So, The Zombie Club. Basically, the Breakfast Club (Teenagers from different cliques forced to work together) meets Left 4 Dead (zombies hurr). Also, chapter titles are named after song names. :)

Chapter ichi: For Those About To Rock

FIRE!

He could barely see through the mop of black hair that covered his already short-sighted vision. He threw the molotov cocktail high in the air, as far as he could... And it landed not a few feet away from him. Cursing his faked sick notes and forged signatures he'd used to escape the shotput trials, he sprinted away from the already spreading fire and tripped over his own laces. Why couldn't he do his laces? Why did he even wear laces? It was pointless; this whole zombie thing was pointless.

He sat up on the wet grass, dew tickling his fingers as he fiddled valiantly with his mismatched laces. Tongue stuck out in a fit of concentration, the acclaimed "genius of Thornwood high" sat down amidst a wreath of burning flames, at the end of the world, and failed to do what every other sixteen year old had learnt ten years before.

Deciding against the fiddling and instead opting to just tuck the luminous strands into his DCs, the boy got on his feet, and started to run as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran up the steps and into the hellhole he called 'school' - hellhole before the zombies, hellhole after the zombies. Some things never change.

Surrounded by flames, threatened by death, and walking through a sea of corpses, the boy closed his mind to the world around him, as he so often did, and found his way to the staff lounge. On the table, not yet scorched by the flames of a hundred molotovs, sat two pistols. With a cry of delight that seemed almost juvenile, the boy picked up the guns and shoved some ammo into his deep jeans pockets. Examining the pistols, he found they were a P220 and a M1911. Doubting his own strength to contain the recoil of such light guns, he stuffed the smaller M1911 into his belt loop and made sure the P220 was filled before running out into the fire, grinning.

If those CEDA guys had been right about where the guns were, they were right about other stuff too. Safe houses, they'd said. Grab the guns and go to the red doors. Keep the houses stocked with whatever you find and take only what you need.

Smiling in the face of a slow and painful death, Tyrek Campbell ran for his life.

Screaming with delight as she mowed down zombies with the machine gun turret, the girl with the long brown hair; the introverted and shy individual; the one that no-one knew, was having the time of her life - just she'd promised she would.

"Silly girl!" Her teachers had said. "Video games, movies, TV programmes - anything but work! Why won't you do what's best for your life?"

"But when the zombies take over," the girl had replied, "And world war 3 takes it's toll; and there's a nuclear apocalypse and we're all sealed up in vaults; and the mutants take over; and the robots rule the Earth; that's when I'll work." Subsequently, she'd been kicked out of school after school, had countless phones and consoles confiscated, and had never made one good friend. Yet, she always put her faith in the chance that one day, just maybe, there would be enough of a movie-like video-game situation for her to prove her worth.

And that day had come.

She'd already taken care of her peers and her teachers; some of the first to be struck with the infection; and now she was helping the military defend the burning school as it was searched for survivors.

A heavy hand smacked her shoulder.

"That's good enough missy, but you should really get going!" A thick Scottish accent. This was the same officer that had granted her use of the machine turret. "The city's burning, so take what firearms you'll need and make your way to the safehouses."

"Safehouses?" She'd replied, confused.

"Aye, safehouses. Big red doors."

"But can't you evac us now?"

"Sorry missy, but we just ain't got the resources. I know CEDA's tryinga help an' all, but at this moment, we're just containing the green flu - evac is not an option."

"Ah, I see." Pretending to be dismayed, she had walked over to where the military were handing out guns to immune pedestrians and informing them of the acclaimed 'safe houses' - and that there was also safe evac on the other side of the city.

Grabbing the biggest gun she could carry, Tanwen Nia Jones ran for her life.

Easily the tallest and strongest in his class, the boy knocked down yet another wave of infected with only a crowbar and his own brute strength. He grinned, recalling his vigorous rugby training - put to good use once again. Stupid zombies, how could they think to stand up to him? Zombies were so easy to chop down.

Then there were the special ones - they all had names. Those smoking bastards were the easiest to kill; chop the tongue then shoot the head. Then, there were the hunters - more like a wild cat than a zombie, and as everyone knew; all cats were pussies. Boomers were a bit of a problem, but they exploded pretty easily if you shot 'em. There were also the head-humpin' jockeys, who were one of the hardest to kill - fast and annoying if anything. Chargers just ran at you like another rugby player and were easily dodged (the boy even fancied charging back at one), and spitters spat acid which you could just jump out of. Lastly, there were those crying girls; just avoid 'em. No point hitting a sad little girl.

Stupid zombies. So easy to kill. The boy fired his shotgun and grinned as one shell took down three zombies. He was really good at this. Too good. Man, they should restrict him from killing stuff before there were none left.

Taking the apocalypse as a walk through the park with his two best friends, the boy was almost starting to enjoy it before the friend on his left had shouted;

"What the fuck is that thing?" A large, muscular infected was throwing the others out of its way as it made its way toward them.

"I dunno, some kinda double charger?" Without contemplating the thought of a new breed of infected, the boy assumed his judgement was perfect.

The infected roared and threw a chunk of concrete at them; crushing the friend to his right. Before he could cry out in anguish, his other friend had tried to fight back; and lost to the beast's flailing fists.

Fists that struck him from the side and sent him flying through th air, only to land on his right shoulder. His arm was limp and felt broken.

Crippled and scared, Feoras Greystone ran for his life.

Looking through the scope of her sniper rifle, the girl expertly picked off more zombies. The ammo sashes and belt full of pain pills and pistols contrasted with her soft pink dress and long blonde hair; the last person one would expect to find happily cruising through the apocalypse.

Which was exactly why she was in the mafia.

Three times voted most likely to become beauty queen and supposedly the stupidest girl in her class, the most feared markswoman in the underground and expert actress sat in her bedroom, armed to the teeth and watching as people panicked below, in the front courtyard of her burning school. Raising her eyebrows slightly as she missed her mark and hit a zombie in the neck instead of the cranium, she contemplated evacuating. Wouldn't be as much fun as staying here to kill zombies. After all, she'd killed her father and was now head of the Liubov mafia; despite it consisting of only one person.

Tilting her head slightly and thinking about misguiding survivors or recruiting some into her new 'family', she smiled a private smile and turned to the corpse of her butler she'd left lying on the floor.

"See you later Jeeves!" She called, in her sweet high-pitched tone, and made her way down the stairs and out of the mansion, into the burning streets below. Her little lungs barely coping with the smoke, she tied her hair back with a pink ribbon to match her dress, put on her airhead act, and made her way to the nearest safehouse to find other survivors - but not before she'd managed to get her pink pumps and most of her dress covered in mud by being knocked over by a common infected. Biting her lip, she whipped out a pistol and shot the zombie once, twice, three times in the head. Nodding her head towards the twice-dead body and picking herself up, she wondered if she could make it to the safe rooms as her sister had.

Shooting any that threatened her, Bellini Orya Liubov ran for her life.

So there's the introduction. Ty, Tanni, Fee, and Bella. You got the geek, the introvert, the jock and the beauty queen - but each stereotype has an anomaly or two attached to it. And yes, maybe these guys WILL eventually meet up with the other L4D survivors. This was just the before-they-met part.

Hope you guys are liking it 'coz I love these guys so far. :3

~Frankie