Sorry for not updating for a while! I'll make sure I do that. I've been swimming in exams and it's been EXHAUSTING. Hope you guys survived too! Happy holidays.

Disclaimer: *sigh*

"It's not exactly what I thought it would be like," he said, trying to make light of the situation, of the fact that they were stuck at the airport's fifth floor parking garage, dodging and trying not to gain the attention from the stray zombies that were baking from the sun.

"What?" Max asked.

The enormity of the situation hadn't settled in. She figured it would; after all, she had killed two zombies with just a ballpoint pen (She knew that PenMate was a good idea). She wasn't thinking much of anything, and the only thing that occupied her simple mind was music, background music that kept getting stuck in her head, the kind of song that she didn't know all the words to, where just the chorus would be repeated.

You hid there last time, you know we're gonna find you.

"The zombie apocalypse - or any apocalypse, for that matter. I never thought it'd be me and a girl from New Zealand walking to the car to avoid the cannibalistic zombies in our wake." His lips moved with almost excitement, but his irises could have been painted over eons ago to avoid thinking too much about fears. They were a distilled hazel, like the decision of brown or green eyes was too difficult to process, and were hardly reflecting the harsh sunlight beating down on the two's faces.

Despite the situation, Max laughed. "It is a bit macabre."

"I didn't quite seem to get your name," he asked her, staring at her with those distilled eyes.

"Does it even matter anymore?"

He sighed. "I suppose not, but I'd like to remember the first survivor I met. Especially someone that killed zombies with just a pen." Max laughed again, a sort of nervous laugh, as she recalled the experience. She felt somewhat naked, the only thing covering her feet the socks she had kept and the pen in her pocket. She knew she had some spare clothes in her car, when they got there, but she had no idea how she was going to get out of there in one piece. If there were that many of them, there were bound to be more.

"I'm Max."

"Simba. Don't laugh at me, or I swear-" He stopped himself when he heard the faint sound of chuckling; his muscles tensed.

"I'm sorry," Max breathed in between giggles, "it's just the best thing I've heard all day."

"Is this it?" Simba asked, pointing to Max's red Jeep. She gave a cut nod, walking over to it and pulling the trunk open. Simba was keeping watch of any zombies that might be an issue, but they were scattered along the edges and mostly interested inside the airport. Max began digging through a sports bag, looking for her trainers, when she found the dull, worn out Nikes that she'd had since secondary school.

"Simba, get to the glove compartment." She said it with a monotonous tone; what was in the glove compartment made her feel hasty and crude, but there was no other choice. She began filing through the rest of the things in her trunk, finding a few bottles of water and a granola bar. They were going to have to find more food.

"Are you kidding me?" she heard Simba breathe out, confused. He returned to the side of the trunk with a handgun in one hand, and cartridges of ammo in the other. "I wouldn't peg you for the pro-gun type."

"It was a gift," she said, dropping the ammo into her sports bag, "and you've got a lot to learn." Max put the gun in the waistband of her jeans.

The two got onto the top of Max's car when Simba started talking about the government, what they would do in the situation. Surely they would handle it.

"Stupid thinking, though," Max said, pulling Simba onto the top of the Jeep. She put a hand over her forehead, shielding her eyes from the harsh light. "They've got bigger problems than this."

From the platform five, she could see the busy highways that lead to Denver International Airport with ease. There was a mass traffic, cars jammed into every open crevice of road, some smushed onto the sidewalks and others flipped over. Billowing tendrils of smoke were rising from a few of them, wisps of smog shrouding the view of the street.

It was obvious that the majority of people down there were already zombies, because the only people she saw outside of cars were shambling on the street, futilely pressing against the passenger windows. It was so loud, so loud, but the only sound that Max could hear was the ringing in her ears. The screaming of children was muted, the car alarms were deafening, and she couldn't even hear herself start to let out a scream before Simba pressed his hand to her mouth, shushing her.

"You can't panic now," he told her. "You can't win if you don't fight."

