Though the Mayans weren't predicting the end of the world, I feel pretty safe in predicting that there well be a lot of "end of the world" fics happening today, and I couldn't resist writing one of my own. I pretty much just became obsessed with the idea in late October, so here it is. So, this story is set in canon and depicts Quinn's 83 mile journey from Yale University to Bushwick via the New England Thruway; the mileage was determined by Google maps. (I used the Thruway though I'm sure many of you know the exact mileage of each and every possible rout connecting these two characters.) *I do not own Glee or Glee characters* Also, though it is in canon, it was written before some of the more recent episodes, so there could be discrepancies on that account. (So let's say it is canon up to Episode 74, Thanksgiving.)
83 Miles
[12-23
It's amazing how clear some things become in a crisis; somewhere in the middle of all the panic and chaos and fear your brain simplifies everything down. What's important to you—truly important—flashes distinctly in your mind and they are the only things that matter. Those two things are: survival and the people or persons you love the most. All the other things you thought you cared about don't melt or fade away—they vanish completely as though they never existed. It was especially shocking for me; while the ground was giving way beneath my feet, trying to swallow me whole it seemed, while people screamed and clamored all around me, my first thought was that I love Rachel Berry and she'll never even know. The fact that I loved her wasn't news; I'd known that for a while, but the fact that I needed her to know—wanted the world to know—that was new.
For us on the upper east coast, it was earthquakes; for the lower east coast, it was a monstrous hurricane that no one ever had time to name; tornadoes had practically gutted the middle of the country; and on the west coast, volcanoes that were previously believed dormant or dead had erupted. It was happening all over the globe; that was the last I could gather from radio broadcasts—before they stopped completely. It seemed as though the earth itself had suddenly become sick of us and was determined to shake us off any way it could. I don't know. All I know is that I want to survive, at least long enough to find her, just to know if she made it. It's been two days; I used to think the drive to New York would be too long to be worth the visit. Now, I can't be sure how long it will take to get there, but I have to do it. All this time I've had those tickets, but kept myself from using them; it seems silly now, like some cosmic joke, and I have no one to blame but myself.
The sunlight is fading and I should get back to packing. I don't even know why I'm writing this other than to distract myself. Maybe I'm writing it in case I don't make it; at least someone might find it and know that I love her. She certainly doesn't know.]
With that, Quinn closed her notebook and slid it back into her pack. No one at the little makeshift camp knew what she was planning; there were a little over a dozen survivors camping in the small clearing. The sporadic aftershocks made it impossible to stay in any buildings, but most of the campers were hoping that they could scavenge the remains of nearby towns and eventually rebuild. The worst of the freak weather seemed to be over, but in addition to the lingering aftershocks, there were bouts of heavy rain and high winds. The only lucky thing was that it was unseasonably warm for late December. It was officially the first day of winter and yet it felt more like a muggy, summer night, and as puzzling as that was, it did make sleeping out in the clearing easier.
As the blonde shifted supplies around in a large duffel bag, she was suddenly grateful for the rigorous training Coach Sylvester had tortured the Cheerios with; without it, maybe she wouldn't have made it this far. It was a dangerous train of thought; it could lead to emotional questions like if her former coach was still alive—or if anyone from her home town was. A little girl hobbled over to her carrying a mug of tomato soup in one hand; the other arm was bandaged and in a sling.
"Mama said to bring this to you," the girl said as she held out the cup.
"Thank you." Quinn smiled as she took the soup and watched the child limp back to her mother at the main fire.
The blonde closed her eyes and tried to force away more painful questions. Was Beth alive? There were a lot of things she wouldn't allow herself to think about; she didn't want to fall apart now. Beth wasn't hers, she had never been meant to be, and Quinn had long since acknowledged that. All she could do now was hope that wherever she was, Shelby had managed to save her.
Already around camp, people were curling up in salvaged sleeping bags and blankets; the blonde could hear their muffled sobs beginning already. Tears were prickling the corners of her hazel eyes, but there was too much to do to give in to them yet.
Quinn was feeling the effect of the past two days and nights without sleep; there hadn't been time to rest since she pulled herself from the wreckage of her dormitory at Yale. She had stumbled through the debris, through the split and shifted streets until she found a shop intact enough to salvage necessities. That's how she had come across the group she was camped out with now.
As she double checked her supplies and gear, she found herself humming; before long she had realized she had begun to sing out loud. Her eyes shot to the main campfire and she stopped abruptly; the other survivors that were still awake were staring. She shook herself and prodded her little fire silently.
"Don't stop," a weak voice came from somewhere in the camp. "Please, just keep singing."
So she sang—though she felt crazy for doing so—as she unrolled her sleeping bag inside her tent. The blonde set the alarm on her phone since that was all it was good for anymore, and once the battery died, it would be of no use presumably ever again. A few voices joined her here and there, but for the most part, they just listened; she considered it a parting gift to them.
Five hours of sleep later, Quinn took down her tent and collected her belongings. She pulled on her large backpack and shouldered the equally large duffle bag. She scanned the clearing one last time before disappearing into the woods. The ground was slick and soggy from the rain and the blonde mucked her way down the path they had marked to the road. The sky was slowly turning pink; she couldn't quite remember if that was supposed to be a good or a bad sign. Finally, her feet were on the solid pavement of the road and she clicked off the flashlight to conserve batteries. Bare branched trees lined the road, their dark silhouettes towering imposingly against the orange and red sky. There were several cars discarded on the road, all crowded together at the end of a large gap where the ground had cracked and shifted away. A few miles in the other direction, the pavement was blocked by fallen trees and debris. Luckily, that was the direction she needed; it would be easier to climb over the uprooted forest than trying to scale the steep gap lined with abandoned automobiles. Quinn peered at the exit sign and sighed; at least she was close to the I-95 onramp and if she followed the road, it would be faster and safer than roaming the countryside.
The blonde wondered what she would find once she reached New York. What was left? How bad was the damage? She knew Rachel was there; Quinn had received an invitation to join the brunette, Kurt, and their families at a holiday celebration at their flat. An invitation she regretted shrugging off now; she hoped against hope that her luck would hold out. If so, she would find a stretch of highway undamaged enough to be drivable and a car so she could shorten the journey. Mostly, she hoped to find enough places intact to collect supplies from along the way; otherwise, she would have to learn to hunt. As though brought about by that very thought, the blonde heard a clattering scraping sound behind her; she turned to see a deer standing precariously on the hood of one of the cars. Quinn smirked; less than a week ago she had decided to skip the trip home because she felt too swamped with classwork. Now, she was staring a large doe straight in the eye and contemplating if she would be able to kill a deer—if she absolutely needed to. Her phone beeped loudly in her pocket and the doe skidded comically off the vehicle and scampered into the woods. The blonde pulled out her phone and sighed; the battery was dying. She quickly turned it off and slid it back into her pocket.
"No texting or driving for me," Quinn said aloud.
She turned and continued walking; she didn't know how far she could get in one day, but she would need to cover as much ground as possible and find a safe place to camp before dark. A few miles into her walk she came across an exit; the blonde stood for a few moments as she debated the pros and cons of leaving the highway so soon. If she went into town to collect more supplies, she would loose time she could be making her way to Rachel; more supplies meant more weight to carry, and she didn't relish the idea of walking through the more heavily populated areas—she'd seen enough death already. On the other hand, she could feel a chill creeping back into the air and knew—because she had checked and double checked her supplies before leaving—she would need warmer clothes if winter decided to set back in all of a sudden. The blonde chided herself for being impractical and finally resolved to take the exit.
