A/N: Okay, so, this took longer than I anticipated. Like... a lot longer. Hmm. Let's see what excuses I can dig up... the first one is kind of embarrassing to admit. I've been watching Sailor Moon (LOL YEAH SAILOR MOON) again. I haven't seen that since I was like, six. I doubt any of my readers know who she is because this is a fan fiction for a video game, but still, lol. Sailor Moon. Another slightly more emo excuse is that I've been under a whole lot of emotional stress and following emotional stress I fall into these HUGE pits of SHEER APATHY. The past few weeks, I've been the most apathetic and unproductive creature in the world. No promises it won't happen again.

HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT ALL THOSE REVIEWS! Okay, only four for the third chapter, but still, when I read them, I was like, "YESSSSSS!" See, I'm easily pleased. It's not that hard. Just review. :D I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter. I was going to add more but I figured I should update now and not prolong it anymore.

Chapter Three
ground rules

There had to be at least forty bodies piled in the room, the people who had attacked us doubling the amount of victims in the vicinity.

Slumped against the overturned desks, scattered across the flower, lying atop of each other, all either slowly paling or already gray, covered in bullet holes or slash marks. The area around Dylan was the worst. He was lucky enough to be standing on top of a desk, some distance away from the carnage, but I was cowering beside him with dead people all around my ankles, thick blood seeping from their wounds and onto my boots.

I watched as Dylan slowly fell to his knees, his hands trembling so badly he dropped the gun. When it hit the wooden desk it almost seemed to crash in the silence, but it didn't fall off of it and onto the floor. He closed his eyes tightly shut and ran his hands over his face, sweat clinging to his to his forehead as he mouthed words I couldn't hear.

The four wounds on my fingers pulsed with my heartbeat, and I looked down at them. The cuts were nasty and dirty, but they weren't as deep as I thought they were before. I wouldn't lose my fingers, but they would get infected if I didn't clean them off soon and it still hurt like hell. I didn't know what the cut on my back looked like, but from my right shoulder blade to the middle of my back it felt as if a lion had cut me and not someone's fingernails. I didn't know if I wanted to see what it looked like.

Dylan drew in a sharp, quick breath, and I looked at him again. I expected him to start crying at any moment now. He suddenly looked so pathetic and weak. I felt like I should have started crying then, but for some reason all I could think about was insulting Dylan. He had been the only one who hadn't been crying or screaming or causing chaos—for the most part he acted somewhat calm. And I resented him for it, because he lived, while other people who reacted perfectly normally for the situation did not, even though I was alive, too. Some part me wanted to put all of the blame of Dylan for this situation because I didn't know who else I could blame.

"You couldn't do this," I said, and though my voice was shaking I could hear the bitterness my words held myself. "You couldn't kill these students if you wanted to. Look at you now. You don't even know how to really use that gun, do you? What did you have to prove by bringing this here?"

"Ungrateful bitch," he hissed back without even looking at me, and I felt my temper flare up. "I saved you and all you have to say is how I couldn't have done this if they weren't attacking me. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead."

"Everyone else is dead," I said. "I doubt that you made much of a difference."

"Two people left alive is better than no people left alive. There's more people in this school, in this world, that are alive, I'm sure."

"I'm sure there are more zombies," I shot back. "Enough to take out the entire school, the city."

Dylan turned his head to look at me, a strange humor dancing in his eyes. "Zombies?" he chuckled.

"What else am I supposed to call them?" I snapped and my arms folded in a defensive gesture. "Perfectly normal human beings?"

"But they're not dead," Dylan said. "Zombies are reanimated dead bodies. And these guys are really, really fast."

I was mouthing "blah. blah. blah." until I found a place to butt in at. "What else do you want me to call them? I don't want to think of them as my classmates, thank you very much."

"I guess we can call them zombies."

"Seriously, are we calmly discussing this when our entire biology class is lying dead at our feet? Calmly?"

"You'll have time to cry like a big baby later," Dylan sneered, and the iciness returned. He was acting just way he was before he killed everything. "Right now, we need to get out of here. Get me my bag."

"You're not the boss of me. And you don't even know how to use that gun."

As if to prove me wrong, he picked it back up and got off from his knees, bringing himself to his full height and holding it in an offensive position. It looked like was just bragging that he had it in the first place and I didn't know how to use a gun myself so I couldn't begin to point out anything that was wrong with the way he held it.

