Where to even begin? I'm sorry for the long wait in updating, college work had been a pain and just overall, a short writer's block on this particular chapter. I'm back, Happy New Year to all! I plan to start with the fast updates once again. Like I said before, very sorry for the wait! I hope people are still enjoying this story, since there's still a lot more to write for. Hope I didn't lose any readers! Please drop a review if you want, but more importantly, enjoy this latest chapter! Disclaimer: I do not own the Left 4 Dead 2 characters, Valve does. I only own the characters, that, obviously haven't been heard of.
Dear Boys:
Couldn't wait, so, went up ahead.
Extremely sorry for leaving soon.
Didn't wanna wake you guys up.
Apologies gentlemen, perhaps we
will meet again. Maybe at paradise.
Do try to be careful from now on.
Hope you will run rapidly, yes?
-Tori
"Jensen, you are the reason why she left us! Douche! -Richard."
"Ellis what are you reading?" Rochelle questioned as the boy held up a hand to seize her talking.
"Richard, I saw you writing this, dumbass. -Jensen."
Ellis chuckled as he continued to read the red graffiti, that was written on the walls of the safe house they had taken residence in.
"She went to paradise." Ellis stopped from reading the other scribble on the wall as he turned and saw Keith looming over him. His brown orbs were examining the message left by the previous survivor, and from Ellis's position, he was able to see his lips moving as he silently repeated it.
"What?" the mechanic asked dumbfounded.
"Look here El," Keith pointed to the written message. "She wrote everythang in cursive handwritin' except for 'meet' and 'at paradise'. So, ya gotcha yerself, 'Meet at paradise.' See the underlined words? 'Careful' and 'from'? Now connect that to tha' capital letters of tha' first four lines, 'CEDA'. She was warnin' them to be careful of CEDA."
"Which means that CEDA musta' been responsible for somethin'," Ellis concluded as Keith made a noise of agreement. "We jus' gotta figure out what though."
"By God the hicks have done it again."
"Shut it Michael." Doc warned as Michael merely smirked in retaliation.
Michael shifted a bit, uncomfortable with the way Rochelle was wrapping his leg wound, the tight pressure beginning to be too much for the man to handle. "Stay still, or I'm gonna mess this up." She chided softly, while making sure to make eye contact with him.
"How did you find us?" Jessi questioned while leaning heavily on one of the wooden crates in the sewer drain they had called a safe house. Dark green eyes slid over to her in one fierce movement, the ugly rage beginning to build up and expand.
"All I had to do was follow the charming brick roads littered with brains." He replied sardonically, which caused Jessi to frown at his response.
"Michael, you don't need to be more of an asshole then you really are." Doc remarked as he kept his attention on the safe door. His awareness of the surroundings gave him the full advantage and allowed him to keep the team safe.
"Sorry Doc, that keeps my blood pressure in check. You know, when I reply sarcastically, that moment keeps my heart going and-"
"I don't care." Doc remarked, the sudden mention of blood making him feel uncomfortable at the moment.
Michael snorted just as Rochelle had finished bandaging his wounds; she threw aside the soiled gauze and proceeded to help him roll down the pant leg of his dark jeans. "Be careful on that leg Michael, wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." She instructed as the British man gave her an amused look.
"Thank you for your concern Rochelle, but I think I can manage." He slowly planted his hands on the side of the sewage drain before bringing himself to a stand. Michael had swayed at the moment, but Rochelle had managed to steady him, her dark brown eyes watching him closely.
Coach had turned around and caught Michael's gaze, "You said you landed away from Nick and Isabelle?"
The felon's eyes hardened at the man's question, "That's right."
"And the thought to wait for them didn't cross your mind?" Coach quipped. The thought of Michael abandoning the couple seemed too hard for him to understand. Especially after the speech he had before they had summoned the chopper, the certain speech that pertained to leaving no one behind.
A dry laugh escaped from Michael suddenly, making Coach's eyes narrow at him in suspicion. "You're asking me why I didn't wait. If you had listened the first time, I specifically said 'I thought I landed a couple of ways from them', doesn't mean that I knew they were there. You're pinning this on me even though you're no better, why didn't you instruct the rest of coven to wait for us if you knew we were far behind? Can you answer that at least, Coach?"
