"Damnit, I knew I shoulda lost weight."

It wasn't like that would make much of a difference, but the fat man could dream all he liked. Everyone was quiet except for Ellis, who was telling some inane Keith story since Coach was taping up his sides with thick white bandage. It was amazing how Ellis could manage to keep track of these stories, never tell the same one twice, and breathe easy enough to speak at all through the huge gashes the Witch's claws left in his skin.

"I ever tell you…about…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…third-degree burns on 95 percent…of his body. Man, people…in the next…city over were calling to complain about…about the smell of burning skin…"

It was a miracle that this particular story didn't drag on like the others had. Usually someone had to intervene to keep Ellis from tipping their nerves in the wrong direction. Not only was everyone too exhausted to interrupt, but Nick also ventured that the kid was in too much pain to keep wheezing out words like he just had.

Nick leaned over Rochelle's outstretched leg on the floor and wrapped her ankle tightly in the same white bandage Coach was using for Ellis, using it to keep a splint in place for her sprained ankle, and heaved a sigh. He didn't imagine this was how he was going to be spending the rest of -

"Was that a hickey, Nick?"

It had been. Rochelle was close to his neck now that the conman's attentions were on her upper arm, rubbing disinfectant over the fresh crescent-shaped cuts from zombies having a hold on her. It had been at least a week since that had been given to him, if not more. He was losing track of time now, great.

"You could make it one if you want, Sweetheart." He smirked, looking up at her briefly as he slapped a band-aid over the cuts and leaned back to tend to himself. He didn't sport too many new injuries, as usual- he was good about preserving himself first and foremost. That's why he was always the one to initiate health kit delegation; after the atrium disaster, he had not been selfish with health packs the way he used to be, and everyone could tell. He probably began to realize, around the middle of the underground, that he stood a much better chance at making it out alive with his team than without.

"Heh. Oh, please."

She rolled her eyes, not phased by his offer apparently, and Nick chuckled a little under his breath. It was worth a shot.

Just then, a howl of pain rang through the safe room, causing both Rochelle and Nick to look up and for Coach to sigh loudly.

"His damn knee was dislocated."

"How do you dislocate a knee, Ellis!"

Rochelle sounded astounded, but Nick was far less surprised. He had way too much knowledge of human anatomy and what could and could not be dislocated. The knee was a hard one, but the Witch tackling Ellis to the ground was likely to result in something like that.

Nick moved over to where Coach and Ellis were sitting, with Ellis' head propped up on a few flattened cardboard boxes (a practice they had all gotten into very quickly considering how small some safe rooms were and how much space the boxes took up). He positioned himself at the right of Ellis' left leg, which was awkwardly bent, and placed his hands lightly over Ellis' knee. He felt the outlines of bones when he pressed down ever-so-slightly, and nodded.

"Yeah, the Witch must've taken you down pretty hard, kid. This ain't gonna be fun."

Nick made the mistake of looking over at Ellis' face for a second. Among spots of pain and worry, he saw very blatant, childlike fear and vulnerability. Ellis had gotten limbs broken and his eyeball cut and accidentally swallowed a little boomer bile, so what was the new fear of re-aligning a dislocated bone for?

"Hey, don't be a pussy. It was just a dislocated bone, Ellis, all we have to do was put it back in place and you'll be 'right as rain'." The clichéd phrase was spoken in an overdramatic southern accent, and Ellis' expression changed from scared to grumpy in a split second.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' right as rain. And I ain't a pussy, either, Nick. Jus', I don't like getting bones shoved round."

Understandable, Nick supposed, given that it was occasionally a horrible sensation and usually followed by annoying, minor aches for weeks. "Well I don't like getting my suit dirty, but none of you have any appreciation for cleanliness, so I trample through drains and shit without-"

"Complaining? No, you do that plenty." Rochelle smirked from her corner, arms crossed and brow raised.

Nick snorted and turned away from the offender, scooting back a bit and then sighing. "Ready, champ? Gonna do it on three. One, two-"

For a brief second, Nick contemplated re-aligning it on 'two' instead, just so that Ellis wasn't expecting it and didn't make it worse than it was, but he had a feeling that the kid would never let him live it down, and feel betrayed or upset. So Nick kept to his word and waited till three.

