I do not own VALVe or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer to the characters/themes/what have you presented in this story.
3
When her eyes snapped open, it was still dark. Bill was still snoring, his gun was still next to the couch, and Francis and Louis were still apparently in their own beds. But something had woken her up and brought her to full alert, and she wasn't about to fall asleep again any time soon.
Slowly sitting up, she glanced around the living room. No one else—or nothing else—was in there with them. It was nearly dead silent. She stayed propped up on her elbow for five minutes, listening intently. Before she was about to settle back down again, she heard it—faint, distant, almost nonexistent: an unnatural howl far off down the road. Infected or not, she could not tell. But it was not something she could ignore.
Zoey was uncharacteristically scared. Every time a Tank or a Hunter could be heard in the distance, she was more worried than when they appeared. Even though the threat was far off, or so it sounded, she could barely muster anything louder than a whisper. "Bill," she rasped, "Bill!"
"Sir," he mumbled, shaking awake and smacking his lips again. "Hur, er—what? Zoey?"
"Shh!" she hissed. "Do you hear that?"
Bill fell utterly still and listened quietly. Minutes passed, still he listened. When the yelp sounded again, Zoey wanted to cower but held fast in Bill's presence.
"Shit," Bill growled, slipping out of bed quietly. He stepped into the slacks quickly and quietly, reaching for the gun and creeping towards the window. He leaned against the wall next to it, gently pushing the blinds aside by a fraction and peeking out to the parking lot. He scanned the lot thoroughly for several minutes. Zoey watched him anxiously.
"Wake the men," Bill muttered so quietly she almost missed it. Zoey slid off of the mattress as smoothly as a shadow and crept towards the bedroom directly across from her. She crouched and stepped one foot in front of the other, practising what she had seen Bill doing hundreds of times before. When she got to their doorway, she whispered their names quietly in earnest.
"I don't want a Twinkie farm," Francis said, sitting up suddenly.
"Francis," Zoey said, her voice rising only slightly, "we may have company."
"Shi—"
"SHH!"
Francis froze, covers half thrown and one leg out the bed. He then quietly rose and reached for his shotgun, and Zoey zipped by Louis's bed to shove him awake before going to retrieve her pistols from her own bed. Out of habit, she ejected the rounds and checked how many there were (even though she had the number obsessively memorized) before she reloaded them. Quietly rushing back to the living room, she checked that Francis and Louis were getting ready. The latter had leapt out of bed, checked his guns, and was ahead of her out the door to the living room.
"Bill, we okay?" Louis asked.
"Don't look like it," he growled quietly. He was still peeking out the crack in the blinds. "I've never seen one of these before; I don't know what we're in for."
Bill moved aside so Louis could peek out the window. Zoey hung back anxiously, watching the both of them as Francis came out of the bedroom, trying to step lightly where normally he stomped. Louis hissed once he took a peek out the window.
"What?"
"Come look at this," Louis told Zoey.
She inched over to the window and took a look. About thirty yards away, down the slight slope of the hill, was an infected staggering on the highway. At first it appeared to be wearing a straitjacket, but Zoey soon realized that it was only its pale arms wrapped tightly around itself at an odd angle. The thing had shaggy black hair that fell over its face; it staggered around as if drunk. Then it made that familiar, frightening noise—something between a dying cat and a whirring motor. Zoey reflexively backed away from the window as if it had seen her. She clutched her pistols and tried to even her breathing to calm her beating heart. "Do we just let it pass?" Zoey asked.
"Let's hope it does," Bill said.
They remained still as stone, Bill peering out the crack between the curtain and the window, watching the infected stumble up the route. When Bill seemed to visibly relax, so did the others. It all shattered once Bill cursed harshly under his breath.
"What?" Zoey whispered.
"It's interested in our car," he said.
Zoey crept around to the other side of the window and peered out the other crack. She had to crane her neck and rely on her peripherals in order to see the infected, but she didn't need to have a clear viewpoint to see it was interested in the dried boomer bile splattered on the side of the Ford. Since the zombie's face was completely veiled by black hair, she couldn't tell if it was nuzzling the door or licking it.
"Gross," she muttered.
"Oh, sweet Mary."
"What, Bill? What?"
"It brought friends."
Francis stood over Zoey and attempted to peer out with her as Louis moved to Bill's side to do the same. Zoey shifted her feet in order to peer down the opposite direction of the road, and gasped when she saw it.
"What's with these new mutated ones?" Francis breathed.
"I thought I broke its legs," Zoey whined. "I rammed into it... I should have broken its legs."
