“No, no, no, man, git away!” Ellis yelled at the Tank. Tanks never listen.
A swift punch to Ellis’ everything sent him flying into the seats, much worse for the wear. He probably wasn’t getting up anytime soon.
The Tank turned, its head and beady eyes looking towards the stage. Rochelle and Nick collectively gulped. They knew they were next.
With a mighty roar, the Tank leaped out of the stands, accessing the stage easily with the ramp. Rochelle desperately needed more bullets, so she darted to the ammo left astray in front of the microphone and snatched it up, hoping that she’d made the right choice.
It wasn’t. She was slammed off the stage by a massive forearm, half-consciously rolling in the dirt below.
With Rochelle out of commission, Nick was alone, and Coach was God-knows-where. He grit his teeth and started to run backwards, emptying the assault rifle’s whole magazine on the behemoth. He simultaneously turned forward and began to reload. Unfortunately, the conman turned a little too late – he slammed into a few zombies, halting any getaway he was planning to make. Shame, he was usually good at that sort of thing.
Nick was soon acquainted with gigantic chunk of earth, and consequently, the earth itself. He hissed in pain at the impact, now stuck underneath the ground that the Tank so kindly heaved onto him. He still had a pistol and a free arm, and shot after the beast, but the attack was weak and his aim was hardly passable.
The Tank, no longer seeing the man in the suit as any sort of threat, began to look for the final survivor. And there he was – the large man was up in the stands, helping the smaller boy to his feet. The Tank wouldn’t have any of that, no sir.
The beast let out his mighty roar, bounding up the staircases to where the two were starting to get away. Unfortunately, the mechanic could hardly walk, much less run. Ellis knew he wasn’t going to make it – he couldn’t stay up without holding onto something – but he sure tried to get the hell out of there. He couldn’t do much more than yelp when the Tank squashed him against the wall like a fly, and crumple into a bloody heap once gravity took over again.
Coach had no time to stare in horror from where he was next to the control panel. Both he and the Tank knew they were the only ones left, and Coach wasn’t about to give up without a fight. He was in good condition, with most of his injuries minor and easy to ignore. The big man took off sprinting, the Tank hot on his heels.
The flying cement chunks of the stands never hit Coach, but every single one of his own shots made their mark. This made the Tank frustrated, and it showed in its enraged bellow. And Coach was glad for that. Ready to take the wild goose chase to the open area below, he hopped out of the stands straight to the ground.
Now he’d gone and done it.
A jump like that was nothing to the Tank. It caught up with Coach, bashing him into a perfect arc to the ground. Coach rolled a bit before straining to pick himself up again. If he didn’t think of something fast, he was doomed. Perhaps, he could get the Tank stuck?
Coach decided to give it a try, running up the ramp on the side, hoping his crazy route would work to his advantage.
Surprisingly, it did. The Tank stumbled slightly on the ramp, giving Coach a chance to break towards the microphone.
…But damn, his knee was burning. He couldn’t run any faster. The Tank wasn’t too far behind him now. He made the small jump off the stage – it hurt, but luckily didn’t cause any new injuries – and started hobbling past the now-unconscious Rochelle. He spotted Nick, who was still awake, and shot him a sympathetic look. He really wanted to help. But both of them knew that doing so was a death trap. Coach pressed on.
Nick could only feebly watch the Tank, now a flaming terror from passing through the firework show, smack Coach towards the far end of the stadium, before the blazing body finally collapsed.