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Into The Woods

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DAY 44

Mercedes woke from restless sleep sometime after midnight and stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly in and out and praying for sleep to return. The room was filled with moonlight spilling blue and heavy across the floor, up the walls. It was dead quiet, apart from the occasional breeze brushing past outside, filling the corners of the window panes like a phantom looking for a way in. Mercedes shifted uncomfortably beneath the blankets, completely maladjusted to laying in an actual bed, let alone a high-quality hotel bed. After weeks of sleeping on gas station floors or the bare ground, this mattress was entirely too soft.

She tossed and turned a few more times, but it only served to make her more alert. The room was just so damn empty.

Mercedes finally threw the covers aside and stood, barefoot and exposed and shivering in the stillness. She caught sight of her reflection in the big mirror over the dresser and nearly jumped — she looked barely more than a ghost. Moonlight cast an eerie pallor over her, pulling her shape from the surrounding dark like something unearthed from the mud. She looked thin, too. Not skinny, exactly, but her skin hung looser from her frame, too big for the flesh underneath. She supposed she should have expected it, given the lack of a proper diet for the past month and a half, but it was still startling.

She swallowed, fighting a sudden wave of nausea, and tore her eyes away from the mirror. The wood floor was cold under her feet as she stepped closer to the window. The mountaintops outside glowed a soft blue under the moon, light pouring through the valley in rivers thick as honey. Mercedes found herself drawn to the balcony, and pushed through the sliding door and out into the chilly night air.

If the view had been spectacular in daylight, it was nothing compared to now. The moon was just kissing the western peaks, a white so bright Mercedes could see every crater pockmarking its surface. The stars were so brilliant and so many that she thought she might be able to reach out and brush them from the sky with her fingers. A coyote yipped in the far distance, its barks echoing across the hills below like some kind of joyful specter. A porcupine ambled onto the moon-gleaming road Mercedes and Puck had followed from Durango, shuffling across the pavement and into the trees beyond.

Mercedes leaned against the deck railing and was struck by the sudden fear that she might fall over the edge. The building seemed to sway underfoot, the breeze tugging at her clothes and threatening to lift her and toss her away into the black. She quickly leaned back again, looking up to the Milky Way.

She thought after weeks on end of traversing the Mojave under the cover of nightfall that she would eventually get tired of gazing at the sky. She was wrong. But this particular sky was different than any she'd seen over the desert.

As beautiful as it was, the desert sky had been a yawning chasm bearing down on them, lighting up the sand and rock and dust to remind them just how alone they really were. But here in the mountains, the valley swimming in an ocean of starlight, the sky was soft and protective. It enclosed everything beneath it in an embrace, seeming to say I'll take care of you.

Loneliness still bloomed in Mercedes' chest, however, as she wondered if her parents or brothers were looking up at a similar sky. She doubted the sky looked anything like this in Ohio, even on the clearest night.

With a final deep breath of the crisp night air, Mercedes went back inside. She should get more sleep, she knew, but the bed sat cold and uninviting in the middle of the room and she found herself stuck, her body refusing to crawl back under the covers.

Too damn empty.

Without thinking, Mercedes turned and exited the bedroom again, this time into the living room. She crossed the plush carpet in front of the fireplace and tilted her ear against the door to the other bedroom. Puck's snores were just audible through the wood. Mercedes gingerly twisted the knob until the door swung open with a light creak of its hinges.

This room was a mirror image of hers, the bed in the exact same location. Puck lay there with limbs akimbo, snoring comfortably. He wasn't quite on the edge of the bed, but it was a king and there was plenty of room left. Mercedes tiptoed to the opposite side and, careful not to wake Puck up, slid into the bed with him.

Leaving half an arm's length between them and turning onto her side to face the window, Mercedes finally settled. Outside, the moon had sunk halfway behind the peak of a distant mountain, its light beginning to ebb. Mercedes breathed slowly, listening to Puck's familiar snores fill the room, and at last closed her eyes.

Sunlight woke Mercedes in the morning as surely as any alarm clock, climbing over the eastern peaks and shining directly onto her face as though the sky itself was glaring at her through the window. She sighed, scrubbing the grime from her eyes, and bolted upright when she realized she was still in Puck's bed. Glancing over to the other side of the mattress, she saw only rumpled covers.

"Puck?" she called, heart skipping. There was no answer, and embarrassment crept up her spine as she clambered out of bed. What on earth had she been thinking last night, crawling into Puck's bed with him without asking? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not to mention presumptuous. He probably woke up, freaked out, and immediately put as much space between them as possible.

