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Aberrant: Dead Rising - God of Fear - Born of War [Complete]


Einherjar

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The bus had been quiet since the attack. The wind blew in through the shattered windows as the bus drove along the mountain highways towards Denver. Some of the refugees talked quietly, but most of them just huddled together, or sat alone with their thoughts, looking out of the windows and at the skies.

Martin sat beside his mother, now and then persuading her to eat or drink, which she did mechanically and without real appetite. She wasn't really seeing him, he knew. The scar tissue of the emotional trauma she'd suffered over the last month had culminated in the horrible events of... was it really yesterday? Martin wiped a hand over his face. It was, wasn't it? It seemed so long ago now since his father had died, and he'd become... well, whatever the hell he was. Not a god, that was for certain. Or if he was, he wasn't the Olympus type of god. Never like one of them.

Three down. he mused to himself. Three gods dead, and plenty more to go. He looked at his mother again, listlessly staring out of the window at the passing landscapes. He should have felt sadness with his concern, should be grieving. But all he felt was white-hot wrath, chained deep for now and waiting, always waiting for him to call on it.

Fiona moved up, finishing the cleaning of her hands with antiseptic wipes and surgical alcohol they'd found. Martin looked over at her, his blankly glowing white eyes illegible but a question in the tilt of his head. The young woman smiled tiredly.

"He'll live. We need more and better supplies soon though, or he might get an infection. Scratch that - he will get one. We've got some antibiotics from the pharmacy back in that town, but no telling how long they'll last." She gave Martin a bright smile. "On the upside, we have lots of bandages, antiseptic, needles, gauze and stuff. I made sure Dallas grabbed those."

"Good." Martin told her with a nod. She'd cleaned up some, washed the dirt and blood off her face and arms. She was pretty, he abstractly noted. Girl-next-door pretty. And older than him by at least five years. He felt that he should say something more, and managed a smile. "Good thing you're with us. You a nurse?"

"EMT for a few months. Working my way through vet school." she replied with a tired yawn, covering her mouth. "Sorry!" she said abashedly.

"It's fine." Martin said with another smile, this one not so conscious. He felt warmer inside - not the caged fire of his Godrage that had burned since his change, but the warmth of personal contact. Simple, humanising. "We're all tired. You should sleep if you can."

"In a moment." she said firmly, reaching for him. His eyes widened and his heart jumped, but she was merely taking hold of his wounded hand, the one he'd cut at Riley's cairn. "You should be careful, cutting yourself like that. We don't want you getting your bow-hand infected." She admonished him softly, smiling. Her hands were warm and gentle. Martin felt hyper-aware of her touch, watching her hazel eyes as she turned his hand over and unwrapped the bandage, peering at his palm. "The bleeding's stopped, at least. I should clean it to be sure."

"The gods don't get sick."

It was another woman who'd spoken: Marilyn. The shy housewife from Nebraska. She was awake, her head resting against the side of the bus as she regarded Martin and Fiona. The younger woman frowned, looking back at the already-sealed cut.

"What, never?"

"No. I was... I served them a little, before I... rebelled." she said quietly. "I didn't mind the cooking and cleaning, but not the... You know." Others nearby, listening in, nodded reflexively, as did Martin and Fiona. They knew, alright. All of them did. "Anyway, they don't get sick at all. No infections, no colds, no aches and pains the way we get them from sitting wrong or sleeping on the floor. At first I kind of believed in them. They were so powerful and perfect: I thought that perhaps they really were gods, or more likely angels." Her pretty but careworn face creased in a sad frown. "If they are, they're all twisted up, though. I used to think about why - why would angels be so willful cruel."

"They're not angels, Marilyn." Fiona told her gently. "They're altered people, same as Martin here." Marilyn shook her head stubbornly.

"I don't think that's right. I believe that those Olympus people are devils - fallen angels led astray and become evil. And Martin here, Phobos..." she looked at him with a smile. "He's the real deal. He's the lowly that's been raised up. He's like Moses and the angel Michael in one, come to save us and smite the evil."

"I don't feel like an angel, Marilyn." Martin told her, aware that Fiona was still holding his hand and poking around the edges of the wound. It wasn't true, of course. He felt different, emotionally remote yet incredibly connected to the Now. He'd never taken human life before today, and had killed three gods and who-knows who else in the explosions he'd set. And all he could think was that it was a good start. A messenger of wrath and vengeance. Sounds like an angel to me.

"Maybe you don't." Marilyn said. "I'm not going to say I'm right, but I think you're our angel, Martin." There were some murmurs of agreement and smiles. Dallas grinned at him.

"Martin the Godslayer." the older man said, half-joking, then shrugged when the others looked at him. "What? It's like bein' a dragonslayer from those fantasy films. Anyone ever seen that one? Dragonslayer?"

The discussion turned neatly to movies people remembered from the old world they'd shared before it'd gone to hell. Martin relaxed a little and closed his eyes, aware of Fiona's fingers as she cleaned and re-bandaged his hand.

"Make sure Pammy gets to take a break from driving." he said in a tired voice as he drew his father's well-worn leather jacket - still too big for him but his, dammit - around his shoulders. "Watch the skies, and wake me when we get to Denver."

"We will, kid." Dallas said quietly under the soft babble of animated discussion. "You get some well-earned shuteye. You did a man's work today."

The last words were lost on Martin, who'd already fallen asleep, sinking into dark, bloodsoaked dreams that didn't scare him...

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It was several hours later. Leyla Badren had taken over for Pammy when the short woman finally, though unwillingly had to concede to the need for sleep. It was lighter out, the sun slightly beginning to hit the break of dawn. Her brother Ali had just convinced Dallas and Marilyn to play Scrabble with him on a set he'd found hidden in a closet along with canned lima beans.

Bringing it along might have been odd, but Ali pointed out it could be therapeutic, and everyone's minds needed something to take them off of the grisly events of yesterday for a little bit. Others watched the three, rather than play. A few remained as lookouts, mindful for any threats that might be.

The players had just gotten started with the setup when Ali made a low growl by reflex. Catching their glances, he flushed and explained. "Unluckily, in this case, I have a full word." Dallas opened his mouth to ask how that was bad- and then Ali played the word of aggravation.

CARAVAN

"I see." Dallas remarked, face graven with serious lines. Everyone in the group of ex-Tartarus denizens knew the story of the Bradford Caravan. A collection of traveling survivors beset by a surprising zombie onslaught, and rescued by Han of Olympus himself. Even magnanimously offered shelter.

Except the price on arrival was declared to be allegiance and worship. When two religious spouses, the Badren parents to be precise, objected stridently... they and others were killed and the orphaned remainder tossed into Tartarus.

Marilyn nodded sympathetically and played NASTY. "That's the Olympian devils in one word for you." She still hadn't wavered from her theory of the 'gods' as angels gone bad. Ali shook his head. "True, but... they're corrupt humans nothing more. Besides... they need to be purged. Yes, we have to fend for ourselves but you saw Martin's oath. I'll follow that and-"

The last word was cut off as the youth began to stir, several years younger than Ali, but the other word was not hard to guess at the moment, even if cut off.

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He blinked and stretched, feeling less achey and sandy-headed than he expected. He'd heard their voices as he came back to consciousness, but people fell silent as he opened his eyes and looked around curiously.

