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passed without drama.
    Now Team Cadaver found a laying up point (LUP) for the MRAP on the outskirts of Hargeisa, rumbling three of its six giant tires onto the verge that separated road from forest. From there, the combined teams would patrol in on foot. And, Handon thought, if God had one iota of regard for them, one smidgeon of mercy or grace, they would find a nice two-years-gone Somali dead guy at the first intersection, bag him up, and get the hell out of there.
    Inevitably, though, the first omen was bad. As Handon climbed out the front and his boots hit dirt, his radio went on the CAS (close-air support) net.
    “Cadaver from Thunderchild.”
    Handon touched his radio button. “Thunderchild, Cadaver Actual, send it.” He stole a look at the sky, but couldn’t spot Hailey in her F-35. Though she was probably nearly directly overhead, from the quality of the transmission.
    “Be advised, Cadaver, in a few minutes I have to go off-station to refuel, how copy?”
    “Solid copy. I thought we were getting full-time coverage from two aircraft.”
    “That was the plan. But they’ve discovered a mechanical fault in the other bird. Something with the landing gear, from when they had to get it off the stuck aircraft elevator. Break.”
    Handon just sighed and waited for it.
    “But you’ve still got me. I’m going to zip back, touch and top the tanks, and race back here. Should be no more than fifty minutes. They’re also going to send you some drone to bridge the gap.”
    “That’s received. Fly safe.” Handon exhaled as Fick ambled up from around the side of the MRAP. “You hear that?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” Fick said.
    “Should we wait for her to come back on station before we infil?”
    Before Fick could answer, Henno did – coming around from the other side of the vehicle. “Abso-bloody-lutely not. There’s no time. England’s dying.”
    Handon tried to regard the fact that Henno was probably right again – even when he was pissing him off (again). This kept getting harder. There was probably a discussion to be had about whether they had time to rush this, do it half-assed, and screw it up. But Handon didn’t relish having that debate with Henno. They’d too recently come to blows over their disagreements about tactics. There was also the fact that the sun was starting to flirt with the horizon. Going into Hargeisa right before nightfall wasn’t exactly what Handon would have chosen. But waiting until morning was a non-starter.
    So Handon just nodded at Henno then went around to the side door. Everyone was out and on the ground now – except Zorn.
    “Unass the vehicle, Sergeant Major,” Handon said.
    Probably also inevitably, Zorn looked like he was going to be a major pain in Handon’s ass again. “I agreed to get you to Hargeisa. You’re in Hargeisa.”
    Handon almost laughed. Part of him wanted Zorn guiding them out on the ground. But given the shit he had pulled so far, there was probably a lot to be said for keeping him safely in the truck. If they needed to know something they could radio back. “Okay. Noise – guard the vehicle and the prisoner.”
    The Sikh nodded. If he was disappointed at having to pull guard duty, he didn’t show it. He was a soldier and did what he was told.
    Just to be on the safe side, Handon went back up front, pulled out the starter, and dropped it in his pack.
    * * *
    “I hate this zombie apocalypse,” Ali said. “We need quiet, and we get three million dead chasing us up the Magnificent Mile. We need dead, and for the first time ever there aren’t any.”
    “You should write a strongly worded letter,” Predator said.
    She shook her head minutely while peering over her Leupold optic. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen Hargeisa without any Somalis in it.”
    And here Ali was, right back in her hometown. Not only for the first time since the fall – but for the first time since she had escaped it at age sixteen. So much of this place was so