Alone
"Did I ever tell you about the time Keith tried being my wingman at a bar?"
Ellis grinned like the devil as he spoke casually to his friends around a table of beers and cards. There was enough food in the area for them to eat.
"Hey, Overalls, beans outta help with your constipation."
He chucked the can at him, Ellis catching it as it flew through the air with a large grin on his face and set it down on the table.
"I was lookin' forwards to stinkin' up someone's toilet an' makin' ya'll gag."
"Ew, Ellis, come on!"
Rochelle scolded him, earning nothing but laughs from Coach.
"Hey, pass me them beans. I'mma be regular for a while!"
"Coach!"
Rochelle squeaked, Coach and Ellis bursting out in laughter. It was fun. Being together and trying to make it 'till tomorrow was their common goal, and the need to socialize was the next important part. They were a small family.
Broken up, yeah, but still there.
Still together.
Whatever happened to Rochelle's family or Coach or Nick or Ellis, they knew that it was impossible with the current situation to go out and search for them. Everyone was headed to the evac station, so if they were looking for any family members, they had to be there otherwise…
"So what's the worst zombie out there?"
Ellis started, downing a warm beer and feeling the buzz already. It'd been too long since he drank so it was easy to get a buzz.
"Tank."
Coach spoke.
"Them bastards take forever to kill…and there's no avoiding them."
"I agree…but the thing I hate the most are those boomers. Get hit with puke and you've got yourself another horde. Hate it."
"Witch. Reminds me of my ex-wife."
Nick laughed a bit as he swigged on his beer with one hand and inhaled his cigarette with the other.
"How about you, Ellis?"
Rochelle asked him sweetly. He gave a laugh and nodded.
"Them spitter-dudes. Hurts like shit to be hit!"
He exclaimed, holding up his arm for them to see.
Wait.
This wasn't right. It wasn't burned.
Ellis looked down at his stomach to see that it was unharmed from that hunter attack.
"Now this ain't right…"
He looked up and realized that all these warm sensations he was feeling was a lie.
"Ah'm dreamin'…"
Ellis awoke to a start, seeing black.
He panicked when he realized that it was a blanket that had been draped over quickly pulled it off him and went to sit up but was in excruciating pain, a gun toppling onto the ground beside him with his hat. He peered around the dark room to see it empty.
"Nick? Coach? Rochelle?"
He called out their names, picking up his hat and putting it on slowly. His veins froze. They left him to die. Rather, they thought he was dead. His face paled as he picked up the gun, pushed the safety on, and looked at the wall to find a eulogy.
"Here lies Ellis "Overalls" "Aylus". One of the youngest but bravest of us all. Took on a Spitter, Hunter, and Tank on his own in his final moments. Never to be forgotten. August 20th."
His gut dropped. What day was it now? How far ahead did they get? He cocked his shotgun open and saw that the bullets had been taken. Another grim notice.
They thought he was dead…they weren't going to look for him.
They just left like gripped him as he tried to move but felt his skin pull. He needed a way to move—to get to New Orleans with the others.
Groaning, he stood up and breathed heavily over his knee, and caught his breath, shutting his eyes tightly in pain. "I'm still alive…" He breathed, placing his hand over his bruised rib and sucking in air through his teeth.
"I'm still alive…"
Rochelle had been pacing back and forth at the next safe house, quietly talking to herself in order to keep some sort of sanity. "We lost Ellis…oh my god, we lost Ellis…"
"Quit screwing around. The kid died because he was an idiot."
"Now I know you don't mean that, Nicholas."
Coach snapped back, hurt but not as obvious as Nick. Ellis had given his final kit to him. He could have used it—could have survived. Could have made it to New Orleans with them.
But in the end, he had managed to screw things up, take one too many hits for people, and die an idiot.
"He was an idiot…he should have stayed in the safe house…"
Coach sighed, knowing that he had to be strong for them but his heart too much at the moment to be able to. Nick was the one who was usually able to keep his emotions in check, but with the loss of Ellis, he wasn't too sure anymore. The kid had a way of being his anchor—a raison d'etre.
It wasn't out of spite or real anger that Nick was cursing Ellis in his grave (technically speaking of course, seeing as in the best they could do at the time was lay a sheet over his face), rather, it was out of deep guilt that gnawed away at him. The foundations of this man had been shaken. What did he know other than gambling and money? False love? Ellis had managed to successfully demonstrate his loyalty and love towards his party and in doing so, managed to confuse the con-man and coax him into another way of thinking.
Nick smashed the heel of his hand into his baggy eyes and rubbed at them furiously.
"We gotta keep moving. Rest now and keep moving." Nick said to the others in a dry voice. His throat had grown dry with dehydration and so he took a swig of the water that been left behind and took a look outside.
"We gotta make it. We can't afford to stop."
"Will you quit jerking us around! We're at a safe house, give us some time to mourn at the very least!"
Coach's voice boomed. He was angry. Beyond angry.
"Losing Ellis is hard enough, having you trying to bury things is harder! Pretend it never happened is your train of thought, isn't it?"
