November 1st, 21:00
Nov. 9th, 2006 05:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_history“That is just completely messed up,” Marco opened the refrigerator door and began rummaging around. He produced a can of Coke. “Hey, this doesn’t belong to anybody, does it?” He cracked it open without waiting for a response.
“Hey! You can’t just... stop that!”
“Look, little Canadian Tire Man, I’ll get you another Coke later, okay? Just chill.”
Donnie sputtered incoherently for a few moments, and then subsided. Randhir was bouncing impatiently on his toes, while Kenny and Joseph prowled around the room, looking like large belligerent German shepherds. Maureen had found a perch on the very edge of the beaten-up sofa and was using a kleenex to meticulously wipe off her knitting needle. Once she was satisfied that there was not a particle of gore left upon it, she quietly pulled a green and blue tube scarf from her shapeless brown bag and began to knit, metallic needles flashing as she worked. Mickey wished she could knit, or find anything to soothe her nerves. Even a cigarette sounded like a good idea at this point, and she’d never smoked in her life.
Randhir was apparently on the same wavelength as she was. “Man, if I still smoked, I’d be dying for a cigarette right about now,” he said wistfully. Mickey suspected he was dying for a cigarette.
“If you want to smoke, you have to go outside. It’s the new law,” Donnie piped up. “My manager said so.”
“Dude, chill. No one’s going anywhere.”
“But you can’t smoke in here!”
“No one’s going to smoke,” Mickey said soothingly.
Randhir paced back to the doorway. “Am I the only one who thinks we should be taking inventory of what we can use in this place? Who knows what we might need in order to get out of here later?”
Mickey nodded. “Good point, although right now we’re in no hurry. We’ve got all night, and the zombies can’t get in here. Donnie, are you sure that the place was empty when you closed down? I don’t want to run into any unwelcome visitors when we go back out there.”
“It was empty. My manager always says that we have to check every aisle before we close, because otherwise we can’t make any insurance claims.”
Marco rolled his eyes, and Mickey found herself grinning in spite of herself. “Okay, good. I’m going to go check out the rest of the store. If anyone wants to come along, now would be the time.” She glanced over to where Kitty was whispering urgently in her mother’s ear. “Is everything okay there?”
Gracie straightened. “Everything’s fine, except we need to find a washroom.”
Mickey turned to Donnie. “Have you got a washroom in here?”
“Yeah, but it’s for employees only. We’re not supposed to let anyone in there. My manager said so.”
She sighed. “Donnie, we’ve been over this already: this is an emergency. If something comes up where your manager told you you’re not supposed to do something, just remember that it’s an emergency and that you can make an exception, okay?”
“Look, I don’t make up the rules, okay? The big shots up in head office make up the rules, and they’ve got reasons for it, and I don’t want to be held responsible if something happens while you’re breaking the rules on my watch.”
“The kid’s shitting us, right?” Kenny asked, looking at once incredulous and scornful.
“That’s very commendable of you, under normal circumstances,” Mickey told the boy. “But right now we’re going to do what we need to do if you help us or if you don’t. I’d rather you helped us, Donnie,” she said, putting as much conviction into her tone as she could muster.
“Fine.” Donnie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s two rooms over, past the manager’s office, on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Gracie mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Michaela as she shepherded the now desperate-looking Kitty out the door. Leaving Donnie to the tender mercies of the other occupants of the room, she ventured out into the store they had crossed so hurriedly a few minutes before in their haste to find a television and news of the outside world. Not that it had helped them much, she reflected bitterly.
The store was plunged in shadows, only the emergency lights providing any sort of reliable illumination. There were windows only on one side of the store which let in a bit of light from the outside, but that section mostly consisted of bathroom monuments and fixtures, very little which might prove to be of use in the immediate future. A few solitary figures beat the palms of their hands in a regular tattoo against the thick panes, zombies who had sensed rather than seen the fresh meat to be found inside and who found themselves thwarted by a barrier they could neither see nor understand.
Randhir came close on her heels, followed in turn by Marco. Unlikely knights in shining armour, but she still found herself glad of the company. They were the two closest to her in age, as far as she could tell, and the two who had kept level heads in this crisis and proved themselves useful, not to mention quick on their feet.
