Chapter Text
The ground is slick with mud. Thin, oily spillage that clings to his pants, spraying up into his face from the pounding rain, getting in his eyes and mouth. It blinds him, and it tastes like grit.
The sound of groans split through the unforgiving rain, loud and croaky, so ominous that it rings in his ears. Bones crack beneath his hands, splintering as he shoves his blade into whatever chest cavity comes too close. It's not enough--never is--and he has to snatch the blade out to swing it up, burying it through the resistant skull in front of him with a sickening squelch. The blade struggles to pull free when he yanks on it, but he tugs and tugs, grunting as it finally chips the bone open and comes out.
There's a deafening screech from behind him, and he whirls around, heart tumbling in his chest. He can't see, but he knows that scream.
Clary.
Not her, not--
"Jace!"
He's running before he even realizes it, shoving decaying bodies away as he goes, slicing at rotting skin to make a path. He comes skidding to a stop beside the form slumped down in the mud, hitting his knees and flinching as his hair flops muddy and wet into his eyes.
Through the rain and the encompassing darkness, he can just make out the bent form of Clary, something solid curled close to her chest. She rocks back and forth, quiet for now, and it takes her a long moment before she screams again.
He's almost too scared to scoot forward and find out who the body in Clary's lap belongs to. He knows it can't have been Izzy, since she's the one who screamed for him, and it's not Alec, since he's still fighting. The mere thought that it's Jonathan, or Jocelyn, or--or...god, it could be Simon. It could be--
"Jace!" Izzy calls out again, grunting as she shoves away the mindless creature snapping at her flesh.
Right. This isn't-- Whoever it is, they can't stay here.
"Clary," Jace says, shouting over the rain as he reaches out with shaking hands, leaning forward to squint at the body. It's--oh no, no no no, it's Jocelyn. This can't be happening. "Clary, we have to--"
"No!" Clary screams, head snapping up, her pale face almost luminescent in the darkness. Her eyes gleam wildly. "No, we are not leaving her."
Helplessly, Jace swallows and looks around, taking in the reanimated bodies that are fighting valiantly to converge on them. He can just make out the faint visage of Jonathan and Alec fighting back-to-back, none the wiser to what's playing out a mere few feet away. Past them, way too far, Simon is ducking and dodging as he swings wildly with his bat, breaking and busting in skulls.
"Clary, please," Izzy begs, stepping back with her chest heaving, hair a wet mess of clumps around her face as she drops to her knees.
"Okay," Jace says firmly. "Okay. We're going. Clary, we're going. Now!"
"Not without--"
"I know! Just come on!"
"Alec! Alec!" Izzy surges to her feet, bolting forward to scream the retreat. "Idris! We're going! SIMON, IDRIS!"
Jace doesn't wait to see if they'll hear. He can't, won't. He dips down to gracelessly jerk Jocelyn's dead weight into his arms, grunting as he pulls her away from a clinging Clary. After a moment, she seems to understand what he's doing, and she surges to her feet, gathering her weapons through her tears.
The rattling of bones seems to echo in his head, making his teeth grind as he takes off at a run. The others will follow, they have to, he needs them to.
They will.
They do.
Four years ago, a virus broke out and ruined the world. It took two weeks to spread out of New York, and three months before it had infected every other human being on the planet. No one knows why it was released, but the world hasn't been the same ever since.
At first, scientists hadn't understood it, hadn't been able to make sense of a disease that only transferred through saliva directly into the bloodstream. They didn't know why, or how, people turned feral and insane, dying before reanimating to try and spread the disease farther. No one knows who patient zero was, and at this point, it doesn't really matter.
Jace had been--thankfully--at Clary's eighteenth birthday party when Brooklyn was ripped apart. Fortunately, most of his family and friends had been there with him, together as the news had broken out. He remembers standing in front of the TV, shoulder-to-shoulder with Alec as visibly shaken newscasters warned people to stay in their homes. He'd watched, feeling sick, as screams broke out on the screen when mangled bodies flooded the room and tore the people apart, blood spraying.
He remembers thinking, selfishly, that he was glad the world decided to end on that day than any other. He had his family and friends, or most of them. No one knows where Robert and Max are, whether they're alive or turned, and no one talks about it.
