Ellis slowly opened his eyes. His vision was foggy, but his mind was clear and he understood what had just happened. The chopper crashed. He couldn't believe it, they had just been rescued for the second time and they crashed again. He tried to get up but he fell back down when he felt his wrist ache throb. "Oh god no….please no….do not let my wrist be broken…" He thought quietly to himself. He was hurting, badly, no doubt about that. He moaned a bit as he tried again to get up. He managed to get on his knees but he didn't have the strength to move any further. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand which was not injured and looked around. Next to him was the helicopter's cockpit.
He slowly got up to his feet and limped over to the cockpit and looked inside. The pilot was still strapped in his seat, but his neck was obviously broken and he was dead. "Poor bastard…" Ellis thought mournfully. Ellis limped over to the back of the cockpit and looked around. He knew that him and his buddies had brought their guns on the chopper so he knew that there had to be one somewhere. He saw the axe he had brought and picked it up with his good arm. He didn't see any guns so he would have to use this.
He looked at his wrist which was now swollen and sighed. How the hell was he supposed to use an axe when he could only use one arm? He tried to hold it with both his arms but dropped it and out his hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming in pain. "Shit my wrist is broken…." He thought sadly. He picked up the axe again with his good arm. "Well it could be worse…" He muttered quietly to himself. "I could have a broken leg…." He said with a little more joy.
He limped around the cockpit, trying to see if any of his buddies were around. "Coach? Are ya there?" He said a little louder then a normal talking voice. He didn't want to attract any zombies if they were nearby. "Nick? Nick? Come' on Nick buddy, don't be ignorin me…" He said aloud while wandering a little further from the cockpit. "Ro? Ro baby come' on. I know yer there so dontcha be messing with me." He shouted, his southern twang echoing through the area. He was in a forest with plenty of trees and such. And plenty of places for zombies. "Come' on guys dis ain't funny!" He shouted louder, not caring if zombies heard him. He was injured and he needs his pals to help him. If a hunter or something came, he would be screwed.
He limped over to a nearby tree. He leaned on it and dropped his axe. He slowly sank down and put his head in his hand. He was alone. The worst thing that could possibly happen. And he was injured. Even better. Oh, and not to mention that he didn't have a gun. He cried a little bit, but once he felt the warm tear drip down his cheek, he stood up and grabbed his axe. He smiled, his blue eyes still wet with tears but strangely happier glistened in the lowering sun. He knew what he had to do. So he limped forward, with axe in hand, to go search for his pals.
