The One with Ghosts and Zombies: Wednesday
Title: The One with Ghosts and Zombies
Author: Lymricks
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Nothing episode specific, but definitely a few overall for the whole series if you haven't been paying attention to who's dating/dated who.
Warnings: Billy!Whump, Character sort of death, Zombies, and hijinks.
Word Count: 15,084
Notes: See the master post for notes.
Summary: Billy dies, and somehow Michael's week still gets worse.
“So let me get this straight,” Martinez says early Wednesday morning after they’ve all gotten a lot of sleep. “We’re going to sneak into the United Kingdom?”
Michael just looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “If you’d like me to go over the specifics of the plan again…?” he threatens.
That quiets Martinez down, and Michael turns back to his cup of coffee. He swirls the black liquid around slowly, watching his reflection. The mug is big, Billy described it as ‘ghastly,’ but Michael likes it. He thinks it suits Amy. The mug balances out her American life and british heritage-even if it is covered in ugly, mismatched owls.
It holds a lot of coffee and is no worse than the hideous pink flowered bedspread he and Billy shared last night. He can’t imagine anyone actually buying the stupid thing-but it was Casey who first suggested that Amy had gone out and bought is specifically to torture male houseguests. Michael has only known Amy for a little less than twenty four hours, but he’s inclined to agree.
“I don’t want you to go over the plan again,” Martinez says. Across the room, Billy groans. “But I don’t care how good our covers are-Billy is dead.”
“It’s worse than that,” Casey comments from where he’s stretching on Amelia’s back porch. “He’s deported.”
Billy has been quiet all morning, but he looks up now. Michael is surprised by how much older his agent looks in this light. Before he realized Billy was alive, the last time Michael had seen Billy had been Friday night. It’s Wednesday morning now, and Michael wonders what could have aged Billy so much since then.
He doesn’t just look old, he looks tired. His shoulders are slumping, his body curved inward as though he has something to protect. Maybe he hasn’t changed, Michael thinks, maybe I just never noticed. Billy has been on Michael’s team for six years-been Michael’s responsibility for six years. Michael wonders how he could have missed that.
Michael slides his gaze from Billy back to Martinez. “Well,” he says quietly, “If we get caught we all go to prison. I suggest we don’t get caught.”
~ ~ ~
No matter how many times movies or music videos make a joke out of sending the pretty girl through security to distract officials, Michael knows it’s still a solid plan. Naturally, when they get to the airport, it’s Amy who walks through the gates first. She’s naturally charming, not unlike Billy, and she’s a trained agent.
Michael watches eyes follow her as she prances through. He can practically hear people thinking Who is she? Should I know her?.
The distraction works in their favor. They send Martinez through, then Casey, then Michael, and last they send Billy. When trying to smuggle someone in or out of a country, Michael has learned it’s always best to put them in the spot anyone else would be least likely to stash a smuggler.
Billy is uncharacteristically quiet as he hands over his fake ID. It’s CIA made, an oldie but a goodie, and because Billy is dead, there’s no reason for an alert to be out for any of his old covers. Michael, Martinez, and Casey have slightly less solid covers-their IDs and names are fair game for the government to track, so Michael’s using some homemade versions. The three passed the test, and then its just Billy.
The agent at the gate scans his ID, asks Billy if he’s flying for business or pleasure.
“Pleasure,” Billy says with an easy smile, “I’m going home.”
The agent looks up at Billy and smiles back. Michael doesn’t blame the man, Billy’s voice is laden with the kind of honesty that inspires someone to share in that happiness. “Glad to hear it,” the man says. “Have a safe flight.”
“Cheers, mate,” Billy answers.
Michael breathes a sigh of relief. One airport down. One to go.
The flight is cramped and too hot, too long-but early enough that they still get to Heathrow on Wednesday. This gives them enough time to scope things out.
As they circle in to land, Michael can’t help but watch Billy. He can see the way Billy tries to contain himself. He looks anywhere but the window, staring at a magazine, fiddling with his watch, until he clearly can’t contain himself. Billy’s eyes drift from Michael’s hand, to his own lap, to the arm rest, to his watch, and finally to the window, where London is slowly lighting up for the night.
In his years at the CIA, Michael has seen a lot. There isn’t much left that fascinates or phases him, but right now, watching Billy try to keep the grin off his face, Michael finds he can’t stop smiling either. If Billy were any closer to the glass, his nose would be smudged up against it. When Billy does finally pull back, Michael thinks he might see a telltale grease smudge where the Scot got too close. He doesn’t say anything-doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he claps a hand against Billy’s back.
