To Ride A Pale Horse by WeyrAtheneWolfen

I see no man on a pale horse, yet Death rides for us all.

It was the apocalypse no one saw coming. Now, longtime enemies must become allies, friends become foes, and death really is waiting around every corner. A tale of death, sacrifice, more death, the human (and not so human) heart, even more death, black humor, and the end of the world as we know it.

Index

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Curiosity Killed The...
Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Damages
Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Sacrifice
Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Gathering Storm Clouds
Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Reunions
Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Revelations
Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Pale Horse
Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Statistics
Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Good Meat
Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Lockdown
Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Fallen Soldiers
Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Perfect Plans
Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen – Fists Fights and Hair Pulling
Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Reunions
Chapter 15: Chapter 15: The Hunger
Chapter 16: Chapter 16: Kiss

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Curiosity Killed The...

Author's Notes: The main pairing of this story is Spike/Buffy, but they are not in every chapter. There are and will be several secondary pairings that develop and are just as important to the story as the primary one. Also, there are also multiple character deaths throughout this story. This is dark comedy - a lot of death and angst mixed with humor. Fair warning.

Thank you to the wonderful friends who betad this and demanded more: Spikeslovebite and Schehrezade. Without them, it would not have been as fun for us, nor as polished.

P.S. Did we mention the character deaths?

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Damages

Friday January 23th, 2004

“Check the view screen, Uhura,” Andrew was working himself into a righteous tizzy of geek-ire. “I got twelve Vampyr Slayers behind me, and not one of them has ever dated you. She's coming with us one way or another.”

The slayers in question were scanning the area. All of them wanted this mission to go over without a hitch, but all of them also knew how fast a situation could go straight down the crapper.

Despite their vigilance, you had to admit that there was more than a little humor in the situation. At least, that was what Nicky O’Mallory thought.

On the outside, Nicky’s face was stern, forbidding, but on the inside she was trying not to laugh. Vampyr Slayers indeed. But as funny as Andrew Wells could be when his D&D days got the better of him, all of the slayers were there waiting on his order. He was like a team mascot to them: a little scruffy, a little funny, with a head, feet, and hands that were just a little too large for his frame, but well loved. There wasn’t a girl there who wouldn’t lay down her life to protect him.

Not that Nicky was expecting it to come to that.

If Angel and his lawyers thought they could take their new sister away without pulling back more than a few bloody stumps, they had another thing coming. Andrew had said twelve, but there were actually fourteen of them. Vivian and Min had taken to the rooftops earlier, and their crossbows were trained on the crowd below. It was a strong precaution, but one that had proved necessary in the past. Their presence alone made Nicky feel much more secure.

“You're way out of your league. I'll just clear this with Buffy,” Angel said in a superior tone of voice. He was shorter than Nicky had expected from the stories. Kind of chunkier, too. She could not see what the General had seen in him.

Everyone, well, everyone except his cadre of slayers, seemed shocked at Andrew’s incredulous response. “Where do you think my orders came from? News flash! Nobody in our camp trusts you anymore,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Nobody. You work for Wolfram and Hart. Don't fool yourself. We're not on the same side.” He started backing away, gesturing the slayers forward. “Thank you for your help but, uh... we got it.”

Nicky stepped forward, mirth at their ‘leader’s’ desire for a dramatic exit effectively squelched by the appearance of the girl strapped on the stretcher in front of them.

Dana, Andrew had said. Her name was Dana.

She looked like hell, dressed in blood spattered plaid and grungy jeans. Her dark eyes were half-lidded, drugged and delirious. Nicky took one of the corners next to the girl’s head, leading her towards the waiting vans. She and the others couldn’t get her loaded and away from the docks fast enough.

They were celebrating another successful mission on one of the Council’s private jets when Min arrived, looking grungy but pleased under her tactical gear and face paint.

They waited for Vivian for hours.

She never showed up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Agent Matthew Winkowsky, The Initiative, General Report, January 27th, 2004.

“…We seem to be looking at two epicenters: one in L.A. and the other in London. I believe that the spread could be better contained if not for the anomalies that have been appearing amongst the affected. The vast majority are slow and virtually mindless, though if left unchecked, they will have vastly superior numbers on their side. However, the anomalies are a different matter. They are faster and stronger than their counterparts, and retain at least nominal awareness of their surroundings…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Nicky, Svetlana, Min, Courtney suit up.” Andrew said over the intercom system in what the girls called his ‘Charlie’ voice.

The four scrambled, grabbing favorite weapons, both ranged and hand-to-hand, some of the futuristic body armor that the Council’s Research and Development wing had started fabricating, and the day packs full of clothes, makeup, you know, the real necessities of life. Once they were geared up to everyone’s satisfaction, they filed through the divider that separated the rear cargo area, where Dana was being watched over by the rest of her slayer guard, and into the front passenger area where Andrew was waiting for them.

Andrew himself was sitting in the front of the cabin, jabbering away in his green flip phone with the holographic Zelda sticker on the back. When Nicky got closer, she could almost make out Rupert Giles’ voice. Vivian was missing and the Head of the New Council was on the line. In general, that meant that things were bad, bad, bad.

