Long time no post. I'd like to welcome myself, as this is the first time I'm posting something for The Mortal Instruments (even though this story was originally for a different series before I changed it). I have about 11 chapters of this story already written and so far, I've gotta say it's unlike anything else I've ever written. I'm really excited to release this and I hope you're excited to read it.

Where were you the day everything went to hell?

It used to be a common question to hear. Every survivor was interested in hearing stories of the past. Thinking of the past brought peace.

Clary hadn't heard the question in a long time; so long that she almost missed the repetition of her answer. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she had seen a regular person. A living one, that is.

Speaking of that…

Clary was sprawled upon the forest earth as a zombie hovered over her, preparing for the kill. She hadn't come close to death in a while. She had missed it. She kicked her feet out with a snarl, landing squarely on the zombie's chest and keeping it at bay. It flailed it's arms, mindlessly attempting to claw at her and tear into her ripe flesh. The longer she resisted, the harder the zombie fought for its meal. It was struggling so hard that, for a moment, Clary worried her foot would plunge into its decaying chest.

Her hands moved across the deadening grass and twigs in a flurry, as if she were making snow angels and not just scrambling to stay alive. She needed her weapon and she needed it fast.

Come on, she mentally screamed, her mind beginning to verge on what could only be described as panic. His hands were getting awfully close.

Using the sensitive skin of her palm, the physically young girl felt the ground, desperate to find her lucky stake.

Leaves? No. Twigs? No. Leftover arm? Oops, definitely not. More leaves, more dirt, bingo.

At the last possible second, Clary felt her palm enclose around the cylindrical base of the smooth wood, just as the zombie broke free of its restraint. It tumbled after her, falling onto the girl's writhing form and locking it's large dead eyes on the tender flesh of her neck before…crunch.

An explosion of blood oozed all over Clary, just after she had managed to impale the starving corpse milliseconds away from her death.

Today she had survived. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

In a simpler time, just before the apocalypse hit, Clary had been the weird girl at her college. She was only in her freshman year, but she had been instantly cast away from her peers and forced into isolation. She was fine with that. She preferred to be alone.

That is, until there was nobody around to flaunt off her loneliness to. Everybody that had turned Clary away and labeled her as a freak were dead. She supposed that she should at least be a little sad, but the irony was too overwhelming for her to think much about those who now either walked the earth as soulless monsters or lay scattered in pieces as the remnants of a meal. Clary had survived. That was more than what could be said for most people.

In the beginning, survival was all that mattered. Four hundred days later after the living population had been reduced to an endangered species, she began to wonder what the point of surviving was if nobody cared. Sure, she was a big winner for being strong and clever enough to outwit the brainless corpses. But who cared? The zombies sure didn't. She was only one small meal and, to be honest, there wasn't much meat on her at that point to devour.

Her entire life, Clary had proven herself. She had proven that she could beat those who doubted her. Now nnless she wanted to try striking up a conversation with one of the zombies loitering around, there weren't many left to gloat to.

Clary wrinkled her nose as she pushed the corpse off of her, doing all she could not to whimper at all of the leftover blood that had gushed onto her and continued to leak down her arms.

While she had never been a girly girl, the gory display made her want to hurl.

As soon as she made her way over to a nearby bush, that was exactly what she did.

Upon finishing emptying her stomach of the scarce food she had scavenged, Clary wanted—no, needed—food. Pronto. In this world, she couldn't afford to pass out from hunger or dehydration. Judging by the dampness of the earth as Clary continued to move west, a source of water couldn't be too far off. She would get water and wash off the thick and sticky crimson from her pores to avoid getting infected herself. Then, Clary decided, she could search for food.

Or die in the process.

It had been about two days, give or take, and Clary still hadn't found any food. She stumbled precariously through the dense forest, resembling a zombie herself as her stomach begged for food. Along with her growing hunger, Clary could feel despair setting in. By the second day, she truly believed she would die. Not by a fight to the death, not in a blaze of glory, but because she couldn't find any freaking berries to eat.

That is, until by some unforeseen luck, she stumbled upon a camp. Warily, she crouched down behind a bush large enough that her red curls wouldn't give herself away. She, Clarissa Fray, had stumbled upon a human. Like, the living and breathing kind. Her first reaction was to reveal herself and beg for a few sweet morsels of food, maybe striking up a conversation if she was lucky.

What she ended up doing instead was cowering behind a three foot tall shrub, scanning the campsite for movement. She would wait until the perfect moment to raid the camp and steal all she could carry.

