A/N: Story alerts make me smile, and so do reviews. But reviews make me want to write more and more. :) I'm glad you guys approve of this fic, those who story alerted and the 3 who reviewed :P

I'm just going to give a run down on how I work with the Unholy Trinity: For Santana I write in second person because I feel it's more personal, and I lay her feelings better like that. Quinn will be in first person, and Brittany in 3rd (since we haven't gotten a glimpse inside her mind in Glee yet).

Enjoy :)


September 16, 2015

Location: Unknown

Time: 2:34 pm

Diary Entry #2,

The days pass by and we think we're getting closer to cross the border from the US to Canada. Brittany and Santana are hopeful, at least, as hopeful as Santana can be; that we won't run out of gas before we make it through. There are enough gas stations along the way and we got a supply at least, but it doesn't change the fact that we don't know if the gas will last until we get to Alaska.

I can't help thinking back at our high school years, how easy things were back in Lima. Sometimes, I regret coming to New York, the virus wouldn't have struck as quickly back in Ohio as it did here. Maybe we would have found time to find refuge, some way out. But the fact that we are daily fighting for our lives isn't the worse part; it's losing those you love. Three months ago was the last time I heard from Puck, we planned on escaping together, all of us, even Finn and Rachel. After losing the rest, we knew that if we didn't react soon, all hope would be lost. But he never came back. It kills me to think that he probably is walking with the mass of living dead, that I can't see his face again, kiss him one more time and tell him I love him. At least I'm glad Santana and Brittany have each other. I know they keep each other mutually sane – it would have been worse for Santana to lose Brittany.

Santana has been more commanding and alert than usual, especially after the incident two days prior. She knew we could have died right then and there and she's more determined to protect Brittany. As selfish and it sounds, I'm jealous. I know Santana will go to any heights to protect Brittany and Brittany will do anything for Santana. I wish there was someone willing to protect me. Even though we've always been just the three of us, it doesn't change the fact that the bond, the love that Santana and Brittany share means that they're each other's priorities.

The city seems to get darker with the passing hours. The sky is no longer blue. We don't think we've seen a pure blue sky in at least two and a half months. It's a perfect setting for this nightmare. The worse part is that you never thought this was possible, not until it happens. Not until you hear it on the news about chaos happening. They never reveal the cause, they say the government will take care of it – but they never do. And before you know it, cities are no longer cities; they're crumbled masses and shattered buildings. People are not people, they are walking corpses. You dread the day that one of them bites you.

I want to be hopeful, I really want to. It's just hard, knowing you'll probably are the last remains of life in the planet.

Someone to watch over me,

Quinn Fabray


Brittany has the wheel this time; she's trying to focus on the road while grumbling about no radio stations working. Santana is sound asleep on the back seat of the car, I'm glad she's getting sleep, honestly, I was getting a little worried about her. It's funny how our lives have changed in these few passing months – we live on the moment, we plan ahead, we are extremely careful. Especially me, I try to remain sane, focused, and calm - despite the horrible situation we're going through. But sanity is not something that comes easy for me, at least, not yet. It's difficult to come to terms with all loses, everything that we miss, will miss – especially that last bit of sanity we're trying to hold onto.

Believe it or not, I understand why Santana remains normal throughout this whole situation. Brittany is surprisingly calm and as sane as she can be. She makes conversation and really helps me forget just for a bit what we're trying to escape from.

"Q?" She asks me, startling me from my thoughts. I turn to look at her with a small smile on my lips.

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'll make it?" It's the most blatant question Brittany has asked me since this whole ordeal started and it shocks me. I would've thought Santana and her had talked about it.

"Yeah, I think so". I lie to her, I don't have the heart to tell her that there's a chance we won't make it through. But I had made a promise to Santana: Keep Brittany's hopes up at all times, regardless of the circumstance. Always reassure her, always.

"You're lying".

When did she become so intuitive? "What? No".