Doc had immediately shoved his gun into Keith's arms, before walking over to Michael and placing a hand on the young man's chest. "You need to calm down Michael, we're gonna wait here for Izzy and Nick to come." He reassured, hoping that would calm him down.
Michael had smacked the man's hand away before allowing his body to lean heavily against the crates once more. His breathing was coming out in harsh gasps, as though he was trying desperately to inhale. Doc had taken notice of this. Guilty feelings overwhelmed the old police chief before he had time to react, and so, he stepped forward and placed his hand back upon Michael.
Despite their past relationship as arresting cop and criminal, Doc had immediately come to acknowledge the British man as a younger brother. Of course Doc had acknowledged everyone as a son or daughter, younger brother or sister, but it was Michael who held some influence upon his character.
The cool metal of the gun had met his clammy hands, his fingers curling around the handle of it as soon as Doc had pulled it off its hooks and soon afterwards, he disarmed the safety. He then ducked behind the wall of the warden's office, careful to hide himself from the countless ghouls that he had once drank a beer with. Doc checked all the corners before dashing to the right and running towards the entrance to the underground tunnel, in full hopes that they hadn't figured out how to open it.
Doc carefully trekked the second level of cells, watching as each prisoner snapped their jaws at him, desperate to satisfy their internal huger. As he neared the end of the level, he was suddenly snatched by the collar and yanked backwards, his gun falling from his grasp as he fell back and hit the black surface. Millimeters from his face was a ghastly grimace, chunks of skin was peeling from off the face, adding to its appearance. Purple lips were pulled back into a fierce snarl as Doc struggled to retreat from its deformity, not at all anxious to inhale the rancid odor any further.
A steel cup was suddenly thrown at the monster, successfully knocking it away from the police chief. The hit also managed to allow Doc to turn on his side, while using his elbow to force the creature off of him.
He scrambled to his feet and aimed the gun at the creature.
It released an inhuman like moan, while slowly gazing up at the man with dull, lifeless eyes. Doc swallowed thickly, as a steady stream of sweat trickled down the side of his neck. "Goodbye, Flynn."
A loud blast rings out, which causes the rest of the ghouls trapped in their cells to release a shrieking cry in sync.
"Hey!"
Doc slowly turned around and immediately caught sight of a blonde haired male in one of the cells. The police chief scrutinized the man, wondering if it really had been him that called. The young man, however, was staring at him. His dark green eyes were giving off a contemptuous look, one that Doc was all too familiar with. The prisoner took two steps forward before positioning his arms through the bars of his cell, and locked his hands together.
"Yes, mate, I called you. Now, would you mind unlocking my cell?" He suddenly tilted his head to the side, the action made him look as though he was a harmless felon. This time, it was his turn to narrow his eyes in question at the older man. "Haven't I seen you somewhere?"
"Don't remember me?" Doc began, as the memories of that night suddenly had been recollected by him. "Jackson Dockery, your arresting officer."
The felon's lips suddenly pulled back into a hateful snarl as his eyes narrowed spitefully on Doc, "Oh, it's you," he paused, ignoring the cries of his fellow inmates. His tone carried a bitter edge to it as he pulled his arms back in. "Your wrinkles gave it away."
Doc placed the gun back into its holster. Michael J. Crowley hadn't escaped with some of the other inmates it seemed, instead, he was still locked in his cell. He was safe and secure from the infected guards and the rest of the inmates, luckily. Pride's influence began to change Doc's stance on this situation, for he knew he had the power to release Michael at will. If, he wanted to.
"It seems as though you've got a choice here, Michael," Doc noticed the snarl diminishing, knowing full well that Michael knew what he was about to say. "It's time to kill, or, be killed."
"I've heard that somewhere before." Michael replied, sarcasm evident in his tone.
"And now you got a choice to make." He leaned against the bars of the cell, his eyes making a quick sweep over the light blue walls, littered with black marks. Doc knew, those were meant to count out one's sentence. His dark eyes suddenly lingered on a sepia photograph; the edges, already damaged, leaving the photograph to appear much older than it actually was. "I can let you out, but then that would mean opening the rest of the cells, and releasing your fellow felons-"
"Like I give a rat's ass-"
"-but then, I can just let you rot in here for what you did. I mean, isn't that your sentence? Armed robbery and…manslaughter?"
