Ruins of Our Own Construction - Chapter 1
Master post can be found here.
January 16, 2008
Snow, Oklahom
Pain fired through Dean’s leg. With a drowsy moan of protest, he searched again for the numbness of sleep. He snuggled further into the jacket that lay over him, but it was useless against the cold of the concrete that seeped through the worn denim of his jeans.
“Hey, how’re you doing?”
His brother’s voice woke him enough to bring back the harshness of reality. Suddenly aware, Dean jerked at the sensation of a hand on his shin. The ghost of a touch latched on more firmly when Dean tried to pull away.
“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you’d quit fondling me.”
With a disgruntled growl, Dean opened his eyes only to clamp them tightly shut once more against the glow of the flashlight Sam had pointed at his ankle. He flexed the kink from his neck as he squinted his eyes open again.
“And if this useless piece of crap worked,” Dean added with a jab of his elbow to the radiator heater he was propped up against.
Despite his best effort, he couldn’t even pretend to feel any heat coming from the device that was, without any electricity, just a piece of useless scrap metal. His car had heat, but instead of being comfortably sprawled over the leather of her backseat, Sam had insisted on checking them into the worst dive they’d yet stayed at.
Taking in a deep breath, Dean rubbed his hand over his face and quirked a brow to his silent brother. “So, is it morning or did you just get lonely?”
Sam pushed up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and shone the flashlight at his watch. “It’s almost noon.”
“Noon?” Slowly he registered the thin strip of light squeezing in beneath the door. Surprise wrinkled Dean’s face as he sat up straighter. “Then what’re we still doing here?”
“I overslept.”
The words were followed by a nasally sniffle that reminded Dean why Sam wasn’t in a talking mood. Sam had been feeling seriously crappy last night. While there were too many shadows for Dean to get a good look at him, Sam’s overall posture said he wasn’t feeling any better today.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“I’m not the one with the broken ankle.”
Ignoring Dean’s glare, Sam hiked up Dean’s bloodied pant leg and gingerly pulled down his sock. His foot was only loosely nestled in his untied boot, but he had to hide a grimace when Sam repositioned it. Dean rolled his eyes and muffled a groan while Sam tentatively unwrapped the makeshift gauze binding and ran his cool fingers over the discolored, swollen skin.
“Lay off the goods, Nightingale.” Dean scooted over and tried to move his leg away from his brother. “I told you it’s not broken.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, Dean. You didn’t shovel down those pain pills over a sprain. You can’t walk.”
Dean gave a disapproving shake of his head as he watched Sam brush back his shaggy bangs. It looked like his brother was thinking hard enough that his head might explode when there was nothing to think about. They didn’t have any options here.
Settling back on his haunches, Sam set the flashlight on its end so that the light beam hit the ceiling and diffused over the cramped, windowless gas station bathroom. It had looked way better in the dark. The foul odor hanging in the air had been enough without actually seeing the darkly stained toilet bowl and grungy, chipped tiles.
“This is the last time you get to pick the room,” Dean said. “We would’ve been fine in the car.”
“Except you couldn’t have gotten out if anything found us.”
“On the plus side, we wouldn’t have hepatitis.” Dean scowled as he lifted his hand from the gritty, suspiciously sticky floor they’d spent the night on.
“Getting hepatitis is about the best thing that could happen to us right now,” Sam replied with another stuffy sniffle. “Until you can walk, we’re not sleeping anywhere without a solid door.”
“I might not be running any marathons, but I got plenty of bullets. Prop me up against my baby and I could take out a whole army of those sons of bitches.” Dean folded his arms indignantly over his chest. “Only reason I listened to you is because I didn’t wanna risk any of her windows getting broken. We just shouldn’t’ve stopped at all.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped as he finished rewrapping the bandaging on Dean’s ankle. “I needed some sleep after driving for twelve hours straight.”
“I got two feet. It’s not like I can’t drive.”
“Dean, you passed out before I did.”
“Whatever.” Dean pulled the jacket from his lap to put it on only to realize that he was already wearing his. “What the hell?” He glared at his shivering brother and threw Sam’s jacket back at him. “You’re the one that’s sick. If this turns into the flu, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Completely ignoring Dean’s deepening glare, Sam slipped his jacket back on and pushed himself to his feet. With a furrowed brow, Dean watched his brother stretch those impossibly long legs that looked every bit as stiff as Dean’s.
