Once they'd all entered, Puck barricaded the doors and the made their way deeper into the hospital, searching for somewhere they could burrow in for the night. They quickly decided that the first floor was too easy to get to – while it provided an easy escape, it also left them way too vulnerable should another group of Infected find them. They trudged up the stairs and found a small ward, complete with nurses' station, that seemed just secluded enough to get them through the night. Silently they piled in, again blocking the doorway after the final member had crossed the threshold. Mercedes led Quinn to the first clean looking cot and laid her down. Mike placed Artie on a cot until a new wheelchair could be found, and the others started attempting to get settled for the time being.

Puck walked towards the nurses' station and started rifling through the various medications that were stored there.

"What are you doing?" Finn asked, not sure why Puck was wasting his time on a drug hunt.

"I'm finding something to calm Quinn down, she needs to sleep and she's a mess." Puck's eyes were hard and his words determined. Finn didn't question him again, but turned to Rachel, who was setting up a corner for the two of them.

"Artie, there's a wheelchair back here, man. It's not as nice as your old one, but it's better than carrying you." Puck wheeled the chair from behind the counter. It had TRANSPORT written on the back in white block lettering and the leather of the seat was flaking, but he was right – a chair was a chair. Artie thanked him quietly before returning to his thoughts. Puck then walked to Quinn and offered her some pills. "Take 'em," he urged, "they'll help." Quinn was too distraught to fight, or question, and took them willingly. She was asleep within 20 minutes.

"What did you give her?" Mercedes asked, not sure how she felt about Puck drugging Quinn.

"Just some sleeping pills," Puck replied, more defensive than was strictly necessary. It was the last that anyone spoke for some time.

The night was hardly comfortable, everyone felt guilty, no one slept very much, but they all managed a few hours here and there. Thankfully there were no more disturbances. But something was off. Kurt could feel it, Blaine sensed it, too. Something was wrong and he couldn't quite place it. No, wait, there it was – that's what it was.

The hospital wasn't as silent as everything else. It wasn't as still. That eerie, dead quality they'd found everywhere else was missing. They didn't notice it at first, they were too busy trying to get their stuff together, get Quinn calmed down, and figure out what the fuck they were going to do, but the hospital definitely was not desolate.

Kurt bolted up as a wheel squeaked down the hall from them. Little sounds of movement began emerging from seemingly everywhere.

And then there were footsteps.

Lots of footsteps.

Hundreds of footsteps.

Of course there would be Infected here, they were in a goddamned hospital, where ELSE would Infected go? They must've been asleep, or hunting, or something when they'd arrived.

"We need to leave." Finn said, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Kurt.

"Seconded," Mike said.

"How?" Kurt asked, trying to figure a way out without having to pass where the footsteps were emanating from. "They're getting closer," he whispered from the doorway.

"We run," Puck said. "We can't just sit here and wait for them. We have to try to get away." The others looked at him as though he was insane, there was no way he could be serious.

But he was. He grabbed a baseball bat, not waiting for the others to follow suit, and promptly kicked down the door they'd blockaded the night before.

The Infected were on the other end of the floor, but they heard the clatter as the door crashed against the wall and then off its hinges. The New Directions rushed out of their safe haven as quickly as they could, no longer worried about being silent, as Puck stood by the door, making sure everyone was gone before he followed. Or at least before the others thought he would follow.

Blaine turned around as the turned the corner and headed for the stairs to the emergency exit and say Puck not a few feet behind as he'd expected but still by the door where he'd been at the beginning of this expedition. Their eyes connected briefly and Blaine knew that Puck wasn't coming.

There was no way they were all going to get out without being swarmed by the Infected, no way they were going to get Artie down the stairs, no way they were going to get away, get to Lima, without…without someone staying behind, fighting them off, serving as a distraction.

Puck stood, staring down the hall, watching the Infected limp, and stumble, and drag themselves towards him. He had to sacrifice himself so that the others could be free. The others all needed to make it, had to survive. They all had so much potential, were so vital to everything, but Puck? Puck was a Lima Loser and he knew it. He'd messed up with Quinn, he'd messed up with Rachel, and he was just going to continue to mess up for the rest of his life. But at least this way he knew that he could do something, that his life could do some sort of good for the New Directions before he was gone.

As the Infected closed in on him he steadied the bat in his hands. Puck noted how little they even looked human anymore; their eyes were sunken and pitch black, their skin tight and gauntly, their walk pained, their whole demeanor haunted. "Just like in video games," Puck thought, swinging his bat as the first Infected came within reach.

And as he fought, the New Directions fled.