“We should find flashlights first,” Marco said quietly, as though unwilling to raise his voice even in the relative safety of the hardware store. “Then we can see what we’re looking for.”
“Are you sure they don’t sell guns in this store?” Randhir asked. “I thought Canadian Tire always had hunting rifles and stuff.”
“Not that I’ve ever seen when I was in here. Then again, I was never really looking for a gun,” Mickey admitted. “I have a friend who’s kind of obsessed with hunting, though, and with military tactical stuff and military history and all kinds of things like that. He lives in Ontario these days, so when he comes into Montreal he likes to go and check out the sporting goods stores. I’ve gone with him a couple of times, and he never wants to come here because he can’t ogle the guns.”
“That your friend Robert in Alexandria?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“How’s he doing?” Marco wanted to know. “Still fishing?”
“Last I heard. I don’t really know how he’s doing right now. Think this zombie thing has spread beyond Montreal?”
“Hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.”
“Me neither, until now. Well, if anyone can handle zombies, Rob can. He’s got a hell of a gun collection. He’s sort of one of those crazy survivalist types, except not the kind you hear about on the news.”
“Maybe we should visit Ontario sometime in the near future,” Randhir joked half-heartedly. “Sounds like we’d stand a better chance of surviving out there than over here.”
Mickey bit her lip. “Maybe,” she said, giving the thought due consideration. It wasn’t an entirely bad thought, but so much hinged on what was going on directly over their heads and outside on the street, that she had no notion of whether the idea truly had merit.
“Where the hell are the flashlights?” Marco complained, bumping into a display of basketballs in the dark and sending a couple of them bouncing away down an aisle full of tupperware.
“Over this way. I think I’ve found the camping section,” Randhir called. “Ooh! Maglites!” he crowed. “Ah, shit. There’s no batteries, and I bet those are somewhere completely different!”
“Batteries are always by the cash registers,” Mickey agreed. “Maybe we should try exploring more methodically. Like, aisle by aisle.”
“Yeah, except we can’t use what’s in 75% of the aisles anyway. I mean, do we really need pet supplies or garden furniture?”
Mickey stopped in her tracks. “Ah, shit! I completely forgot about Oliver!”
“Who?”
“Her cat,” Marco supplied. “You’ll have to worry about him later, Mickey. We kind of have bigger fish to fry right now. You have your kitty to worry about, but most of us have families out there.”
She winced. “Sorry. I just remembered him. I didn’t mean to sound like he was more important than people.”
Except he was more important, she couldn’t help but think. At least, he was to her. Not that anyone would understand that, so she never voiced her thoughts about her cat aloud. Oliver had been her best friend for fifteen years, ever since her parents had died. She had been twelve years old (nearly a grownup!) and a distant relative had deposited a tiny purring grey bundle in her lap during the wake, when she’d been sitting in a chair by herself in a corner and trying very hard to act like a grown-up and not fidget and sit up straight and definitely, definitely not cry in front of everyone. The kitten had immediately dug his claws into the black fabric of her dress and had begun to knead her thigh, purring ecstatically as she stroked his head, everything else forgotten in that one moment of contentment.
“No worries,” Marco led the way toward the cash registers, and the batteries.
She sighed and followed him. She’d left the cat-flap open. She was pretty sure she had, anyway. If the worst happened, Oliver would have a way out. Also, the zombies seemed to be attracted to human flesh only, so if he did get out, it wasn’t likely that he would get eaten.
A few moments later they were armed with as many D batteries as they could carry, and several of the largest Maglites they had been able to find. Marco and Randhir had insisted on taking enough flashlights for everyone, as well as one set of batteries and one set of replacements each, and Michaela couldn’t really fault them for their reasoning. There remained the question of what they would eat, for apart from the chocolate bars at the check-out lines, there wasn’t anything remotely edible in the Canadian Tire. Donnie was singularly unhelpful in that regard.
“I dunno. The IGA across the way is closed, after 6pm.”
“Do they have a service entrance?”
