A/N: Seeing as it's the scariest time of the year, I figured what better a way to celebrate than with zombies? Also, it's this fic's first year anniversary! I know I'm not the most scheduled updater in the history of the world, but I couldn't pass this chance by. Great thanks to my beta for pumping this out in record time to deliver it to you and hammering out a faint outline to follow. Enjoy, and Happy Halloween!
Chapter 8
four days since last feed
For all your misgivings, you fall back into the routine of the compound fairly quickly.
You rise before the others to take your shower in relative peace, scrubbing away the potential sins of the blood crusted underneath your nails or the noises in your head, humming a dull tune as you wring out your limp hair and throw it back into a drooping ponytail that hangs low over your swan neck. Every day you debate not putting a bandage over your bite, but always think better of it; they may accept you, but who knows how long this kindness lasts?
Today is like no other, drowning out the world in a spray of warm water. It fills your mouth and washes away the lingering taste of any of your unfortunate meals, coursing into your eyes and down your nose until you choke on it, coughing it back up red. You've stopped worrying about the color—it always does that.
As you reach for the dwindling supply of soap, the shower-head sputters once and dies. You frown, smacking it with the side of your palm, willing it back to its feeble existence—sometimes it decides to be difficult and deny you the one thing that keeps you feeling human, and really, that's not very nice. After failing to return the stream, you sigh and awkwardly shuffle your way to the next stall, skirting along the wall with your eyes glued to the entrance. All of them should be sleeping save the lookout, their breath filling the silence of the night until the compound moans and sighs with its own exhale, but sometimes they slip past your open ears and you find their eyes watching and waiting for something you never quite know. Sometimes it's just odd, but when others do it... you shiver.
Reaching the other stall, you absent-mindedly crank the handle to scalding, standing there for what must be a minute or two before you realize there's no water spilling down. You look at the handle, wiggling it once or twice, even kicking the tiles like that will help at all. With a throbbing toe you try the next one, and the next, and the next... nothing. With a mounting dread, you try the sink. Not a single drop.
Fuck.
"People, calm the fuck down!" Quinn looks like a lion, her hair scattered all over and sticking up at all angles, her face screwed into a long-suffering scowl as she rubs her fingers over her brow. Your damp hair wets your shoulders and you shiver, the freezing water running down your spine. You hope they don't notice that you washed it with bottled water. "Artie, give me something, anything."
He nervously shifts his glasses up his nose. "Whatever water supply we were running on must have shut off or run out. It was a miracle it was running this long to begin with."
"Can you fix it?"
"The city's water supply? No. I'm surprised none of us have contracted some sort of disease from drinking it, honestly. Who knows how long it's gone without being purified."
Quinn runs her hands through her chaotic mane, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "Tina? What does this mean in terms of health?"
"We have enough bottled water for a few days, but it's not going to last."
"Meaning?"
"We need to do more scavenging or find another place to call home."
A chorus of disagreements sound from all directions and you flinch at their angry voices, bounding about like a hundred baying dogs. Most prominent are Puck and Quinn, fiercely battling with each other in what looks to be an epic yelling match, and other pockets mutter their dissent in quieter voices. Shadow stands strangely to the side, her cutting eyes raking over the whole scene curiously.
"Are you crazy?"
"Guys, can we just—"
"We've got a good thing here!"
"We can't just leave!"
"People, please—"
"The fuck are you thinking?"
"Would everybody shut the fuck up?" All heads turn to Mercedes, her arms crossed moodily over her chest. Even Quinn and Puck calm down, eyeing each other with glares like knives. "Y'all are acting like a bunch of brats. We need to review the facts."
"Like what?" Puck snaps. "We finally get our shit together, and now Chang One says we have to book it?"
"How do you propose we survive then, Puck?" Tina rebukes defensively. "Water is something we need. The best we can do is hope to catch rainwater - without it, zombies don't even come close to being our first enemy."
"We can find it in the other stores."
"Where in the other stores? Everything's been picked clean!"
"There's lots of water in Manhattan," you say, cutting a hole in their bickering. Not expecting to be heard, you swallow as the entire room turns their attention to you.
"That's where you were? Manhattan? Britt, that place is dangerous!"
You shrug slightly, scratching at your temple with nervous habit until you feel the stitches, immediately snapping it back to your side. "I dunno, that's where I ended up."
"Where was the water?" Quinn asks, slightly calmer.
"The subways," you reply. "It would drip in through somewhere and make the tunnels all gross and wet. There wasn't that much when I got there, but I could go swimming by the time I left."
