Jane scans the empty food court for what has to be the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes. She exhales, impatient and worried and irritated with herself for being worried (even though, dear reader, it's completely acceptable for Jane to be worried in this situation).

You see, long story short: it's the end of the world.

Maybe a less brief explanation is required.

A virus broke out 57 days ago, its most noteworthy symptom being its ability to turn normal, healthy homosapiens into blood-thirsty, brain-hungry, not to mention rather unsightly, non-human creatures. Zombies, if we're going to use the z-word.

The virus spread impossibly fast. A good 90% of the world population had either been killed or killed and reanimated by Day 25. The death toll today, Day 57, is probably closer to 97%. There was a reason Jane had made it this long, and it wasn't dumb luck.

Jane and Maura had been slowly but surely making their way down the eastern seaboard toward since Day 42. Maura wants to see what remains of the CDC in Atlanta, to see if she can help.

So, yes, the entire zombie aspect of her current reality is pretty concerning. However, presently, what has Jane Rizzoli biting her lip and picking at her cuticles is the fact that Maura was supposed to meet her in the center of this food court a good five minutes ago, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

They had split up an hour ago to scavenge the mall for supplies – food, water, ammo – anything that they could possibly use or barter with. Jane had taken the right wing of stores, and Maura the left.

As far as Jane was concerned, the trip had been a bust. Maura had insisted upon going, and Jane had only agreed because, well, there is a Bass Pro Shop inside this mall. They'd scored some ammo there before they split up, sure, but most of the good stuff had been taken already. Besides that, there weren't many items of post-apocalyptic value to be found in shopping malls. Yes, believe it or not, survivors are generally more interested in canned foods and first aid supplies, and less so in scented soaps and expensive jeans.

But Maura'd had her heart set on scavenging a mall. And she'd been pretty glum lately, Jane had to admit. She'd ceased offering outrageous hypotheses as to the origin of the super-virus, for example. Even more concerning, she hadn't attempted to make any zombie jokes in days. ("Why did the zombie lose the lawsuit?" "Maura, no, please..." "He didn't have a leg to stand on!") Visiting the mall was the first thing she'd been enthusiastic about in weeks.

Keeping high morale in these kinds of situations is crucial, Jane knows, so she decided that letting Maura loot a mall was best. Letting Maura loot a mall was best. Jane almost laughs.

The mall is quiet, seemingly empty, and very dim. There hasn't been reliable power since Day 10, and there hasn't been any power since Day 16. (Another reason they're headed south; without power, they'd never survive a winter in Boston.) The only light comes from the food court skylights, which have been obstructed by the bodies scattered on the roof. Jane doesn't really want to even ponder that one. At all.

The food court sits square in the middle of the mall, and in the middle of that, a show car. A bright yellow Hummer. "ENTER TO WIN!" reads the display to its right. Paragraphs of fine print underline it. A clear plastic box holds entry slips, eagerly filled out and folded up by hundreds of hopeful people before shit hit the fan.

Jane sits cross-legged on the roof of the vehicle, eating the can of chicken noodle soup she'd been holding onto since Day 46, drinking a bottle of Diet Coke she'd spent four full minutes crowbarring a food court vending machine for. She takes another swig, attempts to disregard to its unpleasant warmth, and plays her final words to Maura over in her head. They had definitely decided on meeting back here in one hour.

So where the hell is she?

Jane has two options: search, or wait.

How long can she wait, though? What if Maura is being attacked by zombies right now, three stores down? Jane tenses up at the thought, the mental image, and drops her plastic spork into her near-empty soup can.

"Five more minutes, Maura," Jane decides, rubbing her forehead.

A scratching noise. Sudden. Unwelcome. Jane is on her feet, gun drawn, eyes narrowed, instantaneously. She's stock still, attempting to detect any motion within her view, like trying to catch an elusive fly in your kitchen. Nothing moves. She pivots around on the roof of the H3, scanning all sides of the food court.

This mall is too empty.

And then, another noise. Squeaking wheels. Jane turns around and there's Maura, rounding the corner of the food court and cutting through the Cinnabon. She's riding on the back of a shopping cart – this is a mall; where the hell did she get a shopping cart? – pushing off the ground periodically to maintain her momentum.

"Maura!" Jane hisses. She holsters her gun and lowers herself from the top of the Hummer. Maura continues with her kick, hop, roll routine, drawing closer and closer, seemingly unaffected by the critical look Jane is attempting to pin her with. When Maura finally comes to a halt a few feet away, Jane is assaulted by her figure's many new facets.

"What..."

The shopping cart, which has rolled to a stop between them, is piled high with clothing and a strange assortment of other items, their eccentricity highlighted best by the presence of a sword and an upside-down knight's helmet with a bag of chocolate truffles sitting inside of it.

Maura has changed from her torn jeans and silky, blood-stained blouse into something far more Lara Croft-esque. A white, skin-tight camisole and some sort of beige tights-and-cargo-pants hybrid. Her M4 is slung over her shoulder.

She looks, well, damn good. Objectively speaking.

