A/N: The lobby of a prison that's in this chapter (is that spoiling my own story? Idk but I figured I'd mention it) is based off of the waiting area of the Orange is the New Black's prison/jail thing, which is probably nothing like an actual high security prison with hundreds of ironed barred cells, but I've never walked into a prison before so it was the best I could do. Anyway, enjoy the story and thank you for the reviews!

Also, to the person who commented that Puck's character makes them uncomfortable (I'm sorry to hear that btw, that news about his actor sucks) fear not, for once Puckleberry friendship is NOT going to be a major part of this fic, so rest assured, unless something changes, he's not going to be in this fic at all, and if he does end up being in it, it wouldn't be in great length.

After the initial outbreak, the entire country was in chaos for a few days, a week at most. Everyone had been scrambling over each other to get out of town, away from the infected. Though it didn't help, more and more people were getting bit by the second, and there didn't seem to be a place where there wasn't someone infected.

After some time, the ones that were able to get away had left for the woods or isolated, abandoned buildings, and the infected walking about had less targets near them to attack, leading them to begin to wander and disperse. No one really knew how many people were left, as everyone was in a group or by themselves, all wandering from place to place while zombies were mindlessly walking about looking for the next thing to pounce on.

And suddenly, the world became a very, very quiet place.

Since then, the roads and buildings were in disrepair, towns and entire cities empty, and any movement was likely a zombie walking about groaning.

Rachel didn't know how, but she had somehow survived the initial outbreak, and was still traveling about, never staying in one place for long. After she had left the school, she drove off, simply driving down the road. She had the little belongings she needed and there wasn't anyone else to look for. They were either dead or simply forgot about her.

She had to admit, it was difficult, though she never expected it to be a walk in the park in the first place. There was still chaos, and car build ups and people and zombies alike all round. She decided to ditch the main roads, and she knew it was close to getting dark.

And to be honest, she wasn't quite sure what to do. So she drove her car to an already deserted residential block, parked her car in someone's driveway and turned off the engine. She looked up at the house wondering whether or not to look inside, but thought against it out of fear.

Instead, she locked her car, climbed over the seats to the back of the SUV, and collapsed in the trunk area. She laid down holding onto her bat, silent and terrified and didn't move a muscle. She didn't remember getting sleep that first night, just that the sun rose again and she was hungry and took a chance and broke into the person's house.

Upon entering the house, a wave of a foul smell hitting her gave her a good idea of the home-owner's fate, only to be confirmed when she saw the rotting corpses in the living room, just outside the hallway. Ignoring the smell, she walked to the kitchen for food quickly, then ran back to the car, eating the loaf of bread she had found.

Since then she continued her way to, well, anywhere. Over time she realized she needed to look for other things as well as food; first aid kits, medicine, more weapons. Each day she ran into a situation which led her to realize what could have been useful if she had the objects she needed.

And she was doing rather well on her own, though she did miss human contact, and found herself talking to herself at times. Okay, she talked to herself a lot of times, but it was only because she would go on to months without uttering a word. The days of her talking in paragraphs and singing on a stage gone forever. It wasn't until what she thought was a year, she had gone through four seasons, when she found a small group of travelers.

By then she had a routine, and had run into them when a poorly timed jump caused her to crash into a pile of trash cans in an alley, alerting a nearby horde of zombies. She ran away, and found three other people doing the same.

They had made it considerably far and they urged her to follow them into the woods, where they all introduced themselves and made camp once they were safe. It was odd, and nerve-wrecking, and nice to be by people again.

She stayed with them, learning things from them and offering any help they needed. For a moment, she had a group again, a family. Or so she thought.

It seemed she was never fully a part of the group to begin with. Along the way they had a rather compromising run in with another group, and three of the member had been captured, herself included.

They were tied up, two guards watching as the rest were about on the grounds and away scavenging. Their group leader, their savior, had snuck up and with alarmingly good precision and silence, killed the first guard. Amidst the confusion, Rachel had charged at the remaining guard, knocking him down.

Unfortunately, in doing so, the gun in his hand went off and the bullet hit Rachel's leg. As she fell to the ground, their group leader stabbed the guard to death and began freeing the others.

By the time the others were freed, the gunshot had alerted the others, and they were quickly getting closer. She watched as the three looked at each other, then down at her, and their "leader" had a sickening grin on his face as he ordered for them to leave her behind and make a break for it.

