Here I bring you a story from my L4D2 fandom. I'm actually not quite sure what I plan on doing with it, but I guess I'll find out as I find muse for it.
Enjoy!
Darkness enveloped him; pure, unfiltered darkness suffocating, holding him down as if he were being drowned. He was still breathing, even though every time he took a breath his nostrils would fill with the grotesque stench of blood, sickness, and death. Every breath didn't seem worth living for now. He didn't want to open his eyes yet. He tried moving a hand, wriggling his cramped fingers and then the other. Now his toes; okay, he still could wiggle them too. That was good. Finally, he cracked his eyes open.
Smoke twirled and plumed about him, it occurred to him some of what he had smelled was burnt bodies and fires. Not the best thing to wake up to. He laid there for a few moments, trying to recollect, staring up at the ashen skies. Where had the blue gone? He wasn't sure. His elbows bent as he pushed his upper half up and he let out a grunt of discomfort as his body let his brain know that it was sore; very, very sore. His gaze moved down his torn shirt. Man, he really liked that one.
Then he looked down at his pants. His breath caught and his pain receptors went crazy. Past his the knee of his torn pants was his… femur? He didn't care what bone it was. It was sticking out of his leg with muscle and tendon and blood surrounding it. There was only so much he could take from looking at the torn up flesh and the bone… Oh God, that red stuff. He keened over to the side and expelled his stomach onto the rubble and upturned earth next to him. He had never been a real squeamish fellow when it came to gore, but every time he glanced at his broken leg it made his head spin and his tummy churn.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man…" He muttered the mantra over and over, pinching his eyes shut and shaking his head as he willed away the sight before him. He opened them again. Everything was the same. He observed the site surrounding him more closely. There was pieces of… well, a helicopter everywhere some of the parts flaming. He was close to the bank of a river. In the distance, above the horizon line was the remnants of a bridge. Little, glowing fires dotting distance land mass and the bridge itself, revealing that the whole scene had been a fiery destruction zone.
Around him were a few fallen victims; dismembered, bloodied, and lifeless. Oh yeah. Then the whole zombie apocalypse thing came crashing down to him; meeting Coach, Rochelle, and Nick after being alone for so long, fighting through a zombie-infested mall, amusement park, swamp, bridge… The feeling of relief as they all stepped foot on the copter, yelling to the pilot that they had made it! They finally made it! Then the sinking feeling as alarms in the helicopter sounded and a weight spun them out of control as zombies jumped onboard, and then coming face to face with an infected pilot for the second time and doing the murdering of said individual himself.
The sound of the bridge exploding, crumbling as he tried to steer the helicopter to safety rang in his fresh memories. He recalled his comrades calling for him and then their screams as the copter made a swift dive for the ground. The feeling of his body rushing out of the cockpit and then his leg snapping as he slid through the dirt, and then unconsciousness. Now, here he was; alone once more like how it all had begun. Except this time he knew the names of the other three who had fought with them. Suddenly frantic, but unable to move, he glanced around. He sought out even the slightest existence of his companions.
Nothing, no one, just helicopter remains and smoke and fire everywhere. The dead bodies he could see didn't look familiar, until he spotted a dark-skinned arm protruding out from underneath some banged up metal sheet. Those thin digits with previously manicured nails now dirty with grime and soot… and then what brought reality stabbing into his heart was the golden hoop bracelets still clinging to the wrist. "Rochelle!" He cried out hoarsely and then coughed; his lungs and vocal cords straining from inhaling so much smoke. He immediately, without thinking, tried to stand and then his weight gave out as a tremor of great pain shot straight up his leg.
Now he crawled, pretty sure something else was broken, pushing aside metal fragments and bits of electrical wiring, ash, dirt. His leg was throbbing profusely now that the pain was so mind-numbing he ignored it. "Ro-Rochelle!" He stuttered out, panic overtaking him as he clawed his way to her arm, the only thing he could see of her, but as he got closer he could see it was connected to her shoulder. He prayed that it wasn't just dismembered from the rest of her. Finally his fingers grabbed the hand and his heart skipped. Cold, stiffness met his touch. How long had his unconsciousness reigned over him?
He let out a sob of disbelief, sitting up slightly to angrily toss the metal sheet hiding the rest of her. Ah, he found her. Her neck was craned to the side and up, her mouth open and her eyes gazing sightlessly at nothing. Her clothes were tattered and dirty and bloody. The arm he had saw was dislocated and from what he could see of the other side of her face it was mutilated. His lower lip trembled. She had been so proud, so kind. She seemed almost indestructible at times. What the hell happened? How could she die? No, she couldn't be dead. She couldn't. See? She was still alive, he saw her twitch. No, he didn't. He was making it up. "Ro'?" He questioned softly, his voice cracking and the realization hit him. Rochelle was gone. After all the killing he'd done to every zombie, they'd once been people too and he'd seen them dead.
This was different. He knew her. They had spent months together protecting each other, fighting back to back; just as he had done with Coach and Nick. They were a team, and they couldn't be a team now with Rochelle… dead, could they? He clung to her hand fiercely, rocking slightly. "Come back, come back, Ro'… come back now, ya hear? Please? Don' go leavin' us…" Tears began to roll down his cheeks and he clenched his teeth together, holding his sobs back. He couldn't cry yet. It wasn't safe; he had to get somewhere safe. He unsteadily cupped his hand over her eyes when he was done shedding his tears, closing them and then gently shutting her mouth to make her look more peaceful. Finding a defibrillator would be a blessing that would go unused by now.
He then leaned back and scooted a few feet away. He had to find the other two. He had to. They couldn't be dead. He needed them, and they needed him. And if they were alive, their condition would be no better than him. His tear-stained face scanned the area in a daze and his eyes recognized his hat. He reached his arm out and plucked it from the rubble, dusting it off with his other hand. He scowled at some blood stains and then smoothed his hair back and slipped his hat on. Ellis sighed shakily, feeling a lump form in his throat again, the feeling of loneliness rendering him immobile.
He pulled his good leg close and hugged his arms around it, shoving his nose into his knee and beginning to cry again; alone.
A/N: I hope you can get the sense of alone, and hopelessness from poor little Ellis here. It may get better for him, it may get worse. Stay tuned to find out!
Reviews and such are always greatly welcomed.