WARM HEARTS.

OK so this story is basically my version of Warm Bodies but the Percabeth version. With Annabeth as R, and Percy as Julie.

Hope you liker it and I will like to apologise in advance for any grammar or spelling errors.

Read and Review.

Chapter one. A dead girl's life.

Have you ever walked somewhere then forgot why you went there? Yes?

Well that's my entire life. Depressing right? Sometimes I just wish I could meet someone who gets me as me. Then I remember that's impossible because... I'm dead. But it isn't so bad.

I mean I'm not the buried in a grave kind of dead. I'm the Living Dead. Yup I'm a zombie. It kinda all started with this huge nuclear war and each country was bombing each other, and a lot of people died. But the radiation in the air some how re-animated us. It all happened around 6 years ago. I think. One can never be sure.

Oh my name's A by the way. Yeah I know its not a real name, but I can't remember what it was, just that it might have started with a A. So that's what my fellow flesh eaters call me. Funny thing is I can't even remember how I died, I just woke up like this as a zombie next to my best friend.

And just before you ask. No we do not stumble around moaning "BRAINS!" with our limbs hanging off. We just eat flesh and... OK and brains too. But our body parts don't fall off. In fact we actually look kinda human but dead looking. Also we can't really talk just grunt and moan, sometimes get the odd word out when we're lucky.

Today passes as everyday does. I shuffle past the glass doors of the airport, that's we're we live, all the Living Dead in New York. We don't need shelter, but I suppose its just nice to have a roof over our heads if you know what I mean.

As I make my way past I catch sight of my self in the mirror. My skin is intact but grey, my eyes are blank white like all of the zombies have, I have dark bruises under them, my hair is curly, matted and blonde, it sticks out in odd directions and I really need a hair cut. My veins are horribly visible in my neck, which has a strange leather cord strung round it with a bunch of clay beads varying in multiple sizes and shapes. My clothes are a mystery. I suppose I was unemployed. My jeans, hooddie, (orange) t-shirt and Converse would suggest so.

My posture is pretty bad. I slouch a lot. Maybe if I stood up straighter, people would like me more. Though I shouldn't be so hard on my self. I am dead.

And so is she. I think looking at a woman grunting in annoyance as she walked head first into a wall repeatedly. Some of us Dead are really stupid, probably because our brains are literally decaying.

Holy Zeus we all look terrible. Especially that guy in the corner. Oh wait he is actually dead. That guy with the brief case is also dead, he just sits there all day mumbling about missing his train. Poor guy doesn't realise he is in a airport, not a train station.

We all made a home here. We shuffle around occasionally bumping into someone, unable to say sorry just "UH". It's like we're all waiting for something... but forgot what it is. Yeah... like I said it's depressing.

It gets really boring here, so sometimes for fun I like to think what some of us we're when we were alive. Our clothes are a big give away. Like for instance that dude behind the coffee stand, with his face on the counter drooling black drool, wearing a Starbucks uniform. He was obviously a barista.

Or Ray-Bands guy who lies on a luggage rack all day, wearing expensive clothing and moans about finding his sister, some chick called "Arty" [Guess who the guy is?] he was obviously a rich guy.

The finally the girl who sits around and trips innocent by-shufflers up all day. She was most likely a bully.

I'm kinda confused now, It's like I'm lost... wait I am literally lost, I've never been in this part of the airport before.

Oh well.

I shuffle around a bit more, still confused at we're I am. When I pass... oh great. Boney's.

I hate these guy's. Think of a zombie but with no skin, just a clinging strips of muscle that allow them to move, basically a skeleton. Hence the name Boney's. About five off them are feasting on a dead badger, and one looks up at me with its creepy face, speared crimson with blood, its eyeless sockets boring into my none exsistant soul. They normally leave us Corpses alone, maybe because they were Corpses at one point, before they gave up and literally pulled their flesh off, think of it as the zombie way of suicide. Becoming a Boney.

That's what I have to look forward too in my future becoming one of those.

I shuffle away quickly dropping its disturbing unwavering gaze.

Boney's aren't like us. They can't think for themselves. They have a hive mind thought, which is normally 'Kill'.

I spot my best friend. The one I mentioned earlier. Her familiar head of spiky black hair was slumped against a window. Her name is Thalia. Unlike me she remembers. True I am kind of jealous at that fact.

She is a lot like me in the grey skin, bruised rings, blank dead eyes category. But she must have had freckles when she was alive because they show very faintly through her slowly decomposing skin. She's kinda short but stocky compared to my tall, lanky physique. We are in fact the same age, I suppose around collage aged. Her clothing choice is a lot more goth-y than mine. (black) jeans, navy shirt, combat boots and ripped lather jacket. Like my own, her clothes are also stained with blood and ripped.

"Uh" I grunt sitting in the seat next to her.

"Uh" Thalia grunts back.

Thats mainly our normal conversation. Sometimes we just stare at each other for hours until we get hungry. Though on a odd occation we get a word out.

"F...Food"

"H...H..Hungry"

"C...City" I agreed in a shaky whisper.

In that basic exchange of words we have both established that we are hungry and want food (humans) so we should go to the city (New York) and get dinner.

As me and Thalia each the departure gate a sizable number of fellow flesh eaters have joined us, even if we're not hungry it's never hard to find vollenters for these expeditions, other wise you would just be stood around groaning. We do, do a lot of standing around and groaning.

Again please excuse any grammar and spelling issues. Review.