The sun was setting over the trees to the west, looking like an infected boil, a bloated, red sore in the sky bleeding deep red stratus clouds over the horizon, by the time the convoy pulled into their temporary encampment.

Frank had passed out at some point, still fighting off last night's binge. All the excitement of the day had given him a temporary lucidity, but his body was still in the throes of having to endure many, many hours of abuse.

The drive had been slow going at points. Often, the cavalcade would have to delicately traverse shoulders and center medians in order to avoid abandoned vehicles or debris. Occasionally they'd come upon a hoard of the rotting undead as they ambled clumsily looking for fresh brains on which to feast. Depending on the number of zombies, they'd either plow through or go around to avoid gumming up the underside of the trucks.

There were a few additional stops along the way—pee breaks for Emily and Tristen. The military folk had been fairly accommodating to that end. No sour faces or muffled comments. They'd let the two out to relieve themselves somewhere off the side of the road and even had the decency to avert their eyes when Emily colorfully berated them for being degenerate perverts in uniform.

Frank slept through most of the stops, much to the protest of his bladder which would violently remind him of his negligence when he'd accidentally regain consciousness.

Emily was constantly talking as Frank drifted in and out, prattling on about conspiracy theories, asking Tristen about his personal history and making elaborate plans to destroy Roy. She brimmed with a palpable hatred for the zombie leader as she hoped aloud that the soldiers hadn't done her dirty work for her.

Frank nodded and occasionally threw in a tepid confirmation to accompany whatever she was railing about but really, spent most of the time drifting in and out of his reoccurring dream. Visions of planes crashing, Jane as a 60s era flight attendant in a short dress and go-go boots, Emily cursing at the other passengers, the kids in their masks dancing up and down the aisles. It all had the feeling of an old Hollywood number—something grand and meticulously choreographed.

Bunch of fucked up shit.

"Holy shit. This isn't a camp, it's a fortress," Emily said as Frank was bumped awake by the truck crossing a rattling cattle grate. The vibrations rocked his guts and for a second, he thought he might puke again.

And a little pee came out.

"Are you fucking seeing this?" Emily asked, slapping Frank's knee, pulling Tristen up to a sitting position.

Frank rubbed his eyes and blinked away the hangover-haze.

Outside the back of the truck in the waning light, Frank could see deep green tents—temporary shelters and trailers nestled between the tall pines. They had pulled off the paved roads and traveled deep into the woods. Small up-lit signs had been erected near orderly gravel paths leading to each structure and tent. Barracks, Mess, Medical, etc. There were a few soldiers walking around the camp, armed and alert. All looking indistinguishable in their standard issue fatigues. As if to mark their arrival, enormous sodium vapor area lights began to click on around the perimeter.

"This is what I imagined would be set up all over the place after this whole thing started," Emily said. "Nice to know someone still gives a shit. I mean, they've even got the whole place fenced in—fortified with guards and towers and shit—those parking lot lights on a timer. I may hate these army fucks in the general sense but this whole situation is pretty sweet." Her tentative smile dissolved. "I'm not saying I trust these assholes, mind you."

"Yeah. Wow," Frank groaned, rubbing his temples and peering at the camp as it wobbled by. The place looked pretty well established. They rolled past a massive humming generator which was presumably providing the electricity. It all felt so foreign and civilized.

Tristen awkwardly reached to remove his mask out of habit and ended up pawing his face for a second before reaching in his pocket and sucking on his inhaler. "This looks like a movie. It's been so long since I've seen this many... people. It doesn't feel real." He paused, glancing at Frank and Emily. "Does my voice... uh... do I sound super, you know, weird?"

"Less muffled," Frank said.

"It's a vast improvement," Emily agreed. "But yes. You do sound weird."

The trucks ground to a halt in front of a massive green tent. The little sign by the walkway said, Processing. Even through the pounding headache, Frank was starting to feel hopeful. Though it had to contend with all the biting cynicism, misplaced anger and pain, the feeling fought its way through, and Frank felt the corners of his mouth stretch into a weak smile.

Dahmer appeared at the rear hatch of the truck. "Just hang tight a few minutes, we're going to get settled and get your paperwork started." He patted the truck two times in quick succession. "Be right back."

"Are you really okay with this?" Emily asked Frank, legitimately curious.

"Yeah. I think so. I mean... this could be... good."

"I don't know. I still have a feeling they've got some kind of underhanded plan in the works. Like they're going to harvest our organs or something. Like that fucking Dahmer guy. He seems unhinged."

