Thread: L4D: Origins (a fanfic by Lardcake212)

nooooes, its been past monday, where is this Z-hour!!??

Hello, readers,

It's been a long time since I promised y'all a new chapter for L4D: Origins. It was definitely supposed to be released quite some time ago, but, like Valve Corporation, I've failed to deliver.

Lately I have been heavily mired in midterm examinations and large papers to write. These are not your typical five paragraph essays, these are the twenty page, steroid pumped monsters that have teeth.

Today is my last midterm, however, and then I'll have a bit of breathing room before I get more stuff dumped on me. College is awesome, but at the same time it sucks worse than being the last survivor alive, limping towards rescue, only to be hunter pounced.

Anyway. I am in the process of working on Z-Hour, and this time, I will give you a specific date that it will be published: Tuesday, March 9. Not Monday, because my weekends are valuable to me, and I haven't had proper sleep for nearly three weeks now. Unlike Valve, Tuesday means Tuesday - I will not fail you this time.


As a taster, here is a brief one sentence synopsis for Z-Hour:

With Zoey's health continuing to decline, the weary survivors decide to go back to America, only to find themselves being hunted by a deadlier enemy than just zombies: the US military itself.

Woo:waves:! Can't wait, just started reading these the other day, and I will say, that they Win in every wy possible! if anyone says otherwise they either can't read, or get a kick out of putting people down. Also, Is Z-Hour the last in the series, or will there be more?

"Z-Hour" is the second to last chapter, which will be titled "Origin." However, depending, I may squeeze in another chapter between those two, depending on how the events I have envisioned play out. There will also be a brief epilogue similar in scope to the prologue.

After this, I'm most likely going to take it easy on the whole writing fan fiction thing for a while. It was a whole lot of fun writing, but ultimately, it exacted a nasty toll on my general health and stress level.

As an active forum participant, however, I will continue to be around to discuss L4D in general, and also provide guidance to other writers if they request it. Who knows, maybe another person can continue the Origins story from where it ends. If people enjoyed my story as a good read, or felt inspired by it or something, then I'm happy.


That said, I've just (as in just now) come up with a new idea (yes, it involves zombies, though not in the way you might expect) and may simply just take a break from writing for a week or two before picking up the pen (or laptop) again.

Oh. My. God.

This fanfic is definitely made of win. Best I've read. Heck, I created an account here just because of it (but then found I mysteriously already had one :O ). Sad to here it will be over in 2 chapters :/. If there were ever to be an L4D novel, I would want you writing it. Love how the zombies are changing/ there's a cure thing.

It's tuesday and I have had this site open all day, refreshing it every now and then, waiting for the next chapter.

And, after over two weeks of delay, here is the chapter "Z-HOUR", on time as promised.

Z-HOUR

Ultimately, fatigue got the better of the group. Bill was the first to fall asleep – even though he had been a deadly soldier, there was no denying his age. Louis also fell asleep, having no one to talk to: Bill was sleeping, Zoey was unconscious, and Jen looked to be on the verge of snapping again. With nothing to do, he too nodded off.

Only Jen was awake – she had been awake for over twenty four hours now. She was hungry and suffering from dehydration, but there was no time for her own needs. She fervently worked at the table in the kitchen with her portable lab equipment. Jen could feel her head pounding from exhaustion and stimulants that kept her awake. Twice, she jumped in surprise and pulled out her sidearm, looking for whatever was in the living room – only there was nothing, for she was now hallucinating. Her wrist was broken; it made work difficult. Meanwhile, the bite wounds in her shoulder were hurting like hell. Jen wanted to stop working and go to sleep, but she couldn’t afford to do so. Silent tears ran down her face. She couldn’t even do anything to alleviate the pain – already, she was on stimulants. Introducing opiates into her system would screw her up even more.

As her hands worked, Jen’s mind began to wander, conjuring up vivid images of her past. She was a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point – life there hadn’t been easy, given that she was a female in a predominantly male institution. Although discrimination was officially not allowed, she still found herself at odds with her male colleagues. Jen was one of the most physically fit cadets at West Point, doing better than many of the men. Yet at the same time, she could do so without steroids or other drugs – and she was damn sexy, not some muscular butch woman. Her grades were top notch. Really, she was the perfect cadet.

Maybe that was why many of her male colleagues despised her. A mere woman had no business being a military officer; that was a man’s role. Women were emotional and weak compared to men. Yet somehow, she still did better than all of them! The outrage! Plus, she had come from some backwater town in Montana that couldn’t be found on a map.

