2628/Heads Will Roll

From United Heroes MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Heads Will Roll
Date of Scene: 02 October 2017
Location: Raccoon
Synopsis: SHIELD sends a team on a rescue op. Things are far worse than intel suggested.
Thanks to: Steve
Cast of Characters: Captain America, Sam Winchester, Winter Soldier, Claire Temple




Captain America has posed:
Something vile has gone down in Raccoon.

SHIELD had put up a quarantine zone, represented by a large bubble of energy to keep whatever is going on in and everything else out. While very little is actually known, briefings and reconnaissance have suggested something strange has descended on the Midwestern American city.

The Quinjet arrives just shy of the forcefield zone. Warnings about the area had been extreme. Proceed with caution, the briefing had stated. Go in, scope the situation, save any survivors, and report back. While there had been aerial evidence that someone remained in the chaos (a large SOS had been drawn atop one of the many buildings), communications have been shut off with the outside world.

All-in-all, raccoon has become a dead zone.

The smell of death, dying, and decay fills the air when the entrance to the Quinjet opens, suffocating the signs of life that might draw anyone away from this spot.

SHIELD had promised to keep its people well equipped and well protected. Lightweight armour developed to look like street clothes (an invention from SHIELD R&D that at least one developer was quite proud of) was made available to all. Weaponry had been assigned. And the Mission Parameters were made available to each of the heroes present. This was about finding survivors, and, if at all possible, get a handle on whatever happened in Raccoon for things to get so out of control so quickly.

Captain America, rather than Steve Rogers, complete with his costume, mask and helmet steps off the Quinjet. With the shield securely fastened to his back, he casts a long look behind him. "Alright everyone. We're going to stick as close together as we can. We know that the city is in a bad way," it's easy enough to see thanks to the ransacked buildings damaged by rioters, pillagers, and anyone trying to manage to survive amongst the bedlam that's broken out. "Watch for signs of survivors, keep your eyes open, and," his lips turn to a thin grim line, "if need be, defend yourself and any survivors. We don't know what we'll find."

His throat clears and he makes a small tick with his head, leading them down the path into whatever lies beyond, silently thankful that the current mission is happening in the middle of the day with plenty of hours of light rather than the dark. At least they have the privilege of light.

The large buildings squeak and creak as they pass, looking mostly abandoned save for the occasional band of shadow that trails passed one of the windows.

Despite the silence, Raccoon isn't a ghost town.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester is loaded for bear, and has been trying to dig up //any// information prior to the quarantine that might help him get out in front of this and identify it. To this end, he read pre-quarantine reports, and then cross-checked them against all of his various lore sources, a growing, searchable, digitized library in his tablet now with the help of SHIELD's resources, and more borrowed books from one Bobby Singer.

This is, he supposes, his first official official SHIELD Agent mission, so his street clothes are a suit today, if a suit armored up and ready to go.

"So according to the pre-quarantine reports," he says slowly, "people lost it. They started going violent and attacking one another, even family members. There might have been some sort of illness first though. High fevers, shakes. The lore doesn't have anything that matches up. Which could mean it's not supernatural, and it could mean...there's no lore."

Well, there's no reason why it //should// be supernatural in nature, but Sam's life suffers from a bad case of 'every problem to date has mostly been a nail and the real solution has always been 'pick the right hammer.'

Winter Soldier has posed:
It might be Captain America, rather than Steve Rogers, stepping off the Quinjet, but it's Bucky Barnes rather than the Winter Soldier that stands in the shadow behind him, still wary of being too close to others.

He had had quiet conference with both Steve and Claire before this -- individually, not together -- and the topic of conversation had been the same: if I revert, knock me the hell out before I can kill anyone or do any damage. With Claire he had developed a sort of failsafe to that end: a little vial of sedative calibrated specifically to put him out within five seconds regardless of injection site.

He just prays that if he does revert, he doesn't retain enough memories to know to kill Claire first.

So far so good, however. He seems transparently uncomfortable, even with a rifle cradled in his right arm, and even more uncomfortable when Sam mentions 'they just went violent and attacked their own family.' "People gonna be fine barefaced here if it's some kinda sickness?" he asks, glancing first at Claire, and then dubiously at the ruins beyond.

He moves instantly when Steve does. Normally he would trail, bringing up the rear, but he does not want to be in a position where no one would notice if he started drawing a bead on their backs.

Claire Temple has posed:
A myriad of reasons brings Claire Temple to the here and now. One is being asked as a medical consult onto something that looks close to resembling a pandemic. Another is wanting to give back, and desperately so, to the believe who all joined together to rescue /her/. Another is she doesn't have much else going on, especially in terms of a 9-to-5, and an underworked Claire is a stir-crazy Claire. Another is James Barnes, and after the last two months of his close proximity, she anxiously does not want him out of eyesight for too long.

Gratefully dressed in that light armor, and though her only weapon on-hand may be that injectable vial handed to her by Bucky -- ever the pragmatist, Claire holds onto it now, even though she doesn't /like/ it -- she walks bravely with the others.

The too-quiet city rises all around them, vacant and husked-out for what looks like some time, and the nurse frowns up the lengths of shadowy skyscrapers. "Reminds me a bit too much of Hell's Kitchen," she comments. "That's not a good thing."

She steps over stray garbage and debris littering the road, listening to others speak as she goes, her own first priority looking for signs of survivors as Captain America directed. "Should be," Claire confirms, though she doesn't sound comfortable about the idea. "Even if it's airborne, we're in a serious lack of a transmission vector right now," namely, people they can see, "but from what the agent sounds like -- neurological infection? Not airborne, usually. Few to no viruses last long outside of a host. If it's bacterial, different. Either way, safest if no one touches /anything/ without gloves, and if we do find someone -- I'll handle quarantine."