‘So much for that weekend trip to Dublin…’

“Uh huh… uh huh,” Andrew was nodding mechanically while drumming his fingers at a breakneck pace on his armrest. “I’ll tell them. Of course I still have the emergency packet!” he sounded aggrieved at that, but was soon back to his nodding and agreeing.

Finally, the phone clicked closed, and Andrew looked up at the four slayers he had called with a long-suffering sigh. He reached under his chair and pulled out a cheap, pleather suitcase. He started riffling through it with gusto, pulling out candy wrappers, a few official-looking folders, and a Fantastic Four comic book. At the very bottom was an extremely battered, manila folder. When Andrew held that one up, the girls could plainly see the fluffy drawing of a mushroom cloud with the words “This Message Will Self Destruct in Less Than Twelve Parsecs” written across it in colorful script.

‘Hookay, weird…’

Andrew, despite the kind of ridiculous envelope in his hands, was all seriousness. “Here’s the situation, ladies. Vivian is missing and, well, we’ve already run through half of our supply of tranquilizers on Dana. Plus? HQ needs some intel on L.A.’s resident attourney-vampyr.” He handed Courtney the battered folder. “That’s bank codes, phone numbers, instructions for getting some nifty gadgets, everything you need to go totally Splinter Cell on this town. Court, you’re team leader. Mr. Giles told me to ask you to keep the expenses reasonable this time.”

Nicky couldn’t help it, she started giggling. Fortunately the other slayers did too, but after a dubiously stern look from Andrew, they managed to quiet down. That mission in Rio had been months ago, and they had been ordered to infiltrate that party… Yup, it had been worth every second that they had spent being reamed out by Council Head. Every. Single. Second.

“Er, anyway…” Andrew continued, looking a little embarassed. “You guys know the drill, but I’d also like to ask you for a, uh, more delicate favor while you're here. Did you get a good look at the other vampyr? The one who got his hands cut off.”

Nicky wasn’t stupid. Neither were the other slayers. They all had a pretty good idea of who that blond vampire had been, which either meant tons of gossip material or tons of trouble was about to head their way. Probably both. They all nodded.

“I need you to keep an eye on him, too. Both eyes, when you can spare them,” Andrew’s eyes twinkled under his serious mein. The boy could quote, or misquote, movies like the General could spout slaying and shopping advice. “Send those reports to me, and me alone. This situation could get… volatile. Like, Level Nine Meteor Swarm volatile. Capiche?”

Courtney, as she always did, took the lead. “So, find Vivian, spy on Angel and Spi… the other vampire,” she amended at Andrew’s panicked look, “maintain tight op sec, and, uh, don’t overhaul our wardrobes. Check.”

Andrew’s pained expression, as well as the patently innocent look on Courtney’s face, prompted another round of giggles from the girls.

“Don’t worry,” Min teased. “We know what to do, boss.”

That finally prompted a smile from Andrew. “I know, my little paduans. You have been trained well.” He took a deep breath, the kind that tended to presage a long-winded discourse on midi-chlorians, flux capacitors, or whatever.

Courtney grabbed up her rucksack and the fat manila folder, talking quickly to forstall the lecture. “No time to waste, Vivian could be anywhere, will report tomorrow morning!” She scampered out of the fusilage and down the stairwell before Andrew could get a word in sideways, the others following suit, close behind.

Four slayers, in search of a lost companion, but otherwise footloose and fancy free.

‘Maybe missing Dublin won’t be so bad.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Okaaaaay,” Min drawled. “Maybe she didn’t just fall asleep on the job.”

Svetlana looked around the rooftop, glaring in every shadow as if it held a vamp or two. “Are you sure this is the place?” she asked in her lilting accent.

“Oh yeah, I was over there,” Min pointed to a neighboring warehouse. “We could see each other clear as day. She was right here.” At the petite slayer’s insistence, the others dropped the point. For all intents and purposes, Min was the sniper of the group, with keen eyes and a sharp mind. If she said that she had seen Vivian here, she had.

Nicky, who had been keeping half an ear open to the conversation called out, “Hey guys?”

“What’s up Nick?” Courtney asked, jumping down from the large airconditioning unit that she had been using to get a better vantage of the dockside.

Nicky looked up from the puddle of goo at her feet. “Did Vivian look a little, you know, green on the flight over?” she asked. At Svetlana’s alarmed look, she elaborated. “Green, sick, not green, green.”

Svetlana’s English was actually quite good, but she was still having to figure out the wide spectrum of slang terms used by the other girls. It didn’t help that the slayers and trainees who had spent a lot of time at the Council’s Academy in London were starting to hybridize the local lingo with whatever regional baggage they brought with them. Pretty soon, they’d have their own dialect: slayer pidgeon. The thought made Nicky smirk to herself.

“She was awful quiet,” Min said, which was a polite way of saying that Vivian hadn’t spent the trip talking about the awesomeness that was Vivian. “Why?”

“Because this looks like puke,” Nicky responded matter-of-factly.

