Zane lashed out and found himself falling... onto the wooden gymnasium floor. His legs were all tangled up in a scratchy blue blanket.

"Wake up, Z! Wake up! You're just having a nightmare!"

Eerily, the gymnasium seemed dimmer, just like in his dream. He blinked. The generators must be running out of juice. Or maybe whoever was running this show had decided that running the lights all night while half the people were sleeping was a big waste of electricity.

"Z? You okay, man?"

Zane sat up and looked at Wilson, who looked like he hadn't been sleeping at all. His friend had dark circles under his eyes and a twitchy look about him.

"I'm fine," Zane said. "Just a dream, like you said."

"Shit. You were freaking me out. It sounded like you were possessed by a velociraptor. I was about to start the whole, 'The power of Christ compels you' bit."

"Sorry." Zane crawled back up to his cot.

"You like that new nickname? Z? It just popped out, but it's got a ring to it. Kind of like World War Z. Although in the book they actually called the zombies 'Zacks.' Eh. I like it."

"Yeah," Zane said, because Wilson seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. He rubbed his eyes, then flopped onto his back.

"So, uh..." Wilson leaned over the empty space between their cots. "Ricky hasn't shown up yet."

Zane yawned.

"Wanna take a walk around? Have a look-see?"

"Why are you talking like a used car salesman? Aren't you tired?"

"On the contrary, my friend. I am wired. I sucked down two of those five-hour energy things just before we went to the hospital. I keep waiting for the crash, but obviously there was no false advertising there. None. Nada. Zip."

Zane closed his eyes. "I get it."

"Seriously, I gotta do something. I've already gone to the bathroom five times and cataloged everyone here in the gym." Wilson pulled out a small notepad and flipped it open.

Every single page was full.

"Not counting the soldiers or anyone who has arrived in the last half hour, there are four hundred and twenty-seven people here. That's crazy. Isn't that crazy?"

"I'm tired."

"No adrenaline rush? No? Zombie apocalypse, and you're tired?"

"Wils, it's like three in the morning. We've watched a bunch of friends die and we've killed two zombies. We're finally in a safe place. So yes, I'm tired, and I want to go to sleep."

Wilson snapped his notebook shut and stuck it into one of the pockets in his pants. "I see." He stood up and adjusted his hat. "I guess that means I'll go look for our friend alone."

As he walked away, Zane flopped over onto his side. "Wait."

"What was that? Did I hear you say something?" Wilson asked, still walking away.

"I'm coming," Zane said. He put his feet on the floor.

"Oh, did you say you'd catch up? What?"

Groaning, Zane got to his feet and shuffled after his friend.

"Are you planning to just walk on out of here? Are they letting people roam around the school?"

Wilson broke stride for a moment to elbow Zane in what was a surprisingly sensitive part of his stomach. "Keep it on the down low, moron," Wilson hissed, then resumed his nonchalance. "Nah. We're just going to the bathroom."

Zane lifted his shirt and looked at his stomach. He'd gotten bruised there somehow. The last few hours had been crazy, but he really didn't remember getting hit in the stomach. He pulled his shirt down as they approached the guards by the locker room entrance.

"You again?" said the one on the left.

"Seriously, kid, you must have the world's smallest bladder," said the one on the right.

Wilson threw up his hands. "Hey, hey, guys, this time I don't have to go! I'm just accompanying my friend here." He jerked a thumb at Zane. "He's a little nervous about being here."

"He doesn't look nervous to me," said the soldier on the left.

"He doesn't look like he has to go to the bathroom, either," said the soldier on the right.

Zane's sleepy brain finally relayed the hints Wilson was dropping and he crossed his legs. "I have to go really bad," he said.

"And you think your little friend here is going to protect you?" asked the one on the left.

"Or maybe you just want some alone time with your boyfriend?" suggested the one on the right.

"Hardy har har, very funny," Wilson said. "You don't need to give Z such a hard time. It's the end times. Heck, even I'm a little nervous."

The soldiers considered Wilson, then gave each other a look. "Just go," said the one on the left, looking away.

"Thanks, guys. Hey, we should totally hang out sometime--"

"Just go in already," said the one on the right. "Sheesh."

Wilson and Zane headed into the locker room. Zane went to one of the bathroom stalls.

