The Fortress/Excalibur Chapter Two

Excalibur Chapter Two

Fortress Team Anaconda Team Battlehawk Team Cold Cell Team Dark Watch Team Excalibur Fortress News

Chapter Two Pains of Growing “It was never supposed to be this way….” Words like tear drops fell from her lips as she stood over the graves of her parents. “you weren’t supposed to leave me here alone…” the roses fell to ground that had hardened from the cold. She hadn’t even noticed one of the thorns cut her finger and anger surged threw her causing her body to shake and tears to well up in her eyes, because what could she do but cry…there was no one left to kill, she had done that already. Those lifeless eyes stared at her from beyond the grave asking her why….pleasing with her. ~ Tristana woke with a cry leaving her lips as she grasped into the air – there was nothing…nothing and no one. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way” She shook her head and rose up from her cubby hold that she had made…she needed to get out, she couldn’t breathe in here, but after such dreams she couldn’t breathe anywhere. Residual anger that she still carried as though she blamed her parents for everything…Silas was going to make her talk about that wasn’t he – he would frakin shrink wanted to dig around inside her head – but what was he going to do when he saw the darkness staring back at him – when he saw the monster she saw in herself. She didn’t want to talk to him and was hell bent on not telling him a damn thing, like getting water from a stone. She jerked her boots on as her anger focused on them, her body rigid as her muscles tightened. She cried a lot because she couldn’t hit things…that made people stare at you and she didn’t like to be stared at. Any conversation she mapped out in her head never went well – not with the things she had done, not the way she had gotten by in this hell hole. People like her didn’t deserve to live…she finished tying the chord as she rose up to move towards the upper part of the safe house – she snuck across to the hospital they were near and slid in through a broken window. People like her deserved to die slowly…but they never did. Her fingers curled as remembered pulling the trigger as though her life was defined by that single moment of sheer terror – a memory that wouldn’t go away. “it wasn’t always like that” she spoke to no one save herself remember the care free days when she had first started college. She had been a burst of energy that could make any one smile and she had enjoyed volunteering in one of the local nursing homes – how just a smile and how is your day going could change their lives – that’s why she had become a nurse, to change lives. To take that broken down part of someone and make them feel alive again…ironic choice of words she supposed given the now current situation. She moved like a robot through the hospital, well programmed to find and put together the supplies she needed. The technology put out by necro tech before all hell broke loose had done wonders to the medical field – those smile vials of nanobites making it possible to heal someone in a matter of moments….it didn’t always work and it worked on some better then others, but damn had it made an impact. It had come too late for her parents though, cancer…the single greatest killer in the world. Nursing school had demanded a lot of time though, made it harder to hit the local bar with her friends, but they had been an understanding lot after all they had been her buddies since high school. She quirked a half smile as she could remember sneaking out with Angie to meet the boys one night….and chuckled a bit at the thought, she hadn’t been able to sit right for a weak after the spanking she had gotten for that, but it had been worth it….still was. She was what teachers referred to as the quiet one…always up to something, but too smart to get caught. Senior prank had been too beautiful…simple, but elegant like everything she did. Amazing how the furniture fit so well into the stairwells and elevators of the school….the school closed for a day over that as the janitors tried to figure out how to disassemble the master piece. She had been prime suspect, but they couldn’t prove it and no one cracked. She pulled away the small vial of nanobites. “I don’t want to be alone anymore…” she spoke to them like talking to a pet and then tucked them into her pouch. She’d wasted too much time thinking…too much time lingering on things she couldn’t do anything about. She shook her head and finished gathering up the remaining supplies as she eased back to the safe house...still stuck on Hello Silas, I'm Tristana...that was all he was going to get from her, she wasn't gong to talk about her feelings...it was none of his damn business and that was that. Tomorrow they were heading out - tomorrow they were leaving for the mall - ominous sound that that was. She had never liked malls and now they wanted her haul up there and camp out...she half snorted at the irony of it - maybe they'd have a bar there somewhere. The thought was passing as she sat down to sort out the supplies. She was very methodical like her father had been, he had taught her the importance of always being ready but that was a marine for you. Military was in her blood, but she could never bring herself to kill like marines had to...of course try telling that to Matt she thought with a pause in her motions. She already knew what Silas would say about that, it isn't your fault, he was already dead, you were just protecting yourself...it was nothing she had told herself, but that look...that look drove into her like a nail through wood. It's why she hadn't been able to bring herself to kill any zeds - she didn't kill them, they didn't kill her it seemed a fair arrangement in the grand scheme of things. She hadn't gotten her name Lucky by chance, she had gotten that from her last commander - he never had understood how she got out of the cinema alive pinned in like she had been...she didn't even quite know, but she didn't question it. Rather be luck then good she always said...any day of the frakin week. She finished sorting the supplies and laid back against the make shift bed. Tomorrow was going to come early and trip was going to take most the day. her eyes closed and she went back to her nightmares. Back to the day before leaving the bank.***** Ava understanding there may be a forced move, considered his options and how it would impact the team. But as much as he knew about all of them what did he really know. He knew very little to be precise. While being the bartender at the Fortresses bar he had a chance to speak with a great number of people. But most only would talk to the man with the bottle well after they had no longer any need for shame or pride. What exactly did anyone know about each other in The Fortress. Any more than only the facade that each portrayed to one another? It was a dangerous game to let too much slip and become too close to someone. You could find them the next day face down in their sleeping place where one of the crazed murdering survivors roamed. Or worse they could be in the masses the next day walking steadily towards you in a lurching motion. It so happened that Silas was a certified therapist. Often when good old smooth and charisma didn’t work it was time to become professional. And with that the pressured commander asked a task of the team’s “shrink”. “Silas I would like for you to do an interview with the members of the team. I would like to understand them better. We are about to head into a higher risk situation and it would be beneficial to know they past. And to be quite frank how their first “death” impacted them. But I would like you to be subtle when getting to that question. It can be a very sensitive topic.“ Ava continued to look across the snow covered landscape watching as the battle raged on at the NT. Silas raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a cigar. Rolling it in his lightly tobacco stained fingers he retrieved the cutter he had in his other pocket. “So basically you are asking me to dive into their heads and poke around so you can save time and avoid a long conversation? Not that I’m passing up an opportunity to do my “team duty” and especially one as interesting as this one, but I’m curious, why you don’t ask yourself. It would seem that you could just get in there and, well you know, rub elbows share stories as it were.” Silas slipped the end of his cigar into the cutter. Taking a deep breath Ava turned around a tiny jerk of the head first before the body followed. “ I’m sure you wouldn’t pass this one us. How often is it you get to poke around with permission for the good of the team, huh? And lets just say it might be easier for all of us, if it was done by you rather than me.” Silas was definitely good at his job and even now he could sense him probing. “Completely understandable, I mean I know how busy you are. There is a lot resting on your shoulders. The lives of the team and whether to stay and risk their lives or to leave and help damn the lives of those here. Fascinating isn’t it how such a simple task as helping to revive potential survivors could become something so … dark.” Silas said as he snipped the end of his cigar then biting down on it. “One can only wonder how does it affects he sleep.” Thinking a moment Ava let a long silence play before reaching into Silas’s topcoat pocket and pulling out his monogrammed Zippo. Flicking it open he studied it and looked at the bottom. “ A strike 45. They haven’t made these since the early nineteen fifties. And yet it looks pristine almost brand new. That I find more fascinating than my sleep. How it is you could keep it in such good shape.” Flicking the wheel it lit as he held it for the gentleman to use. A small smile crossed the therapist’s lips as he nodded and lit his cigar. “I had it refinished before I came here. I knew it might be some time before I left. So I wanted something that would withstand the trials.” Reaching up in a simple but quick movement the reclaimed his lighter flicking it shut and rolling it in his fingers. “As with so many things we can clean them up and pretend they