The two-day journey on the Lagniappe ended far too quickly. They had tried to convince Virgil to come along, but the little man had smiled and shook his head. Naw, he had said, there still may be some folks out there that needed a lift.
If there ever was a person with a good heart, it was definitely Virgil. Not to mention it also helped Nick's opinion on the man by the fact that the fisherman had given him two whole packs of cigarettes. Virgil was definitely on his Christmas list.
The four watched the boat sail away while over the loudspeaker Virgil voice rang, "Good luck to ya all, Gods speed!"
"Take care of yourself, brother!" Coach called back. It was doubtful Virgil had heard him, but all the same. There was a stillness as they watched the boat disappear around the pier. Coach looked back to his companions. He smiled tiredly. "We're almost there, folks. Let's make this count."
They moved with heightened caution. It was silent. Dead silent. That was weird… weren't they near the evacuation center CEDA had set up? Where was everyone—well, where were all the zombies?
The four kept a tight line as they moved forward. The ground was littered with days old newspapers, trash and fliers that read i'wash your hands!'/i with a stupid little smiling face giving all the reasons as to why you should do just that. Nick doubted washing your hands could rid you of this "Green Flu". Shit, washing yourself in bleach probably wouldn't keep you safe.
They moved in silence. Everyone was afraid to speak, afraid to jinx the eerie peacefulness. That was, at least, until Ellis' endless need to comment on everything overcame him.
"Man, why's everthin' always gatta be all broken and shit?" Ellis asked as they approached a badly abused and neglected semi-enclosed café. It may have at one point been a beautiful and peaceful place to sit idly and chat… but now it was nothing more than a scene of overturned tables and chairs and broken glass. A light above was still flickering as though it was trying to hold on to the past. In the corner, the glow of a jukebox beamed as though it hadn't quite caught on to the somber destruction.
Ellis, out of curiosity, moved to it. "I wonder if this thing still works?" He leaned forward, poking at a few random buttons. The jukebox seemed to hiccup and then suddenly came to life.
"Well, I'll be damned," Rochelle mused quietly beside him.
And then the album clicked on and out blared a familiar tune.
"Holy shit, it's the Midnight Riders!" Ellis exclaimed. His face was nothing short of absolute delight. The mechanic spun around to face his companions, flipping his assault rifle down and began to strum at it as though it were a guitar. "BUH BUH DAH DAH DAAAH, DAH DAAH DAAAH DAAAAAH!" Beside him, Coach's rumbling voice joined in as the lyrics began.
"I'm a bad bad dog with no house or a home, women, whisky, wheels on the roaaad! Got my seven-fifty howlin' and my shotgun loaded! I'm full and about to explooode!"
Nick looked to Rochelle. "Please tell me those two idiots aren't doing what I think they're doing." Although he said it flatly, a smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Rochelle shook her head as if to say 'I don't get it either'. "Overalls," Nick called firmly. "Is now really the time?"
"Aw, man, but it's gettin' to the best part!" Ellis sighed dramatically. "All right, fine. Come on, Coach. We don't need no jukebox to sing! Ride on, my friend, let's ride on!"
Needless to say, Rochelle and Nick were forced to listen to the other two sing the song, sometimes back and forth, sometimes in terrible unison. At a different time, months earlier, when they had first met, Nick wouldn't have hesitated to tell them to shut the fuck up. Now though, his heart had softened. Instead, the conman simply grinned along side Rochelle who kept rolling her eyes as the two Midnight Rider fans became more and more enthusiastic with each new verse. God, they were idiots.
It wasn't until they entered through the backdoor of some abandoned kitchen that they were rudely reminded of their predicament.
Coach pushed opened the door, gun held lazily under his other arm, still singing (Ellis echoing at all the right spots). "Keep rolling! It's all right! Keep riding! The midnight—" A terrible shriek was all that gave any warning that on the other side awaited a Hunter. Coach fumbled for his gun but the Infected had pounced him, claws tearing and ripping into his flesh.
Nick threw himself forward, butting his rifle against the Hunters face. Blood exploded as its front teeth were knocked lose from the impact. It stumbled back, snarling, trying to right itself. It never had a chance. Nick slammed the gun into its face again and again until the Hunter crumbled to the ground as its skull caved in over the right side of its face. A sickly wet trail of blood pooled around its still body.
The conman turned back quickly to find Coach already on his feet—his face stunned. A little blood was trailing down his arms, but for the most part, he seemed relatively unhurt.
"Thanks for the quick reaction," was all the man said. He was visibly shaken.
There was no more singing.
Nick reached for a skillet on the blood-splattered stove. He lifted the thing and tried the weight. He was impressed. The thing was heavy. This could save some bullets.
