I killed the last incoming zombie just as the song ended, leaving me, the sole survivor, alone in menacing silence as the jukebox scrolled through its catalog to pick the next tune. My code of "no one gets left behind" was finally about to get me killed. How ironic. While Gordon, Sophia, and Mickey all took off in search of the safe room, I stayed behind with Ian. His leg had gotten caught in one of the knocked over bar stools when the horde came in. I was the only one who heard his shouts for help, or rather, only one that cared, and ran back into the bar to save him. If only it was that easy.
The horde kept coming in waves. With all the zombies we'd killed today, I didn't think there would be so many left, but I guess I was wrong. It soon became evident that the others weren't coming back for us, and once Ian was severely injured after being pounced by a hunter, I just knew this was our last stand. We fought off the remaining infected, set up our defenses the best we could, then played the last song we'd ever hear. At least it went that way for Ian. I stared down at the smiling expression frozen on his face, then knelt down and closed his eyes.
As I stood up again, bruised, battered, and low on ammo, guitar strums floated out of the jukebox and all across the bar, effectively removing any silence and replacing it with knowledge of my own impending doom. With the new song came the roar of another horde in the distance, probably headed right this way. I picked up Ian's cricket bat, then loaded eight of the fifteen shells I had left into my chrome shotgun.
The jukebox sang, "On the first part of the journey…"