She was going to be too much dead weight, they reasoned. They needed something to distract the other group, make them falter even just a little bit. And a single team member still left behind would be a decent momentary distraction. She begged, but it fell on deaf ears and they ran, letting the kidnappers stumble upon her.

Needless to say, the beating after was extremely painful, and they left her bloody and bruised and laughed when at night, one or two people would sneak over to her and kick her in the gut or dump liquid on her face when she was about to pass out.

It was the most painful night of her life.

To make matters worse, she was treated as their slave. And battered and beaten, she couldn't fight back. Not until weeks later, when her body healed and she was waiting for the right opportunity to make a break for it.

And she did, and she never saw them again. And since then she swore to always travel alone.

And since then she had been on her own. Now, in the midst of a very cold, very dry, season, she was driving down the bumpy road on a supply trip. She surveyed the buildings of the town she was in, all as decrepit as the other, eventually slowing down and stopping in front of a small store with a pharmacy. She parked her car and eyed the building, looking through the broken glass. Content with the lack of movement anywhere near or in the building, she reached over to the passenger side seat, and grabbed the assault rifle.

She paused as she held it up, and a small bitter chuckle escaped her lips. It was hard to believe that just a couple of years ago she had despised guns, weapons, and really any sort of violence. Now, the coldness of the gun wasn't so cold and it didn't even weigh that much anymore.

She opened her door and jumped out. She slung the rifle onto her back and reached over for the rest of her items, a worn backpack, and a pistol. She placed the pistol in her gun strap on her belt, in the end she still preferred a pistol, they just seemed small and practical for her.

She slammed the car door closed, stood still for a few seconds as the sound resonated throughout the streets. When nothing changed she made her way to the store, the closer she got to the door the more sounds of glass breaking under her boots were heard.

She walked to one of the broken windows and carefully made her way inside. Once inside, she looked over to the front of the store, the shelves were mostly bare, with objects missing or knocked onto the floor. She walked throughout the isles, passing over the many useless objects to anyone now.

She made her way to the canned food that was left, turning each can in her hand to look over its condition before shoving the acceptable ones into her bag. She continued her trek down the isle, shoving more much needed objects into her bag.

Once she was pleased with what she had, she walked over to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located. She looked over at the open gate, where plethora of bagged bottles were stocked behind the counter.

Must be my lucky day. Rachel let her lips turn into a small grin as she walked to the counter and vaulted over its counter top. Once on the other side, she looked through the labels on the bag, searching for any kind of painkillers or anti-biotics.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much aside from allergy medication. She was able to swipe some anti-biotics, even less painkillers, though she mused that not getting an infected leg was more important and she could fight through the pain.

She looked over to the medication bottles one more time before walking off to the back of the pharmacy. Most of the bottles on the bottom shelf were gone and Rachel looked up at the top shelves, which were still lined up with boxes. With a frustrated sigh, she walked up to the shelf and grabbed onto one of them.

"Please don't tip, please don't tip." Rachel muttered to herself as she pulled herself up, carefully climbing so she was eye level with the top. Once there, she looked over the boxes, swiping her hand over them and turning them around to get a better look. After some searching and finding nothing of use, she jumped down with a huff.

With a sigh she walked back to the counter, looking over the area once more, hopped over, and walked back to the car. Once inside, she drove out of the lot and made her way out of the town. The buildings slowly came to an end and she was met with trees on either side. She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove carefully, her rifle at her side.

Luckily there wasn't a single zombie walking down the road or roaming out of the woods, though a large shape just above the tree line caught her eye. She looked up at the old, dark brick and continued her way down the road.

Eventually, the trees thinned out until there was nothing but a field of grass with the building a distance away. Rachel couldn't help but slow down as she took in the site.

The building was extremely large, and it wasn't hard to see what kind of building it was if the giant barbed wire fence was anything to go by. As she looked at it, she noticed movement from inside the compound. Her breath instinctively hitched and her arm shot out to grab her gun. Her car came to a sharp stop and she squinted her eyes as she leaned in slightly.

There were three men, looking to be surprisingly struggling with another person. The other person had a bag covering the head and face, with hands forced back by two of the three men. The struggling person looked to be female, with a much smaller frame than the large men surrounding her. She watched as the woman struggled, legs even kicking in the air as she pulled and twisted her body in an attempt to get away from them.

