Ch. 2 Last Flight

"Hell yeah! There's the Midnight Riders!"

Coach grinned, slapping Ellis on the back. "Yeah it is, boy. This here will be the greatest rescue in history."

"Or the quickest way to grab every infected's attention for miles," Nick said, unimpressed with the display as he walked on stage. "But I'm willing to give this a shot." He added as Rochelle sent him a warning look.

"I'm gonna go set up the lights," Ellis said, resting his Sniper Rifle on his back.

Before he could skip up to the bleachers, Coach gripped his shoulder. "Do you know how to set up the lights?" He asked, quizzically. The last thing he wanted was an inexperienced lighting technician to destroy the lighting system.

Ellis grinned reassuringly. "Yeah! I've done this before. This one time, there was this theatre performance and- "

"Just get to the lights," Nick interrupted, in no mood to hear one of his stories. Ellis didn't hesitate to do so.

Coach looked out towards the seats and noted the two large wooden structures amongst the bleachers. If one climbed to the top of these scaffoldings, they would gain an advantageous vantage point. They could snipe down on the infected below whilst the other two can man the stage. Ellis had a sniper rifle with laser sight so it would be logical for him to go up there. Rochelle is getting handy with snipers, thanks to lessons Ellis had offered her. She can also be very nasty with an axe so if the time called for melee weapons, she was prepared. She can probably go up there with him, making sure a Special Infected doesn't snag Ellis while he's up there. That left Nick and Coach to watch the stage to make sure the firework display is continually active.

Coach turned back to the stage, where Nick and Rochelle were examining the area. "Ro, what's on stage?" he asked.

"There's some adrenaline shots near the mixtape, ammo in the front, some guns, and a few guitars," Rochelle said, pointing at each item's location.

"Bring those shots down with us."

Rochelle cast a curious look towards him but did so otherwise. She handed out the shots. Coach examined the EpiPen. Adrenaline shots have proven to be useful whenever the group was overwhelmed by the infected. When the situation got rough, these might give the survivors the final push needed.

"When push comes to shove, pop them," Coach explained, as he pocketed his shot. Rochelle and Nick did the same. "So, what other guns do we have?"

"We got some pistols, a Combat Shotgun, AK-47, and a Sniper Rifle," Rochelle said, pointing to each one in turn.

At the current moment, everyone had well-stocked weapons on them. Nick had an AK-47, found earlier in the fairgrounds. Rochelle, previously, had an M-16 Assault Rifle but traded it off for a Hunting Rifle after it ran out of ammo. Ellis, comfortable with his Sniper Rifle, taught Rochelle how to use sniper weapons and while she had gained experience with the weapon, she also picked up an axe in case of a panic event. Coach had a Pump Shotgun and considered the upgrade to a Combat Shotgun.

"Nick, pass me the shotgun." He said, discarding the old weapon on stage.

Nick passed the new shotgun to Coach, whilst eyeing the guitars littered about. He picked one up, weighing it in his hands with an amused smirk. He practiced a swing with the instrument. His calm expression flashed to one of pain, before immediately returning to the relaxed expression. He rolled his shoulders, with a slight grimace.

Coach examined his new weapon carefully, before finding it satisfactory. He noticed Nick's discomfort. "Ya alright there, Nick?"

"Just peachy," he said.

"Do you see medical supplies?" Coach asked, his gaze fixed on Nick's sore shoulder.

Nick scanned the stadium. Wielding the guitar, pointed out to the front seats. "There's some Molotov's there." He directed his point to the ground stack. "And Boomer Bile and Pipe Bombs on those stacks. No medkits, no pills, nothing."

Coach frowned. Equipment-wise, they weren't so fortunate. The Screaming Oak has used up all their grenades and after the continuous horde back at the barns, the medical supplies were quickly spent. There was hope that there might be some medical supplies in the Peach Pit, but that optimism was poorly placed. At the very least some grenades were laying around.

Coach approached the stacks. He decided to pick a Boomer Bile, rationalising that whether a Tank or a horde came, the bile would prove useful in both cases. Rochelle and Nick went off stage to grab a Molotov and Pipe Bomb respectively.

