Authors/Notes: This story remains T-rated for now but this chapter does contain scenes of Zombie violence and character death(s). Squeamish readers may want to hold their hands over their eyes and read by peeking between their fingers.
Required Disclaimer: This is a work of Fan Fiction: the author derives no monetary gain and limited artistic satisfaction from this work. (I sure ain't doing it for the lurkers out there—read & review, please.)
Chapter 2 – Mors certa, hora incerta
Zita Flores was momentarily paralyzed by the realization that—once again—she was immersed in a world where the dead could reanimate and crawl out of their graves, slavering for the taste of living flesh!
And that, unlike her last experience, there was nothing "virtual" about this reality.
This was real!
She shook it off quickly, her recent experiences in the hyper-reality that she had shared with Ron, serving her well.
Her training kicked in and she pulled the Baby Glock from her purse and began to formulate a strategy.
Priority One: Zombie Liz had already been put down and both Dr. Director and Jim Possible were standing near Ron and armed. He was relatively "safe" for the moment.
Priority Two: Monique was staggering up the hill toward the limos, trying to shepherd a struggling Wade Load in the process.
Zita frowned. It had been months since the shooting but neither of them were in any shape to move very fast for any distance and both would be helpless if attacked or forced to stand and fight.
She started after them, checking in every direction for incoming threats.
Along the way, she saw that some of the others were being pressed by newly emerging threats but she couldn't get close enough to help them without abandoning Monique and Wade. Her Model 30 had a full payload of Federal's Hydra-Shok ammo—eleven .45 ACP rounds that she could waste in a heartbeat, if she wasn't careful. She forced herself to stop hyperventilating and empty herself of all emotion.
Until they were safe or they were dead, every decision she would make for now would be logical and not clouded by emotion or fear.
A hand thrust up out of the ground and grabbed at her ankle. She danced out of its grasp and resisted the urge to fire down into the grass. She hurried after Monique and Wade, careful not to close too much distance with them so she could keep her sight-lines open.
RSVP
Jessica was so thankful she had worn flats instead of heels. She hadn't planned for zombies but the idea of the unpaved paths of the cemetery had certainly dictated more practical footwear than she might have otherwise chosen.
Oh, who was she fooling? Jess was a tomboy much in the same vein as Kim's cousin Joss—who was presently watching her back as they circled with Heather and Brittina between them, in the middle.
"Get up!" she told her famous cousin.
If the platinum-blonde pop sensation heard the exhortations to get back up off the ground, neither she nor Hollywood starlet Heather seemed inclined to move. They just clung to each other and whimpered.
The former cheerleader bent down and tore a strip off of the bottom of her dress. "Listen to me," she growled as she wound the strip of fabric around her hand, over and over. "If we move now, we still have open ground between us and the cars. If we wait…" She tore the end with her teeth and tied it off so that her hand was covered from her knuckles to the V of her thumb. "…we'll get surrounded. I love you, B; you're family and all…" She tore another strip from the bottom of her blouse and began to bind her other hand. Joss had caught her strategy and was now doing the same. "…but I'm not going to stay here and die for you. So get your Shakira-wannabe booty up off the grass and come with, or stay here and be Zombie-Chow!"
That seemed to get through—especially as Jess and Joss stepped away from the cowering duo.
Heather and Britina rose shakily to their feet, still clinging to each other, as the quartet prepared to move out.
RSVP
"Tara, I need your shoes," Bonnie said as the first of the walking undead closed within fifteen feet.
The platinum blonde girl pulled a shaky sit-up and yanked off her footwear. They were Manolo Blahnik knock-offs with three-inch heels: impractical for walking distances or over uneven ground but more than adequate for passive footwear while riding around in a wheelchair.
The toes are ruined where they dragged the ground while Bonnie hauled me uphill, she thought as she tossed them to her friend. But it doesn't really matter: we'll be dead in a few minutes…
"I hope you don't mind, T!"