Sam grimaced right before a hacking cough hit him. His hand clutched his chest until it subsided, then quickly returned to his side like all that heaving hadn’t hurt like hell.
“Sam?”
His brother cleared his throat and nodded. “It’s fine.”
That was a load of crap. Even in the dim light, Dean could now see the circles beneath Sam’s eyes. Still, what caught Dean’s attention was the worry, not the exhaustion, on his brother’s face. Dean let the silence hang until his brother folded.
“What if the rumors are true?” Sam finally asked.
“The rumors that you’re in desperate need of a haircut?” Dean’s tone was dismissive as he lifted his gun from the floor and checked the round. “They’re true, Rapunzel.”
“I’m serious, Dean. What if this isn’t the flu?”
“Are you still stuck on that damn graffiti we saw in Austin?” Dean let his head fall back against the whitewashed wall before his eyes narrowed on Sam. “I swear to God, Sam, if someone spray-painted ‘Unicorn Petting Zoo’ on a wall, you’d ask where to buy tickets. We know it’s not the flu changing people. Aggression, going all freakin’ rabid psycho overnight - we’ve seen this before.”
“We haven’t seen anyone change. We don’t know how long it takes.” Sam tried to pace, but only made it a couple of steps before ending up at a wall. His back remained to Dean as he spoke. “What if we’re wrong?”
“Uh...I don’t know. We’ll figure it out, but right now we’re up to our ears in raving, bloodthirsty monsters that used to be people. Croatoan fits.”
When Sam remained quiet, Dean clenched his jaw. “Look, no one here is getting the flu or turning into a damn zombie. The only thing we’re getting is breakfast.”
He reached for the radiator to haul himself up. He was barely able to wrap his fingers around the cold metal before Sam was at his side with the flashlight in hand. Abandoning the radiator, Dean latched onto his brother and tried to keep his breath steady as the pain sharpened in protest to his movements.
“Do you think Bobby’s really gonna know what’s going on?” Sam asked as he hunched down so that Dean could loop his arm over Sam’s shoulders.
It was a stupid enough question that Dean knew it was only meant to distract him from the pain. “He can’t know less than we do, right?” Dean huffed. “Just gotta...son of a bitch!”
His tentative effort to put weight on his foot failed miserably. The useless thing gave out under his weight. When he stumbled, Sam tightened his grip around Dean’s waist. “I gotcha.”
Dean nodded and blew out a steadying breath of air. “I’m good.”
The disorienting bouncing of the flashlight beam in the darkness didn’t let Dean see Sam’s face, but he could feel the skepticism in the way Sam’s strong arms wrapped further around him.
“Seriously. We just gotta stick together and hope Gordon lost our trail. Those communal showers didn’t exactly improve his attitude any. That dude is a way bigger pain in the ass than any of these zombies.”
Bracing against Sam, Dean hobbled to the exit. The heavy lock slid aside and Sam pushed open the door, blinding them both with the blare of low angle winter afternoon sun. Dean gripped the pistol tightly in his hand until his eyes adjusted enough that he could actually see.
Outside, it was clear blue sky, dense forest cover behind them, and a long, empty stretch of highway in front of them. The corner of Dean’s lips quirked up at the sight of his car sitting safely out front of the gas station.
Everything about the scene would’ve been the epitome of serene if not for the fact that they were staring at a major highway and the only sound to be heard was the occasional chirping of birds.
Despite the highway, they were in the middle of nowhere and, unlike everywhere else these days, the chances of a horde of zombies descending down on them was basically nonexistent. They would’ve been fine in the car.
Sam could worry about zombies all he wanted, but Gordon was the one they needed to watch out for. Ever since he’d broken out of prison, the bastard had been gunning for Sam. It seemed like every time they turned around, Gordon was there.
“You can’t exactly blame Gordon," Sam said as he led Dean through the swinging glass door of the gas station. “It’s not like he’s totally wrong about me.”
Dean tilted his head and stared at his brother. “So you did start a world ending plague as part of your demon occupation plan?”
“Well, okay, he’s wrong about that.”
