Dead Race

by Lord StarScream

Two survivors attempt to make it to an evacuation to escape the Infection that has swept through the Eastern United States and made each day a struggle to survive until the next dawn. On this journey, they will be tested and faced with dangers they can't imagine, but maybe they'll find something that will help them find the strength to stand up to whatever the world throws at them.

Dead Race

By Lord Starscream

Disclaimer/Foreword from the Author: Left 4 Dead belongs to Valve, and anything from that universe you see in this story is not of my invention. I've been having some personal issues, college and life in general that have made it very hard for me to get any writing done, but the insanity has abated to the point that I can start updating again. Daytona Earnhardt is the creation of a very dear friend of mine by the name of supercarXS. Go and give her a read, and you won't regret it.

Dishonor isn't going to remain untouched for much longer. I'm not the type of person who works well with detailed outlines, but some rough goal posts and boundaries give me a lot more flexibility when I write a story.

Before life decided to become a pain in the ass, I did sketch out some general things for Dishonor, and I'm ready to get back into it. Plus, this is going to become a series in its own right. Since Dead Race takes place in Left 4 Dead 2, I have the campaigns in the game I can use, or go my own way (what I'm currently thinking is a hybrid approach, where I branch off from one of them to strike out into more unknown territory).

Alright. Enough of my blathering. I hope you all enjoy this story. Now…would you kindly leave a review?

Part I: The Journey

Mist hung lightly in the air, the moans of the Infected echoing eerily in the confines of the mostly deserted streets. A pair of shadows darted from cover to cover without disturbing the fragile silence of the dawn. The first was a man barely in his twenties, wiry in build and medium of height, with close cropped dark hair framing mahogany colored eyes. Clutching a battered M-16 to his chest, he motioned his companion forward. Abandoned cars littered the narrow street and Wolfe could see the dark crimson of the Safe Room door at the far end of the alley across from them.

Lithe, like a panther in her charcoal jumpsuit, she burst forward and sprinted the short distance without making a sound. Wolfe took a moment to admire the fluid grace in her movements, the curves in her body only exaggerated by the muscles of her fit physique. Shoulder length hair the color of straw fluttered behind her like a banner, an Assault Shotgun cradled in her arms, sweeping the alley for Infected. Finding none, Daytona turned to face him in a low crouch to avoid being spotted by any who casually wandered by.

Gesturing for him to cross, Wolfe saw the sea green eyes wink as she grinned in triumph. They'd made it. After days of endless fighting, they had a chance to relax inside of a place where every moment wasn't filled with tension and danger.

Then he heard the high-pitched growl that he'd come to know so well the past couple of weeks. A Hunter was nearby, and from the sound of it, getting ready to pounce.

Movement drew Wolfe's gaze to the roof of the building Daytona leaned against, his rifle already coming to bear on the threat. Daytona had heard the noise too, and time seemed to slow as she spun to face it with a snarl. But neither of them were quick enough, and the Hunter howled a blood-thirsty cry as it leapt at its prey. The sound woke the Common Infected from their stupor, their heads snapping towards the source of the disturbance. Wolfe cursed loudly even as the nearest of them approached his position. Bastards!

The Hunter knocked Daytona to the ground and began tearing at her with vicious blows while its lesser brethren swarmed him. There seemed to be only one choice at this point, and Wolfe took it. He fired a long burst at the Hunter's back, the heavy-caliber rounds chewing through its body, their collective momentum tossing the thing across the alley.. Switching to the others, he became aware that he'd used the rest of his magazine, and had no time to reload. A cold grin formed on his face.

Shouldering the empty weapon, he drew the glittering katana he'd found only the day before. One of them howled as it lunged with claw-like fingers, leading the charge while Daytona stood shakily to her feet, momentarily forgotten. It lost its head with his first strike, the second severing a woman's leg and another's arm when they both tried rushing him. Wolfe sprung forward with a wild cry, eager to keep them distracted while she recovered, wading into the tangled melee.

