Urban Dead: This Means War

[Caz]

Sherry stared for a moment, but should have realized that this behavior was far from bizarre as far as Petro was concerned.

In fact, it was comforting.

She wrapped her arms around Mike's shoulders, hugging him tightly.

"Knew you could do it. You're a fuckin' hero! How does it feel?"

[Pcm979]

"She'll be fine, but the doctor prescribes a ton of bed rest. Not that type, either."

He wasn't really expecting the sudden hug attack, and did his best to reciprocate without covering Sherry with blood.

"It feels good. Like I've just been punched in the lungs, but good."

[Josh]

"I knew I could count on you, Mike. Um... can I, y'know, see her?"

[Caz]

"I'll make sure your nurse doesn't end up gettin' his guts in a knot," Sherry assured. "You're probably ready to go pass out, eh?"

[Josh]

He grabbed the fresh clothes and tugged them on quickly. Hell, they'd even brought back his pistol, which he strapped on, feeling fully dressed for the first time in a while. He grabbed the bucket and toiletries and started to traipse off. As he passed, he grabbed Sherry's arm and whispered something in her ear, before proceeding into the 'OR'.

[Pcm979]

"Pretty much." He said to Sherry. He nodded to Petro. "Go ahead. She's out cold, though. Now," He twisted his head to look at Sherry and grinned weakly, "Am I the piggyback service or what?"

[Caz]

Stunned, Sherry shot Petro a glance that conveyed both confusion, indignation, as well as a good portion of amusement, fortunately. She shook her head at him, rolled her eyes, flipped him the v-sign, and was through with the matter.

As he entered the 'room', it was apparent that Ned had skittered out the back, fortunately not leaving a mess behind. The bloodied medical instruments were wrapped in a sheet and stuffed into the trashbin; the tub of medicinals had been placed elsewhere. He'd even had the good intent to remove a quilt from one of the other beds and lay it gingerly across the patient, who hadn't moved at all.

[Josh]

He set down his various implements long enough to squeeze Melanie's shoulder.

"Knew you'd make it, babe," he said.

With that, he settled down and resumed shaving. He had time to burn.

[Pcm979]

After disentangling himself from Sherry, Mike managed to wipe most of the blood off himself with a towel before almost literally crashing in a couch he'd stolen from the Furniture store. Being a hero was surprisingly tiring work.

[Caz]

Sherry slumped down beside him, fluffing her fingers through his hair with a smile.

"You did good," she said with a nod. "Damn good."

[Pcm979]

He stretched out on the couch, legs dangling over the armrest. "Thanks." He shook his head. "Several time there I thought I was the one who needed medical help. Jesus, I'd be nervous about doing something like that in a major, functioning hospital, let alone like this. We boiled the fucking scalpels, for god's sake."

[Caz]

Sherry yawned, and in a bizarre breach of their unspoken 'no physical contact' policy, she laid down beside him on the sofa, resting her head against his neck as she curled up warm against him, eyes drifting closed.

"Least now we can rest," she said with a smirk.

"You as fucking worn out as me?"

[Pcm979]

"I dunno." His voice slurred as he drifted off to sleep. "'Spect so." The exhaustion and the warmth sent him into a deep sleep almost instantly.

[Caz]

She'd drifted off in a similar fashion, tucking herself beneath Mike's chin and sleeping good, long, peacefully for the first time in days. Sherry had to admit... At first she'd been apprehensive. He'd done great with her wounds at the prison, but the way he'd reacted when he'd heard this would be a full operation on a living, conscious person...

But he'd passed with flying colours.

"Knew you could," she said, not without a bit of pride. And then she was gone, too.

[Pcm979]

Hours later, Mike cracked an eyelid open. There was a brief, blissful moment where he didn't know where or who he was, but reality abruptly crashed his little party with a quick slideshow of the past two months. Great. He had a momentary impulse to roll over and go back to sleep, ala every schoolkid woken at an unseasonable hour throughout the ages.

Then he realised that someone was using him as a pillow. He carefully twisted his head and Sherry's hair came into view. Hrm.

[Caz]

If Sherry was awake, she didn't let it show. Her breathing was slow and deep, lulled by the rhythm of his heart in his chest as well as his own breathing. They'd both been going for far too long; they were bound to just pass out sooner or later.

"Mmm," she said nonsensically in her sleep, shifting and resting her hand on his waist.

[Pcm979]

Mike carefully shifted her out of the way and stood up. She muttered something unintelligible in her sleep. He yawned, tiptoed away and went in search of something warm to eat, and a drink with caffiene in it. Lots of caffiene.

[Caz]

A while later, Sherry had awoken to the sound and smell of coffee brewing in the room. Mike wasn't there, but he obviously had been judging by the hazelnut brew. She pulled a cup from the stack and stretched, pouring herself a cup.

Suddenly, Marley was knocking on her door almost frantically. Since he'd helped Sherry with the barricades, she'd appointed him captain of the evening guard patrol and he'd handled the job with aplomb. Asshe opened the door, he whispered: "Disturbance on the roof. I need your help /now./"

[Pcm979]

It's a long three hours before he returns, with a couple of locals and a rigged wooden stretcher big enough to carry the whole bed. "Toldja I'd be back quick," he said. "Alright, let's get ready to go."

“This isn't gonna be pleasant, is it?" she asked with a groan, laying back.

"Oh, they're going to be very gentle," he assured her, with a look that informed them that they'd damned well better.

She sighed, closed her eyes. The feeling was starting to return to her legs--it had to have been a pinched nerve or something of the like...--and they tingled bizarrely. She'd heard of the phantom itch before and this was god damn what it felt like, but her legs were still attached! With a bit of a sigh, she pulled the blanket over her head.

He directed traffic as they moved the wooden frame under the bed. "Okay, now, now, slowly, up... up... up..." There was the slightest of bumps as the frame touched the bedframe. "Okay, and... lift..."

The way her face was hidden by the blankets, they resembled some sort of crazy funeral procession as they made their way toward the little square of the mall that she and Petro called home. It would appear that about halfway there, Sherry had caught up to them, a worried look on her young face.

