luministi_logs | In outer space, zombies can't hear you scream...

Entry tags:

[doctor who] jamie mccrimmon (ou)

In outer space, zombies can't hear you scream...

Characters: Jamie and everyone in the spacestation!
Location: Various places throughout.
Time: Zombie O'Clock
Summary: The town isn't the only place where there's zombies...
Warnings: Fighting, possible disturbing imagery, explosions and making a mess of things. As for zombification, who knows?

Jamie had been in his quarters when Proctor's message had come over the CAT, and he couldn't say as he cared for how the message had cut off like that. Whatever had happened hadn't sounded good. In fact, it sounded like something had gotten into the station somehow - and given what he had seen of the man's face before the feed shut off, it likely wasn't something friendly. With a frown, he grabbed up his sword and headed out to investigate, starting towards the location where Proctor had been seen last.

All was quiet for a little bit - the spacestation was fairly empty at the best of times, with only a few of them here. But there was a feeling to a it that he didn't like, something in the air perhaps. Or maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but the place was definitely giving him the creeps.

He switched to a more cautious sort of movement, carefully making his way through the hallways. And then, behind him, he could hear a noise that sounded suspiciously like feet slowly being dragged across the floor. It was accompanied by a faint groaning - and the hairs on the back of Jamie's neck stood on end. Some instinct told him to draw the sword, and he did so, even as he turned around to face whatever was coming his way.

"Whoever's there, show yourself!"

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Ichijou was... Actually doing pretty well for himself so far. After receiving an infuriating message and encountering his first-ever real-life zombie, he had actually managed to stomp it to death in a little tantrum. This was what happened when he was under enough stress, the subject of enough ridicule, and perhaps most importantly, when he was in a bad mood from being hungry. He was glad to have survived the encounter, though he regretted his lack of elegance in dealing with it - his punishment was an enormous mess all over his shoes, his pants, the walls, the floor... He'd probably never be able to get the mess out of his pants and shoes, and it was going to take AGES to get all of that nastiness out of the walls. Worst idea ever.

But at least after letting out his rage and following it up with a regretful panic, he managed to gain a somewhat more level head. Not wanting to have to deal with more of these goddamn zombies than he had to, he thought to use his makeup (particularly his cherry-red nail polish, which was far too bright a shade of red but it was the most recent color he'd painted his nails and thusly the only color he had a bottle of in his pocket for emergency touch-ups) to put together a (kind of shitty) disguise so that he could at least get to a kitchen to stress-eat.

And stress-eat he did, so much that it made his stomach bulge out a bit. As it turned out this had a double-advantage of both making him much, much happier and making his disguise a degree more convincing, as he would occasionally give off a shameless little moan. It wasn't quite the same sort as the zombies were making, but they didn't seem to mind.

From there he simply decided to start following the zombies around while sometimes darting off to harass people over the CAT. They seemed to travel in groups, and there was a good possibility that they could lead him to something (or someone) important.

The front few members of Ichijou's zombie posse must've made some sort of discovery, since there was a distinctly accented human voice coming from some distance around a corner...

For a few seconds, there was nothing, save the faint groaning and shuffling noise getting steadily closer. Jamie shifted his stance, bringing the sword up. He didn't call again - if whoever it was wasn't going to answer, there wasn't any need to. And those Highland instincts of his were telling him that bad things were approaching.

Even so, the sight of the first of the zombies as it hove into view was a bit of a shock, especially since he recognized it. Or, more accurately, her. The one waitress at the malt shop - the bonny one, who he'd admired quite a few times. She wasn't so bonny now, with her sunken eyes and bits of flesh having peeled loose so they hung from her body like strips of fabric. One leg was bent at an almost impossible angle, but she still moved inexorably forward. And the stench that rolled out to greet him was foul, the rotting meat smell something almost physically tangible, and Jamie felt his stomach heave as the contents of his lunch threatened to escape.