Limbs parted from their owners, chests were splayed open, and some were unlucky enough to be disemboweled by the lethal sliver of steel, but none of it stopped the horde. Soon whole clutches of them were being thrown off their feet and blown apart by the merciless volleys of buckshot, and by the time the dull minds of the Infected had registered this new threat, she had already laid waste to them.

Then it was over. Just as quickly as it had begun, the attack had ended. Corpses littered the area, and Wolfe was breathing heavily, the sword drenched in the blood of its victims. Aside from a few bad scratches and bruises, he'd survived mostly intact.

Turning his gaze to Daytona, Wolfe could see that she hadn't been so fortunate. Rips in her jumpsuit were bordered with red, and blood leaked out between the fingers of the hand attempting to stem the flow. "Damn it. I should have seen that little bastard," he said bitterly.

She laughed. "You're only human, Wolfie. This ain't nearly as bad as it looks, trust me." That she could barely stand didn't seem to stop her from using the pet nickname to lie about the hurt she was feeling.

Swiftly crossing the distance between them, he took her arm over his shoulder before she could argue, and they made it inside the Safe Room. As the door clanged shut, Wolfe felt her legs start to give way and he stepped forward to catch her mid-collapse when she lost consciousness. Face etched with concern, he turned to shove some crates against the door and block the view port as fast as he could. Finally, he looked around frantically for a First Aid kit.

Snatching one from where several others rested, Wolfe next to Daytona with his eyes searching for her wound. When he saw the white t-shirt she wore underneath soaked in blood around the collar, his heart skipped a beat. Then two.

Unzipping the tired jumpsuit, which had lasted through weeks of similar abuse, his eyes were immediately drawn to the savage gashes along her collarbone made by the Hunter's claws. To get at them, he realized that he'd have to take off the ruined shirt and his face colored. Chiding himself, he pushed the thought from his mind and used a pair of thin scissors to cut off the marred garment to reveal the true extent of her injuries.

The worse of it was definitely at her collarbone, but he was relieved to see that it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared. All he could see were a few other minor lacerations, and he let out a small sigh of relief before he forced himself to remember that blood loss and infection were still dangers.

Focusing on the most critical of her injuries, Wolfe took a surgical cloth, soaked it in alcohol from the First Aid kit, and braced Daytona. The moment it touched the torn flesh, she bucked like a wild bronco and punched him before he had a chance to react. She groaned, jaw taut with tension as she tried not to scream. Wolfe got up and sat on her stomach, using his legs to pin her arms done while he got to work. Each swipe brought another spasm that nearly sent him sprawling. When he was satisfied, Wolfe took a medium sized bandage and placed it over the wound, using strips of surgical tape to keep it in place. Repeating the process only a few more times saw to the rest of the cuts tended to in short order.

A quick inventory of everything else in the kit showed that it had two small injections: one of adrenaline, and another of penicillin. In sharp contrast to her earlier struggles, Daytona was now worryingly still despite the intense grimace that drew the muscles in her jaw line taut with tension. Feeling her pulse, weak and rapid, he jabbed the adrenaline into her right arm before following up with the antibiotics.

His gaze came back to her, no longer gritting her teeth in agony, and that alluring visage had finally relaxed. Then as he was wiping a bloody hand across his forehead, her eyes fluttered open. Wolfe froze in mid-motion as he realized that her bosom was only partially covered by his bandage and that he still straddled her midsection. Both of them turned bright red, his normally ghostly features awash in crimson, and Daytona blushing from what remained of her collar and up.

Gingerly extricating himself, he saw her try to rise but he put his hand out to force her back down. "Listen, you lost a lot of blood. That Hunter didn't do any serious damage, but you still need to rest for a while."

Zipping up her jumpsuit, she tried to say something as he brought her a rough blanket he found in the corner and a bundled up coat, lifting her head so that it could have something other than concrete to rest on. Exhaustion was evident, and Daytona murmured would could have been a "thank you" before she slipped into a deep slumber. Soon, she was snoring lightly, and Wolfe couldn't help but grin at that.