“Maybe. But there are zombies out there!”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to come with us, you know. In fact, I think only two people should go. Minimize the risk of exposure, right?”
“I don’t know that trying to go out is such a good idea,” Marlene ventured timidly over her knitting. She hadn’t even removed her coat, Mickey noticed. “I mean, as unhealthy as it is to have only chips and chocolate bars tonight, surely one meal like that won’t make a difference. If necessary we can go in the morning, when we’ll be able to see what we’re doing. It’s pitch-black out there, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to try finding our way in the dark in a place we don’t know. For one, how do we know that there aren’t any of those... things... in the IGA? Perhaps not everyone was as conscientious in closing up shop as Donnie here was.” She smiled at the Canadian Tire employee, who looked as though his mother had just patted him on the head and given him a cookie.
Mickey was forced to admit that she was right. “Okay. We can try foraging in the morning. Has the news said anything new?”
Joseph shook his head. “Same type of shit: mass hysteria, stay at home, don’t go out, blah blah blah. I wish this place had cable.”
“It probably does,” Marco said. “Hey, Donnie. Dude, did you ever have a PVR system tested out here?”
“Uh, yeah. But they disabled it and all the cable because they said we were spending too much time in the break room. They said it was bad for employee morale.”
Marco snorted. “You mean it was bad for sales. Getting rid of it was probably bad for morale. Well, if they had it in here, then I bet I can rig something up for us. I’m going to need cable wires. I’m going to look for outlets, so if someone can find wires for me, that would be great. Oh, and some pliers and wire cutters.”
“You can’t just ransack the store!” Donnie protested weakly. “And stealing cable is wrong! Oh, God, why am I bothering?” he fell into a discontented heap on the sofa and folded his arms petulantly across his chest. “I’m going to lose my job,” he announced melodramatically, “and it’ll be all. your. fault.”
Kitty was sitting at a wobbly table in the corner with her parents, who had somehow contrived to provide paper and a few pens for her to draw with. Mickey marvelled that the girl was still calm enough to want to engage in drawing. Then again, maybe the very fact that it was a mundane activity was reassuring to the girl, a sign that everything in her world was still all right. She had to hand it to Kitty’s parents: they knew how to keep her quiet and tractable. Mickey wasn’t particularly good with kids, except when they called her at 911. During a crisis, she knew exactly how to talk to them, to keep them calm and more importantly to keep them talking so that she could get as much information from them as possible.
She settled on the sofa while Marco, Randhir, Kenny and Joseph busied themselves with finding the right kind of equipment to access the building’s cable network. She wondered if she should pull out the book she’d been reading, or whether it would be in poor taste at this point. She desperately wanted to lose herself in a space that was completely imaginary, completely other than this mad horror movie in which she’d inexplicably found herself. At least science fiction was set in a reassuringly far-away future, with no risk of any of it ever happening in Mickey’s lifetime.
“So who’s the scarf for?” she asked conversationally.
Marlene jumped as though scalded, her cheeks flaming red. “Oh, it’s for my son, Patrick. I make him a new scarf every year for Christmas, even though he doesn’t really need any more. It’s become something of a tradition.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” Mickey said a bit lamely, unsure what the proper response to such a revelation was. “Do you knit scarves for your husband, too?”
“No.”
“Oh, uh, I didn’t mean to pry,” Mickey was embarrassed.
“No, it’s all right, dear,” Marlene said, abandoning her knitting to pat Mickey on the knee. “It’s just that, well, my husband and I have very recently separated, and I’m still getting used to the fact.”
Michaela squirmed. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” Michaela was shocked to see Marlene smiling slyly at her, then inexplicably she relaxed and allowed herself to laugh along with the older woman.
“Well, in that case I guess I should offer my congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Marlene said primly, and went back to her knitting.
A cry of triumph came from the other side of the room. “Houston! We have contact!” Marco was lying on his back on the floor, muscular arms wrestling with a screwdriver, and the television was tuned to CNN.
“Hey! You can’t just... stop that!”
“Look, little Canadian Tire Man, I’ll get you another Coke later, okay? Just chill.”
