"This is barbaric."
The zombies below milled around aimlessly, some had even laid down or sat upon the ground, resting in the midday heat. The barrel of the sniper rifle eased down to one in particular, a male, shoes missing, business suit torn and dirtied beyond any hope of redemption.
"Oh come on, that one isn't even moving!"
The sniper ignored the complaint and intoned, "Left foot, Achilles heel."
The woman scoffed, "Like you can hit that, he's across the courtyard!"
The trigger emitted a click, then the crack of the rifle shot destroyed the monotonous background moaning of the countless undead in the court.
The businessman's left foot detached from his body, and he stared at it with a dazed look of shock.
Reacting to the sound, for only humanity made that sound anymore, the undead swarmed, running about, searching for the source of the sound. A few began climbing the building after scenting the pungent aroma of sweat and weeks of grime gone unwashed.
The woman got up, shifting uncomfortably, "Why do you stir them up like this…we could get killed!"
The toothpick in the snipers mouth bobbed as she chewed on it, "Only one way to test my defenses. I'm sure they can hear your bitchin' from here, you know."
The woman shut up, and retreated to the doorway leading into the building. The sniper remained and cocked the rifle. It was a large one, meant to shoot from anywhere between 100 yards and obliterating the target, to a mile away and still destroying pretty much anything it hit.
The businessman was now missing his entire shin, but the left foot was intact, and that was how the game went.
The courtyard was populated with many walking zombies, but if one looked one could see a good number all had mysteriously missing legs, and were crawling around using only their hands.
The sniper shot at another, and hissed in annoyance as the foot was obliterated by the force of the bullet. The bones were crunched to fragments and the flesh to something akin to oatmeal.
The thought made Kat chuckle, McKayla wouldn't appreciate the image of some of their few rations applied in such a way.
The prissy bitch had been complaining ever since the seal had saved her ass from the mall. Idiot had gone there trusting the officials to help them evacuate. Lo and behold the choppers left prematurely and stranded the woman in possibly the worst place to be outside the hospitals.
Here they were safe, secure, and armed to the teeth. Kat was rather enjoying herself atop the gun store, watching those with limb enough to crawl up the building meeting messy ends at the lines of barbed wire extending from every inch of the wall. Those who climber over the bodies of their brethren found themselves in contact with electrified metal sheeting.
God Kat loved this gun store. There was a mechanic shop just across the street and she'd abused the spare parts with glee.
Honestly, this was more fun than the time she'd spent in the navy.
Less hot guys in swim shorts and speedos, but hey, at least she got to shoot this baby. This gun, that is…why would she think of shooting babies?
The lean blonde got to her feet and peered over her barricade and winced.
The damn bodies were piling up. She'd have to move them, which meant sending McKayla out to create a distraction, and that bitch was an eternal damsel if she'd ever seen one.
Idiot just froze whenever she saw a horde, and she'd actually broken down crying after seeing a Special.
Kat picked up a half-drunk bottle of scotch and dipped a rag into it. She set it alight and dropped it down to the ground below.
She thought she heard a growl, and got the fuck out of there, packing the sniper up and fleeing into the stairwell. She latched the reinforced door with locks of all kinds, and set up the tripwires.
Better to blow up the bastards and themselves than become one of them, that's for sure.
She rejoined McKayla in the 1st floor.
There were no more windows.
Once news of the first few infections came out, Kat had wasted no time in boarding the windows, stripping metal from her customers cars to reinforce the barricade, and then just to be sure, pouring concrete into the mix.
So long as they stayed quiet, no infected would bother trying to get in, and no Specials would be any wiser. Tanks were few, but she feared those the most.
They could tear through her defenses like paper, and she honestly didn't know how to stop them short of digging a moat.
The time for that type of work had passed, they hadn't left the building in weeks.
McKayla was fiddling with the radio again, headphones securely attached to her head.
The girl had uses, despite the whiny attitude accompanying everything she said. Kat hadn't understood how the Hunters kept knowing where they were until the girl had shown up and pointed out that they could both smell and hear with the tenacity of dogs.
