Blood.
It was everywhere. Everywhere. The red liquid oozed from the tops of abandoned bookshelves, drip drip dripping, the sound mirroring the sanity clock in my head.
Tick tock, tick tock.
The blood stained the leather bounding of timeless books, the yellowing pages spotted red and brown, ruined. It covered the floor in puddles, making a light squishing sound as I cautiously stepped over it. I made my way to the information desk where the small bell sat alone, gathering dust and festering in dried blood.
The sound of tiny wings filled my senses. Flies flew about, greed directing their paths, following the stench.
The stench.
It was awful. It forced its way into my nostrils, all the way up to my brain, sending signals of terror and fright throughout my body.
I looked around the desolate library, searching for something, anything. But all I saw was the usual: blood, blood and more blood.
I plopped down on the stained floor, exhausted, no longer caring. I've been on the run for 5 weeks now. 5 weeks with hardly any food or water. All by myself. No one to talk to. No one to keep me sane. Just me.
And the living dead.
Tick tock, tick tock.
I buried my dirt-encrusted face into my dirt-encrusted hands and let the tears cascade over my cheeks. I was done. Spent. Nothing could have gotten me up at that moment. Not even if a horde of zombies came stumbling through the door searching for their next meal.
Not even then.
My stomach growled in retaliation, causing my sobs to increase. There was no hope left. I was either going to die of starvation or get eaten by zombies.
How ironic...
Then suddenly, I heard the voice of an angel.
"You hear that?" It asked solemnly, from close by. Its voice was virtuous, like water flowing freely over a waterfall. I raised my head and searched for the light that was coming to take me away, only there was no light. Only darkness.
Except for a small illumination glimmering in the corner. It moved up and down as if it were breathing.
"Is that some kind a witch?" It asked.
"Hell if I know. Let's just kill the damn thing and get the Hell out of here." Another voice answered. Two angels. How wonderful...
The tears stopped and I stared into the darkness curiously, lifting my knees to my chin. I opened my mouth to ask if they were here to rescue me or damn me, but then he stepped into the light.
The angel.
He was beautiful. Godly. But he was dressed nothing like an angel. Are angels supposed to be covered in dirt and blood and wearing a trucker hat and a t-shirt?
I didn't think so.
"Nick, I don't think that's a witch," The angel said, cautiously stepping over the puddles of blood, closer and closer to where I sat.
"Shit!" A new voice exclaimed. Another angel? How many were there? "Is it a new special? Crap guys. I don't think I can deal with another one."
"Just kill it and get it over with," The second angel said in a bored voice. The realization hit me. They were talking about me.
About killing me.
Turns out I had a tad bit of strength left in me after all.
I sprang to my knees and jumped up on the desk. It groaned in protest but thankfully held. The angels repositioned their stances, wielding their weapons and staring at me with such ferocity I felt as if I could collapse at that very moment. All four pairs of angel eyes stared back at mine, filled with hatred.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse. It sounded weird, even to me. I hadn't used my voice in so long. My lips, chapped and dangerously dry fought with the effort to speak.
The angels froze.
"They can talk now?" One asked.
"Of course not-" The most beautiful angel answered, stepping closer.
"Shit! What if they evolved man? Let's get the Hell out of here. Now!" Another angel ordered.
I remained where I stood, swaying on the spot, desperately searching for a forgotten pocket of energy buried deep within that I somehow could have bypassed before.
I couldn't find one.
I tumbled from the desk, landing with a loud and ominous thud on the dusty carpet. The angels stumbled backwards, desperately trying to flee.
All except one. The angel.
He bent down beside me, his curious eyes sweeping my body. I latched my eyes onto his and tried to speak, to plead for help, but no voice escaped my crusted lips. I lifted a shaking hand and slowly attempted to reach for his.
Thud!
One of the angels tackled me, his oversized body crushing me into the squeaking floor. My breath escaped my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. And then, something cold and sharp was pressed against my neck.