Tara waved it off. "Since I can't walk, growing attached to pair of shoes seems a little silly."
"You'll walk again," Bonnie promised her, hefting a shoe in her right hand. "The doctors said it would take time for the bruising to heal."
"Time…" Tara muttered as the zombie staggered up to her friend. "…yeah, right."
Bonnie swung the shoe up and brought it down on the first corpse's head, the spiked heel punched through the top of the rotting skull and obliterated enough brain matter to drop it like a bad habit. Getting the heel back out was a little more problematical and she had to nail the next one through an eye socket with the second shoe before she could finish pulling the first one back out.
She freed both shoes with plenty of time to drop the next assailant with a pincher-strike: a simultaneous double-tap through both earholes.
Tara stared aghast: Bonnie looked like she was starting to enjoy herself!
RSVP
At the moment all hell seemed to break loose—for the second time, that is—Ron seemed to go rigid and unseeing.
"Yori..." he moaned softly.
Betty would have gone to him but she and Jim Possible had a fresh set of priorities as corpses began to erupt from the graves around them.
Not every grave: it appeared that the corpses in the older plots were probably too decomposed to break open their coffins and push their way up and out of the earth.
Still, there were enough resurrections scattered about to present an obvious problem to a veteran agent like Dr. Director. She still had three-quarters of a full magazine left in her gun and she had brought along three more reloads just in case the Lowardians made a reappearance—but the extra ammo was back in the limo she had arrived in. She didn't know the capacity of the Possible boy's energy pistol but she knew she had fewer bullets than there were undead between her and the car.
"Ron! Snap out of it!" she yelled, picking her targets carefully. "We need to move!"
Beside her, the adolescent genius was burning down the walking dead with an undisciplined ferocity that suggested undisciplined amateurism more than unlimited firepower.
"Crystal," she called over her shoulder, "see to Ron!"
But before the honey-hued girl could respond, one of the limos came rolling sideways down the hill toward them and crashing upside down against a couple of trees.
It was at that moment that Ron shuddered, blinked his eyes, and shook his head as if waking up from a long sleep. Then his arm shot out and, with a flash of blue and an electric crackling sound, a sword appeared in his hand.
He was off in another instant, running toward the crashed limo.
"Let's go, people," Betty Director growled. And started after him.
RSVP
Hope and Marcella had started out for the limos, picking the most open pathways available to them as they bobbed and weaved between the emerging threats.
The strategy to give the shambling horrors a wide berth was a sound one—at first—but in choosing the lowest risk openings, they eventually found themselves moving away from the cars again.
Eventually it became clear that they would have to start fighting their way through or they would be pushed farther from the others and eventually boxed in.
Marcella rifled through her purse and pulled out a nail file.
Hope looked in her purse and couldn't find anything even close to a defensive weapon. Then she looked at the silver chain that served as the shoulder strap.
They looked at each other, their unspoken communication heightened by surges of adrenaline and cortisol. Then, together, they charged the first two zombies that had staggered into the path between them and the sanctuary of the cars.
Marcella ran strait up to a particularly gruesome corpse and twisted away from its lazy embrace while driving her nail file deep into the center of its forehead. As it dropped, Hope ran up to a larger shambler, kicked off the ground as she used to when the cheerleaders formed a pyramid, and "ran" up the corpse to execute a flip, coming down behind it with her purse strap dropped down in a loop around the creature's neck. Planting her feet on the dead man's back, she gave the silver chain a mighty twist…
…and the creature's head popped off like the cork in a bottle of Champaign!
They stood there, chests heaving, hearts pounding, seeing how they really did have a chance to fight their way free.
"Hope…" Marcella took the Asian girl's hand, "…you have no idea how hot you are to me right now!"
And that was when head and arm of another zombie erupted from the ground next to Marcella's feet. She was so startled that it had time to close cold, corrupted fingers around her ankle and sink its teeth into her calf!