"What are you doing?" Wilson hissed.

"All that talk of going to the bathroom made me realize I actually had to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, come on. Well, now that you mention it, I have to pee again too."

About one minute later, Zane exited the stall and went to wash his hands.

"Good plan," Wilson said. "They won't be able to hear us over the sound of running water." He turned his faucet on full blast. "Here's the plan. We wash our hands until the soldiers over there aren't looking."

Zane scrubbed at his hands and waited.

The soldiers were watching them wash their hands.

"I think they're suspicious," Zane said to Wilson in a low voice.

"I think you're right."

Scrub, scrub, scrub.

"Still looking at us."

"My fingers are starting to get pruny."

"Maybe we need to create a diversion."

Luckily, just such a diversion happened to come along.

"We've got another busload coming in," crackled a radio.

"Shit," said one of the soldiers. They began moving toward the back entrance. The last soldier to go paused and looked at Zane and Wilson and said, "You boys get back to the gym. You don't want to be here when we do the intake."

"Yes, sir!" Wilson said, snapping his soapy, wet fingers up into a salute.

The soldier quirked an eyebrow, then disappeared past the bank of showers.

"Let's go!" Wilson whispered.

Zane wiped his hands on his jeans as they sneaked past where the soldiers had just been standing. The door to the school hallway was right there, past the plastic sheeting that denoted the decontamination area. They slipped out without any further problems.

"See, while you were sleeping, I was sitting there thinking about how we've got this entire school building, and yet they're cramming everyone in the gym. They must be using the rest of the school for something, right? And since I haven't seen Ricky anywhere, I figure they must have some place they're using for, like, an infirmary or something. A quarantine."

"The nurse's office?" Zane suggested. He wanted to get the hell out of this hallway. It was reminding him too much of his nightmare.

"Good thinking. But first I want to go to my locker."

"What? Why?"

"Because it gives us an excuse for wandering around the school like idiots," Wilson said. "And think about it: the gym is here. The auditorium and cafeteria are in the middle, and my locker is on the other side. If we head down the hallway between the auditorium and cafeteria, we might be able to get a sense of whether they're using those big rooms too. Then we can swing by the front of the school where the nurse's office is, and where I'm sure the military has set up their HQ."

"All right," Zane said.

As they approached the double doors – the same doors that Harmony had appeared through in his dream, Zane found himself falling behind Wilson. But nothing happened. No flickering lights, no zombies.

This hallway was lit only by backup spotlights mounted on each end of the hallway. Wilson stopped and looked at the dim passage and took a deep breath. "You can do this," he said, quietly, as if to himself.

They quickly walked the length of the hallway, pausing when they came to any of the dark doorways that interrupted the walls of lockers on either side. "No lights in the caf," Wilson reported. "I'm going to assume they will use this space for its intended purpose."

Zane's stomach rumbled when he registered the ingrained scent of lunches past. He realized he hadn't really eaten dinner during his disastrous date with Harmony.

Something was still bugging him about that. Harmony had still been able to talk, to carry on a conversation. He tried to compare her with the zombie in the motorized scooter, or the zombie of Brian Erickson. Both of those zombies had been very clearly dead. Neither had said a word – all they'd been able to produce were typical zombie moaning and groaning sounds.

And yet, he had definitely seen Harmony eating his cat. And possibly Coach Thompson's face.

He thought of Harmony out there. If the military managed to get this whole event under control, if the helicopters and tanks swept the streets and pronounced them clear, "everything back to normal, folks!" – would Harmony still be hanging out at Zane's house, waiting to finish watching "The Notebook" with blood and fur on her face? What kind of zombie was she? Was she a zombie, or just some kind of cannibal?

The explosion at the hospital, too – who had done that? Was it the military, attempting to contain the virus? Was it the result of panic and a terrible accident? Now there were zombies on the streets, so the containment didn't work. Must have been an accident.

"I want to check out the auditorium," Wilson whispered.

They had come to the end of the hallway, and to the end of another hallway toward the front of the school. Here was an inconspicuous door marked "Control Booth." Under this label, someone had taped a piece of paper with the words, "TECH CREW ONLY." Wilson pulled open this door.

