Thread: L4D: Origins (a fanfic by Lardcake212)

I think if you were to kill anyone, you'd have to kill either Bill or Francis. Louis is black, and if you kill the black guy first, you'll trip over every horror movie stereotype. If you kill Zoey, you'll trip over angry zombie feminists. Both Bill and Francis strike me as willing to dive into a horde to save the others.

I'd still say Francis. With the loss of his firepower, the story would get a bit more edgy. You'd still have to provide a new character to replace the one lost, who should, of course, be found in a closet (or a storage room, or bathroom).

Keep it up Cakey. Your icing is creamy and sweet.

Sorry it's taking me a while to get Dead Air up - I'm working on that as we speak. Hopefully I'll have something put up by tonight.

I have the fates of each individual character decided by now. One encounters death (you knew it was coming), two are able to keep fighting, and the last one encounters something far worse than death. Who those people are, you'll have to read to find out.

Thanks all for your input. Check back soon, Dead Air is coming.

Aww! I just realized, you forgot about the molotov cocktails! Francis would probably be a connoisseur of that, even if it is a simple thing to make.

So I'll stop suggesting things now. You've got it pretty down pat.

And here is the chapter titled "Dead Air." Sorry I took longer than usual - I expected to have it up by midnight in Mountain Standard Time, but I needed a break halfway through it, because in my opinion, this is one of the more emotionally draining ones to write.


DEAD AIR

The owners of the boat were a newly married couple named John and Amanda Slater. John was an athletic man with black hair that had been cut short. His wife Amanda was tall and blonde. None of them had any experience in fishing – John had been a computer engineer and Amanda was an elementary school teacher. However, they had managed to figure out most of the mechanics of the boat. Their intentions were to wait for survivors to come to them and then head north upriver.

However, only four survivors ever answered their broadcasts. Now they were taking the boat slowly upriver. Sometimes they would shut off the engine and let the natural currents take them to save on fuel. It was a tedious process, but on the upside, it allowed the survivors to sit down and talk – even relax, for zombies were largely incapable of swimming.

They were sitting on the deck, idly watching the trees on either side of the river go by. Several hours had passed and by now, they had exited the city and were simply drifting north. No planes flew in the sky, no cars drove on the roads that were surely just beyond the trees. It was a quite, peaceful place of desolation.

The Slater’s, Louis and Francis were playing poker on a table that had been set up on the deck. Bill had retreated below decks to sleep, while Zoey sat in a corner, rereading and clutching her brother’s note as if it were a priceless artifact. This behavior disturbed Louis as he stole a few glances. Evidently something was bothering her. But why was it so severe now?

Inevitably, though, the sky began to dim and the group retreated back inside. There was plenty of fuel available – the Slater’s had stolen many drums of it and hidden it in the hold where fish was normally stowed. Technically, they were sitting on high explosives that could go off if disturbed. It was a terrifying thought. But they quickly put it out of their minds. For on this small fishing boat, old comforts were once again possible. They had electricity and even running water – a pump filtered the river water. Furthermore they had functional heating. For once, they were eating hot food. The Slater’s contributed some of their provisions to make a hearty meal that had everyone full to bursting.

Best of all, there was a shower available. Zoey had been the first to reach it – she sighed with relief as the warm water cascaded over her body. A week and a half’s worth of grit, blood and mud had accumulated on her body. Miniature rivulets of blackened water ran off her body. And shampoo! Zoey had used a liberal amount of it and finally had the chance to wash her hair. It was a heavenly feeling – she felt clean again. Zoey felt a stinging on her thigh. She looked down and inspected the wound.

It had fully healed, but from what she could tell, it was doing nicely. A little bit of blood flowed from it – but Zoey noticed something else. She shut off the water and ran a finger over the wound, feeling the stitches. Her finger came away slick with something else – it wasn’t blood, but a clear, mucus-like substance. She wondered whether some shampoo had gotten into it, but remembered that it was white, not clear.

It was just a quick dribble of it – she wiped it away and thought nothing more. She was worrying too much. Probably just a byproduct of healing. Zoey stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off.

Amanda Slater had come into the bathroom while Zoey was showering and taken her clothes. She left a note that read “Zoey, I am washing your clothes. Bathrobes in the closet.”

Thanks, Amanda, thought Zoey. She walked over to the closet and found several pairs of fluffy white bathrobes along with some slippers. Zoey changed into those and walked out of the bathroom.

“Took you long enough!” said Bill. “Save some for the rest of us.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Francis. “You drew the long straw.” While Zoey had been showering, the three men had drawn straws to decide in what order they would shower. Bill had drawn the longest straw. Louis had drawn the second longest, and poor Francis would have to go last. He complained, but only enough to maintain his asshole complex. Francis figured that any shower now would be good.

John Slater approached Zoey with a cup, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, along with some floss.

“Figured you might want some of this,” he said.

“Oh, you have no idea,” said Zoey. She began flossing immediately, feeling vulgar as pieces of food were extracted from the space between her gums and teeth. Zoey soon began to taste blood as the floss caused her gums to bleed – a week and a half without cleaning had left them vulnerable. She didn’t care, however. Besides, the mint flavor in the toothpaste was more than sufficient to drown out the taste of blood, even if she did spit out pink foam instead of white.

