Following the shooting in Parkland and the amazing marches and displays of student activism, I wanted to reconsider some aspects of violence within these next few chapters involving guns. I took a break to consider whether to edit these portions, but ultimately chose to include them as written due to the fact that it is heavily stated this is not an ideal state of the world in the apocalypse. Instead of omitting these portions entirely and taking away some of the realism that I view would occur in such an apocalypse, I instead am leaving this note so as to encourage any of my readers to think critically within the story's context.


The screaming was the anthem that spurred Clary's muscles to action racing to its source. Her blood was pumping, her lungs were screaming, but her thoughts were the torturous ones. Where had Jace gone? What was he keeping from her? Could she trust him?

And then there was her most present crisis.

What awaited her within the dripping pink walls of her destination?

She allowed for this current predicament to take over and, as the soles of her sneakers scraped across the linoleum floor panels, the momentum of her body sent her stumbling to a less than graceful halt. She felt relieved that among all the questions she had yet to receive answers to, at least this one could be put to rest.

Clary paused, taking in the broken shop windows and tattered, blood stained lingerie thrown around the store's entrance. Wall sized posters of bikini clad models hung torn and limp, coated with a red that Clary knew was not paint.

Off in the woods, it was easier to forget the scope of all the apocalypse had touched and destroyed. It was now, while wondering how the once mundane could have succumbed to the new world, Clary truly realized there was no escape. There was nowhere to hide. There was no 'someday' or 'elsewhere' or 'after'. There was only this and this was pain.

"Clary?" A soft voice addressed her warily, startling her. She tore her gaze from the display, coming face to face with Isabelle. Her brows furrowed, taking the girl in.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are, unless you just felt like scoping out some cute bras. I came to find the source of the screaming," she matched Clary's harsh gaze as she spoke, as if daring her to send her away. She didn't.

Clary nodded to the store, which was a blend of pink and red."C'mon then."

The two girls stepped in tune cautiously amongst the discarded mannequins and heaps of clothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary noticed Isabelle looking longingly at a pile of merchandise, as if thinking of before. Clary spoke nothing of it, deciding to allow the girl her moment.

"How do you do it?"

Isabelle was looking back at her with wide brown eyes full of sorrow and what appeared like envy. It was enough to shock the redhead into a response.

"Do what?"

"Survive," she breathed, as if the words were a revelation to even her. "You're so…accustomed to this world. Ever since all this shit happened, all I've been able to think about is how much I miss my room, or how much I miss having my thoughts revolve around boys and annoying my brothers instead of weapons and blood."

Clary's expression was impassive as she looked ahead, scanning the room for any sign of threat.

"I lost everything that held me to my old life, and when you lose those ties, you lose who you were. Be grateful you don't know what that's like, and pray you never find out."

Isabelle was silent afterwards, though, whether it was from the coldness of Clary's words or from the rustling up ahead, Clary would never know. Both girls immediately straightened, locking their jaws and turning to the source of the noise. Though the screaming had stopped, now that they were closer, they could pick out the distinct sound of whimpering.

"They're alive," the dark haired girl breathed, a touch of a smile upon her face. It was now as they edged forward that they could also pick out the sound that had haunted both of the girls's nightmares. The sound that neither would ever forget, no longer how much time past. It was neither a growl nor a moan, but rather something inbetween. Something that had its own flavor, its own distinct pierce as it rang and groaned like the choking of a faulty engine, the churning of gravel and glass, and the desperate squeals of those trying desperately to hang on to life.

It was the sound of death; it was the sound of a life that was taken, just as they too could be taken at any given moment. It was the sound that they would one day hear, suspended above their tired, broken bodies just before they are ripped into and torn apart. It was the sound of a pair of zombies clad in pink lingerie as they slammed their decaying, grey bodies into a dressing room door, where the source of the boy's whimpering could be heard.

But more than that, it was the sound of excitement, as they had just spotted two new prey and were out for blood. It took them little more than a second to abandon the boy and release a throaty screech, charging. The beasts had crossed half of the distance to reaching the girls when Clary reached for her stake, only to again be reminded of its absence.

"Shit," the redhead muttered. She had but a moment to twist away from the desperate claws of her attacker.

