ZOMBIES ARE OVERRATED ANYWAY
The zombies don't bother me. They think I'm dead. Or they think I'm one of them-if they think at all. Being dead sucks.
Charlie followed Serena and Serena's brother and Serena's ex-half brother through the darkest, dirtiest and grimiest parts of Manhattan that she hoped to never see again.
They were lead by Chuck, who was lead by the map he drew all over with black marker. How he could read that thing, Charlie had no idea. All power was shut off on the restricted areas of New York. It was incredibly dark, even with the flashlights. She would never take street lights for granted again.
Charlie checked her phone for the time and rolled her eyes. It was so early/late she wasn't sure if she should be tired or wide awake. She yawned and decided on tired—the heavy crowbar in her hand not helping matters. The thought of dropping it occurred to her several times, but she decided against it and just rested it on her shoulder.
What am I even doing here? She wondered for about the two-hundredth time that week. It's not even like I'm actually part of the—
Charlie's thoughts were cut short when Chuck stopped and whispered with sharpness.
"Hang on," He said in a strained voice. It was apparent he wanted to yell. He groaned and gestured toward the road we were about to turn down. "We need to rethink this plan."
The road was filled with those…zombie things. Charlie didn't like to call them zombies. The word was so…overrated and tacky—like Blair.
Jenny looked around the place as she followed Damien to the bar. The restaurant/bar had a western theme to it—something Jenny found oddly soothing. It was like being in another world far away from all the terror outside. A few lights around the place were dim, but on. There was power!
Damien jumped up onto the bar and slid across it. "So what'll it be?"
Jenny shrugged. "I don't know." She didn't really know her alcohol all that well. "Red wine, I guess?"
"No, no, no, no." Damien shook his head.
"What?"
"None of that fancy shit you rich folks drink."
Jenny laughed at that. I'm not rich anymore, Damien. "Then what?"
Damien turned toward the wall behind the bar, where there were shelves upon shelves filled with liquor. He wasn't impressed. "Eh."
"Problem?" Jenny asked.
Damien didn't answer her and strode over to a large, industrial refrigerator. He opened it and found a few bottles of Bud Light. "Ah! Perfect."
He grabbed the bottled and tossed one to Jenny. "Try that."
Jenny caught the cool glass bottle and turned it over, contemplating whether she should consume the brown liquid or not. "What is this?"
"It's called beer." Damien spoke as if she'd never heard of it before. Of course she knew what it was. "It's good I promise."
Jenny never invested too much into Damien's promises, but she decided to entertain him with this one and opened the bottle. It was horrible, but she took large gulps. The thought of getting drunk was a welcome one.
"Whoa there," Damien said, smiling. "I know it's good and all, but you're going to choke on that if you go any faster."
"How many of these do I need to drink before I get drunk?"
Damien looked confused. "Are you feeling ok? You're not much of the partying type."
Jenny didn't just look confused. She was. She shrugged. "I don't know. It would be nice to just forget." Forget both the world's problems and her personal ones. Jenny wondered how her brother was. How Nate was.
"Yeah…" Damien was stressed too. He wondered if going back to New York was a good idea. He didn't have many contacts there; for the most part everyone he knew now was in Chicago. What was he going to do for money? Was money even good nowadays? Damien kept his mouth shut though. He knew Jenny needed to get back to her real home and family, and he was her only way there. The thought of her going off with a group of strangers made him sick. The thought of her going off at all made him sick. He wanted to be with her.
Jenny and Damien sat in silence for a long, awkward moment, facing their inner demons.
Suddenly, Jenny got an idea. Screw these demons. "You know what I really want to do?"
"What's that?" Damien asked.
"Get drunk on the roof."
Serena stood her ground. "We can't change the plan! Look at that map. We're almost there!"
Chuck wasn't changing his mind. "Look at the road, Serena!" he hissed. "We can't go down there."
"Then why did we bring this stuff," Serena asked, holding up the handgun Chuck gave her back at The Palace.
