Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead 1 or 2.
As he approached Richmond, Nick saw dozens of military-posted signs similar to those he'd seen in New Orleans. They were all evacuation notices and warnings, telling him that there were 'infected within the area' and 'to proceed to the nearest evacuation center.'
On the horizon, there were thick columns of black smoke.
That would be Richmond, then.
Even from miles away, through the haze and heat rising from the city, Nick could tell there wasn't going to be much left of the place. It had likely been left to burn, leaving whoever was inside- zombie, human, whatever- to fend for themselves.
Nick soon found the welcoming sign to the city.
'WELCOME TO BEAUTIFUL RICHMOND, VIRGINIA,' said the bright, tall, cursive letters.
'OVERRUN,' someone had spray-painted over the city's name.
"No shit," the survivor muttered, raising his gaze back to the smoke-filled horizon.
Rob was staring ahead, his ears pulled down against his skull. Nick sipped from his water bottle as the scent of burning plastic and rubber drifted in on the breeze.
"I don't think we should go in there."
They needed supplies. Food, first aid, ammunition. They weren't going to find that in the outlying forests. Nick put his water bottle away and moved down the main road into the city.
"Just until we find some stuff," he said to the dog- Rob- who hesitated and paced, whimpering, behind him.
He was going to move forward until he found a safe house or supply dump, and then he was going to turn around. If he found a bunch of zombies, he was going to turn around. When the smoke and flame came too close to the ground and choked them, he was going to turn around.
The bridge that led toward the city was cracked in half, as if a great weight had been dropped upon the center of it. The two remaining sides sunk down toward the water.
Nick stood with Rob on the south side, studying the scorch marks on the concrete and the way the cars were pushed away from the site of the crack.
This bridge had been bombed, just like the bridge in New Orleans, keeping the zombies shunted back to one side or the other. Nick stared across the empty space, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He had a clear view of the city, now- the buildings were just husks, belching out the last remnants of smoke as their insides smouldered away into nothing.
Rob kept away from the edge of the bridge, ears still pulled back.
Nick glanced over at him. "Let's find another way in," he said.
They went around eastward, through a long street flanked on either side by crumbling buildings. Their fires had died long ago, leaving only splinters and dust. Nick glanced over them, thinking perhaps there would be something that could have survived the destruction. There were bodies, big and small, gutted living rooms, blackened kitchens, and nothing of use.
A thick layer of ash had fallen, and with their steps they disturbed it, just as breath disrupted settled dust. Already Rob's fur was tinting grey on the edges.
As Nick traveled around northeastward, he came to be downwind of the breeze. Ash was falling from the sky, a warm snow. There was only the smell of burning things, a mixture of rubber and wood and skin. The smoke was blotting out the sun, allowing only a dirty orange light to bleed through.
Yammering, high-pitched voices reached them, and half a dozen zombies came out from a buckled house. Parts of their faces were burned all to black; some of their limbs were twisted and dark and charred.
It was a mercy to kill them, really, but he did it anyway- allowing them to nearly reach him before pulling the trigger of the shotgun. He could take down a couple at once that way, and avoid the waste of his time that aiming had become.
Rob hadn't touched them, hanging back behind the survivor with his tail hanging low and still.
Nick couldn't blame the dog at all. He turned over one body with the barrel of the shotgun and saw bites and scratches up along a bare, thin shoulder.
"They're starving," he said, and let out a breath. "Turning on each other." Nick tilted his head. Perhaps that was why he seemed to be finding less of the basic zombies and more of the mutated ones. Maybe they were all dying off.
The scuffle had sent the ash swirling thick into the air. It stung his eyes and mouth, and he turned to hurry himself along.
Parked next to a second bridge toward Richmond was a military Jeep, dead and silent. A body in uniform was still draped over the steering wheel.
Nick tugged the stiff body out and dumped it on the ground. On its belt he found a pistol, and in its deep pockets there were a couple of empty magazines. These he took before digging into the Jeep, pushing aside containment posters and folders marked 'G. RICHMOND/HENRICO/CHESTERFIELD.' Underneath these, there was a satellite phone. Nick picked it up and turned it over and found the power button.
The screen came on, bright and disorienting. Numbers ran up and down, colorful and cryptic.
