A/N: Written for Morever in the 2008 Yuletide Challenge. The prompt was for an end of the world type scenario, and what's the end of the world without zombies, hmm?

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"Get up. Shawn, get up!"

Gus' voice had never been pleasant in the wee hours of the morning. At camp when they were kids, Gus rose with the sun, always using that matter-of-fact tone to chastise Shawn's lack of camp spirit for sleeping in.

"Today, Shawn! Come on, we have to move."

He pulled the pillow back over his head. "Five more minutes, come on."

Gus pulled the fire station blanket off of him, tossing it in the corner. "Lassiter was ready to leave half an hour ago."

"So why didn't he?" Shawn moaned, sitting up in the sleeping bag. The gaudy painted walls of the Santa Barbara Police Station greeted him. Another day to get through, another day sleeping on the floor of one of the old interrogation rooms. Gus' sleeping bag, blanket and pillow were already rolled up and arranged neatly in the corner while Shawn pulled on a pair of ragged Levi's and used the two-way mirror to fix his hair to his satisfaction. There were still a couple guys sleeping, but the room was nearly empty.

Gus dragged him from the room before he had a chance to use the day's mouthwash supply in the spittoon in the corner. "He claims he needs every man he can get. I think he just wants you and me on the front line. Again."

Shawn rolled his eyes as they headed upstairs to the squad room. The Santa Barbara Police Station was one of the last safe places in the county now that the zombies had overrun the rest of the area. Some claimed that the nuclear-addled folks had taken up surfing down in Summerland in addition to their strange, uncontrollable need to kill and eat human flesh.

The station was devoid of most creature comforts, namely female companionship. Before the zombies from L.A. had come north up the coast, Chief Vick and Juliet had evacuated all the elderly, sick, and women and children from the city. They were in Canada...somewhere, now, his father too. Henry hadn't wanted to go - he'd wanted to stay behind and fight to reclaim the town, but he'd been classified as 'elderly' by the 55 and over evac policy. It had amused Shawn greatly at the time, but it was kind of strange without his old man or Jules around.

"Spencer, glad you could join us," Detective Lassiter sneered as he and Gus approached. The defense of Santa Barbara was being coordinated by the highest ranking member of the community - with Vick in Canada, Lassie was in charge. He gestured to his marker board, covered with x's and o's and what Shawn could only guess were meant to be doodles of zombies.

"You know me, I just love our special raiding excursions," he muttered back, frowning at the lack of breakfast on the table. Gus shook his head at that - they'd run out of the mini Bagel Bites from the raid at Sam's Club from last month. No wonder they were going out today.

"Our target," Lassie began, gesturing to the marker board, "is the CVS Pharmacy on the corner of Maple and 23rd. I estimate a four hour trip to skirt the hives here at the elementary school and here at the Jiffy Lube."

"CVS?" Gus inquired. "Are we out of antibiotics already?"

Lassiter hated being interrupted. "You could do your part to check on our pharmacy supplies, Guster. I can't do your job for you all the time. As I was saying, we bypass the main clusters there, and we should try for the alley entrance. That's the quickest way to the pharmacy. I'll need two running interference inside the store so Owens and McNab can get bandages and aspirin - Guster and Spencer, you're the interference team."

Gus looked petrified while Shawn merely smirked. "Convenient, seeing as how we've been your little 'distract the bloodthirsty killer zombies' go-to guys for the past five raids."

Lassiter grabbed his shotgun from the table and cocked it menacingly. "Maybe it's because you can't be trusted to obtain supplies, protect the injured or do anything else that's useful to the rest of us."

He tossed Shawn and Gus each a bulletproof vest, which wasn't really that great since the zombies weren't exactly going to be shooting them. They were more likely to just throw bullets at them before charging in for the kill. Whatever had been in those nuclear detonations had sure turned people stupid. "Besides," Lassiter said, "You're psychic. Surely you can dodge them better than the rest of us."