Smoke poured into the air; the gas station just off the exit was still blazing from a fire that appeared to have stared quite a while ago. Quinn wondered what had caused it as she covered her nose and stepped carefully ahead; though most of the smoke was billowing upwards, the immediate area was extremely hazy. She was trying to stay on the pavement while still putting as much room between herself and the burning station as she could. Though she didn't see any yet, she could smell the bodies and she kept her head up a she inched along, hoping to avoid contact with any of them. The farther she walked the more the air began to clear, but she kept her nose covered anyway; as the smoky smell subsided, the scent of decay became more dominant. Her 'head up' plan seemed to be working out well for her until she rounded a corner; that was when she saw it—a large apartment building. It looked as though half of the building had simply fallen away, or more appropriately, like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it, and the bodies of all its inhabitants stuck out of the wreckage like misused rag dolls. Up to this point, Quinn had been fairly lucky at avoiding the sight of dead bodies, so she was completely unprepared for the grim sight that greeted her now, and she couldn't seem to pry her eyes away from the devastation. The blonde had never considered herself to be squeamish; she handled gory movies just fine and hadn't needed someone else to help her with dissection in biology class. Right now, though, she wished she could look away or cover her eyes, but her body seemed to be in shock and was not listening to her mind's demands.
Worse than the random anatomy sticking up, out of the debris was the sections of the apartment building that were still intact; disheveled living room spaces, bathrooms, kitchens, and bedrooms—all with bodies huddled under every available surface or cowering in corners. A muffled moan sounded from somewhere nearby and Quinn jumped; she shook herself and swallowed thickly as she concentrated on the sound. The blonde rounded another corner and paused again, listening intently until she heard the soft sound of distress a few feet ahead, and then made a bee line for an SUV that was resting on its side with the roof facing her. She squinted through the windshield and gasped. She nearly called out her friends names before realizing the two girls in the upended vehicle were not Santana or Brittany. The blonde in the passenger seat was very tan and her roots were very dark; she hung heavy and limp against the seatbelt and was obviously dead, but the dark haired girl who lay curled and bleeding against the driver side window was still alive—barely.
"Ho…hold on," Quinn stammered, once again stopping herself from saying Santana's name. "Hold on, I'll—I'll find something."
She grabbed a large chunk of rubble and smacked it against the windshield; cracks splintered across the laminated glass and the injured girl cringed and whimpered. It dawned on Quinn that if she did manage to break through the windshield, she might hurt the girl even more in the process; she dashed around to the back of the SUV and chucked the large clump through the back window. The alarm sounded as she climbed in thorough the back and up to the front of the vehicle. The girl looked a lot like Santana, except for her haircut and nose, and that made the blonde all the more desperate to help her.
"Come on," she said as she reached around the seat and shook the girl gently. "Take my hand."
The brunette mumbled something unintelligibly and wheezed. Now that the blonde had a closer look, the girl's injuries looked much worse. There was blood and saliva tricking out of her mouth and her arm was twisted unnaturally beneath her. A large gash on her head was crusted over thickly and Quinn realized she probably hadn't been wearing her seat belt when they wrecked.
"My sister," the girl murmured—with much effort. "Check on…she, she…hasn't said anything in hours."
Quinn fumbled with the lever and reclined the seat as much as she could before looping her arms under the girl's shoulders and tugging her up and into the backseat. The dark haired girl screamed, or more gurgled, as she pulled her, causing the blonde to panic.
"Sorry. Sorry." Quinn panted. "I know it hurts."
A few minutes later, she had the girl out of the vehicle and had her head cradled on her lap. She tried to get the girl to drink some water, but mostly she just coughed and gagged on it; her injuries were obviously more than the blonde could do anything for and as much as she wanted to run away from the painful sound of the girl's labored, bubbling, breath, she couldn't stand the idea of leaving her to suffer alone.
"Sis…siss…" was the closest to words that came out of her.
The blonde couldn't be sure if she was asking her to go back in for her sister or mourning because she knew her sibling was dead. Quinn didn't know what to do, but it seemed kinder to lie to the dying girl.
"She's fine. She went to get some help." The blonde did her best to sound soothing.
She stroked the brunette's hair until she felt the girl go completely limp and the agonizing wheeze of her breathing stopped. She slid out from under her and gently lowered her head to the ground, picked up her backpack and duffel, and ran. The past twenty minutes had seemed like hours and she tried to force herself to focus only on the task at hand—collecting supplies. The blonde wanted to push away the memory of what had just happened; she wished she had never heard the cry for help. If she hadn't, her mind wouldn't be tormenting her with images of her best friend, broken and mangled, somewhere out there alone in pain—or worse. She had started a hundred texts to Santana since the last time they spoke and deleted all of them without sending; neither of them were good at giving or receiving apologies, so even though she'd felt terrible about their fight, she couldn't bring herself to make the first move to reconcile. She'd snapped at the blunt brunette and accused her of being jealous; the truth was, she was the one who was jealous of San, for being braver than her, for being willing to be with the person she loved no matter what anyone else did or said.
Quinn forced these thoughts to the back of her mind and continued her search through the little town as quickly as she could. When she returned to the highway, she was struck by how peaceful it seemed compared to the destruction she had just spent an hour wandering through—how clear the air was and how relatively normal it appeared. The stretch of asphalt she was on went on unbroken for many miles; she decided to keep detours off the highway to as much of a minimum as she could. Besides, the less stops she made, the quicker she would make it to New York.
[12-24
I felt like I was being so obvious that last year; part of me felt like if she noticed on her own and said something to me that would be the sign I needed to know I had a shot. I'd always just gone after the people I wanted; it didn't always work out, but I had never been so afraid to at least try. With Rachel it was different, not just because she was a girl, but because of who she was and—I see now—because of how much I wanted her to feel for me how I felt for her. She never did notice. She was so set on marrying Finn and I couldn't bring myself to make that jump. I didn't want to ruin things; it had been so much work to accept what I felt and then just try to salvage our friendship. I told myself it was for the best—and when I packed my bags for Yale, I told myself I was over her. I made myself believe it. It was safer to avoid her and think I didn't love her anymore than to risk being turned down. I didn't know it would turn into the biggest regret of my life so far.
Last night I dreamed that I was still stuck in that wheelchair; I dreamed that Rachel was trying to come find me. As painful as that dream was, the feeling of helplessness, watching her struggle against the elements, it reminded me of something important. Rachel is strong; not in obvious ways, but she is disciplined and determined—an unstoppable force if she sets her mind to it. That dream helped me remember those things about her, and with that in mind, I can push back the horrible thoughts of what might have happened to her. In my heart I know she is alive, I know she is surviving, and that helps keep me going.
The temperature is dropping back down, but it still doesn't feel like winter again yet; I need to find warmer clothes soon, just in case. Towns are a problem; so many of them are so destroyed that there's no way to get into the buildings. I stared at a clothing store that, though it was completely intact somehow, was on a chunk of land that towered over the remains of everything around it, like some surrealist painting. I think I've made good time for the day; I'm somewhere near Fairfeild now, and my body is definitely punishing me for every mile. If the signs are right, I have around 57 more miles to go to get to New York.
