My friends tried to respect my time of mourning as much as possible. For yhree days, I didn't feel like getting out of bed. I only got up to go to the bathroom, but I didn't even take a shower. Only my mom and Brittany came into my bedroom to talk to me. I wanted to see Abuela, but she never came out of Uncle Carlos' house to talk to me, she didn't even ask to call me. In a way, I'm grateful that my father's death wasn't a reason to get her to talk to me again.

…

The day I had the strength to get out of bed, I came across a transformed world. Not just because of the apocalypse situation, but all my friends' movements were different. The first thing that caught my eye was seeing Sam and Blaine on the deck of the boitel learning to fish with Burt Hummel. I didn't see any signs of the others around the apartment, except for Carole, Brittany and my mother, who were making breakfast.

"Good morning, mija." My mother gave me a tender kiss on the head. "I see you are better. That's good."

"What I lost?"

"Your friends are moving their asses."

"Really?"

"Why don't you get out of this house and find out?"

What I discovered was that the bridge that gave access to our island was blocked. The residents of this group of islands and others decided that each different community would look after its own security. By then, entire neighborhoods in major cities had been blown up, and TV stations were off the air. The internet still worked, as well as radio stations.

I saw Jerry, the boitel's honorary guest, getting his car ready. Jerry was a man in his 60s, he wore a mustache, had curly hair and a few tattoos on his arm. I think he was a veteran that serve the country in the 90's. Jerry was in hurry, and he's being helped by Mike.

"Hey." I turned to Mike and then I greeted the veteran. "Good day sir."

"Hey." Jerry responded dryly.

"Going out to buy groceries?"

"No girl. That stage has already gone." The old man said without the slightest humor. "I'm going to sail for a while, maybe a couple of years, and then see how things go.

"Are you going to the sea. Is it still possible?"

"Have you ever sailed?"

"No, I haven't."

"Carlos is your uncle, right?"

"Yes."

"He is one of the most skilled freshwater sailors I know and you don't know how to sail?"

"He and my dad weren't close."

"Hum..." Jerry instructed Mike something. "The people here think that these barriers will contain the problem. They won't. People are stupid. I don't have to worry about infected on the high seas. This is the most effective protection. I told him so. Carlos has a sailboat docked in Cleveland. If he can make it there, he will be saved and so all his family."

"Is that what he's thinking?" I asked.

"That's what I'm thinking."

"What if there is no longer a sailboat?" Mike speculated.

"It's a possibility. But that's a risk I'm prepared to take."

Jerry finished loading his truck. It looked like the season at Indian Lake would be shorter that year for him. In the end, Jerry handed Mike an army jacket, as well as a pistol as a gift.

"Good luck, boy."

I didn't understand anything. I mean, I understand the need for a gun, but not the jacket. Then Mike showed it to me.

"Feel the weight."

"And?" I held the garment.

"The fabric is thick and sturdy. If I come across an infected person, maybe this tissue will protect me."

Then a realization hit me: while I was grieving, my friends were moving not only to survive collectively, but individually as well. This didn't motivate me to make up for lost time, but it did make me realize that in a world like that, grief was a luxury we couldn't always afford. I decided to go to my uncle's house, and things looked different. There were boxes and boxes with a tarp over them, which I knew was his store's stock. Amber, Lara and Abuela were inside the house, and my uncle was playing with an air rifle with a neighbor, shooting in cans.

"Hey Santana." My uncle greeted me. "Feeling better?"

"Well, I got out of bed, right?"

"I am sorry about your father."

"I am sorry about your brother."

It didn't take a lot of time living together to understand that Uncle Carlos wasn't a very emotional guy. Certainly, he took care of his family, but he wasn't very attached.

"Have you ever picked up a gun, Santana?"

"Yes, Abuela took me to a shooting club once when I was 12. My mom was furious and my dad was blasé, even though he never let me hold a gun or go to the shooting club with Abuela again."

"Typical Juan." Uncle Carlos grumbled. "It doesn't surprise me either that madre took you to a shooting club. Mi papa and mi madre took Juan and me to shoot. Not in one of those fancy clubs, but out in the woods in Virginia. We camped during the summer, trained in shooting, hunted and fished. Juan always hated it... he was the annoying one in the family, the one against it. Madre was always good at aiming, but she didn't like to hunt. Just fishing."

