There was no grace or artistry in our flight. Becks was running almost before the word was out of my mouth, waiting only for the confirmation that I didn’t have a better idea, and I was only half a heartbeat behind. We ran as fast as we could, our footfalls echoing off the walls around us and making it impossible to tell whether we were running for safety or into the arms of another mob. The moaning started behind us, distant at first, but growing louder with bone-chilling speed. That’s one thing the old movies got wrong. Real zombies—especially the freshly infected kind—can run.

Call for help!

“What?” I gasped, still running. Becks shot me a look. I shook my head, and she returned her attention to the serious business of running for her goddamn life.

You have a phone! Think, Shaun!

It was hard to focus on running and think about what George was trying to tell me at the same time. She was always the smart one, and that’s held true even now that she’s nothing but a ghost in my machine. I struggled to make sense of her words, and nearly stumbled as it hit me.

“Oh, motherfuck,” I said, causing Becks to shoot me another sharp look. “Becks, I need you to buy us some time. Don’t worry about the interest rates.”

“Got it,” she said, obedience winning out over confusion. She turned to face the direction of the moaning, still pacing me down the hall. If she tripped, it was all over, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Her hands were steady as she pulled a ball-shaped object from her belt. The motion was followed by the distinctive sound of a pin being pulled, and then she flung the grenade in the direction of the moaning. She whipped around as soon as she let go, grabbing me by the arm. It was her turn to haul me down the hall, and she did it wne-chillindmirable force. “Run!”

I ran.

The grenade Becks had thrown exploded about six seconds later. It wasn’t a big enough boom to come with a back draft but it was big enough to fill the hall briefly with light. I risked a glance back over my shoulder. The walls were burning. That should be enough to slow the infected for at least a little while. “Cover me,” I said.

Becks nodded, slowing enough to let me pull a few feet in front of her before speeding up again, holding a position about a foot and a half behind me. I felt like a total shit putting her between me and the danger we knew, but I needed the breathing space. It might be the one thing that could save us.

Fumbling an ear cuff from my jacket pocket without dropping my flashlight wasn’t easy, especially not at a dead run. Somehow, I managed. I slammed the ear cuff into place, pressing the Call button as I snapped, “Secure connection, command line ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ open channel to Alaric Kwong.”

The ear cuff beeped. For a long, undying moment, the only sounds were footsteps, harsh, exhausted breathing, the distant moans of the infected, and the overstrained beating of my heart. We couldn’t run forever. Eventually, the kill chute was going to close, and if we were in the wrong place when that happened…

The ear cuff beeped again as Alaric came on the line: “Secure connection confirmed, please verify your identity before I hang up on you.”

“Fuck you, Alaric, I don’t have the time to remember some stupid code word.” That was a lie: “some stupid code word” was the current call sign. If the CDC was recording, which they probably were, this might make them think our security wasn’t as good as it really was. I could hope, anyway. “We’re in a little bit of trouble here. Is the Doc there?”

“Shaun? Why are you breathing like that? What’s—”

“I need you to put the Doc on the line right f**king now, Alaric, or you’re getting a goddamn field promotion! Am I making myself clear, here, or do I need to get footage of the zombies trying to eat our asses?”

“I’ll get her,” said Alaric. The line beeped again, going silent.

Becks pulled up almost even with me. Sweat was adding that new-penny shine to her cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“CDC installs are all built on the same basic floor plan, right?” Another T-junction came into view ahead of us, my flashlight barely illuminating it enough to give us warning before we hit the wall.

“Right, but—”

“Doc gets us out or we’re dead, Becks.” The moaning from behind us was still getting louder, and that wall was getting closer. “Keep running!”

The ear cuff beeped, and Kelly’s hesitant voice took the place of the silence, asking, “Shaun? Is that really you?”

“In a pickle, Doc! Zombies are chasing hrough the Portland CDC, and we need out before we’re on the menu! There’s a T ahead of us—which way do we go?”

I had to give Kelly this: She recovered damn fast to what must have seemed like a totally random question. “Have you already passed a T-junction?”

“Yes! We went right!”

“You went—damn. Okay. At the T ahead, take the left, and try the third door you pass. Is the place in lockdown yet?”

“Do you mean ‘Are the lights all f**king out, and did half the doors go amber before the power failed’? Because then yeah, we’re in lockdown!” I grabbed Becks by the wrist, hauling her along as I veered left. “What kind of door?”

“Same size as the rest, but it should open when you push it.”

One door flashed by on our right, followed about six feet later by a second door, this one on the left. I slowed to keep from overshooting the third door and grabbed for the knob, all too aware of the advantage I was throwing to our opponents if Kelly was wrong. The zombies weren’t going to slow down just to keep the playing field even.