Urban Dead: This Means War

[Caz]

She caught the flask in a single hand, stomping toward him. Her off-kilter eyes bore down into his as she leaned over the desk, forcing him to look at her.

"You saved her. Did you want her to bleed out like she had fucking AIDS? Would that have been better?"

[Josh]

"We don't even know that yet," he said coldly. "She's not awake yet, is she? And I don't see you out there wringing anybody's fucking necks, so don't you get in my face over this," he snarled, getting the first rise of anger in a while.

[Caz]

"If she doesn't wake up," Sherry growled, "then you saved her from dying like a goddamn dog!"

Yes, she thought, get angry. Because if you're angry at least you're feeling something!

"I'm getting in your face about it because somebody has to," she said, voice low. "If she wakes up and you're not there, then how the fuck do you think she's going to handle this?"

[Josh]

He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair.

"Who'd I punch?" he asked. "When I was finished."

[Pcm979]

After the Guard's people had finally left her alone for a few damn minutes, Melanie relaxed. Dorian and Gil had obviously been worried on a professional level, but on a personal level they'd been damn near smothering. In between assuring his people that he wasn't in fact dead as well as organizing the hunt on Jaycee, Petro had stopped by as often as he could, doting on her in a way that was almost inhumanly sweet. But for the moment, the room was quiet.

A few minutes later, she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Mike entered the room, looking substantially more like a functioning human being than before. He was carrying a tray.

"Tea for the sickpatient?" He asked.

She smiled kindly, sitting up as best she could due to circumstances. He looked well-rested... Well, the Malton equivalent, and thankfully a lot less unstable. "Hey," she said quietly, "don't you know how to make a girl feel welcome."

"Well." He shrugged carefully, making sure that he didn't spill any of the precious brew. He placed it on a bedside table and drew a chair up. "In the space of two days, you've been stabbed, been operated on without anasthetic, and died twice. A cuppa seemed the least I could do."

"After saving me. Twice," she corrected. "That was the least you could do." She relaxed, stretching a bit uncomfortably but needing to feel the movement in her limbs. In her legs, thank god. Melanie was stir-crazy, hating the idea of how long she might be laid up with this sort of thing. But questions like that would come later.

"I prefer to think of it as a team effort. How d'you like your tea?"

"Who knows," she said, "haven't had it in so long I think I've forgotten." She chuckled a little.

"Amen to that." He poured her a cup and handed it to her, then did the same for himself.

She tried to prop herself on an elbow to drink, but the pain in her lower back was too much. She fumbled, nearly dropped the cup. "Need a pillow," she said, embarrassed, "for my head."

He cursed to, and indeed at, himself and excused himself for a minute. He returned a minute later with a bunch of garishly-coloured pillows, several with sickeningly cute drawings of farm animals on them. "From the local Bed-'n'-Bath." He explained. "You can choose between..." He pretended to study them intently. "The sheep, cow or chicken."

"Can't I have them all?" she asked sheepishly.

"'Option D: All of the above', eh? Fair enough." He carefully lifted her- It wasn't hard, she was small- and stuck the pillows in place.

"Thank you," she said in a whisper, taking the cup and taking a long sip. The warm liquid pooled out from her throat to her limbs, the heat calming her. "God, that's good," she said appreciatively.

"That's what I said, when Sherry told me she'd been hordeing the stuff." Mike sat down and stretched his legs, enjoying being able to take the weight off his feet as much as she was anxious to get back on hers.

"Smart girl," Melanie said, "it's what I'd be keepin' for myself too. Fuck guns and ammo." She smiled playfully and took another long sip of the hot drink. And then she looked up to him. "I never caught your name."

He swallowed some tea. "I have that kinda face." He joked. "Michael, but I prefer Mike."

She offered a pale hand, keeping the other wrapped tight around the hot mug. "Melanie," she said. "Consider this your formal thank-you, Mike."

"Ah, hell. It was nothing." He shook her hand and grinned. "You need no introduction, actually. The Guard's made quite a name for itself."

"My reputation needs no introduction," she said, "but this is just me. As a person. I'm grateful, Mike. And I'm sure Petro is, too. Immensely."

"Any time. It's my job." He said solemly. Damn all this gratitude, can we change the subject now? He thought to himself.

"I had a question for you a while back, Mike," she said. "You're with the Irregulars now, right? And I'm sure you've heard by now that the Guard is going to be pooling our resources here as well..."