Courtney walked over quickly, ignoring Min’s quiet “Ew,” and Svetlana’s meu of distaste. “Huh,” she breathed in thought. Courtney was the oldest of them by some six years, and that age gap, along with her natural charisma, meant that the younger slayers tended to defer to her.

“What d’ya think, Court?” Nicky asked, a little worry creeping into her voice.

Min and Svetlana overcame their reluctance and joined the other two over the gooey puddle. “Is that blood?” Min asked, crouching down to get a better look at the puddle.

Sure enough, there was a red stain throughout the puddle.

“Might be,” Courtney finally said, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay, we need to search the area more thoroughly. There’s messages at the airport if Vivian was just wildly late, but at this point, I think we’ve got to assume that something else might be going on here.” When the other three nodded in agreement, she continued. “Nicky, you and Svetlana go north up the bank. Min and I will head south. Everybody keep your bags with you,” at the ensuing groan, she held up a quieting hand. “I know, but we’ll be seriously up a creek if some hobo runs off with our stuff before we get back. Stick to the warehouse district for now, and don’t be afraid to use the walkie-talkies if you run into trouble. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Okay?”

Svetlana and Min only nodded, but the question earned a jaunty salute from Nicky. “Aye, aye Captain.” Courtney rolled her eyes good naturedly. Nicky was the youngest one in the group at only fifteen, and acted it more often than not. As long as she got the job done, none of the others seemed to care, a fact of which Nicky was well aware.

“Shoo!” Courtney said with an indulgent grin.

Nicky didn’t need to be told a second time. She scampered down the fireescape and into the alley with all the enthusiasm of youth, a more sedate Svetlana hot on her heels.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“This is boring. Vivian’s probably puking up the in-flight mystery meat in some skeezy diner between here and the airport.” Nicky kicked at an empty crate that had tumbled into her path. The rotten wood shattered under her half-hearted assault, which after the months since her latent slayer powers had been brought to the surface was still pretty neat.

“Perhaps,” Svetlana agreed, all seriousness and clipped phrases as usual. The statuesque blonde had enough work ethic for both of them, which was probably why Courtney had partnered them together.

Thing got a lot less boring in a hurry when a scream cut through the still night air.
Almost immidiately the walkie-talkies on both of the slayers’ hips crackled. “Nick, Svet, everything okay?” Courtney’s voice sounded tiny from the device, but the worry was plain.

Nicky grabbed the little black reciever and depressed the talk button. “Not us, Court. Sounds nearby though.” Nicky shared a look with Svetlana before they both took off in an easy lope towards the direction of the cry. “Meet you there,” she said into the walkie-talkie before clipping it back on her belt without breaking stride.

“Right, be careful you two.” After Courtney’s parting shot, the crackling connection was severed.

“Yes, mom,” Nicky muttered under her breath.

Svetlana just smiled her thin-lipped smile in response, an expression that was wiped from her face when another scream, closer and tinged with a gurgling, hoarse edge, dragged them both to the present.

Both slayers put on another burst of speed, more determined to reach whoever it was who was in trouble and more certain of that person’s location. Svetlana’s longer legs carried her ahead of Nicky during the run, so when the younger slayer rounded the last corner, she almost slammed directly into the tall slayer’s suddenly still form.

“Whoa, Svet! Give a girl a warning, huh?” Nicky complained, but was met with no response. “Svet?”

She followed the silent slayer’s wide-eyed gaze until it came to rest on a pile of rags on the sidewalk. No… not a pile of rags.

‘Oh God.’

Nicky blanched white as snow when she realized that the wet, torn mess in front of them had once been a human being. A dock guard, if the caution-orange vest and black (or was it blue, it was hard to see through all the blood) uniform were to be believed.

They were too late. Whatever had done this had been and gone.

A sick feeling rose in the pit of Nicky’s stomach. This wasn’t her first dead body, not by a long shot, but seeing one, wondering what she could have done to prevent the person’s death, never got any easier.

Both girls started when a low moan, wet and filled with pain, came from the body.

“Oh, God Svet. He’s still alive!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nicky was sulking.

Courtney was off talking to the EMTs and the police with Svetlana. Min was somewhere on the roofs above, keeping watch as usual.

The man, they still didn’t know his name, had been loaded into the back of an ambulance and taken away a few minutes ago. He had gone crazy, probably from the pain of his injuries, soon after Nicky and Svetlana had found him. The slayers had been forced to restrain him while Courtney called 911. He had been strong, surprisingly so, especially given his condition. Keeping him pinned without hurting him further had been a pain.

When one of the EMTs started in her direction, Nicky ran through the cover story Courtney had crafted for them.

‘Sorority initiation. Just found him like this. No idea what happened. Yes officer, we’ll never go out after dark again…’

“Nicky?” the young man asked.

Nicky sized him up in a glance. He was cute, but man was he old. He had to be thirty, at least. “That’s me,” she said flatly.

“Your friend told me you might be hurt. I just wanted to check you out, make sure everything’s okay,” his voice was low and calm, pitched in such a way as to brook no argument.

Nicky glanced over his shoulder and saw Courtney looking her way. It took every ounce of self control to keep from sticking her tongue out at the older slayer.

