As a side note, this story does include strong language, explicit sexual themes, profanity, and explicit violence/gore.
Please do not read on if you are not of an age of maturity to handle this.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Valve produced game Left 4 Dead, all references as well as the infected characters concept belong to them.
"... And in other news, the Green Flu, originating in the states, has been migrating it's way up to Canada. The first Provinces it has affected are Ontario, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Winnipeg, soon to be making it's way to British Columbia. All residents are advised to stay indoors, board windows, and to not take further action until an announcement has been made. Bombings have taken place to try and contain this epidemic, but to no avail. The infection has been spreading steadily for almost two months, and now other countries have been supplying help to battle the viral threat. All cities to the north of the great lakes should be advised to stay indoors, do not risk any type of infection, stay away from sick individuals and to wash your hands!.." The reporter laughed mildly, his sagging old face lifting his jowls in a smile. Grey haired, well trimmed, professional. Exactly what you would expect from a news casting reporter. The only off thing about this man was that he had a multitude of Canadian pins fastened to his blazer. He was either highly patriotic (Which most Canadians aren't) Or he was American. Considering that he had voiced this single report with much anguish and sincerity, or any report about the states really, he must have been American.
"What a load of horse shit!" Tuning out the television, the woman turned to pick up a small phone. It was the typical phone, a slide, touch screen. Most people now'a days could afford them. After these little slippery bastards came out, they never really advanced them. They just became more affordable, and soon everyone who could earn a small sum of money from either a terrible job or panhandling had one. So much for 'future high tech'.
No texts, no calls, nothing. If the day could have gotten any plainer then this, She would probably be dead, Or at least a paraplegic vegetable with no more brain power then a door knob.
"Y'know, If they are just gonna come out 'an say 'zombie apocalypse', Why haven't they done it already? Are they scared of mass hysteria or somethin'? We're Canadians, not Americans. We practically live in the bush and fist-fight bears." She sighed heavily, speaking to herself while jamming pieces of rainbow coloured candy strips in her mouth.
"Woah Woah Woah, you're Canadian, I'm not. Does that mean I'm going to die first?" A man poked his head out from around the corner of the small apartment, lazily letting his gaze slide from the television to his female companion.
"Nah, I wouldn't let you die. Where's Snags? I don't want to have to go to work and then come back and you guys are locked out or something." She said, calmly huffing to herself while running a hand over her pair of slumbering kittens.
"I think Snags went out to stop at the corner store down the street. She'll be back in a minute.." The male sighed softly, flopping down next to the female, scooping up the little animals to save them from being crushed. They mewled quietly in disappointment and from awaking from their slumber. Stretching and voicing their discomfort they curled back up on his lap. "No kitties, No don't fall- No stop that no sleeping. Stop it." He nudged the little animals awake, one of them batting at his hand weakly. "No kitties, Stop. No. No bad kitty!" He flinched, crunching up his face as the little animal dug it's claws into his leg. His Companion snatched up the two little things, snuffing them off to the side of the couch where they instantly curled back up.
"They just like you Jazz."
"I think they are out to get me! Bacon gives me the evil eye all the time and Streaky sits on my face when I sleep. I think your cats are trying to kill me."
"No, They are just being cats. Now, when they start bringing dead flies from god knows where and dropping them in your slippers, you'll have a problem."
"Erika that's a cats form of endearment and love."
"I really don't want their love in my slippers."
They both went back to watching the report on the television, listening as the man with the ridiculous amount of pins droned on about mundane things. A tornado here, Democratic Collapse there, Germany and Austria at the top of the world, the Canadian dollar this, inflation that. None of it was particularly interesting. Murder here, murder there. Finally something interesting happened, and what a relief it was; It was almost as if the two could feel their brains degrading into a puddle of mush. The sag-faced swathe reporter leaned forward, pressing a finger to his ear, jamming the ear piece further in as if to hear properly. He was either really good at being dramatic and re-enacting reporters from the horror movies, was actually in shock, or was half deaf. Maybe all three.
"I've just been.. informed that.." He gulped slightly, barely listening to himself. His eyes were fairly wide open and blank, focusing on nothing at all. He had spoken a little too soon, and was now being flooded with information. After a few seconds he leaned back, wiping his forehead to dab away perspiration regardless of whether there was actually any there. The man sagged in his chair, taking a deep breath and loosening his tie. He cleared his throat, and his jowls seemed to hang lower then when he started the casting.
"Kent? We're still on the air." A soft mans voice called from behind the camera. The reporter looked up, blinking for a moment and clearing his throat once more. He still seemed in shock, and as he found his voice he shook slightly. Just as he opened his mouth he started re-arranging papers nervously, before finally just knocking them off his desk. After his little tirade he finally looked the camera head on, his mouth hanging open slightly. Someone off set cleared their throat, urging him on.
"Yes.. I-... Ahem.. I have just been informed that.. CEDA finds it necessary to reveal to us the.. true nature of this epidemic. It seems we are in the midst of.. A pseudo-Zombie apocalypse. Yes, you heard right. A zombie apocalypse. All residents are advised to.. Stock up on any food supplies, weapons and clothes. Barricade homes, board windows until evacuation points have been set. This.. Virus, They say, Is derived from rabies. The assailants have been properly named the infected, and that-... that isn't all." His whole demeanour seemed to unravel as he repeated the information.