Brushing several errant strands of hair out of her face, he marveled at how beautiful she was. Kind, light green irises often bright with mirth and an adorably wide nose set in an attractively shaped face gave her the appearance of what he imagined angels would look like.

He'd thought of telling her what he felt for her, but he'd been terrified of ruining the close bond they shared. As her chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm, Wolfe got up and took some fresh ammunition, slapping a clip into his M-16 and racking the bolt with practiced ease, settling against the rear wall with the rifle coming to rest across his knees. He watched and waited with tired eyes and frayed nerves. At least she was safe...

. . . . . .

A noise roused Wolfe a fitful doze and immediately grasped his M-16, sweeping the room for zombies. Blinking to clear the bleariness from his eyes, Wolfe heard a tiny scratching sound, and saw the small metal can rolling on the floor where it had fallen. He must have fallen asleep, and stretched the stiffness from his limbs.

Looking over, he saw Daytona still fast asleep, but was encouraged to note that she had more color in her face than the day before. She looked so peaceful, and acting on impulse, strode over and bent down to place a tender kiss on her cheek. His body tingled as he practically sprang up from the ground while guilt suddenly came over him.

She wasn't even awake, for God's sake! He thought angrily. "That was nice," came a quiet voice. "How long have you been waiting to do that?" Daytona struggled a little to get up on one elbow, an eyebrow arched inquiringly.

Suddenly his throat became dry. "Ah...well..." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, Day. It was -"

"Shut up and answer the damn question."

Wolfe felt more than saw the intensity of her emerald orbs boring into him. They weren't angry. "A while. Ever since Columbia. You didn't leave me to die when everyone else left me behind. No one outside of my immediate family's ever done that for me. Not to mention you're a knockout in a fire suit." He became calmer as he continued to talk, and he wondered what she was thinking.

Getting to her feet, she looked a tad unsteady for a moment but quickly rallied her strength. Daytona took a step towards him, her purpose unknown but firm as her stride brought her face to face with Wolfe as he leaned back against the wall. Her face colored a little at the compliment. Wolfe felt keyed and could barely stop himself from doing something to relieve the pent up energy, and the tension was so thick in the air that he could almost taste it.

Suddenly, she looked a little less sure of herself. Biting her lip, she spoke while staring at the floor, "I've always known how to make anything that runs on gas purr like a kitten, and hotwire an engine in six seconds flat. But this," she smiled briefly, "sort of thing I haven't ever been very good at. The way I feel about you... it's been on my mind lately.

"Whenever we get into a fight, I never have to worry about if you'll have my back. Every time things have gotten bad, and you've got a choice between yourself and me, you always choose me, earlier being a case in point. You always patch up my hurt before you even think about your own, if you even bother with it at all. When I woke up yesterday," she swallowed, "I thought I was dreaming and...I was happy. If you really want me -"

He dropped his gun, took a step forward, and kissed the woman he loved hard, pulling her to him as their momentum carried them across the room and he parted his lips from hers only to take a greedy breath even as he hooked his arm around her lower back.

She was shocked for a moment, but reciprocated by clutching the back of his head in an effort to prevent his escape. Flashing a devilish grin, the fiery southern belle let her tongue dance with his in a moment that seemed to stretch into forever. After eternity ended, they broke apart once more, desperately sucking oxygen into their lungs. Wolfe ducked down, kissing her neck and Daytona arced her head back with a wide smile. She moved his hand over her heart, his fingers able to detect it hammering away at the inside of her chest in concert with his own as he popped back up and kissed her again. They swayed back and forth on the spot, fancy footwork eventually allowing them to move about the room like dancers too wrapped up in each other to care about the rest of the world.

Grabbing her by the waist, Wolfe picked her up and Daytona, not to be outdone, brought her legs together behind him in a vise-like grip. Though she'd been content to let him take the lead, she had ridden her share of wild stallions in her youth, and it was time for her to take the wheel.

