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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.