AN: I apologize for the wait. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
So many things - too many things - had gone wrong in the past five years, and not just the end of the world. Rachel had made mistakes, had lived through others' mistakes, and had learned from them. Mostly. She'd certainly learned enough to know that she didn't ever want to repeat any of them again if she could avoid it.
She'd learned that mistakes almost always lead to someone's death, and that even almost is far too high a price to pay for the experience garnered.
She used her pricey experience when she planned things, tried to adapt those lessons to refine things, but no matter how hard she tried or how tirelessly she strived for perfection she always ended up wrong. It wasn't a game, and yet she was still losing it.
Which was why she was sitting in her Bronco with the door wide open trying her best to rein back her scampering thoughts, to hold the leash a little tighter. She had to get in the right mind, had to get to that place where she was no longer scared, sick-to-her-stomach Rachel but the new Rachel who didn't laugh in the face of fear. The one who charged into it anyway, despite the fear.
Outside the temperature was starting to drop as night approached, offering them cover but also adding a new layer of risk to their venture. Rachel shivered from more than just the chill, watching Ethan, Ollie, Kevin... Quinn - her friends - still gathered around the back of Ethan's Suburban pointing at the map and making sweeping gestures at the horizon. They'd laid their plan out hours ago but the others were still scheming, trying to make it perfect. That would have been amusing if it wasn't also so telling. The Dead sought the living, and like sharks chasing the barest hint of blood they sensed them and would be drawn in. Always moving, searching, hungering, circling in closer and closer. No matter how much they planned, no matter how hard they tried, there was no avoiding the facts.
Perfection had never existed, and certainly the "perfect" plan had never been hatched in the new world.
Drawing in a shuddering breath that did little to calm her pre-"mission" jitters, Rachel bounced her head back against the headrest and then reached up on impulse, pulling down the sun visor to remove the picture trapped behind it.
It was faded and worn, the sun and time having done its best to erode the image, but Rachel's memory helped keep it sharp. She ran her thumb along the dog-eared edge and bit her lip as she looked at the old photo, her dads sitting on either side of a seventeen year-old Rachel on her birthday. All three of them were smiling at the camera with their arms around each other, happy. Rachel's heart thudded loudly in her ears as she continued to stare at the picture, even as it started to blur with the sting of tears.
She'd gone home. As soon as she realized what was going on, that it wasn't some sick joke that people were eating other people in the streets of New York, she went back to Lima thinking she could find safety in her childhood home with her fathers. Surely nothing that awful could exist within those walls. Lima, Ohio was boring and the very idea that something like zombies could be there smacked against all reason.
How wrong she'd been. How fast time moved when she didn't want it to. Her home had looked the same, the driveway still had that crack in it that drove her Daddy nuts, and the front door still had that stupid, wonderful bedazzled sign she'd made proclaiming "The Berrys!" on it. But inside it was wrong, all so wrong. The air was stale and without the lingering scent of those cinnamon candles her Dad liked, and there were no sounds of her parents in the house. She could taste the dust in the air and something else, something dank and sharp and sinister like a ghost waiting in the wings preparing to strike. The fine hairs at the nape of Rachel's neck and along her arms had stood on end, warning her further and she knew without seeing any evidence that she would not like what she was about to find. Dread settled over her in an unwelcome embrace, making her lips tremble as she looked up at the ceiling, too scared to move for the stairs just yet. She couldn't even make herself call out for them, their names stuck in her throat.
She found them upstairs, or at least she had found parts of one of them. It was forever etched in her mind - the overwhelming smell of dried blood, of things that she'd never imagined she would see in her life. The glint of a wedding band had caught her eye and she'd lost it, crumpling onto the floor, making sounds that she didn't even know she could make, and then she'd screamed until her voice went hoarse. She couldn't remember leaving the house, but the next thing she knew she was out of Lima on the road to anywhere, so long as it was away from everything. There was nothing left…
"Hey, Rachel?"
She moved quickly, slipping the picture back into place and using the movement to wipe her eyes on her arm. "Ye-ah?"
If Quinn noticed the crack in her voice she didn't say anything about it, though her approach slowed. Still she kept coming until she was hovering right outside the open door. "We're just about ready."
Rachel hummed, thinking to herself that none of them were ever really ready. "Okay. Guess we better load up then."
Quinn smiled and Rachel tried to return it, but she became distracted by the changes Quinn had made to her attire since the last time she'd seen her. "What are you... Desert Combat Barbie?"
