Title: I Am

Setting: Before L4D2, at and around Savannah, GA

Summary: Ellis, after having dinner at his ma's house that Sunday, spent the night there only to wake up in the midst of zombies. He arms himself and makes his way to Savannah to try and escape, meeting some new folks along the way. (This story is, basically, how Ellis met Rochelle, Coach and Nick. That being said, this story isn't how Ellis met Rochelle, Coach and Nick. You see, when I first played the game, the only character that I liked was Ellis—I thought the other characters were boring. So the Rochelle, Coach and Nick that you'll be meeting aren't the same survivors from the game; instead, their backgrounds are completely different, thanks to some joking between me and my friends. When we play the game, we even do our own voice-overs just for kicks. So, in essence, this is what L4D2 would be like if I had been the character developer. Don't hate me….)

Disclaimer: Ellis' summary is taken directly from the L4D2 site, so I obviously don't own that. I don't own Ellis, either. However, the new characterizations for Rochelle, Coach and Nick are creations made by me and my friends. That being said, I don't really own those…. You can have 'em if you want.

...I Am...

Meet Ellis:

Ellis is a mechanic with a love of life, a firm belief in his own immortality, and the ability to treat any setback as a fun dare to impress his friends. Born and raised in Savannah, Ellis divvies up his time working at the local garage, hanging out with his buddies, and dropping by for Sunday dinners with Mom—why'd anybody want to live anywhere else? Then the zombies had to go and spoil it. Now Ellis is looking for new things to occupy his time, and finding plenty. It turns out the zombie apocalypse is one big dare, and there's no shortage of crazy stuff he can try to impress his new buddies.

Static.

Now, for those of you who don't know me, I usually wake up to some classic rock, or maybe a commercial, if it's a commercial break on 106.1. I only get static when the rooster decides to peck down the antenna on top of Ma's house. So that's one more thing I have to do today, along with the fifty eleven other goddam chores Ma wants done before I leave. I roll over and check my alarm for the time. About an hour and a half 'til sunup, then time to get to the shop.

I dress in my plain clothes and coveralls and head downstairs for breakfast. Ma isn't in the kitchen when I get there, but she can't be far because there're some wheat cakes on the stovetop, and a short stack on the table waiting for me, hunk of butter and all. She even put out a glass of orange juice.

"Thanks, Ma! Glad you're feeling better!"

She doesn't reply as I grab a chair, and I frown. "Hey, Ma?" The sizzling on the stovetop's getting louder. "Where are you? Cakes're burnin'." I shovel down as much as I can manage, cleaning my mouth with a large swallow of juice. Delicious. I put my plate in the sink and glance down the hall. She still hasn't come back to the kitchen, and she hasn't answered, neither. "Ma?"

Well, doesn't that just beat all. "Fine, I got 'em," I call as I flip the cakes myself. The underside is charred black, and I crinkle my nose at the smell. "Ma, these cakes are black as the night! Whatcha doin' anyways?" Just as I'm turning to go get her, she's standing in the doorway, watching me. "There you are!" I say. "Where—"

It's not my ma.

That's what my body tells me right away. It's not her. Something's off. Then I look at her closer, and I think maybe it is her. It sorta looks like her. Same hairstyle, same looks. I recognize the dress. But her body's twisted as a pig's pecker. Her neck's bent to one side. All of her exposed skin looks grey, even torn in some places. Not natural.

And the blood.

"Ma?"

Blood is all over her mouth. Her body. Everywhere.

"Ma? What happened?" She coughs, heaving up acid as she grabs a wall for support. When she's done, I reach for her, try to touch her—and she suddenly charges.

Well, I had to think fast. My hand still near the skillet, I bring it up with a crash, knocking her out of my way. She groans, but it sounds wrong somehow. Inhuman. Like the groan of wood.

"Ma! It's me!" She charges again, arms flopping like sheets drying in the wind. I knock her back with my elbow, and she crashes into the table, shoes scraping on the linoleum. "Ma, stop it! It's Ellis! Remember me?" I dodge her next advance, still pleading as I put the table between the two of us. "Momma, please! Ma!" She brings her arms down, and the table collapses from the hit. Wood splinters on the ground. I step back, and I try to say her name again, but my voice fails. She just broke the kitchen table with her bare hands. She just broke the kitchen table with—

When she comes this time, her mouth is open, and an unholy scream tears my ears apart. I can't stop my hands. I swing. One final crash of the skillet against her head sends her spinning to the ground. I brace for another attack, to catch her, to reason with her.

She doesn't get up.

It takes all of three seconds for me to realize what just happened.

"Ma? Ma?" Her body isn't moving. Her blood spreads itself over the floor. "Momma?" I drop to my knees, release my grip on the skillet. I notice for the first time her cracked skull from the force of my blow. Gulping in air, I touch her shoulder. She's stone cold.

Too cold to have been alive when she walked into the kitchen before.

I jerk my hand back. Shit fire and save matches, what in God's name is happening? I wipe the blood on my pants and check the window. It's dark, but I can see things moving. People moving. I glance at Ma's body again. Or maybe they ain't people. My stomach rolls all of a sudden, and I nearly heave up breakfast on the floor.

No, not the time. What I need is a partner.

"Jake?" I call. My voice cracks, but I feel instantly relieved when there's scraping at the door. "Jake, girl, Daddy needs"—I swallow—"Daddy needs your help. You ready for a hunt?" I drag myself to the kitchen door, trying to forget Ma's body. "Jake, be a good girl an'—"

I push back the curtains. Another monster is on the porch.

I close the curtains.

"Alright."

I take a step back, and I bite my lip.

Thinkin' time.

My truck's outside with a fresh tank of gas, a flashlight in the glove compartment. Jake, if I'm lucky, is in the barn or outside. I know Momma has a first aid kit upstairs in case of emergencies, and that she kept Pa's old shotty in her room with some bullets for robbers. There's a box or two; hopefully enough to keep me safe before I reach my place. My own hunting rifle would be better for long range, and I know I have more bullets and better luck with it. For now, the shotty will do, and the skillet. I glance at it lying on the floor next to Ma's body. It's bloody, and dented already, but better to save bullets….

I run a hand through my hair, and I finally notice that my forehead's sweaty, and my hands are shaking. Tears sting my eyes.

Oh shit.

But there's no time to waste.

I stumble up the stairs, each footstep too loud in my ears. The shotty's right where Pa always kept it, the bullets in the top dresser drawer. A little more than a box and a half. Not bad, but not a lot. Not enough. So the skillet, too. Her first-aid kit is under the sink in the washroom. There're pills lying open on the sink. Pain-relievers. Ma probably took some this morning. Maybe she'd been hurting earlier.

"Not the time, Ellis," I scold myself. I grab the pills and shove them back in the bottle before snapping the lid shut and slipping them in my pocket. They may come in handy later. I nearly stumble back down the stairs to the kitchen, where the skillet's waiting for me. "Tha's right, come to Poppa!" I hoist it into my hand and focus outside. It's still dark, but I ain't tired no more.

I kick the door open with the heel of my boot, and the monster at the front takes the brunt of the impact, his head and body spraying blood onto the wooden staircase. The light of the kitchen spills into the yard, and for the first time, I see what's waiting for me.

"Well butter my biscuit." No less than five of the monsters are standing still as statues in the yard. I give a sharp whistle for Jake as I pull out the shotty. "Time for a hunt." The monsters are a few yards away, but the spray of bullets is powerful enough to take four down with a couple of well-aimed shots. Ma had kept the barrel clean, of course.

I hear the jingling of a collar, and Jake comes around the corner to my side. "There's my girl," I say, happy as a clam that she's in one piece. She rubs her head against my leg, begging to be pet, but the last monster sees us and begins to charge before I get the chance.

Now's the time to test Jake, see if she can take one out. "Get it, girl." She leaps forward with a snarl, and two snaps of her jaws bring the creature down. She trots back with blood on her black muzzle, but she is unharmed and it brings a smile to my lips. "Good girl," I praise her, patting her side. "Now let's go."

We don't meet anyone—or, I guess, anything—else on the way to the truck. Maybe it's luck, but I'm thinking that it has to do with living in the country. Ma's nearest neighbor is miles away, and if the creatures attack humans, they'd head to cities and such. So I reckon my place, which is closer to Savannah, has a snowball's chance in hell of being monster-free. I'm just hoping there ain't too many.

Jake jumps in the passenger seat and I pull the keys out of my overalls, revving the engine to life. "Alright, let's punch this shit, girl." She barks, and we're on our way.

