Disclaimer: This story is not my property. In no sense or fashion am I attempting to make a profit from this endeavor. All characters, except the ones that I have created, are property of their respective owners.

Author's Notes: A story about a shell of a man, a man without a past, trying to find a reason for his existence in this new, dangerous world. I hope you enjoy it. And if you're looking for Robert Neville, don't worry. He will be here eventually.

"Livingston. Time to wake up. Time to continue east. East until the sea. Until you can see the lights of the big city. Until you see the broken bridge."

Prologue

A pair of blue eyes opened and stared at the roof of the large truck. He had gotten used to sleeping in his car. After the virus hit, it was foolish to stay in one spot. So, he kept on the move. Sleeping in the day, and driving at night.

It was better to drive at night. The infected were fast, but they weren't fast enough to catch up. There hadn't been many infected on the highways anyway. They were mostly concentrated in cities.

He stood up, ignoring the dull ache in his back which came from sleeping in the back seat of the truck. It was a large military vehicle, known as a HUMVEE. Officially, it was called a M1114, but he only knew that because he had read the manual.

He liked it. It didn't get very good gas, but it was fast, powerful, and, most importantly, tough. Of course, there was the large machine gun on the top of it. That certainly helped. The HUMVEE had been a part of a army convoy, dedicated to ushering out survivors, but now it belonged to him.

He couldn't quite remember when he had acquired the camouflaged vehicle, but the days had pretty much blended together, so he didn't think that was much cause of worry. It couldn't have been very long ago, because there were still a multitude of military rations (he didn't care for the taste, but they did their job), and dozens of military weaponry.

He looked down at his wrinkled and battered uniform. He had worn it for a very long time. He couldn't force himself to get rid of it, no matter its condition. It was his last remnant of his forgotten past. His memory of his life before the infection was absent, totally and completely.

He didn't know why, but he figured he must've suffered a rather nasty bump on his head. That was why he was thankful for the uniform. It gave him an identity. Without it, he would have just been some nameless man with a lot of military equipment. With it, he was Lt. Livingston of the Marines. He didn't have a first name, but that suited him just fine.

He had created a nice little background during his lonely trek across the country. He had found someone's notes, apparently someone in the unit had kept a journal, and he expanded on that. He had been part of a unit sent to Los Angeles to protect a small, protected society for survivors.

They had done well, at the start. But somehow, the infection had gotten through the barriers. The author's memoirs became frantic, and he wrote constantly about the folly of man. His last entry described a final assault, in an attempt to stave off the infected. After that, there was nothing more.

Was the journal his? He didn't know. He kept it close to himself at all times, because it was very important to him, far more important than guns or rounds. Because the journal was a link to the rest of humanity, just like his uniform was a link to himself.

For a little over two years, Livingston had been staying near the desert, mostly in Arizona and Nevada. However, recently, he had been inching his way across the country. He had no clear destination in mind, not really, so he just kept going east. He was in Kansas now, he had traveled over three states in two months. Gas was not a problem. He had learned to siphon gas out of stations. He dedicated one day every two weeks to gathering as much gas as possible.

He stepped out of the HUMVEE, and looked up at the sky. The sun was almost at the horizon. It wouldn't be long. However, he doubted there would be any problem with the infected. This was desert, the last bit of it before the grasslands. There was no place for them to hide from the sun. He realized that this was probably the safest place he would ever find, but something was calling him east. He couldn't explain it, but he had learned it was pointless to fight.

He pulled out his M4 carbine, just to be safe. He had slept with it, he had always slept with it. It was a smart thing to do. The carbine was one of many weapons, but he liked this one the best. It had a large nightvision scope on it.

Sometimes, when the dull monotony of driving through the state of became too much for him, he would venture into cities. He liked to believe that he was searching for survivors, but that wasn't the real reason. He hadn't seen another person since the day he woke up without any memory of his former life. No, the real reason he would turn off the safe highways and into cities, like Wichita, was to hunt for the infected.

It was something that he felt he had to do. Just like going east, he felt that if he didn't do it, he was breaking some sort of strange code. Wichita had been his most recent. He had spent five days in that wasteland, and destroyed six hives of infected. He was dimly aware that half of the town was now in flames because of his extermination attempt, but his satisfaction with his job did not waver.

After all, they had destroyed the world, didn't they? Six billion people used to be on this planet. Was it so bad to destroy a city to wipe out a few hundred of them? The city was in ruins anyway.

It hadn't been very difficult, not really. Wichita was his twentieth city, and he had boiled it down to an exact science. He had used very little ammunition, and there had been no problems with food, since he restocked in the city anyway.