Planting her feet on the floor with a resounding thump!, she put a hand on his chest while the other steered him towards the small plastic table in the back of the room. Taking a breather as they bumped into into the border of the little platform, they grinned at each other contentedly. "Wow...I mean, damn that was good." She said huskily, her eyes filled with a spark Wolfe hadn't seen before.

Wolfe was giddy, a broad smile all he could manage, unable to think of any words capable of describing the joy he felt in his heart. Daytona nuzzled him, and he held her tight as he rested his cheek on her forehead. "Now that was even better than I'd thought it would be," he said softly, stroking her hair. Breaking apart for the first time in what had felt like hours, each sneaking glances at the other, they readied to leave the Safe Room. They were close to the evacuation center, and things were looking bright on the horizon.

After he had loaded up on all the bullets he could carry and a molotov cocktail, and she had gathered a healthy number of shells, a pipe bomb and a crowbar, they were ready. Only one of the stack he'd found was good. The other First Aid Kits had been empty, the last full one having been used to treat Daytona's injuries the night before. So close to their destination, it didn't worry Wolfe that much. If CEDA had gotten its ass kicked again...well, he hoped there would be a plan B.

Shadows hid most of the room on the other side of their exit, though he could hear the grunts and groans of Infected. None were in the immediate vicinity of the door, with the narrow beam of light from the flashlight taped to Daytona's gun picking out only a handful in the gloom. Shaking themselves from their stupor at the sudden disturbance, gurgling as they approached the thick metal portal that barred them from the Survivors they'd detected so close to them. Backing off, the zombies started becoming more agitated as the scent lured them forward with the promise of an easy meal. Shoving hands like claws were shoved between the bars as they crowded together.

Easy targets.

A few shells and a short burst of automatic fire shredded the grasping Infected, spraying blood and viscera in a small arc. Lifting up the bar that held it shut, Wolfe pushed the door open against the corpses now piled against it.

Illumination poured down from above through a dirty skylight, throwing a light on an escalator strewn with the occasional piece of luggage and trash. Once he was sure the area was clear, Wolfe relaxed a bit and turned to Daytona. "How's that shoulder feel?"

"It's not bad. Got most of the feeling back after we...," she blushed and looked down, "uh, gave it a bit of a workout."

He grinned. "Well I'm glad that we found a treatment that works for the patient." She smiled a little, and he brought her chin up before planting a soft kiss on her lips. "I'll look over this side of the room, alright?"

Daytona returned the smile and nodded. "Okay, I got the left side then." Splitting up, they went to scrounge for the last scraps of useful supplies left by the hordes of refugees. Meeting at the escalator, Wolfe had struck out, but Daytona approached grinning from ear to ear she held a pipe bomb in one hand, a molotov in the other, and a box of incendiary ammo clipped to her suit.

He whistled. "That is some of the good stuff. You know just what to get to make a guy feel special, mamzel. You really are amazing." The praise made her blush slightly, then handing him the molotov without asking which one he wanted. Daytona knew he loved setting things on fire and it was a touching gesture.

As they made their way up, he saw one of the mesh gates jammed at angle and as they ducked underneath the low hanging barrier, Daytona whispered, "Y'know, this isn't the worst first date I've been on." Wolfe laughed. "Seriously. I mean, the apocalypse setting is a nice touch. You really went the extra mile, Wolfie."

She yelped aloud as he reached behind her while she swept the gloom for Infected and gave her a squeeze, and she punched him in the shoulder, though she didn't look displeased. "I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

Their banter almost allowed the Smoker, hidden on the floor below the pair of Survivors, a chance to attack. But, a sudden tickle at the back of its throat caused the newly christened predator to bend over in a series of loud, hacking coughs to erupt from the twisted orifice it called a mouth. When it recovered, it looked up to where it had last seen it's prey and found no trace of them. As it sniffed the air to locate the survivors, it realized, as it felt the cold metal of a shotgun barrel being pressed into its back, that it wasn't really cut out for this sort of lone wolf crap.

