All Through The Night: Murdoch of the Living Dead, (7x05)
George hated being right.
This is madness! Whatever Inspector Brackenreid said, "zombie army" or no, it was…this was…a terrifying night of the dead. Of the living dead! George's mind raced. He skidded to a halt in the middle of the street, eyes widening at the chaos unfolding around him. Behind him, the rest of Station House 4 came to a stop, a murmur rippling through the constables as they surveyed the scene. A large, burly man in pale grey shirt and pants, indicative of an inmate at the Don Jail, was rocking a wagon back and forth, as a screaming couple were being helped from the back by the driver. The horse reared in terror.
For a moment, time froze, and no one moved, too in shock at the events unfolding around them. George felt like Jeremiah Fuller, as if he was removed from the scene, unable to think. A scream ripped through the air, and George blinked, coming back instantly to himself. Screw your courage, George Crabtree, he ordered himself, and then, "Steady on, lads!" he yelled, giving the command, and a sea of uniforms spread out into the chaos.
Two constables were looping the dogcatcher's pole around the head and shoulders of another man, who was gnawing, George noted in horror, on a leg of lamb hanging in a broken butcher shop window. These men, they appear to be almost…inhuman. What did Bates do to them? He's turned them into-into, well, I don't care what the Inspector says, he's turned them into zombies! Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but zombies nonetheless!
A screaming woman blew by George, nearly knocking him off his feet. He turned to try to help her, but she was long gone, rushing down a side street into the arms of Lutz, who quickly ushered her into the livery and out of harm's way.
He caught a glimpse of Jackson and McNabb sneaking up on another one further up the street, fisherman's net strung between them, and then heard a shout. I know that voice…George sprinted past an overturned fruit stand to see Higgins backed up against a wall, with a man's hands around his neck. George grabbed the inmate by the shoulders and yanked him backwards. Higgins slid out from under him and George pushed him face-first against the wall so Higgins could handcuff his hands behind his back. The two of them looked at each other, breathing heavily, as if to say, What in the hell is happening?
"Well done, lads!" The Inspector came darting across the street. "Higgins, take him to the cells," he ordered the constable. George couldn't help but stare at the inmate as Higgins dragged him off. His eyes were lifeless, face expressionless, and all he could do was moan. Dear Lord that's terrifying, he thought.
"Sir!" A strangled, garbled voice made George and the Inspector turn, and George gasped at Detective Murdoch, stumbling toward the two of them. Inspector Brackenreid gripped the detective by the arm.
"You all right, Murdoch?"
George gaped. His superior looked…well, he looked terrible. "Sir, you're very pale," George noted in concern.
Murdoch swallowed hard and shook his head. 'I'm fine, George."
No, sir, George wanted to tell him. You look like Death! Inwardly, he cringed. Perhaps not the best simile at the moment.
The Inspector put a hand on Murdoch's chest. "Nonsense. Get yourself back to the station house. We can handle things out here."
"But-"
"We've got every man available in the streets," the Inspector countered. He motioned at George. "Crabtree, with me." George nodded, glancing back at Murdoch as he ran, hoping his friend was all right. As he and the Inspector made their way back into the chaos, George startled in shock at the sound of another unearthly growling coming from the alley on his left. That's the direction of the city morgue! "Sir," he told the Inspector, "I'll be right back!" He spun on his heel and took off, hearing his superior barking at him to turn back around. George ran full out, heart pounding, as he turned the corner to see Dr. Emily Grace in the grip of a great hulk of a man, backed against the morgue doors. Dear God. Emily! Without thinking, George flew at the man, tackling him to the cobbled streets. He wrestled the man to the ground, digging a knee into his back, and turned to look up at Dr. Grace. "Emily, are you hurt?" he demanded, pressing harder against the wriggling man underneath him.
She shook her head, visibly confused. "I'm fine, but I'm afraid he may not be," she said, nodding to his left hand, where, George noted, her hatpin had run him through.
Two constables came running, and George got awkwardly to his feet as they hauled the inmate up by the armpits, dragging him away. "Take him in, lads," George ground out. He brushed himself off, then returned his gaze to Emily. The doctor seemed all right, physically. "I'll make sure the lady gets home safely," he added, offering her his arm. It took her a moment to take it, and he noted her hands were shaking. He'd never seen her quite this rattled. If I ever get my hands on Dr. Bates...
"There…there really was a zombie army, George. You were right," she whispered as they walked.
I know. I didn't want to be. "That's nice of you to say," he admitted. A shiver rippled through her, and George paused in the street. "Are you cold?" he asked. He hadn't noted the temperature, warm from the adrenaline and the work from the night. It was a little chilly.
Emily shook her head. "No," she said, wringing her hands together. "I-I was just thinking…that man…" There was a tremble in her voice, and George gently took both of her hands, wrapping them in his own.
"It's all right, Emily," he promised her quietly. "I'm here now."
The doctor bit her lip as she looked up at him from under the brim of her hat. "Perhaps you…might not be elsewhere tonight?" she requested of him, her voice shaking. "I-If I may be so bothersome?"
George squeezed her fingers. "You'd only be bothersome if you kept me away," he assured her, threading her arm through his and pulling her close. I've got you, Emily Grace. If something had happened to you...well, I won't let anything happen to you.
He didn't let go of her arm until they were safely at her door, and when she ushered him in, George gallantly closed the door behind them and sat against it, listening through the night until the sounds of the chaos outside faded away sometime around midnight. He checked on Emily, who had fallen asleep fully clothed on her bed, and only when he was certain she was safe and soundly sleeping, did he go to bed himself, still leaning against her door. He'd be sore in the morning, but it would be worth it. Nothing was going to happen to her again, not tonight. He had a promise to keep.
Author's Note: Initially, this ending was headed for, "OOO George's gettin' some tonight," but then the plot bunnies took it in a whole other direction. I often wonder what George would think if his theories were ever proved 'correct' so to speak. Would he take it as an affirmation, or would part of him feel guilty as though he'd wished it into being? And then what would he do to protect the people he cares about?