Santana POV:
In the campgrounds…
I finally walked into my tent, hoping for a few minutes of peace and quiet before heading over to check on Finn. This day has been so overwhelming, I have been struggling to keep things civil with Hershel.
One wrong move with him and we'd be out on our asses. We would continue struggling to find food and any sort of shelter where roughly fifteen of us can hold out for the night.
Not to mention Puck's constant undermining was wearing me down too.
As I entered my tent, I hoped to find Quinn and Lucas here, but instead my eyes landed on a small blue box I'd never seen before, resting on one of our suitcases we used as a nightstand. I picked it up and read the label: "The Morning After Pill." A wave of confusion washed over me, leaving me frozen as I tried to connect the dots.
Quinn.
"She's pregnant!?" I wondered. "Why didn't she say anything?"
"We are going to have another baby." I whispered, a huge smile taking over my face. But then another thought hit me, I looked back at the blue box causing my heart to tear.
I need to see her.
I ran out the tent, looking around our campground trying to spot Quinn, but found Blaine instead. "Hey Blaine, have you seen Quinn?"
"Yeah, I think she was heading down by the gates," Blaine said. I quickly thanked him and ran off.
After walking through the fields for a while, I finally spotted Quinn leaning on the fence, watching the sunset. She turned around after hearing my footsteps.
"Hi, Tana," Quinn said, her voice small and worn.
I looked at her, a rollercoaster of emotions running through me.
"Luce," I say, frustration taking a hold.
We've been through so much together, and I just can't understand why she kept this from me. Before we were married, we have been best friends. How could she not tell me? As I gazed into her beautiful hazel eyes, I saw deep down she was struggling.
"Is there something you need to tell me?" I said, easing my voice.
"I'm pregnant." Quinn's voice was barely a whisper.
"Are you?" My voice broke as I held up the empty blue box.
"I threw them up," Quinn admitted, staring at the ground. "You can yell if you want. You can scream if you have to, but please, just talk to me."
"How long have you known?" I ask, my voice shaking with hurt.
"Does it matter?" Quinn asked, looking at me as I scoffed.
Of course it matters.
"Days? Weeks? And you didn't tell me?"
"I'm telling you now," Quinn said, her voice cracking.
"No," I snapped, my anger flaring out. "I found this. So Glenn knows, right? Instead of coming to me, you sent him to get pills?!"
"You want me to bring a baby into this world? To live a short, cruel life?" Quinn's voice was filled with anguish.
"How can you even think that?" I asked, my voice rising with a rare rage towards her.
"We can't even protect the son we already have. How can we protect this one?"
"So this is your solution?" I shouted, throwing the box to the ground and stepping back.
I need to go. I can't do this right now.
"Santana, I threw them up. I messed up," Quinn said, her voice breaking as she began to sob. "I don't know how we're supposed to do this."
Watching Quinn break down like that felt like a knife to my heart. My anger dissolved as I saw the woman who made me believe in soulmates, the one I loved more deeply than I ever thought possible, crumbling before me.
What have I done?
"We can make it work," I said softly, stepping closer and taking her hands in mine.
"How?" Quinn's voice cracked with despair. "Tell me how."
"We'll figure it out. We have to try," I pleaded, my voice gentle but firm. "You threw up the pills. I know you want this baby. I know you do."
"Not like this, Tana," Quinn sighed, tears still streaming down her face. "I'm not giving birth in a ditch. Not when its life will be hanging by a thread from the moment it's born. Not when every cry will put it, Lucas, and everyone we care about in danger. That's not right."
"Not giving it a chance isn't right either," I said softly, struggling to stay strong for both of us.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Quinn admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"I still don't understand why," I said, my eyes brimming with hurt. "Do you really think I'd make you have a baby you don't want?"
"No, baby," Quinn replied, her voice heavy with regret. "It's just that if I went through it alone, it would be on my conscience, not yours."
"I can't live like this anymore, Quinn. We can't live like this," I said firmly, "Is there anything else I should know about?"
A heavy silence settled between us, the air thick with unspoken pain. Until, finally Quinn's voice broke the silence.
"Puck and I," she confessed, looking up at me, her eyes shimmering with guilt.
Flashback:
The fluorescent lights flickered in the rec room as Santana, a sadden half-drunk, passed by and saw Finn sitting alone. She slowly made her way over to him, her steps now wobbly.
"Hey Finn, you good?" Santana asked, her voice light from her recent conversation with Dr. Jenner.