One shell tore through its chest, expelling a cloud of gas and smoke that caused both survivors to start choking. "Oh God this smells like...I don't even think I've smelled anything that bad before," Wolfe said, gagging. Daytona nodded, and they continued on, dispatching small clusters of Common Infected with the rare Special Infected trying to get lucky.

Finding their way blocked several times, they were able to navigate a path further into the deserted mall while Wolfe searched for any sign of the CEDA outpost. All he and Daytona ever found were chipper safety posters and infected CEDA agents, and started to wonder if they'd been left behind again.

Finally, after clearing out a mazelike series of service corridors they reached a pair of emergency doors. EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. A small flyer taped just above the latch warned 'Alarm will sound when opened,' with a small diagram underneath the text showing where the alarm controls were located near the Safe Room. On the the third floor.

"Well this is going to be interesting." Daytona said mildly, pumping in some shells to the receiver. Wolfe swapped the nearly empty magazine in his rifle for one of the last two full clips he had on him. While they hadn't run into any big hordes, a number of skirmishes with packs of Special Infected and swarms of their lesser brethren had managed to deplete their store of ammunition.

They gave each other a nod and kicked open the doors, and a siren promptly began shrieking at an ear-splitting volume. Grimacing, Daytona took the lead, laying down a withering fire that the newly arriving horde ran headlong into, falling in droves as buckshot sundered flesh and bone. Breaking through the initial rush, they ran up the stairs to the second floor. Another Smoker lurked at the far end, glaring at them as the zombies of yet another horde gathered for an assault, filtering into the room from a dozen different entry points.

As she turned her attention to them, Wolfe zeroed in on the Smoker as it tried to shuffle towards a better position. His first six-round burst chewed into its shoulder, wounding it and slowing it down. Another ten rounds, tracers flickering in the air, nailed it in the throat and demolished its lower face, spawning a poisonous cloud of toxicity.

Howls from his right caused Wolfe to spin to face that direction, gunning down a pack of zombies rushing up the escalators behind them. At the same time, he heard the click, click, click as a finger squeezed a trigger without spitting out a vicious spread of pellets.

Knowing she wouldn't have time to reload, Daytona's right hand skipped her ammo belt, swiftly thumbing the activation switch on her grenade, shouting, "Pipe bomb out!" The thin grey cylinder arced through the air while the attached light sensor pulsed brightly, the acute squeal of the smoke alarm wired to the pipe bomb audible even over the blanket wailing of its larger cousin. The Common Infected took after it like a pack of rabid, flesh-eating kittens after a ball of yarn. Pausing just long enough to ram a handful of precious of shells home and for Wolfe to catch up, the pipe bomb detonated in a white flash. A peal of thunder rolled past them, as did a few assorted limbs, as they sprinted through the mayhem towards the staircase leading to the third level.

Almost there, damn it! Wolfe stumbled as the floor shook, catching him in mid-step. Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me, he thought sourly. "A tank? Seriously?!" He screamed at the muscle-bound abomination, a door that that had marked one of the infinite number of corridors from other parts of the mall splintering as it made its entrance.

They had a good head start, but at that particular moment, a Hunter and a Jockey appeared at the top of the stairwell. Time slowed to a crawl, and as they began to move, Wolfe held the trigger down, shredding the diminutive Jockey. The Hunter was a fraction of a second faster, and managed to launch itself into the air, until a brutal swipe from the stock of Daytona's shotgun crashed into its face. Staggering from the blow, it received a well-placed shot to the head and was flung away by the force of the shell.

This remarkable victory, however, had sacrificed the lead they'd had on the Tank, who subsequently announced his presence by bludgeoning Wolfe, who landed in a heap some 15 feet away.

Spears of agony shot through his body as he tried to stand upright, the world gray and muted. Daytona backpedaled steadily, expertly pumping shot after shot into the Tank as it clambered the railing after her and swatted aside any Common Infected foolish enough to get in his way.

Desperately, she glanced over at him, grief etched on her face as the monstrous beast refused to fall and forced her to continue her retreat. Shakily, Wolfe grasped the first of his Molotovs and lit the rag and prayed that Daytona's fire suit was intact and hurled it at the space between the Tank and Daytona.

