A/N I don't own anything. Thank you to the lovely reader who let me know she didn't find my little story offensive, despite living and breathing 911. It is not intended as such what so ever. This chapter really gave me trouble, there was just so much to squeeze in that I ended up having to partition it earlier than I would have liked. I hope no one minds, but it's looking like it's going to be quite the LONG adventure. I know not all of your favourite characters appear in every chapter, but I promise their story lines will be explored in depth eventually. Please let me know what you think, your lovely thoughts keep me going when I'd rather hurl my computer at the wall:)

THANK YOU to Court and Katy!


Johnson could feel his heartbeat slowing as his blood pumped from his veins and painted his cement grave a crimson red. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious for, but he knew he didn't have much time left. Pretty soon his heart would stop its slow thumping and the steady stream of blood would sputter to a slow trickle, before eventually stopping all together.

If he craned his neck he could see her feet above him; the flashes of pink on her toes that had alerted him to her presence in the rubble peeked out at him through the dark. Ironic that when he'd first glimpsed them he'd thought that she was dead and now he was the one dieing with them watching him do it.

His shallow breaths puffed from his nostrils in moist clouds, but he could no longer feel the cold biting his exposed flesh. He was glad it was going to end like this, slowly drifting into the numbness instead of at Benson's hand. He'd seen what Alexei had done to Raimesh when he'd failed. It hadn't been pretty; not even his identical twin would have been able to identify his body from the mutilated corpse that Benson had proudly dumped at his feet, his eyes shinning with sick enjoyment. No, he was glad it would end this way for him, his mind was too cloudy to pin point the exact reason, but as his heart gave its last thud he knew it had something to do with his work on the virus and the unexpected cold.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan toppled over as Blair shoved past him, rushing hysterically to the half crushed woman's side. She dropped to her knees, mindless of her injuries and began pushing what he thought was blonde hair from the woman's face, though it was too matted with blood for him to be able to tell.

Jesus, the bloody woman was her lost Serena!

"Apply pressure to the wound!" he yelled, forgetting all together about the boy he'd ordered her to look after as he pushed himself quickly to his feet.

Blood seeped through Blair's fingers and coated her hands. "I can't get it to stop!" she screamed frantically, eyes wide with panic.

"Move!" Jonathan ordered, shoving her out of the way roughly. Shit, she'd be dead in less than ten minutes unless he stopped the bleeding, and stopped it now. He knelt down and pushed his hands to Serena's neck, nearly choking her.

Blair scrambled back to her knees. "She can't breath!" she screeched, tugging hysterically on his wrists. Serena's slick blood greased her fingers and she fell backwards again. "Let her breath!"

"If I don't stop the bleeding," Jonathan told Blair, her hands once again wrapping around his wrist, "she won't live long enough to miss the oxygen."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan shifted his weight to his shattered ankle slowly. He'd been waiting for over a half an hour, stubbornly refusing to lower himself to the broken bits of building and sit idly by, waiting for Eric to return.

God, what if the antidote hadn't survived the blasts? What were they supposed to do then? Eric had said that they wouldn't live long enough to even search for Serena without it – let alone find her.

Or Blair.

He laughed humorlessly. Ironic how he'd spent most of his adult life despising and sparring with his girlfriend's best friend and now she was the source of his only hope to survive this entire fucking mess. It shouldn't surprise him, really; after everything that he'd been through with Serena, of course his survival, their survival would come down to Blair Waldorf.

And Chuck Bass. Dan's jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought of the only remaining Bass. He had to be involved in everything, didn't he? Just couldn't resist keeping his fingers out of just one pie; just couldn't help but stick his nose in everyone else's business. If the smug Basstard had just left well enough alone, Serena would be here right now, safe and sound. He wouldn't have spent the better part of the last ten years chasing her around, wiping powder from her nose, or pulling needles from her arm and combing chunks of vomit from her hair. They would have graduated Constance's and St. Jude's and headed off to Yale together like they had planned on, would have gotten engaged their senior year of college like he'd wanted to, and probably be happily married by now with two or three rug rats running around like had always been her plan. Instead, he was sitting half frozen in clothes stiff with his own blood, waiting for the man who wasn't his brother in law to return with a cure to a disease Chuck fucking Bass himself had practically engineered – if the thing still even existed at all.