She frowns. "Was it raining?"
"Nope."
"The pumps!" Artie's cry makes you jump, bumping into Shadow before you can stop yourself. Her body stiffens under yours, and you swallow something strange at the feeling of her warmth seeping through your clothing and touching your skin, stroking nerves that have been dead for a long, long time. She moves away, and you immediately miss her closeness.
"What pumps?"
"Manhattan is an island, right? They put in pumps when they dug the subway to stop all the water from coming back in and ruining their work. They obviously weren't meant to function without a bunch of people cleanin' the cogs every day."
"So... the island will sink?"
"You got it, sister."
She blows out a long breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of all the places we were going to go, it had to be New York."
"Hey, at least we aren't in Hawaii. We would've been so—"
With a dull sigh of mechanical lungs, the lights flicker and go out.
Everyone immediately begin to panic, bodies crushing into each other as they scramble for the switches. You, with your eyes that can cut away the darkness like a knife cleaving flesh, watch impassively as they all stumble about blind and helpless, fingers touching walls and doors and others, coiling back on instinct when they meet something warm and moving. What is it about the darkness that scares them so? Only the basement haunts you, with its stale memories and false promises, the single swinging bulb offering no protection against the things that lurk inside your head.
A click and a beam of light; Finn recoils and blinks hard when his flashlight shines directly up into his face. "I got it!" They all crowd around the source like it is their last breath of air, its halo illuminating the blood-spattered ceiling. Dimly, you wonder if a paint job would make it look cheerier.
In the harsh shadows that cast angles down the shapes of their sharp cheekbones, they all seem younger and more scared. Quinn chews on her lip for a moment before nodding to Mike, who shifts his grip on Artie's limp legs around his hips. "Go see what happened with the power. Do you have a flashlight?"
"'Course, woman." An eerie blue beam washes over a section of the wall where Artie points it. "Let's go see what's up, Mike."
They leave the circle and instantly their absence is sealed by shuffling bodies, murmuring between each other uncertainly. Mercedes turns and sees the glimmer of your eyes in the dark, jumping a little before beckoning you forward. The light hurts so you simply hover over her shoulder that has become tense with stress. You pet her hair gently to will it away.
"If the power doesn't come back on, we should think about leaving," Quinn mutters, soft with defeat, and this time Puck doesn't have the energy to dispute. In the uncomfortable silence that follows, you see Tina's lips form a ghost of a smirk. It may be victory for her, but it is decidedly hollow.
"Where would we go?" somebody asks, but Quinn just shakes her head.
An echoing bang reverberates through the space and moments later Artie and Mike reappear, faces grim.
"Cheap-ass generator busted out on us. Something's up with the motor."
"Can you fix it?"
"With the parts we got? Nah. City lights are dead too, so we can't use that."
Days ago the straining streelights had flickered out with but a gentle hum of electricity, bathing the streets in nothing but the cold wavering light of the moon overhead. The stars are an explosion of light that streaks across the sky now, the band of your galaxy burning bright through the night. Sometimes you stand outside just to watch other suns in their path across the sky.
"So, what? We have to leave?"
Artie shrugs slightly, pushing his cracked glasses up his nose. "Looking like it."
Silence prevails and shrouds the previously chaotic space as nobody moves, gazes bouncing between each other in a dare to speak first. They look to Quinn, but her expression is a blank mask, lips drawn into a tight line, and she looks so void of emotion that you think for a moment that she's died upright.
"Let's think about this, guys," Shadow steps in, shielding Quinn with her body, eyes cutting momentarily to her friend before flitting away. "What do we need?"
"Food!"
"Water!"
"Weapons!"
"My dick in—"
Her foot connects with Puck's shin before he can finish his sentence and he hisses as he hops away.
"We can't do anything until we look through the entire compound," Kurt says quietly, his head already turned to the upstairs that has been chained tight and shut away. Eyes now adjusted, they see adull sliver of moonlight seeps down from under the doorway and stains Puck's nearby shoe a glowing silver.
(A burning confusion that melts away the floor as somebody pulls you up the stairs, your body howling and protesting with the movement. A whispered prayer, a mumbled command, a sea of white.)
"We already tried that, Gaylord," Shadow snaps. "Whatever's up there obviously don't want to come down."
"Santana, no need to be—"
"What if we climbed?"
