Thread: L4D: Origins (a fanfic by Lardcake212)

I don't really read fanfics. But this, sir, is awesome.

Reading this made me feel like I was watching a zombie survival movie without those moronic protagonists..XD I liked Francis and did not expect that he's gonna die like that. I somewhat pictured his death like he was getting swarmed and getting torn to pieces but still fighting, but that's too cliche..:P

Please continue your work..

My delay in writing this chapter, Blood Harvest, was substantial. And unfortunately, I regret that you might be disappointed - it's much shorter than some of the other chapters, and I wish it could be more in depth. But school is tough, and that's still my priority. It sucks being a Chinese major and ROTC cadet, while trying to maintain a social life at the same time. I haven't even played L4D for days!

I am definitely thinking of ending this storyline soonish - it was fun while it lasted, but I am only human and can't write forever. So I'll put some stuff in, introduce a couple of characters, and continue with the story for now. But the direction will definitely change and eventually, the story will end. Give it about six to eight more chapters, that's a good ballpark estimate. Hopefully they'll be longer than this one you're about to read.

As always, comments and stuff are welcome.

BLOOD HARVEST

There were four crewmembers manning the C-130 – for the past several days they had been ferrying survivors to safety. Such flights were usually very short, seldom more than a few hundred miles – this helped save on fuel. As a precaution, all four crewmembers wore gas masks. One of them had been a loadmaster, overseeing the loading or unloading of large equipment. Given that such duties were no longer necessary, he now functioned as a security man – keeping the crew safe with a shotgun, just in case infected got on board the aircraft.

There was no conversation onboard the aircraft. The pilots kept to themselves, barricaded in the cockpit – quite understandable, really, in the interest of safety. Zoey, Bill and Louis sat in the cargo hold of the aircraft, which was empty and cold. Had Francis been there, he might have livened things up with his constant joking and scornful jabs.

Bill had run out of cigarettes quite a while back. He was now cleaning his M4 with slow, practiced movements. The small parts of the rifle were kept in a box, just in case the plane ever encountered turbulence.

Louis had taken a combat knife out of corpse on the way to the airplane. He sat, slowly scraping the blade along the metal floor of the cargo hold. Sharpening had not been necessary – in fact, he was probably dulling the blade down. But it kept his mind off of the infection, off of Francis.

Zoey was sitting by herself again. She had retreated to a far corner of the hold and was now blankly staring at her brother’s letter. This went on for nearly fifteen minutes – she hardly even appeared to be blinking. Finally, Zoey just dropped the letter and without warning, burst into angry tears.

“It just isn’t fair!” she shouted. Louis and Bill looked up in alarm. “Francis is dead, my family’s dead…god, what the fuck are we doing? I wish someone would just kill me!”

“Zoey,” said Bill quietly.

“You know what Bill? I give up. I’m through with this.” Zoey crossed the cargo hold to Louis’ unattended handgun. This time, Bill stood up – already, it was hard enough watching Louis. He couldn’t afford to have Zoey acting like this.

“Zoey!” he said sternly. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” She picked up the gun and deactivated the safety – but halted. Suddenly, she felt in control. No longer was she running away from zombies, no longer was her fate being decided by the whims of a hungry mob of infected. This time, she was in complete control over whether she lived or died.

“Put the gun down,” said Louis. “We’ve already lost Francis. Please don’t let the next one be you.”

“Listen to him, Zoey,” said Bill.

“You think it’s easy,” said Zoey. “Here’s something for you, old man. It’s not. If Francis is dead, and my family is dead, then I might as well join them.” She put the gun up to her temple – Louis took a step forward, but Zoey glared at him warningly. She cocked the hammer back, readying the pistol to fire.

“You don’t know about your family yet,” said Louis. “Besides…you’ll go to hell if you do decide to.”

“It’s already hell here,” said Zoey. “It can’t get much worse.” Bill made no move to stop her – he just stared sadly at Zoey. Perhaps this was what caused Zoey to hesitate.

“You won’t do it,” said Bill. “You’ve got too much to live for and you know it. So put the gun down and save that bullet for a zombie.”

It worked. Zoey decocked the pistol and handed it back to Louis. She then found a spot nearby and sat down against the wall of the cargo hold, looking dejected. She sat still for a few moments and then resumed staring at her letter.

…

The C-130 landed in the middle of a large valley – it was equipped to be able to land in reasonably flat terrain, even if it was unpaved. Such made it the choice aircraft for humanitarian missions, delivering food and medicine to third world countries. It was also a great choice for military operations, able to deliver ammunition and even vehicles. And, as it turned out, the C-130 was effective for evacuating survivors in the midst of a zombie crisis.

“There is a safe zone,” said one of the pilots, pointing further north. “It’s about…I don’t know, fifteen to twenty miles. Normally we’d land there but there’s a lot of forest, so we can’t. You’re on your own from here.” And the C-130 once again began its long journey back.

“Where are we?” asked Zoey, looking around at the unfamiliar territory.

“Well, we passed the Great Lakes on our way up…so I say, we’re somewhere in Canada. Ontario, most likely.”

“Canada’s a nice place,” said Louis. He had taken a nap on the plane. Though it had been short, he appeared much better rested. “I was up in Toronto one time, working with my company’s branch there. Canada is really just like the states, you know, with shopping malls and cars and nice people…well, more nice people in Canada than back home.”

“And zombies,” Zoey pointed out.

“Plus, their military isn’t like America’s.”

“Well, I know that,” said Louis. He looked around. “At least there shouldn’t be too many zombies out here.”

