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When Peyton came back from Washington, the four of them got together for dinner. Only, given that Ravi had missed Peyton only slightly less than an amputee missed their lost leg, it was really more like Ravi and Peyton sneaking off into corners all the time and Major and Liv hanging out.
Not that Major was complaining.
They'd talked over dinner about Major and Peyton's ongoing attempts to convince the government that Seattle's zombies were real people, with lives and rights and full American citizenship, but neither of them were optimistic about it. Major would have preferred to stop thinking about the issue, which was feeling increasingly unsolvable, but Liv didn't want to let the conversation go.
As they sat together on the couch, and Major tried not to think of what they used to do whenever they were alone together on this couch, Liv turned to him, asking, "So, what are the chances you reach an actual agreement with our friends in the US government?"
"Slim." He hoped that by keeping his answer brief, she'd get the message and drop the subject. But then he thought better of it. Everything felt better after he'd talked it over with Liv; her perspective was always valuable. "One of the generals has a daughter stuck here in Seattle. He wants to see her, and we can't find her." And god, hadn't that whole fiasco been just one mess after another. Major wished he had never smuggled her into the city in the first place. "Not good. Hey, we'll still keep trying, but, uh—"
Before Liv could respond, Ravi came in, dropping his voice to announce dramatically, "It's time! Hi, Zombie dropped forty seconds ago."
Peyton's big idea—to make zombies seem relatable by making a web series about them. Major was skeptical that it would get them anywhere, but he sympathized with the underlying truth: At this point, they were all willing to try anything to buy themselves a few more days.
The four of them squeezed onto the couch together. Ravi put a giant bowl of popcorn on the table, and Peyton passed out glasses of wine. Major was willing to bet they were going to need them.
"So, how nervous is the executive producer right now?" he asked Peyton.
"Well, since she's bet her entire career on its success … very." She clicked on the picture. "Okay. Here goes nothing."
And it was actually really funny. All four of them laughed their way through it.
When it was over, Peyton took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. "Maybe it'll help."
"It won't hurt," Liv assured her. "That was really funny and light. It makes zombies seem—"
"Human," Ravi finished.
"That was the hope."
Major reached for Liv's hand, squeezing it. He wanted this to help; all of New Seattle needed it to help. But he was very afraid that it was too little too late.
Still … he wasn't about to say that out loud. Instead, he said, "Yeah, I think it's a winner." And hoped like hell.
The next day was an even more high-pressure sales job. Major and Peyton were making a presentation to the delegation from the US government.
Major was pitching Zombie Island. It had been a good idea once; maybe it could be a good idea again.
He put the photo up on the screen in front of the delegation, beginning to explain the idea. "Zombie Island. A free zombie state, located on a remote island in the Puget Sound. My predecessor, Vivian Stoll, was preparing it for the three hundred zombies she knew existed at the time. Now we're looking to relocate all ten thousand zombies to this—"
"Zombie Island?" One of the generals glared at Major as if he thought it was some kind of joke, when in fact, Major could not have been more serious.
He wasn't about to let himself get sidetracked that easily. "It's ambitious," he agreed, "but we believe this is our best solution. Short of a cure, which we're all working on."
One of the politicians spoke up. "You want me to ask voters to spend their tax dollars on dead people instead of live ones?"
"Senator," the head of the Joint Chiefs admonished.
"He wants you to ask your voters to save the planet," Peyton corrected.
"I understand your concerns. But I believe if we work together in good faith, we can find a way forward toward a more peaceful tomorrow."
Major surveyed the hard faces in front of him. He really didn't think he had reached any of them. And how could he have? If you didn't live with them every day, zombies were movie monsters. Shambling dead things with no feelings, no spark of life. When you did live with them, when you loved them, when you were one, they were … real. Human. All he had to do was somehow convince all these people of that—but if they could look at him, knowing he was a zombie, and still feel as though it would be better if he were dead, how could he talk them into taking any other zombies seriously? Wanting to save their lives?
He was so tired of fighting, so tired of … all of it. He just wanted this to be over, and there was no indication that it ever would be.
Instead, he plastered on a pleasant expression and got started answering the probing, critical, frankly quite insulting questions from these people who had no idea what anyone in New Seattle was going through.