Write what you know

    I sit here a  changed person.
   Not even five minutes ago, I stood in the backyard of the farm I live at.  Technically it's an urban farm on a tenth of an acre, but I digress.
   We have ten chickens, three ducks (Two of which are laying possibly fertile eggs, so ducklings may be on the way.), and now four goats.  Our Nigerian Dwarf just gave birth to two frakkin' adorable female kids.
   From the beginning I intentionally kept my distance.
   See, I'm the guy that kills stuff.  A duck and eleven rabbits to date.  Some of you may realize how odd it feels to be able to write that.  You will also understand why the moment I saw those two adorable little shits, I shut down.  I shut the fuck down.
   I can't even go into pet stores.
   I knew I had to keep my detachment.  Who knew what the future held for these two?  Sold?  Kept?  Processed?  Processed by me?
   Could I even do that?
   Before today I would have said yes.  Now... I honestly can't answer that question.  The entire reason we have the goats is for one reason.  Milk.  Now that the goat (Pebbles, just FYI.  And her kids are Easter and Lilly.  I call Lilly Le Leche, because her coloring makes her face look like she is a little Luchadore.) is producing said white gold, we had to separate her from the kids.  For about twenty-four hours now we have been trying to bottle-feed the girls.  A-a-a-a-and the stubborn little shits weren't having it.
   Until tonight.  For the first time the little ones ate.  Not just an ounce or two, but a good meal.  An I-can-feel-it-in-their-bellies good.  And I was part of it.  I have processed animals, and now I am part of helping new life to survive.  While Brandi held the girls on her lap (First Lilly, aka the stubbornest little bugger, then Easter, and Lilly again for a second helping WOOT WOOT!) I ran my hand down their chests and could feel them calming under my hand.
   So, I tried to keep my distance, but, yeah... kinda fucked that one up.  It finally dawned on me yesterday just how much work these little ones were going to be, and I knew that there was no way I could do what I needed to do and retain that distance.  So, from their first feeding I was there, helping to get them used to my scent.
   Tonight under the light of a head-lamp and a three cell Maglite (A big torch for my UK hommies.) I helped ease the anxiety of two babies so they could eat.  And eat they did.  Because as Weird Al once wrote...
   Girls just wanna have luuuuuunch
   Holy crap once they got going, the littles started chugging it like first year university students.
   Write what you know is one of the most contested bits of writing advice.  I think the best understanding of it came from author Chuck Wendig.  For the sake of brevity I will sum up, but I highly recommend you read it.
   Write what you know is really not meant to be taken literally.  Joss Whedon does not know what its like to a teenage-girl, vampire slayer.  Jim Butcher does not know what it's like to be a wizard private detective (Or so he would like us to believe.).  So the obvious idea is to know more things aka go O-U-T and learn shit.  Experience thing, live life.  Participate as 'Perks' so succinctly put it.
   Watching Easter and Lilly feed was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.  I never would have experienced that hiding in my room.  Get out.  Get up, get out of your room and do things.  It's a damn sight better than staring at the walls going insane.  Seeing something like that is healing in a way I have no words to describe.
   I can't wait to start writing.
   Speaking of which...

Deep Cuts

   I've been trying to decided where to pick things up again on this blog.  Over the last few months there have been a lot of changes in my life.  Moving to another state, adjusting to living with new people.  And if I tried to encompass all the new stuff I've learned since December this would be an encyclopedia not a blog (That old adage 'Write What You Know' makes much more sense to me now, but more on that later.).  But one subject in particular has been weighing on my mind.

   This last November I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time.  I didn't think I would hit the goal of 50K words, but damned if I wasn't going to give it my best.

   Plunking my ass down in front of the HAL (My laptop, don't ask.) I ended up cranking out over 20K words and adding three chapters to my book.  For me this was a huge deal.  As of late I had been lucky to put out a chapter a month, much less three.  I also hit a point where on a few occasions I spit out around 3K words a day.

   And the work was good.  My Alpha reader dug the new material, and in an even rarer event I was happy with it.  Being a writer I often think a meth-addled Howler Monkey would do a better job, so being satisfied with my own work was a treat.

   After moving back to Arizona, I sat down with my editor and we finally discussed what I had been eagerly waiting for.

   The first thing she told me was the new material had to go.

   This was not the response I had expected.

   It wasn't that she said, "It's crap, cut it." or told me the material had to go and left it at that.  She liked what was there, the problem was that it did not work.  She saw right through what I was trying to do in those chapters and pointed out why it didn't work.  The material itself, though good, was transparent and obvious.

   Fortunately I went into this with the mindset of rewrites make the world go 'round.  To my greater fortune my editor did not leave me hanging, but pointed me in the right direction with how she thought the scene might go.

   Even with the mentality of 'rewrites good' it was more than a bit of a struggle.  Characters that had died were now alive, and the entire timeline of my story now ceased to exist.  I think the biggest hurdle though was getting over the NaNoWriMo thing.  I had not truly expected to hit 50K, so getting as close as I did, I was awfully damn proud of myself.

   A habit I have yet to break myself of (And from what I've read online, one I share with many others.) is seeing someone else's daily word count and feeling bad that my own is nowhere near it.  Of the authors I follow on various social media sites, the lowest daily word count I saw was 1K.  Some were hitting 5-10K.

  Putting out over three thousands words on my own, and doing over 20K in one month made me feel for a time that I really had what it took to be an author.  My own word counts were still nowhere near those numbers, but like seeing a difference in your body after busting your ass working out, I felt that I was on my way.

   Easy as it would have been to dismiss my editor's opinion (Much, much, much easier.) it also would have been fucking stupid (Very, very, very, fucking stupid.).  I didn't ask her to be my editor to dismiss what she had to say.  So I forced myself to start thinking in new directions and one word, one paragraph at a time, moved forward.

   It has taken me nearly three months to get back to where I was before the cut and I am happy to say that while I still maintain the old work was good; the new material is much better.  Even my Alpha reader who liked the old stuff, has told me how much he enjoys where it is going now, and how much of an improvement he has seen in the book itself.

   I'm going places with the story that never would have occurred to me otherwise.  And while I had to cut over 20K words, not all of it went to waste.  I at least had the sense to save everything I cut (For my fellow newbs out there, a good piece of advice is NEVER just delete what you cut.  Make another file and save it, you never know when it may be used or in what way.).  It was usually a sentence here or paragraph there, but I found myself dipping into that material on several occasions and it not only saved me time, but made it feel like less of a waste.

