Here is Chapter 2! I greatly appreciate all the follows, but leave some reviews, lovelies. How are you liking it so far?

Oh and I forgot to insert a disclaimer before so... all characters belong to Tess and Janet and all kinds of other people that aren't me. I'm just going to borrow and play with them for a little while.

And once again, I don't use a beta. Mistakes are my own and if you see anything blatantly obvious and annoying, let me know so I can fix it. MUCH APPRECIATED!

XOXOX

"Number 6642!"

I jerked awake as I heard a booming voice call my name… I mean my number. I ran a palm through my greasy hair, trying my best to wake myself up with a few quick shakes of my head.

"Let's get a move on. Your 72 hours is up and the line of people is getting longer by the minute. We need this room."

I could tell just by looking that this guy in the long white lab coat was a jackass. His ashy brown hair was thinning around the top, leaving a gleaming bald spot in its wake, and he kept crumpling his hands into fists like he was ready to punch something. Maybe he was, I wasn't really sure. All I knew was that if he decided to punch me, I was gonna give his face a pounding that would make even the undead look pretty.

"6642, get up! We need…"

"Alright, alright," I grumbled. "I know. You need the room. Give me a damn second, will ya?"

"Sass won't get you anywhere in here. No matter who you were on the outside."

I didn't even give him the satisfaction of correcting his grammar to whom (what?! Maura taught me a few things), but I did leave him with a snazzy eye-roll as I stepped into the hallway and was once again face-to-face with Nurse Sympathy-Eyes. I couldn't take her pity right now. I'd just spent the past three days in solitary lock-up and the last thing I needed was some baby faced RN looking at me like I'd just lost everything.

Technically I had lost everything, but that wasn't any of her business.

"Take her down to the bunks." That was the last thing I heard the asshat guy in a lab coat say before the nurse led me away.

I didn't know much about the compound. No one on the outside did really and I wasn't too proud to admit that the idea of trudging along behind this nurse to some bunker had me shaking in my shiny metallic onesie.

I felt like we'd been walking for ten minutes, down narrow hallways—a left here, a right there— before we finally made it outside. I waited for the breeze to caress my skin, the way it used to after a long day stuck in the bullpen and I'd finally step outside of the BPD, but nothing happened. The air around me was thick with smog. The streets were dark and damp, smelling of rotting food or possibly the rotting flesh of the undead that walked around outside the compound. Everything was brown and gray. No color anywhere. Maura would hate it here.

And that name alone shattered me to the core. Maura.

It had been eight days now, eight long days since I'd ran in the opposite direction, hoping to give my family a chance to get away. It had been eight days since Vince Korsak had saved my life.

"Run!" I heard that word again, repeating in my head as it always did.

I wish I'd never glanced back as I'd run away. I wish there had been more bullets in my gun. Then maybe, just maybe, I would have been able to save Korsak too.

But I had looked back and the last image I'd ever have of my old partner was seeing him swarmed by four undead as he tried his best to fight them off, his arms flailing in all directions before he'd finally fallen to the ground. I couldn't stop though. I couldn't go back for him. That was the one thing we'd all learned early on when Frankie had tried to save Tommy.

My only choice was to run. That's what I kept telling myself. I couldn't have saved him. There's nothing I could have done.

My heart was hammering in my chest, pounding so quickly that it was reverberating in my ears. I stumbled, just like every other bimbo in some B-rated horror movie and as my knees connected with the ground beneath me, bits of gravel scraping into my skin, I realized that I wasn't alone. I rolled over just in time to fire one of my two remaining bullets into the dead version of Old Man Stevens. I had to give him some credit… he was faster than I'd originally anticipated.

I shuffled to my feet as quickly as I could, wincing as the blood began to seep from my wounds.

"Number 6642!"

Nurse Pity-Pants was trying to get my attention now and by the look on her face, it wasn't the first time she'd called my… number.

I glanced up, realizing that we were stopped in front of a wide open room, bunk beds lining the left wall with a common area set off in the right corner. I was assuming, by the lone unmade bed with my number taped to the side and a pile of flannel shirts on top, that this is where I'd be spending the rest of my miserable days.

"Most people don't stay in here much during the day," she informed me. "It's nice to get in every little bit of sunshine before lockdown just after dusk. Number 1418 should be here shortly though to explain things." She pointed a bony finger across the room at the unmade bed. "That tiny little twin mattress will be your best friend for a while. I'm sorry."

I could tell that she really did feel bad about the fact that I would be sleeping on a bed that was shorter than I was, surrounded by at least a dozen other people that I didn't know. However, I didn't have much time to dwell on it before a leggy platinum blonde walked into the room. In my head, I could hear myself let out a wolf whistle because seriously, this woman had some legs on her. They were long, lean, golden tan and…

"Hey." Blondie said this simply, with a nod of the head that reminded me of the way guys would just look at each other and say 'sup' like it was the coolest thing in the world. "I'll take it from here," she continued, speaking to Nurse Sad Face.

With a slight wave of her hand, the nurse walked out and left us standing there in an awkward silence; me in my silver jumpsuit and her with hands resting on her hips, looking at me like I was some sad-sack (which wasn't far from the truth). And I didn't know if I was supposed to introduce myself as Jane or Number 6642. Technically, I didn't care. As uncomfortable as that twin-sized cot looked, all I wanted to do was lie on it, slipping away into oblivion. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I wanted to go back to solitary so that I didn't have to talk to anyone, look at anyone or try and explain the terrible ache that I had in my chest from losing everyone I loved.

"Those clothes are yours," Blondie said, gesturing to the couple of flannel shirts and what looked like solid black leggings. There was a pair of combat boots sitting on the floor as well with some dingy worn socks stuffed inside of them. That outfit was certain to help me make a fashion statement. "You'll be able to get more clothes in a few days. Unfortunately, this was all that was available right now."

She carried a sadness in her voice, one that I recognized and part of me itched to start up a conversation with her, to share with her what I'd been through; maybe compare some notes on how horrible our situations were. But I wasn't going to. I just wasn't that open, not with anyone… except Maura.

A lump rose in my throat once again, just like every time I thought about her.

"I think I'd like to maybe lay down for a bit," I mumbled, scuffing my foot across the ugly concrete floor. "If that's alright." I wasn't normally the type to qualify my statements and basically ask for permission, but I wasn't badass Jane Rizzoli here. I was Number 6642 and all traces of my identity had been washed away eight long days ago.

I know it's kind of slow moving at the moment, but we'll have plenty of undead and ruckus and all that jazz in no time. Until then, motivate me with some reviews! Please and thanks :)