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Major couldn't say he was particularly enjoying life in New Seattle. Most of the city, both zombie and human, looked on anyone in a Fillmore Graves uniform with suspicion, blaming them for everything that had happened. Since it was easier to point fingers at a uniformed bunch of mercenaries than try to go back to the boat party and blame it on a dead eccentric millionaire, that attitude stuck regardless of how many times Major tried to explain.

Other than the occasional bout of "at least we agree on this much" sex with Liv, his days ranged from tedious to irritating to downright awful. Patrolling the streets to make sure the increasing numbers of empty houses didn't get looted; enforcing the incredibly unpopular midnight curfew; keeping his men from overreacting to the many people who threw things at them. All of it made him wish … well, it was useless to wish. Life in New Seattle was what it was; it couldn't be wished away.

He was summoned to Chase Graves' office one afternoon after a patrol the night before had been ambushed by a bunch of teenagers, an increasingly common event. Taking the seat on the other side of the desk, he waited to see what Graves wanted.

"I hear last night was eventful."

"Goley and Chu were hit by a Molotov cocktail, but they'll be okay in a couple weeks."

"I hear you caught one of our human terrorist friends. What do they call themselves? Human Shield? Up with People?" There was a faint smile on Graves' face. Nothing was funny, but Major supposed you had to keep your sense of humor or go crazy—and he'd had enough of crazy bosses.

"Dead Enders," Major said. "We're not sure he's a member—I mean, the kid's only fifteen."

Chase Graves leaned forward. "Well, that kind of segues right into what I wanted to talk to you about." He looked up at Major. "I noticed you have a background in youth counseling."

"Yeah?"

"Well, there's a problem in this city. You must have noticed. Young zombies. They're homeless because their parents kicked them out. Starting to roam around in packs—packs become gangs. We need productive, contributing zombies, fully integrated into the fabric of this city. You think you can give me that?"

Major nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Back to what he had always wanted to be? Helping to create, to build, rather than to patrol and punish? It was the best news he'd had in a very long time. "I can give it a shot."

Graves smiled back at him. "Excellent."

They had their first meeting the next day, a group of kids brought in from the streets. The kids were all slurping down brain tubes as if they hadn't eaten in a week when Major came into the room. He stood for a moment looking at them, the scene so familiar. Here he knew what he was doing; here he was the highly trained professional. It felt good.

One of the kids was putting his half-eaten brain tube away in his bag. Another one leaned forward. "You're not gonna eat that?"

"I'm … saving the rest."

"Give me a bite, dude. I'm starving, and you weigh like forty pounds."

"I'm saving it," the first kid repeated.

The second one moved forward in his seat. "Give it to me. Or when we get out of here, I'm gonna rip off one of your arms and beat you with it."

A third kid got out of his seat, walking quietly over to stand in front of the aggressor. "He said he's saving it," he said, his voice even and mild.

The aggressor stood up, going nose-to-nose with the quiet one. "And who are you? Captain Seattle?" He had about six inches on him, but the quiet kid didn't back down. The aggressor started to laugh and a bunch of the other kids did, too, relieved by the break in the tension and the quiet.

Major decided it was time to step in. Raising his voice firmly, he called out, "You two. Sit." They both turned to look at him, then back at each other before returning to their seats. Major took his own, waiting until both the boys were settled before continuing, looking around the room at each kid in turn. "I want to thank all of you for agreeing to come here to Fillmore Graves headquarters."

A girl across from him was having none of it. "Yeah," she said. "We're all 'volunteers'."

Ignoring her sarcasm, Major went on, "Well, you're here for a reason. You've been living on the streets. Most of you were thrown out of your homes for being zombies."

"Thanks for that, by the way," the girl said, leaning forward. "The 'turning us into zombies' part."

He had no defense for that, so he let the comment go. "Look, what's done is done. It's time to make the best of it. All right? Our goal here is to get you off the streets; prevent the formation of zombie street gangs. The key to our survival is integration."

"Tell that to the Dead Enders," the aggressor pointed out.

From the back of the room, the quiet kid, "Captain Seattle", spoke up. "Is it true that Fillmore Graves soldiers get all the brain tubes they want?"

"We get double rations."

The girl pointed outside the room. "Did everyone see that brain vending machine in the hallway?"

All the kids leaned forward, following her pointing finger. Apparently they hadn't.

The aggressor turned to Major. "Not really! Is there?"

Major nodded. No point in lying about it. "There is."

"So, I'm out there every day trading sex for brain tubes to feed my little brother and sister, and you get to eat them like they're candy bars?" the girl asked.

"You really …?"

"No," she said, not impressed by his shock or his sympathy. "I work at coffee stands. But I do know plenty of girls who are putting out for tubes."

"And some dudes," the aggressor put in.

The girl pinned Major with her direct gaze. "My brother and sister really are starving. And the brain tubes they distribute barely have any brains in them anymore."

Major looked around the room. "That the case for all of you?"

All the kids nodded.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll see what I can do. For now, let's … get another round of tubes in here for you to take with you." That at least should help start building some trust, but this shortage of tubes was a real problem. One that Chase Graves wouldn't thank him for making a stink about, but they couldn't risk a city full of starving zombies going full Romero. Not if they wanted to avoid giving some government—particularly their own—a reason to nuke Seattle out of existence once and for all.