Urban Dead: This Means War

[Josh]

(Possible logpost placeholder)

[Josh]

He was limping back across the top level when he spotted Mike down below. Petro hobbled along, leaning heavily on his cane. "Mike!" he yelled. "C'mere!"

[Pcm979]

Mike glanced up from the middle of the Mall's ground floor, halfway to his cubbyhole. "I'll be up in a minute." He yelled back, and took the stairs two at a time.

[Josh]

He leaned on the rail, lighting a cigarette.

Fuck it, he wasn't even bothering to conserve them anymore. They were more likely to starve before he ran out of smokes.

[Pcm979]

A minute or so later, Mike rounded the corner from the last staircase and stood vaguely at attention. He was one of the founding members of the Irregulars, but he still deferred to the older man. "What's up, Petro?"

[Josh]

He leaned over close. "How is she?"

[Pcm979]

Mike bit his lip. "Apart from the burns, the cuts, the bloodloss..." He hesitated. "He got her, Petro. She's scared of him now. I don't know if she could face him again."

[Josh]

Fuck.

He'd been afraid of that.

"She won't have to," he said. "Take care of her, Mike."

He looked at him for a long moment. "Listen, you probably can do more for her right now than I can. But let me know when'd be a good time to see her, okay? I don't give a shit if it's the middle of the night."

[Pcm979]

Mike nodded. "I'll do my best."

He considered Petro's question. "Tomorrow morning would probably be better. She needs sleep, and something to eat."

[Josh]

"Okay," he said. "I know you'll take good care of her."

He slapped Mike on the shoulder reassuringly, and turned to hobble away.

On second thought, Silver's skinning plan really did sound like it had some virtues.

[Pcm979]

Mike stood there for a moment, lost in thought. Then he slowly turned and jogged back down the stairs.

[Pcm979]

Mike woke up at 7am, after a few hastily snatched hours of sleep. Luckily, he'd been partially prepared for such erratic sleep patterns thanks to his internship at Necrotech, but it could still get exhausting.

After quickly grabbing a bite to eat, he was back on the job, inspecting the last few patients left in the infirmary.

It was mostly empty, except for a few curtained-off sections at the back of the room. These were the trauma patients. Mike moved among them, checking temperatures and refilling water bottles, leaving meagre piles of food behind for when they woke up.

After Petro had harassed her about her love life for the umpteenth time, Sherry had drifted off to a worried sleep. As she slept, she could still feel and smell and hear it happening again. And she repeated the mantra in her head, just as she'd done as the events had taken place. The William Blake poem, over and over, the words written around the curling tiger tattoo that seemed to climb its way up her calf. The stab wound had gone straight through the animal's neck.

Sherry's eyes fluttered open as she sat bolt-straight upright, ignoring the pain from her injuries as she gasped. Not again... Not goddamn again...

Mike heard the commotion and rushed over, pushing the curtain aside.

"Whoa, whoa." He said, in his best soothing voice. "Nightmares again?"

She was clutching at her throat, the strangulation marks seeming more prominently contrasting in the light. She breathed heavily, as though she'd been underwater for a long moment and then been pulled to the surface. Her lips and fingertips were bright red-purplish.

She didn't seem to notice Mike at all.

He knelt down by the bed and grabbed her hands. "Sherry? Can you hear me?"

He then would realize what was happening. She was choking herself.

He cursed and tightened his grip on her hands, trying to wrench them off her neck.

After a few moments, her grip seemed to loosen a bit, and she leaned back a bit, sputtering and coughing, somewhat returning to consciousness. Upon waking, she panicked for a moment and tried to yank her hands free.

He didn't let go, but held her hands loosely and squeezed them. "Shhh. It's me. You had another nightmare."

"... Mike...?" she asked, her head clearing enough for a basic understanding to filter through. She breathed slow and deep, her oxygen-starved brain taking its time to recalibrate itself. She sighed, shook her head.

"Yeah. It's me." He repeated. "You just had... another nightmare." Where you tried to strangle yourself. Jesus, we might have to restrain you while you sleep... But that could just make things worse.

"My neck hurts," she said, reaching up after gently withdrawing her hand from his to run a few fingertips over where the belt's buckle had eaten at her skin. "Mike..." She wasn't sure if she could say it out loud. Not due to embarrassment, but because she feared what the knowledge would do to him.

