They Left Four Dying - Chapter 4

"Fucking stupid of me, I swear to God. Fucking. Stupid. God. Fucking. Dammit..."

"Kenny, you're bringing everybody down, brah."

Kenny stopped his hammering to glare at Cartman, the larger boy flinching a little at the fierce look in his eyes and the hammer clutched tightly in his right hand.

"Sorry, dude...just a joke."

Kenny scoffed before turning back to the doors of Jimbo's Guns, which he and Cartman were in the middle of barricading with a few planks of wood and nails that they had found. It was a minor miracle that the gun store had been located so close to the Blacks' residence, and that they had encountered close to no interference when walking the few hundred metres from the burning house, the only look that they spared their childhood friend's home being a quick backwards glance as the largest and grandest house in all of South Park's second floor collapsed onto its first with a thunderous sound.

There was just something about the destruction of the Blacks' residence and the sight of a badly hurt Stan Marsh that served as a terrible omen of what was about to come.

"If that was a joke, Cartman, it wasn't funny. We fucked up so bad that I can't even begin to describe it. I fucked up so bad that I can't even..."

Cartman continued hammering as quietly as he could as he allowed Kenny's words to trail off into incoherent mumbling. Based on what he knew of the orange-parka-clad boy, he wasn't surprised that he would be the most self-deprecating of them all. After since middle school, Kenny had tried his best to stand out more in their group of four after maintaining a background role back when they were in fourth grade, and he had accomplished that by being fiercely protective of all of them, even him, who constantly taunted him about his family's poverty.

"I'm going to take a break."

"Whatever, fatass."

Deciding to let the jibe slide, Cartman stood from where he had been squatting and hammering and wiped his brow. Standing back to admire the makeshift but effective job that he and Kenny had done on barricading the door, he walked towards the back room. Kyle and Stan were already in there, Stan still lying comatose from the wounds that he had suffered thanks to the witch, but thankfully still very much alive. The expression on Kyle's face was blank even as he bandaged his friend up, but Cartman, who was skilled in sensing the temperament of the Jew after years of blatant antagonism and mind games, could tell that his mind was in a state of mild disarray judging by the slight shaking of his hands as he handled the first aid kit.

"How's he doing?"

Cartman's sudden words surprised Kyle, who flinched and instinctively reached for the pistol resting next to him before allowing his panic to deflate a little when he saw Cartman looking at him from the entrance to the room. It appeared that their less-than-ideal experience in the two story mansion had traumatised the sensitive Jew somewhat, as Cartman could tell from his reaction and the slight fear in his eyes even as the possibility of being attacked faded away. Apparently, there was nothing like a good zombie apocalypse to fuck up innocence.

"He's fine...he sustained loads of cuts, but none of them are too deep. I just had to disinfect and plaster up most of them, and I stitched up the bigger ones myself."

"...I'm surprised he didn't scream."

"He was too far out of it to realise that I was piercing his skin with a needle."

Cartman nodded solemnly at Kyle's words and settled with sitting down next to them, staring quietly as Kyle finished off the first aid job almost professionally, something that indicated to Cartman that the Jew had actually bothered to pay attention during Health Class back in school. He wanted to say something to Kyle, but couldn't find the words. Their relationship was a very, very strange thing. As long as the two had known each other, they had been archrivals, or frenemies, for lack of a proper word. Although it was true that they appeared to genuinely hate one another on the outside, Cartman held silent respect for Kyle's fighting spirit, while Kyle frequently had to admit to himself that the fatass did have some redeeming qualities that made it worthwhile to have him around.

But what was there to say in this kind of situation? What words could you use to express comfort in the midst of a zombie apocalypse to somebody who you actually care about, but want to maintain a facade of uncaring towards? The fact that he actually cared for Kyle was one that Cartman had already come to terms to years ago, albeit grudgingly, but actually admitting it to Kyle upfront was a different matter altogether. Then, Cartman's thoughts flashed back to just a few minutes ago, when Kenny had broken his seething silence and settled for swearing under his breath about how he had failed them all back in the mansion. He looked back at Kyle and Stan, watching as Kyle stared down at his best friend, lips trembling and eyes tearing in an unmistakably mournful expression.

