Urban Dead: The Price of the Oath

[Caz]

She sighed. "I know," she said. "And I know this is coming out of nowhere, but with Steve the way he is..."

She sighed.

"Besides, it'll be freezing tonight. They'll hardly be able to fight back."

[Pcm979]

"Yeah." He said randomly, then continued: "I'd give you something of mine and say something corny, like "Bring that back to me when you're done", but I don't have anything. So bring yourself back to me, okay?" He said, kissing her on the top of the head.

[Caz]

"You know damn well I'd fight off that whole stack of zeds myself to get back," she said. "Eating lead and shitting bullets tough, right?" she said with a grin. Although she was smiling, he could still sense that there was some reservation about what she had to do.

"You know," she said, "I still don't know if I can do this... I crashed and burned with the Blackcaps... Punt or Silver or Steve would be ideal for this... But not me."

She sighed.

"How's everyone doing, anyway?"

[Pcm979]

"They're doing as well as can be expected." He said vaguely. He looked her in the eyes again, hands on her shoulders.

"You can do anything you set your mind to, okay? You just have to know you can." Fuck it all, he knew about confidence problems better than anyone.

[Caz]

"I know I can," she said simply. "I just know there are better people for the job." She glanced over to Punt's bed.

"Hell," she said, "if it weren't for the fact that he has his duties here and he's having a kid, I bet Petro would be ready to go, busted leg and all. Silver, too."

But instead they get me. And I'll bring them back, 'cause it's more important now than ever.

"Look on the upside," she said with a grin, "you'll get to spend time with the kitties, right?"

[Pcm979]

He chuckled. "Funny little fuzzballs. I'll give 'em a pat from you." He kissed her, their little chat clearly drawing to a close.

[Caz]

As he drew her close, she whispered against his cheek: "We're gonna take these bastards out, okay? If all goes well, they won't even reach the mall. Necrotech just dropped us ammo, food, generators, antibiotics, you name it..."

She reluctantly unwound her arms from his waist.

"We're going to do this," she said with a smile. "We can."

And she was off.

[Pcm979]

Mike stared after her for a second, then shook himself and went back to work.

Punt and Silver were out cold, despite their protests that they were just fine. Typical. Steve- Steve was gone. Mike hated to admit it, but it was simply a waste of time trying to keep him alive. He had to prioritise on those he could still save.

Like Ms. Gwendolyn Sinclair. With a snap of his fingers he pushed everything else to the back of his mind, and fetched the container of experimental drugs. He brought them over to Gwen's bedside and coughed.

"Ms. Sinclair?" He asked, no doubt quite a different sight now he was free of greasepaint and camoflague gear.

[Caz]

Blearily, she opened her eyes as he spoke her name. She smiled, although it was mostly in her eyes as her lips were so chapped.

"Hey," she rasped, her throat burning as she spoke even the single word. The talk with Silver, while it had helped her morale, had totalled her voice.

New doctor this time, she supposed, as this wasn't Dorian.

[Pcm979]

Mike gently propped her up on some pillows, handing her a plastic cup of water.

"I'm Doctor Freeman, Mike Freeman." He said, flipping open the leather bag Ace had filled with the drugs and setting them out carefully.

"You probably don't recognise me as I was covered in greasepaint at the time, but I was there when we found you." He continued, keeping up the banter.

[Caz]

She looked at him, vaguely recognising him at the sound of his name, but didn't say anything. Just a tiny nod. She then let her eyes close. After he propped her up, she took a drink and then said:

"Yeah... I see ya."

[Pcm979]

He nodded. "Keep drinking, Ms. Sinclair. You're badly dehydrated." He fished out a syringe -A traditional one, not NecroTech's advanced formula delivery system- and drew air into it, injecting the air into a bottle filled with a clear liquid and a grey suspension.

"Now, your particular strain of the virus hasn't been properly documented as of yet, but I'm confident we can reverse its effects entirely- with your help." He turned the bottle upside down and drew a little of the liquid into the syringe, holding it to the light and tapping bubbles free.

[Pcm979]

"So what'll it do to me?" Gwen asked curiously, watching him with large blue eyes.

"Flush the infection out of your system. You'll have about a day of nausea, fever, dizzyness... In other words, pretty much the same." He said with a little chuckle, depressing the plunger and shooting the bubbles back into the bottle. He drew more liquid out, tapped it to make sure it was bubble-free, and grunted with satisfaction.

She propped herself up on her elbows, stared up at Mike for another few moments. She managed to keep her laboured breathing under control, at least for then.

