“I know.” Blaine’s voice was strained, and his skin was almost as pale as the…thing on the road in front of them.

Kurt swallowed hard, finally turning away and shutting his eyes tightly, mind racing as he tried to think of what to do. “Did you…did you even see him...it?” he managed, not wanting to take another look at the grisly remains, even to ascertain what gender it was.

Blaine shook his head, exhaling shortly and audibly gagging. If possible, the thing smelled even worse than it looked, rotten meat, the metallic scent of blood and, underneath it all, a sickly-sweet scent that neither boy could quite place. “I though it was a…pile of leaves o-or a trash bag or something. I didn’t mean to…”

There was a tell-tale waver in Blaine’s voice, and Kurt automatically clicked his tongue and reached out, turning his boyfriend away from the thing and ducking to meet his gaze. “So, wait. It didn’t run out in front of you?” Blaine mutely shook his head. Kurt managed a wan smile, rubbing his hands up and down Blaine’s arms, trying to physically smooth away the anxiety and guilt he saw in those wide woeful eyes. “So it wasn’t your fault. This wasn’t your fault. We’ll just call…call someone and report and—”

That was when the thing moaned. Not the soft wheeze of air leaving punctured lungs, not the howling of the wind but an actual, definite groan, rattling up through the shattered chest and hissing out through the flesh of it’s face. Both young men whirled back, staring in horror as the pile of broken bones and shredded flesh…moved.

“…Blaine…” Kurt choked out, unable to look away as the thing twitched again, drawing one stump of an arm up under itself. It looked more human this way, cracked skull lifting up slowly, dripping ichor and blood, lidless eyes rolling around wildly, then fixing on the frozen pair. Then the slack jaw dropped even more and the creature gave another horrifying sound before reaching out towards the boys.

“Get behind me,” Blaine ordered in a whisper, narrowing his eyes and even going so far as to spread his arms out, like expanding his compact frame into a starfish shape would somehow protect Kurt from the thing. Despite his disgusted fascination, Kurt spared a moment to roll his eyes, grabbing his boyfriend’s shoulders and tugging him back.

“Don’t be stupid; you aren’t going to suckerpunch a zombie,” he hissed. Speaking the word aloud was like a key, twisting deep in Kurt’s gut and settling everything into place, in grim clarity. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. There was a person that should be dead slowly crawling towards them, and that meant the entire world no longer made sense.

Struggling to remain calm – because why zombies, WHY, why not aliens or robots or something that the common cold and/or an array of government nuclear devices could finish off? Why did the world have to end with decaying flesh and brain-eating? – Kurt pulled Blaine back another couple steps, gradually putting distance between themselves and the zombie. “We’ll circle around and get back in the car,” he said in an undertone, hoping to distract Blaine from his courageous, if pointless overprotective act. “Then we’ll drive to the nearest town, and—”

Once again Kurt’s rational plan was cut off by a moan. But this time it didn’t come from the half-squashed thing in the road. It came from the field behind them, a long, wheezing sound stretching out from within the tall dead grass. And it was immediately answered by two, three, five more overlapping moans from the surrounding countryside. The noise rose and overlapped, not fading away like an echo would, but building until it was the only thing the pair could hear.

Kurt had stumbled back a little more at the sudden chorus of zombie moaning, dragging Blaine with him, but he froze at the sudden rustling in the thick grass behind them. “What do we do?” he hissed against Blaine’s ear.

Any stammering reply Blaine had was cut off by another groan from the zombie in the road. It had inexplicably risen up onto its bony knees, one stump moving to drag it’s shattered body forward, the bones of its other hand reaching out to snag at the cuff of Blaine’s pants. Reacting without thinking, Blaine shouted in surprise and kicked out, hard, towards the creature’s head.

The sound of his boyfriend’s shiny polished loafer sinking into the zombie’s rotted brain was too much for Kurt. He whirled around, doubling over and vomiting onto the road, the sound of it lost under the symphony of moaning. He could feel Blaine grabbing at his sleeve, yanking him back upright and running past the suddenly still zombie and towards the car. Kurt was reaching to fling open the door, when all of a sudden it was done for him.

“Get in!” Not bothering to question who the strange, wild-eyed man behind the wheel of their car was, thinking only of the shuffle and groan of nightmares right on his heels, Kurt flung himself forward, right on top of Blaine, fumbling to shut the door behind him, even as the stranger threw the car into drive and hurtled off.

There were several gut-churning sounds, of gunfire and groaning, but Kurt was too busy clinging to his boyfriend and trying to keep either of them from having a panic attack. Blaine’s arms were tight as iron around Kurt, fingers digging into his back, not seeming to care that he smelled of sweat and vomit and fear. Eventually the horrific sounds died down enough that the couple felt safe sitting up and eyeing their rescuer.

“…thank you,” Kurt managed finally, trying not to shudder at the man’s filthy state. He smelled almost as bad as the zombie had. “Without you, we would’ve been…”

“Zombie food,” the man supplied, offering a gap-filled grin. He turned the car abruptly, sending Blaine flying against the door with an “oof!” With a shocked gasp, Kurt sat up, ready to defend his boyfriend –

- and instead found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

“How ‘bout you boys show me how grateful you are and empty your pockets, hmm? Then I’ll let you two get out and get back to your business…”

Five minutes later, Kurt was standing penniless, phone-less and without so much as a change of clothes, watching his car speed away down the road. Blaine, in a similar state of mugged-ness, let out a soft sigh. “Well. We should start walking if we want to get to the hotel before dark,” he said, in a deceptively chipper voice. “They’ll probably have a phone, and maybe Mike and Tina are there by now.”

Managing a small smile at his boyfriend’s optimism, Kurt reached out to twine their fingers together, finding comfort as always from the smooth brush of Blaine’s palm against his. Then, alert for any more moaning or groaning, they started to walk.