He saw where she was going, even if he couldn't quite believe it. He didn't quite know how to say no, either. "It's an honour, really, but... It's home for me here. As much as it can be for anyone in Malton. It's like a family, and I couldn't leave it."

She nodded. "And I wouldn't ask you to leave it. But... There's a shortage of skilled surgeons and doctors in this city. What I would want to know is if you'd be interested in helping some of my top men show our recruits the ropes."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I could do that. In fact, I'm already teaching some people how to use the syringes. But I'm not the best surgeon around here; That's Ace. He's the career doctor."

She nodded. "I'll speak to him, too..." And with a sigh, she explained: "We're gonna have to dig in for the long haul with this. I hate the idea, but there's no way around it."

He understood perfectly. "Yeah, two months not staying in one place for two nights in a row, and hunkering down seems odd, if not suicidal. I still find myself preparing to leave, personally."

"But we have to start rebuilding somehow," she said hopelessly. "Personally, I don't think the government is gonna come back. Nobody wants to help us."

"I don't know, they keep airdropping supplies. Like the babies I used to bring you back. What I'm worried about is them deciding to cut their losses and just wipe us off the map." He paused. "Great, I came in here to cheer you up, and now..."

She laughed. "You don't need to cheer me up. I'm happier now than I've ever been, Michael." She finished her tea and set the mug on the table beside the bed.

"Well, I broke my leg once and I was ready to chew through the walls by the end of the first day stuck in bed. I wasn't in a boarded-up room with no heat or light either, so... But it's good if you can stay positive." He trailed off lamely.

She laughed. "Aye." Suddenly, there was a movement from the corner of the room. The blind kid, Jared, crept out from under a pile of blankets and carefully felt his way toward the bed.

Mike turned quickly when he heard the movement, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Jared. A strange kid. "Here." Mike touched Jared's hand with his own and guided the boy towards the bed.

The boy smiled. "Thanks," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He placed a hand on Melanie's stomach, then nodded. "You're gonna be fine," he affirmed.

Mike grinned and raised an eyebrow, sending Melanie the physical version of the phrase "How sweet." This brought nagging doubts back the forefront of his mind, though. Some strange shit had happened since they'd found the kid.

The kid turned to Mike as though sensing his unease, then said: "You took care of her. Thank you."

"It's fine." Jeez, all this praise was unnerving. Mike wasn't used to all the gratitude and praise, and found it embarrasing.

Jared paused for a moment, then said to Mike: "Things are gonna get really bad..."

"They always do." Mike said, momentarily forgetting standard procedure for talking to kids, I.E: Lie your socks off.

"The girl with the weird eyes is gonna come back soon," he said.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Mike's curiosity was piqued again. He was beginning to form a hypothesis about the kid.

He shrugged. "I don't know. She's angry." And that was really all he could feel regarding Sherry. He laid against Melanie, looking rather like a loyal dog at her bedside.

"Ah. Yes, I think that qualifies as a bad thing." Mike half-joked, but his mind was whirring. It's crazy - totally crazy - but so's my life these days.

[Pcm979]

A shot rattled out, narrowly missing the Blackcap in front. They dodged to either side, heading for cover.

Sherry paused, the light rain seeming to suddenly slow as it no longer splashed onto her face from a diagonal. The shot had come from her right, two buildings down. About half a block, she guessed. Thankfuly, noise didn't carry well in the rain so chances were that it wasn't a distorted echo. She reached for her radio, told the team: "For every inch he tries to run, you take double back. I'm going to swing around and see if I can't catch him between us."

Jaycee watched from the shadows. Predictable. The stupid bitch was soloing. Always trying to play tough. They were chasing his decoy quite nicely.

She wasn't alone though, not this time. Due to the lack of bodies, the groups of four were now groups of three, but she'd made it clear as hell to them that no one was to be left alone under any circumstances. She knew how bad he could be and had made that fact clear to them all in the briefing. The other two flanked her down the sides of the alley, a fair distance apart to keep in the shadows.

Damn. He watched her peel off with two others. The two he could take, or her by herself. All three? Odds weren't so good. He pulled back, watching it play out. He could wait for a better shot. He knew her- she'd fuck up somewhere, and when she did, he'd own her.

