She had slept poorly, drifting in and out of a light, fitful sleep, sure that every noise and creak was zombies milling through the gate, on their way into the lumberyard to finish them off.

Tiffany had cried herself to sleep asking for Brittany and Santana. Stacy had cried herself to sleep as well, much more silently then Tiffany. Sarah cuddled up on the opposite end of Rachel against Chris, and had remained mostly silent. Chris had not just cried, he'd also simply, heartrendingly, whined that he was hungry before falling into a deep sleep, no doubt having tired himself out.

Lord Tubbington had stood at guard, until, Rachel assumed, he'd gotten too cold because he'd proceeded to crawl under the "blankets" and squeezed in down at their feet.

Rachel snuggled closer to the kids. Her makeshift bedding had kept them warm enough during the night, along with, she was sure, body heat, but she longed for a cozy fireplace, heavy blankets, and the others.

She opened her eyes slowly, and reached a tentative hand to her nose, which was ice cold. Then she reached across the children. Counting. Finally ending with Lord Tubbington.

They were all there, they were fine. Her heart calmed down slightly.

Well, as fine as they could be anyway.

She allowed herself just a brief moment of self pity.

They were not rescued. They did not have any water, food, or even a toothbrush.

She took a deep breath, and tried to think of the positives.

None of them had been injured during their flight from the cars. They had survived the night relatively warm. No zombies had made their way into their little safe haven.

She did not know if anyone else was as lucky as they were. Zombies, including the ones that had so quickly killed Matilda and Glory were likely lurking around. It was important that they stay as silent as possible.

Why, oh why, had she left her rifle and the crowbar on the table? Why.

If Mack had been here…she sighed.

Perhaps it would rain, she thought hopefully. Surely they could collect water when it rained?

Frowning, she sat up. How long did it take children to dehydrate?

Sighing again, she pulled herself out of the makeshift bed, and realized with a grimace that a part of her was…moist. She internally groaned, and shimmied out from the warmth and comfort of the makeshift bed. Shivering in the chilly air, she distinctly smelt urine.

One of the children had wet the bed sometime during the night.

She sighed, and looked over the still sleeping children.

She shivered, moist, and clad only in her owl sweater, jeans, and Mack's boots after she'd quickly pulled them back on. She had toyed with the idea of wearing a pair of her tights underneath of jeans when dressing yesterday, but had quickly decided against it, reasoning that they would be driving mostly, so she would be fine.

Today was definitely colder then yesterday, the icy morning air biting into her.

She crept around their hiding place, and slowly made her way to the outside of the covered area. She was shivering, and the moistness in her jeans, from whatever child had wet during the night, did not help matters.

Last night, as the sun was setting and it was clear they would be spending the night, she had thoroughly searched the property as best she could.

All she had found was a small hatchet, collected from underneath a very padlocked toolbox. She assumed that it had been dropped and lost beneath it; perhaps in their hast to lock up everything and go to wherever they had gone. She had also found several 5 gallon buckets that she was reasonably sure had not had any chemicals or anything unsightly in them, given that she had found them neatly stacked. She had set them up to catch any rain during the night, so that they would perhaps have some water to drink; even if she could practically smell the chemicals leeching into the water from the plastic already.

A quick, disappointing glance at the four buckets showed that it had not rained during the night. There was a bit of dew on them, and she briefly considered encouraging the children to attempt to drink it, but quickly discounted that thought…likely they would get more harsh plastic chemicals inside them, then anything beneficial.

"Rachel?" A quiet scared voice called out softly. Rachel turned around, and went back to their hideaway.

All four of the children (and Lord Tubbington) were standing out from their blankets, huddled together. Chris and Tiffany were both crying, and it was easy to see why. Chris's diaper had leaked through, and the toddler looked miserable. Not as miserable as Tiffany, who was sobbing and soaked. She had been the one to wet the bed, quiet clearly. Stacy looked as moist as Rachel was.

"I'm here, we're all right," she reassured them quietly, "I was just seeing if it had rained during the night."

"Did it?" Sarah asked softly.

Rachel shook her head, and bent down to speak to Tiffany, "Oh dear, you'll be okay, it's alright,"

Tiffany, still sobbing, started apologizing for wetting the bed. Rachel comforted her as best she could as she dragged their covers out of the lean to, and flung everything on several stacks of wood to dry. At least Noah's letterman jacket; which Sarah had taken off and offered as a pillow, was still dry. She would have liked to wash the coat and hoodie, and wipe down the tarps, but just allowing them to dry would have to do.