She exited the bedroom into the suite lounge, finding it empty too. No sign of Puck on the couch or anywhere else.

A piercing screech from outside made her jump, her gaze whipping toward the balcony. Sitting on the deck railing was an absolutely massive bird of prey, deep brown feathers glinting gold in the sun. Its back faced the window as it scanned the valley below, head swiveling to and fro, armed with a long yellow-trimmed beak. Large talons gripped the railing, and it looked as though it could easily tear Mercedes to shreds if it had a whim to do so. The eagle — it was too large to be any other kind of bird — screeched again, following with several shorter calls that almost sounded like a small dog barking.

Mercedes edged closer to the glass door leading out to the deck. The eagle's feathers ruffled in the wind, flashing like sequins.

Another screech. At that moment Mercedes must have moved and caught its peripheral vision, because its head abruptly turned over its shoulder to stare at her. She flinched, its amber-colored eyes boring into her even from where it sat. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she dared not move.

The eagle made no sound. Its gaze didn't waver, regarding Mercedes as neither a threat nor a target.

And then, silent, it unfurled its gigantic wings and dropped smoothly into the air below, vanishing for only a moment before catching an updraft and soaring high.

Mercedes rushed to the door, sliding it open and stepping out onto the deck just in time to see it disappear past the treetops behind the resort. The wind buffeted her hair, the trees swaying and creaking in the distance. She stood there watching clouds roll past, searching for a flying silhouette against the blue backdrop, but the eagle did not return.

Eventually, Mercedes heard one of the horses whinny far below and remembered Puck. Casting one final glance at the sky, she went back inside and slipped on her shoes, leaving the suite in the clothes she'd slept in.

The stairwell was dim and difficult to navigate, the stale air clogging her lungs a sharp contrast to standing on the penthouse balcony. It took several stumbling minutes for her to make it to the first-floor exit, and when she walked into the lobby she found it lit by cascading shafts of light pouring in from the upper windows. Motes of dust swirled from sunbeam to sunbeam. A fly buzzed against a windowpane in the corner.

Mercedes crossed the dusty hardwood floor to the hotel's main entrance, walking out to the wide porch and circling the corner of the building to where there was a large fenced-in grassy slope. The area had clearly been intended by the owners to be a place for kids to run around, given the small playground placed near the gate, but it had served just fine as a place to let Peach and Mr. T roam untied. The field hadn't been mowed in over a month so there was plenty for the horses to eat, and Puck had left the saddles and bridles hanging over the fence.

Relief washed over Mercedes when she saw both horses were still here. Puck couldn't have left, not without at least bringing Mr. T with him. Peach stood at the furthest edge of the field, tail swishing as he munched on a tuft of grass. Mr. T was more interested in scratching a difficult-to-reach itch, rolling on her back on the ground with her legs kicking in the air. The sight was enough to make Mercedes chuckle.

"Mercedes!" came Puck's voice from behind her, and she turned to see him leaning out the front door. A huge grin was plastered across his face. "Hey, c'mon, I found something."

He ducked back inside and Mercedes was quick to follow, overjoyed that he didn't seem upset with her.

"What's up?" she asked, tagging alongside him as he led her across the lobby to a large door opposite the front desk.

Puck pushed through to a large dining room. Empty serving trays sat collecting dusty on a long buffet table, a large sign promising free breakfast from six-thirty to eleven. "Come on," Puck said again, ushering Mercedes toward yet another door.

The next room was the kitchen, lit only by a line of narrow windows near the ceiling along one wall. The kitchen was clean apart from the layer of dust, though a heavy odor of rotting produce was emanating from the walk-in cooler, which Mercedes had absolutely no intention of opening. Puck didn't go for the walk-in and instead opened up what looked like a closet on the other side of a long steel prep counter.

He propped the door open and jerked his head toward the interior. "Check it out," he said, still grinning.

Mercedes did, and her jaw dropped.

The closet was dry storage for the hotel kitchens, and was stacked from floor to ceiling with nonperishable food. Cereals, rice, oatmeal, canned soup and vegetables, peanut butter, granola, dried fruit, jams and jellies, crackers, coffee… The labels on the boxes swam in front of Mercedes' eyes, too many to count.

