Hello, Left 4 Dead fans! Long time, no see.
I had the itch to write some L4D stuff the other day, but no motivation to work on my story already in progress (go figure). So I had my friend give me a writing prompt. I definitely like how this little one-shot turned out and I hope you guys like it too!
Prompt: Person gets caught out in the rain and runs to where there is shelter, only to find someone else there. What happens next?
Characters: Louis and Francis
Author's Note:I do not own Left 4 Dead or any of its characters (though I wish I did).
Shit! Shit, shit, shit! This is not good!
The rain hit Louis in the face like bullets as he raced across the deserted field, his arms cradling the shotgun he found in a nearby house. It had been only a few days since the Infection had become an epidemic, and every place that he went, he either came across those already lost to the disease or their corpses. Luckily he was fast enough to outrun the turned and smart enough to loot when and where he could. That's why he was running. They had found him.
In the distance the black man could see the silhouette of a farmhouse and a barn. Hopefully neither were completely overrun by the undead and fortified enough to protect him for the time being. Please, God. Please let this place be abandoned, he prayed as the house came fully into view. Louis nearly slipped and fell in the mud as the telltale groans of the Infected reached his ears over the sound of the pouring rain. This is it. I'm dead.
"Hey! Get yer ass over here!" a voice screamed, followed by the a barrage of bullets aimed directly for the used-to-be people in front of the analyst. The bodies of the diseased fell hard onto the muddy grass, their blood pooling into the puddles already forming all over the ground. "C'mon! I haven't got all day!"
Louis snapped out of his momentary stupor and ran in the direction of the voice. Before him stood a biker covered in mud and tattoos, holding the doors to a basement cellar open for his fellow Survivor. The two men quickly climbed a few steps down and locked the cellar doors shut, the rain only an echo now. It was at that moment that Louis realized that he was exhausted. His legs buckled slightly as he heavily lowered himself down onto the wooden step, all of his muscles throbbing from the vast amount of running he had been doing. "Oh my God... I thought I was gonna die," he murmured with a slight laugh, running a hand over his wet scalp.
"Yeah, but you didn't," the biker said gruffly as he made his way down the stairs, setting his rifle on a crate. "Don't think you'll be so lucky next time."
"Aren't you Mr. Positivity?" the black man said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
The bearded man ignored his remark and turned back toward his new companion. "You got a name?"
"Louis." He shakily got to his feet and walked over to the biker, stretching his hand out in greeting. "And you are?"
"Francis," the white man replied, shaking Louis's hand roughly. "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, why don't we sit our asses down and relax a minute? I hate standing around."
The analyst stared blankly at the other man before nodding his head and following him over to the other side of the room. An old ratty couch was pushed up against the far wall with crates lined up on either side. "What is all this?" Louis asked as he sat down, dust wafting up into the stale air as he settled in against the cushions.
Francis shrugged as he sat down as well. "No clue. Rations, probably," he replied and pulled his leather vest off, laying it across the arm of the couch. "You headed anywhere in particular?"
Louis shook his head, leaning forward on his elbows. "No, not at all. I've just been running from one place to the next, trying not to get myself killed."
"Then you're lucky to have found me," the white man said with a grin. "I heard there's some safe houses in the next town over near that old hospital-Mercy, I think. Should be our safest bet."
"So you don't mind me tagging along?" Louis asked, swallowing dryly.
Francis rolled his eyes and breathed out a laugh. "I don't care as long as you don't get me killed!"
The analyst smiled in return. "I'll try my best not to," he said as he sat back against the cushions, breathing out a sigh as he listened to the rain pounding on the wooden cellar doors. "Do you think there's others like us out there? Y'know, Survivors."
"Probably," the other man replied simply.
Louis nodded his head in recognition and crossed his arms over his chest. "This is Hell, isn't it?"
"Last time I checked, we were still in Pennsylvania, but it's a close second," Francis replied jokingly. He let out a sigh through his nostrils and stared up at the ceiling. "Tell me, Louis. If none of this shit were happening, what would you be doin' right now?"
The black man furrowed his brow at the biker's question. "What day is this? Sunday, right?" He looked over at his companion as he received a nod in reply. "Well right now, I would probably be at my grandma's house, having Sunday dinner. She'd have a roast on the table with potatoes and carrots and all the other little fixin's and she'd be giving my older sister a hard time about not having found a husband yet. My aunt would be laughing at them-she's always laughing-and my two little cousins would be arguing over who gets the last dinner roll. They fight over anything really..." Louis let out a shuddering sigh as his voice trailed off and touched his cheek, feeling the dampness of his skin. "I'll never get home in time to eat with them again..." He swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat grow in size. "My grandma-she was the best woman I ever knew. She raised us after my mom left and now she's-" More tears spilled from his eyes as he resisted the urge to vomit. "She's one of them!"
