Hey guys! Ok, first of all, what is up with this site? Why are there no The Walking Dead and NCIS crossovers? Come on, people! Oh well, I hope I do it justice. This isn't a crossover, yet… I don't think many people would actually go snooping around that particular crossover, so I'm starting it off just Tony and Ziva's journey through the apocalypse. My version takes place in season 9, before the finale arc kicked off. When, or if, it becomes a crossover, TWD would be in the beginning of season 3…I'll work it out later. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS or The Walking Dead, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, and I certainly wouldn't make everyone wait until September (NCIS) and October (TWD.) That's just cruel.
Prologue
Falling asleep with the television on is always a bad idea. He had dreams about living in an apartment in New York with his 'Friends'. The sound of the alarm clock ripped him out of his dreams and into reality.
Chapter One
'What the hell? This is like some crap out of Night of the Living Dead. The classic, not any of the gazillions of remakes. Romano. Slow-mo but gut-wrenching.' Tony was lost in his thoughts.
Things had been getting bad for a few days now. Some type of infection in the brain or something, but it was affecting everyone. Mentally and physically. He got a call saying to report to NCIS headquarters; it's a refugee center. Well, one of them. The reports say there are many scattered across the country, but the biggest is in Atlanta.
The traffic was insufferable. The cars were still. People were packing all of their possessions and heading towards any form of safety. They just don't understand that if you stay at home for a while, it'll be over with before you know it. Just some scare by the CDC more than likely. The sound of Luck Be a Lady by Frank Sinatra tore him away from his thoughts.
Ziva.
"DiNozzo."
"Tony! Don't come to headquarters! Fuck! Tony," She was cut off by screaming and moans.
"Son of a bitch! Ziva! Ziva, stay there! I'm coming to get you." He knew he was talking to a broken line.
"Fuck! Shit fuck, shit fuck, shit fuck!" Repeating this over and over seemed to make the act of stepping out of his perfectly fine car, grabbing nothing but his gun and wallet, and running down the still street a little better. Cars were honking at him for leaving his, but he didn't give a crap. The only thing on his mind was that these zombie-like things have or are going to get Ziva.
I know it's short, but the next one might be longer. PLEASE review because I need to know if I should continue this or not. Be nice please!