Of all the specials, they were the few who knew they were here. The normal zombies had memories like goldfish. After a few hours of quiet they forgot that they'd even been shot at.
"Anything?"
McKayla shook her head, taking the headphones off and huffing. "I feel gross, we can't stay here forever. Rations are getting low and I desperately need a shower."
After nearly three weeks, Kat could no longer shut down such silly complaints. They were both getting rather dirty, and even though Kat had spent months washing in nothing but salt and occasionally bottled water, she had to agree.
Filth and Grime coated her skin, and at times she got so itchy she scratched until she drew blood.
Kat hated the idea of leaving, though. She was safe in her fortress. She was out of any danger, and in complete control. Every once in a while, she had to go get more petrol from the mechanics shop but those missions were planned, strategized so that there was as little risk as possible.
Showers though…showers meant residences, where people lived. People that were no longer human.
She found herself digging her nails into her palms and stopped. Half moon scars littered her palms, a testament to the days before all of this.
This was not the time nor the place to lose it again.
"Where do you suggest we go?"
McKayla was brought up short, she'd never known the seal to ask he opinion on things. She braced herself for her ideas to be shot down, and said quickly, "A house. It's small, closed in, if it has a basement we can hide in there for a few days-"
Kat nodded gravely, then asked, quietly, strangely sober, "And how do you suppose we get there? We are in the middle of an overcrowded commercial area. Alone or with a large group, I'd do it, but with just us two…"
Mckalya gulped, "We'd be dead."
Kat walked into the back room where they'd piled towels, blankets, anything soft and cushioned really to make up their beds.
Mckayla persisted, "It's dangerous but we have to do something! We cant stay here forever! You had training in this sort of thing, you should know this!"
Kat flinched, then sighed. "It still stands, we can't possibly hold our own against a horde. The second I start opening the door they'll hear us."
McKayla threw up her hands, "so instead of I don't know, trying something you're going to sit in here twiddling your thumbs pretending we aren't out of food? There is a garage full of cars right across the street!"
"Is there?"
McKayla didn't hear the tiny voice, but Kat did, and she ran to the radio.
"Hello?!"
"Hey…I couldn't help but hear your rather loud argument and I think I can help."
"Hail Mary there's someone out there." Kat pressed the headphones to her ears, soaking in the sound of another voice.
"Yeah, we're trapped in the gun shop, right next to a garage. Where are you?"
"I'm a few blocks from there, in an hotel complex. I still have food from all of the other tenants, but I don't have any weapons."
"What's he saying? Let me hear! I'm more of a people person than you!"
McKayla tried to shove Kat out of the chair but the stronger woman pushed her away.
"What does your defense look like? How secure are you?"
"Not really all that secure. I trapped most of the zombies on the higher floors, used the dumbwaiter to move from one area to the other. They haven't heard me yet, so they don't explore the smaller spaces. …I suggest if you do come here to shut the fuck up."
Kat laughed, feeling her cheer coming back. "I'll do you the favor of killing the bastards."
It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to gather up their supplies and arming themselves to the teeth. Kat felt some misgivings about this, they were, after all, abandoning their safe haven, but even she realized that the place was growing stagnant. All of the defenses in the world were nothing if it meant that they'd starve and dehydrate to death.
She'd also been developing a cough that was worrying her. There was bound to be drugs at the place, and once she figured out just how much fortification the place offered she could always improve it.
The mechanic grinned with grim joy. It also meant someone else to talk to who didn't complain about every little inglorious thing they had to do to stay alive.
At least she hoped the kid wasn't like that. Something in his voice told her otherwise.
After gathering up their few rations and gutting the place of guns, she and McKayla stared at each other for a moment, knowing this was perhaps their last moments of peace for a long while, and Kat got to work opening up the door.
Jones hated his last name. But with an unspeakable first name, and his old nickname was now rather unfortunate, Jones was all he had left.
He considered just choosing a new name. It no longer mattered if his driver's license was inaccurate. The only problem was that Jones had the imagination of a lemming. He had no idea what he wanted his new name to be.
Lying in his hammock, he contemplated this, trying and failing to distract himself from the cramped windowless laundry room he'd been camped in for the last week.
