Every minute is a mile.
I've never felt so hollow.
I'm an old abandoned church with broken pews
and empty aisles.
"Ellis?" Coach ventured quietly. The mechanic's eyes lifted—icy blues chilling, as if daring him to continue. Coach hesitated.
"He ain't dead," Ellis said. His voice was deathly quiet, eyes still unforgiving. The mechanic shifted slightly, fingers running down the hunting rifle in his lap. The look that he gave Coach was unsettling. The big man couldn't tell if that gun was about to be directed at him. "We're not leavin'."
"No," Coach agreed—or disagreed? What exactly did he mean by 'no?' No, he's dead? No we're not leaving? Coach shifted back against the the door he had strategically placed himself before.
Ellis' despair had turned to rage almost immediately after his sobs had stopped. With rage now coursing through his body, the young man had attempted to return outside. It had taken everything in Coach to keep the mechanic from throwing himself back into the dangerous zombie-infected storm. It had left them both bruised and a little bloody, but in the end Coach had prevailed. "We have to wait for the storm to let down. We won't be able to find him in this rain."
Ellis' jaw clenched and his fingers gripped his gun tighter, his face becoming a little more sinister. "One hour," was all he said. Coach smartly kept his mouth shut and merely nodded.
He stumbled forward blindly, hands reaching out trying hard to find the car he so desperately sought after. But instead of the metal surface he fully expected, he found himself touching wood. What? That didn't... make sense... Nick moved closer and his feet shuffled loudly on a porch. The rain lifted enough for him to realize he had stumbled to a home. How in the fuck...?
His gaze shifted behind him—but as far as he could tell the car was long gone. He had badly miscalculated the distance. Shit... where was it now? Where was Ellis? His heart immediately went into a panic, thundering so badly he reached up to press his hand to his chest, trying hard to calm it. Shit...
He didn't even get a chance to decide where to go next before the car alarm went off.
The conman felt a jolt of panic course through his body and he adjusted the axe in his hands—fully intending to sprint back out into the rain to try and rendezvous. His plan, however, disintegrated into nothing as flailing arms came out from the storm.
The axe came down, slicing through the first clawing Infected and Nick backed himself against the door. Several more came at him, howling in rage and he sliced through them, hacking off a hand and embedding his axe into another's stomach. He lurched it free and kicked the dying Infected away, but it simply withered onto its stomach and came clawing after him.
Nick pulled the door opened and threw himself inside, slamming it shut. He was greeted by a small group of Infected already making their way towards the alarm from inside. He threw his weight into each swing, slicing them apart and knocking them away, moving further inside to try and head off any more that were about to make Ellis' and Coach's lives a living hell.
As he hacked through them he stumbled closer to a flight a stairs. The conman moved towards them, arm leading the deadly blade and cutting down any other Infected that dared come too close. But, for the most part, the few stragglers left seemed to be diverting their attention towards the open front door now. Nick cursed himself, glancing worriedly towards them as he hustled up the rest of the stairs.
He rounded the corner into a bedroom but before he had made it another foot he realized he had stumbled right into the room of a sobbing Witch. Her back was to him and she was at the foot of the bed, rocking back and forth on her knees, arms clutching herself in a desperate attempt of failed comfort as loud wails left her.
Nick reached for the first door he saw, threw himself inside and closed it. He realized his mistake immediately. This wasn't another room; it was a closet.
Nick stood blinking blankly in the dark, water beading down his face, mouth slacked slightly, fire axe hanging limply at his side. He let out a short mirthless chuckle, one hand coming up to slap over his eyes. He had to suppress his sudden urge to throw back his head and let out an obnoxious laugh—but the loud sobs of the Witch just outside made the laughter catch painfully in his throat.
Nick reached back for his gun and flicked on the flashlight. It was one hell of a small closet. The pull-string for the light was tickling him annoying in the face and he brushed it aside. His flashlight illuminated the rest of the tiny space. He let out a soft sigh—this was one tight fucking fit. Slowly he moved down to his knees and set the flashlight carefully beside him, facing away from the door.
Tentatively he shuffled on his knees and reached up for the doorknob. He cracked it open—just enough to see that the Witch. She was still in the same place, still sobbing uselessly, still rocking herself into an uneasy stupor. He slowly closed the door again.
Now fucking what?
He could make a break for it—but that seemed like one stupid ass idea. Outside the sound of a car crashing across the pavement indicated that the Tank outside was more than a little pissed off by that blaring alarm. The storm was still howling and the Witch didn't at all seem like she was going to be moving any time soon. He seemed to have only one choice; sit tight and wait.
Nick let out a shaking breath and leaned against the wall. He was soaking wet, shivering and his body was still coursing with adrenaline—but despite the fact he was out of immediate danger he still felt a painful ache in his chest. He knew why. He knew exactly why.
