“Did he just turn on a bloody light?”

“Good god, Christ almighty, lord-in-hell, he did…shit. What’s he trying to-.”

Armin stirred uncomfortably and looked away. Dussander had found him. Armin had hoped that wouldn’t happen, that Dussander would proclaim him dead and leave it at that without needing to look for him. But it was too late for that. And now he’d disobeyed even worse.

Armin wrung his hands, cold and clammy in the frigid air. They’d freeze up soon enough if he wasn’t careful with them. He craned his head over his shoulder, watching the bright red shape of Dussander make his way back over the dunes. There were more red shapes behind him, hundreds of them, all circling around Victor. If Dussander didn’t-

One of the Infected leapt forward, too far from Victor to hope to get to him before the others (if the beasts could hope). It rushed at Dussander, slamming him in the dirt.

“Oh, Christ, that’s not good.”

Armin gritted his teeth against Rogers’ commentary and rushed forward, jerking his gun upward.

The bodies were identical, and writhing against one another in a flurry of limbs. A gun shot rang out, and one of the figures stilled and fell limb atop the other. Dussander pushed the heavy infected off of him and leapt to his feet, rushing back toward the group. A warm trail of splatters followed him.

He was bleeding.

And the Infected were absolutely everywhere.

“Mendel!”

Just the word forced some of those red shapes to twist around toward them, stumbling forward and abandoning Victor’s body, already smothered in the red. Dead, now, if he hadn’t been before. Torn to shreds. And Armin felt no remorse for him.

But they had to get out of there.

“Mendel, give me the goggles.”

Armin didn’t hesitate. He whipped them off and tossed them toward Dussander who caught them deftly. The light around the tree vanished as soon as he snapped them into place, bathing the rest of them in blindness. They didn’t need to see to know, though. There were shrieks and screeches and howls all around them.

Dussander brushed past Armin, jostling him out of the way, and stopped a few inches in front of him,” The settlement can’t be far.”

“Can’t be far, my ass!” Roger growled, storming forward,” What the hell did you do, we’re dead? And where…where the hell is Victor?”

Armin stirred again, clenching his jaw.

“Victor’s dead,” Dussander replied,” Mendel, your belt.”

Armin’s hand flew to his belt. His fingers were cold and numb, and it was difficult to find the latch and feed it through. He was taking too much time. His fingers skittered toward his knife and he flicked it out, jerking it through the leather until it came free. Dussander’s hand brushed his arm and he shoved the belt into it. Dussander had his off as well.

“Belts, off, tie an end around one wrist, and one to someone else’s.”

Roger and Stan grunted and muttered but did as they were told.

“We can’t use our guns like this,” said Stan,” Not if we’ve got both hands tied.”

Like Armin. Like Stan.

“We’ll manage,” said Dussander, and he started forward and a run. Armin was jerked into action, and Stan and Roger followed after them.

He couldn’t see, but he was damn sure he didn’t want to.

They were everywhere. There was no getting out of this. They were dead. Which was exactly what Hurst wanted, wasn’t it?

I’ve decided to agree. Destroy radio equipment. Kill the Germans. I’ll do what you want.

Dussander squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the words from his mind. He couldn’t get distracted. He needed every modicum of his concentration for them. For trying to get them to survive.

Someone let out a scream and the line was tugged downward. Dussander whipped his head around, revolver lifted through the darkness. The action shot a wave of pain up the length of his arm and he gritted his teeth, folding his elbow against his chest. The gash in his arm stung like hell, but there was nothing…no time.

Roger was being eaten.

Dussander squeezed the trigger and another yell rang out. He jerked his other arm up and Armin scrambled to his feet, Stan after him, head craned whistfully toward Roger.

No time for mourning.

Dussander forced them forward again.

“Christ,” Stan screeched from the end of the line,” You just let them have him. What the hell do you-.”

“Don’t yell!”

“You’re not my fucking capt-.”

There was no silencer on Armin’s gun. When he shot, the noise broke through the screeches and deafened them. There was no sound of a body falling, no groans or pains. When the ringing stopped it was for the sound of a blade on leather, and then the dead weight keeping them down was gone and they were off into the darkness once more.

“Mendel.”

“Bestrafe mich.”

No need for English anymore, was there?

Dussander set his jaw and turned away, weaving them through the infected. The bodies were distracted them, but their numbers would have both of them stripped and devoured within minutes. They didn’t have long.

But there it was. The settlement. It was gleaming silver against the black and red, and so very close.

They’d never make it.

Something lashed out and snatched Dussander’s arm, jerking it backward. Dussander let out a cry and tried to wrench the gun around. Armin’s arm fell slack beside his so he lifted it and tossed the gun into his other palm. Squeezed the trigger. The thing dropped, or stumbled backward, but it let him go.

“Cut the belt, Mendel.”

Armin did, whipping out his pocketed knife and making quick work of the leather. Their arms fell apart, but Armin stayed near enough that their shoulders brushed. Dussander turned them back to back.

There were completely surrounded.

