I wake up to blinding fluorescent lights and the stench of death. I blink. Zombie is in the bed next to me. The back of my neck is burning and there are a ridiculous amount of drugs being pumped throughout my body. Zombie notices I'm awake and shifts, turning his body slightly towards me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out but a high-pitched, girly giggle. Too many painkillers.

Zombie grins. "That was adorable. Do it again."

"Fuck you." My head rolls to the side. "What happened?" I expected Dr. Pam, for some reason. Or maybe even Parker. Or Vosche, if he really thinks that we know something that will take him down, which we do.

"Kistner will take out your IV soon," Zombie warns me. I turn back to him. Pale face, sunken cheeks. And those stupid, pretty boy eyes. "Vosche wants to plug us into Wonderland to confirm our story. Don't worry, private. Won't be long before we're back on our feet and out on the field again."

We all knew he would plug us into Wonderland, which is why Zombie needed to be shot and not just me. We needed time. And he's using code. 'Won't be long before we're back on our feet and out on the field again'. We're moving soon. Get ready.

The orderly, a tall, skinny kid with green eyes, starts talking to Zombie likes he knows him. He must be Kistner. He says something about code yellow, an air raid drill. This might make things easier. We can snatch Nugget from the middle of Wright-Patterson instead of searching all of the barracks for the brat. Perfect.

Kistner pulls the drip and Zombie's entire body tenses. For some reason this has me on edge. I don't like watching Zombie get hurt-- Zombie deserves much more than anything that's happened to him. He's been through so much and, yet, he still thinks humanity deserves to live. He's one of the good ones. He doesn't deserve this.

Kistner comes to take out my own and I push myself farther into the bed. "It's okay," Zombie says immediately. "He's taking out the IV, like I told you."

I barely flinch when Kistner pulls out the needle. The second it's gone, my heart starts pounding in time with the dull ache that comes seconds later. Fuck, I forgot about the giant ass bruises on my thighs from flipping over that desk. Fuck, that hurts like a bitch.

"You good?" Zombie can barely lift his head to look at me. I'm not even sure either of us will make it out of this bed. I'm pretty sure Zombie is worried that won't happen, too, because he's staring at me like I'm about to croak over right there and then. Maybe he's right.

"Just a flesh wound." I groan a second later so the lie is useless. He grows restless, muttering something about how I would be the death of him. He's probably not wrong there. He turns to me, nods his head, then looks away and calls for Kistner, who's giving someone a sponge bath in the bed next to me. I didn't even notice until then. The painkillers I'm coming off of are making me delusional. I can barely keep my head up anymore.

"Hey," he shouts. "Hey, Kistner!"

"What is it?" Kistner calls back, clearly annoyed with me. He doesn't like to be interrupted.

"I have to go to the john."

"You're not supposed to get up. You'll tear the sutures."

"Aw, come on, Kistner. The bathroom's right over there."

"Doctor's orders. I'll bring you a bedpan."

Kistner leaves to go get the metal tin. Zombie pulls the covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, facing me. I manage to sit up, face contorted in pain as I try to stop him. "Zombie, stop. You'll hurt yourself."

He sends me a pained smile. "I need to use the bathroom, private. Won't be able to hold it any longer."

I know what he means. We don't have time for this, but the thought of him ripping his stitches and almost dying again scares the living shit out of me. I don't think I can lose the stupid pretty boy. Not now.

He has to wait for a minute. I think I see his eyelids droop, his eyes roll back. But then they're open again and he's hauling himself up on two feet and shuffling to the bathroom. My heart's racing. What if he falls? Hurts himself more? God, I can't even imagine.

His cheeks tinge pink and when I glance down I realize why. The back of his gown is open; he's mooning everyone. I can't help myself. "Don't worry, Sarge. It's a nice ass."

His entire face is red when he ducks behind the bathroom door. I hear the lock click into place. Then Kistner is returning, silver bedpan in hand. He sends me an irritated, angry look. I shrug innocently. I didn't do anything. Kistner knocks on the door. Hard. The sound makes me jump.

"Hey, you in there?"

"I told you I had to go!" Zombie yells.

"And I told you I was bringing a bedpan!"

"Couldn't hold it anymore!"

Kistner glances at me in annoyance. Annoying, isn't he, Kistner? I know. He tries to twist it but it doesn't open. "Unlock this door!"

"Privacy, please!" Idiot.

"I'm going to call security!"

"All right, all right! Like I'm freaking going anywhere!"

Ten seconds later, the door unlocks. Kistner opens it a crack, peaking inside. Zombie must be fine because he doesn't move in any further.

"Satisfied?" Zombie grunts. "Now can you please close the door?"

"I'll be right out here," he promises.