If it existed…Dan's spine stiffened painfully as Eric's words echoed in his ears, Alexei did something to the virus, altered it somehow; it's quicker, stronger…ten times more contagious...

Jesus, Fuck…Would Blair's cure even do anything now?

Was he already as good as dead?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair dropped her hands from Jonathan's wrist instantly under the threat of her actions harming Serena, but continued to monitor the rise and fall of Serena's chest – and him – like a hawk.

"Do you have any medical training what so ever, Joan?" Jonathan demanded, the adrenaline coursing through his veins hardening his tone.

Blair shook her head. "Just first aid."

He swore under his breath. "Not exactly helpful."

"Well I can't do anything about it now," she spat, eyes never leaving the weak rise and fall of Serena's chest. As long her chest just kept rising and falling everything would be ok.

He was silent so long Blair chanced a quick glance at him. "What?" she questioned, apprehension steeling her breath when she caught sight of the expression on his face.

He raised unreadable eyes to hers. "You're not going to like this," he warned.

"NO," she shook her head vigorously, anticipating his next words.

He continued despite her protests, "She's lost too much blood, Princess." His voice dropped to that soft whisper he only ever used when he was sure he was about to hurt her. She was beginning to despise it more than she'd ever hated anything in all her twenty eight years.

"No," she repeated. Pity crept across his face as her tears warbled her words. "NO!" she screamed, battering his chests with her little fists. If there was anything she hated more than his hushed whisper it was his pity.

"There's nothing I can do," he told her softly. His fingers itched to brush her tears from her eyes but he sensed she wasn't quite ready for him to give up the charade and remove his hands from her friend's neck.

Blair tore her gaze way from his soft voice and pitying eyes angrily. "Don't feed me that line of bullshit!" she snapped. "There is always something doctors can do – they just aren't willing to take the risks!" her eyes swung back to meet his, full of ice and fire, "Well you don't have to worry about me suing you, Dr. Johnny." A sneer twisted her full lips, "Or are you too much of a fucking pussy to do what it takes?"

Jonathan bristled visibly. "You aren't going to like it," he repeated, all traces of tenderness gone from his tone.

Blair nearly spat in his face. "You tell me that again and I'll castrate you," she growled.

He returned her glare, shrugging a shoulder. "You won't like it one bit, Princess," he drawled, emphasizing the hated pet name.

This time she did spit in his face. "TELL ME!"

"In my right pocket," Jonathan barked, anger glinting in his eyes as he ignored the gob of saliva sliding down his cheek, "the suture kit; there should be a scalpel tucked inside it. Get it."

Blair shoved her hand into his pocket and yanked out the kit, sending the rest of his pocket's contents flying every which way. "Ok. Scalpel. Now what?" the words rushed from her mouth in one breath but he managed to decipher them.

"There's a man half hidden in the rubble three feet to your right," he indicated the direction with a terse jerk of his head. "Slit his throat."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lily wiped away a stubborn tear with the back of her grimy, grungy hand. She'd been stumbling around the dark and dreary city – if you could even still call it that – for nearly an hour and she'd yet to see another living soul. Not one person - not even bodies. It was like she was living in a zombie movie and this was the eerily quiet scene before the gates of hell opened, unleashing the flesh devouring undead. She shuddered at the thought. She was shaking enough as it was already; just being alone in the dark, she didn't need to think about zombies suddenly appearing to chase her down and gnaw her flesh off.

