Thread: L4D: Origins (a fanfic by Lardcake212)

Must... have... more...... Must... have... clean sweep....

Heh

It's 3:22 AM, but that's all right, because it's spring break! And instead of going to Mexico, I'm at home, playing excessive amounts of PC games because I just built a nice powerful system - for once, I can run Crysis on high settings.

Normally I'd be sleeping right now, but that's not the case: in fact, I'm working on the chapter Clean Sweep right this minute. It actually differs from the other chapters a bit by cutting back on the action and focusing more on the characters. Yeah, yeah, boring, I know you want some gory zombie action, well, I promise you that the final chapter, Origins, will have plenty of that. This is just a way for me to mentally exercise a large amount of KFC I ate earlier today.

Never did I imagine that the pieces of chicken would be that large.

Anyway, I'll have Clean Sweep up within an hour or two, not that it really matters if no one is watching this thread.

See you soon.

Here is the penultimate chapter, Clean Sweep. Next up, Origins and the epilogue. Bear in mind I wrote this in the worst hours of the morning, as in between 3 and 7AM. So forgive me if it's not my best. But I do hope it really hits you hard as a good chapter, a prelude to what will hopefully be my best. Enjoy.


CLEAN SWEEP

Within a few minutes of entering the sewer system, the group heard the first of the Mark 77 incendiaries impact their targets. There was first a shock wave as the bomb exploded, and then a sound like a roaring dragon. The fire consumed all the oxygen in the area, and even in the sewers, they could feel their ears popping. Luckily, there were enough openings in which air could flow in – otherwise, they would have suffocated to death within minutes.

Navigating the tunnels was as simple as following the large pipe, which ran in a straight line for what seemed to be forever. The only sounds in the storm drain were echoing footsteps and rumbling from topside explosions. Surely, the military wasn’t only dropping incendiaries. Dust and dirt stuck to the ceiling would come down onto the survivors whenever a large explosion occurred above them. Occasionally, a few rocks would come down. Jen was warily watching the ceiling. With so much abuse topside, a collapse was very likely – and if one did occur, they would be doomed to die in the darkness. She wondered how horrid such a slow death would be, but then remembered she had a firearm and enough ammunition to put a bullet through her own head. That thought, morbid as it was, gave her sick comfort.

Several hours later, they heard a steady rumbling – but not from bombardment. Investigation revealed that they had reached the end of the storm drain, which joined with another. There was water flowing in this one – a steady river that ended in a waterfall that drained into another river.

They were standing on top of the artificial waterfall, looking down into the white foam where the other river began. Jen estimated the drop to be about a hundred feet – too much for an untrained person to survive. She had learned to fall properly into water, and was sure that Bill had as well. But Louis and Zoey could not possibly do it. They would have to climb down the rocky face next to the waterfall in order to get to ground level.

“This is fucking insane,” said Louis as he slowly climbed down.

“Well,” said Zoey from below him. “It’s like rock climbing. Haven’t you ever been rock climbing?”

“Once,” replied Louis. “With safety gear. With my nephew at an amusement park.”

“Well, that counts for something,” said Zoey. “I’ll catch you if you fall. These rocks are slippery.”

“Thanks, Zoey,” said Louis sarcastically. But he continued to descend and within a few minutes, all four of the survivors were safely on the ground on the riverbank. On either side of the river were beautiful deciduous forests – most still had their leaves, no longer green but yellow and red. A light breeze wafted through the trees, stirring up the brown, crunchy dead leaves on the ground. Somewhere nearby a fire was burning, but the scent of the smoke did not make them think of destruction. Instead, each was reminded of times past. Bill reminisced about hunting trips he would go on with a friend of his, also a Vietnam veteran. He, unlike Bill, had transitioned well into civilian life and became financially successful, buying a cabin in the wilderness. Their friendship never changed, even as times did. After a successful hunt they would go back to the cabin and sit at a campfire, playing guitar, singing songs and having a grand time.

Louis normally lived in an apartment in the urban areas of Fairfield, and thus, had little time to experience the outdoors. But every holiday season he would drive south to Ohio, where his family lived. Over the years, all of his extended family was able to move out of the ghettoes and into the suburbs. He was the youngest of three children, and by far, the most financially successful. His older siblings still did fairly well, however, and were able to raise families. This had always been a point that his mother pressed him on. His older siblings had gotten married and raised families, why hadn’t he? Although the nagging could be annoying, Louis loved his family dearly, and always looked forward to visiting them. Thanksgiving and Christmas were especially large affairs – the entire family would crowd into his older brother’s house and make up for lost time. In fact, he had been looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner just as the outbreak happened. In his mind, he knew that it was unlikely any of his family had survived – but for the whole time, he had shoved that thought out of his mind. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was better never to know.

Jen had seldom known an eastern United States autumn, having come from Montana. She had graduated as valedictorian from a class size of no more than a hundred. Autumn at West Point was something she had never seen before, but to her, it was beautiful. Sometimes, she would be given a pass to leave the campus and take a bus down to New York City with a few other cadets. Of course, this big city was a departure from the foliage around the academy’s campus, but then again, it was different from a small town, where there was nothing to do. Occasionally, though, Jen felt isolated in the big city, and even in the campus. The lights and sounds of the city were intriguing to her, but in the end, her heart always ached for home. She had not seen home since her commissioning and suddenly, missed it greatly. Jen had been conditioned to be tough, and not let emotions dictate her actions. But nonetheless, a few tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of home. Jen kept her eyes forward, making sure that no one noticed her crying.

Zoey’s favorite season had always been autumn. As a child she loved to jump in leaf piles her father would make from raking the lawn. Of course, this would disorganize the lawn, but her father didn’t mind. He would simply laugh and rake the leaves again, allowing Zoey to jump in and play. Often, this would last several hours. Her parents would sit on the front porch, reading books while Zoey and her brother played in the leaves. Afterwards, the parents would rake the lawn again so the process could be repeated. Life was easier as a child. All her life, she wanted to grow up, but by the time she had reached her late teens, it was easy to say that life was better as a child.

It was easier as a kid, when the only things that could be broken were toys, not hearts, when the only drug she ever took was cough medicine, when one could get good grades simply for good behavior. Of course, that didn’t mean that her years of living among environments like this multicolored forest were all bad. Zoey remembered good old times when, after school got out, she would walk through the forest with her friends to the local coffee shop. Of course, sometimes, she would abandon her friends in favor of whatever boy she was dating at the time. Inevitably, drama happened, as it normally does to girls. Zoey had never really thought it could happen to her, but it did, in thoroughly painful fashion. She had never been happier to get the hell out of high school.

Now, the only thing she wanted was to go back to the time before college, where even if her friends were stupid and annoying, they were still friends. Back then, there was no zombie outbreak, no getting drunk and having sex with random people. She never needed to hold a gun in self defense; she never had to deal with death on a daily basis. Zoey always knew that she would go to hell – liberal amounts of cursing when the time called for it, drinking on Sundays, premarital sexual activity, and of course, killing, if she included the zombie apocalypse. But how could hell possibly be worse than this?

And though she was walking and fully alert, Zoey was also on the brink of death. Sooner or later, the virus that had partially transformed her would claim her life completely. Zoey wondered what going to hell would be like, or if she even would go to hell. Maybe there was no hell after all. People always talked about seeing a light, and she had read stories about people and near death experiences. Now, Zoey wondered, would she see that light? What if she survived the disease, only to die by gunshot to the head, in a case of accidental fratricide or enemy gunfire? Surely, her brain would not be able to see anything in the instant that it was turned to mush by the bullet. How could she see the light? Zoey continued to ponder these questions – although they were concerning her inevitable death, they at least gave her something to focus on.

“Hold up,” said Jen. She was in a kneeling position, with her Ruger rifle up. Everyone snapped out of their memories and went into action, following suit. They each faced a different direction maintain 360 degree security. Evidently, Jen had seen something.