"Get me my bag," he said again. I scowled, but turned around and slowly began stepping over bodies, maneuvering around fallen desks. Why did I have to get stuck with the biggest asshole in the world when the world itself is currently against me? Why?

I stepped on someone's hand and immediately it cracked, and I jerked my foot immediately up and forced myself not to look at who belonged to. Sorry, I thought quietly to whoever it was, whether it be a zombie or a victim of one. Bile rose up in the back of my throat but I started walking again and tried to erase the sound of the bones breaking from my mind.

Why can't he get his bag himself? I plugged my nose and I stood in a small patch of floor that wasn't occupied by the dead. I could see that strap of Dylan's bag in front of me, and that was it. The greasy haired boy in the football jersey was lying on top of the bag itself, his open and glazed over eyes seeming to stare right at me and a mangled mess of what used to be a throat standing out against his pale skin. I swallowed, tightly closed my eyes and snatched up the strap of the bag in one quick movement, yanking at it until I didn't feel any resistance. I bundled up the strap and brought the bag to my chest, closing both arms tightly around it. Soon my arms were warm and wet and I didn't have to guess what liquid covered them, what covered the bag. I suddenly realized how awful the stench was—the sharp metallic smell of blood and something else, something worse. I lowered my face into the bag to block it, instead the scent worsened and I began shaking before weeping into the bag. I didn't care if I was getting stupid tears blackened by my makeup all over Dylan's stuff, in fact I kind of liked the idea, so I used it to justify crying more.

I knew that wasn't the reason why I was crying.

"... Are you alright?" I heard Dylan ask. I raised my head away from the bag to see him sitting down, legs dangling over the edge of the desk and his arms hanging limply by his sides. He was watching me with something that could have been concern, something that could have been care, blue eyes staring straight into mine.

I sniffed and held the bag with one arm as I raised the other to wipe away my tears. When I lowered my arm I glared at Dylan through watery eyes.

"That's a stupid question," I said, my voice lower than I thought it would be, and then threw the bag with all my might towards Dylan. It hurt my cut fingers and it only landed at his feet, but I felt a sense of satisfaction because he jumped as if it would hit his face. He grimaced as he lifted the bag into his lap and reloaded his gun again before pulling the backpack onto his shoulders. I didn't know what kind of gun it was, I only knew it was small, black, and slick. Maybe I could see James Bond using it to kill some baddie, but I couldn't see Dylan using it to slay any more zombies in huge groups. I think the only reason we survived is because the creatures at the rest of the class to focus on.

"Excuse me for asking."

"Yeah, because your concern means so much to me right now."

He hopped off the desk and walked at a startling fast pace towards to the door, or the archway where the door had been. Alarms went off in my head and I stumbled on several bodies as I shot towards him on first instinct, but mercifully I never fell over. I grabbed the sleeve of his his dark long sleeved shirt before he could leave the room. "Where do you think you're going?" I asked, and I wanted to kick myself because my voice was high and near hysterical.

"Away from here, obviously," Dylan sneered, jerking his arm out of my grasp. "I don't think that's any of your business."

I bit my lip and looked up at him. He was still a good head and a half taller than me, even when he wasn't standing on top of a desk. "And what are you going to do?"

He was just as scary as he was on the desk, too, maybe even more so now when he sneered down at me with those light eyes, his collar covered in dried blood and his face marred with a few small, red scratches. "Does it matter? You're not following me."

"What?" First I felt horror, then a surge of anger. "You are not leaving me here alone!"

"You've already made it very clear that you do not like me, and you're pretty fucking annoying yourself, so work it out." He started walking again.

"Hell no!" I kept close to his heels as he walked into the halls, hardly paying attention to my surroundings. "That's the dumbest idea ever in this situation!"

"Does it matter?" he said again, this time with a harder edge to it as he spun around to face me. I almost bumped straight into him. "Look. It's not like I'm going to protect you or anything—"

"Ass! You're the one with the gun, you should try to save as many people as you can, you—"

"Hey, shit for brains, do you remember why I brought the gun to school in the first place? I hate these people!"

"You'll die!" I screamed, and it seemed to rip into the unsettling silence more than ever. Dylan didn't say anything, so I kept going. "You'll be alone and nobody's going to want to save you because you have no friends! You will die without someone's help."

