Glee 1. Prologue - The Changed

**_Title: _**_The Coalition__  
__**Chapter:**__ Prologue  
_**_Author:_**_ amarx17 - Marx__  
_**_Rating:_**_ R (FRM – Mature) overall, eventual NC-17 (FRAO – Mature)__  
_**_Word Count: _**_This part — 709__  
_**_Pairing(s): _**_Sebastian/K__urt, mentions of Kurt/Blaine  
_**_Warnings: _**_Blood, gore, sex, violence, character death, and all kinds of psychological mindfucks. Because I'm a weird, twisted, infatuated-with-zombies madman.  
_**_Summary_:** _In the wake of a tragic outbreak, causing the dead to come back to life, Kurt Hummel must learn to survive in a world consisting of violence and horror.  
__**Authors Note:**__ I was watching 'The Walking Dead" after a huge marathon of zombie movies (including the Resident Evil series, the remake of "Dawn of the Dead", and "Zombieland", and I got to thinking about all the inconsistencies of zombies and the sort. And then I started thinking about all the awesome things about them. And then I started wondering about the virus itself and whether there were...exceptions. And then I started thinking about the logic behind zombies. And then I thought about how Artie would react. And _then_ I thought about what necrophiliacs would think about zombies. Thus, this fic was born. Huzzah! ...but happy endings? Don't hold your breath._

Also found on LJ at amarx17

* * *

Prologue  
_The Changed_

_14 January +22_

Ashland didn't understand it, even twenty-two years after the beginning.

When the world had been normal, with fast food and cell phones and football and cars, the world had been perfectly aware and obliging of the fact that one day, they would all be half technology and half cyberpunks. It had been the technological age in 2011 (or what the Coalition called +00 A.E.), and it was common knowledge that it was only the beginning. One day, they'd be able to live forever and fly their cars, while talking on cell phones embedded in their ears and teeth, their bodies more machine with upgrades than human with flesh. Hell, even in +00, they had been waiting impatiently for the next computer, for the nanotechnology to branch out of the government into civilian life, for microchips to be planted in people like they were the dogs of the new age.

Instead, they moved as a group through the entirety of the desolate exoskeleton of a small town in Oklahoma, armed heavily with weapons they had made themselves as they crept forward, listening and looking out for the Infected.

Electricity didn't even work any more. There were no hair dryers, no movies, no iPods with R&B jams. The petrol had run out fifteen years ago back when the Scrags had been more numerous and had used vehicles. The ammunition was close to gone — they'd find a few loads occasionally but it was rare now that the Scrags and the Coalition had cleaned out the US and Canada. They had to make their own now, just to survive. Furthermore, they used quieter weapons as a general rule, because of the fact that the Infected were attracted to the noise. Using a gun was a last option, from the lack of ammunition _and_ from the simple fact that they wanted to stay alive. Crossbows, long-reach blunt objects, and long swords worked rather well, although the last one wasn't as popular.

Mexico, or what the Coalition called the Wastelands, was a no-go. There might've had less of the Infected, but it definitely wasn't worth it in the end. The gangs and the independent groups holding together the shaky peace didn't take to outsiders. They killed anyone, friend or foe, out of survival. The Coalition, and in effect Ashland himself, recognized the need for that. They were more civilized, sure, but they'd shoot before asking questions if the situation called for it. Ashland couldn't count how many times he had just used his weapon because the Scrags hadn't called out to acknowledge that they weren't Infected. It wasn't his fault that they were foolish to just run up without alerting, because everyone was armed.

Ashland used to choke on his own vomit when he realized that he had shot his own kind. There weren't a lot of them left, the alive ones, and it was such a loss when it happened. Especially children. Nowadays, though, he didn't even blink at the backfire of a weapon, let alone at the death of a Scrag. They should've used common sense when coming to an armed battalion by calling out that they were alive. It was terrible, but it was a part of the new world.

He wished that he had been able to live out his dreams. Now, it just didn't matter. Ashland's job was simple, and of vital importance in the new world. He had to defend his platoon at all costs, find survivors and supplies, and he had to stay alive. It was of utmost importance and he didn't have a choice.

One day, hopefully, they'd be able to settle down somewhere, start anew. Restart the world, with an active civilization and maybe even a government. He'd help create peace; not the kind of peace that the Wasteland people had created, but a democratic peace, where children could be children and people could live with minimal fear. It would take decades, if not longer, to be free of the Infected, as they waited to kill the rest of them off or they themselves finally died, but one day, there would be peace. Stability. Life would return to some warped sense of normality.

They just had to survive until then.


	2. One - Second Option

Yo.

Got a few inquiries about 'Ashland'. You'll figure it out. ^_^

Unbeta'd chapter. Feel free to flame about how slow it's going. Me thinks I'm a descriptive writer involved in character study, so no like? Kiss my arse, kthx.

Oh, and don't forget to not review! (again, against the FFdotNet norm, that's me yo)

Word count this part: 2,872

Cheers!  
Marx

* * *

Chapter One  
_Second Option_

_08 April +00_

In Kurt's second period class, they all spoke in either whispers or whimpers.

For the most part though, it was completely silent. Kurt was one of the silent ones, his glasz eyes wide as he watched the news. They had abandoned all thought of school-work within the first period, when Jacob ben Israel had all but charged into the room, yelping something about zombies taking over Europe. It had taken a few moments for Jacob's shaking fingers to find the right channel on the television, but when he found the first news station, the spit-balls and paperwads flying at his Jew-fro stopped in the face of complete and utter shock.

The news was talking about how it had started in Switzerland — apparently there had been reports of mass hysteria resulting from cannibalism in the greater part of Geneva. CNN had footage from on-scene reporters in the area, where they had watched humans covered in blood and ripped flesh begin running towards screaming civilians and gun-toting military units. The reporters were yelling the commentary in frightened, high-pitched voices, most of the words a jumble of languages none of them could speak. There were no subtitles, because that would come with time, and this was breaking all across Europe.

The pretty blonde and the older man reporting the news for CNN, a southern woman named Michelle Ryder and her Boston-born co-anchor Alexander Carmichael, were calmly and charismatically assuring people that there was nothing to worry about.

"_The United States Government has taken the necessary precautions to make sure that the infection developed by Swiss scientists will _not_ reach into our country. President Barack Obama has grounded all air travel from overseas, and all ships coming from Europe or Asia are being turned away from port. For all of the air planes that were already in the air before the infection hit, they will be immediately detained by the military on secure bases, to make sure the virus has not infected all on board. There is no cases of infection within the North or South American continents, as we are assured that all South American countries are taking necessary precautions against the threat overseas,_" said Ryder, smiling confidently into the camera and nodding once to reinforce that image.

"Isn't that how this zombie crap always starts, with the news being forced to lie about the situation?" whispered one of the football players, a linebacker named Mark, fiddling with the hem of his letterman jacket as he stared endlessly at the T.V.

"No way, man," Artie said from beside Kurt. "Zombie apocalypses always start in America, and the government is always trying to cover their arses until there's no government left. This time, it's totally Switzerland's fault, and thankfully, we are hearing about it before the virus gets over here. We actually have an advantage, which is, like totally unheard of in zombie apocalypses. Y'know, because they're all set in America and all."

Carmichael continued, "_The President has assured that relief will be given to anyone in Europe or Asia that needs it. Military units from all branches of the armed forces have been deployed to help our allied nations fight this epidemic. All immigrants that have been cleared of infection will be given safe refuge in American compounds run by the military until it is made completely certain that they can be assimilated into safe houses without danger to America._"

"I'm torn between being horrified they're gonna let people in here and glad that they're getting the healthy people out," said Tina in a whisper to Kurt. Kurt, pale as a ghost, just nodded.

"_The President has asked everyone to stay calm in this time of crisis. Panic would only cause another crisis within our own borders, and we need all of the stability that we can get._"

"Yeah, because broadcasting this isn't going to put people in a panic," said Blaine, and Kurt was inclined to agree.

"Hey, at least we get truthful broadcasting," stated Artie.

Kurt decided to speak up. His voice a bit more breathy and high-pitched than normal, he said, "That we know of."

Blaine, holding onto Kurt's hand so tightly that it hurt, said darkly, "You don't think it'll reach us, do you?"

The funny thing was...it actually didn't reach them for two months, a record if one thought about it.

* * *

_11 June +00_

The day after graduation, it started in the Western Hemisphere.

The first instance was in Canada. The outbreak came from an unregistered fishing boat from Russia making a dangerous voyage through the Arctic to bypass all of the port blocks that had been stationed. There had been at least one person that had been infected, and they had come to North America because it had been rumoured that the United States government was working on an aerosol cure for the pathogen (which wasn't a lie, because it had been broadcasted throughout the US unless even _that_ was a lie). Instead, they had lost containment, and immediately, the reports started coming in.

Kurt, holding his diploma and surrounded by suitcases, watched the news with his family. Finn and Rachel were sitting beside him, also surrounded by suitcases, and Carole was sitting with Kurt's dad on the loveseat as they held hands. The outbreak was spreading and fast, just like it had in Europe. The lack of warning due to a breach in seaport security was a problem, but at least they were more prepared than the rest of the world.

Again, both of the newscasters were the same. Ryder, her hair pulling away from her face in an elegant updo that would probably cause her skin to stretch and wrinkle when she got older, said solemnly, "_President Obama is urging people to not panic. The situation, while dire in Canada, is being contained in solely the upper area of Canada. The government is setting up high resistance to make sure that only healthy survivors make it past the border checkpoints, and that none of the Infected make it into the United States. Again, we urge people to not panic—_"

"How do they expect us _not_ to panic?" Rachel asked, her voice a bit shaky but otherwise just as controlled and confident as usual. "There are zombies coming after us and they're getting closer every day. No matter what they do, it just keeps coming."

"First of all, Rachel, don't call them zombies," Kurt said, hiding his fear behind a roll of his eyes and an indifferent attitude. "That word is so unoriginal and cheesy."

"That's what they are though, dude," said Finn, his voice a bit whiny.

"Again, don't call me _dude_," Kurt said in a no-nonsense tone. "Now if I may continue without being so rudely interrupted..." Finn rolled his eyes and something akin to a smile ghosted across Burt Hummel's face. "They are infected with that mutant virus that the Swiss claimed was supposed to cure cancer."

"They _eat_ people, and animals too!" Finn exclaimed. "It travels through bites and scratches and blood, man! You gotta shoot 'em in the head! That's the _definition_ of zombie, Kurt, just like _Resident Evil_ said!"

"Finn, let your brother talk," Carole said, but she looked like she agreed with her biological son.

Kurt shot her a thankful look, and even though he didn't believe a word he was saying, he continued, "They are working on a cure. They aren't even really dead, Finn, which is what 'zombies' are. These people are just infected with a virus that is making them insane, just like with rabies in dogs and humans. Shooting them in the head makes sense, because brain activity determines life and death, but the news _also_ said that shooting them in other vital organs works just as well because they are still technically alive with beating hearts."

"Do you believe everything the news says?" asked Finn, a slightly maniacal glint in his eyes as he began to panic.

"No, I don't, but I sure as hell prefer having a bit of hope than being nonsensical like you are being," Kurt stated simply. That was true — he _didn't_ believe everything the news said, but he _did_ believe the immigrants that had been let loose into the US population. Sure, they could've been exaggerating, but Kurt figured that it was safer to assume they were too scared of the infection to lie about something they had seen with their own eyes overseas. He added, "Eventually, the virus will have a cure, or they will all be killed off by the government or by natural causes or even through old age. Who knows? Besides, this is Ohio; we all have guns, and we've been stockpiling supplies for two months now. We'll be safe."

"We're definitely not going to New York to the college, are we?" asked Rachel in a small voice.

There was a long silence as Kurt and Rachel absorbed that, Rachel for school and Kurt because, well, _New York_. Then, with in a slow tone, Burt said, "There's no way. I'm sorry, since I know you were both anxious to get to New York, but it's too close to the eastern Canadian border for comfort. Hell, _Lima_ is too close to the Canadian border for comfort."

