The following short story is my first attempt at a decent fan fiction.

Please enjoy and tell me how I can improve.

INFECTED EYES

By: WAZeigler

For Tank, the world was too small and fragile. On day one he accidentally smashed his alarm clock when he tried to turn it off in the morning. On day two, he broke the nightstand. By day four he was so heavy he broke even the sturdies of chairs under his weight. Finally, by day six, he couldn't fit through his door. Tank's life was like this, or maybe worse, if possible, ever since some guy bit him on the street.

When Tank woke up, it the sun was high in the sky. He knew because he was sleeping on top of a car that he smashed into a flat mattress of jagged metal and broken glass. But Tank didn't mind. He couldn't feel the pain a normal person would; he was beyond that after about day three. Tank got up and looked around, all he saw was his old street. But it was not as happy or cheerful as it used to be. It was no longer a sunny suburban street that housed the human Tank. It was a ravaged, filthy, apocalyptic road, lined with beat up and raided houses, the moans of the other infected from within. Tank sighed, or at least is was supposed to be a sigh; it turned out more like quiet roar, but all the same he sighed and went on his daily walk.

Now when Tank walked, the ground shook, if he wasn't careful he would set off a car alarm. Then that would cause dozens of the infected to swarm around the car and kick and punch it as if it was a thing they could injure. Whenever Tank saw this happen, he felt lucky. One, because unlike the common infected, Tank was one of the 8 in 80 people to mutate when they were infected; two, because all the infected weren't attacking him. So Tank walked like a mighty silverback gorilla down the street. If Tank could, he would have smiled; but he couldn't, mainly because on day five, his neck had become so thick his jaw was permanently stuck open.

A while down the street, Tank decided it was time to eat. Now, Tank never got hungry, but he ate anyways to keep the habit in case they cure him. So he walked into mall nearby to go to the food court. There he met up with some old friends, all of them he met after the outbreak. They were all mutated too and they all ate together often.

Tank squatted at a table and he looked at his friends. There was Spitter, a girl Tank used to know that lived down the street from him, who now had a sagging pot belly and a gaping mouth and her face and chest was covered in acid burns, and when she spat, her saliva would not only cover about enough space to host a picnic for three, but also erode the tile floor of the food court.

There was Smoker, who was always coughing and his skin emanated a thick smoke. Tank always though had a crush on Spitter when they were both human. They always were near each other and Spitter seemed to really like it when Smoker would wrap his long, rope like tongue around her neck. What happened after that Tank wished he never found out about.

Then there was Hunter, an ex parkour artist and now has the ability to jump up to 30 feet. Hunter never liked Tank and the others but he would always write on the wall after he ate "Company is company" in either blood from a common infected or in ink if he could get enough on his claws.

Then there was Charger, a foul tempered infected man who never ate, he only rested his massive right arm. Tank felt badly for the chair Charger used, all the legs have buckled and bent and the seat sagged under the weight of his arm. Tank also felt bad for Charger, it wasn't that he didn't eat by choice, but between his massive mutated arm that would crush anything in its grip and his normal arm that he could barely move, he couldn't eat.

Then there was Jockey, a severely hunched over, scrawny infected man who never really ate. He just brought everybody food and he took the leftovers and threw them in the air or drew things with them, laughing like a complete psychopath. They could never tell Jockey's age. He looked about 50 years old yet he had about the size and behavior like a mentally deficient 6 year old.

Then there was Boomer, a morbidly obese infected man with fat stumpy arms and legs and covered in warts and abscesses which can be seen through to show they are filled with green pus. Boomer loved to eat, but every time he ate he vomited; and every time Boomer vomited, dozens if not hundreds of the common infected would swarm around the puddle of puke and fight over it. It was fun to watch, but also a good reason to make sure Boomer sits away from where everybody else eats.

And finally there was Witch. Or that is what they all called her. She never picked a name for herself. She never ate either, all she would do was walk in aimless circles around the food court, crying. None of the group could ever find out why Witch was crying. They told Tank to ask her once; all that it accomplished was giving Tank about a dozen new deep cuts from Witch's long scythe blade like fingers. Of the whole group, Witch was the most human. She was extremely thin, with long unkempt white hair and glowing yellow eyes and grey skin. Tank felt sorry for her too, just not as much as he felt sorry for Charger's chair.

When Tank sat down, he was greeted by the closest thing to a smile an infected could give. Except for Jockey, who was always smiling. Tank looked around his seat for a slab of concrete he took of the sidewalk and a large piece of chalk. Tank wrote on his slab, "Hello. How are you doing today?" and the rest, except Jockey and Witch who were occupied throwing leftovers and crying found their writing surfaces and pencils or pens or markers and wrote back, "We are fine.", then Smoker wrote, "You should have seen the wad Spitter coughed up earlier today! It went about 40 yards!" At this, Spitter blushed, or at least, her cheeks went from a grey with a tint of green to a darker shade of grey with a darker tint of green.