"Nice." I had already heard these stories from Abuela, since my father was never the one to talk about his childhood.

"Do you want to try?"

Uncle Carlos gave me the carbine and explained the basics. How to hold the gun, lock, trigger and reload. I aimed at the cans and missed the first shot. I missed the second. Uncle Carlos corrected my posture and with that I landed the third shot, and the fourth and the fifth. Uncle Carlos and the neighbor applauded.

"Can I practice a little bit with the pistol or the revolver?" I asked.

It was his neighbor who took a pistol and put it in my hands.

"The technique is different, you have to hold it with both hands to balance the weapon, your body is also need to be well balanced, watch your thumbs and keep your arms steady."

I shot and missed. The pistol had a stronger pull and I almost dropped it. My uncle corrected me, he told me to take my time, and I fired again. I hit the can, but laterally judging the trajectory the object took.

"Not bad." My uncle praised.

"Can I try?" a female voice asked.

I hadn't seen Finn and Rachel approach, and I was surprised by Rachel's request.

"Rachel Berry, you who condemn violence are asking to pick up a gun?" Yes, I was teasing her.

"I condemn violence. But we're in a zombie apocalypse, Santana. I'm not going to be able to fight one of those infected trying to reason with it."

"You finally got a reality check!"

My uncle and the neighbor gave the same brief instructions to both of them. Rachel took the carbine and Finn the pistol. Finn tried six times and got one right. Rachel tried to fire five times and landed all five. That diva was applauded and Finn was jealous, I could see it. That guy was like that: he was always jealous of other people's talent.

"Robbits are lucky." I provoked Rachel.

"Can I try a few more tries?" Finn asked.

"Yes, you can, with the carbine. I think enough ammo has been spent today." The neighbor put the pistol away.

I still haven't told anyone about the revolver, which is still in my backpack. Not that I was still afraid, but I thought I didn't need to explain to anyone about my self-defense choices. I saw Kurt sitting in a beach chair checking his cell phone. I decided to approach and sat next to him.

"Hey, Porcelain."

"What is it, Satan?"

"News from our friends who stayed in Lima?"

"They are still alive." He said dryly.

"It looks like Blaine and Sam are pretty committed to learning to fish from your dad."

"It seems so."

"Are you upset about it?"

"No."

"What is your skill?"

"What?"

"We are in an apocalypse, Hummel. What is your ability to survive?"

"I know how to fix cars."

Kurt wasn't really in the mood to talk. I got up and continued my walk. I passed through the interconnected islands and went to the main barricade, which was on the Dream Bridge. I spoke with one of the men who controlled the entry and exit of people and vehicles, and he said that this was the second barricade for this population group. The first was further along the peninsula bridge that connected the small islands with the margin. Indian Lake had broken up into small fiefdoms, apparently, and their populations were willing to fight and hold the territory. Except Jerry, apparently.

On the way back, I saw children playing on the lawns, men and women working in their homes, or talking in the street. I saw men freely holding weapons. I saw some of my friends looking to learn new and useful things, while others just wanted to be at peace and escape stress. One way or another, I prayed that environment would last.

At the beginning of the night, my mother had already gone to Uncle Carlos' house. The Hummels was in their own apartment. Our group, which was now my family, gathered in the living room, nestled between the couch and the dining table. My mother had made soup, and we were all having a bowl of the hot salty broth, with a few vegetables here and there, and a piece of bread. It was limited food because we were already rationing. Dinner was a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. No more, no less. It didn't matter if someone didn't want to eat or that the food was insufficient. From then on, all the meals would be on that same principle.

Television had become useless. Mike commented to me about the group that took over the attacks that had manifested themselves the night before on the internet: it was a group of ecological terrorists who wanted to provoke an epidemic for the good of the planet and against climate change. They apologized because the goddamn virus, a kind of Ebola mixed with encephalitis as Mike described it, had unexpectedly mutated that instead of killing people with headaches, it turned them into carnivorous psychotics that kept their brains going even after death. I would give these guys the IgNobel award for worst invention of all time.

