As dusk began falling across the sky, the helicopters at last reached their destination. They located a large, three story building with a deserted rooftop stretching out before them. One by one the helicopters descended and landed. Almost at once, the passengers on board the Blackhawk began unloading a now unconscious Roger, carrying him over to where Michael was busy preparing a makeshift pallet out of a sleeping bag and some extra blankets. In the meantime, Ana climbed from the Stallion laden with the limited medical supplies they carried. Moving as swiftly as she could, Ana joined Tom kneeling beside Roger, carefully removing the bandages the medic had applied earlier and inspecting the wound.
Briggs stalked over beside them. "What's the status she asked," gesturing towards Roger as Tom turned to look at her.
"I gave him something for the pain earlier, but it wore off before we landed. Masters was a little rough with the landing, it jostled Rog's leg pretty good. I think something may have hit it as well, by I can't say for certain. All I know is that he screamed once and passed out as soon as the skids hit the roof."
She nodded, turning and scanning the crowd growing around them. Finally she spotted the person she was looking for--Steve. "How's the wound, looking?" she asked, turning her attention back to the three before her.
"I think he'll be okay," Ana said, gently probing at the bullet wound. "It doesn't look like the bullet did any serious damage, I think if we can get it out okay, stitch it up he'll be all right."
"Just don't plan on putting him back to work any time soon," Tom said, trying to smile.
Briggs just looked at him for a moment, finally turning on her heel and saying, "Just do what you have to do." She stalked angrily past the group who were talking quietly amongst themselves, speculating on the severity of Roger's injuries. Steve stood at the very back of the group, slightly apart from the others, watching as Ana worked on removing the bullet with Tom's assistance. So engrossed in what watdhing what they were doing, Steve didn't even realize Briggs was in front of him until a split second before she hammered a hard right hook into his jaw that sent him reeling backwards.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Steve hollered as he fell back.
"You rotten, cowardly Sonuvabitch!" she said angrily, grabbing for his shirt to keep him from falling flat on his back. She jerked on the shirt, propelling him forward again where he was met by a brutal uppercut, once again catching him in his jaw. A few of his teeth were jarred loose by the impact, and blood spewed forth out of his mouth, running in a trail down his chin. He grunted in pain, falling to the ground as Michael and Kenneth rushed over and attempted to restrain Briggs.
"Take it easy Sergeant," panted Michael as he gripped her right arm, amazed at the strength she displayed. Deftly he dodged the kick she'd aimed towards the side of his knee cap.
Kenneth was less diplomatic about the task. "Goddammit you crazy bitch," he ground out between his tightly clenched teeth. "That stupid motherfucker isn't even worth the time you could spend wipin' this rooftop with his ass."
"Get her away from me, dammit, she's crazy!" Steve cried out.
Briggs ignored them all, lunging forward towards Steve once more, pulling Kenneth and Michael with her. With a sharp twist, she managed to break loose of Michael's hold on her arm, swiftly pivoting towards Kenneth, she brought her foot up in a high kick that caught him in the side of the head, momentarily stunning him. Before either man could stop her, Briggs rushed forward, catching Steve with a vicious kick to his side as he tried to rise once more to his feet. The impact of the kick moved him a few feet closer to the edge of the roof. Michael and Kenneth moved forward to intervene once more, but Cowboy stopped them.
"I've been on the receiving end of her wrath more times than I care to think about," he drawled. "It's best for everyone to just go ahead and let her work it out of her system, otherwise she really gets mean."
"You don't call what she's doing now mean?" Kenneth asked incredulously. They watched as Briggs gripped Steve by the neck, pulling him to his feet and propelling him the last few feet to the edge of the roof. She pushed him forward so that his head hung over the roof's edge, forcing him to stare down below at the growing mob of undeads as she bent forward herself and spoke softly into his ear.
"Nah, he'll be bruised, maybe have a cracked rib or two, but nothing more serious. Be glad she hasn't pulled her pistol on him," Cowboy said, "if she did that, then started to knee-cap him or something, then you'd know she was feeling mean.This ain't nothing. And when she's done, it'll be like it never happened."
