AN: Here we go, on to the main action. Hope you enjoy. Also (Sarah), please remember that goats are evil.
In his life Before, Andrew had lived in Las Vegas. Beautiful, trashy, wonderful Las Vegas – back Before - before the city had died and the desert buried it like some long lost Egyptian city.
He hadn't been rich or all that important, but he'd loved his life. Playing piano in a swanky little bar hadn't done much more than pay the bills and his tab... it had been enough though. He'd gotten to do something he honestly loved - and then there were the girls to consider. God, they were everywhere.
It had been perfect, and Andrew had never had any intention of leaving behind the glitter of Vegas.
Until, like in that stupid movie – the latest and greatest zombie, end of the world whatever – fucking zombies had ruined everything. Except, unlike in the movies, it was very real; his neighbor really was snacking on the pizza delivery guy instead of the Domino's pepperoni he'd ordered.
Andrew had survived and spent a year by himself, mostly, first getting his ass the hell out of Vegas and then holing up in whatever 'safe' place he could find while scavenging what he could. He wasn't Rambo or even that badass chick from the zombie movie. He was just Andrew the piano man, looking out for numero uno. That had worked out for awhile, and then Rachel Berry and her convoy had showed up and he thought he'd finally gotten lucky.
But now - sitting in the desert with only the moon for light and in a dugout on lookout duty - now he wondered for the millionth time if he'd made the right choice.
Sure, he was safer now, traveling in numbers, and there was more food (or there had been), but as time went on he found himself hating the convoy more than appreciating it. Traveling all day, cooped up with a bunch of other dirty people, sweating his balls off under the sun, only to make camp, sleep for a few hours and then do it all over again. He hated it, missed the freedom and selfishness he was afforded when it was just him looking out for himself. More than that, he couldn't stand being bossed around by Rachel and her 'leader' group. He wasn't a soldier, had no desire to be one either, and all this trench digging and following orders business was seriously grating.
The pipsqueak was loud and, yeah, maybe kind of intimidating, but he'd gotten to where the sound of her voice made him start imagining her death. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how Rachel had gotten to be the 'big boss' around the convoy. The woman was a singer, and everyone treated her like she was some warrior goddess from another planet.
"Andrew, dig a hole to sit in. Andrew, we're going to need you to risk your life staying up all night to watch for zombies. Andrew, make sure to scream really loud when the zombies start to eat you so we can save our asses. You don't mind, do you?" he mumbled sleepily and propped his bristly jaw up on his palm. He glanced over at the circle of vehicles, and glared when his gaze landed on Rachel's Bronco at the head. She was probably asleep, snoring and maybe drooling, curled up on the bench seat all comfortable and warm. Andrew snorted and turned his attention back to the never ending expanse of desert before him. The wind happened to pick up just as he did and he caught an eyeful of gritty sand. Cursing under his breath he blinked rapidly and resisted the urge to rub. Rubbing made it worse; he'd learned that first hand. Tears filled his eyes and he pressed his shirt gently against them, hoping they would flush out on their own. He didn't want to waste water.
When the stinging finally became bearable again he squinted through heavy eyelids back out on the plane. Still nothing.
Of course there was nothing. They were in the fucking desert.
Andrew caught himself just as his head started to bob, sleep threatening to drag him under whether he wanted it or not.
Damn Rachel Berry and her surveillance shifts or whatever she called them. It was like some form of psychological, brainwashing torture.
His eyelids drooped and he decided he could get away with a few seconds of rest. A cat nap. It's not like anyone was going to catch him and the desert was as empty as it always was. He would have bet his life that it would stay that way all night – so he could afford some shut eye. There was no danger out here, no matter what Rachel thought. Just tumbleweeds and the occasional ground squirrel thing.
Checking the convoy one more time, to make sure nobody was checking on him, he sighed and dipped his chin down to his chest. Smirking as his eyes closed, he promised himself it was only for a couple of minutes.
The first gunshot had Rachel bolting upright in the cab of her truck, mind clear, sharp and focused, like she'd gotten more than a couple of hours of nightmare plagued sleep. At the second she was already scooping Mick up from the floorboard and rolling out of the Bronco directly into Hell.
It was complete chaos. People were screaming, running, guns were going off left and right – it sounded like popcorn. But the flash of the muzzles and the screams and shouts of her people did not remind her of movie nights.
"Ethan?" She yelped and ducked as a bullet went whizzing past her head. "Ethan!"
"Rachel, here!"
She jerked and squinted in the moonlight, and finally caught sight of Ethan crouched against the grille of his dusty Suburban, a troop of terrified children huddled close behind him. Rachel scrambled out from the relative cover of the driver side door and pitched herself towards him. "The fuck?" she asked rather poignantly.