Captain America has posed:
Sam earns a facsimile of a smile. "I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing." Behind the mask, his face scrunches together. There's little reassurance beyond the lack of knowing anything. "Feels like the War all over again. It's amazing that we're always playing catch-up and never know what we're actually getting into."

Towards Claire, he nods when she answers Bucky. "Basic notes said be on guard, but Claire is right. Researchers don't think it's airborne." While Cap may be wearing the suit there's a lack of confidence in the statement that is all Steve. But then the source of his uncertainty turns up in a few words delivered moments later from //the Captain// rather than his alter ego, "SHIELD has been keeping an eye on the site for some time," without intervention. His thoughts on that matter lay bare even in the plain non-judgmental language he chooses. Tone speaks volumes.

While the group moves silently through the highly industrialized city turned primitive, they continue to see shadows through the windows they pass. It's a wonder there are so many people around when so few are physically on the streets. The aerial map had indicated the SOS message was written atop one of the many tall buildings--this one a mega mall not far from their current position. Looking towards the sky, the group can see the peaks of the building in question not far from where they are.

But as they near, the silence gets interrupted by moaning. Grunts. Groans. Something beastly calls angrily to them, even as it remains out of sight, there's little question that something lays between them and their target.

Rounding the corner, while staying close to the walls of a CVS Pharmacy, the view of the mall becomes unimpeded. Its bright colours feel dull beneath the SHIELD-created dome encompassing them and this entire city. Without lights on, inside it looks dull and dreary, a once-harbinger of activity turned literal graveyard. In front of the mall entrance, a barrage of twenty amblers, with pale-grey skin, hollow eyes, and various states of rot, patrol. Their skin falls off its bones, melting away while suggesting some sense of decomposition. Their ability to still move seems almost nonsensical. They look vacant, but the haunting emissions from their mouths are unmistakable. What remains of some of the residents has slipped into disarray.

A loud, blood-curdling scream emits from the West.

Sam Winchester has posed:
There might be a shift in Sam's expression when Claire explains this isn't (probably) airborne, one that hints at relief. It's subtle, but it's there.

In the meantime, he finds out that SHIELD just sat around and did nothing. His eyes go briefly and literally black with anger; nostrils flare and his mouth tightens. SHIELD loses another point with him today.

Still, he's focused as they draw closer, drawing his Beretta in response to all the noise. He points it at the ground until he sees the shamblers.

The problem with stuff like this is there are dozens of things that can make an apparent corpse move like that, and all of them are totally different. Sometimes just shooting the damned things works wonders. Sometimes, not so much. He raises his gun, aims briefly, and tries a headshot on one of them.

Winchester the Younger figures the time to find out is before they get within melee range, after all.

It's the kind of decisive, independent action that both serves him well and drives most of SHIELD crazy. Maybe he should have announced 'I'm going to shoot that thing.' Maybe there are strategic reasons he shouldn't. But in the end he's kind of like that comedy where that one guy talks about playing video games.

I don't have TIME to make a CHARACTER, there are ZOMBIES and I gotta shoot 'em in the HEAD!

Winter Soldier has posed:
For the most part, Bucky leaves looking for survivors to others, despite the instruction. His eye isn't really attuned to people who need help unless it's to mark them as easy prey, and he doesn't like the way that makes him feel. Brings the predator too close back to the surface. Instead he mostly scans for threats, which is better in the sense that it comes with far less of a sense of eating the wounded.

His eyes turn to Steve thoughtfully at his friend's words. Bucky was fluent in Steve context-switching-ese long before he became a true polyglot. Sam hears it too, and his reaction is written quite clearly across his features, along with a startling tic that thins Bucky's mouth.

The first sight of the amblers draws a grimace from him. "I was gonna ask," he says, "if there was any bringing these people back from this, but..." The flesh slips off a shambler's arm entirely, as if to prove just how ridiculous such a query would be. Grimly, he mounts the grenade launcher under the barrel of his weapon, though unlike Sam -- who he shoots a rather scandalized look -- he is ingrained to wait for word from Steve before he fires. Especially since what he's loading is a grenade.

The shriek makes him tense, though, his rifle lifting.

Claire Temple has posed:
Following along, feeling her unease grow the deeper they all wade into this gutted-out city, Claire --

-- gets her first and true unimpeded look at what must be left of the residents. And in that one look, she also gets an answer to a question she /has/ never and would not /want/ to ever ask: are zombies real?

"Son of a..." Claire murmurs under her breath, her voice twisted up with revulsion and horror. She cups a hand over her mouth, and despite her own iron stomach, even it finds itself immediately tested by the stink of flyblown rot and the distant sight of decaying meat falling free from the exposed bones of /someone still moving, and very much alive./

It goes against all biological plausibility, and yet here it is. "I think we --" Claire begins to offer her sage medical advice, when --

Sam up and /shoots/ one.

The gunshot looks like it takes one of Temple's nine lives with it, jumping like some skinned cat. "What in the /hell/, Sam!" Claire sputters, eyes flared wide, hands outstretched in a beseeching OH YOU DID NOT JUST. "

Of course, there's no time for more lecturing, that or it just dries the hell up in her voice, at the sound of /something/ screaming distant.

Captain America has posed:
The headshot lands and the zombie collapses to the ground. Headshots seems effective. Or, maybe only particular headshots are. In this case, the bullet does the expected work.

Even with success, however, Steve's expression mirrors Bucky's. There are some things that Rogers is no longer used to. There was a season in his life when he struggled to understand why anyone would listen to his orders. But after becoming accustomed, it's equally strange to not be so heeded. Not that he gave an order.

