Left All Alone: A Left 4 Dead Sidestory

by Zatrion

Two weeks after First Infection, we follow another Survivor in his attempt to escape the madness that has occurred.

Left All Alone – A Left 4 Dead Side-story

This story is based within the storyline of Left 4 Dead, which is an intellectual property belonging to Valve. As such, I lay no claim to the franchise.

2 WEEKS AFTER FIRST INFECTION

Richard was irritated. No, not irritated. Pissed was more the proper word for his mood. The world had gone to hell. The chance of him surviving, or even to meet up with other possible survivors was slim to none. He was hungry, dirty, tired. And behind him was a sizable horde of the Infected emerging from a grove of trees. Pulling out his pistol, he turns partway to the side, his gun directed at the numerous bodies, and proceeds to open fire. Many shots pierce the graying flesh of the feral Infected, and five fall, cutting the horde by half.

Not nearly enough. Another clip is slammed into the breech, and another flurry of shots are fired. Four more are dropped, leaving only one. Not wanting to waste any more ammo, Richard grabs his hatchet from his belt and turns. The Infected one lurches forward, an arm ready to strike, but the action is never done. Its head falls to the ground, the body soon following.

Catching his breath, Richard returns the hatchet to its place on him, as he reloads his pistol. Once those actions are done, he reaches into his pocket and removes a portable GPS. Looking at it, he scowls. "Shit. The evac point's still miles off." Pocketing the GPS, he sighs, which has become a more common occurrence these days. Looking ahead, he spies a smoke plume. If his luck was to par, it'd probably be a burned down home. Still, he needed to be sure. Cocking the pistol, he runs ahead.

15 minutes pass before Richard reaches the source of the smoke plume. He had a few cuts and bruises from both the Infected and the woods he escaped from, but that did little to dampen his mood. It was civilization... sorta. A small ranger outpost. He could fortify it, use it as a safe house for a short bit of time. However, a coughing and hacking sound snaps his moment of joy. A small whisper crosses his lips. "Smoker..." This could be trouble. All he had was his hatchet and pistol. Not nearly enough. However, near the outpost was a small shiny object. Another pistol! That could do the work... problem was, the damn thing was wide out in the open. He'd be a sitting duck. He weighs his options, and the choice is made. "What the hell. It's not like there's much of a choice at all." He dashes out from his spot, rushing towards the extra pistol.

He reaches it and quickly checks it. A full clip. Then a sickening sensation. A firm wetness wrapping around his torso and neck. The Smoker grabbed him. Though being pulled, Richard is able to grab his hatchet and cut off the Smoker's tongue. It tries to flee, but Richard opens up with both pistols. His actions are rewarded with a plume of smoke. He got the damned thing. He stands by the door to the outpost and opens it, checking inside. "Clear. Thank God." He shuts the door, grabs a nearby file cabinet, and presses it against the door he used. "'Bout damn time my luck changed." He finally catches his breath, and looks around the outpost. Maybe he could finally get something to eat.

Night has spread across the expanse of the skies, and Richard is finishing up with an apple. It wasn't much, and there was a lot more, but he thought it best to ration. Getting up, he tosses the apple's core into the trash, before focusing more on any other worthwhile items in the outpost. Numerous desks filled with worthless paperwork, a pair of non-working computers... "Jackpot." Radio equipment. WORKING radio equipment. He could contact the damn military and get an evac. Picking up the microphone, he tunes the radio at certain frequencies. The sound of static is common. Finally, he gets a frequency not wrought with white noise. "Hello?"

"Holy shit, we got a survivor!" The voice on the other side is frantic as other noises surround it. "This is Cpl. Thomas Masters at the Highland Evac Center! State your position!"

"I'm holed up at Ranger Outpost... 22, Spencer Forest! I need an evac vehicle." Richard is ecstatic at the prospect. He could finally get out of this hell!

"Spencer Forest? That place is a deathtrap. We can't afford to send out an evac vehicle to your position. You need to reach the Highland Evac Center immediately!"

