Sometimes shit just goes wrong. That had been his mantra since this whole fucked up mess. Zombies. Real, motherfucking zombies that just wanted to chase after anything still living and tear the flesh from its bones. And these bitches could run. Not like those old school movies, where the chick basically deserved to die for waiting around when she could've been in the next county by the time the zombies got to her.

At first the news said that it was a food born disease. Like Mad Cow or Swine Flu or some shit. Whole thing got political too. Republicans blaming Democrats. Democrats blaming Republicans. Maybe if they hadn't been arguing they would've realized what a fucking teenager could've put together. It was a virus. Zombies equaled virus. Not nerve gas sent by terrorists or some end of days shit. Well, maybe it wasthat last one. But unless the Messiah had shown up and gotten turned, Puck seriously doubted it. What? He's still a good Jewish boy, even.

He'd been lucky when the real shit went down. He was a college kid, but he'd been skipping that day. And by "skipping" he meant fucking a pretty blond whose name he knew only because of of the necklace she was wearing. Which was helpful, because he knew to shout out "Quinn!" when he came. No, he didn't really know the girl. He'd been going across campus when he saw her, crying and running like something was chasing her. Which, yeah, he looked, and there hadn't been anything. But she said that something had jumped out at her and what else could I go do but comfort the girl? So he fucked her good, even though she was sort of bossy, and not in the sexy way. Like she wouldn't let him take off her shit. What the fuck was up with that? But Puck had fucked weirder girls in the past, so he let it slide. He got up, tossed the condom, leaving a sleepy Quinn in bed.

He always showered after fucking a stranger, and he would've asked her to join if she hadn't passed out after he'd taken a piss. Besides, she didn't really seem like the shower sex type. He was pretty sure he saw he make the sign of the cross when he was taking off his boxers. He didn't really think too much about the virus at all. He was in a small ass college town in Michigan, and these "outbreaks" or whatever had been contained to the west coast, according to the news. And he was twenty one years old. It wasn't his job to worry about shit like that. He focused on three things: women, music, and getting out of this punk ass town. But right now, he wanted to focus on that first one.

He stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped loosely around his hips when he opened the bathroom door, seeing Quinn curled up, shirt still on, which was kind of annoying but whatever. He could probably talk her out of it. Fuck, he'd talked out half the moms in his home town out of their panties without much trouble.

"Babe?" He took small steps. Chick was probably sleeping, which wasn't too weird. He was used to tiring people out. Reaching his hand out, he tried again. "Quinn?"

She turned in an instant, making an ugly hissing sound that he'd never heard before and fuck there was something black and thick coming up from her mouth. Something had happened. Something seriously, seriouslyfucked up. Her skin was motley and gray and green and just wrong. Her eyes were yellow and dead. That was the only word for them. Dead. And hungry. She was hungry. And Puck had seen enough movies to know what was going on, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"Shit!" She lunged at him, swiping at his face again as she stumbled out of the bed, falling to the floor heavily, no grace involved. It was the briefest hesitation when he stood, staring at her at a safe enough distance. His voice cracked when he said her name again. "Quinn?"

She was up, staggering towards him, quicker than he expected but slow enough that he could respond, and he could jump over the bed faster than she could go around it. His apartment was small, so there wasn't enough room to maneuver around her. He was fucked. She was more fucked, but if he didn't do something soon he'd be dead, and she'd be gnawing on Noah Puckerman.

Not fucking today.

He didn't have a bat, or a gun, or even a shovel to use on the bitch. His best bet was the kitchen. He sprinted, rounding the corner of the small wall, hands clambering around as he heard her uneven steps, the disjointed groans and spits. As soon as he saw her head turn the corner he knocked her upside the head with the fire extinguisher, ignoring the ungodly scream she emitted, hitting the floor. He stood over her, waiting, breath stuck in his throat. A little part of him, in a voice that sounded just like his ma, told him that she was still a person. There was someone inside there who needed help.

He bashed her head in when she bared her teeth and made a grab for his ankle. From that point on, his ma's voice shut down. It was survival, and he'd fucking proven that he could do it. Whether or not he locked every door and window and cried an hour afterwards was his business.

