Left 4 Dead: Memento Mori
Chapter 1 – Intro pt. 1
Zoey
College was a depressing experience. Wake up in a filthy dorm room, go to classes that are so boring they make you want to put a gun to your temple and paint the walls with gray matter, eat lunch, go back to depressing classes and then come back to your filthy dorm room, barring (of course) the outbreak of a frat party from the good boys at Xi Delta Mu.
Zoey knew the depression of College all too well. After two years in it, she had become extremely bored with the experience. Every day was the same routine. Every single day.
The only solace she took in the experience was twofold. One, her parents were not there. Now, Zoey didn't exactly hate her parents per say. She just enjoyed time away from them. Her dad was an alcoholic and had separated from her mom when Zoey was five years old. Her mom was rendered borderline suicidal for the rest of her days. She never actually did it, but there were times when Zoey actually thought she would.
The second thing Zoey loved about College was the fact that her roommate Samantha held a common interest with her. Horror flicks. Zoey had seen every one she could get her hands on. Friday the 13th, Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and absolutely every single one of George S. Romero's masterpieces of zombie gore and macabre. Samantha was, in some ways, Zoey's horror movie apprentice. She had only seen the big name scare flicks. In Zoey's opinion, the big namers always sucked. It's the ones you have to look for that are the best. The Grindhouse exploitation films, the indie gore mash-ups of yesteryear, take your pick.
It was this night that Zoey and Samantha sat in their filthy dorm room, which Sam had dressed to look goth (which neither she nor Zoey were officially), and watched the goriest film of the year. Zompocalypse.
"Where did you get this?" Sam asked her roommate. "It's possibly the bloodiest movie I have ever seen!"
"I found it from a bootleg vendor down the street." Zoey answered. "I go to him for all the new flicks."
"But I've never even heard of this one! When was it made?"
"It's brand new. Indie. Flew under the radar and got a soft open in only three states."
"How did it get past the MPAA? It's an absolute bloodbath!"
"It didn't. The MPAA refused to rate it because of the excessive violence, gore, language, and of course the shining gold star on this cinematic achievement…" Sam joined Zoey in finishing the sentence.
"Raunchy sex and nudity!" The two girls laughed loudly at the joke that they had held since Zoey's first year of college. They had acknowledged it as one of the three universal rules that applied to all horror movies. First, gratuitous sex and nudity will be shown on screen, and none of the participants that take place in said carnal acts shall survive the film.
Second, as unfortunate as it may sound, the black guy dies first. It wasn't anything racial, it was just that fact that Zoey had noticed this trend. For some reason, whenever there is a loud noise off screen that instantly proclaims to the viewer that the antagonistic villain/monster/zombie/killer/mad scientist is near, the token black survivor of whatever horror is being faced suddenly gets the courage to go off and check it out. Two scenes later, said token black fellow's head suddenly shows up on a pike with his body nailed to the wall. Smart move checkin' out that noise! Really, the girls hated the rule and always rooted for the token black man, up until the moment he is sadly and violently murdered.
The third rule was simple. The greatest horror movies of all time end with the hero/heroine ending up dead himself/herself. Why would we want to see the good guys win? So cliché. Only when the villain/monster/zombie/killer/mad scientist completely and totally massacres every one and everything do Zoey and Sam get their money's worth.
Of course, there was also the fourth unwritten and unsaid rule that needed no discussing. The MPAA sucked. Every single one of those guys and gals who rate the movies they watched always seemed to have their heads up their asses. These know nothing fools rate movies based on blood, language, and sex, but never the substance of the films. They had totally overlooked Zompocalypse because of the blood and boobs featured within. What do you think will curb a teens appetite for destruction, murder, chaos, and fornication better than an hour and a half of blood, gore, zombies, and sex? But no! The Soccer Moms of America need to be holier than thou and say that movies like this "corrupt our youth and incite anarchic behavior".
Zoey always hated talking about the MPAA, in fact, she tried to avoid the topic all together. This is why rule four was unwritten and unsaid. The only thing Zoey was ever corrupted by was the spousal abuse she witnessed as a child, and that wasn't that much.
"God I love movie night!" Sam proclaimed.
"I know right! I heard they were making a Zompocalypse 2."
"No way!" It continued like this throughout the night.
--
Louis
"How are the trial runs going?" Louis asked the doctors as they walked out of the lab.