She nodded solemnly, gathering her senses. Civilization was ending, it was finally ending. The zombie apocalypse, the most realistic one out of all, was beginning.

"We can't leave," Max spoke finally, but she was saying it more to herself than to anyone else. "Not until all this dies down."

For once, Simba showed immediate emotion, shock covering his facial features. His brow furrowed deeply, and the concern in his gaze was alarming. "We can't go back into the airport. We don't have the supplies, the numbers; we can't fight-"

"Simba." Max gave him a comforting look before her gaze hardened. It was such a long shot. "If there's anyone in this parking lot that's like me, then we can find weapons in the cars. Think about all of the supplies inside. There's food, clothes, supplies, we can find batteries, even-"

"I'm not going to wear the clothes of dead people-"

"Well then you're going to have to learn!" She suddenly shouted, but immediately regretted it, looking around to make sure she hadn't caught the attention of the drifting zombies. Simba looked like he had been slapped in the face. "I don't like it either," Max said, "but that's what it's going to be from now on."

"How many zombies do you think are in there?" He asked, his tone serious. His pupils seemed to swallow his irises.

"Thousands."

For the first time, Simba began to laugh. It was a cold, heartless laugh, filled with doubt and terror. He kept laughing until it turned into subdued chuckles, then to the occasional snicker. Max just stared at him, waiting for all of this to die down. They needed to be strong.

"Two against thousands." The way he put it, it seemed as if they were walking into a death trap. It was very likely.

"Shut up, Simba," Max said, half meaning it, "and start looking in the cars."

"Without setting off the car alarm?"

"You know what to do." She threw him a water bottle.

They began searching through all of the cars on platform five. It was surprising; whatever they couldn't bring into the airport, they brought into their cars. Max found guns, ammo, knives, and even homemade weapons like match guns and slingshots. Whatever food she found was typically not going to to spoil anytime soon, and there were other novelties that she wished she could grab, but they wouldn't be of any use in this world.

When Simba and Max met up, they had enough weapons to make use of at least twenty people, and enough bags that were small enough to not be obnoxious and easy to run with. They began putting knives in shoes, pockets, and put guns in the waistbands of their jeans. They put ammo in bags, and had eight or nine rifles, not to mention a few shotguns. Max felt considerably heavier when she had finished changing, and was wearing a leather jacket that she had found in a musky pick-up truck. Simba had found thick boots that he could easily run in.

"Okay. What do we know about zombies?" This was the million dollar question, and Max hadn't even thought about it.

"Well, we know the basics, that are typically the same: head shots are the only way to kill them, they're somewhat slow, and avoid getting bitten, or you're just like them."

"Is that it?" It was terrifying how little they knew.

"There's so many variables," Max said, exasperated. How were they supposed to know anything until they got there? Could they smell them? Could they see them?

"Then we'll have to imagine they're the worst kinds of zombies."

"Which are...?"

"FEED zombies, from that book by Mira Grant? Any living thing above forty pounds can turn into a zombie - that's a bit above fifteen kilograms for you - and, if they're trying to get a bigger pack, they'll do anything to infect you: biting, bleeding, spitting, even vomiting will do. They get killed by head shots, too, but they're a lot smarter in packs."

What the fuck? How did he know this much?

"So, no contact whatsoever or we're dead. And we have to worry about zombie cows."

"Say goodbye to steak, I guess."

"Are we ready to go?" Simba asked from the front of the Jeep. Max was taking inventory of the things they were leaving behind.

"I suppose."

Suddenly, Simba pulled Max into a great hug. He didn't let go for a few seconds, so Max was able to bask in the warmth that didn't come from the merciless sun. His heartbeat was erratic in his chest, and she was small enough that she fit just right into the crook of his neck. He let go, still half-holding her, and let out a shaky sigh. Max gave out a chuckle.

"Thank you," he said, hugging her again.

She laughed.

"Don't thank me yet."

DUN DUN DUN... Thank you to CatieBug14 for the OC idea!

-SOCIALLYOBSCENE