Disclaimer: I do not own the Left 4 Dead franchise, Valve does.


Deciding to interact more with my reviewers for this project, and I want to toss out thanks to all of you who added 'Red' to your Favorites/Alerts.

Patrick the PROTOTYPE: Thanks for the review once again, my good chum. You may be a little disappointed in regards to quarantines, since the prologue was merely a mood-setter. However, there will be moments of how the infection impacts the uninfected on a psychological level.

Emmaleigh: Thank you, thank you…the chapter has done its job then.

Illusion of the Mirror: A double review! You humble me. There won't be any real two-sided romance in the story (aside from maybe some brief, comical one-sided moments). I chose Zoey and Francis as the main characters because out of all of the survivors, the story revolves around them the most (I've got nothing against Louis…in fact, out of all of them, Louis and I are the most alike). There will be some moments that could "hint" at it…but it's all open to interpretation.

Felt I should also add an explanation to the story's rating: Rated 'M' for language and gore. To be honest, I don't think I could write a sex scene to save my life.


The Red Tide

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 2: Zombie Rhetoric


"The number one virus caused by procreation…it's evolution, just evolution."

"Evolution" – Korn


"Estimated time?" A stringent-looking man demanded as he stepped into the command center.

A blonde-haired soldier stationed at the nearest monitor glanced over her shoulder. "The USS Ronald Reagan should be within range in five hours."

General Travis Ryke nodded in terse satisfaction. "Any activity in the target zone?"

A soldier on the far end on the monitors stood. "Nothing outside the usual, sir, but…"

Ryke glanced at the man. "Spit it out!"

The officer stood in attention, a nervous sweat dotting his brow. "The last batch of drones that we sent out picked up what we're assuming are survivors."

The general frowned. "Number?"

"Only three, sir."

"Tch, continue with the operation…three lives are nothing compared to what's already been lost."

"Yes, sir!"

"Does the Reagan have its orders?" Ryke inquired to his nearest subordinate.

"They do now, sir. The operation will commence as soon as it's reached the designated coordinates."

"Very good, you're all relieved of your shift then."

"But…the next group isn't even here yet…"

Ryke shot the younger man a look that sent shivers down his spine. "I will remain and watch over this place until the next shift arrives."

The room gave a salute before filing out of the room.

"Private Lovecraft."

The blonde-haired woman stopped, turning on her heel in attention as the room finally emptied. "Sir?"

Ryke glimpsed at the door briefly, looking as if he expected someone to come barging in at that very moment. "Private, you are hereby given a special assignment of the highest matter."

Rachel Lovecraft opened her mouth as if to speak.

"You will remain quiet, private." Ryke growled out.

The soldier nodded quickly.

"Now, you will not speak a word of this to anyone. Starting at 0100 tomorrow, you are hereby reassigned under Lt. Cross' unit. While under his command you will do nothing to draw attention to yourself and you will report all activities that his men undergo. Is that clear?"

Lovecraft nodded, feeling a foreboding sensation build within her stomach. "Understood, sir…but…doesn't Cross pretty much work for him?"

Ryke's body went rigid. "I'm going to be blunt with you, private…I don't trust that lunatic that CEDA sent us or any of the men working under him, Cross included."

"With all due respect, sir…he's just a scientist…"

"A scientist who has my current second-in-command hanging on his every goddamn word!" Ryke snapped. "I don't know how the hell he's doing it, but the man is in a position to where he could jeopardize the entire city's evacuation procedures."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Rachel sucked in a quiet breath at her superior's nod. "The man gives me the creeps, too…but why would he do the opposite of what he's been trying to accomplish?"

Ryke stared down at the private, his jaw jutting out in an ominous fashion. "You're dismissed, Lovecraft. Just remember your assignment."

Rachel winced before saluting, taking her cue to leave. Ryke paced back and forth while running a hand over his wrinkling face. Minutes ticked back in edgy silence as troubled thoughts swam through the man's head.

Chaos. Chaos always spawned trouble…and the Green pandemic had produced a lot of chaos.

When the whirring of the door's hydraulics broke the silence, Ryke turned around, masking his relief with irritation. "It's about time you got…here…?

