A/N: I just want to note, if you listen to some of the raw sound files of the Charger, it really does almost sound like he's saying "I'm gonna get you" on one of them. At least, that's what it sounded like to me. Listen for yourself, and keep that in mind.
The storm raged on around them as they huddled in the safe house, waiting for Coach to recover from his wounds. Ellis continued to stare at the message written by Zoey, as if the writing would suddenly congeal and morph into the young woman before him. Bags were forming under his eyes, as sleeplessness began to take it's toll on him. It wasn't long before he finally dropped off, his shotgun across his lap, hat tipped over his eyes. Rochelle had rested her head on the arm of the couch where Coach lie, drifting in and out of sleep, waking long enough to check on him periodically.
Nick was looking over an atlas someone had left in the safe house, with the phrase "Criken wuz here!" scribbled in permanent marker on the cover. He managed to locate Matagorda island, and though on paper it didn't look that far, he knew they were in for a hell of a trip. He realized that, they weren't quite sure where they were, other than it wasn't New Orleans, and certainly not safety.
He wondered how long ago it was that Zoey, Francis, and Louis had passed through here, and why they were making towards Texas after finding out whatever it was about the Keys that made them leave. He circled Matagorda Island with a small pencil. He didn't like it, but they won't be making it to the cruise ships anytime soon. He sighed, folded the atlas up, and tossed it to the far end of the table. He was about to rest his head on the table when he heard a loud crash outside, followed by a grunting noise that almost sounded like, "I'm going to get you."
Charger.
Nick, grabbing his magnum, peeked out the small boarded up window. The Charger had someone in his grip, smacking them on the ground repeatedly. The sound of bones breaking and a final scream from the figure pierced through the storm, signalling the end of that man's life. It gave Nick chills. Things like that always had. He took his aim, in case that thing decided to come for them.
The Charger rammed the dead man further, blood spraying into the gale, bones splintering and crackling through dead flesh. Then without warning, he let out a triumphant wail, and charged right into the boat, knocking it loose and sending it spiraling out into the waters of the Gulf. The Charger stumbled backwards, almost falling into the deep water.
"Oh, god DAMN it!" Nick cursed, and he fired at the Charger, missing the mutated zombie by inches. The gunshots woke Ellis up, who then stumbled backwards a little and managed to catch his gun, but not before it went off, punching a dent in the concrete ceiling, and startling Rochelle out of her stupor. Coach lifted his head, looking through bleary eyes at Ellis. "Will you cut that shit out?" he gritted his teeth, "What, you want to let those zombies know we're here?"
Ellis, still staring at Nick, sat up. "What in the hell, Nick?"
Nick, reloading his magnum, said nothing at first. He aimed once more, as the Charger reeled around, looking for the source of the gunfire. It let out a loud warlike cry as it looked in the direction of the safe house, and then, putting it's weight behind it, it did just as it's namesake, charging full speed at the safe house door, when Nick clipped it, followed by a shotgun blast from Ellis, who had looked out of the other small window and saw what was happening. The Charger let out a feeble groan before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The smell of gunpowder and tension wafted through the safe house, as Nick holstered his magnum, and made to pat Ellis on the back. "Nice shooting, Ellis," he said quietly. Ellis still stared at him. So did Rochelle, and much to Nick's embarrassment, now Coach. He swallowed hard. "Guys, you know I hate to be the bearer of bad news."
"Never stopped you before," Rochelle remarked, her heart still racing.
"Very funny, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you guys, but our boat is gone. A Charger just killed a man, and rammed into the damned thing. We aren't leaving that way." He pulled away from the window, and sat heavily in the chair in front of the table. Ellis moved back towards the window, and saw to his dismay that Nick was right. Their boat was gone. "Shit," he muttered.
"Alright. You were the bearer of bad news. Nothing new, Nick. Now what the hell happened while I was out cold?" Coach uttered, rubbing the bandaged side of his head.
"Not much, Coach," Ellis replied, "We managed to get on that boat, but the radar equipment on it was shot, so we couldn't find hide nor hair of the other boats that left. We came here after Rochelle spotted the safe house sign." He sat back down by door where he once again stared at Zoey's message. "So now we have to figure out some way of getting to Matagorda Island without a boat... Shit, shit, shiiiiiitt."
Coach looked at him. "Mata-what? Where's that at? And what the hell is at this island?"
Ellis's face grew red. "Er, well, ahhhh..."
"Zoey, Louis, and Francis went that way," Rochelle answered quickly, "and since making it to the cruise ships is now completely impossible, it's the best option we've got. Either that, or we stay here..."
Nick rubbed his figner along a table carving, deep in thought. They weren't leaving that night, unless necessity dictated that they do. But he was certain, staying wasn't an option. They had some provisions to keep them for a couple of days, at most, but not enough for a long term shelter. No. They were going to have to figure something out. New Orleans had fallen. The army base they had thought led to their safety was in ruins. And now their boat is gone.
"I think maybe it's best we try to go back to sleep," Coach muttered, lowering himself gingerly back onto the sofa. "I think we've had enough excitement tonight."
"I've had enough excitement to last me for the rest of my life," Rochelle replied, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "And we're still not out of the woods yet..."