It's Okay
A L4D One-Shot

There were pros and cons to living in the city during a zombie apocalypse. The pros: lots of supplies, lots of hiding places, more likely to find survivors. The cons: supplies was difficult to find and get, hiding places were not necessarily safe, more likely to be swarmed by Infected.

All my facts provoked a question: was it really so smart to have stayed in the city?

Probably not, but it would have been just as stupid to try and escape. My uncle and aunt, both of whom lived with me and my brother prior to the sickness, had fled the city. They also promised to contact me as soon as they reached their farmhouse and found their truck. Well, either they broke their promise, or they died.

I cried when I first forced myself to fathom the possibility, but my tears ran dry soon enough. As much as I loved my aunt and uncle, they were only the second and third people I had lost. The first…

…was my brother.

Leon went missing before the sickness began ripping Mankind apart from the roots up. The police just shrugged it off. They thought my brother ran away to make a name for himself in the drug business. But what those stupid cops never grasped was that Leon would never have left me. My aunt and uncle, maybe. But never me.

Since the moment we were conceived in our late mother's womb, Leon and I were inseparable.

To even suggest such a thing to me was a huge blow to my ego. Did people really sustain a notion that my brother and I were so distant? And if so, what could possibly make them think that?

Leon loved me as much as I loved him. We looked after each other, even when we were in our separate social circles. Maybe I never did drugs or smoked or skipped, but so what? A difference of lifestyles would not deteriorate our relationship.

I refused to entertain the notion, especially when everyone else seemed to fully believe it.

-BREAK-

When the infection struck, I moved into the basement. With solid, low-leveled walls on all sides and only one possible entrance, it was the easiest place to be. I had quickly dragged a mattress, pillow, and two blankets down there. Then, quiet and quick, I shoved every non-perishable food item in our house into some old school bags.

Water was perhaps the most difficult thing to obtain, and it was the most important. We had several bottles—maybe twenty—in the refrigerator. Not nearly enough for long periods of time. Of course, thanks to the same wretched infection that put me in this situation, other homes had been abandoned, supplies left for my use. So, armed, I took to the neighborhood. Many times I ran into Infected, but never in large numbers. Defeating individual Infected was easy enough if you worked it right.

Yet, despite my efforts to ration my supplies, I ran out of water eventually. By the end of the second month, I was dehydrated and waterless.

Thankfully, there was a convenience store not far. Outside of our street, past the intersection a short ways... About three and a half miles.

Risky as it was, I knew it was necessary, so I went out. My uncle's axe in hand, my brother's pistol at hip, spare bullets in pocket, I made my way down our street. Quiet. Almost peaceful.

So far.

My legs wobbled with each step; my heart stopped at each noise I made. One too-loud sound. That was all it would take, and I would be dead. I was alone, without my family or friends. All I had to remember them were the weapons I held.

Leon, I wondered as I crept along. Where did you go? Are you safe?

He most likely was dead. Just like my aunt and uncle.

Dammit. If everyone had just stayed...

But who could have seen this bullshit coming?

The wind rustled my hair. I nearly cursed when I temporarily found myself blind and vulnerable. In a rush, I firmly clutched my air and sawed it with the axe. It was uncomfortable and sloppy; still, it got the job done. As if I never stopped, I moved on and left my hair behind.

By the time I reached the end of the street, my anxiety hit maximum. I could hear them now—the Infected. Moans and groans, like the sickly people they were.

Gulping, I set my axe down beside the Russo family's oak tree, right at the base, and scaled its thick limps. I peered out cautiously once I was up high enough. There were not as many Infected as I would have guessed, but the amount was still daunting.

Nervously, I lowered myself back to the ground and picked up my axe. With silent, swift steps, I ducked behind an abandoned car, gripping the axe so tight my skin turned pale. No noise of any kind acknowledged my movement, so I assumed I was safe.

The wind blew again—I trembled and tugged my hoodie on. As I did, I thought, What sort of idiot wears a bright pink hoodie to try and sneak into a convenience store?

Naturally, I answered myself, A sentimental one who misses her twin brother.

The white duck tape on my hoodie and cargo pants glistened a bit while I twisted my arms around to find the smiley face Leon once drew on one of the strips. He drew it to celebrate my first successful parkour class—his fifth, he had boasted.