"Remember, don't use them too early," Coach warned.

"I thought there'd been some gas cans or something around here. We've seen them everywhere else." Rochelle said, wandering around.

Coach noticed a ground-level alcove, below the seating auditorium, with a closed doorway with several boxes blocking it. One opened box had a stack of fireworks inside it. He smiled and picked up one box, throwing it to Nick who caught it, albeit clumsily.

"A bit of forewarning would be nice," he said but relaxed upon seeing the fireworks label. "Haha, nice Coach. How much do we have?"

"About five boxes."

A gas-can had unexpectedly bounced right in front of Nick. The culprit appearing from behind from some stacks, holding up another gas can. "We're in luck boys. I found us four gas cans too," Rochelle said.

"We got this in the bag," Coach laughed.

The three placed the gas cans and firework boxes around the stage in strategic positions and choke points to hopefully, slow down any horde attack. Once Coach placed down the final firework to the left side of the stage on the stairway, the auditorium lights abruptly switched off. The stage lights switched on in succession, illuminating the back wall of the stage that featured the members of the Midnight Riders.

"Good job Ellis! Now come on down here!" Coach shouted. Ellis mouthed something unclear and turned around, out of their view. Coach turned to the others. "What did he say?"

"Something about worst made hit?" Rochelle said, looking just as confused.

The answer became clear as they saw Ellis approaching them with two first aid kits, looking satisfied. He set the medkits by the microphone. "There was a first aid station up there. And two defibs on the scaffolds," Ellis explained.

"Were there only two?" Rochelle wasn't quite as content with the lack of health packs for everyone.

"That's all there was," he said.

Nick picked up a health pack and opened it up. "You didn't find any pills, did you? My shoulder's still killing me." He asked, sorting through the contents inside the pack.

"Nope," Ellis said

Nick cursed, backpacking the medkit. Coach handed the last health pack to Ellis. "You hold on to that one," he said.

Ellis nodded, strapping his health pack to his back. His attention diverted as his gaze landed on a pack of fireworks. "Oh cool! You found fireworks?" he asked, picking up the box.

"We placed it there for a reason," Nick said, annoyed.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Keith and I made fireworks? Now, I didn't know shit about chemistry, but Keith figured 'Gasoline burns, doesn't it?' Heh, third-degree burns on 95 percent of his body. Man, people in the next city over were calling to complain about the smell of burning skin."

"You know what I like best about your stories, Ellis? The sound they make when they stop." Nick snatched the fireworks from Ellis and placed them back down in their original spot.

Ellis shrugged, unaffected. "So, we ready to light it up?"

Coach clapped his hands together, gathering everyone's attention. "Alright ya'll. Here's what I'm thinking. We get two on the platforms up there, I'm thinking Ellis and Rochelle can do that while Nick and I can watch over the stage for the pyrotechnics. Ellis will snipe any Special Infected that comes close to the stage and Ro will fight off any infected that comes near the scaffolding. Both of you will alert us if you see a Tank or Special Infected. Nick and I can shoot off the fireworks and gas cans on the ground. When we see that chopper, use the adrenaline shots and just run," Coach said.

"Sounds like a plan. But knowing our luck, something is bound to go wrong," Nick said.

"We'll adapt. We've done well this far." Rochelle said, casting Nick a smile.

"We have shots?" Ellis queried.

"Oh, yeah. Here." Rochelle grabbed one of the shots from her pocket and passed it to a very happy-looking Ellis.

"Alright, ya'll. Everybody ready for this shit?"

With refreshing optimistic nods, everyone got into position. Nick and Coach remained on stage as Ellis and Rochelle climbed up to the scaffolding.

Curiously, Coach tapped the microphone on stage, the sound of which was amplified with the speakers. Seeing that the microphone worked, he decided to have a bit of fun with it. "...Every lady's crazy when her daddy's not around... dunh-nuh-NAH-nuh-NAH-nha!"