"The weapons are for our protection. In case we run into any issues."
"And this isn't an issue?" What was Chuck thinking? Serena sighed, trying to release the frustration building up inside her. Blair is trapped. Blair is in danger.
"It's one we can work around without violence," Chuck said. This was not the way. He wanted to get to Blair. He was going to get to Blair—no matter what it took. But it wouldn't take this. This would kill them all.
"Please. Chuck, we are going to need to use violence at some point to get to her. Surely you knew that."
Chuck did know. But he also knew it would be dumb to go through that street, guns blazing. They were outnumbered. There had to be one hundred zombies down the road! "Not like this."
"Charlie, what do you think?" Serena asked her cousin. Charlie was mostly silent throughout their way to Blair. Serena thought she could spin a new take on the situation.
Charlie swallowed hard as the group looked at her.
Me? Why me?
Charlie stayed silent. She just wanted to go back to The Palace. More than that, she wanted to go back home. In fact, she may just do that now. She opened her mouth to say she was just going back. The roads so far were dark, but clear.
"Forget it," Eric said out of nowhere. "Don't make her side with someone, Serena. You know she's going to agree with you even though none of us want to go in there."
Charlie frowned. She wasn't going to side with Serena's horrible idea, but she didn't say so.
Chuck smiled, happy that someone else had common sense. "Let's go. There's another way, it's just going to take a while longer."
"Besides," Eric said. "I don't know how much longer we can stand here before turning into food."
Serena looked down the zombie filled street and huffed, then sucked it up and followed the group. But we're almost there…
An hour later, Jenny, Damien and a cooler of alcohol managed to get themselves on the roof and a whole lot drunk.
Damien told a stupid joke.
"That was stupid," Jenny said and giggled stupidly.
"C'mon!" Everyone loves that one. Cowboy jokes are the best!"
"Just because we're at a cowboy bar doesn't mean you have to make up bad cowboy jokes." Jenny laughed some more. She stood up and spun in circles without spilling a drop of her wine.
This felt good.
Damien watched Jenny—a mess of leather-clad legs, alcohol, and blonde hair falling over her small frame. He stood with her and grabbed her free hand. He squeezed it and howled.
Jenny swigged some more wine before Damien stole the bottle and finished it off and then threw it off the roof.
They both laughed.
Damien didn't want to go anywhere. Who needed New York?
Nate took in the view of the Upper East Side. Half of the buildings were bright with yellow lights and filled with scared people. The other half were darkened and empty, with a flicker of light here and there—also scared people, stuck in their apartments with no way of escape.
Or so they think.
The news spoke of people—policemen and the military, even the fire department—that went out and found people who were stuck in their homes or cars or wherever. All you had to do was call the hotline and they would come.
Lies. They never came. The last time the cops came out was to make sure no one left their homes. "Don't leave and try to come to us," they said. "We will come to you."
If you were in one of the restricted areas, they never came. They only helped those on the safe side of the Upper East Side; the side where Blair, Serena and Chuck were; where he was until a week ago.
Nate and his group of friends—a very large group that call themselves Protectors—did what others didn't. They laid large boards down from rooftop to rooftop to act as bridges all across Manhattan. They've barely covered the Upper East Side, but it was a start.
Nate stood over The Protectors' headquarters for a few minutes more, smiling over all the good he's actually doing for people, before heading back down into the streets.
Blair sat impatiently on the bathroom floor, waiting for Chuck to come get her, if he could. By now the whole subway station could be taken over by alive-dead people. She stood and pressed her head to the door, but she couldn't hear anything. She sure as hell wasn't about to open the door though. Instead, she observed herself in the mirror.
"I look awful," Blair said aloud. Not that this lighting helps. Running through rainy streets and falling a few times, her clothes were tinged with black, brown and wet spots. She did what she could: washing her face, wiping off muddy cloth with paper towels and readjusting her royal blue headband. "There."
Blair then shut off the light and sat back down. They would be here soon enough.