That statement got everyone's attention rather quickly.

After another long pause, Kurt bemoaned, "Please don't tell me we're going to Tennessee to stay with Aunt Mildred. Because the last time we went there, she was gone all the time and her girlfriend scared me. She looks more manly than _I_ do, Dad, and it's _Tennessee_..."

"You do sometimes look like a girl," Finn commented.

Kurt picked up an old copy of _Vogue_ and threw it at him, but instead hit Rachel, who squealed.

Meanwhile, Burt said, "Well, think about it this way. They probably have a lot more guns in Tennessee than Ohio, they're much farther away from Canada, and quite frankly, I'm sure half of them have war bunkers underground. It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Kurt let out a rather undignified wail and then bolted upstairs to call his boyfriend.

* * *

Blaine's dad was a vehicle designer who normally worked in Europe.

He had been in Ireland when the infection had hit the continent, and they hadn't heard from him since the phones over there had gone down. Blaine had never really had much to do with his dad, due to Blaine liking bowties and musicals whereas Anthony preferred cars and having affairs with younger women. His mother, a woman named Marcille, had divorced him over one affair (Marcille's _sister,_ in fact, who had gotten pregnant with _Blaine's_ sister) and had sued him for more money than Kurt had seen in his life. Therefore, Blaine didn't really know his mother either, except that she lived in California and was married to some wannabe actor.

He had been living with the household staff while watching his little sister Megan, like usual with his travelling dad, and Kurt made an effort to constantly have both of them over. Either that, or they'd all go out as a unit, taking the nine-year-old to movies and amusement parks. Blaine didn't like leaving her by herself or even with sitters and friends of the family, which Kurt didn't blame him for. Megan was a cute kid who loved her brother unconditionally, and since Anthony Anderson wasn't around a lot, having family around in the form of a brother who liked to jump on furniture singing Disney songs was enough to keep the girl grounded.

Also, having Anthony gone and all, they mostly kept to themselves. They lived in Dublin, Ohio, within range of Columbus and Westerville (and about an hour and a half or less from Lima, but Blaine's dad made at least seven hundred grand a year, so commuting to Lima for school wasn't that big of a deal), so while they lived close enough to Dalton for Blaine to not be bored without friends, they lived close enough to Blaine's _old_ school for them to be worried about getting caught unawares.

So, since Anthony was gone as far as they knew and they were being hermits anyway, it came as a bit of a shock when Blaine said to Kurt over the phone, "_I'm sorry, Kurt, but we're not going to Tennessee. My sister has summer programmes and I've got the Six Flags gig again this year, and besides...what if Dad decides to show up and all he finds is a note saying we bolted with my boyfriend's family to some obscure state in the South, when he doesn't like _any_ of you based on his religious and archaic visual on the family unit? Well, besides sleeping with underaged women while married._"

"Breathe, Blaine, and try not to talk all at once," said Kurt, smiling despite the fact that Blaine seemed pretty firm on not going. Kurt didn't like it very much, because his dad was right about one thing: Ohio was a lot closer to Canada than Tennessee and it was in the middle of the United States, so it would be the last part to get run if the infection got to Mexico as well.

He didn't really believe that the government would be able to contain it. It was terrifying to think about it, but it was pretty clear considering how the other countries in the world had not been able to keep it under wraps. No matter what happened, the infection got through and then people started dying.

He most definitely didn't want to be separated from Blaine at all, especially with the Infected in Canada. It was only a matter of time before it reached America, and Kurt didn't delude himself into thinking that the US could keep it from the border. Obviously, he was worried about Blaine, and he told him this too.

"Blaine, think about it. Your dad isn't going to be able to fly to America any time soon now that the infection has gotten too bad for the government to chance immigrants." _If he's even alive in Ireland_ was left unsaid. "Even if he doesn't like me, or my family just because they accept me for loving you, I don't think he's going to freak out if we're getting you and your little sister to a safe place after all he's seeing in Ireland. I know, I'm not too happy about not being able to go to New York for the audition, and I know Tennessee is terribly, well, terrible, but it's safe, especially in Ashland City. It's surrounded by gun-toting hillbillies with bomb shelters underground, and not only that, but it's in the centre of the country, so everything will hit us last."

"_I just _can't_, Kurt. We can't just leave without my dad. He might look down on me because of my sexuality, and we might not get along, but I still love him. He's the only family I really have left, and he's _all_ Megan has left since her mother passed. We can't just leave without him._"

Kurt's small smile disappeared rather quickly, a bit taken aback about Blaine's determination to stay in Ohio; at the same time, however, he was not surprised by it at all. "Blaine," he said firmly, not bothering to hide the fear from his voice. "You need to think about yourself and your sister. You both could _die_ if you stay in Ohio, close to the border. I know you don't want to hear this but the chance that your father is still alive from the infection in Europe is slim to _none,_ and putting your sister in danger because of that irrational hope that he's still alive is completely crazy."

Okay, maybe that was a bit too far, if judging by the long silence from Blaine's end.

When the silence turned from shocked to angry, Kurt said slowly, "I'm sorry, but the reason you're hurt is because you know it might be true. Look, I love you Blaine, and I want you to be with me. I don't want you to be in any danger, or your sister to be either. Coming with us is the best option."

"_Obama and the military aren't going to let the infection get this far_," Blaine said, his voice clipped as if he was fighting the urge to either cry or start screaming. It hit Kurt right in the heart, hearing his boyfriend's voice so tight because of something that Kurt had said — no matter how true said words were — and he tried to keep from sounding so snippy as he answered Blaine.

"Blaine, no one else could keep the infection out for long. Europe, Africa, and Asia are _gone_, sweetie. Now that they're here, they'll get past the border too. We have to get ready now, before there's no more time _to_ get ready. Blaine, baby, please, come with me. I don't want to lose you.. Not now, and not ever."

There was another long silence, and then Blaine said in a softer tone, "_I'm sorry, but we're staying here until we hear from my dad. Everything'll be just fine, Kurt. I promise._"

It wasn't.


	3. Two - The Loss of the North

Yo.

Unbeta'd chapter. Again. This chapter is a bit fast-ish, maybe, I dunno, but the whole beginning of this fiasco is usually quick in all the media. It's the aftermath I'm more interested in anyway. XD Regardless, hope you like the chapter. This one has blood and guts. So much love.

And, what, five days until _The Walking Dead_ comes back on? I don't even know any more — I travel so much that time seems irrelevant.

Word count this chapter: 4,805

Cheers!  
Marx

* * *

Chapter Two  
_The Loss of the North_

_13 July +00_

Finn cradled Kurt in his arms as the counter-tenor sobbed.

The Infected had finally crossed the borders of the United States of America a week previous, and most of New England and the Northern states had been consumed by the virus. The satellites were down, so the cell phones and the Internet was useless, and getting a hold of any family or friends was impossible that way. The landlines had worked for a few days, but then the electricity had gone out in the North due to explosions, warfare, and vehicular accidents. Now it was dark up there except for the few newscasters from broadcasting states that were brave (and stupid) enough to march into the middle of it for the sake of keeping people informed.

Currently, Kurt's entire world was consumed by the fact that Blaine and Megan were up there all by themselves, in the middle of Ohio, surrounded by the Infected. Kurt didn't know what was going on, if they were okay or if they were fighting for their lives. Or if...

_No, they're alive. Blaine's alive. He _has_ to be alive_.

So Kurt wept into his stepbrother's shirt, and tried to not fall apart.

* * *

When the infection breached America, they had gone underground.

Not literally of course, because it wasn't nearly as common as people thought for civilians (even in the South) to have underground fortresses. The first thing they had done was follow the suit of millions of Americans across the continent: get any and all supplies humanly possible before it was all gone. Food, water, toiletries in the bundles, medical supplies and first aid, generators and fuel (that Burt said probably wouldn't be used except under extreme circumstances), entertainment like books and board games, ways to board up and defend houses or places of residence during the occupation of the Infected, and most importantly, _weapons_. Guns, ammunition, and knives were the most common, but Aunt Mildred and Burt had also accumulated the more uncommon, like baseball bats, crossbows, hammers, power tools, and various other little things that didn't seem to be weapons until wielded as one.

They made the two-story house that Aunt Mildred lived in as fortified as possible. All down the roads in Ashland City, Tennessee, the residents were doing the same thing to their own homes and businesses. The warning they had was more than they could've hoped for, but still, they were all armed just in case the Infected came sooner than possible.

The baseball bat felt awkward in Kurt's hand, but since he didn't know how to shoot a weapon and would rather have the reach of a bat than of a knife, he just dealt with it. They worked on the house, making sure that the windows wouldn't break in and the doors were thick with steel plates, and not for the first time, Kurt was thankful that his father had made him work at the tyre shop and around the house growing up. He was handy with power tools and with machinery, and knew his way around electrical boxes and plumbing. Sure, he had kicked and screamed the entire time until he had bargained a deal with his dad regarding his formfitting, knee-length sweaters and getting jackets from bondage shops (hey, straight-jackets were very stylish and looked great on him). Secretly, though, he did like working with his hands, getting dirty under the hood of a car or neck-deep in an electrical box.

Blaine didn't leave his thoughts, nor did his sister. His friends from New Directions were always in the back of his mind as well. Mr Schuester and Miss Pillsbury hadn't been heard from since the phones had gone down, but otherwise, the others were safe as far as Kurt knew. Hopefully. Mercedes and her family were in Georgia with family, Artie and his parents were in California, and Santana had left with Brittany's family to Texas to be with Brittany's older sister. Mike and Tina had been separated after Mike had been taken out of school by his parents, and Tina was in Oklahoma visiting her college and laying low with a friend from Asian Camp until it all died down (if it did, and boy, was he pessimistic). Mike, on the other hand, was in Florida as far as everyone knew. Lauren had bunkered down in Ohio with Puck, in exactly the same way that everyone was doing in Tennessee, and they had been carrying enough weapons that Kurt was somewhat relieved even if he was still terrified. Quinn had been nonsensical, as well as her mother. They had flown to Hawaii, using money from a settlement in the ex-Mrs. Fabray's divorce, and had hysterically declared that they were praying for all of them from the island.

Blaine was the only one that Kurt wasn't sure about the safety of.

Rachel, Rachel's dads, Finn, Carole, Burt, and Kurt were all in Tennessee. Rachel had all but forced them to come with her to Kurt's Aunt Mildred's place, and Hiram had relented by dragging his husband, Leroy, with him. It was rather annoying, really, having two men (one relentless with his gay-ness in a way that made _Kurt_ look butch) that were married and then two lesbians (one relentless with her gay-ness in a way that made Kurt look _feminine_) all in the same house. Rachel seemed to bask in it, especially since Jessica, Mildred's girlfriend, had taken a real shine to her. It drove Finn nuts though, just for Rachel's sake — he still had a bit of inbred dislike towards gay people no matter how tolerant he had become, and having a woman who looked as manly as Finn did hitting on his girlfriend every two seconds was about where the line was drawn.

_That didn't even make sense in _my_ head, for God's sake_, Kurt thought as the lot of them admired the finished work of their fortified house.

It sort of looked like a prison, but it was better being locked inside of a prison than to be running around like buffoons when the Infected breached Tennessee (the state had its own National Guard, as well as volunteer militia made up of red-necks and general badarses, just like every other state wanting to defend its borders, but Kurt didn't think it would hold either). Being locked inside Aunt Mildred's house with a bunch of homosexuals, plus Burt, Rachel, and Finn (the men being clearly uncomfortable as they tried desperately to hide it), didn't sound like very much fun.

Eventually, when conversation about how to improve the fortifications died out, they all trekked back to the house, locking it up tight behind them. There was no clear indication on when the Infected would come to their doorstep, but it was already in Ohio and Missouri, so it was safe to assume that it would hit Tennessee hard and fast. What made it a thousand times worse was that while Tennessee (at least around Ashland City) still had electricity and the television, there just wasn't a lot on to determine the rate of contamination, so they were blind.

