Urban Dead: No Rest For the Wicked

[Caz]

"You damn well better," he hacked, grinning up at Petro through bloody teeth. "'Cause she's got it for you like it's spring formals."

Dorian looked to the two of them as he and Sheila worked on Priscilla's arm. He was on autopilot for the moment.

"Gil," he started, "that's nothing worse than what happened to Gwen... She made it..."

[Josh]

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" he answered, settling down next to the other man. "She's got lousy fucking taste, but I'm not gonna argue."

He studied the wound. Dorian was a god damned optimist. But they'd give it a try. "Fuck. We're gonna need a hacksaw," he said. He pulled the radio off his belt. "Headhunter to Settler, you copy?"

Upon receiving a reply, he told them to hurry the fuck up and get a hacksaw down there.

[Caz]

As Petro thunked down beside him and Dorian lingered nearby, Gil laughed a bit despite the fact that it made him feel like his innards were fucking on fire.

"Come off it, Dor," he said. "Aint gonna do anything other than hurt us both to try and get me off this."

At an utter loss, Dorian looked to Petro for guidance.

[Josh]

"Get her taken care of," Petro ordered. He glanced at Gil. "Best thing for a man is to know tha this people are taken care of." He made a shooing gesture with his hand and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Extracting two, he lit them both, then offered one over.

"One for the road?" Despite his words, there was nothing light about his tone.

[Caz]

Dorian stared for a moment, knowing he was moments away from sniffling and wiping his eyes, and looked down to Gil for what seemed like ages. He then spoke a few hushed words to the other two and ushered them off without even looking back.

Gil sighed as he watched them retreat, taking the smoke with a breathed, "Hell yes."

He then called out, "Hey! Davies!"

Dorian turned back, unused to anyone using his last name. Gil smiled and waved, ignoring his body's protest to the motion of his arm.

"I'll see you around, okay?" he said.

Dorian wiped at his eyes and nodded. "Okay," he said meekly, and then trudged off.

Gil sighed and took a long drag. "Poor kid."

[Josh]

"He'll be taken care of," he assured the other man. "Anything you need me to take care of for you?" he asked.

[Caz]

"You don't do handjobs, do you?" he asked. "I'm fuckin' cold and I've had a hard on for the last six months or so."

He grinned.

[Josh]

He laughed at that and held up his bloody palm. "Pre-lubed just for you." He took a drag on his cigarette, then looked over at the other man. "Gil, it's been an honor working with you."

[Caz]

He smirked. "It's been an honour havin' you chuck a bottle on my head."

The bump was still quite prominent around his hairline from that experience.

[Josh]

He grinned wryly. "Shoulda hit you harder, you'd be in the infirmary right now." He exhaled a puff of mixed smoke and condensation. "''Course, scrambling somebody's brains around only works if they have brains to start with..."

[Caz]

"You'd know, cocksucker," he said. He took another deep lungful of the smoke, then stared at it for a few moments. Then he tapped the ash, sighing out a lopsided smoke ring.

"I've always believed that a man should be prepared for his death. Just like how he should be for life, y'know? There's a folder back in my bunk... Got some shit you should go through."

He finished the cigarette and flicked it off into the snow.

"Never hesitate to tell people what'ch'wanna say," he said, words beginning to slur a bit. "Make sure you let my Mel know how much you love her. Every day. Or I'll come... Chew your tasty brains, got it?"

[Josh]

"Got it," he said. "Every fucking day for the rest of my life, Gil. Every fucking day."

[Caz]

He arched an eyebrow.

"I'll holdja to that," he said. "'M ruthless." After a brief pause, he added: "She told me 'bout the baby. You're a lucky bastard, y'know."

[Josh]

"Luckiest motherfucker on the planet," he agreed, reaching over to catch the cigarette as it fell from Gil's mouth. He stubbed it out on the ground. "I know."

[Caz]

"Right," he said. His voice was getting lower, his reactions more sluggish. Letting his eyes droop closed, he sighed and announced:

"Let's get this over with."

[Josh]

He tossed his cigarette away, grimacing. "You want me to...?" he asked.

[Caz]

He opened his eyes.

"Look at me," he said.

Gil was pale, beginning to shiver a bit, the shattered bone causing the meat of his torso to swell and distend, what little skin visible was splotchy with bruises. His breath had a wheezing quality, no doubt due to a lung or trachea puncture somewhere in the mess.

"Do I look like you'll be able t'get me off this?"

[Josh]

He took a deep breath. "I'm asking if you want me to hurry it along," he said in a flat tone. His hand rested on the butt of his pistol.