She crept through the alleyway like a jungle cat. A predator. The other two followed her, although she instructed them that if they saw anything, either of them could take point at any time. She trusted them with her back. The radio crackled, saying that they'd found some punk with a pistol that had been shooting, but it sure as hell wasn't him.

He watched, stock-still, as they moved along the alley. One burst could take two of them. With a bit of luck, even all three. But it wouldn't be the same.

She couldn't just die. She had to suffer.

The boy on the left whistled, signaling to the two of them that he'd found something, or at least thought he had. They huddled around him, chattering for a moment as they listened to his radio. From Jaycee's position, he couldn't hear what.

Too good an opportunity to pass up. Hopefully the bitch wouldn't die... he leveled the submachinegun he'd looted off the soldier's corpse, lined up, and fired a burst at the trio.

"Down!" Sherry shouted, shoving them to the floor. The spray of bullets somehow managed to keep from killing any of them, although it was too early to be surveying the damage. But she had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. Pulling three small spheres from her pack, she lit their fuses and tossed them out from the dumpster they hid behind. With a few cheesy pops, the firecrackers began to dislodge clouds of noxious blue smoke. "Fall back," Sherry whispered to the two, "even if you lose sight of each other. We know where to go." She crept through the smoke back the way they'd come, knowing she couldn't chance it. Her leg fucking burned, but there was no time to examine that now.

Cursing, he circled, looking for another shot. Movement int he smoke, he lined up and fired another burst, then dumped the empty gun away.

By some chance, one of the bullets caught her backpack straight through, sideways, in one side and out the other. While it caused no damage, she was thrown against the wall with the impact, inhaling the acrid smoke as she tried not to cough and thus give herself away.

He drew the blade from his pack. It was dangerous to be playing like this, but wounded prey...

Tiptoeing through the smoke curtain, she saw the two boys round the mouth of the alley, heading toward the petrol station a few blocks over where everyone was to meet up. Sherry broke into a dead run, lighting another smoke bomb and tossing it behind her.

And he piled into her from the side, hitting her in the solar plexus with his shoulder and slamming her into the wall.

She grunted, surprised, and grit her teeth as she felt her shoulder strain. But she kept her head about her, using the momentum from the blow to yank forward on his wrist, slaming him into it beside her.

He felt something pop in his arm, but he was too into the action to stop and analyze. He jammed the knife into her calf viciously as they fell to the ground.

She screamed, feeling her leg buckle under her, but even then she was plotting the next blow. Pain was nothing in these moments. The machete nearly cleaved his face off on the first swing, and on the backswing it dug into his scalp.

He rolled away, blood streaming down from his head. "See ya," he called out, bailing. The scream would bring the rest of the little traitors down.

But he had accidentally discovered that old rule of warfare- the wounded are a hellacious burden on the living.

But Sherry wasn't through with him. She lit another firework, this one of a different variety. Suddenly, sparks exploded around him in all directions, and she was throwing him to the ground.

He hit the ground with catlike agility, throwing an elbow back into her jaw.

She mostly dodged the blow and slammed her knee down toward his back, her arms digging into his shoulders from behind.

His rolling motion left her knee grazing off his back as he turned, butterfly knife snapping open, lashing out blindly.

It cut straight across her cheek, shallow but bloody, and she didn't feel a goddamn thing. With a snarl, she landed purposefully on her back and shoved her booted foot right up into his chin.

His teeth clacked shut on his tongue, but he was in a similar painless state. He rolled away from her, rising to his feet with his bloodied knife in hand. "M'mon," he said, blood running down his chin, gesturing with his hand.

She dove at him, jumping high above him even though she felt her leg screaming, and kept herself clear of his first attack as she struck down for his right arm, trying to disable his means of attack.

But he was a saavy fighter was well, letting her come to attack, and instead of going for the quick disabling shot, he lashed out at the attack she made, blade whizzing for the exposed limb.

It cut her clean down the upper arm, again not deep enough to cause tendon damage but enough to hurt like hell. She kicked at his elbow, landing in a crouch and immediately diving at his legs.

She plowed him over, the knife flying away as he hit the ground rolling.

She grabbed his weapon, sliding it effortlessly down the length of the alley and out of reach, then turned and tried to land an uppercut to his jaw.

He swayed back from that and kicked her wounded leg, hard.

She cried out, doubling over and grabbing at it on reflex.

His punch hammered down, landing behind and below her ear.