I have time to think during the drive down the back roads, about Momma and those other monsters in the yard I killed. Wasn't the same as hunting, no sir. I've never killed another person before. But were they really people? They looked… shoot, almost like them zombies from those horror pics Keith and I watch sometimes. "Zombies? No way in hell." Those aren't real, are they? And Momma? Jake licks my hand and whines, and I give her a smile. "Shoot, girl, you aimin' to make me cry?" I reach for the radio, but I get static on almost every station. Finally, I manage to get AM630 for the news.

"—in Savannah today. Infected are grayish in color and react violently to noise. Some infected are more dangerous than others. I repeat, evacuations are being held in Savannah today. Get to the city as quickly as possible and be prepared to prove your immunity to the Green Flu."

"Immunity?" I say. It's some kind of flu? Is that right? "Well, it's a good thing Momma don' bite," I tell Jake.

"Evacuations will be held on the top of Memorial Hospital until dusk tonight. The CEDA will take healthy civilians to safe houses located in various parts of the country. Make sure any uninfected loved ones are with you. When possible, do not travel alone. Evacuations are being held in Savannah today—"

I sigh and flip the station to The Boomer for some rock to get me going. The commercials are all the same message.

I pull up to my place only a little while later, and two of the infected, I guess they're called, are chewing some fat outside. I grab Pa's shotty, attach the flashlight to it, and then let 'em have it through my pickup's window, Jake barking over my shoulder. Their chests take the impact, and the side of my garage is sprayed in blood and grey stuff when I trot past to the front door. I live upstairs with my buddy Keith, and downstairs is the garage where we work. Of course, Keith was visiting his ma yesterday, so he'll be over at her house now, too. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jake follows me up to my room, where my Remington and all my .270 Winchesters are stacked neatly in my closet. Looks like I've got a little more 'n five boxes of 150s stashed away, perfect for infected hunting. Leaves me 'bout one hundred bullets to fight with. It's too heavy to take both the shotty and the rifle, so I leave Pa's gun in my room.

I search the rest of my place for something better than the skillet to fight, and I find a crowbar in the garage. "Perfect," I tell Jake. "I think we might win after all, huh girl?" She bays a little, and then I hear an answering cough. I whirl. "Hey, Keith?" I call. "That you?" I switch from the crowbar to the rifle, just in case, and I edge further into the garage. "Keith?"

The noise that the stranger makes afterwards sounds sorta strangled-like, and then a slurping noise.

"That's not Keith."

A raspy cry breaks the air, and something wet wraps around my ankle and tugs, toppling me back. I hit the ground hard on my elbow, rifle skidding outta my hands, and suddenly I'm clawing and screaming like a girl, trying to stay in one place. I latch onto the steel frame of a Mustang, fighting the tug as best as I could. Jake barrels past me, baying and snarling like she's caught a scent. I hear her teeth snap, and whatever was pulling me stops. Cussing, I scramble back on my hands n' knees to my rifle. The flashlight's on the barrel; I grab my gun and shine the beam on the monster.

Bad idea.

It screams at me, so ugly it could make a freight train take a dirt road. Its tongue musta been what got my ankle; it's all hanging like a rope around its body, dripping with green spittle. The thing's face has boils all up and down one side, like someone lit it on fire then tried to put it out with a jackhammer. It reeks like smoke.

"Sunnovabitch!" I fire once right between the creature's eyes, and the dang thing explodes into green fumes that spread all over the room. I cough a few times from the smell as I push myself to my feet. "What in the hell was that?" I wheeze, and my girl's panting next to me like she's got kennel cough. I squint and search the garage for any other monsters, but I don't see movement. Cautiously, I sling my rifle over my shoulder and grab two gas cans, just in case the truck runs out. "C'mon, Jake, let's get the hell outta here." We scramble through the garage, back to the truck, and then we're on our way to Savannah.

I can't shake the feeling, though, that things are going south fast. If people are getting infected, and they're changing, how many will I have to fight in a city?

"…react violently to noise. Some infected are more dangerous than others. I repeat, evacuations are being held…"

I switch off the radio completely and hum myself a tune as I get to the highway.

The roads are pretty well clear at first, but as I get towards Savannah, there're more and more abandoned cars on the side. Bodies, too. But it's when the sun breaks over the horizon that I can see the entire highway stretched out in front of me. I roll my truck to a stop and I lean forward in my seat. "Great day in the morning."

Cars litter the roadway completely, blocking all the lanes so I can't even maneuver through. Bodies lie along the sides, in the grasses, all deader than doornails. A few more of them zombies aimlessly stand, shuffling from one side to the next, like they're waiting for something to come by. Behind them sits the city. I can hardly make out a path to Savannah on the roadway, but the ditch between the highways is looking mighty clear.

Hopefully I can make it without stopping.

"Well, girl, looks like I've bit off more 'en I can chew." She whines next to me, and I pat her again before shifting into second. "Let's get goin'."

I pull off the road and head straight to the heart of the city. It takes about twenty minutes off-roading it, taking out zombies with the front bumper. The closer I get to downtown, the more I have to swerve to avoid cars. Finally, I have to stop my pickup altogether by Thomas Square on Abercorn, 'cause there's no way to get through driving. Memorial Hospital is another thirty-something blocks southeast, off of Waters. I climb outta the cab with Jake behind me, and I test the crowbar's swing while some infected watch me nearby, curious-like. Looks like I'd been right. Zombies are everywhere, climbing over crashed cars, wandering through burning buildings. I grin and scratch Jake's ears. "You ready, girl? We're walkin' today."

We start our trek down south, into the center of Savannah. For the most part, things are easy. Most of the infected don't charge unless they hear ya, so Jake and I sneak around like we're on the hunt. Except this time, I reckon we're the prey. For the monsters that do attack, the crowbar makes quick work of them. Jake has the smoker's scent in case there's another one lurking nearby. Otherwise, the infected seem to ignore her unless she attacks. Seems they prefer humans.

About three blocks into my walk, I hear soft wailing in the distance. Crying. Like a little lady, maybe. It makes me hesitate. "Whassat?" I whisper to Jake. She whines at me and licks her chops. "You don' think tha's another person, do ya?"

There aren't any other infected around here, neither; not that I can see. This place is giving me the creeps. I inch forward and call out, "Hello? Anybody there?"

The sound of crying becomes more frantic, but not in a good way. It sounds like… well, like growling. Shoot. So I scoot on back, but the growling's getting worse. "Uh-oh." Out of the blue, a shriek pierces the daylight, and a cry for help follows right after. Another woman's voice.

I whistle for Jake and we take off down the street in a flat run. I knock down any stray infected in my way with the crowbar, but all of them are running towards the screams like me. Jake tears down another zombie as I hear a desperate cry. Ahead, to the left, a young woman is grappling with an infected I've never seen before: a thin girl with long hair, and even longer claws. She's the one making all the ruckus. I pull my rifle over my shoulder and take a knee. A normal zombie scratches at my face, but Jake rips its throat before it does lasting damage. I shake my head clear and aim at the monster standing above the woman. It's raising a hand to strike. "Die, bitch!"

My rifle shot rings out, clean and true, splattering the head of the thing all over the pavement. "Bull's-eye!" Jake and I run together towards the woman left on the ground, shoving remaining infected out of the way. The survivor moans in agony. "Comin' sweetheart! On my way!" I get to her and fall to my knees beside her body. She's hurt, but not real bad. Taking her into my arms, I scurry towards the café just on the right, taking care not to shake her too much. Inside, I grin. It's Café 37, like Keith told me about. Jake dashes through the door right before me, and I slam it shut with my foot.

It's dark in the front room, but as my eyes adjust, I begin to work the layout. The woman I place on a nearby table, and I take a stray chair and shove it against the door so it can't open. Jake's sniffing for other infected, but when she trots back to me, I know we're safe for now. I turn my attention back to the woman on the table. The wounds on her stomach are long, but shallow. I take out my ma's first aid kit and set to disinfecting it. She moans in pain as I work, so I do my best to be gentle.

"Careful, boy," she hisses when I get to a particularly nasty part.

"Sorry, ma'am, but this cut needs to be treated. How you holdin' on?"

"Fine." I set to bandaging her up, but she bats my hands away. "Don' waste all that on me. You need that for your head."

Confused, I touch my temple, and my fingertips are sticky with blood. "Oh, well don't that just beat all."

"It's not deep," she tells me, easing up into a sitting position. I quickly wrap up my temple and tie it before I pull my cap back on.

"Thanks, ma'am. Now, you gonna tell me wha' happened back there?"

She immediately looks defensive, and I'm about to apologize when she starts to talk. "That… thing was cryin' in the store, and I asked her if somethin' was troublin' her, an' I—I tried to touch 'er. Then she… she growled at me." The woman shudders at the thought. "So I tried to run, bu' she screamed an' came right after me! Then she knocked me down an', an'—"

"Hush, now, ma'am. It's all taken care of."

