They had left intrepid warriors, confidence overflowing after their recent conquest, only to crumble at the sound of a dense dissonance of what seemed like hundreds of the beasts.
Slamming the vault door shut behind them, Trish and Dez manage to slip back into the safe room where they had found the supplies. The hall had suddenly flooded with creepers in their short absence, the creatures probably having overheard their earlier ruckus.
"We're trapped. We're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped!" Dez begins chanting, back against the door, legs shaking and knees buckling as he struggles to fight gravity. As his hyperventilating starts, Trish puts down her things and takes a tight hold of his arms.
"Easy, easy. We'll get out. We always do." Her grip loosens as she feels some of the tension leave his body. He nods, his breathing easing up. She had a way with calming him. It isn't always the nicest way, but it's a way. Her hands slip off his arms, and he looks to her for guidance.
"So, what's next?" he inquires, wide-eyed, yet steady.
"Why are you asking me?" She asks softly, her confidence wavering.
"You're always the one with the plan! How do we get out of here?" His pitch had heightened; the anxiety setting in again upon the realization that Trish is just as lost as he. She's always been one step ahead of him in these situations. How can she tell him to take it easy when she, herself, is uncertain of what lies ahead? He feels his body begin to tense again.
"Dez. It's okay. We'll figure something out, but you can't leave it all to me. Give me something to work with! You have any ideas?" She moves him aside slightly and puts her ear against the vault door. The sounds had amplified. They're getting closer.
"There could be a ventilation system we can crawl through, maybe?" He looks about the room. Practically airtight. Why would those mercenaries need so much security for some food and medical supplies that they could find just about anywhere? Dez lowers himself down onto his knees and forearms, crawling around to try and find any possible escape they may have missed initially.
Trish joins him in his search for an escape, but halts as her line of sight catches something that could prove useful. "Dez…Get over here!"
"Hold on, I'm trying to feel around for a secret trap door–ack!" he starts, before being pulled up onto his feet, Trish hoisting him up by the back of his collar. She leads him over to her findings.
"Tell me," she gestures at the bottle she had found within an open crate, a rag of sorts hanging out of its mouth. "Is that what I think it?"
"Woah, no way!" he gasps. "Molotov cocktail." He delicately picks it up out of the crate and begins to examine it, just to make sure. "I can't believe they actually have one of these. Like straight out of a video game!" Trish raises a brow at his comments, though the gesture is accompanied with a smile. Memories of all of those violent videos games they had played together in the past somehow come as a comfort.
"They're not exactly too difficult to make, Dez. Liquid laundry detergent and some gasoline, and you're pretty much good to go." She takes the bottle from him to inspect it herself. "We could use this. Did you find a lighter in any of the supply bags?"
"Actually…" He begins sifting through one of the bags. "Hm…Nose hair trimmers…Toenail clippers…Tweezers…"
"Tweezers? Oh, give me those! I doubt they'll miss them." Trish interjects, reaching for them. Dez holds them out to her. Brand new, a shining silver with a little purple zigzag logo. Would do wonders for her brows. Just as she's about to take them from him, he pulls his hand back.
"Alright, but I get to use 'em, too."
"Fair enough," she agrees, without question, taking them from him as he hands them over.
"Ah! Lighter. Check." He pulls the shiny metal cartridge out of the bag and gives it a light shake near his ear. "And it sounds like it still has fuel, too."
"Perfect. Then I've got a plan."
"Throwing a lit Molotov cocktail and making a run for it isn't really much of a plan, Trish. I coulda thought of that." The boys scoffs, though Trish maintains control over herself. Now's not the time.
"Okay, whatever, c'mon!" She orders him, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with one hand, the bottle held in the other. "Just get ready to light it."
The hallway now engulfed with flames, they take to the stairs. They ascend a path towards the top of the building, where they hope they would find an alternative escape, as the original had been blocked by a few of the brutes. The ear-popping cries behind them, they dare not look back. They cannot afford a second's worth of hesitation. A large enough amount of creepers had escaped the fire and started after them. Some of them, still alight – making them all the more formidable. Dez glimpses back slightly as the stairs make a turn. The insect-like maneuvering of the creatures seemed to defy physics. He could no longer see them as anything even remotely human. Or of this earth, for that matter. As sharp as the pain in his chest grows, he pushes himself harder to keep up with the girl in front of him.
Hearing his gasps for air, Trish slows her pace just slightly – enough for him to catch up. She positions herself behind him and proceeds to push him forward. The climb isn't exactly an easy one for her, either, and she understands that exerting her energy helping out her friend might inevitably lead to her downfall. But if it can save him…
A yelp from Dez halts her train of thought, and she finds herself bumping into him as he makes an abrupt stop. He stares up at the wall in front of him. The hollow sockets of the creature before them flex, signifying that it senses their proximity. It had managed to crawl along the walls silently, and ended up in their path without their notice. Trapped between the creature hanging from the wall in front of them, ready to pounce, and the ones tailing them not far behind, they know they cannot run any longer.
