Heavily inspired by fagur fiskur's wonderful story, The Glee Alphabetsince this is taken from her letter Z, Zombie Apocalypse. Permission was granted to use her idea and the text already provided, though I did add a little to it. Anyways, thanks again to my fabulous beta DJ who deserves a big round of applause for fixing all my crappy mistakes (check out her stories too, DJDizzyD).
Zombie Killin' Business
Summary: Blaine was in Twilight Zone. Either that or he had officially gone insane. There was no way, hand grenade wielding David, sniper sharp shooter Wes, and flamethrower extraordinaire Kurt were real. There was no way that three hours ago the apocalypse fully began.
Warnings: Abuse of (things written in here) and shotty sarcasm. You have now been warned.
Chapter 1: Step 1: Gather Your Weapons and Get Your Supplies
It started with a news report.
(We won't get into the scientific aspect of how an abnormality in some flu shots started this whole mess as it would get quite intricate and would end up boring most of you, so we'll just say it started with a news report and leave it at that.)
It was early spring and the snow had just melted when there was a report that a man - one Clarence Tuffle of Lawrence, Kansas, thirty-five years, eight months, and seventeen days old - died from what seemed to be the common cold.
The family was devastated but with no romantic relations or kids, he left behind his parents and an older sister who, along with some friends and family, were the only people at the funeral. According to the busty news reporter, during the open casket ceremony Mr. Tuffle rose from his coffin, slowly, jerkily, and launched himself at the nearest person.
That poor priest.
One could argue that the man really didn't mind having his face eaten off, although the blood curdling screams seemed to indicate otherwise.
After that report, and after the several hoax accusations and general finger-pointing, other reports around the nation popped up that were very similar. Not good.
Back in Ohio, in a boarding school four hours away from his home, one Mr. Blaine Anderson, seventeen years, three weeks and six days old, sat at his computer monitor, horrified at the news.
Apparently the President of the United States had declared this problem to be of the "zombie apocalypse" persuasion. If Blaine hadn't been so terrified and dumbstruck, he would have commented on the President's rather nice description of the situation.
A panicked thought crossed his mind as he watched President Obama reassure the public that his best people were working on ways to stop this attack.
"I thought that this 2012 bullshit was...bullshit! It's real. We're all gonna to die! Nononono!
Blaine ran a hand through his hair, not caring that he had now messed up his pristine gelled hair (gasp!). What in the world was going on?
The zombie apocalypse only happened in movies like Zombieland or Shane of the Dead. There was no way this was legit. He had to have been dreaming... or in the Twilight Zone. Nothing else made sense. This was not real life. It was indeed a fantasy.
Closing his laptop, he marched out of his room in search for his closest friends. Maybe they could shed some light on this madness. This utter, ridiculous madness. He hurried down the deserted hall to Kurt's room. He knocked and then proceeded to open the door, but was met by an empty room. Frowning, Blaine retreated back down the hall and then turned the corner heading towards David's room.
Slipping through the cracked door Blaine blinked at the sight before him. He blinked again when the image didn't change, and then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He couldn't believe this. This was not real life, dammit. This had to be a fucking fantasy. It had to be.
Kurt and Wes were in David's, the three of them bustling around the area, packing.
Stuttering, the only words he could get out were,"The apocalypse?"
And so what if his voice came out two octaves higher than it usually was? No one could really blame him. Not really.
Kurt was the closest to him, a rather large suitcase at his feet. The elven like boy no longer resembled a fragile crystal vase or something to that nature but with black combat boots, tight black jeans and a dark gray turtle neck he looked like... well he looked pretty bad ass. Especially with what looked like flamethrower in-
What in the actual fuck?
"Wait, why does Kurt have a flameflower?"
Kurt finished inspecting his flamethrower. Not only was it functioning, but it was fabulous (It was painted in the Dalton colors. Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel did not have school spirit).
Kurt rolled his eyes."Get with the program, Blaine. It's been nearly three hours since it started."
"But-" Blaine started, a feeling that his grasp on reality was slipping away. Was he in some mental institution, hallucinating all of this right now? Had he done meth? He should have listened to those commercials. Meth: Not even once. All he had to do was listen. But no, he didn't. Now he was hallucinating about the zombie apocalypse and Kurt having a huge ass flamethrower in his hands.
