Zombie, Interrupted - Chapter Three
Dean stood on the shore of the lake, frozen with fear at the sight of the trench coat-clad corpse that rose from the depths of the water and slowly lumbered to the shore.
Dean was unable to move as Castiel's water-bloated remains drew level with him and he stared, lost in the horror of the filmy white eyes that had once been such a deep and vivid blue.
"I'm coming back for you," the corpse groaned, as it reached out and took Dean by the shoulder.
"Dean," someone called, shaking him.
Dean jumped up from his bed in sheer terror, his hand instinctively finding the knife he always kept under his pillow. His heart pounded as if it was going to explode from his chest and the pooled sweat on his body felt like it was rapidly turning to ice.
"Whoa, whoa!" cried George in alarm, backing off quickly and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"What?" snarled Dean, still chasing away the cobwebs of confusion.
"Sorry, it's only been a couple of hours, but there's trouble, I'm afraid. Sam sent me to get you... he... looks as bad as you do. Bad dreams?"
"I... don't remember," Dean lied.
"So... do you always sleep fully dressed?" George asked with a slight hint of disappointment.
"Only when I expect trouble," Dean grumbled.
"I'm guessing that's a 'yes' then..."
~#~
"So, what's going on?" demanded Dean, as he strode into the living room to find the others peering through the room's blinds.
He stopped in his tracks when Sam turned at the sound of his voice and motioned for him to keep the noise down. He was shocked to see how pale and drawn Sam looked, with eyes underlined with dark, purple smudges.
"Sammy, you look like crap," Dean whispered in concern, rushing over to his brother and holding a hand to Sam's forehead. "You're burning up, man. You should be in bed."
"No time for that, Dean," Sam rasped and motioned to the windows. "Look out there."
Peering through the crack in the blinds, Dean was horrified at the sight awaiting him. Ghastly figures lurched around, wandering aimlessly in the street in search of who knew what. Each one of them walked with the same lumbering gait as the living corpses from earlier.
"Zombies?"
"They're everywhere," said Sam, sounding weak and starting to sway.
"Well, there goes the neighborhood. Typical," snorted Lucifer. Sam couldn't help but spin round in surprise as he registered the tone was more one of irritation than the usual sick humor. The sudden movement made him stagger.
"Hey, hey, sit down," ordered Dean, guiding his brother over to the couch. "Come on, man you look ready to drop."
"I'm fine," grumbled Sam, trying to push Dean's fussing hands away from him.
Dean turned to Barbra who was hovering nearby, looking uncharacteristically anxious. "Back me up here."
Barbra bit her lip, hugging her arms around herself a little tighter. "He's right, Sam."
Sam blinked in surprise as if he'd forgotten that Barbra was in the room. Being aware of her presence seemed to have a positive effect; Sam looked less ashen and he even sat up a little straighter. "Seriously, I'm fine. I'm just tired... and hungry. Actually, I'm starving."
Dean narrowed his eyes, not quite convinced, but the admission did make him feel more relaxed about his brother. Sam was a big guy and he ate like a horse; actually, sometimes the health food crap he insisted on chowing down on looked indistinguishable from animal feed and Dean often joked about getting him a nosebag. Unlike Dean, who was quite happy with his mainly liquid diet - other than the odd cheeseburger or plate of bacon - Sam was pretty insistent on getting his regular five or six small meals a day.
Barbra sighed. "Come on then," she said as she dragged Sam off to the kitchen.
George looked undecided for a moment, but elected eventually to remain where he was - deciding that he wanted to keep an eye out for any zombie trying to creep up on him and that now definitely wasn't a time for him to eat or play gooseberry to the burgeoning young love. "Listen, I have a strong stomach, yeah. I couldn't do what I do unless I did. I've seen some bad things, but I'm used to the idea of dead bodies staying where I left them. So why've they suddenly all decided to start getting up and move around?"
"Maybe there's somewhere they'd rather be?" snorted Dean, a little distracted as he watched his brother leave.
"Perhaps they don't like the neighborhood, or they'd prefer a coffin with a view?" George laughed harshly, sounding shrill to his own ears. He put a hand over his own mouth and forced himself to breathe. He'd seen it in enough people to recognize the signs of impending hysteria.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Sorry."
"It's okay, son" said Ben kindly, thinking that the young man was actually dealing with the situation incredibly well. "This isn't exactly an everyday occurrence, is it?"
