1 comments/  4699 views/  2 favorites

Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 01

By: Felix921



At the sound of Oingo Boingo's 'Dead Man's Party', Leer raised his eyes to give Warren a look. 

Warren mustered a vaguely sympathetic expression. 

"She seems to be coping well this morning."

Leer grunted and sipped at his coffee. The kitchen and den in reality being the fore and aft halves of one overlarge room separated only by the impression given by a difference in furnishings, Leer could see the subject of their conversation out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be examining the contents of the bookshelf against the far wall, next to the entertainment center. Even without looking up he could tell her head was bobbing in time to the music. Well... probably emotionally burnt out from the day before. She'd be coping by ignoring certain aspects of reality until they hit home again.

"Three cases of MREs upstairs. Whats in the fridge and pantry. Couple cases of bottled water." Leer said, returning his attention to Warren and matters at hand.

"Freezer in the garage. Anything in there?"

Leer nodded. "A ham and a few frozen pizzas I think."

"And a couple dozen snickers bars, if I had to guess." Warren suggested.

Leer nodded again, half smiling, "Probably that."

Both men glanced around when the floor in the hall creaked. Maria emerged into the kitchen still drying her raven tresses with one of Leers towels. She stopped, draping the towel over her shoulders, and struck a haughty pose. Hands on her hips, she tossed her head. Her skin, where it was showing, was a rich reddish tan, attesting to her mix of Mexican and Native American blood. And there was a lot of it showing. She had arrived in the early hours of the morning, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, black leather jacket, aviator shades and a red bandana. Now she graced the kitchen in a black bra and a pair of little green PT shorts, which Leer realized she must have liberated from his dresser. They rode rather low on her hips. This was obviously a cause worthy of donating them to, he decided. 

Leer had noticed the small black scorpion tattoo on the back of her right hand when she arrived, but now saw that she bore other artwork. On her chest, roughly over her heart, was what appeared to be a many-spoked wheel.

"She dress like this often?" Leer asked Warren, still looking Maria up and down.

"Occasionally she wears a long skirt." Warren muttered, adjusting his round rimmed spectacles.

Maria ran a hand back into her hair and looked around the kitchen. 

"Que pasa, Brujo? No breakfast?" she asked in mock disappointment.

"All out of cigarettes and tequila, mi perrita veneno." Warren replied brightly.

Maria made a sharp, dismissive noise and padded past them to inspect the contents of the fridge. There was much appreciative nodding and sipping of coffee at the table behind her. Draga suddenly appeared between the two men at the table, surprising them both. She leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table top and resting her chin in her hands. 

"Nice shorts." 

Maria turned about, curious. 

"Thank you." Leer deadpanned.

Warren calmly diffused the potential 'who's on first' episode. "Draga, this is Maria, an old friend of mine. Maria, Draga. Leer and I served with her father." 

They each took in the others appearance with some interest. At five foot six, Draga was about four inches shorter. She wore a borrowed black Marine Corps Recon t-shirt and faded jeans. Her hair was cut rather short up the back, slightly longer everywhere else, with a ravens wing of dark bangs combed across to partially obscure her left eye. Her nose was slightly upturned. She wore earrings like little silver teardrops which matched the silver lebrae beneath her lower lip. A black leather collar with short stainless spikes circled her neck. 

"Good to meet you." Maria offered her hand across the table.

Draga gave it a firm shake, still taking in Maria's outfit as she did. "You too." she said with a faint smirk. "Old friend, huh?" she stage whispered loudly to Warren.

"Don't get her started." Warren said, suddenly sounding weary.

Draga grinned.

"I can cook." she offered to no one in particular, when the grinning fit had subsided.

Dead Mans Party ended and Orgy's rendition of Blue Monday began. 

"Really?" Maria asked hopefully.

"I can do omelettes. Pancakes, bacon, french toast... depending on what there is for food here."

"Oh, chica, what are you waiting for? I'll go get dressed, have a smoke, you do your thing in here. Don't let these gringos get in your way, eh?" she smiled, gesturing toward the two men, then headed back down the hall from whence she came. Leer was draining the last of his coffee and looking at nothing particular. Warren, on the other hand, noted with some interest the expression on Draga's face as she watched Maria leave the room.

Draga made her way over to the fridge, removing a container of eggs and a block of cheese to start with. "Any requests?" she asked over her shoulder. 

Leer stood, setting his mug on the table. "Surprise us. Anything should be an improvement over our cooking. Don't be shy, just dig around until you know where everything is."

At this point Maria, having added jeans and a t-shirt with the count from sesame street on, emerged from the hall at full stride. There was an unlit cigarette in her mouth. Leer spoke up for her benefit.

"We'll be dragging the heavy ordinance from my room and the attic into the living room. We can go through it after breakfast."

Maria grabbed Leers mug from the table, filled it with coffee, and waved with her free hand, "Be back in five." And she was out the door.

Breakfast consisted of bologna and cheddar omelettes, peaches quartered, toast and milk or water. Or a bottle of Coors light in Maria's case. Once she had rounded up and served the others, Draga wandered off into the den. 

"Don't pull any triggers." Leer spoke up before digging into his omelette. His tone was rather more casual than one's tone should probably be when saying such things.

Draga's voice came back from the den, "What the fuck?"

All three diners smiled to themselves. 

When they had all finished the dishes were piled in the sink. Maria made for the door, a cigarette having appeared between her lips as if by magic, but Leer waved her back.

"Don't bother Maria. Given the circumstances, I think I can lift the smoking ban for now."

She raised her eyebrows, shrugged, and lit her cigarette. She exhaled through her nose, smiling.

"So this is what it takes to loosen up the iceman?"

"Give or take."

"You want one?" she offered

Leer shook his head. 

Warren smiled, "He won't. It would lower the efficiency of his super human senses. I'll take one, as long as you're offering."

Leer sighed. "Alright, professor," he imitated Warren adjusting his glasses, "to the war room?"

The three found Draga sitting in the middle of the couch, a seabag open between her legs. Her face was shadowed under the brim of a jungle cover tipped at a haphazard angle on her head. On the couch to her right a CZ-75 sidearm in an OD green holster lay atop a shrapnel resistant vest in desert camo. She extricated a wooly-pully from the sea bag and examined it at arms length. Maria moved an ammo can from the couch and sat down on Dragas left. Warren pulled Leers recliner closer, stifling a smokey cough. Leer began sorting through the gear on and around the long wooden coffee table in front of the couch.

"Looks itchy." Draga said at length.

"Military issue." Warren commented. "It's efficient."

"Yeah..." Draga said slowly, half turning to drape the sweater over the back of the couch. "I knew you guys were military, but..." she spread her arms vaguely, indicating the tumbled mountain of gear dominating the center of the den. 

Maria plucked a CS grenade from the clutter on the table. She looked across at Warren. "I know you and I know what you two were up to... and even I'm a little surprised."

"Turned out, going freelance provided a better toy budget." Leer commented without looking up from what he was doing.

"Good thing, too." Warren reflected, adjusting his glasses.

"Okay, so why didn't you just load this stuff into the truck?" Draga directed the question at Leer.

"Master Sergeant Locke, handle my light work." Leer said in mock seriousness.

"Indeed. There are four of us. We're going to want to pack food, water, arms, necessary clothing and bedding... hope for the best, prepare for the worst sort of thing. We're safer together, but there's only so much space available in any one vehicle." 

"Oh. Right." Flashes of the night before pushed their way to the fore of Draga's thoughts. She shuddered visibly before managing to temporarily push the memory form her mind. It was a nice bright day. She was with friends of the family. Friends who happened to be acquainted with destruction as an artform. Friends who, it occurred to her, seemed rather... satisfied at the prospect of a global plague of the walking dead. At any rate, a pleasant day amongst friends. And some biker chick.

She took a deep, slow breath. If you learned anything from zombie movies, it was never hesitate. Never slow down. You could cry later, if you survived long enough. She removed the boony hat and set it on the back rest of the couch next to the woolly pully.

"I get a gun, right?" she asked Leer, her voice quiet, lest it crack.

Leer regarded her for a long moment. 

"Yes."

Draga waited, but had just decided that was all she'd get when he continued.

"Maria brought a couple firearms with her, although we'll probably bring a rifle for her. A sawed off shotgun is fine if you only have to fire once or twice at close range. We'll take you out in the yard and let you shoot everything. Give you a taste of shooting and figure out what fits you. You'll want these."

She managed to catch the little plastic film case and opened it to find a pair of foam ear plugs. She nodded and stuffed the tube into a pocket.

"Thanks."

There was some debate as to what to bring and what to leave. Warren went over the pros and cons of each piece of gear as if reading from a manual. When Leer reached the SAW, (Squad Automatic Weapon; a belt-fed machine gun operated by one man and capable of putting a hell of a lot of ammunition downrange in a hurry), at the bottom of the pile on the coffee table, Warren began reciting. Leer hefted the weapon, pointed it at Warren and racked the charging handle.

"Enough. Yes or no?" he asked bluntly.

Warren opened his mouth, closed it, adjusted his glasses. He noticed Draga trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Maria seemed too busy studying the massive weapon braced against Leers hip. He caught Dragas eye and winked.

"As heavy as it is, I vote to bring it. Shares ammo with the M-16. If we have to cut a path or defend a position..."

Leer gave the weapon a critical look, then set it back on the table. 

"Agreed."

After a late lunch of frozen pizza, they loaded most of the chosen gear into Leers pickup. The SAW and two cans of chain ammunition were stowed in the bed, up against the back of the cab. There was a duffel bag loaded with an assortment of grenades. Two duffel bags heavy with loaded magazines and boxes of ammunition. Sleeping bags, a well used OD green Coleman stove, extra fuel for the stove, military mess kits, two cases of 16oz water bottles, a 10 gallon igloo water cooler, one case of MREs and three Alice packs loaded with MREs, Ammunition, extra socks, full canteens and sundry little goodies Warren and Leer had found useful in the past. All this was piled into the back. Draga put her backpack in the cab. Maria recovered her sawed off shotgun, a box of shells, a change of clothes, feminine products and two cases of cigarettes from the saddlebags of her hog and tossed them in the back. When this was done they regrouped in the kitchen.