"Got any spare weapons?" Her voice was strained and laced with panic. She pushed a shelf display into the leaping form of her zombie. The diversion gave her enough time to chance a glance towards Isabelle. The dark haired girl was attempting to fight off her own assailant with a plastic pink hairbrush. Clary groaned, inwardly cursing the mystery boy tucked away safely in the dressing room. She sprung backwards as the zombie lunged, blocking its attack with a nearby mannequin. It stumbled for only a moment.

"Rule number 16," Simon had once told her as they watched (and made out to) some dumb zombie movie two weeks into their relationship. "If you want to survive in the zombie apocalypse, you can't always rely on a weapon. You have to know how to use your surroundings."

A fat load of good his monster movie obsession had done him when the time came. As for Clary, it was about to come in handy.

She had only a moment, but that was all she needed to scan the scraps of clothing lying around her. She knelt down to swipe up what looked to be an extra extra extra large bedazzled sports bra, just as the monster above her descended. Mangled chunks of blood soaked blonde hair flashed wildly in Clary's vision. That's a shitty way to die, Clary thought idly, taking in the bra and pantie clad zombie straddling her. The girl felt a stab of pity for her attacker. This empathy was immediately cancelled by the blonde arcing her neck to rip into her flesh.

Clary shot up, wrapping the sports bra around the thing's neck like a muzzle. Her opponent clawed viciously at her wrists, emitting an animalistic howl. The redhead took the opportunity to kick out, sending the zombie crashing into a nearby underwear display. Lacy thongs rained down on it while Clary leapt to her feet. She didn't hesitate, plunging her foot into the it's skull. There was a screech, and then a crunch. Clary wasn't satisfied.

She brought her blood stained boot back up, ignoring the squelching suction noise that the action emitted. She did it again. And again.

The body below her had stilled.

She brought her foot up once more, prepared to strike again.

Blood leaked and oozed around the corpse. Clary's face softened at the scene, and the familiar crimson shade that stained her new jeans in what would be the first of many new stains to come. She couldn't tell what blood belonged to the zombie and what belonged to her. She paused. No matter how different I am from these monsters, we still seem to bleed the same, she thought, feeling suddely cold. Dead or alive, their lives all revolved around the same shade of red.

She lowered her foot just as a yelp sounded from her left.

Isabelle.

In the seconds that Clary had been occupied with the blonde, the other zombie—also blonde—had been gunning for her shell shocked companion. Fear emanated from the girl, whose hairbrush weapon was now uselessly impaled in the zombie's eye socket. She was a helpless prey. Weak, defenseless, terrified. No doubt, her predator's favorite kind.

"Izzy, snap out of it!"

The taller girl didn't look at her, but her dark eyes hardened. Clary barely had time to blink before Isabelle struck her heel clad foot out and threw all her might into one kick. Clary winced, recognizing the outcome before it happened. Her heel sank within the monster's chest cavity, bones and guts splitting and pulsing from the wound. The force knocked the zombie to the ground, nearly taking Isabelle with it. Her attacker thrashed, clawing upwards and pushing violently against the force keeping it pinned. Its arms grasped for her roughly.

"Clary," Isabelle looked up at her, dark eyes wide with the same panic that laced her voice. "My shoe is stuck."

As if to demonstrate, she attempted to pull her bloodied foot out once more, though it was too tangled up in burst arteries and muscle tissue to escape. Clary strode over to the girl within two bounds and dropped to the floor next to her other foot. She looked up at the girl above her.

"That thing's not going to be held forever. I need your other shoe."

"Okay," Isabelle relinquished, allowing Clary to slip off her five inch stiletto. "But why—"

The girl emitted a choked gasp as Clary snapped the heel off. The redhead paid her no mind, stepping over the beast below. She held the heel in her grip, prepared to strike, before pausing. Clary turned to Isabelle.

"You do it."

Dark eyes widened, flickering between her and the corpse at her feet. "Me? I don't—I can't—"

"Izzy!" Clary's voice was firm. "That thing won't hold much longer. You can do this. You will do this. But you've got to do this now."

The raven haired girl let out a breath before nodding, taking the heel from Clary. She curled her fingers around the base and struck viciously right between the eyes. Clary blinked, taking in the scene with crossed arms.

