Just right infront of the entrance, Greg stood there preparing himself spiritually, and mentally. Inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. Trying to sooth his nervous mind. "God I wish we haven't abandoned Brandon" Greg muttered. He turned his head a bit, looking over his shoulder, looking at the entrance, wishing he could just enter and never go out to this horrid place. But he couldn't. " I've gotta find Brandon fast. It's probably all his fault, he came up with the idea of using a molotov" He whimpered. 

Something caught Greg's attention, something moving, waving?. Greg caught it at the edge of his eye. He quickly turned. But there was nothing moving. "Could it really be him? My god he might have survived." Greg was slightly shocked. Or it could just be a zombie gobbling a nasty rat. Either way Greg is going that Direction. Seeing that there is where the Motel is positioned at. Greg walked down the road with the lance in hand and the combat knife in the other. His M16 dangling at his back, poking him with every step he takes. 

A slow walker eked out from a tight alley. With no hesitation Greg launched the lance at the zombie's temple. It was better to kill them from a fair distance, rather than being close using the combat knife or the machete Greg thought. "God, Thanks Horace" he muttered in relief. Greg wiped the tip of the lance with the recently dead zombie's clothing. He rubbed the tip against his trouser making sure it's clean. 

Greg stood there for a brief moment, looking down at the rotten corpse. To think that this zombie was once a father or a brother to someone. He had a life. He loved and lived. And now I despise "it" for being what it is Greg thought, as the wind seemed to ease down. The sky was cloudy yet calming and quaint. Greg wished he could just sleep there on the smooth silky clouds. Looking around, the place was so quiet he could just lay down and sleep.  

Though the soothing quiet didn't last for long. A roar of an engine sounded from the same direction the motel was at. Greg's heart pounded. "That sonofa bitch.. is he trying to suicide!??" Greg thought as he rushed to the engine-sound source. On the way he stumbled and fell. A zombie crept out from a front door of grocery shop. He was no civilian, the zombie was a marine. 

The lance had fallen away from Greg's reach. His combat knife god knows where. Greg reached for his 9mm handgun.. it wasn't there. "Shit..Carter!" He remembered giving it to Carter. Greg took out his M16..by that time the zombie had already reached Greg. The zombie lunged down on Greg's leg, holding it still and going for a bite. 

Greg cloaked the M16 and aimed for the zombie's head and shot. luckily for Greg, the zombie marine was wearing a gas mask and heavy gloves. Greg sighed in at most relief. He stood up, searching for his combat knife. It was right under his ass. "Silly me" he whispered. He sheathed it and grabbed the lance. 

He found two  M16 mags on the marine. And one can of beans. He picked them up and headed straight to the engine sound source. There he saw a woman climbing the fire escape aiding Brandon down. A cheerful smile was on Greg's face.

"Need help?" Greg cried to the both of them. As head towards them.