Thread: L4D: Origins (a fanfic by Lardcake212)

I agree with incendiarywit, except this is the best fanfic I've ever read period. Keep it up, or else LOL

Thanks everyone for the feedback so far. I'm in the middle of writing out the No Mercy campaign.

I'll post it in a couple of hours, but be warned, I think it sucks. Never again will I write a long description of a campaign at 3 in the morning...mostly it consists of "They went here!" and "Oh noez, a zombie!" or "What is the meaning of life and death?"

I think my plan for the campaigns will be mostly descriptions of bigger events - for simplicity's sake, they are able to get through them with little trouble. Except maybe have a witch in the sewers, a tank chase to the chopper, etc.

And then continue that pattern for the four campaigns, then...new stuff! Yay.

You said the intro's sucked and everybody wound up treating like Jesus Christ over them, just trust that what you've done is the best you could and you are satisfied with your efforts and you should be fine

And here is my attempt at writing out "No Mercy." Wasn't very easy or fun to write, I felt like it would be too repetitive. Further campaigns will be less detailed and told mostly through a series of shorter, more detailed narratives of specific events.

NO MERCY

The weary survivors decided to rest for a while on the roof of the apartment building. It was just after 10PM now, according to Bill’s watch. His watch was a simple black digital one, probably no more than twenty dollars at a Target. But it worked – the watch had a stopwatch, alarm and timer function built in, as well a button that caused the face to glow. Plus, it was waterproof down to a hundred meters. The face was scratched, but the seconds inevitably ticked by, showing that indeed, even as the world stopped, time went on.

It had started raining about ten minutes ago, a torrential flood from an angry god that quickly soaked the survivors head to toe. There had been a tarp set up over a table – probably by some survivors from some time ago. The tarp, however, had detached from its moorings – like a discarded napkin, it skittered away in the wind.

The table contained a few useful supplies – there were waterproof ammo boxes filled to the top with bullets of all shapes and sizes, including Louis’ much needed .40 S&W. A large bucket of water sat on the corner of the roof – that, along with the rain, helped to replenish their dwindling reserves of water.

Currently they sat silently under the table – although it kept their heads dry, the water inevitably found its way into their clothing. It was cold and miserable. Bill was again reminded of the wetness of the jungle. He was thankful that at least the enemy was unarmed.

Bill had given everyone a can of chili. However, the cold stew did not do much in lifting their spirits. Even Bill, used to this sort of feeling of glum defeat, wanted to simply set it aside and leave it. But one could not afford to be wasteful these days. He wondered whether it had been a mistake to lead the others outside to place of salvation that existed only in speculation. Had he doomed the lives of these people? Francis – sure, he had been a criminal, but he could turn a new leaf if everything went all right. He had shown himself to be genuinely helpful, even if he was a sarcastic bastard. Louis had worked so hard in life to get to where he was – overcoming racism, poverty and all forms of hardship, only to step into a new crisis. And Zoey – she was only 19 years old! The girl was still innocent, mostly, and if she died, it would be a young life wasted. Bill buried his face into his hands, wondering if he had just fucked up for everybody.

“Bill…do you hear that?” Bill looked up into Louis’ face. Francis and Zoey seemed to have locked their ears on something – and eventually, Bill did hear it: the steady thumping of helicopter blades. It grew louder and louder and finally, a new helicopter flew overhead – the same one that had failed to notice the survivors on the ground hours before. The pilot inside was speaking through a bullhorn.

“To anyone who can hear this: proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation. Repeat, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation!” The pilot did not stop the aircraft, however, but continued to fly on, no doubt searching for other survivors. Was it possible that there were more? Fairfield was a substantial city – just over 1 million people lived there. If it was true that 1 out of 1000 were immune, then there should be about a thousand others alive.

Although it couldn’t be possible that everyone had survived, even if they were immune. Zoey was thinking about this: her friend and roommate Leanne must have been immune, she had frantically said so through the door. But her immunity couldn’t save her from the unforgiving horde of the infected. Others still would have killed themselves, unable to cope with the destruction around them. Those few that remained could even succumb to insanity and start killing each other. Perhaps that was why the huge city seemed so utterly empty.

“We can try the subway,” said Louis. “The Red Line North should take us straight to Mercy.”

“In case you didn’t notice, Louis, the subways aren’t working!”

“It’s probably safer to go through the tunnel than on the streets though,” Louis countered.

“And what if one of those steroid monsters corners us down there? We’ll have nowhere to run! That subway is a death trap!”

“Stop fighting, both of you!” scolded Bill. “If we stay quiet we should be able to get through the subway without any trouble. The nearest station is Holly Street Station, over there.” He pointed past another apartment building and sure enough, they could see the stairs leading into the subway system.

“Whatever, old man, but don’t say I didn’t warn us!”

“Shut up, Francis, and let’s go.” There was a small structure on the roof that would lead into the apartment building. The door was locked – on a hook next to it, there was a key. Someone had also painted a message on the door: PUT KEY BACK AND LOCK DOOR FROM INSIDE. PROCEED TO HOLLY STATION.

“There are other survivors then,” said Zoey, unable to suppress a smile. “We might just make it!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, kid,” said Bill as he unlocked the door, revealing a set of stairs. Surprisingly, there were lights on inside the apartment. Perhaps someone was maintaining parts of the power grid from deep within the city.

Everyone else went into the building – Louis was the last in, and he locked the door before closing it. Slowly, the group descended the stairs, barely making a sound. They found themselves inside a kitchen. It was lit by fluorescent light fixtures. Something was keeping the power on, but none of them knew what.

The apartment reeked of decay, overwhelming even the survivors who had grown so used to it. But nevertheless they continued – down one floor, and down another. It was disturbingly peaceful inside the building, even as the infected corpses lay everywhere in various states of decay. Some were rather fresh, no more than a day or two dead. Flies were feasting on these. A few, however, were horrendously rotted and putrid – decomposing gas had entered their necks and heads, causing bloating of those regions. Some of the bodies didn’t even have faces to speak of – the softened, fragile skin had long since peeled off, revealing greenish, slimy tissue underneath.

“Oh, gross,” Zoey moaned. Louis and Francis muttered their agreement – although Bill said nothing, for he had seen much worse in the war. Out in the jungle, where humidity was high and insects were plentiful, body decomposition was particularly unpleasant.

“Keep moving,” said Bill. Finally, they exited the apartment and were back on the street again. The group took a few steps but paused when a sudden belching noise echoed down the street.

“Fuck, it’s a Boomer,” said Louis. “Shit, we have to get into the open or we’ll never see it coming!” With that, he hurriedly took off into the street, stopping in the middle where he had a clear view of everything. The others ran to join him.

Wherever it was, Louis was sure that it could see his group. But where could it possibly be? And how far did its deadly vomit travel?

“Up there!” Zoey pointed towards an apartment roof – the Boomer was standing there, silhouetted by the faint blue glow of the sky. Bill raised his rifle to deal with this threat – but this wasn’t necessary. The Boomer roared and, to everyone’s surprise, jumped off the roof, belching constantly on the way down before hitting the pavement and popping like a water balloon. Red, slushy blood mixed with green mucus flew everywhere – but none of the droplets made contact with the survivors.

