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r4punz3lTitle: Vampires vs. Zombies PRT
Chapter Rating: PG-13 for language, video game references
Chapter Summary: In which the final confrontation begins.
Disclaimer: #NotIntendedToBeAFactualStatement
All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Word Count: ~2600
Author's Note: Continued thanks tothemistoklis for beta-reading and constructive suggestions.
Previous chapters
Chapter 34
O’Reilly’s face paled to a ghostly white as he sank back down into his chair. “No,” he whispered.
“Who the hell are you?” Rebecca demanded.
Demetrius’s eye flashed blackly at her. “Mind your tongue, child,” he said sharply. “I just may be able to help you.”
“But what on earth would we do with a golden fiddle?” Ivy asked. She swallowed convulsively, but kept going. “I mean, it’s got to have just terrible sound quality. Gold doesn’t transmit sound like wood can.”
Demetrius gave Ivy a toothy grin. Ivy shivered and looked away. “Clever child,” he hissed. “You see me for what I am.”
“Well, if there are vampires and zombies running around New York, why not Satan, too?” Stephen asked. He stood next to Jon, tensed and ready to act.
“Oh, relax,” Demetrius said, chuckling abruptly. “You are here with my kin, so there is no need to quarrel.”
“Your kin?” Jon asked.
“Yes, this young man here,” Demetrius said, reaching out to Rachel. Adam started snickering, but quickly smothered his laughter at a look from Rebecca.
“I’m female,” Rachel corrected him quietly.
“I apologize, my dear,” said Demetrius smoothly. “But you are one of Beck’s offspring. A bastard, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re not family.”
“Why is that not comforting?” Rachel asked. “Look, why are you here?”
“I am owed a soul,” Demetrius said. “And the time to collect it is nigh.”
“Does it matter which one?” Ivy asked. “Because Mr. O’Reilly over there doesn’t seem to be using his.” O’Reilly squeaked at that. A faint scent caught Ivy’s nose, and she glanced in O’Reilly’s direction just in time to see a dark stain spreading down his pant leg.
Demetrius chuckled. “Oh, Mr. O’Reilly and I have a separate arrangement. No, the soul I seek is that of the lovely and devious Orly Graves.”
“Then why don’t you take it?” Jon asked.
“Because she has not offered it to me, and she holds on to life too tenaciously for me to steal it away,” Demetrius said. “But if you were to, say, destroy her mortal form…”
“This is sounding a lot like a deal,” Stephen said. “I really don’t think we should be dealing with this guy.”
“We aren’t,” Rachel said flatly. “We will not deal with you, sir,” she added, addressing Demetrius directly. “Stay out of our way, and you may get what you want. No guarantees.”
“But of course,” Demetrius said, sliding back into the hallway. “One never argues with a lady.” He turned, and walked straight through the wall, leaving behind a stressed and edgy zombie-busting team, and one very damp and embarrassed Bill O’Reilly.
&&&
“How’s your head?” Stephen asked Rachel. The two of them were at the end of the line. Ivy and Rebecca led, while Jon and Adam flanked O’Reilly—now wearing sweatpants— in the center as the group moved carefully along the hallways. Stephen would never be able to think of office buildings in the same way again.
“Better,” Rachel said. “I think it’s D who's keeping the zombies out. Knowing that I’m here, he must have dialed back the pressure a bit.”
“D?” Stephen asked.
“It just seems like a bad idea to be throwing names around here,” Rachel said.
“Good idea,” Stephen said.
“All right,” Ivy called. “There’s a door ahead marked Nine-Em. This is it?”
“It’s the biggest studio in the building,” O’Reilly said. “This is where they’ve been most of the time.”
“All right then,” Rebecca said. “Let’s go in. O’Reilly, you’re first.” She grabbed O’Reilly by the tie and hauled him forwards. Adam helped her by shoving O’Reilly from behind. Jon frowned at the rough treatment of someone he respected, but he kept his mouth shut. O’Reilly was on familiar turf here, and having him go first could save them all some trouble.