What was done was done, right?

As I said, the internet was still working, as were some of the radio stations. So, we turned on the stereo that Jerry left behind. Tina took advantage and also got hold of the CD's. The cities initially affected had been bombed to contain the epidemic and the zombies, although no one spoke the word zombie yet. Milwaukee had its first psychotic attacks, as did Baltimore, Philadelphia, Austin, much of New Jersey, and most of California. There were problems in Toronto, Vancouver and some cities in Mexico that border the United States. Lima was said to be under control, but it was still just a matter of time.

"Old Jerry liked Shania Twain." Tina smiled as she showed the country music singer's CD.

"Or didn't like it, because he left it behind." I made my usual acidic comment, but everyone laughed. "Who must love Shania is our local red neck. The one learning to fish to compare his lips with his aquatic references."

"Put the record on, Tina. I'm going to show a certain girl how it's done." Sam smiled.

Sam stood up and extended his hand to me, inviting me to dance. I accepted with my girlfriend's full support. Sam thought dancing like a cheap nightclub streaper with attempts at a Michael Jackson imitation was cool. Mike pulled Tina along and he did show her how it was done. Brittany also got up to dance, and so did everyone else, including the boring virtuoso named Kurt Hummel.

It was the last spontaneous little funny party I had.

...

I remember waking up that day to the sound of fighter jets flying over the lake. Usually, these airplanes don't fly so low in metropolitan areas to not cause disturbances, and broken windows due to supersonic speed. But those were passing without the slightest ceremony. One of them went so low that some window glasses cracked. Brittany and I jumped out of bed, had our clothes on in seconds, and headed downstairs to figure out what was going on.

"They're bombing Cleveland... and Dayton. They are bombing every major city in Ohio." One of the neighbors shouted.

"Wasn't the problem just in Lima?" Brittany was fearful.

"People are stupid." I repeated a phrase my uncle spoke often.

All those days we were so engaged in learning things and preparing ourselves for the eventual impact that we didn't even notice that two weeks had passed since they invaded the hospital in Lima and killed my father.

The men who were at the head of the community organization passed through the streets on motorcycles on loudspeakers, saying that it was time for everyone to get ready. That community was more or less rehearsed. My uncle had prepared his boat for an emergency exit. He even taught me how to pilot one, which was already docked at the back of my apartment. I looked at Mike, and he signaled for us to get our backpacks and leave them in the living room. Inside them was a change of clothes, a sleeping bag, flashlight, battery. We each added two cans of food, two instant noodles, a first aid kit, a fishing kit, a bottle of water and a machete. Mine had also tampons. I put on my baggy jeans and put on the leg holster with my revolver. By then everyone knew I had the gun, and at that moment I carried it for the first time. Mike put on the army jacket. I didn't have one, so I stuck with a denim jacket.

My uncle would go to the middle of the lake with the family if everything went wrong. Some of the neighbors would also do the same. But there were those who thought that their homes were the safest places and would only leave them if they had no other option. We were on alert all day. We listened to news on amateur radios, as the internet seemed to have been paralyzed, and we no longer knew which profile or which YouTube channel was still updating some information. The people who were in the smaller cities, like Marys, Kenton, Athens were the ones who exchanged news with our island. Of the radio stations, only the local ones in these same small towns worked, because the media in the big cities were already off the air. We couldn't hear the noise of bombs from the lake, but we saw clouds of smoke rising at Columbus direction, to the point that the air currents carried a shower of soot. But throughout the day, despite the high alert, nothing happened. There were no hordes of infected or humans asking for shelter. Whatever hit the cities, it killed a lot of people.

Mike, my uncle and I checked out the first barricade, which now had pickup trucks overturned right at the beginning of the bridge, blocking the entire length of it. The only way to get through was through the water or climbing over the cars, tree trunks and sand that were there. And anyone who dared to pass without permission would be shot. That was the order. The first barricade was on the first bridge. The men and a few women from the neighborhood were working quickly on it. A lunatic who lived there acquired, I don't know how, a bunch of explosives. The work took most of the afternoon, but it was interesting to follow. In the final moments: boom! The bridge not only collapsed, but it fragmented into several blocks that would be underwater.