"No!" The angel yelled. "Don't hurt her!"
"Why the hell not, Ellis? It's either you or her. It's not even a her anymore. It's an it. It will always be an it. Never anything more." The blade nicked my throat.
The angel named Ellis growled softly. "She ain't no zombie, Coach. She shows none of the signs. Can't you see that?"
Silence.
The blade was removed from my neck but a pair of warm, gigantic hands replaced it.
"What's your name?" The angel called Coach bellowed in my face. My name? My name? What the Hell was my God damn name? My mouth opened and closed, the air refusing to escape.
But the tears had no problem.
"Coach, get off her. She's crying. She ain't no zombie," Ellis commanded. The large weight was lifted from my lungs and I could breathe again. A pair of strong hands lifted me up and sat me upon the counter. I sat their shivering, the need for air racking my body with ferocious sobs.
Ellis put his hand on my quaking shoulder. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity, it took my breath away. "What's your name, ma'am?"
"Anne," I replied instantly.
Ellis punched Coach on the arm playfully, muttering a sly "I told you so."
"I'm Ellis and that there is Coach." He pointed to the angel that had tackled me to the ground. He managed a sheepish smile. "There is Rochelle." He nodded towards a female angel, her face perfectly angular. She looked around nervously, her fingers turning white around her weapon. "And that there is Mr. Gamblin' man, Nick." He pointed to the angel hovering in the corner, his greedy eyes sweeping over the collection of books. "And we, ma'am, are survivors. Just like you."
I blinked. "So you're not angels?"
He laughed; the sound reverberated in my ears, like church bells in the early morning, before the world awoke. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
"'Course not ma'am. We're just normal people. Ain't we Coach?" He asked, a small smile playing across his lips.
"Yeah, we're pretty fucking normal. Let's get the Hell out of here. Now. I can hear a horde coming." We strained our ears, desperately listening, and sure enough, I heard the moans in the distance, carried to us on the soft wind that flowed in through the broken doorway.
All four survivors leaped to their feet and raised their weapons. They slowly started towards the doors, no sound emanating from their movements. Ellis turned towards me. With one hand slowly grabbing mine, and the other held to his lips, he slowly helped me hop off the counter. My eyes widened as I realized the possible danger. I had no strength left to fight. I vigorously shook my head, indicating that he should leave without me. He smiled and mouthed "I won't leave you behind, ma'am," as he tugged on my hand harder.
I complied, too terrified to put up any more fight that might make noise, thus, alerting the horde. We tiptoed out of the library and into the parking lot where a beat-up car awaited. Nick opened the driver-side door and carefully slid in, while Rochelle slipped into the passenger seat. Ellis opened the back door for Coach and me. I looked at Coach but he motioned for me to get in first. I guess he could see the terror in my eyes, for he sent me a reassuring smile and patted me on the back. I slipped into the car and fastened my seatbelt, followed closely by Ellis and Coach.
"Three," Ellis breathed.
"Two," Rochelle whispered.
"One." Nick jammed the key in the ignition and turned as the three doors pounded shut. The roar of the engine was deafening in the silence. That's when I heard the moaning. And a lot of it.
"Come on team! Let's go kill some sons a bitches!" Ellis hooted as the car shot forward.
Oh boy.
The car zoomed down the road as the moans increased. In the sweltering sun of New York, I saw them. They limped through the streets, slack-jawed and possessed by the dire need of human flesh.
"Any one up for a game of zombie bowlin'?" Nick yelled, his voice light and airy. Ellis chuckled beside me, throwing a sly grin my way. I glanced at the speedometer, the needle steadily jumping forward, the speed increasing.
50...
60...
70...
80...
I closed my eyes and gripped the seatbelt, praying to my guardian angel to keep me safe, to not let me escape the zombies and then get killed by a bunch of freaks in a car. Please, oh please.
Ellis's hand enclosed around mine. His skin was soft and inviting. I turned towards him, my eyes as big as saucers, breathing heavily.
