Euphoric Lolita, in association with , is proud to present...

God Help the Outcast: A Left 4 Dead Story.

Chapter One: A Witch's Chronicle

Well, I suppose it would be best to introduce myself. You'll soon hear my story. Might as well record it, so I'm not just another person to be forgotten. After all, the Infected have the right to tell their own story.

My name is Jody. Jody Leanne Niccals, to be exact. Composed of my mother's best friend's name, my great-grandmother's name, and my father's surname. I guess I like what I was given. In human years, I'm four months away from turning nineteen. Before the Infection - or, what are they calling it now; the Green Flu? - I attended a small private art school that I absolutely adored. I was going for a Bachelors in Fine Arts, with hopes of attending graduate school in New York City.

That's when I first heard about the Infection. It was the second semester of my freshman year. I was sitting in my college's coffee lounge on one of the large armchairs. I can remember the report clearly, blasting from a plasma screen on the wall: "A new, wild form of rabies has begun to affect several towns on the East Coast." Sure, I thought at the time that some mongrel mutt had escaped and was biting people. I laughed; the movie Quarantine was coming to fruition. Then again, I lived in New York. The report centered around southern Pennsylvania. I had nothing to worry about.

But I was dead wrong. The disease began to spread like wildfire. Several brave newscasters stepped out into the streets, catching images of what appeared to be people, covered in blood, attacking fleeing civilians. The attackers had ghostly white skin, some with bizarre growths on them, and sharp, crooked teeth. Why they focused on those who were caught only to be ripped apart astounded me, but then again, the news does focus around the world's turmoil. Still, I had a feeling that I had nothing to worry about.

That's when four letters forever embedded themselves into my brain: CEDA. The Civil Emergency and Defense Agency. The people in my town hated them. Forms were passed out at my school, to give my name, age, and the whole nine yards. It was like filling out high-school safety forms all over again. The moment the papers were placed in my hand, I had called my parents, whom I had not heard from in several days. And for good reason: they had been evacuated. Our house was boarded up and my parents had been airlifted with some others in the town to get to the nearest recreation center for protection and military surveillance. For those of you who read in books that a character's "blood turned cold," and are in disbelief that such a thing could happen, then you obviously don't know what I felt that day.

That day was also the last day I heard my parents' voices. I never got to tell them I loved them.

There were preparations made for a good portion of the students to be boarded up inside the campus gymnasium. That was when the disease was practically on our doorstep. I was told to bring only three sets of clothes, a coat, and an extra blanket. My favorite stuffed animal, Boodles the Beagle, was to be left in my dorm building, which would be quarantined. No use bringing anything that can take up necessary space, a CEDA official had told me as he wrestled the animal from my grasp. I was losing everything: connections to my family, my beloved childhood keepsake and safety blanket, and now my safety. My sanity was definitely sure to follow next. Oh what fun that would be...

Unfortunately, our base, in the end, was a little under being "fully secure." Three days after sleeping on cold fitness mats on the gym's floor, we heard the doors being flung open. Members of CEDA, guns in hand, tried to keep a group of Infected citizens from entering. I remember seeing a few of them outside of campus before the Green Flu. The owner of the corner deli, a waitress from my friends' favorite diner, a man who used to jog in neon-green shorts past campus every morning...they were all there. Some were begging to be let in, to be saved. Others had nothing but a soulless look in their eyes and their elongated nails in the air, striking and slashing at the others. The three or four CEDA members shot each one down, making a heap of carcasses on the floor. I saw the whole thing, and I had run off to a vacated corner of the gym to vomit. That's when I heard a blood-curdling screech. My eyes turned and I spotted a hooded Infected person, with sharpened nails about an inch and a half in length and thick, pinning a CEDA official to the ground, tearing his uniform off and shredding his skin. That's when all hell broke loose. Students went screaming, pushing past CEDA members guarding the two other exits. Both staying in that gym and walking outside would lead to a trap, but what could you expect? It is in human nature to run from danger.

