It's about a hundred degrees inside when she wakes up, unusually warm for the inside of her house at that time of year. Normally her fathers keep the air conditioning up high enough for them to be comfortable all summer long. But at first she thinks it's just the alcohol. There had been an end of year party at Mike's house the night before and while Rachel isn't usually one to drink all that much she had thought it was fitting to drink a little bit. She had just graduated high school after all. And it wasn't every day that you actually graduated from high school. And she distinctly remembers that the last time she had drank at a party she had been extremely warm when she woke up in the morning. So she can only assume that's what's happening there. That she's waking up overly warm because she had been drinking the night before.

She's sweating a ridiculous amount as she wakes up. It makes her feel disgusting and her hair sticks to her face, her skin sticks to the sheets and the pillow case. It's the most disgusting feeling in the world to wakeup covered in sweat. She doesn't care if she sweats when she's doing something strenuous because it's a sign of achievement but she hadn't done anything strenuous that night and she hates waking up feeling that way. But it's not until she wakes up that she realizes the air conditioning isn't on at all. She can't hear the dull clicking of the machine working so she knows that it's not on.

It's bright when she opens her eyes. Too bright. Her alarm didn't go off and when she looks at her bedside table the clock isn't lit up. So there must have been a power surge and her family overslept, that's all. It makes complete and utter sense. So when she throws her legs over the edge of the bed she figures that the power must have gone out because of a heat wave. It's happened once or twice before. The power should be back in a short period of time and her fathers are probably downstairs having some water and waiting for her to get up. They've never been much for waking her before it was absolutely necessary so that doesn't concern her at all.

Everything seems relatively normal despite the heat as she pads her way across her bedroom floor to her window. And she's a big girl. She can handle the heat. She'll just take a quick cold shower and wait for the power to go back on. Or at least that's what she figures until she throws open her curtains and looks outside. And there, on her neighbor's front lawn is her neighbor, hunched down on the ground, leaning over what looks like his wife. And for a moment Rachel thinks that his wife must have passed out from the heat. Until the husband lifts up his head and she sees the blood dripping out of his mouth.

She stumbles backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she falls down onto it with a dull thudding sound, her bedsprings creaking beneath the weight of her. That's when the silence really starts to get to her. She doesn't hear a single sound throughout her entire house. Not a single sound and she thinks that's scarier than actually hearing something. She can't hear her fathers moving around downstairs or anything of the like. And so the anxiety and paranoia that comes naturally to her starts to sink in.

She slides down off of her bed onto the floor as quietly as she can, gropes under her bed for the baseball that she keeps there in case of an emergency. Her hand closes around the handle, the wood feeling so solid in her hand that it's actually comforting. Rising slowly she turns her head towards the bedroom door, pulls the bat out from under the bed and slowly stands, makes her way towards the door. "Dad?" she calls out, so afraid of letting her voice carry too much. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong though she's not quite sure what yet.

She opens the door slowly, bat held tightly in her hand, waiting like she's sure that there's something out there waiting for her, waiting to jump out at her. But the hall is empty so she makes her way towards her fathers' room. The door is wide open when she gets there and there's no sign of either of her fathers in there. There's not a single sign of them at all. The room looks completely in order, like they had just climbed out of bed and gone downstairs for breakfast. It makes her mouth feel dry.

"Daddy?" Her bare feet make their way across the hall floor, her tiny body barely making any sound as she moves. She's not sure what she's going to find when she gets downstairs but if the way her heart is pounding is any indication she's not going to find anything that she wants to find.

The floor creeks beneath her feet as she steps down off of the bottom step and she can't stop herself from flinching when she hears in. her heart pounds harder than before and her grip on the bat tightens as she waits, waits, waits. She doesn't even realize she's holding her breath until the air comes rushing out of her. But now? Now she just doesn't want to make any noise. Because she has no idea what's actually waiting for her but she has to go see.

Then she hears a sound, in the kitchen. She hears a strange sound that she can't quite explain, one that she knows is familiar but she's not sure what it is yet. Her grip on the bat loosens and then tightens again before she slowly makes her way towards the kitchen, her steps mimicking the dancer movements that she's developed after years of ballet and tap and all sorts of other classes. But she can't even think of all the ways she could use that experience as a way to sound impressive.

The sound comes again as she presses her back against the wall just next to the kitchen doorway, takes a slow, deep breath. She doesn't want to look. She really doesn't. But if she doesn't look she'll just end up standing there forever and she doesn't want that either. She can't do that because something is most definitely going on. And if she doesn't know what's going on then things will just seem off for her. Very, very off.

She lets out the breath as slowly as she can and then she looks around the corner, feels sick at what she sees. Her father's glasses are by the kitchen doorway on the floor, a splatter of blood on one of the lenses. But that isn't what scares her or makes her feel sick. It's her father lying on the floor. His eyes are open, looking up into nothing, one arm up near his head. There's blood pooled on the floor around him on the floor. And her other father is leaning over him.

