Wednesday, January 28, 2007

Buffy tapped her foot and positively glared at the rental car lady. It was bad enough that they’d circled around Los Angeles for hours upon hours, but then they ended up having to detour to San Francisco after the FAA decided that all flights to and from Los Angeles were cancelled. It was even worse that she had no luggage, no clean clothes, and she was still wearing the slightly ripped clothing that she had fought in yesterday.

‘Or was that two days ago?’ Between zombie hordes, plane delays, and runaway sisters she had lost all track of time. Add in time zone issues, and she thought it might be Wednesday…

The deaths of Giles and so many other friends seemed like a bad dream. She would mourn later. For now, she had to at least pretend she was the strong General that everyone expected her to be.

Of course, all of that paled next to the newest disaster that she was facing.

In a style honed by the now eldest Slayer, she narrowed down the entire world to something tacky, yet unimportant. Coping mechanisms aside, it was a tragedy in the making anyway. “Are you sure ‘those’ are the only vehicles left we can rent?”

There were no SUV’s, no luxury vehicles, not even an ugly station wagon or two - just three monstrous, scary, and downright ugly mini-vans … with faux wood paneling. She was so going to kill Dawn.

Of course that would be right after she killed Andrew. She was seriously wigging here. After her brief meltdown, when she realized that her sister was lost in the middle of zombie-infested Los Angeles and there was no way at all to find her, she had flipped. Despite repeated dialing of the cell phone, she kept getting that evil recording ‘I’m sorry all circuits are currently busy.’ To top it all off, not one single Watcher or Slayer had any witchy ability, and her contacts in Los Angeles? Well, the last time she checked, Angel – with a soul – was up to no good.

It wasn’t that hard to believe. Her time in heaven had shown her a few truths that she hadn’t wanted to admit when she first came back. Little tidbits about which vamp had watched over her friends and family while she was dead and which vamp liked to randomly erase her memory of things he didn’t like. ‘Strange thing about Heaven – erased memories suddenly came back.’

It was hard to know what to believe after she was ripped from paradise. Everything was so confusing, so hard, bright, and painful all at the same time. Logically, she knew the truth about Spike and Angel, but the part of her that clung to heaven, also clung to her childhood fantasies and old beliefs.

If she didn’t admit the truth to herself, then somehow everything would turn out all right. It would be like she had never died, like nothing had ever changed.

What could she say – she wasn’t the only one in the group that seriously needed to see a shrink.

Of course to add insult to injury, Angel tried it again! Not only did the vamp boink Darla, but then she had to find out about his son from Willy the Snitch!

He’d thought no one would remember, but she had taken precautions after the Willow memory fiasco. Having her memory erased once by Angel was terrible, but at least she hadn’t found out about it until after she was dead.

Having her memory erased a second time by an out of control witch? No way was she leaving herself that vulnerable to anyone ever again. It had cost her about a week’s worth of grocery money, but Anya had managed to come through as usual with her e-Bay sources. One mystical and magical doo-hickey later and Buffy’s memory was tamper-proof!

Of course, the need for said doo-hickey was confirmed when she felt someone trying to tamper with her memory the third time. Some brief calls and idle threats lead her to the conclusion it was Angel, and somehow no one else remembered his son.

It was beyond disturbing.

Still, she played along. The good friend, the strong slayer, the forlorn Juliet, until her world was destroyed and her real chance of happiness went up in flames.

Was it any wonder that when Andrew had squeakingly confessed that Dawn was probably in Los Angeles because she found out that Spike was alive, it took three Slayers to restrain her? ‘I wasn’t going to hurt the twerp that much’

Fuming, she fantasized about her reunion with Spike. She was so kicking his ass when she saw him! How dare he not tell her he was back! ‘I wonder if they have a training room with those comfy mats?’

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Willow’s mouth fell open at the sight in front of her: Graham Miller had just dumped an unconscious Riley Finn at her feet. Several thoughts flashed through her mind at once and she wasn’t sure which one should receive priority. 1) She hadn’t been aware of, nor was she pleased to learn that the Initiative had ongoing operations in Rio. 2) Whatever was responsible for driving two of the Initiatives operates to seek out the Council could not be good. 3) At least it was Riley and Graham. 4) Why was Riley tied up? and 5) Why did the scene in front of her give her interesting day dreams?

Before she could stop herself, the most inappropriate of the thoughts slipped out. “Kinky much?” she blurted.

Of course the remark just had to be spoilt by her slight blush and the death glare that Graham sent her. ‘Oh, well, it was worth it’

All amusement was pushed aside as Graham began to explain the sequence of events which led them here. Her anger simmered when she found out about Maria’s capture and the subsequent experimentations upon her. Outrage followed when she found out the girl had died, and horror swept through her as she realized the implications. Slayers were not immune, and the creature that Maria had become had killed Riley’s wife. Shock was the least of what she was feeling when she realized that Riley had then attempted to kill Graham, forcing Graham to knock him out.

“But why?” she asked.

They both jumped as Riley’s hoarse voice filled the air. “Because the bastard shot my wife.”

Graham just looked pissed at the comment. “Gee, Riley, maybe I shot her because she was trying to eat your brains! She was a zombie! You know Sam would never have wanted her body used like that.”

Willow buried her head in her hands. In the space of a few minutes her world had seriously altered. The riots in England, France, and California were not terrorists or magical attacks, but some form of zombies that the Council had never seen before.

The Initiative had several extensive files that Graham had laid on her desk at the beginning of the conversation and Willow began flipping through them while the soldiers were arguing.

Her mentor and introduction into the world of supernatural was no more. It had hit her hard, causing her to retreat into her bedroom until Kennedy had insisted that the girls needed her. She dragged herself out of the room only to discover a larger problem with the Initiative.

