. Her mother had spent a lifetime avoiding that topic, had more or less made it clear that she intended to take that secret to the grave. Liv had had her suspicions about a long-time family friend, but from the look on her face, the truth was much different.

“She told me. He was—he was a junkie. So I went to him and I told him who I was and we—we talked.”

“Still a junkie?”

Liv nodded. He could see the pain in her eyes. All her life she had wished for a father, a warm and loving parent who could pick up the slack her mother had left. And now …

“Is he at least a nice guy?”

She smiled. “Yes. He seems to be. And he agreed to go to recovery.”

“Well, that’s great. I hope you guys have a long and happy life together.” It occurred to Major that he hadn’t asked if her dad was a zombie. Most people in New Seattle would have. But it didn’t matter. He wished people like General Mills understood that.

They had a late-night snack together, and Liv went home.

She was back a couple of days later, nervously video calling her father in his recovery center. She’d brought bagels—asiago jalapeno. Major was opening the bag, squeezing brains out of a tube onto the bagels.

“I take it Ravi hasn’t been feeding you,” Liv said, sitting down next to him.

“You know, when we first met, he’d cook for me, he’d buy me pretty things … but now that he knows he has my heart … it’s like the bromance is gone.”

Liv forced a smile, but her heart wasn’t in the banter. “When you kicked Utopium, what was the hardest part?”

“Why?”

“It’s just … my— Martin …”

“Your dad?”

“That word still does not come naturally to me. I mean, it’s like calling a pine cone Your Majesty. Anyway … he’s three days in on this whole detox thing, and I know he’ll survive, but I just hate to see him suffer.”

Major handed her the top half of his bagel. “He should be past the worst part. It can be done. Look at me now.” He picked up his phone, and Liv frowned at him good-naturedly.

“Yeah. Someone who ‘grams their breakfast.”

He chuckled, distracted. “Sorry. I’m just checking Sloane Mills’ Instagram. She hasn’t returned our calls, so I’m trying to figure out what she’s up to.” He showed the phone to Liv as he scrolled through Sloane’s pictures. It was the last chance, he felt that deeply. If Sloane wouldn’t help provide leverage over her father, Major didn’t know where else to turn.

“Well, wherever she is, she’s certainly keeping it classy,” Liv said snarkily, looking at the photos over his shoulder. “Good luck getting her help.”

“Yeah, I’ll need it, especially since she’s ghosting me.”

“Must be a new feeling, Lilywhite.”

He smiled. “Getting more familiar the longer I’m in this job. Suddenly no one wants to hear from me.”

“You’ll manage. On behalf of Seattle’s zombies, and its humans, I thank you.” Liv reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Major squeezed back. “And don’t worry about your dad. He’ll be okay. Just give him some time. This all has to be new and strange for him, too.”

They returned to their bagels, chatting over inconsequential things, trying their best to keep their minds off the weighty problems at hand, at least for the space of half a bagel.

Chapter 198: To Get It Right This Time

“Major. Major, I need help. ASAP.” Liv’s voice was thin and strained.

“What’s up? Is it Ravi?”

“Ravi? No. It’s—it’s Martin. My … my father.”

“Oh. What happened?”

“I don’t know. He just got released from rehab, and I came over to offer support, and there he was, just … collapsed. Can you bring me some brain tubes?”

Technically, he really shouldn’t. Fillmore Graves maintained an adequate supply to keep their soldiers in good condition, but if they started giving them out—but this was Liv. He loved her; he owed her, many times over. And she wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. “Yeah. Text me the address, I’ll be right there.”

Between them, they got Liv’s father up and onto a couch. Major ripped off the top of a brain tube and basically shoved it in the guy’s mouth, while Liv massaged his throat so he would swallow.

While they waited for the brains to do their work, Major studied the man who was Liv’s mysterious other parent. All the years they’d speculated on his identity, and here he was, just a … schlub. Anything more different from Liv’s hyper-driven appearances-obsessed mom would have been hard to imagine.

Slowly, Martin regained consciousness. He smiled when he recognized Liv, and then frowned when he saw Major, squinting as if trying to place where he knew him from. At last he said, “I wasn’t aware that the head of Fillmore Graves made house calls. Thanks.”

Major smiled. “No sweat. Liv’s done the same for me.”

“If we can get him to my house, I can look after him,” Liv said softly.

Typical Liv, always thinking it was her job to take care of people. Major wondered if she was really ready for the responsibility of a recovering addict father.

“God, my head,” Martin whispered.

“Hey. Hang in there,” Liv told him. She turned to Major. “I’ll pack a bag for him.”

“Yeah.”

She left the two of them alone. It was a point in Martin’s favor that he hadn’t bothered to argue with her—he already knew well enough that would be a waste of breath, apparently. And another point that he didn’t seem disturbed by Liv rifling through his drawers packing his things.

“So. You two … friends?” Martin asked.

“You could say that.”

“Long time.”

“A fair while.” Major considered going through the whole sordid history, not sure what Liv would already have told him. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what Liv currently thought about their relationship. Like Major, she probably didn’t have much time to think about it at all. “Since college,” he offered, hoping that would be enough.

“You have any insights on how … how to be a good father?”

Major studied him, wondering what he really thought of a grown daughter knocking on his door. “Live,” he said simply.

“What?”

“I mean, stay alive. Don’t die; don’t lose yourself to the drugs again.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

At that point Liv came downstairs with a bag. “We’ve got to go. I have to get back to work.”

Major helped her get Martin to her car. “You going to be okay from here?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Thank you, Major.”

“Anytime.”

Sadly for Major, his next stop was the Scratching Post. Don E was one of the few people he hadn’t already asked about Sloane Mills, mostly because he really didn’t want to have to talk to Don E. He held up his phone, with Sloane’s Instagram page loaded on it.

Don E laughed as he unloaded bottles and slotted them into their places on the bar. “Oh, God, Sloane Mills! Should have left her in that trunk. Why are you even showing me that?”

If he had, she would never have ODed and wouldn’t now be a zombie, which would be both better and worse than the current situation.

“I’ve been trying to find her. She posted this the other night on her Instagram. I just noticed this.” He zoomed in on part of the Scratching Post’s logo over Sloane’s shoulder.

Don E bent over to look more closely at the picture, seeing what Major had just realized—that the sign in the picture no longer existed.

“When did you change the sign?”

“Two or three weeks ago?”

“Right around when she dropped off the radar.” So what Major had imagined was just Sloane being a spoiled party girl was Sloane missing, possibly kidnapped, being used by someone to keep the US government from helping Seattle. “You have security cameras?”

“Sure.” Don E brought him back to the office, calling up the cameras on the laptop. Some girl came in and started rubbing Don E’s shoulders, which Major decided to ignore because he really didn’t want to know the details, and if he asked, Don E would tell him—in technicolor. They finally found Sloane outside the bar. “Oh, yeah, it was reggae night. I remember, because she kept yelling, ‘Jamaican me horny!’ while she and her boyfriend flirted with some hipster zombie girl. Heavy pre-threeway vibe.”

“Wonder if that should be on the bucket list?” the girl asked. She and Don E shared a look and a giggle.

“Can we focus here?” This was already more than Major needed to know about Don E’s private life.

The screen was showing three people in a stairwell. “Boom. There’s Sloane. Happy?”

Major hunkered down for a closer look.

“Looks like they left together.”

The third person with them had long blonde hair. The girl with Don E frowned at it. “Does that look like a wig?”

“Why would a zombie wear a zombie wig?”

“Hold on.” Don E started typing. “When those Dead Enders guys were scaring away the clientele, we installed some infrared cameras outside." The camera now showed the three people from the stairwell—and made it very clear that the third person had, in fact, not been a zombie.

“It’s alive!” the girl said, like an old-fashioned horror movie.

“Why the hell would a human pick up two drunk zombies at a night club?” The coin finally dropped, and Don E turned to look at Major, realizing what they were looking at. “You think Sloane got kidnapped again? I mean once, shame on us, but twice …”

“You think it was the Dead Enders?” the girl asked. “We could help you find her.”

“Not a good idea.” The last thing he needed was any more of Don E’s version of ‘help’. “Just … send me that footage.” He saw the two of them looking at each other and rolled his eyes. “I mean it. Stay out of it.”

“Fine,” the girl said.

Major had to take them at their word, because he had no other real recourse.

Kidnapped by the Dead Enders. Of course. He should have realized it before. He sighed, wishing he could make this someone else’s problem. But after Justin … there was no one he trusted enough any more.

Chapter 199: The Riddles of the Modern Man

His phone buzzed on the bedside table in the middle of the night. Caught in the web of a pretty intense nightmare, Major was slow to wake, and even slower to realize what the buzzing was and that he needed to do something about it.

“Hello?” he mumbled into the phone.

“Majey! You better get down here?”

“What? Who is this?” He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the caller ID and groaned. "Don E, what the hell?”

“Something you’re going to want to be in on. You know the place.”

Resting the phone on his chest, Major considered pretending he had been sleep-phoning, and just ignoring the whole thing. But where Don E was concerned, a moment’s distraction could cause all sorts of things to go south. Sighing heavily, Major got to his feet and started getting dressed.

When he arrived at the Scratching Post, he found Don E and the girl from the other day there, both wearing plaid flannels. “Don’t freak out,” Don E said.

“Not a good start. It’s three a.m., Don E.”

“I know you told me and Darcy not to go after Sloane’s kidnapper, but we did, and we found her. But then she sees us tailing her out of Warmbloods, and she takes off. And we chased her onto her roof.”

Oh, god. How many ways could this possibly go wrong? Knowing Don E, the options were limitless.

“And then she pulls this move,” Don E went on. “Just like Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson. And she jumps to the next building!” He illustrated the jump with a wide swing of his arm.

Major waited, but the story appeared to have ended there. “She got away?”

“Maybe it wasn’t just like Dwayne Johnson,” Don E admitted. He went over to a carpet on the floor, pulled it aside, and revealed a body lying there. He pointed at the dead woman. “Five stories down.”

“Sorry,” Darcy said.

Major could not believe he had gotten out of bed for this. He knelt, confirming that the woman was officially and completely dead. In New Seattle, it was always wise to be certain. Getting to his feet again, he glared at the perpetual thorn in his side. “I told you to stay out of it.”

“But we got her! I mean, can’t you just CSI her or something?”

“Did you get anything out of her before you chased her to her death?”

“We yelled stop; she said no.”

Great. Wasn’t that helpful. “Did you check for ID?”

Both of them looked at the body, then up at Major. So that was a no, then.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Don E said.

Major knelt again, hunting through pockets, ignoring that remark. He took a wallet out of the inside of the woman’s jacket.

“So what now?”

The ID hadn’t told him anything. The only thing left … was the brain.

“I’ll take care of this,” he told Don E and Darcy. “You two … try not to mess anything else up.”

“No promises.”

“Right.”

Lifting the body, rug and all, Major carried it out to his car and then drove to Fillmore Graves, where the body was taken care of and the brain removed, while a team searched the woman’s apartment, looking for anything that might lead them to Sloane.

He carried the brain, pink and appetizing, into his office, and put it down before three carefully selected soldiers whom he had called in for this special assignment.

