DEAD LINES
Author: Notmanos
E-mail: notmanos
at yahoo dot com
Rating:
R
Disclaimer:
The characters of Angel are owned by 20th Century Fox
and Mutant Enemy; the character of Wolverine is also owned by 20th
Century Fox and Marvel
Comics. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm not making any
money off of this, but if
you'd like to be a patron of the arts, I won't object. ;-) Oh,
and Bob and his bunch are
all mine - keep your hands off!
-------------------------------------------6 -
Angel had been hoping Bob would pull a rabbit out of his hat – or knowing him, a wallaby out of his pith helmet – and shut this down before it got worse. But it had been barely an hour, and things had gotten worse by the minute.
“Shit, dead men walking,” Xander reported, peering out between the slats of the blinds.
Giles sniffed, and looked up from the end of the couch. He was drinking strong tea, and looked slightly glassy eyed from the cold medicine he'd taken earlier. “How many?”
“Umm ... I'd say about two dozen, give or take some corpses. I can't tell if they're 28 Days Later super fast zombies, or Night of the Living Dead shambling zomboids. I can tell you polyester clothes are the only ones that don't rot. And not enough people were buried in Sansabelt slacks.”
“I didn't ask for a fashion report,” Giles replied.
“Hey, no one wants to see rotting dead Uncle bits, okay? If I hafta look at 'em, you're getting a report.” He stepped back from the blinds with a sigh. “Well, we're fucked. Even if they're the shambling Romero types, there's too many of them for us to fight.”
“I could take out a dozen by myself,” Angel noted.
Xander pointed at the blinds. “Go out there now and you'll get a little flamey. While that'll probably take out at least one zombie, it isn't much help.”
The door opened, and Helga came in. “That's why I'm here.” She was wearing the tank of her flamethrower on her back, and a large sword in a scabbard across her chest, almost hiding her blue tank top and loose black linen pants, which had a hole cut in them to accommodate her tail. “I'll take one end of the street, you guys take the other end, we'll meet in the middle.”
Xander stared at her. “Goddamn. How is it you can terrify me and turn me on at the same time?”
She quirked a single green eyebrow at him. “You're not a sex god or a Stansin, and you don't have Logan's stamina. So, no offense Human, but my appetites would kill you.”
“What a way to go,” Xander replied, not the least bit off put.
She shrugged a single shoulder. “Yeah, well, that's a point. So, we doing some zombies or what? Angel, get in the sewer, we'll try and send some down to you. Zombies are the dumbest of the undead,so if we just leave open a manhole cover or two, they'll fall right in.”
Giles took a sip of his tea before putting his cup down and levering himself off the couch. “You've fought zombies before.” Not a question, although just barely.
“I've pretty much fought everything before. Used to work for the demon mob, remember? Every now and again we'd get some stupid shit sorcerer who thought of the “brilliant” idea of sending a zombie army after his enemies.” She snorted derisively. “Yeah, like no one ever thought of that gem before. What could go wrong with that genius plan? It's practically foolproof. Aside from the fact that rotting corpses are generally as dumb as a box of rocks.”
“You were in a demon mob?” Xander asked. Had he forgotten, or was he never told? Angel honestly couldn't remember. But, to be fair, Helga's past didn't come up that much.
“Yeah. Helga the Headhunter. I was an assassin.”
“You're trying to turn me on, aren't you?”
“Down boy,” Angel said, too worried to be overly concerned about Xander's obnoxiousness. “Think we have a chance at corralling this?”
Helga nodded. “No zombie is ever getting the better of me.” There was some comfort to be had in her certainty. For his part, Angel didn't like this, mainly because he'd be stuck down below where few zombies would go, and Xander, Giles, and Helga would be stuck with the true deluge. But at least he didn't have to worry about Helga, who could probably kill a dozen in her sleep.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't going to be as easy as it seemed.
Hollywood was so full of liars.
Xander always thought a zombie massacre would be fun. All those corpses shambling around, slow motion easy targets whose heads conveniently exploded just when you needed them to. It was like fighting lame demons, but with one third the danger, because you could run away if things got too heavy.
Of course the reality was different. The first zombies he encountered were a lot stronger and meaner than he anticipated, and there was no exploding heads, although to be fair no one had a shotgun, which greatly aided the whole exploding head thing. Now he wanted a shotgun, but Angel wouldn't give one to him. Look, he knew not to shoot around civilians, he wasn't seventeen anymore, he could handle it. But oh no, Dead Boy has to go on a power trip.
Once down on the street, it was kind of weird. It was eerily quiet, and yet there were so many people around. And there was a faint smell of death, which changed in intensity depending on the strength and direction of the wind. It was almost worse than Axe body spray, which some of the young guys on his construction crew would wear until he told them they were fired if they wore it again. He had no idea what toxic demon waste they put in that Axe shit, but he was glad he wasn't in high school anymore, as it was mainly teenage boys who seemed convinced you wanted to smell that bad at all given times. Really, the zombies smelled better.
