Sam (laptopfu) wrote in fouryearslogs,

[in progress]

Who: Sam (laptopfu) and Faith (faithfullyslain) and anyone else wandering and awake at the police station.
What: Theorizing/hoping that the "zomg zombie apocalypse" is an local event. And coffee!
When: Day 2, 8 a.m.
Where: Local Police Station
Warnings: Slight language.

The coffee machine at the police station was a well worn machine. It hadn't been too hard to locate since no one had turned it off during all the chaos and the near abandonment had caused the warmers to slowly ebb away at the remaining liquid in the pot. There was nothing like the smell of burnt coffee. Still, an emergency generator was an emergency generator.

Sam dumped out the remainder of the day old coffee in the sink and made a face at the disgusting congealed surface at the bottom. He set about cleaning it out and brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Coffee at police stations could only be described as sludge, but thankfully for Sam, there was more than enough sugar to cover the bitter taste of it all. And no comments about how a sixteen year old was going to stunt his growth. He'd recently hit six feet and, to Dean's dismay, looked as if he was going to keep on going.

He'd abandoned his suit jacket in the midst of the chaos at the prom and disposed of the pink tie when they'd arrived here. The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone and he had ignored the tiny splatters of... substance... at the moment. Sam wandered over to one of the workstations, grabbed a rolling chair and waited for the computer to boot up.

Normally, it'd be a good thing to have unlimited access to a police database but not at the moment. Cell phones were acting up which meant they had no contact with the outside world. Hopefully, the internet fared a little better. Sam waited as the computer fan clicked on... and waited... then his eyes dropped down to the make and model. Public funding really sucked here, didn't it? He got up and fixed himself a cup of coffee hoping the computer would be ready when he got back.

He waited a few minutes more once the computer got past the loading screen, then dropped his head, alternating his line of sight from the keys to the monitor and... nothing. The databases were intact but anything outside of the computer's network was a lost cause. He checked once, then twice, then pushed away from the desk and let himself slump in his chair.

"Damn it," Sam said. He rubbed a hand over his face, then pushed himself out of the chair. "Okay. Back to basics."

Looks like they were going to go about this the old fashioned way. He grabbed his cup of coffee-- sugar flavored coffee milk-- a bunch of pens and a pad of paper. The police station had to have city maps with locations. He'd start by charting out all the strange occurrences, noting the graveyards and looking for more secure areas. There were three possibilities that he could see. One, they were at ground zero and what ever happening here was going to spread (in which case they should try and stop it.) Two, the rest of the world was in the same situation, isolated and alone, or three, this was a unique occurrence. Which meant it had to have a specific purpose.

He grabbed a thick permanent marker, stuck the cap in his mouth, then studied the map on the wall. Let's see... the first cattle deaths had happened about... he circled the area with the marker... here.

(OOC: Oh, modly mods of awesome, let me know if I need to change any of the details, ne?)
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By the time Faith had slunk into the main office after making a few rounds of inspection--okay, so they were on a scheduled guard duty and all that, but Faith was used to being all on her lonesome and having other people 'round, having them 'round to help was something real new--she'd at least managed to clean herself up a bit.

After her roll in th'hay--and god did she really have to think of that metaphor when dealing with the undead?--at the prom, she hadn't looked ready for anything 'cept a bed six feet under, and she hadn't smelled none too pretty either. But mercies of mercies, this hokey little county jail'd come equipped with a shower. A real, working, shower that didn't run brown with rust for the first couple minutes and actually had hot water. Hell if they didn't treat their prisoners better'n they treat their local visitors shacking up at the motel.

It hadn't been easy sluicing off blood an' brain matter off her skin and out of her hair, but god had it felt good. And now she felt pretty damn near close to human again, though dressed in one of the several extra uniforms all folded up nice and neat nearby. Several man-sizes too big, but that weren't no surprise--the town was too small an' out-of-the-way to get much employ in tiny little lady cops. And Faith, like it or not, weren't all that tall, and certainly not built as a small-town cop scarfing coffee and donuts all day.

