Chapter 3

“The names Subliminal, and I'm a hero for hire!” Amanda said, shooting out her arm to shake with the brooding slab of muscle that was still staring at her with his best poker face.

“Subliminal?” Olivia asked, one of her fiery brows rising, “And, a hero? Like, back when when America was still a thing?”

“I registered at a young age,” Mandy replied, shaking the hand that completely encased her own—which also gave her the limp-fish treatment… Not-very-impressive…

“Well, Subliminal… I'm Burtrom, that’s Olivia, Carlos is over there having a smoke, and the man you put the living fear of god into is Jon…”

“The hell did you even do to him anyways?” Olivia asked, arms crossing over her chest.

“Broke his understanding of reality so badly that I’ll be the thing whispering in his nightmares for years to come.”

“Why?”

“He shot at me,” Mandy replied, shrugging and offering a half answer. Like she’d said, she wasn't emotional about bullets! But sometimes, it was prudent to keep oneself from explaining all their motives. To say she was bored and merely being a dink—well, that likely wouldn't make her any friends.

“Well… you were leading a horde of ghouls towards him, were you not?”

“I could equally say that he was in the way of my ghoul collection!”

“That’s not a thing.” Olivia stipulated, eyes narrowing even further than they were.

“Says you. For me, collecting zombies and walking them off a building is how I find joy in the world.”

“Okay, Olivia, you realize doing what you're doing isn't helping, right? You're just winding her up…”

“Whatever you say—boss man…” The woman replied, floating into the air without another word and flying off towards the RV, clearly no longer interested in the conversation.

Burtorm—ran a hand across his face with clear dismay… his features dragging along with the passage of his palm before he let out an exasperated sigh. “You still haven't told me what specifically you're looking for so far as guns go.”

“And you haven't told me where it is you want me to clear out.”

“Ay, didn't heroes save the day for free and stuff?” Carlos called, heading back over now that the objector to his awful habit had flown off.

“That’s why I said, hero for hire. I’ll save the day for a price!”

“Ain't that just a regular old merc then?”

“Are you going to be the one who wants to enforce semantics on me?” Mandy asked, tone saccharin sweet and filled with the dripping honey of a horrible warning.

“No, don't think I will. Just saying that it doesn't make much sense, is all… Almost sounds like you’d even be willing to throw down over it… which again, not very hero-like…”

Mandy didn't answer him. Instead, she simply stared at the speedster until, unnerved, he looked away, at which point Amanda did not stop staring. Her gaze fixating on him with unerring focus until he seemed to almost squirm under her security…

“A hero for hire it is then.” Burtrom nodded, sparing a single but meaningful look for his companion who had the good grace to nod his agreement.

There were few things that actually pissed Amanda off. But trying to belittle her achievement and status before the world ended was one of those very few things… Not that he would know he’d stepped upon a fo pas. However, if he kept up the shit, she wouldn't be held responsible for any lessons on the matter of respect that she’d deem necessary. “I want whatever his favourite gun is. “She began, pointing at Carlos who twitched slightly, her gaze yet to leave his person. “Along with my pick of the litter. You tell me what you have, and I’ll tell you what I want. Simple as that.”

“That’s some petty shit.”

“And I’m a petty woman.” Mandy spat back, glaring at the asshole as she said it.

“Including brainiac tech?” Burtrom asked, tone conversationally cautious.

After a few seconds, Mandy allowed herself to look away from the object of her current vexation, returning her attention to the man she was negotiating with. And, with a sigh meant to try and let go of her grievances, she replied in earnest. “Not including brainiac tech. But if you do have anything like that you want to trade, I am open to seeing if I'm interested. Other than that, I like pistols over rifles. PDWs work as well, but the smaller, the better. I’ve also been looking to get my hands on a good long-gun that will actually work for my stature which—sadly, rules out you're typical BFG. Big fucking gun, not big friendly giant.” Mandy corrected, knowing some people could get confused with the acronym.

“Right… Calibur?”

“I can handle fifty’s easy enough.” She replied, tapping at the comparatively huge desert eagle on her thigh, to which the large man merely stared. Well, artwork, as they said, belonged within the eye of the beholder. Not everyone understood the greatness that was the poney-gun. Heck, Mandy didn't even get it. Yet, she knew that one day, the right person would come along and gush over the thing as it so well deserved. In a world where everything was bleak and miserable, it alone was a bastion of happiness and colour from an age bygone to their entire species! Sure, she hadn't fired it yet, but when she did, Amanda was positive it would be glorious! “But, I'm not usually hunting hulks, so smaller is fine too.”

“Fucking hell… you hunt those things?” Carlos whispered, and Mandy pointedly ignored him.