"Uh," is all that Jane can initially muster. She's suddenly incapable of scolding Maura for her tardiness.

"Success!" Maura exclaims. "While scavenging, I decided to reevaluate my attire. I found it entirely inappropriate. So I decided to pick up a few new things."

"That's... great."

"Look!" Maura is still grinning as she props one foot against the side of the Hummer to show off a brand new pair of Nike's. "Much more sensible. And they have wings on the laces. Look!"

"You're certainly in a better mood." Jane smirks and leans back against the side of the Hummer.

"You like?" Maura does a half-twirl, showing off the outfit Jane has already seen (and yes, likes). She continues without allowing Jane a chance to answer. "I picked up some things for you, too, Jane. We can be practical and stylish, you know. Hopefully you haven't lost too much weight since our food supply has diminished, or else these might be a little baggy."

She's now sifting through the basket, draping shirts and pants over its metal edges.

"Yeah, yikes. God forbid my malnutrition affect how well these stolen clothes fit!"

Maura chuckles and Jane shakes her head, adding, "So this was your plan? You wanted to come here to go shopping?"

Maura stops her rifling and looks hurt. "Well, my need for new apparel was part of the reason I wanted to visit."

"I would hardly call 'new attire' a necessity right now, Maura. And besides, you know we can't haul all of this stuff around with us." Which is entirely true. As they make their way down the eastern seaboard, hopping from one stolen car to another, and from one empty town to the next, often forced to walk for miles, Jane and Maura can't afford to carry around and more than they absolutely have to.

Maura maintains that hurt look and Jane sighs. In this situation, Maura is kind of like a kid in a candy store here, and Jane is the one tugging her arm, dragging her out empty-handed. She feels, well, bad.

After all, Maura's been through a lot in the past 57 days. Jane doesn't even want to think about everything with her house and her mom and the morgue. Jane hates to be the one to take anything away from her, especially now. Maura deserves a bag of malted milk balls and gummy bears.

"Never mind, just – what else did you pick up?"

"Well, I got some shampoos and soaps, and I found this backpack still attached to a corpse. It has a few boxes of pasta and three or four cans of vegetables in it..."

"Nice!" Jane takes the bag from Maura's hands and starts unzipping it.

"And, oh! There's a Medieval Times Restaurant here. Did you know that?" Maura has apparently recovered from Jane's cynicism. She picks up the sword that had caught Jane's attention earlier. "Melee weapon!" She unsheathes it and makes a few practice slices through the air.

"Whoa there, Lancelot," Jane steps back, "I like having all of my limbs."

Maura grins, attaching the sheath to her belt.

"You also plan on wearing the helmet?"

"Oh, no. I just wanted to show you how historically inaccurate it is."

"Oh. Great."

"But before I do that – "

Jane sighs dramatically.

" – look what I found at Sears!"

Maura retrieves, oh, god, a chainsaw from the bottom rack of the cart. She holds it up for Jane to see, grinning widely. Practically glowing, really. It's moderately worrisome.

And then she's cranking it up, and it's rumbling to life, loud and unchecked, echoing through the food court.

"Maura!" Jane can't help but shout. As far as she is concerned, Maura is begging for the attention of the zombies sure to be hiding out in the dark corners of the mall. "Shhhh!"

Maura flicks off the chainsaw. She looks genuinely confused. "I wanted to demonstrate its functionality."

"By attracting a horde?"

"No!" Maura's eyebrows jump up. "I thought you said this mall was empty."

"I said that it appears to be relatively empty. That doesn't mean we should take any chances. Let's just keep it down, okay? Everything echos in here."

Maura nods apologetically, placing the chainsaw back on the bottom rack.

Suddenly, the scratching noise from before Maura's arrival returns. Jane has both of her Glocks cocked in a split second. Maura's aiming her M4 in just as little time. They survey the food court, line of fire guided by line of vision. Jane pauses to give Maura an I-told-you look. Maura rolls her eyes.

Jane inches around to the other side of the car, gun drawn. The noise persists, and Jane realizes that it's now coming from somewhere beneath the Hummer. Without looking away, she retrieves a flashlight from her bag and drops into a squat, peering into the narrow space between the vehicle and the asphalt.

Beat.

"Oh." Her brow relaxes, shoulders drop.

"What is it?" Maura is still standing a few yards away, cautiously curious.

Jane slowly lowers her gun. "It's a... puppy."

"Oh!" Maura exclaims as she scurries up to crouch at Jane's left, "Is it infected?"

"Doesn't look like it." The scrap of an animal steps back warily when Jane reaches out one hand to balance herself. What could be mistaken for a hopeful wag begins in its tail.

"No, it doesn't." Maura agrees, leaning forward to rest on her knees. "Eight to ten weeks old. Male. Terrier mix. Like Jo Friday, Jane."

"Yeah." Jane smiles. The dog tilts his head at the two of them, far too docile to be infected. He leans down to nuzzle his tiny head into one of his paws, and damn it. This weakness of hers is Korsak's fault, but Jane's as good as gone.