"It's fun," David said cheerfully, nearly bouncing over to him as he zipped up a large duffle bag. Blaine just stared at him, his eyebrow a furrowing.
"We get to use hand-grenades. Do you want one?"
Blaine ignored his friend's outstretched arm. "Is no one else worried about this?"
"We finished panicking two hours and forty-five minutes ago," Wes told him. "Now we're in the lock-and-load phase. We'll be heading out soon though, so if you're not gonna take one of David's hand-grenades you'll need some other weapon."
There was a heavy pause as Blaine starred at his three best friends in silence. This was real.
This crazy ass zombie attack was legit. On the bright side, at least Blaine now knew he wasn't a meth-addict.
"…I have a baseball bat," Blaine said weakly, eyes still wide in silent terror.
"Perfect," Kurt commented. "Are we ready?" He grabbed the handle of his suitcase in one hand, his prideful flamethrower in the other.
"Ready," Wes said, grabbing his sniper rifle while shouldering his own canvas bag.
David grinned. "The countless hours I spent playing Dead Rising 2 instead of studying will not have been in vain." Grenade in hand and plenty few attached to a rather thick belt, he too picked up his duffel bag and readied himself to leave his dorm room for the last time.
Grinning without any joy, but in sheer panic, Blaine said, "Let me get my bat and pack my bag then we can get out of here."
In no more than fifteen minutes, the four boys packed and speeding down the highway in Kurt's Navigator.
"Hey Wes, David," Blaine turned back from his position in the passenger seat, having totally beat the other two boys at calling Wookie. "How come both of you have heavy duty military weapons? I mean, it was only announced today that the apocalypse has officially began. And I know that even you two couldn't have gotten hand grenades and a sniper gun in like two hours."
The two boys in the back exchanged looks before David spoke, "We may or may not have been planning for an event like one such as this to happen since we were twelve,"
"We also may or may not have a container bin a mile from here that has all the supplies we need for a month." Wes added, flashing a smile at a now horrified looking Blaine.
Blaine stared at the two of them, his eyes darting back from one to the other in disbelief. He really shouldn't have been surprised. These were the two boys who took every zombie shooter game invented seriously. The Dead Rising series was like a staple in their video game marathons every Wednesday night.
The boy then turned to the other driving. "Kurt?"
Kurt's now grayish-looking eyes flickered to him briefly before averting back to the road, scouting for any stumbling zombie or abandoned vehicles that were beginning to block the freeway.
"Hmm?" Kurt asked.
"Why do you own a flamethrower? Or did one of the two loons give it to you?"
Kurt bit at his lower lip and then quickly answered, "I may or may not have this hobby of picking out the most hideous shirt or dress or sweater when I go out shopping, buying it because I could not stand the thought of someone else actually buying it for the intent of wearing it, and I may or may not like to take my flamethrower and light it on fire, as those fashion travesties really shouldn't be allowed to exist."
Blaine fell back against his seat and breathed out his nose and then inhaled through his mouth. He really was surrounded my crazies. Was no one sane anymore? Before he was able to ponder that subject, their car was squealing to a stop at a blue and orange storage facility. Stopping suddenly, Kurt killed the engine and the four sat silently for a moment.
"Okay guys," David began, sitting forward so his head appeared between the two up front, "We get out, slip into the warehouse, find our storage unit, get the stuff, and then get out. From there we go to-"
"We go to Lima." Kurt interrupted.
Blaine could hear Wes in the back hiss. "But that's not in the plan!"
Kurt shot him a death glare, his eyes hard and jaw set stubbornly, "I don't care that it's not in the plan. I have to check up on my Dad! And since the phone lines are down and so are the cell phone towers, I have to go make sure he and Carole and Finn are doing fine, okay?"
David stared at Kurt and saw that there was no way the boy was going to change his mind, leaning back he and Wes whispered quietly before Wes said, "Fine, we can make the drive out to Liam then we can continue on with the plan as, well, planned."
"Unless you wanted to continue north to visit your parents Blaine?" David added.
