War:NA: Dawn of the Undead
By Patt Elmore
Takes Place 11-9-04
Before and Concurrent with "One Man's Trash . . ."
All persons mentioned used with permission
Vaq Motorcycle stolen with warning


Since passing the 40-year mark, Patt had become an early riser.  So,
getting up just before dawn, even after four hours sleep, wasn't
that difficult.

Yawning, the NunkWrangler stepped outside the dank little trailer
and breathed in the early morning frost of November Toronto.

"Feels like snow coming, doesn't it?"  The deep voice with just a
hint of downunder came from her left.  Accompanying the soothing
tones of Jackson's voice was the smell of steaming coffee.  Patt's
mouth began to water.

"If you have another one of those cups hidden behind your back, I'll
do your laundry," Patt quipped, smiling at the tall Imp.  "And, I
hate laundry."

"As long as you don't starch my boxers, I'll take you up on that
offer."  Jackson handed the Third Cousin a mug, his eyes twinkling.

Even black, the drink was delicious.  Patt sipped the drink, her
face reflecting her total contentment.  For a while, they just stood
there, enjoying the java and the companionship.

Then, Patt woke up.

"Hey Lazy-on.  Wake up.  Get out."  Sapo threw open the door and
tossed his dirty workboots inside.  When he pulled off his grime
covered shirt and tossed it on the bed, Patt pulled the covers over
her head and began to shake.  When he started to unzip his pants,
the NunkWrangler screamed and hopped up on top of then off the bed,
reaching the camper door in one bouncing stride.  "Wazza matter,
ladee?" Sapo called after her, a leering grin on his face.  "Real
men scare you?  And, come back with my shirt!"

Patt was hot footing it pretty swiftly, trying to reach the Peach
before anyone saw her.  Of course, that's when EVERYONE sees you, or
least the persons that count.

"In a hurry?"  The husky tone of the dream was gone, replaced by the
sardonic inflection of mild amusement.  Jackson Hugh was sitting in
a folding chair outside the restaurant, drinking coffee.  But that
is where every similarity to her fantasy ended.  The Imp looked at
Patt, pursed his lips at the site of her attire and, wisely, took
another swig from his drink without further comment.

Moments later, Patt reappeared, slightly more refreshed, having
changed into grey sweats which she conveniently found hanging in one
of the bus boy's lockers.  Hugh was still sitting there, sipping his
coffee, watching the compound with interest.

"Feels like we may have some snow coming," he commented, his eyes
distant.  "Hope it doesn't delay your construction project."

"Bite your tongue," Patt warned Jackson.  She had her own coffee
now, and leaned against one of the pillars which graced the entrance
of the Peach.  She looked toward the Shrine rubble and bit her own
tongue in surprise.

The lot was clean.  No boulders, no debris, no nothing to indicate
that an implosion had once occurred there.  And, to her further
astonishment, the construction crew had already roped off areas with
orange tape, put braces down and had placed foundation plumbing.

"They DO work fast." Patt was amazed.

"They were pretty fascinating to watch, too," the Imp remarked,
stretching his long legs. "Especially the guy with the wrench,
flying from pipe to pipe.  The others kept smacking him when he dove
in too close."  Jackson grinned.

Oh, it was a pretty grin.

Patt found herself grinning back.

Then he sobered.  "I just hope it's all worth the price."

"Speaking of price, I'd better start figuring out how we're gonna
pay them," Patt said thoughtfully.  "I'll need to get some folks
together and start throwing ideas around.  Where's Christy?"

"You mean Red?" Jackson almost snorted his grin was so expansive.
"She's not dawn material."

"I'm not asking her to wash dishes, I'm asking her for ideas."  Patt
retorted.  And, courtesy of the fanfic Fairies, a newbie popped out
from one of the mobile homes and, scratching and yawning, walked
past Patt and Jackson, headed for the wash trailer.

Patt did an interception worthy of LSU.  "Krista, see that trailer
over there?" Patt said, spinning the purple-coifed Addict toward
Kriel's digs.  "I need you to go in there and wake Christy up."

"Isn't that her vampire's job?" Krista complained, trying to tug
herself away from the NunkWrangler.

Patt loosed her grip on Krista and frowned.  "Yeah, it is.  Wonder
why Kriel hasn't rousted her out of there."

The thought hit both Patt and Jackson at the same time.  They sprang
toward the largest trailer, holding their breath, afraid of what
they'd find.

Jackson's hand was on the knob when Kriel's voice came from behind.
"Lookin for something?"

Patt turned slowly, seeing all the signs of sated vampire.  Kriel's
cheeks were ruddish and there was a small red drop on his lower lip.

"Don't panic," Kriel almost laughed through his snarl.  "I just cut
myself shaving.  Bunny's fine . . . conned me into letting her sleep
late."  He began to smirk.  "Quite a woman.  Someday . . ." his
voiced trailed off.

Patt sensed tension beside her and turned.  Jackson, brows knitted,
looked like a cobra, braced to strike.  Without thinking, Patt
reached out and clutched the Imp's arm.

Then she turned back to Kriel.  "Cons over.  Tell Christy to rise
and shine.  I need her input and Nunkies needs her for boulder
patrol."

"Carte blanche?" Kriel's eyes danced.

"As long as there's no blood involved," Patt replied, eyes full of
warning.  "Two weeks.  We have two weeks."

"Two weeks . . . a snap of my fingers," Kriel laughed, mounting the
steps.

Patt wisely retreated across the yard, waiting for Kriel to complete
his extraction duties.  She was soon rewarded.  Kriel reappeared at
his door, carrying Christy over his shoulder.  The auburn-haired
Addict was beating the muscular vampire across his back, her fists
pounding out a rhythm which sounded strangely like ABBA.  Knowing
that Christy was okay, Patt couldn't help herself.  She began
laughing.

And, to her amused interest, so did Jackson.  The Imp began to
chuckle.

"Oh . . . no you don't," Patt chided him, unable to quell her own
mirth.  "Let's get away from here before she catches us laughing.
She'll murder both of us."  Grabbing his arm yet again, Patt pulled
Jackson through the entrance of the Peach.  They stood there,
shielded, watching as Kriel placed a thrashing Christy on the
ground, flexed, then went back into his trailer and clicked the door
shut.

"Hey kiddo, how'd ya sleep?" Patt called cheerfully.  "We have a
full roster of events planned if you'd like to join us."

Patt ducked just in time to avoid the flying bunny slipper hurled
her way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A solitary figure, dressed in black trousers and red tunic, moved
through the streets of Toronto, the afternoon sun warm on his back.

Mungo Gunn, loyal Scot Knight, needed transport.  He'd narrowly
escaped being apprehended by the dark-haired sorceress and her
familiar the other night, and such near captures could not be
tolerated.  Mungo had a quest to fulfill and, judging from the
murmurings in the street, he was not alone.

"The only rock I care to find is a good band," One leather clad
woman was addressing another as they walked through the entrance of
a shop.

"Or the kind that fits on my finger," another agreed.

The women disappeared inside, leaving their steeds on the street.

Mungo approached the Triumphs, standing beside each other,
glistening in the afternoon light.  He petted them, one by one,
sizing them.  Finally he chose.  A black mount with a spider decal
on the front.   Very appropriate, considering the web of lies and
deceptions which had been spinning around him.

Mungo carefully threw his leg over the motorcycle, seated himself
and walked it out of it's parking stall.  With instinct alone, he
knew how to start the Triumph, and was soon speeding away.

********************************