"Yes?" He looked at her, concern visible through his thin glasses.

"When Jaycee and I were together..." She paused, "he used to sleep with his hands around my neck. Was I..." Doing that?

He barked a short, nervous laugh. "Not exactly. You were fucking throttling yourself."

She fell into the bed, a sick look passing over her face.

"Sorry." He shook his head sharply. "Not exactly the kindest way to break it." He was tense as hell. "I, ah. I have to ask. Have you ever done that before?"

"Done what?" she asked.

"Tried to hurt yourself in your sleep. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." He added hastily.

"Why is it important?" she asked, eyeing him through narrow eyes.

He sighed unsteadily and ran his hands through his hair, moving into a more comfortable crouching position. "Sherry, you've just been through one fucker of a bad experience, and you're showing classic shock symptoms." He said bluntly. Hell, she always spoke that way. "Now, I can try and help you through it, but I need your help to help you."

Not the most elegant sentence, but it should serve.

God damn it. God damn him for taking such a clinical approach. Because if he'd said it any other way, she'd have been able to dodge it. She wiped her bangs back, sitting up and watching him suspiciously. "I was... Dreaming about what happened. A few years ago." She cleared her throat. "It's called erotic asphyxiation. I used to ask him to strangle me during sex." Wow, that was a mouthful. Hope you could chew, Mike.

He nodded, not judging her in the slightest. "Yeah. I've heard of it." The questions were answered, but they just led to more questions. I'm not trained for this. He thought, already blaming himself for being inadequate for the task.

"Don't think less of me," she whispered. "I'm... I'm fucked up, Mike. And I'm sorry if Petro's been pestering you about hooking up with me because I don't know if I want to put that baggage on you."

He leaned forward and hugged her, whispering in return: "I don't think less of you." Then, "He hasn't said a word. Even if he had, I wouldn't press." Then a sleep-deprived giggle. "Petro, a matchmaker. Who'd've fucking thought?"

"Trust me," she said, "he's full of surprises." She explained the incident when he'd thought her being upset about Melanie was because she wanted to jump his bones.

"He also seems to get some sort of sick dementia that gets worse the more often he gets laid."

Mike shook with silent laughter. "Now that sounds more like him." He got to his feet and took his glasses off, rubbing them on his sleeve. "I take it he popped 'round? After breakfast, I said. Why doesn't anyone follow the Doctor's orders?" He faux grumbled.

She shrugged. "He doesn't follow anyone's orders but his own. And he even handles those badly."

She sat up, rubbing at her neck. The damn skin was rubbed raw in some spots, and it fucking hurt. She then said: "I'm... Sorry about yesterday."

He frowned, puzzled. "Sorry for what? There isn't anything to be sorry for."

"Ehm... The whole... Kiss... Thing," she said. He'd sure seemed nervous about it.

His eyebrows did some complicated aerobics. "That's... An odd thing to apologize for." He managed lamely.

She looked up to him, shrugging slightly. "Well... You seemed..." Nervous? Anxious? What the fuck was the right 'fill in the blank' word there? "You ran off pretty quick after. I figured it was because I'd freaked you out."

He laughed. "No, no. Although, you have to admit it could be classed as an awkward situation." He busied himself with pulling the bed into shape around her. She'd really done a number on it during the night. He stood back and looked at her, affecting a hurt expression. "I'm feeling somewhat underestimated."

"Well!" she said defensively, "you did just run off!"

She smirked at him, looking off to the side suspiciously. "Petro told me that I have three days off... and that if he catches me doing any work he'll have my head." She laughed. "He also said I should knock you off your feet."

"Well." He said, deliberately misunderstanding her, "At the moment you could do that with a feather."

She snickered, looking to the side once again, not saying a damn word. She'd misinterpreted Petro's wording of the situation as well, although perhaps not as comically.

"Anyway." Mike concluded. "I agree about the dementia, and I'm thinking of opening a psychiatric ward just for him. Mel can make conjugal visits."

"Yeah," she mumbled, "make sure he's got a big bed and a quiet room, then."

"I'll have it soundproofed immediately. Seriously though," He disappeared and came up with a thermometer a moment later, "I need you to stick this under your tongue and let me take your pulse. Just bear with me."

She sighed. "Mike, I'm fine... I know my face looks like raw hamburger, but the face is not a vital organ..."