“Nope, all fine here,” she chirped with false ease.

“You sure?” the EMT asked, eyeing her pointedly.

Nicky looked down at herself. She was a mess; there was blood everywhere. “Oh, this? It’s his,” she said, and in truth, it was. Well, mostly. “Kind of need a bath,” she mumbled, tugging down her right sleeve to cover the ragged cut there.

There was no way in hell she was going to admit to this guy, or the others, that she had slipped up and gotten bit by a regular old human. That was just embarassing, and it’d be healed up by morning anyway. No scar, no evidence, no harm, no foul.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From the autobiography of Russell Santiago, Medicine and Madness

“…We had never faced anything like it in all our training. None of us, from the interns to the directors, had the first idea how to handle the outbreak. One of the first things we did was contact the CCDC, but they didn’t know what to do either. We followed procedure, locked down the affected wings of our hospitals and put our best people searching for a cure.

How were we to know there wasn’t one?

In the end, all we did was delay the inevitable. When our hospital doors opened again, it was to spill death and destruction into the streets of Los Angeles…”

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Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Sacrifice

To Ride a Pale Horse
by Athenewolfe and WeyrWolfen
Chapter Three: Sacrifice

Summary:
I see no man on a pale horse, yet Death rides for us all.

It was the apocalypse no one saw coming. Now, longtime enemies must become allies, friends become foes, and death really is waiting around every corner. A tale of death, sacrifice, more death, the human (and not so human) heart, even more death, black humor, and the end of the world as we know it.



Ch 3

Sunday, January 25, 2004

To: ,
CC: Rupert Giles
From:
Subject: Daily Souled Vampire Report and Slayer watch
January 25, 2004 17:00

Hi Andrew!

The souled duo are the most boring assignment you’ve ever gave me! Seriously, you owe me for this… perhaps a slaying gig in Monte Carlo?

The more interesting news is that the bleached blond vamp had his hands reattached after the Dana incident. Angel visited him a few times in the hospital, but then “Spike” moved out into his own apartment. And do I seriously have to keep this façade up? You and I both know it’s Spike. He drinks and plays video games all day. I mean ALL DAY. It seems to be some type of ‘therapy’ – perhaps you should buy a Playstation for therapy as well *grins*

No signs of Vivian.

Seriously, how long should we remain in Los Angeles? The city is starting to freak me out. It feels as if something is wrong here. The hospitals are overflowing and Nicky is really sick.

Please advise,
Courtney

Dawn stared at her email in confusion. It was almost too much to hope for. Could Spike really be alive?

She had to know.

Dawn dialed the phone to make her plane reservations and grabbed her backpack. She could buy anything she needed when she tracked down Courtney. She smirked; Council credit cards were so much fun!

Her tall frame shook in anger. How could Andrew and Giles not tell them? Why hadn't Spike called them? It was obvious to anyone how much Buffy mourned him. She would sort this out.

By nightfall, she would know whether or not this was a cruel joke.

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Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Gathering Storm Clouds

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Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Reunions

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Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Revelations

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Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Pale Horse

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Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Statistics

Author's Notes: Apologies for missing last week - we ran into technically difficulties. A huge thank you to Spikeslovebite and Betafish for the beta on this chapter!

Wednesday, January 28, 2007

Buffy tapped her foot and positively glared at the rental car lady. It was bad enough that they’d circled around Los Angeles for hours upon hours, but then they ended up having to detour to San Francisco after the FAA decided that all flights to and from Los Angeles were cancelled. It was even worse that she had no luggage, no clean clothes, and she was still wearing the slightly ripped clothing that she had fought in yesterday.

‘Or was that two days ago?’ Between zombie hordes, plane delays, and runaway sisters she had lost all track of time. Add in time zone issues, and she thought it might be Wednesday…

The deaths of Giles and so many other friends seemed like a bad dream. She would mourn later. For now, she had to at least pretend she was the strong General that everyone expected her to be.

Of course, all of that paled next to the newest disaster that she was facing.

In a style honed by the now eldest Slayer, she narrowed down the entire world to something tacky, yet unimportant. Coping mechanisms aside, it was a tragedy in the making anyway. “Are you sure ‘those’ are the only vehicles left we can rent?”

There were no SUV’s, no luxury vehicles, not even an ugly station wagon or two - just three monstrous, scary, and downright ugly mini-vans … with faux wood paneling. She was so going to kill Dawn.

Of course that would be right after she killed Andrew. She was seriously wigging here. After her brief meltdown, when she realized that her sister was lost in the middle of zombie-infested Los Angeles and there was no way at all to find her, she had flipped. Despite repeated dialing of the cell phone, she kept getting that evil recording ‘I’m sorry all circuits are currently busy.’ To top it all off, not one single Watcher or Slayer had any witchy ability, and her contacts in Los Angeles? Well, the last time she checked, Angel – with a soul – was up to no good.

It wasn’t that hard to believe. Her time in heaven had shown her a few truths that she hadn’t wanted to admit when she first came back. Little tidbits about which vamp had watched over her friends and family while she was dead and which vamp liked to randomly erase her memory of things he didn’t like. ‘Strange thing about Heaven – erased memories suddenly came back.’