Coach now towered over Nick, the con-man trying to size him up but remembered that he was up against a football coach. He would definitely be able to throw the small man in the air without any problems.
"Isn't it?"
With a slight nod, Nick admitted to the truth. He was devastated. He hadn't seen anyone close to him die before his eyes before Ellis. He was the first one and, he hoped, the last one.
Without warning, Coach took Nick into his giant arms and gave him a (very) brief hug before he laid his hands on his shoulders.
"We'll get through this. You still have us, right?"
Another curt nod from Nick and the tall man looked back over at Rochelle, who was nearly hyperventilating on the ground.
"Just let it all out, now. We won't have the time later."
He reassured her and suddenly Nick felt very alone. He was used to that sort of feeling before he met the gang, and he was able to cope with it through different outlets—sleeping around, gambling…but when those things weren't around to comfort him he was on a whole different ball game. There was nothing for him to hide behind except for his own self-defense mechanism but Coach even tore that down. He was rendered helpless. In a defeated sigh, he slinked down to the ground and stared at the corner, getting lost in his thoughts. They were the only things that didn't let him down.
But alas, his thoughts still came down to the Georgian hick.
Ellis clung onto his gun with his left hand and hobbled along the sides of the building, watching out for signs of any zombies. He didn't dare breathe a word to even comfort himself, he knew that he was in more trouble than the last time he and Keith decided to go prank Dave in the middle of the night. What they didn't know was that Dave kept knives beside his bed and was trained and so when Keith went to jump him, he was stabbed thirty times.
Ellis let out a silent chuckle, his shoulders bouncing up and down a bit until he heard familiar gargling noises. He held his breath and looked around vehemently to try and locate the source of the noises, but he didn't have to look far. He inched behind a car and looked up at the sky for some sort of help before slowly crawling out of harm's way, his wounded arm trailing on the asphalt painfully, and he realized that he would have to tie it against his chest later on. He quickly discarded the idea and knew that he needed both hands to hold a gun.
He heard the garbles once more and he tried to go faster. An idea came to mind and he rolled under a car, biting hard onto his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain. The zombie walked right by him, dripping green goo. Instantly, he knew that it was a spitter. His arm throbbed in physical memory and his heart raced a million miles a minute.
He hadn't gotten too far from the safe house, but it felt like he had been traveling for longer. He couldn't risk his friends getting too far ahead of him, then he'd be dead for sure.
When the spitter finally cleared the area, Ellis rolled out and began hobbling over to the next building, focused purely on the need to get to safety. Sure, it wasn't safer inside a non-safe house, but it made him feel better somehow. He reached a worn down house and to his amazement, found a stash of ammo left on the ground.
"Oh yeah, that's what ah'm talkin' about. Come to daddy."
He grinned from ear to ear as he reloaded his shotgun and clicked it in place, caressing it playfully.
"Daddy's got ya. Oh yeah…hey…lookit…aaaalright, this is awesome! Sorry dead guy, ah gotta still live."
Ellis limped over to the body of a fallen survivor and took his first aid kit and muttered a quick thanks for him before picking up the pills and swallowing two in a go. With a quick nod, he knew now that he had a chance to live. A fighting chance, at the very least.
"Alright, let's get the show on the road!"
He began to head to the next safe house once more but this time, with more confidence in himself. As long as he had a gun and ammo, he felt safe.
"Hoo, Nick will piss his pants knowing I'm back from the grave."
He laughed a bit and pat his gun.
"Oh yeah, this is gonna be good now."
The hick made his way up the stairs, and got his second wind thanks to the pain pills and he could bear the pain at least for a little while. He stashed the remainder of the pills on his hip and quietly tread along the side of the street, being careful to move as slowly as possible to avoid any hordes. Once in a while he would wish he had a Molotov or a pipe bomb or hell, even a bottle of puke, but he could only work with what was given to him. He soon felt confident enough to take longer strides but it was dashed instantly when his toe kicked a can under a car. Stress began to pile on him as he felt a few dozen eyes suddenly turn to him, he freezing instantly.
"Oh hell no…"
The familiar scream of an oncoming horde resonated in the air and he began shooting at the stray zombies before even wanting to think about the horde that was about to make its assault on him. Ellis just barely had time to reload his gun before having to unleash it into the oncoming horde, his eyes wide with fear. It was expected but had become more daunting now that his comrades were not beside him to give him a helping hand.
He suddenly wished that he had more than his single fire shotgun and had an M16 at the very least. Something that felt like he was doing more than just releasing one round at a time and that wasn't such a fruitless effort. He had to swing his arm out a few times to give himself leeway so he could punch and fire quickly, but he never realized how utterly terrifying it was to go at it alone and if he didn't know that there were his comrades still alive, he could almost swear he was the last man on earth.
