Russian Roulette

Whoops.

In almost three hours the group had managed to walk about four miles and had slayed countless Infected. It couldn't be much after twelve noon and all of them finally seemed to realize that they too were hungry. Nick was naturally the one to start complaining. He plopped on the ground and clutched a hand over his stomach.

"Ugh." He groaned. "Why didn't I think to steal something to eat?"

Rochelle sat next to him, and Ellis and Keith copied her. "It's not your fault, hun," she assured, patting the conman's shoulder. "We had priorities – get guns and scram."

"Still," Nick insisted, "food's pretty important. My stomach is killing me." He set down his gun and stared at his stomach. It felt like it was squeezing itself to death. "When was the last time we even ate anything?"

Keith smiled sheepishly. "I ate at the base," he said. "The food wasn't great, but at least it was somethin'. They only had breakfast an' dinner ta save food. There was rumors goin' 'round about how they weren't gonna have breakfast anymore."

Rochelle shared a glance with Nick and thought the same thing he did: Probably to save food for the non-Carriers.

"God damn it." Nick sighed. "We must've missed dinner."

Ellis spoke up for the first time since they had left the base. "We'll be fine for a while if we can find water," he suggested.

Rochelle nodded and said, "True, but where are we gonna find water that isn't flowing with Infected guts?"

All four of them looked at each other in a disgusted manner. Ellis looked the most repulsed; thanks to being caught by so many Smokers, he had actually tasted such a thing before while being mauled. Cannibalism rumors suggest humans taste like pork – in reality they tasted like blood and Lord knows what else. "Maybe we could just find a house," he said. "There's gotta ta be some o' those water bottles somewhere." Sadly, most of the water bottles they had found as of yet were empty and crunched up. The first few weeks of the Infection had called for preparation and people had used up most of their supplies, leaving survivors with nothing. The army base had been lucky to have food at all.

Nick sighed and stood up. "Well, that's our best bet." He decided: and usually he was correct about best bets. This meant that Rochelle and Ellis knew it was the only thing they could do. Keith seemed to get the hint.

"So you're like the commander?" he asked, punching Nick's shoulder. "Alright, Boss, I'll listen. Only 'cause you seem ta know what you're doin'."

"He's had the most gunslinging experience," Rochelle added, grinning at Nick.

"Stop trying to make me blush." Nick said flatly. "Though it's true, I am pretty handy with weapons." He missed the good old days of pulling weapons when he lost a heated game of Poker. He missed the excitement of having a weapon pulled on him for the same reason and making a quick getaway. That was all fun and thrill; this was real life. He couldn't help but think of the women that would surround him whenever he won, however… Now the only women were Spitters and other Infected – oh, and Rochelle, but he was hesitant to make any advances. Besides, they didn't have time to screw around (literally). They would get attacked by snarling monsters in the middle of any passionate moment. He couldn't help staring at her, though; she was pretty good-looking. Too bad she was so damn proper most of the time.

As Nick wallowed in his lustful thoughts, Rochelle wondered why on earth he was staring at her so intently.

"Wake up, Boss!" Keith said, waving a hand in front of Nick's face.

Nick smacked Keith's hand away. "Right." he mumbled, picking up his gun. He led the group through the woods again as their stomachs growled angrily.

"Hallelujah!" Keith exclaimed, getting on his knees in front of the soggy box of water bottles. A few of the bottles were empty or smashed and their contents had been absorbed by the cardboard, but most of them had miraculously survived. He excitedly pulled out the good bottles and distributed them. The four of them opened the caps and drank faster than they could swallow. The house they were in was quite damaged like all the others but had been the only one with suitable water.

They hadn't found any food. They were tired of running and their clothes were bloodier and more tattered than ever. However, none of them felt the need to complain; a nap wasn't worth risking their lives in this area. What they really needed was a safe place to stay, and this wasn't it; the doors were all smashed and the windows were broken, and the only food was spoiled or spilled on the floor. Keith took it upon himself to find a small duffel bag in one of the bedrooms and put the remaining water bottles in it – he smiled proudly when Rochelle praised him for the idea.

"This is good," Nick said, reloading his gun while they weren't being attacked. "We have water now. Water's good." This was more for the sake of keeping everyone else motivated; in reality it was obviously very bad. Sure, they had water, but they were lacking food and shelter. What would they do when they ran out of ammo? Where was the next house going to be? Would that house even have any supplies? They had been lucky to find this place in the middle of nowhere. It was while he was reloading his gun and thinking of these things that things got even worse; he was almost finished placing the bullets in their rightful places when he felt as if all the air had been forced out of him by the immense pressure around his abdomen. His gun fell out of his hands as he was yanked away into the dark recesses of the house that they hadn't explored yet. There was a horribly familiar cough that rang loud in his ears and then something blunt hit the side of his head, nearly knocking him over. He recognized this sequence easily – he had been pulled in by a Smoker and was now going to get the snot beaten out of him until someone killed it or cut that disgustingly slimy tongue off.

He heard the shouts of his comrades from the room he had just been pulled out of, and then there were sounds of rapid gunfire and screeching Infected. The Smoker threw its fist into his jaw this time. All he could do was stare at its horribly disfigured face as he was hit over… and over… and over again. There was a horrible thought in the back of his mind; what if the others were too busy out there to come help him?

To make matters worse, there was a shriek in the distance, followed by a crouching hooded figure leaping through a nearby window.

"Guys?" Nick called loudly, hoping at least one of them would hear. Another smack to the side of his head – he was beginning to get a migraine from all of this. "There's a Hunt—oh shit." The Hunter looked straight at him – if Hunters could even see with those horrible bloody holes where eyes should be – and let out another screech as it flung itself at him.

More migraine-inducing punches combined with searing pain in his right shoulder indicated that this might indeed be the end. No one was coming to help him. He was going to die in this run-down hellhole of Infected Southerners in the middle of nowhere. This wasn't at all how he'd wanted to die, God damn it.

He was in the middle of accepting his fate and getting mangled that he was surprised when there was a louder gunshot and the Hunter was flung off of him. Another shot and the Smoker fell over, its tongue falling limp and slipping to the floor. The whole world seemed to be spinning and all Nick could do to stabilize it was let himself fall as well and succumb to the ceiling that danced in all different directions, enveloping him in a blurry state of madness. A blurry shape blotted out wherever the dim source of light was coming from and a slurred voice echoed around him. "Nick, are you okay?" it demanded. He feel the vague touch of a hand on his unharmed shoulder as he was shaken, making the blurry room mix together even more. "Nick, come on. Can you hear me? Nick!"

The screeching and gunshots faded into the sound of footsteps and two other voices conversing quietly with the first one. Their figures stood close by, staring down at him.

"…think he's out of it," one voice said – hey, maybe that was Rochelle. It had to be; it was higher-pitched than the other two.

"We need ta move," another voice said. Then one of the figures approached him and he felt more hands pulling him up. He stared into the face of what must be Ellis; his eyes were filled with concern and he had what must be a bloody wound on his cheek and several new bruises. "Ellis," Nick muttered, tapping him on the shoulder. The other man looked down at him, then glanced at one of the other two survivors, then back at Nick. "Yeah?" he asked.

"I want… my gun." Nick replied gesturing sloppily to some random corner of the room where his gun most certainly did not lie. Rochelle's blurry form went to pick up his gun from the other room as Ellis followed her with Nick in his arms. When Rochelle had Nick's gun, they all exited the house and kept moving through the forest in hopes of finding somewhere that would keep them safe for at least a little while.