SOUTHERN COMFORT
Dead Center, Part One
Prologue
"Norman! Can you - yeah, get the lights... thanks..."
The woman checked off another chore on her clipboard, though most of them had already been taken care of. Her new found sense of authority was very short lived, seeing as most of the camera men and crew were already successfully set up. Taking a bite from her lip and rubbing sweaty, nervous palms against the hem of her orange t-shirt, the beautiful dark skinned woman commenced to examining the set location. The area was oddly quiet and absent of any of the previously spoken abnormalities, save for a few men in hazardous material suits and small lines of sickly patients waiting at the makeshift medical stations. Something felt off, however, and caused goose pimples to rise on her flesh.
"This is some weird shit we got ourselves into..." she said.
Somewhere near the outskirts of Savannah, the same uneasy atmosphere resided. A young man in a mechanical garage was the only of a crew of four men to pay attention to the radio as it very vaguely explained the reasoning behind the strange occurrences. He stopped drilling the bolts of a fresh tire to catch the final phrases of the broadcast, describing scenarios and advising listeners to take caution when dealing with enigma dubbed "Infected." A smirk played at his lips, and he took his blue cap from his head to scratch his sandy brown hair.
"Somethin's comin'," he stated expectantly, but was ignored by his co-workers.
Closer to the river, a man cautiously stepped from an arriving ferryboat into the thinning crowd, not unusually mindful of his surroundings. He carefully fixed the cuff links on his crisp white suit, adjusting them as necessary and casually slipping into a diner across the street. Taking a seat quietly, his eyes scanned the streets outside; what he had failed to notice before (as he was apparently always cautious of things out of the ordinary)were several limping and but not notably wounded civilians. Their faces seemed vacant and weirdly pale. His attention, however, was averted as an attractive woman took a seat next to him and placed a red mouthed kiss on his neck.
In the same diner sat a husky bronze man; seated in a round booth surrounding him were teenagers in football uniforms, freshly caked with dirt and grass stains. Although his mind was lingering somewhere else, he overheard his team loudly discussing the possibilities of a mythical world wide pandemic that could possibly wipe out humankind. He chuckled at the juvenile thought, but casting his attention to the television above the bar, where a view of the inner city, the men in Hazmat suits, and pictures of grotesque flesh growths flashed onscreen, made him slightly uncomfortable.
"Come to think of it..." he muttered to no one in particular. "...the wife's been actin' kinda strange the past few days."
Two weeks later
"That's strange," said the young mechanic, as he flipped through radio stations in his truck. "Why are all the stations down? It ain't flooded."
As he continued to drive through the streets into the city, he suddenly took notice that most of the routes were empty, with the exception of CEDA company trucks and the occasional military Humvee, but there weren't many. Rolling to a stop at the appropriate sign, he saw a staggering civilian stumble onto his path. The individual was bleeding fatally from what he could see, and his clothes had been ripped almost to complete shreds. The young man scrunched his face and strained his eyes to get a closer look, and saw that the man had several festering wounds on his disgustingly pale skin. Without so much as a second thought, he turned off the engine and exited the vehicle to assist him.
"Sir?" he called out, but the man was unresponsive. "You all right? You need a ride to the hospital? Sir?"
He walked a little closer, and the man whipped around like an alerted dog. His eyes were absent of human attributes, now carrying a wicked animalistic hue. His mouth was dripping with red liquid, obviously appearing to be blood. A low grumble started in his throat, much like an animal growl.
"Sir? You don't look so good..." the young mechanic said, but then he took notice of a group of civilians with similar symptoms as the man, and he suddenly knew. "Holy shit, zombies are real! I knew it..."
