Municipal Wasteland
000
Basic, Animalistic
000
Pulling the hood of his blue-gray jacket over his head, Taggart White left the video game store stepped onto the crowded sidewalk. He shoved his hands into the hoodie pockets and thumbed at a carefully folded piece of paper, and squinted. After a particularly busy day's work at the store, Taggart just wanted to get home, eat, and chill out with a violent game.
Plugging his ear-buds in, the heavy sounds of Mudvayne almost blocked every other sound of the world out – except for the obnoxiously loud, wet coughing coming to the right of him.
Glancing to the side, he saw the offender was a middle-aged man who was hacking viciously into the palms of his hands. Scowling, Taggart figured the man to be one of the people who'd caught the newly spread illness; the sallow, dry skin and sunken cheeks…and he just reeked of a sick person.
Taggart scowled and quickened his pace, moving ahead of the guy until he stopped at the crosswalk. Waiting for the signal, he crossed the street and went down the second-to-the-last block from his apartment building, the street that had the city's main law office on it. This particular block was usually a place he looked forward to passing through. Almost every time he walked down this way, he was sure to see his favorite stranger; a chain-smoking, rough-looking law office worker who always stood outside on the steps.
Today was a lucky one, for the man he gained an attraction for was indeed standing in his usual spot, token cigarette sticking outta his mouth. Taggart, not all that shy, always made sure he and the stranger made eye contact, sometimes even throwing in a devious smirk. The smirk and the stares were always returned with that same hint of lustful attraction.
The guy looked like a good, hard fuck, and Taggart had to admit, that's exactly what he liked. Maybe they'd be able to get together and…?
Feeling even luckier, Taggart whirled back around and headed up the set of concrete steps to where the taller man stood. Not breaking eye contact, he pulled the paper from his pocket and handed it to the smoker.
The older male eyed him for a minute before taking hold of the item, and unfolded it. Looking over the paper-face he ran a hand through his short black hair before removing the cigarette from his mouth. Taking the cancer stick, he held the glowing cherry to a tip of the paper, letting it ignite.
Seeing that paper burned and discarded left Taggart absolutely stunned for a moment. His mouth was gaped open and his blue eyes were wide as he looked from the ashes to the grey, bored eyes of the smoker.
"Y-you fuck," he stammered. "That had my fuckin' name an' number on it!"
The smoker's cocky smirk almost threw Taggart into a violent burst of rage, but the younger male held it all in and stormed down the stairs. Turning sharply, he trudged down the rest of the way to his apartment building, pissed off out of his mind.
000
"What the fuck was that shit? I mean, c'mon, he – we - !" He hissed to himself as he struggled to unlock the door to his home.
Finally getting it open, he pushed past the heavy door and slammed it behind himself. Flipping the locks into place, he stormed to his couch and dropped onto it, arms crossed. He stared up at the off-white ceiling, a deep scowl set into his handsome features.
"Asshole was just playin' with me, I guess…"
Shifting himself so that he was on his left side, he grabbed the remote off the arm of the couch and turned on the TV. Flipping through the stations, he stopped when he found Comedy Central, deciding he'd spend the rest of the evening watching stand-up comics.
Great, just what he'd been planning. But, he could use a few laughs right now, so whatever. Jim Gaffigan whimpered something about bacon and Taggart barked out a laugh, his mood brightening just some.
It was about eight o' clock in the evening, two hours after he'd gotten home, when the tinny ringtone of 'Not Falling' screamed into the living room. Wondering who it could be, he lazily removed himself from the couch and walked over to the counter where he'd left his cell. Flipping it open, he pressed the green button and held it to his ear, muttering an absent 'what'.
"What a pleasant way to answer your phone," the gruff voice on the other end answered, a hint of snark in his tone.
Furrowing his brow, Taggart rolled his eyes, "Yeh, whatever. Who is this?"
"Liam Grayson, the guy from the law office."
"The jackass that burned the paper I gave him? That had my number on it, you dick! What the Hell, I was just makin' an offer at ya!"
"Settle down, I burned it because I don't need a paper for reference."
Taggart squinted at the TV, not really understanding the sentence. "Whaddya mean?" he asked.
"Eh, let's just say I got a good memory when it comes to numbers and names."
Feeling slight hope replace the rage in his guts, he tried to keep his tone casual and questioning, "Ah. So, uh, so whaddid ya call for?"
"You basically asked me to. Any conversation's on you, I'm just responding to your request." There was that cockiness again.
Getting frustrated with more than just the guy's attitude, Taggart decided he might as well just be straight-forward with Liam. "Don't really wanna talk, just fuck."
The sudden hacking cough on the other end was more from the cigarettes than any surprise. Taggart wasn't sure, but his ego told him he'd briefly stunned the guy, and he smirked. "Uh-huh," Liam grunted. "And where would you like for this to take place, eh?"
' …Wow, does he actually wanna…? Or is this more of his sarcasm shit? ' Shaking his head, Taggart cleared his throat. "Like in my apartment or somethin'; jeez, I dunno, I didn't think you'd wanna."
"Got nothing better to do and it's not a week night. You're cute too, I guess." Taggart could hear the other male light up a cigarette.
Feeling his chest constrict in bottled excitement, the 26-year-old grinned. "So d'ya wanna?"
"Woulda hung up on you if I didn't," Liam stated.
Taggart gave him the directions to his home, which Liam was actually walking distance from, and went back to the couch to wait. Twenty minutes or so later, there was a heavy knock on the door.