are shiny and new. But really, it’s bumped and beat up a little damaged still. Just no one can see it. Wouldn’t you agree?” He knew he stuck a nerve. The deadpan look that had just came over the commanders face began to lift a change. Leaning in a little he said quietly, “You know that tom cat that has been handing around the bank? Yea, you know, the gray snowshoe? It was the damnedest thing I caught him over by where your stuff was spraying his territory. I did my best… I really hope I was able to save you cigars…” raising an eyebrow he tilted his head and turned walking away. Silas blinked as he looked to his smoke, “No Ava, I’m not so easily tricked as to believe something like that. If that had happened I would have been able to tell.” Tapping it off to the side he freed the small ash that had began to form on the end bringing it back to a nice point as he liked them. The barkeeper smiled as he entered the roof door and stopped as he called back to him, “ I want those interviews done before we leave her if you would please. I know you are a busy man and all, but I would really appreciate it. It would mean a lot to me.” He turned and headed back inside. Narrowing his eyes he shook his head. There was no way it was possible. He had kept them in his jacket pocket the whole time since getting them. Pausing a moment Silas lifted the cigar and sniffed it. -Image- Silas was bemused by the Commander wanting to know more about the others. Yes it was important, but so was knowing yourself. Ava was over-compensating for his loss of Elaine. The germ of hope of re-establishing a relationship with her had finally died, the Miss Elainious who lived now was not the same Elaine he had loved. Silas was concerned that Ava was lost. Now he wanted to take the team on a dangerous mission, and wanted to make sure they wouldn’t break. Still Silas had a job to do, and it was a job he was good at. Ava had suggested that he have a chat with the others, as if Silas’ craft was limited to talking. There were many ways to look at people’s inner psyche. It was a very long time he'd done anything like it, but it will be a success. Stay sharp and focused, and it can't turn wrong. Silas made sure the batteries of his recorder were full and determined his strategy. Inevitably, Zuton would not be easy to talk to. He needed to be careful with Coup. He'd already talked to Remi, back at the club. The boss wanted "everyone's" analysis, i.e., Silas' and Ava's own as well. 'I can prepare for Zuton, Remi and Coups, but Ava will have to be on the fly'. He wondered if any of his conversation partners would understand what he'd be doing. With that thought, and having beeped Zuton before asking for a friendly babble, he went into the office to await her. The office at the back of the bank wasn't roomy, but it would have to do. Standard fare for this kind of place: desk, chairs, a mite-infested sofa, broken water cooler. He didn't know much about Zuton except for what he'd picked up from her body language. Serious type ‘army girl’, he thought, no mercy for zombies and stuff she didn't like in general. Silas watched Zuton walk into the room, flicking her hair back as she did. She cared a lot about her appearance, more so than most people trying to survive. Silas wondered why. He could tell she had a strong need for anchors in her life. She’s very materialistic when it comes to those anchors; the usual female stuff, mostly. Purses, dresses, hair. She always seemed to respond well to authority, even when she didn’t share the leader's ideas. He thought that she could be insecure around strangers or close friends. Zuton certainly kept things to herself. Silas was going to have to tread carefully to find out what she really thought. “Cigarette?” Silas offered. He didn’t think she was a smoker; he wanted to check he was reading her right. As expected, Zuton declined the cigarette, but accepted Silas’ offer of a coffee. The old coffee machine protested loudly like a peace activist asked to join the army and the end product was mediocre like a peace activist fighting in the army. He handed her the cup as nonchalantly as possible and leaned back, smiling. Zuton took a sip, watching Silas with a raised eyebrow. "So, you wanted a chat? Sure there's nothing more to it?" Silas casually replied "What more would there be about it? We don't know each other that well and since we're going to be working as a team... The more we know about each other now, the less we'll doubt about each other on the field." She took another sip, this coffee was barely tolerable, but she had better drink it. "OK, so how did you end up in this hell-hole?" "Long story, basically I was thrown out of a helicopter with nothing but a parachute on my back and my wallet in my pocket after a friend and partner unexpectedly showed up and dragged me into the machine, deus ex machina style. Like the coffee?" Zuton shrugged non-committedly, and Silas continued "I suppose I didn't answer you question though." "Some friend, where'd they end up?" Zuton put the cup to one side, and leant forward towards Silas. "That's the question I'd been asking myself for months after the landing. Fact is he got dropped as well a bit later as well by the pilot. All I know is he landed somewhere north of me. When I found his chute... Suffice to say he wasn't there. I feel like I should have been with him all along. It would have been so much simpler. Don't you ever have that feeling that if something had been different, how easy it would all have been?" "Well, if things had been different there would be no zombie plague, and we'd not be stuck in Malton. So, your friend kidnapped you, chucked you out of a helicopter, and, in turn, was thrown out? Did your friend or the pilot give you any indication of why?" Silas thought ‘Don't you ever have that feeling’... Unrefined, classic, obvious, but a good start. The way someone answers to this is a good indication about his or hers mindset. ‘Zuton is tough. She would rip off my skin if I went too deep.’ Silas was in a quandary. He could continue with subtle probing, see if he could get a better understanding of Zuton’s psyche, but, given how quickly she had batted his first question away, turning the tables on him, he could miss out on getting vital information, or, even worse, Zuton could figure out what he was trying to do, and be offended. This could affect team dynamics. His other approach was to tell Zuton what he was trying to achieve, and risk her rejecting him outright; at least this way there wouldn’t be a betrayal of trust. As Zuton was playing a game of ‘you tell me and I’ll tell you’, he felt he had to add a little to his story first. “I’ll start at the beginning. After a few adventures in the field of psychoanalysis, after my graduation, I was hired by the Brussels office of Necrotech Europe as the last of a string of shrinks supposed to treat a legend and the people who cracked under him. His name was Rosenfeld, Leon. He was a man with ambition, power and talent but his unbelievable aggressive behaviour never netted him a promotion. Still, as the head of the necrology department he had a metaphorical torch in his hands to burn the whole organisation down if he wished. He knew every top-level security code and kept duplicates of keys he was never supposed to have known about. But he was totally off the charts when it came to aggression and random violence.” Silas pulled out a cigar, and was about to cut it before thinking better of it, and putting the cigar away again. “He was such a complex mess of neuroses, psychoses and personality disorders that I couldn’t identify the principle causitory syndrome despite many tries. He managed to fire a cadet every few days and reduced the rest to mental breakdown. The Directors knew this, of course, but they were just human and by definition too cowardly to fire him. They suspected he knew more than he should anyway. And, trust me, those are big secrets.” “So I took Rosenfeld on as a client. I knew I was completely powerless to help him and we’d always end up chatting about his job sooner or later. He was quite friendly with me; I think he just needed the company. In retrospect, it might very well have been some kind of a dependency problem. That’s how I got some very tasty info about Necrotech. After a few months we’d become friends of sorts, though he referred to me as his partner.” “Anyway, in the end the directors of Necrotech Brussels decide to demote him over here in Malton just to get rid of him. They must’ve seriously menaced Leon or something because I don’t think he would even have considered it if his career wasn’t on the line. Basically, he forced me to go with him. Well, more exactly said, he forced the directors to make me go with him. So I went. I had no choice. I don’t know what he would’ve done if I’d refused. The directors assured me it was only for a couple of months anyway.” Silas sighed and paused. He collected his wits and continued. “4 weeks.” He held up four fingers and lounged back. “Then they came. I don’t know how, why or when, or if Leon had something to do with it, but before we knew it the sirens were going like crazy. They didn’t come to evacuate. Leon had vanished by then. We held the barricades up for days on end. Most of us didn’t get any sleep at all. Their moans, you know…” “That was when the people posted on the roof called everyone up. A chopper, of course, loaded with the top brass of Malton Necrotech personnel only. And Leon. We could hear a discussion inside, maybe a fight. Eventually Leon broke out, punched his way through the crowd, grabbed me by the arm – he was looking furious – and forced me back into the chopper. We left in a hurry. The others on the platform had started running towards the copter in an effort to jump on.” “The top hats stank of anger and fear. Leon was arguing with them over the extra payload – me. He was adamant to let me stay on. Those fat aristocratic canarys eventually restrained Leon, strapped a parachute on my back and kicked me out. The pilot was shouting all the way. I don’t know what happened exactly but I remember Leon giving me the final kick out himself. I can still see him smiling