Page 64 of One Adult, Please

Grace looks at him. "That sounded like a plan voice."

"It is. Grant said they cluster at the sound. We use the cluster."

"The goat barn," I say.

They all look at me.

"It isn't a goat barn," I clarify. "It's a quarantine holding yard. High fencing. Double gate. Concrete floor. It's where we isolate large animals during intake."

Grace stares at me. "Animal jail."

"Quarantine holding yard."

"Animal jail with a medical degree."

By the time we reach the east perimeter, the infected are clustered below the lamppost where Captain had been screaming. Seven of them. They drift in uneven circles, bumping the fence, bumping one another, stimulus gone and purpose gone with it.

The quarantine holding yard sits ten yards beyond them, gate open, chain hanging loose.

Joel sees it. "Can we move them?" he asks.

"Yes," I say.

Grace tightens her grip on the friendship paddle. "I dislike the word move in this context."

"We don't fight them," Joel says. "We guide them."

Beck picks up a metal feed bucket and looks at me.

I nod.

He grins. "Zombie cowbell."

"No," Grace says immediately.

He hits the bucket with the back of his axe. The sound cracks across the yard.

Every infected turns.

"Zombie cowbell," Beck whispers, but his face is all seriousness.

The infected move toward the sound. Beck backs toward the open gate, hitting the bucket every few steps. Joel stays at the hinge side. Grace and I take the flank, which is a sentence that sounds professional until Kevin chooses that exact moment to stand in the path and eat a leaf.

"Kevin," Grace hisses. "Not now."

Kevin chews.

The lead infected veers toward him.

Grace grabs the nearest feed scoop and throws it at the far wall of the holding yard. It clatters against the concrete with a bright metallic bang.

The infected turns toward the sound.

Kevin continues eating because Kevin fears neither death nor consequences.

The last infected crosses the threshold.

"Now," Joel says.