They shoved her backwards despite her efforts and pushed her into one of the doors of the building. Rachel sat back in her seat, looking at the building in contemplation.

No, I can't. She shook her head and began driving again, only to stop not that far from where she was. Rachel sighed and rubbed her forehead. She slowly drove forward a little bit, until she was almost directly in front of the gates, and parked her car again. She turned it off and closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Stupid, stupid. She berated herself as she took her gun and shoved her car door open, making sure to close it gently. She knew she should have kept going, it wasn't her business, and she didn't need any trouble or any new enemies.

Still, that person was in trouble, and seemingly by herself, and if Rachel knew one thing, she knew what it was like to be alone and wish someone was around to help.

Maybe then she wouldn't have so many scars on her body.

She swore to herself as she carefully made her way to the front door, passing the large menacing gates. She placed her hand on the handle and pushed it open.

The inside was a small lobby with chairs for people to sit as they wait, the only hallway which led to the rest of the building was behind a metal detector. Rachel squeezed through the wall and exterior of the metal detector. Sure, power had long been shut off worldwide, but the need to be extra careful was always crucial.

Once she slipped her small frame past she walked down the hall, which seemed to simply be filled with offices and storage spaces. After a while she reached the end of the hallway and the walls turned from white paint to the same dark brick as outside.

She looked around the room, which had opened up to a much larger room lined with cells. Well, now I know what a prison looks like. She paused and tilted her head, hearing for any sort of sound. Hearing none, she raised her gun and continued down the next corridor. It was long until she reached another main section of cells, with a balcony and walkway overhead that held more cells, overlooking the first floor.

The sight was rather amazing in its own twisted way, though Rachel knew if it was still functional she wouldn't be so awe-struck. She couldn't help but carefully walk to one of the cells and poke her head inside.

It was bare, and luckily no zombie or body was rotting inside, with only a cot and a toilet seat furnishing it. Despite the terrible conditions, she looked at the bed longingly, wondering when was the last time she slept on a bed instead of a floor or car seat.

With a sigh, she walked away from the cell and continued her trek through the building, cursing its size. Eventually she heard the sounds of grunting and voices speaking over one another.

Rachel looked around and quickened her pace, careful to keep her steps light. When she neared a specific section of the prison, another ward full of cells, she stopped at the corner and peeked her head out.

There, near the cells at the back, two men were sanding speaking to one another. Or rather, trying, the woman was still held by a third man and she was kicking and screaming in Spanish.

"Fucking hell," One of the men standing in front of the struggling woman swore. "Contain her, will ya?" He spat out and began turning around, causing Rachel to whip back around the wall.

She lightly swore under breath as she looked around. She ran down the corridor, back to where she had come from until she was hiding behind another corner again.

She looked down the hall just as the man turned the corner, looking behind him to say something as he did so. She pushed her back against the wall, tensing her body and preparing herself, waiting, listening to his footsteps grow closer.

She nervously waited as each step became louder and louder and just as the man peeked around the corner, she reached out. Before he could react, Rachel, despite her small stature, shifted behind him and pressed her rifle against his throat.

He let out a strangled noise and Rachel tightened her grip, he continued fighting against her, trying to claw the gun away from him. Unsuccessful, he began slamming his elbow into her ribs, causing her to wince in pain. Still, she never loosened her grip, and eventually he fell to his knees, becoming weaker, until he was limp in her grip.

She gingerly set him down and walked over to his legs. She wasted no time in grabbing his ankles and dragged his body to a cell and shoved him as far into the corner as she could.

She made her way back out to the hall, making sure to poke her head out first to look around. The hallway was empty and Rachel noted it was much, much quieter.

She felt her heart drop and she swallowed harshly as she quickly crept back up to the wall, and peeked her head out again. The woman was on the floor now, laying still with her hands tied behind her back. One man was standing a few feet away, against the wall with his arms crossed, his head up against the wall as he kept his eyes closed.

The other man was nowhere in sight and Rachel bit her lips nervously as she looked around, not finding him anywhere. She quietly slung her gun back behind her back and took out her knife. With a deep breath she sneaked past the wall and towards the other man.

His eyes were still closed, supposedly sleeping. Rachel couldn't help but grimace at his horrid guarding capabilities. She had gotten considerably close when he opened his eyes, letting out a yawn as he looked over at the woman. Rachel quickened her pace, and as she he turned she broke into a run.