Was the Jew actually blaming himself for what happened?

"It wasn't your fault, Kyle."

Kyle's wet eyes shot upwards, seemingly just realising that Cartman had not left the room, but was actually talking to him.

"What?"

"What happened back in Token's house...wasn't your fault. I don't think you could have done anything about Stan getting injured back there."

"Cartman..."

"No, Jew, listen to me. You're getting that annoying guilty look on your face and it looks so ugly on your Jew mug that its starting to bother the hell out of me. It was the first time we saw that kind of zombie, Kyle. We had no idea what the thing was capable of, or that it would start screaming and run after us. We've never been in that situation before, and we all panicked and split up. If anybody is to blame for Stan's injuries, we all share part of that blame."

Kyle was nearly stunned to silence by Cartman's words. The fat boy had tried to fool them many times before, but there was just something in his tone that made Kyle believe that he actually meant what he was saying. He honestly never thought he'd see the day where Eric Cartman would be heartfelt about anything at all. Apparently, all it had taken was a zombie apocalypse to bring out that side of him.

"The thing is...we're in middle of a real-life zombie apocalypse. Unpredictable things are going to happen, whether we like it or not. The moment we start to blame or doubt ourselves for something that went wrong, we'll start to fall apart. All of us need to be in perfect condition if we're to all survive, and that's not going to work if you're sitting there feeling guilty about something that has already happened."

Kyle bit his lip and looked down at his fingers. Cartman hadn't exactly hit the nail on the head with regards to his lacklustre demeanour, but that didn't mean that there wasn't any truth in what he was saying.

"I was so terrified that I shut myself away from everyone else in a random room and had to fend off against another Hunter, Cartman. That was really, really stupid of me. A little later and I might have been too late to help you."

"Well, I was so careless that I shot at a zombie that I had never seen before, the same mistake of Stan's that I freaking replicated like a moron, only to be covered in some vile shit that attracted the damned things and blinded me. I would think that was a pretty big mistake too."

"And I said so much stuff to you guys about sticking together, trying to be some kind of leader, only to fall apart in the face of danger and actually yell for everyone to run, essentially splitting us up, which was the best possible decision I could have made, wasn't it?"

Both boys' heads turned to the open doorway to see Kenny, leaning against the doorframe with an expression that indicated that persistent hammering and swearing had at least gotten some of the funk out of his system. Witty sarcasm was the blonde boy's way of saying that he was okay, after all. The look on his face was almost calm, right before it morphed into an almost cheeky grin.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your sweet heart-to-heart talk-"

"Aw, fuck you, Kenny!"

"-but our lovable fatass is right, Kyle. There's no point in trying to pinpoint blame...all we can do is to brush off our injuries and continue to try and fight to survive."

Kyle looked at his friends and gave them a small smile, all whilst silently agreeing with himself to not tell them of the true horror that he had faced back in the mansion, for the sake of not breaking their morale. An image of Token's zombie flashed in his head, and Kyle hastened to block it out, inwardly shuddering. Kyle figured that telling Kenny and Cartman that one of their old friends was not only dead, but was finished off with his own hands, was relatively mood-dampening subject material for a conversation in any context. There would be time to tell them of Token's transformation and subsequent permanent demise after they had reached an area of relative safety.

They could only pray that Denver was still okay.

"Is Stan okay, Kyle?"

"He's fine, Kenny. He lost some blood, but not enough for it to actually be life-threatening. He'll be fine in about half a day."

"Good job patching him up, then. I think we did some nice work turning this place into a makeshift safe-house, but to be safe I think we should take shifts to keep watch from the 2nd floor to make sure that nothing too bad approaches us. The rest of us not on watch could get something to eat from the kitchen and get some rest. We'll exclude Stan from the schedule, because he's still pretty hurt. Cartman, could you take first watch? I'll take over from you in about two hours, and Kyle can take over for me after that."