when he did it. Maybe he wanted to jump, maybe they forced him to like they forced me, but in any case he ended up floating away into the distance like me. Then I landed, somewhere south around the Needs building, and I never saw him again.” Silas finished his tale, and turned to Zuton. “Well, now you know how come I’m here, how about you?” Zuton had been listening intently to Silas. “What about Rosenfeld?” she asked, “If we find him, do you think he’d help us find a way out? He certainly cared a lot for you.” Silas sighed; he paused for a few seconds whilst looking at Zuton. “Trying the old distraction questioning again? I’m sorry, I’ve had my turn, now it’s yours. How did you end up here?” He asked the question warmly with only a touch of firmness to it. “Like you, I ended up being sent here, but this was by my own Government. When I was 19 I joined the army, well, the Royal Army Medical Corps, and trained as a Combat Medical Technician. When I passed out I joined 144 Paratroop Medical Squadron.” Zuton picked up her coffee cup again, put it to her lips and, thinking better of it, put the cup back down before continuing with her story. “I expected to get sent to Iraq, we all did. We’d been doing desert combat training in Turkey that July. I remember watching the news, seeing the stories of a super-bug sweeping through Malton. I dismissed the early rumours of the infected attacking survivors, seeing this as typical rioting in a panicking population. I mean, I’m a rational person, I didn’t watch horror, I didn’t buy in to the Government conspiracy, or sci-fi theories running around.” Shaking her head she paused for one second, reminiscing. “Boy, was I wrong. I wish I’d gone AWOL now, like John. He listened, he believed the rumours, and, when they told us we were going to be parachuted in, he legged it.” She chuckled briefly. “Lucky bastard. Of course we cursed him at the time, and joked at him being a coward and languishing in military prison for the next few years. What I’d give to be locked up in a tiny cell, all meals provided, and absolute guarantee that the worst thing that will happen to you is the occasional fight.” Zuton paused again, Silas leaned forward slightly and murmured “Go on”. She appeared to be mellowing out somewhat. Zuton glanced at Silas, took a deep breath, and continued. “On Wednesday August 24th 2005 I parachuted in with the squadron to support troops in northern Malton. I remember the date all too well; I think you always remember the date you died for the first time.” She paused, then laughed, an empty, hollow laugh “dying for the first time, there’s a phrase invented in Malton.” Silas was intrigued, he was expecting Zuton to be a tough nut to crack, yet she’d come straight to the crux of his interview. There was definitely a lot more to her than meets the eye, more layers beneath the tough-girl image. “So you died the day you arrived? How did that happen?” Zuton was staring into the middle-distance. She stroked her hair, nervously, Silas noted. “We flew out of RAF Halton, and headed towards Malton. That was when the lieutenant told us the truth. There were zombies in Malton, the dead had come alive and were attacking survivors. Our mission was to get in and provide first aid, keep the soldiers on the ground alive long enough for them to be pulled out.” “Half an hour later we were over the drop zone. I could hear the wind battering the plane, and by the time they gave the order to jump I was terrified. And with good reason. The heavens had opened, it was pouring with rain, and we couldn’t even see the drop-zone.” Silas noted she was clenching and unclenching her fist, and had a tightness to her jaw, showing signs of anger. “We should’ve aborted, conditions weren’t good enough to jump, but Sergeant Parkinson gave the order, and out we jumped. Rushby lit his flare and I tried to follow the light” a rye smile flashed across her face, “but the wind was buffering me, the rain stinging my face. I was drifting off course. As the clouds cleared I could see a large patch of open ground, so I aimed for that. The wind had affected the speed of my descent. I landed hard and twisted my ankle.” Zuton paused again, looking up. Silas was now in his typical psycho-analyst’s pose, leaning forward with his hand on his face in a knowledgeable approach, he appeared interested, and he genuinely was. He gently said “mm-hm, yes” urging Zuton to continue. She breathed in, and out deeply, and, closing her eyes, she resumed her tale. “I’d landed in Lamport Hills, right to the north of Malton. My ankle was hurting, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk far. I was soaked to the skin and freezing, so much for summer. I headed for shelter; there was an open building a couple of hundred yards away. At the entrance I tried my radio. It was broken and wouldn’t transmit, but it could receive. I could hear some chatter, but not from the rest of my team. There were two people in the building with me, cowering at the other end. I stayed where I was for a while, strapping my ankle and listening to the radio. I heard a report that there was a large group of zombies, a horde, who the survivor on the radio was calling ‘The Many’. They were in Millen Hills, just to the south of Lamport Hills, the radio suggested that they were heading south, but I was going to be careful. I headed further in to the building, to let the other survivors know what I’d heard.” She paused, and gulped a couple of times. Her eyes remain closed. She continued, speaking softly. “The stench overwhelmed me, that sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. I think that’s when I first knew that I was sharing this building with zombies. Not that I admitted it to myself then. I got a little closer, to where I could see them, I could see they were dead. One of them lurched towards me, and I backed away. I turned to run, but my ankle was hurting, I limped on for a bit, and then fell. The zombie was closer now. I turned and threw a pipe at the zombie. It bounced off him, by now he was on top of me, pawing me, his fingers ripping at me. I looked up into those unseeing eyes, and watched as the teeth descended. The other zombie was now moving towards me, and groaning, a horrible low growling sound, completely inhuman, but coming from what until very recently must have been a living human. By now my heart was beating faster and faster. The two of them were on top of me, and I was unable to get them off me. Their fingers began to rip into my flesh, I could feel blood running down my side from where I had been bitten.” Zuton was openly crying by now, she tried to wipe the tears away. Silas leant forward, offering Zuton a tissue, which she silently took, and clutched. “One of them bit my neck, catching my jugular, the blood poured out, as I was blacking out it wasn’t so much that my life appeared before my eyes, but I remembered things with such clarity. The taste of my Mum’s Roast Chicken Dinner, the musty smell of Steve’s sweat after sex, dancing to Alison Limerick’s “Where Love Lives” at the Ministry of Sound, the sight of my father’s face as he cradled me in his arms. It was as if I was there. This all faded into light.” She sniffed again, and shivered. “And so I died.” She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Silas clenched his jaws. If this were his old office, Zuton would’ve sat in an old red leather sofa that practically forced you into feeling comfy. If a patient cried, he didn’t need to do much, just offer him or her a box of tissues and keep the dialog open, maybe give a tap on the shoulder or a hug in the most extreme cases. Generally, weeping is a good sign of progress. Everyone feels better after crying, right? But Zuton was crying now and here and there was no red sofa and it had been so long and for a second he was at a total loss what to do. Her shoulders heaved up and down. Could anybody hear them here? Shit. How am I supposed to handle something this unexpected? Tears ran down her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to talk about her first death, but there was something about Silas, his approachability and genuine empathy, which had led Zuton to open up. Now she cursed herself, as she cried openly in front of him. She didn’t like crying in front of others, preferring to be seen as strong and reliable. Besides, “in the army you don’t cry.” That had been drilled in to her in Training. She instinctively tried to apologise, her sorrys drowned out by her sobs. Zuton felt herself being lifted up by Silas, her legs trembled but managed to work in the end. She was still sobbing “I died… and I don’t want to die…”. Silas made sure not to get too close. She almost automatically looked for something to hold on to ‘anchor?’ Silas thought, and found his shoulders. “Zuton, there’s no problem anymore. There are no bad guys here, only me. You don’t need to cry, but don’t stop. You know you’re going to feel better. Don’t try to fight now.” She clung on to the strong shoulders, desperate for human contact, for someone to hold and comfort her. After a few minutes held in the deep hug, she was able to control her emotions, and sit down again. Silas moved his chair next to hers, sitting and gently holding her hand. “Have you taken the time to grieve your own death?” he asked. Zuton shook her head. “Grieve, how can I grieve when I am still alive?” Silas quietly explained that grieving was a natural process around change, especially change with such a large emotional impact as dying. “How do you feel about your death now?” “Feel? I’m distraught, how do you think I feel?” she snapped back, before apologising. “Sorry, it’s hard. I try not to think about it.” “But you do think about it?” She nodded “I don’t mean to, but, in this place” she shook her shoulders. “There are so many reminders.” He continued to comfort Zuton for a while, and agreed to arrange further therapy sessions. As he left the room Zuton was using a hand-mirror to re-apply her make-up. Later, Silas filed his first report to Ava. “Zuton is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. She has developed strong coping mechanisms, and uses singing and fashion as reassurance. These are anchors to her previous life, reminding her of happier times. In particular she uses her singing in order to re-enact her most confident period in her life so she can act confident now. “As long as these anchors and coping mechanisms remain in place then Zuton will be a very capable member of the team. She does, however, require time to grieve, along with regular therapy sessions. I would also recommend Zuton taking some time out to visit Lamport Hills, where she died for the first time, in order to come to terms with her grief.” Tristana thought if she had to take one more step she was going to fall over…it had been a bit further then they had first made it out be. When she reached the mall she found the first furniture store she could and crumbled up on a couch…she wasn’t greedy…she’d leave the beds for someone else, but by gods, she’d earned that cushiony feel beneath her. When she woke up it was to a charming looking man standing over her and then she realized why she had woken up…he’d just given her an injection of nanobites. She remembered then the crowd of 20 some zombies she had had to run through to get to here…she remembered that sickly sweet feeling of them tearing into your flesh and that rustic taste of iron of her own blood being spilled. “Your lucky” he said in a voice that seemed to deep to belong to such a pretty face…”that infection was starting to look nasty…tried not to wake you, but a shot is a shot….names Jack” Tristana closed her eyes a bit and sat up slowly shaking her head clear of the cobwebs of sleepiness as she tried to make sense of everything he’d just said. “Jack, nice to meet you..and thanks” She chuckled softly as he continued on inviting her to hang out later with him and some of the guys as it were. “Yeah…that’d be great.” Of all the things she had expected to find here - friends had not been one of them, but welcomed all the same. The next few days were spent hanging with the proverbial guys and they made it their personal mission to teach her how to hold a gun right, it had been a slow go at first but she rather satisfied with the end result – which meant she could shoot things that were more then five feet away and it didn’t require them to be larger than the broad side of a barn. When she wasn’t hanging out with them she was working hard making FAKS and using them just about as quick as she got them together. In some ways it reminded her of that night the cinema the way they just kept coming and pounding on the doors. They held them though…they were vigilant, but even the vigilant had to sleep. Jack walked her back to her self proclaimed couch and bid her a good night – what they had is what she had always wanted – and it worked both ways he having been an only child. He was her big brother that she never had and it was nice to have that…She waved goodnight to him and turned over letting her eyes sleep – body and mind entirely too exhausted, but the soreness in her muscles and the tiredness in her eyes was content – almost happy. The good things never last. It was the first night since she had been there that she had a nightmare….she turned over and started screaming, but this time she didn’t wake up….she was already awake and that taste of iron was in her mouth. She gasped for air but the gash in her throat made it useless as the blood kept rushing in….she was drowning and couldn’t stop it. Her body flailed about her eyes rolled back – the darkness settled in around her as she felt no pain – they said suffocating was the greatest high you could have and for once…it was true….somewhere amidst it she heard him…heard Jack yelling her name…she heard other people yelling it was too late….and then there was nothing. Silas threw away the stub of his cigar, knocked and entered the shop without waiting. Politely ignoring the rows of women's 'unmentionables', he walked up to the counter that the tough LT was leaning on. Coup didn't seem surprised at his entrance. "Hi, Coup. How's business? Nothing new under the sun?" "Nothing much," Coup answered in a tired voice. He then snickered as he thought about what Silas said. " ‘Sun'? What sun? The city's been burning for so long, I'm not sure what the sun used to look like -- it's just a hazy yellow ball in sky, Sil." Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled long and deep, as though appreciating the smoke, before asking "So Sil, what brings our bright young star of Excalibur over to my humble Thongs R Us? Got anything you looking for in particular?” "Young? I'm alright with the bright part, but you need to cut down on the panty sniffing. I don't have anything in mind - what do you recommend for a well-cut 40-ish gentleman in need of affection?" This guy's a tough nut, Silas thought. He won't spill easy. How the hell do I start a talk about death in a goddamn thong shop anyway? Apparently Silas didn’t think the wise-crack about his age was funny, especially from the 20 year old. Coup didn’t really care, it was fun to strike a nerve on occasion. "Well that all depends on who you want affection from - is it a member of FANNY? They go for the doctor look - wear a lab coat and a stethoscope and you're pretty much in. As for what to get the lady in question, that is up to debate - try to go for a balance of what you'd like to see her in with what you are confident she will wear for you." As he stopped talking, Coup’s cigarette fell down to the floor, and extinguished. Leaning forward to pick it up, his sunglasses slid down and he caught his reflection in the glass of a display case. Coup was again reminded of his ghost-white eyes that had no color in them what so ever. Standing back up, he pondered a moment, then asked, "Silas, how creeped out do you think people are about my eyes? You're the team shrink, so I'd like some insight." I'm not in the mood for subtlety, the analyst thought. This place is too ridiculous for that. "Honestly, Coup, they are a bit creeped. But apart from a select few, they couldn't care less. I'd be pissing my pants right now if I hadn't seen so many weird affairs over the years. Maybe the boss can cure them. When we get out of here though, things might be different. Out of Malton." Coup gave a low chuckle at the thought of getting out of Malton, and shook his head at the naïve shrink. He was about to reply when a nearly naked Private Mendoza came out of the changing room. The boot camper cleared his throat. “Eh em! Can I get a fitting for this male g-string? I think it is too tight.” Silas conceded that he couldn’t interview Coup at work. It might be less distracting with zombies trying to munch on them. Sighing, and covering his eyes, he left. It was in a small room in the back of southern Malton home, at night. He’d closed the door not for the security it provided (very little) but for the psychological effect. The ground floor was unbarricaded, a tactical advantage: open buildings were less likely to be investigated by hungry wild ones. This room was like a shell for him now, protecting him against whatever was outside. Silas was sitting on the floor, silent. There was his gun at arm’s reach, some bullets and a wet, flattened cigar. Every inch of Silas’ body begged for sleep but his mind was in a state of panic. From everywhere he could hear their incessant moaning. The loud shrieks of their victims as well, though there were far fewer now. Those horrible moans were all he could think off. All the lights were off, and he could do nothing but weep. This is horrible. This is where I die. The foil flopping open, the sensation of wind over his body, the pull of gravity, the fear, the sound of a helicopter growing dimmer and dimmer, the figure flying next to him. Then, the figure disappearing over a tall black spire, the foil of his parachute reflecting the sun’s last rays. The way he arched his legs in preparation for the blow and the blow itself, the weight of the foil and the effort he made to detach himself. From the moment he was parachuted into Malton like fish food into a goldfish bowl, some weeks ago, he’d been trying to escape. Nothing was more natural. There were still cars on the streets, back then before they were dismantled for the metal and fuel. With cars came car alarms, blaring every imaginable moment. Sirens, people screaming, gunfire, all noises he would never have imagined to hear. At first he’d wandered randomly across town in search of his companion. This man’s, Leon’s, parachute was laying in the middle of the street; there were scars all over it, as if I were methodically slashed with a pocket knife or something. Silas only saw the pattern after a few days. The wind had scrambled the whole thing, but if you stretched out the chute in full, you could read the message. It was Leon’s and aimed at Silas. What he read on that parachute would haunt him his whole life (or what remained of it). The next few weeks were a nightmare. He barely at, slept or thought about anything else; all he could think off was to run farther away. When he finally reached the border of Malton, he saw the walls and some shadows moving on top of them. He screamed and called for help, he tried to pull a tank out of the improvised barricades to get out. All the shadows ever did was fire warning shots at his feet. The buildings nearby were on constant surveillance and he made use if that. After regaining his sanity he stayed in those buildings overnight, living off the food packages the shadows over the wall were kind enough to provide him with; their machine guns kept him safe at night. In the end the soldiers left the grounds, called back by mission control. They’d thrown a small handgun over the wall, an old scarred machine with a big notch in it and the brand name hidden, something they didn’t mind giving to him. Without their protection, he went wherever the others went, methodically looking for safety in numbers. The rest is history. First fight against zombies, his left eardrum blasted into silence when some guy fired a shotgun shell too close. First time he operated on himself. First time he smoked a real cigar since the helicopter incident. First time he killed a zombie and first time he barricaded a building on