   In the end the book is better for this deep cut, and I (As a writer.) am better for it as well.  I've experienced other rewrite moments, ones that seemed much larger than they really were at the time, but none as visceral as this one ended up being.  Author Jim Butcher once wrote in his blog that it was much easier to cut 20K words than to add 20K.  I now know this to be true.  Cutting that material felt like I had been set back months and the road in front of me now seemed much longer.

   But if you are lucky enough to have a good editor (Or in my case lucky enough to have good enough friend/editor.), you will at least have someone there to walk that road with you, and thwap you upside the head when you try to make a wrong turn.

Field Trip: Part Deux

Ala Wai Harbor as seen from Ala Moana Beach Park, 0600-ish.

     Once more I found myself heading out in search of inspiration and information.  My target?  The Ala Wai Harbor.  I haven't been out here since my early teens when I was in a pilot for a Christian T.V. show.
     Yes.  Yes, you read that right.  Even had a line.
     Started from Ala Moana after getting off work.  Dipping into Ala Moana Beach Park, the above shot has the Waikiki Yacht Club in the foreground with the Prince Hotel in the background, left.  Immediately I noticed a small problem.  The boat I mentioned in the novel is a yacht.  These vessels in the foreground are yachts.
     Guess what?  They are nothing like I pictured.  I am not nautical in anyway, couldn't tell you stim from stern to save my life, and don't have the first clue about boat types.  So here I am just getting started and already found a hitch in my book.  But screw it, it's a small bump.  I'll just search for something that resembles what I was picturing, snap a couple shots, then look it up online.
     Leaving the park and crossing over the Ala Wai Canal, it's a quick hop to the hotel that the last two chapters I finished was located at.  The Prince Hotel.

     The first thing I noticed is a little something missing, namely the main entrance was not where I thought it to be.  In fact it was on the complete other side of the damn building.  Still not a problem.  A few sentence tweaks and I am back in business.  Circling round the side I'm now at the mouth of the harbor.  Something immediately begins to nag at me, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

     At the beginning its kind of boring.  About the only thing that stands out is the large amount of pollution in the water.  It's not exactly a secret that the Ala Wai is incredibly polluted and here where it connects to the ocean its pretty heavy.  Only other thing that stood out was this creepy thing.

Couldn't find anything for scale but it was the size of my friggin' head

     The water cleared up as I went along.  To my left (North) nothing but a restaurant, two more hotels and a long covered parking area that followed the harbor curving out toward the ocean (South).

     Turning back to face the way I had just come from I took this panoramic shot (Above) and the thing that had been nagging me suddenly became clear.  As you can clearly see the hotels are directly next to the harbor.  In the scenes I had just finished writing, the beach (Which is just to the left side of the above pic.) and an important element discovered by one of the main characters, is directly between the hotel and the harbor.  This was a huge freakin' problem as there is no way my character could possibly have found what I put there from his view point in the hotel.
     Unlike the errors I found in my description back in Chapter 1, this was no band-aid solution (Or plaster situation for any folks in the U.K.).  This was either going to be a transplant or an amputation.  When I passed the Prince, the placement of the entrance was not the only difference I noted.  Lack of balconies, the delivery area being no where like I thought, and the hotel itself looking nothing like I remembered.  In fact it appears that I got the Prince and the Ilikai Hotel (Where the beach was actually located.) confused.  Now I'm left with the decision of do I take creative license or do I adhere to reality?
     Once I decided to write a book I really started putting serious thought into what made certain stories elements work.  One thing I noticed is that if you ground something in reality you can then go as wild as you want and the audience will gladly grant you that suspension of disbelief.   George Lucas gave Star Wars (The originals.) a used feel, where before all depictions of the future was of a bright, shiny, mint-condition world.  The Millenium Falcon was held together by spit and duct tape giving it that grit of reality so when you see people using the Force or wielding a lightsaber no one even blinked.  In the Dresden Files, Jim Butcher gave Harry's magic a firm base in physics.
     You don't even have to stand up to your neck in reality, as long as your feet are in it you can get pretty fantastical.  I also have to take into consideration the proliferation of information on the internet.  Rearranging the geography of the area in DM could either be a detail no one notices or one that some person looks up and spots right off the bat.  And there is always the reality that I was way, way over-thinking things.
     On the phone with Tim at the time he threw out a suggestion that quieted my prolific use of pejoratives and worked quite well for rearranging Chapter 8.  At the time I was a bit miffed.
     Deciding not let that ruin my trip I continued on working my way slowly out to the end.  Though it is essentially a big parking lot for both cars and boats, the water cleared up beautifully and I passed a few interesting sights on the way.

Found a couple cool old cars.

An actual Junker.  Pretty shot too, total accident.

Made me think of 'Enter The Dragon'.

     Also found a couple possibilities that came real close to what I had mistakenly been picturing a yacht to be.

Of course I couldn't go the whole trip without putting my thumb in a damn shot *sigh*.

     I was told these were called 'Cabin Cruisers' (Above) and would be more than capable of doing what I needed in the story.
     What with the major errors in location, this trip was a bit more frustrating than the last and with less to look at.  It also ended up being much shorter since I didn't have to cover anywhere near as much ground.  Only real disappointment is that I was hoping to run into someone to stop and get info on the boats, but no such luck.  In fact there was hardly anyone out there at that time of the morning except surfers.  Got more than enough to move on in the book which, in the end, is all I really needed.
     As aggravating as having to go back and completely rearrange a chapter I was perfectly happy with was, it's good practice.  No book is perfect (Especially a first draft.) and if I get published my agent and editors will at times require me to do similar things and now I have a little experience in making those changes.  This time thanks to Tim's suggestion I was able to do a transplant instead of some Civil War style field amputation, next time I may have to do the literary equivalent of taking a chainsaw to an infected limb.  I'm even looking forward to my next field trip, wherever that may be.

Field Trip!

     Despite the fond memories of not being in school, in most cases a field trip will mean some form of inconvenience.  By field trip I mean the shocking notion of getting away from the keyboard and doing some form of outdoor research.  Yes it's scary, and there are people out there *shudders*, but on occasion it can be kinda cool.  I recently made my second such trip (Which I'll cover in another post.).  The previous trip I decided to take after writing the first three chapters.  They're set in the area I was working at the time ('Dead Moon' is set on the island of Oahu in Hawaii.  So far it all occurs in the Honolulu/Waikiki area.).
     I was pretty unhappy with the descriptions I had done of the area.  It just seemed like more of a backdrop/movie set than a living environment.  So armed with a camera I borrowed from my Aunt (Thanks, again Auntie.) I got off work at 0600 and walked the path my characters would be.