It was hard to know what to believe after she was ripped from paradise. Everything was so confusing, so hard, bright, and painful all at the same time. Logically, she knew the truth about Spike and Angel, but the part of her that clung to heaven, also clung to her childhood fantasies and old beliefs.

If she didn’t admit the truth to herself, then somehow everything would turn out all right. It would be like she had never died, like nothing had ever changed.

What could she say – she wasn’t the only one in the group that seriously needed to see a shrink.

Of course to add insult to injury, Angel tried it again! Not only did the vamp boink Darla, but then she had to find out about his son from Willy the Snitch!

He’d thought no one would remember, but she had taken precautions after the Willow memory fiasco. Having her memory erased once by Angel was terrible, but at least she hadn’t found out about it until after she was dead.

Having her memory erased a second time by an out of control witch? No way was she leaving herself that vulnerable to anyone ever again. It had cost her about a week’s worth of grocery money, but Anya had managed to come through as usual with her e-Bay sources. One mystical and magical doo-hickey later and Buffy’s memory was tamper-proof!

Of course, the need for said doo-hickey was confirmed when she felt someone trying to tamper with her memory the third time. Some brief calls and idle threats lead her to the conclusion it was Angel, and somehow no one else remembered his son.

It was beyond disturbing.

Still, she played along. The good friend, the strong slayer, the forlorn Juliet, until her world was destroyed and her real chance of happiness went up in flames.

Was it any wonder that when Andrew had squeakingly confessed that Dawn was probably in Los Angeles because she found out that Spike was alive, it took three Slayers to restrain her? ‘I wasn’t going to hurt the twerp that much’

Fuming, she fantasized about her reunion with Spike. She was so kicking his ass when she saw him! How dare he not tell her he was back! ‘I wonder if they have a training room with those comfy mats?’

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Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Good Meat

Author's Notes: Athenewolfe and I have been having a crazy-busy couple of months, but we're both back now and chomping at the bit to write more.  Sorry about the long delay.

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Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Lockdown

CH 10: Lockdown

Infected Demographics, excerpt from Chapter Two: the European Crisis

It did not take a very long time for the major cities of the world to fall. The first epi-center, London, spread out and consumed The United Kingdom. It was not simply one person infecting another, but one person infected dozens at a time.

Taking it from a purely analytical viewpoint it makes sense. For instance, patient Z-290 from Middlesex Hospital was one infected person transported to the hospital. When they turned they killed three people and infected six others who were trying to restrain them. Hospital authorities had no understanding of the virus at this time and therefore were quite surprised when two of the three victims rose from the dead, killing all eight morgue attendants. Meanwhile, the other six infected went along their daily business. Two turned at home killing their entire families and as far as we know, made great progress on their neighbors before the government understood what was happening. Another was killed at a dinner party after infecting three others, two’s whereabouts were never discovered, and the last individual, an American visiting scientist, immediately flew back to the United States to seek help from the Center of Disease Control; thus of course launching a new wave of infection on the East Coast of the United States.

London’s outbreak, it seemed, devoured the entire county within days of the first victims reporting to the public hospital. We now know of course that it actually took six days, since many of the victims were taken to a private hospital run by the Council. But to many people, it seemed that the world ended in a span of 24 hours. At a conservative rate of 5 infections per zombie, by the time the Council fled London there were over 15,000 zombies in the city. Thousands upon thousands had fled to the outer areas of England and into Wales, Scotland and Ireland.

France’s human population was obliterated within a week after the United Kingdom’s but not before Paris practically burned to the ground. Of course, when one references survivors in France, they are of course referring to Southern France and the resistance there. Northern France had already been consumed by the zombies, the fires, and the panicked masses.

Within a week of Paris and London, the whole of Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany all suffered similar fates. Within the first month, much of Southern Continental Europe was no more.

The Icelandic countries soon became a refuge for many. Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Northern Russia had extremely low rates of infected, especially once the countries grounded all incoming flights - a safe haven for those who could make it there, although many lost their lives trekking through the cold snow to get there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Wednesday, January 28th, 2004

When Wolfram & Hart's security team called for a total lockdown, they didn't screw around. Heavy metal blast doors, reinforced with some kind of unidentifiable metals and inscribed with strength and protection runes, were scrolling downward, heavy plate after heavy plate, from the stone facing that had artfully concealed them along the office building's outer walls. Angel stood in the front lobby, arms crossed as the necro-filtered sunlight slowly disappeared from the first floor. He stayed well out of the way as team after team of security personnel removed floor tiles to reveal sturdy locking mechanisms a good two feet below the sidewalk's surface. It would take something rather large and determined, or numerous and determined, to get through such a barrier.

Unfortunately, it sounded like the firm's fortifications were going to be put to that very test, and soon.

Considering the impressive protocols set in place when the law firm really went to DEFCON 5, Angel felt more than a little chagrined. He was starting to get the impression that all of his clever breaking and entering in years past hadn't been contested further because the senior partners hadn't been all that concerned. Now there was a dark thought to ponder when he needed a mental vacation from the situation that was unfolding around them.

