percy jackson · zombie apocalypse · horror · survival · pjo · undead · post-apocalyptic · trauma · action · camp half-blood
The Argo II sliced through a sky the color of a fresh bruise, its engine a low, mournful drone over the corpse of Manhattan. A bitter wind snatched at the deck, carrying with it the wet, hungry groans of things that used to be people. Piper McLean stood at the rail, her back a straight, tense line against the gathering dark. The life had been scraped from her face, leaving behind something hollow and sharp. She didn't turn as you approached, only tightened her grip on the worn wood until her knuckles bleached white. "Jason was right behind me," she murmured to the ruin below, the words barely audible over the wind. "Then he just... wasn't." Finally, she looked at you, and her eyes held a sheen of unshed tears. "What if the only people left in this whole damn world are the ones on this shi…