AN: Hello lovelies! Thanks for all the feedback, favorites, etc. Here's chapter two. Again, I love feedback and suggestions so keep them coming! Next update will be sometime next week.

Cheers!

To say my feet were hurting would be an understatement. I've been walking for well over four hours. Sure I've walked for long distances before, but never have I ever had to do so when having to be on constant alert for ravenous zombies emerging from the roadsides or forests near by. Luckily, I've been clear of any ugly little monsters for my exhausting walk. So far anyway..

I decide to stop on the side of the road to take a drink from my water. Also to make sure that my new hand gun is still loaded and ready, not to mention safely tucked away in my backpack. It is by the way. Right next to my newly attained six inch knife from the gas station.

That's the thing about Zombieland; you can never have too many weapons to survive. And since I've started on this journey across the country months ago, this is the most weapons i've possessed at one time. So I'm quite proud, not to mention protective, of my findings.

I zip up my backpack and venture onward, keeping my eyes peeled for both oncoming predators and possible get aways.

Finally, with another 15 minutes of walking behind me, my heart beats a sigh of relief for what I see ahead of me. Well, both relief is one word to use. The other would be heartbreak.

Dozens of vehicles are scattered along the highway. Some in perfect condition, while the others are in ditches, have the windows broken out of them, tires flat and even some of them are still smoking and lightly on fire. I'm guessing not from engine failure or hitting your average pot hole either..

I check each car one by one for anything that can come in handy. Tools, food, weapons, cellphones.. anything really. I come across a decent looking half ton with it's wheels still in tack and little to no scratches or dents in the frame. Not that it matters anyways. Any operational vehicle would sefice.

This might do the trick.

I look in the window to see the keys still in the ignition and give a tiny congratulatory applause to myself for my good luck thus far.

I hop in the truck and attempt to start it. I can hear the engine struggling to ignite. I give it a quick rest before attempting again, only to have it fail once more.

"Mother fucker," I murmur to myself in frustration. I exit the truck, leaving my gun and backpack in the front seat, and go to pop the hood. Hoping to get a better look at the engine problem.

I've never been one for automotives or mechanics. My boyfri- umm, ex-boyfriend, Finn, was studying to become an mechanic. While my dreams were to move to New York and become a star on broadway, his were more simple. His idea of a perfect life was living in a small town, in a loft just above his step-father's auto shop until we made enough money to actually move to NYC and get along with my dream. Like I said, simple. And simple is why I broke up with him just a few months before things started to go down hill. It's not that I didn't love him. I did! I was in love with him for the majority of our relationship. But, to be honest, things started to go down hill and I began to lose interest. When he expected me to put my dreams on hold while we both live in a stinky auto shop for god knows how long, that was the straw that broke the camels back for lack of a better word. Much good that did though. Now neither of are living our dreams. Come to think of it, there's a good chance there's only one of us actually living at all..

I try not to let these thoughts break my focus as I pop the hood to get a closer look inside. My heart drops once more at my misfortune. The wires are cut and the engine looks to be missing several parts. Spark plugs, nuts, bolts, you name it. Nothing esential at all. Basically it was just a bunch of crap under this hood.

I slam the hood down in frustration and let out a deep growl which seems to ease some of my built up anger. Suddenly, my anger subsides as I hear something approaching from behind me. I turn my body sharply and prepare to run to grab my gun when I see a sigh i havn't seen in months. And quite frankly, I didn't think i would see ever again.

Coming down the highway was a large SUV. Correction, a very large, black SUV with painted white numbers on the hood, deckles, tinted windows and.. worth mentioning, a snow plow attached to the front bumper.

My daze of amazement changes drastically when I hear the vehicle accelerate and coming closer and closer to my proximity with ever gaining speed. I scurry into the truck and grab my shotgun and cocking it immediately as I take cover behind the open door preparing to fire.

The vehicle pulls up and stops abruptly parallel to mine and remains still for what feels like forever. I hadn't noticed until now that my hands were shaking. Something that also hasn't happened in months.

For fuck sakes Rachel, toughen up!

I take a deep breath to try and steady my nerves as I keep my eyes glued to the occupied vehicle. My breathing stops when I see the door open slowly. I prop my gun and aim at the movement, ready to fire if needed. Although I wasn't prepared to see this..