Finn looked up, his face softening into a faint smile. "Yeah, San. Thanks to you, Rach and I can sleep on an actual bed tonight."
Santana grinned, "l knew something like this was out there somewhere. Glad we finally found it." She sat down next to him, watching as Finn's smile slowly faded.
"Santana, there's something you need to know," Finn said, suddenly serious. "It's about Puck."
"Puck? What did he do now?" Santana chuckled.
"No, seriously. You need to hear this." Finn's eyes avoided hers. "Before you showed up, Puck and Quinn were together. I'm not sure what was happening, but they were together until you came back."
The words hit Santana like a punch to the gut. She stared at Finn, trying to wrap her head around what he'd just said. "Wow," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. "So Puck and Quinn?"
Finn nodded, looking genuinely sorry. "I'm sorry, Santana. I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but I thought you had the right to know. I don't know if they—" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "—if they were...intimate. But you know Quinn would never do that to you. It's just... the world went to shit, and she missed you."
Santana's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and confusion. "So, what am I supposed to do with this now?" Her voice was barely controlled, the hurt flaring out. "Just pretend I didn't hear it?"
Finn remained silent, leading Santana to ask another question. "How long have—" Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky breath. "How long have you known, Finn? All this time, you already knew, and you didn't have the guts to tell me?!"
Finn nodded his head, looking just as pained. "Look, San, I couldn't. It wasn't my place to tell. I just didn't know if Quinn was going to tell you or not."
Santana's anger surged, her fists balling up at her sides. "I just—" She stopped, tears welling up. "I can't believe this. Puck is my best friend. And Quinn..." She stood up suddenly, unable to contain her emotions. "I need to hear it from Puck himself. I need to understand why."
"No, Santana. You need to hear this," Finn said urgently, reaching out to her. "Puck's been... I don't even know how to put it. It's like he's obsessed with Quinn."
"Obsessed, how?" Santana asked, her voice tight with worry.
"He's obsessed. It's not just that he won't stop looking at her. It's way darker," Finn said, his voice heavy. "Santana, it's worse than that. He almost hurt you."
"That son of a bitch can't hurt me more than he already has."
"He had a gun pointed at you," Finn said, his voice defeated. "His finger was on the trigger, San."
Santana's eyes went wide. "What?"
"He's losing it, San," Finn said, locking eyes with her. "He thinks Quinn belongs to him. He believes you're standing in the way of him having Quinn and Lucas. It's not just an obsession anymore; it's dangerous. He's so consumed that he wants you dead just to keep them. I don't know how to make him stop."
"Puck… Puck would never—" Santana began, but her voice faltered.
"He's not the same person you remember," Finn said, his eyes filled with desperation. "This world has twisted him. He's crossed a line, and you need to be extremely careful. He's become a threat."
"Have you told anyone else about this?" Santana asked, her voice tight with worry.
Finn shook his head, his expression grim. "Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
Santana took a deep breath, her mind racing. "Alright, we can't alarm anyone just yet. We need to handle this ourselves. We can't let him keep spiraling like this. If he's willing to pull a gun on me, who knows what he's capable of."
End of Flashback.
"I know. Of course I know," I said, a heavy sigh escaping me. "You thought I was dead… The world went to shit, and you thought I was dead, right?"
"Yeah," Quinn said, nodding her head as her voice broke. "But, Tana, there's something else you need to know about him. It's about what happened at the CDC. You need to know the full story."
"The CDC?" I ask confused, looking at her sadden eyes, "Lucy, what happened?"
"It was Puck," Quinn said, her voice breaking with the weight of her confession. "That night, he was very drunk. He came into our room and began to take off his clothes" she stuttered, "I-I couldn't see who it was, so I thought it was you, Tana."
"Quinn." I pleaded, my eyes begging her to stop.
Quinn's hands trembled as she continued, her emotions raw. "H-he got into bed with me. When I realized it was him, I tried to stop him. He held my hands together and pinned me down. With his other hand, he took my shorts off and he began to touch me. I couldn't escape it, Tana. I begged him to stop. I fought as hard as I could, but h-he didn't listen."
Her tears flowed freely now, her voice breaking with the weight of her words. "I want you to know that I tried everything I could to get him to stop. Please, please believe me Tana."
I'm going to kill him.
"That son of a bitch," I muttered, my voice barely more than a growl as I stared back at the campground. Every step I took toward was fueled by a searing need to find the bastard who had hurt my Quinn.