Michael grimaced while turning away from him, not at all keen on listening to this man any further. "Screw you, you old sack of shit." His tongue betrayed him, despite his best efforts to hold it down.
"Yeah, uh-huh, screw 'the old sack of shit' that holds your key to freedom."
"I don't want your key to freedom; if it means having to hear you patronize me for my crimes." Doc allowed himself to lean away from the cell; the young man's words had suddenly caught his attention. He had expected him to continue snapping vicious comments at him, but instead, he had received this. "I know what I had done was wrong, and for your information, I'm not one of those pikies that go around boasting of their crimes. I was raised in the United Kingdom, mate, we have more class than that." Michael turned back to look at the man, and immediately found an expression of respect on the police chief's face.
Doc allowed a small smile to surface on his face, before he moved towards the right and out of Michael's sight. A moment passed before the criminal believed that he had been abandoned, giving up hope, he turned towards his bed to await his inevitable fate. Before he sat down, he heard the latch of his cell door release before it slowly began to slide open.
A gun was tossed to him, and he barely caught it mid-air. Once again, Doc appeared in front of him, gun in hand and a look of determination on his face. "You've earned some of my respect, because it's not every day you hear a criminal giving his sob story to someone who gave a damn."
Sloshing through the green, bacteria laced water had been expected by Isabelle. She full well knew that she would be delving into its murky depths, prone to the mud that would cling to her ankles afterwards. She grimaced, while struggling to lift her left leg out of the clinging mud, almost certain that she would be wanting to scrub it off later.
Isabelle looked over and noticed her husband was experiencing the same problem. Given the fact that he showed no signs of being disgusted, although he too, was busy pulling his feet from the thick mud.
"These shoes are worthless now, and they were fucking expensive too." Nick remarked, as he waded through the waist deep swamp alongside Isabelle.
She gave a weak smile, and pulled herself forward, suddenly aware of the sounds in the swamp. "If it's any consolation, my Led Zeppelin shirt was a collector's item."
Nick gave the shirt in question a quick inspection, careful to hide his disgusted look from her before turning forward once more. "It may be a collector's item, sweetie, but my shoes were worth two hits. In other terms, more expensive than that rag."
"They were not that expensive, Nicolas," Isabelle scoffed. "Shoes don't cost that much."
"Oh really, dollface? What makes you the expert in clothing anyways? I've never seen you dress in anything that was worth more than five hundred dollars."
Isabelle had shot him a pointed look in one rapid movement, temporarily catching Nick off guard. "Maybe, it's because I don't give a shit about style, like you tend to."
"Oooh, kitty's claws are coming out." He continued on with the provoking, much too preoccupied with this then with paying attention to the noises around them. "Too bad you didn't use that in bed; it would've improved the experience."
His smirk widened as he saw her stumble in the mud, her anger had clouded her attention which resulted in her not being able to focus on moving through the swamp. Isabelle grimaced as her arms had dipped into the water, due to her misstep, she could practically feel the fungus beginning to claim portions on her arms. She shuddered in thought of the possibility.
"Shut up. Let's just focus on finding the group." Isabelle proposed, although knowing full well that Nick wasn't about to desist. It was similar to when he was gambling on a hot-streak, he would keep going and going, until he was satisfied with the outcome.
"Your reactions are always a treat," Nick said a minute later, causing Isabelle move rapidly through the thick swamp. If she fell into it face first, she wouldn't care. "I never know what I might get."
"Why are you suddenly, so charming?" She regretted asking. For his answer would be predictable. "I am seriously going with that question."
A snarky reply was inevitable. Nick ran his tongue between his lips before stepping onto the soft ground of the dry land. "Why should I take the liberty of answering that? Fine, since Overalls is not here to take the insults, I might as well entertain myself with the wife."
Isabelle followed soon after; relief had spread visibly across her features, content with the fact that she no longer had to fight with the mud for dominance. Looking up at him through her lashes, she managed to give him another scoff before readying another quip. "That's a legitimate ex-" She was cut off as she attempted to move her feet. Her eyes diverted downwards, and it was then she cried after realizing that hands had been gripping her ankles.
