Chapter XXI

Tension. There was plenty of it in the air. Quinn's body was alive with it, humming, coiled like a spring but for what, she wasn't quite sure. She needed something to happen, anything. At any moment, she could snap. Rather, she felt like she could spring forward. Her heart was in her throat but her mind remained where it was, advising to remain calm, to rein herself in. She hated the constant battle inside her body when all she wanted to do was act and feel, not think and plan. It wasn't her forte. Yet, she still tried, and she supposed that was good enough, seeing as trying to survive was what kept them going this far, no matter how close they had just come to death, once again.

Amber eyes roamed from her own face to the one beside her. Rachel ignored her completely even as their arms brushed at the sink. The brunette tended to shallow lacerations across her forehead and a deeper one through her left eyebrow to down about her eye. The shattering of the windshield was powerful, and while Quinn had flung forward to what she was now nursing as a bloodied but thankfully not broken nose, Rachel had gone rigid against her locked seatbelt and could only duck her head against the spray of fragmented glass. Even now, Quinn could see a piece still in her hair, glinting in the harsh light of the bathroom, a memoir as to what they had already gone through the night before.

Without thinking, she reached up and gently extracted the piece from Rachel's hair. At least it prompted the shorter girl to pay a bit of attention to Quinn, looking at her bloodstained and bruised fingers to see the shard suspended in them. Dark eyes lifted to meet hers, putting Quinn in her place, and what her heart so wanted to do was what her brain cancelled and forced her to turn back to the sink, flinging the glass into the basin full of pink haze that was supposed to be water. Bringing a rag to her nose, Quinn closed her eyes, centering herself while she leaned against the edge of the basin for support. She was losing control and it unnerved her. She could remember how well she was able to handle herself and the situations presented to her at the beginning of all of this. Rachel held onto her every word, followed her obediently, and had complete trust in her. Now, she had ruined it, and in the process, threw the little girl into the face of danger without meaning to and with no clarified way to bring her back, to protect her without having it shoved back in her face. She felt that familiar pang of pain in her chest, stealing her breath, and she had to try now to not cry, screwing her eyes shut like it was just the pain of her nose smashing against the steering wheel. Her face warmed and perhaps her hand was starting to quiver on the porcelain, so she gripped it tighter and prepared to turn away and leave. Surely, Rachel could clean up by herself. She didn't need Quinn beside her, watching her, fussing like some nonexistent girlfriend, useless.

A warmth smoothed over the back of her hand clenching the sink and she opened her eyes to see in the reflection of the mirror Rachel taking her hand, prying it away. Her bloodied, soiled paper towels were abandoned, one having fallen into the water and becoming somewhat of a film over the surface, absorbing water. She took Quinn's hand, using it to guide her in turning to face the shorter girl. Removing her eyes from the mirror, she met Rachel's again, softened and a paler shade of brown than they were just a minute before. Their hands didn't separate, Rachel holding the blonde's fingers in hers loosely, and with her other hand, she reached up to take away the rag. Admitting her, Rachel began to gently run it just beneath Quinn's nose, wiping at the blood that stained her creamy skin. The gesture was intimate. There was still a hardness in the way that her brows were knitted together, like she couldn't believe herself what she was doing, but the punk didn't dwell on that. She wanted to enjoy this moment, and though it probably would have been found inappropriate, she just wanted to close her eyes and soak up the feeling of Rachel touching her again, so close and alive, no matter how much she might hate her right now.

However, her eyes stayed miraculously open and she simply gazed down at the brunette caring for her, moving from her finally staunched nose to just wiping away the acquired layers of filth since they left the strip mall and their friends. There was a pause as Rachel attempted to wring out what she could in the water of the sink, and then she was back to stroking Quinn's cheek, the rag cool against her skin. Not meaning to, her eyes dropped to Rachel's lips, taking in that full bottom lip and how she must have just ran her tongue over it with how it shimmered faintly, moistened. She didn't register the fact that the ministrations against her forehead were ceasing, or that Rachel's own eyes were now roaming her face. She didn't even realize the fingers threading with her own, insisting that they remain close, only it was a reflex that tightened the hold.

Primal. Not logical. Quinn was not a character of strategy, of tactics and articulation. She was intuitive, emotional, and instinctive. She took the initiative, just as she did now, lifting her free hand to cup the back of Rachel's head as she leaned down to crash their lips together. At first she thought she was going to have to fight for what she wanted, just a single, simple kiss, and then she could have her control back and Rachel could go back to hating her. There was a saying she found true, that she would have to reach the bottom before she could start to climb back up, and that was what she thought she was doing.

But Rachel was kissing her back. She stood on her tip-toes, arching her back into Quinn's, tilting her head, and clutching her hand. She wouldn't have to fight to regain control— Rachel was going to give it to her. She found her fingers sinking into dark locks, her finger-locked hand slipping to travel up a tanned arm and wound around small ribs, pulling the smaller girl closer. Rachel only responded with slinging an arm around her neck, fingers tugging on the ends of short blonde hair, her other reaching around to ball up Quinn's shirt on her back. Someone used teeth and the other moaned, but who it was, they weren't sure. Everything was lost in the onslaught of passion.

Quinn pulled back only to grab Rachel by her hips and lift her onto the counter beside the sink. She stepped between her knees as she was granted and showered kisses along a jaw that was thankfully unmarred, down to a neck where she could feel a pulse beat fervently, skin heated with life. Hands wound themselves in her blonde hair, her bandana long gone, and she could move closer as legs hitched themselves on her hips, trapping her body against Rachel's, not that she felt that way. She felt so small and fragile in Quinn's hands, but she proved her case many times over, that Rachel was much more than that. She was strong, durable. She survived where others couldn't even begin to. Even when the world was falling apart, she has the strength to keep her morals and beliefs stolid. In many ways, she protected Quinn when all Quinn wanted to do was save her. But she didn't need saving. Not any more than Quinn needed saving.

24 HOURS EARLIER

The drive lasted the rest of the day and well into night. The clock on the dashboard actually read an hour near midnight, and it was relieving to have a sense of time where the world had stopped counting.

It hadn't been very long after they were driving that Rachel had taken her hand from Quinn's, folding her own in her lap and contenting herself with staring out the window. She had watched as sparse buildings and eventual fields blazed past them, Quinn driving with intention to get away from what occurred behind them. They had literally been inches within the grasp of death. It was a wonder how Quinn and Rachel kept themselves together, when the hands were grabbing at the blonde's shirt and how the little singer had fallen behind. Something must have gone wrong atop the building as well because Santana and Brittany bolted for it not too long after without their signal. Whatever the case, they were all left to marvel at how their idiotic plan almost failed but actually succeeded. They were home free… for nowhere.

Night fell. Quinn flicked the headlights on to their lowest setting, hoping to keep the most amount of attention away from them. It would be like a beacon and she knew that even if zombies couldn't see well; this was enough of a signal to attract them. Even so, she was going to have to find a place to stop soon. They couldn't sleep in the car, not even in the front seats, what with all their luggage pressing against their backs. As it was, Rachel was dozing off with her temple pressed against her side's window. They hadn't done much today but she was still tired. Her ankle no longer throbbed but its mobility was rendered. She should probably elevate it but she couldn't be bothered right now. Besides, it would mess with her knee, which could be seen through a jagged hole torn in her jeans. The wound there was purely superficial, and was raw and not entirely bleeding, but it ached still, even when she wasn't moving. She needed some kind ointment and bandage to cover it up. They had that kind of supplies in their bags but again, she was too tired to maneuver in her seat to dig through the piles for it. Whenever they'd stop, she'd do just that.

"Rachel?" Quinn found her voice, whispering in case the other was actually asleep. There was a beat in which she thought she was, but then there was a hum in a response, sounding like a "yes?"

Eyes steady on the road, she licked her lips. "Will you be alright?"

"I will be fine." She didn't sound angry, nor were her words clipped. She was simply weary and it worried Quinn, that perhaps what had transpired between them was more detrimental than the actual acts they constantly endured these days. She tried to understand from that view and she thought she could, but she knew she would never really be able to because it didn't happen to her. She made it happen to Rachel.

Glancing at Rachel's knee, she guessed it wasn't too bad, though it did look irritated. It sort of reminded her of the kinds of scrapes people got as kids from falling off their bikes or running too fast. Instead, it was a scrape from running away.

"Would you like to sing?"