My Lucy.
Quinn's footsteps echoed behind me as she caught up, her hand now clamping onto my arm. "Tana, please."
Her voice, shaky and pleading, only made my rage burn hotter. "I can't believe this!" I shouted, my voice breaking as it cut through the silence of the empty fields. "I can't believe that fucker did this to you! I can't believe you didn't come to me! How could you not tell me?"
Quinn flinched, trying to shield herself from the force of my words. "Santana, please, I don't need you yelling at me right now."
"Yelling? Of course, I'm yelling at you!" My eyes were wild, my heart pounding with raw rage towards my wife, I'd never had before. "You're acting like you're okay with what happened, like it doesn't matter! How can you be so calm about this?"
Quinn's eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and disbelief. "I'm not, Santana. I'm trying to process everything. I just don't know how to—"
"Process it?" I interrupted, my face flushed with fury. "You're supposed to be angry! I'm livid that bastard thought he could do this and just walk away as if nothing happened!"
Quinn's eyes welled up with tears, her voice breaking. "I am devastated, Santana. I just don't know how to show it right now. I'm scared and I feel so alone. So helpless."
Seeing the pain on her face, my fury began turning into something more painful and raw. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Oh, Quinn…" I looked down, my heart heavy. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. You should have come and told me. I needed to know. You can't keep me in the dark, Quinn. I'm your wife."
"I need you to understand that I'm not handling this the way you want me to. I'm doing the best I can."
I took her hands in mine, feeling their coldness against my own trembling fingers. "I know, Quinn," I said softly, my voice cracking with every word. "But I need—no, I beg you—to let me in. I need to be here for you. I need to protect you. I want to make this right, but I can't do that if you keep me at a distance. Please, don't shut me out. I love you too much to be left in the dark."
The next day…
Santana and Quinn stirred awake to the sound of the tent zipper being pulled open. They blinked groggily, just in time to see Lucas darting off into the distance, a mischievous grin on his face. Santana, who had clung to Quinn all night as if afraid to let go, pulled her even closer.
"Hey, baby. H-how are you?" Santana's voice was soft, carrying a mixture of concern and tenderness that made Quinn's heart flutter despite the lingering anguish from the night before.
"I'm okay, Tana. I promise," Quinn replied, her voice warm and soothing, looking up at Santana, with sleepy, sincere eyes, that melted Santana's worries.
Santana gently brushed a stray strand of Quinn's hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering on the soft curve of her cheek. She leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Quinn's head. "I love you. I love you so much," she murmured.
Quinn's smile was soft and genuine, her eyes shining with equal warmth. "Me too," she whispered back, her hand reaching up to cradle Santana's face in her palm. Santana sighed at the touch. "Come on, my love. Let's go get some breakfast."
.
.
.
.
As Santana and Quinn emerged from their tent, the early morning light hit them with a cool, refreshing touch. They were greeted by the sight of Blaine by the grill, a pan in hand and a cheerful smile on his face.
"Hey, you two! Grab a plate. I'm cooking up some eggs," Blaine called out with a smile.
"Thanks, Blaine," Santana said, trying to shake off the lingering unease from the night before. She grabbed two plates and made her way over to him, trying to focus on the moment.
"Hi, Momma," Lucas chimed in, his little face lighting up as he hopped out of his seat and sat over next to Quinn.
"Hi, baby boy," Quinn replied, her voice warm and soothing as she bent down to give him a quick, loving hug.
As Santana turned to head back to Quinn, her eyes landed on Puck making his way toward the group. The sight of him made her blood boil. He was walking with such a casual stride, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside of Santana. Santana's hands tightened around the plates she was holding.
Trying to refocus, Santana handed Quinn her plate and sat down beside her, trying to steady her breathing. Quinn noticed the intense look in Santana's eyes, her gaze locked on Puck.
"Tana," Quinn said softly, her hand gently resting on Santana's arm in an attempt to soothe her. "I'm here. It's okay. Just look at me. Breathe." Santana nodded, her jaw clenched as she fought to control her emotions.
Just then, Glenn stood up, trying to get everyone's attention. "Um, guys," he said, his voice shaky. "The barn is full of walkers."
Faces went pale, and panic erupted as they scrambled to the barn. Their footsteps pounded heavily on the ground, hearts racing as they rushed to face the new threat.
The Barn.