"I'm moving my office to my house for the moment," he told Sherry. "That way I can work and keep an eye on her."
Sherry nodded, but the look in her eye didn't change. It wasn't Melanie. It was something else.

"What's up," he whispered, leaning over to her.

"Meet me at the bottom of the stairs when she's taken care of," was all she would say.

"Got it," he said.

Sherry sat upon the bottom stair, nervously conferencing with one of the Blackcaps. Her hands fiddled nervously with her jewelry as she waited for Petro to return.

He guided them up the stairs, half-fighting the urge to hurry them. Once they got her established in his quarters, he gave her a quick kiss, then dashed back downstairs, as he often did eschewing the steps for sliding down the rail.

"Come up on the roof," she instructed him, speaking low and making sure nobody was following them. "It's about that kid..." First they passed by the infirmary, where Jared was sleeping, curled up in a large armchair that was almost comically sized compared to his wire-thin body. Once upon the roof, she asked him to follow her to the ramparts. "Don't freak out..."

"Okay," he said, curious.

As they reached the ramparts above the main entrance, there was clearly a scuffle taking place. The guards were gathered around two people, who appeared to have been fighting for some time. James Parker, or Jimbo as Sherry called him, was backed up against the railing, eyes wide and terrified. "Get BACK!" he shouted, voice cracking, "GET THE FUCK BACK. You creepy mulatto fuck!"
Sherry crouched down beside him. "Jimbo, who was fighting you?"
He stared up at her. "That fucking kid...! The creepy one! The one that killed Mark!"

The second individual got up, rubbing the side of his face. One of the militia members. "I tried to hold him down," he explained. "Guy's fuckin' flipped his gourd!"
He took a deep breath. "Cool it," he ordered. "Sherry, make sure Jimbo doesn't do anything crazy. The rest of you, find somewhere else to be, like... over there." He pointed. "'Cept you," he said to the militia member who'd been scuffling with him.
Keucu: They moved back obediently, some returning to their patrols.

"Okay, Jimbo. Calm down. CALM THE FUCK DOWN," he said. "What happened. Exactly what happened?"

"You can't see him?" the panicked man asked, clenching Petro's arms with talonlike hands. "He's RIGHT FUCKING THERE." Blood trickled from his nose, his face obviously bruised.

He looked around. Jimbo was so convincing...

Sherry saw something out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn it, but as they looked around, there was nobody. And Jared was obviously downstairs...
"He's not here, James," she said. Then: "Did he--"
She was going to ask 'hurt you?' but was interrupted by a fresh batch of hysterics. He pointed just over Petro's shoulder, to a nearby vent where nobody stood.

Petro grabbed him firmly, grunting as the boy gave him a good crack on his wounded arm. The wave of numbed his bicep down to the elbow, and shot stars across his vision. And that was when he almost saw something.

But even then, it was an 'almost.' A cold wind blew across the expanse of the roof and Jimbo screamed, nonsensically pointing and threatening something that wasn't there. He shrank back further, then suddenly let out an ear-splitting scream, clawing at Petro to free himself. After kicking at the two, free of their hands, he charged at the spot where he'd been pointing to, screaming and waving his arms wildly. When he passed the spot, Sherry was on her feet, anticipating his move. However, she wasn't fast enough. Before she could do anything, he'd screamed more nonsensical garbage and run straight off the other edge of the roof.

Petro was following, hit the edge of the roof and leapt, grabbing the rappel line and shimmying down hastily.

It was only two stories up, and with all sorts of shit piled around the edge. It was a survivable fall...

His boots hit the ground, and he turned to look.

Jimbo was on his feet, taking a few uneasy steps across the pile of debris. His fingertips were slimy with blood, but he didn't have any apparent wounds other than a tiny nosebleed... His back was to them when he suddenly jerked as though hit by a bullet. Once, twice, three times. He screamed again, a raging howl that didn't seem to possibly come from the mouth of a man.

"Petro, stay back!" Sherry warned from the rooftop.

He was already moving toward Jimbo to tackle him... little hard to adhere to that advice.

Just as Petro reached him, Jimbo turned with an unearthly quickness, grinning broadly as he lifted a jagged piece of wreckage, slitting his own throat from ear to ear. His eyes were gaping, empty sockets, their substance smeared under his fingernails and across his cheeks.

"YEEE!" he screamed, veering to the side, plowing into a car and tumbling over the hood.

Sherry swore under her breath, leaping from the line halfway down and landing in a hard crouch. She sped toward where Petro had falen, ignoring the bubbling, twitching body beside them.

He was already staggering to his feet, limping a good one as he started back toward the corpse, pistol drawn. From the limp, he'd obviously bashed his knee a good one.

But the gun was of no use. By the time he'd reached the kid, he'd bled out.

He looked at Sherry, his expression bleak.

"Where the FUCK are his eyes?" she said, staring gape-jawed.

"He tore them out," he said, holstering his pistol. "Get a team out here to clean him. I'll go take care of the problem," he said bleakly, hobbling toward the roof line.

She whistled that loud, shrill sound again and called to three of the rooftop guards, then jogged after him. "What the hell IS the problem?"

"It started when we brought Jared back with us. I don't know what's causing it, but I know what the source is. I won't lose any more of mine to him," With a grunt of effort, he started tugging himself up the line by arms strength alone, each exertion of his wounded arm bringing a gasp of effort. His knee was already obviously swelling.

She scrambled up the line beside his, giving him a hand as she climbed back up. "We saw him downstairs," she said tentatively, shaking her head. "But... Fuck, you got me."

He shook his head as he finally made it back up, flopping over the side and forcing himself to his feet to continue hobbling along. "I don't know why it's happening, I don't know how."
It was like an infection in his community. He might not know exactly what the mechanism was, but it didn't matter. He'd taken a chance in keeping the kid. First time, it was shit happens. This time, Jimbo's blood was on his hands as surely as if he'd cut the boy's throat himself.

