James

Two days had passed since Carl and Rick arrived unexpectedly at the Crescent Moon hotel, bringing a virtually unstoppable horde of the dead with them.

We had been barricaded in the hotel ever since.

My plan to use patience - to wait for a window of opportunity to present itself - had been the only way to cease the growing hostilities between Alexander and Rick, and at the time, it appeared to have succeeded.

But now the aforementioned 'patience' was wearing quite thin.

Rick and Carl had clearly been exposed to more horrors than my Uncle and I, and this exposure had moulded them into more competent, confident survivors, and the two of them - particularly the adult of the duo - insisted that we looked for alternate methods to escape the hotel.

The mere thought of leaving this Godforsaken place had me virtually jumping in excitement and anticipation. My Uncle and I had lingered here for far too long; there had to be more to life than this, even with the world in such a horrible condition.

My Uncle had initially refused to listen to reason, still traumatised by what had happened to our group almost a month ago now, and any suggestions from Rick would constantly be countered by the cruel reminder that he and Carl were the reason we were in this situation to begin with.

Eventually, however, after much persuasion from Rick, Carl and myself, he had - albeit with some reluctance - changed his mind.

The dawn of the fourth day, the 18th of December, signalled the beginning of our escape from the hotel.

"Morning Carl," I greeted my friend as he entered our hotel room.

"Is it?" he replied groggily, hair splayed out in all directions and eyelids barely parted as he arched his back and groaned in exhaustion.

"Wow, you look energetic this morning."

"Tell me about it. A picture of perfection right here."

"Debatable."

"How dare you?"

"Quite easily."

Our friendship had certainly grown in the past few days, that was certain. Not that we had much of a choice anyway; if we were forced to spend 96 hours together, we either befriended one another or found ourselves constantly arguing.

I've missed having a friend.

I mean I love my Uncle; he's the only family I have left. But after being with him, and him alone - especially in the last few weeks, with his erratic temper and depressed phases - I'm undeniably grateful for more company. Particularly someone of a similar age to myself.

"Morning Alex," Rick entered the room shortly after.

"Morning," my Uncle returned the gesture.

The two adults of our small group had finally learnt to at least tolerate one another, and this was certainly an improvement from the arguments of the first day.

"So, today's the day?" I asked now that everybody was here, with a hint of excitement in my voice.

"It is," Rick acknowledged, motioning to the oaken dining table where the four of us could sit to finally discuss our plan of action for escaping the hotel.

We all glanced out of the nearest window as we passed it; the walkers were certainly relentless. Perhaps a few had dissipated, but the majority of the herd - at least 50 walkers - were still crowding the lobby, desperate for their next victims.

I had considered  just waiting. Not for the walkers to simply leave, necessarily, but for something or someone else to attract their attention. Rick and Carl can't have been the only people to dare to enter the city; there must be others. The walkers would be quick to move on when the possibility of more unsuspecting travellers presented itself.

That plan would be far less risky than whatever escape plan Rick had in mind.

But supplies were worrying low now. Had it been just my Uncle and I, it might have been an option, but now having to divide our rations by four... We needed to leave. There was no alternative.

And so, with the four of us gathered around the table, Rick began explaining his plan.

"Some time ago now, I was trapped in a shopping mall in Atlanta. We couldn't shoot our way out; there were dozens of them. But the front door was the only way through."

Carl peered at his father intently, before his expression changed upon realizing what his father's plan entailed. Clearly he had been told of this story many times before.

"What did you do?" Alexander asked.

"We realized that the walkers operated by two main senses: sound and smell. So we needed to find a way to obstruct both of these senses."

"Well going quietly will obviously stop them from hearing us," my Uncle pointed out, "but--"

"How do we stop them from smelling us?" I thought aloud, cutting off my Uncle.

Rick sighed for a moment and Carl glanced at him anxiously; clearly this part of his plan would be unsettling or dangerous.

"We found a few walkers in the mall. Killed them," he explained reluctantly, "and then we... We cut them open. Smeared their blood all over us. It acted like a sort of disguise; they couldn't tell us from one of them."

My mouth was slightly ajar as I processed what he was telling us, as I realized what the plan would entail.

So that's the plan? We just walk right through them?

"You can't be serious," Uncle Alexander voiced my sentiments in disbelief.

