A/N: So I noticed there wasn't a Monument 14 section on here so I asked them to make one since I desperately wanted to write this one-shot that had been floating around in my head. And so here it is.

Warnings: character death, suicide.

This is set right after Jake walks out the supermarket to go scout the hospital.

Things weren't looking good.

Jake couldn't see any lights in what he hoped was the hospital looming above him. The entire building was cold and lifeless, as if the life had been sucked out of it. He shuddered slightly.

Then remembering he had company watching him from the walkie-talkie strapped on his chest that was way too bulky from all the layers of clothing he was wearing, he started to give commentary softly.

"It's not looking good," he muttered, glancing around warily. "It's dark. No lights anywhere."

He moved slightly close so that they could see the dark building through the camera.

"The hospital's dead. There's nobody here."

He tried to keep his voice steady as the dim truth of it came crashing over him. Brayden was going to die, all because he couldn't hold a gun. Some big-shot football hero he was. More like a coward.

He could distantly hear Niko talking through his earpiece to himself. Then Alex. "What are we seeing?" Alex asked, sounding worried. He glanced up and saw several sheets of paper taped to the window, fluttering as if desperately trying to escape their prison. It wasn't a bad metaphor for them actually. How long had they been in the grocery store now? He didn't know. All the drugs had addled up his brain. The store was essentially their prison.

"There's flyers up. Letters, notes, pictures," he muttered, trying not to draw attention to himself.

He saw faces of many people on the sheets of paper. Some old, some young, all of them desperately being sought by their family. Several of the flyers said the same words: ALL SURVIVORS GO TO DENVER TO BE AIRLIFTED TO ALASKA. DEPARTURES EVERY 5 DAYS ON THE FIVES.

"Everyone's gone," he said, trying not to dwell on the words too much.

He could hear Josie and Dean talk in the background of his earpiece, though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

And then suddenly he could hear Dean screaming hysterically.

"Stop! Tell him to go back. That's out Christmas card! That's our Christmas card!"

He gingerly pried the card off the door and opened it up, holding the letter to the camera. He didn't want to read it. It would just make him miserable about his own family, of which there was no sign of on the door.

They were probably gone. Or dead. Probably the latter. What were the chances that they were B blood? He didn't want to think about it.

They might be dead or dying, starving in their house, trying to hide from the O types. Or maybe they were killed when they raided their house, possibly looking for food and supplies. Maybe they tried making a dash for it and were killed. Maybe they made it to the airport. But there was no word from them anywhere. They would find a way to let him know, he knew it. And yet, there wasn't anything.

They were probably dead. That was the best explanation.

And all of a sudden he was tearing up. He was in middle of a freaking war zone with a gun in his hands that made him sick to his stomach. He'd seen people die on his very own bus. He saw Brayden get shot because he couldn't hold a gun. He saw himself get high on drugs and pills when the little kids needed him the most. He saw himself punching Dean on the floor, who was actually one of the good guys.

He was a screw-up.

He didn't have a future, did he? If he even got out of here, what would happen? The whole east coast was gone. Colorado had turned into a town of nutjobs wandering around and killing people. He was holding a gun, for heaven's sake. He was just a senior in high school.

And suddenly, he snapped.

"Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, guys," he managed to choke out, wiping off a tear with the back of his sleeve. He stepped backwards from the hospital, the thought of it suddenly making him sick.

"I'm not...I'm not coming back. I can't do it anymore."

He grabbed at the duct tape to rip it off, prying the walkie-talkie loose.

"Tell Astrid I'm sorry," he managed to breathe between tears, setting the device down on the ground. And then he walked away.

It was strangely cold outside. Maybe the chemicals changed the weather. He laughed bitterly to himself. Just like they had changed him. He couldn't even have sex anymore. Former football king, he always looked forward to it. And got a lot of it. But now he couldn't even have that. How was he supposed to have a future? In a way, he would have preferred the rashes. Or the hallucinations. Or maybe ever the part about turning crazy. It would be better than this.

Anything would.

He walked over and sat down on the curb, ducking away from the flickering street light which was somehow still working, and shrank into the shadows.

What was he going to do?

He couldn't go back. That he was sure of. He couldn't do it anymore. But what else could he do? Wander around and get so lost that he was sure to turn into a crazy himself? Starve?

Then he remembered that he was holding the gun in his hand. The gun that had killed Brayden because he couldn't deal with it. Brayden was surely going to die, now that they couldn't get him to a hospital. It should have been him. If he hadn't been so weak.

And then an idea popped into his head. Something so ridiculous that he laughed aloud, not even bothering to try to conceal himself from anyone that might be outside anymore.

He picked up the gun and placed it next to his temple. There was an easy way out. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

And it was all so simple. He did deserve it.

A tear slowly rolled down his cheek but he had no intention of wiping it away. Smiling grimly, he muttered a small prayer.

"Stay safe Astrid. And Dean. And Niko and Josie. And forgive me someday Brayden. I'm so sorry."

And he pulled the trigger.

A/N: Thanks for reading this! Hope you enjoyed it.

And please please please do not leave me a review or a PM saying that Jake isn't dead. I am perfectly well aware. If you were about to do so, please look at the published date on this. And then look at the date the second book was published. See why I wrote Jake's death into this now?