Chapter Eleven
When he saw one of the newcomers – Kerryn, it was – scramble down from the fence and head in the direction of the breakaway group of Croats, Dean let out a bark of frustrated comprehension.
She doesn't know, Bobby growled at his back, the grizzled old wolf lashing out at a zombie.
I have to get to her... Even as he snarled it, Dean knew he couldn't; he was in the middle of a swarm, and there were more outside the gates. It was the sort of gut-wrenching in-the-moment math that commanders had been doing since combat was invented; he had to be where he could do the most good, and save the most people.
Not your fault, gruffed Arjan, crushing another Croat, then turning to sink his teeth into the one that came scrambling over it.
The way of things, echoed Sam from where he and RJ finally got the gate closed against the inpouring of corrupted bodies, then began mauling the unrelenting onslaught.
With a yowling snarl that was part anger and part despair, Dean tore his attention away from a woman who was quite possibly a lost cause, and attacked the next Croat that came at him with renewed savagery. It was inevitable, and they'd deal with the aftermath the way they always did, but it still hurt, every time they lost somebody, every damned time.
Kerryn was as good as dead. If the swarm didn't get her, the beserk werewolf, who could hardly tell friend from foe any more at the best of times, let alone when he was crazed with bloodlust, would tear her to pieces along with the Croats in his mindless rage. And they needed her brain. Fate, Destiny, Karma, one of those smug disembodied sonsofbitches had dropped a molecular biologist, a molecular biologist who knew about viruses, into their lap. They needed her brain, and she was taking it to where it could end up being bashed right out of her head. That figured. That just fucking figured. It was Winchester luck writ large.
He hoped that her son wasn't watching when it happened.
From across the compound, he heard the raging howl indicating that his den-sire was in The Zone, and he hoped that this wouldn't be the time he finally had to build a pyre for his den-sire, either because the Croats pulled him down, or, as the pack Alpha, Dean finally had to put him out of his misery for the safety of everyone in the camp.
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Powered by terror and a ferocious instinct to protect her child, Kerryn stumbled after the Croats on shaking legs. She fumbled with a new ammo clip, clumsily dropping the empty one as she ran, ducking around sheds and cabins, trying to flank the group and get to the bus before they did. What the hell she thought she would do when she got there she didn't know, all she knew was those monsters were headed for her son, and she would damned well beat each and every one of them to death with her specs case or die trying if that was the only option available…
Trying not to let her ragged breathing or the small terrified sounds she was making get too loud, she rounded the ablutions block, and caught sight of the bus. Garth had nudged it closer to the fence, between two stacks of what looked like packing crates. If they did have to blow a hole in the fence and leave, the gap through which any zombies could follow would be narrow enough to slow down a swarm, make it crowd in on itself.
It didn't occur to her that it wouldn't just act as a baffling to slow a swarm of zombies, but it would also act as a funnel…
She let out a breathy shriek as the monster on top of the bus let out a savage roar, then shot from the top of the bus and tore into the swarm like a wrecking ball made of chainsaws.
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As the Croats gradually fell, the pack of dogs kept them bunched in where the defenders could cautiously pick them off. The people in the convoy were eventually able to get out of their vehicles and join the mop-up, except for Jody and Kelly, whose jeep was nearly disappeared under a pile of dead zombies. Arjan the werebeaver broke off, and began to drag ragged corpses from the vehicle until they were able to get the passenger door open.
"Thanks, Bucky," grinned Kelly, hefting her gun and moving to provide cover as he clambered around to clear the driver's door, where Jody was swearing a blue streak. "Some homecoming party, huh?"
The werebeaver made a clucking sound, and dragged away another corpse.
"I'm all right," griped Jody, eventually emerging, covered in blood, "I'm all right. It's not mine. Well, most of it's not mine. Stop fussing, you buck-toothed mother hen, you're worse than Fic. Go on, go squash some Croats."
