The ghost of her lips still resides on his own; such a shock to his system they had caused, even if it was for just a split second. But for that short about of time, he had felt safe. He had felt his strength return to him. He had felt that there would be a future for them.

All too soon, it had been interrupted. All too soon the color that had taken over and flushed his cheeks been drained, leaving him paler than his usual. And all too quickly he had found himself bound, feet and hands immobilized by knots only a sailor would know how to tie. Or perhaps a pirate in this case?

He whimpers quietly, his injured arm strained by its placement behind him. They had laughed at his silent tears while binding him. He lifts his gaze to his captors, who had just finished tying up his friend, after great difficulty. At first, he had been shaking, assuming that they'd try to do to her what they had done to that man back at the playground. He was strangely reassured as he saw the ropes. They don't want to kill her. At least, not yet.

Watching them try to get their hands on Trish is a sight worth seeing. Even upon eventually capturing her, she does not fail to put up a fight, leaving the two men exhausted. They eventually wear her down, which makes the situation difficult for Dez to watch. He knows this passive state of hers will not last, however, and that she will be struggling and kicking again, soon enough. Ropes and gags would never be enough to hold back the fire that is Trish de la Rosa.

But what of himself?

He squirms with discomfort in the back of their pickup truck. They set Trish down beside him, muttering hushed words to each other that he cannot comprehend. Dez looks to his friend, worry donned on his face. As far as he can discern, they hadn't harmed her, however judging by the struggle they've had in capturing her, she must have used up all of her strength. Her eyes trained on their captors, Dez assumes that she's plotting. She's always been a mastermind at plotting revenge against those who cross her. It's unlikely that she'd let these two off easy, the way they subdued her. He wouldn't either. But he isn't nearly as threatening as she, of course.

Still, seeing the way they had handled her infected him with something dark; something brooding. Act on it, however? He probably couldn't. He doesn't have it in him. But when it comes to her…

His thoughts are interrupted by a murmuring Trish, looking his way. She's trying to tell me something, he understands this much. He responds with curiosity in his eyes, brow raised to show his lack of comprehension. She sighs, rubbing her face against her shoulder in an attempt to remove the gag. This may take a while.

He jumps slightly at the sound and rumble of the vehicle starting up. Upon doing so, part of the metal frame of the window to the passenger area behind him latches onto the back of his gag, pulling the piece of cloth right off. Trish looks up at him and groans, clearly upset that he had it removed so effortlessly. He glances behind him through the window. The two men seemed busy with their bickering, as the smaller man, Ray, started to get the truck moving. Dez takes this opportunity and leans his face down towards the girl's. She moves her head away from him, startled by the sudden closeness.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers. "I'm just going to get that gag off you." She continues looking skeptical, but allows him to get near her. His breathing down her neck doesn't make it all that easy for her to keep calm, however. He tries to grasp the cloth in his teeth at her cheeks. Trish winces, not fond of the traces of saliva he's leaving on her face in his attempts. Once he's finally able to snag it between his teeth, he pulls the gag down off her face. "There we go."

"Thanks. Now what do you propose we do about the rope?" she asks in hushed tones, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder to wipe off his spit.

"We could try using our teeth on those, too," he suggests, with a shrug. He whimpers again as the action causes further discomfort on his left arm. Trish responds with an unenthusiastic nod. "Hey, what do you think they're going to do to us?" he asks, hoping she had figured something out in her observations.

"Maybe they need bait?" she guesses. She hadn't picked up on much of their conversation. Sam and Ray were fairly quiet about the whole ordeal.

"They would've killed us already then, though."

"Unless they need live bait." She looks about herself, examining their expansive artillery. Machine guns abound, blades that looked like ancient relics they might have lifted from a museum, beer cans, and an assortment of different kinds of bandages and topical ointments. Where have these guys even been?, she ponders.

"Whatever it is, it can't be good." He winces with discomfort, his arm growing more and more strained by the minute. The two men had tied the ropes so tightly, his hands have no room to even squirm. He feels the numbness setting in, and hopes it would travel up his arm to help the pain subside around his torn ligaments. Trish grimaces as she watches him struggle.

"That can't be comfortable," she recites her immediate thoughts aloud.

"Yeah. It's not."

"I'm sorry."

"Trish, none of this is your fault. Don't apologize." Due to the sudden adamancy of his tone, she nods and quiets herself. Normally this tone of his would come as a challenge to her, one she would usually not back down on. However, knowing that's he's in a great deal of pain, she lets it slide.