"Shouldn't... Waste it on me," she concluded.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but everyone says that." Mike said glibly, grabbing another bottle and injecting the contents of the syringe into it. "The whole dead-rising thing's made everyone annoyingly gallant."

She chuckled a bit and laid back down. "Well I wouldn't say it..." She coughed, stifling it with a fist, "t'be a hero. Fuck gallant. I just don't think I'll live long enough to reap the benefits."

As she spoke, she gestured to the wound gouged into her side.

"Everyone says that, too." He continued, shaking the bottle. "Obviously I don't inspire much confidence in my patients." He joked, watching the bottle's contents fizz slowly.

"That's all right," she said with a sick laugh and another series of coughs. She was so weak that her lungs could hardly force them out.

"Come on, then," she said pulling down the blanket and gesturing to her body, wherever he'd choose to inject her. "Lets get this done."

He gently pulled the blanket back over her, fluffing it with his typical fussiness. "If you could just lean forward, please." He asked, putting a hand behind her head and feeling her neck carefully.

"Dunno if I can," she said with a chuckle, forcing herself up despite her body's unwillingness to comply with her brain's demands. The wound in her side ached and her arms shook from the strain, but she managed to lean forward enough to let him.

His fingers found what they were looking for and parted a tuft of hair. "This will hurt." He commented encouragingly. "Quite a bit." He plunged the needle in, and injected the serum.

The thrashing would start about now.

"Aa--" she started, her back going rigid and her hands tightly clasping fistfulls of the heavy down blanket. Her eyes squinted closed and her teeth chattered, but there was no thrashing. She simply didn't have the energy too. Instead, she whimpered as the pain tore into her. In that moment she was eerily reminiscent of Sherry when they'd first found her, shakily breathing and losing colour to her cheeks.

She groaned, then her body went soft in his hands.

"Oh, fuck." He said softly, the memories flooding back unbidden. He lowered her back to the bed gently and sat down heavily.

Get a grip on yourself. Angst later, work now.

Gwen was hardly breathing by that point, her throat swollen and seized up because of the pain. She panted shallowly, staring up toward him. "Am I... Dying?" she asked, a crazed tinge to her voice. "... Burns..."

He lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to be fine, Ms. Sinclair." He said, almost to himself. "It's always darkest before the dawn, and all that crap." He continued, glancing vaguely towards the place where Sherry would be taking the First in a few hours.

"Thank..." You, she attempted to say, but it came out only as a hacking, sputtering cough. And then she was gone to the world for the next few hours.

A while after Gwendolyn had fallen into unconsciousness, Sherry stopped by and lingered toward the mouth of the infirmary almost shyly, as though she didn't want to interrupt them.

After a minute he spotted her, and rose to his feet with a weak grin. "Hey there."

"Hey," she said almost apologetically. She was dressed in a dark sweater and Kevlar vest, her usual attire forsaken for a pair of black all-weather slacks and boots. They wouldn't bother with the face paint on this mission.

"We're heading out soon," she said quietly.

He walked over to her and fiddled with her hair for a while, not knowing what to say.

"Well. Good luck." He managed lamely. "And if you don't have good luck, well..." He gestured at the infirmary with a weak grin.

She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to his in a long, tender kiss. Far different from the speed and fury and desperation of their usual exchanges. "Don't worry," she whispered into his mouth as she pulled back only to breathe. "I promise I'll come back. I'll be fine."

"You know I'll worry." He said with a guilty grin, arms wrapped around her. "If I didn't, you'd have to check my pulse. But I won't worry too much." He added.

"Then worry about Steve and Silver and Gwen," she said gently. She leaned against him, her body missing the feminine curves he was used to due to the body armour.

"Well then," she said. "I'd better go brief my men."

"You do that." He said, kissing her again. "Get one for me, hmm?" He said with a more genuine smile.

"Fuck that," she said, running her fingers through his hair as she kissed him for the last time. "I'll get you a baker's dozen," she whispered in his ear. As she stepped back, her embrace was tight as she was reluctant to let go. She kept their hands clasped until she absolutely couldn't, then turned and trudged back to the war room.

He looked after her and sighed, running his hands through his hair. Then he turned and headed back to Gwen's bed. Time to check up on her.

Gwen was semi-conscious beneath the blankets, shuddering furiously. A cold sweat had broken out on her cheeks and forehead, which were the colour of alabaster. She didn't respond to words or any attempts to wake her, only opened her mouth and chattered her teeth a bit, mumbling about how her body couldn't decide whether it wanted to be hot or cold.

