Miguel felt a hand take hold of his wrist and he tugged hard, feeling momentary surprise at how easy it was to pull the person up. They came into view, an anguished face leading the way, and confusion transformed into concern as it became clear that there had been survivors on the bus. He pulled the teenager through, and tried to set him down gently on the top of the truck without looking too closely at the gruesome injury the boy had suffered to his arm.<br/><br/>There wasn't much time to dwell on him before another hand took hold of his; this one was a little heavier, and also a stranger. Miguel grunted with the effort of pulling the woman over, a task made more difficult by the fact that she was unable to help him due to the injury that was currently staining her blouse deep red. He got her down onto the roof of the truck as well, and she half jumped, half fell onto the ground near the vehicle with a cry of pain.<br/><br/>Next was the familiar grip of Julian, who immediately busied himself with trying to get the back door of the bus open; even while his brother worked, Miguel stared into the hole and screamed down at the woman who'd arrived just before he shot Wesley. "Now! Come on!"<br/><br/>She knew the man, that much was certain, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her die after already taking someone away from her. Whether or not it was really Wesley in there, he'd still pulled the trigger. She raced over, reluctance fading at the sight of his face, and he yanked her through like all the others before her, his arm now feeling like dead weight hanging from a fatigued shoulder.<br/><br/>The bus was very close to blowing when she got into the passenger seat, and when Miguel threw himself behind the wheel and put the truck in reverse he could just barely glimpse the two people he'd first pulled out, standing dazedly next to the building, oblivious to the coming explosion.<br/><br/>In the rearview mirror he watched his brother and Jason jumping into the flatbed, and with a pained groan he hit the accelerator, pulling away from the building, and away from the people he couldn't save - if he tried to get them into the truck they'd all probably die, and he couldn't take that chance. Time slowed down, but all it did was increase the hatred he felt for himself as the bus exploded, sending a wave of blistering heat over them and fragments of building in every direction.<br/><br/>The De Santa garage roared in defiance as it ceased to exist, and Miguel could only look on in horror as the two people standing right alongside it were shredded by the blast. Flecks of dust, ash and drywall rained down on the truck, and a bit of metal struck the glass in front of him, wedging into the windshield and sending a crack snaking across it. A hand landed on the hood with a sickening thud, and Miguel tried not to look at it as he continued to reverse away from the carnage. At that moment he remembered the priest, who hadn't made it out either. Yet another life lost, yet another person he failed to save.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Forgive me, Father.</span><br/><br/>He glimpsed movement in the rearview mirror once more. He looked up and saw that a man was running over with a gun in his hand and a parade of things that looked just like Wesley not far behind him. Armed or not, he'd die if he stayed on foot. There was nothing else for it; he couldn't leave him here.<br/><br/>"Hey!" Miguel shouted, sticking his head out of the window as the truck came to a stop in front of the newcomer, who looked more than a little disoriented. "Jump in the back!"<br/><br/>The horde behind him was drawing closer; whatever decision the man made, he needed to make it quickly.<br/><br/><br/>The quick tapping of sneakers scraping against asphalt all but echoed off buildings in Marcus' mind at that moment, and all he could hear was the sound of himself running for his life. Everything else was hushed by a high pitched ringing in his ears, drowning out even the strangled sounds of whatever those<span style="font-style: italic">things</span>were behind him. His legs burned as they carried him in fight-or-flight as fast as he had trained himself for. He didn't look back to see if they were keeping up to him, mostly due to the fear that they<span style="font-style: italic">were.</span><br/><br/>Through the deafening white noise disrupting his hearing, a sickening sound came through. The sound of a heavy metal truck door slamming shut, and the engine roaring to life from its formerly idle sound. They were leaving him. "No," he half-sobbed to himself before yelling. "No, wait!" He wasn't sure if they had heard him or not, but the truck slowed to a stop a few yards ahead. He picked up his pace even further as best he could, slowing down only when he reached the truck. He risked a glance behind him as he stuffed his gun down the back of his jeans, watching just for a second at those things -those<span style="font-style: italic">people</span>- stumble over themselves to get to him. With a deep breath of resolution and relief, Mark braced his hands on the truck, squatting down before jumping into the bed, tumbling in over the truck's other occupants. He beat his hand twice against the side of the truck, too out of breath to say anything but too desperate to not tell the driver to move.<br/><br/><br/>The man had barely flopped down into the back of the truck when Miguel took off, rocketing them away from the approaching crowd. The woman in the passenger seat and the newcomer in the back were new to him, but he couldn't spare any of his concentration for introductions. The road ahead was a scene of total devastation; there was what looked like a five car accident cluttering the next intersection, and it quickly became clear that the bus wasn't the only vehicle to catch fire in the last few minutes. It was unbelievable, how quickly the shitstorm formed, but there was no denying its existence.<br/><br/>"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Miguel muttered, as if chanting, as the distance between the truck and the chaos ahead evaporated at an alarming rate. They couldn't turn back - he needed speed, he had to get home, quickly, and aside from that he didn't fancy the idea of driving through the death parade following sluggishly in their wake. No, straight ahead was the only way to go.<br/><br/>"Hold on to something!" he shouted, even as figures began gravitating towards the center of the street from the sidewalks; lumbering and clumsy, he knew what they were, and he knew slowing down was no more an option than turning around. "Fuck," he added, and then he was turning the wheel hard, picking a path through the wreckage with less than a foot of clearance on either side.<br/><br/>Capable driver as he was, they still lopped off a side mirror jutting out from the remains of a charred minivan, but aside from that they emerged, swerving but mostly unscathed, on the other side. Miguel ripped the wheel down in the other direction, straightening the truck up in time to avoid a downed light post, and then they were barreling down a side road, as Miguel intended to merge back onto the main thoroughfare just outside the city to avoid any more road obstructions. Truth be told he was barely thinking at all - he was running purely on instinct, his adrenaline still going at full speed as he fought to reach his kids before the madness gripping Redfield could get to them. "Fuck," he said, realizing something in the moment, "Julian! Do you have your cell? Fuck! I don't know where mine is!"<br/><br/>At the very least they could call and check on them, maybe tell them to stay indoors, although Bella was more than smart enough to know that much already. The truck swerved onto the main road, and was well on its way back home when Miguel spotted a scene right out of a movie. A man, stranded on top of an SUV, surrounded by more of the Wesleys. Shit, he was going to need to come up with a better name for those things.<br/><br/>The shouts of the stranded individual reached them, and immediately Miguel knew that although he clearly couldn't save everyone, he had to at least try with this one. But he had little time to waste - if he needed to, he'd have to leave him behind.<br/><br/>The truck plowed into the crowd, splattering the hood and a good portion of the windshield with dark blood, and Miguel shouted for the guy to jump in. Of course, there was still the small matter of all the things crowding around the vehicle, partly impeding his path, but if the people in the back worked together with him they could probably save him.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">If not, another life lost</span>, he thought grimly as he stuck the pistol out of the window and fired a shot into the nearest black-veined head.