Jen Carlyle did her best to endure the consistent taunting and harassment. Sure, there were plenty of females at West Point she could talk to. But even they were slightly put off by her, for she was better than all of them. Most of the men at the Academy did respect her as a fellow cadet. That didn’t stop the comments or even the occasional grab of whatever part of her body was most easily accessible. A small minority could make life extremely difficult.

Yet she persevered and finally, commissioned as a medical officer. As a bonus she also went to flight school and learned to fly all types of Army helicopters. She was air assault qualified and surely, would have made a great officer.

Instead, she found herself fighting zombies. Jen blinked and stared at the table where the chemicals and Petri dishes sat. Finally, she decided just to take a short break – only a few minutes, to collect herself. Jen went to the bathroom to relieve herself – to her surprise, the water was still running. She washed her hands and was shocked to see that the water came away brown with grit and some blood. She looked at herself in the mirror and was even more shocked to see how gaunt and dirty she had become. No longer did she resemble the young, pretty, newly commissioned officer in her military portrait.

Jen went back to work and checked one of the Petri dishes in the microscope. She had taken cell samples from Zoey’s blood and mixed it with the new serum, even more finely tuned. This time, the process seemed to be working more efficiently – not only did it drive away the infection; it repaired the old cells as well. Perhaps she had finally hit success. Jen started up a machine and began to fabricate a useful dosage of it. As the machine worked, she looked over at Zoey.

“Hang in there, girl,” she said.

…

Bill and Louis awoke to the sound of something banging on the door, accompanied by familiar screeching mixed with gibberish. Jen had dozed off during the night, she too stirred, looking confused and scared.

“What the hell?” Bill said. He walked over to the door and reached for the knob. At the same time, the door splintered – standing on the threshold was a Smoker, oozing puffs of rancid gas. Its long tongue flopped about grotesquely. The Smoker screeched harshly and reached out towards Bill with long, rotting arms. Bill simply took a step back and discharged his sidearm into the Smoker’s head. It wheezed and let off a huge puff of smoke before dying.

This flurry of sudden activity had been quite noisy – indeed, the sounds still echoed slightly outside in the calm snow. In response, what sounded like hundreds of zombies began roaring. Bill could hear the sounds of hundreds coming their way.

“Oh shit,” he said. Bill turned around. “Pack it up, people, we’ve just worn our welcome.”

Jen began to frantically pack up her equipment, carelessly tossing it into a rucksack. She picked up her M16 and chambered a round.

“Good to go,” she said.

They exited the house as quietly as they could – Louis held Zoey in his arms, precluding him from properly firing any weapons. Zoey’s eyes were closed and her mouth hung open limply. Her skin was ice cold to the touch – the only indication that she was alive was her shallow breathing and weak pulse.

There was a splintering of wood, and multiple zombies busted through a fence. Bill fired immediately, taking controlled shots. Jen also helped – her M16 was much louder than Bill’s suppressed M4. The gunshots would attract the horde for miles around. During this time, Louis had shifted Zoey to hang limply over his shoulder – his Beretta PX4 was up and ready. The group continued to move as quickly as they could towards the helicopter, which was still parked in the town square. There were zombies walking around aimlessly – they seemed unperturbed by the aircraft.

As soon as the survivors walked in, however, there was a frenzy of movement and the zombies in the town square converged on the survivors. This time, Jen took off at a full sprint towards the helicopter. She jumped into the cockpit and started up the engine without any of the required preflight checks. Louis and Bill also entered the chopper, fighting off the zombies. They were so close now that the survivors were resorting to hand to hand combat to knock back zombies. Louis dropped Zoey unceremoniously on the floor of the helicopter and ran to the side mounted minigun.

“Die, motherfuckers!” he shouted, letting loose a long burst on the minigun. It sounded almost like a motor, only seemingly a hundred times louder. The bullets cut through the entire mass of zombies, leaving nothing more but bleeding flesh that steamed in the cold air.

“Hold them off a little longer!” Jen commanded. The rotor blades of the Blackhawk were spinning painfully slow. Bill wondered how long it would take – he was running out of ammo, and there were more zombies than he had bullets.

Finally, the Blackhawk shuddered and lifted slowly off the ground. A few zombies had managed to grab onto the wheels below the aircraft, but they quickly fell back to earth. For now, they were safe. But they wouldn’t be for long, Jen pointed out. The fuel gauge was close to empty. While they were out of the town, they were now in the middle of nowhere.

