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“No.” I’m a decent sprinter and I can gun a motorcycle from zero to suicidal in less than ten seconds, but I’m not a climber. I nearly washed out of the physical section of my licensing exams, twice, thanks to my lack of upper-body strength. If I was lucky, I’d be able to cling to the fence until the zombies grabbing my ankles hauled me down and ate me. If I wasn’t, I’d just fall.

The speaker crackled. “There’s a group of guards on the way,” Buffy said. “They’re having some problems, but they said they’d be there as fast as they could.”

“Hope it’s fast enough,” I said. I started backing up toward Shaun and the fence. My father has always had just one piece of advice about zombies and ammunition, one he’s drilled into my head enough times that it’s managed to stick: When you have one bullet left and there’s no visible way out of the shit you’re standing in, save it for yourself. It’s better than the alternative.

Two more crossbow bolts whizzed by, and two more zombies fell, leaving just one to shamble toward us, still moaning. There were no answering moans, either from the sides or from behind. Shaun’s pack was down, and there didn’t seem to be any further reinforcements coming.

“Fire any time now, Shaun,” I said tightly.

“Not until I know that there aren’t more coming,” he said.

I kept backing up until I hit the fence and stopped, keeping my gun in front of me, muzzle aimed toward the shambler. Between the two of us, we had the ammo to take it down… as long as that was all there was. “It figures,” I said.

“What figures?”

“We finally crack the global top five, so of course we’re going to get eaten by zombies that same night.”

Shaun’s laughter managed to be bitter and amused at the same time. “Are you ever not a pessimist?”

“Sometimes. But then I wake up.” The zombie was continuing to advance, moaning as it came. There were no answering moans. “I think it’s alone.”

“So shoot, genius, and we’ll see.”

“I may as well.” I steadied my hands, lining up on the zombie’s forehead. “If it eats me, I hope you’re next.”

“Always gotta go first, don’t you?”

“You know it.” I fired.

My shot whizzed past the zombie, punching a barely visible hole in the nearest RV. Still moaning, the zombie raised its arms in the classic “embracing” gesture of the undead, moving slightly faster now. No one’s ever figured out how the zombies can tell when their victims are unarmed, but they manage somehow.

“Shaun…”

“We have time.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. The zombie was still twelve feet away, well out of attack range, but it was closing on us. “I hate you.”

“It’s mutual,” Shaun said. I risked a glance up at him, and saw that he was aiming for the zombie’s forehead, waiting for the perfect shot. One bolt, one chance. Maybe that sounds like the odds he’d been playing before, but it wasn’t. It’s easier to get a bull’s-eye when there’s nothing actually at risk.

“Just so we’re clear,” I said, and closed my eyes.

The gunfire came from two directions at the same time. I opened my eyes to see the last zombie mowed down by a hail of chain-fed bullets being fired by no fewer than four of the guards, two closing on either side. Above me, Shaun gave a loud war whoop.

“The cavalry has arrived!”

“God bless the cavalry,” I muttered.

Our tense stand-off was over in a matter of seconds. I ignored the fallen camera as I pushed away from the fence and strode toward the nearest pair of guards. The camera was a write-off. Buffy had the footage downloaded by now, and they were going to insist on destroying the damn thing anyway, since it had almost certainly been spattered with blood when the guards started firing. The electronics were too delicate to survive a full decontamination. That sort of thing is why we keep our insurance paid up.

Steve was there, scowling at the fallen infected like he was challenging them to get up and let him kill them again. Sorry, Steve, the virus only reanimates a host once. His partner was a few feet away, scanning the fence. It wasn’t Tyrone. I paused, starting to get the vaguest idea of how the zombies had broken through the fence.

Ideas never drew ratings without confirmation. “What happened?”

“Not now, Georgia,” said Steve, with a tight shake of his head. “Just… not now.”

I considered pressing the matter. If this were a normal zombie attack, one of the hit-and-run outbreaks that can happen anywhere, I probably would have. It’s always best to question the survivors before they can start deluding themselves about the reality of what they just went through. After the adrenaline fades, half the people who survive a zombie attack turn into heroes, having gunned down a thousand zombies with nothing but a .22 and a bucket of guts, while the other half deny that they were ever close enough to the undead to be in any actual danger. If you want the real story, you have to get it fast.

But Steve was a professional bodyguard, and that made him less likely than most men to lie to himself. Factor in the fact that unless he left the convoy after the paperwork was completed, I’d have to continue interacting with him on a regular basis, and getting the scoop wasn’t worth alienating the large, potentially violent man who managed a lot of my blood tests. Shaking my head, I took a step back.

“Sure, Steve,” I said. “Just let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

There was a clatter as Shaun jumped down from the fence. I didn’t turn, and he trotted to a stop beside me, eyes narrowing as he took note of the attending guards. “Christ, Steve, where’s Tyrone?” he said.

Shaun has done more to get close to the guards than I have. A little friendliness is unavoidable, but he’d actually gotten out there and made friends. Maybe that’s why Steve answered his question with a quiet, “Conversion was confirmed at twenty-two hundred hours, twenty-seven minutes. Tracy put him down, but not before he was able to pass on the infection.”

Shaun whistled, long and low. “How many down?”

“Four casualties from the convoy and an as-yet-undetermined number of locals. The senator and his aides are being moved to a secure location. If you’ll gather your things and collect Miss Meissonier, we’ll take the three of you to decontamination before relocating you as well.”

“Are all the zombies down?” I asked.

Steve frowned at me. “Miss Mason?”

“The zombies. Shaun and I just eliminated the better part of two packs,” ignoring the part where one of us nearly got eaten in the process, “and you seem to have handled the mess at the gates. Are all the zombies down?”

“Channels are showing a negative on infected activity within the area.”

“Channels are not a one hundred percent guarantee,” I said, keeping my tone reasonable. “You’re down hands, and we’ve already been in primary contact, which means we’ll need the same decon you will. Why not let Shaun and me stay and help? We’re licensed, and if you have ammo, we’re armed. Remove Buffy, but let us stay.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances before looking to Steve. Whatever he said would go. Steve frowned down at the bodies littering the tarmac, and finally said, “I hope you both understand that I won’t hesitate to shoot either one of you.”

“We wouldn’t go out with you if we thought you’d hesitate,” said Shaun. He held up his crossbow. “Anybody got bolts for this thing?”

* * *

Cleanup is the worst thing about a small-scale outbreak. For many people, this part of a rising is pretty much invisible. Anyone without a hazard license is confined outside the contaminated zones until the burials, burnings, and sterilizations are done. When the cordons come up, life goes back to normal, and this sort of thing is routine enough that, unless you know the signs, you could even fail to realize that there was an incident. We’ve had a lot of practice at cover-ups.