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Quinn never thought an open door could ever make her nervous, but now, as she trained the gun at the door with trembling hands, it was the most terrifying thing in the world. There was something about not knowing what could be lurking in the next room that put her on edge. Even though Quinn knew they had just checked those rooms, she was hearing phantom footsteps, the labored breathing, the low, animalistic growls of an imaginary walker waiting outside …

Behind her, she could hear Rachel rummaging around some stranger's study, searching for things they could use back at the lake house. Quinn licked her dry lips. "Are you done?"

Her heartbeat accelerated, practically going from zero to sixty, when an elbow nudged her. "I'm ready," Rachel said casually, shouldering the heavy backpack she'd be carrying.

Quinn spotted thick textbooks peeking through the zipper and raised an eyebrow. "You got…books?"

"Medical texts," Rachel clarified. "For Santana."

Quinn's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "Santana? I can't remember the last time she voluntarily picked up a book."

"Be as that may, Santana is the closest thing we have to a doctor right now. She's the only one out of all of us to have any experience whatsoever," Rachel said as they silently made their way through the house. "Besides, it'll give her something to do. We'll all need distractions to keep us from going insane."

Quinn's thoughts flashed to her mother and felt sick. "You really think so? Everyone seems to be adjusting well enough."

Rachel shrugged. "We're breaking and entering into homes while the dead are walking outside. Anything's possible, Quinn."

They entered the kitchen. Rachel opened the cabinets and began to stuff another bag with cans of food.

"You do realize we have to carry this all back?" Quinn grumbled at the shorter brunette as she kneeled to help Rachel.

"This is the last house on this side of the lake—I don't want to have to come back. Besides, we don't know how long until we're rescued; the more food, the better," Rachel retorted.

Quinn reached into the cabinet and came out with a glass jar of canned prunes. She eyed it in distaste. "Gross. We'll give this to Finn—he looks perpetually constipated, anyway." She let several seconds of silence slide by before looking up at Rachel. "Do you really believe that?"

"What, that Finn's always constipated? I hope not; it can't be too good for his bowels—"

Quinn rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "No, do you think we'll be rescued?"

"Oh." Rachel's hands stilled, and she refused to look at Quinn. "Of course. I predict we'll be here for a month, two months tops, before someone comes looking for us."

"Someone who's dead and wants to eat us, maybe," Quinn muttered. "I'm not stupid, Berry. No one's left out there to look for us—if there were, you wouldn't be making me take these stupid fucking prunes." She placed the jar on the counter, far away from her.

"Hey, that's rude. What've those prunes done to you?" Rachel deflected.

"Rachel." Quinn scowled.

Rachel immediately turned somber. "I'm not saying there's absolutely no chance of being rescued, Quinn…but it's not likely. You saw how quickly how Lima was overrun, and it's not even a big city compared to Los Angeles or New York. I don't know how long we'll be here, hence the food." She shook the jar of mayonnaise in her hand.

"Delicious," Quinn deadpanned.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Rachel shot her a grin. "Besides, I thought we could eat the perishable items first before moving on to the canned goods."

"And when those run out?"

"Maybe someone will have a green thumb. Either that, or we'll resort to cannibalism." Rachel tried to smile, but winced at Quinn's unamused look. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," Quinn affirmed. She paused. "But if we did, who would we eat first?"

Rachel's lips quirked up. "Well, you and I would be last—" She immediately stopped talking when a soft thump was heard. "Did you hear that?"

Quinn nodded and listened intently. There—her blood ran cold at hearing the slow, telltale shuffle-step of the walking dead coming directly from the direction of the living room. Quinn instinctively grabbed Rachel's elbow and tugged her behind the island counter just as a pale, blood-soaked figure appeared in the doorway. Her heart was practically pounding out of her chest; beside her, Rachel was quietly taking deep breaths before turning to face her.

"Quinn! You left the front door open!" She hissed furiously.

Quinn's jaw dropped in outrage. "Me? You were the last one inside!"

"I wouldn't be irresponsible enough to forget!"

"Oh, and you're saying I am?"