Quinn wasn't sure what urged her to ask that question. Admittedly, it had been on her mind a lot recently. She hoped Rachel's singing voice hadn't been affected but it was almost selfish to assume it wasn't. Her own voice had taken a toll. She found it gravely and hoarse in the strangest times, and it had to do with screaming and running all the time. Rachel's voice was a gift on Earth and the thought that it was damaged in the slightest was sort of heart wrenching. When she didn't receive a response, she glanced at the brunette.

Rachel's eyes were open. They stared out into the dark with a brow furrowed in thought, like she was contemplating on whether or not she really wanted to sing. Of course she wanted to sing. Singing was her outlet for her emotions, a positive energy, and pure talent that no one could copy or take from her. But on the inside, she was scared. She was so scared. There was the possibility that she didn't sound good anymore, that she could try and it would come out wrong. It was absolutely ludicrous but she was more scared of losing her voice than running over a body, which she had come to realize absolutely shook her to the core. Even so, she was never one to back away from a challenge, especially when it involved her voice. She licked her lips, thinking of a song, and then the melody reached her. Her spirit lightened and she knew she could do it.

"I'm sittin' in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination…" It was soft, and low, and steady. It was exactly the kind of singing they both heard before, not altered in any way. Quinn wanted to sigh in relief but she had to focus on the road while trying not to get distracted by the diva's voice. And at once, the song made sense. There may be a few lines that couldn't relate, but the bigger picture applied to her, to them.

"Homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound…" Rachel sang softly, her voice quite angelic. Her head still rested against the window but her eyes were staring straight ahead, glazed as though she were reading the lyrics rather than staring listlessly into darkness. "Home, where my thought's escaping, home, where my music's playing, home, where my love lies waiting…"

It was magic, the kind that enraptured any who listened and left them questioning how something like such could exist. It had Quinn picturing Lima, the way it used to be, in her head. She longed for the days that she took for granted and wished this damn apocalypse never happened, never started, but then again, it brought her so very close to the girl she never had the courage to befriend. In the most twisted way, she thought she should at least be grateful for that, if nothing else.

"Everyday's an endless stream, of cigarettes and magazines, and each town looks the same to me, the movies and factories, and every stranger's face I see, reminds me that I long to be… homeward bound…"

Rachel continued to sing until the very end of the song, but even she didn't want it to stop there. Her eyes closed but she still hummed the tune, filling the car with a lethargic aura that made it all seem a little easier.

All at once, it was just a drive to Quinn. She was transported to another plane where it was just her, Rachel asleep in the passenger seat, and the lonely, dark road, and they were driving into the unknown. There were no complications, no plans to create, no fear to be felt. They had no guns to carry, food to scavenge, no risen undead lusting after their flesh. They were on a road trip.

"I want to know how you feel."

That was even worse than blurting out for Rachel to sing. If she could, Quinn would've thrown her head against the steering wheel in frustration. Why did she have to do that? Her brain stopped her from doing most things but when she really wanted it to, needed it to, it would falter and she would do exactly as she just did. She didn't dare look at Rachel, and when silence only answered her, she hoped Rachel had missed it somehow, even if it was voiced loud enough to hear.

Then— "What?"

Impulsively, Quinn gripped the steering wheel tighter. She could hear in Rachel's voice that this was going to be another one of their arguments, that she made the stupid mistake of ruining the peace. She was reminded of their first fight, of throwing each other's flaws in the other's face in order to just get to the school. Their latest was atop the strip mall with the other two Cheerios to witness as Quinn embarrassingly scrambled for Rachel's attention by proclaiming her love that didn't even seem to matter. At that, she felt a little spark of anger, but it didn't compare to what Rachel must be feeling, and she didn't dare account for it. She had no right to be angry or upset. She only had the right to grovel and attempt to make amends for her foul deeds.

"I don't know how I feel, Quinn!" Rachel snapped when Quinn didn't say anything. The blonde resisted flinching, her pride always intact, a constant stain. "How do you think I'm supposed to feel?"

"How do you feel about me?" Quinn countered. The damage had already been done, so she might as well just get to the point. Nothing else could go wrong.

There was splutter from Rachel, like she didn't understand where Quinn was going with this. It caught her off-guard and actually angered her further. How was she supposed to feel about her? She was already conflicted with her emotions as it was, whether she wanted to find Finn or if her heart really lay with Quinn. Of course, she never entertained the thought of a relationship with the blonde, but she could never lie to herself. She was attracted to her and always has been. She didn't realize it then but it was never just a sick infatuation for the tormentor of her high school years. Even if she didn't torture Rachel, she would've still had the same admiration and desire to just hold her hand, to stroke her hair, to caress her skin. It was all so strong and apparent now, but then it was being trampled by the thought that Finn had been right, that Quinn ruined her chances of getting into NYADA, and he had only been trying to protect her. She never gave Quinn the chance to explain her reasoning because she didn't think anything she would've said would have made a bit of difference, but her words still echoed in her ears, in her heart.

—because I love you!

Somewhere along the lines, her brain must have skipped when Quinn looked at her because she blinked and the next thing she knew, Quinn wasn't paying attention to the road but was searching her face, the latter action much more important to the blonde. Concern, worry, and hurt lined her features, and this wasn't the hard-ass punk she knew Quinn to become. She was the little lost girl that was kicked out of her home with no friends and no future.

Thump. Thump. Why was her heartbeat in her head? It was déjà vu. Time slowed, her breath measured and deep as it echoed, sounding like they were in an empty, vast room instead of their cramped car. Eyes moved sluggishly, moving to the speedometer, and then instead of a heartbeat, she heard the tick, tick as the dial moved over each increment.

Quinn wasn't paying attention. She was too absorbed in Rachel. Something must have happened. The car continued to speed up. Nothing was making sense.

On instinct, Rachel lifted her head. Her mouth opened. Panic filled her lungs like water. She couldn't breathe. The light of the headlights reflected in her wide eyes. Another car entered the beams of lights, and for a second, she saw.

Blood. Terror.

The car swerved, the driver helpless in the hands of the zombie devouring him from the passenger seat.

And Quinn didn't see it. She never did.

Fast-forward.

Shock was lead in her stomach, weighing her down, rooting her to her seat. Her left eye stung, her vision swimming with red, and she tried to blink it away. An incredible pain lanced up the side of her neck, blinding her and forcing a choked cry from her parched throat. Something dangled before her eyes, like a red thread, and then it broke and hit her knuckles, clutching the locked seatbelt too tight against her chest. She blinked again. A globule of blood sat in the valley of her knuckles before sliding down the back of her pallid hand. At once, the pain centered itself in her head, and real tears pricked at her eyes. She released an agonized breath, and then felt light-headed, having made the wrong move. She couldn't feel her legs, couldn't move. She blinked again. Nothing trapped her legs, but… they shimmered. Not with blood. With— glass. Hundreds, thousands of shards of glass littered the car floorboard, her lap. Attempting to lift her head again, she gasped at the pain in her neck once more. The edges of her vision were ringed in black. This must be what it was like to fight off the nauseating waves of unconsciousness. Light-headed. Feeble. Immobile. Another string dropped before her face like a spider was creating a web over her face, and then it too broke, hitting her pant leg with an audible pad. Licking her lips, she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood. She saw her knuckles again and her next plan of action was to release her fingers from their hold on the seatbelt. She focused on moving her index finger, and slowly, jerkily, like she couldn't control them or feel them, it relaxed. There was a crack, the intensity with which she held the belt so strong that her joints had to burst the gas bubbles. It took her a minute but she managed to get both her hands to release the belt, and when she did, she simply turned them over to stare at her palms. They were clean, and then a drop of crimson fell into one. She watched it spread along the lines of her skin.

Then, she remembered. She wasn't alone. Breathing in short, shallow breaths, scared of what she was going to see, she turned her head against the complaints she felt shooting through her skull and spine.

Just before the blackness threatening her eyes overtook her, she saw.

Blood. Death.

Quinn lay against the steering wheel like she simply laid herself down on it for a nap, except no one would go to sleep with that amount of blood seeping from their nose, running over their mouth and off their chin in ribbons.

In the distance, there was a blaring noise. At first it sounded far away, like one would hear a tower bell in the back of their mind as they went about their day. But steadily, it grew louder. It was incessant, steady. It broke through each barrier of the mind until it was waking Quinn up with how loud it was, like it was in her ears.

Cracking open her eyes, she didn't really see anything at first. It was really dark. Then she was opening her eyes further and they registered a sort of glow, yellow. It was enough to bathe the inside of the car in a dim light, enough for her eyes to catch on the bits of sparkling… things that blanketed nearly everything. What was it? What was that noise?

Rachel. Headlights. Another car. Swerving.

