Jesus, where did all this blood come from?
For some reason, the pictures of last hours were floating through his head. The boat's owner stopping it and asking for gas; going through a sugar mill to get to the gas station... Meeting weird crying women inside. Nick was particularly lucky to push one of them as he fought off the zombies. Why has this bitch even got such long claws?
Following his deadman's luck, the AK slipped out of his hands, leaving the conman completely defenseless. He could only lie down, stretching his hands out as a cover and watching the howling woman tearing the remaining of his life apart. Was he just going to be its victim, at last?
No.
I have not come this far to die now!
"Get off him!"
Someone's blurry silhouette approaches the witch and fires the whole clip in it. According to sound, his long lost AK. He tries to watch it closer, but the blood loss is so critical it makes his eyes close.
"Oh no, oh no, no-no-no, are you okay? Say somethin'! Please, I'll do anythin'!"
Where's that bawling coming from?
Or not bawling, but yelling. Someone's hands grabbed him by the collar and shook continuously, trying to wake him up. Hasn't he died yet?
"Jesus Christ, you're still alive! Hold on, you'll be okay... I promise you'll be okay!
Nick lifted his head, exhausted, and tried to look at himself. Fragments of blue and white fabric, green grass which he fell onto... and red. Lots of red, as if a paint bucket had been thrown over him.
And atop of this, the dead tiredness which landed onto him like a huge stone plate.
Clear!
Enormous pain spasm struck through the whole body. Not because of Witch wounds; this outburst hit Nick directly in the heart, making his limbs shiver. He almost jumped after that; opening the eyes wide, he breathed in and out, as if he couldn't have enough. Retaining consciousness, the man looked around: some room with shelves all around, green cans, a pile of weapons on the floor... and three men surrounding him. Someone thin with a moustache and a green sweater sat in front of him, holding a defibrillator in his hands. The professor.
"Way better. We missed you", he said with a bitter smile. Nick looked at the other two, surprise still on his face.
"Yeah, at first we thought you were dead, and then we found out your heart stopped beating", Alice shrugged. "If it wasn't for me finding some chest paddles in the local hospital, you wouldn't be here."
He examined himself quickly. Lord, what a mess. Shirt all torn apart, whole chest bandaged, blood still flowing; hell, blood was everywhere, and mostly on his jacket. Judging by stains of scarlet on Steven's hands, Nick assumed him to be the doctor this time.
"I'm... grateful." The professor turned around and sneered quietly.
"It's all good."
Their comeback was a lot more complicated. A prodigious storm started, and even going on without shooting was quite an achievement. Even more, each one carried a gas can, dragging their feet in the turbid water. Their main enemies didn't seem to be very much bothered by rain and ran even faster, going from anywhere the survivors looked. Nick was holding on, though his condition was getting worse every moment. As they finally made it back to the previous safehouse, no one was in the mood to laugh. Each one of them had bites and scratches, and Frank was fortunate enough to step into Spitter's acid; his leg burned pretty good, and the right boot lacked its sole. Steven remained the healthiest one, encouraging the others to go forward, which did not quite help Nick. Several times he was ready to give up, fall face down in the water and stay there until the shit ends. The deep wounds that Witch left were not critical now, but he thought all the time that his body had been slashed with a scalpel, and the organs are about to fall out; that's what he meant by saying he's 'falling apart'. At the end, after patching up their small wounds and finding someone's old gumshoes for the guy with dyed hair, the survivors decided to wait for the storm to fade; there still was a small hope for this. Falling asleep, Nick could hear Alice and Frank talking about the rescue and the life after Infection. He couldn't predict anything himself; he just kept waiting for some undead creature to finish tearing his being apart.
He woke up unexpectedly. The storm was still fuming and fretting, and his teammates were still there; here's the chubby redhead sleeping under one blanket with the dark-haired one, and the man in university clothes sitting near the doors and watching the rain, sighing quietly. But something was not the same. Turning to the other side, Nick winced at the boy dressed in coveralls.
"Oi, why ain't ya sleepin'? Sleep's the best med'cine", he said, smiling. The survivor in torn white jacket frowned.
"Where did you come from again? You weren't there when we moved back from the sugar mill", he hissed.
