Caught from Some Unhappy Master - NCIS - by Suaine
I am late! So sorry. All I can say in defense of myself, I have Issues, and also, I did my best.
Title: Caught from Some Unhappy Master
Author: suaine
Fandom: NCIS
Recipient: Thenewhope
Disclaimer: These zombies aren't mine, neither are the characters of NCIS.
Summary: ... and then there were zombies!
Caught from Some Unhappy Master
by Suaine
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
~ E. A. Poe
Abby bobbed her head with great gusto. Tim could watch her all day without getting tired, though he knew to stay behind the glass and not get into the danger zone. Abby only ever listened to mullet rock when she didn't quite know how to solve a problem.
“What's going on, Probie?”
Tony smiled but it didn't do anything to make Tim feel reassured. He looked like a tiger about to pounce - or perhaps a tigered tom cat. Tim shook himself before Tony could slap his head for spacing out on the job.
“Uhm, well, she hasn't found anything yet.”
“Dammit.” Tony scrubbed through his hair with both hands. It turned his face red like a beet. “It's not like the corpse just went off on its own.”
* * *
Ziva kicked her attacker in the face with a well-placed roundhouse. No ordinary man withstood that kind of force unless he was high on PCP. His waxy skin offered little resistance and she could already imagine him groaning with pain, cowering before her and begging for mercy. She bounced back and brought up her arms, just in case.
“That should teach you not to attack a woman in a dark alley.”
The man growled. Ziva cracked her knuckles and raised one brow. “You are a feisty one.”
Drool ran down the man's chin. He wasn't phased at all, he just kept coming with the same mindless insistence as before. His legs dragged over the concrete, creating a strangely dull scraping sound. His vacant eyes scanned her face. Ziva took a step back, reaching for her cell with one hand. The other came to rest on her gun.
“Listen,” she said, “I'm a trained Mossad agent, liason to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and I don't want to hurt you.” Well, not much.
The man grunted.
Ziva pulled her gun. “I did warn you.”
* * *
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Palmer, and do excuse our guest for his rather pungent odor.”
Ducky returned his attention to the last case of the night, the corpse of a young caucasian male with several stabwounds and no identification. Fignerprints hadn't turned up any hits so far, but the night was young and Abby had her focus elsewhere. By the time Ducky was done with the boy, he might even have a name.
“Don't worry, my young friend, you're in good hands.”
Ducky chose a scalpel for his first cut. As he turned back to the corpse, he dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. Linoleum. Ducky shook himself, wondering why these insignificant observations always came up in a life or death situation. He stumbled backwards without taking his eyes off the -
“My god, what are you?”
The corpse didn't answer, just slowly moved toward Ducky in all its nakedness. Nothing in his life had ever scared Ducky this much. With shaking hands, always an eye on the not-quite-dead man, he opened the heavy door and fled into the hallway. Ducky only allowed himself to breathe deeply once he was safe inside the elevator. Still heaving, he pressed speed dial one on his cell.
* * *
Phones rang.
The 911 operators believed it after the first two hundred calls. They used their position to say goodbye to their loved ones.
The faith healers and TV preachers killed the lines twenty minutes in. There was nothing they could do anyway.
The President didn't answer his phone, not even the one on his desk. Some people say the skeletons in his closet staged a revolt.
* * *
“Jethro?”
The director bit her lip, counting the seconds. This was the third outside call, the last she would take before abandoning this office - windows, too many windows, Abby had said - and she still had a bit of hope. Maybe. Gibbs' had a tendency to surprise people.
“It's me, Jenny.”
Her hands shook as she sat down hard. God! Taking a shaky breath, she pulled herself together. “Jethro, I'm sure by now you're aware of the situation.”
“That's one way to put it.”
“Where are you now?”
Silence on the other end. The director couldn't help imagine some far off mountain cabin. Impossible to reach, now that-
“About five minutes from HQ. What's your status?”
The director sighed. “Everyone is accounted for. Some off-duty agents have gathered in highly populated areas like malls to help with the defense there. We currently have sixty-five people here in the building, twenty-eight with extensive combat training.”
