A/N: First L4D Fan Fiction. Reviews are appreciated. Thanks!
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Prologue: Three weeks after infection – 2:18am
"Ugh, can you guys smell that?" Zoey moved through a metal door built-in to the wall of an apartment block in an alleyway with her two pistols. She was wearing a plain, white shirt with a red hoodie on along with denim pants and black shoes. Her unkempt, brunette hair was tied up into a ponytail. She was behind Bill, the seasoned war-veteran and unofficial leader of the group who carried an M-16 Rifle.
Behind Zoey was Louis, a dark-skinned and optimistic office-worker who carried an Uzi; and bringing up the rear was Francis, a biker who hated everything, loved auto shotguns and wore a white shirt and a sleeveless, leather jacket with multiple tattoos covering his arms.
They all cautiously walked into a dark, foul-smelling room which Zoey had made clear earlier.
"Zoey, torch." Bill ordered in his old and gruff voice as her light flickered on and illuminated select portions of the surrounding area.
There were multiple cardboard boxes littering the otherwise desolate room. Bill and Louis searched them while Francis and Zoey went back into the alley and kept watch.
"I hate waiting." Francis muttered as he shrugged to no one in particular.
Zoey managed to hear him, "Yeah well Francis, you hate a lot of-", she stopped mid-sentence as she heard a low growl from somewhere near the roof of the building Bill and Louis were in.
"You hear that?" She asked inquisitively as she tensed and lifted her pistols in the direction of the noise.
"Hear what?" Was the only response she got out of Francis as he brought up his shotgun.
At that moment the all too familiar screech of the Hunter could be heard as an infected with a blue hoodie covering its' eyes. Its' hands were transformed to sharp claws as it pounced at Zoey.
"HUNTER!"
The Hunter landed on Zoey and immediately bit into left arm as Francis knocked it off her and shot it straight through the head as the sweat-shirt wearing wuss slumped to the ground, lifeless.
"I hate Hunters." That was all could be heard from Francis as he lifted Zoey up.
By that time Bill and Louis were back outside with three med kits, four bottles of pain pills and some ammo.
"You alright?" Louis' usually cheery voice sounded worried.
Zoey responded in a rather drowsy voice, "Yeah, yeah I think I'm fine. It only bit me." she sighed and inspected the wound.
"It bit you?" Bill asked suspiciously as he got out some bandages to stop the bleeding, "Do you feel any different?"
Zoey saw the group tense. Why were they suddenly suspicious about her? She had been bitten by a zombie before and she hadn't been infected.
Zoey suddenly snapped at Bill and nearly shouted at him, "I'm fine! I just feel a bit tired all of a sudden." she sighed again as she rubbed her right temple.
Louis and Francis were quite taken aback by Zoeys' sudden mood swing. Bill barely flinched; but before any one of them could respond Zoey shuddered and fainted, falling to her left side and landing on her bad arm as she let out a yelp of pain and slipped into unconsciousness.
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Zoey felt like hammered shit. A massive headache bore into her skull as she burned up from a heavy fever and still felt really drowsy. Her eyesight was worse then before but at the same time she could hear and smell extremely well. She glanced at her hands and saw her fingernails were slightly longer and felt tougher. Almost like claws; and her wound on her left amr had been treated. Boils and pimples littered, what felt like her entire body as leg pains resonated and soared through her body. She could tell her teeth were longer, felt terrible and probably looked terrible.
But above all she felt angry. Sure, in the zombie apocalypse she had felt worried, scared, nervous and a ton of other emotions; but never angry. Not fully angry; but now. Now she felt absolutely pissed. She felt so mad she could punch someone, hell she felt like she could kill someone with her bare hands. She breathed heavily as she stared around the rather large room she was in.
It was dark and around the room were racks of weapons, first aid kits, pain pills, molotovs, pipe bombs, food and water. Three ripped and shoddy mattresses were occupied by three men who looked like they were in a light sleep. One with dark skin, one in military fatigues, and the other in sleeveless leather jacket. She felt like attacking the unknown people, she sat up but realized these people were her friends. Louis, Bill and Francis. She still felt angry, but she didn't want to hurt them.
