I know what you think! MAX! I HAVE MADE IT A CROSSOVER...Just to stop myself from writing two Apocalyptic stories because I can't keep two separate zombie stories going and stuff and blah blah blah - excuses. But Lauren thinks I'm insane for writing apocalypse stories (which she thinks I am anyway), but you can do anything with this stuff. Also, this could get confusing with all the ideas of how is all started but it will all become clear - somehow - NUDGE CHANNEL OFF! On with the story :D
Max's POV
So welcome to my world. If you don't live in it. If you are sitting at home in bed or on the sofa, surrounded by family who are talking about you or trying to involve you in conversation, talk to them. You have no idea what you are missing until it's gone. In my case, my family. I'm not going to apologize for being pessimistic, that's just who I am. Deal with it or stop reading.
Back to introductions. My name is Maximum Ride. Never call me Maximum unless you want to get beaten to the sorry ground. Call me Max or die. I'm trained. You've been warned. I live on Earth. If you can call it that anymore. I don't know what else to say. I used to have a family before the curse took everything away from me. A sister and a mother. And friends.
You might be thinking, What curse? She's gone loopy. What is she on about? If not, you are now. Whatever you are thinking, I am going to tell this little story anyway. Is everybody sitting comfortably? Well, then I will begin.
Twenty years ago, there was a war on. In 2045. Another World War. World War III. Everyone was deep in fighting all over the world by the time I was born. I was born into the war. You know how your grandparents say they were born into the war. Well, that was way back when no one would let a child fight. I was born in 2046, a year after the war began. The whole planet was more developed by then. This was was the most intense thing since the whole 1930's thing. They were going to be prepared. I started to learn to fight when I was about two years old. I get that you might think, big deal. You can't be taught how to use a gun at two! Yeah, well, welcome to the new age.
The thing about this war was different from both the others in the past. Maybe the first World War had swords and stuff. Not the second or all the little ones in and around the time before 2045. Yes, that does make it 2085, the war started twenty years ago, in case you forgot. Yes, that does make me nineteen years old. Got a problem? No, just what I thought.
Back to the story. So, when the world realized how advanced it was, in 2033, all World Leaders signed a document never to use this technology against each other in wars with huge magnitude. So, no guns. We always fight with swords. It's not the technology or mechanical side that matters in these wars anymore, it's choice, sacrifice and skill.
So, there were forges all over the states and the rest of the world to prepare, just in case. Thank God they did.
Even though the rules of fighting were set in stone when the war began, not everyone followed suit. The war was bad. There were people setting alight towns with just gasoline, as incendiary bombs were technology and using all sorts of house-hold items to destroy the world. But, apart from the home-made bombs and fires and general despair, there were natural disasters too. Something about the ring of fire being exposed to too much activity. I don't know. There are many people who can explain that so much better than me. It's something like a habit. Shake the Earth with the explosion and the Earth shakes back. Tsunami's, earthquakes and volcano eruptions and also plenty more. The scientist on the TV that night explained this in about three hundred words that only a person with an IQ of over 200 would understand.
People were being captured and bargained for and killed all the time so, naturally, we needed new recruits. And the age was young. Everyone at 18 was going off to war in the fields in pretty much anywhere. There were assigned fighting places. Any place, but away from towns where non-fighters could get hurt. To some, this rule was void, unfortunately.
My mom had been killed in an attack from the Finnish. They poured oil on her in the middle of the street and left her to burn. No one went to help her and by the time I got back from training and a brief education session, she was dead. My neighbor, Nudge, saw everything, but her mom forbade her to go out to help. I ran away from home that day, a few days before my eleventh birthday. It's not like your average eleven year old running away. We are stronger with this war. And then it ended.
The day my mom died was the last time I saw any of my other friends and family.
I camped out for a bit in an old warehouse and bought food with the remaining cash I owned. My birthday passed and there was a change in the war.
Okay, this ended the war, but not in any good way. I am trying not to point fingers and say names, but it was the Swedish who ended the war. They were the only ones who didn't go by the law in terms of country, this excludes the rogue idiots. Over the world, they planted a series of nuclear warheads, all containing one gas. Nova 6. (A/N: Lauren and I both play C.O.D. So, thanks for that idea, video games) But something went wrong. The gas was meant to kill everybody, but it turned them into this unspeakable thing. Some died, some as good as died. I say curse, I mean disease.
The gas hadn't been created properly. There was some component that wasn't supposed to be added. And the Swedish got the curse too. I guess that failed as much as it could have.
I still get confused over what the Swedish wanted to achieve by using the warheads. Winning? Peace? Complete Insanity? Or just all of the above. Probably the latter.
So, here we are today. Ten years, seven months and three days ago, the entire population that lived in the big cities got turned into these sort of zombies. Zombies that lived lives. I know that sounds creepy, but you should see them trying to drive. It's almost funny. But then I remember they want to kill me. Oh well, the fun is good while it lasts.