There was nothing he could do about that. He hated it when he was reduced to merely offering moral support. He drew a chair up and settled in for a night that was only going to get more eventful.

I lied. He thought. It's always darkest before the storm.

[Pcm979]

Petro walked around the corner with, of all things, a can of chocolate pudding and a spoon, plopping them down on the stand next to Punt's bed. "Hey hero."

Punt attempted to sit up straighter in the bed, the move draining blood from his face. "Sir." He said, doing the best to hide the fact that he'd managed to break several ribs, an arm, and puncture a lung.

"Down you," he ordered. "You've earned some layabout time here in the bodyshop. If it was up to me, you'd be getting Victoria's Cross right now. Best I can do for you is some pudding, though."

"Thankyou, sir. Can't live on a medal ‘nyway." Punt chuckled, transferring the can into his trussed-up hand and, after forcing his stiffened fingers around the spoon, beginning to eat.

He nodded. "Supply drops came in two hours ago. The horde's slowing down because they can't handle winter. Thanks to you and Derek, we're going to make it here."

Punt absorbed the information slowly, as was his wont. "Figure I got 50, 60 tops." He said in a tone of voice that hinted he'd fallen short of his quota. "Any more come?" He asked, obviously painstakingly subtracting 50 from 200.

"We took around forty out last night with the militia. Leaves a hundred of them, gimped by the weather. The defenses are ready. We're going to hold. The worst part is over."

Punt nodded, already finished with the pudding. "Better get 'em quick." He mused, almost to himself. Moving to put the spoon down, he frowned as his hand refused to open. "Feel like a baby." He muttered.

He nodded. "Been there. Sick-time sucks. Just do what the doc says and don't fuck around. If we really are going to have a winter window with these bastards freezing out, we're going to trench as many of the fuckers as we can."

He stuck the spoon between his teeth and yanked it out of his own grasp, spitting it into the cup. "Who's leadin' it?" He asked, looking at his unhelpful hand belligerently and stuffing it in his pocket. "Dess? Steve?"

Punt looked at Petro blankly for a minute, then his gaze slid to the curtained-off area where Steve was lying. "Oh." He said softly, gazing at the man's aura. "Shit." It wasn't good at all. "Thought some'n was off."

Punt tried to get up and failed, short of breath and bloodless. "Need to talk to 'er." He wheezed, referring to Sherry. "Tell 'er what I seen, how they're" the Zombies, that is "laid out."

"Down!" he barked. "I'll send her your way."

"Yessir." Punt said, sliding back down the pillows. "I'll... Wait." As if he had a choice.

"I mean it, you stay down until the doc clears you. If I have to kick your ass back into bed, I will. I'll see you later, Punt."

"Yessir." Punt concluded, resigning himself to watching the paint peel for the next few days.

----------

Punt had managed to reach 1,725 sheep before he lost count. He painstakingly worked his way through 1,000 bottles on the wall, and eventually began counting roof tiles.

Never very good at maths, he was starting to wonder if he wasn't actually keeping himself awake, trying to remember all the numbers from 1 to 1,000.

Through most of the time since Punt had been hospitalised, Jared had rested against Punt's bed, waiting for news. It just figured that the one time he left was the time when the man would wake.

"Uncle Punt?" he asked in the darkness of the infirmary.

"Thirty seven." Muttered the man. "Yeah?" He said, addressing the boy in a whispery voice. His punctured lung wasn't adding much to his already negligable conversational skills.

The boy was snuggling up against Punt's neck almost immediately, his tears wet against Punt's cheek.

"I was 'fraid you were gonna die," he said.

Punt tried to pat the boy, but both his hands were out of commission. He sighed and once again ruminated on how much he despised convalescence.

"Could happen any time, kid. 'Least I know where I'm at fighting." He hissed with difficulty.

"You can't die," Jared said. "You unnerstand me." He sniffed, kept from crying anymore.

"We both done it once already." He pointed out.

"Didn't mean that." Punt croaked. He paused and cleared his throat. This was going to be a long speech for him.

"'Fore it happens, y' feel invincible. Death, it only happens to other people. But now... Made me realise how easy it is. Doesn't even have to be a fight. Could trip and break your neck or somethin’. So I can't pretend I'll live forever. I't'd be a lie."

"But I don't want you to die," the boy said. "I want you to stay here with me, with Bjorn. You did a good thing for the mall, we need t'be able to thank you, least."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, kid. But I gotta pull my weight, an' all I'm good at is killin'." He stated it as matter-of-factly as he could, the effect somewhat lessened by the fact that he was forcing every word out in a hushed whisper.

