Run. Shoot. Run. Shoot. Run. Fall.

Goddamn pavement, always gettin' the best of me.

"C'mon Ellis, you gotta get up! Them zombies ain't waitin' for you to recover." Coach yelled as he helped wrench me off the ground. Scrambling to my feet, I pick up my shotgun and rejoin the others. Zombies, swarming everywhere. The helicopter landing pad is at least a hundred yards away. Rochelle's not doing well. She's gone down twice, and we have no remaining health kits. Coach is doing no better, stumbling along the bridge, chest heaving, praying to god the pilot doesn't leave us. And Nickā€¦ oh, Nick. Swearing up and down, covered in sweat, and mumbling something about those 'goddamn zombie scumbags' while attempting to stay coherent. Covered in blood, ours and theirs, we make our way across the bridge.

We can hear the helicopter pilot screaming, compelling us to get onto the copter so he can bomb the bridge and get us the hell out of there. Almost there, almost safe. A tank decides to make himself known just as we reach the end of the bridge. Throwing cars, chunks of pavement, whatever he can get his massive hands onto. You can only dodge so much when you've already reached your limit.

Coach, down.

Rochelle, down and barely breathing.

Nick and I rush to them, fighting to keep everyone alive for just a bit longer. When everyone's walking again, we jump down onto the pad. Nick looks at me and I give him a reassuring smile, letting him know everything's going to be okay. He nods, both of us knowing that I'm full of shit. We make it into the helicopter, shouting out. To god, to each other, to the pilot, it doesn't matter who.

We're free.