"Scavengers." Ethan growled through gritted teeth. He popped up over the hood of the vehicle and fired off a few more rounds, a chorus of yelps and groans answering the crack of the rifle. Rachel peeked around and winced as shadowy figures swarmed the truck where they kept their food. She brought Mick around and squeezed the trigger. Two figures dropped. Her heart jumped into her throat, threatening to strangle her, when she saw two more shadowy shapes pulling a shrieking woman from the van.
Setting her jaw she turned her face up to Ethan. "Put the kids in the car and get out of here."
"Rachel…"
"Take them and go," she ordered, pinning him in place with a hard glare.
Satisfied the he would do as told, Rachel set her sights back on the woman being dragged away by her hair. Biting into her lip she edged her way around the car and fired again, unsurprised to hear Ethan's rifle go off beside her offering covering fire. She gladly accepted the brief help and took off crouched low, cradling her pistol. She fired again, hands steady around the familiar grip and felt, more than heard, the chamber lock back. Out of ammo. She'd managed to hit one of her targets and she didn't even spare him a glance as she kept after the hulking mass dragging a member of her convoy. Shoving Mick back into the holster strapped to her thigh she pushed herself into a sprint, closing the gap between herself and the barbaric bastard. Tossing herself onto his back they hit the sand, and Rachel felt her teeth click together as her nose smashed into his shoulder blades. She groaned, laying flat on top of the stunned man. When she turned her head she saw the other woman nearby staring at her with wide eyes.
"Run!"
He was so much bigger than her and most likely armed, and she knew if he made it to his feet he'd easily overpower and kill her. Slapping at her thigh, she searched for her Ka-Bar but came up empty handed, realizing in the fleeting moment that it was still sitting on the dash in her car.
Adrenaline urged her to flee, but something else - something stronger - had taken hold.
Anger.
Rachel clasped her hands together and brought them down with all the force and weight she could, slamming her fists down at the base of the scavenger's neck. He fell back down with a grunt and she scrambled to her feet, lashing out with her foot and aiming at his face. The toe of her boot connected with a satisfying crunch.
Her nose was bleeding - she could feel it running, hot and sticky, down her face, mixing with the dirt and leaving grit in her mouth. She spit a mouthful of coppery tasting sludge and drew her foot back to kick again.
He reached out too fast for her to avoid and grabbed her ankle, yanking with a steely grip. Her breath left her in an explosive whoosh as her back collided with the ground and she gasped, trying in vain to get air back into her body as he flopped on top of her.
She tried to crawl backwards out from under him but he pinned her hips to the ground and then sat on her stomach, effectively trapping her. Rachel threw a vicious cross, her attacker merely leaning out of range of her fist and then capturing her wrists, slamming them down above her head and using one meaty paw to clasp both and keep her from trying to punch or claw at him again. She didn't scream or shout, knowing it wouldn't do any good at all. Struggling to get a hand free she pitched her hips up, trying to throw him off balance or off of her in general, the only sounds escaping her mouth grunts and growls of exertion and fury.
He reached down at his waist and pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from his belt. Rachel's stomach plummeted as she eyed the nasty curve of the gut hook gleaming at her in the moonlight, and she screwed her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the white hot pain to light up her senses.
"Hey!"
Rachel jerked at the voice – she knew that voice – and opened her eyes just in time to see a woman slap the man on top of her with a shovel. It rang dully as it bashed against his head, and he dropped off of her with a groan.
But her savior wasn't done, turning and bringing the shovel down again, swinging it like an axe. Rachel had to look away as the blows continued and the wet sound made her want to gag.
When the noises ceased she peered up again and froze.
"Quinn?"
"Rachel?"
Rachel licked at her chapped lips and tried to figure out something to say in response, but then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and could only shout, "Ethan, no!" a second too late.
The butt of his rifle had already connected solidly with Quinn's temple.
It was like being in a time-warp. Seeing Quinn Fabray appear had thrown her back into the past as surely as a time machine.
Sure, Quinn was older, dirtier, than the memories Rachel hung on to, but she was still Quinn. There was no mistaking those features. Hell, everyone in the convoy was likely to recognize her from the stupid, tattered, sun-bleached billboards they drove past that boasted Quinn's face - promoting her latest and greatest film. It was different for Rachel. So different. When she saw those billboards she didn't think of a movie star, or lament over the fact that they'd never see the sequel to Quinn Fabray's last movie. She thought of cheerleaders, red and white skirts, annoyingly effortless grace and elegance... Then her thoughts would taper and she'd chase them around her head like Alice after the White Rabbit. Hazel eyes that could spear you in an instant and make you quake with fear, but also held the power to weaken your knees and steal your breath with the bottomless sadness they could project. She'd think of pink hair and babies with perfect blonde curls. Sometimes she thought of Sharpie markers and embarrassing bathroom graffiti, and invariably a softly sung duet.
