Zach missed working for the clinic. He stood outside it for the first time in months, not nearly as concerned with the wrong person seeing him and deciding the clinic was no longer a neutral entity as he was with disseminating his message as quickly as possible.

Inside, the building was packed. The privacy curtains were pulled aside, people seated on the examination tables and standing shoulder to shoulder with barely enough room to move. Chantal had arranged for them to be here, to hear what Zach had to say. Gillett stood beside him, and Mike, Adam, and Karla were in the front of the crowd, nearly vibrating with tension.

When Gillett held up a hand, they all fell silent. Some of them were still suspicious of him, but they trusted Zach, Mike, and Adam, who all vouched for Gillett.

“We have confirmation that the government has, indeed, called in reinforcements,” he announced without preamble. “The soldiers they’ve brought in were being housed in Atlanta, known as the Juggernaut Battalion. I’m going to turn this over to Zach because he’s the closest thing we have to an expert on what this means.”

“Thanks, Gillett.” Zach drew a deep breath and wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip. “I’m going to say to you what the person who told this to me said: This may all sound a little far-fetched. It may be hard to believe, but you know me. I’ve worked for you, tried to help you, and I swear to you now, on my own soul, that it’s true to the best of my knowledge. It’s absolutely critical for you to follow the instructions we’re going to give you at the end of this meeting and to make sure all your neighbors do the same.”

Consternation furrowed the brows of the men and women listening. Zach wasn’t looking forward to the panic that was sure to follow.

“Two years ago, the United States armed forces were facing a recruitment crisis and an untenable personnel shortage on the ground in Russia. Their solution was to make their existing troops more effective, so they infected a battalion of soldiers with the Alpha strain of an experimental virus known as Bane.”

A furor followed that announcement. People recognized the name of the virus; how it had become common knowledge, Zach wasn’t sure. No doubt some word of it had spread on the hacked feeds during the in-house quarantine before everyone had started dying.

“That doesn’t make sense!” someone shouted. “Why would they kill their own troops?”

Someone else called, “How do you know this? Where are you getting your information?”

Zach held up his hands until they all fell silent again. He proceeded to explain the different strains of the Bane virus, what their intended purposes had been, and how an unforeseen anomaly had led to billions of deaths.

The entire room erupted at that. Zach bowed his head, not acknowledging any of the questions that flew at him. Despite all the days and nights he and Nico had spent talking about what McClosky had told Nico about the virus, he was by no means an expert, and many of the questions—such as a demand to know how the mutation had occurred—required answers even McClosky had been unable to provide.

“Please!” Chantal had to yell to be heard over the uproar. “People, we don’t have much time. We need to let Zach finish!”

Eventually, they calmed enough for him to continue. “I don’t know the science behind what happened. All I know is what I’ve been told, what I’ve seen with my own eyes. The Alpha strain of the virus makes the Juggernaut Battalion immune to the fatal strains, but when an infected soldier bleeds, the virus becomes airborne and deadly. That’s all I know. And really, that’s beside the point. The only reason I told you this much is because I need you to understand the reasoning behind what we have to do.”

The crowd grew even quieter with that, an expectant quiet. Zach closed his eyes and said a silent prayer in the space of time it took to blink, then opened them again.

“Like Gillett said, the Juggernaut Battalion has been called in to reinforce Clean Zone security. That would be very bad news for us, because even if they weren’t stronger and faster than anything we can hope to match—and I’ve seen that personally, there is absolutely no question about their abilities—we couldn’t fight back against them. We couldn’t risk wounding them and infecting ourselves with the Rot. We’d be helpless.”

They all sobered at that. They’d been so caught up in trying to understand the implications of all Zach was telling them that they’d forgotten what it might mean for their resistance. Nor had it occurred to them that the military government would risk exterminating them all by means of another outbreak of the Beta strain just to put down that resistance.

“But, here’s the good news. The Jugs—as they call themselves—are no more pleased with the military who did this to them than we are. They won’t risk killing the remaining uninfected population. And tomorrow, when they are sent into the Clean Zone to start ‘ensuring the peace,’ the Clean Zone security forces are going to find themselves facing something a hell of a lot more dangerous than a mob of barely armed and untrained civilians.”