his own. First death now. Howl howl howl, scream, more howl, moan. It was maddening, like a billion mosquitoes keeping you up at night, only it wasn’t mosquitoes but enraged venomous wasps. I didn’t have to be like this… Death is supposed to be something worthy, honourable! I’m not supposed to die like an insect here… Why is it like this? No reason? Chance? The great roulette of fate, operated by the mindless, thoughtless law of probability? Silas dried his tears and grabbed his gun. Might as well do it now before they come and get me. What’s the use? Dying at their hands will just be slow and painful. By comparison, the bullet is the better choice. He brought the gun to his ear. Shoot now and it will all be over. No more wasps, no more chance, Silas is in his heaven and all’s good with the earth. He threw the gun to the other side of the room. What is there to lose now? The pain of death by disembowelment would only be temporary. I won’t remember anyway. So why not just have a go at it? Silas laughed. Might as well. The gun was light now as if he’d had it all his life. He picked it up and weighed his options. The door? Yeah, right. The back door? Same. The roof, then. It was always the roof in the end. Zombies can’t climb. Silas climbed to the top floor, filled with a kind of inspiration he didn’t want to call divine. The moon shone down on him from high above. The roof was slanted like any suburban roof, making it difficult to navigate. Down there he could see the chaos; a few survivors being ripped to pieces, packs moving haphazardly in whatever direction they could see food. In this case, his own direction. Let’s see… I can jump on that car, climb onto the garage there, and make a run for it. Then onto that other car and repeat. Not too hard. Go for it. Nothing to lose now. Silas jumped. The car’s roof budged slightly under the impact. The noise attracted more ferals towards him; he didn’t see them coming, concentrated on the next phase. Jump onto the garage… He caught the edge of the garage roof and hoisted himself up. He leaped onto the next roof in a swift movement and grinned. Sweating, adrenalin-pumped, he felt around his pockets were his cigars were. Of the two intact ones he kept in his pockets, only one remained – the other must have fallen down on the way. Next he jumped down onto the garden grass. His legs hurt; he’d landed badly. They were coming closer, converging towards him like a swarm of bees whose hive he kicked in. He picked himself up and sprinted as hard as he could towards the next house. One or two blocked his way. He ran around one and kicked the other down with a body blow with an amazing momentum. He laughed. Can’t stop me now! He ran at full speed towards the next car the lights of which formed the center of the bull’s eye he wanted to pin. Three zombies had moved into his way. If I could just reach the little red circle in the middle… Silas banged the car with his hands and tried to hoist himself up on its roof. Something brushed his legs and he could feel the cold around his ankle. No. Not now! Not… now! He could feel the sweat dripping on his brows. I’m trying to survive here… They pulled him in. He didn’t know how many there were. Finally he broke free and got onto the car. Now he could hear the collective moaning of the pack all around the vehicle. They were everywhere, it seemed. No choice. He grabbed his gun and reached for the cigar in his other pocket. He clenched it between his teeth – obviously no time to light it – and aimed the gun. Boom. The recoil simply made him slip, making him lose the cigar in the process. He got up, and fired again, blindly. Boom. Boom. Every time he fired he could feel his senses diminishing, overwhelmed, and his balance fail a bit more. Lost. He brought the gun at his temple. At least I still have the common sense to do this… Click. Empty. He let go of the gun and plunged into the mass of crawling bodies – what else was there left to do? – he could feel the their cold skin, he could feel himself lose. They grabbed at him, they restrained him, and he was powerless to do anything. Thanks to the sweat on his suit he managed to get a little leeway each time but every time they caught him back. How many were there? He had no idea, as he had no idea where he was, where up and down was, or left and right. They gathered around him. He felt their teeth on his arms. Then there was only death left. Four weeks later, he came back to the living world. For a long time he couldn’t see, hear or smell. All he felt was a mind numbing headache, pain everywhere and the annoying feeling of internal organs being reconstructed, like wanting to puke and having cramps at the same time. After a few hours he regained full consciousness and stood up. He couldn’t remember much of his time as an undead. He knew what zombies were, of course. He’d heard detailed accounts of what it felt like, told by lunatics and crazies, and at the time he figured they made that stuff up. Now he knew it was true – part of it anyway, since they always enlarged the truth. (Exaggerate what you feel when undead? Being undead itself is exaggerated enough already…) The next few days he spent up boarded up in a safehouse, thinking deep and hard about what the hell just happened to him (and IF it happened to him in the first place – all of it just felt like a nightmare). All this time – how much time I don’t know – I’ve been undead. Now there’s a gaping hole in my memory. What could I have done? All the people I must’ve bitten, eaten – like they ate me in the first place! He couldn’t bear the thought any longer. Then, as saved by the gong, he heard a scream down below. They’d entered the building. It was time to run again. He ran for his life that night. Unnecessarily hard and long. He ran until he knew he’d escaped the horde and he continued running not of necessity but so he’d forget what happened. At the end he broke down in the middle of the street, exhausted and crying. But he felt like it worked now. He’d made peace with it. The whole thing came together and Silas knew he could start living again. The world looked grey as her eyes opened - nothing seemed familiar. There was something surreal about living when you shouldn't be alive - thoughts are present but not comprehended. The cold stiff form moved though she didn't remember wanting to move at all...like she was driven by a force that super ceded any reason. there was a terrible hunger gnawing at her and her frame began to turn towards something that seemed good to eat - she didn't recognize the thing in front of her - it like blurred vision that pulsated with the promise of a meal. She reached her hand out and felt just a slight prick through the essence of numbness and it all went dark again. .. She gasped for air her hands racing to her throat grasping at it as she struggled to breathe, her body ached and she started to cough as she put her hands against the cold of the floor, she felt like she was going to be sick and started to dry heave - there was no anchor into reality until that t ouch came to her shoulder. She realized she was crying and looked up to that face...a familiar face though it didn't sink in right away...she didn't recognize her right away. "Tristana...come one we got to go" something was so familiar about that voice and then a name came to her - Remi, it was remi....the world crashed in on her then and shivered almost in pain as it did, but by then Remi was lifting her up by the arms...telling her to go 1 click east to the fire house...the others are waiting... She pointed her physically in the right direction and tristana started walking still half dead. They had been waiting for her though and they opened a door to let her pass before shutting it and bolting it. She didn't say anything but sat down in a corner just thinking blankly...trying to wrap her mind around it when she decided it was better not to think at all. She pushed herself up from the floor and started walking around leting the world come back to her, when it dawned on her - remi...." Where's Remi?" there were enough blank stares to go around, but no one had the answer, but if she knew Remi...she'd gone back to get more and she had been alone. She didn't need to think as she grabbed her bag and muscled her way back out onto the street running to the mall, that's where remi would be, in the heat of it all...that's where remi lived and thrived. She saw her pinned in by a massive horde, she couldn't leave her not when remi had risked herself to come get her. Tristana leveled her gun and started firing, it was enough to piss them off and good thing to....remi was hurt bad, but trist couldn't get to her and remi could take care of herself...."Well, if i ever need luck, today is it." the words slid off her lips as she started to run. They were on her already though, grabbing at her ankle she fell...she slipped free of their grasp and got back up in time for another to grab her arm its nails raking into her skin drawing a fierce scream from her lips, but she kept running - it didn't matter, there were too many of them....she prayed to god that remi could get out, but things weren't looking good for either of them - another scream left her lips as they tore into her side and when she looked down a chunk of her body was just missing - this time she did throw up as she fell down again their nails burying into her skin - she closed her eyes with tears streaming down her face as they consumed her and at some point she lost the ability to move and the will to scream. There was nothing pleasant about - no great revelation - just pain, mind blinding pain that eventually stole her consciousness...or maybe it was the blood loss, it didn't seem to matter - just the singular thought of how could god let this happen and then the sweet embrace of nothingness. Remi sat on the mattress in her and Coup's room, not really thinking about anything. It was nice, them having a 'place' that was theirs. The club was coming together well, and everyone seemed to have settled into their rooms, making it feel more and more like a home. Hearing someone out on the balcony she stretched her legs out, and hopped