Anyway, she appeared like a cop fetish fantasy gone wrong, her hair still damp and clinging constantly to the sides of her face, but she was rested 'nough as she was going to be and she had several sheets of MISSING people--children mostly, towns don't really go past suspicions 'til an adult disappears too--to get started on figuring out just what sort of hell she'd walked herself into.


And of course it'd turn out that someone'd already be on the job, and that someone'd be Sam, staring hard at a local wall map like he was waiting for it to jump down and sing.

Faith planted herself down on the corner of a desk nearby to watch. "Burnin' the midnight oil too, I see?"
Sam turned, marker cap still in his mouth. His cheeks colored slightly as he quickly removed it so he could talk. "Faith, hey."

Her hair was still wet and clung to the nape of her neck in a way that drew Sam's attention. He didn't always agree with his brother's choice in girls (teens? women?) but it was easy to see what Dean saw in Faith. Not to mention the fact the two of them were cut from the same cloth. If John Winchester had had to raise a daughter...

"There's, uh, coffee in the corner," Sam said. He turned back to studying the map. He made a mental note to hit up the showers. Either here or at the motel. It'd be a gamble going back there but he and Dean had some supplies still in their room and not to mention all of Sam's notes.

He'd been able to recall most of them. The weather patterns had been recorded in a notebook but the day old newspapers around the station had helped a bit. Sam had shoved a push pin into map where the school was located. Until they knew otherwise, he'd assume the zombie outbreak started around there. The closest graveyards were circled in black.

"Just trying to figure out what happened," Sam said. Why now? Why here? Why this town? Not to mention the ever present thought of, 'Where the hell is Dad?'
Heh, cutie. And that weren't just 'cause of the way those slacks rode that ass--a fact she'd refrained from pointing out out loud. Who said she couldn't do restraint?

Faith glanced over at the corner in question. She'd smelled it from the hallway and had originally dismissed it--didn't drink the stuff on normal occasion an' it wasn't like she had much confidence in anythin' brewed by public service, but it did occur to her that she hadn't slept for most of a day, a night, and probably wouldn't for a good 24 hours or so more if all things went as she figured it would. Shuffling audibly over--she was barefoot as there weren't hope of any sort of shoes that'd fit her 'sides the ones she'd worn to prom and she didn't care for cuffing pant legs--she poured a mug of the slop. Taking a sip she grimaced and rethought having it black.

A liberal addition of milk and sugar later, she'd shuffled back to rejoin Sam by his wall. "Fun stuff, this detective work, huh?" she commented, tracking the black circles liberally marked over the laminated surface, "Almost wish th'whole thing really had been kali demons, y'know? Ugly things, shit-colored an've faces like dogs with teeth size of your local nightmare but packs don't number more'n fifteen ever."

And hell it was weird t'be talking 'bout things like demons with someone near her own age and weren't so obviously stuffy an' old an' British. But it wouldn't do t'think about her Watcher. Mind on th'game, babe.

I don't like this map, she couldn't resist thinking to herself. Too bad real life don't come with reload.
Sam raised one eyebrow at Faith's mention of Kali demons. They never did get the chance to discuss her zombie slaughtering prowess and the impressive undead asskickery she'd accomplished at the prom. For a Hunter, she seemed kind of young but, at the same time, undeniably skilled.

And Dean had never mentioned any of it. Still, two heads were better than one, and three people could only lead to more brainstorming. It wouldn't hurt if Faith's resume extended beyond zombies and deposed Hindu Gods.

"Kali demons aren't exactly a walk in the park," Sam pointed out. He stared at the map again and sighed, shoulders slumping. "But they would be a lot more simple."

Sam took a sip of coffee and looked at Faith again. Time to compare notes, or at very least copy over her shoulder. "Have you noticed anything else strange? Before the attack, I mean. Anything weird around town?" Disappearances? Unnerving sensations? Electronic equipment failure?
(OOC: And wow comment deletage. Fail.)

