“Shit! They’re everywhere!”

“Of course they are,” Roger barked, hands tightening on the wheel,” The jeep isn’t exactly quiet.”

“Turn the bloody lights off!”

The headlights were flicked off with a mild grunt, bathing them in darkness. Armin’s hands thrummed nervously against the back of the driver’s seat, his eyes wide and twitched beneath the red-tint of the goggles. The landscape was mottled red from all the infected making their way toward them.

“Christ!” The jeep jerked backward and something let out a high-pitched squeal, slamming against the front of the vehicle.

Armin whipped around, but the sight before him was a mangled mess of reds and yellows, all blended together from the proximity of the men to one another.

Something cold and hard was pressed into his hand. Armin didn’t need to see to know what it was. He yanked his goggles down, allowing a second for his eyes to adjust, and whipped the revolver into the air. The infected was crawling over the windshield. Stan was grappling madly with the chords, trying to grab a gun.

A gun shot rang out. Not Armin’s. But the infected kept coming, unharmed. There was a thump and a scrape behind him.

Armin squeezed the trigger.

The infected let out another screech and was thrown backward.

Roger slammed on the gas and they tore over the body,” This thing doesn’t exactly go very fast, either!”

“And it’s going to go a lot slower in a minute,” Dussander growled and reached a hand up, grabbing hold of Armin’s neck. Armin snapped the goggled in place and let himself be jerked down.

There was a stream of warm liquid trailing after the jeep.

“We’re…ah…” Armin fumbled for a word.

“Leaking.”

“Shit!” Roger punched the steering wheel and drove them faster,” How far are we, can you see?”

“Not far,” said Dussander. There was click of a hammer being pushed down, and Armin let his eyes follow Dussander’s arm.

The infected were tearing after them.

Armin watched as one hot shape dropped to its knees and scrambled along the trail of gasoline, lizard-like. A tongue fell out of its mouth and lapped the sand. Once, twice, and it slowed, head bowed and arms scooping the wet sand into its mouth. A few others stopped to join it.

But not enough.

Stan finally managed to unhook the chords and scrambled to grab a pair of revolvers. He tossed one to Victor before hooking the wires together again, shoving a foot over the edge of the ledge to keep the arms in place.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” said Dussander, tugging his hat low over his eyes.

Armin squirmed behind him but nodded silently none-the-less.

“We’re not wasting ammo on something that won’t die.”

Armin froze, eyes sliding down toward Dussander. Won’t die? If they didn’t die…Christ there were hundreds of them, bright red beads of light against the blackness the goggles showed. They’d never get out alive.

But he’d known that.

Armin didn’t want to die.

“I’m turning on the lights,” said Roger,” I can see the ship…what’s left of it, anyway. Christ, there’s nothing but scraps…”

Armin suspected that the lights had been flicked on, but that didn’t change the vision the goggles provided. They were still surrounded. Armin twisted around to peer ahead of them ,at the cold, silver shape of the ship. There were red forms everywhere, and they all abandoned what they were doing at the sight of the light.

The motor died.

“Shit!” Roger slammed his hands on the wheel again,” Useless piece of shit!”

Victor jostled Armin before leaping off the vehicle. He whipped out a second revolved and pressed his back to the jeep, arms flying wildly, trying to find a target.

“Is the ship safe? Can we make it there?”

Armin shook his head,” Nein, it is-“

“It’s covered with Infected,” said Dussander, slipping off the jeep as well,” Shut off the lights, take the arms.”

Roger cursed but snapped the lights off none-the-less. He and Stan grabbed the last of the revolvers, and Victor slung the rifle over his shoulders.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” Dussander’s gaze whipped around toward Armin,” We need a distraction, obegrefrieter. Check your belt.”

Armin’s brow furrowed, but he nodded and reached around to the back of his belt. There was something small and round tucked into it.

A grenade.

“Silencer on your gun, Mendel,” Dussander turned away from him to face the other three,” No noise, no light, no gunshots, and maybe we’ll get out of this. Follow me.”

Armin tore the grenade out of his belt. Dussander wanted him to wait. One hand was curled around his gun, finger pressed against the trigger. He was shaking. Good god, they were everywhere.

Why him? Why was he the distraction? Had he not been listening well enough? Was this for looking for his gun? Or was this for the question?

He’d screwed up. Armin quivered, sucking in deep, rapid breathes.

He screwed up, and now he was going to pay for it.

There was a screech at his side and he swung around, tearing the chain from the grenade. Seconds.

Tick-tick-tick.

Armin’s eyes darted toward the jeep.

He sucked in a breath, held it, and threw it against the back seat before whipping around to tear off after Dussander. Another screech sounded, and a red shape rose up in front of him, root-like hands darting toward him.

Armin didn’t think. He shoved himself into the creature and slammed the gun against its stomach. The trigger jerked backward. Shot rang out. No time for a silencer. It fell to the sand, sliding backward down a dip in the dunes, flailing wildly. Armin felt a hand rake his face, tearing the goggles from his eyes.

The infected’s teeth gnashed at his face. Armin’s heart pounded.

He squeezed the trigger again. The thing screeched and arched upward.

