Starring
Jack as himself Frank as himself Ryan as himself Alex as himself
TWO WEEKS AFTER FIRST INFECTION
The Streets
A mottled grey hand stretched forward, reaching for the tall, dark blue column rising above. It squealed and looked up, pale white eyes glowing briefly as light fell upon them. A black boot crushed its neck back down into the rough asphalt. It stared into a dark hole the size of its head until there was a brilliant flash of light and brief, deafening blast, and then it splayed back against the street, a dark red splotch of blood splashed across the road. "That's the end of that," said Jack, stepping off the dead zombie and holstering his .45 pistol.
"So much for this idea," said Ryan, dropping his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it beneath his brown boots. He kicked the idle police cruiser and snarled.
"So much for safety, you mean," said Frank, sighing and scratching at his grey mustache. He looked down the street at the makeshift barricades made by police cars. It hadn't helped them much, as the unformed corpse at their feet attested. "Doesn't look like anyone got outta this."
"Well, I heard the military's still running evac trains out of the station," said Alex, the final member of the group. "Maybe, we should head there," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Dude, if the cops are gone, what makes you think that station's still running?" asked Ryan.
"You got any better ideas?" asked Alex, spreading his arms.
Ryan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, kicking at the ground. "No," he grunted.
"That settles it, then," said Jack, bashing in the window of the cruiser with the dead officer's nightstick. He discarded it as he reached inside and pulled out a shotgun, cocking it and checking its ammo. "We've got a train to catch."
"Better grab some bigger guns. Looks like it'll be a slog," said Frank, nodding at the infected shambling between the cars. He pulled a shotgun of his own from the stiff hands of an ex-cop. Alex and Ryan nodded, checking the open trunk of the cruiser and grabbing a pair of submachine guns. Jack jumped up on top of the car, took aim, and took the head off one zombie with a single shotgun blast. He chuckled and jumped onto the back of the next car. "This'll be fun," he said, grinning and detonating the head of another infected. "Follow me!" he shouted, jumping to another car.
"He makes a lot of goddamn noise," said Alex, rubbing his forehead. A pair of infected grunted in alarm and ran at them, squealing. Alex and Ryan raised their weapons and quickly cut them down with short bursts of fire.
"He makes a goddamn mess, too," said Ryan. "But I'm not encouraging him to change that habit." Jack was already far ahead of them, picking off a large pack of infected one by one as they attempted to climb onto his perch. When they all lay in ring around him, he smirked and rapidly flicked his thumb, as if pressing a button in his fist. "Slowpokes!" he shouted. "I've still got triple your body counts!"
"You're not getting my first aid when you use yours first!" Ryan shouted back. They picked off the stragglers that rushed down the steps from the police station.
"Damn thing kicks like an ass," said Alex. He straightened his red hoodie and looked up at the station. "They've gotta have some better guns in there. A lot of them."
"Hey, buddy," said Ryan, holding out his hand and wearing an exaggerated smile on his face. "See these guys? The guys we're shooting? Yeah, they're coming from inside there. The only things in there are zombies. A lot of them."
"Yeah, well, I don't like your jacket," said Alex. Ryan scowled.
"Eh, he's right, kid," Frank sighed. "Let's leave that hive well alone."
Alex groaned. "It's not like we won't be able to get out. I'm sure Ryan knows the place by the back of his hand."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Go back to your computer games, runt. Then you can take more than one hit before you go down."
Ahead, Jack was leaning against a wall, waving at them. "Oi! Over here, slowpokes! Do I have to do all the work around here?" he yelled, smirking. An infected grunted in surprise and dashed towards him. Alex began to shout a warning when Jack suddenly sprang into action, drawing a machete out of the holster behind his left shoulder and spinning around, right arm slashing in a wide arc. The weapon cleanly passed through the zombie's neck with almost no resistance. As Jack's arm concluded its arc, the severed head tumbled to the ground. Jack stepped slightly to his left to avoid the body, which fell past him as its momentum continued to carry it forward. Jack turned, smirking, black blood staining his weapon and some drops sprayed across his face. "That's how it's done, ladies," he said, placing his boot on top of the beheaded corpse and leaning forward against the knee.