“Kristen Fox,” he explained to them. “We IDed her on security cam kidnapping Sloane Mills. We searched her apartment and found tape, rope, but no Sloane. If we don’t find her, there is nothing keeping her father, General Mills, from trying to wipe Seattle clean off the map. So hopefiully one of us will have a vision that can lead to Sloane. And fast. Dig in.” He put a bottle of hot sauce on the table, and between the four of them, they consumed the brain.

Disgusting as it was, there was something about eating a whole brain, firm and chewy and perfect, that was so much more satisfying than brain paste.

And then they waited. Hours. Major resisted the urge to keep texting his fellow guinea pigs, hoping to hear that one of them had seen something useful. He kept trying to go into a vision himself, but with no luck.

Finally, in late morning, Collins, one of his fellow brain consumers, came into his office. “Commander. We’ve got something.”

“A vision?”

She nodded crisply. “Ames saw it. Looked like East Lake Marina. Unknown male said something about ‘ditching it here’.”

“East Lake Marina. Let’s go.”

At the marina, they found a port-a-potty truck, abandoned. Port-a-potties were being used at the pie event going on in the adjacent park, so maybe that’s why this was here. On the other hand, the truck did look as though it had been ditched.

“Berths are all in use, no sign of Sloane,” his team reported.

Collins ended her phone call. “Dustin’s Port-a-Potties reported this truck missing today at ten a.m.”

“What the hell? Who steals a port-a-potty truck?” Then, from the park, Major heard someone scream. “Grab the rifles.”

They mobilized quickly, armed and on the move toward the park, where two full Romero zombies were terrorizing the people who had come for pie. Collins took one out with a clean head-shot. Major was about to shoot the other one as she knelt next to an unfortunate victim, scarfing down brains, but he froze when he recognized her.

Sloane Mills. The other Romero was her boyfriend, he had no doubt. She looked up at Major and snarled at him, no recognition. No humanity. Nothing left of her. Sorrowfully, Major raised the rifle, knowing even as he pulled the trigger that this shot might well end in the total destruction of all of New Seattle.

But he took the shot anyway, because he had no other choice.

Chapter 200: End This Journey

The aftermath of the pie fest incident was chaos, to say the least. The media had filmed it all, undoing any work that might have been done to show zombies as real people. General Mills had had to be told that his daughter had been turned full Romero, and had not been notably impressed by Major’s insistence that she was kidnapped and Romero-fied on purpose for just this reaction. The delegation had left with serious faces, refusing to meet Major’s eyes, and every time he’d been outside since then he’d found himself automatically scanning the skies for incoming nukes.

And in the midst of it all, he still needed to work. To feed New Seattle’s zombies, to make sure no humans retaliated for the park incident, to make sure no zombies retaliated for what had been done to Sloane Mills and her boyfriend. To simply keep the peace, which was easier said than done on a normal day … assuming there had ever been any normal days. Major sure couldn’t remember any.

He was sitting in his office trying to go over paperwork but in reality just brooding, reading and rereading coverage of the incident, keeping one ear open for the phone to ring, when Collins came in. “Still no word from the Joint Chiefs?” he asked her, knowing there had been none, but hoping she might pull some out of her pocket anyway.

“No. Last time I checked they’re ‘formulating a response’, they’ll notify us … et cetera.”

“Great.”

She produced a folder, holding it out for his inspection. From the snap in her wrist and the look on her face, whatever it contained was not going to be good news.

“Please tell me this has nothing to do with zombie rampages or—”

“Just boring stuff.”

Boring. Boring sounded good. “Yeah. Okay, bring it on.” He took the folder and opened it.

“A few of our security scanners haven’t been logging key card IDs properly. Possible we might need an upgrade.”

“With any luck, we’ll get the bugs worked out of the key card system right before they bomb us back to the Stone Age.”

They glanced at each other, both wishing it was a joke so they could laugh. But it wasn’t, and there was nothing they could do, so they shrugged instead.

Major finished up in the office and headed down to the locker room to change. He was looking forward to going home, if only so he could stop picking up the phone every few minutes to check and see if it still had a dial tone. At least at home there were limits to how often he could call the office and check his voice mail.

Who was he kidding, anyway? Midnight in New Seattle was three in the morning in Washington, DC. The delegation had gone home to their families and now they were safely asleep in their beds. Zombies across the country were tomorrow’s problem. Or maybe the day after. It was sad that Major was counting on that apathy to buy them a few more days.

As he was zipping up his bag, the custodian rolled his cart up behind him. “Sorry. Thought everyone had gone home for the night.”

“Almost. Don’t mind me.” It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen this particular guy before. Major’s hours were well known by soldiers and support staff alike. And this guy was hovering there with his cart in a way that said he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. “You new here?”

“Newish.”

“Hmm.”

The custodian reached out a hand to shake. “Crawford.”

“Major. Nice to meet you. Well, I’m off. Don’t work too hard.”

Crawford laughed, bending over to get something out of his cart. As he passed, Major looked over and something about the ID badge on Crawford’s hip caught his attention.

“Why do you have two key cards?”

“What?” Crawford had frozen, half bent over. Whatever he was up to, he had not planned on being asked about that, and it was taking him a minute to come up with a story.

Major pointed. “One on your cart, and one on your belt. I only get one, and I run the place.”

“Uh ….”

“Something wrong?”

“No!” Crawford lifted his hands, shifting his feet.

“You didn’t sell that so well, Crawford. You better come with me.” So much for going home.

“What? Why?”

“Because I asked you a simple question and you broke out in a cold sweat.”

Crawford looked around him in desperation.

Major kept his voice very calm and even. “I’d just like you to come with me and answer a few questions.”

Crawford turned and looked at him. No more fidgeting, no more heavy breathing. He had come to a decision. Before Major could pick up on that and move to stop him, Crawford had sprinted across the room and impaled his head on one of the metal hooks there to hold towels.

Shocked, Major stared at him. What could he possibly have been up to that had made suicide—decisive, painful suicide—a better option than simply answering questions?

He called for backup, having the body removed to the morgue, and put Collins on figuring out where the key cards had come from.

She reported the next morning with a mug shot and a rap sheet.

Major looked it over, frowning. “Crawford Davis. Civilian. Hired by Enzo right before we put him away. What’d we get on the key cards?”

“One clean, the other stolen. Reprogrammed to register blank ID at any point of entry.”

“Do we know where he used it?”

“Storage warehouse,” answered the soldier with Collins. “Twelve entries, all in the last two days.”

“What did he want from there?”

“Max Rager. Had a case hidden in his cart.”

“Enzo hires this guy, gives him a doctored key card, six weeks later he starts stealing Max Rager.”

“Maybe Enzo’s recruiting outside of Fillmore Graves, reorganizing—” Collins suggested.

“Enzo’s a lackey, not a strategist. And Justin’s dead.” It still amazed him that he could say that calmly, after he’d shot one of his best friends in the head for betraying everything Major stood for. That he had thought they both stood for. “Someone else must be pulling the strings.”

Max Rager. Were they making more zombies? Were they dosing zombies? He wished he knew.

Chapter 201: Nothing Lasts Forever

Major was in the kitchen prepping dinner, trying to do so quietly because Peyton had the mother and grandmother of all hangovers … and neither of them was in any mood to talk, anyway. Not with the way the meeting had ended. It wouldn’t have entirely surprised Major if the sky lit up with nukes above their heads. Could a zombie survive a nuclear attack? He didn’t want to find out.

Ravi and Liv came in, wrapping up a case as they moved through the hall and into the kitchen. Ravi went straight for Peyton, gently asking about her hangover. Major had to admit, he hadn’t seen the two of them coming, and there had been a while when he was sure his roommate was tilting at an impossible windmill, but they were solid together now. If only he and Liv— Well, no one’s life was perfect. Certainly not his.

“It’s a fitting end to my career as mayor,” Peyton said wearily. “I barely remember doing anything; all I’m left with is the pain. Oh.” She winced. “I feel like a shower hook is stabbing into my brain.”

Major looked up at her, frowning. Had that really been necessary?

Peyton’s eyes met his and she winced again, in regret this time. “Oh. Too soon?”

“Yeah.” Would it ever not be too soon? Major wasn’t sure. He’d seen a lot, but watching a man impale himself to avoid answering questions might have been one thing too many.

“Too soon for what?” Liv asked.

“Some guy at Fillmore Graves impaled himself on a shower hook,” Peyton explained.

“What?”

“We caught him using a doctored key card to steal Max Rager, so he killed himself.” The words felt so inadequate for what it had been like to actually be there and witness it.

“Oh, my god. It seems a bit extreme,” Liv said.

“Tell me about it.”

Major moved to the sink to start rinsing vegetables. Behind him, Ravi and Liv ducked into the bathroom. He could hear them whispering, but it seemed far removed from the importance of scrubbing the last bit of dirt off each and every carrot. The world was falling to pieces; they might not be alive much longer. Major intended to experience every moment, however mundane or humdrum, to the fullest.

When they emerged from the bathroom, Liv had her excited but nervous voice as she asked Major to keep their food warm for them, because she and Ravi had to run an errand.

He wasn’t going to ask. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. He just nodded and wished them well, and returned to chopping vegetables in the silent kitchen while Peyton stared straight ahead of her, because that was all either of them had the energy for.

Liv and Ravi didn't get back until well after Major had given up on keeping the food warm and followed Peyton’s example, dragging his depressed self off to bed, not sure whether he hoped he would wake up in the morning or not.

Ravi had come and gone by the time Major got up in the morning, dragging himself off to the office with some reluctance. The day was normal, though—or what passed for normal in New Seattle these days. No new crises, nothing unexpected.

Until he got home and found Ravi at the dinner table in front of a bountiful spread of really decadent food. “Tetsuo sushi? What’s the occasion?” Major asked.

“I knew how much you like to come home after a hard day at the paramilitary office to find some brain rolls waiting for you.”

“Ravi, I love you,” Major breathed, only exaggerating a little bit as he hugged his roommate close, resting his head on top of Ravi’s.

“Oh. Okay.”

Letting go, Major took his seat on the other side of the table. “Wait …” He studied the food. God, it looked good. But it looked too good. “Toro rolls and wagyu.” He looked up at Ravi searchingly. “You need a favor.”

“Uh … it’s just that there’s a … there’s a … thing that I thought, you know, we could do together,” Ravi stammered. “Might be a fun change of pace for both of us.”

“What, like bowling?”

“Yeah … no. More of a ‘locate some kidnapped teens’ kind of thing.”

Major raised his eyebrows, waiting for the details.

Ravi leaned forward. “It’s the missing Freylich kids. I found someone who might lead us to someone who just might know where they might be. If we’re lucky.”

“Sounds rock solid.”

In answer, Ravi took out a folder, opened it, searched through, then brandished a photo in Major’s face. “Clarissa Bates. Human girlfriend of rich zombie Edward Franzen, bought a Freylich brain, turned human, then got murdered by his jealous zombie wife.”

Major took the photo and studied it. “You don’t think the rich guy found the dealer?”

“Wife described him as a shy finance geek who couldn’t catch a cab, much less navigate the illicit brain trade. But Ms. Bates here …” He handed the entire folder over to Major, who had to admit, his interest was piqued. A good old-fashioned mystery was downright fun compared to the rest of the things he spent his days working on.

“Okay,” he said, “so where do I fit in?”