"Wht's gon 'n?" he croaked with a dry mouth. Fiona pressed a bottle into his hand and he drank deeply, then tried again. "What's going on?"

"We're about to Georgetown, is what's going on." Dallas told him from where he'd been riding shotgun beside a girl who had evidently replaced Pammy as driver. Martin got to his feet and made his way easily forward in the swaying vehicle, noting the gathering gloom of the sky. He leaned against the back of the seat and peered ahead.

"We'll stop as soon as we hit the town. Look for a place to get this bus undercover. No single-exit car parks or the like. If we see a hospital, that'd be a great spot to stop." he told the girl driving, then glanced at her. "What's your name?"

"Leyla. Leyla Badren." she replied, glancing briefly at him in the rear-view mirror before going back to scanning the road. He nodded, recognising the name and now, out of the gloom of Tartarus, having a face to go with it.

"Keep an eye out with her, Dallas." he murmured. The older man nodded as Martin turned back. He check on his mother first, who was sleeping at last. Then he checked on Dillon.

"How is he?" he asked Fiona calmly.

"No fever or anything yet." she said with some relief, though worry was still present in her expression. "I'd feel better if we do find some more supplies, though." He nodded, and looked at the others.

"Same drill when we hit Georgetown. I know I've set it before, but I'll keep saying it." he told them with a smile. "Stick in pairs at least. If you need to go pee, take a buddy with you to watch your back. Never be more than half a block from the next group. We'll find a place to hole up, and then rest tonight. Marilyn?" The woman straightened. "Make sure every group has a flashlight or lantern. They're to be used inside buildings only, or when you know damn well you need light outside. Learn to cultivate nightvision and move slowly, because slow is also quiet and careful."

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Fiona and the others were nodding when she transferred her gaze to Ali. "Ali, do you think you should stay here with Dillon, or I?" The half-Lebanese young man had been the trained son of a doctor, after all, if not formally like the woman had been in medical school. Of course, he knew more about direct human diseases, which played into Ali's response.

"I'll go. There's some specific medical supplies I definitely want to make sure are found." He gave Fiona and Martin a hard look, as he entered medical terminology hardcore. "It was a good job with cleaning and stitching the wounds, but we couldn't do much debridement and if Clostridium tetani got into the wounds, the incubation period will last for several days before we see any signs of trimus. That is in layman's terms-" for the benefit of Martin...

"-the famous lockjaw of generalized tetanus. I want to be prepared for that, and that means tetanus immunoglobulin IM and diazepam. Plus all the usual things Fiona and I need." Everyone was trying hard to listen and understand, especially since these could very well be the words key to Dillon's fate.

Ali sighed. "Anyway, how many people should be covering the bus, besides Fiona?"

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"Five." Phobos decided, pointing out a mixture of people that included Leyla and Dallas, balancing easily in the swaying vehicle. "Dallas is in charge - you get to make the fun call about whether to move the bus in an emergency."

"Great." Dallas said wryly. Martin shot him a tight smile and set about organising the search teams as they passed the road sign saying 'Welcome to Georgetown'. He put Ali with Rhonda and a thin, nervous-looking fellow called Paul and tasked them with finding medical supplies. Other teams got their own assignments, but they were all a minimum of 3 person groups. He handed each group a handful of signal flares from the camping store.

"Use these if you encounter something more dangerous or more interesting than just a few shamblers." he told them. "I'll be scouting for a decent home for us." The Tartarans nodded gravely, wondering what they might find out there... and whether it was worse than living under the thumb of the Olympians. Not likely, was the general unconscious consensus.

They hit a stroke of luck on their entrance to Georgetown. A gas station with power still remaining for the pumps, which gave occasion for a brief but heartfelt cheer when that was discovered. They topped up the tank and filled a bunch of jerrycans before the well ran dry, in the meantime helping themselves to the store's remaining supply of non-perishables. High on small successes and candy, they drove further into town until the streets started to become clogged with derelict cars and trucks and Phobos called a halt.

The search parties dispersed, being sure not to stray too far from one another. Phobos, kissing his barely-responsive mother on the cheek, turned and jogged off into the night, sword and bow across his shoulders.

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To a certain extent, searching for medical supplies would be a pain. Georgetown had a large historic district, which ironically was the section the bus entered. Combined with the instructions Martin had given, the there wasn't any likely medical supplies, until the trio got lucky and found a Walgreens. Despite Paul's serious worry of zombies, the group came in slow and with flashlights. The building was clear of zeds, but stocked with the usual medicines, and 'lo and behold, a cache of additional medical supplies.

Apparently, someone had decided the risk of hospital patients going zed had been too much and shuffled along the precious tetanus immunoglobin and other more precious medicines, surgery supplies and most of what the entire convoy of Tartarans would be needing, according to Ali and Fiona.

There were a good selection of drugstore antibiotics, and Ali counted them fortunate to find no one happened to have already taken the probiotics. Well, when the sick people needed their food, it had to be digested to maximum benefit, like Dillon needed. Not all looters considered that apparently. Paul had been watching the doors and been equipped with a shotgun.

He looked relieved when Rhoda and Ali returned with the last of the fair-sized haul, not that his fear of zombies popping out was unreasonable. Martin's group was in sight when they emerged, and Ali cast him a triumphant wave with his assortment of boxed medicine contained in several plastic bags over his other shoulder.

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"Good work." Phobos told Ali and the other two with a faint smile. "With the tools Pammy's party found and the canned food the others managed to scrounge, we're in good shape. We can't stay here long, but I think a week will be enough to get Dillon stable and maybe get some more vehicles before we head to Denver proper."

"Any zombies?" Rhonda asked. Martin shook his head, the featureless glowing white eyes narrowed contemplatively, and gestured for the three of them to fall in with his group as they started back to the bus.

"None so far. Maybe they migrated to where there's people." he suggested, then added warningly. "Or maybe they hibernate when there's no food around. We've found a small hotel that looks good, but we're not going in there until daylight. Tonight we stay in the bus with two guards up at all times."

"The bus again?" grumped Rhonda half-heartedly, but smiled wryly and nudged Ali. "At least we can move into a hotel tomorrow. What about power?" she addressed that last to Phobos, who smiled one of his rare half-smiles once more and pointed at the cluster of people around the parked bus.

"We've got a generator. Small enough to take with us when we go, too." he told them. "For now we'll leave it off and rely on our night-vision and battery-powered torches. We're operating under what my dad called 'light discipline'. Assume that there's hostile eyes looking for us, maybe even eyes that can fly, and if we're the only source of light in this town they'll see us in no time flat."

"Shit. You know how to scare a guy." Paul said with a nervous laugh that died away as Phobos turned those blank glowing orbs on him.

"Yeah, I guess I do. I'd rather have people nervous than dead, though." he replied bluntly. "Ali, get some rest. You and Dallas are taking the midnight to oh-three hundred shift. Paul? You and Pammy are our watchdogs until twenty-two-hundred. Dinner is cold beans and franks." He smiled, an expression with little humor in it. "Enjoy."

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Sleep was nice. Sleep reassured you that something could be right in the world and in some way you could relax without fearing zombies or the night or the 'gods' of Tartarus who only were stopped from raping your sister because tossing you around like a rag doll for interfering became more fun. Sleep was the greatest thing in existence nowadays.

A nudge.

Sleep. No letting go of sleep.

A harder shake.