Leer handed out beers and leaned against the fridge while the others sat, Draga on one corner of the table. It didn't occur to him to ask if she were old enough to drink. They lounged, drinking and staring into the middle distance, each lost momentarily in their own thoughts. After a minute or so Maria lit a cigarette and tossed one to Warren, leaning across the table to light it for him. Warren took a drag, gave a little cough, exhaled. Maria leaned back in her chair, tipped her chin up in Draga's direction.

"Draga. That's-"

"Romanian." Draga finished for her.

Maria nodded.

Draga smiled and tipped the mouth of her beer bottle in Maria's direction. "I noticed the Romani Chakra on your chest. Are you part Romani?" she sounded doubtful.

"No. Not really. Not by blood."

"More by practice." Warren put in helpfully. "And name. Her last name, Gitano, is basically Spanish for Romani."

"Huh. Romani la inima, apoi." Draga said to herself. "Romani at heart," she translated quickly.

Maria arched an eyebrow, but smiled. "Maybe you teach me some of that sometime."

Draga nodded.

"Shall we teach the wagon girl to shoot before dinner?" Warren asked.

Leer gave Draga a smile she wasn't sure she liked.

"Got those earplugs handy?"

Leer and Warren had done a quick sweep of the property with assault rifles at the ready. Leer carried a kalashnikov with a second magazine, upside down, taped to the first. Warren opted for his old, straight magazine Thompson. As expected, there were no wandering dead this far out in the woods. Not yet, anyway.

The women had waited on the back deck during the perimeter check. Maria lounged on an old, faded loveseat. She had strapped on her old fashioned leather gunbelt with its line of bullets in little leather loops. One hand held her beer and a lit cigarette. The other was continuously cocking and decocking the hammer of her heavy black Ruger .357 revolver. Draga eyed the gun warily from where she leaned on the rail.

When the men had met back on the deck, Warren told the others to carry on without him. After warning Draga not to hold any scopes against her face, he went around to stand watch in the front yard. Just in case.

Right away Draga recognized in Leer mannerisms her father had sometimes exhibited. A sort of curt, but professional demeanor. He had taken a scarecrow from his garden (Draga spared a moment from her nervousness to spend being vaguely surprised that people actually used scarecrows) and sunk it out in the middle of the backyard about thirty feet from the deck. Next he unceremoniously bid Maria 'move', that he might spread an array of firearms across the loveseat. He considered a moment, then picked up an HK MP5, checking the open breach as he walked over to where Draga stood.

He looked at her and tapped his left ear with his hand. Draga nodded and began to speak, "Yeah, I put them in-"

Leers expression didn't change, but he reached up and before she could properly react, was handing her the earplug from her right ear. 

"Pay attention." 

Draga's brow furrowed in annoyance, but she payed attention. Leer went over the basic functioning of the weapon and the names of each part. He handed the HK over and gave her a moment to get a feel for the weight and shape of it before continuing the instruction. He moved around her, adjusting her stance, pulling the butt back into her shoulder tighter, reminding her how to sight the target. When he was more or less satisfied, he took the earplug from her pocket where she had put it and stuck it in back in her ear. He stood just behind her.

"Switch the selector one click to single fire." he enunciated loud enough to be sure she would hear.

A pause. Click.

"Steady your breathing. Aim for the chest. Fire one shot at will."

Draga sighted the scarecrows chest. Breath, she thought. Slow down.

The distinctive blast of the 9mm echoed from the woods surrounding the yard.

The bullet kicked up dirt and grass behind the target. Flinching slightly, Draga couldn't be sure if she hit the dummy or not.

"You tensed. Anticipating the shot. You missed just to the right of his face, which means you were aiming at his chest, but you pulled high when you tensed up. Best cure is practice." Leers voice from behind her.

Draga nodded slightly without turning. She could smell the oil on the gun and the smoke from the spent round. Her nervousness was slowly turning into mild exhilaration. 

"Again."

In all Leer had Draga fire six weapons. She started with the MP5, which Leer suspected would be a good choice for her. After that were an M-16 and Leers AK. The AK proved a bit much for her. A Glock 19 started off her experience with handguns, followed by a CZ 75. Last but not least she emptied the magazine in a Sig Sauer P228. When she was done and Leer had replaced the spent magazines in each weapon, he asked her for her preferences. She made a point of returning her earplugs to the little film tube before answering.

"The... CZ... felt good... solid. It was a little heavier than the others though. I think the Sig Sour was most comfortable."

Leer nodded. He slid the Sig into its black nylon holster and handed it to her. She hesitated, looked at the gun, looked at Leer. 

"Just like that?" the corner of her mouth quirking up.

"Try not to shoot yourself. I'll teach you to take it apart and clean it later. Unless I can get Warlock to do it." he muttered the last bit to himself.

"Warren has a nickname, huh?" she asked, taking the Sig.

"More a contraction. Warren Browning Locke." Leer answered distractedly.

"Warren Locke. Warlock." Maria put in helpfully.

"I got it, thanks. That's cool."

"What about the long guns?" Leer asked, businesslike.

"Um... the first one... smaller and lighter than the others. Feel like I can control it better."

Leer nodded again. Draga was sure he had anticipated her answers. 

"Not technically a 'long gun', though, is it?" she asked.

"Sub-machine gun. Close enough for you. Sit tight." He stepped back into the house.

Draga was busying herself working the clip of the Sig's holster onto her belt when she heard Maria say something. Sounded like 'ears.'

Then she very nearly wet herself. She had just enough time to realize what was happening and cover her ears before Maria fired her Ruger hand cannon again. A small cloud of straw erupted from the back of the scarecrows head. 

"As you were." Leer said loudly. "No point wasting bullets if you're aim is that good."

Maria gave him a look, but lowered the gun. She removed the two spent shells and thumbed in fresh rounds, holstered the gun.

Leer handed Draga the MP5, now with a nylon sling attached.

"Wear it from now on to get used to it." he paused, then added, "So make sure the safety is on."

He left her to it and turned his attention to Maria. He took the M-16 from the couch by the handguard and held it out in her general direction.

"Feel like shooting, give this a try." 

She gave him a long cool look, then took the rifle. Leer carried on in training mode, instructing her on shooting positions, aiming, the safety, ejecting and replacing magazines, clearing jams and etc. Warren came back around from the front yard as the sun began to sink below the tree tops. Leer declared the basic arms training satisfactory for the moment, and the four carried the weapons back inside. 

Draga was busy frying hamburgers in the kitchen while the other three sat in the den watching the news. The news was not good. The news was very bad. The plague of undeath, as many reporters had taken to calling it, was active across the entire width of the United States. The symptoms didn't manifest until several hours after infection. If there was an exact incubation period, scientists had yet to release the information. It was apparently long enough to allow spreading by mass transportation systems. 

Canada, Mexico, England, France, Japan and China were all reporting outbreaks. Several countries had shut down and quarantined all airports. It was rumored that China would shortly enforce martial law. There was panic and rioting even in countries not known to be harboring infected. In the words of one over-dramatic news anchor, "...and on the lips of every man, woman and child are the desperate words; 'Why?' 'How did this happen?,' 'What will we do?,' 'Who will save us?'" 


Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 01



Maria shifted position on the couch and looked at Warren. "Is it good or bad that we're close to the military bases here?"

Warren gave an odd, non-comittal shrug. "Maybe good, for safeties sake. Maybe not so good for your constitutional rights."

Leer snorted.

Warren adjusted his glasses and continued. "Thing about the military, or the government in general for that matter... in a crisis, they tend to look at civilians as... livestock. They'll save you if it's part of a plan that solves the problem most efficiently. 'Course, they might have to round you up in pens. For your own good, of course."

Maria nodded dourly. "Sounds about right."

Leer scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. With a deep sigh he turned off the television and regarded the two on the couch.

"If they don't get this shit squared away like, pretty fuckin' quick, we'll end up drafted, locked up or quarantined. Sounds crazy, but quarantine could turn into termination."

"In the interest of the public good, that would be." Warren added sarcastically.

"Foods on." Draga announced cheerfully, coming to stand next to the couch. She saw the expressions on their faces. "Nothing good on?"

Over dinner Draga was brought up to speed on the general state of the world. Warren did most of the talking, keeping it short and morbid. Draga listened impassively. She understood, academically, but even after her own experience with the ravening undead, it was all a little surreal. Kind of like Neo waking up from the Matrix or something. You thought it would be cool to live in one of those movie worlds. Imagined what it would be like if it happened. But that was when you knew it was impossible.

Draga filed the information without really thinking about it. At this point she was just trying to resign herself to going with the flow. Focus on the present and keep busy. Cling to the tenuous stability provided her by her new companions. 

When Warren had fallen silent, apparently finished, she waited a moment before speaking.

"So... I won't be getting a refund on tuition, will I?" there was little humor in her voice.

There were a couple grunts in reply.

"You were taking classes?" Maria asked, wiping hot sauce from her lower lip.

Draga nodded. She regarded her half eaten burger blankly for several seconds, mind wandering, before setting it back on her plate.

"Yeah, um, massage and... well, just physical therapy now. Already have massage certification." She smiled wryly. Her right hand came up to brush at the raven wing of hair obscuring her left eye in an almost unconscious gesture. "Probably not a lot of demand for physical therapists now."

"Lotta crackpot survivalists laughing their well prepared asses off. I'd think about accepting barter, though. It doesn't look good for the American Dollar." Warren observed.

"Wait, you say you're a ... what, how you say.. a masseuse?" Maria cut in.

Draga leaned back in her seat and brushed at her hair again. She smiled. "Yeah, that's the word. I think it's french or something. There's actually a different title; masseur, if you're a guy."

"Leer might go for a rub down. Really cutting loose these days." Warren stood to deposit his dishes in the sink.

Leer had been sitting silently, having finished his meal. His head was tipped back a bit, eyes unfocused. He blinked, answered without looking around.

"I miss your sister, Locke." 

Draga looked at Leer, slightly surprised at the lack of any playfulness in his voice. Warren was smiling his vague smile, nonetheless. 

"Taking in strange women. Smoking in the house. Whats next?" Warren went on, unperturbed.

Draga's eyes lingered on Leer. He must have some sort of Asian ancestry. You could see it around his eyes and his so straight, so black hair. He was lean all over as well. On the other hand, he stood just over six feet and had more of a V shape to his upper body than she would have expected from Asian genes. And pale blue eyes. 