Now she was going numb. It was too much. Her life had never been innocence; living on a Hellmouth with a Slayer as a best friend had seen to that. But her losses—Tara, Buffy, and now Giles—were causing a fundamental shift inside of her. She was outraged by the mounting death toll and horrified by the idea of zombies, but everything seemed to blur into meaningless confusion. Who was it who said one death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic?


The main office of the Council had been blown up, Buffy and Andrew were unreachable since their first frantic phone call, and scores of Council employees were dead in one fashion or the other. It seemed like the world was ending – her world, at least, certainly had.

It was too much. Everyone was dying and here were two best friends arguing about one more senseless death, when the information they brought her might be the only chance they had to start fighting back.

She looked up and realized that the last part had slipped out and both Riley and Graham were staring at her, looking slightly ashamed. “There will be time to grieve later” she stated and both men nodded.

Kennedy moved to untie a now docile Riley while Willow continued to process the information.

The news that Slayers could become zombies was horrific. According to one report, the Slayers took around four days to turn, rather then the 24 hours that regular humans faced. The idea that the zombies retained Slayer strength and skills were a nightmare of epic proportions.

‘What do we do now?’

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

U.S.M.C General Langford
Slayer Squadron 4C
July 5th, 2017

The world changed post-zed. It wasn’t just one thing, or even a series of things, but it was more like everything changed at once.

Even the language changed. Everyone got tired of saying ‘before the zombie invasion’ and ‘after the zombie invasion.’ We tried to call it World War Z but the mocking vampire got tiresome. Eventually, we caved to the British contingent and just called it pre and post-zed. Go figure!

Don’t even get me started on the infusion of military speak into everyday lingo. Fighting became routine for everyone. It didn’t matter if you were slayer, watcher, witch, the boy or the demon next door. The zombies wouldn’t stop because you were a civilian. They kept coming and coming. Martial law was eventually declared but the armies of the world were completely hopeless. They fought it like a traditional war. They couldn’t understand that you had to fight with your brain, not your might. Overwhelming numbers didn’t matter, it was just more troops for the enemy. By the time the governments wised up, it was almost too late. But that’s the thing about Slayers. We never give up, we never surrender, and we never admit defeat.

We are the Chosen ones.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The demon felt her presence before he saw her. It was malicious, creeping and crawling through the streets, her dark aura seeking, searching, and destroying. It felt like pure evil, and coming from a demon, that was saying something. Of course he had never been like others. He was too nice, too caring, and made friends too easily. He had always hated the stereotypes that creatures placed on each other. What did it matter if you were human, vampire, or demon?

She walked into view. It was one of those fast zombies that he had seen roaming the streets. Her upper body seemed to be intact, long blond hair framing an incredibly beautiful face, however, her shirt was soaked with blood and it appeared that something had taken a chunk out of her arm. If it wasn’t for the lack of expression or emotion on her face, he would have thought that she was still alive.

He shivered. Slayers were bad enough on their own – except Buffy of course – but these creatures seemed to be Slayer zombies! Fast, vicious, female, and always desirous of their next meal. They didn’t seem to care what they were killing as long as it fed their need for violence, their craving for flesh and blood.

He almost wished he was facing the First Evil instead.

A movement caught his eye, a quick flash and then it was gone.

For a moment he wondered if he was seeing things. No, not seeing things, because that creature saw it too. He recognized the feral look in her eye. She was hunting for her next meal.

He shrank back into the wall. He always tried to avoid conflict, he hated to fight. It would never be his forte. He would rather kick back and play poker or watch some movies.

She’d definitely caught the scent of something, though. Whatever it was…then he saw a small chiseled face and a shock of brownish-red hair.

What should he do? He wasn’t a hero by any stretch of the imagination. He hesitated, gripped by indecision. The zombie was closing in on the young human.

Sighing, he picked up baseball bat and headed out of his hidey-hole. ‘Darn conscious’

Five short and bloody minutes later, it was over. He won only due to the surprise nature of the attack.

He hated this hero-type business. It was much better to leave it to the professionals.

He held out a flabby hand towards the boy and tried to smile politely. “I suppose you can share my place. Safety in numbers, you know?”

The boy extended his hand. “Oz”

Clem’s smile broadened. “Like the movie! Great! I love the classics.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

U.S.M.C General Langford
Slayer Squadron 4C
July 5th, 2017

One of the stranger things, of course, were the alliances which sprung up everywhere. It was like all the old rules flew out the window. You never knew who the good guys were, who the bad guys were, and or who was out only for themselves. The so-called Champions could turn evil; the Black Hats were signing up to play with the White Hats, and everything you thought you knew?

Forget it.

You had to be there to understand. I mean at the epi center, where it all went down. That is where you found out what people were made of.

Trust me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Christie had settled into a rear seat. Luckily, Kevin was proving adept at adapting to driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road.

As the caravan cruised along the nearly empty lanes proceeding toward Los Angeles, she couldn’t help but dwell on current events as cars, barely moving in the mass exodus away from the city, honked pointless warnings urging them to turn away from their destination.

Sleep would be impossible. Instead she was thinking about how things should have progressed much further than they now had. Even the worst zombie survival plan would have had them holed up in some secure structure, preferably a mall or some similarly deserted defensible structure, and suitably equipped by this time. She couldn’t help but think that she’d be better on her own now. Thinking about how those around her would probably lead to her demise in spite of their best intentions.

She felt her doom looming close, and in the eyes of her compatriots she saw nothing to comfort her. Just the dead stares of those who may soon devour her.

…and she missed her LCD projector. PowerPoint gave her a sense of security. Pleasant visions of Sharp products gave her ease enough to find sleep.

TBC….