Come right down to it, a woman's gotta learn what she's made of, and no better time than the end of the fucking world. She's worn down to nothing, muscle giving way to bones sharp against sickly pale skin, old tattoos and new scars standing out like shadows of memories. She left the dog in Detroit and she left Elaine in Manhattan, so she sucks at taking care of things that matter. Means she has to take care of other things that matter before she can find any rest. It'll all come down to one shot, and no one ever called Deanna Nolan a coward, not without getting their ass handed to them before they could blink. She's not going to give anyone the chance to say it now. What she's going to do is the thing she has to do, for the island and for herself. It won't hurt. Even if it does, she won't let herself feel it, because the pain shouldn't matter.

She checks herself before she gets ready to head out in the twilight between day and night. Gun on her right hip, check. Ammo across her chest, check. Gun on her left hip, check. Ivory's gonna be pissed. Ammo the other way across her chest, check. Dog tag around her neck, check, because she hasn't taken it off once. Ammo on her belt, check. Knife in each of the high boots they boosted off Second Ave, check. Ammo in each of the guns, check. Cross against her skin, check. Matches, check. Ammo against her memories… check, damnit. She doesn't have a mirror, but she feels like that chick from Tomb Raider, except with smaller tits and black. Hell, between the guns and the zombies, maybe she is in a video game. Would explain a lot… but naw, they'd never have put Elaine in a video game.

She smiles, but it doesn't last long.

Nothing else she needs, so she heads out. This far out, whoever's on watch might mistake her for Plenette, and that's fine, 'cause everyone expects Plenette to go out killing at night. It's all good 'til she gets to the ramp and someone's waiting for her, calling out low, "Tweet." Shit. It's Pee-Wee. Hard to see, but the way she's looking at Tweety, there's something in those big brown eyes that's been missing since long before they got out of the D, something that says that maybe she's back on the planet, and the next thing she says, even lower, is "Katie's dead."

About fucking time she noticed. "Went down the first day."

Pee-Wee flips something upside her head, and the light comes on, and not just the reality check kind either. Gun at her hip, ammo on her like she's Ramboette, and she's got the sword they found down on 49th, and she's got another hat with a light on it. "Can't shoot 'em if we can't see 'em," she explains, and Tweety notices the "we" pretty quick, specially when Pee-Wee tosses her the hat. Doesn't have to say a word for Pee-Wee to tell her, "Ivory wants this team, she can have it, at least that's what I'm thinkin', and from the way you're dressed out, you're thinkin' the same thing. For the best, really."

"Someone else gotta take the last shot," Tweety replies, and they both know what she means. "First, we take out every one of those fuckers we find. This time I'm not gonna choke, trust."

They cross the bridge fast, down onto the East Side where no one's been walking for weeks now. Not much to say 'til Pee-Wee asks, "Got a plan?"

"Got matches."

Pee-Wee half-grins. "Good plan. Gotta put one of 'em down first- fuckers keep coming at you if you set 'em on fire before you off 'em."

"Shouldn't be hard."

There's only one place the last stand can happen. A couple of strays come up on them on the way downtown, but the two of them don't stop until they hit the spot of their last battle, the intersection of 52nd and 5th. Windows are all broken, and some smartass dressed a coupla dead bodies in LeBron jerseys and playoff shirts. She can see a couple of the missed shots still stuck in the walls, and that overturned hot dog cart stinks even worse now that it's had a few more days for the onions to rot and the dogs to go bad. Bus stop sign's bent where Elaine threw her next-to-last opponent into it, right before the last one pulled her down and tore into her.

Tweety tosses Pee-Wee the matches to burn the bodies. While Pee-Wee sets the bait, Tweety makes damn sure they'll get the fight they want when she takes one of the knives and makes a shallow cut underlining the tattoos that match Elaine's. The blood doesn't pour out, but the heartbreak does, and the stink starts to carry on the wind that's starting to fan the flames.

Not that it's safe behind the flames, but the wall between them and the undead is reassuring. They've got proper spacing on offense, the shit that Bill still harps on even though the shots they're shooting aren't jumpers anymore. Pee-Wee's pressed against her back and looking south, and they're both keeping an eye on the cross-street. The fire burns, and everything stinks of rotten roasting meat.

Seems like forever, but the zombies show up eventually, coming from the north, south, and west. Tweety and Pee-Wee open fire. With all these fuckers around, it's harder to miss than it is to hit, and the undead just keep going down. When the action slows and the fire dies down, one of them drags a body over and lights another match. "No wonder Beard likes setting shit on fire," Tweety says with half a smile. "It's fun."

The ring Pee-Wee's wearing glitters on her hand, throwing off the firelight, and it's a ring Tweety's never seen before, kinda plain for what it probably is. The number on it isn't one she's ever seen Pee-Wee wear, but she knows it from defending green and high-fiving blue. Looks like they both wanted to make sure they didn't die alone. This whole love thing is kinda fucked up in a way, or at least it's been since the dead started walking around like they had a right to pull shit like that.

About an hour or thereabouts into the fight, it comes full circle. Tweety doesn't see her face. Doesn't need to. Her shirt got ripped during the last fight, and even through the rot and the bite marks, the tattoo shows up nice and clear. For a second, Tweety's eyes dart down to her own chest, and she tells herself, "Do the damn thing." No tears, no goodbyes, just her fingers on both triggers and two more bodies hitting the ground. They wouldn't be here if she'd taken that damn shot three days ago.