Expecting to find the command center's next shift of operators, Ryke felt his mouth go dry when he discovered one man standing in the doorway. Garbed in a white lab coat, the man appeared to be in his late fifties. Grayed hair was slicked back, almost touching his shoulders and accentuated by the matching handlebar mustache that curled slightly toward his nose. A pair of thin glasses topped off the scientist's appearance, sitting in front of jade-colored eyes. Overall, he did not particularly look like a threat, the exception being the Smith & Wesson M-29 revolver strapped to his left thigh.

"Daekem…" Ryke muttered, barely keeping his snarl in check as he glared at the scientist.

Doctor Oswald Daekem: a man who thrived in chaos.

"General Ryke." Daekem nodded at the soldier while strolling forward, the metal door sliding shut behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Ryke demanded, balling his hands into fists at his sides.

The scientist smirked at the flustered general before glancing at the various screens before him. Ignoring the question, Daekem sighed. "New Orleans…is there really any place safer on the coast?"

The general huffed in indignation. "Are you questioning the efforts of my men, doctor?"

Daekem waved Ryke off. "You misunderstand, general…that was meant to be a compliment to your soldiers and their efforts."

"I'll ask you again since you seem to be hard of hearing. Why are you here?"

The scientist smiled slyly at the soldier. "Merely checking on things, that's all."

"And do they check out to your satisfaction?" Ryke ground out through gritted teeth.

Daekem stroked his mustache in thought, ignoring the general once more. "Does the Reagan have its mission?"

"Yes."

The older man shook his head in mild disbelief. "So you're really going to do it? I didn't think you had it in you, General."

Ryke stood stiffly, glaring a hole through the side of the man's head. "The targeted area's become too compromised…we don't have a choice in the matter."

Daekem turned to the general. "One more thing before I go. A question, if you will."

"A question?" Ryke echoed with suspicion.

"Yes…for my research." The scientist nodded, a smile creeping its way across his face as the room's door slid open.

Lieutenant Ryan Cross – a somber and gruff-looking individual – entered the command center, remaining in front of the exit as the door slid back shut.

General Ryke felt dread wash over his body.

"What do you do when you see an Infected…a 'zombie?'"

Ryke glanced between the two men. "I shoot it."

Daekem's smiled broke into a full-blown grin at the obvious answer. "Well said."

The general inwardly cursed as Cross removed a pistol from his side, his hand reaching for his own firearm. With his attention focused solely on the lieutenant, Ryke was too late in noticing Daekem stepping up behind him. Pulling a syringe from his coat, the scientist stabbed it into Ryke's arm, injecting the pale-green liquid into the general's body.

Ryke hissed in pain, swinging a fist around wildly in hopes of hitting the vile scientist. Daekem casually dodged the sluggish blow, stepping back while removing the syringe in one fluid-like movement. Ryke whirled around to face the doctor, pulling the pistol from his belt with the full intent of ending the man's life…

Bang!

Pain erupted throughout Ryke's leg, a curtain of red briefly settling over his vision. Collapsing to his knees, the general felt the pistol slip from his hand. Blood ran freely from the wound in his calf, causing the man to bite back a scream of pain. Glancing over his shoulder, Ryke struggled to focus on his other assailant. Another thunderous shot rang out, throwing the general to his side as another bullet drilled into his other leg. In a blind, pain-induced stupor, Ryke thrashed out while struggling toward the derelict pistol on the floor.

Daekem walked around the fallen general, kicking the firearm away from the prone man while doing so.

"Don't you just love these sound-proof rooms, General?"

"Bastard! What…what the fuck did you…inject me with?"

Daekem smirked down at the injured man as Cross holstered his firearm, ignoring the general's question once more. "The 'zombie rhetoric.'"

"W…What?"

"You answered it yourself, General. What do you do when you see a 'zombie?' Why, shoot it of course."

Ryke's eyes widened in horror. "You…you didn't…"

"Such a sad day…when the general in charge succumbs to the very disease he's trying to save the people from."

"Daekem! You monster!"

The scientist continued to disregard the pitiful sight as he followed the lieutenant out of the room.

As the door slid shut, Daekem glanced at Cross. "Can he make it back to the door?"

The soldier glanced at his watch and shook his head. "I shot him in both of his Achilles tendons. There's no chance of him making it out of that room before passing out from blood loss."

"That was rather easy." Daekem commented idly as the pair moved quickly through the hallway. "Pity that the good general has already outlived his usefulness."