Everybody looks at Quinn, her lips turned into a questioning frown. Your ears tune outside to the storm that has begun to rage, pelting rain upon the pavement, slicking every foothold and railing. Thunder rolls overhead and the dead cry in disarray.
"What, outside?"
Her unamused gaze cuts to Sam. "Where else?"
All of you slowly gravitate to the window, peering out from the chink between two boards, Finn attempting to shine his flashlight through the cracks. All is obscured by the driving gale and the early morning that has not yet given away into daylight, but your special eyes can see the shadows that flicker in and out of sight.
It doesn't seem to deter Quinn, who taps pensively at her mouth. "Anybody have any better ideas?"
The silence that ensues has her mouth stretch into a victorious smirk.
Mid-morning and you're taking yet another shower, standing outside in the booming rain while you watch Shadow tentatively feel along the decrepit side of the building for any handholds, her thick hoodie hiding her expression. She had flatly refused Quinn's offer to be the monkey (look at you, scrawny ass white bitch) and glared when Puck offered to lift her, his hand planted firmly on her ass. Her hair sticks to her jaw as she jumps up to hang onto a metal pole, small legs waving for a moment before she hooks them securely over the pipe. Her eyes, visible even in the storm, momentarily lock with yours.
You approach her, and your position reminds you of a movie you think you watched, though you have to duck to be level with her eyes. She can't escape here and the lines of her face turn guarded, her knees clamping down over the pole tucked underneath them. "You want something?" she asks dryly, letting her arms dangle loose.
"Not really," you respond, turning to rummage in your bag. The heavy book weighs in your palm and you take it out, shielding it the best you can from the squall. "I got you this while I was gone."
Her eyes squint to read it upside-down, her expression smoothing out into surprise once she does. It makes her whole face seem happier and less guarded, younger. The world may be blind but you dream in color, and recently color has been the shining shade of her skin, soft and cold from the rain.
She recovers almost too quickly for you to notice, but you always do. "What makes you think I'd want something like that?" she sneers, but the way her eyes flicker tell no lies.
"I see you reading sometimes at night," you say, tucking the book to your chest. "It looks confusing, but you seem to like it. If you don't want to read it that's okay, but... here." You gently unzip her little pack and place it in the smallest empty pocket, making sure to secure it nice and firm. She licks her wet lips and parts them soundlessly before deciding otherwise and letting her mouth curl into a hesitant half-smile.
Her thank you is silent, but you understand.
All too soon she is making her way up, hands reaching over hands and feet planting themselves wherever they so choose, her hair sticking over her eyes. Below, Tina runs around with every clean container she can find, sometimes even raising her arms up to the sky in an effort to collect more water. Her dress sticks to her body and she looks almost crazed for a moment with the waterfall coming down, like that woman you met in the subway before the sick ones took away her sight.
A few of the boys ward away the stragglers that come to investigate the racket, their weapons striking them down before they can comprehend anything at all. Quinn shades her eyes as she watches Shadow climb, her knotted brows the only outwards sign of worry.
"She'll be okay," you tell her, smiling as she jumps. Quinn never knows what to think of you, but that's okay because you don't really know what to think about yourself, either.
"I know," she sighs, wiping water from her eyes. The two of you watch as she grips the edge of the windowsill, balancing herself ever so carefully on her fingertips and a rusty metal beam at her feet. She scans the window for a moment, debating, her fingers trying for the latches that refuse to give. Her shoulders huff a moment in frustration before she reaches into her bag for something, flipping her hood over her wet hair, drawing it into her fist before she rears back and launches it at the window.
Glass shatters and the noise makes you jump, Shadow ducking her head as it rains down around her. She clears away the excess upon the lip with the item in her hand - a brick? - and grumbles something in exasperation, her head and shoulders disappearing into the dark room in front of her. The rest of her body wiggles forward until only her legs are hanging outside in the rain.
You can spot the exact moment she stiffens and begins to pull away, but it doesn't help her any as she scrabbles for purchase on the brick. She shrieks a moment too late and her grip slips on the wet face, her hands barely finding the windowsill before she plunges down onto the pavement below.
A hand grips her collar, and it seems she has greater concerns.
"Shoot it!" she roars as the grumbling man attempts to haul her into the room, his ironwood grip crushing. Puck whips his shotgun up but Quinn immediately smacks it down, her eyes like fire.
"That'll hit her, you imbecile!"
"What else do you want me to do?"
A pistol hasn't a good enough range, and the only rifle is strapped across Shadow's back uselessly, the strap digging into her tender neck. The man groans and swipes for her, dead fingers tangling in a fistful of her dark locks.
