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Real-life combat was … not as much different from a football game as Major had imagined. There was a lot going on, too much to see all at once, so you focused on your particular part of the battlefield and your role in it, and you did that well, and in concert with your fellows.

He found himself hunkered down behind a Humvee with Justin and another Fillmore Graves guy, Otis, as bullets whistled through the air and embedded themselves in the metal on the car's other side. The sound was definitely different than football, and he wouldn't have minded a cheering crowd right about now.

And of course, his over-taxed lungs picked this minute to decide they needed some attention. He fumbled for the inhaler, while the other two soldiers sank down on either side of him, trying to determine the next move.

"It appears we've lost the element of surprise." Justin had to raise his voice to be heard over the barrage.

"Thanks for the intel, Captain Obvious," Otis snapped.

Major puffed on the inhaler, feeling the meds start to kick in. Breathing wouldn't be easy, but at least he could do it. That was something.

"Gonna live?"

He glanced at Otis as he put the inhaler away. "Affirmative."

Otis looked up and through the bullet-riddled front windshield of the Humvee. No let-up in the hail of bullets in sight. "All right, time's a-wastin'. There's hostages in there who aren't going to rescue themselves. Chug 'em if you got 'em, boys."

Obediently, Justin and Major both reached for their cans of SuperMax, popping the tabs and guzzling down the contents. Major felt a hundred times better almost instantly. If only Vaughn du Clark hadn't been such a crazy bastard, he could have really done some good with this stuff.

Once the cans were drained, Otis told them, "I'm gonna take that rooftop. Cover me!"

They did their best, returning the hail of fire that was coming down from the roof, but it wasn't enough. Otis was cut down by the force of the bullets striking him … and since he didn't get back up, Major assumed at least one had been a head shot. He should have been sobered by the nearness of death—but he was energized. Part of it was the SuperMax filling his veins, and part of it was seeing a member of his squad killed and wanting revenge. He and Justin hunkered down behind the Humvee and looked at each other.

"When I get out of here," Justin said, "I'm transferring to accounting."

"See you on the rooftop."

"Yeah." There was a determination in Justin's face that matched the way Major felt. As one, they burst out from behind the car, firing as they ran, hoping the stab of flame from their guns would provide cover, or at least distraction, and spoil the aim of the men on the roof.

Once out of the line of fire, Major let his gun hang over his shoulder and just sprinted for the side of the building. He had never felt so strong, so fast, so … invincible. He was Superman, leaping tall buildings with a single bound. Well, it was two or three bounds, really, but no human could have made the leaps he did, scaled the wall as quickly or as easily or as tirelessly. He hit the roof and took out the two men there with brief bursts of gunfire.

There was only a second to enjoy how easily that had all worked out, before a strong arm was over his shoulder, grabbing his right arm to immobilize it and his weapon, and stabbing him rapidly in the kidney, over and over. Fatal blows, if Major had been human. Even as a zombie, they hurt like hell. Then a burst of gunfire behind him stopped the stabbing, and Major fell under the sudden weight of the dead body of his assailant.

Behind him, he heard Justin speak through his comm. "Rooftop secure. Go. Go, go!" And then his friend was leaning over him, rolling him over. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, just a flesh wound." He counted back, amending the statement. "Thirty-five flesh wounds."

They grinned at each other, the damage just a side effect of their success in the mission. It felt good to get something right for a change, Major thought.

Justin helped him down from the roof and left him in the tent set up as a field hospital, where the medic saw to sewing up Major's knife wounds. "How'd we do?" Major asked.

"Otis is dead, but a dozen Komarian separatists won't be kidnapping any more American citizens."

Major nodded, accepting that math as the reality of life as a mercenary.

The medic finished digging a bullet out of Major's shoulder and came around with it held in his forceps. "Souvenir?"

Major held his hand out for it. Such a small piece of metal to change people's lives so completely. He was lucky it hadn't changed his.

"Couple days, you'll be good as new." The medic clapped him on the back and headed out of the tent to see where else his services might be needed.

Outside, the shaken hostages, wrapped in blankets, were being comforted by a Fillmore Graves soldier. Major saw the woman hostage reach up to hug the soldier, and he smiled a little. They had done something good today. It was a nice feeling.

Stoll came in while he was watching the scene. "Nice work out there, Lilywhite. Chalk one up for the good guys." He was carrying something in a sack over his shoulder, and he dropped it in an open chest and pulled the cover down.

"Yeah. Back at ya," Major said, distracted, wondering if that was what he thought it was. When Stoll was out of the tent, Major got up, going to the chest and lifting the lid. Yes, it was exactly what he thought. Heads. Heads of the dead enemy soldiers. On ice. Because zombies needed brains.

Well. Maybe today didn't feel so nice after all, Major thought, sitting back down again. Maybe not.

Back in Seattle, Major and Justin were the last ones left in the locker room—everyone else had showered and changed in a hurry, but Major wasn't moving any too fast with his side full of knife wounds. Zombie healing or not, those things hurt. Justin appeared to be waiting for him, which he appreciated.

"You ready to head to the bar? We're gonna pour out one for Otis."

"Almost." Whether it was a reaction to the adrenaline of combat or his advancing lung condition, Major wasn't sure, but he was suddenly exhausted, his chest feeling tight and full. He sank onto a bench. "That was something else. Seeing an ice chest full of heads?" He had mentioned it to Justin on the plane, but there hadn't been time, or privacy, to really talk about it.

Justin didn't seem nearly as bothered by this as Major was. "Yeah, well, zombies need to eat. And there are never enough brains to go around. Besides, those guys weren't using them anymore."

"No, I thought a lot about it, I get it." Maybe because Justin hadn't seen those heads on ice, it wasn't the same for him. A cough took Major unawares, but it passed quickly after a puff from the inhaler, and he leaned his head wearily against the locker.

"You should really get a medic to look at you."

Major shook his head. "I'm fine. Just need to puke my guts out for a minute, then I'll head over to the bar, raise a glass for Otis. That cocky son-of-a-bitch no one liked."

"Phrase it just like that." Justin grinned. "See you there?"

"Yeah."

Justin headed out. After a moment, Major got to his feet. But he barely made it to the doorway before the cough took him, harder and stronger and more vicious than it had ever been before. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the inhaler, but he couldn't stop coughing, his body convulsing with it. He was only dimly aware of Justin coming back, kneeling over him. Major managed to gasp out, "Take me to the police morgue," and then everything went black.