Michael spends a lot of time with Billy. Billy smiles a lot. This moment, right here, with Billy smiling at him, Michael realizes that he may have never seen Billy truly smile.
Michael smiles too.
“Good old London town,” Billy says quietly as the plane begins to empty.
Not quietly enough, because Amy pokes her head up from her seat and laughs long and hard. “The Doctor Who allusions are never going to catch on,” she says. She laughs for a while after that, and Michael would feel insulted, except he thinks she may be laughing at Billy.
Billy is quiet after that, uncharacteristically so. There’s no jokes as they walk through the plane to leave, and when the beautiful French flight attendant presses a manicured palm to Billy’s arm and thanks him for joining her on the journey, Billy barely smiles. The change in behavior throws Michael off, but he doesn’t say anything. The last forty-eight hours have sucked more than Michael cares to admit, and psychoanalyzing his ex-dead teammate isn’t high on his list of things to do.
At the route of everything, Michael knows, is his dilemma. He doesn’t know what to do with Billy now that he has him back. After spending a significant amount of time believing Billy to be dead (and feeling very suddenly and very completely alone in the world) having him back is almost more jarring. He knows he’s been mean. Michael is acutely aware of the fact he’s acting like a jilted date the Monday after prom, but he just doesn’t know how to feel.
“Your thinking face usually means good things, but I doubt that is the case here,” Casey says, too loudly and too close-and too unnoticed (Michael jumps). “See what I mean? I understand how you feel, Michael. We all do, but we have a job to do, as fugitives of the government. Let’s pretend we’re all in love again, at least until we have a handle on what’s going on.”
It’s the longest pep talk Michael has ever heard Casey give, and for some reason, that really sticks with him. He nods once, turning to Martinez to make polite conversation about what they should do while they’re “On holiday, as the Brits say!”
He can practically feel Billy’s grimace.
The customs officer glances at Billy as they approach, “They with you?” she asks, her tone dripping with disdain.
“Absolutely not,” Billy says lowly, like he’s sharing a secret. “These bloody yanks were next to me the whole flight, I just want to get rid of them.”
She grins up at him, batting her eyes. She barely even glances at the passport. “Welcome home,” she says instead of asking all the questions. Billy slips through security, quietly and efficiently.
Once they’re all outside, Michael sighs. “Well, we just snuck a dead and deported man into the United Kingdom.”
They all laugh then, and it feels good.
~ ~ ~
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
Michael turns around slowly, very slowly. He finds that acting incredulous and angry usually helps curb Martinez’s ideas or hesitations before they have time to fully come to be.
“Why is that, Martinez?” he says, once he has completed slowly turning around. Martinez already looks uncomfortable, which is a good start. A quick glance to the side shows that Billy is just looking amused. That isn’t as good of a start, but if Martinez doesn’t notice, he may still be in the clear.
Looking sheepish, Martinez admits that he doesn’t think he passes for a good scientist.
It’s not untrue. While Martinez is certainly both nerdy and smart enough to be a scientist, the white lab coat he’s got on doesn’t look like it belongs on him. He stands out in stark contrast to Billy, who looks like he was born to wear a white lab coat, Michael-who looks like a total geek in his glasses anyway, and Casey-who looks too threatening for anyone to question. Michael sighs.
“We have to make it work, Martinez,” he says quietly, walking over and tugging at the starched lapels of the coat. He glances at Billy out of habit, waiting to see what ideas his right-hand-man has-but then thinks better of it. He’s still ignoring Billy. He’s still upset. Michael feels like a child stomping his feet when he realizes that he doesn’t want to know what Billy thinks.
“The lad would make a strapping security agent,” Billy says anyway.
Michael grunts.
At heart though, he’s a good leader above all else, and the mission (the stupid, ridiculous, zombie mission) rests heavily on making sure no one gets called out for being a CIA operative. He actually does agree with Billy.
Martinez changes and looks a lot better, so Michael relaxes slightly. The hotel room is more lavish than they would normally go for, but it has been surprisingly cheap when they’d flashed their (fake) IDs. Apparently this corner of London was catering to the needs of the scientists in town. The hotel is so lavish that Michael is almost sad to leave it, but they have a job to do, so he shuts the door tightly behind him and doesn’t look back.
Billy stands close to him as they walk down the sidewalk. Michael can feel their shoulders and wrists bumping with each step. The Scottish operative is almost being territorial about it, and before long, the pair of them are lagging behind everyone else.
“We need to talk,” Billy says quietly.
“Oh?” Michael feigns confusion.
“You haven’t made solid eye contact with me since you realized I’m alive,” Billy accuses him.
“That isn’t true.” Michael has never lied to his friends. There’s a first time for everything.