In seconds she was in front of him and rammed the knife into his gut. He let out a gargled noise, looked down, and brought a hand up to the wound. She pulled out he knife and stabbed him again, making sure to give it a good twist.

When he let out a yelp of pain, she brought a hand up to his mouth and pushed him down. He fell onto his back and Rachel sat on his chest. She brought the knife up into the air, and as the man struggled under her, she slammed it down into his chest.

She kept her grip on him, planting her weight and covering his mouth, feeling him struggling under her and trying to claw her face. However, like the other man, he slowly grew weaker until he was limp on the floor.

She slowly, silently, pulled back, pulling the knife out and looking at the blood dripping off of it. She grimaced as she whipped the blade into the air, splashing the blood onto the floor. She placed it back in its holder on her belt, and as she stood up she wiped the blood and dirt that had gotten on her hands onto her jeans.

She walked over to the woman and looked down at her. She saw the woman's chest heavily moving up and down, and Rachel closed her eyes in relief.

Thank god. She didn't need any more bodies piling up, whether from her own hands or not. She knelt behind her, and grabbed the thick rope that kept her wrists bound. Looking at the knot, she sighed, and pulled the knife back out.

She quickly began cutting the rope, faster than she probably had before in her life, she didn't need to have the third man walking in now. As soon as the rope was fully cut, she looked behind her, trying to place the knife back into its holder.

As soon as she turned her head back, she felt a very, very strong pain on her cheek, and then she was on the floor holding her probably now red and swollen cheek.

"Who the fuck are you!" She heard the woman yell, and Rachel, who had her eyes closed and her hair in her face, simply held out her hand in a silent surrender.

Which, as it turned out, was a terrible decision.

She felt a soft hand grab hers and her arm was twisted backwards. She let out a yelp of pain, which was slightly muffled by the concrete under her. "Well?" The woman yelled again, giving Rachel a good shake for emphases.

She flipped Rachel around and they were finally able to see each other's faces.

At first it was just enough to make them freeze in confusion and uncertainty. But then the realization and memories came back and both of their eyes widened.

Rachel couldn't mistake that face, that tanned skin and those piercing dark eyes.

"S-Santana?" Rachel whispered, suddenly afraid to speak too loud.

"Rachel…" Santana breathed out, eyes wide.

They were probably a sight for sore eyes for each other. Rachel, who once wore that god awful argyle and pleated skirts, was now in raggedy clothing instead of the prim and proper school girl get up. Her hair was a mess, she wore dirty, worn jeans, a slightly baggy t-shirt with some sort of logo in the front, a hoodie with holes, and a clearly men's dark denim jacket on top.

Then there was Santana, gone was the high ponytail and Cheerios uniform, and instead Rachel saw similar raggedy clothes as her, with a dirty tee and an open flannel button up under her thick jacket.

They stared at each other for a few moments, taking in each other's sight. It was only when a shout ran through the building that they snapped out of each other's gaze and looked over.

There stood the third man, shock and anger clear on his face. He raised his gun, and, without thinking, Rachel pushed Santana down, covering Santana with her own body. As soon as the gun went off, Rachel could feel the stinging pain in her shoulder and she felt herself tighten her grip on Santana.

Rachel whipped around and held out her gun, but the sound of a gunshot and the man falling down made her blink. She looked behind her at Santana, who had her own gun. The Latina simply looked at her and wordlessly put her gun away.

"We have to go." She said, and Rachel dumbly nodded. She got up on her feet, wincing a bit at the pain in her shoulder. She would have to fight through it, they're safety was more important at the moment.

"Follow me." Rachel said, and Santana nodded as Rachel made a break for it. They retraced her steps, passing the bodies on the floor as they did so. It wasn't long until they made it back outside, though a few wrong turns did set them back a bit.

It was much darker outside now, which had Rachel worried. They had to hurry. She ran to the car, thankful she had one, but just as she got closer, yet another man walked out behind the SUV.

The gun he pointed at her made her skid to a halt. Where the fuck did he come from? The man smirked and tilted his head.

"Made a new friend, Santana?" He joked with that cruel smirk on his face, and Rachel looked behind her at Santana questioningly. The slightly taller girl scoffed and crossed her arms.