Dizzied by the blow, she fell to her knees, seeing stars. She lashed out blindly with her fists.

One punch connected with his knee, but probably hurt her more than him as her knuckles met kneecap bone on bone. He danced back, lashing out with his boot to kick her in the face.

She landed flat on her back, dazed as the pavement cracked the back of her head. This wasn't cool... This was so not fucking cool... But she'd gotten the others back out safely...

He stopped and grabbed the butterfly knife. "Futhckin' bitth," he snarled. Walking up, he kicked for her head again.

Her cheek scraped on the pavement as he kicked her, and then the pain faded as she laid there, stunned. Then darkness crept in from the corners of her vision and overtook everything.

The world returned with all the subtlty of a bucket of water to the face.

She gasped, blinking back the cold droplets as she was suddenly awoken, her head pounding. For a good few seconds, she had absolutely no recollection of what had happened.

She couldn't move her arms and legs, either. Her head was still free, but her limbs had been firmly taped to the chair she sat in. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Jaycee's ugly grin, his face still half-soaked in dried blood.

Her hair hung down into her eyes, partially obscuring her view, but it didn't matter. She knew what wouls be there regardless of actually seeing it. Her mouth tasted of blood, and she had a feeling that things were about to get a lot worse in that department.

He reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling her head up. "Hey, toldja I'd get ya. I knew you'd fuck it up. You always were a fuckup."

She said nothing, eyeing him defiantly. If anything, her eyes didn't even focus on him, but rather on something far past him.

He shook his head. "No more games, Sherry. Whoo... fuck... you were a tough one. Couldn't believe it when Colin told me you were still alive." He staggered back and sat down in the chair across from her, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Remember Colin? Nice kid, huh?"

At that, her expression faltered a bit. But she still said nothing. If he was going to make his fucking Bond villain speech, let him. She'd use the time to figure out something to do.

"Gonna play it tough, huh? S'fine. You always were the toughest one." He took a drag on the cigarette. "Dyin' was good enough for the others. But you... I'm gonna make you scream, girl. Scream like Alex did when I chopped his leg off and left him for the rotters. Think I saw him shambling around the other day..."

"Bastard," she snarled, her lip curling.

He grinned at her, having scored the first victory. "Hey, nice talking to you."

"It'll be the last voice you ever hear," she said, spitting blood to the side of the chair.

He rolled his eyes. "The fuck are you expecting, Sherry? Some big rescue? Last-minute escape? No, I'm gonna fuck you up, and fuck you, and then I'm gonna kill you."

"So the truth comes out," she said, "all this over going to fucking bed with someone."

He snorted at that. "Fuck no. Just been a while. Nah, this is 'cause you stole them from me, and you did it cheap. The Blackcaps were mine." He stood up, approaching her.

"People don't belong to anyone," she said. "They came with me because they were scared, starving..."

"Oh bullshit. People are fucking animals. You put 'em on a leash and you drag their asses around," he stepped behind her, grabbing the back of her head by the hair, he roughly shoved her head forward.

She said nothing, only grunted a bit as the movement brought fresh pain to the scrapes from the pavement as well as fresh dizziness. In all honesty, she was prepared for whatever he was going to offer. Better her than someone else.

"You turned into a real pussy somewhere along the way," he said curiously. "You always had a soft spot, but shit..." The cigarette sizzled into the flesh at the nape of her neck.

She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the fact that she could smell her own skin cooking, and instead concentrated on anything but the pain. The time for talking was over.

He pulled the cigarette back, put it in his mouth. His fingers grazed over the burn mark, toying with it. "Got great skin, Sherry. Scars well."

The scent of it was making her sick, but she didn't let him know.

He stepped around to in front of her, puffing on the cigarette, he reached out with it, holding the tip under her chin. Either she could lift her head, or...

She lifted, avoiding the hot ash in a rather panicky move. /No... Under control... You can do this!/

He guided her chin up to maximum extension, then pulled the cigarette back. "See," he said. "You're not unbreakable. You play tough, but you don't want to get hurt anymore than anybody else..."

Damn him. She snorted through her nostrils, wild eyes watching him as she couldn't tell where this was going.

He grinned. "You're breaking already, Sherry. Like a trapped animal. You're hot shit out on the streets, but get you strapped down, you're almost like a real woman."

"What's /that/ supposed to mean?" she asked haughtily.

