Tying up dead ends

Slip up

"Fuck", the hinges of the door started to give way,  the frame cracking and separating from the wall. Finally, the door burst open, a cluster of zombies started to pour in, the smell of death overwhelming their lungs. Quinton swung his bat right against the skull of the poor soul, the crimson blood splattering across the room. Droplets speckled Rico's jacket, his face twisting in disgust almost immediately after the claw of his crowbar dug itself into a son of a bitch.

"Could you watch where that shit sprays?" He'd complain, the debris of what's left of these mindless fucks still finding its way onto his clothing. Quinton rolled his eyes, making no effort to at least swing a different direction.

He watched as they made incoherent noises, their vocal chords having rot into something nothing more than just mangled arrays of pulp. Quinton tightened his grip on his bat, blindly swinging it— which worked, to his avail. It resulted to them being sopped in blood, it ran down to the tips of their weapons, decorating their hands with red. The amount of bloodshed that was evident on his faded grey jeans was more than Rico could even call tolerable.

He felt a headache coming in, he wasn't equipped to be so irritated in such a short amount of time.The corpses laid mangled on the tiled floor, yet one more was still writhing, moving like it was about to crumble. Quinton figured that his friend could deal with this on his own, so he made himself at home, playing around with whatever looked mildly interesting in the room.

"If I get some sort of STD from this, I'll be so fucking mad—" Rico griped, eventually putting his crowbar to good use when lodging it into the throat of the last one. Quinton invited himself to sit in an arm chair placed in the corner of the room— crossing his legs as if it were a throne. Amused by what his friend said, he took a jab at it. "When are you ever not mad?" he'd chuckle, nudging the corpse's head with the tip of his shoe.

God, did the crowbar feel so good in his hands right now. But he wasn't about to murder the little shit that had the balls to be sitting so casually.

Rico shot a firm glare, it pierced right through Quinton's eyes. The man's fingers twitched in response to the reaction his question got out of his friend. Immediately setting both feet flat on the ground, he was caught in headlights. Rico almost stomped his way over, not breaking eye contact as he dropped an orange medical bag onto Quinton's lap.

He'd sink into his seat, these bags weren't exactly light, neither was the look his friend was giving him.

"Do you think all of this—" Rico gestured to the corpses as he spoke "—is funny?" Quinton just stared, resting his hands on the bag. He was slightly taken aback, he didn't know how he could bail himself out of this scolding session.

"Because funnily enough, everyone is gone, these fuckers are walking around, people are dying and you're treating this like it's some kind of shitty walk-through haunted house." He'd remark with every bit of poison dripping from his voice, Quinton pressed his lips together into a straight line, his smile wavered.

"Did you even change ever since college?" Rico hissed absentmindedly, making Quinton flinch almost as if he was whipped. Quinton didn't speak, unusual. Rico waited for Quinton to respond, but with each second, the realization of how heavy his words truly were hit him.

Rico took a moment to process what he'd said, his stomach twisted with a tinge of regret when only left to look his friend in the eyes. He wanted to avert his gaze, but couldn't. Quinton stood up, holding the bag to his side, yet the words at the tip of his tongue failed to come out.

"Just, just carry the bag." Rico's anger quickly melted away, only feeling his being brim with guilt. Quinton's chest rose, the unevenness of his breath causing his exhale to stutter. He didn't bother meeting Rico's gaze.

"I know."

Their clothes were ridden with blood, Rico's hands cracked with dried up blood as he was deep in thought. Rehearsing the miracle sentence that would excuse what he'd said to break the uncomfortable silence, "Uh, our clothes are bloody, maybe we should take em' off?" Fuck no, Rico thought. That'd be weird, but it wasn't hard to admit that it seemed perfectly ethical too.

The two stopped next to a sink and washed their hands thoroughly, hoping that whatever shit-eating disease was in there would wash off down the drain.

They continued wandering the streets once they finally reached air, the unbearable lack of noise and definitely unsolicited wetness from the bloodbath was really getting to Rico. He opened his mouth to speak but the ringing snap of wires and crackle of electricity startled the two, the sound of metal crashing into the cement below following right after. Rico took it as a sign to shut the fuck up.

Quinton finally faced Rico, giving him a look that just screamed "Wanna check it out?". To that, Rico nodded. Cautiously having a hand hover over their respective weapons, they made their way to an almost gravely familiar sight.