Page 107 of One Adult, Please

"If we can survive a zombie apocalypse together," I say, "we can survive having feelings about it. The feelings aren't harder than the zombies. The feelings don't try to eat us."

"Some feelings try to eat you," Beck says.

"Beck."

"Just saying. Some feelings are very bitey."

"I'm in," Grant says.

My eyes are doing a wet, traitorous, inconvenient, deeply poorly timed something that I'm going to ignore with the full force of my personality.

Joel takes a step away from the porthole. "We should discuss the operations center," he says.

And that's is Joel's version of Grant's two words and Beck's week-long head start.

"The operations center," I repeat. "Yes. The plan. The tactical sky pole situation."

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of the Wondie hoodie.

"Okay, so the building," Joel says. "Single point of entry in the front. Emergency exit on the east side, but it's a push bar, exit only. The lobby has a security desk, a reception area. Hallway to the left leads to park operations, the server room, the electrical panels. Hallway to the right leads to administration, offices, a break room. The comms room is at the end of the left hallway, last door."

"And the roof access?"

"Ladder in the comms room. Ceiling hatch. Leads to a flat roof with the antenna array and a maintenance walkway. The walkway has a railing. The railing is..." He pauses and does a calculation I can see happening in real time. "The railing is adequate."

"Adequate," I say. "Joel, did you just evaluate my falling risk for a building I haven't entered yet?"

"I evaluated the infrastructure."

"You looked at my face and did fall math."

"Fall math isn't a thing."

"It's a thing you do. You calculate my proximity to drop-offs and hard surfaces and you adjust the mission parameters accordingly and don't think I haven't noticed!"

"I don't adjust mission parameters."

"You put me in the middle of every formation. Every single time. You and Beck on the outsides, Grant behind, me in the center like a... like a... important egg."

"Important egg," Beck says, savoring it.

"An egg that needs to be protected because it might fall and the egg knows it falls but the egg doesn't need three bodyguards. It just needs slightly better shoes and possibly a lower center of gravity and..."

I step forward to make my point with emphasis and my foot catches the corner of the bench and I start to go down.

Grant catches me. His hand is on my elbow. A motion that's become so practiced it doesn't even startle Pepper, who shifts once in his jacket and keeps sleeping.

I straighten, adjust my hoodie, and pretend the last four seconds didn't happen. "As I was saying. I don't need fall math."

"I'm not doing fall math."

"Your eyes are literally doing fall math right now."

"We'll clear the operations building tomorrow," he says. "Dawn. Before the drift pattern picks up. Beck on point, me on comms, Grant runs aerial recon with Captain. Grace..."

"If you say 'stays behind' I will throw this crayon at you and it won't be the periwinkle because the periwinkle is too valuable but I have a brown one that I've never used because brown is the color of nothing and it deserves to be weaponized."

"Grace maps the route from the thinking box to the operations center. Safest path through the big middle. Use the crayon plan. Mark chokepoints, cover positions, fallback routes."