"So you're telling me you never smoked with that Keith character of yours?" Nick queried, lighting up a cigarette as he sat there on the wooden porch railings, overlooking the swamp below.
"Naw, see, Keith experimented and the like. But he never got himself into the habit. Plus, Ma' would've knocked me silly if she found out I was on 'the cancer sticks'."
Nick arched a brow, glancing up at Ellis over the dim orange glow.
It took Ellis a moment to piece together what had just expelled from his mouth. "Well, 'course that's just what she called 'em. No need to worry, Nick, m'sure you're fine."
He glanced back to the bleakness that surrounded the ramshackle hut, "what a relief…" he muttered sarcastically with a hint of good humour.
The nights were growing longer, leaving more opportunity for the infected to attack while the survivors were at their most vulnerable. Nights were a tense, restless waiting game. However, surprisingly, seldom was a full attack launched after dusk. Perhaps because the infected themselves had trouble seeing in the darkness. Whatever the reason, there was very little complaint to be heard about it.
"Reckon we're getting real close to being saved, Nick," Ellis announced, leaning against the same porch fencing, cap pushed up his forehead as his eyes focused on something way in the distance.
Such optimism would've usually irritated Nick, but coming from Ellis, it actually had the faintest ability to cheer him up. If only slightly. Maybe because optimism was something he had been starved of for quite some time. "What makes you say that?"
Ellis' attention turned to him. "Dunno, guess it's just a feelin'. Something real good's gonna come our way, though, you'll see," he gave Nick a playful bump with his elbow.
He couldn't help but pick up on the slight doubtfulness in Ellis' tone. Like he was making the words up to make the gambler feel better about their unpromising situation. He tried to ignore its sobering effect. "Can't be the only sorry motherfucker's stuck out here."
Ellis chuckled lightly, nodding his head. "But imagine we were, though," he suddenly blurted, eyes wide at the concept. "Like, in the whole world, us four were the only one's left. Dang…"
"Dibs on Rochelle," Nick grinned, inhaling deeply before flicking the half-spent cigarette into the murky sludge below.
"What about Rochelle?" The feminine voice appeared from behind them as she laced up her boots, still half asleep. Her hair was tied in a unkempt, frizzy ponytail and face sullen and lax from being torn from precious slumber. Coach followed behind her, dressed in a vest and battered pair of jeans. "You boys had a quiet night?"
"Quiet as a dead church mouse," Ellis reported, realigning his headwear. "'Cept for this real sick-lookin' zombie come crawling outta the bushes earlier. Nick done him with the silencer pretty good, though."
Rochelle threw her attention to Nick, who was still distracted by his, now discharged, duties as lookout. "Think a certain someone needs some rest," she said, trying to draw his attention, "you been at this too long."
He finally tore his eyes from the marshes beyond, and looked at Rochelle with an expectant expression, as if he hadn't heard her. "M'yeah…" he mumbled, stepping around her and her larger companion into the dimly-lit cabin room they had been using as a refuge.
"You jus' holler if you need some muscle," Ellis jested as he followed behind, lifting his biceps and meeting Coach's not-in-the-mood stare. "Call in the cavalry, y'know?"
His larking went unappreciated at 3am. Nick collapsed wearily onto the mattress Coach had been napping on, Ellis on the one adjacent. His body had gotten pretty used to shutting down at the same time each night, so it didn't take long for Nick to drift into his subconscious. Only to be snapped back into reality when Ellis decided he wasn't prepared to let himself, or Nick for that matter, unwind just yet.
"When's the last you spoke to your Ma', Nick?" His voice rupturing the silence.
It was an unusual and unpredictable question, the type Ellis was good at conjuring. "Probably couple years ago…" he groaned, trying to convey his need to be left to rest.
"That long? Well shit, I can't imagine goin' that long without speaking to Ma'. Course now it's all different, what with only radio and that…" Ellis wasn't really looking at Nick. His eyes stared quietly at the ceiling. It was apparent he was talking for the sake of avoiding the lonely silence. It was something Ellis did quite often. "I mean, it's kinda weird to think how long it's been since I spoke to my family. Months, I reckon. Dunno how I'd even start a conversation with any of 'em now, y'know? Like, they'd be talking to ya', so you'd know they were alive, and that's all you'd wanna know…"
"Ellis…" Nick shushed, speech half-muffled by the cushion his cheek was pressed into.