And then Claire issues a reprimand. Blue eyes sweep to meet Bucky's punctuating the very brief contact with a faint lift of eyebrows behind the mask.

The shock only has a moment to make purchase on Steve's face. Where the one zombie had been struck down, its friends are drawn to attention. They move forward, dripping with all of the flesh and markers of resurrected dead. Teeth gnash angrily and blood stains across ragged clothes speak to both open wounds--greyed and puss-filled and other victims.

Decisively, in the moment, and because their position is already given up anyways, Steve's head snaps towards Bucky, "Fire at will!"

His hand already traces for the firearm at his side. A simple hand gun. He'd rather use the shield still attached to his back, but with this many unfriendlies, there's no telling how quickly he'll be able to retrieve it once thrown.

His head turns to the West. The scream suggests someone alive. Every muscle in his body tenses with silent calculation. He's estimating distance. It's not remotely scientific, but leaving the mission parameters has him in want. Someone needs help.

While attention might be on the walking dead in front of them, the moaning gets louder. More are on their way.

Freshly risen corpses with no signs of decay run fast towards the group from the South, closing in from behind--had they passed them without realizing? It's difficult to tell. The vacancy of the new arrivals' eyes suggests more the same, but these ones might be salvageable. Maybe. If they could get remotely close without risking assault. Several in the front have marked blood smeared across their faces like they indulged in a pie eating contest, complete without utensils.

The West yields more moaning as does the East. On all sides they're being pressed in. "Get into the mall, we'll regroup, find any survivors and get out," and even as Steve gives the order, he's firing at the zombies in front. There are far less ahead than there are behind. At least the glass doors guarantee that much.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam looks more confused by this outrage and confusion than anything else. The confusion turns his irises back to a more piney green color. His brows draw down in an earnest frown, and he says gently, "They're going to eat our faces if we don't shoot them. And our brains."

Like he's explaining water is wet.

Fortunately Steve seems to get the memo and orders firing at will. He draws a bead on another head, staying with the group at least, and he fires again, again aiming for heads. As Steve picks a direction he does follow; the orders are good ones and really, when they're this outnumbered there's really not much more to do than move and fire. Though he's got high hopes for that rocket launcher Bucky is toting.

With this much this close he says, with a veteran's calm, "These are resurrected dead. They might have gotten sick first, and that may or may not be related, but Voodoo's involved. A mambo or a bokor is close."

He fires again, even as he explains. "They have to be on site to control them. It's likely he or she will have at least 5 followers being ridden by various petro loa in response to this; very angry pagan gods and goddesses who will have received sacrifices--"

Firing again, "And who will definitely be behind him."

He's speaking rapidly, trying to get all the information out fast; if he dies in the next 30 seconds, after all, they won't know what they need to know. "Every voodoo ritual--"

He dodges a swing at his face that comes too close for comfort, fires, "begins with the Opening of the Way. We can significantly weaken the mambo and his ritual if we find and destroy the Legba veve. It will look like a stylized gate in black and red chalk, probably inscribed on a door near the ritual."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Bucky takes a few steps back towards Claire as she freaks out over the gunshot. It's half to give her a calming look, and half to unholster one of his sidearms and present it to her. "Last resort. Don't shoot one of us," is his crash course. "I'll teach you more later."

As for Sam? "You usually wait for the CO to make that call," Bucky says in response to Sam's rather bemused explanation of his actions. "Keeps things more organized than everyone just running about willy nilly and thereby fucking up each other's shit. If you think the CO's call is dumb, then you ask 'Do you really want to do that, sir,' before you do it."

Operational protocol dispensed, he lifts his own (considerably larger) weapon, feeds a grenade, and cocks an eye at Steve. Despite the years, despite everything that's happened to them and between them, they still operate together like clockwork, without need for spoken words to ask questions or give orders. That Steve eventually does give an order is just a formality at that point: Bucky read the letter of it in the decision that flashes in Steve's eyes moments before.

He takes point instantly, being the one with the heaviest ordnance, firing a grenade in a low and accurate arc directly for the center of those massed zombies between them and the mall. There's fewer of them up ahead than there are flanking them.

He moves so he's chivvying Claire ahead of him, keeping an eye on her and providing her cover. He's listening to Sam, but true to his earlier advice -- he glances sidelong to Steve to see what he thinks about this information.

Claire Temple has posed:
Claire stares up and up on Sam Winchester like his logic come descendeth from the temple mount of the craziest ass god she's ever heard of. "They're going to eat our faces," she whispers back incredulously, "because they all now know our fool faces are here!!"

And whether it's by the gunshot or simply proximity alone -- the other undead turn their attention one way only.

The colour drains out of her face; she steps back, unsure, arrested only when Bucky gives her a look that feels like a last handhold before a fatal fall. And he offers her one of his sidearms. She looks down at it, unsure, never a fan of guns and recently now even less so, but with their little time, she gratefully takes it in hand.

Last resort. She keeps the barrel turned down and her finger off the trigger. He doesn't have to say that twice.

Taking no shots herself, Claire heeds Steve Rogers' command and breaks into a sprint, cringing between the reports of gunfire as the three take shots on the amassing dead in pursuit.

"And what if it's not a voodoo ritual?!" she calls back to Sam's paranormal instruction. "If this is some disease -- if this is /real/ -- and this gets out -- "

With one glance back on Bucky as he shuttles her ahead, making sure he's not too far lost behind -- the looming shopping mall ahead inspires little confidence admist Claire's dead run. "/Every/ zombie movie -- starts in a damn /mall/!" she huffs. "And it /never/ ends well! And you know who dies first? It won't be one of your white asses!"