Michael and Kenneth looked at him like he was just as crazy as his sister. When they turned their attention back to the edge though, Briggs was walking calmly away, calling for Masters and Cowboy to join her. It was as if she'd never come close to killing a man with her bare hands, only the blood that dripped from the split knuckle on her right hand betrayed what she'd done. Over beside the roof's edge, Steve sat in a heap, gripping his ribs and moaning in pain.
"Welcome to yet another fun-filled day with our dysfunctional family," CJ said, moving up behind Kenneth and Michael. He grinned when he saw Steve. "Damn, you wouldn't believe how many times I've wanted to do that myself. Steve, you've never looked better my friend."
Hearing CJ's words, Steve drew himself up into a sitting position. He tried to sneer at him, but the effect was ruined by his rapidly swelling jaw, making it appear as more of a grimace. Haughtily he said in a slightly garbled voice, "You just weren't man enough to do it on your own so you had your bitch to it for you."
"Steve, I wouldn't try to talk shit if I was you. I mean, you're the one that just got your ass handed to you by a girl," CJ said, a broad smile brightening his face as he turned and walked away. Caught of guard, Kenneth couldn't keep his surprised laugh from escaping.
An hour later, Briggs caught up with Ana and asked for the latest status report on Roger. She wrapped a length of gauze around her own injured knuckles as they conversed.
"Well, I got the bullet out of his leg okay, and Tom helped get both the wounds cleaned and stitched up. I think he'll pull through all right, providing we can keep either of them from becoming infected," Ana told her.
Briggs nodded, digesting the information before inquiring, "Has he regained consciousness at all?"
"Yea, he woke up right about the same time you landed that right hook on Steve's jaw, and I think he was pretty much awake and lucid the rest of the time you were beating the hell out of him too. He didn't pass out againuntil I started probing to locate the bullet."
"Is that normal?"
"Hard to say, but I figure unless you're some kind of masochist who likes that kind of pain it's fairly normal. But then, no two patients are the same either," Ana replied. Once again, Briggs nodded, then began walking away.
"Sergeant?" Ana called out, halting Briggs' departure. The soldier turned, looking expectantly at Ana. "That beating you gave Steve, not that I don't think he deserved it, but was it really necessary? I mean, we need as many of our people as we can get for stuff like refueling and pulling guard duty. I just thought that maybe it was a little...excessive."
"We can manage just fine without him," Briggs replied stiffly, a twinge of anger touching her voice. "Besides, I wouldn't trust him to man the fuel pumps or provide cover after his display of cowardice today."
"So we're just going to risk it with fewer people?" demanded Ana.
"No, we're just going to utilize different people," Briggs said dismissively.
"You can't be thinking about sending Monica or Nicole out there, tell me you're not thinking of doing that," Ana insisted.
"Ana, you just focus on getting Roger back on his feet again, leave the strategic planning to me. And for the record, Steve's damn lucky I didn't shoot his ass and dump him below for those things to feed on."
"This is crazy, you're crazy," muttered Ana, closing her eyes as she reached up to massage her temples.
"Welcome to the New World Order," Briggs called out over her shoulder,moving away to finish unloading gear from the helicopters.
After having watched the exchange between Ana and Briggs, Monica walked over to where Walker was seated. "So is your boss always such a bitch? Or did we just catch her on a good day?" she asked, seating herself beside the young soldier and attempting to open an MRE.
"Don't know, never met her before Ft. Pastor fell," he replied, reaching out and opening the MRE for her. "But, if the last few months are anything to go on, I'd have to say no."
Monica looked surprised by his response, so he hastened to add, "At least not all the time anyway. Oh, I'm, uh, sorry she beat the crap outta your boyfriend, I guess I can see why you think she's a little bitchy."
"I told you before, Steve's not my boyfriend. And don't waste your time feeling sorry about what happened to him, as far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved," she said. When Walker remained silent, she took a bite of the MRE, grimacing as she did. The expression on her face caused him to burst out laughing. She narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm glad I amuse you so much."
Quickly attempting to defend himself, he explained, "Look, I'm sorry, but you just reminded me of myself the first time I ate one of those. Some of the old timers who'd been in for awhile told me how much better these were compared to what they used to get. Said I didn't know how good I had it."
Monica smiled. "Jesus, what do they do, numb your taste buds after awhile or what? This is terrible."