The moans and groans of the walkers, mingled with the rancid smell wafting from the barn, confirmed Glenn's alarming news. Puck walked closer to the barn and peaked inside, coming face-to-face with a walker.
Puck stormed over to Santana, his frustration clear. "You can't seriously be okay with this." he demanded, his voice edged with anger.
"No, I'm not," Santana snapped, avoiding eye contact. "But we're guests here. This isn't our land."
"This is our lives!" Puck shouted, his voice rising.
"Shut it, Puckerman!" Santana's voice cut through the air, her blood boiling.
"Lower your voice," Glenn interjected, stepping between them in an attempt to defuse the escalating argument. His voice was firm but carried a note of desperation. "We need to focus on the walkers right now."
Rachel jumped in, "We can't just ignore this."
Puck shot back, ignoring Rachel. "We either go in there and deal with it, or we leave. And we've been talking about moving to Boston for a long time."
"We can't leave," Santana said firmly. "I will figure out how to deal with this."
"Why not?"
"We can't go."
"Why, Santana? Why?" Puck muttered, his frustration barely contained.
"Look around, Puck. We've got food, medical supplies, and a place to fucking settle down. Just let me talk to Hershel and figure this out," Santana said, raising her voice.
Puck's anger flared. "Man, what are you even gonna figure out?!"
"If we're staying and if we're going to clear the barn, I need to convince him," Santana replied, her voice steady, trying to keep her cool.
"Hershel sees those things in there as people. Sick people," Glenn interjected, "Maggie told me. His wife and stepson are there."
"How could you not fucking tell us sooner, Glenn? They are not people, they are walkers!" Puck shouted.
"I thought we could survive one more night," Glenn said, his tone defensive. "And we did, didn't we?"
Just let me talk to him, okay? Everything will be fine," Santana said, her voice soothing yet firm as she tried to calm the group. She glanced at Puck, his face a storm of anger, before turning and heading toward the house.
When Santana reached the house, she knocked softly and heard Hershel call out, "Come on in." She hesitated a moment before walking inside, her eyes scanning the room until she spotted Hershel seated at the dining table, reading a book while eating his lunch.
"A little light reading for lunch?" Santana said, trying to lighten the mood as she noted the Bible resting beside his plate.
"Been working hard lately. I get my studying in when I can," Hershel replied, not looking up from his book.
"You know, we can help with your work," Santana offered.
"It's my field to tend," Hershel said, his voice firm as he cut her off.
Santana took a deep breath, knowing she needed to address the matter at hand. "We found the barn," she said, sitting down at the dining table.
"Leave it be."
"I'd like to talk about it. But either way, it's your barn, your farm, your decision,"
"I don't want to discuss the barn. I don't want to debate."
"It's not a debate, more like a discussion," Santana said softly.
"I need you and your group gone by the end of the week," Hershel said abruptly.
"I spoke with Glenn," Santana began, her voice steady. "We may have our differences in how we view the walkers—those people. They might be dead, or they might be alive. But us, my group, we're alive right now, right here, in front of you. If you send us out there, that could change."
Hershel's face remained impassive as he continued to read his Bible, clearly trying to shut her out. "I've given you safe harbor. Your son is healthy, you're not weak anymore, and Finn is healed. My conscience is clear."
Santana's frustration grew, but she kept her voice calm, fighting to keep her emotions in check. "Look, Hershel, this farm… it's special," she said, her voice laced with urgency. "You've been sheltered from what's happening out there. Glenn said you saw some of it on the news, but that was a long time ago. The world now is nothing like what you saw on TV. It's far worse, and it changes people—either into those things or into something far less than they were before."
Hershel didn't respond. Instead, he got up and walked over to the kitchen, clearly trying to distance himself from the conversation.
"Hershel, please," Santana pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation. "Don't send us out there again."
Hershel turned to leave, but Santana's next words made him pause. "My wife is pregnant. Out there, that's either a gift or a death sentence. If we stay, we can help you with the work and make this place more secure. We can survive together."
The mention of her pregnant wife seemed to cut through the tension, and Hershel paused at the doorway, his back still turned.
"Santana, I'm telling you we can't."
"You need to think about what you're doing," Santana said, her patience wearing thin.
"I've thought about it," Hershel snapped back, his voice rising.
"Think about it!" Santana's voice broke through the air with a mix of anger and desperation. "We can't go out there!"
At the campgrounds…
Santana walked toward the barn and spotted Puck leaning on a tractor, staring at the barn where dozens of walkers were being held in. When Puck noticed Santana approaching, he straightened up, his impatience showing.
