A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long but winter semester is really taking a toll on me. Exams are just one month away and 24 hours seem not enough for a day. This chapter is originally planned longer but I just can't find the time to sit down an finish it. So I decided to split it in two and give you the first part. I still plan to continuously write this story but I don't think I will have the time to update before I've finished all exams. But maybe you'll like a little forecast: next chapter will be the second part of this chapter; then Carter joins the fun in chapter 6 (she has to get rid of her fiancé and finds a new friend); what else? Oh yes, Daniel will be there too; If you are missing Tealc, I have sad news for you, because It will take quite a while for him to show up

So, I hope you will like it anyway.

PS: A professor of mine told us in a lecture that us silly humans need reactions from others to gauge our own behavior and maybe adjust it accordingly. So, wanna prove his point and tell me if you like it?

PPS: FUBAR BUNDY = Fucked up beyond all recovery, but unfortunately not dead yet.
This just fits the Walking Dead Universe like nothing else, methinks.

Chapter 4: FUBAR BUNDY Part 1

This day had already started shitty and was now headed to totally fucked up in a remarkably fast rate. And it was not even noon yet. O'Neill was pretty sure that by evening, their situation would have morphed into save your sorry ass if you can. He stood on one of the watchtowers near gate five of Ford Carson, arms braced tensely against the railing of the observation deck. For the last hour the colonel had busied himself with supervising the incoming flood of refugees from this elevated position, wondering where to put them and simultaneously barking orders through the radio.

Since the rather edgy president had declared a state of emergency a few hours ago, it seemed that the floodgates were opened. In a matter of hours almost two thousands of freaked out residents of Colorado Springs and the near proximity had sought refuge in the base. Their cars glistening in the morning sun as they stood in line on the access road to the gate, nervously and jumpily waiting to enter the refugee camp.

But they were to many. That much was already clear.

He knew that. His soldiers knew that. Heck, he was pretty sure even the poor people of Colorado Springs, currently seeking protection in Fort Carson against whatever this was, knew that this could only be an interim solution. So, no one said a thing, but everyone knew. Everyone but the clown some idiot at the Capitol had made general and who`s real name was Kinsey. More precisely, two star general Robert Kinsey. Presently hiding in his office and letting his unfortunate secretary Walter negate the physical presence of his holiness Robert Kinsey the first. Formidably competent in ass kissing his way up the ranks, but pitifully bad in portraying anything resembling to the army values and thus lacking trust and respect from his soldiers. If you wanted a tip which bandwagon to jump on, Robert Kinsey was your man. But if you were looking for guidance and determination, he was definitely not a source of wisdom. The only good thing about Kinsey right now was that the man seemed to know about his incompetence in everything related to crisis management and therefore refrained from giving orders. Still, the general was the boss and sadly the only boss they had and god forbid even Jack, albeit very well versed in ignoring authority and bending rules as he pleased, didn't have it in him to run over the chain of command. Sooner or late he would have to talk to Kinsey, asking for useful orders and certainly getting nothing but empty words and dismissing gestures.

But he had no time to ponder the Generals cowardice. His radio crackled to life suddenly with a agitated voice calling for help. O'Neill recognized the speakers urgency immediately, although the transmission was meager, at best.
"This is Sergeant Wallace speaking, we need help!"
"O'Neill here, go ahead." Jack responded and tried to find the matching face to the voice and name coming through the radio. If he was not mistaken, there were only two Wallace's on the base. One of them was National Guard and therefore had been send out with his comrades hours ago to secure the city. That left only the Wallace that worked as male nurse in the hospital. Which meant trouble. Big trouble. Because that was where they had quarantined bitten people in hope of helping them, or at least keeping them separated from the rest of the base.

O'Neill had some experience with measures to contain an outbreak from his time spend in malaria infested areas in South Africa a few years back. Isolating infected people from those who were still healthy was number one in fighting a plaque. And it was exactly what Dr. Nick, head physician of Ford Carson's medical department, had been trying since the first contaminated man had set his foot on the army base. So, not the place you wanted to get an emergency call from.