I was one of the mob of students to escape from the exit on the south side of the gym. We all took off, but we seemed to fan out, running in different directions. We ran straight into a Horde of at least twenty Infected. I had dodged most of them, but would soon feel something pull my leg out from beneath me.

It was slippery, and almost felt like rubber. I heard something coughing, and the moment my mind gave the sound credit of existence, I was on my stomach, being pulled into the clutches of what I believed to be the one to take my life. My eyes turned and I spotted it. He was a scrawny thing, with a jawline and neck covered in goiter-like growths and cysts. It made horrible slurping noises as it pulled me in, claws on its swollen hands at the ready. I was hanging by my ankle in the air, clawing at the ground in a hopeless attempt to escape, screaming for help at a time when no one would come. I felt its hands grip my leg, and the stinging sensation of its teeth sinking into my ankle.

I screamed in both agony and fear, and for some reason I found the energy to send my foot back in the form of a hard kick to its face. It's tongue released me and it covered its eyes - the bull's-eye I had hit - as it stumbled around in pain. I crawled away as fast as I could, looking down and seeing a small chunk of my flesh missing. The pain didn't matter; I had to escape. That's when I found a dumpster and hoisted myself into it while the other Infected, including my captor, were preoccupied. I closed the door, and sat in silence, waiting for the area to clear.

About two hours later, I peeked my head out and felt the vomit rise in my throat again. Two cars in the parking lot were on fire. Bodies of Infected people and my fellow students adorned the pavement. Empty bullet shells seemed to glow and covered every foot of the lot. It seemed as if the world had come to an end. The only sound I could hear was the sound of the fire crackling as it ate away at the cars. I lowered the dumpster door down again and sat there. I couldn't tell whether or not it was for seconds or minutes or hours, but after sitting there, thinking about nothing in particular, I began to cry. I pulled my legs to my chest and rocked myself back and forth, crying harder than I ever had before. If you could hear me, I'm sure I sounded rather pathetic. Not like I would care if I did. I was convinced that I would die in that dumpster.

I felt my ankle throbbing, throbbing as my stressed heart struggled to pump more blood into it, which only ran out into my shoes. My eyes were closed tightly, but they began to open, as if meaning to see what the damage was with only a crack of light coming from outside. Then it hit me: I could see! How could I see in pitch black? I saw every piece of garbage sitting aqt the bottom of the dumpster with me, and I saw my leg. Leaking blood, but not gushing it like some bad horror-movie effect. Hoisting myself up on the side of the dumpster, I found that the pain was starting to fade, though my pulse continued to make itself known through the wound itself. I had to see what had happened in the sunlight, and the second I pushed the door open all the way, I caught a glimpse of my hand. The skin was white. White! My nails also seemed to change, too, looking as if I hadn't broken them in quite a long time. Plus, they were black as the shirt I wore. No, I wasn't wearing nail polish on that day.

Lifting myself out of the dumpster and onto the ground, I found the strength to walk back to my dorm building. I didn't even care if an Infected person came up to me and clawed me to death. Then again, they'd probably recognize me as one of their own anyway. I looked like the walking dead. As I reached my floor via elevator, I took out the key from my pocket and walked out toward my room. Fiddling with it a moment so it would go into the hole, I pressed the key into the lock and turned it. I then entered my room, pulling the key out and turning the lock on the opposite side of the door. This room, the one which had been the home of so many parties and movie nights for my friends, was now both my safehouse, and my tomb.

That's when it occurred to me. The mirror...I had to see for myself what I had become. My fingertips throbbed from my growing nails as I looked at my reflection in horror. My skin was white and gray. My nails were forming claws. My eyes...the bright green eyes that I had forever treasured as my favorite body feature, were now a bloody crimson.

In an act of desperation, I ran to my bed and dove beneath the covers, where Boodles seemed to be waiting for me. I clutched him against me, and could only find relief in crying again.

My name is Jody Niccals. I am a Witch. Why has your so-called God left me to die like this?