As she straightened out her father's jacket and her hoodie with jerky movements, her fingers ached for a pen and notepad to make a list. Dozens of lists.

She did not have water, did not have food, did not have a change of clothing, did not have a toothbrush for any of them.

Tiffany was still quietly sobbing into Lord Tubbington's fur, while Sarah, and Stacy looked close to doing the same. Chris was just staring at her, tears in his eyes.

She felt the weight of their eyes on her, and wanted to start sobbing as well. That brought a memory of her father's handing her a glass of water, joking and laughing and trying to make her feel better about losing out on a solo in Glee.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that her father's were dead, and there wasn't a glass of water to be had. And if there was, she would only take a sip before giving the rest to the children; she could more readily handle lack of water then them, they were so small.

She frowned. How long had they all been without water and food? At least twelve hours, but more likely longer depending on how much they had ate, snacked, and drank yesterday. Panic cursed through her, the children were likely already dehydrated, they would soon die and Rachel would be alone and everyone would hate her, Brittany would hate her for letting them die.

She took a few deep breaths to try to regain calmness, panic would do no good. At the very least, there was a large abet muddy puddle of water. She would drink out of it now; first, and if she did not get ill she would allow the children to.

Well, perhaps she would see if Lord Tubbington would drink out of it, then if he did, she would.

She picked up the hefty cat, cradling him to her chest.

"I'll be right back," she whispered to Sarah and Stacy.

She stepped lightly on the cement, making her way slowly through the stacks of wood, the dim light making her cautious.

When she reached the puddle, frowning, she carefully placed the cat next to it. Feeling quite silly, she said, resisting the urge to ensure she was alone and no one could see her speaking to the cat, "Lord Tubbington, please …drink? If it is okay to do so?"

Lord Tubbington sniffed at the water for several long moments, then turned around putting his back to it, and sat down. He stared at her stonily.

She didn't know if he just wasn't thirsty, if the water contained something that he knew would make him ill or if she was being very foolish indeed, so she sighed.

She went back to the children, the cat shadowing her.

Tiffany was still whimpering, and still utterly soaked, shivering in the cold morning air. Rachel hoped that when the sun was fully out, it would be warmer.

"Here Tiffany, let's get you out of those wet things," She cajoled the girl, helping her take off her pants, panties, and sweater. The only thing that remained dry on the girl was her socks, so Rachel left those on her, and pulled off her owl sweater, gasping quietly at the sudden surge of cold as the blouse she was wearing under it did little to warm her, she pulled it on Tiffany, rolling the sleeves up briskly. It hung down to Tiffany's knees.

Tiffany stared at her with tear filled eyes, and started apologizing again for wetting the bed.

Rachel assured her that it was an accident, and it was okay, her mind racing as she tried to figure out where to get supplies.

The house they had passed on the way to the lumber yard was the nearest building, but at even perhaps a block away, it was farther then she felt comfortable going right now, with nothing but a hatchet and a fervent hope that nothing was lurking.

If there had simply been a car parked, she thought sadly with a heavy heart, she could have used the knowledge and skill Mack had insisted she learn to hot-wire it, and drive the children to safety; finding Santana, or Sam, or any of the others, really.

The house it was. Two football fields away. She could do it.

She looked at the children's faces, still staring at her expectantly, and took a deep breath. She had to do it, there was no other option.

Well, her gaze drifted the direction towards where the cement building was. She could try to use the hatchet to enter it, first. Even if likely she would still have to make a trip to the house to see what she could scavenge, it would certainly give her peace of mind to know the children were safe in a cement building.

"I am going to attempt to get into the building," she informed them, "Please stay here."

The kids huddled together, staring at her and shivering, Sarah frowned, and said, "Should I come with you to guard or something?"

Rachel shook her head, "The gate is still, from what I saw, locked. It's safer for you all to stay here."

Sarah shrugged her agreement, so resolutely, Rachel once more crept out of the covered area their spot was, the sun sending bright tendrils of light the best it could in the overcast sky.

The sun had finished rising when Rachel finally stepped back from the building, filled with disappointment and the acute sense of failure. The deadbolt on the office door was utterly resistant to her attempts to use the hatchet to open it.

Likewise, her last ditch attempts to pry the windows up failed, resulting in nothing more than slightly splintered window sills.

She had even dared to try to break one of the windows, risking the noise and scattered glass everywhere. She had managed to cause a spider web to appear, but since the buildings windows appeared to be made of some sort of very hard to shatter glass, not to mention they were almost over her head, she did not make much more progress than that.