Once upon a time, Clary never would have resorted to something as low and underhanded as stealing. Then the apocalypse came and the world went to shit.

Clary narrowed her eyes, watching the roaring campfire crackle, twisting and dancing towards the sky in streamers of orange and red. There were a few logs conveniently located around the fire and a single beige tent, large enough for two or three set up a few feet away just far enough to avoid catching fire. Briefly, she noticed there were many patches on the tent that had to be repaired crudely with duct tape, but it was otherwise in perfect condition. There was one set of footprints at the campsite, but they seemed to go back and forth. Great, Clary rolled her eyes. The human she had stumbled upon was a pacer. As if the apocalypse couldn't get any worse.

"Well it's not everyday you see a pretty girl in a bush," remarked a deep voice behind her. Oh shit, Clary winced.

She spun around, her hair whipping behind her, as she reached for her stake. Where she would usually find it attached to her belt, her hand grasped an empty pocket of air. Where the hell—

"Looking for this?" The same voice mocked her cockily. Growling, she looked up at the man she had been planning on stealing from.

He wasn't nearly as lean as she had figured a survivor would be, especially on his own. He was well muscled with a golden tan, which he mostly covered up with a faded black t shirt, surprisingly not at all stained with blood. He had rich gold curls that looked to be spun by Rumplestiltskin himself and eyes that gleamed a deep amber. I'm sensing a pattern, Clary noted mentally, finding humor in the golden man standing in front of her. He was attractive, Clary had to give him that. But even after so long of being alone, that didn't matter. Why? Because he had her stake.

"Give me back Mr. Pointy!" She snarled, lunging for the sharpened wood. He dodged her attack, an amused smirk resting on his lips. He evaded her clumsy footwork with a grace that made her want to punch him even harder.

"Mr. Pointy? Seriously?" He sneered, stepping backward as she clawed at the hand that carelessly held her weapon.

"Listen twinkletoes, it's my weapon and I want it back." She jumped at him once more. And missed.

"A weapon? That's just sad. It's a stick." He spun the stick like a baton, clearly not seeing the danger in the slab of wood. Clary grit her teeth.

"No, it's a weapon. It's saved my life against the zombies more times than I can count. Now hand it over, or else." She held out her hand, glaring sharply at the significantly taller man. He glanced at her dirt stained palm thoughtfully before laughing in her face. How someone that had lasted so long in the apocalypse could laugh with a total stranger was beyond her.

"I thought stakes were for vampires."

"It's sharp and pointy. It works for zombies too."

Not willing to waste her energy on chasing him, Clary resorted to crossing her arms like a child and staring him down. She was beginning to miss being alone. Why couldn't this guy have just let her raid his camp in peace? How come he just had to find her and annoy her to death? Selfish, that's what he was.

"Okay then, slayer. How would you like some dinner? I just went hunting and got some rabbit," he offered, tossing her stake to the ground. It landed inches from her toes, the sharp end piercing the soil. Clary looked down at her stake, then back to the stranger.

"You do know I was just about to steal your supplies, right?" She asked dumbly.

"Yup," he replied, popping the p. "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option."

Her eyebrows rose, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And that would be?"

"Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course."

"Do you always eat like this or have you just been starving longer than I thought?" The man, who she had discovered was two years older than herself, remarked. She paused from her gorging as messily as the zombies to bat her eyes innocently.

"Excuse me for enjoying my first time eating anything but berries since the outbreak," she retorted, wiping her messy palms on her jeans. His expression changed to one of horror.

"How have you been eating just berries?" He spluttered. Clary was sure if he had been drinking water he would have spit it out.

"Simple. I can hunt, but I can't cook worth a damn. Back in college I had to ask for help just to make Ramen," She shrugged, feeling slightly more relaxed with the crackling flames basking her in a cocoon of warmth that shielded her from the evening chill.

"College? Is that where you were when all of this went down?" A genuine smile ghosted his lips at her nostalgic expression. It had been too long since she'd been asked that question.

"Yeah," She answered, her eyes traveling to meet her shoes as memories bubbled to the surface that had long since been buried. "I was in my boyfriend's apartment the night it happened. My boyfriend, Simon, had just proposed the night before and I turned him down. When I heard a knock at the door, I assumed it was him. It was, but it wasn't. He was a zombie, the first I had ever seen. When he attacked me, I freaked and thought he was just angry about the rejection. I somehow managed to escape and ran. It wasn't until I ran into more zombies that I figured out what was going on."

"You didn't kill him?" He asked with his gaze locked solely on her.

