Chapter 3

"And I'm sure as hell not gonna let the people at that camp turn you into a guinea pig!"

She regrets her words as soon as they're out of her mouth. She promised herself she wouldn't do this. All in due time. Not like this. Not just dump it on Rachel in one frustrated outburst.

Rachel's features go through various stages of shock to mute horror as the grave news sinks in. Eventually, all emotion seems to just drain from her and the brunette's stare turns blank. Involuntarily it makes Quinn think back to the last time she saw those brown eyes so dull and-

She can't watch. Quinn stands abruptly. She's not good at this; she's never really been good at this. If she stays, there's no guarantee that she won't make matters worse. And there is just so much one can take in the course of a single day. She decides to go walk the perimeter, check up on things. It'll give both her and Rachel some much-needed space.

The air is cool, but for a night in October it's not awfully cold yet. Still Quinn digs her fists into the pockets of her coat. The moon is hidden behind clouds and the light from the fire barely reaches her, so she needs to feel with her foot for the ledge to make sure she's standing at a safe distance from it. One can never be too careful. Squinting into the darkness won't do any good. Quinn rather relies on her ears. But save for a few cicadas, everything is deadly silent. Quinn stands there, just listening, and when she's satisfied with the inactivity she moves to the next side of the rectangular roof.

She's tense. She's tense with worry and with the burden of double the responsibility now resting on her sole shoulders. The problem with all the things that had gone wrong… with some it just didn't end there. Like with the flat tire. On one hand the timing couldn't have been worse, but on the other she's glad that whichever deity was listening in on her prayers granted them safe passage back to the gas station. Would the tire have deflated any quicker or would it have had broken down in the middle of the field they tried to cross, leaving them practically stranded… Quinn closes her eyes, frowning.

Ok, lucky break or not, she's still the one who needs to replace it. She was so preoccupied with getting them to safety and setting up camp that she didn't even get to do a proper sweep of their surroundings before darkness fell. Quinn shakes her head, reprimanding herself internally. This is not how they do things, but now she can only hope that whatever may still lurk inside the gas station will wait until daylight for her to deal with it.

She finishes her roundand approaching their camp site Quinn notices that Rachel is already lying down. She's not sure whether she's asleep, because Rachel has her back to her. Quinn feels a pang of guilt at that. But she figures it's for the best.

Quinn sits down again, pulling her sleeping bag over her shoulders like a blanket. She busies her mind with planning the next day, going through the itinerary of things that need to be done. But her eyes keep wandering back to the petite brunette a few feet away from her.

She wishes they could… no. It's not an option. It may not ever be again. That is a fact. One she has to cope with. She isn't, yet she is alone in this.

And it's going to be a long night, because there's no one to switch shifts with her to keep watch.

Rachel doesn't wake up from a bad dream.

She wishes she would have, because then the roof beneath her wouldn't be real, the smell of thecamp fire wouldn't be real and the world wouldn't have gone to hell. Hopefully. But unlike the previous day, she doesn't get eased into consciousness. Events and facts slam into her mind with the unabashedness of a freight train and she's wide awake.

Rachel is far from well rested. She cannot imagine how she managed for the last six or so months. It isn't even as much the lying on a hard surface, but the confinement of her sleeping bag makes her body feel stiff and unpleasant all over. Add to that the fact that part of her brain kept her semi-alert all through the night, ears straining to pick up any unusual noises. Not that she didn't trust Quinn to keep them far as she could recall, Quinn sat by the fire, leaving it only once or twice to make her rounds. Come to think of it, Rachel's not sure the blonde slept at all. Just that she was there, and that Rachel couldn't bear to look at her.

It just had been too much. To deal with, to acknowledge, to reconcile. As if that was even possible. She had a whole restless night to show for that. But most importantly - Rachel needed to handle that on her own. Not because verbalizing her inner turmoil in front of Quinn wouldn't be received well. But because she was afraid what other realizations and reveals it might lead to. Something inside her already folded upon itself that night, so she rather curled up and willed herself into a blank state of mind.

Similar to the kind she still experiences whenever she attempts to remember anything from the last six months. This state is nothing like when one can't remember where one had left their keys. There are no flashbacks, no fragments to piece together. Just a great big gap.

But Rachel needs them back. Not merely out of some sense of curiosity. Simply put, Rachel needs the memories of her survival for pragmatic reasons. And if she won't be able to get them back on her own, there's only one other person to turn to. And if that means she'll have to tip-toe, pry or prod Quinn to fill in the blanks, then so be it. Rachel has endured worse than a few scowls and snarls at the hands of Quinn Fabray…

…which actually isn't all that reassuring. This is indeed Quinn and although it has been a few years since high school, some of the former head cheerleader's short-fused temper is obviously still intact. And Rachel has, unfortunately enough, always been the one to push her absolutely worst buttons. So what if she ends up pushing one too many? What if Quinn realizes Rachel's still as unbearable as when they were sixteen and decides she wants nothing to do with the brunette? Or what if Rachel proves herself so useless without her (forgotten) skills, that Quinn concludes she's better off without her and abandons Rachel somewhere along the road? What if-

-but if that were the case, why didn't Quinn abandon her already when she got bit? Why did she come running after her to the gas station swinging a baseball bat yesterday when it would've been so easy to just drive on and let Rachel get mauled? Why Quinn?