"No thanks guys, I'm sure my family is fine," Blaine replied with a smile and a shrug.
"My family fled to England after the first attack," Wes said as David added, "And mine fled to our winter home in Germany. So, I guess that settles that."
Kurt spoke. "Wes, hand me my flamethrower would you? It's in the back seat," Now equipped he said, "Alright guys are you ready?"
David and Wes exchanged high fives and with a war cry barreled out of the car. Kurt noticed that Blaine didn't even move to unbuckle his seat belt. Tilting his head to the right, he silently asked if Blaine was okay. Exhaling sharply, Blaine nodded once, gathered his bat and slipped out of the car. Hopping out of his seat, Kurt waited for Blaine to circle the car and gasped his hand tightly, giving it a small squeeze to reassure the boy. Kurt gave Blaine a small, sweet smile.
Blaine smiled back and the two jogged up to catch up with a sighing David, "Slow pokes, you can kiss and cuddle later but we need to get to the storage garage now."
Blaine rolled his eyes. Though they may have been in the middle of the world ending, his friends would apparently always be the same. Kurt felt the tips of his ears grow hot in embarrassment and without thinking locked the car, two sharp beeps filling the deserted space.
That habit would only lead to some bloody consequences.
Jogging, the four teens headed towards Wes' and David's emergency storage, alert and eyes peeled for the undead. To say that that both Blaine and Kurt were stunned when they reached and opened the storage door would be an understatement it. When the orange door was unlocked and swung open both of them gasped at the sheer volume of supplies. There were twelve stacks of packages of bottled water to crates of canned foods, a box full of bullets for Wes and grenades of various sizes for David, not to mention a whole rack of weapons hung on the far wall and even more unseen treasures lay in the space.
"Wha...?" Blaine felt his jaw grow slack in bewilderment.
"Do you wanna change out that bat Blaine, maybe for like an axe or," David nearly skipped over to the wall of investments, "How 'bout a nice staple gun!"
Finding his voice again, he stuttered, "N-no, I'm, I think I'm good with the bat." He held it up good measure, a bit stupidly.
David shrugged, "Fine, your loss, I'll take it then." Rummaging through the massive amount of crap the two had accumulated over the years, the boys filled four boxes, one filled with water, another with food, another full of ammunition and weapons, and the last full with blankets.
"Alright," David wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand, "let's head out, but we need to be careful. Our hands are full of precious cargo, but at the first sight of a zombie, drop your box and ready your weapon."
Maybe Blaine hadn't fully realized the seriousness of the situation but military!David was almost annoying in his intensity. Set at a steady, fast pace, the four headed to the car.
It was Blaine who first saw, twenty feet ahead and slightly to their right, the walking undead. Throat dry, he stopped dead in his tracks, his box (the lightest one with the space blankets and cotton blankets because apparently his still-shocked state couldn't handle anything heavier) dropped to the floor. Instead of any vocal concerns or warnings, a croak emitted from his throat.
Kurt glanced at him with a frown, his eyes a confused grayish-blue, "What's wro-Oh! Guys? Zombies at our two o'clock!" The boy had followed Blaine's wide eyes and saw what had rendered him speechless.
Either it was Kurt's exclamation or the zombie's brains finally processed that four very alive boys were right in their vicinity, but which ever it was the zombies picked up their limping pace towards them.
"Shit!" Wes exclaimed as he let go of his box and took up his gun.
Blaine gripped the bat with both hands, arm pulled back as he took up a batting position - all those late afternoon days playing baseball games with his father, before the whole you're-no-longer-my-son-you-queer thing, would actually be put to some use. Who knew? Maybe he did owe one thing to his father now. Well, Blaine decided, he would if he got out of this situation alive.
But just because he still knew how to wield a bat didn't mean that his thought process was anything other than," !"
"Steady!" David quipped as the distance between the zombies quickly evaporated. Thanks for that completely unhelpful comment, David. Blaine would have rolled his eyes if he actually had control over his body right then.
With eight feet left, Wes opened fire, whooping like mad. Kurt pursed his lips together and shouted over the noise, "If I get blood on this outfit I will go Coach Slyvester on their asses and-" The rest of his threat was unheard as with a pull of the trigger a stream of fire shot out and caught three zombies on fire.
