November 15th, 07:23
Hola, faithful readers!
This is the first chapter in the sequel to Crisse, des zombies!, currently titled, Crisse, encore des zombies!
Have fun!
November 15th, 07:23
“Attention: une intervention des services d'urgence nous oblige à interrompre le service sur la ligne verte, entre les stations Angrignon et Honoré-Beaugrand, pour une durée indéterminée. La STM vous remercie de votre compréhension. D'autres messages suivront.”
“Would you guys quit playing with that?”
Michaela glared from where she and Sebastien -Seb to his friends- had been checking past the turnstiles in the deserted metro station. Water dripped from the ceiling, spreading in yellowish puddles on the filthy floors. Plink-plink-plink. The steady sound had already drifted from her conscious mind to register only as a faint background annoyance, the kind you don't notice until it stops and you feel all the tension you didn't know was there drain from your shoulders. No one had come to mop up in at least two weeks, not since the day the metro had first broken down. She didn't look too hard at the rust-coloured stains spattered along the floor and some of the walls. Some things didn't bear thinking about, at least not unless you were safe in the cold light of day. She swallowed, making a face at the faint metallic taste in the air, like copper. Or, rather, like blood.
Jack rolled his eyes at her. “Come on, Mickey, lighten up! It's not like we're going to get into trouble with the law for messing with the PA system or anything.”
“Yeah,” Don agreed, and not for the first time Michaela found herself wondering if he'd ever had an original thought of his own after he'd become friends with Jack. She glared harder at the two of them.
Seb spoke up. “We won't get fined, but unless you want to attract those things to us, you shouldn't make so much noise. "Ça les attire, t'sais?”
Jack gave Michaela a grin that he doubtless intended to be charming. Maybe it had worked on girls in the past, she wasn't sure. He had a roguish air about him, combined with big blue eyes and blond hair that made him irresistible to some women. If she was honest with herself, she knew that not that long ago, she might have let herself be charmed as well, at least as far as to forgive him the occasional lapse in judgement. Now, though, two weeks after her entire life had been turned completely upside-down, she was far less forgiving of individual idiocy.
“Don't you worry, Mickey babe, if they come we're more than ready for 'em.” He patted the butt of his rifle meaningfully. “We'll give them a reception they won't forget any time soon, I promise you.”
“Yeah,” Don said, nodding, both hands on his rifle. “Put some bullets in a few skulls, that'll have 'em thinking twice about messing with us!”
Michaela herself hadn't put down her rifle since they'd made their way into the metro, and she had to swallow an angry retort. Like it or not, these two jokers were the only backup she and Seb had while they were back in the city, and she needed them on her side. How she'd managed to miss what reckless jackasses they were before... well, before, was beyond her. Maybe it was because before, being a reckless jackass didn't have consequences that were as deadly as they were now. She forced herself to modulate her tone.
“Look, guys, these things don't think, and that's the whole problem right there. You can't reason with them, you can't frighten them, you can't do anything like that. Come on, you know this: you saw the ones back in the village, didn't you? They're dead. They're not human, not in any meaningful sense of the word, anyway.”
“Duh. Of course we know that. They're zombies.” Jack scoffed.
Of course, the problem was that Jack and Don didn't really know. Sure, they knew intellectually what was going on, but they hadn't been anywhere near the city when the mysterious illness had hit, hadn't been caught up in the hysteria, the havoc, the horror that had been those first days when the infection had begun to spread at exponential rates. They'd been on a hunting trip, and had returned to the relative safety of rural Ontario. They'd only ever seen any of it at a safe remove from the gut-wrenching terror that the dead inspired in everyone who got too close. She shook her head: it was impossible to impress any of this on them until they got to live it up close and personal. Until then, zombies would be the halfway-funny things that you saw in horror movies, and nothing more. Seb at least was more steady, although he too had been far away during the initial outbreak. At least he wasn't treating this like it was a hunting trip with his buddies. Michaela wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Jack and Don had somehow managed to sneak a six-pack into their webgear.