The reports on the news stated the same thing: _the Infected have breached the border of the United States; President Obama is urging people to flee the North to military compounds and camps as safely as possible while the infection is contained; the government is advising people to fortify their homes in case the Infected breach through security checkpoints that have been instated in every state; the Infected are not dead, but there is no antivirus that has been successful on the infection, so the government has given permission to any American to use deadly force against the Infected if needed for survival; the most effective way to kill the Infected is to cut off brain activity or destroy the heart, because otherwise, they will continue to advance; infection is spread through secretions, like saliva or blood, so any blood transfusion or bites from the Infected immediately begins to spread in the new subject; sound and scent seems to be the trigger for an attack, so stay indoors and as quiet as possible; we will be going off the air as the rate of infection increases, but be assured that if you stay in your homes and use deadly force against the Infected, you can stay safe until the military regains control over the situation._

If they ever did.

Burt took Finn, Rachel, and Kurt up to the second floor den, where there was a balcony with chairs. It was boarded up with metal plates, but Burt unlocked the padlock and opened it up, blasting them with cheery sunlight that hurt their eyes. All of them took a seat, watching Burt as he silently started showing them how to load the rifle. Then, he put it up to the arm of the balcony, bracing it with his elbows and forearms, and said, "Look through the scope. When you see your target, focus on it instead of being determined to hit it. Breathe in and then out slowly, and then allow yourself to follow through with the fire of the weapon. You probably won't hit right on target every time, even with experience, but it's better to hit relatively on target than wasting ammunition and not hitting anything."

"Are you teaching us how to kill them?" asked Finn, his face paler than usual. Kurt was probably just as pale, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn't happy about the idea of killing another human being even _if_ they were infected, but still, if he had to protect his family and his friends, then he would. Even if it did make him a murderer.

The look on Burt's face was indescribable. "Yes," he said, to-the-point in a voice that most certainly wasn't calm nor shaky. "I'm not happy about this at all, but when the Infected come, I can't protect all of you, and the weapons you have now won't cut it. If the time comes, just like with all the other countries taken over by this infection, I will feel a thousand times better knowing that you can defend yourself against them. I want you to be able to defend yourselves if it comes to that."

"It won't come to that, though," Rachel said, her voice high with fear. "We're going to stay in the house and we're going to be saved by the military. We don't need to learn how to _kill_ people, because they're still alive and that's against _God_, Mr. Hummel."

"Yeah," Finn added, his voice also a bit high and his face going green with nausea. "We're going to be okay as long as we don't go outside and we stay quiet, right? The scientist dudes will come up with something, just like they said they would, and we won't have to hurt anyone. Infected or not, they're still people Burt."

Kurt didn't delude himself into thinking he was brave or overly strong. He was used to having to stick up for himself, forced to being stronger mentally to get through the bullying on his sexuality, voice, and love of fashion. That was in the past for the moment, though, because there was a world bigger than having the latest scarf from Alexander McQueen on the market, or using some clever comeback after a football player called him a gay slur and drowned him in a grape slushie. He would have to be something other than a Broadway artist or a fashion designer, because everything had changed. Maybe things _would_ go back to normal after a cure was created, but for now, he had to be prepared for the worst. It wasn't a second and third change of clothes from the slushies or a backup song just in case Rachel stole his brilliant idea for Glee, but instead something a bit more serious, and being prepared was something he was good at.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to be prepared," said Kurt, swallowing thickly as he reached his shaking hands out to grasp the gun. "Besides, God apparently doesn't care about us anyway."

"Don't say that," whispered Rachel.

Burt didn't say anything, but the indescribable expression grew more sad as he watched his son inspect the surprisingly heavy weapon.

"I've never been a fan of pipe dreams, Rachel," he said, and then he turned to his dad with a sick expression. "Teach me how to shoot this thing now, before I lose my nerve."

And Burt did.

* * *

_24 July +00_

The first time Kurt seen the Infected with his own eyes was also the first time he killed one.

The electricity had gone down the day previous, the phones a day before that, so they had known that it was coming. It still didn't make it any easier, though, and living in fear was the worst.

They had been told constantly by Burt and Aunt Mildred that guns were a last resort, because the noise would attract them, so when the screaming had started, they had made sure that every gun was accounted for in the kitchen. Burt and Kurt, sitting together in the dim kitchen, loaded the magazines, clipped them in the guns, and cocked the chamber (a completely useless action but it made the process seem more final). Then they moved on to the next gun until all of them were ready, just in case it came to that. The screaming and firing of weapons had started across Ashland City a few hours ago, waking them up, and even though Annette Drive was still silent as it was a bit from the city, they had still instantly began preparing for the beginning of it.

Then the gunfire had started on Annette just after dawn.

Kurt left Burt in the kitchen and walked as silently as he could upstairs. He passed Hiram and Leroy in the guest bedroom, both of them looking through the cracks of the boarded windows, and then Jessica and Aunt Mildred in their own room, who were doing the same thing as the two married men. He continued down the hall, the hall being empty after they had put everything that couldn't be bolted to the floor in the attic, until he reached the second bedroom where his dad and Carole were sleeping while at the house.

Finn and Rachel were also looking out the boarded windows from that room. Rachel was crying in that silent way she had, and Finn just cradled her gently. Kurt walked gently towards them, and sat down on the bed on the other side of Finn, letting his glasz eyes focus through the cracks as well.

On the street below there were five people with guns and one of the women was holding a young girl. She was probably about six or seven, with dark hair and eyes, and she was screaming on the top of her lungs as a group of at least a dozen Infected ran after them. The bear in her arms was falling from her clenched grasp, and her cherubic face was covered in blood splatters, from what Kurt couldn't see. Perhaps someone around her had died, or maybe it was from the Infected.

One of the men placed himself in between the woman holding the child and one the Infected that chased. He kept pulling the trigger on the revolver, but the gun didn't fire. He kept stumbling on his feet, as only running backwards could do, and then he fell. They were upon him like a frenzy, and Rachel turned to retch in the trash can beside the desk. Kurt closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sight of it lest he get sick, and when he opened his eyes again after the screaming stopped, he could feel the wetness of tears falling from his eyes.

The little girl screamed louder when the woman holding her faltered. The woman shrieked once, loudly, begging for someone to open their doors for them to get to safety, and then the Infected were upon them. The woman dropped the girl, who immediately bolted towards the rest of her party, and the woman was attacked just like the man before her. Finn and Kurt, both of them shaking uncontrollably, held onto each other while Rachel wrapped her arms around Finn's legs as if letting go would cause the world to end. The two boys watched, crying softly, as they watched the woman die with a blood-curdling scream.

Then, out of nowhere, there were two more Infected in the way. The two adults that had paused only for a moment to pick up the little girl were simultaneously attacked, one of the Infected sinking its teeth into the black man's neck. Distantly from their perch on the second story, the three teenagers could hear the gurgling sound as the man choked on his own blood, the vermilion liquid visibly spewing from the man's jugular.

Then there was a loud gunshot and one of the Infected went down.

Finn, Rachel, and Kurt all looked at each other, and then Kurt whispered, "It was one of us. You guys stay here — I'll find out who did it." When they nodded and turned back to the window, just as another gunshot rang out from Aunt Mildred's house, Kurt bolted downstairs as quickly as he could without making too much noise. He already knew who it was, because the shot would've been louder had it come from the others on the second story. And when he finally got downstairs and seen his father with the barrel of a gun sticking out the boarded-up kitchen window, he wasn't surprised.

"Dad, what're you doing? You said not to use guns!" Kurt hissed as his dad shot another round, but even though he couldn't condemn his father for his actions, he was still terrified about his own family's safety. Burt had made the right choice though — it had been terrible watching that little girl scream as her friends and-or family were killed by the Infected right in front of her.

"I can't just watch those people die, especially that little girl, Kurt. Carole's at the door, and she's going to try to call in the girl and her friend when I've taken out all the Infected. There aren't many of them on the street yet, so I had to."

Kurt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then grabbed a pistol from the table. "Just kill them Dad, so they don't get us."

Burt shot off another bullet, all while saying in a rough voice, "No, you're going upstairs and you're going to barricade the staircase after packing up all the weapons, just like we talked about if the Infected ever made it into the house. I'm not letting you put yourself in danger just because of my choice."

Kurt was still terrified and almost wanted to follow his dad's advice and curl up in a bedroom, and he even started packing up all the guns and ammunition on the table. However, right before he went upstairs to deliver the guns to the others and tell them to barricade the staircase, he said, "No. I'm the fastest one in this house, and I have a better shot than all but Jessica. Even you, Dad." That wasn't a lie either; it had shocked most of them that he had picked up the use of a gun as quickly and as accurately as he had. "I'm helping both of you, not just for that little girl's sake but for you and Carole's too."

Burt tried to protest but Kurt was already lugging the bag of weapons towards the staircase. It was god-awful heavy, so he left it at the foot of the stairs and bolted back up, barging in Aunt Mildred's room. His fair-skinned, brunette aunt glanced at him with sad, dark eyes, and said in her thick Tennessee accent, "Jess, go get the guns from the stairs. We're gonna get that 'lil girl from the streets before they eat 'er alive."

As they started moving to prepare, Jessica, all stocky and muscular and masculine, said in an equally thick accent, "You runnin' out there, kid?"

Kurt swallowed back the fear and said, "Yeah. I'm faster and better at shooting than most of the people in here. I can get her, I know I can."

Aunt Mildred took a shaky breath and told him, "Jess'll cover ya when you're out there. Burt'll getcha from the window. You'll be just fine, sweetie, I know it. Let's hurry it up before more of 'em come and cause trouble."

Aunt Mildred left to go inform Hiram, Leroy, Finn, and Rachel of what was going to transpire, and only due to the immense amount of times the adults had drilled the necessity of being quiet kept the others from calling out. Kurt saw Carole run past him upstairs, to join the others, probably at the bequest of Burt, and for that Kurt was grateful — if something did happen, at least Finn would have his mother to keep him from doing something stupid. Jessica picked out a pistol herself (Kurt preferred the Glock, but she liked the .357, which Kurt just didn't understand) and then lugged the rest of the guns upstairs, giving her girlfriend a rather heated kiss before the steel door was fitted into place where the stairs breached the second floor. If the Infected got into the house, it was safe to assume that they would be safe up there. The food and supplies, and now the weapons, were all upstairs, so they could feel confident that if something happened, they would still be okay.

Jessica and Kurt took up point at the front door, waiting for Burt to give the go-ahead. A few moments later, after two shots from the rifle, Burt yelled, "You be careful and come back to me Kurt!"

It killed his dad to let him out to save that girl, Kurt knew, but maybe Burt was a bit proud of him too. Kurt knew he was proud of _himself_, at the same time being scared out of his wits.

The blast of hot, humid air hit him hard in the face, and he could smell the stench of faeces and decay, so when he brought his gun up and started bolting, he chose to open his mouth to breathe. He could almost taste the scent of it, but it was better than making his eyes water from the smell of all that disgusting matter. After all, he needed his sight.

The little girl was standing in the middle of the street, frozen in sheer terror as the last Infected gained ground on her. The others were dead on the ground, to be left there until either the government cleaned it up or until they rotted into the pavement, so Kurt bypassed their corpses and finally reached the blood-splattered girl. He heard Jessica behind him, distracting three of the Infected into running in her direction instead of the little girl's, all while getting the sole surviving man to come with her to the fortified house.

