"Seriously, this is just a misunderstanding," Roy pleaded to the soldier who'd been on the walkie a few minutes earlier. He'd been shoved down to his knees—his wrists bound with tactical zip-ties behind his back. His protestations caused the loose flap of skin at his throat to waggle and drip.

The other zombies were beside him—similarly bound. Jane included.

They were all arguing and half-heartedly struggling against their restraints—more as a show of bravado than an actual attempt to physically challenge the soldiers. They were clearly outmatched.

But Jane was silent.

She was slumped over, defeated, eyeing the carcasses of the gasmask kids that lay a few feet away, emptying out torrents of blood into the soft grass. She'd only glanced up to the helicopter for a second before turning back to find the human shield the zombies had made with the kids getting torn to pieces. Roy was attempting to stop them, pushing and slapping, but evidently, the other zombies panicked at the sight of a squadron of heavily armed military troops and figured this might be their last chance to secure a meal.

It was all over too fast.

By the time Jane raised the gun to her shoulder, she was being forced to the ground by strong gloved hands and had to watch the kid's final moments with a heavy knee in her back.

"There's no need to restrain us, we're willing to cooperate," Roy said. "You just gotta let me explain the situation. You'll see we're the good guys."

"Shut it," said the soldier with the walkie.

"But really, I can explain," Roy's voice warbled. "We're the innocent ones here. She!" he indicated Jane with his head. "She's the enemy. Fucking whore of Babylon."

"Shut it." The soldier said again sounding vaguely robotic, as he and a few of the other men calmly searched the zombies, presumably looking for weapons, cataloguing the extent of injuries.

"Maybe try to shut that gaping hole in the side of you neck too," Jane said, oozing malice. "It looks like you've got a mangled pussy under your chin."

"Fuck you, Jane!" Roy spat.

"Last time. Shut it," the same soldier said.

Roy seemed a little peeved that Jane hadn't gotten the same barking treatment he was receiving. "Why didn't you tell her to shut it? She's pure evil, consorting with the living to lure in innocents—living innocents—so, she can eat their goddamn brains. She's beyond treacherous. A zombie cuck intent on the destruction of mankind. We were trying to stop-"

The soldier walked up to Roy, pulled his sidearm and shoved the barrel in Roy's open mouth. "Say another word," he said passively.

Roy shook his head, the cold steel clacking against his teeth.

"Exactly," the soldier said, replacing his gun as walkie chatter and the heavy fall of boots on the ground swirled around the group. A muddy green military transport vehicle drove up the road to the Center and pulled off into the grass, approaching the zombies and soldiers.

"How're they looking?" the same solider asked one of his ilk.

"Appear to be freshly turned. No serious damage. A missing eye here, a torn-out throat there. But they're all pretty mobile and seem to have some level of cognitive ability," replied one of the soldiers near the zombies.

"Copy that."

"So, what's the plan now?" Jane asked tentatively.

The soldier held up a finger to Jane. He was listening to his earpiece. "Yes sir, copy that." He paused to listen. "All dead. Mobile... but dead. But the female is... interesting." He listened again. "Just a single bullet wound to the shoulder. But for all appearances, she could easily pass for the living." He listened, nodding and looking very serious. "Yes sir."

He walked over to where Jane was kneeling, grabbed her under the armpit and hoisted her to her feet.

"What's the deal?" she asked but a second later, the soldier had pulled out a folding knife, opened it and stabbed Jane just above her protruding hip bone.

"Jesus! What the fuck was that for?" Jane asked, surprised.

The soldier got down on one knee and examined the wound. He spoke into his surveillance mic. "Well... there seems to be some activity." He touched the gash with his gloved hand, opening the wound with two fingers. "Not quite blood... plasma maybe. Definitely wet."

Jane looked down to the laceration on her stomach. It shined a little in the morning light. A little pink rivulet crept down to the hem of her bikini bottoms. Well, that's something, she thought. Maybe it was the spiced rum leaking out. But maybe...

The soldier stood up and shined a bright light into her eyes.

"Hey," Jane squinted and leaned back.

"No sir. Dead as a doornail but... different than the others. Appears to be..." he listened. "Yes sir. And also, though I know it isn't relevant... she's in a bikini." He paused. "Yes sir. Two-piece, string, light blue." He eyed Jane, looking her up and down hungrily as he listened to his earpiece. "Yes sir," he said, suddenly sounding like a total creep-ster.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Jane asked, feeling slightly assaulted.

The soldier turned his attention back to Jane's face, serious again.

"You pee?" he asked.

"What?"

"Urinate. Do you still urinate?"

"Why would that be impor-"

"Do you urinate? Yes or no."

Jane exhaled and wondered how this fact could be useful to the soldier. Was there something they knew that she didn't? "Yes, I pee," she said, though she could only remember having to go the one-time last night.

As the soldier relayed the information into his walkie ("Plumbing still works."), Jane started speculating. She'd noticed when she was in the locker room that it appeared her lip had healed a little. The staple was gone, lost in the throes of their drunken shenanigans. She was leaking watery fluids when cut and she'd felt the urge to go to the bathroom after their drinking binge. These things were connected. They were things usually only associated with the living.

Something was changing. And the soldiers knew it.