Another tear trickled down her cheek, the cold night air quickly stealing its heat and nipping at her flesh. Jesus it was cold. What little remained of the high society neighborhood was doing absolutely nothing to shelter her from the wind. Her teeth chattered violently as icy fingers crept under the hem of her sweatshirt and drew her breath from her in visible puffs. When the hell had it gotten so cold? She pulled the thin material of Bart's old sweatshirt over her hands and hugged her arms closer her to torso, continuing her slow stumble towards what she hoped was East Harlem. She should have thought to grab a jacket, or maybe a fucking parka. Christ, she couldn't ever remember being this cold before, couldn't remember the crisp threat of snow in the New York air this early in the winter season – if at all. Maybe it really was the end of the world, or maybe it'd just stopped turning entirely and those who hadn't already been incinerated were doomed to slowly freeze to death. The tears that had been threatening to fall since she'd begged Eric to be careful as he ran out the door broke through the flood gates and streamed endlessly down her cheeks and across her jaw, pooling in the hollow of her neck.

No. She wasn't going to do this. She wiped at the offending salty droplets frantically. She wasn't going to sob and blubber uncontrollably while her children were lost somewhere out there in the dark. They needed their mother's strength, not the weakness behind her tears. She wasn't just going to stand by stoically, shrouded in blackness as she watched another piece of her heart be lowered into the ground. No. She'd find them, no matter what, she'd find them. She didn't care if the four inch stiletto's she'd quickly jammed her feet into had liquid pooling under her skin in huge pockets with every step she took; it didn't matter, it wasn't going to stop her. She'd find them.

A loud crack erupted from the sky above her, a heavy blanket of freezing rain pelting down on the city's desolate landscape around her.

"This isn't going to stop me either!" She screamed to the sky. And it wouldn't; she'd walk through a pit of scalding hot coals barefoot or trek through the Arctic naked before she gave up looking for Eric and Serena or praying for Chuck's safety. Because she'd find them all, safe and sound, if it was the last thing she did.

A frozen ice pellet the size of a small cat struck the top of Lily's head, slicing her scalp. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her impractical footwear flying from her feet as she slumped forward, unconscious.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric pressed his back into the warehouse wall, feeling his way in the dark as he skirted a gaping hole in the floor where a large section of ceiling had crashed to the cement below. God, he fucking hoped this wasn't all for naught. He'd talked to his man Damian in the warehouse this morning, right after he'd gotten the call from Arthur letting him know that he and Chuck would be arriving in under an hour, and he had assured him that the antidote was under lock and key exactly where he'd had left it in his second floor office. All he needed now was to get to his office, and fast; he was running out of time. His blood had begun to boil with fever as soon as he hefted himself through the second story window.

He pushed gruesome thoughts of melting flesh and his own impending death from his mind and inched his way across the large room slowly, careful not to shift his weight too quickly. It had already taken him half an hour to skirt the building and climb up the rickety, black metal that could barely be called a fire escape, only to be met with the nearly non existent inch of floor to tight rope across. Christ if there was ever a time the grace he refused to acknowledge had come from imitating Blair and his sister's ballet recitals to kick in, it would definitely be now.

He jumped as hollow thuds suddenly echoed loudly through what was left of the warehouse, and the slick soles of his leather shoes lost their traction on his tiny perch. He titled forward dangerously, frantically clawing at the wall behind him as vision of his body splattered against the floor bellow, broken and bloody, sped through his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"WHAT?" Blair screeched, her shocked fingers nearly fumbling the blade she'd recovered from Jonathan's pocket.

"Slit his throat," Jonathan repeated, his dark green eyes locked on her face. "Or are you too much of a prissy princess to do it?"

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed, tempted to cut the smug smirk from his arrogant face with his own scalpel.

"Relax," Jonathan cut her off before she could do just that, "he's already dead. He won't miss a section of his artery. I can't suture this shut," he continued off her blank look, "I need an artery to graft to the one she's torn all to hell or she dies."

That was all Blair needed to hear. If it was for Serena she'd slit her throat herself and hand him her own damn artery. She jumped to her feet and rushed in the direction he'd indicated, her stomach turning violently as stared down at the half crushed, lifeless man Dr. Doom wanted her to filet like a fish. Thank God for his anal insistence that they remain gloved at all times; her uncharacteristically queasy stomach would not be able to handle sticking her bare hand into this guys' neck.

"Well don't just stand there," he chided from behind her, "we don't have all day! You wanted me to do this! Now, hurry the hell up before she bleeds out or it starts to fucking sno-" a thunderous crack muffled the rest of his words before they could warn Blair of the storm his prematurely arthritic knee had tipped him off to a half an hour ago.