Captain America has posed:
/They're going to eat our faces if we don't shoot them/ While Bucky explains the ins and outs of command, and Claire calls attention to their previous element of surprise, Rogers, predictably, resorts to: "We'll discuss it later." He aims and fires his own weapon while on the move to get into the mall. There's little question that it will be discussed. Later. When they are not being surrounded by dead assailants.

Steve shoots another in the head. The squish-slosh sound of brains being bored through a rotting skull is akin to the splat of spaghetti falling from a wall into a vat of sauce, complete with the //SCHPLUNK// at the end.

He frowns. "I don't think I understood half of those words, Winchester." It's fortunate that they have Bucky with them as the path of zombies ahead clears thanks to the power of the weapon. Corpses light in a crowd with clothes catching fire far quicker than extremities, limbs, and bones. And that fire that causes the zombies to go up in smoke grants the group enough of an opening to get into the mall.

The door doesn't give immediately. Someone has sealed it on the other side. There's little question survivors exist in the mall. But with the pressure to get out of the street, the door handles, chained together on the inside certainly doesn't grant much space. They are literally pressed against the door.

That flicker in Steve's eyes recognizes the impossibility of the situation. He inhales a long breath, grasps the shield at his back, and instructs to the others, "Take as many out as you can. We're not going to have much room inside." The glass doors are little match for the hard impact of the vibranium shield against their surface. It takes three solid hits, but in short order, glass shatters.

The zombies are on their tails, but as they move, Steve turns back to Sam: "So... you're saying," he looks back towards the glass.. "/Someone/ is controlling them? Can we disrupt it?" He looks pointedly at Sam with that thought. Not that there's time to think more on this. He turns to look at Claire, "What if it's something between? A disease and some kind of... weirdness," that he doesn't have language for, "Is that possible?" This is so far outside his wheelhouse that he doesn't push the idea more, just leaves it to sit with people who understand these things more than he does.

As the group moves through the mall with its gleaming floors, it's clear that someone has certainly set up home here. Stores have been broken into and supplies have been utilized to their fullest potential.

The smell of campfire inside wafts from up the busted-escalator.

Going the direction yields survivors. Three girls. All dark haired and green-eyed. One, the youngest, no more than six, trembles on the ground. Her skin is pale compared to the others as she shivers madly. ,

Getting even these three out will be a challenge.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"CO, wait, got it. I'll remember next time."

Claire says that they know cause he shot, and a look of exasperation passes over the young man's face. "They were already looking right at us!"

And then she asks, 'what if it's not voodoo.'

"If it's not voodoo," he says, deadpanning both his snark and his logic, "then I'm wrong about the veve."

Dean is not the only sassy one in the family. Dean just uses his snark a lot less judiciously than one Sam Winchester. But it's a stressful situation, and snark is fair game. Military men, a street nurse, and a Hunter...three very distinct thought patterns in one very crappy situation, three distinct thought patterns that don't always agree.

He's also forced to reload as he uses up the 15 shots in his Beretta. Old clip out, new clip in, fast as if he can do it in his sleep (he very nearly can).

She says her brown ass is who dies first and he gives an incredulous version of his Face, a brief flattening of his mouth and flaring of his nostrils, a brief tilt of his head.

They'll discuss it later, Steve says, and Sam at least recognizes the wisdom of that. Meanwhile Rogers says he doesn't get it and he opens his mouth to try to figure out what part he didn't get. But then the rocket launcher is doing its incredible work, buying them a moment, and Steve reveals he at least absorbed all the important bits. "Yes," he says. "We just have to find them. Killing the ritualists will also work, but I'd prefer to just mar the veve, which should banish the loa, knock out his followers and snap his control."

The door is now shattered, which means it's useless as a blockade. Sam backs into the mall as he reloads. Protocol. Okay. "Should we block those?" he asks Steve. He doesn't add the Sir; it evokes bad memories in the extreme and grates against an inherently rebellious nature. But at least he remembers to ask.

Winter Soldier has posed:
By virtue of many years of military service, Bucky manages to keep a straight face as Claire goes off. It's a near thing, though. His mouth twitches a little towards the end.

Focusing on firing into the massed zombies helps: bullets are great, but grenades are even better, and Bucky is generous with their application. He probably should have just focused on that, in fact, because when he does tune back in to the conversation, it's to hear Claire saying something about how it won't be their white asses dying first, and --

"No, /I/ was already the one to die first," he says. It's obvious he meant it as a joke.

It's not very funny.

He gets pretty quiet again after that. He'll probably need a 'we'll discuss it later,' too.

Once in the mall, he finally pushes down his worries enough to bring up the rear, using suppressive fire to keep the zombies from coming in after them too quickly and yielding some breathing room. Like Steve, he seems content to leave the analysis to those with more expertise, though it doesn't take knowhow for him to judge the condition of the three survivors they come across.

"She sick?" he wonders of the smallest one, as he takes up a position to try to provide overwatch for the group.

Claire Temple has posed:
Happy to take shelter in the shadow of Steve's lead -- it still astounds Claire even /running for her life/ that she's on some sort of mission with Captain America himself -- she finds herself closed him between the him, vibranium shield and all, smashing a way into the mall, and on the other side, both Bucky and Sam picking off the closing, incoming horde, putting bullets and fiery grenades into a deepening sea of rotting faces.

She's so scared out of her goddamned mind she doesn't know anything to do but run her own mouth. The gun stays silent in her hands. Last resort -- this doesn't feel like one.

It's not going to end like this, right? /Especially/ not with Sam making snark next to her?

"I haven't read all those notes you gave me," Claire sasses breathlessly back, all terror and no real candor, "but is there actually any monster you can stop by talking like a smartass?!"

Steve smashes them a path inside. Bucky covers them all with that last -- terrible joke.