“Well, one thing that was clear is that Clarissa Bates is desperate to get out of Seattle. And she’s tired of dating old sugar daddies. So. I figured a dashing specimen such as yourself might, you know—”

“That’s what this is about?” Major couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of himself as dashing … but it might be nice to remember, for a change. “You want me to be some kind of gigolo bait?”

“Oh. I was thinking ‘spy’. It sounds cooler and less dirty.”

Major took up a napkin, snapping it briskly and tucking it in to his shirt collar. “Okay. Let’s get weird.”

Ravi frowned at him. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a ‘let’s dig into this fabulous spread’ … then yes.” Major grinned, reaching for the sushi.

Chapter 202: Offer Her a Drink

It was nice to be out as himself for a change, just Major, in his regular clothes, sitting in a nice restaurant.

The restaurant was basically empty, so he took the best table, near the window, and sat there quietly looking out over the city. It was beautiful. Seen from up here, it was peaceful, too. No evidence of the chaos and turmoil that roamed the streets.

A woman approached his table—the one Ravi had sent him for. Clarissa Bates. “Sorry,” she said, pleasant but not friendly. “Have you been helped?”

Major offered her a smile. “Saw that it was kind of slow and I just sat myself.” A martini was placed on his table and he lifted it to his mouth, sighing. “I needed this.”

“Rough day at work, Commander?”

He met her eyes, feigning surprise at being recognized—in fact, he had counted on it—and smiled.

Clarissa smiled back, apparently having decided to make nice. “I have a TV. I’ve seen the head of Fillmore Graves before.”

“They’re all rough days,” he admitted, wishing he was lying. Or exaggerating. He paused, then met her eyes. “I could use some company?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t usually do this, but as you say … it’s kind of slow.” Taking the seat across from him, Clarissa nodded across the room at the bartender, and a martini appeared in front of her as well. “You want to talk about it, Commander?”

“Please. Call me Major.”

“Major, then. And I’m Clarissa.”

“Nice to meet you, Clarissa.”

“So … you want to talk about it, Major?” She smiled. She was really quite beautiful. This might be the most pleasant assignment he’d ever had.

“I probably shouldn’t. A lot of my job is based on pretending everything is all right, all the time.”

“And yet, you’re here. Alone. Asking for a stranger’s company. That says you need to get something off your chest. Doesn’t it?”

Major smiled. “I suppose it does.” He sighed, looking out across the city, then turned back to Clarissa. “You have no idea what a drag Fillmore Graves is. Day in, day out, one thing after another, and it never gets better.” He decided it was time to lighten the mood—they were getting too close to the actual truth. Making a face, he added, "And the hat. Ugh.” He offered her one of his more charming smiles. “I mean, the temptation is always there. I could get myself out of the city if I wanted to. But …”

“You’d still be a zombie.”

“Yeah. I mean, nothing against zombies—I just miss being alive.” That, too, was mostly the truth. Some days. When he had time to think about what he missed. He held her gaze, letting just a hint of sex show in his eyes. “There is a lot of stuff that I really miss the taste of.”

Clarissa froze, sizing him up. “You know—”

Major held his breath, wondering if it could really be this easy.

Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I might know someone who might have access to a cure.”

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, and looked around to see if anyone was watching them. As he would if he hadn’t expected her to say just that. Maybe not quite so soon.

“But—it’s expensive. Like, really expensive.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“I’ll have to meet with the guy to check.”

Major nodded, smiling a little.

Clarissa smiled back. But then she looked up at him again. “There’s just one catch.”

He waited.

“You’d have to take me with you.”

Not entirely expected … but not entirely unexpected, either. Most people would jump at the chance to get out of New Seattle. “Hardly seems like a catch.” Taking a pen and his card out of his pocket, he wrote down his personal cell number and handed it to her.

Hours later, he met with Ravi in his office. “So, she met with her guy.” Turning his laptop around, he showed Ravi the program that detailed all of Clarissa’s movements since their drink earlier.

“Honestly, it creeps me out that you can now fit a tracking device inside a business card.”

“Yeah. Best thing about being the head of a private mercenary force? The toys.” He studied the screen. “I don’t know. This little trip into south Seattle kinda sticks out to me.”

“Right. So … what now? Recon?” Major didn’t respond and Ravi immediately went into twitchy mode. “That is the word. ‘Recon’. Right?”

“Recon is indeed the word.” He got up and grabbed his jacket, grinning at his roommate. “You were right. This is a nice change of pace.”

“Right?”

“Let’s go save some kids.”

They went home and changed into what Ravi called “recon clothes”, and took an unmarked Fillmore Graves car to the place in south Seattle Clarissa had gone. Major watched it with binoculars for a few minutes, but there was no sign of life. “Well, abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Place does indeed look suspicious. Oop,” he added when someone came out the door of the warehouse. “Well, and that guy does look like a child smuggler. So. Park the car where they can’t find it, then come around the back.”

The guy from the warehouse had gotten into his car and was driving off. Ravi nodded nervously.

Major led the way, over fences, from cover to cover, with Ravi awkwardly hurrying after him. His roommate was not built for secrecy.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Ravi asked, panting with the exertion.

“You stay here, keep an eye on the entrance.” Having Ravi with him would both slow him down and distract him. “Text me if you see any more cars coming. I’ll go around, recon the front.”

“Whoa, why can’t I do recon?”

“’Cause I’m a trained mercenary soldier, and you’re a medical examiner.” He produced his sidearm. “And only I have one of these.”

“Wait. What if there’s more guys?”

“There’s no cars.”

“What if they hid them? Like we did. Or took public transportation, or—”

“I did show you this, right?” Major brandished the gun again. “You’re the lookout! Just … look out.”

Ravi nodded. “Yeah.” But he didn’t look convinced.

Chapter 203: Let Us Come Home

Major moved efficiently from cover to cover, finding himself at the back door at last. It was open—careless of them, really—so he slipped inside.

Unfortunately, that was where his luck ran out. He was spotted almost immediately by the guy he and Ravi had seen entering the building, and ended up fleeing in a hail of gunfire, vaulting over a couple of metal barrels and crouching down behind them. So much for the big bad Commander of Fillmore Graves. Shot in the leg, no less, by some stooge in a warehouse.

The guy was coming up behind him. Major checked his gun, readying himself, but before he could turn and shoot, a truck came out of nowhere, smashing into the guy from inside and knocking him into a pile of crates.

Major was startled to see Ravi behind the wheel. If possible, Ravi looked even more startled. When their eyes met, he said rapidly, “I’ve got the kids; they’re in the back.”

Not needing any further incentive to get the hell out of here, Major hurried out from behind the barrels. He stopped to stare at the unconscious—or possibly dead—form of the guy from inside the building. “Nice work. And you were right—there was another guy.”

Ravi banged on the door of the truck to get Major to hurry up. “Bruv!”

“Okay.” Major hurried around the truck and got in, leaning back in the seat as Ravi drove off.

They took the kids to Liv’s safe house, because it was the only place Major could think of where Blaine wouldn’t be able to find them. For a wonder, Liv and her team had managed to keep the house’s location a complete secret. He wouldn’t have thought it possible—no one knew better than he did how hard it was to keep any kind of a secret in New Seattle. Sooner or later, someone always found you out.

Graham, the teacher, was there. He was taken aback by the influx of new children, but he rallied and went into the kitchen to whip them up something to eat. He was just serving the soup when Major heard the secret door open and close. He checked quickly over his shoulder. Liv.

“You think we should have them checked out by a doctor?” Major kept his voice low so the kids wouldn’t overhear.

“What’s a doctor going to tell them? That they’re dying and their brain is a zombie cure? Besides, they seem okay.”

One of the kids glanced over and Major raised his voice so it wouldn’t seem like he and Ravi were talking about them. “Actually, Graham, that’s good-looking soup.” He was just about to ask for a bowl when Liv appeared at his elbow.

“Graham, I need to talk to you.” Only then did she take in the scene at the table. “Who’s this?”

“These are some kids we rescued from their captors,” Ravi explained. “All, unfortunately, suffering from Freylichs, but doing okay for now.”

“Ravi, you did it.”

“Major helped.”

Over his shoulder, Major added, “I was gigolo bait. And I got shot.”

“I drove getaway,” Ravi boasted.

“Shot! Are you okay?”

Major made a face like it was nothing. It had actually hurt like hell, but who was he to complain about a little bullet wound? This time tomorrow you wouldn’t even know it was there.

Before he could play for any extra sympathy, Liv was moving on. “Well, clearly, so … never mind.” She looked past Major. “Uh … Graham?” When he looked at her, she tipped her head toward the next room. “Excuse us.”

Major returned to chatting with the kids, hoping to put them at ease and reassure them that they would be safe from here, before he had to start asking them tough questions about what had happened to them and who they had seen and where they had been taken. They probably wouldn’t know the answers anyway—more than likely he would have to be satisfied with their safety as a good night’s work. Which it was. But he would have been happier if he had been sure he could stop the next wave of Freylich kids kidnapping.

Graham came away from their discussion crying. Major couldn’t get a straight answer out of him, just a lot of looks at the door Liv had closed behind her and a lot of talking to a picture he was holding. Handing Graham off to Ravi, Major went to the door. He could hear Liv talking … and then he could hear Liv crying, too.

“Liv?”

“Major. Major!” She came to the door, tears streaking her face, and threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No. No, it isn’t. Major, it’s … it’s all wrong. It’s all so wrong.”

“What happened?”

“They—my father, Major. Enzo shot him.”

“Enzo?” There was a name Major hadn’t expected to hear again. “What did your father have to do with Enzo?”

“My father … is the man who made the tainted Utopium. He’s also the head of a zombie movement that has people in place right now to spread the virus across the world. Across the world, Major! Do you know how many people will die?”

Major thought rapidly. Martin must have been behind whoever had gotten Enzo out of the deep freeze, and they’d been working together ever since. “Where?”

“Vegas, Graham thinks. They used him to infiltrate my organization. Oh, Major, I was the one who let them out, the zombies. Because I wasn’t careful enough!”

His arms tightened around her. No one could have been careful enough, not with as many conspiracies as swirled constantly around this town. “Okay. We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to stop Enzo once and for all, and we’re going to keep the zombie virus from spreading.”

She looked up at him with tear-washed eyes. “How?”

He wished he knew.

Chapter 204: Caution to the Wind

Major went to work the next day and put his best detectives on finding Enzo and his best diplomats on trying to figure out which Senator was supposed to be working with Enzo to lower airport security and allow zombies through. It was all he could do, and it galled him to have to sit and wait, to know that Liv’s heart was broken, her spirit at as low an ebb as he’d ever seen it, and there was no way he could help. He hadn’t felt this useless and lost since after the boat party, and that was saying something. He'd been through a lot of lows since then.

His phone pinged and he picked it up, expecting a report from one of his investigators. Instead, it was Liv, calling an emergency meeting back at the house.

Emergency or not, Major took a moment to change out of uniform before he left campus. It wasn’t safe anymore to be roaming New Seattle in Fillmore Graves gear. If it had ever been, he thought, remembering Jordan.

Clive arrived at the house just as he did, and Peyton was already in there, seated on the couch. She shook her head at Major’s questioning look. “They haven’t told me anything.”

