All I hear is heavy breathing and the sloshing of jackboots pounding through mud.

"In here! Hurry!"

My legs loose from running, weak and ready to collapse. The ground seems to be coming closer to greet me.

"Comrade! We are almost there! Don't lose hope yet!"

Hope. Heh, what hope? I haven't had hope since this shit went down.

"Comrade?"

The ground is slick with grime as it rushes up; maybe a quick rest is fine. They may not even realize a body on the ground that's still breathing. Or maybe they can hear my heart racing a mile away.

"No! You will not die on me! Now stand up and keep moving!"

Guess giving up is out of the question, huh? He grabs me from under the arms and practically drags me the rest of the way. I guess I don't need to stand anymore, do I?

"In here!"

A broken up, falling down building? That won't keep them out, even with all the sandbags covering the openings. Believe it or not Nazi man, but they climb. Being thrown over the makeshift walls onto cold concrete isn't fun to say the least. That is all I can really say about the experience. The one who picked me up off the cold wet ground flung himself over the low wall, nearly landing on me. I sent him a pointed glare, but he ignored it and instead went for the hammer and planks of wood. What were those conveniently doing there? Regardless of my questioningly raised eyebrow, they looked over me and started boarding the place up, the sound of their efforts echoing into the fog.

"They'll hear you."

They glare and I can't help but laugh in hollow breathes.

"Your optimism isn't appreciated Amerikaner," the German guy snapped. Why were we with the guy anyway? Wasn't he our enemy, you know, the 'Heil Hitler' guys? The Commie didn't seem bothered as he pounded the nails in while his sworn enemy held the wood steady.

"Neither is your presence," I snapped back, hey, it sounded cool in my head.

The Russian guy glared at both of us, he had the strangest violet eyes. "Bickering can wait! I am more worried about those outside than in. If we are to kill each other off, there is no point to run from them." Their forms were still too far to see, but I could hear them. My throat immediately went dry and I could honestly say that I would have cried if I wasn't already dehydrated. "Right now, this is survival. So stop being a princess and pick up a hammer. If we're going to last at least the night, these openings must be blocked."

He had a point so, despite my jelly-legs, I stood up and grabbed the other hammer and started on another door that had been pretty much turned into another window. I was going to just cover the whole thing up when the German shouted at me from over his shoulder.

"Dummkopf! Leave spaces between the slats! That way we can both see them coming and shoot before they're on top of us!" he snapped. Oh, so because I was green that made me the idiot of the group, huh? I'm sorry, but 'How to Survive Soldiers Who Won't Fucking Die' WASN'T part of MY field manual!

The Russian gave the hammer to the Nazi and started on the next window using the hilt of his empty pistol to pound them in. Damn the fucker was strong, but he seemed so small compared to his height. With the three of us working separately, we got the five openings sealed shut, and all before those fuckers out there could see us . . . or more like the other way around. They were getting louder, they knew where we were.

A Colt M1911 was thrown at me and I just barely caught it with my finger tips. I glared at the German who had chucked the weapon to me. "You know how to use your own guns don't you?"

"No fuck Sherlock," I hissed, as though being quiet would keep them away longer.

"Obratit' vnimanie! They are coming."

It was a beat and the two of us watched each other carefully before stepping away from each other. In the silence of death, our footsteps could have been artillery fire. The building was completely concrete and had a staircase leading up to a second floor but it was covered by a couch. On the far side of the wall was a steel door, Hell written red paint - . . . No, blood. My heart pounded into my throat as the groans became louder. Suddenly a gunshot made me jump. The German with his Luger P08 shot a single bullet through the slats; the sound of a body crumpling to the floor heartened me in an odd way. I continued to one side of the room where metal bars replaced the wall, but it seemed clear. I didn't like being in that corner, it made me feel like I was out in the open.

The German kept firing out the window to the left of me and I went to the blockaded door. I saw one lumbering . . . right . . . towards . . . me! I ducked down in a panic. Did it see me? Could it smell me? It was right there! Oh god I was going to die!

Rapid fire rang in my ears almost right beside my head. I shouted in pain as the Russia let loose his PPD-40 right by my head.

"Fucking ass wipe! What the fuck was that for!" I shouted, I could swear my ear was bleeding.

He looked down at me darkly, and I seriously contemplated going outside and fighting those things off with my bare hands than stay in the same building as this bear. Thick shadows covered over his eyes and the moonlight reflected off the fog and gave his pale blonde hair a sickly green tint. "If you cannot be useful on this side of the wall, perhaps you will be on the other side."