Claire shoots him a quick, incredulous look that's more wince than anything else. She backtracks another glance on him, certain he's still with them, but otherwise the woman sprints on a dead-run, no super soldier endurance or years of military training to sustain her -- just a lot of long hours, years of long-hours' endurance, and a shitload of adrenaline.

Moving through the darkened mall and up the dead escalator, she rasps breathlessly, "Do you guys smell --"

And survivors, they find. Claire hitches in shock, before her demeanour mutates like a light turned on, all that sharpness gone. She hands Bucky back his gun, grip-first, needing her hands free to pull rubber gloves over them.

She wastes no time to dash over to the girls and knee down. "Hey, sweeties," she says gently, "it's all right. I'm a doctor -- we're here to find you. Is it just you three?"

The youngest, shivering, first earns Claire's attention, as she counts her heartrate with her fingers and tests her dehydration through the pallor and give of her skin. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me what's wrong?" she entreats.

Bucky's question swings back her head. Is she sick? Claire's worried expression is answer enough.

Captain America has posed:
Bucky was the one to die first. Steve's expression flattens. If he was serious earlier, he's downright professional now. He leans hard into Captain America. And sure enough, as predicted, Steve turns towards Barnes, "We'll discuss this later." Although Bucky knows Steve well enough to see that reflection in his eyes.They won't discuss it later. This is something Steve won't bring up again.

The flicker of failure lingers longer than he intends. With a sharp shake of his head, like an etch a sketch, he purposively scrubs out the loss.

Sam's discussion of words Steve still isn't convinced are words, causes Steve to stiffen, but the notion of a blockade earns a sharp nod of his head. "Do it. Any time we can buy to get out of here is necessary."

The smallest of the sisters shivers at the question. She's been in the care of her two older siblings--evidence of which can be seen in the weapons arsenal the girls have gathered around them. For 6, 10, and 14, they seem to have well resourced themselves. The smallest moves towards Claire.

Undeniably, her skin is hot to touch. Burning up. The whites of her eyes have given way to yellow, and have become increasingly bloodshot through fever and stress. While buried under blankets, she still feels cold, evidence that something in her body works hard to fight off some deep-rooted infection.

"She got bit," the middle girl says softly. "We don't what to do! We did everything we could. We boiled our water! We ate only from," the cache of snack foods from a robbed vending machine lay beside the fire. "We've been trying everything! Maddie," she looks towards her older sister, "said we should just lay low." Her lips purse. "She's our sister, you can't let her die!"

"We're not leaving without her," the eldest asserts.

Steve eyes the trio. His expression falters and he looks towards Claire, "Can she be moved?" because that's going to pose other problems. He then glances back towards the others, "Ideas?" because they actively need suggestions. And a plan.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Claire's banter produces a fast grin out of Sam. There is a reason why Claire sort of registers as a 'long lost Winchester cousin' to him. She demonstrates all of the above right now. Cool under pressure, even when scared out of her mind. Keeping up with the deadpan snarking. Long meaningful looks. Pretexting an upgrade from nurse to doctor (one she frankly deserves anyway) because she knows 'doctor' is going to keep them calmer and earn more respect than nurse. He doesn't continue the snark train though, because Bucky says he died first-- and inappropriately //Sam// also flashes his quick grin at that, not because he's necessarily insensitive to Captain Rogers' guilt, but because, well, for a guy who has also died at least once, it's //really funny// to him, though he's not about to indulge in the Me Second-- or is it Me Third, with Captain America's stint on the ice?-- right now-- until he gets a look at the faces of the two who maybe aren't as amused and clears his throat. Though if Captain America's stint does count, Claire is actually the Last Woman standing in some sense, and that makes it even funnier.

Not that the situation, overall, is particularly funny. It would be heart-wrenching, soul-searing, and frightening if he allowed it to be. But all he can do is just handle the next thing. "Bit's bad," he adds, probably unecessarily. He's proposed a great idea, but how to do it? His telekinesis isn't so strong (yet?) that he can just fling something into place with his mind. And there's no mystic ward versus zombies that he knows. So when Steve says 'do it' he gives a long 'uhhhh' and looks to Bucky the Tank, who surely can.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Bucky realizes the impact of what he said about five seconds after it's way too late, and it's already struck Steve to the core. The trouble is that it just does not ever occur to him to connect 'Steve' and 'his fall' in any sense of responsibility or failure. When he thinks about it, remarks about it, it's not with any thought in his mind of failure or fault on his brother's part.

If anything, he considers it his own fault that he died, so any remarks on it are solely self-deprecating. Yet after hearing Steve speak of how he sees it, as a personal failing? Yeah, he gets the sting, even if he vehemently disagrees.

"Later," he eventually concurs, his gaze lowered, his entire demeanor subdued. It's a toss-up whether he actually means it, too, or whether like Steve he'll let the subject drop forever and find some nonproductive, self-loathing, and intensely guilt-ridden way to cope instead. Like running away for five years. That might do the trick.

In the here and now, he stays subdued, his blue eyes watching as Claire sees to the girls. Seeming to feel himself not very useful in regards to comforting children, he instead takes the hint from Sam's 'uhhhhhhh' and shoulders his gun, heading towards a long table standing derelict, perhaps a relic of some Girl Scout cookie sale long past.

Hooking his left hand under its edge, he eyeballs a second, then flips the thing with a sharp precise jerk and a whir of its mechanisms. It eventually ends its flight lodged horizontally in the doorframe, its body barring off the entryway at about waist height. He considers this work a moment, before he heads over and starts pushing a vending machine in front of the entire affair also, just in case some of these zombies have enough brain left to realize they can crawl over or under obstacles.

Yeah, this is much easier than talking.