“No point in going over it all twice.” Ravi had that nervous but excited look he got whenever Liv had talked him into something stupid.

“What are you two crazy kids up to this time?” Major sank down on the couch next to Peyton.

Liv took a deep breath. “So you know how we got the tainted Utopium from my dad and sent it to the CDC?”

That had been part of the tale she’d told him through her sobs the night before. “Yeah?”

“Well … overnight the head of the project decided that instead of the good of humanity, he was going to be working for the good of his bank account. He … is holding on to the cure.”

“They have the cure but are not sending it?” Peyton clarified. “The cure isn’t coming?”

“It’s sort of coming. We’re going to Atlanta to break into the CDC and get it.”

Major remembered when his then-fiancee didn’t make pronouncements like that; when such a pronouncement wouldn’t have seemed like everyday stuff. Dimly.

“Well,” Ravi corrected, “we’re breaking in to get the formula for tainted Utopium.”

“Which is the only ingredient we’re missing,” Liv finished.

“The formula is on a thumb drive in a vault. In a high security satellite building called Zone 19. We were able to get some inside information from my friend Charli.”

Liv added, “Then we kind of blackmailed a philandering janitor into giving us the full scoop.”

Ravi bent down and picked up a packet of papers, handing it to Clive. “Here’s what we know so far. Relax, Major,” he said. He must have seen the stunned look on Major’s face and the way he was just barely keeping himself from objecting, vociferously, to every part of his two favorite people in the world hurling themselves into danger so blithely. “It’s much worse than you think.”

As Clive looked over the papers and then handed them on to Major and Peyton, Ravi explained. “The formula is in a vault that only Dr. Saxon has access to. To even get into that room, you have to pass through a series of security checks. The first is a keycard which can’t be copied, and if it’s lost, the entire system will be reset. His photo comes up on a security cam. This only gets him into the outer room. Next, he has to pass more security cameras to get to the second of three checkpoints, where he has to pass a retinal scan. And this leads him to a vault that only Saxon can access. We have no way of knowing how he accesses it. We suspect it’s by DNA, possibly from saliva, could be from blood. If any one of these systems is set off, it will activate a lockdown.”

It all sounded like a poorly written spy movie … or a brilliantly written one, leading to a trap. Major held up a hand. “Quick question: Is any of that true, or are you just doing the Tom Cruise monologue from Mission: Impossible one for your own amusement?” He was really hoping it was the latter.

Ravi held his gaze, deliberately putting one foot up on the coffee table. “Both,” he whispered dramatically.

Well, that was comforting.

“Are you guys actually thinking of going to do this?” Peyton asked.

“We’re going to do this.” Liv had that look, the one that always got her—and usually the rest of them—into trouble. “We just need some help planning it.” She smiled. “That’s where you guys come in. Clive, you must know something about security systems, right? And Major, you have special ops training.”

“Not to mention cool military gadgets,” Ravi pointed out.

Liv looked at Peyton. “You’re here to poke holes in everyone’s ideas, make sure we’re not doing anything stupid.”

“Oh, okay. Well, then, let me start by noting that you are talking about a major heist.”

“Yeah, you’d need an Ocean’s Eleven style team of highly skilled criminals to pull this job off,” Clive agreed.

“Yeah, at least some kind of hacker genius,” Major added. “And there’s always the con man, the safe cracker ...”

Peyton picked up the litany. “The pickpocket, the computer guy …”

“You guys aren’t highly skilled criminals,” Clive told them. As if they didn’t already know. Which, maybe they didn’t, given this whole insane plan.

“No, we’re not. We’re zombies. We don’t need Ocean’s Eleven to do this job. We just need the right brains.”

Liv did have a point. Major hated to concede it, but he knew as well as she did how thoroughly the right brains could alter and enhance your abilities, and give you whole new ones you’d never dreamed of.

None of the rest of them could argue with that point. They looked at each other in despair, but in the end, they had to agree. Which Major had known he would the moment he’d seen the look in Liv’s eyes.

Chapter 205: Nothing's Changed

It was just like old times: Ravi, Liv, Major, and a whole lot of shovels. Only this time, they were digging up the body of a famous cat burglar so Ravi and Liv could eat his brains and go steal back the cure from the CDC. A hare-brained plan if Major had ever heard of one, and quite likely to get both of them thrown in jail … or worse. He wished he thought there was a chance in hell that he could talk them out of it—and a chance here on earth that New Seattle could survive if they didn’t succeed.

The night was dark, and of course it was rainy, and it was hard to forget he was surrounded by dead bodies.

The cemetery was a spooky place, Major reflected, even if you were a being who belonged in one.

He focused on tossing shovelfuls of mud over his shoulder, trying not to think about what it would be like to be in one of these boxes … or what it would be like when the government finally decided to nuke them all out of existence.

At least he was with Liv. He stopped shoveling and looked down at her as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m really glad we’re at this place in our relationship where we can dig up graves together without having to talk.”

“We are easy like Sunday morning,” Liv agreed. In the shine of the headlights from Ravi’s car, she looked as glad for an excuse for a momentary break as he was.

“Let’s take a moment to honor how far we’ve come.”

She smiled. “From fresh-faced kids picking out china patterns to zombie exes grave-robbing felon brains.”

Grinning, Major held up his shovel. “Cheers.”
Liv tapped it with her own. “Cheers.” Major started to go back to his digging, but stopped when she spoke again. “I don’t think Clive thinks we’re making it back.”

Major didn’t want to admit to his own fears about it. “He’s just nervous. He doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Isn’t that your thing?”

“Hey, you’re not itching for me to get hurt.”

“Of course not!”

“Exactly.” He looked away from her, to hide how much he wanted to hold her and beg her not to do this.

“I … I know what Ravi and I are doing is crazy, but …” Liv shrugged. “We have to try.”

“You have to do more than try, Liv. You have to succeed.” All of New Seattle was counting on her, even if they didn’t know it. “Fate of the world and all that.”

She laughed hesitantly, not quite sure if he was joking. “Yeah. Sorry, I guess I am kind of waiting to get his over the head with that shovel and wake up duct-taped to a chair in your basement ‘for my own good’.”

“One time!” he protested. “I kidnapped you one time.” And if he didn’t need her to do what she was doing, he might well have considered doing it again. But they were past that. He had to trust her to take risks. She and Ravi might be the only ones who could carry out this insane plan. He turned to her. “Lest we not forget, you turned me into a zombie to save my life.”

“And you stopped bitching about it never!”

They grinned at each other as thunder rolled above them. “All right. Let’s just say that, um, we’ve both done a lot of well-intentioned crap to each other, but … here we are. Still here.”

Liv smiled. God, she was beautiful. She’d always been the most beautiful woman in his world, since the day he’d met her.

He tapped the shovel into the muddy ground beneath him. “Let this be our official restart.”

“Sounds good. Fresh start before I head off to meet my untimely end.” She bent to dig up another shovelful.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous.” She stopped and looked at him, and he told her, “I’m not. I feel much safer knowing that you’re going to do this. Think of all the things you’ve done! Your alias is freaking Renegade. You are a badass.”

She laughed a little, but then the smile faded and all that was left was the fear.

“You got this,” Major told her. Not just because she had to … but because she really did. In all of this, Liv had never stopped moving toward what she believed was right. She and Ravi had never given up hope of a cure, had never knuckled under to the blows life had handed them. Liv Moore had saved countless lives, and made even more lives better. In Major’s view, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

Liv stared up at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. Then she took a step toward him, dropping her shovel, took his face in her gloved hands, and kissed him.

It was like coming home, kissing her. Like here in an open grave in a dark muddy cemetery was where he had always been meant to be. Major dropped his own shovel, wrapped his hands around her waist, and kissed her back, letting the kiss say all the things about the love that had never died, the hope for their future that had never truly left him, that he had never been able to tell her properly.

She drew away, looking up at him, and then they pulled each other closer and kissed again.

Dimly, Major heard the squelch of Ravi’s return, and with reluctance he broke the kiss.

“Major. If I come back—”

“When you come back,” he corrected her.

“We’ll talk. Is that okay?”

“Very okay. So okay. Liv.” He wanted to tell her that he still loved her, but she shook her head.

“Not now. Please. Let me … let me save it to be what will bring me back.”

Chapter 206: Himself to Blame

Once Liv and Ravi—and Clive, too, unable to let his partner go into danger without him—were safely on their way to Atlanta, Major went back to work. It beat watching the clock and chewing his fingernails … and someone had to keep the city running for as long as it took them to get there and get the tainted Utopium and come back.

A massacre had broken out at a memorial service for Sloane Mills, and the trouble was all over the news. As usual. The ghouls who reported the worst people could do to each other had plenty of fodder in New Seattle. Lucky them. A TV reporter’s wildest dream.

A number of the Fillmore Graves soldiers on the security detail had been among the fallen. Major had thought himself numb to tragedy by this point, but this, out of the blue … It had been so unnecessary, shooting up a funeral. Hadn’t Sloane Mills suffered enough?

“A memorial service for a zombie who killed a bunch of humans didn’t seem like an opportunity to unite everyone,” Major said somberly to Hobbs, who was watching the coverage with him. He wished he hadn’t had to be the one to kill Sloane. Not when she ODed and he made her a zombie; not when she was Romerified and he had to put her down. He wished, in fact, that he had never heard of Sloane Mills. He continued, “You know, when I told you to send a security detail, I thought maybe there’d be some protests.”

“Yes. It went a bit further than that.”

“Do we know who’s responsible?”

“Looks like it was Dead Enders. They came in shooting with full auto weapons. Our guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Great. They were as well armed now as Fillmore Graves, or so it seemed. Just what everyone needed.

“Any survivors?” Major hadn’t heard of any, but he hoped against hope that there had been some, anyway.

Hobbs was quick to disabuse him of that hope. “No. I’m afraid not, sir.”

Major looked back at the report in his hand. “Where the hell did they get that kind of firepower?”

Before Hobbs could answer—or not answer, since neither of them knew—a soldier marched into Major’s office. “Sir? We’re getting reports of zombies rioting in the streets. Windows broken at Warmbloods."

One day. One day without killing each other or hating each other or trying to give the United States an excuse to nuke them all to smithereens. Just one day. That’s all Major needed. And he wasn’t going to get it. Not today, at least. “Perfect. Just what they wanted.” He got to his feet, making a sudden decision. He was going to lock this down today. No one else was going to die—not with the chance of a cure practically in their pockets. “I want everyone geared up. I want a team on the scene securing order; I want to double our patrols. They want to start a war. Let’s not give them the satisfaction.”

He led the other two from the room, thinking about Liv and Ravi and hoping to hell they were going to get back before he lost whatever tenuous hold he had on this city.

Once they were in the Humvee, Major started laying out the plan. “So the entire block from Fifth Avenue to Spring Street is a war zone right now. We take the perimeter, apprehend anyone armed.”

Across from him, a soldier closed his eyes and shook his head. It could have been sorrow that they were back here again, but it looked to Major a lot like insubordination.

“Something you want to say, Ames?”

“All due respect, sir … but our people have a right to be angry.”

“Our mission isn’t to take sides,” Major reminded him. “Lives are at stake here—humans and zombies alike. Stay focused.”