"Well, he did kinda save my life." Draga trailed off, managing to make it sound vaguely suggestive.

Leer tipped his head to give her a blank look. She smiled sweetly. 

"I dunno. Collar makes me a little nervous."

"Well, I don't usually use it during a massage." 

Leer cracked a smile at this. "Maybe later. I'm gonna get a little exercise out back. Just toss the dishes in the sink. We'll probably take off bright and early. You can take my bed and I'll crash on the couch. Assuming Maria can bare sharing the Guest room with The Professor again."

"No problem," Maria commented, "I'll just have him read one of his instruction manuals, be asleep in no time."

Warren and Maria retired to the guest room for the night. Leer spent an hour in the backyard working up a sweat. He returned to find Draga laid out on her back on the couch, eyes closed. Black cord ran from the buds in her ears to her ipod where it hid in her hip pocket. 

She was singing softly along with whatever she was listening to. Leer remained just inside the door. It was a melancholy piece. Beautifully melancholy. And the girl could sing.

When she had finished the song Leer stepped over and tapped a couch leg with his foot. Draga flinched and quickly came up on one elbow. The MP5 slid to hang by its sling over the edge of the couch.

"Oh. Didn't hear you come in." she said, looking a little embarrassed. She removed the earphones and stuffed them in with the ipod.

"You can sing." 

"Uh, yeah..." she could feel her cheeks heating up.

"Very pretty. What's the song you were singing?"

"It's called Gloomy Sunday. I was in a band... back in High School. We did a lot of random, off the wall stuff. Gloomy Sunday was one of our covers."

Leer nodded. "Multi-talented. Any other skills we don't know about?"

"I play guitar. Or I did. Kinda wish I had my guitar now."

"We'll have to find you another. Was considering hitting a pawn shop or two anyway."

"Hitting?" Draga gave him a look of mock reproach.

Leer arched an eyebrow. "If there's no one there, we'll leave an IOU."

"Fair enough. What if there is someone there?"

"We'll figure something out. I'm gonna take a quick shower before I hit the sack. We'll be getting up early, so you should try to get to sleep. Feel free to leave the guns next to the bed. I'd hate for waking you up to be the last thing I do."

"Thanks for the tip. Sure you don't want that massage now?" she teased.

He just managed to stop himself before saying something about her father coming back to kill him and gave a weak chuckle to cover the hesitation.

"Rain check, wagon girl." 

While Leer showered Draga tried to make herself to home in his bed. She set the MP5 on the carpet next to the bed. After a slightly self conscious glance around the room she stripped down to her panties and t-shirt, leaving her clothes on the carpet where they fell. She felt a little funny sliding into someone else's bed, but the cool sheets against her skin elicited an exaltant sigh. Wriggling about, pulling the sheets and heavy mink blanket about her like a little cocoon, she smiled into what turned out to be an old feather pillow. 

Draga actually giggled to herself, inhaling the faint laundry detergent and Leer smell of the pillow. This was more like it.

When Leer emerged from the bathroom there was a Draga shaped mink mound of contentment on the bed. He noticed the clothes next to the sub-machine gun on the floor as he walked by. He was just about to hit the light and head out to the den when something occurred to him. He padded over to the bedside and leaned over to have a look. Sure enough.

There came a faint 'hmm?' when he carefully unsnapped her collar.

"Shh. It's alright."

Draga had her back to him. She turned her head to regard him with half open eyes. 

"You'll wake up eating goose down if you keep this on." 

"Mmmkay." she replied dreamily, shifting her head enough to allow him to take the collar.

*

(No infringement of any copyrights or whatever is intended here - I don't own any of the brand names... not that it would be worth trying to sue me anyway. :) 



Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 02



Hazy orange lit the trees lining the eastern border of the yard as Draga slowed to pull her little Honda into the driveway. She noticed one of her neighbors on the right standing in their yard. There was something wrong with him. Something about his expression. And... the way he stood. 

Weirdo.

Her mothers car was in the carport so she parked behind it in the driveway. Her fathers truck wasn't in the space between the carport and the rose bushes where he usually parked. She wondered in passing if he were actually getting groceries. 

Dragging her trusty backpack from the passenger seat and tucking the keys in a pocket she climbed out of the car. After shouldering the backpack she closed the car door. And stopped.

Seriously? 

She wasn't seeing things. Mr. Magoo, (her not entirely endearing nickname for the neighbor), was in fact moving in her general direction. If nothing else, she was well aware that her neighbors' hypocritical christian sensibilities were offended by her choice of attire. With this in mind, their obviously forced pleasantness was just that much more annoying.

Maybe he just wanted to borrow a tool or something. Then she could just tell him that dad was out and he should come back later.

It was probably a good thing she had put the backpack on. She would have dropped it otherwise. As it was her knees almost buckled. She stepped back sharply, thumping against the car. One hand came up reflexively, palm out, as if to ward off what she saw.

There was indeed something wrong with Mr. Magoo, aka Ed Turner. 

Ed was a relatively small man. He stood just about eye to eye with Draga. He was naturally thin and wiry, near sighted, and balding. Presently he was unnaturally horrible.

There was blood staining the left sleeve of Eds dress shirt. What hair there was behind his left ear looked matted with blood. His left eye was swollen shut and dark with bruising. The pupil of his right eye was a pinprick of black and the whites had gone a sickly yellow. The spit ran from one corner of his mouth. 

Moving in a slow trudge up to this point, Ed paused with his head at an angle, as if listening to something. Draga noticed then the darkness at the crotch and down the legs of his pants. And the smell. 

She was unable to even put together a coherent thought. This was not something she was equipped to process. 

Eds head dropped forward suddenly so that his chin almost rested against his chest.He (It?) emitted a sound from deep in it's throat. Something like a growl, made sickening by a great overabundance of phlegm. 

That did the trick. Draga turned and bolted. She heard the Ed-thing moving behind her. It did not sound like it was moving particularly slowly. She didn't even consider glancing back to check. 

It came to her as she reached for the screen door that it wouldn't work. Like a flash of inspiration she intuitively knew that she didn't have time to open both doors and get inside. It would be on her. She turned, having only one other exit from the carport, and dashed into the backyard. A throaty snarling came from far too close behind her. 

It was a straight shot to the door of her fathers workshop - a cobbled together building with wood frame and sheet tin siding. And the door was standing open! Draga let loose a little cry of terrified hope and forced herself to run harder. At the last second she was sure she was moving too fast and would be unable to pull the door shut. She snatched the doorknob, picked her feet up and did a quarter turn as she sailed through the doorway. 

The door slammed shut, but her momentum pulled her grasp from the knob. She sprawled into the room, tucking and rolling. She was dimly aware of the door shuddering heavily as she fetched up against a table leg and a shop-vac. The rough concrete floor in this part of the shed was decidedly uncompromising. Draga sprung up, ignoring the pain. Part of her very much wanted to remain curled up in the fetal position, but the part that was too scared to do so was bigger. 

She was too slow. The thing would have the door open. She had no idea what she would do when she rose to find it standing there.

Except it wasn't. It was hammering on the door. There was a moment of disbelief, then she remembered to exhale. 

Did it think the door was locked? Or was it too stupid to try the knob? 

Better not to wait to find out if it would learn. 

Draga fought the urge to stay as far from the thing as possible. She stepped quickly up to the door, turned the lock, reached up to run the little brass bolt, then stepped back. The thing continued to batter the door from the other side. The door was aluminum and pretty sturdy, but it opened outward and she wondered if the door frame would hold up if it began pulling at the knob. Or if the knob assembly would hold together for that matter.

It sank in that she was safe for the moment. She glanced around. A weapon. Something to defend herself- 

"Stupid." she spat under her breath. The back door of the shed was standing wide open. She wove her way between a table and a rolling tool cart, darted across the rest of the room. Should she close it and lock it, or leave and make a run for it? She ducked her head out.

This time she reacted without thinking. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the figure standing only a couple feet to her right. One step and she grasped the doorknob and pulled it sharply to. She locked it, then waited, tensed, for the banging. Her heart was racing and now that the immediate danger was on the other side of a locked door, she began to tremble. 

The banging came. It wasn't what she had anticipated. She knew, despite not having gotten a good look at the thing outside, that this was not Ed. From what she had seen, this one might be even more messed up than Mr. Magoo. Whether or not this had anything to do with it's attacks being weaker she didn't know.

Bending over and bracing her hands on her thighs, she tried to slow her breathing. Got to think. Got to think. 

Someone was going to show up. Yes, someone was going to show up and get her out of this. Just have to survive long enough. 

The banging on the doors had ceased. Draga looked around the room again. Her eyes lit on the little black GE minibar under one end of the workbench. 

There were three bottles of water and a couple cans of beer. A can of Pepsi. At least a dozen little glass jars of baby food. That was... strange. Wasn't it?

Draga shrugged, took one of the waters and closed the minibar. A few sips of cold water seemed to help her nerves. She turned to lean back against the bench and consider her next move. The smell of fresh sawdust suddenly filled the air. Curious, Draga raised her eyes from the floor.

There was no gasp. She didn't drop the water bottle or scream or faint. At first her only reaction was internal. Everything seized. 

There had been no sounds, but now the back door stood open again. Someone, or something, stood silhouetted just inside the door. Shouldn't the sun have finished setting by now?

For several interminable seconds Draga stood, paralyzed, expecting the shadowed figure to come rushing toward her. Her skin crawled and she realized with some wonderment that you really could break out in a cold sweat. 

This wasn't right. She was supposed to get away. Naive ideas about things being fair had nothing to do with it. She just knew that she was supposed to be rescued, though she couldn't say how she knew.

Finally the intruder moved. Draga had expected it to rush her, but apparently it was in no hurry. Somehow that was worse. 

A couple slow steps closer and she could see it clearly. Ed's wife, Marion, had been an attractive woman. 

This was no longer the case.

That did it. Draga dropped the water and scrambled sideways along the workbench toward the front door. She refused to turn and present her back to the monster following her. A squawk escaped her when she almost bumped into a second intruder. Frantic, she backed up a step, hoping against hope that here was her rescuer.

She looked up into a bloody, broken face. Her fathers face.