She sighed and laid back, letting him anyway.

A minute later he dropped her wrist and retrieved the thermometer, shaking it and holding it up to the light. "Roughly what you'd expect." He muttered to himself. He turned back to her. "Feel up to eating something? I know you're feeling like crap, but you're not gonna get any better by fasting for three days."

"I don't..." she quieted. "I don't know if my throat would take it so well."

She sighed and stared at the ceiling, knowing that it was partially her fault.

He nodded. "Fair enough. Just keep drinking and have something when you feel up to it." He gestured to a pathetic little collection of foods he'd scavenged from the rapidly-emptying cafeteria.

He snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot. Your clothes are pretty much ruined, so I scrounged these up." He collected out some loose, tracksuit-style pants and a unisex sweater.

"They should fit, and they're suitable for wearing in bed." He looked a bit nervous, like a kid who was waiting for the teacher to mark his work.

She smiled, hoping to convey that she was grateful. "Thanks," she said, throwing the blankets from her and pulling the outfit on, little to no concern for her indecency--not fully naked, but in the skimpy underwear she might as well have been--as she yanked the pants on and pulled the sweater over her head.

The shirt hung off her shoulders--she still hadn't ever regained a healthy figure since they'd founder her starving--exposing her collarbone and some of the nasty scarring from when they'd first found her, but she didn't seem to be concerned with that.

"Got any coffee?" she asked.

Almost all of the Irregulars were fairly blasé about decency, the niceties of civilization having been carelessly dumped on the wayside when the outbreak occurred, and Mike, when treating various injuries the group had sustained, had seen far more than most of the Irregular's lovers or spouses ever would.

He shook his head sadly. "I wish. There's still that tea of yours, though."

"Maybe I'll wander over and make some," she said thoughtfully, hoping he wouldn't insist that she stay in bed. If she could use this as an out...

"If you can." He said. "But if you push yourself too far, Petro will skin me and I'll skin you before he gets to me."

She frowned, determined to show him up, and tossed the blanket off of her. Attempting to hop out of the bed with her usual grace and lightness, she landed, her injured right leg buckling instinctively and landing her on the floor.

"I say god DAMN," she hissed, clutching at her calf.

He knelt down and helped her to her feet, perching her on the bed again. "I know it grates." He said, seriously. "I know you don't like being helped around, and you're already bored to death in here. But you have to take it easy. I can get you a book, if that'd help."

She watched him, then sighed as she was deposited back on the bed like a child who'd tried to cross the street when she wasn't supposed to.

"... Nah, I'm fine. I just..." She'd promised Petro. Three days, no work. Remembering that shut her up.

"To be frank, at the moment you're not fine." He sat on the bed next to her. "I'm going to sound like a teacher or a parent or something, but you won't get better unless you stay still and eat your greens, so to speak."

She leaned on his shoulder, burying her face in his coat's collar.

"I can't just sit here while he's alive, Mike."

He put an arm around her. "I know. I wish I could say something deep and meaningful right now, but I'm not a psychiatrist or anything." He suddenly remembered... "Shit, I forgot. You'll want to know; The 2nd got here last night. They're going after him."

"I don't want deep and meaningful," she said harshly, "I just want to be a goddamn person..." She sighed.

"I'm going with them," she said. "I don't care what Petro says... he'll hide unless he knows I'm out there."

"Three days." He said. "Even if Petro didn't say that, it's going to be at least that long until you're physically capable of going out again." Mike tensed inwardly, expecting her to take her frustrations out on him.

"I can't," she said, instead of lashing out she seemed to be lashing in. "I can't take that risk. If he hurts one of them over his feud with me, that's blood on my hands and I can't fucking take that, okay?"

She slumped against him.

Mike swore to himself. Damn it, she should be angry. Anger would be progress. He drew her closer.


"Tell you what. I'll talk to Petro about it, see if I can delay them until you're ready."

"Thanks," she whispered. "I just wish they'd realize that this doesn't have to be their fight. It's me he's after." The rest was just an afterthought. The Blackcaps, the mall, the militia, even Melanie... none of that mattered to a creature like Jaycee. For the moment, he existed for no purpose other than revenge, and he wouldn't sleep until he crushed it in his palm.

He chuckled. "Well, that's something you need to realize. If he's after you, he's after all of us. You're one of us, Sher."