He shifted his head back against the wood and closed his eyes tight. His throat burned suddenly, eyes watering with a mysterious thing he knew to be tears. Helplessly he sat and waited.
Shit... Ellis. I'm sorry, kid. Just hang on... I'll find you.
With the rain pounding above, Nick's quiet sobs joined the Witch's.
"It's been an hour."
"It's been maybe fifteen."
"At leas' twenty."
"All right. Twenty. That's not an hour." Coach sighed heavily. "You can't think I'm not worried bout Nick too. Believe me, I want to go out there and look for him too, but going out now in this storm isn't going to help anyone. Do you understand? If we leave now we're all going to be dead. You, me and Nick. Are you listening to me, young'un?"
"Sure. Whatever." Ellis readjusted his legs, eyes still keeping a scowling watch on Coach. Then he broke his gaze, only long enough to check his rifle, add a few rounds and lock it back in place. His gaze lifted again, staring, cold, calculating. Coach didn't like that look one bit.
In was barely five minutes later when Ellis was back on his feet. Coach adjusted himself slightly, swallowing thickly as he followed the others movement across the room. Ellis moved his rifle over his shoulder and began to slowly pace the room, one hand up worrying his lips.
"Boy, worryin' yourself like that ain't gonna help no one."
Positively the worst thing to be said right about now. Ellis turned on Coach, fists clenched at his sides, absolutely withering with rage. "Wha' the fuck am I supposed ta do then, Coach? Yer sittin' on yer fuckin' ass jus' waitin' fer the god damn rain ta let up, an' we both know tha' migh' not jus' fuckin' happen! An' yer sure as fuck not lettin' me go no where. So wha' the fuck man? What the fuck am I supposed ta do?"
Slowly, Coach got to his feet and he patted the air delicately. "You need to calm down, boy."
"Calm down? Calm down?" Ellis reeled back, laughing loudly. "I'll show ya fuckin' calmed down." He moved as though to grab at his gun and that was all Coach was willing to see. All two-hundred and fifty pounds of force flew across the room and tackled Ellis to the ground.
They hit the floor hard and the rifle bit into Ellis back painfully. The southerner let out a pained yelp and withered about enough to free one arm. He elbowed Coach hard in the face and it was enough to stun him enough to kick him off. The big man crashed against the table, knocking over empty canteens and other things left by former Survivors. He shook his head, trying to clear the sudden spots of white dancing across his eyes.
Ellis sprang to his feet and in the same motion shrugged his gun into his hand. He gripped it between his hands and then reeled back—fully intending the beat the fucking hell out of Coach's face with the butt of the gun—halfway through the swing he came to a startled stop. Maybe it was the terrified look Coach gave him, or how the older man cowered so helplessly, that made him stop.
Ellis let in a several shaking breaths, gun slowly lowering. He felt the rage leaving him in rolling waves, replaced instead by a sense of guilt only fueled by his growing depression.
"Sorry man... Sorry..." Ellis dipped his head down, chewing at his lip and fought the fiercely hot tears burning his eyes. He glanced towards the door. "I'm goin' out there. You stay here. If I ain't back by mornin'... Well, ya jus' assumin' the worst."
Coach nodded slightly, swallowing hard. He was shaking. "Good luck, Ellis... Be careful." He didn't dare protest.
Ellis nodded slightly. "Yeah... Yeah I will. We'll be back soon."
The young man slung his gun over his shoulder and then lifted the bar up and off the door. He set it aside gently against the wall, took a deep breath and threw it opened.
The rain pelted against his face and immediately he was blinded by it. He moved to brush the rain out of his eyes but before he had even made it halfway down the stairs he found himself bumping directly into something else.
Instinctively he drew back his fist and connected it firmly with the Infected. It let out a yelp and stumbled back and Ellis moved to give it another solid punch but then the Infected did something strange. It straightened, rubbed at its jaw and spoke;
"Jesus Christ, Overalls. That's how you're greeting me now? I'm all for the rough stuff, but god damn."
Nick.
Ellis drew in a breath before launching himself into the others arms. Soon after he was smothering the man with kisses, practically touching everywhere he could get his hands on, almost suffocating him with affection. But, Nick didn't seem to mind. He simply accepted each kiss with a grin until he lifted both hands to force Ellis away.
"God damn. Didja miss me, El?" the conman asked. His smirk was to die for.
Rain in his eyes, a smile so big it hurt, Ellis simply laughed, clutching that very wet and very much alive man between his shaking fingers.
"Ya have no fuckin' idea, Nick. No fuckin' idea."
But God, now all he could do was smile-despite the fact that he thought Nick deserved at least one more good smack.
A/N: Lyrics are "I Will Play My Games Beneath the Spin Light" by Brand New.
Ya didn't really think I'd kill 'em, didja?