As she spotted him in turn, something almost eager came over her and she came straight at him...just very, very slowly. Her companion, though, had also spotted Jamie. And he was much faster, so even though he was further down the corridor, he rapidly closed the gap until he found his way blocked by the ex-waitress. This didn't last long, however, as the faster of the two zombies took the shortest route he could, knocking the waitress down and trampling over her in his haste to get at the very very tasty meal that was just ahead. The sound of bones snapping could be heard, and the waitress's forward movement was more or less cut off. It didn't stop her from trying, though, using her arms to pull herself and her now useless legs forward.

Normally Jamie would be horrified by this, but as the faster zombie leapt at him, he found himself fighting for his life, swinging his claymore at the undead beastie as it tried to get close enough to claw his face off. Some more groaning from further back meant that there was likely at least one more that he'd have to worry about, but for now he was busy enough with the one who had already gotten to him.

Sounds of battle echoed back down the corridor towards Ichijou, dull meaty thuds coupled with the occasional sound of metal hitting metal - and at one point, a very distinct cry of "Creag An Tuire!" Definitely someone down there, but what did Ichijou want to do about it?

Edited 2012-06-27 05:35 (UTC)

A wave of relief passed over Ichijou as he felt thankful that Agent Washington hadn't shared his explosives with Mister McCrimmon, but that didn't last long once he realized that someone with a sword was going to gut him like a fish if he didn't do something. He couldn't exactly see where all of this noise was coming from, being a bit too short to see over his undead cohorts, but he could hear the sound coming closer and closer and closer and...

He tried to remain stone-faced, but he did have a breaking point. That happened once it seemed like the clashing sounds were coming from what he estimated to be about ten seconds away, at which point he simply couldn't stand it anymore; Ichijou let out a piercing scream and tried to take off running, but the distinct thump of a body hitting the floor followed by a pained whine signalled his failure. A variety of other sounds ensued, ranging from tearing noises to cries and yelps and wet flopping sort of sounds.

Well that certainly didn't bode well.

Explosives would have been bad - although loud battle cries aren't much better. Or piercing screams, come to think of it. Jamie's head whipped up at that sound, and the zombie that was trying to claw his face off decided that meant that he could try and rip Jamie's throat out instead. It very nearly succeeded, and the Scot only managed to save himself by quite literally flinging himself backward and just out of reach.

Luckily, his reflexes were quick and the follow-up swing of the sword landed the blow needed to take care of the zombie for good. The poor waitress Jamie left behind for now - she wasn't exactly going to be able to run after him in her condition and he had the feeling that the longer he waited, the worse it would be for whoever had screamed. He was pretty sure that was Ichijou, just by process of elimination. But if these undead things had gotten in, someone else might have gotten in as well, and no matter who it was they needed to be helped.

As he ran down the corridor towards the noise, he only hoped he wasn't too late.

((Converge in Wash's thread??))

((OOC: Sure! But feel to thread around Jamie for now since I'm at work. Just assume it takes him a while to get there.))

Turns out that groaning and feet dragging was Xion. When she finally comes into Jamie's view, she's holding her head and kind of shuffling down the hallway.

"Anybody get the name of the gummi ship that ran me over...?" she's muttering to herself. Ugh, she feels awful. She's not entirely sure what happened, either. She remembers being on Fremercury, and then the Doctor disappearing, and continuing on into the caves with Jamie, and... then... Nothing. Well, not nothing. She remembers dreaming. She was on another one of Sora's adventures, one that she'd already seen, and that's how she knew she was dreaming. But she doesn't remember falling asleep. Or... Or anything that would lead to her dreaming, let alone waking up in the space station. How did they get back? Is Jamie safe?

-- Speaking of Jamie, was that his voice she just heard? She looks up, blinking blearily down the hallway.

"Jamie? Izzat you?"

"Xion?"

She's awake, finally, and he lets out a sigh of relief. It meant that feeling he was having is wrong, and that could only be a good thing. Although it still doesn't explain Proctor's reaction in those last few seconds over the CAT...or the fact the feeling hasn't actually gone away yet.

He ignores it for now in favor of heading over so she doesn't have to shuffle down the hallway to meet him. It doesn't seem right to make her do all the work, not when she's clearly still recovering from whatever it was that happened to her. And now that she's awake, he can actually ask about that.

