Quinn and Kimberly sat on the bench in the locker room, chatting amiably with the hockey players. Steven had reentered a discussion with Kimberly, talking about his goals thus far in the season and the time he got a slapshot to his nose. Conacher cracked a joke about his magnetic attraction to pucks, and the group burst into laughter. One goalie, Lindback, had handed Quinn his stick and was about to swat a puck at her when a police officer entered the room. She eyed Quinn and Kimberly, who smiled sheepishly.

“We were keeping them under observation,” Kimberly said immediately.

“What division are you with, again?” the officer asked, eyebrows raised. Without waiting for their response, she addressed the Bolts in the room: “Look, with the attacker caught and in Homeland Security’s hands, and with the building investigated for any other attacks or accessories, we’re clearing you all to leave.” A cheer erupted from the men before she added, “Just be aware that we might be contacting you within the next week for questioning.”

The players began packing up their gear and heading out. Lindback still managed to whack a puck toward Quinn and scare the daylights out of her as it whizzed past her leg and hit the wall. Malone and Lecavalier, who had been watching, got a great laugh out of her expression.

“I’m thinking maybe being a goalie wouldn’t be the best thing for me after all,” Quinn admitted as Lindback waved and said his farewells.

“You are a bit small,” Lecavalier replied, grinning down at her. “You might be mistaken for the goalpost.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. Lecavalier laughed again as Kimberly headed over, Steven by her side with his bag on his shoulder. Quinn turned her attention to the two of them, a smirk ghosting across her lips as she glanced at Kimberly. Said taller girl shot her a look before smiling at Lecavalier.

“Thanks for tolerating us in here. It was so great to meet you guys,” she said.

“We don’t get to do this very often,” Steven said, and Lecavalier nodded in agreement. “The guys enjoyed sitting around and goofing off.”

Quinn and Kimberly both smiled, pleased, as they followed the remaining players out of the locker room and toward the exit. “Well,” Quinn ventured, “Kimmy and I are especially invested in this case, so if you… run into anything weird, maybe you should give us a call.”

Martin St. Louis, who was walking by, stuck his head into the conversation to tease, “I think they’re trying to give you their numbers, guys.”

Lecavalier shoved St. Louis, who chuckled as he headed toward his car. “Sure,” he said, “Why not. In case some more steroid-charged cannibals attack.”

Steven grinned as Kimberly dug in her bag and pulled out a notepad for her and Quinn to write on. “Yeah, just wait. Tomorrow Conacher will walk into the Forum and eat Lindback for lunch.”

---

“Kimmy just called,” Sam said as Dean walked into the hotel room with a bag of snacks from the local gas station. “She and Quinn are about five minutes out. I filled them in on the zombie theory. She says they might have an idea.”

“Great,” Dean said, plopping down and pulling out a packaged slice of apple pie. He eyed Romero. The zombie teenager stared back at him, emitting a low groan. “He look paler to you?”

Sam nodded, wrinkling his nose at the candy bars and potato chips in the bag before settling on Doritos. “It’s like he’s getting even sicker.”

“Deader, maybe?” Dean offered.

“If he even is dead,” the other replied. “Romero was just bitten, not killed. Like Carlo.”

“Well maybe the bite is what kills you.” The Winchester’s voice was muffled as he shoved a large piece of the pie in his mouth. “Like The Walking Dead and a bunch of other movies.”

“It’s possible,” Sam consented. “I’d check his pulse, but I’m not risking getting my arm bitten off and turning into one of them.”

“Hey, drooly,” Dean called, sticking his foot out and tapping the teenage boy’s leg. “You dead in there or just brainwashed?” In response, Romero just growled. “Too much television’ll do that to you.”

Outside, they heard a car pull up outside their door. Sam looked out the window and recognized the Mustang. “Five minutes? More like two or three. Quinn must have been driving this time.” Dean grunted, taking another bite of his pie, and Sam said, “Alright, what’s eating you, Dean? You’re not exactly jumping for joy at the idea of working with Quinn and Kimmy are you?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re good hunters,” he replied, chasing the pie down with a swig of water.

“Dean.”

“Dude, it’s fine. Let it go.” He glanced at Sam, whose eyebrows were raised in an incredulous, judgmental manner. “Look, Quinn and I… We had a brief thing, okay?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, and? You have plenty of ‘things’ with women, Dean.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered as they heard a knock on the door. “It didn’t end on great terms, alright?” He stood, frowning at Sam, before going to open the door. “Hey girls, come join the zombie party.”

Kimberly smiled briefly at Sam as they entered, while Quinn paused near Dean and looked up at him momentarily. Dean shut the door and said, “Have fun schmoozing with the hockey players?”

“We did, actually,” she replied, stepping past him and leaning against the small desk table. “They were released a little while ago and just have to remain available for questioning.”

“What about this guy?” Kimberly asked, gesturing to Romero. “What’s he been up to?”