With a horrible snapping sound, the bone was back in place, and Ellis let out an anguished scream. It was surprisingly masculine.

"Shut up and drink." Nick pushed a water bottle into Ellis' mouth almost immediately after the cry had begun, and it was stifled with water-gurgling sounds.

"Careful now, don't drown 'em. I'd rather it be you we drown." Coach smirked a little from his leaning position against the safe room door as he applied salve to his cuts.

"Hey, I'm the most valuable asset you got! Watch it, Tons of Fun."

Coach shook his head and yawned.

"Let's take a nap before we get back out there. I know we're in a bit of a hurry, but neither of you young'ns are ready to go fight shit."

It was generally agreed that they should take a bit of a breather before trying to alert the helicopter with a concert that would lightly draw multiple hordes of zombies, both special and common, plus at least a couple tanks. A quiet thick as fog laid heavy over the room as each member settled in; Coach pushed against the door as a bit of a barricade, already seconds away from snoozing, Rochelle sifting through a few boxes in the corner to make sure they were entirely empty, Ellis fiddling with reloading his gun, and Nick bushing dirt off his suit. Yet again.

After somewhere around two hours, the team was back up on their feet and getting ready to head back out. Rochelle's ankle sprain and Ellis' previously-dislocated knee were big problems, but they couldn't afford to stay in the room until the two youngest of the group were healed up, and risk missing the rescue helicopter.

"We'll just have to hope for the best and watch each other's backs a little more than usual." Rochelle muttered as she hobbled out of the room behind Coach, followed by Ellis, with Nick bringing up the rear. The two most injured team mates always stayed between the two healthiest; it was a strategy they had adopted not very long ago, and it had worked very well so far.

The group trekked down the long hallway leading to the stadium, with Rochelle and Nick breaking off to check the bathrooms for anything useful, while Coach and Ellis stayed out front to ensure nothing came in from behind them. One Boomer, Jockey, and Spitter later, the Survivors were climbing up onto the stage where the Midnight Riders were supposed to have played.

"All RIGHT! The Midnight Riders, live in concert…man, I always thought it'd be a dream to stand on a legendary Riders Stage…" Coach was running a hand reverently over one of the large amplifiers stacked on stage, almost completely neglecting Rochelle's hobbling up the stairs until she cleared her throat pointedly and he helped her up the rest of the way.

Nick watched as Rochelle moved slowly upward and Ellis didn't even bother to survey the steps, arm flying out and grabbing him by the back of his dirty t-shirt, rings digging in slightly to Ellis' back and uncut fingernails scratching against the cloth.

"Ellis, you probably shouldn't go—"

"Pills here!" Coach was grinning as he held up a large bottle of – oh, god, was that –

"Vicodin?" Ellis almost sounded hopeful, and raised an arm to catch the bottle that Coach threw his way, but it sailed past him and fell right next to Nick, who sighed and picked it up, turning it over in his hand a few times.

"Everyone's favorite." He grinned and opened it up, taking a few for himself and shoving them in his pockets, before handing it over to Ellis. Hey, he wasn't any help to this kid if he was injured later on.

"Thanks Nick," Ellis grinned like a schoolboy given a gold star and popped the pills with enthusiasm that a druggie might balk at. If there was one thing any of them could be sure of, it was Ellis' overwhelming ability to do everything with extreme spirit.

Ellis sat on the second step of the stairs with his leg propped outward in a stretch beside Rochelle, who sat on the topmost stair, while Coach admired the guitars and pyrotechnic setup. Nick had hit the jackpot only a few minutes into exploration, finding a pile of pill bottles and adrenaline shots, which were relocated to the center of the stage for convenience sake.

Rochelle and Ellis, both having drowned their pain in pills, were eventually up and walking about as though nothing had happened. Ellis still moved with a bit of a limp and Rochelle winced often enough to remind everyone that she had a sprained ankle, but it was an improvement from sitting down limply.