Even so, a large group of the infected ran to the spot where the Boomer’s remains (just a pair of obese legs) were. They began licking the goo off the ground and nearby walls.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding,” said Francis. “Let’s go!”

They ran as fast as they could to the Holly Street Station – it was just up ahead. By now, much of the place had collapsed – the path to the subway was blocked by rubble. They would have to go in through the side security office – a hole in the wall led directly to it.

It was uncanny how well the entire place was lit, but either way, none of them were complaining. They had met no resistance on the way. If they just maintained that luck for a little bit more, they could be out of the city by midnight. And if they could be out of the city by midnight, then tomorrow would be a day to start over and rebuild.

They were now in a supply room – at the end of the room, there was a metal door leading into the security office. It had been spray painted bright red – and on the wall next to it, someone else had spray painted “RED DOORS = SAFE HOUSE. FOLLOW THE CROSS SIGNS. GOOD LUCK SURVIVOR.”

The cross sign was a crudely drawn house with a cross in the middle of it. A house of God, perhaps, one where the minions of Hell could not enter. Whatever religion it might or might not represent, it was still a safe room. The survivors ran into the room and shut the door.

“Hell yeah!” shouted Louis as he locked it securely. “We made it!” Bill rolled his eyes.

“We crossed the street again,” said Bill. “But we did good. Everyone take a water break and reload your weapons. We move out in ten minutes.” That didn’t seem like a long time – but the group was inspired by their first success. If it was that easy, then they’d be at Mercy Hospital in no time at all.

Ten minutes later they were moving again – Francis volunteered to be first out the door. Immediately there were the sounds of two shotgun blasts and a shout of “Clear!”

“Francis!” Bill scolded. “Do you want the entire subway system to hear us?”

“Hey, they were in my way!” said Francis defensively. “You see?” He pointed towards a pair of corpses on the ground, bleeding and still twitching. The zombies gurgled feebly, eyes rolling around in rage as they tried to get up. Bill wondered if they felt any pain. For human beings, death was a powerful deterrent – and pain even more so. A man could be lead to a painless and quick death and not be scared. He would die with dignity. But lead a man to torture and he will scream and beg for anything else, even death. Pain is a source of fear – but did these zombies have that fear?

Nonetheless, they crawled down into the bowels of the station and found themselves standing in the ticket collection area. This area too was completely empty. Where were the infected?

“Hey guys, you won’t believe this!” called Zoey one of the ticket desks.

“What did you find, kid?” asked Bill.

“Guns…a shitload of guns. Big ones. I don’t know much about them, but you probably do…” Zoey cautiously held up a shotgun. Immediately, the men’s eyes lit up with anticipation. She went over to Francis and held it at arms length, as if she were afraid it would blow up at any second. “Here Francis, happy birthday.”

Francis looked at the new shotgun he held with delight. Although Zoey didn’t recognize what it was, he knew: this was an Italian made Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun, designated the M1014 among the US military. It looked much like any regular shotgun – but unlike Francis’ old Remington, this one had a pistol grip and an extendable stock. A rail on the top of the receiver allowed the installation of a variety of different sights. The previous owner of the shotgun had put on a red dot sight – Francis could look through it and place the illuminated red dot he saw on a target. He would need only to squeeze the trigger and the shots would hit. Simple, fast target acquisition.

Best of all, the shotgun was semiautomatic. No longer did he have to pump the slide to chamber a new round – with this monster he could simply pull the trigger repeatedly and let loose a withering barrage of buckshot into a crowd. Francis chuckled with delight as he unloaded his Remington and placed the rounds into the Benelli shotgun. It could hold eight rounds, the same as the Remington. Louis, eschewing brute power for more refined precision, ditched his Uzi and picked up an M4 just like Bill’s. While this was happening, Zoey picked up another rifle.

“Bill, what’s this one?” she asked.

“That’s a semiautomatic designated marksman’s rifle, the M21 Sniper Weapon System.”

“So it’s a sniper rifle?”

“It is,” said Bill. “Only it’s semi automatic. Fire as fast as you can pull the trigger. But that one might be a little big for you. The kick alone would probably knock you off your feet.” Indeed, it was a formidably sized weapon, weighing eleven pounds. Given that she was already carrying twenty pounds worth of other equipment, a weapon of that size would probably be a bad idea.

“I still need a gun though,” said Zoey. “I lost mine, both of them.”

“Ah, that’s right, you dropped them while running from the Tank, right?”

“What? Tank?”

“That’s what I call it. You know, that Steroid Stan the Ripped Zombie.” Bill laughed heartily.

“That’s not funny,” said Zoey somberly.

“Take this one instead.” Bill handed an MP5 submachine gun to her – it was the type issued to helicopter pilots. “You can probably handle this one better anyway.”

“Thanks,” said Zoey. “How do I use it?”

Bill quickly gave her instructions on usage of the weapon. A minute later, they were moving again.

“Up these stairs,” said Louis, pointing. He led the way, keeping his M4 ready. He took aim and fired three shots – in the crowded subway, the sheer loudness of the shots was amazing. Their ears were ringing – next to Bill’s suppressed M4, Louis’ sounded like a cannon. The sound was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Besides the three zombies, though, there was nothing else. The subway train had long since derailed in the subway tunnel – but they were still able to get inside it and advance through the cars to continue heading north. There was a table with a bucket of ammunition lying on a table – next to it, a body covered by a sheet. Most likely, it was an uninfected survivor who died en route to Mercy Hospital. His or her friends could have done nothing but cover the body with a sheet to pay their respects before moving on.

Bill looked at this sight and realized he would need to be prepared for that in case one of his own team members died. It was odd – were they even a team now? Or just a haphazard group of survivors with guns? Would it ever come to that point where he would have to leave behind a dying team member? Or mercifully end his or her misery if he or she was irreparably wounded? It was a terrifying thought, and he hoped he would never have to go through that prospect.

They were making good progress down the subway tunnel when they came upon a collapse. It would be impossible to dig through. However, there was a side door, probably service area. Maybe that was the way out.

Zoey volunteered to go first this time, but quickly regretted it as she came upon a darkened area. She could hear and smell the infected in there, but the narrow beam of the flashlight mounted on her MP5 was not illuminating enough of the room to see them all.

“Come on, Zoey, we’ll cover you,” said Francis encouragingly. It was the first time he had something positive for nearly a day. Zoey nodded and steadied herself. Finally, she stepped into the room, sweeping it with her flashlight. The beam indicated at least twenty of them – and soon, the first of them screeched and ran towards her, baring their bloody teeth.

Zoey lined up the sights just like Bill taught her and squeezed the trigger – the MP5 roared and illuminated the whole place with its muzzle flash. She blinked and saw the bodies of zombies falling to the floor, seemingly in slow motion from the strobe like flashes of gunfire.

A second later she ran forward, keeping low under the hail of gunfire – the rest of the people were following. The zombies may have been fearless and fast, but they lacked intelligence and reaction time. Within seconds, the large room was clear. Zoey stepped into the light and almost cried with happiness.