He smirked. "Don't you worry about a thing, ma'am. Zombie bowlin' is the safest way to get rid of 'em. You wait and see."
I nodded vigorously and closed my eyes. Oh please, oh please.
"Here we go!" Nick hollered from the front seat. I bit my lip, tasting the blood dripping slowly down.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Three in a row sent my mind into shock. Surely at this speed, the impact would kill us, right?
Ellis seemed to be reading my mind.
"We got a spiked shield on the front of this baby. Don't you worry about a thing." Blood and bits of human flesh flew in the air and streaked the window to my right. I stared, horrified.
"Damn zombie just won't let go," Rochelle explained as she unrolled her window and stuck her shotgun in the 80 mile per hour winds. She aimed at the victim, slowly crawling up the hood of the car, his crazed eyes locked onto Nicks. His moans filled the car, that is, until the sound of the shotgun replaced it. The zombie's brains splattered on the windshield and turned a nasty shade of red as Nick turned the wipers on. In the backseat, my stomach lurched and I closed my eyes. Oh please, oh please.
Ellis wrapped his arm around me. "Zombie bowlin' ain't for newbies," He said as I placed my head in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, trying to get the stench of zombie flesh out of my burned nostrils. I felt like I was 6 again, sitting around the campfire as one by one, my family would tell scary stories. I would always sit on my fathers lap and bury my head into his neck, blocking out the stories that would surely have given me nightmares.
Except this was no nightmare.
This was the real thing.
"Guys! We got some trouble! Tank!" Nick shouted, yanking on the steering wheel, attempting to execute a U-turn. We were thrown around in the backseat of the car like lifeless rag dolls. My seatbelt snapped with the strain and I tumbled into Ellis's lap.
"If you wanted to sit on my lap, you could have just asked, ma'am," He said, his smile never leaving his face. I stared, horrified as I heard the bellows of the Tank, running closer and closer.
"Nick! Step on it!" Coach yelled anxiously from the backseat, his fist pounding on the back of Nicks chair.
"I'm trying! I'm trying!" He responded, his voice dripping fear. His foot slammed on the accelerator and we shot forward, like a bullet. Despite our speed, the Tank edged closer still.
"We're not going to make it!" Rochelle shrieked. Ellis turned around in his seat. I saw his eyes widen as he spotted the approaching Tank. He turned back, his eyes registering terror.
"She's right. We're gonna have to kill it the ol' fashion way." He said, his voice final.
In the front seat, Nick blew out a lungful of air, muttering curses under his breath.
"Hold on."
Ellis wrapped his arms securely around my shoulders, pinning my body to his. Coach did the same, one arm wrapped around Ellis, the other around me. They held me tightly. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't feel.
Wham!
The Tank landed upon the car, immediately ripping the top off, exposing us to the sweltering New York sun. He reached into the car and grabbed me with his monstrous hand, like the game I used to play at the grocery store. Except the Tank didn't need 50 cents to be controlled. It was a loose cannon.
And that loose cannon had me dangling by my hair, 10 feet above the car.
"Anne!" Ellis screamed, staggering out of the car. I shouted, my body weight causing my hair to rip out of my head. My hands traveled up and enclosed about the Tanks enlarged ones. I dug my fingernails into them, but he barely seemed to notice.
Gunfire fell like hail on his body, landing with dull thuds. Then I was free-falling, thrown 20 feet into the air, and tumbling right back down. The ground got bigger and bigger, causing my heart to pound.
It's not true what they say. About how your life flashes before you eyes before you die. No. It happened nothing like that. All I saw was Ellis's terrified face and the intensity in the Tank's eyes. I saw no childhood memories. All I saw was the ground. Then red. Then black.
I'm thinking about actually making a real fanfic for Left 4 Dead. This is just a puny little oneshot I had to do for my creative writing class. Review please! Tell me what you think and if I should actually make a fic out of this. :D