"Their gags came off, Ray," Sam comments upon overhearing Dez, eyeing the two off them from the passenger seat. "Should I put 'em back on?"

"Forget it, we's almost there. And it ain't like they gonna try 'an call out for anybody. I just put those on 'em so I didn't have to hear them yappin' the whole ride." Ray pulls over into a side-street off the highway, parking next to what looks like an old factory building. The cartoony face on the side of the building must have been a warm, welcoming display - once upon a time. The wear and tear had done its share. This building was clearly abandoned long before all went to hell. The groans and throaty growls within can be heard fairly clearly from the outside. There's a zoo of them in there. Creepers abound. The two men hop out of their respective sides of the pick-up, and make their way over to the back.

"Why are we here?" Trish demands, speaking slowly, but with momentum – irked by the smaller man's "yapping" comment. Dez's amazement with the girl's assertiveness remains unceasing. In the moments she's the most vulnerable, her words become her weapon. Though she's more bark than bite, her words alone can be a serrated edge of dread-inflicting malignity. As much damage as that sharp, quick-witted tongue of hers can inflict, and as much trepidation as she brings to rise in him, he cannot help his excitement.

"Y-yeah," Dez stutters, building on his friend's demand. "And where are we, a-anyway?" He curses himself internally for not having the girl's confidence in this state of potential peril; his voice crumbles with every word. The smaller man's toothy grin surfaces, the few polished gold teeth of his catching a glimmer of sun – though still not able to outshine the red sunburns across his face.

"We's gonna play a little game," he starts. Trish and Dez look at each other in confusion before turning back to their captors, expressions urging him to further explain. "Sam – elaborate for the kiddies." The larger man nods at his partner, and speaks up.

"This was our safehouse, but there's been a breach. Now the whole building's crawling with creepers. We'd blow the place up, but these supplies are too important to lose. So we're gonna play a little game we like to call 'Get-In-The-Damn-Building-And-Bring-Us-Our-Supplies-And-You-Don't-Get-Shot."

"That's a terrible name for a game. It's way too long. Oh! You could abbreviate it to G-I-T-D-B-A-B-U-O-S-A-Y-D-G-S." Dez smiles proudly at the creation of his excessively long acronym, missing the point entirely. All three of the others stare back at him without a word. He drops the childlike grin, shifting his eyes down nervously – mentally admonishing himself, knowing just how idiotic he must've sounded. Attempting confidence while anxious usually backfires for him, and this time is no different. Trish, however, seems more concerned than annoyed.

"You're right, Dez. It is a stupid name for a game," she adds, helping him out. He smiles at her, mouthing a 'thank you'. She smiles back at him, then shifts her gaze over to Sam and Ray – her smile morphing into a condescending smirk. "But it's fitting for such a stupid game. You really think we're going to be able to help you, let alone want to? We're just a couple of kids." Ray glares back at her.

"You're testin' my patience, kiddo."

"You don't have a lot of that, do you?" she provokes him further. His gun clicks and he raises it up, taking aim at her head. Her expression remains calm and firm, though the same cannot be said of her friend who feels his blood run cold and damn near pisses himself at the sight of weapon being pulled.

"Your mommy ain't ever tell you to quit your squawkin' at folks holdin' guns?" Ray threatens, gripping the handle of the gun tighter and positioning his trigger finger as he spits off to the side.

"N-n-n-no! Sh-she's sorry. Please! I-I'll get her to be quiet. Please don't–" Dez pleads, leaning his body down in front of her as he attempts to guard her. She feels him trembling against her. His breathing is rapid and heavy, but he shows no sign of backing down.

"Dez, calm down – he's bluffing. He's not going to shoot me. He needs me," she reassures her friend. Dez, not feeling any ease by her words, remains in his position – as painful as it is for his arm – blocking her from Ray's warpath.

"I got two a yous, I don't need you. I could just shoot you an' send carrot-top in alone," Ray says matter-of-factly, weapon still raised. Sam puts a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Easy there, Ray. Save your bullets. We need her and you know it. The other kid's clearly chicken-shit and he won't make it out alive without the other one."

"I resent that," Dez remarks, his tone solidifying.

"I resent you, pumpkin-head" Sam counters, flatly.

"I get it. My hair is orange. How original! And if I'm so chicken, why aren't you two going in, huh?" he challenges them. "Now put…The gun…Away." Somehow, someway, the boy had managed to transform his fear into defensiveness. The terror upon seeing Trish's life in jeopardy hadn't entirely been extinguished, but a protective demeanor had squeezed its way into the frontlines of his mind. His anxiety slowly burns away, though at the root it remains – motivating him. Trish raises her brows, actually impressed by this confidence of his that seemingly came out of nowhere. Ray finally lowers his pistol.