RSVP
Adrena Lynn could kick like a mule and her powerful legs—built up from years of extreme sports and stunts—had sent a half dozen of the undead flying by now. Her stint behind bars had resulted in her arms developing more muscle in the prison weight room: she could hit a lot harder than the average guy now. But she still needed a weapon. She'd been a fool to leave hers behind: she thought she would be able to show more respect by attending a simple memorial service unarmed.
What a mistake that had turned out to be!
If she'd had a weapon, she might have been able to save the crippled kid from his messed up mother! In time, that is. Mommie Deadest had lost her head when Adrena had waded in to pull her off of her son. A weapon might have been able to stop her before taking the first bite. Or, at least have given her the efficiency in dealing with the others so that she had the extra breathing room to head off mom as well.
The bites weren't bad…and not very deep. The numbness in the kid's legs kept the wounds from causing him any physical pain.
But none of this really mattered!
The boy was dead weight. He'd slow her down.
And he was dead—or as good as: she didn't know how long it would take before he turned—wasn't that what they called it when they became the undead? Bad enough he'd be dead weight, slowing her down as she tried to haul him to safety; a lot worse if he turned into a snapping, flesh-eating monster while she had him slung over her shoulder.
The only real choice here was to abandon him. Whether it took minutes… or hours…or even days…in the end there would be no saving him. So why risk her life?
Picking him up and hauling him up the hill through a flash mob of cannibal corpses was the stupidest thing she could do!
But if there was one thing that Adrena Lynn had finally figured out about her slow slide into the criminal life, it was that she must be pretty stupid.
She picked up the limp boy and hefted him over her shoulder. "Don't make me regret this, Poindexter," she grunted.
And started trudging up the hill.
RSVP
As soon as he saw the situation, Big Mike swooped in and grabbed the two Possible women, hoisting one in each arm. He tucked Anne Possible under one arm, carrying her much like a football while slinging Kim Possible over his other massive shoulder as he turned and began to run toward the parked limousines.
The former Middleton, now current Upperton, linebacker had little trouble in mowing down any individual opposition that got in his way. But the opponents were clustering in greater numbers as he got closer to the cars…
…almost as if there was some kind of chess-playing intelligence moving the zombies into their path like hideous game pieces!
Finally, he had to put Anne and Kim back down or risk them being grazed my teeth and nails as he tried to make an opening in the crowd. "Sorry, Ladies," he rumbled, cracking his massive knuckles as he sized up the zombies potential weak points. "Gonna have to make an opening on my own before we can go any further.
Suddenly a green beam of light lashed out and sliced through a trio of approaching corpses. Three pairs of legs wobbled for a few more steps as the torsos above slid off of their waists like a slow motion avalanche.
"Mo-om! You brought your laser scalpel with you?"
"Yes, Kimmie; I never go anywhere without it," Anne replied. "Ever since the day our house blew up."
"Well you might have told me," Kim fumed.
"Honey, this is my way of telling you." The former neurosurgeon turned and cut a quartet of the undead behind them off at the knees.
The former teen heroine turned and, in a fit of anger, swung her fist at an approaching zombie. She missed by a good two feet as her target was still out of range…
…but it burst into flame, anyway, and crumpled like so much burned cardboard.
The young redhead looked about but could see no other explanation for the crisped corpse. Picking out another, nearby target, she thrust her arm out, miming a palm-strike, even though the walker was a good ten feet away.
Its skull flared up like a struck match head and blazed up into a staggering inferno.
Kim's mouth stretched into an unholy grin. "Coooooooool! I've got super-powers, now!"
And, for a moment, her eyes glowed red.
RSVP
Ron ran straight through the phalanx of animated corpses, swinging the Lotus Blade like an airplane propeller made of chainsaws. Pieces of dead flesh went spraying in all directions. A path opened up and the dead parted like the Red Sea before the staff of Moses!
Betty, Jim, and Crystal followed as best they could.