O’Reilly tumbled through the doors and into a well-lit studio. The desk under the lights had papers strewn all over it. Cameras and monitors blinked their readiness. But there was no one there. No camera operators, or sound guys. No producer, or interns. And certainly, no on-air talent waiting to transmit his triumph to the world.
“Where are they?” Rebecca demanded.
“I don’t know!” O’Reilly cried. “They’re usually here all the time. I have no idea where they’ve gone!”
“Are you looking for Mr. Beck and Mrs. Graves?”
Rachel tensed as a figured melted out of the shadows. A young woman with long red hair smiled at them. “They’ve just gone,” she said. “They’re heading to the garage for a van.”
“Thanks,” Jon said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Red,” the woman said, gesturing to her hair. “I’m an intern.”
“What are you doing here?” Rebecca said.
“They wouldn’t let me leave,” Red said. “They said I had to stay here, that my family and I would be safe if I stayed here.”
“But you’re here alone now,” Ivy pointed out. “So why haven’t you run?”
Red snorted. “Have you looked outside recently?” Ivy frowned at her but did not answer. Red continued. “Besides, I’ll be leaving soon. I’m just waiting for my sister.”
Rebecca started to say something, when all of the monitors in the room flickered and turned on at once. Every screen showed Beck and Orly Graves. They were in a production booth, intently watching the monitors before them.
“Is that here?” Adam asked. “Is that the booth for this studio?”
“There’s no way to tell,” Jon said.
One screen flickered, the one for the teleprompter. UPSTAIRS, it read. STUDIO 10A.
“Let’s go,” Ivy said, turning to leave.
“Why are we listening to a teleprompter?” Rebecca asked.
“What about Red?” Rachel asked.
“Leave her,” Ivy said sharply. “We are listening to the teleprompter because the teleprompter always knows what to do. Right, guys?” she asked, looking at Jon and Stephen and Rachel.
“They don’t really lead you astray,” Stephen pointed out.
“But there’s usually someone you can see working them,” Jon pointed out. The argument was pointless, he knew. They were already on their way to Studio 10A.
&&&
The elevator chimed as the doors opened on the basement level. Demetrius strode out and stalked into the cafeteria.
Formerly just a storage room in the basement, the subterranean conditions made it the favored resting place during daylight hours. Even when indoors, the vampires preferred as much darkness as possible.
Orly Graves’ servants were there, along with George, who sat on the floor, slumped against the wall. He straightened as Demetrius walked in.
“Your mistress has need of you. Go to her,” Demetrius ordered. “Now.”
The two female shapes stared at Demetrius for a long moment, before finally complying with their orders. George got up to follow them, but Demetrius held him back.
“Dear George,” Demetrius said. “Today we might part, never to meet again. Embrace me.”
George dropped his shoulders and tilted back his head to expose his neck. Demetrius sighed softly. He leaned in and licked the point where George’s pulse beat, slow and steady. There was no excitement there, no fear. Demetrius felt a chill spread through him, a cold wave of sorrow. He kissed George’s neck gently, almost chastely, and pulled away. “How are you, my dear?” he asked. “You may be honest with me.”
“I am tired, sir,” George said. “I have been around for a long time, but I never get to rest.”
Demetrius nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Go now. Your wife wants you.”
“She’s never wanted me,” George said as he left.
Demetrius frowned as George entered the stairwell behind the other servants. Then he shook off his vague disappointment. Like all toys, George was worn out. It was time to find a replacement. Demetrius stretched out like a cat, and then walked to the nearest shadow. Carefully he stepped into in, slipping down into a pool of darkness that had not been there earlier. When he was fully submerged, he focused on the pool of shadows nearest the stairs. In a flicker of dimness, he was there. Shadow jumping was a slow method of travel, but it was undetectable to nearly all beings other than vampires. Demetrius had no intention of influencing the outcome of this battle. But that did not mean that he didn’t want to watch.
&&&
Ivy pounded up the steps, Stephen right on her heels. She knew, deep down, that the message on the teleprompter was meant for her, and that it was telling her the truth. She couldn’t explain the feeling, so she just ran. The knowledge that the group had to stay together to survive forced her companions to follow.