He had barely gotten the words out when there was a deafening roar and everything went black.

Slowly, it turned white, and then he began to see colors. His ears were ringing, but over the sound he could dimly hear shots being fired. In the distance? Maybe.

Painfully, he managed to sit up. The Humvee was wrecked. Several bodies were inside. Major’s ears were still ringing as he groped his way to the open doors. Three soldiers were outside, on their feet, shooting back at … someone. As Major let himself out of the Humvee, one of them was taken out.

Looking down, he saw a gun at his feet and picked it up, then he aimed around the side of the vehicle and shot someone across the street. Automatically. His training superseding his beliefs, his hopes.

He fired a few more rounds, taking stock of the situation, counting the people on the other side. Too many, he concluded. As a bullet pinged off the vehicle next to him, he turned to his men. “Get to cover!”

They moved, quickly, and Major aimed around the corner and took down another of the enemy.

Behind their opposition, a pickup pulled up, brakes squealing, doors already open. Men, one of them with hair of pure zombie white, poured out of it, approaching the enemy with guns drawn. “Hands up! You’re surrounded.”

Most of the opposition put their hands up. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Somebody called out “Zombie bastards!” And another one “We got it. Let’s go!”

The zombies herded the humans in Major’s direction. A Fillmore Graves vehicle zoomed past them and pulled up in front of him. Men climbed out with guns drawn—men Major recognized as people he had frozen. And from the back: Enzo.

Major and his men leveled their weapons at Enzo’s men, and they all stood facing each other. Former teammates, now foes.

Well. Apparently every dog had his day … and this was not Major’s.

Chapter 207: Soldier On

“I want these men taken alive,” Enzo said to the man behind him, gesturing to the captured humans. The effrontery of him, giving orders like he had any right to be in charge. Except that his greater firepower actually did give him that right, at least in this moment.

“Yes, sir.”

Tired of being ignored, Major said, “Figured I’d run into you eventually.”

Enzo pretended not to hear him, speaking to his men, instead. “Your weapons are pointed the wrong way, gentlemen. This war has just begun. The future of our species is at stake.” He gestured to Major now. “You can die here for the sake of this … leader. Or you can live. To fight by my side for zombie-kind. That is the choice.”

Next to Major, a soldier lowered his weapon.

“Ames, with me. That’s an order!”

But Ames didn’t respond to the voice of command. His weapon stayed down. “I’m sorry. It’s the only way.” And he left the line of battered soldiers to join Enzo.

The rest of the men on Major’s side looked at each other and then did the same, leaving Major on his own, facing down a dozen armed men. He’d had odds nearly this bad before, but he didn’t like it any better now than he had before.

“Look at the zombie lives I just saved,” Enzo said.

Major backed slowly away, hoping they wouldn’t notice. One step at a time. Let them think it was fear.

Enzo added, “Except for one, of course.”

As the soldier next to him handed him a pistol and he raised and aimed it, Major stopped backing away, turned, and ran. Bullets followed him even as he leaped over a pile of boards and came down in the water on the other side. He ducked under an outcropping and waited there, holding his breath. Did he even need to hold his breath? As a zombie, could he survive underwater without breathing indefinitely, as long as he had brains?

He wasn’t sure—Ravi would know, but he was far away and in his own danger—but his lungs certainly believed they needed to breathe. By the time he thought it was safe to swim away and emerge from the water somewhere far away from where he’d gone in, they were burning.

Exhausted, disheartened, afraid, out of options, he lay there on the dock, leaning up against a pile of concrete, until darkness fell.

He watched on his phone as Enzo had a trained Romero zombie scratch one of the captured humans, on national television, and then the new zombie fell on his former friend and ate his brain. Enzo made it clear what would happen to any human who stood against him. He basically dared the United States government to send a nuke to take out New Seattle and all the zombies living there.

So. It was over. Lying there, Major looked up into the sky, almost surprised he didn’t see the bombs arcing in already. Maybe it took time to decide to destroy a major American city. If New Seattle was even American—or a city—anymore.

Darkness fell before Major felt up to moving. And in the midst of his despair, his phone rang. Liv.

“Hey.”

“Major,” she said breathlessly, “it’s me. We got the formula and we’re heading back. We just need the Max Rager from Fillmore Graves, and then … we’ve got the cure.”

He’d known she could do it. And Ravi. They had never stopped working for this, never stopped believing it was possible. Now, if only there could still be a city for them to come back to.

Wearily, Major said, “That’s great. Really great news. I could use some good news.”

On the other end, Liv’s voice said, “Sorry. We’ve got to run before security gets here, so just …”

“Right. Just … uh, get the Max Rager from the storage area in Fillmore Graves. Don’t worry.” He kept his voice strong so she wouldn’t know how impossible that had just become. Liv had just accomplished the impossible herself. The least Major could do was not rain on her parade by telling her what a mess he had made of things here. “I’ll get it,” he promised her. He had to. The only way the people still left in New Seattle, zombie and human alike, had any chance of surviving, was if somehow Major Lilywhite managed to fulfill his part of the deal.

Above his head, a helicopter whirred, and a searchlight swept the area. It didn’t come near him, and Major tried to work up the energy to be glad of that.

At least Liv and Ravi weren’t in Seattle, he thought. Whatever happened, they would survive, and they would make the cure somehow, and save the rest of the world.

Meanwhile, Major had to try to get to Fillmore Graves and steal a whole lot of Max Rager—and hope to hell that Enzo didn’t have his own plans for the stockpile and get to it first.

“All right,” he said softly to himself. “Journey of a thousand miles begins with … standing up.” He was grateful to be a zombie as he put his hand out and started to lever himself up off the ground. If he was a human, he probably wouldn’t have survived this day; as it was, he was so full of aches and pains that getting up required significant effort.

Now, he thought, looking around him. Where to start? How did you pull off a heist in terrible condition, starving for brains to heal your body, and all alone?

Chapter 208: Hanging from That Hope

Major made his way slowly down the streets, ducking into the first big box store he found, ignoring the stares of others and hugging the empty aisles until he could cover up his Fillmore Graves gear with a plain gray sweatshirt.

The TV in the store was on, giving voice to Enzo. “Citizens of New Seattle, the free-zombie state of Seattle is now under new command. I assure you, peace and order will soon be at hand.”

Grabbing a pair of black gloves off a display next to him, Major stifled a snort. Yeah? Good luck with that, Enzo. No one else—not Major, not Chase Graves, not Vivian Stoll, certainly not Vaughn du Clark—had managed peace and order. He highly doubted whatever hare-brained scheme Enzo had going would work, either.

He plucked a roll of duct tape off a rack and stopped in front of the TV, looking at Enzo, back in uniform. Really, in uniform for the first time, since previously Enzo had always preferred to look like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and a medieval highwayman.

“My predecessor believed in the carrot,” Enzo continued, staring seriously into the camera. “We have reached a point at which I believe the stick delivers better results. Humans must put down their weapons. Those who fail to do so will be executed. Those who surrender during battle will be scratched and then starved.”

Major turned his back on the TV. Better results. Right. Because oppression and violence always defeated uprisings. No one under the thumb of autocracy ever rose up and overturned their government. Had these people learned nothing from history? Apparently not.

Well, Major had no time to worry about the long-term consequences of the sudden change in leadership. If he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain and help Liv and Ravi make the cure, there would be no long-term for the city of Seattle, old or New. The United States government wanted zombies gone; Enzo’s new regime would only make them angrier and more likely to act. Unless Major found a way to get into that warehouse and get to the Max Rager by the time Liv and Ravi were back on this side of the wall.

Once he’d paid for his items and left the store, Major walked for a bit, hood up so no one would recognize him, trying to make a plan.

There was nothing for it. He needed an inside person. With the turmoil that had been Fillmore Graves almost from the beginning, the near-constant disagreements among the staff about how to proceed, everyone’s loyalties and goals were in question. But he needed to take the risk and trust someone.

The person he kept thinking of was Collins. A soldier’s soldier. A trusted friend, a clear-headed advisor. Someone who wanted to see things get done, and with the fewest casualties possible.

So he called her. “Collins, I need you to do something for me.”

“You know they want you in the deep freeze.”

“And the Dead Enders want me dead. I’d rather not end up like either of them. Look, will you just tell Enzo I want to come in? I want to—I want to turn myself in. I’ve seen what’s going on out there. You’ll need every man. I’ll … I’ll take orders. I just want to fight.”

“Major, are you sure about this?”

“As sure as I can be. Collins … I need to get to the Max Rager. I can’t explain, not now, but … it’s important. For all of us. It’s—it’s to make a cure. To end this for all of us, before the US government nukes us all off the face of the earth.”

There was a pause at the other end, then she said briefly, “I understand,” and ended the call.

After a few minutes, a text came in. “Enzo promises you’ll be safe.”

Right. Because Enzo’s promises were worth so much. Major thanked Collins for her help, not bothering to share his skepticism. If she was on his side, she was already skeptical. And if not … then he was screwed beyond anything Enzo might be hiding behind his promise.

Collins met Major, still in his ill-fitting sweatshirt disguise, not that he needed it now, at the door of the facility, and brought him to his office. Now Enzo’s office, apparently. Oh, how the world did go round.

A group of soldiers was gathered around the conference table, going over a map.

“Commander.”

Enzo looked up, just as Major glanced naturally at Collins, responding to the familiar title. Well, Enzo could have it. Major had never wanted it anyway.
Looking smug, Enzo said, “Ah. Major. I was afraid you would be out there somewhere working against us.”

“It’s us or them now. I see that.” An easy answer to give, unless Enzo wanted to look more deeply into who exactly Major considered “us” and “them”. Enzo and his people were no different from the Dead Enders, in Major’s book. “Put me to work, Commander.”

“Excellent. Lock him in the holding cells.”

Major tried not to react. He had half-expected this. It was just not going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

Then Enzo went on, “Once he goes Romero, give him the formula.” So. Nothing about this was going to be easy. Major glanced at Collins in distress as Enzo continued, “You will find being of service much easier when you no longer have a choice.”

“I was promised I would get to fight.”

“Oh, you will fight. And you will be a very dangerous monster indeed.” Enzo’s eyes were alight with fervor. A true believer.

Major looked at Collins, who turned around and called out, “Ames! You’re with me.”

Ames had his face covered in bandages. This was new since yesterday. He and Collins took Major by the arms and led him to the elevator.

Chapter 209: Last Dance

Major walked docilely ahead of Ames and Collins on the way to the holding cells, trying not to give rise to anyone’s suspicions while also figuring out how to get out of this situation.

The cells were full of zombies in various stages of Romerofication. It sickened Major. Further proof that Enzo and his ilk didn’t see zombies as people any more than Dolly Durkins and her ilk did. Weeks, maybe even days ago, these had been souls who could have been saved. Now even the cure couldn’t help them. Everything they had been was gone, irrevocably.

Ames had kept his pistol trained on the back of Major’s head all this way. Now, approaching an empty cell, Collins said, “Frisk him, Ames,” and Ames holstered the weapon.

He shoved Major into the bars. “Spread ‘em, Commander.”

“What happened to your face, Ames?”

“Since you asked, one of those humans you care so much about opened up on me with a freaking flamethrower. So that’s when I—” He stopped speaking as he shoved his hand into Major’s front pocket. Then hestepped rapidly back, aiming the gun again. “Take off your shirt!”