All it took was a trip to the hardware store, a couple of household chemicals, some fertilizer, a couple cans of gasoline, and a detonator. He had plenty of those. The HUMVEE was littered with blasting caps and all sort of demolitions. He had some C4, but he was saving that.

After making his bombs, you'd figure the hard part would be finding the hives. They covered their tracks well, and he was unfamiliar with the city. However, he seem to stumble on to them without difficulty. He wasn't sure why, but he figured that he had been blessed with a sort of sixth sense. Or maybe he was just lucky.

The how didn't matter, and for that matter, the why didn't really matter either. All that mattered was infected were dead, he was happy with himself, and he was that much closer to the opposite end of the country.

His next stop would be Topeka. It was a few hours away, but he didn't mind. Even if it got boring, he never stopped enjoying driving on the roads. Except, of course, when there was traffic. Lucky for him, the HUMVEE had off-road capabilities.

"Time to leave," he said to the last reaches of the desert. It wasn't much desert, just a few small pockets of sand between large fields of grasslands.

He wondered if he was lonely. He couldn't be quite sure. After all, he had no memories of interacting with other humans. That made it hard to miss it, right? Still, it would be a lot of fun to just have someone to talk to, instead of being forced to personify his favorite weapon. Was it crazy for him to talk to a gun? Was he crazy? Again, he had nothing to compare himself with, except the infected, of course.

"You ready, Elaine?" asked Livingston. Elaine was a woman's name in the journal. Livingston figured the author liked her, he certainly talked about her enough.

Elaine said nothing, of course, but he could imagine the weapon telling him that she was indeed ready to leave. Her voice would be both sexy and intelligent at the same time. He wasn't quite sure where had heard the voice before, but he just knew that he liked it.

He opened the front door and hopped into the seat. Ahead of him was nothing but open road. It was beautiful in a calm, peaceful sort of way. The setting sun was casting a nice, reddish haze across the darkening sky. Livingston found it strange that something so beautiful could mean something so dangerous.

The sun was setting. The infected were coming out of their hives and they were looking to hunt. Livingston did not know if there were any other survivors, but if there were, he wished them all the luck in the world. He didn't feel quite right praying for them. After all, what sort of God would condemn his children to such a fate?

THE ADVERSARY

Chapter 1: They Are Getting Stronger

Livingston had hoped that would be no traffic coming out of the capital, but there had been. It wasn't that bad, nothing compared to LA, but he was forced to slowly creep through the city. He couldn't risk going fast, because, even with the sheer size and weight of the HUMVEE, he didn't want to crash into anything.

He had installed a circle of UV lights around the vehicle. The infected were smart enough to attack from different angles, after they acknowledge the headlights. Livingston wondered, not for the first time, just how intelligent they were.

And so, the HUMVEE slowly made its way through the city, casting a circle of light around it. Livingston knew that he had probably garnered the attention of a few infected, but they were probably weak and low in number. Topeka was nowhere near as large as Wichita, and that city didn't have that many infected. Wichita had been nothing, compared to the cities in California.

The first night was all about scouting. He would find a parking deck, somewhere high, and he would look over the entire town. The infected liked to hide in large, empty buildings. The bigger they were, the more infected they could squeeze inside. He idly wondered if there was any interaction between the infected. He hadn't seen any, aside from their united effort to kill and eat him.

He was in the middle of the city now, and he was forced to weave the large vehicle between abandoned cars. He could see the blue top of the dilapidated capitol building. Looking at that forgotten building, he felt a nearly painful feeling of sadness and regret. He couldn't remember the world before, but he liked to believe that it had been a merry and happy place. A place filled with people, a place without fear. And now, the entire world was just a graveyard, filled with dangerous ghouls and ghosts.

He stopped, idling his engine, and just looked at that blue top. In the darkness of the night, it was only noticeable because the reflection of the moon on its surface. The moon was full, but that was no comfort. Moonlight did not harm the infected.

There was a crashing noise, somewhere outside his circle of light. Livingston picked up Elaine, and looked through her nightvision scope.

"You see anything, Elaine?" he asked. His voice reverberated through the vehicle's small compartment.

The nightvision scope was his favorite and most treasured tool. His HUMVEE was his home, but the nightvision scope was his ticket to safety. It had never lied to him, and it had always shown him the dangers. He wondered if Elaine loved it as much as he did. He was sure she did, after all, it was part of her.

The world, through the scope, was a world of green. He could see the road, the cars, and even a phone booth that had been knocked on its side. It wasn't in the sharpest detail, but that was nothing new.

He continued to look outside the windshield, looking for signs of infected. They were always easy to see. In nightvision, their strange eyes seemed to glow with a sickly light. Livingston was not afraid of the infected, but he had always felt a tremor of unease when he looked at those eyes.