“Wait!” Jon called out breathlessly as they reached the next floor. “This could still be a trap.”
Ivy opened her mouth to answer, but Rachel, down on the landing, spoke first. “Even if it isn’t a trap, per se, they have to know that we’re here. They have to know that we’re coming, and be ready for that.”
“So we send O’Reilly in first,” Ivy said glaring at the tallest pundit. Bill looked blankly at her.
“Not alone,” Rebecca said. “We don’t want them to take him, turn him against us.”
Ivy frowned. “How does a small force take out a smaller but better-fortified force?” she asked.
“Get bigger,” Adam said. “Get more people, I mean. We have to have enough bodies to overwhelm them.”
“Where are we going to get more bodies?” Ivy Stephen asked.
“There’s a whole bunch of them outside,” Rebecca pointed out. “And some of them listen to Rachel.”
“But they’re being kept out,” Rachel said. “Even mine. There’s a stronger force here that’s keeping them back.”
“Please try,” Ivy said. “Please call your…um, friends, and ask them to help us.”
Rachel sighed. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I have no idea how many I can bring in, if I can bring them in at all.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said.
Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She concentrated on Anderson and Keith, her dearest friends, now gone. She focused on her frustration at being blocked so near her goal. And she focused on her exhaustion, on her desire to simply lie down and rest. One by one, she could sense answering sparks, echoes of those same feelings outside the building. Come inside, Rachel thought. Come in and help me finish this. And then we can all sleep.
A sudden wave of pressure slammed into her mind. Rachel gasped in pain and sank to her knees. Adam caught her under her arm as she dropped, slowing her fall.
“Rachel!” Stephen cried.
“Are you all right?” Jon asked.
Rachel took a deep breath. She felt her stomach twist, and she swallowed hard. “I’ve called them,” she said quietly. “And they’re coming as fast as they can.”
“Good,” said Ivy. “Let’s go stomp some vampire ass.”
&&&
Inside Studio 10A, Orly and Beck were preparing for war. Since neither of them had ever been to war, their preparations were haphazard at best. The anchor desk was too heavy to move, so it was still in place under the lights. Several chairs had been moved in front of the door, however, as had a short, rolling filing cabinet. All of the lights were up, as if Beck were going to broadcast. That meant it was very hard to see past the cameras.
“What now?” Beck asked, his voice cracking.
“We wait,” Orly said flatly. She was not pleased with the room’s defenses, but since she had designed them and told Beck where to put the chairs, the fault was hers. That thought didn’t sit well with her, but there was no time to berate Beck into apologizing for it.
Beck froze abruptly, Orly doing the same a second later. “What’s wrong?” Beck asked in a whisper. “What just happened?”
Orly frowned. Everything seemed the same as before. But it was quiet. Too quiet, as if some constant background vibration had suddenly stopped. Beck gasped. “They’re coming.”
“Of course they are, you dolt,” Orly snapped. “They got into the building half an hour ago. We’ve known they were coming.”
“Not Stewart and friends,” Beck said. “Them.”
Orly paused and listened. She could hear footsteps and voices that sounded like the comedians and the children. And that woman, Orly thought. The one who had much promise, but seemed devoted to the losing side.
The door to the studio swung open, and Beck shrieked. He sprinted back to the well-lit desk, and crouched behind it.
Orly looked at the intruders. “Gretchen,” she said. “George. What are you doing here?”
“Lord Demetrius said that you needed us,” Gretchen said gruffly.
“Well, Lord Demetrius is correct,” Orly said, her face relaxing into a smile. “We have intruders coming to kill us. Kill them first.”
Beck sat at the desk as the minions and George rearranged the room’s defenses. They cleared away the chairs from the door, but left them scattered around the floor, in the darkness beyond the cameras. They settled back in corners, and waited to surprise their prey.
&&&
“What’s going on?” Stephen whispered.
“It looks like they’ve got reinforcements,” Adam hissed back. “A couple of scary model ladies, and a really tall old guy.”