Inevitably, the Blackhawk began to protest and Jen was forced to land it. It was lucky then that there were spare fuel tanks which would extend the helicopters range another five hundred miles – however, they would have to land first. Jen gently brought the chopper down and exited the aircraft to reroute the fuel valves.

During this time, Zoey coughed and her eyes opened – her stare was just as terrifying as before. The irises still seemed to glow – and the yellow color had since turned to orange. However, through the glow, Bill could see that her eyes were focusing and indeed, taking in the world around her.

“Zoey?”

“Bill…” Her voice was weak and she tried to sit up.

“Don’t,” said Jen, gently pushing Zoey back into a supine position. “Try and relax.”

“I feel like shit,” said Zoey. “And my head is killing me.”

“Well…” said Jen. “It’s the virus. I mean, a few hours ago you were speaking with the approximate intelligence of a third grader. Right now, I’m not quite sure why you’re so coherent.”

“What’s happening to me?” asked Zoey. “Tell it to me straight. No bullshit.”

“The virus is more or less saturating your body,” said Jen. “It’s unable to change your genetic code, so you’re not turning.”

“Am I going to die?” Jen paused for a few seconds, seemingly reluctant to answer. This was not lost upon Zoey – already, she knew the answer.

“Yes,” said Jen. “I’m afraid so. Unless we can come up with a cure. And I’m working on that. I’m going to make you better.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” asked Zoey sadly. She coughed and spat out a gob of bloody phlegm.

“Don’t think that way,” said Jen.

“How long do I have now?”

“You should be dead by now, but you seem fine for the time being. Maybe it’s pure strength of will. Keep hanging in there, Zoey. I’m not going to let you die.”

“Thanks,” said Zoey quietly. She was suddenly feeling queasy, and not from illness. There was that sinking feeling in her chest as the realization that she could die any minute. She had never really had real brushes with death before the outbreak. During high school, a person she knew had committed suicide – surely, that affected people. Zoey herself hadn’t been too emotionally affected. That person hadn’t been a close friend, just a regular acquaintance. Then again, among girls, the word “friend” was often a complicated word. Girls would pretend to shower a fellow girl with friendship and affection, at least until that girl left the group. As soon as she was out of earshot, the rest of the girls would begin trash talking the other one. Maybe it was just high school, a period of truly losing innocence. Maybe it was just a part of growing up.

Zoey had considered all these things as she went to college. She would graduate, hopefully make it into medical school, and become a doctor. Zoey had always been somewhat of an idealist – people the world over needed medical care and a lot of times, were turned down because of money. She wasn’t motivated by profit or personal gain. Zoey wanted to help people out of a genuine desire to help people. Of course, as soon as she began college, the implications of money became clear. Everything cost money, lots of money, and with money came taxes.

Zoey knew that as a doctor her life would be busy. She began wondering about getting married and raising a family. Sometimes, Zoey would question the very validity of having children. They were noisy, dirty and stupid. Plus, she was somewhat unwilling to go through the pain of childbirth.

But Zoey had never thought about death. It was a long way away, she reasoned, and she had nothing to worry about. Zoey was in good health and even during college, maintained a regimen of healthy diet and regular exercise. She steered clear of drugs, at least most of the time. Zoey always looked left and right before crossing the street and though she did not have a car on campus, was a very safe driver, having had zero incidents since she got her license at age 16. The prospect of death was preposterous.

When the outbreak happened and several hundred people began dying all at once, the status quo changed considerably. Suddenly, she was on the defensive, fighting for her life. The survival instincts were there, but weakened after hundreds of generations of safety and comfort. She had no idea what to do and her hesitation nearly cost Zoey her life. Zoey had the presence of mind to grab a rifle – but she didn’t know how to operate it.

For nearly three weeks she had suffered, yet persevered. She was hungry a lot more often, but learned how to get by with less food. She no longer cared about how disgusting and unhygienic she felt, having not been able to take a real shower for days. Zoey still missed the days of the Internet and text messaging, but having gone without them for three weeks, she had more time to focus on critical things.

Yet now, she was the one dying. Zoey found this horrendously unfair. She did believe in God, at least, according to her religion. Her family was Catholic and for most of her life, she did go to church and do everything else required. But as soon as she went to college, she stopped going – it was easier to simply stay and sleep off the hangovers. She avoided parties, but still managed to find a steady stream of alcohol – she and her roommate would occasionally share a bottle of vodka and watch bad movies. It was illegal and immoral, yes, but it was damn fun.