“You did good,” said Bill gruffly. He was once again in the lead – the group found themselves in a generator room. A brief inspection revealed that there was no exit – unless…

“What about this switch here?” shouted Francis.

“That’s the one! It the cable goes to the power box which is connected to the generators. We just have to pull that lever,” replied Louis.

“Well, that’s going to be easy,” said Francis – he put his hand on the lever.

“Stop!” shouted Bill, shoving Francis aside.

“What’s gotten into you, old man, you having a flashback? What’s wrong now?”

“These generators make a lot of noise. They’ll be coming if we turn it on.”

“And they’ll be coming if we stay here,” countered Francis. “If we don’t do this, what do you suggest?”

“No, we’ll do this. But we’re not ready for it yet. You see that?” Bill was pointing towards a hollowed out space of broken wall that led into a supply room. To everyone’s surprise, someone had managed to salvage the minigun from a troop transport helicopter and lug the whole thing here. A long belt of ammunition was connected to it. “We’ll have to defend ourselves.”

“Ah.”

“Someone’s got to go on that gun then,” said Louis. “Bill, you should do it! You were in Vietnam, you have experience with mounted guns!”

“All right then, Louis, you cover my back. Zoey, Francis, you two watch the flanks. One of us has to flip that switch over there. It’ll turn on the generators which should open the door.”

“I’ll do it,” said Zoey. She went to the switch and put her hand on it. “You guys ready?”

“Anytime,” said Bill. So far, there had been few zombies in the subway. Perhaps it might not be so bad. Zoey grunted as she pulled down the lever – there was some electrical crackling, and the generators started up. It was surprisingly loud – and just then, the sound of a single infected horde roaring. Zoey sprinted back, her face pale as a sheet.

“Here we go,” she said nervously. A few seconds later, they poured through every window, every entrance, even the vents. Bill cursed his confidence – this group was not a small one at all. There must have been at least a hundred. He pulled the trigger of the minigun – the six barrels began to rotate and a second later, the gun roared, firing rifle bullets at a rate of over three thousand rounds per minute. The weapon fired so fast, in fact, that it sounded more like a motor than anything. It was deafening. Having had little exposure to guns unlike the men, Zoey covering her ears, screaming in terror.

“Pick up your gun and shoot!” shouted Francis, shoving the MP5 into Zoey’s arms. She aimed it towards the incoming horde and shot a long sustained burst into the crowd. It was barely enough and in no time, her weapon was out of ammo. She grabbed a pipe bomb and threw it – a large amount of the zombies abandoned the survivors and went after that instead. In this spare time she reloaded her weapon.

Behind her, Louis was having trouble of his own. There was a hole in the floor that led back down into the dark room they had just cleared – and now, the infected were trying to get the drop on them. Or rather, the rise – they were climbing up out of the hole. Louis had given up reloading his M4 and simply bludgeoned the zombies back down into the hole.

On Francis’ side, the automatic shotgun proved to be quite useful. A single shot would send an entire group flailing to the floor – two shots was even more effective for this purpose; it effectively reduced any zombies to mush. He too tossed a pipe bomb when he paused to reload, thus killing several more. By now, the flow of zombies had stopped – only a few remained in the room.

“Let’s go!” shouted Bill over the ringing in their ears. The four of them, straining with the load of their backpacks, ran for the door which was open now. They passed through a security office and sprinted until miraculously, they found themselves back on the street. It had started to rain again – the cool droplets felt good on their bodies, which were covered in sweat, dirt and blood. Further down the street, they could see a pawn shop that had been reconverted into a safe house. The cross symbol was clearly visible.

“Hurry!” Behind them, the horde had caught up. They were gaining rapidly – by now, it was simply a footrace to the safehouse – four versus one hundred. Louis dropped his pipe bomb as he ran – most of the horde converged on it as it beeped, leaving the four of them to dive into the safe room and shut the door, muffling the wet explosion outside. This time, they had made it by sheer miracle alone.

Perhaps things were not going to be as easy as anticipated.

…

Things were calmer as they went outside again – this time, they could see Mercy Hospital in the distance. It was one of the most prominent structures in the entire city of Fairfield: thirty stories high, with a staff unrivalled by any in the world. Of course, most of the staff was undoubtedly dead.

They were now in a loading dock area – there was a fueling station for trucks there as well. Around it, nearly a hundred more zombies.

“We can’t fight them,” said Zoey.

“No, we can’t,” said Francis. “Say, Beard, I mean, Bill…you think you can hit that propane tank over there?”

“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking…”

“I’m thinking what you’re thinking.” Francis and Bill shared a knowing look – Bill went prone on the ground, aiming his rifle carefully at a white gas tank. He fired once – THEW, went the silenced weapon. It punctured a hole in the propane tank. Bill waited for a few seconds and fired once more – this time, into a metal pole in the gas station. There were sparks – and the propane tank exploded with a colossal boom. This, however, was only the detonator to something bigger – the fuel tanks below the ground, below the zombies.

“Cover your years!” shouted Louis. “And keep your mouth open!” They did so, just in time – another explosion even more massive than the first seemed to shake the entire world apart, creating a cataclysm that literally seemed to threaten sending the Earth off its orbit. Though they were two hundred feet away, the heat was searing. Sure enough, the pressure was dropping rapidly as the oxygen in the air was combusted in the flames. The drop in pressure was painful to their ears and throats, but just as quickly as it had started, it was over.

Bill expected hundreds, even thousands, of zombies to come pouring out of the warehouses and over the roof. To his surprise, there were none. Could it really be that simple?

He scanned the area and saw that a hydraulic lift was in position next to a metal roof over a row of loading docks. There was a ladder attached to the lift. Wondering if he was going the right way, Bill ascended the ladder. Soon all four of them were on the roof, which was slippery with water from the previous rain.

“Watch yourselves now,” he said. The survivors slowly walked on the roof – Louis nearly slipped once; his shoes weren’t adept at traversing slippery terrain. But inevitably, they made their way across the roof and into yet another storage room. A hole in the floor led to the lower levels – it was clearly marked by a safehouse sign, with the words “ALMOST THERE. GET TO SEWER ACCESS TO GO STRAIGHT TO MERCY.”

“Sewers?” asked Zoey apprehensively.

“Should be fine,” said Louis. “Nothing down there but rats and junk, just like the subway, and that turned out all right…”

“And shit, plenty of it,” said Francis.

“Well, let’s keep on going.” They kept on moving through hallways and offices before finally entering a room in the basement of a building. It was filled with a series of pumps – and on the far end of the room, a manhole led to the sewers. This was a waste treatment facility. The faint smell of rot was barely noticeable in the air.

As they approached, the smell grew worse. It smelled of an outhouse, one that had been in the sun for days. Except down in the sewers there was no sunlight – ever.

“You’re telling me we have to step in that?” asked Zoey, looking down. It was pitch black in underground catacombs. The flashlight on her MP5 illuminated wet brown slop, no doubt made of human waste.

“We can put these on,” said Louis – he had found a closet full of high waders. “Just in case.”

“Good find, Louis,” said Bill. “Everyone put them on, you’ve got three minutes.”

