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It took a while for things to settle in Seattle, for the humans who were planning to leave to get their things together and go, for the zombies and humans who remained to achieve a mutually hostile standoff. For most of that time, all the remaining soldiers of Fillmore Graves were on watch pretty much constantly, snatching sleep an hour or two at a time when they could. The first time Major got a chance to go home, sleep in his own bed, stand in his own shower, and actually see his roommate he was surprised he still recognized Ravi.

So it was a bit of a shock to him to see Ravi casually throw a handful of brains into the scrambled eggs he was making for breakfast.

"Dude. Something we need to talk about?"

Ravi twisted his face up. "Maybe?"

Major looked pointedly at the sauteed brains his roommate was about to eat. "Seriously? I didn't think you were yearning to join Team Z."

"Well, I'm not, really."

"No one eats brains because they taste good."

"Right. See, I made a vaccine. I didn't have enough tainted utopium to make any more cure, but I did have enough to make an experimental dose of vaccine."

"I take it it didn't work."

"No, I mean, it did … mostly." Ravi wolfed down a mouthful of eggs and brains and sighed in satisfaction. "Except for three days out of the month, it seems."

"You mean, you're having a zombie period?"

"Pretty much exactly." Putting half the mixture on a plate, he motioned to Major. "You want the rest of this?"

"What kind of brains are we talking?"

"HVAC repairman. Collected butterflies."

Major considered. "What the hell. I have the day off, and I can always scarf down a brain tube before I head back tomorrow. Hand me them brains, son."

They sat together over breakfast catching each other up on the events of the last couple of weeks.

"So what are you doing for your day off? Vegging on the sofa?"

Major shook his head. "I'm going to start going through Natalie's storage unit. I figure I'm basically her executor, no point in spending her savings on the unit when …" He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "When she won't be coming back for her things."

Ravi looked at him sympathetically. "Don't rush yourself. These haven't exactly been easy times for you."

"I know. I just—I think I have to do this, to say goodbye, you know?"

"I get it. You want some company?"

"No. Thanks, though."

Major volunteered to wash the breakfast dishes, after which he got the keys to Natalie's storage unit and drove there, unlocking it. The boxes smelled like her. It was crazy, he knew, to imagine he could feel her presence here in this sterile white cube, but it was as close as he was ever going to get again. He opened a box and saw her Christmas ornaments, the ones that had decorated the tree the day they met, when she had intended to shoot herself. Maybe he should have let her, he thought. At least she would have gone out on her own terms, she would have been spared the nightmare of the Max Rager basement and the enforced prostitution that came afterward … but she also would never have recovered her humanity, never traveled and seen the world and planned to settle down in Italy.

Thinking of the rental in Positano that she would never see again, the lifetime of adventure that she no longer had, Major bent his head over the box of Christmas decorations and wept—for her, for himself, for Liv, for Seattle.

When the storm had passed, leaving his throat sore and aching and his heart not much better, he closed the box of ornaments again. Definitely he did not need to start there.

Her clothes were easier, all the cold weather gear and rain gear and camping supplies she had been leaving behind until she needed them again. He would take them to a thrift shop and donate them. Her furniture he would load up and donate next time he had a day off. The Christmas decorations … those he would take home and store in the basement, along with her photos. Her camera was back at his place among the other things she had left there, and he would keep that, too, as a reminder to himself to cherish every day, to remember the good times and the people who were part of them, to see the beauty in the world around him. Natalie had been good at that.

He finished up around dinnertime, loading his car with the boxes he was donating and locking the door behind him until the next time he could come back for more. At the thrift shop, he had help unloading the boxes, a young man with zombie-white hair and a hungry look that made Major think he should start carrying a cooler full of brain tubes around with him. Afterward, he drove home, taking the long way around, looking at the city—houses boarded up, store windows broken, bands of people roaming together and watching each other suspiciously. He was sorry it had come to this. Natalie wouldn't have wanted this; neither would Stoll, he thought, tears rolling down his face.

The sharp honk of a car behind him made him realize the light was green. He gave an apologetic wave and continued on, making his way home.

The house was empty, which Major appreciated. He carried the box of Christmas ornaments downstairs to the basement and patted it gently. "I'm going to keep going," he told Natalie, as if she was still there, as if she could hear him. "I'm going to make things better. And I'm going to miss you every day. I wish—I wish I could go back, change things, and not have left your side. Not even for a minute."

As he climbed the stairs, he reflected that in his life, he had really loved two women—and he had lost both of them at parties. He didn't know what the lesson was there, or if there was one, but he was pretty sure he didn't like the irony. Didn't like it at all.