Ah, where to begin. I suppose the very start would be ideal, but let's be honest, that's all the boring stuff. You know, the typical 'heard the announcer talking about this infection on TV, didn't believe it, found out when a zombie nearly tore my throat out' kind of thing. Maybe those details will come up a little later, who knows. For now, though, what do you say we start with how I met Mick.

That day, fortune was apparently on my side. A vast majority of the Infected I had come across were too busy mumbling to themselves, fighting with each other, or staring at a wall to pay me any mind - plus, I knew those streets like the back of my hand, to slinking through the alleys and into our old Corner Store. Or, rather, what was left of it. All but two of the front windows had been shattered, broken glass crinkling beneath my feet from the moment I entered, and the rest of the shop fared no better. The interior was completely and utterly trashed. Shelves had been knocked to the floor, merchandise scattered all over - some of it crushed and ruined beneath them. The cash register had been opened, too - who the hell thinks about money in a situation like this? Honestly?

Given the state, I was skeptical that I'd find anything. However, there was a little bag of chocolates that I stumbled upon, a little mushed but well enough intact. They wouldn't sustain me for very long, I knew, but they were better than nothing. With luck, they would tide me over until I found something more suitable to eat. Now, that discovery managed to spark a small shred of hope that maybe, maybe there was more to be found, somewhere that others may not have thought or cared to search. Not on the main sales floor, of course, but perhaps in the room behind the register counter. Over fallen debris I stepped, careful not to make a sound in fear of attracting the attention of the monsters lurking on the street just outside, and jiggled the doorknob. Unlocked, to my surprise and momentary relief, though it still would not budge. Another turn of the knob and I shoved with all my might - once and once again, all to no avail.

Considering the shape of everything else, it seemed a fair bet that something had either fallen in the way, or was placed there on purpose. Well, clutter wasn't going to stop me, and if the latter proved to be true, then I might find myself a companion. I was getting through that damned door, no matter what! So, I counted to three under my breath and threw all my weight against the scratched wood, my heart leaping as it splintered and cracked and finally opened enough for me to peer inside. On top of all that clatter, however, was a startled yelp from inside, followed by crunch of a falling object and frantic scrambling over whatever it was that hit the concrete floor.

Before I dared to step foot inside, I tipped my head to peer through the opening. Two small windows were boarded, the sun barely managing to penetrate, but I could clearly see something in there. Something that gave me the start of my life - something that I remember a newscaster calling a 'Special Infected'. In an instant, my heart rose into my throat. Any sort of Infected was a hassle to deal with, but - hell, I might as well just lie down and let it kill me. At the time, I was entirely unarmed, what else could I do?

Dry coughs reverberated off the walls as the creature struggled to its feet, knocking a grimy plate off the table it used to steady itself. My first thought, and it was a horrible one, was that this thing might have been Mr. Berque, the old shop owner, that had become infected. A quick glance at the monster's feet, however, told otherwise, as Berque's pudgy corpse lay among the mess. Pieces were missing from his arms, his shoulders, and - oh, god, I couldn't look at that. There might have been a small part of me that was thankful when the Special stepped closer and blocked my view of the...of him.

And up so close, I got a much better view of the monster, and slowly began to realize exactly what it was.

Sickly green and black mottled skin covered massive lumps all over its mutated head and arms. To my surprise, it still had locks of dark hair resting against its forehead, messy and dirty and surely caked with blood. Its ashen eye regarded me, and I could almost sense its anger. Not that I blamed it, honestly; if someone hit me with a door, I'd be pretty ticked, too.

What really caught my attention was the leathery whip of a tongue dangling from its open mouth. It coughed and wheezed, quickly running a hand through its thin hair, and stared at me with such intent for what seemed like forever, and then proceeded to look about with haste, almost like it was looking for an escape.

I'd heard the description on the news before. The Infected the broadcasters had spoken of were, in essence, exactly like this one, only they always mentioned more...'tongues'. People were advised to avoid them at all costs, and take cover if and when they heard that telltale hacking. If I remembered correctly, they identified this particular type as a 'Smoker'. Fitting, I thought, for its constant -

Something splattered against the wood, knocking a few splinters loose and effectively shaking me from my momentary trance. Another sharp sound echoed in the store (me, squawking in surprise, as I came to realize), and I took a quick step back. On the opposite side of the door came the most disgusting slurping sound I had ever heard in my life, but some foolish curiosity made me want to look again. I kept my distance, of course, and leaned over to see through the crack. The Smoker had taken to scratching at the plywood lining the windows, its short nails barely making a mark despite its effort. Its gravelly voice rang through the store once more, and in an instant, it turned its attention to me again.

I panicked. Wish there was another way to put it, or that I could say I stood bravely in the face of a monster, but I can't. I stood there, frozen in fear, every last inch of me starting to tremble. What if...what if it burst through the door? What if that tongue managed to slip through a crack and catch me - what would I do? I had nothing to kill it with, not that I could kill it anyway. Instead, because I am a genius, let me tell you - I dug into the bag I carried and threw a handful of chocolate at it. Why? Hell if I know. It was a first instinct; not a great instinct, but it was the first. Maybe some part of my mind was hoping to cause a distraction. Hard to say for sure, with how rattled my brain was at the time. There's no way of knowing what I was thinking there.

