Kurt’s only answer to Tina was a pained moan as he immediately toed out of his boots and limped towards the bathroom. Blaine sighed, bending to pick up his boyfriend’s abandoned shoes, then gave Tina a weary smile through the untamed curly mass of his hair. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

“I think we might,” Mike said, looking somewhat pale as he glanced up from his iPhone. Tina nodded soberly, letting Blaine take her arm. He leaned most of his weight on her as they made their way to the couch in the lobby. It was then that Blaine noticed that the hotel was completely deserted, except for the three of them (and Kurt in the bathroom, presumably).

“Where is everyone?” he asked, looking around as if the concierge would suddenly pop up from behind the front desk. Tina exchanged glances with Mike, but neither of them said a word until Blaine was safely settled on the couch. Then Tina was up again, hurrying over to the coffee dispensers in the corner and filling up a couple of cups.

Mike scooted closer – almost awkwardly close, smiling at Blaine like he’d never seen another person before – then handed over his phone. “There’ve been reports coming in for the past couple hours,” he said in an undertone. The hotel was eerily still, the kind of ominous silence that frowns upon being broken. “At first they were on all the major networks, but those have been going down, one by one. At least all the East Coast ones.”

“The hotel manager turned off the TV after CNN aired footage of downtown Pittsburg,” Tina added, sitting on Blaine’s other side and offering him a cup of strong, bitter coffee. “Then he said something about checking on relatives.”

“We haven’t seen him since,” Mike finished gravely, taking the other cup of coffee with a grateful smile.

Blaine was scrolling through the CNN Los Angeles homepage, which was mostly peppered with smudgy photo’s and grainy cell phone footage. The message boards were blowing up with people talking about the end of the world, God’s judgment, Armageddon, and a few asking if anyone had seen so-and-so from this place or another.

“Has anyone heard from home?” Blaine asked suddenly, the thought occurring to him with a sickening jolt. Mike and Tina’s silence was answer enough. Swearing under his breath, he quickly typed in the familiar number for the Hummel’s house, waiting anxiously for someone to pick up.

The phone rang…and rang…and rang.

“Nobody at home’s answering, Blaine,” Tina said gently, after a few agonizing minutes had passed. “We’re just…just hoping that they all got out and are somewhere safe.”

Blaine slowly dropped the phone from his ear, letting it rest in his lap next to the rapidly cooling coffee. Seeing the thing – the zombie – in the road had been one thing, easy to write off as a fluke or a rogue experiment gone wild. But whole towns going dark, communication destroyed, hotels abandoned by flighty managers…

With a sigh, he dropped his head onto Tina’s shoulder, realizing for the first time, with an almost-smile that the first number he’d called had been Kurt’s.

///

Whoever was in charge of hygiene at this hotel wasn’t doing their job. There were dust bunnies the size of kittens gathered around the base of the sink, and the entire bathroom smelled like something had died in there. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Kurt washed his hands for the third time, trying not to think about the blood and dark gray slime the zombie had been oozing. He hadn’t seen any get on him – aside from on the very cuffs of his pants, which were now soaking in the opposite sink – but better safe than sorry.

Drying his hands carefully on the paper towels and shivering a little – the bathroom was cold too, unseasonably so – Kurt tiptoed on socked feet over to check on the status of his pants. There were goosebumps all up and down his legs, and his untucked shirt only reached to mid-thigh, but he so wasn’t leaving the room until all the undead gunk was out of his clothes.

“Ug,” he muttered, draining the basin and refilling the sink with hotter, soapier water. The bathroom was small, only two stalls and a tiny closet – presumably for storage – so there wasn’t exactly anywhere to sit. Kurt frowned at the grimy floor, then decided to see if there was a bucket or stool in the closet he could sit on.

The knob was icy to the touch, and it stuck, rattling as Kurt tugged and pushed at it, swearing through his gritted teeth.

“Come on…stupid…piece of-”

One last yank and the door finally gave, swinging open and smacking Kurt in the face. He groaned in pain, hand coming up to hold his nose and praying desperately that he wasn’t going to pull a Rachel Berry impression. He didn’t think the apocalypse had many plastic surgeons available in the event of a broken nose.

But then he was suddenly distracted from this thought by the realization that he wasn’t the only one in the bathroom who’d groaned. Turning slowly, Kurt stared into the closet, and right into the hollow, glazed-over eyes of a zombie in coveralls and a “Hello, my name is ____” nametag.

///

Blaine’s coffee went flying to the floor at the sudden, piercing shriek from the bathroom. “Kurt!” he yelled, heedless of the hot liquid soaking into his socks as he barreled off the couch and to his boyfriend’s aid. Tina and Mike were right behind him, the former only stopping to grab a large broom from next to the garbage can.

All three of them slammed into the bathroom door, causing it to creak on his hinges and buckle slightly in the middle, but still it stood firm. Blaine fumbled with the doorknob, only to find it locked, then pressed his ear against the door. He heard panting, scrambling, then a long, low moan that sent chills up his spine.

“Oh my god…” Backing up a few steps, he ran forward and slammed into the door again, heedless of the fact that he was probably bruising himself black and blue. “Help me!” he choked out to the stunned Mike and Tina, who immediately complied.

The moaning grew louder and louder. It was deafening, even over the sound of the three teenagers hurtling into the door, and the rapidly escalating sound of Blaine’s breathing, interspersed with desperate words – “Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, oh god, hold on, Kurt ,I’m coming, we’re coming-”

A final slam into the door and it burst open, sending the trio tumbling into a pile. Clawing his way free from the pile of dazed Chang and Cohen-Chang, Blaine leapt forward, brandishing Tina’s broom and ready to defend Kurt from the zombies.

However, Kurt seemed to be doing just fine, standing and holding half of a plunger in his hand. The broken-off handle had been plunged into the eye socket of what appeared to be a custodial zombie, which was still twitching and growling, even as blackened blood oozed from its destroyed eye.

“…you’re alive,” Blaine stated, dropping his broom with a clatter.

Panting heavily, Kurt nodded, slowly bending to set the non-zombie-impaling part of the plunger very carefully on the ground. “Yeah,” he managed, turning and forcing a wavery smile for Blaine.

There was a pause, then Blaine all but flung himself at his boyfriend, clutching him close and exhaling against his neck, the sound half a sob. “Good…that’s…that’s good…” he choked out, clutching Kurt close, wanting to thank some sort of deity, but not entirely sure who was involved with zombie-related miracles.

“Why isn’t Kurt wearing pants?” Mike whispered, helping Tina to her feet.

She shrugged, bending to grab the broom, just in case. “The whole world’s gone crazy, Mike. Remember?”