"N-no, I-I'll help. J-just startled me is all." Holy fuck this guy had creeper issues. Sure he saved our ass because I went pussy on them, but fuck! I'm eighteen! What do you want from me people! Still, I wouldn't put it pass him to throw me into that room titled Hell and lock the door from the other side. My breaths are ragged and when I stand I nearly topple over, but he grabbed my arm to keep me erect. It wasn't rough and forceful like I expected, but more apologetic and comforting. Before I knew it, he was gone to another door, blowing another monster's head off. The sound of his light machine gun and the crack of skulls toughened me up. I couldn't be a liability or they would agree and throw me out. Maybe I could run and draw away the attention from them, or I would just get bitten and they could hear me scream curses as they ate away at me until I turned into one of them. Then the two Europeans would simply shoot me.

I ran between two openings, a door and a window, while the German positioned himself between two windows in the middle of the room. The Russian kept a close eye on all the weak points, sprinting from one side of the room to another. Lucky him, he had long legs; else he would have been winded and ready to collapse . . . like I felt. The German was just picking them off, not worrying over our situation. The fucking bastard probably knew what the fuck was going on!

"Prokljatyj!" the Russian shouted. He was at the barred wall, a small group of three ganging up on him. With his rapid fire he took down two while the third was clawing through the bars and slats to reach him. I don't know what came over me in that second, but it seemed like an hour. I ran to his aid and pulled out my knife, jamming it into the creature's chest. It growled for a moment and I waited for my arm to be bitten or torn off only to hear an accompanying gunshot, then I felt the weight on my blade increase and the Russian pulled me back, my knife firmly grasped in my hand. "Spasibo," he breathed in relief. I saw the blood staining his coat and I began to shiver. Had he gotten bitten? Was he going to turn into one of them? Oh fuck, should I shoot him, or throw him out there. He saw where my eyes had locked on and placed a hand on my shoulder, "It is a scratch. Do not worry. If I get bitten, I will not leave my demise to you."

Oddly enough, that helped. I nod and run back to my window where, apparently I shouldn't have left. Like with the tall Russian, three have ganged up and already ripped off a board or two, and a fourth is on its way. Instead of getting to my Colt, I use my already bloody knife to stab into their heads. I aim for their temples where the blade slips in and out easy. I dispose of them quickly and I turn to see the German nodding approval at me before finishing off his own growing hoard. I fish the boards from the outside quickly, before putting them back on in a different, yet secure, angle.

After a long while of silence, we relax just enough to catch our breaths. Our adrenaline has carried us so far, and now we need rest, we need sleep, but how can one sleep when we know that THEY are right outside. Using our supplies, the German guy starts a small, smokeless fire and we circle it like moths. I never even realized how cold it was until this moment, and I'm shaking like a leaf. My clothes are soaked from the fog, wet from the mud, and, I didn't notice before, but covered in blood from my right sleeve up to a few splatters across my chest. The Russian was slipped out of his heavy beige coat and was tearing off the part of his sleeve from where he had been cut, When the wound was finally revealed, I breathed a sigh of relief. Though it was fairly thin, it was in all essence a scratch. It couldn't have been a bite mark, even if I wanted it to be. He pulled out a canteen from his pack and took a sip of its contents before pouring some of the clear liquid over the bleeding wound. From the way his face consorted in pain, that couldn't have been water. He hissed through his teeth and capped the container before using the ripped piece of cloth as a bandage and wrapped up the scratch.

"That'll be a pretty scar," he barked out a laugh, before noticing my increasing shivers. When had I started hugging myself again? His eyes softened and, if it wasn't for his uniform, I could have mistaken him for a good friend, or, if I squinted, my brother. My heart started racing again as I thought of my younger brother. Oh shit, oh shit, oh fucking shit! He was still out there! How could I have forgotten!

"Whoa, easy there," The German admonished me, holding me down by my arm. Though his voice was softer than when I first heard it, his tight grip showed me he meant business, "You need to calm down. What's wrong?"

"M-my baby brother! He's still out there! Oh fuck! I-I promised I'd keep him safe! He's still out there!" I let the words out without even thinking things through.

To my utter surprise, he nodded in agreement, "I understand how you feel Amerikaner, my älterer bruder is out there, somewhere, as well. If he's even still alive."

"Jej! Don't scare the child!" the Russian chastised, his voice taking on a softer, more child-like air. That was a complete rotation and a half from what I had heard earlier. He smiled at me and I suddenly noticed how kid-ish he looked. A round baby face with a soft peach colored scarf covering his chin and his face framed by porcelain locks that were longer than the standard issue. It reached just a little over his ears while it caressed the back of his neck.