Bill came out of the shower quickly, looking ludicrous in a white bathrobe identical to Zoey’s. Furthermore, he was not wearing his beret – the top of Bill’s head was as bald as an egg. Louis hopped into the shower with glee – a few minutes later, Amanda went into the bathroom to retrieve his dirty clothing. Bill began brushing his own teeth with another toothbrush – the Slater’s had raided a dentist’s office days before. Francis also took care of his teeth before taking his own shower. He came out a few minutes later looking rather grumpy – the hot water had all run out halfway through.

“Thank you so much for letting us use your bathroom,” said Bill.

“Not a problem at all!” replied John. “Anything for a fellow survivor. We’ve got the boat, you’ve got the guns. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I sure hope so,” said Bill, looking at the moonlight’s reflection on the water. “We’re running on information that’s a week old.”

“It’s the best chance we have,” said John. He paused for a second. “How did you guys come to all be together?”

“Well,” said Bill. “Once the invasion started –”

“Outbreak, you mean?”

“Yes, outbreak. I survived on my own for a few days – I had grabbed a rifle off a dead soldier and scavenged food and medical supplies. I held out in my apartment. One day I went to get more supplies and I came upon Zoey, who was also searching. We retreated to her dorm room at Fairfield College and later during the day, Louis and Francis came running out of a liquor store, having stolen some beer.”

“Fairfield? That’s a while from here, how’d you get to Riverside?”

“We saw helicopters flying north,” said Bill, “and we decided to follow them. A helicopter flying overhead told us to get to Mercy Hospital. We traveled through streets, a subway and a sewer before reaching the hospital. We went to the roof and waited for evacuation – eventually, the pilot came. He was taking us to a safety zone north of Fairfield.”

“Sure wasn’t Riverside, I bet,” said John.

“Not at all. The pilot, as it turned out, had been bitten – and he wasn’t immune. He collapsed while in flight, and I shot him in the head – I’m no pilot, but I learned a bit from watching the pilots at work in Vietnam. We managed to stay airborne for a while, but the pilot came back to life.”

“Wait, came back to life?”

“Precisely. In the struggle…we crashed. Francis, the biker, suffered a broken rib while a piece of metal went through Zoey’s leg. We took them to safety and in the morning, went into the town. Zoey and her family used to live there before she went off the college. She insisted we check her house. Well, her parents and brother had packed up and left nearly a week ago. They left a note telling Zoey to come meet them north at the safety zone.”

“That’s the piece of paper she’s been reading all day?” They turned around and once again, Zoey was holding onto the paper. She wasn’t reading it at the moment, but staring blankly off into space.


“Yeah. The rest of us, we had no one to wait for, nothing else to fight for. So we decided to go with her. Her family, it’s all she has left.”

“Wow,” said John. “That’s terrible.”

“No one her age should ever have to deal with that.” Bill lit up a cigarette and found that it was his final one. He would have to savor it. It was pure heaven, taking the nice, relaxed drags, knowing that they were temporarily safe. After a minute, Bill tossed the cigarette overboard, where it fizzled out in the calm waters of the river. “Might as well quit now. Those things will kill you.” And with that, he boomed with laughter as he thought of the irony: in the zombie world, there were things that could kill you much faster than a cigarette.

There was only one extra bedroom available, but nonetheless, the four survivors decided to cram into it anyway. Zoey, being the girl, was given the bed, while the others curled into sleeping bags on the floor. And it wasn’t a bad setup, for that matter – the room was warm and the steady rolling of the boat was comforting. Soon, they were fast asleep.

Zoey hadn’t been able to recall any of her dreams over the last week and a half, but tonight was an exception. When she woke up, screaming in terror, she could remember every single detail of it.

They had made it to the city of Newburg. But the streets weren’t simply vacant, nor did the buildings simply stand silent and hollow like those in Riverside. Instead, the buildings of Newburg were on fire – skeletal, burning wrecks. But the city was far from dead. On the streets, thousands of survivors gathered in long lines – all leading to Metro International Airport. The lines moved slowly, but constantly. There were only so many planes that could be used at a time, after all. Zoey watched them take off just as quickly as others landed. It was a big circle – pick up survivors, drop them off into the safety zone, fly back and repeat.

Soldiers flanked the lines of survivors, looking uniform in their ACU’s and gas masks. It wasn’t only the Army – there were Marines here as well. The two branches worked in tandem perfectly. Every so often, a zombie would come out of the fire, roaring for blood – only to be put down quickly by a barrage of gunfire. Stryker vehicles and tanks patrolled the streets, taking care to avoid the survivors. In the skies, attack helicopters flew in pairs, firing missiles towards the ground.

It was a chaotic battle that was still in progress, but the survivors, well protected by the military, had nothing to fear. Quite a while seemed to pass – but inevitably, Zoey and her group made it to the front of one of the lines.

“Name?” asked a soldier, looking at Zoey. A few other soldiers processed her friends in the exact same way.

“Zoey Elizabeth Higgins.”

“Age?”

“19.”

“Date of birth?”

“December 5th, 1989.” The soldier checked the information and waved her through the gates. Francis and the others joined her.

“All right, your plane departs in twenty minutes from Gate 7. Good luck.”

They went to Gate 7 and sat in the waiting area – they would soon be boarding a military C130 Hercules cargo plane. Twenty minutes later, they stood in line. The passengers lined up and filed into the plane – but, as they reached the front of it, Zoey noticed something was wrong.

