Okay, so I noticed that one of the only canon ships in L4D has barely any fictions! I'm trying to remedy this with my very own version of what happens after the events of L4D2. It's going to be action-packed and suspenseful, but of course, there will be healthy doses of Zellis along the way! Please rate and review, because c'mon guys, I need to know if this is worth doing. Thank you so much! Enjoy! (I really enjoy killing things with words, another reason why I'm writing this...maybe you could take this as a warning for *ahem* future chapters...and characters...*dun dun duuuuuuun*) (and these chapters will be named after songs too, just because I think it sets the mood! The first chapter's name is this story's theme song.) (I like using parenthesis.)

Ch. 1

Lightening Bolt

Three days. She had been walking for three days. Her calves ached and chaffed against one another, her toes felt like cramped little abbesses in her shoes, her spine screamed in defiance and doubled her over like a zombie and her stomach was so empty, she was surprised it hadn't imploded yet.

Why had she been walking for three days, you might ask? Well, it's tale of stupidity, stubbornness, and an inborn sense of nomadic restlessness that landed her in this sorry state...and she was in no mood to retell it.

The smell of asphalt was nauseating and a migraine was ripping its way across her senses like a tornado in a Kentucky trailer park; she was actually shambling now. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind where coherent thought still lived, she hoped no survivor would pop out and shoot her for a zombie. That would suck.

Oh, wait, she realized dully, there are no survivors...'cept me...

False: Francis and Louis were still alive and kicking. Well, at least they were the last time she saw them, on the day she left...which was a huge mistake as Francis had lovingly forecasted.

Zoey wrinkled her nose, more than a little angry with herself but too exhausted to do anything except staggered forward a few more steps, trip over something that was more than likely her own foot, and fall against the hood of a sun-bleached pick-up truck. She sprawled for a moment before sliding off like a limp-noodle and pooling in the shade of its tire. Her jacket stuck to her like a second skin and lord, did it reek; she only realized this now as its collar rubbed up against her nose. With a groan, she shrugged it partially off, losing interest when it was hanging off her elbows.

Everything hurt and it hurt so bad. Why did she leave? Why was she out here? Whywhywhywhywhy!? A pitiful little whimper managed to crawl its way up her throat, as parched as it was, but died into a puff of foul air when her mouth opened. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

So this was it then? She was going die on this baking stretch of highway in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana and it was her hardheadedness that got her here. Way to go, Zoey, nice use of the brain. Those two weeks of college spent holed up in your apartment were pretty helpful, huh? Her lip quivered and she realized she was crying, gently sobbing and hiccuping like a little girl.

She wanted to go home. She wanted her dad back and she wanted her mom back too (wow, she really must be dying). She wanted to hear Francis making jokes again and she wanted Louise to be okay. She wanted to stop hurting. She wanted these zombies to go away and she wanted even more that they never even existed. She wanted Bill to be alive.

Her chest heaved and a sudden tightness seized her body, holding it in a twisted arch off the pavement for a moment as her systems began to shut down. The sun no longer sparkled down on her but faded into a bleak looking gray orb on an equally gray backdrop. For a moment, she thought a shadow passed over head as goose bumps rose along her arms but the sky was clear and wide. She never really believed it, the whole "I'm cold, I'm so cold" act you see in movies all the time when someone is dying. It was so cheesy and fake. She shivered and felt a little tremor of anger ripple through her fingers. This isn't a cheesy movie.

Her brain was frazzled and short-circuiting, flip-flopping between emotions and broken thoughts like a light-switch. At least it distracted her from the fear of actually dying...Two years of surviving the zombie apocalypse and it ends like this. Another wave of disgust and she rolled on her side, holding herself in a shaky hug as it got harder to breathe. A bloody tinge crept into her vision, slowly mixing with the gray, turning it darker...and darker...and finally, black. She didn't hurt anymore.

"Shh shh shh, it's alright darlin'. I got ya." Arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist, pulling her from the hot asphalt and up into the chest of someone wearing a sweaty t-shirt and dog-tags; they bumped against her head and a far-away memory of an old man drifted through the darkness. What...what's going on? "Hey, Rob! Clear out the backseat, we got a passenger!" Who's talking...? "Nah, she ain't infected!...Yes, I'm sure! Just do what I told ya, boy!...Okay, now I don't wanna hurt ya, but I'm gonna have to do some maneuverin' here." That voice...it sounds so ...familiar...?

There was a moment of confusion as whoever was holding her awkwardly stood, re-positioning her from resting comfortably in their lap to swinging between their arms bridal-style. Her head flopped and the black world wobbled, throwing her for a curve-ball. Another roll of nausea threatened to toss whatever was left of her stomach on the poor guy's shirt.

"Sorry," he (she decided it was in fact a man after several minutes of processing his speech) whispered contritely. Zoey felt like she should reply, but still didn't feel the urge to start up conversation, so she settled for leaning into the man's shoulder and nodding weakly. She could almost feel his smile.