Flexing her foot, she felt something akin to relief as she could move it and not feel any real pain. Feeling around with her foot, she realized that at some point she had hit the brake pedal. Hard. The pedal was broken.

The car horn. It was the car horn. She jerked upright, the car horn ceasing to blare at the same time she heard a strange cracking like something been torn away from a surface while sticky. Pain bolted through her spine, and she coughed what was supposed to be a cry. She couldn't breathe, not well. Her mouth was open, salty air passing over her taste buds. She licked her lips to feel a drying liquid coating them, and the more she licked, the more it tasted like she was sucking on a battery, strong and metallic. Blood. It was blood.

Reaching up from where her hands had fallen beside her legs, she touched her face, fingers shaking of fright. She was scared to find what was producing this amount of blood, what had stained her pants so heavily. Nothing was gouged from her face. But as her fingers passed over her nose, she seized, gasping, tears streaming from her eyes at once. Her nose. She had broken her nose. Taking away her hand, she focused on not crying, on pushing away the pain that assaulted her face, her head. It was blinding. She tried clenching her eyes shut, and that only lasted so long before she had to open them again. She couldn't trust being blind, not now that they were so vulnerable.

They.

Jerking in her seat, realizing her seatbelt had failed to lock, she undid the buckle so that she could reach across to Rachel.

Rachel, who was slouched in her seat. Rachel, who looked for all the world dead. Streams of blood ran across her face, connecting and breaking off and connecting again. It continued on down her neck, droplets spattering her shirt here and there. Her eyes were closed, her mouth parted slightly, and though she didn't look in any pain, those who didn't were often dead.

It was her fault. It was all Quinn's fault. Real tears of dread, of heartbreak, fell from her eyes, mingling with her rivulets of blood. Guilt filled her headily, overpowering the places of pains she felt. She fumbled with the buckle before it clicked and fell away, releasing the tiny brunette. Moving her legs proved that they in fact hurt, but that didn't stop her as she knelt over the console, afraid of touching Rachel but needing to wake her up. She knew from what she learned in school, what she heard on the TV, that she wasn't supposed to move those affected in a car crash in case of spinal injury. If Rachel had spinal injury, Quinn had no idea what she would do, how she could go on.

"Rachel." She swallowed when her voice cracked. Her voice hurt even though her mouth was continually salivating from all the blood she had tasted. She tried again, not sounding any different, when she had to stop.

The other car. She saw it a split second before she hit the brakes and then it was a blur, too fast and sudden for her mind to catch onto. They spun, maybe they flipped, but they were moving too much, and then it was dark. Cold. She couldn't remember anything.

It was too dark outside to see anything until it was too late, and that put Quinn into action. She didn't want to be sitting around, waiting for something to happen when she could do it herself. She had to get ahead before the walkers could arrive and pick them apart from their cars. She had to save Rachel.

With more urgency, "Rachel!" She touched her neck, wiping some of the blood away, and then moved up to her cheek. When she disturbed the bright red lines along her cheek, she realized she couldn't identify the source of her bleeding. There was so much blood. From the looks of it, if she didn't have a spinal injury, she could bleed to death.

A loud crack erupted. Quinn stilled, and then looked over her shoulder, through the back windshield. A few yards away, a fire was growing from the hood of the car that had swerved into their lane. They swerved so severely that from the way they were positioned and the lack of actual damage to their interior, the other car had ended up T-boning them, causing them to spin, while it slowed down from the impact. The front of the car was crunched in, their windshield also completely blown away. A body laid on the dashboard, mangled, while another lay crumpled on the ground before the car. That body had been ejected.

While she watched, a figure emerged from the darkness surrounding the car. It limped, toddling for the car at a slow pace, one that matched a walker. Remaining completely still, Quinn even held her breath as the zombie approached the flaming vehicle, ignoring the body on the ground, and climbed up the broken frame awkwardly. It grabbed at the leg of the body on the dashboard, clinging to it, pulling. As soon as it was within proximity, the zombie sunk its teeth into the body's calf, tearing away a chunk of flesh, muscle, and tissue. She only had a moment to process the sinews and dripping blood.

Screams split the air. The body awoke, a man, and struggled in the grasp of the walker as it fed on his leg. Twisting around, he propelled his other foot into the corpse's face, snapping its head back so fast that the jaw was disconnected with a snap and it flew backwards off the car. Freed, the man rolled away from the fire to inside the car, where the blaze created too much of a halo for Quinn to see where the man had gone or what he was doing. All she knew now was that she had to move. There were walkers present, and that man wouldn't be lasting much longer to be considered living.

"Rachel, please!" she said, turning her attention back on the prone brunette. She abandoned caution and took hold of Rachel's shoulder, shaking her firmly.

Eyes fluttered.

Quinn sighed in relief, pausing for just a moment to let the fact that Rachel was still alive sink in. It strengthened her. She shook the smaller girl a little more, rousing her further from unconsciousness until at last, Rachel lifted her head, eyes opening groggily. She blinked against the blood that had run into her eyes and lifted a hand to grab her neck, wincing at the pain she felt, fingers kneading.

"We have to go!" Quinn insisted, using her hand on Rachel's arm to sit her upwards. She wouldn't respond, only hold her neck and look around her confusedly. Quinn couldn't blame her. Who knows how long it took her to realize she had been lying on a car horn? It might've been what drew the walker so close. Thank God it had gone after the other car first or else she wasn't sure if she would have been awake when the zombie would try to climb through their windshield.

Rachel blinked one more time before a new light entered her eyes, like she was truly waking up. She cast her gaze on Quinn, taking her in, and abruptly leapt forward, wrapping her arms around the blonde's neck tightly. It hurt them both, hisses of pain escaping, but they couldn't bear to let go. They both survived the car wreck. The feel of Rachel in her arms was nothing she ever felt before. She was so thankful, she could cry all over again.

"We need to go," Quinn repeated, though she didn't make a move to. Rachel's hair, though bedazzled with glass, fell across her face and she smelled good. She smelled like Rachel.

"We have to walk," Rachel croaked, peeling herself away. Quinn let her go reluctantly. In the back of her mind, she knew Rachel would still be mad at her, and things would go back to the way they were before this car crash, but for now, they needed each other, and petty arguments were knocked aside. They couldn't afford to distrust each other right now. They needed to work together to get away alive.

"We can't carry everything," Quinn declared. It would pain her to let go some of their belongings when it could come to use later, but it would just hinder them if they tried to carry all the bags now. The chance to run would be taken from them if they had to from other walkers.

Parted now, Quinn took the lead. Turning around, she tried to open her door, and flinched when it only opened a few inches and then started to create a loud, groaning noise of metal on metal. The front of their car was severely warped but at least it had taken the brunt of the impact. If Quinn hadn't stamped on the brake when she did, the other car would have struck her right in the side, and she didn't think she would have survived that— something she didn't want to think about.

Looking to the left where she could just see the other car around the back of theirs, the man had yet to reappear. The walker he kicked in the face missing as well, not in her sight. Pressure of unseen dangers weighed on her chest, but she couldn't let it stop her. Rachel was on the other side, trying to open her door as well, but with greater success. Forgetting her door, she turned back around to make for the other side. Looking down to avoid the greatest amount of sharp glass, she noticed the hatchet had made its way between the seats, wedged against the console and cushion. The danger of a roaming weapon during a car accident scared her but it had already happened and she couldn't afford to stall. So she took it and clambered out Rachel's side of the car, admittedly braver now that she was armed.

Rachel was already throwing open the door to the back seats, panting against her pains. She began to rummage through the bags, trying to find the ones worth carrying and the ones they wouldn't need. After one, she threw it out behind her, discarding it. Deciding she would do best working at this, Quinn pivoted, intending to guard.

The fire was beginning to consume the rest of the car. Since the engine was already destroyed in the crash, there wasn't a particular worry of another car explosion, though it still left Quinn feeling unsettled. She still hadn't seen the man or the walker and while she didn't want to leave Rachel alone with her back exposed, she felt the threat of the other two much bigger. Besides, she would be out in the open, making noise and seen in the light of the fire. They would come for her instead of Rachel, right?

Walking around the back of their car, she came upon the body that been propelled out of the opposing car. It was a zombie by the gray, decayed skin and missing eye, but the impact of the windshield against its head must've been enough to kill it, damage to the brain influential. She thought about curb-stomping it for an extra measure but didn't think her legs would be up to the task; they were shaky as is. Circling the car, she couldn't see the man where he rolled inside, and glancing over her shoulder, there was no body from the zombie that had been kicked. The bodies were gone.