The person at the front of the line would stand still while a zombie bit them somewhere on the body. Once that was done, the person would immediately turn gray like a zombie and run into the plane, screeching madly. Zoey looked around wildly and saw that no one seemed to notice what was going on. She tried to break out of the line, but Bill grabbed her.

“Wait for our turn,” he said simply. Zoey looked back towards the front of the line – it was getting closer and closer. Finally, there were only three people left before it would be her turn to join the infected. Zoey watched in horror as the person at the front of the line turned around: it was her mother.

“Mom! Mom, no! RUN!” Her mother simply smiled as a zombie bit her on the shoulder.

“We’ll see you soon, Zoey,” said her mother. She continued to smile as her skin turned gray – her words devolved into animalistic grunting.

“NO!” Zoey screamed in terror as her father went next, also smiling.

“We missed you, Zoey,” he said. And then, he too turned gray and ran into the plane. Finally, her brother was next.

“Jake, run!” Zoey wailed, but it was too late: Jake was also bitten. But he didn’t turn into a regular infected – instead, he got to his hands and knees and let loose an unearthly scream.

“You should have come home, Zoey,” said Jake. He then pounced and landed on Zoey before starting to beat her mercilessly.

Her vision flashed white with each blow and through the onslaught, she saw Bill step forward and submit. Louis and Francis each did the same – they turned their backs on her and walked into the plane. Jake was still beating Zoey – she reached down to her thigh and found a pistol in a holster, one of the Glock pistols that she had dropped so long ago. Zoey raised it and fired twice – Jake’s head simply disappeared and he fell off of her, bleeding profusely.

Zoey began to run – and suddenly, she coughed up blood. She fell to her knees and as the blood trickled out of her mouth, she had the urge to vomit. The bathroom was just up ahead – Zoey ran for it. There was a sharp pain in her fingers – long, black claws had grown out of the tips. Zoey wanted to shout for help, but all that came out of her throat was a dreadful scream of despair. Her lips formed words, but her voice said none.

She ran, screaming, into the bathroom – but there was no need to throw up anymore. Zoey looked at herself in the mirror – she was pale and frightened looking, with blood still trickling out of her mouth. But a horrid transformation was taking place. Zoey’s body began to waste away – so much that her clothes simply fell off, revealing her chalk-white skin. Her breasts hung limply and suddenly, she could see her ribs, almost like those pictures of starvation and poverty from Africa. Zoey raised her thin arms, wailing in despair – her face seemed to age several decades in a second. The brown hair turned white and her eyes began to glow red.

Finally, Zoey gave up – she fell to her knees and, with nothing else to do, began to cry.

“NO!” Zoey sat up abruptly in bed, screaming in terror – immediately, the others woke up. Louis turned on the lights – Zoey was wearing only her lingerie and it was clear that she was terrified. The bed sheets and blanket were drenched in cold sweat.

“Zoey! Zoey, calm down, it’s okay!” shouted Louis, placing his hands on Zoey’s shoulders. She shoved them off and scrabbled backwards, her face contorted with anguish. She didn’t seem to recognize that it had all been a nightmare.

By now, John and Amanda Slater had come out of the neighboring bedroom with a camping lantern. The other three men were holding her down – for a wild second, the Slater’s thought that they were proceeding to rape Zoey.

“Zoey! It’s all right, you’re safe!” said Bill. “It’s me, Bill.” Zoey’s fearful screams of terror quickly subsided into pitiful cries.

“What happened?” asked Amanda with genuine concern.

“Just a nightmare,” said Francis.

“It wasn’t just a nightmare, it’s real, something’s going to happen, we have to turn back!” shouted Zoey. She wriggled out of the other survivors’ grips and stepped out of the bed. She grabbed a bathrobe and put it on.

“Zoey,” said John soothingly. “Calm down. Let’s talk about this for a second.”

Zoey looked for a second as if she wanted to kill him, but after a second, sat back down on the bed. Louis had returned with a bottle of water – he gave it to Zoey, who drank half of it down in a single gulp. Her breaths were shallow and raspy.

“My inhaler,” she said throatily. Francis went to the opposite end of the room and found it. Zoey took a long, deep puff from it and her breathing relaxed.

“You ready to talk about it?”

“We should go back on deck first,” said Zoey. “I could use some air.”

The six survivors went back up on the deck – it was pleasantly cool now. According to Bill’s watch, it was just after two in the morning. Zoey described the dream in its full, intricate details. She remained collected and calm, even as she described her own disturbing transformation into…

“You became a witch?” said Francis, his mouth open in shock.

“What’s a witch?” asked Amanda Slater.

“Be glad you don’t know what it is,” said Zoey. “But that’s what I saw in the dream. I know something bad is going to happen. We can’t go there.”

“Zoey,” said Bill calmly. “Have you ever been to Newburg?” Zoey suddenly looked cornered.

“No,” she replied.

“Then how could you know it was a premonition or a vision? People have bad dreams all the time without fully understanding them.”

“This was different,” said Zoey. “When I dream about getting chased by Jason Voorhees, that’s a nightmare. I’m telling you, this is not just a nightmare.” The group was silent for a moment. Zoey suddenly remembered the strange, clear substance that had come out of her leg wound. She instinctively reached down for the spot – it was throbbing dully, but not hurting too badly. Could that have anything to do with it?