"In this outfit? Please. More like Z-Day Survival Barbie," Quinn joked back, ducking her head sheepishly. "I call it Apocalypse Chic."
She really hadn't changed much, Rachel noted, just thrown on a drab green military style jacket over her frayed t-shirt and braided her hair, but still. With a snort, Rachel shook her head and turned to hop out of her truck. "Nice."
Quinn stepped back, giving Rachel more space than necessary as Rachel pretended she didn't notice and calmly reached back for her flannel shirt. It was her Daddy's - Leroy's - and it swamped her but she didn't really care about extra fabric. The smell of his cologne may have faded long ago, but it allowed her to feel close to him. She'd stolen a few of his shirts and a couple of her Dad's things as well, just enough for her to carry in a duffle bag, unable to stand the thought of completely leaving them behind.
The shirt didn't do much to keep the chill from biting at her but it would be more than enough when the adrenaline hit. Sneaking around in a dark and more than likely undead infested city would be more than enough to get her body wound up. A heavier coat would just make her sweat more and she had no desire to attract any more creatures than she could avoid.
Quinn left ahead of her, wandering back towards the Suburban, that familiar strut creating a pang of longing within Rachel. If only she could go back now, back to high school where the scariest thing in her world was seeing that strut paired with a cheerleading uniform. Go back to Before when her troubles came down to Glee, Mr. Schuester's attempts at ruining her life, and Finn. Always Finn.
Rachel watched them all for a moment longer, wondering what life would have been like had she married Finn. Would she have been in New York when the world ended? Would Finn have survived if he'd been with her? Somehow she doubted it, and it made her feel awful, but it was also too true for her to ignore. Finn was lost in the world before it had turned; he never would have been able to handle the new reality.
Rachel didn't think she'd have been able to keep him safe.
She couldn't keep anyone safe.
Shaking her head again for the millionth time, she set out to follow Quinn's path, watching her feet sink into the soft dirt of the desert. Quinn coming back had amped up her memory, it seemed, and she was finding herself lost in the past more often than ever before - whether it was a good thing or not.
"We'll need a - a distraction," Ethan was saying as she closed the gap between the group and herself.
A distraction. Her heart plummeted back into her stomach as she swallowed. A distraction meant bait and bait almost certainly meant a suicide mission. Nobody spoke for a long time, not even to greet her as she finally pushed herself into the circle. They wouldn't even make eye contact with one another.
"I'll do it," Quinn said, a tight smile gracing her features as several heads snapped up to stare at her.
Rachel bit into her bottom lip until she tasted blood, desperate to keep from shouting her objection to the heavens. She had to keep her cool; no one would believe her as the voice of reason if she couldn't keep a lid on her more volatile emotions.
"Quinn," Alex spoke up softly, and Rachel felt the first touch of guilt ridden relief. Surely Alex could be the voice of reason here and keep Quinn from doing something stupid. They'd find another way around without offering someone up to the devil.
"She could take the dirt bike," Chevy interrupted, jerking his thumb back towards their truck. "That should be enough of an edge to keep her out of their hands."
No, no, no, Rachel thought desperately, looking at Quinn and trying her hardest to project that thought.
Ethan, always so perceptive, took one look at Rachel's panic stricken face and put in his own opinion. "That doesn't seem like - there's another way, right? We could set something else up. Maybe park a car and blast the radio?"
"Look," Quinn sighed, tugging at the end of her braid. "I'm not.. guys, I'm just an actress, okay? Not a soldier, nobody's leader - an actress. One who happened to have ironically starred in a few films about zombies. I'm the obvious choice here. I did my own stunts and this isn't really any different. I'm good on the dirt bike, I'm lighter than the guys, and I can be useful doing this. So I'm going."
One glance at the steel behind Quinn's eyes and Rachel's protests died on her tongue. She couldn't argue, no matter how badly she might want to. Quinn was the perfect candidate, but she was wrong, too, because she was more than an actress. Maybe she wasn't a soldier, or a leader, but she was important to Rachel and the idea of her out there on her own made Rachel want to throw up.
There was nothing she could do. Quinn had always been so stubborn, and if her mind was made up then that was that.
"I'll get the bike down," Alex offered, dragging Luz and Chevy with him.
"We'll go get the bags ready and put fresh ammo in the guns," Ollie added, nodding to Kevin and Ethan who immediately acknowledged the silent out.
That left Quinn and Rachel to finish their stare down in relative privacy.
Rachel licked her lips and looked away first, unable to stand those nameless emotions being directed at her so intently. "Quinn..."