Reaching the back of the car where the fire had yet to grow to, she was surprised to find the trunk open. It looked as though it had been raided in the time that Quinn had taken to get to it, but there were quite a few things forgotten— First Aid kits, clothes, some shells, and a couple boxes of ammo. There was a duffel bag stuffed further up. Unable to keep her curiosity at bay, she lowered the hatchet so that she could reach inside. Smoke filtered through the backseats, forcing her to hold her breath. She grabbed the duffel bag's straps and tugged it towards her, found the zipper, and tore it open. Inside were numerous oddities, ranging from valuable to useless. It was a bag of tricks, anything even if it wasn't needed. This person had had quite the stash and was obviously able to make off without this one. That's when it caught her eye.

Following a line of blood that dripped down the back of the car, her eyes froze on the license plate. Her mind reeled and she could only stand there and stare before the sound of Rachel's calls processed in her head. Without another word, she reached inside, grabbed a handful of shells and a box of ammunition, and left. She didn't know if she should tell Rachel or not.

At their car, several duffel bags were thrown around the girl that had finished sorting and was placing straps over her arms. When Quinn neared with her collection, Rachel wordlessly opened a bag still on the seat for the blonde to toss the ammunition in. She zipped it back up and handed it over to Quinn, and then another, before withdrawing her coveted sawed off shotgun from where it had been resting on the seat.

"How are we supposed to see?" Quinn questioned, squinting out into the darkness. The hatchet bounced in her hand nervously.

Beside her, Rachel sagged a little as she opened one of her bags and produced two flashlights, the very ones that they had found at the Lima Bean apartment. She handed one over and flicked her own on, the beam of light darting out in the darkness. She aimed it around, assuring their safety, before adjusting the straps of her bags and walking away without hesitance.

Puzzled, Quinn's eyebrows drew together. Their stalemate hadn't lasted very long and was actually a bit of an inconvenience. Rachel was back to being mad at her, preferring the route of ignoring for the moment. At the very least she wasn't being verbally attacked and asked questions she didn't even know the answers to, let alone how to answer them quick enough before Rachel was firing another one at her. Holding the flashlight in her hand, she was brought back to when Rachel believed wholeheartedly in her, and they at least had each other. Quinn and Rachel against the world. Not so much anymore.

Taking one last glance at the wreck that had once been their car, she felt a sort of melancholy. It had taken them so far and saved their asses multiple times. She thought back to the gas station, wiping the zombie off the front doors like a bug on the windshield, and she chuckled at the analogy. Looking past their car, she watched the second car go up in flames, lighting the scene in a bigger circle. A single body of three that should've been there was all that remained. She should've at least taken the license plate but they didn't have room for souvenirs or memoirs.

Turning around, she followed after Rachel, attempting to walk without pain threatening to undermine her legs. She was weak and wounded, a throbbing radiating from her nose. She hoped to God it wasn't broken, it was a nose job after all.

As for Rachel, she pretended there wasn't a nagging presence in the back of her head that told her she wouldn't be making it far. It was a miracle she woke up in the first place, blacking out after believing Quinn had died in the driver's seat. She welcome the sleep because even if she harbored a part of her that hated Quinn for what she had done and what she was forcing her to go through emotionally, she didn't want to continue without her.

Nearly five hours later and the sun began to rise. At the first dim glow over the horizon that allowed them to see the road they were still walking on, they turned off their flashlights and tucked them away. The sun was a welcoming sight, that is, until midday when it would grow hot and stale. If they didn't come across an establishment soon, they were going to pass out next from heat exhaustion— exhaustion already in place.

Rachel really began to lag, the hours of exertion already doing a toll on her small body, and then she was carrying duffel bags. She wasn't an athlete like Quinn was, so it was quite amazing how far she had gone. But by the looks of it, she wouldn't be standing another hour.

They hadn't spoken since nighttime, travelling in silence. It was bothering Quinn. She had so much to say but no way to voice it. Her head pounded and she wondered idly if they had any medications in their bags that could help them get some sleep later as well as kill these headaches. Lifting a hand, she scratched at old wounds on her neck, the spotted scabs and mars of shrapnel from a shotgun. Somewhere along the lines, the gauze had been ripped off.

With the first light, Quinn was shocked all over again to see the amount of blood dried on Rachel's face. It looked like whatever wounds she acquired had stopped bleeding but it practically formed a mask with how much she wore. Beneath it all, her eyes were dull once again. It was the same Rachel from the beginning. The one that screamed for Quinn in the middle of the night and didn't know how to use a gun. But it only resembled the defeated Rachel because she was tired, completely worn and expended. Stepping closer, Quinn reached for one of two bags that the brunette was carrying, and took it by the straps. No words were exchanged and Rachel acted as if nothing had happened. She merely adjusted the strap of the bag she still carried and didn't miss a step, though it was apparent to Quinn that the change in weight had helped her. She no longer limped.

Across the fields, there was not another figure. They were met by no other walkers or survivors. There wasn't even another car wreck of some sort, dotting the roads like checkpoints. They were far enough between cities that walkers had no purpose out in the middle of nowhere because there was no "food." It was a nice break for them, even if they had to trek through their down-time and use the same amount of energy as they would be caving in a skull.

"That car," Quinn spoke up abruptly, unable to keep it to herself. She stared straight ahead as she said, "it belonged to Mike."

A possible couple hours had passed and the sun was well into the sky. Sweat now clung to their skin as surely as blood and filth. Their clothes were ruined, their hair matted, and they were running on fumes. Even Quinn was worried of collapsing at any second, her legs weak and shaky. What kept her going was her imagination, of Coach Sue yelling at her from behind, telling her to burn that baby fat and keep going. It was practically one in the same, having spent practices walking in the blazing heat with extra weights.

For Rachel, she was even frailer. She wished Quinn never told her who that car belonged to. They had come so close to potentially finding a friend and it slipped right through their fingers. The accident was by no means Quinn's fault, though it would have helped if she had her damn eyes on the road. Mike, or whoever else might've been driving that car, had swerved into them, an inch within killing them. But it would've been nice to know who they were, and if it had been their fellow choir member.

What she didn't know was that he was at the very least infected. It wouldn't have made a difference. And so it didn't weigh on Quinn as much as it did Rachel.

Another couple minutes passed. The only sound that accompanied was the jangle and shuffle of their bags and the pads of their shoes as they dragged on. Rachel had averted her eyes, preferring to stare at the ground before her. It made it seem like the distance they were walking went by much faster than it really was. She felt empty. She was hungry. She couldn't imagine how absolutely horrible she looked, though it would help to wipe the blood from her face now that it was moistened by her sweat. Quinn simply stared ahead, eyes on the horizon and hope in her heart that some building or edifice would come into view, somewhere they could hole up in and reset themselves. She didn't dare allow herself to think or worry about anything but shelter.

And a building it was that came into view. Around a cropping of trees that shaded a few yards and stood still to lack of breeze, a gas station and general goods store was revealed. A smile crept across her face at the thought of securing themselves inside, finding a bathroom to wash herself down in, and falling asleep on a freshly made palette. She had never been so tired and weak, but then again, she had never experienced the multitude of trouble they had been through.

Just as abruptly as the store came into view, she noticed movement. It was enough to stop her next step, and to nearly fall into a crouch, better to hide herself lower to the ground. Rachel didn't even question her, only joined her on a knee. It was more out of resting, the last bag's weight finally off her shoulder, but she knew there was something wrong, and joined Quinn in watching the store she had only realized once she lifted her head to see what the punk had.

The movement resembled a figure, though it was too hulking to be undead. It moved swiftly, faster than a runner would, and came upon the scaffolding that protected the gas pumps from the elements, disappearing for a moment. At once, a strange rumbling was emitted, matching that of a vehicle, and they watched as a large silhouette beneath the powerful sun emerged.

A motorcycle whipped out from the gravel lot, raising a plume of dust behind it. The figure straddled the vehicle as it turned on the road for them, revving up to a high velocity. They had been spotted, nowhere to hide on the desolate road, beneath the bright sun, and the motorcycle was making a beeline. With the speed, the motorcycle wasn't intending to stop and unless they wanted to be a smear across the asphalt, they had to move out of the way.

"Move!" Quinn commanded harshly. She let the straps fall from her arms so that she could grab them instead and shoved at Rachel to get off to the shoulder of the road. The roar of the motorcycle grew, and a glance displayed the figure cloaked in dark garb so that nothing of gender or features could be made out, though it had to be a man by the size of him. Still crouching, she could feel her legs go nearly numb from her compacted position. Rachel skidded through the loose dirt and grass as she got off the shoulder, leaving Quinn on the very edge. She assumed she was more prepared to attack if they were given the chance, though it occurred to her that that would be the very last of her actions before she passed out. But she would if she had to protect them, as the figure seemed hostile.