"Hey," he said in a breathless voice as he heard one shot and one body hit pavement. "We need to hide. Come on, sweetie. We have to hide from the bad guys. Do you see that blue house over there?" She nodded tearfully as he watched the Infected with a wary eye, trying to get her to move. "We have to get there as soon as possible. It's safe there." He forced her to gain back momentum, letting them sprint in the direction of said house. Kurt knew his way was going to be blocked so he compensated by making a sharp turn to the right, cutting into a neighbour's yard. He heard a shot ring out but he didn't hear a body hit the concrete, which either meant his father had missed with the rifle or they were gaining ground and had reached the lawn, muffling the sound of a body landing. He urged the girl to move faster, but she was practically a dead weight, paralysed with fear and grief.

Kurt barely even stopped to think as he paused for the briefest moment, glancing behind them. There were still two chasing them, just reaching the lawn so his father must've missed, but Kurt didn't register it in the face of picking the girl up across the middle. It surely was part pure adrenaline and part pure fear that he could pick her up so easily and begin running. After all, there were trees blocking his sight of Aunt Mildred's house _and_ of Jessica, which was definitely not the position he wanted to be in with a child in his arms. With an incredible burst of strength and stamina that he knew his muscles and bones would regret later if he survived this, he all but flew through the trees and met his worst nightmare.

The solitary Infected was a large man that towered over Kurt tremendously, and Kurt dropped the girl with an uncommonly hoarse "Run!" He barely had time to watch her bolt in the direction of Aunt Mildred's before he was falling over with the Infected man on top of him. The scent of putrid decay, blood, faeces, urine, and bile rushed into his nose as he inhaled sharply with shock, shoving both hands against the Infected's face as he fought to keep the monster from biting him. The teeth, red with blood while chunks of flesh and plaque littered the bones, snapped at him like a rabid dog, and Kurt felt saliva hit his face and neck.

He heaved with exertion, trying to remember through the terror of his situation what had happened to the two other Infected giving chase _and_ his gun. He knew that he wouldn't be able to reach out to grab his gun as he was simultaneously trying to keep the teeth from his flesh while kicking his legs against the Infected's clawing fingers. He simply wasn't strong enough to do much more than hold him off, and that was going to end soon, as he was tiring even through the adrenaline. The teeth got closer and closer, and Kurt tried harder and harder to keep them away to no avail. He closed his eyes tightly, and then there was a crack as Kurt's wrist snapped with the effort to keep the monster away. Immediately, he cried out in pain as he felt a sharp pinch on the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he wasn't sure what it was but he knew he was going to die.

And then he was free.

The Infected man flew as Jessica rammed him in a powerful tackle. They were tangled in a jumble of limbs, and Kurt sucked in air as his watery eyes searched frantically for a weapon of some sort. His gun was a few feet away, most likely dropped from the initial shock, and he grasped it in a shaky grip, his surely broken arm cradled against his chest, and aimed it.

He took two deep breaths, trying to calm himself even though his senses were on high-alert for any other Infected around them, and then he pulled the trigger.

The blood splattered against Jessica's breasts and stomach as the bullet went straight through the Infected's nose and out his ear, and Kurt didn't stop to freak out about pretty much murdering another human being before they both bolted again towards the house. "What about...the girl?" Kurt choked out as they ran for their lives. There were more Infected behind them, their shrieks and grunts an ever-growing symphony of horror and death, and they had no time.

"Burt...has...her," Jessica wheezed, her muscular and heavy body heaving with exhaustion. "Other guy...dead."

That was enough for Kurt Hummel. They sprinted into the lawn of Aunt Mildred, where Burt was yelling at them to hurry, and then they were inside. Burt pulled the padlocks and for a long moment, there was silence except for heavy breathing and Kurt's small whimpers of pain, and then the Infected reached the house, banging on everything they could reach. They all just stayed there, Kurt on the ground in pain while Burt and Jessica double checking all the doors and windows, before it hit Kurt rather harshly.

_I killed another human being._

He lifted his unbroken arm and touched the throbbing pain on his shoulder.

_And that Infected guy bit me. I'm infected. I'm going to become one of them._

Kurt started to sob.

_I'm going to either kill all of my family and friends, or I'm going to die_.

_I'm going to die_...


	4. Three - Truth of the Immigrant

Yo.

_The Walking Dead_ comes on today! Huzzah! I'm very-very-very excited, you have no idea. I've somewhat decided that I'm gonna update on Sundays because nothing gets me more pumped than, well, cigarettes, and _then_ my favourite show on the telly!

Regardless. Unbeta'd, like usual, and hope you enjoy. Can't wait to get past all this crap.

Cheers!  
Marx

* * *

Chapter Three  
_Truth of the Immigrant_

_24 July +00_

Burt was weeping, cradling Kurt so tightly it hurt.

At the same time, Aunt Mildred, who was a veterinarian, took a look at Kurt's left arm. She poked and prodded it before the drugs they had given him kicked in, so he continuously hissed and silently cried as she jostled the swollen and inflamed flesh. Eventually, she said in a whisper that could barely be heard over the banging the Infected were making, "It's definitely broken. It's your wrist _and_ arm, sweetie, pretty sure 'bout that. I got stuff to make a cast, 'cause I'm gonna bind it up anyway."

_Anyway_. That word hurt, and Aunt Mildred's rather pretty features twisted in sadness. Burt squeezed Kurt harder, to where Kurt couldn't breathe, but quite frankly he didn't care — having his father close to him was comforting in its own way, like his existence wasn't going to end.

He had so many dreams, and now everything was gone. He'd never see Blaine again, to hold his hand or kiss him, to live out life to the fullest. He wasn't going to be a Broadway star, the CEO of Logo, or a fashion designer for his own ultra-famous label. He wasn't going to marry Blaine and maybe adopt some kids, or perhaps even surrogate them from a female donor (a vision of Rachel carrying Kurt and Blaine's child just like her mother Shelby had carried Rachel flashed in his mind, and he nearly threw up at the visual).

They had bandaged up the bite on his neck first, as it was bleeding rather heavily when they had come in. Carole and Aunt Mildred assured him that nothing vital had been torn, so there was that. He wasn't going to die from blood loss, but instead from infection that would make him into a cannibal. He wasn't sure what was worse. Well, yes he was, and he was already thinking ahead about that.

He didn't want to hurt his friends and family. Especially his dad, Carole, or Finn. He wasn't going to sit around, waiting for the fever and the delirium to hit him, only so he could lose his mind and attack the people he loved. He simply couldn't handle that. The others had to stay safe, even if it meant that he had to be...dealt with.

"Dad," he said, his voice small with lack of oxygen and fear. "I don't want to be like them."

Burt didn't offer false assurances about Kurt being okay in the end, which Kurt was thankful for, because it _wasn't_ going to be okay. It simply _wasn't_. Instead, he said to Jessica, "Get all of the guns in a room Kurt can't get to." She turned and walked past Rachel, her dads, and Finn, all of which were looking at him with either sadness or pity. Rachel was crying, her face red and blotchy from the force of it, so Kurt looked away and focussed on someone more needing of eye contact.

Therefore, Kurt tried to glare at his dad but he was still crying a bit himself so the effect wasn't as successful as he would've liked. "Dad," he said in a much stronger voice, "what are you going to do? Lock me in a room and not let me out until the military comes in with some super-cure that'll make everything okay again? That could be years, decades even. They haven't even come up with a cure for AIDS or cancer yet. Hell, this virus that I've got now was _supposed_ to be the cure for cancer and look how that turned out! I don't want to live as one of those _things_, potentially hurting all of you, _killing you_! If you won't do it to keep the rest of your family safe, _Dad_, I'll do it myself!"

"Shut up, Kurt!" yelled Finn, shocking the lot of them. "It's gonna be just like _Dawn of the Dead_, when that one guy gets bit and his daughter doesn't want him to die, okay? We're gonna wait for you to turn into a zombie, and then we'll do whatever we have to. But as far as I'm concerned, my brother is still alive and talking to me, so killing you or letting you kill yourself really _is_ murder. So just shut up and make do with what you got left, for _God's sake_!"

No one spoke for a long time, just staring at Finn in the face of his vehemence, and then Kurt sniffled. "Don't call me a zombie, Finn."

Finn gave him a shaky smile that Kurt returned, and then Kurt said, "Alright, Aunt Mildred. Let's set my arm in a cast. It'll make me less dangerous with a heavy lump of plaster on my arm."

Burt flinched, but let Kurt go, and they all made their way upstairs.

* * *

The little girl's name was Akilina Petrova.

She had been bitten twice, once on the arm and another on her right shoulder blade, when running from the Infected on the street. She wasn't crying, instead just staring blankly at the wall opposite of the bed she was in, and somehow that was worse than the crying. It was like she had just given up.

She said to Kurt in a small, high voice, her English nearly perfect through the thick Russian accent, "Mother said that we'd be safe ov'r here. We _were_ safe ov'r here for long time. But God decided to punish us even more for our sins by bringing sickness here to follow us."

Finn, who was doodling on Kurt's bland white cast, rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Burt, however, said, "I'm sorry you've had to go through this, Akilina."

She continued to stare at the wall with blank brown eyes, the bear clenched in her arms. The blood had been cleaned off her and the bites had been cleaned and bandaged, but while Kurt's bite was aching and causing him discomfort, she didn't even seem to register it even as she laid upon the one on her shoulder blade. She was pretty disconnected from reality, which didn't exactly surprise Kurt; she had lived through hell in Russia, and then she had thought she was safe in America only to find that the horror had followed her. God brought into the equation or not, it was still a lot for a seven year old to handle. She was alone in the world, her family dead or worse, and the strain of it was just too much.

Eventually she answered, "I am sorry your son is caught with Devil's curse. I watched it happen to my brother and it hurt lots to see him inflicted."

"How long does it take for..._it_ to happen?" asked Kurt, unable to control himself.

Those dark eyes blinked once, the bear in her arms being squeezed with memories, and then she said, "It took him one day for fever, and then few hours later, we had to kill him or he kill us." Rachel, who had finally gotten her sobbing under control, broke out in tears again. Akilina didn't seem to notice or care, as she continued, "It was faster for my father, maybe because he was sick with flu and my brother was stronger. Ov'r here it seems to happen faster with Americans. Most of your kind is too fat or too skinny, both sins against God, and makes you unhealthy so the curse spreads faster."

Kurt looked down at his body. He still could only see his pear hips and chubby cheeks, even though he was constantly told by his friends and family that he had really grown out of the baby fat. Blaine always told him he was beautiful, and Kurt didn't think he was necessarily _bad_ looking, but still. There was always room for improvement.

"I don't believe in God," Kurt said rather bluntly to the little girl. The others in the room except Jessica and Finn all flinched, whereas Akilina finally looked away from the wall. Her dark eyes were dead to the world, showing no hostility, but that didn't stop her from speaking her mind.

"And that's why you afflicted with Devil's Curse, because you are walking, breathing sin against His Holiness."

Burt and the three Berrys bristled at that, always quick to temper, but Kurt just waved around his good arm and said, "Don't. It's fine." He almost said, _then why are _you_ inflicted, Akilina? What did you do that made God despise your existence? What did your _family_ do that made God's choice to turn them into monsters justifiable? What sin made God force a monster to take a bite out of your shoulder in retribution?_

He couldn't though. She was just a child in a scary world, brainwashed by the more extremist Christians out there. Thankfully most of the Christians in the world weren't like that, as his family and even his lesbian aunt were good examples of that, but in the new world run by the Infected, Kurt was afraid it was going to be a bit more common as people tried to explain the tragedy.

At least Kurt wouldn't be around for _that_ backlash, even though he was terrified of dying itself. There were bound to be some of the more radical nuts (probably from the WBC, the bastards) that would hunt out gay people and sacrifice them to their so-called God so they could be delivered from the evil of the Infected.

Finn, who had stopped doodling on Kurt's cast as he openly glared at the little girl, apparently did not share Kurt's apprehension for attacking Akilina. "Why not? What makes her so different than you? You risked your life to save hers, Kurt, and she goes off on a tirade about how _you're_ the sinner when she's _just_ as _infected_ as you are? That's crap, man, and no one should stand for it, no matter how old you are."

