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Hawkeye crouched in the front passenger foot well of an armored car and tried not to listen to the slobbering noises and scrabbling outside. They’d wedged the doors shut as best they could; the army apparently hadn’t been expecting anyone to try to break into its military vehicles so it wasn’t big on door-locks. Typical short-sighted bureaucratic thinking, Hawkeye thought irritably.

“Pssst, Hawkeye,” B.J. hissed from the rear foot well. Must be pretty cramped in there; he had Radar jammed in with him as well.

“Keep it down, Hunnicutt,” Hawkeye whispered, “they’re right outside. Dunno if those retractors we jammed in the door handles’ll hold, not if they try a little harder.”

“Yeah, but I don’t reckon they can hear us, they’re making enough noise for ten damn zombies.” A nervous pause. “There aren’t ten zombies outside, are there?”

“Nope, I think the rest of the 4077th escaped on the choppers, and we killed all the enemy zombies before we climbed in here. Nice going with that grenade, by the way, even if I could have lived without puréed zombie all over my boots.”

“Yeah, well we’d have gotten away on a chopper too, if you hadn’t been such a damn hero getting that kid with no legs on board.”

“Sorry, man, I thought we were just gonna be overrun by your usual enemy soldiers, y’know, not zombie enemy soldiers. My mistake.”

“Right. Um...what the fuck happened? I mean, this is…” B.J.’s voice was shaky.

Hawkeye swallowed. “Fucked if I know. Germ warfare gone wrong, I guess. Which means it was most likely our side’s bright idea, so thanks a bunch, Uncle Sam. Might have known it’d backfire.”

“Have they gone yet?” Radar’s voice was quavery and muffled. Kid probably had his arms over his head. Hawkeye sympathized; he was pretty damn tempted to do the same.

The shuffling noises had moved off a ways, so Hawkeye gingerly risked a peek out the smeared window. He tried not to think what was smeared on the window. Or who.

“Not gone, but they’re distracted. Oh, man, that is gross.” He covered his eyes, sinking down again.

“What?” hissed B.J., “What’d you see? Are there more of them?

“No, still just Hot Lips and Burns out there. They…they were kissing. Then her lips fell off.” Hawkeye giggled, this close to losing it. “Still, at least Frank’s never gonna get that promotion now, that’s a plus.”

Radar moaned and B.J. cursed. “The hell with this! We’ve gotta get out of here – can you hotwire it?”

“Can I hotwire an official vehicle? Does a bear shit in the woods?” He was already finding the wires and twisting them: they had to move quickly, now that Hot Lips – gotta stop calling her that – and Burns had moved away. “Okay, so get ready with the guns in case we need to fend them off.” He heard B.J. murmuring to Radar then the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Ready,” B.J. said grimly.

Hawkeye hooked up the ignition wires and scrambled into the seat, flooring the gas pedal and pulling them around in an arc, away from Houlihan and Burns. Damn, they could stagger fast; Houlihan was already scrabbling at the passenger door as he fought the car through thick muddy ruts and onto the roadway. It would have to be the rainy season, goddamn Murphy’s law.

Hawkeye glanced sideways to see Burns shoving Houlihan out of his way. She went down with a squelching noise. Good old Frank, a gentleman to the end. B.J. leaned out the rear window and blew away his jaw. Waste of a fortune in orthodontry, but it did the trick: Frank disappeared.

Gunning the armored car, Hawkeye took off down the road. Radar cranked his window down and threw up, B.J. holding onto his belt as they bounced over potholes.

Radar’s voice came mournfully from the back as he wound up the window. “Oh, boy, I’m never gonna be able to drink Grape Nehi again.”

“Yeah,” agreed Hawkeye. “I’m considering vegetarianism myself…except maybe not tomatoes.”

They rattled on down the road toward the coast. In the rear-view mirror, he could just make out Houlihan beating Burns over the head – what was left of it – with one of his own arms.