The two figures were on them in a second and before Santana had time to think she swung the bat that was clutched in her hand in a wide arc bringing it down with all her might onto the boy's head. There was a sickening crunch as puss, blood and brain matter sprayed around them. The figure dropped to the floor. Santana couldn't even breathe a second before Mrs. Pierce stepped over the boy's body, reaching for her with arms that were covered in deep, oozing bite marks. She had once looked so much like Brittany; blond hair and blue eyes that tilted slight upwards at the corners, as if she was always smiling, which, she generally was. Now the air was disheveled, and the eyes that were once blue had turned blood red.
Santana attempted to bring the bat up and swing again, but Mrs. Pier-no, the creature, was too close. The blow wasn't nearly strong enough and only caused a slight stumble backwards. It seemed this was it. Dying at the hands of her girlfriend's mother seemed slightly poetic, if not for the fact that, during life, Mrs. Pierce had always loved Santana.
Then, Santana felt the cool handle of a large kitchen knife being pressed in her hand and she understood. There was no way Brittany could do this. No way she could hold the knife and deal the blow. With only a seconds' hesitation, Santana gripped the handle. In that second she felt cold, rotten hands press into her arm, digging, painfully, until, with a jerk she plunged the knife across the throat. The grip loosened and then disappeared entirely. That's when Santana realized she had closed her eyes. Opening them, she looked down to her arm where there was a rip in her sleeve. Her skin was bruised, but not punctured. She let out a sigh before turning around. Her heart broke.
Brittany was pressed as far into the corner of the counters as she could get. Eyes unfocused and arms, limp at her side.
"Oh B," Santana whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."
Santana had no idea what to do. Should she touch her? Would Brittany want her to touch her? Would she want her anywhere near her? Santana had just killed her mom…or, what had been her mom. Did she hate her?
"What do you want from me B?" Santana asked quietly, her hands going instinctively towards Brittany's before halting.
"Take me out of her," Brittany rasped, her voice hollow and empty. And so Santana did.
She led them around the two motionless bodies and through the dining hall to the entryway.
"Britt, I think you're gonna need some different clothes," Santana said hesitantly, eyeing the girl who was still in her sleepwear.
Brittany looked surprised to see what she was wearing before looking up at Santana. Santana looked towards the stairs that lead to Brittany's bedroom. All of a sudden she felt very weak, and small. Of all the things, going up the stairs to Brittany's room seemed like the final straw. Making the same journey she had day in and day out for the past ten years seemed close to impossible. Especially since, in the back of her mind, Santana had the feeling that this would be the last time that they would step foot in this place. Brittany seemed to have similar thoughts as silent tears leaked down her eyes. They grasped hands, and Santana sighed, her chest easing up just slightly. Then, hefting the bat in her left hand, her better hand, Santana made her way up the stairs, bringing Brittany with her.
It looked as if Brittany's room had been spared the furious scurry of the Pierce's final moments in the house. For the most part, the room was untouched, except, Santana noticed, for the picture that had been on Brittany's bedside table. It had been of the two of them. It captured a rare, candid moment from the time before Santana had openly admitted her feelings. When being gay had seemed like the end of the fucking world Santana thought bitterly. Brittany had had her face pressed to the side of Santana's face, whispering something in her ear, as Santana laughed uproariously, clutching her hand. Now, the picture was gone, much like the other occupants of the house; simply vanished.
"You should grab whatever you think you'll need," Santana said, "I'm not sure when we'll be back here next." If we'll be back.
Brittany nodded solemnly, picking up a backpack and looking around the room, seemingly lost.
How does one simply pack up their life?
"You'll want clothes that cover most of your skin for the most part," Santana said, "Layers would be best, I think. If it's true what your mo-, what it said in the letter, then we want to avoid contact like the plague."
Brittany nodded again, this time opening the drawers to her dresser and shoving some clothes in the bag. Finally, when it seemed she had enough, Brittany set her bag down and began to take off her pajamas. Soon, she was there in just her bra and underwear, staring at Santana. Santana stepped forward, rubbing her hands up and down Brittany's arms, slowly stroking them.
"Don't try and be strong when it's just me," Santana said softly, "You have nothing to prove to me. You can let go now, because once we leave this room, this house, we won't have much more time. We're going to have to be strong for each other. But right now, it's just me, and you don't have to hide."
"It's my fault," Brittany said, sadly.
"What is?" Santana asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.
"My mom…" Brittany began, lower lip trembling, "she stayed, she waited for me. Because I was, because…we were…"
Guilt washed over Santana in waves, crashing down.
"Britt, I'm sorry," Santana said, "I'm so sorry. If I had known…If I had any idea."
