Archive of Our Own

A chair. Facing him. It was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Old, rusting, wonky... It was perfectly at home amidst the decrepit lab in which he lay. Sluggish instinct told him he needed to get up and, more importantly, get the fuck out of here. Old panic wearily tugged at him. You can't stay, it whispered. You're in terrible danger.

Before he could move, someone spoke to him, their voice whispering directly into his ear. He could feel something inserted in his ear canal, but it was out of his probing finger's reach.

"Jim, are you awake this time? Can you hear me?"

Bones! But try as he might, Jim couldn't speak. His voice refused to sound out, not even the faintest of whispers.

"Listen up, I know you can hear me. I'm on the Enterprise watching what you're seeing on a camera. Is there one strapped to you?"

Jim found a pair of thick framed glasses resting across his nose and hooked behind his ears. He slid them off and stared blarily at the black plastic. He ould see the tiny camera lens set into the bridge.

"Whoa, Jim, you look awful. Shit, kid, what did they do to you?"

Jim shook his head, setting off a sharp pain in his neck. He reached back with one hand and found something awful.

"Okay, okay, I see it. Aim the glasses so I can see," Bones said, voice deadly serious. "Take it easy. Don't do anything."

Something heavy and cold pierced his neck. He gasped silently, dropped the glasses and groped at it with both hands. What was it!? What the hell had happened to him?

"Captain," Spock's voice suddenly entered the conversation. "You must remain calm so that we may help you."

Something had pierced his neck. There was a needle in his fucking neck. Remain calm? How was he supposed to do that!?

"Move the camera, Jim," Bones said, gruff as always. "I need to see what you see. I'm not much use to you when all I can see is that dirty floor."

But when Jim tried to scoop his fallen glasses, the thing in his neck stopped him from reaching out far enough. Pain jolted up and down his spine, his brain clenching. If he had a voice, he'd be hollering in agony...

His hands grabbed the object in his neck. Finding pincers on either side, Jim squeezed them and pulled. The needle came free with a hideous slurp. Jim's body went limp. He passed out before he hit the ground.

Voices, one cool, the other loud, called him out of the darkness.

"Captain, please respond."

"Dammit, Jim, you don't have time to be unconscious. Wake up!"

The grim room replaced the darkness. He frowned at the sight of an old pair of glasses resting on the ground in front of him. Echoes of agony whispered down his back, but the pain in his neck increased to an angry throb.

"Okay, there you are," Bones said. "Keep your eyes open."

Keep them open? Not only was he exhausted, his eyes pulsed like he sported some pretty epic bruising. He wondered how bloodshot they were... How many hypos did Bones plan on jabbing him with when he got out of this mess? Jim frowned at the glasses. Who had put a camera in them? What was happening?

"Jeez, your eyeballs are practically bleeding," Bones said. "Come on. Get up and get moving."

"You must put the spectacles on," Spock said. "It will enable us to aid you."

Arm trembling, Jim reached out and plucked the glasses off the floor and slipped them on. The tiny amount of movement exhausted him. His vision pulsed with his heart. Nausea swirled in his gut.

"Listen, I've got your vitals onscreen and it's not good," Bones said. "Could be worse, but it ain't the best day you've ever had. There's some kind of drug in your system and its inhibiting short term memory development. I have no idea if it's blocking recent memories or will continually delete everything after a few minutes, so we'll hold off detailed explanations until you're back on the ship."

That explained why Jim had no idea where he was or what had happened. Taking a few steadying breaths, Jim grabbed the bed he'd been on and hauled himself upright. The world twirled around him, but the real horror set in when he saw what had been buried in his neck. Black liquid dripped from the needle he'd yanked out of his body. The wide vial contained little more than a third of the thick liquid, which meant most of it was inside him.

"Holy shit," Bones breathed. "That's barbaric."

"Look around at where you are," Spock said. "Is there a door or a window you can use to escape?"

Holding himself upright with the bed, Jim turned his head as best his battered neck would allow. He saw a tiny window even a child couldn't escape through and then a door, as rusted and battered as the rest of the lab.

"You need to go, Jim," Bones said. "Get out, now."