Donnie sputtered incoherently for a few moments, and then subsided. Randhir was bouncing impatiently on his toes, while Kenny and Joseph prowled around the room, looking like large belligerent German shepherds. Maureen had found a perch on the very edge of the beaten-up sofa and was using a kleenex to meticulously wipe off her knitting needle. Once she was satisfied that there was not a particle of gore left upon it, she quietly pulled a green and blue tube scarf from her shapeless brown bag and began to knit, metallic needles flashing as she worked. Mickey wished she could knit, or find anything to soothe her nerves. Even a cigarette sounded like a good idea at this point, and she’d never smoked in her life.
Randhir was apparently on the same wavelength as she was. “Man, if I still smoked, I’d be dying for a cigarette right about now,” he said wistfully. Mickey suspected he was dying for a cigarette.
“If you want to smoke, you have to go outside. It’s the new law,” Donnie piped up. “My manager said so.”
“Dude, chill. No one’s going anywhere.”
“But you can’t smoke in here!”
“No one’s going to smoke,” Mickey said soothingly.
Randhir paced back to the doorway. “Am I the only one who thinks we should be taking inventory of what we can use in this place? Who knows what we might need in order to get out of here later?”
Mickey nodded. “Good point, although right now we’re in no hurry. We’ve got all night, and the zombies can’t get in here. Donnie, are you sure that the place was empty when you closed down? I don’t want to run into any unwelcome visitors when we go back out there.”
“It was empty. My manager always says that we have to check every aisle before we close, because otherwise we can’t make any insurance claims.”
Marco rolled his eyes, and Mickey found herself grinning in spite of herself. “Okay, good. I’m going to go check out the rest of the store. If anyone wants to come along, now would be the time.” She glanced over to where Kitty was whispering urgently in her mother’s ear. “Is everything okay there?”
Gracie straightened. “Everything’s fine, except we need to find a washroom.”
Mickey turned to Donnie. “Have you got a washroom in here?”
“Yeah, but it’s for employees only. We’re not supposed to let anyone in there. My manager said so.”
She sighed. “Donnie, we’ve been over this already: this is an emergency. If something comes up where your manager told you you’re not supposed to do something, just remember that it’s an emergency and that you can make an exception, okay?”
“Look, I don’t make up the rules, okay? The big shots up in head office make up the rules, and they’ve got reasons for it, and I don’t want to be held responsible if something happens while you’re breaking the rules on my watch.”
“The kid’s shitting us, right?” Kenny asked, looking at once incredulous and scornful.
“That’s very commendable of you, under normal circumstances,” Mickey told the boy. “But right now we’re going to do what we need to do if you help us or if you don’t. I’d rather you helped us, Donnie,” she said, putting as much conviction into her tone as she could muster.
“Fine.” Donnie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s two rooms over, past the manager’s office, on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Gracie mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Michaela as she shepherded the now desperate-looking Kitty out the door. Leaving Donnie to the tender mercies of the other occupants of the room, she ventured out into the store they had crossed so hurriedly a few minutes before in their haste to find a television and news of the outside world. Not that it had helped them much, she reflected bitterly.
The store was plunged in shadows, only the emergency lights providing any sort of reliable illumination. There were windows only on one side of the store which let in a bit of light from the outside, but that section mostly consisted of bathroom monuments and fixtures, very little which might prove to be of use in the immediate future. A few solitary figures beat the palms of their hands in a regular tattoo against the thick panes, zombies who had sensed rather than seen the fresh meat to be found inside and who found themselves thwarted by a barrier they could neither see nor understand.
Randhir came close on her heels, followed in turn by Marco. Unlikely knights in shining armour, but she still found herself glad of the company. They were the two closest to her in age, as far as she could tell, and the two who had kept level heads in this crisis and proved themselves useful, not to mention quick on their feet.
“We should find flashlights first,” Marco said quietly, as though unwilling to raise his voice even in the relative safety of the hardware store. “Then we can see what we’re looking for.”
“Are you sure they don’t sell guns in this store?” Randhir asked. “I thought Canadian Tire always had hunting rifles and stuff.”
