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Chapter One

JOCELYN

Central Park

Walking through New York City—or what's left of it—has been a major pain in the ass.

It may be the blistering sun, or the stench, or the constant reminders that I'm responsible for thirty-something kids that look worse-for-wear and it's all because one kid, Connor, decided to be a spokesperson for the littles.

"Are we almost there yet?" He's asked me at least three times, and surprisingly I haven't snapped. I know he means no harm, but the heat was really getting to me.

"We'll get there when we get there," I say through gritted teeth, wiping sweat from my forehead.

"But Joccy—"

I also don't know where he gets off calling me that. It boils my blood. But after a couple of deep breaths, I remind myself that he is six and doesn't mean any harm. None of them do.

Usually the kids go to Mary, who is a sort of mother to them. I am certainly no such thing. It's not that I despise children. I guess I just wouldn't be described as the nurturing type.

The end of the world can do that to a person.

Today, though, nobody is asking her to read stories or braid their hair. They're not going to her to ask for rations or maybe an extra snack. They've sent Connor up to find out when they'll finally get a rest.

From my right, Kenny sighs. "Jocelyn, maybe it's a good idea to stop. They've been walking all day—"

"We're almost there," I insist. "It's not far now. If we stop, we'll have to clear the whole area and waste a lot of time and energy. We're nearly out of water."

It was true. The main reason of our expedition is just that: water. We were headed to Central Park, the land of water fountains but namely a large, crystal lake that would support our group for a long time.

Having thirty kids was not what I had in mind at sixteen years old.

Not like it was really my choice.

Eight months ago, something unexplainable happened. It looked like it was just a minor outbreak over in Europe, some kind of virus. It had strange but unfatal symptoms in the beginning. Increased agitation, lowered immune systems, hacking coughs. Those were the early and gentle stages.

It was soon discovered that the virus was quick to spread—in one month nearly 80% of adults from ages 20 and up were reported ill, and the cases got worse and worse each time. Most of us were comforted with the thought that viruses don't mutate that quickly so it couldn't be the same illness that was affecting everyone—but we were wrong.

Agitation turned to blinding rage. Weakened immune systems turned into the literal deterioration of the human body. Hacking cough? Sometimes you'll find their flesh and blood laying around from all the retching.

There was one unmistakable and constant symptom: the desire for human flesh.

Well, I don't know. That's just what it seems like, considering they all went cannibal and tried to eat their kids.

I guess some people would look at Europe and say they were experiencing a zombie apocalypse. But the thing was, even when bitten, young children didn't turn into these cannibalistic maniacs. Mostly, they just died. Immediate evacuations took place in major cities such as London, and even though they got some kids out, it was hilariously futile. The virus spread like wildfire. No kids were safe if they were within a general vicinity of an adult. It didn't take long for the virus to reach America, and the lovely New York was struck first.

But here we are. We're alive.

And really, alive is the worst thing to be right now. I envy the kids who wasted away in front of their televisions, watching on the news about how their parents and neighbors and teachers all turned into bloodthirsty monsters. Watched and waited for the scientists to fulfill their promises of a cure. Maybe their parents left them to keep them safe. Maybe they starved there, waiting. They would probably think the joke was on us, enduring all this hell. That really, we were all doing the same thing: Waiting for something to happen when nothing will. Waiting for enough food when we'll never have it. Waiting for a safe place when it doesn't exist.

I was a waiter, for a little while. In the beginning. All I had was my dad, and when the virus struck New York he stopped going to work. There wasn't much reason to go anymore.

Ironically, before he turned, his last words were "At least it doesn't affect the kids".

I thought that was lovely.

Now, I don't wait. I walk. Sometimes run.

Mostly run.

Anyways.

Connor's face drops, nonetheless. He returns to his little clan to report the news. Several tiny groans are heard from behind me, and I almost feel bad. But we have to keep moving.

Nearly an hour later, when we arrive, nearly all thirty-three bodies drop on the grass, sighing in—content? Exhaustion?

It was less climatic than I thought it would be—I used to go here as a kid with my mom and dad, and I was almost afraid it would bring back too many memories. But this park is different now. It's too quiet, too empty. It's exactly what we needed.