So perhaps this was why God had decided, “Sorry, Zoey, you’re done.” But did it really have to be so drawn out and painful? Zoey wondered about this. Wouldn’t it have been easier for God to arrange a convenient and quick death, like an accidental case of friendly fire or perhaps have jugular artery bitten through by a Hunter? Unless, of course, this was God’s way of teaching her piety.

Goddamn it, thought Zoey. She smiled at the irony of her statement. Well, fuck you, God. I don’t need you.

By now, Jen had finished rerouting the auxiliary fuel tanks on the Blackhawk, thus extending their effective range by another 700 miles. Jen decided that the entire group should take the time to rest first. There was still plenty of food being stored in the chopper. It was chilly out, but Jen stated that they could close the doors of the helicopter and sleep inside of it. At the very least it would provide ample protection from the wind. Until then, they were free to do whatever they needed.

Zoey had managed to stand up and start walking – Jen quickly protested, but Zoey felt fine. Her pulse was perfectly normal and her blood vessels seemed to be fine. At the very least she didn’t explode into gouts of blood like the other zombie. She was still bleeding red as well, at least most of the time. Sometimes, the greenish yellow liquid would ooze out of the scrapes, cuts and bite marks she had sustained over time. But her eyes were still discolored and glowing.

“Bill?”

“Yeah, Zoey?” Bill was making a fire with pieces of dry brush he had found nearby.

“If I start to turn…”

“Then I’ll shoot you in the head without a second’s hesitation,” said Bill. “The same for Louis, or Jen. And I know you all would do the same for me.”

“Yeah,” said Zoey, sitting down next to Bill as the fire grew larger, bathing the area in warmth and light.

“Although I’d feel much better about myself if you could do it yourself,” said Bill. “I’ve killed a lot of people. In Nam I had a total of twenty three confirmed kills. That’s confirmed kills. No one records the times a platoon goes into a village to slaughter everyone. I’ve lost track of how many innocent people I had to kill.”

“What’s it like to kill someone? I mean, someone who’s not a zombie.”

“Well,” said Bill quietly. “As you’re killing the enemy, you feel nothing but recoil from your weapon. But…you never do get used to killing innocents. Truth is, I don’t know what I felt. That was too long ago. I just did what I was ordered to. But after the fact, you just want to die. Nothing can fix those scars. Pray that you never have to.”

“Fair enough,” said Zoey. “I just hope I can deal with it.”

“Rest assured, you will. You’re a tough kid,” said Bill. “You should rest though. You’re not turning yet.”

…

It had stopped snowing by the time morning rolled around, and there was only a thin layer of melting snow on the ground. It was still somewhat chilly outside, but nothing intolerable – then sun was high in the sky and there were no ominous looking clouds. The day seemed almost too perfect.

Jen was the first to awaken and she woke the others as well. Zoey seemed better now, though test results still said otherwise. They decided to continue heading south and within an hour, their Blackhawk was back in the air. Things seemed to be somewhat better now and for once in several days, Jen was smiling again. She taught Bill and Louis how to keep the Blackhawk steady, and then retreated to the rear cabin to take a quick nap. She slept for about an hour and was pleasantly surprised to find that the helicopter was still perfectly on course.

“So where are going to go?” asked Louis.

“Well,” said Bill. “First off, I’d be much happier being back in America. And if I die, I’d rather die defending my country rather than sneaking around in Canada.”

“Amen to that,” said Jen. “The border is close. We’ll touch down there and figure out what to do.”

“Should we try calling people, see if anyone is out there?” asked Bill.

“I’ll try that.” Jen flicked a switch in the cockpit and activated the radio. “Transmitting across all frequencies.” There was a brief pause as she adjusted the controls.

“Attention, if there is anyone out there listening, this is 1st Lieutenant Jen Carlyle with the United States Army. We are approaching the US-Canada border in a Blackhawk helicopter. Does anyone read?” Jen flipped a switch to put whatever incoming response there might be on the helicopter’s internal intercom.

“Unidentified aircraft approaching US-Canada border, you are in a no-fly zone. Turn back immediately or you will be fired upon.”

“What? With all due respect, who the hell are you?”

“That is irrelevant. Turn back now, or you will be shot down.” The voice was impassive and cold.

“We’re not carrying any infected, we’re immune,” said Jen, but as she said this, the others stole an uneasy glance at Zoey, who was looking thoroughly infected, even if she was still in her right mind.