"Little help, assholes?" Despite her words you can sense the panic in her tone—either she falls however many feet, or the man pulls her inwards and buries his teeth in the soft, fleshy junction of her throat. Everybody mills about helplessly, a few shots fired whizzing up and striking him in the chest. It doesn't bother him in the slightest.
Your feet take you on a path you had forgotten, ducking into the bathroom and snatching up the weapon you had laid down while taking a shower. In the chaos you had forgotten it, but its bulk is now imposing in your grip as you sprint back out into the open.
Shadow now dangles from nothing but the man's grip alone, her fingers cut raw and drip drip dripping her blood below. It spatters onto your face and you blink it from your eyes, your vision blurring as you attempt to line up the shot. Puck notices your struggle.
"Let me do it," he reaches for your gun but you remember the boy on the Empire State and how John isn't here for you this time so you try and draw back, out of his reaching grasp, but his large hands crush yours around the trigger and a round is fired off before each of you can blink. Shadow yelps, a large slice of red blooming across her cheek and seeping down into the collar of her shirt. The blood distracts the man, one of his hands untangling from her hair to reach, and she grimaces as she curls away.
"Get your shit sorted out!" Even from high up she sounds livid, scrabbling away as his fingers search for her wound. Puck wrenches the gun out of your grip but fires before he fully focuses; the bullet drills through the man's forearm in a wicked explosion of bone and blood, leaving nothing attached but a few tendons. Shadow watches as they snap one by one, her throat quivering in a swallow before the last detaches and she tumbles down below.
For a moment you think she'll hit the pavement and you'll have to scoop her brains back into her shattered skull, just like the boy in Manhattan, but she catches herself clumsily on the pipe that had given her bearing on the way up. It jams under her arm and she cries out as she hooks herself around it, shoulder shivering with the strain. She manages to loop her foot over it just as Puck delivers the killing blow.
"You good, Satan?" he calls, and even in the gloom you see the glare of a thousand demons come to earth.
"I look like I'm good, Fuckerman?" she grits out, wincing as the pole groans a little in protest of her weight. "You gonna come help me out, you piece of shit?"
His climb is a lot less eventful than hers, and even down on the ground you hear her swear as he pulls her up through the window.
Those that can clamber up after them; you, Sam, Quinn and Tina, Mike staying down below with Artie and the others. The rust under your hands is anchoring, licking at your fingers with a kitten's tongue, and it's only now you notice Shadow's blood spattered on the brick and dribbling down your eye; you swipe it away before it touches your tongue and would leave you paralyzed save for the want of more.
The top floor of the compound has the distinct scent of old death. You smell sweat and dried blood and fear, thick and heavy, blanketing the room. The stairway to your right is cold and abandoned, dark as night, and to your left is what looks to be an examination room covered in sterile white sheets. At least, they used to be sterile.
Your feet take you slowly down the long corridor with your fingers trailing in the dust that has accumulated over many idle months, vague footprints of another time shadowing your own path. The memories bound in your broken brain like a reel with pieces cut out; snapshots of something you can't quite grasp come to you as you touch each new thing—a scalpel, a piece of paper, a hospital gown. The last room down the hall is shrouded in a white, gauzy curtain, and your bones tremble as you push it aside.
For all intents and purposes, it is everything like the others. A single chair sits lonely in the middle of the room, the sole light dull and cold. Counters with hastily washed equipment lie uncleaned, the blood spattered about in the sink, and the window to the right is covered in bloody handprints. It, like all other places, has had the signs of a struggle. If it wasn't for the great pool of red beside the seat, you could almost pass it by.
Memories burn, and this time you do not extinguish the flame, crawling hesitantly into the reclined chair and lying down, your body stiff and uncertain. The spreading stain of red halos out from the healing wound on your temple, the tracks it made still visible in a rusty trail. Your heart booms as you study and study and study the single swinging light, willing that which wishes to stay hidden forward into the dawn.
(A room like all other rooms, but it holds a secret, a betrayal, and a fate sealed in stone.)
Your feet shift uncomfortably on the upholstery and you lick at your paper lips, your fingers fluttering over the restraints at the arms before darting away. The long-forgotten throb in your forearm begins as you squeeze your eyes shut, digging and picking at the deepest reaches of you.
(People screaming and crying and you are so very far from home, here with the white and the pain and the burning. Daddy has blue eyes but they are tired eyes, haunted eyes, following watching wishing.)