Now she screamed.



And screamed. 

A hand gripped her shoulder. She kicked out and tried to get away. Her movement was hampered by something.

She landed in a heap, tangled in sheets, on the floor at the other end of the bed. She scrambled to free herself of the sheets, panting and beginning to sob. Once free she stood, eyes wide, ready to run.

Leers room. The lights were on. Leer was standing on the other side of the bed. He wore PT shorts and an OD green undershirt. His left hand rubbed at his ribs.

"You awake now?" he asked quietly.

She stared, breathing heavily, then nodded weakly. She sagged against the wall, slid down into a crouch. 

"Oh, fuck." she exhaled raggedly.

Leer went around the bed and copped a squat next to her. 

"You were screaming."

Draga sniffed then looked over at him.

"Nightmare." she explained shakily.

"The night I found you?" 

"Yeah." it came out a whisper.

Leer stood and extended a hand to her.

"Come on. Up." he said, not unkindly.

Draga wiped her eyes and brushed at her bangs peremptorily, then took the offered hand and stood. She hugged herself, looking down, eyes unfocused.

"The night you found me. But you didn't show up. And... and my dad..." Tears welled fresh in her eyes and she stopped, clenching her jaw to keep from breaking into sobs.

Leer hesitated a moment, then stepped closer and put an arm around her, drawing her close. 

"Shh. It's alright now." he whispered, putting his other hand on the back of her neck as she pressed her face into his chest. She slowly unfolded her arms and wrapped them around him, squeezing tight. He continued holding until her muffled crying abated. 

"You kicked me in the ribs." he whispered when he thought she had more or less collected herself again.

She drew her face back from his now damp shirt and looked up at him uncertainly. "What?"

Leer smiled. "You kicked me in the ribs when i tried to wake you up."

"Really? I didn't mean to. Are you okay?" she gave a weak smile of sympathy.

"I'm fine. Just glad you didn't take the pistol to bed."

"Smart-ass." Draga gave him what would have been a reproachful look, had she not been working against a smile. She pressed one hand to his midsection, stepping back out of his embrace. Her hand lingered a long moment, feeling the firm muscle beneath the thin shirt. She cleared her throat, raising her eyes from her hand to his face.

"It's, uh, a little cold. Let me put some pants on." she managed. she hopped onto the bed and crawled across to retrieve her jeans. Leer glanced at his watch.

"About that. It's just after four now. No point going back to sleep. Might as well shower now, if you want one."

"Oh." she folded the pants and rolled them around the Sig Souer in its holster. "Will we be eating breakfast here?"

"We're not in a big hurry." Leer replied, walking to the door.

Draga turned up at the breakfast table to find the others already gathered around it. After enjoying the hell out of a long hot shower she had followed the smell of fresh brewed coffee down the hall to the kitchen. Aside from being unaccustomed to wearing a sub-machine gun to breakfast, she felt surprisingly good. 

Breakfast was coffee and pop tarts all around. 

Maria finished first and lit a cigarette. She tapped one foot restlessly. By the time Draga had finished eating, Maria was stubbing the cigarette out on her plate. She glared across the table at Leer, who was apparently lost in thought.

"Where the hell we going?" When he failed to answer immediately she went on in an annoyed tone, "You two cavrones got a hideout in the caribbean? Safehouse in Thailand?" She turned her gaze on Warren. "Castle in France?" she smiled at this last suggestion.

"Definitely not France." Warren replied dryly.

Leer finally spoke. "Has to be defensible. Unlikely to be bombed or occupied by military. Has to have a source of fresh water. Long term food sources." he paused, then added, "Definitely not France."

Maria snorted. "So... what? A farm in... Buttfuck, Idaho?"

"I was thinking either the mountains or the outer banks. The outer banks are only a short ride and a stolen boat away. Probably not stocked for a total breakdown of civilization though." Leer turned his head to give Warren a questioning look.

Warren looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Pick up a larger vehicle. Supplies. Riot gear or gas masks or something, in case of close contact. Try to avoid military, law enforcement. Demonstrate usefulness and try to assimilate into indigenous population." All this while staring at the tabletop. He adjusted his glasses and looked up.

Maria and Draga shared a look. 

"Maybe liberate another four wheel drive pickup just before we start into the mountains." Leer suggested.

"Right. So... do we know anyone in the mountains?" Draga asked no one in particular.

"Not yet." Leer replied, standing. 

Leers seating plan put Warren in the drivers seat and Maria, appropriately, riding shotgun. Leer and Draga tossed his mink blanket into the space they had left in the center of the bed of the truck. They made themselves more or less comfortable against the gear surrounding them. Leers logic ran that Draga was, realistically, least capable of defending herself. Therefore, while she might be more exposed in the bed of the truck, she would be free to run if the truck were immobilized. 

A quarter mile up the gravel road they passed Leer's only 'neighbors'. Two nondescript double wide trailers on an acre of cleared land off the side of the road. Leer tipped his chin up, indicating the property.

"The Torrence family. Mother, father and two boys in the one; Uncle and his girlfriend in the other. Minivan and SUV are gone."

Draga watched the empty trailers slip by and nodded.

They pulled onto the highway a couple minutes later. A staggered line of four military helicopters passed overhead, low enough to be loud. 

In the cab Maria leaned forward to look up through the windshield. 

"They'll be busy, no?"

"Like headless chickens in a minefield, I imagine." Warren smiled amiably. "Dig that road atlas out from under your seat and stand by with directions."

"Aye Captain." she complied, rolling her eyes. "You're the expert. You and Iceman back there, but... we really gotta make the mountains? We couldn't just chill in a warehouse or somethin'?"

"If we happen by an acceptable spot before the mountains, we'll stop. It seems unlikely though. Given the way things are shaping up."

"Great." 

"There are still people living almost completely self sufficient up in the mountains. The plan is to offer our help with whatever needs doing in return for food, water and lodging. Worst case, we build our own camp and periodically come back down to the nearest towns to resupply."

"Got it all figured out, eh Professor?" she smirked, tracing a route on the road map with her fingertip.

"No, just a first draft until Mr. Murphy shows himself." 

They carried on for almost fifteen minutes before the inescapable Mr. Murphy made his first appearance. There was traffic, in a manner of speaking. Even the median, shoulder, and oncoming lanes of the highway were clogged with unmoving vehicles. Warren slowed to a crawl fifty yards from the pile up.

Feeling them slow, Leer stood and looked over the roof of the cab. The jam up stretched off into the distance, disappearing around a gradual curve. Dark exhaust could be seen rising from several spots where vehicles remained idling. When they had come to a complete stop, still a good thirty yards from the mess ahead, Leer thumped on the roof with an open hand.

"Have that Ruger at the ready and keep your eyes open." Maria recognized Warrens tone. He was going into 'Serious Business' mode. 

Warren ducked his head out the window and turned somewhat to speak to Leer. 

"How far does it go?" he called back.

"Around the turn ahead. Maybe all the way to the next town. Beulaville. Maybe just to an accident that started the pileup..."

"Gaps? Any chance we can push through?" 

Meanwhile, Draga had stood and climbed up amidst the gear to see for herself. She stared for a few seconds, then shook her head and crawled back to where she'd been sitting. She fished her earphones out and fired up her ipod. 

The men came to a consensus. 

Leer rolled back and plunked down next to Draga. He tapped her knee with the back of a hand and tapped his own ear when she looked up. She pulled the earphones out and stowed them.

"Hold on."

"Oh, hell..."

Warren eased up against the rear quarter panel of a car and gave it some gas. Good. Reverse, angle into the bumper of the SUV next to and ahead of the car. Gas, gas, ga- brake! Shit.

The truck lurched to a stop when the SUV smashed into a Bondo spotted pickup.

Draga and Leer were luckily already dug in against the packs and bedrolls behind them. As it was a camelpak ended up in Leers lap.

In the cab Maria cursed. She had secured her seatbelt when Warren told her they were going to try pushing through, which saved her from any real harm. Nonetheless, there was a small crack in the windshield where the barrel of her pistol struck it when she was thrown forward. Warren cleared his throat and shifted into reverse.

"Don't hold back, now." Leer called over a shoulder.

The sun rose in a cloudless sky. An almost constant light breeze dragged at the tails of exhaust smoke which rose here and there. Warren managed to keep them moving, sometimes resorting to bumper car tactics that sent gear tumbling against Leer and Draga in the back.

Leer checked off and on for bodies in the vehicles they passed. Apparently everyone had made it out of their vehicles, one way or another. 

The traffic pile up seemed to continue interminably. Warren didn't bother considering the chances of muscling through this to the next town. He'd keep going until he couldn't go any further. They'd burn that bridge when they got to it.

That was fine until he spotted the first of 'Romero's Children', as he had mentally dubbed them. From their distance it could have been a 'normal' person, but for the way it moved. Slowly, hesitantly. It wove aimlessly between vehicles. Under more normal circumstances Warren might have taken it for a drunk or a dazed accident survivor.

Warren finished scraping them through a tight spot and stopped. While there was some background noise of idling engines and one or two radios, still he expected the Infected to turn and zero in on them at any moment. With that in mind he ducked his head out the window to speak to Leer without taking his eyes off the wandering figure.

"Probable Infected, our one o clock, thirty yards give or take." He spoke just loud enough to be heard.

Leer drew a pair of mini binos from a pocket of his blouse and stood. As he scanned the traffic ahead, he gave Draga his version of a pep talk.

"Remember to breath. Try not to freeze up. If i tell you to do something, don't ask, just do it."

She took a deep breath. "Right." 

Leer found the Infected with the binos. No doubt about it. Corpulent, bruised, drooling. Clothes noticeably stained with It's own filth. Wonderful.

"Shooting will draw attention if there are others." Leer spoke loudly for Warrens benefit.

Draga groaned to herself, then checked the safety on the MP5.

"That's true. On the other hand, I doubt he'll stand by and watch while we push our way by, assuming we don't become totally stuck by then." Warren replied.

"Right. Going hot." he pocketed the binoculars, unslung his AK and brought it up to his shoulder. He took up a shooting stance, began sighting, then paused.

"Grey, get up here. Watch the shot. If I miss, you let me know where the shot went."




Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 02



It took Draga a second to realize he was talking to her - using her last name. She scrambled up and stood by uncertainly. Leer handed her the binos and directed her to lean forward across the roof of the cab. She rested her elbows on the hot metal of the roof and set about focusing on the zombie-type down range. After taking a moment to settle into the position she spoke up.

"Go."

He must have been ready and waiting. It seemed the rifle cracked deafeningly almost before she had finished speaking. Before it had registered she saw the side of the targets head burst. A spray of blood and brain erupted and dissipated in the breeze. Dragas brow knit as she watched the thing stagger sideways one step before dropping.

She opened her mouth to say 'Good shot', but her breath caught in her throat. The zombie had risen back into view, ruined head and all. There were bits of what Draga could only imagine was brain matter clinging to the things bloody shoulder. 

"Oh, fuck me." she murmured in a sort of disgusted awe.

"That was a hit." Leer said darkly.

"Yeah. This didn't happen in the movies." Draga couldn't seem to pull her gaze from the gruesome spectacle.

"By volume then." Leer declared with a ring of finality to his voice.

Draga dropped the binos and clapped her hands over her ears as Leer put a half dozen rounds down range. The bullets stitched up from the center of the things chest to it's neck and head. There wasn't much neck or head left when the thing dropped this time. 

Draga looked over at Leer, removing her hands from her ears. 

"Think you got him that time?" she asked sarcastically.

"When in doubt..." Leer replied. He leaned toward Warrens window. "Note for future reference: single head-shot may not suffice. Overkill is advised." He checked that Draga had settled in and slapped the roof twice and slid back down to sit next to her. 

"You heard the man," Warren said to Maria as he resumed the tedious task of muscling the truck onward. "Aim for the head and don't be stingy."

Leer found a particular Alice pack and withdrew a package of simple white safety masks. The kind that covered the mouth and nose, protecting against wood dust or soot. He held one out to Draga, then put one on himself. He put the rest back, then opened another of the packs outside pockets and pulled out two pairs of sunglasses. Draga examined the pair he handed her. There was soft padding around the perimeter of the lenses that would rest against the face. 

When they had both adjusted the masks and glasses on their faces, Leer nodded.

"Not the best fashion statement, but according to the news, the guys in the white coats think this zombie shit is spread by bodily fluid. This," he indicated his mask and glasses, "should keep splatter from getting in the obvious ways. 'Course, it won't help much if one sinks its teeth in. You don't have any open cuts or sores, do you?" While she thought, then looked herself over, Leer shifted gear around until he found a sea bag packed with extra clothes. He ferreted around and came up with a couple pairs of military shooting gloves. He handed one pair to Draga and pulled the other on.

"Probably a little big for you. We can find a better fit when we get to town." 

Draga nodded and pulled them on. She had a momentary vision of herself as some sort of mad scientist. Shades and face mask, spiked collar and too-large gloves. She had an urge to hold a hand out, palm up, and say 'scalpel.' Her mind made an associative jump and brought up Dr. Frankenstein from the movies crying 'It's alive!'. Under the circumstances, that ruined it.

She blinked and came back to reality when Leer offered her a bottled water. He made a comment about staying hydrated that reminded her of her father. 

Warren hadn't noticed them until he was passing the little red Honda because they were crouching on the other side of it. As he drove by they rose suddenly to turn sharply toward the sound. A quick glance back revealed the reason they hadn't taken notice of the pickups approach sooner. They had been busy mauling the remains of some unfortunate person or persons. He turned his head and barked a warning.

Leer caught sight of the gore soaked quartet and was already turning, rifle coming up to his shoulder, when Warren sounded the warning. The zombies came scrambling between the Honda and the vehicle in front of it, hellbent on reaching these new victims. The truck was still moving, but from fifteen feet Leers first three shots all hit home. The leading zombies head disintegrated, spraying the one behind it with bone and brain. 

The spray of grey matter apparently blinded the next in line, which tripped over and fell on the first. The two behind carelessly trampled over their comrade in their urgent pursuit of the truck. They made it out from between vehicles and put on a frightening turn of speed. 

It was at this inopportune moment that Warren came to an impasse. He didn't dare try to nudge vehicles aside with Leer and Draga in the back shooting. Maria was turned around looking out the back windshield, cursing Warren and the abandoned traffic jam and zombies and anything else she could think of.

Dragas heart was racing. There was no ringing in her ears - just a constant tone and the cracking thunder of Leers AK. Everything else was distant and muted. She heard Leers rifle again and watched as holes appeared in the nearest zombies chest. Then its mouth was a bloody mess. Then the top of its head. It toppled in mid stride, actually tumbling a few feet before its momentum died. It stopped only a few feet from the back of the truck.

Draga gritted her teeth She was scared, but she was also becoming angry with herself for sitting there with her thumb up her ass while Leer tried to single-handedly defend them. She took a knee, imitating Leer, pulled the MP5 to her shoulder and sighted hastily. Resigning herself to shoot at another living thing, sort of, she remembered what Leer had said. 'When in doubt...'. 

Without really thinking it out, she led the approaching zombie, aiming low, and squeezed the trigger. The thing ran into the stream of bullets. Draga had set the weapon to full automatic. As the zombie came closer the gun rose slightly with each recoil, as she had assumed it would. 

What had once been an attractive young woman in a sun dress, now grotesque in its mindless rage and bloodied finery, took eight 9mm Parabellum rounds. It lurched and collapsed, a shattered left knee refusing to support it. It fell next to Leers last kill, still struggling to move forward, before Draga could manage to make a head-shot. 

She stood and moved forward to lean over the tailgate. The ghoul-girl was clawing at the printed steel bumper, just beginning to push itself up on it's good leg. Draga barely noticed Leer firing again. She waited, sighting down her sub-machine gun, until the thing was standing, then fired point blank down into its face. 

When she made herself let up on the trigger, the thirty round magazine of her weapon was two thirds empty. Looking up she saw that Leer had picked off the zombie that had tripped. Realizing that she was developing tunnel vision she shook her head and scrunched her eyes shut, then looked around. She flinched when Leer clapped her on the shoulder.

"Congratulations. You're not dead." He turned then to speak to Warren. 

Draga turned herself and sat on a footlocker to lean over the side of the truck and see what Maria was saying. Maria was sitting in the window, with her legs in the cab and her hands on the roof. She held the sawed off shotgun in her right hand.

"You okay back there, chica?" 

Draga smiled uncertainly, still getting over the mix of adrenaline and gun smoke in her head. Maria's voice sounded distant. "Yeah, we're okay." she was unsure how loud she was speaking.

Maria smiled. "It'll get easier, girl, don' worry. Jus' hang tough 'n' listen what the Jar Heads say. You be awright." she said sympathetically.

Draga nodded good naturedly. "Thanks Maria."

Then Maria was sliding back into the cab. Warren gave her a succinct run down of the discussion he had just had with Leer. Maria lit a cigarette while she listened, smoked, nodded. 

"You're the experts." somewhat dismissively. Then, "You know I'll follow you." she smiled, teasing him.

"Indeed."

In the back Leer beckoned Draga as he squatted in their olive drab bunker. She sat next to him, swiping at her hair before regarding him expectantly.

"Eject the mag." he hooked a thumb at the MP5 while removing something from a breast pocket of his blouse. When she had done as he said, he took the curved magazine from her and ran a length of orange electric tape around it near the bottom. He then took a fresh, fully loaded mag from a pack and replaced it with the taped magazine. 

"Load that. The nine millimeter doesn't have the same stopping or destructive power as something bigger. Better if you don't have to worry about loading a new magazine under pressure. You'll probably notice it's not full by the weight, but if you're in a hurry the tape will remind you. Nothing like coming to the end of your ammunition early to get you killed."

Draga fitted the magazine, rammed it home with the palm of her hand, and slapped the little charging handle with some satisfaction. 

"You payed attention. Good." Leer commented. "You should practice doing that when we're not on the move. Same with the Sig."

She pulled her dust mask down over her chin. "Will do... Staff Sergeant, was it?"

"Payed too much attention." Leer spoke over the sound of skidding tires as Warren began pushing forward. "We're going to push on as far as we can, but we'll probably have to ditch the old girl and fall out on foot. When we can't go any further we'll have a good meal, divvy up the gear, and head out." He paused to find a water bottle, pull his dust mask down and drink, then continued. "We'll set you up with the lightest pack, but you'll probably be draggin' ass for a while before you get used to it. Regular aches and pains, we've got aspirin, but if anything chafes or you get hot spots from your shoes rubbing, let me know. We'll slap some moleskin on it or figure something else out. You don't wanna end up hiking with blisters on your feet or raw spots on your back from a pack rubbing. You have any medical issues? Allergies, diabetes, asthma?"

Draga watched with interest the way he unobtrusively but continuously scanned the jumble of vehicles around them while he spoke. She shook her head, brushed at her bangs. 

"Nothing that I know of." she replied thoughtfully. "Had my appendix out when I was little."

"One less thing to worry about. While I'm thinking about it, do you have any physical condition that would prevent you walking long distances with a pack?"

She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Other than having no particular desire to do so?"

He smiled, still not looking at her, but scanning their surroundings. "Yeah, smart-ass. Other than that."

"Nope."

Warren gave up. He sighed, put it in park and killed the engine. He slowly turned his head to look at Maria.

"Last stop." 

"Good thing," Maria replied, arching an eyebrow, "You starting to look twitchy, Brujo."

Warren removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, replaced them. Maria started to open her door, paused and glanced back when Warren spoke.

"Gimme a smoke before you go brake the news to the passengers."

Maria fished the half empty pack of Marlboros from her hip pocket and tossed it, along with her lighter, at him before stepping out of the cab. 

It was just shy of noon when Warren found their way blocked off by dense lines of vehicles ahead and on both sides. They had passed one more zombie on their way. This time Leer had waited for the monster to approach, then fired three shots. It stayed down.

When Warren left the cab of the truck and walked back he saw that Maria had climbed up into the bed of the truck to talk to the other two. He dropped the tail gate and sat on it. 

"This is it." he said, obviously directing it at Leer. "We could backtrack a quarter mile or so in reverse, try another way, maybe get farther. I vote to enact Operation Long Walk."

"Yeah, one small problem." 