"Rachel, it's not my first rodeo, and it's my choice. I'm no Milla Jovovich but I think I'll be fine."
Banishing the threatening tears and swallowing back a lump of something stuck in her throat, Rachel nodded shortly with the barest bob of her head. She still couldn't face Quinn - it felt too much like saying goodbye and she'd promised herself that that wouldn't happen. "Please - Please be careful."
Quinn's fingers were cold when they tentatively wrapped around Rachel's wrist, forcing her to make eye contact again. She gasped softly when she was caught once more in swirling hazel eyes. "I will be, but if it would make you feel better..." she reached down to her hip with her free hand and unclipped the walkie-talkie on her belt. "Here. Now you can keep track of me and boss me around to your heart's content. It'll be like old times."
Rachel grasped the walkie-talkie more eagerly than she would have liked, but it was like a lifeline being offered to a drowning victim. "Keep your word, Quinn," she warned when she found her ability to speak again. "I don't think I can handle anymore ghosts following me around."
"I'll be okay, really," Quinn said and released Rachel's wrist as though she'd just realized she still had hold of it. She clasped both hands in front of her and Rachel would have laughed at such a display of shyness if it weren't for Alex and Chevy walking back up, rolling the dirt bike between them.
"She's got a full tank of gas, so you should be good for awhile," Chevy informed Quinn, holding out the key for her. "Don't go trying any Evel Knievel stunts though."
"Wouldn't want to steal your thunder," Quinn teased, casting one last lopsided smile at Rachel before straddling the old bike. "So I'll just go on ahead and lead as many of them away from the areas you guys will be in. Meet back up at the hospital, right?"
Alex nodded, worry coming off of him in obvious waves. "If you get into trouble..."
"I know," Quinn promised and turned the key in the ignition.
They didn't wait long after Quinn had taken off towards the city, whooping and hollering and being as noisy as possible. Rachel was fairly certain that taunting the undead, calling them "fuckers" and belittling their existence, wouldn't actually do any more than the yelling, but it made the others smile.
Rachel wasn't smiling though, as she, Ethan, and Alex crept through the remains of the town toward the hospital. They couldn't take vehicles because it would attract the attention Quinn was risking her life to get, which left them on foot, jumping at shadows and clutching weapons that much closer.
There were three "types" of undead to look out for. The first two, the "crawlers" and the "walkers" weren't that concerning as they were easily outmaneuvered most of the time. The ones to be leery of, the ones that posed the biggest threat, were the "runners" - undead who somehow retained their ability to move like the living. They were deceptive as well, often times shambling towards their targets like any other walker, right up until they broke into a sprint. If you weren't careful, if you weren't fast enough, they would easily catch you and then it was all over.
Fortunately they didn't encounter any undead as they crept up on the hospital, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to be glad of their fortune, too busy wondering what it meant for Quinn and also wondering when that luck would run out.
Because it always ran out.
The automatic doors at the hospital were broken, some shards of glass still clinging to the bent frames while the rest crunched under their boots as they slowly moved into the desolate place. There were no lights, of course, and their flashlights only seemed to add to the creepy atmosphere.
Rachel had always hated hospitals - they smelled too much of chemicals used to try and mask the scent of death. She found the whole place to be fake and awful. While, yes, lives were saved or even born in hospitals, but they were also the place where so many people went to die. Now sneaking into one in the night with only the thin beam of her worn flashlight to illuminate her way, Rachel couldn't help but think that she'd been right.
Hospitals were death masquerading as a place for the living.
She shivered, half hidden behind Ethan's bulk as they slipped down a long corridor, peering into empty rooms. There were smears of blood along walls and skeletons gathering dust scattered around like litter.
"This place needs an exorcism," Ethan grumbled down to her, his voice barely audible.
Alex snorted behind Rachel, his pistol trained back the way they'd come just in case an ambitious creature decided to try and sneak up on them.
Rachel wondered again where Quinn was. She hoped she was alright. The walkie hanging from her hip was a reminder that someone was missing. It had been so long since Rachel had missed a living being that her anxiety was driving her to distraction.
"We should split up, cover more ground," Alex suggested.
"Considering that we're living in a horror movie, you really think that's a good idea?" Ethan huffed, but he stopped moving forward and dropped to a knee, twisting to shoot an incredulous look back at Alex. "And I count three minorities amongst this little party. Want to take bets on who dies first? The black guy, the Jew, or the Asian?"