"Why are ya whisperin'?"
"Because..." and then he fell silent. Really, no one saw this hick except for him, so why should he lower his voice? Nick also noted that Steven paid no attention to them both. "To make you ask."
"Yeah, sure. I don't understand why you're askin' this. I'm followin' ya guys the whole way, and you're talkin' like ya don't know me at all."
"The whole way? Bitch please."
"Oh come on! I've ever patched ya up when after that Witch! Don't ya remember?" This seemed to be too much because Nick exclaimed:
"Steven patched me, do you get it? Steven! And stop talking like you're a part of the collective, will you?"
"I am a part of it! I'll... I'll prove ya that. Ste-even!" he used his hands as a horn, but the oldest of them didn't answer even after Ellis called him one more time. The conman shrugged, feeling victorious.
"So what, didn't I tell you this? Just accept it, you're a creature of my ill imagination, nothing else. Perhaps I was so bored I made up another survivor in my mind, and it turned out to be you, Ellis. Ellis who I wouldn't stand being near for even a day."
His opponent hemmed.
"Then why do ya keep imaginin'? Like, if I got it right, I'll be there as long as ya want. What for?"
Nick opened his mouth to answer, though that he had nothing to say. He just sat down, looking into these green eyes against his, and would spit out some other foolish thing if something didn't grab his shoulder, causing him to turn around.
"Nick, we have to go. Get up, please."
He stirred his hurt body, feeling all its parts aching in protest. It still rained, soaking the roofs, the cars, everything around - it really darkened their path later. The man looked around the room again. Ellis was nowhere to be found.
"By the way, Nick. Do you dream about me?" Alice asked; they've already left the saferoom and went further to the berth. "As I was waking you, I heard my name at least twice."
"That wasn't your name", he muttered.
"Whose was it then? Or is it about that mechanic guy again?"
"You don't need to know that." These words, of course, only heated up the girl's curiosity, but she decided to leave this theme for a while. When they'll be safe, they'll have a chance to talk.
"Finally, it's here! The boat's back, get aboard!" the professor yelled, giving a signal to his teammates. Nick and Frank had a tough time holding out and were especially happy about the rescue. It would seem that the sarcastic one with bandaged chest would care for himself the most, but actually Frank was the most selfish one amongst them, though he worked well in team during their journey. He was only twenty years old, full of ambitions, willing to become famous around the world. In the apocalypse, a new aim appeared - become the undead destroyer, and he followed it with all his strength. Now, after all they've been through, it was possible to save his ass and tell stories about his adventures... only if he'll make it to the boat.
Playing the role of the worst luck, a fat gurgling Infected approached him somewhere from the café and covered him with something that resembled vomit by color and smell. Frank grimaced, shaking his hands helplessly, and hit it with his crowbar, causing the Infected to blow up and cover him with blood and even more vomit. The guy yelped desperately as he saw all the undead that were now coming directly at him, attracted by vomit smell; his rifle fell somewhere to the floor, and Frank himself ended up under a huge mass of zombies, literally being torn to pieces.
Nick was luckier than his least favorite teammate. He was shooting from the roof, then jumped on the car nearby and made his way towards the ferry, wondering why the zombies didn't follow him. Only after approaching the berth he turned around to see what's happening.
"Nick, help him!" Alice cried wildly; she was almost ready to get off the ferry herself, but Steven held her wrist tight, not letting her sacrifice herself. The conman watched, shivering, as a horde approached the place where Frank was only minutes ago; he saw its rampage, its bare will to get a piece of the unfortunate survivor.
This was the end.
And Nick didn't hear anyone. He turned around automatically and ran, not looking back anymore. He saw the helpless emotion on the redhead's face turn into fury and disappointment; he saw the man in a sweater looking somewhere through him. He couldn't recall well how he got on board, but he remembered those words the girl threw at him:
"What if that was your Ellis guy? You'd go, surely you would!"
He didn't know. Things all mixed up in his mind: Alice's shouting, zombies' shrieks and the coveralls hick's bitter words. Nick touched the wounds on his chest, warm feeling under his fingers; he could still see the hate in girl's gaze as he fell down on the deck, writhing.