“Jen…what is it?” whispered Bill.

“Contact…twelve o’ clock. One hundred meters, I see six of them.”

“Zombies?”

“No. Civilians with guns, all military grade, including an AT-4. Let’s not let them find us.” She slowly went into a prone position, taking care to make sure her recon sized rucksack didn’t shuffle around. Everyone else followed her actions and slowly crept into nearby foliage. The six contacts were nonchalantly talking and walking towards the survivors. None of them had noticed anything so far…

Within seconds, the group of passing civilians was virtually on top of them. The four survivors held their breaths, not daring to move or make a sound. Zoey’s heart was beating rapidly, sending blood coursing at an incredible speed through her already weak system. She felt lightheaded and was on the verge of passing out. The periphery of her vision was blurry and darkening rapidly.

Finally, the six people were well clear of the four survivors. Zoey let her face hit the cool, damp dirt. She breathed deeply, ignoring the leaves tickling her face. What mattered was that she was alive.

“Let’s go,” said Louis, slowly pulling Zoey to her feet. Once again she nearly fainted from the head rush, but managed to keep her footing until her mind cleared. Before long they were back on the move.

Eventually, the sun went down beyond the horizon. It also began to rain furiously hard. Jen decided to call it quits for the day, and they stopped at a gas station alongside a road that led back to Fairfield. Jen estimated they were about fifteen or twenty miles out. One more day of traveling, and they would be back in the city. Once there, however, they had no idea what they would do.

“Do you think the military is ever going to get started with helping people?” asked Zoey. She was cuddled in a sleeping bag on the floor in the corner of the gas station store. Miraculously, there was still food in the store – she was eating a bag of Cheetos and drinking a canned Arizona ice tea. “Because so far, most of the military has been a bunch of shitheads to us. Not you, Jen, you’re fine.”

“No offense taken,” replied Jen. “Here’s the thing. We’re all immune – that means we can be infected with the virus, but not actually exhibit any symptoms. We just carry the virus. We could still transmit the virus to people, and thus, we’re dangerous to any survivors that were lucky enough to simply escape the infection.”

“Can we ever go back to society?”

“Unless we make a cure…no.” Jen opened up her recon rucksack and pulled out her armored container with the scientific supplies. “And that’s what I’m working on right now.”

Once again, Jen was engrossed in her scientific work. Bill and Louis used the brief lull in movement or combat to sleep. Zoey couldn’t sleep, however. She could only stare at the ceiling and think. Her mind was thinking about many things, but mostly, death. It occurred to her that when she finally died, there would be no one at her side.

But Bill and Louis and Jen…they’ll be there for you, she said to herself.

They’re not family, her mind replied. No matter what, they don’t care about you in the same way.

They’ve gone through so much with me though. Sure, they’re not family, but…they do care about me. And they’d die for me just as soon as I’d die for them.

Really? Do you really think that? How can you be sure that if you fall asleep right now, that they won’t give up on you and leave you to die?

They’re not like that. Shut up, they’re not like that.

Zoey shut herself away from her internal monologue, trying to forget it, but still, the questions nagged at her. Given her condition, she was becoming a burden to the team. Her thigh still ached from the shrapnel injury back in Fairfield. That simple injury had slowed them down considerably. Now, on the verge of simply dropping dead, she was even more so a liability. Jen was sacrificing a lot to help Zoey stay alive, with frequent doses of antiviral drugs. If Zoey was going to die anyway, why waste it on her?

Now Zoey felt even more alone as the thought dawned on her. Suddenly, she no longer wanted to live. If her staying alive was slowing everyone else down…maybe it would be better if she removed that problem. Zoey lay back down and wondered what was taking the virus so long. Perhaps the antiviral drugs were working, but already, they were running out. Still, it could take days for her to die. Zoey wondered whether it would be painful. Surely, a disease that caused bizarre physiological changes, pre and post mortem, would be excruciating to die from.

She lay awake for hours until Jen also called it a night and went to sleep. The rain was still falling outside, though not as hard as it had been earlier. Zoey stood up and picked up a pistol; it was a Beretta M9 stolen off of a dead soldier’s corpse. The sleep shape of the handgun felt comfortable in her hand, as if the weapon was dear to her heart. It was as if the weapon had become a brother to her. And in a way, it had: she had trusted her life to weapons for the last few weeks, and cared for them as if they were family. She thought for a second and decided it was only fair that she leave them a note telling them the reasons for her grave actions. There were legal notepads on sale as well as pens – people didn’t need those for survival, and thus, those were easily in stock. Zoey quietly sat down and wrote her note, taking care to avoid any mistakes. Though she was suicidal, she was still a stickler for spelling and punctuation.

Dear Bill, Louis and Jen,

By the time you read this, I’ll be dead. If all goes as I plan it, you’ll have woken up and noticed that I was gone before finding my note. Once you read it, I’m sure you’ll go looking for me. I can’t stop whatever you’ll do, but please, read this note in its entirety and understand.

I knew full well what I had gotten myself into when the outbreak started. At first I couldn’t believe it, but when I saw people dying all over the place…well, it all came true for me. There hasn’t been a day since all hell broke loose at Fairfield College where I feel guilty about being the sole survivor.

On the day it happened, I managed to escape to my dorm room. But later my roommate came knocking, asking to be let in – and she was immune, she said so. But I couldn’t do it, and I just stood there, listening to her scream as she died. I can’t get those screams out of my head. I’m unable to move on from her pleas that I should have answered. Because of my inaction, I allowed my roommate and friend to die needlessly.

I lived like an animal for what seemed like forever, at least until I met you, Bill. You did almost shoot me on accident, but that’s in the past now. I remember how we stormed a supermarket together and ate chili in my room, I remember how we met Louis and Francis after they went to steal beer. I guess I should say that I was glad to have met you.

I feel bad that Francis didn’t make it, and guilty because I feel it was my fault. I understand that Francis tried to save me, but I honestly wish he didn’t. My family died during the outbreak, and I wish I could have joined them that day. The day I saw their dead bodies in the tent, I wanted to die, again. In fact, I just collapsed.

Jen, thanks for trying to cure me and make me better. But I’ve seen that it’s taken a serious toll on you, and I don’t like seeing you suffer on my behalf. I’m sorry if it seems like I just wasted your efforts, but please understand that I couldn’t stand seeing you sacrifice so much just for me.

Even now, I’m just a burden on all of you. I’m sick and because of that, I move slower and can’t fight as well. You end up having to compromise combat power just to keep me moving with the group. Therefore I want to remove that burden. It pains me to think about how sad you are all going to be, but ultimately, it’s for the best.

Please don’t think any of this was your fault. Maybe it’s no one’s fault to begin with, but either way, I just can’t live with this anymore. I know it seems like the cowards way out, the permanent solution to a temporary problem. But I don’t know how much longer I can continue. I can’t deal with any more pain or suffering, and even less so of watching others go through it on my behalf. You all deserve better than me.

I want you to know that there are no other people in the world that I would rather have by my side in this zombie apocalypse. You have all been so kind to me and I truly am grateful. Maybe, if things had been a little easier on the group, I’d still be around. Then again, maybe Francis would be too. I think you’ve all suffered enough. I understand that you’ll suffer just as much when you find that I’m dead, but I hope you can move on and continue the fight.



I love you all, and please don’t forget me,

Zoey Elizabeth Higgins

PS: I will walk about three hundred meters into the forest, north across the street, and find a clearing. If you need to find my body, that’s where I’ll be.

She signed the note and placed it on her sleeping bag where it was clearly visible. Zoey then stepped out of the gas station into the light rain. It was cold and wet, even if the rain was light. She shivered involuntarily and walked a bit further. It was dark out, but by now, her eyes were adjusted. Zoey stood still for a second, contemplating what she was about to do. A wave of sadness washed over her as she turned around, looking back towards the gas station.