Within an instant, the whole group had been alerted and now they and the wounded man began to charge toward him. He whirled around and leaped back into the truck, slamming the door shut, jerking the engine to life and stamping his foot on the accelerator. He mowed past the man, but the small crowd was now trailing after him at incredulous velocity. In a heightened panic, he reached for the floor on the passenger side and retrieved a pump shotgun, slinging a string of curse words into a makeshift sentence. His eyes scanned the road ahead, and as he entered into the main street of the city, he could see more of those creatures in denser crowds. In the distance, he could hear some shots being fired, followed by a loud scream and the newly attracted horde. Instinctively, he powered through the mob toward the source of the sounds, coming to the sight of an apparently abandoned shot location for a news cast. On one of the crew vans stood a dark skinned female in an orange t-shirt, wielding a Magnum pistol and firing at approaching enemies. Without further hesitation, the young man plowed forward and zipped the truck around so that the bed was directly in front of the woman, were she to jump.
"Get in!" he cried. "Hurry!"
She said nothing and obeyed, slamming into the bed of the truck and then leaping over the edge to the passenger side. Upon her entering the vehicle, the young man pressed onto the accelerator and shot forward once again. The horde, by this time, had grown significantly in number and were tailing them like bloodhounds on a hunt. Soaring overhead in the skies were helicopters, and the new woman loudly instructed him to follow them to a location unexplained. He did so, gripping the steering wheel as the truck bounced upon impact with dozens more of these unfriendly civilians.
"What in God's name is goin' on here?" the woman cried, breathing heavily and grasping her head. "Those sick people tried to bite me! What kind of city is this?"
"Them things ain't hardly people, ma'am," the young man replied gravely. "Them things is flesh-eatin' zombies!"
There was no time to fight the idea, for they had reached a blockade installed by CEDA and a rushing wave of people blazing toward the Vannah hotel, following workers in the Hazmat suits seen on television. Many of them were bleeding with wounds that appeared to be fatal animal bites, and some were even convulsing on the ground or seizing. A sign outside of the hotel read "CEDA EVAC" in flashing orange letters, recently splattered with blood. Suddenly, a streak of riot cops blocked the entrances of the hotel, gripping enormous machine guns and bulletproof shields. As more people came racing toward them, pleading to get in, they were shot. Both the young man and woman cried out in surprise.
"Aw, shit! They're shootin' everybody now!" he exclaimed. "Don't look like they lettin' no one in!"
"What are we gonna do?" the woman asked.
"I dunno, but we ain't got time to think," he replied, grabbing his pump shotgun, a small package of shells and pushing open his door, motioning for her to follow. "We gotta get to that evac station."
She took her Magnum handgun and the both of them proceeded to rushing among the thinning crowd, throwing their hands up in the air and claiming they weren't zombies. Upon reaching the riot cops, they were halted.
"Let us through!" the woman screamed. "We aren't infected like them! We haven't been bitten!"
The cop moved aside and allowed her to pass, but they still kept the young man from following.
"Hey! I ain't no zombie neither!" he proclaimed, fighting their shields. "You got to let me through! Please!"
The woman whirled around and shoved the cop from behind, grabbing the young man by the arm as he stumbled and dragging him into the enormous grand hotel. There, only few people were being tended to by the Hazmats, but most of them had already died. A small fire had started at the side of the building, probably by rioters and unhappy civilians. The men in protective suits paid no heed to the new couple as they searched the lobby for an attentive authority figure, but it was clean of anyone besides piles of bodies and people dropping to the floor to accumulate to the number.
"Get to the roof!" the woman yelled. "I hear a chopper!"
They approached the elevator and pressed onto the calling button, but the response lagged. They then turned and faced the outside of the hotel, seeing the flood of angry zombies charge toward them. A rain of gunshots could also be heard above the screaming, but it was unsure where exactly they came from.
"Oh, my God," the woman said, as they watched the horde stampede the riot cops and race through the plaza of the hotel. Some of the creatures were toppling over each other, fighting one another to get to a fallen cop or civilian, and began tearing at them like wild animals. "Oh, my God! Let's go!"
The elevator failed to arrive and they resulted to taking the many flights of stairs. Just as they made it past the first story, the door burst open and two more survivors ran through breathlessly. A husky man leaned on the handrail and gasped for air as a man in a white suit tried to lead him forward.