"_Finn_ Hudson!" cried Carole and Rachel at the same time.

The little girl just turned back to the wall and said softly, "I know I've sinned against Him, and my family had too. But we will have our Saviours, the ones God blessed with His hands, and they will deliver us from evil with power of God upon their shoulders." She let out a cough that sounded too wet to be normal, and even though it was clear Aunt Mildred was rather irritated at the girl, she advanced on Akilina.

"Hold this under your tongue and try not to cough," Kurt's aunt said, and Akilina obliged, letting the thermometer rest. Her dark eyes were watering, either with the infection spreading in her veins or trying to hold back the urge to cough again, and Aunt Mildred wiped the wetness with a damp cloth. Even before the thermometer was done reading, Aunt Mildred said gently, "You're burnin' up, Akilina. I'm gonna get you another cool, wet cloth for your forehead, alrighty?"

"Thank you," the girl mumbled around the thermometer, which Aunt Mildred tsked at her for. She didn't say another word as the brunette disappeared downstairs to fetch her items.

Finn turned away from the bed and back to Kurt, who was lying down on the pull-out so the little girl would be comfortable. They were going to stay in the same room, and when the..._time_ got close, Jessica was going to do the honours of making sure they didn't hurt anyone after the infection finally took hold. Finn had said from the beginning that he wasn't leaving even then, because it was wrong for them to do this, but Kurt had playfully mussed his hair and gestured to his abhorrent cast that needed to be designed by his stepbrother.

Finn didn't turn back to drawing aliens though (he was actually quite a good artist, even though Finn didn't believe it), and instead brushed a calloused hand across Kurt's own forehead. Kurt cringed, because not only was he all sweaty and sticky and gross, but seriously, what if he suddenly lost his senses and bit Finn's hand off? He didn't though, because Finn pulled back and said, "_You_ aren't any hotter than you usually are."

Kurt snorted rather loudly and Finn rolled his eyes again. "That's not how I meant it, _dude_," Finn said, but a smile was twitching on the corner of his lips. Finn was rather endearing when he wasn't trying so hard, and while Kurt didn't have a crush on him any more (thank God for small favours), Kurt always felt more drawn to him in another way every single day he was simply Finn. It wasn't exactly brotherly, and it wasn't exactly friendly. Maybe they were kindred spirits or something, Kurt didn't know. That sounded overly cheesy. Kurt just knew that he felt so much for the unfashionable idiot that it was almost ridiculous.

Aunt Mildred didn't come back in time, so Burt plucked the thermometer out of the girl's mouth gently when it beeped. "102.2," he said in a low voice. He tore off the plastic surrounding and put a new one on, advancing on Kurt. Kurt almost wanted to ask him to let him do it himself, but he knew that his father already felt helpless enough, so he allowed Burt to put it under his tongue.

Finn continued doodling and Burt took a seat at the foot of Kurt's pull-out bed. Kurt brought up his good arm to scratch an itch right above the bite from the Infected, trying not to let himself think about the fact that it was itching. Didn't that mean that it was healing? But then again, that in itself was ridiculous because it had just happened a good two hours ago, so it was probably just the infection spreading. Kurt could still hear the banging that the Infected made as they tried to get inside the house. It was an erratic, terrible droning that made the hair on the back of Kurt's neck stand up. He wished it would stop, but he knew that it wouldn't go away any time soon. Maybe they'd wonder off, but he doubted it.

Aunt Mildred came back in just as Finn signed his name in rather good handwriting (in contrast to Kurt's own rather boyish messy handwriting, which went against all stereotypes), smiling rather goofily at his handiwork on the boring white cast. Burt gave a small smile and beckoned for a Sharpie marker, accepting the black one rather enthusiastically. He signed his name — well, he signed _Dad_ — in the space that Finn had left for such things, in his own rather messy handwriting, and then let everyone else have their turn with their own colours of choice. Aunt Mildred chose purple, Jessica lime green, the two Berry men in blue. Rachel was pretty obvious choosing the red one since it was the closest to pink, and Akilina just stared at the wall, completely oblivious to everything around her. Kurt didn't even know if they signed casts where she was from, although that was pretty unlikely. When there was something blank around, friends and family always doodled if the situation was okay for it.

The thermometer beeped and Burt pulled it out, frowning. "99.2," he mumbled, raising an eyebrow. Kurt paused at that, frowning himself. He knew that he always looked remarkably like his father when he frowned, but he couldn't really help himself on that.

"What's wrong?" asked Carole. "He has a fever, just not as progressive since he's bigger than Akilina and got bitten after him."

Burt said slowly, "He doesn't have a fever though. In fact, it's actually a bit lower than usual. Kurt's temperature always averaged about 99.4, even whenever he was younger. It drove the doctor's nuts, said he was going to end up infertile when he was older because of it."

It was something Kurt had always known, but as he was gay and not ready for children anyway, he had never been tested to see if he could have kids. Maybe he would've in the future, when Blaine and Kurt had gotten married and to that point, but now that the world had gone to hell there was no way he could really know. He doubted there would be in vitro fertilization when that point arrived, let alone a productive society with government, and besides, he was infected and he was going to die. It was mortally simple, and Kurt almost started to cry again on how easily he could throw that word around: _die_.

The lack of temperature was startling though. "Maybe it's just delayed. I mean, Akilina got bit twice, and I only got bit once. Also, she probably got bit before me, before we even came into the picture outside. It could've had a lot more time to spread before I got bit myself. And like Aunt Mildred said, I _am_ bigger than she is, so it's probably taking longer to spread regardless."

"Yeah, but you were bit on the neck, Kurt," said Jessica before anyone else could speak. "That's closer to the brain, ain't it?" _Isn't it_, Kurt corrected mentally, but he didn't voice that thought out loud. "You'd think it'd spread faster than her, being bit on the shoulder."

Akilina was looking at him rather...well, the only word Kurt could come up with was _intently_. The expression on her face was hard for Kurt to work, because it was perhaps a mixture of confusion, shock, anger, and something akin to awe or amazement. Kurt felt a small shiver down his spine, because that wasn't normal, and it was so _focussed_ that it made him almost uncomfortable. Eventually he interrupted the other voices, all of them trying to explain the oddity of his temperature, by saying, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Aunt Mildred, who was making a comment about Kurt's immune response being late or even non-existent, said, "What?"

Akilina just continued to stare at him in that odd way, but now everyone else was watching and noticing it too. She didn't say anything at all though, just continuing to stare until eventually her purplish eyelids fluttered and she seemingly lost consciousness.

There was a bit of a bustle after that. Everyone, as demanded by Kurt, Burt, and Carole, were forced to leave. Finn and Rachel looked the most reluctant, but with a pointed glance from her husband, Aunt Mildred led them towards the exit.

Carole, ever the nurse, bustled around Akilina, trying to make her regain consciousness at first and then reverting to just trying to make the girl comfortable. She put a dropper full of cold medicine (not children's, because they hadn't really thought about that in the initial panic) past her unresisting lips and forced her to swallow by massaging her throat gently. Kurt and Burt watched this with identical expressions on their faces, both their eyes filled with something akin to fear and apprehension. Kurt wasn't sure if he was having a different reaction to the infection as Akilina, but he knew that it would spread quickly to his brain and he'd end up a monster eventually. He eyed the .357 Magnum on the armchair, thought about making a jump for it, and then decided that he couldn't do it in front of his father or step-mother anyway.

He accepted a bit of soup and prepared himself for the longest wait of his life.


	5. Four - The Sickness of the Reckless

Yo.

Very fucking excited about the new episode today - dude, me thinks that the writers are going to torture me longer and not bring Merle in. They're gonna have the entire episode about Andrea and Michonne just to torture me. I hope not for my own sanity, but I can totally see them doing that. Fuck cliffhangers, man!

Anyway, hope you like the chapter. Unbeta'd like usual, and peace off!

Cheers!  
Marx

* * *

Chapter Four  
_The Sickness of the Reckless_

_25 July +00_

_Please._

Burning-twisting-throw up in the bin-force the water down-choke-screaming-snarl-blood-pain-_kill it!_-unconscious—

(_is this death is this what it's like to die i don't wanna die daddy please!_)

—no breath-hurts-explosion-pain-maybe a gunshot or was that just-can't breathe-screaming-stop screaming-_Jessica_!-quiet-sobbing-painpainpain—

(_why does it hurt so much daddy why wont you save me why does it hurt_)

—why-please-pain-burns-throw up in the bin-try to breathe-no water-screaming-twist and shake and convulse-_fuck_!-light as a feather-throw up-_it's gonna be okay son_-make it stop —

(_mommy where are you i miss you i need you to save me take me to heaven please_)

_Please._

The room was quiet except for heavy, choked, hoarse breathing.

It was dark here, so dark he couldn't see, and maybe he didn't want to see where the heavy, choked, hoarse breathing was coming from. He tried to stay still so he didn't attract the sound of the Infected, because he knew that if he so much as made a sound he would end up in even more pain than he already was currently experiencing. The bite wound on his neck was ungodly profound, and there were new wounds that he could feel even without seeing them. The arm not in a cast was throbbing with the rapid beats of his heart because of _something_ that had happened, and his hip was positively screaming in the same way. Had Akilina changed and gotten more chunks out of him before she had been taken down (god, he actually felt terrible for thinking that about a small girl, no matter how infected she got)? Had he been shot by accident?

Was he dead?

No, the pain was too great for that to be the case. He could feel it in every bone, every fibre of his being, every molecule of blood that scorched his insides like fire. He could feel it in his parched throat, his pounding head, his twitching fingers that he couldn't keep still even to save his own life from the Infected in the room. It wasn't like it mattered anyway, because he was going to die from this anyway. He was going to become one of those monsters and why hadn't anyone killed him yet to spare him of this misery?

"Kurt?" a voice whispered, vaguely familiar, but Kurt couldn't place it from the fiery blood rushing through his ears and head. He tried to focus on it, _anything_ but the agony that he felt all over, and tried to make a noise, only to realise that the breathing grew louder.

Dear God, was that _him_?

He tried to stop it, tried to _stop_, but he couldn't. The breathing, in fact, got louder, through hyperventilation that he couldn't control, and there were suddenly cold hands upon his face that made him shiver despite himself.

The somewhat familiar voice murmured quietly, "Kurt, just try to breathe normally — we need you to stay quiet. Please, Kurt, stay quiet or they'll hear us." Kurt tried, and by sheer willpower he succeeded as much as he possibly could. The hoarse, terrible breathing tapered down to a low whistle, and he clenched his teeth together to keep the moaning at bay. He couldn't move his body more than small twitches, and he didn't even attempt to talk again because he knew that he would either start screaming or throwing up.

He had to be quiet, or 'they' would hear them. 'They' meaning the Infected, Kurt supposed, because what else was a threat in this new, unjust world? Kurt couldn't remember who the speaker was except that it was a familiar tone, and for that he just had to trust the speaker. The man knew his name, so Kurt had to trust it. Had to, or he would be alone in this world, damned to becoming like the rest of the Infected to feast on human flesh and blood. Familiar meant that he would be saved from that fate, it meant—

The world as Kurt knew it at that very moment exploded.

The explosion was all light first, yellow and blue and bright white, and it blinded him to the point where he thought his brain was incinerating from the vividness. Then it was the shock wave of sound and fire, and it blew him backwards against the wall. Before he succumbed to unconsciousness for the final time, the heat hit, and he prayed to a god he didn't believe in to spare him and his family from such pain.

The next time he woke up, it was the last time for a while.

He wasn't sure where he was at, but it was dead quiet. He couldn't hear anything, not even the sound of his own heartbeat, and for a brief, wild moment he wondered if he had finally succumbed to the virus. A moment later, the thought was ripped apart because if he was one of the Infected, surely he would've been a mindless cannibal by that point. He didn't feel any unbearable urge to go chomping on someone's entrails, and the pain that was throbbing throughout his body was still very real and _relevant_, so maybe—

He glanced around, and finally a sound cut through the air around him when the blanket around his body moved from his shifting. He ignored it in favour of taking in his surroundings with a dizzy, cotton-filled head, because in this world it was far more important to be aware than to be distracted by nonsensical things.