She takes notice of the blood on her shirt again, and she groans in pain. "I could've died."

"Naw. I mean, she scratched you good, but it wasn' deep or nothin'. I got 'er 'afore that."

The lady doesn't seem to hear, and she rocks back and forth, holding her arms around herself. "Oh God Almighty, I jus' hope my baby's okay. Please." Her voice breaks and a tear leaks down her cheek.

I try to ease her mind a bit by patting her shoulder. "You're doin' fine, ma'am. Maybe we can look for him. Does he live 'round here?"

She looks up, beside herself, like she don't believe I just said that. "You ignorant or som'thin', farm boy?" she spits, throwing my hand off her shoulder.

"What? You're lookin' for your boyfriend, righ'?"

She stares at me, heated. "You mean 'my baby'? Boy, I ain't got no boyfriend!"

Of course, I start to blush like mad. "I'm sorry, but-but you jus' said 'baby' an' I—"

"I am pregnant, you idiot!"

Pregnant? I check her hand again and see that it's pressed to her belly protectively. Despite her looking fit to be tied, I grin at her. "So that's why you—well, shut my mouth!" I say, slapping my knee. "Well, don' you fret. That baby can call me Uncle Ellis when he comes." I hold out my hand to shake hers. "And what's your name?" The lady looks like she'd rather kiss a donkey's behind than tell me, so I drop my hand back to my side and wink. "Should I just call you Sugar Pie, then?"

"It's Rochelle," she hisses like a goose. "My name's Rochelle."

Meet Rochelle:

A newly-pregnant stripper from the streets of Savannah, Rochelle grew up in a dangerous part of town and became familiar with weapons and violence at a very young age. With no family to speak of, she grew up fierce and independent, but also generous to those in her own situation, and secretly kind to the less-fortunate. She found out about the infection while working the club in the early hours of the morning, when a few on-lookers got a little too greedy for her tastes. Armed to the hilt, she certainly isn't afraid of a horde (or anything else, for that matter).

Smiling, I try to ease her outta her funk. "Ah, Rochelle. Pretty name for a pretty girl." She snorts like a hog, and I laugh. "You know what? I like you."

"Whatever."

"You all by yourself, Ro?"

Rochelle glares at me when I say the nickname, but she doesn't mention it. "What's it to you?"

I shrug. "I haven't found anyone else 'round here who hasn't given me the heebie jeebies. I reckon we're some of the only normal people left. So, I was thinkin' that maybe we should help each other out?" Her arms are crossed, and she looks like she's fixin to march right out the front door, so I hold up my hands innocent-like. "Woah, now hear me out, Ro. I've 'bout busted two sets of kneecaps here runnin' around, and you sure look like you been rode hard and put up wet. Now you can' say you don' like the idea of a partner. We'll watch each other's backs. You pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?"

"You…" she starts. Then she sighs. "I didn' understand a word you just said."

I laugh again and clap a hand on her shoulder. "Just stick around'n you'll get used to it, Ro."

"An' what if I don't want to?" But she's sorta smiling as she says it, and she picks her pistol back up and checks the clip.

"Well, alright. I'll jus' keep my big trap shut and we got a deal."

Now her smile grows bright as sunshine. "Deal, Ellis. Good to meetcha."

We shake hands, then I motion to my girl. "This here's Jake. She's my huntin' dog, but she won' bite unless I tell 'er to, so don' you worry 'bout that." Jake licks her nose as I pat her head, and Ro reaches for her too, scratching her ears.

"Good girl," she says. "What kind?"

"Black Mouth Cur. Had 'er since I was seventeen." I check the sun for the time. "We should get a move on," I tell her. "Memorial Hospital's runnin' evacs, and we've got a bit more walkin' to do. You able to walk?"

"I imagine so." She eases off the table and brushes off her shirt. "I left my backpack outside when I was running from that bitch. I got supplies in it I need."

"Well, alright, we'll grab that 'fore we go. But first—" I leap behind the counter, remembering the shotgun there. I pull it out and toss it to her. "Keep this for the specials."

She caught it, and now she's looking at it curiously. "How'd you know 'bout this gun?" she asks, weighing it in her hands.

"Well, this one time, my buddy Keith thought it'd be a good idea to go around and rob stores 'cause he wanted to see what jail was like in the city, but he wan't countin' on all the store owners havin' guns and shit, so he ended up lyin' low for a few days in my Pa's barn instead. Anyways, he told me 'bout this café, and he told me that the owner was packin' heat." I grab her a few boxes of bullets, too, before we get to the door. "You ready?"

"Just open the door, farm boy."

I whistle for Jake and kick open the door. "Here we go."

The street's fairly clear; just a few stragglers moseying 'round. I signal for Ro and Jake to follow, and we sneak back to Abercorn, heading south at a trot. She lifts her backpack on her shoulder, and a few paces further, she grabs another gun—a pistol, by the look of it. "There you are," she coos to it.

"What's that yer packin'?" I ask, just to chew the fat.

She holds out her pistol for me to look at it. "Magnum. Had it for a few years, now."

"You like it?"

Ro pockets it and smirks at me. "Farm boy, it's so good, it makes me wanna slap my momma."

"Well, shoot, sounds good t' me," I laugh. "How much ammo you cartin' for it?" Silently, she splits open her backpack and motions for me to look inside. It's full of Magnum clips, at least twenty. I let out a low whistle. "Looks like someone came prepared."

"You betcha. Better n' a crowbar." She raises her eyebrow at my weapon choice. "How's that been workin' out for you, 'nyways?"

"Real nice. 'Bout as useful as a screen door on a submarine," I joke, swishing it around. It's nearly bent in two from all the fights I've used it. Probably make a better boomerang by now. "I been tryin' to save my ammo for any bigguns, so I reckon this'll do for the rest of 'em. Least for now."

Jake growls and I glance ahead. My jaw immediately drops. "Ho shit." No more'n twenty zombies are charging us all at once, running like bats outta hell. I tighten my grip on the crowbar while Ro takes aim. "Get 'em Jake!" I holler as I take a huge swing. Ro's firing shots one right after another, taking down the zombies up yonder. One makes a grab for her face, but I clobber him away and Jake finishes the job.

Something scratches at my back, and I whirl and give it the straight arm, shooting its head off down the street in a trail of blood. Three more zombies are there, but I take them out, too.

Then Ro screams, loud as she can. I turn to my left and see that slimy tongue latched around her like a rope, dragging her towards a dark shadow inside a home. "Smoker, Jake!" I knock back a zombie and switch to my rifle, Jake already attacking the tongue of the monster. One well-placed shot, and it explodes into fumes. "Hell yeah! Got 'em!"

With the smoker gone, the attacks are just about done by now, with only two stragglers left. I make quick work of them. The crowbar's just about useless now, so I toss it aside and jog to Ro, who's still lying on the ground, catching her breath.

"Woo, now see how easy tha' was, missy? Piece o' cake." I whistle Jake over as I help Ro to her feet. She laughs, all winded, and I grin at her. "So you still stickin' 'round, or you 'bout had enough adventure for one day?"

"I think I can handle a bit more," she scoffs, tugging her backpack up with her.

"Right, then," I grin. "Well, let's getta move on 'fore another pack comes. 'Sides, I gotta find me a new hand weapon. Crowbar's been retired."

She starts nearly running ahead, and I follow her, matching her quick pace. "Hey, hold your horses! Why you walkin' so fast?"

"You wanna fight another pack o' zombies again?" she questions me, taking down a few wanderers with her pistol. "I imagine if we keep moving, we won't be sittin' ducks, 'specially if you don' have a hand weapon."

"Well, I—"

Jake suddenly freezes, just as I hear a high-pitched growl. I rip my hunting rifle from my back, cussing, as I turn to find the bastard. But it's not a smoker. Crouched low in the shadows of a house is one I've never seen before, lurking, waiting for just the right moment. "Down, Ro!" I bark. She hits the pavement behind a car and I squeeze a shot off. It hits its mark, I know, but there's only a bone-chilling scream. The sucker disappears further into the house. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"Stay down!" She grumbles but obeys, and I take a hesitant step forward, searching for the infected. "Shit, where is he? Where is he?" Jake's still standing beside me. I glance at her.

This is it.

"Hey, girl," I whisper. Her ears perk up and she turns her eyes to me. My only option is to send her in by herself, and hope she can handle the bastard waiting inside. If she can't—if she don't make it—well, Ro and I might not be able to make it, neither. I lick my lips, but my mouth's still dry when I tell her, "Get it."

She's off like a shot, scrambling through the door without hardly making a sound. My heart's hammering in my chest while I watch her go. I count down in my head.

Two seconds tick by. Five. Nine. I can hardly breathe.

