Right now Abel felt like he was packed in a can of tuna. A can of dead, slimy, rotting tuna. Why did he think of that? Now he felt like throwing up, and their were plenty of reason why that would be very hazardous for his health right now. This was probably some cruel joke the universe was playing on him for having faith in his stupid idea in the first place. To give it credit it worked just like it did in The Walking Dead, but this way way too much for him. The control room was close now, if he and Bub could inch out of the formation carefully, he could finally meet up with someone alive for a change. Gently he pulled the rope and inched to the side of the horde being extra careful not to bump into the any of the zombies real hard. Bub had hit a few as he was pulling him along but the zombies ignored it anyway which made him relieved. Shit he was almost there. A little bit more and he be out of the horde scott free. There was no way this could possibly go wrong. [i]Oh fuck me![/i]

And with that thought he tripped. Right on a stupid puddle of blood. There was some sick irony in this situation; somewhere. As he fell he reached to grab something before he hit the ground and grabbed right on to a zombie's shirt. His disguise was absolutely useless now. Luckily he was close enough to make a break for it now. 

"See ya Bub!" He kicked his decoy zombie back into the horde in a lame-ass attempt to slow them down before he started running like a goddamn madman. "Why is my luck so damn bad?!"