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The crowd’s roar still rings in her ears to this day. Distant, but still there. Casey has learned softball ever since her hands were strong enough to hold a bat. Years of training led to this moment, she thought.
That day was the very last game of the season, because Casey Novak made it that way– in the seventh inning, she had hit a home run with the three bases filled, making the total score 7-4. She remembers her teammates immediately swarming around her, their supporters chanting her name.
She remembers Charlie, standing up from the bleachers, sending her a look which only the both of them could understand. She winked at him, not knowing the very next week he would not be the same man anymore.
The nights she dreaded coming home was nothing compared to this.
Every swing of her bat is reminiscent of her hits and home runs. She used to stand firm in her belief that murder, in any way, is wrong. How badly she wanted to win every case– for the victims, for their families, for herself. But as of this moment, Casey has nothing left but the instinct to survive.
Her scream is drowned out by the groans and wails all around her. The crack of skulls, rotten skin torn up by barbed wires, wrapping around the baseball bat. What hair is left on the heads of the undead finds itself stuck on some of the wires, and long ago Casey would have thrown up at such a sight, but she has nothing in her stomach to regurgitate. The strength she puts to her swings are out of pure grief, and rage.
One by one, they fall to the ground, perhaps finally dying peacefully. She prefers to think of it that way, at least. All but one remains, who grabs Casey by the wrist, even as she keeps desperately hitting his— its head, chunks of brain matter fly out of its skull, some attach itself onto Casey’s chin.
“Why won’t you die?” She yells out.
The thing jerks its head forward, blackened teeth grasping at empty air as Casey successfully dodges in time. It loses its balance, and trips on one of its friends laying on the ground. Casey quickly grabs her knife from its sheath, and drives the sharp end onto the wound she’d already made, piercing through the brain, hoping its stubborn controller finally gets the message that this vessel is no more.
It drops onto her shoulder. In disgust, she pushes it away with great force, then waits to make sure it can’t make any more move. They’re getting stronger, she thinks. And smarter. Meanwhile, food has become scarce with the remaining survivors having scavenged them, leaving only the most dangerous zones alone– like this diner, for instance.
Casey only decided to come here out of desperation, holding out some last hope that she would survive a horde of undead just to get some expired food. And somehow, she did. She pulls out her knife, wipes it clean with an already bloody rag, and walks toward the diner.
It isn’t until Casey sees moldy burger buns in the kitchen that her stomach growls, begging for sustenance. Tearing off the plastic bag holding it, Casey starts to chomp on the bread, as if it was freshly baked, warm and toasty, like her mother used to make.
Her mother. Casey smiles at the thought, causing a few crumbs to fall off. What she would give to be wrapped in her arms once more. She leans into the kitchen counter, her back sliding off as she slowly sits on the dusty floor. Her gloved hands reach into the back pocket of her jeans, then produce a photograph of three women, with Casey being one in the middle.
On her left is her mother, caught off guard by the camera’s flash, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. Casey herself is grinning toothily, wearing one of her best suits. And on her right, is a blonde woman wearing a red dress, smiling rigidly, due to her personal distaste for pictures. Casey rubs her thumb gently on her face, imagining herself touching the flesh, and sighs wearily.
“I miss you,” she whispers. “Come back to me.”
The evening’s fight and the general exhaustion takes control of her body. Casey falls asleep with her hand still clutching the faded, grimy photograph of the two most important women in her life.
*
Casey is woken up by the sound of door slamming. She jolts awake, causing her head to hit the counter behind her. “Ow,” she hisses. “What–”
She doesn’t get the chance to process what’s happening because suddenly there is a knife pressed on her throat. “Don’t make a move,” a familiar voice whispers in her ears. “Please?”
“Let go of me,” it takes all of her to keep her voice from shaking.
The knife just presses deeper, almost slicing through her thin skin, but not quite. She watches as two more men grab everything they can from the kitchen, putting them in their backpacks. Casey starts to claw at the hand holding her down.