"Alright fine, bossy po'boy. I'm doing this because I wanna survive, not because I like you or anything."

"Love you too, fatass."

"Before I go up...I'm pretty damn sure they stock shotgun rounds in a gun shop, right? I'm almost all out from my earlier encounter with that fat bastard and his friends."


"Do you see him in your sights?"

Kyle readjusted his grip on the nice new hunting rifle that Kenny had picked out from Jimbo's stores, feeling somewhat sweaty despite the fact that none of them were in any actual danger at that point of time. Kyle's watch shift had just started, and instead of heading downstairs immediately to grab a bite or a snooze, Kenny had offered to stay behind for a few minutes to show him how to use a weapon which he always assumed required a high level of technical handling ability. Kenny was adamant to prove otherwise.

"Don't be nervous, we're not in any danger. Just focus on the center of the crosshairs and align the rifle to target one of the staggered zombies outside."

Kenny was proving to be a surprisingly good teacher. The two boys were lying flat against the ground, the rifle's butt pressed firmly up against Kyle's shoulder, it's position occasionally tweaked by Kenny whenever it started to slip off Kyle's unfamiliar grip. Kyle's body was, however, tense. What really made Kyle worried was not the fact that he was handling something dangerous, but that Kenny had placed a loaded magazine clip of five live rounds into the rifle's magazine holster before going through the processes of preparing a rifle for firing (checking the magazine was properly inserted, cocking the charging handle, putting on the safety, aiming down the sights) with Kyle. The fact that a single round, designed to kill with extreme precision and power, was currently chambered in the weapon in his hands was a very scary feeling indeed.

"This rifle's a bolt-action rifle, which means you won't be able to keep squeezing the trigger like in most action movies. After every pull of the trigger, you'll need to cock the rifle again to chamber another round."

"Okay Kenny."

"Okay, when you're ready, just uncheck the safety, remember what I said about shooting fundamentals, and fire at one of the guys outside."

Kyle breath caught in his throat at Kenny's words. He had known that this was coming. Kenny meant well, after all. Kyle knew that Kenny wanted to ensure that he would be able to use the weapon in a situation where he absolutely had no say on the matter. Although Kyle had more than proven his capabilities back in Token's mansion, Kenny probably figured that a little target practice wouldn't hurt.

Kyle, however, had another say on that matter.

"No."

Kenny quirked an eyebrow, not in anger, but in confusion.

"No?"

"No, Kenny. We've been through this before. I'm not shooting something if it isn't attacking us, dead or otherwise."

Kenny rolled his eyes in exasperation, releasing his hand from Kyle's shoulder and sitting back up in an upright, cross-legged position. Kyle looked away from the scope up at his friend, involuntarily looking like a puppy who was preparing to get chastised.

"This pacifist attitude doesn't matter to the zombies outside, Kyle. They aren't going to stop chewing you up just because you're a nice guy."

"It doesn't matter, Kenny. They're not alive, but they're not hurting us either."

"Well their friends are! Besides, you've already killed some, haven't you, Kyle? I heard what you told Cartman about the hunter back in Token's place, and when we met after being split up back there I saw you and Cartman running away from what appeared to be a lot of them. You're the one who set the place on fire to kill them all, weren't you? Cartman's brutally smart, but he's not as quick a thinker as you are. You've already killed some, Kyle...what's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Kenny, is that I killed all those out of necessity! They attacked us first, so I fought back! Do you think I liked seeing burning corpses? God, Ken...how the fuck do you not understand where I'm coming from? Those things...those things wandering aimlessly about...they fucking used to be like us, dammit!"

Kyle didn't know at what point during his angry rant had he abruptly stood from where he had been lying down, but he suddenly found himself looking down at an unreadable Kenny, fists clenched in barely restrained frustration and fury. The hunting rifle lay on the side of his feet, toppled over and abandoned. Swearing under his breath for letting his emotions get out of control, Kyle turned away from his friend to hide the tears pooling in his eyes. The events of the past few days had forced Kyle to keep his emotions under wraps, and now that they were in a relatively safe situation, it appeared that Kenny's harsh words had been the trigger for those emotions to be let loose.