The boy quietened, but he didn't attempt to sleep. Nick opened his eyes briefly to observe the dismal light bouncing from Ellis' own as they continued staring at the ceiling above. His resting body was silhouetted against the window behind, and Nick was able to silently view the profile of the hick's features. A slightly thick, button nose; heavy brow; strong chin. He was an attractive kid, there was no denying that. Nick had unfortunately only acquired his adequate good-looks after a less than unremarkable 25 years. He had been a gaunt, pasty teenager with a bad attitude and unhealthily high values of himself. Those years had long since passed, but his mentality hadn't much changed. Rarely did someone meet his hypocritical high standards, parr from Ellis. Who hadn't reached those standards, but Nick had started to learn to alter them to comply with Ellis' traits. He had almost learned to stop searching for others like himself, and appreciate those who weren't of his state of mind. Or maybe Ellis was a one-off.
The boy finally shifted, rolling onto his side to face Nick. Automatically, Nick closed his eyes. He listened as Ellis' breathing lulled into the heavy rhythm of sleep. He couldn't decide to admire Ellis' ability to alleviate his mind so easily, or condemn his naivety. Either way, the restful sound aided his own slumber.
"What do you mean you heard someone talking?" Coach's voice amalgamated with his dreaming, quiet and distant like it were carried by the wind. Nick knew he was sleeping; in a strange state of semi-subconscious. His body wasn't prepared to let him awaken properly just yet .
Ellis' voice now, louder and more urgent. "Jus' now! I dunno, man, it was sorta quiet-like… definitely a man's voice, though, for certain."
Coach's lumbering footsteps collided around the room, pulsating the floorboards, causing them to squeak and complain. A heavy boot nudged his shoulder and Nick was forced out of his peaceful half-dreaming.
"Wake up, we gotta situation."
The con-man rolled onto his stomach, lifting his torso up onto his elbows with a disapproving crack of his joints. He squinted in the dusty, diluted sunlight that poured between cracks in the disheveled curtains. Rochelle was holding a submachine to her shoulder, keeping watch at the doorway, while Ellis stood at the opposite end of the room; Coach between them. The boy's blanket and mattress had been skidded across the floor in what Nick could only conclude as a panicked awakening.
"Guys I'm serious 'bout this, I ain't hearing things…" Ellis implored, eyes flitting between teammates.
Nick clambered to his feet as Coach began moving idly from room to room, glancing behind doors and into cupboards to ease Ellis' anxiety. Whatever Ellis had heard, it certainly wasn't making any noise now. Coach rounded up his brief search with a frustrated, exhausted sigh, leaning against a door frame. Evidently unconvinced.
"Probably just an infected hiding 'round the side of the building or something," Nick 'reassured'. He knew by now that Ellis hadn't the psyche to allow his subconscious to conjure fictitious noises and hallucinations. That was more his department. "You know how they can sometimes form sentences-"
A voice. Crackling and distorted, like a person speaking through a tin can, erupted from the kitchen. "Anyone there? LPRA, Ranger Bradshaw, please respond."
The group stilled, gobsmacked and listening tensely, before scrambling hurriedly to the next room. Even Rochelle left her post at the front entrance as all 4 of them clambered across debris and furniture. Grating white-noise could be heard from a storage cabinet next to the stove, and Coach threw open the doors vigorously. A radio. They hadn't come across one in almost a week, let alone one that seemed to have another person within range of its frequency.
Ellis let out a triumphant bark. "I told ye'! Didn't I tell 'em, Nick? Fucking told you I heard man talkin'…"
They hushed him frantically, Coach pressing himself up to the machine. The contraption was old, vintage- even- and the 4 of them upheld a dumbstruck expression as they ogled the multitude of buttons and levers. Coach mumbled to himself as he began guess-working his way from one side of the machine to the other, desperation and profanities building as he spoke into the microphone with no response.
"The transceiver," Nick hissed, pushing Coach aside to attempt a connection himself, "you changed the frequency…"
He tuned back and forth, watching the signal strength meter rise and fall as he searched for the ambiguous voice once more. He wasn't overly educated when it came to HAM radios, but it had seemed simple enough all those years ago in his physics classes. "You didn't touch the rotator, did y-?"
"LPRA, Ranger Bravo 7, do you read."