Billy grabs his arm and shoves him into an alley. Michael is crowded up against a wall. “Dammit, Michael,” Billy snaps. “We’re best mates, all right? It’d be brilliant if you got the stick out of your arse.”
Michael doesn’t scream, or yell, or hit Billy. He doesn’t react in any of the ways he wants to, because he lost his shit already, back at Amy’s, and he can’t afford to be getting this emotional every time. He looks resolutely at the air just above Billy’s right shoulder. “Do we have a problem, Billy?” he asks lowly.
Michael uses his no nonsense voice. His “I’m the dude in charge here” tone. He uses his best don’t fuck with me eyes.
Billy just rolls his eyes. “Stop it,” he says harshly. “This whole mission is bollocks. We’re a team, Mate, we need to start acting like one.”
There’s no way to say that Billy almost destroyed his already shambled life without sounding like a teenage girl, so Michael settles for not saying anything at all. Billy stares him down, no judgment in his eyes, just an open kind of rawness that Michael has never wanted to see on the face of an ally. “Billy,” he says, and his voice is tired.
Anger is a more exhausting emotion than Casey has lead him to believe in the past. Michael can feel the weight of all those angry moments resting heavily on his shoulders. He sighs and scrubs at his face. When he pulls his hands away, clearing his vision again, Billy is gone. He’s up ahead now, with everyone else, walking away.
Michael Dorset doesn’t lose his shit often, but he turns around and punches the wall. Three times in one week? It’ a new record.
~ ~ ~
“What happened to your hand, mate?” a young scientist asks as he escorts them through yet another highly technical security feature. Michael is trying to remember where everything is. In his head, he’s going “left, right, left…left…straight through the fork” so that when it is time to escape, he’s ready. This is the sort of thing that comes naturally to him after all these tears. His brain absorbs and catalogues relevant information, and all he has to do is think ‘I need to know…’ and presto, he has an answer.
So he’s able to answer the young scientist (Mike? Mark? Matt? He missed the name)’s question. “One of our new lab techs dropped a microscope on it.”
Michael’s hand is a mess. Hitting the wall hadn’t been one of his more brilliant accomplishments. It’s wrapped in bandages now, thanks to Casey, but underneath the white stretch of fabric is a mottled mess of skin and bone and bruises. He his fingers are numb, but he can definitely feel his knuckles, which protest every time he moves.
Around him, his team is spread out. Martinez, wearing a suit and sunglasses, is playing the roll of the bodyguard. Amy is back as an intern-they saw no reason to destroy the cover. Casey, Michael, and Billy are going in as lead scientists in different fields. Casey in anatomy, Billy in evolutionary zoology, and Michael…well, they had just called Michael a jack-of-all-trades. According to Matt/Mike/Mark, they were exactly the kind of scientists the firm has been looking for.
“Imagine that,” Michael had said, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The security features may act impressive, but the staff is lax for a top-secret-very-illegal-mission. They hadn’t been questioned, their stories hadn’t been checked. Their IDs, listing them as faculty of various impressive colleges, had gotten them in without a hitch. The whole thing was going smoothly, something Michael partially attributed to the fact that Matt-his name is definitely Matt-is spending the whole walk trying to impress Amy with his knowledge.
Finally, after what feels like miles of corridors, they come to a stop outside a huge set of stainless steel doors.
“Now, uh,” says Matt, “You guys have been briefed, right?”
“Do we look like amateurs, kid?” Casey says, his voice just hostile enough to make Matt blush.
“It’s just, what we’re doing here. It’s groundbreaking, the kind of stuff you don’t see. I mean. It can be scary. I just want to make sure you-”
“That will be enough.” The doors push open. Michael is simultaneously surprised and unimpressed. The man behind the door, clearly in charge of the whole thing, is short and round and red, giving off the impression of a basketball-not a supervillan. “Or guests are distinguished scientists, Nathan, we must expect them to adapt.”
So not Matt, then.
The basketball/supervillain holds out his hand. Michael shakes it automatically. “I’m Doctor Thoreau,” Michael says. “These are my colleagues, Doctor Armhurts,” he nods at Casey, “And Professor Hart,” he nods at Billy.
“I’m Doctor Canaille,” the man says. His eyes drift from Michael to Martinez. “And who is this?”
Michael’s jaw tightens. To his left, he feels Billy tense as well. He doesn’t have to look right to know that Casey is preparing for a fight. There’s a long, tense moment before Martinez, his voice low and dangerous, “Trust me, you don’t want to know my name.”
