A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.

Omega Rising

The door slams shut again and Kim's on her knees next to me, helping me sit up.

She starts to say something but freezes when we hear a soft click.

A man stands behind us, leveling a shotgun at our faces. "Who the hell are you?"

Chapter 3: Survivors

"I'll ask again." The man keeps the shotgun steady with his right arm as he wedges a chair back under the doorknob with his free hand. "Who the hell are you?"

Kim starts to say something, but a sideways glance from me shuts her up.

"Say something," the man barks. He takes a step closer and then another, fitting his finger into the trigger loop of his gun.

Unfortunately for him, he has no idea who he's dealing with, and my high kick knocks the barrel of the shotgun skyward before he even realizes my leg's moving. He lets out a startled cry as I move forward and wrench the gun from his hands. Pointing his weapon back at him, I take a step back, out of his reach.

We glare at one another for a tense moment. I don't like pointing this guy's gun at him. The way I see it, a man's got a right to defend himself, especially when his neighbors start trying to eat his face. But like it or not, Kim and I need a place to hole up, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna stand here with a gun in my face. I'm the slayer. Maybe the whole world's gone to hell, but there's at least one innocent who needs protecting. Alright, so Kim isn't exactly 'innocent' but she's alive and I'm gonna keep her that way. Until I die trying. "You gonna do anything stupid?"

He curls his lip in annoyance but shakes his head.

"Good." I let the barrel point to the floor. "I'm Faith."

"Kim," comes the quiet voice to my left.

The man stares me down for another minute and then grudgingly offers his name. "Cormac."

I don't know if that's his first or last, and I don't care. "You packin' any more heat, Mac?"

He nods. "'Nother shotgun under the bar."

"Can I trust you not to shoot me with it?"

A smirk fights its way free from his beard. "S'long as I can trust you to do the same."

XXXXX

Mac lets us into the small apartment above the bar. After locking the bedroom door, I shove the small dresser in front of it. I've still got one shotgun, but he's got the other. "I think he's okay," Kim offers, watching me move the furniture.

"Better safe than sorry."

"He let you keep the gun."

My eyebrow rises involuntarily. "Like he had a choice?"

Kim flushes. "He shared some of his food."

I smirk and shake my head. "How long were you inside?"

"Why?" She asks defensively.

"Not long, right?"

"Two months." Kim's chin juts outs as she crosses her arms.

I could have guessed that. She still thinks there's good in people—doesn't know enough to see that everybody's looking to take whatever they can from you. "It shows."

She turns her back without responding and begins pulling off her dirty clothes. Whatever then. Not like I'm looking for conversation. I'm lookin' for a little R&R and an early start toward Angel's place. I strip to my underwear and find a clean t-shirt in my pack. Kim climbs into the bed, turning her back to me.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up abruptly when I hear the sounds of fast footsteps on the stairs. "Faith?" Kim asks groggily.

"Stay here," I mutter, sliding out of bed silently and reaching for the shotgun.

Wide-eyed, she watches me sliding the dresser away from the door. I tell her to lock the door behind me, and I listen for the click of the lock before I make my way silently down the hall. The moan comes again and I hear something moving in the other bedroom. I don't know how the dead could have gotten past Mac without me hearing something. But what else would be making that awful sound?

Reaching the door, I nudge it open with my toe and bring the shotgun up. Cormac looks over in alarm before he narrows his eyes at me. "You shouldn't be in here."

I keep the gun level and take in the scene. There's a man tied to the bed, moaning feebly. Our host stands over him, hands on his hips. "What the hell's going on?" I demand.

Cormac gestures toward his prisoner. "I found him like this downstairs yesterday." The man cries out again and my eyes shift to his face. I take a stumbling step back. Wesley moans as I slide the shard of glass against his exposed chest. His wet eyes stare up at me through a haze of pain. The glass shard in my palm pulls away from his skin, leaving a thin red line in its wake. I lick my fingers and press them against the wound I made. Hissing, Wesley blinks back into focus. "Don't pass out on me now, Wes!" My grin stretches my face so hard it hurts.