"Who puts... an evac station... up thirty flights... of gah-damn stairs..." he heaved, trying to follow the man.
"C'mon, Coach," the man panted. "Maybe the chopper... maybe it's made out of chocolate... a-heh...ah-heh-heh-heh!"
The apparent coach only glared at him, but continued to follow up the stairs after him. When they finally reached the rooftop, they joined the two previous survivors but were not greeted warmly with an evacuation helicopter or an aircraft. Instead, the tragic sight of a smoldering city grimly welcomed them; but besides themselves, they were completely alone, stranded on the roof of a hotel about to be consumed in flames and a flesh-eating infection.
"Hey, where is everybody? Hello-o-o?" shouted the young man in vain. "Anybody here?"
"This isn't happening," sighed the woman, cradling her throbbing temples. "This is not happening."
"I thought they were supposed to be savin' ou' asses!" Coach cried angrily.
The man in the white suit leaned on his knees in attempt to catch his breath.
"Looks like there's been a change of plans."
"This is some bullshit!" the young man shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Aw, man, I can't believe this!"
"You think they saw us?" the woman inquired, watching as the last helicopter joined the flock in the sky.
"They saw us alright," the suited man replied bitterly.
The new group shortly exchanged acknowledging glances, then proceeded to a table set up by the doors they had come from. On it was a P220 handgun, a crowbar, a baseball bat, and four red first aid kits. The gang shared awkward looks, then chose their weapons and strapped the health kits to their backs. It was an instinct they couldn't help, and it was their instincts that was going to keep them alive.
"Looks like they're headin' to the mall," Coach stated, nodding to the skies as the aircraft floated away. "C'mon."
"You think the world's gone to hell?" the man in the suit quipped as he grabbed the handgun. "I'm takin' a weapon."
He bust open the adjacent door to the staircase leading to the uppermost floor of conference rooms and they followed after him. They all stopped, staring at the door leading back into the hotel that they had previously tried to escape from; then, they looked to each other, only Coach seeming to have a somewhat positive answer.
"A'ight, behind this here door, hell's waitin' for us," he began. "We got to stick together to survive. I dunno what them things is, all I know's we can't be gettin' bit. Elevator's down the hall, not too far; if we can get to it, we can get outta here before the whole thing goes up in flames. Got it?"
The new team nodded slowly, their weapons wielded securely in their hands. Coach opened the door and carefully stepped through, making sure to scan all the open rooms before proceeding. The current floor was not yet affected by the fire, but was completely abandoned, save for the conference tables littered with marked maps and a dry-erase board in the far corner. Rochelle retrieved the maps, rolled them up as thin and small as she could, stuffed them into her pockets, then rejoined the group in the hallway. At Coach's signal, the survivors took off running, fighting to keep their balance as the floors rocked beneath them. They followed the signs leading to the elevator and rounded a left corner; before they could go any further, however, a man in a tattered business suit stumbled out of one of the suites, wheezing and dripping with crimson. It took notice of them, growled, and charged for Coach, who was the nearest; he swung his bat and collided with the creature's head, splattering brain matter onto the walls.
"C'mon!" he shouted, motioning for the gang to follow as he passed a room full of the same creatures.
With a series of violent shrieks, the group of about ten ran from the room toward them, throwing their arms out and lunging for them.
"Get back! Get back!" the young man shouted, pumping his shotgun and blasting two of them with one shot. "Git to the elevator!"
He thrust the butt of his shotgun at another oncoming attack, knocking it into the approaching mob and briefly stumbling them. He pumped his shotgun once more and unloaded another shell, taking one in the side of the head. The woman in the orange t-shirt began dispensing whatever was left of her Magnum into several more, only catching about half of what she aimed at. Then she took the crowbar and began to swing, hitting a few more but only knocking them to their knees. She pushed the man in the white suit forward and kept running, with the mechanic following closely behind.
"Git in here!" Coach called from inside the elevator, blocking the doors. "Hurry!"