“Let go of me!” She demands once more, this time with her voice raised, and the two men suddenly look out the window, alarmed.
“For God’s sake, Trevor, keep her down!” One of them yells at her attacker–
She makes a mistake. She moves her head at the familiar name. The knife’s edge slices just the slightest bit, enough to draw blood.
“Goddammit, Casey, I told you not to move!”
With impressive speed, the man grabs a napkin from on top of the counter, then presses it onto her wound, replacing his knife. He uses his other hand to take off his backpack, rummaging inside and takes a bandage out of it.
“T-trevor,” Casey says, hissing in pain. “Langan?”
“Don’t move, Novak,” he orders. She’s finally registered the two men as the former defense attorney’s brothers– they look alike, she realizes after a moment of studying their faces. They shake their heads as their brother gently sticks the bandage onto Casey’s wound, obviously not the biggest fan of the idea of giving fresh bandages to a random woman they’re currently stealing from.
“You planned this, didn’t you? You waited until I cleared out the area so you could come in here and get my food?”
“It wasn’t your food in the first place, bitch,” one of his brothers says.
Trevor sighs. “I’m sorry, Casey. I’ve been watching you for two weeks. I wanted to ask you to join us, believe me, but family comes first.”
Casey chuckles mirthlessly. “You always were a fucking coward, Langan.”
“I deserve that.”
He has the nerve to look back once they have taken everything away from her. “Good luck, Novak. Don’t die.”
Casey curls up on the floor and cries.
*
It has been two years since the outbreak happened in the South, particularly Kentucky, and it didn’t take long until it reached New York. Trevor wasn’t the first acquaintance Casey has met these past few months. There was Paul from the cop bar she used to frequent– offered her a drink but nothing else, which she gladly took; Laura, a court clerk she used to pass by in the hallways, who was clearly not alright– kept screaming that ‘the end has come’ while waving her gun around. Casey had no choice but to leave her alone. There was Odafin Tutuola, whom she definitely was glad to see.
“Everybody’s dead,” he said. “And I ain’t sitting on my ass until I become one of them. If you’re wise, Novak, you better do the same.”
He didn’t seem all that surprised when she told him that she was staying. She wasn’t surprised, either, when he simply wished her luck and went on his way.
Now, Casey walks with the constant feeling of being watched. She doesn’t want to be selfish, she really doesn’t– growing up with six siblings, she was always taught to share. If the Langan brothers had asked nicely, she would have given them a few of what she had. But what was it Trevor said? Family comes first. Casey wants to laugh. She doesn’t have anyone. Her whole family was in Massachusetts, and the last time she heard from them was a year ago. And Alexandra…
Their last interaction was deeply ingrained in Casey’s brain. Every word, every touch, every little thing Alex did, like delicately pushing up the bridge of her glasses with her middle finger every five minutes. It was in Alex’s office, where they had eaten lunch and prepped for Casey’s trial together. With the door opened, they stuck to holding hands, which they did mostly because Casey could not survive without touching Alex when she was with her.
Chaos erupted during the trial, everyone receiving news about how a good part of Brooklyn was already Turned. The judge desperately called for order until he himself ran as fast as he could, still in his robes. Casey could not find Alex anywhere.
A rational part of her mind told her to follow Fin’s words– if Alex had survived, she would have seen her by now. She would have looked for Casey. Casey isn’t sure about a lot of things in this world anymore, but that is the one thing that feels like a truth to her, even now as she walks the empty streets of Manhattan.
With a map in hand, and her bat in the other, she expertly avoids unnecessary encounters with the undead, as she has only one destination in mind: back to the 16th precinct. It was the second place she visited during the chaos, with her and Alex’s apartment being the first. She was hoping to see familiar faces, but there was nobody there. No one alive, anyway.
The precinct is a battlefield. It was meant to be a sanctuary from the undead since the police had the arsenal, but they were inexperienced– it only took a week until it was completely overrun by the Turned. Casey knows this is a very bad idea, but she has looked everywhere she can think of to find Alex, her only option now is to check back the places she’s been.