Looking over at the tallest scaffold, he saw Ellis with thumbs up and Rochelle laughing, shaking her head.

"Hey Coach, check it out," Nick called. He was by the mixtape, looking rather smug. Coach approached him cautiously.

"Sorry to break it to you, but your heroes lip-sync. There's a tape here labeled finale." He said, holding up said tape.

Coach frowned and grabbed the tape, examining it for himself. "Well…ain't this a bitch. They got a tape for their music." He tossed it, rather callously to Nick. "And to think, I used to like these guys. Just set it up, Nick and let's call that chopper."

He went back to the front of the stage, feeling disheartened to learn the truth about his music legends. It seemed that the apocalypse revealed a lot in people. For all the pain that it brought, this end of the world had changed his view of the world around him. He would never have thought to ever associate with people like Nick or Rochelle or Ellis. Nor would he have ever thought to have used a shotgun to kill before. Even though it had been weeks, perhaps even less, everything felt second-nature to him by now, desensitized to the blood and gore and death that surrounded his new companions.

Now memories of his past seem less important with every passing day. He would recall times when he would be in class, teaching the youngsters of the generation and times when he was outside on the lawn with his wife and kids, watching the sunset go down, and times when the night was long and peaceful, and his sleep was long and peaceful. But these memories, he soon realised, would only weigh him down because then, he would remember. He would remember when the infection took his wife in her sleep or when the kids vanished in a panicking crowd. These memories wouldn't keep him alive. He needed to remember that. So instead, he recalled when the helicopter left him back in The Vannah. He recalled when he first saw the infection. He recalled when his friends and himself knocked on death's door only to barely make it. These memories taught him new lessons to be learned in a new world.

His rambling thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a familiar singer.

"1, 2, 3, 4"

The music started up and Coach instantly recognised it as Midnight Ride. Despite his heroes' lip-syncing, he still could appreciate their music. He even nodded his head to the beat. He switched on the firework display at the front of the stage and watched as the lights lit up the area.

Deafened by the music, he could barely hear the enraged roars of the infected approaching.

"Here they come!"

Just as those words left his mouth, the infected flooded in from the sides of the stadium, climbing over the seats to get to the stage. Attracted by the light and sound emitting from the stage, they ignored the two non-infected on the wooden platforms sniping them down. Most of the first wave of infected didn't make it close to the Coach or Nick.

"That all you got?" Coach laughed, butting his shotgun against a common infected who managed to avoid Ellis' and Rochelle's shots.

The second wave came instantly, sparing the survivors no breath. The horde was much larger than the previous one, meaning that while some of them were cut down by the snipers, the rest found their way on stage. A couple of them didn't climb the side stairs, opting to climb up the front of the stage instead, their arms latching to the platform. Coach crushed their heads with his foot.

Nick handled the left side, gunning down the common infected quickly. As he reloaded, a tongue wrapped around him rapidly, yanking him off stage. With the noise of the infected and the music, any indication of a Special Infected in the area was deafened.

"Smoker!" He cried, yanking at the appendage.

Before the Smoker could drag him any closer, a shot from Rochelle's sniper got it. Nick yelled his thanks and tried to hurry back on stage, knocking back the infected who used the Smoker attack to their advantage. Coach fired off some rounds, making a path clear for Nick to return.

"Third-wave approaching!" Rochelle cried, her voice almost drowned out by the forthcoming racket of another wave of infected.

The new horde quickly descended upon the lone gambler, still struggling to make his way back to the stage. Coach sprayed bullets in his direction, careful not to strike the man himself. However, because his attention was fixed on one side of the stage meant that the other half was unguarded. A Boomer, hoping to catch the two unaware, raced to the stairway but Ellis caught the Special Infected. The resulting explosion, however, knocked Coach forward.

Even with that slight stumble, the common infected were merciless, finally catching up to the man and hammering at him with their fists. He gritted his teeth, desperately trying to shove them off him. One of the infected managed a lucky hit and struck Coach on the nose.