Nick immediately had taken ahold of Isabelle's upper arms, while attempting to pull her from the creature's grasps.
"What is it?" She cried, the sudden shock of knowing it was something gripping her in the swamp rather than the mud, had made it all the more frightening.
"I don't know," He grunted his response before letting go.
Instead, Isabelle's hands had grabbed his forearms, not at all keen on the idea of him letting go. "Don't let go! It's trying to pull me underwater!"
"Your weight will keep you on the ground." Nick responded, suddenly picking up his foot and slamming the heel of it, into the wrist. The creature still held onto the paramedic, despite Nick's continuous attempts of crushing his heel into the arm. He lifted his foot one last time, and slammed it into the wrist, successfully snapping it in the process. The hands released Isabelle, as she stumbled into Nick's arms. "See?" He looked down at her, with that same smirk still in place. "Your load kept you from going underwater." Nick took his palm and patted the side of Isabelle's bottom, further implying that her body had saved her, rather than his quick thinking.
Isabelle pushed away from him, "Are you trying to say something about my body?"
"Besides that you've gained weight?"
A smirk pushed itself on her plain lips, as she raised her left hand and pulled four of her five fingers into a fist. "Screw you, and your messed up perception."
"You want a pickle tickle, now?" Nick gazed around the swamp area, fully aware that the swamp people were staggering about. "Come to think of it," He turned back to Isabelle. "There was a small shack back near the dock."
"No, thank you." She vehemently replied, while turning away from him and continuing to march on through the tall grass.
On occasion, she would un-holster her gun and shoot down the few zombies in her way, but she ultimately refused to acknowledge Nicolas. Even though she knew he was a couple of steps behind her.
They had to step through more swamp water at one point, which wasn't a big deal since it was shallow, but the sporadic sounds in the surrounding area, caused her to be on high alert. They soon made it onto dry land, passing by the derailed train cars that were now resting upon the quiet grounds of the earth. Soon after, Nick looked passed her, and noticed another red steel door. Which indicated another safe area was situated there.
"Come on," Nick pulled grabbed ahold of Isabelle's elbow and pulled her along. "They must be in there."
Isabelle offered no witty remarks, and instead chose to follow her husband's lead. Hope was coursing through her mind and heart as they neared the door. Nick released her and opted to bang viciously upon the door, eager that Coach and the rest were settled in the area.
Isabelle could vaguely hear something being moved away from the door, grunts were heard shortly after before a pair of eyes had suddenly appeared in the small window. Both Nick and Isabelle stumbled away from the red door as the pair of eyes disappeared, but not long after, the door opened slowly to reveal Rochelle with her weapon.
"Took you guys long enough," She greeted with a smile as Nick rolled his eyes and ushered Isabelle in before him.
"Excuse us for not running here; we did just survive a plane crash you know." Nick retorted and followed up with a mutter under his breath, to which Rochelle had ignored.
"We were worried about you guys." She added, while securing the door and helping Keith move the crates back to their original position.
Isabelle smiled at the woman before walking towards Keith; he turned to greet her but was instead met with a pair of hands going towards his bandages. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are ya doin'?"
"Keith," she started with a firm tone. "You just fell out of a helicopter, let me check your head wound."
The young man avoided her hands, and instead wrapped his arms around her being. "Can't ya at least say 'hi' to me first?"
Giving a sigh, Isabelle had no choice but to comply as she realized that he wasn't about to let her go. "Hi, Keith. Let me see your head wound."
He released her, and in turn she looked towards Nick, since he had been carrying the medical pack throughout their short journey here. Her blue hues had found that Nick's attention was fixated on a certain figure; his clear green eyes narrowed upon the man in accusation, rather than relief. Isabelle looked from him to the figure and immediately blanched; the fair color of her skin draining from her face in less than a minute.
"Michael...you're alive."
The British man smiled upon her comment, even though she knew full well, that it held no tenderness to it. "Your reaction surprises me," he spoke, despite the stinging pain in his chest. "even though it was you who spared me from death."
