Chapter 2: Time is running out

"Ah, shit," Coach growled. Stepping through the muck made him occasionally trip, the oozing substance clingy and sticky. Rochelle was having her fair share of problems: she was already wondering whether Nick had killed Ellis when he had started another Keith rant.

"You think-" she began.

"For the sixth time, Ro, they're fine!" Coach replied sharply. "Stop thinking about them, and concentrate now. Who knows how many zombies or Mudmen we're gonna run into."

Rochelle gave a sigh and brushed a bug off her pink Depeche Mode shirt, her silver hoop earrings jangling with the movement. Her dark boots were covered in sludge. All of a sudden she felt a sudden twinge of worry, as if disaster and impending doom was coming. She gave a groan as she brushed a stray hair from her face.

"What now, Ro?" Coach muttered, but in a softer tone.

"Nothing," she replied, wading deeper into the marshy bog. She could feel his disbelieving eyes on her, but didn't elaborate.

"MUDMAN!" he roared. She heard the ripple of bullets ricocheting off the soggy marsh, the thunk of lead hitting flesh, the angry screams of Mudmen. Spinning round, Rochelle drew the ax from her belt. With a swift swipe, she embedded the red blade in a skull, before dodging a mad Mudman and lopping off its head.

She could hear the rasping of Coach's chainsaw as it cut through a Mudman's ribs. She could feel the stress emanating from him, see the sweat dripping from his brow as he fought the monsters. The way his teeth were gritted together in a fierce grin. The way his eyes were eager to fight and win.

And she thought of Nick and Ellis.

It was early morning, the air chilly. Nick's mood matched the bitter wind as they tramped across a short plain of dew-streaked grass. Ellis had a feeling the conman regretted being so friendly the night before.

"Nick?" he asked, looking at his companion.

"What?" came the growl, Nick not even glancing at Ellis.

"You regret las' night."

"You don't say. Listen, Overalls." Nick stopped and turned to face Ellis. "Don't expect me to do that anytime soon again. And especially don't expect me to be anything other than cold around you. Don't tell Ro, don't tell Coach, don't tell even a zombie what happened or you'll find yourself in front of my gun."

Hitting Nick or apologising didn't seem like good ideas to Ellis right now. Neither did grovelling or telling a Keith story. So Ellis remained silent.

"Now, Overalls, I suggest we kill any zombie we find, and that's it. No talking, no smiling, no communicating. Am I clear?"

Rolling his eyes or being sarcastic didn't seem like good ideas to Ellis right now. Neither did punching Nick or shooting him in the foot. So Ellis remained silent.

"Shit! I pissed the Witch off!" Nick screamed. The said Special Infected was racing towards him, her arms outstretched, claws ready to rend flesh from bone and weave ribbons of skin and blood. Her eyes flashed amber through the thin fringe of grey-blonde hair. Her grey skin looked ill against the sandy colour of her clothes. Her lipless mouth was stretched wide in a scream of pure ... fury? Pain? Anguish? Whatever it was, Nick didn't care. He just wanted this damn Witch dead before it killed him! It got closer and closer, claws forward to eagerly shred him to pieces. Ellis just stood watching. Silent. But observant. Eyes ready to watch Nick die. Eyes filled with an raging emotion. Not fear.

Want.

Nick sat bolt upright. The dream had been so vivid, so realistic. He even glanced about him to check for a Witch.

"Nick, what is it?" Ellis slurred, barely awake. He blinked drowsily, eyelids heavy and drooping. "Ya can't go wakin' me up f'r nothin'."

"Nothing," Nick groaned, running his fingers through his dark brown hair. Ellis gave an indistinguishable murmur of reply as he settled down again. Soon, his soft snores restarted. Nick sat, bathed in his own cold sweat, pondering his dream. But as he mused over the possibilities, a sharp pain racked his head. It felt as if something was eating away at his brain.

The agony continued, making him feel as if he was on fire. As he was curled up in pain, thought after thought flashed through Nick's mind.

I'm becoming Infected. I'm going to die. I will be a shell of what I once was. I'm going to hurt people. I'm going to hurt my friends. I'm going to hurt Ellis. I will be an unfeeling remnant of a soul. A scrap in existence. But at least I'll fit in. Will I have thoughts? Will I have feelings? Will I feel pain, or an emptiness as I did again? They are going to kill me ...

"Ellis!" he cried. The Savannah kid awoke with a jerk, glancing around wildly whilst scrabbling for his gun. "No, it's not Infected. It's me."

"What?" came the accented voice of Ellis, curiosity but trepidation lilting it slightly.

"I ... I ..."

There was a soft clink, and a small fire flared up. Nick could see Ellis scrutinising him.

"I'm becoming Infected," Nick said, his voice cracking.

"... What? Nick, we're immune! After all th' contact-"

"No, look." Nick showed Ellis his wrist and face. The skin was slightly grey, his nails ragged and slightly pointed. Like a Common Infected's.

"Holy shit," Ellis murmured in horror. "Right, we need Ro now."

They quickly packed up; Nick stuffed their equipment into their backpacks, while Ellis grabbed his items and kicked the fire out. The whole time he could hear Nick's ragged breaths. And the whole time he knew time was running out.