This plot bunny is an offshoot of 'A Shaggy Dog Story', and is, I believe, the fault of the people who pestered me for another AU - or an AU AU, really - story about the potential branch of history where the Winchesters decided to stay Old North werewolves, and then went on to save the world from An Apocalypse (not necessarily The Apocalypse).
As if that wasn't bad enough, the little orphaned plot bunny that started off as an 'Escapee From The Plot Bunny Farm' has clearly been eating steroid-laced carrots, because it's determined to turn into a fully fledged story. So, with the encouragement of The Denizens of the Jimiverse, I'm splitting it off to have its own story, so I'll pull the three chapters out of the orphans pen, and shove 'em in here.
If you've already read the first couple of chapters, you know it as...
DUDE, WERE'S MY APOCALYPSE?
They're not mine. It's rated T. The word idjit will be used repeatedly. I blame the Denizens, those relentless breeders of plot bunnies who fit them with little life jackets, GPS devices and outboard motors, and send them Down Here. Either that, or they're being delivered by UAVs.
Chapter One
Kerryn's hands tightened on the wheel when she saw how the trees crowded right to the edge of the rutted road. She could've laughed at her reaction; just a couple of years ago, she would've been smiling about how picturesque and peaceful the scene was, but these days, all she could think about was just how effective the cover would be if somebody wanted to lay an ambush.
Of course, if the information was good, she would be expecting some sort of a reception. If the information was good. It was always possible that somebody was simply spreading word of a place of refuge in order to send desperate people into the arms of predators of a completely human kind – they'd encountered land pirates before – but, well, that was the key, wasn't it. Desperate people. The small convoy of bewildered and traumatised ordinary people that she'd ended up leading were at the end of their rope. The government quarantine measures had been wretchedly ineffective, first world supply chains had broken down, utilities had failed – whoever said that civilisation was only nine meals away from anarchy had been an optimist, she thought wryly.
Six vehicles, sixteen desperate people. And two dogs who thought they were people. (If she was honest, the people thought they were people, really.) Fewer than they'd set out with. It just wasn't... fair, she raged inwardly. Fate, Karma, Destiny, didn't they watch cable? Didn't they know that when flesh-eating zombies took over the world, survivors were supposed to get a capable sheriff as a leader, and a wise old vet who was also a farmer to act as his conscience, and a geek who could fix things and figure things out, and a real rough-diamond kind-of-hot-if-he-would-just-have-a-bath redneck who could shoot anything with his crossbow and find or hunt food where you'd think there was nothing to be had? They weren't supposed to get an overweight molecular biologist with glasses who had nearly brained herself the first time she fired a gun, after having to work it out for herself, and was still such a lousy shot that she felt constantly guilty for wasting ammunition, and who threw up (twice) the first time she had to work out how to get meat off a deer carcass...
Her stomach turned over at the memory. She'd clipped it with the car, and the poor thing had broken a leg, so she'd had to shoot it, and her son and her dog had looked at her hungrily, so she'd taken the biggest knife she'd had with them, and it had all reminded her too much of the gush of gore that morning when their neighbour had burst into the kitchen and sunk his teeth into her husband's neck, and started eating him, and it was only the fact that the dog pulled him down and tore out his throat until his head practically came off that saved her and Todd from the same fate...
As if sensing her worry, Lottie hung her big, earnest head over Kerryn's shoulder from the back seat, and whumphed comfortingly. Kerryn couldn't help but smile.
"They never had a dog as awesome as you, did they?" she raised a hand to scratch Lottie's ears, "I bet more of 'em would've made it through to season fifteen if they'd had a dog like you."
Desperate people. Desperate, and ordinary. They'd encountered enclaves before, fortified farms or small villages or gatherings, but had been turned away when they weren't deemed useful enough. Any of you folks a doctor, a dentist? Pharmacist, maybe, or a paramedic, even a vet? Butcher? Gunsmith? Carpenter, bricklayer? Mechanic? No, sorry, we can't take you, you're just dead weight. Teacher? Our kids don't need to learn math, they need to learn to raise food. Retired electrical engineer? Sorry, not taking anybody over sixty-five, you're a liability. Geologist? What, you can point out hills to us? Molecular biologist? What the hell is that? What the fuck would we do with a molecular biologist, lady? Dogs? We got no use for pets here, lady, we got enough trouble feeding ourselves, you come in, you surrender your dogs. We'll feed 'em to the working dogs, probably, meat is at a premium, they're not properly fed as it is.