The answer he received from Wallace was barely understandable. A frantic sequence of hurriedly spoken words sounding much to terrorized to be spoken by a supposedly well trained soldier.
"Sergeant Wallace, this is Colonel O'Neill, say again?" Jack inquired and tried to gain Kowalski's attention with a resolute wave. The major was positioned in front of gate 5 and tried to calm down the people still waiting, and begging, for entrance. He was supported by Captain Hanson who had, a little to threateningly in Jacks opinion, drawn himself up besides Kowalski and apparently used his very presence to keep the refugees in check.

They were both in the process of quieting down a hysterical woman, when the major suddenly turned around and met his COs gaze. O'Neill and Kowalski had served so many years together, that they understood each other blindly. Literally speaking. It required just a small motion of the head towards the radio from Jack, and Kowalski understood the message.
Trouble ahead. Hold the fort. Talk to you asap.
A lopsided sneer, combined with a nod, was the answer.
All right, boss. Have fun.

This wordless communication took only a few seconds and Jack was fully concentrated on the radio by the time Wallace's voice drifted through again. Fortunately the sergeant seemed to have used the short time of radio silence to collect himself. His voice was much clearer now.
"This is Sergeant Wallace. I'm at the hospital. Someone just died and then…he came back and I…"Communication stopped again in a rush of incomprehensible static, but it was enough information to make O'Neill carry out a meticulous and gracile turn-around on the heels of his black boots. With quick strides he almost flew down the stairs of the watchtower. When he reached the final landing, Jack simply jumped over the handrail and ignored his vehemently protesting left knee.

The poor soldiers and civilians who hat the bad luck to cross his path had just enough time to dodge the running colonel, as his sprinting figure disappeared in the direction of the hospital. He clearly knew that his behavior would be the source of further insecurity among the refugees. But the consequences that impended, now that someone on the base had returned from the dead, were far more dangerous than a few more freaked out civilians.

The Evans Army Hospital lay not far eastbound from gate five. The fact that Fort Carson had its own hospital had been one of the main reasons, that the refugee camp was now located within the bases walls.

O'Neill entered the three-floor building from the western entrance. On normal days the Evans was a bustling place. Thousands of soldiers came here every day to be examined, treated or otherwise counseled. Hundreds of doctors, nurses, orderlies, psychologists and chaplains took care of the military members and their families. But this was not a normal day. Far from it. So the clinics usually buzzing facilities were now quiet, deserted and abandoned.

Right after the first infected man had been admitted, Kinsey and Dr. Nick had decided to erect an isolation ward in the rooms of the ICU. Other patients were transferred to surrounding hospitals, most of them to the Air Force Hospital. It was a security measure to prevent the virus from spreading around and to quarantine already infected people. Surely Dr. Nick and his team hoped to keep the contagiosity as low as possible. But if you considered Sergeant Wallace's freaked out radio message, it sure seemed that those security procedures had failed. And badly so.

The steps of O'Neills heavy boots echoed unnaturally loud in the dark hospital floors. Purposefully striding to the stairway, he took two steps at once until he reached the second floor. Already the sounds of strained grunting could be heard. If the source was human or not, was not certifiable without indivisibility. As he pushed the door open with force, the handle banged against the wall and the impact let small shreds of white plastering rain down onto the grey linoleum floor.

The now louder grunting and groaning contrasted menacingly against the emptiness of the floor. He circled around the orphaned reception desk and turned right. Before him lay the ICUs entrance and his trained brain needed only seconds to comprehend the dimension of what he saw.

The big swing doors leading to the treatment rooms were closed. Two uniformed men, the insignia identifying them as Sergeant Wallace and an unknown MP, blocked the doorway using their weight as they braced against the quivering doors. They seemed to be in dire need of help, as they were forced back again and again. Obviously someone, or something, was clashing against the doors from the inside.

"What's going on?!" O'Neill demanded to know as he came to a stop a few meters in front of the men. Wallace and the stranger seemed infinitely relieved to see their CO, as a new impulse from the other side of the doors almost made them loose their footing.

"Colonel! We can't hold them back any longer!" screamed Wallace and as if to confirm his words, the boots of the two men moved squeaking across the floor as the slowly opening doors forced them back. Ash-grey fingers appeared through the emerging gap between the doors and groped around eagerly. Not thinking twice, O'Neil crossed the meters between him and the door and threw his body with everything he had against the wooden panels. A hollow bang could be heard as the swing doors jammed shut. The grey fingers that had been so busy a few seconds before, now stilled in motion as they were severed from the hand through the force of the impact and fell lifeless on the ground.