I can’t go on anymore, she thought numbly. If I’m going to die…I’d rather just die quickly, and now. They shouldn’t have to be slowed down on my behalf.

Zoey tried to open the chamber of the M9, but the slide was slippery from the water, and her hands were shaking violently: not from the cold, but from despair. After several attempts, she managed to pull back the slide. The handgun was definitely loaded. There were fifteen rounds in the magazine and one of them was now loaded into the chamber. She would only need one.

Zoey wondered again whether or not she would make it into heaven, especially since suicide was a sin. On the other hand, it was the easy way out of hell. Perhaps, ultimately, there was no god, no heaven or hell. The only things real were herself, others, and the world. Death was eternal and blissfully blank. Zoey looked down at the pistol she held. All she needed to do was place the muzzle of the M9 to her temple, or chin, or even towards the back of her throat. Either way, it would take a quick squeeze of the trigger and then it would be over. No pain, and she probably wouldn’t even realize it anyway.

On the other hand, taking one’s life is not supposed to be easy, and that accounted for the hesitation. Zoey simply stared at the gun, but couldn’t compel herself to move her arm. A few silent tears ran down her face, mixing with the rainwater. Her family was dead; it wasn’t like they would be sad if she killed herself. If anything, she’d be joining them, wherever they were.

But what about Bill and the others? The moment she fired, she would (hopefully) be dead – the others would wake up instantly and rush outside, only to find her dead body on the ground with a smoking gun clutched in her still warm hand. She could almost imagine their reactions – Louis would probably have an emotional breakdown. Bill and Jen, on the other hand, would quietly mourn in private. They would pick up her body and carry it inside, cover it with a sheet, and then in the morning, proceed with a quick burial and a few words. And from there, they would move on. Zoey’s body would simply decompose and if society were ever to rebuild, she would simply be forgotten with time. Too many deaths had happened for any accurate records to be kept.

Truly, it wasn’t worth living for anymore. Zoey had sat for nearly an hour outside in the rain, and the sun was beginning to come up. She could see the faint glow on the horizon. Surely, a beautiful sunrise, marred only by the gray clouds and rain. Perhaps there would be a rainbow to see later on. It didn’t matter. Zoey had had enough of everything, and was sick of life, sick of zombies, guns, and everyone else. She continued to cry, but no sound escaped from her throat. Zoey finally stood up and began walking. She crossed the road first, and headed on into the forest. Zoey was counting her paces – her walking pace count for a hundred meters was sixty three when measured military style, where she would count one for every time her left foot hit the ground.

Three hundred meters in, there was a clearing – just as her note had stated, she would be here. Or rather, her body would be. Zoey was facing north – she looked towards the sunrise and realized that she was looking to her left, which was west. The glow on the horizon was not a sunrise after all…perhaps it was the burning remains of Newburg. Firebombing was the ultimate way to clean and sweep up the mess. The intense heat would destroy all organic matter, zombie or not.

That didn’t matter anymore. She would now just become another unwritten statistic. Zoey finally broke down crying, and this time, a whimper escaped her throat. It finally turned into a drawn out wail of despair. The rain mixed with her tears and flowed down her cheeks. Finally, she stopped, but felt no better. She had the M9 pressed against her temple now, where the bullet would travel through and obliterate her brain, killing her instantly. She also figured it would leave her face reasonably intact.

Zoey closed her eyes and tried to imagine the faces of her family, surely waiting for her from beyond. The thought gave her some comfort as she tensed her trigger finger.

“Goodbye everyone,” she whispered.

The gunshot rang loud and clear in the forest, sending birds fleeing in panic. But the sound did not travel very far. Back at the gas station, the sleeping occupants would have heard nothing. As the sounds of panicked animals died down in the forest, an eerie peace overtook the land, disturbed only by the sounds of rain and the distant glow of the burning metropolis of Newburg. To the south, if one looked carefully, the first of a few skyscrapers was just barely visible - as of yet, untouched by the fires of war.

Fairfield - the origin.

…


Next up, the final chapter: Origins. Plus an epilogue.

Synopsis: The survivors have made it back to Fairfield - and in this final battle, they must stand alone together. The future of many rests on the shoulders of a few...

Woah, the best chapter yet. I know I sound like a fag but to be honest I almost cried*cue the violin music*. You fooled me again buddy, I didn't think she would do it. I can't wait for the last chapter. It's a shame this is coming to an end, origins is like that movie you never want to see end.

YouTube - Beastie Boys - Ch-Check It Out

I don't mean to rush you but you have any idea as to when the next installment will be up?

Hello everyone,

Well, as you may have noticed, I did not get the chapter up in time, even with the extra hour I asked for. The reason is this: I wanted to make this chapter the best I have written. I don't know if it counts for that, since it's 3:30 in the morning and I'm tired as hell. But I'll leave you to decide.

Here it is: the final chapter, and the epilogue, of L4D: Origins. Whether or not it's the best chapter, whether or not it makes you cry or say "This sucks!", please read it and comment it, and if you don't have an account, get one and comment and then become an active member of the forums, because it's a lot more fun than homework.


ORIGINS

Louis woke up with a full bladder. He yawned, holstered his pistol and went to the door of the gas station. To his dismay, it was still raining outside. The nerve of Mother Nature! He stepped outside and suddenly stopped. Louis chuckled as he realized his stupidity. There was a bathroom in the gas station – he had already gotten so used to peeing outside that it was his default method of relieving himself. He sighed and went back to the bathroom. The toilet was still full of water, but the flush handle wasn’t working. He hated leaving the urine there, but then again, there was some adage he had heard about water conservation: if it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down. It was quite a disgusting thing to do, he thought.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was just past seven o’ clock. Bright and early. Louis went back into the convenience store area of the gas station. Bill was fast asleep on a plastic lawn chair, with a towel draped over him, while Jen lay curled up in a corner with a field jacket over her body. Her face seemed much more peaceful now; perhaps she was just better rested.

But where was Zoey? The group had left the sleeping bag for Zoey, but currently, it was empty. Had she gone to the bathroom? He wondered if Zoey had woken up right after he had. Perhaps she had been waiting outside the bathroom door as Louis went, but after some time, she gave in to her urges and went outside in the bushes. Louis saw a notepad sticking out of the sleeping bag where Zoey’s head normally would have been. Curious, he stepped over to it and picked it up.

He saw a letter, written with blue ballpoint pen in an elegant, feminine script. Louis’ eyes ran back and forth over the words – as the seconds passed, his expression turned into one of shock.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered hoarsely. “Guys, wake up!”

Bill grunted and throw the towel off of himself, then grabbed his pistol.

“Where’s the zombie?”

“It’s not zombies,” said Louis. He passed the notepad to Bill. “Look at this.” By now, Jen had woken up as well. She yawned and stood up.

“What’s happening?” But she received no response, for Bill was reading the note, shocked to silence. “Bill?”

“She…couldn’t have…no…” Bill weakly held out the notepad for Jen. She snatched it and read it as fast as she could. At first, her expression remained impassive. It seemed she had not understood it the first time around. On a second read through, Jen’s eyes welled with tears. She angrily threw the notepad into an empty shelf.

“Goddamn it!” she screamed. “I was so close to saving her, I just needed a little more fucking time!” She slammed a fist into the shelf, knocking it over with a clang.

“Jen! Hold it together!”

“She might still be out there,” Jen said frantically. “Maybe she hasn’t done it yet. We have to try and find her, I can talk her down, she might have a chance, just give me a goddamn chance!”