Helga had the north end of the street all to herself, which seemed like an irresponsible thing, but she fired up her flamethrower and set off a huge swath of zombies like walking road flares. She must have had it set on extra crispy, as they seemed to light up and burn to nothing very quickly. She was waving the sword around in her tail, using it like a third arm – which, in all honesty, it was. Not new to mass killings, was she? No wonder she and Logan hooked up; they probably talked shop, whatever that was for assassins. What's the best blade to disembowel people with, and what detergent to use to get blood out of clothes probably. (Actually, if they knew the answer to that detergent question, he would like it.)
Even though chopping the heads off the first few zombies was quite easy – he had the battle ax with his name on it – the way the streets were continuing to crowd was really troubling. Giles was holding his own across the street, but Xander knew him too well. He was so zonked on cold medicine he was lucky to be on his feet, and the spells he was throwing were weak, mainly because he just didn't have the health to throw anything harder. Although Xander felt some inborn male need to look out for the female (silly when he was with Buffy and Willow, both girls could kick his ass, and yet he still did it then anyways because he was a big dumb guy), he instantly stopped doing it for Helga, as the smell of roasted dead was quickly covering up the smell of plain old dead, and simply the roar of the flames told him she had her situation and end of the street under control. He made a mental note to never worry about assassins, even if they were hot green chicks. What he was trying to do was look after himself and Giles, and while the zombies were thankfully the slow moving Romero type, their sheer density was becoming an issue. Apparently what they lacked in speed they made up for in numbers.
The problem really started when Giles broke into a coughing fit. It ruined his concentration on the spell he was casting, which had needed words to be said aloud. One of the shamblers grabbed Giles's arm, making him drop his sword, and Xander really didn't think you could become a zombie by being bitten by one, but if he was killed by one, then yeah, zombie town. Xander knew he'd never be able to get across the street in time, so he took aim and threw the ax. He sort of assumed it'd just stick in its head, like it did in all zombie films, but the ax cleaved right through it, splitting its skull and splattering an ooze of rotting brains before the ax hit the wall of the bank Giles was standing in front of.
Xander pumped his fist in triumph at such a good shot, but he only felt a few seconds of glee at his macho victory, as he suddenly remembered he'd left himself weaponless. “Good thinking, Harris,” he muttered to himself, turning to see how much room he had. Not much, as the zombies seemed to realize he was weaponless and closed in. He kicked one away to give himself room, and was just contemplating whether or not he could physically rip one of their heads off (some of them were quite brittle; some of them had bits falling off them as they lurched down the street) when one had his head explode right in front of him.
“How d'ya like my boom stick, baby?” Marcus crowed, running up on top of a parked car, shooting two guns at the same time. Every bullet seemed to find its mark, which was dead center of a zombie head.
Finally, the hairy scary lumberjack had come through for them. He knew Logan had called someone before he left with Bob, but he had no idea who he called. Now he knew, and it made perfect sense. If you have friends who are killing machines, a zombie slaughter would be right up their alley.
There seemed to be a line of zombies falling in a path coming towards Xander, and he heard the sounds of flesh ripping even over the explosive noises of Marc's handguns, which never seemed to stop firing. He saw flashes of silver as well as zombie heads flying, and he thought for a moment maybe Logan had come back, but then the path was totally cleared, and he saw who it was – the mutant Arab pretty boy. Crap he was totally blanking on his name. But he had the whole cool action hero look going on, with black jeans and a brown leather vest, with a bandoleer full of knives crisscrossing his chest and leaving his muscular arms bare. He had two swords, but was only using one. “Where's your weapon?” he asked, then shoved his arm in front of his face. Xander was about to ask why, but then the zombie lunging for Xander bit it, and all its teeth snapped on his arm, falling from its mouth like spit out Tic-Tacs.
Right, unbreakable skin guy – Saddiq, Saracen.
He punched the toothless zombie down, and as he did so, swung his sword behind him without looking back, slicing what looked like a dead priest completely in half across the torso. “Holy fuck that was cool!” Xander exclaimed. “I am so gay for you right now.”
Saddiq looked at him blankly. “I'm asexual.”
“It's just an expression, man.” Oh, right – Saddiq also had nothing in the way of a sense of humor. Xander looked towards Marcus and whistled sharply to get his attention. As soon as he had it, he shouted, “Got a gun for me?”
Marc canted his head to the side in a skeptical manner, still occasionally firing and exploding a zombie head. (Was that perfect aim thing a mutant ability? It must have been. Maybe it went with his infrared vision.) “Can you actually use one?”
“Yeah. I was in the Army. Kinda. I was possessed by an Army guy once.” Because Marcus was wearing the same black welding style goggles he always wore, he couldn't really read his expression, but Xander just guessed the skepticism. “It's hard to explain, but I can dismantle and reassemble an M-16 in my sleep. Does that help?”