up, heading to the door outside. "Hey Sil," she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. She hadn't really spoken to the man much, but Ava trusted him on the team, so he had to be alright. She let her eyes move out over the city, and down to the streets around them. It seemed quiet, which was a good thing, to her at least. "Getting a feel for the place?" Silas was having some coffee when the starlet came knocking on his door. Remi wasn't the secretive type and as a consequence fairly transparent. Nice girl overall, sweet to friends, talkative, jealous, concerned, in a word: average. He looked over the horizon, took a last sip, and turned around. "Cheers, Remi. The place itself isn't that compelling but I'm definitely liking its balconies. Just check out the view." Remi smiled, eyes falling down to her feet. She wiggled her toes for a moment, marvelling at having bare feet. It was something she was starting to really like, it was safe enough here she didn't have to sleep with boots on. Her feet were tinged pink from the cold, which made the smile on her face bigger. "I dunno, I think its pretty nice. I can't believe how great it is to sleep in a bed." She looked up, wide eyes scanning over the city again. "The snow makes it seem so pretty. Dog and Sunny really like playing in it." She could hear the dogs safely inside, and her list of why she liked the club got longer. "Have you been up to the mall yet? Its really cool... there is this shop with great clothes. The owner’s a bit loopy though." “Who isn’t? Yes, I’ve been to the mall but for cigars and ammunition rather than cosmetics. You see, I think the façades we all cover ourselves with are completely useless and could just as well be ignored completely. Though I do enjoy a freshly pressed suit from time to time… Want to go and sit on the balcony? There are some folding chairs in the next room.” So they did. After having an uninteresting about the weather, Silas asked the starlet to describe her life. ° "I grew up in Pitneybank. Went to school at B.B." She nodded toward Silas. "He moved out and I went to work at the fire station." She shrugged. "Then the... the... them came. We just thought people were sick. But they just..." her chin wavered, and she pulled the string on her hood, tightening it to completely cover her face, fighting back tears. "We were trying to just help, and they just took us down. If we stepped off the truck, they grabbed us. And they pushed and pulled and," tears came, but the hood kept them hidden. "I'm really small. I curled up when the truck went over. They couldn't get to me. I listened, and then got Dog, and we hid. It really helps a lot, being small." Silas paused. He took a long sip of coffee, looking at the horizon. This girl had something special. How old was she? Young, in any case. But mature enough not to go mental and to survive here… with a dog. Loud, noisy, territorial animal. The sum of these factors would have gotten anyone killed or insane, but these two weren’t dead yet. Remi spoke next. “So… How ‘bout you?” Silas put some thought in his answer. “1967. That’s the year I was born. In Luxembourg, no less. My father was a refugee, a poor guy from Kosovo. I inherited his name, but I won’t tell you what it is. My mom was a UN diplomat involved in the Serbian shit. That’s how they met, through the biggest European mess of that era. I grew up in Belgium, on the French side (though mom talked to me in Dutch and dad taught me Serbian). Nothing much more to say if not that she was frequently away on business trips, leaving my father to pamper me instead. Went through school, nothing special. Specialised in psychology and went for a career in professional counselling, something I knew would earn me good money. “Then Necrotech hired me. I got handed the case of Rosenfeld, Leon, brilliant physician and tyrant of Napoleonic dimensions. Ambitious, skilled, powerful, hated by everyone and everything serving under him. Basically the high hats of the corporations got rid of him by transferring him here in Malton. I was forced to come as well, under a temporary contract that would leave me free to return after a couple of months. And after four weeks…” He extended his arm, showing the full panorama of the devastated city. “A chopper appeared out of nowhere, landed on top of the building me and some necrotech employees occupied and Leon himself comes out and drags me in. The ‘special tasks helicopter’ was filled to the brim with Necrotech tycoons. The chopper couldn’t handle the weight (or so they said), so they gave me a parachute and kicked my ass out into the blue sky and into the sound of the sirens still whining down below. Couple of seconds later, out flies Leon. Maybe he wanted to jump, maybe they forced him to like they forced me, but in any case he ended up floating away into the distance. Then I landed, somewhere south around Wyke hills, and I never saw him again. And that was the start of this whole new life. “Your turn now, honey.” Remi was silent for a long time. Engrossed in his own tale, he hadn't noticed it. Silas went for more coffee back in the office, leaving her to herself. When he came back, she still hadn't talked, sitting in the folding chair, watching blindly. He didn't press. They sat in contemplation, enjoying the peaceful sight, until Zuton called them down. Her first death had messed with her but she hadn't felt it really...like a bad dream or a pin prick to the finger it had come and gone.... but this time...this time was different. Remi had been to exhausted to go on and she hadn't been strong enough to carry her.... their claws tore her flesh, their bites marred her skin.... she’d given them hell for it but in the end there had been too many - somewhere amidst the chaos of pain she had lost the ability to scream out and the agony had been internalized until all her mind could allow for was her to simply pass out into a retreat of darkness.< It was that place between half awakening and half death that she felt nothing but cold, a sense of being completely alone - that no one was coming back....nothing mattered and she simply was...she thought then that she remembered seeing him...ava, he hadn't told her then when she first met him that he was going to be her CO, she didn't even know the bartender was part of the units. She should have though....nothing again. Her eyes flittered open and a low mournful cry left her lips as if she were in the worst pain of her life - the memory every scratch, every torn piece of flesh coming back at her at once. Her head felt like someone had just taken a bat to the back of her head and the light forced itself upon her eyes....it was quite possibly the worst feeling a human could have and the enormity of it left her blind to anything else around her.* Softly but with a touch of urgency he whispered, "Tristana... Tristana you need to wake up. Nap time is over." Waiting patiently watching as the surrounding zombies continued to hammer on the doors and windows he hoped she would stir before they turned around to see the two survivors behind them. Reaching down he tilted her head from side to side and took note as she began breathing noticeably. Furrowing his eye brows he whispered hopefully. "If you get up I’ll make sure the next drink is on me?" They didn't know her, didn't know that it was the first time she had died while still awake...didn't know she'd died just before this. It had taken her longer to come back then it did most, perhaps a part of her subconscious hadn't wanted to wake back up, knew what was waiting for her...but something had brought her back drawn her from that moment of nothingness...a touch - her eyes rolled around until they focused on his eyes and he was speaking...but the words weren't making sense in her head - like a bomb blast victim that couldn't hear. What was clear was the terror in her eyes and a moment of panic as she began to scrape to stand up - to get away as though she were still locked in a bad dream. She turned around slowly away from him, that which had beckoned her to see the world around her in decay....seeing the very zeds that had claimed her once. She wanted to run but felt locked in place as though her feet were anchored to the cement* Reaching out he slipped his hand over her mouth stepping behind her. "Shhhhh... it's Ava. Be careful, make too much noise and they will notice we are here." He paused hoping she would calm a bit as the creatures began to stir. For a moment she fought hi m, feeling the hand slip over her mouth as though she were still caught in the memory of being attacked by them...it was his voice, his voice that drew a calm about her and slowly her body pressed back against him as though trying to get away from the zombies in front her like a cat being backed into a corner, her nerves were on end and though she was still confused and disoriented...she knew that voice in her ear wasn't going to hurt her and she got very still and very quiet. It was too late with in the small amount of time they had been standing there the numbers had began to smell their presence. Immediately he began to dodge and weave with her to try to get through the area before the masses got to them. With just a jump to the left and then a step to the right he put his hands on her hips and pulled her knees in tight. And with a jumping thrust they barely got away. She had begun to turn towards him to look at him as if to find out what she should be doing...where they were going...but it was too late. Her fear might well cost them both, again....he was a seasoned veteran though it seemed as he drew her against him and picked her up as though she weighed no more then an ounce. She held onto him tightly her arms wrapped about him and her head buried against his chest like an ostrich in the sand. She couldn't do anything now, but hold on and pray...anything else would slow him down.