Nick coughed, the ash irritating his throat. He turned the phone off and pocketed it.
In the back of the Jeep, there was a gray box marked 'MILITARY K RATIONS.' It had already been broken into, but Nick turned it completely over, and underneath a cardboard separator, he found eight MRE's.
"Jackpot," he muttered, and coughed.
He was running out of space in the duffel, and noticed he was still carrying around the extra magazines for the broken rifle. Nick tossed them out into the street and stuffed the rations into the leftover space.
Rob was whimpering again, behind him.
"All right, let's go."
They went the long way around Richmond, moving out of the ash-filled wind and onto the warm, blasted roads, north-eastward.
Nick paused for a drink of water, running some of it over his good eye, watery and irritated from the ash. Rob drank greedily, out of the plastic bowl, and looked expectant for more.
"Sorry. We have to conserve it, Rob."
Slowly, Richmond started to trail away behind them, the city carved of fire and smoke, and home to nothing.
Miles passed by, and they were out of the clouded ash and into the overcast skies. The air was clean, at least. Nick breathed it deep, and Rob perked up, trotting at his heels with his tail now held high.
"Yeah, that place wasn't good news, was it?" He wondered how badly D.C. was going to look.
Nick pulled the satellite phone from his pocket and turned it back on. The battery icon told him that the juice was half-drained, but other than that, he couldn't make out a thing. It was all numbers and symbols, and the symbols were alien to him.
He rubbed his thumb over the numbers and dialed one at random from his memory.
When he placed the receiver over his ear, all he heard was a shrill, angry beeping.
Nick pressed 'disconnect' and tilted the phone over. How was he supposed to reach someone?
He turned it back over and dialed 9-1-1. This time he hit a busy signal.
"Huh," he muttered, hitting 'disconnect' again.
The phone was hogging so much of his attention that he actually bumped into a car as he was walking.
Well, that could have been an easy way to get himself killed, he thought, as he sat down on the bumper of the car and continued to fiddle with the damn thing.
After a minute, Nick just started pushing buttons at random. There was a small image of three curved lines on the screen; he highlighted it and pressed the 'connect' button.
The phone burst with sudden, loud static, nearly causing him to drop it out of shock.
By the time he was collecting himself, a voice was coming from the speaker:
"...An Emergency Action Notification requested by the White House. All broadcast stations will follow activation procedures in the EAS Operating Handbook for a national level emergency. The President of the United States or his representative will shortly deliver a message over the Emergency Alert System."
Nick furrowed his brows. Rob tilted his head at the odd voice.
The President of the United States' voice came over the static, a voice from his memory, from another life altogether:
"Greetings, fellow Americans, and know that I mean you- all of you. If you are not aware of the current crisis, allow me to explain: an infection has spread from the eastern seaboard to the west, to Canada, Mexico, South America. It has also been confirmed in Europe, Japan, and Russia. If you are among the infected, be aware that we are praying for you and working to find a cure. This Infection shows no signs of cease, but the symptoms are easily spotted: fever, vomiting, delirium.
"It is of utmost importance that you get your family and loved ones to safety by following the CEDA guidelines on acquiring strong-walled shelters. Following this transmission there will be a list of evacuation centers dispatching throughout the United States. When it is safe to travel, you should go to these places.
"My people- it is times like this that try men's souls, and know this: we will not fall underneath this. We will prevail not only as Americans, but as men, as human beings, as we always have, and always shall.
"God Bless you, and keep you safe. God Bless the United States of America."
The voice fell and there was a short, shrill blare.
A mechanical, tinny voice spoke: "Currently evacuating centers are located in-"
Nothing was forthcoming but another series of beeps, and then, "This message repeats. Four, five, six, four, two."
Nick listened to more beeping. He'd heard the sounds before- far prior to the Infection, usually as a warning for upcoming storms or floods.
The noise stopped, then: "You will hear the following Emergency Action Notification Message from the EAS decoder. This is an Emergency Action Notification requested by the White House. All broadcast stations will follow activation procedures in the EAS Operating Handbook for a national level emergency. The President of the United States or his representative..."
Nick shut the broadcast off and rubbed his thumb over the screen of the phone.
Rob stared up at him.
"Well, that wasn't much help, was it?"
