This was a bad idea, Ellie was thinking, as the machete finally slipped from the creature's skull. Brennan was out there now, trying to get to her -- what had she done?
It had to be better than if she'd never come out. He seemed more than capable of defending himself, but everyone needed a little help once in a while. Even if that help came from a small, breakable non-immune with no gun. Eloise had imagined this trip going much differently; she hated to think that she'd been hasty in considering the logistics.
As soon as the blade came free again she grit her teeth, letting out a little cry of effort, and plunged it into the infected's eye. It gurgled, clutching at her a final time before she kicked it backward into the fray.
Brennan was calling for her now, but Ellie couldn't respond. The last runner had never left the cabinet; it grabbed her by the hair now, pulling her in roughly. She struggled, slashing at its arms with the machete; one particularly frustrated movement severed it at the elbow, and Eloise went stumbling backward.
She fell hard on her knees, yelping somewhat at at the pain. The infected was on her a moment later, but the machete purposefully found its way into its snapping mouth, the blade emerging from the back of his throat.
Ellie counted to three before pushing the corpse off; it was already heavy, stiff, as if it had been waiting for this opportunity to rest. Then she simply lay there, reaching out her hand for Brennan to help her up.