When I woke up, I was on hard and dirty ground. I could also move my arms and my legs, but I was too weak to stand up. I tried to locate myself, but the headache was too strong. And there was this annoying buzzing in my ear that I couldn't quite hear the environment around me. I ran my hand over my face and I saw blood. It was my blood. My arm dropped to the side, and I felt someone. I looked to the side with difficulty and saw that it was Mike. He was still out. Then the memories came back. Mike, Finn and I were doing something stupid to catch the militia that would force us to leave the city that was ours. It was stupid, but it worked. If we were in a restricted condition to get that fuel, if it was to be exploited by a bunch of militiamen, then nobody else would use that shit. That's it. I just didn't measure the consequences and costs.

I raised my head a little with great difficulty. My body was incredibly sore. I felt a sharp pain when I tried to move my left arm. I didn't know what happened, but assumed I broke, fractured, or dislocated a bone. Then I felt the warm. There was an intense heat source nearby...not to mention the awful smell of smoke with something else. I made an effort to sit up, and that's when I saw the gigantic fire in front of me. Finn was driving away from it. At least I could see with my own eyes that the stupidity we committed was totally awesome.

Finn stopped the truck already at a safe distance from the fire. It wasn't yet dawn and we were in an area of forest and farmland. He climbed to check on us.

"Thank God you woke up." Finn said and I managed to understand, but my ears were still ringing, and I listened as if he was talking in something that drowned out his voice.

"You got us out of there…" My voice came out hoarse.

"That was close. The truck nearly overturned from the explosion. It took me a while to find you, so I got you out, and when I came back, Mike was starting to burn. He burned his leg."

That's when I took a better look at Mike's condition. He was dirty, as I should have been, but his jeans were burned down his right leg, below the knee.

"My arm is dead." I complained, because it hurt like hell.

"You dislocated your shoulder." Finn stated. "I've seen it happen a few times in games and in training."

"Do you know how to put a shoulder in place?"

"No, I would do something stupid. Maybe Quinn knows, or Burt." Finn looked around. "If we go back to town now, we're going to have to deal with reapers. We'll have to wait for dawn, at least. Then I'll have to find a way around this fire. We'll have to do a few more kilometers. But I still think we can enter the city via the viaduct."

"Can't we stay inside the cabin and wait?"

"That would be a problem."

Finn pointed towards the booth and I had a little trouble looking back. Either way, I could see that the explosion not only nearly overturned the truck, as Finn reported, but also blew out the windows. In fact, if we were to go back at that moment, we would be easy prey. It was better to wait for daylight.

"Did you get hurt?" I asked.

"No. A piece of glass cut my hand, but it was no big deal. The coat protected me." Finn showed the wound and it didn't seem to be anything serious. "How's your head?"

"Still spinning. I'm listening, but my ear is ringing, it's weird."

"I think you ran into a tree."

"It's possible." I went back to playing in my head. "Is it too ugly?"

"I don't think it's serious. But I think you're going to have to take a couple of stitches."

"Wonder. Dislocated shoulder and I'll look like Frankenstein." I looked back at Mike. "Why doesn't he wake up?"

"I don't know. I put out the fire that was on his leg and that was just the problem I saw most apparent."

I looked once more at the fire and the giant flames and smoke.

"Do you think we finished them off?"

"The whole complex blew up, Santana. If they didn't die in the explosion, they're out of there and should be in Montana by now."

"We did good, right? In getting rid of a militia?"

"I think we did. We are the good guys, right?"

"Yeah, we're the good guys and we are out of gas."

"We can go back to the Olivers and ask if they have any solar panels left."

I tried to laugh, but I was so sore it would be terrible for me. We hear a groan from Mike. Finn and I exchanged relieved glances. Thank god he was waking up. We stood there, watching him move slowly. I think when I woke up, I was also kind of slow. Mike took his hand to his head and felt his body until he moved his leg and grimaced in pain.

"Oh, god… what happened?" He asked groggily.

"We blew up the fuel tank." Finn said visibly happy with the feat. "But you were caught in the explosion."

Mike looked at us strangely.

"Mike? Are you okay?" Finn repeated.

Then he put a hand to his ear.

"I'm not listening you."

"All good." Finn gestured. "YOU ARE ALIVE" He screamed and gestured, but Finn had no idea of sign language. To be honest, neither do I. "EVERYTHING EXPLODED. YOU CATCHED FIRE!"

I burst out laughing, because Finn's hand gestures were so ridiculous there was no way I could be serious. But the pain soon stopped me.