Savage, triumphant cheers concussed Zach’s eardrums, making his head ache, but he answered them with his own victorious grin. Nico was back, and he had brought along salvation for them all and freedom from a corrupt and uncaring regime.

“What can we do to help?” Chantal asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the whooping and yelling. Everyone fell silent again, looking at Zach.

“Well, that’s the bad news.” He grimaced. “The most important thing for us to do right now is stay out of the way. It’s too dangerous for us to be near the fighting. If the security forces wound any of the Jugs, we need to make sure we’re nowhere near them. I know, I know!” He held up his hands again as protests started swelling. “It goes against the grain. We’ve fought against the gangs and the corrupt guards for months, and now the Jugs expect us to sit back and let them take over? It’s not right. But it’s our only choice. Of course we want to see this through to the end, but think about what’s at stake. There are so few of us left. Will we really risk another outbreak after we’ve all survived this long? We have homes, families, children. Will we endanger them?”

He let them process that a moment, then continued gently, “Here’s what the Jugs have asked us to do. Once the military government is deposed, we need to reinstate order as quickly as we can. We need a new civilian authority ready to step up with a new constitution ready to enforce. So while they’re fighting and putting themselves on the line for us, we’ll also be working. We’ll be fielding nominations for a Clean Zone Congress to be elected as soon as we can take a vote. We’ll be drafting a constitution so it’s ready to be ratified the moment Congress is sworn in. We’ll be laying plans for a more humane quarantine and rationing process, and coming up with ways to increase our food production and stores until no one is reliant on rations from a central depot any longer.”

Zach looked around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many people as he could. Sober gazes full of worry, yes, but also purpose. “What was done to the Jugs was against their will. They didn’t know what they were being given when they were infected with the Bane Alpha virus. And now their lives have been irrevocably altered. They can’t have children, can’t have normal lives, but they’re willing to fight for us anyway. And this is all they’ve asked in return. So, can we do it? Can we give them that?”

The weight of a weapon on Nico’s back after so long without one was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the knowledge that the military government was sending them armed to the teeth against civilians. His one consolation was that it didn’t appear to be an outright bid at genocide. Assuming things went the way the committee envisioned—which, of course, they wouldn’t, but the committee didn’t know that—the Jugs were commanded to apprehend anyone who resisted and ensure none of the insurgents returned to the uninfected population.

But accidents happened, and the appalling thing was that the committee clearly understood this, because the Jugs would be walking into the Clean Zone alongside security forces protected by hermetic suits. His own barely tamped outrage was reflected on the faces of the other Jugs. The callous disregard for the lives of the insurgents—and the risk to the public—cemented their determination to protect the people from the corruption of the Cheyenne Mountain Martial Law Committee.

The suburb enclosed by the Clean Zone perimeter was miles from Cheyenne Mountain. Nico supposed it said something that the military government had opted to set itself up somewhere that was virtually unreachable. No one knew who exactly was on the committee, or how decisions were being made, or what the command structure was inside the mountain. They were all being governed and commanded by an unseen, untouchable entity, and once the Jugs had secured the Clean Zone, changing that state of affairs would be the next order of business.

Even if it meant laying siege to the underground complex until they starved the military government out.

The streets were quiet and empty when the security patrols opened the checkpoint gates to let the combined ground forces through. No one was working in the yards or gardens. The Jugs had been expecting this, but the suited security forces had not. They all clutched their weapons nervously, too disconcerted by the silence and lack of resistance to pay much attention to the Jugs.

It was so subtle as to be unnoticeable, the way the Jugs slowly and steadily shifted their formation and placement so that they separated and surrounded each squadron of Clean Zone security forces. The numbers disparity was a fucking joke. There were nearly two thousand Jugs and only a few hundred Clean Zone troops. Nico watched the gradual rearranging of their forces until the Clean Zone perimeter gates closed behind them. That was their signal to take action. The Jugs moved with a speed and concert that Nico, even possessing the same abilities, marveled at. They each reached for the mask or hood of the suited guard nearest them and ripped it off.

It took seconds. Mere seconds for the noise of the hermetic suits being carelessly torn open to shift to startled shouts followed by the sound of safeties being released. Nico saw his own Sierra Company comrades pounce on the guards nearest them, and beyond that, Delta Company. The sun caught Schuyler’s titian hair and made it blaze like polished copper, and her face was pure, savage fury as she wrestled a hoodless guard to his knees.