It was one of the few rooms that had stone, and a thickset door. After being rudely awakened by all forms of zombie bursting through cheap, thin plaster Jones had smartened up and slept only in the laundry room or kitchens, where there was more than a few inches of Styrofoam and false walling protecting him.
He glanced at the radio he'd only recently discovered, and smiled. The two broads he'd found were on their way with weaponry, hoping for food and running water. They sounded colorful, one had a curt, short voice, and the other sounded rather bubbly.
After weeks of seeing only the most gruesome sights some nice, living women wouldn't be too bad.
Not bad at all, in fact.
As it stood, Jones should probably not be in his boxers when he met them. He'd have to go find his clothes.
It was hot as balls in the hotel, as the electricity had cut out, and a generator was much too noisy for his current situation.
Jones climbed out of his hammock and searched through the washers for some clothes. He was amazed at how many people had been caught in the middle of laundry day when the infection sped through the city, faster than a wildfire, and slammed full force into the hotel.
As it was, he had been simply wearing whatever the hell he liked, even hazarding a skirt or two just to see how it was.
Not that he was gay or anything. He just wanted to see what it was like. There wasn't anyone to see, no one to judge, and…well…he'd been BORED. It'd been wonderfully breezy and comfy.
One could only do so many pushups and pull-ups and squat thrusts before one got godawful bored.
He found himself missing the ability to play on his PS3 and sighed. If only if only.
Maybe he could name himself after one of his favorite characters...no…no…that'd be stupid. Damn.
A slithering sound caught his attention and Jones gave a sharp glance to the haphazardly barricaded door. He pulled on a T-shirt and some jeans before approaching it, quietly, to listen.
The sound carried on down the hallway, and slowly disappeared.
Jones released his held breathe and returned to his hammock, first grabbing the handheld radio to check and see if the girls could still communicate.
"Hey ladies? There's something bad down here where I am, be careful. Might be a special or something, it sounds big."
The only reply he got was the crackle-hiss of an empty channel and bad reception.
Jones threw the radio down and sulked back into his hammock.
"Is there?"
"Hello?!"
The sudden, startling sound shook Victor from his dreams, and he sat up, blearily fighting off whatever monster was coming his way this time, be it zombie or something much worse.
After a few minutes of clumsy flailing he realized it was the radio, and by then the voice had stopped talking.
Victor cursed.
His hands shakingly picked up the receiver to the police radio he'd jacked just the other day and tried to hail someone. His fingers must have hit the wrong button though, and with a simple beep, the radio started scrolling through channels, all of which eerily silent.
Victor shouted this time, shaking the thing before kicking it against the wall. He ran his hands through his rather greasy brown hair and clutched at it.
"Nice going Vic, lookit what you done this time!" He thrashed around on his cot.
"Stupid stupid stupid stupid! AUGH!"
He got up all at once and felt woozy. Bile built up in the back of his throat and he ran to the bathroom to vomit up what little food he'd scavenged in the past day.
He sat there, bowing to the throne, trying to recall exactly what he'd heard.
The gun store. A hotel nearby…a car.
Survivors with transportation. Survivors with food.
Survivors.
This couldn't simply be a tick of his mind. Couldn't possibly be a hallucination. Not this time.
He got up and left the room – and his mess – behind.
Victor wouldn't be alone. He had never really liked people but now he wouldn't be alone.
After he'd seen the world go to hell, after everyone he knew became rabid, scavenging demons, after all these days sitting alone knowing that he was the last somewhat sane person on this earth, there were people out there.
Naturally, he grew suspicious. Could this be a trick? These people could be deranged, luring people like Vic to them only to…to…
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, a headache beginning to form there. He was thinking too fast. He was being delusional. No time for that, no sir.
There were honest to god survivors out there, and if he didn't go meet with them he'd might as well die here.
It was an awful long walk though…
Vic shook himself and looked at his watch, which in all of his terrified adventures since the infection broke out, had shattered.
He hated when he zoned out like this; Minutes, hours, even once an entire day had passed him by whilst he was staring off into space. He needed to move now, or else he'd find a reason to stay here.
Forever.