"Can't afford..." Richard blubbers a bit at the idea of him being left out to hang. That blubber is soon replaced with a rather tempered rage. "You're telling me that you can't afford to send out one vehicle to my position. Not one?"

"Our resources are stretched thin as it is. If we try to send out a vehicle to gather you... It'd be too much of a risk." Cpl. Masters' voice is tense. "At the very least, I can guide you to a checkpoint that can take you to the evac center."

Richard takes a few deep breaths. He had a point. Between seeing the smoke plume and arriving at the outpost, his GPS was smashed to bits. "...Alright. But try and hold things up for me."

"I'll do what I can. Meanwhile, stock up and contact me when you're ready to head out." The radio goes dead.

Looking near the stationary radio set, Richard finds a handheld set which he attaches to his belt. If the good corporal needed to contact him, he'd have it open. All he needed to do was to get ready for the run. Finding a few empty bottles and a number of oil cans, he fashions a set of molotovs. Rummaging the cabinets, he finds a spare bottle of pain pills. He locates a machete, and hesitantly, he drops the hatchet and takes up the sharp blade. But, it was his final find that helped to lift his mood greatly. Finding a gun locker, he opens it, and a smile crosses his face. He removes an pistol-gripped shotgun, pump-action. "Perfect. Wish I hadn't lost mine, though." He was prepared, but he was also fatigued. He took a nap after he braced the place, but he was still craving rest. He closes his eyes.

LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA

First light. Richard wakes up, marginally refreshed. He needed the rest badly, and having it was the smallest notion of familiarity from the past. He remembers back, back before the infection. He finished his duties halfway across the world, and had to return to stocking shelves at a mega-mart. True, not the most glamorous of professions, but it worked well. And literally, 3 days prior to the infection, he set out with a few friends for a hunting trip. The infection hit, and his friends managed to stick together, for the most part. Then the first week passed, and things began to go down the shitter. Tim was the first to fall, having snapped and went batty. Sam was next, as he fell victim to a Witch. The last of his friends to fall was James. He was beginning to change, and Richard had no choice.

Rich grabs the handheld radio set and flicks it on. "This is the survivor located at Spencer Forest Outpost 22. I'm getting ready to proceed towards the Highland evac site. Please respond."

"Your message has been received, survivor. The Highland evac center is still open for extraction. Be careful, though. Scouts were sent out that direction last night and reports came in of massive numbers of Infected past Chasm Bridge." Cpl. Masters' voice rings out. "We have a checkpoint situated 3 miles west of your location. A platoon's situated there. Reach them, and they'll get you to the evac site."

"Understood. I'm en route." Richard grabs his gear, checks all the weapons, and steps up towards the only other door out. He barred it earlier, but now he needed to haul ass to the military checkpoint. He unbars the door, slowly pushes it open, and gingerly steps out into the sunlight. Since the sun rose in the east, and set in the west, he needed to go the opposite of the sunrise. Since the sun was rising to the right of him... "Left. Always left." A small chuckle escapes his throat, a small inside joke that was another reminder of days past. Putting it aside, he goes left, towards the checkpoint. A preset trail leads into the forest, worn down by the use of the Ranger's vehicles. He takes a few steps, entering the forest before he hears growling. Familiar growling... "Hunter. Damn it." He steps slowly, pulling out his shotgun and pumping it, chambering a shell. "Gotta be around here somewhere."

His suspicions prove accurate. Above him, the Hunter growls. It leaps with a deafening screech. The screech is what Richard needed. He turns and swiftly slams the butt of the shotgun into the Hunter's head, stumbling it. He quickly follows up with a single blast of the shotgun, which removes the head completely. "That'll shut you up, you leapin' bastard." Another pump, another shell chambered. However, the gunfire attracted another group of 5 common Infected. Switching over to his pistols, he unleashes a volley of shots, and the small group drops. 10 shots down. Twenty remaining before the reload.