The boys' ears were filled with pained screeches of the burning, the loud bark of Wes' gun and the war cries of David, Blaine felt highly overwhelmed as two zombies slipped through the ranks and headed straight for him.
"Shit!shitshitshitshitshit!ohgod. oh god. SHIT!"
Four feet, three feet, two…
With a girlish scream (which would later be blamed on the zombies who screamed as they burned, as someone of Blaine's cool and calm nature would never release such an embarrassing sound, and it really was very embarrassing) he swung the bat with his eyes closed and hoped for the best.
A wet thud and the sharp vibrations making his arms feel like jello told him he at least made contact, which was something he could never accomplish as a child, though he blamed those stupid, tiny ass balls. After a few seconds, Blaine unscrunched his face, opened his hazel eyes slowly and peeked at the now crumpled zombie, head busted open and dark red blood spilling onto the floor.
Gag.
Before Blaine had the chance to get sick all over the dead body, the second attacker lunged; Blaine fell back on his ass, trying to avoid its rotten flesh. He was not going to be contaminated. And who knew if this zombie thing was contagious? He was not taking that chance. One cannot be gentlemanly and be a zombie at the same time. And Blaine really liked being dapper. It came towards him again, salivating, bloody, and Blaine scrambled backwards crab like, totally not screaming as he did so.
Blaine's life flashed before his eyes. He thought back to singing as a child, the baseball games he hated so much, transferring to Dalton, meeting Kurt for the first time, and finally to the crazy ass experience that had been his morning. Damnit (Janet) he was going to die a virgin.
In a ridiculously heroic move (read: if Blaine hadn't been practically shitting his pants, he would have thought it was slightly hot), Kurt swooped in, picked up Blaine's fallen bat and knocked the zombie out of the park, or well, in reality busted open the zombie dude's head, it's brains splattering everywhere. Smirking at the gaping boy below him, Kurt offered his free hand. The curly haired boy gazed up at his savior. Blaine Anderson was in love.
Now steady on his feet, he slowly took back the bat with his left hand, his right still firmly grasped in Kurt's. Smiling he said, "Thanks."
Kurt's grin widened, "My pleasure."
"You have a little," Blaine gestured towards the boy's face, "something kinda splattered all over your face."
Kurt's smile surprisingly didn't fade, "I figured as much." He chuckled, "As do you."
A small part of Blaine's brain freaked out (blood was covering his face, someone's dead, decaying, diseased blood was on his face!) but the rest of his mind was either a) still processing all of this and/or b) didn't care as long as Kurt was holding his hand, smiling at him this way.
"Besides," Kurt added, "I have almost a year supply of moist towelettes in the car."
Blaine matched the other boy's wide smile, "Perfect." And he wasn't just talking about the wonders of a moist towelette.
"Hey guys!" David's voice broke through their moment, "You better start running unless you want to go 'boom goes the dynamite!'"
Seeing the manic glint in the boy's eyes even from fifteen feet away, Blaine tugged at Kurt's hand, barely leaving him time to scoop up his flamethrower before the two of them were sprinting towards the car. In no time, they were at the heels of the other two boys who, through their panting breaths, were laughing.
In the next instant an explosion shook the world and the sudden release of explosives and what not knocked the four to the ground.
Boom goes the zombies.
"Oof!"
"Shit!"
"HAHAHA!"
"MY CLOTHES!"
Ears ringing, his head feeling heavy and every inch of his body aching fiercely, Blaine coughed once, peeling his face off the asphalt floor and flopped onto his back. Throwing his arm over his eyes, Blaine focused on breathing for a moment before turning his head to peer at Kurt. The boy in question was slowing sitting up, looking positively disheveled, hair mussed up (and quite sexy looking in Blaine's opinion), face covered in dirt and blood, clothes filthy. Blaine turned his head and found Wes and David in similar positions. The boys made eye contact and maybe it the adrenaline, maybe it was the bizarre scenario, but whatever the case, they burst out laughing, the hysterical sound filling the area.
So how did you like it? Part two coming soon!