"Well I can't die," Rachel said, arching an eyebrow as she peered past Ethan down the hallway. "I'm the hero."
"How do you know that you're the hero?" Ethan asked, his fake annoyance at her assumption stealing a smile from her. "Maybe I'm the hero."
"You're a man; it's not possible." Rachel shook her head and patted his bicep. "I think Alex is right though, we have a lot of ground to cover in here. Just keep your eyes open for monsters or some asshole with a bad attitude and a power tool of some sort."
"Lovely," Ethan sighed.
"Hey, but Rachel isn't half naked so we should be okay," Alex commented helpfully, already starting to head down the hall that branched away from them.
"Right. As long as I keep my shirt on we're safe, or I'm safe," Rachel agreed, flashing a grin at Ethan. "But that still means you have to be extra careful big guy, since the rules don't apply to men."
"Stupid gender rules," Ethan sighed.
"It's probably bad luck to joke about death in hospitals," Rachel said, lightly shoving Ethan away from her so she could take point. "I'm going this way. Yell loudly if you run into Jason."
"Be careful, babe," Ethan warned her. "I'm going to see if I can find the locker rooms."
"I hate to tell you but I don't think there will be any hot nurses taking a shower down there," Rachel teased. It did little to quell the terror rising in her chest, but it made Ethan smile.
"A man can dream."
They separated without another word between them. No need to say goodbyes, not for them. Rachel took a deep breath and held it until her chest ached, exhaling through her teeth and counting slowly to ten, then set her shoulders back and continued on her own down the now lonely hallway. She walked as stealthily as she could, rolling her feet from heel to toe to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible on the dirty linoleum floor. The further she got down the hall the louder her heart seemed to be pounding in her ears, and the louder her thoughts seemed to be as every sense she had strained for any clues about her surroundings and what might be lurking around the corner.
The walkie on her hip added a new weight to her pants, dragging them down - dragging her down - until she couldn't stand it anymore. She tugged the thing off her belt and glared at it until the urge she'd been steadfastly ignoring reared its head again and demanded her immediate attention.
Chewing on her lip, Rachel found the nearest empty room and backed herself into a corner, back hitting the wall with a solid thump. She slid down until she was squatting uncomfortably, back to the wall and most of her weight resting on her heels. "Quinn?" she whispered into the walkie, closing her eyes as she released the talk button. It was stupid and it was dangerous, but she wasn't going to be able to continue, not on her own, without knowing.
"Hey, Broadway, can't talk. Be safe," the walkie crackled back. Quinn was panting and half-shouting over the whine of the dirt bike and Rachel felt idiotic for risking so much for something so small. The relief was tainted with guilt, but it was still there, helping to ease the pinch in her chest. She should know better than to encourage Quinn Fabray to use any sort of electronic device while operating a moving vehicle, especially a dirtbike. Images flickered quickly: a ruined wedding, a totaled red Volkswagen, wheelchairs. Prom. Quinn's strength, the look on her face, and the determination mixing with pain as she forced herself to stand.
"Broadway," Rachel said aloud, snapping herself back into the present. Quinn had given her many nicknames, but she actually liked the sound of that one. It fit, somehow. "Hollywood and Broadway. Jesus, we could be a sitcom."
Something metal clanged to the floor, clattering and echoing loudly throughout the hospital. Rachel spooked hard and smacked her head back into the wall. Mick was back in her hand instantly, and she once again cursed herself for being so careless. Clipping the walkie safely back to her side she unfolded herself and gingerly stood back up, ignoring the tingling in her thighs as she stalked back out of the room.
"I'm going to need a bigger boat." Rachel barely breathed as she stepped into the hall and followed her gut down to the next room. Flashlight in one hand, Mick balanced on that wrist, she kicked open the door, all the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms standing at full attention as she took in the room. A metal tray lay abandoned on the ground, and she just knew that was what had fallen.
"Is there anyone in here... alive?" she asked quietly, alarm bells ringing in the back of her head. She didn't feel... afraid. There was something there but whatever it was, she wasn't frightened of it.
"Please," a voice begged, the thick accent throwing Rachel for a loop just as much as the dark head of hair that appeared over the other side of the hospital bed. "Don't shoot."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Rachel asked bluntly, too shocked to be anything else in the moment. Stranger things had happened, certainly, but she was baffled at this turn of events. They hadn't expected to find anyone living.
"I'm a doctor," the woman said, slowly rising fully from behind the poor shelter of the capsized bed. "CJ."
