The house was a trap, and Quinn knew it. The sounds of breaking glass and splintering wood came from multiple rooms now. The low, constant moaning of the infected was no longer just outside; it was in the next room, down the hall, upstairs. They were surrounded, and the walls were closing in.
He shoved the infected man in the hallway back with a desperate push of the bat, sending him stumbling. In that brief moment, Quinn's mind raced, searching for an escape route. The front door was blocked by the couch. The back patio was wide open, but it led to an exposed yard. That left one option.
"The garage!" Quinn yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Sarah, get the kids! We're going to the garage!"
The door connecting the kitchen to the garage was their only chance. It was a solid door, and beyond it was a car—a metal box that could get them away from here. The path was clear in his mind: get Sarah and the children from the closet, move through the living room, into the kitchen, and through the garage door. It was a short distance, but it felt like miles.
Mark was standing at the edge of the kitchen, his face slick with sweat, the bloody knife held out in front of him. He saw the body of the woman he had helped kill on the floor, and he heard the new sounds coming from the living room. Another infected, then a second, were now climbing through the other broken windows, drawn by the fight. Their main path to the kitchen was about to be cut off by a new group.
There were too many of them.
Mark looked at Quinn fighting in the hall. He looked at the closet door where his wife was trying to quiet their crying children. He looked at the two new infected shambling into the living room, their blank eyes turning toward the sounds from the hallway.
He saw the equation in a way Quinn, the soldier, couldn't. Quinn was thinking about how to fight through. Mark, the father, was thinking about how to guarantee his family survived. The two answers were not the same. They couldn't all make it. There wasn't enough time.
In that terrible, clear moment, Mark made his decision.
As Quinn prepared to deal with the infected man in the hall one final time, Mark rushed forward. He didn't run toward the infected. He ran toward Quinn. He grabbed his brother-in-law by the shoulders and shoved him, hard, back toward the staircase where Sarah stood frozen.
"Get them out, Quinn!" Mark's voice was a ragged shout, full of a fear and a certainty that chilled Quinn to the bone. "Get them to the car!"
Quinn stumbled from the force of the push, catching his balance on the bottom stair. "Mark, no! We fight together!" he yelled back, already turning to rejoin him.
"THERE'S NO TIME!" Mark screamed, his back now to Quinn. He wasn't looking at his family anymore. He was looking at the two new infected now blocking the path to the kitchen. He knew more were coming. "Just go! Save them! Promise me, Quinn! Promise me!"
Before Quinn could answer, Mark acted. He let the knife fall from his numb fingers. It was too small for what he was about to do. Instead, he grabbed the heavy, upholstered armchair that they had moved earlier. With a roar of pure, desperate fury, he lifted it and charged directly at the two infected.
He slammed the heavy piece of furniture into them, knocking them back. The move was born of adrenaline and absolute resolve. It was not an attack meant to win. It was a diversion.
The two infected, and another that was just climbing through a window, immediately turned their full attention on him. The man who was making all the noise. The man who was a direct, aggressive threat.
Quinn stood frozen for a single, agonizing second. Every part of his training screamed at him to help, to not leave a man behind. He took a step forward, raising the bat.
But Mark's words echoed in his head. Save them. Promise me.
He looked at Sarah, her face a mess of tears and disbelief. He heard Lily and Tom crying in the closet. The promise was not a request. It was an order. Mark had given him a mission.
The fight was brutal and horribly brief. Mark swung a leg of the broken armchair like a club, but he was not a fighter. He was just a man. He managed to knock one infected to the ground, but the other two were on him instantly. They grabbed his arms, their inhuman strength pulling him down.
He disappeared under a wave of thrashing limbs and snapping teeth.
"MARK!"
Sarah's scream was a sound of pure agony. It cut through every other noise in the house. She broke from her spot on the stairs and tried to run toward the living room, toward her husband.
Quinn reacted without thinking. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. "Sarah, no!"
"Let go of me! Mark!" She fought against him, her eyes locked on the spot where her husband had just fallen.
"We can't! He did this for us! He did this so we could get out!" Quinn's voice was harsh, pulling her back from the edge. He half-dragged, half-pulled her away from the living room. "We have to go! NOW! We can't let it be for nothing!"
The truth of his words, horrible as they were, seemed to break through her grief-stricken panic. She stopped fighting him, her body going limp. Her face was a blank mask of shock.
Mark's sacrifice had bought them precious seconds, and they couldn't waste a single one.
Quinn pulled Sarah with him to the linen closet. He threw the door open. Lily and Tom were huddled in the back corner, their small faces streaked with tears.
"Come on, you two. We're leaving now," Quinn said, his voice softer but still full of urgency. "You have to be brave. Stay right with me and your mom. Don't look at anything. Just look at me."
Lily immediately clung to Sarah's leg. Quinn scooped up Tom, who was frozen in fear, and settled him on his hip. Tom was surprisingly light.
"Hold on tight," Quinn told him.
He kept one arm around Tom and held the baseball bat in his other hand. With Sarah holding Lily's hand, he led them away from the chaos of the living room. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
He guided them into the dining room, a part of the house the infected hadn't reached yet. It connected to the kitchen from the other side. They moved quickly, their footsteps loud in the relative quiet of the room. Quinn's eyes darted everywhere, checking every shadow.
They slipped into the kitchen. The body of the infected woman was still on the floor near the shattered patio door. Quinn steered his family around it, his jaw tight.
The solid wooden door to the garage was right in front of them. It was closed. It was their last barrier to cross.
Quinn reached it and put his hand on the doorknob, his heart pounding against his ribs. He paused for a fraction of a second, listening. He could hear the terrible sounds from the living room behind them. He could hear the faint, desperate moans of the dead outside.
He looked at Sarah. Her eyes were empty, staring at nothing.
He had to get them out. That was all that mattered now. He turned the knob.