"Now access is only by boat." My uncle said.

"There are many boats on the shores." A woman observed.

"Yes, there is, but there is a deal. Anyone who escapes from the shores to the lake won't be able to dock on the islands. Otherwise we shoot."

"If they can do it." Aaron, one of the neighbors smirked. "We've spent the last week drilling holes in the boats' hulls."

"Why?" I was worried.

"To lessen the threat" Aaron said matter-of-factly.

You know the privileged western world's discussion about climate change, fossil fuels, racism and gender issues? All nonsense in the face of the apocalyptic catastrophe. A new world was unfolding, in which the most important things were a sense of small community, eating and protecting oneself. End of story! Before the surviving fugitive population wanted to enter the island, they would have to face the neighbors on the shores armed to the teeth, willing to defend their territory at any cost.

...

After I woke up the next day, I watched the communities on their amateur radios exchanging information about the government that had deliberately decided to kill millions of people in the big cities in a desperate attempt to contain something that had long since gotten out of control. A guy from Nevada who said that the army surrounded all the main power plants and dams to ensure a minimum of infrastructure in the post-apocalyptic moment and collected all the rest of the personnel in the military bases. Apparently, all the engineers working at the nuclear power plants were under military protection to shut everything down with a minimum of security. America could be left with huge uninhabitable territories if those craps exploded. The rest that remains will be given to God.

We spent that afternoon blocking the windows and doors of our apartment with wood, leaving only the exit to the docks free. And we would have the second floor windows free, in case we have to jump it.

My mom and Carole made dinner that day. Burt, Mike, Finn and Blaine were doing vigils with other guys on the streets. Sam and Joe were left watching the docks behind our apartment along with other neighbors. We each had a mug of potato soup well seasoned with pepper, salt and dry chives. No more and no less.

"I hate this wait." Rachel grumbled. "My stomach has never hurt so much in anticipation, not even when I had to sing DRAMP off the cuff."

"It's better to stay alert than to actually have to fight the threat." Quinn rationalized.

"I agree with Rachel. That anticipation can kill." Kurt smiled at his friend and I rolled my eyes. Honestly, I thought Kurt was such an idiot. The apocalypse beckoned and he still bothered to wear those ridiculous expensive boots and designer clothes. Even Blaine had stopped using that ridiculous hair gel and bow tie.

So, the power went out. Tina used the flashlight on her cell phone to locate the flashlight we left for the house and also the thick seven-day candles. Two candles were lit: in the living room and in the kitchen. Anyone who wanted to go to the bathroom could use the flashlight. We didn't need orders, because we had already planned and rehearsed what to do days before.

"Let's do as agreed." My mother took the lead. "A pair keep watch while the other girls rest in the rooms upstairs. We start it at ten o'clock."

I looked at the boys outside. Joe moved more, trying to ease the chill. Sam was standing still, clearly freezing to death. My mother noticed that the boys were suffering and ordered them to go inside.

"You two will watch from here." My mother ordered and gave them a mug of soup, which by then was only lukewarm. "The door is transparent and you will be able to see everything from inside."

The boys agreed and just locked the door and let the curtains open.

"Take a candle upstairs and we are occupying only one of the bedrooms. Santana, you will be the sniper for the first round. I'll stay here with the boys, watching downstairs."

All the women, except my mother, went upstairs, while all the men, including Kurt, stayed downstairs. We chose the bunk room to stay. I took the carbine, a jogger and thick coat and stood on the second-floor porch for nearly two hours looking at the occasional movement of men in the streets. I could hear gunshots in the distance, but it looked like shit hadn't gotten to our island chain yet. I watched as Burt, Finn, Blaine and Mike entered the house. This caused my mother to go upstairs and onto the porch.

"The boys will ensure security downstairs. You can come in and I'll do the vigil in the next few hours."

My mother kissed my head and took the carbine. She sat on the same bench as I was and was attentive.