Jen grabbed her Ruger rifle from off the table and stormed out into the rain, which was getting stronger once again. Bill and Louis grabbed their own weapons and followed her. Although Jen was in emotional distress, she was still able to count her paces. Jen’s running pace count was thirty nine paces. Bill could hear her saying the numbers out loud. The trees around were thick and they obscured what little light there was. Bill and Louis had mounted flashlights on their M4’s to make navigation easier. One wrong step and someone could trip on a root, breaking their ankle and becoming easy prey for the infected.

“Zoey!” Jen called as she stopped running. “Zoey, can you hear me? Please, answer me!”

“Zoey!” Bill called as well. “C’mon, kid, come back inside and we’ll make things better, I promise!”

“Zoey! Where you at!” Louis was surprisingly stable. In a way, it was disturbing, but it was also a blessing. An emotionally traumatized member of the team was bad news.

“Spread out, find her!” Jen ordered. She reached into one of her uniform’s pant pockets, producing a small flashlight. By now, their eyes were getting used to the darkness, but any light was better than no light. The rain continued to fall with relentless fury, obscuring background noise and reducing visibility.

Bill calmed his nerves and proceeded to look around for signs. In Special Forces training he had learned to stalk and track prey. Even the most meticulous jungle patrol left telltale signs. Broken twigs on the ground, bent grass, even lingering odors like sweat. If one stopped to look and listen, the path an enemy took was as easy to see as fire.

Zoey had obviously not been adept at covering her tracks. Bill immediately saw the faint impressions in the mud that closely resembled the soles of Zoey’s Converse shoes. He followed the trail a little farther and saw the broken branches of a dead tree – Zoey must have not seen them clearly and walked right into them. Further he went, following the trail, until finally, he reached a clearing. Jen and Louis followed him, having noticed Bill and his tracking abilities. They silently raised their flashlights towards the clearing.

In the middle of the clearing was Zoey’s body, on her side and completely still. Her hand was loosely clutched around the handle of an M9 pistol.

“Zoey!” Jen sprinted forward and quickly tripped on a tree root. Luckily, she escaped injury. She ignored the fall and kept on going. Her ACU uniform was stained with mud. Jen trained the flashlight on Zoey’s head, but as she did this, she recoiled in surprise.

There was no visible wound or even blood. Jen rapidly ran her fingers through Zoey’s hair, but found nothing. There was a spent bullet casing half buried in the mud, and on the right side of Zoey’s head, a small powder burn. Bill and Louis caught up to Jen.

“Is she…”

“No,” said Jen. She cradled Zoey’s body in her arms and felt for a pulse – it was there and going strong. “She’s all right.”

Jen felt Zoey’s body shudder violently. Zoey opened her eyes, dropped the gun and coughed and sputtered. She took gasping breaths and fell out of Jen’s arms towards the ground. They could hear her sobbing.

“I’m sorry!” she said, but her voice was barely above a pained whisper. “I’m sorry, I won’t kill myself, I don’t want to die yet, please forgive me!”

“It’s all right, Zoey,” said Bill; he too had tears in his eyes as he and the others fell into clump around her. “You’re safe now.”

“Don’t pull that shit again!” said Louis. “Ever!” The rain continued to pour around them and a flash of lightning accompanied by rolling thunder accompanied it.

“Let’s get you back inside,” said Jen quietly. “Up you get, let’s go.”

Zoey was unable to stop crying for the entire way back, but she did not resist as they guided her to the gas station. Jen took Zoey to a back room and gave her an extra ACU uniform hijacked from a supply truck. It was slightly too big for her and she looked quite ridiculous, but what mattered was that she was warm and dry. Zoey was now huddled in a corner, sipping hot chocolate that Bill and Louis had made. Her eyes were still puffy and red from crying, but at least she was done.

“I’m putting you through even more trouble right now,” she said.

“Shut up, Zoey. Don’t talk that way, because it’s not true. We’re a team, and we never leave anyone behind. We need to know, what were you thinking?”

“I…” Zoey closed her mouth, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“You weren’t,” Jen interrupted. “All this time, and that’s all we get from you? What if you hadn’t pulled the gun away at the last second? What are we supposed to do?”

“All right, I understand, I get the point!” Zoey said shrilly. “I promise I won’t try anything like that again!”

“We’re not mad at you, Zoey,” said Louis. “But we really do care about you. Whatever happens, we’re all in this together, you hear?”

“Yeah,” said Zoey. She picked up an M4 and went through the motions of loading it. Finally, she released the bolt and slung the weapon over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

It was midmorning by the time the survivors set out from the gas station. Jen managed to commandeer an abandoned Stryker vehicle, and now, they were covering huge distances in only a fraction of the time. The rain had finally stopped and the only thing blocking out the sun now was a layer of gray smog produced from the fires that burned all over the countryside. In the distance, they could just barely make out the details of Newburg. Before then, they would come upon the empty husks of more abandoned vehicles, plane wrecks and small towns.

First was the small town of Riverside, from where Zoey had come from. She stayed quiet throughout the entire trip, even as they drove past her house, which was now pockmarked with bullet holes. So was every house on the street, for that matter. Riverside had since become a battleground, survivors versus zombie, zombie versus military, military versus survivor. A few of the infected were roaming the streets, but in the daylight, they were remarkably docile and proved to be easy pickings.

No military personnel were in the area – however, gun battles were still raging between groups of undisciplined survivors. The survivors largely ignored the Stryker that roared down the streets, and only a few stray bullets hit the APC. They simply bounced off the armored hull. Still, driving the Stryker was a challenge. Although it could attain speeds of up to sixty two miles per hour, it was certainly not a tank, having eight large tires instead of treads. Surmounting obstacles was nowhere near as easy as it would be with an Abrams tank.

Any zombies in the road proved to be no match for a sixteen ton armored vehicle. They would either be knocked aside, or squashed beneath the tires without so much as even throwing the vehicle off course. This did not stop the relentless waves that continued to assault the vehicle, even going as far as to climb on top of it.

There was a fifty caliber heavy machine gun mounted on the top of the Stryker, which would be remotely operated from within the safety of the vehicle by a system called CROWS or Common Remotely Operated Weapon System. Using a video display and joystick, a vehicle crew could conduct patrols and acquire targets just as efficiently as they had always been doing – only this time, it was safer. Jen transferred control of the Stryker to Bill after giving him a ten second crash course in how to operate it. She shifted her focus to the CROWS and proceeded to fire the weapon. Her sigh of relief was audible as the gun fired, ripping apart any approaching zombies. A Tank approached from the front, but even it was no match for the furious force of the heavy anti material bullets.

Finally, they escaped the hellhole of Riverside. A few zombies still roamed on the main road connecting Riverside to Fairfield, but ultimately, they presented little challenge. It was a quiet drive back that eventually had to be cut short when the fuel ran out. They were now three miles out of Fairfield.

“Well,” said Jen. “At least we made good time getting here, right?”

“I’ll say,” said Bill. “Never thought I’d be glad to come back.”

“And why’s that?” asked Jen.

“I’d rather die here than anywhere else. This is home to me,” said Bill. A roar grew on the horizon and from over the tree line; two A-10’s appeared. Although ungainly and slow, the A-10 Thunderbolt II attack aircraft packed a large amount of firepower – especially its main weapon, a seven barreled cannon that fired incendiaries the size of beer bottles at a rate of 3,900 rounds per minute, roughly 65 rounds per second. It was designed for use against armored targets like tanks and pillboxes.

However, it proved to be quite useful against zombies as well – the lead A-10 fired a quick burst from its main cannon at a throbbing mob of them in the distance. The zombies were quickly reduced to red mist and assorted body parts. The explosive shells kicked up clouds of dust twenty feet high into the air.

“Jee…zus!” Zoey said in awe. “I should have applied to the Air Force Academy!”

“Oh, flying planes is fun and all, but if you wanted to be a pilot, West Point would have been the place to go,” said Jen. “Go Army.”

