double post

Another step.
Another shock wave of pain reminding him of his heroic idiocy.
His breathing came in short, wheezing breaths, but it seemed like he could never catch his breath.
He was numb, the only sensation he could feel was pain as he grasped the suitcase handle with all his might.
Another step, another meter, another fraction of a percent of a chance that he wouldn't be found.
He suddenly stopped, holding his breath.
A cough, along with an eruption of blood from his lips as he fell to his knees.
He could feel the trails of blood from his lips freezing as he slowly stood.
He took another step, his feet failing. He fell face down in the snow.
He slowly raised himself with his right arm, his left dangling limply. He started crawling, the tears of pain turning to ice on his cheeks as he crept forward.
The case he still held in his right hand found a patch of ice, causing him to fall in the snow again. He slowly lifted himself back to his knees and one hand as he felt saliva rising from his throat into his mouth.
Pain beyond description as he retched. Another dry heave, then the white in front of his eyes turned to deep red.
Blood dripped from his mouth as he looked at the now frozen puddle of blood on the ground. His arm then refused to continue supporting him.
The numbness began to fade, being replaced with heat. Unbearable heat.
He slowly rolled onto his back, his hand moving from the handle of the case to his belt. He pulled off his trenchcoat, the black dress shirt frozen to his body.
A shaky hand cut the buttons from the dress shirt, the wind blowing it open, displaying his abdomen, bones visible where the ribs had broken through his skin, his entire torso covered with a crust of frozen blood. He pulled off the shirt off his right, then his left arm, his humerus extending out of his skin halfway up his bicep.
He looked up at the sky, ignoring the rhythmic rapid thumping. His vision began to turn dark. He closed his eyes, feeling himself drift away from the frozen hell he was in as the thumping grew louder.

dude right a book

did he die

you better write the second part soon or im gonna have to probe you too see if he dies

The suspense is killing me

"Oh my god...Stretcher!!"

"One, two...Three."
The lifeless form was lifted onto the stretcher, which was quickly picked up and carried back to the Chinook helicopter.
"Body temperature at 87 degrees Fahrenheit, heart rate is 132 beats per minute."
"Administering saline."

The helicopter was silent for a moment, save only the sounds of the blades carrying the helicopter through the air and the rapid beep of a heart rate monitor. The beeping slowly began to grow less rapid, then the beep turned to a long tone.
"Defib!"
"Charging to 150 joules... Clear!"
"No good."
"Charging to 130 joules. Clear."
The heart rate montior gave one beep, then turned to a long tone.
"Charging to 100 joules. Clear!"

omg i hate you lol and what was in the brief case

A rhythmic beep, about every second and a half. A pair of red eyes opened to a blurry white ceiling.
He could hear the hiss of life support systems.
How long was he out?
He slowly sat up, looking at the tube running into his arm.

"Well, if he's out as long as he has been, there's probably a good chance that he won't come back."
"Don't you think we might want to wait a little bit longer?"
"We've already waited long enough."

The two men walked into the room, seeing James sitting up. James moved his eyes to the men, "What's the date?"
"...February 25th."
"Only out for 11 days?"
"...376."

omg man stop it lol

More!!!!!

more more more more

"I need immediate evac!"
His feet left the ground, his hands closing around the top bar of a chain-link fence as a transmission came through his earpiece, "Affirmative, E.T.A. is ten."
James' feet sunk into the snow as he came down on the other side. He looked back at the fence, double checking to see if the lock on the chain-link gate was closed. He then turned and began sprinting again, "Roger that."
James feet slid out from under him. He used his left hand to keep himself standing as he turned around the corner. He was on a dead end, the road blocked by a house. He drew one of his Glocks from his trench coat, flicking the safety to semi-auto, and fired a round at the doorknob of the house.
Wood splintered and glass shattered. He was only on the ground long enough to roll over once before he sprung back to his feet, continuing to run through the house. A single undead slowly stood from it's meal to start on the one just entering the house.
The zombie hit the ground, black viscous blood leaking from the crack in it's skull, caused by a cast-iron skillet. James dived through another window, rising to his feet. One last block. His feet lost traction once more as he sprinted around the corner. He leaned to his left to stay standing. He then ran two steps, then stopped, his feet sliding slightly in the snow. James looked ahead of him, his eye flashed to the top right of his lens, the numbers, "00/32" were displayed. He sighed, speaking into his microphone, "I don't have ten."

James looked behind him. More were closing in. He hadn't seen this many in one place, except for Siberia.
His hands frantically searched his body for one more magazine. His right hand came across a metallic cylinder.
He dropped it without pulling the pin after seeing that it was red with a biohazard symbol. He looked around him, trying to find any kind of weapon.
He slowly turned and spoke into his microphone, "Firebrand, signing out." He pulled off his glasses with his index finger and thumb, then released his grip, his glasses clattering to the ground, the small L.E.D. flashing, indicating the camera was still recording.
The glasses landed on the snow, one of the lenses sinking in slightly. The camera recorded James' feet, in front of an uncountable number of undead. A few seconds past, then James' knees fell into the picture, along with him speaking, "I can't...There's no way I can make it..."
There was a short pause, then a loud shout from James, "No!!"