He laughed, toying with the hem of her top. "God, you are just a fucking bundle of buttons to press on," he said. "It's almost too easy to play with you."

She had nothing to respond to that with, and sank into bitter silence.

"You had a thing for Ron, didn't you?" he asked suddenly, circling back around behind her again.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

He clucked disapprovingly, then suddenly slid a belt around her neck from behind, tightening it, not quite closing off her windpipe, but enough to make her rasp for breath.

She gasped, eyes wide as she remembered what had happened to Melanie just hours before. But she wouldn't panic, had to breathe slow...

He alternated the pressure from total cutoff to allowing her some air for roughly half an eternity, before easing up. "I'm picking the topics today," he informed her cheerfully as she caught her breath.

She gasped, panting as her eyes clenched shut. Why was he asking her about shit like this? He had nothing to gain from it... But she spoke anyway, hoping to keep him placated for the time being. "No," she said, "I never did anything with him. Never saw him like that."

"Funny, 'cause he sure had it for you. Get this..." he laughed. "He was even looking at going straight and taking you with him. 'Course, then everything went to shit, and he had his little accident. Got locked outside..."

Don't believe him, she told herself, he's full of shit and he'll say anything at all to get to you right now. She hadn't thought of Ron in so long... But now that she'd remembered, the tight feeling in her chest returned.

"Yeah, you knew..." he said, feeling her tense under his fingers. He rubbed the sides of her neck in a grotesque mockery of affection. "You knew all along. You just never let him get anywhere close. Fucking cock-tease."

She said nothing didn't move didn't think because he had to be lying. She'd never thought... She and Ron... No! She'd never even considered it.

"Bet he was thinking about you when he died, too. No, he was probably more worried about the zombie eating his face off, come to think of it. But I bet he mumbles about you a lot these days..."

She closed her eyes. He wouldn't be getting the satisfaction of seeing the look in them.

He let go of her neck, returning to his chair. "See, I don't have to cut you, burn you, I don't have to do that to hurt you," he bragged. "That's just for fun. But you fucked up your life enough that all I have to do is just remind you about every time you fucked up, and it'll burn you harder than anything I could do to your skin..."

The words stung like cold hail on naked skin, but she didn't let it show. He knew anyway. But none of that mattered. The past was so fucking dead now... She smiled, not even realizing she was doing it, because she knew that for all the bad things she'd done, she'd made up for it in spades now.

The smile rattled him a tad. That wasn't what she was supposed to be doing.

Her head bowed forward as she relaxed, eyes half-closed. Blood trickled from the various cuts she'd incurred and the burn on her neck hurt like nobody's damn business, but she took a deep breath, feeling her lungs fill with that sense of inner calm.

"So what now? Going to play hero?" he jibed. "Get over yourself. You're scum."

"If I was going to play hero, you'd be dead," she said, mismatched eyes holding his in place.

"Yeah, when?" he snorted. "In case you missed it, I kicked your ass."

"You turned tail and fled," she said. "I would've killed you before this whole damn thing started." She spat out another mouthful of blood, smirking.

He shrugged. "Oh well. It doesn't matter how we go there. Just that we are where we are."

He stood up, walked forward, and punched her in the face, once, twice, three times. Her nose flattened under the second punch. From the look on his face, he could've been reading the paper.

She took each blow equally, never once flinching or even moving to try to lessen the impact. Blood gushed from her nose and upper lip, but it didn't seem to affect that creepy smile.

He looked at the blood on his hand and finally smiled again, licking his knuckles. "Tastes good, baby."

She licked her lips. "That so?"

"Oh yeah," he said, poking her broken nose around with his finger.

She grimaced, but said nothing. The stud she wore in her nose fucking grated like something else, but she didn't say a word.

"You're not unbreakable," he said. "But you're going to last a while. Good." He stepped around behind her. "So, did the bitch die?"

"Don't know," she said. "That's her battle, not mine."

"Shoulda been you," he said. "But when I'm done with you, I'll still have to deal with him. Difference is..." he ran his fingers through her hair. "With you, it's personal." She heard the click of the lighter... lighting a new cigarette? A puff. Yes, a new cigarette.

She did her best to just ignore the background noise, knowing that what would be would be. This wasn't in her hands until he fucked up. She altered her breathing, feigning tension. That would get him off. And close enough to fuck was close enough to kill.
The back of her shoulderblade started warming up as he played the flame of the lighter across it. "Gimme a good scream, Sherry..."

