She sat there, running up the stairs. They said there was a safe house at the top the Big Ben. There had to be. She could hear the Tank roaring at her from a few flights below, throwing anything it could get its massive hands on up at her. Her legs burned, but she couldn't stop. She didn't want to let them win, let them beat her. It started a few weeks ago, and she wouldn't believe it even if she saw it. The influx of the Infected came almost overnight, and soon her friends were dying off from their attacks. She thought she was safe, until one invaded her and her mom, Elizabeth's, home.
Her mother got her up in the middle of the night, fear flashing across her eyes like a fox in a bear trap. She didn't really understand what was going on, they had Infected-proofed their doors, covered over their windows and sealed of the chimney. She moaned and stretched, attempting to shoo away the sleep that she still wanted to have. "Mum, what's wrong?" Her daughter yawned, sitting up in her bed. Her mother was about to explain, but someone, no, something screamed from the other side of her closed bedroom door. Now her daughter was wide awake, reaching into her nightstand and taking out the large meat knife she started keeping in there once the Infected staring to filter in.
"Hide under your bed Cynthia. Now." She agreed with her mother, and scrambled under her bed. It had been so many years from where she last did that. She was now 20, and her Mom just told her to hide under the bed. Normally, she would have complained, but right now, with something clawing at her bedroom door, all possible whines went straight out the window. She saw the view from the floor, only seeing her mother's ankles and the door. She held her breath, seeing her Mom stand defensively in front of her daughter, waiting for the attack.
When the door was broken down, something in a black hood was crouching in the door way. But it only sat there for a second. It screamed, leaping with its arms out at her mother. She couldn't even react in time. It pushed her down to the ground, starting to rip at her chest. Cynthia screamed. The Hunter's red eyes glinted from underneath its hood, only making the spurts of her mother's blood all that more red. All that more noticeable. Cynthia was still screaming, but she couldn't let her mother die like this. Sliding out from underneath her hiding spot, Cynthia tackled the Hunter, shoving it to the floor and off of her Mom. When they both landed, she was on top of the Hunter, straddling its waist. It almost seemed like it was surprised she was there. But she didn't let him gain the upper hand. She lifted the knife that was still clenched in her hand, and drove it down into its face, trying to aim through one of its eyes. She heard something snap, but she lifted the knife up and drove it down again. Once. Twice. Again and again she smashed the knife down into its face, screaming the entire time.
She lifted the knife to strike once more, but when her mother yelled at her, she dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor. Her white blouse was spattered with the blood of the Hunter. But the Hunter's face was a lot worse for wear. It was almost unrecognizable even as a past person: eyes were gouged out and its nose was bashed in. Its mouth hung open and hung there. Cynthia jumped up from the corpse and ran to the corner of her room to vomit. She coughed, sputtered, and vomited again. Her mother lifted up the knife and looked out the window. She nodded to someone, and picked up her daughter and dragged her downstairs and out of the house. In the street, they met two men. The older one introduced himself as Sean, the younger one called himself Marlon. They gave both Cynthia and Elizabeth guns. Cynthia picked it up and aimed it. She was only taught once how to shoot a shotgun, but she picked it back up quickly after a common Infected ran blindly across the street at them. Elizabeth adorned a machine gun, and quickly gave back Cynthia her knife. She didn't need it for the sole reason that she had grabbed her own machete from the closet.
Sean told them of a save point up at the top of Big Ben. They could see it in the distance, it's lighted clock face almost a beacon for those to follow it. The quickly started off together, not wasting any possible time for the Infected to gather and kill them all quickly. They walked, sometimes having to back into a corner and hold off hordes at a time. Sean was by far the most experienced with a gun, being able to kill with less than three bullets. Cynthia was able to run and stab ones that got too close quickly, and the other boy Marlon was good with watching people's backs.
Everything was going well. Cynthia knew they would be able to make it at this pace. She grinned and jogged forward, until she heard a roar. She froze in place. No, not here. Not once of those Infected. She would rather deal with fifty Boomers then one of these. A scream died in her throat once she saw the ugly mass of muscle run closer to her, tossing cars out of his way as it went. Its eyes were locked on her, arms rising to smack her across England. She braced for the attack, but when she heard other gun shots, her eyes shot open. Sean was luring it away from her, shooting at it madly. Her mother and Marlon joined in, shooting at it, raising the Tank's fury. It yelled, throwing a rock at Elizabeth who barely dodged in time. She reloaded, but she was snagged from behind by a long, pink tongue. Cynthia screamed and ran to her Mom, ignoring the Tank and only focusing on her mother. Cynthia ran past her choking mother and shot the Smoker right in its chest. It exploded right in front of her, its smoke blinding her eyes and making it impossible to see. She heard her mother's coughing. Thank god she was alright. Alive.
But when she heard Sean scream bloody murder, the two hard to run back. All she saw was his bloody corpse, his screaming being cut off by gurgled of blood. The Tank was dead beside him, but a Hunter had pounced on him and already had ample amount of time to slash at his fragile skin. Marlon was holding off the common infected that wanted to kill Sean just as much as the hunter did. Elizabeth ran and shoved the Hunter off, Cynthia shooting it once it was away from its prey. Elizabeth was already on the ground, ripping off pieces of her clothes and shoving them in Sean's wounds. Too many slashes to count crossed his chest, some of his intestines spilled like ribbons through gashes in his stomach. His neck was ripped open, and with each of his slowing heartbeats, a spurt of blood flew from an open vein. Her mother repeated no over and over again, desperation setting in as she kept trying to close off the wounds. Even after his breath and heartbeat stopped, Elizabeth kept trying to heal him. Her face was covered in his blood, which dripped off of her cheeks with her tears.