Ellis and Coach remained on the stage to pick off straggling random common infected and talk about the classic rock band, while Rochelle and Nick, not as impressed, moved onto the stadium bleachers to search for more ammo, guns and health packs.

"Weapons over here!" Rochelle announced, after turning on the stage lights and waving Nick over to a few scattered guns- among them, a magnum pistol, hunting rifle, combat rifle and silenced submachine gun. The conman picked up the silenced submachine and haphazardly kicked the rest down to the dirt floor for easier access later. Looking slightly to the left, Nick saw an extensive pile of ammo, which he sat down to sort through so that they didn't need to bring back any ammo they couldn't use.

Rochelle sat beside him, and together they tossed ammo packs into a separate pile that would be able to fill the guns they were equipped with. As usual, Nick was happy to revel in the quiet, and Rochelle was happy to comply, apparently still reeling a little from the effects of the pills. As soon as they had gathered ample ammunition, the two scooped it up in their arms and began the journey back down the stadium steps. Unfortunately, a few boxes went tumbling out of Rochelle's hands, and before she could stop herself, she was falling forward over them.

Nick, behind her, dropped the ammo in his hands and reached out, grabbing her shoulders with both of his hands and holding her upright and steady. For a tense three seconds, they stood there and watched the ammunition tumble around their feet, scattered. Nick let out a sigh and let go of her once she was stable again, shaking his head and bending down to begin retrieving the ammunition they had dropped.

Rochelle, meanwhile, exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding, and turned around to begin picking up what was behind her.

"Thanks, Nick."

"Yeah. Well, don't wanna be down one member before we even start." His tone was a little rough, as though he didn't understand what he was being thanked for. After a slight pause, he spoke again, turned away from her to gather more boxes. "Still don't understand how you all haven't left me to rot yet. I would'a."

Rochelle laughed, like it was a joke. It wasn't.

"I'm serious."

There was a pause and Nick was not entirely sure what it was for. Rochelle seemed to be gathering thoughts, and when they were both upright, with ammo in arms and tottering carefully down the stadium steps, she spoke again.

"Nick, you may've been a self-serving conman when we came into this. Back in that mall, I'm sure you would have let us all eat shit with the Tank if it weren't for Ellis carrying the last gas can."

Nick didn't object because he couldn't.

"But it's different now. We're all different now. You don't go through a zombie apocalypse with strangers and expect to stay the same. I'm sure you tell yourself that you're still here just because we're an easy ticket out of a mess, and…well, that might be why you're sticking around, sure. How are any of us to know the truth?"

"GOTTA REACH FOR THE TOP, STAY ON THAT MOUNTAIN!" Ellis' voice boomed out of the speakers nearby, and both the Survivors winced, looking over at him. Rochelle smiled and Nick glared despite Ellis being unable to see either of them.

"But I've seen Coach and Ellis and the way they treat you, the things they do for you. Now, don't open your mouth like that, I'm not sayin' you asked Coach to sacrifice his health pack to get you up after that Smoker got you, and I'm not sayin' you begged Ellis to pull you up off the side of the balcony either."

Nick had been about to interject, not wanting anyone to think he was asking for handouts or sacrifices.

"But if we didn't want you to stick around, if we wanted to just leave you to fend for yourself, don't you think we'da done it already? Use your head, Nick. We care about you."

They finally hit the dirt floor and moved over to Ellis and Coach, who were playing around with the microphone and the soundboard. Rochelle laid out the ammo close to the stage platform, and Nick just stood still, watching everything go around him in what felt like slow motion. Ellis was laughing and smiling with Coach, Rochelle was making her smart little remarks about the band, teasing the other men- they really had fallen into such a pattern, such a routine. They were close.

Nick felt a little detached, and only snapped out of his reverie when Coach hustled him to drop the ammo and load up the gun he carried.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Coach."

For a few minutes longer, the group stayed on the stage and talked about tactic. Coach pointed out the gas cans and firework boxes scattered around the stage on the dirt floor, mentioning that they needed to be careful not to shoot any of them until they absolutely needed to- because otherwise, they were for the inevitable Tank. Rochelle grouped the adrenaline shots by the soundboard while Ellis pushed the cans of boomer bile they had taken with them near the corner of the amplifier closest to the stage stairs.