* It was but only a few steps down the walkway and around the hedges. Sitting her down he let her get her footing as he continued to run with her. Around the corner stood a one hour photo booth with a van parked outside. Pulling her behind he ran inside locking the door after she moved in. Fumbling around he looked for the keys. "I must say your performance as a nurse has been excellent but I must comment on your choices of places to sleep. On the steps of a Zombie infested mall is never the best of choices." She found her footing quick enough as he set her down and wasted no time running after him, following his lead until they were inside....She pressed her back against one of the walls...catching her breath as he locked the doors....there was a lot of things she could have said....she could have told him why she had been there but that was a road she didn't want to go down - her reasons were her own and that was enough for her. And so she decided to keep her reply very simple. "I'll be sure to put that in my notes to study..."she was half trying to joke, but there was a definitive no kidding sort of tone in her voice. "If you happen to find some keys would you let me know." Looking up outside the windows he could see the hoard approaching. But of it all he was less disturbed by them as he was the distant sound of what most would find a childhood sound. his eyes widened as he spoke, "You hear that or is it just me?" She moved slowly about the booth rummaging through some of the debris that filled the small area. She paused tilting her head just so as to listen closer...her brows furrowing a bit as she thought she heard the damn sound of a...” you've got to be kidding me....”she said very dryly as if she suddenly didn't believe she was living at all but was rather trapped in some nightmare of her zombie self...or dreaming...dreaming sounded like a better idea. “Key! “she said and tossed it to Ava as soon as she had his attention. His eyes widened as he grabbed her by the hand holding the key and kicked the small door open. Reaching out he opened the side door and ushered her inside with him just in time to have the booth smashed to pieces as the truck blew through the fragile hut. Jumping into the drivers seat he motioned for her to close the door and started the vehicle. She saw something in his eyes she had never expected to see...something almost like panic. It was a strange comfort in all honesty given everything that was happening. She just went with the lead he set and it seemed in no time to short as the small shack they had been in was summarily run over. A plethora of colorful choice words enter her thoughts just then, but she didn't voice them as she slammed the door shut and moved up to the passenger seat "what the hell is that?" she asked glancing out the window at the vehicle. Fumbling to put it into gear he stepped down on the gas as he checked his side mirror for where the assailant was. "Oh just an old friend.." He aid in a concerned tone. “I call BULL SHIT” she said a little more animated then most ever got to see her as she gripped onto what ever would help keep her balance. Her head turning trying to still get another glimpse of the truck that had nearly run them over...if that was a friend of his she'd hate to meet his enemies. It was only a secondary thought to wonder about who ziggy was, She assumed he was wishing for an old war buddy or some such. His eyes widened "What do you mean you cant shoot a shot gun? And I know you can't slap the damn thing from here." Calling back he said in no uncertain terms, "I need you to get up here Trist while my buddy figures out how shoot his damn gun." Whipping around the corner he started down the straight away as the vehicle pulled on to the road directly behind him. She gave him a look that could only be described as a look of one peering at the pure insanity....you couldn't make this stuff up not even in your wildest dreams. Her lips parted as if she were going to say something...but this was her CO after all, and telling him he was a complete loon wasn't going to do much for her career....She moved up to the front seat and just for kicks pretended to throw someone out of the seat and promptly sat down as she opened her flak jacket and pulled out her pistol. He gasped, “Oh sweet Jesus Zig, man stress is high don’t sweat it she just needed the space.” and no she didn’t' ruffle your suit. Come on... could anyone mess that up?" The vehicle lurched forward as it was hit from behind. The small cube van fishtailed a moment before it regained control. "Will some one shoot that damn thing?" he said in a now very irritated voice. She paused in the middle of reloading her gun...this had to be a dream...she was going to wake up any moment back in the mall and surely Remi and Zuton were going to be laughing at her, because you couldn't have a dream like this and not make funny sounds. She looked at him a long moment and just shook her head as she shoved the clip in just in time to get hit from behind. It felt real enough...she rolled down the window and turned about bracing herself against the dash as she leveled her gun at the ice cream truck and shot at the tires, trying to make them go flat. Looking up in the side mirror he realized what she was doing. "Brilliant idea why didn't I ever think of that. Pulling out one of his pistols he leaned out his window after rolling it down. "Ziggy, make yourself useful and take the wheel." Aiming his gun he fired off a small series of rounds in tangent to hers behind them aiming the best he could. She seemed a bit pleased by the remark and smiled just a bit...compliments went a long way with her, she wasn't focused on him and so didn't quite realize what he was doing until he was talking to Ziggy again...there was a moment she had to pause to watch what he was doing to totally comprehend what he was going....and it was in that moment she realized it...her CO was completely and utterly insane...had to be, whom else would have come and got her out of a crowd of fifty some zombies..." are you serious?" the words slipped off her mouth even as the van began to drift and she moved to grab the wheel pistol still in hand she pushed herself against his chair and slid in as best she could to drive. He jostled as she moved into the seat. "Hey easy there buddy your going to mess up my shot. I don’t crowd you while you are laying it down...Yea I know it's different.... but still" Firing another shot his gun clicked. "What the hell I didn’t' know they made ice cream trucks with bullet proof tires damn." Calling out he extended his hand across her front as he exclaimed, "Horatio, my long sword!...." "Hey, Let's get some things straight....I'm not your buddy...and I'm no Horatio..."she quipped back but could take a wild guess at what it was he wanted.* And how the hell does an ice cream truck move that fast?" she moved her hand around and grabbed the shot gun putting it in his hand. "And third....shoot the tires already." she griped the wheel as they began to go into a turn. Taking the shotgun he looked back not initially realizing it was Trist. A moment of clarity dawned on him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate.. I mean my apologies..." the van lurched again as it was hit from behind. The shot gun firing off, went through the back door and into the radiator of the truck behind them, forcing it to wheel and fan off. “MOTHER...”she didn't finish the sentence as they were hit from behind....and by some sheer fluke of a miracle it was the accidental shot that took care of the assailant. She made a few turns here and then there and finally found a safe house....or it was about to be. Relatively empty streets, she drew them into the fire house and wasted little time jumping out and pulling down the doors and latching them to the concrete. checking the inside garage door to make sure they were relatively secure at least in this space she would round on Ava going to toe to toe with him if he had exited the van "You want to tell me what that was all about!" she said looking rather fearsome for a 5 foot nothing frame, of course the pistol that was still in her hand added to the ferociousness...Matt had always thought she looked cute when she was mad, which tended to only make it worse. He nodded as he waved to the door, "Go get em tiger. You show 'em where the bear shits, in the buck wheat." Apparently cheering for his “friend.” He looked back to Trist as she stood rather demandingly. "Oh, that was an infamous murderer. I truly do think he has it out for me ya know... He's taunted me ever since I was a small child." “I think you're nuts“ she yelled at him and threw her gun into the van...she wanted to slap him honestly to bring him back into reality, but the only thing that stopped her was that he had just saved her in a manner of speaking. She turned about and began to stalk off to the other side of the fire stations garage if only to clear her head. He blinked, " I'm not the one who chose to sleep on the steps of a mall...Not to say that I haven’t... but those were in my experimental stages ya know?" She turned back around and began to say something to him exactly what had happened but resorted to insult instead "Go screw yourself....like I would ever do something that stupid...." it seemed she had a bit of a temper when she was annoyed...she got that from her father who was Irish. She didn't say anything else but moved to the furthest corner of the garage and slid down against the wall and put her head in her hands. Frowning a bit he nodded, "I know you think I'm crazy. Many think that also. I don’t know why but I can appreciate it. Come on. We got you out lets go get a drink and some food. The rest of the team is waiting at the Ackland mall and I will make a deal with you..." She rubbed her forehead a bit...and her hand touched something just under the flak jacket....a tape recorder...she didn't move or speak for a long moment, it was a quiet moment for her to process everything that had transpired, getting drunk and forgetting about the whole damn thing sounded like a good idea. She stood up and slowly made her way back to him - apologizing didn't happen to be one of her strong suits either She looked up at him and offered him that wayward smile she sometimes gave, like a leery cat. “We do what it takes to survive....it's bound to make us all a lil crazy....I was just, I'm scared. “ she said and tilted her head down as though