A click resonated beside her and a sidelong glance at Rachel had the brunette turning off the safety of her M9, the magazine reloaded prior. Quinn flexed her hold on the hilt of the hatchet, fingers a bit slippery with grime, prepared for melee if range become too much of an issue. It wouldn't be long now.

Then the motorcycle started to brake. The figure twisted the handle bars and the vehicle's back end fish-tailed, a high-pitch shriek emitting from the tires as well as the smell of burnt rubber. The rider dragged along the road until he came to a stop not too far from them, in the middle of the road. He remained mounted on his bike, staring at them through tinted goggles. His face was shrouded in a black hood and matching scarf. For some reason, he reminded them of a modernized Grim Reaper, probably something to do with the spike-studded motorcycle gloves her wore and the flaming skull on the side of his ride, which purred idly in the silence that followed.

They stayed as they were in some kind of stalemate. Neither girl moved a muscle, hatchet and gun in hand, and the rider stayed seated, hands gripping the handles. The sun glared down on them, and if Quinn thought she was burning up, it had to be worse for the man dressed head to toe in black layers of clothing. Through his goggles, Quinn was sure they were staring each other down, sizing up the situation, and guessing who would be the first to give up. Someone had to give and she wasn't about to let that happen.

Just like that, the man straightened in his seat and turned the key of the ignition. The motorcycle's idle rumble ended and a deep, hearty chuckle started from behind the scarf.

"Alright girls, I surrender," an accented bass voice disclosed. Reaching up, the man threw off his hood and yanked off his goggles, revealing a wild mass of brown hair that looked it was beginning to become sun-bleached. Deep blue eyes could be seen even from their distance, and then he pulled at the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, a matching bushy beard trailing down the sides of his face and around his mouth. Age lined his eyes, but otherwise, he seemed much younger than he sounded. "I'd say you can stand up but I doubt either of you can now."

At that, Quinn narrowed her eyes. What did he mean by that? But before she accost him for his speculation, she realized that Rachel still had a sickening amount of blood on her face as well as she had a spray from her nose, down to her collarbones. If she was seeing herself for the first time, she would've mistaken herself as a zombie. They couldn't look very good.

"The name's Breiner," he said, sounding as though he didn't just find two girls on the side of the road, covered in their own blood and ready to collapse, but was meeting them in an amiable environment. Then again, he was older and probably had seen a fair bit, even before this post-world. "Who might you two be and where you headin'?"

"Do you live there?" Quinn edged, head nodding for the general good's store and avoiding his questions. Breiner looked back where Quinn had pointed out like hadn't just come from there, and faced her again with a smile through his beard.

"Aye, I do," he said, pride in his voice. He sounded somewhat Irish. "Been protectin' that place since the dead rose, but they aren't the only ones tryin' to take advantage of it." In the way he spoke, Quinn took that to mean the living as well, and she could see why. Looking between her and the mute Rachel, his expression finally became serious, heavy brow furrowing. "I two look like ye could use some assistance. I can give ya a place to stay, if ye like."

A part of her screamed to keep a reasonable amount of distance from this man with his extreme size and foreign accent, but another part of her— for once— said to trust him. Maybe it was an illusion with how she had first seen him, mistaking him for her hostile, but then again, perhaps he really was and it was easier for him to hide it thanks to a mane of wild hair, literally masking him. She prided herself in being able to read people naturally, their body language speaking for them when they wouldn't tell the truth, but she was a little rusty now and shouldn't be blamed for that. Not wanting to seem mentally incapable for just staring up at him, crouched like feral animals, she turned off her mind and let whatever out whatever came to her tongue first.

"We do," she accepted, resisting looking surprised at her own admittance. She didn't steal a look at Rachel, basing her actions off instinct. Pros weighed out the cons of taking his offer, and they couldn't afford to pass this up. Worst case scenario, they whack the guy. No matter the size, anyone can fall beneath the blow of a hatchet, as well as numbers. Granted, it was just two small girls but after all they have been through, they wouldn't allow themselves to fall victim to some human.

"You never did say yer names," Breiner edged himself, lifting a brow playfully. It was so wildly out of proportion to be teasing when they were obviously not in the mood or state for such… that it was somehow okay, like it was just part of his personality.

Instead of snapping, knowing the burly man was simply curious; Quinn attempted to stand as she spoke. "I'm Quinn." Turning to Rachel and offering a hand, the blonde was mildly surprised when she took it and pushed herself up on it instead disregarding it altogether, as she suspected. It was difficult just standing. "This is Rachel."

"Pleasure to meet ye both," he said with a nod in their direction. With a push of his boot, a kickstand popped out from the side as he stood. He was easily six feet tall, and as he let his ride lean on its support stand, he strode over to them, reaching out. Quinn reacted with a tightening of her fingers to the point it was painful, her knuckles white, but Breiner didn't seem to notice and merely leaned down to grab at their duffel bags. Like they weighed nothing and were actually filled with feathers, he lifted the four duffel bags up and brought them to the rack and saddlebags on the back of his bike, where he busied himself with strapping and packing them down. Sparing a glance in Rachel's direction, the brunette didn't seem overly concerned with their new temporary companion, perhaps because it would cost too much energy to show any facial expression or have an opinion. Even with those hazel cast on her, she wouldn't look at Quinn, and while the taller girl was staring, Breiner finished and waved them over, Rachel stepping onto the road without a bit of hesitance and nearing the motorcycle.

With a deep sigh, filling her lungs and clearing her aching head, Quinn followed. Breiner swung a leg back over his seat, so tall that even when he put the kickstand back up once more and lifted the vehicle upright, he still didn't touch the tank. Holding out a hand, he assisted Rachel in climbing upon the motorcycle, advising her to sit atop their bags if possible since she was the lightest, and then he looked to Quinn. She knew in that moment that she was to sit sandwiched between their two bodies, that Rachel would be forced to hold onto her the short ride to Breiner's establishment. Hopefully she could find it in herself to not hate her so much that this would be displeasing, or maybe Quinn was just being irrational, but she stole herself before stepping up and lifting a leg up and hopping on the backseat of the motorcycle.

At once, all thoughts and self-doubt drained from her head the moment Rachel's small arms snaked around her waist. She was honestly beside herself at the contact, even if it was just to keep herself grounded while Breiner drove, but she pretended it was simply Rachel wanting to hug her, to touch her in some way. She even thought she felt the girl lean some of her weight against her back, like she needed physical support to hold herself upright. It was becoming laborious to even do that. Despite herself, Quinn felt a smile, small and content, cross her lips, and she closed her eyes to just feel Rachel's vibrant presence against her, soaking her in whenever the chance arose.

Breiner started the motorcycle with a roar, revving it. He turned the handlebars around, using her powerful legs to propel the wheels instead of the gas, probably in an attempt to save it. He turned them about on the empty road and then twisted the handle, the vehicle gaining speed until he brought his boots up on the pegs and they drove down the road at a slower speed then when he arrived.

The gas station and store grew as they arrived, the edifices looking like the belonged in the wild woods of Montana or North Dakota, resembling log cabins, created of great, thick planks of wood and sparse logs. The thick wheels of their ride crunched gravel beneath them and jostled their joints as they took a right. Quinn's smile turned to a grimace once she felt how uncomfortable it was and could only imagine the kind of agony Rachel must be going through sitting on top of a duffel bag that could be something other than extra clothes. The man's whose folds of his jacket she was holding onto steered them up beside the weathered wooden porch of the general goods store, and one look up to the second level proved that he also lived here as well as maintained the business, sort of like the Lima Bean that the girls had lived the first two weeks at.

Killing the engine, Breiner put down the kickstand once more before twisting around and holding out his arm for Rachel. The brunette took hold of this thick forearm to use as she jumped off the back, hitting the ground less gracefully than she normally could. When Quinn looked at her, Breiner moving off so it would be easier for her to dismount, she could see a sick, pale fixture to her skin. She was worsening. What if she got sick?

"You girls help yerselves inside," Breiner spoke up, taking the keys from the metal of the motorcycle. "I'll meet ye in there in a minute."

Nodding, Quinn took it upon herself to collect all their bags and gestured with her eyes that Rachel should get herself inside. She didn't need to be told twice and stepped up onto the porch, ambling for the door and allowing herself inside. From here, it looked dark inside, and the blonde hoped absently that Rachel wouldn't hurt herself, stumbling about.