“Zoey, are you sure about this?” asked John. She thought about it long and hard. Was it possible that she could become a witch? No. Not possible. She was immune – a zombie had bitten her on the arm, and for ten days, nothing had happened. Nor was it the airborne strain – Zoey had been issued (like every other person in the United States) a military surplus gas mask, but after the outbreak went to hell, she had stopped wearing it. So it couldn’t possibly be that. Infection by the airborne strain took days. Transformation from a bite was considerably quicker, only a few minutes. So obviously, she was immune.

Then what was wrong with her? Why was she having such nightmares?

“Zoey?” said Bill.

“Never mind,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re right. It was just a nightmare. It’s just stress. I’ll be fine. I’m going back to bed.” This answer satisfied everyone else.

However, she never actually went back to sleep – Zoey simply lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. The growling screams that had come from her own throat still haunted her.

…

It was a chilly morning and the ambient moisture in the air had condensed into a rolling mist that obscured everything more than a hundred feet ahead of them. The boat was chugging slowly along the river. John had concluded that they were only a few miles from Newburg.

Eventually, the faithful fishing boat that had served them so well found itself stuck on sand as it entered shallow water. With that, the journey would have to continue on foot. Yet now things felt easier – perhaps it was the fact that their group now consisted of six people rather than four. Six was harder to manage and moved slower – but it made things easier when providing 360 degree security. Not only did each person’s area of coverage decrease, allowing him or her to focus more, but through peripheral vision, a survivor would see two others standing on either side. It helped them realize that they were indeed fighting together. Their morale increased considerably.

As they came closer to downtown Newburg, the first of the buildings came into view. Zoey sighed, visibly relieved. The buildings she saw in her dream looked nothing like real life Newburg. Nor was it burning. The city was completely desolate, unlike the bustling evacuation point that Zoey had seen. Truly, it could only have been a nightmare. Nothing was wrong at all.

Bill, however, thought differently. There was something immensely wrong about this city. Sure, it was empty – so was Fairfield and he had lived in that ghost town for days. But at the very least, Fairfield was chock full of zombies – although they were infected, soulless shells, they did provide him company, morbid as it was. Newburg, on the other hand, was barren. This city was almost the size of Fairfield – the key difference being that Newburg had the airport. For residents of Fairfield it was a drive of about thirty miles.

This should have made Newburg a frenetic center of activity. If there were no survivors, then there should be infected…except as the group of six walked the roads in silence, none could be seen. It was slow progress, weaving between derelict cars. Occasionally they would find the scene of an accident. Oftentimes the driver and passengers would still be in the wreck, so badly decomposed that the skin off their faces had melted off, exposing the skull and eye sockets that were now crawling with larva.

It took several more hours and a few breaks before they finally reached the inner parts of the city. The fog was thicker than ever now, decreasing their effective sight lines. They passed through city blocks and streets that all looked the same. Several times they wondered whether or not they had been thrown off track. Only Bill’s compass (built into the handle of his Army survival knife) kept them going in the right direction. No infected appeared from anywhere. Conversation felt unnaturally loud in the silence of the city.

Where are those fucking things? Bill had been asking that question to himself for a while now, but still had no answers. He almost wanted to hear the coughing of a Smoker or the horrid indigestion of a Boomer. Even the moaning sobs of a Witch would be acceptable, if only to prove that there was still something to fight. They continued towards the airport – so far, they hadn’t heard the sounds of helicopters or planes. What if it had been abandoned? Was it possible that Newburg had been left behind, and that they were too late?

As he thought of this, Bill noticed something moving out of the corner of his vision. He swiveled around and shouldered his rifle, peering through the holographic sight. Standing on the second floor of some building was a man – he had the gray skin and dirty clothes of the infected. But there was something different about him. Bill observed that the zombie was not jumping out of the window to come mindlessly after them – instead, it stared blankly at them (or perhaps it was unable to make an expression after the connective tissue in its face muscles had dissolved). The eyes, red with infection, followed them. Bill wanted to shoot, but something stopped him from doing so.

This zombie was too human. He continued to stare at the group for a few more seconds, but quickly retreated behind a window and out of sight. No one but Bill had noticed this. It unnerved him. For this whole time he had been used to zombies that mindless bared their teeth and ran at him like animals. There was nothing human about them anymore besides their physical bodies. And even then, with the gray skin and red eyes, killing them was easy enough. So what had stopped him from taking out that one single infected? Was it possible that some of them were beginning to regain their humanity? Was this infection just a virus that ran its course like the flu? Perhaps one day, people would simply recover and attempt to rebuild society. Or, haunted by their actions, those recovered from infection would simply take their lives.

Bill wondered how much coherent thought the zombies had. Technically, they were still alive. Super rabies did not create life nor reanimate undead corpses. It simply turned off parts of the brain responsible for higher thinking. This virus reduced victims to mindless killers – not all that far off from our basest instincts that hundreds of generations have since bred out. So there should be no reason that zombies retained any basis of humanity. But what about the witch? If zombies had no emotions, they surely had no reasons to cry. Their goals were to kill, and eat.

They hadn’t heard anything about other countries either. The first outbreak happened in rural Virginia, but it had quickly spread. The index case was a young boy who had come into a hospital after being bitten on the hand. Most disturbing was the fact that the bite had been human. Meanwhile, the boy carried both strains of the virus: the contact strain, and the airborne one. More cases began appearing all over the United States – and at its peak, the infected overwhelmed the hospitals. No one knew what was happening in other places. Could Canada still be a safe haven? According to the letter that Zoey held onto, there was a safe zone up in Canada.