“I repeat, turn back now. This is your last warning. Turn back now, or you will be destroyed.” As the voice said this, an alarm blared inside the helicopter – Jen saw on her pilot’s helmet mounted display that they were being locked on.

“This is ridiculous,” said Jen. “We’re Americans, please, let us in.”

“You had your chance,” said the voice. “Sorry we have to do this.” The alarm blared even more frantically as the smoke trail of a missile became visible.

“Oh, shit!” Jen immediately swerved the helicopter to the left – the others shouted in protest as they rolled around in the cabin. “Deploy flares!” The helmet mounted computer interpreted her voice command and as such, the helicopter launched a series of infrared flares. They were successful in leading the missile astray.

“Jesus, Jen, get us out of here!” shouted Louis.

Jen ignored him and lowered the helicopter towards the ground – so low, that they were barely above the treeline. She oriented the aircraft south and guided it forward. This time, they would enter the United States by force. No more missiles came out of the trees – but she could hear gunfire from below. Bullets pinged off the fuselage of the helicopter and even off the acrylic glass viewing ports beneath her legs.

“Fuck!” shouted Jen as brought the helicopter even lower. More gunfire opened up from guardhouses and makeshift bunkers on the ground. Another alarm blared in the cockpit as they were once again locked on by a missile. Luckily, they were able to go over a hill, putting them out of the missile launcher’s line of sight. The gunfire faded to nothing far behind them.

“Christ, why would they do that?” said Bill angrily.

“I don’t know. Must be America closing the borders completely,” said Jen. The intercom inside the helicopter crackled to life again.

“Attention, all units, we have a possible breach. There is at least one survivor claiming to be immune to the virus, flying low in a Blackhawk helicopter. Survivor is female, she identified herself as 1st Lieutenant Jen Carlyle before disappearing.”

“Goddamn it,” said Jen. “They’re onto us. Or me, at least.”

“Why are they so desperate?” asked Louis.

“We’re immune,” said Jen. “Meaning we’re carrying the virus, even if it’s not affecting us.” She brought the helicopter down in a forest clearing, and the group exited quickly. They would now have to move on foot. There was a single sentry in the area who had fallen asleep on the job. Jen crept up to the sleeping soldier and took his weapon away. Then, she roughly pressed down on his gas mask, waking the soldier up.

“Don’t move, don’t even make a sound,” said Jen, pointing a pistol in his face. “Give me your name tape. Switch it with me.”

“I can give you this one,” said the soldier, reaching up to his patrol cap and peeling off the nametape there. It was marked “SMITH.” Jen silently praised god for the ridiculously common name – with so many Smith’s surely in the area, she would have an easier time.

“You better get us some gas masks too,” said Jen. “Four of them. You say a word, and you die, understood?”

“All right then,” said the soldier, and he began walking through the forest – the others were behind him, staying well hidden. They watched as he went over to a parked Humvee, chatted briefly with the gunner and grabbed a crate. He walked back into the forest and set the crate down next to the four survivors. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, soldier,” said Jen. She put on a gas mask and so did the others. “Now, listen here. We’re immune, yes, but we’re not infected. And I’m working on a cure as we speak.” She held up a metal case that held her equipment. “As for you, you can go back to your patrol. You never saw us, understood?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” said the soldier, and he calmly went back to his guard post.

Satisfied, the four survivors began moving through the territory. Most of the soldiers were tired looking. Only a few even acknowledged the survivors’ presence, and fewer still bothered to make any conversation, which was usually a curt “ma’am” to Lieutenant Carlyle (now disguised as Lieutenant Smith) as she walked by. No one seemed to care about the civilians in Jen’s tow – there were regular people all over the place, working as volunteers (or possibly draftees).

Eventually, they came upon a hastily erected command tent. A single sentry sat outside on a box, looking thoroughly miserable under his gas mask. He acknowledged Jen as they approached.

“Good morning ma’am,” he said quickly, snapping to a salute.

“At ease, soldier.” The sentry relaxed for a second. “What’s happening here?”

“Didn’t you know? They’re sealing the borders, and then taking back the country by force.”

“By force?”

“Yes ma’am. They’re planning to clear out the cities, or bomb them if necessary. Survivors are being herded up as we speak and put into refugee camps. Meanwhile, they’re using the immune survivors as bait for the zombies to draw them out.”

“I’m sorry, did you say they’re using the immune as bait?”

