---Em---

     "Draugr!" I shout over the crackle of gunfire. Too late. Rainer can't hear me over the buzz of his chainsaw as he mows through a cluster of zombies. On such an adrenaline high that he doesn't even notice the draugr until it twists his head right off of his neck. Not that any of us are all that upset to see that sonovabitch bite it, but without anyone to take orders from, the squad starts to fall apart. And the core downtown area is brimming with zombies; we've got nowhere to run.

     Nathan rolls under a minivan and starts squeezing out shot after shot with his Magnum, until the zombies rip him apart. Christine backs herself into a corner and pops herself in the head before the zombies start gnawing through her gut. Zachary attempts to sever his own arm with his machete after getting bit, but it takes him five hacks, after which he passes out from blood loss.

     I rack my brain for a foul enough curse in reaction to their idiocy, but draw a blank. And that's not the only blank I'm drawing. After three hollow clicks, I abandon my firearm. I'm surrounded. To hell with this. I ball my hands into a fist and bash the nearest zombie in the jaw. The head explodes, the rotted bone falling apart amidst the mush of its flesh.

     "Who else wants some?" I take a swing at the next zombie. Scream until my throat is sore. I fight my way over to another dead body—Carlos, I think. Slouched over by a toppled dumpster. "Sorry buddy." I pry the baseball bat out of his cold, dead hands. Not like he's going to need it. "Batter up!" Then I'm hitting homers left and right.

     This gets the draugr's attention. But I'm not about to go down, not like Rainer. My eyes dart all over the place, scouring the collapsed buildings and smashed up pavement for... there. I de-brain a few more zombies to buy me some time. Get a better look around. I count three, no, four of us left.

     "Retreat to the sewers!" I shout, shredding what's left of my vocal cords. And I don't give a damn if they hear me. All I know is that I'm not about to die, not here. I've got to... I get this strange feeling as I fight my way to the sewer entrance. Like I'm forgetting something. Probably going loopy from breathing in all this zombie muck.

     Marshall's first down the manhole. Then Keigan, then Mya, then me. As soon as we're all through, we do what we can to barricade the entrance. Which isn't a hell of a lot. We splash through the sewage until we reach the rendezvous point. Makes me chuckle every time; the stench is more tolerable down here than it is up there.

     Two of Squad B have already reached the rendezvous point: Tristan and some other chick whose name has slipped my mind. My heart stings a little, but then Gail comes bounding over to me. She nearly tackles me into the sewer slush. Our hearts pound against each other as we kiss.

     "That was almost worth it." I grin like an idiot.

     Still clinging to me, she peeks over my shoulder. "Where's Rainer?"

     "Depends. Which part of him?"

     "There's only one part that counts."

     Keigan chuckles. "We all know he never had one of those."

     "Serious time." I say, wriggling free from Gail. Not that I mind the skinship, but I prefer it when it's her skin and not zombie pâté. "Did anyone else notice the draugr?"

     Mya shudders. She folds her gooseflesh-dabbled arms. "How could I not?"

     "What's a draugr?" asks the chick whose name I forgot.

     "Über zombie," Gail explains.

     "What's an über?"

     Keigan snorts. "Something your pretty little head wouldn't understand."

     "Draugar are smart," I say, feeling sorry for the blonde. "Some are more evolved than others. Some can even talk, but that's not something I've seen personally. What's certain is that whenever they attach themselves to a horde of zombies, the horde develops a hive mind. Makes the individual zombies harder to kill."

     "And the draugar themselves ain't no walk in the park," says Gail. "Their combat skills are nothin' to sneeze at."

     Tristan leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Keeping silent. We all know he's a power hungry bastard, so why isn't he stepping up? Instead, he just stares at me. Everyone does. Gail a little more intensely than the others. God, I love it when she does that.

     Fine then, if no one else is going to step up...

     "Those bastards decimated us. I say we slaughter every last one of them."

     "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Mya. If any of these other pathetic sacks of meat would've challenged me, I'd have cut them down to size. But Mya's survived out here longer than any of us. I ought to at least hear her out.

     "What do you mean?"

     "You need to get your priorities straight, that's what I mean."

     Gail flares her nostrils defensively. I wouldn't put it past her to blow someone's brains out for talking down to me. Hell, I wouldn't put it past her to blow my brains out for talking down to her. Nevertheless...

     "My priority is wiping out these walking sacks of rot."

     "Your priority should be staying alive."

     I get this weird flash that makes my head spin. Haven't I heard something like that before? I could swear I have, but... I can't place it. Definitely going loopy. I push the thought to the back of my mind.

     "And survival means killing each and every one of those rotbags," says Marshall. I can always count on him to have my back. Except when he was kissing-up to Rainer, but hell, even Gail didn't have the nerve to stand up to him.

