Left Behind (Together)

Day One

Mark groaned, clutching at his side as he tried to regulate his breathing. His shoulder was pressed against the doors to a decaying old barn as he stood rigid and unmoving, keeping the door closed with his body weight. A chorus of desperate, mindless thumps sounded through the wood. In a rush to find something to shut himself in, he snatched up piece of plywood leaning against the wall and slammed it down into the metal slots, creating what he hoped would be a secure lock.

He stood staring at the door, watching it move with each pounding of a fist against it's surface, scant beams of light peeking through the cracks. Time passed slowly, dragging on, and the hoard outside only seemed to grow larger and more restless. Mark sunk to his knees and allowed himself to go limp.

"I'm gonna' die..." he whispered to himself, cold and stoic. He sighed, allowing that statement to really sink in. Of course, it didn't matter much at that point wether he lived or died. He had already lost everyone he cared about. He knew it was possible his group was still out there right now, making their escape. But it was just as likely they were already dead.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to fight his way through the horde of undead bastards knocking on the door, but he had no weapons. All he had was the pocketknife in his jeans, not nearly sturdy enough to get past over a dozen of those monsters. He slid back to lean against a support beam, tossing his head back to stare up into the rafters where cobwebs and long abandoned birds nests were scattered about. A defeated huff escaped past his lips, and he wondered what was the point in staying there at all.

////////////

Jack knelt at the top of the hill, brow furrowed, watching as a survivor attempted to outrun a large mob of undead assholes. They made it into a barn, seemingly unscathed, but it was clear there was no way out for them.

Jack stared at the old barn, contemplating wether or not the possibility of helping that stranger out of their self-made trap would be worth putting himself in the middle of a raging hoard. He scoffed at himself and rolled his eyes. Of course it would be worth it. Not like he had much to lose anyway. Worst case scenario, he gets bit while helping that poor shmuck escape.

He rushed back to his makeshift campsite, picked up his weapons, and without further hesitation he started down the hill, running full speed into the crowd of zombies with reckless abandon. He slashed at their heads, slammed them into each other, kicked them out of his way. One of the damn things came up behind him, clawing at his neck, and he turned to shoved it away, slamming the heavy handle of his machete against it's skull with a loud crack. Jack had anticipated fighting them off to be a lot more difficult, but when he turned towards the barn he found there were only three remaining.

One staggered towards him and he buried his blade deep in it's head. The other two were too busy scratching and banging at the doors to pay any mind to him, giving him time to work the machete free from the other's skull. Jack took them out with little effort, kicking them away from the doors. He looked back at the mess of rotting bodies he left in his wake, sighing heavily. There was something really satisfying about taking out a hoard on his own, something that often outweighed the guilt of knowing those were once innocent humans. It didn't matter what they had been back then, they had become monsters.

"Hey, are ya' alright in there?" Jack called out, knocking gently. He heard a soft gasp from the other side of the doors, slow footsteps, then the sound of wood scraping against wood. He watched patiently as one door creaked open to reveal a disheveled man with wide brown eyes. The poor guy looked completely wrecked.

"Did you just... kill all of them on your own?" The guy asked, peering around at the mess of corpses on the ground. Jack shrugged, looking to the one closest to where he stood. It was still twitching. "One hell of an introduction," he muttered. Jack raised a brow at the stranger, who smiled weakly and pulled the door open all the way to step past the threshold. "Thank you for saving my sorry ass."