Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel by Mark C. Scioneaux, Dane Hatchell

silver gray.
    “Ah, welcome. Sheriff Mason, I’d like to introduce you to—”
    “Hart,” Mason said, “Jonathan fucking Hart.” He felt his pulse race and his hands shake uncontrollably.
    “Mason!” Cotton rattled in his chair. “You know the Colonel?”
    “Do I know this man?” Mason said, rising to his feet. “Yes, I do. This is the man who fucked my entire career. This is the man who sacrificed two of my friends, and, when he found out they died, just shrugged and went about his business. So yes, I know exactly who this man is.”
    “Sheriff, you are out of line,” Cotton said.
    “No, Mayor, it’s all right. The Sheriff has every right to feel the way he does,” Hart said. His voice sounded like a cement mixer full of gravel. He took the empty chair next to the mayor.
    “I’ve been haunted by what you put me through every day and night since I left Iraq. Now you think you can just stroll into my town and do whatever you want because we are some small Podunk off in the middle of nowhere? Not on my watch, pal.”
    Cotton looked dumbfounded at Mason. The sheriff was poised, ready to attack.
    “Colonel Hart, can you please give us a moment in private? There is coffee in the break room a few doors down. Help yourself. I’ll call for you in a minute.”
    “Not a problem,” Hart said, rising. He stared at Mason who returned the icy glare. Hart closed the door behind him, and the footsteps grew softer until the sound could no longer be heard.
    “Christ, Mason! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
    “Me? Did you not hear what I said? What he did?”
    “Mason, son, that was years ago, and just like you were following orders, so was he.” 
    Mason paused, stung by the words. The mayor, for once, was right. Hart had probably just been following orders, but in the end, Mason was left to deal with years of misery and regret, while Hart was obviously promoted and decorated. It wasn’t fair, but in the game of politics and war, what was? Mason felt his heart rate returning to normal and the tension that coursed through his veins like lightning started to wane.
    “Sheriff, can you please just play nice this time. Tone it down a bit. Don’t be hostile. Let them do what they came here to do, and then they will leave Botte in a much better place.”
    “Fine,” Mason said. “I can play nice, I suppose.”
    “Excellent.” The mayor opened the door. “Colonel Hart, you can come back in now.”
    Hart’s footsteps slapped against the tile floor. Mason’s heartbeat picked up the pace again. Anger swelled, and though he fought to control it, found himself in a losing battle. Hart appeared in the doorway clutching two cups of coffee. He set one on Mason’s desk, and then took the chair next to Cotton.
    “Thought you could use a cup to steady the nerves a bit, soldier,” Hart said, sipping from his own.
    “I’m not a soldier anymore. The Army said I was too damaged to return to active duty. Something about watching my friends being murdered did that to me, I suppose.”
    “Mason. . .” Cotton said, tensing in his seat.
    “It’s all right, Mayor,” Hart said. “Mason has every right to hate me. Luckily, he won’t be working with me or seeing me much, if at all. This is more about the soldiers stationed outside Paradis.”
    “Ah yes, the mystery surrounding Paradis. Maybe you can enlighten me as to what is going on there?” Mason sat back in his chair, hoping the sarcasm in his voice made it out. He refused to touch the coffee.
    “I’ll tell you as much as I can. With the war on terror taking a turn and biological weapons being introduced to the field of battle, the U.S. military is working on a vaccine that will kill any and all agents of warfare: viruses, bacteria, and prions, anything that can cause disease. We presented a proposal to the governor of your great state to test this vaccine. We have contracted with Paradis, and all prisoners used are on a volunteer basis. These are men serving life