She was trying to justify what they had done, trying to ease the pain, ease Brittany's pain. But, in her mind, the same thought had been rushing through her head: the consequences of their nighttime adventure to the meadow.
"I know," Brittany sighed, "Anyway, I was worried before we left. I thought something bad was going to happen. I could feel it. I wanted to go last night. I…it…it…may have been why my mom waited, why she died. But San, it could also be what saved our lives."
With that, Santana wrapped her arms around the blonde, and they stayed like that. Santana wasn't sure how long they stayed wrapped up in one another, but eventually Brittany pulled back, staring into Santana's eyes.
"I love you," she said quietly, and her voice didn't sound as empty.
"I love you too," Santana said.
Then, looking at the scattered clothed lying on the bed, Santana picked up a long-sleeve, gray shirt before turning back to Brittany.
"Hands up," she motioned.
Brittany lifted her hands, and Santana began to dress her. Shirt, then jeans, and finally some thick, black leather boots.
"Where are these from?" Santana asked, confused.
"Motocross" Brittany said, shrugging.
"They're hot," stated Santana.
For a second, Brittany's eyes twitched upwards, as though to smile, but then the dark cloud returned. Picking up Brittany's bag, Santana looked at her and asked
"You got everything?"
Brittany nodded. They made their way downstairs, careful to avoid looking in the kitchen. Brittany picked up a thick, black leather jacket from its place on the floor and put it on. It looked slightly big around the waist, and Santana had never seen Brittany wear it before, making her believe it had belonged to Mrs. Pierce. She chose not to comment.
When they got outside it was almost startling how bright everything was. How sunny, cheerful, and deceiving. That's when Santana remembered that it was still only morning and that, apparently, nature did not change in the face of a zombie apocalypse.
Getting in the car, Santana threw Brittany's bag in the backseat. Once they were both in, they put on their seatbelts and drove away. They drove past Sam's house, then Puck's, then Rachel's. On the way to Santana's house they saw more people, some, Santana was sure were living, others that were not. They didn't stop. We need to get some weapons if we want even a chance of getting out of here Santana thought darkly.
Finally, they pulled up to the gates to Lima Heights, which were swinging uselessly off their hinges. Pulling through, Santana saw Brittany glance at the base of the gates. Her lips quirked upwards momentarily, and Santana wondered if she was thinking about the alleged 'foes' of the Lopez' buried under the soil.
Santana exhaled quietly when they reached her house. The front door was closed. Santana gripped the bat nervously before testing the doorknob. It wasn't locked, and the door swung open. Knowing how anal her parents were about keeping the door locked, Santana hefted the bat. Brittany placed her hand on her lower back, it was a small comfort, but it made all the difference as Santana made her way across the threshold. The house was eerily quite, and it didn't possess the same smell as Brittany's had; a warning of its inhabitants. Cautiously, Santana crept forward and looked around. Nothing was out of place, everything seemingly untouched.
Not for the first time, Santana cursed her parents' need for extravagance as she mentally thought of all the rooms in this house. Even before her brother left for college, the house had seemed far too big. Now, the mass of doors seemed to be taunting her. Open us, if you dare. Standing a bit straighter, Santana clenched her jaw. Afraid to open a fucking door, even if it's just to a closet then she smirked a little thinking of an easy comment her Snix would have made in response to that… I suppose some things don't change.
"Ready?" she asked Brittany, though it was more to herself than anyone.
Brittany gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before nodding. Slowly, one by one they checked every room and closet in the house, all with the same result. Each was pristine, immaculate, untouched, and uninhabited. Finally, all that was left was the cellar. This is where they would be, Santana thought. If they were anywhere, this is where they would be. Still, she couldn't help but bring her mind back to the unlocked front door.
"Last one," Brittany said, gesturing to the door to the cellar.
Santana nodded, and then she opened it.
The cellar was empty.
The wall of wine and supply of survival provisions remained unchanged from when Santana had been standing there the previous night.
"I don't…I don't understand," Santana said quietly, "It's like they left, but they didn't take anything. They also didn't leave anything, no note. Nothing. Where are they?"
She looked at Brittany helplessly, but the blonde didn't seem have any words for what may or may not have happened to Mr. and Mrs. Lopez.
"Ok, we need…a game plan," Santana said quickly, "we need to figure out what to do." Santana began pacing up back and forth, rubbing her fingers furiously along the side of her face. "Think, think, think," she muttered to herself.
"B?" Santana asked, "Do you know where in LA your aunt lives? Like, if we were to get to the city, could you get us there?"
"Yeah…" Brittany said slowly.