Sherry paused. "What about..." Her.

"What'll be'll be," he said. Responsibility to his people transcended everything else. He reached the stairway and started hobbling down, moving as fast as he could. Less time he had to think about what he was going to do, the better.

"Careful," she reprimanded him, "or you'll kill your goddamn leg!"
As they headed up the stairway, a scrawny, pale figure suddenly slammed into Sherry, knocking her straight on her ass.
"Ned?!" she asked.

He spun. What the fuck now?

Obviously startled, Ned stared at the two with his mouth open like a gulping fish for a long moment. "Ah... Sherry... Petro..." His eyes were wide; he couldn't make eye contact. "I was just coming up here to... Ah... Make sure everything was all right..."

"Something you want to tell us, Ned?" he asked, curiously.

"H-huh?" he asked.
Petrosjko: "Look at me," he ordered. "You okay?"

He looked up to Petro, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders. "I'm--"
The radio at Ned's belt suddenly squawked, "God damn it Ned, you're late."
A low, threatening voice.

"Gonna answer the radio there, Ned?" he asked. "Sounds like you got a call."

Nobody he recognized. He drew his pistol.

But Sherry did.

"Answer me, Ned..."

He lifted the radio. "Yeah, Boss?"
"Is it done?" the radio crackled.

"Yessir," he said quickly. "I'm going to rendezvous with James as we speak."

"Hurry the fuck up, you little cunt," Jaycee snarled, dropping off. The signal ended.

Petro's teeth skinned back as he hoisted the pistol. "Okay," he said. "Let's talk. Now, there's about one way this conversation doesn't end with me nailing your feet to the ground and leaving you in the trench, and that's coming clean."

Which would rate him a bullet in the back of the head, but no need to clarify that just yet.

Tears welled in Ned's eyes as he chewed on his thumbnail, saying nothing. Sherry growled and leapt forward, shoving him against the concrete stairwell.
"You fucking punk!" she said, knowing the situation due to her upbringing. "How long since you fixed yourself, huh? How long?"
Ned whimpered. "I don't fucking know! Too long! The shit he gives me... It keeps me sane, okay?!"

Petro would suddenly remember the tranquilizers Ned had had on-hand...

"So you're the inside rat, you and Jimbo and Mark? Anybody else?" he asked. He holstered his pistol, then deftly snagged the radio off Ned's waist.

He shook his head. "Nobody else, I swear!"
Sherry kneed him in the groin.

"Talk to the man, Sherry. I'm going to have a word with Jaycee..." He strolled away, confident that the woman would find out what they needed to know.

Sherry slammed him against the wall, face-first. "If there's a single fucking thing you leave out of your story, I'm gonna break a tooth out for every word it takes to back up and explain."

Suddenly he pivoted, clipping the radio to his own belt and hobbling back over. Instead of drawing his pistol, he drew his knife...

Ned froze.

"Ned," he said coldly. "About Melanie..."

The man fell to his knees, eyes the size of saucers. He didn't say a thing.

"Pick him up," he ordered Sherry, his voice cold and flat. "What did you do, Ned?"

Funny. This was the knife she'd been stabbed with. He hadn't even pondered it when he'd re-sheathed it. There was an irony to it now.

No matter what he said or did, Ned was going to suffer before he died.

She grabbed him by the elbows, jerked them up over his head. What with being a scrawny fucker going through withdrawals, he couldn't fight back as she pulled his shirt up over his head, using it to tie his arms back. But she exposed his face. He'd like to see this.

"You know what," he said, his voice eerily calm, the human portion of his soul disconnected from what he was doing. "They always said I was born in the wrong time, wrong place. Said that I was just this side of an animal, a barbarian. They were wrong," he concluded. "An animal wouldn't hurt prey like I'm going to do to you." The knife elevated. "Start talking, Ned..."

Ned bit his lip until it bled, shaking his head frantically. Sherry slammed her knee into his back to keep him down.

"Okay, then the bleeding and screaming comes first," he said. The knife flicked out, slashing along Ned's cheek, blade grating on bone. "Been around a lot of injury trauma," he said. "Person can get cut to ribbons, and still be conscious..."

"Fucking do it!" Ned spat, "I don't care!"
He screamed as the knife grated down his zygomatic bone; Sherry frowned. Improvising, she kicked off her shoes and shoved her socks down his throat.

"He needs to be able to talk, Sherry," he said, reaching down to grasp Ned's shirt. He looked into the man's eyes. "You really don't care, Ned?" He sighed. "That's too bad. Man really should care about how he dies, because there are a lot of bad ways to go." He suddenly seized Ned's hand and pinned it against the wall, then jammed the knife through it, pinning him in place. "Exposure and bleeding out, for example."

Through the gag, he howled in agony, trying to keep himself upright to relieve the pressure from the knife in his palm. Its busted tip only made matters worse, severing a chink of bone. The pain was almost too much to stay conscious through; the hot stink of urine and lost dignity filled the stairwell.

"Now see, I'm the one who really doesn't care," he said. "I don't care how long it takes. My ancestors could make a man scream for a week. I'd like to think I inherited some of that. You'll answer me, and then I'll let you die. Do we understand each other?" He yanked the knife free, then hoisted the man up to look him in the eyes.

Gritting his teeth, the junkie spat in Petro's face.

His lip curled. "You're really going to suffer for Jaycee? Okay, fine, we will leave you staked out for the zombies. And when they're eating you, remember that you're dying for him." He grabbed Ned's collar and dragged him toward the door. "We're not going to nail you down," he said thoughtfully. "What we'll do is cut your tendons and leave you out there. Got some animated heads out there, we'll let them nibble on you..."

Sherry lifted her soggy socks from the concrete steps, frowning a bit, then shrugged and followed them. Ned's crying was suddenly lulled and he looked up at Petro as they passed through the doorway, a deranged smile on his face. "You can kill me," he said, "but we got the fucking last laugh."

"You infected her," he said. "Didn't you?"

He drew a finger across his lips, as though zipping up a coat.