Kenny bent over to ensure that the safety on the rifle was still on before slowly standing from where he sat, breathing a sigh of relief. He knew that Kyle had strength deep within him, but there was still no doubt in his mind that his Jewish friend was the most emotionally unstable out of all of them. And if there was one thing he learned from years of living in a messed up household with fucked up parents, it was that a good cry could do wonders for a disturbed mind.

Kyle still stood with his back facing him, biting his lips to restrain his tears.

Taking a cautious step forwards, Kenny then enveloped Kyle in his arms and pulled him into his chest with unexpected tenderness.. Gasping in surprise, Kyle looked up into his slightly taller friend's eyes. Kenny merely shrugged before speaking softly in a comforting tone.

"I know Stan's usually the one who does this for you, but since he's still resting downstairs...I'll guess you'll have to make do with me, Kyle."

For the first time in a long time, Kyle cried like a baby, thoroughly soaking the front of Kenny's parka as he clenched his friend's jacket in impassioned agony. Kenny stood still, resting his chin on Kyle head and rubbing his hair through his green ushanka as his friend cried his eyes out, standing there for him as a stoic pillar of strength. Neither of the two noticed Cartman poke his head into the attic, attention attracted by Kyle's earlier yelling, before retreating back to the first floor without a word.

He had promised Kyle that he wouldn't make fun of him for crying, after all.


They had had a nice short break away from the horrors of South Park, including actual sleep and proper food that Jimbo and Ned had presumably left behind before they headed towards the airport, but it was about time for the team of four to set off on their way again. Stan, brushing aside concerns from his friends about his wellbeing, very smartly pointed out that the sooner they were in Denver, the better chance they had to survive, a notion that Kenny immediately agreed with.

After stocking their bag packs full of food and water, necessities that were hard to come by considering how nearly every household they had passed by was already cleaned out by survivors upon getting news that there was a zombie infestation right there in their town, the four headed into Jimbo's Guns' backroom, where they ran their eyes over the veritable smorgasbord of firearms, ammunition and melee weapons suitable for taking down giant grizzly bears, let alone the undead. Stan never thought that he'd ever see the day where he actually was thankful for his uncle's unhealthy obsession with things that went boom.

As they took their time to go through the shelves, Kyle continued talking, reciting what he had remembered from Mephesto's notes back in the laboratory. Cartman had always poked fun of the Jew for being nerdy, but right at that moment, as he listened to Kyle ramble on about potential life-saving information about their enemies, he actually appreciated the fact that his rival had an eidetic memory.

"Carman, the fat zombie that you saw just now was probably what Mephesto called a Boomer. It had little to no offensive ability, but it's main method of attack is via vomiting large amounts of bile that it has stored in its belly. Of course, shooting a Boomer when it's close to you will shower you with the bile as well."

"Fuck...don't remind me."

"The bile is not toxic, but it emits a strong smell that works like zombie pheromones, thereby attracting other infected to the area. So our best method to take care of those things if we see them again is to spot and shoot them from afar."

Kyle paused in his commentary to look at a row of neatly arranged Magnum handguns. He wasn't very physically strong, which made the other choices of weapons, like assault rifles and shotguns, merely heavy objects that would encumber him.

"You guys know about the hunter already, so I won't talk about that anymore. The female zombie we saw just now was actually called a witch, and of course its weapons are the long, sharp mutated fingers on its hands. I don't know what Mephesto was thinking, but apparently he made this zombie abnormally thick skin, decreasing the effectiveness of nearly all weapons."

Stan remembered the feeling of the witch's nails on his back and shuddered visibly.

"So what's the best way to take care of them?"