“That’s the airport.” John Slater was pointing at it, a derelict structure that held the baggage check-in areas. The front entrance had been sealed by luggage – however, through a parking garage, they could theoretically access the place through a sky bridge that spanned the passenger unloading zone.

“Well,” said Bill. “We should be going – ” He was cut off by a snapping noise and felt something small pass by, pinging off the pavement. A split second later, a rifle shot cracked in the air.

To everyone else, this was a completely new situation – but for Bill, it was completely familiar: a sniper.

“Get to cover!” he shouted, and everyone ran as fast they could. Zoey, Louis and Francis dove behind an overturned truck – Bill followed, but the Slater’s were not so quick.

“Get down!” shouted the four survivors. John grabbed Amanda and took off running – a second later, his chest seemed to explode and he collapsed to the ground. He was dead before he hit the floor.

“Fuck!” Francis yelled as he witnessed the grisly sight. Amanda kept on running, but she too was quickly cut down – the first shot went through her legs, throwing her to the ground. The second shot quickly ended her misery, splattering her head all over the pavement.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Louis whispered as he checked to make sure his M4 was still loaded. “Goddamn it, who’s shooting at us?”

“I don’t know,” said Francis, loading his shotgun. “But I’m going to kill them.”

None of them dared to leave the safety of the truck – but sooner or later, someone would flank them and finish them off. They would have to move out of the line of fire as soon as they could. John and Amanda Slater were now dead. Unless they found a safer place, the original four would be as well.

“What do we do?” asked Zoey.

“We get to safety. That parking garage is our best bet – it’ll be too dark in there for the sniper to get a fix on us. We can fight him easier in there.”

“That’s a ways away,” protested Zoey. “We’ll never make it alive.”

“Which is why I’m going to distract him first. Everyone get ready to run – in zigzag lines. Don’t stop moving until you are in the parking garage.”

“And how do you intend to distract this guy?” asked Louis.

“With this.” Bill took off his backpack. “Get ready.” Everyone tensed themselves. Bill quickly raised the backpack – and sure enough, the sniper had taken the bait. Although the bullet came close, there was no impact. Judging by the sound delay, the sniper couldn’t be that far. Evidently, this was a very poor marksman. Of course, that made things only better.

“NOW!” The survivors took off sprinting, bounding side to side like gazelles. Another shot whistled past them, but it missed. Soon they were all inside the parking garage, heading up the levels to reach the sky bridge. Eventually, they came upon the top level of the parking garage. The survivors were at one end of that space – on the opposite end, there was a safehouse once again marked with the distinctive cross in a house symbol. There were also two other survivors behind it – definitely uninfected, for they opened fire. Francis cursed as a bullet narrowly missed him. His broken rib was killing him, though the fracture had been filled in naturally by cartilage that would keep it in place for the time being.

Bill waited for the gunfire to cease before shouting, as loud as he could, “Cease fire! We’re not infected!”

“Bullshit!” replied a scared voice from across the parking lot. It echoed in the confines of the garage.

“I say again, we’re not infected. What do you say you let us peacefully pass through? We won’t bother you again.”

“Yeah right. I see how they act – they can talk! The zombies can talk and pretend to be one of us! We’re not going to fall for that!” The gunfire started up again, intermittent bursts of it.

“What a fucking dick,” said Zoey angrily, chambering a round into her MP5. “Now what do we do?”

“I’d say we throw a pipe bomb at them, except we’re all out,” said Bill. He looked at his surroundings – currently, they were using a car as cover. Would it be possible for the four of them to push it closer? It would still be risky. Bill would normally have followed the standard military operating procedures for clearing out a defensive position. But none of his friends here were military trained. Louis might be smart enough to understand the concept, but he was no soldier.

There came a lull in gunfire – Zoey leaned over the car and began firing in short bursts to conserve ammunition. Bill chanced a look – indeed, the opposing survivors had their heads behind cover. Evidently, Zoey knew more about this thing that anticipated. The magazine in her weapon quickly went dry.

“Reloading!” she called out. This time, Louis took the responsibility of shooting – meanwhile, Bill dragged Zoey and Francis to a car farther ahead and closer to the opposing survivors. His M4 was louder than Zoey’s MP5 – in the confines of the parking garage it was absolutely earsplitting. But despite the ringing in their ears, they were all once again behind cover.

“Shit!” said the crazed man from the safehouse. “They can use guns now!”

“That’s because we’re human, dipshit! Now go rape yourself!” Francis roared, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ribs.

“Fuck you!” The gunfire started again. Bill reached up and broke the side mirror off of the car they were hiding behind. He carefully positioned it. The two gunmen were armed to the teeth – one fired a stolen M16, the other carried a bolt action military sniper rifle. Definitely inexperienced shooters. The one with the M16 shot mostly from the hip. It was a wonder he had ever learned to operate such a complex rifle.

“Stop shooting!” shouted Bill. “Listen to me. We’ll toss our weapons aside, okay? Just don’t shoot us – we’ll stand still and prove that we’re not infected.” The terrified survivors from the safehouse listened for a second.

