The first head fell to the ground with a disgusting sound as it splattered over the ground like a very rotten and human-like tomato; it had most likely been incredibly rotten, only held together by a fragile skull. The next head was sliced in two, so was the third. But even with these four gone, they just kept coming, an endless horde of living dead, a mass of rotten flesh, dead but alive. They made the air smell like flesh rotting in the sun, which was exactly what it was. Flesh on moving bodies, rotting as they walked, ate and searched for food. The stench was unbelievable, he'd been surrounding by the rotting people before, smelling their stench, but this was intense, stronger than he'd ever felt.

All of them tried their best to get a grasp of the BLU Scout who was desperately waving around with a bulky aluminium bat. By pure chance, he hit a couple of them, even though he was probably blinded by the nasty mix of blood and brain which was covering his face. None of his efforts were of any use, the one he'd hit got back up again fairly quickly – he'd only hit their shoulders or bodies, which didn't kill them. They'd go after you until their head was either separated from their body or their brain was destroyed; either by a solid headshot or smashing the in the skull.

The blood did not only cover his face. His blue shirt was now more or less red, one of the colours he hated the most. To be honest, it wasn't just one of the colours he hated the most; it was the colour he hated the most. Not because of some anti-communist thoughts, but because of his backstory, which included being shot, burned, beat up, decapitated or some other way of getting killed by men in red if he was unable to get rid of them first. How ironic it was that the man who saved him from the moving mass of rotten flesh and bones was wearing the colour, that he was one of the men that had killed him several times a week in the past, that he was the man he hated the most.

With a newly sharpened Kukri, the red shirted man, Sniper, hacked and slashed like crazy, blinded by the nightmare-like haze that fogged his eyes, the adrenaline pumping through his body and the goo that made his eyes beg to close, but he forced him open, ignoring the pain and tears that built up to was the redness away. Whenever the sharp blade hit some flesh, it made an incredibly satisfying sound which made him laugh like a madman as he did the impossible. It was such a relief for all the frustration and hate that had built up during the solitary days – sneaking around to avoid confrontation with a battle he was doomed to lose – to finally do the impossible: Killing the dead.

A sharp pain spread from a point at his back head ripped him out of the madness and made him stumble a bit forward, almost falling in the hands of a little girl with a big, rotten grin and one leg. In one motion, he twisted around and chopped her head off. It fell down right next to her now dead – as in not moving anymore – body. Now that his adrenaline kick was more or less over, and his madness had ended, he felt like he had had his dose of head-slicing and killing for the day. Therefore, he turned around, grabbed he boy's wrist and pulled him towards where the row of dead was thinnest. They fought their way through, and more or less stumbled towards the campervan.

When they got in, he couldn't stop himself from making a face when they stained the seats. Of everything he could think of in this situation, from the very hateable person in the passenger seat to the dead hammering on the car doors, trying to get in, he thought about stained car seats. This situation was so absurd; he chuckled while twisting the car keys. It always took three times to start it up, so he didn't really worry when it didn't work at the first try.

"Why the hell are you laughin'?!" Scout yelled hysterically, looking desperately around for an escape route. "Your freakin' van ain't workin' and you're laughin'?"

Twisting the keys a second time, Sniper decided to ignore the other. He wasn't really laughing anymore, though, the seriousness of the situation finally overwrote the seriousness of stained car seats, no matter how attached he was to his vehicle.

"Come on! Start it up!"

"I am," he said calmly, twisting the keys for the third time, finally starting it up. With a triumphant grin, he wiped his face with a hand and drove off, hitting a couple of moaning deads.

"Woo, yeah!" The boy laughed happily and gave the finger to the group that had surrounded them. "Screw you, deadies, screw all of you!"

His joy was short-lived, though, after ten minutes his hateful look was back again. Now and then he threw some glances that could be best described as disgusted at Sniper, but he mostly sat and stared out of the window with a face that indicated he'd rather been eaten alive than sit in that seat and look out of the window.

"Don't think I'm here because I like you," he said after some time. "Or because I need your help or anythin'."

"Then why are ya here, mate? I never forced ya to follow me."

"Because you made the freakin' dead guys attack my house, that's why! And I ain't your mate."

"Oh, so I did that, huh?" He asked, irritated at Scout's stubbornness. "It was my non-existing pistol-shots that made them come."

"Well, if you hadn't attacked me –" The Bostonian raised his voice, and was now more or less yelling at the other.

"Attacked ya? I never attacked ya, ya little incompetent twat, I saved ya. Ya'd been dead – or worse, one of them – now if I hadn't stepped in and saved yer sorry little butt."

"Well… I… Uh…" Scout didn't sound like he had any arguments for a change, so he ended up staring angrily out of the window again.

"If ya don't want to be here, jus' tell me, and I'll drop ya off," Sniper said lowly, quite fond of his idea. Having the BLU around would most likely lead to trouble sooner or later, as he was most likely quite reckless and foolhardy, if his experience with Scouts applied to this fella, which it most likely did, even though his experience was mostly around his Scout, the RED one.