Near the precinct’s building, Casey puts her map inside her bag, and readies her bat. If Alex isn’t here, she would at least find a gun. She’s never been a fan of them, but she has long abandoned personal preferences for survival.
Inside the building, the undead roam aimlessly in the dark, as she crouches down, sneaking towards the stairs. She makes a silent prayer that there would be something left, anything, in the weapons storage. Cautiously, Casey walks up the stairs successfully without alerting any of the undead.
She reaches the third floor where the storage is, and is surprised to find there is none of the Turned there. Her hand slowly turns the doorknob, and as soon as it creaks open, she is swung around, an arm wrapped around her throat, pressing hard on its wound. A cold metal finds itself buried into Casey’s oily and messy red hair.
Click. She’s never been in this position before, but even she knows all too well what that sound was. At this point, Casey is sure her life is some sort of punchline of a very distasteful joke.
“Move and I will– Casey?” The gun immediately lowers.
Casey lets out a series of coughs once she’s let go. She takes a moment, and sighs in relief as the sight of Olivia Benson forms in the almost pitch darkness.
Without thinking twice, she wraps her arms around the former detective. Olivia returns the hug, until they fall into an awkward silence and reluctantly let go.
“Sorry,” Casey murmurs. “It’s just– God, I never thought I’d ever be this happy to see you.”
“Ouch, Counselor.” Olivia says, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
Casey winces. “That’s not what I meant to say. You know, I haven’t talked to anyone in months. I’m a little bit rusty.”
“Hey, I know the feeling,” Olivia says. She turns around to turn on a flashlight. With a source of light, they take a good look at each other.
Olivia has cut her hair short once more. Casey’s own hair has become sort of an annoyance, as no matter how much she ties it, some strands always find themselves obstructing her view. She almost asks Olivia to help her cut it right there and then, but there are more important questions to be asked–
“What are you doing back here, Olivia?”
“Same reason why you’re here, probably.”
“I doubt that.”
Olivia stares at Casey for a moment, then her face falls.
Casey rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that look, Detective.”
“What look?”
“The look that says that I should give up already. I’m not going to leave Alex here.”
Olivia sighs. “Casey, there’s a chance that–”
“Don’t. Don’t say it. If it were Elliot–”
“Elliot’s dead.”
Casey’s mouth moves, but makes no sound. She should’ve been prepared to hear this kind of news– Fin did say, everybody’s dead. She always thought it also included Olivia, but she’d never heard it from another person, especially Olivia herself, who says it with so much conviction.
“How can you–” A tear rolls down her cheek. “How can you be sure?”
“He died in my arms, Casey,” Olivia looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
Olivia doesn’t reply. They fall into an awkward silence once more.
Casey clears her throat. “So are you gonna tell me why you decided to come to one of the most dangerous places in Manhattan?”
“I’m going to retake the building,” Olivia says, with surprising vehemence and determination. “I can’t just let these damn zombies take over my home.”
Casey nods in understanding. “You have your goals, I have mine.”
“That’s right.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, why are you still here, Casey?”
“I don’t know,” she groans. “Look, we weren’t always the best of friends, but I can’t just leave you behind.”
“Are you suggesting that we work together, Counselor?”
“Just like old times?”
Olivia seems to be considering this for a moment– their old times mean they’re going to butt heads sooner or later. “Alright, Casey. Just like old times.”
The plan is quite simple, really, if you were a detective who has been trained for combat for years, not a prosecutor who relies on strength from lifting weights and adrenaline. Olivia has found a stack of grenades they can use as bait to lure the undead to the rooftop. From there, they will try to push them one by one over the edge.
It will be exhausting, and their lives will be at stake, but Olivia seems confident it will work. Casey would never admit it, but she trusts Olivia with her life, no matter what she’d done to her in the past.