The basketball named Canaille smiles broadly and barks out a hacking sound that Michael realizes is a laugh. He smiles his own tight smile. “You travel in style, Dr. Thoreau,” he says, still grinning. Michael just nods. When Canaille turns his back, Billy throws him a thumbs up. Michael ignores it.
Dr. Canaille sends Nathan on his way, and starts the walk down another series of long corridors. The security is abysmal-even Martinez could break through it with his hands tied behind his back. Michael is distinctly unimpressed by the layout of the place as well. Poor planning and hubris seem to be the dominant architectural features.
As they walk, Dr. Canaille talks. A lot.
“As you can see, our facilities are state of the art,” he explains, pointing to a bunch of shiny metal structures just begging to be scaled for an aerial attack, “Our staff and consultants undergo rigorous background checks. The material we work with is top secret, so we have to know who we can trust-” he smiles in a conspiratory way at the four undercover operatives and Amy, “but of course, you gentleman know that.”
Michael had almost allowed himself to worry about the state of things-whether or not they’d be ok in the end-but he didn’t have to any longer. This guy, this doctor has no idea what he’s doing, that much is obvious. Michael breathes a sigh of relief and Dr. Canaille pushes open one more set of doors.
Michael, Billy, and Casey gag. Amy turns green. It is to Martinez’s credit that his careful façade of blank muscle doesn’t even flinch. The stench of the room alone is enough to make Michael regret his breakfast, but the sight-the sight is so much worse.
For all their joking about zombies and ghosts over the past day, no amount of 28 Days Later marathons could possibly have prepared them for this. It’s gruesome. The room is filled with around twenty of the things-all rotting limbs and mottled flesh-and Michael has to remind himself that they are people, because they don’t look like people, they don’t smell like people, and they definitely don’t act like people.
Dr. Canaille snaps his fingers several times, and two of the zombies move forward through the masses. When they reach the four of them, they bow. Michael doesn’t wince at the sound of their brittle bones creaking, but it’s a near thing.
“Charming lot, aren’t they?” Billy says. His tone is carefree, but Michael knows him better than that. Dr. Canaille may be unaware, but as Michael looks slowly around his team, their fear is palpable. This is…he doesn’t even know what this is. It’s cruel, and terrifying, but above all, on the basest level-it is wrong.
“Obedience is the key with the Animated,” Dr. Canaille says with a proud smile. “That’s what we’re calling them. The Animated.”
“It’s so much more palatable than zombies,” Casey says dryly.
“Zombie marketing 101,” Billy quips.
“This isn’t a game, gentlemen,” the man sounds offended. Michael shoots Billy and Casey a look, and his team quiets instantly. Both look apologetic. “I have spent so many years of my life perfecting the Animated,” he smiles brightly. “They’re going to be a fixture in every home soon. The perfect servants.”
Michael’s eyes drift from the few bowing zombies to the rest of the group. They’re moving, but its more of an aimless shuffle than anything. They look lost. He wonders if they still feel or think. He wonders if they remember their old lives, their old families. Without really thinking about it, Michael’s eyes drift to Billy-who for all intents and purposes feels a lot like a zombie-and he sighs quietly. What would these people say to the ones they’d left behind, now that they’d been given a horrible second chance?
He asks himself that, but his real question is ‘What do I say to Billy?’
Because there are a lot of things. He’s never really said thank you. Well, he has, but less with words and more with gestures. He thinks it might be nice to say it to Billy sometime, because Billy had been there through a lot of shit that Michael hadn’t ever planned to tell anyone-ever.
Billy is (was?) his best friend. Michael sighs.
Canaille is still talking, but something interrupts him. The sound starts in the center of the room, a low keening, then an anguished scream. “THE SILENCE!” a voice yells out from somewhere in the middle. Michael’s eyes are drawn to her instantly. A young woman, maybe twenty one, with greasy blonde hair. Her left cheek is shredded. It looks like ground beef. She is in the middle of the room, her hands raised, and her voice screaming. “THE SILENCE!”
One gunshot sounds. Then a second. Finally, a third, and the woman falls to the floor. Quiet. Dead.
Canaille looks shaken.
“Does this happen often?” Michael asks, trying his best to sound professional.
“We’ve had varying degrees of rebellion,” the scientist finally admits. “Most of them are like hers-eerie, yes, but ultimately not a horrible thing.”
“Most of them?” Billy prompts.
“A few of the Animated have become…” Canaille trails off. “Well, violent.”
“Zombies being violent? Imagine my surprise,” Billy mumbles under his breath. Michael shoots him a look.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve called us in then, Dr. Canaille. We’re the best you’re going to get. We promise results.”
“That’s good to hear,” Canaille says with a friendly smile. “Let me show you to your lab.”