"Well, what did he say?" Puck asked.
"We're negotiating," Santana replied, trying to keep her tone steady.
"You're negoti-" Puck said, disbelief clear in his voice. "The clock's ticking, Santana."
"No, it's not, Puck." Santana shook her head firmly, her frustration rising. "That barn is secure. We didn't even know about it until this morning."
"We didn't know," Puck agreed, "But now we do. There's over a dozen walkers in there, and it's just a stone's throw from our camp—where we sleep. If we're not going to clear it out, then we need to leave."
"We're not clearing it out, and we're not leaving."
"We at least need our guns."
"We can't have them, not here."
"We can't have them?" Puck mocks, as he throws up his hands. "Why do you want to stay here when it's not safe?"
"We can make it safe," Santana insisted.
"How?" Puck demanded, his eyes flashing with anger. "How are we supposed to make it safe?"
"We will, okay?" Santana said, her patience fraying.
"How?"
"We will, okay?" Santana repeated.
"No, Santana, it's not okay—"
"Puck, Quinn's pregnant!" Santana cut him off, her voice sharp with frustration. She locked eyes with him, her anger seeping through. "We need to stay."
Puck's face went pale, the realization struck him hard.
She's pregnant. Quinn's pregnant with my kid.
Puck's eyes widened, the realization dawning on him. "W—we need our guns," he said, his voice shaky. "I need to make sure we're prepared."
"No, I will settle this with Hershel." Santana replied firmly, turning to walk away. She paused and looked back at Puck, who was still reeling from the news. "You good?"
Puck managed a shaky nod, his face painting a mix of pride and confusion. "Yeah, man. Quinn's having a baby." His smile was huge, but then he met Santana's eyes, and the smile fell. "Congratulations."
Santana nodded, her eyes locked on Puck's face. "Thank you." She turned back toward the campground, her mind racing with plans and hope. She was determined to find a way to protect this group, especially her family and their new addition.
Santana and Quinn sat side by side on a small log near the campfire, their eyes drifting to Lucas and Ella. Lucas, his little forehead furrowed in concentration, and Ella were working on some English problems that Quinn had prepared for them. Despite the apocalypse, Quinn, Santana, Kurt, and Blaine had agreed that their children needed to continue learning and getting the education that they unfortunately will miss out on.
Quinn broke the silence, her voice soft but tinged with worry. "So, Tana, what did Hershel say?"
"He wants us gone," Santana replied, her tone flat but soft. "But don't worry, I'm still working on it."
Quinn's gaze softened with concern as she turned to Santana. "Tana, but it sounds like he's not going to change his mind."
"No, no, Lucy. Please," Santana's voice wavered slightly, betraying her frustration and fear. "Not you too. Please, trust me."
Before Quinn could respond, Hershel approached them, his face neutral. "Santana, can I speak with you for a moment? I could use a hand with something."
Santana sighed as she rose from the log. "Sure, Hershel. What do you need?"
Hershel nodded and led Santana a short distance from Quinn and the kids. Santana glanced back at Quinn, offering her a reassuring nod, despite the lingering concern in her wife's eyes.
As Hershel led Santana away from the camp and through the fields, heading into the forest. Jimmy followed closely behind, his presence a quiet but steady support as he carried the snare poles.
Back at the campgrounds, Quinn sat alone, her eyes fixed on Lucas and Ella, as they continued to work on their English problems. Puck, noticing Quinn sitting alone, approached her with a serious look on his face.
"Look, I thought she was dead," Puck began, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a hint of raw vulnerability behind it.
Quinn's eyes remained still on the children as she responded, her voice being tired. "Puck, don't"
"Then, when she came back—right then, right there—I wish she was," Puck's voice grew back, leaving Quinn stunned. "Not... not because you wouldn't be mine, but because I knew that sooner or later she would be. See, Santana? She isn't built for this world. Not for what it is now."
"You're wrong, Puck. You're just wrong," Quinn protested, her voice firm as she shook her head.
"Quinn, how many times has she saved your life?" Puck pressed, his eyes searching hers. "I just want to know. Because by my count, I've saved your life on four different occasions. And Lucas's too. So I just want to ask—how many times has Santana saved your life?"
"That night at the camp, when the walkers attacked," Quinn said, her voice barely above a whisper, as she slowly started to remember that awful night.