They sat on the porch outside, watching the horses mill around the field and relishing in the fresh mountain air and eating peanut butter and crackers until their jaws were practically glued shut. Puck had also smashed his way into the vending machines in the lobby and retrieved a few bottles of water to wash it all down. He sat squinting into the sunlight with his feet dangling off the edge of the deck.

"I think we should stay here," he said, sucking a stray bit of peanut butter from his thumb.

Mercedes blinked. "What?"

"Not forever," he amended quickly. "I just mean for a couple days. The horses could probably use the break, and so could we. This is probably as good as we're going to have it for a while."

Mercedes leaned back against the porch rail, sipping her water bottle. She gazed up the slope to the horses grazing in the sun. "Don't you want to get home as soon as possible?" she asked.

"I mean, yeah," Puck said. "But I still think we deserve a break. A day or two can't make that much of a difference."

She sat for a moment, mulling this over. They were better fed and better rested than they'd been since the blackout, but it still seemed odd to stop just when it finally felt like they were making real progress. They'd already crossed California, Nevada, the corner of Arizona and the southern half of Utah, and Mercedes knew they had four more states to cover, not including the rest of Colorado.

Still, she supposed the hardest part was over. They'd survived the Mojave. She couldn't imagine that anything between here and home would be nearly as dangerous.

"Okay," she agreed at last.

The two of them sat enjoying the sunshine for a while longer, and when their snacks were gone Puck gathered all the cracker wrappers and empty peanut butter pats and dumped them into the trash can in the lobby. The trash wouldn't be emptied, but at the very least the little bits of plastic wouldn't be blowing all over the mountainside.

"Come on," said Puck, holding out a hand to help Mercedes up. "Come help me brush the horses."

At Puck's whistle, Mr. T trotted down the grassy slope and met them just inside the gate. She nickered a greeting and butted her nose affectionately into Puck's chest. Peach, on the other hand, was much less inclined to do the same. Mercedes called his name and he raised his head, ears perking in her direction, and then he merely snorted and returned to grazing with a flick of his tail.

Puck laughed at Mercedes' look of frustration. "I'm sure he'll like you eventually."

Mercedes planted her hands on her hips. "I don't care if he likes me; I just want him to do what I tell him."

"Well, maybe that's why he doesn't like you."

She rolled her eyes. "I doubt horses have the capacity for such complex thought."

Puck handed her one of the two brushes Carter had given them before they left the Ring Of Fire. "You're only proving my point," he said with a smug grin. "Go on, get brushing."

Mercedes huffed, resigning to fetch Peach from the far end of the field one they were finished with Mr. T, and went to work brushing Mr. T's flank. Puck did the same on the opposite side, pulling tangles from her mane as he went.

"Hey, Puck?" Mercedes ventured a minute or so later.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," she said, making Puck raise his head with a perplexed frown. "If I made you uncomfortable last night. I just couldn't sleep and didn't want to be by myself. I didn't mean anything by it."

Puck blinked, watching her from across Mr. T's back. She swallowed, and was just beginning to regret saying anything at all when he shrugged, returning his attention to Mr. T's dusty coat. "I didn't mind," was his only reply.

DAY 46

Day after day, mile after mile, the small towns of Pennsylvania blurred into one another, identical from one county to the next. When looking for food, they no longer bothered to check grocery stores or gas stations or restaurants — to do so would only waste time and energy. Instead, they focused on empty houses left behind by their owners. They were lucky nearly as often as they were unlucky, finding untouched pantries and food caches in a handful of houses in each town.

Schuylkill Haven was no different, small and barely occupied. It was mostly Victorian-style houses, churches scattered throughout, and the Schuylkill River meandered lazily through the center, bordered by a large and well-groomed park. The park was where Kurt, Dani, and Santana spent a portion of the afternoon, resting beneath a large oak tree as they ate their way through a family pack of Pop Tarts and a can of green beans they'd stolen from a house a few blocks away.

After finishing their lunch they continued westward under a grey sky threatening rain. The air was thick and humid, the barometric pressure enough to give Dani a headache.

"The hell?" muttered Kurt from a few steps ahead.

Dani looked up, following his gaze to a brick church to their left. Across the church wall, someone had spray-painted a message.

THE WEAK ARE MEAT, AND THE STRONG DO EAT.

If Dani hadn't recognized it, the message would likely have been much more frightening, but fortunately she'd heard the phrase before. "That's a quote from Cloud Atlas," she said. "Probably just someone trying to scare people off and mark their territory."