"You're British," Rachel stated, blinking stupidly at the stranger. At CJ.
"And you're observant," CJ commented stiffly, hands still held up in the air like a hostage. "Please, I don't have anything of value to you."
"I'm not going to shoot you," Rachel said, offended at the idea. "Lady, this is your lucky day. Consider this to be your rescue."
"Rescue?" CJ's nose wrinkled and her hands wavered a moment before she dropped them limply to her sides.
"Ladies, perhaps we could save conversation for a later time," Alex chimed in, nearly earning himself a pistol whip to the head as he appeared behind Rachel.
"Fuck! Alex, warn me," Rachel hissed.
"Sorry, but I heard voices. You should be more careful, I could've been... something else."
Rachel bristled at the scolding, even if she deserved it, and opened her mouth to return a barb of her own when it occurred to her. "Where's Ethan?"
"Probably still looking for supplies," Alex said easily, so obviously unworried that it only made Rachel more so. Why had she agreed to splitting up? "Why don't I take the good doctor here to help me find things that we might actually find useful, and you can go find him?"
CJ's pretty brown eyes went a little wider in her face, but Alex was already gesturing for her to hurry up and there really wasn't much else she could do. Ask to stay behind? No, really, thanks for the offer but I'm happy here in zombie General Hospital? She brushed past Rachel with a confused expression, but Rachel couldn't find the will to try and comfort her, too busy gnawing on her abused lip thinking about where Ethan could be.
If Alex had heard them and come running, why hadn't Ethan?
Rachel didn't even know where to begin her search; she felt even more lost as she re-entered the hallway and saw Alex and CJ sneaking away from her in the opposite direction. She couldn't just walk down the halls calling his name, either. If CJ was still in there and they hadn't noticed her there was a good chance there were other things waiting to pounce. Things that could have already ripped Ethan to shreds before he'd had the chance to call out for help.
And she'd been checking on Quinn.
"Ethan," she stage-whispered urgently, Mick shaking in her grasp as she moved as quickly as she could without full on running through the horrid hospital rat maze. Where was that damn cheese, anyway?
She stopped at the 'T' intersection and looked left, right, then left again, pulse hammering away again, this time right behind her eyes.
"Please, God," she started down to the right, trying to see and hear everything at once. "Ethan?"
God answered her plea in the worst way possible, showing his sense of humor when the glass further down the hallway exploded as Ethan came through it entangled with what had once been a staff member, judging from his soiled scrubs.
"Ethan!" Rachel cried, trembling hands finding calm as she slowly tightened her grip around the trigger. Squeeze, don't pull, squeeze... Mick bucked in her hands once and then again, the first shot burying a bullet in the shoulder of the creature, the second finding it's target in the back of its head, blowing chunks of skull and brain matter down the hall.
Ethan shoved the re-dead zombie off of himself and hastily got to his feet tugging at his clothes and swiping blood and gore off himself. Chest heaving and eyes huge in his face he turned to Rachel and offered a sheepish thumbs up, signalling that he was alright.
"Moves like Jagger," Rachel squeaked, lowering Mick back down as Ethan stumbled towards her.
"I know I only say it after you've saved my life, and you deserve to hear it more often, but I love you Rachel Berry," Ethan said, pulling Rachel into a tight embrace. "You are definitely the hero."
Adrenaline forcing her body into a strange hyper state Rachel nodded vigorously and returned Ethan's embrace, stretching on her tiptoes to try and hold him as close as possible. "Don't scare me like that ever again. You're supposed to be invincible."
"Sorry, babe," he muttered, sighing heavily against the side of her neck. "I'll try harder to be your Superman."
"As long as you try," Rachel told him, voice thick despite her attempt to sound playful. "Come on, I found a survivor and I think it's time to regroup in a waiting room. No more hallway wandering."
"You go on ahead, I'm going to go back and get my bag, I found some scrubs and other stuff," Ethan said, smiling to reassure her. "Promise, I'll be right back."
"I'll wait here," Rachel said firmly, offering no chance for argument.
As soon as his back was to her he surreptitiously pulled down the neck of his baggy shirt, grimacing at a torn bite mark hidden just below his collarbone. Closing his eyes tightly he tried to find his courage and opened his mouth to tell Rachel, but when he looked back at her she smiled and waved her pistol towards the room he'd been shoved out of and he couldn't do it.
There was some gauze and tape in his duffle bag, and he applied it over the seeping wound and then pressed his hand over it, the burn making his eyes sting.
He wouldn't have long.
TBC...