"Are you sure we shouldn't hit the alarm, sir?" Cross murmured, copper-colored eyes glancing at his superior in mild confusion.

"Far too suspicious."

The lieutenant nodded in understanding while falling in step behind the doctor.

"Besides," Daekem chuckled after a moment of silence. "The staff will find it all on their own in a few minutes anyway."


Gladesdale sat in what could be considered a petrified state. With exception to the occasional columns of smoke rising from the larger city of Tallahassee in the distance, the entire town lay utterly still. The outer limits were completely devoid of activity, both human and Infected alike. Cars sat abandoned by their owners, a few doors still open from their haste. Trash was blown across the body-littered streets by the occasional breeze, and the few still-standing traffic lights were flickering a repetitive yellow.

The whole place looked far too much like a graveyard…

And it was beginning to unnerve Zoey.

A calloused hand – once delicate before the world began to end – reached up to lightly grip the dog tag around Zoey's neck. It was a habit she had recently picked up, one that did not go unnoticed by her companions…or herself. The brunette was well aware of the little tick, even now as she gently ran her thumb across the indented metal, the words forever burned into her mind.

It was the last piece of Bill she had.

After every scuffle…every run-in with an Infected, Zoey would always check to make sure the tag was still there. Regardless that the former humans would never even get anywhere near her, a small pale hand would always reach up and touch the glinting metal around her neck. To Zoey, the tag was worth as much as her life…maybe even more. She feared that if this last memento of Bill were ever lost…that she would ultimately forget him altogether. A childish fear; that much she was well aware of. The young woman knew that she would never forget about Bill, but still the anxiety pushed at her mind.

Zoey had assumed that Francis would tease her about it, but the biker had been surprisingly understanding about her situation. The largest of their group had made amazing steps to mature since Bill's passing. Zoey feared that Francis' recent overhaul of himself was out of obligation rather than necessity. With Bill gone, it appeared that the biker had taken it upon himself to try and fit the role of leader. It was a foolish endeavor in Zoey's eyes, but she could – guiltily – see how Francis had gotten himself into such a predicament.

The biker was now the eldest of their group, a title that Bill had once possessed with valiant fervor. Although she hated to admit it, Zoey – and Louis as well – had looked to Francis for answers shortly after they departed from Rayford. She didn't detest it because Francis was…well, Francis. It was because looking back on it now, the two of them had placed an incredible amount of pressure on the biker, despite the fact that they were all still grieving.

Gazing at the back of Francis's shaven head, Zoey watched as the biker trudged down the street, Louis in tow not too far behind. The brunette bit her lip gently, silently promising to stand on her own two feet from now on. Though, even with her new resolve, the nagging at the back of her mind still refused to yield as ocean-blue eyes swept across the empty buildings.

"This place is starting to bug me." Francis stated bluntly while casting suspicious looks around.

"Here, here." Zoey muttered in agreement, unconsciously edging closer to her companions.

Louis glanced at the horizon, eyeing the ever-falling sun. "I'm with ya, but we need to hurry and find a place hole up for the night."

Francis grunted, acknowledging the new goal in his own way. They had been moving south ever since Rayford. The moment they hit the Gulf Coast, they'd find a boat, stock it up, and then get the hell out. It was a simple plan from perspective…but one that required covering the rest of the Infected-riddled distance by foot. They were currently in Gladesdale, a small town a few miles west of Tallahassee. Since their experience with Newburg – and consequently, their plan to sail away from the mainland – they had been adamant in avoiding the larger cities when they could. Although they provided a higher rate of supplies – namely ammo and food – they also yielded more Infected too.

And Francis really didn't think a few extra bullets were worth the price of having his face humped off and his neck snapped in half by a Jockey.

"Alright, look for a place that would have a storage room." Francis ordered, although knowing it was something he didn't even need to mention to his companions.

Zoey brought the scope of the hunting rifle to her eye, looking further down the street for anything of use. Stopping, the brunette smiled and glanced at the others.

"How does a safe house sound?"


The trio stood outside of a rather dark alleyway. The setting sun had dipped low enough that it cast the narrow space in shadow, causing the miniscule amount of remaining light to splay across the house-like picture and arrow on the wall.

"So…who's going first?" Louis chuckled lightly, his Uzi clutched tightly in his hands.

