ALTERNATE ENDING

They scrambled up the tower's ladder and had they not been so excited they may have complained that it was both long and completely ridiculous to climb. When they reached the top, Rochelle shoved opened the door and they pooled outside.

There was the bridge—beautiful, elegant, just waiting for them to cross. And then…

"Rescue 7, this is Papa Gator, do you copy?"

"They sound like soldiers," Coach offered softly. He nodded towards the corpse where an obvious soldier laid propped against a barricade, his throat torn out. In his left hand was a radio. "Someone should talk to them…"

On the radio, Rescue 7 answered. "Preparing for take off. ETA in 10 minutes."

Nick snatched the radio from the corpse and clicked down to talk. "Uh… hello?"

"Jesus Christ!" came the astounded voice on the other side. "That's coming from the bridge! Bridge identify yourself!"

"Uh…" Nick frowned slightly, then with one eyebrow quirked at his companions answered matter-of-factly. "Name's Nick. I've got three other people with me; Coach, Rochelle and Ellis."

"Bridge. Are you immune?"

"I think that's pretty obvious," Nick replied dryly.

"Negative, Bridge. Are you immune? Have you encountered the Infected?"

"Yeah." Nick snorted. "Sure, you could say that." Encountered the Infected? Fucking assholes, look around.

"Rescue 7, are you equipped to take on Carriers?"

A new voice responded. "Affirmative."

There was a long silence until the soldier finally responded. "Bridge, what is your location?"

Nick glanced up, gauging the setting sun. "We're on the west side…"

"Bridge, all other locations have been evacuated. You must lower the bridge and cross to the east side to the remaining helicopter. Do you understand? You have fifteen minutes."

Nick sighed, glancing to his companions that all shrugged. "Yeah, we got it. Don't you dare leave us."

There was the crackle of dead air over the radio until, maybe out of pity, the soldier responded. "God be with you."

He had never seen so many abandoned cars in his entire life. There were miles and miles of them, just sitting there—empty, forsaken. It made Nick shudder with the thought of how many of these people hadn't made it out alive. He never got to think hard about it, though. Around him, the world was a violent screaming roar of chaos.

For every car that was abandoned, it appeared that whoever had been driving it was now an Infected—an Infected that was hell bent on making sure the four's last stretch to freedom was one of pure misery and terror.

Everywhere around them screams of the blood-thirsty once-humans sounded. They clawed at the four, bit at them and threw themselves on top of them. Even as they were pelted with showers of bullets or had a limb sliced right off they still came at them, crawling, spit drooling down their enraged faces.

It was like they couldn't accept that someone—god forbid—should be left alive.

The Survivors crawled over rubble, slid across the roof of cars and pulled each other up onto parts of the bridges that had collapsed under the heavy bombing of the military. More than once they were forced to backtrack when they found themselves facing a gaping hole in the bridge. It was maddening. They felt their arms growing tired and their breathing was becoming harsh in their own ears. Blood slicked their arms and faces—some of it their own, most of it not. Behind them, was a wake of dead bodies.

Then, suddenly, almost like it had snuck up on them, there was hum of the helicopter's blade. As they fought their way closer, Rochelle pointed. "It's the 'copter guys! It's there! It's still there!"

But there was no time to rejoice. Just as they sprinted down the ramp towards the docks, there was a terrible shudder that shook the ground. It was a Tank. God, of course it was.

"Run past it! Run, run, run!" Nick screamed, shoving at Rochelle and Ellis who had turned to stand and fight. They hesitated for a moment but then they quickly followed. He was right, they were too god damn close to risk being killed now.

A piece of concrete sailed over their heads and crashed into the fencing. The fence groaned under the weight. The metal moaned—and it almost sounded human—as the entire thing collapsed forward. It landed directly on Coach—pinning the man under its heavy mass.

"Jesus Christ," Nick breathed. The other three stopped immediately, tugging and pulling at the fencing, trying hard to free the man. But it was quickly proving to be impossible.

Behind his grimace, Coach offered a smile. "It's okay, kids, you go on. I've got you." His hand—covered in his own blood now—shook as it pulled his pistol free. As best he could with the crushing weight, he aimed it towards the charging Tank. "You do ol' Coach proud."

"Bullshit!" Nick snarled and the other man gave him a startled look. "Ellis, give me that axe. You two; watch my ass." The conman took the axe from the stunned mechanic, lifted it over his head and with all his strength brought it down—over and over until the chain link fence bowed and bent—finally it snapped. It snapped again and again, making a small hole that slowly became bigger and bigger. Beside him, Rochelle and Ellis' guns exploded with bursts of bullets. The Tank's body shook under the heavy fire, but it still stumbled forward, slapping and knocking away anything nearby.

Then Nick was throwing all his weight on the fence, pushing and curling it back as Coach scrambled out. He was bleeding heavily from his shaved head, but God, the man could walk and that was all that mattered.

"Now, let's try this again," Nick breathed, throwing down the axe. "Fucking run! And I mean it this time!"

