Thanks for the Reviews. Sadly, I write only when I can't find a certain type of story I'm looking for. I hope to actually finish this one. :D I have another version of this(up to chapter 7), but its loaded with major smut. No worries, I won't upload it. XD
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Zoey was in so much pain. Her arm must be broken. That's the only way to explain it. She couldn't move her whole left arm, not even to lift it up a couple inches. So, she covered it the best she could with her jacket, securing it to her body as tightly as she could and used her other hand to shoot with her pistols. When she ran out of ammo, she plans on using the baseball bat she found days ago. Eventually she'd get eaten, and that would be the end. The mall was quiet and so few zombies were around. She was so tired, but knew she'd never sleep again. If she does, she'll die. So eyes open at all times until some horrid infected finally gets her.
It was a weird feeling knowing she never walk outside again, or sleep, or really anything enjoyable. The very thought that she'd die in a dark, smelly mall with her dead friend in the same room as her was incredibly depressing. The feeling was so strong, she yanked the gun up to her head and kept it there. Her finger put pressure on the trigger, but only held it. The longer she sat there, the more she knew she wasn't going to pull the trigger. Becoming more and more frustrated she almost started screaming. Her built up anger stung the back of her eyes. In defeat, she slammed her gun onto the floor. 'God almighty…'
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Drifting in and out of consciousness, Zoey was beginning to feel numb. It was a pleasant feeling, she didn't feel hungry anymore and certainly didn't feel angry. She just wanted to lie down and not wake up when they're munching on her flesh. Unfortunately the pain in her arm kept her in reality.
A shot rang out, then another. Zoey was wide awake now, staring into the dark abyss. 'I heard a shot…didn't I?' She thought to herself.
Almost like an answer, another string of bullets went out. This time, she saw a chair across the room get hit.
'No…no, they're going to alert that horde upstairs.' Frozen in fear she waited.
"Shit! Smoker's got me!" A man's voice was loud, and she watched him get dragged across the room.
'There was a smoker up there?'
More gunfire, and now the horde's screams could be heard everywhere. They're all upstairs, but were already spilling over the edges of the balcony. Thirty or more fell onto their floor, lunging at the few survivors. But surprisingly they all ignored Zoey. Not one zombie came towards her. She watched a spitter upstairs take stance. It was going to shoot at one of the survivors hunched in the corner. A older black man, he looked bald from where she was sitting. She lifted her gun and pointed at the spitter. Letting her frustration go on the spitter, she unloaded. It hit the ground, no longer in sight.
Hoping they didn't notice her, she set her gun back down. The horde was practically obliterated by this point. They worked damn fast, and she was tempted to get their attention. But the last thing she could do is put herself through the heartache of dying comrades. She needed to end this now.
"Bull! We would`a never got this far if we didn't try to help people!" She snapped her head up.
'What? … they aren't…'. She heard the younger white guy argue with another slightly older white guy. The younger had brown hair sticking out of his dirty hat. He had a southern accent, and he had somewhat of a baby face. It made her want to call out to them. He wore overalls that were tied around his waist. A woman was backing him up.
She finally got a better look at the guy arguing with southern boy. He had a dirty white suit on, with a bright blue shirt. His dark hair was combed back, and he carried himself with authority. She didn't like the vibe he was giving off. Almost a 'shoot first, questions later' type of man.
She didn't have to worry about them long, they had already began looking around.
The man in the suit was now heading towards her. He had an angry expression and was yanking bodies around, kicking them. He was getting closer to Bill. She didn't want to say anything, but she will not have him messing with that man's body. She watched as he moved from his crouch to a stance, looking around. She felt the prickly sensation on the back of her neck. 'I have no reason to be afraid. There is nothing they could do that would be worse than the infected.'
He began walking in her direction, scanning the floor. He stopped in front of Bill's body. His eyes lit up and began to bend towards him. Anger flashed her vision. Pointing her gun, she shot near his feet.
"DON'T! …Don't… touch him…I MEAN IT" Her voice felt unfamiliar and it stung her throat. She almost laughed when they all dropped to the floor, completely in unison.
"Sweetheart, I won't touch him again." His voice was not the same. It felt fake to her, and it pissed her off even more. Choking an angry response down, she counted to three.
"Just please leave Bill alone." Feeling exasperated, all she wanted was them to leave. She was in no mood to be sweet talked. He asked her name, and at first she was going to ignore him. Realizing he would only pry more, she answered.
"Zoey." She looked at him and was startled by the intensity of his blue eyes. He had a small stubble, and thin lips, but the jagged features of his face was all too male. Her own reaction stunned her. She was on her deathbed… -floor, whatever. And she was in no mood for stupid attraction.
Lifting her gun up, she wanted to shoot him, but instead she tensed up.
"Don't come any closer. I don't plan on staying alive much longer. Just leave." Making up her mind, she pressed the cold muzzle of the gun to her temples.
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'Please, please go away.' She kept chanting this over and over in her head.
"Hun, we ain't going nowhere. Now come on out from under there. We can patch you up." This was not the same man. She opened her eyes again to see the black man she tried protecting earlier.
Not answering, she studied their faces. They must of took her silence as something else, because the blue eyed man began to look a bit frantic.
"Zoey, put the gun down. We can help you." She brought her attention to him again.
"What's your name?" Zoey wanted to address them.
"I'm Nick. This is Coach. The guy back there with the lady is Ellis, and she's Rochelle." By this point, they were all standing again. She couldn't remember when they stood back up.