Francis rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Wuss."

The businessman glared halfheartedly at the large survivor, but fell in step behind him nevertheless. Zoey shook her head, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips as she brought up the rear. Their flashlights combated the looming darkness to some extent, providing a dim illumination in the section of town that had obviously lost power.

The alley wasn't too long, and Zoey could distinguish the glaringly obvious red metal door across the street in the distance. Trash cans and the occasional dumpster lined the walls, a few fire escapes ascending up the buildings' sides. The one thing that really stood out was the human-sized hole in the wall on their right. As they passed it, Zoey saw Louis shoot the opening a curious glance.

"Something wrong, Louis?"

Francis stopped, turning around to frown at the businessman. "What the hell are you doing?"

Louis didn't respond immediately, choosing instead to take a step toward the hole, his flashlight skimming across its edges. "I wonder what caused this."

A scarred eyebrow rose slowly. "A Tank?"

The businessman shook his head. "You'd think so at first…but if a Tank really did do this, wouldn't it be…well, bigger?"

Zoey blinked, assessing the opening herself. He was right; the damage was way too low for a Tank to be responsible.

Francis sighed in mild irritation. "Guys, can we just ignore the interesting hole in the wall? It's starting to get dark."

Louis ignored the biker's attempt to draw him from his find. Crouching down, the bald survivor surveyed the debris: various bricks, bits of plaster, and a discarded wheelchair that was mostly cast in the room's shadow.

"Louis!" Francis called out again, a hard edge to his voice that resounded with authority.

The businessman waved his hands defensively. "Alright, we're coming…jeez."

"Hey…did the wheel just move?"

Louis didn't have time to respond before two wing-like objects burst forth from the opening in the wall. They stopped on either side of the prone businessman for an eerie and dreadful moment. With a guttural screech from inside the wall, both 'wings' latched around Louis, pulling the survivor toward their shadowed origin.

Louis let loose a scream as he struggled in vain against his captor.

"Shit!" Francis cursed after overcoming his initial shock, long legs quickly covering the distance.

The businessman cried out in mild pain as something sharp hooked into the backs of his shoulders. Cracking an eye open, Louis followed the source of the winged appendages to a humanoid figure sitting in the now-upright wheelchair. His eyes practically popped out of their sockets as a fluorescent light illuminated the dim room.

Those weren't wings…they were arms.

"Jesus…what is that thing?"

The Infected's head snapped up at the source of the light, milky pupils dilating in anger at Zoey and Francis. With a screech, the former human released Louis, causing the businessman to fall unceremoniously onto the ground. Scrambling to his feet, the bald survivor sprinted to his companions and whirled around to face his assailant.

"Holy…"

From the waist down, the Infected appeared normal enough. Its jean-clad legs were confined to the wheelchair and were slightly thinner than what was to be expected. The slight tinge of gray hinted at its infected state of being. Even its abdomen and head seemed average, the only small exception being the small, vertical line that trailed from the middle of its stomach up to its lower lip.

Unfortunately, that's where the normality ended.

Hinged at the elbow, the ulna and radius of each arm were split from one another, tearing the hands in two. Its ill-fated fingers were sharpened like small hooks, and a semi-transparent, webbed flesh connected the two halves of each arm.

"Damn…that thing's ugly." Francis muttered as he stared in bewilderment at the creature before him.

The Infected let loose another screech, more prolonged than the last. Its lower jaw split outward at the line on its chin. As both sections of the jaw swung outward, the movement began pulling at the line running down its front. The flesh of its chest opened up, revealing a gory mess of sharpened bone and blood, like a gruesome triangular maw. The gaping orifice vibrated as the screech continued, the flaps closing and opening in quick, relentless spasms.

"Fuck…is that the thing's mouth?" Zoey asked in disgust, her face turning a light green hue.

Her only response was a scream as the Infected launched itself from its seat, sailing toward the trio in a twitching, flailing mass.

The resulting gunfire was like a bomb going off.

The Infected's body snapped back in midair from the force of the shots. The top of its head was blown clean off – courtesy of Zoey's well-placed bullet – spraying blood and brain matter in every direction. Francis' shotgun blast ripped the former human's right arm from its socket, and Louis' stream of lead dotted the bloodied maw. The Infected landed is crumpled heap, blood spurting from its wounds before growing still.