Then I hear her bay. There's movement in the window—a dark shadow shifting forward, fighting her off. "Got 'em!" I tighten my grip on the rifle and take aim. "I can see it, Jake! Get your ass out here!" I hold off the shot, but she doesn't come. Her barks have died down into snarls. Does it have her? "Jake!"

"Take the shot!" Ro cries.

"Jake!"

I fire.

And things fall silent.

The longest moment in my life.

I'm about to run forward, the hell with danger, but then I hear it—the clicking on linoleum. Toenails. "Jake!" I holler again. After another tense moment, she comes tearing outta the house, tongue lolling out. A shaky breath escapes me. "Good girl." I shoulder my gun as I pat her on the head. There's blood on her paws and muzzle, and shallow scrapes on her chest and sides. Too close. "Good girl."

Beside me, Ro gets back on her feet, watching me real quiet. It takes me a few moments to collect myself, and I can't quite meet her eye when I say, "Let's keep movin'." She just nods, and we start off, stepping quicker than before.

I stick close to my girl, and neither me nor Ro talk for the next few minutes. The silence is near unbearable, only broken with random gunshots from her Mag. I finally can't take it anymore. "So, what did you do 'afore all this happened, Ro?" I ask nicely. She just goes and glares at me as she's walking, like she won't even give me the time of day. I grumble, "Well, hey, I was jus' tryin' to start a conversation. It's 'n innocent question, besides."

"Is it?" she asks, cold enough to freeze the balls right off a pool table.

"Well, o'course it—"

"I was a stripper."

Oh.

…Oh.

I stumble in my steps.

Well damn.

"Close that mouth of yours, farm boy, 'fore I close it for you."

I snap my jaw shut and try my best to look forward. I can just about light up the road, my face is so red. This gal right here, a stripper? I'd sooner call my gramma a two-bit prostitute. Ro's too… well, shoot, she's just too pretty to be one of them dancers. Ain't those girls usually desperate, anyways? She don't look desperate to me. She looks right normal.

I'm about to tell her just that when my foot rolls out from under me and I land on my back-side, right on the ground. "Ow!" I musta fell hard enough to bruise my tail bone. Jake licks my face while I'm down, but I shove her off and jackknife up. Ro's busy laughing at me.

"Hey, farm boy, why don'cha watch where you're steppin'?" she chortles as I scramble to my feet. I must be blushing even worse than before.

"What'd I fall on?" I grumble, patting the dust off my behind and glaring at the ground like a fool.

That's when I see it. There, right by my feet, is God's apology for making me look stupid: a genuine wooden baseball bat. I immediately grin and scoop it into my hands. "Hey, check it out!" Something tells me that it's gonna be useful as a weapon. I readjust my hunting rifle and take a practice swing. "How do I look, Ro?"

"Like a damn fool," she snaps. "Can we get goin'?"

"Jus' you wait 'til this damn fool saves your life wit' this, missy."

She just rolls her eyes and starts walking again, ignoring me as I take a few more swings. As if I'd planned ahead, a zombie runs towards me. "Bam!" I shout, knocking its head clean off its shoulders. The body collapses on the hood of a car, leaving a dent and setting off the siren.

"Ellis!" Ro begins to scold me, but her body stiffens as she looks over my shoulder and points. "Uh, Ellis…."

Reluctantly, I turn. "Oh my day…."

Zombies. Teams of them.

All swarming in our direction.

"Run!"

She don't have to tell me twice.

We take off, my feet slamming on the pavement with every step. It's hopeless already. I can hear them coming closer. "Shit!"

"We need to find a place to hold out!"

"You're tellin' me?"

Their screams are getting louder. Another cluster comes from a side street, nearly cutting off our path. Just when I'm about to give up and fight, Ro shouts, "There!" Just two houses down is an alleyway, one that could force them to come at us in more manageable numbers.

"Good idea! Let's go!"

So, we're racing towards the opening, running like bats outta hell, when I feel that pull again. "Smoker!" I'm fast enough to whip my rifle out and shoot him dead before I'm strangled, but it pulled me far enough back so that I can't catch up. "Ro! Keep goin'!"

"The hell I am, Ellis!" she screams, reaching for me. But only our fingers touch, and then I'm swallowed in the horde.

"Shit! Shit!" I grip the bat and try to take swings, but there's barely enough room to follow through. Jake's ripping through the zombies at my back; I hear her snarl every so often. I summon up some strength and take a few more swings. Gun shots sound further ahead. All the monsters are falling, but one unexpected hit brings me down, and I'm on the ground, swinging for my life.

After what seems like an eternity, the last few zombies fall. I can only hear my breathing. Numbly, I prop myself up on my elbow. Jake's limping over to me, bleeding heavily from her left side. She nudges my hand with her snout, and I weakly pat her. "Good job, girl."

I vaguely hear footsteps, and I roll my head around to see Ro running towards me. "Hey, farm boy, you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, jus' need a hand." She offers one and hauls me to my feet.

"Are you gonna be able to make it?"

I crack my neck and rub the soreness out of my shoulder. My entire body aches, and I'm not even sure how fast I can walk. But, hell, I'm still alive. "Well I'd jus' 'bout saw my arm off for a cold one righ' now."

Ro flashes a smile. "There's a hotel up yonder where we can rest," she says lightly, motioning up the block. "They'll have a bar, too, sure as hell."

I wink at her and say, "Well, shoot, Ro! You sure know how to win a man's heart." She doesn't react kindly to that comment, lifting her chin and glaring at me. But, wouldn't you know, it just made her cuter, so I smile and tell her so.

A split second later, I'm massaging a newly-injured shoulder as she marches ahead. "Well, it's true!" I call after her. A nearby common tries to get me, but I swing the bat through and crush his head. "Hey, Ro, wait for me!" I hobble past the dead zombie without a second glance.

Though, you know, now that I think about it, it's sorta funny how quickly killing the regular zombies got old for me. Like, it was scary at first, of course, but after you kill about a hundred, you kinda get used to them wandering around, trying to scratch you and eat your brains and whatnot. Hell, they don't even hurt much when they hit you. It's just the special ones that make me nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

The smoker, that one's bad enough, dragging us around like rag dolls, strangling us. Jake has his scent, though, so it can't surprise us too well. She'd point him out in a second if she smelled one. The bitch that had Ro before—she's a different story. To tell truth, she scares the living daylights outta me. Just her crying's enough to give my goose bumps goose bumps.

But the worst part of everything is thinking about how we haven't even seen the half of it yet. I keep hearing cries that I don't recognize: laughs, grunts, even screams. Like the zombie that Jake fought in the shadows….

I glimpse around out of instinct, and notice something strange. The bodies of the zombies here are burnt. Like, Keith's level of burnt. Bodies are piled in heaps around the way. The stench is rotten, too. I take a cautious step and my foot lands in a pile of intestines. Nasty.

"Hey, Ro?" I call as I trot up behind her, watching where I walk this time. I catch up to her just as she freezes. "What're—"

"Get down." She tugs me into a crouch and points to a zombie up ahead hiding inside a broken-down bus' door. "It mus' be another special, but I ne'er seen one like that."

"Ug, I wish I never had, neither. That is absolutely disgustin'." The zombie's mouth is hanging wide open, too wide to be normal, with green spittle running down her chin. All of her clothes are nearly gone, exposing innards and swollen, grayish skin. It's faint, but I can hear her squealing from our hiding spot. "Lord, she's go' ten-foot pole marks all over her."

Ro elbows me and snaps in a whisper, "Shoot'er down, boy, 'fore she sees us!"

"Alright, alright! Yeesh." I draw my rifle and take careful aim. She's even uglier through the scope. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Before she can yell at me again, I take the shot, and it hits its mark. The zombie collapses as I rise. Then she starts… leaking. "What in Sam Hill is that stuff?" Around the body, there's this green goo that's spreading, sizzling all the while. For a second, we just watch it. Then Ro starts to get sick; I hear her sorta half-belch. "Hey, I know it's gross, but no point in blowin' chunks." When I glance at her, though, she ain't making those noises. She's staring at me, wide-eyed.

"I thought that was you!" she hisses back.

Only one thought passes through my mind:

No way.

At the same time, both of us spin in time to get a glimpse of a zombie, bloated as a tick on a hog, standing just behind us. Then it spews.

"Augh!"

All over us.

"Shit!" I take a wild shot, and a huge bang knocks me back a few paces, into a nearby car. "I think I killed it! Can you see anything?"

"Hell no! This stuff is all over me!"

I'm trying to sweep off the goo as best as I can, but as I work, I hear screaming. "What's that noise?"

Jake's baying like there's no tomorrow. I try to clear my eyes to see, but the chunks are running down my face like snot on a doorknob. "Shit, I can' see nothin'!"

"What's going on?"