Ben turned to Dean, "I've been listening in to the police frequencies; they're describing it as an 'unparalleled civil disobedience'."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I know," Ben continued, "but the number of reported incidents is increasing and I don't think it's coincidence that it's centered on the cemetery. If anything, they seem to be focused on the southwest corner of the cemetery, which are the newer graves. At first there was almost nothing reported from the older sections, that no longer seems to be the case."
"Take it from me, diggin' yourself from outta your own grave ain't exactly easy, especially if you've been down there a while," muttered Dean, with an obvious depth of feeling.
Ben and George started back at him with matching expressions of undisguised dismay.
Dean cleared his throat. "Er, right. So what you're saying is that this thing seems to be affecting the more recent dead first."
George considered that and nodded in agreement. "That's a good point, but I wonder if that means it's starting there, or if it's due to a cumulative buildup of some sort of zombie-raising power?"
"Does it matter?" asked Ben. He winced a little at how that sounded as he was genuinely interested in George's answer.
"Well, if it's the latter, it could mean it's not just a simple matter of fixing things by stopping whatever's causing it. It might not be so simple as just flicking a switch. Whatever's animating them could continue for some time. And the ones that are already up and walking already... they might not just drop when this is over."
"Now that would just be normal Winchester luck," grumbled Dean.
"Maybe," said Ben, "But, let's not worry unduly about that now. We haven't even discovered the source of the problem yet, let's cross that bridge when we come to it."
~#~
In the kitchen, Barbra was fixing Sam a sandwich. She was worried about him; he looked awful and she didn't for a second believe the platitudes he'd used on his brother. Sam tucked into his sandwich with gusto, but after a couple of mouthfuls he slowed in his chewing and eventually stopped. He put the sandwich down on the plate and looked a little lost and confused.
Barbra looked at him with concern. "Is everything okay?" When he didn't respond and only stared at her as if she was speaking another language, she tried again. "Is there something wrong with your sandwich?"
"No, it's not that," said Sam, coming back to life with a slight start. "It just isn't... right somehow. It's like I need... something? Like I'm hungry for... something. But I don't know what."
From his position perched up on the kitchen counter, Lucifer waggled his eyebrows suggestively only for his expression to unexpectedly sour. Without another word he flicked out of sight.
Barbra struggled to suppress her irritation, it's not like she made sandwiches for just anybody, and she did feel that since the Winchesters had arrived she'd been relegated to the kitchen for more than her fair share. And if anything, her father had become even more patriarchal than usual. "Sounds like you're coming down with something, did you get much sleep?"
Sam shook his head, making his long locks bounce. "No. I had bad dreams, even worse than usual..."
Barbra had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through that beautiful hair. Damn, I'm falling badly for this one. Why do the cute ones so often come with baggage?
Sam took another absent-minded bite of his sandwich, but the taste of it in his mouth was like ashes and it was all he could do not to choke on the small morsel. His stomach decided it had had enough of its contents and rebelled, and he rushed over to the trashcan arriving only just in time.
Barbra held his hair out of his face while he threw up the rest of what little he had just eaten. She sighed wearily. This is just my luck that this is how my wish comes true.
~#~
Dean looked up to see his shaky-looking brother reenter the room. Sam still seemed grey and pasty and, if anything, even worse than before. If that's what Barbra's food's done then maybe it wasn't such a bad thing we missed dinner after all.
Barbra came in a moment later with a tray of sandwiches. She handed Dean a plate with a large slice of pie. "Sam said it's your favorite."
Dean gave a weak, polite smile that soon turned into a broad grin of gratitude as he tucked into the pie. He gave Sam a sly, side-long glance before turning back to Barbra. "Delicious," he raved around a mouth full of pastry, spraying crumbs everywhere, but mainly in Sam's direction.
Sam was still well enough to roll his eyes and he turned away with an expression of prim disgust and went to talk to Ben instead.
Dean's expression was one of amused satisfaction until it turned serious as he rounded on Barbra. "Is he okay?" he asked softly.
Barbra didn't need any explanation as to whom he was talking about. "No, I'm worried. One of those things..."
"Guys, I'm fine," interrupted Sam, casting a significant look in Barbra's direction. "There are way more important things we need to be worrying about. I'm just running a light fever is all, some ibuprofen and rest and I'll be right as rain."
"I dunno Sammy, you look pretty crappy to me. I think we need to get you checked out."
"I tell you what; I'll go scrounge up some antibiotics. Will that make you feel better?"
Dean frowned in irritation at his brother's mocking tone. "Yeah, I guess so." He turned to Barbra. "Will you go with him and make sure he doesn't fall flat on his face?"
"Sure, I s'pose. Why, what are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna go check out the cemetery again. If that's the cause of this then we need to stop it before it spreads any further."