“Keep your guard up anyway,” said Bill. “Over there, there’s an ammo dump.” They went over to the dump, which was flagged with bright orange markers that allowed easy identification. Here they filled up on weapons and much needed ammunition. There was an odd assortment of weaponry – everything from state-of-the-art G36 rifles to crude AK-47’s. Zoey dropped her MP5 into the pile and picked up a larger, more powerful M4. It was a heavier rifle, but it certainly made her feel better.

Now all armed with the exact same weaponry, the three survivors began heading north. It was much colder here than it had been down in Fairfield and Newburg. Luckily, they had been given heavier winter jackets to shield against the cold. They wondered whether or not zombies could even survive for long out here in the cold. Were they just as vulnerable to the elements as regular humans were? Or did they have an increased resistance to cold and other undesirable and uncomfortable situations?

As they pondered this, a new thought forced its way into their minds. Exactly how resistant were zombies to the unforgiving elements? They would roam the cities and countryside during the day, plundering from increasingly rotten food stores to eat. At night they would stand around listlessly unless provoked – but so far, none of them demonstrated a need to sleep. The elements made their open wounds fester and rot, but few zombies simply dropped dead from exposure.

They continued on for several miles. The temperature was even lower now, and eventually, the cold brought an ache to Bill’s bones and he stopped the group for a rest.

“We’ll bunk here tonight,” said Bill. Each of them carried a small sleeping bag in addition with their provisions and ammunition. It was not a comfortable load, but they had no choice otherwise. They set up their sleeping bags in a clearing in the middle of a pine forest. The ambient temperature was still cold, but at least they had a meager amount of protection against the elements. One by one, they slowly dropped off to sleep.

…

It had been an unpleasant night for all of them. Zoey had another nightmare, similar to her first one. At least she hadn’t woken up screaming though. The morning after, however, she was looking pale and sickly. She was packing up her sleeping bag when she suddenly dropped to her hands and knees and began coughing violently.

“Zoey?” Louis was closest to her – he stopped what he was doing and went over to her.

“I’m fine,” said Zoey weakly. She shivered and then vomited.

“Jesus!” shouted Louis in surprise, jumping back to avoid it. “You sure you’re all right?” Zoey continued to retch and cough, but eventually, it subsided. She wiped her mouth and stood up – her cheeks were slightly flushed from the effort and her eyes were watery and red. It stood in stark contrast with her pale complexion.

“You don’t look so good,” said Bill. He put a hand on her forehead. It had been a long time since he had checked anyone for a fever, but he deduced that Zoey had fallen ill in the cold of the wilderness.

“I’m fine,” Zoey insisted. “We can keep moving. I’m just a little dizzy is all.” She finished packing her sleeping bag and shouldered her rifle. “Let’s go.”

They continued heading north, guided by the sun and Bill’s compass. It was relatively easy moving through the desolate yet peaceful countryside – so far, they had not seen any infected. On the other hand, they hadn’t seen any uninfected refugees roaming the countryside. Out here, they truly felt alone.

As they approached further north, the pine forests gave way to seemingly endless fields of wheat. Moving through these became a harrowing experience: visibility was reduced to zero, and the rustling of the wheat in the wind kept them constantly on edge. Eventually they came upon a series of signs that had been crudely drawn and laid out in the open, all bearing the same message: AMERICAN/CANADIAN SAFETY ZONE AHEAD – 6 MILES.

“Holy shit, we’re nearly there!” said Louis excitedly. Bill simply nodded, while Zoey tagged behind, heavily bundled in a winter jacket and gloves.

“About fucking time,” she said quietly before entering another coughing fit. “Hm. Maybe it’s pneumonia?”

“You’ll be fine, kid,” said Bill. “Six miles and we’ll get you to a doctor and find your family.”

And so they continued on in silence. As they approached, a sudden gust of wind brought a fresh bought of cold – and something else. Bill stopped, holding up a hand in warning. He sniffed the air and frowned.

“What’s going on, Bill?” asked Louis. He too sniffed the air.

“I smell smoke…”

“Well, that’s a good thing, right? Surely that must be campfires or something!”

“Maybe.” As they advanced, the smell of smoke grew stronger. They estimated that they were only about a mile away at maximum. Mixed with the smell of smoke, however, was the acrid odor of burnt nylon. Bill’s trained senses detected traces of burning flesh as well as rot. The safety zone was just up ahead: they were walking up a hill. Perhaps the zone was located in a valley or depression – once they cleared the top of the hill, they would be able to see it. This time, the sounds of gunfire accompanied the smells. The clouds cleared and the place become much brighter as sunlight came down – and this time, they saw a column of smoke rising from the valley.

“Something’s wrong,” said Bill, and he began to run. Louis took off after him and so did Zoey, running as fast as her aching lungs would permit her. It felt like time was slowing down as they cleared the hill and looked down into the valley below.

Indeed, there had been a safety zone. Tents of all shapes and sizes, from military command tents to colorful family tents, were scattered haphazardly around. There been some trucks and more crates of weaponry. But no civilians roamed about, no military servicemen came to greet and welcome them into this zone of safety. The three survivors lowered their weapons and stood in numb shock as they took in the scene below them.

Many of the tents had been flipped over and a few were still burning. Bodies of both civilians and soldiers alike lay on the bloodied ground like broken rag dolls. Some of the Army trucks were now only broken husks of their former glory. The safety zone…wasn’t.

“Oh god…oh god no…” Zoey said. Her voice was strained with illness and stress. She fell to her knees, tears forming in her eyes. “NO!” She angrily slammed her fist into the dirt. “This isn’t…fair!” Her shrill, angry shout echoed in the dead silence – her own voice shouted back at her in torment. Louis tore his eyes away from her, unable to watch as she suffered. He noticed some movement among the camp.

