Urban Dead: The Price of the Oath

[Josh]

Gatcombeton

The Marriott Place School was a fine example of the Victorian architecture that graced Malton. Or it had been, before the fall.

Now, all the shattered windows were boarded over. Thirty-three people held out inside, growing ever weaker and more despondent as food and hope both dwindled.

Relief of a sort was coming.

Like most hordes, this one was a spontaneous formation, accumulating members the way a snowball grows. There had been ten to start, who'd died in close proximity. As they traveled aimlessly through Jensentown, more zombies fell in with them. As their numbers gave them strength, they fell less and less to the human hunters.

The horde grew, and moreover, the horde grew stronger, faster, more cunning. Unlike the solitary ferals that menaced only the unwary or overconfident, the horde seemed driven by a purpose. With pretenatural instinct, they sought buildings full of vulnerable human populations.

Tonight, a hundred and seventy zombies assaulted one such stronghold. With fury and purpose they assaulted the barricades, smashing down the blockages to the entryways with sheer mass. Within seconds, they were through the doors, pouring into the building. Scattered shots rippled out from the occupants as precious hoarded weapons and ammunition were employed to no avail. The survivors sold themselves dearly, fighting futilely to buy time for a few to escape.

The horde slashed through the weakened occupants, falling only to rise again almost immediately. Sweeping through the school, they butchered their prey with remorseless efficiency...

[Pcm979]

There was a gentle rapping sound on the partition outside. Petro roused quickly, yawning. "Whatta fuck ya want now?" he groaned. "Sir? You wanted to be notified when the 1st returned. They're coming through the perimeter now."

She'd been sleeping meekly against him, moulded to the contours of his hips, and when he first sat up it jarred her into consciousness as well.

"Baby...?" she murmured, curious and peeking up at him through her bangs.

"1st is back home," he said excitedly, rousing quickly. "Hey, thanks. I'll be out there in a bit," he said to the runner as he slid out of bed and grabbed his pants.

She wiped at her eyes, then said: "Wan' me t'come?"

"If you want to," he said. "Or you can sleep," he said, kissing her forehead. "The boys are back in town," he said gleefully.

She smiled. Although she'd never admit it, somehow Melanie almost felt as though it wasn't her place to share that excitement over their exploits. After all, they came before her chronologically, didn't they? She yawned, told him nothing of it, and declared sleep.

"I'll be back in a bit then," he promised. He dragged his shoes on, grabbed his shirt and ran out of the bedroom.
She curled up with another yawn and passed out. Not quite instantaneously.

He slid down the stairs, dashing for Sherry and Mike's quarters. He wouldn't rouse Ace- the kid really needed his sleep, assuming he was sleeping at all.

Sherry was blissfully plunked down in her hammock, hands dangling and mouth slack. Mike, however, was absent. Probably tending to... Something in the infirmary, no doubt.

He hammered his fist on the wall loudly. "YO!"

She snapped to attention with an "EEEEEP" and moved to jump up from the hammock but instead managed to spectacularly tangle herself, legs and arms bent awkwardly like an animal in a snare.

He stuck his head around the corner. "Morning!" He entered the room proper and moved to extricate her from her little situation.

And him arriving didn't help, as he now had her hands to avoid as she slugged the air around his head. "MotherFUCKER."

He laughed. "By the way, Steve and the boys are coming in from a long and glorious patrol of protecting the helpless likes of us. Figured..." he sidestepped a jab. "You might want to say 'hi' with me."

"Fucking... Polesmoker..." She grunted, freed herself, and spilled onto the floor in a heap. "TILE COLD." She then commented.

Now that she was safely freed from the hammock-beast, he studiously stepped back out of range. "This is revenge for that time you dumped that cup of water in my face," he pointed out.

"Like walking in on you and your fucking psycho wife clawing each other like primitive hunter-gatherer fucks wasn't enough?" she whined, standing.