"You keep that thing damn sharp, Jack," said Frank, nodding his head slightly.
"Thank you," Jack replied, nodding back. "Aside from an uncontrolled blaze or a bomb that can level a city block, this girl's my weapon of choice. Gotta take care of your loved ones." Jack stepped off of the body and holstered his machete. "Roads blocked, boys and girls," he said, motioning at the tall, durable black fences that served as a barricade. He pointed his shotgun to his left. "That alley's clear, though. Of solid obstructions, at least."
Alex sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Looks like we head that way, then."
Jack pointed at him, thumb up and other three fingers bent back, and nodded his head. "I'll take point." He raised his shotgun and waved the flashlight beam around the dark alleyway. He crept down and turned the corner, blasting an idle infected leaning against the wall. "Clear here."
Frank held up a hand, eyes scanning the rooftops. "Hang on, I thought I heard something." They stood there, motionless and silent, for several moments before a phlegmatic gurgle, almost as if someone was choking or drowning, echoed through the narrow passage. "That was definitely something," said Alex. "What is it…that fat one. The fat guy who explodes."
"Boomer," said Jack, crouching, listening, and scanning the alley ahead. There was another gurgle, different from the first. His eyes eventually rolled upward.
"Nice name," said Ryan, grunting in contempt. "I'd rather call 'em 'Fatso' myse-"
Jack whipped his shotgun straight up into the air and fired. The Boomer exploded in midair, showering them with bits of gore and drops of a greenish liquid, sticky like phlegm.
"Oh, nice fucking shot, Jack!" Ryan groaned, spreading his arms and looking over the bile covering him. "Ruined my favorite jacket…"
"Fitting name, I think," said Frank.
Jack pumped his shotgun. "Company incoming!" he shouted. A mob of sprinting zombies rushed around the corner. The group opened up with their weapons, cutting most of them down. Several infected suddenly began appearing between them.
"They're dropping in from the rooftops!" Alex shouted, shifting his aim accordingly. He shoved the nearest infected, sending it stumbling backwards into a wall, which allowed him to ventilate it with his submachine gun.
"Jack, your back!" Frank yelled, aiming at the pack surrounding Jack carefully.
"Least of my problems, old man!" Jack grunted, shoving back three infected attempting to claw at his face. A zombie grabbed his arm from behind and made a shallow bite as Jack pulled it away. Another slashed at his back. Growling in anger and grunting in pain, Jack pushed backwards and smashed them against the wall, stunning them momentarily and allowing him to spin around and kill both with one shell. He turned again and struck the others rushing towards him with the butt of his weapon, then blasted them.
A shriek pierced the din. Ryan cursed as he reloaded his weapon, spotting a dark, blurry shape leaping towards him from the rooftop above. "Hunter!" he yelled, just before it slammed him to the ground, sending his weapon tumbling away. It ripped at his shirt, clawing a gash in his chest. "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!"
Frank threw himself at the Hunter, causing it to roll off Ryan. It scrambled back onto all fours with astonishing agility and shrieked again. Frank fired his shotgun just as it lunged for him, and sidestepped the dead weight as its momentum crashed it into the wall. "You okay?" he asked, grabbing Ryan's outreached hand and hauling him to his feet.
"Quick on your feet for an old man," Ryan replied, scooping up his submachine gun.
"I'm not that old yet," Frank chuckled. They turned to the others. "We clear?"
Alex's gun cracked and an infected fell to the ground like a rag doll. He reloaded and nodded. Jack finished demolishing the chest of the last zombie with his machete and leaned against the wall, panting heavily. "Yeah," he grunted. "I think we're clear."
"Lemme take a look at that," said Frank, grabbing Jack's arm. "They took quite a chunk out of you."
"I've had worse," Jack replied, motioning at his right leg with the machete. He stuck it back in the holster and grabbed his shotgun. "I'll pop some codeine and it won't be a problem."
Frank pulled out his first aid kit nonetheless, withdrawing some bandages. "Patch yourself up, boy." Sighing, Jack snatched the roll from Frank's hands and went about wrapping them around the bite. Alex wandered out ahead and peered around the corner.
"Street outlet here. We're past the barricade on this side," he shouted back. Frank appeared at his side, strapping the health pack onto his back.
"See where it leads?"
Alex peered around the corner again. "Looks like that Boomer cleared out a lot of the infected here. I only see a few wandering about in the street. There's a semi jackknifed in the middle of the road." Alex turned around to find the others arrayed behind him. Ryan cursed under his breath. "We'll find a detour."
The group spread out into the street and cut down the wandering infected with carefully-aimed shots, then rushed down the street. Alex, being the skinniest of the four, attempt to squeeze through the gap between the semi and its trailer, but to no avail. "Too small for the rest of you, and I think there's another truck crashed into the cab here, so it's blocked anyways," he said, jumping down. He spotted a metal door beneath illuminated beneath a light in the side of the brick building across the street. "Hey, Jack, mind making us a path into that store?" he asked, motioning at the door with his weapon.
"No problem," Jack replied, nodding. He walked over, lifted a leg, and slammed his boot into the face of the door. The jam broke and the door swung inside, hinges strained and lock broken. He swept the back room of the convenience store with his flashlight. There was a corpse propped against the wall, surrounded by smears and pools of dried blood. Its stomach was ripped open and loose strands of intestine protruded from the gap. Jack blinked and moved inside. "Clear in here."
Jack carefully swung open the door to find himself behind the counter of a dark convenience store. An infected immediately swung its head in the direction of the noise, white eyes glinting briefly from the light outside. A shotgun blast blew apart its upper torso. There were squeals and murmurs as another pair of formerly-idle infected charged around the shelves and at the counter, but they were little trouble. As the others stepped inside, Jack investigated the looted store for supplies. Checking the eyes, he face lit up and he smiled broadly. "Guys, check this out!" he said enthusiastically. He hefted a bottle filled with liquid and a rag stuck into the neck. "Molotovs!" He strapped the first one to his belt and handed a second one to Ryan.
"Haven't seen any of these in a while," Ryan said, putting the bottle into a pocket inside his brown jacket.
"Why don't I get one?" asked Alex, scowling at Jack.
"Find me some metal piping and I can make you a pipe bomb," Jack replied. Alex grinned.
"That's a mission."
"Heads up, fellows," said Frank, staring out the front windows. He pointed across the street. "Safehouse ahead!" A spray-painted house with a cross inside, along with red, steel door marked a dilapidated garage as a temporary safe haven from the apocalypse. A handful of infected shambled around in the street.
Jack slung his shotgun across his back and drew his machete, turning to the others with a smile on his face. "Bet you the next grenade I can take down more zombies with this than the three of you can with your fancy guns," he bragged.
The other three chuckled and hefted their weapons. Jack threw the front door of the store open and charged out, hacking and slashing at the infected. Ryan, Frank, and Alex mowed down the rest as they charged towards him. Alex watched Jack with a warped admiration. It was bloody, brutal work to engage the infected up close and personal, but Jack made it look like a game. Like art. Alex remembered a conversation they had had with him about it days ago: "I'm a machete artist. Their faces are my canvas," he had said. Alex chuckled at the memory. I wonder what he was like at war, he thought. Alex reloaded his weapon and followed Ryan and Frank into the safehouse. "Let's go, Jack!" he called, beckoning for the large man to follow.
Jack held up a finger and turned to face a charging infected. He chopped off its arm as it lunged for him, sidestepped, and pushed it into the wall. As it stumbled and turned, he stepped forward and hacked off its other arm, then a leg with a smooth downward sweep of his blade. It fell to the ground and snarled up at him just as his boot descended and smashed in its skull. "All done!" he said, smiling. He bounded through the door and Alex threw it shut. A dozen infected slammed into it, pounding at it with their fists in futility.
"I think we won that bet, Jack," said Alex.
Jack pointed at them with both index fingers, thumbs up and smiling. "Good job. Now go argue about who gets that grenade."
Ryan narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Damn you."
Hi. This is an all-OC story. It's in five parts, two are up. I tried to make it feel like a real campaign, but with more banter/dialogue because describing settings is not my best skill and fights in Left 4 Dead get repetitive in a narrative (basically, zombies attack, kill zombies, rinse and repeat, you can only really vary the settings and outcomes of fights, I've found). So yeah, I hope you like it, whoever's reading this.