"Well, Nick. Where in the hell did you find a brush?" It was one of the most startling things about the group. None of the men had long beards, and their hair was brushed. Even in the highlight of her journey, there were no brushes.
The man named Coach busted out laughing.
"This self-absorbed man ALWAYS finds a brush!" He was bent over holding his gut. She then noticed that her gun was on the floor at her side. At some point she had dropped it.
The other two survivors had came closer, now all four were only feet away. Coach finally composed himself when Nick gave him a dirty look.
"Look, I'm in no mood for this. Just let me think." So many mixed emotions, she was unsure on what to do. She planned to die here, and just like that she was given a second chance. She had no idea where Francis and Louis are, if they're still alive. That particular thought was the deciding factor. She needed to find her lost comrades. These people would help her. They might be an unusual group, but so were they once.
"Help me up, would you please?" She held her good arm out towards Nick. Hesitating for only a second, he grabbed her hand.
"What happened to your arm?" Nick asked her as the other picked up her useless weapons.
"Charger." If they stayed together for a while, she might tell him the truth.
"Right, well once we get to a secure room, let me take a look at it. We'll find out what you did to it." She wasn't too excited about that. If it's a dislocated shoulder, it was going to sting when they put it back. If it's broken, then it only puts more emphasis on her mortality.
"Thanks." She mumbled to them.
"Aw, hun. Don't you worry. We'll take good care of you." The woman was very sincere, and she instantly felt connected to her.
"I can barely hold a gun, but if you guys have ammo for this pistol, I can shoot something." She held her good hand out.
"Naw, don't you worry about it. There is plenty of us." Coach gingerly placed his arm under hers and started walking.
"I'm sorry, but we need to get moving, and your hobbling is going to slow us down." He had set a pretty brisk walk, but with him carrying most of her weight it didn't hurt too much to keep up.
The southern guy...Ellis? She hoped that's what his name was, had taken point. Rochelle was behind him, and Nick was close behind her and Coach. They walked for several minutes, uninterrupted.
A Hunter jumped from a top floor throwing off Ellis, but they were able to killed it without an actual pounce. After that, only a few jockeys and almost no common infected to speak of for almost an hour.
They reached a string of stores and the two younger men ducked in and out of them, looking for a place to rest.
"That tux shop has a working bathroom, and a good amount of food and water left. I say we stay here while Zoey patches up." Nick offered. She didn't want to sound too eager, but it was hard to hold back.
"Yes, please. My arm is killing me." She let go of Coach and began walking towards the store, the others following. Once inside, Coach and Ellis were already boarding up the large windows with broken boards and shelves.
"Alright, Zoey. I need you to sit here while I check out that arm of yours." Nick directed her towards a stool. She sat obediently, but was wearily watching him. He towered over her, his hands digging through a bag that Ellis was carrying. He pulled out some bottle with liquid in it.
"We need to clean those cuts of yours too." He shrugged his jacket off, laying it on the floor. Rolling up his sleeves, he dug back into the bag. Zoey watched him with great curiosity. He seemed a bit nicer now, the vision of the man kicking dead bodies fading from her mind. 'Did I imagine that?'
Finding his targeted object, he turned back to her.
"I need to take that pink thing off, okay?" He began untying the knot, delicately touching her skin. "No major cuts... that's impressive."
"You can yank it off, I'm not a porcelain doll." She suppressed a smile. When their eye's met, he apparently saw the glint of laughter there, because he did just that.
"OH JESUS!" She bit her bottom lip down in pain. "Okay, okay. I was wrong. Never mind, you're the expert." She peered back up at him. He was smiling, a smug look of victory. She would get him back for that, even if she incited it originally.
He finally got the tangled jacket off, and he felt around her swollen limb. He tried moving it, but that wasn't going to happen.
"Yea, it's not going to bend that way." She bit down on her lip again. This time she tasted blood.
"Good news. You only dislocated your shoulder." His light eyes fixed onto hers.
"Don't move, okay?" She braced herself for pain, and she felt him grasp her hand gently, then squeeze hard. He jerked his weight, and a sharp pain shot racked throughout her body. He grabbed her head and buried it into his shoulder. She took the opportunity to scream. It came out only as muffles against the blue fabric. His hand finally released the back of her head and immediately she jerked up, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Ow." She stated simply. "That hurt." He smiled at her response.
"But it feels better, doesn't it?" She slowly tensed the muscles.
"I guess." It felt a lot better, but to hell if she's going to admit it to him.
"There ya go gurl, now you can help us." Ellis leaned over resting his hand on her good shoulder. She felt like sleeping, nothing really else. Nick picked up the pink jacket, shaking it out.
"She needs at least a day to recover, boy." Coach answered him while digging through some food storage in the back.
"Then we'll head out after some sleep. That's the plan then guys." Nick headed towards Coach, picking out a can of tuna. Zoey watched as he smashed the can on the corner of the counter until he punctured it.
"You want some tuna?" Nick offered. Zoey was so hungry she considered eating her shirt a few hours ago.
"Yes. Very much so." He kept smashing it until it finally broke a large enough hole for him to fish out with a plastic spork. Broken can and all, Nick handed her the food. Zoey didn't waste any time wolfing the dry tuna down.
"Oh my God, this is so delicious." Zoey would of licked every finger if her hands weren't so dirty. Her hurt arm was still wrapped securely to her torso to keep from further injury. She struggled to keep the can balanced as she ate.
"Here hun, I'll hold the can." Rochelle finally took pity on her. She thanked her, and finished eating while Rochelle held the can for her.
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Before I get mail about it, I know Nick doesn't have blue eyes. But I always imagine him with them. So I added it, Sorry.