Two long, tan, smooth, slender legs exit the vehicle, one after the other. My eyes travel up the long legs to follow a fit and form feminine torso which is barely covered by what looks to be a bullet proof vest of some sorts. The vest dips down just below the neckline in order to expose the valley of her breasts. I try and rid this distraction to move my gaze from her chest to two very fit arms which are holding a pair of handguns which are, to my dislike, pointed directly in my direction. I switch my gaze once more to move towards the face of their owner's; staring right at me from behind her massive machine of a truck. Her face supports a neutral and unphased expression, yet there is an obvious hint of cockiness eluding from the girl.

I move slowly from behind my door, still aiming my shotgun at the latino. I don't want to give her a chance to shoot. Just incase.

I see her mimic my movements and move slightly away from her own vehicle as well. My guess is to not allow me the chance to get a better shooting angle than her own.

I stop and stare cautiously. I see a small smirk emerge upon her clear face and I know then that she means no serious harm.

I slowly release one hand from my gun and stick it to my side, extending my thumb up to impersonate a hitchhiker. She seems amused by this but quickly hides her grin behind another firm expression and slightly nods to her vehicle and drops her guns to her sides. I lower my gun as well and finally breathe out the breath I had been holding for god knows how long.

I grab my bag from the truck and move steadily towards the latino's. I notice she's doing the same as I was earlier by checking the abandoned vehicles and I give her a silent applause for checking her surroundings.

"They're all empty. Nothing but dried blood and ripped seats i'm afraid," I call to her cautiously. It would be rude and, quite frankly, a waste of time to let her re-look through all the cars. She nods but doesn't look to me as she enters the vehicle.

I take a quick look into the rear seats, checking for any unwanted guests. Oh, that's rule number four if you're keeping track of my list: Always Check The Back Seats. A rule I apparently didn't follow last night..

The girl to my left seems to have noticed my backseat search and snickers, "Nothing back there but some weapons and clothing, Rambo."

I don't know what to think of her nickname she's quickly decided to give me but I brush it off while fastening my seatbelt. An action to which she shakes her head at also.

"Thanks for stopping. Where are you heading?" I ask curiously. Trying to make some sort of conversation to ease the tension.

She hesitates but starts the ignition, "West," is the only answer I get. She looks at me as if to silently as me the same question, I nod in assurance to her apparent question.

We drive in silence for a few minutes before she breaks the silence.

"What the fuck were you doing just walking around? Do you realize how stupid that is?"

Her tone is neutral with a hint of annoyance which makes it a little obvious that the woman is looking to break the awkward silence between us.

"I totaled my car a few miles back so I walked from there."

She laughs sarcastically, clearly unimpressed. "Well you're lucky. I passed this gas station about an hour ago and it was destroyed. Looked like a dozen of them just ripped it apart."

I hold back my laugh, "Ya, umm, that was where I came from. I.. I kinda ran into the building and killed one while doing it."

She turns her head shockingly, "You did all of that?" I nod. "Well whattaya know, looks like I may have misjudged your abilities shortstop!"

"Rachel."

"Huh?"

"My name is Rachel. Rachel Berry."

I wait for her to tell me her name but it never comes. Instead, I ask how long she'll drive me before I should get out.

"I'm heading to the coast. I hear it's untouched so it might be a place to start to rebuild."

She doesn't answer my first question so take that as a you can stick around if you don't get on my nerves kind of response.

I ask her if she minds if I shut my eyes for a bit. I offered to take a turn driving after my nap. She told me to, and I quote, 'shut my damn eyes before she shuts them for me'. Obivioulsy, not the nicest way of saying go to sleep but I'll take it.

I let my eyes drift close to the sound of the radio, which I'm guessing is some kind of mixed tape she picked up somewhere due to the fact that the radio stations have been out for weeks now.

I begin to hum along to the tune in my head when I finally feel myself drift off for the first time in days.

I wake to the sound of spanish being muttered by my side. I open my eyes quickly in fear that something bad is happening. I'm relieved yet also confused when I am only faced with the muttering latino woman whispering loudly under her breath.

I straightnen up and clear my throat, drawing her attention from the raod to myself.

"We need to make a stop," is all she acknowledges me with. I nod my head and feel the car slowing down. I stretch my arms above me and crack my neck to relieve the stress on it. If we're exiting the vehicle, I need to make sure that my muscles are ready incase of a surprise attack by our little enemies. That's another rule; Limber Up!