He wasn't in the Annette house, that was for sure. The ridiculously massive room was dark and fortified, metal covering windows that were much larger than what had been on Aunt Mildred's house. There wasn't a bed here either, nor the pull-out couch that he had last remembered lying upon; instead the floor was covered in sleeping bags and pallets, a few of which had inhabitants.

These inhabitants were either sleeping or staring at their loved ones as if they were afraid that they'd never see them again. Maybe they wouldn't, but Kurt wasn't one to make assumptions. A few of them were crying, most of them women of all ages, but even that was silent in fear of being heard by things that didn't need to be alerted. It was actually quite remarkable how quiet everything was, since Kurt couldn't even hear them breathing or anything. If he hadn't heard his own blankets shuffle then he would've been convinced that he had gone deaf.

Over by what Kurt figured used to be glass doors but were now planks of metal, he could see a group of men and women with weapons. They seemed to be doing inventory, not making any noise as they counted weapons and ammunition. They kept writing things down on a notepad and continuously passing it around as they took stock, and Kurt blinked slowly as he recognised a few of the weapons. There was the Glock he had loved to practise with, the crossbow that Finn had goofed around with, Burt's shotgun, Jessica's rifle. He wasn't sure what was going on but he knew that wherever his family was, they were safe. They wouldn't have given up their weapons _or_ Kurt so easily.

There was a sudden rustle of movement behind him and fighting a gasp of surprise, he shot around to glance at the newcomer.

He wanted to cry out at the site of a wary-looking Carole Hudson-Hummel and throw his arms around the familiar form of her, but he was so utterly exhausted that he had to settle for a weak smile and reaching his shaky arms out. She looked like Death had spoken to her face-to-face, eyes bloodshot and swollen and skin pale. Kurt was a tad confused as he looked at her, noting with tired eyes that she had the look of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short period of time — her usual plump features and body had diminished greatly, leaving behind someone who seemed to have too much skin for her body. She looked like she had aged ten years and there was more grey in her hair than he had ever seen or allowed without a dye job.

He opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him quietly with a finger to her lips. She smiled as if to soften the blow of Kurt being silenced, and it looked so painful that Kurt visibly flinched. It dropped off her face as quickly as it came at his reaction, and she just lifted a small memo pad and a pencil. She dropped her eyes to it, picking up the pencil and writing so gently that he could barely hear the scratch it made on the paper itself.

She handed it to him when she was done, and he glanced down at the paper with his burning, itchy eyes. He read silently, '_How are you feeling, Kurt?_' and he eagerly beckoned for the paper and pencil.

He wrote, '_I'm okay, just tired._' Which was a lie, because the pain was enough to make him sweat profusely despite the cool air surrounding him. He continued, '_Where is everyone? What happened?_'

She paused, some indescribable emotion crossing her features, before she shakily pulled out a few pieces of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. It was messy, like she had pushed it all out as fast as possible without any conscious effort for grammar or spelling so she could get it off her chest and out of the way as fast as possible.

Probably a good thing too, because what he read...if he had gotten all of the details, he probably would've started screaming.

'_annette's gone … after you lost consciousness we barricaded you and aki downstairs … aki ended up changing a few hours after you lost consciousness … she died kurt, it's not like they said on the news that they were still alive, they're dead just like in the movies … aki bit jess and ended up killing here right there, got a hold of her neck … before we could deal with her she bit you twice more and got leroy too … jess died almost immediately and came back your dad got both of them and leroy … the gas station down the street ended up blowing up and the house got caught in it so we had to leave … it was hard getting you out of there but none of us wanted to leave you behind … we got here, a shelter they've set up in the high school and it's barricaded against the things outside but it's getting pretty dire because we're running out of food and water … everyone else is okay and trying to do their part to make this easier … have to stay quiet because there are a lot of those things out there and we're hoping that they'll move on if they can't smell or hear us and we'll be able to send people out to get supplies … we're so glad you're okay kurt and you're sort of a miracle around here, everyone's talking about how you beat the virus and how there's hope for a cure now_'

Hope for a cure, sure, but Kurt didn't want to do anything but curl up in a ball and cry.

His family was safe, at least, even though Jessica was gone and Rachel had lost a dad. It was so hard to imagine that they were gone, that just before Kurt had passed out they had been alive and well but all it took was a moment for two good people to die. It felt like just hours ago that Leroy had been curled around Hiram with Rachel happily snug in between then, and Jessica had been kissing Aunt Mildred heatedly and then proceeding to kick arse and take names as she ploughed her way through the Infected outside.

It was _wrong_.

"I survived?" he mouthed, eyes glistening with tears, and she nodded solemnly.

Kurt curled up in her warm arms, silent sobs refusing to stop for everything they had lost.

* * *

His father showed up a few hours later, after what they said was a routine patrol of the school.

Kurt still didn't have the energy to do much more than lie there and allow his father to embrace him in a hug that hurt more than it comforted. Every nerve ending in his body screamed in agony, much too sensitive for such pressure to his skin and muscles, but he didn't say a word. He wasn't sure if it was for his father's sake so he could hold his son or if it was because he was afraid of a scream coming out of his mouth instead of words.

When his dad finally let go, mercifully, he looked at Kurt fitfully, his blue eyes grey with the lack of lighting. His hands twitched in Kurt's direction as if wanting to survey every single cell of his body, to make sure that he was really here and not dead like the others. Maybe that was right, hell if Kurt knew. All Kurt _did_ know was that he was so thankful at that very moment that his father was still alive, right in front of him, and that he wasn't alone. He could've lost his perfect step-mother who still sat vigilantly at Kurt's bedroll, or his tall step-brother that kept giving him water to drink with such a small, genuine smile, or his best friend who had been humming so lowly under her breath to him that it was barely heard.

He could've lost everyone, and even though the two they _had_ lost had been so devastating, he was filled with something so indescribably happy that his family was still together against all odds.

None of them spoke, too worried about being loud. Now that his ears had adjusted to the silence he could hear the banging off in the distance, a low rumble and clanging of noise that came from the Infected that had congregated outside. He couldn't tell by the sound how many there were out there, but it was more than enough to assume that sending out a scouting mission to get supplies and quite possibly more ammunition and weapons would be a bad move on their parts. Kurt had noticed that there were only a few dozen people in the school, perhaps fifty if he was optimistic. Maybe the rest of the survivors were still holed up in their homes, trying to see if they could wait out the storm.

He hoped that what drove off the Infected from the school of Ashland City wasn't people escaping with their families, desperate for food and water.

Was this what it was like all around the world? Were there people out there in Switzerland, France, or Japan, fighting for their lives as they were caged in like animals? Were there people out there, families even, that were taking to the roads for food, shelter, or even human companionship? Surely there were people out there making a stand, trying to secure a border of some sort so they could lead a normal life...perhaps a school like this one, or a mall like they did in the movies, or even in the capital. There had to be people out there trying to group together, for companionship and safety in numbers, trying to set up a home for themselves.

Kurt wasn't naïve enough to assume that the military was out there doing it. Maybe they were, but he wasn't going to ride his hope on that. He was smarter than the people in this very school who were completely convinced that the government would come in to save the day. A government that, just a few months previously, was supposedly out for their weapons and their freedoms by tyranny of 'socialism' and 'dictation'.

It was funny how one's perceptions changed in the face of such horror. The government that they had so despised were now their only lifeline to a semblance of normality. If the President and his staff could see into the minds of their population now.

There was talk about the Centre for Disease Control, about a cure that was supposed to be being made. Hopeful looks were constantly thrown in Kurt's direction, which he could understand in a way — if there were people like him out there with natural immunity, then it was logical and safe to assume that maybe the CDC had their hands on a few of them. After all, anyone with brains knew that immunisations and cures came from survivors. The flu always was being manipulated into a vaccine, to be injected into the American population (even though it still made a good chunk of them sick anyway). If there were people with natural antibodies like Kurt, then surely the best scientists in the country were working on saving them all.

Except this infection wasn't influenza. It wasn't even polo or rabies or anything else. It was a monster of a virus, something that apparently _did_ turn the dead back to life through animation of dead cells or whatever. This wasn't something that they knew like the back of their hands, like the flu was. This was going to be complicated, and if they did somehow manage a cure in the future, Kurt was damn sure that it was going to be the _far_ future rather than the near.

For the first time since waking up, he thought about Blaine and Megan. Were they living like they were living now, in some safe house? We're they still in their home, surrounded by the Infected and trapped inside, completely incapable of making it outside for their own food and water? They had been trapped up north for far longer than Kurt and his family had been stuck on Annette and then here; surely they were either gone from their home or barely surviving as it was. Kurt doubted that Anthony had managed his way back, because Ireland was gone and air travel was impossible.

Were they dead?

Kurt didn't want to think about that possibility, but he couldn't help but think about it. If they had run out of food and water despite their stockpile, Blaine would've been hard-pressed to get out fast enough with a nine-year-old on his heels. Kurt knew that Blaine wouldn't leave her by herself so he could go out and get supplies unless he was terribly desperate, and while he would be faster by himself he was still all alone up there in Dublin. Maybe people had come up after the first wave was over, helping them or giving them support? Somehow Kurt doubted that, but it was better than the alternative, that they were either on the verge of starving or even dead.

Blaine wasn't stupid, far from it, and he would figure it out. If not for Kurt's sake then for Megan's. Blaine would do anything for that little girl, and he wouldn't even consider dying until he was absolutely and utterly positive that she was safe and grown and married with two children. And probably even after that.

Kurt ignored the stares of the nameless people inside the gym, accepted the coddling by his family, and tried to hold onto that small, fragile hope.


	6. Five - Anticipation of the Wary

Yo.

How be? I know it's been a while (it's been a while on all me stories, actually, to be entirely honest, and not just on this account), but while I'm not gonna pop off excuses like everyone else on this damned site, just wanted to say that I've got some of my inspiration back. Then again, I _am_ going through chemo, so you'll have to bear with me on the time constraints. And besides, this is the longest chapter yet (which is kinda sad since I usually tend to average 10,000 words a chapter on every _other_ story I've dabbled on...).

Meh. Anyway, unbeta'd, like every other chapter. No Sebastian (uh, kinda?). If you're in this story for romance and smex, then you're probably gonna be disappointed really (even though it will come because who would I be to deny myself the opportunity to write steamy Kurtbastian porn?). This is character-driven, and Sebastian's probably not going to come up for another, I dunno, twenty chapters? More? Less? I actually want to make a _decent_ zombie fiction, thank you _very_ much, so it's not going to be focussed around romance and butterflies. Hope you like it at any rate.

