This will be my third fanfic, even though I haven't completed either of my first two. Unfortunately, My resistance fanfic will probably never be touched again. Sorry, but I have no inspiration for it, and more importantly, I don't have the game.

However, with my recent addition of Left 4 Dead 2 into my library, I've gotten some inspiration on what to write!~ Unfortunately, I'm still having random spurts of thoughts from my TF2 fic, so this one's coming out weird. For the first time, I'm making a crossover! D8

Don't worry though, both games belong to Valve, so I don't have to write the copyrights for both games into different companies. And because I just stated who they belong to, I don't have to write the copyright! xDDD

So, I present to you, this train-wreck of a fanfic.~

Enjoy~~~~

Ellis slammed the door to the safehouse behind him.

As usual, he shoved the few pieces of furniture against the door to blockade anything that might come in. After pushing the desk right up to it, he shoved his back onto the wall and slumped down onto the floor.

Then he did something he had never done before in this entire nightmare.

He began to cry.

He buried his eyes into his knees as he wrapped his arms around his legs and began to slowly rock back and forth. It had been a disaster. They had only just crossed the swamp and into the village when they had met up with a witch. As usual, they tried to sneak by her without getting caught. But just as they were about to get clear of her, Nick's shotgun went off and hit her in the foot. That was the trouble with using scavenged weapons. You never knew the condition they were in and how reliable they were. Ellis had urged him to stick with the weapon he currently had and just grab some more ammunition, but Nick insisted that he just take another weapon. After all, it was easier than picking out exactly the amount of shells you had lost blowing zombie's brains out.

The Witch was startled and began to charge. The four of them ran into the next house, thinking that they were safe until a smoker shot out and grabbed Rochelle, dragging her away into a mob of undead, and into the clutches of the witch. Ellis made to rescue her, but Coach held him back while Nick held back the remaining zombies, yelling that it was too late, she couldn't be helped.

The remaining three survivors trekked across the bayou and into a partially-sunken house, grabbing a few pills and re-stocking their weapons with heavy hearts. Suddenly, a spitter came in through the entrance which they had just arrived through and shot its spray of corrosive fluids at them. Luckily, her brain was in a state of being rotted out, so she miscalculated the distance of her shot. Unfortunately, her acid happened to hit one of the support beams of the rickety house. Nick had managed to escape the roof caving in, being closest to the exit of the building. Ellis came out of the water as wiped himself off of the remaining spitter goo which clung to his pants. "Well, that was close, huh?" Ellis looked around and found Nick. He looked around some more and only found Nick. It was only when he slowly turned to the wreckage of the house did he find a bloody arm sticking out from underneath the rubble. He easily recognized the glove as Coach's. His eyes widened as he tripped over the planks and began to dig through the rubble, hoping to dear god that he was still alive. About a minute after digging, he found Coach's body, a hole had been burned through his stomach. Ellis turned away in disgust and horror. A defibrillator would not work this time.

The two continued to trudge through the swamp, straining under the weight of two of their fallen comrades. Ellis looked up from his feet and his face brightened up when he saw the safehouse. He nudged Nick to look up and he grinned when he saw it as well. The two ran towards it as fast as they could run through the water. Something roared throughout the bayou as the two froze and turned around. A tank. Of all times. The two desperately backpedaled as the hulk of muscle charged forward, but to no avail. They were two guns too short. As a last-ditch effort, Ellis threw his bottle of boomer-bile a few meters away, where it crashed and released its contents. The tank stopped its assault and turned towards the cloud of green smoke which had attracted the hordes of undead. The survivors dashed towards the safehouse, and had almost made it when Nick froze in his tracks and turned around at the tank. "C'mon, man, let's move!!!" Ellis cried out at a desperate attempt to bring his comrade inside. Nick turned around and ran inside. Ellis slumped against the wall, satisfied that he had saved one friend, but his face turned to a look of concern as Nick threw boxes across the floor, as if looking for something. Nick stopped at one box, and slowly pulled out four pipe-bombs, ready to blow.

Ellis looked at him with a confused stare, but then twisted his face to a look of horror as he realized what Nick was about to do. "No, man! You can't!" Ellis scramble dup to his partner and grasped him by his suit, trying to save his remaining companion. But Nick wouldn't listen. "When I blow these bombs, you make sure that you barricade yourself in here, ok? I'm not sure if the tank will still be alive when I set these off, but it'll definitely be weakened." Nick shoved Ellis backwards and opened the door they had just entered through to see the last bit of boomer bile start to dwindle away, releasing the attention of the horde from the gas to Nick. "I don't have much to gain if I ever make outta here. But you've got a family, friends, people who care about you. All I ever made was enemies. Counting cards until I could open up my own casino, where I just made more and more enemies…" He looked down at his feet in deep thought. Then jerked it back up with unwavering determination. "Tell Keith I said hi." And he bolted out the door.

Ellis dashed towards the door frame and stood still. He could only watch as his last ally threw himself at the tank, but he slammed the door just before he witnessed Nick's demise.

So here he was. Sitting in the safehouse, crying his eyes out for his fallen comrades. All they had been through, all they had suffered, all of it….gone. Out the window, as though it had never existed. There would be no replacements for them. Coach's great words of wisdom, Rochelle's caring, yet violent additude, and Nick's snide and cynical remarks. Though they had their differences, there was no doubt that they never would have made it this far on their own.

But now, what had once been four was one. And here he was, weeping in the corner and wishing to god that he could just end this nightmare right now. He suddenly stopped his rocking and looked up. A few feet in front of him was the magnum Nick had been carrying. Ellis had swapped his pistols for a baseball bat, and his shotgun had long since run out of ammunition. He slowly crawled over to the handgun and grasped it with his hands. The metal was still warm with Nick's touch, since he had it in his hands only a few moments ago. Ellis examined it from a few angles before gripping it as though he were going to shoot something. Then he slowly raised the barrel just below his chin, pointing it upwards into his skull.

But he couldn't fire.

Ellis dropped the gun to the floor and gazed towards the ceiling, tears dropping like rain. The three of them had sacrificed themselves for his sake. Killing himself now would have put all their efforts to waste. All of their efforts. There was no way Ellis would've made it on his own, or any one of the others on theirs. Only through cooperation had they come this far, even if only one of them remained. Ellis glanced over at the shotgun on the table across the room. He puched against the wall and pried himself off the wall towards it. Then he wiped off his remaining tears and grasped it in his hands.

He had realized their purpose. Even if only one person were to be rescued, they all would've survived. It had dawned upon Ellis' mind that he would've done the exact same for them, becoming a martyr for the life of any one of them. And now it was his duty. To make sure that all of them survived in his mind. To make sure their tale of survival would not be forgotten, so that their pages in history would not be wiped away in the sands of time. Ellis grabbed a first-aid kit out of the four that remained. He shoved the magnum into his holster and grabbed a pipe bomb.

It was their turn then.

It was his turn now.

Ellis unbolted the door and kicked it open.