Mark opened the door and jumped out, beginning to run towards where the scream had come from. Derek yelled after him, telling him to come back and that his ankle was too bad for him to move, but he ignored him, as well as the pain in his ankle, that was easier to ignore with the pain medication he was given. The only thing on his mind was Jack and saving him. 

He ran a block away from where he and Jack made base when he found him. There was nobody around him, but he was bleeding horribly from his shoulder, sitting on the ground. Mark quickly went to his side, noticing he was breathing deeply and quickly - it seemed he was having a panic attack. Whatever happened must've freaked him out.

"Stabbed me, they stabbed me, Mark, they stabbed me, they want to kill me," Jack cried and slung the arm without the wound around his friend, who crouched beside him. "They want to kill you... They're going to kill you."

"Jack, I'm fine, you're-"

"We're not fine, not fine at all," He insisted, sounding as though he's lost his mind. "Trap... This is a trap. They're going to kill us. I'm so sorry, I didn't know. I didn't know, Mark. I didn't know until they stabbed me. They want us... They want us dead. They want to kill us. They're going to kill us."

"Jack, calm down, please-"

"Can't... No. You have to leave, please leave. Please go away! Get away! Go!" He started screaming at Mark, tears streaming down his face, breathing hard. Mark pulled him closer and hugged him, careful not to hurt his wound. "Go! Go! Go! You have to go!" 

"Jack, stop it! We are not going to die!" He argued, when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. "Fuck."

"Up! Off ground!" A man barked at them, clearly not knowing much english. He had an assault rifle pointed at Mark, a few more people coming out of decaying buildings. Mark saw one with a knife and assumed that was the person who stabbed Jack. Mark helped Jack stand, who was still hyperventilating. "Dirty American, I pity you."

"That one is not American," The one with the knife spoke up, gesturing to Jack. He clearly knew better english than who must be their leader. "He has thick accent - the green one."

"Accent?" The man echoed, the other one nodding. He turned his attention to Jack and pointed his gun at him. "Speak, little green man."

"I-I'm from Ireland," Jack said and the leader raised an eyebrow at the discovery. 

"But you are here, no? Why?" 

"I moved here," He explained and Mark wished he'd just lie to get out of this and go back to his homeland. Mark didn't care if he, himself, died, he just wanted Jack to get out of this alive and be happy again. 

"You wish to be American," He noted and Jack nodded. He looked at his group and gestured with his gun to Jack. "Take that one."

"No!" Mark yelled and was about to tackle him, when he spotted Derek in the distance with several others that outnumbered the group keeping Mark and Jack there. The militia started firing at the terrorists, who immediately turned all their attention onto them, forgetting about Mark and Jack, who quickly ran towards the nearest house, though it was in ruins. Both of their ears were ringing from the gunfire that seemed to never end. 

Mark noticed Jack was crying and pulled him closer, hugging him, again being careful not to hurt him. He couldn't even feel his ankle with everything going on, though he knew it'd hurt worse than ever if they live through this and things calm down again. He wished he could help Derek and his team fight, but he had no weapons and was still injured. The only thing he'd be able to do was distract and get killed, something he couldn't do in order to continue protecting Jack - who had become the only reason why Mark was still trying to stay alive.

"It's okay, Jack, it's okay," Mark tried to say, but he couldn't even hear his own voice, so he figured Jack couldn't either. He wanted to comfort him so desperately, it ached him to watch him cry. Jack buried his face into Mark's chest and cried as Mark ran a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him. 

The gunfire eventually seized, though their ears were still ringing. Mark was afraid to find out who won this battle, but pushed Jack away gently to peak. Nobody was standing. They were all dead. They all lost. Mark felt tears burning his eyes, seeing Derek dead on the ground, bleeding from a gun-shot wound. He had been so kind to him, but Mark didn't have time to grief over the man he hardly knew and went back to Jack, taking his hand once the ringing in their ears came to a stop.

"There's a truck a block away - the militia brought it. It has everything we could need and we can take it to Ohio," Mark explained and Jack sniffled, nodding, following him out of the ruble and seeing the result of what had just happened.

"Th-They're all dead... It... It's my fault," Jack croaked and broke out into a sob. Mark shook his head and stepped closer to him, taking his head in his hands, forcing Jack to look at him.

"This was not your fault, Sean. They used you to lure as all down there. You didn't know until after you screamed," Mark insisted and Jack pulled his head away from his hands.

"It's my fault, Mark," He refused to believe otherwise, making Mark sigh.

"Jack, quit with that. Please, stop saying that. We don't have time to feel guilty or self-loathe, we have to get out of here. Who knows if there's another group of them around?"

"I deserve to die. You should go without me."

"I'm never leaving without you, idiot, now come on," Mark tugged him in the direction of the van and eventually Jack fell into pace beside him.