He went through the ritual of filling the syringe with the correct amount of the antidote and then positioned the needle above the vein in the crook of his arm. It tore a tiny hole and blood trickled freely as he fished the needle around inside his arm to ensure that he made it into the vein. He smirked when he finally felt the gentle pressure as the metal found its way home. You’d think that as many times over the years that I’ve given myself an IV that I’d be better at this, he mused.

  Once the 20cc’s of antidote was injected, he broke down the needle and hastily put everything in his pack before shrugging back into the sharksuit. If he passed out, he wanted to ensure that he was fully protected in as secure of a location as possible. The bite that he’d sustained from Rachel had been a nasty gash which allowed the A-Coll virus to enter his bloodstream rapidly. This injury was just a few minor scratches with zombie drool smeared across them, so the onset of the virus’ effects in his system should, in theory, be slower. But it would be just as deadly in the endgame.

  He closed his eyes to rest for just a moment. He was so tired and frankly, too old for this type of non-stop movement and lack of sleep. Only a few more days and he’d complete the mission…

  *****

  Kestrel awoke with a jerk that caused the chain links on the sharksuit to tinkle like a wind chime. He’d been dreaming about Allyson’s death again and his mind’s insistence that she’d gone on the mission because he’d told her not to. But that was the past; there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, he didn’t even know if it was true. The aches and pains in his body caused his mind to focus quickly on the present. He was still alive and still inside the broom closet. The antidote had worked as advertised.

  He checked his watch. He’d been asleep for about thirty-five minutes and didn’t feel any worse for wear, so he must have taken the antidote soon enough to not become infected—or the bacteria was slowly spreading through his body and he wouldn’t be able to open his mouth in a couple of days. At least that would give him time to kill the Type One before he became ill in the darkness of the tunnels under the city.

  He stood up and shouldered his backpack. The operator had decided that when he went to check the upper levels he’d leave it at the base of the stairs so he wouldn’t get tangled up with it in a confined space. He’d personally seen the zombies in Baltimore pile themselves up on top of each other to reach higher levels, so he knew that there was a way for the creatures to go up to different floors. The Type Ones, however, were drastically different; they could still climb stairs.

  During his discussions with Hank Dawson, Kestrel learned that in their first engagement with all of the Type Ones at the Pentagon, the creatures had clearly negotiated the stairs somehow and went to the upper levels so they could throw things at the combined Army Delta and Naval DEVGRU teams. Hank had also said that when they fought the final large group of them at the National Harbor, several of the creatures had somehow scaled the building and watched them from the rafters of the destroyed convention center.

  Hank also told him that they used weapons like clubs and developed rudimentary tactics other than a frontal attack to get to the operators. That was only after about a week in their new forms, Kestrel wondered how much the remaining Type Ones had changed and evolved over the course of six years. That was a lot of time to become better at just about everything.

  What am I doing? he thought suddenly. I should leave. The Chosen are too dangerous; they’ll kill me if I don’t go back to where I came from.

  It was a thought that came unbidden and was totally out of character for the retired operator. He’d never doubted his abilities before and had faced some major trials and tribulations over the years. “What the fuck is wrong with you, old man?” he asked himself as he began untying the rope from the doorknob.

  I’m scared. The Chosen are too powerful for me to defeat. I’ll never leave the home city alive.

  Kestrel squeezed his eyes shut and used the palm of his hand to hit himself in the side of the head. “What the hell is a ‘Chosen’?” he asked out loud once again. “Man, I must be losing it; I’m already talking to myself.”

  He coiled the rope and stuffed it in the cargo pocket of his pants. He briefly wondered why he’d put the rope in his pocket instead of in the backpack; he’d never carried a rope in his pocket before. His subconscious must have determined that if he left the pack at the stairs, maybe he’d need it. It was another difference to his standard operating procedure. Something was going on upstairs in his head. Was that a side effect of the antidote that he’d slept through the last time?

  When he opened the door, he was surprised by how many more creatures had wandered in the building. There were easily another fifty of them. “Shoulda locked the front door,” he muttered as he brought up his SCAR and started clearing the room methodically.

  They’re just going to keep coming. I’m almost out of… bullets. I need to run away before more of them arrive!

  Kestrel knew that something was wrong. He’d never thought about retreating before today. In fact, he’d decided that this would be a one-way trip since everything important had already been taken away from him. What’s a ‘Chosen’ and why did I think of this place as the ‘home city’? Sure he’d spent a lot of time in the DC area because that’s where the Agency’s headquarters were, but he never would have considered DC his home before those random thoughts a few moments before. The fact that he had to search for the word ‘bullet’ was a dead giveaway to the man who’d spent thirty-one years of his life intimately involved with guns and ammunition.

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with asshole?” he shouted into the building. His voice echoed for a full second before dying away. “I. Am. The. Kestrel!” he said through gritted teeth. “Get out of my head!”

  You are nothing, human.

