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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."