The German's hair was a mess, and I could have honestly laughed if it had been in any other situation. It fell over his forehead and down his neck with a few strands catching the eerie breeze that floated through the holes of the slats. My own had grown out longer since when I first arrived to the European theatre. And my stubborn cowlick was standing proud despite the rest of my hair being plastered to my skull from all the sweat that was not helping my temperature issues. A thick piece of cloth was them thrown over my head. I struggled for a moment before I recognized it as the Russian man's (boy?) overcoat.

"You look cold Comrade," he smiled, and poked at the small fire we built out of pieces of boards and splinters. "I am Major Ivan Braginsky of the Soviet Red Army. May I ask who you are Amerikan? It seems like we'll be here for a while, so we might as well know each other's names."

"Private Alfred Jones. I got separated from my group and ended up here," I explained.

The German gave a short laugh, "Long ways from home are we? Lieutenant Colonel Ludwig Beilschmidt. It's nice to meet you."

"Agreed," I sighed, "Without you guys, I'd be dead right now."

"What the fuck!" Arthur shouted, he was backing away from the creatures that kept coming at them, despite being shot through the hearts. Their eyes were rolled into their skulls and they shuffled instead of walked, as though they couldn't see. Their arms were reached forward, looking for them. Arthur had been the loudest and they rushed towards him. "Fuck! Fall back lads!"

I watched him, worried and practically ready to run to and from him. Matthew, my little brother, rushed forward with courage I didn't have and fired a round into one of their heads.

"Alfred! Their heads! It's the only way to stop them! Blow it clean off their shoulders!" Matthew shouted. Those that were not too far in their panic responded to the orders, including Arthur who blasted the undead soldiers with his Sten. I was about to join the bloodbath with hesitance when Arthur called me.

"Alfred, get those fucking wankers back here! We know how to beat these bastards!" he shouted, and I agreed. I was scared, I wouldn't deny it. Even with my father figure in the same division as me, I was ready to piss my pants. He knew it to, I could tell. That's why he sent me off.

I ran to find them; the only sounds were my jackboots in the mud. Where could they have gone? I ran faster, my feet slipping up a bit now and again. That's when I heard the screams. My blood ran cold as I saw, not one of my men, but a Nazi soldier being held down by two of those THINGS as they gored his intestines. He saw me, tears in his green eyes as he reached out to me, sobbing. His words were unintelligible. I didn't know much German; by I knew what 'Mein Gott' meant. And it sounded like he was both praying to god and praying to me. His eyes began rolling back as blood caked his dry lips, he was dying. Then they would come for me.

But that wasn't exactly what happened.

The man died, yes, of course he died. No one could survive their guts being eaten from their gaping abdomens as blood spilled from the severe wound. But he didn't just die. His eyes rolled back, and they seemed to be bored with him, no longer interested in the organs that were still inside. What made me ill was when he stood up, his stomach torn open and blood pouring out in buckets to the already slick ground. Then he screamed, screamed louder than I had ever heard anything screech. Not even a horse could compare to the ungodly sound. But it was cut short by the vocal chords shredding apart from the pitch, leaving the Nazi with a dull moan as he shuffled along with the others.

I didn't realize I screamed until they were almost on top of me. That's when the gunshots rang out and their heads exploded, showering me with their cold blood. I was too shocked to make a sound, to even move. Footsteps thudded in the back of my mind and a tall figure dressed in a large overcoat came into view carrying that PPD-40

"Vy travmirovany?" the silhouette demanded in a heavy accent. I just kept staring as he asked again.

"W-what?"

He sighed, "English. Are you injured? Have they bitten you?" I shook my head uncertainly. What if they had? Was this man going to shoot me? The gun was pointed square to my forehead. He lowered his gun, "Then follow me."

It wasn't by chance that we met up with Ludwig, he and Ivan had been together for some time now. They worked together diligently and had agreed to scour for survivors. They had just happened to run across me.

"Sh-shouldn't we go back out? There has got to be more than just me. We were sent to find you," I exclaimed as loud as I could, which only turned out to be an excited whisper.

Ivan blinked in confusion, "They sent you to find us?" When I nodded he laughed, "What point now? All my men are out there, wanting to eat the next fresh thing that happens by. Luckily the animals just expire."

"Besides the dogs," Ludwig muttered, and the two fell silent. I had yet to see any dogs, but from how strained they looked, I was lucky to have not to.