"As soon as we have you within transporter lock, we will beam you out," Spock assured him.

How about the two of you tell me what the hell I'm doing here in the first place? Jim thought as he staggered over to the door on legs barely strong enough to keep him upright. And why you can talk to me and see what I see but you can't just beam me out now.

The door's handle came off in his hand, but a half-hearted shove was all it needed to screech open. Unlocked. Whoever'd put him in here hadn't expected him to go wandering. And for good reason, too. Every step he took sent awful pain through his neck and into his head. The urge to give in and pass out was a constant threat.

All the more reason to get the hell out of here.

The corridor beyond took grim to a new level. The rotten roof let in so much light it could hardly be called a roof. Trees well into their winter sleep poked old branches wherever there was space, and a carpet of ancient leaf mulch stuck to his socks. Belatedly realising he was clad in medical scrubs, Jim stared at the once white socks and wondered where his uniform had gone, if he'd even been wearing it.

Without noticing, Jim came to a standstill. Why was he here alone? How many crewmembers had he lost?

"Keep walking," Spock said. "You must keep delays to an absolute minimum."

Why? What's happening? What is this place?

Shivering in the cold, Jim moved slowly, taking care not to stumble over the tumbledown walls or knots of weeds.

"I know it looks bad, but we'll get you out," Bones said. "The mission's gone to hell, but we won't leave you down there."

What mission? Jim longed to ask, but his voice showed no sign of returning. Instead he stumbled on, doing his damnedest to keep upright. The corridor led into a large hallway. His eyes, and therefore the camera, picked up on several dead bodies, all in blue Starfleet uniforms. They were of varying species, but all appeared to be relatively recently deceased.

"It is as the Admiralty expected," Spock said, his sober voice fitting in perfectly. "Someone at the Outpost went rogue."

"Yeah, but the question is who," Bones responded.

No, the question is what the fuck am I doing here? Jim moved to the bodies but looking down struck him with such gut-wrenching nausea, he keeled over. Vomit splattered out, bout after bout leaving him desperately trying to catch enough air. He landed beside the body of a woman clad in Science Blues.

"Jim, stay with us!"

But his vision faded to black.

***

"You aren't welcome here. We might wear the uniform, but we don't represent Starfleet anymore. We won't accept their sanctions when people like Admiral Marcus get to do what they want but we have to jump through a thousand hoops and still have our proposals thrown in our faces. My work could save thousands of lives, and if Starfleet and the Federation refuse to see that, then we will part ways."

"Doctor, you're advocating a need for live test subjects. Of course Starfleet turned you down."

"But it's alright for Marcus to build a deadly weapon? No, Captain, it's unacceptable!"

The booming voice threw Jim back into consciousness. The memory hovered at the back of his mind, lacking real specifics but at least offering some idea why he was here.

Feeling steadier than earlier, Jim pushed himself upright. The body hadn't moved. The dead woman stared, milky-eyed, into nothingness.

"Are you awake, Captain?" Spock's voice washed over him. "You have been unconscious for sixty eight minutes."

"Don't do it again," Bones added, like Jim had a choice. "You have to get out of there."

Jim managed to stand and look around. Rain fell heavily, working its way through the gaps in the roof. The chill took the edge off the pain in his neck, but the stiffness was so much worse. He had to move his whole body to look in any direction that wasn't straight ahead.

"You must keep moving and escape before anybody arrives," Spock said. "The time available may not be enough for you to successfully extricate yourself from this situation, but you must try."

Way to be vague, Spock. Nonetheless, Jim shuffled away from the bodies and towards a door at the far end of the cold hall.

"Stop!"

The sharpness in Spock's voice brought Jim to an instant standstill.

"Apologies, Captain, but there is an explosive device to your immediate left and I believe it has a proximity sensor. Another step will set it off."

Turning awkwardly, Jim saw it too and wondered how the hell he'd missed the massive, blinking box. It wasn't exactly subtle.

In his ear, Jim heard Spock asking Scotty for advice.

"Aye, it's old but effective," Scotty said. "If you get in range, you'll have three seconds to get out of range. The only way to disarm it is to create a stasis field around it so it can't detect movement. There's nothing you can do, Captain. You'll have to find another way."