Reaching the crashed limo, he thrust the blade into the ground and began flinging bodies to the left and the right. Making his way to the nearest rear door of the upside down car, he grabbed the handle and pulled.
It broke off in his hand!
He roared in frustration and it sounded like the frenzied screeching of a hundred monkeys. He fell to his knees, his right hand balling into a fist, and his eyes flickered like twin blue suns going nova!
Flesh and blood knuckles met tempered glass and it was the glass that gave first, exploding inward in a crystal shower. He thrust his arm into the car, heedless of the razored edges of the remaining window, and bent his elbow back to get a purchase on the interior. Betty and Jim took shooting stances and drew beads on a group of zombies closing in on Ron from behind.
Before they could shoot, however, he had ripped the warped door from it hinges! Spinning around, he took out all five corpses with his scythe-like battering bam and released it, sending it surfing down the hill, taking out another dozed dead before it sailed into the trees and disappeared from sight.
There was a crashing sound and a weak voice cried: "Ow! Holy shit, Dude! Seriously?"
But Ron only had ears for the weeping of his little sister and he threw himself through the opening and into the back of the vehicle where he beheld a truly horrific sight…
RSVP
Elle dragged herself back down the hill, away from the safety of the other vehicles and toward the only one that could not protect her.
That could not save her.
It didn't matter: she was dying anyway. Her body was bloody from the scores of bites and claw marks from the seven or eight zombies that had smothered her and savaged her. Then the limo next to her had toppled over on top of them, mashing her into the ground and turning the corpses on top of her into so much paste!
Even as the car rolled over and on down the hill she could feel things "break" inside of her. Not that it mattered: she would be dead soon, anyway.
Or undead, soon…
But maybe she could last long enough to reach the child…
Save her, somehow…
It wouldn't make up for all of the bad things that she had done…
But it might mean that her end could be something more positive than her life had been since The Accident had turned her into Electronique.
She sobbed and bit her lip, trying not to scream in agony as the broken bones sawed her flesh bloody from the inside out.
It did not matter!
Pain! Did not matter!
Life! And Suffering! Did not last!
Would not last!
Now.
But the next few minutes might mean everything!
For a little girl trapped in the wreck of an automobile, surrounded by the legions of the dead!
So Elle crawled on her churning belly.
And when she couldn't crawl, she allowed herself to roll—even though that hurt her more!
For she dared not stop!
Even now, she could see the legs of an undead monster, wriggling and kicking as it worked its way through a shattered window and deeper into the car where the baby shrieked and cried.
"Hang in there, little Han," she groaned. "Auntie Elle…is bringing some juice…"
And now, finally, she was close enough to reach out and grab the flailing foot of the zombie that was even deeper, now, into the rear compartment of the overturned vehicle.
She should have gotten a little closer so she could get a grip higher up one of the legs…but she was spent. All she could do was stretch out her arm, open her hand, and wait until the waving appendage fell within her grasp.
A moment or an eternity passed—she wasn't sure, but a dry, desiccated ankle smacked against her palm and her pale bluish hand snapped down on the heel and instep like a five-fingered bear-trap.
If the creature noticed the contact, it gave no sign but continued its single-minded efforts to worm itself deeper into the car's darkened depths.
Elle felt herself growing weaker. Even worse, she was on the verge of passing out.
If that happened, it would be over.
If her last moments on this earth were to mean anything…if there was any chance that she could make a statement…to the universe…to herself…that the mistakes of the past four years would not completely define her whole life…then this was it!
She had to pour enough bio-electric current into this zombie to drop it in its tracks.
She wasn't sure if it would work well enough if she were at full power. But she knew that she had to try. And that it would require her pouring out everything that she had left.
It would end her.
That part wasn't important because she was going to die, anyway.
It just meant she needed to stay conscious for as long as possible, even as she felt her life-force leave her.
If her sacrifice were to have a chance.
Hana began to screech again and the upside down-limo began to rock more violently!
