Note: Alright, everyone. Going to put up one more new general infected one-shot, just for fun. CAUTION: May not be as epic as the first one. CAUTION NUMBER 2: However, this one-shot may still induce puking, nightmares, and other less than savory consequences.
Disclaimer: I do not own Francis, Zoey, Louis, or Bill. Only the unnamed infected main character.
The first thing that I notice is the cold. It's unbearably cold, practically freezing as I stumble upwards. Something doesn't allow me to stand, as I simply collapse into a slightly deranged, uncomfortable kneeling position. Seconds, minutes, hours tick away as I sit there. Then, finally, I rally myself to crawl to the door. Something tugs at my hands and wrists, though, and I'm dragged backwards with a yelp. For some reason, everything is crimson, as if blood covers the walls and the ceiling and the floor. A black string seems to be connecting me to the wall. I tug at it and it holds firm.
I'm bound to this room.
Four days.
Four days of silence and misery.
Four days of pain and crimson tides.
Early the fifth day, something, sound, comes to me. They're loud. Voices. Three- no, four of them. They approach the barricade binding me from the world. Colors, sky blue, grass green, outline them. The first one- a man, speaks.
"Safe house should be nearby," he says, his voice sounding worn.
"It should be," a quieter voice, who sounds like a girl, agrees, "but we should check this room. Bill won't last much longer without first aid."
A mean voice, almost taunting, joins in. "Grampa Bill, war veteran, needing help? Not likely."
A fourth voice, this one sounding even more tired than the first two, "Francis, do us all a favor."
"What," the mean one says, "do you need your cane, Grandpa?"
All three of the others say, "Shut up, Francis."
"Here, lemme blow open this sucker," says the first voice. There's a bang, and my ears ring in time with my head. I clutch them, whatever things binding me to the wall making only a whisper. The door buckles slightly, but doesn't break.
"Why not open it?" the girl says.
"Zoey, there might be a general infected in there that will spring us. We should blow a hole in the door first, backup, and let it claw at us like there's no tomorrow. Here, use your auto shotgun and help me pump a few rounds into this door."
There's a click, and the bang is doubled. I let out a screech as wood explodes, showering me and the living on the other side of the door. Coughing, followed by lights. The light hurts. It hurts and it stings and it feels like I'm burning, God, I'm burning. I lunge at the light source. I catch a glimpse of leather, tattooed skin, and then I'm dragged backwards by the thin chains.
"Whoa! What the hell? Louis, you could've shot this fucking vampire!" the tattooed man says. I decide he's Francis.
One in a tie, with dark skin, and a shotgun responds. I think he's the one who shot the door first. "Francis, I'm not saving your skin. You didn't save Bill from that Tank, huh? Or that Boomer? OR that Hunter? OR that Smoker at the beginning? And you didn't help me with that horde of infected that ganged up on us!"
The mean one sniggers. I let out a shriek. The colors are so close, within arms' reach. I can taste them on my tongue, and my throat aches, my brain seems to be stuck with one thought- get the blue and the green and the yellow and the purple. It's so close, and if only I could get them. The light shines over my bonds and the one with the tie lets out a gasp. Louis, I realize. His name was Louis.
"Bill… Zoey… Francis… come have a look at this shit," Louis whispers almost reverently. I snap at him as the others approach. I get a full view of all three of them. The girl has a ponytail with a pink jacket, and the old one, who is limping along, is dressed in green with military medals and a submachine gun.
Francis mutters, "What the fuck? Are those… wires?" He moves his gun-mounted light up the wire into the wall.
The girl, Zoey, is the next to respond. "Nails? This guy nailed himself into the wall?" They almost sound respectful. But that isn't the problem. The problem is their lights and their noise…. And their colors that ache and hurt and make me want to feel flesh and blood and skull and bone and- But I need to stop, I need to stop, I need to stop, but I can't.
Francis laughed, "Oh, who the fuck cares? Let's just blast this one and move the hell on."
Zoey and Louis look appalled, but walk onwards, leaving me with Francis. He reaches around and takes out a bottle with a rag stuffed into the top. "Here doggy…. Here doggy, doggy… would you like a treat?" he whispers, pulling out a small stick. With a flash it lights up, and I let out a howl. More light, more heat, God, help me, God, save me, from the light, from the darkness, from life, from everything. He lights the rag and with a laugh tosses it into the room. Then he turns and leaves, his beautiful, eternal colors fading into dreams and memories.
And then there's pain.
Pain and pain and heat and warmth and warmth and pain…
And that's when I hear his last words, before I melt away, into the floor and become one with the building.
"Meet you in hell, asshole."
And somehow, I know that's where we're going to meet.
Somehow, I know how this is going to end. Something comes back. Not my name. Another's. Patricia, where are you?
And then I'm one with the flames and the fire, and it's where I belong.