The info had to be good, she thought fiercely, her glance falling on the gun with which she had such a hate-hate relationship (nobody had laughed when she claimed it had bitten her), they had to find a place, somewhere where they could stop wandering, running.
As if in response to her thoughts, three clearly armed figures stepped out of those picturesque trees. One of them had a Rottweiler at heel. Kerryn put her most reassuring smile on, and turned to Todd.
"Looks like we've found them, huh?" she smiled to the nine-year-old. "And look, they've got a dog just like Lottie!" Todd didn't reply. Todd hadn't really said anything since he watched his father being torn apart and eaten before him. Occasionally he would whisper to Lottie after dark, but he never said a word to anybody with two legs.
One person – a man, with the dog – lowered his weapon and approached the ramshackle group of vehicles. In her mirrors she could see that, despite her constant reminders that it probably wasn't a good idea, they bunched up, like a herd crowding together for safety. She just hoped they had the sense to keep the engines running, although if they had to back up in a hurry, she just prayed that Kenny would get it right – there hadn't been gas to spare for him to practise except on the road, and he didn't get a lot of time in reverse.
Kerryn rolled down the window, and put on her friendliest smile. "Hi!' she called.
"Hey there," the man – he bent down to the window, and she saw that he was in fact a teenager, with scruffy dark blonde hair and a dusting of freckles that spoke of time spent outdoors. When he spotted Lottie, his face broke into a grin. "Hey, girl!" he enthused.
To Kerryn's astonishment, Lottie, who had become wary of strangers since the virus had got loose, woofed back happily, tail wagging. The other dog jumped to put his paws on the window edge, and woof to Lottie. They exchanged eager nose sniffs.
"Oh, hey, Thor, careful, careful!" the teen yelped, "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I think he's scratched your door. Hey, tiger," the youth grinned across at Todd, "You got a really awesome dog here! What's her name?"
"Lottie," piped Todd, "That's Lottie."
"Hey, Lottie the Rottie! I like it!" He turned back to Kerryn's astonished face. "So, where are you folks headed?"
Did he just apologise for scratching my car? Kerry thought bemusedly. And did Todd just talk? If they're land-pirates, she decided, they're not very good at it.
"We're looking for somewhere to... to stop," she said finally.
"Okay, well," he stepped back, "Just let me talk to the others, and then we'll talk again, okay?"
"Uh, okay," she replied, even more bemused. "Um, I'm a molecular biologist," she blurted.
The young guy turned back. "Yeah?" He looked as confused as she felt. "I got no idea what that is, but I bet you'd like talking to my cousin. Frankie!" He turned and bellowed towards the others, "We got a... what did you say you were? Never mind, she'll know."
"Uh, okay, great," Kerryn replied, a little dazed. "We'll, er, just wait here then..."
A sudden small movement in the trees to the side of the car caught her attention – she'd become a lot more aware of such things – and she jumped. "What's that?" she almost shrieked, scrabbling clumsily for the gun.
The young guy turned casually, and huffed dismissively. "Nothin' to worry about," he assured her, and his relaxed demeanour almost convinced her, "We make sure the Croats don't get anywhere near this road. Can't have people gettin' attacked while they're trying to find us – most, by the time they get here, they've just about reached the end of their tethers."
He gave her that reassuring grin, and she smiled back uncertainly. She was sure she'd seen something.
Kerryn glanced at Lottie in the rear-view mirror. The dog was a reliable detector of approaching threats, animal, human or Croat; anything dangerous got too close to her people, she would growl like an angry chainsaw, and explode into a slavering whirlwind of snarling and teeth. But Lottie wasn't at all troubled.
If anything, Kerryn mused, watching the dog peer intently into the greenery, she seemed inquisitive, her tail waved uncertainly.