Crouched in the back of the Bronco right next to Quinn's shoulders, Rachel shook her head to clear out the cobwebs of the past and carefully sat down to take the stress off her legs. She hadn't expected Quinn to be out so long, but Ethan had apparently hit her harder than she'd thought. Her fingers twitched in her lap, itching to touch that bruise blossoming on the side of Quinn's face; somehow she doubted the gesture would be appreciated should sleeping beauty decide to wake at the caress of calloused fingers. Rachel sighed and rolled her head back, palm against the base of her neck until she felt and heard a satisfying crack and settled back to wait some more.
Quinn's people had protested rather heatedly when Rachel had Ethan move Quinn into the Bronco. They stood a good distance away crowded around the front of their beat up Silverado, all with their arms crossed – Rachel could feel them glaring even across the distance.
But she didn't care - not in the slightest - how they felt about the situation. Not when someone she knew from Before was here, not a figment but actually physically present. She'd be damned before she let them take Quinn away and drive off into the horizon.
Fuck that.
There were only three of them, two lanky men and a woman who looked even shorter than Rachel herself, but they were armed to the teeth and better equipped than anyone Rachel had come across in a long time. Kevin was keeping an eye on them and the rest of the group was giving them a lot of space, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to be intimidated. Quinn was with them, after all, so as badass as they were playing things she figured they weren't going to be any trouble at all.
"Rachel, this is a bad idea," Ethan said, announcing his presence as he came around the Bronco. His gaze remained trained on the three fuming survivors as he spoke, ever the protector.
"You hit her in the head with a rifle, Ethan." Rachel shot him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye before returning her attention to Quinn.
"Yes, I did. I thought she was going to kill you." He winced and turned to regard Rachel, who was still watching Quinn with a hopeful look, pointedly ignoring him. "What I meant was… we should have just given her back to them with an apology. We don't need to go making enemies."
"I know her," Rachel barely breathed, hardly able to believe it herself, saying it aloud just made it more surreal. She knew this person.
"We all know her," Ethan grumbled and shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's Quinn Fabray, big time, bad-ass action movie actress extraordinaire."
Rachel snorted and swiped at the sweat gathering at her hairline. "No, I mean I know know her. We went to school together."
"You went to school with Quinn Fabray?"
"A long time ago, a lifetime ago." Rachel smirked at the incredulity in his tone, already replaying various past memories. "She actually probably did want to kill me a couple of times back then, but we were friends."
"You realize that sounds ridiculous? Two of the biggest names in the entertainment industry went to the same tiny school in Nowhere, Ohio?"
"It may sound crazy, but it's the truth." A traitorous hand moved before Rachel could catch herself and her fingertips grazed through the smear of dirt along Quinn's cheek.
Quinn mumbled and twitched at the contact, just as Rachel predicted she would. Hazel eyes slowly opened to half mast and then flew fully open as Quinn jerked awake. Rachel grimaced, grabbing Quinn's shoulders to keep her from moving too much, too soon. "Quinn," she said, thrilled to hear that name come out of her mouth - so thrilled in fact that she had to say it again. "Quinn, slow down. You took a nasty blow to the head, just be still for a second."
A deep groan passed Quinn's lips and she lifted her hand to her temple, no doubt seeking the source of one hell of a headache. "Good thing he didn't want to waste a bullet," she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut again with a whimper. "Fuck, my head is going to explode."
Rachel took a deep breath. "Ethan, please go tell them that she's awake now."
"Sure. And when they demand that we release the hostage?"
"Just do it," Rachel demanded, watching Quinn's eyes blink heavily a couple of times.
"Rachel?" Quinn moved her jaw back and forth, as though the name felt funny and foreign to say. Rachel could relate. "Rachel Berry?"
"Hello, Quinn," Rachel said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"I thought I imagined you," Quinn said and struggled to sit up on her elbows, squinting over in Rachel's direction. "Fucking small world." She let out a huff, reaching out to briefly poke a finger into Rachel's shoulder.
"Smaller now," Rachel replied, snorting. "I have this odd urge to ask how you've been, but I think I know the answer."
Quinn rubbed slow, little circles against her temples. "I'm not sure how one makes small talk in times like these. Beautiful weather we're having?"