"You get used to it in time. They sure as hell beat starving."
"Or cannibalism," Monica joked before fully realizing what she'd said. Listening to the moans rising up around the building on all sides, she suddenly felt sick. Mentally, she berated herself for the thoughtless words. "I can't believe I just said that. It's always been one of my biggest faults, blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind without actually thinking about it."
Walker nodded in understanding. "It's okay, I don't think your saying that is any worse than the way I'm starting to feel."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Numb. I'm starting to feel numb. None of that shit out there seems to shock me anymore, nothing I see...The men, the women...the children, especially the children...all torn up yet still walking around, I don't know. It just doesn't seem to bother me the way it used to. I barely even notice all the moaning anymore either...the only thing I can't ignore is the smell," he said, smiling weakly at her. "Otherwise, I don't know, I just can't seem to think of them as people anymore."
"They're not people anymore, at least I don't think so. People can think and reason and talk...they have souls, an inner light that makes us all just a little bit unique from everybody else," Monica said.
"Maybe," he agreed. "But that doesn't make me feel any better. It's messed up, I feel bad because I think I should feel worse than I do about all this shit. Maybe I'm just going crazy."
"No, your not," Monica said reassuringly, reaching out and touching his arm. "They call it survivor guilt I think. I saw Dr. Phil talking about it on Oprah once, people who survived car wrecks and lost someone they loved, stuff like that."
To his credit, Walker tried hard to hold back the laughter, but it burst out of him just as Sanchez came upon them. "Walker man, you got something funny you're holding out on from the rest of us."
Walker smiled, causing Monica to glower at him. He broke into fresh peals of laughter, finally pulling himself together enough to answer Sanchez. "Nah man," he laughed. "Monica here was just giving me some psychological advice from Oprah, or was it Dr.
Phil?" he asked her, elbowing her softly in the side.
"Okay...Sorry I asked," Sanchez said,he turnedand moved away, leaving Monica and Walker alone once more.
"Why'd you have to go and tell him that?" Monica demanded, prepared to be insulted by his reply.
"Because I knew that any mention of the words Dr. Phil and Oprah would send him running."
"But why would you..."
"So I can enjoy a few more minutes alone, with one of the most beautiful women I've ever met," he said, blushing a virulent shade of red.
Monica smiled hugely, her irritation over being made fun of temporarily forgotten. "Don't you mean left alive?" she teased. His ears turned the same color red as his face at her words.
"No, I mean ever," he stammered out, even more embarrassed that he'd made such and admission.
"You know what Walker, I don't think you have to worry that you're too numb to feel anything. You're definitely a living, feeling person," Monica told him.
The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice Cowboy and Briggs observing them from a short distance away. "And then there was one," commented Briggs.
"Huh?" Cowboy asked, turning to look at her.
"Have you noticed how much life is imitating art here?"
"How so?"
"Think of every horror movie, thriller, drama or whatever that you've ever seen. One by one everyone always seems to pair up."
"Yea, now that you mention it. Ana and Michael, Fran and Peter..." Cowboy started.
"Nicole and Terry, and now young Walker and Monica," she finished for him.
"Now don't go forgetting about yourself and CJ," goaded Cowboy, earning himself a teasing punch in the ribs.
"And now poor Spec. Steele is the only one left."
"Yea, well, not to change the subject or anything, but what's our game plan for tomorrow?" he asked.
"We'll have to see if we can locate a spot to fuel up, probably somewhere in Honduras, unless we can make it to Nicaragua. My goal is to reach Managua by nightfall, we'll be able to reach the island by the day after by my calculations."
"Yea, now we just gotta hope that you're right about it being free of the infection," he told her.
"You're right about that," she replied softly.
"You know, when you started talking about that whole 'life imitating art' thing, I was afraid you were gonna start talking about those cheesy 'Return of the Living Dead' movies," he told her smiling. "Remember those?"
"How could I forget, we snuck into the theater to see the first two," she said, smiling at the memory.
"There was more than two?"
"Unfortunately. The third one wasn't worth the film they put in the cameras. I saw it on one of those movie marathon weekends the last time I was laid up."
"That was the shot in the side with the nine mill wasn't it? Just missed your liver?" he asked.
"Nah, this was in the shoulder, with the .45."
