After taking-down about seven zombies, I ran out of ammo and had to seek safety on top of a pipe, after climbing a ladder. I lost contact with my buddy. I heard shooting and looked up. Off in the distance, there he was again, taking-down zombies from the top of a tower. They went for him, climbing up the tower. Everything went quiet for a couple of minutes. I couldn't move, still too many zombies to try to risk a run for it. But then my new found friend was back again, in a different spot, drawing the zombies away from me. "Run for it!" he cried.
Why did he care? I was useless. Injured, unarmed, stranded in the middle of a zombie ocean. Yet he helped me anyway.
I ran. I got to a higher place. I was safe for now. I read on the server messages that Cal was dead. I was dismayed. How could I have lasted longer than he did? He had all the gear and the knowledge. I was alone again.
A few minutes later I dropped from a platform. My legs were broken. The zombies feasted on my entrails.
|Partner in zombie killing|