The parking garage where my protagonist encounters his first Zombie.

     I started at a parking garage.  You wouldn't think bringing something like a big-ass, hollow cinder block to 'Life' would be important, but I knew that if I couldn't animate something this simple, how would I pull it off with anything more complicated.  This shot (LEFT) I took during my shift the night before.  The scene itself takes place at night, so before I went for day-shots to get detail I caught this mainly for the feeling.  I actually deleted the clearer shots and kept this blurry one (With the tremor in my hands I'm lucky I got any clear shots.) because it gave me a better sense of the color in the scene.

     So far I've found that walking the locations in your book can really bring home, as well as make you aware of, small details that you would normally miss.  The way the garage smelled like salt water and exhaust, the way even the smallest sound echoed within and the landscaping muted the ones trying to get in.  And the elevators.

     The H-U-G-E frakkin' elevators.

     From there I headed North, my next stop the Neil S. Blaisdell Center.

The Blaisdell from afar.  Elvis' "Aloha from Hawaii" concert was held here.
I do bad things to it in my book.

     Had to do a bit of rearranging after getting a better grasp of the area around the hall.  Keeping details like this straight aren't necessary per se.  Nothing wrong with taking poetic license but it was an easy decision to "keep it real" in this case and it was mainly an issue of tweaking with little details and switching a few things around.  A band-aid problem.

     I actually found myself enjoying the trip itself despite my fatigue from working a graveyard shift and going for a nice walk in the hot sun.  For the first time I felt myself slipping into my characters minds with ease.  What they might be thinking, where they would go.  And things that won't even end up in the book (Though who really knows.) also helped pull me into the world.  The pics below for example:

Bronze (I think.) statue on the North end of the Blaisdell property.

Cemetery I found across the street from a hospital.

Same cemetery.  Full of Nuns, Priests, and Cardinals.

Statue of Father Damien in front of the Capitol building.

     A big reason I felt this trip necessary, and why I made sure to put work into describing a parking garage, was a big scene I had yet to write at St. Andrews Cathedral.

Cathedral Church Of St, Andrew, Honolulu (Side note, an opening scene in MST3K movie 'Codename: Diamond Head' was filmed here.)

   

Just looking at this place was a little intimidating in terms of 'how-the fuck-am-I going-to-describe-this' and 'why-do-I-know-nothing-about-architecture?'.    I wasn't able to get a picture of it (Because I didn't know it existed at the time.), but one of the figures in the stained glass around the entrance is Jesus with a surfboard.

     Cool as St. Andy's was, my favorite part of the trip had to be the final leg when I strolled Hotel St. which runs through the center of China Town.  There was some...  interesting signage to take in as well as a few pretty beautiful works of art.  The whole area is a bizarre mix of contrasts.  Post-Apocalyptic sections that would be at home in any Romero flick right across from spit-shined, well-kept grounds.

This statue of a sea turtle is to the left of the fountain (below-right).

Both the fountain...

... and this statue...

... are right next to this.

Don't know of it's still running, but the sign made me laugh my ass off.

Many of the buildings have been her for quite awhile.

If you can read this without laughing, you are mature and I weep for you.

    In the end I found myself at the beginning of my book.  This place (Below) has always caught my attention.  Even in China Town it stands out, and is one of those buildings that everyone knows and uses when giving directions.

Two of my main characters live in this corner piece.

As you can see they are plainly living the high life.

     While it kept me up past my bed time the trip paid back in spades (Whatever the hell that means.).  This one trip fueled my imagination from Chapter 1 up to Chapter 11, which I just finished.  It even helped with the locations I made up.  I get that it's not practical to do this with every location, but researching this beyond what I could find on the internet gave my descriptions a much needed kick in the ass.  Sometimes I get so focused on my world that I cut myself off from the one that actually exists, and I think its important for us (Writers.) to get out of our heads and experience the real thing.  I can't recommend doing this enough because the sights, sounds, and smells (Good and bad.) are the details that put your readers in the scene, and firmly sets them in your world.

My new editor

     When I started this whole thing my lack of continued education after High School was a big concern in terms of the quality of my book.  My grammar sucks dishwater and there was no way in hell I would even attempt to submit any work of mine to an agent that wasn't the best effort I could put forth.
     So I perused the internet looking into professional editing services.  My asshole tightened like a snare drum at what I was going to have to pay.  I think the cheapest I found was $400-500.  As someone who lives paycheck to paycheck, that's a lot if money.
     Mentioning this to my buddy Tim he generously offered to assist me.  And when I say generously, I mean it.  Dude has a wife, three kids, and more medical issues than Sam Jackson's character in 'Unbreakable'.  He rarely gets any time to himself and he was offering to use that time cleaning up my mess.  And while he is by no means an English teacher, his education on the subject far surpasses mine.  Not to mention the asshole's a million times smarter than I am.
     Sadly due to his medical issues he has had to step down.  Something about his brain not working right and not being able to read without intense pain and dizziness and blah, blah, blah.  He's such a wuss.
     Anyway that left me back at square one and being nearly halfway through DM I stressed a bit over it.  So I decided to work writing and editing into my regular routine.  This was a huge mistake that nearly brought my progress to a halt.
     Fortunately it turned out that I had a great resource right under my nose and her name is Brandi.  Originally I brought her into the project because I only had one female beta reader and wanted more feminine input.  Also when I had my minor panic attack about whether I could successfully write believable female characters she offered to educate my dumb-ass in the ways of women.
     Now I know all your secrets ladies!  Mua hahahahaha!  (Actually she's just filling me in on banal points that I should probably already know, but, hey, I'm an idiot.)
     Anyway, a couple of weeks back we were doing the feedback thing via Xbox Live, and I was lamenting my editorial deficit, when she informed me that she used to do copy editing and offered to do so for me.  Needless to say I jumped on the offer.
     It's been a great experience working with her so far.  She is skilled, knowledgeable and highly intelligent.  I had no clue about things like format preference for publishers or that things like the font even mattered.  Before now the only time I even used the font options was to type curse words in wingdings.
     Creatively it has been cool as well.  She has a good sense of where things should be added or moved, not to mention making suggestions that I wish I had thought of in the first place.
     Working with Brandi I feel like a real writer.  It also gives me experience for the future when I'll (Hopefully.) be working with an agent and publisher.
    I'm lucky to have her on my team, working with her has been fun and interesting and she's got be the coolest chick I've ever met.  If her husband didn't make me laugh so much I'd be plotting his imminent assassination.
     Looking forward to what she'll bring to the table.  My book will be better for it.
     And though he's no longer working on the project, any and all editorial mistakes should still be attributed to Tim.  I don't want him to feel left out.

