Quinn

If you're reading this it probably means I'm dead.

My name is Quinn Fabray and I'm eighteen years old, living in Lima, Ohio. Or, what used to be Lima, Ohio, just six weeks ago. How it ended up being just me and Brittany, I can't remember. For some reason, we both had the idea to go to Mr. Schuester's house, but our High School Spanish teacher and his fiancé, Ms. Pillsbury, were nowhere to be found. Afraid to go back outside, Brittany and I have been living in Schuester's apartment since the outbreak began six weeks ago. You can learn a lot in six weeks.

Like what weapons to use. And what not to use. The first time Brittany and I had left the apartment to get food and supplies, she had taken a baseball bat, and I had taken a can of pepper spray that belonged to Ms. Pillsbury; they were the only weapons we could find. As it turns out, pepper spray is pretty useless in combat with a zombie. I have a theory that the undead can't feel pain, because the pepper spray had the same effect as if we'd had thrown a glass of water in his face. Brittany's baseball bat was more effective, but she really had to bash a zombie's head in to kill it. You'd expect that kind of thing to result in a crimson shower of blood, but that's another thing we learned about zombies. They don't bleed right, not the way we do. Their blood is all dried and congealed inside them. I'm assuming they have no blood flow, probably because they have no heartbeat. This is all conjecture. I'd never gotten close enough to take a zombie's pulse.

When we had ventured all the way to Dudley Road to see if my parents were still alive, I'd discovered the rifle that my father kept in the house. I'd had to shoot my own infected mother with it. Repeatedly. Brittany decided then that she didn't want to visit her house. If her family was infected, she knew she didn't have the capability in her heart to kill them. So I left the rifle there. I didn't ever want to see it again. Besides, despite the fact that guns are fairly effective in zombie killing, unless you have a clear shot at the face, they aren't my favorite weapons. The loud noise my father's shotgun made had only attracted more zombies. In any case, neither Brittany nor I had ever used a gun before and we'd really need some sort of lessons in order to not be a danger to ourselves and each other. No, my weapon of choice - not that I condone weapons, but this is a zombie apocalypse we're talking about - is a machete. The only way to stop them is to chop them; that has become my motto.

Of course, we experimented with household items before. Shovels wielded like spears, aimed at the throat. Metal spatulas plunged at the side of the neck. But I've grown attached to the precise, bloody magic my machete can invoke. If you ever want to get in touch with your inner violence, kill a zombie.

Today, I looked in the refrigerator of Mr. Schuester's kitchen and found nothing but an untouched can of sardines. It was times like these when I missed my mother's talents for curing meat. Every time we went out, I got a little more confident and a little less afraid. I knew that today Brittany and I would have to go out again.

I called out to her and walked across the apartment to Brittany's room. "Britt!"

Mr. Schue's apartment had two bedrooms - the room he shared with Ms. Pillsbury and a spare room that looked like they were in the midst of turning into a nursery. Brittany offered to take a sleeping bag and sleep in the nursery, because she liked the feeling the pale yellow walls and the farm animal mobile gave her.

"Britt!" I called again and rapped my knuckles on the nursery door, listening close for any movement.

When she didn't reply, I slowly pushed the door open. She was there, her eyes open, but barely. She lay on top of her sleeping bag in just a pair of shorts and a bra, a cold sweat dripping off of her.

"Brittany..." I whispered, my eyes wide with fear. She looked awful.

"I don't feel good…" she replied, her voice hoarse.

A million things started running through my mind and most of them were nightmarish thoughts involving Brittany turning into a zombie. Brittany couldn't turn into a zombie. Then I'd have no-one.

"When was the last time we went outside?" I asked her even though I already knew.

"Last week."

"That's right," I sighed, "You didn't get bitten. You didn't, did you...? And even if you did, it's been a whole week-"

"I didn't get bitten," Brittany replied weakly.

I hesitated. "Can I check?"

Brittany nodded submissively and didn't move as I got on my knees and inspected her body. As I rolled her over to look at her back and the backs of her legs, I knew that it must feel a little invasive, but it had to be done.

"Not a mark," I said as she turned back over on her back.

"Am I gonna be a zombie?" she asked, looking up at me with glassy blue eyes.

"No," I said, and put my hand on her forehead. She was burning up. "You probably have the flu."

"Are you sure?"

I frowned. I wasn't sure. If I had Web MD or something to give me an idea, maybe I'd feel a little better about my diagnosis, but the internet had been down ever since the zombie outbreak began.

"Yeah," I said to her, anyways, "I'm gonna go out and I'm gonna get you some medicine, okay?"

Brittany nodded. "And DVDs."

I smirked down at her. We were sick of watching and re-watching Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury's DVD collection. We must have watched Singin' In The Rain and My Fair Lady a dozen times each.