Mike obviously didn't understand anything. He tried to get up. Only then did I notice that he had blood on the back of his head. I suspected that when the explosion threw our bodies forward, while I hit a tree, he must have hit his head on a rock. He looked groggy at the horizon, and pointed to the gigantic fire.

"That's it..."

"OUR WORK!" Finn said with some pride. "This will burn for a few more days."

"Finn... it's dawn." I got his attention. "We don't know what's around here."

"I think you better lie down. The cabin is full of shards of glass and the less you have to move the better."

Finn lent me his coat to use as a pillow. I looked at Mike and he was even more screwed than I was for some reason. I thought the trip lasted hours, at least that was the feeling I had, so as not to get so dizzy, I closed my eyes and hoped to arrive quickly. The smoke and fire made the entire region foggy, and the smell wasn't that good, so there wasn't really a pretty sky to distract me. The car did at least two jumps, in which Finn apologized because he had to run over two zombies. I know it was a necessity, but it hurt like hell. When the truck finally stopped, I heard voices, the bed was urgently opened. Sam helped me into a sitting position before pulling me out of the truck and carrying me into the house in his arms. Mike was also carried in, but I can't say exactly by whom. I think it was Finn and maybe Burt.

Once safe, I saw the faces of my family. Some were worried, others were quite angry. Burt started to deliver a half-screaming lecture. He was furious. In fact, I've never seen him so furious like that. He talked, talked, talked, gestured and even threw his cap on the ground. To be honest, I didn't absorb a single word of what he said. Mike certainly didn't hear anything. My body ached and, honestly, I didn't regret taking that shit one bit.

...

"Ready?"

Quinn grabbed my arm. Honestly, I was scared to death to be in her hands.

"No."

"Okay."

Crack!

I saw stars. Brittany supported me. I didn't even feel it when I dislocated my shoulder, because I blacked out in the crash, but putting it in place by the hands of someone who didn't care at all was a pain in the ass.

"Lucky you apparently didn't break anything." Quinn felt my ribs and then quickly wiped my face. "The cut is shallow. It bled like that because the region is very irrigated. I don't think you'll need stitches. Lucky for you we have medicine in this house, Santana. Go take a shower, put on clean clothes, Brittany can apply the healing ointment and put on the band aid. Too bad you're going to have to keep your arm in a sling for a few days, otherwise I'd make you sew up Finn's hand."

It really was the end of time: Dr. Quinn Fabray, the emergency physician. A girl who was about to turn 20 years old suddenly became the most qualified person to take care of our health. All because she spent too much time with Daniel, the vet.

"Come here, you crazy rebel."

My girlfriend helped me up the stairs and into one of the two bathrooms in the house. Brittany grabbed fresh clothes, a sweatshirt, and took them to the bathroom, because going out in a towel in that house wasn't really a good option. Brittany helped me out of my clothes and into the shower. In addition to the aching body, the wobbly shoulder that hurt and throbbed, prevented me from doing such a simple hygiene task. Brittany also undressed, as in addition to bathing me, she would take the opportunity to wash herself. I was quiet under that cold shower, because the water helped numb the body, while Brittany did the nice part which was passing the soap on me. She washed my hair, and the wound on my forehead, next to my temple, and it burned like hell. Anyway, it was nice to be taken care of for once.

After getting dressed, Brittany forced me to lie down on our mattress and apply the ointment, as Quinn said it should be done. Ointment and band aid. Finn also went upstairs with Rachel. His hand was bandaged.

"You two are irresponsible!" Rachel snapped. "Acid rain is falling outside and it's all your fault."

"At least the militia died. One less shit people in the world."

"You know nothing, Santana. We didn't know anything about that group, only that they, or a part of them, tried to control the complex." Rachel continued to frown. "Mike was seriously hurt. He might have gone deaf. His right leg is badly bruised. Quinn is doing her best. Mike is downstairs with his leg in a bucket of cold water."

"It wasn't Santana's fault, Rach. The three of us agreed." Finn stood up for me, which was always something new.

"We're leaving anyway." Rachel wailed.

"Why?" I asked.

"Burt says it's not safe for us being here anymore. Everything might be contaminated by the smoke and the gas."

"Nowhere is safe." I argued. "This region is good, and we can still surround the block."

"Burt thinks the militia is close by."