Cheers!  
Marx

* * *

Chapter Five  
_A__nticipation of the Wary_

_16 August +00_

_Kurt feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up._

_There's someone watching him, someone that he has no inclination to meet, someone that burns a hole into his form as it stands in the middle of the auditorium. He's not sure why he's back here, since Lima's been gone for a long time, but he knows that Blaine's still lost and there's someone staring at him intently enough to frighten him._

_He isn't sure if it's an Infected — he's grown to trust that gut instinct since it has saved his life more often than he'd like to admit — but he knows it is not entirely friendly either. He's dealt with these kinds of people, people who know by feeling that he's wrong somehow, that he's gay, and he's had to defend himself before. He's had to pull the trigger on the living, all because they were trying to take his food or take _him_, and thank the god Kurt doesn't believe in that his entirely family is gone and can't see him murder._

_His sharp eyes take in every seat, every corner of the auditorium that he used to belt out his heart and pain on. He knows this auditorium more than he knows himself, especially this new self that tries to scratch and claw at his internal morality that's been dead since the world ended. He knows to glance at that little crevice towards the stares that could hide three people comfortably, even though he can't really see inside the blackness. He knows to look at the blind-spot besides the dividers, knows to look at the hole behind the curtains._

_He doesn't leave the stage to go check some of the other hiding spots, but he's fine with that. There's not really a lot they can do from that distance except shoot him, and if they miss his head then it won't matter because Kurt's layered in the most unappealing bulletproof gear he can find. It keeps the freaks from staring too long if he finds a live one, makes him look like a badarse to the people who want to take his possessions. If they shoot him in the head, something the rest of the human race has grown very good at as they try to survive the cruel new world, they will kill him on the spot. However, as much as Kurt has fought and killed and destroyed to stay alive, he's not entirely sure if he really does want to live anyway._

_Besides, he's bound to die in this new world. He's just waiting on the moment where it all finally ends, in limbo, because he's too much of a coward to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger._

_He calms down his breathing, stills his limbs, and lays his hand casually on the weapon that is holstered on his hip like some new age cowboy in the land of the dead. The cool metal feels comfortable in his hand, an old friend that's been with him since the fall of humanity, and it soothes the ball of dread that he feels each and every time he's put into a situation that resembles his current one._

_Then there is movement. From nowhere, literally _nowhere_, a hoard meets him, streaming into the auditorium and down the stairs. Faces that he knows, of students of McKinley and the baristas at the Lima Bean, of customers at the tyre shop and the homeless guy that always used to ask Kurt for shoes. Faces that fill him with a bittersweet sadness like Azimio Adams and Rick "The Stick" Nelson, faces that tear him to pieces like Mercedes and Rachel, faces that hurt more than life itself like his father and Carole. He sees Megan and Blaine, and it doesn't hurt as badly as seeing his father with no life in his eyes but it hurts enough that he falls to his knees, sobbing without any hope left._

_If he dies like this, if he dies by their hands and their teeth and their nails, then at least he'll be with the people he loves. He'll be back with his father, with Blaine by his side, and so what if he doesn't have a mind? So what if he can't hold Blaine in his arms, or talk to his father one last time? So what if he loses out on all of his hopes and dreams and life itself — what life does he have without these people anyway? These people _are _his life, and he can't live in a world that doesn't have them in it._

_They surround him as if moving in molasses, giving Kurt enough time to run away if he so chooses, but he can't even get up off his knees, can't stop weeping for all that is lost. He doesn't want to live any more, doesn't want to survive as this bitter, jaded human being that he has become. His life has been over for a long time, but seeing it in the flesh is the cataclysm. He can't survive like this, can't keep moving on, and he doesn't want to._

_Then a familiar voice says, "Get up."_

No_, Kurt thinks absently, because he wants to _die _so he can be with his family and friends and even the people he hates. He's so tired of _living _like this, of being scared and angry and desperate. He's tired of life, and he just wants it to end._

"_Get up," the voice says again, and when Kurt blinks there's suddenly a group of people around him. People who are alive, who don't want to take his things or his guns or his body. He sees the strangest faces, people that he had never expected to ever help him let alone give him the time of day to breathe. He sees Anthony Anderson, as tall and regal as ever, with Cooper at his side, both of them trying to force him standing. He sees Dave Karofsky, eyes glittering in the overhead lights as he keeps a long rifle aimed at the Infected. He sees Sue Sylvester, a long sword holstered on her back and a fucking _M16 _of all things in her hands, because of course she would have an automatic/semi rifle on her person during the zombie fucking apocalypse._

_Right in front of him is Sebastian Smythe._

"_Get up right now, you goddamn fairy, or I swear to God I'll drag you out of here myself," Sebastian said, green eyes angry and determined._

_Kurt stands._

* * *

Kurt woke up with a gasp.

He quickly put a hand over his mouth to stifle any other sounds that he could make, but after his dream he found that the only thing coming out of his mouth was erratic breathing. This, in itself, wasn't anything to fuss over, since it was barely heard behind the hand, so he felt safe in knowing that he wasn't scaring the people around him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and it took a lot of self-restraint to not jump at the sudden touch. He turned wide eyes towards the individual in question and was relieved to see a very-much-alive Finn Hudson crouching in front of him, his own wide eyes speaking more of concern than Kurt's obvious startling.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, since the group had decided that light whispers weren't going to attract the Infected outside, laying a hand upon his shoulder more firmly now that Kurt was aware of his presence.

Kurt simply nodded and dropped his hand, going for as nonchalant as possible considering the circumstances. His breathing wasn't back to normal but it was close enough where he didn't feel embarrassed or concerned about it, so he relaxed a little against the hand.

Kurt had been healing steadily for the past five-and-a-half weeks in the gymnasium, growing continuously more antsy as they wasted away inside. The food and water situation was getting to the point where a group would have to be sent out into Ashland City for supplies or people would start dying. They hadn't had any more newcomers since Kurt's family had joined — which Kurt wasn't sure he should feel thankful for since that meant most of the town's population was either dead or fighting for their lives, but it also meant more food and water for them to pilfer — but they were seriously running low on provisions. They didn't dare turn on the taps to see if water would flow, because gradually the Infected had began slipping away for scents that were fresh and they didn't want to chance the Infected growing interested again. After all, they couldn't smell through walls of solid brick and metal, so they were going for meat that still seemingly breathed.

Kurt stood silently, much better with it now that he had been dealing with the heavy cast upon his arm. Even Finn, loud and heavy-footed Finn, was silent as a bat nowadays, because survival depended on it.

He ignored Finn's inquisitive look, smiling lightly at his step-brother to appease him. Dreams were dreams, and it wasn't anything to fuss about, so he faked his ease and Finn seemed to buy it. He probably always would, and for that Kurt was thankful. At least everything hadn't changed since the world had gone to hell and back.

He grabbed a baseball bat next to his little nest of blankets as well as some baby wipes and a change of clothes before he made his way out of the propped double doors of the gymnasium towards the restrooms. They didn't use them but there were a few people that had graciously picked up the job of dealing with every day human biological functions. Some people used the facilities that the 'janitors' provided, but most of them did their business either in the drainage pipe that got rid of it for them or cleaned out their pans themselves.

Kurt bypassed the restrooms (and the stench) and entered into a classroom further down the hallway.

The windows were all boarded up, but since it was right upon the outside of the building, he could clearly hear the groans and banging that came from the outside. From the Infected. He was tempted, not for the first time, to take a peek out of the small cracks of the boards, see what was really causing the shadows and the noise, but he forced himself to the floor.

It was the first time in ages he had ever _really_ made an effort to get into shape. There was a difference between eating healthy while going to the gym twice a week and knowing that not being strong could cost him his life. So on the cold, hard linoleum floor, he began doing sit-ups, squats, legs — anything that could increase his stamina and strength.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that when they got desperate, when the food and water got so low that they would die if they stayed any longer, he would be one of the first to be volunteered for the run. Broken arm or not, he had survived two attacks and had fought off the infection, so who better to risk their life then someone who could counteract the sickness? It was a solid plan, and Kurt was more than ready to do it, because he wasn't going to let other people risk their lives if he was twice as likely to survive.

The workouts would intensify when Kurt got his arm back, which would hopefully be within the week, but for now he was just preparing himself. He needed to be ready for the call that a party needed to be sent out. There was no way in hell that he was going to be left behind even if he had the broken arm. He could shoot since he still had manoeuvrability in his hand, and the cast would be one less place they could bite him. Sure he wouldn't be able to carry as much but that was why others would join him, and everything would work out.

There were woman and children in the school, after all, not to mention his family, and he would do anything for them.

An hour later, completely exhausted and covered in a sheen of sweat, he laid on the floor and listened to the moans of the Infected. They hadn't increased in number since his workout had started, which was most definitely a good sign that they hadn't heard his heavy breathing and movements over their own ruckus, and he simply listened to them. He knew that he should've been a bit more freaked out by the sounds, but familiarisation wasn't a bad thing. He needed to be able to differentiate between Infected and human beings, just in case they came across some. He didn't want to accidentally shoot someone not Infected just because of adrenaline and fear, and listening to their sounds would surely help with that.

He forced himself up after a while, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He peeled off the plain white t-shirt, soaked through with sweat and quickly stripped off his trousers, opening the baby wipes and pulling out a few. He wished that there was a _shower_, with his numerous bath products that he could spoil himself with. He wished that he could wash his face or thoroughly clean every part of his body, but life didn't work that way any more and he used the baby wipes to scrub himself as clean as he could hope for.

He was gaining a bit of definition, even he could see that. He had started merely four days after waking up from his long, sick-induced sleep, mostly because he wanted to be useful but somewhat because he was bored out of his mind. Perhaps it had been a bit reckless, but he hadn't started off like a champion or anything, and besides, he was vaguely impressed with the beginning results.

He didn't have a huge six pack or anything, but there was the start of one in his abdomen, to his amusement. His legs, which had always been toned and strong, were thicker, and not in a pear-like way. It was actually kind of awesome, because while he was still lean and rather thin for a guy, he was liking the look of the hard work he forced his body through twice a day.

He couldn't _wait_ to start on his arms (maybe a bit because he just wanted the cast off, since there was this irritating itch on his elbow that was driving him insane). His arms had already been rather defined before the outbreak, but he wanted arms that could've thrown that fucking Infected off of his body back on Annette Drive.

He dressed himself again, not even thinking about what the Glee club's reactions would be to his style at the moment. In the beginning he had scrunched his nose at the boring, too-long jeans and the plain t-shirts but now he barely even noticed. He didn't want to sully any designers with his body anyway, since he hadn't had a proper bath in five-and-a-half weeks.

He padded his way to the gymnasium again, yet again with no shoes since it was quieter, and quickly found his family in their small little corner of the space. Finn and Rachel were holding hands and sitting with each other, Finn's arms tightly around his fiancée as they hummed to each other quietly. Hiram and Aunt Mildred were playing a game of cards, neither one of them really into it but knowing that doing nothing was even worse. Burt and Carole held hands and whispered gently to one another, in their own little world for a small moment.

All of them were thinner, more ragged. Just like Kurt, despite what he was trying to accomplish with his body. All of them were fucking breaking from all of this, and it was only going to get worse if their track record held and they ran out of sustenance.

Kurt threw them a wave with his good hand as he approached them, and Rachel smiled at him. It wasn't as bright as it had been before the outbreak, but he appreciated it just the same. It was genuine at least, instead of distorted and wrong like Hiram's and Aunt Mildred's were, and it lifted his spirits every time she smiled in response to whatever caught her fancy. It was kind of like having the old Rachel back, albeit without the shrieking and the constant singing and the prima donna thing she liked to pull.

Not that Kurt had any room to talk, but that was beside the point.

Carole and Burt whispered to each other for a moment before she beckoned him closer, holding up a pair of cutting pliers and a smile on her face. Another genuine one that Kurt loved to see, because in these circumstances they were few and far between. Kurt smiled back widely, because he knew what _that_ scissor-like contraption was used for, and he slid forward silently, offering up the cast.

"Normally," Carole whispered as everyone gathered around, "I would keep this on longer to be on the safe side, since I don't have an x-ray to determine if it's completely healed. But Burt has assured me that you're a fast healer and that it'll be fine as long as it doesn't get stressed. So Kurt, I'm warning you that you could seriously damage your arm for the rest of your life if you don't go easy on it. You'll regret it if you don't take it easy."

Kurt nodded enthusiastically, letting Carole grasp the thick, decorated cast and begin tenderly cutting the plaster away. The smell, once it started coming off, was rather rank due to not being washed even poorly, but Kurt was more concerned with the itch he was finally going to be able to scratch at after weeks of ire.

It took a while for her to do it safely, but each bit of fresh air that touched his newly exposed skin was a delight. He hadn't realised how _hot_ the damn thing had been until she was peeling it away and unwrapping the gauze around it gingerly, finally letting his skin breathe as she began inspecting the arm for any lingering damage. Thankfully, the arm seemed to be alright, not deformed or the sort — it had set rather nicely and Kurt couldn't tell the difference from one arm and the other except that one was still slightly damp and almost too soft for the touch. Simply put, it was the way skin worked after soaking too long in either bathwater or, in this case, his own sweat: like it would rip with the slightest effort, almost spongy-like.

