DISCLAIMER: Okay, say it with me now. All "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. Everything they do is fried gold. Yeah, boyyeee! Thanks to everyone for their positive feedback so far.
"Here ya' go, m'lady," Shaun said, setting the overflowing glass of cider on the table in front of her.
"Thanks," she said, settling into the pub chair. The adrenaline from the fight in the vamp nest was quickly wearing off. She started to rethink the wisdom of consuming a liquid depressant in her already weary state, but it was an excuse to sit in a pub and talk with Shaun so why not? She knew she'd pay for it tomorrow back at the office.
"To a successful night of vampire-slaying," Shaun said with a confident grin, holding aloft his pint of bitter. She clinked her glass against his with a tired smile and slumped back into her chair.
"Y'know, Shaun, we're supposed to be incognito," she whispered dramatically.
"Oh, right!" He raised his eyebrows. "Did I say 'vampire-slaying'? I meant...'hamper-weighing'?"
"Nice save."
"Yeah, well, I'm good at thinking on my feet."
"So I see," she observed, remembering his quick action in the fight. "Thanks for your help back there, by the way."
"My pleasure. I'm getting to be pretty good at this 'killing the undead' thing. I think maybe I missed my calling." They both sipped at their respective drinks and listened to the hum of the pub around them. "So how long have you been doing this?"
"Um, couple of years, I guess. Started out in New Orleans, after I graduated from Tulane. That was tough. I mean, Mardi Gras is like happy hour for vamps down there. Then I spent some time in New York, Barcelona, Prague, and then I got the call to come to England."
"Why here? Why now?"
"Our sources say there's a new player in town. Something's happening, something big. The Council knows it's coming. They just don't know when or where."
"So is this gonna' be like...another Z-Day?" he asked hesitantly, a catch in his throat.
"We're trying our best to prevent an epidemic, but there are hundreds of vampires already in the country and no way to contain them."
"Hundreds?"
"And their numbers are growing everyday. Good news is they're not like zombies. You won't automatically become a vampire if you're bitten. Vampires choose who they sire. Bad news is they move a lot faster than zombies."
"What about your family back in the States? Do they know about this?"
"No, no, no. My very paranoid parents were afraid to even let me drive alone at night. They would flip if they knew what their baby daughter was doing. They think I'm studying abroad for my Master's degree. It wasn't a huge surprise to them when I moved to England. I was always obsessed with Monty Python and Jane Austen novels and 80s complaint rock."
"Yeah, I noticed the Smiths playing in the record store that day."
"Absolutely. And sorry about the Avril Lavigne. My boss has been a prat lately, I knew teen pop would keep him locked up in the office and out of my hair."
"I really didn't mind it," he said, trying to sound sincere.
"Of course you did. I saw you wincing. I knew I'd have to change the track lest you think I was an actual fan."
"I wouldn't mind if you were."
"Please," she laughed. "If you for one second believed that I listened to teen pop without any sense of irony, you'd be kicking me to the curb, not buying me drinks."
"I would not kick you to the curb for liking teen pop," he insisted.
"You wouldn't?"
"No, and frankly I'm very offended that you think I could be so judgmental and callous. Because in fact, even if you did like teen pop, I would have had the decency to shag you first and then kick you to the curb."
The abruptness of the comment caused her to spit out her drink as she erupted with laughter.
"No, sunshine, the cider goes in your mouth, not on the table," Shaun advised, laughing with her.
It had been so long since she had spent time talking with someone outside of the Council, enjoying conversation about things non-demonic, not looking over her shoulder for the next danger. It felt normal to be here with him. It felt nice.
"Well, it's good to know chivalry isn't dead," she said happily.
They whiled away the next few hours talking about movies and music and foreign travel and the answer to life, the universe and everything. They had agreed it was 42. When Sara realized that she really needed to be getting home, Shaun escorted her outside.
"Thanks for the drinks," she said. "I had a really nice time. Well, apart from the whole being ambushed by vampires. I could have done without that."
"Oddly enough, it was preferable to a night spent in that awful club," he groaned. "Hey, you saved my life, I buy you a couple pints. That makes us even, right?"
"Totally," she concurred.