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that." She muttered, mostly to herself. Despite the years, distance, and general isolation, Rachel still felt a wave of sadness hit her at Santana's words.

"Oh?" He let out. "Then you won't mind if I just take care of her real quick and let us get on with business, right?" He raised the gun and Rachel prepared herself to take cover.

"No!" Santana quickly yelled, half shoving Rachel behind her. Rachel's eyes widened at the response and action, thought it was short lived with the pain brought on by the movement.

"This is between us, got it?" Santana growled. The man merely shrugged and dropped his gun.

"Then let's negotiate." He said, and Rachel looked between the two in confusion, then at the man's lowered gun.

"Is this necessary?" Rachel impatiently snapped. "There's two of us and one of you. Let us go, and we'll be on our way, and you'll never see us again, all right?" She started to raise her gun, but stopped when the man laughed.

"Two against one?" He laughed, and Rachel suddenly saw not one, but two red dots on her chest. Seconds after, two more of his group members, a man and woman, exit the compound and was walking towards them with their own rifle guns raised.

Well, fuck. Rachel lowered her gun, glaring at the man in front of her.

"Like I said, leave her out of it." Santana repeated, and he shook his head.

"She got into it when she killed my men," He looked at Rachel, giving her body a once over. "I'm impressed, by the way, how bout you ditch your friend and join me, you'd be a great addition to the team."

"No thanks." Rachel snapped.

"Oh well, worth a shot," He sighed casually. "Anyway," He spoke again, the seriousness back in his voice. "I want my stuff back."

"Like I told you, I don't have them. Robbie and them do, I got left behind."

"Well, ain't that a shame," He frowned, then placed a hand on Rachel's SUV. She clenched her fist, feeling rather protective of her belongings. "Lucky for you, your friend there is pretty stocked," He looked at the car and began running his hand up and down it. "What a lovely she is."

"Thank you," Rachel spat. "Too bad she's mine." The man looked back at Rachel and slowly walked up to her. Once they were head to head, he leaned his head down to her ear.

"Not anymore." He then leaned back and punched her in the face. The strong force caused her to fall to the floor, and she felt a pair of soft arms wrap around her as she held her cheek. She heard him whistling and the sounds of footsteps followed soon after.

She looked up at two of his companions holding guns to both her and Santana as the snipers made their way to the SUV. She sat there, glaring at the pair, as she was forced to allow them to take her car.

"Well, shit." The group leader's voice rang out in an impressed tone and she saw him at the back looking at the trunk and all its content.

Shit, indeed. Rachel cursed as he took out a gun to look at. By now the snipers had made their way to the SUV, and he motioned them to enter the car. He closed the trunk and pointed a shotgun she had stored in her trunk at Rachel.

"Well, this was fun, but we have to go now, thanks again for the ride," He laughed, opening the driver side door and getting in along with the last two of his group. Before he drove off, he rolled down the window and threw out a simple pistol.

"Here ya go, Santana, a little something for your troubles." With that, he drove off, Santana's "fuck you" being ignored. As Santana stood up, grabbing the gun anyway on the way, and cursed in Spanish, Rachel sat and watched her precious vehicle get away from her.

"Fuck," Rachel said softly to herself. She stood up and turned to Santana. The other woman stopped as well and the two awkwardly stood there, unsure of what to do next.

"Berry, is that really you?" Santana was the first to break the silence, looking at Rachel up and down.

"Santana," Rachel spoke. "You look… nice…" Santana scoffed at Rachel's words. Rachel then noticed something, and she bit her lip as she looked at the ground. Santana noticed and couldn't help the snappy tone that was about to break out.

"What?" There it was, that angry, snappy, tone she always used.

"No, it's just," Rachel paused again, unsure, before continuing. "I noticed you're by yourself, without, you know…" She let her sentence die out, and she slowly saw the realization hit Santana's face.

"Yeah, so?" Santana scowled. "What about it, Manhands?" Santana couldn't help herself. As soon

As the nickname came out she closed her eyes and mentally slapped herself. When she opened them again she saw Rachel standing up a bit straighter with a blank expression on her face and a fist clenched tightly.

"We need to find shelter." She simply said, and turned around. Santana sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

Good fucking job, asshole.

She simply followed Rachel, not sure what the world had in store for her next. Hell, she didn't know what she was going to do in the next five minutes of the day. But she knew that at least she had company again in the form of a very different Rachel Berry.