31 hours before...

“Sandy you go with Daniel. Both of you on site,” Karen snapped.

“What?” I asked.

She sucked her cheeks in, hollowing out her face again. “Director wants the evacuation and lockdown procedures for school districts and daycares, by the end of the week. So get on those.”

Luke gave me a tiny nod, but if he meant it to be encouraging, he forgot something important: I was not Jack. A tiny nod was not going to do it.

“Not helping,” I hissed.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said and gave me another nod.

“I had weeks last time. Weeks.”

Pat rushed over. “And none of that went to waste.”

“But--”

“No buts. Everything you watched, read, all of it, it’ll help now!”

“Pat’s right. Trust yourself, Sandy,” Luke said.

“Ready in ten minutes,” Daniel said. “I’ve called ahead. The school district’s Chief of Police will meet with us first and we’ll go from there.”

My head was spinning. Somehow I was going to put together a crisis plan for high schools, middle schools, elementary campuses, and it had to make sense. I rubbed my temples.

“Right,” I said. “Let me get my notes.”

Daniel didn’t pause. When he was around the corner, I collapsed into my chair.

Thank God for Pat, who read me. “What have you got?” she asked.

I wanted to cry. In the last hour all I had written on my notepad was the word school. I drew a circle around it several times, but nothing had come to mind.

“Oh,” Pat said. “Ok, talk me through it,” she said, gesturing at the paper as if there was some brilliant jumble of words that only I could understand. She plucked one of my pencils from my pineapple organizer.

“Just talk to me, alright? Let it flow,” she said and wiggled her arms.

“Fine,” I said and wiggled my arms too. Sighing, I began, “Something to help keep kids safe, keep the teachers safe too. We have to create a common language, keep the steps simple, simple enough for a five year old to follow. Or a tired teacher to remember. You know how they look by the end of the day with coffee breath and gray skin,” I said and shivered.

The pencil came to a stop. “What else?” Pat asked.

“The steps have to be short. I think five steps may be pushing it. So, I don’t know, three steps is probably all they’ll remember. You know, like stop-drop-and-roll, only arm-up-tape-up-bludgeon?”

“Actually that’s not bad,” Pat said.

I dropped my forehead to the table and mumbled, “Yeah, but what are they? I can’t tell a five year old to crack their best friend with a baseball bat. That’s hideous!”

I picked up my head and blinked. Maybe I was underestimating kids.

“Could we? Do you think a five year old could do that?”

“Beat a zombie over the head?” Pat mused. “Probably. My nephew’s no joke sometimes.”

“Never mind, never mind. Don’t write that,” I said and waved away the idea.

Pat tapped the pencil against her chin. “What about symptoms then?”

“What do you mean?”

“It took us way too long to figure out it wasn’t a training exercise. I mean, way too long.”

“Yeah, that was dumb.”

“We were dumb. So how about teaching the kids to recognize signs so they don’t go running to their kindergarten teacher for a hug and then she...well…,” Pat trailed off and pointed at her throat, at the pink scar.

“Oh God,” I groaned and put my head back down.

“Five minutes,” Daniel said.

“Ok. Symptoms then,” I said and picked up my head again. “Growling, fast movements, super strength, territorial behavior…,” I said, ticking each item off on my fingers.

“Maybe you could make an acronym out of it. Something catchy.”

“Hell,” I said and leaned back in my chair. “Maybe we could put it to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star while we’re at it.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Pat said.

“Don’t write that down.”

“Why not?” she said and held up the notepad that had slowly been filled in. “See? You do have ideas.”

I stared at the notepad. “Maybe.” Maybe that's what I was afraid of. My ideas. E.O.W. Prep had already used them once. What if...what if they were planning on using them again? I can't do this.

“Maybe nothing! This is good. You know what else would be good?”

“Please don’t say asking the kids?

“Asking the kids! Exactly. Get their opinion. I bet they have some great ideas.”

The idea of sitting in one of those little plastic chairs, while little kids with runny noses and uneven pigtails shared their drawings sent shivers up my spine, until goosebumps crawled on my scalp.

I snorted. “Maybe It would be easier if I could station specialized units in every school…

The pencil tip broke. Pat looked at me.

I sucked my breath in through my teeth.

“You don’t think…” Pat said and trailed off.

I nodded. “I do think.”

“No,” Pat said. “They wouldn’t go that far, right?”

“Wouldn’t they?” I asked without expecting an answer.

“Ready when you are,” Daniel said.

Pat handed me the notepad. No words passed between us, but we knew. We both knew what E.O.W. Prep was doing: An outbreak, a specialized unit, a crisis plan, the first zombie specialists in the whole damn country. At this rate, E.O.W. Prep would become the most valued company in the country. Maybe even on the planet and we--I--was helping them do it.