"You are…" She looks at me from the corner of her eye and she sighs. "Look, I know what we're going through. I know there's a chance we're going to die Quinn. We're not in high school anymore, maybe before I might have believed it, but it's hard to see the world like rainbows and unicorns anymore. Look around you, there's no color anywhere anymore…" She points outside the window and my gaze follows her fingers. "I know there's a big chance that we'll die".

"Britt…" I begin, frowning and reaching to touch her shoulder. I glance back at the seat, and I'm glad Santana is still asleep. She would be panicking if she knew what Brittany had been thinking about. And I realize I don't really have any other way to reassure her and I sigh. "I know B, I know. But, we have to hope… fight".

"I know". She interrupts me and she looks back at the seat, where Santana is sleeping. She looks at me with an apologetic smile. "I know she wants to protect me. But sometimes I wish she wouldn't. It's hard enough to know she'll die for me. I don't want her to die for me. I love her too much to lose her".

My lips press together in a tight, flat line. I'd never realized how smart Brittany truly was. Maybe it was the fact that she's older, perhaps because she has no optimism left in her. "Would you die for her too?" I ask her. Deep down I know the answer, but I sort of wanted to hear it aloud.

"Yes". And she says it so matter-of-factly that I close my eyes and sigh. "I'd die for both of you…" She continues and I turn to her again. I foreshadow what's next though, so it doesn't surprise me when she keeps commenting. "But for Santana, I… I'm sorry, I love her too much, if it ever comes down to her and you – I can't…"

"I understand". I interrupt her with a soft smile. I truly do understand; to love someone so much you'd give anything for them. "I know how much you love her. You don't have to apologize for wanting to save someone who is your soul mate".

And Brittany smiles my way again, reaching to rub my shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry about Puck, Q".

I flinch but nod slowly regardless. "Yeah, I am too". I fight the tears and Brittany stops talking, the silence not affecting the comfortableness of friends. "I just wish he was here".

Brittany takes a left and looks at me one last time, nodding her head once before she drives further along.


I would have never expected to find some form of refuge, at least not for a couple of more days. But we'd managed to find this lonely cottage once we crossed states. Vermont was a little more peaceful than New York; we hadn't encountered as many ghouls as we did back in NY. But we had to thank Brittany for finding it – she had been here on vacation with her parents and managed to track down the house she had visited in that summer. I'm still impressed on the way she managed not to cry while talking about her family. She is stronger than I give her credit for.

But paranoid Santana is inspecting. She instructs Brittany to stay behind, with me, while she risks her life by nearly kicking the door down. She's brave, really brave. It surprises me how she manages to do it without a hint of fear on her face, but I'm sure Brittany sees otherwise, almost as if she spots the fear in Santana's eyes that I fail to see when I look at her.

"It's clear, you guys can come in". Santana says, unloading her gun and sighing as she leans against the front door of the cottage. Brittany moves to wrap her arms around her body and in that moment I see it, how truly afraid Santana had been. It's heartbreaking, but so honorable at the same time. She had changed so much since High School. "I need a shower; I hate not having clean water anymore. It grosses me out".

"I know; me too". I comment back, meekly making my way through the door. I feel this sense of relief once I'm inside. It's definitely the homiest place we've been on in a while. It brings that normalcy back.

I miss the exchange that goes on in the background between Brittany and Santana, so it startles me when Santana speaks up. "I'm going to go unload things from the SUV, at least some stuff".

"No…" I interrupt, I hate feeling useless; I had felt useless for a while now. "Let me do it, you guys just stay here and I'll bring food and what not".

It surprises me when Santana actually complies and grabs Brittany's hand, pulling her to the couch in an embrace. I know it had been a while since they'd share any form of intimacy, not necessarily sexual, so I decide to give them a moment alone. I needed to clear my head anyways.