Santana eyed the church wall warily, edging slightly closer to Dani's side as they walked. "How do you know they're not serious?"

"...Because it's a quote from Cloud Atlas."

"I never saw it," Santana replied. "It looked stupid."

"Serious or not, best to avoid them," Kurt interjected flatly, glancing furtively around the street as though whoever had spray painted the church might be lurking nearby. "Come on. I think we can make Roedersville by sunset."

As they crossed from Schuylkill Haven into the neighboring borough of Cressona, the heavy clouds made good on their promise. It began to rain, lightly at first, and quickly graduated to a downpour. Within minutes, the three of them were soaked to the bone. Water ran in rivers along the pavement, seeping into their shoes with every step.

Dani tilted her head back, opening her mouth to catch the raindrops as she walked. She didn't mind the rain; it helped to alleviate the summer heat and wash a bit of the travel grime from their skin. She wouldn't have complained about walking in the rain for the rest of the afternoon, but Santana and Kurt weren't as keen.

"Over there!" Santana said, pointing to an awning over the entrance to a bookshop on the other side of the street.

They dashed for cover and huddled beneath the awning, all three crammed into the narrow doorway and out of the rain. Santana shrugged off her pack and wrung the water from her hair, shivering. Kurt peered through the glass door, cupping his hands around his eyes to see inside the bookshop. He rattled the door, finding it locked, and then took his gun from his belt.

"Kurt, what the—" Dani started.

Kurt flipped the pistol in his hand and used the butt of it to smash through the glass pane. He shrugged, reaching through to unlock the door. "It's dry in here."

Glass crunched beneath their shoes as they shuffled in out of the rain. Kurt was right; it was dry and warm, and apparently the residents of Cressona hadn't yet considered books to be a lootable resource. Nothing was out of place in the shop, and if Dani didn't know better she might have thought at first glance that the store was simply closed for the day.

"Oh, hell yes," Santana said, heading straight for the cashier's desk where there was a display of varied candies for customers to buy on impulse. She ripped open a packet of chocolate covered espresso beans and dumped a handful into her mouth, crunching loudly.

Kurt plopped down into a big squashy chair in the corner, releasing a comfortable sigh. Dani wandered close to a newspaper rack against the opposite wall.

"Think fast," Santana said, and tossed an espresso bean to Kurt, who managed to catch it in his mouth.

"I can't remember the last time I had caffeine," he remarked as he tilted his head back on the chair, savoring the candy. "God, I miss coffee."

Dani scanned the newspapers on the rack, all dated back to April. The New York Times reported on the war in Iraq and the discovery of a century-old shipwreck in California, while the Philadelphia Inquirer spoke of a pizza delivery boy who had been shot by police. At the same time, a small-time newspaper from Schuylkill County gave their front page to a local high school, championing their track star who had just won a cross-country race against Hazleton.

All these stories seemed so distant now, and utterly trivial. Dani wondered if the boy who'd won the race was still alive.

Outside, raindrops battered the windows and poured off the awning. Dani pulled herself away from the newspapers and leaned against the doorframe, watching the rain come down in sheets. On the opposite side of the street, a possum trotted across the pavement, darting for cover. It slipped over the edge of the road, heading for the train tracks that ran parallel to the street several yards further.

Santana tore into another packet of espresso beans and went to sit in the second armchair next to Kurt, kicking off her shoes to let them dry. "Dani, you want some of these?" she called.

"I'm good, thanks." Dani watched the possum amble clumsily over the iron tracks and finally disappear into the bushes on the far side.

Suddenly an idea occurred to her, and she turned away from the doorway. She made a beeline for the shelves, meandering up and down the aisles.

"What are you doing?" Kurt called, frowning at her from where he sat. Santana looked equally confused, watching Dani search.

"I just had an idea," was all Dani said.

She finally located what she was searching for, a shelf of maps and atlases tucked into the back corner of the bookshop. Pawing through them until she found the geographically appropriate one, she grabbed it and returned to the front of the shop.

Dani knelt on the floor, unfolding the map completely on the thin carpet. "Look," she beckoned.

Kurt and Santana leaned forward, peering over Dani's shoulders. The roads of rural Pennsylvania were laid out in a tangled web across the state, color-coded to set highways and interstates apart from smaller routes. Dani's fingers traced across the map until she located Cressona, tapping it with a fingernail.