Richard continues down the path, straggler Infected dotting the path. More pistol rounds fire, and more fall to the ground. A quick reload. Five more shots, and the path is open as far as he could see. Speeding ahead, he keeps his eyes and ears open. The edge of the treeline was ahead. Another open space lay ahead. He could easily be seen, yes, but far more area to maneuver around. He pierces the edge of the forest, reaching the open area. Ahead lay a chasm. Stepping up to the edge, he looks down, a profound sense of vertigo. "Shit, that's a hell of a drop." Stepping back, he looks over to the sides. An elevated bridge was to the right, but it was tattered and ruined. Past the chasm is another ranger outpost. He removes the radio and calls in. "I've reached Chasm Bridge, but the thing's junked. I don't think I'll get across the bridge at this point."

"Dammit. That corroborates with a recent communique. There was a Tank spotted around that area. It must have torn the bridge to hell."

"Tell me you got a back-up plan."

"Hold tight, I checking on the map of Spencer Forest..." The corporal goes silent for a few minutes before the radio blares again. "There's an entrance to a service elevator north of you. It'll get you to the bottom of the chasm. There, you'll have to run to a service tunnel. That'll will bring you up on the other side into Outpost 9."

"Got it. I'll contact you when I reach the outpost." The radio goes silent, as Richard curses his luck. "It's never gonna get any easier, is it?" Looking to the north (his left), he sees the small grey pillar with a wooden door. "This must be it." He grabs the handle and tries to turn it. "Shit, it's locked." Pulling out his shotgun, he puts three shots through the door, enough for him to reach through and unlock the door. Turning the handle, he gains access. Though the space is small, there lay his ticket down: a small open elevator. He stands on it and presses the button. There is a sound, the grinding of gears and a small shower of sparks. The elevator begins its descent, as Rich takes a few deep breaths. Reaching into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt, he extracts a few shotgun shells and loads them. Any lull was appreciated. Gave him time to slightly calm down. There is a shudder and a clank. He reached the bottom. He quickly pumps the shotgun, chambering a shell. Ahead laid the door out to the chasm floor. At least this one was metallic and had some glass. Looking through, his jaw drops.

"You have got to be shitting me." Outside, he could easily count 10, 20, 30... over 40 Infected down here. The only thing was was separating Richard from this horde was a rusty three-inch thick door. "Well, this is just freakin' great." He pauses for a bit, trying to figure out a (relatively) safe way to cross the gap without being Infected bait. He leans against a wall, hearing the clanking of his molotovs against his pistols... "Wait a minute." He grabs one the bottles and looks at it, before also grabbing a lighter that he had with him. What he was thinking was crazy, but then again, the world had gone to hell.

The mobs shuffles around outside, the sun beaming down on their pallid skin. Moans, screams, feral yells... there was fighting amongst them, all focused on the remains of a Boomer. A single ear-shattering noise snaps them out of their lull.

Rich had gotten their attention with a single pistol shot. Now, he had to make sure they stayed focused on him. That was easy. He wasn't infected, so that was basically a giant bulls-eye on him. "Now, I'm sure you're content with playing grab-ass amongst yourselves, but you've got fresh food right in front of you. In other words, Din-din!" The mob rush begins, and he immediately responds by throwing down a lit Molotov and retreating back behind the door, barring it. The flames rise up, and numerous infected run through the flame, going instinctively to the target using the shortest distance. Once their bodies come in contact with the open flames, they begin to flail, bellow in pain, and ultimately drop dead.

A few minutes pass, and the flames subside. Rich reaches for the door handle, but pauses as he holds his hands over it. He was checking to see if it was radiating heat. No heat. He pushes the handle, only to find some pressure against it from the other side. Putting his whole body into it, he opens it, revealing the charred remains of the Infected mob. He chuckles a bit. "I can't believe that worked." His chuckles soon blossom into full-blown laughter, which forces him to lean against the rock wall until it completely subsides. "I can't believe that actually worked. Jesus, they're stupid." He reaches the remains of the Boomer, and out of spite, kicks what's left. "Stupid Boomer. Bet you're the reason I had to deal with that mob." Hearing some tell-tale coughing, he immediately sprints for the door on the opposite side of the chasm. He didn't want to contend with another Smoker. He opens the door, only to find the Smoker he had been so intent on avoiding. Ducking and rolling to the side, he pulls out his shotgun, and quickly fires two rounds at it. The tell-tale puff of smoke shows that it's down. He feeds another two shells into the shotgun and pumps it. Running past the Smoker's body, he finds a long corridor that slants upward.