“You're not counting DiNozzo, are you?”
She laughed. “Of course I am, Gibbs. Unless you only want me to count Agent David and Sgt. Tanner.”
“Right.”
“They're not soldiers, Jethro.”
“I know. That's the thing. Because out here, we're at war.”
The director fought to keep the tremor out of her voice. “That's why we need you.”
* * *
“Stop saying that, Abby!”
Abby got right up to McGee's face and glared. “It's the truth. We are dealing with zombies.”
“They aren't real, Abby. Zombies only exist in bad horror movies. This- it has to be something else.”
She backed up, though by no means was she backing down. Hands at her hips, she stalked around McGee, quite aware of their impressionable audience. Abby slapped him hard on the back of the head.
“Ow!”
“That was for calling me a crazy person.”
“I never-”
“Shh!”
“But-”
“I said 'Shhh!', now, how do you explain corpses that disappear on their own. How do you explain the thing that attacked Ducky, huh?”
“Abby-”
“No. You be quiet,” she turned to Ziva, who'd been watching them from the door to the lab, “what would you say, Ms. David? Are we dealing with zombies?”
* * *
“It's zombies, obviously,” Tony said, “all we have to figure out is what kind.”
Ducky frowned, still a little shaken but clearly dealing. “There are different kinds of this menace?”
Tony leaned back, grinning. Once again a childhood - and adolescence, and adulthood, really - spent watching movies paid off. “Well, technically there are two groups: zombies with a master and the apocalypse kind.”
Ziva took her office chair, back to front and sat between them. “What's the difference?”
Tony licked his lips. Abby and McGee came in, an argument still going full force. He ignored them. “They behave much the same way, the only difference is how we can stop them. If they have a master, some voodoo priest somewhere, they'll be normal again once we convince him to lift the spell. If he refuses, we can always kill him and everything should be fine.”
Ziva frowned. “What about the other kind?”
Tony took a deep breath. “If it's a sign of the apocalypse? Nothing. There's absolutely nothing we can do, except survive as long as possible.”
* * *
On good days, Tim still didn't believe in zombies. They were driving down what used to be interstate 5 in their retro-fitted humvee, they should be hitting the Oregon-Cali border in a few more miles, not that it mattered. Tim hadn't had a shower in weeks and a part of him still remembered how disgusting that should be, but the team had more pressing problems.
The Cascades enclave had been overrun, the creatures had developed more sophisticated strategies. At first they'd just been mindless beasts, now they had found a way to access their... their hosts capacities. The humans, living, breathing humans, were outnumbered twenty to one and the odds got worse every day.
“It's okay,” Abby said, to no one in particular. Without her goth chic she looked younger, so very, very young. “We still have Las Vegas and Salt Lake.”
Ziva put a hand on Abby's shoulder. Of all of them, Ziva had adjusted the easiest. A survivor to the end. “There are more leads we can follow. We are not done yet.”
Gibbs and Tony said nothing, just stared at the road in front of them. They hadn't talked much at all since leaving Washington months ago, but this last blow to humanity had completely silenced them. Tim couldn't quite believe it, but he wished that old, silly Tony back. A lot of things seemed so much more desirable in retrospect.
Tim let his fingers play over his rifle. Amazing what people could do with the things they were given, even develop semi-automatic flare guns, because bright, hot fire was the only thing between them and the... zombies.
“You know,” Tim said, “this is a lot like that movie-”
* * *
Tony didn't tremble, his fingers didn't shake. If this was the guy-
Somewhere in Africa, Tony stood and executed a man. The humans were down one, and it's been a while since one life was so insignificant a number that it wouldn't be missed. But maybe, just maybe, this one was what they were looking for. Tony looked at Gibbs.
“Let's get back.” They hadn't taken the team. The others wouldn't understand.
Gibbs shrugged, wiping his hands on his dirty khakis. “Think this one's the last?”
Tony stared into the beautiful blue sky above them. He couldn't remember how many Phoenix priests they'd killed, across the continents, how many years had passed. “Maybe.”