"What are you doing up here Louis?" the Doctor replied. "You know this is a restricted area."
"Yeah I know, but I wanted to see what you guys were working on. The guys downstairs said it was some sort of cure for cancer."
"You know that's not information I can share with you. You need to get back downstairs before someone spots you."
"Damn it Rick, I want to know what you guys are working on up here! Please, you can't keep secrets from me man! We went to high school together! Come on, what are you working on?" Louis was adamant. Rick knew he wouldn't leave without new info.
"Alright, fine! We're experimenting with performance enhancing drugs. They're supposed to enhance all five senses; sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing."
"Enhancement drugs? What are they doing working on things like that in there?"
"I don't know, now go back downstairs to your goddamn desk now please." Louis reluctantly agreed with his old friend.
"Fine. But, you're going to keep me posted on what's going on up here." Rick didn't say anything as Louis fixed his tie and ran back downstairs.
--
Francis
Driving a motorcycle within city limits was hell if you were a biker. Francis always hated traffic control cops pulling him over for no reason. It was his tattoos they had a problem with. They always mistook them for gang tats. The local gang in Fairfield was called "the Brotherhood". It was just a bunch of whack-job bikers with matching leather jackets and easily agitated attitudes. Francis was not affiliated with them.
The bar Francis frequented most was called "The Greasy Wheel". The owner knew Francis and let him use the bar as a "second home" as he liked to say. He was at the bar more than his own house. Ever since his wife left him, Francis hadn't wanted to be there much.
The tattooed biker sucked down a shot of whiskey and looked up at the television hanging from the ceiling. The news was on again. The newscasters were rambling idiots in his opinion, but it was what was on. There was a news report about Solanum Industries.
"CEOs of Solanum Industries today met with the heads of several pharmaceutical companies to discuss progress on the project that was contracted between them three weeks ago. No details of said project have been released to the public as of yet, but an inside source has informed me that scientists inside have been working on performance enhancing drugs that are speculated to enhance workings of the five senses. What does this mean for you, the viewer? As of yet, we cannot say. Stay tuned for more details."
"Hey Ryan." said Francis to his favorite bartender. "Turn this shit off. The game's on today, why can't we watch that?"
"Cause I wanna watch this Francis." The bartender replied. "When you own a bar, you can put on whatever the hell you want." The biker took another shot of whiskey, finishing the bottle, and got up to leave.
"Fine, I'll see you later." He said as he pushed open the heavy door.
"Francis." The biker stopped at the door. "Go home. Please. You need sleep."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Francis was kick-starting his hog before Ryan could get out another word. The wind was in his face within minutes.
--
Louis
"Louis!" The IT desk jockey looked up from his little world called cubicle. It was Rick, coming down from the labs upstairs.
"What is it?" Louis tried to sound as unsuspicious as possible.
"What the hell was that on TV?" Rick asked.
"What are you talking about?"
"The report on the Fairfield News! The anchorwoman said she has a source inside Solanum and then, as if by magic, she recites the exact information I told you earlier!" Damn, Louis thought. She had said the report would be as vague as possible and run a week from then. Louis knew the press lied, but never to this extent.
"What are you saying Rick?" he asked.
"I'm saying that you are the source! God damn it Louis, I could lose my job if they find out I told you what they were working on and you went and told the press!"
"I didn't tell the press, Rick!" Louis lied. "You know I wouldn't do that!"
"You would do anything to get out of this job! I know you hate it. I know all you fantasize about is quitting, but you never do it because the severance pay would be worth it. Getting fired from this damn job is your ultimate goal." Louis was silent, as his friend's suspicions were true.
"I am not letting you take me down with you." Rick continued. "If you want to get fired, that's your business, not mine. Leave me out of it." Rick was gone before Louis could even mutter 'I'm sorry'.
--
Bill
The inner workings of a gun were a complex thing. When a trigger is pulled, all a person really sees is the slam of the hammer and the flight path of the bullet. Really, when a trigger is fired, the hammer is pushed back and a spring loaded mechanism slams a firing pin down on a small circular space on the back of a bullet containing a reserve of gunpowder. The explosion of gunpowder within the chamber pushes the bullet forward through the barrel, ejecting it out the business end of the firearm.
