DISCLAIMER: Fact—Edgar Wright is bootylicious. Fact—Dylan Moran loves chocolate ginger biscuits. Fact—None of the "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to yours truly. Fact—The author is in way over her head, yet she's still struggling to stay afloat like that chick at the beginning of "Jaws." Duh dun, duh dun, dun dun dun dun dun dun…
Ryland sighed as he lowered the binoculars from his eyes. "I think we might have some uninvited guests," he said.
Davrok finished his meal of the convenience store's clerk and dropped the body to the floor. He joined Ryland at the window of the store where they had decided to watch the fireworks at the warehouse rave across the street. "Is it the Slayer?" he asked.
"Well, the girl seems to fit the description of the one who torched the Cereberus Club last night," Ryland replied. "Though I'm not sure whether we can trust the word of a near-sighted Opthalian demon. At any rate, that was definitely Simmonds from the Council driving the car."
"How could they know of our plans?"
"Maybe one of your minions got chatty before he got dusted." Ryland continued to look through the binoculars as they carried boxes and other equipment inside the warehouse. "They seem to be packing quite a bit of weaponry."
"We need to destroy them now," Davrok declared impatiently.
"May I remind you that we need the Slayer for the ritual? And may I also remind you this party was your idea? If we lose a few dozen vampires tonight, we'll still be in good shape. We've got replacements all over the countryside. They, on the other hand, are working out of a building that's no more than a pile of rubble. Anything they accomplish tonight will only leave them with a false sense of security. They'll feel…almost victorious."
Standing by the entrance of the warehouse, Sara was feeling very old as the parade of goths and fairies and other club kids paraded by her. Since Michael had seen fit to scare off the event staff, with the exception of a few bartenders, security guys, and lighting crew, she'd been obligated to take up the job of coat check girl. Michael stood beside her and continued to pass out stakes and pamphlets to the attendees.
She sighed, propping her elbow up on the counter and resting her chin on it. "You know, the last time I used a glow stick was when I went trick-or-treating at 5 years old. I'm so out of the loop."
"You're out of the loop? How do you think I feel?" Michael scoffed. "I look like a bloody Oxford don who's wandered into a Kevanisk worship ritual."
"If I knew what a Kevanisk was, I'd tend to agree. Really, is your closet nothing but tweed?"
Another club kid passed them on the way inside. Despite it being several hours past sunset, he was still wearing sunglasses and an outfit trapped in the 80s that not even James Spader could have made acceptable. Michael was ready to offer him a stake, but Sara placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "Vampire," she whispered and tilted her head in his direction. "At least we know we've got the right place."
Then Sara smiled at the most recent couple to arrive. "Welcome. Can I take your coats?"
"Wow, it has been years since I've been to a rave," the woman said, her voice charged with excitement and blue eyes wide as she handed her coat to Sara.
"Check out the party favors, Yvonne," her significant other observed, showing her the stake and pamphlet.
"Hmm, that's really…unique. You don't think you're taking the Goth thing a bit too seriously, do you?"
"Well, this theme has been a really big hit in America," Sara explained. "We just wanted to see if it would go over here in London."
"Right, cool. Cheers!" The two of them disappeared happily into the undulating mass of people, alternately illuminated by glow sticks and strobe lights.
Shaun (aka "DJ Smiley Riley") was still manning the DJ station, dancing to the rhythm and twirling an album in his hands. Gosh, he looked good in headphones, Sara mused. Better than John Cusack in High Fidelity if that was possible. She watched as the girl that she had just spoken to rushed up to Shaun and hugged him. They started a very animated conversation.
"Well, looks like Shaun is having a good time," Sara remarked, trying very hard to suppress a feeling of jealousy that had crept up out of nowhere.
"Yes, it was quite fortunate for us that he was able to step in at the last minute." He followed her gaze to the DJ and shook his head. "Look, Sara, I'm sure that I don't have to say anything about the disadvantages of developing feelings for a co-worker…"
"No, you don't," she said quickly. "I got the memo. Feelings are bad. Thus, no feelings."
"At all?"
"Nope."
"Good."
"Though I'd still like to know who that tart is with her arms around my man," she said in a mock serious tone. "That was a joke, Michael."
"Oh, right."