He shot again. Again. Again.

It wouldn’t stop moving. And more were coming.

A deafening roar sounded behind him, shattering the air. The infected’s screeches were drowned out by the noise, and suddenly there was light. Great, red-white light, soaring over his head, illuminating the greyness of the sand.

The infecteds around him jerked their gazes upward toward the light. Shrieks sounded all around him and they took off toward the jeep.

Armin gritted his teeth and leaned back on his haunches, drawing his gun up to the infected’s head. Its eyes widened and rolled, lips pulled back and tongue lashing outward toward his arm.

He squeezed the trigger and the thing fell backward, still and quiet.

Armin rose to his feet and stared off across the dunes. He could barely see anything without the goggles. Fire was blazing behind him, letting out a little light. There were…the dead shapes of trees in the distance, hanging skeletally against the horizon. Four shapes were huddled there, small and dark.

But it had to be them.

The infected twitched beneath him,

Armin’s head leapt. He gritted his teeth in a sneer and pushed himself to his feet, running clumsily through the sand toward them, goggles and hat abandoned in the dunes.

“Christ, what was that>?! There aren’t supposed to be any grenades left!”

Dussander watched Roger throw himself against one of the trees, straining toward the sudden blaze of light. He clenched he jar and jerked him back with a hiss,” No talking. No noise.”

Roger sneered a bit, but the expression fell defeated and he bobbed his head in compliance.

“Keep it to whispers, and not for very long.”

The boy seemed to brighten up at that prospect. Dussander shook his head and dropped down to the sand, elbow propped against knee and forehead in his hand. His goggles were hanging around his neck and hat pulled low.

Armin damn well better have done what he was supposed to.

“Should we go looking for him?” said Stan, coming to crouch beside him,” He’s alive, right? You wouldn’t kill off your man.”

Dussander had ‘killed off his own men’ more times than that. But his little trigger-happy pet would be fine. He’d blown up the jeep. So long as he moved out of the way in time, he’d be all right. Or Dussander would have to blow a hole through Hurst’s head for thinking she could control his soldier.

That through brought an unpleasant grimace to his face.

“Sir, Dussander? Shouldn’t we-.”

Dussander surged to his feet,” Who here knows how to use a rifle?”

Victor and Stan raised their hands.

Dussander nodded,” Very well. You’ll remain here, and I’ll look for Private Mendel. Shoot what you can see if it appears to be endangering one of us.”

“No.”

Dussander lifted his chin, brow furrowed.

Victor rose to his feet,” Yer the captain, you’ve got to stay here. Yer the only one with military experience, if we lose you we’re dead.”

They were dead anyway.

“Private Mendel has been with the military for years.”

“Right, you and him. We can’t lose both of you,” Victor let the rifle fall from his shoulder, passing it down toward Stan,” I’ll go.”

Dussander frowned and cast his eyes over Stan and Roger,” No one else willing to volunteer.”

Stan lifted the rifle and grinned. Roger scratched the back of his head and turned away with a shrug.

Of course not.

Dussander whipped the goggles off his head and handed them out toward Victor. Victor took them with a nod, a silent thank-you, and snapped them over his brow. He checked the guns tucked into the rim of his pants and shot the three of them a salute before turning on heel, making to leave.

Dussander caught his wrist and jerked him backward. It took some effort to get the man to stop, he was gigantic. Taller and wider than Dussander himself. But Dussander was no newbie to convicts, and he had little doubt in his mind that Victor had spent his fair share of time behind bars. Either that or he was a cop. He handled his guns to comfortably.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get him, come back. We’re watching you.” A warning.

Victor’s eyes flashed and he jerked his arm out of Dussander’s grip,” Course, sir. Don’t know why you’d worry.” He pushed the goggles over his eyes and disappeared into the darkness.

It was freezing. Armin wrapped his arms about himself, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. His breath came out as a smoky mist, which didn’t calm his nerves any either. The flames were dying down, and the shrieks of the infected had spread out. They were losing interested, separating, wandering. Armin had a single bullet left his gun, and he’d lost his silencer. He had no way to see, no way to protect himself.

He was going to die.

He shouldn’t ever have asked that question. Never, ever. This was the worst sort of discipline he could ever receive.

How could he have been so bloody stupid. Dussander, as a commander, as a captain, as a leader, had never let anything go without punishment. Just you way, private, he might have thought, you’ll get what you deserve soon enough.

He should have been more careful. They were falling apart. There was no army here. No discipline. No command. Not in the middle of no where with cannibalistic beats wandering around ready to devour whatever strayed across their path.

Armin raked a shaking hand through his hair.

It was too damn cold. His fingers were numb, his legs were numb, he face was numb. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. He’d die of hypothermia if the infected didn’t get him first.

Didn’t matter what he did. He’d by dead.

He should have looked for his goggles.

There was movement at his left. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and he stopped, holding his breath. It was so dark… The sand shifted louded beneath something’s feet, edging closer, closer.

Armin jerked the revolver up.

Something swam into view, smothering the nozzle,” Relax, private. Just me.”

Victor’s voice didn’t calm him as much as it should have.