Cautiously, the three survivors huddled around the corpse to get a better view of it.

"…This is an Infected?" Louis murmured incredulously while surveying the extent of its mutation.

Zoey shook her head, still staring at the webbed arms as her hand drifting to the dog tag around her neck. "It doesn't even look human.

"At least the rest of the goddamn zombies looked semi-human…but this…"

The others nodded in agreement as Francis trailed off, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Zoey tore her eyes away from the gruesome sight, turning to face her tie-wearing companion. "How are your shoulders?"

The businessman reached over his shoulder, delicately touching the wounds with a small wince. Observing the blood on his hand, Louis shrugged. "It's not too bad; the injuries themselves should clot here in a minute or so."

Francis grunted in satisfaction. "Good…don't have the first aide for it anyway."

Louis let out a grim chuckle. "Don't remind me."

The Infected corpse suddenly twitched, causing the survivors to fire another round into its horrific body. Looking even more mangled now, the cadaver once again grew still.

"Well," Francis commented while glancing down at the mess. "It's dead now."


"The hell?" Francis muttered as he pulled at the handle of the red door. "It's locked."

Louis blinked. "It's occupied?"

The biker glanced over his shoulder in disbelief. "Wait…you mean there's actually people in there?"

"It'd be a first for us…having to share a safe room with someone else."

Zoey felt her eyes narrow slightly. "That is if they let us in."

Louis cleared his throat before knocking lightly on the steel door. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Silence followed the question for a moment, followed by hushed – but heated – argument from within the room.

"Go away!" A female voice ordered from beyond the door.

Louis was taken aback by the abrupt denial, but quickly composed himself. "Miss, please…we just need a place to stay for the night!"

"You're infected!"

Francis and Zoey visibly stiffened at the accusation, but their companion pressed on.

"We're not infected!"

"Bullshit!" A young male voice shouted. "We saw you get attacked by that Trapper!"

"Trapper?" Francis echoed in confusion.

Louis' eyes widened, the businessman struggling in vain for an excuse. Francis shoved him out of the way, his voice penetrating the steel door as if it weren't even there.

"We're immune."

Zoey felt her jaw drop in a mixture of shock and horror. Was he seriously trying to play that card?

Silence.

Muffled footsteps approached the door, filling Zoey with a small sense of hope. Glancing at Louis, she could see the same look on the businessman's face. Francis remained stoic as the footsteps halted in front of the red barrier. The eye-slot slid open, revealing weathered green eyes. Their owner peered suspiciously at them before taking a step back, revealing a slightly wrinkled face.

With the movement, Francis caught sight of a handful of people huddled on the far side of the room. Coffee-brown eyes bore into pine-green.

"They're not immune…"

Louis and Zoey tensed uneasily behind Francis.

"…They're Carriers."

Zoey felt the ground rush out from beneath her, a cold sweat dotting her brow.

The man continued as rigidity began to envelope Francis' body. "You can tell just from the look in their eyes. If we let them in…they'll just infect us."

The biker swallowed the lump in his throat, teeth grinding together. "…we're….immune."

"Don't feed me that horseshit!" The man hollered back. "You Carriers are worse than the damn Infected themselves!"

Louis bit his lip, trembling slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"At least with them, it's easy to tell…but you…you people just waltz around, spreading Green without rhyme or reason!"

"God damn it!" Francis roared while slamming his fist against the door. "We'll die out here if you don't let us in!"

The man remained silent for a moment. "…Good riddance."

Francis snarled, drawing his fist back, but the barrel of a shotgun replaced the man's face. The biker froze as the cold metal tube pressed again his forehead.

"Final warning…leave."

The tattooed man growled threateningly, quickly approaching the end of his rope. His hand twitched at his side, preparing to reach up and grab the offending firearm. If he could just snatch it fast enough, he could knock back the bastard with his own gun. A pale hand then gripped his shoulder tightly, forcing Francis to glance over his shoulder.

Zoey shook her head, her bangs shielding her eyes as she silently pleaded with her larger companion. The biker remained defiant for a few seconds longer, but his shoulders soon sagged in defeat, and the brunette withdrew her hand. Louis hung his head dejectedly, visibly shaken by the whole ordeal.

As the shotgun was pulled from the slot, Francis glared at its owner with every ounce of hatred he could muster. "We'll leave…but know this, asshole: Karma's a bitch…and you'll get yours soon enough."