It had taken only three days for everything to completely go to shit. Staying in Jocelyn's apartment with the door locked and the blinds closed wasn't exactly long-term sufficient. Things had grown quiet for the most part--the screaming from outside had stopped, the alarms on the cars on the street had finally given up, and it had gone from sounding like a horror movie at all times to ominous silence.
Jace thinks back on the beginning and likens it to a baby foal learning to walk from the first day it's born. They'd had no choice but to adapt, picking their way through a zombie ridden city, struggling to stay alive amongst the starving dead. They'd found others, joined with survivors that quickly went from strangers to family, and many of them were dead now. Not all, but most.
That's what happens. People try their best, and they fight as hard as they can, but they all just...die. At some point, in some way or another. Sometimes, Jace feels like that's all they're doing, just waiting their turn before they can retire from this hell.
It doesn't make this any easier.
"I'm sorry, biscuit," Magnus says softly, brave and respectful enough to look Clary in the eyes, his expression drawn and somber.
Clary's lips tremble around a near-silent sob, and she turns her face into Jonathan's chest, her shoulders hiking up with tension. Jonathan's eyes flutter closed, and he presses his face into her hair, thin hands reaching up to cup her head.
Jace looks away, a lump in his throat, and his eyes find Maryse's. She has her hand over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, her other hand pressed tight to her stomach like she might be feeling sick. He helplessly imagines her on the table instead, sweaty and still, dying slowly from the torn flesh of her arm. The thought makes him recoil and flinch.
"I'll do it," Jonathan rasps, his throat bobbing as he picks his head up. When Clary rears back, her cheeks tear-stricken, he nods. "I can do it, Clary. Y-you shouldn't have to do it."
Clary jerks back, her shoulders straightening. "She's our mom, Jonathan. We do it together."
"I--I can make arrangements," Maryse chokes out, making everyone look over at her. She swallows thickly before clearing her throat. "I'll have some of the others start digging outside."
"Thank you," Clary says softly.
Maryse nods. "Anywhere particular?"
"Next to Harriet. She loved Harriet," Jonathan whispers, eyes downcast. "They used to play cards well on into the morning, swapping stories about the good old days. She--she would have wanted to be put beside Harriet."
"Of course," Maryse says cordially, dipping her head and taking a step back. "I'll go gather the others."
"I'm coming with you," Simon speaks up, his jaw clenched as he looks up.
"Simon," Clary whispers, reaching out towards him, tears glittering in her eyes all over again.
"She was like a mother to me after--after what happened with…" Simon trails off, his voice cracking. He releases a slow breath, eyes closing for a moment, his pain palpable in the air. Then he opens them and sniffs, staring at Clary with determination. "I'll dig her grave, Clary. I'll do that for her."
Clary nods, the skin beside her eyes tightening, and she pulls her outstretched hand close to her body, tiny fist pressed tight to her chest like her heart physically hurts. "Thank you."
"I'll help," Alec murmurs, giving Clary and Jonathan a respectful nod, which they both return.
With that, Simon and Alec follow Maryse out of the room, their heads ducked down. Jace crosses his arms and breathes evenly, looking over at Izzy, staring into her sorrow-filled eyes.
Magnus takes a deep breath. "She's gone. It won't be long now."
Clary's face crumbles, and she lets out a wet breath, stumbling a few steps back, right into Izzy's awaiting arms. Izzy strokes her hair, while Jace steps up to catch Jonathan as his knees give out, flinching as he catches him.
"She--she's…" Jonathan's breath rattles out of him, and he blinks like he's dazed, staring at Jace in confusion like he can't fathom that his mother is actually dead. "Jace, I--I can't--"
"I know," Jace whispers uselessly, heart wrenching violently in his chest as Jonathan's tears finally spill from his eyes.
It's not even a question of what should be done; Jace pulls Jonathan into a hard hug, not even protesting when Jonathan's skinny fingers dig into his shoulders. He clings too hard, probably leaving bruises in Jace's skin, but Jace doesn't protest. He forces himself to accept the contact, flinching through it, his eyes screwed shut tightly.
Jocelyn's body twitches on the table, the first signs of her coming back, and Jace quickly pulls away, ignoring the snot on his shirt from where Jonathan has weeped into it. He shares a look with Magnus, who just looks down at Jocelyn's lifeless body, eyes swirling with emotion.
"Magnus."