They had all been fighting together for three weeks now, The memories of hope, comfort, worry, friendship. Why did she feel so hostile towards them? Why did she feel so angry? Why did she feel terrible and felt like she looked different?
But she still felt tired. So, so tired. She was about to drop back onto her mattress when Bill awoke and grabbed his rifle. Zoey felt that that was an act of hostility and scowled at him.
Zoey looked up at him and even the 'Nam veteran was visibly shocked by her new appearance. But he quickly changed his facial features back to the stern face she was accustom to.
"Zoey, how- how are you feeling?" A hint of concern was in his voice as he whispered as to not wake the other two up.
"I feel like shit," her voice had an unmistakeably angry tone to it, "I probably look like shit and I'm still fucking tired."
Bill looked suspicious and concerned for Zoey at the same time as he tensed with rifle in hand. Zoey took this as another act of hostility and virtually shouted at him.
"And why the fuck are you so tense around me! God, I can barely see properly now and I can still notice you fucking holding your gun close you your chest just wanting to FUCKING kill me!"
Her sudden rise in volume startled the other two men and woke them from their slumber as they grabbed their own weapons and pointed them towards the noise.
"Oh, Zoey, it's only you. You look sick." Louis lowered his gun as he said those words which, to Zoey was the voiced embodiment of Bills' suspicious and concerned face.
Francis merely grunted in agreement and lowered his gun as well. However, this tipped Zoey over the edge and she growled a low growl which was terrifyingly similar to a Hunters' when they are hurt.
"I'm fucking sick and tired of you fucking assholes! Why don't you just fucking trust me?" This time she did shout at the trio of men as she shot up with surprising speed, forcing the three to move back slightly and put on a shocked, yet curious expression at her newly found height.
Zoey wrapped her claw-like hands around a metal bar of one of the racks of supplies. She nearly bent the bar as she breathed heavily. But after about ten seconds of it she seemed to calm down.
"Sorry-sorry guys. I overreacted." Her voice was light and worrisome.
Zoey felt a firm hand on her right shoulder as she turned to see Louis' face go from reassuring to horrified. She was suddenly angry again in a split second.
"What!"
This time Bill spoke, "Your eyes Zoey, they're red. Blood red."
Suddenly Zoey felt scared and worried as she made a barely audible whisper darting her eyes from Louis, to Bill, to Francis and back to Louis, "Help me." She muttered the words in pure terror as she slipped into unconsciousness yet again.
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Zoey awoke, all of the symptoms she had before had only been enhanced and her eyesight was blurred and she could barely see. She tried to speak, but only one word escaped her lips, "Where...?"
She tried to move, but her arms and legs were tied up. This absolutely infuriated her immensely. She thrashed her whole body around trying to get free then realized her claws had increased in size and felt sharper. A lot sharper. Zoey tried to use them but realized they were tied up separately. Whoever had imprisoned her would get mauled, but she had to give them credit. They were smart and good at tying knots.
Zoey stopped the mindless trashing and slashing as she calmed down, well in her state being calm was similar to finding out your boyfriend cheated on you and had just gone through your period. Her breathing was extremely heavy, and from time to time she let out low growls.
When she was in a calmer state she could easily hear three voices. An old one, a chirpy one and a disgruntled one.
The disgruntled one spoke first, "Well what're we we gonna do with her? We can't just leave her. She's still human."
"Yeah, and so are all the other infected, and we shoot 'em down without hesitation." This time the old one spoke.
The chirpy one spoke last, "Guys, we have to help her."
"Do you have an idea then Mr. Optimist?" The disgruntled one seemed annoyed.
One of them sighed and walked towards me, leaned down and turned me over. My face was made into a scowl and only made the depressed face of the old person even more depressed. He took the cigar out of his mouth and puffed smoke out, away from my face then turned back to me.
"Zoey, are you in there?"The voice was worried and concerned.
