[cliffhanger warning] [two - swearing, weaponry, and descriptions of death, apocalyptic masses, and other horrors]

[Braxton's POV - 3rd Person]

        This isn't how Braxton wanted this to end. This isn't how any of them wanted this to end. By the time this stupid *** apocalypse had even begun, their group of 'lackeys' as they called themselves had been up to 15 people. It's been six whole years, and now it was just Braxton, his best friend Mika, and their other friend Thomas. Life was just about as pleasant as being hit with forty bullet trains... You were lucky, if you managed to scramble away barely an inch of your life. Several of their comrades, however, apparently didn't seem to possess that luck.

        Braxton remembers it vividly, each and every one of his friends' gruesome and honestly sickening deaths. He refused to talk about most of them, but one of the more disturbing ones was his sister, Vanessa. The young boy, only 13 at the time, had to be dragged away by the rest of his group as he watched his baby sister get physically torn apart; the Diseased, as survivors had been calling them, ripping off and consuming flesh from her at a torturously painful slow pace. Her screams for help resonated within his very soul, and Braxton still could rarely sleep from the nightmares that came with each death. Every night, he's haunted by the ***, mangled features of all his friends, the sight of their rotten flesh making him feel sick, almost as if he spent the past few hours on a sailboat that was cursed to deal with infinite tides; rocking him side to side, up and down, as if a roller coaster.

        "Ugh, this sucks," Thomas complained beside Braxton, wrenching him out of his thoughts.

        "We know, Thomas," Mika retorted, glancing out from the safety of their cover to see if any of the Diseased were lurking near their hideout. "You've only complained about it, like, 700 times today!"

        "It wasn't 700!" Thomas exclaimed, clearly offended.

        "Yes, it was!"

        "No it wasn't, you have no proof!"

        "Braxton, back me up, please!"

        "Don't call on him. He doesn't want to deal with you yap-"

        "Enough."

        The two fell silent, their gaze immediately shifting to Braxton, surprised by his harsh tone. Rightfully so, because Braxton wasn't really one to be firm, unless it was anything regarding the trio's survival. He was just like that; the trauma had shaped him into a blank slate, a man of few words and even less emotion.

        "We can't afford you two bickering like toddlers," Braxton explained, shooting down a Diseased with his pistol. Thank the gods for silencers.

        Before this apocalyptic *** had begun, none of the original group had thought they'd ever be able to use an actual weapon; but here they were, shooting the walking bodies of their gone friends, and doing all sorts of horrid things that would be looked down upon, if not for the current state of the world.. or, what remained of it, at least. It was rough, but somehow they managed to live. Barely. Still, they made any attempt they could to make it work.

        "Please," Braxton sighed, turning to face his companions. "Stop arguing... We can't lose each other... Not after the others..."

        That got them to finally stop, with Thomas shyly looking over at Mika. "Sorry, Mi," he mumbled under his breath. Mika couldn't help but grin.

        "No probs!"

        It was always odd to Braxton, the way Mika was able to present herself in such a calm, confident manner. However, Braxton knew the real her. He knew the fact was that she had to stop herself from bursting into tears at any moment. She'd lost someone to the Diseased, too, her cousin, parents, pretty much everyone.

        Thomas, however, was lucky; in an ugly sense. Having already lost everything he cared about as a child, he was mentally prepared for everything coming his way. The group joked sometimes that it must've been a miracle, but it was a distraction; a way to try and ignore the hurt in their eyes when they truly had a moment to think about their situation. To hide the pain they felt watching everything they loved be brutally ripped away by the corpses of the Diseased; many of which they also knew and cherished.

        "Man, this blows," Mika complained. Braxton rolled his eyes.

        "Come on, we have to find a place to hide, tonight. Any ideas?" He muttered.

        "Oh!" Thomas perked up. "There's a treehouse nearby that has a retractable ladder!"

        "Alright," Mika chirped, finding that a lot more comforting than sleeping on something like concrete. "Lead the way, Thomas!"

        The boy nodded, carefully looking around for any Diseased. At Braxton's signal, the trio bolted, with Thomas in the lead, rushing as fast as they could to the treehouse. They climbed the ladder, with Mika tugging it up so nobody else could get to them. Having a moment of reassurance, the three exhaled. Finally, a moment of rest.

        "We should go to sleep," Braxton mumbled, fatigue immediately sweeping over his soul. The other three nodded in response, clearly also exhausted.

        "I agree," Thomas yawned, as Mika stretched her arms out, laying down.

        The two boys joined her, and it quickly became a cuddle pile. Laying there in a sudden mush of tangled bodies and weary minds, the slowly fell asleep, one by one.

        This really sucks. Braxton thought, sighing as his eyelids fluttered shut. I hope I can actually sleep, tonight...