"Nice work," She nodded, earning a smile from Isabelle. With an unsteady breath, the girl's eyes narrowed on the still beast and pulled once more. Strings of cartilage and veins clung to her crimson foot. With a snarl, she flung her bloodied shoe off, now standing before Clary bloody, bare, and grinning. Alive.

As if realizing something, she turned to the redhead.

"You called me Izzy."

Clary hesitated, unsure how to respond. She swallowed, rubbing the back of her neck, and feeling the shocking lack of hair that came with it. "I…uh…yeah. I guess I did. Sorry, I—"

"No," The girl stopped her, the beginnings of a smile working upon her face. "Don't apologize. It's just that…my friends used to call me Izzy. You know…before."

Before. The word held so much weight. As if within those two syllables, it contained within it all of the happiness of a billion lifetimes.

"Well, I guess we're friends, aren't we?" Clary inwardly cursed, feeling stupid and ridiculous the moment the words tumbled from her lips. She was such an idiot and she knew what happened to friends and what the girl's life expectancy was bound to be and—

She paused her inner ramblings at the wide grin that split apart Isabelle's face. It was that smile, that radiating happiness that caused Clary to push all thoughts of dread aside. Maybe happiness didn't have to just be 'before'. Maybe she could allow herself some happiness now. God, she wanted to be happy. She didn't want to always be alone, calculating the survival rates of all around her until she found herself the only one left.

Before Clary could take a breath, Isabelle's wiry arms were laced around her own lithe frame.

"You bet we're friends," The girl grinned. Clary found herself grinning with her, until the continued sound of whimpering brought her back to what had drawn the two girls to the store in the first place.

"I'm going to check on him," Clary said, pulling away from the hug. Isabelle rose an eyebrow at her in return.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not invited?"

Clary smirked. "Because you're not. Before I came here, Jace ran off somewhere in the mall, looking as if hellhounds were after him. I just—I'd feel better if I knew he was okay."

Isabelle looked at her through narrowed eyes, a touch of amusement in her softening expression as she seemed to scan the smaller redhead through an Xray. After what seemed like forever, she nodded.

"Alright, I'll go make sure your boy toy is still alive and has all his parts working. After all, what are friends for?" She winked at her with all the wickedness of original sin. Clary flushed, feeling flames kiss her skin and blossom into a thick red heat.

"I—we're not—"

The more Clary stumbled, the wider Isabelle's smirk became. Finally, she gave up and merely sighed. "Just do me a favor and pick yourself up some appropriate shoes for surviving the apocalypse."

Clary could almost swear she heard the girl mutter, "no promises" before quickly departing, leaving Clary alone with only the sobbing of a stranger for company.


For some reason, Clary couldn't bring herself to address the boy, and instead had spent the past few minutes pacing the length outside of the dressing room. For a distraction, she had scoped the rest of the store for more threats and found the only threat to be just how much the store could charge for such tiny fragments of clothing. She hoped that, somewhere, whoever had gotten away with that robbery had gotten what was coming to them. It was the only thought that could ease her growing frustration over having nothing else to kill. And, without anything to kill, that meant her time for procrastination was up. Bracing herself, Clary quickly rapped on the blazing pink door. A yelp echoed from the opposite side, followed by a thunk. The redhead hissed, quickly scanning her immediate surroundings for any new signs of movement. Thankfully, nothing, but if whoever this guy was kept yelling like this, he wasn't going to last long. And it wouldn't be by the claws of a zombie, but Clary's own.

Taking in a deep breath to calm herself and sound less murdery, she tried again.

"I'm not dead, but if you keep on screaming like that, you're going to attract everything dead in this goddamn city." Her words were blistering, a much harsher first impression than she had initially intended. A sharp hiss came from the other side of the door, followed by silence. Clary was almost sure she had scared the guy off before the distinct clicking of a lock sounded. The door opened slowly, cautiously.

The first thing Clary saw was a pair of deep, ocean blue eyes that inspected her warily. Next was the shock of black hair, dissheveled and thick like the swirling mass of black coffee Clary would once inhale at the start of each morning.

And then—

Clary took a step back. With each additional detail the opening door revealed—from his stubborn jaw, hard angled nose, to the ivory glow of the boy's skin—Clary felt more of her breath whoosh from her lungs.

"You're…you're not one of them?" he whispered.