Still clucking in dispproval, Arjan returned to the clean-up.
It had degenerated into a scrapping brawl when Kevin Tran called down from one of the towers.
"We still got uninvited guests outside!"
Bobby briefly shifted back to human, and called back,
"How many Croats?"
"Uh," Kevin peered down into the seething, slavering mass battering against the gate and the nearby fence, "I think… all of them?"
"Well, don't just stand there, idjit," bellowed Bobby, "Blow it!" With that, he shifted back to his battle-scarred wolf form, and lashed out at a staggering zombie.
With a look of trepidation, Kevin grabbed the rope of the fire bell, and wincingly rang it as hard as he could for a full ten seconds before counting to five, and closing the connector switch.
Outside the gates, the earth heaved.
"I hate that bit," grumbled Beverly, putting a bullet into another Croat.
"Oh, yuck!" complained Crowley, as small pieces of zombie rained down, "Yuck! Seriously! Did they have to do that? First dog's piss, now cream of Croat soup! It's just so… uncivilised!" He turned an appealing look on Vera. "I don't suppose that anybody who came in with you happened to be a trained dry cleaner?"
"Don't be so prissy," the elderly lady snapped back, reloading, "How is the King of Hell so damned prissy?"
Crowley stared at her. "Look, I don't think it's fair to be calling me 'prissy' just because I don't enjoy being basted with zombie goo!" he insisted indignantly, "All I'm saying is, if the world is going to visit that woman, you know, Helena Handcart, whoever she may be, that doesn't mean that we can't try to maintain as much civilisation as possible, and…"
"Oh, grow a dick, Fergus," Vera said dismissively, snapping the weapon shut and hefting it to blast another zombie.
"You don't know the half of it," he muttered, lifting his own weapon again.
"I think it's fair to say that nobody actually enjoys the rain of goo thing," Beverly cut in, playing peacemaker, "But we've established that the virus can't be transmitted that way. It's gotta be through a bite. Kerryn can explain it, no doubt, right, Kerryn?" He turned, and looked around anxiously. "Kerryn? Where is she? Where did she go?"
"She headed that way," Dale pointed, then shot another Croat. "Wanted to get to Todd, wherever he is."
Beverly and Crowley exchanged a look. "Well," said His Deposed Majesty eventually, "It was nice knowing her."
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It was not the systematic and considered elimination of the corrupted creatures that the other werewolves were doing to eliminate the danger as quickly as possible; it was mindless, chaotic slaughter.
Kerryn watched, transfixed, as the gigantic wolf grabbed Croats, and tore them to pieces. Gore and pieces of corroded flesh flew, spattering the ground and the piles of crates, and coating him in the red morass. One was seized and had its arms ripped off; it gnashed at him before he grabbed it by the head, and used its skull to bash in the face of another. The one behind those staggered at him; the wolf punched a clawed fist through its chest, and ripped upwards, taking the head off as the upper body split in a spray of pulp. Another tottered away in a grotesque parody of bewilderment, tripping in its own guts as they trailed out of its torn carcass where it had been ripped open from groin to chin. The next, he sank his teeth into its neck and tore its head off as his claws shredded the torso.
The whole time, the wolf kept up a savage, despairing snarling and howling.
Still gripped by the desperate need to get to her son, she searched for a route to the bus that wouldn't take her directly into the crowd of zombies. The stacks of crates offered the best possibility, she decided, they were not smooth-sided, and looked climbable enough.
She made her way around a couple more buildings, peeking around corners as she drew closer to the bloody mayhem playing out just feet away. The Croats crowded in on each other in their eagerness to get to the bus, not learning at all from the grisly fate befalling those going before them.
The swirl and movement of the swarm shuffled in the other direction, and she decided that it was the best chance she was going to get. Gripping her gun tightly, Kerryn darted out from her hiding place, and ran for the crates.
To her credit, she almost made it.
