Ellis immediately made a beeline for the duffel bag of supplies sitting on a table at the back of the small room. There were the usual fist aid kits and guns, as well as a few bottles of water; almost enough supplies to replace those they had lost, bar the food.
Whilst Coach and Nick busied themselves with wrestling the heavy iron bar into place across the saferoom door, he picked out a grimy hunting rifle and clipped his flashlight to the barrel. The horde was getting audibly closer, but he guessed that they could just camp out behind the door and mow them down from there. Certainly it would be better to attract as many as possible from the room's relative safety.
He slung the gun over his back and hopped up onto one of the slatted tables positioned around the walls. It was some kind of maintenance room, he guessed. A few empty pedestals were stacked neatly in the corner next to a shallow built-in cupboard, which brimmed over with various boxes, mannequin limbs and old placards and leaflets. The low ceiling was a far cry from the high vaulted roof of the main exhibition, too – the light fitting dangled low enough to graze the top of Coach's head. Still, it was homely enough, despite the peeling paint and grime.
With a final muffled curse from Nick, the two older men managed to force the slightly misshapen bar down far enough to secure their safety. Temporarily, at least; Ellis thought that it looked like one well aimed ram by a Charger would be enough to pop it right off.
"You know what?" Rochelle stepped into his eyeline and smiled, the first genuine smile that he had seen her give since they stepped back onto dry land. He gladly returned it.
"What?" He asked, and began swinging his legs around. She set her shotgun down on the table beside him in favour of a couple of Uzis, before walking over to give one to Coach. He took it with a grateful nod, and mounted a rickety step ladder next to the tall storage cupboard to see if there was anything useful inside.
"Once this is all over," She continued, "I am going on a date with Mister Jack Daniels. I swore off that shit after College, but right now I think I could drink a whole barrel." She grinned up at Coach, who returned an affectionate eye roll.
"I'll drink to that." Nick said, and shot Rochelle a sly grin. "If whiskey's your poison, you should give Crown Royal a try. JD doesn't have shit on it. Maybe next time we pass by a club we can-"
A flash of luminescent green attracted Ellis's attentions. Before he could even yell to warn them the mutilated face of a Spitter appeared at the bars of the door, its jaw flapping low in a wide leer. He raised the rifle- the first bullet knocked it back and by his second his three companions were spinning round, guns raised but still too late. With a last dying gurgle it expelled a spurt of strong smelling green fluid, which completely covered the saferoom floor.
Nick's quick reflexes allowed him to leap catlike onto the nearest table, but Rochelle was caught off guard in the centre of the room. She dropped her gun and shrieked as the acid hit her ankles, and took a running jump onto the bottom rung of the step ladder. Coach threw an arm around her back to steady her just in time, using the other arm to embrace the ladder so as not to lose his balance. Ellis watched in horror as her boots shrivelled and burned around her legs, which buckled beneath her. Her footing lost, she slid downwards, supported only by Coach's awkward grip. The acid continued sizzling, eating into the floor, and as the heat reached her skin she let out a scream of fear and pain.
The image of the Witch, her melted shoes clinging to her scorched legs flashed across Ellis's mind. Without thinking he grabbed a bottle of water from the bag, broke the cap, covered the ground between them in two great strides and up-ended it over Rochelle's feet and lower legs. She gasped at the sensation and recoiled strongly enough to nearly make Coach lose his tenuous hold on her body, but Ellis quickly hooked his forearm under her rear to support some of her weight. The thin leather of her boots bubbled and cracked, releasing a foul smelling gas as the acid weakened and neutralised with the water and air.
Suddenly, every nerve ending in his feet were on full alert, waiting for the imminent pain of a chemical burn. He cringed at the thought of the soft flesh being dissolved from the arches of his feet. But it did not come. He watched the ground, heart thudding against his ribs as slowly, the remaining acid on the floor became nothing more than a pale green foam.
"What a bitch..." Rochelle hissed through a sharp intake of breath. A little shaken and bewildered, Ellis lifted her up and carried her bridal style to one of the tables. Nick cleared it with a sweep of his arm and helped to set her down, whilst Coach quickly unzipped his first aid kit and began rummaging through.
"How much does it hurt, Ro?" Nick asked with concern, and gently tugged the remains of her right boot down to her ankle. She surprised them all by batting his hand away with a brave smile.
"Right now it hurts more that my Louis Vuittons got melted." The smile quickly turned to a grimace. "But if that's the worst that happens to me in this apocalypse, I'll roll with it."