Once the counter was in reach, Dean slid his arm from Sam’s shoulder and used the edge of the dusty counter to brace himself. When Sam still wouldn’t release him, Dean shoved his brother, who finally eased his death grip. Even then Sam remained hovering at his side.
The shelves around them were half empty and scattered with overturned cartons. They weren’t the first ones to raid this gas station, but there was still enough to scrounge.
“He’s wrong about everything,” Dean said as he grabbed a bag from behind the counter before hopping on one foot towards the closest shelf. “Hell, I hope he finds us again. The guy is starting to seriously piss me off.”
Sam silently brooded while filling a bag with salt containers and first aid supplies. Meanwhile, Dean worked on hunting down something that looked marginally edible. He passed on hotdogs that had shriveled to jerky on their skewers and the loaves of Wonder Bread that had molded in their bags.
A smile touched his lips as he found assorted flavors of Hostess fruit pies scattered over the floor. Awkwardly, he bent forward to grab them and instantly regretted it. He just managed to catch himself on a shelf.
“Sammy, get your ass over here and pick up our breakfast.”
Before Sam could respond, he buried his mouth in his arm and tried to suppress another cough. Dean creased his brow as he fully took in the paleness of Sam’s features. His brother was getting sicker and fast while everyone around them was going nuts. Dean hoped like hell that his brother was wrong about everything.
~~~
FBI Field Office - Norfolk, VA
For fifteen years, Victor Henricksen had sacrificed everything. He’d pushed aside family and anything resembling a social life. He hadn’t considered a vacation in over a decade. The last weekday he’d taken off had been seven years ago after the night he’d been shot at a standoff in Bloomington.
Engrained in his memory was not his own shirt darkening with blood, but the body of the twelve year old hostage and the smile the sight had brought to the lips of the deranged gunman.
After three weeks of physical therapy, he’d returned to the job and spent weekends on the road tracking leads for one psycho bastard or another. He’d signed his last divorce papers and practically moved into his office, spending most waking hours between combing through files and listening to or giving debriefings.
Some might say he was obsessed. They’d only be wrong in saying it was a bad thing. He hadn’t become one of the best by sitting around with his thumbs up his ass while deranged killers breathed free air.
It wasn’t just a job, which was a damn good thing, because as far as jobs went this one was a thankless, mind numbing, pain in the ass. But the work he did saved lives.
Idly, he wandered over to the window and peered beyond the dusty blinds. He braced his hands on the windowsill while staring out over the grey horizon onto the empty streets a few stories below. A glance to his watch confirmed that it should be gridlock out there, but there was no grind of traffic or rush of pedestrians.
Only the overflow of uncollected trash and the occasional scurrying rat filled the street. Silence hung in the air, still enough to make his blood run cold.
The world he’d given everything for was all but gone. Control and order had surrendered to chaos. The society he had vowed to serve and protect had dissolved into mobs of the Infected and militias of citizen survivors. It should have been a call to arms.
Instead of stepping up, the government he had placed all his faith in had raised the white flag. In the midst of this plague, people needed help more than ever and all they got were empty federal offices and an out-of-service recording when dialing for emergency services.
Most would say that it had become every man for himself, but Victor refused to accept that. Loyalty and duty weren’t ideals of convenience. He had made a commitment to protect the American public and it would take a lot more than some damn flu outbreak to force him to throw in the towel. But there were some things even his stubbornness couldn’t stop.
His fingers played over his short beard as he turned to scan the nearly empty office. What had been the center of his life was now discolored, bare walls full of thumbtack holes, a lightly scratched desk emptied of its contents and an office chair with well worn armrests.
The computer and lamp on the desk had become useless paperweights when the higher-ups had surrendered and stopped running the building’s generator. The only light in the room spilled in through the window and illuminated the last mug shot remaining on the wall.
The already grim lines of Victor’s face deepened as he approached it. Leaning forward, he stared into the smug eyes of Dean Winchester. There wasn’t a law in the books this nutcase hadn’t laughed at and Victor could only guess how many innocent lives the man had taken with that smirk on his lips.
Victor was one of the few that could see Dean for what he was. This guy was so good that nearly everyone else who met him got brainwashed into thinking he was some kind of hero even while the blood clearly stained his hands. It was only one of the reasons Dean Winchester was so dangerous.