"Nuh-uh," Jared said. "You're my friend."

"I know, but that ain't a job. You told me t' live for everyone here, and that ain't much good if I go let them die, is it?"

"I'm selfish just like anyone else," Jared said. "So I want'cha to be okay."

"So do I." Chuckled Punt, the laugh turning into a hack which subsided slowly.

"All I can say is that I'm not lookin' to die, an' I'm pretty good at what I do." He concluded.

"Okay,' Jared said lamely, sniffling a bit. "Just be okay..â€Â

[Cynical Cat]

Reaper rose and rearmed himself. A little early for hunting, but it would do. He scavenged around his fortress, checking his defences and looking for anything interesting he missed. His defences were secure, but his search wasn't too productive.

A few more more cooking knives and a base ball bat. He moved them to an emergency weapon stash. Little else of interest. He hesitated. There was something else.

He walked forward and picked up the plastic tube. Flashlight. Useful. He would have to remember to take more when he found them. Maybe there were other things that would . . . . . strike him as useful.

He prowled around the deserted apartment. No tools. Nothing . . . he stopped and turned. A bookshelf. Books. Reading. He remembered reading. He still did it unconciously on signs. He should be able to read. He picked several and left. He would try reading soon. Now it was time to hunt.

[Cynical Cat]

It was cold in the early morning. Wendigo didn't like it at all. But he had been inside, protected and warm. The zombies had been stuck out in the chill night air. Hunting was easy.

[Josh]

"Instant fucking coffee all around," he announced loudly as they gathered in the old sporting goods store, which had been swept out for large tables with maps and other accoutrements appropriate for a half-ass war council. The front end had been sealed off, giving them a modicum of privacy. He took a long drink of the steaming cup of coffee, savoring the freshness of it, even if it was crap sludge.

[Caz]

Sherry had opted instead for a can of Tango, and she stood in the doorway, reluctant to sit herself at the tables beside the rest--the rest being Petro, Zimmerman, Melanie, Decimus, and a few select others.

After all, sitting down would make it more real.

After a curious glance from Melanie, the tan girl took a few long strides and plunked herself down on a corner spot, staring at the false wood grain atop the folding table as though it was captivating.

[Josh]

"We got the supplies," he said. "We got the horde down and hurting. Now, we fucking finish them. Every swinging dick..." he looked at the women in the group. "And... swinging tits... that can handle an axe, a gun, or a fucking crowbar is going out on this one. Combat groups engage. Everyone else hauls the body parts back in. This is where we finish them. Frank's got the organizational assignments right here. Questions, suggestions, thoughts?"

[Caz]

Sherry cleared her throat, looked around their council of sorts.

"It's only fair for me to brief the First on the current situation," she said.

Most of the First Irregulars of present and past knew her, sure, and although they damn well knew Zed wouldn't be leading the charge, they'd need to know she'd been appointed.

But it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to do that.

[Josh]

He nodded. "We're getting no signs of activity. We roll at twilight, should get there for the nightly temperature plunge. Skies are clear, it's going to drop like a rock. Make sure everyone's got the cold weather gear, 'cause we're getting into frostbite turf here."

[Caz]

Melanie nodded. "It reached fourteen last night," she said.

Everyone agreed on twilight, then. Sherry pulled one of the maps over.

"All right," she said, "Sheehan was able to get me the coordinates of the shop they found the refined powder in. A Guard team was able to recover it, and the plan is..."

They continued ceaselessly, discussing the strategy, which was basically the Irregulars hitting hard and quick, then pulling back and setting off the biggest bonfire Malton had seen since the Tri-City Cup of 2004, hopefully keeping the number of corpses around to reanimate to a minimum.

[Josh]

He sat and listened, interjecting occasionally, making calls when decisions were needed, and otherwise letting the discussion flow. The leaders were leaders for a reason, and he valued their input.

[Caz]

"If we can force the remaining rotters past where the fire's smouldering and away from the perimeter as we pick 'em off, there's a good chance they won't regroup, so we'll fuck 'em straight up the middle." Sherry said.

"I'll lead one team to drive them off west and the Second can herd them east. The militia can spear and axe the stragglers and the ones we knock down."

She took a deep breath, looked to Petro.

"Savvy, General?"

[Josh]

"There isn't a Second," he said. Obviously Sherry hadn't been brought fully up to speed on what was going on. Decimus looked grimly at the table. Petro glanced at him, then added. "At the moment."