"Roughly 63.8 percent of the employees are staying, which is a significantly larger number than we were expecting." Fred was standing on the vampire's right, rattling through the state of their preparations. He half kept an ear open, filing away what seemed most important for future reference. "Also, many of them brought families, but even though it's going to be a little tight, I think we can handle them all."

Angel grunted, which was his less than verbose way of letting her know that he was listening. He wasn't surprised that so many had remained, not when Wolfram & Hart had long been the center of mystical power in the greater Los Angeles area.

Fred just adjusted her glasses and peered down at her clipboard again. "Right now it's looking like 323 humans, 62 of which are minors. The remaining 112 are demons of one kind or another, some of which would be their species' equivalent of children, but the biology is a little iffy. Call it 24 non-human minors. Of the rest, ten are carnivorous with a tendency to seek out human or humanoid prey, including three vampires: Harmony, Walsh from accounting, and his childe…or is it his mate? Anyway, her name is Rita and Gunn says that she counts as a spouse/dependant according to company policy. We've got them checking in with the blood culturists, as per the policy. Rita was borderline, but they're all technically clean."

Vampires. They were giving sanctuary to vampires. Well, there was a first time for everything. "What's the condition of our blood stores?" he asked, knowing that things would get interesting if and when they ran out of easy, free blood.

"Since there's only the five of you, we should be fine for at least a few months. Exertion and injuries translate into greater appetites, so I can't give you a more precise estimate, but that's without any resupply through our dimensional contacts. We've already recalled the two smallest helicopters from the airport, maintenance swears the roof can support them without any structural damage, and they can be stocked for rescue and foraging missions. Then again, if things get really bad, we could put together a volunteer donor program among the employees…"

Angel's dark glower cut that line of reasoning short. Drinking bagged human blood, anonymous and aged, was one thing. Getting it any closer to the tap was a huge temptation for any vampire, even those of the souled sort. They were already going to have to keep an eye on Harmony and the others, and he didn't want to rock the boat.

Fred continued, blithely unaware of or graciously ignoring Angel's dour expression. "Regular old human variety food is going to be more of an issue. Knox had this great idea to change over the old Burials and Acquisitions storage areas into hydroponics labs, since they're empty and all. I've got him setting up some of the more exotic, fast growing stuff right now. None of it's Terrestrial in origin, not with yield rates like that, but it's biologically compatible for humans and most of the demon species here, and the D'loryn fruit clusters are kind of tasty." She met his dubious expression with a bright smile.

That melted a little of the coldness around Angel's heart, as it always had. "Good job, Fred. Keep it up." He tried to smile back, but the expression felt stiff and faltered completely when another loud crash, followed by the clanking of locking mechanisms, heralded another barricaded panel sliding into place between the building's stone columns.

Fred just nodded and bustled off to the closest elevator. Angel watched her go, wondering if he should join Wesley and Gunn, who were surveying the work to block off the firm's lower levels. Within the next hour, Wolfram & Hart would be encased in a metal wall two stories high and supported by the most powerful magic the blood of the innocent could buy.

So far, the security teams had managed to dispose of the few zombies that had made their way to the firm's front steps with impressive efficiency, but as another sheet of metal armor slammed home, Angel couldn't honestly say if being locked in this place, protected from the growing numbers of the undead, was better or worse than going it alone in the deserted streets on the outside.

Death in body or death in soul: it was a devil's choice. What remained to be seen was if the armored walls of Wolfram & Hart would be their life raft in a sea of the living dead, or their tomb.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oz raised a single eyebrow. “So…zombies?”

Clem nodded and pulled out a tattered and dog-eared book: The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead. “Everything you need to know is contained in this book! I thought it was all just a really cool story, but after watching Day of the Dead with Spike and Dawn, I got a bit worried. After all, vampires and werewolves were supposed to be myths, and we were living on the mouth of hell, so I ordered this book from eBay, a Smith & Wesson Disaster-Ready Kit, and as soon as I saw the L.A. riots on television, I went into hiding.”

“Why a bat then?”

Clem looked abashed. “Well, I never got around to learning how to fire the gun, and now it’s a bit late to learn. After all, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Plus, Max Brooks rule number 4 is ‘Blades don’t need reloading.’ Of course, I haven’t actually found a sword yet, but the bat sure is nifty. If you want to use the gun you can, but you have to check out all the neat accessories that came with it first!”

Clem pulled out the kit from under the couch and started to show it off. “I just love the space blankets and water purification tablets. The radio is awesome, too. However, the rations won’t last long, so we need to stock up on more supplies. I managed to download an advance copy of Dawn of the Dead - for research of course – and was horrified. Could you imagine surviving the initial outbreak just to starve to death? The pet stores have already been raided by other demons, but the grocery stores are still mostly unaffected.”

Clem settled down on the slightly ratty couch and began to draw a list of items they should acquire from the nearby shopping center.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spike had cajoled, brow beat, and dog-cursed Angel until the prancing nit had given another of the guest suites to Dawn. Cots lining the lobby might be acceptable for Joe Accountant, but the blond vampire would rot in hell before he let his Bit be subjected to that kind of arrangement if it could be helped. No, she was getting her own bed, her own bathroom, and a TV for as long as the signal lasted.