"What on Earth happened to ye after Proctor brought us back here? Ye just sort of...shut down, somehow."

Shut down? His phrasing makes something flutter in her stomach uncertainly. Why would that have happened? What happened, period?

"Huh? Proctor..." Her head hurts. She struggles to ignore it. "What are you talking about? I don't remember... Weren't we just in the caves?"

"No." There's something worried in his eyesas he says it. Whatever happened, it's clear that she's been out of it enough that she's lost some time somehow.

"We've been back here for quite sometime. Look, maybe we should get ye back to the infirmary." In the distance, there's a noise - faint, but the sound of a human voice that sounds...off, somehow. Jamie turns his head towards it, and that look of concern doesn't go away. "That is, if we can make it there."

"What...? Wh -- No, I'm fine, Jamie, I'm just confused -- "

The odd noise cuts her off, and she stares down the hallway, too.

If we can make it there?

"What do you mean by that? What's going on?"

"It's the townspeople. They're here, but something's happened to them, and they're...I don't know what they are, other than dead. Just dead and able to walk. And attack. I've had to fight some of them off earlier just to get here."

The groans start to rise a little in volume, and Jamie swallows uneasily. Then he turns back and reaches to pull on Xion's arm. "Come on, we can't stay here. They'll know we're here soon, and then they'll come for us."

Elsewhere in the spacestation, Wash was flicking some gristle off his knife before sheathing it. At his feet were a handful of zombies in various states of decomposition with fresh knife wounds in places that'll ensure they won't be coming back for a long time. He'd made the mistake of firing upon them immediately once he'd identified their threat, and part of him regretted that now.

"Where the hell are these things coming from?!" he cried in frustrated exasperation when he spotted another group shambling toward him.

He was trained to go for a long time with little to no rest, but even he knew that if this kept on happening, he'd slowly lose that fight. After all, the zombies had a chance of getting lucky and prying off a piece of his armor to get to him if he was too tired to stop them.

It was then that it occurred to him that the others didn't have that option. They could easily be hurt--Ichijou came to mind first--so while he pulled up a schematic of the lab and began to make his way to the elevator, he turned on his CAT.

"Jamie, Ichijou, Xion, I don't know how bad it is for you guys, but I'm making a run for docking bay while I can." His voice was businesslike and calm. "There's a ship there that has more weapons and armor. I can bring supplies back, or I can come find you and we can go together. It's your choice."

Ichijou's zombie crew was far from gentle in the way that they turned on him - once he tripped and fell over backwards, all he could really do was struggle uselessly as the creatures descended upon him. Once pinned down there was really no avoiding becoming a zombie snack. Hands, hands, and more hands grabbed and tugged at his shirt, quickly pulling it open, then a collection of heads stooped down to sample the tender, succulent meat of his now-exposed belly.

It was almost a relief for Ichijou when they became distracted by the two fresher, more lively meal options that were approaching (that is, Jamie and Xion.). It gave him the chance to sluggishly roll over and flop face-down, making a slapping sound and a velvety-red splash. The pressure of his weight pushing down and the coolness of the floor felt good against his new collection of open wounds.

Oh, he had a message on his CAT from Agent Washington. Unfortunately Ichijou's mind was feeling a little muddled and the only answer he could get out was a weak "Wa... shing... ton?"

Washington had seen death and gore; as a soldier, he'd seen it more times than he'd care to remember, but he'd quickly accepted such things happened whenever he pulled the trigger or tossed an explosive at an enemy. He'd also seen many a good man and woman go down, and as a Recovery agent, he'd done far worse. It was one thing to hold an old friend's hand as they died, but it was definitely another to then blow up that friend's body to the point where nothing was left behind but a deep, dark scorchmark.

So when he finally got a hold of Ichijou and heard his name croaked in such a soft, weak manner, Wash didn't even bat an eye. His stomach knotted, but not from the sounds Ichijou made when he moved, or the sight of blood. It knotted because he knew he was too late. No armor or weapons would be able to help the man now.

But he knew one thing that would.

He only said two words in reply before he burst into a sprint. "I'm coming."