"Y'know, I saw Mike with his shirt off yesterday. He had some bruises that I swear didn't come from any work he's been doing," he said innocently. "Any idea about that?" A kitten nudged up against his ankle. "Hey, a kitty!" he said, suddenly distracted.

"Indeed a kitty," she said, picking it up and nuzzling its cheek. "This'n is May, but I call her Li'l Shit." Sherry gestured to her wrist, where there was a rather nasty little patchwork of scratches.

He chuckled at that. "Good kitty," he enthused. "Bite the mean woman. So anyway, about those bruises..." he turned and started for the door.

"What I want to know is why you were eyein' my knight without his armour," Sherry said, plopping the kitty onto her shoulder and taking off after him, careful to close the door.

"Crafty evasions will serve you not at all," he said as he passed her a cigarette. "After all, seeing to the well-being of my people is the general's job."

She tucked it behind her ear. "Let's just say he hands out a fair alottment of bruises as well. The fucker." Affectionately.

"And yet you have to comment disparagingly on the lovemaking habits of dear old dad? For shame, Punk-ass, the foul stench of hypocrisy is wafting past my nostrils..." He started up the stairs.

"You weren't lovemaking! You were fucking clothed!" she huffed, scratching the kitty underneath the jaw as they jogged up.

"Oh, -you- always start out stark naked, I'm sure, and with the lights off, and all proper and missionary-like, right?" He trotted along the upper level.

"Well yeah," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He stopped right in front of her, too abrupty for her to stop. As she piled into him, he staggered forward. "Hold on," he said. "I have to go back for my boots. It's getting deep in here."

She took a step backwards, then spanked his ass and took off running.

He took off after her, shorter legs churning. "Kitty might fall off your shoulder!" he yelled.

"Kitty has claws!" she hollered. And indeed, the kitten was having no difficulty whatsoever keeping latched to her, partially curled in the hood of her sweater.

He waited until they were nearing the entrance, then yelled "Hey Mike, just in time!" before putting on an extra burst of speed.

Sherry predictably glanced over.

And he took advantage of her distraction to slip just past her and slap the wall at the entrance a second ahead of her. Just then, Harv, one of the Blackcaps that had been moved over to the 1st, came through the entrance.

Sherry glanced up to him and managed to keep herself from slamming straight into him by the grace of God alone, chest heaving as she grinned toward him with more than a little enthusiasm.

And then she realised he probably had still thought she was dead.

Fortunately, the 1st had been filled in on the Sherry revival during one of their radio check-ins. He grinned at her sheepishly. After all, he was doing her old job, and also being held to the standards she'd set. It hadn't been easy. "Hey Sherry," he said, stepping aside as the rest of the 1st started filtering in. Zee came in last, contriving as he usually did to somehow look dapper even in post-apocalyptic gear.

And even though he'd know she was alive, the way she appeared now--playful, carefree--was such a stark contrast to how she had appeared when they'd last seen her...

"Hey, you," she said with a grin, clapping him sturdily on the arm. Big shoes to fill.

"Welcome home, boys and girls! Hot food's waiting for you in the cafeteria, bunks and booze are just this way," Petro was announcing, slapping backs and shaking hands. "We saved fresh beef and fruit just for you guys. TOMATOS," he said enthusiastically. "And PINEAPPLES, courtesy of the 1st Irregular expats, Sherry and Mike." It was always good to see the team come home with no fatalities, no major injuries. Bandages peeked out here and there, scrapes and cuts, the usual operating hazards.

"Expat?" she said with a grin, shoving him in the shoulder mercilessly, thunking his skinny ass against the wall.

"Yeah, well you were off MAKING MISSIONARY POSITION IN THE DARK SEX WITH MICHAEL," he announced. Steve shook his head, stepping between them. "Remind me why we come back," he said with a small grin.

"So someone else can kick him in the crank to shut him up?" Sherry offered helpfully, taking a pack from someone and hefting it onto her shoulder.