"Maybe not. This group already knew that structure was here. They already knew this town was ghost before we arrived, otherwise they would have probed for people or resources. But you saw what happened that day, Rach: they walked right past us. They went straight to the fuel depot. Perhaps they had already taken some of the tankers. We don't know because we were amateurs and we didn't monitor their movement." I tried to put my point of view.

"Did you not see any of this?" Rachel was surprised.

"We didn't, Rach." Finn explained. "We drove past them at full speed in the dark. Santana and Mike ran out of the car to throw the grenades into the reservoir. We didn't have time to analyze anything. We just did it. We just blow that thing."

"And you could have provoked a war." Rachel scolded.

"Maybe if they knew we were here in the first place."

Deep down, what I thought Burt wanted was to find a new community, because that made survival easier. Otherwise, he would have taken the Olivers' suggestion and sought to settle in an abandoned neighboring farm. I won't absolve myself of blame for being impulsive and convincing Mike and Finn. I just think Burt should have taken a more strategic view of the survival game. In my opinion, right now, with a house already fortified and with all the supplies we had, I would stay exactly where I am, instead of putting everything inside a truck with the risk of losing everything to some militia, like before. Because, let's face it, we had weapons, but we didn't have any tactical training. The way in which people searched the houses was instinctive, sometimes imitating what we saw in movies. And the only one that could shot with perfection was Rachel Fucking Berry. What a mess!

Sam entered our room. He always looked like a lost boy, much like Finn Hudson, but right now, Sam looked a little scared too.

"I think Mike will be fine." Sam informed. "Quinn put a wet bandage on the wound and gave Mike some painkillers. He said he started listening something. Not that much, but it's a beginning. So, Quinn thinks he won't be completely deaf."

"I am happy." I said it sincerely, as I was also worried about Mike.

"Burt and Carole are arguing in the kitchen. They want to punish you because you came up with the idea of blowing up a huge fuel tank."

"What are they going to do? Kick me out of this house?" Not that this was new. They could act like mr. Schuester kicking me out of choir because I planned to burn the shit out of tune piano that was tormenting everyone at school. And everybody forget that Quinn Fabray set it on fire with a cigarette.

"I think it's more like grounding you."

As if that would solve anything. I was already out of action for a few days, as I couldn't go out killing zombies or war with anyone with a super sore shoulder. Unlike Mike, Quinn didn't give me painkillers to ease my pain. Punishment would not be being grounded. For me, at that moment, punishment was not having the right to a painkiller, that's it.

...

I slept almost all day because my body still needed to recover from the impact of the explosion and the toxins I had breathed in. I was woken up by Brittany for dinner. The good news was that my ear was much better, I could hear more easily and the tinnitus was gone. It was already dark, reapers were circling the house and knocking on the barred and reinforced doors and windows. The only effect it had was to annoy us. That was just because we knew the house was safe. I tested my arm and it was less "dead". It still hurt a lot, but I was able to move my hand and elbow. We all gathered downstairs, where Carole served us each a piece of bread and soup with beans.

"We are leaving this town in the morning." Burt just communicated.

"What? Are we just going to put the stuff on top of two cars and drive off again?" I questioned.

"I'm sorry, Santana, but you lost your right to decide or speak."

"Why did we decide to do something instead of running away?"

"Because by doing that, you put all of our lives at risk! You especially put Mike and Finn's lives at risk." Burt screamed.

"Aren't they adults? I didn't force anyone to do anything."

"Listen well, Santana. If you don't agree, you can stay here by yourself. But if you want to accompany us, you will follow my orders and that's it."

I felt gazes resting on me. Worse than that, no one had the nerve to debate Burt. Neither Mike nor Finn. Not even my girlfriend dared to challenge or defend me. In a way, I felt alone.

...

Getting another working car to replace the badly damaged truck wasn't difficult. Finn left early to scan the zombies (which had thinned out by then) so that Burt could get us two more cars in addition to the SUV. He chose two more diesel trucks, because we had our provisions to load and because that was the fuel we had and plenty of it. Everyone helped to load our stuff into the trailers. Even I, with only one arm, since I couldn't use the other, had to help carry clothes. Mike was the only one to have the privilege of just watching. Tina had found a makeshift cane for her boyfriend, and despite the cold weather, he was wearing shorts, and his burned leg was white from the ointment Quinn had put on.

When Finn arrived, we took the fuel out of the military truck and split into three cars. Burt, Carole and I took one of the trucks. I went with Burt not because I wanted to but because he said so. It was that story of a demonstration of leadership and, in a way, paternal power: I was deprived of the company of my girlfriend to be grounded next to "dad" and "mom". I think that if Burt could, he would put me in the "reflection corner", as they do in elementary schools. Brittany was in the SUV with Mike, Tina, Joe and Quinn. The other truck was driven by Finn, who was accompanied by Rachel, with Sam and Blaine riding in the back.