There was a noise coming from his right, and Livingston peered out from his driver's side window. At first, there was nothing. Then, he saw the outline of a body. And then, the eyes. Those unholy eyes. Livingston had barely recognized the infected when it entered his ring of light.

It was bald, like all the others. It was dressed in tatters, like all the others. However, this was different. Even as the light ate away at it, it kept on charging.

"What the --." He couldn't finish the sentence, because the infected ran into the HUMVEE with all the strength it could muster. Livingston could feel the vehicle rock on its frame. He was astounded. This was behavior that he had never seen before. If he had been in a regular car, without armor, the door probably would have caved in.

The infected was snarling, drooling, screaming. Bashing against the reinforced window with all its strength, even as the light ate away at its skin. Livingston could see the stark white of the creature's skull. He locked eyes with the creature and it paused, staring at him. It continued to do so, uncaring of its disintegrating body, for a few seconds. All of a sudden, it screamed at him, widening its jaw to an impossible size. The scream went on for several seconds, until the light finished its job. The infected was just ashes now, but the job had been done.

"Shit," he cursed. Livingston recognized that call. It was the call of food. This infected, some sort of strange scout, was alerting others to his presence. And he had no delusions. They would be coming, and they could be as dangerously suicidal as this one.

"Elaine, we've got trouble," he said. She shook in his hands, and he interpreted that a sarcastic confirmation. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Even in this time of crisis, she still couldn't help herself.

He gunned the HUMVEE and barreled forward, crashing straight into a small car. The sheer power of the HUMVEE, coupled with its size and huge bumper guard, nearly destroyed the small car. Livingston shook in his seat as the vehicle rolled over the remains of the car.

He continued to drive, looking for somewhere to hide. He looked absently at the interior clock. It was 4:33 AM. He breathed a little easier at that. Sunlight was under an hour away. He would survive this, he had survived through worse.

He turned a sharp corner, and nearly fishtailed, but he was able to control it and continue. An infected jumped in front of his vehicle, and he ran it down. It promptly exploded. Blood and gore splattered on his windshield.

"Shit!" cursed Livingston as he pushed down on the brakes as hard as he could. The vehicle lurched to a stop, and he flew forwards, stopping only when the seatbelt cut into his shoulder.

Up ahead was an upturned tanker truck, blocking the road. The black underbelly had rendered it nearly invisible. That wasn't the worse part, however. Nearly thirty infected were standing on it, staring at him. For a brief second, they did nothing, just stared at him. Livingston's hasty breaths sounded extremely loud in the momentary stillness.

The second passed, and many of the infected jumped off the tanker and hurried towards him. He switched it over to reverse and backed away. He felt the impact of an infected crashing into the rear of the HUMVEE. He turned the steering wheel sharply to the left, and gunned it.

However, several infected jumped onto his hood, blocking his view. This was crazy! They were just ignoring the pain. The lights were eating away at them and they didn't care. A part of Livingston saw that most of the infected were staying away from the lights, and only a small percentage were attacking him. What the hell was going on? Did the infected have some sort of upper class, stronger-than-usual ones?

Livingston didn't ponder this for long, and he put the HUMVEE back in reverse. The large vehicle shook mightily as he ran over what must have been several infected. He gunned the vehicle again, and pressed the brake after getting to a high speed. The momentum flung off most of the infected, and he continued without the visual hindrance.

However, not all of them had been flung off. Livingston heard a few of them holding on to the roof, and probably the large machine gun as well. He could see one of their heads, staring at him upside-down at the top of the windshield. It was a woman, and she was repeatedly crashing her head into the reinforced glass. The glass held up, but the woman's skull was crushed.

One of the lights on the right side of the HUMVEE went out, and an infected fell of the HUMVEE. Livingston was in awe at that. Did that infected just destroy the light by ramming its face into it? It was incredible, but it also should have been impossible.

"Elaine, what the fuck is going on?"

No one answered his question. He felt a tremor of an unfamiliar emotion. It was a mixture of several; sadness, despair, anger, frustration. Was this loneliness? An insane thought to be thinking at this time, but it forced itself to the front of his mind anyway.

Livingston slammed on the brakes again, and this time, the remaining infected flew off the top of the HUMVEE. They landed ahead of him, and he didn't hesitate. He pressed down on the gas and ran them over too. More blood splattered across his hood and windshield. Livingston saw the head of the woman explode like a overripe fruit.

He looked in the rear-view mirror. They were hard to see, but they were there. Chasing him. He couldn't be sure of the exact number, but there had to be at least 100, if not more. Out of that, he probably expected 15 or 20 to be some of those suicidal, pain-tolerant bitches.