So, that was the end of my little story. I really hoped you enjoy it. But it's definitely not the end of my life story. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive. And while that is ongoing, I have a story. And here it is.
I sit alone in the empty warehouse, feeling more lonely than ever. I haven't seen anyone for weeks. I made the assumption I was the last human in America, heck, maybe the world, about three years ago. But not seeing a zombie was strange. I mean it's great they're not trying to rip my heads off or anything this morning. But this is just plain weird. On a normal day when I am not writing this, they would be clamoring through the doors, fighting to tear off my limbs apart and eat me till they are satisfied. Don't say I am over exaggerating. But you are lucky I haven't had to meet them while writing yet. That could seriously get messy.
SLAM! CRASH! CREAK!
Ah, you have the pleasure of meeting my most acquired guests. Zombies.
The door bursts off the hinges and I take out my knife and stand, ready to fight whatever they threw at me. Which is themselves.
Okay, before I tell you what happens, you may need a little background information on these things. First of all, they look disgusting.
I know the stereotypical zombie is one with toilet roll hanging off them and sticking their arms out like a crazy child who has seen their favorite pop-star. Well, these zombies are different. Yay for us. They seem to have minds. Based on all the places I've been to around America, it depends on the place. The zombies are always enhanced versions of their former selves or something. Or the exact opposite, but you can't really know unless you know the person before they got turned.
Smart people become sharper and quicker. Dumb people are vicious and slow and a little bit more scary than the ones which are quicker. Somehow, the smarter zombies have some sort of lives. The dumb ones live on the streets. Each zombie lives a life of their own. It's like they have a mind, but not really. It's not like they're human, they just act like them.
Don't shoot me, I can't explain this very well.
But, anyway, I've been pretty much everywhere all over America in the time of the apocalypse and it seems not everyone knows about the war.
I know I said that I made the assumption I was the last human on the planet and America or whatever. Yeah, well, things changed.
I've been traveling all over America, just to see if I really was alone. And to get away from memories back in Arizona. And I found humans. Yup. I did it. I found them in Washington D.C when I was getting some food to journey off again the next day. They were also stealing from the shop. It was some kind of miracle. It was a pair of Hispanics named Ella and Leo. They were brother and sister and the boy was clearly a little insane, but totally awesome at the same time.
They came with me on my journeys across the state. And to the next. And the next. We met a few new people, but only a couple. They decided to stay where they were, purely because it was home. I didn't empathize, I didn't like them.
I know this is taking forever, but I do have a point. Preferably to make before I get killed, so I will move on thank-you very much.
So, as we traveled, meeting new people every two months or so, we learned everyone had a different theory about how this all happened. Whether it was aliens, God, meteors, evolution or whatever rubbish you can come up with.
So, maybe some more explanation later. Hopefully not. But, now, if I am right, I need to try and not get killed.
"Guys! Might need a hand here!" I yell from downstairs in the warehouse to the boys and Ella, upstairs, probably building something to shoot with. Always the jokers in this creepy little family of ours.
The zombies pour in, smashing things with their clumsy hands. Street zombies. I can tell by their ripped clothes and their vacant expressions. They come at me skittish and messy. I take my knife from my pocket, slashing at their long dead hands as they reach for my skin, wanting to turn me into one of them. Not gonna happen in a million years.
I punch and kick at the zombies, moving around them, just to be able to be free. I think it's time to leave this place. We are officially going to be known by the scent of the zombies. By the time they wake, we need to be long gone.
Eventually they are all either unconscious or dead by my feet, slanted over the blood stained wood floor. Ha. I dare you to mess with me, zombie scum. Just then, I hear a low whistle from behind me.
"I thought you said you needed help, not help removing the blood stains after you've finished."
In the reflection of the remaining bits of glass attached to the window frame where a few of them had fell into or out of. I turn and see my slightly dis-functional family. A Hispanic girl and her brother, an extremely crazy boy with strawberry blonde hair and an emo.
Percy's POV
What the hell?
I stop at the door and glance around, feeling a little embarrassed by my own walking in. And awkward. Bad timing much? Yeah, real good job Perce. I begin to back out of the room again, hoping to not get any more awkward when the girl looks up. Great, now I'm stuck with a crier.
The girl wipes her red and puffy eyes and glares at me. I swear I don't even do the glare justice when I say I shrink back into the wall. Seriously, this girl has looks that will kill you. If they could. I can tell she is protective of her privacy and furious. Uh oh.
"Who are you?" I ask, my voice raspy from misuse over the years.
"I could ask you the same thing?" she asks, curious, yet cautious. So now the conversation will be like 'but I asked first,' 'no you didn't,' 'yes I did'. Let's just keep it simple.