"Chicken-shit here might have more guts than you think, Sam." He holsters his pistol and moves towards them, pulling out a pocket knife. "Look kiddies, we ain't even need to shoot you." Dez flinches as the knife nears him, only to have his feet freed by the man. He does the same to Trish. "You can run. But there ain't nothin' out there for miles but a buncha dead-heads lookin' for their next meal, if that's what you want." He forcibly turns Dez around and frees his hands. Dez holds in a whimper. "You do this for us, and we'll take you back to your van an' we can all act like nothin' ever happened. Alrighty?" Trish grinds her teeth, leering at the badly sunburnt man before her. He cautiously turns her around and cuts through the rope tied around her hands.

"Fine," she agrees, venomously. "But I think I should go in alone. Dez, you stay." Before either Ray or Sam can respond, Dez speaks up first.

"Wh-what? Are you out of your mind, Trish?! You can't do this alone!" His now-freed hands gasp her shoulders.

"You're injured, it's not like you can do much with that arm." She gently removes his hands from her shoulders.

"My arm is fine, see?" He winces as he demonstrates some arm movements for her. "Good as new," he whimpers between his grinding teeth. "Besides, they might shoot me while you're gone."

"That's true, we might," Sam agrees. Trish shoots the two mercenaries another glare before giving in.

"Alright. So where exactly are your supplies?"

So far, so good. Though, the two remain on edge; the gurgling and gasping sounds of the monsters growing louder as they move further into the building.

"Maybe, if we find another door, we can escape without them knowing," Dez whispers a suggestion. Trish shakes her head.

"You heard what they said. There's nothing around for miles. We'll die of heat-stroke or dehydration if the zombies don't get to us first." She heaves out a sigh, gripping the bat in her hand tightly. Sam and Ray had refused to give them any weapons, knowing quite well that they'd be used against them. Trish had found the bat near the entrance, after their captors had locked them inside. The small axe that they found? She handed that to Dez, figuring he'd need it more than she would.

"Yeah…I guess." Dez frowns, and allows himself to get lost in thought, as a way to ease himself out of his apprehension. "So, about that kiss…" he starts, managing to muster up the courage to converse with her about that minute, yet overwhelming experience they had shared. Even through all that had happened since, he could never get his mind off of that earth-shattering fraction of a second. If he has the gall to go into a building full of creepers, he'd be able to handle this little discussion, right?

"What? That practice kiss that didn't even last a second? I wouldn't even call it a kiss. What's there to talk about?" she swiftly brushes it off, as if she was already fully prepared to answer him. He grins, noting the change in her tone of voice that clues him in on her own nervousness.

"It was so a kiss," he argues, his cockiness surfacing.

"Dez – is this really the time to be bringing that up?" she retorts sharply, stopping in her tracks and facing him, her glare even more menacing under the flickering lights of the hall. Dez shrugs with his right arm, unphased by her threatening look.

"Well, we could die in here. We might as well get everything off our chests now."

"That's what you said to get me to kiss you," she mutters, her eyes travelling down to her feet.

"So you admit it was a kiss!" he pipes up, cheerfully.

"Fine, it was a kiss. One you guilted me into, by the way. So don't go pretending that manipulated kiss was anything more than it was," she fires back, her tone rising in volume. Dez scowls back at her.

"I did no such thing! I did exactly what you told me to do. I didn't kiss you until you leaned in," he counters. To this, she has no response. She stares back at him, unable to find her words. He shakes his head slowly at her, appalled that she'd accuse him of such. "But fine. If you want to act like it wasn't anything, that's A-OK with me." He had been fully prepared to be shut down by her, that part he isn't entirely fazed by. Of course she'd deny any feelings she might have for him – that, he was ready for. But for her to inculpate him for putting any sort of pressure on her? It hurts him; it worries him. She doesn't trust me, he comes to realize.

The growling sounds rise at an accelerated pace. The creatures must have overheard their argument – as if the two of them could ever really keep quiet when they're together. They'd have to face the monsters sooner or later, so now would be no different. Trish pushes forward without another word, bat held up in front of her. Dez follows suit with his axe, not far behind her, but maintaining a bit of distance.

Three of them come into view. One lurching forward slowly, but with strict direction – a stagger in its walk. The second, a large brute with more confidence in its strides, but with an erratic sense of direction, practically walking in circles, yet still drawing closer towards them. The third – a small creeper – scampers towards them on all fours at great speed. Its lizard-like movements are a tell that it had transformed long before the other two, and is further along with its decomposing.