Four minutes later (Zoey had difficulty finding a pair ideal for her size), they each climbed down the ladder into the sewer. The group was now standing knee deep in waste. The smell was horrid – sour and rotten. In fact, they could even taste it on their tongues.

“Oh fuck,” said Francis. “That’s fucking gross.”

“Keep it moving, or we’ll suffocate here.” It was pitch black in the sewers – the high powered flashlights cut narrow beams through the darkness. No zombies down here so far. They continued to wade through the muck. The waders they had found worked perfectly in keeping the goo out of their clothes. Even so, the stickiness of the ground underneath the slop was enough to make any man unnerved by what he might be stepping in.

As they advanced through the pitch black sewer, however, a new sound joined their gagging and sloshing. It was a long, drawn out wail – a high pitched cry of despair. To Bill and Zoey, it was all too familiar.

“Oh, shit, a bitch!” Bill said with irritation.

“Say what? A witch?” asked Louis.

“No, a bitch!”

“We could still call it a witch,” Louis pointed out. “No need to use derogatory language. Especially since Zoey is here.”

“What are you saying, Louis, that I’m a bitch?” asked Zoey.

“No, I mean that it would be offensive to you if we called that a bitch just because she was female…ah, never mind,” said Louis.

“Witch it is, then,” said Bill. “The light bothers it, so we’ll have to keep in the dark.”

“How are we going to find the surface?” asked Louis.

“Go in the opposite direction of the flow. It should be coming from the hospital. Everyone, hold hands. No one lets go for any reason.” And so the group became a train of wader wearing survivors – Bill in front, followed by Zoey, then Louis, with Francis bringing up the rear. One by one, the lights turned off.

It was immediately apparent how dark the sewers could be. Bill wished he had scavenged a night vision scope off of a soldier – anything would be better than being blind. The brightness of the lights they had relied on so long ago did nothing to help their own natural adjustment. Bill would have to rely on his other senses. He stopped for a second and felt the flow of the waste – going against him. They were heading in the right direction.

The cries of the Witch grew louder – surely, they were getting closer to it…or was it getting closer to them? The nature of sewer tunnels allowed odd echoing mechanics. He had no way of telling where the witch was – for all he knew, it could be right behind them.

“Over there!” Zoey whispered and sure enough, a faint red glow of the Witch’s eyes was visible. “I…think she’s in front of the surface access.” Her eyes were younger and undoubtedly sharper than everyone else’s. They would have adjusted to the dark by now, and sure enough, if squinting, Bill could see the Witch sitting down crying – right next to the ladder. They were also standing in front of a small ledge – finally, they could climb onto dry ground. They did so and quietly stripped out of their waders.

“Shit,” said Louis. “Motherfucker.”

“So much for not using offensive language, huh Louis?” said Zoey.

“Shut up you two,” said Bill. “Let me think.” He stood there in silence for a moment. After a second, he sighed. “I don’t see us sneaking past her. We’ll have to shoot her.”

“I’m cool with that,” said Francis, raising his shotgun in the dark.

“Do you think we can kill her in time?” asked Louis anxiously.

“It’s certain death if we try and walk past her. We might have a chance if we kill her. Ready?” Everyone agreed and lined up, facing the faint red glow. “On the count of three, turn on your flashlights and fire away. One…two…three!”

The tunnel was bathed in light – and at the end of it, there indeed was a ladder reading “SURFACE ACCESS: MERCY HOSPITAL OUTLET.” And sitting under the ladder was the witch – the sudden onslaught of light caught her attention. She let out an unearthly, banshee-like wail and sprang to her feet. Her claws, nearly a foot long, extended. She roared and ran towards the survivors.

“Fire!” The sewer lit up with gunfire as the witch ran towards them, screaming. Bill couldn’t tell whether or not his shots were hitting – the area was too bright to tell clearly.

“She’s getting close!” shouted Francis – and indeed, the witch was scarcely ten feet away from them; her torso a bloody mess from bullets. She wasn’t running anymore, but feebly struggling forward. Her intestines dangled out of her body, dragging through the tunnels. All the while, the witch screamed horrifically – and for a second, Zoey was reminded of the dying screams of Leanne.

The witch was terrifying up close, but at the same time, there was something pitiful about it as it reached for the survivors with bony, outstretched arms. It was doomed – no way could it continue. She moaned feebly and dropped to the dusty concrete ledge, taking rapid, shallow breaths. The survivors waited for it to die, but it continued to breathe.

Out of nowhere, Zoey grabbed the Beretta out of Louis’ holster and stepped forward to the dying zombie on the ground. She took aim, squeezed her eyes shut and fired. The witch stopped moving and finally died. Zoey opened her eyes, took a deep breath and handed the pistol back to Louis before rejoining the formation. She too was crying.

“I had to do it,” she said. “I couldn’t stand seeing her die slowly like that. I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” said Bill. “Let’s move.” The procession of survivors was silent as they climbed the ladder which led directly to the entrance of Mercy Hospital. There were a few infected standing around, but none of them had noticed the survivors, giving them a second to regroup and relax for a second. It was good to be breathing fresh air again.

“We have to get to the roof,” said Bill, pointing at the top floor of the hospital which loomed above them like some mythical giant monster. “Hopefully, there’s a working elevator – the power’s on, at least.” Lights lit up small sections of the building. A helicopter passed overhead.

They wondered what horrors would be waiting inside.

Next up: Death Toll.

I see no problems with it at all, you need to stop doubting yourself. Reading this makes me more pissed at how there was no story in L4d because this shows how much potential it had for an excellent narrative. Keep it up and anger me further LOL.

great job man. still though that meeting between francis and louis.... classic man fucking classic. i was LOL, good feeling to it man. I like the zombies sharing the twinkie, i can see you read CELL (SK) and the situation between bill and zoey totally I AM LEGEND good book... anyways good job, i really like at some points how i just want to play the game, the story inspires.... cheers!

And here it is: Death Toll. Not nearly as descriptive as No Mercy, and, in my opinion, considerably easier to write. You guys have been great readers so far - keep reading, keep the comments coming, and I'll keep writing.

DEATH TOLL

It had taken them an hour to reach the top floor of the hospital. They first took a few minutes to recollect themselves in the safe room, which had once been a doctor’s lounge. Once they were ready to move on, the survivors ascended four levels of the hospital. The outbreak emanated from hospitals – victims of “super rabies” came here for treatment. Here, they would steadily lose their minds and humanity, becoming the zombies that now roamed the streets.

Those were the lucky ones, if becoming a zombie could be considered lucky. A few of the unlucky ones mutated further. It is not known what caused the changes and differences. One group of scientists and doctors believed it was a mutation of the original virus. The other group believed that there were in fact multiple strains of the virus propagating simultaneously. None of this really mattered in the end. All scientists quickly found themselves dead or struggling to survive in this new world. Few of them, if any, had learned critical survival skills. In fact, post outbreak, it was mostly the lower classes that fared the best. Having lived their entire lives struggling, a little bit more struggle wasn’t going to do anything worse. Furthermore, the boundary between rich and poor was gone. Every human was now bound by the same law: chance. Chance was completely fair – it did not discriminate. Everyone’s chances of survival in this world were equal – 1 out of 1000.

