Recognizing the zombie apocalypse when he saw it was one thing.
Recognizing the zombie apocalypse because there were actual zombies trying to eat his face was altogether different.
Elliott’s brain shut down when Junie and Shavian led them out of the holding cells and into the warzone that the police station had become. They were in the main part of the building where there were desks for detectives and offices for higher ranks against the back wall. Broken scraps of furniture were everywhere, interspersed with bodies, some still twitching, and some lying terribly still. A crunching sound behind them made Elliott look back a moment; Junie had stepped on a picture frame featuring a man, his wife and three children that had fallen off a desk. There were screams, bullets flying, and all was chaos. A shuffling body came towards them, and Elliott put himself between it and Shavian without thinking and got a thwack on the back of the head for his efforts, but it wasn’t as hard as it might have once been. Junie raised her gun, and Elliott was a little freaked that that same calm gaze was there in her eyes. Stress brought out the strangest things in people; in Junie, it brought out nothing at all. She fired, and barely blinked when the gun discharged.
Elliott almost passed out as Junie’s bullet ripped through the man’s head, his furious, inhuman eyes glassing over. He’d never seen anyone die before. He supposed maybe he still hadn’t as this man was already dead, but it changed nothing for him: he went down and stopped moving, and that was that. Elliott’s face paled, his stomach flip-flopped, and he had to brace himself against a pillar in the middle of the room to keep from falling over.
“I thought you were a pacifist,” he gasped at Junie.
She shrugged with a little smile, and took a sip from the scary mug. “Yeah. Selectively,” she replied.
Roger picked up a four-legged chair in each hand; one he used to swat a path through the horde and the other he used to fend them off. It was a strange strategy, in that it involved more Ikea products than most combat, but it was certainly working.
Shavian still appeared completely shell shocked, though self-defense had kicked in and she held the gun up. Her eyes were wide and white around the edges, but her breathing was slowing. She seemed as likely to point the gun at someone living that she didn’t like, and that was making Elliott nervous.
Despite the whack earlier, Shavian kept close, ducking behind him away from the zombies while trying to make it look like she wasn’t. Elliott knew better than to believe it was because she thought him brave. He may have been called to lead a few moments ago but that did nothing to make him feel more courageous.
At last, there came a zombie threat that could not be eliminated by the liberal application of a meat shield.
Elliott saw an older woman being dragged down by a zombie, and he dashed to the side to help her.
The humans were still outnumbered and surrounded, but they’d managed to clear a small space around them; the enemy closed the gap quickly however. They appeared to have no survival instinct at all they would beat one down but it would slowly pull itself back to its feet. Shavian was left suddenly alone just as one stood up behind her. The zombie had once been a man, a big one with black hair and dark eyes. It stumbled into her from behind. She screamed, and began thrashing wildly, looking around for someone to save her. She pushed and shoved but it had no effect on the huge zombie. In fact, the noise had the opposite effect, drawing more zombies toward her.
Shavian’s face went pale, her shrieking turned high-pitched and frantic and she flailed helplessly as the zombie grabbed her and pulled her close, its lips pulled back from its teeth in a snarl. Elliott turned at the sound of her panic.
“Shavian, shoot him!” Elliott screamed desperately.
She seemed to have forgotten the gun in her hand, but hearing Elliott’s voice either triggered her common sense or her more murderous tendencies, because she immediately drew the gun up to the zombie’s head and pulled the trigger. It fell limply to the floor, Shavian left standing with a crimson splatter across her cheek.
Every inch of the redhead was shaking, her eyes even wider than they’d been as the other zombies closed in. Elliott had never seen Shavian look so small. There was a metallic crunching sound and Elliott could see that the cartridge hadn’t ejected from the gun fully; it was sticking out of the top. Without even looking Shavian jerked the slide back, and the shell popped out. She didn’t seem to realize she’d done it; it was an instinctual movement.
Roger beat his way across the few feet between she and him. He handed Shavian his blocking chair, hoisted her under his arm, and bellowed, “Block!” A zombie hobbled toward them, reaching out a hand; from under Roger’s elbow, Shavian thrust the chair at it. It looked at her, seeming perplexed, like it had never seen a chair before; or maybe it just hadn’t seen a chair wielded by a redhead being wielded by a large Scot before, which seemed more likely. It didn’t seem to care much though, as despite a decent thwacking it tried to force its way through the chair. Shavian wasn’t able to hold if off forever, though it didn’t seem able to think its way out from between the rungs. Snarling, Shavian elbowed Roger in the side until he dropped her. She landed nimbly on her feet, pointed the gun and shot again, this time her eyes clear and focused.
Roger grinned. “Now that’s what I call blocking!”