Claire Temple has posed:
"She's going to have to be moved," Claire answers from where she's crouched, head turned up to regard Steve Rogers. Her eyes burn with urgency as hot as that little girl's fever. "She needs fluids, among other things I don't have here. If we call for back-up, would they even make it before we're overrun?"

Her attention turns on the other girls, brows furrowed, all seriousness -- and yet for them an infinite patience she rarely, if ever, extends toward adults. Children are every exception for Claire Temple.

It pales her slightly to hear the cause. "Bit," she repeats, and it's a struggle for her to keep the dread from hollowing out her voice. Her hands carefully unwind those layers of blankets. "No one is leaving without anyone. I promise. We're all here to keep you safe. Now can you show me the bite? On her arms? Her legs?" Please let it be an extremity.

It seems she may have found the transmission vector. Dear Lord.

Amidst her searching, wanting at least to get a look at the source of what is probably the infection, Claire's attention swings over at the distant THOOM of the table-made-blockade, jamming any simple way in. Her dark eyes flick from Bucky's left arm up to him, and gentle.

"All I know is we don't have much time to wait here," Claire presses, her eyes moving among the three men. She knows this, but doesn't know /that/ -- doesn't know how survival in a place that looks like war happened. "Depends if you guys think is safest."

Captain America has posed:
Zombies scratch and claw and writhe until they are effectively shut out from the mall. But even with the barriers in place the sound of fingernails scratching against plastic can be heard. They are most definitely gathering in the world outside. The good news is the vending machine holds. But if enough of the bodies come this direction, they may be able to push the machine over. Mind that would be a lot of bodies and a very unideal situation.

Mostly because it means that there are just that many walking dead.

Moans begin to form in a rumbling chorus outside.

Steve's eyebrows lift at Sam's assertion that bit isn't good. A sardonic smile, that likely speaks spades because of who's wearing it follows the observation. "Yeah. I'm old, Sam. Not dead." Because he can infer biting is bad. And he seems like the one most likely to be talked about.

But easily, Steve's attention moves back to Claire and the child on the floor. His lips edge downwards and he manages a small nod. "I'm not sure about backup. I think we could call backup, but there's no guarantee they'll be able to break through." There's a stitch of indecisiveness. He's the commanding officer, yet something wears on him. "We need to find another route to get them out. Is there a map of this mall somewhere?" His eyes fllit towards the directory at the bottom of the escalator. Towards the vending machine with the scratch noises.

The second oldest reaches for her sister and props her up slowly, revealing a bite mark in the girl's shoulder. "We were doing okay here until, well..." her cheeks flush. "...we were okay. But then we were running out of food and we didn't want to go alone... we shoulda left Mika... she's not good with the knife..." Her chin drops towards her chest.



The vending machine begins to rock.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I'll go have a look," Sam promises. He checks his weapon one more time, but if they were safe in here he should be safe to walk around a mall.

At least he said what he was doing this time. That's some sort of an improvement, right? But he does go look, slipping down the escalator, clicking on a flashlight and holding it with his gun, swinging it around to make sure he doesn't get ambushed. And looking for any other clues as to what happened here, or the veve he's already postulated.

He walks with a faint frown of concentration, and he moves very quickly. The victims don't have a lot of time here.

And then the vending machine is rocking. Sam turns his gun towards it, but does not go all Rambo towards the machine. He backs up a few steps, aiming. If it just falls over he backs up right out of the path of it, at an angle so that if it's kicked out towards him or flung forward it won't hit him. Because there are lots of reasons it could be rocking, not just a monster, and he wants to make sure it's not an innocent first.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"That and you don't want the backup for us turning into backup for them," Bucky says dryly from his position near the barricaded door, his weapon lifted in readiness. "If you take my meaning."

His eyes turn to Steve at that moment of silence afterwards. Any good right-hand man knows when their CO is having a moment, and he studies Steve wordlessly a few seconds before he gives up his position, and steps softly back towards the main group. Softer than a man his height and weight has any right to move.

"Give her to me," he says, slinging his weapon over his shoulder and out of the way, "if we have to move them." He has no idea if the serum will cleanse a zombie plague, though it's cleansed just about any other disease or poison he's come across to date; but more than just the serum, he also has his left arm, which is eminently unbiteable.

Unless there are objections, he'll take the girl up into his arms, cradling her so her head is braced against his left In Case of Biting. Somehow, despite the circumstances under which most people present first met him, he doesn't look much like a legendary killer carrying off a victim. He looks more like a guy who had a little sister, once, and carried her to bed more times than he can count.

"We got a way out?" he inquires of Sam, who seems to have been scouting.

Claire Temple has posed:
When it comes to matters like these -- people like Claire look up on Captain America.

It's a rote movement, one of the few things her generation grew up on that still sticks to today -- especially with him /here/. He's their hero, and his countrymen look on him to make those decisions.

Something seems to be wearing on him; it's cursory enough that the very perceptive Night Nurse picks it up, though with only the time to tighten her eyes questioningly at the corners. Then her attention breaks off, as Sam volunteers himself off to look --

-- "Be careful," Claire calls after him, a frown burnt into those words, unable to help the bit of protectiveness she feels for him since the night he bared her track marks on his arm.

Then Bucky bends in to relieve her of the youngest, and Claire watches his gentle arranging of the child in his flesh-and-metal arms. She doesn't even need to nag him to be careful, or mindful of her head; he knows. She looks after him for a moment.

"Hey," Claire says instead, pushing herself up to a half-kneel, ducking in to put a hand on the second-oldest girl's shoulder. "You're all together. You did right. Now we have to go, all right? You two are gonna stay with me. We're going to be right in the middle and these guys are going to see our way out. You stick to me. All right? /Stick/ to me."

The vending machine rocks, and Claire lifts to a stand. "We're gonna do this," she tells everyone, in case there's doubts.

