The sound of my voice snapped Kelly out of her fugue. “What do we do?” she asked, in a low, tightly controlled voice. Her gaze darted around the apartment like she expected zombies to come bursting through the walls. She’d probably never been in an actual outbreak before. Talk about your trial by fire: from illegal cloning and faking your own death to trying to survive your personal slice of the zombie apocalypse in just one afternoon.

I’m man enough to admit that under most circumstances, I might have enjoyed watching the biological error messages flash across Kelly’s face. Maybe it’s cruel, but I don’t care. There’s nothing funnier than seeing somebody who thinks of the infected as somebody else’s problem realize that they, too, could join the mindless zombie hordes. Most medical personnel fall into that category; by the time they have hard proof that they’re not somehow above all harm, they’re usually either dead or infected. Either way, they’re not exactly making reports after that.

There’s a time and a place for laughing at the suffering of others. This wasn’t either. “We get the hell out of here,” I said, striding toward Dave. “What’s the situation at the parking garage? Do we have vehicle access, or are we just fucked?”

“They managed to take out the human security, but the autolockdown kept them from getting inside,” Dave reported, his eyes never leaving the screen. His fingers flew across his keyboard and the ones to either side of it like a concert pianist in the middle of a symphony, never missing a beat. The screens connected to the secondary keyboards flickered windows and blocks of code so fast that they were almost strobing. None of it seemed to bother Dave. This was his element, and he was damn well in control of it. “The tunnel’s clear—for the moment. The building’s automated defense systems include bleach and acid sprayers. I’ve managed to suppress the acid. I can’t stop the bleach.”

“That’s what gas masks and goggles are for. You sure there’s nothing in the parking garage?”

“It should be clear all the way to the van.” His hands didn’t slow down once. “Outer perimeter hasn’t been breached yet. I give it fifteen minutes if they keep slamming on the doors the way they are. Ten minutes if anybody gets bitten, panics, and drives their car into one of the fuse boxes on the street.”

“How likely is that?”

“Move fast.”

“Got it.” I turned. “Alaric, Becks, status?”

“Almost ready.” Becks tossed me a grenade. I clipped it to my belt. “We could blast our way out of anything, but…”

“But we need to assume the entire population of Oakland now wants to eat us. I know the drill. Alaric, how are we for gas masks?”

“Good.” He looked up, face flushed. “Kelly, what’s your weapons rating?”