Climate of Negatives
The Sticks and Stones Affair

As the man stumbled forward, Illya could tell that something was wrong. The blond agent was small and quick, thus used to being able to out-run larger and stronger opponents, but it was like this fellow was walking in slow motion; Illya could run circles around him. "Come on! You big ugly brute! Come after me!"

The man didn't try to catch Illya, or follow him. He staggered on toward Napoleon, who was still immobilized by the masonry block pinning his leg.

Napoleon shoved against the block, ineffectually. "Um, Illya..." he said, uneasily, "... this guy doesn't look like he's planning to be helpful." The man's hands were reaching out toward the fallen agent, fingers grasping, as if he were trying to crush Napoleon's throat before he could actually touch him.

Napoleon renewed his efforts to escape, scraping his already-raw skin anew. But the stone across his ankle wouldn't budge, and all he managed to do was darken it with fresh blood.

The shuffling man moaned, a sound that chilled Napoleon and his partner. He slowed, swaying as if in the throes of pleasure, then began to move again, slowly forward, grasping.

Illya ran back to his friend, throwing all of his weight against the stone. He grabbed a length of wood and used it as a lever. The stone shifted slightly, then settled back more firmly against Napoleon's leg. He barked with pain. Illya redoubled his efforts, putting a foot on the lever. The wood groaned and the masonry block shifted again.

"Illya!" Napoleon drew his gun and fired, just as the stone rolled away from him. Illya felt the sting of gunpowder burning his skin as the bullets tore past him, so close.

The man came on at them, ignoring the bloodless holes that appeared across his chest. One cold grasping hand brushed Illya aside like an insect, sent him spinning into the broken stones of the collapsed archway. Napoleon got to his feet, limping backward to avoid those hands.

"Can we talk about this?" Napoleon said, sidestepping to place another pillar of stone between himself and his attacker. "I mean, if I had known she was your sister, I'd have never asked her out on a date!"

The man moaned again, striking the pillar with both arms. The stones scattered, and the roof overhead sagged ever more dangerously. More stones rained down on the men.

Illya swung his length of wood and the big man stopped, his head jerking forward. Encouraged, Illya swung again, but the wood glanced off the thick skull with no noticeable effect.

"Choke up on the bat, man!" Napoleon shouted, encouragingly. "Think Yankees... not Red Sox!"

Illya shifted his grip and swung. The man's head snapped back, hard. He emitted a long, growling sound and turned toward the slighter man. Illya swung again, but this time the man caught the club in his hand. The fingers closed and the wood splintered.

But Napoleon had used the time well. He was yards away, limping with as much speed as possible. Illya ducked under the man's swinging grasp and hurried after his partner. He drew Napoleon's arm over his shoulder and together they ran, leaving their lumbering enemy behind.

"Well, at least we learned something useful," Napoleon quipped thinly between teeth gritted with pain as they hurried toward the place where they'd hidden the car.

"Useful? What have we learned?" Illya demanded, sourly. "That a THRUSH bully can kick our butts, even if he's been killed? Twice! That bullets are useless against zombies, or whatever that... that man... was? Or perhaps that UNCLE agents go boom when they fall down?"

"We learned you've completely missed your calling at professional baseball."

Illya's sharp retort was drowned in the noise of the building behind them collapsing.

"Great," muttered Illya. "Mr. Waverly isn't going to like this. I think you should write the report, Napoleon."

Napoleon chuckled brokenly, "You're just angry that you missed your date with Magda."

"I have other things to think about than a silly woman." They reached the car. Illya tore away the branches he'd used to conceal it, and helped Napoleon swing his bleeding leg in before closing the gullwing door.

"A silly woman with a seriously beautiful face," Napoleon amended as Illya climbed in and started the engine. "You should be more appreciative of the fair sex, Illya."

The headlights swiveled up, and revealed the road ahead. A dozen figures shuffled and stumbled in the glare of the beams, hands reaching out, fingers grasping.

"I'll leave that to you," Illya muttered, gunning the engine.

"My pleasure," Napoleon responded, grinning. He braced himself as the car leaped forward.