Title: Number 6642

Author: Salem Navy

Pairing: Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles (EVENTUALLY)

Rating: T (for now... you never know with me).

So I've been dying to write a zombie fic and I sat down with my computer... then this came out. Basically, I'm just trying to get my muse flowing again. This is what the crazy bitch came up with. I have a basic outline of what's going to happen, but any ideas you have or something you wanna see, throw it at me. I could always use some help.

P.S. I don't use a beta because I don't have the patience for the whole triple editing process or whatever. So all mistakes and shitty word choices are my own.

XOXOXOX

A number. That's all we were once we entered the compound. As soon as my foot stepped over the threshold, I lost my identity. Truth be told, I didn't even care anymore. I'd already lost everything else. Everyone else.

To them, I wasn't Jane Rizzoli, a decorated Boston Homicide Police Detective and local hero. To them, I was simply 6642 (that's the last four digits of my social security number, in case you were wondering). They'd taken my clothes, my gun and my badge. But again, I didn't care.

I stood there as they scanned my eyes, poked and prodded every inch of my skin. Vials of my blood were being passed around the room from nurse to nurse as they labeled every one of them with my number, before sealing them in some space container and shipping them off to god knows where. It was a precaution of course. All of this was. To make sure I wasn't infected. I would have to stay holed up in this room for a few days, alone, until they received the results from all of my blood tests; until they could make sure, with absolutely certainty that I wasn't going to turn. After one of the guard's faces had gotten ripped off a few weeks ago by one of the undead (inside the compound, may I add), they weren't taking any chances.

But I didn't mind being alone. Not after everything I'd been through and everything I'd seen. I'd lost everyone as it was. I couldn't get any more alone than that.

After they'd finished helping me scrub down under the spray of the shower, rinsing every speck of dirt and every possible seed of infection from my skin, one of the nurses handed me the outfit I was supposed to wear. It was silver and it even smelled like metal. Basically, it was a giant metallic onesie, complete with feeties. The only thing missing was my diaper and bib. I scowled as the one remaining nurse in my room zipped it up in the back, informing me that I was not to remove it and showing me how to work the flap covering my ass for when I needed to go to the bathroom. How pleasant. She gave me one last look as she exited the small concrete room and I could see the sympathy in her eyes as she closed the door behind her. The steel door wouldn't be opened again for 72 hours and there was just enough room under it for them to slide my daily meals. Little did they know, I didn't plan on eating anyways.

Running my hand through my still damp curls, I decided to give myself the grand tour of my oh-so-spacious room. There were exactly 10 steps from wall to wall, a perfect square, complete with a small bed in the corner (one that looked like it had been slept on by thousands of Boston's nastiest prisoners), a toilet and a sink. Wow… they sure knew how to make a gal feel at home. The best part of my very own personal oasis was the window that looked out across the compound. I could see people trudging along in the streets, all with glum looks on their faces. No doubt, they'd also lost some loved ones in this crazy catastrophe. I searched, hoping to see one person with a smile on their face, needing to know that perhaps there could be some semblance of happiness out there somewhere, but there were no smiles. There was no laughter. It was still too soon for that.

I can barely remember how it all started. One minute, I was down in autopsy with Maura, eating a peanut butter and fluff sandwich while she dug through some poor shmucks organs, and next thing I know, Korsak is barging in screaming something about an outbreak and evacuations and he even threw the word militia in there somewhere. Personally, I think he just said that last part because he wanted to sound smart.

That was exactly 33 days ago.

However, that's not the number I even cared to remember anymore. Five. That's the number I held on to. Five days since I had last seen Maura, my mother, Frost, Frankie, Korsak… all of them. We'd decided to split up (and by we, what I really mean is me, Number 6642). God, what a stupid fucking idea! But when you're huddled in a corner with three bullets left in your gun, surrounded by eight of the undead, it's pretty much the only idea you have.

I'd stood there shaking with Frost and Korsak at my side, their guns also trained on these mangled looking undead motherfuckers. I could hear my mother's quiet sobs behind me and Maura mumbling words of encouragement in her ear as she held up a barely coherent Frankie. The plan was simple really. Frost and Korsak each had only one bullet left. That's five bullets and eight slobbering stumbling undead, just in case you lost count. They would shoot the two on the left end, giving ma, Frankie and Maura a chance to make a break for it. It was inevitable that once they took those shots, all hell would break loose, but I was ready. I was prepared (with three damn bullets). What I forgot to mention in all of this is that Frost apparently is a really lousy shot and when he pulled the trigger all he managed to do was blow the redheaded undead's ear off. But the three behind us made a break for it nonetheless after Korsak's bullet left a decent sized hole in preacher undead's skull and what was left of his brains splattered all over the ground behind him. He dropped like… well, a dead guy.

And before I knew it, they were on us. I fired one of my bullets into redhead undead and she bit the dust just before she was able to grasp onto Maura.

"Run!" I would hear that word repeated in my head for the rest of forever. I was sure of it. I just kept screaming it as my best friend ran off with my two remaining family members, and Frost just a few steps behind them.

At this point, I only had two bullets left and six blood-oozing undead getting ready to charge after me and Korsak. I wasn't worried about roly-poly undead. He looked a little slow seeing as how he weighed four times as much as Vince. And I was fairly certain that I could outrun the undead version of Old Man Stevens (he had lived a few doors down from me… what a small world). Unfortunately, I wasn't so sure about the other four. I didn't really have much time to think about it though because before I knew it they were charging and Korsak was pushing me out of the way. I stumbled slightly before I heard him yelling the same word I'd screamed only moments earlier.

"Run!"

Kinda short to start off with (this may end up being the length of most of the chapters as I'm trying to get it out as quickly as it comes to me... but who knows). If you're interested in me continuing with this, leave me some reviews and let me know what you think. They will be much appreciated!