Your nails dig deep crescent moons into the arms and find holes in the exact pattern that fit like a forgotten glove, your teeth grinding together as you writhe in your seat. Flashes of bright color come to you in explosions that dance across your eyelids, mere fractions of sound that scream past. Your world is falling apart at the seams and you are the one that is ripping, tearing at the stitches that hold the haze over your mind and the madness that so wants to claim the very reaches of you until you are nothing more than this stupid monster—
(A million meaningless apologies that say nothing at all as the coldness is pressed against you and the tears drip down onto your face and the world is so sharp, so harsh, you feel yourself burning burning burning until you simply melt away.)
"Oh my God, Britt, what are you doing?"
A hand on your shoulder and you lose your grip on that barrier, thrown back into your muddled mind with a gasp. You bolt upright, sweat slicking your forehead, jaw aching. Tina peers into your dilated eyes worriedly but you smile shakily and will her concern away.
"I'm okay. I just lose myself sometimes."
She looks at you until you feel you are about to splinter apart, her gaze taking in all the little things that you wish you could bury far and away. "Did you find it?"
"Find what?"
"Yourself."
"Oh... no, not really," you shrug, taking her hand and delighting when she doesn't pull away. "I think it's gone for good. They took it."
"Who took it?"
"I dunno yet."
To avoid the pity in her stare you drag her away from the chair and the bad memories that clamor for your attention in shrieking voices, weaving in and around the others that scuttle from room to room in an effort to find anything of significance. Something deep inside already tells you there is little they will find, everything of use being stripped clean by stranger hands.
Sam methodically goes about stripping counters and the cabinets for supplies, carefully laying them into a backpack given earlier, each room checked and rechecked until all is accounted for. Tina follows you and you follow the sound of swearing to the staircase where Shadow slumps against the wall, Puck slamming at the unmoving door with his heavy boot. Her left hand cradles her right shoulder gingerly, everything about her stance hunched and uncomfortable.
"Are you okay?" Tina asks. Despite the tightness in her tone—there is an animosity there that wasn't present before, and you hope it's not your doing—her eyes worry in ways her body cannot, her fingers squeezing tighter to yours for a sliver of a second.
"Peachy, Chang One," she grunts out, hissing a shallow breath. "I'd be better if this moron could open the door."
He shoots her an irritated glare. "You try opening this fuckin' reinforced door, chica. There's a reason your fine ass climbed up there in the first place."
Another bang, another failure. The sound makes you nervous even though you hear no deadened hearts murmuring to themselves in the compound. (All this noise is making you deaf.)
Sam pokes his head around the corner, his backpack bulging with supplies. "We can head back down now."
Puck grits his teeth, rearing back for another hit. "I almost got... this stupid, fucking—" he charges but it swings open a moment before he connects, stumbling forward through the open entryway and sprawling in a heap. Nobody moves until Shadow starts to laugh in great gasping hiccups that make her cringe with every exhalation, her mirth only growing as he lifts himself from the ground and reveals Kurt sprawled under him, cradling his head. She laughs until she has to lean on Tina for support, her dark cheeks red.
"Did you see his fuckin' face?" she snickers, dissolving again. Puck swears under his breath and stalks off, her mocking laughter following him down the halls.
Tina staggers under her weight and you rush to help, sliding one hand over the curve of her hip and being careful not to crush her injured shoulder. Shadow stiffens but can do little to pull away until Tina rights herself and brings their axis back into proper alignment—they step out of your embrace and you remember the softness of her under your touch.
(You wonder what she—no, it's better not to.)
"Come on," Tina murmurs, bad blood temporarily forgotten. "Let's go get you all bandaged up."
"I don't need no bandaging," you hear her grump, but allows herself to be lead regardless. Her anger makes your lips quirk up into a small smile.
A groan catches your attention and you make your way over to Kurt, still sprawled on the floor. Puck hadn't bothered to help him up, and you touch gently at his wrist, swallowing the sudden flood of saliva in your mouth as you realize his pretty hair is stained red. Your fingers trail through his sticky locks with a smothered groan as it worms itself underneath your nails. You barely resist the urge to suck it from your skin.
"You okay?" you say roughly, patting his cheek to make sure he hasn't passed out. The boy mumbles on the floor and turns onto his side, pillowing his delicate cheekbone in his hand, and you shrug slightly. A hint of rust catches your eye as you're about to turn away.