“Not that I’ve ever seen when I was in here. Then again, I was never really looking for a gun,” Mickey admitted. “I have a friend who’s kind of obsessed with hunting, though, and with military tactical stuff and military history and all kinds of things like that. He lives in Ontario these days, so when he comes into Montreal he likes to go and check out the sporting goods stores. I’ve gone with him a couple of times, and he never wants to come here because he can’t ogle the guns.”
“That your friend Robert in Alexandria?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“How’s he doing?” Marco wanted to know. “Still fishing?”
“Last I heard. I don’t really know how he’s doing right now. Think this zombie thing has spread beyond Montreal?”
“Hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.”
“Me neither, until now. Well, if anyone can handle zombies, Rob can. He’s got a hell of a gun collection. He’s sort of one of those crazy survivalist types, except not the kind you hear about on the news.”
“Maybe we should visit Ontario sometime in the near future,” Randhir joked half-heartedly. “Sounds like we’d stand a better chance of surviving out there than over here.”
Mickey bit her lip. “Maybe,” she said, giving the thought due consideration. It wasn’t an entirely bad thought, but so much hinged on what was going on directly over their heads and outside on the street, that she had no notion of whether the idea truly had merit.
“Where the hell are the flashlights?” Marco complained, bumping into a display of basketballs in the dark and sending a couple of them bouncing away down an aisle full of tupperware.
“Over this way. I think I’ve found the camping section,” Randhir called. “Ooh! Maglites!” he crowed. “Ah, shit. There’s no batteries, and I bet those are somewhere completely different!”
“Batteries are always by the cash registers,” Mickey agreed. “Maybe we should try exploring more methodically. Like, aisle by aisle.”
“Yeah, except we can’t use what’s in 75% of the aisles anyway. I mean, do we really need pet supplies or garden furniture?”
Mickey stopped in her tracks. “Ah, shit! I completely forgot about Oliver!”
“Who?”
“Her cat,” Marco supplied. “You’ll have to worry about him later, Mickey. We kind of have bigger fish to fry right now. You have your kitty to worry about, but most of us have families out there.”
She winced. “Sorry. I just remembered him. I didn’t mean to sound like he was more important than people.”
Except he was more important, she couldn’t help but think. At least, he was to her. Not that anyone would understand that, so she never voiced her thoughts about her cat aloud. Oliver had been her best friend for fifteen years, ever since her parents had died. She had been twelve years old (nearly a grownup!) and a distant relative had deposited a tiny purring grey bundle in her lap during the wake, when she’d been sitting in a chair by herself in a corner and trying very hard to act like a grown-up and not fidget and sit up straight and definitely, definitely not cry in front of everyone. The kitten had immediately dug his claws into the black fabric of her dress and had begun to knead her thigh, purring ecstatically as she stroked his head, everything else forgotten in that one moment of contentment.
“No worries,” Marco led the way toward the cash registers, and the batteries.
She sighed and followed him. She’d left the cat-flap open. She was pretty sure she had, anyway. If the worst happened, Oliver would have a way out. Also, the zombies seemed to be attracted to human flesh only, so if he did get out, it wasn’t likely that he would get eaten.
A few moments later they were armed with as many D batteries as they could carry, and several of the largest Maglites they had been able to find. Marco and Randhir had insisted on taking enough flashlights for everyone, as well as one set of batteries and one set of replacements each, and Michaela couldn’t really fault them for their reasoning. There remained the question of what they would eat, for apart from the chocolate bars at the check-out lines, there wasn’t anything remotely edible in the Canadian Tire. Donnie was singularly unhelpful in that regard.
“I dunno. The IGA across the way is closed, after 6pm.”
“Do they have a service entrance?”
“Maybe. But there are zombies out there!”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to come with us, you know. In fact, I think only two people should go. Minimize the risk of exposure, right?”