Rachel turns over in search for the blonde in question and finds her placing a larger tin can filled with water onto the smoldering coals. Carefully finishing the task Quinn's eyes move to meet Rachel's. Much to her relief there's no resentment in them and maybe a dash of remorse, Rachel observes.

"Morning," comes the softly spoken greeting. There's no 'good' added and Rachel realizes she understands why. She also wonders when was the last time either of them had a good morning anyway.

"Morning," Rachel echoes, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"I'm making coffee if you want some," Quinn gestures toward the water.

Rachel blinks.

"We have coffee?"

"Yeah. But you have to wait a few minutes. This isn't exactly an espresso machine."

Rachel nods and draws her knees up to rest her chin on as she watches steam slowly form and rise from the can. In the meantime Quinn returns to sitting Indian-style, intensely poring over a map spread in front of her. Rachel studies her, noting the dark circles beneath Quinn's eyes and the general exhaustion evident on her features. How is it possible that even with no makeup on the blonde still manages to look so hauntingly flawless?

"What are you doing?" slips out before Rachel can remind herself she wanted to maybe tone it down a little with the questioning.

"Memorizing the map," Quinn repliessimply.

Rachel's lips part. "The entire map?"

Quinn frowns at that. "…No?"

"Not the entire map," Quinn corrects, "more like trying to figure out where we are now and what route to take next." She then reaches to uncap the marker she's been holding and draws a crossed shape where one road meets another."It's a lot like learning choreography," Quinn continues, "you know – left, left, right, straight up, around and back again."

Quinn's finger traces a line on the map as she explains this, stopping and turning at what Rachel guesses is the roadblock they've encountered yesterday. She also notices countless other scribbles and markings all over the map. Some are of different color, some have definitely been written by more than one person.

"Like dance steps." Quinn concludes with a faint smile.

They are interrupted by the bubbling from their makeshift kettle.

The coffee is decent, given the circumstances, and inspires some small talk. Rachel is thankful for it, because it definitely helps for things to feel less tense between them. Pleasant is why Rachel gets the niggling urge that maybe since they seem to be on good terms again, she should apologize to the blonde for shutting her out after the big reveal.

"Quinn?" she stares into her coffee, but then lifts her eyes wide with honesty, "about last night…"

Quinn's eyes snap to hers. A look of almost panic flashes across them.

"Rachel… I need to go check the gas station," she blurts out, hurriedly getting to her feet. "For those tools."

She's gone before Rachel can stop her.

That was very cowardly, Quinn admits to herself as she's climbing off the roof. She cannot keep avoiding confrontation like this all the time. But then again no one in their right mind cares for confrontation with their morning coffee and neither does Quinn. Right now she has bigger fish to fry and more pressing matters to attend to. She needs to concentrate on the task at hand and she cannot afford worrying whether she hurt Rachel's feelings. Again.

She grips the bat in her left hand more tightly and reaches into her coat with her right. Her fingers find the button of the holster and pluck it open. Just in case. The weight of the gun against her ribs feels reassuring, yet she really hopes she won't have to use it.

The front entrance opens slowly and Quinn scans the upper part of the doorframe for any bells or other mechanisms used to alert the clerks of a new customer. Thankfully there are none. Daylight seeps in through the large windows, so Quinn has a nice view of the racks and rows of the convenience store part of the interior. Dishearteningly enough, looters and scavengers have stripped the place bare of all food and liquids, safe for a few dozen of sandwiches overgrown with mold in the switched off fridges that line the back wall. Thoroughly checking the aisles, she reaches the small part in the far corner dedicated to car maintenance, but it is of no use to her either as it seems to be mostly just motor oil, wiper liquid and coolant. No tools.

Quinn carefully leans over the cashier's counter and finds much of the same emptiness. This is going really well. The only space left unchecked are the back rooms. She has never been to the 'backstage' of a gas station before. She doesn't know what to expect and that makes her queasy. How many rooms are there? How large? Will she be able to react fast enough?

No. Quinn shakes her head loose of uncertainty. She can do this. Even without backup. Rolling her shoulders she approaches the grey door declaring sternly 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' in red letters on a white sticker. Her eyes flicker to the sides, calculating what can be pushed or thrown, should the need of a quick escape arise.

With her left arm outstretched and pressing against the sturdy material the door opens inward. Quinn holds her position and waits, baseball bat ready in her right, listening for any signs of movement. From where she's standing she can see that this room was possibly a lounge area, with a large worn beige sofa on one side that the staff probably used for naps. As Quinn warily steps inside, she notes a dead plant in the corner next to it, a radio on an end table and an empty water dispenser. Quinn is about to try her luck whether she would be able to pour herself a cup from any of the remaining liquid possibly still in the machine when her eyes land on brownish scrapes on the floor next to the sofa. They lead below another door. Quinn takes a deep breath and pushes down on the handle with the bat, keeping a safe distance.

