Free Plague Nation by Dana Fredsti

room.
    Nathan made a sound between a snort and a laugh. For variety, I guess.
    “Professor Fraser wasn’t telling me anything she didn’t have to,” he said.
    I marveled at how Simone managed to look down her nose at him despite being shorter by a good half foot. He glowered back at her. I wished they’d just sleep together and get it over with.
    “Captain Smith was one of the first people to show immunity to the virus.”
    “Then why didn’t you tell him the truth about the zombies? It’s not like you kept it a secret from the rest of us after we got chomped.”
    Simone hesitated before she responded.
    “Back then we only recruited people into the Dolofónoitou Zontanóús Nekroús after several years of observation. Paranoia was high—”
    “I’ll say,” Nathan muttered. Simone ignored him.
    “—and secrecy was paramount. Higher authorities than I judged Captain Smith, and deemed him to be a potential security risk because of certain maverick tendencies displayed in previous missions.” She glanced over at Nathan before continuing.
    “Had Captain Smith been less hostile and more cooperative—”
    “In other words, a happy little lab rat.”
    “—we might have learned more at the time. And perhaps eventually recruited him into the organization.”
    “Not likely,” Nathan said.
    “As it was,” Simone continued, “the Army retrieved him. Before we could take any steps, his term of service was up, and he vanished from the military’s radar.”
    Nathan shrugged.
    “No one would tell me the truth. Not much incentive to stick around, and lots of reasons to disappear. So I left—actually a little bit before I was supposed to.” Simone looked irritated that that little revelation. “Did my own research, and figured out what was what.”
    “Couldn’t you have gone to prison for deserting?” I asked.
    “If they’d found me, yeah.” Nathan’s tone implied that it would have been a long shot. From what I’d seen of him, I didn’t think his confidence was misplaced.
    “Why aren’t you in prison now?” I asked. “Is there a statute of limitations for desertion?”
    “Special dispensation for extraordinary circumstances.” Nathan grinned.
    I had enough food for thought to keep me up all night.
    “And now, young lady,” Colonel Paxton said, making me wonder if he could read minds, “you need to get some sleep before tomorrow’s work. Bright and early, you know!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
----
    Morning seemed to come extra early the next day. I had to wonder if Colonel Paxton had set the alarms back.
    Even after two cups of coffee, liberally laced with cream and honey, I was tired, heavy-lidded, and irritable when we pulled up to one of the last places in Redwood Grove where we had to search for zombies—and possible survivors. Back when the swarm had hit, you couldn’t swing a bat without hitting one of the undead. Now we had to go digging. But letting any of them slip through, well, it simply wasn’t an option.
    The Redwood Trailer Heaven trailer park, located past a cul-de-sac at the end of Palm Street, should have been an idyllic location, all nestled in the redwoods. But zombie apocalypse notwithstanding, if there was a contest for the most cliché white trash neighborhood in America, I’d nominate Trailer Heaven in a heartbeat.
    Rows of double-wides sagged on concrete block foundations, shabby and derelict. At least twenty or thirty trailers stretched back into the woods, on either side of a roughly paved road running vertically through the middle, and another bisecting it horizontally. Smaller dirt roads ran parallel in between the rows. Cars— mostly older models—hugged the sides of the trailers, a few under canvas lean-tos, some also on concrete blocks. The ground was littered with trash, including a truly frightening number of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans.
    There was a stiff breeze, and the sound it made in the trees was loud enough to be annoying. Every now and then it would die down, then