AUgust24 04 Zombie Apocalypse (Yelv)

a/n: What it says on the tin, moments before disaster.

"Anything new from BLADE HQ?" The soldier, short and dark, took a moment to pop into the canvas shelter after returning from patrol.

An older man, bald but generously mustached, was powering down the receiver that filled a small camp table. "Nothing. And nothing they couldn't transmit in the clear, honestly. Decoding gives me a headache," he complained.

"We shouldn't give our enemies any advantage."

"They're probably the ones that started it. Besides, Frontier Nav is full of the details. Have you seen the latest videos?"

The clean-shaven soldier looked up from disassembling his weapon. "No. I was on patrol, wasn't I?"

"Mr. By-The-Books, never takes a quick break to check his socials," teased Bushy.

Clean didn't rise to the bait. "Are they any worse than the earlier ones?"

"Not worse than the ones from the Mimeosome Maintenance Center. I can't believe they got video where the guy rises up from the gurney and goes for the throat of..."

"I saw that one. We all saw that one."

"Or the one where the arm busts through the vent and grabs the hair of ..."

"Saw that, ugh."

"It was dark but the one with the elevator shaft filling with ..."

"Enough. Doesn't sound like there's anything new." Clean was snapping his weapons back into working condition, his routine complete.

Bushy was still enjoying the topic. "I bet they're sorry now about storing all those dead bodies in the basement," he said, puffing his 'stache.

"They weren't dead. Aren't dead," Clean emphasized. "We're all fine, back in the Lifehold, wherever that is. It's just that some mimeosome bodies got damaged and decommissioned once the neural-links were severed."

"Fatally severed," replied Bushy. "Fatally. Even the MMC can't avoid the idea. Decommissioned, powered down, scrapped. Except now they're coming back and they're coming back mean. Did you see the video with the gel moat?"

"No, that sounds new." Clean stopped pretending not to care. He set his weapons aside, and looked over Bushy's shoulder.

A shaky video, probably from near the city's water plant, was focused on the access stairway the the moat beneath the city platform. The sound was turned down, but it wouldn't have been much new, probably screaming and static and the snap of jaws used for all the wrong reasons. A line of soldiers surrounded the stairwell. "Wait for it," said Bushy. A human figure emerged from the sunken stairwell, moving slowly and directionless at first. Then it raced toward the soldiers. Flashes indicated that they fired, but the attacker didn't slow down. It toppled a forward soldier. The remaining soldiers concentrated fire on the two wrestling figures. The video cut off.

"They probably didn't want to let it get that close but the only way to tell is the eyes. All dark, with the iris blown wide open," advised Bushy. Clean hadn't asked, too busy making his stomach behave. "So I guess we're quarantined here for a little longer. Never thought I'd be glad I was sent on a mission so far from the city."

A shout from outside sent both men dashing through the canvas door. The third teammate had her weapon raised at an approaching figure. "Stand back," she ordered, her voice breaking. Her pigtails swung in the breeze, or maybe she was shaking. She repeated herself, slowly and firmly. "You heard me. Stand back."

"I know him," Bushy said with relief. "He's that blond surfer posted at the away station on the plains."

"Heck of a hike to get here," said Clean.

"He's okay. Dumb as rocks but good in a fight. Yelp or Yelv, something like that. Hey, buddy!"

Clean was sorry he'd left his weapons in the tent, even if it only took a second to get them. He was back in time to hear Bushy wonder, "I always thought his eyes were green."

a/n: Still managing not to name the OCs. Not that they need names after the next few minutes.

Next up: Chess players.