I don't care what kind of dream I have tonight, but I am hoping she will be in it. ]
The night had been chillingly cold and the fire that Quinn built did little to ease the bitter breeze; she had to move her campsite from the shoulder of the interstate to a stand of trees nearby to get shelter from the wind. She layered on all the clothes from her pack and zipped herself up in the sleeping bag; it seemed winter had returned in a matter of hours and she shivered miserably inside her tent. The blonde only ventured from the relative warmth of her cotton cocoon once that night, riffling through her duffle bag in search of the small bottle of whiskey she had stashed there in case of emergency. Logically she knew it wouldn't make her warm; she'd seen the studies and heard all about the facts/myths of alcohol in orientation at her dorm, but she knew from experience that it would make her think she felt warm and sleepy. Quinn zipped back up and downed the miniature quickly, gasping a little from the bitter, hot taste, and curled into a tight ball to sleep.
The next morning, Quinn woke shivering and stiff; she had been vaguely aware of rain pelting her tent during the night, but was not prepared for what she discovered when she left her little shelter. The soaked ground had frozen solid, and as she skidded on the ice, she realized that even though the tent had been a good barrier between her body and the damp ground, it was affixed stiffly in place. The pins that secured it against the wind were now fastened to the icy soil and no amount of pulling or wiggling seemed to be able to pry them loose. Everything around her was either coated with ice or frost; it would have been a lovely sight in the soft light of sunrise if not for the fact that it meant she couldn't light a fire to melt the tent stakes free. This winter wonderland was costing her a tent, which she would need all the more if the nights remained this frigid. The blonde wrapped her sleeping bag around her and threw on the backpack; with one last disgruntled look at the tent, she drug the duffle behind her as she carefully made her way back to the road.
Quinn tried to stay positive; on the bright side her pack was a little lighter. She rolled her hazel eyes at herself. At least she would make good time and the walking would help keep her warm.
She scanned the roadside as she walked, looking for anything that might fuel a fire later, and by noon, she had a decent pile of useable material strapped to the top of her duffle. The blonde stumbled to a halt; a few feet ahead of her, the interstate suddenly dropped off. She could see part of the asphalt clinging to a steep mound of shifted ground on the other side of the deep ravine where the quakes from earlier had torn the road in two. Quinn dropped her backpack and rubbed her face in frustration, her fingers eventually running through her hair and interlocking at the top of her head while she gazed at the newest obstacle.
"Fantastic," she grumbled to herself as she approached the edge and peered down.
The blonde stretched as she looked to the left and then the right to see if the ground reconnected anywhere nearby, but the divide reached as far as she could see in either direction. She pulled in a deep breath and closed her eyes, continuing to smooth her hair as her hands shook. The blonde spun on her heel and set to work making camp, and was nearly done building the fire when she realized that much of the chill had left the air. The hard surface of the road had thawed and was beginning to dry; she had begun to sweat under all her layers, but she was afraid to slip off a layer for fear the bitter weather would return at any moment. The weary girl heated a can of soup on the fire and sipped it carefully as she went over her options.
She was only half way through her meager meal when she suddenly flung the can away and watched it roll to the edge of the asphalt and then clatter down the gaping chasm. Quinn dug the phone out of her pocket and turned it back on—though the battery protested—and searched eagerly though the photos saved on it, finally stopping at a picture of Rachel and her. It was from the prom and the brunette smiled widely while the blonde pointed to the crown that rested on the other girl's dark locks. She fought hard to remember the feeling of that moment—the one truly kind thing she had managed to do for the girl. She wanted to let her mind drift back to a time when the most important thing in the world seemed to be finding just the right dress or sharing an almost perfect moment with someone special. The cell's low battery complained once again and the screen became dim; Quinn fixed her eyes on the faded image of Rachel Berry as the phone beeped again and then shut off. She threw the phone angrily in the same direction as the can of soup and listened to it skid down the street; it teetered on the edge, but didn't go over. With an angry huff, she stood up and walked to the end of the road again and gave the now obsolete technology a furious kick, which sent it careening over the gap nearly three feet before it began to flip and tumble down and out of sight.
Quinn watched the cell disappear and then returned to the fire and sat down. The blonde tugged the backpack closer; as she began to pull out her notebook, she once again felt the tremble of yet another aftershock. Instinctively, she zipped the pack shut and shouldered it while she waited for the rumbling to subside. Instead, she felt the ground lurch beneath her and she shot up, trying to think of a safe place to wait out another earthquake, and eyed her duffle bag on the other side of the fire. The asphalt beneath her shifted suddenly and she nearly fell into the fire, but the blonde managed to fall away from the flames, instead, landing and skidding nearly a foot down the rough surface of the black road. Quinn looped her arm through the other strap of the backpack and pushed herself back up onto her feet again. She could see the earth lifting up not far beyond her campfire and other supplies; a chunk of flaming wood came rolling towards her and she knocked it away before forcing her way upwards and toward her duffle. As the slab of land she was climbing shuddered again, the blonde staggered and landed back on her knees, though she didn't lose any more ground. She shielded her face as the remainder of her fire came tumbling towards her; embers bit at her fingers and arms as she learned forward and climbed blindly. She could smell that bits of her blonde locks had been singed. As she continued to climb, she kicked away bits of wood and debris. The blonde uncovered her face in time to see her duffle slide past her and out of sight; she groaned as the bulk of her supplies slipped out of reach. Only two feet ahead was the edge of the road, but it felt like a mile as she fought against gravity and the relatively smooth surface beneath her. Her muscles burned and her fingers ached as she grasped the ledge and clung there for dear life. Quinn was vaguely aware of the sound of thunder overhead and flashes of lightening as she watched a portion of the highway on the other side of the chasm slide forward, her own chunk of asphalt falling backwards to meet it. She squeezed her hazel eyes shut and braced for the impact, praying that, somehow, she wouldn't be crushed in the process. As the two masses collided, she was flung forward; her body went limp as she thudded against the opposite slab of street and then rolled downward, settling motionless in the rubble.
[12-26
It's a crazy new world, the world we've been left. What else can it be called, but crazy when I am sitting here writing the words "It's lucky that earthquake happened"? I could have spent days trying to hike around that chasm. I suppose it's not exactly lucky; I've lost most of my food. No more hot meals since I only have a few bottles of water and a bunch of packages of jerky and some crackers. It must have rained while I was lying there unconscious because I woke up soaked through every single layer; this journal stayed pretty dry underneath me. I managed to find an abandoned car, keys in the ignition, out of gas, but I found a first aid kit in the trunk and I think this might end up being the most comfortable night of sleep I've had in what feels like forever. The last sign I passed says New York is 35 miles away; if I push hard and things go well, I can make it in less than two days.
I need to rest all I can, but my brain won't let me; there's one thing that hasn't changed: my psyche is my own worst enemy. It's bursting with questions that have no way of being answered yet. Questions it has no business asking in the first place because the answers don't matter. How long will it take to find Rachel once I get to New York? How much of the city is left? Will she be alive? These are the practical questions picking away at my sleep, but ultimately, the answer remains the same—it doesn't matter because I can't stop until I find her. How will I tell her once I find her? What will she say? What happens when she tells me "That's nice Quinn, but you see, even if I were interested, which I'm not, why on earth would I want someone like you"? I guess the answer to those queries rattling around in my skull don't matter so much either. Rachel has to know; I have to own up to myself for once in my life, and if she is repulsed by me, so be it. After everything from high school, after running her into the ground over my own stupid shit, she deserves to know that she is loved. Not just loved; wanted, desired, admired, and worth the 80 plus mile walk, and so much more. The longer I walk, the more determined I am to make it. After all the years of tearing her down or second guessing her, I guess what I really want is to give her what I've wanted so badly my entire life—to know that she is loved completely, for exactly who she is.