  “So, you are in my head then,” he answered with a smirk as he swapped magazines and walked rapidly toward the first set of stairs that he saw. From the outside, the building appeared to have four towers—one on each corner—and then two more in the front where he’d entered. He had no clue how many of those actually had floors and how many were just decorative, though.

  Yes, I am inside your head. I can make you kill yourself with a simple thought. Leave the home city now.

  “I don’t think so,” Kestrel replied. He began climbing the stairs until he came to a landing in front of a large wooden door. While he’d been asleep, it had become too dark to see properly so he turned on the infrared light mounted to his rifle and flipped down the night vision goggles over his eyes. The civilian version of the device that he owned wasn’t nearly as good as the four-tubed panoramic night vision device that he’d gotten used to using in the Agency because it only illuminated what was directly in front of him instead of the wider angle of view, but it was still a drastic improvement over the naked eye.

  He kicked the door open and rushed into the room, clearing the space quickly and then he went back to the stairs. As he was descending, he said, “If you could have made me harm myself or control me, then you would have stopped me long before I cleared out your personal bodyguard. I think that you’re just hiding somewhere, scared of me. You know that the day of your death has come.”

  Stupid human. The Master of the Chosen is not scared.

  Kestrel moved to another set of stairs and remembered to drop his backpack this time. He’d gotten flustered before and deviated from his plan. “What are the Chosen anyways?”

  It is the Master and the brethren. We are so much more than you humans will ever be.

  Kestrel cleared his mind and said, “The Chosen are a dying breed. Once I kill you, everything is over for your army.”

  The Followers will destroy all of you. They are spread from the great water to the mountains.

  “Your Followers aren’t doing so well.” Another room cleared, he continued up the stairs to the third level. He didn’t like talking, it was distracting to him as he tried to search, but he needed to keep this thing talking so he could trick it into giving him the information that he needed.

  We are as numerous as the stars.

  “And getting your ass kicked every step of the way. The Followers don’t have any leadership and are getting killed by the thousands in each fight.”

  You lie! The Leader reports that they continue to advance and create more Followers every day.

  “Your ‘Leader’? Is that some type of subordinate?”

  The Leader is Chosen, yes.

  The third level was clear, so he made his way down the stairs.

  “Well, the Leader is lying to you. He’s not doing as well as he says he is.” Kestrel stopped on the stairwell and concentrated on clearing his mind of any thoughts. “Your Army is almost totally destroyed up north. Do you have another Chosen to take his place?”

  The Leader and the Master are the last of the Chosen.

  Kestrel grinned like he’d just stolen money from the offering plate. “Just the two of you, huh? What happens when you die?”

  The Master will not die. You will die, human!

  A scraping sound below him on the stairs made Kestrel stare down the rifle’s combat optic. Within seconds, a large zombie appeared around the turn in the staircase. It climbed down the stairs awkwardly toward him. He laughed out loud and dropped the SCAR on its sling down to his side. He drew his knife and waited as the lumbering giant focused on lifting its leg and then setting the foot down on the next step.

  When it was three steps away from him, Kestrel reversed the grip on the knife and stepped down two steps. He plunged the full nine inches of metal through the top of the creature’s skull into its brain. The zombie started to fall backward and its weight pulled Kestrel forward. He lost his balance and fell down on top of it before rolling several more steps, coming to rest on the hallway’s floor.

  “Ugh, fuck. That sucked.”

  Your body fails you.

  “Damn. I was hoping that was you back there on the stairs.”

  Foolish human. You cannot kill the Master.

  He heaved himself to his feet and stumbled up the stairs to retrieve the knife. “Then come on out and let’s test your theory.”

  The Master does not take orders. Leave the home city, now!

  “I’ve got some unfinished business first,” Kestrel replied. “So, where is the Leader?”

  With the Followers.

  “Up north or here?”

  I don’t understand what ‘north’ is. Kestrel grinned to himself once again, the Master was clearly becoming flustered and beginning to become desperate.

  He began walking toward one of the corners of the building and then stopped. The Master had obviously sent a special zombie after him, one that retained enough muscle memory to know how to climb stairs, even if it was a pathetic approximation of human abilities. It had gotten to him quickly—in zombie terms—so it hadn’t come from the corner towers.

  His eyes drifted toward the back of the building. He could see a wide set of steps leading upwards. That was where the Master stayed.

  The operator wiped the gore from his knife’s blade on his pants leg and sheathed it. Then he reached down and grasped the pistol grip of the SCAR, pulling it up into the crook of his shoulder and limped toward the back stairwell.

  “I’m coming for you, you bastard.”

  The Master is ready for you.

  ****

  01 November, 1613 hrs local

  Intermediate Staging Point Harrisburg

  Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

  “So, you’re heading to Cleveland tonight, then?” Sergeant Lamar asked Shawn.

  “Yeah. My little Annie was evacuated from Jersey to Cleveland.”

  “I wish you’d change your mind. We need good men like you to fight against the zombies.”

  Shawn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I just can’t do it anymore. More times than I care to remember Maria and I almost died. I don’t want Annie to be an orphan.”