I send a couple of teenagers out to scout the area and create a perimeter. Luckily we recently raided a sports store so many of them had their own tents that they had dragged along with them (most of them paired up with someone to share the load and share the tent). Mary had a couple of older boys carry a larger tent for the littles to all share, which they all immediately got to work on.

Kenny had shouldered both of our tents for me, which I protested at first, but he finally convinced me by saying that I needed to stay armed and ready, rather than both of us be impaired. I couldn't really argue, and I was too stupid to want to share a tent as well.

Kenny is… difficult. We knew each other, before.

Now, he sees me different. Looks at me sometimes like I'm the only girl left in the world. He's not that far off.

It's not that Kenny isn't handsome or nice or anything like that. He's tall with cropped blond hair and stony grey eyes. His tan complexion and athletic build come from years of football and summers in Florida. He looks like you put a Californian surfer guy in the deep heart of New York, where he definitely didn't belong. But looks are so trivial now. Everything is.

I know sharing a tent isn't that big of a deal, but I don't want to make things complicated. I don't… well, I don't know what it is exactly that I want.

So, separate tents.

I set up my own.

From behind me, a pair of footsteps makes me tense, but in a moment I relax. I recognize the pair of hands that reach down to help hoist the tent up.

Freak is a strange case. His name isn't actually Freak, obviously, but that's what everyone calls him. His sandy hair nearly covers his dark eyes, but I can still tell that he's happy to see me. He is a loner, normally flanking the group. I'm the only one he'll talk to.

"Your own tent," he notices. "Fancy."

I roll my eyes. "Well. I'd be happy to share with Mary or somebody—"

"We all know you won't. And besides, Mary doesn't want to share with you."

It's not meant to be an insult. It's true, anyways. I have a bad track record with sleep, and I wouldn't be surprised if most of the kids around me were more scared of me sleeping than awake. Aside from Kenny, there aren't many takers for tent partners.

"You're also our Majestic Fearless Leader so I guess it makes sense you get your own tent," he pokes at me and before I can slap his arm, he catches my hand. Instinctively, I yank it away. For a moment, it gets awkwardly silent. Then, I can't help but laugh.

"A rarity," he marvels. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen you laugh."
"Don't get used to it," I say. I honestly do try to smile. And laugh. Freak's the only one who can really pull it out of me, and I guess it's because he doesn't try to understand me. He doesn't try to change my decisions or opinions or anything. He's just there, helping me with my tent.

Although I'm not allowed to say it out loud, by some unspoken promise that we have, I sometimes want to call him Tommy. But he doesn't want to remember that part of him.

"It's getting dark," I say, looking to the sky. By now, the perimeter will have been set and people will be coming to ask permission to do this or that. Instead I go ahead and whistle sharply and motion everyone to me, and slowly a crowd forms around my tent.

"I expect everyone's hungry, so we'll go ahead and ration out the food for the littles. You all know the drill. No drinking unchecked water, no wandering beyond the perimeter. Mary, set up a bathroom system for the kids. Everyone else, be decent. I think we're done for the night, so I want Perry and Kenny to set up a fire. I'll take the first watch, Kenny will take the second, and we'll make rounds from there with Peyton, Talia, and Ethan. I want all the littles in their tent by the time the sun sets. No exceptions. If you need something, ask Mary."

For a moment, I feel bad for pinning the requests of all fifteen littles on Mary. But she looks at her kids, strokes their hair, and smiles at them. I don't think she minds, but still.

"Ask Mary… or me. You all know where my tent is. Just get some sleep."

That's all I had to say so I retreat into my tent, not waiting for the crowd to disperse, to get ready for the first watch. But Freak catches my hand. It takes willpower not to yank it away again.

"Jocelyn, you should really get some sleep. I can take the first watch."

"Don't be ridiculous," I frown at him. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You've been navigating all day, Maybe you didn't have to carry a tent, but don't act like you didn't do more than most of us. You ran all day, checking streets before we got to them. You need to sleep. And to take a shower."