“The Army doesn’t fly those though.”

“No,” Jen admitted. “But they do fly those.” She pointed further in the distance where a pair of Apache helicopters was wreaking havoc on another group of zombies. The group watched as the two helicopters circled around the crowd, firing rockets and chain gun bullets.

“Still…” They continued to walk until finally, they found themselves within the city limits. Even after three weeks of zombie infestation, the differences between rich and poor were clearly visible. On the outskirts of the city were the remnants of a shantytown that Fairfield’s poor had once lived in. Now only bodies and burned out shacks remained. Among the destruction, a few zombies milled about – mostly the homeless. Without money or health insurance, they had to fend for themselves out here in the shantytowns instead of receiving medical care.

Yet ultimately, the virus did not differentiate between rich or poor, young or old. Any victim was equally susceptible. If he or she didn’t simply die, then being a zombie was a perfectly viable alternative. Once the symptoms manifested, the victim was doomed.

The city was mostly quiet, but once in a while, the survivors would hear gunfire – the chattering of automatic rifles punctuated by the distinct crack of larger caliber sniper weapons. They could hear screams in the distance – possibly human, but just as likely zombies. At a certain point, the line between survivor and zombie began to blur, when even previously law abiding citizens lost their sanity and resorted to their basest savage behavior.

Bill heard a snarling to his left – he raised his suppressed M4 and saw one of the infected running full sprint towards him. He calmly aimed the holographic weapon sight and fired once. The zombie flailed as it hit the ground – but more surprisingly, its blood was bright red.

“Wait a minute…” He slowly approached the writhing zombie and to his horror, saw that its eyes were not cloudy and gray, but clear and blue like a normal human being. The zombie was bleeding furiously like a normal human being, yet its behavior was certainly nowhere near human.

“My god…he’s…normal,” said Zoey. “He was pretending.”

“Not pretending,” said Louis. “This guy just went nuts and thinks he’s one of them.”

Clearly, the dying zombie/human was not going to last long. Jen stepped forward with her sidearm and fired a single shot into his head. It stopped squirming immediately.

“Keep going,” she said in a monotone.

As they approached the heart of the city, the fighting grew more chaotic. This time, any survivors hiding within the city were more heavily armed. There were even a few trucks that had been haphazardly converted to fighting vehicles with the use of welders and rivets. With the burned out husks of buildings, bodies and bullet casings, Fairfield was now the image of complete societal degeneration.

From a concealed vantage point on a roof, someone appeared with a rocket launcher.

“Get down!” Jen shouted, diving forward away from the glass window of a looted electronics store. As she said this, a rifle shot rang out, killing the man with the launcher on the roof. Nonetheless he still managed to get a shot off. The projectile whizzed past the group, narrowly missing Louis’ body, and crashed through the glass display window. A split second later there was an explosion that sent shards of glass flying outward. The force of the explosion threw the four of them several feet through the air. Bill struggled to his feet and winced as he pulled pieces of glass from his back.

“Fuck this,” he snarled. Bill raised his rifle and began shooting at nothing in particular. The others joined him in the middle of the street.

“Bill, we’ve got to go!” shouted Zoey, grabbing his jacket. Bill nodded and followed the group as they charged through the gunfire. He could hear bullets whizzing around – surely, someone had seen them and was now firing.

“Over there, take those guys out!” shouted a frantic female voice from within a shop. Jen turned around and saw a woman wearing a gas mask pointing in their direction. A second later, a pair of men with a mounted machine gun opened fire. The storm of bullets flew their direction – Louis yelped in pain and indignation as a bullet grazed his ribcage. He hit the floor and scrambled to cover behind a stone pillar.

“Fuck!” he roared angrily. “Goddamn, this hurts!” Louis grabbed a gauze pad from inside his pocket and stuffed it into the wound, which was relatively minor.

“Stay low and keep moving away from them,” said Bill. He went prone and began to crawl – the others followed him. It was a nerve wracking experience as bullets tore the wall next to them to pieces. Eventually, they navigated their way out of the kill zone.

They were now in the heart of the city, right next to Fairfield College. Most of the school had been leveled now, but surprisingly, Zoey’s dorm building still stood relatively unscathed. It was a perfect shelter to hide from the battle outside. It was also chock full of zombies.

Jen had learned basic infantry skills at the Academy, but as a medical officer, her job was to save lives, not take them. Thus, the process of clearing darkened rooms of zombies proved to be terrifying. One wrong move and she would be pinned down by one of them. Even worse, there were Hunters and Smokers and even a Boomer all lurking in the building.

They cleared out the second floor and proceeded to lock themselves back inside Zoey’s dorm room, which had remained largely unchanged since last they saw it. There was even the cardboard beer case that Francis and Louis had stolen before. Three of the four survivors felt a pang of sadness as they saw it. Jen did not, having never known Francis, and she proceeded to lock the door.

“All right,” she said. “We’ve got zombies in the buildings, and open combat in the streets.” Jen quickly stole a glance out of the window – on the horizon she saw helicopters and the dust trails of armored vehicles. “Plus, it looks like the military is about to, uh, clean this place. This’ll be fun.” Jen unpacked her medical equipment.

“What are you doing?” asked Louis.

“I’m going to make this cure if it’s the last thing I do,” she said. “You guys go do whatever you want. This building stays ours. No one gets in.”

“How long do you need?” asked Bill.

“I think half an hour should do it. I’m just about there.” Jen reached into her rucksack and pulled out four military radio headsets. She gave one to each of the other survivors before putting one on her own head.

“Jen, is that rucksack of yours magic or something?” asked Louis jokingly.

“No, I just stole them from the Stryker. I’m on channel three.”

“Will do,” said Louis. He put the radio on his own head. “Hey, this is just like the headsets we used to use at work for conference calls!”

“Back in Nam we didn’t use these headsets. We communicated the old fashioned way. With hand radios.”

“Hand radios? And I thought you were going to say messenger pigeon or something,” Zoey quipped. Everyone in the room laughed heartily.

“I’m not that old,” said Bill, but he too found it funny. “Jen, we’ll leave you to work in peace. We’ll be down the hall if you need us.”

“Then hurry up!” said Jen irritably. The three of them rapidly filed out of the room and took a position at the top of the stairs, ready to blast anything that attempted to come up that way. The sounds of battle still raged outside, but among the gunfire, a new sound entered the mix.

Bill frowned and looked outside a window. There were artillery shells and rockets falling all over the place, perfectly synchronized so as to fall in a straight line, wreaking linear lines of havoc on human and zombie alike. Helicopters and jets flew overhead, destroying anything that moved. Bill saw to his horror that the shells were impacting closer and closer to the campus. Soon, the destruction would be upon them.

“Uh…Jen?” he said into his radio.

“What now?” she replied angrily.

“We have to go. Now.”

“Just give me a fucking minute!”

“We don’t have a minute,” said Bill. He was already running back to Jen’s location, where she was frantically writing down numbers and calculations while observing a vial of clear fluid. “Come on, the Army’s shelling the place, let’s go!”

Jen finally conceded and grabbed her equipment. Since she had no time to pack, she had to leave her weapon behind. They raced down the stairs and exited the building – the rockets and shells were falling closer now. Suddenly, they were running, as fast they possibly could. Every time the shells hit, a massive crater would be formed. No one survived the blasts. Buildings collapsed like toys and both human and zombie alike were thrown carelessly into the sky.

There was little hope of outrunning the shells. Somewhere, miles away, artillery units were alternating fires so as to keep up a consistent rate of destruction. Still, the survivors ran, sprinted, like terrified animals. They could feel the heat of fire on their backs. There was nowhere to run anymore.

A rocket impacted dangerously close to the survivors – they were thrown to the ground, dizzy from the concussion wave. Jen closed her eyes, waiting for the end. Yet the shells never came – miraculously, the artillery crews had stopped in the distance. Of course, that could only mean one thing: ground units were moving into the city. And indeed, they could hear gunfire being exchanged between the military and survivors.