He turned the satellite phone off and stuck it back into his duffel.
For the next few days, Nick headed northeast along a stretch of highway. This one was just as empty as the last. He couldn't complain; for those couple of days his life was quiet, almost peaceful. Almost as if he weren't traveling across states to escape from a damn zombie plague. He thought of that movie with the mentally retarded guy running cross-country, but couldn't think of the name.
The actor was probably a zombie now.
How were things going in Hollywood, anyway? Perhaps they had it easier. They'd probably already created a reality series about it. Man versus Zombie.
The production values definitely wouldn't be cheap.
On the empty roads, it was hard for Nick to not let his mind wander.
He sang to pull his attention from thinking- lyrics that he wasn't sure were correct or not, to songs he wasn't sure he'd ever heard at all. There hadn't been much time in his previous life for music.
Nick was sure he had a crappy singing voice. Rob didn't complain.
He didn't turn the satellite phone back on again, although he thought about it multiple times. There might still be use for it, but not right now. And definitely not when he couldn't figure out how to use it. Maybe, if he found other survivors, he could trade it for something like he had the broken rifle.
Nick rested in abandoned cars and chewed the tasteless military rations as he walked. This road was just like the last- empty and lifeless. Which path had the others taken to Maine? Nick hadn't read a note or seen anything for at least a week.
A week was a long time to be alone, he thought, before he glanced down at Rob.
Well, mostly alone.
Ellis was smart. He'd probably got a car running in his first day and driven it to Maine. Nick wondered if they were still expecting him.
It had been a long time. They likely thought he was dead already.
Nick glared at the horizon ahead. He'd just have to prove them wrong.
He knew he was approaching the D.C. area when he began hearing gunfire in the distance. Nick could recognize the flat crack-crack-crack-crack of an assault rifle spitting. The low choom of a shotgun.
At least someone was out here.
It was windy and the temperature had dropped significantly since Richmond. Grey rainclouds were bunching up in the sky ahead of him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, turning his head into the wind. Damn, it was getting cold. Was it winter already?
October. That's when the whole zombie thing had started. Then had been the journey from Savannah to New Orleans. How long had that been? A week and a half? He still remembered the date on the calendar on the cruise ship. The day before it had gone down and he with it- November fourth.
It had to be past the middle of November by now. Nick hunkered deeper into his clothes. He wouldn't be surprised if it started to snow soon.
Nick slowed to a stop as the highway beneath his feet curved westward, as if beckoning him to go the other way. Rob sat down at his feet, panting.
"Well, what do you think? There's still time to go back," Nick murmured.
The dog, as usual, didn't answer.
Nick pulled out the map. It showed D.C., Arlington- a pile of cities all bunched around the same area, on that little northeastern lip of the state. All he had to do was get down into the subways, down in the dark where he could creep along unnoticed.
He could do it.
Nick folded the map, put it away, and set off toward D.C.
Six hours later, Nick was jammed down between a dumpster and an alley wall, Rob squished behind him.
"I made a huge mistake, Rob," he panted, reloading the shotgun.
The first hours had been fine. There were zombies, but that was expected, and they had been able to handle them. Even when a Smoker had come lumbering out of a building and latched onto his arm, Rob had yanked the tongue off of him and gone in for the kill. It wasn't enough to make Nick want to turn back. He'd forged on, passing through suburbian neighborhoods and chain store parking lots without pause.
Fifteen minutes ago, he'd gone down an alley, following the quiet paths. He'd stepped out into a street and there he'd found the biggest horde he'd ever seen in his life. They'd noticed him immediately and swarmed.
The alley had been a bottleneck, choking them off from him. He'd retreated through it, firing behind him, screaming at the dog to stay back, stay back.
When he hit the street he'd come from, he ran.
These zombies were fast. They crowded behind him like storm clouds, their voices furious.
"Go, Rob!" he yelled to the dog, trying to keep him in the lead.
Nick sprinted around the next corner, pleading vehemently in his mind that there wouldn't be another horde there.
There was.
"Motherfucker," he screamed, skidding to a stop.
Now, behind him and to his right. Zombies everywhere. Nick whipped his head around for an exit point, found a souvenir shop. He crashed in through the window, Rob leaping right behind him. The zombies were clawing their way in before he even got past the first few shelves of goods.