“All right,” said the first one, a scrawny man wearing a dirty tank top and camouflage pants. “First, throw your guns aside!”

“Do it,” said Bill to his group. Slowly, the two M4’s, the MP5, the Benelli shotgun and their various handguns were slid to a safe distance away. “Okay, that’s all we have!”

“Now, come on up, nice and slow!” commanded the second, a fat one with greasy mechanic’s overalls. “One at a time!” he added. Bill stood up first with his hands raised – Francis and Louis followed, and Zoey was last.

“Ooh,” said the scrawny man. “Now that one, I like. I’d tap that for sure, wouldn’t you, Jimmy?” Zoey’s faced turned into a glare.

“I sure would, Tom” said the fat one named Jimmy. “Hot damn. I’d love that bitch to suck my cock. I’d love to feel her swallow my cum.”

“You fucks are sick!” said Zoey.

“Quite, zombie, before we kill you!” said the scrawny man called Tom. “Now, what have we got here? Grandpa Green, a biker fag, a nigger and a whore!”

“She probably sleeps with them every night,” the fat one said gleefully. This thought made the both of them laugh. “Anyway, Tom, you think they’re zombies?”

“Nah,” said Tom. “I reckon they’re okay.”

“Just let us go,” said Louis, who remained remarkably calm despite the blatantly racist and offensive behavior of these two rednecks. “We’ll be on our way.”

“Oh, we’ll be on our way!” mocked Jimmy the obese. “You shut your fucking thick lips, nigger.”

“Man, people like you are the ones that fuck up the country and all that,” said Louis. He was obviously pissed now.

“Quiet!” Jimmy dropped his rifle and picked up a handgun. He racked the slide and aimed it towards Louis. “Or I’ll blow your face in!”

“Are you going to let us go or not?” asked Bill.

“We might,” said Tom, contemplating this. “You!” He was pointing at Zoey. “Why don’t you walk over here and sit yourself down on this here chair.” He dragged a chair out from behind the cars they were using as cover and motioned to it.

“Not a chance in hell,” said Zoey defiantly.

“Sit down, or your nigger friend dies!” shouted Jimmy. Zoey stepped forward reluctantly and sat down. Her entire body was quivering with rage. “That’s better.”

“Now, to business,” said Tom. He spat some rotten yellow phlegm onto the ground near Zoey’s feet. She recoiled in disgust, drawing her knees up towards her chin. “I’m willing to let you pass…for a price.”

“Well what do you want?” asked Bill, but as he watched Zoey sit in the chair, he realized he already knew the horrible answer.

“You let us keep your girl here, and we let you three pass. If you don’t agree to that, we’ll shoot all of you and keep her anyway. Might as well go with your lives!” Tom was grinning with glee – his teeth were rotten and disgusting. To emphasize his point, he leaned down and ran his tobacco stained, moldy tongue over Zoey’s cheek. She cried out and began to struggle, but Jimmy stepped forward and smashed the stock of the weapon into the back of Zoey’s neck. Zoey let out a gasp of pain and fell to the floor.

Louis ran forward, but Francis restrained him.

“Don’t do something stupid,” he hissed into his friend’s ear.

“Let me go,” Louis hissed back. “Let me at him, I’ll kill him!” Francis did not let go as he tried to calm Louis down.

“Good choice!” said Tom. “Well, you’d best be on your way.” He pressed a button and the door to the sky bridge unlocked electronically.

Zoey stirred on the ground, struggling to get upright. Jimmy noticed this and grabbed her neck, holding her securely. To add insult to injury, he began going through the motions of a lewd impersonation of doggy style sex. He threw her back down to the floor.

“Go fuck yourself,” said Zoey.

“Wrong,” said Tom. “You’ll be fucking us both now. You best learn to keep your pretty mouth shut. Unless, of course, we want you to squeal. And you’ll squeal, all right.”

It was a tense scene – Jimmy was still covering the three men with a handgun, while Tom sat back idly in a chair, looking relaxed and in control of the situation. Bill couldn’t help but feel enraged: he had been beaten, and now Zoey was going to have to suffer for it.

He remembered a lecture that his Green Beret instructor had given him years ago in training.

You cannot afford to get angry. Anger makes you a better killer; that much is certain. But it does not make you a better soldier. No, not in the slightest. Anger makes you act on your emotions, not logic. And a soldier who acts on emotions endangers not only the mission, but also himself and his platoon. Keep cool, keep your wits about you, and you will prevail.

He thought for a second. The two thugs were not keeping an eye out on Zoey, who was looking terrified on the floor. Both of them had guns – Tom the scrawny one carried the M16, while Jimmy the fat one had a handgun. It was a regular Beretta M9 pistol stolen off a soldier. Still deadly.

Meanwhile, he, Louis and Francis were all completely unarmed. Their weapons lay useless a few feet away. Except for one. Bill carried a small fighting knife on the back of his belt. The three inch blade could still be deadly when wielded by the right hands – and his hands were those of a killer. If he could get the drop on them…

“Well,” said Tom impatiently. “Go!” He waved to the door. “Before I change my mind!” Bill ignored him and looked down towards Zoey.

“Just go!” she said. “Don’t waste your lives for me!”

“That’s right, go!” said Jimmy – his flabby folds wobbled as he nodded vigorously.

“Leave her alone,” said Louis, stepping forward. “You can kill me instead if that makes you feel better.”

