Thank you for reading!

The party to celebrate their victory over Roche and his boss was off the hook. Fillmore Graves had taken over the Scratching Post, and everyone was feeling the relief of getting a chance to relax, to stop worrying for just a moment—maybe even to have hope that the future would be brighter.

Even Chase Graves looked as though some of the tension that had been weighing him down was easing. "This, my friends," he announced, standing over boxes of confiscated brain tubes, "is what it looks like when a plan comes together!" Over the cheers in response, he continued, "I know what some of you cynics might be saying: 'A hundred cases of brain tubes? Is that all we have to show for this operation, Commander?' Well, you cynics would be forgetting about the traitors we've ferreted out. You're forgetting about your zombie brothers and sisters who will sleep with fuller bellies. But most of all—you don't know what's in these cases." Graves even cracked a rare smile as he reached into a box and took out a roll of money. "So tonight—and just tonight—we've got you covered. Eat what you want! Drink what you want. It's all on Cobra Kai. Wait, that's not right." He was openly grinning now. "What were they called? Major? Where's Major? The man of the hour?"

"The Blue Cobras," Major called out, feeling a glow of pride.

"The Blue Cobras. That's it. Let's hear it for Lilywhite. He gets the job done!"

Major lifted his beer, smiling dutifully. He couldn't shake the feeling that this victory was too little, too late, but he wasn't about to bring down the party for his own forebodings.

"Hey, DJ!" Graves called out. "Play something from the aughts for this old soldier."

The music blasted and various soldiers came up to Major to slap him on the shoulder. He wondered how many of these guys secretly sympathized with what Roche had done, and tried to squash the thought. New Seattle only worked if they trusted each other.

He made his way through the crowd to Chase Graves, who had come down to mingle with the men. Graves clapped him on the shoulders. "So, what do you say we get a picture with your team in front of the spoils of war, huh? We'll hang it up in the lounge."

"My squad isn't back," Major told him. Jordan and Captain Seattle had been with the team taking Roche to the deep freeze.

Some of the cheer slipped off Graves' face as he checked his watch. "Why?"

Even as he spoke, the doors clanged open and Jordan and Captain Seattle came in. Major looked up at them with relief. "There they are."

"Get 'em, and let's do this."

Major climbed the steps to meet his team, feeling a tingle of anxiety down his spine. They did not look like they were victorious and ready to party. As they explained what had happened, the tingle became full-out chills. He had known things were going too well.

Reluctantly, he turned from them and went back to Chase Graves, with pretty much the last news he wanted to have to give his boss tonight. "Sir, there's, uh … there's been an incident. During the transport, Russ Roche managed to get his hands on a weapon, and he escaped."

"He what?" Graves' tone was low, but there was black rage in it.

"Sir, I swear to you, I will personally find him and bring him—"

"And whose weapon did he take?"

Major wasn't about to throw one of his kids under the bus. "This is my squad, sir. It's my responsibility."

"Whose weapon?" Graves demanded.

"I will handle the discipline internally, sir."

Graves turned and pointed at the DJ. "Shut that off!" His voice carried through the room, over the music, which obediently stopped. Then he turned back to Major, shouting, "I said whose weapon was it, Lilywhite?"

Major didn't want to tell him.

From behind him came Jordan's quiet voice. "Mine, sir."

In the silence that followed her admission, Major vowed, "Sir, I swear, I will find Roche and I will drag his ass right back to your office."

"Yes, you will," Graves agreed.

Major stood still, barely daring to breathe, hoping this would be the end of it, and even as the thought formed in his mind Graves drew his weapon and shot Jordan. He shot her again and again, her body jerking with the impact of the bullets, all body blows, painful, but not fatal to a zombie. But Captain Seattle, acting on instinct and emotion, didn't process that. He drew his own weapon and shot Chase Graves, striking the commander in the neck.

Even as Graves' hand closed around his throat to stop the bleeding, as his weapon raised, Major tried to put himself in front of the gun, shouting "No!" at the top of his lungs—but he was too late.

A single, perfectly aimed shot caught Captain Seattle between the eyes.

Major turned from the wounded Graves to run to his squad. Jordan was twitching as he lifted her into his lap—but Seattle was dead. And the party was over.