I really didn't know if Dylan had friends or not, but at that point I was trying to think of both the most hurtful and the most convincing things at once. It seemed to have struck a nerve, and I instantly regretted my words.

Dylan narrowed his eyes and looked straight into my own. "If it means you'll die, too," he said softly. "that doesn't sound like an entirely bad idea."

I opened my mouth, tried to eat my words.

"I—"

A strange, strangled cry came from behind me, and immediately Dylan's eyes snapped up above my head and I spun around to face it. A girl with a headband and a shirt splattered with peace signs and blood was running towards us at an alarmingly fast towards us. I could hardly react before a loud bang exploded right above my head, so close I could hear the bullet whistling. The zombie dropped just as my temper rose.

"You could have hit me!" I shrieked, and wheeled around to face Dylan again. My body was tensed like I was going to jump and take a swipe at him, and God be damned if I wasn't going to after he scared the shit out of me like that. "You jerk!"

"Shut. Up!" He raised his gun to shoot more creatures that were coming from the same way the other did. At least this time he had to decency to push my head down before duking out out on more intruders. I fell to my butt and snapped at his hands with my teeth, which wasn't a good idea because I was sitting at his feet where he could kick me and kick me he did, managing to do it before the last zombie fell down.

"Keep it down," he hissed under his breath after I let out a sharp "Ow!" when his foot connected with my spine. I was glad that he could probably only see the top of my head because tears actually rose to my eyes.

"That fucking hurt," I growled back, wiping my eyes on my sleeve because my hands were caked with dried blood. Still, I played along and kept my voice low. Sort of. "Why are you whispering?"

"Because, idiot, every time you scream whenever something moves, more of them come running!"

"Oh, how silly of me, to scream whenever zombies are chasing me!" My voice began to rise regardless of what he just said. "Surely I should be as calm and composed as you are! I'm sure this is just a walk in the park for you! Of course I should have known zombies are attracted to loud noises."

"Get up and shut up." Dylan snapped back, and I could feel him aiming for another kick. I rolled out of the way just before he could hit me. I most likely had a bruise on my back already and the last thing I needed was bruises over bruises, if that was possible.

"Sorrryyyyyy." I pulled myself to my feet while Dylan reloaded his gun again, although I was pretty sure that he still had plenty bullets left in that clip. A brief silence fell over us, and I let my eyes rake over the hallway. Nearly all the doors leading to classrooms were busted down. There were about a dozen of bodies scattered around, most slumped against the walls or sprawled not a few feet from a classroom, nasty claw marks marring their backs.

There's nothing left of the sixth floor, I thought, biting my lip. Maybe nothing left of this school.

I just don't know.

Everything was so dead, so silent, an eerie calm stretching over the hallway. For a few moments, I allowed myself to believe everything was dead, silent, calm.

Then I slowly heard the resounding crashes from the lower floors, the muffled screams for help, the noises of those were were alive but not for along, dulled by the layers of ceiling. I heard cars collide into another from the outside, setting off alarms, just a small bit of the mass hysteria from outside. The illusion of silence faded into a barely disguised uproar that overwhelmed my senses.

Maybe everything was dead. But it was not silent. Calm.

Flu.

This was one hell of an outbreak.

I need to sit down.

I inched closer to the nearest wall and rested my head on it, closing my eyes. My heart seemed to be in my head and not in my chest, because my pulse seemed to be beating against the walls of my skull.

Just a few moments ago I was fine, yelling at Dylan, hating his guts. I shoved aside most of my feelings save for boiling out anger towards my only partner in this mess and the primal need to survive. Then silence came and gave me time to soak everything in when there was just too much for me on such short notice.

It wasn't just the school. I knew it was all of Manhattan, too. Maybe the whole city. Maybe the whole state. Hell, maybe the world. I should have expected this, the states north of us had been quarantined for just this. I should have known...

We're not gonna make it.

"We're not going to make it," I whispered, opening my eyes and staring at the mess of a hallway in front of me, though at the same time nothing in particular. Dylan heard me.

"Probably not, but I'm going to try like hell to make it for as long as I can," he said, walking to my side. What he said should have been inspirational, motivational, but it didn't make me feel any better. There was nothing inside me. I think someone somehow managed to steal all my organs and bones and everything in my chest because I felt empty. Hollow. Nothing.

"Hey, come on." Dylan said when I didn't respond, and the typical icy tone was dropped in the blink of an eye. He almost sounded sympathetic. "Snap out of it."