Great. Jim carefully backed off. His only other option was...

A body moved.

Another emitted a long, slow moan.

A third clambered unsteadily to its feet.

Jim's mouth worked in a series of silent expletives, but his final, inaudible word was zombie.

Fucking zombies. A head's up would've been nice!

"Shit, get out of there!" Bones yelled.

"And find a weapon!" Scotty suggested loudly.

The dead shuffled towards him, arms outstretched. Slipping to the side, Jim carefully backed off. He looked around as best he could for a weapon, but there was nothing aside from the bomb.

His only option was to get away, using the only escape route available: the holes in the roof.

"Don't let them bite you," Bones said. "If the research files Uhura downloaded are even vaguely accurate, they were devloping some nasty cross-species viruses down there."

Then why the hell am I here? Jim circled the dead and undead, fingers twitching. He spotted a metal bar on the ground, heavily rusted but better than nothing. Crouching down to pick it up, however, was a bad idea. Lightheaded and dizzy, Jim lost balance. A cacophany of shouts sounded in his ear as he tumbled. Pain jolted his head and neck, bolts of lightning flashing across his eyes. This time, he remained conscious and clambered back to his feet, weapon in hand and ready to swing.

The first one threw himself at Jim. A single swing to the head took the zombie down, his skull caving in. Surprised by his own strength, Jim easily took out the others. But it wasn't a victory worth celebrating.

"Move, Captain. The dead have risen. Your time is up."

Spock, you have never spoken stranger words. Clutching his bloodied pole, Jim found a pile of old desks, climbed up them and hauled his aching body through a hole in the roof. Surely out there they could get a lock on him.

"It is no good, sir." It was Chekov's voice in Jim's ear this time. "You are still too close to the lab's anti-transportation device."

A frigid breeze howled around him and Jim was dismayed to realise just how high up he was; ten storeys at least. The roof was fifty feet across, and the only exit he had was a rickety bridge leading across to another decaying structure.

An open door led him into an office. He found a desk dusty enough to write on, and he took the opportunity to ask a few pressing questions.

Where am I? He wrote first.

Why am I here? He added.

What happened to those people? He concluded.

"While I appreciate your confusion, your time would be better spent escaping the sick," Spock answered.

Give me something, otherwise what proof do I have that you're not an imposter?

"We sent you down there because no one else could go. You alone are immune to whatever's bringing the dead back," Bones said. "You're different, unique, one of a kind who did the impossible and is still breathing, you get me?"

Yeah. I get it. Khan's blood, it seemed, was not without its extra benefits. Jim stepped back, slipped his fingers under the frames and gingerly rubbed sore eyes. Maybe answers could wait until he was back aboard his ship.

"I know this is shit, Jim, but you have to trust us. You have to get out."

Working on it. Jim stepped through the doorway. He heard them straight away. The dead. A lot of them. He couldn't see any, but holy shit he could smell them. He coughed, gagged and hurled whatever was left in his stomach. Acid burned his throat.

His metal pipe would never be enough. He looked at his pitiful weapon as he regained control of his stomach and gag reflex. Blood and flesh (brain matter) clung to it. A few slow-moving targets was one thing, but it wouldn't take many to completely overwhelm him. If he was cornered, that'd be it.

"Look, I'm pretty damn sure you'll survive a bite, but just 'cause you're immune to the zombie part of this shitstorm doesn't mean you can't catch something else, so would you kindly get a move on," Bones said.

Jim gave a thumbs up. Bones laughed. Arm dropping back to his side, Jim cautiously moved on. He held the pipe ready at all times, sliding up to corners and peeking around them before stepping around them. So far, so good, but he had to get to ground level, and that probably meant narrow stairways... If anything came at him, he'd be at a serious disadvantage...

...But what choice did he have?

"Jim, look out!"

He was so distracted by his thoughts, Jim nearly walked into someone. Something... The stench sent him reeling. The creature turned and faced him, the bottom half of its jaw absent, blood splattered across its science blues. It followed him with a mournful wail. Acting on instinct, Jim swung his pole with all his might. It hit the zombie's head, its skull caving in.