He pried open the hatch to his little room and peered out below at the zombies milling aimlessly about. There weren't much here, but once he walked out they'd hear him. Specials would come. He'd be ground into a fine paste and feasted upon by the masses-
Oh right. He turned back into the room and grabbed his pistol.
He could probably kill enough to get to the hotel.
Maybe.
Why the hell not?
Victor slid out of the hatch in the bomb shelter and stood, all six feet of his pole-thin frame stood now in bright sunlight. His pasty white skin almost started sizzling.
His eyes, god, his eyes burned like the devil himself was pissing on his face but Vic narrowed his eyes and crept quietly towards the hotel.
The zombies were rather pleasant folk, once you knew how to hide and sneak around. As long as you didn't come into direct eye contact or make any loud noises, they minded their own business and Vic minded his. It was a given that eventually he had to shoot one, and then they'd all wake up out of their daze and come for him.
Vic held the pistol out in front of him as he walked slowly, quietly past. He was breathing rather shakily, though, and a few gravitated towards him out of mild curiosity.
Vic's pistol went off, once, twice, three times before he could fully contemplate the adverse affects of such a move. Only one zombie fell.
Dozens of others turned their heads to stare blankly at the intruder, and one by one he saw all of their mouths open, rotten, pitted teeth revealed between cracked, oozing grimacing lips.
Vic started running.
"That was bad luck, the cars being out of gas." McKayla tried once again to break the silence between them.
Kat was usually angry, but quiet and angry meant someone was going to get hurt. The ex-seal grunted in response, trudging up the street, eyes narrowed and squinting slightly as she scanned the barren streets.
As soon as a horde appeared she knelt down and fired until there were no more left. They'd escaped the main group in the courtyard easily enough, but ever since Kat had discovered the looted garage she'd killed every last zomie they'd encountered. She'd already spent all of the bullets in one of their automatics, and McKayla was worried.
"It isn't your fault that looters broke in. Anyone would've done so with times like they are..."
McKayla felt the heat of the taller woman's gaze turn to her and she shrank back. "I don't want to talk about it."
She had to say it, "Maybe if we'd gone outside every once in a while, kept our windows-"
Kat turned to the shorter girl. "Speak another word and I'll cut your good fer nothin tongue out, bitch."
They walked on in silence, McKayla pale, trying her hardest not to shake at the anger she felt from the woman.
Gunfire brought Kat's attention to the East, and while she was listening McKayla slipped in some zombie guts and began crying.
Kat turned back to the girl and gave her a withering look. This did nothing to stop her crying.
"Shut up! Do you want to draw more to us? Get up and keep moving."
Kat hauled the woman up and shoved her forward.
McKayla was armed with a lightweight pistol of her own, the only thing Kat could get in her hands without too much protest. Honestly, the second the girl walked into combat she became a dithering pansy.
Kat couldn't blame her too badly, though. Not everyone could be prepared for the Green Flu and the monsters it created. The only problem was that usually those who were unprepared died off before they became a nuisance to other people.
"Oh to be that lucky."
"What?"
Kat shook her head, "Nothing."
The woman strode to the corner of the street before peeking around to scope out more infected. There weren't many, but Kat knew better.
Numbers were always plentiful when it came to the infected.
Well, might as well get this over with. Kat fired a shot from her own semi-auto rifle, and then the games began.
She shot at all of the zombies that were farther off before dealing with the closer ones sprinting at the two. McKayla spent four shots on one zombie and Kat grimaced, focusing her fire on doorways and other narrow outlets that the infected where streaming out of.
"HEY!"
Kat almost ignored the rich-girl's scream if not for the sound of a new horde approaching. She turned to see McKayla desperately firing at a crowd of oncoming zombies. In the very front, running for his life, Kat saw another survivor.
"What the-"
McKayla shrieked, "RUN KAT!"
The girl for once got the seal going as they sprinted away from the idiot leading the horde to them.
Kat drew a pipe bomb from her vest and tossed it behind.
They rounded another corner, firing at the monsters before them and leaving any stragglers to join in with the horde, staring at the pretty flashing and beeping bomb on the ground.