"Okay," he said. "Now you're going to die slowly and painfully for your pal Jaycee. Glad to know it was worth it."

By his tone, he could've been discussing the weather. As he shoved Ned along, he spoke over his shoulder. "Sherry, tell the boys to scare me up another redhead. Sounds like I'm going to need a replacement."

At first she was confused, but then it clicked. Clever bastard.

"Aye," she said haughtily. "I'll see what I can do."

Ned stirred in Petro's grasp, looking to the two of them. What the fuck... This guy was a fucking monster...

He looked at Ned with a totally dead expression. "What? I killed people before all this started," he said. "Sherry? She ate a couple of bitches when she was in lockup. That's why we get along so well. Now c'mon, I don't have all day. If the bitch is going to die, I'm going to get back and get a last fuck in before she goes, 'cause zombie pussy just don't taste good at all," he said, breaking into sigh.

Bile bubbled in Ned's throat. "You're a fucking creep," he said, "fucking lunatic..."

"Now see Ned, that's judgemental. You really don't want to piss me off," he said, an edge creeping into his tone as he shoved him along. "You're a tough guy, you're not going to talk. I respect that. You're willing to suffer for it, and so I'm going to honor that by giving you about the worst kind of death I can think of. Most other people, I'd just carve." He held up the blood knife by way of illustrating his point. "Now move, or I'll do the tendons here and drag you."

Ned's lip was quivering as he seemed to suddenly return to his senses, following Petro solemnly.
"You think this is all for him," he cried, "I could give a fuck about him... It's the shit he gives me... I can't cope with how shit is now! Fucking look around you!"

"I don't care," he said, shrugging. "You won't be having to cope with anything soon enough. You're delaying my farewell fuck, Ned. Last chance to walk to your death."

Ned walked. Sherry followed behind, careful to keep vigilant should anyone pass by.

They neared the edge of the roof. "Whoops... failure of planning here," he said. "Hey Sherry, run get us some rope. We'll lower him down upside down." He jammed Ned against an air conditioner, laying the knife against his throat, blunt end lightly held against the flesh so he wouldn't cut his throat by accident. "Guess we can talk after all. So tell me about the drugs. I'm guessing you were going for the downers, give you that dreamy, detached feeling..."

He nodded, whimpering as he saw Sherry take off from the corner of his eye.
"It's how he keeps us loyal... Tells us he can help us cope like some sort of preacher... Keeps us hooked..."

"You picked the losing side," he told him. "See, me and that kid, we're a lot alike. Difference between him and me... well, you've seen how I have this place wrapped around my finger. Who else does he have inside here?"

"Nobody alive but me and Jimbo," he said.

"Jimbo's dead," he said. "That's how we got onto you." He caressed the blade along the man's throat. "Ever cut a man's throat before?" he asked, curious.

Ned shook his head. "I... Before all this, I was just a university student."

"Killed my first man when I was sixteen," he said conversationally, his voice drifting as if in rememberance. "Didn't cut his throat. Gang thing, y'see. Brick to the skull. Found out something then. I liked it... you know how easy it is to see people die when you're working in emergency service? Oh... yeah, guess you do now."

He didn't say anything, just gulped. After a long moment, he said: "Then people like you deserve this world... C-cause I can't handle it how things are."

"I'm going to put one of the heads on your crotch," he said thoughtfully. "You know how it is when they bite you... you saw my arm. Put one so it can chew on your ear... it's like an anthill..."

Ned's mind was elsewhere. "You... You really don't care about that woman?" he asked. "After sittin' with her that whole time...?"

"Two hundred people in the Emerald Guard," he said. "Two hundred. It's not that big an army, but it's a start. So she's useful to me. But hell, she can die, I can needle her. Hassle, but... meh, fuck it."

"Told you, I run things a lot deeper than Jaycee does..."

Ned bared his teeth, angry now. "You don't fuckin' deserve her!" he said. "Even if she dies, it's better than living with a fucking psycho!"

He tossed the knife away, turning Ned around. "Agreed. You're not a monster after all, are you?"
Humanity slowly crept back into his eyes.

"I'm not!" he sobbed. "I'm just a fucking guy! I can't handle all this... Runnin' for our lives and makin' important decisions and fucking people dying left and right like it's some sort of bible plague..."

"I'm just a guy too," he said. "Trying to take care of my people. Trying to take care of the woman I love. What did you do, Ned?"

"I dunno what it was," he sniffled. "Not the virus... Something else. Mark got it."

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, then looked at him. "Anything, Ned. Anything you can tell me to help."

"I'm sorry," he said, "Mark was the one who did it... Jaycee convinced me an' Jim to help..."

Petrosjko: "Nothing you can tell me?" he said, the coldness coming back into his eyes.

"All I know is what Mark said it'd do," he cried, "I swear!"

"What did he say it would do?" he asked.

"That it wouldn't kill her. That'd be too easy."

"Go on," he said.

"Something about thinning the blood or some shit. I don't know!"

"Ned," he said simply. "You're the best hope she has. Thinning the blood. Any other details?"

"No," he whispered, wiping tears and blood from his face. "Jaycee wanted to make sure it was slow. That she got weak before... Before... You know,"

He lifted himself to his feet. "Okay," he said simply. He unsnapped the catch for his holster. "You might want to close your eyes."

But Ned was staring at something else.

He glanced off where Ned was staring...

And when he glanced back, Ned's frightened, gaping jaw was snapped, hanging loosely as the teeth began to rot straight out of the gums.

He stepped back, his cold intensity shattered. The fuck?

Ned was screaming, writhing on the ground as he lashed out at something that wasn't there. "FUCKING KID. STAY BACK!" he shrieked, and suddenly there was a single shot, and his head caved inward like someone had just stomped on it. Sherry stood behind him, holstered her gun. "What the fuck," she said. A statement, not a question.