Nick stood at the soundboard, then, and began to poke around a bit. A button very clearly labeled "Finale" stood out almost at once, and he rolled his eyes a little.

"I think I know how to start the Finale; hit the button labeled: 'Finale'."

With a start, pyrotechnics began to whir and whizz, and in response to the noise a horde of zombies let out screeches and moans. Rochelle's grip tightened visibly on her crowbar, Coach raised his rifle to the stadium steps to shoot out anything far off, and Ellis grinned like the devil in disguise.

"Here we go!" he hollered, looking outward toward the stadium's benching with Coach. For a silent second, there was nothingness, and Nick lost himself in thought- something he did not often do. One couldn't afford to waste time in deep meditation while one was fighting a zombie back.

Though as soon as the horde hit the stage he was snapped out of it, and threw a heavy ring-fingered hand backward to knock a few common infected back. Pointing his submachine gun forward, he blasted the offenders into the wall and moved toward the other Survivors to help out.

Even as Nick shouted and fought and shoved alongside his partners, Rochelle's words echoed in his head. It was hard for him to understand, that these people who had only met him a matter of two or three days ago might genuinely care for him. He watched a spitter sink to the ground and heard Coach encourage Ellis, and when the lights suddenly cut out, there was an eerie silence that blanketed the entire stadium. No moaning, no hissing, no growling- just silence and wind.

"TANK!" Rochelle screeched, and at once all guns were aimed for him. The powerful beast drew closer and closer, picking up chunks of concrete and rubble to throw at them, and each Survivor narrowly dodging. Soon it was too close for anyone's comfort- down off the stadium benches, into the dirt and headed right for them.

The jump from the stadium stairs to the ground shook their stage so hard that Rochelle toppled off of it. Her ankle twisted painfully, and, already injured, she was rendered unable to move. She screamed in pain and terror as the Tank narrowed in on its victim- the thing weakest and closest.

Nick's insides lurched. Coach and Ellis were firing madly, and just as Coach went to help her, he had to reload- he was useless down there without ammo. Ellis, injured, tried to hobble toward the edge of the stage, but Nick wasn't going to have that.

Instead, he jumped off the platform and made a beeline right for her, blindly shooting at the Tank as he went. With one hand, he helped her up, and once she was safely standing, Nick shoved her backward and forced her to lean against the stage's edge. He redirected his gunfire at the gas tank closest to him, and with a single shot it ignited and began to spread. The Tank, encased in fire, roared in pain and picked up a piece of rubble, fully prepared to hurl it. He held it above his head and let out a mighty shout, just as Nick picked Rochelle up under her knees and back and (almost literally) tossed her onto the stage again.

He felt sudden burning and warmth, and realized at once that the fire was licking at his heels. He struggled to climb up onto the wooden platform, and Rochelle held her hand out to help him, but with the last of his strength, the Tank's dying punch was jammed right into Nick's back. He howled in pain, and just as he was about to fall down, crippled, Coach grabbed him under his arms and dragged him up.

The stage lights clicked back on just as Coach pulled out his health pack and began to quickly fix what he could of Nick's wounds, Ellis doing the same for Rochelle. They stayed quiet, focused, alert; it was a brief reprieve from the battle, and it wasn't going to last long.

When Ellis had tossed Rochelle and Nick both pills, the screaming of a second horde filled their ears, and everyone readied themselves for battle.

It was clear that Rochelle and Ellis were still not faring well. Nick had slightly slower reaction times, due to his Tank incident, but otherwise was functioning normally. As long as they stayed on the stage and reserved firework and gas can explosions for special infected, Nick figured they would all be just fine.

The lights cut out again, the silence overtook the stadium, and instead of the sound of a Tank being the first thing to cease the quiet, it was the sound of a helicopter. Delighted, each Survivor immediately ran for the bleachers- well, Coach ran, and the rest hobbled and limped at a speedy pace (though that was basically Coach-paced anyway).