The scowl grew wider as Zoey let out a low growl and tried to bite the man. He jumped back, and looked over to the other two men who were hanging their heads.
The old man spoke up, "There's nothing we can do, we have no idea how to cure it, even if it is curable. But, we're not monsters, we should at least put her out of her misery."
The two other men nodded slowly. The man in the green baret with military fatigues turned aimed his gun at Zoeys' head, "I'm so sorry Zoey. You will be missed.", and at that moment he pulled the trigger.
Three weeks after infection – 5:48am
Zoeys' POV
I awake, or should I say born. My eyesight is so bad it is virtually useless but I can still see slightly, however my sense of smell and hearing compensate for it. My claws are rather long and metallic looking. Definitely dangerous. I sit up, my head sears in horrific pain and I shriek unexpectedly in an extremely high pitch. Whatever had happened before my birth had left me with this wound, and another one on my left arm which was a lot less hurtful.
My arms are a sickly, and lifeless gray colour and boils and pimples riddle my arms. They don't harm me, so I don't care. I look down, my clothing is dirty, and bloody. Blood; I sit up further and sniff with force. I'm so hungry, I need flesh. I need blood. My instincts tell me to go on all fours and jump. So I do, straight towards the wall of a tall building in the early morning. I jump, or pounce with super speed. I was practically flying.
I cling onto a pipe on the side of the wall with my good arm. My wounded one is still healing. I slowly climb up to the roof and run across to the other side on all fours. I follow the smell. The smell of flesh. I stop at the end of the other side and sniff, there is flesh nearby. I let out a screech and pounce from the top of the building and land straight on top of something. Something with flesh.
I tear straight into the stomach of the flesh with my claws. I easily bypass the clothing, then the skin and stuff my mouth full of the innards of this.. this person. The flesh and blood and guts is disgusting, it is so... so... tainted, unkempt, infected. Yes, that's what I'll call this tainted flesh, infected.
I go back on all fours and pounce straight back up to the rooftop. My leaps make the hood of my blood coloured clothing flip over my head and cover my blood red eyes. Blood. So many things remind me of it. And I am so, so hungry. I need untainted flesh to sate it for a while. I sniff once again.
The smell of the untainted flesh are very different to the infected. Even the smell seems delicious. I can sense it, far away. So, so far away. But I will travel for it, I need flesh.
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The sun is slowly setting over the infected stumbling around in the middle of the city. I jump onto another roof, this one is full of grass and plants. The smell is strange and foreign to me; I ignore it and go to the edge of the small building. There, in the middle of an alley on the other side are four untainted ones. The smell is overpowering and sends jolts through my body. I sniff with great force and my blood hoodie shudders.
The untainted ones continue to run through the alley. They all carry metal things which cause great pain to the infected ones. I silently jump onto the ledge of the small building and pounce straight onto the roof on the other side. My prey is so unsuspecting, it'll make the feed so much more satisfying; the thought puts a smirk on my dead, gray face as I continue to pounce from rooftop to rooftop following the untainted ones.
Their delectable scent lets me easily track them as the sun finally sets. No light, night. I lick my lips in anticipation as they activate their own source of light. They've stopped. I lean over the edge of the roof of the looming building. My enhanced sense of hearing lets me hear them say things unknown to me.
Safe house.
Zombies.
Overalls.
Hunter.
That word. Hunter. It seems... strangely fitting. I like it.
My claws are lightly tapping the bricks of the shoddily constructed building. The one at the back.
I sniff again and the scent is the strongest with the one at the back. I can make out the fact that he's wearing a 'white suit'. Whatever that was; but no matter. He's the most delicious and I am so, so, hungry. I need the taste of the untainted flesh on my lips. The taste sizzling on my tongue. Their footsteps snap me out of my thoughts.
They are moving. I jump onto the roof of another building as silent as a phantom. My blood hoodie blows in the wind and creates ripples as I get ready to pounce him. I jump onto the ledge and sit in the shape of a gargoyle, I eye the man in the white suit, let out a screech I can't help and pounce.