The green-eyed man returned the glare, but it was obvious to the biker that he was shaking. Zoey and Louis fell in line behind Francis as the biker trudged past them, neither bothering to glance back at the safe house when the eye-slot slid shut.

"What now?" Louis murmured while glancing back and forth between his fellow survivors.

"I guess we'll just keep moving and try to find some place else…right, Francis?"

The biker grunted absentmindedly at Zoey's question, a gloved hand digging through his bag. Grasping a cylindrical object, Francis pulled it halfway out of his pack, revealing a bile-filled jar. He had stumbled across it the day before, knowing full well what it contained the moment he laid eyes on it. The large biohazard sticker stood out starkly against the light green liquid within. Grasping the jar tighter, Francis glanced over his shoulder at the safe house, eyes calculating.

Zoey and Louis were unaware of his actions, his large back and wide shoulders blocking their view of his hands.

He could do it…even if he couldn't see them right off the bat…he knew.

He knew that the entire area was teeming with Infected…and this little jar would have them all swarming around one spot in seconds. It would be simple…toss the bile at the door, watch as the Infected all came surging against it. Even if the door held, it would scare the crap out of those assholes. A calloused thumb dragged across the dog tag at his chest.

What would Bill do, though?

The questioned nagged at his mind, enough that it ultimately had him stuffing the jar back into the confines of his pack.

"As much as those bastards deserve it," Francis muttered to himself. "They're not worth wasting it on."


The military base they now found themselves in…was…well…

It was a list of bad – but usual – signs:

Abandoned.

Barely looked like a base at all…it was more like a large collection of tents with a few humming generators.

Many of said tents were trashed, covered in blood, and torn to shreds.

Bodies littered the ground. Some were dressed in fatigues, while others were donned in civilian clothes.

Although it was something they had grown accustomed to seeing, it didn't mean they liked seeing it.

"Army's dead here too…why does that not surprise me?"

Louis cut off Francis' inevitable rant. "It looks like they were blindsided, taken completely off guard."

Zoey poked her head out of the opening of a rather large canopy tent. "Hey! You guys might wanna come check this out!"

The brunette stepped aside as her companions made their way inside, both cringing at the mangled corpse on the floor. Flies buzzed eagerly around the cadaver, further accentuating just how disgusting the sight was. For the most part, the survivors had gotten used to seeing such scenes…but none of them quite matched the sheer ferocity in which this body had been assaulted.

"It's best if you just try to ignore him," Zoey spoke up from behind a desk housing a computer monitor. "This is what I wanted to show you."

The three survivors huddled around the monitor, the two men surprised that it was still working as Zoey brought the screen to life. The active page on the computer was a window of various thumbnail files, each titled as 'Day' and a number. Dragging the mouse to the first file, Zoey double-clicked the one labeled 'Day 18.' The screen flickered for a moment before revealing a man in his late forties, hair a mess and stubble covering his jaw. The man adjusted the camera lens before clearing his throat.

"Greetings…my name is Miles Anderson, Senior Researcher for CEDA. I will be making a video journal for the duration of my time in the US Army's care as my team investigates the outbreak of what we have dubbed the 'Green Flu.'

"It is Day 18 of the outbreak and we have been deployed here within Gladesdale, a good 200 miles outside of the infection zone. We hope to crack the mysteries of this rogue disease, and – if possible – find a vaccine or cure for it through our findings. The military presence here is comforting…yet frightening as well. The soldiers…those who aren't constantly glancing around in fear are emotionlessly sizing up anyone who so much as passes by them. They've become cold and calculating, heartless and merciless…these survivors of Pennsylvania. Enough of that though…over the next few days we shall gather what information we can on Green's development."

The trio was quiet as the video cut off. Zoey clicked the next video, and Miles' face appeared once more, looking haggard and shell-shocked.