Petro likewise shouldered a pack. "So what's this I've been hearing on RFM about Melanie Booth and you?" Steve asked as the unit started down the stairs. Petro shook his head. "Fucking Shaw's a blabbermouth of epic proportions. It's mostly true, though."

"Shaw doesn't have half the fucking story," Sherry grumbled in Steve's general direction.

"Oh don't you fucking start," Petro shot back. They made their way to the cafeteria, where plates and food were already waiting for them. Shucking packs, the unit piled in. Steve grabbed a seat at the end of the table as Petro snagged a bottle of rum and started it down the line. "So, what else has been going on?" Steve asked as he lifted a pineapple ring and studied it for a long moment as if it were some strange, foreign creation. Petro looked over at Sherry. Oh, where to fucking start...

"Well I shot myself in the face, woke up with uncontrollable urges to fuck Dr. Mike, Petro got a crazy girlfriend who makes him bathe with his clothes on and adopted a blind kid, some guy up on the roof is gay, and we just got seventy barrels of oil in today..."

Steve paused with the pineapple slice halfway to his mouth. "No, really..." he said. He popped it into his mouth, savoring the flavor, then waggled an admonishing finger at her. "You've been hanging around the old man too much."

"No," she said, "I'm serious." And gave him her best serious face. Seriously.

He lifted a salted strip of beef and looked at Petro. "So what happe..." "She's serious, Steve." "Somebody please pass the bottle back this way," Steve announced. "So... bathing fully clothed?" he asked when the bottle got back. Petro rolled his eyes. "Why the fuck is everyone interested in my love life?"

"'Cause even in a city of fucking zombies your love life sticks out in its sheer weirdness," Sherry commented.

"So anyway, we're going to have a half dozen ballistas ready by the end of the week, going for a full load of twenty, we'll have oil traps, the trench line is growing, we're merging Guard assets into our defense plan," Petro plowed ahead.

"I seem to recall the man asked you a question," Sherry said, taking a swig from the bottle of rum and passing it down the line.

"And on further consideration, I've decided I really don't want to know. I deal with enough weirdness as it is," Steve said.

Sherry laughed, then grabbed one of the passing Blackcaps by his sleeve and told him to holler if he caught sign of her missing and presumably workaholic doctor.

The Blackcap agreed as Petro and Steve discussed the defenses. The rest of the table chattered cheerfully, winding down from what was apparently a good, sucessful run. Tall tales flowed freely. Petro listened and chatted for a bit, then excused himself. It wasn't his unit anymore, and these weren't his adventures. Another case of when the boss needed to now when to bugger off.

Sherry stayed on a bit longer, as several of those that had been assigned to the 1st were apparently worried sick about her, which was the last thing she expected to hear. She saw Petro depart from the corner of her eye.

"Hey Steve, look me up when you come around, okay?" Petro said, as he waved his way out the door. The booze was flowing freely as the Irregulars began the serious work of drinking themselves comatose. Petro stopped to make sure that assistance would be available for anybody trying to stagger their way to a bunk.

And after another half hour or so, Sherry excused herself and trotted up to him, hands shoved into the pockets of her tracksuit pants and kitty perched atop her head.

He yawned. "Looks like they're holding up good. I'm giving them three days to drink, sleep, and pursue such acrobatic sex acts as they can scare up around here before we go out. Anything you see that I should know about?"

She shook her head and caught his yawn, goddamn him. "Nup," she said with satisfaction. "They're doing good."

"Steve's done fine with them," he said, both proud and a tad regretful. "Hell, half of 'em weren't even Irregulars when he took over, but you could hardly tell the difference. Not," he smirked. "That any of us originals will ever admit -that-."

She laughed, then sighed a bit. "No, I think... I think it's good, what he's done. I was worried about the Caps, after Lenny found me and all... They don't see me as a leader anymore." She looked a bit remoseful at that; she had actually tried. "But that's okay, as long as they're doing well."