“Is this really necessary? I’m a modest man.”

“Take it off.”

Major reached for the front of the sweatshirt, pulling it off over his head, letting Ames see the duct tape around his waist and the bundle hidden in the small of his back. He’d really been hoping to avoid that. Then he turned, letting Ames see the knives duct-taped to his love handles.

“Well, look here. Enzo’s going to kill you. And I’m going to enjoy—”

But Ames was never going to enjoy anything again. Before he could even finish the sentence, a gunshot rang out and a spot of blood appeared on the bandages around his face. He fell forward, dropping the gun.

Collins lowered her weapon, and Major breathed a sigh of relief. He had hoped he could count on Collins … but he hadn’t been a hundred percent sure. Before Major could thank her, she spoke quickly. Briskly. “You’ve got ten minutes to be in a weapons crate. Spud and Diaz are guarding the Max Rager. Break out when you feel yourself on the road. Good luck. Go make that cure.”

She saluted him, and then she was gone, leaving Major alone with the slowly devolving zombies in their cages.

He moved quickly, unraveling the bandaging from around Ames’s face. So that was why Collins had chosen him. Major tugged on his uniform shirt, wrapped the bandages around his own face, and put Ames’s hat on over all of it.

No one stopped him; they all assumed he was Ames. Even though he was much taller, but then, there was time for vanity later.

He whistled as he approached the room where the Max Rager was being kept.

“Looks like Ames!” Spud said, grinning at him.

“Ames!” Diaz called out.

Without a word, Major aimed a knife, landing it square in the middle of Spud’s forehead. Diaz went for his gun, but not fast enough. He also had a knife through the brain pan before he could manage to get the weapon in position.

Major removed the bandages and dragged both of the bodies back into the storage room, covering them with a blanket so they wouldn’t be easily seen. Grabbing a duffel bag, he started filling it with Max Rager, as much as he could fit. Then he lowered himself into a crate, cradling the bag of cans in his lap, and closed the lid above himself.

From here, all he had to do was wait. And hope. And not spin wild scenarios of getting caught and killed and ending any chance of saving Seattle from being blown up and humankind from having zombies unleashed on it en masse.

Footsteps came into the room, and he held his breath, waiting for them to notice the crate was unlatched, to open it to see what was inside. Well-trained soldiers, seeing something out of place, investigated it.

Fortunately for Major, training wasn’t something Enzo was concerned with. The soldiers latched the crate without opening the lid, then lifted it, cursing at how heavy it was, and carried it, the sway making Major feel vaguely seasick.

It was a relief to be set down again, and then he held his breath again hoping they wouldn’t stack more crates on top of his. Good packing said the heaviest crates go on the bottom.

But, again, they weren’t good packers any more than they were good investigators. Nothing was placed on top of the crate, and beneath him, he could feel the truck start to move.

He’d worried he wouldn’t be able to hear the highway noise, but it was pretty obvious, much to his relief. Major counted to a hundred, just to be on the safe side, then smashed his way through the crate. It took longer than he had hoped, and made an incredible amount of noise, but at last he was through, standing in the back of the truck with his carefully collected cans of Max Rager.

From there, it was relatively easy to unlatch the back doors of the truck. New Seattle being what it was, the highway was pretty empty, so there was no one to see someone emerging from the back of a Fillmore Graves truck. He resisted the urge to throw some of the other crates out, just to be destructive. No sense calling extra attention to himself.

He tucked and rolled, the Max Rager cradled against his chest, just as he had been taught. When this was over, he thought he might miss being a mercenary for hire.

Landing in a patch of weeds, he got to his feet immediately and hurried off into the woods along the side of the road. Now, to get back into the main city, to sit tight, undiscovered, and wait for Liv and Ravi to get home.

Chapter 210: Like There's No Tomorrow

At last, he got the text he’d been waiting for. “Home. Safe. Meet us in the morgue.”

Major hurried over, anxious to see them both, to reassure himself they were okay. Ravi was already hard at work when Major entered the morgue, calling out his name. He looked around, but didn’t see Liv. “Where’s Liv?” He put the bag of Max Rager down next to his roommate.

“She’s on her way to Blaine’s.” Ravi was crying.

“Why Blaine’s?”

Turning, clearly in an extremity of grief, Ravi tried to get himself under control enough to speak. "They— They killed Peyton.”

Whatever Major had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Peyton? Why would anyone kill her? Well, other than the acting major of Seattle thing, but she’d survived this long …

But none of that mattered, not even Major’s own grief for his dear friend, next to the weight of Ravi’s pain. He took a step forward and gathered Ravi into his arms, holding him while he wept.

Ravi pulled away after only a moment, clearly worried that if he gave way to his grief, he wouldn’t be able to work on the cure. He leaned back against his table, his eyes on his shoes as he tried to explain. “Blaine and Don E, they, uh, they kidnapped the Freylich kids and the orphans. Peyton rescued them."

Of course she had. Peyton was brave, and selfless, and all the things good heroes were. Major reached for Ravi again as he began to lose the battle with his tears, but Ravi pushed at him.

“Get away.” He turned around, facing the chemical apparatus, getting himself together. Putting a hand on the bag, Ravi said, “I pray that’s full of Max Rager.”

“It is.”

Ravi nodded. “Okay.” He sniffed again. “It’s, uh … It’ll take some time before there’s enough for public distribution.”

Major’s mind was racing. How to buy Ravi time? How to get Enzo’s attention long enough to distract him from whatever plans he was hatching? How to keep the government’s eyes on New Seattle and hold them long enough to keep them from nuking the whole city? Every life lost to the human-zombie battle from this moment on was a life wasted. Major wasn’t fool enough to think he could save everyone … but he could do his best to prevent as much bloodshed as possible.

He needed a cure. A single cure. “How long to make just one?” he asked his roommate.

Ravi turned to him, startled. “What?”

“I need one. Not for me—well, for me, but …” The plan was forming in his mind, but it wasn’t firm enough to explain. Not yet. “I want to go on TV and make sure everyone knows there’s a cure coming. I have to— I lost Fillmore Graves, Ravi. Enzo took it from me. He’s running the place like … like no one matters, zombies or humans. He and Dolly Durkins are going to get dozens of people killed, maybe hundreds, and soon. If I can stall them, if I can prevent that long enough …”

“And for that you need a cure.”

“Yes.” Major nodded. “I need to be able to prove that it works.”

Ravi frowned, trying to follow. “I’m not exactly working at peak clarity right now, but … I’m not sure.”

“Ravi. Will you trust me? Please? I know what I’m doing. I want—I want to do right by Seattle, for as long as I can.”

“That’s what Peyton said.”

“I know. She said it to me, too.”

They looked at each other for a moment, filled with affection and sorrow and fear, and at last, Ravi nodded. “One cure. Coming up. It’ll take an hour or so. Get some rest. You look like hell.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, well, hell is where I live now.” Ravi turned back to his apparatus, ending the conversation. Major found the sofa in the office and sacked out. He hadn’t thought he could sleep—the news about Peyton, his near-constant concern for Liv’s safety, his worries for Ravi’s sanity, his fears for the city of Seattle as a whole, all felt too big to sleep with. But his body had been under a strain for more hours than he could coherently count, and blissful blackness took him within minutes.

He woke up to the nightmare. Everything came rushing back, in place of whatever non-zombie Seattle dream he’d been having, and he wanted to … give up. He wanted to cry, and scream, and go running out to kill Blaine and Don E, the way he should have years ago, and Enzo, and Dolly Durkins …

But none of that would help. It wouldn’t save Peyton, or bring Ravi back the love of his life, or keep Liv safe, or keep the US from gunning down American citizens just because they happened to be dead. The only thing that could accomplish any of that was Major, in his right mind, pulling off this plan.

He got up and went into the main section of the morgue. Ravi was still at it. He looked like he hadn’t moved. “How’s it coming?” Major asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t startle his roommate.

“Almost there. No time to test it, though. If it doesn’t work …”

“It’ll work.” Of all the things that could go wrong, Ravi’s science was the last one Major was going to worry about.

Without turning, Ravi said hoarsely, “Dale had the baby. A boy. Clive got there just in time.”

“That’s …” Major felt tears filling his eyes. “God, that’s maybe the only news that could have—could have made this feel worthwhile.”

“Yeah. Almost.” Ravi cleared his throat, handing Major a vial. “Here. It’s done.”

Major wanted to reach out to his roommate, tell him it would be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay, because Peyton was gone, and Ravi would never recover. Neither would Major or Liv. But they could do this for her.

“I won’t screw this up,” Major promised.

At that, Ravi did turn, “Neither will I.” He glanced at his work. “This can wait. I’ll go with you. I want—I want to see this through.” It was the only thing left that they could do for her.

Chapter 211: A Test of Me

Major and Ravi went straight to the television studio. Johnny Frost was making himself up in his dressing room, getting ready for his next broadcast. When the production staff tried to stop them from approaching, Major firmly but gently put them aside.

Johnny Frost turned around and waved his people back. “It’s all right. Let them through. Come to give me an exclusive on the coup at Fillmore Graves, Commander? Or is that even still your title.”

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure it ever was. But actually, I came for something else. Have you ever considered … not being a zombie?”

“Well, yeah, but, hasn’t everyone?”

“What if I told you there was a cure?”

Johnny Frost returned to his makeup. “I’d tell you to wake up from your dreamland.”

“Not dreaming. I have a cure, right here. And it’s all yours—as long as you take it while the cameras are rolling.”

Meeting Major’s eyes in the mirror, Johnny Frost frowned. “You need me to take a cure for zombieism on live TV?” He laughed.

Ravi held out the plastic-capped syringe. “This cure.”

Frost stopped laughing, but was still newsman enough not to take the bait quite so easily. “Why me?”

Major would have thought that was obvious. “You may be Seattle’s most well-known zombie.”

“I’m not even Seattle’s most well-known zombie in a six-foot radius.”

“This one can’t take it,” Ravi said, his hoarse voice testament to the sheer exhaustion of his past twenty-four hours. “People mostly hate him. And they’ll think he has a political agenda.”

Frost swiveled around in his seat to look at them. “Look. Even if I take that cure, and it doesn’t kill me horribly on camera, and-and it works,” he added hastily, seeing from Ravi’s expression that his skepticism was about to get him beaten up, “and it turns me human again, half my viewers still wouldn’t believe it. You know how it is these days. Fake news,” he finished, sing-songing the words.

“We’ll do a blood-pressure test. Live,” Ravi suggested.

“Fakeable.”

“A ghost pepper!” Major had nearly been caught out by one of those the last time he was human. “You’ll eat one pre-cure, down the hatch, no issues, then post-cure you’ll eat one—”

Frost didn’t even let him finish. “Fakeable.” He looked over their shoulders. “Oh, finally! We’re not camels.”

Major glanced at the doorway but only saw someone carrying a big jug of water past. “We’ll cut you open,” he said. “You’ll bleed like only humans bleed.”

The look on Frost’s face said that was a hard no.

“We’re talking about the fate of mankind,” Ravi urged him.

Then a voice from the doorway said, “Stand down, Johnny. Dear leader’s stealing your time slot. He’s got some big announcement. He’s on his way in.”

