DISCLAIMER: Once upon a time, there were two men named Simon and Edgar. They were very talented and very cute, and they lived in a place called England. One day, they decided to write a movie called "Shaun of the Dead," and it made everyone happy. And then a young woman from the southern United States decided to hijack their characters and use them to her own evil purposes. Okay, her purposes weren't exactly evil. More like mildly malicious. But we're definitely not talking sunshine and goodness, bunnies and kittens here. Enjoy!
Sara was feeling very uneasy as they approached the building in Southwark. Will's car was still parked on the street, a lock applied to its tire by a friendly neighborhood bobby. Shaun led the way into the building and up the stairs. The door to Ryland's flat was open. This can't be good, Shaun thought.
The flat was lit only by moonlight flooding in from the windows. The many artifacts in the room took on an eerie, sinister appearance. As he scanned the room, he saw what seemed to be a person lying on the floor in front of a desk in the corner.
"Will?" Sara called. She ran over to the man lying on the rug. "Oh my God, no! Please, no! Will?"
Shaun walked slowly closer and knelt beside the body. There was so much blood. The skin was cold to the touch and there was no pulse when Shaun touched his wrist. "Sara, he's gone," he said softly.
"No! He is not gone! Will? Will, don't do this! Don't leave me!" She was sobbing hysterically. Shaun knew there was nothing he could do. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she slapped it away harshly.
He stepped away to the desk and did the only thing he could think of: call for an ambulance. Sara continued to cry, holding her deceased friend in her arms. Shaun knew what she must feel, but he also knew it wasn't safe to be there. "Sara, please. We need to get out of here. Whatever did this might still be here."
"Shaun, you and I both know who did this." She managed to restrain her sobs. Gently, she put her hand on Will's face to close his open, fearful eyes and lowered his body to the floor. Shaking, she rose to her feet. When she looked up at Shaun, it wasn't tears in her eyes. It was pure, unadulterated rage.
Unbeknownst to Sara and Shaun, more people were dying across the river at the Council building. Davrok's army had massacred whomever they'd found. Some of the humans had been able to escape when they grasped the severity of the situation, but the majority of the Council's workforce had been forced into permanent retirement.
Just the way Ryland had wanted it. He allowed himself a quick smile of satisfaction before returning his attention to the laptop. It seemed to have belonged to the Council's librarian; she was working on a translation of the prophecy he'd already unlocked.
"What have you found?" Davrok asked, casually wiping blood from his sword.
"Apparently they were trying to translate the same prophecy. Bit late for that," he smirked. "Anyway, there's a mistake in the translation. Even if they tried to stop what's coming, they'd be going about it the wrong way."
"The wrong way?"
"Yes. This prophecy says that the next lunar eclipse will bring about an age of permanent darkness in which the world will be controlled by the soul-less demons who walk the night. This catastrophic event is brought about by shedding the blood of the troubled woman in white."
"And?"
"That's where they got it wrong. Ancient Sanskrit was never known for being literal. It's not the troubled woman in white, it's the warrior woman in light," Ryland explained. "The Slayer, the defender of all things good and pure against all things evil and dark. They'll send her to save an innocent victim from being sacrificed, when they don't realize that she is the sacrifice."
"We must go find this Slayer."
"Patience, Davrok. If we wait, the Slayer will come right to us."
The green Mini Cooper came to an abrupt stop in a seedy part of town. Shaun felt very uneasy. Actually, he was nearing petrified, if he had to be honest with himself. Sara grabbed her bag and opened the car door.
"Why are we here?" Shaun inquired.
"It's a bar for the Underworld crowd. They know what's going on, I'm going to go get some answers." She exited the car and slammed the door shut.
Shaun followed her onto the sidewalk. "Wait, wait. Just hold on a second. You want to go into a bar for demons and ask them about who killed Will."
"Yes, is there a flaw in my plan?"
"The one minor flaw being that it's suicide. Sara, you've been killing their kind for weeks now. They're not gonna' roll out a red carpet for you."
He took hold of her shoulders to make sure he got the point across. "Look, I know that what happened to Will tonight...it was a shock. I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now. But you need to just step back and think about this. Seriously, getting yourself killed is not going to bring him back. And it won't get you any closer to finding out who killed him."
"I already know who killed him," she snapped, breaking free of his grasp. "Now somebody in that room knows where Davrok is, and they're going to tell me."
"Sara, I can't let you do this. I can't go with you into a room where certain death awaits."
"You're right, Shaun. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For this." She delivered a right hook to his chin that knocked him out. Catching him before he hit the sidewalk, she returned him to the passenger seat of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition in case he needed to make a quick getaway. She turned and descended the narrow stairs to the door of the club. She stood and looked at the nondescript metal door before her, unsure if she would ever come back out once she'd passed through it. And frankly at this point, she didn't really care.