She flew into action as chunks of frozen ice fell from the sky around her; Serena was the only real family she had left, she needed to do this before they were both pummeled to death. She knelt beside the man's head and, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hacked blindly at his neck. Heavy ice chunks thumped against cement around her, but she kept blindly slicing her way through flesh, a silent prayer for forgiveness falling from her lips.

"HURRY UP!" came Jonathan's impatient order.

She was sure he was screaming bloody murder, but between her racing heartbeat and the crashing of ice against metal and cement it sounded all similar to his hushed whisper. Her eyes flew open in anger and she quickly sorted through the bloody mess. She found an artery almost immediately, slicing it from the man's neck and rushing it over to Jonathan. "Here!" she thrust her bloody fist under his nose, her eyes glaring daggers at him. "Here's your fucking artery Dr. Kevorkian! Go on, take it!" she yelled when his fingers weren't moving fast enough for her liking.

He shot a gloved hand out to quickly pluck the pink elastic section from her hand. Blood spurted madly from Serena's neck, covering the front of his scrubs and Blair launched herself forward to close the wound.

"Would you get the fuck out of my way!?" he roared, an ice pellet narrowly missing his head. Blair would have smiled triumphantly at the loss of his annoyingly calm, snarky tone if Serena's life wasn't in his hands.

"She needs me! I'm not leaving her!" she yelled defiantly, her hands remaining firmly pressed to her best friend's neck.

He shrugged and vaulted to his feet angrily.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Blair gapped up at him. "HELP HER!"

He merely shot her a look that told her Serena was her problem now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric screwed his eyes shut against the horrific images of his own death until finally his finger tips grasped the edges of a brick behind him. Thank fucking God! He dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled it slowly through pursued lips. Jesus Christ, that had been close. He'd thought that had been it. It very well nearly had been too; another ten seconds and he would have plummeted two stories to the wasteland below. He drew in another breath, exhaling it slowly in an attempt to calm his thundering pulse before he pulled himself firmly back on the ledge and up against the wall. Without leaning forward he peered down at where he would have ended up plastered flat as a pancake, and nearly missed the tiny movement of something rolling about on the floor, propelled by the vibrations of whatever the hell was pelting the tin roof of the four story building.

What the hell was down there? It sounded almost like the ping of glass against concrete. And he couldn't be sure in the dark or from this height … but it looked like it just might be…

Yes! It was!

But what were the vials doing out of his office? His eyes flew to the steel door. Still locked shut. His brow crinkled with confusion; he was the only one who had a key.

Ice cold fear crept over his feverish flesh.

Or was he?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Help her!" Blair screamed again, no amount of hale able to hide the desperation in her voice.

Jonathan glared at her hands pointedly. "The more you bitch about this instead of moving your pretty little ass out of my way, the closer she gets to that bright light at the end of the tunnel. Her blood is literally on your hands, Princess."

Blair gulped; frustration, panic, and anger warring for center stage. She hesitated just long enough that Jonathan thought she wouldn't try to slit his throat with the scalpel she was unaware she still clutched in her hand and he took the opportunity to quickly throw her over his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she yelped, fists banging against his taut shoulders in a frantic tattoo. "Put me down this instant!"

He carefully picked his way through the ice slicked rubble, artery still firmly grasped in his hand, and kicked the windshield of an old Honda in with his foot. He tossed her onto the front seat, frustrated anger bubbling in his blood to the point where he didn't care that he'd hurled her onto shattered glass. She was turning out to be entirely much more trouble than she was worth.

"Price!" she screamed after him. "JONATHAN!"

What the fuck was he doing? He was walking right past Serena!

"JOHN-" She started to scream his name once more, intent on climbing right back out the windshield to slit his throat with the scalpel she'd belatedly realized she still had grasped tightly in her hand, but he was already stalking back towards her vehicular prison.

And he had something cradled close to his chest. Was that a child he was protecting from the hale!?

The words he'd yelled at her when they'd first found Serena rushed back to her…take the boy! My God, she'd completely forgotten about him! And they'd left him to freeze!

