The heat was unbearable, a suffocating blanket pressing down on the world around them. Percy Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow, his shirt clinging to his back. The air was thick with humidity, every breath a struggle. It felt like the sun was pressing down on him from every direction, a relentless presence that made the world around him shimmer like it was on fire. His thoughts, the ones that weren't consumed by survival, felt like they were swimming through molasses.
The streets were eerily quiet. Gone were the days when the hum of life filled the air - the chatter of people walking by, the sound of car engines and the distant sirens. Now, there was only the oppressive silence and the slow, gnawing realization that the world they had once known was no more. The buildings that had once been homes, shops, schools, were now nothing more than hollowed-out shells. The streets were cracked and broken, their asphalt scarred by long-abandoned vehicles and nature's insistence on reclaiming the earth. Even the trees, which had once offered shelter, were twisted and bent, their roots creeping up through the concrete as if the earth itself had been uprooted.
Every step Percy took felt heavier. He didn't know if that was the weight of the pack on his back along with his assault rifle strapped across his chest, or the weight of everything else – the weight of loss, of responsibility. There was no going back to what it used to be. This was their reality now. The world had become a shell of itself, a mockery of the bustling, vibrant life they once knew. The air smelled faintly of decay, a combination of rot and sweat that clung to the earth like a ghost. Zombies had taken over and it had been months since they had encountered any other survivors. Most people were either gone, lost to the violence or had become part of the undead horde.
Percy looked ahead at the group. They had all seen it - the decay, the destruction, the silence - and it was starting to show. Annabeth, Leo, Will and Piper – his family, his friends. They were all carrying the weight of the same reality.
Annabeth Chase, as always, was at the front. She moved with purpose, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, strands escaping to frame her face. Her eyes were sharp, darting around constantly as she scanned every corner, every shadow. Her crowbar was gripped tightly in her hand – a comforting, almost instinctive gesture. Even now, after everything, Annabeth's focus never wavered. She was the planner, the tactician, the one who always had a map in her mind and knew the best route to take. But even Annabeth, the one who had always kept the group grounded, was changing. The months of running, of surviving, had worn her down. Her face, once bright with intelligence and determination, was now gaunt and drawn. Her skin had paled under the sun, the dark circles beneath her eyes. Serving as a testament to too many sleepless nights. But despite all of it, her posture remained straight, her movements precise. She was still the leader, even if every part of her was exhausted.
Behind him, Leo Valdez was kicking rocks in the road, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tattered jacket. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat; his usual mischievous spark dulled but not gone. Leo, always the trickster, the one who could lighten the mood with a joke or a spark of invention, was quieter now. It wasn't that he didn't try to joke, it was that there wasn't any humor left. His eyes were distant, his lips pressed into a thin line. In the early days, Leo had kept their spirits high with his creations and jokes. But now, the gadgets he created were just distractions. They kept his mind occupied, but they didn't fix the problem. Leo wasn't the carefree prankster he used to be. He was just tired.
Will Solace was next in line. His blonde hair, once neatly kept, was now wild and unkempt, just like everything else about him. His clothes, once so pristine, were torn and stained with blood, dirt and grime. His medical kit, now completely empty, hung from his shoulder and his pistol sat on his hip. Will had been their medic, the one who would patch up cuts and bruises, offer advice, provide comfort. But now, his gaze was vacant, and Percy could see that even Will was beginning to crack. He hadn't spoken much in the past few days, and Percy could see the hollowness in his movements. The kit was just another piece of equipment now, another item to carry. Will's usual calm, the reassurance that everything could be fixed, was gone. There was nothing to fix anymore. Will didn't have any answers for them.