“Wait…Zoey, Bill, there’s someone alive down there!” A second later, the crackling noise of gunfire cut through the cold air and a slew of bullets tore past the group.

“Get down!” Bill commanded, dragging Zoey back to a safe position. Once they were back behind the safety of the hill crest, Bill chanced a look into the camp. He saw at least six people, armed to the teeth with everything from assault rifles to rocket launchers. They were whooping in delight – and to his horror, a pickup truck with a gun crudely mounted on its back roared out of the camp. The men were wearing a combination of orange prison garb and military camouflage.

Convicts, Bill thought. These weren’t simply disorganized crazies – the aggressiveness at which they attacked was too organized for anyone scared. They were facing street hardened criminals, probably escaped murderers and thieves. With the collapse of society they grabbed guns and supplies and likely raided whatever they came across.

“My family’s dead,” said Zoey. She had stopped crying and her face was now contorted with rage. “They killed my family, I’m going to kill these motherfuckers, let me at them!” She chambered a round into her M4 and, before anyone could stop her, charged over the hill.

“Fuck it,” said Bill and he too stood up. Zoey was aiming for the truck as it roared towards her, bouncing as it drove. This was fortunate for the bullets missed her.

“Fucking die!” Zoey screamed, and the windshield of the truck was suddenly riddled with a spider web of cracks and blood. The truck careened out of control, flipping over and crushing its gunner in the process.

“Nice shot!” shouted Louis. “I’ll cover you while you reload!” He began firing as well – short controlled bursts, and the convicts ducked behind whatever cover they could find. While this was happening, Bill grabbed a grenade off a bullet riddled dead soldier and pulled the pin. He let the fuse burn for two seconds and threw it – the explosive landed right in the middle of a group of three convicts before exploding. The shrapnel ripped their bodies to pieces. Only three left.

“Cover me!” shouted Zoey. She quickly took a puff of her inhaler and coughed before she took off sprinting, slowing down only to fire a few shots at the other convicts. It was both amazing and terrible to see this relatively innocent girl transition so rapidly into a killer.

One of the convicts attempted to run from cover – Zoey dropped to a kneeling shooting position and fired once. The convict’s head exploded and he hit the ground running. By now, it was a lost cause for the remaining two convicts. Although hardened, they were also stupid. Bill and Louis continued to advance, firing periodically. One convict poked his head out of cover and was quickly shot down. The last of the convicts dove out – he was carrying a handgun, firing wildly. His shooting was obviously flawed – this convict was still carrying it “gangsta” style. Nonetheless, Zoey took a hit to her shoulder – she cried out more in surprise than in pain. She dropped her weapon and her hand flew up to the bleeding wound.

“Don’t shoot!” the man on the ground pleaded, tossing his pistol aside. “I give up!” He was a short and scrawny man, with a shaved head and a face that resembled a rat’s. To Zoey, he looked much like Tom the scrawny hick from Newburg.

“You fucker,” said Zoey. “You shot me.” She crossed the distance between them and suddenly began viciously beating him.

“Zoey!” shouted Louis, moving forward.

“You.” Zoey smashed her fist into the man’s face, breaking his nose. “Mother.” She punched him again, ignoring that her knuckles were bleeding and raw from having made contact with teeth. “Fuckers!” The convict tried desperately to fight back, but Zoey seemed to have been possessed by a demon; she relentlessly continued her assault. “You killed my family, and I’m going to kill you!” By now, Louis and Bill reached her. Louis dragged Zoey off of the helpless convict as Bill kept the convict at gunpoint.

“Where is my family, you fuck!” Zoey screamed as Louis restrained her, futilely trying to calm her down. “DID YOU KILL THEM?!”

“I don’t even know your family!” the convict blubbered, wiping his bleeding nose with his orange prison clothes.

“You fuckers came in here and killed everyone, did you?” Zoey snarled. She broke out of Louis’ grip and grabbed his Beretta from his holster. The gun was pointed directly at the convict’s face. “Answer me or you die!”

“We…” The convict started crying helplessly, terrified.

“Talk now, you fucking pussy!”

“All right! I…we came in here looking for supplies and shit, and then our boss Big Joe told us to kill everyone so we did! I didn’t agree with him, I swear, I didn’t kill your family!” Zoey fired, but she deliberately aimed at a spot inches away from the convict’s head. Everyone jumped and the convict screamed in terror, a high pitched wail. His pants grew wet with urine.

“Please…” the convict begged. “I swear, I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me!”

“You had your chance,” said Zoey. “You had your chance; you fucked up, now you die. Go to hell!” She fired again, but this time, her aim was true – the convict’s head splattered into a red and pink mixture of blood and brain matter in the dirt.

During this time, Bill had known it would have ended like this – he could see it in her eyes, a fiery blaze of pure hatred. Zoey didn’t even blink as she ended the man’s life. But a few seconds later, she relaxed. Zoey dropped the pistol and once again, clutched her shoulder wound. Her breath was shallow and wheezing – she fumbled for her inhaler but dropped it. A second later she collapsed into the dirt, coughing viciously. She heaved and spat out a gob of whitish phlegm, which was now mixed with blood.

“Zoey, just relax,” said Louis, holstering his pistol and putting his arm around Zoey’s shoulders. She roughly forced him off.

“I’m fine!” she said. Zoey tried to stand up and fell back down. She looked up at one of the nearby tents – and her eyes filled with tears. Bill and Louis backed away, watching in shock as she slowly dragged herself along the ground, leaving behind a thin trail of blood and tears.