"You havta be the luckiest girl on God's green Earth y'know that right?" They started walking, very carefully to her relief, in the same direction she'd been heading. The hand on her shoulder was holding something, and after a moment, she realized it must her jacket. That was sweet of him. Her lips twitched in a faint smile. "I must be pretty lucky myself, considerin'," he laughed and it was a nice sound, full of life and enthusiasm; it gave her a feeling of home. She wasn't so alone after all.

The man continued talking, obviously excited about something and giggling. "Of all the people, I find you. Now if that ain't fate, I don't know what is! Zoey, you just hang in there, I'm gonna fix you right up and whew doggy, are we gonna reminisce! Just hang on, and we'll get ya home."

The sounds of a car's engine reached them and the sudden smell of gasoline was nearly choking. They stopped, a little more abruptly than she would've liked, but whatever. Not like she could do much, besides twitch and moan.

"Rob, what d'you think yer doin'!? Don't use so much gas! Y'know we're on rations!... I swear, that boy is about as useless as a screen-door on a submarine. Alright, alright, it ain't that bad, we'll jus' tell Sarge one'a the other scouts didn't fill er' up after their shift. The back clear?"

Zoey wished she was awake enough to know what the heck was going on; who was Rob, who was Sarge, where were they taking her (if they where taking her anywhere, the still functioning paranoid part of her brain was entertaining the image of being dumped in a ditch with a bullet in her back), why did this guy's voice evoke old memories, did he know her (because she got the slightest hint that he knew her) and when would she be able to ask all these questions? But, try as she might, everything remained black and she could hardly keep herself in this state of half-awareness without pulling a muscle somewhere in her brain and keeling over for good.

The mystery guy whose arms she was currently occupying held some sort of station, she guessed that much. When he wasn't rambling on to her in an excited puppy sort of way, he was ordering around Rob with stern authority, and it carried some weight as she never heard Rob complain or sass. Other than that, all she knew was that he was male and had a thick southern accent that dug at her memories.

She heard a car door open and brush of cool air kissed her arm.

"Rob, get some water in her, I'm gonna go check for any more survivors. It ain't like her to travel alone," he said to the presence beside him. When he spoke next, it was right in her ear. "Okay, now I needa do some scoutin'. I'm jus' gonna leave ya right..." there was some jostling, but the man managed to get her into the back of what felt like another pick-up, "Here. There we go. You just rest, y'hear? I'll be back soon."

He hovered over her for a moment and she could feel his breath on her neck, the soft curl of hair that wasn't hers. It must have been her body kicking into survival mode or the realization of how desperate she was, but something in her panicked; she was utterly helpless and at the mercy of some unknown person who was on top of her.

What was he doing!? Then she heard the click of a seat belt and he was gone, closing the door gently and his footsteps disappearing down the road. Oh. Her heart rate, which she just noticed was frantic, evened out and the pain dulled now that she was lying on the well-worn cloth backseat and not tarmac. She couldn't make heads nor tails of the situation; these people seemed friendly enough, they promised to get her fixed up, and there was the fact that one of them apparently knew her, but then there was the fear of not knowing who they were or what they actually planned to do with her.

She still wasn't dead, amazingly. Her things were intact; Mystery Man had the decency of storing them at her feet and her jacket was now wrapped up in a bigger, coarse-spun cotton coat and tucked under her head.

So he smelled it too, she thought. Ah well, it's better than nothing...

The passenger side door opened and a hand was on her cheek, holding it steady as the neck of a water bottle was pressed to her lips. Greedily, she latched on, sucking hard and long until the last drops of cool, blessed liquid disappeared and Rob was left with a vacuum-crushed bottle, which he replaced and she helped herself again.

This was repeated three times before he patted her forehead, said something about getting some sleep, and the door closed again.

It was silent now. Using the last of she strength, Zoey shimmied herself into a loose fetal position, tucking her knees against her stomach to feel it expand with life-giving air. It was comforting, knowing that, at least for now, she was still here. She hadn't died yet. With that, she let herself relax and drifted in and out sleep. Once, she heard the echo of the engine rumbling to life again and the willowy voices of men talking.

"I know...it's fate, man, I'm tellin ya...Zoey...she's an angel..."

And then, like a brick through a smoke-screen, it hit her.

Ellis!?

So anyone notice that the computer thinks Zoey's name is spelled wrong? Eh, well, she's too cool for spell-check. This took a ridiculous amount of effort to get on paper but got easier the further I went; hopefully it will be a breeze later on! I have awesome beta-readers, OnAMission being one (check out her stuff, it's amazing). Also, I really hate the layout of FanFiction; it makes three pages worth of writing look like a paragraph. *grumbles* That's just me. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you did, or if you didn't. Until next time! -Nev