“Crap,” Rebecca said. “More of them. We have almost equal numbers now.”
“We’ve still got O’Reilly,” Ivy pointed out.
“I doubt he’s much use as a hostage,” Rebecca replied. “After all, they didn’t value him enough to hole up with him, or tell him their intruder emergency plan.”
“I resent the implications of your comment,” O’Reilly said. Some of his confidence was leaking back. Ivy wanted to smack him. That’s not a productive response, she told herself. Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and, turning from the waist, punched O’Reilly in the stomach as hard as she could.
O’Reilly deflated like bread dough, exhaling sharply as he dropped to his knees.
“Ivy!” Jon admonished.
Ivy shook her head. “I’ve had it with your crap, O’Reilly,” she said sharply. “You are the reason Beck’s turned the world into zombies. And you are going to help fix it.” She grabbed O’Reilly’s tie and yanked. “Up,” she said. O’Reilly had no choice if he wanted to continue breathing. “Now, you and I are going in there,” Ivy said. “And you’re going to explain to the crazy man and the evil lady what we want.”
“Which is what?” Stephen asked. “Would you please curl up and die already?”
“No,” Rebecca said. “Tell them to withdraw their forces, stop influencing people, and to go where they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rachel said. “I don’t think they actually can stop.”
“That’s the point,” Rebecca said. “By asking for impossible conditions, we force them to fight. And then we kill them.”
“I think you’re missing a few steps in the middle, there,” Stephen said.
“Oh, be sure to use the phrase ‘would you kindly,’ too,” Adam said.
“I think that only works in video games,” Rebecca said.
“Yeah, but it would be really funny if you did,” Adam replied.
“All right,” Ivy said. “Works for me.” She balanced her axe against her shoulder, her other hand still holding O’Reilly’s tie. “Let’s go.”
“What about the rest of us?” Jon asked.
“Not right now,” Ivy replied. “You’ll know when to come in.”
“When you start hollering,” Rebecca said.
Ivy flashed her a bright grin. “Of course,” she said. Then she turned back and headed into the studio, O’Reilly following close behind.
Chapter Rating: PG-13 for language, video game references
Chapter Summary: In which the final confrontation begins.
Disclaimer: #NotIntendedToBeAFactualStatement
All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Word Count: ~2600
Author's Note: Continued thanks to
themistoklis for beta-reading and constructive suggestions.Previous chapters
Chapter 34
O’Reilly’s face paled to a ghostly white as he sank back down into his chair. “No,” he whispered.
“Who the hell are you?” Rebecca demanded.
Demetrius’s eye flashed blackly at her. “Mind your tongue, child,” he said sharply. “I just may be able to help you.”
“But what on earth would we do with a golden fiddle?” Ivy asked. She swallowed convulsively, but kept going. “I mean, it’s got to have just terrible sound quality. Gold doesn’t transmit sound like wood can.”
Demetrius gave Ivy a toothy grin. Ivy shivered and looked away. “Clever child,” he hissed. “You see me for what I am.”
“Well, if there are vampires and zombies running around New York, why not Satan, too?” Stephen asked. He stood next to Jon, tensed and ready to act.
“Oh, relax,” Demetrius said, chuckling abruptly. “You are here with my kin, so there is no need to quarrel.”
“Your kin?” Jon asked.
“Yes, this young man here,” Demetrius said, reaching out to Rachel. Adam started snickering, but quickly smothered his laughter at a look from Rebecca.
“I’m female,” Rachel corrected him quietly.
“I apologize, my dear,” said Demetrius smoothly. “But you are one of Beck’s offspring. A bastard, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re not family.”
“Why is that not comforting?” Rachel asked. “Look, why are you here?”
“I am owed a soul,” Demetrius said. “And the time to collect it is nigh.”
“Does it matter which one?” Ivy asked. “Because Mr. O’Reilly over there doesn’t seem to be using his.” O’Reilly squeaked at that. A faint scent caught Ivy’s nose, and she glanced in O’Reilly’s direction just in time to see a dark stain spreading down his pant leg.