"I think your mom was right, when she said in the letter that it would be safer going through the Midwest, and, well, we don't know where my family is, so it would make sense to follow yours," Santana finished.
With that, Brittany threw her arms around Santana's neck, face buried deep against her shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Of course," Santana said, surprised, "It wouldn't make sense to do anything else. Their my family too."
She could feel Brittany nod in acknowledgment against her neck.
"But first, before anything else, we're going to need to figure out how to get out of this hell hole."
Brittany and Santana brought all of Mrs. Lopez' provisions up from the cellar and laid them out on the dining room table. It was mostly canned food, some dry mixes and bottled water, but there was also a portable gas stove, that one might take hiking, a hand operated radio, a first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, and a flashlight and batteries.
"What's that?" Brittany asked curiously, pointing to a small, metal box.
"Dunno," Santana replied, opening that latch, before- "Shit," she breathed out.
Inside were two crisp wads of one hundred dollar bills, a 9mm Glock and two boxes containing 50 bullets apiece.
"San…" Brittany began, "what exactly was your mom expecting to happen?"
Her voice sounded slightly amazed. Santana didn't blame her.
"I wonder how much money that is," Santana pondered, "and to think that it has all just been chilling in the cellar, for gods-know how long."
"Well, each strap has one hundred bills, no matter what kind of bill it is, so if those are hundreds, then that's…what, twenty-thousand dollars, right?" Brittany answered.
"How did you know that?" Santana asked, flabbergasted.
Instead of answering, Brittany shrugged her shoulders, lips quirking up for a brief second. Then Santana took the clip out of the gun. It was loaded, with what looked to be…1,2,3…20 bullets. Not bad mom, Santana thought wryly before placing the clip back in and checking that the safety was on, then setting it back on the table.
"Ok," Santana said, "This is good. I think we have most of what we'll need. Let me just change and grab some clothes and then I'll be back down."
Santana turned to run upstairs when she felt Brittany grip her arm.
"We don't separate," she said firmly.
Santana was glad that Brittany had suggested this and not her, no matter how much she had wanted to. They made her way upstairs where Santana grabbed an army-style rucksack from her brother's closet.
Santana wasn't going to lie, at certain points in her life she had envisioned what would happen in a zombie-like apocalypse. In her defense, it was hard not to after hours of video games with Puck and the occasional trip to the shooting range with her big brother. But now, with the new smells, and new sounds, Santana mentally scolded herself, as though, by envisioning it, she had helped to make it a reality. As she changed, she came upon the first roadblock: her outfit. Sure, jeans and long-sleeves weren't a problem, but looking in her closet she cursed her lack of practical footwear. Sure, she had leather boots, but she somewhat doubted how easy those would be to maneuver in with the added 3-inch heel. So it was, much to her chagrin that she slipped on her Cheerios sneakers.
Looking around, Santana realized how little there was that she wanted to bring. Most of her clothes seemed impractical, and she had never been huge on keeping personal effects. It was all surprisingly easy to let go of.
"Let's get out of here," Santana said to Brittany, who was sitting on her bed's black, silky sheets. They stepped out, but before closing the door, Santana looked at the wall where she had a few pictures up: one of her family, one of the Cheerios, and one of Glee club. Santana grabbed the one of Glee club, folded it and but it in her pocket next to the Pierce's Christmas card photo.
Downstairs Santana began divvying up the supplies between their two bags, stuffing the money in the depths of her own, but not before taking twenty bills out and giving ten to Brittany and keeping ten for herself.
"We should at least have some on us in case we loose our bags," Santana reasoned. Though, part of her wondered if there was really any use for money at all anymore.
"Hey B, where do you get your motocross stuff?" Santana asked.
"Umm, there's a shop at the mall," Brittany answered, "Why?"
"Just a thought," Santana replied vaguely, "I think we're going to need to head over there anyway. There are a few things we'll need at that giant sporting goods place before we leave."
Not wanting to spend any more time idling, Santana grabbed her pack, threw it over her shoulders, handed the bat to Brittany before grabbing the gun in one hand and one of the jugs of water in the other. Brittany grabbed another jug and then they were heading out.
It was approaching 2 by the time they get close to the highway once again. The mall was about half an hour outside of Lima. Once they reached the pile up of cars, Santana froze. The area was crawling with zombies.
"Britt, take this," Santana said, handing Brittany the gun after checking the safety was off.
"San…I've never shot a gun before," Brittany said cautiously.
"Well, I think now is as good a time as ever to learn," Santana said evenly, though her hands were shaking on the wheel. She knew better than to follow the right side of the road, considering that when they had entered the city that side of the road had seemed close to impenetrable. Looking to the left side, Santana estimated twenty figures or so emerging from around empty vehicles. Brittany lowered the window and stuck the top half of her body out.