The glass bottle shattered, spilling a sea of flames across the floor, causing the Tank to rear back and roar in anguish as its flesh caught alight. What was left of the mind inside that horribly mutated husk, through the agony that drove it even further into the throes of madness, realized that the other human was still alive. Natural rage was compounded by the primal desire for vengeance, and the minor irritation of being lit on fire. It lumbered towards him, slowing as the flames and host of ghastly wounds took their toll. Emptying the last of the clip into abomination's knee, an enraged Tank teetered as the joint buckled beneath the barrage.

Ramming the last clip he had home, Wolfe steadied himself as the darkness at the edges of his vision threatened to overwhelm him. After a moment, he realized the alarm had been silenced, and the number of zombies turning themselves into living torches rapidly diminished.

Pulling the trigger, Wolfe watched the tracers riddle the Tank mercilessly, and it finally fell to its knees, groaning faintly, and landing flat on its face. Feeling a vague sense of accomplishment, as the flames started dying, a soot-faced Daytona raced over to him.

"You ever do that again and I'll kill you," she said fiercely. Looping his arm around her neck, she dragged him to the Safe Room only a few yards away. Opening the door, he staggered inside while she locked it in place before turning her attention to the injured idiot laying on the floor. Overriding his feeble objections, Daytona confiscated his First Aid Kit and started patching him up. "I was saving that for the next you got hurt, Day," he whined.

She waved a hand dismissively. "There's a whole heap of them over on that table, anyway. I'm just returning the favor." Daytona was silent for a moment as she went about the business of preventing Wolfe from dying. After a moment, she said softly, "Don't you ever do that again. I mean we just...and I've never..."she trailed off, her cheeks burning a little. "I'm used to being independent, not needing anybody for anything, and I hated needing anyone else, but I need you, okay?"

When she leaned closer to finish wrapping a bandage, Wolfe pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. Though surprised at first, she responded with great enthusiasm.

A short while later, they were gathering supplies again, stocking up on bullets, First Aid Kits, and a pair of Boomer bile jars. Wolfe had mostly recovered, and was grateful for the woman he found at his side. God, I'm not sure what I did to deserve you. Jesus, if you're listening, I can't even begin to thank you.

When they were ready, the pair approached the door that led to an unknown fate with confidence and determination. "You ready?" Wolfe asked, knowing her answer.

Daytona flashed a grim smile. "Hell yes."

With that, he popped the safety bar from the hold, and they stepped into the light.

. . . . . .

Part Two: Escape!

"Oh son of a bitch." Wolfe swore as he saw the deserted CEDA outpost several floors below. They'd been left for dead. Again. Daytona was about to speak, when something caught her eye, making her jaw drop.

Noticing her strange reaction, Wolfe frowned. "Everything okay in there?"

She nodded glumly. Pointing, Wolfe followed the sign and saw a pristine No. 3 '95 Chevy Monte Carlo sitting on a pedestal, all sleek black paint and dangerous red trim gleaming in the sun.

Wolfe had no idea what it was, but for Daytona, it was a relic and almost holy grail of NASCAR. A vehicle made famous by the father of the driver she'd worshipped since childhood, one this man had actually driven to victory at the Daytona 500 one final time to pay tribute only a few months ago, was right here. With a veteran mechanic's eye, she checked it out for any damage and though she couldn't be sure from this distance, it looked just dandy. Escape-vehicle worthy condition, probably.

Tapping Wolfe on the shoulder excitedly, a silly grin splitting wide across her face, Daytona said, "That's our ticket out of here!"

"A stock car?"

"Not just any stock car, but his family's race car! That thing is a beast, and even if the keys aren't included I can just hotwire it." Wolfe raised an eyebrow as they entered the elevator at the other end of the walkway, the doors closing silently behind them. Daytona had a mischievous glint in her eye. "I wasn't kidding when I told you I could do that if the occasion called for it, Wolfie."