On a more selfish note, I suppose I want to do something completely true to myself for once. I want to look her in the eye and tell her all the things I was too afraid to say out loud; everyone always thought I was so strong and sure of myself most of the time, but that's not the case. I've never been okay with who I really was. I always felt more secure with someone telling me who Quinn Fabray was. I look back at things I've done, especially to her, and realize they all came from the same scared place inside me; Rachel made me want to be myself, but the personas I had clung to my whole life were lashing out, trying to keep me in line by pushing everything else away. She was probably the only person who really saw past it all, even more than my best friends, and because of that, I punished her. I want to make up for that now and if I get hurt in the process, it doesn't matter.]
A soft thudding sound woke Quinn from her comfortable, though light, sleep, and her hazel eyes quickly scanned the windows for danger. It was pitch black outside except for the twinkling stars; the blonde noted that they were so much brighter than she had ever seen them before and the clear sky ruled out the possibility that rain drops had been the culprit to her awakening. She sighed and rested back against the soft cushion of the backseat, determined to get as much sleep as she could, and squeezed her eyes shut. A few soft thuds later, as she was trying to convince herself it was her imagination or some normal car sound, and then there was a loud bang towards the front of the car. Quinn bolted upright and let out a little yelp as she reached for her pack in the front passenger seat; she locked eyes with the creature on the hood of the car and froze. So did the lynx; its head titled and its back slightly arched as they stared unblinking at each other through the windshield. The blonde seemed to have startled it as equally as it had shaken her.
Quinn slowly withdrew her hand from her pack and wrapped it around her waist as she continued to watch the stocky wild cat dip its head down to watch her movements. After a few minutes, it seemed to loose interest in her; with a long stretch it turned and dismounted the automobile. She finally allowed herself to blink and pulled her notebook out of the pack before leaning back against the seat; it was clear she wasn't going to get to sleep for a little while, but she wasn't going to leave the car to start walking yet with the lynx still out there. Instead, she began to sketch absentmindedly, hoping to calm her nerves enough to sleep again. She felt the vehicle jostle and her eyes shot up from the paper in front of her once again, checking out all the windows and wondering if the cat had returned. What she saw was a large buck itching it's hindquarters against the back bumper of the automobile. When she let out a small giggle despite herself, several other deer's heads shot up around the car; two other bucks, younger than the one currently molesting her sleeping quarters, and five does as best she could tell in the dark. She could hear their hooves scraping and tapping the asphalt as they shuffled about around the car, the moonlight shining against their fur, giving them eerie silhouettes. A few of the deer began trotting away as more came into view; the blonde crept closer to the right side window and peered out at them. A soft smile played across her face as she watched them pass; there was something reassuring about them, like proof that life was going to go on—like things might actually go back to normal in time, or at least that things were going to start anew.
A silhouette came into view closer to the ground; at first Quinn thought it was a fawn and she strained to get a better look. It wasn't a fawn, though; as it approached, she saw that it was actually a dog—a very lanky, thin dog with a long face and pointed ear. She'd never seen a coyote, but she had heard them some nights in Ohio. The deer didn't seem to mind the wild dog's presence; they barely seemed to notice as they continued to meander past the car. More animals were coming into view now; the pace was picking up as well, switching up from a slow crawl to a lively trot. More coyotes were making their way down the road and past the car, and a flash of white caught her eye. She squinted down into the dark as a small fox skittered past her side of the vehicle; she followed its bobbing little walk as it followed the same path as all the other creatures down and across the highway, into the grassy area off the shoulder, and out of sight. A heavy panting sound caused her to whip her blonde head back around to the back of the car; she covered her mouth this time to keep from letting out a scream. A large black bear's nose was pressed up against the glass next to hers.
Quinn scooted to the opposite side of the car and hugged her knees tight against her chest; the bear pressed its paw against the glass, causing the automobile to rock slightly, before dropping back down the ground with a huff and shambling away. In its wake followed several smaller animals: opossums, raccoons, muskrats, even a few beavers, and of course more deer. The blonde curled up in the middle of the backseat and watched as all the beasts made their way past her and off into the night. What did it mean? She'd heard of mass migration in some of her classes, but it wasn't something that happened anymore; they occurred during times of great climate, ecological, and world change.
"Well, things are changing I suppose," she said aloud.
Nearly an hour had passed and no more animals had scurried by the car, but even if they did, she realized she was safe as long as she stayed in the vehicle for the night. Quinn put her notebook away and stretched back out on the seat wearily; her mind quietly buzzing about land shifts and ice ages. The image of the lynx's face, its eyes every bit as hazel as her own, was stuck in her mind as she fell asleep again.
[12-27
Despite the animal parade last night, and whatever it may mean, I did sleep well. Now I'm ready to get back to making my way to Rachel; though, I'll admit I'm nervous about finding a safe place to sleep tonight. I wish there were a way I could be there before it gets dark. The weather has definitely changed; it's like late spring now and has actually stayed that way for over a day now. You watch those documentaries in history class and the teacher goes on and on about what it was like for people during these huge changes in life and culture and the world in general. I used to wonder what it felt like to live through those things, imagining the great sense of purpose they must have had, the wonder—or horror—they must have been facing. Now I know they were just people, like anyone else, stressing their way through the situation around them; for better or worse, they were just trying to make the best decisions they could for themselves with the information they had. They didn't have any more sense that they were in the midst of a world changing event than I did a few days ago.
It doesn't matter that the world is changing; some day this greatly abused little notebook may be the basis for one of those videos or lectures, but here and now, that doesn't matter. I know the world has changed—is changing—and it doesn't fill me with wonder or a desire to be an inspiring heroine for little girls somewhere off in the future. Though, I guess the thought of that has made me think of the importance of noting some things; like the change in weather and the cluster of animals migrating who knows where last night. It's weird to think of myself as part of history in the making.]
Hours later, Quinn was making good time; she had passed several onramps and had resisted the urge to check out the cities they lead to. She was more worried about making good time, and every exit she saw, she convinced herself there would be another before she needed shelter. The blonde was beginning to feel how close she was to her goal and it made her push all the harder to make it. She was going over the directions she had looked up her first day at Yale; she knew that when she reached New York, she would have to find the Williamsburg Bridge, and that would lead her to Broadway and then Bushwick, where she promised herself she would find Rachel. She heard a soft rumble and instinctively crouched, bracing herself once again. A few minutes passed before she even realized that the ground was steady; this wasn't an aftershock or another earthquake, though the noise was growing louder. Her mind suddenly flashed with the image of the black bear from the night before and she shot back up, looking all around her for the source of the growling sound, and then blushed. It had only been four or five days—she couldn't clearly remember now—since the first earthquake and she had somehow forgotten the sound of a cars engine running. After days of walking with only the sounds of nature around her, the motor sounded monstrous in contrast to the wind and her own soft footsteps, but it was a welcome sound to hear.
The vehicle was already coming into view, a peculiar sight on the deserted highway; it seemed all the more out of place as it approached—a bright red mustang complete with racing stripes. Quinn stumbled over to the shoulder as it came closer, slowing to a stop directly next to her, and the window rolled down slowly.
"Need a lift?" a voice called from inside the car.
Quinn stood with her mouth gaping open, her mind willing herself to remember how to talk; she hadn't really realized how little she had spoken in the past few days. The driver peaked at her from the driver's seat with a bemused look on his face. The blonde closed her mouth and forced a small smile as he reached over and pushed the passenger door open.
"Cat got your tongue?" he asked. "Where are you headed? Anywhere in particular? My name's Warren by the way."
He gave her another amused smile as he leaned back in the seat and ran his fingers through his dark spiked hair.
"New York," Quinn spat out, finally finding her voice. "I'm trying to make it to Bushwick."