“I’d prefer lightweight since sitting on some roof somewhere all day is boring as hell! Mobility is almost always the way to go anyway. But if you don't have something like that, it's not a deal breaker.”

“Understood.” The large and delicious slab of man-meat affirmed, considering her for another moment before glancing at Carlos for a second, finger pressing on his radio. “Olivia, between you and Carlos, who can get back to base faster, take photos of anything bizarre and unique in the armoury, then get back here for our—associate.”

There was a hesitant pause before the hiss of static resolved into a familiar voice, the woman on the other end still just within earshot but only barely. “He’s a little faster… but I’d probably get there and back before he would. Plus, the skies are safer than the ground.”

“Fucken right it is.” The young speedster grumbled, nodding as if he were some sage of an ancient age…

“Alright then. Do me a favour and get that done. You can also inform Kirk that we found someone with brainiac tech to trade for. I’ll leave it up to him if he’s interested, but, well, she already told you what she’s got.” What wasn't said with words but with a tone that Mandy didn't need a translation for was that she had something that he was personally interested in. Which likely meant that whoever Kirk was—probably was either a brainiac himself or a fellow leader within their community, likely would see eye to eye with his own opinions.

Mandy bet he wanted the spy glasses. Everyone always wanted the spy glasses! The perverts… Naturally, she was able to dupe as many of the damned things as she wanted to! So, her growing repertoire of brainiac tech, all carefully concealed within a genuine to-life bottomless bag that earnestly gave her a very real migraine every time she tried to figure it out, would likely see a new artifact for her collection.

“Alright… Im going… Jon’s finally settling down, by the way. Want me to carry him back with me?”

“Probably for the best.” Burtrom agreed, releasing the mic on his radio before nodding towards Mandy. “Would you be willing to—go with us while I explain what it is I want from you?”

“If you try to kill me under the guise of friendship, I won't take any prisoners.” She warned, being entirely serious, her hand shooting out to point at Carlos before he’d had a chance to open his mouth as she continued, “And no, that would still make me a hero as you all would be terrible people to try and pull something like that off. Ergo, don't try anything stupid.”

“I believe that you're too dangerous to cross.” Burtrom acknowledged, though, as he did so, one of his hands reached out to the nearby lamppost as his fingers sunk into the metal with a miserable groan of bending and ripping steel, the entire thing shrieking softly as it dropped to one side, the large super holding Mandys gaze as he tore a veritable chuck of metal-free and folded it like paper in his fingers. “So long as you understand that we won't be easy prey either.”

Mandy sat inside the somewhat stinky RV as it rattled and shook its way over sidewalks and through long derelict accidents, a woman named Kim sitting on the bolted chair above with a pair of binoculars while another super named Richie hung out on the roof with her, occasionally jumping down to push a few navigable gridlocks aside so their camper could continue is meandering rumble through the otherwise still city. Occasionally, Mandy heard the far-off pop of gunfire as other survivors still living in the derelict husk of Providence made their existence to the world known. Her eyes, at times, catching glimpses of fluttering curtains or the shadow of a ducking lookout who shifted around into a dark alley to hide amidst the gloom as they passed. There was still plenty of life to be found in the city, which was why so many of its locales were so scavenged. Yet, as Big Burt offered her his pitch, Mandy slowly came to understand why a man as apparently capable of himself didn't want to get involved in the shitstorm he was trying to sell her…

“There’s three of the things just sitting there, right in the open… and we’ve got people watching them every day with long-range binoculars.” He stated, legs splayed, bulk filling the comparatively tiny interior as much as she failed to make a dent in it. “Two of them—well… they're probably not operational… To the best of what we can tell, the National Guard was stripping them for parts to keep the third in working order as long as they were able… Honestly, we're not sure if they just ran out of fuel or… got themselves overrun with the breakout before taking off… hell, maybe the thing isn't even running, and that’s why nobody tried to take it when the base fell… But, we’ve got a man who thinks he can get it into reasonable working order, assuming it isn't trashed like the others…”

“Because he’s a brainiac,” Mandy stated, hammering home for the umpteenth time that she knew they had such a mutant at their base while Big Burt once more danced around her comment.

“As I said, he’s a mechanic who knows a little about aviation. He’s also sure he can rig up an appropriate fuel mixture to get it flying if it's capable of doing so.

“Because he’s a brainiac.” Amanda reiterated, though this time in the confines of her mind. She understood why so many people were hesitant to let others know they had a super-genius in their settlement, as warlords had a tendency to collect their heads like they were kid's participation trophies. Forever stealing them and then executing them when they didn't live up to whatever crazed scheme such a madman desired of their persons. However, it was almost getting insulting for her! As if a normal person could jerry-rig a military helicopter and its fuel! That was both chemistry and machinery. And while some humans pre-mutation might have been able to get away with claiming that sort of thing, the chances that Burtoms secret ace in the hole in all of this was just some random run-of-the-mill aero-space and chemical genius was slim to none… Hence, they had a brainiac.

