A lot of this comes from Isaac Marion. Some of it comes from Eric Kripke. I guess the rest is me... Enjoy. Please leave a review at the end.

It was at least a few hours before we made it to the airport. The place was infested with zombies. There were hundreds of them. It astounded me how they built this "home" up and lived here like the world was normal. I faded in and out of consciousness due to the blood loss. All I could recall from my frequent eye-openers was that the corpse had smothered me in his own blood to hide my scent as we passed through the crowds of dead people. We walked through a gate where a TFA officer scanned us. Did they still have jobs? Did they think they still had jobs? Or were they even aware they had died?

There were also skeletons, but from the looks of it they hung out in a secluded area a few floors above. When I passed a small hoard of boneys, they sniffed me like they were memorizing my scent, or validating that I was 'dead'.

The next time I had opened my eyes we were going down an escalator…. That somehow still worked. The hoard we followed before had dispersed by now.

We exited a hangar and were walking across the airport runway to a small jet with the number 747 painted on it, the letters of the airline were faded from rust and blood.

"Let me go…." I murmured, my eyes rolling back into my head as I felt my unconsciousness try to encompass me again. "My brothers."

He tightened his grip as we walked up the stairs to the jet, and he banged my feet against the swinging door while we passed inside.

"Ow…." I muttered; my eyes closed now.

"S…..S-Stay…. Awake…" The words basically floated in one ear and out the other. I couldn't tell if it was my imagination, or if the zombie had actually spoken again. Or had I said that? My subconscious maybe?

The next time my eyes fluttered open, I was on the floor, a thin blanket beneath me.

"W-What where am I?" I looked to the corpse, who stood before me, hands in his jean pockets. "Oh God…. This is real…." I eyed my dagger sticking out of his thigh and in a swift motion; I did a sit up and pulled the thing out. I scooted back on the floor of the plane between the isles and held the dagger out. "Get back." I threatened, my eyes tearing up. "Please… d-don't come near me. Next shot's the head."

His eyes go wide, but he continues to stare. His lips part, but he doesn't say anything. He took a step towards me, and I use my hands to shuffle backwards again, but the dragging of my leg is more painful this time so I winced.

"My brothers are hunters you know..." I grimaced again, as my leg twitched swlightly.

It was starting to sting now. Tourniquet's only last for so long. They're a temporary measure of surviving… From most cases on television, when I binge watched 'I survived' on Netflix, they ended up chopping off the limb and getting a prosthetic.

"Are you just gonna stand there?!" I screamed at him, startling him. "Eat me already! I don't know why the fuck you took me back to your lair or whatever! Just get it over with!"

He started feverently shaking his head. He went to take another step, but I held the bloody dagger out, and he stopped in his tracks.

"N-No…. Eat…" He struggled to get out. "No…." He pointed to his teeth, made a snapping gesture, and shook his head, his dark locks shaking.

"Ya right!" I spat, wiping the tears forming again. I didn't want to die here…. In a plane. Plane's were one of my two biggest fears. Even being on the thing made me feel like I was going to have a panic attack. When I was a kid my brothers my dad and I went to take a trip to California and the second my foot crossed the barrier from the terminal to the plane, I fainted. The second I woke up, I ran. Two puffs of my inhaler later, and hours vomiting in the bathroom, as well as crying, the plane had taken off. I had slight aviophobia…

Maybe major….

"I don't…." My voice cracked, and I could feel the bolus of phlegm rising from my throat. I leaned over to sputter it up into the elbow of my shirt and out came not only that, but splatters of blood. "O-Oh God…." I grimaced at the sight. "Oh God…. I'm gonna die. Great! Great. Only I could die from something other than being eaten alive during a FREAKING ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE." I sniffled as I felt my nose start to run, and I wiped my face with my clean sleeve to dry my sticky tears.

The zombie said nothing during my outburst, instead pointed to my leg.

"Thanks asshole, I'm aware."

His gray, soulless eyes darted from me, to my leg, then to anywhere but me.

"Well?" I questioned, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

"N-No…. Eat…."

I sighed. "Yeah 'no eat'" I mimicked, "I get it. Then what do I do? Wait here and die? You might as well eat me at this point."

He made a face (or rather tried to….). The dude had probably never had a human offer up their body before.

"S-Safe…. He muttered after moments of silence. "K-Keep… you safe…"

Safe my ass. I thought to myself. The last five years of my life my brothers had built up an army against these guys to blow their heads off. I had been raised by two goofballs that were basically built to kill. Even before the apocalypse, Sam, Dean and my father were always out hunting.