At the sound of the explosion Kat fired at any remaining infected and turned to face the direction they'd come, lowering to her knees and pointing the gun at the road.
The bomb seemed to have killed or crippled most of them, also her gun barrel was currently pressed into the survivor's navel.
He'd frozen, mouth working quickly, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't kill me I didn't do anything!"
Kat shoved the man away using the gun and growled, "Almost killed us, more like it. You've done plenty, move along."
McKayla stepped in, quickly, "Kat this isn't the time for your penis hatred, he's a survivor and we need to welcome him."
Kat glowered and snorted, "For the last time, I'm not-"
McKayla began talking to the man, passing around introductions and ignoring Kat completely. If anything, the girl knew how to talk and give some semblance of normalcy.
"I am McKayla DeClerke, dear sir, and my friend here is Kathryn Moore. She's always a bit grumpy but once you get to know her she's just like one of the guys. Also she's a seal so try anything funny and enjoy every finger in your hands being broken. What's your name?"
Kat fired at a straggling zombie. "Not the time McKayla. We're out in the open. You know…where the infected are."
The man looked confused too, "You were on the radio. I'm Victor…uh…Zchenko. I'm a doctor."
Kat's eyes flashed to him and suddenly she found that they needed this addition to the team.
"Hello Victor welcome to the group of survivors stupid enough to stand around, let's get going!"
She corralled them and marched them towards the hotel, determinedly shooting anything that moved and glaring at their objective.
Jones heard the gun fire and resulting explosion easily enough. He slid out of his hammock and grabbed the tire iron – not the best means of defense, but better than nothing.
"Danny…?"
He scowled, "No, that's stupid, even if they got the reference that's a weak name."
He unblockaded the door and peered outside the room. Nothing, for once. Maybe the commotion drew the zombies outside.
Jones strolled down the halls and reached the main lounge area. There were a few infected lying about but otherwise the crowds that usually waited in here were gone.
He circled the outside of the room, reaching a shattered window and stepping outside to the strangely deserted street.
"Jack's too common, John is just as bad…Evan? Ugh!" He muttered and sneered, "Why not just call yourself Mary and tell them all about your adventures with women's clothing?"
…
He turned around and spotted the survivors not a few yards away. For some strange reason there was a tall guy with them as well.
Jones bristled. He was rather short, shorter than one of the women, even, but having another guy so much taller than him…
I need an imposing name, like…like Victor or Ivan!
After scanning the road for signs of life the tall woman strode forward, pale green eyes sweeping over his frame.
She stopped a few feet in front of him, not lowering her weapon. "You the squirt who hailed us?"
He bared his teeth, "You the cold bitch who wasn't smart enough to gather food?"
The tension between them disappeared as she smiled, strangely pretty even for her rugged looks. "I'm Kat."
She didn't offer her hand, but Jones was rather relieved.
"Gonna get us out of the open where just about anything could pop out and kill us?"
Just then a garbled roar sounded from the hotel, and a monstrous figure came crashing out of not the open doorway or many shattered windows, but through the wall itself.
"TANK!" Kat bellowed and dropped her rifle to grab the shotgun strapped across her back.
Jones dove for the gun and lifted it to point at the monstrous Special.
The other girl screamed hysterically and fired at it, most rounds missing, while the tall guy shot more accurately with his own weapon.
The Tank charged at them, and they scattered, doing their best to outrun the muscle mass.
Kat and the other girl ran towards a nearby building, while the tall man dove behind a car. Jones ran to an abandoned kiosk, and apparently the Tank found his hiding place too meager to ignore.
The monster's enormous fists bashed into the wood panels, rending them to shards. Jones crouched low and leaped out of the way when the beasts fists slammed into the ground he had been occupying a few seconds earlier.
He darted out of the way of the second swing, but got caught unawares by the third.
The tremendous force of the impact cracked his ribs and threw him into the wall of a nearby building.
He lay there limp, listening to the sounds of the approaching beast and the shouts of the survivors. Gun fire bust over his head and he stared into the slack-jawed face of the Tank, who was raising its arm to crush his skull in, before closing his eyes and giving up.
"Shit shit shit shit shit."