Shaun nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another as they stood in awkward silence, neither of them quite sure what to say.
"Do you want me to walk you home?" he offered hesitantly. "Wait, what am I saying? You have a small armory in your backpack."
"True. It's not that far, I'll be fine. Thanks for the offer, though."
"Well, um, take care of yourself. Try not to get killed or anything," he blurted, with instant regret. "I mean, you seem like a nice girl. It would be a shame if you...y'know, died."
Sara stifled a laugh. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she said with a smile. "You seem like a good guy, Shaun. I don't meet many of those."
"We are a dying breed."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed. "Take care of yourself, Shaun. No more going into dark alleys with strange women, okay?"
"No, absolutely not. Been there, done that, got the hideous scar. I promise I'll be careful."
"Thank you. Good night, Shaun."
"G'night! Bye!"
She turned and walked away. He stood and watched until she disappeared into the fog, then started his own walk home.
The next morning, Sara was drinking chai tea and trying not to show that she had a hangover while Michael lectured her on the strict rules of not having any contact with victims under surveillance, followed by a lecture on the foolishness of going into a vamp nest without back-up. She insisted that Shaun had been her back-up, a surprisingly effective one.
Michael leaned back in his immense leather chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, looking thoughtful. "I'm glad you mentioned that, Sara, because I'm thinking of recruiting him."
Sara almost did another spit-take. This was becoming an unfortunate trend. "What? Shaun?"
"Yes, Shaun. You need reinforcements, Sara. Will agrees with me."
She turned an accusatory glare at Will, at which he grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Look, I've got reinforcements," she insisted. "That's the whole perk of being a special ops wing of the Catholic Church. Unlimited monetary resources and manpower."
"True, but you can't be everywhere. And one of these days you'll get careless and you'll get killed."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, chief."
"In light of what transpired last night," Will interjected, "perhaps Sara just doesn't want to mix business with pleasure."
"Shaun has absolutely nothing to do with my pleasure!" she cried. "Okay, that came out wrong." She retreated back into the office chair.
"And do you recall her dalliance with David the werewolf?" Will continued. "That almost cost us our lives in Prague."
"Hey, he was a perfectly nice guy most days of the month. How many women can say that about you?" she countered. "Anyway, you're one to talk."
"Me? What have I done?" he protested.
"Always finding some excuse to talk to the new librarian. Oh, Lex, did that book on Sumerian burial rights come in? Lex, can you help me with this Latin translation? I'd be ever so grateful."
"Alexandra is a highly intelligent, perfectly capable woman who is a definite asset to the Council," he recited in a completely professional manner.
Sara smirked. "She shot you down, huh?"
"Crashed and burned. Beyond recognition."
"Quiet, both of you!" Michael reprimanded. "Now Shaun has already proven his worth in a fight against the undead."
"Yeah, well, zombies move a bit slower than vamps," Sara said dismissively.
"But they're no less lethal. He survived where a lot of other people didn't. I think it's worth extending an invitation to join our ranks."
"Are you okay with this?" Will asked Sara.
She considered. "Well, he was a big help in that vamp's nest."
"Good. Then it's settled," Michael declared. "You and Will will train him. I'll send a car to bring him here. Remember, everyone needs to be battle-ready by the Lunar Eclipse."
As high noon dawned on Crouch End, Shaun woke up to intrusive sunlight through the window and insistent knocking on the front door. He'd collapsed on the downstairs couch again, not having the energy to go upstairs. His head ached; he had to make that knocking stop. "Yvonne, I am not interested," he said emphatically as he opened the door.
But it wasn't Yvonne on the front step. It was that tall red-headed man from the hospital. "Mr. Riley, good afternoon!" Will greeted him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've come to extend an invitation to you, Mr. Riley. Sara told us how helpful you were last night. We wondered if you might be interested in being of service to us again." He gestured to a gleaming black Jaguar parked in the street.
Shaun laughed. "Wait, wait, hang on! You want me to be some full-time demon fighter? Have you any idea how much I have been through in the past year? Everything with Z-Day, losing my mum, my stepdad, my roommates. Then my girlfriend dumps me. Then I become vampire food in an alley," he ranted breathlessly.