Enzo, here? That was bad news.

Ravi looked at Frost in distress.

“Oh, shoot,” Frost said, the sarcasm practically dripping from his tone, “looks like we won’t be cutting open old Johnny on live TV today, boys.”

He swung his chair back around to look at himself in the mirror, fixing his tie. For what, since he was no longer going on the air, Major wasn’t sure. Either way, they’d been dismissed, and they’d lost their chance to televise the cure.

Ravi leaned over, whispering, “What are we going to do now?”

“I have no idea.”

They had the cure; they were ready to make it in large doses, to spread it far and wide, to turn human again all those who needed to be … and they couldn’t so much as get a single person cured on the air. This was supposed to be the win, the moment they took their victory lap, the moment they all four got to dance off into the sunset together. And now Peyton was … gone, and Liv was out there somewhere, and soon enough Enzo and his goons were going to be arriving at the TV station, and …

And the only way to actually convince people that someone was a human was for them to die. Zombies didn’t die. But humans did. And death was hard to fake. Real death. Even in a television studio. And since there was no one he could ask to die for this, the answer was simple: He had to do it. He had to take a cure on live TV and then be killed.

“Ravi. I know what to do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He drew his friend out of Frost’s dressing room and into another one, which was empty, and he explained that death was the only sure way to tell that someone was a human.

“No.”

“Ravi, it’s the only way.”

“Major, no. I am not losing anyone else today. I—” Tears gathered in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“It’s the only way. Either I die today or … half of Seattle, or more, dies tomorrow. Whatever Enzo’s going to do, it’s got a body count, Ravi. Or it pisses off the government and they send the bomb. Either way, Seattle loses. Or … I show them that the cure is real, the only way I know how.”

“Major …”

He squeezed his friend’s arm. “It’ll be all right. You and Liv—you’ll get by, together. I’m … going to go call her.”

Leaving Ravi standing there, stunned, he found another empty room and dialed the familiar number. It went to voicemail, which he was glad of. If she’d answered, they’d be on a ticking clock before she came storming down here to stop this nonsense.

“Hey, Liv. It’s me. I’m about to do something stupid,. But, if it works … big ‘if’ … it’ll save lives. But basically, the way I make all my decisions these days is by asking myself, ‘What would Liv Moore do?’ Whatever happens, know this: It’s always been you. I always loved you. And I always will. Take care of yourself. Bye.” Reluctantly he cut off the message, his last connection to her.

Ravi came in behind him, shaking his head. “I’ll say it again, Major. This is a terrible idea.”

Major got to his feet. “You got a better one?”

“Well, none that you’d approve.”

“Give it to me.” He held out his hand and Ravi placed the syringe in it. They looked at each other. “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

Ravi shook his head, his face twisting. “I can’t do this. I just—” He wrapped Major quickly in a fierce hug, then hurried out of the room to collect himself.

Chapter 212: Point of No Return

Johnny Frost had agreed to go on air before Enzo and his people arrived, to see if he could get the word out and preempt Enzo’s announcement.

The cameras rolled, and the producer pointed at Johnny to begin his evening greeting.

Looking seriously into the camera, he began, “Good evening. I’m Johnny Frost, and this is your 6 p.m. news.”

Just then, the studio door opened with a bang.

Johnny glanced toward the door, seeing Enzo walk through with a phalanx of guards behind him. His voice faltered. But, to give him credit, he kept going. “Our top story … According to the Chief Medical Examiner of the Seattle Police Department, an inexpensive cure for the zombie virus has been perfected.”

“Get him off!” Enzo ordered, his voice cracking through the room like a whip.

“And will be made available within the next few weeks for those infected with the virus,” Johnny continued. He knew how to keep his cool on the air, even when an armed soldier was advancing on his position. Major had to give him that. He looked nervously to the side again, but he gamely kept going. “Mass production of the cure will begin within the week. There has been no official statement from the US government—”

He was still trying to finish the report even as he was yanked from his seat, on the air, by armed soldiers.

Watching from a dark corner of the room, Major smiled to himself. Enzo had played right into his hands. If Fillmore Graves didn’t want the word of the cure to get out, didn’t want it so much that they’d go on camera to make the news anchor stop talking, that would go a long way toward convincing people the cure was real.

“All right, hey!” Johnny protested as he was manhandled off the dais.

“Cut the cameras,” Enzo ordered.

The producer protested, but when faced with drawn weapons aimed at them, the camera operators complied.

Johnny was dragged in front of Enzo, who looked him up and down. “Bravo, mon ami. You will be our first guest at the guillotine.”

“If you could schedule that before I write my next alimony check—” He didn’t finish what he was saying, because from somewhere nearby, they all heard gunfire.

A Fillmore Graves soldier burst into the room behind Enzo. “Commander. Dead Enders just rolled up. Twenty, maybe thirty.”

“That is all?” Enzo gestured to a pair of soldiers. “You two, head out with Murphy.”

Major frowned. Where had this calm, collected soldier been when Enzo was a pain in his patootie?

Before Murphy left the room, Enzo caught him by the front of his vest. “You are zombies. Take the fight to them, hmm? Be the aggressor!”

“Yes, sir.”

Murphy headed out to deal with the Dead Enders, the other two behind him. The remaining soldier shoved Johnny Frost in front of him.

Enzo took Johnny’s seat. “Roll the cameras.”

The producer, knowing where his bread and butter were likely to come from going forward, signaled the cameras.

Once he was on the air, Enzo looked seriously into the camera. “We do not wish for violence. But we are fighting for the survival of our species. We will take every necessary means to ensure our survival. Today, I am offering safe passage out of Seattle to any human who provides information leading to the capture of Mr. Lilywhite.”

Major knew his cue when he heard it. He stepped out of the darkness and into the the pool of light around the central dais, his hands up. “How about I make it easier for you, Enzo?”

Enzo smiled at the camera. “Well, look. The man who got us into this mess.” He stood up.

“Why don’t you want people knowing there’s a viable cure?”

“There is no such thing.”

“Sure, there is. I’ve got one right here.” He took the syringe out of his pocket.

Enzo didn’t like that at all. He had no snappy comeback for the sight of a real cure.

“Tell you what,” Major suggested, “I’ll take it right now, and you can shoot me as many times as you want.” This was the part of the plan Ravi had really, really hated. Major didn’t love it himself. “Just not in the head. If I’m still a zombie, I’ll survive, and you can guillotine me in the public square, like you want. But, if I die, well, that means there’s a cure.”

The current head of Fillmore Graves stood there, undecided. Major was pretty sure Enzo would love nothing more than to shoot him a lot … but he wanted the guillotine, and the power that came with it, a lot more. “It proves nothing.”

“Stay with me here.” Enzo had never been the sharpest crayon in the box, and Major was definitely enjoying the chance to have the upper hand. “Those cures sold for millions of dollars. What motivation would I have to spend millions of dollars then take a cure and ask to be murdered on live TV?”

“Well, it … uh …” He was flailing for a response. One that wasn’t forthcoming.

Major turned his back on Enzo and faced the cameras. “I’m here to prove to people that it’s over. To ask them to put down their weapons. In a matter of weeks, the zombie virus can be a historical footnote, like smallpox and malaria. Watch.”

This was it, the final moment. Was it worth it? His life, for the lives of hundreds of thousands of people? Yeah. He thought so. Liv would think so, too. She had lived that way all this time, sacrificing so much for the greater good. She would be proud of him.

Major turned back to Enzo. Show time.

Chapter 213: Nothing Lasts Forever

Holding out his hand, Major positioned the syringe over his wrist. Slowly, he pushed in the plunger. One cured zombie, coming up.

In front of him, he heard a gun cock. Enzo was pointing it straight at his chest. Just before he pulled the trigger, he zombied out, right there on live TV. Red eyes and everything. He shot again and again and again. The first bullets hurt as they struck Major's chest, but after that, everything went mercifully black.

But then, slowly, he began hearing sounds again. Ravi laughing. A single gunshot. A hail of gunshots. And then silence. Major lay there, wondering what had happened. If he was dead, he shouldn’t have been able to hear any of that. If he was dead, he shouldn’t be thinking. Unless death was really different than he had expected it to be.

Gradually he realized that none of his senses had changed the way he would have expected them to. Brains still sounded pretty tasty. Somehow, he was still a zombie.

He had taken the cure. How was that possible?

Not sure what was happening around him, Major focused on staying still, not letting his face move, not breathing. He wanted brains pretty badly, and the places where Enzo’s bullets had struck all hurt a lot, but there was no question he was still alive. And the only person who could have made that happen was his roommate, who had thought this was a stupid plan from the get-go.

Just as he’d come to that realization, he felt someone crawl on top of him and heard Ravi’s voice calling his name.

“You tricky son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered quietly, without opening his eyes. “What was in the syringe you gave me?”

Ravi breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Max Rager. It’s all I had on hand.”

“You just had to be the hero, didn’t you?”

“Next time, though … Next time, it’s all yours.”

Major realized that all this time, there had been light on his face. He opened his eyes to look into the flashlight of Ravi’s phone. “You’re not taking a selfie, are you?” He laughed, which hurt. A lot.

“Hey, careful there.” Ravi looked around him. “We have to get you out of here.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Stay there. Play dead.”

“I am dead.”

“Then stop talking.”

Major managed a small smile, then he closed his eyes and waited, passing the time by trying not to go to full zombie mode with the pain of the gunshots, and trying not to smell human brains all around him.

Eventually, he felt himself lifted, and heard the zipper of a body bag closing over his face. Man, he hated being transported in body bags. But better that than ruining whatever good they’d done on the air by proving that he had still been a zombie after all. He’d gathered from things people said around him that Enzo was dead, which he was pretty happy about.

When the body bag was unzipped, Ravi said, “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Looking around, Major recognized their house, relieved to be home and safe.

“You’re not safe for long,” Ravi said. He was systematically pulling the blinds. “God, I have so much to tell you.”

“Enzo’s dead.”

“Yeah. I cured him, and then that teacher guy shot him. Right on live TV. Then Fillmore Graves shot the whole studio to hell. They’re going to be on the hook for a big remodeling fee.”

“Somehow I doubt Fillmore Graves is going to outlast the zombie virus.” Major mourned Vivian Stoll, who had had such faith in the future, and Chase Graves, who had tried so hard, and all the people lost in the senseless zombie-human warfare.

“No. I imagine not.”

“And Major Lilywhite? What happens to him?”

“He stays dead.”

“Great. Do I get a new name?”

Ravi managed a smile. “If you want one.”

“God, yes.”

“Here.” Ravi handed him a packet of semi-frozen brain tubes. “We have a few left in the freezer.”

“Can you get me another one? This one might not be enough,” Major said around a mouthful of frozen brain slush.

“Yeah, I’ll—“ Ravi stopped and stared at his phone like he’d just seen a ghost.

“What?”

“It’s—it’s from Peyton. But … Peyton’s dead. How can she be texting me?” His voice broke.

“Maybe Liv, from Peyton’s phone?” But Liv wouldn’t do that to Ravi, not if she had any other choice at all. “Maybe—”

“No. Don’t say that. I can’t—if I start to hope, then—” Ravi cleared his throat.

“What does the text say?”