"Daddy?" But she knows as soon as she says it that she shouldn't have spoken. Because her father lifts up his head and looks up at her but he's not there. His face is smeared with blood and there's something in his teeth. At first she can't figure out what it is but she eventually realizes it's a piece of skin stuck between his teeth, her father's skin. His eyes are cloudy, like there's a white film over them. But he doesn't say anything. He just lets out this groaning sound that's guttural and not at all human.

She takes a step back like she wants to run but she has no intention at all of running, no intention at all. She doesn't want to run. She has this feeling running will do no good. And she knows that's true when her father tries to stand up, all jerky movements like his muscles and limbs aren't working anymore.

Rachel lets out a sob and lifts up her bat. "Sorry, Daddy." And then she does something that should be unthinkable. She lifts the bat up and slams it into her father's head. Blood shoots out of his mouth and sprays against the kitchen wall. He stumbles a little but tries to move again. So she slams the bat into his head again and then he falls backwards. After that it's all a quick jumble of movements because she's moving forward, lifting the bat up over her head and bringing it down with both hands into her father's head. Again and again and again. Blood and something thicker splatters around the kitchen, hits her in the face and she hears sobbing but she doesn't even realize it's hers. She keeps hitting and hitting and hitting until what the bat hits sounds mushy and then she just openly sobs.

She collapses to the floor, her father's blood starting to cover her legs, seeps into the fabric of her shorts. She has no idea what she's even doing, what she should do next but as she looks at her other father lying there with his sightless eyes she knows. She sits up and heaves the bat over her head and shakily brings it down onto her other father's head.

Noah Puckerman has a killer hangover and at first he can't quite remember why. He doesn't even remember drinking all that much the night before at the party. But then when he actually stops to think about it he had a shitload to drink. A whole lot more than he had originally intended to drink but he couldn't help it. It was a party, alright? And this Cheerio that Santana invited that he had slept with freshman year kept on hitting on him and he was doing a mental debate about whether or not he should sleep with her again.

He's pretty sure he ended up sleeping with her but the second half of the night is mostly a blur so he must have drank more than he thought he did. And that's why when he rolls out of bed he feels like he might throw up but he doesn't. He has a splitting headache though so he makes his way down the hall to the bathroom, stumbling the entire way. He opens the medicine cabinet in a quick, almost violent gesture and downs a few aspirin before he climbs into the shower.

The water is cold but that's just what he needs to wake him up. It hits him and he lets out a small gasp. And he thinks that maybe he didn't sleep with that Cheerio because he usually doesn't wake up feeling horny as all fuck when he had sex the night before. That's why he ends up reaching down and taking himself in his hand, rubbing one out while standing in the cold shower. It helps his headache and the hangover to be in the shower and it helps relieve stress to jerkoff in the shower. But maybe he did sleep with that Cheerio and is just horny anyway. He's not sure but he's not exactly about to call her and ask her. He learned a long time ago that girls get insulted when you don't even remember if you've fucked or not.

He ends up going back down the hall to his room with his towel around his waist. The summer heat stops him from freezing as he moves and he hastily pulls some clothes on, barely even looks at what he's wearing. He can't. He's exhausted and he wants to go downstairs, get some coffee and then have some food. He needs something in his stomach or he's going to puke his guts out and he doesn't want to do that. Not by a longshot.

He comes trotting down the stairs and heads towards his kitchen when he hears some sort of a growling sound behind him. He thinks it's just his imagination until he hears it again. And he figures it must be his annoying sister. She's always doing shit like that to him when he comes home late, like she knows he's going to have a splitting headache. And so he fully intends to turn around and yell at her for giving him such a hard time, for making his headache worse.

But when he turns around he doesn't see his little sister standing there. Instead he sees his mother coming down the hall and her motions are a little jerky but somehow she still manages to be quick. Her hands are outstretched, fingers curled into claws and she launches herself at him, slams into him and sends him flying backwards onto the ground with her on top of him. His hands are on her shoulders to try to push him away but it doesn't work. Her nails dig into his cheek and rip his skin open. Blood runs down his face but he barely notices it. He's too busy calling out to her to try to get her to stop.

Her mouth snaps at the air like an animal trying to get at a scrap of food and there's something strange about her eyes. They look cloudy and murky like maybe she can't really see him all that well. And maybe she can't. He's not sure. All he knows is that there's something off about her and he's actually fucking scared. And yeah, his mom is intense and kind of nuts sometimes but she's never scared him like that before. And he's actually really fucking scared for his life.

He hears a door open and he thinks that it must be his sister. He opens his mouth to yell at her to get out of there, that there's something wrong with their mother but the words never leave his mouth. Because the next thing he knows he hears this loud sound that's both a pop and a bang and it's strange and it makes his ears ring. But he can't really focus on that for too long because the top of his mother's head is suddenly gone and a spray of blood hits his face.

His mother's body goes limp and collapses on top of him and for a moment he just lays there panting wondering what the fuck just happened. It's not until he pushes her body off of him and he can sit up that he sees Rachel Berry standing in the doorway with a revolver in her hand, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her legs planted so they're shoulder's length apart. She looks completely and utterly calm as she stands there and he can't help but let out this grunt of surprise and go, "What the fuck is going on?"

Rachel just shrugs with one shoulder and tucks the gun into the back pocket of her jeans which should be too tight to do that but she somehow manages. "Did she bite you?"

