Little (T.S.T) + (T.D.C)

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Chapter 11:
>That's right, loser! Come get me!<
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They all kept running. Running through corridors, doors and broken walls until they finally made it outside where the fresh air hit them.

The sand was still being blown around by the wind, making its way into everyone's faces, and obscuring their vision. It was impossible to see more than a foot in front of them.

"Jorge, where are we going?" asked Newt.

"Well, hermano, first we're gonna get you rested up. Then we're gonna make our way to one of my old friends who can lead us to the Right Arm."

"But what about Thomas and Brenda?" askrd Darcy.

"Don't worry. They'll have made it out and Brenda knows about this old friend. We'll be reunited with them soon." He looked so sure, but his uneven voice gave away the little doubt he had.

They finally reached wherever Jorge was taking them-- just another broken old building. Darcy didn't know what she had been expecting, but would an actual standing building be too much to ask for?

Jorge kicked the already half broken door, allowing everyone to get inside. "Quick!" he shouted over the noise of the wind.

Once they all made it inside, Jorge ushered them down some corridors and into a large room. A couple of sofas lay scattered throughout it, as well as bottles of water and loaves of bread.

"Now, like I said, we need to get you lot rested up. This is a safe place I found a while ago. I stocked it up with some supplies in case I needed to make a quick getaway. No one knows about this place," said Jorge.

"But Thomas and Brenda--" began Newt.

Jorge cut him off. "I've told you, hermano, Brenda knows what to do. They'll be fine."

"How can you be sure?"

"Just trust me."

"It's a bit hard to trust you when you let us hang upside down over a pit of cranks about twenty minutes ago," countered Minho.

"I got you out, didn't I?" shrugged Jorge.

Minho was about to retort, but after receiving a nudge from Newt, decided to huff and fold his arms.

Darcy sighed and walked to one of the sofas. She picked up one of the water bottles, drank a little bit-- she hadn't realised how dehydrated she was, and was glad for the refreshment-- and then lay down. She faced the other way and shut her eyes. At this point, she didn't care about nightmares. She was so tired that she was willing to deal with them.

She could hear the other shuffling around. Someone was opening a water bottle, and she could hear the crinkling of plastic-- presumably someone opening one of the bread loaves.

Then it was quiet again. After several seconds, someone's water bottle dropped, making a loud noise. It reminded Darcy of how, after Minho was struck by lightning and they arrived in the building, it had been quiet. Loudness followed by quiet. The silence was then broken by the zombie thingys-- a constant loop of tranquillity and chaos.

Then that was all that she could think of. The zombie thingys and the fact that she could turn into one at any point. She could be turning into one right now for all she knew. Maybe the virus was eating away at her brain at that very second-- how could she be sure? She could see them clearly, almost as if they were imprinted upon the back of her eyelids. Could hear their odd noises as if her brain was a radio and that was the only thing on it.