“That’s correct, ma’am. I think it’s barbaric, but it does work. The guy in charge is Major General Sanders, but you won’t be able to see him right now, he’s busy planning the liberation, or rather destruction, of Newburg and Fairfield.” As the sentry spoke, Bill’s heart started pumping faster. The military was on its way to Fairfield – if they could just move with it, they could be back home soon.

“Well, I need to requisition a Blackhawk,” said Jen. “Who do I talk to for that?”

“Ah. Well, go to the airfield – it’s not just Blackhawks, though, we’ve got news choppers and hospital medevac choppers, mostly. The military ones are strictly for use in the cleaning procedures.”

“That’ll do fine. Who do I speak to?”

“That would be Captain Byers,” said the sentry. “The airfield is a mile that way. I’m sure he can spare one.”

“Thank you,” said Jen. “As you were.” The sentry sat back down on his box while Jen and the others went the other way towards the airfield. It took a while, but eventually, they found it. Just as the sentry described, there were helicopters and airplanes of all shapes and sizes, from state of the art jet fighters to news helicopters. There was even a vintage P-51 Mustang, probably taken from a collector.

“Damn, I’d like to have that,” said Bill, eyeing the Mustang fondly.

“That would be pretty kickass,” Louis concurred. Jen went over to the supply tent and found Captain Byers in there, sleeping.

“Sir?” Captain Byers yawned and awoke.

“What do you want?”

“I need to requisition a chopper,” said Jen. “Or a plane, doesn’t matter.”

“And what does this look like, a car rental agency?”

“Can I get one or not, sir?”

“Ditch the ‘sir.’ The Army died a while ago. You want a chopper? Well, I can give you a chopper. But technically, you’re not supposed to have one, you know what I’m saying?”

“So?”

“So, I’m going to let you have one anyway. I won’t say a thing to higher. Not a goddamn thing. I don’t give a shit why you want a chopper, or what you’re going to do with it. Just get the fuck out of here as fast as you can, because if you stick around, you’re screwed like the rest of us. If I were a pilot, I’d have ditched this fucking place.”

“You’re welcome to come with us,” offered Jen.

“Nah. At least we know this place is zombie free. Everywhere else? Fuck, I’ll take my chances here.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jen. “Which one do I get?”

“Anything but the military ones,” said Byers. “Unless you want the Mustang. Of course, it ain’t doing you no good if you have to drag a bunch of civvies around. Keys and stuff are all inside the aircraft. See you later, now let me sleep.” Byers put his legs back up on his desk and closed his eyes. Jen shook her head at the gross misconduct. She went to the airfield and picked out a sleek police chopper, a Bell 407. It was painted white and blue like a police car.

The group entered the helicopter and sat down in the passenger seats, except for Jen, who went into the cockpit. She found the controls remarkably simple compared to more complex military helicopters. Jen turned on the engine and watched as the four rotor blades began to spin. The fuel tank was full, but given that the Bell was a light civilian helicopter, they wouldn’t be able to get very far. Jen estimated they might make it to Newburg, but no further.

They flew for a little while longer – and, just as Jen had predicted, they reached the city of Newburg. A chill went down Bill’s spine as he looked down towards the city below. None of it looked familiar, but it had scarcely been a few days since he and the rest had picked their way through the congested streets. No zombies had attacked them – and the zombies that they did see simply stared. At the time, Newburg was comparatively peaceful.

That was no longer the case. Black plumes of smoke rose into the sky, dark columns of dread that reminded Bill of burning tire piles he had seen in Vietnam. He could see hundreds of tiny flashes, undoubtedly gunfire. Perhaps the military, or even just a well organized group of civilians was making a stand.

“Wow,” said Jen in awe. “That’s quite a sight. We’re going to have to touch down soon, we’re at bingo fuel.” She eased back on the throttle and let the helicopter descend closer to the ground. At this point, the combatants were clearly visible. There were soldiers, firing from Stryker vehicles and Humvees. Others were set up in sandbag shelters, mowing down hundreds of zombies with machine guns and grenade launchers.

There were zombies – regular ones, hunters, boomers, smokers and even a few tanks all ran around. From the air, the sheer size of the hordes was impressive. They didn’t resemble crowds, but a single, collective entity, like some freak mutant amoeba. And then there were the regular people caught in the crossfire, shooting at both sides. Bill was reminded of the pair of loutish brigands they had met at the Metro Airport sky bridge. He wondered if those types of survivors had banded together to survive and fight.

And inevitably, his mind shifted to Francis. For the past few days, he hadn’t really been able to give Francis much thought. But it was comparatively relaxing in the air, giving him time to think. It sure would have been nice if Francis were alive. Five survivors would be infinitely better than four.