There wasn't much that Ichijou could do other than wait, with Jamie and Washington coming to his aid from different places. Of course he knew in his mind that any and all assistance at this point would be absolutely useless, but Ichijou was a very good liar - particularly when it came to lying to himself. He repeatedly assured himself that even though he was certain that teeth had punctured and ripped so deeply that his very own digestive fluids were leaking into places where they had no right to be and the viral disease of imminent zombie-ness was pumping through the fraction of blood that remained inside of him, somehow he would be okay. The people who he was trapped with would pick up his damaged body, replace all of its lost fluids and mend it, protect it, or he'd wake up from this bad dream in his beautifully decorated townhome surrounded by nothing but the most likeable company. They would give each other hugs and do each other's nails and braid each other's hair and share coffee and desserts and live happily ever after.

Realistically, it was more likely that he'd continue to baste in his own juices until his whole body shut down and then restarted violently no matter what action the others took. It was still too early to give up completely, even if all he could do to help himself was roll onto colder areas of the floor to give himself a little bit of comfort while fighting his urge to sleep. Ichijou knew for sure that if he gave in to that urge, he probably wouldn't be waking up.

Other, angrier thoughts crossed his mind. He was certain that whoever had been answering his messages from Nathan's answering machine was responsible for this, and he wanted to give that jackass a piece of his mind. If he had been in better condition this may have been a dramatic and lengthy speech detailing exactly how much this individual sucks, but given his current state he uttered just two syllables: "Hate you."

Wash slammed the nearest door behind him, even going as far as breaking the panel to ensure the door remained closed. He figured that would contain the situation a bit. He'd come back later once he'd handled things with Ichijou.

His motion tracker was activated as he started running again. So far, any action was far ahead of him as well as behind, but as drew farther and farther away from that particular end of the spacestation, he saw nothing else there. He didn't particularly enjoy being flanked, so things were looking up a little.

Unfortunately...he couldn't say the same for the poor man he finally saw on the ground. Blood had pooled everywhere. Part of him wondered if he was already too late, but as he neared and knelt in front of Ichijou, he saw the faint signs of breathing.

"Hey," he said softly as his hand came to rest on Ichijou's shoulder. "I'm here. Tell me how bad it is." The last thing he wanted to do was move him and make the man's suffering worse than it already was.

The sensation of a hand on his shoulder was comforting for once - typically Ichijou reacted negatively to such attempts at reassurance, but this time he was actually craving the contact of a non-hostile person. With the combined effort of his neck and shoulder, he moved to softly stroke the hand with his cheek. There was a hint of disappointment in his heart when the hand was obviously not as soft as it should have been (what with the armor and all), but this wasn't exactly an appropriate time to be picky.

What made up for it tenfold was the fact that apparently someone really, truly gave a shit about him. That was a bittersweet realization since he knew that it happened very rarely. Certainly some members of Ichijou's staff at the casino genuinely cared for him, but that was pretty much all he got of 'caring' in his entire life before showing up in Luministi. Even-- Especially when horrible things like this happened, it reminded him of why he couldn't go back, ever. Because he knew that there were people here who really cared about what happened to him: Xion, Miss Sophie, Hawk, even Proctor to some extent...

Rather than trying to explain the extent of his injuries, Ichijou opted to show Wash instead. He had gotten pretty good at flipping himself over, and demonstrated this by propping himself onto his side with his arms, then shifting his weight so that he'd fall onto his back. Lying in the pool and rolling into colder-temperature spots ensured that nearly all of Ichijou's skin, clothing, and hair was painted in slick red, but the source of all of that leakage was mostly concentrated in one spot.

Before continuing, Ichijou gazed up at Washington. His pretty face was soaked in blood, making his dull-blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He blinked slowly as he caught his breath and adjusted to the new position, noticing that it was markedly more painful when he removed the pressure from his midsection.

The movement clearly caused him some additional pain. With it came additional whimpers and an even stronger torrent of tears (though they were hardly noticeable since they couldn't travel far without turning red.).