Jonathan glared at her as she scrambled through the windshield until he realized her frantic actions weren't focused on him, but on the tiny child in his arms.

She threw the scalpel to the ground as she reached them, "It's ok sweetheart, you're safe now," she cooed. She reached out to gather him in her arms but her bright red surgical gloves stopped her. She tugged them from her hands before Jonathan could stop her.

"NO!" he yelled loudly, and the little boy burst into terrified tears. "He's infected! Don't touch him!"

"You're touching him!" She hissed as she reached out again to pluck the sobbing child from his arms.

He didn't bother pointing out that he still wore his surgical gloves as he turned the boy away from her efforts. "He's not coming with us, Blair," he told her, steel in his eyes. "He'll kill us both."

Maybe it was the way he said her name, or the way he ordered her around at his will, but something in Blair snapped then. "Then why the fuck would you bother moving him? NO! He's coming with us! Give him to me! He's coming with us!" Tears turned the neck of her blouse see-through, her hands shaking uncontrollably as the words slipped past her lips before she could stop them, "I'm not leaving another little boy to die terrified and alone!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Dan roared at Eric as he crested the mountain of rubble, his feet slipping and sliding on the hale that had stopped falling only moments ago. "All your fucking know-it-all answers and you didn't stop for one second to think!"

"Are you working for him?!" Eric boomed, ignoring Dan's outburst. He didn't wait for him to an answer before he shoved a fist into his face. "Are you?!"

Dan wiped a hand under his nose, glaring at Eric when it glistened with blood. "What the fuck is your problem?!"

"Are. You. Working. For. Alexei!?" Eric stalked toward Dan dangerously, spitting each word with more anger than the last.

"What the hell are you – Jesus, Eric! Your nose!" Dan's anger morphed into shock as he stared at the bright red gushing suddenly from both his nostrils.

Eric ignored Dan's panicked words, too immersed in his rage to register the wetness dripping into his mouth and down his chin. "How did he know about the vials!?" he roared, red droplets spraying from his lips. "Does he know about Blair!? Nate?!"

Dread coiled in the pit of Dan's stomach. "Jesus, Eric. I – I think you're infected," he sputtered, taking a terrified step backward. His injured ankle gave out at the quick movement and he landed hard on his ass.

Eric eyes were glazed, his body shaking from both feverish chills and unrestrained rage. "Answer me!"

Dan stared up at him. He needed to be calm and get the situation back under control before Eric came any closer and the infection spread to him. "Ok. Just hold on a minute," he rushed the words out, quickly holding up a palm to stop Eric as he took another step forward. "Think about it logically. I can't be working for Alexei."

Eric's chest rose and fell quickly. "And just exactly why the hell not?"

"I didn't know about the vials. I didn't know about the cure. I didn't know about Blair. I just wanted to stay in Harlem and find Serena." Dan explained quickly.

Eric remained unconvinced, but motionless. "You're lying."

Dan shook his head slowly. "You know I'm not, Eric. Think about it. It didn't have anything to do with it – with any of this." He took another step forward and Dan rushed on, "You're sick, Eric. I want to help you, did you find the antidote?"

Eric nodded silently through the haze beginning to cloud his mind. His limbs felt heavy all of a sudden, fever beginning to zap him of all his energy.

"Ok, that's good," Dan told him quietly and he pushed himself slowly to his feet. "that's good." He carefully held out a hand as he spoke, "Hand me a vile and I'll inject you with the cure. You'll be good as new in no time."

Eric studied him, an odd expression in his glazed eyes. "I'm going to– " And then he was doubled over and retching violently, the forgotten vials crashing to the ground.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck jolted awake suddenly, lying on his back in the dark. He reached out automatically to feel her warm body beside him, but his hand contacted only air and he realized it had just been a dream; she hadn't slept beside him since they were eighteen years old.

"Sir?" Arthur's calm question sliced through his thoughts and he understood that he was still sprawled in the back seat of their borrowed station wagon. He turned his head towards the front seat of the vehicle but Arthur's voice rang out again from somewhere to the left, pulling his attention away from where he'd last seen the grey haired man.