“My god, this is the biggest cluster fuck I’ve ever seen,” said Jen, looking down at the soldiers, zombies and civilians engaging in their free-for-all. “This could get ugly.”

Right as she finished her statement, there was a sudden snapping noise – a spider web of cracks appeared on the polycarbonate cockpit window, surrounding a single small hole. Jen’s head snapped backwards – Bill feared the worst for a second, but quickly realized that Jen was only unconscious. Her Kevlar flight helmet had taken most of the impact, even if her visor was now shattered.

Though she was alive, it certainly didn’t help that the helicopter quickly went into a spin. Once again, they were crashing.

“Goddamn it,” said Bill angrily. “Hold on, we’re going down!” He leaned forward and made sure Jen was strapped down tightly as well. The ground came up to meet them.

Luckily, they had already been flying at low altitude. The impact was hard, but no more than a typical rear ending accident. The Bell’s skids simply collapsed so that the belly of the helicopter was perfectly flat on the road. Above the cabin, the rotor blades stopped turning.

“Let’s go,” said Bill, pushing Louis and Zoey out. Bill proceeded to grab onto Jen’s shoulders. She was already conscious and thoroughly enraged.

“Goddamn it, no one shoots me down, no one.” Jen saw a group of civilians coming their way. She saw the flashes from guns and felt the rounds whiz past. It was too late to grab her M16, so she drew her sidearm and began firing back as Bill led them through the streets.

“Let’s go!” he shouted, firing indiscriminately into a crowd of zombies. Among them was a Boomer – it waddled towards the group, belching and bubbling, only to be quickly dispatched by Zoey. She seemed a lot more alert now, even if she still looked deathly ill. As long as she was standing and fighting, that was all that Bill needed. Louis had two handguns out and was alternating shots between each one. Every shot he took made its mark – and since he was using a high caliber pistol, the zombies were quickly stopped.

As they continued to make their way south along the street, a new sound entered the fray of gunfire and zombie grunts. It was a whistling that grew in intensity before culminating in an explosion that detonated the second floor of an office building. More shells impacted – closer, this time. Quite likely there was a forward observer hidden somewhere, calling for accurate fire support.

“Mortars!” shouted Bill. With that, everyone began to run, if only to avoid the shells that were slowly approaching from behind. Of course, it would also mean that they were charging directly into a mass of zombies. They wondered which was preferable: to die fighting at the hands of zombies (which would likely be up to a minute of being rapidly torn to pieces), or to die passively and instantly under the mortars from what was seemingly their own side.

The line of zombies advanced, and on the opposite end, the mortars impacted closer and closer. The four survivors were literally being squeezed in a death sandwich.

“Over there!” shouted Jen, pointing to an alley towards the side. They ran into that alley, just as the shells landed on the screaming throng of zombies. Burnt flesh and bone flew everywhere – a bloody ribcage hit Louis in the back, knocking him flat off his feet. He hit the ground with a loud “Oomph!” Bill doubled back and helped him up – just in time, for more shells were falling into the alleyway.

Eventually they found themselves at the end of the alley. The shells stopped coming; the forward observer must have lost sight of them. There were no more zombies either, although they could still hear hundreds, even thousands of them, waging war with soldiers and civilians alike.

“Let’s go in here,” said Jen, pointing to a door. She kept her sidearm ready, and kicked down the door.

To their utter surprise, the inside of the building was already occupied. It was simply a small storage room, but it had been set as a makeshift command center. Four survivors were hunched over a table, looking at a map. Upon seeing the door open, they picked up their guns. Jen and the others forced their way inside, and they too had their weapons up.

“Drop your weapons!” she shouted. “Now!”

“Open – ” The leader of the group never finished his order, for Jen simply fired three shots in rapid succession, killing him. The others on her side also fired and within five seconds, the four in the storage closet were dead and riddled with bullets.

“Well shit,” said Louis as he pushed a bloody body aside. “Was that really necessary?”

“Better them than us,” said Jen. She picked up a rifle from one of the corpses on the ground – it was a Ruger Mini-14 ranch rifle. Not high tech, but it would last her until she could grab a military rifle.

There was a military radio sitting on the table, crackling with static. Occasionally, a voice would shout orders, but one message struck them with particular intensity.

