A/N: Holy hell what is this shit? |D I don't even know. ENJOY?
Disclaimer: I do not own anything L4D2, or any affiliated characters, original plots, or otherwise. Lawyers would eat my eyes if I claimed I did. n_n"
Lawyer: Yep, true I would.
Warnings: Implied character death, angst, badly-written shizzit. :33
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"Ellis! Shit!"
A quick glance around affirmed the team's fear that their favorite southern gentleman had gone missing. Rochelle pinched the bridge of her nose softly, breathing in and out in rhythm, trying it seemed to calm down and try to think straight. Coach, glancing around with eyes partially lidded, ran a hand over his hair-less head and sighed heavily from the pit of his stomach.
Nick however did nothing. His face became impartial, neutral, stoney green eyes darting about the deserted landscape. They flicked over the piles of dead and decaying bodies from the horde that had not swarmed only a few minutes ago; over the bloodied ground and forgotten limbs from the infected; upward to the darkening sky as the sun began it's decent over the horizon.
Gripping tightly to the slick crowbar in his hands, Nick's eyes fell solemnly toward the ground when he had spotted it; a moment of colour among the deceased who's clothing was torn and greyed, or missing completely.
A flash of yellow.
Heart pounding roughly in his throat, he tried to swallow as his eyes searched about frantically again for the scrap of yellow that he had seen, the rest of his body still despite his rapidly moving eyes. And then...he spotted it again.
With careful, deliberate movements he walked toward the yellow, realizing as he approached that the scrap was clutched in the cold hand of a fallen infected. Bringing up the white sleeve to cover his nose from the stench, Nick kneeled carefully and with the other hand reached out and pried the yellow cloth from it's grip.
Upon further inspection, the cloth reviled to have what seemed to be fresh blood, different in colour from the almost blackish colour infected blood was. It was bright red, still damp to the touch, and it covered about half of the piece of shirt. The led weight that had been pressing in on his chest dropped into his stomach and he stood swiftly, holding tight to the fabric just as the infected had before him.
Turning briefly, eyes low he walked toward his other two team members-his fucking family at this point-and held it out. Rochelle's eyes seemed to refuse to leave Nick's face, focusing intently on trying to get him to look her in the eyes. Nick couldn't look at her and instead reached for her hand and placed the cloth into her palm. Almost instinctively her fingers closed over the object, although more gently than Nick had done previously, and she couldn't help but look down at it.
Nick couldn't look, couldn't see the heart break, the pain on her face. There was a soft choke as the realization hit Rochelle like a ton of bricks, and with a shuffle of feet she turned away from Nick and passed Coach, making the short distance to the safe house but not a few feet away. Coach shook his head, unshed tears pricking dark eyes as he too turned away from the scene of destruction set out before him.
The conman couldn't move, at least not far. Walking up to the barricaded house, he shut the door behind Coach and sat himself upon the folding chair set just outside of the door for whoever was on watch. Leaning the crowbar against the side of the house and pulling out the shotgun he'd obtained earlier in his travels, his eyes rose as he looked out on the sun's setting, the landscape blurring occasionally as the silent tears rolled down his cheeks.
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A/N: Yep. Have no idea. It's probably shit. WOO! Review! Enjoy! Monkeys! ;D