"No," she said, "that's the last thing you guys need. We have enough to fucking worry about without him."

"Yes, yes we do." But he meant it in a different way.

She sighed. "I don't want this to get any worse than it already is. And Petro's got that damn sense of revenge or duty or whatever the fuck he calls it..."

The way her head was turned, only her brown eye was facing him, but she watched him nonetheless.

"Don't make this a personal battle. Please."

"I won't, but there's no way in hell we're gonna just fling you at him and hope he goes away. It wouldn't work like that anyway." He said angrily, only realizing afterwards that he could have chosen his word more carefully.

She seemed to cringe back a bit, not replying. This would be a new experience for him, seeing someone like Sherry so upset.

"Aw, hell." He seemed to deflate. "I didn't mean to bite. Look, if there's anyone who can take him down, it's the Second. They're..." He shuddered. "They're going feral, really. They won't hesitate to stoop to his level. Lower, even."

She paused, listening to him, then said: "He's really not that formidable a fighter. I've beaten him before... But the reason he wins is because he doesn't hesitate to fight dirty, doesn't care if he hurts his own people. He's ruthless," she said quietly. And she knew that better than anyone else ever would. Ever had. She sighed. "I feel bad for the boy."

Mike nodded. "If there's anyone who can beat him at his own game..." He paused. "Most of them have, you know, been dead at some point, but it's different. It's like they brought something back with them, or left something behind."

Sherry suppressed a disgusted tremor that ran through her whole body at the memory of being dead. Of ripping a man's throat out. Of eating a child while he was still squirming and kicking at her. Of losing herself. "I know," she said quietly. And she'd felt it too, since dying: the lack of fear, the enhanced sense of self-preservation... She'd been reckless before. Hell, she'd stolen a goddamn bus, but this was something else. A foolish sense of invincibility.

He felt her shudder and drew her closer, still thinking on the same train of thought. When I saw Silver, I swear he smelled me first. And those eyes!

"I don't... Seem different, do I?" Well, any different than Sherry normally was.

He had been staring into the middle distance, but when she spoke he locked eyes with her again. "You mean, since you were...? No, not at all." He looked worried again. "You don't feel different, do you?"

"Sometimes..." She started, but she didn't want to get into it. It was had to explain but also emotionally difficult. Her eyes shifted, avoiding contact with his. "Sometimes I feel more feral. Like... More in tune with instinct than intelligence."

He backed off, not pressing any further. "Well, I don't think anyone's noticed anything. Nothing like the Second, anyway. I can't explain it, but... They're moving like predators." He waved his hands in lieu of the proper words.

She nodded. "Jared had said something about it... He came here and was offering food to some of the patients, then told us that the hunters were coming."

Mike suddenly remembered his 'conversation' with Jared the previous day. "He said you were coming, too. And that you were angry." He looked at her strangely. "There's a lot of odd things about that kid. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm starting to wonder if he's, I don't know, developing a sixth sense. At least I can honestly say that stranger things have happened."

"Like the fact that our city's being overrun by the undead," she said with a sigh. She shook her head. "Mark and Jimbo, the two Blackcaps that killed themselves... And Ned... That kid killed them. I don't know how, but he did."

He nodded. "You remember how he was with the Melanie thing?"

Sherry shook her head. "I... I wasn't thinking clearly through most of that. I was," utterly paralyzed by guilt.

"When I first went in, he was drawing a pair of eyes. Cat eyes." Mike ploughed on unwittingly. "They were fucking picture-perfect. Then he said Mel wasn't dead; She wasn't. Not much, I know, but with everything else..." He shrugged.

"Cat eyes?" Sherry asked, suddenly interested. "Green?"

"Yes." He looked at her curiously. "Why, have you seen them before somewhere?"

"Jaycee," she whispered. "His eyes... His pupils aren't round. They're slits. Like a cat."

Mike shook his head. "This is too much for me right now."

Sherry sighed. "I think the kid reads minds. End of story. He told me he was killed and revived. That's how he went blind."

"And the whole making-three-people-go insane thing?"

"If you can read a person's mind, you can break them," she said quietly, knowing full well how easy it was. "You can drive them to wish to die."

When she mentioned the boy's story, he paused. "Well." He sucked the inside of his cheek. "There seems to be a lot we don't know about the Zombie process. It could work."

Then she mentioned the breaking. He hugged her tight, wordlessly. He tried that on you, didn't he? I hope Silver gets his head.

