Hey, this is my first story here. Please, I am new, constructive criticism is perfectly fine, but DO NOT HATE. If you don't like the story, you don't need to read it. I am also open to any ideas you want to add. Thank you.
I do not own Left 4 Dead or any of its characters, however Angel is created by me.
Chapter 1: A Friend
Angel
Yawning and stretching, I stepped off the small cot on which I slept. Donning my slightly ragged sweatshirt, I made my way to the folded up ladder on the attic door and opened it, taking care to make as little noise as possible. It was colder today, and the change was not too welcome. I scanned the area as I hurried down the rungs, knowing that I could never be careful enough. No one could be careful enough. Luck was not on the side of those who struggled every day. My growling stomach, though, insisted that I get on with searching the house and do something to find breakfast. The house below was clear of infected, which meant that if they weren't in here, they were outside and too stupid to get in. Better lesser than special. I took out my last bag of beef jerky and ate as I set out.
I lived in an area just inside the city, where houses were on the side streets and larger buildings could be seen from the main roads. The places here were mostly picked over, but the sheer number of zombies in the area usually deterred looters from sticking around too long. I also knew where everyone hid supplies during the chaos. Hunters were rampant because of the tall buildings, smokers as well. Spitters stayed in the sewers, and jockeys occasionally hung around in the gas station. I knew every possible escape route in the area, mapping it in my head. Tanks had a hard time keeping track of me when they appeared, thanks to the little holes I could run into. Witches were an entirely different story, so I tended to just avoid them at all costs. I woke up at noon and did what I needed until dark to avoid conflict. The presence of the infected didn't bother me after a while, mainly because I knew that I wouldn't be rescued.
I had a slight issue, and as it came to mind, I looked down at my hands. The paleness of my skin was a stark contrast to the dark claws I had instead of nails. I could feel the unnatural heat of my skin, and the sharpness of my sense of smell was still foreign. I couldn't think straight at times, and my tastes had most definitely changed. I was infected, but it had stopped progressing before it altered my head too much. I still had the urge to kill anything that moved, and it was, at times, almost impossible to control. The infected language was a perk, but they were usually too hungry to listen. I was too infected to be human, and not enough to be a zombie. My state of being was somewhere in the middle, similar to both, yet belonging as neither. Loneliness was kind of a given. I smelled human enough that zombies would attack me at close range, but farther off, the smell seemed more infected. It was an odd thing. I was also ragged enough to look like a lesser, so people wouldn't think too much before they shoot. It was a no win situation.
I stopped brooding long enough to realize that I had almost passed the Bait Shop I was aiming to raid. They always kept a ton of beef jerky, which was easy for me to eat. My appetite is not quite what I want it to be, as I go through twice as much food as a normal person would need, and I can't handle any sort of plant matter on its own. I looked around the inside of the store, realizing it was relatively well stocked, and it hadn't been looted as thoroughly as I'd last thought. I hadn't come this far before, and the journey took me an hour or two, but I found it was well worth it. I spent an hour in itself cramming all the jerky I could find into my pack. On my way out, I glanced over at the gun counter. Looking at my own sidearm, which was less than spectacular, I decided it was time to get a different one. There was a Glock 20 in the case that particularly caught my eye, but my first thought was to see if there was enough ammo for it before I got too attached. My jaw practically hit the floor when I found their ammo stash, still unlooted, in abundance with the 10mm rounds the gun required. I also found an extremely comfortable holster that fit on my side, hooking onto my belt and going around my neck on the opposite shoulder to the side of the holster. The thought actually made me a little sad. My dad had a very similar gun.
My mom had divorced my father when I was around 6 years old. She left me with my father, not even trying for custody. That was ok, though, because my dad absolutely loved me. He was an avid hunter and taught me everything I knew about guns, or even survival for that matter. He refused to put me in girl scouts, and got into an argument over trying to get me to join boy scouts. He gave up after that and taught me himself. It's not that he wanted a boy, but he wanted me to feel that I was just as strong if not stronger than the boys I would meet. He made me learn self-defense, and I knew that my diet was a lot healthier than what the average American would eat. After he was bitten, I didn't have the strength to put a bullet in him. It resulted in me being bit as well. I was only 16. He ended up as a Hunter, and I don't know whether that was coincidence or not. He was still roaming out there, somewhere, and my eyes watered slightly at the thought.