With a sharp tug, Victor tore the black and white printout free from its tack. What they did, stopping the worst of the worst, had been deemed no longer necessary. Monsters like Dean had been given a ‘get out of jail free’ card.
Victor hadn’t technically been fired. There was nothing left to fire him from. The FBI had been absolved, or ‘absorbed’ as the internal release had phrased it. Officially he was now an enforcement agent for the Civil Emergency Defense Agency. That mandatory switchover had his blood boiling.
Given the current state of emergency, his issue wasn’t with the CEDA’s stated objective of disaster management. His issue was with the fact the CEDA couldn’t manage their way out of a paper bag. It didn’t help a damn thing that he’d never met a CEDA agent capable of looking him in the eyes and giving him a straight answer.
It might be different on the inside, but changing his job title didn’t make Victor any less of an outsider. The CEDA agents didn’t want to work with him any more than he wanted to work with them. Even if they did feel like sharing, he was skeptical that they had anything worth listening to.
The handling of this mess had been a debacle of epic proportions from beginning to end. An entire campaign touted as being for the public benefit had been no more than a collapsing agency’s attempt to save face. Now it didn’t matter that it had all been lies because there was no one left to hear them.
Heavy footsteps closing in drew Victor’s unfocused gaze up from the Winchester mug shot. By the time his eyes settled on the doorway, Agent Reed had waddled in under the weight of a large box loaded with files. After a few more clunking steps, his partner dropped the box onto the desk with a resounding thud.
“Well, I think this is the last of them, Vick.” Reed’s breathless voice was muffled by the flimsy CEDA issued face mask covering his nose and mouth. “You know that thing’s supposed to go on your face, right?”
Victor’s mask hung forgotten at his neck. He was no doctor, but he had a brain. There was no reason to think the thin material would make an ounce of difference against this contagion when CEDA agents weren’t seen in public outside of Level A hazmat suits.
“You’re sure this is all of them?”
Resting on the edge of the desk, Victor tossed Dean’s mug shot into one of the boxes and flipped through the top folders of the newest box Reed had delivered.
“Of the current cases. What’re you going to do with all these files anyway? Heat your apartment?”
With an irritated glare, Victor dropped the folders back into the box. Fueling bonfires for heat in this brisk winter cold was exactly where these documents would end up if he didn’t take them.
There was no telling what state the online criminal databases would be in once the computer systems came up again. These folders may be the only remaining information on hundreds of federally wanted criminals. What he and Reed had spent all these years doing was still important.
Victor gestured towards the boxes. “They’re still out there.”
While Reed followed Victor’s eyes, he shook his head. “Maybe, Ahab, but now they’re zombies.” The man chuckled to himself and nodded to Dean’s wanted poster. “Of course, you always did know how to pick them.” He held his hand out to Victor. “It’s been good.”
He gave a nod and clasped Reed’s hand. “Damn good. Now get the hell out of here. I hear Florida is great this time of year.”
“I’d just settle for the population being human.”
“It’s a disease, not Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Victor knew exactly what Dean would say about all this. He’d spout off about monsters and demons and all kinds of whacked out worlds of crazy, but he’d be wrong. Regardless of what this looked like, one thing was certain. “They’re just people.”
“Call them whatever you want, but when the bad guys are growing to the size of Mac Trucks it’s time for new employment. You know, it’s not too late for you to come. Vick, there’s just no winning this one.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth the fight.”
It was enough of the truth that there was no reason to mention the other obvious fact that this job had become him. While it sounded nice right now, after one day of lounging back on a beach in the Florida Keys he’d go stir-crazy. If he wasn’t in the trenches, he’d just wish he was.
“You always were a stubborn ass.” Reed patted Victor’s back. “Just watch yourself, okay?”
“Yeah. You do the same.”
While Reed disappeared down the hall, Victor returned to the window when he heard the hiss of airbrakes outside. On the asphalt below, a tour bus surrounded by a convoy of military escort vehicles parked in the middle of the empty street.
Anyone in this Safe Zone who had been certified clear of the Green Flu and didn’t want to make the transition to the CEDA was being offered a one way bus ticket to Florida. Rumor had it that the Sunshine State was free of the Infected. Others said just the islands were clear and still others, like himself, said the whole fairytale was a load of crap.