No... must get the rest the body needs, must-

"Ali." The words finally woke Ali up in the gloom of the bus, and Dallas' face stared down at him. "We're up now." The whispered words enhanced the seriousness of the task, and Ali roused himself from the bus seat to a state of semi-alertness. Dallas took the rear end of the bus as his watchpost, and Ali the front.

Ali didn't know how long he waited, but a couple of hour probably had passed. Then he noticed something in the dusk, a flicker of movement. Then a few more. Ali waved to Dallas immediately, and the other man came over. Then his face looked bothered.

"I'd say those are zombs alright." Ali pulled open one of the windows and leveled the rifle he'd taken up. "Early morning wake up call." Ali stated. At the front of the advance, a zombie could be made out outline-wise.

Ali gritted his teeth, strained his eyes to make out the head, and fired.

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The shot brought Martin awake, but it was Phobos who stood up and grabbed his weapons before barrelling outside, eyes blazing in the darkness. "Situation?" he called.

"Zombies." came Dallas's terse reply as he shot another one down. Others were getting out of the bus now, forming a loose circle around it and peering into the dark.

"Pammy, get the torches lit and tossed." Phobos ordered. Pre-prepared torches of gas-soaked rags tied to sticks were grabbed from their buckets on each facing of the bus and swiftly lit, then passed to the strongest arms to be thrown to all points of the compass. People gripped guns and raised them, Phobos taking up his father's rifle from Fiona, who readied a shotgun.

"Pick targets and fire at will." he called out as the circle of flaming torches illuminated the shambling forms. Suiting action to words, he took aim and fired. The round went through the skull of the nearest zombie and, like a starter gun for a race, gave the signal for the others to open fire as some of the shamblers started to lurch forwards faster in a staggering run. The gunfire was deafening, a variety of shotguns, rifles, assault rifles and pistols each adding their own notes to the staccato of warfare. The marksmanship of the Tartarans was as varied as their backgrounds, but shooting zombies was hardly challenging. The real danger of a zombie attack was panic, but with Phobos there, moving behind the circular line of men and women and lending aid where necessary, panic was a distant foe this day. They had ammunition, they had plenty of weapons, and they had their guardian angel who's calm authority stole away their fears and gave them focus.

"That's it. Pour it on." he called above the rattle of gunfire. "Shout if you need a reload, people. We've got ammo to burn, and the zoms are nothing but a shooting gallery!" On top of the bus, Dallas and Ali acted as spotters, keeping an eye on the circle of people and, like Phobos, adding firepower where the zombies looked as though they were getting closer. Those who weren't shooting ran ammunition to those that were, acting as part of the cohesive whole without bidding. They had escaped hell together, and had forged a path towards their own destinies, and that bond was strong right now in this trial by fire.

There was never really much doubt as to the result. The horde was a small one, barely over a hundred and fifty zombies. Against the massed and organised firepower of the refugees, against their morale and confidence in their fifteen-year old leader, the shamblers never stood a chance. The closest they got was three feet, when a cry of alarm brought Ali, Dallas and Martin's guns all to bear on the one hapless corpse, which was blown backwards in a hail of bullets.

Finally the firing stopped, the shooters having run out of moving targets to hit. Phobos looked up at Ali and Dallas. "See any more?"

"None." Dallas called down. "Clean sweep, boss." Phobos grinned at that, and looked around at the others.

"Good work, everyone. We're not done yet though." he reminded them. "I want a bullet in the head of every fallen zombie out there that still has a head. Work in twos and threes, and cover each other. No nasty surprises, and get fresh torches."

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The members of the caravan moved with alacrity, grabbing torches and more ammo before heading out into the night. They swarmed over the area, making sure that none of the dead were left still ambulatory. It was easy, nerve-wracking, boring work, combining the ease of shooting fish in a barrel with the terror of a communicable disease.

Phobos ranged the furthest afield, and it was he who discovered the first signs that they may not be alone. A zombie lay on it’s face, the back of its head a bloody ruin. The thing was, that when the zombie was upright, it was facing the caravan; whoever had shot it had done so from behind. A few steps away from another, and then another. Phobos counted ten all told, shot by the same high-caliber round.

They were not alone out here.

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"Dallas. Ali." Martin called in a low voice, waving the two men over. He pointed at the zombies, then looked at the two men expectantly. It didn't take either man long to spot the obvious.

"Company." Dallas said with a taut smile, looking out into the darkness and peering around. Ali nodded, his youthful features grave. Phobos passed his father's rifle off to Ali and unslung his bow. Dallas looked at him in mild alarm. "Where d'you think you're going?"

"Out there." Phobos said evenly. "I don't think whoever it is is hostile to us, or those rounds would have been in our heads. You two oversee cleanup and then get everyone settled down for the rest of the night." His glowing eyes met each of theirs in turn. "Tell the others I'm just scouting, if asked." He turned and started to walk off into the gloom.

"If you're so sure they're good guys, why's the bow out, slick?" Dallas called with some asperity. Phobos stopped and shrugged for a moment, then continued.

"In case I'm wrong." he shot back as he disappeared.

"Well fuck." Dallas said with a sigh, then turned and clapped Ali on the shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Let's go babysit."

Martin moved quietly, but without excessive sneaking around as he headed in the probably direction of the shooter. Whoever it was, they'd probably already seen him coming, might even have a bead on him now. The thought made the back of his neck itch, but he moved steadily down the street, glowing eyes looking back and forth. The trick to nightvision, his dad had said, was in keeping your eyes scanning as you moved, letting them pick up movement and continuously rejudge distances. He'd gone maybe forty yards from the caravan when he stopped and just waited, ears and eyes straining to pick up anything.

"If you're around, I'd like to talk." he said aloud, in case they could hear him.

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Ali nodded as they went back, but the twinge of concern was there in his expression. Martin was probably right, and there was no danger, or else he could handle himself. Still, it did lead to a scary thought. Even though the entire party worked seamlessly as a whole, bonded by the common past and need for survival, Martin was the leader and the linchpin. And the only super. If something happened to him-- well, Ali didn't need to ask what would happen to a beleaguered and leaderless band. That fate had brought him to Tartarus in the first place.

Everyone was doing their best to ensure the need to eliminate the zombies completely, albeit balanced by the requirement to keep the space and caution needed when dealing with an easily transmitted disease. Leyla looked up from observing the zombie Paul and Rhoda were dispatching, and curiosity at the lack of Martin's presence was writ upon her face.

"Where's Martin?" She inquired of her younger brother. Said sibling gave her and the others the news straight. "It would seem we're not the only ones shooting zombies. Martin's checking it out." The news gave everyone else pause for a moment, but then Dallas spoke. "Let's not worry about it, ladies and gentlemen. Worry about finishing the zombies."

The two men got people back on task, and circled around to inspect the elimination processes.

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A radio clicked and Martin honed in on it. He followed the noise into a building, watching cautiously for zombies. There was nothing moving in the interior. The radio was resting on the rotting remains of a chair, just out of sight from the entrance.

Martin hesitated but didn’t see a trap. Reaching out, he picked up the radio and pressed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hello.” The voice was slightly muffled, but it belonged to a woman or a child; it was too high for a man. Martin reconsidered a moment later; gaining super powers could do strange things to a person.

Nothing more was forthcoming and Martin said, “Who is this?”

“Call me… Sylvan. Who is this?”