She gave up. This was not going to happen, not with the tools she had at the moment. It was a shame, but there was no sense in wasting more time attempting to get in when they were all hungry, thirsty, and miserable.

She returned to the children. Sarah had put Noah's letterman jacket over Chris and Tiffany, and spread the dryer tarp around all of them. Sarah was had the other children minus Chris, take turns telling a part of a story, to keep them distracted. Rachel smiled at Sarah for her quick thinking and resourcefulness.

She took a deep breath, and announced, "I was unable to get into the building, so in a few minutes I will going to the house we passed by on the way here."

The reactions were immediate, and Rachel quickly felt bad as Tiffany and Stacy both started crying, prompting Chris to cry to (although Rachel assumed it would not take much for him, miserable as they all were, but him especially, to start crying.)

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, and asked quietly, "What are we going to do?"

Rachel gave the younger girl her best stage smile. "Wait for me to return, of course."

Sarah gave Rachel a look that could have easily come from Santana, "And if you don't? What are we supposed to do then?"

"I will. I have to, there isn't any other choice," Rachel sighed.

"You could try the building again, Rachel. I'll go with you, you could have missed something." Sarah insisted.

Rachel gave Sarah a soft, sad smile, "I'm afraid I tried everything I could. I hope there will be better tools at the house, it would be nice to sleep in a building tonight."

Sarah bit her lip, tears pooling in her eyes, then finally looked away from Rachel.

Rachel turned from her, and back towards the gate that was only kept closed with her hair tie. She stood a little straighter, trying to project to the children confidence and strength, even as on the inside, she was as scared as she could ever remember being.

She slept late; she was so used to getting up early so they could get a full day of driving in, but Dahlia kept crying throughout the night, so finally fed up she'd moved to the other room in the basement, an office, and slept on the loveseat, Blaine's apologetic face making her want to roll her eyes.

She'd only woken up, in fact, because Blaine came in and shook her awake.

"What?" She asked him grumpily. Her daughter was…she didn't think Beth was dead, actually, because Beth was with Santana. If Beth was dead, so was Santana and Kyle and Stevie, and her mind just refused to accept that happening. But they were separated, and she was worried; even more then she had been in the town. That had been a suicidal, knee jerk reaction rolled up in shock and fear. Quinn was a more in control now.

"I made us breakfast. Well, I suppose it's brunch now," Blaine gave her an eager, soft smile, and she grit her teeth. She pulled the blankets back up, and settled back into bed.

"I'm not hungry." She wondered if everyone had found food to eat wherever they hid.

"Well, um, there's…I think you need to look outside," Blaine said softly, and she could hear the tendril of fear in his voice.

"What, is there a couple of zombies?" She sighed, and swung out of the bed.

"Um.." Blaine shook his head.

"The others?"

"I wish I could say it was," Blaine sighed, and she followed him out of the room and up the stairs, after a quick peak in at Dahlia, who was finally sleeping in a dresser drawer in the first room.

"I'm really really sorry, I think they heard Dahlia's crying last night," Blaine muttered shamefaced, as they reached the top of the basement stairs. He opened the basement door slowly, and poked his head out, before opening the door all the way and stepping outside into the kitchen.

The blinds were all drawn, and Quinn frowned, because she was pretty sure that hadn't been like that last night. Blaine saw her look, so he said softly, "I closed them all."

Both of them had been a little shocked last night that no one -well, Sam, since he had the only vehicle at the moment, had came and found them. If it wasn't for Dahlia, they would have went out and looked for the others; but neither of them wanted to be the one to stay behind in safety with the house, (both had argued quite forcefully to be the one to go look around) and of course taking the baby out there was simply out of the question. So they'd simply decided to wait.

"There's a bunch of zombies outside, I'm so sorry," Blaine apologized once more, running a hand through his fluffy hair.

"Don't be stupid, it's not yours or Dahlia's fault. One probably followed us here, and told the others or something. It's not like we know much about these things, it's obviously too risky to go out there with those things, so we'll wait."

Blaine nodded, "I've already started thinking about things to help block sound from the basement."

"We should bring some food and water down, so we can avoid going upstairs as much as possible," Quinn muttered, "And try to block up the downstairs doors and windows."

"That's a good idea," Blaine turned to her, and said seriously, "We're going to be okay Quinn. I promise, I won't let anything happen to you and Dahlia."

Quinn let out a short, bitter laugh. Blaine had a hurt look on her face.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be a bitch, I was just about to say the same thing to you."