"No, no, no. That was me too," Puck argued. "Santana showed up late because she went on a suicide mission over nothing. We wouldn't have been in that mess if she hadn't left to save a drug dealer. And because of that, we lost Amy, Jim, and half of our group"
He paused, taking a deep breath as his frustration dropped. "Santana told me," he said finally, his voice soft and patient.
"Told you what?" Quinn asked, avoiding his eyes.
"And I know the reason why you didn't," Puck continued, his voice low and hurt. "It's because you know it's mine."
"It's Santana's," Quinn said firmly, her voice steady.
"You know, the night at the CDC, Quinn. It's mine. You know it is."
"Puck, you're wrong. I'm sorry, but even if it's yours, it's not gonna be yours. I don't care if it comes out with a mohawk; it's never going to be yours."
Puck stood there for a moment, absorbing Quinn's words. A mixture of hurt and betrayal crossed his face before he slowly turned and walked away, leaving Quinn alone once again, watching the children.
Puck stormed over to the RV, his jaw clenched and anger flooding out. Glenn, perched on top of the RV with his rifle, looked down and greeted him, carefully masking his concern.
"Hey, Puck,"
Puck didn't even look at him. He barreled into the RV, yanking open cabinets and tossing things around searching for the group's guns.
"That son of a bitch," Puck muttered angrily as he came back out empty-handed, slamming the door behind him. He glared at Glenn. "Did you see where he went?"
"Who?" Glenn asked, looking genuinely confused.
"Don't even try to bullshit me, okay?" Puck snapped.
Glenn's brows knitted together. "What?"
"Finn, Glenn. Where's Finn?"
Glenn's confusion turned to concern. "Yeah, he asked me to grab him some water. Said he'd cover me while I was on watch."
"And he was gone when you got back, huh?" Puck's voice was sharp with frustration.
"Yeah. You think he's okay?"
"Oh, he's fine," Puck muttered, his tone dark as he turned and walked away, heading off to find Finn.
In the forest
Hershel, Santana, and Jimmy carefully walked through the forest, their footsteps muffling as they tried to spot a walker. The sun filtered through the trees, casting small shadows on the ground. Hershel's sharp eyes caught sight of something ahead, and slowed to a stop.
"That's Lou Bush," Hershel said softly, his voice tinged with sadness.
Santana squinted through the trees. "You knew him?"
"Lou—Louise, actually. She had a farm not far from here and worked at a local bar on weekends," Hershel explained, his gaze fixed on the decaying figure. "She was a good woman. A good friend."
He turned his attention to Santana. "How many have you killed?"
"Too many to count," Santana replied, her voice steady.
"Can you stop?" Hershel's voice held a note of desperation. "There are people out there who haven't been in their right minds, people I believe can be restored."
"Are you talking about the walkers?" Santana asked, eyebrows furrowing, just like Lucas's.
"It doesn't matter what you see them as anymore. But if you and your people are going to stay here, that's how you'll have to treat them," Hershel said, handing Santana a snare pole. "My farm, my barn, my say."
Jimmy watched in silence as Hershel used the wire from the pole around the walker's head, then handed Santana the other end.
"Otis used to say if you get them halfway out, they'll do the rest of the work," Hershel said as he prepared to lead the walker.
"How many times did he do this?" Santana asked, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand.
"Whenever one wandered onto the property, Otis would deal with them and get them into the barn." Hershel said quietly, his tone heartbroken, "Now we have to,"
"What happens when the barn gets full?" Santana asked, eyeing the walker in front of her.
"Easy. Easy, Santana. You have to lead them," Hershel instructed, his tone calm but firm. "You have to lead them gently. You're the carrot, not the stick. Remember."
"The carrot?" Santana said, as she fought to maintain her grip on the pole. "Otis said he handled them easily. This is easy?!" Santana shouted, her voice a mixture of fear as she struggled to keep the pole steady. The walker's growls grew louder, and lunged toward her. Santana's heart pounded violently in her chest as Hershel tried to get the walker's attention away from Santana.
Finn moved slowly through the forest, the group's guns on his shoulders. He looked around for a good hiding spot and found a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes. He began to head toward it, hoping it would hide the weapons from a certain someone.
Just as he started to tuck the guns in a bag to hide somewhere, Puck stepped out from behind some trees, his eyes focused and intense.
"Man, this is a good hiding place," Puck said, his voice cutting through the stillness. "We haven't been in the swamps much. How about you hand over that bag, huh?"