"Day 19 of the infection…I must admit that my time with Green's info prior to my deployment was scarce. Looking through my colleagues' findings now, I can't help but ask…what is this thing? Its behavior is nothing like I've ever seen in a virus…or any other microbe for that matter. With the first strain it appeared as if it were some kind of science-fictionalized rabies virus…but with the second strain…

"These things…these 'Special Infected' that are a result from a mutation in Green's makeup, even in my wildest dreams I would've never imagined human beings transforming into such creatures. Our findings thus far have proved inconclusive, and the infection radius is spreading at an alarming rate. Rumors are flying around the base that the evacuations are the cause. The military had set up a network of CEDA-run checkpoints for survivors attempting to escape the 'Red Zone.' People are saying that it is these checkpoints that are letting Green spread like wildfire down the coast, backfiring from their original purpose in slowing down the infection rate."

Francis glanced around as the video ended, noticing for the first time at how the interior of the tent looked like a small laboratory. A board of various maps of the country caught his attention, and the biker felt himself move away from the monitor.

"Francis?" Zoey called out, glanced at the larger survivor's retreating back.

"I'm still listening."

The brunette nodded and moved on to the next video. Miles appeared as usual, looking defeated as dread filled his eyes.

"Day 20 of outbreak. The countries of NATO have created a dual-evacuation strategy for the east coast of the US. Survivors are being evacuated by ship from two key points: Fort Lauderdale and New Orleans. The first ships should reach their destinations by tomorrow. My team is still stuck here in Gladesdale, and the soldiers stationed here are beginning to grow weary of us. They expect a cure from us…or at the very least, results. We're not miracle workers, we can't do the impossible. Having had only a few days time here, we're here to gather information, nothing else."

Francis' eyes focused briefly on a map of the Atlantic. The areas over Fort Lauderdale and New Orleans were heavily circled. An arrow protruded from Florida, running east across the ocean and into the UK. A similar arrow pointed south from Louisiana, stopping just above the Caribbean.

"My supervisor for the Southeast region of the US, Doctor Daekem, has demanded that we upload a continuous updating stream of information. For ever new piece of information we acquire, it is immediately sent to every CEDA base in the world. This has been done for the sole reason that even if the research team dies…their findings will not be lost."

Miles ran a hand across his face, a slight tremor in his voice.

"We are…expendable…nothing more."

Louis' hands balled into fists as the file ended. "That's horrible…"

Francis caught the businessman's comment, but didn't respond, coffee-brown eyes halting on a map of the Caribbean Sea. Numerous red X's were scribbled across the surface of the paper.

Cuba.

The Bahamas.

Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

Puerto Rico.

Jamaica.

The Virgin Islands.

Everything that ran from Florida to South America.

"Day 21 of Green's rise. The Atlantic and Gulf evacuation plans have…ended in disaster. Reports are coming in from Western Europe that the infection has slipped through their borders. Down south, similar reports are flying about throughout the network of islands in the Caribbean. As a result, the UN is planning to blockade North America altogether…the vote will be decided tomorrow. Despite my earlier comments of a quick-fix, I had truly hoped that we would somehow be able to crack the code behind Green…that we'd find out how it ticks. The Red Zone is right at our doorstep…less than ten miles outside Tallahassee's city limits. My team and I have received notice that we are being moved to the New Orleans base. We have only two days to gather our equipment before the entire unit is moved."

Miles' words penetrated Francis' mind. The islands were now teeming with Infected. There…there was nowhere else to go now, their options all dried up. If they remained on the mainland, if the Infected didn't get them then the military would. If they tried to sail away, the Navy would blow them out of the water without even hesitating. The biker glanced over at his companions, seeing that the information had sunken in for them as well. Louis looked as if he were about to vomit, and Zoey had paled considerably. Nevertheless, the young woman clicked on the final video.

"Day 22 of outbreak. I think I may have figured out what Green is, but I don't wish to immediately disclose this possibility. Such a thing…it must be proven as factual before being released. Enough of that…we have stumbled upon something rather peculiar: the cause of my hypothesis. It would appear that a third strain has emerged from the virus, producing something of a…'mythical'...Infected, if you will. Rumors of it drift through the panicked town in half-whispers. No known images of this mysterious Infected have been taken either. It is as if we are dealing with the Infected equivalent of Big Foot out here. As a scientist, I tend to brush off such tall tales…I am a man of logic after all. Still…some of these rumors have even me a little paranoid. Some claim this is an Infected capable of manipulation…able to devise…to deceive…to learn…"

The screen went black and the unnerving new information finally set in. The question still plagued them, however.

What were they going to do now?

The monitor flicked back on, revealing a bloodied, hysterical Miles.

"The Green Flu is tearing through the town like a wildfire! The military is currently doing its best to hold the base…but I know such efforts are done in vain. Time is short…my colleagues are all dead, so I will upload this final video to Daekem and whoever else may find it. My hypothesis…one so absurd…so fictional that I originally felt that it couldn't possibly be true…"

Gunfire sounded from outside the tent, causing Miles to briefly glance back at the entrance behind him. The repetitive blasts were cut short, agonized screams replaced them as the soldier outside was torn apart. The scientist turned back to the monitor, an anxious fear washing over his face. Leaning closer, he whispered into the mic while staring wildly at the tiny camera.

"This whole outbreak…it's not some kind of disease. It's not even the extinction of the human race…"

Snarls and screams could be heard closing in on the researcher, rapidly moving silhouettes streaking across the thin material of the tent's walls. Miles' face broke into a grin, like a child who had successfully figured out the answer to a puzzle.

"…Simply put…it's…"

The words barely left Miles' mouth before a bloodied hand gripped the side of his face, pulling the man from his chair and out of the camera's view. Infected swarmed around the front of the desk, tearing into the prone man on the ground. Screams and howls of pain filled the speakers. The last thing to be seen was an Infected standing up from the bloodbath, a fistful of intestine in its hand. Yanking its arm back, the former human pulled the bloodied entrails from the corpse, its hand smashing into the camera lens.

As static filled the screen, Miles' final word forever etched itself into the survivors' minds.

"…Evolution…"

To Be Continued…


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Up Next: Ten Minutes

With Miles' journal still playing through their heads, the survivors receive a rude heads-up from a rogue military officer. They now have a choice: escape Gladesdale or be burned with it.

Infected Database:

"The Trapper"

The result of the Green Flu virus mutating within an infected paraplegic. It works in a similar fashion as a trapdoor spider, waiting until its prey comes within range before snatching it up with lightning-fast speeds. Like the Witch, the Trapper detests the light and sticks to dark locations shielded from the sun. The Trapper doesn't eat its captive, the gaping maw that is its chest working more like an Iron Maiden torture device than a mouth.

NOTE: To the people who just don't give a crap about anything…just skip down to the Author's Note (or the Review button; cue cheesy grin).

Now, before advocates of the physically disabled start beating me with a hose, I wanted an Infected that remained in one area that possessed the "now you see them, now you don't" grabbing capabilities, but without some outlandish cause or back story. When looking at the second strain of Green (the Specials), it's seen that they all revolve around some physical trait or another (Boomer – Obesity, Spitter – Pregnancy, Hunter – Athleticism, etc.).

Personally, when the Jockey's abilities were first released, I assumed that it would be a child-Infected (seriously, the abilities and actions alone just scream 'Kid Infected!'), and I was happy. I thought that Valve actually had the balls to introduce such an element to their game, despite the heat that they would no doubt receive from certain organizations (and it would be very unrealistic if it didn't include Infected of all age groups). Alas, it turned out to be a balding midget instead, much to my chagrin.

Back on the Trapper subject, a paraplegic made the most sense, enough said. If you don't like it, then I have some possible good news for you: it'll probably be the only one in the story as I can't really find another viable situation to add more Trappers. With that said, the appearance of the Trapper was inspired by a mixture of the Reaper Vampires from 'Blade II' and the various Necromorphs from 'Dead Space.' If I had any artistic talent, I would draw a design model up for you guys to see on Deviant Art or something…but I don't, sorry.

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A/N: Alrighty, with the bricks of text out of the way, we can move on to the closing Author's Note. The delay in this release was mostly due to the fact that I had roughly five different versions of the chapter. The Plot Fairy just would not stop backhanding me with her wand. Looking back at it now…this is a lot of info to cram into one chapter, especially with it being such an early chapter at that. I mean, you have a side character, the antagonists, a custom Infected, a plot-turn, and the typical crazy scientist all introduced in one chapter…

Eh, to hell with it.

To note, Gladesdale is a fictional town, much like most of the first L4D's settings. It is nestled west of Tallahassee on the east banks of the Apalachicola River along I-10.

P.S. I may beg and grovel to an artistic friend of mine to draw up my custom Infected for you guys. Give me your feedback on if you'd want that or would just like to stick to your imaginations.

As always, reviews and feedback are appreciated.

- C.C.