Disclaimer: As some of you may know, i don't own the rights to Left 4 Dead, the characters or story lines. This is my own creation and does not follow traditional 'Canon'
This is my first story, although it's taken 3 years to get chapter 1 to my liking xD
Chapter 1 - Hotels and Alleyways
Friday - 21:30
Taking a deep pull on the stub of his cigarette, Bill closed his eyes, let the smoke fill his aching lungs and exhaled slowly. Tossing the butt to the floor and stomping out the glowing embers with a jet black size 10 work-boot, he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his green, blood splattered army jacket and checked the ammo in his pistol. 'Nice Gun', he thought to himself. He'd picked it up from a police station about a half mile down the road, shuddering at the thought of holding out against another horde in that horrifying place. He lent up against a dumpster, the only other thing in the bleak, dark alleyway just off of main street.
A bitterly cold wind blew past him, bringing with it a stench of rotting meat and blood. He reached into his trouser pocket, felt the familiar cold brass of the only salvation from the undead nightmare. The rugged old man looked down at the handful of bullets now in his right hand. Seven. Bill grinned as he remembered his trusty childhood baseball bat with him. It looked slightly redder than in the days he played outside with his friends. He missed those days. Thinking about those warm evenings, hanging out in the park, a light breeze running over his face as he lay on the grass laughing and joking with the other kids in the neighbourhood. His brief return to merrier times was cut short by wailing and gurgling, back into the dark damp streets of Allentown Pennsylvania. With a swift movement a bullet was loaded into the .357 magnums' chamber, cocked, aimed and fired with pin point accuracy into the approaching zombies' eye, an elegant wisp of smoke danced out from the barrel. Turning away he walked slowly down the deserted street. Screaming and howling echoed intermittently from the heart of the city.
"There has to be someone else in this God-Forsaken Hell Hole"
Friday - 23:00
It was dark, a small beam of moonlight filtered between the open curtains, with it a gentle breeze. She could hear the familiar sound of gurgling and scratching outside the room. Gathering herself and trying to control her breathing she backed away from the thin wooden door. 'A Hotel?! Talk about a stupid place to run to', she cursed her rash decision to hide there, but something or someone was chasing her through the street, it was the right move. Shuffling backwards through the dim bedroom she felt her way to a small chair in the corner, carefully sitting down her heart rate and breathing finally returned to normal.
'Who was that?' she thought, finally with a few moments to catch her breath. 'It couldn't have been one of them, it was holding a shotgun'. Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat as the sound of gunfire reverberated around the corridor outside, 2 rounds fired. Holding her hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to keep herself from screaming, she got to her feet. Grabbing the knife from her belt and standing in the darkest corner, she was in a perfect position to get the jump on what or whoever was coming in. The door creaked as it swung open. The light from the corridor invaded the room. Seeing nothing at first Zoey shifted herself slightly to the right, then she saw him. A tall silhouette stood in the doorway, shotgun in hand. It was him, the guy chasing her in the street. He swaggered into the room and slammed the door.
It was now pitch black again, she could barely make out his figure moving. He looked around the room, a beam of pale moonlight shone through the window through the billowing, torn net curtains, the light broken by the figures' well-defined biceps, adorned with several tattoos. She took a step along the wall, feeling around with her hands. Felling the light switch on her finger tips she flicked it down. The room was lit up, they were both dazzled by the sudden change in brightness. Recoiling, she closed her eyes. When she regained focus the man was standing in front of her, towering, leaving her frozen in fear. Zoey slid down the wall until she was sitting at the man's feet, engulfed by his massive shadow. She looked up at the face of the figure, he appeared tired and rough but at the same time seemed gentle and kind. Wearing a sleeveless biker's jacket and blue ripped jeans, he had unshaven stubble around his face and an exhausted look in his eyes. He extended a hand and smiled at her, hesitantly she took hold of it and he pulled her to her feet. Clearing his throat he spoke with a deep gravelled voice...
"Name's Francis".
Saturday - 07:12
The sound of a passing helicopter woke Louis from his sleep, opening his eyes he peeled his face off the steering wheel and wiped the drool from his cheek. He looked around outside the car, a few newspapers lay torn on the ground, a few smashed windows of the nearby shops and deserted cars in the street. Yawning, he gripped the ignition key tightly in his hand and started the engine, the fuel light came on. "Damn It" he cursed under his breath. He put the car into drive and pulled the car away slowly from the curb and off toward downtown.
The journey seemed longer than usual, he knew this because before this nightmare became a reality he travelled it day after day to get to work in the city. Which reminded him, he was still wearing his white shirt and black trousers from the day it started. How could he forget? There he was, sitting at his office, working on the budget reports for the first quarter, when a colleague from downstairs came wandering into the office, snarling and dribbling, blood around his eyes. He remembered the fear, the screams from his workmates and friends as more of them walked into the office, he remembered the pain of watching people he'd known for years eaten by those things, Jasmine, the woman he longed for, whom he had never had the courage to ask out, had been torn apart in front of his eyes. He remembered being weak and running for the fire exit and not looking back. He shook his head, trying to forget, but he couldn't. He flicked on the radio...static, he changed the channel…static, the whole country had gone to shit.
Ten minutes passed, he saw a few of them on his way but he was now about a block away from the office he worked at. Then the engine went silent, the car rolled gently to a stop and Louis realised the dire situation he was in. He noticed 3 of the infected, arms out in front, blood running out of their mouths turn as they heard the vehicle come to a stop. They began to shuffle towards the source of the noise. He reached into the back seat of his car and grabbed the hammer he kept there, then he flicked the 'Trunk open' button by his left foot. Moving quickly he opened his car door into one of the zombies, knocking it to the ground. He heard the other behind him and took a wild swing backwards with the claw of the hammer, plunging it into its skull, blood spurted out of the wound. One of the others had gotten closer and the third was standing up again, Louis tried to dislodge his weapon from the infecteds' head but it was stuck, he kicked the corpse to the floor and bolted for the trunk. Searching frantically for something to use he found an old rusty shovel, no time to think the thing was right next to him, he struck it in the gut, it groaned and recoiled, but it began to walk towards him again, once more he struck, in the head this time, but still it came back, he lifted the shovel again to deliver a final blow but something grabbed him from behind, the other zombie. He dropped the shovel, em'This is it/em' he thought to himself' as he prepared himself for...
Two loud gunshots rang out…blood covered Louis' face as he fell in a heap on the floor, joined swiftly by the two zombies. He almost cried out in relief, looking up to see a dishevelled old man in dirty green fatigues sporting a large revolver and a smug look.
"Looks like I got here just in time friend" joked the bearded man.
"I had it covered." laughed a clearly shaken Louis.
"I know son and I was just providing moral support." Quipped the man, as he ejected the used cartridges from his smoking gun. Louis held out a still shaking hand.
"I'm Louis." He said, panting heavily and desperately trying to regain some composure, "…and you?" The old man took a pull on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift out of his slightly cracked smile and with a wise, aged tone muttered...
"Bill."