Desperate, I manage to scrub away the bile just for a split second—long enough to see the approaching pack. "It's another herd of 'em!" I scream. "You kneel, I'll stand! Jus' keep shootin'!" My vision's starting to clear up, and I can see just how many there are. They're coming from every direction, running frantically towards us. I try to take aim, but I don't even know where to shoot first.

Hell, we might not make it out of this alive.

Jake tries to run into the fray, but I call for her to heel. "You ready for this?" I yell at Ro, aiming at the leader. Just then, a fire roars to life in the middle of the pack, and then another further back. "What the hell?" Zombies are dropping like flies, all lit up in the flames. Ro and I scoot back against the car, taking shots at whatever zombies escape.

When the fires die down, the streets are clear.

I'm about to ask her what in the hell just happened when I hear the clang of metal on concrete to our left. I whirl and my jaw drops.

Out steps a gargantuan man, with a big white smile and an even bigger gun. "Come on in, you two. I've been making breakfast."

Rochelle and I exchange a glance. Then, all at once, she staggers to her feet and we hobble our way back to his place, Jake stepping behind us. It's a hotel, by the looks of it. Ro seems to notice too; she leans in and whispers, "Maybe he can grab you a beer, farm boy."

I smile at the thought.

We get inside, and he presses the door closed behind us, resealing it with a metal bar. Inside the room is everything—ammo, guns, health packs and pills, even some hand weapons and bombs. I catch a glimpse of a few Moltov cocktails, and I grin.

"It was you who set that horde on fire!" I say. "You just saved our lives, man!"

The big man laughs. "It wasn't a problem. I wasn't going to leave you two out there to fight off the horde anyways."

"You been in here the whole time? How come?"

The man pats the door to the room. "This beauty is made of steel. The infected can't punch their way through, so I've just been sitting tight in here, shooting or burning down the ones that get too close."

"Wow." I glance around the room again, breathing easier by the moment. "This is great!" And breakfast smells even better: eggs and bacon.

"What's your name?" I hear Rochelle ask the man.

I turn just as he grins at her. "Call me Coach."

Meet Coach:

Coach, a nickname earned for his mentoring of children with special needs, now travels around the country speaking to school faculty and businesses alike on inclusion methods, least-restrictive environment in the classroom and workspace, and equal-opportunity employment. His program, We're Ready, World, has practically launched him into infamy in the world of psychology. Coach just happened to be presenting at a conference in Savannah when he found his entire audience to be hungry for him in a very peculiar way. Now he's looking for a way to get back home to Chicagoland, or stay alive, at the very least.

"Rochelle," she says, and he shakes her hand warmly.

"And I'm Ellis," I pipe up. He turns to me and grips my hand with his own. "This here's my huntin' dog, Jake."

"Nice to meet you all." He then says with a sigh, "I can't believe there were so many infected attacking you two. What'd you do?"

"Nothin'!" I protest immediately. "They jus' jumped us! I was shootin' this one zombie that was spitting green—"

"Oh?" He scrapes a finger across my shoulder and shows me the green goop that'd been resting there. "Is that this?"

"No, that was this other weird zombie that jus' vomited on us af—"

"A boomer."

"Boomer?" I repeat.

He shrugs, making his way back to the stove. "I was listening to the radio, and they were talking about the special types of infected. That was one of them. His puke is pretty much ketchup for the common ones. You two must've gotten hit, and then the other zombies came running like someone rang the dinner bell."

"'Types'?" I repeat. "There are different types?"

"Did they talk 'bout some o' the others?" Ro asks.

"Sure. You've got your common, the ones that are everywhere. You know the boomer by now—"

"Damn straight," I grumble.

"—and the spitter is what you shot down before, I think. Its stomach acid mutated into a harsher acid, strong enough to eat away its own skin."

"That… thing in the bus was probably a spitter, then," Ro said with a shudder. I really don't blame her. That zombie was ugly.

"I haven't met any of the others they mentioned, yet: the smoker, the jockey, the hunter, the charger, the witch, and the tank."

"What do the other ones do?" Ro asks.

"Let me see if I can remember," he says, pausing to think. "The smoker has a long tongue, and he grabs prey with it…."

"Hey, I think we seen that! They cough and shit, right?"

"You've seen a smoker?" Coach asks in amazement.

"More'n one." I shoulder my rifle and tilt my chin up with a smile. "We took care o' them, alright. But did you hear about this other one, that has long hair an' sharp claws? It was attackin' Ro when I saw it."

"An' she was cryin' when I found her," Ro adds.

"Sounds like a witch," Coach nods, looking concerned. "They said that she's one of the most dangerous. Did she hurt either of you?"

I grimace as Ro once again touches her stomach. "Not too bad," she says. Silently, I put a hand on her shoulder, and she reaches for it for comfort.

"Well, you're safe here," Coach tells her softly. He scoops some eggs onto a plate and adds a few slices of bacon. "You first, Rochelle. Eat up and get some strength back." He turns back to the stove. "Ellis, how do you like your eggs?"

"However you're makin' 'em, Coach." I pull up a seat at the bar and make myself comfortable. "Tell me more 'bout them other zombies."

He shoots me a half-smile while he whips the eggs. "Zombies? Hah, never thought of it like that. The other zombies, now let me see if I can remember—ah, the tank, for instance. He's huge. Imagine the Incredible Hulk out to kill only you. At least, that's what they said. I haven't seen one yet. The charger's kinda like a tank, except not as big and not as tough. He's a lot faster." Even though he was talking about the zombies, his conversation was actually real relaxing. That, and the smell of eggs all mixed together, and I felt like things were getting back to normal.

He finished his overview, and I let out a low whistle. "Hoo man. You had too much time on your hands, Coach, listenin' to the radio all day long. Ain't you been busy tryin' t'escape?"

"Escape? Nah, I've got everything I need right here. I'll wait until the whole thing blows over. How bad could it be?" His sentence is punctuated by a screech outside. The same scream I heard from inside that building—the monster that hurt Jake.

"What is it?" I hiss, scrambling for my rifle. Coach is already at the door, peering into the street.

"Hunter," he states. "Got the rifle?"

"Right here."

He motions for me to come forward. I peer out between the bars of the door, and at first, I don't see anything. But I can hear it—purring lowly, like a cat being scratched behind the ears. Then it screams. I nearly pull the trigger, I startle so bad.

I see it then. Crawling low on the ground, a hood pulled up around its face. Small, and quick. Jake had fought one, and had come out hurt. Just how strong was it?

It screams again as it spots me. I take aim with my scope, fixing the cross hairs right at its head.

The bullet doesn't miss. The zombie crumbles, and I allow myself to exhale.

"Nice shooting," Coach says as he claps a gigantic hand on my shoulder. "Your eggs should be done, too. Hope you don't mind them being a little brown."

"'S all right," I tell him as I smile. I take my seat again just as Coach serves up the eggs, and I start shoveling them down as fast as I can, making sure that Jake gets a few scraps too, in case she's hungry.

While I'm eating, Coach starts telling stories to pass the time. Coach's got some pretty funny ones about his family, and what he used to do when he worked back in his town. He lives in some part of Chicago with his wife and their two kids. One of them has some kind of mental handicap—well, Coach says it's not a 'handicap', really, but just a different way of thinking that other people aren't used to. Anyways, his youngest son, Chris, has something called Aspergers, and that means that he doesn't always understand things like being polite and shaking hands and stuff. He has to learn them just like other kids have to learn how to read. So you can imagine how that might cause people to be confused sometimes because they don't know why he's acting different.

Coach says that he's worked so long with Chris, and with other kids like him, he started travelling around the country to teach people about how they're different, but how they're like us, too. He came here to Savannah for just that.

"But when I woke up this morning, most of my audience was a little… sick," he tells us with a shrug. "I was about to walk on stage when one of the hotel managers told me to stay in my room until further notice. Next thing I know, people are lunging for my throat. I had to barricade myself in here, with just a radio for company." For a second, he tilts his head. "You know, I used to wish that my audiences were hungry for me, but I guess it was a bit too literal of a wish."

I don't think it's that funny, but I start laughing like crazy anyways—harder than I have in awhile. My ribs are aching, and I'm slapping my knee like I do when Keith tells me one of his stories. I see Ro laughing too, out of the corner of my eye. I guess we just have to laugh. Sometimes it's the only thing.

The chuckles die down finally, and Coach leans back in his chair, ready to give us a shot. "So, how long have you two been together?"

I say, "'Bout forty-five minutes."

Ro's looking at him funny. "We're not together," she says.

Oh. He meant together together. "Right. We're not," I agree hastily. "We're just, like, two bad-ass teammates."

Coach frowns a bit and tips his head to one side. "But I thought that you—" He motions to Ro's belly and she immediately moves her hand to cover it.

