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"Alright, y'all... just like they wrote! 'Are you ready to fiesta?'"

Coach looked at his team, flare in hand and ready to fire.

"FeYESta!"

Rochelle wore the kind of shit-eating grin you could only wear after you made a high-calibur shitty pun, as Ellis furrowed his brow and Nick made a big show of rolling his eyes and mouthing 'oh my god'. A girl's gotta get her laughs too once in a while, she'd reasoned with him. Whatever, Nick had said. Puns suck.

"Gahahahaha! Okay... get ready!" At least Coach got it. Not a few moments after he pulled the flare gun's trigger came the familiar but still dreadful roar of infected. "Let's get it on!"

As they saw the helicopter ahead approaching the top of the building they were next to, the group began their rushed climb. Coach hated stairs, but honestly?

Tanks were much worse than stairs. No wonder there were so many holes in the exterior of the building. How was it still standing?

But there was no time to wonder; Ellis had already gotten knocked a few yards off his feet, by the sound of his yell. Each cursing, the three other remaining survivors opened fire on the tank... this wasn't the first time they were in a man-down-and-loose-tank situation. With enough time, and enough care, the tank was down, and Ellis was back on his feet... a little worse for the wear. 

And getting worse! The next floor featured a new tank. "I can't fucking believe--" Nick's complaint was drowned out by the sounds of rubble crashing around them. Concerned for their youngest's physical state, Coach ordered Rochelle to guide their limping Ellis up the next stairwell while he and Nick wore down the next one. Nick scoffed, but complied as he and Coach split and began to play distraction, gunning down this tank. But, of course...

As Rochelle and Ellis started up the stairs, another tank was making its way down... no doubt drawn in by the noise below. Neither of them had any time to even experience disbelief before the upstairs tank started swinging its arms at them. 

"Aw, SHIT!" Coach had that opportunity, however. The exclamation drew the previous tank away from Nick, at the very least, who had never done so much dodging in his entire life. Now that he could take a second to stop running and diving, he settled himself in and opened fire, blood bursting off the tank's backside. This became Coach's chance to fire his shotgun almost point blank in the tank's face. Their damage was enough, and the tank staggered backwards, collapsing into a fleshy mess.

When they both looked back at the new, third floor tank, Ellis had been shuffling away as best as he could, but they saw him take one more limp before a sweeping arm knocked him prone. Sighing heavily, Nick pulled out the adrenaline shot he was saving and stuck himself, moving swiftly to take aim with his rifle... but it just clicked and did nothing. He didn't even have the capacity to curse about it, growling in frustration as he threw the useless ammo cartridge on the ground. 

He then drew a katana.

Coach later laughed at Nick, "You were being a crazy-ass, Nick. Don't do that ever again." (Nick responded in kind. "I'm not doing that ever again. So don't bring it up ever again.") 

It was pretty uncharacteristic for "I hate germs" Nick to take to melee combat, but apparently, when you have no ammo and you're hopped up on adrenaline, that's what it comes to. But Nick taking swings at this tank gave Coach enough of a moment to get poor Ellis off the ground and hand him some pills. Nick didn't waste any time, though, seeing Ellis back on his feet meant that he could now hurry them up and get the hell out of dodge. "C'mon! Let's go!" 

As quickly as they could, the trio ran up the stairs, Coach and Ellis firing back hoping to slow the tank... where was Rochelle? 

The next floor was clear enough, aside from the tank arm Nick nearly tripped over... to the relief of the entire group, this tank was already faceplanted on the ground, and there was just a couple of odd infected here and there. 

Rochelle was already on the rooftop. She turned to the cockpit and pointed towards the group, though the wind and whirring drowned out her words. 

By the time the tank finally burst out of the stairwell, the helicopter had taken to the air, and the four survivors it pursued inside. The tank roared and slammed its fists on the ground, and the chorus of fine dust and large chunks of cement hissing and clacking together sang out to the departing survivors. The tank sunk into the building, and the survivors were flown out of the city.