He chuckled a little and shrugged. "New York works for me."
She felt frozen in place as she stared into his dark brown eyes; despite his playful tone, she could swear she saw something callous and calculating in his eyes and it made her uneasy.
"There's room in the trunk or the back seat for your pack. If you want to join me, I mean; I haven't seen anyone else in days. It would be nice to have someone to talk to besides myself." He paused and glanced at the dashboard. "Uh…gas is a bit harder to get to these days so…if you want a ride…I don't want to sit burning it all away."
"Quinn," she said stiffly as she pulled the door open wide enough to get in and sat down. "My name's Quinn."
The man smiled; he appeared to be in his late 20's or early 30's. He took her backpack for her, tossing it easily into the back seat.
"Well Quinn, who's going to Bushwick, it's nice to meet you," he said cheerfully as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, causing the tires, and Quinn, to squeal a little.
He laughed out right as he decreased speed and glanced over at her; she forced a smile and tried not to look uncomfortable as she fastened her seatbelt. The blonde reminded herself that this was a lucky break; she could easily make it there by nightfall now, her cheeks flushing a little at the thought of it. After everything she had been through, she was actually going to make it. She looked over at him and a wide smile spread across her face; he might be a bit extreme and cliché, but he was her ticket to her destination.
"Thank you," she said.
"No problem." He shrugged. "Sorry if the dramatic take off scared you. I couldn't believe my luck; I was roaming the streets and found this baby just sitting in a used car lot. The fucking car of my dreams just sitting there without a scratch on her. I'm sure plenty of people feel like the world's gone to hell over the past few days; I say it's just evolution at work. Survival of the fittest. Not to be insensitive to everyone who didn't make it, but that's just the way it is, right?"
Quinn shrugged, but didn't really have time to think of a reply.
"It's amazing, I mean when you think of it," he continued. "It's a new world. It's like starting from scratch. but not really. I mean all the technology is still here; someone just has to know how to get it started again, which I can, believe me, but the rules are all changed. Everything's up for grabs and it's like a new roll of the dice."
She nodded; the driver didn't seem to need much input. He seemed to be bursting at the seams with this conversation, like he'd been waiting all this time for someone to tell it to. Quinn listened to him ramble on about the new world they lived in and what that meant as he drove, her mind wandering as she watched the road signs they passed and noted how much closer she was to her destination. He'd been driving around the towns near his home town the past few days, looking for supplies and other survivors, and today he had decided to give the highway a try. He claimed to be living on the luck of the draw and loving it.
They were in Manhattan in less than an hour, but then the traveling became slower; it was hard to find streets that weren't blocked by all manner of destruction and they had to make their own detours. The closer they got, the longer it felt like it was taking to get there; it reminded her of when she was a little girl on vacation, and her nerves were abuzz with excitement and worry as she looked out the window. Warren brought the mustang to a stop and turned off the engine.
"Why are we stopping?" Quinn asked, looking down the long stretch of open street.
"There's a gas station," he said with a nod.
"We don't have enough gas to get there?" she asked with a glance to the dashboard.
"Why risk it?" The driver shrugged. "So what's in Bushwick?"
"Huh?" Quinn said.
"Family? Friends?" he guessed. "Maybe a boyfriend?"
He looked at her as she fidgeted in her seat.
"Just…someone I have to see," she answered.
"Well that makes it sound very interesting," he commented.
"Do you need help getting the gas?" Quinn offered.
For a split second, the man looked confused but, then he shook his head. "No, it won't be hard to get."
The sun was starting to set; between the darkening red sky and the awkward smirk on Warren's face, the blonde's hairs were standing on end. He still hadn't made a move for the door and she did her best to not look worried as she stared back at him.
"Why don't you tell me about this someone you have to see?" he asked.
Quinn smiled weakly. "It just doesn't seem like the time for it. Maybe I'll tell you on what's left of the drive there."
"Time?" Warren shrugged. "What does time have to do with anything anymore? It's irrelevant, like most useless cues of society; do you even know what day it is?"
The blonde stiffened at his aggressive tone; she realized that she, in fact, did not know what day of the week it was. She shrugged and glanced into the back seat at her backpack uneasily.
"Doesn't matter," he spat. "It's what time we say it is. I told you, all the rules have changed. We can say it's 9am if we want. Do you see anyone around to tell us differently? I never liked Mondays and now they don't have to exist. There's no authority here to enforce anything."
His voice was pitching higher as he spoke faster; he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back against the driver side door and just stared at her for a moment.
"What did you hate the most about the world that was?" he asked.
Quinn bit her lower lip and thought a moment before answering. "I guess all the hate and ugliness people showed to each other."
She was thinking of the way she had treated Rachel and many other people in her lifetime, but she was also hoping to give him the hint that he was scaring her without having to admit it out loud.
"Cop out answer," he laughed, "I'll bet you were a real beauty queen before all this started. World peace and kittens."
"Not exactly," the blonde said defensively.
She jumped when he leaned forward and unbuckled her seatbelt; the belt zipped past her face causing her to flinch.
"Woops," he said cheerily. "Sorry about that."
The man placed his hand lightly on her thigh and she quickly batted at him, but he grabbed her by the wrist before she could slap the offending hand away. Her other arm was still slightly tangled in the seatbelt, and before she could slip loose from it, he had taken his hand off her thigh and had that arm pinned as well. Quinn's entire body was sore from the exhausting journey and her shoulders ached from carrying the pack; now, with nearly the man's full weight pressing against her arms and shoulders, her muscles felt like they were tearing apart.
"You know what I hated the most about our so called civilization?" he asked, his face inches away from her own, his dark eyes shining cruelly.
"Dating," he answered himself. "Oh I know what you're thinking. I'm good looking enough, smart, charming, and a real go getter. So how could I have any trouble with that?"
"That's not what I'm thinking. I can see how you would have trouble with that," Quinn snapped, her wrist popping as he twisted it, and she clinched her teeth to keep from whimpering.
"All those dating rules," he continued gruffly. "We buy you flowers and dinner and pull out chairs and open doors for you. All in the hopes that if we're patient and polite enough you'll give us what we all know you already want anyway. You're all crazy with your fairy tale dreams and teasing and estrogen, and even when modern science had you figured out, you all still wanted to act like sex was something special and sacred. That's why I can't understand the female mind; the whole world knows women want sex and you still act like it's something you're giving to us out of the kindness of your hearts."
The blonde opened her mouth to speak and he twisted her wrist back further.
"Well it's a new world now and all those stupid little rules don't apply anymore." He smiled. "So do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"
Quinn narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "You mean do I want to do it with or without a bag over your head?"
The pain was blinding; the blonde could feel blood trickling out of her nose and her eyes didn't quite want to open. He let go of one of her hands and she instinctively reached up to wipe away the blood pouring from her nose; she could hear the jingle of his belt as he unbuckled it and she forced her eyes open. Her blood was on his forehead from where he had head butted her; she was seeing small dots of light fluttering around in front of her like gnats. He looked at her with an excited smile and backhanded her across the cheek; she could feel him lifting her legs up and over the console and let out a weak groan.
"Hey don't blame me," he said as tried to adjust himself in the driver's seat. "You're the one who picked the hard way, sweet thang."
He chuckled as a slew of words Quinn never thought she'd ever hear herself say spilled out of her. She heard his door open and felt the outside air rushing in; she took a deep breath and tried to get her eyes to focus.
"Damn," he said as he tugged off one of her layers of pants. "Even without putting up a fight you're not making this easy."