"How long have you lived here?" Quinn asked conversationally as she dumped the bags on the edge of the stoop and watched the tall Irishman swing his ride around so that it was ready to leave if he had to, facing the road. He patted the black saddle like it was a pet rather than a machine, and smiled when he was addressed.

"Most of me life," he replied, walking leisurely towards Quinn and the porch. The sun brought out the blondest strands of his crazy hair, the actual blonde unsure of what to really call his hair color. "I used to be a lumberjack farther up north," he spoke, looking in the general direction of where he came from. "I moved to America when me father died and I didn't like the busy cities. I put myself way out here in Pennsylvania so I could set up a little waystation, somethin' me father had."

"Pennsylvania?" Quinn spluttered, appalled at the actual distance she had put between them and Lima. She didn't think they had gotten that far but then again she didn't pay attention very much all considering there was much more to worry about then the next exit and speed limit signs.

Breiner nodded, chuckling at her outburst. He leaned himself against a beaten wooden support beam for the awning over his porch, hands tucked in his black jeans. At this close proximity, Quinn could now clearly see the sweat gathered on his forehead, the heat actually affecting him like she supposed. "Aye, yer right inside state lines. I don't suppose ye know where yer going, do ya?"

"Actually—" and she hesitated. Should she really tell this giant of a man where they're headed? Would that be smart? On one hand, he could give her the low-down on what has happened, if New York was safe or not. Then on another, he could be plotting their demise and though it was dark of her to think like that, there was no way she could rule out certain possibilities, so she had to consider them all.

During her pause, Breiner watched her. When she didn't reply in an obvious display of skepticism, he let his head fall to his chest and chuckled lowly. He understood perfectly, and while the blonde regarded him curiously at his entertainment, he shook his head. Once his eyes met hers again, she could see those deep blue sparkling with mirth.

"Yer a smart one, ye know that?" he complimented, shrugging off the support beam. He took a step up onto the porch and it caused her realize that she was unarmed. When had she slipped her hatchet between the straps of one of the duffel bags? She was really tired, and where she had been suspicious of his movement, she noticed him stooping to gather the bag straps, lifting them easily again. He did say he used to be a lumberjack, and logs were a lot heavier than guns.

Motioning for the door, Quinn lead the way inside, where she was surprised to find working electricity. Surprised and absolutely ecstatic. She blinked at the overhead lights, gazing like it was the first time she had seen modern technology, and that quickly familiar chuckle hummed from behind her.

"I have meself solar panels," he explained, stepping around her with heavy thumps of his boots. He walked straight through the stand-alone shelves of his general goods store, to a door that was left open and had stairs leading up. "Shut the doors, will ye?"

Blinking a couple more times, Quinn shook her head before turning on her heel and shutting a set of two doors leading to the store. There was contraption of locks that she took it upon herself to lock, never one to be sorry rather than safe. The windows on either side of the doors, she noticed, were boarded up, with slats in between to allow vision. At one side sat a rifle, a couple of bullets sitting beside the butt on the floor. She regarded the preparation with respect. Breiner seemed the type to have been in a war, so he probably knew his way around a gun as well as an axe.

Tracing the steps the storeowner took upstairs, she came upon a loft-like area. It was all one room, with a kitchen to the left, a living room before her, and a space to the right where a giant bed was pushed in a corner beside a nightstand stacked with boxes of ammunition.

Rachel occupied the massive couch, set on her side with a pillow propping her head up and her hands tucked beneath her chest. She was fast asleep, blood rubbing off on the rough fabric lightly, which Breiner didn't seem to care as he stepped past the slumbering girl and dropped their bags beside his bed. The window on that side of the room was open, the curtains fluttering in a breeze they weren't gifted with when they were walking. It filled the room with a slight draft that kissed Quinn's heated skin and made her sigh with relief. This was exactly what they needed.

"Join me for a cup of tea?" Breiner spoke softly, which nearly caused Quinn to giggle. Such a big man, speaking beneath his breath for fear of waking Rachel. Not trusting herself to speak, she merely nodded and hobbled over to the circular wooden table, where a kettle and cups made for bigger hands than hers were set. It was almost like he had prepared for company, except for the fact that when she sat herself down and pulled a cup— more like a mug really— she noticed the fine layer of dust about the inside. He was truly alone.

Sitting himself across from her with a complaint from his chair, he took the kettle and poured himself a drink. Quinn took a napkin and wiped out the inside, wondering why she found it so amusing that she was having tea and fussing over a little bit of dust. She had been through much filthier situations; her bloody nose for example.

As if reading her mind, Breiner drank his mouthful of lukewarm tea and said, "Doesn't seem to me that ye broke it."

"Sorry?" Quinn said, and then masking her absolute bemusement at herself with ducking her head while she poured tea. Manners now?

"Yer nose," Breiner said, leaning back in his chair. Again, it groaned beneath his weight. He began unraveling his scarf, setting it beside his mug on the table once it was off. The full effect of his beard was on display. "I don't think ye broke it."

"Certainly feels like I did," Quinn muttered, touching just the tip of her nose with her fingertips and wincing at the little yet sharp pain she felt. When she pulled her hand away, blood stuck to her skin, congealed.

"Of course it does," Breiner snickered. He undid the front of his jacket and shrugged off the massive article, leaning forward to drape it over the back of his chair. He wore a simple grey t-shirt, his obvious fitness visible through the cotton. While he wasn't sculpted, just the sheer size of his muscle was impressive. But with the removal of his jacket was the revealing of a thick pink scar that peeked out from the collar and then disappeared beneath his shirt. It wasn't recent but troubling, just how gnarled it was. The sight of it must have prompted an expression because Breiner looked down at his chest, matting down his beard as he did, and then snorted. Lifting his hand, he pulled down on the collar, showing more of the scar that still wasn't completely exposed.

"Cabin fever drives people to do mad things," he said cryptically. He released the collar of his shirt and Quinn didn't feel like pushing for more details, left to her own imagination as to what that could mean and how he acquired that scar.

Time seemed to flit by as they engaged in small chatter, Breiner speaking more than Quinn. He spoke a little about his time as a lumberjack, providing for his sickly father before he passed away of alcohol poisoning. Despite his addiction, he seemed to have a fondness for his son, and when he passed away, Breiner gave him a proper burial himself, not having the money to involve a funeral service. He never said anything of other relatives. After that, he couldn't stay up north, presumably Canada, and moved himself into America, finding his way into Pennsylvania. He said he had visited Ohio on several occasions but he loved Pennsylvania and Virginia, something about these states captivating him. He built his general store himself and then inquired about a gas station, so that he could help travelers between states, and owned both businesses himself. He was a collector of weapons, divulging into the machetes he has stocked as well as the array of firearms he has tried to use sparingly.

Quinn spoke of trivial things, choosing to stick to surface information. She knew Breiner knew of her hesitance of revealing anything that could tell him where they were truly from or where they were going, including intentions in between, but he didn't prod her for details either. She found though that Breiner was quite the trustworthy man and she was growing to like him more and more with each chuckle and thoughtful tug of his beard. At some point, he stood to retrieve some snacks, only having a couple bites of his biscuits while Quinn lost all control and devoured the majority of it. Near the end of their discussion, he said he would cook them a proper meal once Rachel woke up.

"I doubt she will anytime soon," Quinn noted. With that, she glanced over her shoulder at the girl who hadn't moved a muscle since she laid down on the couch. She looked utterly peaceful despite the gruel on her face, staining her clothing. Her eyes didn't even move beneath her eyelids, and her breathing was steady and deep. She was enjoying the comfort of the couch, and Quinn couldn't stop the little stuttering of her heart as she gazed upon a girl who she loved despite all things between them, including the layers of filth.

"Do ye look after 'er?" that deep voice asked from in front of her. Quinn turned back around in her seat, eyes cast to the emptied mug in front of her. She suddenly wanted more tea, to wet her mouth, if she was going to talk about this. Then again, she remained surface-level about everything, so after a moment, she spoke.

"I do."

Rachel slept the entirety of the day, only moving to lie on her back. Her dark hair clung to the dampened blood on her cheek, and when her eyes first cracked open, she could feel the deposit of her own blood flake. The ends of her hair tickled her lips, urging her to brush them away. She pulled the strands off, feeling them peel from her skin, and even though she slept more than a good night's worth, she didn't have it in her to sit up or ask for Quinn.