“And that’s more or less what we're after. Obviously, if we get the chance to scrounge around the base’s armoury, then we can defer to your demands on first dibs for cool shit—assuming you can do as you claim. And that you can actually walk off with what you're trying to take.”

“I can handle a whole lotta weight, you know!” Amanda happily informed.

“Yeah, well, just so we are clear in the letter and spirit of our deal. The helicopters are ours. Everything else is fair game, assuming you can even get it out of there on you're own.”

“I could hop up and rip off a heavy machine gun from something like a tank,” Mandy noted, smiling under her mask.”

“But you won't.” Burtorm countered, not phased in the least. “You already showed you're hand in this. I know what you're after, and it ain't no heavy machine gun.”

“But I can take it,” Mandy stated again, watching the man across from her for any tells he might give. “I'm not saying I will. But if the mood suits me, I might do exactly that. I'm not a fortune teller, you know.”

“Yeah… but I'm willing to bet you still won't. Or, if you do, that we’ll just find the thing a mile or so down the road once you got tired of hauling it out of spite.”

She wanted to laugh, knowing she’d been called out and not bothering to deny it. She would take that sort of thing for exactly the reason he suspected. And, likely, would also have ditched it after having her fun unloading a fully-auto barrage of death into the nearest mob of ghouls before promptly abandoning it.

Heavy firepower was cool and all, but her back was not cool with it. And, as she sat there and listened to the screech of rubber on the road, a nearby vehicle finding itself pushed from the path, her mind allowed itself to switch tangents.

“You know, not to say your guys aren't working out there on a regular basis, but aren't we stopping, like, more than we should? Do people not drive post-collapse Providence?”

“They do!” Carlos offered from where he sat in the driver's seat, having sensed Mandy's frosty shoulder for him and, oddly, been working to try and reverse that fact—for one reason or another… “Thing is, tons of raiders like to use intersections as blockades! They just keep scouts all over the city and cherry-pick whatever comes their way. If it's a band of unsuspecting travellers? They fall on them like locusts.”

“But we're one of the local factions they’ve learned to leave alone. Given them their fair share of black eyes for trying us so now they just let us pass unless one of their heavy hitters feels like they have something to prove.”

“Huh… and here I thought Baltimore was bad… At least that city was just night of the walking dead, plants edition. This place sounds like it's got more people than zombies…

“It does, actually, east of the river. Head into Cranston or North Providence, however, and things get a little dicey…”

“The national guard had massive triage centers set up near their airbase,” Burtrom continued with a weary sigh, “so, naturally when the revised pathogen started taking lives, that’s where the city's population died… If you came in from Newport, it makes sense you didn't see too many people, as that whole area was quarantined and blockaded. Lots of ghouls out that way… But, from Barrington to the one-ninety-five bridge, that’s pretty much where most of the survivors in the settlements we got out here live.”

“Nah, I came in through ninety-five. Must have walked right by the airport on my way in. And yeah, it's pretty much been ghoul city up until now… Honestly, I was starting to give up on finding anyone up here…”

“Well then, you walked through the very worst of what Providence has to offer, which, for you're sake, I hope you're not lying because once the temporary base in the Warwick airport was pushed back to Quonset, that’s where the real death started happening…”

“You say it like you were there or something.”

“I was,” Burtorm replied, leaning back as he did so. “wasn't anyone special, but got drafted by the national guard for having effective powers against the undead… I was army for nearly a decade before that, though, and my powers didn't awaken until I got shot in the shoulder and discharged for a shattered clavicle. Then, mutations started hitting everyone and the minor healing that came with mine actually fixed me right up. Also, put me through a second round of puberty and gave me seven inches… By the time I even knew what my powers did, war was already spreading so far and wide that some random jarhead with big fists wasn't going to change a thing when a madman halfway around the world was creating living weapons so small I couldn't even see them…”

“And—why is it that you and you're team haven't gone after these helicopters until now?”

“That…” Burtrom began with a low growl, “is a question with two answers. The first is politics.”

“Politics? The world’s over!” Mandy laughed, amused more than much else. “The hell does politics have anything to do with it?”

“We're talking localized politics. The kind that revolves around settlements and warlords… Providence is more or less split into a few key factions. There’s us, which essentially boils down to a collection of people in the east that have been working together to actually make something of this shitty hand we’ve all been dealt, and the three fuckwads living across the river who have been fighting over the damned scraps to be king of Rhode-island!”

“Anyone tell them that real Americans don't have any kings?”