They don't notice me leaving and I'm walking alone in the dark, with nothing but a flashlight and a handgun on me. I trusted Santana enough to know that she had inspected thoroughly, so I was able to walk in the dark with a little more peace of mind than before – but it didn't mean I was unafraid. The walk wasn't that long though, and I find myself opening the back of the SUV, unloading a case with food, water, and a first aid kit. When I close the door of the SUV it echoes in the air, the bang that it makes startling me. I could be so easily scared nowadays – it was becoming particularly annoying.

Soon, I'm walking back to the homey cottage, holding the food bag with my mouth while my hands carry the rest of the items. This would have been so much easier with one more person. That way, we could go in pairs, always make sure we have a partner. But only us three, there was always one of us who bounded up alone – it was never Brittany though.

It's not long before I start slowing my steps, there's a shuffling noise going around and I drop the things on the ground. My ears, eyes, and legs are instantly alert, looking out for any potential form of danger.

Then there's that moaning noise.

That sound that scares me shitless.

It resounds in my ears for what seems like hours.

Shit.

I guess Santana had not inspected outside well enough because I'm reaching for the gun that's strapped to my pants. But once I spot it, I start to panic. It was always step one in this compromising situation. Panic, think, react. My feet start dragging me back, my flashlight falls on the ground and I no longer have visibility. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

The shuffling noise gets closer, I can spot the bent foot coming at me – it drags across the floor, leaving a trail the size of the zombie's foot. My hands are failing me – I'd never faced one of them alone. It's moving slow, and I don't know why I find myself running. I try not to make any noise, but the moaning is suddenly right behind me, to my side, and in front. And I scream.

"Santana! Brittany!" It pierces, echoes in the air, and I know I've made a mistake. I just gave my position away, and I'm surrounded. The flashlight rolls towards me, pointing right on the face of one of them. It comes at me quickly; it's green, white, purple, a mixture of colors of rotten flesh, coagulated blood, and that putrid smell that comes with it. They're walking, rotten bodies.

I don't hear anyone running to help, I realize it's because I'm actually pretty far away from the cottage. God knows why we parked so far away. My hands finally find the gun, I don't know where to run, left, right, back, forward. I'm pretty sure I'm surrounded. And I swallow, I try and swallow the life consuming fear and shoot. It hits the knee and he falls on his knees, but not before getting back up and continuing his journey for my flesh. That's it, I die today.

I don't know why I begin shooting recklessly, but I do, and it actually seems to work. A couple of seconds later I hear that familiar thud of one of the living corpses fall on the ground, picking up dust from where it fell. Then another one, and another one.

And the moaning is gone.

I'm safe.

I sigh in relief now, putting the gun back in its holder. My body bends to grab the bags.

It's not until I feel an arm around my neck that I scream again and drop the bags.

I fight against it. My whole body is pushing back, trying to prevent those sets of teeth to sink into my neck. I squirm, push back. The zombie stutters back and I realize I hadn't put the gun in its case correctly. It grabs me again and I'm fighting, fighting for the last seconds of life.

"Quinn! Hold on!" Santana's voice resounds through the field, but I know she won't make it in time. She's trying to find a way to see through the dark but she can't. I give up all hope, so much that I don't hear the sound of an engine. It's roaring, familiar. There's a screech and suddenly I'm not fighting, arms aren't around me anymore, I'm not being choked. The sound of the shotgun rings in my ears, while I skid around to find the ghoul terminated – no head, immobile.

Santana gasps, finally retrieving the gun from the ground and directs it towards the source. I turn around and he's there.

His breathing is rapid; his jaw is set tight, his Mohawk definitely disheveled and longer than usual. The familiar black motorcycle roars throughout, there's a shotgun in his hand, and he loads it one more time before sighing in relief.

"Puck…" I whisper.

And I run.

I run to his arms and wrap them tightly around his neck. I'm crying before I even know it. He's alive, just when I had lost all hope he saves me.

"Quinn…" He whispers back, his arms wrap around me so tightly I feel normal again. It feels like home.

I don't hear Santana and Brittany approaching until I feel both of their arms around us.

He didn't break his promise.


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