"Yeah, well things are different after the refinery raid and bringing home the bacon," he pointed out. "That's a couple of major coups for you there."

She chuckled. "They saw me beaten, Petro," and that was all she really needed to say.

"People have short memories," he said, throwing an arm around her. "You've gone and fed the mall, since, and that's our biggest concern here. People mostly think with their stomachs anyway." Although if a major horde attack went down, the oil run would also loom large in their minds.

She shrugged. "Then maybe it's more a 'me' thing. I just don't think I'm that great of a leader, and after looking at what Steve's done with my boys I'm glad he has 'em instead of me."

"Better you figure that out now," he said. "Either you do, or you don't. We'll see. But it's all in here," he said, rapping his knuckle against her breastbone. "You can recover from mistakes, if you've got the confidence."

She shrugged, looked to him. "Just... Look at it this way: would you trust your life with someone as inconsistent as me? I wouldn't..."

"Didn't I?" he said. "You came through when it counted."

"And then I died," she said indifferently.

He grimaced. "I know. It was... bad. But you came back, and you walked past the head of that little fuck on the way in."

She leaned on his shoulder. "Yeah," she said, "I did." And the tone of her voice made it sound like that wasn't much of a victory.

"Hey," he said. "It's a process. We're surviving here. You came back to us, Mike brought you back. And this time around, you've pulled off two major coups. Give yourself some fucking credit."

"I'm not earning credit," she said, "I'm just trying to break even."

"In your own head," he said. "Because you're way the fuck harder on yourself than anybody else is. Cool it, kid," he said. "I don't fuck around with my people, you know that. If I didn't think you were up to snuff, you think I would've let you run the convoy instead of me?"

"I know," she mumbled. "But... Seein' them all again reminds me of the fact that the unit took a lot of damage just because someone had a personal problem with me. That's some heavy guilt."

"Where would they be now if it weren't for you? You know how he was treating the people under him. There was a good chance that he would've started fucking around with us anyway, and then I would've had Steve and Darek stomp them flat, and they'd all be dead. That so many of them are still alive is because of you."

She'd never thought about that. At all. She said so.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a punk-ass kid and I'm a smart old guy," he said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "Who still kicks your ass in footraces."

"Who cheats," she said.

"Cheating is what losers call the smart things the winners do," he said with a triumphant smirk.

"And the winner of a rat race is still a rat," she chided him.

"Rats are survivors," he said. "We can learn a lot from noble brother rat. Anyway, you get my point, though. You've still got my confidence. The minute you don't, I will yank your ass off the line. I don't play favorites for shit like that, no matter how fond I am of you. So trust me on this, okay?"
She smiled. "Thanks, hardass."

"Hah. Hardass..." he turned and tapped her cheek with his fingertips, then stepped back into a fighting stance, palms open as he darted at her, seeking to rap her yet again. "C'mon, show the old guy whatcha got."

"Well hardass 'cause you have a hard head, and considering the proximity the two can usually be found in..." She darted left, swung right, poked him square in the gut.

"OH," he said, taking the poke and sidestepping, rising to his tiptoes to slap her on the back of the head. "Fucking punk. Go beat up your doctor."

"Go beat up your nurse!" she retorted, ducking impossibly low and grabbing his ankles, then proceeding to hoist him over her shoulder.

"This," he observed after a moment. "Is most undignified. Put me down or I court-martial your ass."

She sauntered back toward the cafeteria, holding him by the legs, and looked to those still seated at the tables. "Does anyone constitute this as undignified?" she asked.

There were hoots and cheers all around. "You realize that when I get down, I'm going to kick every last ass in the room," Petro grumbled.

"People will start saying you've got a thing for it," she said with a giggle. "Ass, I mean."

"Yeah, my staff is full of them," he pointed out. "Now, we can do this in a nice, cozy polite fashion, or I can karate-chop the shit out of your back in order to get down."

