The worst thing was he didn't scream. In all the movies with people getting mauled, or chopped, or just generally killed they scream.
But Sam didn't.
I yelled to him as soon as I saw it behind him, but I'd been too late. He didn't scream, but his eyes did. It was strange, the slow motion, as the things sickening, broken yellow teeth sunk into my friends shoulder my vision turned tunnel, zooming in on the horror scene.
I turned, Harry had dropped too his knees and was firing at the struggling pair.
"FUCK!" I screamed at him, "ARE YOU ACTUALLY RETARDED?"
And for once, he didn't argue, he just pulled out one of his knives and charged in. It was strange, all of my senses were in overdrive, everything was moving slowly with crystal clarity, but at the same time everything was slowed. I saw the dead mans brains come exploding out the side of his head, followed instantly by the tip of Harry's bayonet. I sprinted after Harry, running straight to Sam catching him, with agony, shock and horror sprawled all of his face and in his eyes.
The rest of the group had piled out of the house, and were all standing in a group, gaping. I ran to him, catching him before falling face first into the dust. And then, the scream I'd been waiting for came. But not from Sam.
I don't remember what happened very clearly after that, the adrenaline must have faded awfully quick. I remember Jess, crying and screaming at the sky, I remember Harry cleaning his blade beside her, impassively. I remember people running past, too and fro, all hurrying about like an ants nest before rain, I remember John standing, an island of calm in a storm of madness barking orders out, telling people to make a stretcher, fetch water, asking anyone with medical knowledge to help... and I should've helped, I know my bit of first aid, but I was stunned.
The rest of the world was a blur of motion, I felt like I was a blur. Only a few things were still clear: A bloodied Jess, nursing an even bloodier Sam while the blurs swept around them. An impassive, emotionless Harry- repetitively wiping the blade he'd used to kill the attacker. And John, walking towards me before resting his hand down onto my shoulder.
"You alright mate?"
"Yeah" I cough in response.
"You don't look so good."
"I'm not so good."
"Are you blind, or dead, or perhaps just stupid?" I fired back at him.
"No, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."
"We can't let this happen again."
"Not to anyone. Never."
"And we kill every single one of these fuckers we meet."
He just stared at me.
"Every, single, one." I repeat.
"Ok." He says. "Ok."