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Major made his way slowly down the streets, ducking into the first big box store he found, ignoring the stares of others and hugging the empty aisles until he could cover up his Fillmore Graves gear with a plain gray sweatshirt.
The TV in the store was on, giving voice to Enzo. "Citizens of New Seattle, the free-zombie state of Seattle is now under new command. I assure you, peace and order will soon be at hand."
Grabbing a pair of black gloves off a display next to him, Major stifled a snort. Yeah? Good luck with that, Enzo. No one else—not Major, not Chase Graves, not Vivian Stoll, certainly not Vaughn du Clark—had managed peace and order. He highly doubted whatever hare-brained scheme Enzo had going would work, either.
He plucked a roll of duct tape off a rack and stopped in front of the TV, looking at Enzo, back in uniform. Really, in uniform for the first time, since previously Enzo had always preferred to look like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and a medieval highwayman.
"My predecessor believed in the carrot," Enzo continued, staring seriously into the camera. "We have reached a point at which I believe the stick delivers better results. Humans must put down their weapons. Those who fail to do so will be executed. Those who surrender during battle will be scratched and then starved."
Major turned his back on the TV. Better results. Right. Because oppression and violence always defeated uprisings. No one under the thumb of autocracy ever rose up and overturned their government. Had these people learned nothing from history? Apparently not.
Well, Major had no time to worry about the long-term consequences of the sudden change in leadership. If he didn't hold up his end of the bargain and help Liv and Ravi make the cure, there would be no long-term for the city of Seattle, old or New. The United States government wanted zombies gone; Enzo's new regime would only make them angrier and more likely to act. Unless Major found a way to get into that warehouse and get to the Max Rager by the time Liv and Ravi were back on this side of the wall.
Once he'd paid for his items and left the store, Major walked for a bit, hood up so no one would recognize him, trying to make a plan.
There was nothing for it. He needed an inside person. With the turmoil that had been Fillmore Graves almost from the beginning, the near-constant disagreements among the staff about how to proceed, everyone's loyalties and goals were in question. But he needed to take the risk and trust someone.
The person he kept thinking of was Collins. A soldier's soldier. A trusted friend, a clear-headed advisor. Someone who wanted to see things get done, and with the fewest casualties possible.
So he called her. "Collins, I need you to do something for me."
"You know they want you in the deep freeze."
"And the Dead Enders want me dead. I'd rather not end up like either of them. Look, will you just tell Enzo I want to come in? I want to—I want to turn myself in. I've seen what's going on out there. You'll need every man. I'll … I'll take orders. I just want to fight."
"Major, are you sure about this?"
"As sure as I can be. Collins … I need to get to the Max Rager. I can't explain, not now, but … it's important. For all of us. It's—it's to make a cure. To end this for all of us, before the US government nukes us all off the face of the earth."
There was a pause at the other end, then she said briefly, "I understand," and ended the call.
After a few minutes, a text came in. "Enzo promises you'll be safe."
Right. Because Enzo's promises were worth so much. Major thanked Collins for her help, not bothering to share his skepticism. If she was on his side, she was already skeptical. And if not … then he was screwed beyond anything Enzo might be hiding behind his promise.
Collins met Major, still in his ill-fitting sweatshirt disguise, not that he needed it now, at the door of the facility, and brought him to his office. Now Enzo's office, apparently. Oh, how the world did go round.
A group of soldiers was gathered around the conference table, going over a map.
"Commander."
Enzo looked up, just as Major glanced naturally at Collins, responding to the familiar title. Well, Enzo could have it. Major had never wanted it anyway.
Looking smug, Enzo said, "Ah. Major. I was afraid you would be out there somewhere working against us."
"It's us or them now. I see that." An easy answer to give, unless Enzo wanted to look more deeply into who exactly Major considered "us" and "them". Enzo and his people were no different from the Dead Enders, in Major's book. "Put me to work, Commander."
"Excellent. Lock him in the holding cells."
Major tried not to react. He had half-expected this. It was just not going to be as easy as he'd hoped.
Then Enzo went on, "Once he goes Romero, give him the formula." So. Nothing about this was going to be easy. Major glanced at Collins in distress as Enzo continued, "You will find being of service much easier when you no longer have a choice."
"I was promised I would get to fight."
"Oh, you will fight. And you will be a very dangerous monster indeed." Enzo's eyes were alight with fervor. A true believer.
Major looked at Collins, who turned around and called out, "Ames! You're with me."
Ames had his face covered in bandages. This was new since yesterday. He and Collins took Major by the arms and led him to the elevator.