"I did, but not then. Two days later I had to kill him after he had made a meal of my brother, Jonathan." Clary clutched her knees closer to her chest, finding it suddenly much harder to breathe.

The stranger's eyes darkened, empathetic for her loss and the losses he had undoubtedly had as well. He was smart enough not to say sorry. He knew as well as she did that an apology from a stranger was the day they admitted things were only going to get worse.

"My name's Jace," he said simply, extending his arm for her to shake. She looked at it suspiciously.

"I want to trust you. I've found that when a person puts a face to a name, it becomes much harder to kill them," He elaborated, his arm still outstretched.

She smirked, his logic resonating with her, even with her paranoia induced sense of unease. Could she really trust him?

"Jace? How'd you get stuck with that one?" She snickered. He only rolled his eyes.

"At least I have a name."

"I have a name!" She defended. "If you must know, it's Clary. Clarissa Fray."

"Well, Clarissa Fray, its nice to meet you. I'm grateful you didn't rob me."

Amused, she shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure, Jace. It's a shame we won't be seeing each other much longer, it's been nice talking to someone," she sighed, folding her hands once more. Jace looked surprised.

"Oh, and what's keeping you from staying? We make a hell of a team." He argued, the fire's illumination making his amber eyes glow while he leaned closer.

"I'm more of a loner. It got tiring having to watch people getting picked off one by one," she replied grimly.

"But what if we didn't die? Two is stronger than one." His eyes roamed across her form for a signal of her giving in. He wanted her to stay, that Clary could tell.

"Jace, you're a nice guy, but I'm surprised you've survived this long. There are no but's when the world is hell on earth. Everything ends in death. Every choice and decision has the possibility of death," she chastised, not even caring how bitter she sounded.

"It was like that before the apocalypse. Life has always been like that. There's always been the chance of dying, but nobody seems to pay much attention until a corpse tries to eat them."

"Well frankly, the mortality rate has risen quite a bit since corpses started eating people," she stated matter of factly. "We're all going to die, it doesn't matter whether we're together or alone."

Clary was stubborn. She refused to let Jace win an argument against her. She was afraid of what would happen if he did.

"Better than dying alone." He shot back, challenging her just as he had since the moment they met. This time, Clary had no witty comeback. Her vault of endless sarcasm had been drained, now replaced with the thought of Jace's offer. She could stay. Maybe she could even learn what it felt like to be alive again.

But could she trust him?

After ten minutes of silence, the man stood up and made his way toward the oversized tent.

"I'm going to get some sleep. You should too. I don't suppose you want to join me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Her scoff served as her answer. He shrugged regardless, displaying no regrets.

"Good night."

"Sleep well," She returned.

"We'll probably be dead by morning," they finished in unison. The chant had become a universal language to all the survivors.

He nodded, pleased, before tossing her a sleeping bag.

"How do you know I won't leave?" After a lifetime of being an outcast, ostracized by living and dead, his openness was a foreign concept.

"You won't. You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found that the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win." He spoke with such conviction that Clary almost felt ashamed of herself for doubting him. Almost.

"And what if I left?" She challenged.

"Oh, I'd find you," he spoke with a confidence Clary had only been able to fake. With that answer, Jace retreated inside of his tent, leaving Clary alone with her thoughts and the lullaby of the crackling fire.

Maybe she could find a home here. Maybe she could be happy to be alive once again. Maybe, just maybe, she could stop running.

When Jace rose the next morning, he wasn't fooled by the ethereal glow of sunrise. He knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. But what?

His questions were answered the moment he opened his tent. The only sign Clary had been there at all was the stake, Mr. Pointy, impaled into the earth inches away from his toes. The lingering whisper of her betrayal rang through the air as he looked around at where his supplies had been ransacked through and stolen.

He could have been angry, abusing himself for trusting the thief. He could have unleashed his fury onto the barren world and destroyed whatever he could spare. He could have sunken to the ground, finally losing his hope in humanity.

Jace merely smiled, leaning down to pick up her weapon of choice.

He wasn't worried; he knew this wasn't the end of their journey.

He would find her.

I want to make this perfectly clear. This is a zombie apocalypse story, but it won't be based off of The Walking Dead (at least, the tv show). And, therefore, the lives for the characters won't be easy. Clary especially is a bit OOC, but you'll find out soon how the apocalypse has shaped her into who she is today. That's all I have to say for now. I have a huge stock of chapters just waiting to be uploaded, so make sure to review to get the next update more quickly. That being said, thank you for reading and welcome to a hell of a ride. Please buckle your seatbelts. Trust me.

-Anika