Snippet #2030498

Dutch grimaced as he helped Brendon stagger along. There was no way they could reach a hospital now; they were already moving in the opposite direction of St. Mary's, which was the only one within a reasonable distance. Besides, there was no way Dutch would go inside a hospital in this hell-hole of a city. The disease, 84k, bred in such places. The first cases were always brought to the hospitals, and as such the first infections spread from hospitals. He remembered how bad it was still, he had broken into one on his way north from Cincinnati. The walls were lined with beds down every hallway. Most of them had been put down by the military, but a number had been left behind, screaming and straining against their restraints until they died and turned. They were still there.

Dutch had hated hospitals before; something about the white sterile walls, the smell of disease covered with the smell of chemicals, and the wallpaper that he supposed was meant to be comforting but instead only created a mockery of comfort, something about it all had created a deep seated fear and hatred for them. He had always tacked it up as an unreasonable fear, now it wasn't so unreasonable.

No, there was no hope for Brendon in Milwaukee. If he was going to heal, he was going to have to heal naturally. They had to get well clear of this hell-hole before then though. If they could just get to the woods, if they could just get out of here, Brendon might be able to make it. If they tried to make it to a hospital, Brendon would die, Dutch decided. One way or another, from blood loss, or from the infection. Every second Brendon stayed in the city was another second closer to death. There was nothing left in Milwaukee for them but death.

Now he wracked his mind, trying to think of a way to deal with the situation. It was difficult to concentrate while hearing Tammy and Olive deal with the undead around him and Brendon. He felt utterly shamed at being defended by the two women, but the clinical part of his mind reminded him there was no recourse. He didn't understand why they were fighting for Brendon, or him for that matter. Dutch and Brendon would make a nice decoy right about now, and any sane person would have utilized them and made a break for it. But they stayed and swung gore-stained weapons in their defense. Dutch decided he would think more about that later. The shambling horde's calls and howls had brought more undead to the scene. Younger, fresher, faster. They raced out into the night towards them. Dutch slid his entrenching tool out its pouch and readied it in his hand. Tammy and Olive were able to fend of the majority, but Dutch felt his blood turn to ice as what was once a woman suddenly leaped off the roof of a car at Brendon.

A hunter.

Its demonic visage seemed to burn itself into Dutch's mind, its claws extended and about to tear into Brendon's flesh. He quickly spun the man out of the way in an adrenaline fueled grip and swung out with his sharpened shovel. The hunter's hands shattered and snapped with a sickening crunch. Undeterred, the creature continued to rush forward, and pushed Dutch and Brendon to the ground with its inertia.

He felt Brendon slip from his grasp as he fell. For a moment, he thought he was about to die. He expected it. He could feel the disgusting thing pushing itself against him, trying to tear his mask off with its broken appendages; could see its bloody face through the glass eye-pieces. He realized his shovel was still in his hand and, taking it in a reversed grip, hacked the sharped point again and again into thing's face. For what seemed like an eternity he hacked at it, until it finally went slack and still. For a moment he lay there, the bloody corpse of a pretty young woman sprawled across his body.

Brendon.

He shoved the rotting piece of filth off his camouflaged parka and staggered to his feet. He looked around desperately, fearing that Brendon had been dragged off by one of the demons. He found him though, struggling to crawl forward and away from the death that was coming for them all. He slid his shovel back into his belt as he ran over over to him, and lifted him up in adrenaline fueled arms. He was surprised by how light he felt at that moment. He had no idea if the girls were still alive, he didn't have time to look over his shoulder to check. Vera was still with him, slung across his shoulder as he had left her.

"Don't try and fight them!" He screamed. "Just run! We're almost there!"

He ran. He ran as fast as he could ever remember running. Brendon slack in his arms. Then he saw it, they had almost missed it, almost run right past it. The thought sickened him, but by sheer luck the last seconds of light from the setting sun illuminated the chain-link fence. He sprinted the last few yards and leaned against the fence; sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath. Past this fence lay the train yard, the tracks, the wilderness, salvation. He knew he couldn't get Brendon over by himself, his arms were already starting to fade from the sustained carry of his weight. He looked back, hoping beyond hope the girls were coming up after him.

"Just hold on a little longer..." He gasped in-between breaths. "We're almost out of this..."

He wasn't sure if he had just spoken to himself, or Brendon.