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When Major had decided the only course of action left to him after the bombing was to be turned back into a zombie, he hadn't known that what would follow would be worse than any horror movie. The mutiny of Carey Gold, and Chase Graves killing several of the soldiers loyal to her, and then the revelation that the vaccine being used to stop an outbreak of Aleutian flu contained zombie blood, turning the city of Seattle into a home for a teeming horde of zombies, were outcomes he could never have predicted. Carey Gold, he supposed he should have—or, at least, someone high up, who could have arranged for the helicopter accident. But that she had set into motion a chain of events that could only end with Chase Graves pursuing the nuclear option, setting the zombie virus free in the world and infecting a large percentage of a major city's population? That he couldn't have imagined.
For the most part, he was kept out of it, his loyalty apparently somewhat in question. He could see that, having bounced from zombie to human and back again, and his closeness with Liv and Ravi. After all, it had been Liv who had broken the story, going to Johnny Frost and putting it on the air for all of Seattle to know about. He imagined she was persona non grata amongst the rest of Fillmore Graves right now.
Not that he minded being given a grunt work assignment. His task was to go to the hospitals, to find the patients already sick with Aleutian flu, people who were going to die if something wasn't done, and to scratch them. He hesitated the first time, holding a stranger's arm in his, fingernail hovering over the delicate skin—he'd never made a zombie, and he really didn't want to. But this was the right thing to do, the humanitarian thing, and so he did it. And as he followed the nurse from bed to bed, as he drove across Seattle to another hospital and started it all over again, it got easier. It actually began to feel good to be saving lives, like somehow he was finally back to what, and who, he had always intended to be.
Major didn't know what was going to happen next, not in Seattle, not to Fillmore Graves, not across the country and the world; he was glad it was above his paygrade to worry about it. His job was clearly defined, and he kept his head down and did it, keeping his phone turned off to avoid any texts he might have to answer.
The following day, he and what remained of his squad were sent out into the streets with a truckload of brain tubes wrapped up in a handy, and colorful, guide to how to be a zombie. He wondered if someone had hastily written that up last night or if it had already existed, ready to be used if necessary. Knowing Chase Graves, he suspected the latter.
It felt good to be feeding people, to be showing new zombies that it was possible to live a normal life under their current limitations.
Unfortunately, many of the remaining humans in Seattle didn't feel the same way about zombies, or about living with them. As the soldiers were distributing the brain packets, a group of determined human citizens decided to make that point, rounding the corner armed with bats and clubs and various sharp objects. A few of them carried guns.
Justin, who had lost his good humor to a combination of the party bombing and Liv's betrayal, had taken charge of the squad. Now, watching the humans close in, he called out, "Take cover!"
The hungry zombies scattered.
Major and the others readied their weapons.
"One round above their heads!" Justin called out. "Fire!"
They fired, but the humans didn't stop. They didn't even pause. Major watched them coming on in pain and sorrow. He didn't want to have to do this, but it seemed he wasn't being given a choice.
Justin saw it, too. Because he knew his friend well, Major could hear the quiver in his voice as he shouted, "Aim!" Then one of the humans fired off a shot, and there was no more hesitation in Justin's voice. "Take 'em down!"
Reluctantly, Major squeezed the trigger, and he saw the man who had taken the shot fall, a red stain spreading across the front of his shirt.
The first volley, mercifully, sent the humans running. This time. Next time, they would be expecting it. Or they would attack from cover. Or they would bring bombs. The city of Seattle, the city Major loved, where all the best things in his life had happened to him, was about to become a war zone, unsafe for zombies and humans alike.
Where had things gone so horribly wrong? Could he have stopped this? He supposed, way back when, if he had killed Vaughn du Clark, maybe something might have changed … or Fillmore Graves might have bought up Max Rager sooner, and all of this would have happened much more quickly. It was hard to know.
And in the end it didn't matter. Seattle was a zombie city now, like it or not, and they were all going to have to learn how to live together. Major had to be part of that, and to be part of it, he had to be willing to take the shot when necessary. He would be a good soldier; he would follow orders. And he would hope that somehow it would all work out for the best.