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After the young guy – RJ, she learned, although she didn't know what that stood for – and his cousin Frankie had spoken briefly to everybody, they led the refugees down the deteriorating track. The ancient Volvo belonging to Dale and Vera finally gave up, the suspension collapsing, so they pushed it off the road, and left it.
"I'll come back and have a look, if I get a chance," RJ consoled Dale, "Depending on what it is, we might be able to get it running again."
"I'm well past the age of crawling around under vehicles, I'm afraid," quavered octogenarian Dale, "And if it needs parts, well, where the hell would you get them?"
"Here and there," RJ grinned, "Plus, we got someone who's real good with metalwork."
"It's hardly worth salvaging," stated Dale, "Besides, where am I gonna go, anyway? I've had enough of running, son. I'm old, and I'm tired."
"Huh, you sound just like my grandpa," RJ grinned even wider. "Because 'I'm too old to be dealin' with this shit' is the second most frequent thing out of his mouth. After 'Balls'. Actually, it's probably the third most frequent, after 'Balls' and 'God's tits!'. And 'Idjit'. Which makes it fourth, I guess." They'd loaded what they could of the elderly couple's belongings into the jeeps, and continued their journey.
It ended at the high gates of what looked like some sort of fortified compound. Over the gates, stood a sign worked in all sorts of pieces of metal. It read 'Singer Salvage'.
"It was a joke," RJ explained, "Because when we got here, and first started trying to set it up as some sort of liveable place, my Auntie Ronnie said that it looked worse than my grandpa's junk yard, so she made the sign, and you shoulda heard him, but it kinda stuck."
"Oh, is your aunt a welder?" asked Claudio, who had trained as a jeweller, "Or does she do smithing?"
RJ's face became sad. "She... she could do anything with metal," he said, visibly taking control of himself. "Short of smelt it, and she was scrounging books on that. She set up a forge, here. She made our ammo, our tools, she..." his voice caught, and he stopped. "But her daughter is just as good," he went on more firmly. Anyway," he signalled to somebody in a tower beside the gate, "We should get inside, then we'll go through induction for you. And food. I'm guessin' you've been eatin' a lot of canned stuff."
"Er," Kerryn began, still feeling bemused, "Don't you want to know what we've brought? What we can do?"
RJ shrugged. "We'll sort it out," he replied offhandedly. "We don't turn anybody away. As long as you're not a Croat. Or... meanin' to do us harm."
"How do you know that?" she blurted out, the unexpected lack of any sort of difficulty perplexing her, "You've barely spoken to us! And we're bringing dogs – pets!"
RJ turned on a smile that would make girls his own age swoon. "We've kind of gotten good at, uh, picking up on evil vibes," he replied. "Besides," he indicated the dog beside him. "Thor here has a good nose for evil shit. It's a dog thing. Have you noticed the way that dogs have good noses for evil shit?" He made a soft whuff, and Lottie trotted forward to butt against him for pats. "She's wonderful. And my Dad is gonna want to talk to you about her."
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There was a long building that was best described as a mess hall. The furnishings were rough, but the food was heaven after months on the road. Todd's eyes bugged out of his head as a pile of mashed potato was put on his plate, and a knob of butter on top of it, with greens and scrambled eggs.
"Mostly, we keep butter for the kids," explained the young woman who was dishing up the food, "The bread's not so good, we can't find any more yeast, and sometimes it rises, and sometimes it doesn't."
"That'll depend on what wild yeasts you have hanging around," Kerryn told her. "Have you thought about setting up any sort of screening process? You know, find the best one, the most active one, and isolate it, and propagate it?"
"Not really," the young woman admitted, "I wouldn't know where to start."
"Well, it wouldn't be that difficult," Kerryn shrugged, "So long as you've got some jars, and some way of boiling or baking them, then you can improvise growth medium, and just put 'em outside and see what you can catch, or if you've got just a tiny speck of yeast left somewhere..."
"You know how to do that?" The young woman's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's great! Chuck! Chuck!" She turned and yelled back at the kitchen. "CHUCK!"
An unkempt and harassed-looking man came out, peering at a clipboard. "What is it, Becky?" he sighed. "I'm kinda busy."