Wow, a shower. Suddenly the memory of hot water hitting my skin fills my mind, and I realize how exhausted I am. The weight of my quiver and bow seemed to get exponentially heavier after running around with it all day, and my backpack was even heavier.

"I didn't do any more than anyone else," I say, staring at him. "I'm fine."

"Then consider it a favor," he sighs. "Go wash up. Then go to sleep. Feel free to deprive yourself of it tomorrow, but tonight I'll take it."

I almost argue, but then I decide against it. Better to just move on.

"Fine," I say. "Thank you."

I hear a faint "You're welcome" as I trudge past him to the lake.

.

After washing myself down, I feel a lot better and definitely more tired. My eyes droop as I walk back to my tent, but my body is still alert and I can feel myself still expecting danger. I shake my head as I enter my tent. Inside, my lantern makes an oddly comforting glow cast inside. My backpack, sleeping bag, and weapons are all scattered on the floor and I take a minute to organize them. This moment seems bizarrely normal to me, as though I was cleaning my room. The last time I slept, we were all tucked in a small bedroom in a recently cleared house, and there was no privacy for anybody. This is the first time I've been able to really catch my breath in a while.

But the act is up soon, and I'm too tired to continue. I turn off my lantern, and before my head can even hit my makeshift pillow, I fall into the deepest sleep I've had in a while.

Out. You've got to get out.

Bang, bang, bang. In front of me, a man is strapped to a table. Not gently, either. The binds on his wrist draw blood, but the man doesn't seem to mind. He's staring at me with such unmatchable rage, like I'm the one who put him there. Bang, bang, bang. He pounds his fists on the table, trying to get out. A large mirror sits opposite of me, revealing my reflection. My hair is much longer, braided over my shoulder. I am a lot thicker, too, with no signs of malnourishment or starvation. My eyes are bright. I would look healthy if it weren't for the gut-wrenching look of fear on my face.

Bang, bang, bang. He roars at me, some guttural animal sound, like he was wild.

"Stop it!" I yell, feeling my body freeze up. "Stop it, please!"

But he doesn't. He continues to struggle, and somehow I know that the binds won't last for long. I raise my fists, ready to fight. It doesn't take long, The man rips out of his confines, knocking the table aside easily, and shattering the mirror. I scream.

Suddenly, something strange: his mouth opens and in some girl's voice, speaks my name.

"Jocelyn. Jocelyn!"

"Jocelyn, wake up!"

"Jocelyn!"

I spring up, startled, knife in hand. In front of me, a very scared Mary holds her hands out in front of her. I drop my arm to my side, but keep the blade. "Sorry. I was talking again?"

She was blushing. "Well, yes—but that's not the problem."

"What is?" I see the alarm in her eyes and don't wait for an answer. I grab my bow and quiver and rush passed her, and arrow notched before I even get fully out of the tent. There is some commotion by the fire.

When I get closer, people begin coming up to me. I only get pieces at a time. A boy, trying to raid our supplies. Kenny wanted to kill him, but they decided to wake me up first. A good decision.

I don't say a word as I approach a boy, facing away from me, tied up and sitting on the ground. He's looking around him, and I can tell he's soaking everything in. All of our supplies. I pull out my knife and he glances back.

Strangely, he flashes me a smile. "Ah, so you're Jocelyn. I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you?" I ask mindlessly, circling him. Now that I'm in front of him, I see that he has shaggy black hair that doesn't quite cover his eyes, which are somehow a pale shade of green and the other a stormy grey. Heterochromia, I think?

His olive skin is mostly covered with a Nirvana T-shirt and a worn pair of jeans, along with a grey jacket and a black coat. His boots look sturdier and new and I assume he stole them. He also carries a bag with him, but it looks to be empty.

"So," I say, keeping my tone even. I sit across from him, sticking the point of my knife in the dirt in front of me. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Well, ma chérie, that would ruin the fun, wouldn't it?"

He speaks with some strange accent other than French, and it's hard to keep my face straight at his term of endearment for me. I clench my teeth and try to loosen up my fist.

"Let's start easy, so I don't have to kill you right away."

"My name?"

"I honestly don't care. You can start by telling me why you were stealing from my group."

And for some reason he laughs. The boy with the strange eyes just laughs.