Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Chapter 27
"I spy with my little eye something beginning with an I," Thalia spoke, boredom evident in her tone.
"Insides?" Nico guessed, pointing towards someone's insides lying on the pavement.
She shook her head, seemingly non-affected by the grotesque image. "Nope."
"Infected?" Percy tried, spotting a few of them roaming around across the street.
"Nope. Wait, what?!" She yelled in a whisper. "Run!"
The four Infected stared at them from the other side, saliva trickling out of their mouths. They were drooling at the sight of tasty food that was right in front of them. A tiny puddle of spit formed on the ground. One of them had a bunch of ink stains on its hands as if it used to be an artist.
"Hey look, they're just like you Perce!" Nico called out, spotting the drool.
"Shut up," Percy grumbled.
Thalia fired off a bunch of arrows, pinning them to the wall easily. She looked at Percy expectantly, waiting for him to do something. He whispered something to Nico who nodded and stepped forwards.
Taking out his Stygian Iron Sword, he carved a doodle of a scythe on their backs and they howled as their skin wrinkled and turned a pasty grey color. It started to crack, as if someone took a sledgehammer and whacked it on one of Medusa's statues- and a bright light started to glow inside, growing more intense by the second.
The demigods shielded their eyes instantly, being reminded of the gods' inefficient teleportation methods. The bright light shone for a few agitating seconds before fading down to nothing. Instantly, they opened their eyes- only to see no remainders of the Infected on the streets.
"It's that simple," Thalia awed bitterly. "Just a doodle of a scythe."
Only Percy didn't surround himself with the situation. He turned away, the memory of his dead mother bringing up haunting and vivid images to his mind. He tried to push them away, but it was like a bulldozer, forcing him to think of her.
"So what was the word anyways?" Percy asked his cousin, trying to distract himself.
"That ruins the point of I Spy, Percy," Thalia pointed out, smirking slightly.
"Ink," Nico blurted out randomly pointing towards a dripping tag.
"Yup."
Percy walked up to the tag, poking it with his finger. Ink stained his finger. "It's still fresh." He looked around as if looking for anyone. "Whoever did this must have done it right before we came."
Thalia stared at the tag, trying to decipher the meaning as the letters were thick and somewhat unreadable. She leaned closer, dropping to a kneeling position as she squinted her eyes, air tracing the letters.
"But there was no one there," Nico said mystically. "I couldn't see anyone."
"I bet they saw the Infected and ran away," Thalia muttered, still inspecting the writing. She sighed in disgruntlement. "It just says 'save me.' Nothing new."
Percy frowned. "Usually people say 'help' or something about the planet. But this person said 'save me...' and there's blood as well. Which means that, that," he pointed to a pile of nothing, "used to be alive just a few minutes ago."
"I wasn't aware we had any survivors left actually," Thalia mumbled to herself.
"I'm sure there are," Percy defended.
"You still have hope?" Nico asked darkly, staring at the sky in a form of disgust.
He didn't wait for an answer, walking briskly towards a new direction. His cousins followed reluctantly, not saying a word.
With Tyson:
The Cyclopes looked back every few seconds, frightened of the Infected. He slashed blindly every once in a while as well, cautious of the world itself. Yet the Infected paid him no attention, too focused with roaming around and finding food.
His companion was gone. The used-to-be-daughter-of-Demeter was now an Infected, dead inside and internally rotting away- daily pieces of flesh and blood sticking to her-its skin like it belonged there.
He didn't understand. All he knew was that everyone was gone. There was no more 'nice girl who talked to him.' No more people who bumped into him rudely and no more people who he considered family.
They were all gone- their minds fried and lost in oblivion. All that remained was their body façade.
With Clarisse:
She knew that one day, she would die, hopefully die fighting in honor. She just never knew that one day, a day would come where Infected ruled the world, and she would probably die fighting against dead people who didn't even have a proper brain.
Growling, she raised her spear once more, her legs ready to travel a great distance away from the Infected. Yet she could feel exhaustion wear her arms down like she had just done a dozen sets of her morning warm-up.
So the idea of running flew out the window, lost in a meadow of flowers where all the cowards lay in rest.
An Infected charged at her foolishly, leaping up like a wolf before she stabbed it in the stomach, electricity coursing through its body. Blood poured out of the hole wound, bits of flesh and skin falling to the floor like the insides of a pillow in a pillow fight.
Her usual battle cry died out in her throat. The energy she had was slowly fading to a zero on an endurance meter and she could feel herself weakening as she dodged another clumsy lunge.
I'll die fighting, she thought, yet not a hint of pride clouded her mind like it usually did when she thought about it. I'll die fighting against the undead. There's no honor. I'll become like those punks trying to kill me right now.
She lasted a while longer, blocking and striking attacks here and there, but she lacked her usual fighting spirit. Her entire flow was ruined, now randomized with terrible unpredictable lunges that were sluggish.
The Infected smiled eerily, the red blood stained lips standing out against their pale contrast. They were waiting to be fed.
Eventually, she got hit. A sword rammed into her shoulder and she used her last energy to scream. (For a child of Ares, that was a new low.) Blood- the actual human/demigod fresh blood- spilt on the ground and some of the Infected lapped it up like dogs before staring at her with an insane gleam in their eyes.
She puked all over them, a yellowish and green creamy liquid flowing from her mouth like one of those fountains from Olympus. For a split second, she thought she could see the Infected recoil back in disgust. Emotions.
