Simonds wore a politician's smile he was never seen without. Affable and grandfatherly, he was just the kind of public face the military needed as it pressed its endless, costly war against an enemy that neither thought nor planned.

"Yup," Simonds, went on, "that's my favorite duty, because it's so important for the future. Once we recapture Vancouver and Toronto the real challenges will be open to us. New York, LostAngeles..." he paused briefly as some of the audience chuckled at the popular pun, "maybe even London, Tokyo. That's where you kids will be fighting the zombies. You should think of this day like a 'thank you' in advance. I think the very least we can do is show you how to do it."

Another spotlight suddenly cut through the darkness, lighting the black drape at the opposite side of the arena. Out stumbled a putrescent walking corpse, flailing its arms and awkwardly making its way forward. Its jaw was slack, its tongue lolling out in anticipation of its next meal. A collective sigh filled the arena.

"Look at it," Simonds said. "I bet this is the first zombie most of you kids have ever seen. That says something about how far we've come. It's hard to imagine, but there was a time when zombies even walked the streets of Calgary. But thanks to the vaccine, developed right here in Canada, none of us will ever be zombies. Remember that: kill a zombie, and that's one closer to killing them all.

"That disgusting creature you're looking at was somebody's brother, father or son once. I'm not going to lie to you about that. But he isn't no more; in fact, he's not a heat all, but an it!"

The colonel pulled his service pistol from its holster and carefully aimed at the brightly lit target, before firing. It sounded little more potent than a cap gun, but Paul twitched in his seat anyway. The bullet struck the zombie's shoulder, and it barely even noticed as it kept shambling forward.

"Ah, I didn't quite get him, did I?" Simonds said. "I've seen zombies lose all their limbs and keep on going. Their brain and their hunger drives them forward. They want to eat our flesh. That's all they want. And they never hesitate before they strike."

The zombie lurched steadily forward, having made it almost halfway to the podium. Many children clenched their teeth with the tension, but Land knew it would take a minor miracle for that zombie to actually reach the colonel.

"Now," said Simonds, "some people say, because these things were once our loved ones we shouldn't kill them. We all know people like this. These zombie-lovers think zombies are trainable----maybe we can toss them the odd steak to keep them happy, and teach them to fetch our slippers. But I challenge anyone to look in the eyes of the dead and see anything worth saving. Fellas, can we focus in on that?"

The Jumbotron zoomed in until the zombie's twisted, drooling face filled the screen.

"No life. No intelligence. In humans we see some kind of spark of life; I don't know what it is, but it's always there. You don't see that in zombies. That's what zombies are: humans minus a certain spark, and that's what makes them a perversion in the face of God. There's only one thing to do to them!"

Simonds fired again. This time it struck the zombie square in the head, a perfect killshot. There was a splash of bright red blood, and the creature fell. The Saddledome erupted with cheers and shrill whistles.

The house lights came up. "Pretty cool, eh?" Sgt. Hazelwood whispered to Paul.

"Now before I bring out a very special friend of mine," Simonds said, "we should all rise for the singing of our national anthem." An organ started up with O Canada; as they stood Land extended his arm behind Paul's back and nudged Hazelwood.

"Sergeant," he whispered. "We need to share a word outside."

"But Mr. Land, it's disrespectful..."

" Now," he said, just a little too loud, and he started away from the arena. She placed her drink at her feet and stomped after him. He led her outside, right onto the Saddledome's front steps, and there she began to snap at him.

"Who do you think you are that you can----"

"Who do you think you are to mess with my student like that?" Land shouted back at her. "God, a military pick-up, you hanging over his shoulder... Do you think this isn't hard enough for him anyway? The other kids will never let him hear the end of this."

"Good," Hazelwood said. "I don't want him to forget today. I want him to be traumatized as hell. He'll thank us for it later."

"When? When will he thank us?"

"When he's been dropped in some hellhole and told to kill." There was an absolute conviction in her voice.

"He'll be a man then, and better equipped to handle it than these kids are," Land argued. "Listen to them: they're whistling and cheering! It's just a show for them. That's just how you want them. They don't consider things. They don't think about things. The military doesn't want them to. I don't know who's more brain-dead, zombies or soldiers."

"How dare you!" Hazelwood cried, her throat hoarsening. "This isn't our world any more! It's theirs! We let our guard down, and they tear our throats out! Society mustbe prepared, prepared in every way, for war! It is the only way!"

Land shrunk back at the force of her argument. "Do you remember," he said, his voice cracking, "when they used to say that watching violent movies was desensitizing, and that was a bad thing?"

For a long time there was silence, and then Hazelwood said, "You've been wondering why there's so much special treatment for this one kid? What makes him so important?"

Land nodded.

"That was my idea. When I heard about Paul from your school's liaison office, I thought about the way Iwas before the zombies: a quiet, rural life. No TV. I'd never even witnessed violence. Then I watched a zombie tear my father's head off while he was working the fields. You know what I did? I didn't run, I didn't scream----I just shut off. The shock almost killed me. But that made me who I am."

Hazelwood was trembling slightly. She clenched her fists where she stood to steady herself. "Maybe you're a zombie-lover too, but you earned that right by fighting for your country up in Alaska. Mr. and Mrs. March never served, but their son will have to. Maybe it was noble once to be a conscientious objector, but now it's lunacy. The more they shelter Paul, the more they try to protect him, the more harm they do.

"I know you have stories like mine. We all do. We are the traumatized generation. A bit older and maybe we could have been better prepared for what was happening. A bit younger and we'd never have known a world without the zombies. If we are to spare the new generation what we went through, they must grow up impervious to trauma. Understand me. I value innocence. That's what Paul is. But in this world of ours, innocence kills." There were tears in her eyes. "It seems wrong, I know. Sometimes I spend whole nights crying into my pillow. But it's the only way. Let them cheer when zombies die. Better they cheer than scream."

Land turned away from Hazelwood and gazed at the skyscrapers of downtown Calgary, built so many decades ago, standing there like silent memorials to a dead world. "I wasn't made for these times," he said.

"None of us were," she answered.

Land wiped his eyes and turned back to face her. "They've probably brought out Zombie Bob by now. We should get back to Paul."