Dropping her bag by her feet and kicking it close to the wall, Trish wields her machete. Dez follows suit, and starts swinging his axe, quite erratically, at the creature in front of them, as Trish takes on the stragglers behind. The wall-scaler launches at the boy, sending him falling backwards from the weight of the impact. The ghoulish creature tries for his neck, but he blocks with the axe's handle before using it to force it off of him. He hops back onto his feet, swinging the axe again.
All the while, Trish had been kicking the creatures down off the stairwell, some of them destroyed by the impact against the ground, but others simply slowed down. The machete stays held in front of her, just in case. "Are you doin' okay there?" she asks her friend, eyes still locked on her targets. Dez responds, his voice strained.
"Y-Yeah…I think I'm wearing it down." Though he had failed to even scratch the beast, it is clear that Dez had given it enough of a work out. Its movement slows, making it all the easier for the boy to aim. The creature readies itself to pounce again, but the boy is now prepared. As the beast soars towards him, he shifts to the side, swinging the axe around like one would a baseball bat – slicing the wall-scaler in two. The axe flies all the way around, his momentum nearly cutting his own head off, but stops just a few inches before his neck. A relieved sigh escapes him.
Before he can even fully turn around, Trish heaves him forward. They pick up their bags and continue up the flight of stairs as the creepers try and catch up.
Hearing the raspy sounds, knowing freedom had to be close, Dez pushes himself – his adrenaline coursing through him electrically. No hesitation, no turning around. It takes him a little while to register that Trish is no longer pushing him. Figuring he's going a fast enough pace for her not to, he doesn't think twice about it and continues on. Unbeknownst to him, Trish had fallen behind, her energy nearly eaten up entirely. The creepers close in on the girl.
A door in sight motivates the boy to push himself even harder. He picks up his pace for the home stretch, excited by the possibility of having enough time to barricade the door from the outside before the creatures catch up. He starts to holler as he's mere yards away, feeling the last of his energy burn up. He twists the knob and forces the door open, shouting out a triumphant "WHOO!" as he makes his escape. His celebration is short-lived as he turns around to find that his friend isn't there behind him.
"Trish?" He moves back towards the door, hoping to see her close by – fully prepared to brag about his swiftness. He chuckles nervously as he peeks in, not seeing the girl. "Trish? Alright, Trish, this isn't funny – where are you?" His heart had just calmed, but he can feel it start to chase his anxiety. His face pales. How far ahead of her did he get? He didn't hear any cries for help.
He sets his bag down and grips the handle of his axe firmly as he storms back inside. He looks below to find her fighting off a growing horde. More and more of them continue climbing up. He races over as fast as his heart is now beating. How could I leave her behind like that?, he rebukes himself, wincing at a memory. He had once joked about this very situation with her.
"If we're ever really running from zombies," he told her months ago, after she mocked his gaming skills. They were playing one of their favorite video games together – a zombie game, naturally."I don't have to outrun them. I'd just have to outrun you."
He mentally curses himself for having even thought of that, let alone saying it aloud to her face. If anything happens to her, it would be his fault, one way or another. She had been protecting him the entire time, and he had left her in his dust to fend for herself. She's the strongest person he's ever known, for sure, but even she couldn't handle a horde this size. Especially not alone.
His panic rises tenfold as he sees them starting to pile on top of the struggling girl. Why didn't she call me? Why didn't she yell for help?, questions run through his mind as he approaches the scene. "Trish!" he cries out her name, catching the attention of a few of the creepers attacking her. They start towards him, only to be met with the lethal edge of his fury splitting them apart. He continues towards the girl, weapon back in ready position.
"Dez, what are you doing here?! Go!" Trish commands him, pushing the creepers off of her before they could snag a bite. Others get ready to pounce. Dez halts just a couple yards from her, brows knitted together, nonplussed.
"Dez, my bag is right there!" she points to where it lay before him. "Just take it and get the hell out of here!" It takes him a few seconds to register just what she's doing. The very thought of it sears him.
He bites down on his lower lip, hard. Rage-filled, white-knuckled, and adrenaline pumping ferociously, he charges. Before Trish can even process anything, she finds herself shoved aside by the boy in his warpath as he swings his axe at her pursuers. Unrelenting, she follows behind him. The creepers crowd around the boy.
Trish had not gone through all that effort just to lose him now. She pulls a creeper off of his back by the neck, heaving it onto the floor and stepping on its chest before piercing her blade through its skull. Dez, now more free, starts swinging his axe again, managing to get the other two off of him.
Seizing this opportunity, Trish grapples onto Dez's arm and pulls him along with her towards the exit. Dez picks up on what she's doing and scoops up her bag as he runs alongside her. This time they would run together. He latches onto her arm just as her grip on his had released, and leads her as he picks up his pace. Just as he makes it through the open door, making sure Trish is still by his side this time, he slams it shut behind him and presses his back against it.