"Cleaning team, we have a corpse on the roof!" he shouted as Ned's body continued its rapid decay. He turned to Sherry. "Get Ace, get Mike, tell them that Melanie's been infected with something, it thins the blood, that's all he knew. It was supposed to be slow and painful. Mike brought it in, and it was probably intended for the next time you went under the knife. GO!" He shoved her, stepping back from the corpse, he retrieved his knife as the watch ran up, grabbing the body and casting it over the side. Once the danger was cleared from the roof, he turned and started hobbling back toward the stairs.

Sherry dashed madly for the trauma ward, stitches already forming in her sides. Jayce had given something to Mark. Mark had given it to Ned. Ned had fucking operated on her... The girl felt sick as she skidded down a hallway.

Petro hobbled along as best he could. His stomach was clenching, cramping up on him. Maybe an aftereffect of his infection. Maybe it was what he'd just done. The stories were bullshit, but his coldness, his willingness to follow through... hadn't been bluffs. And now... oh christ, Melanie.

Ace and Mike were fucking geniuses. They'd figure something out...

The air in the mall seemed to be thick, tangible, almost hard to move through as Sherry dashed to her room, finding that Mike wasn't there, then ran back to the trauma ward. That motherfucker... Jaycee was going to pay with his skin for this.

Reaching the stairs, he leaped onto the rail and slid down, landing and heading for his room.

Oh christ, she was so happy. She'd come through okay. And now this...

Sherry frantically looked past row after row of beds, finally finding Ace asleep with his head resting against one and roused him, explaining what had happened as best she could.

He got into his quarter, limping frantically. Melanie was a fucking doctor too, if not in credentials, by performance. She could also help. And they could get the Guard docs in here...

She hadn't moved much, still laying on her side with her knees drawn slightly up to her chest.

"Mel," he said, flopping onto the bed next to her. "Talk to me.."

She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, eyeing him curiously. "Petro..." She said, "whose blood..."

"You've been infected," he said breathlessly. "Jaycee had two of the Blackcaps playing his side, and they got to Ned, and he put something in you that thins out the blood..." he said in a torrent of words..

She stared at him, hardly even comprehending what he'd said. "... What?"

"Ned was working for Jaycee," he said. "Jaycee gave him something... figure he was supposed to use it on Sherry next time she needed something stitched up, but he gave it to you. And we've got to figure out what it is and what to do about it."

She looked as though someone had slapped her across the face. This wasn't how things were supposed to work... He'd said she was going to be okay... She'd trusted Ned, god damn it...! Her breathing hitched.

"I'm sorry," he said, calming down. "Sorry I couldn't break this to you easier, but we have to get to work, and we need you thinking on this too. And we need to contact the Guard and get some of your docs in here too."

She nodded quickly, attempting to get up and get to her feet. Cursing loudly, she realized that she'd forgotten completely about what happened to her in light of the recent shock.
"When did he put it in? How much?" she asked.

He blinked. Fuck. "He's dead, we don't know how much. But he wasn't there for when Ace worked on you. So assume he just put it in."

“There's a lot of shit with blood thinners," in it. She thought. "Cumodin, accutane..." But none of that would damage a person, even in large doses...

"He said that it was something that would cause it to last a long time," he said. "Interval unspecified."

That could be fucking anything! Then she realized... "He might not even be talking about a drug. They could have had a virus, or..."

"I know," he said. "I know."

She looked up to him, hands clutching his as she tried to calm the white-hot terror and keep it from taking her over entirely. "I... Don't know how long I have... Do I?"

"There's another option," he said. It was something he'd told Ned on the roof. "If we can't figure it out quickly."

"What?" she asked, frightened.

He closed his eyes. "We'll search through his shit, and Mark's and Jimbo's. And if we don't find anything... we can... induce a painless heart failure." he said. "We have a stock of the Necrotech syringes."

She looked like a child, large eyes staring up at him through a sheen of horrified tears as she clung to him like he was the last fucking lifeline she had. "... Kill me..." she whispered.

"Temporarily," he said. "Sherry came back. You can too."

"In the Guard's dealings," she said, "we've come across some who can't be revived... There's no pattern to it..."

"I know," he said. "But if we don't have any other choice," he said. He closed his eyes. Where the fuck were Mike and Ace?

Mike, Sherry, and Ace were busy tearing apart the Blackcaps' living quarters, searching for something that would resemble evidence. If they could even find an empty bottle, even just a name to the substance would help...
Melanie laid back down, didn't speak. "I don't feel well," she said. "Something just feels wrong..."

He sat down on the bed, pulling her into his lap. "This was my fight," he whispered. "He had no business bringing you into it..."

Her heart thudded against her breastbone. "I'm scared," she whispered, closing her eyes.

He clasped her tightly. He couldn't offer her any solace beyond his presence, at this point.

"If I die, don't let me hurt anyone," she begged.

"You know how we take care of that," he said. "I'll do it myself."

[Pcm979]

There was suddenly a light tug at Petro's sleeve, and when he looked down he would see the mulatto boy standing there, looking between the two of them as though trying to figure out how they'd both gotten there.

"Jared?" he said. Jared was looking at them. Okay, that was officially creepy.

But just because he was looking at them didn't mean he saw them. His eyes were still that light blue-white, and he still seemed only to be looking in their general direction. "Mr. Petro?" he asked, worried. "Are the bad men gone?"

"They're gone, boy. All of them. Here," he said, reaching over to take his hand. "Over here."

He grabbed at Petro's arm, holding it tightly. "I tried to get them out before they could hurt you..."

"I know," he said. "I know." He wrapped his arm around Jared. "Thank you."

She'd been right about the kid.

"But... Something happened, didn't it?" he asked. Something in his voice didn't sound normal--he could tell Petro wasn't his normal self, even if just by the nuances in his voice.

"They made Melanie sick," he said, anguish in his voice. "We're doing what we can."

"What?" the kid asked, freezing. He moved closer, as though trying to hide behind Petro as the silence of the room sank down upon them, dark and foreboding. Finally, Melanie spoke up.
"I think in this case... It might be best to just assume the worst." As in the longer they took looking for the culprit, the closer she'd be to just keeling over.