“They’re wiping this place out,” said Bill.

“Well, it’s not helping me any. I can make this cure, I really can. Just…keep them off my back.”

“How do we get it to them?”

“I’ll give it to them myself,” said Jen. “Once I’ve created this cure. Now let’s go.”

They maneuvered their way through broken buildings and rubble, in the opposite direction of the battles. But while the military was advancing from one side, the infected were also advancing – from the other side. Once again, they found themselves squeezed between two opposing sides.

“Into that church!” said Zoey, pointing to a dilapidated building. The only evidence it was a church was the cross that jutted from the cracked roof. Just as they entered, the infected descended upon them. Suddenly they were shooting at every rotten zombie that entered the church. There were hundreds of them – too many for the survivors to take on. Just as quickly as they had entered, they evacuated.

“Listen,” said Jen. “We’re never going to get a spare moment. I hate to ask you this, but it’s necessary.”

“What is it?” asked Bill.

“I need a few minutes of undisturbed time. I’m going to take shelter in a building so I can get this working. But I need someone to hold them off. We’re going to have to separate so we’ll make harder targets.”

“Millions of zombies? Just our rifles and whatever we can scavenge? The military closing in on the other side? Jen, I’d thought you never ask. Go find somewhere safe, we’ll cover you. Keep your radio on,” said Bill. He smiled sadistically and chambered a round into his rifle.

“Well, better to die fighting, right?” Zoey agreed.

“Fuck yeah!” Louis exclaimed. “No worries, Jen. We’ll see each other soon and we can all go home. Or go to whatever’s left of it, ha!”

Jen burst into tears and flung her arms around Louis. She also proceeded to grab the others.

“Don’t let me down,” she said.

“We won’t, we promise. Now go!” Jen nodded, grabbed her equipment and ran into a building, locking the door behind her. The others spread out, making sure to keep radio contact.

Bill climbed a fire escape ladder and quickly ascended with the agility of a cat. He reached the top and looked around. Indeed, infantrymen were locked in brutal combat with zombies and survivors some distance away. On the other side, the crowd of infected stretched for what seemed to be miles. It was lucky, then, that he had climbed to the top of an apartment where an ammo cache had been made. Bill lay prone on the roof and readied his rifle.

Louis, on a far end of the street, had slung his M4 over his shoulder and picked up an M240B machine gun. It was heavy, but the firepower was enormous. Next to him, there was plenty of ammunition. He had never fired the 240B, but after quickly studying the weapon, he was able to figure it out. He dragged the weapon and ammunition into a shop window and set up there.

Zoey ran to an abandoned truck with a large cache of weapons. The previous users had collected weapons like pack rats – there were enough assault rifles, shotguns and grenades to start a civil war in a third world country. Or, she thought, to fight zombies. Zoey grabbed an M4 and loaded a magazine into it. This position would work well, for she was within sight of everyone else.

The first wave of zombies came – Bill fired first. He shot a pair of them at the front of the group. Instantly, the others tripped and fell into a writhing pile of infected flesh. Zoey saw this and grabbed a fragmentation grenade from a bucket. How hard could it be? She pulled the pin and then promptly dropped the explosive.

“Oh, shit!” she screamed in terror. Zoey scrambled for the grenade and tossed it at the group that was still struggling to untangle itself. A second later it exploded – Zoey felt metal shards flying past her. The concussion wave knocked her flat on her feet. Undeterred, Zoey picked up her rifle and began firing into another approaching crowd. Her aim was true and she remained calm as she methodically executed zombie after zombie.

On the opposite end of the street, Louis was almost laughing as he let loose into the incoming horde with the M240B. The heavy bullets were powerful enough to cut zombies in half – all the better, for the body parts tripped them up. Those that fell were quickly trampled by their own zombie brethren.

On the roof, Bill continued to fire at the zombies – with his holographic weapon sight, shooting was quick and easy. After thirty rounds the bolt would lock back – and with a movement practiced over decades, Bill would release the empty magazine and grab a new one, chambering another round and start shooting without even losing his target. Thus far, they were making good progress. By shooting the zombies in the front of the crowd, the others would trip and make easy targets.

He and Louis had established voice communication so that whenever Louis needed to reload, Bill diverted his attention the opposite direction. Zoey, with a massive cache of weaponry at her disposal, didn’t need such attention. The corpses on her side of the street were already piling up and forcing zombies to literally climb.

“Almost there…give me three more minutes! I almost have it!” Jen said over her radio headset. Her breathing was fast and nervous.

The zombies continued to attack, but by now, they had to find other ways around the massive piles of corpses. A few Boomers entered the fray – all promptly popped by shots from Bill’s sniper position. The brown goo caused feeding frenzies among the zombies – except they were eating each other. This distraction gave the survivors time to reload and collect themselves.

Suddenly, Zoey screamed in terror over the radio headset – a long, drawn out wail of pure terror.

“Help, I’m pinned – agh!” Over the radio earpiece, Bill could hear the snarling of a Hunter. He immediately shifted his focus to Zoey. In the distance, he could see her struggling with the extra-aggressive zombie. “HELP, GET IT OFF ME!” Bill focused his sights upon the zombie, but did not immediately fire. He had to aim carefully – if he hit Zoey, she was as good as dead.

Zoey was surprised at the strength and speed the Hunter on top of her showed. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed that this particular zombie was any different until it was on top of her. But she didn’t have time to marvel. The zombie was beating her with extreme brutality – her vision was already going dark from multiple blows to her face. She feebly reached for a pistol, but it was just out of reach. The Hunter extended claws and prepared to make the final strike, a coup de grace that would kill her. She hoped it would be quick.

Suddenly, the Hunter froze in midair as its head exploded towards the side. Then it collapsed on her, dead.

“Zoey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Her vision was already clearing as she forced the corpse off of her. The zombies continued to approach – they were too close now. Zoey grabbed a pistol and began firing. Once that was expended, she resorted to grenades.

Meanwhile, Louis was down to his last two hundred rounds of ammunition. It would be deadly, but soon, he would have to withdraw and resort to his M4. There seemed to be no end in sight.

“Bill, I can’t last much longer out here, I’ve got to relocate!” he shouted into his headset. After this, Zoey’s voice crackled on the radio, frantic.

“I’m out of grenades, they just keep coming!”

“All right then, pull back, I’ll cover you!” said Bill. He loaded a new magazine and fired both left and right to protect Zoey and Louis as they retreated. “Jen, how’s that cure coming along!”

“Thirty seconds!”

“We’re not going to last here. Jen, we have to pull out. We’ll lure the crowd away, meet us back at Zoey’s dorm room! We’ll circle around and try to lose the mob!” He didn’t even wait for an answer as he descended down his ladder, meeting up with Louis and Zoey. Together, the three of them ran back the way they had come. As they had hoped, most of the zombies ignored Jen’s position and followed the three survivors. Still, there was a crowd gathering around her position, banging down on the door that would lead into the staircase where Jen was working.

Meanwhile, the others stopped to turn around and fire at the incoming crowd. Louis’ M240B was destroying huge columns of zombies with deadly efficiency. But it was to no avail – the zombies quickly made a wall between the group and Jen’s position, baring their teeth.

“I finished, it works!” Jen exclaimed over the radio. “I’m…oh fuck. They’re surrounding me. I can hear them breaking in.”

Louis stood up and checked that his M240 was nearly out of ammo. He assessed the situation. Even as they took a few steps back, the zombies did not attack – it was almost as if they were watching.

“I can distract them,” said Bill. “I’ll run in a different direction so they follow me. Louis, Zoey, get to Jen and rescue her.”

“Wait a minute, what are you saying?” asked Louis. “Hell no! You won’t last a second alone!”