It stood at least eight feet tall, but its body was thinner than one of Francis's muscled arms. The infected's head was miniscule and the skull was prominent, jutting out savagely under the taught skin. The odd sac hanging off its neck was black and bulging. The creature's mouth was pulled open permanently by the sheer size of the goitre, and it looked as though it should be too top heavy to walk on its spindly legs. Zoey could notice a prominent limp; the zombie favoured its right side and moved no faster than a crawl.
The first zombie grew tired of the car and continued up the path leading to the cabins.
"Oh, motherfucker," Louis whimpered.
"Keep quiet and it'll walk on by," Bill grumbled, grabbing Louis by the scruff and holding him close. "Don't go wetting your panties 'til the thing bites your balls off."
As the creature approached, the four of them could hear that it breathed with a high-pitched whine as if it were suppressing a howl with every breath it took. It seemed to shift its arms around that were locked around its neck, like it was trying to scratch and couldn't reach. It was as if its arms were permanently set into its torso. As the infected got closer to the cabin, something unexpected happened—the zombie on the road down below had stopped and turned toward the cabin, facing the Straitjacket, and with a quiet wheeze, a spear of black liquid shot from it's jaws and rocketed out.
The force with which the Straitjacket was hit was so strong that the zombie flew sideways and smacked into the side of the cabin. The prominent thwack that resounded ensured that something had broken, either the cabin or the infected or both. Zoey could not see the zombie from her vantage, but she could certainly feel where it had struck the cabin through the wall. It howled—louder than before—a piercing shriek like a banshee's assaulted her ears and she covered them with her fists still clutching her pistols. She grit her teeth and winced, but her eyes flew wide open as she saw the straitjacket belting down the hillside towards the road. It continued to wail, its call echoing against the sky, and as it disappeared into the trees past the goitre, another call sounded on the horizon.
"I hate hordes," Francis rasped gravely.
The night was alive with the sounds of infected from all around the hotel.
"What do we do?" Zoey asked Bill.
"Stay quiet," he muttered.
"What if they swarm us?" she asked.
"We could climb the trees," Louis suggested.
"We stay put," Bill snapped, "hope they aren't drawn to us, and keep our mouths shut."
Zoey sealed her lips swiftly and peered out the crack in the curtain again. And there it was—not four feet away from the window, staring right at her. She had been so surprised, so caught off guard, she couldn't stop herself before the scream fled past her lips. Just as her scream filled the room, the Goitre bent over and shot a stream of black at the window. It cracked under the force of the impact; a few chips of glass sprinkled onto Zoey's face from the side of the window, leaving light scratches on her cheeks.
They'd been spotted; the house could be taken down within minutes. "We gotta go!" Bill said, shoving Louis hard towards the front door. The vet went to the coffee table to collect the Molotovs, shoving one in each survivor's hand as he passed. They got into position—Francis stayed at Zoey's back while Louis covered Bill's. She and Bill flanked the door and he nodded to her to take point. She tore open the door and slid in front of it, pistols at the ready.
The Goitre was standing right in front of the door, bent over so it's mouth was eye level with Zoey. Up close, she could see the details of its slimy white face—its eyes had lost any semblance of humanity. Instead of the rheumy eyes that most of the infected had, its eyes were pitch black, its sockets a deadly grey colour, and the veins stretching across its skin as equally dark. It looked like a horrific version of a drama mask.
She froze for only a moment before she heard a light wheezing noise come from the back of its throat. "DUCK!" she shouted, dropping to her haunches as more black shot out from its mouth like gunfire. It struck the wall behind her with a loud crack, causing a painting on the opposite end of the wall to swing and fall to the floor.
She glanced up at the infected as Francis rushed it. He flew over Zoey and collided into the spindly zombie, sending it backwards, limbs flailing comically. The inertia sent them tumbling; along the way Francis's Molotov slipped from his back pocket. The infected made no noise, and only Francis's occasional curse could be heard as they rolled away.
The sounds of wild howling and hooting grew closer, drawing in from every direction. With a quick glance down the route, Zoey could just see the outline of several infected charging down the asphalt towards them.
She aimed her pistols on the Goitre, waiting for them to come to a halt and give her an opening to fire. She needed to make sure Francis was ready for combat as soon as the horde closed in on them; four against hundreds were poor odds, but three against hundreds were sorer. Francis used his momentum to shove the wiry creature further down the slope into the parking lot. When it was rolling all on its own, Zoey aimed. She only had eight shots left in her pistol, so she reserved three bullets for the Goitre. The first struck the concrete next to its thin torso; the next just beside its enlarged throat. "C'mon!" she growled as she aimed for the third time.