Trish wields her bat, raising it above her head as she charges towards them, letting out something of a war cry to intimidate. Her conviction fueled by her anger, she's well-prepared to give it her all. Dez, as angry as he is with her, quickens his pace to keep up, knowing that she likely can't take on three alone, no matter the level of her fury.

The girl does not hesitate to slam her bat down on the small one's head as it meets her in the middle. She gives the critter a few more swings from the sides, then kicks it aside as she continues to pursue the two larger ones. Dez manages to catch up, raising his axe and bringing it down onto the vulnerable neck of the small creature while it's incapacitated. He cringes, both from the sight of what he had just done, as well as the pain shooting through his left arm. He races after the girl.

The large brute storms towards her. Trish side-steps out of its way, as it runs itself into the wall. She then takes a swing at the back of its head. The monster turns around, it's skull thick enough to take the blow. However, Trish refuses to back down. She takes another swing at the side of its head, but no dice. The brute turns around and backs her up to the opposite wall.

"Trish!" Dez cries out as he reaches them. The brute turns around to face the redhead, momentarily distracted. Trish takes this opportunity to slide under its legs, leaving it confused as it turns its head back around. Trish and Dez look to each other and nod. She pushes the side of her body up against the large creature, holding it down against the wall with as much force as she can manage. Dez pulls back the axe, then takes a swing up at its neck. The creature cries out, forcing Trish off of it with a kick of its legs. Dez lets out a squeak, letting go of the axe – still lodged in the brute's neck – backing away as the monster pursues him.

The limping one had almost caught up to them now, as well. Trish picks herself up off the ground. "Dez, you take the other one, I'll handle the big guy." She tosses Dez her bat as he runs past the brute, just barely avoid its grasp as it reaches out for him.

"What? Why're you–? You don't have a weapon!"

"The big guy's got a machete lodged in its leg. That's my weapon." She readies herself as the brute approaches her.

"Be careful."

"You worry about you, Dez." She rushes at the beast, screaming out to throw it off as she slides under its legs. She grabs onto the handle of the machete lodged in its calf and forces it out before the beast can turn around. It lets out a howl.

Dez stays near, just in case, facing the slowly approaching creeper. Why can't I be more like her?, he asks himself. Why can't I just charge at it?

But I'm not Trish. I'm just Dez. He takes a deep breath, getting himself in ready position, holding the bat up over his shoulder as the sluggish creature approaches. Through past experiences with the slow-moving ones, he has learned not to underestimate them. They can be just as deadly, if not worse, than the others.

At least its giving him time to think things through.

He looks behind him, watching as his friend battles the larger one with her newly-procured weapon. What confidence she has, facing a beast twice her size.

"Dez!" Trish shouts at him, upon noticing him watching her. Dez freezes up, feeling a bony extremity wrap around his arm. The creature had lured him into a false sense of security with its slow-moving pace. The boy assumed he had more time. He never should have turned around.

Though his bat is still up – and thank goodness for that. For if he hadn't been ready to swing, the monster would have already had its jaws locked around his neck. He swings himself around, crashing the bat right through the decomposing skull. He watches as the body collapses at his feet.

That was too close.

And it was all so…Thrilling. The boy manages a small smile at his conquest. His victory is crushed immediately, however, upon hearing his friend's shriek. He turns around to find her on the ground, the brute looming over her. The machete, away from her. She scoots back up against the wall.

"Dez, I could use some help here!" she calls out to him, kicking at the beast to keep it away, never once showing her apprehension. How she manages to keep it together in such a situation, he cannot fathom.

Dez barrels towards them, wasting no time, nor any of this adrenaline his trepidation had aroused within him. His fear. He begins to realize that he doesn't need to be brave like Trish. He needs to be afraid. It's his fear that had saved him, and her, in the past. Not bravery.

And nothing scares him more now than losing her.

He pulls the axe out from the back of the brute's neck. It roars in pain, stumbling backwards slightly, allowing Trish an escape. She grabs the machete and gets back up on her feet, only to watch her friend take another swing at the creature with the axe. This time, it cuts clean through. The body falls back, on top of the poor boy before he has a chance to get out of the way.

"Trish?" Dez requests her, his voice slightly muffled under the beast. The girl laughs. Louder than he's heard her laugh in a long while.

"Okay, hold on," she says, setting her machete down and pushing the carcass off of him as she wipes away the tears her laughter had brought to front. She pulls the boy up onto his feet, handing him his axe. They both share a laugh. Not that anything about this entire situation is funny in the slightest – but they needed it. Dez wipes his eyes with his free hand.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know," she responds smugly.