But it had backup. A lot of backup. Bodies, some in blues, others in lab coats, all of them rotting and all of them hungry, raced towards him.

This cannot be happening. Jim tried to shift his body into a fighting stance, but his neck protested and the ache in his head stepped up a notch. He managed a half-hearted crouch, pole held like an old school baseball bat.

This is a terrible idea, Jim calmly informed himself as he took a swing at the next zombie and knocked it to the ground.

"Do not engage the enemy," Spock coolly advised. "You are severely outnumbered."

"Get out of there!" Bones yelled.

Unfortunately for Jim, getting out required going through the group. Adrenaline kicked in, instinct took over and Jim swung for his life.

Rotting fingers dragged themselves across his skin. Hungry groans filled his ears. Jim fought hard, as hard as he ever had in his whole life. The pack steadily thinned out until, at last, Jim was the last man standing. Wheezing for breath, he staggered to the side, off-balance and exhausted. His brain pulsed, vision frequently fizzling to nothing.

A jumble of voices jumped in and out of his fuzzy consciousness. Past mixed with present but nothing made sense. It was all a jumble. Black spots bloomed throughout vision. His knees buckled. He didn't pass out, but he drifted for a while... He battled the tide of exhaustion. What brought him around wasn't Spock or Bones, it was the coughing. A terrible, painful rush of them burst past his lungs. A lingering taste of blood coated his tongue.

The taste was soon joined by the real thing. He spat a mouthful on ther ground and stared at it wearily.

"That's not good," Bones said.

You think? Jim thought sarcastically.

"Keep moving, Captain," Spock said. "Speed is of the utmost importance."

A fresh wave of distant groans sounded out. Catching his breath as best he could, Jim moved off. His hand tightened around the dirty pole. Surely this wouldn't last much longer... He had to be nearly out, right? Would his memory ever clear up? The last thing he remembered with an clarity was setting out on the five-year mission, but the memory felt old, distant. Nothing more recent came to him clearly.

Finding a stairwell, Jim plodded down. A foul stench attacked his nostrils. It got worse the further he went... until the stairs suddenly gave way beneath him. Fortunately it was the final flight, but Jim landed heavily, his leg twisting painfully beneath him. He didn't think it was broken, but every step hurt and the limb constantly threatened to give out.

Exiting the stairwell, Jim stepped into a cleaner, better maintained area. This was the public face of the lab, complete with old Starfleet recruitment posters, many of which were at least a decade out of date. He would never not be glad he'd dodged the onesie style of Starfleet duty uniforms. Wearing them during various training missions at the Academy had been bad enough.

A body laid across the corridor, the man in reds missing his legs and a chunk of his stomach. Swallowing a mouthful of bile, Jim edged towards the body.

The eyes opened up. Jim came to a standstill. The man wasn't dead. Or, rather, he wasn't properly dead. A hungry groan came from his waxy, bloodied lips, a wasted arm reaching for Jim. The man dragged himself forwards, gurgling.

Standing over the once-man, Jim booted the reaching hands away and pierced the zombie's skull with the tip of his pole. Dizzy and nauseous, he took a few extra seconds to wrench his weapon free.

He felt like shit. Amnesiac, aching shit.

The power remained on here, the outdated computers showing old screensavers. Shuffling to a reception desk sitting at the head of a large waiting room, Jim tapped on a screen.

A logo appeared. Jim read the next beneath it. Starfleet Section Thirty-One Medical Outpost.

Things were getting worse all the time.

The system was incredibly sluggish, but Jim managed to establish this was some kind of research outpost dedicated to curing some of the worst diseases in the Federation.

Except it wasn't just that. He looked around for zombies, saw none, and returned his attention to the screen.

"Dammit, man, read this later!" Bones ordered. "You need to keep moving."

Ignoring his friend, Jim read a summary of the outpost's mission. New treatments, new technology, giving hope to people when they'd had nothing before...

And zombies.

If he'd had a voice, Jim would've laughed. Instead he coughed. A lot. Loudily and heavily until spots flared in his sight. This was insanity. And Bones was right. Investigations could wait. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead. Fever burnt his skin. The hand went to his neck, jerking back when he touched the injection point. Fuck, that was tender.