The RED Scout. Thinking of him sent a sting of pain through his chest, like thinking of the rest of his team did. He – they, was gone. Gone forever. They'd kept on fighting together, but lost one after one, some of them dying in front of him, he'd seen one of his best friends being torn apart, crying for death, until he finally had manned up to shoot an arrow through his heart. He'd killed a friend, a person he'd loved. It had been a wish, and he'd done it, he'd followed his friend's last wish. It was awful to think about, making him want to puke.

But the Scout… Scout had been by his side until his very end, fighting and killing deads mercilessly, a good partner in a war against the worst odds of all time. They had spent nights under the stars together after the others were gone, watching the stars shine brightly and talk lowly about the old days, seeking comfort in each other. It was during one of these nights it had happened. They hadn't been observant enough of the sounds around them, which made them fail to hear the low moan from a deads slowly approaching them from behind.

"Yeah, that's a freakin' smart idea, ain't it? Just drop me off just like that, without anywhere to go. I guess you'll at least get rid of me!" The sound of the BLU Scout's voice, which was irritatingly too resembling his Scout's voice, ripped him out of his memories. "Is that your plan? To fucking save me just to kill me off after?"

"I was –" he started; just to get interrupted.

"Nah, I'll stick around until I find Ma, then I'll let you keep on livin' your sad little camping life."

"Yer mum," he repeated with a low laugh, "of all the people ya want to find, it's yer mum."

"I ain't got nobody left to trust," Scout said with a voice that seemingly sounded tough, but had an undertone of sadness, "nobody but her."

"And ya don't even know if she's alive, huh?" He knew he was being mean and rotten, but he couldn't stand the other's cockiness and resemblance to the one he'd lost. "That's a pity, ain't it?"

There was no response from the other; he was too busy pretending he was busy with looking out of the window again. It was so silent in the camper now; the only sound was from the engine, whose monotone sound made the silence feel even more silent. The warm, heavy air smelled like cigarettes, as he never really bothered to open the window anymore when smoking after he lost his Scout, and sweat from the two mercenaries. An empty water bottle fell down from the dashboard with a low thump, it had been filled just a couple of minutes earlier; the boy, who now found it fun to step on it so it crunched loudly, must have drunk it all up without even thinking a second about sharing the precious drops. A tingling spread in his arms, making him want to reach out and hit the other for thinking so little, but he managed to resist, mainly because he had spotted something that could mean safety for some time, if they were lucky.

A couple of branches snapped when they drove off the road onto a small, forgotten old path, barely able to drive on. Hopefully, it led to somewhere safe they could stay until tomorrow, living on the few cans of food he had left; he didn't really want to sneak around in a new town today. The camper rocked like crazy, making everything bounce around, like Scout's head, which slammed violently against the window with a loud bang, making the owner curse loudly.

"Hey, take it easy!" He glanced furiously at the driver. "That freakin' hurt!"

Sniper didn't respond him, but a little sadistic-like voice inside him laughed at the other's pain at the same time as he felt horribly guilty for it. Scout hadn't really done anything wrong, had he? Oh, wait, he had. If it weren't for him, he would probably have had more food now, more food and fresh water. Besides, there was no reason to respond to any of the other's complaints, there was always something he could complain about, and when there was, he was sure to grab the opportunity. At least his Scout had been like that in the beginning. Maybe this brat would learn it afterwards, too. Maybe.

The road stopped at a little cabin next to a tiny lake. After parking the camper so it would be easy to get away if necessary, he jumped out with his bow ready, focusing every sense he got after danger, but the only things moving was the grass and the small waves on the lake, and the only sounds were the birds chirping in the trees. The chirping was a relatively good sign; all animals seemed to be afraid of the dead, causing the areas with them to be scarily silent. Allowing himself to relax, he lowered the bow a bit.

"What the fuck is this place anyway?" Scout's voice pierced the peace like a needle popping a balloon, starting him so much his heart stopped for a couple of seconds. On pure instinct, he turned quickly around and pulled the arrow back, pointing it at the boy, who raised his hands, eyes filled with shock. "What the hell, dude? Do I look like one of them to you, huh?"

Sniper didn't lower his bow. It would take time to get used to this Scout compared to his Scout. They weren't very different on the surface, but his Scout had learned things during the time they'd been partners, like not sneaking up on him from behind. But no matter how annoying the young blue-shirted man was, he filled the empty space the RED runner had like nobody else would do. It wasn't the same, though, not the same at all, but it was something.

"All right, I'll help ya find yer mother," he said lowly, still aiming the arrow at the other's head. "But only if ya follow some simple rules."

"All right, just lower your freakin' bow!"

"Rule number one: Absolutely no sneakin' up on me from behind, unless ya want an arrow in yer head."

"Fine, fine." He carefully reached out a hand to move the arrow away from his face, but Sniper shook it off with a little move.

"Rule two: Do as I say, no matter what."

No response, just a hateful glance.

"And last, rule three: If somethin' I say seems weird to ya, or if ya feel like not doin' what I say, refer to rule two."

"No way, man. I ain't doin' everythin' you say."

"Then go and find yer mother alone." He lowered his bow and slung it over his shoulder, walking towards the back of the camper so he could get in; he was getting quite hungry. When opening the door, he heard one word that made him smile a bit before getting in.

"Fine."