Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Chapter 25

Flickers of light shone in through the abandoned streets. The clip clop of hooves rang out in the silent atmosphere, making the satyr tenser than he already was. So far, he had figured out that noise equaled Infected, and that Infected means either turning or dying. Both sounded nauseating because in all, he didn't want to exactly smell pungent or go to the Underworld, which was currently in an unknown state.

A dead tree that painfully reminded him of Juniper slumped beside the cracked pavement. He stared at it, wondering whether he should risk his life to save a tree that would die again later on. Thinking back on his previous thoughts and all his titles made him decisive.

With a simple tune of his reed pipes the tree began to rise, ridding itself of all its decay. Grover stared at it sadly, patting it on the bark as if it was an old friend that was passing. Rachel. A flurry of thoughts began to ambush his mind of her crazy paintings in her cave. Then- death. Oh gods...

Just months after the Oracle of Delphi had been renewed; the new one would be dead. It was another one of his failures- being a former protector and all- he had, once again, failed to protect someone. A mortal. The Oracle.

And he wondered exactly how pissed off Apollo would be once he found out.

With Katie and Tyson:

"I don't want to die," Katie whispered, albeit a little selfishly as she shut her eyes slightly.

"No death," Tyson agreed, his one eye glancing around. "Die in honor."

"Honor..." Her eyes glazed over, anger obviously shown in them. "All this time..."

The Cyclopes was tired. Tired of running and rampaging through the hordes of Infected, and somehow finding an empty space without them.

"Gods..."

A moment of silence.

And then he could see them up close, razor-sharp fingernails clawing at his friend like wild animals. A nasty smell lingered in the air, several mouths opening in sync to show their rotten teeth.

A cold hand enclosed around his arm as he struggled to get away, his hands curling into fists that pounded against their boneless decaying bodies. He could hear her screaming, filling up the silence that made things slightly more tranquil just seconds ago.

He was dragging her desperately by now, pushing and shoving through the crowd angrily with his club while randomly yelling war cries of 'peanut butter' as he went. And he could still hear her screaming, almost making herself deaf. He could see a steady stream of blood flow from her arm, a wound that only an Infected could make.

"Tyson, don't..." Her voice was weak at the moment as she struggled to let go. A watery substance trickled down her face. Tears. "Please, I'll turn and- and..."

She wasn't making any sense, rambling nonsense as her eyes started to change color slowly. Instead of talking, she began screaming, pushing the Cyclopes away in fright.

"Go!"

He stared at her with horror in his eye as he saw the transformation firsthand. Hesitation lingered in his steps as he lowered her onto the ground. A flurry of movement caused him to drop her completely.

One stared at him, before sharing a look with the others as if saying 'monsters like him taste bad.' Immediately the Infected surged forward like a team, ignoring the Cyclopes' roaring protests. Yet he could do nothing to stop it, for he could see that her eyes were already starting to turn red.

They stopped abruptly, one of them spitting out the contents of flesh, as if thinking that genocide wouldn't be acceptable, yet cannibalism was. Sickeningly, she slowly stood up, her pace of movement sluggish and raw. Chunks of skin had been torn off as if she had been fried chicken. Her head snapped to his direction where he was mouthing pointless cries.

Once their eyes met, brown against red, he made a sudden stop with his words, his eyes widening in comical fear and disappointment. He ran then, his club still in his hands as he knew that the battle had been lost.

With Clarisse:

Her pinkie finger was gone. Lost in oblivion. A somehow tasty snack to all the Infected out there. She stared at her now pinkie-less hand and frowned, gripping her spare army knife in her other hand. Hissing, she bit her lip as some type of consolation act.

She couldn't scream. Attention would be turned her way, and she was in no mood for any pathetic attempts to run. For the first time in her life, endurance had failed her as a life skill she had trained almost everyday of her life doing.

Crimson drops of blood were splattering against the floor, making a little puddle. A mess. They could track... She glanced behind, scoffing afterwards when she saw nothing. I might as well be blind...

Yet she still hurried on, albeit tiredly. Her spear was strapped on her back, covered with little bits of flesh and other things she didn't even know about.

The scenery started to change before her. Particles of light shone through, showing the rotting trees and dying forests. Vines tangled through each other, making it seem as if it was a tropical rainforest, minus the animals. She was trapped.

For a second, rage exploded in her mind, curse words erupting out like an active volcano. Why...? It was a new type of low for her- getting mad at trees in her way had to be some type of sick joke. Just like everything else was.

She pondered the thought quietly, observing and raging at her green surroundings. The outline of a disfigured head stared at her, nestling between the branches. The leaves rustled slightly. The wind whistled sharply, and she could feel the cold blast of air make her hair flap to her face, making her partially blind for a few seconds.

"Oh great," she grumbled, unsheathing her spear like a pro. "You brought the rest of your tiny brained pony friends."

It had. The Infected flapped its arm as if a signal to come forth. She could spot one of them looking slightly confused when it heard the word pony.

"Were you a pony fan...?" She mocked with a heavy sneer on her bruised face.

Were. Even though she was the one who said it, the words hit her hard. Chris used to be a semi-fan... Her eyes narrowed at the intruding thought, glaring at the Infected as if it were their fault that she remembered.

They cackled gleefully in response, red eyes shining with bloodlust.

With Rachel:

Her eyes began to open slowly, a fleeting moment of shock coursing through her as she saw the light. A cheerleading squad screeched in her head pathetically, dramatically spelling out the word alive. She clutched her head, eyes already starting to close rapidly.

An intense headache was invading her mind. Flashes of people and monsters appearing yet disappearing at the same time; blank, white spaces materializing right after as a parting gift.

A huge, gaping hole in her stomach reminded her that she needed food. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut, while a black hole had formed, consuming all of her energy and will to move. She felt dead already, splayed out lazily on a contaminated wall.

Yet, she had to move. It would be stupid to sit back and relax while the others kept on moving to survive. She should've felt grateful that she was still alive and breathing the intoxicating air. The cheerleaders resumed their cheer.

Eventually she stood up, her knees wobbly and her legs shaky. She leaned against the walls before cringing, a putrid smell emitting from them. If that's what I've been leaning against the past few hours then... She sniffed herself, frowning heavily at the results.

She smelled like shit- straight out of the toilet. Coughing, she balanced herself dazedly on two feet as the smell was inhaled again. She stumbled backwards slightly, wanting to get away.

So she did, running madly- the stench of rotting flesh still fresh in the air. She blanched as she saw a semi eaten body on the ground. Complete with the uniform, he- or was it a she? - looked like part of the soldiers trying to defend the humans. A fallen gun lay beside.

Scanning the area rapidly, she hesitantly picked the weapon up; the weight making her strain to carry it. Too heavy, she thought, dropping it after a few seconds. Yet it was the only choice she had. She didn't have any other weapon, and she doubted that her hairbrush would slow down the Infected.

For a few seconds, she tried lugging it behind her to see if that would work. To her dismay, it caused a screeching sound as it dragged along the asphalt. She could already envision the Infected turning their heads and heading over right where she was standing. Her luck of faking to be dead wouldn't happen twice.

Dropping the M4 Carbine, she ran on, the cramp on her side increasing her exhaustion at a rapid pace.

A/N: Sorry for the late update... And thanks for all the support!

Experimental Agent 1123: Well, I hope you don't mind that I killed Katie instead... And thanks, I will.

Blackcurse11: Okay thanks, I might use that as future reference...

.37: Thanks- in a good or bad way...?

slayer1002: Thanks!