"Throwing a Pipe Bomb!" Ellis shouted, realising the trouble on stage was quickly becoming a dangerous situation.

The infected in the area paused in their attack and leapt off stage to the blinking red light. It gave Coach and Nick a breath of air as they returned to the stage and reloaded. The explosion sent bloody parts soaring through the air.

Coach didn't expect the events to take quite a painful turn. His body ached all over and his nose was bleeding. Nick looked worse for wear, with scratches and bite marks patterned all over his body. His left foot appeared to be sprained, judging by his limp.

"You going to give attention to your injuries?" Coach asked.

Nick waved the concern off. "I'll get to these on the helicopter."

The front fireworks display switched off as the first song ended. Taking in the momentary silence, Coach turned to the dark sky, praying to see the helicopter lights. But as the next song started, he knew he had to hold out a little longer. He switched on the front fireworks display again. The roar of the infected cried out again, flooding in from every conceivable entrance to the stadium. With the infected storming to the stage in great speed, Coach and Nick decided to fire off a couple of gas cans and fireworks, effectively blocking any passageway on stage.

Most of the infected, unaware of the danger, wandered into the flames and quickly burnt to death. Some, realising that their target couldn't be reached, found the new targets from those up the platforms. A swarm of infected charged at the platform. Coach assisted the best he could from the distance, but shotguns weren't utilised best firing long-range. Rochelle discarded her sniper and slashed away at any infected who came close with her axe.

"Jockey! Jockey!" Ellis alerted the survivors. His shots rang out, aiming for the cackling Special Infected.

The flames died down around the stage and opened the way to the two non-infected on stage. The infected kept pouring into the stadium, attracted from miles to the sound and light display. Coach's fingers wrapped around the Boomer Bile, ready to throw it away from the stage. Glowing, green light caught the corner of Coach's eye. "Spitter!" He shouted.

He wasn't sure if anyone heard him. The noise had muted any response from his friends. The pandemonium drowned out the unintelligent mumbles of a Charger as it snuck behind the curtains on stage. Coach noticed too late as the Charger let out its signature cry and barrelled through the infected, pounding right into Coach. His shotgun and bile bomb flew out of his hands. He was smashed against the speaker stacks on the far-left side of the stage. The air was taken right out of his lungs.

Before he could recover, the Charger lifted him with his gargantuan arm and pummelled the man to the ground. He felt waves of pain rippling from his back with each attack. The common infected didn't stop their attacks either, stomping on his extremities. Through the assault, he wondered where Nick was, if not shooting at these infected. He could pick out distressed voices through the infected's shouts. He was seeing spots in his vision when the Special Infected slouched and fell backwards, dead. Dizzy, he struggled to get up, only managing to retrieve his pistols from his sides and shoot away common infected. Shaking his head, he looked to the scaffolding platforms. An acid puddle, courtesy of the Spitter, sizzled where the two snipers were. Luckily, or unluckily, they weren't seen anywhere near the wooden platforms.

"Shoot this thing off my back!"

Coach slowly turned to the right side of the stage. Nick was being ridden on by a hysterical Jockey, moving him through a small puddle of acid, of which was probably the remains of the dead Spitter. Coach, inaccurately shot at the Jockey several times. He must have done some good as the Jockey went limp and Nick immediately shoved the humper off himself and ran out of the acidic puddle.

"Damn Jockey bastards," he mumbled, shoving some of the opportunistic infected away from him. He noticed Coach on the ground and rushed over to pick him up. "You doing okay, big guy?"

"I've been worse. Where the others?" Coach asked, steadily back on his feet. Just as he said that a small, gory explosion occurred in the corner of his eye. A disgusted cry was heard. Coach recognised the cry as their female companion's. "Do you see Rochelle?" He fired rounds from his pistols as the infected continued to swarm the two.

Nick shoved an infected off and fired a few rounds into their head. "I don't know. I can't see anywhere with these. Damn. Infected. Everywhere." He emphasised every word with a bullet to another infected's head. "Ah screw it. Throwing a Pipe Bomb!" He launched his grenade far off stage.