After a bullet is fired from the barrel, the cartridge that once held the bullet is ejected from the chamber and falls freely to the floor. Another bullet then takes the place of the fired one once room is made through a spring pushed mechanism within the magazine of the handgun. Once a new bullet takes the first one's place, the process can be repeated several times depending on the amount of bullets a given magazine can hold.
These were the thoughts that were running through Bill's head as he aimed at the head of the paper target in front of him. The firing range was a place of solace for him. The jungles of Vietnam may be a distant memory at the moment, but in a place deep, deep within his soul, he was still there.
Three shots rang out, each making holes in the paper target fifty feet away from the place where he stood. He wore no glasses or earmuffs like the people beside him in the room. He had no need for them. He was already desensitized to the sound, sight, and smell of the firing of the bullet.
The paper target took fifteen seconds to reach its owner. Bill surveyed his work. Just like his days in Vietnam, his kill shots were precise, two in the heart, one in the head. Like a poisonous snake's bite, the hits were lethal and fatal. He still had it.
Bill pulled up another paper target and put it in its place on the hanger. He clicked the button that pushed the mechanism back to the end of the hallway. Once it had stopped, Bill pushed the magazine release and caught the clip as it fell into his hand. He pushed three more bullets into it from his ammo box and loaded it back into the M1911A1 pistol. He fired blindly forward, slightly testing his skills. He would later find that the bullet hit dead center in the forehead of the target. He was more impressed by the spent shell he had caught in the air after the slide ejected it.
Yeah, he still had it.
--
Zoey
Zoey was tired. It was past four o' clock in the morning, and she had to get up for classes the next morning. Maybe she'd skip the first two tomorrow. Yeah, she could afford to do that.
There were limited amounts of warm water in the dorm's shower. Zoey worked with what she could. After about fifteen minutes in the bathroom, she was shivering. The towel she wrapped around herself only came down to just below her hips. It warmed her up when Sam joined her in the bathroom.
"Hey there." Zoey said to her. Sam was wearing nothing but a towel over her naked form. Zoey couldn't help but stare. She had always been jealous of Sam's genetic 'gifts'.
"Well hello." She replied. Her hands moved quickly to the top of her towel. Zoey's eyes widened when it fell to the floor and Sam stood before her in nothing but her birthday suit. Zoey smiled.
"I'm guessing you're not tired." She said. Her eyes ran over the blonde haired goddess before her. Sam's sleek amazing curves invited Zoey in.
"The night's just getting started for me." Sam replied. "How about you?"
"I think I can stay up a bit longer. I was planning on skipping my first two classes anyway."
"Good, then I guess we can have some fun before we get to bed." Sam's smile elongated. Her gentle face warmed Zoey's mood. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Sam swiftly swiped her towel off of her torso as well, exposing her. She could swear time stopped when Sam's lips met hers. She pulled away only seconds after.
"Mmm. You taste good." She said. Sam mustered a giggle. Zoey pushed her out of the bathroom door back into the bedroom. The two girls fell down onto the bed, their lips molding them into one.
Zoey couldn't get enough of Sam. She had been transfixed on her since their first meeting. She had never felt the same way about any other girl than she felt about Sam. She didn't just think of Sam as a friend. She thought of her as a love. It had taken her six months to actually admit it to her. When Sam reciprocated, she had made her a very happy girl. They spent all the time they could together. Zoey's heart was sent racing every time Sam touched her. They spent every night together. Zoey felt safe in Sam's arms. When their lips met, it was like a fireworks show. They were two souls molded into one, two lovers trapped in an everlasting moment of time.
If either of their parents ever found out about this, blood might be spilt. That's why they had promised never to go home. Sam didn't come from a broken home like Zoey had. Her parents were self-made millionaires, highly aristocratic, high-society types. They were also homophobic, gay-bashing, Conservative Republicans. Sam hated her parents for that.
Neither of the girls wanted to go home. They wanted to be together forever. Three months before, they were looking at prices on apartments. Zoey had even found one that Sam agreed to pay half for. It was waiting for them after college.
For now, all they had was the dorm room and each other. Zoey lay in Sam's arms, and vice versa. They stared at each other all night. It was over an hour before anything was said.
"I love you." Sam told the girl beside her.
"I love you too." Zoey answered.
"Promise me you'll never leave my arms."
"I promise." The two shared a kiss and laid their heads on their pillows. They slept soundly, their dreams filled with hope.