There was a very pregnant pause when Sam went hunting for words, and Faith shifted uneasily. 'Cause sticking around after the Slaying was finished? Not her gig. She was strictly get some, get gone, and that philosophy was standard doings for everything else in her life too. But right now? Job weren't finished and 'sides she had not much hope gettin' out past all them walking dead anyhow. But call it paranoia or whatever, it just didn't feel right talkin' what goes bump in th'night with anyone that wasn't a Watcher.

"Zombies'd probably be too if we had a witch on hand," she commented, frowning in concentration at the dark marks on the map as if they'd all come together in some wonky connect-the-dots to form an answer. "You know. Either Escuera rubinto ruen e unae their asses into th'ground, or at least strike up a scan of some sort. Crowd of th'undead like this? If it's magick, any d'you know the amount of that touchy-feely flash an' fire's needed to raise 'em? We'd find 'em easy."

'Least, that was the idea. If Watcher records'd been any indication, there'd been no witch necromancer enough in the past three hundred years t'raise an army like this.

"And here I am 'thout my boom stick," she muttered.

Well if they had to, they could go the old-fashioned way. "Well, don't know 'bout you, but we could go salt-and-burning every single graveyard 'round the area, but I saw way too many torn-up orange jumpsuits hanging onto those party crashers last night to think it more than just coincidence, y'know?"
The jury was still out on whether or not Sam actually believed there could be "good" witches. Intellectually, it was possible but considering the Winchesters saw a lot more evidence of machinations from Below than they had ever seen from Above, it wasn't really looking like an option at the moment. Pining his hopes on that shot in the dark would be about as productive as the Bruce Campbell quotes. Still, the more people they had on their side, the better.

Faith had a point there, not to mention more than few ideas. Salting and burning and scorched earth was always an option. Granted a rather time consuming option, (and they'd have to find a lot more condiments-- too bad it was California instead of a place that had silos of sand and salt in case of snowstorms) but if worse came to worse...

Sam's brow crinkled for a moment. "'Orange jumpsuits'" he repeated, working through the importance of that statement as he talked. "Are you talking about a... prison?" He gave Faith a look, waiting for confirmation.

And if that did happen to be the case, well, according to the mirror, mirror on the wall there was one prison servicing Crescent City.

(OOC: Stupid real life. Anyways, if I didn't interpret your orange jumpsuit comment right, let me know.)
"Naw, oompa loompas," she drawled, glancing at him from the corner of her eye with a sly grin quirking her lips, "Of course the prison. Think about it. Isolated prison in an isolated little cow town. Don't have the locals prying 'round when everything's going all smooth in th'town proper. Real quiet-like, the whole place. And s'not like the inmates are tellin' tales to th'outside."

She frowned, "Should've thought of it earlier 'fore this everything went all Raccoon City on our asses. Might've been able to do something 'bout it."

Well, it wasn't like there was anything they could do about that now. Crying over spilt toast, y'know?

...Or was that spilt milk and dropped toast?


"Think it's possible t'get anywhere near the place 'thout getting torn apart? High noon or something?"

So she hadn't exactly read up on lore--dude, that's what a Watcher'd been for, y'know?--but most've the stuff she'd come across only started gettin' dangerous 'round nightfall. Being housebound, even during the day? Just wasn't her kind of game.
Oompa Loompas were from a movie, right? Some kid's thing that Sam had probably seen bits of pieces of over six states and that Dean could probably quote in his sleep. Although, there didn't seem to be that many movies that Dean couldn't quote. (His brother had this predisposition towards the horror genre, which Sam just found baffling, all things considered.)

Racoon City wasn't ringing any bells either. Congratulations, Faith, Sam was Zero for Two, as evident by the blank look he was giving her. There was a pause as Sam shoved the pop culture references from his mind. "Prison's aren't exactly the easiest places to break into to begin with." Another pause, "And if it is where everything started, there's no telling what could be going on inside."