Suddenly, she could feel it. A familiar, dark friend in the form of a scream creeping up the back of her throat. It was strange, that after all this time that she thought she had gotten past her fear of not finding Quinn by her side the next morning, she felt it now. Perhaps it was the trauma of the car accident or the severe lack of hydration, nourishment and blood, but it was there, right on the tip of her tongue, and her eyes were starting to water.

"'Ey there, little one," a looming figure appeared above her, leaning over the couch. She must've made some movement to prompt the man from before— what's his name?— to check on her. His deep cerulean eyes were dazzling in the soft light of dusk as he looked down on her, and when she made no movement or noise, he tilted his head. "Are you hungry?"

"Where's Quinn?" Rachel spoke up timidly, afraid to sit up since he was right there over the back of the couch. A wave of nausea consumed her, or something like it. She was disoriented and lost, and while she wasn't sure if she was okay to forgive the said girl just yet, she needed her right now, to make everything a little less off-kilter.

The man above her nodded towards the foot of the couch, and lifting her head, she spotted Quinn asleep in the armchair, slouched with her head lolled to the side. From the positioning of the chair, it seemed like she had possibly been watching Rachel and then dozed off on the job. She looked absolutely adorable, save the blood, and Rachel wanted nothing more in that instance than to touch her thankfully blonde hair and say she forgives her.

Something was still wrong with the idea of letting Quinn off the hook, but she knew she had to. It was useless to hold onto a stupid grudge, especially when she didn't even allow room for reasoning and even more so now that none of that mattered. NYADA, New York, Finn… they were all gone. All she had was Quinn. Honestly, it was the best thing she could be given during these circumstances.

"Ye should wake 'er up," the grizzled man urged, straightening up and walking away from the area. "Supper is almost ready."

Rather than sitting up, Rachel laid her head back down. She could feel a deep ache in her neck, result of whiplash. She reasoned that out while she tumbled over thoughts and ideas in her head while walking those many hours. It was one of multiple subjects that filled her head, and even as she stared up at a slanted dark wood ceiling, they were all still there, tabbed and ready to opened, to release a levee of feelings and views. At the current time, she'd rather not start on all that mess again. That man said supper and her stomach was beginning to eat itself from lack of sustenance. She could really go for—

Is it vegan food? At the least vegetarian? She nearly groaned in disappointment, realizing that both options were highly unlikely. That man was enormous and therefore, probably needed a lot of supplication, the likes that couldn't be afforded by cutting out portions of his diet. Even so, it didn't stop her from slowly sitting up, taking inventory of all the places her body ached and screamed at her to keep still. Despite it, she had to get up, wake Quinn, and get something in her body.

Though her legs were absolutely unsteady, she staggered over to Quinn. A rush of feelings crawled up the back of her throat much the same way she wanted to scream for her in complete fear and confusion minutes before. She stole herself, looking down at the blonde girl, seeing those peaceful features, and then scowling at the sight of all that blood. It was cleared a bit around her mouth, like she had already eaten or drank something, but it was still very unsettling. Like a snippet of a film played before her eyes, everything was suddenly dark, very dark, and the edges of her vision were blurry. She turned her head slowly, pain lancing up her neck, into her skull, and she saw in utter horror what she thought was Quinn, dead against the steering wheel.

"Hey." She blinked and found herself bending over slightly at the waist, reaching out to tap Quinn on the shoulder. She couldn't bear to touch her long, the ride on the motorcycle long enough with all her loose-end feelings. She didn't want to talk or sort things out until she had a handle on things herself. It wouldn't be fair to her or Quinn, and they both deserved something for once. "Time to wake up."

Steadily, Quinn was roused from sleep and then at once. She opened her bleary onyx eyes and saw who stood before her, a sleepy grin coming to her mouth. Rachel couldn't help but return it, feeling better for the first time since they left the other Cheerios.

"You okay?" the rebel asked, straightening out her black t-shirt since it had ridden up on her stomach when she began to slouch in her seat. Rachel ignored the action, keeping eye contact as she shrugged a shoulder that didn't hurt as much to move.

Moving out of the way, the two girls made for the table. The man Rachel was now able to identify as Breiner again was at the stove, stirring something inside a pot. He was humming softly to himself; a tune neither had heard before and somehow managed to sound Irish. There were already a couple plates on the small wooden counter beside him, sporting a variety of foods that the brunette had to tear her eyes away from or else she would start inspecting what it was and if she could eat it. She'd rather wait for Breiner to place everything in front of them and address it then, if she had to. Her stomach rumbled and she placed a hand over it, oddly comforting hearing a noise that was so normal and party of everyday life.

Quinn sat beside her, Breiner to sit across from her at this round table. There were already a couple mugs and a kettle set in the middle of the surface, appearing to have already been used. The thought of tea made her mouth water and before she could stop herself, she reached across for the kettle.

"Let me warm that up for ye," Breiner said from over her shoulder. She started at his deep voice, not accustomed to it yet, and Quinn snickered. The noise was cute and stifled, like she didn't want Rachel to know she had seen her jump in her seat. A smile fought its way onto her face and she let Breiner take the kettle to put on the stove, while he set a plate of string beans on the table.

Over the course of several minutes, Breiner set an array of foods on the table, and then plates before each of them. He poured Rachel her warmed tea and then Quinn's and his own, setting the kettle back on its coaster in the middle. The dishes were a variation of what Rachel could eat and then what the other two would, and she was pleasantly surprised and completely ravenous for how much she could devour. Even if Quinn had eaten earlier, they both attacked the dishes, piling their own plates with what they could, and then speared with forks. The first bit of sautéed zucchini in her mouth was heaven, and she let out an appreciative moan at the taste.

"How can you cook all this?" she asked as she shoveled more vegetation into her mouth, tasting the different seasonings he used on them. Across the table, Breiner shrugged with a smile, humble.

"I have a garden out back that I have been growing me food from for decades," he replied, eating a slab of meat. "I also have a small pasture in the woods. The undead don't seem to mind animals."

There was an unexpected stall in both the girls' chewing. Breiner had his eyes on his plate, taking large amounts of food to his mouth, and was completely unaware of the shared look of astonishment that passed between the two. It was just striking them odd as to how Breiner was taking the zombie apocalypse so lightly, like it was just a condition they had to live with. It didn't seem to bother him nor his capacity to maintain a living with his garden and livestock, yet the former high school students had literally been through hell and were currently climbing their way out of one of the circles it contained, if the blood on their faces they have yet to wash away had anything to say about that.

But then, Rachel looked away, down at her plate. She took a bit of salted tomato into her mouth, chewing on it and cutting up another slice so she didn't have to look like she was just occupying herself in order to avoid Quinn. She knew the blonde wanted to talk just by the look on her face, but she still had so much to organize in her own head. If they were to talk, the whole discussion would be jumbled and end up in circles, possibly resulting in a fight. She just wanted to replenish and get some rest first, and she knew Quinn needed it, too. She wasn't the only one.

The rest of dinner was spent in relative silence. Breiner tried to make some small chat, the two realizing he was impartial to chatter. In a way, he was like a big ol' bear— intimidating and looming, yet beneath his frazzled hair and extreme muscle, he was just a softie, a bit lonely and very smart.

Once they had finished, it was nearing nighttime. The glow from the open window was a soft honey-yellow, the curtains no longer fluttering with a breeze. It was eerily quiet, the Ohioans so used to the sound of cars and their neighbors enjoying the cool evenings with friends on their porches and children playing in their yards. Now, if they listened carefully, they could actually hear the din of cicadas and the chirps of the last birds returning to their nests. It was the kind of rural life they missed out on in the heart of Lima, and once Rachel had finished helping Quinn and Breiner clean up the table and wash the dishes with water he explained still ran in his house from an underground source, she placed herself on the bench beneath the window, looking out. She half-expected to see a decaying corpse walking down the road, or emerging from the tree line several yards back behind the edifice, but not even that disrupted their evening. And for the first time they had been anywhere, Rachel entertained the idea of staying here, creating a living here. She could convince Quinn's irrational idea of arriving in New York and treating the little starlet to a personal Broadway tour. Oddly, she always dreamed of the big cities with all its flashing lights at night and glamor during the day, but right here, right now, she didn't mind the quiet evening spent with people that she liked, including Breiner. In the time she had been awake, that giant of a man had grown on her.

Her own little world was shattered when Quinn approached, speaking through the veil.

