Surviving The Last of Us

"Fuck!" Lawrence screamed, his voice thick with pain as his hands desperately pressed against the wounds on his legs. Blood gushed out, soaking his uniform and forming dark pools that mixed with the dust and debris.

Elliot, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum, knelt beside him. The sound of gunshots echoed in the air, but at that moment, the entire world seemed to shrink to the horror of his partner's injuries.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Elliot muttered under his breath as he quickly inspected Lawrence's legs. The bullet holes were deep, one going through his right thigh and another just below his left knee. Blood kept flowing, staining everything it touched.

"Easy, Lawrence. I'm going to get you out of this," Elliot said, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more: his partner or himself.

With shaking hands, Elliot ripped out the emergency kit he carried in his vest. He had barely the basics, but it would have to do. He pulled out a tourniquet and leaned over Lawrence.

"This is going to hurt," he said, though he knew it was a useless warning.

"Just do it, dammit!" Lawrence growled, his face contorted in pain.

Elliot slid the tourniquet up the right leg, positioning it as high as possible to cut off the blood flow. In a quick, clumsy motion, he began to squeeze. Lawrence let out a piercing scream as the device tightened, squeezing his flesh to the limit.

"Hold on!" Elliot screamed, squeezing hard until the blood flow in the leg slowed. "One done!"

He turned to the other leg, where the bullet had pierced just below the knee. Blood gushed out at rapid, frightening intervals, like an hourglass emptying too quickly. Elliot couldn't use a tourniquet that low, so he opted for the next thing he could think of.

He ripped open Lawrence's uniform with his knife, exposing torn flesh. He pulled a pack of gauze from the medkit and, without a second thought, pressed it directly against the wound. Blood soaked into the gauze almost immediately, and Elliot used all his strength to hold it in place as he searched for duct tape.

"Grit your teeth, bro!" he said, as he wrapped the leg in a makeshift bandage, using strips of his own torn shirt to secure the pressure. Lawrence screamed, his face red with effort as his body shook with each wave of pain.

The smell of blood and flesh filled the air, and Elliot felt his stomach turn. But he didn't have time for that.

"You gotta hold on, Lawrence!" Elliot shouted, as he finished securing the leg and gave his work a quick once-over. The bandages were dirty, poorly placed, and soaked with blood, but at least they were holding back some of the flow.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Elliot raised his MP5 and scanned the area, but saw no one. The gunfire had stopped, making him even more nervous.

"How are you doing?" Elliot asked, turning his attention back to Lawrence.

Lawrence could barely open his eyes. His face was pale, beads of sweat running down his face as he breathed heavily. "I've been better," he muttered with a weak smile, though his tone was laced with sarcasm.

Elliot pulled the radio from his vest and turned it on with shaking hands. "Mother Hawk, this is Hawk Two. We need backup now! My partner is down, multiple gunshot wounds, massive blood loss. We're under fire! Over!"

The static answered for a moment before Stroud's voice came through, firm but urgent. "Roger that, Hawk Two. Backup on the way. Hold position. Over and out."

"That's all we can do now," Elliot said, looking at Lawrence, who had begun to shake.

Elliot reached into his medkit for a shot of morphine, the last one they had. He tore open the packaging and leaned over his partner. "This is going to help a little," he muttered before stabbing the needle into Lawrence's unbroken thigh.

Lawrence's body relaxed slightly, his eyes closing as the medication took effect. Elliot slumped against the car's hood, his MP5 in his hands, pointed down the street with his senses on alert.

Seconds stretched into endless minutes, each stretching out longer than the last. The oppressive silence mixed with the ragged sound of Lawrence's breathing, panting weakly as he fought the pain and blood loss.

Elliot felt his mind starting to play tricks on him. The echo of the wind between the abandoned buildings sounded like stealthy footsteps, every shadow seemed to move at the edges of his vision. He gripped his MP5 tightly, his MK12 rifle resting beside him, but it seemed like a useless burden now.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing, remembering what he had been taught: keeping a cool head was the difference between living or dying.

He opened his eyes and looked around with renewed attention. The surroundings were still a patchwork of ruins: collapsed buildings, overturned cars, and debris everywhere. But then, something caught his attention.

A few meters away from his position, a tall building stood like an accusing finger towards the grey sky. It was different from the rest, not because of its height, but because of the faded colors of an old mural painted on its facade. The painting showed a stylized eagle, with outstretched wings and open claws, as if it were about to pounce on prey. Although the colors were worn, the eagle still stood out clearly against the cracked concrete background.

"That will do," he muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the mural.

Suddenly, radio static broke the silence, snapping him out of his trance.

"Mother Hawk here," Stroud's voice was authoritative, though more tense than usual. "We're close. We need an exact location to locate them. Over."