It'd be simple if this was some complex ritual, complete with an easily trashed altar but getting close enough to it... that would require an artilerly check. Still, it was one of their better leads.
"Well I'm bettin' all my green on everything gone hell-bound in a hand basket," she replied, taking another gulp of her coffee--still hot, but 'least not scorching and she could deal, "so no guards t'deal with at least that ain't already dead. Damn things go stumbling 'round brainless like they are, I figure they don't hold much store in being active 'bout anything 'cept who's next on th'menu."

She'd take a good look later on, peek out come full light and see if they avoided the sun, or at least looking at it. Rotting flesh, y'know? Don't take too well to drying them out, any, at least by her account. All guesses though, you never really know with the big, dark and nasty 'til you were ass-deep in crocodiles and hell hadn't she been there, done that?

"Well I'll wait it out some," she said out loud, eying the map in consideration, "Find out if they've any avoidance on daylight, and if they do, I'll take to the roofs. That'll get me clear of town, at least. Don't figure many of 'em to hang 'round in the fields if there's more meat holing up in town."

She thought briefly of her things stashed beneath the lumpy mattress in her motel room--stakes, swords, one dented old flask of holy water... yeah, plenty fitting for dealing with vampires while on the road but zombies? No, didn't look so hot. The swords though. Yeah, she could go for those. She had a half-decent shoulder-harness for 'em too, which'd leave her hands free for climbing and a quick cross-draw if all things really did go to hell.

Then her only problem'd be finding her way through to the prison--not the hard thing, hulking behemoth of a building like that? Not hard to keep an eye on. And as for getting in...

"Could be tricky," she admitted, frowning. "If they really were working some creepy necromancy mojo behind the prison walls, then there's no telling how well prepared it'd all been 'fore the Great Escape, y'know?"

She was strong, but there were limits to one girl's strength, and she had half an idea that if she ever did find her way cut off by one, she'd be dead-tired and dropping with no end of fun following up close behind her. "How 'bout you guys?" she added, feeling only a touch awkward since how often did she go 'round asking for help? "Wanna lead the charge or hold down the fort?"

Her line of work didn't often come 'cross many heroes. They'd held their own coming this far, and Faith wasn't one to hold a grudge against anyone's breaking point, not when they were all safe.
Sam gave Faith an incredulous look. Clearly, they needed to take a step back and think this through. He wasn't scared but if they were about to do a reverse riot on the prison then there were a lot of factors to consider.

"Even if they are resilient against daylight, if you're talking about a prison you're talking about enclosed spaces. Not to mention if the electricity is down, there's not going to be a lot of daylight getting through those walls."

Daylight, or the effectiveness of light in general, would be a good thing to know all things considered. The prison had to have floodlights and possibly a working generator as well.

"If whatever happened tore through the prison first, who knows how many of them could be sticking around. Not to mention any safeguards that came with the ritual. Something like this takes a lot of planning, you don't just waltz in and chant a few words."

"Even if you could get in," and in Sam's mind that was a singular 'you', "there's no guarantee you'd be able to make your way out again."

There was no way he was going to let Faith go off on her own. Older or not, hunter or not, going off on her own was just stupid. And foolish. Even if that was how she had been living her life for years on end.

"I need to discuss this Dean when he gets back." Sam gave Faith a look. "We need to talk to Dean. The last thing we need to do is start going off on our own."
...Yeah, little Sammy sure had the makings of one up-and-at-'em Watcher-in-training. With a sigh, she acceded to his practicality. "Right, right..." she bit her lip as she thought back to the numbers flocking the dance. Not all of them had been prison inmates from the look of 'em. "How many do you think might still be in there?"

She hadn't exactly been able to keep up a tally or a count, not when she'd been busy trying to keep them at least an arm-and-ax-width away. But from what she'd figured of the place, it hadn't looked like even half (maybe even a quarter?) of the prisoners had come crashing and was struck with a thought.

Proof, maybe?