confessing the last part had been embarrassing for her. Speaking in a understanding voice. "I know pressure can get high especially after a traumatic event. I wont make you speak to Silas if you haven't already. And we wo’nt talk about today. Put it behind and move forward." He extended his hand out to her. “And you have to have a few drinks with me....”she said adding it on to the deal they were making...if it was agreeable to him she'd take his hand and shake it. “Thanks by the way....for coming to get me.....I never thought anyone would be around to get me.” The last phrase she had said on tape...she wanted to be remembered. Reaching out he shook her hand. "Actually Remi did get you initially. It was her that let me know you both were over run a second time. She let me know when she got to safety. You should thank her. " Starting the vehicle he put it into drive and headed back down the road in a now badly beaten van. "Well it looks like we will have enough gas to get there but not much more. So much for the easy way around." “It's never easy....if it were easy it wouldn't be Malton...” she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes a moment thinking a few shots of whiskey would put her just about where she needed to be. "Well as soon as we get there I’ll buy you a round and then I need to talk to Silas. He has the others interviews." He said in a casual manner. "I'm concerned though. While I think this is needed for everyone to have a chance to talk about something they may have never discussed before, I hope none take it personal or get upset. " “Of course its personal....”she said not opening her eyes as they talked ”you want people to talk about things they haven’t told their best friends to a total stranger....it doesn't get more personal then that.” she was exempt and probably a good thing - well that's what she thought anyway. Nodding, he didn't say a word the rest of the ride back. Silas had what the commander had asked for in his pocket: 3 interviews with his colleagues on a portable tape recorder he'd hidden in his pocket during the talks. Only Remi's tape was just a diagnosis he filed himself since he didn't have the recorder at the time. The boss was sitting on a simple folding chair behind the desk. He looked tense, prepared even. Avatorous liked finished business and that's what he was expecting. But there was something else. Silas couldn't make out what. "Avatorous. How are you today? This mall's fine as is the weather. No big business that I'm aware of. Don't you feel the sunlight on your hard-working back?" Silas smiled. The commander was looking a bit off. While talking, Silas prepared a cigar. Ava looked around the small room that was almost clinical in its lack of wall decor. Although Silas always liked things neat and tidy it could be a bit much. But for this meeting he figured making it as pleasant for him as possible. Sliding his chair back a bit he looked up. "I should take it that you finished the discussions I asked for?" His tone was rather pleasant but in a professional manner. He knew when it was needed to get to business. Brushing the dust off his old suit (he reminded himself to get a new tie) Silas sat down. "Indeed. All in here. Watch the batteries; they're nearly out." He picked the old recorder from his trouser pocket and passed it over the desk. With it he took out his Strike 45. "You're in for a treat there. I know everyone went into some kind of clinical depression after the outbreak, but some of the stuff I heard there really came as a surprise. Rest assured, however. They're all as combat-capable as any soldier." Ava perched his fingers to his lips as he looked to the recorder. Reaching forward he lifted the recorder looking it over. It was most assuredly a thorough bit of interview work, Silas after all enjoyed his job. "The recordings are mine now? You are done with them?" He kept his eyes on the recorder looking to see exactlly how it worked. "They are. Listen do them, play with them, burn them, eat them, it's your pick. What could I use them for, after all? A recorder is good, but for someone in this profession, a good memory is even better." He stretched out and lit the stick in his dry fingers. "Now all this stuff I did was all very fun and interesting, but I haven't come to the meat of the thing yet. I'm sure you understand why I'm asking: why ask me to do this? You know a tape - or worse, a report filed by myself as you'll find in the Remi chapter - won't give you the same information a direct conversation. Looking at their body language is invaluable in these kind of affairs. I don't believe you did it for the precise diagnoses I'd give - in part, why not, but you could have told me that from the start. For the treatments, perhaps - but all the methods I recommended are so painfully obvious a blind man could've given them. And you're not blind, as far as I know." Silas leant forward and, tilting his head so the smoke wouldn't hit Ava, took a long pull from his cigar. Ava stood up from his chair and pressed the erase button on the recorder before letting it sit on the table. Moving to the door of the room he looked out to see nothing but back hall corridors. It was less than appealing. "No silas it has nothing to do with me knowing who they are or me understanding their time and their trauma. It was about you knowing them. I've worked with all of them now long enough to know they are combat ready. I also know that every single person has a limit to what they will endure." Turning back around he looked to him. "I asked for all of this for both your and their benefit. You hadn't worked with them and they with you. And to be frankly honest, they didn't have a clue about you in the least." Silas turned his chair around, facing him. He wore a grave expression. He understood but seeing your hard labour erased with the push of a button was never fun, especially if you take such pride in doing it right. He lifted his arms in a shrug. "A crash course. I see. Can't say it doesn't make sense." But it can't have been all there was. Remi, Tristania, Coup all had a definite first impression of Silas now. Be it a good or a bad impression, it was one of Silas as the shrink, the guy drilling into the mind when something was wrong (there always was). As is, with these orders, Ava had made a asset of Silas - the team's trauma man. Which meant his life was now worth more than that of the average foot soldier. Not bad. He stood up and pocketed the instrument. A good idea I had to take two recordings on two recorders each time, he thought. "This is all very enlightening, you know. You're right, I know the team now. But I don't even know my own commander - what's the deal with that? You've made your opinion of me already, as I've made up mine about you - superficially. I could take the usual way and start off with a series of icebreakers to eventually pry the truth out of you like I did with my other patients, but that wouldn't do any good on you. You're prepared. So give it straight, please. Is there anything I need to know?" Ava smiled as he nodded. "You have made a superficial opinion of me, of that I'm sure." But there is a difference in knowing the people you work with, and just looking for some interesting information. I'm sure you have heard all there is about me around the organization. My profile is anything but kept quiet. But in all honesty there is nothing I could tell you that would give you any different outlook on me than that which has already been tossed in front of you. Good or bad." he walked directly in front of his teammate. "I can tell you this though." reaching down he grabbed the cherry end of the cigar crushing the hot ember in his fingers. " Am I completely right in the head? Are any of the commanders? Whether they be super egotistical, an alcoholic, a cold blooded ax murderer, or a hyper crazed maniac it matters little compared to the fact of the stress we have willingly taken upon our selves. If that isn't mentally bent enough I don’t know what is. " Letting the cold embers fall from his finger tips he pulls up a chair. "Know this, just like all of you I'm scared shitless every time I leave a building with less than fifty people in it. Even then when I’m with them I know damn well anyone of them could shoot me in my sleep. But just like you, I'm here and I can't change that. We are all here and what ever the reasons may be that brought us here, it's unimportant now. I care about a handful of things and that’s about it." Ava brushed off his hands. Silas took a long pull of his cherryless cigar. Like the commander he took a chair and sat down. He looked at his boss for a while. The deep lines on his face were more visible than ever. Silas didn't know what to say. "Wonderful. Your way with words is unparalelled, commander; like a knife through butter you slice through every misconception I had left of you. And that's a compliment." The boss was looking away from him, pensive or concerned. He took the occasion to lounge back. "I don't pretend to understand your situation. No honest man does. But I don't need an otherwordly sense of empathy to know you're right. Man cannot change himself or his environment. Basic stuff. Only a handfull of men have - but I digress. "By now you've noticed that unlike you I haven't made a single point here. That's your job. Don't evade questions like you just have. But I won't press you, you know. You have your reasons, whatever they might be. Maybe, like basically every single two-legged being in Malton, you suffer from one of a plethora of stress-related conditions. We'll find out later. Maybe there are things you're hiding, that you're keeping to yourself. I assume there are. I repeat myself, however: you're right. On a final note here's something for you: whenever you need to talk, whatever problem you may have to solve... Don't hesitate. Isn't that exactly what I'm here for?" Those last words were just teasing Ava. Silas knew it. But Ava had effectively dismissed the entire 'is there something I need to know' question; he deserved it. Plus, who know - someday, he might actually knock on Silas' office door. Excalibur Chapter Three, Ramparts