Dawn had agreed to the arrangement, after she had cajoled, brow beat, and dog-cursed Spike into staying on the couch in the living room.

He had folded relatively quickly after that, but once she had arranged her meagre possessions around the tiny apartment, she skipped off to watch Wolfram & Hart's security teams wall them into the building.

While he wasn't really one for wanderlust, Spike placed a high premium on his freedom, so being walled into Fort Angel was not his idea of a good time. Spike had been nailed into a coffin once before, and he had little interest in experiencing the phenomenon again.

He was eat up with boredom, twitchy from the knowledge of what was going on a few floors below, so it wasn't much of a surprise when he found himself in front of his new neighbor's door.

Scowling to himself and making a quick decision, Spike raised his hand and knocked on the door with a little more force than was necessary. The wood panelling splintered a little under his fist, going far to bleed off much of his ire.

He didn't have long to wait: the door swung inwards, revealing the rumpled form of his possible benefactor.

"Hey 'Doyle,'" he emphasized the name, watching with interest as the man's eyed glassed into the carefully blank expression of an experienced dissembler. How Spike had missed that before testified to his distraction over the last few weeks. "Gonna invite a vamp in for a cuppa?" His words were innocuous, but his tone was not. Little sparks of gold were flashing in his eyes.

"And if I don't," Lindsey asked in a carefully neutral voice.

"Then I kick your door in and stand out here with a CD player and every piece of pop shite I can find in the Nibblet's luggage," Spike replied in an equally bland tone of voice.

That earned a wry smile from the tattooed Texan. He stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door wide. "I guess there are fates worse than death. Come on in, Spike."

The vampire swept into the front room, noticing briefly that the layout of the apartment was exactly the same as his and Dawn's new digs. He made for the room's sister couch and threw himself on the piece of furniture.

Lindsey followed more slowly. To an unsuspecting eye, he looked totally at ease, but Spike was onto him now. There was a tension humming beneath the man's tattooed skin.

"Got any beer in this piss hole?" the vampire asked abruptly.

There was a flicker of surprise in the man's eyes, but he wordlessly went into the tiny kitchenette and pulled two bottles out of the refrigerator. One he placed on the coffee table in front of the vampire, the other he kept for himself as he sprawled into one of the over-stuffed pieces of corporate furniture lining the room.

Spike twisted the cap free and rolled it through his fingers, feeling the rough edges against his calluses. Letting Lindsey simmer in his own juices a little while longer, he looked around the room. The same boring corporate art, the same beige carpet and earth toned furniture. Everything looked exactly the same as the set up in Dawn's room, well, except for the piece of lacy black silk that was barely visible from under the end table.

Lucky bastard.

Spike took a long swig of his beer, returning his attention to the man. The expression on his face must have let a little too much slip, because even though Lindsey's face remained passive, his heart rate skipped and took off.

That was fine. Spike wasn't in the mood for dancing around the point any longer anyway.

"Told you once I don't react to well to being played," he said matter-of-factly. "And yet, here we are." Spike took another drag from his beer, half-lidded eyes still scrutinizing Lindsey. "So, here's how it's gonna be. You tell me what the fuck is goin' on and I'll decide whether or not to garrotte you with your girlfriend’s knickers over there." He pointed with his bottle to the black, frilly thing on the floor.

Lindsey quirked the tiniest smirk at that, an expression that didn't do much for Spike's temper, but did impress the vampire with the man's nerve. "Ever read the Shanshu Prophesy, Spike?" he said after mulling over a sip of his own beer. At Spike's dark scowl, he continued, "Right, stupid question. Well, I'm not too fond of the horse the Senior Partners are backing."

"Got that part already, and not that I can't respect a little hatred directed the Poof's way, but I'm wantin' details." Spike dropped his heels on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, making it perfectly clear that he wasn't leaving until he was satisfied.

"You want details? Short story is that I used to work here, and Angel was something of an… undead thorn in the Partners' side. I was assigned the case, worked my ass off, and ended up getting my hand cut off for my troubles." Lindsey raised the hand in question and flexed it in partial answer to Spike's unspoken question. "This? Ain't mine. The firm took a bit longer to reattach mine than they did yours, and it had a slight possession issue."

Spike's wrists were itching. They tended to do that anymore whenever someone reminded him of the Dana debacle. Fred called it a psychosomatic response to remembered trauma on par with ghost limb syndrome. At that point, Spike recognized it for empathy. "And?" he prompted, the threat in his voice dwindling.

"And I blew town," Lindsey said, bitterness colouring his tone. "Needed to get my head clear, away from the firm and their pet projects. Got some new tricks along the way," he rubbed one of the tattoos winding around his forearm, "But I'll be damned if the firm hands the keys to the kingdom over to that piece of Eurotrash after what they put me through to get rid of him. Simple fact is that the prophesy doesn't actually name Angel, and you were the best opportunity to screw over the firm and its pet vamp in one move. That enough honesty for you?"