Warren, cigarette bobbing between his lips, pulled a 'shocked and awed' face. "Just one?"

"Seems Private Grey has no particular desire to march." Leer informed him, apparently in all seriousness.

"Oh, fuck off!" Draga laughed, shoving at Leers legs with one foot. 

Even Warren smiled, if a bit wearily. "Alright, give me the Thompson and I'll walk guard duty while you put together lunch and start repacking. I need to stretch my legs."

Leer shifted things around until he came up with Warrens Thompson gun and a bandolier carrying four extra stick magazines for the weapon. He passed both back to Maria who handed them to Warren. He donned the bandolier and walked slowly off toward the front of the truck, machine gun at the ready.

At Leers suggestion they broke up to relieve themselves, none of them straying too far. When they had all returned, they washed up and dug into the food. They passed around a feast of canned food, leaving the MREs to be opened and sorted into the packs they would carry on the road ahead. There were green beans, corn, Bumblebee tuna, Vienna sausages, B&M baked beans, and tomato soup. There was also a can of fruit cocktail, a jar of peanut butter and a box of Ritz crackers. 

Leer seemed to eat less than the others, and while the rest were still eating he was sorting through the rest of their gear. When they were finished eating Warren and Maria each enjoyed a leisurely cigarette. Draga was thinking of practicing removing and reloading the magazine in her MP5 when Leer began tossing things at people. 

Draga, picking up on a new fashion craze, had left her panties in a hamper that morning in favor of a pair of Leers pt shorts. Otherwise she was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing for three days. She got a camouflage fatigue ensemble to go with the pt shorts. While she preferred jeans, she was happy to change into something clean. While she was rolling up the overlong sleeves of the blouse Leer plopped a garrison cover onto her head. 

Leaving Draga to adjust Leer sized cammies for herself, Leer gave Maria a similar treatment. Warren, like Leer, was already decked out in woodland cammies. He stood beside the truck and hauled an Alice pack over and had Leer pass him various articles to pack into it. By the time both women were more or less satisfied with their new clothes the men had packs loaded for them. They also had neat little piles of various and sundry goods intended for their many new pockets.

Maria wore the heavy leather gunbelt from which hung the holster for her .357 as well as a leather sheathed buck knife. The other three snapped on cartridge belts complete with full canteens, and, where possible, the proper magazine pouches. Draga got a machete to hang at her left hip. Warren, who would pass up a demonstration of samurai swordplay for a chance to disassemble a World War One Maxim machine gun, nonetheless had a certain fondness for a huge khukri he had picked up during a visit to Africa. 

Maria opted to leave her shotgun in favor of the M-16 they had brought along for her. She didn't have many shells or a holster of any kind for the shotgun anyway. To Leers mild surprise she checked the safety and breach, ejected the magazine and reseated it, all immediately upon receiving the rifle. Well, maybe Warren wasn't all wrong about her, he thought.

Warren shouldered his A-pack, now with rolled foam mat strapped on top and an old military sleeping bag on bottom. He then amused himself by giving Maria some unnecessary help with a similar pack. Leer shrugged into what looked like an over-sized cammo backpack. It held a two liter camelpak bladder, but also had two separate, full sized zippered sections and a number of pockets and loops for web gear on the outside. True to his word he handed Draga what was by far the smallest and lightest pack, another camelpak. This one held 1.5 liters and had just two half size zipper pockets besides the bladder. 

"You sure?" she asked Leer. "I mean, I know I'm the smallest, but you guys are carrying like four times what I am."

Leer smiled. "Shh. Speak up and Mr. Murphy might notice. Now turn around."

She looked at him as if he were showing distinct signs of dementia before turning. 

He slid the straps of the camelpak off her shoulders and set it on the ground. "I wasn't quite done." he explained as he clipped a buttpack onto the back of her cartridge belt. He helped her with the little military suspenders to help support the belt, then gave her back the camelpack. 

He looked her over, grunted. "Not exactly a regulation haircut, not to mention the brightwork needs Brasso. Tuck those bangs up under the cover."

"Try that middle part in English." she said darkly, brushing her hair back and adjusting the slightly overlarge garrison cover. 

"Later." he turned away to retrieve his rifle, then walked off around the truck. He spared his pickup a last look, then strode past Warren and Maria. 

"Let's go."



Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 03



Leer led them between vehicles to the shoulder of the highway. Warren waited and waved Maria and Draga by, opting to bring up the rear. At his suggestion they spaced out several yards.

"Don't want to be bunched up if we're set upon by more of Romeros Children. No room to fight, could end up drilling each other."

No one bothered questioning him about the colorful nickname.

They filed off into the pine woods, walking parallel to the road. The pines had been there a long time. When they were several yards in from the shoulder of the highway little direct sunlight reached the ground through the high branches, which made for very little undergrowth. The scents of pine and the mouldering needles underfoot replaced exhaust fumes and warming blacktop as the dominant smells. Birdcall and the occassional chatter of a squirrel drowned out the idling of engines. 

Rather a pleasant afternoon, aside from some irritating attention from the first mosquitoes of the season.

The afternoon wore into evening. Leer called a halt just as the sun first touched the horizon, turning the sky a roiling orange. As it sank, the group made camp, such as it was, for the night. 

It had occured to Draga while they marched that they were only carrying two sleeping bags amongst them. Given Warren and Leers apparent experience and confidence she hadn't bothered bringing it up. When Warren had laid them out, along with the foam mat he had brought, the explanation became apparent. Sort of.

Both sleeping bags were outdated military deals that zipped all the way around three sides. Warren simply unzipped both completely, spreading them flat, and laid one atop the other. He wedged the foam mat partially under one short end of them like a makeshift community pillow. Draga eyed it skeptically.

"Um. That's still a little small for four people, isn't it?" she inquired.

"Yes," Leer answered. He still stood, having not yet even removed his pack. He gave the impression of certain animals. The way he stood. The lack of expression on his face. Like something predatory, not straining to hear or see, but infinitely receptive and aware of what was there to be noticed. Somewhere between a wolf and a bird of prey.

He glanced over at her. "We'll take turns standing watch. Only three people sleeping at once."

"Oh. Right." 

It seemed Warlock and the Iceman, as Maria often called them, had a well thought out reason for just about everything. They were bedding down at the foot of a particularly large boled pine so that on the off chance that several zombies, or normal humans for that matter, attacked them, they couldn't be completely surrounded. Like having ones back to a wall, which is better than having an enemy behind you.

They put their packs up near the head of their makeshift bed. Wouldn't want to trip over them in the dark. Dinner was cold MRE packets because a fire might draw attention. The rubbish from the meal was sealed in a ziploc bag. Warren made sure they all had their ponchos where they could retreive them quickly in the event of rain. 

After the meal Maria sparked up a cigarette. Warren waited from the time she fished the lighter out of her pocket and smiled faintly when Leers eyes flitted back momentarily. He didn't say anything though. Hell, Warren thought, he's probably itching for a real ugly, up close and personal, life and death fight. 

Not that he was a bloodthirsty psycho. He didn't look for fights. He took no pleasure in the act of killing. But the fighting... to say that Leer was good at fighting was like saying Hillary was good at climbing. It was his element. He fought, Warren smiled to himself at the oddly apt comparison, like Bob Ross painted. Content and seemingly without effort.

It turned out that the sleeping bag bed was still a bit small for three grown people, much as Draga had suspected it would be. She opted to sleep at one end. Not that she was terribly uncomfortable with sleeping between Maria and Warren, but they had a history of sleeping together anyway. She was a little releived that they had no intention of stripping down to better pool body heat. It wasn't that cold.

The horrors of the past week vied for attention in her unoccupied mind. She drew the earbuds of her ipod from a breast pocket and tried to clear her mind with the help of some music. Moments later, eyes closed, she was whispering along to 'Machines', by Ghost of Matsubara, without realizing it. 

"...from this scientific creature 

a billion blind biospheres beckoning 

breath in

now scream

'cause anything anyone told you was only 

a dream

and so it seems

we're not gonna need these machines..."

She hummed along to one more song before pausing the ipod. Warren was already asleep and Maria and Draga were out within a couple minutes. 

Each of the four spent a couple hours on watch during the night. The temperature dipped down into the upper 40s, but they slept soundly, packed like sardines between their sleeping bags. Leer had set the alarm on his watch for 5 am and woke the others when it went off. Draga was already up, having been awakened earlier to serve the last watch. 

After dispersing breifly to releive themselves, they took a few minutes to brush their teeth and repack. It was still dark, but Leer suggested it would be better to make some distance before the day heated up. They could always take a longer break for lunch when it was warmer. Leer split a Snickers bar with Draga, while Warren and Maria split a water bottle of instant coffee and a cigarette. Maria expressed a strong suspicion that the coffee was a mix of rust and rat shit. 

With Leer walking point and Warren bringing up the rear again they resumed the trek. They followed a bit closer together than the day before until the sky began to lighten and they could see better. 

The group stopped twice before lunch time. The first time was Leers call. He wanted to make sure everyone was drinking some water. The women took the opportunity to sit for a minute and rest their legs.

The second time Draga had spoken up. One of her heels was beginning to rub and she thought she might be developing a blister. They all took the opportunity to drink and releive themselves if necessary. Leer cut out a moleskin patch and made sure it felt better when Draga walked. 

When they stopped for lunch Leer left them to check the road. A few minutes later he returned with news. It seemed the road was clear. Assumedly there had been an accident that caused the pile up back the way they'd come from. This far from it, either motorists had managed to turn around, or authorities had brought in trucks to tow abandoned vehicles away. One hoped the passengers of the vehicles still sitting in the pile up had left on foot and eventually found some safe refuge. None of the group considered this at any length. They knew very well that not everyone had made it out alive.

Breif discussion and a consensus determined that they would return to the road until evening. They marched along the shoulder of the road, sweating in the sun, but generally thankful for the level ground. 

Leer led them back off into the woods as dusk came on. When they had laid out the bedding, Draga, Maria and Warren sat on it to eat. Leer squatted against a tree facing them. Draga found something called Wheat Snack Bread to be something of a challenge to eat without adding water. Warren noticed her expression and nodded.

"'S actually Dwarf Bread," he commented. "They use it as an emergency replacement for the ceramic plates in military bullet proof armor. Or to boost morale."