"Oh c'mon, I know it's been awhile since I moisturized, but I didn't think I looked that bad," Clary quipped in return, brushing off the initial panic that had gripped at her like a noose. For just a moment, the boy had looked familiar. As if she should know who he was. But now that he stood fully revealed, Clary saw that the boy was not a ghost from her past, though he looked like he had seen a ghost. Or, more accurately, the cannibalistic undead lingerie models that had been hoping to gorge upon his flesh and vital organs moments beforehand.

"What…where did they—"

"I'm Clarissa Fray, badass savior of your life, but I go by Clary."

The boy just stared at her, wide eyed and open mouthed. Clary almost thought she had broken him, but before she could blink, the boy had thrown himself around the redhead in a bone crushing hug. Clary coughed, struggling to release his stranglehold.

"Choking. Me," she spluttered.

The vastly taller boy flushed, releasing her quickly and running a hand through his unruly hair nervously.

"I…sorry…I just…thank you," he breathed shyly, before straightening himself and offering his arm forward. "I'm Alec."

Clary paused, staring at his outstretched hand warily while letting her eyes trail over the white canvas of skin laid out before her.

"Are you—"

The boy shook his head roughly, tufts of hair flying in every direction. "No. No, I wasn't bitten. I just…my boyfriend has a thing for glitter and I wanted to surprise him with some sparkly sweatpants or something because…we've been going through stuff. I was just about to pick something out when those two rushed me. I managed to lock myself in the dressing room just in time. I thought I was a goner."

"I know," Clary began to walk away, with the boy trailing after her. "Like I said, we heard you screaming. Us and probably every other dead thing in this city. For your sake, you better hope we aren't surrounded."

"I…I'm sorry." Red stained the boy's cheeks as he struggled to keep up with Clary. "I just…wait, did you say we? There are others with you? Where are they?"

Clary narrowed her gaze at the boy, not pausing in her steps. "Why?"

"I just…sorry, it's just been a while since I've seen other people."

The redhead pursed her lips. "We haven't been together long. One of them helped me take out those zombies after you—"

"Who? Where is she? Was she…you know?"

Clary paused, arching an eyebrow at the boy's enthusiasm. He stared back at her imploringly, waiting for an answer.

"She's fine. I just sent her…"

Clary trailed off, before shaking her head. "Listen, I don't have time for this. I've got to find Jace and—"

"Jace? Jace Herondale?"

Clary froze mid stride, finally looking at her newest tag along.

"Well, I don't really know his last name…"

The boy's ocean eyes were alive with excitement. "Blond, tall, unabashedly arrogant, thinks he's a reincarnated Greek Adonis?"

Clary found herself nodding along, despite the cold that had settled across her spine.

"I know Jace!" The boy was overflowing with dizzying excitement. Clary certainly felt dizzy. "He was dating my cousin, Aline, for a while. They were more of a friends with benefits kind of fling, which I suppose, is the best you can really hope for with guys like him I guess. Jace could probably flirt a walker into letting him live, but you must already know this, of course."

"I uhh…I don't really know much about him," She murmured, looking away from Alec and out towards the mall. Somewhere out there, the boy she hadn't stopped thinking about could be in trouble. What would his reaction be, she wondered, when Clary returned to him some fling from a past he never seemed to think important enough to divulge to her? Or, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe his past was too precious to reveal to the likes of someone like her.

"—really no big deal." Clary hadn't even realized Alec had continued to speak.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Alec released a small smile, as if he knew the toxic thoughts that brewed within his rescuer's brain. "I said, not to worry, as what Jace and her had was really no big deal. I just…I need to find my boyfriend. He's what I care about, and if what you said was true about my screaming putting us in danger, then I really need to make sure he's okay."

"Alright. Good luck," Clary muttered, unable to make her words sound genuine. She turned on her heel, beginning to walk forwards again.

"But Clary…you've got to help me find him!" He insisted. Clary shook her head, turning to Alec with a steely gaze. "No, actually, I don't. I already saved you, which, believe me, is not something I normally do. I've got my own problems and, since I'm not your personal super hero, I'm under no obligation to tack your problems to my list. Especially when you might've trapped us all in here."

The redhead turned away from the boy once more, continuing to walk forward, when his pleading calls stopped her once more. Clary groaned dramatically, running a hand down her face in frustration. The longer her proximity to the boy, the more likely she would develop an ulcer.