“All units, this is Major General Sanders! We are pulling back, I repeat, we are pulling back. Retreat, and form a perimeter around the city. No one gets in or out. Hold the line – the Air Force is going to burn Newburg down. You have ten minutes to get the hell out!”

“Shit!” said Jen angrily. “They’re going to use Mark 77’s. The modern equivalent of napalm. We’ve got to get out.” She made for the door, followed by Louis and Zoey. Bill, however, did not move – he simply stood there, staring numbly into space. “Bill?”

Bill did not hear Jen. His mind was instantly sent back several decades to the jungles of Vietnam. His squad of Green Berets had often been in charge of calling in coordinates for napalm strikes – but more often than not, on civilian villages. He remembered the intense heat, even over a distance of a hundred yards from the target. The brightness of the flames was terrible – they would have to turn away from the target, or wear anti-flash glasses to confirm detonation.

But the worst part of it all was the screaming. Bill had to shut his eyes from the brightness of the flames, but he was still able to call into the radio, “target hit.” But no amount of shouting or plugging his ears could mute the horrible sounds of agonized screaming from the villages. Men, women, children, even animals were left to die by fire. Most were mercifully killed instantly, but there were always a few that survived the initial blast and would run out of their homes, on fire. Soon they wouldn’t even scream as the fire consumed the oxygen from their lungs. Once in a while, a survivor would make it even further from the camp – most of their skin would be burned off, revealing the bloody muscles and organs underneath. The only thing they could do was to fire a shot into the victim’s head, thus ending his or her misery.

“C’mon, Bill, we have to move.” Jen stepped forward and took his hand. Her touch seemed to awaken Bill.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Let’s move. How do we get out?”

“We can try escaping from the sewers,” said Jen. “We won’t last a second on the surface, and we sure as hell won’t be getting past their lines. The only thing we can do is to try and dig out from under them.”

“Yeah, ever see the movie The Great Escape?” said Louis. They were now frantically searching for a manhole.

“Yeah, well, haven’t you ever seen CHUD?” said Zoey.

“What?” asked Bill.

“CHUD. It’s an acronym for Cannibalistic Humanoid Underwater Demon or something like that.”

“Can’t say that I have,” said Bill.

“What about that one X-Files episode, the one with the Fluke Man?”

“Nope.”

“Never mind then,” said Zoey. “Let’s just go.” Eventually, they found a manhole – one by one, they descended into the cold, cavernous depths of the American sewer system. Luckily, it was not a sanitary system, but a storm drain – and given that there had not been much rain in the area, the tunnels were blessedly dry.

“Move fast,” said Jen, pulling out a military flashlight. “Before they seal off the tunnels as well.” With nothing but Jen’s compass to guide them, the group slowly trudged into the darkness. This time, Jen was counting the odds of their survival to be in the single digits. Louis was quiet, but that meant he was focused. No longer was he a simple officer worker: he was now a survivor and killer. Bill had always been a soldier, but right now, something about him seemed a little off. And Zoey…Jen quickly stole a glance back at Zoey. She seemed all right, even if her eyes were still glowing orange. A feeling of dread overtook Jen. Zoey should have died long ago…but she hadn’t. Was it possible that she could present a threat?

Jen slowly reached down for a sidearm and decocked it. Her M9 could be safely carried with the safety disengaged, so long as the weapon wasn’t cocked. In this double action mode, she only needed to pull the trigger. Jen prayed to God that she would never have to use it on Zoey.

…



In retrospect, I think I dragged on this chapter for a bit. It is possible that I may have to insert another chapter between this one and the last one. In theory I could get away with a single long chapter, but, just to screw with you guys, I'm going to write another chapter, titled "Clean Sweep." It will be sure to end on a better cliffhanger than this one.

Here's a brief synopsis for Clean Sweep:
Having escaped the destruction of Newburg, the survivors have a bit of time to recover before they head back to Fairfield. Meanwhile, Zoey continues to contemplate her impending death.


I will begin working on Clean Sweep right away - it is very possible that I could finish the chapter by tonight, since I have no more classes today and no more tests/essays for a while. Plus, I'm taking a bit of a break from Left 4 Dead, and vowing to spend less time playing Mass Effect, which is one of the best games ever made.

After Clean Sweep, the final chapter, Origin, will be written, and I'm damn well going to make it the best I've ever done. Wish me luck, readers.

Good luck . Make it epic, I know you will. The chapter rocks again.

Goddamn your back at it, I knew you wouldn't leave this to die. Excellent chapter my friend, your best so far IMO.

BTW-
you still wanna go ahead with the co-op project?