"Heeey! Come back, we're still here! Come baaaaack!.. agrh, they ain't coming back."
He shook his head. Everything was turned upside down, and he couldn't build up a reasoning chain in his mind, but at least he tried. Yes, heard about the Infection. Yes, got whole thirty floors of stairs while going here. Yes, it amounted to nothing in the end.
The hardest thing was to cope with reality. If you die, no one comes after you and cries over your dead body. His mother must've got into some accident already, even though he hoped she didn't at the end, everything is alright for someone, and he believed it would be him.
They were standing on some hotel's rooftops; he totally forgot the name of it. The tallest and largest of them, a man wearing some coach uniform, was shouting in despair, using his hands as a horn. The other two - an African-American woman in a fan T-shirt and some pale girl wearing a jeans suit - were standing aside, trying to catch their breath. He himself was a mechanic, twenty-three years old, who had never left Savannah is his whole life and was now facing probably the greatest commotion of his. Even more, humanity's greatest one.
"Alright, to hell with that heli. Does anyone know where else evacs are being held?"
The girl stroked her blond hair and sighed.
"Even if we do, then what? Down there, it's raining undead. We won't make it even to the hotel exit." The dark-skinned woman frowned.
"Sweetie, what are you talking about? We got up here, which means we'll get back as well."
"We got here with a fire ladder. Which had been barricaded right after we took it. There's no choice, we have to pick the hotel." Falling silent for a minute, she glanced at the others. "You get it now? We're right in Death's claws."
The man in a coach T-shirt crossed his hands and smirked.
"Well, I lived long enough, and dying right now ain't exactly my goal. Not 'til I get to the evac. What do you say, boy?"
It has been addressed to a guy with light hair wearing a cap and coveralls, knotted on the waist. He flinched, sending his thoughts away.
"What do I say? Erm... lookin' on them papers, there was some evac center in th' mall. That one where you can take a pic with Jimmy Gibbs Jr.'s car. If we get out, I say we head there."
The others, excluding the blondie, bucked up; the other woman even applauded at this.
"That's better", the coach laughed. "Moreover, I don't think we're that defenseless to die against those bastards. Look over there." He pointed towards a wooden table near the vents; three fire axes and a couple of Glock pistols lied there, covering some red and white bags. The guy in coveralls approached this treasure table the first and weighed an axe on his hands.
"I always wanted to be an axe murderer", he muttered, making the blond girl even paler than she was. She, however, took another axe, explaining it by her lack of shooting skills. The coach took two pistols, and the last axe went to the dark-skinned woman. Grabbing all the weapons, they finally found out what the bags happened to be.
"First aid kits! Who could've left them here?" the mechanic boy wondered. The woman in a Depeche Mode shirt shrugged.
"Maybe those who were evacuated. They wouldn't need all these anyway."
Everything was going worse than he thought. Sure, Infection and stuff, but he didn't have in mind that they would face not a couple of zombies, but a pure flood. Almost all the time someone's axe dissected rotting flesh, and the pistol bullets cut through someone's heads and limbs. They've already met some strange fat Infected which looked like a ball and was constantly gurgling. No one wanted to find out the reason of gurgling, and this thing has been executed with pistols.
Of course, the elevator wouldn't be on their floor, and they had to go for a walk, only finding undead on their way. That was so ghoulish - murdering those who, in fact, were still human, but so far this remained the only way to help them. For good. The kid thought about it sometimes, as the blood from someone's neck splattered all across their axes or someone ran at him, gaping their mouth and screeching violently. Although he didn't contemplate that for long, slashing their inhuman bodies, the tiny pieces of their minds, with his weapon. He just hadn't got time.
Finally, they were lucky to find a working elevator; stepping in and picking the first floor, they could take a break for a little. The female part of their group suffered the most, especially the blond one, who looked so pale and thin she could resemble death sometimes.
"Phew, that was hell of a run! My boys didn't run as fast as we did now", the coach laughed in a deep voice of his. "Let's meet each other, shall we?"
"Name's Rochelle, but you can call me Ro. I got used to it", the African-American woman shrugged. The other one sighed at this.