There was no more time: Elle closed her eyes and focused on the multitude of frequencies and bandwidths that coruscated throughout her body like living shoals of electrons. Usually she would cherry-pick the amounts and groupings that she needed on the fly: a hand-thrown charge in the form of a ball-lightning, a two-handed blast for a little shock and awe, or a force-field like charge to cover her body like a protective shield…
This time she was sending it all!
And as much at once as she could still manage!
After that, she didn't know how much would be left or that there would be enough of her left to do anything else.
The baby screamed again and Elle—no—Electronique, reformed and ready to atone, released everything she could into the zombie's leg. The last thing she knew as she succumbed to peaceful darkness was the stench of burnt, rotted flesh and frenzied thumping sounds of a corpse battering itself to pieces against the frame of the broken car window.
RSVP
The interior of the car was filled with smoke and the smell of overcooked pork.
Hana sat on the floor—originally the ceiling—of the limo crying in abject misery. Big, fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks and her arms were raised as if seeking comfort—or offering it—to Yoshiko Kyoko.
The little tyke only seemed to have suffered some superficial bruises and cuts from the vehicle's tumble down the hill but Yoshi was clearly dead. She dangled upside down in her seatbelt harness with a charred and decapitated zombie head attached to her neck, its teeth still buried in her throat.
Ron quickly assessed that his baby sister could be safely moved and wasted no time in scooping her into his embrace. "Don't cry, Little Intruder," he whispered into her ear. "You big brother is here. We'll go home, now."
Clutching her to him with one arm, he carefully backed out of the interior, making sure that his sister was safe from the broken glass and the twisted shards of metal. Most of all, he tried to shield her eyes from the terrible sight of her murdered au pair.
Emerging back into the sunlight, he resettled her on his hip and picked up his sword with his free hand.
Jim Possible and Crystal were there beside him and Betty Director stood up on the other side of the crashed limo with the limp and bloody form of Electronique in her arms. "She still has a pulse," Betty told him. She nodded down at the wreck. "Yoshi?"
He shook his head. "We need to move."
"Tell me about it," the Possible boy snarled. He was still zapping zombies but picking his shots more carefully, now. "I'm almost out!"
"If we can just get to the other limos," Crystal stammered, pointing. "But…look…"
There were another fifteen or sixteen corpses between them and the cars. Maneuvering around them would take time and there were more coming up from the bottom of the hill so their options were Slim and None.
Then...
Succor came with the sound of 707 horses: the scream of a Hellcat engine!
A most unlikely vehicle came roaring over the crest of the hill, looking like the alien, SUV love-child of a Lamborghini and a Humvee. For a moment it went completely airborne, its tires a good foot or more off the ground…
…and then it hit the ground, spraying clods of dirt and patches or turf in all directions as it fishtailed through a small army of the walking dead. Now rotting body parts were spraying in all directions, too!
As the "SUV" came around in a lazy arc to pass by on the lower slope of the hill, twin machine guns popped out of the grill and opened up on a cluster of the undead that were starting to flank them. A moment later there was nothing there but rancid hamburger.
The vehicle then ground through another half dozen ambulatory corpses before sliding to a stop beside them.
The two sets of rear, passenger doors opened on automatic solenoids.
They looked at each other and back at the thrumming death machine.
After another long moment the tinted driver's window slid down, dripping chunks of rotted flesh down the door panel.
Shego's scowling face appeared.
"Holy shit, Stoppable," she snarled. "Do you want to stay out here all day and play more Zombie Mayhem or are you going to get in the damn car?"
ABOUT THE TITLE: "Mors certa, hora incerta" is Latin for "Death is certain, its hour is uncertain" which will mean more in time…
A/N 2: I really should hold on to this a little longer for editing and the possibility of a little more rewriting but I figured you might be getting impatient, so...
REVIEWS FOR CHAPTER 2
Uberscribbler chapter 2 . 2/22/15
Nice and bloody! I think this is possibly the most straightforward thing you've written in a long while, which is good in that we're clear about what's happening in the immediate sphere. Still no clue if this is due to the Lowardians or something else is in the offing (gods alone know how many other interests are in play now thanks to Mastermind's original bungling about).
