"So, what exactly where you doing in the basement of the San Francisco Museum of History?" Officer Robert O'Bannion asked. He was not happy. Some guard down at the San Fran Met had called in a B&E on this teenage girl, said the kid had been locked down in the basement of the museum all night. Bob slurped back some coffe and leaned closer to the girl. He hadn't even been able to get a name out of her.
"You know, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Bob told her, dialouge from an old police movie running through his head. He was all set to play good-cop/bad-cop with her, but all the other policemen were out on the beat, and everyone knew you needed a partner to run that routine.
"C'mon, give me your name, at least?" Bob had tried to check her prints, but for some reason, the computer database was down and he couldn't find any information on the young girl. Bob hated computers. "What's your name?" The girl only avoided his eyes and stared at the two-way mirror on the wall of the interogation room. Bob stood, his coffee cup empty.
"I'll be back." Bob said, sounding almost like The Terminator to his utter delight. "Don't move." he warned the petite young thing before leaving the room. Bob was so busy trying to re-create the accent he'd just used that he didn't notice that the sticky latch on the door hadn't caught. When Bob returned with a steaming mug of coffee and a donut for the girl, she was gone.
"God damn." Bob sore softly. "And I was just about to try that 'Just the facts, mam.' line."
***************************
Buffy didn't waste any time getting as far away as she could from that police station. Not that it was such a bad place. Officer Bob had been nice. Not too bright, but nice. But she was having flashbacks of the first times she'd faced a police interrogation; right after she tourched the school gym, and after she'd killed Ted, the phsyco robot who'd tried to murder her mother.
She blinked in the harsh sunlight of mid-day. San Francisco was alternately cloudy and foggy, but when the sun came out, it did with a vengence. Buffy stopped by a pretzel vendor and bought a hot dog. She headed in the general direction of home, then relized it wasn't her home. The familiar gnawing of homesickness bit, and Buffy's hotdog got caught in her throat. She swallowed hard, and her eyes watered. Someone pounded her on the back, and she choked hard, swollowing the offensive bit of bun and meat.
"Hey, you okay?" It was Whistler, and Buffy turned to him, smiling a little. "Dog caught your tounge?"
Buffy resisted the urge to groan and fell into step beside him. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Whistler swipped a cheap sovenir hat from a street vendor and plopped the bright orange hat on her head. Buffy tried to remove it, but saw a police patrol car glide slowly by. She ducked her head, suddenly glad for the cover the ugly hat allowed.
"Thought you might get lost." Whistler replied. At Buffy's glare, he smiled and held his hands up in mock defense. "It's a big city, okay?"
"How did you know I was here?"
"Oh, that Spike guy told me. He couldn't come himself, 'cause of the...you know..." Whistler jerked his thumb up towards the sun. Buffy nodded.
"Do you want to hear about the museum last night?" Buffy asked, knowing the answer.
"Shoot."
"Well, we found the guy in the basement, like you said. He was dragging something that left this huge trail of blood. I tried to chase him, slipped on the blood, and came up covered in it. The man locked us in, and...." Buffy trailed off, furrowing her brow.
"What?"
"The police didn't ask me about any blood." she stated. "And my clothes..." Buffy ducked into an alley and pulled the back of her sweatshirt around to see. "Look. I was absolutely covered in blood, and now...nothing. Something very weird is going on here. Now, spill." she ordered Whistler.
He sighed, and took her elbow, moving them off down the street. "Remember what I told you about San Francisco being built over a huge Indian burial ground?" Buffy nodded, and he continued. "Well, we're in the phase of the Third Moon Feast."
"The what?"
"Third Moon Feast. It's an ancient Native American celebration. Legend has it that three days out of every hundered years, the ancestors rise and avenge themselves. Basically, it's a dead-shalt-walk deal, when a whole bunch of rotting corpses run amock. Panic and general wackiness ensue."
"And the thing at the museum had something to do with it?" Buffy asked.
"You bet. Okay, all the recent museum robbies have one thing in common: all that was taken from the museums were Native artifacts. Someone is collecting them, preparing to call forth the ancient spirts so that they can rise up and kill everyone in San Francisco."
"Everyone in the city?" Buffy asked, nervous. "Why?"
"I told you, San Fran was built on an ancient burial ground. That means all those discontented spirts wandering around, their ancient traditions and pride stolen for the sake of the City by the Bay."
"So, when does this thing go down? When do the dead rise?" Buffy asked as they finally reached the entrance to the underground home.
"Tonight." Whistler said.
