[b]Cole - On the Run[/b]

A ringing in his ears, loud enough to almost drown at the raucous noise just beyond the walls. A soft hum could be heard despite all this-- a light whistling that reminded Cole of his mother. A harsh banging was occurring just behind him, a body slamming itself constantly into the side of the trailer. A rough growling was coming from the window in front of Cole, a diseased hand cutting itself up trying to push through the plastic. He stared at this hand-- his knife gripped harshly in his own-- even as sweat dripped and stung at his eyes. It finally occurred to Cole that it was he who was humming.

"I'll drag 'em away," his father had said thirty minutes ago, rushing out of the trailer to potentially pull the horde away to a different location. It had worked, somewhat, leaving only a small group behind. Their trailer having been broken into recently, the pair of them only had one gun between them, and not nearly enough ammunition to clear out a significant group of the undead. So, Cole had waited for his father to return with that beauty of a rifle so that they could be free of these nuisances, but Cole was getting tired of waiting. His entire body felt hot, and a stabbing pain had nestled deep in the back of his head. The lack of hydration was no doubt going to be the death of him if these rotters didn't get to him first.

Then-- a sudden crash from the front of the trailer could be heard. Perhaps they'd finally broke the barricade on the door (and it was only a barricade, with the lock having been previously broken by the looters). Cole wasn't immediately concerned, his focus still on this hand reaching through the window. Oh, how he'd come to [i]loathe[/i] this hand within the last thirty minutes. He hadn't tried to stab at it for fear of it accidentally pulling his knife away, but Cole was rapidly losing his senses. The heat felt like it was enveloping him, wrapping around his spine and tugging incessantly at every one of his nerves. His arms felt numb and in pain, yet his legs felt jittery like lightning. With the sounds from the front getting louder, Cole decided he was done with waiting. Swearing, he jumped forward, planting his knife into the rotting hand. It wasn't living, so it didn't care much about this sudden development beyond becoming more erratic in its movements. Like Cole's sensible side had feared, the rotter pulled backward, slamming the knife's hilt into the window.

It was the window that gave way.

With a sizable hole now available to it, the rotter reached inside with both arms, pulling itself up enough to get its head through the broken window. Cole could only swear once again as slammed the heel of his boot into the monster's face and smash its head upon the wall. With it dead, Cole grabbed his knife back and made his way to meet the problem at the front-- "Jesus christ!" he exclaimed at the sight. A fat one had gotten through, his sizable gut (naked and sporting a number of open wounds) stuck in the doorway. It would have been funny, if not for the group behind him, ready to burst inside once the rotter dam was broken. Cole reasoned that he could take them one-on-one once they got inside-- there really wasn't much room in there-- but he knew they'd be crawling all over each other and swarming him given enough time.

Instead, Cole rushed to the back and pushed the dead one through the window. Distantly, he noticed the banging from behind him was gone now. [i]A little too late[/i], he thought, tossing his knife outside the window before pushing his own head through. The light of the sun blinded him at first, causing him to slip slightly as he leaned his body forward. He held on tight, cutting his hands in the process, so that he could make sure he was ready for the head first fall. It was normally not much of a height, but the trailer sat on pairs of cinder blocks, making this fall out to be a potentially damaging one. He looked down toward the dead rotter on the ground and let go, banging his leg against the top of the window in the process. He managed to twist himself mid-air to land on his shoulder as opposed to his head.

He landed roughly in the dirt, his lower body landing on the rotter and emitting a gross [i]squishing[/i] sound. With no time to worry about the stink, Cole stumbled to his feet, his head whipping back and forth ins search for the dropped knife (a meager weapon, but his only one). He found it eventually sitting underneath the trailer, but by this time, some of the crowd at the door had took notice of him, changing their plan of action. Taking them on was out of the question, so Cole had only one option-- [i]run[/i]. He'd have to find a safe place to stay and possibly return to find his father later. Hell, he'd tell Cameron to leave the piece of junk trailer behind. It had been a shitty place to stay anyway.

[Center]As he ran, his legs pumping with adrenaline, Cole began to hum.[/center]