The infected stopped their assault and dashed to their deaths. Coach took the moment to pick up his abandoned shotgun. After the bloody explosion that took out the remaining infected in the area, the two tried to locate where their teammates were.

"Get 'im him off! Get 'im off me!"

Upon hearing Ellis's distressed screams, they leapt off stage and sprinted to where he was in trouble. They found Ellis pinned by a Hunter, nearly obscured by the speaker stacks on the ground. Rochelle was stumbling around blindly, covered in bile. Nick shot the Hunter down immediately as Coach approached the woman carefully. He touched her shoulder lightly to signal to her that he was not a threat, and wiped the bile from her face. With her vision cleared, she turned back to Ellis quickly, looking a bit guilt-ridden.

Nick flung the Hunter off the injured survivor. Ellis had several large gashes in his chest, bleeding profusely. He was breathing rapidly, and his skin was draining of colour.

"Shit, shit, shit. I'm so sorry Ellis. I couldn't see where you were." Rochelle apologised, almost tearfully, helping him into a sitting position.

"'s okay, Ro. As long as 'm alive." Ellis said, reassuring her. "Shit. I don't even see right now." He narrowed his eyes at the three, trying to fix his vision.

"Let me fix you up there, sport." Nick said, bringing out his medkit and removing Ellis' own. "This looks as though I may need two of them to patch you up." He said, sifting through the only medical supplies they had.

As Coach watched over them, he noted how empty the stadium became. The fireworks display was still on and the music was coming to a close. There was no reason for it to be vacant of infected. Rochelle seemed to share his sentiments.

"It's damn lucky they aren't showing up now while Ellis is down," she said. Her nose wrinkled as the repulsive scent of Boomer vomit wafted through the air. She looked at herself, disgustedly. "Damn, I just washed this too."

"Maybe we cleared them out?" Coach asked, hopefully. It would be far too positive news for that to be the case, but he still lingered on to that optimism. The next song on the tape began. Coach didn't recognise this song which he found perplexing. He knew all the Midnight Rider songs, but he couldn't place a finger on which song had an interesting beat of the drums and the strumming electric guitar. With no vocals, Coach figured it was an instrumental song that might've played during intermissions.

Rochelle pondered for a second, before freezing up in cold realisation. "Coach. When's the last time things have been this empty?" Her voice was low and quiet.

Coach took to her sudden uneasiness confused. "In the safe house, when we're sneaking around, when we're looting. Shit, what are you getting at?"

"No, no. Coach. It's loud as hell and the lights should draw infected from the next city over. What do you think all that attention's gonna draw?"

Coach froze in recognition of the thunderously loud roar that came from the far-left corner up in the bleachers. A Tank had burst through an entranceway. It spotted the tight group of survivors and let out another bellow and charged at them.

"Aw..Shit. We got a Tank!" Coach shouted.

"Shit. Ellis isn't getting far like this. You guys need to move him away from us for a while." Nick said, supporting Ellis up by the arm and moving him up the stairs on stage.

"We'll hold him for as long as we can but you better get back in the fight as soon as you can!" Rochelle shouted, picking up Nick's abandoned AK-47 and running to the right, shooting a few rounds into the monster. Coach followed, running backwards, firing three shells into the Tank. The Tank shrugged off the bullets and ignored the two, instead opting for the injured survivor.

Coach noticed this and shouted to Rochelle, "We're not making him angry enough. Throw that Molotov!"

She unhooked the Molotov from her hip and threw it towards the stairway, where the Tank was headed. The flames burst from the bottle and engulfed the stairs but missed the giant. It recognised the fire and growled, knowing its path to the two survivors was impassable for now. It redirected that anger to the one who blocked its path.

Coach saw the Tank dart towards them. Rochelle and he rushed to the furthest right side stairway up to the audience seats. The Tank paused for a second, plunged its hands to the ground, and tore up a chunk of concrete. It flung it to the fleeing survivors who still showered the beast with bullets. The concrete slab missed the survivors, smashing the seats behind them and blanketing them with debris. The two ran through the bleachers as the Tank followed them, and made a complete circle, back to the ground on the left side of the stage. The Tank lunged towards the two, splitting them up. Running in circles to strike one of the survivors, the beast grew more and more agitated.