They sat down, their last two flare rifles ready, waiting, hoping that nothing at all would happen.
Title: Caught from Some Unhappy Master
Author: suaine
Fandom: NCIS
Recipient: Thenewhope
Disclaimer: These zombies aren't mine, neither are the characters of NCIS.
Summary: ... and then there were zombies!
Caught from Some Unhappy Master
by Suaine
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
~ E. A. Poe
Abby bobbed her head with great gusto. Tim could watch her all day without getting tired, though he knew to stay behind the glass and not get into the danger zone. Abby only ever listened to mullet rock when she didn't quite know how to solve a problem.
“What's going on, Probie?”
Tony smiled but it didn't do anything to make Tim feel reassured. He looked like a tiger about to pounce - or perhaps a tigered tom cat. Tim shook himself before Tony could slap his head for spacing out on the job.
“Uhm, well, she hasn't found anything yet.”
“Dammit.” Tony scrubbed through his hair with both hands. It turned his face red like a beet. “It's not like the corpse just went off on its own.”
* * *
Ziva kicked her attacker in the face with a well-placed roundhouse. No ordinary man withstood that kind of force unless he was high on PCP. His waxy skin offered little resistance and she could already imagine him groaning with pain, cowering before her and begging for mercy. She bounced back and brought up her arms, just in case.
“That should teach you not to attack a woman in a dark alley.”
The man growled. Ziva cracked her knuckles and raised one brow. “You are a feisty one.”
Drool ran down the man's chin. He wasn't phased at all, he just kept coming with the same mindless insistence as before. His legs dragged over the concrete, creating a strangely dull scraping sound. His vacant eyes scanned her face. Ziva took a step back, reaching for her cell with one hand. The other came to rest on her gun.
“Listen,” she said, “I'm a trained Mossad agent, liason to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and I don't want to hurt you.” Well, not much.
The man grunted.
Ziva pulled her gun. “I did warn you.”
* * *
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Palmer, and do excuse our guest for his rather pungent odor.”
Ducky returned his attention to the last case of the night, the corpse of a young caucasian male with several stabwounds and no identification. Fignerprints hadn't turned up any hits so far, but the night was young and Abby had her focus elsewhere. By the time Ducky was done with the boy, he might even have a name.
“Don't worry, my young friend, you're in good hands.”
Ducky chose a scalpel for his first cut. As he turned back to the corpse, he dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. Linoleum. Ducky shook himself, wondering why these insignificant observations always came up in a life or death situation. He stumbled backwards without taking his eyes off the -
“My god, what are you?”
The corpse didn't answer, just slowly moved toward Ducky in all its nakedness. Nothing in his life had ever scared Ducky this much. With shaking hands, always an eye on the not-quite-dead man, he opened the heavy door and fled into the hallway. Ducky only allowed himself to breathe deeply once he was safe inside the elevator. Still heaving, he pressed speed dial one on his cell.
* * *
Phones rang.
The 911 operators believed it after the first two hundred calls. They used their position to say goodbye to their loved ones.
The faith healers and TV preachers killed the lines twenty minutes in. There was nothing they could do anyway.
The President didn't answer his phone, not even the one on his desk. Some people say the skeletons in his closet staged a revolt.
* * *
“Jethro?”
The director bit her lip, counting the seconds. This was the third outside call, the last she would take before abandoning this office - windows, too many windows, Abby had said - and she still had a bit of hope. Maybe. Gibbs' had a tendency to surprise people.
“It's me, Jenny.”
Her hands shook as she sat down hard. God! Taking a shaky breath, she pulled herself together. “Jethro, I'm sure by now you're aware of the situation.”
“That's one way to put it.”
“Where are you now?”
Silence on the other end. The director couldn't help imagine some far off mountain cabin. Impossible to reach, now that-
“About five minutes from HQ. What's your status?”
The director sighed. “Everyone is accounted for. Some off-duty agents have gathered in highly populated areas like malls to help with the defense there. We currently have sixty-five people here in the building, twenty-eight with extensive combat training.”
“You're not counting DiNozzo, are you?”