“The fuck would they care, and the hell should I know? All that’s important is that the three of them have gone and managed to raid every other National Guard base in the city and are each sitting on enough munitions to keep the hoards in their perspective locations at bay. Between their firepower and the barricades they’ve set up, they’ve all carved themselves out a little fiefdom and pretty much just keep whacking each other over the head with their toys. For the most part, they keep to the west of the city. But we all skirmish in the heart of it, which is pretty much no-man’s land out here. Too many ghouls to really control, and the fuckers multiply faster than anyone can clear them out… Now,” Burt growled, sighing with a weary cast, “when I say politics, it's because we're talking about hitting the only realistic unpilfered military installation nearby. And we’re not the only ones who know those birds are sitting on the tarmac. Any time someone decides to send a team with enough oomph to punch into the surrounding area, everyone else sends their people to smash and grab the genius who sent their guys out. The away team gets bogged down by a true hoard of undead, the likes of which nobody is truly prepared to deal with while their homes get levelled by their rivals.”

“And—you're all that your settlements have to send?”

“We are not all that our coalition has to send.” Burtrom corrected with a stern frown. “But we are not so blinded by greed to understand that if we did try for the airbase on our own, then we’d be leaving our families vulnerable without an easy means to get back home. Thus, the plan is simple. You are going to punch through to the airbase, discern if the helicopter is flight worthy, fuck up anyone other than us who sends mutants that can fly over to steal it from under our nose, then assist our own team that we send with holding off the hoard while they do what needs doing to get a helo up and running. Trust me, I know it sounds simple but, you haven't seen the walking ocean of undead roaming around that base. Nobody in their right mind has been willing to try and clear that airfield out without a solid team backing them up, and other than a few flyers that everyone in the city knows by name, there’s just not enough of them with the right power set or juice to really make a dent in things down there.”

“And you want to send me to do this with handguns?”

“A-yup. I want you to use those little peashooters of yours to cull a city’s worth of ghouls and keep them down while we ransack what we can.”

“In exchange for—more peashooters…”

“In exchange for more peashooters.” Burtrom agreed, smiling as he said it. “And, it ain't like there won't be more small arms kicking around in there! Quonset was the guard’s last stand. That means there’s gonna be plenty of perfectly good hardware down there. With the way the chips were falling, those boys had all the same toys that the rest of the military had. They didn't lose to zombies. They lost to a super-plague that was reanimating the dead corpses once it killed people in their sleep. Quonset had a near eighty thousand people that they were protecting while waiting for evac that never came. All of them cooped up in a tiny tent city that held out for weeks before the Splices virus finally managed to slip in and do its thing, and it is a discredit to the men and woman who gave up their lives to accuse them of anything less than the pinnacle of valour.”

Mandy—nodded. Not interested in trying to refute his claim. For others, the apocalypse brought on by Doctor Splice was a harrowing existence filled with nightmarish horror, heartbreak and shattered happily-ever-after’s that hadn't ever come to pass. Yet, while she hadn't had to worry about the living dead eating her alive for years since she’d learned that they couldn't actually kill her. But everyone else lived on in terror of a very real and very hostile threat that was, even now, self-replicating at a slow but sure pace and spreading out across the continent and presumably further. Slowly expanding its influence like a forest of bamboo… only, these weeds would chase you down, break down you're door and eat you're family alive… mutations or not. If you were among the greater populace that wasn't lucky enough to be born strong, then zombies were a reality that haunted you every time you walked by a dark shadow…

“It's still a bit of a tall order,” Mandy muttered, loving the idea of blasting her way through so many ghouls, yet now starting to wonder why she shouldn't just do it for herself, take what she wanted, then fuck off without bothering to deal with the whole helicopter bit. And she was pleased to see that she wasn't the only one who was asking themselves the same question.

“I agree. Given how our bargain stands, there really isn't much reason for you to actually follow through to the helicopters. Yet, you didn't introduce yourself as a mercenary for hire. You said you were a hero. Now, I know it might sound I'm playing on you're sensibilities because that’s exactly what I'm doing. That helicopter represents an ability that has been lost to our people since the world went to shit. We’ve hit the bedrock of our stores of medication, ammo, food and pretty much everything else you can think of because most of what there was to share is being hoarded by stubborn men too in love with their own vanity to see eye to eye. But,” He grunted, annoyance filling his words, “we're stuck here. Not because people like me and you can't wade through a small ocean of zombie blood, but because we're protecting people who can't do as we can. Who can't make the journey to better, more arable, less populated and naturally resource-rich lands because they're too old or too young or haven't yet found a reason to face their fears! And what that lone cargo chopper out there can do is help us relocate our people passed the fucking clusterfuck that is the east coast so we can either head up to Canada or the mid-west! Those monsters Splice cooked up with his madness don't do so well in extremely cold weather. So, that means anywhere they can't escape the chill, be that underground or in buildings, that’s where it's safe to start a real community!”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Throwing people in a single helicopter would take a serious amount of trips to ferry them all…”