See, Ubie; this is where you get yourself in trouble: assuming that anything I write is straightforward. About 20 chapters from now you'll discover that this was all one of Pam Ewing's dreams and that Bobby is in the shower. (Please disregard this if you know nothing about Dallas in its biggest pop-cultural moment!)
Thanks for not leaving us hanging for so long. Looking forward to the next installment!
No, thank you for your behind-the-scenes assists...and I'll be addressing the cause behind the zombie attacks next chapter-though I thought the clue about the Lowardian "Plan 9" was pretty obvious near the end of RSVP II... R~13
CajunBear73 chapter 2 . 2/22/15
Quite the zombie riot going on here. So many taken out, so many added to the undead(?).
Yeah, that really is a question and you're right to not make assumptions...
A few with their own means of reducing attackers, some surprising, Kim's especially, but resources are running low.
Shego's appearance is timely, and I wonder how this will work out for those who cover their withdrawal.
And we'll see who makes it out in the next chapter...
Especially Kim...she can hold a grudge, with or without the 'inducements' she received from the original Mastermind.
The Dark Kim is not to be trifled with! But she will soon find out that, enhancements or no, there are others who are MORE all-that than she!
But I'm curious how this all started...and how this will all end.
CB73
We'll get the down-low on this phase of the Lowardian invasion next chapter but, as to how this will all end...I've gone from my original plan to two different possibilities. So I'm curious to see how this will all end, too! R~13
A very odd fellow chapter 2 . 2/23/15
Finally narrowing down that massive cast, I see.
I hope so! But the funny thing about the Undead: they keep coming back!
I'm still rooting for Elle, but I'm satisfied with heroic death if that ends up being her fate.
Redemption and Fate: two big themes in the RSVP Saga! I'm glad that you won't be too upset if Elle passes. I still get death threats if I dare harm Mrs. Dr. P.!
Also, love the direction you're taking Adrena. First Tara, now Felix - she's scoring some serious hero points.
We may just have to have a cage match between her and Shego on this front...
And of course, I'm excited for this next scene with Shego and her super car. Still curious about who ordered it for her; no name comes to mind that would care and be in contact with Ed.
Go back to RSVP II: Chapter 13, and read the section entitled M.E.L.'s Dream. It should explain the whole supercar sitch. R~13
the-ck chapter 2 . 2/25/15
Darn missed the reviews for chapter two, just want to ask. When the hell did kim get superpowers?!
Explanations for several things lie just ahead... R~13
the Desert Fox chapter 2 . 3/17/15
"Some say that he's terrified of ducks, and that there's an airport in Russia named after him. All we know is he's called the Stig."
What no category? Makes it hard to find unless one remembers your name.
Let's see barely read the cliché chapter. But from what I read here's my comments: Tara has time, I think Trista Meiou or her dad Brian and his brothers, George, Lester, Willie, and Joe can help.
Too bad no one has a sonic screwdriver. What Shego couldn't her hands on a Bugatti Veyron?
Swelled head- like Squidward's or George Lopez?
Actually Anubis is not in the Underworld. Duo Maxwell aka Shinigami kicked him out.
Last I heard he was in the Neither World annoying the other Dark Masho.
Actually it never occurred to me about the pendant.
Keep up the clichéd work.
What can I say? R~13
sladescyth chapter 2 . 5/26/15
Hi new lurker here just read everything except the next chapter and I love it
now quick question I'm guessing since Dark Kim is possed by Anubis her powers that
showed up only work against undead right?
Very astute, sladescyth! Anubis is the Egyptian dark lord of the underworld and, as such, would have powers over the dead and their walking around corpses. Those same powers do not affect the living the same way but he and Dark Kim can still cause death and mayhem among the living when they apply other measures. Stay tuned! R~13