This was what Bill was thinking on the way up – but the others were thinking of something plainly more disturbing: where were the zombies?

Four floors up and they had only encountered a single Smoker which was walking around. Its coiling length of tongue had successfully wrapped around Louis, dragging him away from the group. Bill’s quick shot with an M4 was all it took – the Smoker died, releasing a large cloud of noxious gas that burned their throats and caused their eyes to water.

The elevator had indeed been working – which was fortunate, for to ascend twenty six flights of stairs would have been difficult. With the crude barricades that other survivors had constructed, it would be an ordeal that would take several hours. They called the elevator and watched anxiously as the numbers decreased. After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator reached them. The doors opened – and a horde of infected (most of them still wearing patient’s clothing) tumbled out.

“Holy shit!” shouted Bill. The group quickly retreated, closely pursued by the crowd that came from the elevator. Their automatic weapons were quite effective at dispersing the crowd, but Francis and his M1014 shotgun took the cake: he simply unloaded the weapon into the crowd without even aiming. The zombies were thrown backward as if run over by a truck. At this range, some of them had even been blown in half.

But it wasn’t over yet. Louis looked back and to his horror, saw that an even larger group had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

“Behind us!” he shouted, swiveling and firing his M4 at the new crowd that had appeared. The rest of the survivors followed suit, shooting wildly as they backed into the elevator. Zoey frantically pressed the button to close the doors, but it wasn’t working. Francis looked around and saw that there was a hand jammed inside the doorway. He bent down and grabbed it. This time, the doors closed. The survivors would be safe for the time being.

“Gross,” Francis muttered as he tossed the hand aside. “Fucking zombies.”

“You know something?” said Zoey. “I can’t get over how…fast they all are, I mean, I’m…calling zombie bullshit on this one!” The others looked at her quizzically. “They’re not even allowed to be so fast!”

“And who made you the queen of zombie facts?” asked Francis.

“Haven’t you seen Night of the Living Dead? Those zombies are slow! They can only be killed by a headshot, sure, but they’re slow! You could outrun them if necessary. That would make things so much easier. Right?” Zoey looked around expectantly, but everyone’s face was blank. “Oh come on, you guys never saw that?”

“Never did,” said Bill, pulling out a cigarette. “Of course, none of this even holds a candle to the zombie attack of ‘57.” This time it was Zoey’s turn to look confused – then her expression turned to one of alarm.

“Wait, what?!”

“I’m just horseshittin’ ya again,” replied Bill. “And here we are.” The elevator stopped at floor 28, however – the doors opened and they found themselves standing in the rain again, which had resumed its fury from before.

“It’s not completed yet,” said Louis.

“Well gee; I wonder what gave you that idea!” Francis said sarcastically. Louis ignored him and tried to hide his irritation. Francis was funny, sure, but he could also be a complete, total –

“Hurry, we’re nearly there!” interjected Bill. They moved through the scaffolding and construction equipment, eventually coming upon a ladder that led to the roof of Mercy Hospital. Bill was the first up – he helped the others onto the roof and looked around.

There were zombies – everywhere. Over a hundred of them. Evidently, they had retreated here – and for a good reason: this was where the food was at.

“Oh shit,” said Francis. “Now what?”

“There’s a radio over there,” said Bill, pointing to a small barricaded structure about twenty feet away. “We just have to get there and call for help, then hold out until the pilot gets here.”

“And I suppose it takes him a while, so we go fighting zombies in the meantime?”

“Looks like it,” said Bill. “Come on.” They entered the structure and found themselves in a room stocked full with guns, ammunition and medical supplies. Most importantly, however, there was a radio.

“I’ll call the chopper,” said Louis. He went over the radio and picked up the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

There was a brief silence and then a burst of static which equalized after a second.

“Hello?! Survivors! I see you made it to Mercy Hospital!”

“We heard your message,” said Louis. “You couldn’t have just come and picked us up directly?”

“It’s not quite so easy, survivor. There are multiple pickup zones throughout the city – down south it’s the Federal Building’s landing pad. We only have so much fuel, you see. Anyway, you guys need to make sure you’re armed and loaded. I’ve got another pickup to make before you guys and then I’ll come to Mercy. Should take me about fifteen minutes to reach you.”

“All right then, we’ll be waiting. Over and out,” said Louis – the disappointment was clear in his voice. He turned to the other survivors. “Fifteen minutes? What does this guy do in his spare time, jack off?”

“Well, he did say there were other survivors,” said Bill, preparing to light a cigarette. Suddenly, there was a loud slamming on the metal door. Bill dropped the tobacco and raised his rifle towards it – there was more slamming, accompanied with the sounds of gnashing teeth and incomprehensible gibberish.

“Great,” said Francis. “Fifteen minutes, us versus them. This is going to suck.”

“Get to the rooftop, we’ll be safe there!” said Bill. They retreated up a staircase, barricading it with a writing desk. Now they were back in the rain – and the full force of the horde was clear.

None of them even dared to count the zombies as they huddled on the roof, hoping not to be noticed.

“Bill, you got any more of those pipe bombs?” asked Zoey hopefully.

“Just three left. I almost want to save them, they’re not easy to make.”

“Fuck it,” said Zoey, grabbing one. “It’s our lives here.”

“We’ll save one…for when we run to the chopper.” Bill pointed at a helicopter landing pad on the far end of the roof – a distance of nearly two hundred feet.

“Fair enough,” said Francis – he grabbed another pipe bomb, then turned to Zoey. “You first.”

Zoey set the timer to fifteen seconds and turned on the bomb – immediately, the zombies stopped pounding and watched as one enthralled collective entity. She threw it as far as she could – it landed about a hundred feet away, in a nice open area.

“Good throw, girl!” said Louis. Much of the horde broke away to chase after it. They converged on the bomb, fighting pointlessly for a while before it exploded into a cloud of red mist.

“My turn!” Francis threw his own pipe bomb, aiming for the exact same spot Zoey had thrown hers into. More of the horde peeled off to follow it, completely oblivious to the fact that nearly thirty zombies had been incapacitated in an instant. Another explosion, another group of zombies gone.

There was still at least one hundred of them remaining – by now, they had given up on trying to break through the barricade and chose instead to start climbing the meager walls of the structure.

“Don’t let them on the roof!” commanded Bill as he took controlled shots at any zombie that dared climb. A pile of corpses was rapidly building. “Everyone pick a wall and defend!”

It was repetitive but terrifying work. The zombies near the bottom eventually began climbing on the piles of corpses, which made it much faster than was comfortable. Where the hell was that helicopter? Bill chanced to look down at his watch and to his dismay, saw that only six minutes had passed. They were running low on ammunition and would soon have to resort to melee attacks.

“Fuck it,” said Bill, pulling out his last pipe bomb. “Might as well use it now.” He flicked the switch and did something completely unexpected: the bomb sailed through the air and hit the concrete roof, sliding in the rain. But it did not stop, even as it rolled over the side of the building.

