Domain of the Dead by David Moody, Iain McKinnon, Travis Adkins

inhaler.
    Nathan scowled his thin lips, sucking in stifling remorse. “His puffer ran out.”
    “Shit...” The shock made Bates’ jaw drop.
    “I remember finding a couple of unopened ones in a bathroom cabinet that winter when we went foraging,” Nathan said. “The apartment was just a five minute walk from the warehouse.” He shrugged. “No way we could have saved him, not with those things crowding round us like they were.”
    “Harsh, man,” was all Bates could muster.
    There was silence again in the cabin.
    Feeling uneasy with the quiet, Nathan decided to break it. “There must be all manner of shortages like medicines and fuel and stuff?”
    “We got plenty of gas,” Idris said, pointing up as if to connect the chopper’s rotors with his comment.
    Bates nodded. “Yeah, no fossil fuel crisis anymore.”
    “Why’s that?” Nathan asked.
    “Oil rigs were the first things the military moved to protect,” Bates answered. “W.D.’s ain’t no good at climbing and they proved just as hard for panicked civvies to crack. Kind of like castles, just pull up the drawbridge.” Bates smirked. “Well, ladders in this case.”
    Idris elaborated, “And those things are hell of a tricky to land a bird on unless you know what you’re doing.” He made a thumbing motion in Bates’ direction. “Just need a couple of grunts like him with a machine gun to discourage any unwanted company.”
    “I miss beef,” Angel said suddenly, breaking her silence from quietly enduring her pain.
    “Christ, when was the last time any of us had a steak?” Bates complained.
    “We had steak last Wednesday,” Idris said.
    “Proper red meat.” Bates lent forward and prodded Idris in the shoulder. “Tuna doesn’t count.”
    “Ah, what’s the difference?” Idris asked.
    “If you’d been raised in the south and fed proper food you’d know,” Bates said. “Everything your momma made for you came out of a can swimming in tomato sauce.”
    “Bates,” Angel interrupted, “Everyone eat out of cans now.”
    Laughter filled the cabin but the good cheer grated at Sarah. Her thoughts were still with Gabriel and Elspeth and George and all the others not able to share in the joke. She cocked her head around Jennifer, who was fast asleep.
    Nathan asked, “So what were you doing this morning anyway? I saw a cargo net. Were you looking for supplies?”
    “No, it wasn’t a supply run,” Bates said. “We get most of ours from Cape Verde.”
    Angel corrected him, “Was supply run of sorts.”
    Bates sniggered in agreement. “I suppose.”
    The blank looks of the awake survivors begged clarification.
    “We were specimen collecting. Every few months we get sent out to round up some W.D.’s.”
    “Why?” Sarah’s tone was almost shocked.
    “The scientists need them,” Bates said.
    “What for?”
    “Oh, number of reasons.” Bates scratched his head as he tried to retrieve all the uses the zombies were put to. “Well, they monitor how quickly they’re decomposing…”
    “They’re trying to work out how long before they crumble to dust,” Sarah guessed.
    “Yeah that’s right.”
    “How long then?”
    “How long what?” Bates stumbled before he married the train of thought. “Oh, I see. Um, I don’t know. Guess it must be a while, ‘cause if it were good news they’d tell us.”
    Sarah restated her original question: “So what else do they do with them?”
    “They experiment on them. Mainly trying to find out what will kill them.”
    “I can tell you that,” Nathan grunted. “Nothing except turning their brains to pulp.”
    “Do they know what caused it?” Sarah asked.
    Bates shrugged. “If they do they ain’t telling us. Some talk of viruses, but if you ask me they don’t know dick.”
    The chopper dipped down through a layer of feathery clouds, bringing into view a dreary pallet of green and blue.
    “There she is, folks,” Idris declared. “The Ishtar.”
    Beneath them in the roll of teal surf was