She pressed her feet against him as he leaned on top of her; her muscles protested as his face came down close to hers again, his fingers fidgeting with her waistband, trying to get a grip on the last two layers of clothing covering her lower half. Her mind flashed back to how helpless she had felt when she first started physical therapy to walk again; the fear of never walking, the pain of the exercises pushing her body to the limit in ways Cheerios training never had. The feeling of his fingernails sliding against her bare skin was sickening and she felt like she might throw up.
"I like lace…" he crooned. "Not very practical though is it?"
"This is nothing!" Quinn suddenly screamed. "You're nothing!"
With that, she braced her legs against this chest and pushed as hard as she could, knocking him back and halfway out of the car. Her sweatpants slid down to her knees as he gripped them, trying to steady himself, and she clumsily kicked forward again, sending him to the sidewalk ass first. If there had been time, she would have noted how ridiculous he looked sitting on the concrete, pants around his knees, with a death grip on her sportswear that were nearly all the way off, but still clinging stubbornly to her shoes. Her injured wrist complained as she pulled herself forward, into the driver's seat. Warren grabbed the car door with one hand as she tried to pull it shut; Quinn's feet were now resting on the pavement as she played tug-o-war for control of the door. Before he could stand back up, she lashed out, planting a solid kick to the middle of his face; despite the fabric of the sweatpants cushioning the blow she still heard a sickening cracking sound, and he fell onto his back on the ground. The blonde swung her legs back in side as she slammed the door shut and locked it; she turned the keys in the ignition and the engine roared back to life. As she reached down to untangle her feet so she could drive, the man was pounding at the window, holding the fabric of her pants against his bleeding face, and she jumped. Quinn stared at him in horror for a few seconds before a cold smile spread across her face; with that, she stomped her foot down on the gas pedal. She didn't know how far she dragged him down the street before he let go, but before long, he was out of sight.
"Sorry if the dramatic take off scared you," she said to the rear view mirror. "Ass."
It wasn't until several blocks away that the full reality of what had just happened hit her; the blonde pulled over quickly and nearly didn't make it out of the car before she was vomiting up what little was left in her stomach. She sat with her head between her knees, shaking, and fought the angry tears that threatened to fall with little success. Her wrist throbbed, she felt sure it was out of joint, and every muscle in her was either burning or trembling uncontrollably, some managing to do both at the same time. Despite her deep breaths, the blonde couldn't seem to get enough air; her lungs felt tight and her heart was beating wildly. She pulled the door shut again and locked it before reclining the seat back a bit to try to relax. Her notebook slid from her pack and landed on the floorboards; though her body didn't want to let her, she managed to pick it up and slip it back into its place—she didn't feel like writing just yet. This wasn't something she wanted to remember, though, she doubted she would ever manage to forget it even if she tried.
Instead, she pulled her supplies forward and placed them in the passenger seat; she fished out her first aid kit and searched for something to help her aching face. Her nose had stopped bleeding and she used a moist toilette to wipe away the dried blood; her cheek was bright red and she gently pressed a water bottle against it. The kit didn't have much left that she could use, but she did find a packet marked Aspirin and quickly tore it open and swallowed them down. As much as she ached, she couldn't seem to let herself just be still just yet, so she began rummaging through the contents of the back seat. The collection of luggage in the car seemed odd; duffle bags, trash bags, a few actual suitcases, and most strangely, a few purses. Quinn pulled one of them into her lap and began to rummage through it; she found a granola bar at the bottom of it and tore away the wrapper. The tote also contained a bottle of over the counter pain relievers, which she collected and then tossed the purse back, pulling another one up front; it was a high quality designer bag—she remembered eyeing one just like it a few weeks ago. When she opened it, she found several wallets as well as loose ID cards; as she flipped through them, she realized they were all women and her stomach turned again. She took a deep breath and forced herself to keep the granola bar down; how many women had he picked up along the side of the road, just like her, and what had he done with them after?
Quinn dropped the purse in the passenger floorboards and gripped the steering wheel, suddenly feeling like she hadn't put enough space between her and her attacker. A sickening thought crossed her mind—he knew she was headed to Bushwick. She took another deep breath and continued driving. It was nerve wracking trying to maneuver the cluttered streets in the dark; it seemed like every turn that would take her where she needed to go was somehow blocked. Worse than the crumbled city and irritating detours was how empty the city seemed to be. Quinn remembered the first time she had been to New York; there had scarcely been room to breathe or walk and the streets seemed constantly jammed with traffic. Now, everywhere she looked was chillingly void of humanity. The blonde assured herself that there must be plenty of survivors and that they were simply huddled in shelters for the night. She saw several puffs of smoke rising from various spots around the city and imagined people huddled around bonfires. When the more negative part of her brain reasoned that the smoke could just as easily be from random destruction by people or the natural disaster, she shook her head and pictured Rachel sitting comfortably by a fire.
Quinn imagined the brunette surrounded by good people, warm and safe, with her bright smile shining, causing the people around her to smile too. She slowed the vehicle to a crawl as she let herself daydream a little for the first time since all this had started; she imagined the rest of the Glee club around the fire as well. The blonde caught herself laughing as she imagined Rachel giving long winded advice on ways to make their little shelter more glamorous while Santana rolled her eyes and Brittany cheerfully agreed and clapped. She could clearly picture Kurt and Mercedes fussing over the food supplies, trying to come up with a way to create a more home style meal from it while Finn and Puck argued over the best way to enforce a hole in the roof. She snapped too when she drove over a curb; the scraping of the undercarriage dragging her out of her pleasant fantasy the same way her alarm clock used to wake her from a pleasant dream. Quinn groaned and turned the wheel before bringing the car to a stop. She rolled her hazel eyes at herself in the rearview mirror and sighed; her eyes were red rimmed and she realized she must have cried a little without noticing or they were still bright from the incident earlier. The sky had become cloudy and when she shut off the headlights, the darkness seemed to press in around her heavily. The blonde fumbled in the dark, along the roof of the car for the light, and eventually managed to press the button to turn it on; she retrieved her notebook and stared at its speckled cover.
[12-27
I made it to New York; now if I can just manage to get to Bushwick. The streets are worse than I imagined, but I guess I should just be happy that they are mostly solid. Something about seeing the city like this, crumbled and grubby, so silent and empty—so much smaller and dimmer than the dreams most of us in Glee Club had of it. Rachel wasn't the only one to have big dreams about the big apple—she was just the one that was brave enough to go for it. I didn't have the courage to make a leap like that; not that I didn't have my own dreams about Yale too, but they were the safer ones and that's what I went for. Surprise, surprise—like everything else I've ever done.
I wondered how bad it would be here once I made it, but I think part of me pictured it as unchanged. Well, it's defiantly changed, but all I have to do is make it a little further. That's what I keep telling myself. Just a little further, a little closer, and then I can find her. I hate that I have to stop for the night. I doubt I can even really sleep after— well, I don't know how well I will sleep.]