Finn straightened up, gripping the shoulder strap of the bag tightly. "I'm not gonna do that."
"Yeah you are, Finn," Puck said with a smirk, his eyes flicking to the rifle slung over Finn's shoulder. "Unless, well, you do have that rifle over your shoulder."
"Are you going to kill me like you did Otis? Tell another story?"
Puck's smirk faded slightly. "Nah, man. Hell, when you really look at it in the cold light of day, you're pretty much dead already." There was no humor in his voice now, only a harsh edge as he gave his final command. "Just give me the guns. Do it now."
"You think this is gonna keep us safe?"
"I know it is."
Finn shook his head. "Santana is trying to get Hershel—"
Puck cut him off, his voice growing harsh. "Finn, shut up. Just shut up and hand over the bag."
"Am I going to have to shoot you? Do I have to kill you?" Finn says pointing his rifle to Puck. "Is that what it's going to take?
"Eh. Yeah." Puck says walking in front of the rifle. "That's what it's going to take."
Finn's hand trembled as he gripped the rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger. Memories between them started to flood through his mind.
Puck and him winning their school's first football state championship.
Winning Nationals.
Karaoke nights with the Glee Club.
Their Senior trip.
Puck being Finn's best man at his wedding.
His heart started beating faster as he looked up at Puck.
This was his brother.
He stared into Puck's cold eyes. Their brotherhood seemed like a distant memory. Puck had changed, the world they once knew was gone. Those memories were gone.
How did it come to this?
With a deep breath, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Finn made a choice. The world around him had become so unforgiving, and the person Puck had become was a stark reminder of that harsh truth. He lowered his rifle, his face a mix of sorrow.
"This is where you belong, Puck."
"How's that, Finn?"
"This world. What it is now. This is where you belong." Finn says handing over the bag of guns, "And look, I may not have what it takes to last for long, but that's okay. Cause at least I can say, when the world goes to shit. I didn't let it take me down with it."
"Fair enough." Puck scoffs and walks back to the campgrounds, leaving Finn standing alone.
Back at the Campgrounds
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Tina asked, looking around at the missing group members. "Where is everyone?"
"Have you seen Santana?" Brittany chimed in, her eyes scanning the area in search for her missing best friend.
"She left with Hershel a couple of hours ago," Quinn answered, her tone edged with worry. "Hershel needed her for something."
"Oh, here we go." Daryl muttered as he noticed Puck approaching them, his arms loaded with an assortment of firearms. "What's all this?"
"You with me, man?" Puck says as he hands Daryl a shotgun and starts handing the group guns. "It's time to grow up."
"I thought we couldn't carry." T-Dog asked, confused.
"We can and we have to."
"Where's Finn?" Rachel asked, her voice tinged with concern for her husband.
"He's on his way." Puck says, after handing Mike, Rachel, and Blaine pistols. "Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now, we know it isn't."
Puck then turned to Glenn, handing him a shotgun. "How about you, man? Are you going to protect yours?" Glenn glanced at Maggie, a silent question in his eyes, before accepting the weapon. Puck then shifted his focus to Maggie. "Can you shoot?"
Maggie's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, her voice tight with frustration. "Can you stop?" she demanded. "If you do this, if you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."
"We have to stay, Uncle Puck." Lucas said seriously, his small voice being the only one that got through him.
"We're not going anywhere, little man," he insisted. "Hershel will just have to understand. He… he's going to have to. Now, Lucas, take this." Puck knelt in front of Lucas, holding out a small pistol. "Keep your mother safe. Do whatever it takes."
Lucas hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainty over the gun. "You take it, Lucas. You know how. Go on, take the gun and use it if you have to."
Quinn's eyes flashed with a furious intensity as she stepped in front of Lucas. "Santana said no guns! This is not your decision to make!" she shouted. "You think you can just waltz in here and override everything we've agreed on as a group? This is not your call."
Before Puck could respond, T-Dog called out. "Oh shit."
The group turned as one, following T-Dog's finger, as he pointed out to the fields. There, Santana, Hershel, and Jimmy were struggling with two walkers trapped by a snare pole, using Jimmy as bait, trying to lure them to the barn. The walkers' growls and moans loudly echoed across the fields. Without hesitation, Puck sprinted toward the field, his shotgun gripped tightly. The rest of the group followed in a frantic rush, racing to reach Santana.
"What the hell are you doing?" Puck yells out to Santana.
"Puck, just back off." Santana snapped.