Head snapping up, Magnus releases a sigh, shoulders sagging. "Yes," he says, nodding, "help me carry her. We don't have too long now."
Jace squeezes Jonathan's shoulder before he backs away entirely, moving over to Magnus' side. Together, they each take half of her weight, holding each other's gaze and refusing to look down at the dead body of a long-time friend and family member.
This is not the first time they've done this.
Jocelyn is deposited gently on the floor of the basement in the old, shabby church they've all been holed up in for two years. There's darkened bloodstains on the floor where they've had to do this before, black and misshapen, permanent proof of things they'd rather forget but will never be able to.
By the time they've reached the door, Jocelyn's body has started to convulse, veins turning black and thickening under gray skin.
This is possibly the worst part of the disease. The only way to kill it is to catch it in action. They can't give her the mercy of killing the disease before it takes over--putting a bullet or knife into the brain after a bite doesn't work, not unless the disease has reanimated the body. They have no choice but to let Jocelyn turn, let her become a mindless creature, then--and only then--they can put her down and out of her misery.
It's a harrowing sight, it always is. There's something utterly inhuman about it, about the way her body arches and bows in on itself, seizing as her mouth parts to let out a raspy roar. It won't take her long to stand, to sniff out the scent of life, to be unable to resist the urge to snuff it out.
From behind them, Clary whispers, "Is she--"
"Almost," Magnus answers, face twisting as he slowly steps back. "We'll give you both privacy."
With that, Jace ducks his head and follows Izzy and Magnus out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud clang that makes him flinch.
"I'm going to get her sheet to wrap her in," Izzy murmurs solemnly, swiping at her cheeks as she marches away, no doubt feeling as useless as everyone else does at the moment.
The room is specifically designed for this, for the one purpose of releasing their own people from the disease. Noise is encased in the room, not reaching upstairs or outside at all, so there's no danger of alerting any undead that may be roaming nearby. Even still, Jace and Magnus can hear some things.
They can hear it when the newly turned Jocelyn realizes that she's awakened into a room with two people who are alive, a creature now, unable to recognize them as her children as she lets out a gargled shriek. They can hear it when Clary and Jonathan choke out apologies, their voices barely drifting out, overlapping and almost indistinct, but full of emotion nonetheless. And they hear it when the gun fires, when the sharp crack reverberates in the room, when Jocelyn's body hits the ground with a dull thud and everything goes quiet.
Jace doesn't want to know which one pulled the trigger. He never wants that knowledge.
The silence is deafening.
Izzy returns a few moments later, a white sheet bundled into her arms, and she pauses outside of the door. For a moment, she closes her eyes and breathes, her face a mask of grief. Then she straightens, standing tall as she makes her way into the room. Magnus and Jace share a quick look before turning to follow, standing a little too close as they try and draw comfort from the proximity of each other.
Clary is on the ground beside Jocelyn's body, holding her limp hand, and Jonathan is doing the same on the other side. Izzy sinks down beside Clary, softly murmuring to them, reaching out to gently wrap Jocelyn's body in the sheet. Clary and Jonathan have to let go so Izzy can tie off the body, and they do after a long moment of simply crying.
"I can carry her," Jace offers quietly.
It seems fitting, somehow, that he be the one to carry her to her grave after having carried her home. No one argues with him, so he slowly walks over to dip down and haul her body into his arms, swallowing the grunt he wants to give from the strain, feeling that it's inappropriate.
In silence, they all walk out of the basement, up the stairs, through the near-silent church, and outside where everyone seems to be waiting.
The grave is deep, and Simon, Jonathan, and Alec help Jace lower Jocelyn into it. After, the entire group that resides in the church comes together to throw a shovel of dirt into the grave, slowly but surely covering Jocelyn's body. Just before the last blot of the sheet gets covered in soil, Jace remembers that Jocelyn had stolen his poptart just this morning, remembers her laugh as she teased him, her eyes glittering with amusement and fondness.
Jace knows it shouldn't hurt this much anymore, not after so many years of dealing with this, but it does anyway. He mourns, and he grieves, and he feels the loss as deeply as if she'd died in a world where death is much more of a surprise.
That's how the world is now. Someone smiles at you one morning, and by nightfall, they're being buried. Death isn't shocking, it's commonplace. Knowing that doesn't make this any easier.
Nothing about this is easy.
It never will be.