Carefully you tease the thing from his hand, wiggling it from under his cheek until you hold it between your fingers. You remember this... your eyes cut to the chains, lax and released from their sentry, the piece of metal in your hand their relief. You had hidden it far away lest the shadows that lurk upstairs come down and you breathe them in while you sleep, but his sharp gaze must have unearthed it once again. It is slipped into your pocket and you rise, your fingers finding their way into your mouth as you wander down the corridor.
Muffled cursing floats through from the bathroom and you wipe your fingers on your pants in time to see Tina snipping away the last of Shadow's shirt, falling away from her slender frame with the faint flutter of fabric. The hint of caramel skin invokes something that you believed was long lost, a tiny flame flickering to life. You don't like its warmth in the frozen depths of your chest.
Bruising creeps across her strong shoulders and marks her body in a plethora of imperfections; red and blue and just a hint of purple, deepening as time goes by, curling under her arm and over her collar. She glowers at the white-washed wall as Tina handles her arm with care, lifting it to check for movement and gently pressing her fingers into the tender spots that make her hiss and pull away.
"I wish we had ice," Tina sighs, placing Shadow's arm back by her side. As her back is turned you silently go to rummage in the hidden cabinet around the corner, wordlessly handing over a strange jelly pack boasting instant cold! and even reusable! in bold letters, surrounded by icicles. She hums in surprise but nods as she twists it and it freezes in her adept hands, handing the package back over to you. "Can you go apply it? I don't want her doing it herself."
Your eyes dart nervously over to the scowling girl on the bench, but Tina gives you a pat of encouragement. "I talked to her, it's okay. She won't be mean anymore. Or, well, as mean."
But as you approach the long, sinuous length of her back, you realize that maybe that's not quite what you're afraid of.
The first touch of ice against her skin is unwarned and she jumps up with a shriek, spinning on her heel to face you before she winces and cradles her arm close to her chest. The blood in your cheeks makes the heat close to unbearable as you catch a glimpse of her firm, full breasts exposed to the open air. The cold pack drips condensation on the floor as she watches you trying to not watch her, the redness in your cheeks spreading to your ears and down your collar until your whole being feels like it wants to explode and implode at once.
"Tina, um, she said to do this for you. I should have asked." She keeps staring so you offer a hesitant, sheepish smile. "Sorry?"
"Santana, stop being difficult and let her help you." Tina's voice floats from across the hallway and Shadow lets out an irritated sigh, plopping back down on the bench and wordlessly turning her shoulder to you. You straddle your seat, carefully pressing the pack to her bruises, hyper-aware of just how close your fingers come to pressing the soft top of her breast. Goosebumps rise up her neck and prickle underneath her ear until she shudders, tilting her head away to release herself from your inquisitive gaze.
Free of her stare you allow your eyes to sweep over her form languidly, looking past the ugly bruising and the tense, stiff posture. She is beautiful in a way you hadn't noticed before, too caught up in her harsh words and taunting smirks. The curls of her locks tumble down her back and drape themselves over the curve of her shoulder-blades, fanning over her face and hiding her tiny ears from sight. Their softness is strange alongside the sharp and almost deadly slant of her jaw, the definition trembling when she swallows.
Your gaze travels downwards to the boyish cut of her hips and the gentle rhythm of her stomach as she inhales, the faint impression of her heart seen from underneath her skin. If you could, you would fan your hands out and count her ribs and the spaces between, the lungs that keep you up through the night yielding under your touch. You don't realize you're staring at the beat of her heart until her hair tickles your fingers as she turns to you.
"You act like you've never seen them before." Her voice is husky in a strange way and it does something to you, scrambling your thoughts as you whip your head back up to meet her eyes. They crinkle as she smirks but for once the light in them isn't mocking.
"S-seen what?"
Her good hand motions to her chest, unconsciously trailing her fingers over her own skin. "Tits. Boobs... breasts, as the hobbit would say. You've been staring for the past five minutes."
Your cheeks redden again and you try to hide yourself in your hair, hastily readjusting the ice pack so it presses more against her side. She hisses at the sudden pressure but you can't find it in yourself to offer an apology.
"I just... it's different when you're like this."
"Like what?"
You shrug, unsure. "Nicer? I don't know. You look different."
Upon further inspection you can see the silver-fine scars from a million untold stories, pulling down her ribs and across her stomach and under her breasts. You almost lose yourself again before she snaps her fingers in front of your face and you jerk up, startled.
"I look the same, Britt. You're just crazy." She says it so plainly that you can't help but smile faintly.