Continue to Chapter
January 16, 2008
Snow, Oklahom
Pain fired through Dean’s leg. With a drowsy moan of protest, he searched again for the numbness of sleep. He snuggled further into the jacket that lay over him, but it was useless against the cold of the concrete that seeped through the worn denim of his jeans.
“Hey, how’re you doing?”
His brother’s voice woke him enough to bring back the harshness of reality. Suddenly aware, Dean jerked at the sensation of a hand on his shin. The ghost of a touch latched on more firmly when Dean tried to pull away.
“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you’d quit fondling me.”
With a disgruntled growl, Dean opened his eyes only to clamp them tightly shut once more against the glow of the flashlight Sam had pointed at his ankle. He flexed the kink from his neck as he squinted his eyes open again.
“And if this useless piece of crap worked,” Dean added with a jab of his elbow to the radiator heater he was propped up against.
Despite his best effort, he couldn’t even pretend to feel any heat coming from the device that was, without any electricity, just a piece of useless scrap metal. His car had heat, but instead of being comfortably sprawled over the leather of her backseat, Sam had insisted on checking them into the worst dive they’d yet stayed at.
Taking in a deep breath, Dean rubbed his hand over his face and quirked a brow to his silent brother. “So, is it morning or did you just get lonely?”
Sam pushed up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and shone the flashlight at his watch. “It’s almost noon.”
“Noon?” Slowly he registered the thin strip of light squeezing in beneath the door. Surprise wrinkled Dean’s face as he sat up straighter. “Then what’re we still doing here?”
“I overslept.”
The words were followed by a nasally sniffle that reminded Dean why Sam wasn’t in a talking mood. Sam had been feeling seriously crappy last night. While there were too many shadows for Dean to get a good look at him, Sam’s overall posture said he wasn’t feeling any better today.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“I’m not the one with the broken ankle.”
Ignoring Dean’s glare, Sam hiked up Dean’s bloodied pant leg and gingerly pulled down his sock. His foot was only loosely nestled in his untied boot, but he had to hide a grimace when Sam repositioned it. Dean rolled his eyes and muffled a groan while Sam tentatively unwrapped the makeshift gauze binding and ran his cool fingers over the discolored, swollen skin.
“Lay off the goods, Nightingale.” Dean scooted over and tried to move his leg away from his brother. “I told you it’s not broken.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, Dean. You didn’t shovel down those pain pills over a sprain. You can’t walk.”
Dean gave a disapproving shake of his head as he watched Sam brush back his shaggy bangs. It looked like his brother was thinking hard enough that his head might explode when there was nothing to think about. They didn’t have any options here.
Settling back on his haunches, Sam set the flashlight on its end so that the light beam hit the ceiling and diffused over the cramped, windowless gas station bathroom. It had looked way better in the dark. The foul odor hanging in the air had been enough without actually seeing the darkly stained toilet bowl and grungy, chipped tiles.
“This is the last time you get to pick the room,” Dean said. “We would’ve been fine in the car.”
“Except you couldn’t have gotten out if anything found us.”
“On the plus side, we wouldn’t have hepatitis.” Dean scowled as he lifted his hand from the gritty, suspiciously sticky floor they’d spent the night on.
“Getting hepatitis is about the best thing that could happen to us right now,” Sam replied with another stuffy sniffle. “Until you can walk, we’re not sleeping anywhere without a solid door.”
“I might not be running any marathons, but I got plenty of bullets. Prop me up against my baby and I could take out a whole army of those sons of bitches.” Dean folded his arms indignantly over his chest. “Only reason I listened to you is because I didn’t wanna risk any of her windows getting broken. We just shouldn’t’ve stopped at all.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped as he finished rewrapping the bandaging on Dean’s ankle. “I needed some sleep after driving for twelve hours straight.”
“I got two feet. It’s not like I can’t drive.”
“Dean, you passed out before I did.”
“Whatever.” Dean pulled the jacket from his lap to put it on only to realize that he was already wearing his. “What the hell?” He glared at his shivering brother and threw Sam’s jacket back at him. “You’re the one that’s sick. If this turns into the flu, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Completely ignoring Dean’s deepening glare, Sam slipped his jacket back on and pushed himself to his feet. With a furrowed brow, Dean watched his brother stretch those impossibly long legs that looked every bit as stiff as Dean’s.