"I was close, I knew it was a gunshot anyway. And as long as you didn't waste good money renting the movie, well, I guess there was no harm done," he said cheerfully.
"Yea, but I did seriously think about canceling my satellite service after that," she joked.
"So in those Living Dead movies, how'd they kill them anyway? Shot to the head?" he guessed.
"Nah, I think they electrocuted them or nuked them or some shit like that," she replied. "I don't think headshots fazed them at all come to think about it, acted pretty much the same as our little friends below do when you hit them anywhere but the head."
"Well I'll be damned, you mean the movies got something wrong?" Cowboy said with faux shock. Taking a good look at each others faces, they burst into laughter over the absurdity of their whole conversation. The noise drew the attention of a couple of their travel companions.
"What's got you two so entertained?" asked Michael, walking up to join them.
"Just a philosophical debate over great works of theatrical art and it's influence on our lives today," Cowboy responded, completely deadpan. Briggs couldn't hold back another grin.
"What the hell are you talking about?" asked CJ.
"We're talking about movies," Briggs answered. "Specifically zombie movies like the Return of the Living Dead flicks."
A brief smile touched Michael's face. "They're no where near the truth, couldn't those things talk in that movie?"
"Yea," Briggs agreed. "And they only ate the brain."
"Oh I know one we're forgetting about," Cowboy said, "What about Shaun of the Dead?"
"Hell yea, where they were fighting over their vinyl collection, hurling 'em life frisbees and shit," laughed Briggs.
Cowboy shook his head, "Nah, I liked the ending better, where they domesticated the damn things and used them to do the jobs that nobody else liked to do...weren't they chained up to shopping carts or something?"
"Yes! And there was the one on the talk show and the woman carrying on about how she loved him," Briggs laughed.
"No, better yet. What about how he had his best mate chained up in the backyard shed and they still played those damn playstation games together? Now that was some funny shit," declared Cowboy.
"That Romero guy had it right though," CJ said quietly. "More or less anyway."
"Yea, come to think of it, you're right," admitted Michael. "But wasn't it the already dead that came back to life in his movie?"
The four of them pondered the thought for a moment, Ana finally answering the question for them. "No...it...I think I remember a little girl being bit. Didn't she end up getting sick and then coming back and attacking her parents or something?"
"Yea, I think you're right," agreed Cowboy. "And I bet after that they never tried to cut off her allowance again." Ana gave him a dark look for his comment, the others just smiled weakly."
"She's right," Briggs said. "It was the same theme in the Living Dead and Shaun movies too. Anyone who got bit became one of them. Providing there was enough pieces left anyway."
"Too bad nobody treating all the bite victims when this thing started was up to date on their horror movie trivia, maybe we could have avoided all this," Michael told them.
"Does anyone but me find it kind of odd that we're up here talking about zombie movies and comparing them to real life?" Ana asked. "Especially since, here we are, stranded on a roof, surrounded on all sides by the real things because they are part of our reality now."
"Well when you put it that way it does," Briggs agreed. "But that doesn't mean we can't sit around critiquing films for their lack of authenticity."
"Not to defend the aforementioned film industry," commented Cowboy, "But it's not like they had any real life experience with these things until now. Not that there's going to be any filmmakers left to make the movie."
"But you're still comparing fiction to real life!" insisted Ana.
"Why not? Movies, no matter what their genre, are just a reflection of life," Briggs told her.
"Oh really? So tell me how exactly does a movie like Return of the Living Dead reflect life?" Ana demanded.
"You could say, in a way, that they're about a recurring theme of facing your worst fears, accepting the challenge they offer you, and working together with others to defeat the bad guys and survive."
"And the zombies are just the 'bad guys.' Is that what you're saying?" Ana asked skeptically.
"More or less."
"That's bullshit."
"Big time. But if you really think about it, it's true. Unintentionally or not."
"I give up. Talking to you guys about this is just mentally exhausting. I'm going to bed," Ana said, walking away.
"I think I'll join her," Michael said, following behind.
"Suit yourselves," Briggs called after their retreating backs. She lowered herself to the roof, stretching out fully, arms folded behind her head and looked up at the stars. "You two staying or going?" she asked. CJ and Cowboy both joined her, laying and looking up into the night sky.