Chapter Text
It was a cold day down at LDG's desk, just as it had been for the last millennium. And the millennium before that, and the millennium before that, and so on.
LDG would complain if she had ever been warm, if she even understood the concept, but as it stood she had no reason to care about such things - and if she didn't need to know something, she just didn't.
And besides, it's not as if she could stand up and light the fireplace.
Commotion thrummed through the ceiling from upstairs; LDG glanced up for barely a second before focusing back on her paperwork. An escape attempt. No matter: The Watcher would deal with them.
It was a shame what had to be done to him, but it wouldn't be the first time a watcher got too big for his boots.
She was just about to finish the past page on the pile, when she felt her insides jerk violently, as if a heavy stone had been thrown inside of her and fallen down through her system. She gasped and grabbed the desk for support. She could already sense what had happened, but her mind froze in shock and confusion. The air hesitated for a second, before, all around her, the walls erupted into noise.
All at once the roots that held her office upright shrivelled and shrunk into the ground, the walls reduced to soil in their absence. A terrified chill had just enough time to jolt up her spine, before it too was ripped away. Through her hair, her clothes, her skin, she felt her own roots suddenly pull their grip away from her and retreat. She felt a fraction of pain, and then feeling fell away.
For the first time she could ever remember, the world turned dark.
===
Another strange thing happened to LDG as she awoke. Warmth against her cheek, a breeze whistling along her ears.
Her eyes flickered back into working order for just a moment, then immediately squinted to shield against the light. Brighter than any she'd ever seen; far brighter than the lamplit underground. She briefly wondered if she'd made it to one of those afterlives that living beings spoke about, before her eyes focused in on trees and dirt. She realised she was being carried.
Everything was too bright and too loud. Her body was all dead leaves and twigs; with the lightest touch it threatened to fall apart.
She heard the voice of her carrier from behind a thick pane of glass, deep and gruff, but too far to make out. More voices followed, and then she felt herself be lifted off of the stranger's back and into a chair.
"Hey! Zombo-girl! Are you with me?"
The vague shape of a person squatted in front of her and held her face in its hands. Her eyes struggled and focused in on the small black woman, who was looking at her with concern. She tried to respond, but all she could manage was a weak, pitiful groan. Her throat felt like sandpaper - pain, another thing she never thought she'd need to feel.
"Boss!" the woman called over her shoulder, "She's not looking good! What should I do?"
"Just buckle her in, doll, she ain't crossed the Jordan yet." A familiar voice answered.
She nodded and carefully fastened LDG's seatbelt. She hesitated on the lack of lap, before deciding to sit next to her and hold her in place. LDG tried to speak but she felt herself slipping back into darkness.
===
In and out she went, as if struggling against a roaring ocean. She was never sure how long she'd been out for; whenever she tried to focus, she'd drift off again, the world a blur of colour, the scene out of her rear-view mirror continuously jumping out and reaching for her, before receding. The woman stayed wrapped around her, keeping her steady and upright with the dedication of a soldier, and next to her in the driver's seat was the Watcher.
The Watcher. That treasonous wretch. Who does he think he is?
She tried to pool her attention into him, to use her fury towards him as a centre of energy, but her insults were all jumbled and broken apart. She couldn't put together a coherent word, let alone a sentence. She reached a stiff, hollow arm up towards him, settling to pull his hair out.
"Woah, easy there lady." The woman gently pushed her arm back down and patted it. LDG snarled.
"Sir, are you sure you should be, um... driving in your condition?" another voice asked from the back compartment.
"Ohhh, don't worry 'bout me, Doctor!" He said blithely, "I may look decrepit, but I have the reflexes of a mighty matador." He pressed a finger against the windshield. "And these vehicles... are my bulls."
He yanked the wheel to one side, executing a perfect U-turn and shifting the enormous truck into the opposite lane to a wave of car horns. Everyone inside was pushed around with it; LDG would've been crushed into dust if her new guard wasn't so adept at keeping them both steady.
The watcher smirked and tapped his temple. "That's just a lil' something they teach you in the Zom-Biz." He laughed theatrically while smacking the steering wheel. "God, I feel so alive!"