"Quick! Get something to block the door!" he orders the girl, his hand still tightly clasping her arm. He tosses the bag and axe in his other hand aside, pushing his back against the door even harder.
"I could if you let me go," she snarls at him, yanking her reddened arm away. She dashes over to a group of metal crates – quite conveniently – nearby, and one by one pushes them over to the door. Dez struggles to hold the door closed as he feels the monsters pushing against it from the inside. Trish forces two of the heavy crates against the door. They seem to do the trick, and Dez moves away.
"We should probably stack two more on top, just in case," he advises. Trish attempts lifting one, shaking as she lifts it a few inches off the ground. Dez pitches in on the other side and helps her place the block. They do the same with the fourth, both expelling deep breaths upon completion.
They slide their backs down the crates, sitting themselves in front of them and catching their breaths.
It had been silent on the rooftop only a short while before the two were at each other's throats – both pissed, both exhausted, and both stubborn as hell.
"What is wrong with you?!" he cries out at her, his tone precipitously elevating. The girl before him widens her eyes in alarm, scoping the area to check if he had drawn in any unwanted attention.
"Dez! Keep it down!" she warns him, gripping the handle of her machete tight in her hand. "We don't know for sure if there's anything up here or not."
"Oh, so now you're worried about your safety? What about a little while ago when–"
"–That was different. Besides, I'm alive, aren't I?"
"Because I had to go in and save you."
"That was a stupid idea. You should've just taken supplies and ran." The anger had suddenly been pulled from her voice, leaving her with a meek tone. She shakes her head, now trying to avoid any eye-contact with the boy.
"And then what, Trish?" he asks her, moving about her as he tries to get her to look him in the eyes. He stops in front of her and gets a handle on her by the shoulders. Her machete slips out of her hand, clinking against the concrete floor. "Then what, Trish? Just leave you? Uh-uh, I don't think so."
"You nearly got yourself killed!" she shouts, finding her voice. Facing him, she wrenches herself out of his grasp. "I know you might think of yourself as some sorta zombie-slayer now, but let's face it - you're not built for this, Dez."
"And you are?"
"More than you are, clearly."
"I got you out of there, didn't I? Why can't you just say thank you?"
"Because you could've died. And there's no way I'm going to thank you for that." The silence that follows her words is tense, pulling at the two of them by the hairs of their necks. Her eyes glaze over, though she continues to glare at him, unyielding. His own countenance does not have so much control; it drops at her words.
"What about you?" he asks her after a few moments, finally finding his voice, his tone now gentle. "What would have happened to you if I didn't go back to get you?"
"I can handle myself," she mutters, no longer able to maintain eye contact. She looks off the side, wincing as a gust of dust-filled wind blows some of her hair into her face.
"You were in way over your head, Trish." He steps closer to her, brushing the locks out of her face and tucking them behind her ears. He slides his hands forward from there to cup her jaw.
"I...I didn't think we could both make it," she admits, her eyes fighting to keep looking away. Dez maintains his calm, though he feels himself close to caving in – on the verge of expelling his every emotion. The anger, the sadness, the terror – all a fraction away from pushing him into hysteria.
His suspicions were right. Self-sacrifice. For his sake. The same girl who once would not even hold his place in line. The same girl who once refused to be his friend for couple months just because he told her that he likes mushrooms on his pizza. This girl.
His words caught in his throat, just about suffocating him, he engulfs her in his arms and rests his head on hers. She sinks into his embrace, leaning on him for support, laying her head on his chest. His heart beat hadn't eased up. He runs his fingers down her tresses.
"Don't do that again. Don't you ever do that to me again – you understand?"
"I'm not sorry."
"I don't want an apology. I need a promise." He pulls away to look her in the face. "Promise me."
"Fine. I won't do that again. But I'm still not sorry," the girl maintains.
"I am." Dez leans in and gives her a light peck on the forehead. She cocks her head to the side, befuddled by his answer.
"You're sorry? For what exactly? Saving my life?"
"So you admit I saved you," he teases her, steering away from her questions.
"Yeah, alright – you did." She shakes her head. "But we're not out of the woods yet. Sam and Ray are waiting for us down there. And we have no way of knowing for sure if we can trust them on their word."
"You heard what they said. We can't just run away. Even if we take these supplies. We're too far from anywhere. It won't be enough." Dez leans down and picks up his axe. Staring down at it, he attempts to devise a plan. His left arm aches, his injury still affecting him, but a lot less than it had before. Apparently rest isn't what it needed.
"Dez, they've got machine guns. You're not so bad with that axe, but these guys are not those beasts we just fought off. They are malicious criminals that probably have every angle of this figured out." She picks up her machete and tucks a loose curl behind her ear.
"So…We'll just surrender and hope for the best?"
"It's the only chance we've got right now." She shrugs. "Unless you've thought of something better?"
Scratching his stubbled chin in thought, he looks at the two supply bags leaning against the metal crates. "I believe I have."