"What? No. She just fucking scratched me."

"Good. Or I'd have to put a bullet in your head too, Noah. And I really don't want to have to do that. It would be a shame to have to do that since I'm pretty sure you're one of the only people who can actually stand me."

"Rachel!" He tries not to sound impatient with her but he can't really help it as he stands up and wipes at the blood on his face. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Zombies," she replies simply as she reaches out and takes his hand in hers and leads him slowly down the hall so she can make him sit down in the downstairs bathroom and clean off the cuts on his face.

"Zombies? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I woke up this morning to find my one father eating the other one. I had a bit of a complicated morning." She patted at the scratch marks with a cotton ball covered in peroxide and narrowed her eyes as she looked at the wounds. "I tried calling Finn but his phone is off the hook. And your house is closer so I thought I'd stop by and check on you. Good thing I did, too. Or else you would have been breakfast. And I don't think that's how you wanted to spend your summer."

"And how the hell did you end up with a damn gun?"

"It was my dad's."

"Your dad had a gun?"

"They both decided that it would be a good idea to be prepared just in case. They kept it in a gun safe, let me know the combination in case I needed it. They even taught me how to fire it. Never thought I'd have to use it for something like this. Well, I wouldn't say never. I always said that it would be a good idea to be prepared whatever the situation might be."

"Wait…are you telling me you prepared for the zombie apocalypse? Fucking seriously?"

"Well, as unlikely as I always thought the idea of a zombie apocalypse was I thought that even if it was a million to one shot that something like that would actually happen it was best to be prepared. Because even things that have a million to one shot at happening can, in fact happen. And I think your mother trying to eat your face off is proof of that. Wouldn't you agree?"

But the thing is that Puck really doesn't want to agree. It just feels like if he agrees its saying that he's worried or freaked out or scared. And yes, he is. A little bit. His mother was apparently a fucking zombie that tried to devour his face and if it hadn't been for the little diva he would be one of those undead fuckers, too. Not fucking cool. But he doesn't say that. He just makes himself not flinch when the peroxide touches his cheek again and then sighs a little bit. "So, no answer at Finn's house?"

"No. But that might not mean anything. I'm not assuming the worst until I have a very good reason to."

"You heading over there?"

"Yes. But I'm not leaving you here on your own."

"I can take care of myself."

"As evidence by the fact that I just saved your life."

Puck opens his mouth to tell her that she did no such thing but the fact is that she did. He just hates the idea of admitting it. So he closes his mouth and clenches his jaw. "I wasn't prepared."

"Of course," she soothes. "But there's safety in numbers and it's definitely not a good idea to go about things on our own. I was just out there and it was utter chaos. I have a few supplies from my house but we have no idea what's really happening, where we can go that's safe. We don't know how many people are affected, how many people are left alive. We don't know anything right now. So we need to make sure that things are alright. We need to make sure that we have supplies just in case. We have to be prepared."

"I thought you said you were prepared."

"It never hurts to be more prepared." She takes her hands away from his face and throws out what's in her hands. "So, I think we should definitely pack up whatever might be useful here and go look for the others. Check and see if they're alright. You should pack clothes and we should pack nonperishables. Things we know aren't going to go bad. Dry goods, canned goods. I have some camping pots and pans left over from a trip my dad went on last year with his father so we should be good that way."

"You're really that concerned about the others?" He sort of understands it and he sort of doesn't because the others have been back and forth between being nice to her and being complete assholes. He can't understand why their safety would matter that much to her but he supposes Rachel just wants to see how many of them are still alive.

"Yes," she answers without hesitating. "Go back upstairs. Pack clothes. Not a whole lot. We have to travel as light as possible. Just take whatever you need. And anything you don't want to leave behind because we don't know if we'll ever be coming back. Only important sentimental stuff though. You can't take everything. I'll pack up some food and stuff. Okay?"

"I guess." But his mind is already going over what he should bring. And then something hits him as he goes to standup and he pauses halfway. "Beth…"

She looks at his face for a whole handful of seconds before she finally looks away, shakes her head. "I called Shelby but no one answered. That doesn't mean anything either though. She could be out. She could be doing exactly what we're doing. There's no need to assume the worst. And if we have to we'll go there. It'll take time but we'll keep trying to call and we'll go check on her."

She doesn't say anything more to him before she heads back out into the hall to go do what she said she would do.

"How are you so calm?" he calls after her. "Why aren't you freaking the fuck out?"

"You have no idea what I'm feeling inside, Noah," she calls back to him. And he knows that much is true at least. He doesn't know what's going on in her head. For all he knows she could be just about having a heart attack right now but she's remaining calm, cool and collected on the outside. And that's almost as frightening as what's happening.

"Mom kept the canned stuff in the basement," he tells her as he steps out into the hall and goes upstairs. He knows a couple of things he has to bring with him besides clothes. He has to bring his yearbook just in case others are dead. He has to bring the picture of Beth he has framed and the one from when he and his sister stayed at their grandmother's house for a week last year. And his guitar. He can't leave without his guitar.

He's in the middle of packing his stuff when he hears a gunshot.