When Annabeth said we were stealing a car, she did not actually mean a car.

When I say car I mean something good. You know Mustang, Corvette, Thunderbird, wait is that—

"A Maserati," I say. "Hey, Chase, check this out. I think I found our ride." Sleek. Black. With red leather seats and the keys still in the ignition. Not mention, I am digging the trident on the front.

"And how," she says, "do you propose we get that car out of there?"

She has a point. We're standing in the middle of a New York gridlock. Or I am at any rate. Annabeth has been carefully searching the cars on the edge. All around us are cars that were left behind as their owners ran. Many with the doors still open and the keys still in the ignition. Some cars have windows broken open and blood smears on the upholstery. I'm guessing their owners tried to wait it out. Wonder how many zombie bodies it takes to crack a windshield.

I hope I never find out.

"This is it." Annabeth waves me over.

"You are not serious."

She's standing next to a silver, two-door Prius at the edge of the street. The license plate is some weird name. Maybe foreign. Or some poor chick whose parents had weird taste. Although, I guess 'DAREYA' could be a guy. I feel even sorrier for him if he's a guy.

"Chase, it's a lunchbox. It's smaller than a lunchbox. I cannot ride in that car."

"Worried about your mancard, Jackson." She walks around to the driver side door and slides in. I cross my arms and step back.

"You aren't going to be able to drive that anywhere. We should—"

Annabeth backs the car up and drives it onto the sidewalk. I start to understand why its size attracted her. The lock on the passenger side door pops up.

"Are you getting in, Jackson?"

Annabeth has already proved that my best chance of survival is sticking with her. And I really like surviving. I get into the car.

"No one ever hears about this," I say.

"Just be glad I don't have my phone or this would be going on Instagram."

I grin.

Whatever the apocalypse means for the future of the world, I have to admit that it has done wonders for NYC's traffic situation. Nobody cut us off. We didn't have to wait behind anyone. The most we had to deal with were a few café tables and some zombies. The tables Annabeth avoided. The zombies, not so much. A couple of times we had to make sudden turns to out run a herd. But it was mostly uneventful on the way to my apartment. That should have been my first clue.

"Here." The door was open and I was running before Annabeth brought the car to a full stop. She got out, not really yelling, but saying very unflattering things about me loudly. I rush inside the open apartment door. She follows me up the stairs. The building is a mess. As in trashed. It's like the apartments vomited out half their contents.

"Oh my gods, Jackson," Annabeth says when I stop in front of my apartment door. "You are going to get us killed." She leans forward and takes a deep breath. When she sees that the hallway is clear, she puts her knife away. "Is this it?"

I nod. My hand is on the doorknob. The keys have made it from my pocket to the lock. But I can't open the door. Annabeth pulls the crossbow off her shoulder.

"Do you want me to go first?" I don't know what happened to her in the last five years. All I know is that when she looks at me it is with the same compassion I see in my cousin's eyes. Or in Luke's. Her eyes tell me that there are some things that kids should not have to see or hear. And I wonder what it was for her.

I shake my head and think of my cousins. There are things much worse than what could be waiting for me in that apartment.

Now my mom is like your mom, if you have an ordinary mom. Her housekeeping skills will never be featured in Martha Stewart. But what I walk into is a mess. My home has been, not ransacked—our DVDs are still in order, our TV is still there—but upset. I cross through the living room to the kitchen. Pantries are open. Boxes of food are on the counter. The bathroom reveals the same open doors and scattered items. I check the bedroom, but I know what I'll find. Clothes on the bed, drawers hanging open and—

I did not need to know that my mom owned that.

I exit quickly.

"She's not here," I say.

Annabeth puts the crossbow down on the coffee table. I sink onto our couch. My hand grasp at my hair, pulling my head forward. I am the worst son ever.

"I should have thought of the roof," I say. "Now she's out there looking for me and—"

"Hey. Hey. We don't know that." Annabeth sits down next to me. I startle when she puts an arm around my shoulders. "Sorry," she says. She blushes and looks away. If today were a normal day, I might wonder about what that means.

"No, it's okay." We lean into each other like we're twelve years old again.