"Hazel. You can't call me Ha."
"Oh, an' me... Ma' name's Ellis. People call me El, 'cause Ellis sounds like a girl. Yeeah, to make a difference. But you guys call me whatever ya want."
"Okay then. And I'm... hell, call me Coach. I got used too."
"Well done, apocalypse, well done", Rochelle mumbled to herself on the way. At first, a horrible mass of people met them at the safehouse - a room with steel doors and some useful stuff like medkits and weapons. Good thing they've found pump shotguns and SMGs inside, increasing the survival chances. Then they've run down into a weapon store; Ellis was nearly excited to see it, seeing his low ammo supplies and, moreover, the auto shotgun was far better than a pump one. On their way to the store, though, lots of adventures had been waiting for them. First, a long-necked creature who spat strange green fluid at them; Hazel even got her boots smoking after that. Then someone's car alarm went off, alerting so much undead that almost all of their ammo had been spent to keep them out. Rochelle had the worst luck of them all; her gun jammed just as a horde attacked her, and the others couldn't react in time. Her hands were all scratched after that, and the left palm had a horrible bite which worried the survivors for damn long time. But they've spent at least two hours on their way to weapon store, and nothing happened to Ro; the bite only hurt badly, even though it's been taken care of. It gave them a glimmer of hope that some people could have immunity to the Flu, not bad after all.
In the store, however, they'd been rewarded well. Ellis had been here before and was not able to hold his delight seeing all the guns this time as well. Saving time, he got himself an auto shotgun, and then started to fill his pockets with shells - someone providently left ammunition supplies on the showcases. Hazel didn't react with much delight - with her inability of shooting she could not take anything. On the way, Rochelle tried to teach her how to shoot a SMG, and the girl even learned a bit, though heavy rifles like AK looked a lot more powerful, sending shivers down Hazel's back even displayed on the showcases. She found a great ammo supply although, and everything fixed up for her again; even more, the axe did not leave her in any time. There also was a speaker button; Coach hit it, and a voice followed after some static. The store's owner, speaking over it, suggested them to clear the path to the mall (which was barricaded by some fuel truck) in exchange for coke bottles from a food store down the street. No one liked this idea much, but getting through was an urgent need. Searching the terrain for Infected, Ellis fixed his hat, took out a bottle with some nasty green substance inside and headed to the store.
"...hear me? Get up, now!"
He tried to understand what's happening. Everything went blurry, just like if he'd been hit with a frying pan. His face burned with scratches; someone who tore his face apart certainly ran mad after it. Also someone has grabbed him and shook hard to wake him up.
"W-what happened?"
"Some shit jumped on you and rode away from us. I barely found you. Come on, get up." The voice sounded male, unfamiliar, not like Coach's bass at all. As Ellis' vision slowly came back, he could finally look at his savior the normal way. White spots of a suit looming in front of him, and a shirt possibly adding blue to them; an angry long face, short dark hair, scratches somewhere. And grey eyes that were glaring at Ellis, as if he produced some unknown spell, obviously a lousy one. It took him an effort to mutter:
"You... who are ya?"
At first his face stunned in astonishment, and then the man in a suit laughed acidly.
"You lost your mind, huh? Or that thing borrowed your brain for a while, so that you won't remember me?"
"But I... really don't." The guy had lost himself completely. He actually knew no one similar neither before the Infection hit, nor after. The other man took an AK rifle off his shoulder and removed the safety. Somewhere nearby, the bushes moved, and a hysterical giggle announced another presence - El remembered similar sounds as he entered the food store, before something sharp dug into his cheeks and he passed out. A shriveled, whooping and constantly jumping thing rushed out of the bushes, heading towards them. The mechanic searched the ground in a panic, hoping his shotgun wouldn't be far away; the stranger raised his rifle and let out a short burst. However, it happened to be faster and jumped on him the next second; both of them yelled dreadfully, rolling on the ground, the human trying to get it off, and the creature clawing at his face. Ellis threw himself in the air and ran to them, grabbing the rifle which man in a suit dropped. He couldn't find out who was who in a ravel of two bodies, so he just shoved the one atop; to his luck, it was a zombie. It squeaked, ready to jump again, but the boy hit it again and shot at least ten bullets fight in its face. The creature fell to the ground motionless and silent at last. The other survivor, staggering and touching his wounded cheekbones, got up on his feet.