"It hurts," he complained quietly. That was probably the most obvious statement he had ever made. Perhaps slightly more helpful was his follow-up: While the location of his injuries was probably obvious, the blood all over everything could have easily served as a distraction from the main problem. But to prevent such a distraction, one of his hands snaked up and found a resting place right in one of his wounds. Ichijou's abdomen had been sloppily torn open in several places and some of the wounds were deeper than others. The kindest of them had only taken off a bit of skin, while other more ambitious zombies had gone through skin and muscle and even into the tubing of his small intestine.

"Here."

Sticking his hand into his exposed viscera probably wasn't a good idea, but even the lightest weight on it felt better than nothing.

The sound of another door slamming was followed by rapidly approaching footsteps as Jamie came into view - only to stop short at the sight that he found in front of him. Ichijou looked like someone had torn him apart, and frankly, the fact the man was even still breathing was some sort of miracle.

He wasn't entirely certain how much longer that was going to last, either, and he made his way over to Wash's side, so at least Ichijou would be able to see a human face before the end. He didn't say anything - couldn't really think of anything to say. Instead, he simply glanced over at the armored figure next to him. Was there anything they could do?

He started to protest when Ichijou moved, but he had a feeling there was no stopping the man once he got going. Gently, he nudged Ichijou's hand away, replacing it with his own and applied a firm amount of pressure to help staunch the bleeding. But...the motion was futile, he knew. He had training to make minor patch jobs out in the field, but he was definitely out of his depth with these ragged, extensive wounds.

When Jamie arrived, Wash spared him a glance, meeting his eyes, but ultimately, he turned away and returned his attention to Ichijou. He didn't care to think of the number of soldiers he'd seen blown apart and torn open by shrapnel, but none, to his memory, had been this calm. Frankly, Wash was impressed. Unfortunately, that emotion didn't help anybody.

He let out a sigh before he spoke. "Those things got you pretty good."

Things, he thought. A part of his rational mind knew just how ridiculous it all was, and the other was still processing what he'd seen. Zombies only existed in stories. It was a fundamental fact in his world that they just weren't real, like ghosts, goblins, and a whole plethora of other fictional creatures. Yet, there they were, and they'd tried to make a meal out of someone before being distracted.

"If the stories are true," he continued, his voice still as level as ever, "then there's a good chance you'll turn into one of those things once you've bled out. But since we're here, there's a good chance you'll come back to life.

"So you have a choice: we can end things now, or, um...the other option." He couldn't bring himself to utter the word "zombie". "I don't know how much time you have left, so you better choose quickly before you lose that ability."

The tiniest smile pulled at Ichijou's lips when Jamie arrived and Wash started to press down on the deepest of his wounds. He would have liked to have even more contact, possibly even to be held, but the thought was simply too embarrassing to verbalize. Even in such a dire situation, Ichijou tried to retain his sense of pride - shamelessly asking to be cradled and comforted was just too much.

Though his heart wasn't getting everything it desired, it remained strangely grateful. He was afraid, terrified even, but this was for better or worse a much more benevolent end than he had been expecting. He was in decent company, wasn't being mocked or tortured, and in a way his companions were even offering to put an easy end to his pain.

Ichijou was also familiar with the myth of zombies, mostly from overhearing his coworkers chattering about the latest movie or whatever. The little trace of a smile faded in favor of a profoundly sad sort of expression, and he nodded along with Wash's explanation of the undead creatures. He gave it a double affirmation with a shaky "I know."

Becoming a violent undead monster wasn't dignified, and if his pride could hold him back from asking to be held, it certainly could hold him back from letting himself "live" like that as well. Ichijou wished to prolong his life as much as possible (as he imagined most people would) but he knew that letting himself reach that state was no substitute for actually being alive. Zombijou would have had the same body, sure, but it wouldn't have been him. And having someone romping around with his beautiful visage that didn't share his wonderful personality was completely unacceptable.

The part about coming back to life intrigued him. Hadn't Fuu told him about something like that in the past? And come to think of it, why would his mystery tormentor let his favorite toy (or so Ichijou assumed, since he believed he had the exclusive privilege of being harassed by him) go that easily? Even if he wouldn't actually come back, he was screwed either way - but one option led to eternal rest and the other led to becoming a disgusting nuisance to some of the few people who had ever treated him well.

