( This fanfiction is my first fanfiction in a very, very long time and is based off of the unanswered questions from "The Passing" in Left 4 Dead. Please review and comment. )

Dedicated to Bill

"Thank You"

The Passing

Chapter 1

The sky over Rayford was solemn, coated in the gray depression of storm clouds. Very rarely did the warming embrace of the sun pierce through a world that was now filled with nothing but animosity, where sentience and love was soon finding its place in the records of extinction. The townhouses, stores, community buildings and more were all coated in the quiet glaze of temporary quiet, where now there was only silence with random violent outbursts of activity to disturb an otherwise dead world. Tortured moans rang in chorus throughout the streets, the sound of burning vehicles crackled in the teasing winds and from time to time the sound of a building collapsing in the distance would quake through momentarily.

On the city limits, four silhouettes could be seen trudging quietly through a suburban neighborhood, keeping close to each other and in the shade of abandoned infrastructure. A grizzled, aged man in olive military attire lead the three behind him, in his seasoned and blood caked hands rest an M16 rifle pointed ever slightly forwards, a keen blue eye gazing down their sights as only the sound of an occasional drag on the crumpled cigarette that rest between his bearded lips whispered from him. A man followed behind, clad in leather and scarred with tattoos and other body art. His expression was aggressive, as if he cursed the scenario he found himself in, feeding anger over fear unlike the others. A woman followed behind, petite and young, her soft face desecrated with dirt and ash like her once vibrant clothing that clung raggedly to her tiny physique. In the back was a man who was dressed in attire common to the time before everything was washed over in madness, a simple red tie fluttered against his chest, tattered and split in the fibers of the cloth as it bounced against a sullied white button up shirt, wide eyes constantly looking nervously at every snaking shadow and spying window, but mostly over his own shoulder to the emptiness they would pass through during their silent march. As far as the four seemingly unaltered companions knew, they were the last warm humans they would ever come in contact with again.

Approaching the end of a dreary alleyway, the man in front, Bill was his name, would stop and bring up his right hand in a gesture to stop. The three behind him stilled themselves and looked over one another's shoulders to the front, as Bill peered out into the neighborhood before them. The sounds of agony of pain resonated from once breathing homes, their shattered windows laying in the brown yards before them. There were swaying, crouching, lying, sitting, moaning, crying, screaming humanoid forms in the culdesac before them, minding their own ruptured existence. While these pitiful husks of humans now seemed to be crippled with disease, they harbored rabid aggression to those who had seemingly been immune to the pandemic. Bill looked over his shoulders to the others, that hand that had been used to stop the group now flexed a single finger up that rest against his lips, gesturing for them to be quiet, an arbitrary request, none of them dared make a sound louder than that of their own muffled heartbeat, and if they could quiet that, they would as well.

Bill, leading the others, who were named Francis, Zoey, and Louis respectively in order from front to back, stepped around the corner of the alley and out into the sidewalk surrounding the culdesac of homes. The scattered infected that dotted the road didn't seem to notice them, though occasionally one would begin to behave more erratically than normal, screaming and throwing themselves about, clawing at the ground, smashing their fists and head against buildings and sometimes even turning violent towards other infected. One did just that, a once middle aged man in a blood splattered sweater that had lost the flourishing color of health in his skin that was now just another walking corpse, a large laceration across his neck that had spilled onto his chest and clothing a while back, the blood now darkened and crusted. The infected went into a fury, Bill reflexively swinging up his rifle and aiming it down the fifty yard distance to the infected throwing a tantrum, the others all bringing up their weapons as well, Francis pulling a small pump operated shotgun up, Zoey a pair of small caliber pistols, and Louis nervously gripped around a small submachine gun, still holding it downwards as they waited to see what would transpire before throwing their presence into the light. The infected ran in a rage over to an infected woman who had been sitting, sulking, and vomiting not twenty feet away from him as he threw himself onto her. A shriek wringing out from the suffering woman as the rabid man straddled her, throwing his clenched fists down onto her all ready broken and mangled face with hateful brutality, screaming incoherent anger into the air as he did so. The other infected paid no attention, and the survivors continued on as an act of murder played out, something that would have once been stopped for its heinous blemish against society.

The group was heading for the highway that lead out of the suburbs and further into Rayford, where a bridge lead across a large river and to what they could only hope was closer to salvation. They had trekked so far all ready, the animosity of the infection had bared its teeth and bit at them more than a handful of times all ready yet they had managed to continue onwards in generally good health. Sometimes they couldn't remember why they were always walking now, as they only came across more towns and cities bathed in the pestilence. Rumors and hopeful notes scribed on walls, buildings, roads, practically everywhere by survivors before them mentioned safety in all directions and places, yet they were always the same when they came to them. The more time passed, the less they began to see the notes written by sane hands, less people to write them they guessed. They passed into another alleyway, this one would lead through a small shanty area that would pour out next to the highway. They could have taken the road straight to it, but the infected were a pox that littered all once major areas of commute. The first words that had been spilled all day came from Louis in a questioning whisper, "How far do you think the highway is?" It was soon cut out by a responding "Shh!" From Bill, how then returned to creeping forwards with the others. Zoey looked back to give Louis a pitying glance, she too wished they could talk more but they were no where safe and every noise they made was a potential noose around their necks. Louis became quiet once more, and the group pushed forwards until a horrific screech scattered the crows that rest atop the dilapidated building, waiting to feast on the abundance of death. All of them gazed worryingly in every direction, Bill seemingly the most resolute as he aimed his rifle towards a rotting wooden fence to their right, slowly stalking forwards to push his eye against a small hole in the fence, though just as the bearded senior gazed through he was suddenly taken startled as he began to jump back, gun being thrust back upwards before the fence shattered into countless splinters, planks and old nails being thrown everywhere as Bill cried out, and the familiar, depressing sound of gunfire rang out in the chaos.