The sun was already up when Quinn finally opened her eyes; the car was warm and her bare legs stuck to the leather as she stretched. The blonde glanced in the mirror and flinched; angry bruises lay under her eyes and her nose was slightly swollen, though not too badly considering. She reminded herself that she was lucky it wasn't broken. Her right wrist throbbed, as if to remind her that it was swollen as well, and she ran her left hand through her tangled hair tiredly. When she went to start the car, nothing happened, except a ticking, whining sound, and she rested her head against the steering wheel. The battery must have died, probably because she had left the light on when she fell asleep, or some other mysterious thing that goes wrong with cars just when you need them to work the most. Quinn tugged her pack out of the passenger seat and slammed her door shut angrily, resisting the urge to kick the now useless vehicle. She let out another groan as she stared down at her bare legs. Once again, she opened the door, this time reaching into the back seat to pull out a suitcase. She needed to find something to cover up with, but she didn't want to carry any more than her pack from here on. Several bags and suitcases later, she eventually found something practical to put on; cargo pants, a tank top, and loose top. It wasn't her more fashionable outfit, but it fit and would do the trick, and it was better than roaming the streets in three layers of t-shirt, panties, and her sneakers. Quinn had also found an automatic handgun while rummaging through the contents of the backseat; it still had a few rounds in the chamber. The blonde wished she'd known it was there earlier, but was glad to have some form of protection to take with her. She pulled her jacket back on and shouldered the backpack.
As she turned the corner, she couldn't believe her eyes; the Williamsburg Bridge was in sight, a little over a block away, and Quinn picked up the pace despite her muscles complaining. By the time she reached the bridge, she was at a brisk jog and she stopped at the edge to catch her breath. It wasn't in good shape, but it was still standing—technically—though it was tilted and twisted in spots, but there was no way that was going to stop her. The blonde tightened the straps on her back and began inching her way along the bridge.
The weakened structure creaked and complained around her as she made her way cautiously across it. Quinn found herself squeezing her eyes tight several times to keep herself from looking down at the long drop to the water. It seemed like forever before she was near the other end; her limbs were shaking from the effort and sweat soaking through her clothes, but she knew she was almost there. The ground was close enough that a fall may not even hurt her too badly and she reasoned that the worst was over. The remainder of the bridge was level, but she would have to make a small jump to get to it; solid footing was just out of reach of her legs so she would have to swing herself forward and hope for the best. The blonde landed on her knees, but with nearly a foot to spare from the edge. She stayed on her hands and knees for a moment, taking the time to realize she had made it, before letting herself stand up.
"Hello there," someone called.
Quinn jumped and scanned the area and saw three men a little over a yard away. One of them was an older man, his beard was grey in patches and scraggily, and she assumed he was the one who had spoken to her. Next to him was a younger boy who looked to be little more than thirteen or fourteen, his long brown hair was squashed down by a grubby ball cap, and he looked at her with a wide smile and waved. The last one, standing nearly a foot away from the others was a very large man; his face was scrapped across the left side and he grinned, which looked more like a grimace, and took a step forward. The blonde took a step back, her eyes widening in panic, and pulled out the handgun. The large man stopped and glanced back to the other two.
"Woah there honey," the older man spoke softly. "Just calm down now. We're not going to hurt you."
"Stay back," Quinn shouted, her hands shaking and her head feeling dizzy. "Just don't come any closer—I mean it!"
"Hey!" the younger boy yelled, stepping forward past the large man. "Put that thing away."
"I mean it!" the blonde shouted back.
The older man grabbed the boy by the jacket and tugged him back.
"Sweetie pie!" he called off to his left. "I think we're gonna need you're help with this one. She's been through a lot, I can tell."
The larger man took another step forward and Quinn aimed the gun back at him; her chest was tight with panic and she felt like she wasn't getting any air. Her head was swimming and foggy and she could feel her knees buckling. She swayed backwards a little, trying to steady herself, and the big man took several more steps towards her as she teetered towards the edge. The blonde squeezed the trigger, but didn't hear the gun fire; everything went blank as she tumbled backwards.
Soft yellow sunlight was pouring in through the slats in the window blinds; Quinn could feel the crisp sheets against her back and the pillow cradling her head. When she opened her eyes, she saw the drop down tiles of the ceiling, some of them stained and discolored in places, and the mesh tops of curtains. She recognized instantly that this was a hospital room. She tried to sit up, but her body felt sluggish and numb and refused to cooperate with her demands. She turned her head to the right; a bottle of water sat on the bedside table and she focused her attention on making her right arm reach for it. Her wrist didn't hurt anymore and she noticed it was wrapped tightly in a clean ace bandage.
"Are you awake?" a voice chimed from her left, causing the blonde to try to turn her head quickly, but it wasn't easy—everything seemed to take so much more effort than normal.
She could hear the rustling of papers and then the sound of a chair scrapping the floor as whoever had spoken stood up.
"Don't try to move too quickly," the soft female voice instructed. "We had to give you some heavy medication to set your leg. You had a very nasty fall, but you're going to be alright; I promise, everything is going to be alright Quinn."
"How do you…" Quinn slurred as she managed to bob her head to the left.
"I promise I won't let anything else happen to you, Quinn," Rachel choked as she took the injured girl's hand and crouched down next to the bed.
"Rachel." The name crossed her chapped lips like a prayer. "Rachel."
The blonde tried again to sit up, but was unsuccessful, then tried to roll over closer to the edge, her bandaged arm dragging sluggishly towards the brunette's face.
"Shush," Rachel hummed. "Don't try to move; you need to rest some more. Don't try to talk."
"I have to…" Quinn struggled to stay focused, "I have to tell you…"
"Don't overexert yourself," the brunette instructed gently. "I'm not going anywhere, Quinn."
The blonde couldn't wrap her head around what was happening; this couldn't be real. How had she gotten here? Where was she? How had Rachel found her?
"I have to." She tried again weakly, her vision was going blurry again from the effort, and she began to struggle to stay awake. "Rachel…I…"
The brunette's lips were on hers before she could try to say anything else and her arm dropped back down on the bed as the girl continued to kiss her. Quinn wanted to wrap her arms around the other girl, but Rachel eased her back against the bed and stroked her cheek until the drugs and exhaustion forced her lids shut. She drifted back to sleep with the taste of the brunette's kiss still in her mouth.
"I have loved you for a very long time too, Quinn Fabray, and I never thought you would ever know," she heard Rachel say, and those words echoed in her mind as she slept.
Quinn woke again late in the afternoon; the dim evening light was fading and she was sure that seeing Rachel must have been a dream. The room was empty and her grunts echoed against the walls as she began trying to get into a sitting position; whatever medicine had been in her system before was wearing off, making her thoughts and movement more clear, but also more uncomfortable. The blonde struggled to reposition herself as her left leg and right wrist protested at the lack of medication. The twinges and complaints from her bandaged appendages were nothing compared to the growing ache in her chest; she very much wished someone would come in and dose her again if that meant she would imagine Rachel. It had seemed so vivid; that should have been the tip off, Quinn thought to herself, that the brunette would be so real and so clear in the midst of the fog of some unknown prescription drug. The blonde let out another grunt as she scooted herself farther along the bed.
"Be careful!" someone commanded. "Let me help you."
Quinn didn't look up as she responded.
"I don't need your help. I can do this," she insisted.
"It's a little late for you to act all stand offish with me now, Miss Fabray," the brunette chided. "I already know you love me, so there's simply no sense in playing cool and defensive with me."
Her hazel eyes shot up and caught sight of Rachel, whose arms were loaded with supplies, which she deposited on the chair next to the bed before coming over to help ease her into a sitting position. The brunette then gave her a quick peck on the forehead before she made her way back to the chair to retrieve some candles; the petite girl placed them on the bedside table and lit them slowly, glancing over with a soft smile as she did so. The blonde saw the notebook lying open at the foot of the bed and blushed.
"You could have at least waited and let me tell you," The blonde protested.
"Well, you could tell me yourself now," Rachel said seriously. "I wouldn't stop you from that."