Spike wasn't moving, was simply glaring at the former lawyer through slitted eyes. He didn't know what to think about Lindsey's words. Oh, the little reveal there had held a ring of truth, but only an idiot would think that the man wasn't holding something back. Spike was many things: rash, temperamental and prone to going off half-cocked, but not an idiot. "The spell that made me solid?" he asked.

"Sirk, under my pay," Lindsey answered smoothly, tipping his bottle back again.

"The amulet?"

"Touche. No idea, you caught me."

Lie number one. "The visions."

"Getting into some gray area there. The headaches were fake, but I can scry and there's always other, more mundane methods for surveillance, so those were real." Another lazy smile, slow and ironic. "For the most part."

Spike glared. The parasite on Angel's chest came to mind… and Dana…

Lindsey dropped his bottle, now nearly half-empty, on the coffee table next to Spike's feet and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Okay, yeah, so you got burned on some of those, but before you go for the thongs, think on this. The chaos before the Cup of Perpetual Torment?"

"The fake cup. The cup of piss flavored caffeine?"" Spike snapped, kicking the bottle away to crash against the wall. In a move too fast for human eyes to track easily, he was suddenly in Lindsey's face, eyes yellow and fangs barred. "You mean that cup?" he hissed.

Spike had to give it to the lawyer, he didn't back down. "Cup was fake, chaos wasn't."

The vampire's hands itched to wrap around the man's throat, but for once, he restrained himself. "And if I don't believe you?"

Lindsey laughed outright at that. "A little scrying, a little extra strength on the side, yeah, I can do that. But I don't have the kind of power to throw an entire dimension out of whack."

Logic. Confounded by simple logic. Spike snarled again, but sank back into the couch, demonic visage still at the fore.

"So, now you know," Lindsey said with false blandness again. He had all the hallmarks of a man who was rolling the dice. "The question is; what're you going to do about it?"

What, indeed?

Spike had been played, danced on the end of marionette strings to put him in the running for the Shanshu. A bid that seemed to be working. The man's motivations hadn't been sterling, but Spike had exactly no right to cast stones in that department. And the people he had saved, the good he had done…well, that had been real. Probably the most real thing Spike had done in a very, very long time.

Lindsey was not one of the good guys. The rub was that he wasn't really one of the bad guys either. True neutral, that one. But he also had the ability and intellect to get things done, and they were going to need that in spades very soon.

Too many 'buts.'

"Keep the knickers. Can always find more later." Spike swallowed the last of the beer in one long draught. The empty bottle took the place of the one he had shattered across the wall, leaving a wet stain on the institutional off-white. "You've got grievances, I get that, but if I ever even think that you're jerking my chain again, I'll make whatever you and Angel had look like flirting."

But, but, but…

"But if you can play nice with the other kiddies, I'm willing to let this slide. Hell, might even trade you a drink or two for any stories you've got squirreled away about Angel looking like a git." There, that was a compromise that his half-tamed demon and his still-stinging soul could both live with. He shook off his vampiric visage and looked at the former lawyer with piercing blue eyes instead.

The flash of relief on Lindsey's face was quickly covered by a mask of smooth confidence. "Truce it is," he said.

"Truce." Spike glanced over at the refrigerator. "Well?" he asked, humor tingeing the question.

"Well, what?" The caution was back in Lindsey's voice.

"Well give me a beer and tell me about making Angelus' life a living hell."

Relief again. How in hell had Spike missed the subtle hints that what was going on in Lindsey's head and what was coming out of his mouth didn't quite match? "Thought you said you'd be the one providing the drinks," the man replied wryly.

"Semantics. As a lawyer, I'd've figured you'd be used to that."

Okay, there was an honest laugh. It was shaping up to be a beautiful cessation of hostilities.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy stared at the office building. It certainly seemed like Angel and company had moved up in the world… and it also appeared that they didn’t want any company. Seriously, several thousand or so zombies roam the streets and they just have to go and barricade themselves into a law office.

It would be comical except her sister and her… Well she wasn’t sure what Spike was to her yet. She’d told him that she loved him. She’d meant it. Really! But the knowledge that he had returned from the grave – that Andrew knew, that Dawn knew—heck that an entire squadron of Slayers knew!—and yet no one, including the vampire himself, had wanted to tell her. It hurt more then words could say, but again, there would be time for that later.

As always, she would be the strong one. She had to be. And right now – there was a barricaded building between her and her sister. That just couldn’t be.

‘And this year’s apocalypse is almost five months early! That is so unfair!’

TBC…

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Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Fallen Soldiers

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Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Perfect Plans

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Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen – Fists Fights and Hair Pulling

Author's Notes: Author's Note: A thank you to Eowyn for doing an emergency beta and Tam for stealing a computer to look at it as well. *hugs*

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Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Reunions

Author's Notes: Author's Note: Due to some lovely feedback from reviewers we feel compelled to let you know that Xander will appear in his own story (well shared story) much like Faith and Kate have. The flow of the story works much better that way, plus we have plans for him *mwww haaaa haaaa***

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Chapter 15: Chapter 15: The Hunger

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Chapter 16: Chapter 16: Kiss

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