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with a bleach mark where a tobacco tin had been, and a red and black plaid shirt that had once had an embroidered Winston logo on the pocket. He carried an 1890 model Remington revolver in a leather holster strapped to his shoulder. He carried a frosty cold Coors in his left hand, a cigar of the finest quality in the other. The Stetson on his head had a big fat Eagle Globe and Anchor pinned to the center. "Typical Army pukes." He smiled, making it clear he didn’t mean the two men in the room.
                  "There were Marines there too." Keith retorted.
                  The old Marine harrumphed. "Look, Chief." He said to the officer who's kids they had met at Wal*Mart. "We got problems. If it ain't the lootin’ it's the dead. They're still popping up all over town. The guys at the VFW and the Boy Scouts are holding looters back from the truck stop, so at least that fuel ain't been stolen… yet." It seemed to the two newcomers this four person government was trying to hold onto at least some commodities for the looming winter, already assuming they’d be on their own. If any order was going to be maintained, they’d need to act quickly.
                  "He's right." Ethan said. "We need to protect resources for the town. Union already has a road block, we drove through it, so there's at least one line of defense between here and St. Louis. We can afford to take a little bit of time to make sure there's something left for hospital use at the very least."
                  "So are we deputizing these guys?" The female officer gestured to Ethan and Keith, but didn’t look at them. "Can we trust them?"
                  "Can we trust you ?" Ethan countered. "I'm from here, lady. You pulled me over two years ago for doing forty in a twenty five on Church Street. I'm here, and so are you. Makes sense we have a common goal in mind.”
                  “And what goal is that?”
                  “I want to find my family, and helping you guys is the best way I can figure to do that right now.” Ethan was honest.
                  The cops and the old man shared glances. There wasn’t any political deceit or malice in trying to find your family. The fat cop spoke up. "I say tonight, while we still have electricity, we print out notices about a town hall meeting and then have it at the outside stage in the fairgrounds so no one feels threatened or trapped. The Army was only using it as a secondary landing pad for choppers. We can sweep the area around it first and all that, and post anyone who volunteers to guard the area. I promise, someone will volunteer.” He cleared his throat, probably used to smoking. “We get all the stragglers from the country into town and start a door to door sweep for infected. It grossly violates the Constitution, but we have no choice. Thomas Jefferson never envisioned Zombies.”
                  "We have another problem." The woman, Officer Liza Rowe, interjected. "Lots of people have infected family in their homes. Are we talking Police entering private residences without a search warrant? Good luck. You’ll be more likely to get shot than have them help you shoot someone. I don’t even think most people here will even consider us a legitimate police force anymore. Not after the Army abandoned us. Not after the things they did…”
                  Ethan agreed with a slow nod. "That’s exactly what we’re talking about. Big Bubba over there is right, and so are you Miss… Rowe? It’s going to be a nightmare to convince people to let us put a slug in their zombie kid’s head… They have to be made to understand they can’t save them. We need Keith here to tell them what the Zombies really are, and that there is still no cure but a bullet. He was at the Battle of Antire Hill, they got more information from FEMA that we ever did.”
                  “Thanks