She smiled faintly, regarded him. "To boost morale?" 

Warren nodded knowingly. "Men will march a long way to find something else to eat when theres only Dwarf Bread left."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Guys got a story for everything, eh?"

"Just about."

"And what about you?" Draga said looking up at Leer. "Feeling anti-social?"

Before Leer could say anything, Warren cut him off. "He's watching our backs. Most people can't maintain these little habits. He can't turn them off."

Draga slowly turned to look over her shoulder, miming wide eyed dread. She thought she heard Maria stifle a laugh. When she turned back she gave out a muffled cry of shock. She backpeddled with her feet, ruffling the bedding under her before she caught up with her eyes. Leer had somehow moved from the tree he had been squatting against to squat just in front of and between Draga and Warren. When she had turned back he had been leaning forward, his face less than a foot from hers.

"What the-" she began, looking angry. Her expression changed a little and she finished with, "How the fuck?"

Now Maria was definitely trying to stifle laughter.

Leer gave Draga an innocent, 'who, me?' look. "Just being sociable." 

"Jee, thanks." she muttered sarcastically. She rubbed at a spot on her chest just below her throat where the MP5 had thumped her when she jolted backward.

Leer walked back and leaned against the tree. 

"If we make good time we should get into Beaulaville by noon tomorrow. We'll stop at the first place that might have bottled water. Rather not trust the tap water if we can help it."

"Told you he couldn't turn it off." Warren commented.

The night passed uneventfully. It was a bit warmer than the night before. The mosquitoes were worse. Warren had last watch and snorted to himself when, not long before Leers alarm went off, he happened to glance down. Leer lay on his back in the middle with Maria curled up against him on the left and Draga on the right, her face nestled against his chest. 

When they had all risen and done with the morning rituals, breakfast was the same as the day before. They ate, drank and smoked as they trudged out to the road and began the last leg of the journey to Beulaville. 

Draga could tell immediately that the muscles in her legs were not happy with the state of things. And her lower back felt like the muscles were on the edge of locking up even though her pack had grown even lighter as they emptied the water bladder. Once out on the shoulder of the highway she paused to stretch, whimpering a bit overdramatically. 

'Oh, come on.' she thought pitifully. 'Even my ass is sore. Literally.'

Warren, bringing up the rear as usual, came up to ask if she was alright.

"Just," she groaned, bending forward, "a little sore." 

"Alright, here, give me this. And that." Warren took her pack and submachine gun. "Now go ahead and stretch."

Maria spoke to Leer and they waited. Maria set her pack down and leaned her rifle against it to bend over and touch her toes while they waited. When Draga felt slightly more flexible she took her things back from Warren. He gave her a couple Ibuprofen he had dug out while waiting. She shrugged. 

"Couldn't hurt." she downed them with a slug of water. "Giddy up." she mumbled

"You'll feel a little better when you've warmed your muscles back up." Warren assured her as they resumed walking.

"I hate rain." Maria complained as the dark clouds which had been gathering all morning loosed the first drops around ten. 

It was miserable. The rain raised the humidity without seeming to lower the temperature at all. There was none of the breeze they had enjoyed the past couple of days. Thankfully Leer had stopped them half an hour before to put on ponchos. 

"There better be a bar in this Beulaville." Maria continued darkly.

They slogged on.

It was raining harder than ever when they reached Beaulaville. Leer called back down the line, warning them to stay alert. He led up the middle of the road, stopping in front of the first building they came to; a Scotchman gas station/convenience store. 

The lighted signs outside the station were all on, as well as the neon open sign in the window, but there wasn't a single vehicle either parked or at the pumps. As they came to the entrance and scanned through the windowed storefront, the room beyond appeared empty. It occured to Leer then that it might have been prudent to give the women a crash course on urban warfare and specifically on clearing rooms before they left his house. He decided they could remedy the oversight when they had cleared and secured the premises.

"Maria, check behind the counter, then the back door. Draga, check the restroom. I'll clear everything on the left. Masks and glasses." Leer spoke quickly over his shoulder. He didn't bother to check that Warren would know what to do.

With that Leer pulled the door wide and moved quickly inside. Maria hurriedly donned mask and glasses, then strode in behind him. She sidled around the front counter, her upper body tight, molding around her M-16. She kept her head tilted down close to the weapon so that if she had to fire suddenly she would hit whatever she was looking at. Having noticed the way Leer was moving, she kept her knees bent and took short, quick steps. 

Draga followed, likewise mimicing Leer, though she felt a bit silly doing so. She gripped the handle of her MP-5 tightly, finger on the trigger. The restroom door was slightly ajar, and without thinking about it she kicked it inward with her right foot. Holding her breath she stepped back immediately, tensed in anticipation. The restroom was empty. Draga blinked, continued staring for a couple seconds, then looked around unsurely.

Meanwhile Leer had moved forward, checking down each of the aisles running to the far end of the room. Someone, or quite possibly multiple someones, had ransacked the place. There were bags of chips, cans and various other bits of junk food strewn on the floor. He could see a jumble of plastic cups on the floor in front of the slushy machine on the counter against the far wall. When he reached the last aisle, the right side of which was a line of cooler doors, he moved down it. 

With the room cleared, he tested the door leading into the narrow room from which the cooler racks were stocked. The stockroom proved similarly inocuous and uninhabited. He had started back up the drink aisle when a shot sounded. Hurrying to rejoin the others, he found Maria leaning against the closed rear exit. Draga stood a few feet away, looking worried. When he glanced to where Warren stood near the front entrance Warren shrugged.

Maria cursed breifly in spanish, then smiled apologetically. "Just a fuckin' stray cat. Jump the shit out of me."

Leer stared for a moment, then nodded. 

They locked both the front and back doors, then gathered around the checkout counter. 

"I don't want to be out in the rain when it gets really dark out, but I don't like all the windows here either. We load up on water and grab a few things for supper tonight, then head back out. We'll take the first defensible house we come to." Leer kept the powow short.

What bottled water there was went into Leer and Dragas camelpaks. The canteens they filled with Gatorade for the time being. In preperation for the coming meal they took from the already depleted stock two half sized cans of Beanie Weenies, four little fruit cups, a sleeve of crackers, a can of spam and a box of Twinkies, which had, for some reason, not been pilfered. 'Official Junk Food of the Apokalypse,' Draga thought. 

The food stowed, the four adjusted their poncho hoods and filed back out into the rain. They made their way diagonally across the street to the empty driveway of a large two story home. The house was covered in new siding, but old paint peeled from the cinderblock foundation. At the end of the driveway stood a seperate prefab aluminium outbuilding. Seeing the lock on the door, Leer didn't bother checking, but climbed a few steps onto the deck to check the house.

Finding the door unlocked Leer motioned Maria to follow him in. He handed her a little LED flashlight, then pulled on a headlamp. What little light had been filtering down through the rain clouds was fading. The house was bound to be dark.

"I go in, cut right, cover the room. You come in quick, check the left." He glanced back further to where Draga stood glancing around, trying to detect any movement in the shadows. "Grey, you follow me once we're inside. Don't shoot me in the back."

"Right." Draga replied, annoyed. A few days ago she had never handled a submachine gun in her life. Now she was feeling a twinge of indignation at the implication that she might inadvertantly shoot one of her traveling companions in the back.

The extraneous thoughts fled her mind as Leer swung the door wide, disappearing into the house. She took a deep breath, feeling the beginning of an adrenaline rush, not quite as potent as when they had entered the Scotchman. In the next moment Maria was inside, sweeping the beam of her flashlight in a shaky arch. Draga forced herself to breath again as she stepped across the threshold.

Her eyes were drawn to the light from Leers headlamp. She moved, her back against the wall, to stand near where the light played on Leers poncho. There was a click and the women squinted in the sudden light. Leer had closed his eyes before trying the lights. He blinked them slowly, scanning the room. 

They appeared to be in a den. It was a large room. A small fireplace in the middle of the wall to their left. Sofa and heavy coffee table in the middle of the room. Full Bookshelf against the right wall. One doorway in each wall. No zombies.

And the lights worked. 

Maria and Leer pocketed their lights. Leer turned to Draga and nodded to their right.

"Front porch through there. Don't shoot back into the house if you can help it. Go." That said, he brought his weapon up again and started off toward the doorway in the far wall. 

Maria watched him a moment, then shook her head faintly. She lit a cigarette and took a deep pull before moving into the hallway to their left. A switch halfway down the hall lit a bare bulb overhead. She dropped the cigarette and ground it out underfoot, sure that with her luck the smoke would bother her eyes just as some driveling ghoul came staggering out of the woodwork. Her next step fell on a creaky board and she just managed to keep from squeezing tight the trigger of her rifle. Fighting back an urge to unload a few rounds into the floor, just to relieve tension, she moved quickly into the next room.

Draga, meanwhile, decided not to give her nerves any more opportunity to get worse. Both eyes open, vaguely using the sights of her weapon, she strode out into the front porch. She kept her face close to the weapon, moving her upper body as one unit to scan the room. Hanging plants and a couple old wooden rocking chairs layered with afgans. Before moving on she checked to make sure the door opening onto the front yard was locked. 

That done, she moved slowly back into the house, entering the room Leer had been headed for moments ago. It turned out to be a kitchen. Bright flourescent lights now hummed faintly overhead. Draga groaned when she noticed the cupboards standing open, trash, canned food and cleaning products strewn across the beige linoleum floor. Maybe it was just a mess left by the previous inhabitants packing and leaving in a hurry. Maybe.

On the bright side, it looked like there might be a few things worth eating, once they had checked the place over thoroughly. A 'Leer thought.' Something she would have expected her father to point out.

Beyond the kitchen she found Leer. To the right was a small room housing a washing machine and dryer set as well as a linen closet. To the left, a bathroom. He had already checked both, and with a few silent gestures the two proceeded down a short hallway. A few feet further on the left was a carpeted stair leading up to the second story. Pausing at the foot of the stair they found no switch anywhere to illuminate the stairs. None dismayed, Leer withdrew his headlamp from a pocket and tightened the elastic band a bit before applying it to Dragas head and clicking it on. He mimed 'eyes open' and pointed up the stairs, then continued down the hall.