"Really? He seems pretty accommodating to me. Maybe even concerned for our wellbeing. If they were up to something sinister, why would they bring us back to their camp? Wouldn't they have just killed us back at the asthma place? I mean, now that we're here, they're going to have to feed and shelter us and whatnot. Can't imagine they'd want to deplete their recourses. Maybe they just want to save us. Maybe they genuinely care about humanity."

"They did get us away from those zombies," Tristen added, the horror of the memory briefly flashing across his eyes.

"No way. They're all slimy. Something about them I just don't like. I feel like they're just pretending. Like a bunch of kids with toy guns playing war. No offence, Tristen."

Tristen's eyes narrowed, confusedly. "None... taken?"

"Pretty astute observation from a 16-year-old," Frank said.

"Jesus... you're obsessed. Anyway, I'm actually 19. I just look young. But to see the look on your face when you thought you'd had sex with a minor was... priceless. You know... now's the time if you're into that whole pedophilia situation. A whole lot less chances of getting caught these days."

"What? No, I'm not into young girls."

Emily glanced at Tristen then back to Frank.

"Or boys," he confirmed.

"Well," Emily leaned back. "You may not currently be into a young girl, but you were last night. Literally into a young girl."

"A 19-year-old!"

"So, you admit it happened!" She beamed.

"If it was with a 19-year-old, then it wouldn't matter," Frank reasoned.

"It might have mattered to me. Like on an emotional level. If we'd done it. Which we didn't." She paused. "Or did we?"

"Relentless."

"Or am I 17? So hard to remember." Emily coyly touched her lower lip and pulled it down just a touch, giving Frank the sultry eye treatment.

"Wait, were you saying that I'm just a kid?" Tristen was still mulling over the playing war comment.

"It took a while, but you got there. Good job, kiddo," Emily smiled, patting his knee affectionately.

"I'm almost 17," Tristen said, defensively.

"Like me!" Emily looked at Frank with a wide grin.

Frank just shook his head but couldn't help cracking a smile.

"I... I thought you just said..." Tristen was pointing at Emily.

"Okay honey, I'm just fucking with Frank, try to keep up."

"She's pure evil," Frank said. "I'd keep my distance if I were you."

"And you guys... had sex?"

"No," Frank said at the exact second Emily said, "Maybe."

Tristen's perpetual look of confusion deepened. His mouth hung open as he tried to process the conversation. There was literally a moment when the only sound was that of the evening crickets chirping.

"And if you play your cards right," Emily said, pushing Tristen's gaping mouth shut with a delicate finger on his chin, "you could be my next maybe."

"You clearly derive way too much pleasure torturing men," Frank said.

Emily's eyes turned steely. "Well... men are evil. They did all this to the world," she gestured grandly. "They destroy everything they touch. It was definitely a man that caused this whole situation. They're fucking walking bags of assholes and I won't be satisfied until every last one of them is dead." She looked over at Frank and Tristen. "Present company excluded," she added with a demure nod.

"Why thank you," Frank bowed.

He couldn't blame her for her deep-rooted suspicions of these military folk—and men in general. She'd clearly had to deal with some horrendous situations at the hands of seemingly patriotic and pious men. That might have been why she'd developed such a fast and easy connection with Jane. She needed feminine support from a peer—not the blind eye and pathetic passivity of the women who'd stood by as she was routinely raped and abused.

"Okay, guys. We're ready for you," Captain Dahmer said as he unlatched the rear hatch to let the three out.

"You guys have any booze?" Frank asked Dahmer as he stretched his cramped legs and felt a torrent of urine press on his abdomen. "And a bathroom."

"I'm right there with ya," Dahmer grinned, patting Frank on the back. "On both counts. I'm not sure how people get by without a little liquid encouragement these days. I keep a flask on me at all times." He patted his back pocket.

"That's a wonderful idea," Frank said.

"But for now, we've got to process and catalogue. So, I'm going to need all of you to go into that tent right there and see Sargent Gacy. He'll let you know what's going to happen next. And the latrine is just around the side there. It's got a battery-operated light just inside the door."

Frank thanked Dahmer and waited at the entrance to the tent with Tristen and Emily. Under the sterile white illumination issuing from the countless flood lights, he spotted the other truck which he assumed had been transporting the zombies. It was parked a little way ahead near another, smaller tent. Frank squinted and read the word, Holding on the sign.

"What are they doing with the zombies?" Frank shouted back to Dahmer as he stepped forward to the Processing tent, guided by flanking soldiers who dully waved their arms ushering the new arrivals.

"Examination," Dahmer shouted back.

Then Frank peeled off to relieve his bladder.

"Any more than three shakes and you're playing with yourself," Emily shouted after him as she and Tristen entered the tent.