Trying wasn't the issue. Whether or not he had succeeded was. She rested against Mike, didn't say anything for a long time. "It's just knowing the pressure points," she said quietly. "Showing people what they don't want to see can drive a person crazy."

He just wasn't willing to believe that anyone could break her, probably the most vibrant spirit in the whole outfit. After a while, he cleared his throat.

"I... I can't think of anything to say." He felt hideously inadequate.

"Then don't say anything," she whispered.

"Sure." He rested his chin in her hair. "I can do that."

[Dark Silver]

The 2nd had camped out at the foot of the mall's eastern face the entire night, under the watchful eye of the New Malton Militia. While it was true what Mike had said, that the 2nd seemed to be more feral, it was only because of their training.

Silver had forced it on all of them, the quick military training, the tactics and even the thought patterns they needed to have in order to effectivly hunt their chosen prey.

It had only gotten worse in the past few weeks. Silver traind and drilled them hard, to be more ruthless, more bloodthirsty in battle. They were lions in a herd of antilope. The constant training bleed through into their normal movements and behaviors.

Silver was the only one though, who was losing a battle within himself.

It was Decimus who lead the team into the mall that morning, leaving thier weapons on the roof for now. They spread out, moving to find friends and compatriots in the 1st, friends amoung the civilians in the mall and the militia. Decimus and Punt didn't goto locate their friends, instead they went to find Petro. Minutes later, they found him, Punt taking the lead as he spoke, "Any chance you seen Silver around chief?"

[Josh]

Petro was busy getting his arm dressing changed. He looked at the torn meat of his bicep with a certain amount of disdain before a clean bit of gauze was placed on it.

"Fuck, no, I haven't seen him," he said. "Check the showers and the cafeteria?"

[Dark Silver]

Punt and Decimus looked at each other, with Punt answering, "First thing we did when we got here, asked the watch if anyone had seen him, reported the ropes weren't dropped all night."

"His weapons were missing..." Decimus spoke up, "his sleeping gear still rolled up. And our watch didn't report anything either. We were kinda hoping he told you something...."

[Bratty]

Billy wanted to cry and whimper like a little girl. His mom had protected him this whole time, and now, they got her. She went out to fight them off, and they got her. "RUN BILLY!! RUN!!!"

He did as his mommy told him to do. He ran. Fast like the wind. And he didn't look back until he was in a safe place. Looking back, his mommy was gone. All gone.

Billy was scared and alone. He was seven going on eight and his mommy told him how he was a tough little boy, the man of the family, after his daddy left them. "He's going away for a little while," His mommy said through tears. "But he'll be back."

That was four years ago. Billy remembers though. He has a real good memory. Everyone says.

When the monsters came, his mommy ran with him and hid. Sometimes, they got lucky and set a monster on fire. Most the time, they just ran. Mommy said she wasn't gonna go to the place at the mall. She said it was an easy target.

Now, he is running alone. Scared, and alone.

That's okay, he has his boo bear with him. A rag tag bear with only one button eye.

He wants to whimper. He wants his mommy.

And he hears sounds of screaming in the distance. So he starts to run again. He has to find a place he can hide.

[Josh]

He paused, remembering his last discussion with Silver.

Oh, that fucking wretched-ass cockbiter went and...

Did something like Petro himself would've done a year or two ago.

God damn it.

"Yeah, I got an idea. Decimus, see to the 2nd, I'll see about Silver. R&R, two days, get everyone cleaned up."

[Pcm979]

Petro slid down the rail of the defunct escalator, as was his habit even before he'd torqued his knee. He was already looking exasperated- must be a Thursday. "Mike!" he said, brightening. "Word with ya?"

Mike was walking from one place to another in an official fashion, but, as was his habit when Petro called for him, dropped everything and went to the older man.

"Yeah?"

Hobbling along on his cane, Petro threw one arm around the other man and guided him off into the old candy store. "Mike, I'm a pesky motherfucker and all, and so if it's none of my business, feel free to tell me to butt out," he said cheerfully, with absolutely no intention of butting out.

Mike groaned. "I think I can tell where you're going..." But he let Petro lead him into the room.

"Yeah, well I want you to know where I'm coming from on this," he said. He turned lifted himself up to sit on the counter, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Listen, with regards to Sherry..." he started. "Maybe I'm pushing where you're not wanting to go. Is that the case?"