To my credit, some of those pieces apparently made it inside. The Smoker's attention had fallen to its feet, its head tilted to one side. Observing. Wheezing, it slowly crouched and, after a bit of tentative poking at it, found the courage to take the candy and press it to the base of its tongue. As it stood to its full height again, it made another raspy call, though this time, there was a difference to it. It seemed far less panicked and more...approving, if that makes sense.

The Smoker leaned in, peeking through the little opening of the door until his sights fell on me. Another cry had me cringing, instantly whipping a glance at the windows for other Infected - none of which seemed to care a lick about his piercing calls, but I remained worried - and quelled the urge to shush the noisy Infected. Were all these bloody things so loud? If so, how in the world did they manage to catch people? It made no sense.

Anyway, its reaction sparked curiosity somewhere beneath the anxiety. I had hoped it'd pay attention to the chocolate, that's true, but I certainly did not expect it to come looking for another, which at the time I could only assume he was doing. To test this theory, I dipped a hand into the bag once more and found myself rewarded with an eager grunt from its side of the door. With a bit of shuffling, its arm pushed through the splintered crack in the wood, fingers grasping in my direction - right, well, that took care of that. I was right.

The candy I held, I tossed his way...but my aim sucks. The first hit the wall and merely bounced to the floor; too close to his reach for me to go and retrieve it. So, I pulled out another and - success! That one flew past the creature, hitting the floor with a soft noise I could barely hear over the thing's heavy breathing. In an instant, it yanked its arm back inside, all but pouncing on the treat the moment it was free. How it's even able to eat, I simply do not understand. The tongue should have made it difficult, if not impossible to do so. Unfortunately, the Smoker kept its head down until its prize was gone, so I could not see how it worked. When it did look up again, that single ashy eye turned to bore into mine, his heavy, labored breath the only sound in the store...

Now that I think about it, that should have been my first sign that something was wrong. I couldn't hear the usual bustle of the common Infected outside...ah well, I digress.

"...you like these, eh?" I whispered, slowly drawing another from the bag. The Smoker cocked his head, his response no more than a wet, raspy whine. Good enough, I thought and meant to toss another (because, really, why not?), until another sound caught my attention.

Heavy breaths. Not those of the Smoker, but much...deeper. These were more akin to growls than breaths. Unfortunately, I knew that sound; the encounter I mentioned earlier in this entry made sure I knew it. That sound belonged to the infected so appropriately referred to as a 'Tank', and it was apparently lurking somewhere nearby. Thus came my first wise decision of the day: get the hell out of there.

With my candy held close, I backed away from the broken door, muttering a soft 'sorry, bud' to the trapped Smoker before I slipped out a shattered window behind the main counter. Out back, there was another alley, though I didn't remember exactly where it lead to - didn't matter, though, so long as it took me away from the store. Behind me came the sound of wood splintering and a choked bawl to follow. Apparently, the Infected I left behind did not appreciate his treats running off like that.

The growls I'd been hearing grew louder, though I could not pinpoint the direction they were coming from. Honestly, I almost expected to turn a corner and come face to face with the massive Infected. Thankfully, not the case. Instead, I found myself peering into a small, abandoned parking lot. There were still a few cars littered about, left forgotten by their owners, and when I narrowed my eyes against the sun's rays, I noticed a trailer across the way. A utility trailer, by the look of it, but it should serve as a decent hiding place for the time being, right?

...right!

Unless my eyes were mistaken (they weren't), there was a red door on the side of it, meaning it should be safe enough to stay in for a time. Then, I wasn't sure exactly how much of a beating those doors could withstand, so it seemed better not to chance it. I could stay in there for the night, and move on the next day - it'd be better than sitting exposed outside. If only I'd had that thought in mind back then, how stupid it was to be out in the open. At the time, however, it seemed like a brilliant idea. Truly.

Murmuring a soft prayer of thanks to...whoever might still care about my fate (not that I had high hopes for that, not going to lie), I booked it across that lot. Now, as I said, there were a few cars in the lot - and by a few, I mean a few, so I was out in plain sight for a majority of that run. Stupid, stupid, stupid. In no time flat, there were footsteps on my tail, pounding the concrete with such ferocity that I just knew they would catch me. Groans, growls, and angry screeches reached my ears; it was no tank or other special infected, much to my relief, but my pursuer was still Infected, and I was still unarmed!

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...

The screams were right behind me. Part of me was certain it could simply reach out and grab me before I could reach the door. Close - I was so close, but still so far away! Heart slamming against my ribs, fearful tears pouring down my cheeks, I pushed myself to run faster - not that it would matter. I am no athlete, and the Infected do not tire. No matter how hard I pushed, it would still catch me in time.

It must have known that, too, somewhere in the dark recesses of its diseased mind, for it shrieked its triumph -

- followed by a wet slap, and the ever-distinct crack of broken bones.