<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">"Oh shit!" Roger hissed, half in, half out the opening. "You get 'em?"<br/>
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George didn't have 'em; Roger could tell by the way the older man squeezed up against him. "Help me, quick..."<br/>
<br/>
With George's help, Roger squeezed through the rest of the way, scrambling to his feet. Stealth wasn't much of an issue anymore, but speed was. Armed with the long bladed knife he always carried, he pushed passed George without a second thought for his own safety. The first walker went down easy, but the other two became a quick tangle for Roger. He swore and growled as he kept pushing one back with his off hand while trying to land a kill stab on the other. Finally he hit home, but not without the loss of his knife.<br/>
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"George...a hand here?" He wrestled with the corpse effectively enough to keep from getting bitten but not enough to make a kill. It was scary, but it was also a thrill; a thrill to look into the rotting face of death and tell it to fuck off. He would never consider himself cavalier or gung ho, but there was definitely something arousing about being on the edge; especially after being cooped up for so long.  </span>