She remained silent.

The lighter stopped playing across, stayed in one place. Flesh began to sizzle under the flame.

She arched her back, jaw clenched and squared. God, there was that smell again... But she could keep it out. She knew she could if she just detached herself.

The fire stopped. He slid his hand under her chin, arcing her head back. "Wrong place, maybe." The lighter snapped again, the underside of her jaw this time caressed by the flame.

Her breath began to come in short, shallow gasps. Panic, perhaps? It would appear so.

The lighter clicked off. He stepped back around to in front of her, crouching down. "Look at me..." he said, his tone high with excitement.

Not having any other option, she obliged.

He looked for the fear in her eyes, the drug he wanted, the victory and absolution for everything that had passed between them.

There was none.

His hand cracked around for another punch. "You can't play me!" he snarled.
She could, and she had. Her head whipped around with the blow, her neck straining. He was losing that measure, that cool. He was getting pissed off.

He shook his hand, then grabbed his chair. "Whatever happened to Colin, anyway? Haven't seen him running around with you guys."

She flinched. He'd struck a nerve.

He grinned, having gotten a little ahead. "So, how'd he die? Gut shot, that's pretty ugly. Did he go out crying for his mama? For you?"

"We kept him comfortable," she said with pride, "he didn't suffer."

"Oh. Burned good drugs on a dying guy, then? Great job," he said, giving her a thumbs up.

She shook her head dismissively, that ghost of a smile coming back. He just wouldn't understand. What a sad, lost cause.

He crept a little closer in his chair. "Gotta say, the look on your face when you came in there... priceless. How many people have you let down now? Christ, goes back. Ron... Colin... Alex... who was the other asshole I killed out there?"

She grit her teeth, didn't say a thing. He wouldn't get his claws in her.

"C'mon, who was it? I took him, two shots. One to the knee, one to the head, before I dropped Alex and left him for the zombies."

"Jamie," she said, "his name was Jamie and he was a hell of a better man than you."

He grinned at that. "No, he's dead. Well, maybe he's wandering around outside too. Maybe you and Ron can get together when I'm done with you, y'think? Colin too? Like the Deadcaps?"

She spit blood all over his grinning, stupid face.

He turned, wiping his face on his sleeve, the smile not fading. Every response she gave him was payoff. She couldn't keep it together, she never could. Too wild, too much temper. He looked back up, still grinning. "Y'know, I coulda broken you in nice, Sherry. Made you into my pet. Too bad I don't have time."

She twitched visibly. "I'd rather die."

"I know," he said triumphantly. "That's the best part. But I'd make sure you couldn't get ahold of anything sharp... knock all those teeth of yours out, too. Maybe..." He got a thoughtful look suddenly, standing up and walking away from her.

She tensed. This wasn't good.

There were breaking sounds from around the corner, would chipping and splintering. When he returned, he had a chair leg resting in a cast-iron skillet, along with smaller wood fragments. Pulling the chair leg free, he lit the wood fragments, starting a small fire.

He looked up at her and whistled cheerfully, then grabbed the duct tape, tearing off a fresh strip.

For the first time, there was a flicker of fear, of uncertainty in her eyes.

Which was quickly hidden as the tape was placed over her eyes. He kept whistling cheerfully. There was a pricking sensation in her right arm as the knife sliced along the tape, and incidentally the flesh, freeing the one arm, though he kept a tight grip on the wrist. He kept whistling throughout.

Her heart began to pound in her chest, the inevitable fear bubbling to the surface. Sensory deprivation... Jesus christ, he knew what he was doing. Sadistic fuck. But she didn't make any noise, wouldn't give him that.

More tape was torn. Her arm was strapped in front of her, to the arm of the chair. More whistling, a finger nudged her nose around some more, as he chuckled softly.

She couldn't help it, cried out in surprise.

"Good girl," he said to her encouragingly. "Anyway..." he tore the tape from her eyes. "You'll want to see this. Like I was saying... knock out the teeth, can't let you have anything sharp. But then, it occurred to me that really, you're too dangerous with anything that comes to hand. So..."

He hefted the axe.

"No hand, no danger."

The axe lifted high over his shoulder as he began to swing.

She lashed out wildly, terrified at the notion.