My lips drew into a tight line. I wish I could snap out of it. I wish I could wake up from this nightmare. He touched my shoulder and I jumped slightly, snapping my eyes over to the offending hand and then at the blood smeared face staring at me with a softened expression. I was about to yell at him not to touch me, but—

"What's your name?"

… what?

I blinked.

My name. He doesn't know my name.

I guess he wouldn't know my name... he wants to know my name.

Such a simple question only required a simple answer.

Such a trivial question... okay, sure. He wants to know my name. Sure.

"Jacky. Jacqueline." I closed my eyes and breathed in. Why was this so hard for me to answer? "Jacqueline Louise. No. No, just... Jacky." I opened my eyes and breathed out. Dylan spared me a halfhearted smile and took the hand off my shoulder. So stupid. I'm so stupid and fragile and why do I choose now to start falling apart?

"I'm Dylan," he said, though I already knew. Still I swallowed with difficulty (it was as if I had been crying for hours. Maybe I had been.) and nodded. I lifted my head off of the wall and he folded his arms across his chest, the popgun never leaving his hands. Probably because he had no where else to put it. Or maybe because we weren't exactly safe.

"We're going to have to hole up somewhere. Maybe for a few days," he said slowly, with the calm and control of an adult. It was almost infuriating to listen to, but I was too exhausted to snap at him for it. "Getting a bus or taxi away from here is out of the question, obviously. I'm inclined to believe the whole world has gone to hell."

"I want to go home," I whispered.

He slowly shook his head. "It's the same way everywhere else. It's best if we stay inside the school. Stuyvesant is huge, but New York city is bigger. There will be more zombies out there than in here."

You don't understand. "I need to see my mom," I said, my lower lip beginning to tremble violently.

"Later," Dylan said with a hint of impatience. I didn't stop to consider if he was lying to me just so I wouldn't shut down. He gave me a little bit to get over myself before speaking again. "We need to get somewhere safe. Any ideas?"

I thought for a minute. "The cafeteria?"

Dylan's eyebrows arched up. "The fifth floor cafeteria? Why? That's a lot of open space."

I looked down. "Well, there will be food..."

His eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall. "But it isn't even lunch time..."

A surge of irritation. A wave of bitterness. A dark joke formulating itself within moments. I jumped at the opportunity to ridicule Dylan, despite his earlier comfort.

"Yeah, and I'm sure that at twelve-fifteen, the dead lunch ladies will serve up their usual crap like they do everyday," I sneered, but regretted the sarcasm almost immediately when Dylan's eyes narrowed into a cold stare before shifting his entire body away from me. My jaw almost dropped. Seriously? It was as if I flicked a switch, and Dylan was back to being distanced, bitter, and inches away from a full fledged sociopath.

Shit, I thought. Things don't need to be more strained between us than it already is, shit, he's my only way out of this, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...

"Dylan, I'm sorry." I said. What gods stuck us together like this? Why couldn't I be with someone I knew?

Dylan ignored my apology. "Does the kitchen have a walk-in freezer?" he asked instead.

I blinked, slowly processing the question. At least he wasn't going to leave me behind... "Yes..."

"Hmm." He brought his folded arms closer to himself. "This just might work."

"Okay!" I said, sounding unusually peppy. Best friend. I thought. Gotta be his best friend. I spun on my heel towards the way to the fifth floor. Thank God it wasn't so far away. "To the cafeteria, then!"

I don't know who the hell I thought I was leading the guy with a gun or suddenly taking on the cheery tone of voice, but I had to be nice to this guy. Even though I only spoke five words to him like that, I did sound overbearing, but I made the decision in less than two seconds that I had to be nice as possible to him so he didn't leave me weaponless or just shoot me. Until we got to the "safe spot", anyway. I just hoped he didn't shoot me for just that, too. I guess I could blame it on bipolar disorder, even though that was total bullshit. I didn't act anything like this during a manic session, and plus, I took my pills this morning.

"Wait," Dylan said flatly, stopping me mid step. I faced him and waited for him to walk up to me.

"What is it?" I asked, the unbearable burst of friendliness fading.

"Before we go, we—" He pursed his lips angrily at the pronoun. I sighed inwardly at this display. "—need to lay down some ground rules for ourselves."

"Ground rules?" I repeated, then looked straight up at him. "I get to help make them, right?"