Elliot took the radio in one hand, keeping the other firmly on his MP5. "Mother Hawk, this is Hawk Two. We're near a building with a large mural on its facade, an eagle spreading its wings. We're east of the main avenue, hiding behind an overturned car. Repeat, building with eagle mural. Over."

There was a brief pause before the reply came through. "Copy, Hawk Two. We've visualized the target. We're five minutes out. Hold position and be ready for contact. Over and out."

Elliot let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and looked at Lawrence, who was still lying on the ground, his face pale and covered in cold sweat.

"Five minutes, huh?" Elliot muttered to himself, his eyes returning to the horizon. "They better get there fast."

The eagle mural seemed to stare at him, as if challenging his resolve. Elliot forced himself to remain calm. Five minutes was nothing… but in this world, it could mean an eternity.

The silence was still a suffocating weight, so much so that each second seemed like an hour. Elliot kept his MP5 close, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, looking for any movement in the shadows. But the world remained still… until it didn't.

A sound broke the calm: hurried footsteps, the irregular thud of someone running.

Elliot tensed instantly, raising his MP5 and turning towards the direction of the noise. Cold sweat ran down his back as he focused his sight on the alley between two collapsed buildings.

And then he saw it.

A man emerged from the shadows, his figure bathed in the dull grey of his surroundings. His clothes were worn, but stained with fresh blood. In his hands, he held a makeshift bat, thick and covered in rusty nails, which reflected a menacing shine in the dim light.

The man ran straight towards Elliot, his eyes bulging, a mix of fury and madness on his face.

Elliot didn't hesitate. He had no time for questions or warnings. His instincts took over.

He aimed precisely and pulled the trigger.

The first shot hit the man's chest, a dry, violent sound that echoed through the street. The attacker's body jerked back, but he didn't stop. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and the second shot pierced the man's sternum, drawing a gurgling scream as a cloud of blood expanded into the air.

The man fell to his knees, his bat hitting the ground with a clang. He brought his hands to his chest, where blood was pouring out in torrents, staining his fingers and the ground beneath him. His mouth opened, trying to form words that never came, as a wet bubbling sound escaped his throat.

Elliot didn't lower his gun. He moved forward cautiously, his boots crushing shards of glass and pools of blood as he approached the fallen attacker.

The man was still alive, though barely. His eyes flickered to Elliot, a flash of hatred lingering even in his final moments. Blood continued to flow, mixing with the dust and forming a dark puddle around him.

"Who the hell are you?" Elliot muttered, more to himself than waiting for an answer.

But the man didn't speak. Instead, his shaking hands reached for something in his pocket, and Elliot reacted instantly. He aimed directly at his head and fired without hesitation.

The skull exploded like a rotten fruit, fragments of bone and grey matter splattering the nearby wall. The attacker's body collapsed to the ground, finally motionless.

Elliot took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "Shit..." he muttered, taking a step back and wiping the blood from his face with a sleeve.

He returned to Lawrence, who had been watching everything with narrowed eyes. "What the hell was that?" Lawrence gasped, his voice weak with pain.

"Some idiot with a bat," Elliot replied, his voice heavy with tension. "I don't know if he was alone... or if there are more like him out there."

The echo of the gunshots still rang out as Lawrence opened his mouth to say something, but it fell short. New sounds broke the silence: footsteps, and not just one or two. It was a chaotic, hurried chorus, echoing from all directions.

"Shit," Elliot muttered, gritting his teeth as he raised his MP5 and scanned the area. "Hold your MP5," he told Lawrence, not looking away from the horizon.

Lawrence, still numb from morphine and pain, nodded slowly. With shaking hands, he raised the gun and rested it against his shoulder, though he could barely hold it.

The footsteps came closer, louder and louder, closer and closer. Elliot spun on his heels, trying to identify the source. But it was no use; they were surrounded.

And then, like a wave, the attackers emerged. Four figures emerged from the shadows at once, screaming in fury. They were armed in makeshift fashion: bats, metal pipes, rusty knives, but all charged with terrifying violence.

Elliot reacted on pure instinct, aiming at the nearest attacker, a large man with a lead pipe. He pulled the trigger and a short burst of ammunition erupted from his MP5, hitting the man in the chest and sending him sprawling backward with a gasp.

But he had no time for more. Another attacker, a woman with her face covered by a scarf, was already upon him, brandishing a machete with a jagged edge. Elliot raised his gun to block the blow, steel clashing against the metal of the barrel.

The impact was brutal; the machete nearly ripped the MP5 from his hands, but Elliot swung the gun around and slammed the butt of the weapon into the woman's face. He heard the crunch of bone as her nose broke, and she recoiled screaming as blood poured from her face.

A third, more agile attacker surprised him from the side. A knife ripped through the side of his tactical jacket, and Elliot felt an intense burning pain as the air was forced from his lungs. "Ah, shit!" he gasped, spinning around quickly and firing a burst at point-blank range.

Bullets ripped through the attacker, causing his body to jerk violently before he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood.