The four sprinted—faster than they had ever sprinted before. They practically threw themselves inside the helicopter and even before their bodies hit the floor the 'copter was airborne—flying far, far, far away from the deadly mass of Infected below. Flying far away from that nightmare that had chased them for the past two months. Flying away from that Hell on Earth.

Nick panted hard, glancing over to Ellis who was lying beside him, hat lost somewhere along the way. The mechanic was lying on his back, breathing heavily but he was smiling wide and little tremors of laughter were escaping him. God, he was beautiful.

Nick pecked a kiss at the others outstretched hand. "God damn it, Ellis, we made it. We really fucking made it."

"I told ya we would," Ellis said matter-of-factly in between his breaths. He rolled onto his stomach so that the two laid face down together, propped up on their elbows. Somewhere nearby they could hear Rochelle and Coach laughing and hollering their victory cries. Ellis leaned forward and kissed the conman softly on the lips, not caring if they saw. Nick kissed him back, fiercely, smiling all the while.

God damn it, they had really made it. Overalls had been right all along.

Forty minutes later the helicopter found its destination. The four survivors slowly got to their feet as they were met by a handful of stone-faced soldiers. Nick's hand found Ellis' and together they were escorted onto the deck of a large fancy cruise ship. Although obvious that they had just come from the hell back on the mainland, there were still wide-eyed Survivors staring on from the human-barricade of soldiers. It was the first time the four had ever seen another living survivor in days. It was a pleasing sight.

Nick side glanced towards Ellis and he swung their hands slowly in between them. Ellis looked at him curiously, blinking.

"This is almost like a honeymoon cruise, don't you think? Well, minus our filthy clothes. But that can always be removed. But I guess that would make it more like a honeymoon, right?" Ellis laughed obnoxiously at this.

The escort continued inside of the ship where almost immediately a doctor greeted each survivor. Nick found himself being soothingly removed from Ellis' side by a gentle-faced smiling man. The conman gave Ellis a reassuring nod and allowed himself to be sat in a makeshift office made of white curtains and a plastic fold out table.

The doctor was a middle-aged, obviously tired, but doing well to show kindness and patience. "My name is Dr. Hans. I'm going to be asking you a few questions—please answer as honestly as you can." The doctor licked the tip of his pencil and then without looking up asked, "Name, please?"

It wasn't a very long interview—name, age, birth-date, hometown, where he had been when the Infection had hit… names of next akin. He declined to mention any living relatives.

Soon after the interview, a lovely young nurse came to his side to take blood samples. Once upon a time Nick would have looked the other way, doing his best to not think about that little needle sliding up into his vein and making his head woosh with nausea. Now, though, Nick found himself curiously watching the nurse work to find his vein, secure it and then slide the needle inside. Blood pooled into the vial, then another and then finally a third. Nick was almost surprised he had any blood to spare.

Next he was moved into a secure room where he was asked to remove his clothes, his rings, and anything else on his person. He complied without complaint—but did take the time to fold his suit lovingly. It had served him well. It was also the first time he came aware of how badly ruined it was. For some reason he had held onto the thought that a few runs through a washing machine may save it—but it was obvious in the tears and rips, the blood splatters and mud that it had served its purpose already. He felt oddly sad to watch it go.

But whatever sad nostalgia he had for his suit was gone the instant he found himself in a steaming hot shower. The water burned into all his wounds, stung them and made him hiss between his teeth. It tore away scabs and opened old wounds—but, God, it felt good. He could feel the months of terrible, terrible horror washing away. It pooled around his feet in a dirty pink before disappearing in a haze of bubbles and water.

And although it had been such a long time since he had last felt soap between his hands—he could still very distinctly remember it. How could he not? The entire memory was something too beautiful, too precious to be forgotten. It was a memory caught in the middle of a haze of destruction and death. It was a memory of Ellis—and how perfect everything had felt. The memory made him smile.

It was hours later, sitting still in the quarantine room in a clean sweatshirt and sweatpants too big for his thinned body, that he was cleared. 'You're immune— unable to become Infected or Infect others.' Well, that was probably the most obvious news he had ever heard, but he did not complain—he simply smiled his thanks and allowed them to escort him to his assigned room.

Waiting for him already was Ellis. The southerner jumped to his feet and with a laugh of pure joy threw himself into the conman's arms. Nick caught him and held onto him, fingers digging into the others back and twisting in his hair. God, how it felt good to feel him safe, warm and laughing in his arms. Ellis was safe. God, he was safe.

Ellis was his to hold, his to love. And nothing would ever—could ever—change that.

A/N: The Alternate ending has been expanded and more detailed to the fact that it was originally written up until 1:30 in the morning as I tried desperately to ease my panic attacks after not initially having very good responses to the first ending. It was purely selfish of me to have rushed through it originally, and I apologize. It feels like it's more complete now and if I do ever continue it, it will be another story (although I can't imagine it would be very long)

I deleted it and resubmitted the chapter so that people would be notified.

I am still amused that the official name for my document for this story is "Nick's Breakdown"—being it was never meant to be anything more than one 'chapter' of my venting. It just tickles me to death that it has grown to be over 70 pages now. That's really super cool.

Again, thank you so much for all the reviews and for commenting and reading. I am so thankful and appreciative.