*James’ Diary; August 22, 2009.
Charles died today. We were searching for supplies in the Dukes Tower, when a horde of those damn bastards found us after we had carelessly gotten rid of one loudly. Charles was bit sometime during the attack, he didn’t say anything about it until we were back to our makeshift home.
I had no choice. The damn infection was already changing him, I had to kill him. I had to kill my own damn brother.
A few hours later, just when I started to make a cup of coffee, I heard helicopters in the distance. Grabbing the last remaining flare, I started to look around. Soon they appeared and I lit up the ticket to freedom. One of the helicopters landed on the other side of my roof, after picking up any supplies I could take, we lifted off - the pilot didn’t want a corpse in the chopper, so I had to leave my brother on the roof.
When this all is over, I swear to you, Charles, your little bro is coming back. No one gets left behind.*