His arm had begun to throb dully once more as he constantly tried giving himself some room from all sides of him. It was almost as if he were an ambush but the trap he had sprung was entirely avoidable and it was only due to his carelessness that he was caught. He let out a yell and began to shoot and cock his gun faster, natural adrenaline pumping through his veins and speeding up his attacks. He had known somehow that it was all unavoidable. That one day, he was going to end up alone and that he'd have to fend for himself.
You know how they say that when you're on the verge of death; your entire life flashes in front of your eyes and you can remember everything so clearly, from birth to present day. Well, for Ellis, all he could think back on was his Ma and Keith. They were the only people he had left. If they had somehow managed to live through this hell and arrived at CEDA evac station.
Then what?
What would happen if they were a carrier? They'd get shot, that's what. Nick and Ellis had pointed it out enough times and seen it plenty more to understand what CEDA was actually up to. What they had planned for everyone. It wasn't as hidden in the dirt as the government thought because they were too busy trying to hole themselves up somewhere else. Away from the flu. Away from their problems. Away from the responsibility that came along with being part of the government. CEDA was lacking formation. New Orleans was the only bet they had left and he'd be damned if it didn't work out.
And suddenly, it was as if that episode of deep thought had never existed and the gunslinging Ellis was breathing hard, his shotgun empty of shells and around him lay countless of zombie bodies. His shoulders heaved with trial and he suddenly knew that he was screwed. If a horde was around, it usually meant that there was a special infected. A jockey, or a hunter, or something. And he'd have to deal with it on his own. Fear trickled down his spine as he quickly inserted the new ammo that he had brought with him and turned in circles, approaching the building across the street with an orange arrow painted on the wall. It was his only comfort, but he knew that he had to be a good ways away. He had just left his own safe room, how far would it be to the next? How many more hordes would pass by? He had enough ammo for one more horde, and god knows when he'd be able to find another ammo dump or a gun for that matter.
He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down a couple of times before his mouth went dry and throat cried out for water. Never was there a greater need for it than now.
His circular movement in search for more zombies slowly stopped and he began to walk a straight line, holding his breath for a few seconds at a time to try and listen for any special infected. The building was clear from any zombies and the hick could only assume that it was due to the fact that he had cleared them out during the horde attack. He let a smirk play over his lips and step over some glass, blood and guts strewn everywhere from a few zombies that had managed to grab civilians.
Bile rose to his throat as he crept on by, gently opening a door and spotting a dead zombie in a tub filled of bloodied water, what seemed to be a male zombie at the foot of the tub with his lifeless body leaning over the ceramic lip. His eyes shifted over to the side and fell upon a cabinet, which he opened and found a few stashes of pills. He took them and turned to the couple and removed his cap, whispering a silent prayer for them and headed out through the building once more. It was something like a community clinic, so he knew that he was bound to find something or other. No sooner than he had thought that did he come across a first aid kit. Instantly, he opened it and began cleaning and redressing his wounds the best he could, grunting as he did so.
"Damn…should have Ro or Nick look at this…not me, nu huh…I ain't no good for shit with this…"
He spoke to himself, trying to comfort himself in one way or another. It wasn't as reassuring as he thought it'd be, but it did the trick nicely and calmed him somehow enough so that he could sterilize and wrap the wounds he could get to. His ribs and back were two different things that he had no idea how to treat, but at least his arm would get tended to. Peeling off the bandage and gauze was one trial that he overcame with great difficulty, but actually looking at the wound was another.
His arm had corroded and melted to the point where he knew that there would be a scar leftover when it would heal properly. Gaps and holes had been stitched together courtesy of Rochelle but he knew that the acid had hit him pretty bad. He poked his fingers and gave a slight smile. There was feeling in them. Great. He wouldn't have to worry about that, but he wasn't sure why he was checking now when he had just managed to successfully take down a horde with his injured arm.
"Adrenaline, man."
He reminded himself, quickly pouring peroxide on the wound. Tears jumped to his eyes as he let out a muffled yell, wanting to pat away the liquids but he knew that it would only prove to make it worse. It took a good minute of enduring for the pain to finally subside and he was able to apply anti-bacterial cream and wrap it up properly, his eyes becoming unfocused as he stared ahead outside the window to see that there was a good line-up of zombies ripe for the picking but the safe house still quite far away. By walking through zombie-infested streets standards, anyways, but who's counting, right?
"Goddamn, this shit hurts…"
He grunted as he cradled his arm a bit and wrapped it in extra wadding, leaving his wrist and hand free to maneuver if need be in a tight situation. His mind wandered over to going back to the last ammo dump and picking up more shells but his pockets were quickly running out of space. He rubbed his eyes and began his trek outside once more, opening the door and making a quick sprint over to the next building and breathing harshly, holding his chest. The tank had managed to do damage to him but he couldn't think about it now. He had to get to the safe room.
Get to the safe room.
Get there fast.
Get there safe.
Preferably in one piece.
AN: Part deux of what's already written. Person who commented (you remained anon, therefore I could not comment back u_u) I FIXED IT...I hope. I took this basically straight off a word document that was made up of a solid 19 pages...no chapters...I'm doing what I can to break it up nicely, I swear i~i