"The police might have made her leave," Annabeth says. "I haven't seen any sign that the zombies were in this building. Just a lot of hurried packing." She wraps her arms around mine.

I do not want to ruin this moment.

Don't pass this on. But I've had a crush on Annabeth since I was twelve. Who wouldn't? She's smart. Pretty. She can be kind, like right now. She's a genius, but she doesn't try to make people feel stupid. I mean, it happens sometimes—okay, a lot of times—but it's never on purpose. And she's not afraid to stick with people. She was my best friend back then. Even more than Jason or Thalia or Bianca.

Five years and you think you'd get over someone who has refused to talk to you for just as long. But when she walked into first period algebra (seriously, whose idea was that?) at the beginning of Junior year, I knew. I still felt the same way. Well, not the same. I was just a kid when Annabeth moved to California. But you know what I mean. I just could never figure out how to open that door and get her back in my life. Not until yesterday. Wonder if I should take the world ending as a sign about our dating possibilities.

If you tell her any of this, she will kill me.

There's a creak behind us. Annabeth grabs the crossbow and has it pointing at the door as someone comes running at us. He's screaming. I'm screaming. Annabeth is yelling words that I don't catch in all the noise. But she's not shooting and he has a bat.

"Annabeth, watch out." I have Riptide out and in the air. The bat bounces off the flat of the blade.

"Annabeth… Percy?"

"Grover?" she and I say.

Grover places the end of the bat on the floor, leaning on it as he scratches at his Rasta cap.

"Annabeth, what are you doing here? I thought we hated Percy. Do we hate Percy?"

"Uh—no?"

I glare at her. What a rousing vote of confidence.

"Grover, why are you here?"

"Why am I here? This is my apartment. Why are you attacking me with a bat?"

"I was at Juniper's. We thought you were zombies, so I came to take care of it." Right, I had forgotten that Juniper Cupress lives on the floor below me.

Annabeth snorts. The she flings herself at Grover, wrapping her arms around his neck. I am suddenly very jealous of a guy with a ginger gotee.

"I'm glad you're okay." She hugs him so tight it looks like it's hard to breath. Grover hugs her back. They babble with relief. She asks questions. He answers. From what I hear, Juniper was too freaked out by what as on the news to leave her apartment. Grover had come over yesterday after school, and he offered to stay the night, just to see if things calmed down in the morning. She still didn't want to leave.

"I think this is as calm as it's going to get," Annabeth says. "I'll go convince her to pack." Lifting her crossbow again, she heads out. I give Juniper ten minutes before she's up here with all her worldly possessions.

"So," Grover begins, giving me a look. "Looks like your study date went well."

I shrug.

"You know what happened to her arm?" he asks. His eyes are still fixed on me. For a scrawny guy questionable facial hair, he looks pretty intimidating with that bat resting against his leg. Grover has never struck me as a violent guy, but I guess the end of the world can change things. Or maybe it's just Annabeth.

"Zombies happened."

I explain everything that had happened from the time that Annabeth found me up until now. Grover's eyes grow wider as the story progresses.

"Whoa."

"I know."

"I've always known that Annabeth was tough, especially with—" Grover stops and looks down, tapping the bat against his foot.

"What?" Glancing, I confirm that the doorway is empty. "Dude, if you know something, then spill before Annabeth gets back."

Grover fidgets. Paces. Looks at door. Looks at me.

"You know Annabeth's dad remarried, right?"

I nod.

"Well, he never told her this officially, but she kind of got the impression that she wasn't—wanted anymore. Ms. Pallas had wanted her to come back for a while, it just never happened. Annabeth wanted to finish school with the friends she made in San Fran. But then, her stepmom got pregnant and it got really awkward, so now she's here." He pauses. I can hear the girls voices coming up the stairs. "I did not just tell you all of that. Got it?"

Saying no to Grover's pleading look would be cruel. Especially since I would never want Annabeth's wrath incurred against myself. The girls walk in the door. Juniper has a backpack stuffed to the brim and a plastic bag.

"Well, they haven't killed each other yet." Annabeth's statement makes Juniper cringe.