At the last second, the axe diverted, sailing for the floor, where it sank into the hardwood with a solid thunk. He laughed uproariously, leaning over it. "Oh shit... oh shit... there you go, that's it..."

She curled into a semi-fetal position, trying to defend herself against an attack that she knew would eventually come, but who knew from where.

He rapped the back end of the axe into her shin with a solid thunk. "Where's the tough bitch now?"

"You've lived your whole life thinking fear is weakness," she snarled. "Good. Stay that way."

He shook his head. "Everybody's afraid, Sherry. The weakness is when you let other people use it against you."

"You're inhuman," she said coldly. But she knew she was going to come out on top in this. Sherry had known fear, she'd had it used against her just like he said. But she'd learned from it.

He shrugged. "I'm alive. I'm in charge here. That makes me better than you. Better than Ron. Better than every cunt in this town who died."

"Congratulations," she said, "you're the one who gives a fuck."

He looked at her, obviously a bit baffled by the notion of why anybody else's opinion besides his should matter for anything. "Well... yeah..." he said, as if talking to a very stupid child.

"So you're king of your own imaginary castle," she said. "What a fuckin' achievement."

He laughed at her. "No, I'm just having my fun, with nobody to stop me. Not the cops, not Ron, not you. I go where I want, I take what I want."

She chuckled, shaking her head. He thought he was so goddamn unique for being able to do that... These days, that was life.

"Laugh it up," he said confidently. "I broke you down already. I can hurt you. I can make you beg. This goes on just as long as I want it to."

"Then stop with the fucking Bond villain bullshit," she said.

"What, kill you and get it over with? You mean, like I do to the Blackcaps I come across?"

She growled.

But there was nothing she could say to that. He was right.

"They're dead next, y'know. Without you... I'll pick 'em off as they stumble around. If they'd been worth a shit, they would've cut you down that night, so..." he shrugged. "What'd you ever do with Jimbo, anyway?"

"Jimbo and Ned are dead," she said simply. "Mark, too."

"Yeah, I heard about Mark. Blew his own head off, the pussy. Anyway..."

There was a clatter from behind her. Jaycee was moving horizontal to the floor without a second's hesitation.

She tensed, unsure as to what was about to happen bur knowing she had to steel herself, regardless.

"Fuck!" she heard from behind her. Familiar voice, one of the Blackcaps. Somebody had screwed up the silent entry part. Jaycee was already vanishing into the warehouse. Once he'd gotten past her, a couple of shots rang out, but nothing landed close.

Sherry curled, defending herself as best she could.

Several of them stormed past her, pursuing Jaycee into the shadows. One, Lenny, stopped and ducked down by her, pocketknife flashing out to cut the tape. "Hey boss, you okay? Jesus..." he said, looking at her battered face.

She looked up at him, bewildered.

He slashed her legs free, putting his hands tentatively on her shoulders. Normally, Sherry was un-fucking-touchable, but she looked pretty... fucked up.

"Hey, it's okay, we're gonna get him."

She nodded, stil not sure whether to trust her voice, tried to stand, collapsed against him, hacking blood all over his chest.

He held her up, turning to lower her against the ground. Christ, they were going to have to carry her out of here.

She cried out sharply as he laid her down, having forgotten about the burns on her back and neck.

"Ah fuck," he said. "Uh, shit... what do I do here?â€Â

[Caz]

When the Blackcaps arrived, they were a grim bunch. Hell, they were barely kids, there was no way they were supposed to be prepared for that shit. Their numbers were cut down to twelve now, with Sherry barely ambulatory as she leaned heavily on Lenny, her leg swollen and hastily bandaged. She was hardly able to focus her eyes, dizzy from blood loss.

Jared tugged on Mike's sleeve, and although he was the equivalent of several city blocks away within the mall, he let them know: "They're back."

[Pcm979]

When Mike got to the entrance, all thoughts of Jared were wiped from his mind. "Jesus!" He took the mall's stairs two at a time. A cynical part of his mind whispered It's deja vu all over again...

[Josh]

Petro was along shortly thereafter. "Oh christ," he said. What a fucking day.

He traded glances with Mike, and he suddenly had a new appreciation for the poor bastards who waited and patched up the inbound. He'd known it wasn't easy, but he'd always been able to go back out and hammer at things again.

Mike and Ace got to wait for the broken bodies to come back, day in and day out.

Damn.

