Urban Dead: This Means War

[Josh]

"So finish what you started," he said. "We've gone out for you. Now you come back for us. You owe us that much."

[Caz]

Sherry shook her head, burying her head in her hands.

"So what? So I let you save my body while the rest is already ruined? Great."

[Josh]

"I needed you yesterday," he said, lighting a cigarette. "And you were there for me. What happens if I need you tomorrow? And we still have to make that little fucker pay for the people of ours that he's killed. Just because you're gone doesn't mean he's going away. He'll go on doing what he does, killing and breaking, until we stop him."

[Caz]

"That's what I tried to do," she said, "tried. Three times. And I got some of my own people killed, got Melanie killed, got Silver shot three times from some fucking crazy just because I felt like knocking some skulls. Great fucking track record."

With each word, it seemed like she was getting more and more angry. Outside, there were no signs, but she was holding back a fury that few had seen and even fewer had survived.

[Josh]

Good. Emotion. She was coming back at him. That was exactly what she needed.

"Shooting yourself won't make that right," he said. "He has to be stopped. Next time, we do it together. And that's how you make it right."

[Caz]

"It'll keep me from going crazy and killing all of you instead, infection or not."

She sighed, feeling like the wind had been knocked from her.

"Stop trying to save the whole goddamn sinking ship and take care of the people that aren't a liability," she said coldly.

[Pcm979]

Mike laughed, the laugh of a man who was teetering on the edge of utterly losing it.

"A liability. That's fucking funny. That's the funniest thing I've heard in months." He giggled insanely.

"Try killing everyone in the fucking city. Then we can talk about you being a liability."

[Josh]

Oh great. Now Mike was coming uncorked. That was just what they needed.

[Caz]

"Just go," Sherry said. "Mike, Silver needs your help, pull your shit together. Petro, people are counting on you, stop wasting your fucking time."

With that, she just closed off, eyes and ears blind and deaf as she forced herself toward a still but uneasy sleep.

[Josh]

"Fuck you, then," he said wearily. "Fuck you and every other lying motherfucker who ever said they'd stick it out."

He drew the pistol. "Hey, lazy shit, here's your easy way out."

[Pcm979]

Mike grinned at Sherry, although noone could tell. "Coming from you, that's a fucking riot." He shook with silent peals of laughter.

[Caz]

Without a word, she stood, crossed the distance between them, and wrenched the handgun from his hand. There wasn't anything she could say at this point; she'd been running on a dying battery since she'd let Jaycee win.

I let him do it. This is what I deserve.

"Sorry I couldn't make the cut," she said, "for either of you," and pressed the barrel to her temple. She took one step back, then fired, coating the wall she'd been leaning against with the contents of her head.

[Josh]

He looked at Mike. "Detox it, fix Silver, and get this shit taken care of."

He turned to hobble out.

[Pcm979]

Mike just sat there. His head dipped to the floor, and he said nothing.

[Josh]

"Mike," he snarled. "We still have a live one to take care of. Get your ass moving."

[Pcm979]

"Yes, sir." Mike said listlessly, and entered the cell. He carefully knelt down and shot Silver full of a syringe-worth of liquid. He stood up.

"He'll get a fever." Mike said dully. "Throw up for a few days."

[Josh]

"Keep me posted," he said, hobbling out the door.

He shoved his way through the crowd outside, not meeting anybody's gaze. He simply stared straight ahead as he made his way to the escalator and hobbled upstairs, then headed for the roof.

He'd promised. And he'd failed. Another slipped away.

Fuck the goddamned human race anyway.

[Josh]

Thunder crashed and rolled, lightning shattered the early evening gloom with actinic flashes. A cold wind howled.

He sat under the cover of a tarpaulin that had been rigged for one of the observation posts on the roof, watching it pour down. A pile of burned-out cigarettes sat next to him. As he finished one, he lit the next one off of it, and stared into the distance.

The sound of jogging feet didn't inspire him to move, but as the body shoved itself under the tarp, he spoke up.

"Go away," Petro said simply.

"Can't do that," Frank Zimmerman said, couching down next to him. "We need to talk."

"It can wait," he answered.

"No, it can't. First, I had to get the rumors under control down there, because security or not, the detox measures are kind of conspicuous. So far as they know, there was concern over the virus that we've already noticed, and it was contained," Zimmerman said. "And I told them about Sher-" he continued, only to be cut off.

"Don't say that name," Petro said, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"Begging your pardon," Zimmerman said sarcastically. "We don't have time for you to freeze up now."