Shaking my head clear of the memory, I proceeded to sneak closer to the store, car-by-car, tree-by-tree, bush-by-bush. Considering I was no mouse, I did pretty well. My lucky streak ended, however, when I pushed the convenience store door open and found myself face to face with a semi-familiar face: Wallace Brown. Wally.

He used to be Leon's best friend until they got to high school. Then, though they remained friends, they grew apart a bit.

How I recognized him, I could not comprehend. His once handsome face was disturbed by a growth on its left, and he had a long, intestine-like appendage where his tongue should have been. His cold zombie eyes stared at me while green smoke poured from his skin. He coughed and wheezed a bit; and then, without much other warning, he had me lassoed.

Wally was different from other Infected. Other infected still looked fairly normal; Wally was a monstrosity.

A monstrosity that was slowly but surely killing me as the tight appendage squeezed and pulled me closer. His arms were raised to strike me. A panicky feeling rose in my chest, but I maintained my determination to not have an anxiety attack. Still, even so, I found myself biting my tongue to the point of drawing blood just to keep myself focused on something besides my accelerating heart.

Behind my captor, there was a sudden burst of growling and snarling. Wally paid it no mind until his intestine-like appendage was sliced off fluently as something jumped him. Immediately, I squirmed away, trying to untangle myself or at least get my gun from where the trapped position at my hip. My efforts proved pointless when my 'savior' shoved and drove Wally away.

I watched the interaction with stunned interest. Rather than kill the opposing Infected, Wally just sulked away. It was the most human thing I had ever seen in my several experiences dealing with Infected. They were like two friends who merely fought over who got the remote. Wally acted a lot like he did with...

A scream caught in my throat as a great weight pounced on me. I stared up at the face of my Angel of Death, numb to my very core. Filthy lengths of ash-blonde hair hung in thin strands from the hooded figure's head. While I could not see the eyes, I could see the rest of the face. It bared great resemblance to mine and, by default, my brother's.

My pondering ceased when the Infected raised thick claws, ready to strike me to death, and I screamed the one thing that seemed to press at my foggy brain:

"LEON, PLEASE!"

The claws struck my chest, tearing into my hoodie. But no other assault came.

Whimpering, I opened my eyes to see the Infected pinning me down twitching violently. More strands of hair peeked out from the hood. The hood of a black hoodie with green duct tape with little hearts drawn on the strips. My handy work, I remembered, from my eighth parkour class.

With a painful swallow, I raised my one free hand towards the Infected's face. Its dry, cracked lips curled back to reveal bloody teeth; I was not deterred as I should have been. Slowly, gently, I pushed the hoodie back.

My brother's scratched, dry, bloody face stared down at me. He looked hardly like himself at all, but I knew it was him.

"Leon..." I whispered, causing the Infected to twitch. "It is you... I thought it might be... My God, look at you..."

Growling. He was growling. Didn't he recognize me? Or had the infection stolen my brother's mind fully away and left only his body behind?

"Brother," I continued, stroking my thumb over his cheek bone. I vaguely recognized the feeling of claws starting to pierce my stomach even through the fabric of my hoodie. The movement was slow, calculated... hesitant. "Leon, it's me. It's Leah. Your sister."

Growl.

"Please, Leon."

Blood gradually soaked into my hoodie.

"Leon, I love you."

The fabric of my hoodie absorbed the blood wholly.

"Brother..."

More twitching.

More growling.

More pain.

More soaking.

Pulling myself up via his body and ignoring the way his claws dug violently into my sides, I whispered into my brother's ear, "It's okay... I know you can't help it. If I'm going to die, I'd want it to be at your hands, Leon."

I kissed his cheek, forcing myself not to flinch as he snarled and bit at my face with fury and hunger, and closed my eyes. His claws ripped through the appendage that had bound me; I could reach my pistol.

But I left it at my hip.

And I waited for the end to come.

A/N:I do not own L4D. I do own Leon, Leah, and Wally.

I might write a sequel to this someday. Until then, enjoy this as it is.

And in case you haven't read the "original", which you don't have to to understand this, obviously, it is called Experimental. It's not really a "prequel", but it could easily serve as such.