"Rache?" she called, like she knew that the brunette was lost in her own head. The nickname sounded foreign, yet Rachel liked the sound of it. She couldn't remember the last time it had been used. Turning her head, the blonde stood awkwardly, seeming out of place for someone who was so centered and one with herself. She held a damp rag in hand and wiped it across her chin, clearing a track through the red stains. "Let's go to the bathroom, to clean up."

Instead of saying anything, or even thinking as she was trying so hard to stop, Rachel stood up. Together, they walked towards the door near the area of the dining room, where Breiner had pointed out was the bathroom. The man himself had moved over to his towering dresser, pulling out clothing to change into to sleep in, and was waiting on them to leave so that he could. On an end table beside the bathroom was two sets of clothing for them to change into, and with advice to take quick showers, they entered the bathroom.

While Quinn stepped up to the sink, Rachel shut the door behind them, locking it. She doubted Breiner would try to sneak a peek when they were showering, not seeming the type, but it was force of habit now. Turning back around, she hesitated and then joined the taller girl at the sink, busying herself with some paper towels she saw lying on the counter and stoppering the sink so she could fill it with water. It wasn't clear as to why they weren't just taking a shower and washing away all the blood and grime that way, but she didn't question it. Maybe she should do it this way, to see what wounds laid beneath her "mask."

Wetting her paper towels, she began to drag them across her cheek, the blood coming off after a swipe or two in one spot. She could tell that her skin was a little stained with how long the foundation had stayed on, but that would wear away in time. She continued on, avoiding Quinn's gaze even as she felt it on her face through the mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the rebel dabbing at her neck, pausing, and then placing the rag beneath her nose as though it was still bleeding.

To be honest, it had hurt her all this time to be mad at Quinn, to blame her for her failures. Yet, what she had done to ruin her possible future of the time was horrible. To cause her to doubt her boyfriend, who only had the best intentions for her, was horrible. And to say that Quinn did it out of love was the worst.

There is a moment, like in the movies, where one has been mulling over something for such a long time and it seems there is no definite way out or solution. But then there is a click; a visible, tangible recognition.

Click.

Rachel has done absolute ludicrous actions for love. Hell, half of them were out of selfishness or conceit disguised as passion or desire. But the fact of the matter was, she understood. She understood Quinn, even if she never heard the full story of what she did. She understood what she did, how she ruined her NYADA audition and planted false information in order to undermine Rachel's future. If it was out of love, then Rachel knew exactly how she felt, what she was thinking, what her intentions were. It went along the lines of "the end justifies the means." And it made sense to her.

When she looked up to Quinn in the mirror, she saw those eyes clenched shut, like she was feeling the physical pain of her nose. But behind those features, she knew the pain came from within, from her emotions. It's an unexplainable definition to being able to identify the kind of pain one is feeling, but when one sees it, they know. Rachel knew. It wasn't any superficial injury. It was one on her heart, and that wound was still bleeding. Rachel was the cause of that.

In an instant, she saw the movements to leave, unable to stay in the same room as someone who ignored her, wouldn't even look her in the eye. Rachel spotted the white-knuckled hand on the edge of the basin and before the blonde could move away, she took it. Actions speak louder than words. Sure, Rachel was always the one for verbosity and intense lectures, but she chose at this moment to take the route Quinn would understand. She wasn't a logical character. She understood with the body, with emotions. And so Rachel would speak to her that way, taking her hand so that she would turn to her, meet her eyes. When she did, Rachel took the next step, removing that used rag from slender fingers and using it herself to wipe at the blood, removing it from milky skin. She was reminded of much she always admired Quinn's skin, how beautiful it was and how it was natural to her, not at all unsightly like some fair-skinned people may unfortunately be. Revealing more of her skin only made her chest constrict, feelings rising in her veins. When she let her eyes cross over Quinn's face, she sought out those eyes and found them staring back, just a little off target, only to realize they were on her lips. She saw the hunger in them, in the smolder, and wordlessly begged her to do what she couldn't find the courage to.

A hand cradled the back of her head and those lips found hers, passion pouring into her like liquid fire. She closed her eyes, feeling warmth spread beneath her skin, and could only reply in the ways that her body wanted to. She felt their fronts align, her arms seeking leverage, and fingers crawl along her scalp as they weaved through her hair. She was lost in the dark behind her eyelids and Quinn was the light, guiding her. She was a warmth that sent her bones alight, and she could only seek more of her.

A gasp escaped between kisses as the ground left her feet and she was set atop the counter. There was space between them and she desired to close it, completed by Quinn stepping between her legs, ducking her head to spread a blazing trail down her cleaned jaw, nipping at her neck. In the very back of her mind that was becoming blocked by a dense fog, she was concerned for the blonde's nose, hoping it wouldn't hinder her, but with another nip over her jugular, she knew Quinn no longer noticed it, and as long as she was okay, so was she.

With the arms wrapped around the punk's neck, tan hands dropped down to concealed shoulder blades, balling up the t-shirt in tiny fists. She began to pull upwards, a back flexing with muscles created in the exertion of the past several weeks revealed to shuddered eyes, Rachel chin resting on Quinn's shoulder as the said girl kissed down her collarbones. Taking the hint that clothes needed to be removed, there was cold moment where Quinn leaned back, only to send a jolt of arousal straight to Rachel's core at the sight of the girl pulling her shirt off the rest of the way. A giggle bubbled up, the memory of that night all the way back in Mr. Schuester's office when Rachel had practically shot Quinn and had to take care of her injuries— which were hardly present now, just mere pink mars and scabs— and they had been so nervous at the sight of Quinn's nearly exposed breasts. Yet, here they were now, and as Quinn closed the gap between their fronts, Rachel still wanted more, clawing at the clasp of that bra.

Strong arms caught her up about the waist and spun her around. The shudder of a warped glass door sliding on its tracks sounded behind her and the next moment, she was pressed against the wall of a small shower, Quinn shutting the door behind them. Attacking those pink lips she had stared at a hundred times before, a few seconds passed and then a spray of water, cold, hit them. Squealing, they clung together for warmth and laughed before the spray became warm. By now, Quinn's hair clung to the nape of her neck, reaching the slopes of her shoulders, and water droplets fell from her eyelashes. She looked absolutely beautiful, the last of the blood on her face washing away.

With slowed movements, Rachel lifted her head off the tile to kiss Quinn in a less fervent way. It spoke volumes of desire, written during the years of rivalry and fake façades. It was beautiful. Her lips were smooth, reminding the starlet of rose petals after a shower, rubbed with the pad of a thumb. Even through the near month of neglect, it was a miracle they felt as amazing as they were. Either that or Rachel was biased. She was inclined to the latter.

The process of their earnest kissing lead to hands that carefully stripped away the layers of soiled clothing. When the last of it piled to the floor in an unrecognizable soaking heap, there were only a few moments to spare in awkward self-consciousness before Quinn was lowering her head again, placing gentle kisses in the dips along her neck and shoulder. Her hands sat low on Rachel's hips, and exploring boundaries Rachel knew she so wished to delve into, she felt those timid fingers trace the line between hip and leg, dipping low on her inner thigh. A hand slipped down mostly smooth skin— she would come across a rough scratch or scab and stroke each one, loving them for they were on the girl she loved— and rested on a forearm. She didn't encourage Quinn to continue, only to maintain her movements so that she could feel the muscles beneath her flesh flex and shift.

After a minute, those fingers leaving her skin tingling and creating a pull low in her stomach, she glided her lips up a wet cheek, finding an earlobe and grazing her blunt teeth across. Quinn shivered in her arms, the weakest of moans slipping, and then Rachel was speaking, her voice uncharacteristically throaty.

"I want you."

A/N: ... Am I still allowed here? :s I know it has been absolute ages since I last updated and I can't not put into words how completely sorry I am. I certainly hope that I fulfilled any and all desires for this chapter, and if you hadn't noticed, it is the longest one yet. I put a lot of depth and emotion into this one, writing this chapter in a matter of a week. I wanted to create the best possible chapter after such a long break. I just want everyone to know that just because I had a horrible writer's block and needed a bit of a recess, that doesn't mean I would abandon a story. I also feel upset when I read a great IN PROGRESS story only to find it hasn't been updated since 2010. I never want to create that kind of feeling for any of my readers.

I was going to continue on with this chapter but as soon as I typed that last line, I stopped, smirked, and said, "Cliffhanger." because let's face it. I'm an asshole and left you all hanging for a long time, and in attempt to keep you all reading, I need a cliffhanger to keep you all interested for the last of their sex scene. ;D

If you'd like to personally chew me out for my absence (or welcome me back) send me a PM! I love to hear from you guys! Also— REVIEWS ARE LOVE. AND I LOVE YOU.