The shot missed by a foot; the infected got to its feet and hobbled into the trees beyond as the horde zeroed in on the cabins.
Bill grabbed her shoulder and shoved her down as he threw the Molotov high and far over her. The bottle exploded, sending shards of glass into the crowd of zombies around it. Only two fell.
"Find a tree!" Bill shouted, breaking off from the group. Zoey led the way around the back side of the cabin, the others hot on her heels. She shoved her pistols into her front pockets and took a running jump at a pine tree. Having spent many years of her childhood climbing things, she scaled the trunk of the tree faster than any city boy could. As she neared the middle, she felt a swarm of zombies below shoving at the trunk harmlessly, trying to get her to fall.
Once she was secure, she realized she had no means to defend herself. It had all rushed upon them so fast that she hadn't thought about how she was going to light her Molotov and use it to her advantage. With only five bullets left, she didn't dare open fire on the crowd below. She was sufficiently cornered.
She tried searching for the others to see what tree they had landed themselves in. She couldn't see Louis or Bill—they were likely on the far side of the cabin—but she could see Francis about four trees away from her, clumsily climbing one-handed. Even though it was thoroughly dark outside, she could see his brightly coloured T-shirt through the night. So could the infected.
"Fucker!" Francis shouted as an infected leapt up and latched onto his leg. Francis brought up his other foot and stomped down hard on the zombie's face. It fell to the ground limply; three more jumped up to try and get at Francis. One began climbing the tree after him.
She gasped and looked down at her own tree. Sure enough, two infected were climbing the trunk up after her. Their movements were rapid but jittery; it wouldn't take long for them to catch up to her.
"Francis!" Zoey shouted, looking for the yellow T-shirt. "How many rounds do you have?"
"Not enough!"
"Got a lighter?"
"What?"
"A lighter!"
"Fuck no! I left that in my other pants pocket!"
"Not really funny right now!" Zoey suppressed a nervous gasp as one of the infected lunged upward and came uncomfortably close to her perch. She made to climb further up the tree.
The shotgun went off, both surprising Zoey and putting her at ease. Shooting pellets from further away likely meant he could take out more at once. She shot occasional glances over her shoulder as she climbed further into the tree. The infected were far behind her, but she knew there was a chance they would have no problem catching up.
When she found a new perch, she scanned her surroundings again. The Molotov that Bill had thrown on the road had sparked a fire in the trees opposite the cabins. A few burning corpses lay on the road, and a trail of more zombies were hurtling north up the route towards them. There was no sign of the Straitjacket or the Goitre, but she could see something soaring from treetop to treetop just beyond the inferno. The evergreens swayed as the Hunter landed on each one, making it appear like a giant monster was charging through the forest.
"Hunter!" she shouted, hoping Bill and Louis could hear her from wherever they were. "Eleven to one o'clock!"
What happened next shocked her; she had never seen an infected jump so far with such strength. It rocketed down from the treetops to the road before the hotel, then subsequently flew up over the hill toward Zoey's tree. She felt a rush of panic stab her in the belly but she barely had a moment to comprehend the feeling before the Hunter slammed into the trunk just above her head, rocking the entire tree backwards. The tree bent at an alarming angle, and just before Zoey thought the tree would snap and fall to the ground, it zoomed backwards.
She latched on as it propelled forward. The Hunter cawed and swiped at her but before it could strike her it was slung out towards the hillside. It attempted to land as a cat would but ended up bouncing off the ground instead. Zoey remained locked to the tree, afraid that if she let go, she would surely fall and kill herself. With another quick glance at her surroundings, she dared climb higher.
The sound of the assault rifle popped and Zoey frantically searched for its location. She could see the rapid fire sparking from up in a tree a good thirty yards from her own, and she searched the dark frantically, trying to get a peek of Bill but failing in the impermeable darkness. The Hunter appeared to take interest in the gunfire, and scrambled on all fours to leap towards the firefight.
"BILL!" Zoey screamed, hoping to high heaven he would hear her. The gunfire did not cease, however, and the Hunter screeched as it launched through the air. It disappeared from her view behind the cabin, and all she heard was Louis holler before Bill turn the air blue with one of his customary Jesus H. Murphys, then heard him fire a single bullet. There was a small rip-roar in the distance before Zoey saw a tree nearby catch flame. Shit. They would be caught in their trees, unable to escape the flames.