Michael nods. “After you.”
Author: Lymricks
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Nothing episode specific, but definitely a few overall for the whole series if you haven't been paying attention to who's dating/dated who.
Warnings: Billy!Whump, Character sort of death, Zombies, and hijinks.
Word Count: 15,084
Notes: See the master post for notes.
Summary: Billy dies, and somehow Michael's week still gets worse.
“So let me get this straight,” Martinez says early Wednesday morning after they’ve all gotten a lot of sleep. “We’re going to sneak into the United Kingdom?”
Michael just looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “If you’d like me to go over the specifics of the plan again…?” he threatens.
That quiets Martinez down, and Michael turns back to his cup of coffee. He swirls the black liquid around slowly, watching his reflection. The mug is big, Billy described it as ‘ghastly,’ but Michael likes it. He thinks it suits Amy. The mug balances out her American life and british heritage-even if it is covered in ugly, mismatched owls.
It holds a lot of coffee and is no worse than the hideous pink flowered bedspread he and Billy shared last night. He can’t imagine anyone actually buying the stupid thing-but it was Casey who first suggested that Amy had gone out and bought is specifically to torture male houseguests. Michael has only known Amy for a little less than twenty four hours, but he’s inclined to agree.
“I don’t want you to go over the plan again,” Martinez says. Across the room, Billy groans. “But I don’t care how good our covers are-Billy is dead.”
“It’s worse than that,” Casey comments from where he’s stretching on Amelia’s back porch. “He’s deported.”
Billy has been quiet all morning, but he looks up now. Michael is surprised by how much older his agent looks in this light. Before he realized Billy was alive, the last time Michael had seen Billy had been Friday night. It’s Wednesday morning now, and Michael wonders what could have aged Billy so much since then.
He doesn’t just look old, he looks tired. His shoulders are slumping, his body curved inward as though he has something to protect. Maybe he hasn’t changed, Michael thinks, maybe I just never noticed. Billy has been on Michael’s team for six years-been Michael’s responsibility for six years. Michael wonders how he could have missed that.
Michael slides his gaze from Billy back to Martinez. “Well,” he says quietly, “If we get caught we all go to prison. I suggest we don’t get caught.”
~ ~ ~
No matter how many times movies or music videos make a joke out of sending the pretty girl through security to distract officials, Michael knows it’s still a solid plan. Naturally, when they get to the airport, it’s Amy who walks through the gates first. She’s naturally charming, not unlike Billy, and she’s a trained agent.
Michael watches eyes follow her as she prances through. He can practically hear people thinking Who is she? Should I know her?.
The distraction works in their favor. They send Martinez through, then Casey, then Michael, and last they send Billy. When trying to smuggle someone in or out of a country, Michael has learned it’s always best to put them in the spot anyone else would be least likely to stash a smuggler.
Billy is uncharacteristically quiet as he hands over his fake ID. It’s CIA made, an oldie but a goodie, and because Billy is dead, there’s no reason for an alert to be out for any of his old covers. Michael, Martinez, and Casey have slightly less solid covers-their IDs and names are fair game for the government to track, so Michael’s using some homemade versions. The three passed the test, and then its just Billy.
The agent at the gate scans his ID, asks Billy if he’s flying for business or pleasure.
“Pleasure,” Billy says with an easy smile, “I’m going home.”
The agent looks up at Billy and smiles back. Michael doesn’t blame the man, Billy’s voice is laden with the kind of honesty that inspires someone to share in that happiness. “Glad to hear it,” the man says. “Have a safe flight.”
“Cheers, mate,” Billy answers.
Michael breathes a sigh of relief. One airport down. One to go.
The flight is cramped and too hot, too long-but early enough that they still get to Heathrow on Wednesday. This gives them enough time to scope things out.
As they circle in to land, Michael can’t help but watch Billy. He can see the way Billy tries to contain himself. He looks anywhere but the window, staring at a magazine, fiddling with his watch, until he clearly can’t contain himself. Billy’s eyes drift from Michael’s hand, to his own lap, to the arm rest, to his watch, and finally to the window, where London is slowly lighting up for the night.
In his years at the CIA, Michael has seen a lot. There isn’t much left that fascinates or phases him, but right now, watching Billy try to keep the grin off his face, Michael finds he can’t stop smiling either. If Billy were any closer to the glass, his nose would be smudged up against it. When Billy does finally pull back, Michael thinks he might see a telltale grease smudge where the Scot got too close. He doesn’t say anything-doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he claps a hand against Billy’s back.
Michael spends a lot of time with Billy. Billy smiles a lot. This moment, right here, with Billy smiling at him, Michael realizes that he may have never seen Billy truly smile.