"At least take George with you," begged Sam. When he spotted the surprised expression on the mortuary assistant's face he gave the man his full-on puppy-eyed look. "That's okay with you, isn't it George?"
Few people can stand up to the onslaught of Sam's sad eyes, so George ummed and ahhed for all of ten seconds before squaring his shoulders and nodding in acquiescence. "Okay," he sighed. "I might not be able to shoot, but I guess I can at least make sure nothing creeps up behind you."
~#~
"Let me look at your hand, Sam."
"I'm fine."
Barbra reached out and grabbed Sam's hand, deliberately squeezing down hard, raising her eyebrows at him as he gasped out loud in pain. "Hmm, I thought so. Let me look."
Reluctantly, Sam allowed her to unwrap the bandages.
Her nose started to wrinkle at the smell before she had even got half way. "Oh Sam," she moaned in dismay as she removed the last of the wrapping to reveal the weeping, rotting mess that was his hand.
Lucifer stepped back into view and peered down at the extremity with a worried look. His face tightened as he noticed Sam's attention. "Bah, it's just what you're all really like on the inside," he sneered.
Sam clenched his jaw and kept his focus firmly on Barbra. "Please, don't tell Dean. He's got enough to worry about right now. Just bandage it up again and let's see if the antibiotics help."
Barbra was conflicted, but ultimately she too gave in under the power of his puppy-like eyes. She re-bandaged Sam's hand as quickly and efficiently as she could, trying her best to avoid causing Sam any additional pain. "Okay, let's go."
It was only a short walk to the pharmacy, but the need to avoid the shuffling, dead inhabitants made it seem much longer. They ran from car to car for cover as they made their way down the street, dodging the lurching figures moving slowly in the gloom.
"It's almost like nothing's really changed. Like any regular Tuesday night here in Hicksville, only maybe they're just a little quieter than usual," chuckled Lucifer.
"Shouldn't we do something about them?" asked Barbra, biting at her bottom lip.
"I guess we should, but I didn't really want to draw any unnecessary notice to us, if we can help it," said Sam.
"True, we don't want them all coming at once, but it just feels wrong to leave them wandering about like that. You don't know who they might hurt."
"I know, I feel the same, but I don't think I'm really up to fighting a running battle right now. And I guess it's better we try to figure out where they're coming from."
"And it's handy you also get some quality time alone with the new squeeze," said Lucifer, with a false air of innocence.
Any further conversation was halted by the discovery that not only was the pharmacy still open, but that it also appeared deserted. The doors looked like they'd taken a severe battering.
Barbra bit her lip in worry. "I hope they're okay, they're a nice family."
Sam hoped so too, but from the quantity of blood splattered across the floor and windows, someone was definitely not okay. He really hated to think it, but it did resolve the problem of not actually having a prescription and, if he was honest, it would be a nice change to have antibiotics that were actually intended for human consumption rather than animal use.
"There's only so much generic antibiotic you can scam for your 'sick fish'. So how d'ya reckon Dean always managed to score the strong stuff when you were really ill?" asked Lucifer in a derisive tone.
Sam ignored the jibe - it was nothing he hadn't thought about himself from time to time. He knew he had a tendency to take his brother for granted sometimes, but what family didn't? And in a weird way it was worse because Dean was so dependable. His brother was his rock, So what if we don't say it, that doesn't make it any less real.
Lucifer made a face at the sappy, self-introspection. He leaned heavily on the shelving for support and busied himself with inspecting the array of eczema treatments on offer.
Sam gave himself a mental shake, and Barbra an apologetic smile. He searched behind the counter while Barbra kept lookout. For a moment his vision wavered as if the world was closing in around him. The words on the various packets and bottles seemed to dance mockingly in front of him.
"Not feeling quite yourself, are you?" Lucifer said so quietly that it was almost like he could have been talking to himself. Sam might have been imagining it, but it almost sounded like the devil was concerned. Sam barely bit back the retort that immediately sprang to mind, It's better than feeling like you.
"No point worrying about that now," Lucifer muttered, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. He puffed out his cheeks and released a loud, ostentatious sigh of boredom then wandered out of sight down one of the aisles.
Sam's vision seemed to clear and he turned back to his search, soon finding the medicine he needed with a cry of triumph.
"Got it? Good. Now let's get out of here, this place is making me nervous," called Barbra as loudly as she dared from her look-out position by the door.
Waves of nausea and dizziness made Sam stumble a little, and he swayed as he tried to stay on his feet.