Jacks glance wandered around to find something to secure the doors. He found the MPs handcuffs and grabbed them from his belt. With his back against the shaking wood he applied the cuffs around the door handles and let the locks latch. The three stepped back in sync to test their impromptu blockade. Again the doors bucked up violently, but it seemed to work. For now.
Safe for the moment, Wallace took a deep breath and braced on his knees, while the MP leaned wearily on the wall. From the other side of the door heavy groaning reached them like a harbinger of death.

"What the hell happened?" he wanted to know and stared at Wallace. The younger man gulped gravely as he struggled for breath.
"Not sure, Sir. I was just sedating a woman when I heard screams from the other room and then…" he stopped and shook his head doubtfully as he remembered.
"And then…?"encouraged O'Neill with a gentle nod.
"I left the room. It was all haywire on the floor. Everyone was screaming, doctors and patients. At first I didn't realize what happened. But then I saw them."
"Them?"
"Yes! The dead! Three guys. Had been admitted together. They were so badly scratched and bitten and running a fever. They were practically burning. We couldn't help them. Nothing worked." Again he paused to rub his temples. His breath was coming in short, vigorous waves and his eyes glazed over.
"I swear, they were dead! There was no way we could have known that they would transform so fast. I swear!" His panicked eyes strayed from the swaying doors to the tall figure of his CO.
"It's okay. I believe you. But you have to tell me everything." He assured and tried to gain the male nurses attention. O'Neill knew the first signs of a full blown panic attack when he saw them.

A breath rattled in his windpipe as Wallace continued.
"Dr. Nick stood in the middle. He tried to calm everyone down. His back was to the room. He couldn't see them coming." Sobbing accompanied his next words. "Suddenly they were there. Just walking through the door. They swooped down on him. My god…they ripped him apart…I have never heard screams like that. When they were finished with him, they came for us." By now he was openly crying and big tears streamed down his face as Wallace swayed alarmingly.

O'Neill and the MP leaped forward simultaneously and grabbed his arms before his knees sagged. He hung like a sack of potatoes between them. They helped him carefully to the floor where he curled into a ball and shook his head violently.

Jack couldn't blame him. It didn't need a rocket scientist to know what happened next. He decided to give the male nurse a moment to collect himself and looked at the MP.
"No survivors?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
The other man shook his head grimly. "No, Sir. I came as soon as I heard the screams. But there were more than three of them. They were everywhere. I had just enough time to grab Wallace and get the hell out of there. It was close. We almost couldn't hold them back." Rubbing his right shoulder unconsciously he summed the events up and looked suddenly a lot more pale than a moment before.
"Good work." Commended the Colonel and examined the fresh blood trails on the wall. Right where the MP had leaned. His scrutinizing eyes lay on the suspicious shoulder.

"Are you injured?"
The other man needed a second to realize that he was spoken to, but then he met the inquiring glance of his CO with a blank one.
Taking a step closer Jack clarified "Your shoulder."
"Oh…Just a scratch, Sir." It was meant to appease but backfired. No sooner than the words had left his mouth, he recognized the true meaning behind them an his eyes bulged in alarm.
"A scratch? From them?" O'Neill didn't like it, but he had to ask, while his guarded eyes never left the other man.
"No! Just an old wound. Nothing more. Really." The assertion appeared sincere but Jack couldn't count on it.
"Is it a bite?"
"No!"
"You sure?"
"Yes. Yes!"
For a moment they just stared at each other. The Colonel clinical and taxing, the MP tense and ready to flee.
"Let me take a look." Jacks order came with another step closer and the other man's reaction was prompt and vigorously.
"NO!"

This was all the answer the Colonel needed and the MP knew in the same instant that he had revealed himself. He drew himself up to his full height and raised his tightly clenched fists. Ready to defend himself. It was no problem for O'Neill to repel a blow that was driven by despair as it came. In a matter of seconds the bleeding man was overpowered and lay prone on the floor, arms twisted on his back and the Colonels knee pressing down on the tailbone. Immobile like that, the couldn't prevent that the collar of his uniform was pushed down to reveal the shoulder.
"Goddammit!" the other man cursed as he saw the bloody wound. It was definitely a bite.
"I'm okay. Sir! I don't feel sick. It doesn't even hurt!"
It wasn't easy to block out the tearstained begging, but Jack had to made a decision.