As the Tank crumpled Kat ran forward and inspected the body before her. The kid was badly hurt, she could see it in the way his figure was flattened where his torso should be, and the strange geometry of his legs and arms. Blood was dribbling out of his mouth and there was a huge cut in the back of his head from the impact.
She checked to see if his back was broken, or if his skull was fractured before picking him up and running into the hotel.
McKayla was sobbing about the 'poor boy' and following as best she could. The fourth survivor was keeping pace with her, listing off things he would need to fix the kid.
"God we don't even know his name yet!"
Kat shot McKayla a dark look and searched for a secure area. In the back of the hotel was a laundry room, where it looked like the kid had been staying, but that place was strategically a poor decision. Further in she found a large kitchen area, and decided that this would have to do.
She set the kid on an industrial size metal countertop and turned to the doctor. "What do you need?"
The man seemed less nervous now, and more in control, "I need alcohol, bandages- cloth will do – fishing gut or thread, needles, aspirin, some (antibiotics) and…" He paused, "Pain pills."
Kat had expected those to be in the list, but the emphasis the doctor put on this item made her pause.
The kid coughed and blood spattered on his chest, forcing her to drop the suspicion and run to grab the supplies.
She motioned to McKayla, all qualms about their number going into a danger zone forgotten. The sound of gunfire echoed dimly down the halls as they sought something which no first aid kit could magically heal.
Victor listened to the boy's chest and tut-tut-tutted. One punctured lung.
Tricky, but not impossible. He had two options though; amputate the deflated lung or reinflate it.
This stuck him in an interesting predicament. If he went through surgery, the boy would be weak. Taking out the lung and he would be weak anyways.
"What do you think, kid?"
The boy, certainly no older than 20, damn young to be in this world, in Vic's opinion, moaned, slowly, painfully swimming in and out of consciousness. "We don't even know your name…"
Vic repeated the brunette's opinion with a slow shake of his head and a wringing of his hands. He bit his lip, craving a cigarette, and wishing he'd rationed his last pack with more foresight.
"Ic-Ic-Ictr." The boy coughed, blood bubbling between his lips.
Oh right. Keep the kid from drowning in his own blood. Vic needed to do that. He moved to incline the kid's feet, but the boy grabbed his arm, eyes wide in pain and dazed confusion. "Vi-ic-ic-tor."
Victor froze, wide eyes staring at the kid. "You know my name?"
The kid half-heard him, and called his name again. Vic shivered and tugged out of the kid's grasp and inclined his feet. He busied himself with running the sink and collecting a pot of water along with a few kitchen knives.
He was shaken, no one had called his name, especially not a patient since-
Victor scrabbled at the cabinets, searching for something, anything to ignore the croaks of the patient trying to breathe through a slow leak of blood. To drown out the sound of his name.
He found a blessedly full bottle of vodka (presumably for cooking) and swallowed a few shots before turning back to the now-full pot.
Vic didn't know the kid. He kept an annoyingly complete list of faces he knew, and faces that knew him. Word hadn't gotten out before the infection so the boy couldn't have heard of him before…
He dropped the pot he was holding as he heard a characteristic growl and the sound of ripping cloth.
"Hunter."
Hey! Sorry for all the breaks, I'm recently getting used to writing like this. I rather like them...
ANYWAY! I really like the characters and hope you do too! I'm aiming for a weekly update on this one.
In fact, I'm hosting a small contest concerning them. I wrote this with no one's survival in mind. Once I organize things a bit better I'll be able to tell you, but let's say I pick one character off every four or so chapters. Tell me who you think is going to bite it and how.
Win and I'll write a little one-shot of any L4D pairing you choose. Hell, if you don't even want a pairing, just more Z-Dayz goodness! I can even draw a few of the characters for you, I'm not above pleasing anyone willing to put up with me with fan art. You may start now but as I said not much is organized at present.
Hm...I'll even go so far as to say this;
If you can guess who will be the last one alive, I will do something special...I don't know what yet, but I might let you decide on that one! ; ) As it goes, only one guess per person on each round, and one guess per person on who will survive!
Until the next chapter darlings!
-Zekkie