Cynthia lifted her up and kept her mother moving. They were over half-way there. They had to keep moving. Leave him behind and keep moving. They lost one, but they still had three. They had to move, to get to Big Ben. They walked; Elizabeth was tagging behind, her depression setting in about losing someone so soon. Cynthia couldn't cheer her up, but Marlon stayed close behind and watched over the older woman. They walked for a while, their gun shots echoing off the buildings around them. She wanted go get there. She wanted to leave. Wanted this all to just go away. She was so focused on her vision of the future; she missed the Charger that had jumped out from behind her. She missed the sight of it smashing into Elizabeth, breaking her ribs as it impacted with her. She only got to turn around just in time to watch it lift her frail mother and smashed it down into the ground. When it lifted her back up, she saw parts of her skull fall out the back of her head. Her brains oozed out the new entrance, and as her corpse was smashed into the ground again, Cynthia could hear her mother's back cracking with the impact. She ran, grabbing a pole from the ground and smashed it across the back of the Charger's head. Lifting her gunk she shot into the Charger, and kept going at it, screaming the entire time. She started to beat it with her gun once she ran out of bullets and didn't both reloading.
Marlon grabbed the young girl's waist and dragged her away. Elizabeth's brains were stuck to the bottom of their shoes, and the pavement looks as if it was red the entire time from all of the blood that escaped from her head. Cynthia couldn't talk, could barely function. When Marlon sat her down and tried to soothe her, Cynthia knew it. She was going to die. These bloody Infected were going to kill her and everyone else in the world. She didn't want to fight anymore, she just wanted to lie down and be free food for them all.
Marlon picked her up again and had her walk with him, reloading her gun for her. They continued together, watching each other's back. More than once a Jockey attempted to separate them but to no avail. When a Boomer had vomited on Marlon, Cynthia quickly shoved him into a corner and used a plank to beat off the frenzied Infected. Spitter's tried to slow them down but they didn't have as much luck either. They were near Big Ben. They both were limping, attempting to move as fast as they can. Marlon was grunting and bleeding from a wound in his shoulder which had dyed his blue shirt a hideous shade of purple. They continued moving, and as the sun was peaking over the horizon, it gave them both a new hope. Cynthia picked up a stray adrenaline shot, and offered it to Marlon. He was moving slower than she was, and she didn't want him to be left behind. He told her to keep it for herself. Not to worry about him and that he would be fine. She put the shot away, smiling and continuing on their way. Even though he said he would be alright, it didn't stop her worrying.
They reached Big Ben, and started to head inside and up the tower. They continued, until Marlon just fell onto his knees. Cynthia took a knee nest to him and offered him the shot. It was the only source of healing they had left. He just shook his head, his unfocused eyes looking right into hers. She started to tear up; she didn't want to lose the last person she could work with. She sniffled, but he shushed her. She quieted, but she could still hear her sobs. It was heart wrenching, and didn't stop. It was haunting her own mind; she knew that she was making noise now even though he told her to stop crying. She felt her warm tears fall down her cheeks, and feared for her life when Marlon raised his gun and aimed at her neck. It was only when she heard the gasp that she knew that the crying was not her own. Marlon grinned and whispered one last word to her before he shot.
Run. And whatever you do, don't let them get you.
Cynthia shot up and ran, right when Marlon shot at the Witch that had just walked into their room. She ignored the scream from the Witch, Marlon's agonized screams that only lasted for a few seconds. Cynthia crashed through the security door, the alarm blaring through her head. She heard them following her up the stairs. She threw her last Molotov right behind her, setting her path on fire, trying to keep them away from her. She panted, and continued running. She heard a Tank roar and looked over the side of the stairs. It ripped out part of the railing and tried to throw it at her, but she leaned out of the way to avoid getting impaled. She pulled out the shot, and looked at it. It took her a second to ignore and continue running up the flights of stairs. The Tank was taking the flights one, two large leaps at a time, and was catching up to her fast. She pushed open the doors in front of her, and stood behind the glass clock face of Big Ben. She looked behind her and closed the door, which wasn't even close to being a safe house door. They lied. There was no safe house up here.
She heard the Tank yell at her right through the door. She looked at the adrenaline shot in her hand, and her shot gun with only a few magazines of bullets left. She threw down her gun, and took the shot of adrenaline. Backing up to the door, she took a running start and leapt toward the glass of the clock face right as the Tank threw the door at her.
Maybe the adrenaline made the impact not hurt. Maybe the Tank got her before she fell and that's why she never remembered hitting the ground. But she took Marlon's last advice. She ran. She ran for her life, and she didn't let those bloody Infected get her. She wouldn't let them take away the last thing that she truly had for herself. She was going to take that herself. It was her life, and only hers.
The most selfish thought in the world, and she wouldn't have it any other way.