“And even if we last a few seconds together, Jen won’t last much longer! You need to get to her, now!”

“What about you?” Zoey demanded. “We need you!”

“I’m sixty three fucking years old,” Bill snapped. “No matter how fit I am, I can’t fight forever. I’ll distract them long enough for you to get to Jen.”

“But – ”

“That’s an order, soldier!” Bill roared. He turned to Louis. “Give me your machine gun, I’ll need the firepower.” Louis still held onto the machine gun – he was looking terrified.

“No…Bill, you’ll die out there!”

“And if Jen dies, all of this would have been for nothing. Now go!” He forcibly grabbed the M240B from Louis and took off sprinting in another direction, firing as he went. The crowd of zombies screeched and every single one of them followed.

Zoey was the first to run towards Jen – her vision blurred with tears as she heard the battle between Bill and the zombies rage over her headset. Soon, the M240 ran out of ammo – Bill switched to his silenced M4. She could hear the distinctive whistling sound of the shots, tinny compared to the jeers of zombies.

“See you in hell!” shouted Bill. The sound of zombies grew louder in Zoey’s earpiece and then, cut to static.

Louis had his M4 out and bellowed with rage as he went through the broken door that led to the staircase. There were several zombies crowded her – he and Zoey cut a path through them and charged into the room where Jen was. They found her crouched in a corner, bleeding from several bite wounds and holding a pistol. But she was alive.

“I heard what happened to Bill,” she said. “Come on, we have to move.”

They went back downstairs and into the street – by now, the battle was nearly on top of them. Helicopters and planes flew overhead, ripping apart buildings, zombies and resistant survivors. The three remaining survivors sprinted away from the battle – Zoey in front, Louis following, and Jen trailing. There weren’t very many zombies in their way, and the sounds of battle were getting softer as they extended the distance.

“Sniper, two o’ clock!” Jen shouted into her headset. The others ducked and so did Jen. A shot rang out, narrowly missing Zoey. “GO!”

They ran as fast as they could, while the sniper continued to make shots at them. Soon, there was a pause in the gunfire as the sniper paused to reload – it gave them just enough time to get to safety.

Zoey had never been more terrified in her entire life – she was running faster than ever. Her legs felt weak from exertion. She could taste blood in the back of her throat. The rifle in her hands felt like dead weight – meanwhile, the virus was taking advantage of her weakened state. Her knees were like rubber as she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

As she fell, a shot rang out and Louis heard a cry of pain from his earpiece. He turned around and to his horror, Jen was on the ground in a pool of rapidly spreading blood. Nearby, there was a man with a rifle. Louis dropped to one knee and fired the remainder of his ammunition towards the shooter, who jerked in a macabre dance as bullets riddled his body. He sprinted over to Jen.

She was still alive, but bleeding fast. The bullet had gone through her back and ruptured her aorta. Jen would have only minutes. Louis quickly stole a glance behind him – Zoey was struggling to get to her feet.

“Jen?”

“Here it is,” she replied weakly. Jen was hyperventilating, one hand clutched over a large exit wound on her stomach. Her other hand was holding a metal case – there was a plastic window on the side. There were two syringes inside the box, one marked for Zoey. Jen was getting paler as she bled out. “I did it.”

“Oh, Jen,” said Louis, who now had tears in his eyes. Jen’s breathing was unsteady and forced, and increasingly weak. Zoey had finally gotten to her feet – she weakly stumbled over to Louis and the dying woman on the ground.

“Oh god, no!” Zoey wailed. She fell to her knees and doubled over, coughing up blood.

“Louis, listen to me…take the syringe, make sure Zoey get her dose. She needs to inject it directly into her heart, so help her if she can’t do it herself. The other syringe is an exact copy. Make sure the military gets it. They can make more. As for me…” Jen reached for the Beretta in Louis’ holster. She grabbed it, but then dropped it. Louis picked it up and stared at it for a second, then looked back towards Jen.

“Now?”

“Do it,” said Jen. “Please, otherwise it’s three or four more minutes of agony I don’t want to deal with.” Zoey had finished throwing up blood – she made her way to Jen.

“Thank you,” she whispered to her. Zoey clasped her hands around Jen.

“Selfless service,” Jen whispered weakly. “One of the seven Army values. Zoey, you would have made a great soldier. So if everything turns out okay, consider that as your career, hm? You want to be a doctor, well, you can still do that in the Army. Like I did.” Jen closed her eyes and smiled, despite her condition. Blood was still pumping out of her, in time with her pulse, which was slowing down and weakening. Jen guided Louis’ hand to a spot under her left breast, right over her heart. Louis pulled back the hammer of the Beretta.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Yes. Thank you,” Jen whispered. A tear rolled from her eye. “Go Army.”

Louis looked away as he pulled the trigger. Jen’s hand tensed around his, but the moment the bullet had touched her heart, she was already dead. The action was purely post mortem reflex. Quickly, her hand relaxed and then, her arm fell limp to the pavement.

Both of the survivors looked back, afraid of what they would see. Yet even in death, Jen was still beautiful. No amount of blood, physical wounds or dirt could mar her beauty. Her eyes were closed and her mouth lay slightly open, almost as if she was beckoning a kiss. She was at peace.

Zoey was sobbing quietly as she opened the armored box with the syringes. She took out the autoinjector for her dose, stared at it for a second, and then jammed the huge needle into her chest. Zoey gasped in pain and curled up into the fetal position as the injector forced the contents into her system. Louis held her hand to comfort her as the drug took effect, banishing the virus from her bloodstream. Zoey’s nose began to bleed – first a greenish brown ooze, then, bright red normal blood. Her eyes were glazed over, but even as Louis watched, the orange irises slowly turned back to their normal grayish blue. Even the color was returning to her cheeks – first a severe flush that eventually leveled out into a regular healthy complexion. Zoey’s body relaxed.

“How do you feel?” asked Louis.

“Better,” replied Zoey. She forcibly removed the needle from her chest, eliciting another pained gasp. Zoey tossed the syringe aside. “Well, now what?”

“We survive,” said Louis. “It’s what Bill and Francis and Jen would have wanted us to do.”

“What about the cure?” asked Zoey. “We need to get it to someone.” Just as she said this, a squad of soldiers rounded the corner.

“Don’t shoot!” said Louis, holding his arms up. Zoey did the same.

At first, the soldiers paused. Then, their leader gave a hand signal. Two of the soldiers came forward, roughly forcing Louis and Zoey to the ground.

“Don’t try anything funny,” said the soldier. “What is that syringe?”

“That’s the cure to the virus,” Zoey said simply. The man who was capturing her froze.

“Cure?”

“Yes sir.” The soldiers released their grips on Louis and Zoey.

“If that’s true…then come with us. We’ll analyze it back at base.”

“Sir?” The leader turned to Zoey.

“Yes, what is it?”

“What about her?” Zoey pointed to Jen’s body. The soldier nodded and went over to the body. He checked for a pulse, but as he expected, there was none. From his combat vest he produced a wristband and put it around Jen’s left wrist, marking her as a casualty of war.

“We’ll see that she gets a proper burial. I’ll carry her back.” The soldier gently lifted shifted Jen’s body and then placed her in a fireman’s carry. “Stick close, the city is not yet secure.”

Together, the two survivors and the soldiers left the streets and made their way behind friendly lines. Meanwhile, Zoey and Louis were put in a quarantine tent – for the time being, at least. They both knew it was only a matter of time before they would be released.

Zoey sat next to Louis in the quarantine tent. There was no one else in there, and it was as comfortable as anyone could make it. In one corner there was a chemical toilet and a fully functioning shower. The water had been warm and soothing.

The doctors had been surprisingly hospitable, giving Louis and Zoey fresh MRE’s to eat. Until they were marked as safe, however, they would have to stay in the tent. That didn’t matter too much. Both were too tired to move.