Sighing, he takes the first few steps before hearing a cacophony of bellowing. "Oh, shit! Mob rush!" He rushes up the corridor, the Infected horde following quickly. Turning, he begins firing into the crowd. 1, 2, 3, 4... Half the shells inside have been used, and he didn't even make much of a dent in it. He begins to back up. 5, 6, 7, 8... Empty gun! He grabs a few shells and tries to feed them in, but his back touches the wall behind him. He got halfway up the corridor, and it had the audacity to curve around? Dropping the shotgun, he punches a single Infected and pulls out the pistols. Shot after shot fire out, one bullet capable of piercing two or three bodies at a time. The pistols run dry, and he reaches for two more clips. Clubbing, clawing, swatting... The clips are put in, and the firing begins anew. The firing stops, the acrid smell of decaying flesh and gunpowder permeates the air, as are the gasps of Richard. He got out of the mob rush, but he certainly wasn't in the best of shape. Groaning, he reaches down and grabs the shotgun, once more reloading it and chambering a shell. Sheathing it, he clutches his ribs as he walks up the second portion of the corridor. Ahead lay one last single Infected, barring entrance to the outpost, it's back towards him. Without even thinking, he runs up, grabs the Infected by the head, and with as much force as possible, slams it's head against a nearby wall. There is a sickening splat, and the feeling of sticky, red wetness upon his fingers. He lets go of it's head, and it slumps down.

Opening the door to Outpost 9, Richard enters, and immediately shuts it, pushing a safe and a number of file cabinets against the door. "Damn... That was too close." Right away, his pulls out the radio and turns it on. "This... this is the survivor at Spencer Forest. I've reached Outpost 9. I've taken substantial damage, so I have to patch myself up a bit before I head towards the military checkpoint. Over?"

"Roger that, Survivor." The corporal's voice rings out. "Keep me appraised of the situation."

Rich puts down the radio, and grabs the medical kit that he had on his back. This, besides his pistol, was the only thing that he had left that stayed with him since this whole mess started. Unzipping it, he removes the gauze and medical tape. His arms and legs were fine, but his torso was a far different story. Definitely tender. His ribs were likely bruised severely, if not broken. But if they were broken, he would have been coughing up blood. In any case, the torso was the focus. Wincing, he removes both his flannel over-shirt and the sweat and dirt-covered undershirt, revealing that his torso was already turning a nasty shade of purple and red. Taking the gauze, he unravels it, taking the tip and sticking it under his armpit, and proceeding to wrap it around his chest and abdomen. This takes a few minutes, but he gets it done, and proceeds to use the medical tape to make sure that it stays put. Sighing, he puts back on his shirts and calls back. "My patch-up is done. Once I'm stocked up, I'll head towards the checkpoint."

"Understood. Contact me when you're ready and I'll radio ahead to let them know you're incoming. Be careful out there, though. There's still a high chance that the Tank will be along that pathway to the checkpoint."

"Wait a second. You mentioned a tank earlier? Did someone hi-jack some military hardware?"

"No. This Tank I'm talking about is one of the infected. It's musculature is far beyond any kind of norm. It's typically slow, but it's the most powerful of the special Infected out there. Aside from direct attacks, it can toss pieces of ground and vehicles as makeshift projectiles. If you see it run after you, run away and open fire immediately. Take no chances with it. It will kill you without a second thought."