Coach was aware that if they didn't bring the Tank down any sooner, they wouldn't be able to outrun the beast any longer. Still, the Tank ignored each shot and didn't slow down. His Boomer Bile was out of reach and no one had any Molotov's to set it on fire. Just at that moment, a red canister, lying behind a speaker stack caught Coach's eyes. They might have no Molotov, but they still had a gas-can and fireworks laying around.

Seeing that the Tank was focusing on Rochelle for the moment, he ran towards the speaker stack and grabbed the gas-can. But he didn't notice the Tank change targets. As Coach spun around to locate where the Tank was, he was struck on the back by the muscular infected, forcing him to drop the can and flinging him a few meters forward. He landed roughly on his stomach. He twisted around, his body aching in protest. Unexpectedly, his knee was struck with sharp, intense pain. Coach cried out, his hands rubbing his knee.

"Coach!" Rochelle cried, making a start towards him.

"No, no! Shoot the can!" He shouted, pointing to the lone can by the Tank's feet.

Rochelle followed where his finger pointed at and aimed her rifle at the gas can. She fired a few good shots and the gas can burst, engulfing the Tank in flames. It roared in pain and fury. Its furious gaze settled in on the downed survivor. It beat its chest with its fists, bellowing its war cry, and lunged forward.

Coach stared at the beast, aware that given his position and state, he had no way of dodging the Tank. He heard Rochelle's hysterical shout and her rapid-fire. He used these brief seconds to make peace with God and accept the pain of a quick death. As the Tank reared its hands over its head, ready to make its lethal strike, Coach closed his eyes, waiting.

Waiting…

Waiting…

He waited quite a while. He didn't think that the Tank would pause its assault for any reason, and so hesitantly opened his eyes. The Tank was on its knees, eyes rolled to the back of its head. Its massive body collapsed backwards, its skin crisp black from the dying flames. While Coach would have assumed the fire had done its job in the nick of time, it was Nick, himself, standing at the front of the stage, shotgun in hand who finished the job.

Coach scooted away from the burning corpse and breathed a sigh of relief. They survived the Tank attack. He gave a grateful nod to Nick who nodded back, looking relieved. Coach's knee numbed, and stiffened, creating difficulty in getting up but Rochelle was able to assist him. Rochelle helped Coach up the stage as Nick returned to Ellis who was slouched against the back wall, empty medkits around him.

Ellis's chest was wrapped up in layers of gauze and bandages, which seemed to slow the bleeding. His previous pale complexion was returning to colour and his breathing looked to have returned to normal. Nick used any remaining bandage for his scratches and bites.

"So…how's he doing?" Coach asked, leaning against the back wall for support.

"I patched him the best I could. He'll be fine but I suspect he'll need some help getting to the chopper." Nick said.

Ellis gave a weak thumb up and a confident smile.

"When's that damn helicopter coming? It shouldn't take this long to notice this!" Rochelle stared at the sky in anger.

"We'll just hold out a little longer," Coach said, although he looked rather dismayed. He found his abandoned Boomer Bile and attached it to his belt. He staggered to the front and switched the firework display once more. Instead of the small firecrackers, fireworks shot up above the stadium and ignited with brilliant light. He laughed, certain now that no flying object could possibly miss this.

As it turned out, Coach was right. From the depths of the night sky, two bright lights and the sound of whirring blades brought hope to the exhausted survivors. "We did it!" He laughed, pointing at their salvation.

"Holy shit," Rochelle said, eyes lighting up.

The helicopter swooped down into the stadium, zooming in front of the audience seats and resting in mid-air at the right-hand side of the stadium.

"Get to the helicopter!" The buzzing static of the pilot's voice was almost drowned out by the furious cries of an incoming horde. The infected, in numbers far more vast than before, came swarming in through every entranceway possible into the stadium.