Sara kicked open the door and with her crossbow, fired an arrow into the jukebox. Sparks flew as the song came to a stop. Seconds later, this event registered with the club's demon patrons, and they stopped their conversations, their drinking, their game of darts. An uneasy silence filled the dark, smoky room.
Reloading the crossbow and stepping onto a chair, she climbed on top of the nearest table and yelled, "All right, ladies and demons, it's last call at the bar. I suggest anyone who isn't a vampire get out now. While you still have all your appendages."
No one moved.
"This offer of asylum expires in ten seconds," she continued. Still no one moved.
"What are you gonna' do, little girl?" a demon at her feet growled.
She looked down at him and wordlessly pulled a dagger from her belt, plunging it between his eyes. His violet eyes glazed over, and he fell over backward in his chair to the floor.
"Any other stupid questions?"
The assembled demons looked at each other, then collectively decided to head for the exit. But not the vampires. They knew they had a slayer in their midst and they knew they couldn't let her leave the bar alive.
"So let's talk, you overgrown mosquitoes," she hissed, stepping down from atop the table. "A friend of mine was killed tonight. I'm trying to track down a suspect. Big Turkish bloke, pointy teeth, wrinkly forehead, goes by the name of Davrok. You guys know where I might find him?"
"We ain't tellin' you nuffink," a young punk vampire growled.
"Wrong answer." A spring-loaded stake sprang from its holster on her right wrist and seconds later, the vamp was dust. One down, about a dozen more to go, she observed. Not the most desirable odds. "Anyone else?"
The vampires who were seated rose to their feet and moved closer. Sara stood her ground, her eyes quickly glancing around the room for other weapons, her initial bravado beginning to fade in the face of almost certain death. Time to plot a course of action, she thought to herself. Her one goal: try not to die. After all, Uma Thurman had killed way more guys than this in Kill Bill; problem was, this was real.
With a growl, two vamps lunged at her, one after another. She snatched a pool cue off the table and ran both of them through with it. As the dust settled, she spun the stick and whammed it into the head of an oncoming vamp, throwing him off-balance. She pulled a stake from the holster on her leg and plunged it into his heart. Another vamp grabbed her from behind and slammed her face-first onto the pool table. She threw her head back, slamming him in the face, then turned and thrust her elbow into the side of his jaw. Still tightly grasping the stake, she dusted him.
A much bigger vamp then grabbed her throat and tossed her across the table like a rag doll, slamming her into a table and chairs. As she lie there dazed amid the broken glasses and bottles, the vamp continued to advance on her but she recovered long enough to kick upward, the blow connecting with his chin and sending him stumbling backward.
Seeing her backpack, she frantically tried to crawl toward it but it was kicked away toward the bar. Another vamp grabbed her by the hair and roughly pulled her to her feet, then flung her violently to the other side of the room. She slid to the base of the bar. The combination of fatigue and pain forced her to pause and catch her breath, try to find the will to keep fighting.
She tasted blood on her lips, felt a warm trickle of blood slip from a cut on her forehead, tried to suppress the aching and burning in muscles she didn't realize she had. Because there were still a lot of vampires left in the room and they were moving closer. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she relied on the help of a nearby barstool to get to her feet.
"That was quite a good fight, Slayer," the tallest of the vamps said as he stepped closer. "A valiant effort, I must say."
"Well, I wouldn't want you boys to be disappointed," she said through clenched teeth. "Now why don't you tell me where Davrok is and I'll let the rest of you live."
The lead vampire started to laugh, and the others joined in. "Bluffing isn't your strong point, Slayer," he said. "You won't last another minute. But I shall do my best to make your death last a bit longer than that."
She tried to throw a punch at the smiling vamp's face but he caught her fist in his crushing grip and twisted her arm behind her back. A few more inches and she would be facing a dislocated shoulder or a broken arm. She was paralyzed.
"Coming in here, fighting your own personal war, it's all for nought. Davrok is having his coming-out party tomorrow night, and we're all invited. He's giving us all a free meal, an all-you-can-eat buffet. Sorry you won't be there to see it."
"Oy," a younger vamp protested, "how come you get to drink the Slayer?"
"Don't worry. Everyone will get a turn." As he continued to keep a firm grip on her twisted arm, he used his other hand to pull her brown hair back, exposing her neck. His breath was hot on her skin, and she could already feel the sharp points of his fangs near her jugular.
Her mind raced for something, anything that she could do. She found nothing. No hope.
"Your blood is boiling, Slayer. I can feel it," he whispered. "Which is good, because I really hate when dinner is served cold."