******************************
"Finally!" Willow's exclaimation broke through the heavy, depressed atmosphere of the library. Everyone raised their heads, ready for any news, good or bad. Willow cleared her throat shyly, and began to read from a printout computer sheet.
"'A teenage girl (matching Buffy's discription) was apprehended by police early this morning, but escaped custody before being sufficently questioned. It's only in the reports because it is unclear as to how the girl was able to gain entry to the San Francisco Museum of History, as that building has the most advanced security system in San Fancisco.'" Willow put the paper down and looked to Giles for a descision as to what to do next. Giles rubbed the back of his neck and took stock of the people in the room.
Oz was paused near the door, a cardboard tray full of hot coffee cups in hand. Xander dozed on the carpeted steps leading up to the stacks, but was begining to stir. A magazine lay neglected by Cordelia's elbows as she listened attentively to the news, and Joyce Summers came to stand behind Giles. Everyone seemed utterly exhausted, but the information seemed to breathe fresh life into the Sunnydale library.
Giles was struck with the impression that the most terrible things had happened in this room. He and Buffy's other friends had researched some fairly fearsome creatures in the library. This was where the Master had died, where they'd all been attacked by vampires and carted off to secret lairs. And where Willow had been temporarily paralysed, where Jenny had been possesed by a demon.
"So, what's the game plan?" Xander asked. Giles took one more look around the room.
"We leave Sunnydale, go to San Francisco, and find Buffy." he said firmly.
************************************
"So, let's get this straight. You want us to fend off a bunch of undead Indians in order to protect San Francisco? An *army* of undead Indians?!!!"
"Um, yeah." Buffy replied to Spike's snarky question. Whistler moved between them.
"There won't be more than three or four hundered." he told them. Buffy flinched, but continued sharpening a stake. Spike rolled his eyes at this news, and threw up his arms.
"Oh, well, it's all going to be fine then!" he said, abusing sarcasium. "And could you please not do that!" he said to Buffy, who was still sharpening the stake.
"It's what I do when I'm nervous." she replied. "Some people chew nails. I sharpen wood to a fine point. Hey, at least I don't smoke!" she said, wanting Spike to see the good side.
"Who do you plan to use it on?" Spike asked, leaning on the counter top, arms spread, elbows locked. "Last time I checked, those puppies don't work on undead Indians."
"Undead Americans, maybe." Buffy whispered. Spike paused in confusion for a moment, then shook his head. He began laughing, a chilling, defeated sound.
"We are very much dead. And that makes twice for me." he said. Whistler frowned.
"Get in line. This could end up as my third earth-death." Whistler told them.
Buffy stood, expertly tossing the stake, sending it flipping across the room, where it stopped by hitting a pillow. Fluff spilling out the soft cloth, she announced, "Well, this will be my second time, too, and I still *have* my soul."
Spike and Whistler looked at each other. "She wins." they said at the exact same time. Both demons burst out laughing, but it died quickly due to the seriousness of the moment.
"Any idea where the undead will rise?" Buffy asked. Whistler pulled out a map. He sure has a lot of maps, Buffy thought. Xander's replied flashed through her mind before she was aware of it. "He's soooo the map-guy." Buffy closed her eyes briefly, doing the now-familiar blocking thing of memories from home. She was proving, at least, that she could survive without the support of family and good friends. It wasn't much fun, and her job was sure a lot more tougher and dangerous, but she knew, at the very least, that if something ever happened to Giles, or Xander, or Willow, she could survive on her own. That is, if the guilt didn't kill her first.
"Um, I think we can expect to find them.....oh, wow." Whistler muttered. Buffy moved closer to the map spread on the table.
"What?" she asked, Spike standing to her left.
"Judging from the area where the most evil energy is concentrated, the Zombie Indian Players will make their debut.......at Alcatraz Prision."
Buffy's mouth dropped open. "But...the prision was built way after all those Native Americans died and were buried, right? The island was man-made. There can't be any Indian graves on that island!"
"Well, actually, the prision was built during the civil war, and they used prision labour to construct it. Guess who most of the slave-labour prisoners they used were?"
"Native Americans." Spike replied.
"And you, sir, win the sixty-four dollar question and a lovely prize." Whistler said with a smile. "Guess what, gang? We're going to Alcatraz."
****************************
"Okay, so Will, you're in San Francisco, you've tracked a Slayer this far. What are you gonna do next?" Xander's silly question broke Willow's concentration, and she rolled her eyes before replying.