The door creaks, but opens just a few inches before something blocks it from the inside. The blonde glances through the crack. It seems to be the manager's office. Giving the door a firm shove turns out to be more force than necessary. It swings open effortlessly, producing a loud rustling as dozens upon dozens of empty cellophane wrappers get swept away and under it. The office is empty.

A familiar putrid smell hits her nostrils and elicits a grimace from the blonde. Whoever thought hiding in here was a good idea, firstly - didn't think to open a window; and secondly - was an idiot. And by the size of the smeared bloodstain that covers the floor beneath all those wrappers their lack of intellect already secured them an untimely death.

Quinn sourly kicks at the empty plastic. At least they could have spared her some. She could kill for some candy right now.

It's been close to twenty minutes since Quinn rushed off. Rachel doesn't know what to do with the time. She has already rolled up both of their sleeping bags into their respective polyester sacks, cleaned the blade of Quinn's hunting knife and done her stretches to limber up her sleep-stiffened body. It felt good, but now she just feels fully awake and energized and doesn't know what to do with herself. Well, besides snooping through the rest of the belongings that she and Quinn have hauled up the previous evening. Thankfully, she is stubbornly resisting that urge so far.

Speaking of the blonde, there is still no sign of her. Rachel tells herself not to worry. Rachel tells herself to stay put. Rachel fights against her mind delving into catastrophic scenarios. …and fails.

Because what if Quinn needs help? What if, while she's inside, one of those things creeps out from around the corner, catches her off guard, let alone harms Quinn? What if she gets incapacitated? Rachel would never know until it's too late! She wouldn't be there to help Quinn! What help could Rachel even be?

Oh great. Here comes feeling of useless all over again. And worried and panicky. Only now does it fully seep in just how much she actually depends on Quinn. She literally has no one else. At least not in the vicinity. She has no one else. She can't lose Quinn.

Despite her arms straining with effort and the back of her neck starting to perspire, Quinn is glad. Really glad. Because she found a broom closet. The looters apparently forgot to canvas it, otherwise the full replacement jug for the water dispenser wouldn't be there. Now if she could only lug this thing back to the car.

In her joy her ears almost forget to alert her to the carefully muted footsteps coming from the shop area. Almost, but not quite. Quinn squints, immediately shifting to analyze and strategize her surroundings. The small broom closet might become a deadly trap, so hiding there is out of the question. There's also not much space in this narrow hallway to swing a bat efficiently. The gun it is.

She stands behind the open closet door eyeing the exit that leads out to the back of the gas station. Human or undead, slamming the door in their face will give her enough time to run towards the exit at the other end of the hall and, hopefully if it's unlocked, escape. If not, it will put enough distance between Quinn and her assailant for the blonde to get a clear shot.

The ever so light footsteps are definitely approaching now, creeping closer. Quinn's fingers flex around the gun's grip. She licks her lips.

Steady now.

Using the moment of surprise to her advantage Quinn swings the door abruptly and hears a frightened gasp as her supposed foe jumps back. Never missing a beat the blonde steps from behind her cover, arms locked in a practiced stance and firmly pointing the firearm… at Rachel Berry.

Quinn blinks.

"Rachel what the hell?!"

Rachel is obviously caught off guard by- actually everything that happened in the last few seconds- but she quickly regains her senses.

"Well I'm glad to see you too, Quinn."

Quinn deflates a little at the sarcasm. "You were supposed to stay at the camp," she sighs.

Rachel tries to go for the "Well you didn't explicitly order me to stay put…", but that only earns her a glare. "…Look. You were gone too long." Her eyes seek out the floor. "I got too worried, okay?"

Quinn feels a distinct pang in her chest. She licks her lips. "Rachel," she tries to look for the right words, because there are too many things the brunette could take the wrong way. "Please don't ever sneak up on me again. I could've seriously hurt you."

She decides she won't berate Rachel for worrying. She won't ask her not to put herself in harm's way. Nowadays that's kind of inevitable. And she most definitely won't berate her for trying to help. Especially, since it's now her responsibility to make sure Rachel will actually be of help. Someday. Again. God, she's thinking like a cheer-captain again. But she has to give Rachel one thing. Had Quinn not heard those footsteps she might have been the one that might have needed to dodge whatever metal tool Rachel was wieldi-

-"Is that a tire iron?!" She grabs Rachel's wrist to get a better look.

"Uhh, yeah?"

"Where did you find it?!" Quinn almost gave up, having scavenged the whole gas station for this thing!

"Under the cashier counter? At the bottom there's a whole toolbox."

Quinn beams. She's so relieved she could kiss Rachel.

A/N: Hi again :)
Don't worry, this story isn't getting abandoned anytime soon. Also I had to go back (ha ha?) and edit a part of chapter 2, because... well, because of science.