Author's note: Apologies for the delay in posting. Thank you for reading and reviewing! Or just reading, as the case may be.

The first thing he was aware of was that the floor was rather cold under his cheek. And rather warm, wet, and sticky under his hand. He sat up slowly, wincing in pain, and then any number of perilous situations occurred to him, and he looked around wildly for the others.

They were standing just behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're awake," the Joker said chipperly. "Good. We were just about to leave. It would have been a shame to leave you behind when there are so many more amusing ways to die later."

"Um…yes." He looked down and noticed the spray pattern of the new blood on the floor. "I've missed something spectacular, haven't I?"

"Yep!" said Harley. "Here, Professor Crane, I'll give you a hand." She reached down to help him up. But the hand she put in his was cold, masculine, and attached to nothing at all beyond a point that should have been near the shoulder. He stared at it.

"Is this…"

"I thought you might want a souvenir."

"Ew," he said. There was really nothing else to say. Ew.

But he held onto it as they made their way up the stairs. It couldn't hurt to go armed.

--

Lyle Bolton's arm proved to be quite handy for fighting off zombies. At any rate, he was better off than the Riddler, who was only still alive because the others fully realized that they needed his help to get to the security room.

The rest of Bolton would have been useful, too, but based on the way he had reacted when they had opened his cell door, it wasn't hard to tell that his attitudes toward them had not softened during the years of his imprisonment. They were better off without him. Although, to be perfectly honest, this hadn't been exactly unexpected. The Scarecrow had been looking forward to watching him die.

But using his arm to beat down zombies was almost as good. Feeling the bones snap was wonderful. For the rest of his life—however long that might be—Jonathan Crane would be able to say that he had broken Lock-Up's arm.

Life, in a manner of speaking, was good.

--

Catwoman and Robin quickly worked out a rhythm that served them well in their zombie-killing endeavors. They would come on a group; she would shoot once, taking out the healthiest-looking of the things, and the rest would be attracted to the sound of her gun. Then she would guard their rear, making sure they always had an avenue of escape while Robin took out the rest of them with his birdarangs, sending the hardened steel edges deep into their skulls.

It was hard on the boy, making so many kills, even if they were already dead. But he was doing very well—Batman had taught him to be quite the young warrior, highly skilled and flexible but strong—he would continue killing these things as long as he was still physically able to stand and fight. But she knew that, unlike the previous Robins, this boy took more strongly after the detective aspect of the Bat than the warrior side. He was no soldier, he was no killer, and he was going to break down eventually, although she thought he could hold out until he had a moment of calm and relative safety.

So she pushed him harder, refusing to give him even a moment to think of all the kills that he had made. When the creatures threatened to overwhelm him, she used her whip to pull them off of him. She couldn't kill them with that, and they weren't capable of being frightened away, but she wasn't willing to use the gun except when it was absolutely necessary, or when they were ready to attract a fresh group of the walking dead.

When all the zombies in the room were dead, she helped the Boy Wonder collect his birdarangs—though messy, they could always be reused—and then they moved on.

Slowly but surely, they were clearing this apartment building, turning it into a safe place for the living to hide. Working together, she could almost believe that they were doing some real good.

The hard part would come when the building was clear, and it came time for them to go outside and search for survivors to rescue.

--

"You ass," said Poison Ivy. The Riddler flinched.

"How was I supposed to know the power would be out?"

The Scarecrow, Harley, and the Joker leaned against the door, trying to keep the zombies from pushing their way into the security room. The Joker whacked at their rotting hands with his crowbar, breaking knuckles and splitting skin, but not deterring them in the least.

"Is this the part where we die?" Harley asked.

"Oh, no, Pooh. Not just yet." He moved out of the way while Poison Ivy used the legs of a chair to poke at the zombies' hands until the door had enough space to slam shut. "See?" Poison Ivy wedged her chair up under the doorknob as the Joker locked the door.

"But how do we get out of here?" They looked around the dark, windowless room. Dead monitors stared back at them, mockingly. There was no hope there.