The trio soared into the elevator just as Coach fell back from the doors. The young man fired another shot into the charging crowd, briefly stumbling them until the doors shut. They fell silent as the elevator music began and a meek wave of mild relief settled over them only briefly.
"Holy shit! This is some sorta nightmare gah-damn zombie apocalypse an' shit!" the young man exclaimed excitedly. "Shit, shit, shit, the hell are we gon' do."
"Settle down, son," Coach said, rubbing his temples. "Everything's gonna be all right. What's your name?"
"Ellis. Name's Ellis."
"Hey, I'm Rochelle," the woman stated to the three of them. "You?"
"You did good out there, Rochelle," the man in the suit replied. "The name's Nick."
As they plunged deeper into the floors of the hotel, smoke began to fill the tiny space and the temperature rose. At about the fourth floor, the elevator suddenly stopped, staggering the survivors inside. The lights and music shut off, and the doors remained sealed.
"Aw, dammit!" Ellis cried, pounding into the control console. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"
"It ain't no use, Ellis," Coach said, then looked at Rochelle. "We got to pry our way through. Hand me your crowbar, please, Miss Rochelle."
She did so, and Coach took it, driving it between the steel doors. With an elongated groan, he managed to wedge them open, at the expense of a horrible, screeching noise emitting from it. Once he bust open the doors, he tossed the crowbar back to Rochelle and gestured for them to follow. As they stepped out into the smoke, they immediately began to cough; their line of sight was terribly obscured, and it was an understatement to say it was hot. The fire was spreading wildly, now consuming most of the hotel rooms and blocking their way forward. They rounded a corner, searching for the exit to the stairway, until a wall of fiery debris exploded and barricaded their path.
"Shit!" Nick cried. He turned and slammed into one of the only unlit rooms, a janitorial closet, and dragging Rochelle by the wrist with Ellis and Coach trailing after them.
"Look, we can walk on the balconies," Rochelle pointed out, awkwardly freeing herself from his grasp and pointing outside of a window. "Let's get out of here."
She ran up to the window, turned her head, and bust the pane with the crowbar. Then she hopped out onto the ledge, not waiting for them to follow. The rest of the gang did the same, except for Coach, who stared out for a second while hesitating. Nick stopped as well, watching Coach sympathetically. He held out his hand.
"C'mon, Coach, don't look down," he encouraged him. "Stay close to the wall, and keep your eyes on Rochelle. It's not that far a drop anyway."
"You guys ain't as heavy as me, though," he said, positioning himself on the ledge carefully. He leaned against the wall and side-stepped as quickly as he could toward them, until he heard Rochelle scream and the blast of a gun.
"Shit, they're comin' this way!" Ellis shouted, backing up into Nick, who began to stumble. "Back up, back up!"
"Watch it, Ellis!" Nick yelled sorely.
The window on the opposite end of the hotel had burst, now pouring with a crowd of infected things, some charging at them and some spilling over the edge to their final death. They stumbled over each other to get to them, their mouths gaping and bellies rounded from just having recently fed. Rochelle swung her crowbar, sending two of them flying from the ledge but throwing her off balance. Just as she was about to topple over the balcony after them, Ellis caught hold of her arm, and Nick of Ellis. Using each other as leverage, they hauled Rochelle back onto her feet, who immediately sank back against the wall with her hands to her head.
"Stay down!" Ellis commanded, pointing his shotgun at the horde. "C'mon, you sons-a-bitches!"
Pump after pump, Ellis blasted them to bits, knocking the corpses over the sides until he could fire no more. The horde seemed to never end, as more of them came running. Ellis searched his pockets in a panic, retrieving a few shells and struggling to reload them. All of a sudden, Nick pressed his hand against Ellis, pinning him to the wall. He then aimed his tiny P220 pistol and fired at the creatures, nailing every single one of them in the head for ten consecutive shots. The horde soon trickled into a quartet, eagerly tripping over the bodies that had piled messily on the balconies and plunging to their eminent death.