It was a purple, family sized tent – Zoey instantly recognized it. Her family had gone camping numerous times before. She could recognize that burn mark on the side any day. The thin nylon was now riddled with bullet holes – Zoey zipped the door open and peeked inside. It took her a few seconds, but finally, she withdrew from the tent and sobbed hysterically, a long, drawn out wail that chilled Bill and Louis to the core.

“Leave her alone,” said Bill as Louis looked to him questioningly. “Give her time.”

Eventually, she allowed herself to be dragged away from the tent – the men caught a brief glimpse of the scene in the tent, and saw that indeed, Zoey’s family was there, long dead. They had been shot to death through the tent while trying to hide. It was disturbing and infinitely tragic.

Zoey had eventually stopped crying. For that matter, she had stopped doing anything at all. Zoey simply ceased all speech entirely. She walked around aimlessly, in a daze, staring at nothing. When given food, she simply pushed it away and continued staring. Bill had seen that stare before: the thousand yard stare. Soldiers returning from battles, overwhelmed by stress, would sit around aimlessly, staring at nothing in particular.

Later that evening, Louis and Bill buried the bodies of Zoey’s family members – but they could do no more than that, for there were too many for only three people to handle. In reality it was two, for Zoey suddenly seemed to have lost the ability to operate shovel.

They dragged a single tent back farther away and elected to sleep in that for the night. Zoey still had not made a single sound. But she slowly crawled back into her sleeping bag, taking care to avoid making contact with her now bandaged bullet wound. Luckily, it was only a graze wound, easily treated and healed. Falling asleep was uneasy – for during the night, Zoey began to cry once again. Her sobs sounded disturbingly witch-like.

…

So much for the innocent college girl eh? I had no problem with its length and this was just as impressive as the last.

BTW- dude you really need to quit questioning your work and doubting yourself. This is fucking excellent you don't have to question that every time you post a chapter. If it was shit it wouldn't be praised like a fucking masterpiece.

YouTube - Daniel Van Doer - Kitty and Me in Vegas

finish the fucking story!

Don't worry, lusence, I'm working on it. I will deliver soon - and unlike Valve, soon does not mean never. Expect a new installment...by Monday.

We're gonna hold you to that lardy. I need my fix.

Here is the latest chapter, Preventative Measures. On time as promised. I think you'll find the story direction has changed considerably. Let me know what you're thinking of this angle.

Depending on the feedback, different things might occur, so as always, comment or pm me and I'll see how things turn out.


PREVENTATIVE MEASURES

It had been a mostly sleepless night for all of them. Although the winds had died down considerably, there was now a light blanket of snow on the ground. Tiny snowflakes lazily fluttered down from the sky. Bill had to urinate – he stepped out of the tent and found the weather surprisingly comfortable. Though the air was chilly, it was not so windy. He walked a little bit towards the wheat fields and began – the tension left his body as he went. But he was quickly interrupted.

He heard the familiar thumping of a helicopter as it approached. Bill quickly zipped his trousers back up, looking in the distance. From the south he saw the silhouette of the aircraft – an American military Black Hawk. Bill hurriedly ran back to the tent, rousing Louis from his slumber. Zoey lay on her side with her eyes open, still locked in the thousand yard stare.

“Zoey, let’s go,” said Louis. He gently pulled her to her feet, but otherwise, Zoey gave no indication she even recognized him. Bill watched as the helicopter circled a few times around the camp and finally touched down about a hundred feet away from their tent. A single pilot walked out, wearing a standard Army pilot’s uniform and helmet. As the pilot approached, Bill noticed the pilot walked differently from a man – furthermore, he could see the faint hint of hips and breasts, mostly concealed by the uniform and tactical flight equipment. This pilot was evidently female. She removed her helmet, revealing that she was in her late twenties with red hair tied back in a ponytail along with green eyes.

“Hello, survivors. I’m 1st Lieutenant Jen Carlyle, US Army. Looks like you could use some assistance,” she said. Her voice was authoritative and clear.

“Oh. Master Sergeant Bill Overbeck. I’m also Army. Retired, of course.” Bill saluted the pilot; the gesture was crisply returned.

“You mind telling me what happened out here?”

“Convicts,” said Bill. “They came some time ago and killed everyone. We were too late. That girl over there…” He pointed to Zoey, who stood listlessly, her rifle clutched loosely in her hands. “Her entire family was here.”

“I see,” said Jen. “Well, it’s no use being out here. Come on into the chopper, I’ll fly us back.”

“Back where?” asked Bill.

“There’s a military outpost northwest of here, about fifty miles away. We never had any effective communication, so I came out here to investigate.”

“Any other survivors?”

“No,” said Jen sadly, leading them back into the helicopter. Louis sat next to Zoey in the passenger cabin while Bill sat next to Jen in the copilot’s seat. “This outpost here had the facilities to sustain a large refugee presence. The outpost I came from didn’t.”

“How many are out there?” asked Bill. Jen was silent for a second before turning to him, looking grim.

“I’m the last one.”

…

The Black Hawk landed in the outpost – a makeshift shelter made of razor wire fences and sandbags, with some tents in the center. Hundreds of charred corpses lay on the ground surrounding it.

“We were preparing to build a more secure area,” said Jen as she easily brought the Blackhawk to the landing pad. “There were six of us. Everyone else went to go and reinforce the soldiers at the safety zone. But I had to stay behind.”

“Why?” asked Bill. They stepped out of the helicopter and covered their faces as the downdraft of the rotor blades blew cold snow around. Jen led them to the nearest tent.

“I was the only one qualified to fly a bird,” replied Jen, zipping up the tent and turning on a few camping lanterns. “Plus, I’m the only medical doctor.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bill. “Are you an aviation or medical officer?”

“Medical,” said Jen, taking off her flight vest and tossing it carelessly aside. “But I also went to flight school.”