Captain America has posed:
The girl in Bucky's grasp groans when he picks her up. Even with her facing his metallic arm, she feels warm, essentially radiating heat. The injury at her shoulder in particular seems to emulate the fever that has been drawn from these layers of flesh.

Her middle sister looks up at Bucky, hopeful. "Please mister, just.. Keep her safe. Please," her voice cracks and she looks towards Claire for reassurance, seemingly believing that the medical professional in the group will best account for her sister's safety.

But Steve casts Bucky a grateful look followed by a crisp nod. Claire's assurance to the girls and instructions merits another nod. "We gotta move. You both okay to run?" he looks between the girls. But Claire's assurance seems to gain more the same.

"Yeah, we can run," the eldest finally answers. She looks towards Claire and nods. "We'll stay close. Just... get us out of here. Please." There's a pause. "And the school. Oh man, we should go help--"

"No." There's decisiveness in Cap's words. "We need to move and get your sister medical attenton. We'll get you out and we'll be back for the school..." He pauses. "Winchester, do you have an exit?" Cap repeats. "Lead us out of here!"

The rumble of the vending machine starts with the simple scratches of a dull tilt, with the echo of plastic tipping back and forth along tile and then the distinct sound of something slamming against it from the back. Undeniably, they're trying to get in. While the ones that had been loitering outside the mall had been in extreme states of decay, whatever slams against the machine is in another altogether. There's little doubt that the monster has some strength and substance left in its musculoskeletal system.

The vending machine slams forward. Falling flat on its face. The monster on the other side has few hallmarks of humanity. It's eyes bulge, the skin at its lips pull back into a strange mash of teeth. The pale colour of skin that doesn't appear to be rotting speaks to something other having taken over. A few stitches sew it's bald scalp together while a long tentacle-like tube curves around its neck. Dressed in black, unlike the others, it bears a large weapon. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, and a ridiculously tall build makes it far larger than any traditional human. This is not a zombie. This is a soldier. The large weapon flung over its shoulder hangs precariously but with the machine knocked over, reaches to twist it in its grasp. Whatever its purpose or plight, the heroes have one advantage over it: it had been locked out and needed to push the machine over to get in.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Bang! Bang! Bang! Winchester is already firing at this thing, black eyes narrowed. He even lifts his arm for a twitch of a second before he drops it, and hears the question: Does he have an exit?

And he does. Sam had a chance to glance at the kiosk for a few seconds before the machine started rocking, and that was all he needed.

"Yes!" He's told to lead the way, so he does, but as he does, he at least tells them what they're looking for. Because he could get shot in the next sixty seconds, and for all he's the king of bad communication in the field, he knows that they'll die without the information. Well. Maybe Bucky and Cap won't, but the others could. "We're going to take a left at the next hallway intersection, then a right between the Gap and the bookstore. There's a restroom hallway in there. At the end, service exit. Leads to dumpsters. Least likely place for zombies to be looking for victims, but of course there's no way to be sure. We can use the dumpsters to block the exit and then find a new route from there."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Bucky doesn't miss the way Claire looks reflexively up to Steve -- up to Captain America -- for answers. Something about that dims the blue of his eyes, and he blinks and averts his gaze.

Instead he concentrates on gathering the girl up, though whatever dulled his eyes earlier seems to have made him a little nervous handling her now as well. He is gentle, almost too gentle, as if he fears his hands are no longer fit for kindness, and will automatically kill anything that is unlucky enough to fall into their grasp.

But the girl is not killed. Not even hurt. She nestles into his arms unharmed, and now her sister is looking up to /him/ to keep her safe. Something about that shimmers a brief emotion in his eyes, understated, that comes and goes like light glancing off a window.

"Nothin's gonna get her," he says gruffly, to cover the moment. "She'll be fine."

Sam gives them a rundown of a way out, then, and he starts moving immediately. That thing that just knocked over the barricade? He's not sticking around to dance with THAT when there's children in tow.

Claire Temple has posed:
Missing that change in Bucky's eyes, with her own attention turned fully on the girls, and with their little time... instead Claire collects herself, galvanized by the moment and kicked back on alert by a plan made.

Of course, the mention of a /school/ gives her pause, and Claire's eyes widen -- her mind is already reaching towards that prospect. Not wanting to end with this, but there too -- rescue as many as one can, perhaps /more/ than one can, in one night --

Sometimes, thinking like a nurse has its failures. Saving as many lives as possible -- more than a few hands feasibly can. You /have/ to think this way or you fail in your job.

But it's Captain America's call, and he makes the decision before she can speak. Claire's mouth tightens, considering argument, but between the little girl in Bucky's arms and that pleading look her sister gives her -- she relents. "She'll be fine," she tells the girl. "His name is James, and he's going to protect her. You have to stick with me. Hold my hand, and run when I tell you."

And -- it appears that's going to be RIGHT NOW.

The vending machine pitches aside as if it were a pillow, and Claire snaps a hand reflexively around each that of the girls' as she takes /that/ sight in, paling, lost for words. Sam's cracks of gunshots cover the curse she wants to spit out.

"GO!" she shrieks, already peeling forward into a dead sprint, adrenaline pulling those girls with. She keeps dogged on Sam's heels, her breath hot on her throat, regretting every terrified glance she turns back.

Captain America has posed:
Bullets push the man-beast backwards with a low growl. His body curls into itself, and it becomes immediately clear that they will need a lot more firepower to put that thing down. While the impact of the gunfire causes him to crumple backwards, he's not dead, and it doesn't look like he's likely to stay down long. Unquestionably, however, he's far more focused than his dead counterparts. Yet the others leave him alone, even when he's in a semi-compromised state. They don't attempt to claw or bite him. It's a wonder if there are more of them roaming around the closed-off city.

