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The staff meeting the following day had no more useful information on the bombing than had been reported already. Whatever had happened at that checkpoint, no one seemed to be talking. Certainly no one was clamoring to take credit for it, which Major found surprising. It had been a successful attack—why did no one want to brag about it? He found that possibly the most disturbing part, other than the damage done to his people.

Joyce Collins had been to the infirmary and was giving the status update on the wounded. "In addition to the three dead, Sullivan and Cortez each lost a leg. McIlleny lost an eye."

In the sober silence that followed her report, Justin asked, "And the suicide bomber?"

"Still no leads," Lambert said, looking, as usual, like this was someone else's fault, and not at all like he was part of the investigating committee that had failed to find said leads. "A Dead Ender, no doubt."

Hobbs spoke up hesitantly. "Commander, if I may: Some of our soldiers are expressing concern that your policies are …" His voice trailed off, as he was unable to find a properly obsequious way to be critical of Major's decisions.

Lambert said something in French, leaving it hanging there. Major frowned at him. Apparently they were holding multilingual meetings now.

Meanwhile, Hobbs had found his careful way to complain. In fact, once he got started, he had no trouble going on. "They felt safer before the curfew was eliminated. They aren't thrilled by the body cameras. They feel that engaging in 'community outreach' and 'conflict resolution courses' is, well …" He looked at Major, catching himself, but couldn't help finishing the thought. "A waste of time."

Major really wanted to stand up and offer his chair to anyone who actually thought they could do a better job. After all, he had been all but forced into this position by several of the people in this room. But he didn't, because he was afraid someone would take him up on it, and he didn't think anyone here could keep the streets of Seattle safer than he could.

Justin, of course, came to his rescue, frowning at the table in general. "So, what? Are we voting on policy now?"

"I'm just giving the commander the lay of the land." Hobbs was smirking a little, proud of himself.

Collins spoke up. "We need to be seen as part of this community. Not an occupying force."

"We are an occupying force," Lambert corrected her.

"Perhaps," Hobbs offered, "if the commander spent more time out in the field …"

More time? Major thought. He already spent considerably more than Chase Graves had.

Justin, again, made his point for him. "Maybe you and the commander should compare bullet scars, Hobbs."

"So, we should just kill them with kindness, these, uh, Dead Enders?" Lambert asked.

Major decided it was time for him to speak up. "I'm not asking you to hand out flowers. I'm saying we will hold ourselves to higher standards."

Diaz, who had been silent up till now, burst out, "Screw standards! Those soldiers were my friends!" He got out of his seat, leaning across the table toward Major. "Do you even know their names?"

Justin stood up between them. "You are out of line, Sergeant Major."

"Justin." There was no need to escalate, or even to meet them at that level. Not now.

Diaz quieted and retook his seat. Justin looked at Major, who nodded slightly, and then sat down again himself.

Quietly, Major said, "Adrian Flores moved here from Tallahassee when he was seventeen. Never missed an FSU football game. Danny Cozza was a local. Dad runs a fishing charter. Heather Schooley was from Olympia. Worshipped Sleater-Kinney." He was silent a moment, thinking about the three of them. Flores's slow drawl. Cozza's endless fishing stories. Schooley's off-key singing. "We will not rest until we have found those responsible for this attack. But let's keep in mind, there are half a million humans in Seattle, and ten thousand of us. If they decide that we only have zombie interests at heart, this city will collapse."

He waited to see if there was going to be any more complaining, any more attempts to blame on him their inability to get the answers Fillmore Graves needed, but there was none.

Major stood up. "Dismissed," he said crisply, and he watched them file out of the room.

Collins understood; he wasn't worried about her. Diaz's issues had been put to rest by Major's demonstration that he knew Fillmore Graves was made up of people, people who mattered. But Hobbs was a long-standing malcontent who was positioning himself more and more openly in opposition to Major, and Lambert was an arrogant jackass who thought he was smarter than everyone else in the room combined.

"You should keep an eye on those two," Justin said darkly, his eyes on them as well as they headed for the elevators outside the glass walls of the office.

"Both eyes," Major agreed. "Hobbs doesn't want this job; he just wants to be free to bitch about whoever has it. But Lambert? I wouldn't put it past him to be building up a coup attempt."

"Already? You just took the job."

"That's why I'm vulnerable. I haven't had a chance to establish that any of my ideas work."

"Streets are quieter than they've been since Z-Day."

Major shook his head. "I'm not sure they think that's a good thing. Chaos is good for some people."

"I'm glad you're not one of them."

"Yeah. Me, too."

Although he couldn't help but wonder what he was missing while he tried to create order in the midst of everyone else's chaos.