Mike didn't sit down, feeling oddly like the defendant in a court case despite Petro's easy mood. "That really depends on what you've been pushing." He said cautiously.

"Oh, don't bullshit me Mike. This is what I've been telling her. You're a fucking Irregular, she's running the Blackcaps. You may be running your ass off around here these days, but the call comes, you'll grab your kit and head right back into the field. We don't have time to dance around. If you're interested, indicate."

Mike sighed and paced, staring at what was left of the lettering etching into the store's window. "We've... Come to an understanding." He said finally.

"Whatever that means, fine, that really is none of my business," he said, hopping down from the counter. "There's something else I wanted to let you know. Just want you to know that. Mike, people like me and her, we're made for this kind of shit. We were both just fucking things up back in the regular world. Guy like you, you were made for civilization. You were cruising along fine, doing your career thing. You probably would've gotten promotion after promotion..." he bobbed his head. "Until your inherent honesty and good nature fucked you over, but hey. Point is, tossed into the wasteland like this, you've done a hell of a job. So you could say that you're half a leg up on me for adapability, hey?" He slapped the younger man on the shoulder, giving him a toothy grin. "Walk tall, buddy, walk tall."

Mike smiled. "Thanks." A pause. "That reminds me. Why me?" He waved his hands incoherently. "I mean, you just said it. Two different worlds and everything. What made you think...?"

"Good guys always get underestimated," he said as he hobbled for the door. "By everybody. Including themselves." He looked back. "We damn near lost her day before yesterday, Mike. If you've got something to say to her, say it and don't hold back."

"Yeah." Mike muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll put it on my fuckin' calendar. '9:00 am: Spill guts. 9:30 am, put someone's guts back in.' "

He looked back. "Mike, you never backed off or rabbited the whole time we were out in the field. When everybody else was hiding inside, we were storm hunting," he said, then turned the brightness up about 110 volts with a megabright smile. "How much harder could this be?" he chirped cheerfully, before leaving.

[Pcm979]

Alastair Punt, who detested his own given name more than anything he could care to mention, perched on the Mall's roof, nervously gnawing on a hunk of chewing tobacco. Ever since his death and revival, he'd had to keep his jaws moving. Silver was becoming increasingly erratic, and it was getting harder to keep things in order.

He scratched his eyepatch absently, and cursed when he pulled his hand back and saw blood. Not again...

[Bratty]

Billy hears a howl from one zombie and he screams, dropping his boo bear. Quickly, he scrambles to pick it up and run through the streets. He is tired. He has been running for hours. However, he knows exactly where he is going. Easy target or not, he is the easy target right now. He is just a kid, scared and alone. He's gotta find someone somewhere.

He turns down the street where the mall is. And that is where the creatures get a good whiff of him. Many of them turn from their normal attempts at picking at the baracade and begin to shuffle towards the boy, some of them at a normal speed.

[Ace Pace]

Ace was working in his office when something bugged him. As per his habit, he talked out loud to help shape his thoughts, something bugged him, something about Silver and his behavior... It was like no one else knew. Deciding to put the matter to rest, Ace left the office, asking random people if they had seen Petro. Slowly getting nearer Petro, he heard voices, hanging back untill Petro rounded the corner.

Ace grabbed Petro,"We need to talk, Now. Come to the office."

"Great, let's talk," he said, following along. He lit a new cigarette as he trailed along.

"Come in.", Ace closed the door and set down. "I'll be blunt, you have a wild card and his name is Silver."

"Talk to me," he said, taking a drag on the cigarette. His expression turned to impassive as he braced himself.

"Silver is infected with a mutated varient of the zombie virus, which affects him while he is human, causing emotional instability. It is also near the critical stage and about to turn him Zombie. " Ace prepered for denial, what he expected to happen.

"WHAT THE HOLY FUCK?" he screamed. "And I'm finding about about this NOW?

"I thought you knew and its only reaching the critical stage now, his eyes, his behavior, hes turning feral before turning zombie, nothing works on him, syringes only slow it down and the virus is DAMN WELL FUCKING ADAPTING. If we catch him zombiefied, kill him before he has a chance to spread himself. No other way to say it." Ace prepred to turn over some of the more readable summeries he had written on the current stage of Silver.