“Where’s the rest of the military?” asked Louis, speaking for the first time in a while. He had helped Zoey lie down on a cot in the corner of the tent, where she lay still and catatonic.

“We’re completely scattered all over the place,” said Jen. “There is no sense of command anywhere. NORAD was overrun. All military bases in Hawaii are gone. Alaska is fine, but mostly cut off. Only the seaborne Navy and Marine personnel deployed on ships are all right.”

“Great,” said Bill. “Now what do we do?”

“Survive,” said Jen. She undid her ponytail and let her hair down. “Normally I’d be dead right now, but, as you saw earlier, no infected can approach this place. We set up automatic sentry guns as well as motion sensors to warn us if anyone was coming, be it zombies or refugees.”

“How long could you survive out here?”

“Quite a while,” responded Jen. “We have enough food to last us for at least a year. There’s a river near here – frozen, but we can break through the ice. I have medical supplies and quite a lot of warm clothing. This place was supposed to support refugees, but since it’s just the four of us…” Her eyes fell on Zoey and she frowned. “What’s wrong with her?”

Zoey was paler than ever and Bill noticed for the first time that one of her eyes was no longer blue, but a strange, yellow color. Jen looked for a second – and then, to everyone’s horror, pulled out her sidearm and walked to Zoey.

“Hey, wait!” Louis protested, grabbing the Army officer’s arm and pulling it away. “You can’t do that!”

“She’s infected,” said Jen, forcing Louis’ arm off and aiming the pistol again at Zoey’s head. Zoey did not seem to notice or care.

“She’s immune!” exclaimed Louis. “Zoey’s immune, I’m immune, we’re all immune!”

“That’s not immunity,” replied Jen. “I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. Trust me, she’ll feel a lot better once it’s over.”

“That’s not your decision to make, lieutenant,” said Bill. He walked forward and looked down at Zoey. “If she wasn’t immune, she’d have turned long ago. Please. Just give her a chance.” Jen looked at Zoey, then back at Bill. Finally, she switched the safety on and holstered her weapon.

“We’ll let her live. But we’re keeping her in the brig. And I’m going to take a blood sample from her, just to make sure.” Jen rolled up the sleeve on her ACU uniform and slipped on some rubber gloves. She now had a syringe with which to collect a sample. Jen knelt down and rolled up Zoey’s sleeve. She began to draw blood – Zoey did not notice.

“I’m not sure if this has occurred to you, but the virus might have already damaged some of her brain. Hence, the inactivity.”

Jen was nearly done with the blood sample and proceeded to remove the needle – suddenly, Zoey convulsed violently. Her arm thrashed, knocking the syringe out of Jen’s hand. It clattered to the floor, but did not break.

“Jesus!” shouted Jen, scrambling backward. Zoey looked like she was having a seizure – her eyes rolled back into her head and her limbs shuddered. A steady stream of saliva flowed from her mouth. Finally, her entire body seemed to curve. Zoey’s hips shot straight up into the air – she was bending backwards at the spine, which had formed a C shape. For a second, only her head and heels supported her. Zoey held this position for a second and finally relaxed. Her body fell back onto the cot and rolled onto the floor. She was breathing heavily – tears mixed with saliva and blood on the floor. During her seizure, she had bitten the inside of her cheek.

But none of this mattered: Bill was looking at Zoey’s eyes. They were looking around wildly – as well as focused.

“Zoey?”

“Bill…” She vomited on the floor, a clear, yellowish fluid. Zoey had not eaten for a long time.

“Holy crap, Zoey!” exclaimed Louis. “How you feeling?”

“…like the morning after my graduation party,” said Zoey, sitting up. It was strange, it was insane, it was absolutely miraculous. “But otherwise I feel fine.” She looked around and fixed her gaze on the new person in their midst, the twenty nine year old lieutenant that actually somewhat resembled her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jen, Jen Carlyle.”

“Zoey Higgins,” said Zoey, extending her hand. Jen seemed to hesitate, but quickly removed her glove and shook it. “By the way, where are we?”

“An outpost about fifty miles from where you last were,” said Jen. Zoey’s face fell as she heard this. Jen seemed to notice. “Are you all right?” Zoey didn’t answer, but she didn’t cry either.

“I’m okay,” she said after a while. Zoey looked back at the group – her paleness stood in stark contrast with her red jacket (now covered with splotches of blood) and her blue jeans (now almost brown from dirt). No one had told her about her sudden onset of heterochromia. “They’re dead and nothing I do can bring them back.”

“Here,” said Louis, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small sheaf of photographs. “Your brother was holding these…well, it’s all they had. Take them.” He held the small stack out to her. Zoey stared at the shuffle for a second and slowly reached out for it. She flipped through them one by one and at the last one, could not help but suppress a smile.

“Here,” she said. “This one was when I turned eighteen.” The picture showed Zoey’s family in a restaurant, all grinning broadly, save for Zoey. Her brother had shoved a large piece of cake into Zoey’s face – the younger, happier Zoey from a year or so back was looking mortified.

“This was graduation,” said Zoey. An eighteen year old Zoey stood in the warm sunlight, wearing red and gold graduation robes. Her parents stood by her – Zoey’s mother looked almost exactly like Zoey. Her father was tall and wore glasses. He was doing his best to look manly and intimidating. The group passed around and looked at all the pictures – there were twenty of them in total. Everything from Zoey as a newborn baby, to prom pictures, to her organizing her dorm room for her first semester at college. Pictures of an idyllic, carefree life, safe from the threat of zombies and infection. That life that had so quickly left behind. It had been slightly more than two weeks.