They jumped at the loud, abrupt voice, and Nick instantaneously pushed in the PTT. "Acknowledged, this is Nicolas, situated west of Folkston. Break. Stranded, four uninfected trapped. Over…"
There was a brief, anxious moment before the response came. Even through the tinny speakers, the voice's tone of relief was apparent. "TPRA, status cleared. Your party is located at which cabin coordinates? Over."
Ellis grinned from ear to ear as he watched and waited as Nick and the Ranger conversed details. Even Rochelle had a hopeful smile. Coach, however, remained dubious and reluctant to allow any form of premature excitement to take over just yet. It all seemed a little too good to be true. He folded his arms, a heavy frown adorning his expression, trying to avoid Ellis' boasting demeanour.
"LPRA. Copy. All clear. Will send an air boat your way, approximately one one three zero hours. Be ready for immediate departure. Over and out."
Nick lowered the mic slowly, the good news dawning on him moment at a time. He turned to the others, grinning triumphantly. It had been a long time since a smile that broad had cracked his usually melancholic expression, and it was lopsided and awkward.
"Good job, Suit," Rochelle praised weakly, giving Nick an appreciative clap on the shoulder.
Ellis beamed, bouncing his weight from one foot to another in excitement. "Aw yeah, boy and girls! Looks like we just done saved our hides!"
The gambler let out a mild chuckle at the outburst of enthusiasm. At last. At long last, hopes were reignited. His gaze landed on Coach.
"Think we should start getting ourselves organised. Only an hour before the boat gets here…" the larger man mumbled, holding the dubious eye contact with Nick. Coach was entirely unconvinced by the ray of hope that was the prospect of rescue. He figured someone was shining a torch down on them, and his teammates were ignorantly mistaking it for sunshine. Despite frequent quarrels with Nick, he had a level of respect for the smartly dressing con-artist. He knew in Nicolas' eyes that he was overshadowed by the same uncertainty. Nick was just choosing to hide it better.
The following hour went by all too slowly. Ellis was far too preoccupied with his newfound elevation to stop chatting away, and Rochelle was humouring the boy's yakking for the first time in weeks. Coach sat himself down at the window, keeping lookout and pestering his watch continuously, while Nick paced the expanse of the shack over and over. Minutes ticked past all too demurely, taking their sweet time. Their surroundings were considerably peaceful, contrasting immensely against the high-tensions within the building. It was eerie, how quiet the swamp could be when so teaming with undead. A curiosity that went unnoticed on all but Coach.
By 11:30, the sun was high in the sky, and still no sight or sound of the Ranger.
"We should go outside." Declared Rochelle in dismay. "Maybe the water's too dense here and he can't get close enough…"
The rest of the group had joined Nick in his pacing. Their bodies over-energised and restless.
"You'd hear the guy, Ro. Those boat's aren't quiet…" came Coach's response. He seemed considerably calmer than the others, having expected such an outcome.
Ellis, who had been the most active and inspirited out of all of them, stopped trudging around the room and planted his feet firmly still in an asserted fashion. "Ah, screw this!" He announced, making a beeline for the door. "I ain't sitting on my ass waiting for the son'ova'bitch to mosey his way over here. I'mma go find him. Y'all coming or what?"
"Ellis…" Rochelle began.
Coach grabbed the younger's shoulder authoritatively before he could read the exit, stopping him in his tracks. "Ain't no use running off, son. We gotta wait here." He turned to address the rest of the group. "He knows we're here. If we wander off now, we don't know where we'd be heading. Give it another hour, at least…"
Ellis eyed the door, frown heavy. He wasn't the patient type, and an hour just sounded needless and unreasonable. Still; he had enough maturity to compose himself once more. Although he wasn't sure how much longer that composure could hold after an hour's worth of anticipation. He jerked his shoulder out of the older man's grip and retreated to the mattress, collapsing onto his back dramatically.
Silence continued for the following minutes. Not even the distant, eerie moans and groans from the infected could be heard amidst the bayou. If anything, it seemed all the more hopeless and desolate. Nick could see the reasoning behind Coach's desire to stay in the shack, but still, the helplessness was unbearable. "One of us should go out there and look around for him…" he muttered.
Ellis perked. "Yeah, me."
"Guys, we gotta stay put. Coach is right, we don't even know which direction this fella' is coming from…" Rochelle said in her usual calming tone. It wasn't having much effect this time, though.