"Here," she said. Her finger followed a narrow black line leading westward, not quite straight but much more direct than the streets on the map. The black line ran through open green spaces, only dipping occasionally into towns, and cut cleanly across roads both major and minor.

"What is that?" asked Santana.

Dani grinned. "It's a railroad."

DAY 47

Back in the saddle, back on the road. Mercedes and Puck left the Purgatory Resort in the midmorning, bags chock-full of food from the hotel kitchen. The surrounding peaks glowed green and golden in the sun. Barely an hour into the journey, Mercedes' buttocks and hips were already aching, sweat dripping from the nape of her neck down between her shoulder blades. Though there was a light breeze, it did little to abate the heat.

Still, Mercedes felt better than she had in weeks — months, even. Having spent the last few days in veritable luxury (or at least as close to luxury as the circumstances would allow) she felt recharged. Energized. Ready and anxious to keep going. Puck seemed to feel the same, as he'd been chomping at the bit all morning and now breathed easier, sitting straight on Mr. T's back and squinting into the sunlight. The food they'd taken from the Purgatory kitchens would last them a good long while, or at least Mercedes hoped so.

As eager as she was to continue their odyssey, to put as many miles behind them as possible, the idea of venturing off into the mountains still terrified her. She couldn't help but picture a myriad of dangers awaiting them at every turn of the trail — bears, for instance. What the hell were they supposed to do if they came across a bear? Neither of them had experience facing down any kind of large predator; they'd never exactly been an issue in Ohio.

Mercedes shook the thought from her head before it could spiral. There was no use worrying endlessly about something that might happen, and to sit paralyzed in fear would only serve to slow them down. She had food, she had Puck with her, and she had the confidence hard-earned by surviving the Mojave on foot. For now, that was all she needed.

A few yards ahead, Puck began to hum quietly as he rode. It wasn't a tune she knew; it sounded like he was making it up on the spot. Mercedes smiled to herself, enjoying the unfamiliar melody.

From far above, a sudden screech made her look up toward the heavens. Gliding high against the blue was the golden silhouette of an eagle. Mercedes' heart leapt in her chest — she didn't know how likely it was that it was the same one she'd seen on the Purgatory balcony days ago, but she couldn't quite escape the notion that it was watching them, making certain they were traveling safely.

She watched the eagle slowly wheel through the air, until its wing dipped and it turned northward, following the same path as the road until it faded from view.

Whether the eagle was truly an omen or not, Mercedes was determined to consider it a good one.

And so, by the time Puck pulled Mr. T to a stop and pointed ahead to the sign marking the trailhead, Mercedes was feeling much better about their chances.

"Is that it?" she asked.

Puck nodded, dismounting and taking Mr. T by the reins. "Yeah," he said. "I triple-checked the map."

Mercedes followed suit, sliding down from Peach's saddle less than gracefully. Peach huffed indignantly at her as she led him after Puck. The trail at its start was wide and gravelled, hard-packed from years of use. It led due east, vanishing into the trees.

"You ready?" Puck's eyes were wide with apprehension and determination in equal measure.

Mercedes drew a deep, slow breath, and nodded.

Slowly, step by step, they guided the horses onto the trail. Mercedes cast a final searching glance at the sky, hoping she'd see the eagle once again before the treetops blocked the sky from view. For the first time in nearly eight hundred miles, they left the pavement behind them, and were quickly swallowed up by the forest.

In Lima, summer was in full swing, baking under the first real heat wave of the year. There had been no rain for nearly two weeks, so they'd had to carry more water than usual from McClintock Lake, painstakingly boiling and filtering every drop in order to cook, drink, and bathe. It was exhausting work, and today Blaine was grateful for the change of pace. The sun bore down on his back as he and Burt trekked across town to Yoakam Road on a routine supply run.

Blaine scratched at the facial hair prickling on his cheeks — shaving wasn't a priority these days, and it itched uncomfortably in the heat. His arms ached from carrying water from the lake the last several days, but there was no use complaining.

Beside him, Burt walked apace, sweat-stained and grimy. He pulled his water bottle from the side of his pack and took a long gulp.

"I'm thinking tomato sauce and pasta today," Burt mused aloud. "We could try to make spaghetti bolognese, and have an actual meal instead of just eating stuff out of the cans."

Blaine chuckled. There would be no meat to add to the sauce and it wouldn't truly be bolognese if they did attempt. However, Burt had a point. Using and cleaning dishes when the food already came in its own container wasn't a smart way to spend water, but every day they missed home-cooked meals a little bit more. "Sounds good," Blaine said, his stomach growling.