The tears were still flowing and Ichijou couldn't adequately hide just how afraid he was. But he still looked directly at Wash and Jamie and attempted to speak with authority.

Very weak, broken, scared authority. His lungs strained to push the words harder than his previous resigned and soft manner of speaking:

"Let me become one of them," he demanded, "and I'll never forgive you."

From there Ichijou clenched his teeth and stared up in waiting. He didn't know if they were going to give him any sort of warning before acting but in any case he planned on maintaining his tearful stare at Jamie and Wash so that he could continue to see his company, right up to the point when his eyes would no longer be able to send information to his brain.

Some of the color drained from Jamie's face as Wash spoke. He'd heard of plenty of stories about all sorts of strange and supernatural beasties in his day, and believed them. So it wasn't much of a stretch to believe that once Ichijou died he would come back as a slavering, mindless creature that would try his best to kill and eat everyone else on the spacestation - or in the town itself if he figured a way out. And it was very clear that the man would rather die then let that happen.

The problem was that for all that Jamie was good in a fight, and fully capable of defending himself when the situation arose, he'd never had to do what this particular situation demanded - to give someone mercy. The thought of it was more than a little daunting. And, to be honest, he wasn't entirely certain that Ichijou wouldn't simply get back up again afterward anyway. Not unless it was done the right way, and he didn't know what that was. Licking his lips a little nervously, he turned his attention back to Wash.

"H-how..." He paused, and swallowed heavily. "How do we so it so he'll not come back anyway?"

Edited 2012-07-01 07:14 (UTC)

A small, sad smile graced Wash's face when he heard Ichijou's response. "I won't let that happen," he said with a resolute nod.

Hearing the hesitance in Jaime's question didn't shake his resolve one bit. "See that pistol on my leg? It'll be quick. He won't feel it." He spoke as though he was giving simple instructions, not talking about ending a guy's life. Though, having been killed with a shot in the head last year, it kind of gave him an interesting perspective on the whole thing.

He removed his hand from Ichijou's abdomen, ignoring the blood sticking to his hand, and reached for said pistol. The safety was already off, the gun ready to be fired at any second, so he was at least able to spare the man of that sight.

"Jamie, we're probably gonna have to run after I do this," he said quietly, not looking over at the young man. "Those things are attracted to any loud noise, but if things get too hectic, I have one more grenade to use to make sure we get an advantage back.

"But this time," he continued, this time to Ichijou, "I won't have to warn you when I do." And then he patted Ichijou's arm. For him, that was about as much sentimentality anyone was going to get.

Having the pressure released from his belly once again triggered a pained cry. Scared as he was, Ichijou was actually looking forward to this in a way - if nothing else it wouldn't hurt anymore, and he wouldn't be able to worry about things. And if he actually came back somehow, maybe if he was lucky this whole thing would blow over while he was doing whatever dead people do. Ichijou wasn't really a spiritual person by any means, so he assumed that it would be just like going under anaesthesia.

Oh, anaesthesia sounded good right now.

Ichijou attempted to calm the sobs that shook his body to make aiming a little easier, though he was confident that Wash could handle it even if he didn't hold completely still. He hardly even processed the little quip about the grenades, although he did find being patted on the arm to be slightly reassuring.

"Thank you," he whispered, then began to count backwards in his head. Just like anaesthesia, he kept telling himself. His eyes remained wide open, breaths long and deep except for the occasional hiccup, and thoughts turned into numbers.

A simple procedure. It would be over before he knew it.

999, 998, 997, 996, 995, 994, 993...

"Aye." Considering he had heard an increased amount of groans and shuffling from the zombie-things after his fight, it made sense. The louder something was, the more they were drawn to it. It didn't quite explain why they had seemed so determined to get to him, but now wasn't the time to try and figure that out.

Instead he moved over to Ichijou's side, and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Ichijou would have to turn his head to see Jamie's face, but he would be able to feel that touch right up to the end. Maybe that would provide some sort of comfort. He didn't know if it would, but he had to try at least that much. And then, once it was over, he would be free to run.