Teaser Fallout

     First off I want to thank everyone who read DM's teaser, I appreciate you taking the time to do so.  I got close to two hundred views which was way more than I had thought I would.
     Sadly putting it up turned out to be an exercise in dealing with disappointment.  With nearly two hundred views I ended up with five +1's, three comments (Two of those from friends.), and a whopping one feedback comment.
     One.
     And he hated it.
     Getting back to that in a second, I want to make it clear that I am grateful for every view and +1 I got.  Not bitching about that.
     I tried very hard not to get my hopes up.  I was under no delusions that my teaser was going to become some internet sensation or that every review would be a glowing report singing its praises to the heavens.  But despite my best efforts I was hoping for more than one feedback comment out of nearly two hundred views.  I cannot even begin to describe the perfect storm of self-doubt that inundated me.
     Was it boring?
     Did I screw it up?
     Was it really that bad?
     Or worse was it so blase and banal that it wasn't worth even leaving a comment to tell me it sucked?
     As the view count kept rising and nothing else, it was a bit difficult to keep moving forward.  I owe a big thanks to my Alpha reader Richard for keeping me going with his enthusiasm for the project.  There were more than a few times when the only reason I didn't quit was him asking me if I had finished the chapter I was working on yet.
    As for the one feedback comment I got I am actually okay with it being negative.  Cool as it would be for everyone to love my book I know that just isn't going to happen.  And despite his dislike of what he read his comment was constructive.  He didn't just type 'It sucks.  You suck.  Never make words again.', he was honest but polite and didn't leave things at him not liking it but told me why.  What it was that didn't draw him in, and other points about the content that in several cases were things that I had noted already and agreed with him on.
     One of the points he made was that the story was not focused on the zombies as much, that they felt simply like an obstacles for the characters to overcome.  Also he looked for more of a horror aspect which he felt was lacking.
     The horror part stuck with me because I had to ask myself, what kind of writer am I?  While there will be horror moments in the story (It IS the Zombie Apocalypse after all.) I don't feel the need to shoehorn it in their.  While I respect the horror genre, I'm not a fan and never really have been.  For me any moment whether its comedic, sexy, or scary should be part of the story not put there just to be there.
     I'm not a horror writer, my interest is in the characters.  Shows like 'Firefly', 'Farscape', 'Supernatural' are my influences, especially Supernatural.  The horror/scary elements are there but what drives the show is the Winchesters.
     The focus of 'Dead Moon' isn't the zombies, it's the characters.
     So in the end it just means that my book will not be that persons cup of tea.  And while I am saddened to lose a potential reader I am thankful that he took the time to read it, comment honestly, and wasn't a raging cock-bite about it.  Also as I said I did agree with several points he made and have implemented those changes.
     I didn't get what I wanted out of the teaser but the work goes on and it was probably a good lesson for me to have driven home.  Things aren't going to go like I expect and that's okay.

'Dead Moon' Teaser

This is my current project entitled 'Dead Moon'.  It takes places after the zombie pandemic has hit and my little group of adventurers is gearing up to head out...

     “Find us a way out kid?”

     “Maybe,” Seph said, “If you two can make it to the building next door, then we can get to that old truck I shut off earlier.”

     “How wide is the gap between the buildings?” Dean asked, putting the spare magazine in a cargo pocket before slipping a leather vest on over his shirt.  He stuck his fob watch with the compass on the inner lid into a small pocket of the vest and attached the chain to one of the button holes.

     “Fifteen feet?” Wu guessed finally picking a book, The Borrible Trilogy, putting it in his backpack.

     Dean shouldered his rucksack with a grunt and an immediate scream from the muscles in his lower back. “Seph we can't jump that.”

     “What about a makeshift bridge?” The gargoyle suggested. “We need to make this work because I couldn't see any other way, unless you want to fight our way out.”

     Wu blanched at the idea of trying to wade through a horde of zombies.  “I vote we try to bridge it.”

     “How?”

     “We could use my Uncles ladder," Wu said slipping his arms through the shoulder straps of his pack, the Odachi securely fixed to the side of it with several long strips of duct tape.  "The ceiling in the restaurant is pretty high, I use it to change the bulbs in the light fixtures.”

     “How tall is the ladder and where is it?” Dean asked.

     “It extends to twenty-four feet, and it's in that storage closet next to the kitchen.”

     “Sounds like a plan, let's get going.”

     They all turned to face the door, but no one moved so much as a step toward it.

     “Nothing is ever going to be the same, is it?” Seph said.

     Dean shook his head.  “No Sephiroth.  It won't.”

     “I cannot believe how scared I am right now,” Wu said.  “I may actually piss myself.”

     “Right there with you,” Dean said, nodding slowly in sympathy.

     Wu gripped the cleaver so tightly his knuckles turned white.  “Are we really going out there?”

     Seph walked over and lay a hand on Wu's leg.  “If we stay we die.”

     Dean stared at the door, his imagination working overtime to show him the myriad of bloody ways this could end.  A war for survival had been dropped on his head, and he felt the weight of it pressing down onto his shoulders.  He glanced over at Seph trying to comfort Wu.  Dean knew the kid had to be as scared as he was.  But Seph needed him, so did Wu.  Needed him to be strong and do whatever necessary to get them through this.  His own fear was irrelevant.

     Dean straightened his back against the new weight that had settled there, then walked to the door and opened it.  “We need to move.  Seph you’re in front.  Wu your next, I'll take the rear.

     Seph nodded, and followed by Wu they moved through the door, which Dean closed behind them.  With the power out the hallway was black as pitch.  Dean slipped the small flashlight out of the pouch on his belt and handed it to Wu.  “Keep it pointed down.  If you have to raise it, don't flash it around,” He whispered.  Wu nodded nervously.

     As they made their way down to the second level, Dean caught himself sniffing the air.  After having spent time as a wolf his human faculties seemed dulled to the point of barely functioning.  When shifting regularly he retained a measure of the heightened senses granted him as a wolf, and while nowhere near as sensitive or sharp as they were in his other skin, they were far superior to those of a human.  Since having turned his back on that for so long all his abilities had atrophied.  It left him uncomfortable having to rely on anyone's senses but his own.  Dean made sure to keep a watchful eye on Seph.  Those huge ears of his were just as good as any wolf, and while his olfactories were not as keen, they were far superior to his own at the moment.