The light of the seven-day candle was very dim. No electricity, no heaters, which meant it was going to be quite cold that night. I sat on the top bunk which was also Brittany. Quinn and Tina were in the top bunk next door. Carole, Tina, Aisha and Rachel were sheltering in the lower bunks. Honestly, I didn't know whose shift was next, and I didn't care. I was feeling such an intense cold that it was a mixture of cold from the thermal sensation and also from fear and apprehension. I lay cuddling with Brittany, who tucked her arms inside my coat for warmth.

I don't know how long I blacked out. Half an hour? Five minutes? I don't know. But it was still dark when Brittany woke me up.

"What?" she said stunned.

"Santana Maria." My mother wasn't terrified, but definitely very tense. "We need to go downstairs now."

People were busy in the room. Mike and the other kids were putting their backpacks on their backs. I ran and got mine too, not even knowing what was going on.

"I think they are trying to swim across. Those things…" Kurt tried to explain to me and the other girls who were hurriedly awakened.

"Reapers." Mike corrected. "The reapers are trying to get here."

"Shall we go to the boat?" I asked.

"Not yet." My mother ordered.

All I know is that my mother, who has always been the most anti-gun person, took a rifle and placed it in my hands, even though I had a gun strapped to my leg. The apocalypse definitely changes priorities and certain values. The strongest action was happening on the detonated bridge. Picture this: your city suffers a brutal infection from a crazy virus created to supposedly protect the planet from humanity. People are being infected in geometric progression to the point that health networks collapse, doctors and nurses become endangered professionals, the police become a useless force. Add the first responders, the firefighters, everything falls apart. Then the local government falls, the army says fuck it and the upper government that remains also pushes the fuck it button and blows up everything and everyone. But you know how humans are, right? They are like scorpions and cockroaches: they always survive somehow. And in this world, many 'survived' in zombie form.

I bet nobody by the lake came here on purpose. Indian Lake was a place proliferated with algae because of the water polluted by the farms in the region, in which the majors had to drag and burn tons of these plants that grew in an unbridled way, just so that tourists could return in the high season. No, no one would think of Indian Lake to survive. The people who arrived there were trying to survive after their house was bombed, and they were walking without direction. The question was: how to tell the healthy from the infected at four in the morning in a chaotic circumstance? There was no way, there was only bullets. Who cared about ethics and morals under those circumstances?

I could hear the intense noise of gunfire coming from the banks. None of us went to Lake Ridge, where the bridge was blown. Nobody even went to wait at the barricade of the Dreams bridge, which, by the way, could crumble to dust at any moment. We were attentive, around the boatel apartments. As day dawned, and the sun appeared on the horizon, the noise of shots calmed down.

By eight in the morning, I couldn't hear anything.

Out of curiosity, Mike, Finn, Sam, Quinn and I walked to the Dreams bridge accompanied by Burt and my uncle. The leaders of that community were considering blowing up the bridge as well. No one would let us walk to Lake Ridge because they said there was a not-so-pretty scene on the shore. But nobody was able to protect us when we saw two bodies floating in the water. As soon as they touched the bank, they began to move, and they were even very agile. I'm ashamed to confess this, but that was the first time I saw a zombie in my life. I screamed like a scared little girl. Seeing something like that in movies and games was one thing. Scary as they were, it was just entertainment on a screen. Seeing it live and in color was something else. Yes, I screamed and they went to my direction. Until that moment, I didn't know that zombies have bad eyesight but very functional ears. Obviously when I screamed, I drew attention to myself.

The men didn't hesitate and shot the two walking bodies. One of them had not been hit in the head and continued to move. I was still unresponsive. That thing was going in my direction to bite me. But before it could reach me, my uncle, in a cold-blooded act that would make California be under snow, shot the zombie in the head. The zombie's body fell limp in front of me.

"At least one thing had to be cliché!" My uncle said. "Are you okay, Santana?"

"Yes. Thank you, uncle."

"Let the people know we are going to blow up the bridge." One of the leaders sentenced. "We need to do a fine-tooth comb on the margins. We're going to shoot any floating body that comes close to the head." Seeing that everyone was still shocked, he shouted. "Guys, this is not charity. It's survival. Blow the brains out of anything that comes near these islands!"

"And what are we going to do with these things here?" a neighbor asked.

"Explode them along with the bridge."