Airborne

22. This is the End

Chloe

"How haven't you lost the backpack?" I ask, dumbfounded.

Brody pats it with his free hand. "Should call it my lucky backpack, shouldn't I?" he muses.

Mounting the sandy hill, I reply, "No kidding—"

Brody pulls me back to him, lowering our bodies to the sand as his eyes scout the surroundings. "Watch tower, he may be up there."

Checking it, it does make a perfect hiding spot. Inspecting the scenery, I signal for Brody to take one side while I sneak up the other side. On my route, there are things that can only be depicted as set off or deliberately broken snare traps. There's no sign of movement from the tower, and there's definitely no one nearby.

"Brody, I think he's bolted!" I holler for him to hear me, and he's quick to jog over and follow me up the tower.

It was exactly how I thought it would be: cluttered with wrappers, paper, and bare of anything that may help him, other than the guns. He has plenty of those, and enough for me and Brody. Grabbing a pistol and sniper riffle, and Brody has his famous choice of another shotgun and a revolver.

Rummaging through the papers, there's nothing but plans to escape, where Rotters gather, statistics on the other infected, how he's getting off this 'rock' as he calls it. Then a sheet settled on top of a cracked box full of ammunition snags my interest.

I have come to lose hope. Help isn't coming—at least, not any more if it used to, I mean why would it? Those of us left are damned, and it's all my fault. It's funny, I never intended for any of this to happen, all I wished for was the company to be shut down since it was dodgy left and right, and I wanted to be the one to get the notice for bringing it out in the open. A few people were meant to get sick, that was all, not lasting effects, and Deric Slade was my first test, but for some reason, he became one of those things. I fled after realising what was to become of me, and that's my life now, fleeing. To those who are hunting me down, sorry to disappoint, I'm either dead, or I'm not here at the moment. If you trespass, and decide to take one of my weapons, then there's a surprise for you—

Brody sits on the seat and suddenly an alarm blares. My senses are on full alert, and that's when the smell of petrol hits my nose, and then then the flicker of embers eating its way in a single file line catches our attention, and it doesn't take us long to scramble out of the watch tower with our things. Just as we make it to safety, the tower goes up in flames, and before either of us can move, a sharp pain slices through my arm, causing me to stagger with a hiss.

Peering down, I see it's a minor graze, and Brody's fast to pull us to cover behind a collapsed billboard. Using the scope, it takes me a second after figuring out where I was, how I was position and the possibility of where the bullet came from, I find a figure lurking near the back of the beach, the other end we came from. Firing, my bullet cracks through the air, inches from him and kicking up sand. He shifts back and forth, shooting back.

Sending another one, satisfaction tugs at me when his body juts back from the impact to his shoulder. Cracked howls in various pitches echo in the distance, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out they were the trap all along, and we set it off.

Smart asshole.

All shapes and sizes barrel toward us from the average and beefy Rotters that stumble in their strides, grasping at the air and more than likely drooling while the Rabids charge, claws digging up the earth as they snap wildly, and the Bestials dart ahead in all their lean agility, eyes narrowed for the hunt, and teeth bared for the kill.

Shooting off rounds, my eyes turn to Levi, who smirks down my scope, and backs away like a criminal in the night.

"Chloe, we're going to have to leave," Brody calls, firing off his revolver.