4kennedy | What Not to Wear to a Zombie Apocalypse

Title: What Not to Wear to a Zombie Apocalypse 
Fandom: Glee 
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel
Table/Prompt: Around the clock / 18:00 ~ afterlife  at femslash100100
Rating: PG-13 
Warning: Major Character Deaths
 Word Count: 1.222
 Summary: Roaming the streets as a zombie certainly wasn't how Quinn imagined the afterlife.
Notes: My betareader is lanalucy and she's simply the best. She also suggested the title, so the credit for it goes to her.

If Quinn had ever imagined the afterlife it certainly wouldn’t have looked like this.   

Roaming the streets of New Haven as a zombie hadn’t even been on her list of possibilities for her life after death. It was too freaky; something for movies or TV shows. But apparently that was what followed when you died these days.   

Quinn just wished she had dressed for the occasion. Seriously, had she known a zombie apocalypse would happen overnight and she would die, she would’ve chosen something different to wear, like her sexy cheerleader uniform. Instead she was damned to eternity wearing pink rabbit-ear slippers and pajamas covered with stupidly grinning muffins.

She’d been in her dorm room in New Haven. Screams from the hallway had woken her up early in the morning – it sounded like a riot. Quinn opened the door to find out what was going on and BAM - that was it. Before she was even properly awake, Quinn had been bitten on her right arm by a groaning, wild-eyed, smelly guy. She’d managed to push him back and to close the door between them, but her fate had already been sealed. That much she knew.

Quinn remembered she’d slid to the floor, blood sputtering out of the wound. All she could think about had been Rachel. She needed to call her, to hear that she was okay, to warn her, to… Quinn’s vision blurred and the world turned black.  

Dead. Probably on the first day of a Zombie apocalypse. How pathetic.  

Now Quinn was on her way to Rachel. At least she hoped she was. Becoming a zombie meant losing a lot of capabilities, reading included, so Quinn had no idea if she was even walking in the right direction. Road signs were absolutely useless to her. And New York was over seventy miles away from New Heaven. Long-distance relationships really sucked.   

When Quinn had started her journey, scuffling along with increasingly sucky motor skills, she’d been alone on the road. As she walked, more and more zombies joined her, following in the same direction. That was okay. Apparently it was a thing for zombies to form large mobs. She was a group person anyway – Glee and Cheerios had proven that.By the time Quinn crossed New Heaven’s town limits there were at least two dozen zombies with her. Not that she was able to actually count.   

The days and nights got quieter after a while. There was a lot of chaos, screaming, and dying in the beginning. It was a feast. But as the days went by - Quinn had absolutely no idea how much time had passed - they barely met anyone on the road anymore.  

So when they encountered a small group of survivors, some of her herd attacked immediately and others joined them swiftly. The Breathers - that’s what Quinn called the still living – had no chance.  

Quinn wanted to keep on walking; all she wanted was to continue toward the big city, toward Rachel. But her mind was a slave to her body’s primal instincts. There was still a tiny spark of Lucy Quinn Fabray left, but not enough to take over the wheel. She was a passenger in her body, and she was pulled by an invisible force toward the freshly fallen bodies where her companions were already eagerly ripping flesh apart.   

Quinn grumbled in frustration and rolled her eyes, at least that’s what she thought she was doing, but somehow she stepped over her own toes and fell to the ground face first. Damn nonexistent motor skills. Another growl, and Quinn began to crawl over the asphalt, still pulled toward the bloody lump that had once been people, her mouth already watering.   

After the big grub, Quinn crept over to a nearby car to pull herself back up to her feet. It wasn’t long before the whole herd was back in motion.   

Days, weeks, maybe even months went by like this. Lumbering and stumbling like a drunken person, occasionally eating something or someone. It was hard work for Quinn to make her legs respond, her right arm hung uselessly at her side, and her head swayed back and forth constantly. Existence as a zombie really wasn’t a bed of roses.  

At some point, they came across another group of Breathers, but it was different this time. These Breathers were heavily armed and definitely knew what they were doing. One after the other, zombies fell to the ground as the Breathers fought their way through the herd.   

Some of the Breathers came dangerously close to her, but instead of hiding or running – or more like stumbling clumsily in the other direction – Quinn’s instincts led her body toward the Breathers. She attacked and grabbed the nearest human. They both fell to the ground, with much struggling and yelling. Quinn tried so hard to get a bite of fresh meat, the urge irresistible. She pushed and pushed until her teeth found skin and tore at it. She heard more screaming as warm blood flooded Quinn’s mouth.  

Someone shouted, “Get away from him!” but Quinn didn’t care. The flesh was so delicious, she simply couldn’t stop.   

Shots were fired. Quinn’s body jerked when she was hit in the chest, though she didn’t feel anything. Halting for a moment, she looked down. She knew him: somewhere in a small corner of her brain she recognized the Breather pinned to the ground underneath her, his face half eaten.   

Sweet delicate porcelain.   

What was his name? What was his name?

  “Kurt!! Kurt!! Kuuuuurt!” resounded from somewhere to Quinn’s side and the name stirred in her, waking her brain just a little bit. Quinn moaned, her body half fallen to the side.  

Rachel – shotgun level – came into view, with Santana right beside her, machete in hand. It really was her Rachel, Quinn could barely believe it. She had finally found her! Rachel was okay, she was alive. Quinn hadn’t felt such happiness and relief since she’d died.  

Then Rachel’s finger curved around the trigger.  

Quinn stretched an arm toward her; she wanted to shout ‘No’. All that came out was a long loud groan while she tried to get back up on her feet.   

The racking of the slide registered somewhere in her degenerated brain. A shot, and then another one. Had she endured so much just to get shot by her girlfriend?  

Santana yelled, “The head, you idiot. You have to shoot them in the brain!”  

“I know, but it’s Quinn,” Rachel objected and Quinn loved her even more for that. „She’s wearing the pink rabbit-ear slippers I got her for Christmas.“  

Quinn groaned in response.  

“That’s not her. Your girlfriend is long dead, Yentl. So man up and kill the damn thing. It just ate half of Kurt’s face!”  

Eyes still fixed on Rachel, all Quinn could do was watch her raise the gun higher, bottom lip trapped between her teeth in concentration. She was so adorable.   

Another shot echoed.   

“I did it!” Rachel cried in jubilations, her joy short lived as she and Santana were overwhelmed by a cluster of zombies.  

Quinn slid completely off Kurt and dropped sideways on the asphalt with a thud. The last thing she noticed were the dying screams of Rachel and Santana.  

What would the next afterlife bring, Quinn wondered, and the world turned black once again.   

The End

Feeling: content