No copyright infringements intended. I don't own em. Pout, Pout.
Author's note: Okay, so this is a one-shot and kind of a joke, but I hope you see the comedy in it and enjoy! Had to take a break from my current story and just write something out there but I'll be updating the other soon.
Rated M for general bloody gore, stuff my wife would kill me for writing because she hides during Braveheart, and raunchy language.
Character's Thoughts in Italics.
For the Want of an Update, or How I learned to Kill A Zombie really, really quick!
Rachel looked down at her hands, stunned. They were covered with blood, brain matter and general ickyness. Ewwww. Ewwww. Gross. Why do they have to do that all the time? Can't they seep to the left of me, why always right on me? Maybe it's my aim. I'll have to work on that. God, now I have to change again. Oh great, here comes another one.
Rachel feinted to the left, dropped to her knees, did a perfect side roll and sprang up onto her feet, baseball bat in hand. She was ready to fight and luckily so. The large lumbering brute was still coming for her, making that zombie noise they always made that sounded like a cross between dire constipation and a bad night out. This one had already been in a fight with someone, somewhere, because a large piratical saber was sticking out of its chest. Don't they know to aim for the head? Am I the only one who watched living dead movies before this whole nightmare began? Geez…. Make it harder for the rest of us, why dontcha.
When the T-3, R-4 (kinda sounds like some fucked up character on Star Wars) virus descended it virtually wiped out 75 percent of the population in one week flat. That's how Rachel came to own a very sturdy, very well-used baseball bat and a very pregnant, very hormonal Quinn Fabray. Of course, no one should ever mention to Quinn that Rachel "owned" her because one was likely to receive a pickle shoved up ones nostril, but Rachel knew the fact of the matter, like it or not.
"Swing away, Swing away," Rachel quoted one of her favorite movies, the dull sound of wood smacking against something very wet reverberated through the small diva's auditory canal. "Ha! You didn't get me this time! Ha! Missed me, you seeping pile of nastiness!" The diva sang proudly, dancing around in her victory of avoiding being hit by more human, or not so human anymore, bodily fluids.
Checking the perimeter and realizing that she was now truly alone, at least for the moment, Rachel ran into the convenience store that was her original mission before being accosted. She grabbed two cases of Twinkies and various other assundries and raced back to her motorcycle without being further detected. Quinn and her damned Twinkies had almost cost her more than just an outfit on several occasions.
Okay, maybe it was Quinn who owned Rachel, but don't tell the small diva that information. No, Rachel was better off believing that she called the shots, at least that's how Quinn saw it.
After making her way through more zombie infested streets, mocking them as her motorcycle weaved in and out of the slow moving imbeciles, Rachel finally found herself back in the McKinley High parking lot.
Puck, standing sentry-duty, saw her coming and opened the barricaded door as Rachel zoomed in on her bike. "Did you get it?" the boy asked, hardly waiting for Rachel to catch her breath.
"Yeah, Yeah Noah. I got it. Geez," she threw the mohawked boy a bottle with dark liquid in it.
"Oh, Thank God. I was jonesing pretty damn bad."
"I don't know how you drink that," the diva complained. "I mean, Christ, it's like watered down chocolate milk."
"Don't get between a man and his Yoo-Hoo!" Puck declared, inflating his chest.
"Where is she?" Rachel asked, concerned.
"She's in the computer lab," Puck answered. "Crying."
"Again?" Rachel sighed.
"Yeah," the boy looked downcast. "Been in there since you left."
"Oh great, just great." Rachel took off her helmet and slipped out of the gore-infested t-shirt she was wearing, leaving her in just a tank top.
She could tell Noah was looking at her. "Put your eyes somewhere else Puckerman!"
"Oh, come on Rach. It's the end of the world. Let me at least look."
"You won't have eyes to see with unless you start looking elsewhere, end of world or not," Rachel stated, annoyed at the teen. Puck just walked off down the hallway.
Rachel sighed again. Life sucked, but there was Quinn. Beautiful, aggravating, heart-stopping, hormonal Quinn. Rachel made her way to the computer lab. She poked her head into the room and stopped. Quinn sat in front of a computer, gently tapping the keys to no avail while weeping at the same time. Nothing was happening. Hell, they didn't have any electricity.
"Quinn, baby, you've got to stop this," Rachel said, coming up behind the pregnant girl and rubbing her shoulders. Quinn sank into the embrace.
"But . . But . . . ," she said, the crying getting louder and her voice becoming more nasally. She sniffed again and ran her arm across her face, wiping the tears.
"Look, it's not the end of the world," Rachel said. Quinn raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay, look, it is the end of the world, but this is by far not the worst thing we are going to encounter as we push our way through this nightmare. It's fan fiction, for Christ's sake!"
Quinn gave Rachel the stink eye. "I was waiting for chapter 5, dammit and I will now be eternally waiting for chapter 5!"
"Quinn, you were reading zombie fiction for the love of all things that are holy. Don't you see how ironic this situation is?" Rachel pleaded. The blonde did not even crack a smile.
"But my favorite character was getting ready to be eaten. Eaten, Rachel! By a horde of zombies. Now I'll never know what happens to her." Quinn began to cry softly again. Rachel sighed and tugged her into a warm embrace.
No power. No outside communication. Quinn, Rachel, Puck, Kurt, Santana, Brittany and unfortunately had been holed up in McKinley for the last week. Rachel and Puck, with the reluctant help of Santana, had been running reconnaissance since that time. They were living off potted meat, hot Coke and stale bread.
"Look baby," Rachel started. Yes, the two girls had finally realized they had a LOT in common, pregnancy or not, to the disbelief and mild irritation of Puck. "Maybe you can write zombie fan fiction. I mean, you have a lot of first-hand material."
Quinn brightened for a moment and then began to softly cry again. "No, it isn't the same," she said.
"Now, Quinn Charlotte Fabray, you need to pull yourself together! I have something for you," Rachel sing-songed.
"Whatisit?" the blonde mumbled, still disheartened.
From the inside of her leather pants Rachel pulled two yellow sponge cakes and presented them to Quinn.
"Twinkies!" the blonde exclaimed, a broad grin donning her face. "Awww. Sweetie, you shouldn't have."
"Not a problem," Rachel said, steering Quinn from the computer lab while she stuffed her face with the golden delights. "Wow, Rach. You need a shower. Like, really. What is that on the side of your face?"
"Never mind Quinn, never mind," the brunette said as the pair walked down McKinley's hallway hand in hand.