While Quinn's reflexes saved them from being noticed by the walker, it also left their weapons lying several feet away. Though, with the sound of unsteady footsteps dragging against the tiles, their weapons might as well have been hundreds of miles away.

Quinn could see Rachel calculating the risk of going for the guns and frantically shook her head at the other girl.

The shuffling grew closer, and the two girls began to inch around the counter. Quinn silently cursed as they were forced to move further away from their weapons.

"I'll distract the walker. You circle around and grab the guns," Quinn murmured.

Rachel nodded. Quinn took a deep breath and jumped up, flinching at the sight of a plump woman with a bloody, shredded leg on the other side of the counter. The walker turned around to stare at Quinn with milky eyes before baring bloody teeth in a snarl.

"Oh my God," Quinn muttered before waving her arms. "Hey! Over here!" She began to walk backwards as the zombie limped toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rachel scramble for her gun and stand up. "Shoot, Rachel!"

Rachel pulled the trigger. Quinn felt her stomach drop when nothing happened. "Rachel, shoot!" She yelled, scrambling around the counter as the walker steadily followed her. It was almost like 'Duck, Duck, Goose,' except a more twisted version called 'Oh Fuck There's A Zombie Chasing Me.'

"It's jammed!" Rachel shouted before realizing her mistake. Sound was bad—very, very bad. The walker turned away from Quinn and stumbled toward her instead.

Quinn let out a cry of frustration and grabbed the nearest thing to her—the jar of prunes on the counter—and smashed it as hard as she could on the walker's head. It dropped to the floor with a thud, glass shards sticking out of its skull. Rachel scooped up the pistol as the zombie attempted to rise and fired two shots into its head, permanently dispatching it.

"Nice going, Quinn," Rachel said weakly. "Guess you really hated those prunes, huh?"

Quinn stared at the re-dead zombie in shock. "I'll shut the front door," she mumbled, exiting the kitchen and passing through the living room. She stopped at seeing the front door was closed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "It's still shut—"

She let out a strangled shriek when something suddenly grabbed her ankle. Quinn looked down to see a walker with its lower spine visibly snapped, bone protruding through the skin of its back. The zombie groaned and tried to pull Quinn toward its blood-covered mouth. She quickly yanked her foot out of the dead man's grasp and brought her leg back to kick the zombie in the head as hard as she could, causing its head to snap back with a nasty crack. Rachel strolled up and casually put a bullet through the brain of this one, too.

"Gross," Quinn muttered, looking down at the flecks of brain and bone that now covered her shoes. "Where'd they even come from?"

Rachel looked around and spotted an open door connecting to the garage. She shook her head disparagingly at herself. "We forgot to check the garage. The first walker must've heard us and pushed the door open."

Quinn stepped over the body on the floor and walked into the garage. A car was parked haphazardly on the driveway, the driver's side door open and the key in the ignition. She leaned down to scrutinize the crimson stains smeared on the front grille of the car and on the pavement.

Rachel carefully surveyed the scene. "I think the woman hit the guy, who was already a walker, with her car as she was coming out and broke his spine. She got out of the car to check on him and he grabbed her like he did with you, except she wasn't so lucky. He chomped on her leg for a bit, she probably died from blood loss before turning, and both of them heard us in the kitchen."

"Well, at least we've got a car now." Quinn threw her bags into the back and climbed into the passenger seat. Rachel followed suit, turning the key in the ignition and smiling in satisfaction as the engine roared to life.

The trek back to the house took a considerably shorter amount of time now that they had a vehicle. Quinn let her hand hang out the window as they drove along the shoreline, the wind rushing through the gaps between her fingers and tousling her hair. As they neared the lakehouse (their home now, Quinn supposed), she could see Puck and Finn putting the last finishing touches on the boards now covering up the windows. On the balcony above, Brittany was looking in their direction through a pair of binoculars. The taller blonde waved frantically at them. Quinn smiled at the enthusiastic welcome and waved back.

Puck looked up as the car pulled up and nodded at them. "Sup Q, Rach. Find anything good?"

