Don't Give Up

Soulmates and Zombie Apocalypse

I'm making Alex 19 years old and Tobin 21 for the mentality of the two, so bear with me. But don't worry, I'll still incorporate most of the young players like Pugh and etc, regardless of the age.

And Abby Wambach is still part of the team in this story, along with Cheney!

***

Cordelia's P.O.V.

"No, you've got to be kidding me," Tobin says, her eyes glued to the locked door. The panic is back in her voice, more clear than ever. She then hammers the ground with her fists, burning anger taking over her dismay. Near her, Alex Morgan lightly stirs, but her eyelids remain closed. An agitated atmosphere now reigns in the locker room occupied by the two american soccer players and me.

"I'm afraid I'm not," I answer, confirming her worst fears. I sigh and go crash against the wall in front of my idol. I bring my legs to my chest and put my chin on top of them, worry painted all over my face.

"And when I finally thought we were going to get out of here..."

All hope motivating the girl earlier has vanished, replaced by despair.

Her wound has stopped bleeding, but the dark substance is still present beside the player, looking all gory and menacing. She's not complaining about the pain, so I'm guessing it died down to a supporting level. Or maybe shes's just too proud to show her agony, I'm not sure.

"Do you want me to wrap something around that leg of yours?" I ask.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," she replies, looking up at me, and that's when I notice the perpetual pain gleaming inside her stare.

I push myself off the wall to go knee beside the injured native New Jersey athlete. I first clean up the gash a little, using her water bottle found inside the blue bag of hers. Tobin winces when the cold liquid touches her leg, so I take my time and use small, gentle motions to get rid of as much blood as possible. When that's done I take off my red cotton sweatshirt—at least we won't see the blood soaking it—and envelop the wounded limb as I try to be careful to not be too rough. When it's all over the young woman lets out a relieved breath, looking less on the verge of fainting than earlier.

"Thanks," she says, giving me a smile of gratitude.

"No problem, anything for Tobin Heath!" I grin.

I take a couple steps away from her and sit down, my chin resting in my hand.

"You know," I start, "I did want to stay longer at this stadium, but not this way."

I let out a nervous chuckle while an amused expression appears on Tobin's face.

"Well, since we're all stuck here, why don't we take the time to know each other a little," she declares, crossing her hands behind her head, her back against the wall. "You can start," she says while gesturing toward me with an overexaggerated movement.

I smile before briefly telling her the story of my life.

"All right, I'm 17 years old and I just started my last year in high school a couple weeks ago. I live with my dad in Montreal, in Canada; the great capital of canadian Frenchies. Hockey is the only thing people talk about over there. But I have to confess, I hate that sport," I admit, wrinkling my nose when saying that.

"Really? Me too!" she exclaims, laughing. "Skating really isn't my thing. People say I look like a paralyzed ostrich when I do decide to do some. Well, A-Rod does anyway." She chuckles, and I smile at the idea of Amy Rodriguez saying something like that. Typical from her though. "But see, I find it insulting though because I think I'm not that bad," the midfielder adds, pouting.