With a brief snap of nerves, he drug a hand through his short blond bangs and headed to the door. After peeking through the peep hole, he unlocked the door and opened it, letting Liam in.
Liam pushed passed the younger male and looked around the living room area before heading into the kitchen where he began to dig through random cabinets.
"Dude, what the Hell are you doing?" Taggart asked as he stepped behind him, confusion on his face. It was then that he noticed the bloody bite mark dug into Liam's left shoulder, parts of his skin laced in cuts and scrapes. "Holy fu – what happened?"
Still rifling through the cabinets, knocking random items out, he grunted, "Some fuckin' loser tried to mug me or somethin', bit me. I beat the shit outta him, but he still got me pretty good."
The blond stared for a moment. "Jeez, whole world's goin' crazy…I got a first-aid kit in my bathroom, I'll patch you up there," Taggart stated, jabbing a thumb in the direction he'd intended. Liam nodded and followed after him, careful not to bump his shoulder on a wall as he rounded the corner.
Setting himself down on the toilet, Liam took off his black tie and began to unbutton his white dress shirt, which was now ruined by blood and tears. Slipping the shirt off, he ignored Taggart's amused stares and waited for the kid to get started with wiping away the blood.
As he moved the put alcohol on the bite wound, Taggart's eyes widened and his brow furrowed. "Dude, this thing's already infected-looking!" The wound was an angry red, and was beginning to swell. Beneath some of the visible muscle, small glimmers of yellowed pus were trying to seep their way out.
He shrugged, and then winced automatically. "'Asshole had some wrecked teeth…prolly caught some bacteria from 'em. Just start cleaning it anyway, if it gets any worse I'll have a doctor check it out."
Taggart gave his own shrug and pressed the alcohol-soaked pads to the bite. Liam hissed, but other than that he took the wound-dressing with ease. He continued onto the scratches, which were also gaining an infected appearance, but he just chalked it up the attacker having filthy fingernails. Maybe the guy was homeless?
Once the bandaging was all finished, the two were quick to remove the rest of their clothes as they stumbled into the darkness of Taggart's bedroom. The two were careful to avoid Liam's new damages, but otherwise were rough and forceful, both men in ecstasy for the night.
The only other sound in the apartment home was whatever noise came from the television set in the living room.
000
Liam lay in the tangled sheets of Taggart's small double-bed, staring up at the shadows passing over the ceiling. Taggart was passed out with his head against Liam's safe shoulder, and all was quiet, though the distant sound of the television could be heard.
Snorting softly to himself, he thought about how the past day would've been like any other day had this kid not randomly come up to him from the street. Good thing he remembered the phone number…
He sighed contentedly, feeling the stickiness of remaining sweat and semen, knowing he'd really need a shower in the morning. Looking at the alarm clock on the nightstand and seeing that it was well past 2 in the morning, he figured that'd be soon enough.
Looking down at the masculine but gentle features on Taggart's face, another thought came to is tired mind; this kid, though he'd only known him for a couple of hours, was starting to grow on him. It was probably his stubbornness. Yeh, he was glad the past day ended up being different from the rest.
Just as a smile began to settle on his face, it quickly turned into an awkward frown of rushing pain, and he bit back a cry. A horrible burning sensation burst around the wound on his shoulder and began to spread its way through his body, especially making home in his chest.
Despite the pain in his left arm, he clutched desperately at his chest and clenched his yellowed teeth tightly against each other. His lungs felt so weird inside him, hammering bizarrely against his ribcage as he breathed in, like they were expanding and retracting. The skin on the left side of his body began to itch insanely, and his throat started to feel constricted.
He had to get to the bathroom and see what the fuck was going on. Managing to free himself without waking Taggart, he stumbled into the bathroom and threw on the light switch.
What met his sight when he looked in the mirror almost knocked him back against the wall, but he could only blink dumbly. The skin that had been itching so fiercely looked as though it was pulsing, moving like it was trying to stretch some. As for the skin on the rest of his body, it'd become a sickly gray-green color, dry and death-like. His lips were chapped and blackened and his teeth appeared to be rotting and sharpening rapidly – much like the nails on his fingers. His eyes, once gray and tired, were now almost white and were bloodshot, sunken into his sweaty face.
He shook his head till it ached, and dropped to the floor to gather his clothes and get dressed. When he stood back up, clothes and hair in a disheveled mess, he whimpered in disgust and fright. The skin that'd been moving had now swelled into bubble-like boils, and they throbbed on his head and neck sides, pulsating on down to his left shoulder blade and pectoral.
What disturbed him most was the feeling inside of him that made it seems as if his organs were rearranging – or reforming. And his tongue…it seemed to be extending! And with each new inch of extension, it retracted itself within his throat through a newly formed pocket of skin.
Ruined eyes wide and fearful at the sight, he back up and out of the bathroom. He ran to the kitchen's outer counter and grabbed a notepad and pen off it, starting to write furiously. He was surprised that he was still able to write, despite his horrific transformation, but that was the least of his problems. He scribbled out an apology note for Taggart, good luck to the boy if he could read it, and when he was done he tore out of the apartment building and down the street, new speed and agility to his movements.
He was never one to freak out, never over-dramatize anything…but now he was out of his mind in a panic, as scared as he'd ever been. He could only hope that Taggart would be okay, and that all of this was just some crazy, fucked up dream he'd wake up from.
But why wasn't he waking up?
000
Story, characters © Davi J. Mills.
Left 4 Dead and all associated © Valve and Turtle Rock.