How this virus thing precisely worked was still unclear. Although there had been a short briefing, the information content was uncertain. Gathered in the officer's mess, the nasally words of a little virologist had oozed more arrogance then useful facts. A doctor Robin? Randy? Ronald, no, Rodney! Dr. Rodney Mc…something. That he didn't keep much was not because he couldn't comprehend what the little guy in his too big white coat mumbled. It just tired him. All this juggling with too long scientific terms, combined with derogatory stares and snide remarks. So he had made good use of one of his most excellent skill. Zoning out through most of the blah blah blah but still getting the point.

How he understood things, this shit worked like this: you get a bite, or any kind of wound from these things, something from them gets in you…you fucking die. And then you come back. But not as yourself. No, amigo! You'll come back a as a walking dead freak whose only goal was to make a big mess of ripping people apart.

Aside from the fact that the MP was in pretty deep shit, it may be theoretically possible that those eggheads would find a cure. But even if they did, it was more likely that the soldier transformed long before they could help him into a disgustingly drooling thing that wanted to take bite of you.

The MP was a dead man. Still, this wasn't easy. But he couldn't take the risk. The whole base was his responsibility, not just this one man. At the end, he had no other choice. Using cable ties that he carried around in his jacket pockets, something about being always prepared, he left the doomed man bound to a handrail.

Wallace followed him deadly silent and visibly shaken. The midday sun greeted them outside, warming their skin and almost mocking them, as the male nurse closed up to the Colonel.
"What now?" he wanted to know.
O'Neill looked him up and down thoroughly to assess what he could expect from the man regarding the last events. He seemed okay, but there was no way to know what was really going on in his head. The last hours events were a lot to stomach. Then again, their situation was unpredictable and he needed every uniformed man and woman. Especially one with medical knowledge. Now that Dr. Nick and his team was dead. Wallace would have to bite though…ouch, what a bad wordplay!

"Sergeant, I want you to go to the emergency accommodation. Help with the treatment if you can."
Jack wanted his order to sound notably strict and commanding. He hoped that it would help Wallace to slip back into his military routine. It seemed to work. The nurse raised himself up noticeably and gave a jagged salute. Then he jogged away, his footsteps a little groggy but still purposeful.

Jack allowed himself one last glance towards the hospital before he chased away all gloomy thoughts about the bitten MP and mutated medics in the isolation ward. Brushing off the sweat on his brow he set into a jog deeper into the heart of Fort Carson. It was time to talk to the General. Kinsey had played hide and seek long enough. Like an ostrich he stuck his head into the sand and hoped that someone would solve his problems for him. But now he had to make a move himself. He WAS the General, after all.

In the administrative part of Fort Carson Sergeant Walter Harriman was intently shredding documents. Under the present circumstances of an impending pandemic one would think of this diversion as improper. But not Walter. He was loyal till the end and an order was still an order. For more than 15 years now he worked in this office. During this time he had served many Generals. He knew their preferences and annoying habits inside out and was prepared to follow their orders in hard times. What Walter was not prepared for, although it shouldn't surprise him, was Colonel Jack O'Neills furious face as he almost took of the hinges while storming into the office.

Walter felt never comfortable when in the presence of the Special Forces soldier. Firstly, the man had a really horrible sarcastic humor which led right to reason two. Because O'Neill had the annoying habit to show this cynicism preferably when in the same room with General Kinsey. A painfully obvious roll of the eye here or a rebellious snort there was enough to ruin the Generals mood for days. And guess who was left to carry the can for that? Right, him! And last but not least there were the Colonels stares. He had never met anyone with such a piercing glance. Whereas others needed a battery of words, O'Neill just used one of those brutally honest glances and you knew you were in trouble. Just like the one he wore now. One that clearly said: You better not try to fool me. I know exactly what's going on.

Despite, or maybe exactly because of that glance, Walter pointedly stood up tall behind the solid presence of his desk and faced the angry Colonel with squared shoulders.
"What can I do for you, Colonel…" but he didn't get to finish the sentence as he was interrupted quite rudely.
"Don't bother. I'll manage."
Aware of the great discrepancy between O'Neills physical strength and his own he had no alternative but to watch the taller man violently tear open the door to General Kinsey's office.
Walter counted silently and just reached four as he was face to face with the displeased eyes of one Special Forces Colonel.
"Where is he?!" the man demanded to know and left no space for misunderstanding for who he meant.

