In Which Avis and Sarvy Prepare for Battle
"Can you imagine the cool-ass music that would be playing in the background right now?"
"If we were in a movie?"
"Yeah, if we were in a movie."
"This wouldn't be happening if we were in a movie."
"Yeah, I guess you're right"
There was a terrible, raging storm out. Thunder and lightning ruled the skies, and sent down beads of rain and sheets of sleet, their soldiers, to conquer the earth. The two girls, clad head to toe in thick plastic, coving all but their eyes, were sorting though the weapons, looking through instruction manuals, putting on kick-ass gear, and generally suiting up. They were being astoundingly quiet, for hyped-up battle-ready versions of Avis and Sarvy, and they weren't yelling or shrieking or flailing about like insane llamas in their usual lighthearted manner. It was abundantly clear that they were scared out of their wits.
Holmes and Watson were watching on from a shadowy corner, very creeperishly, analyzing the situation in hushed tones. Neither Avis nor Sarvy had told either of them anything about their current predicament. They were questioning the sanity of the girls, the world, and themselves, contemplating the miserable situation that they had been thrown into so unexpectedly. The consulting detective believed that there was an impending and legitimate threat whereas the doctor was more inclined to dismiss the youngsters as demented children that had been cast out by their own society and disposed of into the past. They were discussing theories as to the definition of "zombie", a word that was reoccurring frequently in the lass' conversation. Watson, obtuse as he it, thought it was a nonsense name given to a hallucination. Holmes, mildly stupid as he was, thought it was some sort of robot-demon-spirit-thing.
"Crossbow?"
Sarvy held out the weapon to the view of the room, offering Avis the weapon.
"Yeah, sure. I'll take it. I've taken a few archery classes."
"M-kay"
"Look, some glasses-helmets-things. Good for covering your eyes."
"How many?"
"Five"
"Gimme. I wonder who the other person is supposed to be."
"I dunno"
"Eh. We'll find out soon enough."
"When what's-his-or-her-face comes, we should debrief Holmes and Watson."
"I guess. Your call, really."
"S'alright. We'll do that then."
...
...
...
"This is so un-fun."
"Yeah. It is."
"Can't wait until ZK-5 comes in."
"ZK-5?"
"Zombie-Killer. The fifth one."
"Who's ZK-1?"
"The person who kills the first zombie."
"But for now?"
"I dunno. I guess our normal names?"
"Yeah. That's probably the best thing to do. Although code names-"
BAM. The door swung upon. Holmes and Watson sharply took in a breath of air. A dripping wet Mary Watson turned out of the doorway, stabbed something out of their view with a broom handle, kicked another, and slammed the door shut. She locked it, bolted it, and slumped to the ground. Avis and Sarvy grimly glanced at each other, snatched up a few weapons, and rushed out the back door. Watson, snapping out of his shock, rushed over to her side. Holmes simply looked bewildered.
"Mary? What's wrong? What happened?"
She shook her head. Tears and rainwater formed mixed tracks on her face, dripping off her chin. Holmes looked angry and horrified.
"Who's done this to you? They'll pay," Watson growled, a surprising sound coming from a refined gentleman of the 19th century. This gentleman looked ready to kill, slaughter. Savage rage painted his features, a disturbing product of hatred and love.
"M-monsters," she gasped out. "Horrible things, dead things, dead bodies, they were here. Oh it was awful! Awful! They came for me. It was dark a- and - and- my house! They took it! They squelched and it was easy but so many! So awful! They had teeth! The shine! In the dark! The monsters could see me, in the house! In my house! It was my house! Our house! John, our house! Gone, all gone" She was raving like a maniac, but her words rang true, in their halting, gasping, incoherent way. Her dress was splattered with rotting entrails. The broomstick she had used to fight off the monsters was a disgusting red-brown-black-green-grey. She shivered and shuddered as Watson carried her to the spare room, arms around him all the while.
The sounds of battle raged outside. Explosions, shrieks, screams echoed through the street. Minutes later, Avis and Sarvy were back in the house, wrapped in blankets and drinking cocoa. They had shed their plastics suits, now dotted in entrails, for comfy pajamas.
"Well, There were only a few, and they were wounded. I think the objective was to get Mary here. "
"Infect her?"
"Probably. I think the author wanted Holmes and Watson to rush out in a blaze of glory to defend a helpless maiden."
"Looks like the zombies bit off more than they could chew with Mare here. "
"Yeah, she really p'wned. And not infected at all."
Avis raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure?"
"I asked Holmes."
"You asked a 19th century consulting detective if she'd been given a hitherto unknown disease that would rot her from the inside out, turning her into a zombie?"
"No, I asked him if she'd been hurt at all in the battle, smart one."
"Did you-"
"Yes, I put enough emphasis on the AT ALL."
"Wasn't what I was going to ask, Einstein."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"OH YEAH?"
"YEAH!"
"Oh god, we're all going to die horrible painful deaths wishing we were in Idaho, running though the bountiful potato plains of our hometown. Or hometown that's in Idaho. It's the state that's near Iowa. That's called Idaho. ERK!"
"Charming. But anyway, backing up to my point now. "
"Which is….?"
"Did you or did you not debrief John and Sherlock yet?"
"John and Sherlock? And no, I did not."
"Urg! We'll do that when John and Mary come down. "
"They won't be happy."
"Oh, you think so?"
"How do we know they're even going to help us?"
"We don't."
"God, spare us from the inner workings of your unearthly genius, why don't you?"
"Do you have a better plan?"
"No, I don't. Okay? This is me, giving up hope."
"Don't do that! We'll die for sure!"
"Fine! Gosh!"
"Watson and Mary are here."
"Oh god. This'll be fun."