"All audiences are advised to watch the footage and images with caution. Some of the images are graphic and may.. disturb some viewers." As he finished speaking, the news feed was cut, and the screen went black. After what seemed like a painstaking eternity, it flipped back on, showing broken and damaged footage for a few seconds before cutting out again, Only to return with a clear picture.
A man was standing in the middle of a street, a multitude of men behind him, shooting at snarling, running people. There was blood everywhere, and stray organs as well as chunks of flesh littered the street in a nonchalant fashion. The man was smiling and chuckling quietly, speaking casually to someone off screen, making some sort of joke. He wore a heavy bullet proof vest, CEDA cleanly printed on his front. Americans. He seemed young, only in his possible middle thirties. His chin was scruffy, a nicely shaven goatee encircling his face. His hair was a very lavish brown, an almost shimmering almond colour. He had an average build, and seemed to be fairly tall and lanky. He wore a simple over shirt, and black formal pants. His clothes were dirty, and splattered with the thick colour of blood, and what seemed to be a runny green slime. Maybe he had gone dumpster diving in a pile of dead hookers. Somebody called his name, queueing him to begin what ever he had planned to talk about. His focus snapped up, and he smiled warmly at the camera lens.
"Behind me, as you can see, are the common infected." He stated simply, swivelling his whole body back to motion an arm towards the carpet of dead bodies, as well as the gasping, gurgling, screeching and heaving ones still in their death throes on the pavement. They were in some sort of empty parking lot.
He continued on. "And to my left, we have other infected that been captured with the efforts of these.. gallant men." He seemed fairly studious in awarding praise the the efforts of the gun-handlers around him. He turned, directing the crew towards a row of what seemed like grotesquely mutated people. "This virus, it mutates the host like you would not believe. Like, look at this guy! He's so damn fat he jiggles around like a god damn bowl of jello!" He motioned his hand towards a morbidly obese man. He had pale grey-green skin, and huge growths around the girth of his stomach. His shirt had been pushed up from the sheer mass that his stomach was now. He almost looked disgustingly pregnant. His arms were bloated, and full of the warty-growths as well. He had a few lumps on his face, and the skin seemed to be fairly normal. His eyes were a pale yellow like colour. His arms had been bound to his sides, and he was leaning up against a wall. A gag was in the way of his mouth, a stream of bile bubbling past the gag and dribbling down his lips. His shirt was stained with blood and a gooey kind of vomit.
"Anyways," the man continued, looking back at the fat mass of a human. "This guy is called a boomer. Now, these fellas aren't your run-of-the-mill infected. They are slow, and will follow people relentlessly. If you ever come into contact with one, shoot it. But make sure you are a fair distance away from it. Eight to ten feet is advisable 'cuz they explode. Don't let 'em puke on you either. For one, it stinks, and for two, it can attract every god damn zombie in your area. That and you can't ever see through the shit! They are ugly, an you can hear 'em 'comin when they make a burping noise. Stay away from 'em." The man had a Texan accent, and the way he held his mouth to one side proved that he was used to having something gripped in the side of his mouth. Possibly a cigarette.
As he proceeded on, he came to the limp form of a woman. She was dressed in fairly casual clothes, they were blood spattered and ripped. They were now more like ratty rags then anything. Her skin was so pale, and her arms looked like a necrotic black, ending in enormous bone-like claws on her hands. Her hair was hanging in lanky dirty strips, an almost drained colour of brown. There were gunshots in her neck and head, thankfully the camera couldn't see her eyes or face.
He looked up, continuing on. "Now, this 'lil missy is called the witch. Those claws on her hands can rip you to shreds in one hit. It's easy to identify her, and avoid her. She wails and sobs at all times, making it easy to hear her anywhere she is. At night she is stationary, and during the day she wanders around. If you give her at least a good eight to eleven feet of space, she wont come after you. Maybe hiss a little and growl, but that's it. Never shine 'yer lights on them, ever. They hate it, and will be more inclined to attack. Don't under estimate a witch, they can break through metal doors and chicken wire. A safe witch is a dead witch." His face was deadpanned with seriousness. He wasn't about to make a joke like he had with the boomer.
Once again he moved, coming to another captive. This one was alive, and also a woman. There was a male counterpart beside her, they both had a ridiculous amount of gags on. These two both wore tight clothing, their stomachs bulging slightly in the flop of fat over their pants. The woman almost looked as if she were straight from a land fill. Her body was loose, extra fat hanging over her gut and a pair of love handles to go with it. Her shirt was a ripped up blouse and undershirt. An unsuppressed amount of cleavage over hang down her shirt, suggesting she hadn't been the best looking when she had become infected and sick. The man next to her seemed to be almost the same. He was pudgy, and they both had long graceful necks. The skin had been pulled down, like when you shove a sock down your leg and it wrinkles. They were both missing the skin around their cheeks, and the bottom halves of their faces seemed to be skinned off. The man only lacked part of his nose, while the woman simply had a bony orifice left. More green ooze soaked into the gags and dripped past their pseudo-mouths. They had very sickly coloured skin, small abrasions and boils doting their flesh.