Inside there were steps going up into darkness. They ascended, and found themselves in a glass booth overlooking the auditorium and stage. "Duck," Wilson said, and crouched down. Zane followed suit, then they both peeked their heads up to have a look at the activity below.

Bright floodlights had been set up on the stage that lit up most of the area below. The seats were filled with soldiers, and more soldiers roamed the aisles and along the sides. They carried black machine gun and were in full gear.

"Holy shit. Look at that!" Wilson said, pointing to the stage, where several commanders stood addressing the group.

It was the white board from the boys' locker room, the one that had Mr. Goodman's football plays on one side, and Wilson's zombie apocalypse training on the other. The side visible to everyone in the auditorium was the zombie side.

"What we're dealing with, here, is like nothing you've been trained for," said an intimidating black man at the front of the stage. His arms and shoulders were bursting out of an olive green suit decorated with medals, and his bald head shone under the bright lights. "As you can see, some clever little shit thinks we're dealing with zombies."

Wilson laughed softly.

"What we are dealing with is unclear. The government has given us free rein to deal with this as we see fit. What we have is an infection. People become infected, and the infection kills them, and then they reanimate. These are not people any longer. They are an enemy force, and we must eradicate this enemy force."

The black man pointed to a stick drawing on the board with an X through its head.

"Thus far, we have found that head shots are the only way to effectively put down the enemy. For safety, we are decapitating the corpses as well. I would not advise using fire, as this illustration suggests. Might be effective, but more likely to get out of control and endanger bystanders and put everyone in danger."

"I can't believe it," Wilson whispered. "They are seriously using my plan. The military is using my plan."

"Just try to remember the little people," Zane said drily.

"...the choppers are mapping out danger zones. We have patrols with tanks and armored vehicles picking up civilians and dealing with the infected.

"Here is what we know about infection: it is believed to spread via body fluids. The enemy is very aggressive and will attempt to bite you. If you are bit, please notify your superior ASAP so we can get you to quarantine. The infection spreads quickly and causes fatality within twenty-four hours. There is no known cure. The important thing to remember is to wear your gear, and avoid getting bit. This is a dangerous mission, people.

"You will be our front lines. Currently our soldiers out there are doing rescues. You are our cleanup crew. We need to hunt out these bastards and destroy them before they infect everyone in southern California. This has the potential to spread very quickly and threaten the entire country. It could go global.

"Our aim is to nip this in the bud before it has a chance to do that. You are going to encounter infected people who look like your grandmother. Like your little brother, like your mom. And you will need to shoot them in the head."

"Holy shit," Wilson squeaked.

"Kill them before they kill us," the commander continued. "Don't hesitate. Ask anyone you encounter to speak. The enemy does not speak. The infected can speak, and these people you will escort to the quarantine. We will move in small groups of four or five at the most. That gives us the most mobility. We will hunt them out and we will triumph. Are you ready to serve your country?"

Hundreds of soldiers yelled in unison "Sir, yes, sir!"

In the din of "Hoo-rah" and barked commands and readying weapons, Zane and Wilson were able to sneak back down the stairs and into the hallway. They made for Wilson's locker, but not before they were spotted.

"Hey! What are you two kids doing out here?" someone yelled, and the next thing Zane knew, he and Wilson were running with the slapping footsteps of more than a few soldiers behind them.

Wilson ducked through the door into the hall where his locker was and immediately ducked down and pulled Zane to the side and in through a door. After shoving Zane to the tile floor, he slammed the door and locked it. The only light in the bathroom came from a narrow window near the ceiling.

They waited, holding their breath, until the running footsteps passed, and stopped, and someone asked, "Which way did they go?" and eventually walked back past the bathroom door.

"Stupid kids," said one voice.

"Their own fault if they get infected," said another.

"That was close," Wilson said.

"Come on, let's just go to your locker and get back. This is crazy. We're going to end up gunned down by a bunch of soldiers told not to ask any questions."

But when they got to Wilson's locker, he pulled out a library book and then said, "I kind of also need to go to the chemistry lab."

"Seriously?"

"This book," Wilson said, holding it up, "has a lot of useful information about how chemicals can be mixed to create explosives."

Zane squinted at the title, Backyard Chemistry: Cool Chemical Reactions, and raised his eyebrows. "And this is from the school library?"

"Yup." Wilson closed his locker and spun the dial. "Let's go."