"Percy," I say, holding out my hand. She glares at it, as if wishing it would explode. I take it back, even more embarrassed.
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asks. I shrug.
"How do you know you can't?"
"Touché," she says. "Thalia." She holds out her hand this time and I shake it. Funny how that turned out. She quickly releases my hand and walks back a couple of steps, maybe nervous of meeting someone new. I know I am.
She wipes her eyes again and sits down.
"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, taking a cautious step closer to her.
"I'll be fine," she murmurs.
"Want to talk about it?" I know, Percy is getting all protective. Please don't laugh in my face. I know I would. But she seems upset and my mom always told me that you should try to help someone. I have no idea what she meant.
"It's my...brother. Nico," she says as her breathing gets heavy all over again.
"What happened?" I ask, taking another step closer. She leaps backwards.
"They took him," she hisses through her teeth, snarling.
"The zombies?" She nods but doesn't speak. "I know how you feel."
"No you don't, no one does," she snaps.
"I know it's hard to believe, but I do. They took my mom...she...she was attacked." I try and say it as quickly as possible but cannot stop the faded memories of my dreams to jump into my mind. I scowl at them. Why should I trust this girl, Thalia. I know nothing about her. The only thing is that she is human. I know it's not much of a gang or a revolution but it still is more than just one person.
"Are there any more humans that you've met?" asks Thalia.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Have you seen any more humans. I lost my friends around here a couple of days ago."
More humans? Why would I have seen more. If this Thalia girl has seen more, what have I been doing wrong. I have been looking for another like me for almost half of the time in this new world. This could seriously change things. If we found the other humans, then we could really make a change. Take away all the gases that keep the zombies alive. It could take years of studying and searching, but anything is better than just one person. Or two.
Then again, if all those humans are out on their own, they might not last very long. Nico was human. He might not be now.
"Who were you're friends?" I ask.
"I never got their names, but they all had nicknames. It was strange. We all thought it would be safer to know each other by different names if somehow the people who injected us got us back," she says. "But they were all brilliant. We knew each other like the backs of our hands. Like we have always known each other. But then they disappeared." A dark thought crossed her mind. I see it in her face.
"What was your nickname?" I know, I know. A stupid question, but if I am going to rise up from the ask or whatever, I need this girl to trust me. I also know I should not manipulate her for the sake of me. This is for the entire planet.
"Promise not to laugh?" she asks. I nod. "Pine-cone face." I really try not to burst out laughing and cover up my snort of laughter with intense coughing.
Smooth. So smooth, Percy.
She glares at me with piercing blue eyes. I stop almost immediately, noting this girl is becoming seriously scarier after she stopped crying about her brother. I should also note that this is the only human I have met since my mom. Don't screw this up.
Finally, I stop smirking enough to ask, "why?"
"Nico threw a pine-cone at me and it hit me in the face. He started joking about it and I guess it must have stuck with him." And I thought it was going to be weirder. "Why the hell am I telling you this?"
"You must trust me or something. I have no idea why you trust me. Could be that I'm human, unlike so many here. Could be that you're manipulating me so I trust you. Or maybe I just have one of those faces. Innocent or something," I mutter. Yeah right! Me, innocent? Nah.
"Nah, don't think so. Have I met you before?" I shake my head quickly, having no idea what she is going on about.
"What was Nico's nickname?" I ask.
"Corpse-breath." Riiiiggghhht... Thalia must have seen my bewildered expression and thought, because she answers straight away. "He believed in ghosts because of some stuff. I don't want to talk about it. You want to know, you ask him." Because that is totally possible right now.
I now have three things I want to ask her. How to continue? With 'what do you mean injected?' With 'what did your zombies look like?' Or with 'what music do you like?' Yep, because, right now, my head is solely concentrating on this weird song I heard on my iPod a couple of days ago. I HAVE AN IPOD! Yay for me. The songs get a bit same-y all the time.
"Two things. One, what do you mean injected? Two, what did the zombies look like? Were they scientists or something? That could have something to do with it all."
"Which zombies?" she asks, her face blank and confused.
"The ones that took your brother," I say slowly.
"I don't have a brother." Has she got amnesia or something? I didn't see her head get hit at any point in the conversation. So why doesn't she remember her own brother.
"Nico. You don't remember anything about Nico?" I ask. Recognition crosses her face.
"Nico isn't my brother." Great. So now I'm stuck with a person who can't even remember her brother, let alone the conversation we were just having. "He's my boyfriend."
Even better. A liar.
So...that was a really bad ending, but I am so sorry! Really!
I just wanted to test out this whole crossover thing...
If you don't like it, I'll put it to a vote
Percy Jackson or Crossover of MR and PJ
So, thanks for reading...the next chapter shouldn't be too long, maybe a week or so...but the chapters are long :)