"Just... give me a minute," he gasped, his hands on his knees, smiling up at Barbra as she passed him a can of soda to help swallow the medication. The short journey back to the Jones' residence now seemed like a trek of marathon-like proportions.
"Goodbye, Sammy," said Lucifer in a sad, quiet voice as he watched them leave before slowly fading from view.
~#~
On the way back there were many near run-ins with the walking dead. Barbra's heart dropped when they almost collided with one of the zombies, but luckily it just gaped at Sam with an odd sort of hurt puzzlement, before stumbling on its way. Barbra cast a worried look in Sam's direction, noting the tight and drawn expression. He seemed increasingly vague as time went by.
He staggered along beside her, his gait not all that different from those that threatened them and Barbra couldn't help but wonder how much longer he had. "Please, Sam. We're nearly home, just hold on." As she called out her encouragements, Barbra realized they were more for her own benefit.
Sam looked at her with a blank expression, her heart bled to see such a lack of understanding. "Oh Sam, what are we going to do?"
Sam looked at her in confusion for the longest time.
"Stop right there," came the harsh shout to their right. Barbra jolted in fright, annoyed with herself for being so distracted as to allow someone to creep up on her. Sam barely seemed to register the approach of a handful of armed men.
"Oh, you poor bastard," whispered one of the men rubbing a hand over his face in agitation, before they all raised their rifles to point in Sam's direction,
"You're okay now, just move away from him, Miss," called one of the older men - the obvious leader of the group - in a kind, but authoritative voice.
"What? No, please... you don't understand," begged Barbra as she pushed Sam behind her to shield him with her body. Although she couldn't put a name to any of them, she was sure she recognized some of the men by sight as neighbors from in and around the immediate vicinity. They weren't thugs, these were family men, scared by events beyond their understanding. By anyone's understanding.
The man looked at her with sympathy. "Listen, we've been seeing this all day. It's too late for him."
One of the younger men piped up. "Don'tcha know, it's the end of days, baby, and the dead have risen."
The older man silenced him with glare and a hard shove. "He's corpse-bit. It's only a matter of time before he's one of them. Isn't it better to end his pain quick before he can hurt anyone else?"
Before Barbra could squeeze a response out of a throat that had closed in horror, the men were distracted by a sudden influx of the dead. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed hold of Sam by the wrist and dragged him behind her as she heard the sound of gunfire and a high-pitched scream, that was suddenly cut short, as one of the men was overpowered.
~#~
Barbra's heart hammered in her chest, pounded in her throat, and throbbed in her temples in the effort to run, pull Sam along after her, and keep an eagle-eye out for both walking corpses and vigilantes.
Her home finally in sight, she dragged him across the road, unlocked the door with the key she had at the ready, and shoved him into the house, locking and bolting the door behind her.
"I'm really not cut out for this," she gasped.
Sam's confusion seemed to clear and he looked up at her from where he'd collapsed on his back on the floor. "You seem pretty badass to me."
Barbra forced a laugh. "Well, until now I tended to more of the academic than the hands-on hunting..." She helped Sam to his feet. "You seem a little better."
"I don't feel it," Sam groaned, clutching and massaging his head with his free hand. He stopped for a moment, before looking around in confusion. "How did we get back here?"
Barbra looked at him with concern, noticing for the first time the network of thin black veins half-hidden by his collar that had worked their way up his neck.
She was distracted by the sound of a heavy pounding on the front door. Looking through the peephole she recognized some of the men from earlier.
"We know you're in there. We're only after the infected one," called the leader.
"What do they want?" Sam asked, with only the vaguest of recollections.
"They're after you, Sam. You need to get away."
Sam gave her a blank look for a moment, then shook his head emphatically. "I can't just leave you here on your own."
"I'm not alone, Grandfather is here too."
"Then we'll take him too," said Sam, flinching as the sound of gunfire and screaming echoed from just outside.
"No, he's too frail, he'll just slow you down... and I can't just leave him for any damn zombie. It was hellish out there. Anyway, you have your brother..."
Sam nodded his understanding. If there was anything a Winchester understood it was that family always came first.
Without a second thought Barbra surged forward, pulling him down to her level so she could kiss him deeply and thoroughly. After a moment she stepped back, slightly breathless. "It would have been good, Sam."
"Thanks," Sam stammered, somewhat lost for words.
"Now, get your ass outta here," she wept. She watched him flee through the back of the house.
Moments later she heard the sound of breaking glass and, although she tried to deny it, she knew in her heart that she wasn't likely to ever see Sam Winchester alive again.
(;,;)