Sam grimaced right before a hacking cough hit him. His hand clutched his chest until it subsided, then quickly returned to his side like all that heaving hadn’t hurt like hell.
“Sam?”
His brother cleared his throat and nodded. “It’s fine.”
That was a load of crap. Even in the dim light, Dean could now see the circles beneath Sam’s eyes. Still, what caught Dean’s attention was the worry, not the exhaustion, on his brother’s face. Dean let the silence hang until his brother folded.
“What if the rumors are true?” Sam finally asked.
“The rumors that you’re in desperate need of a haircut?” Dean’s tone was dismissive as he lifted his gun from the floor and checked the round. “They’re true, Rapunzel.”
“I’m serious, Dean. What if this isn’t the flu?”
“Are you still stuck on that damn graffiti we saw in Austin?” Dean let his head fall back against the whitewashed wall before his eyes narrowed on Sam. “I swear to God, Sam, if someone spray-painted ‘Unicorn Petting Zoo’ on a wall, you’d ask where to buy tickets. We know it’s not the flu changing people. Aggression, going all freakin’ rabid psycho overnight - we’ve seen this before.”
“We haven’t seen anyone change. We don’t know how long it takes.” Sam tried to pace, but only made it a couple of steps before ending up at a wall. His back remained to Dean as he spoke. “What if we’re wrong?”
“Uh...I don’t know. We’ll figure it out, but right now we’re up to our ears in raving, bloodthirsty monsters that used to be people. Croatoan fits.”
When Sam remained quiet, Dean clenched his jaw. “Look, no one here is getting the flu or turning into a damn zombie. The only thing we’re getting is breakfast.”
He reached for the radiator to haul himself up. He was barely able to wrap his fingers around the cold metal before Sam was at his side with the flashlight in hand. Abandoning the radiator, Dean latched onto his brother and tried to keep his breath steady as the pain sharpened in protest to his movements.
“Do you think Bobby’s really gonna know what’s going on?” Sam asked as he hunched down so that Dean could loop his arm over Sam’s shoulders.
It was a stupid enough question that Dean knew it was only meant to distract him from the pain. “He can’t know less than we do, right?” Dean huffed. “Just gotta...son of a bitch!”
His tentative effort to put weight on his foot failed miserably. The useless thing gave out under his weight. When he stumbled, Sam tightened his grip around Dean’s waist. “I gotcha.”
Dean nodded and blew out a steadying breath of air. “I’m good.”
The disorienting bouncing of the flashlight beam in the darkness didn’t let Dean see Sam’s face, but he could feel the skepticism in the way Sam’s strong arms wrapped further around him.
“Seriously. We just gotta stick together and hope Gordon lost our trail. Those communal showers didn’t exactly improve his attitude any. That dude is a way bigger pain in the ass than any of these zombies.”
Bracing against Sam, Dean hobbled to the exit. The heavy lock slid aside and Sam pushed open the door, blinding them both with the blare of low angle winter afternoon sun. Dean gripped the pistol tightly in his hand until his eyes adjusted enough that he could actually see.
Outside, it was clear blue sky, dense forest cover behind them, and a long, empty stretch of highway in front of them. The corner of Dean’s lips quirked up at the sight of his car sitting safely out front of the gas station.
Everything about the scene would’ve been the epitome of serene if not for the fact that they were staring at a major highway and the only sound to be heard was the occasional chirping of birds.
Despite the highway, they were in the middle of nowhere and, unlike everywhere else these days, the chances of a horde of zombies descending down on them was basically nonexistent. They would’ve been fine in the car.
Sam could worry about zombies all he wanted, but Gordon was the one they needed to watch out for. Ever since he’d broken out of prison, the bastard had been gunning for Sam. It seemed like every time they turned around, Gordon was there.
“You can’t exactly blame Gordon," Sam said as he led Dean through the swinging glass door of the gas station. “It’s not like he’s totally wrong about me.”
Dean tilted his head and stared at his brother. “So you did start a world ending plague as part of your demon occupation plan?”
“Well, okay, he’s wrong about that.”
