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After the police station, Major's team's next stop was the Scratching Post, where Blaine and his people had a drunk Fillmore Graves soldier who needed to be picked up, taken home, and dried out. Hardly glamorous work, but Major was kind of relieved to have at least one relatively normal and innocuous thing to do tonight.
He approached the bartender—the same Helton kid he had tried to buy Utopium from, and how long ago had that been? It felt like years. But the bartender gave no sign of recognition, and Major was hardly anxious to renew the acquaintance. "I hear you have something of ours?"
"They're gettin' it."
And sure enough, moments later Blaine showed himself, accompanied by a large man with a body slung over his shoulders.
"Is that … Lil' Bones Jones?" Jordan asked.
Major frowned at her lack of protocol. "You mean Major Jones."
"Major Jones. With a major booze jones, Major Major." Both she and Captain Seattle chuckled, and Major turned away from them. A lesson in respect would do them a world of good. Or maybe just him.
"Where's good?" the minion asked, gesturing to Jones' limp form.
"Out in the Humvee."
Blaine held a hand out, keeping the minion in place. "You're welcome. Damn it, jumped the gun. I should've waited for the 'thank you'."
Just once before he died, Major hoped he had the chance to punch the smarmy smile right off this guy's face. "Tell you what … I'll trade you two annoying baby-faced soldiers for one workhorse goon."
Blaine looked Jordan and Seattle over, and made it plain that he wasn't too impressed. "I'm good."
"Uncool, man," Jordan said, glaring at Major.
"Oh, no, no, I wasn't talking about you two. It was two other soldiers. You guys don't know them."
Both of them turned and stalked out. Blaine stayed quiet for once, and Major followed the minion out to the Humvee and saw Major Jones stowed securely away.
They got Jones back to headquarters and into a chair in the common room. Major sent the kids for water and enjoyed the peace and quiet while he waited for them to come back and watched Jones start to come to. When they finally came back with the water, he handed the bottle to Jones. "Here you go. You should drink ten of these."
Jones guzzled down some of the water. "I'm hungry. I need a brain tube. Use my card." He pulled his wallet out of his pants and stared into it, dumbfounded. "Where's my ID?"
"With respect, you've got to get a handle on your drinking, sir. Losing your ID—"
"I wasn't drinking," Jones protested as he patted his pockets with increasing urgency. "Did it just fall out?" He leaned down to check his boots.
Jordan bent over to see the back of Jones' neck. "Major, he's bleeding."
"Someone must've clocked him." As Jones sat up, Major leaned in closer to him. "Who hit you?"
"I don't remember."
Major thought rapidly. Who would want to hit Jones, and why? Then he realized—zombie serial killer on the loose, missing high-level ID ... "Oh, no." He reached for his phone.
"What is it?" Captain Seattle asked.
"He's got level five security clearance. His ID authorizes entry into any area of this building. Go find Justin in the armory. Tell him to lock down the campus!" He called. The kids were already out the door by the time he'd finished speaking. Maybe they weren't such bad soldiers, after all.
There was no answer in Chase Graves' office, so he went up there, double-timing, and arrived just in time to shoot a man who had Graves down and was about to kill him—Cain, he presumed. From his prone position, clearly in pain, Graves yelled, "Go check the school dorm! He might have gone there first!"
And Major went, without another word, hoping he would find all the students safely tucked into bed.
After he did, indeed, find that all was well in the dorm, he reported back to Chase Graves, letting him know the status. "The perimeter is clear."
The knee of his pants shredded and blood-stained, Graves was in the middle of picking something out of the wound with tweezers. Wearily, he said, "Well done, Major."
Looking at the wound, Major guessed, "Buckshot?"
"Yep. If I collect them all, I win a prize."
A trail of blood led around behind a sofa. Major followed it and found the man who had been threatening Graves earlier lying there, still alive, but not in good shape. "You're aware Cain is back here?"
"Sure am. He still breathing?"
"Barely. Should I get him medical attention?"
"Let's do him one better," Graves said. "Scratch him."
Major looked over his shoulder at his boss, not sure he liked this idea at all.
"Just let me die," Cain begged. "Please."
"Scratch him, soldier. That's an order. He has an appointment with the guillotine."
Saving a man's life just to execute him. That wasn't why Major had signed on for this. How much farther would they come from where they had started before this was all over?