"Food, medical supplies. Some walkers," Quinn replied glibly. "Tina and Mike back yet?"

"They just got in before you, about five minutes ago."

Rachel let out a sigh of relief before scrutinizing the boarded windows with an impressed look. "Looks good, gentlemen. You guys did well."

"Damn straight I did," Puck boasted.

"I helped, too!" Finn protested, any previous animosity he held toward the girls having seemingly vanished. Simple minds, simple pleasures, Quinn thought.

"Whatever, dude," Puck dismissed.

The two boys began to bicker. Quinn rolled her eyes and entered the house, unceremoniously dropping her duffel bags on the floor. "We're back."

Mike poked his head out of the kitchen. "Awesome! You guys get a lot of stuff?"

"Mostly food," Rachel said, following Quinn into the kitchen. Dozens of cans of food were already piled up on the floor. Santana and Kurt sat around the table, Kurt's foot propped up on Santana's lap as she wound medical tape around it.

"Us, too. We also got more clothes and medical supplies," Tina said. "There's nothing much in the way of weapons, though."

"Then I guess we'll have to make our bullets count until we find a gun store," Rachel replied. "We did get a present for Santana, though."

Santana looked up. "Ooh, gimme. 'Bout time everyone realized I'm the greatest person here—besides Brittany, obviously."

Quinn snorted. "Even when she's not here, you're still unbelievably whipped."

"Shut up, Quinn, no one asked you." Santana shoved Kurt's foot off her lap and gestured for him to stand up. "Alright, Twinkle Toes, how's it feel?"

Kurt gingerly took a step forward before looking at her with gratitude and disbelief. "Well, color me impressed, Satan. I would've pegged Brittany as the healer between you two—who knew you were as good at fixing things up as you are at destroying them?"

"I knew," Brittany declared as she bounded into the kitchen. She settled herself into Santana's lap and pointed a finger at Kurt. "I demand you show my awesome girlfriend a little more respect, Kurt. Without her, you'd be a crippled unicorn.
Brittany leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "And do you know what happens to a crippled unicorn?"

Kurt warily shook his head. Crystal blue eyes gleamed dangerously at him. "It has to be put down." Brittany leaned back, immediately resuming her jovial demeanor. "But of course, thanks to Santana, that won't be necessary!"

Santana smiled into Brittany's neck. "Thanks, babe."

"Sickening," Quinn muttered with a smile as Brittany planted a kiss on Santana's cheek before grabbing a can of Sprite and leaving.

Kurt blinked. "That was…actually kind of scary."

"I guess Santana's rubbing off on her," Mike commented.

"Okay, first of all, wanky," Santana stated. "Second, my girl's always been fierce."

"Good news in times like these," Tina remarked.

"Speaking of good news…" Rachel took the medical textbooks out of her bag with a flourish and presented them to Santana. "Here."

Santana stared at them before giving Rachel a deadpan stare. "I'm illiterate."

"Hilarious. You're the closest thing we have to a doctor," Rachel reminded.

"You're right, that is funny. The most I can do is put in an IV, maybe even stitch up a cut." Santana waved a hand at the books. "I'm not cut out for this textbook-reading doctor shit. Do I look like House to you?"

"No, you look like Santana Lopez, the girl who doesn't take crap from anyone and can do anything she puts her mind to," Rachel calmly replied.

"Remember when you gave me mono without infecting yourself? Or when you knew what to do when Mercedes got food poisoning? You're naturally good at that medical kind of stuff, even if you were a huge bitch with that mono stunt," Quinn said encouragingly.

"Fucking bullshit pep-talkers," Santana grumbled, but accepted the textbooks anyway. "I'll give it a shot, but no promises," she warned. "And, uh, sorry about the mono. I'm not apologizing to Finn, though."

"Water under the bridge. Point is, I believe in you," Quinn said solemnly before giving her a mischievous grin.

Santana immediately grimaced, knowing what was coming from years of experience. "Q, don't do it—"

"Don't stop belieeeevin'," Quinn softly crooned.

"Hold on to the feeeeelin'," Rachel immediately jumped in.

