Slow Burn (Book 3): Destroyer by Bobby Adair

again.
    “No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that I’ve been told the same thing. Apparently I’m a bit uptight.”
    Steph looked off to my right, and I followed her gazed to see Dalhover’s sour face looking down on me. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come up.”
    Dalhover, of course, said nothing, but simply waited for me to proceed.
    “Dr. Evans asked me to talk to you about your tactics with the infected.”
    “Okay,” Dalhover responded, as though the word took more effort than he had energy for.
    “Okay,” I parroted, for no other reason than to be a dick. “My experience with the infected is different than yours, but when I’ve been trapped with people, kind of like you guys are here, I found that if I remained hidden and stayed quiet, they forget about me. They’re not smart. They don’t have long attention spans. They eventually go away.” I didn’t want to tell Dalhover outright that they were dealing with the infected all together incorrectly but it needed to be said. “Whenever people out there fire a gun, start up a car, or even start talking too loud, the infected hear and they swarm to the source. Every time. They know what sounds to associate with normal people. Whenever you fire a gun, it’s like ringing a bell for Pavlov’s dog.”
    Dalhover’s flat expression didn’t change. He just looked at me.
    I looked back and unsuccessfully tried to gesture a response out of him.
    Nothing.
    I got a little irritated. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    Dalhover paused just long enough to hint at rudeness and said, “Yes.”
    I decided to be blunt. “Do you think maybe you should change your tactics then? Maybe hide out here? Maybe give yourselves a chance?”
    “No.”
    “What?” The volume of my voice shot up a few notches.
    “Zed,” Steph said, trying to defuse my rising temper.
    “Why?” I asked Dalhover. “Why stick with what you’re doing when you know it’s not working?”
    Over Dalhover’s shoulder, one of the soldiers was starting to fidget with his gun and look around. He was clearly uncomfortable with the tone of the conversation.
    Then Dalhover spoke. “When Evans asked you to talk with me, did you think that you’d just tell me how it was because you’re the only one who knows anything about killing the infected? Or did he want us to share what we both know?”
    “Well…” I started, immediately on the defensive.
    Steph cut in. “Zed, listen to Sergeant Dalhover. Maybe with what he knows and what you know, you might figure out some more things about the infected.”
    I wanted to protest and tell them I knew all the important things there were to know, but I didn’t. As much as I thought it was true, it also felt a lot like arrogance, which meant that’s probably what it was. So I nodded and tried my best to sound sincere. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Dalhover. I’d like to hear what you know about fighting them.”
    Dalhover stared at me for another length of time that bordered on rudeness before his rusty voice said, “Everything you said is right, but you’ve missed the most important point.”
    I jumped in with, “The emergent behavior!”
    “What?” Dalhover asked, either surprised or not understanding a word outside of his vocabulary.
    “Ah, how they follow each other around and stuff,” I explained.
    “That’s part of it.” Dalhover told me. “Call that whatever you want. For whatever reason, they like to mimic. The part that’ll get you killed though, and I mean you because you think you already know everything, are the Smart Ones.”
    “The Smart Ones?” I asked, my tone dripping with disbelief.
    “Zed,” Steph cut in again, “the virus doesn’t have the same effect on everybody. Mostly it turns people into… into them.”
    “The Whites,” I said.
    “Yes,” she confirmed. “But there are others, well, like you. You’re fine. Normal. But there are lots in between with different levels of brain function.”
    Like Russell, I