"How are you so…Unafraid?"

"I'm not. And neither are you. And that's exactly what's keeping us alive." She takes hold of his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. I'll be okay."

"Your arm?"

"Honestly? It really hurts."

"And you're not complaining? Psh. And you call me brave." She shakes her head. "C'mon. The supplies shouldn't be too far. They said down the hallway, second left, and it's the first door we see up the stairs."

"Alright…Here we are. And no more nuisances. We might actually make it out of here alive." Trish opens up a bag lying in the corner of the room. "I got the food."

"And I got…Toilet paper, some rope, goggles, a crowbar, and...A respirator, I think?" He closes the bag. "Anything else?"

"You'd think they'd have more weapons in here."

"Maybe they keep all that stuff in the pick-up." He hoists the bag over his good shoulder. "This wasn't so bad. We only saw three. Why couldn't they do this themselves? It's not like they're unarmed."

"Yeah…And what's so important about this stuff, anyway? I'm sure they can find all of this in the next city or something." Trish looks about the room, in thought. Dez gasps.

"Maybe they really did just want to play a game!" He smiles brightly at his 'realization'.

"They didn't want to play a game, you doof!" she rebukes him, though internally rejoices in the fact that no matter what the situation, Dez would always find a way to just be himself.

"Whatever. Let's just get out of here. I'm pretty sure there are more creepers in this building."

"Yeah, I heard some more sounds on the way here." She lifts up the bag of food, grabs her machete, and starts back towards the hallway.

"Wait." Dez holds her back by the shoulder, setting down his bag. She turns to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I–I just…" He loses his words as his eyes meet hers. The corner of his mouth twitches a slight smile. Try as she might, she can't get herself to look away, letting the machete fall out of her hand. She finds herself moving closer, and he, leaning down.

"Stop." She closes her eyes, pressing her hand against his chest to stop him, his lips mere inches away from hers. "What the hell are we doing? We're in a zombie-ridden factory building with two murderers outside waiting for us. This isn't the time."

"Well, we might never–"

"–Stop saying that! Dez, we'll live. We'll be fine. Don't do this just cause you're worried you'll never get the chance to have that with anyone later." She pushes him away.

"Anyone? I don't care about just anyone. I want to kiss you." He approaches her, yet again.

"No you don't, Dez! It's just this hell we've been living in. And I'm the only other person you've been around. It's just, I dunno, adrenaline or something? You don't actually feel that way about me," she expounds, sounding strained, exasperated. She sets her bag down and takes a seat on the floor.

"Trish, I don't know what the heck I'm feeling towards you now, but it's there. I can't make it go away. I've tried. And it wasn't just that kiss, it was way before then. I don't want you feeling uncomfortable around me. I don't want you not trusting me. So I'm trying to be honest with you here." He crouches down beside her. "If you don't want this, I get it. I'll back off, I'm sorry." He takes a seat next to her. She lays her head on his shoulder.

"It's not that I don't want it," she mumbles. He looks down at her.

"What?"

"It's just…Why me? Why now?" she grasps at her hair, clearly frustrated.

"Maybe because I was too afraid before," he surmises, taking her hand out of her hair and giving it a slight squeeze. "I don't know." She nods, pulling her hand away from his and setting it in her lap.

"So, you're not afraid anymore?"

"No, I'm still afraid. I'm always afraid." He smiles. "But at least now I can face it."

"You're…Afraid of me?" she remarks, raising a brow. She can't help but smirk. She had known of his fear of her at the very start of this peculiar friendship of theirs, and she loved it. Although, she had grown begrudgingly fond of the fact that he's been able to stand up to her these past couple of years, mostly unfazed by her wrath – however still attentive to her demands.

"No, I'm afraid of losing you," he promptly adds, rolling his eyes at her smugness. Her smirk vanishing, she continues looking up at him as she internalizes his words.

"I think now is a good time."

"For what?" he scrunches his brows together, trying to read her expression. She takes hold of his chin and gently places her lips on his. He reciprocates readily, his arms wrapping around her. She pulls back to breathe, only to dive right back in, her fingers combing through his hair.

Again, he feels the safety the initial kiss had given him. He feels the strength. He feels comfort, actually believing that they might just make it.

The guttural cry of their reality interrupts their blissful escape. Trish, though reluctant, pulls away from the boy and grabs her bag and weapon. Dez, though still somewhat dazed, does the same and follows the girl back into the hallway.