A groan alerted him to their presence. A small group of four tumbled out of a room ahead in a splatter of limbs and gore. When the lead, lab-coated zombie stood, he left an arm on the ground.

Jim laughed silently. It was wildly inappropriate, but the arm thudded to the ground with a wet plop and for some reason he found it hysterical. Soundless laughter shook his whole body as he fought off the small group. When they were dead at his feet, he stumbled as far away as he could before he fell, helplessly, to his knees.

"Pull it together, Jim. That's a bad place to take a seat," said Bones.

Hand on the wall, Jim staggered to his feet. Forcing himself down the hallway, he saw a light ahead. He needed to find another way down. He had to reach ground level. He had to get out. He soon discovered the light came from a doorway. It led to another exterior walkway, this one leading to a building that no longer had a roof. What had happened here to leave the whole place in such a state?

“They cut funding, cut our supplies, cut everything off and waited for us to die. What choice did I have but to find a way to make us live forever?”

Live forever? Is that what the zombies were? Test subjects? Rubbing his head, Jim stepped onto the walkway. The flashback left him giddy, the deep voice echoing coldly, madly, in his mind. Who was it? And where had they gone?

Entering what remained of the next building, Jim paused for a moment and listened. Nothing. Only the wind whistled around him.

“You are close to the extraction point,” Spock said quietly. “When you reach the bottom of the current structure and head north, Mr Scott and Ensign Chekov believe they will be able to get a lock on you.”

“Oi, it’s more than believe!” Scotty said indignantly. “I know!”

“It’s nearly over,” Bones added. “Keep going.”

The interior of the building no longer existed beyond the floor Jim entered on. Every floor had fallen away and the glass from every window was a distant memory; not a single shard remained. He estimated it to be a six-storey drop. Standing there, breathing hard, his eyes picked out a route he could climb down. Ignoring the sound of Bones’ voice proclaiming his insanity in his ear, Jim worked his way down. His body throbbed with the unwanted extra strain, and the going was painfully slow. His limbs quaked with the effort. More than once he had to rely on desperate strength to keep himself from falling. Panting for breath, Jim didn’t stop. Sweaty hands threatened to drop him every time he lost concentration.

From below came a moan. A lonely, painfilled sound. Jim looked down. A half-rotted face stared up at him, yellowed eyes swimming with blood. It reached out with a hand missing three fingers.

“I recommend you avoid further engagements with the creatures and focus on escape,” Spock said.

Jim reached what had once been the second floor when the single groan became a host. Creatures poured in from empty doorways and windows below him. Almost all of them wore Starfleet uniforms. They stepped over each other in their quest to reach him, arms outstretched, eyes locked onto him.

He didn’t want to know what would happen if…

But he couldn’t go down now. Looking around, wincing at the agony in his neck, he spotted a nearby window and readjusted his path to head to it. The view it offered chilled the fever raging through him.

Hundreds of creatures moved towards the building. Looking over his shoulder confirmed they couldn’t climb the walls, but if they continued piling up like that, eventually a lucky zombie or two would clamber up and…

Leaning against the window frame, Jim knew he couldn’t give into his exhaustion. But he was so tired. So, so exhausted. Dizzy, his body swayed.

“Don’t let go!”

Instinct, Bones’ voice, and the clang of his pipe slipping from his grip brought Jim to his senses. His hand grabbed the window ledge as he pitched forward. Flipping awkwardly, straining muscles already way beyond their tolerance, he held on for barely a second before he slipped. He nearly severed the tops of his fingers as he grappled for something to hold, ripping away countless layers of skin. He fell a whole floor, but his hands managed to catch another window ledge. This time his grip held, but the zombies were only just below him now, and a quick look proved they were reaching out for his legs.

Shit. Shit. He couldn’t fight without a weapon. Heaving himself up to the window and slumping against the stone frame, Jim checked his options. He only had one. Only someone as utterly desperate as himself would contemplate it.

He would have to jump over as many as he could, hope he landed well on his already injured leg and run for it. He could see a dense wood ahead in the direction he had to go, although none of the trees had leaves. And if anything bit him, he’d have to hope Bones’ prediction about Jim’s unique condition protected him from… from turning.