Laughter bubbled up in Rachel's chest and she covered her mouth to keep it contained to a light chuckle with some effort. "Can't complain... though the lack of sunscreen is problematic."
"Q, you alright?" A low voice interrupted and Rachel quickly spun, her hand seeking Mick automatically but stopping before she even made contact. The dead didn't speak, or ask how someone was doing. She found herself almost nose to nose with the burliest of Quinn's group, his hard brown eyes daring her to shy away from their proximity. Rachel set her jaw and before she knew what she was doing she'd redirected her hand and set it possessively on Quinn's shin.
"Yeah, Chevy," Quinn cleared her throat and sat up further, pulling her leg away from Rachel's grasp as she folded them under her. "I don't suppose we have any aspirin left?"
The man, 'Chevy', grunted and leaned around Rachel to take a closer look at Quinn's head. "You wish. That big lug got you pretty good, huh?"
Rachel stiffened but Quinn placed a hand on her knee and her retort died in her throat, all her focus on the strong, warm grip.
"Chevy I'd like you to meet Rachel. Rachel this is Chevy." Quinn waved between the glowering pair with her free hand; she squeezed the other still on Rachel's knee. "Rachel and I went to high school together."
"John Chevalier," he said, warily stretching a gloved hand out to Rachel – the other stayed on the M4 slung tight across his chest. "Call me Chevy."
"The other two," Quinn said, inclining her head towards the swiftly approaching figures. "Luz and Alex."
"Yeah, hi, whatever. Q, can we please get the fuck out of here?" Luz said as soon as she was within earshot. She narrowed her eyes down at Quinn's hand on Rachel's leg and quirked an eyebrow.
Quinn slid her hand away from Rachel and started scooting towards the tailgate.
"You got someplace to be?" Ethan asked, sarcasm practically dripping from the words.
"We do actually, and this pit-stop, fun and adventurous as it was, isn't on the schedule. Q, we need to go," Alex said.
"Where are you going?" Rachel asked before she could think about it. All she knew was Quinn was close to leaving, close to disappearing from her life again. Everyone else she knew in the world was gone and the thought of watching Quinn drive off made her stomach twist up.
"Rachel," Ethan grumbled, stilling her forward movement with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn't even realized that she'd pitched forward, like she was going to chase Quinn across the sand. "Let them go."
Thankfully, Quinn hesitated and turned back to Rachel. Those eyes seemed to peer directly into Rachel's soul, hauntingly familiar, and she felt something flutter in her stomach, not nerves but something else – something she hadn't felt in far too long.
"Where are you going, Quinn?" Rachel repeated more directly, far too focused on other things to think about what she might be saying or how vulnerable she sounded.
"Are you staying here?" Quinn asked softly, not looking at her group as they made various noises of disapproval.
Rachel bobbed her head in a short nod, "We have to – there are some... things to be done today before we can leave."
It didn't need to be said, not with the bodies wrapped in meager blankets resting in the sand a few paces away. They would bury their dead and only then move on. There wasn't much they could do to prevent death, not in the world they were in, but Rachel was adamant that they pay their respects. She couldn't and wouldn't leave her friends behind to be picked at by animals and the once-human creatures that chased them.
Quinn frowned and finally acknowledged her comrades. "You guys can go. I'm staying to help... choice is yours."
"Fuck, Q, you think we'd leave you?" Chevy barked, scrubbing at his dirty neck. "This is stupid but you're one of us."
She was more than that though, and Rachel could see it. These hardened people followed Quinn – much like the masses at McKinley had.
Yet another thing that time and circumstance hadn't managed to change. Quinn Fabray was a leader, always had been and always would be. No matter how much she may not want it.
"Thank you," Quinn said and inclined her head back towards their truck. "Get settled, get some food. I'll be there in a minute."
"Not sure we should leave you here by yourself," Alex said, eyeing Ethan. "What if the blind one hits you in the head again?"
Rachel bristled at that, ready to defend Ethan, but Quinn beat her to it.
"It was an accident - we all have those. I'm fine and I don't need you to babysit me," she said firmly, reclaiming her seat on the tailgate. "Make yourselves useful and get the shovels out of the back."
Alex and Chevy shared a look and both shrugged before trudging off. Only Luz stayed behind, still boring a burning hole into Rachel, lip curled up like a feral dog.
"Lu, for fuck's sake," Quinn snapped. "I appreciate the loyalty but tiny here isn't going to hurt me."
"The longer we stay here the more danger you put all of us in," Luz snarled back. "If you want to risk your life and time for an impromptu high school reunion that's on you, but you're putting all of us in jeopardy."