     Dean slid the Glock into the paddle holster on his left side, drawing the khukuri with his opposite hand, as they passed through the double-doors leading into the restaurant.  There was no point in bringing more trouble down on their heads with gunfire.  In the main dining room chairs were scattered everywhere, tables knocked over; broken flatware and bent utensils reflected the crimson light.  Spilled food filled the air with a heady mixture of spices and fried noodles.

     Weaving their way through the minefield of shattered ceramic cups and teapots, they arrived at the supply closet off to the right of the kitchen.  Grabbing the keys from his pocket, Wu unlocked the door and opened it, shining the light around inside.  After hooking the crowbar into a belt loop and handing the flashlight back to Dean, Wu reach in and lifted the ladder, pulling it off hooks embedded in the wall. Carrying it horizontally across his body he turned to walk out.

     The only warning Dean got was a widening of Wu's eyes before something crashed into him from behind, driving him to the ground.  The weight of the pack driving the breath from his lungs when hit the floor.  Seph was on the zombie in a flash, the impact of his once again hardened body sounding like a bowling ball colliding with a side of raw beef.  Dean got to his feet wheezing, trying to catch his breath, when he saw Wu charge at him the ladder held like a battering ram.  Clipping his upper arm with the ladder as he passed, Wu hit the second zombie reaching for Dean in the chest, knocking it to the ground.

     Shoving the ladder away Dean jumped onto the zombie, one knee on its stomach the other pinning its left arm, and raised the khukuri.  Aiming for the neck, he brought it down, but the zombie's still struggling right arm threw the blow askew; the blade instead biting deep into the collarbone.  Pulling the khukuri free Dean slashed to his left, severing the arm just above the elbow, before swinging back to the right slicing through the zombie’s neck.

     Coughing as he stood, Dean put a hand over his mouth trying to suppress the noise.

     “You okay?” Wu asked, still holding the ladder.

     Dean nodded, furious with himself for letting two zombies sneak up on them, and checked the flashlight for damage before shining the red light around the restaurant.  “Seph?”

     “All clear,” the gargoyle said, hopping up from behind a table with a handful of napkins that he began cleaning himself with.

     Dean brought the light to his attacker and let out a soft whistle.  “No wonder we didn't hear it.”

     Wu set the ladder down and joined him.  “Damn.”

     The decapitated zombies' chest was gone, white rib fragments poking up out of the meat like skeletal fingers, a glistening, open cavity where the lungs and heart once sat.  Seph joined them, perched on the back of one of the few chairs still upright.  “The other is pretty much the same, only from the back.”

     “Why didn't you hear them coming up on us?” Wu asked nudging the severed head with the toe of his shoe.

     “I was focused on what you guys were doing,” Seph said guiltily.

     Dean’s frown deepened in irritation.  “We need to do better.  From now on someone is always looking behind. Damn things can come out of nowhere.” Grabbing a table cloth off the ground he wiped down the blade.  “Wu quit playing with that and grab the la-”

     “Jesus!” Wu shouted, jumping back with his right leg swinging frantically back and forth, startling Dean and Seph.

     “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean hissed.

     “Dude get it off!” Wu whispered frantically.

     Dean's amber eyes widened when he lit Wu's foot and saw the zombie's head there, the teeth locked onto the end of his shoe.  Wu slipped in puddle of spilled won ton soup and fell, landing on his back.

Raising his foot Dean stomped onto the lower jaw twice, crushing it.  Wu scrambled backward on his butt until his back hit one of the tables.  “Dude, what the fuck!?  How can a severed head still do that?”

     Grabbing the head by its matted hair, Dean raised it until they were face to face.

The eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made Dean pull his own head back, the things tongue wiggling at him like a bloody eel.

     “Frell me sideways,” Dean breathed in horrified awe.  “It really is destroy the brain or nothing.”

     Dean held the head out so Seph and Wu, who was pulling off his shoe to check his foot, could see.

     “Oh that's just creepy,” Seph said, frowning.  He weaved back and forth slightly, the eyes following him.  “How can it still bite?”

     “The muscles to close the jaw are mostly here,” He pointed to the underside of the jaw.  “Bet it wouldn't be able to open its mouth again.  Those muscles are mostly in the neck,” Dean drop-kicked the head through the kitchen door then put the light on Wu's foot.  “Did it break the skin?” he asked.

     Wu poked at his foot just above his toes and winced.  “Just bruised the hell out of them,” he said; relief heavy in his voice.

      “We need to get you some boots A.S.A.P.  Those sneakers aren't gonna protect you from a damn thing.”

     Wu nodded, pulling his sock and shoe back on.  “No argument here.”

     Dean held out his hand and grasping Wu‘s forearm pulled him up.  “Get the ladder and let's get the hell out of here.  Seph, direct Wu since I'll have the light.”

     “Werd,” Seph said climbing onto Wu's shoulder.

     Dean held the door for Wu, then fell in behind him.  They quickly made their way back up to the third floor and out onto the roof.  Wu came to a sudden stop as he passed out of the stairwell.  It was the first time in his life that he had ever been confronted by true darkness.

     As a child of the modern age there had always been some source of illumination.  Humanity liked it's lights brighter, longer-lasting, and as prevalent as possible.  Even during the occasional black out, some source of light was available.  Cell phones, battery-powered digital clocks, hand-held game devices.  Now there was nothing, the night completely unhindered.  For a moment Wu felt a kinship with his ancestors who once huddled in caves around a fire and gazed in trepidation at what lay outside the security of the light.

     For Dean it was less jarring and more welcoming.  As the door closed behind him it was like slipping into a silk robe, pupils dilated until nothing but a thin golden ring remained.  While his abilities were not a hundred percent, there were lingering effects.  His eyes adjusted quickly and soon he could see well enough that it was like moving around at deep twilight.  Raising his eyes he whistled low in admiration.  Not since his nights in the North Slope had he seen so many stars, the windows of the buildings surrounding them mirroring the sky above.

     Seph climbed up to his usual spot on Dean's left shoulder, draping his tail casually over the opposite side, his red eyes the only visible feature.  He leaned against the side of Dean's head, causing the swagman to tilt.  To Seph the endless shadow was like diving through cool water.  He eased through it like a shark, utterly at home.  “Wow,” he breathed.

     “Pretty night for the apocalypse,” Wu said quietly.

     Dean nodded.  “Seph?”

     “Yeah?”

     “At Padre's place, every night is like this.”

     “Really?”

     “Mm-hm.  More stars than you could ever count.”

     “Cool.”

