Sam was dragging the limp body as the wound stained the gray cement.  He slammed the steel door closed that lead to the war zone on the roof.  We have to get away from here!  He was pretty sure those masked murderers on the roof weren’t going to back off now that they liquidated the gathered people waiting on the roof for respite.  Sam looked at Rick and cringed.  He was deathly pale, not just from the cold outside, the bullet that tore through his right leg created a pool of red around him.

Rick noticed Sam’s expression.  “Damn man, it wasn’t those creatures that got me…”  The words sounded horse on his lips, so different from his ordinary voice.  “Sam, you have to go, those guys are going to be coming through here to finish the job.”  He let go a coarse laugh, and ended up coughing.

Sam couldn’t believe he would ever see his friend in such a condition.  Was this it?  Rick was right though, Sam couldn’t carry him down the steps in this condition, and those masked soldiers would be on their way inside.  “Look, I don’t know, I don’t… put pressure on your leg, whatever… here…”  Sam removed his overcoat and gave it to Rick.  “Use it, maybe rip part of it to wrap around the wound, keep warm…”

The dying man gave a wry smile, it was almost eerie to see such a figure grinning.  “I still have this shotgun here, that’s all I… need…”  

“I’ll be back… with supplies, with help, something… just do what you can, here…”  Sam moved Rick as best he could, propping him against the wall opposite the steel door.  The rational side of his mind said this was probably the last time he’d see his friend, but the emotional side refused to accept that.  As long as that thought kept him going, wasn’t his survival important too?

“Go… on, get away, I’ll see you… later, we can… get together sometime… share some war… stories…”

Sam almost found himself laughing, even in this state; Rick was still his same sarcastic self.  He nodded.  “Sure thing, I’ll be right back; I’ll grab you something on the way.   What do you want?  McDonald’s, Wendy’s-“

Rick didn’t answer.


Sam turned away quickly, and began to descend back into the place he had thought he escaped.

“I’ll take… Burger… King…”

“Coming up!”  Sam yelled back up the stairwell, his voice cracking, almost expecting Rick to drum out another sarcastic quip.  Nothing came; it was quiet one again in the dying structure.

Sam didn’t even know where to go, so he picked the level right below the helipad, maybe he could find something, something… but what?  “Hope.”  He shook his head.  “That’s what I need.”

The biting anguish of losing the only other person he knew in this place, his friend, felt weak, as if he didn’t really feel anything.  He wanted to stop, he wanted to yell, to scream, to cry, but there was nothing.  Maybe the feeling would hit him later, and then he would truly realize what happened back there.

As he opened the steel door leading to the innards, he heard the helipad door slam wide.  There was no gunfire, no startled shouts, nothing.  Slam quietly entered the floor below.  By the time the soldiers had reached Rick, he was already dead.