Rating: Teen
Notes: My first actual WIP in over a decade. I will update as I can, no real promises but I'm hoping I can finish because this one feels kinda epic.
Warnings: Zombies
Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.
Written: 3/2013
The airport was surprisingly quiet even given the late hour; they'd expected more post-Carnival revelers flying back to the States, but between Murdock's singing and exhaustion they weren't sure something was going on until they approached the ticket window to receive only an amused stare.
"I still got feathers, don't I?" Murdock giggled, rubbing a hand over his glitter stained face self-consciously; "Face, are there feathers on me?"
"Couple on your ass…" Face groaned, rolling his eyes to the attendant. "We're uh, flying into Los Angeles… name's Contreras…"
Hannibal shook his head and gestured for them to go back to where BA was slumped over on a bench. "Make sure he's still breathing, okay?"
The look was enough to raise Face's suspicion, but he followed Murdock over without protest – watching the colonel as he talked to the attendant just out of earshot. It didn't look good.
"Flight delayed, boss?" Murdock asked, eyebrows raised when he approached with a scowl.
"I don't think there is a flight," Face answered before the boss could.
"Nothing to LA."
"What about Burbank or San Diego?" Face asked, assuming there was a lockdown at LAX.
Hannibal shook his head, swallowing hard. "Something's wrong. Something big."
"What… what is it?" Murdock asked, shifting closer with a serious look despite the layers of glittery purple and blue paint on his face.
"There's a quarantine."
"Quarantine?" Face's brow wrinkled and he shook his head; "What about Phoenix?"
"Not just California." There was a moment of horrible silence as he grasped for the words that didn't yet make any sense to him. Then Hannibal said; "It's everywhere. No flights in or out of North America."
"No flights? What? Face, go talk some jazz on 'em…"
"They said a private plane took off this morning and was shot down by an apache over Miami and nobody's telling them anything else."
"That's… no, no… that doesn't make any sense." Face pushed up off the bench, both hands balled in the pockets of his slacks. "We've only been out of the country two weeks…"
"Well apparently Brazil's the only place celebrating right now because they're not booking flights anywhere." Hannibal noded toward BA; "Let's get him out of here before he wakes up."
"So what, we're just leaving?"
"We need to find out what's going on back at home… make some calls."
Murdock piped up; "You think it's an attack, boss?"
"Could be chemicals… they don't quarantine for nukes." Face added, "But, I mean… that's crazy, even…"
"We're going to make some calls." Hannibal said sternly, ceasing discussion as Face and Murdock managed the large man between them into the back seat of a cab – exchanging worried glances that were far more concerned about Hannibal's reaction than their appointed rendezvous with a friend of BA's in Los Angeles.
"Morto…" Hannibal mused under his breath in the front passenger seat, earning a frightened look from the driver. Catching the man's eyes he asked; "How much to Panama?"
The driver shook his head offering a dumb smile that only drew a tempered frown; "We need to get to Panama."
"No…" he replied, shaking his head again.
Hannibal squared his jaw and glanced to his boys shoved close in the back before sliding one hand under his jacket to touch the handle of his pistol and then swallowed again – pushing back his gut instinct to make a quick run toward home. "The nearest hotel, then."
Ten minutes later, they were tucked into a tiny motel room with BA snoring quietly on the single bed. Murdock paced the length of the room, listening carefully as Face and Hannibal tried their contacts one by one.
"I've got nothing," Hannibal replied quietly, "nobody's answering and some of the lines are disconnected."
Face's gut sank, the fear showing at the edges of his composed stare. "Down to one."
"It may be our only chance…"
"I know that, but the feds are all over her – Hannibal, I'm not going to make the call unless you think it's our only option." Face tapped his phone against the table that sat between them, after six months on the run he hadn't even heard from her once – no progress, no 'Face, you lying sack of shit where the hell are you?', nothing. But if it was as bad as every instinct was telling him…
"I think the feds are the least of our problems right now. I tried a line directly into Pendleton and nobody answered."
"Pendleton?" Murdock asked, crouching down on the floor with his back against the wall. "This is real bad, boss… I got a feeling there's big bad trouble goin' down there…"
"You say the word and I'll dial."
"Do it." Hannibal nodded, watching as Murdock tilted his head back against the dingy wall and let out a nervous hum. "We're going home. One way or another."
The room was silent when he pushed the call button, holding his breath as the line rang. Once. Twice.
"It's ringing, that's good, right?" Murdock asked timidly.
Hannibal held up a silencing hand.
Three times.
"Come on, come on…" Face whispered, biting into his lower lip.
The fourth buzz clicked and he was ready to end the call when a whisper picked up; "Jesus Christ, I don't know if I should kill you or thank god you're alive. Of course you're alive… please tell me you're alive."
"Are you secure?" He asked without even considering her words.
"Very funny, asshole." She shot back in a hissing whisper and he opened both eyes wide, offering Hannibal a half-shrug.
"No, not funny… we're just… what's going on? You're whispering."
"Yeah, I just hope the dead hate Steely Dan as much as I do."
His brow creased, and Face asked; "What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean? We've been pinned down at Davis-Monthan for three days by the damn things…" She stopped for a second and all he could hear was her ragged breathing and a hollow moan followed by three distinct gunshots.
"Charissa!" He shouted, pushing up from the table hard enough to knock over his chair.
"Damnit…" she muttered, barely audible over the line. "We're down to ten… and almost out of ammo. Please tell me you guys are doing better than I am."
"No… we… we're…" He started only to have Hannibal's hand firm against his arm. "We're fine. What's going on there?"
"Oh, you know… the usual zombie fucking apocalypse. Christ, I'm hanging up if you just called to play stupid."
"Zombie apocalypse?" He laughed, his head shooting up when Murdock giggled nervously and then moaned; "Oh man… oh man…"
"Yeah, you know those dead things everywhere? I don't know what else to call them. Where are you guys?"
"Dead… things?" He muttered, looking back to Hannibal who only sat back with a blank stare.
There was another long silence and for a second he was sure the call dropped before she whispered; "You really don't know what's going on? What kind of cave are you in?"
"Brazil, actually… what are you… are you serious? Zombies? Like the whole Dawn of the Dead thing?"
"Morto…" Hannibal muttered under his breath, eliciting another nervous whine from the pilot.
"I told you it had to be bad…" Murdock sighed, "Dead things. Walking around… that's a war there, I seen all the movies when I was in the hospital…"
"Zombies aren't real." Face said more to his team than the phone.
Sosa replied; "Then you get your ass up here and tell me what the hell's going on because six days ago people started coming back… three days ago the commander in chief went missing and now we've lost pretty much the whole damn grid."
"I… I can't… this isn't…"
"Shit. My battery's dying. We're moving out in twenty-four hours, Face. If you make it, we're in the medical center. If not… I guess… well…"
"Don't say it, we'll be there." He replied confidently, "We'll be there."
"We'll see."