"I am," she says. Her voice's edged with anger. I intervene before she gets too riled.

"She is, but I jus' dibsed godfather. The daddy's missing," I tell him, knowing that Coach will think that the father is infected. Hell, he just might be anyhow.

"Is he… how you found out about the fever?" Coach's voice is so honestly concerned, that I suddenly feel as if he's an old friend of ours, comforting us and taking care of us.

It's the first time today that I actually feel safe.

"No," Ro tells him with a hoarse voice, "I found out when one o' my customers tried to attack me."

At the mention of her job, I, of course, turn red as a beet and turn away in order to hide my awkward laughter. I don't think I'll ever get used to her talking about her job so casual-like. She elbows me in the ribs, and I immediately straighten up. Coach is looking at us funny, but he says conversationally, "A customer, huh? You and me both." His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Are you from around here, Rochelle?"

"Born 'n raised here in Savannah," she tells him plainly.

"And you, Ellis?"

"'M from the area. It's 'bout a forty-five minute drive to here from my place."

Coach tips his chin. "Really? How did you manage to get here? Were you by yourself?"

"Nah, I had Jake here." I scratch her ears in recognition. "We drove from my house."

"How did you find out about the fever?"

"Well, I was at my momma's house when—" My voice stops altogether. I see both Coach and Ro watching me, all polite and interested. But I can't tell them. Can I? I glance at Jake, resting at my feet, and suddenly everything looks different. "My momma," I finally say to the floor. "I had to kill my momma."

It didn't hit me until right now. This pain in my chest, the tenseness in my shoulders. My breaths are coming quick. I killed her.

"Ellis…." A strong arm wraps around my shoulders, and instinctively, I grab whoever's holding me, tight as I can. "Momma," I choke, and I just let loose and cry. My whole body is just aching, but it's not sore or nothing. It's something else, something so much more painful. I just wish it were all a nightmare. Everything. I feel Jake pressing her head against my leg, whining. I drop a heavy hand over her head, rubbing her ears tenderly even as I sob harder. What happened to yesterday? Would anything ever be the same?

I don't know how long I cry, but I'm still sniffling even as I pull out of the hug, which is just downright embarrassing. "Sorry," I mutter to Jake. Coach claps a hand on my shoulder, smiling even though his eyes shine. He was the one who hugged me. Near ashamed, I drop my eyes to the side, where I see Rochelle with her hand on my head, an awkward sign of affection.

"We'll make it through," she says when she catches me looking at her.

Damn, they're being so warm, they could melt butter. I want to tell them thanks, that I'm glad I found them. But the only word I can choke out is "Yeah." I scrub my face with the back of my hand and summon a smile. "Yeah."

"Coach, you comin' with us?" she asks him then. "They're runnin' evacs down at the hospital."

"I heard," he says with a sigh. "But I'm going to have to say no. I have a problem with my knees, so I'd just hold you back. I was going to stay here until someone came to help."

"No one's coming," I say then. Both of them look at me in shock at the hardness of my voice, and I'm sorta shocked too. But I tell him honestly, "The city's near empty. Once they stop runnin' evacs, 'm afraid we're on our own."

Ro turns to him again. "We can help you, jus' like you helped us," she urges. "If we stick together, we can make it."

"The walk's not that long," I add.

Coach sighs, and glances regretfully around the room—at the steel door, and the kitchen, and all the supplies. "You two are right," he finally agrees. "No use sitting on my ass in here. I've gotta get home and see my family again."

"That's it!" I tell him, and I jump to my feet. Jake bays in excitement as I hoist my rifle to my shoulder. "Grab a gun an' let's get the hell outta here."

"Hell yeah!" Coach snaps up a combat shotgun and a couple of pistols before he tosses a Mollie to both me and Ro. "We're gonna need these," he tells us, also pocketing one for himself. All of us take a first aid kit and some pills, and we stock up with as much ammo as we can carry. Finally, Coach kicks the metal bar off the door and slams it open with his shoulder, leading the procession with pistols. He brings down a few with some well-placed shots, and he motions for us to come along. With those guns, he looks mighty intimidating. Hell, if I were a zombie and I saw him coming, I'd run in the opposite direction.

"We have to head east more," I tell him, pointing down 52nd. Together, the three of us trot forward, making good progress as we head down the street. Things are fairly quiet, and I can tell Coach is growing more optimistic by the second.

"I didn't realize this would be so easy!" he panted while we paused at an ambulance to search for supplies.

"Hush! Don' jinx us!" Ro hisses back at him.

I would've laughed, but I sorta agree with her. "She's right, Coach. There're some frightenin' things you haven't even seen yet. Don' get your hopes up."

"I hear you," he says. "Zombies are scary, I know."

Well, now, that does make me laugh.

As we push forward, we start coming across construction signs, and even some of them zombies are dressed in the hard hats and reflective vests. The road's all torn up, but we're making good time.

That is, until we hit the crash.

"Holy…" Coach mutters. A semi must've hit a turn bad. It's lying on its side, too tall to climb and not a chance we'll get through. The cab's side is blocked by a large Caterpillar bulldozer.

"This looks like it might still work," Coach says as he inspects the machinery.

"Reckon we're gonna hafta back this Cat up," I grumble. These things make a helluva lotta noise when they move back—you know, that annoying beep that heavy machinery does. I hope that it won't attract zombies, but I just know it will anyhow. "This is gonna start a ruckus. Are y'all ready?"

Ro and Coach check their clips automatically while I scope out the scene. "Seems like they'll come from down the street, and above from those shops."

"We've both got Mollies," Coach tells me. "We're ready when you are."

I gulp, and I start the motor.

Already, I can hear the scream of the hoard.

"Get ready!"

Swinging the stick to reverse, I painstakingly roll the Cat backwards, the warning sound echoing down the empty streets. The screams are getting louder.

"We're clear!" I turn, and I see hundreds of infected full-on running towards us. I grab my bat and leap to the ground while the others scramble ahead. "Let's go!"

I hear Jake running just behind me. With my bat in my hands, it's almost simple to swing and continue on. The pavement's uneven. Cars are overturned everywhere.

Then that thing screams again. He's crouched right in front of me.

"Hunter! Hunter! Hunter!" I'm struggling to pull out my rifle. It roars, and leaps for my chest.

But he doesn't get me.

"Jake!" My girl had bounded in front of me and caught the zombie mid-air. They collide with snarls, biting and scratching—as he tries to run away, she pursues. Another zombie clips her flank—she's down, and the hunter starts straight for her, claws ready.

"No no no! Jake!" I try to run through, to get to her. The common are holding me down, tearing at me, I can't get rid of them. "Jake, hold on!" I take out the rifle and fire as fast as I can at the monster, hollering to get its attention. But it won't listen—it tears her, screaming, and more are coming to hurt her, and I can't do a thing. "Jake!"

That's when I hear the staccato of fire. Machine gun fire. Even the zombies look confused.

"What in God's name—?"

A man in a blazing white suit is jogging towards us, laughing maniacally as he unloads his clip into the hunter. "Eat this, fucker!" He kills it and boots it off of Jake with malicious glee. "That's what you get for jumpin' Lou, you cock-eating bastard!"

Woah.

He glances at me, aims his gun, and fires.

Behind me, I hear something fall. A zombie's laying behind me, shot straight in the chest. And here I stand thinking he was gonna shoot me. "Get off your knees; you're blowing our chances here!" the stranger grouses at me, and then he jogs past to get to Ro and Coach.

But the shock wears off, and I remember Jake.

She's lying still, but I can see her breathing. "You're gonna be okay, girl," I whisper as I hobble towards her. Jake strains her neck to get up. "Easy." I lift her into my arms and scurry to catch up with the other three, who've taken to hiding behind an overturned car. "Coach, can you hold her?" He nods and I pass her gently into his arms before I take aim over the cab.

But, even between me, Ro, and the stranger, there are too many zombies.

"Fuck," the guy grumbles. "Here, throw this out there, kid. I'll hold 'em off." He tosses me something, which I catch easily. And then I damn near shout. It's a bomb, already lit and ready to blow.

"Oh shit!" Quick as a jackrabbit, I hurl it ahead, but it hits another car and lands not twenty paces from us. "Holy shit! Why'd you light it! Shit!"

Still holding off the zombies, he takes one look at me, sees the bomb, and pulls back. "Jesus Christ, run!" The man starts dashing away even while zombies rush towards the beeping. The three of us are quick to follow suit, Coach still with Jake. The stranger takes cover behind a nearby brick house, and we barely make it before the explosion sounds. As soon as the street is quiet again, he whirls to face me, snarling. "My own grandmother throws better than you! And she can't even speak English! You trying to kill us, Cletus?"

"A little warning woulda been nice!" I shout back. "Why'd ya light it for in the first place?"