"Great shot, Nick," Coach said from behind him.
"No problem, big guy," he replied, blowing at the tip of his handgun. "Magazine's completely out though."
"Alright, I got my gun loaded," Ellis declared, slightly envious. "Let's go."
Rochelle shakily stood to her feet, moving forward with her hands and back on the wall. She never said a word until she reached the window where they had come from, and plunged through to safety...from falling. A few more of the infected charged upon noticing her, ending in their demise as she crushed them with her makeshift weapon. When the room was cleared, she buckled to her knees, trembling with shock. The rest entered after her, scoping out the room as well. Nick was the first to offer her his hand.
"Hey, you're not done yet," he tried to reassure her as she took his hand gingerly and stood. "C'mon, we got your back."
"Hey, y'all, there's guns here," Ellis said, holding out two more pistols he retrieved from a writing desk for Rochelle and Nick. "Take 'em so we can git outta here once an' for all."
Coach was peering out into the hallway, then turned and faced the survivors.
"Looks like the exit stairs are a couple doors down," he said gruffly. "There's a big group in front of the elevator across from it. You guys ready?"
Nick checked the chamber of his pistol, cocked it, and nodded; Rochelle did the same. Ellis pumped his shotgun, a smirk playing at his youthful features.
"Ready."
"Let's go."
"Oh, wait," Nick said, running over the tear the drapes from the window. "I've got an idea."
They all ran out into the blazing hallway, alerting a dense horde that had accumulated next to the elevator shaft as they did so. Coach swung his bat at a few that were in the way, running full speed toward the emergency exit staircase with the gang closely behind. Ellis and Rochelle opened fire at the clump, catching a few and knocking the horde back. They reached the exit, with Coach plunging the doors open with his body weight and Rochelle and Ellis jumping in after. Nick was still in the hallway, dragging the curtains that were now on fire toward the exit.
"What the hell is he doin'?" Rochelle voiced in disbelief.
Ellis was holding the door open, blasting slugs at the closest targets to Nick until he reached the door with the drapes still in hand. When they were all inside, he let the curtains drop in front of the door to create a fire wall and keep the creatures out.
"Let's go," he said, and the group continued down the staircase into a thicker shroud of black smoke.
The four soon began hacking as they reached the first floor and thrust open the emergency exit into the empty lobby of the Vannah. The receptionists were strewn over the front desk, mutilated beyond all recognition; bodies of the same gruesome fate were piled up alongside the walls, some covered with blankets but most out in the open, including the Hazmat suited workers. None were animated, and most were missing chunks of their skulls and abdomens. Behind the group, another wall of the hotel exploded into wildfire, completely engulfed; ahead of the survivors across the plaza was the lounge, whose oak doors had been replaced by cast iron ones with protective bars.
"Look ahead!" Coach shouted. "It looks safe in there! Get inside!"
"Oh, thank God," Rochelle exhaled, upon reaching the safe room. "I need to sit down."
Once they all gathered inside, Nick and Coach sealed the door and barricaded it with most of the furniture inside the office.
"Ha-ha!" Ellis exclaimed joyfully. "We make a pretty damn good team!"
"It ain't over yet, kid," Coach said, walking over to the exit on the opposite end and staring out onto the street. "We only checked out of a hotel. We still need to get to the mall."
The outbreak had now become an northeastern pandemic and was quickly spreading south. Outside the walls of the hotel in swarms, the infected had multiplied. They lingered about endlessly in the streets, fighting among each other, vomiting while overcome with the sickness, and grumbling like weary animals. Many were missing limbs and bleeding, but that didn't seem to phase them; not as much as the lack of fresh meat did. They were on an endless search of their next feed and would relent for nothing until they found it. Somewhere off in the greater distance, gun shots and explosions could be heard, indicating that there were other survivors besides the four stuck in the front of a grand hotel now consumed by fire.
DISCLAIMER* I DO NOT own any of the Left 4 Dead 2 characters or title, obviously; everything is solely inspired by the original games created by Valve.