They watched as she slowly pointed her toes before pushing the boot off all the way, allowing it to land on the floor with a plop. Beneath was revealed the stringy remains of her pale pink socks clinging to raw flesh. Blood pricked and pooled beneath the swollen skin, but it appeared to only be a superficial burn. Even the polish on her toenails was relatively intact. They let out a collective sigh of relief, and Coach rubbed her arm encouragingly.
"You're gonna be fine, thanks to Ellis. Hell, I've seen the sun give burns worse than that. Hold on now, I'll give 'em another wash for you and you'll be right as rain." Coach said with a reassuring smile. He zipped his first aid kit back up and set it down on the table, before slipping the other boot off for her. As he busied himself Rochelle turned to look at Ellis and took one of his hands in hers, a sincere smile playing on her features.
"I honestly have never gotten this close to having a Knight in shining armour. Thank you for saving my feet." She grabbed the mechanic's ear and pulled him in to land a thankful kiss on his cheek. He guffawed and turned away from her in a weak attempt to hide the flush that was threatening to rise in his face.
"So, lover-boy..." Nick turned to Ellis with an amusedly raised eyebrow. "What are your boots made of? 'Cause I think I want some."
Ellis blinked, having momentarily forgotten about his own lucky escape, and glanced down to the footwear in question. They appeared to be unharmed, aside from the rubber soles warping a little at the edge. He let out a small 'oh' as he remembered the reasoning behind his lucky escape and broke into a grin.
"Well y'see, Keith's always had this weird thing about savin' storage space." Nick's shoulders slumped at the mention of Keith's name but Ellis continued regardless, hoping that his act of heroism might gain him a little lee-way for storytelling. "He used to reckon that if there were monsters in his closet he'd better appease 'em by makin' sure they had nice spacious digs, y'know? So instead of orderin' in the big cans of dilute battery acid for work, he'd always buy this little can of ultra high concentrate stuff and dilute it down himself. Well, this one time at the shop Keith was doin' just that, but he knocked the bucket over. Sulfuric acid everywhere! We had to take the rest of the afternoon off and just play The-Floor-Is-Lava until Dave came back with enough bicarb to neutralize it." He shook his head and chuckled. "Anyway, Paul –he's Keith's brother and he owns the shop, so he kinda makes the rules – well, he made us all go out and buy acid resistant work boots in case it happened again, so we couldn't waste no mo-"
"Sorry Ellis, but you're gonna have to wait 'till we get Ro back to the boat to finish that one." Coach interrupted, having now finished rinsing Rochelle's feet. His voice was low with concern. "It's gonna be pitch black outside before we know it, that horde is still running around, and we still don't have no gas. D'you think you can walk, Baby?"
She gingerly ghosted her fingers across the heel of her foot. No words were needed; the pained expression on her face answered for her.
"Sorry guys." She murmured.
The gravity of the situation slowly settled. They were alone in a city that they barely knew, with infected swarming around and one person immobile. Sitting ducks.
"Tits." Nick cursed, and ran his fingers through his hair. Ellis didn't think that he could have put it better himself. He scratched absently at the scaly scab on the back of his head, sucking his tongue in thought.
"I think we should stay here for the night." Rochelle offered. "We're not going to get anywhere fast in that storm. And Coach, you need to rest up if you're going to get over that sea sickness."
"That would be great, if it wasn't for our little zombie problem." Nick said, motioning to the entrance. Sure enough, at some point during the excitement the bar had popped out of it's position and was now laying useless and partially melted on the floor. The gangly body of the Spitter lay slumped in the doorway, staring up at them reproachably. It was wearing a bikini.
"Well, I'm all for carryin' you if you want me to, Ro." Ellis offered, pointedly averting his eyes from the dead zombie.
"No." Nick interjected. Ellis, Coach and Rochelle looked at him with mild puzzlement. The conman raised his eyebrows, and Ellis's lip quirked unbidden; he could almost hear him asking why he was having to explain something so blatantly obvious.
"You're our best shot, Ace." He said with a shrug. "If a horde comes we're gonna need your hands free. And no offence Coach, but you're not the fastest on your feet even without an extra hundred and twenty pounds of pure womanhood weighing you down, so that just leaves me."
"Hundred and fifteen." She corrected. "Okay then Nick, I owe you a big one. But if you drop me, I'll shoot you."
"Sounds like a plan." Coach agreed with a nod. He shouldered the duffel bag. "Onwards and upwards, then."