The Last Town (Book 4): Fighting the Dead by Stephen Knight

Hailey said. His voice was a flat monotone.
    Corbett led the entourage through the sliding glass door. Lennon and two of his men were already out there waiting. They wore tactical helmets now with AN/PVS-14 night vision monocles covering their right eyes. They scanned the desert, and each man held a pistol in his right hand.
    “See anything, Walt?” Corbett asked.
    “Negative. We’re secure for the time being. I have Tamblyn and McGregor out front. McGregor has the REPR locked and loaded.” Lennon pronounced the acronym for Rapid Engagement Precision Rifle as “reaper”, and the designation was apt. Corbett was frankly very fond of the weapon, which fired 7.62-millimeter man-killers out to ranges of over five hundred yards.
    “I hope he’s not flashing that thing around in front of the police,” Corbett said.
    “No, sir. He is not. He’s mounted up in the Expedition.” As he spoke, Lennon kept turning his head, panning the monocle across the dark desert.
    “Did you want to talk to me about something, sir?” Hailey asked.
    “I did. Your boss was long gone when you shot him, Hailey. In fact, you didn’t even shoot him —you shot a bag of bones that just happens to look like him. Do you understand what I mean?”
    Hailey nodded in the darkness, his face only slightly illuminated by the light spilling out of the sliding glass door behind him. “Yes, sir. I know all that.”
    “Well, you’re not acting like you know it, so you might want to take a moment and get yourself squared away,” Corbett said, not unkindly. “The rest of the guys on your force, are they any good? I understand Santoro and ... who’s the other guy, Vic?”
    “Whitter,” Victor said immediately. “Does anyone mind if I smoke?”
    “So long as you don’t light yourself on fire,” Norton said.
    “I’m not that drunk. Yet.” Victor reached inside his jacket and pulled out his cigarette case.
    “Anyway, Hailey,” Corbett continued. “Santoro and Whitter, I know they’re reputed to be assholes. My question is, what about the others?”
    Hailey shrugged. “They seem okay to me. We’ve only got a force of eight sworn officers, and Lasher’s a part timer, more of a hobby cop. Everyone can do their job, but murders and escaped convicts and stuff, that’s more for the Highway Patrol than us local yokels.”
    “Mike, you okay?” Danielle asked suddenly.
    “Yes,” Hailey responded dully.
    “Hailey, it’s a shit job, but you’ve got to do it now,” Corbett said. “I’ll lean in and give you guys as much support as I can—we already have guys getting ready to come in and help with the search. And believe me, they’re better than the California Highway Patrol any day.”
    “Hell yes,” Lennon said. He reached up with his left hand suddenly and pressed it against his left ear.
    “Something over the radio?” Corbett asked. All of his men were wired up with communications gear. Lennon held up a finger and walked away a few steps. Corbett grunted and turned to Victor. “Okay, Vic. Give me your notes.”
    “Heard about a shooting on 395, rolled up there with Suzy, we found a corrections bus with three dead prison guards in it. Grady arrived about two minutes after we did. We surmised that the prisoners had escaped, they were armed and dangerous, and that the potential for them heading for Single Tree was high. Hailey met us here on Substation Road, and Grady sent him off to Muir to check things there. We came here to Estelle’s, and guess what, bad guys. Boom, boom, zombies, boom boom.” Victor delivered all of that in a languid, emotionless monotone.
    “Who shot Grady? The first time,” Corbett asked, looking at Hailey.
    “Someone with a shotgun, which we haven’t found,” Hailey said. “So the guy who has it must have escaped.”
    “The Latino had a pistol, which we recovered,” Victor said. “As far as we know, there are two men at large, and they have a shotgun and possibly two pistols between