"Let them finish searching down there," he said. "If they don't find anything, then we do it."

The radio at Petro's hip suddenly crackled. Jared's eyes widened as his hands clenched into fists tightly.

His face blanked as he lifted the radio, standing up and walking away from the bed. "Hi Jaycee." There was a long silence. "So, that's it for Ned, huh?" "That's it."

He stepped outside, holding onto the radio.

Jared followed him, clinging to Petro's good leg and appearing far younger than he really was. He whimpered a bit, then whispered: "... The Smilin' Man..."

"She's going to suffer, you know."

"Figured," Petro said. "It's not anything on what I'm going to do to you."

"Tough guy on the radio."

"Tough guy always running away."

There was a pause, then a laugh. "Just wait until I get my hands on Sherry..."

The boy stepped up, grabbing Petro's free hand. He didn't equate Sherry with the woman who'd screamed at him, but judging by the way Petro's tendons were standing out on his wrist, he was livid.

"Got anything else you want to tell me about?" Petro inquired in a flat tone.

"Nah. See ya around."

The signal died.

Petro passed the radio to his other hand and almost tossed it against the wall, but just stopped himself. He pulled Jared close. "It's okay, boy. I'm going to kill him."

"Be careful," Jared said with a shake of his head. "He's got the Devil in him."

"I know."

That was the final similarity between them. Take away everything either one of them had, and that meant they had nothing to lose. Jaycee would keep coming at them until he was dead.

"C'mon, let's get back to Melanie."

When they returned, she had a hand to her head, looking up to them. "Maybe he didn't do anything," she suggested, "maybe he's fucking with us."

"No," he said. "If... Jared hadn't caused Jimbo to uncork, and we hadn't caught Ned on the way to meet him, we never would've known."

She laid down. "I don't feel any different than before..." And she realized then when he'd done it. It hadn't been after the operation, it had been right after Ace had left, after they'd first brought her in... When she'd had that distinct sense that something was wrong. And as relieved as she was for figuring that out, it didn't bring them any closer to fixing it.

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, then hobbled on past to another corner of the import shop. The longer she watched, the more she probably would've noticed that the chaos and disorder of the place was somewhat deliberate. No mistaking the fact that he was generally sloppy, sure, but as he hefted a bent-up file cabinet... yup, he was definitely digging something out.

She watched him with concern growing in her, dreading the events that she was sure were about to transpire. Watching him quietly, she tried to remain relatively at peace until the first wave of dizziness passed over her like a strong tide. With a bit of a whimper, she closed her eyes and held her hands to her temples as a bizarre feeling built its pressure in her head.

He extracted a cardboard box about three feet long and two feet wide, then heard her whimper. Turning, he hobbled back, dumping the box in front of the bed, where it landed with a heavy thump. "Babe?" he asked.

She was paying no attention to his actions, holding her head in her hands. It felt like someone was squeezing it in a fucking vice... Dizzy, disoriented, she opened her eyes.

He grimaced. "Jared, come here," he ordered.

Jared was at his side in an instant, tentatively feeling around with his feet in an attempt to scoot closer.

"Look, you stay here with her. I have to do something, okay. Just hold onto her, talk to her, tell her I'll be back soon." He leaned over, kissing her arm. "I'll be back soon," he repeated.

She looked up to him. "I trust you," she said, slightly off-kilter. But she did.

He nodded, kissed her once more, then hobbled for the door. Putting on his game face, he continued hobbling, reached the escalator, and slid down.

Ah fuck, climbing back up that thing was not going to be any fun.

As Petro was heading down the stairs, someone called his name. Marley, the construction man. He jogged up to Petro, a worried look chiseled into his face. Definitely a "hard life" sort of fellow, as far as looks were concerned.

He followed. "Northeast watch said someone's watching us," he said with a frown. "They're staked out in that textile factory a few blocks down."

"Really?" he said. "Okay. Tell them to stay low, watch out for snipers. I'm bringing both Irregulars units back in."

"Snipers!" Marley said with incredulity. "What the hell?" he asked, but he sent the command via radio anyway, relaying the information. "They saw someone out on the roof with glasses glinting. Binoculars, probably. Dunno how long they've been there."

He stopped and put his hands on Marley's shoulders, his eyes boring into him. In a very calm, collected voice, he spoke with quiet urgency. "Marley, we just found out that somebody has been stirring people up against us, put together his own gang to hassle us. We're going to find him, and we're going to kill him. That's why I'm bringing the Irregulars back in. But in the meantime, we're going to have to be very careful. Now, I need you to get up there and keep things cool up there, okay? I can count on you to keep your head, right?"

He nodded, no fear on his face. "Make sure Sherry's all right," he said. He'd grown fond of the girl ever since working with her on the barricade mission and probably worried about her much in the same fashion Petro did.
"I'll double patrols along the ramparts tonight but tell them to keep their distance so the rubble hides us from view."

"Good job, sarge, good job," he said, the promotion tossed in with casual affection. "Keep me apprised." He resumed hobbling for Zimmerman. "And you know I'll take care of her."

"Don't doubt in the slightest," Marley said.

Yeah, great, confidence. He'd done a great fucking job of protecting his women lately, hadn't he? If it hadn't been a quirk of fate, they wouldn't gotten Sherry, and he would've never known how it happened.

It didn't matter who bagged Jaycee so long as Jaycee got bagged. But if he got his chance... the others could have their civilization. He didn't have much need of it.

After a few minutes, the radio on his hip crackled. "Petro!" Marley snarled, "they're coming this way!"

He lifted the radio. "Talk to me, Marley. How many." When he clicked the transmit key off. "Zimmerman! Get your fucking gun! We got us work to do!"

Moments later, Frank came out, rifle over his shoulder. Nobody from the Irregulars ever was far from their weapon.

"There's six... But they're just walkin' down the street... I'm not sure..."
As Petro and Zimmerman made their way to the roof, they would find the six men standing at the entrance to the mall, staring up at them.