A mighty bellow echoed around the stadium, and for a nanosecond each living human being turned to look behind them; there, in the calamity of a mindless, clambering horde forming behind them, was yet another monstrous Tank. They each shared a panicked expression, but no sooner had the moment passed than they were running ever faster for the copter, jumping benches and hobbling over fallen rubble from the previous Tank encounter.

"WATCH OUT!"

Coach screamed a little too late. Another Tank came from right beneath the helicopter, shouting and swinging at air wildly with his massive fists. Unfortunately, air was not all he hit; the Tank's meaty appendage swung and hit Coach where it counted: his legs. Knocking him backward, he was sent flying into Rochelle, who was crushed beneath the weight of the high school football coach, and bent at an impossible angle over a stadium bench.

"ROCHELLE!"

Nick watched in slow motion as the girl fell and let out a shriek of pain, Coach rolling off of her in a hurry to get her up, but the Tank taking the opportunity presented and slamming his hand into Rochelle's thighs. She wildly kicked at the beast, but in her desperation, had forgotten entirely about her ankle. She wailed in pain as she felt the bone finally crack, and Coach, helpless and laying on the floor between benches, shot blindly at the monster through his blurry visions filled with pain.

Nick and Ellis, meanwhile, were trying their best to stay near the helicopter, fight off hordes and special infected, and help with the Tank as much as they could. The chopper pilot was screaming and cursing, desperate to get away from the violent scene, but none of the Survivors were willing to listen.

The second Tank was approaching fast. Nick had one hand on the bottom rail of the helicopter and was using his other to shoot at the tank desperately. Watching the monster take his rounds on Rochelle, and a duplicate rolling toward them at a fast pace, the conman's whole body went cold and stiff. Nick knew what was going to happen- what had to be done to stay alive. His first thoughts had been ones he didn't want to follow through with, but at this point, there was no longer a choice.

"Ellis, get in the chopper!"

"WHAT? Are you CRAZY, Nick! TWO TANKS OUT HERE!"

"ELLIS. GET IN THE GODDAMN CHOPPER!"

Nick heard his own voice crack a little. He was leaving them. Stranding them. Rochelle's eyes screamed fear and betrayal and anger, Nick saw all of these emotions in the flash of a moment she was making eye contact with him over the Tank. He quickly looked away, grabbed Ellis' arm, and pulled a Molotov from his pocket. Igniting it over a flaming zombie's corpse, Nick tossed it far off, hitting the Tank in the distance and jumping into the helicopter.

Ellis, limping and stumbling, called out even as Nick dragged him into the helicopter. The horde swarmed, the Tanks came together, both fiery blazes of scorched flesh and rage, and the pair of Survivors sank underneath the weight of the zombies bearing in on them.

"ROCHELLE! COACH! NO, NO, NO! SHIT! NO! TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND, GODDAMNIT GET BACK DOWN THERE, COACH AND RO AIN'T WITH US!"

Nick leaned out the side of the helicopter, keeping a firm grip on Ellis' arm as he flailed madly and alternated between screaming for Coach and Rochelle and cursing the pilot and Nick for leaving them behind; but no matter what, both men continued to shoot at the tanks and the horde.

When they could no longer make out the dots of their friends, Nick ceased fire. He fell backward into the helicopter's only two back seats and shut his eyes. He rest his head back against the wall and tried to ignore Ellis' wet, choked sobs and hoarse calls for his friends. He tried to ignore the gunfire that the mechanic kept up, and the thudding of his pistol and his M60 hitting the ground as it ran out of ammo completely. Nick knew they had done all they could, there was no question about that, and it was the smart thing to do- because all four of them going down in a heap would serve no greater purpose. If they COULD survive, they must, and Nick's rules applied more heavily to his apocalypse than they ever had to his regular life.

"Nick….Nick…Ro….Ro an Coach…."

"Shut up, Ellis."

There was a heavy bang, and Nick opened one eye to see Ellis fall flat on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes and chest rising and falling at an alarming rate, shuddering and jumping at irregular speeds. As he looked on the distraught and grief-stricken man, Nick heard Rochelle's words echo in his head.

'Use your head, Nick. We care about you.'

"Rochelle…ah, shit."