I look out the window, expecting to be pulling up to a gas staion or convenience store. Instead, I see nothing but a curve in the raod with trees and fields on both sides. One thing that is quite odd is a part of the railing supporting the curve in the road is missing. Not only is it missing, but it seems to have been ripped off or perhaps busted through by something. My train of thought is interuptted by my new driver exiting the vehicle. I follow her lead and exit my side as well and follow her to the back of the truck.

WHen the girl had mentioned that she had weapons in the back seat, she wasn't jokeing. Shovels, machetties, gardening tools, hammers, wrenches, baseball bats and several different types of fire arms were neatly placed in the bed of the SUV. Even a banjo for crying out loud!

"You play?" I ask motioning towards the instrument.

"It's just something I do to lighten my mood somedays," she anweres dryly. I decide no to pose further.

She hands me one of the largest guns I've ever seen in my life. It looks like something straight out of Finn's old video games. I look down at it with wide eyes. "You able to handle that, dwarf?"

I scoff at her crude remark and watch her with unimpressed eyes as she picks up what I can only describe as a tool men would use to pine for gold in the 1800's.

"What, are we going prospecting or something?" Not one of my most clever remarks, but hey, I havn't actually had a real convorsation with a human in months..

She doesn't reply to my chirp and just shuts the hood with a gently thud. I take her non response as an invitation, or demand, to walk with her. I hold her gun tight to my chest and follow her steps.

I watch behind her as she walks confidently towards the break in the railing, in awe of how she isn't even worried about her surroundings or potential danger lingering beyond those trees. I decide to just stay quiet and observe.

We make it to the break and peer down. Crashed into a fallen tree at the bottom of the hill is what appears to be a delievery truck of sorts. It's turned over upside down and I can't make out the words printed on it's sides from the top.

"I've been searching three states now for one of those trucks. About fucking time!"

The fuck?

I'm not sure if she's speaking to me or herself but I stay silent and follow her down the hill.

This is dangerous.

Go back! Go back!

Abandoned truck in the middle of nowhere.

No No No!

For some reason or another, I ignore my instincts and follow her to the over my own feet but luckily catching my balance. I'm sure it's because of the heavy firearm in my arms but who knows. Thankfully, the latino doesn't see my clubsyness and I saved myself an eye roll or lame insult because of it.

When I finally make it to the bottom, I steal another glance at the truck.

Breadstix?

I'm mildly annoyed with the misspelling and poor grammar of the word but brush it off when I hear, or rather witness my new aquaintance using her pointy hammered tool to masacre the door of the truck and breaking it clean off it's hinges.

I suddenly feel very nervous due to the loudness of her actions and prop my gun up and scan the area; awaiting any unwanted incomers.

"Crackers? CRACKERS? MOTHER FUCKING -"

That's about as much as I understood from that point because her self convorsation decided to switch languages. I move closer to the damage and pick up a package of crackers from the ground to pop one in my mouth.

Still fresh.

"They're actually not that bad!"

Her muttering, or I assume spanish cussing, halts and she stares at me with a threatening glare.

"Not.. that.. bad?"

I stop my chewing and nod slowly.

"This," she motions to the truck, "is a Breadstix delivery truck."

Her tone is accusing so I just stare black blankly. When I don't say anything, she sighs audibly and continues.

"Breadstix. THE Breadsti- Berry are you fucking high?"

... are you?

"Uh, n-no?" It comes out more as a question than an anwer.

She continues to glare at me and finally shakes her head. Almost in disbelief of somesorts.

"Breadstix is the best thing to ever happen to this fucking world! Maybe one of the only amazing things now. I've been searching for those crunch sons of bitches for months now and I'm losing my shit because of your GOD DAMN CRACKERS!"

No arguments there..

"Well if it helps, these are pretty crunchy too!" I try to help by handing her an unopend package.

She lowers her eyes to my cracker baring hand and takes a step forward. Instead of taking them like I thought she might, she slapped them out of my hand and starts walking up the hill.

I sigh and take a handful of packages with me and follow the still anonymous, possibly clinicly insane, latino back to the truck.

As much as I enjoy her company, well that may be an overstatement, I'm hoping that we come across more survivers soon. It may be wishful thinking, but in this day and age, wishful thinking can't do any more harm than most things out there..

There you go! Feedback appreciated! Stay wonderful :)