From my peripheral I saw the grey, lean fingers point towards me again, like a toddler. I followed his hand gesticulating to my wounded limb, once again, and I noticed the small shard of metal still sticking out of it.

I frowned. I must have forgotten that scrap and been too buggered up to remember to eradicate it before. In an ideal situation I would've loved to sanitize the shit out of my hands before yanking it out, but I was stuck in this stupid jet with the weirdest zombie I had ever met, and I wasn't totally a hundred percent sure I wasn't still dreaming right now, so I yanked the damn thing out with my hands, cutting my left palm in the process.

I hissed, moaning as I lay back on the dusty carpet and writhed like a worm.

It took me a few minutes to suffer through the pain. It wasn't bearable, I had just gotten used to the burning sensation growing all over my body. It felt like I was on fire. I could feel the hot blood pumping through my veins and exiting places like my hand, my leg, and my forehead.

When I sat back up to look at the silent corpse, he was gone.

With my leg towing behind, I limped to the windows and pressed my clean hand to the foggy glass. From here I could see him entering the airport hangar again, his gait limp was entirely too distinguishable.

Could I leave? I couldn't leave. I couldn't walk. He'd most likely find me half way down the stairs before I even had the chance to escape. If only telephone's still worked… I could tell my brothers where I was and they could come to rescue me. It was night time, which was a frequent hunting time for the Dead, which meant a greater risk for me if I tried to escape. The blood made my scent stronger too.

I sat down in the uncomfortable airport chart, resting my leg up on the neighboring chair.

I observed the small, cluttered jet. The room was filled with toys and knick knacks. It looked like a pawn shop that I once visited with my dad in San Fran before the whole end of the world thing happened.

There was a snow globe, a record player, a bird house, a coo coo clock, a calendar, numerous books and movies, but no dvd player, blankets, board games, jewelry, posters, and that was only the visible stuff. It was all scattered around the room, mostly in the middle. My crossbow was sitting on a chair in the isle farthest away from me. Towards the back of the plane was a small fridge… probably where he kept his left over brains… The cockpit was behind closed doors.

Did I want to know what was there? Rotting bodies? More zombies? I shivered.

I tightened my hand around a small necklace hanging from my neck. It was something my brother Sam had made me for Christmas during our first year behind the walls. It was just a small amulet hanging from a black string from my neck, but it was a carved tribal skull with horns on the head made from wood. He stained it himself and everything. Holding it made me feel a little safer, a little closer to where "home" was. I wondered if they were aware I was missing yet?

I heard the neglected hinge of the plane's door swing open, and the corpse came limping in, his body swaying slightly like usual, a red box in hand.

When he held the box out, I noticed the white faded cross on either side of it. It was a first aid kit, a loaded one too by the looks of it. What was he hoping for? Me to heal myself and then him eat me?

I snatched it from him muttering "You're lucky I'm trained in first aid," before I opened it. Little did he know that I was trained five years ago before everything went down, but I thought it was best to leave that out.

I started shuffling through the various supplies while he stood there, watching me like a hawk. Every so often I'd glance at him from the corner of my eye, expecting him to look away, but he never did. I just curled my lips over my teeth, ignoring it, and focusing at the task at hand.

I grabbed the small hand held mirror out of the kit, laying it on my lap. I snatched up a sanitary wipe, gauze, a needle, a small hemostat, and a pair of scissors.

His thick brows rose, with his lips still parted, and it was the first expression he had made in the last minute.

I shook my head. "Well, if you're not going to eat me…" I held the mirror out to him. "Hold this. But you lost your chance…" I tried to joke with the corpse, but he obviously hadn't understood.

He moved to sit cross legged on the floor in front of me, and he held up the mirror. I moved his hand to readjust, and he twitched, but I ignored it.

It was too dark in here to see anything, but the luxury of flashlights wasn't an option in the hoard of supplies sitting in the middle of the plane.

My eyes struggled to see in the dim lighting. I moved to clean the area, removing the hem of my shirt from my forehead. I used the sanitary wipe to clean my hands, and then used the other side to wipe the blood away from my wound. I hissed when I felt the stinging sensation of the alcohol enter the crevasse. Once it was all clean, I moved the thread through the hole in the needle and prepared for the painful pricks.