     A flash lit the night, followed moments later by a deep rumbling.  The full moon painted the oncoming storm clouds with an ethereal glow as the wind began to pick up.  “Let's get moving.” Dean said, slipping the flashlight into it's pouch and reaching for the ladder.  They extended the ladder then laid it across the gap.  Seph crossed in a flash, looking like a cat running along the top of a fence.  Upon reaching the other side he melded half his body into the stone edge of the roof, gripping his end of the ladder; holding it firm.  Dean grabbed the opposite side to secure it.  “You first Wu, your lighter.”

     “So many fat jokes, so little time.”

     “Get your skinny ass over, before I throw you.”

     Wu took a deep breath lifted himself up onto the ledge.  On all fours he started to cross twice before stopping, eyes squeezed shut.

     “Acrophobic?” Dean asked.  Wu glanced back and nodded tightly.  Taking a deep breath he slowly started over.

     Near the half-way point Wu stalled, arms shaking.  It looked to Dean as though he was fighting to keep his eyes locked onto the opposite roof.

     “Look down,” Dean said.

     Wu went rigid, gaze snapping up, moments from giving in.  “What?!  You’re supposed to say don't look down!”

     “Yeah, but whenever you say that to someone they always look down anyway.  So... look down.”

     “You’re an ass!”

     “Mmmm, speaking of ass I'm loving the view of yours with you all bent over in front of me.  Muy caliente.”

     “Run Wu, run!” Seph said.

     “Oh Christ, alright I'm going, I'm going,” Wu continued on, the metal ladder creaking with every movement.

     “Don't hurry on my account,” Dean said making his voice deep, husky, and lispy in an it-puts-the-lotion-in-the-basket kind of way.  “You been working out?”

     “Dude.  Trying not to die here.”

     “Hey crouching tiger, wanna see my hidden dragon?”

     “Shut up!”

     Seph snorted and snickered with suppressed merriment.

     Wu made his way over, falling off the opposite side.  He stood and with a trembling hand flipped Dean off.  “Thanks for the motivation.”

     “Anytime,” Dean said with a smirk.  Removing his ruck he tossed it over then, holding his arms straight out for balance, walked the ladder like a tight rope.  Jumping off the end onto the roof he raised his arms above his head with a flourish.

     “Show off,” Wu muttered, dusting himself.

     Shouldering his pack Dean, joined Seph at the edge of the roof looking down onto the scene below.  The streetlight had gone through the third floor window, putting it directly beneath them.  Wu edged as close as he dared, snatching small peeks over.  “How we gonna do this?”

     “Get down to the room it broke into and make our way to the truck.  Seph first, then you.  While you’re shimmying down, Seph snags the keys from the glove box and gets them to you.  I'll come last and drop down into the bed.  The truck may not start right away and I'll hold them off until we can get going.”

     Wu blanched at how many zombies now walked the street.  He glanced over at Dean who was standing right on the edge, the tip of his boots hanging centimeters over.  “Can you hold off that many?”

      Dean remained silent, continuing to stare at the street.  Fatigue ran its fingers down his spine, sending a numbing tingle through his limbs.  Two shifts in one night on top of all the healing and fighting was taking its toll on his strength.  The pit stop to regroup and eat had helped, but was hardly a substitute for actual rest.

     Time to find out what I'm really made of, he thought.  This is just getting started.

     Glancing over he realized Seph and Wu were watching him, still waiting for an answer.  He patted the khukuri’s sheath.  “I'll hold them off, you focus on getting the truck started.  Get us moving, but don't drive stupid.  Last thing we need is to wreck.”

     “No shit,” Wu agreed.

     The lightning increased in intensity and frequency, thunder right on its heels, as they approached the door leading down into the building.  A gust of wind brought with it the first scent of falling rain.  Dean tried the handle and found it locked.  When he held out his hand, Wu gave him the crowbar.  Slipping it between the door and it's frame he put his weight behind it.  The old door, already loose and rusted from the constant exposure to the salt air, popped open with a minimum of effort, the knob falling apart with a clatter.  Passing the crowbar back to Wu he drew the khukuri and brought the light back out, holding it lens down.

     “Follow me in Wu.  Seph keep a good look out, we're gonna be relying on you pretty heavily to be our eyes.”

     Seph nodded and climbed up the wall until he clung to the roof of the stairwell like a large bat.  Descending the short flight of stairs they found the door at the bottom lying on the floor.  The building had gone unused for years.  There were no walls, only support pillars.  Remnants of the homeless that had found their way inside littered the floor.  Beer bottles, a pair of stained old mattresses, used food containers with the mummified remains of meals gone by.  A thick layer of dust covered everything.  Orienting himself on the flashes of lightning coming from the broken window, Dean cautiously walked over to it.  If the homeless could find their way in, so could the Zeds.  They didn’t need any more surprises.  A few feet from the shattered window he paused and cocked an ear.

     “What is it?” Wu whispered, coming to stand beside him.

     “Listen.  You hear that Seph?”

     “Helicopters,” He answered from just outside the window.  “Can't see them yet, but they‘re definitely coming this way.”

     “Military?” Wu wondered, a trace of hope in his voice.

     “Don't get excited man,” Dean said, clicking off the light and putting it and the blade away.  He raised the swagman's brim and peered out the window, rain tapping against the leather.  The lightning was frequent enough to give him a good view of the zombies moving mindlessly about the street.  They were everywhere, but spread out enough to hopefully give them the time needed to make it down.  “I doubt they're here to help anyway.  Probably recon or something.”

     “Hey, you can't blame me for wanting to see a bunch of strapping young lads with assault rifles.”

     “Got me there,” Dean said leaning further out the window before stepping back.  “Seph I want you down in the cab, grab the keys and stick them in the ignition.  While Wu gets the truck going I need you to work with me and keep the Zeds away from the cab windows.  Try to watch both but,” he pointed at and locked eyes with the gargoyle, “focus on keeping Wu clear.  Don't worry about backing me up.”

     “But what if-”

     Dean cut him off, “No buts Seph.  Do it.”  Seph sighed, nodding reluctantly as he started down the shaft.

     Turning to Wu, who was placing the crowbar and cleaver in his backpack, Dean said, “I get you have the whole fear of heights thing, but you can't hesitate.  The rain should help cover the sound of you going down, but we can't rely on that and once they notice us, they're gonna be on us like Marlon Brando on souffle, so shag ass.”

     Wu walked up to the window and climbed onto the streetlight, straddling it.  Fat droplets now came down in earnest, the streets growing even darker as the clouds completely obscured the moon.  Staring straight ahead Wu slid down, gaining speed slowly as the water slicked down the cold metal.  Dean watched his progress intently; Seph's red eyes followed from the roof of the truck.  Three quarters of the way down, they both tensed as he suddenly slipped to the right nearly falling off.  Tightening his legs around the pole he was only able to halt his descent momentarily before his legs slipped free.