"If only you'd confused this shit for me..." he grumbled.
"Yeah, all but thanks!" El shrugged childly. "So what, will ya tell me yer name fo' saving yer ass?"
The other one smirked grimly and whipped his rifle out of the hick's hands.
"Nicolas. Don't ask this ever again."
Ellis! Ellis!
And thus everything disappeared: the dead Infected in a ripped shirt, the white suit, the rifle chatter; it was all replaced by terrible silence, so terrible it banged his ears with itself. Until he heard his name again.
Ellis, wake up!
Wait, no. His mistake - this shouting deafened him even more. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus on at least one object. The closest one to him was a print with some guy who looked like Gordon Freeman and two words under it.
Depeche Mode.
"Sweet Jesus! We were worrying so much about you! What happened?" Rochelle looked confused and upset at the same time. Shaking his head, Ellis sat up on the metal floor - when the hell did he get to a metal floor - and looked around. A half-opened steel door caught his gaze; in the other part of their small room there was a table with medkits and ammunition, and Hazel sat nearby, reloading her gun. Coach was nowhere to be seen, but gunshots bursts howled outside; he seemed to be somewhere behind the opened door. And Rochelle sat right in front of him, holding a first aid kit. Ellis shook his head again, just like a Chinese figurine, and touched his forehead - a few layers were bandaging it.
"I wish I knew", he mumbled. Suddenly an obvious thing struck his mind. "Ro, where's Nicolas?"
Both women in the saferoom looked at him surprised. Hazel laughed nervously.
"Nicolas? Is that Coach's name?"
"Nah, Hazel! He's some... erm, well-dress'd guy. White suit." The dark-skinned one sighed.
"I don't know who you're talking about. Hadn't seen any Nicolas guy, moreover in a white suit. Maybe you were hallucinating? You've been out for about an hour on our way here."
Ellis turned away. So it was normal that he didn't know Nicolas and was surprised to see him! Where did he come from, nevertheless?
His thoughts were interrupted by Coach's gruff voice; its owner stepped inside the safehouse with his shotgun over the shoulder.
"Oh hey, El! Mornin'." When the boy frowned, he laughed shortly and gave him a hand. "Get up, we gotta go."
Grabbing the palm in a mitt, Ellis remembered something else, important as well.
"What 'bout evacs? Ain't we in the mall now?"
"Yeah, boy. But so far I've seen, it's all overrun. We gotta leave on our own."
"What did you say about driving, El? Hurry up, or you will take the passenger seat!"
The high voice of the blond girl cut through first floor's area. The mechanic guy carried a gas can found somewhere near the barricades - in case of hordes, perhaps. Shit, he'd never think he'd be fuelling a stock car of the greatest racing star and then even driving it! Himself, while saving their asses from a shitload of zombies! That seemed just incredible.
Just a few meters before the car, the final frontier... And something pinkish and sticky wrapped around Ellis' shoulders, squeezed them with abnormal strength and pulled back. He could only let out a short "augh!" before the tongue - sweet heavens that was a tongue - constricted his neck, making him suffocate. The thing pulling the tongue was damn strong, and for a few seconds he blacked out.
"...hey, Ellis! I'll be driving if you don't hurry!"
He flinched. This voice, so mocking and sarcastic.
"Nicolas!" he shouted in despair and felt the tongue loosen; even more, a large piece of it fell from the upper floors to his feet. Someone slapped his cheeks easily - recollecting himself, El saw Coach frowning. They both darted off to the car then; Ellis got the honor of pouring in the last can.
He couldn't quite remember what followed. There were driving adrenaline, Hazel's grumbling about speed limit, a giant bridge on their way... And somewhere deep in his mind, grumbling of one more man who only sounded familiar to him.