“Okay, we can't stay. We've already taken way too long here, and we have a lot of ground to cover between here and the rendez-vous spot. I'll take point, and Jack will take the rear.”
“Sure you don't want me to take point?
Great. Just what she needed: a wounded-ego moment from Jack. “Not just yet. I'm the one who's seen these things from close up, and I know what to look for. Besides, watching our rear is even more important, because that's where we're most vulnerable, and none of us as fast on the draw as you are.” That last part was true, at least, for what it was worth. “Don't use your guns unless you absolutely have to,” she added, although she pulled her ear muffs from her belt clip and slipped them over her ears. She and Seb each had a pair on loan from Rob, although Jack and Don each had their own pair that they'd had with them on their hunting trip. They were the latest in tactical gear, Rob had told her proudly, minimizing hearing damage from loud gunshots while amplifying voices and other sounds. It was a gift horse, and so she hadn't looked it in the mouth.
Jack seemed mollified by the compliment, and fell into line without protesting further. Don said nothing, nor did Michaela expect him to. Don was much happier following directions, and if he wasn't following Jack's lead, then Michaela's was just as good. Seb, she knew, would follow her lead, because that's what he'd signed on for. She blew out a short puff of breath, composing herself, and running a hand through her short-cropped hair. She still wasn't used to the sensation, although she'd cut off all her waist-length hair over ten days before, an act of necessity, since it was far too easy for grasping fingers to get tangled in it. How on earth had she ended up being in charge of this suicide run? It wasn't the first time the question had popped into her mind, and not for the first time she answered it herself: it was because no one else would do it. If it had all been up to her, Jack and Don wouldn't have been her first choices, either. Randhir would have been a better partner, and Marco; they wouldn't have been screwing around with the PA system, and they certainly wouldn't have argued about marching order. She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. Useless to think about that now.
“Let's move out.”
This is the first chapter in the sequel to Crisse, des zombies!, currently titled, Crisse, encore des zombies!
Have fun!
November 15th, 07:23
“Attention: une intervention des services d'urgence nous oblige à interrompre le service sur la ligne verte, entre les stations Angrignon et Honoré-Beaugrand, pour une durée indéterminée. La STM vous remercie de votre compréhension. D'autres messages suivront.”
“Would you guys quit playing with that?”
Michaela glared from where she and Sebastien -Seb to his friends- had been checking past the turnstiles in the deserted metro station. Water dripped from the ceiling, spreading in yellowish puddles on the filthy floors. Plink-plink-plink. The steady sound had already drifted from her conscious mind to register only as a faint background annoyance, the kind you don't notice until it stops and you feel all the tension you didn't know was there drain from your shoulders. No one had come to mop up in at least two weeks, not since the day the metro had first broken down. She didn't look too hard at the rust-coloured stains spattered along the floor and some of the walls. Some things didn't bear thinking about, at least not unless you were safe in the cold light of day. She swallowed, making a face at the faint metallic taste in the air, like copper. Or, rather, like blood.
Jack rolled his eyes at her. “Come on, Mickey, lighten up! It's not like we're going to get into trouble with the law for messing with the PA system or anything.”
“Yeah,” Don agreed, and not for the first time Michaela found herself wondering if he'd ever had an original thought of his own after he'd become friends with Jack. She glared harder at the two of them.
Seb spoke up. “We won't get fined, but unless you want to attract those things to us, you shouldn't make so much noise. "Ça les attire, t'sais?”
Jack gave Michaela a grin that he doubtless intended to be charming. Maybe it had worked on girls in the past, she wasn't sure. He had a roguish air about him, combined with big blue eyes and blond hair that made him irresistible to some women. If she was honest with herself, she knew that not that long ago, she might have let herself be charmed as well, at least as far as to forgive him the occasional lapse in judgement. Now, though, two weeks after her entire life had been turned completely upside-down, she was far less forgiving of individual idiocy.