     Dean drew the Glock and leaned as far out the window as possible while holding onto the frame with his right hand, sighting below Wu's feet.  Wu kept his grip with his arms, legs swinging like a pendulum beneath him.  The tips of his feet and the base of the Odachi's bundled scabbard passing within a hairsbreadth of a passing zombie's head, a flash revealed the gleam of bone where the scalp had been torn away.  As they started to swing back Wu clenched his abdominal muscles and raised his feet back up to the pole, crossing his ankles over the top.  He came to a halt just over the truck's roof.

     Relying on Seph to cover Wu, Dean climbed onto the pole and started his descent.  The weight from the pack made it not only extremely difficult to keep his balance but also increased his speed dramatically.  Limbs wrapped tight enough to cramp the muscles in his back, Dean fought to stay on top as he quickly sped down.  A cry rose over the noise of the storm, quickly joined by others.

     The zombies had spotted them.

     Wu already had his pack off and was climbing into the cab through the open sliding window.  Dean let go, falling into the bed of the truck, landing on his side with a grunt.  He quickly loosened the straps and slipped out of them.

     Standing he turned to face the oncoming mob and drew his weapons.  His skin crawled at the sight before him, the undead rushing in from all directions.  Fear hit him like a taser to the spine.  For a brief moment he was unable to move as they closed in, their eyes pinpoints of sickly greenish-yellow light.  Whatever force that caused them to rise after death gave them the eye-shine humans lacked.

     As the first zombie reached the tail gate, half crawling, half falling over it, Dean felt something come over him.  His thought process differed depending on what skin he wore.  The human thought process more rational than the primal urges of his animal side.  Wolves acted; to freeze meant death.  Amber eyes closing in a slow blink it felt as if the wolf slid behind them.  His earlier transformations had opened a long closed door bringing the beast closer to the surface.  But the wolf didn't take over and drive him berserk, a mindless killer.  Wolves killed when survival dictated too and did so quickly.  When his eyes opened the fatigue washed away with the cool rain that drenched his clothes as Dean gave himself over to it, his mind merging with the wolf's instincts to become something stronger, lethal.  Blowing out his breath he released the anxiety that had filled him and hunched his shoulders, a growl rolling through his bared teeth.

     The zombie raised its head and reached for him.  Dean stomp-kicked his foot into the thing‘s face, sending it tail over tea kettle off the back of the truck in a spray of teeth.  Turning to check the cab he aimed and fired off a trio of shots, one per zombie pounding on the driver’s side window.  Wu fought with the ignition, the cool engine stubbornly refusing to turn over.  A tug on his pants brought Dean's attention away from Wu and in one motion he spun and shoved nearly every centimeter of the blade in the creature’s eye.  In his peripheral vision Dean caught glimpses of Seph moving from zombie to zombie, his tail snapping out like a scorpion to pierce them through the eye or mouth with the spear shaped barb, before leaping off to the next.

     With the wolf driving his limbs, Dean savaged any Zed that came within reach.  There was no need to restrain his base urges when dealing with these things.  The 40 cal. handgun barked between swipes of the blade, the khukuri’s leaving limbs and snapping heads in its wake.  Dean tried to track how many rounds he had left in the magazine, but having to shift his focus from kills to keeping the grasping hands that reached into the bed of the truck away from his legs, screwed up his count until the last shot locked the Glock's slide open.

     Finally, with the growl and shudder of a waking Grizzly, the engine turned over, headlights blazing to life.  Scrambling to reload, Dean was thrown to his knees when the Ford lurched forward.  The truck may have been old, but there was still a lot of life left in it and the engine, once started, would not be stopped.  Tires squealing, the truck plowed through the crowd, crushing any not immediately knocked aside under its tires.

     “Alright back there?” Wu called back.

     “I'm good,” Dean panted, leaning back against the cab.  “Seph?”

     “Right here,” he said, poking his head through window.  Seph's still hardened body glistened with rain water and zombie blood.  “Good shooting by the way.”

     Ejecting the empty magazine into his lap, Dean slapped the full one home, and chambered a round.  “Not hard to miss when their inches away and not trying to dodge.”

     “Which way?” Wu asked, steering around several zombies.  “When you said the gun shop behind Ala Moana, I assumed you meant the one on Kaheka.

     Pushing the swagman off his head so that it hung down his back by the leather wind cord, Dean put his face in the window.  “That's the one, take a left here to Kapiolani, it'll be faster.”

     “Not that way,” Seph said, hanging upside down from the oh-crap handle above the passenger window.

     “Why not?” Wu frowned.

     “More buildings, more Zeds.  Take Ala Moana Blvd., its right along the beach so there should be less people.”

     “Good call kid,” Dean said.  “Take this next right Wu.”

     “Yes'm Ms. Daisy I get you to de sto,” Wu said taking the turn sharply enough to cause the truck to fish-tail.

     “Hey!” Dean exclaimed, righting himself.  “Less fast, less furious there Andretti.”

     Wu grinned.

     The rain slackened to a light drizzle as they came out onto the street Seph had suggested.  The night was suddenly filled with an intense red light as a flare streaked skyward from the mall.  Moments later came a loud roar as a large helicopter passed over them low enough that the downdraft from the rotors could still be felt.  Seph came out and joined Dean in the back peering upward.  “Its landing on the top level,” he said pointing.

     Dean scowled.  Who the hell could possibly be up there?

     Seph watched as the chopper landed out of sight, touching down for half a minute before lifting off again, angling back in their direction.  His eyes widened as he saw struggling forms clinging to the bottom of the helicopter.  As it moved away from the shopping center, zombies continued to follow, struggling over the wall surrounding the fourth level and plummeting to the parking lot below.

     Overhead the clouds parted, allowing the light of the full moon to once again shine down.  Now even Wu could make out the helicopter as it headed their way.  Dean watched its approach, a look of surprise coming over him at the continuing sound of gun fire.  Watching the tracers he realized they weren't shooting the door gun at zombies on the ground but the shots were being fired inside the chopper.  Flying low it passed overhead a second time but instead of continuing on it stalled, hovering in one spot.  Dean and Seph could only look on in confusion that quickly passed from shock to anxiety to downright panic as it began to spin, and quickly gaining speed, head right back for them.

     “Wu!” they shouted simultaneously, “Faster!  Furiouser!”

     Glancing up Wu's eyes flew open as the whirling blades angled downward and filled the rear-view mirror.  Too shocked even to curse he floored it, the truck surging forward.  They started to gain some distance when Seph and Dean heard Wu curse and call out their names.

