The evening passed by uneventfully.

She was still on edge and, no matter how hard she tried, the sight of that grey whatever-it-was wouldn't leave her mind. It could have been a twig flung by the storm, or even a particularly dumb bird that had tricked her failing eyes.

And yet something about it felt wrong. John and Jack's conversation… it just had to be a coincidence, it just had to be, but at the beginning of the game—well, it had been such a long time, but she had a vague, vague memory of something pressing against a window.

But Undead Nightmare couldn't be real, because she had been sent there to protect them, and how could she protect them from zombies of all things?

So, in spite of her churning stomach, she ate the chicken Abigail had made for her, pulled to pieces and stewed for so long that it fell apart disappointingly on her tongue, lapping up the broth in the bowl. Abigail was painfully insistent that she finished the whole thing, grumbling at her to the point that John teased her "Why don't you feed me like that?"

"Lose your teeth, and I just might!" she had barked, though with very little bite, and she'd snorted so hard that, if the chicken were any firmer, she'd have choked. But by then she was so sleepy that she'd licked her offered fingers clean before dropping her head to the carpet in front of the fire, despite her misgivings about what might happen in the night.

She must have put something in the broth, that must have been why she was so insistent that she ate and drank it all, as she slept through the door slamming open, the shuffling of dragged feet on the floor, the scent of rot and blood, and rasping, groaned breaths. She slept through raised voices and the sound of shattering glass, the thump of a body hitting the ground and the rapid pattering of bare feet on wood.

It took Abigail screaming bloody murder to get her on her feet. She was on her paws before she was even awake, fur standing on end and teeth bared, snarling with a ferocity she'd lost years ago. She swayed on her paws, still groggy and bleary from whatever she'd slipped her, blinking, barely taking in what was happening and—

Oh, god.

Abigail was being chased by Uncle, but he could only barely be called that. His mouth was surrounded by blood, his facial hair stained with it. His skin was grey-green, like so many corpses she'd had the misfortune of coming across, lips peeled back in a snarl no human had a right to make, teeth more yellowed than they'd been before.

She never did forgive herself, but she froze, her paws stuck to the ground as though with glue, snarl dying in her chest, fur flattening against her body, huddling in on herself until her stomach touched the rug.

It was only when there was a loud gunshot and poor, dumb Jack ran passed her that she shook herself out of her stupor and began to move. Feeling much, much younger, her aches and pains forgotten, she straightened up and bolted after him, trying to stop him, not sure why, desperately straining her memory but she hadn't played Undead Nightmare in years even before being brought there so even what she did remember was so, so foggy.

"Good lord! What's happened? Momma?"

She stopped on the stoop, perking her ears and staring. The immediate danger or, at least, looking at Abigail, writhing on the ground, the danger that she could help with, lay dead, truly dead, on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Jack, though, knelt next to the other. Oh, shit.

"Jack, don't!" she barked as she leapt down the stairs. Her legs buckled, pain flaring through her hips, but she forced herself through it, lurching forward as fast she could, but was too late, Abigail grabbing him by his union suit and sinking her teeth into his neck. She set her own into the back of his pajamas, pulling, and he fell back and curled in on himself, hand around his neck, trying to stop the bleeding.

And oh, he reeked! Not as strong as Uncle had, still did, actually, and not half so much as Abigail, but it was rapidly growing stronger. John was saying something, but she didn't listen, stumbling back, baring her teeth and flattening her ears. She didn't want to, they were her family in all-but blood, but they smelled so wrong, so dangerous, like a cougar or a bear but far, far worse, and she wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. But she couldn't just leave John to deal with them, so she dug in her paws and stood vigil as Jack, too, turned while John went to get his lasso, and the pair of them began to rise.

"Uh, John?" she barked, backing up as they began to stagger towards her, groaning, "We kind of have a problem?"

He was hurrying out of the shed but—okay, yeah, gotta go. Jack lunged for her, smaller and faster than his mother, and her hip wouldn't let her whirl around, so she bolted forward instead, nearly knocking him over as he wobbled, trying to follow her. She barked as loud and as fast as she could, trying to… well, she didn't know what. Keep their attention? Get John's attention? For no reason other than out of panic?

Either way, she barked and ran in circles around them, not wanting to lead them anywhere but not wanting to get grabbed, either. Finally, though, a lasso came from seemingly out of nowhere, cinching tight around Abigail's ankles and bringing her to the ground with an audible crunch. Oh, Abigail was going to kill John for breaking her nose!

John was distracted by hog-tying Abigail, so it was up to her to keep Jack distracted. She kept running in circles, hoping he would hurry up because wow this was starting to hurt, only to realize suddenly that oh god Jack had moved and, looking at John, was getting close to him. John hadn't noticed him yet, busy trying to bind Abigail's hands without getting bit so, knowing that she'd regret it later, she ran as fast as she could and leapt, slamming into Jack's side and taking him to the ground.

Pain exploded through her body.

Distantly, as though from far away, she heard John shout.

She blinked, blearily able to see him pinning Jack down, struggling to get him tied up.

Oh, oh, that had been a mistake. Her everything, her poor everything.

John picked Jack up carefully, holding his head away from him, hair knotted in his hand to keep his face turned away, vanishing inside. She groaned, turning to stare at Abigail, making sure that she wasn't freeing herself, but she was only thrashing ineffectively.

By the time he'd come back for Abigail, she'd managed to rise to a sit, head dangling, trembling at the throbbing in her joints. All that running had come back to haunt her as the adrenaline left her blood, her hip stabbing sharply with each breath.

If Abigail freed herself, she wouldn't be able to do anything but bark, if that.

"John," she whined, "hurry it up."

And, thankfully, he did. Grabbed Abigail up carefully, but faster than Jack, having learned from carrying his son, and disappeared into the house. Came back out not long after and dragged Uncle off into the barn, scowling, before walking back to her.

"Good dog Gin," he gave her a strained grin, scratching behind her ears. She groaned, but thumped her tail against the ground, "That was incredible girl," although his voice was serious as, well, a zombie attack when he said, "But never attack Jack again."

"Well," she huffed, "I'll just let you be bit next time, I'm sure I can put the mask back on my own."

He stooped down, wrapping his arms around her as gently as he could, but still pain shot through her and she groaned as he picked her up, carrying her inside to set her down in front of the fire. She could hear Jack and Abigail moaning and groaning and snarling and thumping from his and Abigail's room and, even as he pressed carefully along her ribs, her hips (she yelped) and her legs, she kept her ears focused on them, wishing she could have stopped it, hating herself for freezing.

She'd known it would happen, but her denial had kept her from doing anything.

Then and there, she swore that no one would get hurt under her watch again.

No matter what happened to her in return.