"Careful B," Santana said.
"Don't worry, my seatbelt is on," Brittany reassured her. Santana didn't have the energy to explain that wasn't what she was worried about.
They were roughly one hundred feet away when Brittany fired the first shot. The sound cracked around them and the windshield next to one of the zombies shattered.
"Close," Santana said, "Try for their heads if you can."
Brittany shot another round in acknowledgment, and to her surprise, the figure closest to them dropped.
"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Santana said excitedly. But now they were only about 50 feet about, and the noise had brought visitors. Santana looked in the rear view mirror and confirmed what she already knew: going back wasn't an option anymore.
"Ok, want to do that again?" Santana asked nervously, "maybe about ten more times?"
Then Brittany was firing, once, twice, three times, four. In front of her bodies were dropping down. Not all of them, no, but enough to create a weaker point of entry.
"Hold on!" Santana shouted, and then she stepped hard on the gas and jetting forward. They barreled through a walking corpse and in the process the car hit the corner of the Fiat that they had so carefully passed on the way in. The smaller car spun furiously away from them, knocking down four approaching zombies as it did. Bringing the car sharply to the right, Santana attempted to avoid careening into the parked Civic. She felt the cars scrape against one another and sucked in a breath, narrowing her eyes. Meanwhile, Brittany was shooting left and right, until- a hollow clicking sound filled the car.
"Um San?" came Brittany's worried voice.
"More bullets in the backpacks," Santana said through gritted teeth, "Sidepocket. You'll need to take the clip out and load them each in."
"I don't know how," Brittany said hopelessly.
Santana was having a hard time focusing especially when she saw a figure holding a flaming bottle in its hands on their right side.
"Brittany roll up your window!" Santana shouted.
Brittany did, holding the button, as though the harder she pushed, the faster the glass would come up. Then the projectile was in the air and smashing just where the window was closing. Shards of glass flew through the crack, and Santana felt as one pierced her cheek, unable to take her hands off the wheel. Brittany appeared to be ok, though shaken, and there was a small crack in the window, but other than that, all else was fine.
After barreling over one more figure, they finally made it out of the maze of vehicles and onto relatively open road. Santana scanned from left to right, but couldn't see anything. Her shoulders dropped, and she let out a small groan of relief.
"Are you ok?" Brittany asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Santana reassured her, "Are you?"
"Just hunky dory," said Brittany.
Santana snorted. "Since when have you been such a badass with a handgun?" she asked somewhat suspiciously.
"Lord Tubbington told me to always be prepared," Brittany whispered secretively, "He said that people were going to come steal his secrets and that I should be prepared to protect him. So I Youtube'd all this stuff."
Santana stared at her in amazement, before remembering to turn her eyes back to the road.
"I've never actually held a gun before though," Brittany continued, "but I guess it's all pretty straightforward, isn't it. I mean, I still don't know how to put bullets in and stuff, but, other than that…" she trailed off.
"God, you're hot," Santana said. It was all she could think of.
Brittany smiled. It was a real smile, big and genuine, reaching all the way to her eyes.
"You weren't too bad yourself," Brittany said, "driving like a G." Brittany held her hands out in what were meant to be some sort of gang signs.
"Well," Santana began, with a somewhat cocky tone, "you gots to know how to do this kind of stuff, living in Lima Heights."
"Oh really," Brittany asked teasingly.
"Mmmhmm," was all Santana said, smirking.
After that they drove in silence. Both needed time to process what had just happened, and what the future had in store for them. Santana thanked god that they still had each. She wouldn't know what to do otherwise. In fact, she knew for a fact she wouldn't have made it half as far on her own.
They saw the vast mall sprawling before them. Santana slowed down and pulled to a stop.
"What are you doing?" Brittany asked.
"We should probably figure out our game plan before we go in there. The mall is massive and who knows what all is hiding out there," Santana stated.
They went over the items that they needed and where they would go to get them. It was approaching three in the afternoon, and Santana wanted to be on their way before it got dark, worrying about the first night on their own.
"Also, we should probably go over loading this before we head in," said Santana, nudging the Glock in Brittany's hand.
"Oh right," Brittany said, holding the gun out for Santana to take.
"No…" Santana said slowly, remember how Brittany had handled it earlier, and all the zombies that had fallen "I'm gonna let you hold on to that, I'll just show you what to do."
With that she brought out the ammo and began speaking quickly, glancing at the sun worriedly and then at the expanse of buildings before them.
So this is what it is going to be like.
To think that this morning, she had woken up, naked, next to Brittany and was worried about returning the damn car on time.
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