Fic: Coming Apart (8/?) (Severe Spoiler Warning)

["buffythebushkangaroo" <buffythebushkangaroo@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Severe Spoiler Warning.

(Spoilers for episodes:

17 - Normal Again.
18 - Entropy
19 - Seeing Red
20 - Villains

You have been warned. Don't make me spank you.)

Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.
Spoiler space.


Anne-Lise.

--


The demons insinuated themselves forward. Stealth wasn't a primary 
issue, considering that the Slayer was in pursuit of a vampire, and 
they themselves were almost nine feet tall. They gave chase; the 
green illumination of their night-vision and Heads-up displays bathed 
the tombstones in eerie light only they could see.
The head demon, nominated only because he was at the front, 
motioned for the others to slow down. Automatic weapons straightened 
in careful response; They'd had adequate warning over the dangers 
posed by the Slayer, and she was not the first they'd killed. 
Although none of the Slayers they'd dispatched in their long lives 
had ever come back from the grave, so a little wariness was to be 
expected...

*

Buffy slowed down too. She slowly realised that although she was 
following Dru, something... no some *thing* was following her. 
Possibly more than one something. Her senses screamed, keening, and 
so she waited. The big bad always had to show itself before 
attacking. It was like some egotistical rule of the undead. I pose, 
therefore I die.
The first bullet ripped the nose from a stone angel that marked the 
grave of one Emily Thatcher. The second ripped a jagged piece of 
flesh from her shoulder as she dived for cover.
'Stupid!' she mentally chastised herself.

*

"And you just let her run after a Hostile on her own, without 
backup?" Riley's superior stared at him as if the younger soldier had 
been caught in the mess hall wearing cheese on his head.
"Sir, yes sir!" A vein throbbed on Riley's forehead. "Sir..." His 
tone softened. "She *is* the Slayer, sir!"
"Oh. Well. There you go, then. That makes it all okay." Sarcasm 
dripped from Sam's voice, but her cheeky grin belayed any emotional 
impact.
"I can't believe they promoted you over me for this Op," he 
muttered, and followed his wife to the RileyMobile... His second-hand 
Buick Century.

*

Buffy caught her breath and sat with her back to a nondescript 
grave. She took stock of her situation: Demons with guns. Novel, but 
her arsenal (a slightly chewed wooden stake) wasn't going to cut it 
this time. Oh well, time to improvise.
She picked up the stone nose, turned to one side of the grave, and 
made to throw it as hard as she could... Only nobody was there.
"Hello?" she called out. Quiet. No answer. She took a sniff of 
herself, just in case the smell of fetid Doublemeat was still 
clinging to her; The Doublemeat (Doublemeat is double sweet!) smell 
had driven away more than one vamp in the last few weeks that she'd 
been working there. Nothing, or at least nothing that she could 
determine. "Is it me?" she asked plaintively. Then she heard the 
sound of fighting from the other side of the graveyard wall.

*

The demons attacked the moment the Buick pulled up outside the 
graveyard. Although not their primary targets, the demons were all a 
little pissed at being nearly blinded by the station-wagon's 
headlights. Not being in possession of night-vision gear, Riley'd 
driven up with his main beams on full. He'd left the night goggles 
back in his carisak.
"Death to the mortals" The demon's leader cried.
Sam upercutted it in a smooth movement that extricated herself from 
the Buick.
"Whatever," she sighed. She turned briefly to see how Riley was 
getting on. He wasn't, he was lying still on the floor, blood oozing 
from a bullet wound just below his neck.
"Riley!" she screamed, but forced herself not to move towards her 
husband. Three snarling demons she hadn't noticed before were 
covering her with Silenced Heckler & Koch fully-automatic machine 
guns. Not good. Not good at all.

*

"You call this a hideout?" Jonathon muttered as he played with the 
surveillance gear.
"No," Warren replied. "I call it hiding out in the back of a van 
with a pair of gutless losers."
Andrew chewed his lip slightly. "I told you we should've left 
Sunnydale. She'll be looking for us." There was no need to elucidate 
on who he was talking about.
"I could use my magic bone," Jonathon suggested. It failed to even 
raise a smile.
Warren shook his head. "Let's get out of here... It looks like the 
Slayer's not gonna show tonight." He started the engine, and reversed 
into three gun-wielding demons.

*

End Part 8.