"He's probably infected." Cormac's staring at me and I realize I've zoned out.

I feel nauseous. "He's not infected," I tell him, moving toward the bed.

"How would you know?" Cormac blocks my path as I reach for the restraint holding Wesley's left wrist.

It would be easy to move him out of my way, but I make myself pause. "Cause the infection happens too quick."

"He's got a bite."

"Show me."

Cormac turns and pulls back a hastily applied bandage on Wes's neck. Two deep punctures are visible in his ashen skin. Definitely a vampire.

"He's not infected," I say again, and this time push by him to reach for the rope securing Wesley to the bed.

"Then where the hell did he get that bite?" Cormac demands.

I flick my eyes to him, making sure he's not going for my gun while I move to free Wesley's left ankle. "Vampire."

He looks at me in surprise, then just says, "Okay."

"Okay? You're just gonna believe me?" I'm a little surprised. This guy doesn't look like he's hip to the demonic activity.

Cormac shrugs nonchalantly. "Heard a thing or two."

I've got other fish to fry at the moment, so I drop the conversation. I've got Wesley free, but he's not moving. I look at his face. The skin under his eyes is pale blue, and his eyelids flutter non-stop. "Has he said anything since you found him?"

"No." Cormac's retreated to the doorway, watching me suspiciously.

"Any idea what to do for somebody with severe blood loss?"

"Blood transfusion," he offers unhelpfully. Off my glare, he adds, "I've been giving him water."

"He can swallow?"

"Sometimes."

Wesley's skin is cool and clammy to the touch. "Get me some blankets."

Cormac nods and goes, taking his gun with him. I turn back to my former watcher. "Wesley? Can you hear me?"

If he can, he doesn't respond.

When Mac gets back, he hands me a bottle of pills. "Had an infection in my tooth a while back," he says gruffly, spreading a quilt over Wesley. "That bite doesn't look so good."

"He doesn't look up for swallowing these." I shake the bottle skeptically. The antibiotics are huge.

"Put them in a glass of water. Maybe they'll dissolve." I turn to see Kim standing in the doorway.

"Thought I told you to stay in the room."

She shrugs. "It didn't sound like you were being eaten."

Shaking my head, I toss her the pill bottle. "Go find some water then."

When we're alone again, I notice Cormac looking at me. "What?"

He inclines his head toward Wes. "You know him?"

I think for a moment. "I used to."

He nods as if it makes sense and shakes out another blanket. Together we spread it over the dying man in the bed.

XXXXX

Our second night of sleeping in Cormac's apartment doesn't go any smoother than the first. This time I wake up gradually to the sound of hushed voices from down the hall. Beside me, Kim sleeps peacefully, unbothered by noise. Slipping out of bed soundlessly, I step into my jeans and pull them up over my hips. The shotgun sits on the floor beside the bed, and I take it with me as I creep out of the room.

I crouch in the hall, trying to determine who's talking in the kitchen. There are two voices; one definitely Cormac and the other new.

Restraint's never been my strong suit, so I raise the shotgun and step through the doorway, immediately training the barrel on the room's inhabitants.

"What are you doing?" Cormac asks, flabbergasted.

His friend raises his hands non-threateningly, looking very nervous. At least that's what I take it to mean when I see his horns trembling. His red eyes are wide in his green face as he looks at my gun.

"What are you?" I ask the demon.

He bristles, starting to drop his hands. I cough, and he yanks them back to his original position. "I'm not a what, sweet cheeks. I'm a who. And you can call me The Host."

"The Host," I repeat. "Host of what?"

"A sweet little spot called Caritas." A faint smile crosses his wide red mouth. "Ever heard of it?"

"No," I respond, "but since we're making introductions, I'm Faith. The vampire slayer."

His horns tremble harder before he gets it under control. "Maybe I should be going."

"You don't have to go," Cormac protests, glaring at me. "Faith, put that down. Lorne wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Looks like it," I say sourly, but I do let the barrel dip. I'm not getting any major tingles in my spidey senses.