Smoke curls up into the sky, and the fire burns even hotter. They don't have to light new matches now, just drag in the bodies and let them burn. They're soft and squishy to handle, gross if Pee-Wee and Tweety hadn't gotten used to this. Dark hair catches Tweety's eye, but Pee-Wee knows what she's about to ask and says, "Naw, she'd be out in Jersey… but that's the jackass who couldn't tell LSU from Tech and damn near had Elaine and Cheryl breaking down his door 'cause they were so pissed off. Burn, motherfucker, burn." She throws the body into the fire with a cackle, and somehow it doesn't weird Tweety out one bit.

Time passes, probably. Hell, maybe it doesn't pass and she and Pee-Wee are trapped in the same moment forever, killing the undead because they don't stop coming, because of the smell of meat and blood drawing them in like there's nothing like it left on the island, and fuck, maybe there isn't, maybe there's nothing alive on Manhattan Island except Tweety and Pee-Wee, firing shots as fast as they can and aching the whole way from recoil and tight grips, not caring how often they miss as long as they get in their hits and don't get grabbed. Fire's useful for that. Slows the fuckers up and they're easy to shoot. Funny how Tweety's aim has gotten steadier over time. The other way would've made more sense. But this is the last thing she's gonna do, so she's gonna do it right, fix the mistakes she made before.

There's a scream in her ear and then a scream on the ground. Oh, shit. Pee-Wee's clutching her ankle, pulling something out of it while she bleeds, and something's twitching on the ground right the fuck next to her, and Tweety fires just to make the thing stop twitching. Pee-Wee looks up at her, way the fuck too calm and collected, and says, "I'll say hi to Katie and Elaine for you."

"Ain't like I'm gonna be too far behind," Tweety says, and she doesn't think twice before she fires again. Her back feels naked, and she's gotta move faster now, just when she wants to sub out and grab some Gatorade. Nothing to do but keep shooting, though, so she does. First chance she gets, she takes the ring off Pee-Wee's finger and puts it on. There, now they're all together for the last stand. Bring it on, motherfuckers, bring it on.

Sweat's in her eyes, on her hands, and she's never been this wiped. But the ammo's almost out, and she starts counting bullets. When she gets down to one shot, the game's over. Yeah, she could keep going with Pee-Wee's sword, but the sword won't keep her out of trouble if one of those motherfuckers gets its teeth on her, and if she can use a sword on them they're too close anyway. Between shots she drags her hands against her pants, not that it does much good 'cause of the dried blood and other shit there. When one gun empties, she picks up Pee-Wee's and empties it into the zombies. At least they have trouble climbing over the other dead bodies, 'cause otherwise she'd've been dead long since.

She's down to ten shots when someone presses against her back and says, "Girl, you crazy!"

Tweety squeezes the trigger and watches another rotting head explode. Nine. "Hells yeah. But I'm good."

Eight. Damn. Miss. Seven. That's better. Six. Boom.

"How much ammo you got?" she asks the stranger.

"Plenty." Calm voice, slow drawl. Damn, but it sounds familiar. And there's a smell in the air that's got her twisting in her pants so maybe she can get off one more time before she goes down. That's a good way to go out.

Five. Another miss. Fuck, she's slipping. Four takes down five. Three. Another dead zombie. Two. Right between the eyes.

One bullet left. Come right down to it, she doesn't want to die, but she's outta ammo, the new woman can't hold forever, and she'd rather be dead than undead. Side of the head might be messy and she could lose her nerve, but if she swallows the gun, she might hit the other woman, and she can feel there's a height difference between them. Last thing she wants to do is off someone without making sure they don't get up again. That shit ain't even close to right. "Get outta the way," she says, and damn, she sounds like she needs a drink. "Don't want to hit you on the exit."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Don't plan on comin' back again." She takes a deep breath, preps the gun, and thinks hard of Elaine.

Her world goes black.

Well, fuck. Nothing's changed. So New York is Hell after all. Beard's gonna get a real kick outta that when she finally kicks it. She's over someone's shoulder, and what the fuck is that about. "What the fuck?" she asks, 'cause Tweety's never been the shy type.

"Could ask you the same thing." Slow drawl, and the smell in the air that makes Tweety hot, but the voice is anything but calm this time. Plenette's pissed. Oh. Guess she didn't get the shot off in time. "What the hell was that? Since when have you had a death wish? Hell, I don't care. Ivory told me to go after you. She's pissed. We been here how long? Don't fuck with the midget's guns."

"I fucked up."

"No shit."

"Had to fix it. I owed her that much. Took down a lot of 'em with Pee-Wee before you got there. Just wanted to make sure I didn't end up the same way, 'cause wouldn't have been someone there to bail my ass out like I bailed out Pee-Wee's." She can't look up, but she would. "You know I wouldn't have backed down, you didn't show. Kid woulda figured out where we went after a coupla days and y'all woulda gotten the pieces back." And she wouldn't feel like she'd fucked up again, but like hell she's gonna mention that.

"You're a damn fool."

"Yeah, so?"

"If I put you down, you gonna do anything stupid?"

"Where we at?"

"55th and Lex."

"You got my back?"

Plenette snorts, or something like that. "Damn, I musta scrambled your brains worse than I thought when I hit you. We all got your back."

Tweety considers this, and how it's probably not true but it sounds real good anyway. "A'ight, I'll be good. Put me down."

She can hardly see Plenette's face when she's back on her feet, but there's something there that looks kinda familiar from the court, like some punk's shot got stuffed and the game's in hand, something electric and bright that could rule the world. The streetlight that shows her Plenette's face shines off the ring she never earned. Maybe they'll get out of Hell- New York, Hell, same difference- alive, crazy but alive, after all.

But she'll always save the last bullet in her gun, just in case.