Tank laughed, or at least tried to, after a while he gave up and wrote "LOL" on his sidewalk slab. They all then resumed eating and occasionally writing notes to each other. Then what happened next shocked everybody, and marked the beginning of what was to be the most eventful day of their lives since they mutated. Jockey stopped laughing, stopped throwing food in the air, took Smoker's pen and a sheet of paper from Charger and wrote in very neat and delicate handwriting, "Where is Witch…?"

The group stared at the words like it was the cure being handed to them in a golden briefcase. They never knew Jockey could write, let alone so beautifully. Then, finally bothering to read the words, they looked around for Witch. She wasn't anywhere to be seen. They all got up and looked around the mall, and then they all froze when they heard Witch scream.

When they all arrived, they saw Witch standing in front of a group of soldiers at least 20 strong. Their rifles with their laser sights pointed at Witch's chest. Then one of the soldiers saw the rest of the group. He tapped the man next to him on the shoulder and they both looked at them. Then the rest of the group did so, staring in horror at the infected standing before them.

One of the soldiers, if he was the bravest or the stupidest none of the other soldiers knew raised his rifle and took an experimental shot at Tank's left shoulder. Tank stood there; oblivious to the smoking fresh bullet hole in his shoulder, then he slowly looked at it then back at the soldiers. The soldier screamed, threw down his rifle and ran and the others opened fire. Now, the "Special Infected" as they were called by the military and the survivors usually did not fight. But when they had to, they could easily kill a man. So kill they did. Tank being the first to throw the others aside and bulldoze straight through the ranks of the soldiers picking a man at random and tearing him in half. Smoker and Spitter started working together to ensnare victims and coat them in burning acid spit, burning straight through their Kevlar uniforms and eating away at their skin. Jockey started laughing again as he was riding one man's back, causing the soldier to shoot aimlessly at his squad mates. Charger went into the fray, continuously bowling over soldiers and pummeling them into the ground with his giant arm. Boomer stayed behind and tried to comfort Witch, blowing chunks at any soldiers that got too close, causing swarm after swarm of common infected to rush them and try to get the "delicious" vomit off of them. This all went on until every last soldier was dead.

After that, an emergency meeting was called. Even Jockey and Witch took it seriously. "We have to leave the town." Boomer wrote. "No! We must find every last soldier and kill them!" wrote Charger. Then Witch put a small dart on the table and wrote, "I found this in an ammo clip… They were trying to collect live infected to make a cure…" Then Witch started to cry again. Then Tank wrote, "But that one shot me! Sure it didn't hurt but still!" Then Tank looked at Witch and tried to sigh again, then wrote "Guys, Witch has a point. We just killed what might have been our only hope. The next chance we get, let them take you for research…" They all looked at Tank like he was a crazy as Jockey. But they all slowly nodded, and then they slept in the mall that night, waiting for the next group of humans to come. It wasn't long before another research team arrived at the mall to give sample collection a second try. As Tank and his friends all planned, they surrendered and were taken to the lab.

The lab was cold and dark. Everywhere Tank and his friends looked as they were chained to lab tables and rolled down the hall were scientist and soldiers in gas-masks. Tank looked next to him to see that Smoker had his tongue around Spitter's neck again and Jockey was looking around absolutely horrified. Tank's eyes darted around from face to face, trying to figure out what will happen to him and his friends. Then there was a bright light, a thick smoke, and Tank fell asleep for a very long time.

When Tank woke up, he was greeted by the sight of about seven different kinds of needles pointed at his chest. He was still bolted to the table and for once Tank could not see a way to effortlessly break free. "Is Delta Whiskey #01 ready for autopsy?" A doctor in a gasmask asks. "No. but…" the doctor seems to notice Tank is awake, and then scream while running out of the room "Oh shit! Security! Security! Delta Whiskey #01 is awake! Ahhhhhhh!" The other doctors and security also notice and start running and screaming. Tank looked at them all confused. He wondered why they were all so scared of him when he was not trying to hurt them, even if he wanted to he couldn't, he was bolted to the exam table.

Then a thick green fog came into the glass cubicle he was being kept in from vents in the ceiling. The fog seemed to fall in a column then hit the ground and spread out fast, soon filling the room. It had a foul odor and Tank soon found he was having a hard time breathing. He struggled against the bonds, mustering all of his inhuman strength to break free. The bolts break and Tank picks up the exam table, and hurls it at the walls of the glass prison, shattering the wall releasing the toxic gas into the rest of the main laboratory. The humans tried to kill him, Tank only hopes they haven't already killed his friends.

Tank searched frantically around the facility, by now and alarm has begun to sound, which Tank knows will mean every common infected for miles will be here soon. Tank crashed through doors and walls and smashed through teams of soldiers, eventually finding a room marked "Specimen Holding Chamber: Biohazard", Tank smashed his way in through the thick iron door and saw his friends.