Seeing that I'm not going to shoot him in the face, the demon lights up like a Christmas tree. Literally. With his coloring, he looks like a Christmas tree. "Now that we're all friends, why don't you set your pins down over here, angel?" He pats the seat next to him. "I think I speak for all of us when I say, keep the fuzzy navels coming. After the week we've had, we deserve it."

I perk an eyebrow at Cormac, who shakes his head before getting up to rummage in a box of liquor bottles he's brought upstairs.

I take the proffered seat. "I figured the demons would at least be enjoying the end of the world as we know it."

"Not at all," Lorne assures me. "There are plenty of us peaceful types who had no desire to see humans wiped out like this."

"Wiped out," I repeat. "It's really everywhere then?"

Picking up his drink, The Host swirls it around for a moment. "What, no umbrellas?"

Cormac gets up with a sigh.

"Thanks," the demon accepts the umbrella his friend hands him. Answering my question, he says, "It's getting there."

"How do you know?" I guess I was still hoping this outbreak was going to stop somewhere.

"A good friend of mine is a Klorghan demon. Telepathic. The clan doesn't usually communicate with outsiders, but I used to date his sister, so he's got a soft spot for me."

I find this information a little surprising because The Host seems more like a catcher than a pitcher, but what do I know about demon dating habits? Maybe gay is the new straight or whatever.

"Anyway," Lorne sips from his drink, wincing a little at the sweetness, "he's based out in Iowa City, but from what he's heard, it's spreading fast."

"Shit," I mutter, swallowing my own sickly sweet drink.

"That about sums it up," The Host agrees.

Soft footsteps pad down the hall, and Kim pokes her head in. "Faith?"

"Yeah," I call back.

She makes her way over to us, staring at Lorne while trying to tame her wild hair into a ponytail. "Kim, meet The Host."

"Hi," she says unsurely, taking the seat next to me.

His green face splits into a wide smile. "Please to meet you, sugar plum. Wish it were happening under better circumstances."

"Get you a drink?" Cormac offers, before we all start thinking about the circumstances again.

"Sure," Kim agrees. "So how do you two know each other?"

"Small business owners association," Cormac supplies, rattling bottles around and concocting something new.

The Host nods in agreement. "We club owners have to stick together, even if Cormac's clientele do run a little on the scary side." The last part of his sentence is stage whispered from the corner of his mouth.

Cormac sets a fresh drink in front of each of us and shakes his head in a long-suffering way. "My clientele is scary?"

"You know my patrons are as gentle as lambs," Lorne protests.

"Only because you put a spell on 'em to keep 'em that way."

I watch the two bickering back and forth for several minutes. How Cormac, who has the social graces of the Unibomber, struck up a friendship with the demonic chatterbox in front of me, I have no idea.

Kim seems enthralled with them, sipping her drink and smiling widely. It's probably good for her to relax a little. Our journey so far can be most accurately described as 'out of the frying pan and into the fire,' so I don't begrudge either of us a little breathing space. So little do I begrudge us, that four drinks later, we're still here and showing no signs of retiring for the night.

Lorne regales us with stories about some of his more exciting patrons. Cormac chimes in periodically to cast aspersions on the truth of these tales, but the tall demon marks an X on his backside and tells us, "It's all true, cross my heart!"

"His heart's in his butt," Kim whispers to me, giggling as she falls against my shoulder. Total lightweight.

"I see that," I agree, slipping an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

"Now, that's cute." Lorne bats his red eyelashes at us. "Isn't it, Cormac?"

"We're not really," I start to protest, but Kim's off in her little drunk world, and she starts humming loudly.

Her dancing is a little spastic, and I have to keep her from falling out of the chair. When I look back at The Host, my smile falters.

He's staring at Kim with a look of deep sadness and pity on his face.

"What?" I ask, looking back at her in concern. Her dancing is tragic and she's humming incredibly off key but not much else seems wrong.

"Nothing." The Host tears his eyes from Kim.

Weird.

"I think I better get the party animal here to bed," I say, feeling unsettled.