Once the counter was in reach, Dean slid his arm from Sam’s shoulder and used the edge of the dusty counter to brace himself. When Sam still wouldn’t release him, Dean shoved his brother, who finally eased his death grip. Even then Sam remained hovering at his side.
The shelves around them were half empty and scattered with overturned cartons. They weren’t the first ones to raid this gas station, but there was still enough to scrounge.
“He’s wrong about everything,” Dean said as he grabbed a bag from behind the counter before hopping on one foot towards the closest shelf. “Hell, I hope he finds us again. The guy is starting to seriously piss me off.”
Sam silently brooded while filling a bag with salt containers and first aid supplies. Meanwhile, Dean worked on hunting down something that looked marginally edible. He passed on hotdogs that had shriveled to jerky on their skewers and the loaves of Wonder Bread that had molded in their bags.
A smile touched his lips as he found assorted flavors of Hostess fruit pies scattered over the floor. Awkwardly, he bent forward to grab them and instantly regretted it. He just managed to catch himself on a shelf.
“Sammy, get your ass over here and pick up our breakfast.”
Before Sam could respond, he buried his mouth in his arm and tried to suppress another cough. Dean creased his brow as he fully took in the paleness of Sam’s features. His brother was getting sicker and fast while everyone around them was going nuts. Dean hoped like hell that his brother was wrong about everything.
~~~
FBI Field Office - Norfolk, VA
For fifteen years, Victor Henricksen had sacrificed everything. He’d pushed aside family and anything resembling a social life. He hadn’t considered a vacation in over a decade. The last weekday he’d taken off had been seven years ago after the night he’d been shot at a standoff in Bloomington.
Engrained in his memory was not his own shirt darkening with blood, but the body of the twelve year old hostage and the smile the sight had brought to the lips of the deranged gunman.
After three weeks of physical therapy, he’d returned to the job and spent weekends on the road tracking leads for one psycho bastard or another. He’d signed his last divorce papers and practically moved into his office, spending most waking hours between combing through files and listening to or giving debriefings.
Some might say he was obsessed. They’d only be wrong in saying it was a bad thing. He hadn’t become one of the best by sitting around with his thumbs up his ass while deranged killers breathed free air.
It wasn’t just a job, which was a damn good thing, because as far as jobs went this one was a thankless, mind numbing, pain in the ass. But the work he did saved lives.
Idly, he wandered over to the window and peered beyond the dusty blinds. He braced his hands on the windowsill while staring out over the grey horizon onto the empty streets a few stories below. A glance to his watch confirmed that it should be gridlock out there, but there was no grind of traffic or rush of pedestrians.
Only the overflow of uncollected trash and the occasional scurrying rat filled the street. Silence hung in the air, still enough to make his blood run cold.
The world he’d given everything for was all but gone. Control and order had surrendered to chaos. The society he had vowed to serve and protect had dissolved into mobs of the Infected and militias of citizen survivors. It should have been a call to arms.
Instead of stepping up, the government he had placed all his faith in had raised the white flag. In the midst of this plague, people needed help more than ever and all they got were empty federal offices and an out-of-service recording when dialing for emergency services.
Most would say that it had become every man for himself, but Victor refused to accept that. Loyalty and duty weren’t ideals of convenience. He had made a commitment to protect the American public and it would take a lot more than some damn flu outbreak to force him to throw in the towel. But there were some things even his stubbornness couldn’t stop.
His fingers played over his short beard as he turned to scan the nearly empty office. What had been the center of his life was now discolored, bare walls full of thumbtack holes, a lightly scratched desk emptied of its contents and an office chair with well worn armrests.
The computer and lamp on the desk had become useless paperweights when the higher-ups had surrendered and stopped running the building’s generator. The only light in the room spilled in through the window and illuminated the last mug shot remaining on the wall.
The already grim lines of Victor’s face deepened as he approached it. Leaning forward, he stared into the smug eyes of Dean Winchester. There wasn’t a law in the books this nutcase hadn’t laughed at and Victor could only guess how many innocent lives the man had taken with that smirk on his lips.
Victor was one of the few that could see Dean for what he was. This guy was so good that nearly everyone else who met him got brainwashed into thinking he was some kind of hero even while the blood clearly stained his hands. It was only one of the reasons Dean Winchester was so dangerous.