“Bill, you fuck, you wasted it!” Francis roared angrily, but he quickly shut up as he saw most of the attacking zombies chase after it and jump over the side.

“Holy shit!” said Zoey. “I should have thought of that!”

There were only ten left. But something else had entered the fray – Bill first noticed the muscular shape and the gorilla-like loping gait. Then he saw it in its full glory: a Tank had entered the fray. It must have pursued them through the hospital.

“Ah, shit!” shouted Bill, training his weapon on the newcomer. Everyone else did the same – the tank paused as bullets ripped into its body. To something so powerful, those impacts probably felt like pinpricks. It roared angrily and ripped an air conditioning unit from the roof, then threw it. Like a missile it soared through the air and barely missed Francis, who ducked just in time.

“Fuck me!” the biker shouted as he got to his feet. The tank galloped around the building the survivors were perched on and began climbing.

“Get off the roof!” The survivors went the opposite direction and simply jumped off, hitting the floor hard. Bill felt a muscle cramp in his leg – he cursed loudly and hobbled away towards the helicopter landing pad. Although there were no more zombies to fight, the tank more than made up for that absence.

The survivors were down to their last magazines of ammunition, but the tank continued to fight. There could be no hope now: it would be certain death for them. Bill wondered about suicide – he could throw himself off the side of the building or simply shoot himself. But such would be cowardly. No matter what, he was going to fight the tank to the death. Man versus tank. He liked the sound of that. Bill smiled as he raised his M4 and fired towards the creature’s head.

Perhaps the sudden burst of courage had affected his aim – for the tank simply dropped to its knees and keeled over, having been shot through the eye. And just then, the helicopter arrived – but it was carrying no survivors. No one was wondering where they were, however – they simply ran to the aircraft and jumped into the cabin.

“Get us the fuck out of here!” shouted Zoey, and the helicopter peeled away from the hospital roof. The adrenaline was still coursing through their veins, but as it faded, a feeling of relief washed over them.

“Good job, team,” said Bill. Louis and Francis looked momentarily stunned and then, both grinned broadly. They exchanged high fives and clapped each other on the shoulder.

“Fuck yeah, Louis, we rock!” roared Francis with delight.

“I love you guys!” Zoey was crying with joy as she threw her arms around Bill, knocking his beret askew. She kissed him on the cheek and turned to Louis and Francis and did the same – much to all of their surprise.

“Louis, you’re a charming, beautiful and sexy man, did I ever mention that?” For the first time in several days, Zoey was smiling with true joy. But it wasn’t just her – even Bill, gruff as he was, couldn’t hold back a grin as he readjusted his beret.

“When this is over, I’m getting us all some fucking beer!” said Francis.

The pilot had not said a word through the festivities, but eventually, he turned around.

“Good job, survivors,” he said. The pilot coughed – Bill noticed that his forearm came away speckled with blood. “We’re heading north to a military evacuation zone north of here.”

“Are you all right?” asked Bill. The other survivors grew silent.

“I’m fine,” said the pilot quickly. “Just fine.”

“Where are the other survivors you mentioned?”

“I…well, they…”

“You never picked them up, did you?” Bill’s voice had transitioned into an interrogating one.

“I tried!” shouted the pilot, suddenly looking maniacal. His hands began to shake, transferring the minute movements into the helicopter’s flight. “I tried, but those fuckers, one of them was infected, he bit me, I’m not immune, oh fuck…” It was too late now – the pilot doubled over in his seat and threw up all over his controls, a red and brown colored slop of infection. “I didn’t know…it could be…so fast.”

The pilot let go of the controls and began twitching uncontrollably in his seat. His speech turned incoherent – something fell out of his mouth and they saw that it was his tongue. Bill didn’t know what he was thinking as he jumped into the empty copilot’s seat.

“Hang on,” he said. Bill pulled out a pistol and executed the pilot, spraying brains and blood all over the bubble canopy.

“Wait a second, you never said you were a pilot!” said Louis.

“I’m not,” replied Bill simply, “but I’ve done enough helicopter missions to remember what the controls do.”

“Oh, tell me you ain’t serious!” Louis groaned. Even so, Bill kept the helicopter going steady – he watched the compass pointing north. Perhaps they might still make it out alive.

They flew like this for a few more minutes, peacefully. Tall skyscrapers soon gave way to smaller buildings – Zoey’s heart leapt as she saw the first of the town of Riverside, where her family was. The town was completely darkened, however – a knot formed in her chest as she looked at it.

No one noticed the pilot twitch again – and in a single moment of horror, the infected pilot roared and began moving again, viciously backhanding Bill into unconsciousness.

“Kill it, kill it!” shouted Francis as the helicopter went into an uncontrollable spin. Louis pulled out his Beretta and fired into the head, completely destroying it. He leaned forward and forced the zombie out of the cockpit to drop several hundred feet to the ground. This time, however, the survivors were faced with a new problem.

The aircraft’s controls had been destroyed in the struggle. With no guidance, it rapidly careened out of control.

“Hang on!” shouted Louis. Francis was cursing and Zoey was sobbing as the helicopter spun – it would land right in the middle of a deserted country road. The ground came up to meet them – and for a split second, Louis cursed God for making it so unfair. They had to walk right out of hell, only to fall back into it.

And then the horrible sensation of collision: pain, screeching metal and electrical crackling. The darkness came to meet him.

…

Perhaps it had been seconds, perhaps it was only days – but Louis woke up staring at the floor of the helicopter. It took him a while to realize that it had flipped nearly upside down; that he was lying on what was once the ceiling of the cabin.

He craned his neck and saw Bill moving in the copilot seat, attempting to undo his safety harness and swearing profusely. Francis was unconscious but breathing. Zoey seemed to be the same way.

“Louis, what happened?” asked Bill. A second later he fell from his seat and landed upside down. “Goddamn it!”

“We crashed. You didn’t quite kill the pilot, apparently, and he woke up and became a zombie…”

“All right,” said Bill. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

By now, Francis and Zoey were awake.

“You guys all right?” asked Louis.

“I think…one of my ribs is broken,” wheezed Francis. He tried to move and grunted with pain. “Yeah, definitely broken.” Despite himself he smiled. “You should see the other guy.”

“I sure hope you don’t mean Zoey,” said Louis as he gingerly helped Francis exit the aircraft. “We’ll set the fracture right and get to safety, you’ll be fine.”

“Course I’ll be fine!” said Francis. “As long as I’m still standing, I’ll be killing zombies!” His outburst once again disturbed his broken bone – he stopped talking and sat down.

“Zoey?” said Louis.

“Yeah Louis…”

“Come on girl, we have to move! Zombies are coming this way!” He hoped it wasn’t true, hoped that it would motivate Zoey into moving faster.

“Louis, I think I hurt something…bad.”

“What? Nah, come on, you’re a tough cookie, get up and let’s go!”

“Louis…” There was a piece of sheet metal covering her body – it had fallen out of the airframe of the helicopter and now draped over her like a blanket. Louis pulled the sheet metal away and his eyes widened with shock. One of her legs was stained with blood – a jagged piece of shrapnel had been driven through her thigh. Worst of all, it was connected to the helicopter – she was literally pinned to it. They would have to pull her off of the spike.