"There should be a weapons locker around here somewhere," the Riddler said. The Joker snatched the Mad Hatter's magic doodlybopper from Harley and went to unlock it. Meanwhile, the Scarecrow examined the mangled arm he had been using. It wasn't going to be much use as a weapon anymore, but some morbid fascination told him he should hang onto it anyway. It was something he was going to enjoy looking at for a good long while.

"You know, if you're going to go beating zombies with a severed arm, you should really use the wet end," Harley said.

"Do you think so?" The Scarecrow examined the gooey end of the arm carefully, realizing for the first time that he had managed to get the interior bits all over himself, ruining his inmate's uniform, not that he had much of a sentimental attachment to the thing. "Yes, I see what you mean. But I would prefer not to hold his hand." Harley giggled—probably because she had been conditioned to laugh at anything that was even mildly amusing, he realized, and not because she appreciated his rather dry sense of humor.

The Scarecrow yawned—now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, he realized that he was completely exhausted. It was hard enough to sleep in Arkham; being woken up in the middle of the night and forced to flee from a zombie horde had not exactly been refreshing. Of course, the others must surely be about as tired as he was.

"Handguns…shotguns…billy clubs…neat," the Joker said. "But there's not nearly enough here to fight off a whole army of the walking dead…but it will sure be fun to try."

"We could stay here until morning," the Scarecrow ventured. "It is a relatively secure area, and we will stand a much better chance against those things if we take the time to rest. And maybe we can get the power back on," he added, glaring at the Riddler.

"Not my fault," the Riddler muttered.

"Why don't we just stay here forever," the Joker countered. "Pammy there can grow us a nice little vegetable garden, and Harley and I can repopulate the Earth from inside Arkham. Wouldn't that create a nifty new race? And you two can baby-sit…unless we get hungry waiting for the garden to grow. What do you think, comrades?"

"I think I'll be ready to leave in the morning," said the Scarecrow. The Joker pouted.

"Spoilsport. I guess that's not long enough for Mary, Mary quite contrary here to make her garden grow, anyway."

"I couldn't grow plants without sunlight even if I wanted to help you," Poison Ivy snarled.

"Don't fight, you two," Harley said, a pleading note entering her voice. Poison Ivy's expression softened when she looked at her friend. The Joker's expression didn't change, but the way he looked on the outside almost never reflected his internal state very accurately.

Interesting. He, the Riddler, the Joker, and Poison Ivy all quite plainly hated each other. Grant Walker would be building an ice skating rink in Hell before the four of them decided to work together as a team. But Harley was the proverbial glue that held them together as a cohesive group. The Joker was her lover, Poison Ivy was her best friend, the Scarecrow was something like a mentor, having shared a similar profession, and the Riddler, while not particularly close to her, was enough of a friend, and closely related enough to the Joker in her mind, that she would defend him, though not to the point of standing against the others, and probably not to the point of risking her life against the undead.

"We'll stay the night," the Joker said, placatingly. Harley grinned, displaying a charming set of dimples.

"Oh, Puddin."

"It might be a good idea for one of us to slip out and gather some supplies," Poison Ivy suggested. "And maybe free some of the other inmates to join us—you know, the ones who aren't completely useless." Grumbling to himself, the Riddler sidled over to the security system and began inspecting the wiring, straining to see it in the dark. The Scarecrow spotted a flashlight and handed it to him.

"Thanks," the Riddler muttered.

"Who else could we possibly need?" the Scarecrow asked Poison Ivy (thinking more of his own security than the Riddler's.)

"Mr. Freeze, maybe. Those things only eat meat that's still warm—that's why they don't attack each other. So there's a chance they would leave him alone, and even if they didn't, he has that nice protective suit. The only problem with him would be getting him away from his wife." The Scarecrow pictured Mr. Freeze sitting in front of the cryogenic tank that held his wife's body, with a freeze gun in his lap, like a frontiersman with a shotgun guarding the homestead against Indian raiders. No, Freeze was not going to abandon his beloved bride to help protect them from the undead.

"We don't need anyone else," Harley said, surprising him with her sudden lack of compassion. She was so uneven, that child, one moment sweet and innocent, the next moment an arch villain to contend with the best of them.