Physical activities of any sort had never been her strong suit, so when a combination of hurry and rough ground made her stumble, she ended up sprawled awkwardly on the open space. Whether it was the movement or just her presence, a couple of the Croats who had been pressing in on the rampaging werewolf broke away from the horde, and began to stagger towards her. And where a couple led, more always followed.
The crates were bigger than they'd looked from a distance, and Kerryn realised with fright that she wouldn't have time to scramble up far enough to get away from the zombies, so she raised her gun, and, trying to steady her shaking arms, started shooting.
The problem was, the zombies kept coming. She wasn't a very good shot to start with; it took her several tries, at an ever decreasing distance, to kill each one.
A dull click let her know that she was out of ammo.
She dropped that empty clip, fumbling to find a full one in a pocket, but all she ended up doing was dropping the gun. Letting out a small sob, she turned and began scrabbling at the crates, knowing as she did so that she wouldn't be quick enough.
A clammy hand grabbed her arm, and she screamed, turning to see a decidedly squishy-looking woman with one eye and half her face missing prepare to bite into her.
The scream died in Kerryn's throat as she was suddenly overwhelmed by a hot, feral scent, an overpowering smell of dog and blood and dead meat, and a giant presence threw her roughly aside. She scrabbled backwards on hands and heels, slipping in the blood in her panic to get away, as the wolf continued to tear into the oncoming Croats. A spray of reeking muck spattered her as the crazed werewolf tore another Croat clean in two, and used the disintegrating torso as a club to batter at the others.
Keening in horror, Kerryn turned and crawled blindly until she went head first into something solid – it was a crate. Her legs were so wobbly they wouldn't let her stand, let alone climb, so she huddled where she was, wondering if this was truly what a rabbit in a spotlight felt like…
Then suddenly, she realised that there were no dead hands clutching at her.
Wiping congealing mess from her face, she turned to see that the Croats had, finally, been slaughtered. There was a strange silence; the werewolf had stopped its slavering, and stood, covered in gore and chest heaving, over a pile of pieces. The small patch of ground looked like a slaughter yard. Carefully, holding onto a crate, she pulled herself upright.
The wolf's head came around, and it peered at her.
Kerryn opened her mouth, but nothing came out. "I…" she turned aside, and threw up, the monster watching her curiously the whole time. "Oh, fuck," she moaned, wiping her mouth, "I… " she straightened up. "Fuck. Fuck. Thank you. I'm… oh, fuck…"
The werewolf's eyes narrowed; he let out a rumbling growl.
"Uh, yeah, it's me," she said shakily, wiping at more of the cooling gunk on her, "Again. I, uh, that wasn't… I'm glad you were here…." She looked up. "It's Andrew, right? Dean said your name is Andrew. You saved my son, Todd. Last night. He was…"
Her voice trailed off as the wolf snarled, and dropped to all fours, stalking towards her.
"Andrew?" she said again, "Andrew? It's me. From last night. Kerryn. My name's Kerryn. Last night, you killed the Croats… my boy, Todd…"
With sudden realisation, she saw that there was no sentience in the suspicious eyes, just uncomprehending savagery, and wandering madness.
"No," she whispered, backed against the crate, "No, no, no, please, Andrew, no…"
She shut her eyes as the wolf bared its enormous teeth in a guttural snarl, and leapt.
Good grief, Ulfric the Decidedly Mucky has been a talkative little fella. And slightly gory around the edges. Keep feeding him reviews, although low-cal ones might be a good idea, because he's definitely growing a LOT bigger than I ever suspected he would. And he can't make up his mind as to how this should end; happy ending? Slightly sad ending? Even sadder ending? This can't happen in the Jimiverse - we only do happy endings here; This bunny is out of control - could we have discovered... were-plot bunnies? o_O You don't think there could be more Jimiverse-AU-Were!chester ones hopping about, do you? I swear, I'll start putting down baits.