I clicked the hemostat around the middle of the needle, locking it, and entered the wounded flesh above my eyebrow. It was consequently difficult to see, but I managed to get the first stitch. I would only need two more. After looping it three times around the hemostat I knotted it twice and cut the remaining thread off.

"I was a CDA before the world went to shit."

Every time I cursed, the corpse looked away. It made me pleased to know I had bothered him. The feeling was mutual.

"Certified Dental Assistant," I elaborated. "Only for a few months though. I had just gotten out of college. They teach you to remove stitches in class, but I had watched so many damn oral surgeries I could stitch a mother's belly back up after a caesarian if I really wanted to."

He nodded shyly.

I finished the last stitch and moved to my hand. There was a dirty cloth in the first aid kit, and it was then that I realized that this had been used before, but it was the best I could do with right now.

I filled a capful of alcohol and wet the cloth in it.

The zombie was still holding the mirror up, so I took it from him, placing it back in the box. He flinched again, standing up once he realized he wasn't needed anymore.

He started towards the back of the plane, and I watched him until he vanished before aiding to my wounds again. I wiped my palm clean, pausing to let the pain die down a little before continuing. I got a roll of gauze and tied it around my palm and my thumb, and then taped it with medical tape to ensure it was secure.

Now: the leg.

This was going to be a hell of a fix.

I bit my dry, cracked, bloody lips, and searched the kit for supplies. I wasn't entirely sure about what to do at this point. If it was really bad, then I would need surgery to reconnect some major arteries; but I didn't know any zombie surgeons in the hangar.

Best case scenario, I had cut some minor tendons and veins, and would have to walk around with a minor limp for the rest of my life IF I ended up stitching it up sufficiently and had fresh gauze to change it every day—as well as ointment to keep it clean.

That was as far as my knowledge went, and what I had to work with.

I shuffled to back up and lean my head against my chair, and I straightened both legs out in front of me. The second I would remove the tourniquet I would feel an immense release of pressure and then came would come flowing back. I'd have to move hastily, and sanitarily.

I readied my supplies beside me, and counted down before diving into the medical implication.

I touched the necklace hanging from my throat once more, thinking of my brothers, before releasing the tourniquet.

I screamed through gritted teeth, and I saw the corpse in my peripheral again, but continued. My eyes went blurry, and I tried to blink back the liquid as I hissed through my teeth.

The pulsating sensation was indescribable. My leg hurt. My head hurt. My everything hurt. A dull sciatic ache had settled elsewhere on my body except for the affected areas. The pain sheeted through my leg with terrible intensity, but I pushed through it as I dabbed my leg with the alcohol-swathed cloth. I had no idea what I was doing. I wasn't a health professional. Well I was… but that was for like six months and I only saw people's teeth.

I dabbed and dabbed and dabbed, but the bleeding never stopped.

I hadn't expected it too… but I just had a little bit of hope that maybe my day would end easily.

I screamed loudly again as I felt a surge of pain wrack through me again, and I started the stitches. My vision was so clouded, I felt faint from all the blood but I had to stay awake. I had to stay alive. It was the first time all night I felt like I had a chance. If it weren't for the loss of blood…

I could see the tunnels start to form again, and I heaved breaths. The first cut, the smaller one, was done, but very sloppily. I moved to the bigger one. My needle moved through the wound continuously, and I tied the first stitch off.

Suddenly, the room grew warm, and I started to sweat heavily. My eyes were solely focused on the last few stitches, and I had pressed so hard to keep myself awake.

I coughed and sputtered a few more times, which seemed to wake my head up and rid the tunnel vision for a few seconds.

When the last stitch was tied, I dabbed it with the cloth. The cloth was completely soaked with my insides and at this point it was excreting more than sucking up. I picked up the blanket underneath me and dabbed at it again.

I groaned when I grabbed the larger gauze and tightened it around my leg. I used half of the roll and cut it off with bloody scissors. The part of the floor I was sitting on looked like I had just committed murder. The second I had finished, I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes peering up at the ceiling, and I took a deep breath. The pulsing sensation deep in my leg returned, but at least a majority of the pain that was unbearable had dispersed.

I sighed, closing my eyes.

So so tired…

I heard a flapping noise. Due to curiosity, I reopened my eyes, and saw a black fabric falling down on top of me. When it relaxed on top of my body, I looked up to where it had come from. The zombie was searching through the overhead, and tossed me a pillow.

I gave him a discerning look, before rolling over and letting fatigue wash over me.

"Keep…. Safe…." He moaned again, before he staggered towards the flight deck.

I sighed.

What… was he?