“Eh, we ain't so numerous as you might think, girl. The population of the settlements isn't any larger than a few hundred people from community to community… And it ain't the able-body sorts we need to worry about, regardless. We can make it work, and if we do, it's just one more notch on you're red cape in knowing you saved the lives of so many remnants of our people that are left out there… Not the shitheads that want to burn what's left down to the ground, but the people who matter! The ones who want to live peaceful lives and rebuild, then eventually, fight back against the fucking madman’s legacy and reclaim our lost heritage!”

“And if these warlords send their people after me?”

“You kill them, sons of bitches…” Burtrom whispered, a gleam of fire in his gaze… “No one across the river is good people… they're all killers like we are, you and I… only thing is, they weren't ever interested in duty or honour or even a fucking reason. And they never stopped hurting innocents when the lines of borders and countries stopped being more than a history lesson. I was never proud of what our military did down in the Middle East. But at least, when the plagues hit, we stopped being killers of the living… No. Anyone who comes to you from the west side are the scum that the plague left over, the same as it did the good ones. Reavers, rapists, thieves and murderers all. If they’d of wanted to leave their kingdoms they all freely walk around in, they could have by now. All that’s left are those that like what they do, prefer it even. And trust you me, they wouldn't hesitate to burn our settlements to the ground if only they could drink a beer and toast it to the pyres glowing with ash and the scream of innocents all around them!”

The rumble of the RV halted as Mandy kept Burtoms gaze, the man’s expression hard and pitiless as they sat together, their driver turning to speak—hesitating in the silence, then clearing his throat, which cut the lingering tension in the room. “Ugh, Burt, we’re at the edge of high-rise territory. We ugh… we taking her all the way there or…”

“We are not.” The massive mutant replied, though without looking at him. “Subliminal here will make the rest of the trip on her own. And, if she can't, then she never had a chance at all this to begin with.” He intoned, making his point to her known.

“How do I contact you if I actually get to the helicopters?”

“With this,” Burtrom stated, reaching up and into one of the upper cabinets to pull down a bright orange flare gun, his massive paw making it look like some kid's toy as he handed it over, face set in stone. “We’ll have people watching the airfield either way. But, if you manage to get things cleared to a point where we can have our flyers bring in a team, you just hold that there flaregun to the sky and let us know. The thing is, we're leaving Providence with or without those birds. It's not a fast process, but we’ve already been packing for weeks. That means you’ve got five days before we start loading up to head out. Probably a full six before we give up on the airfield, and you can be certain that we ain't gonna be coming to evac you whether or not we're still around.”

“Not very neighbourly of you!” Mandy chuckled, not really hearing anything that was a problem.

“Yeah… welcome to the apocalypse. But, I guarantee that you getting one of those helicopters for us will mean the difference between most of our less fit people surviving the journey and most of them dying.”

“Then why leave?”

“We ain't got a choice!” Burtrom exclaimed, exasperated as he threw up his arms! One of them smacking into the cubby and, causing him to wince, not in pain, but mild annoyance… “The undead get worse and worse every year. And were hemmed in where we are. We can farm because there ain't no fields. And the ones that are somewhat nearby are filled with ghouls as they slowly keep replicating. America’s fucked! And the only way I see it getting better is a miracle. Now, since that ain't ever gonna happen, we're hedging our bets with Canada. Low population, cold, lots of land where nobody was living. Trees, fresh water, game and fish and everything else that sounds like a paradise compared to Providence! We won't survive as things stand; there’s just not enough food to go around. Which means we need to leave! We’re taking the highways up to Ottowa, trying to keep away from any population centers we can. It won't be easy, but it's a necessity all the same.”

“Alright.” Mandy nodded, pulling in a deep breath as she considered Burtrom and his plans. So far as they went… well, it wasn't like she hadn't thought to do the same. Or other’s that she’d met, for that matter. The problem was that the highways were jammed tight… but if you had the supers to clear the way, why not? It was a pipe dream, in her opinion, as there really wasn't any certainty that Canada would be any better. But, if things really were as bad as he claimed in Providence, then—one took the best options available to them…

“So you'll do it?”

“I’ll do it.” Mandy agreed thoughtfully. “Though I can't promise the helicopter actually works. And if it doesn't, I’ll still be wanting my guns.”

“If you get all the way there to figure that kind of bad news out, all while on you're own, I don't wanna be the guy standing in you're way to keep you from them.”

