A/N - This is my first L4D2 fic, it might be kinda rough in places. Like the summary suggests, this takes place after the Parish level, and what seems to be the ending of Left 4 Dead 2. Content might be subject to change, as I want it to try to stay true to canon.

His breathing was heavy, ragged. They'd been running all night, all night. They didn't dare sleep, not with those... things... on the loose. No, they had to keep moving, or die. And dying wasn't on his to-do list. Not yet, anyway. They had found their way to this safe house, and though things were quiet for the moment, a storm was brewing outside. He knew that they were probably stuck there for the night. He hears heavy breathing behind him, higher, faster paced breathing.

"Rochelle," he whispered. "How's Coach?"

"He'll live. Coach may not look it, but he's pretty tough." her breathing slowed a bit, as she mopped the sweat from her face.
They had arrived in this small town after the chopper had taken them away from that godforsaken bridge, and into a military encampment to be quarantined, and "cleaned", only to have the based get attacked by a much larger horde of zombies - bigger than any they'd seen so far.

He knew that they were carriers of this virus, and the only blessing is that they were immune to it's effects. He smirked bitterly, thinking about those odds. The chances of there being that many more survivors looked mighty grim, though a couple of days ago, they had come across three more after escaping in Jimmy Gibbs Jr.'s stock car. He wondered for a moment if they were still alive. Taking into account the older man that gave his life to save them, he hoped so. A feeling he hadn't had in a long time - remorse? crept into him. He really hoped they made it, that they were safe.

He looked at Ellis, who had sat down on a makeshift sofa in their current safe house. His head hung down, his eyes closed, he'd brought a hand up to his forehead, sweat beading upon his brow. Even his happy-go-lucky manner was beginning to dissolve into the drudgery of just trying to survive. Nick knew that he was probably thinking of that girl on the bridge. Whether or not he'd see her again. He turned to face the writing on the wall, thinking to himself. Nothing in this life is ever certain,
and with a grim afterthought - not even death.

Coach groaned, the wound on his forehead bandaged and treated by Rochelle. He'd taken a nasty gash to the head when the army base was overrun. In all of Nick's 35 years on the planet, he'd never seen a thing like it. He remembered seeing the zombie horde overpower the walls of the compound, as they were awaiting transport to a cruise ship harboring other survivors. They'd barely escaped then, too. Coach had gone off like a madman on the zombies, wielding a fire ax and hacking them this way and that. He so desperately wanted an end to this nightmare. They all did. Coach only stopped when a hunter managed to tackle him and start ripping at him. His wounds were minimal, but the hunter went for his head, leaving a large gash wound that ran from the crown down the side of his face.

The force had knocked him unconscious; it was Nick and Ellis who managed to heft him into the security boat before they were overran. Nick cringed. He could remember an army private screaming at them to get on the boat,
before a jockey pounced upon his shoulders and managed to rip his head clean off. He, Ellis, and Rochelle stared in awe as they left, watching as the ones who stayed behind to fight were slaughtered brutally. They were the last ones to make it out alive, and this became clear as they tried to keep up with the other boats that had jettisoned before they did, but to no avail. A thick fog had settled in, and the small radar console set in the control panel of the boat had shorted out long ago. Just their luck, really. That's how the last few days had been to them.

Nick sighed, as he continued to read some of the messages written on the walls of the safe house - "Alena - I pray you are able to read this message. I went for the highlands. I have a bad feeling about those cruise ships. I'll be at Paw-Paw's, follow if you are able, - Naeten." "John - Dad is missing, we can't find him. Mom is dead, they had gotten to her before we could. Stay safe and meet us at the Place. - Dee" "Collect the sunshine from sunflowers - What are you, on crack?" Nick smirked, until he saw a message scribbled hastily next to the door. "Ellis - We're heading out towards Matagorda Island, Texas. The Keys weren't as safe as Bill had thought. We're still alive... hope to see you again soon. - Zoey."

"Hey Ellis," Nick began, "did you see this?"

Ellis looked up, his hand covering his face. He screwed his eyes up at Nick, studying him for a moment, before he lifted himself heavily from the sofa and paced over to the wall. His eyes scanned the message, not quite taking in what he was reading at first, until it dawned on him. "Z... Zoey! They're alright!" His demeanor immediately lightened upon reading this, but he frowned slightly. "Or they were... Uhm, Nick, brother... what are we going to do? D'you think we should follow them, or..." his voice trailed off in thought.

"We could I suppose. I don't know much about Texas... other than I'm not allowed in several bars in the San Antonio area..." Nick returned to the table, where they had their small stash of weapons that they managed to salvage from the army boat. Coach's fire ax lie against the wall, the handle almost split in two from the sheer force he wielded behind it. Nick had to hand it to the guy - he was a bear when he was pissed.

Rochelle glanced between the two of them. "Well... for what it's worth, there is a state park there. And a wildlife preserve. Though we should try to make it to one of those cruise ships..."

"How, though?" Ellis interjected, "We can't track any kind of traffic on that barge. I mean, I can tinker with it a bit, sure, but I've only worked on cars, radar equipment is a bit out of my league."

"You can say that again."

"Nick... brother, seriously. Not cool. Anyway, it's a long shot. At least with this place, all we have to do is follow the coastline."

"Sounds too easy," Nick responded. Rochelle glared at him. "What? In case you guys haven't noticed, things haven't exactly been that easy for us. It's like Murphy took his law, blended it with a shit ton of fiber, drank it down, and - "

"OKAY, we don't need that visual, Nick," Rochelle interrupted, "For godsakes... just, no." She turned her attention to Coach, who was still groggy, still drifting in and out of unconsciousness. "In any case, guys, I don't think we're going anywhere, at least for a while yet. Coach is injured pretty badly, we need to give him a day or so."

Nick buried his face in his hands. They didn't have that much time. But he knew better than to argue. He paced towards the crude basement bathroom, turned on the cold water tap, and grimaced as light brownish colored water came out. Wincing, he shut the faucet off, and examined himself in the mirror. His face showed the stress of having dealt with the zombies over the last few days. His five o'clock shadow had come in, a small cut on his brow still stung slightly. He still looked decent, considering everything they'd been through. Taking a square of paper towel and wetting it with the slightly tainted water, he proceeded to clean his face as best he could. His cut stung a bit more at this, yet he shrugged it off. It's not as bad as getting slammed by a charger.

And, as a darker thought came over him when the sky rumbled overhead with thunder, it's nowhere near as bad as getting bitch slapped by a tank.