Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Ask me again and i'll spurt in your eye.
Quick Note: This fic is second in a series of L4D crossovers featuring Sector V of KND. See my profile for the complete list.
Kuki's gone.
The fact lingers in the air as we trudge through littered streets with only the echo of our own footsteps to keep us company. No one has to say anything. Tommys' soft, hiccuping breaths as he sticks close behind me begin to grate on my nerves and I feel each of the others' gazes on my back as I stop and kneel, the sheen of a clip having caught my eye. It's nearly blanketed in tattered, blood soaked rags, and not far off a lump of flesh that I'm sure belonged to one of those creatures lets me know just who to thank for the ammunition. A subtle shift close beside me sends a chill up my spine but it's only Wally, his eyes seeming to burn into the side of my skull as I pocket the last two rounds in my pistol and reload.
"Stay close Tommy, I get the feeling we won't be finding any shelter for a while." I pretend not to notice the unnaturally bright green eyes looking my way. Focus. The lingering stare of the blond now behind me is mildly unsettling but understandable. He's been quiet since last night, every weapon handled in his presence drawing an empty glance that speaks far more than we've ever been graced to hear. I know what he's thinking. What if we run into Kuki sooner than expected? What if she attacks? Will defending ourselves against her be necessary? Is saving her really an option?
It bugs me, this uncertainty, but I'm not so sure he'll be of much help to us if we happen to run into her again. With Tommy already needing constant monitoring I feel a small nagging beginning to form at the back of my mind but stamp it down in favor of scanning the surrounding rooftops.
Five hours, twenty-five minutes, and thirty- seven seconds. I take a deep breath and feel the nausea churn deep inside as rank air filters into my lungs, but not even the scent of death is able to distract me as I tick away the digits in my head. It's been a full three hundred twenty-five minutes since we...parted ways with Kuki. My hand raises reflexively and I adjust my shades, trying to hide the brief shuddering movement that wracks my firing arm. The crunch of gravel should be the only sound I hear but the Gilligan brothers seem hell bent on getting us some unwanted attention. The younger sniffles loudly in the same instant I hear the beginnings of a lowly whistled tune coming from his sibling. It doesn't take much to shut them up though, Abigail has it covered before I even give in to the need to turn around.
"You two tryna' get us caught? Shut up." The strain in her voice is more than apparent even as she does her best to keep it to a whisper. She was all smiles for our comrade but she can't expect to hide those bloodshot eyes and drooping shoulders forever.
Inching around an overturned sedan takes the peaks of all our nerves to new heights; even Tommy has ceased his sniffling, seemingly holding his breath until safety is assured for a few more seconds. Every crack in the road or object misplaced by preceding chaos is cause for alarm, absolutely no place available to us being one hundred percent indestructible. I can feel my muscles straining to lock but shut down my instinct to tense by sheer force of will. I am the leader, the foundation. If I don't keep a level head my friends, possibly the only ones remaining, will end up finding it even more difficult to survive. The thoughts weigh heavy in my mind but I trudge forward, knowing with me they've laid their trust as I raise my weapon at the ready.
Ahead of us the street is dark and slowly growing lighter with the rising sun. We stick close to the sidewalk though wary of our footsteps in proximity to the curb. Mistakes like tripping or wandering too close to the windows and doors of deserted buildings around us are not an option unless our mission is to die. Because that is exactly what we're neck deep in; a mission. Or, if I correct myself, missions. Get my team out of this death trap, and - I resist the urge to look back at the young man we used to call Four - find a cure for our turned friend. For Kuki Sanban of Sector V.
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Funny how nearly getting crushed by a car makes you reevaluate your priorities.
A thunderous roar nearly deafens me and Abby both, and I hear the accompanying screams as Wally and Hoagie open fire. One moment Abigail's waiting for me to hand her a medical kit and the next I find myself sprawled out on top of her, a gash running from the back of my ear to the nape of my neck. The blood starts a steady course down my head and I know I'm in trouble when the world suddenly tilts, my vision flickering for a few brief seconds like a worn bulb. My entire system seems to shut down, lids heavy, arms and legs limp despite my best efforts to move them, and I wonder if the injuries I've sustained are fatal. It takes me a long moment to realize I'm being dragged, soft fingers hooking into the back of my collar and the leather buckled strip just below, making the holster strapped tightly over my chest and shoulders feel like they're trying to tear through my clothes and into my skin. Asphalt scrapes at the palms of my hands and slowly the image of a hulking monster with it's one massive forearm raised in fury recedes until I'm staring at the sky, or what part of it I can see, through my heavily lidded eyes and the skewed metal of a destroyed fire escape high above. Everything seems so far away. The muffled car alarm...gun shots...screams...that dull throbbing at the base of my skull...
A sharp slap wrenches my head to the side and I can't help but cry out in pain, my fresh wound burning terribly. For a moment I'm on the verge of blacking out but then my entire body jolts as if energized, another furious bellow echoing off the brick walls of the makeshift shelter I've been taken to. Just beyond the mouth of the alley I see Abby running, rifle cocked and ready as she glances back over her shoulder at me with an expression of both severe worry and anger. There isn't even time for words; I drag myself to my feet with cold brick as my only support and follow after, eager to unload a few clips of hot lead into the hellish creature before it can do any further harm. My ears throb with pain when I finally catch up to her, the thick lenses of my shades shielding my eyes somewhat from the red flash of a pipe bomb and the limbs of what i'm sure used to be a local baseball team go flying. A soft grunt and Abby knows I'm right beside her; she continues dropping infected from the scaffolding above Hoagie's head without flinching as he takes care of the...the thing*...
"What the hell is that," I growl under my breath, earning a wry snort from the marks-woman, her braid snapping against my wrist as her head turns sharply.
"Dunno, but Abby thinks we should shoot first and ask questions later."
A chorus of gurgling screams and four more infected drop courtesy of my Glock nineteens. Both my wrists snap back with the force of the shots and I lean into Abby's slightly hunched shoulders with my own, feeling the shocks radiating between our bodies and canceling out as shot after shot from both our weapons race out into the approaching crowd. Not a full minute later I hear her voice in my ear yet again though it doesn't seem to be holding up all that well.
"Clearing a path to the right, th-" Metal splinters and flies, a piercing bird-like screech as Wally narrowly dodges a crushing blow from the creature's massive fist and time seems to slow as I watch him roll away, the car taking the blow and folding in half, wrapping around the snarling Infecteds' arm like a makeshift gauntlet. It howls and snorts like a pig, trapped for the moment by the dead weight dragging it down. Abby's still talking but I can't hear her, certain i'm deaf as annoyance flashes over her features and she pushes me. I stumble a few steps but the hint is clear. A quick glance in the direction i've been shoved tells me all I need to know; Tommy is trapped, pinned between the car that had flown over me earlier, his back pressed to a wrecked volvo with a single smoking tire planted just beneath his ribcage.
"Tommy!"
He's pale and even from my position I can see that he's having trouble breathing, his nails clawing unsuccessfully at the thick rubber. Running to him is my only option; with remnants of the horde darting after me and the enraged beast slamming the nearly unidentifiable hunk of metal against the ground and buildings it's more than obvious that if I don't get to him now I might not ever get to him at all.
* The " thing" was a Charger.