The zombie killing was coming along nicely. The occasional gunshot still rang out, but the retorts were becoming more sporadic. “That’s it,” Dallas finally announced, prompting a round of cheers. “Once Martin’s back, we can get rolling. Ali, care to do the head count?”

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Ali nodded and gestured to the furthest zombies in the distance, the ones marked by the high-caliber rounds. "There's the ten out there... now.. that makes eleven... twelve..." It was several long minutes as he carefully checked out each body and made the full circuit around. "one-hundred fifty one, one-hundred fifty two...." Satisfied, he raised his gaze for all to see. "All one hundred fifty two accounted for!" He called out.

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"Call me Phobos." he replied without thinking, then winced slightly. What had he been thinking, taking a god's name? Well, actually he'd been thinking that he was going to strike fear into the hearts of evildoers, or something of the sort. Becoming an icon of fear was one way to do that, for sure. But now it'd gotten so that he was introducing himself as the god of fear and war to strangers. It was like Bruce Wayne and Batman - where did Martin end and Phobos begin? The boy was starting to wonder how much of him was still Martin. The god's-fire that burned in his heart and mind, the rage against injustice and oppression, the need to punish and enact revenge... How much of that was human emotion amplified, and how much was the god? .

His people needed Phobos. That much he'd gleaned from listening with eyes closed, pretending to be sleeping. They needed their protector, their avenger, someone who wasn't afraid. They didn't see the teenage boy who mourned his father and worried about his mother - they saw the god who was on their side, striking down the murderous thugs of Olympus. And Martin still hadn't grieved, not really. Phobos was there, a rock immune to grief and remorse and fear, able to feel only hate and burning anger with any real clarity. Every other emotion was greyed out, colorless by comparison. He still loved his mother, still worried for those under his care, still felt satisfaction at each new challenge overcome. But the fuel in his engine was the white-hot fire that would drive him back to Olympus once his duty was done here.

"We're travelling, trying to find a good place to settle." he told the voice on the other end of the radio. "Just passing through the area. If you have any news, or know where we can find other people... Well, we could pay you for it in ammo, I guess."

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“What’s your direction?” the mysterious voice asked. When Martin paused, unsure he should trust, the voice added, “If you don’t wanna say, let me only say this. Keep going east. There’s some shitheels in a mountain to the west. I’d go east at least as far as Denver before turning north or south and resuming your course then.”

“Olympus,” Martin seethed, “and I know the place well.”

There was a pause. “I wouldn’t stay long in Denver,” the voice finally said. “The place crawls with the dead and they make looting not worth the ammo. Swing north or south.”

The pause had been too long, Martin realized, and there was something off in the timbre of the voice. This so-called Sylvan was lying.

Dallas watched Ali, grinning. “Nice of you to count our tally,” he said, smirking, “but I meant to count up the living. Make double-sure no one’s gone missing or is lying unconscious out in the dark.” Several others laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. It was the humor of a teasing companion, not a malicious put-down.

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Ali laughed too. "Silly me. Ok then, line up then, I'll get to counting." Starting with Paul, moving downward to Rhoda, Marilyn... "One, two, three, four, five..." After a bit of looking he was satisfied again with his nod to Dallas. "Martin's the only one we're waiting for. I guess he's still handling the business of our company then."

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"You wouldn't stay long in Denver?" Phobos asked, turning and glancing around as he spoke into the radio. "Or you'd rather *I* not stay in Denver?"

The voice on the other end of the radio was silent. Phobos narrowed his blazing white eyes and keyed the radio again.

"Thanks for the help with those zombies. We'll be moving on to Denver now, see if there's anything worth foraging there. Oh, and in case there was any doubt - because it sounded to me like there's a lot - I'm no fan of those shitheels to the west either. Everyone you see out there is an escapee, including my mother and me. Take care, 'Sylvan'."

Martin set the radio down and turned back towards the bus.

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It was a long several minutes as people were clustered around the bus. Some more weary than others had gotten ready to rest, if not sleep outright on the bus. Others remained armed and on guard outside the vehicle waiting around for Martin's return. Ali and Dallas were among them. Ali raised the rifle cautiously as he saw movement in the gloom, but lowered it once he knew it was Martin. The younger man was composed- inhumanly so.

"You're back. Everyone's accounted for." Ali called out to their leader. Martin nodded tersely. "Our 'friends'?" Dallas rumbled when Martin didn't speak.

"Warned me away from going into Denver." Martin replied, seeming quite unaffected by the content of his words. Ali looked confusedly at Dallas, others who heard were doing so too. "Then...?" He ventured, unable to meet Martin's eyes.

Martin turned, smiled thinly and said "We'll go check out Denver. But first we get some sleep and make that hotel into a base." Dallas nodded and turned to Ali, who firmed up his face and nodded in agreement. All that needed to be said seemed to have been said, so everyone trooped back into the Greyhound. Ali sat back into the driver's seat, since his thoughts were buzzing quite a bit at the news. In any case, it gave him an excuse to go back onto watch, since he couldn't sleep anyway.

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Martin settled down next to his mother, ensuring she was warm before leaning back, his bow across his knees, and looking out the window at the darkness beyond. The small fires were dying down now, some of the escapees still talking quietly outside with the sentries, unable to sleep as the adrenaline and excitement of their victory coursed through their hearts. Martin could feel the warm glow it provided everyone, a sense of acheivement that lasted after the adrenaline rush faded and they sought their beds. He sat awake and smiled to himself at some of the whispers, enjoying the sense of being immersed in the simple human pleasure of survival through teamwork, of community.

At the same time, he was wondering about the mysterious 'Sylvan'. Who were they, and what was their motive in warning him to stay away from Denver? That they'd been lying, or at least bending the truth he was certain of, but the reasons for the lie were more important than the fact of it's existence. Sylvan might have 'dibs' on the place. Maybe they didn't want him bringing trouble to his or her door. Maybe there was a less innocent reason.

All Martin did know was that tomorrow he would need the rest-time he was wasting now, so he closed his eyes and fell asleep, dismissing the problem for another time.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

,,

The next day's dawn saw the refugees breakfasting early on bread, franks and cold beans once more, but with few grumbles. The fare in Tartarus had been moldy scraps in quantities that meant one would have to fight other 'heretics' for them. Compared to that, cold beans was frickin' caviar, as Dallas eloquently put it to smiles and murmurs of agreement from the others. Finally they drew the bus up nearer to the old hotel and got organised. Several search parties would be going out into Georgetown to scavenge materials: doors, metal sheets, anything that could be used to turn a building into a low-grade fortress. Dallas would be coordinating those groups and ensuring the security of the bus. Two groups of five would be following Martin into the hotel, Ali among them. As he slung his bow and drew the massive red blade from over his shoulder, Phobos indicated the hotel with his other hand.

"I'll be taking point." he told them. "Every door, every doorway, every closet, I'm the first one through. If you see a door, even if it's for a chest freezer or the walk-in supply closet in the kitchen, you mark it with a red chalk X and do nothing with it until I've opened it first. You'll be tempted to think "What's the harm, I'll speed things up." Don't." His glowing eyes swept over them all. "One bite, and your friends will have to choose between watching you slowly die and then become a shambler, or killing you right away. Think about that if you get impatient."

"We might get to be gods." one guy said with a nervous laugh. Phobos levelled a look at him that caused immediate silence.