"...Understood." The radio goes silent again as Richard places it back on an open table. Noting a few piles of ammunition, he picks up shells for his shotgun. Checking one of the offices, he manages to find another medical kit. If what the corporal said was true, he'd definitely need it. He also finds some spare piping, thread and caps. Taking a few breaths, he thinks back to his time in the service. He'd seen how some locals were capable of improvising high-damage explosives with a number of common household ingredients. With the piping, he cuts it down with a nearby hacksaw. Taking a scratch awl and hammer from a desk, he punches a single hole in a few of the caps. As for the unpunched caps, he attaches them to the piping with some industrial bonding agent. Taking a number of bullets, he opens them, revealing the smokeless gunpowder. He then proceeds to fill those pipes with the gunpowder. Using the thread, he creates a makeshift fuse that goes through the punched caps. He proceeds to attach those caps to the pipe pieces, creating pipe bombs. However, there was a problem with it. Would the Infected take it? They'd more than likely just run past without even noticing it... unless...

He looks up, seeing three smoke detectors. Why there were that many in such a small space, he didn't know, but they were what he needed. Taking them down, he guts them, removing the battery, wiring, and alarm. The things were attracted to high-pitched sounds, and very few household things were as high-pitched as a smoke detector. He attaches an alarm to the front of each pipe bomb, a battery in the back, and wiring to connect battery to alarm. Taking a single one, he presses the alarm button on it. It creates a shrill beeping sound. He presses it again, and the alarm shuts down. He smiles. "Jackpot."

LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA

After creating his pipe bombs, he took a little bit of rest to make sure that the patch job on his torso would stay. Luckily, it did, so he figured it was the right time. Picking up the radio, Richard calls in. "Highland Evac. I'm proceeding towards the checkpoint now. I should get there in a timespan of 15 to 20 minutes."

"Roger that, Survivor. I'm contacting the checkpoint to let them know you're coming once the line's clear." Cpl. Masters' voice pauses for a few moments before adding, "Good luck, Survivor."

Rich nods and turns off the radio, reattaching it to his belt. Pulling out his shotgun, he gazes outside of the outpost. There were a few straggler Infected out there. Small fry... but the sounds of belching makes him pause. "Boomer. With my luck, it's on top of the outpost." Removing the bar, he opens the door and steps outside, the fading sunlight directly ahead of him. All that was a left was a three-mile sprint through the woods to reach the checkpoint... and the possibility of encountering a Tank and what have you within the wooded thicket. To his left, he hears the Boomer's sputter. He turns, and seeing that it was far enough away, fires into the massive flesh of it's belly. The body explodes in a mist of blood and bile. The explosion gets the attention of the stragglers, which gets their heads blown off in response. 6 more shells are loaded in, and the race has begun. He begins to sprint ahead, following the trail left from vehicles. Almost immediately, he hears the growling of a Hunter to his left and the hacking of a Smoker to his right. A tough two-fer. Stuck between a leaping claw-monger and a cowardly grappler. He didn't know which one to go after first.

The choice was taken out of his hands. He is grabbed by the Smoker's tongue, which he immediately cuts away with his machete. The Hunter then leaps, but Rich is able to get his feet up to block its attack. With its torso against his feet, he thrusts his legs straight ahead, pushing the Hunter back and knocking onto it's back. Grabbing his shotgun, he gets to his feet as the Hunter manages to roll over onto its stomach. It pounces against, but a single shell to the head drops it. However, he is grabbed again by the Smoker. Once more, he pulls out the machete and cuts the tongue off from it's source, but immediately follows up with three shells, rewarding him with a plume of smoke. Taking four more shells, he loads them and pumps. Running again, he dashes past some lone Infected, who actually don't notice him due to the distance between them. However, he pauses once he reaches a clearing. It wasn't the checkpoint, that was still over a mile ahead. But this clearing... It had a massive number of Infected. Even more then the bottom of the chasm. Reaching back, he pulls out one of his pipe bombs. Pulling out his lighter, he lights the fuse and triggers the alarm before tossing it ahead and to the left. Hopefully, it would get the results he was expecting.