Another new arrival approached them in a beat-up brown leather jacket and jeans. He propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, looking over his round-rimmed sunglasses. "Tell me, what's a nice girl like you doin' in a place like this?" he inquired.
Sara turned to see where the question had come from and looked into a face from her past: Logan Grayson, a fellow American slayer. A man who had fought alongside her from her humble beginnings in the Louisiana Delta, a man who was always cool and calm in any stressful situation, a man who just because he looked a bit like David Duchovny or Brendan Fehr thought that he automatically seemed irresistible to every woman he met.
"Mr. Grayson!" Michael enthused, offering his hand. "Welcome to London! We're so glad you could make it on such short notice."
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked him. She then turned on Michael. "What the hell is he doing here?"
"In light of the circumstances, I was forced to call upon the European and North American offices for emergency back-up. Luckily, Mr. Grayson was on holiday in Amsterdam."
"I hopped on the first flight into Heathrow as soon as Mikey told me what was going down." He folded up his sunglasses and placed them in his jacket pocket, his light brown eyes shining with what some would call charisma but what Sara had learned was indeed unbridled arrogance.
"We've got things under control, Grayson," she declared. "Now why don't you just hop back over the Channel and go seduce some poor naïve backpackers?"
"Hey, I came here to help. You've got a room full of humans and a room full of vampires. Unless you want this to turn out like the bar-room scene in From Dusk Till Dawn, I suggest we come up with an airtight plan to deal with these bloodsuckers."
"I already have a plan. You're not part of it," she asserted, trying not to sound like a petulant child.
"Come on, Sara," he said with uncharacteristic humility. "I meant it when I said I'm here to help. No more, no less. I'm waving the white flag of truce, okay? Now let me buy you a drink and we can discuss this in civil terms."
Sara looked at him, then looked at Michael and tried to telepathically communicate the harm that she wished to inflict upon him. "Fine," she sighed. "Are you okay here, Michael?"
"Yes, I'll hold down the fort."
She emerged from behind the coat-check counter and followed Grayson's lead through the crowd.
As the bass pulsed through his headphones, Shaun had been so focused on the turntables that he was completely unaware of a woman walking up to him. When he'd looked up, Yvonne's arms were already around his neck.
"Shaun, what on earth are you doing here?" she cried.
"Me? What are you doing here?" he blurted.
"Oh, Dec heard about this event from a friend of a friend. Y'know, it's been ages since I've been to a rave. I can't believe you're here. And doing the DJ thing again. That's great!" she gushed with an enthusiastic smile.
"Look, Yvonne, you really don't want to be here tonight. Something really bad is going down."
"What, are you my dad all of a sudden?" she gasped. "Okay, I promise I won't take any of those white pills. Maybe I'll take just half of one."
"It's not drugs, Yvonne. I can't tell you what it is. But trust me, you need to leave now while you still can."
"Shaun, what's the big deal? The situation looks fairly non-threatening at the moment. And did you see these party favors?" she asked, waving the sharpened piece of wood around. "I think they're taking the Goth thing a little too seriously, if you ask me. Girl at the front said it was some weird American thing. Like what am I gonna' do with a piece of wood?"
"Actually, that might come in handy later."
"Why? For what?" She stared him down. "Shaun, what are you not telling me? What big, bad thing is supposed to happen tonight?" She continued to gesture dramatically, punctuating each question with a jab of the wooden stake toward him, which was making Shaun quite nervous.
"Vampires, okay," he finally blurted.
"Vampires?" she laughed. "Vampires aren't real."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't too long ago we thought zombies weren't real, either. And look how that turned out."
"You're serious? Vampires are going to attack this party?" She looked at him in silence. He definitely looked serious. They'd both survived the horrors of Z-Day; surely he wouldn't joke about another invasion of deadly monsters.
"I knew I should have brought my golf club," she said. "So those people at the front, they know about this?"
"Yeah, that's Michael and Sara. Sara is a vampire slayer."
"Go on," Yvonne huffed in disbelief.
"No, it's true. She's been fighting them for years. She saved my neck in an alley a few weeks ago. Literally." He looked across the room to see how she was doing, but she had disappeared from the coat check booth. She was now standing at the bar with a fairly tall man in a brown jacket. They were having an animated conversation. "Looks like Sara is having a good time," Shaun remarked, trying very hard to suppress a feeling of jealousy that had crept up out of nowhere.