"Mephesto wrote that there were flaws with his creation of this zombie, and it didn't actually attack until startled or provoked. So...I would assume the best way to deal with them if we see them is to just avoid them altogether. And if we do startle one again...just empty our magazines into it, I guess."

"I like the sound of that."

"You like the sound of anything that involves killing things and meaningless bloodshed, Cartman."

"You're such a pussy, Kyle."

"Ignoring the fatass...there're a few other zombies that we apparently haven't encountered yet, like the Smoker, which constantly emits smoke and uses an unnaturally long tongue that is actually its intestines to ensnarl people..."

"That's fucking disgusting."

"There's the jockey, which is a small zombie that hides in dark places and jumps on your back to steer you away. Kind of like an annoying back-humper..."

"Dude."

"The spitter, which vomits and sprays stomach acid which, unlike the boomer's, is actually highly corrosive."

"I think I'm going to puke myself."

"And the charger, which is the most physically strong of the lot. It's designed to run at abnormally fast speeds to bowl people over, and once it has someone in its grasp, it smashes them on the ground repeatedly."

"Mephesto was seriously mentally ill."

"That's all I managed to read in that short amount of time. I don't know if he made anything else, but just to be safe we should be prepared for anything. That wire goes over there, Kenny."

Kenny, who was affixing some device at the workbench, looked up in surprise when Kyle reached over, unplugged one of the wires in his makeshift weapon, and replugged it into a completely different opening before making a few additional adjustments. A loud beep indicated that the device was properly armed and ready to be used. Kenny's eyes widened and turned his entire body to face Kyle, stupefied.

"I learnt how to make pipe bombs because of my dad...but how the heck did you know what to do with that?"

Kyle shrugged.

"The circuit didn't look right from an engineering standpoint. I just completed it."

Kenny shook his head in bemusement and awe.

"Sometimes...I forget just how smart you are, Kyle."

Kyle blushed a little at the compliment.

Fifteen minutes later, the four were ready and armed to the teeth. All of them had some soft body armour that Jimbo had stocked up with for whatever reason, and Kenny had made them each a few pipe bombs in case of emergencies. Kyle, of course, had his duo of handguns, the only difference being the fact that he had swapped out one of his Desert Eagles for a nice Magnum revolver, which Kenny had told him was easily the most powerful handgun being produced commercially in the world. Cartman had swapped out his old shotgun for a newer model with a collapsible stock and a saddle for extra ammunition, which would presumably aid him in getting past the cumbersome reloading mechanism of the powerful gun.

Stan had a menacing looking submachine gun (Kenny said it was an FN P90, which was way too technical for him to actually care about), which would supposedly be most useful when taking down large hoards due to its high fire rate, and his old AK-47 for raw power. Lastly, Kenny had his previously engineered FN SCAR scope-hybrid in his arms, a Magnum in his pants pocket, and a professional sniper rifle strapped on his back. It was only appropriate that the most gun-familiar of all of them would be the one to take down zombies from long distances.

Cartman spoke first, his voice shaking with excitement.

"Don't burst my bubble here...but now I can't help but feel that we can do anything."

No one bothered to contradict him, the other three boys having similar thoughts as they took in the impressive sight of each other and themselves individually laden with dangerous weaponry. If they were a few years younger, they might have cheered at the fact that they would get the chance to become professional badasses, but they were almost adults now. And with age came the serious weight of personal and group responsibility. They were heavily armed, but that didn't change the fact that they were still in a dangerous situation.

As Cartman dismantled the last remnants of the wooden planks they had used earlier to barricade the doors, they could only pray that what they faced from that point on wouldn't match their earlier zombie encounter back in the Blacks' mansion in sheer horribleness.

Of course, they were dead wrong.


Author's Note - This was a bit of a pain to write, but if I seriously wrote chapter after chapter of action scenes, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. Didn't really expect this chapter to turn out the longest thus far, either. Just a note that guns like the FN P90 and the FN SCAR are actual, real-life guns, some of which have their equivalents in the Left 4 Dead 2 game. Check them out if you wish.

Reviews Appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN