Hello! I wrote this whole story a few years ago and upon rereading it (can you say plot holes, grammatical mistakes, and general errors galore?) I decided that it needed a serious revamping. So I'm redoing a lot of the story. Most of it will stay the same, I might cut out a few tiny bits and add a little here and there, but I'm mostly just trimming edges to make it more presentable.

Disclaimer: Most of this story is just original characters, but there are a few mentions of special infected and a few canonical things in the Left 4 Dead series. Anything you recognize isn't mine.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy! Warnings and rating changes will be at the beginnings of every chapter.


Outnumbered

Chapter One

"The virus has completely devastated over 150 of the United State's major regions and is spreading rapidly. Be on guard of any loved ones who may have recently been in any contact with the infected. If you suspect anyone in your household is ill take them to the nearest hospital for urgent treatment. Again, this is not a drill. This has been a broadcast from the United States Department of Health and Public Welfare."

No one wanted another run in with the infection. Not after what happened back at Darien's. That was two days ago.

No one spoke, nor did the either of the boys urge Levan to help pack up her car. Canned goods were put in the second seat alongside a few bottles of antibiotics Mark found in Ms. Hawthright's medicine cabinet. Bottled water as well as the last few cans of Pepsi was kept in a cooler on the vacant seat in the back.

The seat had had an occupant a few days ago, but he wasn't here now. So they made due with the space. In the trunk they packed clothing. By a stroke of luck Mark found that Ms. Hawthright's bureau revealed a .38 Revolver as well as a pack of ammo still wrapped in cellophane.

Levan refused to sleep alone that night and, eventually, Campbell caved and curled up on the fold out sofa with her. That night the 24 hour broadcasts shut off, anpower soon followed. Mark stumbled through the kitchen for a few flashlights Levan murmured something about, prying them from the cupboard under the sink. These too were packed into the car the next morning.

They all woke early and Campbell scrambled some cheesy eggs because "they'd go bad if we took them with us." When they hiked out to the car Mark brought the blankets, laying them out on the second seat enough to give the blonde girl a makeshift bed.

"You sleep, I'll drive." Campbell took passenger, as well as navigator. They had to drive back a few blocks to his empty Ford and in the glove box lie an atlas. And then they were on their way, AM radio droning in the background.

The 24-hour prerecorded broadcast drowned every station. It spoke of CEDA hotspots such as Atlanta, and New Orleans. Campbell marked these places with red circles before resuming a thoughtful state. Every so often he would speak up.

"Turn left here, Mark." and "Make a right after that stop sign." frequented just as often as the computer animated voice that spoke over the radio. Maybe two hours after driving Mark finally tensed his grip on the steering wheel, eyes remaining on an ominously empty back road. They hadn't seen life since noon, a black Suburban headed the opposite way.

It was almost terrifying how empty the suburbs were. Evacuation notices were strung up like fliers everywhere.

"Where are we going, Bren?" he didn't need to glance over to feel the harsh look he'd received. Joshua Campbell Bren. Back in high school he and a few friends had made it a habit to pick at the hot headed ginger. The nickname developed there. Campbell never really appreciated it, but that was half the fun.

"South, to Mableton. The Atlanta evac isn't there."

"How do you know?"

"Mark, we were there. The whole city has to be burned to the ground by now." The brunette offered a sort of half shrug, fingers flexing on the wheel. Prerecorded news still running at low volume. It was murder to listen to, but last time he'd tried to change the channel he'd received a sharp slap on the wrist by his freckled counterpart.

That certain incident had occurred two days ago, in the course of the first day they'd decided to stop in a car repair garage somewhere downtown Norcross. While Mark hammered some spare plywood on the windows Levan cracked open a loaf of bread to make dinner. Peanut butter sandwiches with chilled jelly from out of the cooler. Campbell poured over the map with a little red pen and a tiny notepad that he scrounged from out of the glove box.

His penmanship was barely readable, Mark stopped trying to read over his shoulder after a moment or so. Resigned to simply ask what it said. Campbell hummed a response, not tearing his gaze away from the paper.

When they would need to stop for gas, when they could stop for the night, when the cooler would need to be replenished, how much food they had, how many batteries for the flashlights and so on. They would also need a gun. Two handguns with about 20 shells each wouldn't do much in the long run.

The guy was a control freak, plotting their trip down to the dot. Mark had to bite back a laugh. Well, if it made him happy.

It was almost pitch black when they retired back into the truck, blankets bundled into pillows as they wriggled for a position comfortable enough to scrounge up a few ounces of sleep. It was a long night.

When dawn broke the garage was bathed in a eerie glow. Day three. Levan made breakfast silently as the boys scavenged around the garage for anything useful. They left a few batteries and a pistol richer. Yet another .38, but it was better than nothing. They at least had ammo for it, Campbell had pointed out.