Lieutenant Carlyle showed the group the rest of the outpost. They had been in the main command tent, which also doubled as a medical facility. Next to it was the mess tent – in it were enough crates of MRE’s to feed a group of four for years. Next to that, there were two tents with rudimentary cots in there. These sleeping tents were insulated and were noticeably warmer than the other tents. This didn’t make them comfortable, however.

The final tent was a crude washing facility, fitted with field showers. Water was not in any short supply, for there was a river close to the outpost, but even so, the flow was patchy at best. At worst, it simply wouldn’t start. At the far end of the camp was the supposed “brig” – in reality, a literal metal box with a lock and tiny window. There was a sleeping bag inside the brig.

Although Jen had wanted Zoey to stay in the brig (for safety reasons), she let up on that and gave Zoey a spot to sleep in one of the tents. For this entire time, Zoey still was not aware of her sudden heterochromia. She was on her way to the bathroom and suddenly, a yelp of surprise pierced the still air in the camp.

Sure enough, Zoey was staring at her reflection in the mirror, looking horrified.

“Holy fuck,” she said. Zoey squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed them a bit and opened them back up – there was no change. “What the hell is this? What happened to my eyes?”

“I don’t know,” said Jen. “It’s a sudden onset of heterochromia.”

“I gathered,” said Zoey tersely. “Why?” She looked back into the mirror, looking disgusted. Indeed, the combination of her blue left eye and her yellowish orange right eye was terrifying and unusual.

“Metallic deposit, maybe,” said Jen. “You haven’t been exposed to any heavy metals recently, have you?”

“Not really.”

“Have you been bitten before?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m immune.”

“Did you notice anything unusual with your body? Any strange discharges or symptoms?”

“No…”

“Are you sure?” asked Jen.

“Well, there was one thing.”

“What was it?”

…

They were back at the medical tent – by Jen’s orders, Zoey had been made to strip down and change into a hospital gown. Jen saw the wound on Zoey’s leg – it had mostly healed on the outside, but there was a strange yellowish fluid oozing out from between the stitches. The same yellow fluid was oozing out of the bullet graze wound on Zoey’s shoulder. She had taken a sample of this and was now observing it under a microscope. Furthermore, she had taken blood samples from everyone else, including herself.

“Well,” said Jen as she focused the microscope. “I have been looking at our blood samples as well as that sample I took from your leg.”

“And?”

“All four of us have a full blown infection. But we’re not symptomatic. The virus is unable to survive for very long in our cells.”

“So that’s a good thing then,” said Louis.

“Now the sample I took from Zoey’s leg. That’s a little bit different.”

“How so?” asked Bill. Zoey looked up from the hospital bed she lay on.

“Zoey has…two separate infections. One is the original strain of the virus. But the other one is different. It looks to be a mutated version of the original.”

“Hold on,” said Zoey, sitting up and looking alarmed. “What are you telling me?”

Jen looked up from her lab table and sighed.

“Zoey, I hate to tell you this, but you’re already showing symptoms. The fever and coughs are all a part of it, as is the heterochromia.”

“What is it doing?”

“The virus has already invaded your cells,” said Jen sadly. “From what I can see, you’ve been carrying it for a long time. I’m surprised you’re still somewhat normal. The thing has already somewhat altered your DNA structure. According to what I’m seeing, you should be one of the infected.”

“But I’m not,” Zoey insisted, looking hurt. “I’m fine.”

“Well,” said Jen. “For one, it can’t infect any of us. I’ve tried, but the old strain tends to kill off the new one.”

“So why is it affecting only me then?” asked Zoey.

“I honestly don’t know. How do you feel?”

“Well, I’ve been better. But otherwise I’m okay. Can I please put my clothes back on?”

“Go ahead.” Zoey grabbed her clothes and went behind a curtain to change. Meanwhile, Jen pushed the microscope aside and looked back at Bill and Louis, who were sitting down in chairs.

“This is getting more and more fubar every day,” said Jen finally.

“Amen to that!” Bill agreed.

“What’s ‘fubar?’” asked Louis.

“Fubar is an acronym,” said Jen. “Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.”

“Oh. That’s true, I suppose.”

“I’m glad you’re all here though,” said Jen. “It sure beats surviving alone.” As she finished her sentence, a red strobe light flashed, accompanied by a battery powered alarm. “Oh fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Bill.

“Another intrusion. They’re coming.” More alarms sounded throughout the camp – Zoey came out, once again dressed in her regular clothes.

“Who?”

“Zombies, who else?” Jen went over to a weapon locker in the corner of the command tent and opened it. She pulled out an older but still effective M16A2 assault rifle. Larger than the M4, it could only fire single shots or a three round burst. It resembled the M4 (which, after all, was derived directly from the M16) but was longer, and harder to handle in close combat. Yet its accuracy was unrivalled.

The other three survivors grabbed their M4’s as well and followed Jen to the center of the camp. Around the perimeter of the complex there were a series of M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, mounted on automated tripods with infrared sensors. Jen was running to each gun, checking that it was loaded and ready for firing. She came back to the center of the camp.

“Don’t fire unless they get past the guns,” she said. The alarms still blared, but now, the sounds of the infected were audible too. They were getting closer.

The first machine gun opened fire, surprising all of them. They turned around and saw a massive wave of them, a gray, undulating mass that acted as one single minded, killing automaton. Another machine gun opened fire, then another and soon, the entire camp was a cacophony of gunfire. Everywhere the group looked, there were seemingly thousand of the infected. Among their numbers was the occasional boomer.

“Holy shit…” said Louis. “God damn, how’d they find us!”