Demetrius chuckled. “Oh, Mr. O’Reilly and I have a separate arrangement. No, the soul I seek is that of the lovely and devious Orly Graves.”
“Then why don’t you take it?” Jon asked.
“Because she has not offered it to me, and she holds on to life too tenaciously for me to steal it away,” Demetrius said. “But if you were to, say, destroy her mortal form…”
“This is sounding a lot like a deal,” Stephen said. “I really don’t think we should be dealing with this guy.”
“We aren’t,” Rachel said flatly. “We will not deal with you, sir,” she added, addressing Demetrius directly. “Stay out of our way, and you may get what you want. No guarantees.”
“But of course,” Demetrius said, sliding back into the hallway. “One never argues with a lady.” He turned, and walked straight through the wall, leaving behind a stressed and edgy zombie-busting team, and one very damp and embarrassed Bill O’Reilly.
&&&
“How’s your head?” Stephen asked Rachel. The two of them were at the end of the line. Ivy and Rebecca led, while Jon and Adam flanked O’Reilly—now wearing sweatpants— in the center as the group moved carefully along the hallways. Stephen would never be able to think of office buildings in the same way again.
“Better,” Rachel said. “I think it’s D who's keeping the zombies out. Knowing that I’m here, he must have dialed back the pressure a bit.”
“D?” Stephen asked.
“It just seems like a bad idea to be throwing names around here,” Rachel said.
“Good idea,” Stephen said.
“All right,” Ivy called. “There’s a door ahead marked Nine-Em. This is it?”
“It’s the biggest studio in the building,” O’Reilly said. “This is where they’ve been most of the time.”
“All right then,” Rebecca said. “Let’s go in. O’Reilly, you’re first.” She grabbed O’Reilly by the tie and hauled him forwards. Adam helped her by shoving O’Reilly from behind. Jon frowned at the rough treatment of someone he respected, but he kept his mouth shut. O’Reilly was on familiar turf here, and having him go first could save them all some trouble.
O’Reilly tumbled through the doors and into a well-lit studio. The desk under the lights had papers strewn all over it. Cameras and monitors blinked their readiness. But there was no one there. No camera operators, or sound guys. No producer, or interns. And certainly, no on-air talent waiting to transmit his triumph to the world.
“Where are they?” Rebecca demanded.
“I don’t know!” O’Reilly cried. “They’re usually here all the time. I have no idea where they’ve gone!”
“Are you looking for Mr. Beck and Mrs. Graves?”
Rachel tensed as a figured melted out of the shadows. A young woman with long red hair smiled at them. “They’ve just gone,” she said. “They’re heading to the garage for a van.”
“Thanks,” Jon said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Red,” the woman said, gesturing to her hair. “I’m an intern.”
“What are you doing here?” Rebecca said.
“They wouldn’t let me leave,” Red said. “They said I had to stay here, that my family and I would be safe if I stayed here.”
“But you’re here alone now,” Ivy pointed out. “So why haven’t you run?”
Red snorted. “Have you looked outside recently?” Ivy frowned at her but did not answer. Red continued. “Besides, I’ll be leaving soon. I’m just waiting for my sister.”
Rebecca started to say something, when all of the monitors in the room flickered and turned on at once. Every screen showed Beck and Orly Graves. They were in a production booth, intently watching the monitors before them.
“Is that here?” Adam asked. “Is that the booth for this studio?”
“There’s no way to tell,” Jon said.
One screen flickered, the one for the teleprompter. UPSTAIRS, it read. STUDIO 10A.
“Let’s go,” Ivy said, turning to leave.
“Why are we listening to a teleprompter?” Rebecca asked.
“What about Red?” Rachel asked.
“Leave her,” Ivy said sharply. “We are listening to the teleprompter because the teleprompter always knows what to do. Right, guys?” she asked, looking at Jon and Stephen and Rachel.
“They don’t really lead you astray,” Stephen pointed out.
“But there’s usually someone you can see working them,” Jon pointed out. The argument was pointless, he knew. They were already on their way to Studio 10A.
