They're dead... all dead.. there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was out of my hands, beyond my control, and in the end just too much for our little group to handle.

The light was dull, but it still glinted off the metal of the gun, discarded and laying in the middle of the floor. It's taunting me, telling me what I have to do, and reminding me of all the things I didn't do that I should have done or tried harder to do.

Coach was the first to go, once the horde took out his bad knee his legs just wouldn't support him, and in the end it was a hunter that killed him.

I stare at it, not even daring to blink, my beaten body is begging for rest the wounds I've received screamed at me wanting so badly be healed. But neither get any reaction out of me. I just sit and stare letting this moment go on for another minute or two, letting my chest rise and fall with another breath.

Not five minutes after Coach fell Rochelle was taken down, drowned in the river by a mud man that dragged her too far away.

Now I am in the middle of the room, no longer slumped against the wall in my previous position. Nothing but a small puddle of red left on the floor where all the infected blood had dripped off of me. There is a weight in my hands, the metal is cold and the gun feels heavy, but it's only a pistol. Something I'd known how to use for a long time now and it was as much a friend to me as any of them had been.

Poor Ellis.. the very one I thought wouldn't even make it out of the elevator, he saved me from the only smoker just to be scooped up by a charger. His body is probably still out there, just outside the door, where the massive arm had dropped him after a blow to the head killed him, crushed his skull against a sharp rock.

I... I can't do this.. I'll never make it out there on my own.. not in the shape I'm in. They'll eat me alive in more then one way as soon as I step out that door. But I don't have to suffer, not really, not anymore I have a way to escape a way to end it all. I know I'll never see them again, never get to say I'm sorry or even a chance to make up for not saying goodbye, I've done too many bad things in my life. I've given it a lot of thought, weighed all my options and considered my choices. This is all I've got, and it's all it's going to take.

My hands are shaking, and I don't know why, as I take the last bullet I've got out of my pocket and load the gun with it I close my eyes. I hear the click and feel the pressure of it against my temple, and I hesitate for just a moment before pulling the trigger. The sound of the gunshot echos for miles outside the safehouse. The gun makes a horrible racket and it falls to the ground, and my body follows it, hitting the ground with a thump. The last of my blood draining out of the hole in my head. The next survivors to come through better not steal my suit.

My eyes never open again, and I'm thankful for it, because I'd rather live in this hell then suffer through that one.