I don't know what's up with me today. I seriously need to pay attention to my surroundings. That thought was, conveniently, interrupted as a Charger came barreling through the back door. I jumped out of the way, my feet just barely missed by the massive arm. It came to me as an afterthought that I couldn't normally jump that fast, but it left as quickly as it came when the zombie turned around for another go. It lost that chance when I unloaded a magazine in its head. The gunshot had attracted the lesser in the area, forming a horde. The sound of feet on pavement spurred me into action. I bolted out the back door, turning to the next door fire escape. Halfway up, the horde came into view. I had my senses on high alert, scanning for any screech or cough that could be heard, knowing that the height brought solace from the hordes but a new danger in the form of specials. My hopes for safety were dashed when I caught the sound of wheezing above me. I unsheathed my hunting knife so I could cut the tongue if I got caught. Praying to any god that would listen, I stepped onto the roof.
Apparently they were deaf today.
The sound of the horde below had died away, but I was still frozen. On the roof was a witch, sniffling quietly, and the smoker I had heard behind her. He seemed as apprehensive as I was, clearly avoiding coming within her range. His wheezing had covered up her sniffling, and I narrowly avoided cursing out loud. Using my limited knowledge of the infected tongue, I growled a warning.
"Grab me, I kill you." I issued in a gravelly threat. The smoker looked at me with an odd look I would have interpreted as surprise. To my own surprise, he headed the warning. As I shuffled as quietly as I could to the other side of the roof, he made no move to catch me, but he did follow me down the stairs. I would have shot him, but any loud noise could startle the witch upstairs, and I had no way to kill her. I could only avoid the witches I encountered, mainly because I had almost no chance of survival unless I was on a completely different roof and had a pipe bomb on hand. I looked, and to my surprise, the smoker had followed me all the way out of the building. I was about to shoot him, but he grabbed my gun the moment I drew it, yanking it out of my hand. He handled it very gingerly, clearly afraid of it, his eyes flicking back and forth between me and it. He placed it on a ledge out of my reach. I lunged with my knife, but he picked me up by my knife arm and made me drop it, too. I was thoroughly screwed at that point. I didn't think it was possible for me to be shocked any further until he asked me a question. I missed it because I was distracted trying to gather the shards of my blown mind.
"Same?" He asked. "You taste sick." At my puzzled look he dropped me and asked again, "Same? You *cough-wheeze* sick?" He seemed more puzzled than I was, which was saying something. "*Cough* you prey, and sick?" I finally realized what he was asking. It seemed to hurt his head, as he held it between his hands. I answered, feeling a strange kind of pity.
"Yes, sick. And prey. Same, and different." I was quickly becoming frustrated with my limited knowledge of the infected language. It also seemed to give the poor smoker a headache. Whoa, hang on. Poor smoker? I was pitying him? Then again, he didn't try to snare me as soon as I was in his line of sight. And I guess some of my pity came from empathy. I had days where I had terrible headaches, and thinking clearly was hard. I could also recall the fact that I grumbled a lot more on those days, and strangely, I was attacked a lot less on those days, even though I was less aware than normal. Trying to recall those days was giving me a headache. It kind of cemented the fact that I had empathy for the infected, and it made things a little more complicated. I now had a debate it my head. The infected are sentient. I might need to kill the smoker, but I didn't want to.
"Why?" came the question to startle me out of my reverie. "Why not kill me? Prey is -*cough*- always afraid, you afraid. But you not kill -*wheeze*- me, and you sick but not. You afraid and not kill. Why?" The question was a long one, and I was about to answer when I noticed that the sun would set soon. My night vision ability was there, but it wasn't that good. I looked at the smoker, and made a split second decision.