"How are we going to fuel it?" He asked seriously, scanning the atrium through the glass walls of their current transport. Everything was surprisingly quiet, but he knew instinctively that wouldn't last long.

She gestured at the whole chamber, and replied without a hint of sarcasm, "Have you ever been to a CEDA site without an abundance of gas cans?" That was actually a good point. Now that he thought about it, there was more than likely quite a few around them. The only thing that still worried him was the number they'd need and how long it would take them to gather and pour it all in. Unfortunately, they didn't have a choice.

Not that it seemed to bother Daytona any, whom positively skipped out of the elevator when it reached the ground floor. Unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he sighed. "You and your bloody NASCAR drivers."

Daytona turned around and stuck her tongue out at him. After a short trot to the impressive-looking racecar, she gave it a detailed examination, easily jiggling open the lock on the driver's side and hopping in. Wolfe heard a satisfied whistle from within. "Man, this is perfect. Gas tank's even a quarter full. Somebody might've had the same idea we had...because the keys are still in the ignition." Neither of them felt like stating the obvious, and bleak, fate of their predecessors.

Spotting a pair of the containers at the far end of the atrium, he signalled Daytona and they set off. On their way over, Daytona saw a box that had been discarded with an image that caught her eye once more. It was a camping set, with an all weather tent, sleeping bags, and all sorts of other gear that made her eyes light up. Suddenly, a cross-country trip might have some opportunities for fun after all... Wolfe continued on, and seeing Daytona's find being triumphantly thrust into the air, deciding he could carry both gas cans, though he felt paranoid about both of them not being able to fight.

So far, a single Infected had yet to make an appearance. Soon the fuel had been poured in and the compact box containing his partner's prize loaded into the backseat.

That changed the moment they went up to the second floor, where a Hunter fed on a corpse greedily until he heard the slight sound of movement, and blowing him up with a nearby propane tank. Plywood partitions caught fire, and set off the smoke detector directly above them a very short time later.

Fervent swearing mixed with prayers spurred Wolfe and Daytona down the stairs with their valuable payload. Tossing the can forward and watching as it skidded several yards until it crashed into the pedestal, Wolfe spun and started firing at the first zombies who arrived. Scores of them were ripped apart by a stream of hollow points, thrown back by the high-velocity rounds, protecting Daytona as she emptied each jerry can into the car. In a handful of moments she was beside him blasting holes in the gathering horde.

"There's two more up on that balcony in front of the elevator!" Wolfe shouted, straining to be heard over the cacophony of hundreds of zombies flooding into the atrium. "You go first, I'll cover you!"

She nodded and set off without hesitation, cutting down swathes of any Infected hapless enough to be in her way. Blood sprayed, heaps of twitching corpses left in her wake that had been torn open by buckshot. When she reached the landing halfway up to the third floor, Daytona took a moment to survey the war zone which reeked of cordite and death.

While Wolfe took care of the last of the present wave, and rushed to Daytona, whose eyes widened in surprise at some distant foe, using the lull to deploy the incendiary rounds.

Catching up, he almost had a chance to ask her what she'd seen, when a chunk of concrete sailed from the distant side of the atrium, crushing a few unlucky zombies. "Woops." Snatching the 5.56 mm clip from the incendiary case, he pocketed the normal clip as he shoved a zombie in a business suit over the railing.

"Let's toss 'em down to the car so we can deal with the big guy!" Wolfe said, taking the lead.

Daytona yelled, "Are you out of your mind? Those cans will rupture, Wolfie!" A police officer with blood staining most of his uniform ran at her as they crossed the open catwalk, receiving a crowbar to the face for his trouble.

"They'll be fine! Just trust me!" Dashing into the darkness caused by the massive banner that hung behind their ride, Wolfe almost ran right into a female Boomer. Daytona, seeing the danger, yanked him back by his collar to avoid the putrid jet of bile that the passed through the space he'd occupied only a second before.