But he'd learned his lesson. The most important rule of Zombieland. Trust no one. They're all out to eat you, one way or another.

… … …

There was one good thing about this big mess, at least in in Charlottesville, Virginia. There was literally no one. At least, no living people, which for Finn was both a good thing and a bad thing. It sort of sucked, being twenty one and alone in a world that he was pretty sure was close to being over. Which was pretty sad, if you asked him. He hadn't really asked for any of this, but then again, it was pretty dumb to assume that anyone had. He wasn't sure who was to blame for the outbreak. To be honest, he hadn't really followed the news coverage. Like, at all. He'd just been working in Burt's shop when he heard something slam into the door, and when he turned around, he saw a zombie.

And yeah, he knew it was a zombie. No matter what the books or scientists said, he'd played enough video games and seem enough horror movies to know what the thing was. It had an arm in its mouth. And he'd recognized that arm. It had been passing him a tire iron a few minutes ago. When he startled throttling the thing with that same tire iron, he pretended that it made him feel better. That he was sweating, not crying. Sometimes it was better to lie to himself than be honest.

So he didn't have his step dad anymore. And his mom had gone to Miami to visit Kurt at some tiny arts school. So he was pretty much completely alone during what could only be the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse. All he really had going for him was a bunch of tire irons and the Wal Mart down the road. And a pretty awesome truck.

There really wasn't too much to his story. He'd called his mom as many times as he could, until cellphone service had shut down completely. And nothing. Nothing from her, or Kurt. So really, all he could do was stock up on weapons and go find them. Just the hope of them being there was enough. Besides, there really wasn't anything left for him in Lima. And he didn't mind being alone, not really. He'd grown accustomed to it, after a few solid months on the the road alone.

Still, that didn't mean he likedgetting chased by flesh hungry monsters. But that tended to happen whenever he stopped to get supplies.

He shot off one round, hitting what used to be a woman in the head, watching her fall to the floor. He barely mumbled a "sorry" before walking away. They hadbeen people at some point. He turned, holding the rifle steady, the tip of the gun leading the way as he sidestepped several fallen boxes of Whisk. Another good thing about this whole zombie apocalypse: no houses to clean. But that didn't mean he didn't need stuff like soap, which was why he'd stopped at this Target knock off. Maybe there wasn't much running water left... at all. But there were rivers and lakes when he was lucky.

And it looked like someone else had the same idea as he did. And it was a big dude. Maybe not as big as him, but the big gun aimed right at Finn's face worked in his favor.

The guy couldn't have been older than him, even though he was trying to pull off the big adult thing. Yeah, dude had some pretty big muscles, and a really mean look in his eye, but Finn had learned a few things over the last few months, one of which was if you were still living, you were always scared. Always.

"Drop the gun."

Finn didn't budge, even if his arm was shaking a little. "You first."

The other guy snorted, raising the gun so it was aimed at Finn's head. Which yeah, that was a little scarier. At least Finn had been aiming at the guy's chest. "Shit right I will. You could be infected."

Alright, good point. "Well I was coming to get soap." He raised his chin, indicating to the display over the guy's shoulder. "And if I'd gotten bitten I wouldn't be planning on showering. Even though zombies should shower, since they smell like. You know. Dead people." Yeah, he was trying to make a joke. And it didn't really work. All he saw was the guy's finger tighten on the trigger. So Finn decided to be the bigger man, or maybe coward, and lower his gun.

It took a second, but the other guy did too, even if it was begrudgingly. He turned back to the soap display, shoving a dozen bars into his duffel bag. Finn moved forward, a little hesitant, but a little eager too. It was kind of cool, to see another living person. Last one he'd seen had been up in what used to be Baltimore. Poor sucker had made it all the way from Maine before a bunch a kids had gotten to him. Slurped on his intestines. It still made Finn queasy to think about.

"So." Finn pushed one hand into his pocket, shouldering his gun, moving to stand beside the new guy with the huge arms, who didn't really turn to look at him. "You got a name or..."