Anno Viventes Mortuae Ch. 03



Leer had taken two steps when the sound of a gunshot roared from somewhere closer to the rear of the house. That would be Maria, but it wasn't her rifle. A second report from her pistol followed a couple seconds later. Then quiet. He glanced back to where Draga still stood and was mildly surprised to find her steadfastly watching the stairs. He nodded to himself and continued quickly down the hall.

One more doorway on the right opened into a bedroom. It took him a moment to find the switch, which thankfully revealed nothing particularly dangerous. A bed in the far right corner, left unmade. Womens clothes strewn across the floor from an open closet. Before leaving the room, Leer crossed to an open window to close and lock it. 

The next door was the back door of the house, where the hall turned off to the left. He checked that it was locked, gave it a yank. Solid enough for the time being. He caught a faint movement down the hall to the left, began to raise his rifle when Maria flicked a switch and light flared on overhead. She waved her left hand breifly in greeting. Leer could see the light glinting on high velocity spatter on the front of the womans jacket. Her rifle was slung over a shoulder and she held her .357 in her right hand. A look at her gunbelt told him she had reloaded after firing.

"You alright?" he asked, pulling the shades down his nose to get a better look at her. There were no obvious signs she had suffered any bites or scratches.

"Fine." she sounded shaky. "It just surprised me. I cracked it with the rifle butt without thinking, let go and pulled the pistol. Stuck it right up under his chin. Then put another one through his neck even though 'is ugly head was already half gone. He didn't even get a chance to touch me, so you can stop eyeballin' me like that."

Leer waited, decided she was done, nodded. "Good. Whats on that side of the house?"

"Hallway. Bedroom. Has it's own bathroom. Nothing special. Well, and a mess of headless zombie in the bathroom doorway." she added the last bit in an apologetic tone.

"No open windows or doors to the outside?"

"No."

"Fine. Go tell Locke the ground floor is clear and I'm taking Grey upstairs with me." 

While Warren and Maria double checked that all the doors and windows on the ground floor were secured, Leer ran Draga through the basics of clearing rooms upstairs. There were two bedrooms, a small library and two long rooms being used for storage. The inner reaches of these storage rooms were hidden in the mounds and stacks of boxes, bags, crates and miscellaneous loose items. To Draga's great relief, they found no more 'infected'.

A special lock box with a contoured, felt padded interior lay open on the bed in one of the bedrooms. It obviously once held a handgun and a number of bullets at one time. Judging by the size, a .45. 

"Somebody made it out, huh?" Draga observed.

"Good luck to them." Leer muttered, glancing under the bed. 

Leer had them search the upstairs rooms top to bottom before going back downstairs. Twenty minutes later they were stuffing what useful swag they had uncovered into a large duffel bag from a bedroom closet. Maria leaned into the doorway, cigarette between her lips, revolver again in her hand.

"Thought maybe you two really had decided to enjoy some privacy." she smiled when they looked up. "No more dead heads?"

Leer zipped the duffel bag and stood. "No." As an afterthought, he pulled a blanket and sheet from the bed and draped them over Draga's shoulders. The pillows he tossed at Maria, who quickly holstered her sidearm and danced about to catch them without knocking the cigarette from her mouth.

"Ah, marricone!" she laughed.

Back downstairs Warren had evidently been busy. The sofa was moved back several feet, almost touching the bookcase against the wall behind it. In the space between it and the coffee table Warren had laid out their sleeping bags. He had also started a fire in the little fire place, despite the storm not having killed the power yet. As Leer and Draga set down their packs, blankets and things, Warren returned from tying strings of empty soda cans to all the doorknobs.

Having turned off all the lights in the house and drawn all the curtains, they lit one table lamp, setting it on the coffee table. Draga and Maria dumped their respective bedding burdens on the couch. Leer and Warren drug arm chairs up at either end of the table and the women knelt on the sleeping bags. Draga smiled to herself for a moment, imagining a group of pirates gathering around a table to divvy up pillaged treasure. She blinked away an image of Maria in a peasant blouse with an eye patch, flourishing a cutless, when Leer began lifting things out of the duffel bag.

While Leer set things out on one side of the table, Warren began handing out food. It wasn't exactly a balanced meal, but they were too hungry and tired to be picky. 

From upstairs Leer had garnered fishing line, a pair of like-new boots, a package of latex gloves, a half full bottle of prescription antibiotics, batteries, several pairs of boot socks and an unopened pint bottle of cheap vodka. When her hands were free, he handed the boots to Draga to try on. A pair of the boot socks went into each of their packs. The bag, with the rest of it's contents, went under the coffee table to be sorted in the morning. 

Not interested in looking for clean shot glasses in the dark kitchen, Leer cracked the seal on the vodka and lifted the bottle.

"Cheers." he said unenthusiastically. He took a swallow, grimaced, breathed out fumes. He held the bottle out to Maria, who knelt closest to him.

"Still cutting loose, eh?" she finished a fruit cup and set down the empty plastic. Taking the bottle she lifted it as Leer had, smiling. "To our survival... and getting out of the rain." She tipped the bottle up. After chugging down a couple fingers worth, she brought the bottle back down, dribbling a bit down her chin. Her eyes watering, she grabbed a canteen to chase the vodka with some water. When she had finished and set the canteen down she noticed Draga cracking up and joined her, laughing at herself.

Handing the bottle to Draga she fished cigarette and lighter from a pocket. She stopped herself at the last second and made quite sure she had cleaned herself up and wasn't breathing fumes before sparking the lighter. Draga held the bottle, still trying to stop giggling. Finally she lifted the bottle, glancing around at her companions. 

"To... good company... in which to live or die..." she favoured Warren with a sly smile, "...and George Romero, for giving us some mental preperation." With that she managed three swallows before setting the bottle on the table, squinting and coughing on fumes. Smiling sympathetically, Maria handed over her canteen.

Warren, smiling mildly, lifted the bottle, waiting for Draga to regain her composure. 

"Interesting times." he intoned solemnly before knocking back a swallow.

Leer chuckled, shaking his head. The women booed good naturedly, laughing again. 

"Bad taste, Brujo," Maria admonished around her cigarette. 

While they finished the meal, they found things to chat about to fill the silence. Leer mentioned the library upstairs to Warren. Draga began teaching Maria a couple basic phrases in a Romani dialect. Warren and Leer discussed a basic plan of action for the following day. The proposal to spend a day relaxing in the house and waiting to see what the weather would do was met with enthusiastic support. They would sort through the leavings in the kitchen and better search the rest of the house for anything useful after a leisurely nights sleep.

Leer took the first watch. The others left their long guns on the coffee table, taking their handguns to bed with them. Draga stripped down to her new OD green skivvies, laying blouse and trousers in a crumpled mass atop her shoes. Unable to bring herself to sleep in the blankets from upstairs, despite the sofa being quite comfortable, she slid between the familiar sleeping bags on the floor. Maria followed suit, coiling her gunbelt and laying it on the floor next to where Draga had set her Sig, before sliding in next to her. After pulling it back next to the couch, Warren stretched back a bit in a recliner, not bothering to undress.

Sated, warm, with the rain outside and the faint crackle of the fire nearby, the three were soon fast asleep.



"Good morning?"

Draga stirred, slowly moving to rub the sleep from her eyes. Blinking them open she saw that Maria was watching her over a shoulder. It dawned on her that she had ended up spooning Maria. It also occured to her that they could both do with a shower. She rolled back a bit, smiling sheepishly. 

"Morning." She stretched her arms over her head, yawning. She caught the smell of freshly brewed coffee and inhaled deeply. Sitting up, she saw that Leer sat cross legged across the coffee table from them. He had one of their rifles in pieces on the tabletop, cleaning and oiling it. He pointed with what looked like a little green toothbrush at two steaming mugs on their side of the table.

"Locke served coffee. He's playing short order cook in the kitchen now." He began reassembling what turned out to be Marias M-16. "One of you might check to make sure he's not burning the house down."

Draga, remembering the increasingly unstable state of reality leading to her current situation felt a bit unnerved by her companions' seemingly lackadaisical behavior. She glanced around as if expecting Infected, standing ready to bang on the windows and doors on cue. Then she noticed Leers sidearm on the tabletop, within inches of his hand. She relaxed some, accepting one of the mugs from Maria.

By early afternoon they had all eaten and showered. Having wrapped themselves in sheets or towels from a linen closet, they put all their clothes through the washer and dryer. An armload of canned food had been distributed amongst their packs. It was still drizzling rain intermittently, but the clouds were not so dark as the day before. 

Draga voiced concerns about the possibility of contagion lingering on, among other things, their makeshift togas. Leer reminded her that if it were that easy to catch, she should have contracted it after her close call the evening they met. Warren further suggested that there was a fair chance one or more of them happened to be resistant or immune to the infection. She assumed they were just trying to ease her mind, until Leer told her she should try to find some suitable clothes, or at least some extra socks.

While they were at it, the four of them decided to give the whole place a more leisurely looking at now that they were a little less stressed. There was little of use they hadn't already discovered. While the others hunted around Leer checked the radio. There were emergency broadcasts looping on a couple local stations. The others were all down. 

Switching to AM he got all sorts of chatter. When Warren and the girls eventually made their way back to the den Leer gave them a rundown of the latest news. It was largely redundant. Stay indoors. Lock your doors. Kiss your ass goodbye. That sort of thing.

The National Guard had been called in. The rather low percent who answered the call and showed up were dispatched to key points. Hospitals, power plants, exits and entrances of major cities. Those in more rural areas were attempting to round up survivors. Major cities on the East Coast had reportedly deteriorated into hellish death traps. Since the spread of the disease on the West Coast had not progressed as far, it was theorized that ground zero was either on the East Coast or had arrived there from overseas. 

Technically martial law had not yet been declared, but it was generally agreed that it was only a matter of time. The Navy was locking down all port activity. Airports and major bus lines were likewise frozen. Army and Marine Corps units had been scrambled to assume control at Customs lines on the borders with Canada and Mexico, as well as to defend the CDC and similar facilities which might prove useful in fighting the Infection. Units from every branch of the military were being shipped into the capitol, minus a percentage which had already gone AWOL. 

"Weather is supposed to clear up tomorrow. All in favor of crashing here again tonight and leaving in the morning, rain or shine?" Leer posed.

Three hands rose.