“Don't you worry, Mickey babe, if they come we're more than ready for 'em.” He patted the butt of his rifle meaningfully. “We'll give them a reception they won't forget any time soon, I promise you.”
“Yeah,” Don said, nodding, both hands on his rifle. “Put some bullets in a few skulls, that'll have 'em thinking twice about messing with us!”
Michaela herself hadn't put down her rifle since they'd made their way into the metro, and she had to swallow an angry retort. Like it or not, these two jokers were the only backup she and Seb had while they were back in the city, and she needed them on her side. How she'd managed to miss what reckless jackasses they were before... well, before, was beyond her. Maybe it was because before, being a reckless jackass didn't have consequences that were as deadly as they were now. She forced herself to modulate her tone.
“Look, guys, these things don't think, and that's the whole problem right there. You can't reason with them, you can't frighten them, you can't do anything like that. Come on, you know this: you saw the ones back in the village, didn't you? They're dead. They're not human, not in any meaningful sense of the word, anyway.”
“Duh. Of course we know that. They're zombies.” Jack scoffed.
Of course, the problem was that Jack and Don didn't really know. Sure, they knew intellectually what was going on, but they hadn't been anywhere near the city when the mysterious illness had hit, hadn't been caught up in the hysteria, the havoc, the horror that had been those first days when the infection had begun to spread at exponential rates. They'd been on a hunting trip, and had returned to the relative safety of rural Ontario. They'd only ever seen any of it at a safe remove from the gut-wrenching terror that the dead inspired in everyone who got too close. She shook her head: it was impossible to impress any of this on them until they got to live it up close and personal. Until then, zombies would be the halfway-funny things that you saw in horror movies, and nothing more. Seb at least was more steady, although he too had been far away during the initial outbreak. At least he wasn't treating this like it was a hunting trip with his buddies. Michaela wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Jack and Don had somehow managed to sneak a six-pack into their webgear.
“Okay, we can't stay. We've already taken way too long here, and we have a lot of ground to cover between here and the rendez-vous spot. I'll take point, and Jack will take the rear.”
“Sure you don't want me to take point?
Great. Just what she needed: a wounded-ego moment from Jack. “Not just yet. I'm the one who's seen these things from close up, and I know what to look for. Besides, watching our rear is even more important, because that's where we're most vulnerable, and none of us as fast on the draw as you are.” That last part was true, at least, for what it was worth. “Don't use your guns unless you absolutely have to,” she added, although she pulled her ear muffs from her belt clip and slipped them over her ears. She and Seb each had a pair on loan from Rob, although Jack and Don each had their own pair that they'd had with them on their hunting trip. They were the latest in tactical gear, Rob had told her proudly, minimizing hearing damage from loud gunshots while amplifying voices and other sounds. It was a gift horse, and so she hadn't looked it in the mouth.
Jack seemed mollified by the compliment, and fell into line without protesting further. Don said nothing, nor did Michaela expect him to. Don was much happier following directions, and if he wasn't following Jack's lead, then Michaela's was just as good. Seb, she knew, would follow her lead, because that's what he'd signed on for. She blew out a short puff of breath, composing herself, and running a hand through her short-cropped hair. She still wasn't used to the sensation, although she'd cut off all her waist-length hair over ten days before, an act of necessity, since it was far too easy for grasping fingers to get tangled in it. How on earth had she ended up being in charge of this suicide run? It wasn't the first time the question had popped into her mind, and not for the first time she answered it herself: it was because no one else would do it. If it had all been up to her, Jack and Don wouldn't have been her first choices, either. Randhir would have been a better partner, and Marco; they wouldn't have been screwing around with the PA system, and they certainly wouldn't have argued about marching order. She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. Useless to think about that now.
“Let's move out.”