"I know you're bitter because of what you've lost," Quinn growled, hand once again on Rachel's knee. "We've all lost. Don't resent me for this. I know you're in a hurry – we're all in a hurry to get one more day. We will leave, but maybe if you could calm down and ditch the jealousy you'd see that this could be good for all of us. When was the last time we saw other people? Living, breathing, struggling people. You want to have a bitch fest we can do that later. Just not now."
Luz's face hardened even further and she lashed out suddenly, punching the side of Rachel's Bronco before storming off in the direction of the truck, spitting out a swift stream of Spanish as she went.
"I'm sorry," Quinn said quietly to both Ethan and Rachel. "I'm sure you know what living like this does to people. She'll warm up eventually. They all will."
Ethan pursed his lips, and then said, "It's alright, we're all teetering on the edge out here. It was nice to meet you, Quinn, and I'm very sorry about the knock to the head."
"No blood, no foul," Quinn said with a raised eyebrow and playful lilt to her gravelly voice. She shook Ethan's hand and then he too left them to their own devices after a quick ruffle of Rachel's hair.
"Where did you meet them?" Rachel couldn't help but ask, still watching Luz throw her tantrum with something akin to admiration. That was one hell of a diva storm-out if ever she saw one.
"Luz is actually a Super Stallion pilot out of Miramar," Quinn explained and shook her head. "That's, um, a really big helicopter the Marines use. Chevy is an Army Ranger and Alex is Air Force TACP. The three of them met in Iraq and have been attached at the hip since. I got lucky and ran in to them on my way back to... to Lima."
Rachel swallowed hard at the mention of home and the brutal memories that she did her best to keep away from during the day. It was bad enough to have them plague her nightmares; she didn't need them dragging her down while she was awake as well. "You went back to Lima?"
"Of course I did," Quinn said, her expression so tight that Rachel automatically reacted and put her hand on top of Quinn's and squeezed. "You didn't?"
"First place I went," Rachel admitted and exhaled hard through her nose as her eyes screwed shut. "So, you're a long way from Ohio. Where are you going?"
"We're going to the coast." Quinn swiped a drop of sweat off her nose and smiled a lopsided smile that threatened to break Rachel's heart completely. "The plan is to commandeer a freighter, or something, and then we'll go from there."
"A freighter? How the hell are you going to do that?" Rachel didn't want to sound incredulous but… "Did you learn to captain freight ships in your spare time in Hollywood?"
"There are ships out there dead in the water because the crew... We just have to get out to one and then we'll figure it out." Quinn shrugged, staring down at where their hands were clasped together. "Rachel, come with us?"
Some small part of her had been waiting for those words, for that invitation, but hearing it outside her own head knocked Rachel for a loop. She sucked in a deep breath and held it until her lungs ached and her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. Her first instinct was 'yes', unequivocally, forever 'yes'. Because it hurt so badly to think that Quinn could just leave. They might never have been close friends but any connection with the past was sacred now. It was so precious a thing to have someone who wasn't a stranger near. Rachel couldn't let go of her; she never had been able to, not even after High School – some small part of her had wondered about Quinn Fabray and here she was, finally asking Rachel to be a part of her life. Perhaps not in the context that Rachel had wished for, and maybe it had taken the end of the world to actually bring them together, but it was enough. It would have to be.
"Yes," Rachel said and nodded again, beaming when Quinn's face broke into a full smile. "I have to talk to my people though. They're my family now and I can't just leave them here without offering this idea to them."
"I understand," Quinn agreed and waved her free hand through the air. "We could honestly use all the help we can get, not just in making it to the coast. It's going to take more than four of us to run a ship. We were hoping that we might be able to reach out to any other survivors, offer them a place with us. Who knows, maybe we could start a new colony. Rebuild the human race."
"Those are wonderful aspirations, Quinn." Rachel hummed and raised her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. "Let me brief the troops, okay? They've been through a lot today already. I'll have an answer for you by nightfall."
"Do you want some help with the… we have some shovels," Quinn said, eyes flickering over Rachel's shoulder to the bundled bodies.
"If you wouldn't mind the hard labor," Rachel whispered, feeling the first sting of tears for her fallen friends. She'd had Quinn distracting her from it, but now there was no escaping what had to be done next. It would be another sleepless, tear-filled night.
"Living is hard labor," Quinn said bluntly and squeezed Rachel's knee again before hopping off the tailgate.
"Yeah," Rachel agreed, watching Quinn stride towards the Silverado from behind the safety of her sunglasses. Licking at her chapped lips she too slid off the tailgate and headed towards the small gaggle formation of her survivors, feeling guilty for the hope that made her steps feel lighter.
TBC...