He rolled his eyes. I took that as a yes.

"First rule," Dylan held up his index finger. "We're not going to attack each other. We—"

"You're one to talk," I interjected, grimacing as the spot on my back where he kicked me throbbed angrily.

His face pinched up more in annoyance of being interrupted than anything else.

"Second," Dylan continued with a firm note in his voice and paused, daring me to put in my two cents. "I have the gun, you carry the bag." In a matter of seconds he let the bag drop from his shoulders, catching it just in time to shove it into my arms.

I stared at him incredulously.

"That isn't a rule!"

"Shut up! I won't be able to reach for more ammo with it on my bag and I can only fit so much in my pockets. Time to make yourself useful."

I gritted my teeth and made a show of slamming the bag to my feet, but said nothing and waited for his next "rule."

"Third, keep your space. Don't get in the line of fire. Stick close, but not too close. Got it?"

Sucky rules, I thought. I nodded.

He sighed. "Good."

"My turn," I said with a smile. Dylan grimaced.

"I don't have to agree to anything stupid."

"I did," I shot back, kicking at the backpack. Ow... ow, that kind of hurt my toes. What was in there? I ignored Dylan's questioning eyes and knelt to the ground to unzip the bag.

"You will do what you can to keep me safe," I said, pushing the black clips of ammo all to one side. I felt horribly pathetic and helpless saying this to him, but I could tend to my wounded pride later. "until I get a weapon of my own. I hate depending on you, but when I can, we'll depend on each other."

He rolled his eyes. I ignored him and pulled out a few spiral notebooks from his bag, obviously meant for schoolwork.

"And you won't purposely shoot me." I paused, then added, "Or any other non... infected."

I couldn't see him roll his eyes this time, but I heard him scoff. I gritted my teeth a little harder.

"We won't leave each other behind if we can help it," I said, softly this time. By then I successfully emptied Dylan's bag of all heavy school supplies. "I'll come to your aid if you need it, I expect you'll do the same for me."

There was a small stretch of quiet. I turned to face Dylan from my spot on the floor. "Do I need to write this down for you?"

Dylan scoffed again and shook his head. I hoped his eyes would forever be stuck looking up since he had a nice habit of rolling them at me.

"Good," I mimicked him, slinging the bag over my shoulders and rising to my feet. "Let's go, then."

"One more thing," Dylan said, grabbing my shoulder and making me look straight at his face. "We can't save anyone."

"What?" I didn't quite understand what he meant.

"We can't jeopardize our own safety for other people. You're going to have to ignore anyone asking for help, because they're probably lost anyway." His words were firm, but they seemed strange, said, sympathetic. "We can't risk it."

It wasn't lost on me, but it was the words themselves that got me. "Why not? They need someone to save them, why not us?"

"Why us?" Dylan shot back. "We're not cops or anything. We're not heroes. We're two sophomores stuck in a prep school filled with enemies and liabilities."

"You think cops are going to do anything?" My voice was rising again. "They're probably running for their lives! Or even better, they're zombies! What good is a cop? This is how real heroes are made!"

"Don't get all cheesy and heroic with me! I'm thinking about my life, and yours, actually, so shut your damn mouth and do as I say. Unless you want to die, anyway."

I bit my bottom lip until it bled, and I was surprised I could still see through the slits my eyes were reduced to in pure anger and frustration.

"Let's go," Dylan said sharply. And the ice king returned.

I can't do this, I thought, following behind him with my arms folded across my chest and my eyes glaring vehemently on the floor. I can't do this. I can not put my life into the hands of this stupid bastard.

Bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard.

That's all I did... curse him in my head. I didn't know how long I was going to be able to deal with him. One minute he's resembling something relatively close to a kind human being, and then the other he's a heartless monster who doesn't care at all for the well being of others. I missed my friends already. I was craving humanity, compassion, some superhero to save me, save everyone. Who would feel bad whenever someone was lost and do what could be done to save those in need.

I didn't have that. I had this juvenile asshole who bossed me around because he had the weapon. An ice cube was warmer than Dylan McKeizel. I had this prick who blatantly ignored cries for help and put his needs before others. I had this teenager who towered at least a foot above me who needlessly ridicules every word that leaves my mouth. I had this jerk who had the audacity to tell me not to help anyone who may need it because it would be my own downfall.

I had no clue that later, I would be thanking him for all of that.