DISCLAIMER: If I owned Glee, it would be on HBO and not recommended for children.
AN: I rushed through this first chapter because my laptop was dying and I couldn't find the charger. Now that it's fully charged, I'm way too lazy to fix any mistakes that are made- and I'm sure there are plenty, so please forgive me.
Reviews are kindly appreciated.
Rachel flicked her hair out of her face, and shoved her tiny shoulder against the door. The zombie—she wasn't quite sure what the thing was, but she'd sat through enough Milla Jovovich movies with her fathers to know that they weren't normal, or rather, human, so she'd dubbed the creature beating on her door a zombie—howled in outrage as it scratched at the door Rachel was currently using all of her force to keep in place.
The scratching subsided, as did the shoving against her door. Rachel's heart hammered in her chest, but she was too proud to admit to herself that she was terrified. The silence stretched, and for the first time that morning, she allowed herself to listen.
From outside, she could hear screams, muffled gunshots, and groaning. She gathered that those things were everywhere. Lima would be an even bigger shit hole by the end of the day. She allowed herself to relax, and just as her head lolled against the door, a body crashed through her front window.
A scream bubbled in Rachel's throat as the body unfolded, rising to its feet. She recognized it as the zombie that had been viciously attacking her door moments before, trying to get to her. The brunette rolled to her feet unsteadily, her breathing heavy and uneven. The zombie was disgusting, not that anything dead was ever pretty but seriously.
The zombie lurched forward, stumbling and growling in agitation as it tripped over its own feet. Its head lolled to the side as it studied her, its eyes rolling in a complete circle. Rachel decided it was female, judging from it's footwear. A lone heel was hanging off of the zombies left foot, and the other foot was bare, exposing sparkly pink painted toes. The thing was dirty, as if it'd been rolling in the gravel in her driveway.
Her eyes rose to its face, and she gagged in disgust. A chunk was torn out of its face, half of its cheek missing. Rachel could see the zombies teeth through the side of her head. She gagged again as the zombie drew closer and its foul smell finally reached her nose. She shrunk against the wall, and the zombie stumbled again. The screams grew louder from outside, and she shook with fear. This was it, she was going to die.
Rachel's eyes darted frantically around the living room as she searched for something that could save her life. Her gaze settled on a fireplace poker. A vindictive smile graced her lips as she looked back at the monster advancing on her as she cowered against the wall. A plan formed in her head as she pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail with the rubber band around her wrist. She crouched as the zombie took another step, reaching its disgusting hands out towards her.
She jumped up, darting around the zombie and diving for the poker as the thing growled and whipped around, tearing across the room after her. Rachel rose to her feet, the steel rod secure in her hand. The zombie lurched towards her, and as its fingers reached her wrist, she swung the poker with as much strength as her tiny body could muster.
The poker connected with the zombies head, digging itself into its skin. She wrenched the poker free, sticky goo flying off the rod and covering her as she swung again, and again, and again. After the tenth swing, and the tenth dent made in the zombies head, the monster went down. It fell to its knees, gurgling heavily as blood dripped out of its mouth at a steady rate, spattering her carpet.
Rachel's poker stuck in its head, and she steeled herself as she put her bare foot on its shoulder, forcing the poker out of its grey flesh. Rachel retracted her foot, and the zombie fell to the carpet, landing with a thud at her feet. She stepped away from the body, dropping the poker on the ground. With shaking hands, she wiped the blood off of her pale face, rubbing at it as it dripped into her eyes. She stared at the creature, and the mess she'd made.
A car horn blared outside, and she jumped, grabbing the poker and swinging it up to rest on her shoulder like a baseball bat. She ducked against the fireplace, stepping over her intruders body, and peeked out the broken window.
"Oh my god." she whispered, awestruck. Her street was—literally—on fire. The car horn she'd heard belonged to her neighbors ugly jeep, which coincidently, had crashed into her mailbox, its engine smoking. The house across from her that belonged to a nice elderly couple was on fire, flames licking across the grass, scorching everything until it reached the sidewalk. The roof of the house was caved in, and with horror, she watched as the elderly female ran in terror from her front door towards the street, three zombies gaining on her.
Rachel ducked away from the window, tears streaming down her face and mixing with the blood she hadn't wiped away. "Oh my god." she whispered again and again, shaking and trying to block the screams and cries from outside. On shaky legs, she stood, brushing the grime off of her pajama pants. She'd killed a zombie dressed in baby blue pajama bottoms covered in stars and a tank top with Broadway scrawled across the bust. Well, that's a new level. She snorted mentally, eyeing the body a few feet away from her.