Quinn bit her lower lip and stared into the other girl's warm, brown eyes; she'd come all this way to say those words and now she couldn't think of a way to say it properly. She was just happy to see Rachel alive and well; though the girl was scrapped and bandaged in several places, she didn't seem to have received any serious injuries. The girl stared back at her for a moment in silence, obviously waiting to hear what Quinn had to say, before sighing and reaching for the notebook.
"I love the drawing you did of me," Rachel began. "I tried to sketch one of you while you slept, but I simply don't have the talent for it that you have. I hope you don't mind that I defaced your journal in the process with my meager attempts to do you justice."
The blonde smiled. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Let me see."
"Absolutely not." The brunette giggled.
"It's my book after all," she began to protest before the girl held up the held up a page for her to see. "You, uh, just need to work on your shading…"
"I don't think it's a failing on my part at all; now that I think of it, it's hard to capture anyone's features while they are sleeping," Rachel defended. "I'm sure the Mona Lisa was much prettier than Da Vinci managed to make her look."
"Rachel." Quinn giggled.
"I love you, Quinn," the brunette interrupted. "I think I've always loved you, but I never hoped that you could love me back, so I poured myself into loving Finn. Not that I used him, I mean not on purpose; I did care for him, but looking back on it, I feel like a huge part of why I wanted him was because you had been with him. Then, when all this started, all I could think of was you and I wanted to go looking for you, but Grub wouldn't let me. He was afraid of what might happen to me out on my own and there was so much to do here; I never thought I would see you again. I had nightmares every night, but I kept myself as busy as I could. I helped out any way I could and then there you were—I couldn't believe my eyes. I actually thought that I had simply gone insane from grief, but there you were, and then you fell and I thought I was going to die! Grub practically had to support me all the way back here while Ian and Felix carried you here. After they set your leg, your knee was out of place from the fall; you slept for over a day and I was afraid to leave your side for a second, so I just sat here and read your journal over and over again. I couldn't believe what you wrote—couldn't believe that you loved me too—and I've been feeling so happy and guilty at the same time ever since."
It was Quinn's turn to interrupt her. "Guilty?"
"Well, yes," Rachel explained. "Because so many people's lives are ruined and their families and friends are gone, but I have you. No one else here has anyone right now, even Grub; he had his son with him when we first met, who dug me out of the rubble, but his son died in the last earthquake."
"Grub?" The blonde questioned.
"The older gentleman," The brunette explained. "I don't know what his real name is; he won't tell anyone. He doesn't even call us by our names."
"Sweetie pie?" she guessed.
Rachel laughed. "Yes, well, sometimes it's Berry. Other times it's berry pie, and then of course sometimes sweetie pie."
"What do you think he'll call me?" the blonde joked. "Quinnie cakes?"
"Actually he's been calling you little lion, but he won't tell me why," the girl corrected.
Quinn's eyes grew large as memories from the other day flooded back.
"The gun!" she choked. "Did I…hurt anyone?"
"No, no," Rachel soothed. "The safety was still on."
The blonde breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.
"I should really thank them," she stated.
"There will be time for that later. They're out combing the surrounding area for more survivors," the brunette explained.
Rachel continued to bring Quinn up to date; they were living in a hospital, one of the few buildings that had somehow remained undamaged, though they had all been staying in the areas below ground until recently. One of the generators had continued working until the last quake, so now they were without power, but still pretty well supplied. Every day a handful of them would branch out a little farther looking for survivors, but now they were finding less and less people. There were approximately thirty people living in the hospital now, though it was hard to keep count, and plenty of room to go around if they managed to find more. The brunette talked sadly about the day they had found her, curled up in the wreckage next to Kurt, who hadn't survived, though she skimmed over the details while Quinn gently rubbed her thumb across the back of her hand. When she was done talking, she rested her head on the blonde's shoulder and sighed.
Quinn wondered if she should say something about Warren, but decided not to worry Rachel with that. Instead, she decided that when Grub returned, she would let him know to be on the look out for him.
"Everything's changed so much, Quinn." Rachel sighed again as she traced the veins along the blonde's hand. "Our world is gone."
Quinn stroked the girl's dark silky hair and smiled.
"No it's not," she corrected. "My whole world is right here next to me. I love you, Rachel."
[Tuesday, April 23rd 2013
It has been nearly four months— three months and twenty-five days to be exact—since the tragic events that changed our lives forever occurred. It has not been easy, but Quinn and I, and everyone else here, have started to make progress. The hospital is actually lending itself to housing quite nicely. I always hated hospitals and never thought I would be considering one to be homey, but with great effort on my part, and much teasing on Quinn's, I feel I have managed to make our room exceptionally inviting.
Quinn and some of the others are working on clearing a nearby area to make a garden. I was very surprised to see how invested she had become in it—I certainly never pictured her as a farmer. I think it has become very therapeutic for her; perhaps making things grow and planning for the future keeps her mind clear and busy. At any rate, I will definitely be glad for some fresh vegetables. There are very few of us here that still want to remain vegan, and I will admit that I have had to break my usually strong adherence to it to survive, but we do our best.
We've had to lock up the medical supplies and can only use them in extreme emergency; after all, if we used them for every sniffle or scrape, we would run out and have nothing left for when it was really needed. I've been a little disappointed with people's inability to understand that, but it isn't as though we can simply run down the pharmacy if we run out, so they will just have to adjust to the idea of rationing. Besides, we have one or two people here who know plenty of home remedies, which most likely are better than taking overly strong doses of chemicals.
I would estimate the population of the hospital to be roughly 60 residents now, but it's so hard to keep track since people seem to come and go so often. Some of them only want to stay long enough to fill up their bellies and move on in search of loved ones, others seem like they are going to stay until they get fed up with the rules, and then, sadly, some of the sick and injured don't make it. There is a cemetery nearby that we use in that case. I think it is good for those of us left to be able to properly say farewell to those we lose, especially after not being able to do so for so many before.
Not everything is sad and stressful, though; many of us are growing very close into something of a makeshift family. People are even getting married, including Quinn and I. With all that has happened, few seem to be holding onto any ill-conceived notion that there is only one correct way to love. Quinn has been so wonderful; she insists that I keep my voice in practice. She, like me, believes that now is a more important time to have dreams than ever before and that my talent is something that will inspire more people. When I sing in front of all these survivors and I see their faces light up like they are forgetting how hard things are for just a moment, I truly feel better. Though she is far too stubborn about it, I sometimes can convince her to join me.
My biggest regret is not being able to share my good fortune with so many of the people I love; I wish I knew where everyone was and whether or not they are alive and well. I can tell it weighs heavily on Quinn's heart and mind as well. Sometimes she will get a far off look in her eye and I know she is thinking of one of the many people we miss so dearly; it can be hard to get her to talk about them, but it is Quinn after all, and I am really trying not to push too hard. Perhaps, in time, we can attempt a trip to look for them, but for now, it simply isn't feasible.
Until then, all we can do is cherish the memories of good times before and continue working for the future. ]
I know one shots are rarely read, so if you did read all the way though, I really want to thank you for giving this little snippet your time and attention. I hope the sappy bits at the end are ok—I have a tendency to go for uber-cheese and get carried away. I'm not expecting many reviews on it, but I really would appreciate any feedback that might be left for me; I've been writing on this site a little over a year and it's made me realize how much I truly missed writing and I would love to get some critiques so I can hopefully improve in the future. If you're reading this, odds are you were sent here by my friend InvisiMeg (But just in case you weren't, she has an end of the world story as well that is in several chapters; it is very much worth the read and titled Until My Last Breath). I am considering doing a sequel to this at some point if there is enough interest. For updates on the possible sequel, see my tumblr. Once again – thank you for reading.