“Hell if I know,” said Jen. The machine guns were doing a remarkable job of cutting down huge swathes of infected. Those in front would collapse in a withering storm of lead. The M249 could easily cut a body in half, especially if it had been softened up by injury and exposure. Zombies were tripping over the remains of their fallen comrades. In more favorable circumstances, it might have been amusing. A few of the zombies came even closer – but Jen simply grinned.

“What’s so funny?” said Bill suspiciously, panning his rifle wildly from left to right as he sighted his rifle. A second later, there was a bang, and an entire group of zombies was shredded into nothingness. He observed the fantail pattern of hundreds of ball bearings as they zoomed through the air, ripping bone and flesh as if it were tissue paper.

Jen had set claymore mines near the camp, and intentionally (not to mention illegally) modified them to go off when the zombies got too close. Similar explosions sounded throughout the perimeter. A boomer got the full effect of one of the blasts, showering the place with bits of its body as well as vile vomit. Some of the infected stopped to lick the ground or their own bodies. Others launched themselves upon their fellow zombies, tearing them apart mercilessly. Within a minute, there were only a handful of zombies left.

“Now do we shoot?” asked Bill.

“Yes, open fire!” Jen let loose with her M16 and everyone else followed suit. Some of the zombies were climbing over the barbed wire fences, ignoring the huge cuts in their skin that opened up. Everything was going quite well at this point, but then, the ground started to shake. Bill groaned as he recognized this new turn of events: a tank was coming.

“Tank!” he shouted to the others. Immediately, Zoey and Louis looked at each other in fear.

“Tank? What, an Abrams?” asked Jen, who obviously had never seen one before. There was a roar and then, in its muscular glory, it pounded through the razor wire and sandbags like some unstoppable force of nature. “Holy shit!” Jen shouted as she began to fire her rifle.

Her weapon jammed – immediately, Jen began the procedure to clear the weapon. Nominally it would take only a few seconds, but this was combat, and she was scared. The tank was barreling towards her – Jen tried to run, but tripped on a rope and fell face first into the dirt.

Bill saw this and watched as the tank bounded closer to Jen. She had regained her footing, but with her weapon lying useless in the dirt about ten feet away, she was defenseless. Bill emptied the remainder of his magazine into the creature – it paused for a second, staring back at him with beady red eyes.

“Run!” shouted Bill. Jen ran as fast as she could – the tank gave quick pursuit, swatting her aside. Her body flew through the air like a rag doll, hitting the side of the brig with a horrible clang. Jen had been knocked unconscious by the impact – she slumped to the ground, motionless. Louis ran to her.

Bill was still engaged in battle with the tank – it grabbed a steel fuel drum and threw it at him. The drum missed, but now the tank had its full attention on him. Suddenly, the silenced M4 in his hands felt puny and stupid. He wished for a grenade launcher. A fist the size of a basketball swung towards him – Bill ducked and to his horror, realized that his beret had been knocked off.

“No one messes with the Green Berets!” he shouted angrily. It sounded stupid, but perhaps it was justified. Bill had earned the right to wear the green beret through long years of training and conditioning. Thus it was only natural that he should be angry if someone messed with that beret. Even if it was a ten foot, muscled monstrosity that had no humanity whatsoever.

Zoey was all the way across the camp, also firing at the tank. Her eyes caught notice of a box marked “M136 Antitank Weapon.” She put her M4 down and went to the box. Zoey flipped open the latches holding the box shut and saw the launcher in all its glory. She picked up the launcher – it was surprisingly light, however, for being an antitank weapon.

There were clear instructions printed on the side, with pictures depicting a GI using the weapon. Perhaps it was to help a typical dumb recruit understand. Nonetheless, it worked well: Zoey, with her 4.0 high school GPA and acceptance into a prestigious private college, quickly figured out how to operate an M136. She aimed the sights on the tank, which was now pounding its chest as it roared demonically. The sights were simple and somewhat reminded her of M4 sights, with the rear peep sight and front post. Zoey pressed the button labeled “trigger” and instantly, an 84 mm rocket shot out of the tube. She did not feel any recoil, just a slight vibration as the weapon fired. The back blast, however, was considerable. A long and thick jet of flame shot from the back of the tube, engulfing and igniting one of the sleeping tents. This startled her so much that she dropped the launcher.

Meanwhile, the rocket traversed the short distance in scarcely a millisecond. The projectile entered the tank’s body easily, much easier than a small bullet. After that, the round exploded – the tank’s body separated into two halves above the waist. The torso split open, showering the place with grotesquely deformed and mutated body parts. In this confusion, more zombies found their way into the camp, through the hole in the razor wire made by the tank.

Bill got to his feet, his ears ringing from the explosion. He felt dizzy from the shock wave, but nonetheless, grabbed his rifle and quickly reloaded. There were about ten zombies in the camp, followed by a boomer. Bill prioritized the boomer – two clean shots popped open the massive stomach, splashing bile and filth all over. Zoey was at the opposite end of the camp, firing. Her rifle ran out ammo – undeterred, she sprinted forward and smashed the last zombie in the face with the butt of the M4.

The zombie staggered and fell backwards – Zoey was on it in a second. With no knife or pistol and her rifle useless, she was now strangling the zombie to death. Its legs kicked ferociously. Zoey watched as its mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Once in a while, it managed to fight back a bit and her grip would loosen, allowing it to take a breath.

“Just die!” Zoey screamed savagely.

“Nuk!” replied the zombie. “Nuk noo!” Its eyes were rolling about wildly, red and infected. Perhaps it had just been gibberish, but Zoey was taken aback by the zombie’s vocalization. She let off on the choking for a second.

“What did you say?” she said, breathing hard.

“Nuk noo! Day! No!” snarled the zombie, attempting to snap at Zoey’s hands in vain. “Hi dye noo!”