“I don’t have any bullets left, sir.”

And Dussander had dropped the other guns when he’d taken off his belt. Shit. He reached back and wrapped his fingers around Armin’s wrist. The grip was slippery, his hand was wet with blood. But Armin didn’t pull away, he leaned back, breathing through clenched teeth.

There were everywhere. It was a like a wall of fire all around them. He couldn’t see where one Infected ended and another began.

“What do you have to live for, Armin?”

Armin didn’t reply, but he felt the boy’s fingers reach up and grip his knuckles. It was an awkward, gangly sort of holding-on-to, but all that they’d permit themselves.

The Infected were moving in. Dussander shot off a few rounds, but the action did nothing but cause a couple of them to stumble backward momentarily.

“You never answered my question, sir.”

Maybe his grenade had stayed in the belt. He hadn’t checked. Couldn’t see if very well with the goggles. If it had, they might be alright. If it had, they might survive.

“Mendel, anything on the belt?”

Armin eased his hand out of Dussander’s grip. There was a rustle of cloth, a squeak of leather. A hissed intake of breath as Armin’s fingers danced over the metal lump. He passed the grenade to Dussander wordlessly, the air around him silent. He’d held his breath.

Dussander dropped the gun and tore the key from the grenade.

“Yes, Mendel.”

“Sir?”

“I do want you,” Dussander craned his head back. Armin was a warm shape against the redness, but he couldn’t see his expression. He reached his free hand up and grabbed hold of the boys jaw, wrenching his head around.

His fingers curled around the grenade, the muscles in his arm coiling.

He jerked forward and bit Armin, eliciting a gasp of pain.

“And I’ll have you.”

He threw the grenade.

The fire was blue hot when it erupted, and the shrieks rose up and deafened his ears in a chorus of high-pitched noise. No time to waste. Dussander rushed forward, hand circling Armin’s wrist once more and jerking him along. They rushed past the flame, feeling it licking at their legs, and Dussander steered them toward the silver silhouette of the settlement.

They had minutes to reach it, or it was over.

Was there no place to land on this god forsaken planet? Ah, take that back. There were plenty of places to land, just none far enough away from one of those…creatures to not get eaten by it. Acheron’s hopeful candidates had been dwindled down rather significantly due to those little beasties. His wings were starting to smart awfully from the non-stop flying.

The survivors were right beneath his shadow now (figuratively, of course, without any light it was blasted hard for there to be a shadow lurking about. And thank the deities for being something of a beastie himself, otherwise he’d never have been able to find the potentials in the first place because of that).

Maybe landing wasn’t in order at all. He could swoop down and scoop them up.

Yeah. And risk his wings getting riddled with bullets.

Acheron scanned the bit of terra behind him. Most of those beasties were all wandering around the fire (er…burning comrades? Oi, how unpleasant), perhaps he could risk a few seconds. And if not, it would only take a bit of concentration to teleport away. Might lose his potential candidates, but we can’t have everything, can we?

Acheron tucked his wings against himself and dove down for the dunes.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Armin slowed to a stop, brow furrowed. There was a noise, not quite as loud or as noticeable as the shrieks, but very much there.

“Mendel,” Dussander’s voice was dangerously low. He turned slowly, hand tightening, cruching his wrist. Armin winced and jerked his gaze away, letting Dussander pull them forward again.

The whoosing continued. It was like…wings on the air. Or something fast, speeding downward. Getting closer.

Something above them.

Armin wrenched his wrist away and spun around, craning his head upward.

Dussander let out a snarl and turned as well. Armin felt a hand snake around his neck, urging him backward and then- Dussander pushed him forward and he stumbled to the dunes. The metal of the gun glinted against the firelight. Dussander squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

They were dead.

The flying thing passed over their heads, gusting wind past them that sent a chill down Armin’s spine. There was a grunt, a crunch of sand, and movement behind Dussander. Armin pushed himself to his feet and raced to the captain’s side.

Dussander tore off the goggles, mouth agape.

Something rose up out of the sand and shook itself off. Whatever it was it was large, red and yellow in the faint light, and not in the least bit humanoid. Less even then the infected.

The creature spun around toward them, wings ruffling against its sides. It let out a quiet ‘oh’ and in a moment the furred, inhuman beast had turned…human. Teeth glinted, pearly white, and the thing offered them a grin.

“Hello there Mr. Dussander, Mr. Mendel. I’m here to take you away. Well, one of you at least…I don’t quite know how well the jumpy one will do.”

“Mendel comes with me,” said Dussander. He sounded…resigned, deafeted. Exaughsted. Armin reached his fingers out toward him, to touch his shoulder, to support him.

He withdrew his hand before they touched.

The creature peered past them and shifted nervously,” Normally, I’d argue, but all things considered I think debating can wait ‘till we’re on the Fate.”

“On the-.” Armin did not get a chance to continue.

The stranger had rushed toward them and slapped a hand on each of their shoulders. The very moment they touched a bright, golden light curdled around them, and they were gone.