"If that works out, think someone let them out?" she murmured. "I mean there's always th'chance it's something medically crazy. Viral or something, so that they, like, ate up the prison guards. But if it really is some supernatural nasty, then this might be pretty good telling of big, bad, overlord powers, y'know?"

She wasn't quite sure if that'd made any sense outside the confines of her own head, but that was how things worked, yeah? You think things through and go with your gut, break 'em to pieces and leave yourself standing. None of that involved any of that touchy-feely talking-to-other-people shit and discussing your plans. Suffice t'say she was rusty at it. But if she'd be stuck in this hellhole 'fore she even reached the Hellmouth, well...

She certainly weren't looking on dying yet. Not by crazy alpha vamps, not by a bunch of pet alligators. And definitely not by a pack of zombietastic PCP addicts. If that meant a change of style, she'd deal.

"Well what d'you think? I was going to try and sneak in since me, myself and I don't make the best full-frontal assault 'gainst the army of darkness, but yeah, that don't figure for much of a plan all on its own."

Right. So she'd be the first t'admit that she on her own trying to come up with a plan was a whole world full of suck.
"Okay well," Sam turned for a moment, looking from the map to Faith and then over to one of the many desks. He paused, spotted a legal pad and quickly grabbed a chair, bringing it over and sitting down in a smooth movement. The dark magic marker scribbled across the white line paper. On one he scribbled 'VIRUS (A LA CAPTAIN TRIPS)' 'RITUAL' and 'DEMON?' in all capital letters, with 'Demon' underlined three times. He flipped a page and he wrote down, 'GRAVEYARD' 'PRISON' and 'OTHER'. He grabbed a bit of tape, and moved back to the wall, and tacked them up with a bit of tape.

Another piece of paper quickly joined the two, a list of ways to fend against zombies. 'DISEMBODIMENT' 'SALT' and following that came a list of question marked points. 'FIRE? SYMBOLS? IRON? SILVER? EXORCISM?' Another flip of the paper and another list. Possible places that would make for good shelter or perhaps a location for survivors: 'FIRE DEPT. CHURCH. SUPERMARKET. MALL?' The latter was circled over a few times, with growing dread. There was a video game like that, wasn't it? He quickly added 'CB Communication' at the bottom.

Sam paused, searching the vacant police desks for day old papers. He tore out the corners, showing the forecast for the past few days. There was the weather, and the cattle death and... those quickly joined the map as well. By the time he was done, the various papers on the map made the wall look like the missing cousin of many a Winchester motel room. Their father might have been a genius when it came to supernatural investigations but he always worked in his own way. All the information tended to sprawl, finally making sense when you looked at it in just the right angle.

"I hope it's not viral. It'd be much easier if we were looking for a cause instead of a cure." Sam exhaled. Did supernatural viruses even exist? He'd never heard of one so far and Crescent City didn't exactly seem like a prime candidate for the United States Government to use as a testing ground. Then there was also the factor of the more time passed, the more the odds were stacked against them. "Either way, we should probably assume that anyone who didn't make it through the attack is part of the other side." Sam swallowed hard. That was just an uncomfortable thought and the mathematics behind it wasn't reassuring either.

Finally, he turned back to Faith, hands already on the keyboard. He exhaled once, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "But we should be able to figure out how many prisoners they had. The police station should have records." As long as the computer decided to process sometime this century.
How very Scooby gang.

Not that Faith'd ever been one for Saturday morning cartoons. Time for everything after all, and mornings were a time for sleep. What else does a girl do after a night of down-there partyin' with the dead?

"I'd prefer demons. They'll tear you up and rip you t'shreds and maybe even drag you screaming down t'hell with 'em, but least you can see what you're fightin'. Hell if I don't need some sort of souped-up demon flu kicking us all down under." That and she knew how to fight them period. There was always something--vampires a textbook stake in the heart, demons got a good decapitation or sword or flamethrower, all killable in her book. She didn't know jack about living the life of House.

