Disclaimer: Really? I don't own them and have not made money off this. If I did this show would be very very different.
Takes place at the end of S1 for reasons that will be obvious soon enough. The utter disappointment of S2 never happened! Rizzles in a zombie apocalyptic world. Not kidding. Yes, this is about as AU as it gets. That's how my AU rolls. I'm making this up as I go. First fic ever. Like ever ever.
I plan for this to range anywhere from the T to M rating. There be zombies in here. Understand that there is pretty much only a handful of ways to kill those, all messy. The core of our characters remains the same, but obviously such trying times are bound to make them deviate from what is portrayed on the show.
Thanks for reading!
The ground pounded beneath Jane's feet. Overgrown brush lashed at her pants, soaking the fabric with the raindrops that still clung heavily from the morning showers. The rain had made her seek shelter in a run down cabin in the middle of no-fucking-where and she had stupidly fallen asleep. Exhaustion was the hardest thing to adapt to amongst other things. She'd have to work on that.
The scraping and hissing was what woke her. Immediately she knew she was at a disadvantage in the small shanty - a rectangular room with two windows and one entry point. Her back would be against the wall in no time. Time to bolt, Janie. She burst through the door and glanced back to see four rotters trailing behind her. See Jane Run, fuckers.
Her legs churned like pistons, navigating the uneven terrain easily. She told herself to keep going. Just keep running and don't look back. She would always be faster, smarter. But the rotters never tired and were highly instinctual. No matter how much space she put between them, they would catch her eventually if she stopped too soon.
She hated running. Ironic since she had become so good at it.
"Maybe you'd enjoy running more if you exercised proper form."
"Running is running," she'd said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Duh.
"Pose, Jane. Pose."
"Okay…why?" Maybe her best friend was an alien.
"No, Pose," she put emphasis on the word as if that made it any less puzzling. "It's a method of running. You strike the ground with your heel when you should really be striking with the mid-foot or ball. The indigenous people of Africa have been running this way for generations and studies have shown that is lessens shock on the body and makes you more efficient. You will tire less easily."
"Africa huh?" Jane was teasing her. Commenting on the least important thing Maura had to say was one of the easiest ways to get under her skin.
Maura could only sigh and look at her in that adorably exasperated way that Jane loved.
"You could be an excellent long distance runner, Jane. Your musculature is lean, the length of your bones creates a magnificent framework for the development of slow-twitch fibers…" And then she'd actually run her hand down Jane's thigh, from top to bottom. "You have a naturally long stride. We'll work on your form." She patted Jane on the knee before finally removing her hand to pick up a glass of wine.
"Whatever you say, Maur." Jane said it with an extra helping of casual disinterest. It sounded believable to her. She'd been burying her desires for so long that she could almost believe it was real. Almost.
The reality was she would do anything for this woman.
As if reading her thoughts, Maura perked up.
"Good because I've taken the liberty of signing us both up for the Boston marathon."
Jane had spit her beer out all over the counter.
The trees were flying past her in a blur and Jane realized she was smiling. Maura and that damn marathon had probably saved her life a dozen times over. She still hated running but Maura had come along and made her love to hate it. She had made her excellent at it. It's what Maura always did.
And then it hit her – the permeating absence of her best friend. Running for her life through a wet forest, it was a bad time to be having an emotional crisis but she couldn't help it. The questions sprang up like walls in front of her and she crashed through them all. How long had it been? More than weeks. Months. Where would she go? Will I ever find her? Was she even alive? Or worse, what if…oh God…..
God dammit. She ran faster even though she knew it was unwise, shaking her head to physically eliminate the thoughts from her mind. Distractions would only serve to get her- The lip of her boot caught against the bark of a fallen tree and suddenly Jane was tumbling over herself along the ground. Pain. A flash of white and then everything went dark.
Her eyelids felt heavy like anchors. She blinked them open slowly at first and then more rapidly, willing herself to regain consciousness. She saw the overcast sky and heard nothing. So far so good. Touching the pain radiating at her temple, she pulled her hand back and saw blood covering her fingertips. Way to go, Rizzoli. Forget the rotters, she could get herself killed all on her own. Fuck, the rotters!