“Good survival instincts.”

“I’ve been told as much…”

“Welp!” Mandy announced, slapping her knees with both hands as she rose to her feet, still not at bloody height with the freaking bruiser as he sat, but—she accepted her loss… “I'm just going to get going then!”

“Wait, you don't wanna see what we can pay you?” Carlos half asked, half demanded, craning his neck to look at her.

“Nah, either there’s gonna be stuff I want, or there isn't. And I'm already interested in this whole whacky plan!”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!” She sang, heading for the door to step outside.

“Subliminal!” Burtrom called right as she was pushing open the door and causing her to peer at him over her shoulder, “Don't kill yourself just to prove a point. If you can't do it, just leave. There’s no glory in dying for nothing.”

“Ehhh, I wouldn't worry too much; death doesn't really like me…” So saying, she exited the RV, her boots letting out two tiny poofs of dusty dirt as she stepped onto the craggy lawn and peered up at the two supers on the roof. “Thanks for the ride!” She called to them, both just staring at her in silence, though she did get a hesitant and small wave from the woman who watched her leave.

They certainly weren't the friendliest bunch of survivors she’d ever met, but then again, being friendly often got you killed. Idly, she pulled out her sat-phone as she heard the camper lumber away, its power-steering whining with the sound of disgruntled pumps as she searched for and found the place she was looking for. From where she was, it was a little under an eight-hour walk… at the fastest and most direct route she could take with the roads. However, that would also take her through Warwick and right beside the other airport… The thing about Ghouls was that they generally preferred to migrate back to areas with earthy terrain. But you couldn't assume that was the only place a pod might start multiplying. Their roots could run deep. And while concrete seemed tough, there were always cracks that the ghouls could exploit and slowly erode away.

A single, person-thick root could support as many as a hundred ghoul pods that grew the monsters in dense, bulbous sacks. And the damned things grew with the tenacity and strength of weeds! Leave a pod alone for a few months, and it would double in size, which was why so much of the world had been pushed to the brink of extinction. Worse, if you just killed a ghoul out in the open, as she was prone to do, their bodies would simply decompose while the plant-like structures they were made from would grow into new pods to self-replicate. That was what made ghouls so problematic to deal with. Not that they couldn't be killed, but that the damned things just came back again and again and again, with usually increased numbers.

They were, in reality, the perfect lifeform to shove humanity off its already teetering pedestal of worldly dominance. And they’d been quite successfull in their purpose thus far. However, it wasn't just pod clusters that one had to deal with, but the ghouls themselves, which, lacking any nearby humans, would simply go dormant until one came by. If the public airport had fallen to an army of ghouls battering against the fences, then chances were that there were oodles of the damned things still out there… and, as much as Mandy had said, ammo wasn't an issue. It could present a problem in this scenario.

If she pushed herself into a sea of shamblers, unloading all her ammo as she went, then all her other selves would likely be required to do the same. At least those within her immediate vicinity. There were of course, some time-shenagans involved as she could freeze time, take out as many ghouls as she could, transfer to a body that was an alternate version of herself before she’d stopped the flow of sands and, thus, keep herself reasonably stocked as she fought. But that could get exhausting. The further she delved into their midst, the fewer and fewer of her other selves would appear fully stocked. Given how few rounds her pistols actually held, Mandy couldn't help but wonder if it wouldn't be worth trying to get her hands on something with a solid box clip to it. Less fun than twirling her pistols while unleashing devastation on all those near her… But, for once, Mandy actually had a dedicated goal… And, despite what some might think of her, she was results motivated… If she was going to take on a city’s worth of undead, then additional firepower might just be called for. Given her multi-dimensional chicanery, it really wouldn't take very much… And, she did have a near week…

In all honesty, if the National Guard had set up an initial base at—hmmm… Warwick International? Well, her sat phone didn't actually have the exact same functionality of Google Maps, but who cared what its old name was anyhow? The point was that if the military had been there, then what were the odds that they couldn't take everything with them when retreating to Quonset? Reasonably high, she recorded. Which, if nothing else, made the trip down its direction just worthwhile enough to put up with all the undead she would happen upon. The truth was that eight hours was a lot of walking. And if she had to guess at it…

“Probably sometime after noon…” She murmured, staring up at the sky, partially cloudy as it was while trying to determine if the sun was going up or down. She was pretty sure it was the latter of the pair, which meant she’d need to shack up somewhere for the night. And preferably in a location that wasn't filled with the undead. She could easily sleep on a roof and not really worry about too much, but they never shut up! Though her powers would let her pop into a multidimensional side-step to her sleepless misery that had managed a full eight hours, Mandy would still need to spend all night tossing and turning while trying to tune out the moans of the damned. “Yeah… definitely a, would rather not, kind of situation…”

But where did that exactly leave her? She could, of course, just keep shifting through her countless selves until she found something—somewhat workable… or she, in retrospect, could have probably made a deal with Big Burt and his people to supply her with the appropriate ordinance with a little attempt at negotiating. But where would be the fun in just asking for that sort of thing?