"This is Kerryn!" the woman named Becky enthused, "And she knows how to make yeast!"
"Not make," Kerryn corrected her, "Isolate, and propagate. Make more."
Chuck's eyes lit up. "You could do yeast?" he breathed. "Oh, that's, that's fantastic! Are you a baker?"
"I'm a molecular biologist," Kerryn replied.
"We could do proper bread!" chirped Becky.
"Screw bread, we could do beer!" Chuck beamed hugely. "We could do beer, we could do wine! We could do a mash, and a distillation! We could produce spirits! Oh my God, WE COULD PRODUCE DRINKABLE ALCOHOL!"
The crowded mess hall, which had been noisy with chatter, suddenly became silent. Kerryn felt herself blush furiously.
"Er, well, I don't know much about brewing," she stammered, "I know the theory, but I've never done it..."
"Doesn't matter," Chuck hummed happily, "You get the yeast, we'll grow something to ferment." He looked at her earnestly. "You don't think you could genetically engineer a toilet paper tree, do you?"
"Why don't you just go sit and eat," suggested Becky. Kerryn did just that, ushering Todd towards a table where a few other people were already eating, keeping a firm grip on Lottie's lead and making sure Lottie stayed close. She looked around the room, and saw that a number of other people had dogs with them, including the teenage girl at the opposite end of the table.
"Um," she said tentatively to another man at the table, "We've only just arrived, but, do they always let dogs in here, where the people eat?"
That prompted a stifled laugh from one of the young men at the table, who was viciously elbowed by the teenage girl.
"I'm not complaining," Kerryn went on hurriedly, "I'm kind of relieved – there were a couple of other places that said they wouldn't take pets, and Lottie here, well, she's one of us."
"Oh, they're welcome here," the teenage girl assured her, "When you've been here for a while, you'll understand. Dogs are members of the family, here. Wherever we go, they go."
Kerryn and Todd finished their meal in silence, then Todd put his plate on the floor for Lottie to lick. Kerryn was about to upbraid him, but realised that nobody else even seemed to notice.
"So, uh, how do you feed the dogs here?" she asked. "There seem to be quite a lot of them."
"A group of us go hunting," the teenager replied. "If you know where to look, it isn't hard to keep 'em all in fresh meat. Don't worry, she won't starve." She smiled at Lottie again. "Looks like she could do with a bit more meat on her ribs." Lottie looked up from her plate, and wagged her tail.
As the new arrivals were ushered back for seconds, Kerryn looked about her, feeling dazed. The little group of ill-equipped people she had travelled with had spent months on the road, desperately seeking a refuge from the Croats, looking for somewhere safe, hitting one difficulty after another, and now they were... here.
Nobody cared who they were, what they could do, what they had, or how old they were. We take everybody, RJ had informed them, so long as you're not a Croat, or a... someone looking to hurt us.
So, now they were here – it was impossible to believe that they'd found a safe harbour – and she had no idea what was supposed to happen next.
"How was lunch?" asked a voice at her elbow. She jumped; she hadn't heard the young woman – Frankie, she remembered – come up beside her.
"Oh!" Kerryn collected herself. "It was wonderful! Real potatoes! And real vegetables! They even went crunch! And bread, ohhh, bread."
"Well, for a given value of 'bread'," shrugged Frankie ruefully. "But Chuck seems to think you might help with that. Well, he seems to think that you might help with making alcoholic beverage, and improving the baking would just be a happy side-effect."
"Well, maybe we can do both," Kerryn suggested, "Although I'd suggest the baking yeast get a higher priority."
"Let him dream," suggested Frankie, "Meanwhile, we're getting all you newcomers to come and meet my uncle."
"Oh?" enquired Kerryn. "What does he do?"
Frankie smiled. "Oh, all sorts of things – he does building maintenance, he fixes the vehicles, he's got half a dozen kids that hang around with him, his pack, he calls them, they're learning from him, he leads salvage runs, not that there's much left to salvage within reach, now, and when they're not discussing dog breeding, he gets yelled at a lot by my grandpa."
"So, he's the local handyman?" Kerryn smiled.
"Well, actually, he runs the place, but otherwise, yeah."