"Mr. Riley, I do understand your reluctance—"
"No, mate, you don't. Sorry, but I'm done dealing with the undead."
"Look, Shaun, Sara would never admit it, but she needs help. If it hadn't been for you, she would have died last night. We need all the allies we can get."
"You mean you need more cannon fodder in this supposed war against the Underworld," Shaun said with contempt. "Sara's a nice girl, I'd love to help her, but I'm not planning to enlist." He started to close the door.
"You'll let innocent people die without even trying to save them?" Will demanded. "Because that is what's happening, Shaun. People are dying all around you. You can't just close your eyes and wish it would go away. Last time, you tried to do something about it. There must still be some desire in you to make things right. And let's face it, you seem to have a natural knack for this job."
Shaun looked at him with doubt. Did he really want to play the hero again? Doing so had had such disastrous results the last time. Why should this time be any different? The difference, he then realized, was that he now had nothing left to lose. "Are you gonna' pay me?"
"There is...some amount of compensation. Health benefits. Affordable accommodations in any of our affiliated countries. Discount tickets to the Barbican. And use of the company car."
"Right, show me where to sign up." Shaun grabbed his jacket and followed Will to the car.
About a half-hour later, the car pulled up to a large Gothic building somewhere in West London. They weren't far from Parliament and Scotland Yard, Shaun noted. Wonder if that was intentional. The car entered an underground parking deck. Will and Shaun exited the car, and Will used his security card to enter the building thru a set of large metal doors. A journey up a winding flight of stairs led them to the Neoclassical lobby of the Council's headquarters, flooded with sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Welcome to HQ," Will said.
"Blimey, this is a nice place," Shaun gasped.
"Well, we did get rather a lot of funding from King Charles II."
A man and a woman walked down the grand staircase to join them.
"You've already met Michael," Will said as an introduction, "and I believe you're...acquainted with Sara."
"Hello again, Shaun" she said with a smile.
"Welcome, Mr. Riley," Michael said with an outstretched hand. "We're very glad you've decided to join us. We've not a moment to lose. We'll talk later. For now, we need you to start your lessons with Will and Sara."
Shaun was led up the staircase to the training rooms on the second floor. A wide, brightly-lit expanse filled with the normal trappings of a health gym (weight machines, punching bags) but also gleaming, sometimes unindentifiable weaponry hanging from nearly every wall. Will proudly launched into his promotional speech about the state-of-the-art training facility that they had built here at the London branch under his supervision. Potential slayers from all the over the world would plead to do their training here.
Shaun was feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Look, do we have time for tea? Or at least a smoke break?" He took a pack out of his pocket and lit one of the cigarettes.
"Okay," Sara started. "Lesson 1: No smoking."
"Why not? Look, this is a clever incendiary device. Fire equals bad, right?"
"That is a cigarette." She removed it from his mouth and stamped it out under her foot. "Lesson 2..." She launched a high kick at Shaun's head, which he instinctively dodged, but then she spun around to kick his legs out from under him, dropping him to the floor.
"Ow! What'd did you do that for?"
"Vampires are demons, and demons don't fight fair," she explained, offering her hand to help him to his feet. "You can't predict their movements so it's useless to try. You have to be able to think quickly and act even more quickly." Without warning, she tried a backhand punch at his head, which he managed to block by catching her arm. "Nicely done."
"Are all the lessons going to be this abusive?"
"Honey, we're just getting warmed up."
For the next few days, Shaun felt like a combination of Neo from "The Matrix," Rocky Balboa, and Uma Thurman from "Kill Bill." Only with a lot more bruises and possible damage to internal organs. He was drilled in stake-throwing, sword fighting, kickboxing. He was forced to sit through lectures on recognizing vampires and other demons, attack and defense strategies, dealing with victims and civilians, explaining things to the local police.
He and Sara amused each other during these times by writing song lyrics on each other's notebook pages. It was after he'd read the words, "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you," that Michael walked into the room with an uncharacteristic look of urgency.
"It's time," he said succinctly. "We've traced the point of origin for the vampires. Davrok Sakkari."
"Davros?" Shaun asked. "Like the guy who created the Daleks on 'Doctor Who'?"
"No, Shaun," Michael corrected. "Davrok."