Juniper is what you would call an emancipated minor. The Cupresses are big time environmentalists. Way outdoorsy. She spends a good portion of the year living by herself while they travel around the globe. Sometimes for business, sometimes for pleasure. If school's out, she'll go with them, but usually she just stays home. She's gotten really good at taking care of herself over the last year. She totally hates violence. Even glaring contests at school make her uncomfortable.

She changes the subject.

"Lemme see that arm," Juniper says. Annabeth tries to shrug her off, but Juniper grabs her by the upper arm and marches her over to the couch. She deftly unwraps the gauze around Annabeth's arm and hand. I have to look away. The hand isn't so bad. That was a clean cut. But the glass has left several ragged, gaping wounds on her forearm. "Percy, can you get some water? And soap?"

"Gods, Annabeth," Grover exclaims. He crowds me out as he kneels down next to Annabeth. I head into the kitchen to get what Juniper asked for. It takes two minutes, during which I try not to pay too much attention to the mess around me. I return with the water and soap, feeling like a third wheel, which makes no sense since there's four of us.

Annabeth winces as Juniper cleans her arm. I know the soap has got to sting.

"Lemme see if we've got something for the pain," I say. My mom raided the bathroom in the hall pretty thoroughly, but I know for a fact that she keeps a giant bottle of ibuprofen in her bathroom closet. Sure enough, there it is. This bathroom isn't ransacked like the other rooms in the house. Things were taken carefully. My mom's favorite shampoo is gone and her body wash. And…

"Annabeth!"

I rush back into the living room.

"What, what is it?" She's halfway to me, clean gauze wrapped around her arm. Her hand is still wet and glistening. Grabbing her good arm, I drag her into my parent's bathroom.

"My mom wasn't forced out. Look."

Annabeth does look. At me. Like I'm crazy.

"My stepdad's razor."

"You have a stepdad?" Annabeth blinks, looking to Grover. Who nods.

"If his stuff is missing, I bet he convinced her to go."

"But you said she wouldn't."

Grover and Juniper share a look.

"What?" Annabeth and I ask at the same time. We really need to stop doing that.

"Percy, the police told us that no one got out of Murray Hill alive. Your mom thought you were dead."

Oh gods.

"But she hasn't been answering—"

"Her cellphone?" Annabeth finishes. She holds up my mom 's Isis S4. The screen is completely shattered. Third phone this year. "She's probably headed to the barricade on Lincoln Higheay."

I've got my phone out and I'm dialing Paul's number. I'm not gonna lie, after me, my stepdad is probably the best thing that happened to my mom. His phone goes to voicemail. I leave a message and hang up. I've just hit the end call button when my phone is ringing.

"Percy?"

"Mom."

She's talking. Asking me questions. All I can think is: "My mom is okay. My mom is okay."

"I'm so sorry, honey, I never would have left. They told me—They told me—"

My mom breaks off. I try not to hear the fact that she's crying. Because I think I might start crying if she pushes it too hard. And Annabeth's standing in front of me. She reaches out and squeezes my arm, motioning that she and the others are going to wait outside. My mom is still talking.

"Can you get to the barricade?" she asks.

"Yeah, we're about to head there now."

"Okay. We'll wait for you."

"No." My pulse skyrockets. I think of all the people I saw on the streets yesterday. The little girl in the yellow shirt. Her mom was probably somewhere nearby. Had her dad waited for them? There were no guarantees in this new world. "No, I'm with Annabeth and Grover. We've got a car. We'll be fine. You and Paul get on the other side, okay? I'll see you there."

"Percy…"

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, honey."

Annabeth comes back to the doorway.

"Percy, we need to go. Now."

The look on her face has me out the door. We race down the stairs. Grover and Juniper have already thrown their stuff in the back of the Prius and climbed in. Three blocks up the road, there's a herd heading our way. Annabeth and I get in the car and she peels out.

"Not a word to anybody," I say turning to Grover.

I am greeted by the flash of his cameraphone.

Did ya'll catch the Easter Egg? Mwahaha...If you did, not telling. You'll just have to wait and see.

Enjoy.

Reviews are candy. And I love candy.