He'd abandoned hobbling and was hopping on one foot, every hop sending spasms of pain through his knee. He reached the edge of the roof. "Identify yourselves!" he called out.

One man stepped forward from the group, saluting impeccably as he watched them gather on the rooftop. "Gil Sheehan!" he called out, "Emerald Guard!"

He sighed with relief. "Watch them, but they're probably friendlies," he said. "Toss down the lines."

He leaned back over. "Got any docs with you? Your boss needs help."
After they'd all shimmied up, the tan man explained: "We tracked the transmissions from the radio show you crazies are running." His thick accent almost made his English difficult to understand. "And what do you mean needs help?"

"As in she's been either infected or poisoned, and it's a long fucking story that we don't have a lot of time to go over. There's some bastards out there who are hunting both our people and yours. They hit the bank where you had the wounded and killed them all. We got the fuckers, but their leader is still on the loose. You have any strike teams in the area?" he looked at the people he'd brought with him. They needed to put boots on the ground...

Sheehan turned to face his men. "Oi, which of you's the fastest?"
A scrawny, bespectacled man raised his hand.

"Go get Charlie and his folks," he ordered.

"Yessah!" the skinny man said, taking off down the lines and to the north.

He began hobbling back toward the stairs. Zimmerman slung his rifle, looking mildly disappointed. Odd man, Zimmerman.

Sheehan jogged after Petro, slinging the redhead's good arm over his shoulders to help him move more easily. The Guardsmen followed.
"We've got an epidemiologist at a spot nearby," Sheehan explained. "Two with us are medics, as well as myself."

"Good," he said, hopping along. "Zim! Who was doing all that sketchery?"

Some kid had been drawing pictures and hanging them throughout the mall.

"That kid, you know," Zimmerman said.

"Oh, that fucking helps. Listen, get me that kid, have him meet me at my place."

"What's her status?" Gil asked, worried, not paying attention to anything else.

"She was just starting to experience discomfort when you guys showed up. I don't know fuck for symptoms, and we had our medical staff going through the chemical stock that the assholes who did this had laid in, to see if they could figure out what was used."

"Anything else I need to know?" he asked.

"She took a knife in the back, fucked things up around there. She was operated on, and that's around the time this was done, somewhere between here and yesterday. The operation went off fine, she's not in the best shape, but she can walk. And... I'll get our doc up to talk to you when we get down there." Reaching the stairs, he hopped on the rail.

Sheehan helped him up, wearing an expression that was difficult to decipher. Finally, he said: "I'll do anything I can. Consider my men and myself at your disposal."

He grabbed the man's forearm in a rough, quick handshake. "Welcome to the Castin Mall," he said. "Your new home away from home. C'mon, this way."

He hobbled down toward his room. The kid with the artistic proclivities was waiting for him. Seeing his face, he could put a name to it. "Hey Alex, pull up a chair, we need to do something in a few."

The kid stared at him with a bit of an apprehensive nod. Meanwhile, Sheehan had noticed Melanie and Jared. A wounded gasp escaped his mouth as he ran to their leader, terrified that they were already too late.

"Jared, I've got people here to help her," he said. "Come on over here." Zimmerman trotted back, radio in hand. "Steve's on the way back in. What's the plan?"

It was a whirlwind of motion as everyone moved to new places. Petro grabbed Jared and tugged him out of the way, putting an arm around his shoulder. He nodded toward the case.

"Is that?" Zimmerman said.

"Yup."

"You were saving that for..."

"A special situation. This is it."

Melanie was bathed in cold sweat, her hands above the quilt, one of them twitching badly. As sheheard Petro's voice, she tried to turn to face him but found that it made her too dizzy. Sheehan asked her some basic questions..

He sat down in their chair, pulling Jared in next to him. "Zim, make sure Steve gets his share off the box. When Sherry gets up, same, and same for Silver when he gets in. They're to use it as bribe currency. The fucker is going to recruit again, and he's going to leave a trail when he does. We run that trail right back to him, and we kill him."

He looked over at Alex. "Get ready to sketch, kid. I'll describe him, you draw him."

"O...kay," Alex said with a gulp, whittling nervously at his pencil.

Meanwhile, Sheehan was slathering Melanie with apologies. How he never should have let her venture from their base, let alone into such dangerous terrirotry.

He started with the basics, describing Jaycee's facial structure and shape. The narrow chin. The prominent cheekbones.

And Laed began to sketch. At first it wasn't too recognizeable, but soon the deep-set eyes and the crooked, chilling grin became evident as well.

Melanie cried out from the bed.

He shot to his feet and nearly pitched over on his face, only catching his balance at the last second.

"Get me some water!" Gil shouted toward the group of people. "I mean /now/!"

He leaned over, grabbed his half-full water bottle. "Heads up!" he yelled, lobbing it toward Sheehan.

The Irishman caught it with ease, tending to Melanie in a way that wasn't apparent from Petro's current position, when his hands were visible again, there was blood on his palms. Melanie coughed. Meanwhile, Alex was furiously sketching.

He looked back at Alex. "Little scar on the cheek, right there," he said, tapping the spot on the sketch.

"What kind of scar? Cut, scrape...?"

"Cut, mostly straight, curls slightly at the end," his finger traced along.

"About three centimeters."

He followed the fingertip with his pencil, sketching carefully.

"Good work," he said approvingly.

The boy smiled. "Thanks."

He glanced back over at Sheehan, letting the mask drop slightly, the anxiety evident on his face.

And the look on Gil's face was anything but reassuring. He was focused on whatever was happening on the bed, every so often asking one of the fellow medics to pass him something. After a good ten or so minutes of thsi, he finally retreated to Petro, wiping his hands on his pants.
"I think I know what it is," he said.

"What?" he demanded.

"It's called f-13640. Experimental drug. They use it to euthanize animals and sometimes in law enforcement..."

"And?" he said, waving his hand. He could give a fuck about law enforcement.

"They use it on users and dealers to simulate heroin withdrawl."

"Ah fuck," he said. "So if it's ODed directly into the system?"

