Between coming to terms with New Canton's attack plan and the loss of their most intelligent and prolific zombie killer, Abel's morale was at a record low—at least, from what was in Five's memory.

"Obviously things are… are pretty scary right now," Sam commented to Five through her headset. She and Runner Eight were on a mission together, making their way warily toward New Canton. Five wore Lem's headset. "I mean… Oh, I know the Major says fear is the greatest enemy, but… I'm sort of thinking that New Canton is kicking fear's ass on that front."

As usual, Eight shrugged Sam's worries off. Ever since Five's ID had proven her innocence regarding the whole rocket launcher fiasco, Eight's icy demeanor toward Five had melted—somehow, their missions together had multiplied in number, and no one was surprised to see them together on runs on a weekly basis. Five had certainly been uncomfortable with the whole ordeal at first, but Eight's escalating friendliness had eased her worries somewhat. "I know lots of folk around the base are getting nervous, but we're going to be just fine," she insisted. "You and me, Five, gorgeous day like today, a little run. It'll be fun."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, you guys are a real Charlie's Angels combo. Oh, wait. Is that sexist, Runner Eight? You can be Mulder and Scully. I'm not saying who's who. Or like—heh—the A-Team. You pick."

Five laughed, and Eight rolled her eyes. "We're just a couple of runners, Sam."

"Gotcha," Sam backtracked. "A couple of runners. Uh—you can be the Flash and, uh—the other Flash. Y—be safe out there today, guys. We don't know what New Canton's planning, and… plus, you know, zombies."

"Can't forget about those." Eight coughed some, clearing her throat loudly. "Hey, Sam. Little ticklish throat right here. Gonna turn off my mic for a few minutes, okay?"

Sam hesitated. "Um… yeah, sure. Just, um.. well, you know, just make sure not to turn off your receiver. There've been some gnarly zoms turning up in the East. A few of those guys are wearing helmets. Makes for a pretty tough kill when they've turned."

"No problem, Sam. Just want to save you from listening to me coughing away. Give us a head's up when we're in mortal danger."

"Sure will."

Five raised an eyebrow as Eight gave another obnoxiously loud cough before turning her microphone off, reaching out and turning off Five's as well.

"What are you—"

"Okay, Five, we haven't got much time to talk." Eight took Five's arm and slowed her down to a walk. "Only have time to brief you. Never can tell who's listening on the base, so listen up." They continued a slow pace toward New Canton.

"What's going on?" Five asked, nonplussed.

"Project Greenshoot." Eight's voice dropped further. "Here it comes. What I know, anyway, which I'm sure isn't the half of it. Do you know what's going on in the outside world, Five?"

Five shook her head.

"No, sure you don't. You know what everyone knows. How to find food, how to stay alive. Seven different ways to take a zom's head off. I like a meat cleaver on a broom handle myself, but you've got to keep it sharp. But you of course heard me say that yesterday." She glanced sideways at Five.

"Of course," she lied.

"Anyway, none of us have had time to think about the bigger picture, but let me tell you something: someone's been thinking about it. There are at least five separate organizations running covert armies in this part of the world. Did you know that?"

"Five? No, I didn't."

"There's the official military, sure. Provisional government, state of emergency, dropping food and med packs where they can, not doing a bad job. Their side, the side of law and order, freedom, and, one day, democracy again. All that good stuff. But they're overstretched as it is, and they can't hold the whole country.

"Then, there are the other guys," Eight scowled. "We only know about some of them. There's some outfit in bright yellow uniforms running around the Southwest. They look like a splinter military group, but we can't be sure. Then there's a bunch of survivalist nut jobs calling themselves the Power. They hooked up with a couple of arms manufacturers in the West. They're holed up in the mountains with enough fire power to take out anyone who walks up.

"Now, the Scottish islands have been declared zom-free by CommandSys—that big tech company with fingers in everything? Those guys made a hell of a lot of money before the big gray bang, but no one unaffiliated can get in."

"Wait, wait, stop. I can't keep track of all of this," Five stammered, struggling to keep up. "The yellow uniforms and the Power are crazy, and CommandSys—"

"I know it's a lot to take in; you don't need to remember all of it," Eight rushed. "Just this: there's more than one battle in this war, and its' not just humans versus the dead. It's also humans versus humans. And Project Greenshoot? All I can tell you for now is that the military think there's something really important in Abel Township. They—Mullins—wanted you in there, gaining people's trust."

"What—how can you be sure?" Five asked skeptically. "When they sent me on that mission, they never told me that. And I lived there for quite a bit."

"So did I," she reminded Five. "Listen, what did Mullins tell you about your mission to Abel?"

"That I was only going to be there briefly," Five remembered. "Help you unpack my supplies—help you set up some shelters."

"Ah, but Abel already has residence buildings," Eight grinned. "And Mullins knew that. What else did they say?"

"That I would receive other instructions when I got there. That's when I heard the name Project Greenshoot for the first time."

"See? There you go," Eight nodded. "They wanted you to get in and gain our trust. Explore our information."

"I was supposed to be a… a mole?" Five asked, her face falling. "A traitor?"

"Why do you think I couldn't trust you?" Eight asked. "We knew Mullins wanted something from us. We just didn't know what you knew. But we learned." She chuckled. "You were as in the dark as most of the Mullins civilians. Well—you were in the dark until they decided you were smart enough to be used as a mole. Their mistake for not telling you that you were supposed to be a spy until later. Someone blew up your helo before they had the chance. And do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"Now… well. It looks like more than one group is interested, isn't there?" She paused. "You didn't shoot yourself out of the sky."

Five sighed. "But who would want to kill us?"

Eight shrugged. "Thing is, Five, how do we even find out what's happening in the world? Rofflenet, right? Set up by some genius Macmillan in someplace far away. No one knows where that guy is. But not everyone's on there. Not by a long shot. Did you know Finland's a total Rofflenet black zone? Why, all those guys are dead or… they're using something much more sophisticated. We're operating on rumors."

Sam's voice crackled urgently over the comms. "Runner Eight, Runner Five, switch your transmitters back on. We've got incoming. They're heading in fast. The ones that infected the hospital."

Five and Eight jumped, hearing groans through the trees. "Gotcha, Sam," Eight replied, flicking on her mic. "We're speeding up. You've met these zoms before, Five. Your very first run. We don't know why they run; most zoms can't do much more than stumble. But then sometimes one pack will start to run, like this. Only ever in a pack, not individually."

"They're close behind you," Sam continued. "Coming in from the right."

Five frowned. "Wait, no, I hear them from the left."

Eight glanced from side to side; the sounds were coming from all around.

"What the—" Five began.

"Are they? I know this sounds crazy, Sam, but—"

"Now they're coming in from the left!" Sam confirmed. "Come on, faster than that!"

Eight and Five took off, the groans from all around.

"Are they… in formation?"