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Stallion.
    "Dale," called Rat, "pick up where Cochrane left off. Get the rest of that equipment sorted, tagged, and stowed."
    Miller watched Dale, the tall machine-gunner, as he headed off toward a tall stack of crates, many covered with drooping sand-colored canvas. He moved out of sight for a moment. He returned pushing a handcart filled with boxes. Something behind him caught Miller's eye for a second—something that seemed to be moving. Miller rubbed her eyes for a second time. She was still half blind from the rotor-blasted wind. Then the slight movement happened another time, the canvas lifting and falling. Miller gasped. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. She shouted for Dale to look up, but of course he couldn't hear her over the steady racket of the helicopter.
    The movement came again. Someone was creeping through the boxes, under that long piece of green canvas, getting closer and closer to Dale.
    Miller grabbed Hanratty by the arm, yanked to get her attention. Hanratty turned abruptly. Annoyed, she flicked away Miller's grasp.
    "Hanratty!"
    "Are you going to need an attitude adjustment, Sheriff?"
    "Look!" shouted Miller, pointing at the shape emerging from the canvas flap.
    Hanratty turned just in time to see Dale stopping to scratch his balls. She was looking in the wrong direction. Hanratty shook her head and turned back to Miller. "Sheriff, get back on the helicopter. That's an order."
    "I saw something," said Miller. "We're not alone out here."
    "I've been assured we are, Sheriff. Maybe you're having a bit of PTSD or something. Personally, I don't give a damn about anything but my job. My men are well trained. If it makes you feel better, I'll tell them to keep their eyes peeled. Now get back on the helicopter or I will put you back in your seat myself."
    "Please, Major…"
    "No, you listen. I've been filled in on your escapades. Like I told you, I saw the report and I'll admit it was impressive. You may have been Wonder Woman in a wedding dress back then, but while we're on this mission, you will do what I tell you. You are under my command. Do I have to escort you back to your seat?"
    Miller's eyes cleared. She squinted, shaded her eyes and studied where she'd seen movement. There was nobody there, nothing at all. The soldier on duty seemed alert and the canvas rippled slightly in the wind. Maybe she'd been mistaken. Both confused and relieved, Miller was about to turn back to the helicopter when the stocky male zombie in a business suit stood up. It grinned wickedly and promptly bit Dale on the left shoulder.
    "There! It's got Dale," Miller shouted, pointing again. "Get me a weapon."
    "That's it," said Hanratty, oblivious to the horror show behind her. She grabbed Miller by the wrist and twisted her arm behind her. "Psycho, get over here and escort the Sheriff back to her seat."
    Miller struggled and watched in horror. It was all over within a few seconds. The zombie fell upon Dale again, biting him on the neck and face. Dale shrieked silently, his features contorted in terror. Blood spurted as the horrid creature chewed through muscle and bit down into his neck. A piece of flesh flew up and away as if it were a used dishrag. Dale coughed blood. His weapon discharged into the tarmac, the sound drowned out by the roar of the engine. Dale sagged in the creature's grasp. It looked up. The neat business suit was out of place, for its face was of a long dead thing, gone all gray and green and writhing with maggots. Miller fancied she could see the creepy, rippling movement under the skin, even from such a distance. Or perhaps her horrified mind just filled in those blanks, drawn from nightmares and memories she'd worked so hard to erase.
    One thing was clear as mountain water. She'd have more nightmares, for sure. Miller pawed at Rat's sidearm, her eyes wide.
    Rat tightened her grip. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
    "Turn around," said Miller. She tried to fight back, but once Sheppard had given her