“Kill you? Man, we you’re a darky but we don’t want to kill you!” laughed Tom. “We just want to keep this load o’ pussy here!”

“Yum, pussy!” repeated Jimmy. Like a pig he jumped onto Zoey, flipped the struggling girl onto her back and buried his disgusting face in the space between her legs, taking a deep inhaling breath. Zoey shouted to protest, but quickly moved into action: she locked her legs together and began to strangle Jimmy. Tom lowered his rifle for a split second as he watched this shocking scene unfold.

This distraction was all that Bill needed – he rushed forward with his knife drawn. To an observer, Bill would have been a green and khaki blur. He was onto Tom in an instant. The blade went into Tom’s hand – he released the M16, which Bill grabbed. A split second later, the two men were grappling for control of the rifle. Bill quickly got the upper hand and, utilizing his Green Beret training, executed a deadly palm strike to the nose. There was a cracking as Tom’s nose cartilage along with surrounding bone shattered into pieces, flying backwards into his cerebral cortex. Tom simply shivered on the ground, bleeding to death.

Bill focused his attention on the other man, Jimmy. Somewhere in those few seconds, he had managed to break free from Zoey’s grip. He was backed into a corner, with Zoey in a chokehold and a gun at her throat. Bill saw that Zoey’s leg wound was bleeding again – Jimmy must have made a lucky hit in exactly that spot. The sudden rush of pain would definitely compel Zoey to let go.

Louis and Francis had retrieved their guns and were now aiming at Jimmy. To complicate matters, Jim was moving from side to side. It would be extremely difficult to kill him without hitting Zoey.

“That’s right!” Jimmy spluttered maniacally. “I win!”

“No you don’t,” said Louis.

“Shoot him!” Zoey shouted. “Before he shoots me instead!”

“Oh, you’ll try, won’t you?” said Jimmy. He hid his face behind Zoey, although his rotund sides were still visible behind Zoey’s slim frame.

“Let her go,” said Louis. “And we’ll let you live.”

“Shut up!” shouted Jimmy. “No black man tells me what to do!”

“Well, I guess you better listen to me then,” Francis said. “You let her go right now, or you’re going to be in a world of hurt.” As he talked, he moved slightly to the side – increasing the angle that Jimmy would have to cover. It was a very smart move, and in the heat of the moment, Jimmy didn’t realize it.

“So what? You killed Tom, why would you let me go? Fuck it, actually, goodbye, you fucking slut!” Jimmy shoved Zoey out of his grip – she stumbled forward, looking utterly surprised. A flash of black: the gun was suddenly leveled at Zoey – Francis saw Jimmy’s finger tensing. Without knowing what else to do, he dashed forward and tackled Zoey to the ground precisely the instant that Jimmy fired.

All of a sudden, people were screaming – Louis shouted obscenities as he let loose a fully automatic burst from Zoey’s MP5 that he had hastily grabbed a minute before, Zoey’s anguished screams melded with Francis’ desperate cry of “NO!” while Bill dropped his M16 and ran forward to catch them.

He was too late; Zoey hit the floor hard with Francis following close behind her. Bill was suddenly all over her.

“Oh god, no, Zoey, talk to me! Where are you hit!” She didn’t answer – her face was contorted into an expression of anguish; her eyes squeezed together so tightly that the muscles in her face seemed to bulge. Bill quickly checked that Zoey’s body was free from any wounds, even if her jacket had a splash of fresh blood on it.

“Bill…it’s not me…” The horror slowly dawned on him as he turned to Francis, who lay on his back, coughing up blood. There was a pool of blood growing steadily underneath his muscled body.

“Oh…shit…” said Francis.

Bill went over to him, not caring that his knees were getting soaked in Francis’ blood; the pool grew ever wider.

“Francis!”

“Bill…” There was a much larger hole in his chest: an exit wound. The 9mm slug had barely missed Zoey as it exited Francis’ body.

“Shut up, Francis, you’re going to be fine!” said Bill. He grabbed as much gauze as he could from the medical bag and stuffed it into the wounds, much to Francis’ protest.

“Ow! Jeez, Bill.” Francis’ expression of disgruntlement turned into one of peace. “Bill…save it.”

“You’re not going to fucking die on me, soldier!” shouted Bill. “Just hold on, we can save you, we just need a little bit of time. Hang in there!”

“Bill…listen.” They were silent for a second and suddenly, from the depths of the parking garage, the unmistakable sound of the infected. “They’re coming.”

“Well, then let’s get you the fuck out of here!” said Louis. “C’mon, we’ll carry you!”

“Louis, listen. If you move me…” He coughed up more blood. “Just run…go. I’ve been saving this.” And from his waist pouch he produced a hand grenade. “Just a little present for the zombies.”

“Francis…” said Bill gently, and for the first time, tears appeared in his old blue eyes.

“It’s been an honor serving with you, Bill,” said Francis, smiling weakly. He grabbed Bill’s hand and shook it firmly. He turned to Louis. “You’re my best friend, Louis. Take care.” He shook Louis’ hand as well – the office manager turned zombie survivalist burst into tears. Finally, Francis turned to Zoey.

“Zoey…I know you’ll find your family. Just…be sure to tell them about me.” Zoey flung her arms around the dying man, sobbing hard into his shoulder.

“I will, Francis,” she whispered. The sounds of the horde grew louder.