"Fuck you, Frank. I'm not a general. I was a god damned lieutenant in the metro Fire Service. I fucked up here. Whatever they want to call me, I'm not making a go of this."

"If you don't make a go of it, everyone here dies," Frank shot back. "You're the one who glues this community together and gives them hope."

Petro leaned back against the air conditioner unit. "I killed her, Frank. I gave her the gun and dared her to shoot herself. And she did."

"You got too close," Frank said bluntly. "It compromised your ability to properly distance yourself. As you're fond of saying, quit being a fucking cunt and get back to work. You don't have a choice."

Petro closed his eyes. "Fine. I'll be down in an hour."

"An hour," Zimmerman repeated. "I'm holding you to that." He got up and darted back out into the rain, leaving Petro alone with his thoughts once more.

[Pcm979]

Mike did as he was told. He was professional if nothing else. Sherry's body was removed, Silver stripped of his bloody clothes (For incineration), and the cell washed down with just about every form of detergent and antiseptic known to man. After that, well. He did his rounds mechanically and went to bed. He was simply too stunned to do anything else.

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Mike stared at his pen stupidly. It wasn't working. He scratched it against the page futilely, and gave up, flinging it across the room in an uncoordinated fit of rage.

"Oh, god." He buried his head in his hands and sighed.

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten dinner, or breakfast. He not only lacked an appetite but didn't honestly know if he could keep his food down. Blood he was used to, death was, by this stage, an old friend. But when the person in question was someone you'd declared your love for mere hours before, someone you'd watch slowly but surely self-destruct? It was too much.

Suddenly, August started barking vigorously, for no apparent reason.

Mike opened his fingers and peered through them, lacking the energy to stand.

The dog kept barking, but still, there seemed to be no reason...

Mike sighed again, and levered himself to his feet using his elbows, letting go of his head like it was coming loose. "What's up, boy? Mr. Zombie knockin' at the door?"

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

Mike would have honestly been happier if he actually thought it was one of the Undead requesting entrance, but sadly he suspected it was a live person outside. He wasn't really up to talking at the moment.

"Sorry, I'm really amazingly busy in here!" He yelled at the door, in what he hoped was a convincing tone.

"You can spare a minute," the voice answered. Petro.

Mike groaned. Just fucking great. "You're the boss." He allowed, and slumped back into the chair.

Petro opened the door and slid inside, pausing to reach down and scratch August's head, favoring him with a small, mysterious smile, before he looked up to Mike. His expression could best be described as 'haggard', as if he'd aged ten years overnight. "Mike," he said, proceeding to the chair opposite of the desk and flopping in it.

"Petro." Mike said evenly. If the other man wanted to 'talk', he'd bloody well have to start it.

He hesitated, reaching into pocket for his cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it. Finally, his dark eyes settled on Mike. "How are you holding up?"

"In short? I'm not." Mike's eyes were bloodshot and his hair was even messier than usual. He'd quite obviously had a rough night.

He nodded. "Understood. We've got the Guard doctors in now, they can take up the slack. You want some time off, or you want to keep working?"

Mike attempted to steeple his fingers, but it deteriorated until he was holding his chin up with his hands. "I need to get my shit together." He was almost talking to himself. "I don't think I can do that... Here."

"You want to go out with the Irregulars again?" he asked.

Mike shook his head. "No, that wouldn't help either." He looked at Petro for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"Remember the first weeks? When it was just the five of us?" Petro, him, Zimmerman, FM and Zed. "I went out on those bigassed solo jaunts for days."

He nodded. "I remember. You don't need to be alone right now, though. We lost..." he hesitated. "We lost Sherry because she couldn't let us help her. Don't you go down that same road, Mike."

"I do need to be alone." He said earnestly. "I need to be out, I need to be away. Just a week or two."

"Go to it, then," he said. "A week and a half. And if you're not back by then, I'm coming out to get you."

Mike nodded gratefully. "10 days. If I don't come back, it'll be because I'm looking for my own brains."

"Keep your eyes open," he admonished. "I'm not up for losing another one. You people are my family now." He reached down to pet August once more. "You taking champ here along, or you want me to take care of him?"

Mike smiled. "He's mine. Little guy kept me alive on rats and shit before I met you, and he's got the best damn nose in Malton. Can smell a shambler from a block away, I swear."

"Okay," he said. "Talk to Frank about getting a full loadout, ammo, food, whatever you need. See you in ten days."

Mike nodded. "Thanks. For what it's worth, you guys are my family, too."

He rose to his feet, wobbling on his bad knee a bit. "It's worth the world right now, Mike. We're all we have, right?" He turned to hobble for the door.

"Too fucking true." Mike said softly.