We headed southeast toward Wayne National Forest, and I don't think Burt had much idea where he was going.

"I was a punk." Burt started and I wanted to roll my eyes. There came that part where Dad told the little story that he understood what it was to be a rebel until he felt the weight of responsibility.

"I was never one, or my parents, or my grandparents."

"Really? Kurt said you were a rebel."

"I'm a bitch, not a rebel. But my parents taught me not to take shit home."

"So why the aggression?"

"It's not aggressiveness when you live in a city where the Latino community is limited to your family and a few neighbors in a small neighborhood, and people don't have the slightest idea what the culture you carry is all about, beyond the stereotypes. It's not aggressiveness when whenever something goes wrong, the first suspect will always be you, because a few people associate Hispanics with the prison community. So, instead of you crying and playing the victim, complaining about the racist system and blaming the white men, my parents taught me to stand up for myself and make myself respected. I'm sorry if you think this is aggressive."

Burt was silent. I know he wasn't racist and, on the contrary, he was an activist for social inclusion causes. But let's be frank here: being an activist for utopian ideas of political correctness was a great way to play the good guy. It was difficult to be an activist working with the real world and with facts.

"But the world has changed now." I completed. "This kind of discussion doesn't matter anymore. The important thing is to survive."

"Even in a world that has become brutal, it doesn't mean that we have to abandon ethics and morals. If we drop that, what's left is just caveman law of the fittest."

"Perhaps. But I believe in reciprocity. You can't act ethically with someone who points a gun to kill me, or who wanted to enslave me as a prostitute. I will want to eliminate this person of my life, not rationalize with them. No one tried to reason with those guys who almost killed us. Before they had the chance, Rachel killed them with my revolver. And you never criticized it."

"That was an exceptional situation."

"You're wrong. That's the new normal."

"So you would only respect another human being through a reciprocity, a code?"

"It depends. Do you understand that respect is the same as civility?"

"I believe they are correlated concepts. Respect, civility and ethical behavior. Without ethical behavior and respect for others, there is no way to build an environment of civility."

"I believe they are independent concepts. An environment of civility requires an accepted social code, which says that a man cannot grab a woman by her hair and drag her into a cave. It's not the same as ethics, it's a social law and, maybe, a criminal law. You can work in a nice civil place and still have it be highly corrupt. For me, respect is not something given, it is recognition. Respect is something that has to be earned. I can hate a person and still respect them for some trait or talent. In the same way that I can be civil and even kind to someone and not have the slightest respect for what that person is or stands for."

"Still, even though they are different concepts, don't you think that working for them to be correlated is not an achievement?"

"I would call it utopia. There are no sustainable ethics in this new world outside our own family or group, or at least at this point."

"How not?"

"Think about it: we kill reapers, who are in fact people with altered behavior, driven mad by the action of a virus we don't understand. Reapers are sick people. Killing a person used to be a crime, therefore unethical? Or is it necessary to stop seeing reapers as people and start seeing them as a sort of a demon in order to be ethical? We kill people now and we do it for the sake of survival. Ethics only matter if there are conditions for it. Ethics matters among us. Ethics matters outside our group when the other demonstrates mutuality. Outside of that, it's a wild world. Deal with it."

"Then we are really doomed. It doesn't matter that others are behaving like animals. If we don't maintain a minimum of decency in our lives, then it's game over, and none of this makes sense anymore."

"Maybe not."

"You are here debating ethics, and that was never the issue." Carole interrupted us, and she was pretty pissed off. "I don't care if this new world should be ethical or not. What I do know is that you were the mentor of an absurdly irresponsible act that compromised all of us. I know that you, Mike and Finn are still young and impulsive. But you blew up a fuel depot to destroy the militia business, and you didn't measure the consequences. This is the point! If we fail in our decisions, it's for another time. What you did was something concrete, you can't apologize, you can't undo it." Carole paused, ran a hand through her hair, and took a breath. "I lived with Maribel for six months on that island. I admired your mother for the strong and determined woman she was. There's a lot of her in you, Santana. I'm sure if she were here, she'd give you some words and more. I know I don't have that right, and that you're an adult. But it is out of respect for Maribel that we give you these symbolic grounded."

There was no more debate or discussion in that car.