Jane shot to her feet and instantly the world spun with colors, forcing her to take a knee. The contents of her pack were scattered on the ground. Bars of every type littered the forest floor – protein, cereal, candy. Knowing those bastards were after her, she still couldn't afford to leave her rations behind and began picking them up. She'd only just begun when she heard rustling in the distance. Already? How long had she been out?
Panic and adrenaline coursed through her like fire, evaporating the fog of her concussion. She could continue running or make a stand here. It would be nice to have an advantage and she quickly surveyed her surroundings. Spotting a very large fallen tree, clarity of purpose came to her as it so often did when it came to matters of life and death. She grabbed her bag and propelled herself over the trunk.
Deep breaths. In and out. Deep breaths. Jane could feel her heart racing as she peered over the top of the trunk. It didn't take long for three rotters to emerge from the brush like living nightmares. Their movements were stilted and sloppy, legs dragging, arms flailing slightly. She could tell by their heavily decayed flesh that these had been wandering around for quite some time. All three stopped in tight formation as they came upon Jane's things. Their heads cocked. One of them roared. Where was the fourth one? It was a detail she couldn't be bothered with, not right now. Three-to-one was better odds than four-to-one.
"Come on, come on…" she murmered quietly to herself. Her left hand reached blindly for the dagger in her belt, pulling it out and flipping the blade into her fingertips. A machete was already gripped tightly in the other.
They stumbled in place for a few moments, snapping their jaws and looking around, looking for her. Finally, they broke apart. One headed right in her direction, the other two wandered the opposite way. It was exactly what Jane was hoping for. She hunkered down, listening as it neared. The rising sound of the dragging grass and snapping twigs would let her know when to strike.
She closed her eyes slowly, exhaled, and drew in a long steady breath.
Jane rose from her spot, the first rotter exactly where she anticipated it would be. A sharp whip of her arm combined with a flick of the wrist, and the dagger flew through the air. It met its target with a disgusting squelch. Almost as fast as a bullet, she thought. The rotter clawed at the knife buried in its forehead before falling backwards. Jane had already launched herself over the tree and was upon the other two before they had fully turned around. She beheaded the next one easily and swung her arm around to bury the edge of her machete into the head of the other. Both bodies thudded to the ground. It had taken less than ten seconds.
Instinctively, she stilled herself and listened for the fourth. She knew there was a fourth. The hissing and spitting from the rotter now separated from its body was all that remained. The brain, you gotta kill the brain. She looked at the decapitated head; it was as undeadly alive as ever and wanted nothing more than to devour her. Its jaw opened and closed weakly. Gross. A swift chop and the forest fell silent again. Jane wasn't even breathing hard. She didn't want to think about whether that was a good thing or not.
Satisfied that no other threats would be arriving anytime soon, she looked down at the bodies around her. They smelled like death. It was a smell she'd never get used to, worse than any deco she'd ever come across as a homicide detective. One of them had bled onto a package of Twinkies.
"Damn," she sighed.
After salvaging the items that hadn't been damaged in the melee, she cinched her pack tightly and strapped it to her body. A final weapons check and she was ready. Jane gave one last glance in the direction from which she came. The possibility that another zombie was out there on her tail would be in the back of her mind, maybe for days. Most likely it had wandered off and was no longer a danger. It was an uncertainty she could live with. She'd had to live with so many uncertainties since waking up in an empty hospital room, in an empty hospital, in a not so empty city.
Her fingers played absently at the edges of material wrapped around her hand. The red silk wound its way over her palm and wrist, round and round, all the way up the expanse of her forearm. It was always there no matter what, sometimes exposed, sometimes hidden beneath the layers, protected by her jacket sleeve. It had practically become permanent because Jane needed it that way. The fabric had lost its luster and softness, but was no less precious to her - a constant reminder of what the world once was before everything went to hell; a promise of what it might be again, if only in a small way. Most of all, it kept her from turning into someone she didn't want to be. Someone she would never want her to be.
Jane winced and started moving again, as quickly as she could. A slight jog was all she could muster.
This headache was a killer.