     “What?”

     “In front of us!”

     “I think our main concern is back here!”

     “Not any more it isn't!”

     They turned around and Seph began firing out expletives like an assault rifle on full auto.  “Aw fuck me,” Dean muttered under his breath.

     Filling the street ahead a wave of zombies surged toward them their eyes glowing brightly in the headlights, trampling and scrambling over each other.  Wu met Dean's eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror, “Do I go through them?”

     Dean felt gooseflesh pop up all over his body at the sound of the blades slicing through the air.  Glancing back he saw that the small lead they had gained was quickly being eaten away by the out of control aircraft.  Dean looked around quickly before sticking his head back into the small window, shouting to be heard above the noise from the chopper.  “Take us left when I give the word!”

     “Into the parking lot?”

     “We're gonna cut through the mall!”

     Wu shot Dean an incredulous look over his shoulder.  “We're driving through Ala Moana?”

     “You wanna live forever?”

     Laughter filled the cab of the truck.  “You’re freakin' nuts!”

     Seph grinned down at Dean from the roof of the truck, “Him no nuts, him crazy!”

Dean matched Seph's enthusiasm with a wolfish grin of his own.  “Give the word when it's right on our asses!”

     “You got it!”

     The truck barreled forward to meet the oncoming horde; the sound of the rotors now drowning out even the zombies.  Wu kept the gas pedal floored, pressing down on it with his foot so hard that he lifted himself from the seat.  The helicopter drew closer and closer until it was only a few meters behind them and Seph cried out, “Word!”

     Dean waited for a breath before barking, “Now!”

     Wu cranked the wheel hard to the left, tires squealing as they hit the curb and bounced up and over it, narrowly missing the bus stop benches lined up along the sidewalk.  The rotors scraped the rear bumper in a shower of sparks.  Wu's head slammed up against the roof and Dean, with Seph clinging to him for dear life, was nearly catapulted out of the bed when the rear tires hit.  To his credit Wu regained control of the vehicle, narrowly missing several cars before hitting the back end of a sedan, sending the truck into a spin.

     “Sh-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-t!” Wu bellowed.

     “Son-of-a-bi-i-i-i-i-i-i-tch!” Dean howled.

     “YE-E-E-E-E-E-E-HA-A-A-A-A-A!” Seph cheered riding Dean's back, wing flapping.

     Turning into the spin, Wu straightened the truck out and brought them to a halt.  Dean sat up and looked behind them.  The rotors were turning the horde into a fine mist, body parts flying everywhere.  Clipping one of the trees in the median the chopper finally hit the ground rolling over and over as it steam-rolled the zombies, flattening them beneath its unrelenting weight.  Shrapnel from the blades breaking and bending against the street as well as parts from the helicopter itself shot through the air like shuriken when the chopper exploded.  Dean's head jerked back as a line of fire burned across his left cheek.

     Touching his hand to his face he hissed as it came away wet.  Closing his eyes Dean took a deep breath inhaling slowly until his lungs were filled to capacity.  He took the pain and gathered it together like red-hot razorwire.  Holding his breath for a moment he shoved the pain out with a long slow exhale.  When he opened his eyes no sign of the hurt remained in them or in his body language.  A small moan came from inside the cab.

     “Everybody in one piece?” Dean asked.

     “Oh shit!  You okay Seph?”

     Dean spun around and saw Wu helping the gargoyle up off the floor of the passenger side.  A billiard ball sized hole now punched in the windshield.  Wu helped him to the seat where he collapsed on his side.  Reaching in Dean lifted him out and set him in his lap.  “Get us moving, I'll take care of him.  Head over to that coffee place on the corner there.  There should be a passage that goes straight through.”

     Wu nodded and pulled forward, trying not to jostle Dean while he tended Seph.  Seph held his hand to his head, skin still hardened, eye lids clicking when he blinked.  “I think something hit me,” he said, sounding distant.

     Dean passed the flashlight over Seph looking for any sign of injury.  “You hurt anywhere?”

     “I don't feel anything.  Just dizzy.”

     “Hold on, jumpin‘ another curb,” Wu tossed back.

     Cradling Seph, Dean braced himself as the truck bounced.  The engine echoed in the passageway as Wu increased speed, passing shop after shop.  Another noise began to compete and Dean's head snapped up.  More zombies were coming down the corridor.

     Wu shut the head lights off and suddenly turned left, parking under the escalator that ran up to the second floor and killed the engine.  They all held their breaths waiting.  Now that the engine was off the only sound was the scrambling of feet and hungry moans.  Drawn by the crash and following explosion, enough zombies to completely fill the passageway headed toward them.

     Slowly raising the Glock, Dean aimed at the zombies as they moved past, the runners quickly leaving the others behind.  Enough time passed that Dean‘s hand shook from holding the gun up for so long and the tension of waiting for one of the horde to spot them.  They just kept coming.

     The flow of undead began to slow, eased to a trickle, and eventually stopped.  Dean waited for a ten count before drawing a shuddering breath, which was echoed by Wu.  He was about to turn to speak to Wu when he paused feeling a change in the texture on Seph's normally smooth body.  Glancing around to make sure no more zombies were coming he pulled the flashlight back out, and cupping his hand around it, clicked it on, and then raised Seph's arm.  A shallow series of spider-web cracks on Seph's right side showed where he had been struck by shrapnel.

     Dean's gut clenched.  Jesus, if Seph hadn't been all stony just now, he'd be dead.

     “You can't feel that?” he asked.

     The gargoyle looked down and probed the area, tapping his claws against the damage.  “No,” Seph answered, his voice sounding clearer.  “Should I try and change back?”

     Dean set him down carefully and climbed out of the bed of the truck.  “Not yet kid." he turned to face Wu.  "Let's not risk running the engine until we're outside.  Get out and help me push, Seph get behind the wheel and steer.”

     Wu put the truck in neutral then climbed out the back window, preferring not to risk the noise of opening and closing the door, and joined Dean at the front of the truck.  Together they pushed and slowly moved the truck back.  An ear-to-ear smile split Seph's face at getting to drive finally, his injury momentarily forgotten.  Wu glanced over at Dean, his face seemed overly neutral, as if he were forcing his expression to remain blank; which he had learned meant something was really bothering him.

     “You’re worried about the hit he took.”

     Dean said nothing, just nodded once sharply, his head barely moving.

     “The little guy's tough, and the damage didn't look deep.  He'll be okay.”

     Keeping his eyes on the grill Dean swallowed slowly, “He better be.”