I know, I really need to focus on standing stories. However, I can not help that I have an active imagination. The laziness and procrastination is totally something I need to work on though.

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead, its characters, its concepts, or the concepts of anything else I may reference. I do own a few NPCs in this story though - namely Cassandra, her mother, and the soldiers. Warnings for some bad language (swearing) and perhaps gore, not sure about that just yet. Also, I haven't played the second game or any of the DLC so at the moment, I'm pretending they didn't happen.

Chapter 1

I used to think that my dad was a loser and pretty useless, but at least he was there, sometimes, right? Turns out, all he needed was for circumstances to change.

And change they did. The apocalypse hit, and the plagues were zombies.

As much as I hated it before, now I'm pretty glad he taught me how to use guns. Well, him and mom's dad. I used to think there wasn't much point to it, like he thought about my electrical tinkering. Evidently we were both wrong. I've been making pipe bombs out of alarms and I've developed some other... goodies, shall we say, that have the same OGB quality.

...I'm pretty sure he'd be proud of that, if only for the amount of destruction I'm enabling. If he were still around anyway. Stubborn bastard that he is, it doesn't mean he's immune and immunity doesn't seem to run in families from what other survivors have said.

Anyway, why don't I tell you about what's actually happened instead of boring you with my thoughts?

It was a Tuesday when the world went to hell. School had just gotten out for the summer and I was getting shipped off to my dad's for a few weeks, even with all the reports of the epidemics...

"God mom, do I really have to go? I could think of a hell of a lot of things I'd rather do."

"Cassie, you haven't seen your father in over four months or spoken to him in almost as long. He's expecting you."

"Yeah," the teen snorted, rolling hazel eyes with a hint of blue in them. "If he even remembers what day it is. Knowing him, he's already at a bar, picking a fight." She stuffed a small bundle into her bag with more force than was necessary.

"You used to love going to your father's when you were little. What changed? ...Did he do anything to you?"

"No mom! It's just that he's so embarrassing! He's a muscle-bound, juvenile idiot."

Her mother suppressed a cough. "I know your father isn't the most intelligent of men, but he loves you, even if he isn't very good at showing it. Now that you're older, you should give him a chance, try to get to know him better. I don't want you to regret not having a relationship with him."

"Yeah, fine mom. Whatever." She zipped her bag then threw a jacket on and crammed a baseball cap over her brown hair, pulling it through the hole in the back. "Try not to get knocked up again," she shot as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder.

"Cassandra!"

"What mom?" she snarled, spinning to face her mother. "You can't expect me to not think it when you ship me off every break and pick up some new jackass while I'm gone. You've had three abortions in as many years. And that line about a relationship with my dad is rich coming from you. When was the last time you even opened one of grandpa's letters? Either be a mother or be a whore. At least da–"

CRACK!

Cassie blinked a couple times in surprise, slowly lifting a hand to cover her stinging cheek.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that again!"

Cold eyes focused on the elder woman, the blue more pronounced with her anger. "Congratulations, mom. You've managed to turn out like a couple of those abusive fucks you keep managing to find." She shook her head and let her hand drop. "Why don't you try rehab again, but without treating it like a singles bar?"

Before her mother could respond, Cassie stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

As she walked to the nearest subway station, she mostly ignored the warnings about the sickness going around and the people wearing face masks. The train she boarded was nearly empty because of this.

Cassie exchanged wary looks with the other two passengers, a couple, as she moved to the far end of the car and sprawled over a couple seats with the intent to sleep through the three hour ride to Fairfield.

The screeching shriek of the brakes was what woke Cassie. She sat up to see where they were, but she didn't make it further than her co-inhabitants of the car.

The woman was laying on the ground, legs splayed, and the man was straddling her, blocking any further view from Cassie.

Her lip curled. "Geez, get a room," she muttered, pushing up to look out the window. It was then that she realized something was way wrong.

The train was slowing, but that did nothing to lessen the harsh vibrations that were causing the train cars to sway so much.

A moan drew her attention and she looked at the couple again. Several things flashed through her perception in quick succession, as events are wont to do when adrenaline is involved, but not being absorbed immediately: the man getting to his feet, standing over the, as she could now see, dead woman; his turning; the blood splattered over him and smeared around his mouth; the glassy quality to his eyes; the train car jerking as it began to derail; the window next to the man shattering inward, one of the larger shards, through some insane move of fate, embedding itself deep into his temple.

It was as the man was collapsing that one end of the car slammed into one of the platforms at a station, throwing Cassie from her feet and tossing the bodies like rag dolls. She hit the edge of the seats next to her and fell into darkness.

So that was my first encounter with the infection. Looking back, I'm actually kind of glad I was out for the rest of the crash. I have no idea how I managed to survive, much less come out with only bruises, but I'm pretty sure that if I had been conscious, I would have panicked.

And people get stupid when they panic. I hate acting stupid.

Since I was out, I missed the sound of metal crumpling and tearing like paper; I missed the screams of terror, quite a few of which I assume were cut off suddenly; I missed people crawling from the wreckage only to have zombies mob them; I missed seeing those people die, get beaten, get eaten, turn; I missed being one of those people; I missed losing that bit of innocence just then...

And I haven't decided if that's a good thing.

OGB - object likely to go boom