“He was thrashing around and trying to eat us,” Sam replied, “But in the past fifteen minutes or so he’s gotten pretty quiet. Looks worse, too.”

“Huh.” Quinn stepped over, daring to get a little closer to the mindless form. “Is he actually dead, like most zombies?”

“Beats us,” Dean replied, eyeing Quinn’s form from behind. “We haven’t risked getting close enough to find out.”

“Mm.” Kimberly bounced to her feet and headed to one of the hotel beds, where she pulled back the blanket and grabbed hold of a sheet. She tore off a long strip and brought it up to Romero, where she quickly lashed it around his face and gagged his mouth. The boy immediately lurched to life, reaching out and grabbing hold of Quinn’s arm, but with his mouth covered he had little he could do but tighten his hold as she struggled to get away. Sam pulled at his grip on her arm while Dean grabbed Quinn’s waist and pulled.

“That hurts!” she snapped at him as Sam pried a few of Romero’s fingers away.

“You want deadman walking here to pull your arm off?” Dean replied curtly as Kimberly pinched down on the nerve at the base of the boy’s neck. His grip suddenly loosened and he groaned loudly, and Sam pulled his hand completely away. Quinn and Dean fell backward as Sam leapt to his feet.

“What was that for?” Sam demanded, frowning at Kimberly.

“Yeah, and what’s with the Vulcan nerve pinch?” his brother asked.

“He can’t bite with his mouth covered,” she replied, “So I figured I’d test his pulse. But I don’t have to. He’s clearly alive. His body is, anyway. I pinched down on those nerves in his neck because it’s a sensitive spot, and he clearly felt it because he let go and groaned—in pain, not because it was his zombie fancy.”

Dean stood to his feet and offered a hand to Quinn, which she ignored as she got up and wrinkled her nose at Romero. “So, not dead.”

“Not dead,” Kimberly confirmed.

“Well what do we do with him?” Sam asked, running a hand through his hair. “We can’t keep him tied to a chair and gagged in our hotel room. For one, the maid will come in here to clean.”

“Yeah, and I won’t be able to sleep knowing he’s sitting there staring at us,” Dean added.

Kimberly gestured toward the cars outside. “Let’s just take him to a hospital. He’s obviously not the first case they’re having to deal with, and they won’t release him any time soon with his ‘symptoms.’ As long as we tell them to keep his mouth covered, things should be fine.”

Sam nodded. “Probably the best idea. We can go back any time and see him if we need more answers.”

“Well he’s not riding in the Impala,” Dean said flatly. “He’ll drool all over the seats and smell up the place.”

“He’s mindless, not a rotting corpse,” Quinn said with a roll of her eyes.

“Fine. Put him in your car, then.”

---

A young, curly-haired Cory Conacher stood outside Walmart with Martin St. Louis and his wife and kids, piling groceries into the back of St. Louis’ van. He had been invited to go shopping with them to pick up a few things, and Cory had heartily agreed since he needed to buy some laundry detergent and softener for himself. Mason, the young five-year-old, was sitting in the shopping cart seat and babbling to Cory about his new Iron Man action figure. St. Louis smiled as his wife, Heather, picked up the young boy and took him to the van and put him in his car seat.

“Thanks for helping load these up,” St. Louis said as he stored the last few bags in the back and shut the large door. “Will you put the cart up while I start the van?”

“Sure, no problem,” Cory said, and pushed it toward the nearest storage area. As he did so a small young Walmart employee walked up, looking at her feet and shuffling awkwardly. Cory smiled and put the cart away before turning to face her. “Pretty nice day to be working outside, isn’t it?” She mumbled quietly, inching a bit closer, and Cory raised his eyebrows. He bent down a bit, attempting to see her face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Cory!” St. Louis shouted from the window of his van. He paused the car mid-reverse and stuck his head through the open window, searching for the younger hockey player. St. Louis spotted him just in time to see the Walmart employee take the hand he offered out to her. Then, to his horror, she brought it to her face and bit down on it. “Cory!”

Conacher jerked backward, eyes wide, as the girl snarled and lashed out toward him again. He shoved the grocery cart in her way and stumbled back as St. Louis began to climb out of the car. “No!” Cory shouted, running to the van and climbing inside. “Just go. Go.”

“But—”

“Go,” he repeated as the employee glared at the van with white eyes. “I heard about this on the news, and I… I need to get to a doctor.”

Sharing a concerned look with his wife, St. Louis drove out of the parking lot as Cory took his seat in the back of the van behind the children. He cradled his hand in his lap, bleeding where the girl’s teeth had sunk into his flesh, and grimaced. The news reports about these attacks that he’d listened to yesterday hadn’t been good. He needed to get to a doctor and away from St. Louis and his family as quickly as possible just in case. As St. Louis headed toward the hospital, Cory sent a text message to his captain, Lecavalier.

Was just attacked by someone like guy at the Forum. Was just a bite on the hand but I’m going to a doctor.

Don’t worry though. I’ll probably be fine.