  The sergeant nodded understandingly. “I get it, man. You’ve been through a lot. We’d love to keep you, but it’s time for you to see to your little girl. What about Maria, do you know what she’s planning to do?”

  “We’re not a couple or anything,” Shawn replied. He didn’t notice Kevin’s eyebrows shoot up in warning. “I mean, it would be great if she wanted to come along with me, but I can’t speak for her—”

  Shawn was startled as a hand grasped his arm and turned him around. Before he knew what was happening, a pair of full lips descended on his. He was dimly aware of Maria’s dark olive complexion and the smell of freshly scrubbed skin before he lost himself in her kiss.

  When they separated, he stared intently into her hazel eyes. “I’m coming with you, Shawn,” Maria stated. “There’s nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

  “Uh… Um…”

  “Wow, I think that’s the first time that I’ve seen you speechless since we rescued your ass this morning, Mr. Ford!” Lisa Vaccaro said from behind Maria. She’d obviously walked up with the woman and wore a clean uniform compared to the one that she’d worn earlier when they were on the mission.

  “Please, it’s Shawn,” he replied with a grin. “It’s cliché to say this, but Mr. Ford was my father.”

  “Okay, Shawn,” Lisa said with a duck of her head. “Our phones are crap, but Maria and I have already exchanged email addresses so we can keep in touch. I hope that you guys make it to Cleveland.”

  “Thanks. I bought a car from one of the townspeople who are fleecing refugees, so hopefully we’ll make it there in a few days. If everyone wasn’t running westward over the mountains, the trip would normally only take six or seven hours, but now? I don’t know. I’m going to shoot northwest for a ways to try and get some distance from the zombie horde since it seems to be following the Army toward the west.”

  Maria slid her arm through his and took a half step closer to him. “We’ll make it, don’t worry,” she said.

  Kevin smiled and glanced at Lisa. Her eyes betrayed the longing she felt for him. “It’s a good plan,” the sergeant said as he questioned his soldier’s look silently.

  “Oh, wow. Are you two seeing each other?” Shawn asked ignorantly with a big grin on his face.

  “What? No! I’m… Um, I’m her squad leader. That’s against the regulations.”

  He felt a slight tug on his shoulder and Maria squeezed his arm closer. “He doesn’t know, Shawn,” she said.

  “Know what?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah, what are you talking about?” Shawn questioned.

  Maria rolled her free hand. “You should tell him, Lisa!”

  The specialist looked back and forth between them and Sergeant Lamar for a moment and then said, “Okay. I was going to tell you tonight anyways, sergeant. I—Maria made a request for me….”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, girl,” Maria exclaimed and pulled her arm from Shawn’s grasp. “As a rescued refugee, we’re authorized to make requests for supplies and stuff from the Army. Well, I asked that Lisa be transferred to a different company so the two of you wouldn’t be in the same command!”

  “You what?” Kevin thundered. “Specialist Vaccaro is the best soldier that I have! She’s the glue that holds those men together. That was absolutely not your call.”

  Maria looked hurt for a second and then set her jaw. “You’re getting another qualified soldier of the same rank for her. I did it for you, idiot.”

  “What do you mean that you did it for me?” he asked incredulously.

  “I, uh… Sergeant Lamar, Maria and I were talking and I told her about the National Guard’s policy about soldiers in the same organization dating, so she took matters into her own hands.”

  “Dating?”

  “You’re a blockhead, sergeant. I like you,” Lisa stated.

  “Did you forget that I’m an NCO? I can’t date a junior enlisted soldier.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Maria said.

  “Oh, for the love of God! What else did you do,” Kevin asked.

  “Well… Part of the reintegration for the refugees is to identify anyone who went above and beyond to assist you in your rescue. I told the officer about Lisa’s skills with the rifle and how she single-handedly saved Katie’s life. Then he asked me a few more questions….”

  “And?” Kevin’s inquiry sounded more like a demand than a question.

  “He told the commander—a lieutenant colonel is a commander, right? He told the colonel and Lisa is getting promoted to sergeant!”

  Kevin looked over to the specialist. “Yeah, it’s true,” she answered softly.

  “The battalion commander is giving me a battlefield promotion to E-5,” Lisa continued and then looked up at Kevin. “That means we’ll both be NCOs and we won’t be in the same command once the transfer goes through.”

  “I… Well, that changes things, but… You like me?” he asked. Shawn pretended not to notice Kevin’s bright red ears and cheeks.

  Lisa nodded as she bit her lower lip. “So kiss, you two!” Maria said excitedly.

  “We’re in uniform. We can’t,” Lisa said. “But I’d love to see about later tonight.”

  Kevin looked confused and embarrassed all at the same time. Women, man. Nobody understands them, Shawn thought and wrapped his arms around Maria.

  *****

  01 November, 1621 hrs local

  The Castle, Smithsonian Institution Building

  Washington, Dead City

  The hallway echoed loudly as he plodded slowly up the stairs and his feet pounded against every step with a solid thud. The Master knew that he was there anyways. Why try to hide from it? There was only one way out of this situation; he had to face that thing upstairs and kill it.