Like Trying to Hide the Daylight From the Sun

It occurred to me how much it annoys me when other people don't have one of these, and hypocrisy is so unbecoming...

I'm in the process of migrating internal links to DW equivalents. Also, because of other life commitments, there are also a few other fics that are only posted and listed on my Ao3 profile. [Ao3 Link Here]

Last updated:  01 December 2012

( Master Fic List and My Transformative Works Policy )

Hey guys! Sorry I disappeared, I had life issues come and carry me away. But here's a little something I cooked up in notebooks while I was shifting around.  Consider this to be a live beta, it's been awhile and no one has looked at it, so I'm not sure what the reaction will be, but criticism and comments are more than welcome. 

Title: Indeterminate Place, UK (1/1)
Author: MoragMacPherson
Rating: PG-13
Content: Zombies, action, angst, black humor, horror, references to graphic violence, language, references to religion, apocalyptic imagery
Timeline: Roughly ten years after the official end of the Zombie Wars
Disclaimer: Max Brooks foresaw the Zombie menace with remarkable clarity, Joss Whedon knew that the Slayers would help save us from it.
Archive: Here and eventually TtH. If you'd like it, let me know.
Author's Notes: For those unfamiliar with World War Z, it's a collection of interviews about the Zombie plague that swept the globe.  The formatting is from the book.  "Zack" and "G" are both slang for Zombies.
Summary: What measures did the Slayers take to hold back the Zombie plague?

[This is not the first blindfold that I’ve had to put on, but it is certainly the strangest. Not only can I not see, but I cannot smell nor can I hear: there is nothing but the sound of my heartbeat, and for some reason I cannot keep track of how many of those go by. I know that I’m walking, but can feel nothing beneath my feet. I cannot even tell if we made any turns along the way; the effect is so disconcerting that when they remove the blindfold I immediately vomit. My host has a bucket ready in front of me. She sets it aside with a smile as I settle into a chair. We’re sitting in a white circle of light surrounded by darkness. My host is a tiny, slight woman, and impeccably groomed. I don’t know her name or where we are, only that this is where my inquiries into her near-mythical organization have led me. Her name, she says, is unimportant, what is important is that she speaks as a Slayer.]

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