"Look, I know how crazy it sounds," Rick sympathised with us, "but this is a crazy world we live in now. It works Alex. I've done it before, and I'm here to tell the tale. You just need to stay calm, and try not to draw attention to yourself."

"I'd say that's easier said that done," I sided with my Uncle.

"It is. I know it is," Carl then joined in, "but we can't stay here. My dad's right. We have to do this James."

"We have to this," Rick repeated his son's words.

Alex and I glanced at each other.

The plan sounded insane. Suicidal. But they were right; we couldn't stay here.

And if this was the best solution they had... We would have to trust them.

"Okay," my Uncle and I reluctantly agreed in unison.

"So what now?" I asked, knowing the plan couldn't get any more terrifying than it already sounded.

"Have you two searched the rest of this hotel?" Rick asked Alexander and I.

We both responded with shakes of our heads.

"When we arrived, we just headed straight to the top floor. As far away from the infested streets as possible," I explained.

Rick nodded in understanding.

"We'll search some more floors then, try and find a few walkers. We'll probably need two, maybe even three. Then, we cover ourselves in their blood."

"How much do we need?" Alex asked, clearly still unsettled by the plan.

He wasn't the only one.

"As much as possible. Over your face, your hair, your feet; don't take any risks."

My Uncle nodded hesitantly in understanding. I was completely silent, comprehending what we would have to do to escape.

I had longed for the day in which I would finally be able to cross over the horizon that I could see from my rooftop, rather than simply imagine and guess what secrets it held. Today it would finally become a reality.

But I was not excited, as I expected I would be.

I was terrified.

---

Carl

The walker was tall, and lean.

It was once a woman; in her mid-40s, I predicted.

Her once-bright brunette hair now plastered to her face, encrusted with dried dirt and blood. Her shattered green glasses still hung loosely from the gold chain that wrapped around her neck, and her tattered light grey uniform informed me that she had once been some form of staff at the hotel.

A receptionist, a maid or a cleaner, perhaps?

The nametag that was still pinned to her chest read 'Janice'.

Whoever Janice once was, she had barricaded herself in a hotel room on the 16th floor. Various bottles and jars of medication were stacked and spilled across the ornate oaken coffee table in the centre of the room, suggesting an overdose.

And then, several hours after she had drawn her final breath, the infection had seeped in to this  empty shell of a human, and taken control; she had become a puppet, used to devastating effect.

The walker had been clawing desperately against the door of the hotel room for quite some time. It must have incredibly tormenting for a creature that thrived on death and bloodshed to be locked in a room that deprived it of both those things; Janice had accomplished that much, at least, before her death

And I deemed it somewhat poetic that, when the walker was finally able to escape the room - when my father and I had shot off the hinges to the door and allowed it shamble out - it still wasn't given the chance.

Its head had turned towards us and it had emitted a distorted snarl at the sight of its first potential victims.

If walkers were able to show excitement, I'm sure this one would.

But then, I squeezed the trigger of my outstretched Beretta a single time. That one pound of pressure was all that was needed.

The Janice-walker fell to the ground in an instant.

My father and I glanced at one another in approval and success. We both knew what had to happen next.

This would be the corpse that allowed us to escape the Crescent Moon hotel.

"Lets get this back to James and Alex," my father instructed, and I nodded in agreement before the two of us took hold of the corpse and hauled it up, lifting it back down the desolate hallway and reconvening with our companions on the staircase.

James and Alexander were already there, waiting for us.

They had searched the floor above, and fortunately they too had now located a walker.

Now, the duo stood either side of the corpse, gazing it with great reluctance and grimacing in the knowledge of what they would have to do next.

My father began explaining the next brutal step in fine detail.

It would not be easy; none of it would be, that much was certain. But few things ever were easy now.

I looked at James, his face pale and eyes showing an unmistakable fear; he and his Uncle's time here had made them more vulnerable to the cruel reality of survival outside. But my father and I would help them.

"It'll be okay," I reassured James.

"Promise?" he asked me with uncertainty, averting his gaze from the body and now looking at me seriously, as though my words would dictate what happened out there.

I didn't know if it would be okay. How could I?

But James seemed so hopeful. He needed me.

"Promise," I smiled.

With that, my father unsheathed his knife, and Alexander did the same.

"Look away, Jambo," he insisted to his nephew.

And then, the two adults slammed their blades down into the bodies.