Naturally, the first thing he did was itch his elbow and sigh in contentment.

Then, after the more pressing matter at that moment had been resolved, he hesitantly moved his fingers, then his wrist, and then bent his elbow. It was a bit stiff from being in one position for so long but there was no lingering pain or even soreness whatsoever, and Kurt _grinned_ in excitement. He moved it around a bit, using his other hand to gently prod at the arm to see if the bone was repaired and was content to find that he didn't feel anything wrong with it.

Clearly Carole didn't either, and everyone around them began laughing quietly when Kurt playfully scrunched up his nose and said, "Ew, gross. I need a bubble bath to get rid of the smell."

"At least it's healed, but don't go stressing it out—" started Carole, but Kurt was already murmuring placations and prodding Finn and Rachel to join him in a leisurely stroll around the school.

With weapons of the baseball bat/tire wrench variety, of course.

* * *

"What's the first thing you would do if the world randomly went back to normal?" asked Rachel.

Finn immediately said quietly, "I would scarf down a meat lover's pizza with hot peppers and a cold Coke while playing a game of Call of Duty with Puck and Sam."

Kurt rolled his eyes languidly. Still fiddling with his arm, Kurt pondered and then replied with no shame, "I would take a long, hot shower with Blaine."

Finn's face scrunched up and he groaned, "Gross, dude."

Kurt didn't even have the heart to correct the epithet. The normality of it was soothing.

Rachel, on the other hand, was amused. "I hear you Kurt," she whispered with a shy glance at Finn, who was completely oblivious. "I would take a long, hot shower and sing as loudly as I could until Finn finished his pizza and game and came to shower with me."

Finn got that silly dopey smile on his face, all of Kurt's previous insinuation of man-sex in the shower completely forgotten. Kurt groaned in response and murmured with repulsion, "I really don't need to hear about your sex life, Rachel. I can take a lot, but that I just can't handle."

"Oh Kurt, don't be such a prima donna," she said with a subdued chuckle. They were all in one of the science classrooms to the back end of the building, and surprisingly enough there wasn't any banging on these particular rooms, hence their selection of said room. They were stretched out on the floor, their chosen weapons laid within arm's reach in case something did happen, and pressed against each other without trepidation. The closeness was comfortable in the new times, and they were drawn to it like moths to a flame. They were a family now, having seen death and gore and sickness with each other, and they weren't going to separate without a fight.

They laid there in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, but surely was only a handful of minutes, before Kurt asked lightly, "Will you guys tell Carole if I test out my arm with a few push-ups?"

"Kurt, you shouldn't do that," admonished Rachel.

Finn simply beamed. "Cool, Kurt. Wanna see who can do the most?"

"Well it's _obviously_ going to be you, Finn Hudson," complained Kurt. "You haven't had your arm in a damn cast for six weeks. Cut me some slack, because I don't want to strain myself. Carole's right — I kind of need my arm."

They all ignored the thick curl of foreboding at that last sentence, and Rachel, obviously wanting to dissolve the heavy atmosphere, said, "Oh all right, but don't over-work anything. You heard what Carole said. And no one tells since we'll all get in trouble."

Finn and Kurt flipped to their stomachs and looked at Rachel expectantly, in which she sighed and said, "On your mark...get set...go."

Kurt pushed himself up, not paying attention to Finn as he pumped them out like a fiend, and focussed on his arm. Even the slightest twinge of discomfort would be the cue for him to stop, but as he began slowly doing push-ups, he felt a small smirk pop onto his lips. He had lost a bit of strength he had managed to obtain during high school physical education (which had been pretty good, strangely enough) and his own treks at the Lima gym, but just the fact that he _could_ do them and start building up his arms was enough to make his smirk morph into a full, satisfied grin.

He managed about twenty before a small pinch began in his forearm, and he immediately stopped and said, "Alright, that's enough for me. How many is Finn at?"

Rachel huffed without much irritation, since she was probably watching her fiancé push himself with a lustful glance, and replied, "Forty-nine...fifty...fifty-one. You catch the drift. How's the arm?"

"Oh it's fine," he said truthfully, letting the grin fall off his face as he played with his arm yet again instead of looking at his step-brother work out. Mostly, he just didn't want to feel inferior and challenge himself to do more, which wouldn't have been beneficial having just gotten his arm back, but there was a slight wariness that Rachel would take it as a recurrence of his stupid crush from years ago. "I'm really impressed with it actually."

"That's good," she said, clearly happy for him, and she scooted into his arms. A few months ago, he would've scoffed and given her a hesitant hug, but things had changed and he drew her close without a thought otherwise. He buried his nose in her hair, which smelt like hand soap and simply Rachel, and closed his eyes. For a long moment he just revelled in the moment, being with his family, and then smiled lightly when Finn burrowed towards them as well, smelling all musky and kind of gross but also just like himself.

Nothing like the apocalypse to bring a family together, that was for sure.

It was the last time he would see one of them alive.

* * *

"We don't have a choice," said Kurt.

It had come rather suddenly. He had only gotten two hours of sleep — if his watch was still trustworthy — before he had snapped awake at the dream. He hadn't been able to figure out why the almost-nightmare kept plaguing him, full of his loved ones dead and surrounded by figures like Sue Sylvester and, God forbid, Sebastian Smythe, but he had forced it to the back of his mind and left Rachel and Finn to their own unconsciousness.

Upon journeying to the gymnasium, he had found all of the adults arguing in hisses, clearly trying to stay quiet as tempers ran high. He had advanced on them, knowing that he would be privy to their conversation as the leader of the group, one Daniel Yates, had pretty much told Kurt that he would be their number one in case they ever had to go outside.

Obviously, that was what the arguing was about, so without further ado he had weaselled his way into the crowd of twenty-or-so people and steadied himself to the left of his father.

The food and water situation was too dire for them to not take action, and Kurt was volunteered for one of the lead positions. He was supposedly good with a gun and was pretty quick, not to mention immune to the infection, so he was prime for picking. And despite the fact that he had just gotten off his cast, he was more than ready.

There was a chance that he would die out there, because infection was different than being eaten alive or an accident occurring. But the idea of the wind in his hair, getting out of the school if only for a few hours, saving lives by getting sustenance...he was more than ready indeed. He wanted to get out there and _do_ something that made a difference.

"You are _not_ going out there alone, Kurt!" exclaimed Burt as loud as he dared in response to Kurt's previous statement, but there was a defeated look in his eye and he knew that he had won. Burt wasn't a strong, fast man and had suffered a heart attack — if anyone was going to stay behind to look after the remainder of the survivors, then he was a good choice. He was a diplomat, a Congressman that a few people recognised vaguely, not a fighter.

Not that Kurt was really a fighter but he was going to learn how to be. He had always been a fast learner.

"There are fourteen other people with me. Six of them are military or ex-military and one is a police officer. I'll be fine, Dad, don't worry so much. It's not good for your heart."

A shadow of a smile graced Burt's lips inside of that scraggly beard, but it was gone as fleetingly as it had appeared. "God Kurt, the last time I let you out there, you almost died, while Jess and Leroy _did_ die. I don't want you to get hurt again just because I'm not stubborn enough to keep you here with me."

There were tears in Burt's red eyes and Kurt felt his own glasz eyes start to water in return. He grasped his father tightly and pulled him close, both of them burying their faces in the other's shoulder, and Kurt whispered, "Oh Dad, I'm so sorry. But I have to do this. If I get hurt by one of those things, it isn't going to infect me like it will the people that go in my place. This is my chance to help a lot of people just because I've been lucky enough to have this immunity, and I'm not letting that chance go to waste. You have to let me go, Dad."

Burt sniffled and pulled away, holding him by the shoulders an arm's length away. With a strong, sturdy voice, Burt declared quietly, "I know. And besides, you're an adult now. I can't make you do anything, even if I would want you to."

Kurt shot off a grin, even if it was a bit shaky in nerves of his new mission of sorts. "I won't let you down, Dad," he said confidently, and then pulled his dad into another hug, not willing to let go until the rest of them were ready to arm and go.

He quickly hugged Carole, his Aunt Mildred, and even Hiram, wondering if he should've woken up Finn and Rachel to say goodbye. If something did happen out there and he wasn't able to return, he wanted to remember their faces.

But then again, he remembered both of of them, curled together on the floor of a dimly lit science classroom in Ashland City, Tennessee, with him right in the middle, relishing in the fact that they were together and alive. He didn't want his potential last memories of them to be Rachel crying in fear and Finn trying to beg him from going out again.

He didn't want their last memories of him to be a fake persona of confidence and ease when he wanted nothing more than to fall upon the ground let them hold him until the world righted itself again.

He turned away and began preparing himself for his first (conscious) step outside in nearly two months.

* * *

He felt like a bundle of nerves as he stowed extra magazines and shells on his person.

He had his Glock on him, as well as a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He was familiar with it simply through his father, for obvious reasons, and it was a comfortable weight on his back. He also had a tiny .40 calibre Taurus slim on him just in case, something that he stowed with two extra eight-shell clips into a leg holster since it was a tiny handgun made for concealment and wouldn't get in the way. The Glock was put into the shoulder holster, the magazines for that weapon in thick, zipped up satchels connecting sturdily to his belt. His back satchel for the shotgun shells, the one on his right hip for the Glock magazines.

He also had three knives stashed — a small one in the leg holster, another strapped onto his belt that was a good foot long and shouldn't have been called a knife really, and another shoved into the pocket of his jeans — while he carried his baseball bat. The guns were only as a means to an end, since the noise attracted the Infected and they didn't want to unnecessarily waste ammunition, so a baseball bat and a few knives would hopefully be enough.

Then again, the first thing they were going to do was get out of the school and then make a ruckus without shooting off any weapons, mostly so they could get the Infected off of the school and perhaps think it was abandoned of a stewing meal.

They were going to head out of the west entrance of the school, where only a few of them had congregated since they had all apparently tumbled in through the front entrance since the beginning. They would kill those if they had to, but they were going to make a run for it while making enough noise to attract only those closest to the school. That way, if they managed to get away without a hitch, then it wouldn't be as hard to get the food and water into the school without worrying about an Infected getting into the school, endangering all of the helpless people inside.

They were taking a good portion of the weapons, after all.

It was a solid plan, if they could get away with it. Getting of the scent of the Infected safely after causing a distraction was going to be the tough part, as well as lugging pounds upon pounds of food and water halfway across town as they avoided the major parts of Ashland City. Hopefully a lot of the Infected had migrated the hundred or so miles to Nashville, which had a bigger population (and how sick was he that such a thought was fanciful to him?), and they wouldn't have to deal with a gigantic horde.

They all had hand-held radios, with a range of twenty miles give-or-take and set to the same dial, which had been supplied by one of the military men that had come from Arnold Air Force Base down south. They all had one, and the rest of them were either left off or being divided amongst family and friends as they listened for updates on the situation.

They stood at the back entrance, all fourteen of them breathing deeply in preparation. The ones that still had loved ones said a last goodbye, just in case, and Kurt followed suit. He asked Carole and Hiram to tell Finn and Rachel that he loved them, and that he'd be back soon with the necessities. He cried a little, wiped the tears from his eyes, and then retreated from his family. They disappeared behind the first set of doors, which were left unlocked for the moment, and one volunteer followed them to lock the outer door behind them. She would wait until she got the signal on her own personal radio that they were back, and then would let them in quickly and finally lock the door behind them all from the horrors outside.

Strangely, without a sound, the heavy doors leading to the fields were unlocked and pushed open, ominous clouds mercifully blocking the brilliant sun from the eyes of men and women who hadn't seen the sun in all its glory for at least a month.

Kurt breathed.


End file.

Glee, Angst, Horror