8 hours and 54 min until...

“If you have to throw up,” Ileum lectured, “do it here.”

He wiped off his jacket and the cold biting air struck me in the face.

We were on the roof!

“What?” I said and blinked at him.

“Here,” he snapped. “Here’s where you throw up. Not in front of them.”

I would like to report that I did not double over and vomit all over the roof. That after being in that garbage truck I had a stomach made of iron. That I was dignified...

But that’s not what happened.

The clamor of voices calling and questioning, the flash of cameras, the memories that rose and fell and rose again, the ridiculous height of this building, churned inside my head and stomach.

So I did what any normal person would do: I threw up.

I was grateful he didn’t try to comfort me, or pat me on the back. He moved away and gave me space, but that could be because it was projectile worthy vomit.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded.

I was not better. I felt slimy. The cold air dried the sweat on my body. And my stomach churned with bile.

“Welcome to the circus,” he said.

I nodded. “That’s exactly what it felt like,” I managed.

“I’ll hand it Cynthia, she knows how to pick the right ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He peered down at me with his wide eyes and then leaned back against the ledge. The sharp wind whipped his hair across his forehead and cheeks. When his team first appeared, I had expected a hard, chiseled man underneath his helmet. I had expected someone who had been toughened up, dried up, turned to leather. I had not expected someone young with wide eyes and shiny hair.

“What happened to me back there?” I asked and looked down over the ledge. The ground slanted in at an odd angle. “Oh shit. How high were we?” I said and pushed away.

Captain Ileum put a hand against my low back. “Easy. You already threw up your guts, at least try not to pass out. Last thing I need is you falling off the roof.”

I slapped his hand away.

He held them up, “Just take it easy.”

“What happened?”

“You faded out,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You had a panic attack, but don’t quote me on that. I’m not a doctor.”

“Oh,” I said because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I don’t exactly have the right to have panic attacks,” I mumbled.

He nodded.

“Did you know, everyone got bitten, but me?”

He nodded again. “It’s in the report.”

“I would’ve probably died in there if it weren’t for Jeri. Jeri knew what was going on the whole time. I’m just an idiot.”

He nodded.

“You know you don’t have to agree with me, right?”

“Why not? So far you haven’t said anything I don’t disagree with.”

“So you think Jeri should’ve been the face for this all too, don’t you? You think Cynthia chose the wrong person?”

He shrugged. “I don’t get paid to think about publicity. I get paid to strategize and solve problems. That’s all.”

“I thought the press conference would be fun,” I muttered and felt a bit like a child. “I didn’t expect so many questions about...well the validity of it all. It happened. We have evidence that it happened. We should be, I don’t know, going into some kind of lockdown, shouldn’t we? People should be afraid, not suspicious.”

“Sandy, you wrote a zombie survival plan and then you were attacked by zombies. And the only thing that kept most people in the building from going zombie, was your plan.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the ledge again. “Anyone would think it was all planned. What kind of questions did you expect?”

“That day that I signed the nondisclosure agreement.”

Ileum became very still and asked, “What about it?”

“You said it’d be irresponsible for a company to create a crisis, remember?”

“Did I?”

He was avoiding answering. I guess he signed a nondisclosure agreement too.

I sighed. “Did you know that you and your special unit arrived almost when I imagined you would?”

He nodded. “That was in the report too.”

“You were prepared that day.”

“Ask what you really want to ask, Sandy.”

I shivered and whispered, “I got caught on that bridge just in time for that prank.”

He took a step toward me, peered at me. “And the leader of this fake outbreak happened to be a former colleague. What are the odds?”

“What are you suggesting then?” Was he suggesting that someone else wrote that plan? What other team was responsible for crisis planning? Why didn't I know about them?

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said and turned away from me. “But you should go through it. From the beginning. Might calm you down,” he said.

“E.O.W. Prep developed a zombie crisis plan,” I began and marked it with my finger.

“Go on,” he urged.

“The only plan that has ever been tested.”

“And?”

“They have you,” I said, pointing at his uniform.

“And what am I?”

“The only specialized units that have...what would you call it?”

“Combat experience.”

“And now Armageddon tried to frame us.”

“Did they?” he said and shrugged.

“Yes, they did," I said. It couldn't be us. It isn't us. I would know, right? "But it backfired," I continued, "So they look like jerks and E.O.W. Prep, I mean we, we’re cooperating and trying to solve problems. So we look good.”

“And you,” he said and placed his finger on my forehead, “Have issues. And those issues were just broadcasted for the whole world to see.”

“I do not have issues. Jack was there and if he’s patient zero--”

Ileum tapped my forehead. “Don’t you get it? Jack wasn’t there. That was you. Don’t you see? The first ever zombie expert has PTSD and nothing any other company has will sell better than that experience.”

“So this is just about money?”

“Isn’t it always,” he scoffed.

“But if these things get out again...we’re the only ones that can help.”

“Kind of the whole point, don’t you think? Besides, we both know who's releasing them to begin with.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Ileum made a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t say anything. Not ever. Not out loud,” he said.

A heavy feeling pressed on me.

It was the same feeling I had just before heading over to the school district. That no matter what, I wasn’t going to like the final picture once I put all of the pieces together. That no matter what, I wasn’t working for the good guys. I was working for the bad guys.

I was the villain.

“We have to tell someone,” I whispered.

Ileum stared at me with wide glittering eyes. He peered at me like a bird, tipping his head to one side. “What makes you think they haven’t already thought of that. It’s in the paperwork,” he said.

“But...but there has to be something we can do, right?”

“Like what? Find Jack? Expose everything? Go to jail?” He smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what we do, Sandy.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Survive.”

“How the hell do we do that?” I scoffed.

“Do you like gummy worms?” he asked and grinned.

“Gummy worms?”

He nodded. “When you’re offered gummy worms, you should always accept them.”

“What the hell does that mean?” How do you survive when maybe--just maybe--someone else is writing the script? Maybe someone you know. Maybe.

He sighed and checked his watch. “Survival, Sandy. That’s what it means,” he said and looked back over the ledge, at the media circus below us.