“Oh. Oh, I hadn’t even read it. I saw her name and—” Taking a deep breath, Ravi read the text. “Someone blew up the morgue. Liv was there, and … and Michelle. You know, the cop? The one Clive had the affair with?”

“Oh, my God. Are they all right?”

“This—whoever this is says Liv should be fine, but Michelle … she was human. The damage— Oh, man, poor Clive. And her kid.”

Major shook his head, feeling sick at heart. So much death. So much unnecessary destruction. It had all been so much, but this late in the game? It felt so completely futile. “Can we go to Liv? I’ve had some experience in not being recognized.”

Ravi nodded. He was staring at Major, frowning thoughtfully.

“What?”

“There’s just a lot of loose ends to tie up.”

“Oh, my God, the morgue! All the zombie cures!”

“No, no. I locked a lot of that up.”

“Where?”

Ravi looked past him toward the safe in his closet. “I figured no one would think to look here. And they didn’t. All right—I’m getting you another brain tube, but we need to hurry to get to Liv. She probably thinks you’re—”

“Oh. Oh, God. Yes, let’s go. Quickly!” He didn’t want Liv to have to mourn him for another minute.

Chapter 214: Life and Love

Whoever was using Peyton’s phone had texted Ravi that they were taking Liv to the safe house. What if it actually was Peyton, Major thought, and everything they thought they knew was wrong? He didn’t say as much to Ravi, who was grimly trying not to get his hopes up, but as they took a more circuitous route than usual to the safe house, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be if she was really there.

So Major was somewhat less surprised than Ravi was to walk into the safe house and see a zombiefied Peyton holding Liv as she wept.

Ravi stopped short, Major crashing into his back. “Peyton.”

“Hey. I’m so—” But then it was her turn to stop short, as Major came around Ravi’s side. A smile blossomed on Peyton’s face, and she gently turned Liv around to face Major.

His name appeared on Liv’s lips, but with no sound, and then his arms were open and she was in them, and he was holding her tight with no intention of ever letting go again, for any reason.

“Major. Oh, Major.” She turned her face up to him and he kissed her.

At last there was a loud clearing of the throat behind them, and all four of them emerged from their embraces to see the kids standing there, looking embarrassed, amused, and nervous. “Yeah, um, sorry,” said the oldest one, “but … we don’t know what happens now.”

“Do any of us?” Liv looked from Major to Ravi.

Ravi nodded. “Yeah. I, um, need to find some lab space to keep making the cure—I only had time for one dose, and I used it on Enzo."

"But they blew up the morgue.” Liv winced, and then her face twisted. “Poor Michelle.”

“I know.” Major’s hand closed on her shoulder. “We’ll see what we can do to help her kid.”

“Clive! Clive needs to know.”

“It’s in the plan.” Ravi looked absolutely exhausted and overjoyed as he stood there with his arm around Peyton. “I finish making the cure; we get it to everyone in Seattle; we get my friend at the CDC to get started on the vaccine for the rest of the world. Meanwhile, Peyton goes to talk to Clive.”

“And what do we do? Put us in, Coach.”

Ravi shook his head at Major. “You two stay right here. As far as the world knows, the former commander of Fillmore Graves and the great Renegade are both dead. I—I think you need to stay that way. If you don’t …” He sighed heavily, knowing what he was saying. “You’ll never be safe.”

“What about us?” the kid asked. “And everyone else who got scratched because it was the only way to live?”

“There’s some chance the zombie virus overwhelms things like cancer cells—it may have potential as a cure. But other illnesses … well, I need to look into it more.”

“And until then?”

“We need somewhere safe that we can keep you all indefinitely. It wouldn’t do for the world to know that there are still zombies in it.”

Major snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Zombie Island. It was supposed to hold hundreds of zombies, and Vivian Stoll had already started on the buildings. I don’t know how much is finished, but I think there’ll be enough.”

“So we, what … we go into exile? Permanently?”

Liv was going to have a hard time with this, he could see—she had found a purpose as a zombie, a way to make a difference in the world. Leaving the world entirely, for someone as driven as she was, would be very difficult.

Major thought he’d be okay with it. Sure, he liked things like football games and bars, but mostly he just wanted peace. And raising a bunch of zombie kids who were never going to grow up wasn’t that far from where he had started out.

“We can come up with something for you to do,” Peyton assured her. “We’ll find a way to stay in touch, and you can do research, or you can—”

“Stagnate.”

“It won’t be like that,” Major promised her. “We can make it whatever we want.”

“Except a life with our friends and the people we love.”

“Except that.” Ravi nodded. He held his arms out for Liv and she went into them and cried. Then Major hugged them both, and Peyton from the other side, and they all cried. Major wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He doubted these would be the last tears any of them shed over the situation. But—they were all alive, and they were all together, and there would be a future, and that was more than they’d had yesterday.

The kid cleared his throat again. “Um … sorry. Again. But … how do we get to this island?”

Peyton grinned. “You know, Blaine had a lot of money. And a lot of stuff. What do you want to bet he had a helicopter, or a private plane? And, since I was basically his wife—sorry, honey,” she said to Ravi, whose face had blackened into a scowl. “I get all his stuff.”

“Wait, Blaine’s dead?”

Liv nodded. “He and Don E will be spending eternity at the bottom of the well, with Brother Love.”

Major felt a little bit sorry for Don E. He hadn’t been a bad guy, all things considered, just greedy and impulsive.

“All right.” Peyton took a deep breath, looking up at Ravi. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m still acting mayor, I think, so I should make a public appearance, and go check in on Clive. And you have work to do.”

“So much work,” Ravi agreed. “You’ll all be okay here for a while?”

“Yeah,” Major said. “Just—any chance we can go home and pack?”

“No, but Peyton and I will pack for you.”

“Great. Thanks, guys.” Liv closed her eyes and leaned against Major.

“We’ll be here,” he assured them, cradling her close.

The two of them left, and Major held Liv tight, reminding her that he was there, and he was alive, and so was she, even if they were both technically still dead, in more ways than one.

Chapter 215: It Never Ends

Things moved remarkably fast after that. Ravi finished the cure and the CDC distributed it, and New Seattle went back to being just plain old Seattle, American city. The walls came down and people were free to enter and leave as they pleased, like the old days.

Fillmore Graves had ceased to exist. Peyton had managed to sneak Major into the facility long enough that he could get into the computers and erase any mention of Zombie island. He’d checked while he was there—it wasn’t finished, but several buildings were, certainly enough for him and Liv and the kids, and probably a few others who couldn’t be changed back or they’d die. He and Ravi arranged for a giant stockpile of brain tubes to be flash frozen and put on a plane.

And then it was time. They all met in the darkness of a private hangar that had been Blaine’s.

The kids were already on board, fighting over who got to sit where. Major turned to look at their friends. “Guys.”

“No.” Ravi was already sniffling. “I can’t.” He wrapped Major up tight in a hug. “You’ve been the best—I can’t—”

“Yeah. Me, too, buddy.” He couldn’t help smiling at the way his best friend wore his heart on his sleeve.

Liv and Peyton were holding on to each other like they’d never let go, so Major turned to Clive instead, shaking his hand.

“Good luck, man,” Clive said.

“You, too. Two babies at once—that’s … kind of a lot.” Clive and Dale had agreed to take in Michelle’s infant son and raise him along with their daughter.

“Yeah. Not as many kids as you’re getting at once, though.”

“True.” Major kind of looked forward to that. He’d always wanted to be a dad.

Turning, he saw Liv was enfolded in Ravi’s arms, both of them weeping. Major shuddered to think what would have happened to them—and to Seattle, and to the world—if Liv hadn’t found Ravi, and if Ravi hadn’t been the extraordinarily perceptive, kind, thoughtful, brilliant man and scientist that he was.

“Major.”

“Peyton.”

“You take care of her, all right?”

“If she’ll let me.” Always a question. “You take care of him.”

“As long as I can keep track of him. He keeps rushing off into danger.”

“Liv’s influence, no doubt.”

“Hey. I heard that.” They both turned to see Liv mock-glaring at them, and everyone shared some watery laughs.

Liv turned to Clive and hugged him, too, and Major was struck again by how much she was giving up in order to let Renegade stay dead. He didn’t know if he and the kids would really be enough for her.

“When you get to the island, you may find a surprise or two,” Ravi told her.

“Also, I’m working on a way to stay in touch without attracting attention,” Peyton added, “and on how to get you a reasonable supply of brains. I don’t want to come for a visit and find you all gone full Romero on me.”

The chuckle following that one was weak, at best, the scenario a bit too possible for anyone’s comfort.

“Not that that’s going to happen,” Peyton said hastily. “Ever.”

“We won’t let it,” Ravi assured them, putting an arm around Peyton’s shoulders.

“Thanks, man. For … everything.” For late night pizza pigouts and gaming sessions; for long drunk conversations about women and relationships and everything; for saving his life.

“Yeah.” Ravi seemed to have control of his tears now. “You, too.”

“Well, you guys better get in the air. The window where air traffic control is not going to notice you leaving is very small.”

Major wondered who had arranged that. He looked down at Liv. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They climbed onto the plane with the kids, their own sorrow at leaving their friends and their lives behind tempered by how excited the kids were.

The plane took off smoothly. On the radar, it would look like a blip, an error in the system, and the transponder would be mysteriously lost somewhere in the ocean. Until they needed it again. The pilot had been terminally ill with ALS, in the late stages, when he was scratched, and was more than happy to spend the rest of his life as a zombie, now that he was sure that he would have one. His wife was his copilot—she was giving up her life as a college professor of music and drama to live as a zombie with her husband. Major hoped at least one of the kids would want to take up the arts and give her something to do.

Zombie Island was beautiful. The houses had been built with an eye to withstanding ocean storms, but also beauty, and they were outfitted with every comfort. There was a community center with a rec room. Pool tables, foosball, air hockey, all the classics. As well as a few arcade games. The island had its own generators. And yes, the part of the school that had been finished included the auditorium.

The surprise Ravi mentioned was that apparently the cargo hold of the plane contained an entire lab setup. In case Liv wanted to do any research, read the note that went along with it. Her entire face brightened.

After a week or so, it felt like they had always lived there. The only thing missing came at the end of the third week, when an airdrop brought them a pair of cell phones. The first text from Peyton brought Liv to tears. It also contained word that New Seattle had been made into a refuge for people like their pilot friend, for whom the zombie virus was a lifesaver, and that the word was out that Major had survived the shooting on TV and had disappeared with the kids once it was clear Liv was dead.

The pilot and his wife conferred briefly, but decided to stay on the island rather than return to Seattle. Peyton had assured them that the brain supply was set up and would be uninterrupted, and all they had to do was kick back and enjoy life.

And so life settled into a routine. Major and the pilot’s wife took over the kids’ education, the pilot volunteered to handle the bulk of the maintenance, and Liv threw herself into medical research, on some obscure topic Major couldn’t quite follow but that seemed likely to hold her attention for a while. The occasional contact with the outside world—growing more frequent and more reliable as technology improved—allowed them to keep up with their friends. And every once in a while a plane would appear bearing Ravi and Peyton for a brief visit.

It wasn’t exactly the life Major had expected to lead … but it was better than a lot of the alternatives that had come up over the years, and ... he and Liv were together. Which was more than enough.