"Any suggestions on the DVDs?"

"Aristocats," said Brittany. "The Disney version."

"I'll see what I can do."

I got dressed to go out - dark hoodie, dark jeans, dark sneakers - and strapped the machete to my leg. This was the first time I was going outside alone since the outbreak. Another thing I'd learned in the last six weeks was how to hotwire a car, so there was a Land Rover outside of the apartment building that Brittany and I had claimed as our own. I hopped into the SUV and drove out of North Elizabeth Street. There were dive bars and burger joints around the area that Britt and I had raided, but where we really wanted to be was a mall. We just never wanted to venture very far out with just the two of us. Still, over the weeks, there'd been less and less zombies. We assumed that they'd wandered out of Lima. At least out of our part. I still wasn't about to take any chances.

There were cafes and bars and restaurants around, but from what I could remember, the nearest mall or grocery store or even a damn convenience store was farther away from the apartment than I wanted to go. The farthest Brittany and I had been from the apartment was a two avenue radius. Not impressive, I know, but given the fact that there are soulless brain eaters walking the streets, we weren't eager to explore.

"Dammit Fabray," I said to myself as I drove around the block, "Don't be a coward. You have to take care of her."

For some reason I had this idea stuck in my head that Brittany was my responsibility, and when all this blew over, I'd be able to hand her safely back to her girlfriend. I wondered where Santana was now. If she was okay. If she was alive. I drove past Pierce Street - usually the limits of our venturing - and hoped I'd have more luck here. My heart skipped a beat when I drove past a donut store. I hadn't had a donut in... well, six weeks. I told myself that surely they'd be stale by now, but there was hope in my heart that there'd be some in freezer storage that'd be more or less edible after some time in the microwave. And frosting!

I wondered if frosting had an expiration date as I parked the SUV in the parking lot of Mello-Creme Donuts, with the other abandoned vehicles. I got out, machete at the ready (because, you never know) and walked into the restaurant, the interior all red. I walked quietly over to the back of the store, to what I thought was the back room, when I heard a muffled noise. Movement. Voices? From what I could tell, zombies weren't capable of intelligent speech, but maybe a pack of them were mumbling to each other. Yeah, that must be it.

I held out my machete and suddenly froze. A pack of them? I'd never encountered more than one zombie at a time, and that was with Brittany, two against one… and from what I could tell, zombies didn't tend to make friends. My stomach ached as I thought of abandoning frozen doughnuts and maybe even frosting, but I was no match for a whole pack of zombies, no matter how slow and stupid they were. I decided I would have to try somewhere else.

I turned around and screamed.

I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw what was at the door of the donut shop.

Not a zombie, a person. And not just any person. Sam. Sam Evans was standing there, his hair shorter than it used to be, with some sort of samurai sword in his hand. I smacked my hand to my mouth after my scream.

"Quinn?" Sam said, and then louder, "Quinn Fabray?"

"Shh!" I said, and pointed to the back room door, "Zombies!"

"Those aren't zombies," Sam walked to her and shook his head, staring at her "It's my crew. Guys!"

I snapped my attention to the door and my eyes got wider as several people - people I knew - walked out with their own weapons outstretched. Shelby Corcoran was the first to step out with a silencer over her bolt-action rifle, and Holly Holliday with a crowbar. Blaine Anderson came out with a Louisville Slugger and Jesse St. James was behind him with a golf club. I gaped at their familiar faces, my mouth hanging open in surprise. The only person I didn't recognize was a dark haired girl in her early twenties who was carrying an impressive longsword.

"Quinn," breathed Shelby in disbelief, lowering her gun.

"Quinn!" Blaine cried, and dropped his baseball bat with a clatter and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back even tighter as I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.

We'd never really been close, Blaine and I. We didn't hang out before the zombie outbreak. If anything, the only time we'd spent together was in glee club or because he was Kurt's boyfriend. But seeing Blaine now... It was like being brought back to a piece of normalcy. I was beginning to lose hope that I'd ever see any of my old schoolmates again. Beginning to think Brittany and I were the last people in Ohio.

"Where have you been?" he asked, pulling back and wiping tears from his eyes.

He looked so different now. His hair was short and wildly curly and his clothes were different. Sneakers and jeans and hoodies, like everyone else. No more bow ties.

"Me and Brittany have been staying in Mr. Schuester's old apartment-"

"Brittany's alive?" Holly gasped.

I nodded, trying to stop myself from tearing up even more.

"Quinn, you need to come with us," said Shelby.

"Come where?" I asked, more than willing to welcome authority back into my life.

"Return with us, to base," she said, "You and Brittany."

"She's not here. She's..." the word 'sick' got stuck in my throat. I knew what people were going to think if I said the word sick. They'd just hear 'infected'. "She's... back at the apartment."

"Is there anyone else?" asked Shelby.