Mandy was on an adventure! To see the world, meet new people and do exiting things! Also, blow up a lot of buildings. She really enjoyed blowing up buildings. There was just something so viscerally stimulating knowing that she could demolish something that had taken hundreds of people hundreds of hours to create! There was no conflict in asking for things nicely! No tension or fun or anything else that made life the least bit bearable for her! No, she’d get her needed weapons the good old fassioned way. By killing shit to take them!

“It is times like these that I wish I had a sword.” She murmured roughly two hours later, feeling her arms start to scream uncle as she ripped the knife from a zombie's head and shoved it away. Sadly, her body wasn't exactly made for a giant claymore that could sweep the heads from a handful of undead like a German berserker of yesteryear! And, besides, swords were… kind of a difficult subject… In movies? They were awesome! In the hands of someone with even moderate improved strength? No brainer. But for everyone else, ignoring the fact that finding one was rarer than pretty much any other weapon, the blades didn't really do too well against ghouls. Yeah, they could chop them up real bad… but that didn't stop one of them… You needed a headshot as the virus still relied on the human brain to operate the body.

Theoretically, the zombies weren't actually dead. That was just how everyone liked to refer to them. You needed to destroy the brain. And even cutting off a head didn't work entirely as, so long as that brain was active with all that plant-goo keeping it going, it would still chomp and bite at you! No, the reality was that a good metal pipe could be more effective than swords in most circumstances. Hell, people still used spears because they had range and could punch through a skull with a decent thrust.

The reason Mandy wished she had a sword was, if for no greater reason than the style points! Maybe not a katana because those were pretty much a staple in all zombie films… But what about a rapier? She could totally rock a French frock and galavant around the city swinging a stupidly long pointy stick of a sword and probably have a pretty good time of it!

“Knives are just so much easier to use…” The thing was, a good knife could be your best friend! Deadly in close quarters, where most fighting was equally most dangerous. Lethal if you knew how to use one, mobile and lightweight, and you could carry a dozen of them given how little space they took up! The downside of course, was range. Throwing knives was—meh, sometimes good, most of the time, bad. You lost the knife after all… Likewise, there was a good deal amount of effort needed in fighting with one, the leverage and weight behind a strike all in one's arms, unlike the extra oomph you could get with a good swing of a bat.

“Still would be a nice change of pace.” She admitted, stabbing another zombie through the eyesocket before swaying away from its lumbering fall. Her blade tearing from its head as she gazed at the damned tide of the freaking things that were all lurching her way!

She could see the airport from where she was now, and despite having left a veritable trail of bodies in her wake, there were admittedly more of them than her brain had really reconciled with. Sure, one could hear the number one hundred thousand and say, easy, all I need to do is kill a thousand zombies, one hundred times.

Yet, to be confronted with what such a number entailed as the blockade of ghouls before her noticed she was alive and not infected, even if their numbers didn't actually near or research the quoted and aforementioned quantity. Mandy revised her self-imposed handicap of only using knives… It had been a—intrusive thought that, at the time, had seemed somewhat amusing to adhere to. Yet, after ghoul sixty-seven, her damned arms were starting to feel like noodles… It took a lot of effort to constantly yank one's blade out of bone!

And it was honestly a lot more than she’d bargained for! So, with a shrug, Mandy pulled out one of her glocks and just started shooting! Sixteen barks of a flashing barrel all roaring out in a nearly continuous ring of sound as nine-teen ghouls had their heads popped by her bullets. Ehh… not her best showing… but there was quite a bit of luck when it came to collateral kills with all the bobbing and weaving the things did…. Slipping the mag, her gun rang out another sixteen times, more ghouls melting away but not in any significant quantity that looked to reasonably cull their numbers. But that didn't stop her!

She just kept firing! Her fingers dancing over the triggers as she slipped in and out of her anomalous state, burning through ammunition like Saudi royals with gold-plated ak-forty-sevens while two-wheeling a g-wagon! Her arms growing numb to the sensation of recoil as she swept through the burgeoning horde like a reaper's scythe at harvest. Bodys dropped. Casings clinked dully on the ground, and Mandy cleared her way right up to the airport fence before she finally paused. Behind her, only death remaining to fill the street.... The piles of corpses so numerous nobody would rightly desire to count them…

Mandy reached out with an extended arm, Sig pointed at the closest ghoul which likewise reached out to her through the fence before an unexpected voice called out through the din of ringing ears and muffled moans.