“Ah, shit,” said Louis. “Zoey, don’t move, just hold still.” He went outside the helicopter and found Bill who was gathering supplies from the helicopter. “Um, Bill?”

“Speak, Louis.”

“It’s Zoey. She’s hurt, real bad.” Bill followed Louis back to the helicopter crash site, where Zoey lay still, not daring to move or even look down.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked nervously.

“I’m going to break it to you straight, kid, you’re pinned by a piece of sharp metal.”

“Oh fuck,” said Zoey. “Oh, fucking shit.”

“We’re going to get you out of here,” said Bill. “It’s going to hurt, a lot, but if we don’t take you to safety, you won’t last an hour.”

“Just do it,” said Zoey, gritting her teeth. Bill turned to Louis.

“She’s lucky that it didn’t get the femoral,” he said in an undertone, referring to the large artery that ran through the thigh. “Otherwise she’d be dead. We’ll have to pull her off the spike, but that’s probably going to increase the level of bleeding.”

“What do I do?” asked Louis.

“There’s a trauma kit in my backpack. You’re going to have to grab one of the gauze pads in there and apply pressure on both the entry and exit wound. I’ll tie it down, it’ll hold until we get to a safe point.”

“Safe point? We don’t even know where we are!”

“This is the town of Riverside,” said Zoey. “We’re on the highway leading into the town. Keep going, there should be a bridge spanning a ravine that takes us to a tunnel. We can go through the tunnel and we should end up in the town. Also, are you guys ever going to get me out or not? This is really starting to hurt.”

“All right, Zoey. But let me warn you in advance – ”

“Just do it!” She took a few deep breaths and shut her eyes. “Now.”

Bill put his arms around Zoey’s waist while Louis supported her legs.

“On the count of three,” said Bill. “One, two!”

He started pulling before ‘three’ – Louis quickly followed suit and also started pulling. Zoey took a sharp breath which quickly turned into a cry of agony. Her entire body tensed.

“Try to relax!” said Louis. “Almost there!” There was a wet scraping sound of metal on flesh and finally, Zoey was free from the spike. They gently carried her outside and placed her on the ground – Zoey’s screams subsided as she drew herself into the fetal position. The wound bled with a fresh fury – Louis grabbed as much gauze as there was from the medical pack and clamped down on both the exit and entrance wound. Almost immediately, his hands were covered in her blood, a warm, wet river of it.

As he did this, Francis joined the others, holding Zoey down as Bill tied down the dressing with a sterile bandage. Within a minute, the ordeal was over. Zoey finally relaxed but continued to cry.

“And I thought I had it bad,” said Francis. He grunted as he moved. “I don’t think it’s a serious break, but…damn, I’d sure like some painkillers.”

“We don’t have any,” said Louis sadly.

“Don’t worry about it, there must be something in the town,” said Bill. “We have to move quickly though. Zoey’s not looking too good.”

“Sorry, guys,” she said forlornly. “I’m making you slow, am I?”

“We leave no one behind,” said Bill. “Come on, let’s go.” He placed a pistol into her hand and put her into a fireman’s carry.

With that, the survivors set out – this time, with Francis being forced by his broken rib to move slowly and Bill burdened by Zoey’s weight, their speed had reduced to a crawl. They wondered whether the infected would come investigate the crash site. Zoey knew they were close to the town – this was where she lived before going to college, after all. This place was intimately familiar to her – but tonight, it felt foreign and dangerous.

There were a few infected along the way – easily dealt with, of course. Once or twice a Boomer came rushing out of the trees, only to be swiftly popped by a quick burst of gunfire. It was not an easy journey – there were several close calls. However, they were at least alive and moving, albeit slowly.

The bridge had collapsed, forcing the survivors to begin a climb up a service ladder. For Zoey, this had been a pure nightmare – with only one leg capable of bearing much weight, climbing the ladder was painfully difficult. She now knew what it must be like to be disabled. On the other hand, they didn’t tend to climb ladders often anyway.

This time, they had to advance through a tunnel that was almost as dark as the sewers from before. At least it didn’t smell so bad in here. Plus, it was virtually empty besides the odd Smoker and a few regular zombies.

Soon they were on the very outskirts of the town of Riverside – Zoey recognized this area. As a child she used to play with her friends in this place, a series of abandoned power plants. She and her friends had grown up together in Riverside. They had gone to the same schools and experienced the same dramas throughout high school. And then, that final day of summer, where everyone shipped off to college. Zoey had been the only one in her group of friends to go to Fairfield College. It wasn’t a simple state school – on the contrary, it was a well regarded private institution. But that didn’t help the fact that she was alone. Her best friends had gone all over the country – to California, the Rocky Mountains, and one of her friends was going to college in Israel. Israel of all places!

It had been a lonely transition – away from home, away from friends. Coming back was always a joy to Zoey – but now, she looked at the place with dread.

“Safehouse!” Louis exclaimed, pointing.

“Oh, thank the lord,” said Bill, sighing with relief. “This kid’s getting heavy.”

“Sorry,” said Zoey apologetically. They entered the safehouse. Thankfully, there were more trauma kits in here. The bleeding from Zoey’s wound had slowed to a trickle. Furthermore, Francis had found some painkiller pills – codeine tablets. He swallowed one and gave one to Zoey, who accepted it gratefully.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” said Bill, lighting a cigarette. “We’ll move out in the morning. If we stay away from the supermarkets and food, we’ll be fine.”

“I want to check on my family,” said Zoey. “My house is north of here.”

“Zoey, we’ve been over this,” said Bill.

“I know. But I need to be sure.” Bill thought for a moment and decided that they couldn’t be worse of anyway. He might as well grant her the request – it was a simple one. Go into the house, find the family dead, and then leave.

“All right,” said Bill. “We’ll check on them.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Bill gruffly. “How’s your leg?”

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore,” said Zoey. “That codeine stuff…awesome.”

“In that case, we should suture the wound back together.” He opened up the medical bag – it was not red, like the civilian one he had been using, but ACU patterned. This kit was an Army issued one. In it, he found a few syrettes filled with morphine. There was a well stocked suture kit inside of the bag.

“I can do it myself,” said Zoey.

“You sure about that?” asked Bill, giving her the trauma kit.

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you I wanted to be a doctor? I know how to do this.”

“I don’t recall that, but if you can do it, go ahead.”

“Nothing against you, of course, I just feel more comfortable doing it myself.” She undid her belt and lowered her jeans just enough to expose the ragged holes. The men briefly caught a glimpse of her well shaped legs, as well as her groin and crotch, covered modestly by pink colored panties. Quickly, they turned around. There had been nothing sexy or attractive about it – such a sight would normally have driven most men wild with sensual hunger. But nothing of that nature was on anyone’s mind. Never mind the fact that only a simple layer of cotton kept her snatch covered – a small pink fissure that led into tantalizing reproductive depths. She was not a virgin, of course – these days, virgins at her age were becoming increasingly rarer. But mostly, that area was reserved for her fingers – pleasure without the burden of men.