Ignoring the shouting in his ear, Jim waited and watched as the zombies moved closer and closer to the building. He didn’t have much of a run up, but the height he had would have to be enough. Pulling back, Jim seized his chance and leapt into open air.

He made it as far as the zombies furthest back. They provided a soft landing, but something in his ankle popped . With a silent cry of pain, he rolled away, kicking back anything that came near. He clawed his way forward, tearing muddy clumps out of the ground as he forced himself onwards. His leg barely took any weight now, but adrenaline was a powerful force to be reckoned with, and Jim moved.

“You are insane!” Bones yelled.

“Run, Captain,” Spock said. “We will have you in transporter lock within moments.”

He ran. Rain fell heavily, the deep chill piercing his body.

“Twenty metres,” Spock said.

He was so close… He ran into thw barren woods. The nightmare would soon be…

A figure dropped down ahead of him. It wasn't a zombie. A flicker of recognition jolted Jim's aching head. He knew this man, recognised the skightness of his figure, the obsessive neatness of his goatee... Somehow...

"Captain Kirk!" Laughter bellowed from the other man. His deep voice was the one from Jim's memory. "I had no idea you were still alive!" His brown eyes glinted. "And after such a massive dose, too! The rumours are true. You have -"

Spock's voice entered Jim's ear with uncharacteristic levels of tension. "Captain, that man is deranged and dangerous. You must get away. You are within eighteen point five metres of the extraction point."

"Have your crew enjoyed the show?" The man chuckled. He rubbed his hands together in a fly-like manner. "I didn't want them to feel totally left out."

"Run, Jim," Bones hissed. "Get out of there!"

"Run, Doctor McCoy? He'll do no such thing." The man whipped out phaser. "Oh yes, you've all been wonderfully entertaining today, but now it ends. You're coming back to the lab, Kirk. I need you to help make a cure for the zombie element of my immortality serum. It's the least Starfleet can do after abandoning us."

Raising his hands as best he could to ward off being shot, Jim waited for the man to get closer... closer still...

A vengeful groan distracted them both. A zombie clad in Security reds raced towards them. Somehow, despite the buzzing in his head and the pain in his joints, Jim recovered first. He grabbed the man, snatched the phaser and shoved him at the zombie.

Jim ran as fast as his busted leg and ankle allowed. "You can't leave me!" The scientist screamed at him. "I haven't told you my plans. I haven't told you what else I can do!"

I don't care. At all.

"Five metres," Spock said.

"Damn you! I didn't want to do this, but -"

Ice jolted through Jim's neck and his limbs lost their strength. He hit the ground like a limp doll, grazing exposed skin and biting down on his tongue.

"Jim, you have to move. It's only one metre more!" Bones cried.

But his limbs only twitched, nothing more. He couldn't...

Move, dammit! Move. Move!

A hand seized the scruff of his shirt and flipped him onto his back. The man stood over him, laughing triumphantly. "Nice try, Kirk, but I built a contingency plan into you. A chip, buried in your spine. One little push of the button and you're helpless."

No. Jim refused to be controlled like that.

He heard the zombie moan. It wasn't alone anymore. The man did nothing to protect them, just ranted about Jim's blood and immortality until his words ceased making sense. He was so caught up in madness, he never tried taking the phaser from Jim's slack grip.

Another groan. The wind stirred, bringing with it the stench of rotting flesh. A metre from escape and Jim couldn't move enough to get there... His eyes flicked to the phaser. He focused everything on the hand still holding it. He fingers tightened around the trigger. Yes, he could fire.... but he couldn't move his body to aim...

The scientist ranted on... until his voice cut out with a horrified cry. Hands yanked him away. He screamed until he could only gurgle on the blood filling his throat. Hot wetness splashed over Jim, the chilled air rank with the tang of blood. He couldn't move enough to see what was happening.

Maybe that was a good thing. He heard everything though. Flesh tore wetly and bones snapped as the creatures consumed their meal.

Jim could only hope the man's body lasted long enough for his own to regain movement.