A pair of nasty looking bushes stood out to her in the dark surroundings. Its prickles and thorns gleamed in the blackness, and she could see some light shine on some sort of hole that was inside the well concealed façade.
It could've been a trap- and inside could be a huge crowd of Infected partying to the end of the world- but she hobbled towards the bushes weakly, pushing open the prickles while cringing and dropping inside the blackness that covered her.
With Grover:
The satyr ran shakily, his reed pipes bouncing on his furry leg. He cruised around an abandoned town, looking for some food supply and shelter.
Hastily put up wooden barricades were placed on the windows for protection. Broken glass was scattered on the ground like seeds for the birds and he made sure to watch his step more carefully. The wind blew around softly, causing the occasional quiet whistling noise.
He couldn't help but jump slightly every time he heard that melancholy sound. Hollowness built up inside of him as if he were just a mere scarecrow.
It didn't even occur to him that the town he was in didn't even look remotely connected to New York.
'Chuck's Endless Cheese Supply (and other things you might need)' flashed in bright blue and red neon lights, standing out amongst the dead stores. Occasionally, the lights would flicker for a while, as if experiencing a power outage, but eventually it got back on track.
Grover couldn't help but shiver slightly as he stared at it, the word Chuck giving him bad memories.
He walked inside daringly, both out food and curiosity. Rows of refrigerated and room temperature cheeses in front of him. He walked along the ten meter rows in amazement, already smelling the rich aroma of cheese go into his nose like the barbecue back at camp.
The lights went out and he let out a girly yelp as blackness surrounded him, closing in. The floorboards creaked even though he was standing completely still. His breathing was shallow, and he could feel his heart beating like a drum.
Creak... Thumpthumpthump... Creak... Thumpthumpthumpthump...
A sudden burst of small light flickered back on, illuminating the unfamiliar scenery back again. He relished at the sight of the familiar cheese at the sides. At the front however, was a person.
"Beautiful day out isn't it?" The person- identified a man- spoke gruffly, gesturing outside.
Grover yelped in surprise at the man's appearance and the sudden appearance of the man himself.
The man looked scruffy and grumpy, a grey beard making his face look like half a forest. Grey hair circled his head like a halo, yet his pair of old, gleaming brown eyes shone as bright as the light in the ceiling. A Browning Auto-5 complimented his features of 'I'm a zombie survivor.'
"I find it very..." He paused for a while, smiling oddly with his rotten teeth. "Refreshing."
Grover was just about to nod and make a runner but the man spoke again, confirming the satyr's bad vibes.
"Just like you," the man said. "And all my cheeses as well. Hmm. Speaking of cheese, would you like some? I have all sorts of assortments I'm sure you will enjoy."
He didn't wait for answer, already pacing back and forth the endless rows, picking the cheeses up like precious jewels. He returned only a minute later, various yellows and oranges in his arms.
"Try some of this... And this... And oh yes, you simply must try this..."
At least that's what Grover heard. He was pretty sure the man had spoken some names- with pride- but he simply couldn't be bothered to remember any of them. Instead, he savored it, hoping that it wasn't poison or a trick of some sorts.
"Sit, sit," the man spoke hospitably, gesturing to a pile of lawn chairs. "We can discuss the weather!"
The satyr sat down uncomfortably, still wary of the newcomer. The man sat down, his weight creaking the metal slightly as he shifted. He leaned forward with interest, his foul breath mingling along with the aroma. As soon as he was in a shoulder's range, he grabbed Grover's Eco-friendly shirt.
"How did you find me?!" The man demanded, his entire demeanor changing in just a few seconds.
All Grover could manage was a, "uh... Wha-" He choked as he attempted to kick the man who was strangling him.
The man howled in anger and pain. "They sent you after me! Well you can tell them to shove that contract up their ass!"
"Don't," the satyr squeaked out, clawing at his throat desperately. "Understand."
The man loosened his grip slightly, but didn't let go. He growled. "Don't lie, fool! You know all about it!"
"Spare... me!"
The man finally let go after a few more seconds. Grover sighed in relief, breathing heavily, before gulping again. The gun that used to be on the man's back was now pointed at him, point blank.
Instantly, Grover put his hands up, closing his eyes tightly. "What are you talking about?!"
"You're after my money aren't you?!" The man demanded, poking the satyr's neck up with the cold steel. His expression got worried. "I haven't paid my monthly rent for this place in a while..."
"W-well they're probably dead by now anyway," Grover muttered. He offered a weak and cheesy smile. "Good for you!"
The man scratched his head in confusion. "Dead...? But..."
Grover's eyes were wide open with shock. "You... Infected..."
Both couldn't manage any words, and for a while they stared at each other. Chuck scrunched his bushy eyebrows, before shrugging.
"Dead," he muttered, as if satisfied. A grin covered his face. "Very nice. Now I don't have to pay. Might I offer you some more cheese...?"
If he survived without knowing, I might be better off with this guy, Grover thought, timidly grabbing a cheese cube. Yet as he stared behind him as he was led further in the huge warehouse-like place, he couldn't help but get some more bad vibes.
A/N: Yes, there is an OC- hope it doesn't bother anyone too much. Any requests for action or any deaths? I'm running low on ideas. Thanks for all the support!
slayer1002: Thanks, I'm glad!
flawless (Guest): I'm going to write about Annabeth in the next chapter- sorry for the wait.