Despite the circumstances, Blaine liked having Burt with him. Of the four adults in the Berrys' house — Hiram, Leroy, Burt, and Carole — Blaine felt safest with Burt. He didn't really know Hiram or Leroy that well, though he was grateful to them for opening their home to him, and he had a closer connection with Burt than Carole. Burt had told him that having Blaine around was almost like having Kurt back, and Blaine supposed the same was true in the other direction.

As they walked, Blaine kept his eyes open and constantly scanning, watching for any other people who might pose a potential threat. He wasn't keen to run into Kitty's gang again, and he knew they weren't the only people out there taking what they wanted by force. His stomach twisted as he thought of the charred corpse at Sam's house, and of Mr. Schue decomposing in the sun.

Fortunately, the route to Yoakam Road from the Berrys' house didn't pass by Mr. Schue's body, and the few bodies they did see were nobody Blaine knew.

As they drew closer to Yoakam, Blaine walked straighter, taking longer strides. He was eager to get to the truck and load up their packs, already looking forward to returning home.

For the past month, the Target truck had been a solace — a source of both food and security. Whenever Blaine had begun to panic, lying awake at night and feeling alone and certain he was going to die, he could always circle back to this: they had a substantial cache built up at the Berrys' house and plenty more still to unload from the truck. They wouldn't starve, or at least they wouldn't starve soon.

And now, as they rounded the corner onto Yoakam Road, Blaine's heart dropped into his stomach.

Burt swore under his breath, slowing to a stop.

The truck stood exactly where they'd left it, the rear door wide open. Empty cardboard boxes lay strewn and trampled across the surrounding pavement. The inside of the truck was completely empty. Not a single box remained.

"Damn it," said Burt, his shoulders falling. "Damn it."

Blaine's pulse pounded in his ears and fingertips. "What do we do?"

Burt took off his baseball cap, agitatedly scraping his palm over the crown of his head. "I guess we just head back. We'll figure something else out."

Blaine drew a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. They weren't completely screwed — not yet. They still had plenty of food stored back at the house. "Okay," he said, and followed as Burt turned and began walking the way they'd come.

"Damn it," Burt said again, shaking his head. "God, I hope Kurt's not dealing with this kind of crap."

Blaine bit his tongue. He knew just as well as Burt did that New York was probably much, much worse off than places like Lima. He'd tried not to think about it too much, because if he thought about it for long enough he was sure he'd never see Kurt again. In all likelihood, Kurt had never made it out of the city, and Blaine wasn't sure that keeping up hope would be less painful than assuming the worst.

Burt seemed to have the opposite philosophy. "When the power comes back, I'm dragging his ass back here," he said. "I don't care what I have to do, but he's never living anywhere else again."

Blaine smiled, easily able to picture the argument that would ensue if Burt tried to tie Kurt down to a place like Lima. Of course, things had changed, and if Kurt was still alive, maybe he'd want nothing to do with New York even if the world did go back to normal.

"I talked to him," Burt said, a faraway look in his eyes as he walked. "A few days before the blackout. Just a quick call; he was in the middle of running errands. He sounded busy." Burt laughed, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "Too busy for his old man."

"I was texting with him when it hit," Blaine replied, his heart aching.

Burt stopped short, shoes scraping on the pavement. "You were?"

"Yeah, a couple minutes before."

Burt stared openly at Blaine like he'd just been given the meaning of life itself. "What were you talking about? What was he doing?"

"He was at work. We were going to Skype later, but he got swamped and had to postpone," Blaine explained. "Something about a project deadline. I don't really remember. But he was at the Vogue office when the blackout happened, I know that much."

Burt was quiet for a long moment. "That office was on the forty-third floor," he said softly, almost to himself. "God, what he must have seen…"

Blaine swallowed, grief spiking in his chest. "Do— Do you think he's still alive?"

Burt's jaw twitched. "Yes. I do."

"Really?"

"Really. He's strong, and he's smart. He's always been a survivor," Burt said. "And I know these days that isn't much of a guarantee, but… I feel it, y'know? I feel it. He's out there."

Blaine wanted more than anything to believe Burt, but all he could think of was how many people hadn't made it, and how easy it would be for Kurt to be among them.

Burt's face hardened, certainty giving his voice a rough edge. "And you know what?" he asked, clamping a sure hand onto Blaine's shoulder. "We're going to go find him."