"What?" she said, "did you just say your ass was full of staffs?"

"No, but your ass is about to be..."

"If you put your staff anywhere near my ass I'll have to get a shot!" she said. She pulled him off of her and hung him upside down over the nearest fountain.

"Hey hey," he squirmed free. "I have standards, and I'm not a fucking cradlerobber, you minor child."

"Melanie's only two years older than me," she pointed out.

Damn. They'd obviously been talking. He looked to the left and right, then brightened up suddenly. "Hey Mike!"

Sherry grinned. "Not falling for that one again," she said simply.

And just then, Dr. Mike Freeman joined them.

He raised an eyebrow as a ruffled Petro pushed passed him with a grin.

"Do I want to know?" He asked amusedly.

[Caz]

The boy was restless. He'd been sleeping in Punt's room ever since the earmuff incident. Endearingly enough, he could almost never be seen without them, at least hanging around his neck if not on his ears proper.

But in the last few hours, the boy had grown quiet. It was the middle of the night, and Jared's head was filled with noise.

Static, like the absense of picture on a television.

His static was the absence of thought.

"Uncle Punt?" he said quietly from the futon, looking over to the vague lump in the sleeping bag a few metres away.

"Uncle Punt, somethin's wrong..."

[Pcm979]

Punt flipped the sleeping bag up, reaching for a weapon instinctively. When he realised that he wasn't in immediate danger, he relaxed slightly. But not too much; The boy's instincts were usually correct, and in Malton, 'wrong' could be very dangerous indeed.

"W's wrong?" He asked, shuffling into a sitting position. He was fully dressed, ready for action; Another post-Malton habit.

[Caz]

In the darkness, his eyes were tiny silver glints, but they were open wide and terrified.

He said it not happily, as someone with his problem would be expected to. But rather as though, by this happening, it meant something worse was going to come and replace them.

"... The voices. They're gone."

[Pcm979]

Punt lifted his patch and concentrated. The shapes and lines sprang into view, as always. A little dimmer at night, when less thought and movement was going on, but there.

"I'n still see everything." He said cautiously.

[Caz]

"Well... The voices aint talkin'. I hear..." The boy fumbled for the word, not having much luck. The charms he wore in his hair clinked in the darkness as he shook his head.

"I hear somethin' else."

[Pcm979]

Punt licked his lips. Could it be? He carefully stood up and walked over to Jared, making noise so he wouldn't startle the boy. He carefully took the boy's hand and turned towards the outer wall, looking towards the distant trenches.

"'Sit sound like this looks?" He asked, concentrating and placing the boy's hand on his head gently.

Visible around the Mall, circling it from the places where the trenches would be if several feet of concrete wasn't barring the way, was a dim, dull flicker, like lightning in the mist. The Zombies, staked and chained down, but still twitching in a grotesque parody of life.

[Caz]

Jared gasped, jerking reflexively back from the wall and clinging to Punt's chest with a frightened nod.

"Yeah, yeah, only louder," he whimpered.

[Pcm979]

"Fuck." He said softly. "Pardon my French." He added reflexively, continuing:

"A horde."

[Caz]

He saw the pictures in Punt's head. Buildings left with nothing but gaping holes where doors would have been. Smashed glass everywhere. Perhaps some leftovers if the troupe had come and gone quickly...

"May not come here," he said, "the noise... They aint actively seekin' us..."

[Pcm979]

"Not lookin', but we're 'bvious." Punt said darkly. "Big. Stayin' still. Juicy." Something crept into his voice; Personal experience mixed with disgust.

He knew how it worked firsthand.

More images, this time willingly set loose from Punt's mind. That was what was great about talking to the kid; If he couldn't say it, he could show it.

The main horde, shambling down the streets, only as fast as its slowest, as smart as its dumbest. But there were hangers-on, fast ones, self-contained packs that roamed ahead and abreast of the swarm, trying to get there first, and bringing the whole horde down on what they found.