"Why do your people have guns?" Hershel demanded, eyeing Santana's group as they began to approach them.
"Are you kidding me? Do you see, you see what they're holding on to?" Puck shot back, his voice rising.
"I see who I'm holding on to." Hershel said firmly.
"No, man, no you don't."
"Puck, just let us do this and then we can talk." Santana tried to reason.
"What do you want to talk about, Santana?" Puck screams out, "These things are NOT sick. They're not people. They're dead."
Puck began pacing, trying to make his point. "These things right here, they're the ones who killed Amy. Jim. Jacky. Otis. And they're going to kill all of us!"
"Puck, shut up!" Santana shouted, her voice cutting through.
"Hey, Hershel, let me ask you something. Could a living breathing person, could they walk away from this?" Puck said, pulling out his gun and firing three shots at the walker. "That's three rounds in the chest."
Hershel's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the injured walker he was holding onto, struggling to make sense of all this. The gunshots had pierced through the body, and yet, the walker was still up and growling.
"Could someone who's alive, could they just take that? Why is it still coming?" Puck says firing two more shots, "That's its heart. It's lungs. Why is it still coming?"
"Puck, enough!" Santana screams, trying to stop Puck from making things worse with Hershel, who was standing still.
"Yeah, you're right, man. That is enough." Puck replied, aiming at Lou's head and firing one last bullet, ending the growls and moans. The weight of the walker brought Hershel down as he was still holding the snare pole. His face illustrated grief, and despair as he watched Lou's limp body. Meanwhile, Puck stepped out in front of everyone, his determination clear.
"Enough risking our lives playing pretend! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Santana, it isn't like it was before!" Puck shouted, his voice urgent. "Now if you want to live, if you want to survive, you gotta fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here. Right now!"
Ignoring the desperate pleas from the group, Puck dashed toward the barn. He grabbed a pickaxe and began attacking the lock.
"Hershel, take the snare pole!" Santana cries out, "Hershel, listen to me, man, please. Take it now! No, Puck! Do not do this, brother! Wait!"
The barn doors creaked open with a groan, releasing a faint, rancid smell. From the shadows within, figures began to stagger out, their movements unsteady and unsettling. The first walker stumbled into view.
Hershel's stepson, Shawn.
Puck was the first to act, swiftly raising his pistol and aiming with precision at the approaching walker. The shot rang out and was immediately followed by piercing screams from Maggie and Beth, their voices echoing through the air. Puck quickly turned around and fired again, this time at the walker that Santana was struggling with. As the walker's body slumped to the ground, its weight causing the snare pole to fall from Santana's grasp, she looked to Puck with pure hatred in her eyes.
As the barn doors creaked open wider, more walkers began to emerge from the shadows.
Friends and Family members from around the neighborhood.
Puck, T-Dog, Daryl, Mike, and Blaine quickly took charge, moving into defensive positions. But, more walkers had come out than anticipated, leading to Glenn asking Maggie for permission to help the group. Maggie, visibly shaken, nodded and Glenn immediately joined the group on their killing spree.
Among the staggering figures, a middle-aged woman stepped out slowly. She wore a white dress stained with blood, a visible bite mark on her arm. Beth's eyes widened in horror as she recognized her mother.
Hershel's late wife, Annette.
Puck fired a final, decisive shot, taking down Hershel's wife. The echoes of the gunfire seemed to linger in the air, along with a loud cry from Beth, who ran after her mother's lifeless form.
At the edge of the chaos, Hershel sank to his knees, his entire body trembling with silent sobs. Tears streamed down his face as Maggie rushed to his side, her attempts to comfort him falling short of his overwhelming grief. Reliving the painful memory of his wife's death was one thing; witnessing her get shot down before him had obliterated any remaining hope of her restoration. The crushing finality of her loss left him shattered, just as he had been months before. However, now, a feeling of fury, threatening to consume him, was building inside.
A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you are all doing great. I'm sorry for this long wait. I've been going about how to write this, especially the beginning, but I hope it didn't disappoint. I'd love to read our reviews on this chapter! It definitely helps me know how I'm doing with this story! Anyways I hope you all enjoyed. More to come soon. Much Love!
Msjoker16: Hi! Thank you so much for your review! Yes, this is a purely a Quinn and Santana story. Don't worry, there's going to be more of them soon. :D
DtownGurl4488: Thank you so much for your review! I know I'm so sorry for the very long wait. But, I hope this chapter made up for it. :D