"Massive internal bleeding," he said quietly. "Disintegration of filtering tissue--liver, kidneys, pancreas. Just like ODing on smack, only there's no high to dull it."

"So she's fucked," he said simply. "We need to kill her, then. What's the quickest way you can OD her on anaesthetics with the minimal amount of damage to her system?"

"What?!" Sheehan said, paling.

"Listen to me. She's going to die one way or another. We need to get her down now so that we have the best chance to revive her. What is the best and fastest way to do that?" he demanded.

The ethical implications hurt his fucking head. Gil sat down, thinking. "ODing her will make matters worse," he said, "we need to purge this from her system, not exacerbate it." He thought for a long moment, then said brutally: "Just choke her."

"Okay," he said. "Get the fuck out of my way," he snarled, shoving his way through the crowd. "Mel, baby," he said, leaning over her. "You know what I have to do... I'll see you on the other side." He kissed her on the forehead, then shouted to the peanut gallery. "Get some fucking restraints in here! Handcuffs, downstairs at the armory!"

She looked up to him with sunken, bloodshot eyes, then nodded weakly. She coughed again, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. They wouldn't have to do much restraining; the tremors that racked her body had pretty much incapacitated her.

He wasn't worried about pre-mortem restraint. It was post-mortem restraint. Running feet dashed down the stairs as he put his hands on her neck. Not the throat he was aiming for, it was the carotids. He looked into her eyes as he did it, his eyes asking for forgiveness as his strong fingers clenched down.

Her eyes bulged, large and frightened, and she let out a pathetic cry. Her hand reached for his.

He clenched, knowing that with the blood flow to her brain cut off, she'd be out quickly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her limbs went rigid first, then she struggled as hard as she could, putting her hand over his, but it slipped off a short moment later; she hadn't the energy to keep attacking him. "A-ah!" she cried out, terrified as she didn't understand why the world suddenly felt so far away. Her cheeks flushed red, the rest of her face deathly pale as she locked her eyes onto his, staring upward pleadingly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. No time to explain, no time to waste. He kept looking into her eyes as consciousness faded away.

With a last gasp, she twitched, eyes fluttering, remaining open, and the spark seemed to leave them. For a few moments, her frantic, uneven breath continued, the body determined to fight to leave even if the brain could not, but with a great rush of air from her lungs, even that too laid still.

He maintained his grip for a few moments longer, then reached down to take her pulse.

Be just his luck for her fucking heart to start up and make him have to do it all over again.

There was one beat, two, then nothing.

He quickly flipped the body over, just an empty shell now. "Cuff, wrists and ankles," he ordered, turning. "You," he pointed. "Get wood, reinforce the frame." He looked over at Sheehan. "What do we do to purge her system now?"

"We wait," he said. "Toxins dissolve when they have no living tissue to deteriorate."

"How long? Until she resurrects?"

"An hour, maybe more," he said, "I can't say."

"Make it two. We've got needles stocked up. You know how to do the injection?"

"Just stab it in the back of her neck, right?" he asked.

"We'll get Mike for this. He's trained." he clarified, watching as they shackled the body down.

He walked back over to Alex. He needed to clear his mind away from the image of betrayal, the last light dying from her eyes. He looked over the picture. "Good. Get that down to Zimmerman. Tell him to power up the generator and make a couple hundred copies, turn it into a wanted poster, with a sixy-Powerbar reward."

The kid couldn't help but laugh a bit, good-naturedly. "Okay," he said, proudly signing the picture.

He ruffled the kid's hair, then patted Jared's shoulder. "Let me get you something to eat, kiddo," he said.

"Mr. Petro," Jared said, "why isn't she talking anymore?"

"She was poisoned, Jared. We had... kill her. We'll be reviving her as soon as the poison clears."

"What?" he whispered.

"She was going to die. Slowly, and painfully," he told him. "I did what I had to do."

The problem was that kids had a hard time graspong concepts like mercy killings. Like talking about a dog being put to sleep, for example.

He didn't really have anything else to say about it. Sugarcoating wasn't exactly his speciality.

The boy said nothing. He only sat there, looking dejected.

Zimmerman had absconded with the Powerbars, so... he dug around and found a ration pack, cutting it open. Inside... chicken stew, crackers, peanut butter, and cookies. He cut open the stew and pressed the bag into Jared's hand, along with the plastic spoon. "Here, get something to eat,' he said, cutting open the crackers for himself.

"I'm not hungry," he whispered. "I'm not gonna eat 'til Miss Melanie comes back."

[Josh]

(Placeholder for some more logposting later on. Nothing big to see here, move along.)

[Caz]

While Sheehan manned the radio, Sherry had abandoned the search through Ned, Mark, and Jim's belongings, not finding anything significant. Her eyes were bloodshot, too much energy expended in too little time. But she continued nonetheless because failing now would mean going 9/10 of the way only to give up. "Bollocks to that," she muttered as she headed back to her room to grab some more coffee.

On the way, she noticed Petro in the commons, giving orders to some lackey or another about taking care of their new guests. She guessed correctly when asking their identity, nodded.

"What's the plan?" she asked tentatively.

[Josh]

"Which one?" he asked, up to his elbows in plans and operations. "We revive Melanie soon, put Steve and the 1st out with bribe-material to hunt down Jaycee..."

[Caz]

Not understanding that it was part of the plan, Sherry froze. She'd fucking died? Oh shit...

"I..."

She tried, honest to God tried, but there was absolutely nothing she could think of to say.

[Josh]

Ah Christ, he hadn't even told her. In the mixups between organizing the hunt, bringing the Guard in, and taking care of Melanie, he hadn't even...

He looked Sherry in the eye. "She was going to die. Lethal injection of an experimental animal euthanasia drug. So the only other option was to kill her now, let the toxin break down, then revive. So I did," he said coldly. "And we'll see in an hour and a half it it worked."

He didn't want to linger on the topic, quickly plowing ahead.

"What's the status on the Blackcaps? Anybody left ambulatory?"