"Yeah, you might. Maybe. I was... lucky. Or something like that. From what we've heard, it's a million to one chance at best. When I got bitten in Tartarus, it was the worst 24 hours of my life, waiting to die. My dad nearly killed me... would have if my mom hadn't stopped him. I wanted him to." Phobos told the jester calmly. "It's not something I would wish on any of you. So play it my way, because your friends might not wait to see if you get powers."

"Right." the man who'd spoken up said, subdued. Martin looked over everyone and smiled. Time for some lighter advice.

"Now, I'm expecting that most of the zombies around here were in the bunch that attacked us last night. There might be some trapped here, and that's why we're being careful." he said confidently. "We secure the ground floor and basement, then bar all exits except the main one. Then we go up through all four floors carefully. Let's get it done."

Suiting action to words, he led the way into the hotel.

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Ali went with the man who had made the ill-suited joke about zombie bites, and after Phobos had cleared through the lobby and everyone had safely covered the nearby breakfast and lounge room, his group of five had peeled off to check over the right side hallway wing of the first floor hotel. Along the two sides of rooms, chalk marks scraped against the doors, leaving X marks behind. Those words about one in a million resounded in their ears and everyone moved carefully, seeing the ignominious fate being far more likely than power gained in the event of a bite.

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It took two hours, mostly because Martin believed in being thorough. Every room, every closet, every air vent and every shower stall and cellar was checked for the shambling dead. In total, there were four, and they were readily dispatched by a combination of shot and blade, the bodies dragged out in the carpets they'd fallen upon and then set on fire a safe distance from the hotel. Only then did Martin permit his refugees to move in, as the scavenging parties came back with materials.

"I want the windows light-tight on every room seeing regular use." He instructed. "Draw the curtains, then board them up on the inside, and make them secure."

"Why the curtains?" Someone asked, puzzled at that detail.

"Because then it won't look like they've been boarded up, if someone looks the hotel over. If anyone wants air, there's the roof or the pool area out back." Martin explained. "We'll have at least three rooms on each facing free so we can look out of the windows. We'll also keep the vents clear. Now Rhonda found some attack alarms." he indicated the stocky woman, who held up the packaged devices with a smile. "She came up with a pretty good idea. Rhonda?"

"I used one of these before Z-Day." she spoke up, looking around. "I shared a house with some creepy assholes, one of who thought going through my panties was funny. So I fixed one of these to my door, and hooked the pull-out cord to the frame. Next time he went into my room, he got the shock of his damn life and woke up the whole house. My idea was to fix one of these to every door into this place - roof, front, back and so on - in case someone tries sneaking in. I mean, the Olympian fuckers might not all be able to teleport or whatever, and they might not be the only people we have to worry about." She saw people nodding and stepped back, smiling a rare smile at Phobos.

"Rhonda's idea will take some of the pressure off the guard shifts. But I don't want anyone getting lazy. We know Han can do that gate thing of his. We don't know what other trick there are. So the guard shifts will be three in number, six to a shift, three pairs, each shift taking three hours through the night. Inside the hotel, the only doors I want closed are to occupied rooms - folks gotta have their privacy - but everything else is left open so sound will carry." Martin explained. "I know this all seems like a lot of work, and we're only staying her till Dillon heals up and we get some rest, but we have to be careful. We're not home free yet." His sweeping gaze was met with silence, and he nodded once. "Good, okay. Let's get to work."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"I'm beat." groaned Dallas as he sank down into a comfortable, if musty sofa in the TV lounge. It had become the communal room for the refugees, and small battery powered lamps provided soft golden illumination. The veteran looked over at Martin, who was cleaning his father's rifle. "Last room at the top is done. Yours." he added pointedly.

"Thanks." Martin said as he squinted down the barrel. He'd just gotten done helping the people on the 1st floor finish up, but looked relatively fresh compared to the others. "How's everyone?"

"Home makin'." Dallas grinned. "Marilyn's taken over the kitchens and is using those portable gas stoves to whip up something nicer than cold beans. Fiona and Ali are getting Dillon settled into his room."

"I'd better go look in on him before long." Martin said as he reassembled the breech. Dallas shook his head in mild wonder as he watched his fifteen year old 'boss'.

"Your dad teach you all this stuff you've been doing?" he asked. Martin glanced up, smiling faintly, then nodded and went back to work.

"Yeah. Shooting, bow-hunting - though I wasn't this good at it before - survival, and he'd tell a lot of stories. Plus I read a lot."

"Read a lot?" Dallas yawned and stretched.

"Sun Tzu, Von Clauswitz, Tom Clancy, Robert Ludlum. Y'know, the classics." Martin grinned a little.

"Shit. You wanted to follow in the old man's footsteps, huh?" Dallas asked. The boy nodded matter-of-factly.

"Had it all planned out. Was going to go Army rather than Navy, though. West Point, then Ranger School, Jump School and then Delta." he said with a boyish chuckle. "Colonel by the time I was thirty or bust." Dallas laughed.

"So, a modest ambition then?" he asked, winking. "Good to know you weren't asking the earth."

"Yeah. Turns out I was, but then so was everyone else with whatever plans they had." Martin said soberly as he set his rifle down. He sighed, looking over at his mother, who was watching those near her talking with a faint smile on her face and a placid stare. He felt a sudden need to be away from her for awhile. "Keep an eye on things." he said, rising. "I'm going to check on Dillon, then head up to the roof and look around."

"Sure." Dallas said, not fooled as to Phobos's real reason for wanting to be out of the room right then. "Take your time, boss."

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"Thanks." Dillon commented, moving with incredible slowness. At the moment his shirt was off and both Ali and Fiona could see the obvious cause of the sluggish pace that had required their attention and aid: chest hematomas with their bruise-like collections of blood pooling under the skin. Fortunate that despite the severe injuries, neither of the two had determined there to be broken ribs, which would have made healing and treatment far more difficult.

Ali nodded, with a comforting smile to the injured man. "No problem. So far, you seem to be in the clear, and one for certain, chest trauma from penetrating damage actually heals faster than blunt force traumas..." "Meaning I'll be back on my feet soon?" Dillon commented with a mite of perked up optimism. Fiona smiled in a reassuring, yet a hint of 'hold your horses' manner in response. "If all goes well."

"Will it?" The young voice behind them was unmistakable. Ali turned around and walked up to the door, though his gaze slipped down a bit from Martin's eyes. "Seems that way from the medical side... but you got the outside covered, right?" "It's covered. The curtains stay covered and the windows boarded up, just fyi." Phobos said. "Pool area and roofs are where you go to get fresh air if you need to."

Proceeding over to Dillon, Phobos grinned. "You've got the staff of this establishment taking care of everything sir?" Dillon grinned back despite the injuries. "They're earning quite a tip in my book, but there's one thing."

"What's that?" Phobos asked, rising to the bait. "Room service." Dillon stated. "You do offer that here, right?" Fiona chuckled, the levity helping to lighten the room of the mood for a moment. "I'll get some beans ready. Martin's mom was talking earlier about a way to spruce them up..." At the mention of his mother, Martin's face visibly lost its smile, causing Ali to frown a tad.

"Well, I'm done here. Carry on. If anyone needs me, I'll be on the roof." The fifteen year old went out at a notably increased pace, as if the mention drove him faster. The patient and 'doctors' looked at each other for a moment before Fiona went to get the food and Ali out to the pool.