"Yeah, maybe I am."
You sit with her for a long time, pressing the cold to different parts of her body. At one point your fingers graze her side and she shivers so intensely you squeak out an apology, thinking you've hurt her, but she waves you away after clearing her throat. If you look carefully, you see the faintest hints of a blush upon her face, but it's gone before it could be anything but a ghost. As you progress you end up propping her bad arm upon your shoulder, gingerly placing the compress under the crook of her arm where the damage is greatest. Her jaw twitches in a grimace but she makes no outward move to complain, curling her fingers and catching strands of your hair in her tight, unforgiving grip.
Footsteps sound and a head of blonde hair walks into the room, her dry chuckle the only sign she appeared. "Look at you two, all cozy and friendly."
Shadow snarls and makes to pull away but a fit of bravery has your hand clamping down over her forearm, giving her a warning glare until she gives up and keeps it resting on your shoulder, groaning when you press harder into a sore spot. "Shut up, Fabray," she grunts out. "I'm capable of hospitality sometimes."
"Are you sure? You've been kind of a raging bitch for a while now."
Shadow opens her mouth to argue until you mumble your agreement, her head whipping to you, but she can't break your blank stare you have perfected over so many sleepless nights. "I can't help it. All these zoms wandering around remind me of the ghettos in Adjacent."
Quinn quirks a disbelieving eyebrow. "You lived in the richest part of town, Santana."
She sputters indignantly, curling up on herself when it puts pressure on her bruised muscles. "Go fuck yourself, blondie," she grits out eventually, strain evident in the corners of her mouth. "I risk my ass for all of you just to have Gayface ruin it for me."
"Be nice. We think he has a concussion."
(His blood stains the backs of your teeth and something inside you quivers for more.)
"Too damn bad. I bet he liked being under Puck anyway."
Quinn rolls her eyes and admits defeat, turning to go. "We've found a bunch of stuff upstairs that might help... come out and look when you're decent."
"Do I have to wear a chastity belt?"
A middle finger appears around the doorway for a moment before it vanishes from sight.
"I think you can get up now," you mumble as you put the ice pack away. She nods, stiffly rotating her frozen shoulder, getting up and stretching out the best she can. Her good hand goes to pick up her shirt before she looks at the long cut through the middle and sighs, casting it down uselessly to the ground. Your fingers are on the buttons of your checkered top before you even think about it.
One of her eyebrows raises as you offer it to her, the fabric rough in your hand. She shrugs it over her shoulders and you remember fleetingly where you got it—the boy with the wide eyes as the sick took him away. Mercifully, Shadow doesn't mention the blood.
She does, however, stall on your frame, her eyes sweeping down your body in a frown. "What happened?" she asks, and you stare at her blankly until she motions at your collarbone where your tank top has not managed to conceal the scars on your chest of the man that played with your insides in the dark. Your skeleton arms do little to shield them from her prying gaze.
"I don't know," you mutter, stepping back as she moves forward. "I was like this when I woke up."
Shadow reaches for your wrists and you shove her back, almost sending her sprawling to the ground. She swallows a cry as your palm pushes on her shoulder and leans heavily against the bench for a moment, breathing loudly through her nose.
You shift awkwardly on the spot, nibbling at your lips. "I'm sorry," you whisper, so softly you don't think she heard it until she waves it away, standing upright with a grimace. There isn't the anger that would be there had another done it, and you wonder what caused the change.
"It's fine," she sighs out, tossing her torn garment at you so that it may cover your scars just as your shirt covers hers. "We should go."
You put it on and it smells like sweat and spice and something real.
The main lobby is a clamor of noise and flashing light as people pour over the things taken from upstairs; a measly can of fuel, a few flashlights, and some dried beef jerky that looks more like animal food. Tina and Rachel are more interested with the documents, hunching over their little lantern they found in the basement and scanning each and every one for information about their situation. Most of it is scientific jargon lost in translation, Artie furrowing his brows as he attempts to decipher the scrawled, hasty hand.
When you and Shadow emerge from the bathroom it is met by distracted greetings and a single laugh, your eyes tracing it back to Puck who sneers and runs his greedy eyes over Shadow's frame.
"Lookin' good in the trucker getup, chica," he chuckles. "What'll it take for you to pick me up?"
"Stop being such a pig, maybe," she replies with a sweetly venomous smile. "Oh wait, I keep forgetting that's impossible. I'd rather let a pig fuck me instead."