Michael smiles too.
“Good old London town,” Billy says quietly as the plane begins to empty.
Not quietly enough, because Amy pokes her head up from her seat and laughs long and hard. “The Doctor Who allusions are never going to catch on,” she says. She laughs for a while after that, and Michael would feel insulted, except he thinks she may be laughing at Billy.
Billy is quiet after that, uncharacteristically so. There’s no jokes as they walk through the plane to leave, and when the beautiful French flight attendant presses a manicured palm to Billy’s arm and thanks him for joining her on the journey, Billy barely smiles. The change in behavior throws Michael off, but he doesn’t say anything. The last forty-eight hours have sucked more than Michael cares to admit, and psychoanalyzing his ex-dead teammate isn’t high on his list of things to do.
At the route of everything, Michael knows, is his dilemma. He doesn’t know what to do with Billy now that he has him back. After spending a significant amount of time believing Billy to be dead (and feeling very suddenly and very completely alone in the world) having him back is almost more jarring. He knows he’s been mean. Michael is acutely aware of the fact he’s acting like a jilted date the Monday after prom, but he just doesn’t know how to feel.
“Your thinking face usually means good things, but I doubt that is the case here,” Casey says, too loudly and too close-and too unnoticed (Michael jumps). “See what I mean? I understand how you feel, Michael. We all do, but we have a job to do, as fugitives of the government. Let’s pretend we’re all in love again, at least until we have a handle on what’s going on.”
It’s the longest pep talk Michael has ever heard Casey give, and for some reason, that really sticks with him. He nods once, turning to Martinez to make polite conversation about what they should do while they’re “On holiday, as the Brits say!”
He can practically feel Billy’s grimace.
The customs officer glances at Billy as they approach, “They with you?” she asks, her tone dripping with disdain.
“Absolutely not,” Billy says lowly, like he’s sharing a secret. “These bloody yanks were next to me the whole flight, I just want to get rid of them.”
She grins up at him, batting her eyes. She barely even glances at the passport. “Welcome home,” she says instead of asking all the questions. Billy slips through security, quietly and efficiently.
Once they’re all outside, Michael sighs. “Well, we just snuck a dead and deported man into the United Kingdom.”
They all laugh then, and it feels good.
~ ~ ~
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
Michael turns around slowly, very slowly. He finds that acting incredulous and angry usually helps curb Martinez’s ideas or hesitations before they have time to fully come to be.
“Why is that, Martinez?” he says, once he has completed slowly turning around. Martinez already looks uncomfortable, which is a good start. A quick glance to the side shows that Billy is just looking amused. That isn’t as good of a start, but if Martinez doesn’t notice, he may still be in the clear.
Looking sheepish, Martinez admits that he doesn’t think he passes for a good scientist.
It’s not untrue. While Martinez is certainly both nerdy and smart enough to be a scientist, the white lab coat he’s got on doesn’t look like it belongs on him. He stands out in stark contrast to Billy, who looks like he was born to wear a white lab coat, Michael-who looks like a total geek in his glasses anyway, and Casey-who looks too threatening for anyone to question. Michael sighs.
“We have to make it work, Martinez,” he says quietly, walking over and tugging at the starched lapels of the coat. He glances at Billy out of habit, waiting to see what ideas his right-hand-man has-but then thinks better of it. He’s still ignoring Billy. He’s still upset. Michael feels like a child stomping his feet when he realizes that he doesn’t want to know what Billy thinks.
“The lad would make a strapping security agent,” Billy says anyway.
Michael grunts.
At heart though, he’s a good leader above all else, and the mission (the stupid, ridiculous, zombie mission) rests heavily on making sure no one gets called out for being a CIA operative. He actually does agree with Billy.
Martinez changes and looks a lot better, so Michael relaxes slightly. The hotel room is more lavish than they would normally go for, but it has been surprisingly cheap when they’d flashed their (fake) IDs. Apparently this corner of London was catering to the needs of the scientists in town. The hotel is so lavish that Michael is almost sad to leave it, but they have a job to do, so he shuts the door tightly behind him and doesn’t look back.
Billy stands close to him as they walk down the sidewalk. Michael can feel their shoulders and wrists bumping with each step. The Scottish operative is almost being territorial about it, and before long, the pair of them are lagging behind everyone else.
“We need to talk,” Billy says quietly.
“Oh?” Michael feigns confusion.
“You haven’t made solid eye contact with me since you realized I’m alive,” Billy accuses him.
“That isn’t true.” Michael has never lied to his friends. There’s a first time for everything.