"All right, one of us is going to have to go for food and supplies. I don't suppose there are any volunteers," Poison Ivy said dryly. The five of them stared at each other for a few moments in uncomfortable silence.

"How do we even know that whoever we send will come back?" asked the Riddler.

"Would you really want to stay out there with the zombies?" He flushed.

"There could be a way out, or a safer place to hide. The food could be in a secure area. Faced with that, do you think any of us would be willing to risk our lives fighting through a horde of flesh eating zombies to save the rest?"

"Just one of the perils of being friendly with lunatics," said the Joker.

"We could send you," the Scarecrow said darkly. "At least we know you'd come back if we held something important hostage." The others nodded thoughtfully; Harley beamed, and the Joker let out a blood-curdling cackle.

"You don't know me very well, do you?"

"Not Harley," the Scarecrow said with malicious pleasure. "Are you forgetting that she's the one carrying your rubber chickens?" The Joker's face fell.

"You're a real killjoy, you know that?"

"It's what I do," the Scarecrow said smugly. It was quite a thrill to be able to wipe the smile from the Joker's face.

"I'll go, too," said Poison Ivy. "You know I'll come back for Harley, and the two of us aren't likely to decide to run off together." The Joker grinned again and opened his mouth to say something smarmy. She cut him off with a glare. "I'm volunteering because two people can carry twice as much as one, and because even with a rubber chicken hostage, I don't trust you. And if you try anything, I won't hesitate to break both your kneecaps and leave you for the flesh eaters, understand?"

"You mean, no…" He made shifty eyes and leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She shoved him away.

"No nothing, Joker. I mean it." He looked crestfallen, but couldn't stop giggling. Poison Ivy rolled her eyes. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea, after all."

"Oh, come on, Pammy," he said sweetly, and leaned over to smile at her.

"Puddin!" Harley said sternly.

"Only joking," he pouted. "Women," he said knowingly to the Riddler and the Scarecrow. "Am I right?" The two of them looked back and forth between Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, and wisely refrained from answering.

"Let's get out of here, clown boy," Ivy said, probably already regretting her decision to go with him.

"Hang on a second!" He turned to Harley and took her hands in his. "Pooh…this could be dangerous. If I don't come back…promise me you'll take care of the rubber chickens." Poor Harley looked as if she were going to cry at any moment.

"Oh, Puddin! You've just got to come back!"

"Of course I'm coming back," he said blankly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"But you just said…"

"Who cares what I said, Harley? The important thing is, when I get back, I want you to open the door for me. Don't let these two lunkheads try to talk you out of it, either. You let me back into this room no matter what."

"O-okay. Sure thing, Mr. J."

"Good girl." He tweaked her nose and turned to go. A troubled look crossed her face.

"Hey, wait a second, Mr. J." He turned to look back at her expectantly. "How will I know it's you?"

"Harley, girl, please. What do you think a zombie is going to say? 'Knock, knock.' 'Who's there?' 'Braaaaaains…'" Harley looked dreadfully embarrassed.

"Zombies don't eat brains," the Scarecrow said again. The Joker looked totally unconvinced.

"He's right, you know," said Poison Ivy. "The first time any zombies ever stumbled around moaning, 'Brains!'—or said anything else, for that matter—was in Return of the Living Dead. That was a comedy." She pouted in the face of the Joker's insane grin. "But I guess that says it all right there. Just let him have this one, Professor." She winked at him, and the Scarecrow was amazed to realize that he had just shared a Moment with Poison Ivy.

"You two just hurry back," Harley said. "And be careful." That part was just for Poison Ivy, her best friend and quite clearly the more sensible of the two.

"We'll be back soon, Harl," Poison Ivy promised with a reassuring smile.

"Don't forget to let us back in," the Joker added. Harley basked in the warmth of his smile, and the Scarecrow mentally dismissed every escape plan that involved keeping the Joker and Poison Ivy locked out of the security room.

"Get me some batteries while you're out," the Riddler said without looking up from his work as Poison Ivy pulled her chair out from under the doorknob and the Joker turned the lock. They waved, and then in a flash of glorious bravado, they disappeared.