They all looked at Tank as if he was God. Tank looked all around the walls, there were a variety of things. Most of them being, "They killed him…" or, "It was good being with you guys…" But now they all were together and they had just the way to get out. They heard screams, gunshots, the infected battling the humans all around. Tank and his friends all found their way to the roof of the building to see what could not be described as a battle, but a massacre.

The infected were coming in endless waves of screaming, bloody, enraged forces maybe a thousand strong, but automatic turrets and artillery fire easily kept the sieging infected at bay. Jockey, having another sudden stroke of sanity, took out the pen and paper he kept from the mall and wrote, "Guys, I know we usually treat the common ones as nothing but dumb animals, but they used to be human like us. They just weren't as lucky. We must help them." They all looked at Jockey and nodded. Then tank, very carefully, took the pen and paper and wrote, "We have to get out there and try to talk to them. Maybe the ones that recently became infected still have enough humanity in them to be reasoned with." They all nodded again, looking at the scene before them, and went back into the depths of the facility.

By the time they all made it to the front lines, just out of range of artillery fire, they all watched the infected stream past them, running straight towards death. Spitter looked at Tank with a face that very easily said, "Well, what now?" Then Tank let out a roar. But this roar was not a roar like any other. It was a roar that would make even the mightiest of beasts recoil in horror at its sound, easily heard over the alarm. At that moment, all of the infected stopped running, and started at Tank, standing there like statues.

Tank was suddenly had control of what could be called the largest and most determined army the world has ever seen. Tank stood there, unable to think of how to talk to them, thinking quickly as to not lose their attention to the alarm. Then Tank started roaring again, pointing to himself, and all of his friends. Surprisingly, the infected seemed to understand that this meant they all were their leaders. They all picked a member of Tank's group and followed them. So, he had all of the infected line up on the front lines, the eight generals, Tank, Spitter, Smoker, Jockey, Witch, Charger, Hunter, and Boomer, ready to lead the charge. The next thing that happened left the humans absolutely terrified.

They all charged. Tank barreling towards the fort, practically absorbing the gunfire and only stumbling back a little when a mortar shot lands in front of him. Spitter, stays a distance behind and shoots wads of acidic saliva over the wall to the compound. Smoker, took the stealthy approach, sneaking up close to the wall and dragging soldiers off of it using his long tongue, letting his infected troops gather around and beat up and kill the unlucky target. Jockey, had hitched a ride on the back of one of his men and was pointing forward, leading his troops to what was hopefully victory. Witch, in one of her moments of blind fury, scaled the wall and started slashing her way through the soldiers, so quickly they could not even raise their guns to stop her. Charger was the first to try going for the front door, he charged and smashed is way through, holding up his massive right arm like a riot shield, bowling over dozens of soldiers, leaving his following infected to finish them off. Hunter was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, coming down in a screaming blur of sharp teeth and claws on any soldiers that seemed to be killing too many infected. Boomer went jogging up to the compounds walls with his head down and his arms stretched out behind him, giving him the look of a rabid do-do bird, then he looked up and sent a geyser of vomit skyward, showering the soldiers on the wall in puke, then the following infected scaled the wall and began attacking the soldiers hungrily, craving the putrid smelling substance.

Once Tank arrived at the wall, he had no clue what to do. The alarm was driving him mad, screaming in his ears as the battle raged on all around him. Tank began hitting the wall, smashing his fists against it with all the power he could muster. The wall came crashing down, infected and soldiers alike crushed under the rubble. By the time the dust settled, the soldiers and all of Tank's friends were staring at Tank. The alarm was still screaming its song of terror and the common infected still in frenzy. Tank ran at the pole the alarm was mounted on, then in another instance of inhuman strength he tore the pole out of the ground and threw it like a javelin.

As the alarm stopped, so did the common infected. As the infected stopped, so did the soldiers. The battle it seemed was over. They all stared at Tank, except for the common infected, who never seemed to be able to focus on anything unless they are trying to kill it. Tank approached one of the soldiers, at first the soldier panicked, and then he slowly put down his rifle and extended a hand towards Tank. Tank accepted his friendly gesture. Sure, maybe he accidentally tore the man's arm of, but he was sorry for it. Then Tank and his friends were let into the compound, as friends, not test subjects.

Tank in his friends were lead through the fortified hospital into the place where they keep the mentally ill. They were all put in a padded room, 8 beds, even a large one for Tank. That night, they all slept like they used to before the infection. The slept soundly, for the first time in a long time. In the next room however, scientist in the next room were not sleeping soundly.

"Sir, Delta Whisk- err… 'Special Infected' 1 through 8 are asleep." A scientist said through his gas mask. "Good. Gas them. Out of every threat this 'Green Flu' has presented, these are the most dangerous. Do it, now." The leader of the base spoke.

Then with a push of a button, Tank, Jockey, Smoker, Spitter, Charger, Witch, Hunter, and Boomer went to sleep, and never woke up.

~~The End~~