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This was the end.
Frank knew the feeling all too well. The feeling of dread. The feeling of bitter defeat. Of believing that he wouldn't live to see another day. Only to somehow go against all odds and live. Live to tell his story. To finally get the scoop he had hungered for.
But not this time. This time was much different. There was no small voice in his head doubting the overpowering voice of defeat. For that voice was snuffed out the moment he felt his body being weighed down by those harsh grabs of the undead below, his knuckles turning white as he held onto the legs of the helicopter ever so tightly. His arms screaming for the uncomfortable strain to end with the weight.
He wasn't sure why he was holding on. There was no point. No point in trying to survive. No point in trying to escape Willamette once more. No point in trying to do the impossible and grab the hands that reached out for him.
Brad…Vick…the two people that had forced him to be part of this hell hole once more. Vick, his former student. She was the one that got him into Willamette in the first place. She was the one to ditch him when a scoop she wanted was too much for her, making him public enemy number one. Brad…a man that had searched for him and forced him back into the game, playing this futile song and dance to make the military suffer for their actions. He was going to die in a place that haunted his dreams…all because of their actions.
And yet…he couldn’t help but try to reach out. To grab the desperate hands that reached out for him as the equally desperate cries of his name from them made him feel bitter.
“I'm sorry…” Vick was the first to crack, to show that she knew he couldn’t be saved while Brad looked on, his eyes more or less representing what Vick said.
“I’m so sorry, Frank! It’s all…I-I’m so sorry…!” Vick repeats once more, the tears falling down her grief stricken face as she still tries to hold out her hand for him.
A quick moment of silence washes the three of them, the silence being filled by the sound of the helicopter blades and the snarls of the zombies holding him, weighing them all in place. Suspended in a purgatory of sorts.
“I don’t forgive you.”
The words left Frank’s mouth so effortlessly. His voice lacked the sarcastic flair he used to have, as well as the dramatically angry flair he would have when he was the stressed out kind of anger. It was deadpanned. Serious. So much so it had stunned Vick into silence, her face changing to one of slight shock. The apology had only made Frank bitter, hell she couldn't even admit to it being her fault. And now Vick had the audacity to look surprised? To be in disbelief?
With the way he could see the both of them study his face, he could probably guess they believed this to be one of his crude jokes. Or maybe they hoped it was. He wouldn't put it past them to be selfish. To want closure via forgiveness instead of having their actions haunt them. And maybe…just maybe they could gaslight themselves into thinking he was joking with the way he suddenly smiled at them.
Oh but he knew. He knew that they saw the true emotions he had in his eyes. The bitter, disgusted, disappointed, anger burned greatly in his eyes, overpowering that fake smile he had towards them.
“Keep your eyes on the prize, kid.”
His words sounded just as bitter as the piercing gaze he had, his smile dropping to accentuate the look and hammer home that he was not joking.
But in the end, the feeling of possibly leaving them to lament over their actions and bask in the haunting feeling of never being forgiven by a person they had killed wouldn’t make him feel any better. Instead, as his hands finally slipped and left him plummeting to his death, all he could feel was the anger consuming his very soul.
Anger, bitterness, resentment, sorrow, they swirled around his very being until he hit the ground, the world around him cutting to nothingness before the zombies could pile onto him like the ravenous beasts they were.
And yet…Frank would still complain that his blood boiled with anger.