The stream of injured finally dried to a trickle. Emily decided to get a breath of fresh air outside of the medic tent. It was a bit awkward just silently standing there beside the constables so she asked for an update on the city's status. Apparently they didn't really know any more than she did. Anxious about George's fate, that wasn't good enough for her.

"Where is Inspector Brackenreid? I will go ask him myself."

"You can't leave. We have orders to keep you here, where it's safe."

Stubbornly, "Just give me a weapon to defend myself with and I will be on my way."

The two constables shared a look and then laughed. Emily frowned at that. She didn't take very kindly to being treated like a little girl or inferior to men in any way. But she badly wanted answers.

"One of you can escort me to his location then," she said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, but orders are orders."

Emily restrained the urge to pull out her other hair pins and stab them in the hand like she had that zombie. Thinking about the undead creatures directed her thoughts towards Betty's dad, who she now knew was named Jeremiah Fuller. She knew this because Betty had awoken and told her as much.

Could she use Mr. Fuller as a distraction of sorts? But no, that would not work. They would simply shoot him dead, (or more dead than he currently was) and then the girl would well and truly be orphaned. Even she wasn't so cold hearted that she would risk such a thing simply for peace of mind.

No, it appeared that she was stuck here for the foreseeable future.


George piloted the prison transport carriage, leaving Murdoch and Julia to sit in the back with Gillies. Surprisingly it was actually pretty pleasant for them. This was largely thanks to one of George's socks. Julia had taken the somewhat smelly piece of clothing from the constable and gleefully shoved it down Gillies throat. For once the psychopath seemed taken aback and not particularly enjoying himself. As fun as it was to see his indignation, they soon after threw the black bag over his head and marched him outside with prods of various guns to his back.

Julia gently caressed Murdoch's bruised and battered face. "You really need to take better care of yourself, William," she said with a sad sigh.

He raised an eyebrow as he critically examined her, eyes resting on her disastrous hair style. "You as well, it would appear."

Self consciously she placed a hand to the tangled, unravelled mess. "I must look positively dreadful."

"No, Julia," he replied seriously, shaking his head once, "that is an impossibility. You always look radiant to me."

Muffled sounds came from Gillies direction but they ignored him.

Chuckling softly she leaned in to plant a soft kiss to his lips. Even so, he involuntarily winced. Brow furrowing she said, "Perhaps we shall have to wait before attempting that again?"

Despite his best efforts Gillies words had unhinged him and he was afraid there would not be a next time for them.

"It's fine, Julia, I'm fine," he lied and then kissed her as deeply as he dared. The pain was exquisite but he didn't care.

"Will-" she tried to get out as he roughly grabbed her against him and continued to urgently attack her mouth.

She eventually managed to push off of him, eyeing him in a bewildered manner.

His desperation had reached a crescendo and he promptly dropped to one knee and whipped out the silver box he carried around with him at all times.

"William!" she gasped as he popped the case open. "What on earth are you doing?"

If his mind hadn't been a pit of despair he might have come to his senses. "I love you, Julia Ogden, and have for quite some time. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Why are you doing this now?" she choked out. "It's hardly the time," she glanced at the exceedingly still prisoner, "or the place for such a thing!"

"Granted the circumstances are hardly ideal...but that shouldn't matter if you love me."

"William," she said placing a hand to his tortured face, "of course I love you. But you are behaving most erratically and I'm worried about your state of mind." She bit her lip. "For that reason I cannot say yes." Murdoch just stared at her open mouthed, as his world further crumbled. She squeezed his hand. "We are going to get through this. Together. And when we do," she smiled slightly, "I will be expecting a reprisal."

Her look was so tender and full of love that most of his gloomy thoughts took a backseat and his frazzled mind started to normalize.

"Thank you, Julia," he said as he settled into her embrace, "I needed to hear that."

We're going to be all right, he repeated over and over to himself as the carriage drew closer and closer to the unknown.


Giles was going about this all wrong! If you wanted to rally your men, you had to get their blood pumping! Talking to them civilly about conserving bullets for as long as possible was not going to accomplish anything! So when there was a pause in the chief constables speech, Brackenreid butted his way in, garnering a furious glare from his superior.

"What do you think you are doing, inspector?" hissed the chief.

"What needs to be done," he growled back. Turning his attention to the masses. "Listen up men! We've all been through a lot these past few hours. We've all lost people close to us. We're all tired." Booming, "But we're sure as hell not going to give up! The fate of the city rests in our hands! Those undead bastards have a lot to answer for and we're the only ones who can stop them!" Some yells from the crowd but not enough for his liking. He raised his rifle above his head. "So we're going to march on over there and show them what for! We're going to crack every last skull we can find! We're going to smoke that Bates bastard out of his hole and make him wish he had never been born!"

The war cries were about as loud as they were going to get.

"Attack men!" he shouted, dropping his gun arm suddenly. "Attack!"

There was a flurry of movement as the constables and militia alike advanced rapidly on their targets, Brackenreid in the lead. Most were still armed with guns but some had completely run out of ammunition and were holding various blunt objects instead. All were equipped with knives or bayonets. A fair number had determined or furious expressions across their faces, but a few looked scared out of their minds. And with good reason. The horde of zombies before them was formidable and it would take a miracle for all the men to come out of this unscathed. In the last few seconds before contact, Brackenreid said a silent prayer that he would see his family again.

As soon as the first zombie was within reach, he slammed it in the head with the butt of his rifle as hard as he could. It toppled over and with a foot to it's neck, he quickly plunged a knife into it's eye socket before it had a chance to recover. The men beside him were utilizing a variety of strategies. Some simply stabbed the fiends outright, forgoing brute force altogether, (riskier but fast) while others bashed in their skulls with heavy objects until either brain matter oozed out or the creatures ceased to move. Brackenreid liked his method the best because it had served him well once when he had been ammo-less and stranded from his comrades in an Afghanistan war zone. As far as he was concerned it was basically as humane as shooting a bloke in the head. Which was more than most of them deserved considering their crimes. However, there were some prison guards amongst the masses and they were probably no worse a human being than he was, so he felt their 'deaths' much more keenly.

For several minutes they held their own in this chaotic, filthy skirmish. But then the screams started assailing his ears in ever increasing frequency and when he chanced a glance around, saw that more zombies had popped out of the wood work and had surrounded them from all sides! He watched in horror as the zombies pushed in on them until they were forced into a circle, until they could barely move or breath or think, frantically trying to defend themselves against this deadly assault. Many of the remaining men shot wildly into the horde, missing more times than they hit, quickly expending the last of their ammunition.

Brackenreid was a stoic bloke but even he knew they were doomed.