Midday approached. Tensions grew taught, and Ellis had risen once more from the mattress, agitatedly wandering around the compact area. The rest of them were, of course, impatient. But they had a self-control that Ellis apparently did not possess. The boy's energy seemed only to build, his movements becoming more antsy and empowered- the pressure building. Nick hadn't ever seen Ellis this restless.
The heat was intensifying, also. Their small, crude shanty increasing in temperature beneath the relentless sun. Nobody was speaking to one another, scared that any noise whatsoever would drone out the sound of the air boat. Lack of conversation didn't help Ellis' uneasy state of mind much, considering that communication was the one thing that kept the negative thoughts at bay. By 12:15, he had had enough of their seemingly endless waiting game.
"I ain't dying in this shack, guys…" Ellis' voice tore the silence as he rose to his feet, heading for the door once again. Coach wasn't there to stop him this time. The boy was gone before anybody had time to interject, his wet footsteps trailing off into the swamp.
Nick, Rochelle and Coach exchanged worried glances.
"Did he even have a weapon?" Rochelle asked with a hint of astonishment.
Coach shook his head. "Dumb kid…"
Nick groaned loudly. He had an implicit responsibility for the hick, and if the boy were to die out there in the marshes, he knew that he would be the one to bear the brunt. He hoisted himself to his feet, wearily grabbed a shotgun from the array of weaponry they kept at-hand on the coffee table, and marched out the door. It wasn't that he didn't care for Ellis; but having a responsibility for anyone but himself was something he had yet to accustom to. The kid's bad decisions, this situation included, were none of his concern; or so he liked to think.
The swamp was boggy and humid, noisy mosquitos swarming the air. No sign of infected. Nick panned the area briefly for Ellis, and caught him in the peripheral of his vision. The boy had made a good distance, disappearing in and out of vision behind cyprus branches. Nick began kicking his way through the thick, waterlogged mud to catch up. He didn't dare call the boy's name incase of attracting unwanted attention; but Ellis was considerably fitter than he was. Keeping up, let alone catching up, was proving difficult. "Ellis, you sorry motherfucker…" he grumbled irritably, his shoes sinking in the wet earth as he trudged onwards. A dead Spitter, rotten and stinking, appeared between tree roots; her flesh foaming amidst the neon goo that drained from her gaping mouth. It had a nauseating effect on his senses, and Nick continued through the bayou, holding a sleeve to his nose. Crows erupted from the canopies above in a panicked shrill that made the gambler jump, pausing for a moment to observe the area around him. No zombies, no Ranger. And no Ellis for that matter. Well, shit.
He stumbled in a circle, getting a panorama of his situation. The cabin was still in his view, but barely. He could only make out the orange, burnt-out truck that had been abandoned just a handful of meters away form the shanty. The black birds circled above, cawing impatiently, waiting for the intruders to move on and allow them to settle once more. Insects zipped and screamed past his ears, and Nick feebly swatted them away. At one point his foot got itself particularly suctioned into the oozing mud, prompting Nick's balance to waver alarmingly. Temper was rising, now, and he growled under his breath in building exasperation. The perpetual, barren marshes was a far cry from the lights and sophistication he was so accustomed to back home.
Suddenly, a shriek. Actually, more like a shout, followed by distant snarling and moaning. Nick could distinguish Ellis' wail immediately. His feet lunged into movement once more, following the desperate sounds of a struggle. He couldn't move fast enough, though, the mud was thick and restricting. "Stupid fucking kid, stupid fucking kid, stupid fucking kid," he hissed desperately through gritted teeth, hearing the panic in his hoarse voice. His thighs began to ache as they worked against the sludge and slime, Nick's whole body swaying and lurched to the movement. It was painful, how slow he had to go, all the while listening to the cries and screams for help. He only hoped that Rochelle and Coach had been alerted by it, too.