Then came the frantic bellows.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Only one shot was fired, and it was—gratefully—discharged from an assault rifle that was knocked aside by a Jug so the round didn’t hit anyone. None of the guards realized that at first, however. They heard the shot and screamed in panic. Some began sobbing.

“Oh God. God, please, no!”

“Put down your weapons!” the Jugs yelled at the few security forces who had managed to escape the initial onslaught and who stood several feet off, their guns trained on the Jugs. They all quivered with hesitation, however, as they took inventory of their captured, defenseless comrades. When the Jugs barked, “Drop ’em!” the guards obeyed and put up their hands.

“Echo, go!” At the order, the one company of Jugs who had held back from the initial assault burst into action, sprinting along the street they’d originally marched up. The guards at the checkpoint were unsuited; their only job was to wave the patrols through the gate and close it behind them. It was no contest. They stood by helplessly as Echo Company ripped the gate down and herded them out of the booths to join their comrades kneeling on the pavement.

Unfortunately, there was no way the checkpoint guards hadn’t radioed the initial assault in to command inside Cheyenne Mountain. Which meant that by the time the Jugs got to the entrance of the underground facility, it would be sealed tight. Now they’d be dealing with a siege.

Nico’s attention was pulled from the spectacle by Valentino’s voice. “Nico! Go find Morris and check in with the resistance, then begin flushing out the gangs they told us about.”

Since Nico had a “personal contact” within the resistance, he’d been earmarked to act as the Jugs’ liaison, a job he was only too glad to embrace. Concerned that the civilians might be wary of the Jugs, each company had assigned one or two of their most charismatic and easygoing people as envoys to work with the civilians on hunting down the gangs. They would incarcerate the culprits—along with the guards who had aided and abetted them—pending trial once the civilian government was established.

Following that first bloodless attack in which the Jugs crippled the security forces, a strange lull took over the Clean Zone, at least with regards to the fighting. Companies of Jugs rotated a 24-7 watch outside the gates to the bunker under the mountain, while in the Clean Zone, a hastily pulled-together interim Congress started composing a constitution. Getting the Clean Zone back under civilian authority was priority one, even beyond the siege at the mountain.

In all other ways, the Clean Zone was more active than ever. The Jugs assumed responsibility for tending to the detainees in quarantine since there was no danger of them being infected. Seeing human faces instead of featureless masks went a long way toward pacifying the people in the pens. Food stores weren’t an issue yet, either, as the Jugs had brought their own provisions. Hopefully by the time they ran low, the harvest would be coming in. To supplement, they scavenged every grocery store, pantry, wild field, and orchard the military hadn’t yet managed to pick through all the way up to Denver.

The addition of the Jugs nearly doubled the Clean Zone population, but productivity increased exponentially. They demolished contaminated properties, raided lumberyards, and helped build new housing, moving in people who’d been in quarantine sometimes for months past their mandatory three-month stint.

As far as Nico was concerned, those assholes inside the mountain could never come out and he’d be perfectly happy. Because at the end of the day, after helping to get the Clean Zone’s shit straightened out, he got to go home to Zach. It was hard to remember, spending night after night wrapped up together, that all the reasons why he’d walked away from Zach in the first place still applied. They were the same reasons why the Jugs didn’t work side by side with the civilians. The Jugs set up their own district just outside the Clean Zone, and their own work crews, but their goal was the same.

At least until it came to drafting the Clean Zone Constitution.

“What the fuck is this?” Nico demanded as he sat in bed beside Zach, reading the latest draft the Congressional Committee had sent for him to take to the Jugs. “Mandatory segregation? Permits to enter unapproved areas? What, because we’re not already being careful to segregate ourselves? Special penalties for anyone using their abilities as a Jug to ‘intimidate, harass, or otherwise disrupt’ the rule of law within the Clean Zone?”

Zach groaned. “I know. I’m sure Chantal’s been trying to talk the rest of the committee down from those items. After all the Jugs have done to help us—”

“Help you? Like we’re not a part of this? What, it’s not our lives too? We’re not citizens unlawfully detained under an illegal military regime, same as everyone else in the Clean Zone? We’re different, right? Fucking typical.” He snorted and flung himself out of bed, beginning to pace.

