Your feet carried you as fast as they could, zig-zagging past ruined furniture, jumping over fallen debris - the sounds of your quickened footsteps matched the pounding of your heart. You fumbled with your 1911, replacing the empty mag with trembling fingers.
"If you drop that I ain't giving you shit." Dempsey called out, not far behind you. He quickly caught up, running alongside you.
"I'd rather die before getting a handout from you." You bit back, the magazine finally catching and sliding into your pistol. You cocked it, twisting your torso to shoot behind you.
"For fuck's sake..."
You and Dempsey abruptly stopped, the staircase you were heading for was now visible, and visibly blocked. There was no way you could unblock it in time, and the other three were on the other side of this stupid ass mansion.
Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked from the stairs to the zombies, freezing in place. You were screwed.
"Goddamn it, in here!" Dempsey yelled, grabbing you before you could make the decision on your own. He shoved the both of you into the cramped room, slamming the door behind you.
It was a closet of some sort, with a door on the parallel wall, but it was blocked by a metal shelving unit. You might be able to move it, but not with Dempsey also in here, the two of you were pressed together, the door you came in from to your immediate right, the shelf to your immediate left. Zombies banged at the door, clawing and yelling.
"What kind of fucking plan was this, Dempsey? We're in a goddamn closet!" You whisper, dumbfounded by this stupid ass idea.
There was no light in the room, only what filtered through the cracks of the doors illuminated his face. His brow was furrowed in frustration, a frown gracing his lips at your words. "Oh yeah, I should have just stood there, frozen in fear like you." He huffed. "At least I got us into a different room."
"Yeah, a goddamn closet."
"I didn't know it was a fuckin closet!" He spoke with hushed urgency, mimicking the volume you first began speaking at. He took a deep breath in, an action you felt given that you were pressed right up against him.
You tried to step away, but the shelf dug into your back even more, keeping you in place. "So now what? Since you're so great at coming up with plans." You said, which caused him to glare at you harder.
You and Dempsey didn't not like each other. In fact, you found more solace in him given you were both cut from the same American cloth. He just understood you more than the others. He understood how you ticked, what your customs were. The two of you would even commiserate with each other in the late night hours, talking about the hell you've been through while reminiscing about your American upbringings. The two of you even made lists of each other's favourite places to go to in your hometowns, so if you ever make it out of this mess alive, you have must-try places on your to-do lists. You two had a special bond, you were friends.
And being friends meant being assholes to each other. Getting on the other's nerves and calling them out on their bullshit. It's just the way it is.
Dempsey considered your question, biting his lip as he combed through his mind. "Well, there's zombies to the left of me, this fuckin' blocked doorway to the right... and here I am, stuck in the middle with you."
"Great observation skills, Sherlock." You teased.
"Fuck off..." He muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You know, Dempsey, I would if I could."
He ignored your words, for once choosing not to fight a losing battle, also because he walked right into that. "Seems like we just have to wait it out."