Bill finally reached Zoey and looked down at the zombie. It continued to spew out gibberish and bite at Zoey, but something about it seemed different.

“He’s trying to talk,” said Zoey. “Maybe we should keep him alive.”

“We’ll tie him to that bed in the medical tent,” said Bill. He helped Zoey grab the struggling zombie and roughly dragged it into the tent. This was no easy task, for it screamed and spat and shouted. It was almost like dragging a reluctant child. They tied it down on the hospital bed with patient restraints. Soon, it could do nothing but struggle and glare.

By now, Louis was dragging Jen into the medical tent.

“Nice kill, Zoey, I saw that! Now help me with Jen, that tank knocked her flat.” Louis grabbed a canteen and splashed its contents over Jen’s face. A second later she coughed and keeled over, groaning in pain.

“Ah, fuck my life,” she said quietly.

“C’mon, Jen, you’re all right!” said Louis. “Army strong!”

“Shut up.” Jen slowly got to her feet, her hands clutched to her left pelvic area.

“Anything broken?” asked Bill.

“No, I’m okay. Just bruising, I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” said Bill. “You can help us with the zombie we captured.” He pointed to where it lay restrained, still struggling angrily. Jen looked at it and then back at the others.

“Holy shit, what the hell is that thing doing here?!” Ignoring her pain, she crossed over to the room.

“Nuck! Nuck hoo!” replied the zombie. Jen paused for a second, looking disturbed.

“What was that?”

“I think it’s saying ‘fuck you,’” said Zoey.

“I’ll be damned.”

“Net he! No!” sputtered the zombie.

“Now he wants to be let go,” said Zoey. “Listen to him, it’s like talking to a baby.”

Of course, there was nothing cute about this zombie – a man wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with filthy scraggly hair. The zombie quit struggling for a moment and glared at the group. Jen stepped forward and injected a syringe full of sedatives into the zombie’s arm. It quickly relaxed and began muttering gibberish, occasionally punctuated with a coherent word.

“They can talk,” said Louis. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are they recovering?”

“Maybe,” said Jen. “I’ll have to run some tests.” She took a blood sample from the mumbling zombie.

“The camp was pretty much obliterated,” said Zoey. “And I accidentally burned down a tent.”

“How the hell did you do that?” asked Jen, her eyebrows raised.

“I fired a rocket launcher at the tank. You know, the steroid thing. I killed it but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jen shortly. “We can all sleep in one tent, there’s plenty of room plus some. But we won’t last long out here, we’ll have to evacuate soon.”

“And go where?” asked Bill.

“Anywhere else. We’ll grab some MRE’s and just fly out as far as we can, see what we find.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Zoey. She coughed once – blood appeared on her hand once again. “Ah, shit, this again.” She coughed more and fell out of her sitting position. The others went to her and helped Zoey to her feet.

“Up on your feet, kid,” said Bill.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Zoey insisted. As she said this, Bill noticed that her right eye had changed from yellow to orange to red. Her other eye had lost much of its blue color and was now a faded gray color. The edges of the iris were beginning to turn brown. “I feel great.”

Zoey’s legs stopped supporting her and she collapsed to the floor, mumbling random phrases. This onset of symptoms was so sudden that everyone momentarily stood around her, confused. Zoey’s abnormally colored eyes stared at the ceiling, but didn’t focus on anything. Jen waved a hand in front of Zoey’s face, but Zoey gave no indication she noticed.

“That’s a lovely dress,” said Zoey, smiling brightly. Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Where did you get it?” Everyone stood silently, watching.

“We’re going to go to Il Pastio instead, that other place was already full. Oh, it’s a great restaurant.”

“Zoey?” said Bill quietly. “Wake up.”

“Leanne, I’ve just decided that Professor Hawkins is a complete dick. And that asshole needs to get a watch and stop starting classes two minutes early.”

“She’s experiencing past memories,” said Jen. “Or hallucinating.”

“That’s one hell of a hallucination,” said Louis.

“So I decided that I can’t play Halo to save my life,” said Zoey. “On the other hand, I do know how to play the guitar, and can shred with the best of them. I’ve been learning for nearly a decade, actually. Sometimes I think I should drop out of college and form a metal band, even though I’m just a preppy girl.”

Zoey laughed at the thought, a giggle which turned into a full out laugh that sounded completely out of place in the dreary zombie apocalypse. Finally it died down and her body began to convulse once again. It continued for a few seconds, then she relaxed, breathing heavily. Her discolored eyes were still unfocused and unaware.

“We’ll have to keep her monitored,” said Jen. “Help me lift her.” The group carried Zoey’s body to the far end of the command tent and gently set her down on a cot. She was a lot more peaceful now, stirring only occasionally as she slept. Occasionally her face would scrunch up and then relax. Her mumbling was punctuated with the occasional cry of fear.

“Should we wake her?” asked Louis, looking down as Zoey dreamed.

“No,” said Jen. “She needs the rest. You two keep watch on her; I’ll go run some tests. I need to find out what the hell is going on.”

As she said this, the sedated zombie suddenly woke up and let loose a long wail that was quite unlike its normal gibberish:

“Help…meeee!” After this it went back to sleep.

“And someone be ready to shut him up,” said Jen casually as she prepared her microscope. “The drugs are in the box under the bed. Don’t hesitate to use them.”

…

2 mistakes i noticed, they aren't major but I'm picky

1. I thought that Bill's last name was Trent, not Overbeck

2. FUBAR, mean fucked up beyond all recognition if i remember correctly


This chapter reminded me so much of 28 Days Later, especially capturing the zombie,

"Jim, meet Mailer"
*crazy black zombie runs out from behind bedsheets*