Final Leg

Survivors

Nick was limping.

Hell, he expected to be incapacitated when that Smoker dragged him over to the acid pile the Spitter had shot at them, but Ellis and Rochelle were there, keeping him going.

"Do it for Julie, man. Do it for the kid."

"For Julie. Yeah. Always," he grunted, standing. Now either he was hallucinating or he was spending too much time killing Special Infected, but he thought he heard a Witch gasping. He didn't see any of those white haired bitches around, which was a relief. After the Tank and the Smoker-Spitter tag team, he didn't think he could handle another round.

But he didn't really have a choice in the matter, because the Infected shitstorm had taken over the country – maybe even the whole world – and he had to get used to the new life they had. Or what was left of it.

"There's the end of the bridge!" Rochelle cried, shoving an Infected back before shooting it point blank in the face. "Nearly there!"

"Home free man!" Ellis crowed, even as he sniped several Infected blocking their way to the off ramp. "Come on! That chopper pilot ain't gonna wait for us!"

And it did look like they were home free. Nick could feel his heart beat frantically in its chest, as if telling him that they were so close to surviving. After crossing God-knows-how-many-states and fighting an entire army of Infected, they made it. They were going to live.

He was going to see his daughter again.

Nothing stood in their way except the usual flood of Infected, and he was confident that they could take the fuckers on, no problem. Rochelle shoved back a couple of Infected clawing at his back, and he turned and shot them in the head.

Ellis was hurrying past the Infected lingering near the off-ramp, not even bothering to use his rifle to kill them. Rochelle shouted at the mechanic to wait for them, and he did.

"Wrap your arm around me," Rochelle murmured, glancing at the Infected that were trying to come at them from both the front and the back. "Come on, you're not going to last long if you walk on your own."

"You just want to feel my hands all over you," he teased, but the smile on his face dropped as a wave of pain slid up and down his body. The little grimace was enough to tell Rochelle that he did need help, and she forcibly slung his arm around her shoulders and started walking. Ellis was giving them cover fire, stopping every now and then to keep the Infected off of him.

Just as they passed the concrete barriers, Rochelle and Ellis switched, the latter urging Nick on while Rochelle walked backwards, shooting into the crowd. With the pressure coming from the helicopter and the wave of Infected that all but clawed through their undead brethren to get to the trio, it was a surprise that they managed to make their way to the off-ramp. A mounted machine gun was atop one of the military trucks, with a pile of ammunition close to one of the rear wheels.

Ellis reloaded while Rochelle covered the two men. Nick managed to snag a few bullets for his weapon before he leaned against the truck. They were a few feet from salvation, damn it, but somehow, it felt like the chopper was several states away. Things didn't exactly help when he heard the familiar and feared roar that rose up in the air. The ground shook, and he squeezed his eyes shut in irritation. It was just one barrier after another, which made him

"Oh just fuck me sideways."

Two Tanks barreled in from the bridge – these must have crashed through the other end of the bridge – and one immediately wrenched a slab of concrete, throwing it at the three. This caused the Survivors to scatter, with Nick ducking behind the side of the truck and Ellis and Rochelle jumping against the concrete guard.

Without really thinking about it, he pulled himself up into the bed of the truck, aiming the machine gun at the first of the Tanks. The bullets peppered the Tank's body, leaving red bullet wounds on its fleshy chest. He could barely hear Ellis and Rochelle over the gunfire coming from his end, but he didn't dare stop shooting. They could take care of the two Tanks and then they could run to the helicopter.

That is, if Fate wasn't fucking with them and decided to send another horde.

The Tank ambled closer, but the combination of heavy fire power from the three proved to be too much for it. It fell to the ground with a last, dying roar, and then was still. Yet there was still another Tank to contend with, and he realized a little too late that the reason why he couldn't really hear anything apart from the gunfire and the Tank's roars was that the other Tank was closing in on him. It was only when he saw a meaty fist fly at him and knock him off the truck did he realize his mistake.

With the wind whistling past his ears, he felt panic rise in his chest. He couldn't die now, not with all the effort he'd put into. From escaping Savannah and making the trek across a few states, all that he had done was for him to get on that helicopter. He should have just run to the chopper with Ellis and Rochelle instead of being all heroic.

His heroism might have just cost him his one chance of seeing his daughter again. The possibility that she was even alive was slim, but he knew even then that he had to try. She was the only one good thing in his life, the only thing that he didn't get wrong. He needed to make sure she was safe, but now…

"Shoot this thing on me!"

The crack of his bones was loud, and he could feel his strength ebbing away. Nick heard Rochelle scream his name, and he felt the assault rifle slip from behind his back and clatter to the ground, away from his reach. The Tank was surprisingly fast as it cut across the lot and raised its fists, slamming it down on his chest. A swell of pain – a couple of broken ribs, no doubt – rose in his chest, and he cried out. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes, and he yelled out as he felt the Tank toss him like a rag doll.

Coming to a stop against one of the metal railings, he took a few small breaths, feeling pain with each rise and fall of his chest. Even Ellis and Rochelle's efforts at taking down the Tank felt futile, and as it roared, raising its fists for a final blow, he sucked in a deep breath.

I'm sorry, baby. I tried. I really tried.

His eyes were closing, but a shrill scream rose again, followed by the sound of tearing flesh. The Tank howled, which clashed horribly with the Witch's screams. Why a Witch would attack another Infected was strange enough, but he wasn't about to be caught between two of the fuckers. He raised his head a little, seeing that the Witch was clinging to the Tank's back and frantically stabbing and slicing at its head and flesh, her claws dripping with blood and strips of flesh. Her screams were also keeping the other Infected away, which gave him time to crawl over to the assault rifle.

Ellis and Rochelle were making their way across the lot, but in case the Witch decided to turn on him, he sure as hell wasn't letting a scrawny bitch get in the way of him reaching his little girl.

A/n: This is the shortest chapter for the fan fic, but considering the next chapter is going to be longer (hopefully), I hope I've set things up for that much-needed reunion. :)