"Good," Zombie says. I wince. The plan is to get rid of the orderly, but if the orderly is Zombie's friend then there's no way that Zombie will kill him. He won't try and tell him everything, will he? Try to get him to join us? Fuck. I should've been the one to take Kistner out. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about it.

A minute later, Zombie is shouting out at him. "Hey, Kistner!"

"What?"

"I'm gonna need your help."

"Define 'help.'"

"Getting up! I can't get off the damned can! I think I might have torn a suture..."

Kistner rips the door open, face red with anger. "I told you." He steps into the room, out of sight. But I can still hear him. "Here, grab my wrists."

And then Zombie, "First can you close that door? There's a pretty girl out there and this is embarrassing."

Kistner closes the door. Silence. My entire body is on fire and every second that ticks by feels like a million years. What if Kistner fights back? Zombie was shot. He's injured and not at his best. If Kistner comes out of there alive, we've already lost. There will be nothing I can do. He'll be dead. I will die. Nugget will have no chance.

He has to make it.

Kistner walks out and my entire body tenses. But then I notice the limp. It's Zombie, wearing Kistner's clothes and walking straight towards me. I'm already swinging my legs over the side of my bed when he grabs my bare thigh to stop me. I look up. His nose and mouth are covered. "What's wrong?"

His cheeks are pink beneath the mask. "Just. . . just be more careful, alright?"

My heart squeezes in my chest. "I'm fine, Zombie. We have to go."

He nods. I'm pulled off the bed and my bare feet land softly on the cold floor. A shiver runs up my spine. My back is killing me slowly. Quite literally. He helps me limp from my bed into the hall. His hand moves to my ass to grip the two flaps. Pro: I'm not mooning anyone. Con: Zombie's hand keeps brushing against my bare ass. It's very distracting.

We have to make it down the hall to the operating room to cut out the implants. According to Zombie, Vosche did mine while I was half awake. I don't remember it at all and that thought scares me. The hall is bustling with nurses but they barely pay any mind to either of us. Code yellow has them all rushing around trying to prepare themselves to bring the patients to the underground bunker. One bleeding private and a young-looking doctor are not going to even bring a second thought.

I see the surgeon before Zombie does and turn on my heel with a dazed expression. I can hear them talking inside, and then the surgeon comes out a second later. He stops in front of me, hand falling to my arm. I stare at him with wide, innocent eyes. Playing the part.

"Are you lost? Who's your orderly?" He asks. He seems nervous. Am I trying to escape?

An irritated sigh comes from behind him. It's Zombie, holding blue rubber gloves in one hand and the other one out for me. "There you are, Peach." He grabs my hand and I shuffle forward slowly, staring off into the distance in a daze. He shakes his head in annoyance. "Sorry, doctor. We just took her off her painkillers. We're still trying to bring her back to reality."

I squeeze his hand tightly. I don't know why I'm scared. Maybe it's because if this surgeon figures out that we're not really who we say we are, we're both dead. Too many flaws with me here. Zombie's going to hate my next idea.

The surgeon claps him on the back. Zombie's entire body tenses but the man flashes a grin. "It's not a problem. And remember," he points his finger at Zombie and winks, "bedpans are a lifesaver."

Zombie helps me shuffle farther into the room, watching as the surgeon goes into the operating theater. He grabs a scalpel with dried blood on it and turns to me with a short frown. "You do me, I'll do you?"

__

I shudder in disgust at the green scrubs on my body. Zombie found them minutes ago and helped me get into them, which was embarrassing enough, so we could both look like doctors. No one would ask any questions about that. I glance back at Zombie who slaps a thick bandage on the back of my neck to hide the bleeding slice in my skin.

"We're splitting up," I tell him. He shakes his head firmly but I'm already explaining my reasoning. "People seem to stare more when we're together. And we can search the barracks faster this way-- meet up in the middle."

"No way," he says, which is exactly what I thought he would say. "That's not happening. We stick together. We stick to the plan."

"Zombie, you and I both know what has to be done," I say, shaking my head. "We need to get this done fast, and splitting up will do that."

"This is crazy-- how would I even find you again?"

"Listen for the sound of gunshots?"

"You don't have a gun."

"I know, Zombie. We meet by the buses, just like the plan. Okay?"

"No." He's shaking his head again. "This is not happening."

"We don't have time to argue," I hiss, glaring at him. "We need to get this done, and we are splitting up, Zombie. No matter what you say."

He's irritated. He knows I'm right but he wishes I wasn't. Sighing, I glance towards the door. "We need to go."

He doesn't seem to care as he steps close to me, cups my cheeks, kisses me. Hard. It's three seconds long, short and sweet, but also full of too many emotions to process right now. And then he's gone, disappearing out the door and down the hall.

This boy will be the fucking death of me.