"Alec, I don't—"

"Clary, please, I know I don't deserve it, but I'm scared. He's all I've got left in this world. If there had been someone around who could have helped you when you needed it most, don't you think you would have tried with everything you had to convince them?"

Clary paused, her mind going straight to the images of the boy she tried so hard to bury. The boy with pale blond hair and green eyes that sparkled always with so much life, until the day that they didn't. She had been forced to let the apocalypse raise her in a nursery built upon blood and fear. What if that could have been avoided? What if there could've been someone there to ensure that her brother stayed by her side, always?

"Okay."

Alec blinked, once, twice, once more to be absolutely sure he had heard her correctly. Then, his face split into a wide grin. His arms rose, prepared to charge at her once more. Clary quickly put a step between them, holding her arms out as a barrier.

"If I'm going to help you, I need to have my ribs intact, thank you very much."

Alec gave her a sheepish grin in response before speeding off through the abandoned white halls of the mall and gesturing for her to follow.

"C'mon, I think I might have an idea where he might be."

Clary complied, shaking off the beginnings of dread bubbling at the base of her stomach. She had gone too long avoiding others, calculating their rates of survival and simultaneously planning how to out survive others, as if the last survivor on Earth would be rewarded rather than punished. She couldn't save her brother, but maybe instead of tormenting herself, she could honor him by saving others.

Clary followed along in Alec's wake, feeling as if things were beginning to change.


The two had been walking for close to ten or fifteen minutes before Alec stilled, pausing at a grand fountain in the mall's center. A shiver ran up Clary's spine, though the two were alone. Alec's shoulders were slumped, his gaze downturned. His lips were moving, muttering, though Clary couldn't make out the words. Slowly, hesitantly, he held his palm high above the fountain and released a shiny disk, which, after a moment's pause, Clary realized to be a coin. She felt the corner of her mouth tugging upwards in a grin, though her companion's expression was silent.

"I don't understand," he whispered. Clary got the feeling he hadn't intended for her to hear.

"Well, you know what they say about wishes. They may come true in unexpected ways," she remarked lamely, attempting to ease his spirits. Alec stood a good distance away from the redhead, appearing paler than he had in the dressing room. At first, Clary had attributed the shift in palor to the pale moonlight shining in through a skylight overhead, but she recognized the look of one enduring internal torment.

"Alec, it's okay. We'll—"

"You know what they also say about wishes—" Clary immediately stilled at the drawling of a new, unfamiliar voice. "—Be careful what you wish for."

Though only moments beforehand they had been alone, now as Clary spun, she found themselves surrounded on all sides by the largest group of people Clary had encountered since the apocalypse's beginning. There must have been twenty or thirty—all armed with semi-automatic rifles and wicked looking shotguns that were pointed directly at them. Alec took a step forward.

"Alec, get behind me," Clary hissed, her gaze locked on the man stepping within the circle's perimeter, hands clasped cooly behind his back as he regarded the two with unflinching black orbs.

"Clary—"

"Alec, trust me," She snapped, not allowing him to finish.

"What is this? We told you to bring us Herondale!" The man with black eyes spoke, though his gaze wasn't directed on Clary.

"I know. I tried, but—"

Clary froze, not listening to the rest of the explanation. It was now that Clary could see the guns encircling them were not pointed at the two; They were pointed at her.

Despite the artillery of weapons just itching to ignite, Clary let out a slow chuckle that rapidly ignited into grim hysterical laughter. Clary couldn't remember the last time she had laughed, but now she couldn't seem to stop. It all made sense now. The insistence. The wild screams which had stopped seemingly upon her arrival. The penny in the water, which had once seemed a simple wish, but Clary now recognized as a signal.

She had walked right into a trap.


Here the plot is going to pick up very quickly. So, strap in your seat belts and get ready. To leave you with some ending questions to stew over until the next chapter, why do you think Alec would be working against them? How do you think Isabelle and Max will react to seeing their brother again? Why do you think this new enemy (that you may or may not recognize) is after Jace?

I also want to make clear that while this story is already, for the most part, written, I care about the feedback and input of any and all of my readers. If there is something that you aren't a fan of or think I could be doing differently, I'd love to hear your input.

Thank you again and I'll see you guys in the next chapter!

-Anika