Thank God, Thank God- there was a backdoor. Nick shoved it open and closed it behind him.
Now they were on a small street lined with tiny white houses. He didn't waste time, crossing the space between the back of the souvenir shop and the white picket fences that ran parallel to the road.
The fences were short enough that he vaulted clear over them. He heard the sound of the zombies ripping the backdoor apart, and didn't look back.
They fled to the backyards of the houses, through another alley, more yards and streets. The screaming of the zombies was beginning to dwindle.
Nick took another turn- oh yeah, he was good and lost now- and slipped between two brick buildings.
He stuck himself and the dog down between a dumpster and the wall, and there they were now.
The shaking in his hands was beginning to subside as he held the shotgun to his chest, listening for the sounds of the horde.
"Did we lose 'em?" Nick whispered, still catching his breath.
Rob squirmed uncomfortably.
"Just keep with me," the survivor pleaded, reaching down to twist his hand in the dog's fur. "Can't do this on my own."
Gunshots again. They were closer now than they had ever been.
Nick feared it may be the military. They'd shoot him on sight, for sure.
The pair stayed cramped in that space for hours, and they didn't move until Nick was absolutely certain that the horde wasn't nearby. Even then, he was moving with slow, jerky steps, peering around walls and buildings this time instead of wandering out into the open, like before.
"Call me an idiot, but I didn't think there would be that many out here."
Rob didn't call him anything. He wagged his tail and nudged his elbow.
Nick took paths that looked unfamiliar, not wanting to loop back and be exactly where he'd started. It was slow going. The sun was beginning to set now, and he wasn't even sure where the hell he was. For all he knew, he wasn't even in D.C. yet.
They came upon a safe house- he hadn't seen one of those since he'd been with Christopher and Amanda- and took shelter inside. The gunfire was still erupting all over the place.
"Damn warzone down here," Nick sighed, leaning back against a wall.
He read the graffiti on the walls as Rob rested next to him.
"THIS PLACE IS DEATH."
In reply:
"Yeah no shit Sherlock, what are you 12"
Another reply:
"And what is this"
Nick kept reading.
"it's the zombee apokalipse
i am taking everything!11"
There was an arrow pointed at the number, and the letters 'WTF.'
A pile of replies had been written below.
"You idiot, it's 'Apocalypse.'"
"HOW DID YOU EVEN LIVE THIS LONG"
"Don't they teach you kids proper spelling?"
"I think I just shot my teacher so I doubt it matters anymore."
There was nothing from Ellis or the others. Nick hadn't expected there to be. After all, they were smart enough to not go through D.C.
Or they were dead.
No, no. That just wasn't possible. Coach was a tough son-of-a-bitch. He would be fine. Rochelle had them. And Ellis was Ellis.
They were fine. They had to be.
Rob buried his head in the crook of his arm.
"Yeah, I know."
The safehouse was stripped bare. There wasn't even an ammo dump. Nick poured the dog some water and ripped open one of the rations. He'd gone through about half of them so far, eating as little as he could. It was about all he could do to make them last longer.
He gave Rob the peanut butter and suppressed his laughter as the dog licked it from the roof of his mouth.
Nick read the walls of the safe house until it was too dark to see, then he curled up with his back to the wall and his head on his arm. Rob tucked himself against his chest, and they rested. The noise of the bullets spitting outside kept him awake. Every time it seemed like he was finally about to drift off, somewhere outside a machine gun would start snapping and he'd be right back where he started.
Eventually, he did drift off, but he only became aware of it when a fire-filled dream shocked him awake, and when he opened his eyes, a soft gray pre-dawn light was coming in through the windows.
It was calm, quiet.
Nick sighed, pushing himself up from the floor.
Another day lay ahead of them.
(A/N: Thanks to Yggi, my soundtrack provider and all-around good friend. Many thanks to Glue for stepping in as a beta this week. And thank you to my Steam group, who came up with suggestions for safehouse graffiti.
I hope you're enjoying this so far. Feel free to correct me on my knowledge of the East Coast area. I'm sure it's not 100% accurate. And as always, thank you for stopping to read my little story.
Coming up next: The Follower. In which Nick goes underground and listens to some music.)