There was a tennis ball there oddly, one left over, worn but more than usable. Ali found himself bouncing the ball off the wall, a child's game. His parents had been killed at the hands of Hercules, and Leyla and he had suffered greatly for it, emotionally. But might it have been a better fate than the current status of Mrs. Enyalios? A disturbing consideration.

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Hanna approached Ali quietly, her blue eyes large. She was one of the quieter escapees; she was also one of the newer victims of Tartarus. She'd only been there a coupld of days before Martin had broken them out. "Hi," she said softly when he turned to look at her. "You're a doctor, right?" she asked.

"I know some medicine," Ali corrected. "My father was the doctor."

"Ah. Was." Hanna said softly.

"Yeah. Was." There was a moment of silence, broken only by the ball twapping the pavement. "Can I help you?" Ali asked.

"How soon before you could tell if someone... I were pregnant?" Hanna's voice was taut with emotion.

* * *

Phobos felt himself slowly relax, here alone on the roof. For a moment, he was able to just be himself. His mother wasn't here, needing attention. The others weren't here, looking for instruction. He was alone, blessedly so.

A whisper of noise removed that tension and Martin twisted, God-Slayer nocked and ready. He found himself sighting on a cat, who looked more bemused than frightened of him. It was a lean, long cat; pale brown in color with darker rosettes. It reminded Martin of a leopard in minature. He remembered reading about cats like that once - Bengals was the breed. They were the offspring of wildcats and domestics cats, strong for their size and capable hunters. This one looked as if she'd been surviving Z-day pretty well. Big yellow eyes stared at him curiously before the beast sauntered over and rubbed against his legs. The unmistakable rumble of a purr reached the teen's ears.

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Ali turned to look at Hanna, and his face as the news hit was of pained sympathy. A pregnant young woman in the midst of all this could be a most vulnerable person, to say nothing of the child and the difficulties for others. "Well," he began slowly, as to help summon the medical knowledge and trivia on the subject- and because the answer, despite the shared fate of everyone was a delicate one- "I have to first ask... and I apologize for in advance... were you raped by the Olympians at any point during your stay?"

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"Heh." The noise was part-sigh, part-laugh as he lowered the silver bow he'd taken from a cruel goddess and slid the wickedly barbed arrow back into it's quiver, before bending down and scritching the animal behind the ears. "Sorry about that, girl. At least, I'm assuming you're a girl. If I'm wrong about that, colour me sorry there too." Here, at last, was undemanding company. Cat's usually were, compared to frightened people at least. He patted the pockets of his dad's jacket, fumbling for a moment in the oversized garment before drawing out a stick of jerky and waving it at the cat. "Here. An apology of sorts. Care to share?"

The cat evidently did, and so Martin found himself sitting on the edge of the roof overlooking the dead city of Georgetown, tearing the stick in half and dropping the cat's share between the creature's paws. For a few moments they ate in silence, Martin watching the cat chewing the end of the dried meat with some gusto before rubbing his/her/it's head against his hand. He smiled, a genuine smile that almost softened the fearful glare of his white eyes.

"You're welcome." he told the cat, rubbing it's shoulders as it went back to eating. Martin sighed and looked out over the street below. "You look like you've done alright for yourself, though. Bet there's no cat zombies or cat wannabe-gods breathing down your neck." He paused for a moment. "Well, there was a wannabe cat-goddess. A bitch calling herself Bast who liked to kill people for fun. You probably wouldn't have liked her. But you can relax, cat. She's not looking for subjects anymore." He smiled distantly as he watched the skyline. "She's stapled to the wall of her Olympus like a tacky Halloween decoration." He paused again, then sighed, still stroking the cat behind it's ears. "It makes me feel a little better, doing that. But all I can think of is that there's maybe as many as two dozen so-called gods left. Bast... Artemis... Whoever that was I killed on the road... They're just a good start, you know? Like that joke about 150 lawyers on the bottom of the sea. 'A good start'." He blinked a couple of times, feeling an unwelcome prickling sensation in his eyes, then smiled at the cat.

"You're lucky. Cat's don't really hate, do they? If a cat doesn't like something, they get away from it and don't look back." He was aware he was chattering, aware that he was talking to a cat like a mad old lady. But he didn't care, really. He didn't feel comfortable talking to other people about this - might as well talk to a cat. "Well, *I* hate. I hate them so much I could choke on it if I didn't have something to do, people to watch over. I promised to get them to safety, but even that promise is self-serving. It's just giving me room and time to plan exactly how I'm going to kill all of those fuckers." he said mildly as he stroked the cat's ears with his fingertips. "I mean, I do want to get them to somewhere safe, but I know that if I wasn't doing that, I'd be hanging around Olympus without a plan other than 'kill any god I see'. Sad, isn't it cat?" He laughed, a hollow sound, and shook his head before peering at the animal again. "No collar. Hmmph. Well, 'cat' will do as a name unless you plan on sticking around. Then I'll need to see some I.D, pal." he said with a chuckle.

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Hanna sniffled. "I think so," she said softly. Tears rose and fell down her freckled face, making the young girl look even younger. "There was a party, and I blacked out. Then I freaked out when Taranis started to hug and kiss me, like he... like he knew me. That's when he put me down in Tartarus," Hanna said, weeping in truth by the time she was done. "I don't remember!"

* * *

The cat shifted until she was pressed against his leg, a spot of warmth against his hip. The lean body was half-under the edge of his oversized coat. Martin took a quiet comfort from her coming to him for warmth and his fingers became more familiar with the animal's shape. She felt heavily muscled, more so than a domestic cat. Her fur was unusually coarse and felt thin - not unhealthily so, just naturally sparse. When Martin stopped, he felt the cat shift until she could push her nose under his fingers and coax him for more affection. She was probably someone's pet, lost and alone since her owners had died. Or at least, given the way she was clinging to him, Martin assumed she was a domestic cat looking for a source of affection and probably food. Yellow eyes regarded him calmly and without fear as she pressed her forehead against his hip and mewled plainatively.

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Ali stepped forward and laid a tender hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry." He told her, and the shared experience of everyone spoke for the sincerity of his words. He paused before deciding to file that conclusion as damn well likely that Taranis had raped Hanna. "So, then it's extra good that Phobos drove him out of his mind. Taranis deserves it." The sharp vehemence there was like that of the leader, one might not."As for your original question, with that in mind... the sperm waits several days until ovulation clears the fallopian tubes. And then it takes much longer to... implant. Just to be safe, I'd wait a couple weeks before performing a test. How have you been feeling these past few days, physically?"

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"I know, I know. Less with the talking, more with the petting." Martin smiled, his bleak mood lifting somewhat as he went back to stroking her. "You're probably hungry. I know I am. Half a stick of jerky doesn't really cut it." I haven't had much appetite since... Well, since I got different. But I've sure been hungrier. "You want something to eat? No cat food, but from what I've seen of cat food you're probably grateful for that. We've been having too much franks and beans, with more bean than frank. That's gotta be the human equivalent to cat food. Well, Marilyn was talking about a stew earlier, maybe that'll do better. C'mon. It's getting colder up here and I'm going nutso enough to consider you the best conversation I've ever had." Gently, the young god of fear scooped the heavy cat up in his arms, ready to release her if she scratched or fussed, but she just place her paws on his chest and looked at him with the contented cat-stare, that half-lidded expression that says "I am content right now, because you are taking me somewhere warm where food may just be given unto me." It made Martin laugh a little as he headed downstairs, passing Rhonda and a helper on their way up to set up an alarm on the roof door. They both blinked to see their youthful leader carrying a cat, and exchanged looks before shrugging and carrying on.

