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Before the dust cleared, before Chase Graves could deal with the bullet wound Captain Seattle had given him, before anyone could look at Jordan and decide what to do with her, Major slung her over his shoulder and got her the hell out of the Scratching Post.

Her wounds weren't life-threatening, but she had taken enough lead that she wouldn't heal instantly. Shocked and horrified by what had just happened, Major couldn't think straight—but as it happened, his instincts led him to the safest and best place for Jordan to recover: his own house, where Ravi hadn't left for work yet.

Major carried Jordan into the kitchen and laid her down on the table, with Ravi hurrying in after him.

"Isn't this one of your squad?"

"I don't have a squad," Major told him, his voice still raw with grief. "She—she screwed up, and Chase Graves shot her, because that's what he does to zombies who disappoint him, and then this kid, this brave smart young kid who happened to think he was in love with her, he shot Chase Graves—"

"Chase Graves is dead?" Ravi's eyebrows were practically in his hairline as he asked the question.

"No. No, he's not. But the kid is. Shot between the eyes." Major was barely aware of Ravi pushing him aside while he inspected Jordan's wounds.

Looking down at Jordan's still face, Major fought against the tears that stung his eyes, not sure if they were tears of anger or grief. Jordan had screwed up, badly, again. How many of New Seattle's issues had been caused by her these last few months? How many times had she gone off unprepared or been cocky or … But whose fault was it she was out there on the streets when she should have been home with her family, anyway? Major's. He had picked her for his squad. He had covered for her, over and over again.

But why had he been forced to add untried teenagers to Fillmore Graves' roster in the first place? Because Chase Graves had tricked him—asked him to bring these kids in, asked him to gain their trust, asked him to pick some of them for the kind of soldier training they weren't anywhere near ready to handle. For that matter, they were only zombies because Fillmore Graves had decided to make them zombies.

"I wish he was dead," he said suddenly.

"Who?" Ravi looked up. "Chase Graves? I thought you two were buddies."

"I … thought so, too," Major admitted reluctantly. "I thought we were doing the right thing, Ravi. I thought we were protecting people, keeping them safe, doing what had to be done. And now … I don't know what's right anymore."

On the table, Jordan stirred.

"Hold her down, please," Ravi said, and Major moved to her other side, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"M-Major?"

"I'm here."

"It feels like I got shot."

"You did. A lot."

She frowned. Whether at Ravi probing her wounds for bullet and fabric fragments or the memory of what had happened was hard to say. "Fisher?"

It took Major a moment to recognize the name—he had grown so used to referring to the kid as 'Captain Seattle'. He shook his head.

Jordan's face twisted. "Was it … because of me?"

He didn't want to tell her. But he had to. "Yes."

"God." She tried to sit up, but Major held her down.

"Don't do that again," Ravi told her sternly. "You may be a zombie, but bullets still aren't good for your body."

"Just … let me die. I screwed up so many things." Tears leaked out of her eyes, trickling down into her hair.

"That's not my job. I fix people. Well … mostly I fix dead people. Which I guess is still what I'm doing." Ravi motioned to Major to turn Jordan onto her side so he could deal with the wounds on her back.

"Jordan, I'm so sorry," Major told her.

"What are you sorry for? All you ever did was try to make me a better soldier."

"I'm the reason you were a soldier in the first place. You should never—"

"Oh, yeah? What should I have been, then? When you took me off the streets, my little brothers were starving and I was days away from turning tricks for real in order to score enough tubes to eat. Now, because of you, we've all been well fed all this time. They have a dorm to live in with a lot of other kids just like them. They're safe. That's what you did. Everything else—that's on me, Major, and you have to let me own it."

Ravi looked up over her shoulder at Major. "She has a point."

"She does," Major admitted. "Still, I can't help thinking I could have stopped this somehow, done better."

"Yeah, well, me, too," Jordan said, wincing as Ravi tugged a bullet out of her back. "Doesn't change anything."

"No. I guess it doesn't. What's the prognosis?" he asked Ravi as his roommate stood up and removed his gloves.

"She'll be okay. But she'll need a lot of rest and brains to make a full recovery."

"Major?" Jordan sat up gingerly. "Are you going to take me back to Fillmore Graves?"

He hadn't thought that far ahead, but when she asked, he knew he couldn't. "No. No, I'm not. At least … not until you're well. Then we'll talk, and we'll decide together what the next step is for you."

"And my brothers?"

"They'll be okay. I promise." He suspected no one would remember her brothers were in the dorm, the way Fillmore Graves was running these days. "I'll check when I go back in." If he went back in, which he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to do. "Meanwhile, let's get you to bed."

He put her in his room, got her settled, and collapsed on the couch.

"You want to talk about it?" Ravi asked.

"No. Not now. Maybe not at all."

"You going to be okay if I go to work?"

"I'll be fine. Thanks, Ravi."

"Anytime." With a final concerned glance his roommate left for the morgue, and Major slumped on the couch, turned on the TV, and stared at the screen without the faintest idea what he was watching.