Zombie survivor

[100] Sacrifice

The squad didn't stop until the barricades of West Kelowna loomed ahead, jagged wooden trunks reinforced with scrap metal. The uneven pavement under their feet felt endless, their breaths ragged and chests heaving from exhaustion. Each step forward felt like trudging through quicksand, but the distant shouts of the militia standing watch brought a flicker of hope.

"Keep moving!" Garrett barked, his voice hoarse but commanding. "Don't slow down now!"

Akira was practically carrying Jean, her knives still clutched tightly in one hand while the other supported his weight. His face was pale, streaked with sweat and grime, but his steps didn't falter.

"I can walk," Jean muttered, though it was a feeble protest.

"You're barely standing," Akira snapped, her voice trembling. "Shut up and let me help."

Chloe dragged the boy along by his arm, her eyes constantly darting over her shoulder. "We're almost there," she said, more to herself than the kid. "We're almost fucking there."

Behind them, the bridge stretched out into the distance, the snarling and screeching of the horde growing fainter as they pressed on. The sound wasn't gone—it was still there, lingering like a shadow—but the space between them and the undead was enough to give them a sliver of hope.

Brittany stumbled under the weight of her load, her legs trembling. "I can't—" she started, tears streaming down her face. "I can't do this anymore!"

"Yes, you can!" Brad snapped, grabbing the box from her and tossing it onto his own pile. "Move your ass, Brittany, or you're dead."

The militia at the barricade had noticed them now. A man in a tattered Kevlar vest waved them forward. "Hurry it up!" he yelled. "We'll cover you!"

"Thank fuck," Blake muttered, his arms shaking as he carried a box of medicine. He'd been running on fumes for what felt like hours, and his glasses were fogged with sweat.

They crossed the final stretch of road, the gates groaning open as the militia removed the barricade. Survivors from the town gathered just behind the line, their faces pale and anxious. The scavengers and their charges spilled into the safety of the town, collapsing to the ground as the gates slammed shut behind them.

"We fucking made it," Brad panted, dropping the boxes he carried. He leaned against a broken-down car, his chest heaving. "Holy shit, we made it."

Jean sank to the ground, clutching his back as Akira knelt beside him. "We did it," he said weakly, though his voice lacked the relief his words implied. His eyes were distant, still locked on the bridge they'd just crossed.

"Yeah," Chloe muttered, leaning against the barricade and wiping sweat from her brow. "But at what cost?"

The group stood in silence for a moment, their bodies aching and their minds racing. Then, almost as one, they turned back to look across the bridge.

The same building Trev had been on stood out against the horizon. Its rooftop, where he had stood not long ago, was now a writhing mass of undead. The zombies swarmed the edge, their grotesque forms stumbling over each other as they tore at the air where Trev had been.

"He's gone," Brittany whispered, her voice cracking.

"No," Akira said firmly, shaking her head. "No, he's... he's still up there. He has to be."

Jean closed his eyes, the image of Trev's determined face burned into his memory. "He knew what he was doing," he said quietly. "He gave us a chance."

Evan wiped at his face, his hands shaking. "I didn't even... I didn't even thank him," he stammered. "He saved all of us, and I didn't even fucking thank him."

Jordan, for once, was silent, his crowbar limp in his hands. "I thought he was just being dramatic," he muttered. "I thought... I didn't think he'd actually..."

Chloe slammed her fist against the barricade, her jaw clenched as tears streamed down her face. "Why the fuck did he do that? Why didn't he come with us?"

"Because he knew," Garrett said gruffly, his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. His face was stoic, but there was a heaviness in his voice that none of them had heard before. "He knew we couldn't outrun them. Not all of us."

The boy, still clutching the box he had nearly dropped earlier, stared silently at the rooftop, his small frame trembling. He clung to Chloe's leg, his wide eyes filled with tears.

Blake adjusted his glasses, his hands trembling. "He was always talking about wanting to prove himself. To be someone worth remembering."

Jean opened his eyes and looked back at the rooftop. Despite the distance, he could almost see Trev standing there, his arms raised in defiance, a broken speakerphone at his feet. The image brought a lump to his throat.

"He did it," Jean said, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his face. "He became that someone."

The group stood there, staring at the building as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. The snarls and groans of the zombies atop the rooftop were distant now, but the weight of their presence was suffocating.

Chloe sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. "Fuck this world," she whispered. "Fuck all of it."

"We keep going," Garrett said, his voice hard. "That's what he wanted. That's why he did it."

Brad nodded slowly, his jaw tight. "We make it count."

The squad, battered and broken, stood in solemn silence, their gazes fixed on the rooftop. For a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the faint howls of the undead carried by the wind.

"We'll make it count..." Jean said solemnly, his eyes glued to where Trevor once stood. "...For all of us." 

Q: Can we get an F in the chat for Trevor?