It took her about five minutes, but once it was over, she had done a remarkably clean job of suturing her wounds together. She quickly wiped down the dried blood from the area with a wet rag and pulled her jeans back up. The shrapnel had missed her major blood vessels – the only real risk now was that of infection. Although so far, the survivors were already immune to super rabies. They had traipsed through sewers, been splattered by blood and pus and all sorts of disgusting tissue. Why shouldn’t they be immune to everything else? Bill wondered if his alcoholism contributed to his immunity. Perhaps there was so much alcohol in his system that he was immune to everything. The thought amused him. The doctors had been wrong! This thought now gave him a craving for alcohol. Anything, be it beer, tequila, wine coolers – would be fine.

“Do you think one day it’s…all just going to go back to normal?” said Zoey, breaking the silence. She was huddled in the corner, wrapped like a burrito with a sleeping bag.

“One would hope,” said Bill. He had finished his first cigarette and began a second. He then passed one each to Louis and Francis and offered one to Zoey, who declined.

“Man,” said Louis. “I quit smoking years ago. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“It’s a new world, Louis,” said Francis, who was no stranger to smoking. “You’d best figure out how the new management operates.”

“Good way to put it,” said Louis, taking a drag. He coughed briefly but continued smoking. “Guess I’m trying to live too much in the past. So I’m going to change up a little bit.” He stood up and opened the door to the safehouse. A minute later he came back, grinning broadly – he had a pair of tennis shoes in his hand. “I found these off a dead zombie!”

“You think it’s safe to wear?” asked Bill as Louis put the shoes on.

“I’m immune. We’re all immune. Besides, you don’t see me wearing their socks, right?”

“Just as long as you don’t get zombie stink feet,” blurted Francis. His tone of voice was completely serious – perhaps that was why everyone in the room began to laugh heartily. Even Francis joined in the laughter, but quickly stopped as a sharp pain cut through his body. God damn that broken rib. Now he couldn’t laugh at his own jokes.

“Let’s get some sleep,” said Bill. “Wake up on your own time. Once everyone is ready we’ll move out.”

…

They woke up early the next morning to the sound of shuffling – a lone zombie was outside, foraging for food. One shot from Bill’s silenced M4 was all it took – afterwards, the group left. Bill was in the lead, followed by Louis. Zoey limped along beside Francis, who walked slowly to avoid too much exertion. It was a chilly day – their breath condensed into small clouds. The sky was overcast and gray.

They had moved through a series of storm drains and a train yard, finally coming into the town proper. Zoey gave them directions to her house. They were in a small suburban neighborhood – Zoey must have come from a very well to do family. No wonder she could go to a private college.

“That’s the one,” said Zoey, pointing at a house made of brick with a white painted garage door. Externally, it appeared fine. She limped to the door and knocked on it. There was no answer. She tried the doorknob; it was locked.

“Stand back,” said Bill. He took a step forward and with all his strength, kicked the door. It ripped off its hinges and fell forward. “Welcome home,” he said to Zoey.

She was the first inside – the house was cold, but miraculously, much of it was intact. Even the HDTV television was there in the living room; the leather couches and hardwood floors were still in one piece. Zoey went to the kitchen – the refrigerator was completely empty. She checked the cabinets – there was still some canned food and dry goods in there. The group stocked their own supplies while Zoey went to check the rest of the house.

Upstairs there was her room, her brother’s room, a guest room and her parents’ bedroom. She first checked the parents’ room – but it was empty. The clothes were gone from their drawers. She checked the closet; Zoey knew her father kept a revolver up there just in case. The revolver case was empty.

She checked her own room – exactly the same. Her desk was, as usual, messy and disorganized. Zoey had her own computer in addition to her laptop at college. For kicks she tried turning it on. There was no familiar whirring of fans or the flickering of the monitor as it came to life.

Her clock radio was gone as well. On top of the dresser, there was a battery powered radio that also functioned as a CD player. She turned it on. It lit up, but the stations abroad were broadcasting nothing but static. They were alone in a world full of infected. Zoey fiddled with the dial for a bit and suddenly, voices came on the radio.

“…fishing vessel anchored off Riverside…” It was a man’s voice speaking. Zoey turned up the volume. “Attention survivors! This is John and Amanda Slater, we are a small fishing vessel anchored off Riverside. If you are hearing this message, proceed north to the boathouse at Riverside Park. We are evacuating any survivors north to a safety zone north in Newburg.”

“Guys! Up here!” Zoey called. The men went upstairs and joined her in her bedroom.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Zoey, “but listen to this!” She held out the battery powered radio, which was repeating the same message over and over.

“I’ll be damned!” said Bill.

“Riverside Park is only a mile north of here,” said Zoey. “But I’m not done here.” She went into her brother’s room. Zoey had been wondering how her brother fared throughout the whole thing – they had been unable to keep in contact with each other once the outbreak started. Phones had been tied up and the internet was down.

She saw the messily made bed, the various items strewn all over the place. In a corner of the room sat a TV and her brother’s Xbox. But like her parents’ room, there were no more clothes left in the dresser. Perhaps, then, it meant that her family had escaped alive. Maybe they had heard the broadcasts? For a fleeting second, she wondered if her entire family might just be alive.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the desk with a hastily scribbled note, weighed down by a game controller. Zoey picked it up and recognized her brother’s untidy scrawl. The twelve year old had never managed to learn good penmanship – unlike Zoey, whose writing was neat and elegant.

Dear Zoey,

I’m not sure what’s happening, but it’s really bad out here. Mom and dad are packing up the car, we’re going to evacuate with the military. They are flying people out of the cities into a safe zone in a bunch of farms up in Canada. We just have to get to the city of Newburg. They are evacuating people from the airport though.

Zoey, I’m sorry but we can’t wait for you any longer. We tried calling and emailing you, but the phones and internet are down. I sure hope you’re OK. Maybe you’ll be safe up in college.

If you ever come home and read this note, please try and find us. Hopefully we’ll be in the safe zone, if you can make it there, we’ll be waiting for you.

I miss you a lot. Mom and dad and I love you. We’ll hopefully see each other soon.

Your brother,
Jake

The letter was dated from over a week ago. Zoey took the letter, reading it several more times, before folding it carefully and pocketing it.

“Guys…I know it seems hopeless. But the boat is heading to Newburg, and my family was heading there too. I’m going.”

“Not alone, you’re not,” said Bill. “We’ll come with you.”

“You will?” asked Zoey.

“Of course! We’re a team, and we stick together. We’ll help you find your family,” said Louis.

“Amen to that! Let’s head to Riverside Park!”

And thus they began their walk to the park, taking care to keep out of sight. They made it into the boathouse, calling the fishing vessel, which came quickly. The evacuation had been swift and easy. And as the boat began chugging north upriver, everyone had a common thought.

Maybe there were still things left worth fighting for. One question remained, however: was it all still there?

…

Next up, Dead Air.

And, possibly, the death of a character - I haven't decided yet. So if you have something to say about that, do so. It may or may not influence my decision.

I think if you killed off a character, you'd probably have to supply another one within the same story. After all, the name of it is Left 4 Dead Perhaps someone trapped in a closet?

I just hope it's Francis

My money's on Bill