Shawn slipped on the bulletproof vest and grabbed a bike helmet. "Surely you can dodge them better than the rest of us," he mimicked under his breath, moving to lace up a pair of soccer cleats.

Gus was struggling with his hockey mask. His friend rubbed his bald head in worry. "You think the top of my head needs protection?"

Shawn shrugged. The radiated things usually went for the jugular before feasting on your cerebral cortex. "Probably not. Just...dude, can you even see in that thing?"

Gus' breathing had increased since he put the mask on, and he was growing more and more disoriented as everyone started gearing up for the raid. "I...I'm fine, Shawn. Nothing to...well, maybe...well...uh..."

His friend hadn't enjoyed being used as bait in the last several excursions. Not that Shawn reveled in it, but running and diving out of the way sure beat lugging a fifty pound bag of aspirin bottles or a case of Spaghetti-O's back to the police station. And it beat sentry duty, being posted at the station entrance with a lighter fluid filled Super Soaker and a Zippo in case the perimeter was breached. Shawn didn't really want any of the crazies to get THAT close to him.

"We roll out in five minutes," Lassiter announced and left to check on the others' equipment. Shawn thought that Lassie actually enjoyed being the leader of the Santa Barbara Nuclear Zombie Resistance. Shawn would have preferred an extended vacation to Canada. At least there were women there.

Gus shifted his mask up to the top of his head, his breathing still hitching every few seconds from panic. "I get the golf club."

"Dude!" Shawn protested. "You have face protection. The least you can do is give me the five iron."

Even though the police station had plenty of guns, ammunition was rather limited unless they hit up the Bass Pro Shop hunting section - and that was a really nasty trip up the 101 through the zombie epicenter. So, Lassiter had limited the number of people who got to handle firearms. That left regular folks like Shawn and Gus to improvise. They'd managed to snag a golf club from a sporting goods store a few raids back, and it was currently their prized possession. Well, that and the jumbo sized can of Slim Jims from the Walt's grocery store.

Gus shook his head. "You got it last time. And besides, I have the swing of Phil Mickelson. You can't even play Wii Golf right."

Shawn fumed, letting Gus grab the golf club from the weapons locker. He scanned the rest of the paltry items, ending up with a Swiffer mop. "This is just sad, Gus." He shook the mop, watching a few fuzzies drop to the floor.

"Enough gossip, ladies. This is war!" Lassiter called from the front door of the station. Shawn and Gus exchanged an exhausted frown.

"Wonder if he'll get some shaving cream for the beard?" Gus asked. Shawn wasn't too sure. Other than his leadership position as Zombie Killer Numero Uno, Lassiter had one other precious thing. He had been growing a "Liberation" beard, only to be shaven when the city was cleared out. It was pretty substantial by now, eleven months after the first attack. He looked like a woodsman.

The sentries kept guard as they filed out into the cloudy outdoors. Santa Barbara's characteristic sunshine had been put on hold in favor of an indefinite nuclear winter. It was chilly, to say the least. At least there was no more threat of fallout. Lassie took the lead as they made their way east towards the CVS.

Shawn was happy that there were no encounters on the way there. It was early in the day yet - the town's newest residents usually came out for some brain drive-through closer to dinner time. Raids during the day were much safer, if one could really measure something like that when there was always a possibility of getting knocked down and killed by something covered in radiation burns that gurgled and moaned for your brain in daylight too.

They were a block away from the CVS, crouched beside a dumpster now. Lassiter was making wild hand gestures, more at home on a baseball field than in a tactical situation. Of course, Shawn had mastered all of Lassie' little motions the first day, but not everyone really paid attention the way he did. Poor McNab was almost cross-eyed trying to figure out where Lassiter was signaling for him to go when really, the zombies could smell you. It didn't really matter how much noise you made.

Gus was holding the golf club tightly, and Lassiter gave them the signal. It was actually the hand gesture for the Shocker, but Shawn suspected that Lassiter didn't really get it. It made him laugh every time. "Something funny, Spencer? Now move out!"