An infected, to his left, staggered towards him through the thick shrub and Nick was able to blast the creature off it's feet with the short-range weapon. But it wasn't alone, and more appeared from either side. His arms worked now as frantically as his legs, picking them off one at a time, all the while getting closer to Ellis' calls. The gargled murmuring of a Boomer could be heard, along with an amalgamation of common infected noises. It was loud. He had to be getting close, now. Nick's shoe latched itself onto a concealed tree root, sending the man to his knees in the swampy water. Dark, putrified stains covered his entire front, but he didn't have time to grouse as another infected launched itself at him without warning. Nick was momentarily wavered, but was able to get his gun aimed in the right direction and blasted the ungodly creature's skull into fragments. With sudden vitality, he was on his feet once more, kicking urgently through the bog. At last, he arrived at a clearing. A mass of infected had swarmed into a clump, throwing their fists and limbs at the distressed figure hunched on his back. "Ellis!" Nick bellowed, fighting the dense water around his legs as he approached. The mob turned their attention to their victims rescuer, only to be greeted by shrapnel as Nick blasted his way through the horde. His movements were panicky and inaccurate, he wasn't used to being so physically restricted. Ellis was half consumed by the bog, weak from fighting the creatures away with his bare fists. Nick couldn't help but make a mental note of the blood erupting from the boy's forearm.
In the hysteria, the con-man had mistakingly allowed himself to get too close to the horde. He was now equally as engulfed as Ellis, with not enough breathing room to manoeuvre his weapon. He shouted and punched, using the backside of the shotgun as a bludgeon to try and force the beasts out of range of their slashing fingers and gnashing teeth. It seemed the infectious undead had been buying their time throughout the day, waiting to strike in a group effort for when the time came that a member of the team- in this case, Ellis- would make the faux pas of setting foot outdoors. And boy had they come in their numbers.
"Nick!" Ellis cried, fighting to his feet and grabbing the older man by the tail of his jacket.
Nicolas mistook the contact for another infected, pushing Ellis' hand away furiously, only for it to fasten once more to his belt. Hands were everywhere. Grabbing his arms, his chest, tearing at his clothes and flesh. Snarls roared furiously from the surrounding creatures, spitting blood and other putrid fluids into his face. Something latched itself to his shotgun, yanking it, and Nick fought frantically to keep it within his grip. And still that hand on his belt persisted, only the movements were more rational and precise than the others; Nick quickly deducted it as Ellis'. A howl emitted from outside the mob, followed by a shadow that soared overhead and came down on Nick's shoulder. A Hunter, shrieking and snarling, began tearing ravenously at what flesh it could reach. Nick shouted distraughtly, the weight above him wavering his balance, causing him to fall further into the cluster of infected. He began shooting randomly, blasting himself free of the Special infected momentarily, only to be engulfed once more in teeth and claws and limbs. A weight shifted at his hip. Ellis' hand removed itself from his belt and for a single moment, his connection with the boy vanished. Panicked, Nick called for Ellis, only for his voice to carry no further than the wailing and growling that surrounded him. A crash. Quiet, almost intricate, and then the attack ceased. The zombies halted in their assault, their heads to the air, and suddenly they abandoned Nick. The crowd scrambled away from him, through the marsh, following a stinking, acid green cloud. The boy had thrown a bile bomb. Nick lay there, waist-deep in rancid water, sullied in cuts and bruises.
"Jesus!" Ellis barked between exhausted gasps for breath. He approached the dazed Nick once more, using what little energy he could muster to support the older man to his feet. "Come on, we gotta go!"
The bile could only distract the infected for so long, and so they launched into action, kicking and wading through the sludgy water. Ellis was bleeding heavily from his left arm, Nick from just about everywhere on his body. He was drained, stunned and in pain. Walking was proving a difficult task. The orange pickup appeared in the near distance, spurring the two survivors on. Neither looked back, counting the seconds away in a terrified attempt to hold concentration. At last. At long, fucking last, their feet reached solid ground. Ellis collapsed on the porch, panting. Nick swung his body around to fight off what desperate beasts had followed them, only to be greeted with a desolate swamp once more. They were gone.
"Nick… you had…. a bile bomb…. in your belt…" Ellis wheezed, eyes closed and limbs stiff as he tried to recover on the floor.
Of course he had, it had been there since yesterday. He had completely forgotten amidst the panic. Rage at his own stupidity was quickly relayed to his companion. "You fucking- off without a gun, Ellis! Jesus, kid, you- argh!" Forming a sentence proved most strenuous in the aggressive and weary state he was in. He stomped back and forth across the wooden decking, face contorted as he tried and failed to summon his strength back. "Nearly killed us both…" he breathed, watching the spaces between the trees for movement. Nothing. He fell to the floor beside Ellis, gasping for the hot, humid air. For minutes they lay there, soaking the sun-blanched patio in swamp water and blood. Perfect silence once more. Albeit slightly marred by the drone of insects and laboured breathing. It took both of them many minutes before concluding that something was wrong