Lorne climbs to his feet as well. "I should be getting home."

Plucking Kim to her feet, I start walking her across the kitchen. Behind me, Lorne says his goodbyes to Cormac.

As I step into the hall, he speaks from right behind me. "Faith?"

"Yeah?" I turn to make eye contact.

He seems to struggle with his words for a moment. "Take care of her," he says finally.

"Sure," I agree. Even for a demon, this guy's kind of an odd duck. Calling a goodnight to Cormac, I maneuver my drunken charge down the hall to our room.

XXXXX

We spend the next three days waiting for a change in Wesley's condition. Cormac is back to his usual antisocial self, but I don't really mind, as long as we've got a place to stay. Not that we have much choice. You can't walk in the bar without hearing the dull scrape of fingernails along the walls. The alley, as far as we can tell, is still brimming with the dead. Everyone's hungry, and we've got the only snacks left in the area.

As the sun sets on the third day, Kim dangles her legs from the kitchen counter while she eats maraschino cherries from a jar. Cormac holds a small pot of baked beans over the little fire we've built in his kitchen trashcan. I'm stirring the last antibiotic into a glass of water when I hear a low cry. The cherry jar clatters from Kim's fingers onto the counter as she sits up straight. I head straight for the closed bedroom door.

Wesley's struggling to sit up, and his eyes widen in alarm when he sees me. He freezes, half sitting, half lying on the bed.

"Wesley." I tilt my head at him from the door.

"Faith," he responds, his voice carefully neutral.

I watch him finish pulling himself up. I don't move to help him. Doubt he'd appreciate the gesture. "You remember what happened to you?"

His fingers drift to the bandage on his throat. "I ran down an alley. The dead… they were following me. I saw a man."

"Vamp," I tell him, taking a step into the room.

Wesley blanches at my movement.

Holding the glass up, I step close enough to hand it to him. "It's water. We've been mixing antibiotics in it," I say when he peers suspiciously into the glass.

"We?" He considers for another moment before sipping the water.

I back toward the door. Seems like we're both more comfortable with distance between us. "Yeah." I wave my hand toward the hall. "We're in a bar. Guy who owns it pulled you in off the street after you were bit."

"And you?" Wesley seems convinced the water is safe to drink, and he takes a deep gulp before setting it on the bedside table with shaking fingers. "How did you get here?"

The way he's looking at me is making me feel guilty for leaving the pen, even though I know damned well I would have been zombie chow if I had stayed. "The infection, virus, whatever the hell it is, reached the prison. It was scale the wall or become dinner." I shrug. "Did what I had to do."

I hear footsteps in the hall and stand aside as Cormac and Kim crowd the doorway. "We brought some beans," Kim offers, looking at me.

I nod so she knows it's okay to approach. "Wes, this is Kim. She's with me."

Wesley's mouth tightens for a moment. With the way he's looking at her, I know exactly what he's thinking. She was in the prison so she's probably just like me. A hot flush floods my cheeks, and I step outside, leaving Mac to make his own introductions. Kim calls after me, but I'm already moving down the hall.

The look in Wesley's eyes reminded me all over again how not ready I am to be out in the real world. He's afraid of me. And he should be. I'm a killer. I'm evil. In the bedroom, I pull the solitary window open and peer outside. A few of the dead are stumbling around the street below, nothing I couldn't handle. I'm tempted to go for it, even though more would probably come as soon as I got into any heavy action. I'm on the ledge, ready to jump down before I manage to stop. I think about Angel. He believes in me. God knows why… But I know if I give up now, just jump into those zombies and go down fighting, he's gonna be disappointed in me. I can already see his broody look.

Instead of jumping down, I look up toward the roof. There's maybe three feet from the top of the window to the roof. Perfect. Hooking my fingers over the little lip at the top of the window, I swing my foot over to a protruding brick. A few fast movements and I'm standing on the roof, looking down at the mostly empty streets. Gulping down fresh air, I shake out my limbs. I just gotta burn off a little steam. Then I'll go back in and we'll make a plan. I can do this.

XXXXX

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