Quick A/ N: Thanks for sticking it out gang. There has been some major schedule changes in my life and some worrisome health issues in the family that needed attending but Happy Little Accidents is back on. Updates will be more regular from this point on. Thank you again for all of your support for these characters and the poking and prodding that kept me coming back to the story again and again. 

Kit mentioned his sister from time to time. Usually in the frame of "You're lucky Petra isn't here or she'd have your balls for breakfast." The other soldiers spoke about her in hushed tones, crossing themselves at the mention of her name. She'd become a legendary, frosty, bad-ass bitch in my head and Kit's reaction to her expected arrival with Apollo's messenger unit was the cherry on top.

"Um, any idea why she's coming along?" From what I gathered, Petra wasn't exactly a civilian or a soldier, in fact, no one really said what capacity she filled at Apollo but they were all real damn glad she was there and not here.

Kit sighed, not meeting my eyes. "I'm pretty sure she's coming to make sure we are telling the truth about the Revived."

"To make sure you aren't a bunch of loons, eh?" Petra's word had that much weight with the higher ups? This just got better and better. I resisted the urge to stomp my foot in the muck at the bottom. It would be my luck to find some deep patch and sink in up to my knees. Instead I found a wobbly ridged stone, balancing on it. I weighed the cons of making a mad dash to the shore as Kit contemplated his ball blasting sister. Honestly, how much damage could the sight of me naked do to his opinion of me.

I sank back to my chin in the water. "We should get back to the Fort, you know in case they show up," I finished lamely, shifting my feet on the stone.

His expression turn shuttered. "Don't worry, we won't miss her arrival." Well that was a loaded statement. I waited for some clarification but Kit was staring off into the trees, his focus a million miles away.

I cupped my hands and squeezed. A shot of muddy water hit him in the face, breaking the spell. He sputtered, giving me that easy grin that made me hyper aware of his proximity and lack of clothing. "So, what's the deal with you and her?"

Normally I made it a policy not to pry into the pasts of the camp humans. Know why? Most of us Revived are lucky enough to have our traumatic memories filter back to us over time, in bits and pieces. It's bad stuff, none of us met a pretty end, but the memories, the horror of them, is muted. We died, the end. Right up to the moment our synapses starting firing again with an infusion of alien brains. The humans, they were not so lucky. They lived through the whole apocalypse. All of them had seen some serious shit. It was surprising and worrisome most of them were so well-adjusted. I counted Kit among that crowd. Most of the time, he oozed good-natured charm, but every so often, he got this distant stare that made my skin itch.

He let out a breath, reclining to float on his back. The position revealed a pair of blue boxers regrettably puffed up by the water. Why hadn't I worn my damn panties in the water?

Oh, I was an idiot, that's right.

"She wasn't always a hard ass," said Kit. "Before, she was-"

"Aw, come on," an all too familiar voice whined through the trees. Speaking of idiots. "Curley, my main man, I just need to talk to her for a moment."

I could feel my eyes roll of their own volition. I should have known. It was like he had built in radar that picked up whenever Kit and I were alone for more than five minutes.

Kit's eyebrows shot up. "He's seriously like the world's worst older brother."

"Not your main man, dude. Move along," said Curley in his distinctive high tenor.

"A wise guy, eh?"

As if he couldn't dig himself into a deeper hole. It amazed me when the moron didn't come flying through the trees for that crack. Curley must have the patience of a god.

"Oh, come, I did that favor for you. Got you that porn mag, didn't I?"

"That wasn't a favor. That was a bio-hazard. All the pages were glued together."

There was a distinct pause that made me want to sink into the pond and never come out.

"It got wet."

Curley snorted. "I'm sure it did."

"It was raining!"

"You're still not getting through, Fred."

"You stand down or I will put you down," said Fred. I tuned them out at that point. It was an empty threat. I knew it and Curley knew it.

Kit made a face. "Guess this means play times over," he said. He eyed me for a moment before winking. "I'll get out first shall I, get a bit of a head start back to camp."

That saucy, little-- my thoughts stuttered to a halt as I caught sight of something over his shoulder.

Oh shit. "Kit, don't move," I said, watching the zombie plodding along the shore. The damn things were too quiet. The man had strong survival instincts. He went so still not even the water rippled around him. Our undead party-crasher must not have caught a whiff of him yet because its path didn't deviate from the shoreline but it was only a matter of time before Kit's scent hit it.

The promise of fresh food always made them more lively. This one was in piss poor condition, barely recognizable as a former human, though not as bad as some of the ones I'd seen wandering all by their lonesome. Its knees stuck out in opposite directions, the muscle long rotted away. Scraps of skin clung to its frame, barely indistinguishable from the tattered remains of clothing. Its intact eyes stared straight ahead with a remote feral intelligence. How they continued any sort of motion in that state was the big mystery.

"Don't move, I got this," I said, keeping my eyes on the dead guy as I crouched further in the water, using my feet to shift the rock I stood on. My fingers brushed along the slime covered surface, looking for purchase to pick it up. Throwing rocks at the zombie might not seem like a thought out strategy, but I was standing on a big rock, big enough to take off a zombie's head.

My fingers met edges, surprisingly well formed edges, with a smooth side underneath. I started lifting the rock out of the water. It legs kicked me, claws scrabbling against my wrists.

Legs?

The snout emerged from the water first, followed by low reptilian hiss that sprinted past my bad ass mutant zombie instincts and sank its teeth into my primitive wimpy human brain.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

I am not articulate when confronted with prehistoric looking pissed off creatures.

Several things happened at once. Fred and Curley stopped arguing and crashed through the trees to see what the hell was happening as I held up a massive thrashing angry snapping turtle. The zombie on the shore swung toward the commotion and caught sight of potential lunch.

"Throw it," yelled Kit. He was already moving out of the way, toward the opposite shore. I stood up, disregarding my nudity as I hurled the turtle in the wrong direction.

"Down!" Curley shouted. Kit dove into the water to avoid being clipped by the now furious snapping turtle.

Fred was too busy looking at my boobs to duck. He took the turtle in the face. The weight knocked him off his feet as the snapper's mouth went for anything it could grab. Fred rolled on the ground, failing legs, trying to pry off the turtle clamped on his ear as he screamed incoherent strings of possible swear words.

With that spectacle to contend with, there were a few critical moments where the actual threat was forgotten.

Kit popped above the surface, shaking the water out of his eyes. "Li!"

The zombie was almost on him. I swore, scrambling to grab for it when a shot cracked through the air, so close it felt like it went off right next to my ear. The zombie's head exploded, bits of rotted gray matter and crumbling bone splattering my face.

Those of us who weren't rolling on the ground with reptiles turned in sync to the woman calmly holstering her gun on the shore. Head to toe cammo, armed to the teeth, with holsters on her waist, thigh, and under her shoulder. A blade was strapped to her forearm and the butt of a rifle protruded from behind her back. Her dark hair was pulled in an austere knot at her nape, lending sharp angles to her face, but her olive skin was flawless, and despite the cool expression, her hazel eyes were identical to her brother's.

Petra stared us down, cold disdain evident in the sneer of her lips. She also wasn't alone. A contingent of cammo clad men and women stood behind her, looking at the lot of us with varying degrees of horror. One guy in the back covered his mouth as his shoulders shook.

Fred heaved the turtle off his face, smacking a hand to his bloody ear. "I found them, m'am, sir, uh, yeah."

It was about then I realized I was still standing in the water, zombie bits dripping off my face, my b-cups bare to the lot of them.