“I don’t know that trying to go out is such a good idea,” Marlene ventured timidly over her knitting. She hadn’t even removed her coat, Mickey noticed. “I mean, as unhealthy as it is to have only chips and chocolate bars tonight, surely one meal like that won’t make a difference. If necessary we can go in the morning, when we’ll be able to see what we’re doing. It’s pitch-black out there, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to try finding our way in the dark in a place we don’t know. For one, how do we know that there aren’t any of those... things... in the IGA? Perhaps not everyone was as conscientious in closing up shop as Donnie here was.” She smiled at the Canadian Tire employee, who looked as though his mother had just patted him on the head and given him a cookie.
Mickey was forced to admit that she was right. “Okay. We can try foraging in the morning. Has the news said anything new?”
Joseph shook his head. “Same type of shit: mass hysteria, stay at home, don’t go out, blah blah blah. I wish this place had cable.”
“It probably does,” Marco said. “Hey, Donnie. Dude, did you ever have a PVR system tested out here?”
“Uh, yeah. But they disabled it and all the cable because they said we were spending too much time in the break room. They said it was bad for employee morale.”
Marco snorted. “You mean it was bad for sales. Getting rid of it was probably bad for morale. Well, if they had it in here, then I bet I can rig something up for us. I’m going to need cable wires. I’m going to look for outlets, so if someone can find wires for me, that would be great. Oh, and some pliers and wire cutters.”
“You can’t just ransack the store!” Donnie protested weakly. “And stealing cable is wrong! Oh, God, why am I bothering?” he fell into a discontented heap on the sofa and folded his arms petulantly across his chest. “I’m going to lose my job,” he announced melodramatically, “and it’ll be all. your. fault.”
Kitty was sitting at a wobbly table in the corner with her parents, who had somehow contrived to provide paper and a few pens for her to draw with. Mickey marvelled that the girl was still calm enough to want to engage in drawing. Then again, maybe the very fact that it was a mundane activity was reassuring to the girl, a sign that everything in her world was still all right. She had to hand it to Kitty’s parents: they knew how to keep her quiet and tractable. Mickey wasn’t particularly good with kids, except when they called her at 911. During a crisis, she knew exactly how to talk to them, to keep them calm and more importantly to keep them talking so that she could get as much information from them as possible.
She settled on the sofa while Marco, Randhir, Kenny and Joseph busied themselves with finding the right kind of equipment to access the building’s cable network. She wondered if she should pull out the book she’d been reading, or whether it would be in poor taste at this point. She desperately wanted to lose herself in a space that was completely imaginary, completely other than this mad horror movie in which she’d inexplicably found herself. At least science fiction was set in a reassuringly far-away future, with no risk of any of it ever happening in Mickey’s lifetime.
“So who’s the scarf for?” she asked conversationally.
Marlene jumped as though scalded, her cheeks flaming red. “Oh, it’s for my son, Patrick. I make him a new scarf every year for Christmas, even though he doesn’t really need any more. It’s become something of a tradition.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” Mickey said a bit lamely, unsure what the proper response to such a revelation was. “Do you knit scarves for your husband, too?”
“No.”
“Oh, uh, I didn’t mean to pry,” Mickey was embarrassed.
“No, it’s all right, dear,” Marlene said, abandoning her knitting to pat Mickey on the knee. “It’s just that, well, my husband and I have very recently separated, and I’m still getting used to the fact.”
Michaela squirmed. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” Michaela was shocked to see Marlene smiling slyly at her, then inexplicably she relaxed and allowed herself to laugh along with the older woman.
“Well, in that case I guess I should offer my congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Marlene said primly, and went back to her knitting.
A cry of triumph came from the other side of the room. “Houston! We have contact!” Marco was lying on his back on the floor, muscular arms wrestling with a screwdriver, and the television was tuned to CNN.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 10:37 pm (UTC):)
Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 10:40 pm (UTC)Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 10:48 pm (UTC)Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 10:50 pm (UTC)Also, don't assume he's only "mildly" demented. I am tempted to exaggerate with him. ;)
Unfortunately, he won't be appearing until Part III, the way I have this planned out. That might change, I don't know.
Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 10:56 pm (UTC)*cackles dementedly*
Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-09 11:13 pm (UTC)Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-10 04:25 am (UTC)Re: Nooooo!
Date: 2006-11-12 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-12 01:00 am (UTC)