"Come on, come on, come on," Bones chanted in his ear.

The zombies lost interest in the carcass of the man right about the time Jim's legs pushed him back half a metre.

"We have no way to make the transporter work more efficiently," Spock said. "You must move another point five -"

Jim fired the phaser as the first creature, the man in red, came for him. The shot missed, but the zombie pulled back. Maybe enough of its mind remained for it to be startled. Planting his feet, pushing hard to fight back the shaking, Jim scooted back.

"It's not enough," Scotty said grimly.

Legs weakened by the effort, Jim had to deal with the creatures again... The zombie in red, two women in tattered and bloody lab coats and a third whose identity had rotted to straggly scraps of vaguely blue skin. He fired again, but his arm trembled too much to aim properly. A woman fell, her hands gabbing his ankle. Long nails dug into his skin, unlikely strength pulling him...

Kicking wildly, Jim dislodged her and found the energy to throw himself back. Lights whirled around him, but not before something bit down hard on his leg and tore away flesh. Pain exploded, and everything faded to nothingness.

***

Time became nothing but a cycle of darkness and heat and pain and noise. Sometimes he dreamt, other times he remembered. He remembered receiving the mission to look into the old Section Thirty-One outpost and track down one Doctor Sebastian Greer with the express command he had to go alone. He remembered being astonished at the state of the place, and then... Pain. Terrible pain in his head and the sound of laughter before darkness took him away.

Eventually, memories gave way to nightmares soaked in blood and crying out in endless hunger. They only went away when icy winds chilled his burning skin.

Sometime later, he simply dreamt of dead trees under a grey sky and of a clutch of sagging buildings slowly succumbing to age.

"Jim?"

White light and soft warmth greeted him as he opened his eyes. Bones was there, too, and Spock hovered at a slight distance.

"Congratulations, you're not a member of the undead," Bones said, waving a tricorder over Jim. "You look like you are, but you'll be fine. Can you talk?"

"No more missions with zombies. Ever," Jim said hoarsely. He gratefully accepted a drink before continuing. "How long has it been?"

"Five days," Spock replied. "While Doctor McCoy can provided details of your medical treatment, I simply intended to inform you that the crew is relieved to hear you are well on your way to recovery."

"The leg and ankle are fine, as is the bite wound. I dug out the chip in your neck, too. Still battling the infection and the fever, but you're a helluva lot better than you were when we beamed you back," Bones said. "How's the memory?"

"Restored, I think." Jim's hand drifted to his neck.

"Yeah, that's how Greer's so called immortality serum was administered. Had you gone full zombie, that would've erradicated your humanity," Bones explained. "Instead, Khan's blood boosted your immunity so you just became sick with flu-like symptoms and amnesiac."

"And the outpost?" Jim asked.

"Dealt with," Spock said firmly. Jim made a note to read that report as soon as he had the strength to hold a PADD.

"And there's no chance I'll infect anyone?"

"We had you quarantined for the first three days, so no," Bones confirmed.

Jim relaxed with a sigh. "Next time Starfleet decide to send me to a zombie planet, remind me to say no."

"There will be no need as I have already informed Starfleet of their error." Spock was a picture of deadly Vulcan serenity. "I assure you, they will not make the same mistake again."

Jim eyed Spock. "You're giving me chills."

"As Vulcans do not posess the ability to alter another's body temperature, perhaps Doctor McCoy should provide more blankets."

While Jim marvelled at Spock's sense of humour (because that's what it was no matter how much he claimed Vulcans had no such thing), Bones all but physically shoved the Commander out of the Medbay. Listening to his friends wind each other up, Jim settled down with a smile and closed his eyes.

"One last thing before you fall asleep," Bones said, calling Jim back from the brink. "I've got something for you." Said something hit the bed. "Can't let you eat it yet, but it'll keep."

Jim opened his eyes and saw a ginger cookie shaped and decorated like a pumpkin.

"Happy Halloween, kid."

Jim held the cookie up. The pumpkin wore a huge smirk.

"Nyota's handy work," Bones said. "The likeness is uncanny. She really captured your smugness."

Despite everything, Jim couldn't help but smile back. "Happy Halloween, Bones."