"No, nothing funny, Comrade Lassiter," Shawn argued, keeping his giggle fit under control. He held the Swiffer mop aloft. "God rest ye merry gentlemen, the cannon fodder is off."

With that, he grabbed Gus by his sleeve and half-dragged, half-carried him down the street to the pharmacy entrance. A quick glance at the idling shopping cart with blood droplets in front of the sliding doors told him immediately - there was some serious zombie bad stuff going on at this place. But there wasn't really time for a psychic vision back in Lassiter's direction.

They'd killed enough daylight getting here, and Shawn was hoping to score a year-old US Weekly from inside the magazine aisle during the mission. It was the Spencer and Heidi elopement special, and since Laguna Beach and the rest of Orange County had been overrun and decimated by the zombie infestation, he figured that it would make a killing on Ebay once the nation's telecom networks were restored.

Once they were in place, idling in front of the store as zombie bait, Lassiter and his team were on the move, hurrying around to the rear entrance. Gus clung to him a few seconds later, his hand covering the nose part of the hockey mask.

"Shawn, at least four inside."

Shawn was impressed. "The Super Smeller can distinguish four different zombies?"

Gus nodded, his eyes frightened where they were visible through the holes in the mask. He held the golf club like a sword. "You go first."

"Me? I'm attacking with a mop, Gus."

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

Shawn snatched the golf club away and hit the glass sliding door with it. He handed it back to Gus. "Fine! I'll go first!"

He headed into the store, walking carefully over the broken glass in his cleats. Annie Lennox's voice sang in his head as he glimpsed the store's shoplift prevention mirrors to see one zombie in the corner by the feminine products, two more by the liquor aisle (smart zombies, he thought), and one last one was...

"Duck!"

Gus beat the thing back with the golf club, screaming like a little girl the whole time as zombie blood and gore started spraying from the thing as it screeched and howled. The others came running soon after, leaving the back of the store open for Lassie and crew to come in. He tried to poke the next zombie in the eye with the blunt end of the Swiffer, but it was faster.

He dove out of the way, knocking a few shopping carts over and screaming like a little girl himself in the process. He made it over to the toiletry aisle, and spying a can of Barbosol and thinking of Lassiter, he opened the cap and sprayed the zombie in the face with the shaving cream while Gus beat down a third like Tiger Woods on methamphetamines.

That only left the one by the tampons. Shawn and Gus hurried over, seeing that this zombie was almost by the pharmacy counter where a horrified McNab was shoving everything and anything into a duffel bag. Even allergy meds and Viagra, Shawn's quick senses alerted him.

He was out of shaving cream now, so he kicked the zombie in the nads just before it could bite down on McNab's tender little brain. "Hehe, thanks Shawn," McNab said gratefully as the zombie fell to the floor in agony. Gus gave it a once over with the five iron, making whiny noises at the sickening sound of metal vs. skull.

Lassiter, beard magnificent as ever, poked his head through the pharmacy counter window. "That's enough, you clowns. We have to get back."

Grateful as always, Shawn mused as they hopped over the counter and followed Lassie and the others out of the store. Luckily, the ruckus had not alerted any other zombies to the area. He hadn't made it to the magazine aisle but the toiletry aisle had rewarded him with a brand new, unopened bottle of Herbal Essences. He'd be using his water ration well tonight.

As they trudged off to the station, Shawn tried to remember life before the zombie apocalypse. He'd been a small business owner. Sort of. He'd been well-known. Sort of. He'd had a girlfriend...well, okay, no. But close enough, compared with the pin-up of Carmen Electra in the police station men's room that was his only current love interest.

But things weren't so bad. He was alive, he had food and shelter. And as he watched his friend wipe dried zombie guts off of the Jack Nicklaus Special five iron, Shawn realized that he had his best friend and that was all that mattered.