There wasn't much of a response, just a grunt.
"That's not really a name." He picked up a bar, tossing it up then catching it again. "I'm Finn. So are you from around here or..."

"Look, are you gay or some shit?" The sudden question threw his off completely, eyes widening. "I don't have anything against it but I really don't need that shit right now."

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. Not that it offended him exactly. People used to think that he and his step brother were a thing, even though that would've been beyond creepy. He loved Kurt though. That was why he was going down to Florida. To see if maybehe'd made it okay. Maybe his mom was okay too. "What? No I just. I don't know." He scrubbed his free hand through his hair, shrugging, backing off. He figured this guy liked his space. And no way did he want to mess with that. "It's pretty lonely out here and you can get kind of crazy when there's no one around."

"You calling me crazy?" Guy actually looked at him that time, eyes dark, and he looked tired. Really tired and ready to shoot Finn in the head if he said the wrong thing. Fuck.

He shook his head, responding with a vehement "no" which was enough to make the guy snort then walk down the aisle, obviously trying to distance himself. But Finn wasn't done. He couldn't be done. Two people were better than one now, and this guy actually seemed like he knew what he was doing. He followed after him, taking a few seconds before speaking again. He needed time to come up with something to say that wasn't going to get him shot.

"I don't want to bother you but which direction are you headed?"

He got a gruff "south," in return, which was better than nothing. And it made him smile, something which hadn't happened in awhile.

"Really?" He moved a little faster, which the guy seemed to realize, since he sped up too. Which should have been an indicator that he wanted to be left alone, but Finn was too excited to really care. "Me too. Where? Because I'm going down to Florida, so maybe we could go down together. Strength in numbers, right?"

That was enough to make him turn his head, looking over his shoulder as he laughed. "Listen up, Frankenteen, I get that you want a buddy or whatever, but I'm not your guy. So go get your Tampax and leave. I got shit to do."

So that was a little mean, and kind of uncalled for but whatever. It would've made Finn laugh if it hadn't been directed at him. And it sort of didn't make sense. He didn't need Tampax. "I don't need Tampax."

"Are you challenged or something?"

"Only when I'm fighting zombies. Or there's a guy being a complete asshole to me in a Target."

He didn't really expect said asshole to turn around, gun cocked, and aimed at his head. Or for him to shoot. And maybe Finn almost pissed himself when that happened, because he expected to be dead on the floor. Or maybe hovering over his dead body, or maybe in Heaven or Hell or something. But the bullet whizzed past him, lodging itself in the head of a zombie that had been coming up behind him.

"And Puck just saved your life." He shrugged, shouldering the gun casually as he pushed past Finn, grabbing a box on the wall. "Here. You look like you need these."

And really, Finn had never felt dumber than when he held a box of Tampax with a dead undead person next to him. And with this Puck guy walking away. Wait. He was walking away. That wasn't cool. He dropped the box, jogging after him, and maybe making the dumb decision to step in front of him.

"Okay look." He held up a hand when Puck gave him a skeptical look, one that clearly read 'you're shitting me.' But he didn't try to interrupt, which was a thumbs up in Finn's book. "You obviously think you're some badass zombie killer. And that's awesome but everyone could use some help out here. And if you're going south and I'm going south it seems really dumb if we don't just go together." He let out a short breath, swallowing, because he really hoped he hadn't pissed this guy off. Since, you know, he still had a gun in his hand and Finn doubted that he'd hesitate using it. "Besides, you saved my life. So I kind of owe you."

It took a minute for Puck to answer. He kept looking him up and down, like he was trying to decide if Finn would be a waste of time or dead weight or something. And yeah, maybe he wasn't super coordinated or anything, but he knew how to use a weapon and he'd been alive thislong. So obviously he wasn't a complete dumbass.

"Fine." It was a pretty relaxed response, given with a shrug and what was almost an eyeroll. "But if you get me bitten I'm shooting you."

And that was okay with Finn. Besides, he'd probably get himself bitten before anything happened to this Puck guy. Hell, he wouldn't put it past the guy to use him as zombie bait or something.

He made a note never to bring that up.