[Caz]

He nodded.

"Dorrie wouldn't understand... But I don'wanna suffer on some table for days... Don'want Melanie t'see... "

Smirking, he met Petro's eyes. "Don' be a pussy... Just get it over with."

[Josh]

He let the gibe go by and drew his pistol, flipping the safety off.

He was getting fucking tired of having to put his own people down. He took the two-handed stance that FM had taught him. "Goodbye Gil." He left his mouth hanging open- the shot was going to overpressure like fuck in the confined space, and he'd learned the hard way about letting the pressure on his eardrums vent through his mouth.

A shot snapped out. After a moment, he emerged from the hole to greet the patrol team coming in a with a hacksaw. He shook his head. "No need. Get a cleanup in there and get the body into the trench."

Collecting his axe, he started back toward the mall.

[Caz]

And like a loyal dog, Dorian was waiting at the mall's entrance. His whole body seemed to deflate as he saw Petro enter alone, and he turned away, scuttling back into the infirmary before he could be pulled into conversation.

Melanie was busy stitching up the gash on Priscilla's shoulder, idly chitchatting to help ease the girl's nerves. Fortunately, they had antiseptic and local anaesthesia now, so the sutures weren't as agonising. She tied the stitches off and smiled.

"See? Wasn't that bad."

[Josh]

He watched Melanie work, bracing himself. He was still in the zone, still detached and numb, something he knew well was entirely fortunate.

He knew it'd come back that night, though, when he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

[Rukia]

‘Ell made her way slowly and painfully towards the mall. The snow and wind were taking their toll. Her body was numb and her skin had taken on the characteristic blue-ish tint of prolonged exposure to freezing and below temperatures. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her cheeks and eyes were beginning to look sunken in. To anyone who didn’t know better she would have looked like a walking corpse, fresh from the grave. But the small puffs of frozen breath were subtle proof that she was, in fact, alive. Imagining her appearance she let out a small laugh that quickly turned into a cough, followed by cursing.

The ally she was in opened up to an unusually big space. It took her foggy mind a few moments to realize that some of the surrounding buildings had been blown up and now were a pile of rubble somewhere outside the perimeter of the mall. This was going to be a bitch to climb over, but she was up to the challenge. Maybe the movement would warm her numb limbs up.

As she started up the rocks, half climbing, half dragging her body, her fingers began to bleed. Almost to the top something caught the hem of her pants, causing her to fall forward. She hit her head and the newly scabbed wound reopened and began to bleed. She looked back and saw a frozen hand sticking out of the rock. This realization came quick: There are Zombies under this rubble. A quick shake of her leg freed her from the claws, and made her way down the other side.

She wiped her head with her shirt again and sat down to check her leg, the infection even worse now, taking on a greenish black color. She rewrapped it and forced her frozen, tired limbs to hold her weight. Limping painfully, she continued to the mall. A steady sheet of wind and sleet pelting her as she moved.

The trip that (under normal circumstances) would have taken 15 minutes, took nearly 45. Although tired, wet, cold and injured, ‘Ell was weirdly thankful for the cold, it seemed to keep the Rotters at bay. She finally reached the mall unfortunately there was no way in from the ground that she could see. Feeling utterly hopeless, the week girl collapsed to the ground. Her body shivering violently to ward off hypothermia, the sleet wasn’t helping any.

She closed her eyes and waited, she figured someone would see her and help or she’d die. So close and she was going to die. Hot tears started streaming down her face. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Damn she hated crying, even when no one was around.

She heard a distant voice say something that sounded like a call off. Before she knew what she was doing, or cared to think of the consequences, she rose up on her elbows and yelled the best she could.

“Hey! Any body –cough- up the -cough- there? Hel-lo?â€Â

[Cynical Cat]

Wendigo wanderded into the Caiger with his back pack. The warmth was pleasant. He dropped his backpack and prowled around. He was still restless. He grabbed the rest of his usual weapons and headed out.

[Rukia]

While she laid in waiting, useless bits of information came rushing to her mind. She thought of how she hated the way smoke always hit you in the face no matter where you stand. About how when you try to sleep you but when you don't want to you're out like a light in seconds. Then a phrase; Aeternum vale it took her a minute to remember the translation: with a sad gaffaw she muttered the words, "farewell forever." Barely above the sound of her breath. A few seconds later came another phrase: Aegroto, dum anima est, spes esse dicitur. It is said that for a sick man, there is hope as long as there is life. She wondered if the opposite were true. If there's hope is there life? She coughed once and faught to stay awake.