"Just us," I shook my head.

"Okay. Bring us there," said Shelby.

"I'll go with her?" asked Sam, "Alone. We'll be quick."

Shelby looked reluctant. "Take Jennifer."

"Come on, we have a lot to talk about," Sam frowned, "I have my katana. She has her... what do you have?"

I looked down at the blade strapped to my leg. "Machete."

"Machete," smirked Sam, "Good choice."

"I have my car," I said to Shelby, "The apartment's only a few blocks away."

Shelby frowned. "Fine. Meet us back here in twenty minutes."

I looked at Shelby and hesitated. I used to know her as the adoptive mother of my child. What was she doing here if she had a baby to take care of? Assuming she had a baby to take care of... My stomach turned.

"Is... Is she...?"

"Beth is fine," Shelby said solemnly. Why didn't she sound happier?

"Where is she?"

"At the base," said Shelby, "You can see her if you hurry and bring Brittany back."

I nodded obediently and hurried along. Sam and I left in my SUV and I felt like crying. I'd found something arguably better than donuts. People.

"Where is your base?" I asked him as I drove.

"Akron," said Sam.

"You guys came all the way from Akron?" I raised an eyebrow, "For donuts?"
Sam snickered. "A squad of us had been assembled to raid towns and gather supplies to bring back to base."

"So there are other people. There must be. Beth wouldn't be in Akron all on her own."

Sam nodded. "There are four squads."

I gaped at him again. Four squads? Four handfuls of people I probably knew? My heart leapt in my throat.

"Is Santana...?"

"She's alive. And kicking. She's on the Nelson Squad."

"You have squad names?" I asked, engrossed.

We had already reached Elizabeth Street and parked as he told me the names of their four squads, but I didn't want to get out yet. I needed to hear what the others were doing.

"Sue made them up."

More tears came to my eyes. "Coach Sylvester?"

"She set up The Resistance," Sam nodded.

"The what?"

Sam sighed. "She can explain it better to you later. The point is, we're all in squads and we all have a job to do."

"Who else is alive? What happened to Rachel?"

"Rachel's alive."

I exhaled and felt strangely euphoric. "Where is she?"

"With the Ringwald Squad," said Sam, "They stay in Akron and take care of the kids."

"Kids?"

"Beth. Stacy, Stevie-"

"Your Stacy and Stevie?"

Sam nodded. I smiled widely at the thought of such innocence surviving at a time like this. Beth's face was flashing in my mind.

"Who else? What about Puck? Finn? Kurt?"

Sam frowned. "Puck is in the Nelsons. With Santana. They fight."

My smile fell as Sam gave me short answers with a frown. "And Finn?... And Kurt? And the others?"

"Finn was out of here to join the military before the outbreak even started," said Sam, "...I don't know if Kurt made it."

"You don't know?"

"We never found him."

I frowned and nodded. I had so many more questions. I would have asked about Mercedes or Sam's parents and everyone else, but it didn't seem like he should have to answer those questions when most of them would probably be the same depressing answer.

"I'll go get Brittany," I said, and got out of the SUV as Sam waited inside.

I rushed up the flights of stairs, feeling lightheaded. So much had happened in such a small amount of time. I'd gone out to get food, medicine, maybe DVDs, but I'd come back with people. Friends.

"Brittany!" I called, my voice higher pitched than usual as I rushed into the apartment, "Brittany, you won't believe what happened, I went to Mello-Creme and I fou-"

I pushed the door of the nursery open to find it empty save for the mobile and a stack of carpet swatches in the corner.

"Brittany?" I called again, quieter, and heard a thump behind me.

I turned slowly and saw her there; standing behind me in her shorts and bra, her sweaty skin turned a disturbing shade of gray.

"Brittany..." I repeated again, my voice barely audible.

I'd seen that look on plenty people before. A low growl came from her chest as she stared at me with blank, mindless eyes.

"Brittany, no..." I said as we just stared at each other.

That's when she began to stumble forward, not in complete control of her body as her dull blonde hair fell down around her shoulder. She lunged for me in one jerky motion and I jumped back, letting her corner me into the nursery. My hand hovered above my machete, but I didn't pick it up. Surely this wasn't what it looked like. It was impossible. After all, she had no bites on her body.

"Brittany, wait," I said, "Brittany..."

What was I going to do? Bargain with a zombie? I had no intention of hurting her. All I wanted to do was take her safely back to Santana, especially now that I knew that Santana was alive. I probably would have stood there and been killed or infected if it wasn't for Sam. He came in after us, and wasted no time in swinging his samurai sword. The swish and slash was so fast, the next thing I knew, Brittany was lying in two pieces, blood dribbling out of her body.

The only thing you would have heard was me screaming.

a/n: Special thanks to paperstylehearts, my lovely beta-reader 3