"Not answer now, answer later. Danger now, follow." I motioned that I needed to go. To my surprise (Again, is it possible for me to be shocked this many times in one hour?), he gave me back my gun and knife. He was wary, but he followed me. I led him back across town to the place where I stayed. On our little journey, I realized that what I couldn't say to him with words, I could say with feelings. He sensed my emotions like a cat or dog. Upon entering my current residence, I couldn't help but feel a wave of relief, along with a sigh. I let the smoker in, repeating over and over that I was absolutely insane, and closed the door. The smoker was still tense, but the air about him lessened when I put my gun on the counter. He looked at me with eyes full of questions. His eyes, yes, he had two, were clearer than the others. He was also slightly less deformed, and I began to notice his slight differences now that I had time to study him.
"Why safe here?" he asked. I remembered my rapid change in emotion. "What is place? Smell like you. Smell strong." There was no word I could use, so I used the English one.
"Home." I said. The smoker cocked his head to the side, clearly realizing the word had meaning, even if he didn't understand. I spoke again in infected. "Stay here for Dark time. Dark is danger time, here safe. Here is Home." I added a little more meaning to the word for him. "Place is safe, return many times." He began to wheeze a bit, and I realized he was trying to say the word I had given him. He was smarter than I had thought. I tried to help him by making the motions with my mouth, and he imitated them. It didn't take long after that for him to get it. He began to hop around, saying "Home, Home,". I actually started to laugh, and he stopped and turned toward me, studying me.
"What feel?" He asked. "What sound?" He was slightly confused, realizing he had felt the same way to minutes ago.
"Happy." I said. "Happy good feel. Laugh good sound. Laugh when feel good." I explained, slowing the words so the smoker could see them. I couldn't keep calling him that, he needed a name. I thought for a minute, then I found one that seemed perfect. I would call him Aden. This was good. If Aden could learn, then this might not have been the biggest mistake I've made as of yet. I was about to say something when I was interrupted by my stomach growling.
Aden looked at me, and I could tell he was hungry too before he said a word. "Hungry, need food." I had become only slightly ok with the idea of a sentient zombie in my house, but not a hungry one. That scared me. I grabbed my bag and took out two packages of the beef jerky from earlier. Setting a pot of water on the stove to boil, I handed Aden a piece. He took it, and smelled it.
"Food." I told him, pointing at the dried meat. He looked from me to the jerky, and then he tried it. He clearly had issue with chewing, but he ate it, and then he asked for more by sniffing out the rest of it. I say sniffing, but he seemed to use his tongue, sort of like a snake. I had to pry him away from the pot while I was cooking two bags of the stuff, which was difficult because of his tongue. Finally, I gave him a scolding and told him to wait, and he went to explore the house. I usually cooked the beef jerky so I had broth as well, that way I didn't use as much to feel full. I also added veggies so that I got some of the nutrients from the broth. I can't eat vegetables directly, but if I don't get something of the nutrients in my system, then I had bad days with headaches. I was also slightly curious to see how Aden would respond to nutrient-rich food.
When I had the stew ready, I went and found him looking at pictures on the wall. He called them "still-prey" and he said that he felt odd when he saw them. His face was sad, and I led him out of the room, for both our sakes. If I stayed there any longer, I might end up crying.
"Come, Aden." I said. He looked at me funny. I hadn't told him his name. That was slightly stupid. I pointed at him and said "You is Aden. I is Angel. Aden your Name. Angel my name." An odd thing happened after that. I looked into his eyes, and I could see a sort of sparkle in them. He said a word I had only ever heard rarely from any infected:
"I know." He looked like he had seen a ghost. "I know from before. Did not know before, know now." He cringed slightly. "Hurt head. Word hurt head and feel odd." He was a little shaky. I needed to get his mind off of it.
"Food there. You hungry?" I led him to the kitchen. I poured half of the stew for him and half for me, taking out the green beans I had added. I took out a fork for me and stopped. Aden couldn't use a fork. That apparently, was not a problem, as he was using his tongue like a fishing rod. Food had completely taken his mind off of the previous incident. I began to eat as well.