Three hours later Levan settled herself in the back, flicking through Campbell's notes as he and Mark bickered about the quickest route to New Orleans.

"It's quicker to go down through Redan and hit I-85 from there."

"No, stupid, we need to head towards Douglasville and then go down from there. Plus the traffic on I-85 is going to be insane." Sapphire irises glared at a set of emerald ones. Midday sun reflected off the asphalt, it heated the car - Campbell spoke against turning on the AC for gas reservation purposes. 98 degrees Fahrenheit was ridicules to sit in whilst listening to college boys quarrel like a married couple. She had had about enough of it, too.

"Alright, stop. Campbell, going through Douglasville is quicker and you avoid the toll that's near Redan, my aunt lives in New Orleans and my parents and I used to go visit them every summer," then, in a sort of off handed manner she added, "sorry."

She wasn't sure what was worse, the actual fighting or Campbell's pregnant silence that followed with being wrong to Mark. Honestly, what were they, two?

At around three they stopped on the side of the road and ate a few more peanut butter sandwiches, Mark and Campbell tossing insults at each other whilst sharing another bottle of water. Levan was scouring the map for any familiar town. Begging herself to remember the course her father had always taken.

It had been an entire day since they had seen any other signs of life. Everyone was on edge…what happened in that week they holed out at Darien's? This was insane, it was almost unbelievable. The whole world collapsed in a week and they hadn't even been there to see it.

Everything seemed so out of place. The lack of movement, the dead stopped traffic. It stretched for miles. But there was no one there. No humans, no life. Just vacant cars. Piles upon piles of them - enough to shove their Honda over onto the other side of the road. At least the traffic going into the city was pretty thin

All the windows were yawning open, not only to sift the stale air in the cab. Levan proposed that maybe, if someone was out there, they would make some sort of noise. A car honking, shouting, anything. The radio was flicked off as they all lie in wait. In silence. And God was it awful. At maybe five they decided to begin looking for somewhere to stop.

Auburn was an enormous city, something the three of them didn't want to stray too close to. Not with whatever was making people insane going around. There was bound to be looting, shooting, killing, and God knows what else going on there. At the same time, traveling at night didn't seem too appealing. Did the freaks come out at night? The Infected?

It was a question neither of the three were willing to stick around to answer. Mark knew he should have stopped back in Opelika, but it was too late to turn back. Campbell wasn't helping much with the thought, either.

"Good going, you idiot. Levan and I told you we needed to stop."

"It was only 4, how the fuck was I supposed to know that there's no where else to stop here?" Campbell offered a short, quip laugh.

"We're on fucking the fucking interstate, not on scenic route to nowhere. Where did you think we could stop? The next 5 star hotel we saw?" Fiery sapphire eyes flicked viscously to the redhead. The effort was wasted, however as the man was sifting through the atlas book. It was only when he opened up to shoot a comment back did Levan finally say something from her seat in the back.

"Both of you shut up, God, you're like a damn married couple with all the fighting you two do," there was an exasperating huff - as well as a light flush painting freckled cheeks - before she continued, "Why don't we just turn off into Auburn and stop at the first garage we see. We've got enough food for almost two days before we'll need to stop again and we haven't seen any of those...things, since back...north."

It was still like dousing lemon juice into an oozing gnash whenever Darien's house was mentioned. Or even anything that could be linked to it. The blonde was strong, but not enough to evade utterly breaking down. They didn't really want to risk the chance.

The two boys settled upon glaring at each other before turning away; Mark to the road, Campbell to the map. Why the brunette had to be so difficult was beyond him. It wasn't as if this whole ordeal wasn't stressful enough. Calculating, planning, trying to keep Lev from breaking down. It was hellish! The last thing he needed was a roommate with a sour attitude whining at him.

Crossing off onto the bypass knotted over his stomach, cities meant people. People meant violence...and zombies. None of them particularly wanted a repeat of a few days ago.

"Alright, just keep an eye open for a shop 'er something," the usual, loud voice of his counterpart was atypically quiet. Pursing full lips he sifted fractionally in his seat, trying to refocus on the twists and turns of the map at hand. Force of habit bringing the butt of his pen to chew on thoughtfully.

If they kept to the interstate they could make it to New Orleans by tomorrow - not considering the traffic hold ups they'd encountered all day. More than twice they've had to stop to steer a few other cars off the road, Levan would steer while he and Mark pushed.

It was only when late afternoon began rolling around did they start hearing inhuman groans awakening around them. After that they decided to just take a bit of an off-road excursion. No one willing to get out of the car.

Honestly, he was by no means a body builder - light muscles here and there was about as good as it would get and getting out just to push around a few thousand pounds of car across a potentially dangerous highway was the furthest idea of fun he could think of.