Marilyn had, as a matter of fact, hit paydirt. The walk-in closet was stacked with tinned meat and vegetables, though the chiller and freezer both had been foul with spoiled food and had needed a small task force dedicated to cleaning them out. But the two large pots of meat, veg and potato stew were to cold beans as ambrosia was to Budweiser. Or something like that, Martin reflected as he took a huge mixing bowl-full from the smiling housewife and inhaled appreciatively. Marilyn exuberantly informed him that she'd even found dried herbs in the hotel's store cupboards, and that they'd be living a little better now as a result. Then Dallas and others started to come into the kitchen for their shares, and Martin beat a hasty, but smiling retreat. The looks on 'his' people's faces as they clustered around the cookstove were heartening - they were doing for themselves. One of 'them' had made this food, not him. They didn't feel so dependant and that made Martin feel lighter-hearted as he headed up the stairs, cat in one arm and food in the other, to his room.

"Okay." he told her as he set a small bowlful of stew down on the ground, then sat on his bed with his large dish on his lap, leaning his weapons against the wall next to the nightstand. "Dig in." Cat and boy ate in silence, broken only by the sounds of eating and the cat's appreciative purr. "Yeah, it'sh 'ood." Martin agreed, his cheeks full as he, hungry for the first time in weeks, scarfed down the food in record time before plonking the mixing bowl on the nightstand and collapsing back on the bed with a stifled belch. The cat was more decorous, as cats tended to be, though the sight of her pushing her bowl around the floor as she licked the insides made him smile as his eyes drooped shut. He was fed, and in a place of relative safety. The door was shut, the hotel was quiet, and the cat had jumped on the bed and curled up beside him where he could feel her purr through the thick jacket he wrapped around him like a blanket. It was then that Martin realised how tired he really was. He'd been running on willpower, rage and discipline ever since the escape from Tartarus, and though his new 'gods' body wasn't feeling it as keenly as a mortal's might, his weariness went deeper than the physical. He was probably due a nap. Yeah, just a short one. Cat had the right idea: an hour or two and he'd be fi-

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"I feel fine," Hanna said, tears coming faster. "I feel fine! How can I be not fine?!" She gasped; it came out more like a hiccup. "There are pills and things, that you can give to stop this, right? It's only been a couple of days, it should still work, right? You can help me, can't you?" The earnest need in her expression was heart-rending.

Ali shook his head. "We don't have morning-after pills," he said. "Honestly, they weren't on our list when we went looting. We might be able to find some. But their efficacy drops drastically with each day that passes. If we’re going to do this, we need to arrange a raid sooner rather than later. Let’s find Martin.”

Dallas was found first and listened to their plight. When Ali mentioned Martin, the man shook his head. “Not just yet. Wait until he comes out. He’s asleep right now.”

“Can you and I plan a raid?” Ali asked.

Dallas pulled him away from Hanna. “Ali, we’ve all just gone through a lot of shit. I feel for Hanna, but getting someone infected is worse than finding another way to get rid of a baby. And shit… we shouldn’t be doing that anyway, in all honesty. We can find someone to take the baby, if she doesn’t want it, right?” Ali nodded uncertainly. “If you still want to go, just wait until Martin wakes up, ok?”

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  • 2 weeks later...

"No," Ali admitted, though he knew Hanna might not be so accommodating to hear those words. "I... know you're right. I just had to ask." Dallas knew that with Hanna and her pain, that was not an unreasonable thing to say. Ali turned and walked over to Hanna, but she knew what he was going to say before he did. All Ali got out was that: "There's plenty of natural abortifacients we could-" "So you're not doing it?!" Hanna demanded in a somewhat loud and pained tone.

"Hanna, it doesn't look like now is the-"

"So I have to go through the worries that the only method isn't going to work?" Hanna snapped, immediately in her frustration discarding the suggestion as useless. "I can't believe you!" Tears spilling from her eyes, she rushed off before Ali could say a thing. Similarly sorry, but aware of the consequences to her viewpoint Ali only pressed some fingers against his forehead to measure the headache he was getting before heading for his room.

Would a night's sleep help anything?

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  • 2 weeks later...

He woke up suddenly, almost violently, a quiet cold violence of intent and meaning rather than action. His eyes snapped open and he was awake, just like that, and sitting up in the darkened room with one hand curling around the hilt of Grasscutter as he searched for enemies.

Beside him, the cat purred and prrrked, nosing at his other hand.

Phobos relaxed, feeling rather than hearing the soft thrum of people below and around him as he took a deep breath. Most people would have called the dream he had a nightmare, but the young 'god' wasn't scared so much as coldly angry, waking up wanting to kill his enemies, to let them feel despair and sorrow. He took another deep breath and released his sword, stroking the cat reassuringly.

"Yeah, I know. I'm wound tight." he chatted idly to the creature as he stroked behind her ears. "Funny thing, I don't feel strain from it. I mean, I feel the tension, but it's not wearing me out. Is that even possible?" The cat looked up at him through closed eyes and purred. "Heh. Yeah. I'm talking to a cat. So much for not feeling the strain."

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, stretching before moving to the door. Someone had placed a bowl and a small jug of water there, and the youth washed his face and hands as he reviewed what time it likely was. He decided that it was probably shortly after midnight, as he rinsed his face off again and reached for the towel.

"Okay, cat." he said as he dried off. "Lets go see how the night shift is coping."

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  • 3 weeks later...

“Martin. Miz Kitty.” Aarons was a little odd; rumor was that his mind had bent, if not broken in Tartarus. “Quiet night.”

“Good,” Martin replied, stroking the cat. The feline nosed against him, begging for more affection; he wondered how long she’d been alone. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Thankfully, it remained quiet, or as quiet as these things went. The night’s peace was occasionally interrupted by a rifle shot as another zombie wandered into sight. But that was quiet in this world. Martin wandered their area, making sure all was secure. The cat remained with him, a gentle companion. Sure, he was probably a meal-ticket and convenient ear scratcher, but she was a comfort.

He found his mother at breakfast, sitting next to Fiona. She was eating listlessly and lifelessly. “Mother,” Martin said, his gut tightening, just looking at her.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Martin. Sit and have breakfast. I was just wondering where you and Annie had gotten to.” Fiona frowned at him, mouthing, Annie? “Have you seen your father, Martin?”

* * *

“Ali! Ali!” Pammy staggered to a stop next to him, doubling over and gasping. “Le- Ley-”

Dread seized Ali. “What’s happened to her?”

“She bed… not made,” the short woman gasped. “Have you… seen her?”

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"Why yes, mom. Dad's dead. Some fucking cowardly, sick assholes with superpowers calling themselves gods snapped his neck. But you don't need to worry - I killed the woman responsible, and I'll be killing the rest too. And Annie's dead as well. She got bit months back and Dad killed her when she got sick. It broke his heart, and broke your head."