"Oh." Blaine gave a soft half laugh, "Okay, "

Quinn followed Blaine up the stairs to the second floor, and into the office. Silently, he held open on the curtains just a tiny bit so she could look outside.

She stared at the zombies -dozens, if not a hundred, that surrounded the house, milling around, not quite sure, Quinn was sure, that they were in the house, but lurking nearby nonetheless. Maybe they should have taken their chances and left, all three of them, to go find the others.

It certainly wasn't the handful she'd thought when Blaine said there were zombies outside.

She felt dizzy, and it seemed like she couldn't get enough air in.

"Quinn," Blaine said, then a little louder when she ignored him, "Quinn. It'll be okay."

She sucked in air rapidly, and put an arm against the wall because she felt like she was going to fall over.

"Take deep breaths, and concentrate on breathing and my voice," he cajoled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him close the curtain again.

"Sit down, and put your head in-between your knees. Keep taking deep breaths," Blaine said, pushing the office chair towards her.

She did, even if she mostly fell into the chair instead of sat down in it.

Strangely, she started to feel a little better, a little more in control after a few minutes of breathing. She didn't feel like her chest was going to burst with anxiety anymore, at least, even if she was still terrified.

"Is that your first panic attack?" Blaine asked gently after a few moments.

She flinched, thinking of when she'd killed Shelby, or when Frannie and her minions had told her she was kicked out.

"No," she muttered head still between her knees.

"It's okay Quinn, totally natural to have them give the situation," he crouched next to her. Even though she wasn't looking at him, she just knew he was looking at her all concerned and worried.

"Whatever," she finally muttered, and then sat up. She took a few deep breaths, testing to see if she was okay now.

She was, so she spun around a few times in the chair, ignoring Blaine completely.

She was still trembling.

"Keep taking deep breaths Quinn, it'll help," Blaine said, standing up and moving away from the chair so she could spin easier.

It irritated her. Of course Blaine freaking Anderson would be calm and nice.

She stopped the chair, and glared at him, "Do you always have to be a freaking Disney prince all the time?"

"Well, I don't think our situation would be helped any if I...acted like Santana? I could if you want, I think." Blaine said wryly settling into the small leather love-seat next to the door.

"Even before all this crap happened, you could do no wrong. I swear birds used to wake you up and sing to you while you gelled up your hair," She snarled, glaring at him, her eyes darting to his poufy hair.

Obviously self conscious, he patted it down a bit, then shrugged, "I can't help being who I am, no more than you can Quinn."

"Whatever."

"I'm not perfect, far from it. Just ask Kurt if…when, we see him again."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Blaine added softly, "I used to get panic attacks a lot before I switched schools," he looked at her seriously, "And I was a coward. I swore I wouldn't be again, so maybe…maybe that's making me come off as some heroic prince superman type or something."

Quinn shrugged.

"The truth is…" he stood up, and stood next to her, "I'm really really scared. All the time. I have nightmares every night unless I keep myself so busy I don't dream. I know I let Rachel do most of the work with my sister, and I feel bad about it. But then again, Blossom wanted Rachel to have her anyway. So I feel bad about that too. I just…" he finally shrugged, and flopped back into the love seat.

After a few minutes, she stood up, and flopped next time him.

"I think we're all scared," she said quietly, not looking at him, "And we all have nightmares. Talking with Pastor Zadock helped me, so maybe we should just..talk a lot to each other about them? Or something? I dunno. Rachel loves Dahlia. And you, for that matter, for yourself and for Kurt, and especially now that she doesn't have to compete with you for solos," she laughed quietly, then sobered up as she continued, "Your step mother killed herself. She wasn't thinking right Blaine. She was too caught up in her own hurt, her own pain, her own horrors of the situation to think much about you or Dahlia. I think she would have left Dahlia with anyone who spoke to her last, it just happened to be Rachel. So it worked out for the best, I think. Santana had a bunch of women with….Frannie's group thinking you two were siblings you know."

Blaine smiled, "I know. Brittany told me. And Kurt mentioned how she insisted we were alien space hobbits to some poor woman who thought we were siblings taking care of our baby sister and scared her off from wanting to apocalypse adopt the three of us."

An ache for her friends, for her daughter, went through Quinn.

She stood up, and reached a hand out to Blaine, "Come on, we can bond more later," she said dryly, "We've got to do what we can to secure this place. Hopefully those things will wander away soon."

"They will," he said reassuringly as he took her hand, with a smile.

Of course he did.