When Zoey was just about ready to admit defeat, something slimy, hot, and acidic wrapped around her neck. Her eyes bulged as she was yanked backwards out of the tree; she could feel things crunch in her neck and she briefly thought that her spinal cord had snapped and she would die when she hit the ground—
She hit flesh and bone with a thud and landed just so that her head was cushioned by something moist and unpleasant to the touch while her legs tangled with another pair. A telltale wheeze sounded from under her and a puff of smoke surrounded her face as the cold-hot tongue slithered around her neck.
Winded, but still mobile, Zoey scrambled off of the Smoker and attempted a dive roll to create distance between her and the infected. She reached for her pistols—her left was missing—and drew the right one, taking quick aim and firing. An explosion of grey-green smoke erupted around the zombie; it jolted, the elongated fingers on its right hand twitching restlessly as the tension washed away from its body.
Zoey ejected the clip and looked at her rounds. Two shots left.
Infected were closing in on her from the trees, so she ran the opposite direction, towards the parking lot. She had rammed her legs into the ground harder than she thought; the first step she took to run, she tumbled face-first into the ground. Now more cautious with her steps, she rose to her feet again and hobbled away.
She made for the car. The trunk was left popped; the garden tools lay in wait. Without looking she grabbed for the garden hoe and the spade, holding one in each hand. With less than three seconds to spare, she was charged by an infected. She lunged out with the spade and cut through flesh like it was made of cake; her attacker's cheek came clean off. The zombie spun around and swayed, seemingly stunned, and Zoey rammed the spade into the back of its head.
With her new found knowledge, she turned to the oncoming horde, now quick upon her, and held her weapons wide. The first infected lost its wagging tongue and had its left eye popped out easily; the second had its skull caved in; the third was rammed through the throat before it was torn apart. Zoey slashed and hacked like she had nothing left to hold her back.
A substantial pile of bodies was building at her feet, so Zoey began to draw the horde back closer to her, leaving a bloody trail in her wake. She was beginning to believe she had the upper hand in the fight when she felt the ground shake from underneath her.
In the short distance between her and the trees, she heard Louis shouting from somewhere behind her towards the left. Then she heard the cracking of a tree trunk. Unable to look, she grit her teeth, hoping over and over rapidly for Louis to be safe, oh God please let Louis be safe—
The tree creaked and groaned as it tipped over down the hill. Louis yelled hoarsely as it fell; the sound seemed to carry for longer than it should have, as if it had gone to slow motion. Zoey took out the last zombie and she spun to watch the danger coming.
Louis jumped off moments before his tree struck ground. He tumbled sporadically down the hill, his limbs flailing. Louis would be fine—he only had normal infected to contend with; south on the road, hurtling up the pavement, was the biggest motherfucker she had ever seen. Its skin was black, its shoulders overgrown; it ran stiffly on its knuckles like an overgrown gorilla.
Zoey had a fraction of a second to think—two of her companions were caught up in the trees, one had likely broken a limb or two, and she was being chased down by a horde and a Tank. She was alone and in grave fucking danger.
So she ran. Instead of taking the open road north, she shot straight across the road into the adjacent forest, hurtling through the trees that hadn't caught fire yet. Given that it was so dark, Zoey collided into trees and tripped over roots about every second step. She knew that the trees would protect her, however hurt she got; the horde would likely get so frustrated that they would lose interest in her, while the Tank would be considerably slowed, unable to weave between the trees. However, she saw one major flaw to her plan, a rule that she had violated—one that the four of them rarely broke: Stick together.
The fire had spread to a good number of trees, but she was able to steer clear of the flames. What she could not escape was the smoke. About thirty seconds into the forest, she was forced to get on her hands and knees and crawl her way through the forest, which made her much slower and gave the infected the upper hand in catching up to her. While the majority of the horde would be weeded out, a good number would still be after her. And there was no telling when the Tank might give up the ghost, if it would at all.
She quickly realized she was bordering a river.
When she crawled up to the banks, she froze, staring at the black water like she was staring into the Grim Reaper's face. "No, no no no no no," Zoey breathed, shuffling on her hands and knees as if it would help find land in some other corner of the river. She looked over her shoulder, saw the outlines of the infected chasing her down, then looked forward.
The Goitre was standing on the opposite bank, its black mouth staring her down. She dropped her hoe, drew her gun, and fired her last two bullets at the creature. It stumbled but it did not back down. Zoey tossed aside the empty pistol and grabbed for the hoe again. Gentle wheezing reached her ears; before it shot at her, Zoey threw herself into the water, disappearing with a splash under the black current.