"Streetlight peooople," Quinn finished off melodically. Tina and Mike chuckled.

"God, you're as bad as Streisand over here," Santana complained, trying to hide a grin as she shoved Quinn.

"I resent that, Santana," Rachel said drily.

"Was that the ever ass-kicking Journey I just heard?" Puck asked as he came into the kitchen. "Man, talk about a throwback."

"Are you guys done securing the exterior?" Rachel demanded.

"From top to bottom, Captain. The big bad wolf won't get into this house," Puck said triumphantly.

"I could use some food, though." Finn looked at Rachel hopefully.

"Mike and I can make dinner," Tina volunteered. "Well, Mike will. I'll watch."

Mike nodded excitedly. "The electricity's going in and out, but the stove runs on gas. I'll make pasta!"

"Thanks. I'll make a chart later so we can rotate chores around," Rachel mumbled. Quinn shook her head and smiled; Rachel's obsessive organizing skills were peeking through, remnants of a past life still clinging onto them all.

"Hey, did anyone bring a can opener?" Tina asked, holding up two cans of tomato sauce.

There was silence as they looked all at each other. Quinn sighed. Off to a great start.

-000-000-

The sounds of quiet chewing filled the room, the fire in the fireplace providing the only light as night fell outside. Quinn glanced around as she slurped up more spaghetti into her mouth; like herself, most people seemed preoccupied with eating their food than with talking.

Santana was first to break the silence. "Gotta hand it to you, Boy Chang—this isn't half bad. Much better than what Berry fed us the first night."

"You're lucky I even stopped to rescue you," Rachel countered mildly.

Santana groaned. "You're going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"I can think of several ways to pay you back, babe." Puck wiggled his eyebrows at Rachel. She swatted his knee.

"We're pretty lucky to be alive and together," Tina murmured. "Not all of us made it out."

"What do you think happened to Artie?" Brittany asked quietly, leaning into Santana for comfort.

"Dude was in a wheelchair. He had no chance," Puck said regretfully. "Let's face it—our families, Mercedes, Sam, Mr. Schue? Everyone's gone. Hell, my own sister tried to eat me."

Kurt sighed sadly. "Blaine wasn't at his house when we checked."

Finn furrowed his brow. "Do you think gay zombies only go for guys?"

"Shh, Finn. No one's in the mood for your stupidity," Santana grumbled.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

"We'll let you test that one out," Quinn said dryly.

"Zombie-me would probably go for both girls and guys," Brittany mused.

"We all know who Santana would eat," Puck snickered.

"Oh, sometimes Santana eats me out—"

Cheeks blazing red, Santana slapped a hand over Brittany's mouth and huffed in amused mortification when the blonde winked mischievously at her. "You really don't need to tell them that, B."

"Yes, please don't," Kurt said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I don't mind!"

"Shut up, Puck."

Rachel stood up and stretched. "It's late. We should get some sleep."

"How can anyone sleep with those things that might be wandering around outside?" Mike looked worried.

"We'll take turns keeping watch throughout the night, about two hours each?" Rachel suggested. "The people who don't do it tonight can do it tomorrow night."

"Sounds good to me," Santana agreed before touching her nose. "Shotty not going first."

"That'll be me," Rachel assured her. "Who's second?"

"I'll do it," Quinn volunteered.

"I'll go next," Puck said gruffly.

"And me," Kurt added.

"Perfect. That's eight hours, which should be long enough for dawn to arrive." Rachel paused. "So, how're we dividing up bedrooms?"

Quinn rolled her eyes when Santana immediately claimed the master bedroom for Brittany and herself. Tina and Mike were content with the guest bedroom, which left two bedrooms to be fought over by five people.

"Rachel and I can share a bed," Finn proclaimed.

"Umm, no. I am not sleeping with Puckerman," Quinn snapped.

"Too late for that."

"Shut up, Santana."

"Finn, I think it's inappropriate to sleep in the same bed when we aren't even in a relationship," Rachel said.

"Wait, you were serious about breaking up?" He asked in disbelief.

"I'll sleep with you," Puck offered. "With Rachel, not you, Finn."