“Why didn't you say so?” Marcus popped an empty clip on one of his guns, tucked the gun in the waistband of his leather pants, and reached behind him. Suddenly a gun was flying through the air towards Xander, and he had to catch it with both hands. “I left my M-16's back at the hotel, so that'll hafta do.”
“Awesome.” He didn't know what kind of handgun it was, but it was a lot heavier than he expected. Still, he knew where the safety was and thumbed it off as he looked at Saddiq and said, “Protect Giles.”
He looked around, spotting him across the street, and nodded faintly before slicing his way across the street. It was like watching someone harvest wheat; he just cut zombies down like they were nothing, and the zombies just stood and took it. Zombies weren't known for their self-defense skills.
He fired the gun and nearly fell on his ass. He supposed he should have expected such a big kickback since it was so heavy, but he didn't. He had to hold it with both hands to fire it, which didn't look as cool as Marc shooting one handed, but he didn't have mutant steel cable arms either. Show off. Still, there was deep satisfaction in watching the zombie's brains explode.
A fire hydrant at the far end of the street exploded open, but after the water fountained up, it suddenly shot off on a course parallel to the street, with enough force to decapitate several well rotted zombies. So the water mutant guy hadn't sat this one out. Xander figured, of all people, he probably should have, but he wasn't doing too badly with the water decapitations. He also conveniently put out fires caused by flaming zombies.
In almost no time the street was covered in a carpet of dead zombies, some smoldering, some chopped in half, but all the permanent kind of dead. His ears were still ringing and numb from the gunshots – they were as loud as M80's – and his arms felt bruised from absorbing the kickbacks, but he still felt good about what they'd accomplished: full sale zombie slaughter. They should get commemorative t-shirts to mark the occasion.
And that's when he heard the screams.
They weren't Human screams, although almost. They were high pitched and sharp, and made the hair stand up all over his body, and that was weirdly uncomfortable. The screams seemed to echo, or be taken up by other similar things, but it seemed to be coming from both ends of the street.
“What the fuck's that?” Marc asked, jumping off the car and onto the street, ejecting another empty clip and slamming a full one home, all pretty much at the same time. “Some zombie's mom?”
“Oh shit,” Helga exclaimed. “It's ghouls.”
“Ghouls?” Giles repeated, sounding alarmed. That was never good. “Are you sure?”
“Ghouls?” Xander asked. “We're not talking the Trump family here, are we?”
“They're the evil dead,” Helga told him. “Possessed by evil spirits. They're zombies two point oh.”
“Ghouls are not easy to create,” Giles said. “There shouldn't be many of them.”
Helga scoffed. “There shouldn't be so many zombies either. Somebody threw out the rule book, Rupert. We're fucked.”
“And not in the good way, I take it?” Marc asked, although it sounded rhetorical. He tossed Xander a new ammo clip for his gun, and then asked, “What do these freakazoids do?”
“They eat flesh,” Helga told them. “Preferably Human, but they don't get picky about it. They actually eat zombies.”
“Something eats zombies?” Xander exclaimed, too surprised to keep it to himself. Sure, he could imagine sharks noshing on zombies, but sharks weren't too picky about their meals.
She nodded. “They're higher on the demonic food chain. There's always something that kills something else. You have to go all the way up to Berserkers before that line ends. And really that only applies to this dimension. They're fast, they're nasty, they eat like bulimics who forget to purge. Head shots will kill them, but that's about it. We should probably group together, make us less of a target.”
“Good idea,” Marc agreed. “Back to back.”
They did that, standing back to back in the center of the street, and they had just gotten settled when the first ghouls appeared around the corner.
Xander had been expecting more zombies, but that's not what appeared. Sure, they looked kind of Human, but their heads were bloated, as tight as packed sausage skins, the eyes bulging out of their sockets like something was pressing from behind, trying to get out. The jaw was distended too, oversized and full of rows of demonic teeth, and their hands all ended with long, talon like fingernails, the knuckles all swollen and knobby like golf balls. Blood and drool leaked from their gaping mouths, and when they let out their ear piercing shrieks, their mouths seemed to get even wider, in defiance of all laws of physics. “Holy fuck,” Xander exclaimed. “Are they all mouth?”
“Not quite,” Helga replied. “But almost.”
Saddiq broke away from the line and started down the street. “They can't hurt me,” he said. “I'll take out as many as I can.”
“They could go for your eyes,” Giles warned.
“I'll be careful,” he answered, without any concern.
Suddenly the shrieking ghouls came running for them, maybe two dozen deep, all as ugly as the next one. Saddiq sped up to a run, but even Xander could tell from here that he was totally outnumbered, and many would get past him even if he wasn't hurt.
“Aim carefully,” Marc said, taking aim himself. “Don't waste too many shots.”
“Oh sure,” Xander agreed sarcastically, trying to get a bead on at least one of the moving targets. Their big heads were a help, but not nearly as much as they should have been.
Now would have been an excellent time for Bob and company to reappear. It was kind of a shame they didn't. |
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