"These are called spitters, They make screeching gasping sounds, like my wife at the shoe store." He paused to laugh, brushing a hair out of his face. "An these bastards can spit goo from long distances, avoid these guys at all costs. They spit a highly corrosive acid that burns the skin. That an they're ugly." He spent less time with the spitters then the other two, and quickly moved on, coming to another dead and deformed body.
The creature looked like a small stout man, or like.. a long thin-limbed midget. He was awkwardly hunched over, and his spine was pushing against his skin. He had no skin around his mouth, leaving only his teeth and gums. His eyes a glossy rotted yellow-like colour. He must have been dead for quite some time. Once again the man was very serious, his face dropping slightly. It was probably the best poker face he could muster.
"Now, we ain't got much time, so 'imma make this quick. This 'ere is a Jockey, or lil' leaper. He laughs like a psycho at all times, and can jump long distances. He jumps on y'ere back and drives you to where ever the hell he wants! Off a cliff? Sure. In a river? Sure. Into a horde? You bet. Shit, this monster is also hard to shoot, they are so damn fast. Travel together, and hope you don't meet one." He quickly shuffled on, pointing to another bound mutated person. Tumours encased parts of his face, especially one side of his head, the left side. They seemed to be more ingrown then bulbous and over hanging like most were. He had a few large lumps overhanging on his face, and neck. His shirt was lifted in areas where there were tumours on his chest, shoulder, and neck. A pasty yellow eye peered quietly at the camera. He had more lumps and boils down his hands, and arms, one arm very lumped, the tumours lessening as they neared his hands. He had blood down the front of his shirt, a very dirty and ruffled black dress shirt hanging on his long bold shoulders. He has matted tufts of blond hair poking around his head, covering his forehead. There was a thick tongue, or sausage like thing, hanging out of his mouth. It was strapped around his neck, and a sock was stuffed in his mouth. He voiced his discontent and made a muffled signature scream, after which he went into a coughing fit, shaking violently. He pulled his hands apart, trying to free himself and his bound legs. He seemed twice as calm as the other infected, and seemed more inquisitive and intelligent. After struggling for a moment he calmed himself, sitting quietly and wheezing loudly through his nose.
"This is the smoker, he coughs a lot, you can hear him from far distances. You can smell him too, smells kinda like.. hmm.." He paused, in thought. "Smells like wet mould and smoke. Watch for their tongue, they can catch you and wrap you from 50 feet away. They are dangerous far away, but close up they are harmless. 'specially if they miss. Hell you could beat the shit out of 'em with yer hands. After they die they explode into a cloud of nasty shit. Can't see, can't breath." He rushed the crew on, moving on to two more dead bodies.
The first had the proportion of his limbs all wrong. One large, scaled arm, and the other seemed shrivelled and weak. His legs were the same way. One was regularly portioned, while the other pressed at the fabric of the jeans. He had no hair, and not very much skin on his face to speak of. His skin was a mottled green. The other body was that of a man in a sweater. The hood had been pulled back, revealing a head with claw marks in the scalp, cheeks, ears, neck, and face. He had no eyes, only empty sockets.
He first pointed to the large armed human, wanting to rush this along. "That's a charger, they are nasty things. You can hear e'm, 'n they sound like they are trying to squeal and talk. They charge ya, and grab ya, an' keep runnin' until they hit a wall. Then they beat you to death. They aren't very hard to kill, but are dangerous. And that little shit over there-" he pointed to the un-hooded figure, no tape encircled his limbs except around his ankles, his feet were bare, and his sweater was bloody and a shredded rag. You could see parts of his pale boil covered skin from underneath the fabric. "That there is a leaper, or a hunter. They literally hunt you, and you can't hear 'em unless they are huntin' you. They growl, and then screech when they are ready to pounce. It is sure as hell difficult to knock 'em off, and they will shred every organ in your body. They hunt in packs, so never go anywhere alone. Watch for these lil' shits, and shoot 'em early."
With that the news feed cut off, returning to the reporter. His face was as pale as a sheet. "It.. appears we are.. going to go off the air. This has been Kent Thornton.. S-signing off.." He choked out the last words, swallowing thickly. He turned numbly away in his swivelling chair, slowly getting out of it and ambling out. Of view of the camera. And afterwards, the whole station started to broadcast an 'off air' image, a loud beep accompanying it.
"Well shit, isn't that just awesome." Erika murmured, rolling her eyes. "What is this, the set up for a god damn movie? I need to go to work. I'll be back later." She muttered, getting off the cough and slipping into some simple combat boots. They came a little below her knee, but were by no means a woman's shoe. They looked nice and feminine, but were the kind of army surplus boots you would expect from any other mans shoe. Steel toe, great grips, strong durable laces. After finishing her boots, she slipped on a P-coat, doing up the double breasted buttons. She looked almost like a mobster now, a black and white scarf poking out of the collar of the coat.
"Bye, see you soon Jazz." She waved, and her companion waved back, smiling mildly while changing the channel.