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Propriety died along with everyone else, Berry," Santana lazily interjected.

"Fine, Santana, I'm simply not interested in sharing a bed with Finn. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"Hey," Finn protested.

"Finn, take Tina's old bedroom with Puck and Kurt. Rachel and I will take the other one," Quinn ordered.

Kurt looked horrified. "Absolutely not. I refuse to sleep next to teenage boy sweat and grime."

Puck scoffed and slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "What're you talking about, Hummel? I smell awesome. Besides, this sausage fest should be a dream come true for you."

"Finn farts in his sleep," Kurt complained.

"Suck it up," Quinn growled.

"Wanky."

"Santana, if you're not contributing anything, go to bed!"

Santana stuck out her tongue. "You're just jealous I've got a hot blonde to warm my bed—but that's the best idea you've given me all night. Later, bitches." She walked up the stairs with purpose, tugging a grinning Brittany by the hand toward the direction of the bedrooms. Quinn groaned, hoping the walls were thick enough to muffle sound.

They all dispersed after that, Tina and Mike into one room, a reluctant Kurt following Puck and Finn into another. Rachel went out on the balcony with nothing but a gun and flashlight for company. Quinn stepped inside the bedroom she and Rachel would be sharing and quietly changed out of her clothes, eyeing the spatters of blood that stained the bottoms of her jeans. She slipped into the bed and let herself simply lie there, feeling vaguely like an intruder under the rocket-ship sheets of a bed that didn't belong to her, its true owner long gone. Her eyes flickered restlessly between the cracks in the ceiling and the shadows that cloaked the room in darkness. Quinn's eyes burned with the need to sleep, but the pervading sense of isolated vulnerability that overcame her every time she closed them was terrifying.

After what seemed like forever, Quinn couldn't take it anymore. She got out of bed and walked outside; Rachel was leaning against the railing and looking up at the star-studded sky, looking remarkably unperturbed considering the circumstances. She turned around when Quinn stepped onto the balcony and cocked her head. "There's still some time left before your shift, Quinn."

Quinn tiredly shrugged. "I know. Just making sure you don't ditch us again," she lied.

Rachel immediately scowled, her features becoming more animated. "That was yesterday, get over it!"

"It was really early this morning, actually," Quinn corrected.

"It was only a momentary lapse of judgment." She groaned when Quinn only arched an eyebrow in response. "You're going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?" She asked, echoing Santana's question earlier.

"Absolutely," Quinn mimicked.

They stood in companionable silence for a while until a snap somewhere off in the woods below caused both of them to tense. Quinn squinted hard in the direction of the sound, Rachel's hands curling around the sniper riper. Several beats passed before breaths were released in relief, a white-tailed deer oblivious to their scrutiny as it grazed in the moonlight. Rachel set down the rifle.

"That was…nerve-wracking," she said quietly.

"Are you scared?" Quinn whispered.

Rachel laughed dryly. "You have no idea."

"Actually, I do," Quinn muttered, watching as the deer looked up at something only it could see before bounding off into the darkness.

"Is that why you can't sleep?"

Quinn shrugged and changed topics. "You were right, earlier."

"About what?"

"We're going to need distractions, or else we'll go insane. From the fear, the uncertainty, the grief." Quinn rested her chin on her hand and looked at Rachel. "I don't know what my distraction's going to be, though."

Rachel nodded thoughtfully. "Well, right now, it's to keep watch. Tomorrow, we'll find everyone something to do."

Quinn acquiesced silently by taking the gun from the exhausted brunette and waving a 'good night' to her. The stars out by the multitude provided some measure of light; the moon reflecting off still lake waters made an eerie sort of companion. If Quinn let herself forget for a minute, she was back home, sitting outside on the part of roof underneath her window and making a wish on every shooting star that passed above.

But a minute only lasted for so long. Memories dissipated into reality, both weariness and wariness settling in the forefront of her mind, taking over her body. She was at the lake house again, palm running over the smooth stock of the rifle, quietly determined to stand guard over the last family she had remaining.

Plot? What plot?