They moved through the kitchen, shoving opened the door to find a room full of ambling Infected. One turned to them, blinking blankly as if it hadn't quite registered that the strangers weren't drooling spit all over themselves with obvious Infection. Then it let out a snarl and charged forward. Its scream alerted the others and they all scrambled after the four—rasping mouths leading.
iBong!/i Nick couldn't help himself, he began to laugh, swinging the skillet around to smash an Infected reaching for Rochelle. iBong!/i Its nose splattered and its eyes crossed. It grasped uselessly at the air a few times as it stumbled backwards before falling over in a daze.
They continued to make their way through the dying wave and when they had just about reached the street a fat, oily bulk of a Boomer lunged into view. Rochelle let out a squeal as clawed hands reached after her and she let off two rounds of her shotgun that jerked her small frame violently. The first hit its mark, sending the Boomer exploding in a shower of bile that covered her freshly washed clothes with green sticky nastiness. The second shot, however, pelted into an abandoned car.
Well shit. What was with people and leaving their alarms on? Assholes.
It began to blare obnoxiously.
"Get back, Rochelle!" Ellis called, grabbing the young woman by the arm. He pulled her back as she tried desperately to wipe the vomit from her face, looking absolutely revolted. She slipped on the slick ground and fell onto her ass with a grunt, gun sliding away.
Then, probably because they were so use to protecting each other, the three men unquestioningly moved to stand around her, weapons flaring, bodies rocking with the recoil. Nick had long ago abandoned his frying pan, understanding that it was no match verses this sudden intense and angry horde—even though it had been super fun.
Rochelle had at one point managed to clear her vision and recover her gun. She knelt, scooting forward in between Ellis and Coach, her gun now joining the hailstorm of bullets.
It seemed like forever, but finally the Infected began to come in straggling ones and twos. They picked them off easily.
Obviously embarrassed, Rochelle got to her feet, offering an apologetic smile. "My bad, boys. My bad."
"Hey, don't sweat it," Nick said, surprising himself. "I was getting bored anyways." She looked at him, smiling now with appreciation. It appeared that a certain someone's optimism was rubbing off on the conman. Well, that was a nice change.
It was practically a hop and a skip later that they found themselves a comfortable safe room. Although they hadn't come very far, it seemed like a bad idea to continue with Rochelle reeking with that awful stench that the Infected seemed to love so much. She quietly excused herself and retreated into the bathroom, presumably to try and clean the mess from herself.
Ellis took this time to shuffle up to the conman and wrap his arms around him, nuzzling contently into his chest. Nick blinked at first, glancing to Coach who suddenly became entirely fixated on bandaging his wounds from the Hunter. Coach was choosing, for now, to remain blissfully ignorant of the other two men's obvious affection.
Nick leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the mechanics cheek, pulling him against him almost possessively. Ellis blinked up at him curiously, but he was smiling, pleased.
For now, they had made it. The little mechanic still smelled like soap and freshly washed clothes, despite the few splatters of blood on his torn t-shirt. The bruises on his skin from their long journey were still painful to behold, but for now, he was safe, unhurt still since they left the safety of the Lagniappe.
Nick's grip tightened a little more. He knew it was only a matter of time.
A/N:
The Parish campaign has always been annoying for me. Not because of the layout (the layout is pretty sweet) but because the level's vary so much in length. They're either way too short, or freakishly too long. So, consequently, this chapter is a little short, if not also, really lacking in any real interesting events. (Although Ellis' little spiel made me laugh stupidly at the imagery)
I must share. I was playing as Ellis (for once) on Dead Center and at one point Nick had gotten Boomed on so I was kneeling in front of him machete-ing the horde. Then Nick whispered that little gentle "Ellis" and I thought I was hitting him, so I sort of scooted forward a little more and then he whispered "Ellis" again, so I finally turned and looked at him and he's like "Overalls!" with that little grin. I've NEVER heard the bots JUST say each others names before. They always follow it up with a comment… but Nick was just totally whispering Ellis' name over and over. I think it was because I was protecting him, but… gawd, I don't know. It really made me grin like an idiot. Also, I find it totally distressing how my game refuses to let me spam the voice button with Ellis. It's totally strange. When I'm Nick I can just say everyone's names over and over as much as I want, but with Ellis he hardly ever reacts with the command. It's very contradicting lol.
And on that note, has anyone noticed that on the first level of Hard Rain the bots always pull weapons out of a wall right after you jump over that first camper? I finally staked out the area and saw where they were getting them. INSIDE of a building you can't even get into (it's the saferoom on the way back). It's total crap. I always felt like an idiot because I couldn't find it, but now I realize they have Jesus powers. Cheap bastards.