Rachel had seen movies like this. The post-apocalyptic kind where the hero—in this case her, the head bitch in charge—gathered her friends and any survivors to kill off the growing enemy—in this case, blood thirsty zombies—so they could all live to see another day. Rachel covered her ears as the screams from outside grew louder, and she bolted for the stairs, dead set on barricading herself in her room. She raced up the stairs, and dove into her room, slamming the door shut and scrambling to pull her desk in front of the door for good measure.
She huddled on her bed, jumping at every noise. Rachel avoided looking out her window, instead planting her eyes on a picture of her and her dads on her bedside table. She pulled the picture towards her, popping it out of the frame and cradling it in her hands. She ran her thumb over her fathers' faces, wishing that they was with her.
"If you want something done, you've gotta do it yourself, Rach." her father, Leroy, had always said. Rachel stiffened in realization, "I can't stay here." she breathed. But where else could she go? Where else would be safe enough? She ticked off places in her small town that could be labeled as a safe haven. Everyone would go to the super market, so that was a no-no. And Wal-Mart would probably be infested with the nasty undead freaks. The correctional facility on the edge of town might work, but she didn't want to be surrounded by a bunch of convicts.
The only other place she could think of was McKinley.
She jumped up, dropping the picture on her bed and running towards her closet. She thumbed through her clothes, cursing her skirts and dresses. If she wanted to be the badass hero, she had to look the part.
She finally found the only pair of jeans she owned. Rachel stripped out of her star pajama bottoms and shimmied into her dark jeans. She dropped to her knees and searched frantically for shoes that weren't flats or heels. "Yes!" She pulled out a pair of black converse from her younger years and shimmied her feet inside. Her feet couldn't breathe, but those would have to do for now.
Jumping to her feet, she grabbed her McKinley t-shirt that she wore for bed and shoved it on over her tank top. As Rachel pulled a duffel bag off of the top shelf of her closet, a crash sounded through her house. She stopped moving, listening intently. Footsteps scrambled around downstairs and she realized that more of the zombies had probably broken through the glass, and were tearing the house apart in search of something to sink their nasty teeth into.
Her stomach turned, and she gagged as she remembered the feel of her fire poker slamming into the zombies head. Then, it hit her. She'd left the only weapon she had downstairs. She curled her hand into a fist and kicked one of her shoes scattered around her floor, shrieking in outrage at her stupidity.
She tore through her clothes, shoving t-shirts, sweats, underwear, sports bras, socks, and her favorite skirt into the duffel bag before zipping it shut and tossing it onto her bed. Silently, she thanked God for whatever construction crew had built her house and had given her her own bathroom. She turned the tap on, shoving her toothpaste covered toothbrush under the water and brushing her teeth until her gums hurt. She was well aware that it could be the last time she ever had running water.
Grabbing her toothbrush, hairbrush, makeup—she was a materialistic girl, give her a break—and toiletries she raced out of the small bathroom and shoved her bathroom shit into the side pouch of the duffel bag.
Perched on her bedside table was her cellphone. She shoved into the pocket of her jeans, twirling the charger up and sticking it in her bag. She stared at her room for a moment, memorizing it. Grimacing, she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do. Rachel slowly pushed her desk away from her door, praying the idiots downstairs wouldn't be able to hear her. She grabbed the duffel bag, hoisting it up over her head, letting the weight of it fall against her hip.
Mentally, she ticked everything off: phone (check), pictures (check), clothes (check), weapon (negative). She cursed herself again for being stupid and leaving the poker downstairs. Rachel faced her door, breathing heavily. Then, she leaped forward, yanking her door open and tearing down the hall. She skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs, peering down. She counted two zombies that she could see, and she almost burst into tears because killing one had been bad enough.
One zombie hesitated as he walked in front of the stairway. She stopped breathing as he turned his head, his gaze locking with hers. He growled, and Rachel hissed, "here goes nothing" as the zombie tore its way up the stairs. She backed up a few steps, turned her body to the left and planted her feet on the carpet. The zombie reached the last step, his hands creeping dangerously towards her as he hunched over the last step. With a cry, she swung her leg up an arc, smashing her foot into the zombies face. She yanked her foot free, grabbing a hold of the walls on either side of her and leaping over the unresponsive zombie.
Hopefully, she'd killed it with her first well-executed roundhouse kick. Another zombie was poking at the first one she had killed, and she wondered briefly if they could just eat each other and save her the trouble. The fire poker lay on the floor beside her first zombie kill. Shaking her head, she stepped down into the living room.
"Hey, big boy." she called, getting the zombies attention. The zombie looked at her, appraising the tiny girl. She gestured towards herself, "You hungry?"