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Major's contractor was whining in his ear like a mosquito about how everything wasn't his fault. Since pretty much every buck in New Seattle stopped at Major's desk, or so it felt, Major had very limited sympathy with other people who not only refused to pull their own weight, but then complained about everyone else.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," he snapped finally. "It matters that the backup generators don't work." Power, like everything else, was a precarious issue in New Seattle, and if they lost it, they'd be hard put to get it working again with the decided unsupport of the Federal government.

Before his contractor could reply, his office door opened, and Peyton Charles walked in, followed by a security guard. "Sorry, sir, I asked her to wait." He sounded like Peyton's response to that hadn't been exactly polite.

"My patience expired after my third unreturned phone call," Peyton snapped.

"Stuart, I have to call you back," Major said into the phone before putting it down.

The security guard had backed out of the room, relieved that the acting Mayor was no longer his problem.

In a calmer tone, Peyton said, "We were supposed to help each other, Major. I keep the frightened humans from freaking out, you get your men to behave themselves. That was the deal, right?"

"It was. It was," he agreed. "But you didn't need to come all the way down here to apologize for failing to keep your end of the bargain." If she expected to come in here and intimidate him, she had misjudged New Seattle entirely. Peyton Charles didn't even make the list of the things that scared him these days. What did make that list were line-ups in schools that pretended to be about lice and were really about detecting zombie children, which was what he was pretty sure she was here to talk about. Yes, his men had drawn their weapons on school-children, but also yes, they'd had pretty good reason.

She didn't seem to get that, though. Arms firmly and aggressively folded over her chest, she advanced across the room. "Excuse me? I assume we both agree that parents of seventh graders might be forgiven for losing it when soldiers point M16s at their kids."

"That's what you heard, huh?" And this was the problem. She'd already been mad when she called him; she'd never asked for the full story.

"Yeah, I heard it, I saw the movie. It had some great dialogue in it: Soldier number one, 'These kids look yummy.'"

Major looked up at her, startled. That part had not been in the briefing. "One of my soldiers said the kids look yummy?"

"Delicious. Tasty. Yes, something like that."

"And you've seen this?"

"Yes. One of the kids recorded it on their camera phone." She pulled her phone out of her purse and started tapping on the screen. "Here. I'll send it to you now. Enjoy the show." Peyton walked to the door, but halfway through she came back in. "You know, I'm keeping my end of our bargain. If you're too overwhelmed to return a phone call, maybe you're a little out of your depth."

This time she did walk out, but Major wasn't done. "Hey, Peyton!" he shouted, hurrying after her. "You know why that squad was there? The school was doing a lice check. They do lice checks to identify zombie children. Then, they lock them up away from the other kids like they're lepers."

She stared at him. Apparently there was more to this story than she'd known, too. "They didn't need to pull their guns," she said firmly.

"They leveled their weapons when one of those kids tried to grab one of my men's sidearms."

"The video doesn't show that."

"Maybe you can take my word on it." They went back a long way, the two of them. Right now, they led the two factions that made up the city, but that meant they should trust each other more, not less.

Peyton turned and left without another word. Apparently today was not the day they were going to trust each other.

Major went down to Peyton's office later that day in response to her request, so they could try to reach a détente. She was on the phone when he stuck his head inside the room. "Yeah, well, I'd like to ride a lollipop horse down Gumdrop Mountain, but I keep those expectations to myself." She looked up and saw Major in the doorway and motioned him to come in.

"The difference between us," she went on to the person on the other end of the line, "is that I'm actually representing the rights of every citizen in this city."

Two boys were sitting in her office looking miserable. They turned their heads as Major took a seat next to them at her conference table.

"I don't know why you guys aren't happier," he said softly so as not to disturb her phone call. "It's super fun in here."

"You're Major Lilywhite," one of them said.

"I am."

"I want to join Fillmore Graves."

Major couldn't help seeing Jordan's face. No. No more children soldiers. Not on his watch. "Oh," he said casually, trying not to let the kid see his grief on his face. "You're a little young. Maybe wait a couple of years?"

"I don't want to wait."

"Why is that?"

"I want to start killing humans now." His friend nodded, not looking up.

Peyton was wrapping up her phone call, which kept Major from having to respond. What kind of place were they making for these kids, that killing each other was the future they were looking forward to?

"Major," Peyton said.

"Yeah." He got up, leaving the boys at the table.

"Thanks for coming over."

"I was planning on dropping by anyway. I didn't like how we left things."

"Yeah, me, either," she agreed.

"I've got so much crap raining down on me. I may have let myself think that I was the only one in Seattle who had a tough job. I'm sorry about that."

She smiled, acknowledging the truth of his words. "I'm sorry, too. And you were right about my constituency. They are bald-faced liars. Their lice check was a zombie check. I went down to the school to tear the principal a new one."

"Hell, yeah," the bloodthirsty kid said.

"I witnessed a fight, and this young man here got into it pretty bad with a human student. Raged out. That's why I wanted you to come over here."

"I'm not sure what I can—"

"They're orphaned," Peyton explained.

"Peyton, I can't—"

"Their sister was the Fillmore Graves soldier who was killed. They said you knew her but I didn't know if that was …"

Major stared at the boys over his shoulder. These were Jordan's brothers. He was the reason they were on their own, at the end of the day.

He hunkered down next to the table, looking at the boys. "That means you're Michael. And you're Jalen."

They nodded.

"I knew Jordan very well. She was special to me. She talked about you guys all the time. I am so sorry for your loss."

Michael nodded. "Yeah. So are we."

Major looked up at Peyton, who indicated the corner of her office where they could talk quietly. "There's a youth shelter that takes zombies."

"No. That's no good."

"Agreed. They need someplace safe. Preferably a loving and nurturing environment. Any ideas?"