The eldest girl nods hopefully at Bucky before sidling closer to Claire. With eyes full of gratitude at Claire's introduction, the eldest nods. "Thank you," she whispers, but imminently, she's and her other sister are made to run. The pair cling to Claire's hands with the younger of the two being a bit of dead weight while they move.

The small child against Bucky mumbles something soft and low, for his ears only before closing her eyes again.

Sam's direction guides them through a strange passage of occasionally flickering lights (isn't the power off? Maybe there's a backup generator), pillaged stores with broken glass and various levels of theft, and long, empty hallways. It's fortunate that the silence of the mall grants them some even more protection. The break in silence suggests something follows. With Bucky having taken the child in his arms, Steve assumes the rear.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Don't look back! Straight shot to the exit!" he calls. If he keeps firing he can buy them space. It's in his nature to linger. To give them something to shoot at. Bang! Bang! Bang!

The gunfire pushes it back again, but it's only a matter of time before it catches up again. It's smart. It's different. It's somehow superior. And when it collapses back over a not-running fountain, Steve turns on his heel and sprints to catch up to the others. He's quick. For this he's thankful.

The group passes the restrooms and the lights flicker again, buzzing with energy as they do so. And finally, they make it to the exit. Sure enough, ten zombies amble around the dumpsters seeking some kind of scraps amongst human limbs disposed.

But the echo of loud paces and that thing on their tails warns that going back might not be a viable option. "Fire at will!" Steve commands. It's a terrible plan, but with that thing on their caboose, running like a bat out of hell seems to be the best option.

Sam Winchester has posed:
'Fire at will!'

Sam Winchester does just that, sighting on one of the zombies and pulling the trigger with brutal efficiency. The kids in the midst of their group are an ever-present thought on his mind, too, which is why he finally breaks his private resolve.

He whips out a hand to try to throw two more halfway down the street with his telekinesis. His desire to do without, balanced against the life of those kids.

//There is no good without a balancing of the scales somewhere,// he thinks, almost bitterly, but the math still adds up, even as his mouth twists. Because it only takes a second, one awful split second, and it only takes one darting through their ranks at the wrong moment. He's not willing to shy away from minimizing those risks.

He is moving even as he's doing it, getting out of the way of Bucky, who will no doubt do for even more of them even //with// a kid in his arms.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Whatever the girl says to Bucky, it brings him to stare askance at her a few moments, shocked, before he steels himself and looks away again. His arms tighten, but he says nothing.

His right hand might stray a little to pet her hair, but if it does, it does so while no one else is looking.

His focus returns to their exit. He made a promise, and he isn't about to start breaking promises now. Introduced as 'James,' he nods briefly at Claire and her charges, making sure she's going to be okay, before he takes an instant lead. Sam's directions were long, but despite that Bucky doesn't ask for them to be repeated, nor look liable to need them to be repeated. The gift of the serum isn't all physical: he and Steve have perfect recall of things once told.

He is conscious of Steve bringing up the rear, and a vague concern rises at the back of his mind about unnecessary heroics -- one that is swiftly brushed off. They didn't fight through a war together just so Bucky could doubt Steve when the going got tough.

More zombies block their exit. Bucky grimaces, not wanting to do this while holding a child, but he's not got a lot of choice. "Fingers in your ears, sweetheart," he whispers, though he shifts his hold on her so he can curl her head between his hand and his chest, muffling her ears for her if she can't.

Because his free hand, holding a sidearm, comes up a moment later. With his typical precision, he aims for headshots on each of the creatures remaining.

Claire Temple has posed:
With no hands free to fire a gun of her own -- and probably for the best she isn't -- Claire concentrates only on the dead flight forward, her clinging fingers white-knuckling those girls' hands in hers.

She herds them this way and that, keeping in the middle between Sam at vanguard and Steve at the back, with Bucky and that little parcel in his arms remaining promisingly nearby.

There's only one thing -- the youngest of the two, Claire feels her dragging, feels her unable to keep up to her longer, urgent strides. She's going to slow them down, and she can't ask any of the men to give up their gunhands as they /clear/ a path and hold back the horde at the periphery.

So Claire takes in a breath, and mid-step, snatches the ten-year-old up against her hip, and charges on. The last two months have her out of shape, but she can /do/ this. She's /done/ this, every day, fourteen-hour shifts followed by running all through New York with her forty-pound bag of medical supplies. She was strong enough then, and she's sure as hell strong enough now.

"Hold on, baby," she says, and with her hand clasped around the other girl, summons up every last lick of adrenaline and stays true on her sprint. The added weight labours her, but Claire doesn't slow. She holds her jaw against the too-close fire of gunshots, and runs as around them those creatures ventilate and fall.

Captain America has posed:
The zombies that Sam and Bucky fire at splatter into a mess of brain-guts when the bullets meet their heads. They drop. Hard. And the telekinesis sends even more floating away, crushing them against buildings and surfaces thanks to their various states of decay.

//SCHPLUNK!//

Following the shooting the little girl on Bucky's shoulder murmurs soft thanks. A kind of grateful sigh in her addled fever-state. The bodies virtually disintegrate as they move. And with the path cleared, the group runs into the street. They only have two blocks to run and they can find the exit out of the dome. Two blocks to leave the death and dying.

The sprint feels like an eternity, especially as the gunfire draws more of the dead on their trail. But the group doesn't stop. No one lingers behind.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire from all sides keeps the zombies at bay.

And then the line is met. The end of the dome is reached. The forcefield lifts to permit them exit just in time to see the Soldier-beast take up the rear.

With a loud bellow, it becomes clear.

Inside the dome a war is being waged against the living.