Frowning softly he forced these thoughts away; focus. Evacuation sites aren't bound to last long. Atlanta must have been doomed from the start, he could only pray Louisiana was less...desolate.

It had been almost two days since they'd last seen that car headed north, and even then they didn't actually see the driver…furtively he wondered if such wasn't a bad thing. Their first run in with the plague of the 21st century had been gruesome.

How many others had become one of them? One of the Crazies? The latest news broadcast was almost a week old from what he could gather. Hell, everyone could have been evacuated out by now.

Which begged the question...

What if they were the last three alive? It weighed heavy on his conscious, sank him back into the seat. Almost reflexively he chanced a look over to his counterpart. Mark was focused on the road, eyes fixated on crowded highway, no doubt looking for the correct exit.

His lips were set into a thin line, fingers drumming some unknown tune on the wheel. He must have noted the sudden attention from his red-haired partner because his blue eyes flitted back to Campbell. Grimacing softly said man realized he had been staring. Shit.

"If we turn off up there we'll be in Auburn," It was a faulty cover for spacing out, but Mark just turned back to the road. Force of habit causing him to flick on the turn signal as he merged up the ramp. Auburn: One-Half Mile.

"Are we just going to stop at the first place we see...?"

"It'll probably be like last night, Lev."

"No, because last night we knew what we were doing," he almost regretted being so quip with the brunette, the sour look received told him he'd hit a nerve. It's not as if he didn't know Mark was just trying to help, but honestly, this entire ordeal had him on edge. The thing with Darien and the emptiness they'd seen for the past few days on the road...

That many people didn't just get up and fly off. There was a reason the whole highway was empty.

It might have been twenty minutes down the road when Levan first proposed that they should turn around, that it would be wiser to simply deal with what the night may bring rather than go a bit further into town.

"No, Lev, we need to go just a few more miles," the ginger insisted, "We can't keep driving without sleep." Because getting your full 14 hours is definitely a more pressing issue than the walking dead. It might put a bit of a downer on the day if they were attacked because Mark passed out because of exhaustion at the wheel. So they pressed on.

"Wait, stop," two sets of eyes flitted back to the blond, "Turn over there." Mark obeyed, turning into a relatively empty parking lot. Wal-Mart. A sculpted, ginger eyebrow arched into his bangs. The question didn't honestly need to be asked but his plump lips parted to say it anyway.

"Lev, why are we here?"

"There's always a repair shop behind these dumps. We can, you know, stay there for the night," she smiled, nodding at the "Garage" sign. Mark and Campbell exchanged a pointed glance. It was the latter whom voiced the silent message.

"I don't think that's a good idea," A sour expression painted pink lips at the disapproval, her brow furrowed in an almost determined manner.

"There are only like, six cars in the parking lot, we have three guns, and a half a tank of gas left. We're not going to make it to New Orleans on half a tank, Campbell. Wal-Mart sells tanks of gas and has shelter. And anyway, you're the one who wanted to stop somewhere for the night." Campbell narrowed his eyes before turning back to the dashboard, flicking open the glove box wordlessly to pluck out a gun for himself.

The back was open, they found an abandoned SUV inside. Gutted of everything and anything of value. The front two tires were missing, radio gone, steering wheel in broken leather pieces - as if someone had made effort to take it and left part way through the job. The rest of the room was in disarray. Campbell flexed his grip on the revolver, finger played the trigger.

Something was here. He felt it. Like static before a thunderstorm, or a horror movie. It was a throat compressing tension that wound his body to the breaking point. Oh God. The sound of the engine cutting off made him jolt. When he glanced over Mark was already opening the door to get out. Did he not feel it crawling under his skin like tapeworm? This whole idea made him uneasy.

"Wait, Mark. Where are you going?" His hand had jerked out to grab his roommate's arm. Dark blue irises swung back to meet emerald. Immediately he let his hand drop - a grin split tanned lips.

"Calm down, Bren. I'm just going to check for some oil or something," The red head pursed his lips before turning back to the glove box, withdrawing the other .38. Silently passing it over to the brunette. He cast a glance back to an impassive Levan, she met his gaze a moment before turning to look out the window.

"Okay," his voice came out smaller than he wanted it to.

Then Mark was gone - the audible 'chink' of the back door being opened signified Levan's departure as well. He sat a moment longer, silence skirled about him. Pulsed in his ears. Stuttered his breath. When his fingers brushed the handle of the door he realized Mark had been calling him over. Focus. This was not the time to lose your head.

Forcing a deep breath, his grip tightened. Nudging the door open with his shoulder. In the other hand his grip didn't lax around the trigger. Was no one else nervous? If they were, they hid it well. Like a bad horror movie - the ones where one person knew something awful was about to befall the actors while the others remained oblivious.

But this wasn't a movie. He had never been one for acting, anyway.