"Here," Arthur told him from the open car door at his useless feet.

When had they stopped? How long had he been out for? Had they reached New York?!

Chuck sat up quickly and searched his surroundings. No, he hadn't been out long enough for it to be New York outside his window; it was still dark out. Then why the hell had they stopped? He turned to ask his personal assistant just that, but the heavy smears of blood marring the back window stopped him. "Arthur?" Chuck questioned, uneasy. "Where is Jeffries?"

"Jeffries remains safely locked in the trunk." Arthur answered, rolling up Chuck's left pant leg as he spoke. "At last check he'd progressed rapidly through stages two and three and remained relatively stable within the confines of stage four."

Chuck turned towards his monotone voice. "And when was… what are you doing?" he questioned, confused.

"It is for the best," Arthur nodded once decisively before he drew a syringe from the silver briefcase on the wagon's floorboards between them.

"No!" Chuck roared, instantly recognizing the contents of the syringe. "Fuck! Arthur, NO!" He tried to drag himself away from the sharp needle, but his legs remained uncooperatively lifeless.

"You led me to believe both the girl and the antidote were located in Manhattan." Arthur pulled the protective cap from the syringe and indicated the open briefcase. "It has recently come to my attention that Mr. Van der Woodsen is not nearly as foolishly sentimental as you appear to be."

"NO!" Chuck cried, frantically trying to bend himself in half to ward off Arthur's attack. "Eric's stock pile is useless! We need her!"

Arthur raised a busy eyebrow at him skeptically, "I fail to see how that could be possible."

Fear squeezed tightly around Chuck's heart. "The antidote won't do shit all against the new strain, it's fucking useless! We need Blair!" he added, saying her name a loud for the first time in six years.

Arthur shook his head in disagreement, wrapping bony fingers around Chuck's ankle. "Untrue and erroneous," her replied evenly. "The virus base remains fundamentally unchanged. And the antidote which, need I remind you was engineered at my hand, remains functionally sound."

"Fucking Stop!" Chuck cried, frantically trying to reach the far door behind him, but Arthur's grip surprisingly held him fast. "We need her!" he roared again as he watched him plunge the sharp needle into his right calf. "Dammit! NO! We need her! We need her!" The edges of his vision began to blur, and his head slumped against the seat, his neck to weak to sustain its weight any longer. "No…Blair," he whispered in vain as the sedative coursed quickly through his veins and he crumpled back down onto the seat, "I need Blair…"

Arthur frowned down at his unconscious form as he disposed of the syringe before climbing back behind the wheel to continue on their way north to Canada.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan rubbed his throbbing nose and watched as Eric collapsed unconscious in his own blood and vomit. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He was miles away from Serena and had been hobbling along for hours skin to skin with a man who'd just collapsed, already half dead from the virus. He was more than likely infected himself, and the cure that he'd been led to believe was their only hope basically was as good as a paper umbrella in the rain. Fucking useless.

He limped forward and picked up one of the only two vials that hadn't shattered after Eric had dropped them, and stared at it intently. It reminded him vaguely of Vanessa's epipen, though he could tell the needle within the apparatus was at least an inch longer, probably even long enough to pierce his carotid artery.

Was that really something he was considering now? Slitting his own throat? Had it really come to that?

Dan starred down at Eric's limp form. "You stupid son of a bitch! This is all your fucking fault! It's your throat I should be thinking about slitting – not mine!"

And before Dan could stop himself, uncontrollable rage surged through him, flicking the cap off the little vile and plunging the needle deep into Eric's neck. The full implications of the sandy haired man's ravings crashed into him the moment he registered the needle protruding from Eric's neck.

Something inside the warehouse had made him think that Dan was working for this Alexei. It could only mean one thing: the building didn't house an obsolete antidote at all, not if Alexei had sent someone to it.

The cure still worked…

Dan's breath caught in his chest.

…he'd just pierced Eric's carotid artery with the very thing, the only thing that could have saved his life.

Mother of God.


A/N - I'll update as quickly as I can, I know this one is light on Chuck and void of N/V.

Lynne