"Need to watch. Listen." He said, almost to himself. "Vigilant."

[Caz]

The boy shuddered, nearly to the point of asking Punt to stop, but he held his tongue. He had to see it.

"They can't get us in here, can they?" he whispered.

[Pcm979]

Punt quickly snapped his mind shut. The kid wouldn't see those images. No one should.

"S' long as we're careful." He said vaguely. "We got plans." A quick slideshow; The oil, the trenches, the fallback positions.

[Caz]

Jared made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, like a sob that wasn't ever going to make it to his mouth.

"The Smilin' Man said aint no-one gonna live through this," he whispered, as though the horde would descend just because he raised his voice. He tried to calm his heart, which thundered in his chest like hoofbeats.

[Pcm979]

Punt snorted. "Since he's dead, his word don't count. No, we'll live. We'll keep on goin' 'cause that's what we do." Jared could easily tell that Punt fully believed this.

[Caz]

Jared sighed a bit, relaxed by Punt's dogged determination to survive. They'd obviously both seen the horrors Malton had to offer now.

"Long as you make it, I will. Deal?" he asked.

[Josh]

They dropped down to the ground, one after the other, laden with gear and weapons, the 1st Irregulars moving off on their mission. Faces and other exposed flesh was blacked, harnesses silenced, anything that could make deadly noise taped down or otherwise muffled.

====================
"Not got a big speech today. We're the best in the business, when it comes to killing zombies."
====================

They stopped at the latest corpse-pit, clambering down the sides. The disemembered remants of a half-dozen zombies squirmed and wiggled as they moved among them.

====================
"Total lowlight, here, the whole objective is to get in, out, and nobody sees us. This one's going to be trickier than the usual run."
====================

Petro crouched down next to an armless, headless torso that spasmodically twitched every few seconds. With a studiously maintained blank expression, he dipped his fingers into the torso, getting them sticky slick with oozing rot, then began smearing it on his shirt.

====================
"We're doing it for our home and for each other, same as always. Let's cut the bullshit and get moving."
====================

Pulling his knife, he severed two twitching fingers from a zombie hand, then deposited them in one of his pouches. He was well-smeared with zombie goop by now, and had helped others get daubed as well, much in the fashion of applying insect repellent. He smoked a cigarette as he waited for the others to finish.

Once they were done, he waved to everyone with a casual 'follow me' gesture and started up out of the trench. Passing by Jaycee's severed head, he paused just long enough to flick his finished cigarette into the eye of the chattering zombie head, where it bounced back with an explosion of small embers. The head made the first noise of the past few minutes, moaning a pitiful 'Mrh?' at them.

[Pcm979]

In thoroughly macarbe fashion, Mike and Sherry lathered each other with the disgusting goop tenderly before setting out, both at the front. Sherry was the best scout, and so darted ahead of them, while Mike directed them towards their destination, correcting their course on a weathered city map whenever they had to make a detour.

[Josh]

Two days, in, traveling by night. They hadn't quite reached the edge of the horde zone yet, but it was getting thicker and thicker on the ground all the time. Petro pulled Sherry and Mike aside. "Let's check out the apartment complex on the corner of 14 and Stowbridge, see if we can shut down for the day there."

[Pcm979]

Mike squinted at the map in the dark. "Sure, that's on our route. Know the place?"

[Josh]

"Until three months ago, I lived there," he admitted.

[Pcm979]

"Ah, there's nothing like a good dose of local knowledge." Mike said happily. "Okay, I think we should take 7th." He said more seriously. "A couple of Shamblers're cooped up in St. Gabriel's, so we want to avoid that..." He peered at the Map futilely.

[Josh]

He smiled and traced a route on the map. "Over the Chinese restaurant, there's an unmarked pathway behind Geller's, a pub here, we can go to the supermarket and line across straight to the apartment."

[Caz]

From a while ahead of them, there was suddenly a sharp whistle.

Sherry had found something.