Dinner was about as odd as it could get. Aden kept asking questions, like what was he eating, what was a bowl, what was I using to eat (a.k.a. the fork), and if he could try. He didn't know how to drink the broth, so I needed to hold the bowl, and he finally just ended up lapping it up with his tongue. After dinner, I tried to clean him up a bit. The water in the house didn't work, but I had big water jugs, and I made sure to heat the water so I could get him washed. He had shaggy brown hair, it was almost blonde. It was caked with grime so I could only figure that out after I dumped a pan of water on him over the bathtub. Some of his blisters popped, which was absolutely disgusting, but the end result had him looking somewhat healthier. Besides the fact that I was choking, of course. I tried to comb his hair, and he threw a fit, so I had to show him how I brushed mine.
I had long, thick, wavy brown hair that I usually had in a ponytail. It kept it out of the way. Aden wanted to try brushing my hair, so I showed him how to hold the brush, and how to brush up to down. It seemed that he liked the feeling of my hair, and eventually calmed down enough that I could try again. This attempt was successful, and I got out the knots. His hair hung over his eyes, so I scrounged up some scissors. I had never cut anyone's hair before, but it turned out well. None of the clothing in the house fit him, but I found some next door. The sun had almost set, heralding the approach of winter. Short days and longer nights were not very high on my list of good and safe things.
Undressing Aden became a slight issue. It made my face turn red, and it was obviously uncomfortable for him as well. My dad would walk around in boxers on most mornings, but that was him. This was Aden. Eventually, I got him into a pair of jeans and a white tee, and I put a jean jacket on him to cover his arms. To be honest, the blisters were really grossing me out. He didn't have too many on his face, just the left side of his neck, and those were pretty small. His eyes were an amber color, and they were bloodshot. He looked about my age, maybe a year older.
I had to light a couple candles around so that I could see. After the ordeal of today, I was exhausted. I sat down on the couch. Aden stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. I motion for him to sit, and he did, jumping up afterwards. He hadn't sat on anything soft before. He tried again, and stayed. I knew the question before it was asked.
"Answer now?" He looked at me, almost pleading. I knew it was coming.
"Yes. I answer now." I had to take a moment, because I really didn't know the answer myself. I had to find a way to use what words the infected had to explain an emotion they had no name for. "I feel alone. Different. You different, same. Like me. You not attack, different. Others attack. You listen. Others not. You follow, not attack, but speak." It was so crude a way to say it, but I knew that was the real reason. I was lonely, and Aden listened. He showed sentience, and that was why. Sentience is defined as the ability to sense, feel, and suffer. He was the first infected I could empathize with. No, not the first. I had killed infected before, but I knew all these mouse holes to go through to avoid conflict because I did not want to. I didn't want to kill them.
"What feel called? I feel before." Aden looked me in the eyes. It was like I could see his memories, the times when he felt the same. "It hurt chest, not like cough, but pain. Like hunger. I feel before." He had his hand hugged to his chest.
"Lonely." I said. "Like hunger for same. Like hunger in chest. Feel alone when others around." I had begun to cry as I explained. I wiped the tears with the back of my hand.
"What is water? What is feel?" He asked, but in a softer voice.
"Water is Tears. Cry is make tears. Feel is Sad. Cry when sad, cry when lonely, cry when in pain. Sad and lonely is pain in heart. Heart is in chest, make us feel." I explained, sniffling. Aden's eyes had begun to water too, and he noticed, wiping at the tears, just as I had.
"Te...Tehearss. T-hears. Tears. I make tears. Feel from before, like now. Cry same. Feel same." He was remembering times from before. That is why he was different. He was less sick than the others, at least in his head. The Infection changed his body, but his mind stayed somewhat intact. I walked over to him, and hugged him.
"What you do? It... feel good. Like Happy. Like Home." I don't know why I did that. I was probably going insane at that point. I mean, I let a zombie in my home. I don't really care. It felt good to hug someone, and Aden, by some echo of a memory, knew how to return the embrace.
"Hug. This is Hug." I told him, and he sighed.
"Hug." He whispered. "Happy."