He took a deep breath, composing himself. "Next time, I find out the second something like this happens. He's gone, fuck knows where. We may have a typhoid mary on the loose. Fuck!" he yelled again. "What's that? Case file?" he said, after a moment, pointing at the paperwork.

"He's GONE?!" Ace went green this was worse then anything. "You mean the Ultra Zombie mutation is now spreading? Do you have ANY idea how dangerous this is? This supercedes anything, hes priority one. Yes, take them, watch him slide." Ace stood up and was pacing, trying to calm down. "FUUUUUUCK, do we have any specialists in epidemics? We need to know how far it can spread"

He fought down the urge to break something. If somebody had let him know that Silver needed to be nailed to the ground, he would've done so. "Don't ever keep me out of the loop on something like this again," he said coldly. "I'll organize the hunt teams. What I need to know- is this a shoot to kill?"

"Yes, more, the most you can, if we have flamethrowers use them, we can't promise syringes will work on him, we can try making a new varient but no promises."

"No flamethrowers. Best we can do is use some of Zimmerman's homemade napalm. Jesus fucking christ, Ace..."

"Then use it, and use it on everything near him that might be infected. You mean hes gone? Since when? Get Mike or someone who is more theorectical to do the math to figure contaimination.. Christ, How the fuck do you not notice a man who looks at you like your his dinner or lunch?" Ace started opening field kits, full of some of the more esoteric inventions made by the Irregulers, among them cut down syringes, tranqs that might affect zombies. "Use these, if anyone touchs him, with gloves."

"In case you hadn't noticed, everyone around here is a bit crazy," he said. "You get Mike and talk to him about the contamination issue. I've got to go tell his people that they're in charge of hunting him down and killing him."

"Well, I don't envy you that." With that Ace took a pair of pencils, as many wads of paper as he could carry and ran out of the door screaming,"MIKE! Get your ass down to my room." Leaving Petro alone

"Yeah, no shit." He shook his head as he watched Ace go. He didn't seem to comprehend that he might have killed them all. Once this was done, there was more yelling and screaming to be done. But first, he had to go and organize a hunt to kill an old friend.

[Josh]

He hobbled to Zimmerman's office. "Word out, dump the hunt on Jaycee. Silver's gone off the wire, he's infected with some sort of superbug that is turning him into a shambler, it's irreversible. Militia are to avoid contact, just radio in if they see him, vector the Irregulars in. I'll brief the 2LI on this personally, give Steve the heads up in person, nobody else has to know right now. Kill on sight, burn the body, burn the area around him."

"Are we?" Zimmerman asked, focusing on the greatest concern.

"Maybe. If so, it's been nice knowing you," Petro said, then paused and spoke again. "No, really it hasn't."

"Likewise."

And off he went, hobbing back up to grab the 2LI and give them their mission.

[Pcm979]

It was 5 minutes later, and Mike, Ace, the 2nd and the resident Emerald Guard were gathered in Melanie's room. Mike was pacing back and forth, thinking furiously.

"Do we know how many times Silver's been revived?" He said at last.

[Josh]

"Christ, there's four inside the line," the militia man said.

"Draw and divert," Norman ordered. Standing orders. He hefted his pistol. "Pull them off the kid."

The militia went to work. The disruptions of the recent days had screwed over the normal patrol grid. Normally, four zombies wouldn't get so close to the mall without getting noticed and taken down, lured out. Now, they'd have to do this the hard way.

Shots rang out, thudding into the lead zombie, the fast and dangerous one. The rest of the patrol closed in with their improvised lawnmower-blade machetes.

[Caz]

Melanie sat up in the bed as best she could, considering the current state of her broken back, staring at them with incredulity.

"You mean the man I spoke with? Who came looking for Petro?"

He hadn't seemed dangerous... if anything, a little out of sorts, but fuck, that could be anyone these days...

"Sherry and I have both been revived and we've been fine, but..."

But some of the people the Guard had revived had gone likewise. Dorian sat on the edge of the bed, watching her curiously. He finally spoke up, measured and calm, unlike her own voice:

"Melanie, do you know anything? This could be dangerous for the militia here, but the Guard also has people nearby. And you know with how we've taught them that they'll try to help him if they see something wrong... they won't know any better..."

She thought for a moment, and then said:

"The boy, Jared. He stays here... he was killed and revived as well. His eyes look like Silver's."