"That's inappropriate, both of you." You flick your eyes over to the only adult—what did they call him? Mr. Schue?—who tries his best to act stern from his position in the corner. Puck only scoffs and slumps back in the chair while Shadow pulls a nail-file from her pocket, ignoring him.
You're not sure what to think about him. Was he their mentor once? Teacher? His leadership seems to have fallen apart in the face of adversity, and now he is dead weight hanging from their backs without something like Artie's mind to balance the difference. He's tried hard to keep a semblance of normalcy, his clothing less bloodied than yours, but it's a losing battle. This world will always claim its victims in the end.
"A pig's orgasm will go on for five minutes." They all turn to you and you flush as you realize you've said it aloud again, your blood bleeding in under your cheeks until you go the color of the boy splayed out on the foot of the Empire State. Shadow snickers under her breath and you think you hear Sam whisper awesome, but it's drowned out by the heartbeat pulsing in your ears.
"Brittany, was that really necessary?" Mr. Schue looks at you and you furrow your brows.
"If you need to ask, don't you have the answer?" you ask, not recognizing the scold in his tone. His eyebrows shoot up over his forehead and almost disappear in the tangled mess of curls that make up his hair—he could be hiding a full nest in there and nobody would know. (You aren't good with birds. You eat them instead.)
"Excuse me?"
"She means stop trying to act like everybody's dad, Mr. S," Artie calls from his position reading the papers. "It don't fly no more."
"Artie, as your teacher—"
"You were our glee instructor, Mr. Schue," Shadow drawls, bored, inspecting her nails. "If that weren't lame enough, you were our sometimes-Spanish teacher who can't even speak Spanish and then checked out when we were busy being run down by crazy dead people."
The whole room mutters their agreement and there is a piece of the puzzle you're missing, a discrepancy that is visible in the angry set of her jaw and the pleading stare of his eyes. You go to ask Mercedes but Rachel shrieks before you can, sending you skittering for cover.
You crouch behind the table and press your hands over your ears until she stops, squeezing your eyes shut and swallowing the quiet whimpers. There is warm air upon your neck and soft hands tracing patterns on your bicep and you allow it, letting them sew details into your skin until your heart stops pounding and you can peek over the ledge. Everybody either stares or pretends not to, and Tina smiles softly as you shakily stand upright.
Rachel marches in front of you, going to grasp your hands before you pull away. Unbothered, she smiles instead in what you think might be her version of contriteness, but really she just looks like a shark.
"Brittany, I apologize profusely for startling you. It was insensitive of me to realize that there are people here with a more fragile psyche than mine, and they may not be able to take sudden, loud noises, as my voice can sometimes be."
You nod slowly and she takes for acceptance for she spins on her heel, rushing back to her papers. "Members of Glee club, I believe I have found something huge!" She holds up one of many sheets of paper in the pile, an almost unreadable scrawl looped across the page in bold letters. "The previous occupants of this compound left a note for their co-workers about their next destination should they run into problems. I believe this should be our next waypoint in our trip to find a permanent home."
"Where is it?" Quinn asks, making to snatch the paper from her hand before Rachel withdraws it.
"There is no exact address, but a set of GPS markers that we could either look for manually on a map or through some piece of technology that still works."
A shuffling of papers, and Artie blows his unkempt hair from his eyes hesitantly.
"What is it, Geekatron?" Shadow sighs.
"These guys... whatever they were doing, something was up. I keep getting things like 'patient' and 'symptoms' and other sketchy stuff."
The compound looks at each other warily for a few moments. "Is it worth risking our lives to go to a bunch of crazies?"
He shrugs. "They knew what they were doing. Were they doing the right thing? Beats me."
Quinn taps her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "Let's have a vote."
Puck raises an eyebrow. "Are we in Glee club again?"
She ignores him. "All in favor of going after these guys?"
Rachel shoots her hand in the air, and for a fleeting moment nobody moves until one by one, more join her. Tina is first, Mike following soon after; Mercedes, Quinn, Finn and even Shadow grudgingly raises her hand. Artie wiggles uncomfortably but joins in agreement. All others join until you alone keep your hand down.
Something is wrong about this place, and following the feeling will only result in misery. You want to say all these things and beg them to understand the bad memories that bounce around in your head, but your fractured mind refuses to let them pour forth. It remains nothing but an abstracted feeling, a fleeting thought, a ghost of a memory. You remember white and crying and the coppery scent of death.
Instead of saying these things, under their watchful eyes, you raise your hand in defeat.