Billy grabs his arm and shoves him into an alley. Michael is crowded up against a wall. “Dammit, Michael,” Billy snaps. “We’re best mates, all right? It’d be brilliant if you got the stick out of your arse.”
Michael doesn’t scream, or yell, or hit Billy. He doesn’t react in any of the ways he wants to, because he lost his shit already, back at Amy’s, and he can’t afford to be getting this emotional every time. He looks resolutely at the air just above Billy’s right shoulder. “Do we have a problem, Billy?” he asks lowly.
Michael uses his no nonsense voice. His “I’m the dude in charge here” tone. He uses his best don’t fuck with me eyes.
Billy just rolls his eyes. “Stop it,” he says harshly. “This whole mission is bollocks. We’re a team, Mate, we need to start acting like one.”
There’s no way to say that Billy almost destroyed his already shambled life without sounding like a teenage girl, so Michael settles for not saying anything at all. Billy stares him down, no judgment in his eyes, just an open kind of rawness that Michael has never wanted to see on the face of an ally. “Billy,” he says, and his voice is tired.
Anger is a more exhausting emotion than Casey has lead him to believe in the past. Michael can feel the weight of all those angry moments resting heavily on his shoulders. He sighs and scrubs at his face. When he pulls his hands away, clearing his vision again, Billy is gone. He’s up ahead now, with everyone else, walking away.
Michael Dorset doesn’t lose his shit often, but he turns around and punches the wall. Three times in one week? It’ a new record.
~ ~ ~
“What happened to your hand, mate?” a young scientist asks as he escorts them through yet another highly technical security feature. Michael is trying to remember where everything is. In his head, he’s going “left, right, left…left…straight through the fork” so that when it is time to escape, he’s ready. This is the sort of thing that comes naturally to him after all these tears. His brain absorbs and catalogues relevant information, and all he has to do is think ‘I need to know…’ and presto, he has an answer.
So he’s able to answer the young scientist (Mike? Mark? Matt? He missed the name)’s question. “One of our new lab techs dropped a microscope on it.”
Michael’s hand is a mess. Hitting the wall hadn’t been one of his more brilliant accomplishments. It’s wrapped in bandages now, thanks to Casey, but underneath the white stretch of fabric is a mottled mess of skin and bone and bruises. He his fingers are numb, but he can definitely feel his knuckles, which protest every time he moves.
Around him, his team is spread out. Martinez, wearing a suit and sunglasses, is playing the roll of the bodyguard. Amy is back as an intern-they saw no reason to destroy the cover. Casey, Michael, and Billy are going in as lead scientists in different fields. Casey in anatomy, Billy in evolutionary zoology, and Michael…well, they had just called Michael a jack-of-all-trades. According to Matt/Mike/Mark, they were exactly the kind of scientists the firm has been looking for.
“Imagine that,” Michael had said, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The security features may act impressive, but the staff is lax for a top-secret-very-illegal-mission. They hadn’t been questioned, their stories hadn’t been checked. Their IDs, listing them as faculty of various impressive colleges, had gotten them in without a hitch. The whole thing was going smoothly, something Michael partially attributed to the fact that Matt-his name is definitely Matt-is spending the whole walk trying to impress Amy with his knowledge.
Finally, after what feels like miles of corridors, they come to a stop outside a huge set of stainless steel doors.
“Now, uh,” says Matt, “You guys have been briefed, right?”
“Do we look like amateurs, kid?” Casey says, his voice just hostile enough to make Matt blush.
“It’s just, what we’re doing here. It’s groundbreaking, the kind of stuff you don’t see. I mean. It can be scary. I just want to make sure you-”
“That will be enough.” The doors push open. Michael is simultaneously surprised and unimpressed. The man behind the door, clearly in charge of the whole thing, is short and round and red, giving off the impression of a basketball-not a supervillan. “Or guests are distinguished scientists, Nathan, we must expect them to adapt.”
So not Matt, then.
The basketball/supervillain holds out his hand. Michael shakes it automatically. “I’m Doctor Thoreau,” Michael says. “These are my colleagues, Doctor Armhurts,” he nods at Casey, “And Professor Hart,” he nods at Billy.
“I’m Doctor Canaille,” the man says. His eyes drift from Michael to Martinez. “And who is this?”
Michael’s jaw tightens. To his left, he feels Billy tense as well. He doesn’t have to look right to know that Casey is preparing for a fight. There’s a long, tense moment before Martinez, his voice low and dangerous, “Trust me, you don’t want to know my name.”
The basketball named Canaille smiles broadly and barks out a hacking sound that Michael realizes is a laugh. He smiles his own tight smile. “You travel in style, Dr. Thoreau,” he says, still grinning. Michael just nods. When Canaille turns his back, Billy throws him a thumbs up. Michael ignores it.