“What do you think is going to happen to us now?” asked Zoey.

“Well, they’re obviously not going to kill us. But if that stuff Jen cooked up really does work, then…well, we just have to rebuild.” There was a clear panel in the tent that gave a good view of Fairfield in the distance. It was, just like Newburg before it, burning with the fires of war. Louis felt a pang of sadness as he watched a skyscraper skeleton collapse in a blaze.

So many had died in the initial outbreaks, and just as many had been converted into mindless monsters. He had survived alone for days before meeting Francis, and even that friendship was short lived. Louis greatly missed Francis’ jovial laughter and “don’t mess with me” attitude. He missed the Slater’s and was hit by another wave of sadness. John and Amanda Slater would have made good company – yet they were unlucky.

He remembered seeing the grief on Zoey’s face as she saw the dead bodies of her family. At such a young age, she was hit by a massive amount of grief. No one should ever have to experience that. Louis thought about his own family and where they were. Perhaps some of them had survived. But whatever happened…

Louis tore his eyes away from the burning wreck of the city and turned back to Zoey, who was looking just as dejected.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Zoey. “I was just…thinking what it’d be like if Francis and Bill and Jen were all here with us right now. I really miss them all.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “Damn shame.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do after all this is over.”

“Me neither, Zoey.”

“You think after all this we’ll ever see each other again?” Louis snapped out his trance as he listened to Zoey’s question. He looked at her curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after all this we’ll be going our separate ways, right?”

“I suppose so,” said Louis. Now that she mentioned it, he wondered exactly what he was going to do. He certainly didn’t have a home to go back to, nor a family. Then again, neither did Zoey. “I guess they’ll task us to help rebuild. Once that’s all done, we’ll just…go with normal life, I guess.”

“I forgot what normal life is like. I even forgot my Facebook password.”

“Me too,” replied Louis. “At least, forgot what normal life is like. I don’t have Facebook.”

“Well, if we get Internet, I’d suggest you get an account. I’d hate for us to drop out of contact.”

“Tell you what, Zoey. Let’s just stick together as long as we can. We can rebuild together and once that’s all done, we’ll go the same way.”

“I like that idea,” said Zoey, smiling broadly. “I’d want a friend close by anyway. And if going through a zombie apocalypse with someone doesn’t make you friends, I don’t know what does.”

“For sure, Zoey. Definitely.”

“I’m still afraid of what the future holds though. It’s not going to be easy dealing with the aftermath. I mean, how many do you think died?”

“Millions, billions even. I’m not sure I want to know. The zombies are still out there, and it’s not like we’re going to successfully stick every one with Jen’s cure. And even if we do, we just saw a complete societal collapse. The economy as we know it is gone, and America is no longer the superpower of the world. Hell, no one is. We’ll be seeing chaos for years at least.”

“I sure hope America comes out on top though,” said Zoey. “Jen had a point. I think that if I ever go back to school, I’ll undergo officer training for the Army. The world needs heroes to remember, and heroes need people to follow their example.”

“Well said,” replied Louis. Hand in hand they walked to the viewing window and watched as a pair of fighter jets demolished another building. “Whatever is in the future, we can handle it together. This is humanity’s world. We almost lost it. But if we all work together, we can reclaim it.”

The sun was just setting now on the western horizon, basking the landscape in a gentle orange glow. Never before had they seen such a beautiful sunset.

…

EPILOGUE

Diary entry from MSG Paul McFarlane, 75th Ranger Regiment

It’s hard to believe that the devastation ended just as quickly as it had started. For three weeks (or more, I can’t remember), super rabies owned the land. The zombies had established themselves as dominant species. I say this because so many died or became infected, we as a species were on the run. The US Army, the most powerful fucking army in the world, was almost destroyed. God forbid if the Russians or the Chinese decided to use this to their advantage.

I can’t fully describe how difficult it was to be a part of the remainder of this Army. We were all under the command of a few crazy generals that decided the best solution was extermination. I don’t know how many countless millions of people we slaughtered, Zack (military speak for zombie) or not. At a certain point, it made no difference. Anyone who was still alive and uninfected was insane. Maybe it’s a good thing we killed them. I’ll never know for sure, but it helps me sleep at night knowing that we at least ended their suffering. But every so often I’ll wake up screaming in terror.

It was easy in training to clear rooms and do all that fancy high speed shit. But you try navigating your way through dark hallways and basements, searching for Zack, knowing he has no fear. And these guys weren’t the slow types in the movies, these guys were like insurgents on crack, only worse. And considering these guys don’t know how to use guns, that’s saying something.

How I made it out alive, I’ve got no idea. Maybe I’m just lucky. I must be lucky – I was in Fairfield on the last day. Thus far we’d killed dozens of resistant survivors. It was a heinous thing to do, but they were shooting at us, so what else was there? The last couple of survivors we came upon were different. They surrendered immediately – smart move, because I was ready to pop their asses. There was a girl there, no more than twenty or so, who claimed to have the cure in a syringe. Zoey Higgins, that’s her name. Her friend is Louis Barker, once an office guy, now a zombie killer.

She was right. Somehow, they had created a cure to super rabies, and it made me even angrier knowing that while a ragtag team of civilians and an AWOL officer cooked up the good stuff, our people were being forced to kill everyone.

We later identified the dead woman as 1st Lieutenant Jennifer Lee Carlyle, aged 29. Small wonder she cooked up a cure, she was a doctor, and a damn good one – top of her class at West Point and all that. I hope her death was quick, she deserved that much. As I promised to the last two sane survivors, she got a military burial and was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor and promoted to Captain. Wherever she is, I hope she’s in a good place.

I was at the memorial service. The two survivors that were with her when she died were there as well, and although they didn’t recognize me (I had been wearing a gas mask in Fairfield), it was terribly sad to watch them break down over Carlyle. I didn’t even known Captain Carlyle and I wanted to cry. Maybe not just for her, but for the thousands, millions of unjust casualties in that war. Scratch that, not a war, but the biggest clusterfuck in the history of man.

I put in an anonymous request for Zoey Higgins and Louis Barker to be relocated to the same area. They survived hell for weeks together, and according to reports, lost a lot of good people on the way. I thought Ranger school was bad, well, they survived far worse. At the very least, they should have the privilege to stay together. Because they did more to end the crisis than the entire Army ever did.

Regardless, though, the future is truly frightening. I just hope that we can all forget our differences across the world and rebuild together. Maybe there’s hope for the millions, maybe billions, of zombies that still roam the area. Last I heard they’re making Jen Carlyle’s cure by the gallon. Until then, the only thing left for us to do is to collect the bodies and burn them all. That could take weeks. But, orders are orders, and no matter how fucked up we are now, I’m still a soldier, with orders to follow.

God help us all.




And, that concludes the story of "L4D: Origins."

In total it is a whopping 71,071 words in MS World, and 163 pages long. This qualifies it for full novel length, and this is bigger than any of the novels I wrote for the past three years for Nanowrimo (nanowrimo.org).

I doubt I'll take steps to get it published, unless Valve suddenly gives me the rights to do so - and even then, I'd publish under a pen name. After severely revising it, of course. As good as you might think this is, it's definitely not storeworthy. But it doesn't need to be - and besides, I'd rather avoid the shitstorm of media if possible.

Normally, I'd put in a long, heartfelt reflection here, but A) I'm really freaking tired and B) I'm limited to 50K characters a post, so for now, I'm going to sign off and sleep. The reflection can come later after I get a response or two.


-Lardcake212

I got an account just to comment on this...

FUCKING AMAZING!!!!!!

I bet with a little work you could get this published, haven't you seen the Halo and Mass Effect books? I want to see a left 4 Dead book on the shelf next time I go to the bookstore, you hear?

+a million!