"Hey, baby! How was work today?"
Louis hugged his grandmother tightly as she greeted him, closing the front door behind him. "It was good-just the same stuff as usual. How was your day?" he asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
"Just fine. I did some shoppin' earlier for Sunday dinner. I wanted to try somethin' different so I got some pork chops," she replied with a sweet smile momentarily before it faltered. "I heard from Bernice today."
"Oh? How's Dave doin'? Has he gotten any better?" the analyst asked, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.
The aging woman let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. "Not at all. He's barely holdin' on," she replied as she took a seat next to him. "The doctors said they've seen a lot of this lately. These people come in sick and they all but go into comas. Bernice said Dave's got little to no brain activity and he practically looks like a corpse. It's so scary..."
"Wow, that's so crazy. He was fine last week," Louis murmured as he crossed his arms on the table. "Do they know if it's contagious?"
"I don't know, baby. I didn't get a chance to ask," she said with a frown. "Just be careful. Things like this could spread like wildfire." The old woman wiped at her forehead. "Is it hot in here to you, baby? I'm burnin' up."
"No, I'm fine. Are you feelin' alright?" Louis asked, reaching his hand out to touch her forehead. "You do feel a bit warm. Maybe you should lie down."
His grandmother nodded her head and struggled to stand, Louis quickly getting to his feet to help her. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right. I'm sure some rest would do these old bones some good."
Louis lead her to her bedroom and helped her into bed, not knowing this would be the last time he would ever talk to her.
"Hey, man. Snap out of it!"
Francis's voice rang in the black man's ears, pulling him out of his memories. "Oh, sorry, man. I was just thinkin' about my grandma," he replied tiredly, running a hand down his face. "She turned in a matter of days. I remember when it happened." Louis glanced over at the biker, who leaned forward intently, and continued. "I had taken her to the hospital the night that she first started showing symptoms. She had been completely normal when I first got there and then she got the fever. I checked on her later that night and she looked so pale-almost gray. That's when I took her to the hospital."
"To Mercy?" Francis asked.
Louis shook his head. "No, St. Michael's. It's about twenty or thirty miles south of here," he replied, not bothering to look over at the white man. "That's where she turned into-turned into one of those monsters." He leaned forward on his elbows and held his face in his hands, trying not to think about too many of the details. "I was in the room with her."
"Seriously?" Francis studied the other man's profile and could see the pain in his eyes as plain as day. "Damn, I'm sorry, man. That must've been hard."
The analyst turned his head to look at Francis. "Hard doesn't begin to describe it." He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting back to the cement floor. "I- She was comatose and I kept thinking I saw her move out of the corner of my eye. The nurse had just come in to give us some fresh towels and she reached over to check something-I don't remember what. In a split second, my grandma had grabbed that woman by the arm and bit into her. Ripped the flesh right off the bone..." Louis glanced back over to the biker for a moment. "I forgot for a moment that she was my grandmother. I grabbed the closest thing I could find-a spare oxygen tank-and I hit her as hard as I could. I only wish that's all it would've taken to kill her."
Francis stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at his companion. He felt sick to his stomach just thinking of how scary it must have been to see your grandmother turn into a monster, let alone beat her to death.
Louis cleared his throat. "So how far down the road are we from the next town? We should probably get a game plan together if we're gonna survive this thing."
"Right." The biker's eyes refocused and he shook his head. "Uh, we're about fifteen miles out, I think. We'll keep to the main roads and hopefully we find a car or something to outrun these fuckers," Francis said as he got to his feet and motioned to the crates. "Let's start opening these things up and see if there's anything we can use."
After an hour or so of opening boxes, the two men found several hand guns along with ammunition, rations, and some first aid kits. They shoved as much as they could into their pockets, seeing as they couldn't find a knapsack or anything to carry all of it in, and waited for the rain to let up.
"Man, I hate rain."
Louis looked over at the biker with a grin and shook his head. "Is there anything you don't hate, Francis?"
Francis smiled crookedly. "I don't hate vests," he replied as he pulled his leather vest back on. "Sounds like the rain has finally stopped."
The analyst craned his neck toward the cellar doors and listened. "Seems like it." He turned his head toward his companion. "You ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Francis replied, cracking his knuckles.
Louis led the way over to the wooden staircase and the two men stared up at the doors. Muffled groans slipped in through the cracks, the setting sun's rays interrupted from time to time by a passing Infected or two. The analyst looked at the biker with a nod. "Let's do this."
Guns in hand the duo burst through the cellar doors into the light, letting fly bullets in all directions.
"Mercy Hospital, here we come!"
So what did you guys think?
Reviews and faves are always appreciated, but please no flames. Flames are only good for roastin' marshmallows and weenies. :)
See you next time!