"Because of the fucking horde!"

"Then you throw it next time!"

He's standing next to me, fists clenched, and looks about ready to explode—and I'm itching for a fight myself. Coach steps in between us right then, and I immediately back down. The other guy, though, cranes his neck up with a scowl. "What do you want, asshole?"

"To say thanks."

For a moment, the stranger looks mighty suspicious of him. I wonder if he's ever gotten a thank you in his entire life. He looks at me again, and, more timid this time, I smile, a little easier. "Yeah, thanks, brother. Sorry 'bout the bomb, but you surprised me."

At that, he calms down, just looking a little peeved. "Ah, forget about it. Just, next time, try to aim away from shiny metal objects."

"Speakin' of shiny metal objects, where in the hell did you find a machine gun and pipe bombs?" Coach asks with a disbelieving shake of his head.

"They're mine." He raises his chin, daring us to ask another question. When we don't, he smirks. "Well, it was a pleasure saving all your asses," he adds with a jaunty salute. "I'm getting the hell outta here." He turns, and starts heading north, back into the construction.

"Why you goin' that way, Forehead?" I call.

The stranger freezes in place, then turns around real slow-like. "You just call me Forehead?" he asks me. "Did you just fuckin' call me Forehead?"

I shy away from his tone. "Er… yeah, I guess I jus' did."

"Waddaya mean by that, you fuckin' inbred yokel?"

I sorta chuckle at him, 'cause I ain't sure if he's yanking my chain. "I was jus' foolin'. What's your problem, man?"

"What's my problem?" he snaps back. "What's my problem? That's like if I took a big shit on your head, and you had shit running all down your face, and I asked you, 'What's your problem?' The hell is wrong with you people?"

God Almighty, I didn't know it'd be so easy to ruffle his feathers. He's still glaring at me, and I think Coach is laughing. "Easy," I tell the new guy, holding my hands up innocently. "My name's Ellis. This here's Ro and Coach. We're jus' tryin' to get outta the city."

"Yeah, and who isn't?" His voice sounds harsh and loud, and I even have to wince a little when he glares at me.

Ro snorts with laughter. "You gotta name, Suit?" she adds, packing away her Magnum and crossing her arms.

He fluffs his collar like a rooster showing off to a hen. "Yous guys can call me Nick, alright?"

Meet Nick:

Originally from New York, Nick is a stock broker with a very… close-knit family. Although he doesn't often participate in the family business, he was around his father enough to know the difference between a kiss and the kiss of death (if you know what he's talkin' about). However, successful in his own right, Nick developed his own persona, and doesn't often call upon his family members for help—they usually ask him. He was in Savannah for his own interests, but that doesn't mean he isn't packing, and with these new zombies in town, he's ready to send them to the cleaners. Permanently.

"You ain' from 'round here, are you?" I ask him suspiciously as he brushes dust off his suit.

He stares at me for a beat, then laughs roughly. "Wow. No shit, Sherlock. Christ, talking to you is like doing charity work." I stare at him, and he gives in. "No, I ain't from here. I'm from New York."

Coach chuckles. "Explains your attitude."

"Yeah, can you tell I'm a happy person?"

"The evac point's this way," I interrupt, motioning over my shoulder. "Ain't you headin' there?"

"Evac point?" He's honestly confused, and probably beginning to get riled again.

"Er, they're runnin' evacuations in the city on account of the fever. Ain't you tryin' to get there?"

"I don't know about any evac point. I was just out to kill the bastards that got my cousin." He hefts up his gun and I see for the first time exactly what it is: an AK47. On one hip, he's got another pipe bomb, and there's a weird capsule in his suit pocket. We stare in reverence for a moment.

"Well shit," I exclaim, "you can come with us and kill as many as those bastards as you like before we get outta here."

The man snorts, but doesn't answer either way.

"Alright," Coach grins. "Let's get going before we've got another hoard to deal with."

Ro and I agree. I take Jake carefully from his arms, and we start walking back towards the hospital. So does Nick. The three of us don't say nothing, but Coach and Ro exchange a secret smirk and I just know it's because of the Yankee following us.

My thoughts change when Jake whines in my arms. "Hold up, Coach. I think Jake here needs some first aid."

"Jake who?" Nick asks as we stop. I place her on the hood of a car and check her injured flank, and her chest. Most of the tears are shallow, but one gash runs down her side, about a foot long, and it's pulsing with blood. "She's losing a lot," I mumble, maybe just to myself, but Ro touches my shoulder comfortingly while I pull out my first aid kit.

I hear Nick scoff. "We're waiting for a fucking dog? I can't believe this shit."

Coach hits him with a glare, and he scowls right back—but at least he stays quiet this time around.

Satisfied, I turn my full attention to her wounds. I ignore those scrapes and go straight for the large one. I dab the blood away fast, revealing layers of muscle and jagged remainders of skin. I gulp. The disinfectant in the kit is small, but I do my best to spread it around. Jake whimpers and struggles a bit. "Hush, girl."

The others are providing cover in the meantime. "Son-of-a-bitchin' bastards," I hear Nick laugh as he takes down a small cluster with a burst of fire.

The gauze is barely big enough to wrap around her chest a few times, but I pull it tight and tie it all the same. Her wound's covered, at least. "C'mon, girl, get up." She starts to struggle, so I help pull her up until she's on her feet.

"Done. Now let's go."

Jake hobbles for the first dozen steps or so, but she keeps up with us as we press ahead down the street. There aren't many zombies around, probably because we faced a whole messa them earlier. I glance around when my eyes catch something cool.

"Woah, check this here shit out!"

It was the poster of the man, the hero, the legend:

Jimmy Gibbs Jr.

In earnest, I look over at the others. "Look who it is! I can' believe it!"

"Come on, Ellis, we've got a ways to go," Coach calls to me.

I marvel at the photo for just a second more before I shout, "Yeah, alright, I'm comin'." Just as I'm about to turn and catch up, a bit of graffiti catches my eye. "Wait, y'all, jus' one more second." I skim the bricks next to the poster with a smile on my face. It's my own name, scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Ellis:

I wrote this next to the most amazing man in the world 'cause I knew you'd see it. Anyways, I made it down here at about six in the morning and I'm catching the first whirly-bird outta here. Don't worry about me—worry about yourself. I'll save you a couple cold ones.

Keith

Ps. Remember to kill all them sons of bitches for me, buddy.

I touch the letters with a shaking hand. I knew he'd make it out alive, I just knew. Things must not be that bad after all.

"Ellis, get a move on!" Ro calls out to me. Still grinning, I run to catch up to the others, who are already almost a block away. There were a couple of common ones that I finished with my bat, but when I killed the last one, the splintered wood cracked completely.

"Whoops." I drop the handle to the side. Jake sniffs it before looking up at me, her head cocked. "I know, girl. I'll find something." To the others, I call, "Hey, let me know if you see something I can—"

My face is covered at once. I scream, but all I can hear is wild laughter. My head is twisted, turned. "Help! Help me!" I'm stumbling every which-way, being pulled by whatever the hell it is on my head. I hear barking, gunshots, and finally the weight drops.

The creature is lying at my feet, a sick grin still stuck on its face. It's rotted, rosy skin is slick over its hunched back, and its eyes are eerily yellow. A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I touch my head to reassure myself that it's still attached. "Hey, Ellis, you okay?" Coach asks, planting a hand on my shoulder.

All I can say is, "I'd hire this one to haunt a house any day."

"You've got shit for brains, kid," Nick coughs, but I can see him hiding a grin behind his hand. I chuckle in reply before saying, "Let's get going."

Jake growls right as we hear a faint squealing.

"What the —"

Coach suddenly lets out a shot, and I manage to see a head duck just in time to dodge it. "Damn, missed," he mutters.

"What is it?"

"Spitter." He motions to the cars ahead. "She's bad news. Don't let her get you with the acid, got it?" We all nod in agreement and pull out our big guns. I can see her shadow cast just past the edge of the car. I aim the cross-hairs through the car's window as carefully as I can before I let out a shot. It passes just to the left, and she darts further ahead.

"Damn it."

"Nice shot," Nick says. I'm not sure if it's sarcastic or not, so I don't say anything.

"Well, let's keep moving. She's bound to turn up." Coach takes a couple steps further, and it is then I hear another zombie's call.

"Sounds like a hunter," Ro says, taking the words right outta my mouth.

We pass by an abandoned fire truck, and things begin to look a little brighter when I catch sight of an axe attached to the side, under the ladder. "Well, lookie here. I always wanted to be an axe murderer." I grab it and swing, testing the axe's weight. It'll be much better to fight with than the bat, especially now that it's all splintered from killing other infected. The others are grabbing as much medicine as they can carry, reloading their guns during the lull of action. We can hear the calls of the special ones, but for some reason, they're not attacking yet. There are even fewer commons. I count four as Rochelle takes care of them with her Magnum.