“Go,” said Francis. He pulled the pin of the grenade, taking care not to release the spoon just yet. After that he dragged himself to the switch that controlled the locking of the door. “I’ll lock it behind you; now get the fuck out of here!”

The three survivors ran for it, shutting the door behind them. Francis hit the button and watched with satisfaction as the green light turned red, signaling that it was locked. He turned to the incoming horde.

“Come to papa,” he said, releasing the spoon.

…

They stopped halfway across the sky bridge and suddenly, the muted sound of an explosion. It was quick – fragments blasted into the door, causing the metal to bulge outwards. And then, the sound of the horde died out.

“Francis…” Zoey dropped her MP5 and stared at door.

“We have to keep moving,” said Bill, gently pulling her away. “Come on.”

They crossed the sky bridge and entered the airport terminal – a few infected roamed about. Louis had taken Francis’ automatic shotgun. He now stood at the front of the group, killing the infected with murderous rage. His shotgun clicked after several shots, indicating the weapon was empty. That didn’t stop him; he went over to the last infected and brutally smashed the creature in the face. The zombie let out a grunt of pain that sounded disturbingly human.

“DIE!” Louis shouted, beating the zombie’s skull in with the butt of his shotgun. The zombie on the ground twitched but did not die – its mouth opened and closed like a fish. His remaining eye rolled about wildly.

“Stop it!” said Zoey, stepping forward, but Bill restrained her.

“He needs to deal with this by himself,” said Bill. Louis’ relentless barrage of beating eventually subsided, and he dropped the shotgun, exhausted and sobbing with quiet anger.

“I…can’t believe he’s dead!” he wailed. Louis looked down at the zombie, which was still moving. A single hand reached up to him, almost begging in nature. Louis pulled out his Beretta and fired a single round into the bloody mess that had once been the zombie’s face. Immediately it stopped moving. Louis looked down at the zombie, then at his pistol. He held the gaze for a few seconds.

“Louis…please. Let’s go.” Zoey watched the handgun in Louis’ hand warily. She tensed herself to spring forward at the first sign of any behavior that would indicate if he was about to…

It was no longer necessary, for Louis holstered his Beretta and stood up, wiping his eyes. He turned around, facing the remaining two.

“I just noticed something,” he said quietly. “In order to fight a monster…you have to become one of them. Let’s go.”

None of them talked as they walked towards the runways – and on the landing strip, there was one C-130 cargo plane. Bill saw a battery powered radio taped to a desk, with a note printed on it: IF YOU SEE THIS RADIO AND A PLANE ON THE RUNWAY, CALL.

Bill picked up the radio.

“Um…hello?” There was silence and then, an excited voice.

“Hello?! Holy shit, finally! We’ve been sitting out here for days, waiting, you have no idea how boring it gets. How many of you are there?”

“Fo – I mean, three,” said Bill sadly.

“Not many, huh? That’s okay. Get to the plane outside. We’ll take you to safety.” And with that, the pilot signed off the radio.

There was a set of stairs leading towards the runways outside, which were mostly free of the infected but littered with bodies and luggage. As they began their long walk to the plane, they began to wonder: how many more would have to die before they were safe?

...

Yes, unfortunately, Francis is dead - he will not come back in this storyline. It was really hard for me to kill him off - let alone anyone, for that matter. The Slater's were easy, they're just redshirts. But Francis was something different. Sure, he's a badass and it wouldn't be politically incorrect if I killed him off...but still, people care. In this post apocalyptic world, humans still find time to care about each other.

Maybe there's hope.


Next, the final chapter of the campaign portion of L4D: Origins. But on the other hand, it could very well also be the final chapter of the story, not just the campaigns.

For this I need input. If I have the remaining survivors move on, maybe pick up a couple more well characterized ones on the way, then, what would happen after Blood Harvest? I have some ideas, but only specific small happenings. I need something big to happen. And this is up to you guys, the readers, to help me decide. What do you think?

Hi everyone,

I have been rereading my work (as well as talking to some people that came to me with suggestions and concerns) - lately, I'm not entirely sure about the direction I'm taking the story as it currently stands, with the latest chapter Dead Air.

Those of you who are reading this message, make sure you read that most recent chapter. Once you have done so, consider:

-I killed off Francis, wanting to make the story more desperate and more emotional. But in retrospect, I begin to wonder, did I rush his death? Did it seem contrived and cliched (despite zombie infections and four survivors like the L4D quartet being cliched anyway), or did it actually feel natural and right? There are times I want to rewrite parts of that chapter so that Francis does not die, no one dies - not yet, anyway.

-I'm planning some plot twists concerning the infected and virus. What are your views on plot twists? I can't say much, but as I'm imagining it, the virus starts to mutate.


What do you all think? If the consensus is "Keep going" I will throw aside my doubts and work on the final campaign chapter, Blood Harvest, and then continue writing. Thanks for your inputs.

I actually didn't think I would care if Francis died. You wrote it in such I fashion that I actually miss a fictional character.

I'd say any plot twists you do, or whoever you kill, you'll still write it skillfully.

Not Francis!

Reminds me of that one scene from Red Dawn when the chick takes the two ruskies with her. You fooled me man, my money was on Bill in the exact same manner that happened to Francis. I also thought Zoey might take a slug from the sniper.

Keep it up man, and as for plot twists, I'll come up with a few ideas if you'd like