Only a single round from his rifle was needed to take care of the wretched creature, the pair of them falling back behind a pillar to avoid the detonation as the Boomer's flammable components ignited. Darting past what remained of it, the orange cans lay almost directly above the supercar, which were heaved over the side without much ceremony, landing with barely audible clunks.

The process had taken little more than 30 seconds, 45 at the outside. Yet, in that brief span of existence, the minor trembling in the ground had grown drastically worse as the Tank arrived to claim its final victims. About a dozen fire bullets lit the miserable son of a bitch up like the Fourth of July, and Wolfe grinned as it bellowed in agony.

Then, of all the damndest things he'd seen, Wolfe saw a zombie sprint across the atrium in a peculiar looking suit. In a moment, he realized it was a man in a fire suit just like Daytona's, the number 88 emblazoned in the front of his uniform in huge red lettering. He heard her breath catch when she spotted the same thing, a pained gasp escaping her. "Oh God no. No, no, no..." She turned to him, eyes glistening with a desperate pleading. "That's Dale, Wolfe. I can't... I can't kill him."

That name was all he needed to hear. Dale Earnhardt Jr. had been her hero, and the reason she'd grown to love cars and NASCAR. Poor bastard bad gotten infected, but he had an idea. "Hey, give me your bile jar."

Daytona's brows furrowed, but she handed him the grenade without questioning him. As the former champion racer neared the Tank, at the head of an impressive of zombies, Wolfe lobbed the jar at the hulking abomination. It splattered the bastard with bile as the container shattered, releasing a cloud of gas that gave the newly arrived Infected a new target. The pheromones drove them into a frenzy, descending upon the Tank like a swarm of angry locusts, shrieking as they tore at the towering monster. Scores of them were smashed into the air of the desperate blows of the Tank, flying over the Survivors whom exploited the distraction.

"Get in the car! I'll pour these while you get the car ready!" Daytona slung her shotgun and slid across the hood, opening the door as Wolfe finished emptying the first can. Turning the key in the ignition, she was rewarded with a cough that smoothly turned over into a throaty roar.

Finishing with the second can, Wolfe opened the passenger door just in time to hear the defeated keening of the Tank as it bowed to the onslaught. Surrounded by a mound of bodies...stood Dale Earnhardt Jr?, atop the fallen tyrant, howling in victory as the car flew out the front of the mall at 88 miles an hour.

Crashing through the small crowd of Infected outside before making it to the open streets, Wolfe said mildly, "You were right. That guy is a badass."

. . . . . .

Several hours later...

Night had fallen, and Wolfe had convinced Daytona it was a good idea to stop for the evening. Setting up their camp, both quickly went about organizing their supplies.

Inside the tent, Daytona sat cross-legged, staring out into space, lost in thought about the events of the past 24-hours. They had beaten the odds, and the man who'd seen her through hell and worse was still breathing. It was just...she almost jumped when she felt a pair of hands touch her shoulders, but they began moving in rough circles , kneading her sore muscles. Daytona groaned softly, leaning back into the massage. "That feels good."

Wolfe kissed the side of her neck, and she smiled with her eyes closed. Turning to him, she drew him into an embrace that erased all of her pains, and as things got heated, all her worries faded away. Wolfe caressed her, the feeling of her skin against his electrifying in it's intensity. The world fell away, until the only thing left was them, a brilliant flame blazing in a sea of shadow.

Unzipping her fire suit, she breathed heavily, a fire in her emerald eyes that said she knew what she wanted, and Wolfe responded in kind. Sweeping Daytona into his arms, she ripped the shirt off his back after they broke apart to greedily gulp down air. For a single moment their eyes locked, and neither of them was willing to break the contact.

Wolfe spoke softly. "I love you, Daytona. No matter what happens, I want you to know I'll protect you, care for you, and do my best to make you happy in any way I can."

Daytona's breathing hitched. "Wolfie, you're the only person who's made me feel like I mattered as much as you. I love you to -" He cut her off, and Daytona quickly lost the ability to think coherently, as the silent night was rent by the cries of two lovers joining together. Everything else didn't matter.

Part III: Continued...