He looked down at Ichijou one last time, then back up to Wash with a nod. Whenever the agent was ready, he was ready as well.

Quietly, Wash got to his feet, giving a nod to Jamie. "Be ready," he said simply, and then he aimed his pistol at Ichijou's head.

"We'll see you soon."

As soon as he finished speaking those words, the gun went off, the bullet finding its target with ease. He knew he didn't have to check to make sure Ichijou was gone, not after doing the same thing numerous times before in his life. Unfortunately, the loud crack drew the attention of the zombies as he'd said, and he reached for Jamie to give him a hand up. "Come on!" he ordered. "We're going to the docking bay."

That hand up was more than welcome, and he made readily made use of it to fully get back to his feet before starting to head toward the docking bay at a run. The faster they could get there, the better, in his mind.

He could hear the zombies groans grow more excited - well, if something not living could be excited, anyway. At any rate, the noises they made were louder. More numerous, too, as if homing in on the noise the gun had made.

"Aye, you're not joshing. Do ye think we'll be able to get past them to get there?"

"Of course we will," he said firmly, holding his pace steady so he could stay beside Jamie. In any other circumstance, he would have sprinted ahead, but in this place, he couldn't take the chance of getting flanked and leaving the young man exposed to attack. So instead, he reached for his last grenade, clutching it in his free hand until he had an opportunity to use it. "This should take care of enough of them for us to get away without too much interference."

As he said that, a wave of zombies flooded out into the hallway. "Speaking of... You might want to cover your ears." And with that, he chucked the grenade at the zombies, and moved ahead of Jamie to cover him and take the brunt of the blast's concussive force just in time for the grenade to blow up with a loud KABOOM.

Wash's warning wasn't actually necessary - Jamie was familiar enough with grenades that as soon as Wash looked as though he was ready to throw it he brought his hands up to cover his ears, ducking off to the side behind where two sections of the corridor wall met up, a metal brace sticking out just enough to provide a tiny amount of cover.

Between that and Wash, the concussive force was more or less absorbed and he remained on his feet. This was good, because as soon as it subsided he was was off and running again, ignoring the bits of zombie that now were scattered throughout the hallway. The noise would draw more of them, but the mess that had been left behind should be enough for them to get to their destination.

It didn't stop him from calling back to Wash to make sure the man was following. "That'll take care of them. Come on!!"

Wash had already began to run when Jamie called for him. His eyes flicked up to this motion tracker, and from the looks of things, their way would be clear for a bit--though that said nothing about what would come following after them. Nonetheless, they still had a good couple minutes of breathing room before anything could catch them. He quickly passed Jamie, his rifle at the ready, but he stayed fairly close so they weren't separated as he led the way to the docking bay.

Unsurprisingly, it too was teeming with zombies, but only a few were around the Longsword spacecraft. He was briefly very grateful that he had closed the shuttle's loading door before leaving it to sit the past couple months. "Make a run for that ship," he shouted, lunging forward to strike at a nearby zombie with his knife. He'd start firing once Jamie had gone on ahead. "Don't worry about me, I'll catch up. I can open the door remotely from here. Just go!"

"Aye!" Drawing his sword again, Jamie took off as fast as he towards the Longsword. He knew Wash would likely be able to pick off the ones nearby, but he would be a fool to expect to not have to contend with the zombies that were around the ship.

Even though he bit back the urge to yell, the sound of his feet against the floor of the docking bay was enough to start to draw the attention of some of the zombies that were between him and the ship, and they turned and started to move towards him.

So far it looked as though he was lucky - most of the closest zombies seemed to be of the slower type, and he could out run those. But there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was too easy so far, and he hoped there wasn't a nasty surprise waiting for him once he got closer to the spacecraft.

There wasn't much to do for that but wait and see, though, and as the first of the zombies drew close enough to get within attack range, he went to meet it, sword flashing through the air and into undead flesh. He didn't dare risk a look back to see how Wash was faring, concentrating instead on taking the zombies down before the rest of them caught up to his position.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In outer space, zombies can't hear you scream...

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