Livingston dropped Elaine in the passenger floorboard, and pulled out two of his rare incendiary grenades from his passenger seat. They were large red cylinders, resembling stocky hairspray cans. They had a circular pin and a large silver lever. They were simple, but very effective. Pull the pin, hold the lever, release the lever and throw.

He opened his door. His windows didn't roll down like a normal vehicle's. It took a few seconds of juggling, and he watched the road like a hawk, but he managed to pull out one of the pins. He released the lever and dropped it. It hit against the road, and when the infected reached it, it exploded.

Most of the infected were immediately killed, if not incinerated. However, their bodies were forgotten and trampled over, and the survivors just kept on coming. Even when Livingston dropped the second grenade, killing another twenty or so, the survivors just kept on coming.

Livingston looked at the clock. It was 4:40. It was hard for him to believe, but it had only been seven minutes. The thing was that Livingston was not afraid, not really. He had been surprised at this new development, these infected that felt no pain, but he wasn't afraid. If anything, he enjoyed the challenge. He wondered if this sort of behavior was normal.

Livingston looked in the rear view mirror, but he had put enough distance between him and the infected that he couldn't see them. He knew they were there, however. They were tenacious.

Livingston stopped and turned the car, so that the driver's side was facing the infected. Without a moment's delay, he picked up Elaine, slung her over the shoulder and jumped into the back seat. He opened the roof hatch and manned the machine gun. It was a M2 Machine Gun and it was .50 caliber anti-personnel. He had no doubts as to its effectiveness, he just didn't like using it because the scarcity of ammunition. However, he felt like tonight would suit the fifty-cal just fine.

He turned the gun, and waited. A part of him thought that this was probably extremely stupid, but he couldn't stop himself. He enjoyed this; the hunt and the chase. Killing the infected was the only thing around that was any fun.

They came into his view, most stopping before the circle of light but a few kept charging. With a grim smile on his face, Livingston let loose with the machine gun.

It was as if they had all been hypnotized, all at once, to fall down and go to sleep. The machine gun, shooting at 600 rounds per minute, was killing the infected with the utmost ease. Not even the stronger ones, the ones that could ignore pain, would stand up to the monstrous weapon.

Within a minute, the entire group of infected were dead. The barrel was smoking and hot to the touch. He had ran the gun out of almost of its ammunition, but it was worth it. Livingston uttered a breathe, as the excitement starting to fade away.

He didn't even see the pair of infected until it was too late. They had dodged his bullets by scaling the wall. As he sat himself back down in the HUMVEE, and he reached up to close the hatch, the pair jumped on to the vehicle. It bucked wildly with their weight.

Livingston lost his balance and fell out of the backseat, falling to the floorboard. The first infected, a woman, crawled through the hatch and jumped at him. He stopped her by holding her throat back, but she was within inches of him, snarling and yelling at him. Her elongated canines dripped with drool.

He couldn't reach Elaine. She was behind his back! It was too cramped in the floorboard to maneuver himself. Before he could think about what to do, the second infected crawl through the hatch. He rammed up against the woman, and the combined weight of the infected pushed him deeper into the floor. He screamed in pain and anger as the two combined their efforts to get at him.

"The pistol," said a voice. Livingston had no idea where the voice had come from, but he didn't care. His secondary weapon, the pistol! He reached into the holster on his belt, and pulled out the M1911. Without a moment's hesitation, he shot the woman in the face. She fell over, her brains leaking out onto the upholstery.

He shot at the man, but he moved and the bullet entered his shoulder. He didn't even notice it. This was one of the stronger ones. The infected grabbed Livingston by the throat, and his claws started to cut into the tender skin.

He fired off shot after shot, and finally, a shimmer of pain reflected across the infected's face. However, anger replaced it and Livingston was hurled away, his head impacting against the window. There was a brief flash of pain and blood began to flow freely down his temple.

The infected jumped at him, but he fired off another shot and his head was destroyed just like the woman's. He fell onto the backseat, right on top of the woman's body.

Livingston didn't hesitate, even though his throat screamed with pain and his head felt like it was cracked. He stood up and closed the hatch. He stepped over the bodies and sat back in the front seat, this time placing Elaine in his lap.

"It's alright," he said to his only friend. She was crying because she had been no help to him. Her sarcasm was just a memory. "It's okay."

Livingston pressed down on the gas, and felt the HUMVEE lurch forwards. The clock read 4:49. He started on his way, still determined to find a parking deck and scout out the town.

If anything, his injures made him want to destroy the infected even more. He made a vow at that moment in time. Topeka would be free of infected, even if he had to burn it down to the ground.

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The First Signs of Life

Livingston stumbles onto a small group of survivors. The leader wishes to join him, but Livingston wants only revenge for the attack on him the previous night. Livingston discovers that his idea of humanity's perfection is far from true.