"Easy, right guys?" she says with a smile.

The Yankee snorts. "This was too easy. Like walking through preschool with a chainsaw."

Ro huffs at him, looking all bent outta shape. "Good night, Nick! Don'chu say things like that!"

He rolls his eyes. "All I'm saying is keep your eyes open, sweetheart. I'm getting a feeling I don't like here." Now that he says it aloud, I get that nagging feeling too. It's too quiet on the street, and there aren't as many regular zombies as usual. Jake's whining next to me.

"Good girl." I pat her head and she tries to lick my hand. She walks even closer by my side. We all round the corner together when we hear something that I never wanted to hear.

Rumbling.

"What the hell is that?" Coach asks, his grip tightening on his shotgun.

"Circle up, y'all," Rochelle calls. We all scrunch together, back to back, eyes roving the streets. Suddenly — "There!"

We whirl to face the direction Coach points in. I wish I hadn't. It's a full-on monster running towards us, at least ten feet tall and built like a steam engine. A few regular ones are following, too, but it knocks them aside like they were just toy soldiers. Its tiny head sits among its shoulders like a fly sits on an elephant's ass.

"Holy mother of fuck!" I hear Nick scream. "Run!"

The four of us don't wait around. We scramble ahead, firing over our shoulders at the monster. It's a rippling mass of muscles and flesh, the color of rotting watermelon, and it's got its sights on all of us. None of us have stopped shooting, but the beast keeps coming; it seems like nothing could ever take it down. "This is no good!" I cry out as I reload. "We need a better plan!"

Coach reaches into his backpack and lights a dampened rag sticking out of a bottle of the hard stuff. It catches on fire immediately and he lobs it at the monster. The beast runs through the flames—but he doesn't escape unscathed. His skin blisters as he careens towards us. The smell is worse than sewage, now, but we keep moving.

That is, until Ro stumbles. She goes down with a curse, and even from a fair distance away, I can see it will take one of us to get her back on her feet. "Coach, Nick, can ya cover me?" But I turn without waiting for a reply, and I scramble towards her. "Jake!" I shout over my shoulder, and soon she's by my side, and we're running with all of our might. The sonnovabitch is no more than fifty feet away when I reach Ro. She's hurt bad, but she'll make it. She has to make it. "Come on!" I'm pulling her up, and the monster is seconds away, yards away—

Jake lunges with a snarl, right at its face. The roar it lets out is deafening, but it buys me just enough time to get Ro on her feet and out of there. Glancing back, I see Jake still fighting for all she's worth. The bandages in her side are soaked in blood. Her own. "Jake! Heel! Jake!"

The monster grabs her with his fist and—oh God…

There's a sickening crunch. It's the only noise I can hear. Not even the roar of the creature or the shouts of the others can cover it. Now I don't want to run. I want to fight.

I plant my knee in the ground and take careful aim at the thing's head, even while it charges.

"Come on Ellis, move!"

"Get out of there, kid!"

I ignore all of them. It only takes a deep breath, a lingering wink—

The recoil pushes my shoulder back, and the shot echoes all around us on the empty street. The bullet hits its mark. Not more than ten yards away, the monster sinks to its knees, and finally, with a stomach-turning wail, it hits the pavement.

My eyes only search for one thing. My girl.

Stumbling forward, I let out a piercing whistle. There's no answer. "Jake? C'mon, girl! Jake!" She's tossed aside, near a truck. I can't hardly bear to look at her, but I drag my body over there and crouch next to her. "Oh, Jake, oh no." She shouldn't look like this, so small, crushed. I run my hand through her matted, bloodied fur. "Thank you, girl. Thank you—"

And I can't hold my tears any more. I feel arms around me, helping me up and supporting me as we move forward. It feels like all the hope's been sucked out of me. I'm bone-dry on the inside. If she couldn't make it with me, what chance have I got now? The report of Ro's Magnum startles me every so often, but otherwise, the group is quiet. Each one takes turns talking to me, trying to get me to simmer down. All I can think of is Ma, and Jake, and Keith—Lord, who else? Who else is left?

Finally, Nick takes my elbow, and he immediately slows down to fall behind the other two. Without warning, he hisses, "Look, so your fuckin' dog is dead. And your mom. And probably your buddy, too." I can' believe he's saying this shit. "So it might be the end of the world," he keeps saying. "So what? You're fuckin' alive, ain't you? Pull your head out of your ass. Fuck everyone else. This is about you now, got it?" His white suit has a healthy smattering of blood, and he's hanging onto his machine gun like a dog hangs onto a bone.

And he's trying to make me feel better. Sorta. I crack a smile. "That was so offensive, I think it was funny."

He seems to take it wrong, but he holds back his insult. "Whatever. Are you ready?"

I yank the axe from the strap on my back. "You betchya."

It only takes three more minutes to get to the hospital. But already, I have a funny feeling about it. "Hey, anyone here?" I glance around and see how empty it is, even of infected. I can't hear nothing, either. It's the same as before. "Shit." I switch to my hunting rifle.

"Look here," Ro calls out, standing next to a large poster. The rest of us trot over, expecting the worst and getting it.

"They changed the evac point?"

"And the fuckin' evac time, too. Noon is the last chopper out. The infected must've been too overwhelming for those bastards—"

"It's at a hotel called The Vannah. They posted a map."

"Fucking shit! This just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

"It's just straight down this street."

"How much ammo do we have?"

Ro checks her pack. "Enough, I imagine."

"Yo, Nick, you got the time?" I ask him.

Nick makes a noise like Ma used to make when she was sore at me, and he says, "Yeah, I have the time. And I also have a job that earned me money to buy a watch so I could have the time."

Ro snaps back at him, "Jus' tell him the time before I ring your neck!"

"What the fuck for? We're already doomed. Jesus Christ, you thinkin' about running all the way there or something? I say we start planning an escape now—"

"It's eleven forty-four, on the dot," Coach interrupts. He probably doesn't like arguing any more than I do. Nick is still muttering under his breath about me, so I laugh and say, "I swear, Nick, you could start an argument in an empty house, bless your heart."

"That's right, farm boy, you tell 'em," Ro cheers with a smile.

"Is everyone a moron down here, or am I just that lucky?" complains Nick to Coach.

Coach grins at him as he shoulders a grenade launcher. "You're just lucky, Nick. Real lucky."

I load another few bullets into my rifle. "For your information, Nick, we are goin' to run. This hotel's 'bout a ten minute stroll from here. If we take it fast, we jus' might make it after all. Let's check inside and see if there are any supplies we can use."

We scramble inside the building and seal the door shut with a metal bar as an extra precaution. There's a shit-ton of supplies around the room, so all of us gather what we can carry. We even have time to take care of our nicks and bumps from the trip over. In the meantime, outside, we can hear a crowd gathering.

"Sounds like a puker," I hear Ro mutter as she peers through the window.

"It don't matter," I reply, checking the sight on my hunting rifle. "As long as we move fast."

Beside me, Nick and Coach finish checking their guns and give me a nod.

"Alright, let's move fast, now."

With a swift kick, I boot the door open and we all hustle down the street at a light jog. There are zombies here and there, but they go down easy with spatters of gunshots.

The only problem is, the nearer we get to the new evac site, the more cars get in our way. Pretty soon, we're climbing to move forward.

"What the shit," Nick moans. "Did these fuckers really think they could all drive to one place?"

"Nick, wait!" Coach hollers. Ro and I whirl in time to see Nick leap on top of a car with an alarm.

Too late.

The shrill beeping bounces off the buildings, triggering other cars. It's louder than hell—probably attracting all of the zombies within a mile. We can hear their screams now. And they're getting closer.

"Let's get our backs to a building." Coach has us running towards a nearby office, checking his ammo along the way. We arrange ourselves defensively: Ro and me crouched in front with the other two behind us. The wave is just down the street now.

"Hunter," I say, as Ro says, "Spitter."

Then, that all-too-familiar roar catches our ears. A Tank.

"So, on a scale from one to ten, how fucked are we?" Nick asks casually.

Coach snaps his magazine back into place. "I'm gonna say were at a forty-three."

"Hope they go an' hold a chopper for us," Ro grumbles.

I grin at the new team and take careful aim at the leader of the pack of infected. "You boys n' girls ready for a party?" Our team hollers and shouts as the mob starts to charge up the stacks of cars. I wink one eye shut and place my finger on the trigger. "Kill all sons-a-bitches!"

So, there you have it. My friends and I really should do something else with our lives, huh? But I think Rochelle would honestly be better if she had ANY personality to speak of. Anyways, please review!