Like clockwork, the Infected follow the high-pitched repetition of the pipe-bomb's alarm to its landing spot and begins to mob around it. Rich takes the opportunity to rush past the clearing. The beeping reaches a crescendo, and he turns his head back to see a dome of red mist and limbs fly out. "Hell yeah!" His yell attracts a few Infected ahead, which he dispatches with his shotgun. Still running ahead, he sees the faint glow of lights. Headlights! He's reached the checkpoint. Running out, with his shotgun over his head, he cries out, "Survivor here! Don't shoot!"

A number of assault rifles are trained on him, Rich notices. However, his exclamation and actions were enough to waive any possible threat. The rifles are lowered, and he's immediately waved over to the nearest armored personnel carrier. Just as he reaches it, though, there sounds out a communal howl. "Oh, for Chrissake!" He quickly reloads the shotgun and stands by the APC. A number of Infected begins to pour out of the wooded area, but they are quickly dispatched with short controlled bursts of assault rifle, sub-machine gun and shotgun fire. However, the sheer number becomes apparent. Infected bodies begin to stack up quickly. A hunter leaps in and begins to claw away at one of the soldiers. Rich responds with a shove to knock the Hunter off the soldier, and a single shell to the head to kill it. However, it was too late for this soldier. "Shit." He knew right away that his shotgun was empty, so he reaches for some more shells. However, he sadly has no more shells to feed it. Sheathing it, he grabs the dead soldier's assault rifle and any remaining clips. Opposite from him, another soldier is grabbed by the tongue of a Smoker. He quickly responds by firing at it, getting a smoke plume as a reward, and saving that soldier. Seeing that one get pulled back, there is silence for a few moments before the sounds of grunt and snarling. Rich pauses. He never heard any Infected give that kind of noise before...

Out of the woods comes a massive shape. Such a gigantic torso, situated on top of such a small pair of legs... and this thing's head was barely noticeable, hell, it looked like the thing didn't even have a head. Right away, Rich realizes what it is. "Holy shit! TANK!"

One of the soldiers calls out, "Open fire!" The creature's bellows are matched with the sound of multiple assault rifle reports, a large number of rounds being emptied into this behemoth. Grabbing a chunk of the earth, the Tank pulls it up and tosses it at one of the vehicles, knocking it on its side and crushing another two soldiers.

Rich lights another Molotov and tosses it at the Tank, the glass shattering and covering this monstrosity with flaming liquid. Taking his assault rifle, he empties an entire clip into it as it finally falls face-first.

"Pack up and let's evac! Go, go go!" The remaining soldiers and Rich rush into the APC. More Infected begin to dash out of the woods, but another pipe bomb is tossed, to keep the creatures occupied. The door closes, and the APC proceeds to begin moving just as the pipe bomb explodes. However, the trouble is not done. The Tank, despite having being hit with over 350 rounds of assault rifle ammo and a Molotov thrown at it, manages to get up and begin chasing after the APC. Normally, a Tank couldn't begin to catch up to a moving vehicle. However, since he was on fire, he actually seemed to move faster.

Rich looks out of the tiny slot in the APC's backdoor and sees the flaming Tank approach. "Dammit, the Tank's following us!" Immediately, he notices a small ladder inside the APC. He'd been inside of military vehicles before, and something like this had some form of defense. Climbing up the ladder, he opens the small dome on top. "50-cal. This'll do some damage." Grabbing hold of the machine gun, he aims at the Tank, and proceeds to lets loose with a barrage of hot lead. Hit after hit impact the Tank, before it finally succumbs to the cumulative damage. Releasing a breath he didn't know he held, Richard drops down and closes the dome.

Finally, after two weeks of a living nightmare, relief was in sight. He'd lost friends, killed in the hundreds... but that was in the past. All that was left was the here and now. He was safe. He was with allies. He survived... at least for the moment.

LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA-LAA

Well, there is Left All Alone, my short tribute to Left 4 Dead. Thanks to Valve for creating such an enjoyable game. I actually had a lot of fun writing this, and it's actually gotten me to think about possible sequels to this or other side stories. In any case, give me your thoughts on this.

This is Zatrion, signing off for now.