„The General is not here." Answered Walter and clutched a thick folder protectively to his chest. O'Neill seemed not to be satisfied with this answer and there was that glance again. Harsh, inquiring, stern and just a tad threading. It was a glance normally reserved for less respectable people like terror suspects, strayed informants or obstinate soldiers and now him, Walter Harriman, too.
"Oh? Well, where did the good General go?" behind the feigned politeness sarcasm screamed loudly.
"You missed him. The General left office 20 minutes ago."
"Oookay…but where did he go?"
"Something important came up and…"
"Ack! Don't give me that bullshit."
The colonel huffed and thrust an annoyed forefinger in his direction.
"Again, where…is…Kinsey?" With every emphasis of a word O'Neill came a step closer until his finger was tapping on the brown paper of the folder.

Harriman felt sweat forming on his forehead as he stammered:"General Kinsey…well, I don't know where he is right now."
"But he is still one the base?" the question sounded suspiciously like a growl and Walter had to force himself to hold the Colonels glaze.

"The General doesn't always bother telling me about his whereabouts or travel destination." He finally answered and realized in the same moment that he had spilled the beans. The Colonels triumphantly face confirmed it.
"Travel destination, huh? Pretty lousy time to go on a cruise? Whaddaya say?"
It was obvious that O'Neill expected the full story, now that he had found out that the General hadn't just called it a day. But the haggard Sergeant still wrangled with loyalty for his General. Sure, Kinsey wasn't the epitome of correctness or leadership ability. But he WAS the General and never in his military career had Walter refused a direct order. And the last one had been really precise: don't tell anyone, especially not O'Neill.

The tall colonel seemed to sense his moral dilemma and instantly some of that rugged harshness left his eyes.
"Look Walter, this is not the time for blind following. In case you didn't know, there is an apocalypse going on right now and I really need to talk to the base commander. Think you can help me with that?"
Harriman blinked astonished. He had never heard so many words leave the mouth of the otherwise uncommunicative man. Normally he preferred cynical one-liners or expressive glances for communication. In short terms, O'Neill was not what you would call a polite conversationalist. That he now felt the need to speak without his usually omnipresent sarcasm was a crystal clear sign that something ugly was about to happen. As long as the soldier was his grumbling, eye rolling self, everything was under control. But if he was civil or downright encouraging, big problems were ahead.

Was it so much worse than Walter thought? After all, General Kinseys departure had been spontaneous and felt somehow final. But the man loved being the boss, so what would make him leave his command like that? On the television they said that the military had the situation under control, but could they be lying? The General would have had access to more current situation reports and…oh god! Something in him wanted to scream as the pieces finally connected.
"General Kinsey is not attainable…he…"animated through O'Neills circling hand movement Walter continued, " He took our last available chopper and left for Schriever Air Force Base. He is about to be evacuated with other high ranking officers."

He suddenly felt entirely empty as he collapsed into his chair. The brown folder slipped from his hand an landed rustling on the ground. Doubtfully peeking out from under the lenses of his reading glasses Walter studied O'Neill stomaching this latest information. A salve of powerful curses left his mouth. Or more precisely the most impressive arsenal of crude and blunt curses he had ever heard. But in the context that General Kinsey had left them to die while he saved his sorry…no, he couldn't possibly say that, a General was still a General and…and screw following the orders, his rebellious side kicked in. If Kinsey could abandon his men, he could as well call him an ass. There! Kinsey was an ass! So this ass had left them to die and Walter suddenly felt like cheering the cursing O'Neill on. But the man had already ended his rant and looked at him amused.
"Walter? Whatcha thinkin'?"

"Nothing! Just…how bad is it? Are we really that deep in…a mess, Sir?"
"You can say it as it is. We ARE in pretty deep shit."
"How deep, Colonel?"
O'Neill sighed and rubbed a large hand over his face. But a second time he was interrupted by the radio's noise before he could think of a proper answer. Instead he just said what came to his mind.
"I guess we'll find out soon enough."