With a sharp tug, Victor tore the black and white printout free from its tack. What they did, stopping the worst of the worst, had been deemed no longer necessary. Monsters like Dean had been given a ‘get out of jail free’ card.
Victor hadn’t technically been fired. There was nothing left to fire him from. The FBI had been absolved, or ‘absorbed’ as the internal release had phrased it. Officially he was now an enforcement agent for the Civil Emergency Defense Agency. That mandatory switchover had his blood boiling.
Given the current state of emergency, his issue wasn’t with the CEDA’s stated objective of disaster management. His issue was with the fact the CEDA couldn’t manage their way out of a paper bag. It didn’t help a damn thing that he’d never met a CEDA agent capable of looking him in the eyes and giving him a straight answer.
It might be different on the inside, but changing his job title didn’t make Victor any less of an outsider. The CEDA agents didn’t want to work with him any more than he wanted to work with them. Even if they did feel like sharing, he was skeptical that they had anything worth listening to.
The handling of this mess had been a debacle of epic proportions from beginning to end. An entire campaign touted as being for the public benefit had been no more than a collapsing agency’s attempt to save face. Now it didn’t matter that it had all been lies because there was no one left to hear them.
Heavy footsteps closing in drew Victor’s unfocused gaze up from the Winchester mug shot. By the time his eyes settled on the doorway, Agent Reed had waddled in under the weight of a large box loaded with files. After a few more clunking steps, his partner dropped the box onto the desk with a resounding thud.
“Well, I think this is the last of them, Vick.” Reed’s breathless voice was muffled by the flimsy CEDA issued face mask covering his nose and mouth. “You know that thing’s supposed to go on your face, right?”
Victor’s mask hung forgotten at his neck. He was no doctor, but he had a brain. There was no reason to think the thin material would make an ounce of difference against this contagion when CEDA agents weren’t seen in public outside of Level A hazmat suits.
“You’re sure this is all of them?”
Resting on the edge of the desk, Victor tossed Dean’s mug shot into one of the boxes and flipped through the top folders of the newest box Reed had delivered.
“Of the current cases. What’re you going to do with all these files anyway? Heat your apartment?”
With an irritated glare, Victor dropped the folders back into the box. Fueling bonfires for heat in this brisk winter cold was exactly where these documents would end up if he didn’t take them.
There was no telling what state the online criminal databases would be in once the computer systems came up again. These folders may be the only remaining information on hundreds of federally wanted criminals. What he and Reed had spent all these years doing was still important.
Victor gestured towards the boxes. “They’re still out there.”
While Reed followed Victor’s eyes, he shook his head. “Maybe, Ahab, but now they’re zombies.” The man chuckled to himself and nodded to Dean’s wanted poster. “Of course, you always did know how to pick them.” He held his hand out to Victor. “It’s been good.”
He gave a nod and clasped Reed’s hand. “Damn good. Now get the hell out of here. I hear Florida is great this time of year.”
“I’d just settle for the population being human.”
“It’s a disease, not Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Victor knew exactly what Dean would say about all this. He’d spout off about monsters and demons and all kinds of whacked out worlds of crazy, but he’d be wrong. Regardless of what this looked like, one thing was certain. “They’re just people.”
“Call them whatever you want, but when the bad guys are growing to the size of Mac Trucks it’s time for new employment. You know, it’s not too late for you to come. Vick, there’s just no winning this one.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth the fight.”
It was enough of the truth that there was no reason to mention the other obvious fact that this job had become him. While it sounded nice right now, after one day of lounging back on a beach in the Florida Keys he’d go stir-crazy. If he wasn’t in the trenches, he’d just wish he was.
“You always were a stubborn ass.” Reed patted Victor’s back. “Just watch yourself, okay?”
“Yeah. You do the same.”
While Reed disappeared down the hall, Victor returned to the window when he heard the hiss of airbrakes outside. On the asphalt below, a tour bus surrounded by a convoy of military escort vehicles parked in the middle of the empty street.
Anyone in this Safe Zone who had been certified clear of the Green Flu and didn’t want to make the transition to the CEDA was being offered a one way bus ticket to Florida. Rumor had it that the Sunshine State was free of the Infected. Others said just the islands were clear and still others, like himself, said the whole fairytale was a load of crap.
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