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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.