&&&
The elevator chimed as the doors opened on the basement level. Demetrius strode out and stalked into the cafeteria.
Formerly just a storage room in the basement, the subterranean conditions made it the favored resting place during daylight hours. Even when indoors, the vampires preferred as much darkness as possible.
Orly Graves’ servants were there, along with George, who sat on the floor, slumped against the wall. He straightened as Demetrius walked in.
“Your mistress has need of you. Go to her,” Demetrius ordered. “Now.”
The two female shapes stared at Demetrius for a long moment, before finally complying with their orders. George got up to follow them, but Demetrius held him back.
“Dear George,” Demetrius said. “Today we might part, never to meet again. Embrace me.”
George dropped his shoulders and tilted back his head to expose his neck. Demetrius sighed softly. He leaned in and licked the point where George’s pulse beat, slow and steady. There was no excitement there, no fear. Demetrius felt a chill spread through him, a cold wave of sorrow. He kissed George’s neck gently, almost chastely, and pulled away. “How are you, my dear?” he asked. “You may be honest with me.”
“I am tired, sir,” George said. “I have been around for a long time, but I never get to rest.”
Demetrius nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Go now. Your wife wants you.”
“She’s never wanted me,” George said as he left.
Demetrius frowned as George entered the stairwell behind the other servants. Then he shook off his vague disappointment. Like all toys, George was worn out. It was time to find a replacement. Demetrius stretched out like a cat, and then walked to the nearest shadow. Carefully he stepped into in, slipping down into a pool of darkness that had not been there earlier. When he was fully submerged, he focused on the pool of shadows nearest the stairs. In a flicker of dimness, he was there. Shadow jumping was a slow method of travel, but it was undetectable to nearly all beings other than vampires. Demetrius had no intention of influencing the outcome of this battle. But that did not mean that he didn’t want to watch.
&&&
Ivy pounded up the steps, Stephen right on her heels. She knew, deep down, that the message on the teleprompter was meant for her, and that it was telling her the truth. She couldn’t explain the feeling, so she just ran. The knowledge that the group had to stay together to survive forced her companions to follow.
“Wait!” Jon called out breathlessly as they reached the next floor. “This could still be a trap.”
Ivy opened her mouth to answer, but Rachel, down on the landing, spoke first. “Even if it isn’t a trap, per se, they have to know that we’re here. They have to know that we’re coming, and be ready for that.”
“So we send O’Reilly in first,” Ivy said glaring at the tallest pundit. Bill looked blankly at her.
“Not alone,” Rebecca said. “We don’t want them to take him, turn him against us.”
Ivy frowned. “How does a small force take out a smaller but better-fortified force?” she asked.
“Get bigger,” Adam said. “Get more people, I mean. We have to have enough bodies to overwhelm them.”
“Where are we going to get more bodies?” Ivy Stephen asked.
“There’s a whole bunch of them outside,” Rebecca pointed out. “And some of them listen to Rachel.”
“But they’re being kept out,” Rachel said. “Even mine. There’s a stronger force here that’s keeping them back.”
“Please try,” Ivy said. “Please call your…um, friends, and ask them to help us.”
Rachel sighed. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I have no idea how many I can bring in, if I can bring them in at all.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said.
Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She concentrated on Anderson and Keith, her dearest friends, now gone. She focused on her frustration at being blocked so near her goal. And she focused on her exhaustion, on her desire to simply lie down and rest. One by one, she could sense answering sparks, echoes of those same feelings outside the building. Come inside, Rachel thought. Come in and help me finish this. And then we can all sleep.
A sudden wave of pressure slammed into her mind. Rachel gasped in pain and sank to her knees. Adam caught her under her arm as she dropped, slowing her fall.
“Rachel!” Stephen cried.
“Are you all right?” Jon asked.
Rachel took a deep breath. She felt her stomach twist, and she swallowed hard. “I’ve called them,” she said quietly. “And they’re coming as fast as they can.”
“Good,” said Ivy. “Let’s go stomp some vampire ass.”