Dr. Canaille sends Nathan on his way, and starts the walk down another series of long corridors. The security is abysmal-even Martinez could break through it with his hands tied behind his back. Michael is distinctly unimpressed by the layout of the place as well. Poor planning and hubris seem to be the dominant architectural features.
As they walk, Dr. Canaille talks. A lot.
“As you can see, our facilities are state of the art,” he explains, pointing to a bunch of shiny metal structures just begging to be scaled for an aerial attack, “Our staff and consultants undergo rigorous background checks. The material we work with is top secret, so we have to know who we can trust-” he smiles in a conspiratory way at the four undercover operatives and Amy, “but of course, you gentleman know that.”
Michael had almost allowed himself to worry about the state of things-whether or not they’d be ok in the end-but he didn’t have to any longer. This guy, this doctor has no idea what he’s doing, that much is obvious. Michael breathes a sigh of relief and Dr. Canaille pushes open one more set of doors.
Michael, Billy, and Casey gag. Amy turns green. It is to Martinez’s credit that his careful façade of blank muscle doesn’t even flinch. The stench of the room alone is enough to make Michael regret his breakfast, but the sight-the sight is so much worse.
For all their joking about zombies and ghosts over the past day, no amount of 28 Days Later marathons could possibly have prepared them for this. It’s gruesome. The room is filled with around twenty of the things-all rotting limbs and mottled flesh-and Michael has to remind himself that they are people, because they don’t look like people, they don’t smell like people, and they definitely don’t act like people.
Dr. Canaille snaps his fingers several times, and two of the zombies move forward through the masses. When they reach the four of them, they bow. Michael doesn’t wince at the sound of their brittle bones creaking, but it’s a near thing.
“Charming lot, aren’t they?” Billy says. His tone is carefree, but Michael knows him better than that. Dr. Canaille may be unaware, but as Michael looks slowly around his team, their fear is palpable. This is…he doesn’t even know what this is. It’s cruel, and terrifying, but above all, on the basest level-it is wrong.
“Obedience is the key with the Animated,” Dr. Canaille says with a proud smile. “That’s what we’re calling them. The Animated.”
“It’s so much more palatable than zombies,” Casey says dryly.
“Zombie marketing 101,” Billy quips.
“This isn’t a game, gentlemen,” the man sounds offended. Michael shoots Billy and Casey a look, and his team quiets instantly. Both look apologetic. “I have spent so many years of my life perfecting the Animated,” he smiles brightly. “They’re going to be a fixture in every home soon. The perfect servants.”
Michael’s eyes drift from the few bowing zombies to the rest of the group. They’re moving, but its more of an aimless shuffle than anything. They look lost. He wonders if they still feel or think. He wonders if they remember their old lives, their old families. Without really thinking about it, Michael’s eyes drift to Billy-who for all intents and purposes feels a lot like a zombie-and he sighs quietly. What would these people say to the ones they’d left behind, now that they’d been given a horrible second chance?
He asks himself that, but his real question is ‘What do I say to Billy?’
Because there are a lot of things. He’s never really said thank you. Well, he has, but less with words and more with gestures. He thinks it might be nice to say it to Billy sometime, because Billy had been there through a lot of shit that Michael hadn’t ever planned to tell anyone-ever.
Billy is (was?) his best friend. Michael sighs.
Canaille is still talking, but something interrupts him. The sound starts in the center of the room, a low keening, then an anguished scream. “THE SILENCE!” a voice yells out from somewhere in the middle. Michael’s eyes are drawn to her instantly. A young woman, maybe twenty one, with greasy blonde hair. Her left cheek is shredded. It looks like ground beef. She is in the middle of the room, her hands raised, and her voice screaming. “THE SILENCE!”
One gunshot sounds. Then a second. Finally, a third, and the woman falls to the floor. Quiet. Dead.
Canaille looks shaken.
“Does this happen often?” Michael asks, trying his best to sound professional.
“We’ve had varying degrees of rebellion,” the scientist finally admits. “Most of them are like hers-eerie, yes, but ultimately not a horrible thing.”
“Most of them?” Billy prompts.
“A few of the Animated have become…” Canaille trails off. “Well, violent.”
“Zombies being violent? Imagine my surprise,” Billy mumbles under his breath. Michael shoots him a look.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve called us in then, Dr. Canaille. We’re the best you’re going to get. We promise results.”
“That’s good to hear,” Canaille says with a friendly smile. “Let me show you to your lab.”
Michael nods. “After you.”