9 hours and 36 min until...

I gulped and smiled back. Then onslaught began again.

“What does it feel like to have your plan be this successful?”

“What changes will you make to the crisis intervention plan?”

“Is it true that this entire event began as a training exercise?”

“Do you believe this was all just a coincidence?”

“Who released the virus?”

“Where did it originate from?”

“Is it true that this was a staged event to give credibility to your program?”

“I...well,” I said and tried to take a deep breath. “I’m not sure about where the virus came from. I’d like to know that too,” I added. “I do want to make changes to the program. We have to think about lots of things.”

“Like what?” someone asked.

What I wanted to say was that E.O.W. Prep was playing with fire and we all know that people who play with fire got burned, but then I remembered that I was thinking of a zombie video game and that E.O.W. Prep had so far been true to their word. They had not released the zombie virus into a defenseless group of people driving home from work, they hadn’t infected schools, or a fairground. They had just pulled the world’s greatest publicity stunt…

E.O.W. Prep had essentially created their own market and in many ways it was brilliant.

I tried to forget the brochure that Cynthia had shown me the first day we met. A hideous prototype that featured my team and me. I tried to erase the candid photos of Jerry in tape bracers, of Daniel crouching down, of our team sitting around our meeting table. Of me clutching onto Luke, trying to keep him alive when I thought the special zombie unit was going to slit his throat open. The caption beneath had read, Will you be ready or left behind?

I wonder where it was now. Probably locked away in some safe, along with my signature on a contract.

I looked out at the crowded room. If they ever found out what I’d done...what we had all done…

What the hell was I supposed to say now? What did Cynthia want me to say?

“Can you give us any details?” someone asked.

“What types of changes can we expect E.O.W. Prep to roll out?”

Ileum leaned into his microphone and the cameras swiveled and fingertips flew across keyboards making delicate tapping noises that could almost be put to music. When he was certain he had everyone’s attention, he began. “Our first priority is for schools and families.”

“That’s right!” I interjected and the reporters smiled at me.

Even though I owed Ileum one, I still felt the heat rise back into my cheeks and wished I’d kept my mouth shut. This was only heading in one direction. There was no way to avoid it. Did he know?

I looked at Ileum.

He leaned back in his chair. Was that a hint of a smile? Was he going to say anything else, or was he setting me up?

I leaned into my microphone, regretting already that I’d spoken up again, “My plan was designed for the everyday person, but that was when it was only a theory.”

“You said it was designed with the everyday person in mind,” someone countered. “How are schools any different?”

A few reporters snickered.

“Yes, but schools, classrooms at least, are different…” I trailed off. How could I explain this without being insensitive?

“Is that how you got stuck on the bridge?”

And there it was--the bridge.

“What can you tell us about that day?”

I looked over at Ileum for...what? Help? For support?

He sighed and looked straight ahead.

I pressed my lips together and leaned into the mic. “Captain,” I began. “Any...um...technical aspects you can share?”

Ileum looked at me. He didn’t glare. He didn’t smile. He didn’t seem to really care one way or another. My chest felt tight. I wrapped my fingers around my ID badge.

He turned his attention to the crowded room, leaned into the mic, and said, “No comment.”

The cameras flashed off and on and off and on.

I tried to blink away the speckled impressions.

Unbidden, unwelcomed the bridge returned for me.