"Well, one of those guys who runs the tour boats around Alcatraz Prision was jumped just before twilight. His keys to the boat where missing, and so was his little salior hat...." Willow said, wrinkiling her brow. She, Oz, Xander and Cordelia were crammed into the Summer's Minivan. Mrs. Summers and Giles were looking for tourist maps. Willow was busy tracking new info on her lap-top, plugged into the speaker at a fast-food drive-in. Lovely thing, Interact payment. Connected every two-bit McDonalds to the 'net.
Giles and Joyce climbed into the van, Buffy's mom at the wheel. "Where to?" she asked.
Willow squinted at the screen. "Um, Alcatraz Island boat tours. It's by the Bay."
Joyce nodded, and pretty soon, they arrived at the docks, a very-harried navigator Giles trying to re-fold maps. They needed a way onto Alcatraz, but the boat tours appeared to be stopped for the day. A yellow ribbon, with the line, "POLICE LINE: Do not cross" stamped onto it ran around the area, remenants on the attack of the tour guide. The guy had gone home with a headache, but his boat had been stolen and Alcatraz had closed early for the night. As luck would have it, Officer Bob haulted the Slayerettes.
"Sorry, crime scene. If you've booked a tour, get a refund at the office." Bob said. Joyce dragged Giles closer to the policeman.
"Oh, sir, please! We're supposed to take these children on an educational tour of the island, and we've travelled so far today just to be here...." Joyce said, her voice oddly appealing. Giles coughed, stammered, and joined her.
"Um, yes, please. Sir, I assure you, if you were to guide us through the prision, it would be a very short experiance, and there would be no additional problems." Giles said.
Officer Bob scratched his head. He had two choices. Put in a very boring three hours of duty, watching the docks for a suspect who'd never return, or escort these nice people and those charming kids (at this, Xander, Cordy, Willow and Oz put on their best smiley-faces) and take a tour of the infamous prision. Afterall, Bob relized, he'd never seen Alcatraz. And it beat playing watchdog here, a demotion after he'd let that teenage girl escape earlier this morning. Officer Bob agreed.
**********************************
Buffy, Whistler and Spike hit the Rock after a high-speed boat ride. Buffy hadn't liked the idea of knocking that tour guide out, so Spike had done it. Then, Spike had insisted on driving the powerboat, just because he'd 'done the dirty work'. And Spike, while an expert in the areas of vamp-hijinks and fun with railroad spikes, did not know how to drive a boat. If Buffy hadn't gotten so sea-sick, she would have laughed at the image of Spike, aka William the Bloody, powering the tour boat over the windy Bay with a flimsy sailor's hat askew on his head.
Finally, they reached the locked entrance gates of the prision. "Where does this thing go down?" Buffy asked Whistler.
"The mourge." he replied. Buffy shot him a look of disbelief as she fiddled with the lock.
"You've gotta be kidding me! An army of zombies big enough to level the city of San Francisco is expected to fit into the mourge of Alcatraz prison?"
"Well, accourding to ledgend, the three most powerful Shamen of the Indian tribe were buried directly under the mourge. We kill those Shamen and observe the correct ritual, and no more zombie uprising."
"For the next three hundered years, anyway." Spike said, smiling tightly.
"Oh, thanks. That's very helpful." Buffy replied, her voice rich with sarcasium. Buffy finally weakened the padlock on the gate enough to break it open with a kick, and they heading inside.
"Tourist central." Whistler whispered, noting the sign: 'Buy your tour tickets here!' and a souvienir vendor's booth with tee-shirts and hats on display. They passed by the booth, and Buffy grabbed a map off the table. She spread it open before her on the table, and held her flashlight up so she could see it properly.
"The mourge's off-limits to tourists." she said. The map showed the area where tourists were allowed inside the prison, and the decayed section of the jail was outlined in red. "There's an entrance through Cellblock D and one through the kitchen and the basements."
"So, we split up, then." Spike said. Whistler nodded.
"You and Buffy take the kitchen entrance. I'll head through the cellblock and see if I can hit the lights. No sense fighting zombies in the dark." Whistler decided. Buffy nodded, switching the flashlight off.
"Good plan. C'mon, Spike." she said, guestering to the vamp. Spike nodded and followed. Buffy gave Spike the map and he studied it carefully.
"Now this is a nice place." he said sardonically, glancing around as they entered the main cellblock that lead to the kitchens. "Good location for a vacation home. Whatdia say?"
"Shh." Buffy whispered, putting a finger to her lips. "Do you hear that?"
"Yeah." Spike replied, moving forward. "Sounds like a boat."
CONTINUES