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.