Another blow hit him from behind. Elliot felt the stinging pain in his shoulder as a bat struck him hard, nearly knocking him off his feet. He screamed in pain, spinning around to see a thin man with wild eyes raising the bat for another blow.

Elliot dropped the MP5, now useless at close range, and lunged forward, colliding with the attacker. They both fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, fighting wildly. The man was trying to raise the bat again, but Elliot managed to pull his combat knife from the sheath on his vest.

With a grunt, Elliot stabbed the knife into the man's side, once, twice, three times, feeling the blade pierce flesh and muscle. The attacker let out an animalistic shriek before collapsing on top of Elliot, limp.

Shoving the body aside, Elliot staggered to his feet, breathing heavily as he felt the heat of his own blood soaking into his side. He looked over at Lawrence, who was firing clumsily from his position on the ground. An attacker was falling at his feet, his chest pierced by bullets.

Elliot barely had time to get up when the last attacker, the woman with the machete, returned. Her face was bloodied, but her eyes shone with a mix of rage and madness. With a scream, she charged at Elliot.

Elliot raised the knife just in time, deflecting the machete in a desperate movement. The blade grazed his arm, leaving a shallow but painful cut. He counterattacked, stabbing his knife into the woman's abdomen.

She gasped, her eyes widening as blood poured from the wound. But, in a last-ditch effort, she raised the machete and plunged it into Elliot's shoulder before collapsing.

Elliot screamed in pain, falling to his knees as he tried to rip the blade from his flesh. The pain was excruciating, his vision blurring, but he knew he couldn't stop.

"Lawrence!" she screamed, turning to his partner.

Lawrence, still lying on the ground, aimed at the staggering attacker behind Elliot, raising an iron bar. With one precise shot, he blew his head off, the body falling with a thud.

Elliot took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he pulled the machete from his shoulder with a grunt. His body shook, covered in his own and other people's blood, but silence eventually returned.

He staggered toward Lawrence and dropped down beside him, both of them gasping, wounded but alive.

"Are you still with me?" Elliot asked, barely able to stay conscious.

"Yes," Lawrence muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "And you?"

"For now," Elliot replied, looking at the chaos around him. "For now."

The roar of engines filled the air, growing louder with each second, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of gunfire and the rumble of a turret in action. Elliot, half conscious, raised his head with difficulty, his body aching and bathed in blood.

From the distance, FEDRA Humvees emerged like armored beasts, their headlights piercing the shadows of the ruins. They braked sharply a few meters from their position, raising a cloud of dust and debris. The doors swung open, and a group of soldiers descended with military efficiency, taking up positions to secure the area.

Gunshots rang out again, closer this time. The FEDRA soldiers moved quickly, fanning out to form a defensive perimeter. One manned the turret mounted on the lead Humvee, firing deafening bursts at the would-be attackers hidden in the ruins.

Elliot watched the scene through a haze of pain and exhaustion. He could barely sit up, his shoulder and side burning with an intensity that made him grunt through his teeth. Beside him, Lawrence was breathing hard, his wounds precariously bandaged but still bleeding.

The sound of approaching boots marked the arrival of someone else. The imposing figure of Lieutenant Stroud emerged from the soldiers. Her uniform was immaculate, as if the battle hadn't touched her, but her face was a mask of sternness.

"What the hell happened here?" she demanded, her voice sharp as her eyes scanned the two wounded men.

Before Elliot could respond, the medics who had arrived behind her sprang into action. One of them knelt beside Lawrence, checking the wounds on his legs with professional speed. Another medic approached Elliot, inspecting his shoulder and side as he pulled out medical equipment.

"They're injured, but stable," one of the medics reported. "We need to get them out of here now before they lose more blood."

Stroud nodded, looking around as the gunfire in the distance continued. The area was not secure. There were reportedly multiple hostile gangs operating in the area, including, possibly, Fireflies.

"Immediate evacuation!" Stroud ordered, addressing his soldiers. "Secure the perimeter until we have them inside the vehicles."

As the medics worked to stabilize Lawrence and Elliot, a group of soldiers took up defensive positions, firing toward any suspicious movement among the ruins. The sound of rifles and turret fire filled the air as the chaos continued.

Elliot, his head spinning, barely registered the moment he was lifted off the ground. He felt the soldiers' firm hands under his arms, dragging him toward one of the Humvees. Beside him, Lawrence was similarly carried, his legs immobile and his face pale.

"You did well," Stroud said as he walked beside them, his voice lower but heavy with hardness. "Now leave it to us. Don't die on the road."

Elliot tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His entire body screamed for rest as he was placed inside the vehicle. Lawrence was placed next to him, and the medics continued to work even as the Humvee started up.

The engine roared as the vehicles began to move, moving away from danger. The sound of battle was left behind, but Elliot knew it wasn't the end. Just another day in hell.

End of Chapter 7.