She watched his methodical approach to the research; tacking up a cloud here, a rainstorm there. "Been lookin' into the cattle deaths myself," she commented since he seemed so particularly interested in 'em, "Clues and the like, y'know?"

It'd been a grand-scale attempt to have something to do. Inaction didn't suit Faith, and there was no chance of any hardcore city vampire-slayage to get her mind off this kind of mystery either. "Figured it'd be magic 'cause hello, spilt blood, crazy Weather Channel fuck-ups? Didn't find any traces except for some pretty hardcore teeth marks. No sulfur, no eye of newt, no nothing."

Which made plenty of sense in its own way. No real big bad would ever get its hands dirty on something like ripping up a few cows. Maybe it was an apocalypse. Faith'd heard about those--Watchers told tales about how Buffy kicked crazy demon ass and saved the universe from death, destruction and demons several times over. Call it a warm-up match 'fore she actually hit Sunnydale and joined up with the real White Hats 'gainst the Mouth of Hell and all kinds of crazy shit it spat out on regular occasion.

"We could look... don't know about you, but I've never been one for computers." Video games, definitely. CD players, abso-freaking-lutely. Books, ehhhhh... But computers? No, I really, really think not. Don't need your Mybook Facespace no how. "Though I figure the prison out there'd keep there records themselves more so than leaving them around in a little county jail down the way."

It'd be a start though, and Faith knew they could use one.
The first thing Machiko Bryant had done, once they'd arrived at the police station, was find a shower. She'd peeled out of the too-short, too-tight olive sheath, forever ruined with blood, and crammed herself into a shower stall that had obviously seen better days. Soap residue had caked onto its blue-green porcelain tiles. The shower floor was slick under her feet once the water hit. She hadn't wanted to contemplate what covered both sides of the shower curtain. Still didn't.

The water didn't stay hot for long. There was no conditioner. The taps were caked in god-knew-what, the inevitable gunk of an ancient, leaky bronze plumbing system. The water had a metallic scent she felt in her teeth.

Machiko hadn't cared. Now, dressed in sweats and clean socks, wearing the matching white bra&panties set she'd bought at Victoria's Secrets entirely too long ago, a pair of socks she really hoped were clean, she padded through the police station. There was a strong scent of coffee.

"Though I figure the prison out there'd keep there records themselves more so than leaving them around in a little county jail down the way," she heard Faith say.

"We try not to talk about the prison," she told whoever had spoken as she walked into the room. Her voice was smooth, calculated, and her movements were perfectly calm and in control. She forced herself not to twitch. She was going to seem perfectly sane and calm, damnit, if she had to kill herself doing it.

And then she noticed the freshman again. Rather than say anything immediately, she made the mistake of pouring herself a cup of coffee, then leaned up against the counter. When she spoke, her voice was casual. "I never caught your names."

The coffee was terrible.
The computer was stuck in the middle of a process. At least, Sam assumed it was. The light was on and there was the telltale sound of an overtaxed fan but nothing was actually changing on the screen. Still, it was a momentary distraction and watching the computer was preferable to looking at Faith for that moment. Spirits were run of the mill and homicidal folklore was actually pretty common, but Demons weren't high on the list of Winchester preferences all things considered. Still, Sam had to agree with the saying, 'The Devil you know...'"

They had cattle deaths and strange weather patterns. No sulfur, no eye of newt, Sam nodded at the new information, but sadly it still left a plethora of possibilities. Ectoplasm, strange runes, foliage deaths, masses of bugs or worms? A lot of this work was ruling out possibilities and first on the block was the prison.

Sam looked up as Machiko walked into the room, eyes tracking her over the computer monitor. He had gotten used to the fact that Faith had taken everything in stride and was even helpful, but everyone else? Most people usually weren't this well adjusted after their lives turned into a bad horror movie (albeit with better special effects.)

"I'm Sam," he said, pausing for a moment for Faith to chime in. She kind of seemed like the girl who wouldn't want anyone ordering for her in a restaurant or, Sam, assumed, making introductions on her behalf. "What was that you said about the prison?"
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