     And he's not wrong. Surviving will get a hell of a lot easier once the undead are just the dead. We're fighting a war here. Confronting the threat head on, so the future generations won't have to. Still, cutting down a horde of zombies is one thing. Throw a draugr into the mix, and we're talking suicide mission.

     "We'll sleep on it," I say.

     Tired and demoralized, we make the trek back to HQ. Marshall reports to the council, and I love him for it. So not in the mood to explain to a bunch of hardasses how Rainer's head was too far up his ass to notice the draugr that did him in. The doors to the main hangar slide open and we stumble inside. I walk past the out-of-order aircraft and into the cramped, chilly barracks. First order of business is to scavenge the medicine cabinet. After popping a couple pills for my splitting headache, I retire to my quarters.

     There's a knock on the door not five minutes later. I groan and get up to unlock it.

     "Miss me?" Gail winks. She's changed into her almost see-through night slip, just to mess with me.

     "Not particularly."

     "Oh come on." Gail loops her arms around my neck. "I know you just want to rip these clothes off me."

     "And I know you won't—"

     There it is again. Rusty nails to my brain. I push her away and go to bury my face in my pillow. What the hell is wrong with me today?

     "Somethin' I said?"

     "No."

     Gail flops down next to me and starts massaging my temples. Doesn't do much for the headache, but her being near is help enough. "You know... I've been thinkin'."

     "What's the occasion?"

     That earns me a jab in the ribcage.

     "What if...?" Gail bites her lip. "I could've lost you today."

     "You didn't. You won't"

     "You can't promise that." She shakes her head. "Look, all I meant was, any one of these days could be our last. And I was thinkin'... it'd be a shame if we died without ever... you know." She kisses me, a melting-into-each-other kind of kiss.

     "So you're saying...?"

     "I am. I love you, Bry. And it ain't like we can get hitched, so we may as well—"

     This time I'm certain my head's about to explode. I roll over and scream into the sweat-stained pillow, my body suffering some serious convulsions. Gail squeezes me tight. I hyperventilate. It's a good ten minutes before I'm calm again.

     "Sweet Jesus, you're shivering. You comin' down with somethin'?"

     "It's not..." I take a deep breath. "You never called me that before."

     Gail frowns. "That's your name, isn't it?"

     "I'd rather you didn't call me that."

     "Why?" Gail raises an eyebrow. "I think it's cute."

     "Cute... great. Just don't call me that, okay?"

     "Well I guess." Gail slides her fingers through mine. "I kinda like having my own little name for ya though."

     "I know, Abby."

     She punches me in the gut. "I told you that in confidence!" She pins me to the bed. Kisses me some more. "Let's see..." She mutters to herself between kisses. "What... should... I... call... you...?" She brushes her fingers against my cheek. "How about Em?"

     This time, we both get the spasms. "What the hell!" She squints at me, rubbing her head, once we've calmed down. "You're contagious!"

     "Where did that come from, anyway? Why Em?" The name sends shivers down my spine.

     "Mon cher. M.C. Em..." Gail shakes her head. "I think we need to get some sleep. Let's try this again tomorrow, 'kay?" She kisses me on the forehead. "Good night, Bry...an."

     She turns out the lights on her way out. I settle into an uneasy slumber, punctuated by images of my squad members being picked apart by zombies. Only there's something else, swimming amidst the growling and gunfire.

     "Bry...?"

     I've heard that voice before. It stirs up an intense rush of emotions. Things Gail has never made me feel. I try to pinpoint the source of the voice.

     "Bry...?"

     "O..." My throat catches. A word, on the tip of my tongue. A name.

     "Bryan!" Keigan pounds on my door. "Get your ass out here!"

     Yawning, I climb out of bed and unlock the door. "What?"

     "Some guy showed up, drenched in zombie blood. Claims he can solve our little draugr problem."

     "That's great," I say, still half-asleep. "Let me know how that turns out in the morning."

     "He says he'll only speak to you."

     "Me?" I rub my face. "Do I know this guy?"

     Keigan shrugs. "Come see for yourself."

     Still drowsy as all hell, I stumble into the main hangar. Two of the council members scowl at me—apparently they aren't all too happy about the stranger's asking for me and not them. I make my way over to the crowd of survivors gathered around the newcomer.

     A man, early twenties. Glasses. Goatee. Amputee. T-shirt.

     "You're him," he says.

     Who am I, exactly? It takes me a good minute to realize he's trying to shake my hand. Does the poor fellow not realize he's missing half an arm?

     "I'm Bryan," I say, shaking his good hand. "And you are?"

     "The name's Topher," he replies. "And I know how to kill a draugr."

Author's Note:

I uh... Um... What?

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