They both prepare themselves by eating chocolate bars from Olivia’s own stash. Afterwards Casey is given impromptu firearm lessons– only to be used when needed, since they need to preserve their very limited ammunition.
They start with the three highest floors– which includes the precinct office. According to Olivia, only a few of them are there; the real horde they will need to worry about is in the lobby.
“Ready, Counselor?”
Casey considers saying I was born ready just for the hell of it. But all she can say is, “Let’s just do it before I change my mind.”
Olivia pulls out the safety pin and throws the grenade onto the rooftop. Casey covers her ears as it explodes, destroying some vents nearby.
The air suddenly feels still, as if the Earth has just witnessed a very stupid idea that it has to warn the humans how stupid it is.
Casey turns to the detective. “Liv–”
“Shh,” Olivia places a finger to her lips. “Hear that?”
Casey doesn’t need to concentrate to hear the sudden thunderous sound of tens of feet running upwards. They become closer and closer, until Olivia gives the signal to run towards the rooftop. Surely enough, the undead’s growls echo like a terrifying choir, as they push against each other, exiting through the door.
Olivia skillfully uses her knife and a police baton to hit every last one that trot towards her. Meanwhile, Casey’s mind is set upon one thing: hit everything that moves and has a foul breath.
The detective’s plan is working, at least, most of them aren’t smart enough to realize they’re being lured towards the edge of the roof. It should be satisfying to hear them scream as they are pushed over, but Casey doesn’t feel so. They were still people who deserve a better death.
There’s still about twenty of them left, when Casey suddenly notices a familiar blonde hair among them.
“No…” She inhales sharply.
The sight before her only comes from her worst nightmares. The clothes it wears are the same as the day they last met; a white shirt with grey skirt and blazer. Eyes which used to be so blue that Casey could drown in them have been replaced with bright yellow. Half of the face is torn off, edges of her skin hanging. But she is still so damn beautiful.
Before she knows it, Casey calls out to the name, and it feels like coming home. “Alex!”
Every rotten head turns to her.
“Casey, no!”
They ignore Olivia’s scream as they start walking towards Casey, but Alex stays still. Casey rushes to her, her senses to everything else around her muting as she can only focus on the blonde woman.
“Casey, get away from her, dammit!”
Casey doesn’t realize it at first– she hears the explosion before she sees it. Olivia has thrown another grenade to the edge of the roof.
It catches the attention of the undead– all but Alex. She doesn’t move at all.
Olivia yells something again, but Casey can’t hear her. She doesn’t take her eyes off Alex.
Suddenly, when she's close enough, Alex jerks her head, turning to Casey. Alex rushes at her, both her hands grabbing Casey’s neck.
“Do it,” Casey says, out of breath, and closes her eyes. She can feel Alex’s face is mere inches away, her drool wetting Casey’s already sweaty skin. “Do it, please, Alex. I can’t do this anymore. I just–” She chokes out. “I just want to be with you. Please, Alex. Do it. Turn me.”
Alex stops abruptly. “Ca.. sey…” her voice croaks.
“Wha–” Casey’s eyes shoot open. “Alex?”
The grasp on her neck becomes loose, and slowly, so very slowly, one of the hands raises to stroke Casey’s pale cheek. Like her face, the skin has fallen off Alex’s fingers. What touches Casey is only dead muscles and skeleton.
“Ca…sey,” Alex starts to say again. “I’m… Sorry.”
“No, please,” Casey’s tears start to fall. Alex is alive– not completely, but she’s here. She’s found her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t– I couldn’t save you in time.”
“No…” Alex lowers her hands once more, one on the back of Casey’s neck, gently. “I can’t fight it, Casey. You need to–”
“It’ll be okay, Alex,” Casey pulls her into her arms, wrapping them tight around decayed flesh. “Don’t fight it.”
“I…” Alex whispers. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Casey strokes the thin blonde hair. “Always and forever–”
With an inhuman strength, Alex pulls away and twists Casey’s neck in one, swift motion.