&&&
Inside Studio 10A, Orly and Beck were preparing for war. Since neither of them had ever been to war, their preparations were haphazard at best. The anchor desk was too heavy to move, so it was still in place under the lights. Several chairs had been moved in front of the door, however, as had a short, rolling filing cabinet. All of the lights were up, as if Beck were going to broadcast. That meant it was very hard to see past the cameras.
“What now?” Beck asked, his voice cracking.
“We wait,” Orly said flatly. She was not pleased with the room’s defenses, but since she had designed them and told Beck where to put the chairs, the fault was hers. That thought didn’t sit well with her, but there was no time to berate Beck into apologizing for it.
Beck froze abruptly, Orly doing the same a second later. “What’s wrong?” Beck asked in a whisper. “What just happened?”
Orly frowned. Everything seemed the same as before. But it was quiet. Too quiet, as if some constant background vibration had suddenly stopped. Beck gasped. “They’re coming.”
“Of course they are, you dolt,” Orly snapped. “They got into the building half an hour ago. We’ve known they were coming.”
“Not Stewart and friends,” Beck said. “Them.”
Orly paused and listened. She could hear footsteps and voices that sounded like the comedians and the children. And that woman, Orly thought. The one who had much promise, but seemed devoted to the losing side.
The door to the studio swung open, and Beck shrieked. He sprinted back to the well-lit desk, and crouched behind it.
Orly looked at the intruders. “Gretchen,” she said. “George. What are you doing here?”
“Lord Demetrius said that you needed us,” Gretchen said gruffly.
“Well, Lord Demetrius is correct,” Orly said, her face relaxing into a smile. “We have intruders coming to kill us. Kill them first.”
Beck sat at the desk as the minions and George rearranged the room’s defenses. They cleared away the chairs from the door, but left them scattered around the floor, in the darkness beyond the cameras. They settled back in corners, and waited to surprise their prey.
&&&
“What’s going on?” Stephen whispered.
“It looks like they’ve got reinforcements,” Adam hissed back. “A couple of scary model ladies, and a really tall old guy.”
“Crap,” Rebecca said. “More of them. We have almost equal numbers now.”
“We’ve still got O’Reilly,” Ivy pointed out.
“I doubt he’s much use as a hostage,” Rebecca replied. “After all, they didn’t value him enough to hole up with him, or tell him their intruder emergency plan.”
“I resent the implications of your comment,” O’Reilly said. Some of his confidence was leaking back. Ivy wanted to smack him. That’s not a productive response, she told herself. Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and, turning from the waist, punched O’Reilly in the stomach as hard as she could.
O’Reilly deflated like bread dough, exhaling sharply as he dropped to his knees.
“Ivy!” Jon admonished.
Ivy shook her head. “I’ve had it with your crap, O’Reilly,” she said sharply. “You are the reason Beck’s turned the world into zombies. And you are going to help fix it.” She grabbed O’Reilly’s tie and yanked. “Up,” she said. O’Reilly had no choice if he wanted to continue breathing. “Now, you and I are going in there,” Ivy said. “And you’re going to explain to the crazy man and the evil lady what we want.”
“Which is what?” Stephen asked. “Would you please curl up and die already?”
“No,” Rebecca said. “Tell them to withdraw their forces, stop influencing people, and to go where they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rachel said. “I don’t think they actually can stop.”
“That’s the point,” Rebecca said. “By asking for impossible conditions, we force them to fight. And then we kill them.”
“I think you’re missing a few steps in the middle, there,” Stephen said.
“Oh, be sure to use the phrase ‘would you kindly,’ too,” Adam said.
“I think that only works in video games,” Rebecca said.
“Yeah, but it would be really funny if you did,” Adam replied.
“All right,” Ivy said. “Works for me.” She balanced her axe against her shoulder, her other hand still holding O’Reilly’s tie. “Let’s go.”
“What about the rest of us?” Jon asked.
“Not right now,” Ivy replied. “You’ll know when to come in.”
“When you start hollering,” Rebecca said.
Ivy flashed her a bright grin. “Of course,” she said. Then she turned back and headed into the studio, O’Reilly following close behind.