“You've still got more ammo after all that?”

She—hesitated, took a small step back from the fence, spun with a very puppet-like and jerking movement before scanning the world behind her and trying to determine if she was hearing things. Not the first time for that, unfortunately… There were periods when she wondered if she were mildly schizo for all the voices that often gave her advice or cheered her on within the old noggin. For a moment, she even glanced down at the poney-cannon, staring at it incredulously as if waiting for it to speak again. When it didn't seem able or willing to say anything more, she blinked at it, trying to determine if the voice had even remotely sounded similar. Hmm… her ears were shot again… at some point, she’d really need to find some ear protection!

“Up here, you mad bugger!” The voice called again, this time causing Mandy's gaze to start roaming over rooftops, still not seeing the source. “My god, really? Are you blind?”

“Sort of just deaf!” She shouted back, now spinning around again, looking for whomever it was she was supposed to be talking to before—ah, there they were! There was a person flying roughly twenty meters directly above her, the stranger staring down at Mandy through a pair of what looked like swimming goggles… A rifle hung from their shoulder on a strap, boot soles looking pristine as they came, though the rest of their clothes were decidedly on the worn side of familiar hand-me-downs.

The two just looked at one another for a few moments, Mandy not entirely sure what the androgynous person wanted, though she was a fairly patient individual, and she found that, usually, people would eventually just tell her what they wanted…

“Are you—alright?”

“Just deaf!” She reiterated, this time purposefully making her voice obnoxiously loud.

The person in the air appeared to—deflate a fraction. Their head cocking like a dog who was trying to figure out what their owner wanted as they screamed at him for eating the marinading steaks.

“I'm Jason!” The apparent boy called back, evidently deciding to just skip right to introduce himself.

“Subliminal!”

“Like… I'm trying to plant idea’s in you're head?”

“No! That’s my name! Subliminal!” Fortunately, Mandy was used to being stared at by those who were thoroughly confused. She understood it, too. Subliminal hadn't even been her superhero name! Merely what a news station had accidentally called her and… yeah… it had stuck! And one never changed the title of something once they were finally getting popular. All the same, it did seem rather poetic that her alias kept running into the exact same issues as it had that first night when it had been coined. And, at this point, she sort of enjoyed how offbeat everyone seemed to get when trying to decide what to make of it.

“Alright, Subliminal. You do realize you're about to get yourself killed, don't you?”

“I beg to differ!”

“No, like, I get you're a pretty strong speedster or—something of the sort, but you will die if you try to go in there!”

Mandy just turned back to the now rocking fence as numerous ghouls all got the knickers twisted over her beating heart, stared at it, and all the ghouls piling up near it. Then, she scanned it's entire length, or so far as she could see, while noting nothing else other than more ghouls. Then, looked back up at the flier with an expectant look. Oh… that was right… her mask…

“Looks fine to me!” She instead offered, not really seeing anything that screamed run away… And if there had been something like that, well, she’d of been the first to run towards it!

“Alight… look, I'm just gonna spell it out for you… You're in Highrise territory! And that airfield is our property! And Governor Peter has standing orders to eliminate anyone who tries to breach those fences!”

“Oh… Because you want to keep all the stuff in there for yourselves?”

“Because of the ghouls! That’s where we round them all up and shove them so they can't bother anyone, and so nobody can steal from us!

Hm… Well, didn't that just make a tremendous amount of sense… well, either way, wasn't much of a surprise. After all, Mandy could respect a healthy eye towards avarice as a fellow consure of loot-whoring. But… if that was the reason they were all in there…

“So… why not just let me kill them all?”

“As if you can kill all those zombies!” The boy laughed at her, snickering as he did so. “You're nuts! But go ahead, hop the fence if you want. All I'm saying is I won't be held responsible for what happens next!”

“Bullets hit things in the sky, you know!”

“Sure! But I ain't the one you've got to worry about.”

“Cryptic…” Mandy muttered, her face falling as she started surveying the area around her again… But, there was—nothing she could really see… “Are you—messing with me or…”

“Just giving you a fair warning!”

“Sure thing, kid!” Mandy sighed, waving her hand at the boy before stepping up to the fence. She blasted a few dozen heads, as the bodies were quickly trampled over by more ghouls trying to get at her and she quickly realized that wasn't going to go anywhere fast. Instead, she started walking along the barrier as the mass of ghouls shifted to move with her. Mandy was just strolling along the sidewalk, annoyingly cognisant of the youth still floating over her head but choosing to ignore him all the same, when a familiar sound of the boy’s voice rang out in her ears that she promptly ignored. There had to be some sort of—spot that was clear enough for her to take some pliers and slip through a hole when—pop.