“Nico, please.” Zach held out a hand. “You know I don’t feel that way, and Chantal wouldn’t, either. Their rationale is that they’re afraid that the Jugs’ physical superiority might cause them to resist arrest if they happen to break any laws, or to intimidate voters during elections.”

Nico covered his face with his hands, a short, humorless chuff of pitiful laughter escaping his lungs. “Right. Sure, they’re afraid of that. Same bullshit, different century.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You don’t see it, do you?” He dropped his hands, fixing Zach with a stare. “Of course you don’t. Zach, this whole fucking thing is going to spin into a referendum on race relations if someone doesn’t make those assholes see what they’re actually proposing.”

Nico watched Zach do a mental inventory of the civilians and the Jugs, and then he groaned. “Oh God, how did I not see that before? It makes way too much sense.”

“You’re damn right it does. The survivors who have been making their way to the Clean Zone are the people who had their own houses, who were well-off enough not to have to live packed together in apartments. They had enough money to have food supplies and fuel cells stashed away to hold them over until the first wave of the pandemic had passed.” Nico shook his head, resuming his pacing. “The people who died in the pandemic were the poor, the people crowded together in the cities, many of them brown or black or indigenous. Except for the Jugs, because the military was one of the best ways to avoid unemployment or the tenements. And now those white ‘survivors’ are afraid we’re going to break their laws and fuck up their elections. And we sure as hell can’t mingle in their neighborhoods. Jesus.”

Zach hung his head. “Do you honestly think they mean it that way?”

The question speared Nico with something that felt almost like betrayal. He couldn’t blame Zach for his upbringing and the resulting naïveté, but sometimes it was easy to forget that, as sweet and well-intentioned as Zach was, he had the luxury to be obtuse, and Nico didn’t.

“Do you honestly think they don’t?” He stared hard at the top of Zach’s head until Zach finally looked up again. “Not that a single one of them will admit to it. Hell, I’ll even be generous enough to concede that a lot of them don’t realize what they’re doing. But when it comes down to it, we’re dancing to a centuries-old tune here. The fact that we’re Jugs—and therefore, yes, there is a real reason to be afraid of us—just gives a veneer of legitimacy to prejudices that were in place long before the pandemic.”

“I’m sorry, Nico.” Zach began gathering the pages of the constitution Nico had flung aside. “I’ll take this back and tell them there’s no way the Jugs will ratify it.”

Nico caught the sheath of papers. “No. Leave it. I want the Jugs to know what we’re dealing with. And for my own part, I’m going to recommend we assign a delegate to the committee.”

Zach’s crestfallen face reflected just how much hope of success he thought that proposal would meet. He bowed his head again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You’re not the one who did it.” Nico sighed and set the papers on top of the dresser, returning to bed to crawl across the sheets and straddle Zach. “I need you and Chantal to remind these people that we’re Clean Zone citizens too. We’re making our homes here. This is going to be our constitution as much as theirs.”

“I won’t let them forget.” Zach moaned softly as Nico’s weight settled on top of him, his mouth parting. The taste of his yielding was heady, and not for the first time, Nico regretted the circumstances that prevented him from ever knowing what it would feel like to be buried within Zach. If they could trust condoms, it would be another story, but after several seasons on dusty shelves, exposed to the extremes of winter and summer without any climate control, they couldn’t risk it. Even though the Beta mutation didn’t occur in the course of sexual contact, Kaleo’s words of caution about whether or not he could infect Zach with the Alpha strain were always with him. Nico had offered to try to infect Zach with Alpha—if it was even possible, which most people seemed to think unlikely—after they’d reunited, but Zach had refused, and since he’d disposed of the ampule, that was the end of that.

But that pang of regret was short-lived as Zach’s hand slid between Nico’s straddling thighs, cupping and stroking his increasingly heavy cock through his fatigues. When Zach’s fingers did that—oh God, yes, and that—he could forget all about the constitution. And the endless wait for the remaining personnel in Cheyenne Mountain to surrender. And his worries for his own future and that of the other Jugs here in the Clean Zone. He had Zach, and they had a home, and everything else was negotiable as long as they could keep touching each other, coming together at the end of the day.