[Caz]

Sherry saw Mike jogging down the steps toward them; a relieved smile crossed over her swollen face. He looked refresh, well-rested. Meant that things back at the fort had gone far better than in the field.

"Thanks," she said to Lenny, then took the last few steps towarad him on her own, despite the fact that her calf felt like it was on fire.

"Hey, hero," she said glumly.

[Pcm979]

Mike skidded to a halt in front of her. "Christ. Lean on me." He took her weight.

[Caz]

Normally, pride would have kept her from doing that, but she fell heavily against him, eyes barely open.

"I let him get away again," she said, not really listening to what he'd said as she felt her leg give out entirely. But she kept herself supported, using him as a crutch, the blows to her head and the lack of blood utterly disorienting her.

[Pcm979]

"Jesus." Mike repeated. "I need help here!" With some assistance, he managed to haul her into the mall, and then the jerry-rigged hospital. She let 'him' get away? Mike felt an emotion bubble inside him, a rare one for him; Anger. Jaycee would fucking pay for this. For all of it!

They plunked her down on a cot, and Mike forced himself to be professional. Numerous abrasions, some burns -god, was that a cigarette burn?! Calm, calm, a broken nose, these were secondary. Most of the blood loss had come from the deep, jagged stab wound on her right calf. He grabbed the alcohol and stitches and set to work.

[Caz]

She clenched her teeth as he set to work, not once complaining as he tended to her injuries. For one, she was far too grateful to do that--after the battle, she'd realized that she had never given Mike, Ace, or any of the other medics enough credit for their job. But on the other hand, even if it would have hurt horribly, she was just a bit too dizzy to get up an lecture him on it.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, everything had been tended to save for the burns. Fortunately, the injury to her nose has been mostly cartilage, not an actual break, so it wouldn't impair breathing. However, she put up quite the fuss when the time to remove the tiny hot-pink star stud came. But she finally relented, let him finish the job.

Now the only thing to deal with was the burns. Even the thought of what that would incur made her twitch a bit.

"Petro's got the shit for the burns," she said, "he was putting it on his neck..."

The redhead had been pacing nearby, obviously wound tight. He seemed to be standing on pins and needles, wincing every time he'd notice something new about either her injuries or the treatment. Fussy one, he was.

[Pcm979]

Mike looked up; He hadn't even noticed Petro standing there. "Could you grab it for me? Petro scowled, but eventually left the room. Mike grabbed a bottle of water and a plastic cup and poured her a drink. He put it on the edge of her bed and helped her into a semi-slouching position. "Easy, you lost a fuckload of blood."

[Caz]

She remembered the concrete floor of the warehouse, how it had looked like half a dozen people had been slaughtered in there, then nodded, falling like a ragdoll in his careful arms.

"Should'a seen the other car," she said, half-conscious.

[Pcm979]

"Shush." He shifted her weight a bit and sat down on the bed. "Jesus Sher, don't scare me like that again."

[Caz]

From the way her head was tilted, she could barely see him when she looked up. Or maybe that was due to the light. Or maybe the blood loss. She really wasn't sure. Everything felt crazy at that point.

She repeated to Mike what she'd said to Lenny earlier:

"... 's worse than it looks."

But the words this time were slurred, not quite as certain.

[Pcm979]

"Shhhhhhhh." He repeated, and shifted her into a more natural position. "Take it easy, you're concussed."

[Caz]

She leaned against him, still for a few moments before announcing:

"'M'sleepy."

And then, a few seconds later:

"... M'backhurts."

[Pcm979]

Mike reached behind him and grabbed a pillow, placing it carefully beneath her back. "You really fucking frightened me there." He murmured, running his fingers through her hair.

[Caz]

She looked up at him through the haze of her eyelashes, then asked, "... What? Frightened you?"

Because in Sherry's mind, of course, she'd had the whole situation under control, never mind all of the blood and the limping and the retreating.

[Pcm979]

"Never mind." He rocked her slightly. "Just stay with me. Can you drink?" He proffered the cup of water.

[Caz]

"Mouth tastes like blood," she said with a frown. But she drank anyway, more to appease him than anything else.

"Thanks," she said, coughing as the water wetter her dry throat. "You're always here..."

[Josh]

Petro cleared his throat loudly, holding out the burn cream.

"Looks like you're taking care of her good there, Mike, I'll be back in a bit, Tiger."