They all cheered, except for LDG. She clenched her fists so hard that she could hear them pop and crack. Her grip loosened again as she started to fade back out. She whined, and used her last crumb of energy to lean into the woman protecting her. She didn't even know why really, but the warmth of her body, the rise and fall of her chest, made the fadeout a little easier.
===
When she next awoke, she had been moved again.
She lay in a thick, plush bed covered in stuffed toys, pillared by a tall bookshelf on one side and a densely-filled corkboard pinned up on the other. A rich, antiquey smell filled the room, owing to the ornate wooden stylings. You'd be mistaken in thinking she'd been taken in by 19th century nobles, if not for the posters littered around advertising various musicals and local goth bands.
LDG stared at the ceiling and groaned. She finally felt awake enough to stay in focus, but her body remained stiff and fragile, like a rotted, fallen tree. She was sure that if she had the strength, she could press down on her chest and feel it cave in without resistance.
She tested her vocals: they were still weak and gravelly, but with a bit of practice she could get a few words out. She trailed her eyes down the bookshelf and tried saying some of the titles.
"Twi... light... Rea... per... Man..." She squinted, "Pet... Sema... tery..."
"Oh hey, you're up!" A voice came suddenly from the door.
LDG grimaced and looked over: it was her again. She held a steaming mug of tea with her middle and ring finger, the rest pointing out as if she were at a rock concert. She had a big, beaming grin on her face.
"You were asleep for like, five hours straight. We kinda thought you were dead, but the boss told us to give it a little patience." She shrugged, cocking her mug slightly, "And he knows more about this zombie stuff than any of us do. I mean, clearly, eheh."
She took a sip of her tea and pointed it at her. "LDG, right? That's what he keeps calling you. Does it like, stand for anything cool?"
LDG stared at her, anger overridden by puzzlement.
"Oh yeah! Uh, and I'm Frances!" She gestured to herself too fast, spilling tea down her shirt; she swore and tried to wring it out, but only succeeding in getting it all over her hands.
"You... work for... Cesare?" She managed. Frances looked up and let her shirt go. It twirled around and settled on her waist, stain even bigger than before.
"Yeah! Weird guy! He's really great though. He asked us to get you outta there, so, thank him, I guess."
"He... He what?"
"You two were pals down there, right? Why wouldn't he save you?" She shrugged, answering her own question before she could. "Safety I guess, but we already made it up top. Digging's a lot easier than getting buried."
A voice called from the other room. Frances looked over, flashed a bright smile and put a finger up to say she wouldn't be long. She put her tea down and sprung through the door like a fawn.
She closed her eyes to give them a break from the light. For what questions had been answered, an equal number seemed to have opened up, though far less clear. More of a vague confusion that sat heavy on her chest.
Of course, she'd been given a lot of different names over the years by a number of watchers: Blue, Lenore, Pinstripes, Mrs Caligari (that one had amused her), so she'd never paid Cesare's odd little nickname any mind. What she didn't expect was for him to get so... attached to her. Maybe she'd done her job too well.
She wondered what he would do if she ever told him - if she ever had to tell him. Would he smash her face in too, the traitor? Maybe. With Caligari gone, she could bank on him being too weak to do anything about it. But then, so was she.
Frances leaned in through the doorway like a cartoon character. "Hey, Allan just got done making lunch! It's burgers - obviously - normal burgers. It's Ces's first time trying them, so we don't wanna go too crazy with the recipe." She laughed sheepishly, tapping the doorframe with a gloved hand. "Do you wanna come... eat with us?"
LDG hummed. She wasn't sure what would happen, considering she had no digestive system, but she needed to restore her energy somehow if she wanted to regrow.
"Yes. That would be... good."
Frances shot her a thumbs up. "Great! Great! I'll go grab the wheelie chair from my office." And so, she disappeared again.
Her eyes lingered on the empty doorway for a while, until the over head light became too much again and she needed to close them. She thought next she should give her arms a try: she shifted her blanket out of the way and brought them up. Each movement of the joints was stiff and rigid, all her roots having wilted away, leaving nothing but papery skin, but with a little effort she could pull away her glasses and sit them down on the side table.
They were fake anyway, just a prop for the secretary role she'd costumed as; it occurred to her that she wouldn't actually need them anymore.
Thousands of years positioned at the same desk, with the same busywork, performing for an organisation that was quite literally dead and buried.
Now what?