That was the thought that ran through Martin's head, voiced in a coldly angry voice that was becoming all too familiar to the boy. It was the voice of Phobos, of the angry god he'd become. Pragmatic, cold, and merciless.

But Mom didn't need Phobos. She needed her son. If there was to be any chance she could recover, he had to be Martin for her. He had to let his walls come down, to experience and empathise, to share pain. The thought made him shy away. He wasn't ready to do this now. The people he was leading, they needed a strong leader. If he weakened... But the alternatives were to either lie, and strengthen his Mom's fantasy, or to be Phobos and break her down, hoping maybe that something could be salvaged. He couldn't do either of those. He sighed, moving to sit by her. He considering asking Fiona to go, but decided against it. He might need her help in calming his mother, he sadly reflected as he took the careworn, thin hands.

"We need to talk, mom." he told her, hating himself in that moment. However gentle he tried to be, the truth was far from gentle itself. Joan Enyalios frowned in absent worry at the seriousness of her boy's tone.

"What's the matter, Martin? Did you and Annie have a fight again? Oh, you two..." she sighed, smiling fondly, yet still with that dreamlike quality in her gaze.

"Mom, Annie and I haven't fought since... Well, for months now." he'd been about to say 'since Z-Day', but he'd need to lead up to that. Or rather, lead back to it. Get her to accept or acknowledge the immediate situation first. "Mom," he said gently. "Dad's dead, mom. Annie too. Annie got sick awhile ago and we couldn't do anything. And Dad... Dad was killed by some bad people." It was hard, harder than killing gods, harder than shepherding frightened people through a zombie-strewn wasteland. It was hard to try and talk about this with his mother, to get through to her the facts. He saw her face tighten, felt her try to draw back, and Martin gripped her hands tightly, not willing to let this go now he'd started.

"Mom. I need you. Everyone's looking to me. I've been trying to keep us all safe from zombies and sickos with weird powers, but I'm still Martin underneath and I miss Dad and Annie and I miss you, too!" He felt warmth on his cheeks and realised he was crying, trembling like a child as he pleaded with his mother to come back to him. "It's not fair, I know. It's not fair to break all this on you, but it's the truth. It's not fair to ask you to come back when you've suffered so much, but I need you so badly right now." The glowing-white eyes were streaming tears, the floodgates of pain and loneliness opening with a vengeance. "It's selfish, god I know it's selfish, but you're all I've got that's warm and human and if I don't have you then I'm afraid, Mom. I'm afraid I'll be nothing cold rage and resolve. Please..."

The stronger the tree, the more likely it would break rather than bend. That was certainly the case right now as Martin leaned in and hugged his mother tightly, silent tears running down his face.

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"No." Ali muttered, deadpan as the words dangerously sunk into him with the force of a falling anvil. He scrambled up, heedless of the fact that there was nothing but air where he stepped out. Stumbling over the bed edge, he pulled himself up. "Do you know where she was last seen?" Leyla was the only piece of family he had left. If something happened to her...

Immediately, a burst of speed kicked in, and he started running for the nearest supply of weaponry, leaving Pammy trying to catch up to him. His question- he didn't notice- had not been answered.

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Fiona looked terribly sad over Joan’s shoulder; before he closed his eyes against the sight, he felt her rub his mother’s back gently. Martin felt the heavy weight of the cat wind around his legs before settling on his foot. “Martin, no…” Joan whispered; Martin shuddered at the denial in her voice, at the thought that he might have to beg her to recognize that his father and sister were gone.

“Joan, it’s true,” Fiona said softly. Martin felt her move closer and then felt her arms wind around the both of them. “And not only does Martin need you here – we need you here. You need to be here, not in the past. It’s the only way you’re going to heal and watch over Martin. Don’t you want to see him grow up?”

His mother was weeping now, too. Martin could hear her whispering denials, but now they sounded more like grief than desperate, delusional hope. He hugged her tighter, wondering if he was going to have to do this often, or if this was the only time she’d try to crawl back into the past.

“-ell Martin she’s missing.” The words intruded on his sorrow; looking up, he saw Dallas in the doorway as a woman restrained him from entering, looking concerned.

* * *

“I saw her just before I slept,” Pammy was telling Henry as Ali came out of the armory. Jack was with him; the grizzled veteran had been in charge of the weapons and he’d geared up when he’d heard why Ali was grabbing guns. In contrast, Henry was a young guy, only barely old enough to drink. “She said she was going to take a walk before bed! I don’t know where.”

“Damn it,” Henry growled, turning as Jack and Ali approached. “It’s dark. Are we really doing a rescue right now?”

“Yes,” Jack and Ali said together, though Ali’s ‘yes’ was far more strident than Jack’s had been.

“Dallas is getting Martin,” Pammy added, looking at them. Her eyes narrowed and the exceedingly short woman asked, “Where’s my gun?”

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Well, Ali couldn't blame her wanting to help, and numbers was the best defense against zombies, unpowered as the searchers might be. Normally, he'd make a crack about her height, but his concern for Leyla overrode all that. But her height did make a rifle problematic. Immediately, he glanced at Jack. Knowing the score, Jack found the pistol with the most firepower still around and passed it to Pammy.

"Should we wait? I know Martin can color the streets with zombie guck, but the longer we wait--" The fear in his face that he might find Leyla dead, or worse, have to execute his sister as a mercy killing was evident.

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"Martin will find us," Dallas muttered after a moment. "Let's go. Pammy, I want you to stay here-"

"But-"

"No. Before you get all sexist on me, it's because someone needs to stay here and tell others where we're going, and it's Ali's sister and I've had some experience with combat stuff." He looked exasperated. "No offense, but you're a bus driver."

"Uh huh, and I was driving buses in Kuwait during the Gulf War," Pammy shot back. "Also, I'm small and so Leyla, and if she's crawled somewhere-"

"Alright, alright," Dallas sighed. "Jack you stay here and direct other groups out. At least three people, make sure everyone's radio is on channel three. And keep us from wasting effort, ok?"

Jack deflated. "Right."

With that, Dallas, Pammy and Ali headed into the darkness.

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Out of personal feelings on the matter, Ali took lead. The group formed a sort of triangle, with Ali at the apex, Dallas covering the flanks on the right, and Pammy somewhat to the behind and left, but most certainly held to the rear by insistence of the two men. Perhaps it was exceedingly over chivalrous in Pammy's mind, but they also wanted to at least give her some protection from being the first one in the battle line.

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  • 2 weeks later...

The group crept forward carefully, their eyes peeled for signs of Leyla. They hit the first building and quickly searched it, Pammy looking low while Dallas and Ali went high. The night pressed in closely, reminding these modern refugees yet again just how dark it really got at night. The night was silent, save for their calls for her, as if the darkness was waiting for something.

They'd been at it for an hour or two when they heard a weak call for help. "Is that-?"

"Could be h-"

"Leyla!" Ali shouted, darting forward. "Call again, so we can hear you!"

Another weak cry directed them to the backyard of a house; a dark hole gaped in the ground. "Stop," Dallas ordered as Ali tried to surge forward. "That looks like a sink hole. The edge could be bad. Be careful."

Ali nodded and crept forward, testing each step. The edges were crumbling badly, but he could see his sister huddled at the bottom. "Leyla!"

"Ali!" she cried. "The ground gave way! Don't fall!"

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"No," she said, and he heard the pained quaver in her voice. "My legs... I think I'm bleeding."

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