"Shit! They must have seen those fireworks too! Get to the chopper now!" Coach commanded, reloading his shotgun.

"Pop those adrenaline shots too!" Nick shouted. Coach seized his adrenaline shot and plunged it into his arm. The effect took place immediately. The sides of his vision tinted red and the sounds became monophonic. The pain in his knee subsided.

As the survivors made their way to their rescue, the infected charged at them viciously. Coach and Rochelle tried to shove them off and provide cover for the other two who were defenceless. They made it up to the bleachers when a Smoker tried to take the opportunity and lasso Rochelle. Under the influence of adrenaline, Rochelle spun around quickly and shot the Smoker before it could drag her away.

At this point the infected were everywhere, attacking on all sides. They clawed and chomped and kicked at the rushing survivors. Coach could see that the helicopter wasn't too far from them. Already feeling the effects of adrenaline wearing off, he swooped to his side and grabbed the Boomer Bile. "Incoming!" He cried out, throwing the bile as far as he could to provide a long enough distraction.

It smashed back on the ground. The infected took the bait and charged at the putrid, green cloud. While the common infected were distracted, a larger threat loomed over them. Another Tank made its entrance on the right side of the stadium, bellowing out a war-cry. It wasn't far from the helicopter.

"Go, go, go!" Coach ran forward, the helicopter in their reach. He stopped at the door of rescue and waited for the others to go inside. He shot at the approaching Tank, hoping to slow it down. Rochelle climbed on board and grabbed Ellis' arms. Nick pushed him inside and climbed in afterward. Once everyone was inside, Coach hopped in, holding the handle to the door for balance. The Tank was a few meters away, arms outstretched.

The helicopter lifted before the Tank could get its hands around it. It roared with a vengeance. The survivors cheered.

"I cannot believe we just made that," Rochelle said, sitting on the floor, wiping her sweaty brow.

"We just made that by the skin of our teeth," Nick said.

"Hell yeah, we made it! To New Orleans!" Coach cheered.

The helicopter had lifted far enough out of any infected's reach. Coach peered through the open door, watching the infected below still battle each other in the bile. He could even see a Boomer and Charger amongst the crowd of infected, staring up at the helicopter. He looked upon the Tank, ready to taunt the beast.

He froze.

The Tank had thrust its meaty hands into the ground and ripped out a large slab of concrete. Before he could warn the pilot, the Tank launched it right at the helicopter. It struck at the side of the aircraft. The helicopter lurched to the side violently and suddenly, throwing the occupants around. Coach's head collided with the roof of the aircraft. His body lurched to the side, falling through the open door, his only saving grace was his grip on the door handle. Dizzy, his grip on the door handle loosened. His feet dangled in the air. Before the helicopter could recover and rebalance, Coach lost his grip.

He was falling.

He didn't think he was at first. For the first second, he refused to believe that he was going to die right here and now, at the brink of rescue. He wanted to believe he was in the helicopter, right now, laughing with his friends. Taunting the damn Tank. On their way out of this apocalypse.

The wind whistled past his ears. Heads stuck out of the realigned aircraft. His friends were screaming and shouting something. Their faces twisted in unimaginable horror.

But seeing their dismayed faces, Coach realised a hard truth. He was going to die here. It didn't matter whether you were on the helicopter or not, whether you were in arms of safety or not, you could still die at any moment in this new world.

And he was still falling. The sound of the helicopter blades grew quiet. The aircraft growing smaller and smaller. The sound of the infected grew louder. The green cloud of the Boomer bile bomb filled his vision.

He remembered a promise he made. As he shot off the Jockey from Ellis's back, and killed the Smoker strangling Nick, and saved Rochelle from the Hunter back in Savannah, he made a promise to himself. A promise to lead them to New Orleans. A promise that he would protect them from the infection. A promise that he would rather die than see the life wasted from these young ones.

Well, he fulfilled one promise. He wouldn't be able to watch out for them anymore. He wouldn't be able to lead them to salvation.

"Sorry, ya'll."

And Coach hit the ground, dead on impact.