She laughed. “Of course I am, Gibbs. Unless you only want me to count Agent David and Sgt. Tanner.”
“Right.”
“They're not soldiers, Jethro.”
“I know. That's the thing. Because out here, we're at war.”
The director fought to keep the tremor out of her voice. “That's why we need you.”
* * *
“Stop saying that, Abby!”
Abby got right up to McGee's face and glared. “It's the truth. We are dealing with zombies.”
“They aren't real, Abby. Zombies only exist in bad horror movies. This- it has to be something else.”
She backed up, though by no means was she backing down. Hands at her hips, she stalked around McGee, quite aware of their impressionable audience. Abby slapped him hard on the back of the head.
“Ow!”
“That was for calling me a crazy person.”
“I never-”
“Shh!”
“But-”
“I said 'Shhh!', now, how do you explain corpses that disappear on their own. How do you explain the thing that attacked Ducky, huh?”
“Abby-”
“No. You be quiet,” she turned to Ziva, who'd been watching them from the door to the lab, “what would you say, Ms. David? Are we dealing with zombies?”
* * *
“It's zombies, obviously,” Tony said, “all we have to figure out is what kind.”
Ducky frowned, still a little shaken but clearly dealing. “There are different kinds of this menace?”
Tony leaned back, grinning. Once again a childhood - and adolescence, and adulthood, really - spent watching movies paid off. “Well, technically there are two groups: zombies with a master and the apocalypse kind.”
Ziva took her office chair, back to front and sat between them. “What's the difference?”
Tony licked his lips. Abby and McGee came in, an argument still going full force. He ignored them. “They behave much the same way, the only difference is how we can stop them. If they have a master, some voodoo priest somewhere, they'll be normal again once we convince him to lift the spell. If he refuses, we can always kill him and everything should be fine.”
Ziva frowned. “What about the other kind?”
Tony took a deep breath. “If it's a sign of the apocalypse? Nothing. There's absolutely nothing we can do, except survive as long as possible.”
* * *
On good days, Tim still didn't believe in zombies. They were driving down what used to be interstate 5 in their retro-fitted humvee, they should be hitting the Oregon-Cali border in a few more miles, not that it mattered. Tim hadn't had a shower in weeks and a part of him still remembered how disgusting that should be, but the team had more pressing problems.
The Cascades enclave had been overrun, the creatures had developed more sophisticated strategies. At first they'd just been mindless beasts, now they had found a way to access their... their hosts capacities. The humans, living, breathing humans, were outnumbered twenty to one and the odds got worse every day.
“It's okay,” Abby said, to no one in particular. Without her goth chic she looked younger, so very, very young. “We still have Las Vegas and Salt Lake.”
Ziva put a hand on Abby's shoulder. Of all of them, Ziva had adjusted the easiest. A survivor to the end. “There are more leads we can follow. We are not done yet.”
Gibbs and Tony said nothing, just stared at the road in front of them. They hadn't talked much at all since leaving Washington months ago, but this last blow to humanity had completely silenced them. Tim couldn't quite believe it, but he wished that old, silly Tony back. A lot of things seemed so much more desirable in retrospect.
Tim let his fingers play over his rifle. Amazing what people could do with the things they were given, even develop semi-automatic flare guns, because bright, hot fire was the only thing between them and the... zombies.
“You know,” Tim said, “this is a lot like that movie-”
* * *
Tony didn't tremble, his fingers didn't shake. If this was the guy-
Somewhere in Africa, Tony stood and executed a man. The humans were down one, and it's been a while since one life was so insignificant a number that it wouldn't be missed. But maybe, just maybe, this one was what they were looking for. Tony looked at Gibbs.
“Let's get back.” They hadn't taken the team. The others wouldn't understand.
Gibbs shrugged, wiping his hands on his dirty khakis. “Think this one's the last?”
Tony stared into the beautiful blue sky above them. He couldn't remember how many Phoenix priests they'd killed, across the continents, how many years had passed. “Maybe.”
They sat down, their last two flare rifles ready, waiting, hoping that nothing at all would happen.