"There's a pet store a ways down. He might have been living there. I wonder where his mother is. At this age, he should still be nursing."

As if on cue: a growl. Chillingly close. And then, it's stop-motion: Jane. Retrieve gun. Swivel left, stand, aim. And then shoot, right? Of course. But she doesn't.

A 100-pound, horrifically infected canine is crouching just a few feet in front of her. Its ribs are exposed, and pieces of flesh hang from its torso. It bears teeth and deteriorating gums inside a dislocated jaw. The virus's effects are still gut-wrenching to Jane, but she's gotten better at brushing off the waves of nausea by now.

The dog sits back into a pre-pounce position.

Jane's finger hesitates around the trigger because she's not the one in danger; Maura is. Maura is still crouching between Jane and the dog, and Maura is the one that the animal is eying. And it's Jane's fault. She allowed their vulnerability, and she allows it again when she's taken with guilt over that fact. But not for long.

"Stay down!" Jane steps and swiftly throws a hand over Maura, extending her gun, keeping her out of the line of fire as she aims.

The second shot that she takes doesn't miss – of course not; that would have been too much – and the animalis stopped mid-leap, almost poetically. It drops to the tile with a thump. The perfunctory force exerted by planet Earth provides its body with a half-bounce.

Jane's ears are ringing, and then she hears Maura gasp. She realizes almost instantly that it isn't because she'd turned around to find the dog's crumpled body at her feet, but because of that first bullet. That fucking first bullet hit the front bumper of the H3.

They're both frozen, staring at the vehicle in front of them, willing it to remain silent. That wretched puppy whimpers from its place under the car.

One second, two seconds, three...

The car is still quiet. Jane finally sighs, relaxing her shoulders. She even manages a breathy laugh of relief. "It's dead," she turns to Maura, reassuring them both as she tucks away her gun, "someone probably robbed its battery way back – "

BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP.

It's so loud. So loud. Jane has heard quieter sonic booms. If Satan had a car, this is the noise its alarm would make.

"Oh, no." Maura grimaces, backing away from the source of the offensive noise.

"Really?" Jane cries, throwing up her hands. "Really?"

"Oh, no."

"Really?" Jane removes her gun from its holster yet again begins pistol-whipping the hood. "Shit! Shit!"

"Jane – "

As Jane proceeds to make the car very sorry for what it has done, she becomes vaguely aware of Maura transferring things from her cart of goodies to her backpack, reloading her gun, tying back her hair. She's half-yelling something about time intervals and a "small window of opportunity" and the fatal consequences of delayed responses.

And then comes another noise: a collective groan of hunger, combined with the grind of broken bones, the gurgling internal organs – all wrongly exposed. The edges of Jane's vision come to life with the undead. There's some irony in there somewhere. Maura's cries of "Jane!" pull her back.

"Jane! I think we should leave now! Now!"

Jane is beside her, procuring rounds of ammunition from the shopping cart before Maura can even finish the exclamation.

"Which way?"

"Irrelevant."

"What?" She hates the shrill tone that has found its way into her voice box, but nothing is ever irrelevant to Maura. So in this case, irrelevant could be her way of saying "we're hopelessly fucked."

"Well, all of the department stores have exits – we're at the center of the mall, equidistant from almost all of them – "

"Maura!"

"Just run!" Maura shoves her into action and they start the long sprint toward Macy's.

Then, suddenly, they're everywhere. Zombies are pouring out of candy shops and department stores, stumbling down powerless escalators. Some of them don't even bother; they drop from the second floor, bones crunching as their bodies make contact with the cold linoleum.

Jane looks over her shoulder and slows her pace as a potentially disastrous idea forms in her brain.

"Wait – Maura! Maura!" Maura turns around, a few yards ahead of her now. She slows and looks at Jane worriedly, like she can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"We can take the Hummer!"

"What?" It's Maura turn to be shrill. She swiftly assassinates the two zombies nearest to them before turning back around to face her friend, who has stopped completely.

"It's a show car! The keys are probably right there, in the ignition. There are too many of these things," Jane makes a sweeping motion with her arms, indicating the zombie masses. "We won't be able to outrun them, or kill them all, and the alarm is just drawing more in from the outside. We should take the Hummer."

Maura tilts her head, "That sounds like a very dangerous idea. Not to mention a terrible one."

Probably because it is a very dangerous idea. And there's a good chance that it's also a terrible one.

"So is running and shooting until we pass out or use up all our ammo," Jane counters.

Zombies are closing in around them. That window Maura was talking about is rapidly sliding shut. One thing this duo knows is that they can't remain where they stand in the middle of the mall for much longer.

Maura bites her lip, gesticulates exasperatedly, and finally says, "let's go, then!"

Jane's exhale is a half growl, and her adjunct grin is – there's no other word – devilish. Her gun clicks in her hands. "Well, let's go, then."

They turn back to face the location from which they had just fled. Back to the H3 and the lost puppy and the hellish mob of brain-hungry reanimated.

And they go.