It's back!
Yes, after a long, tiring summer, I'm back in school, and, ironically, I have more time for fanfiction!
Let's see if I can make anything that passes as a quality story
Equalizer
Mornings usually start with family, right? Where you all get together in your kitchen, whip up some delicious, or at least sub-par breakfast, and prepare for your day ahead. Typically in a well-maintained house, even. That's the normal routine for most people. Wake up, get dressed, eat, possibly with family, and go to work or school or whatever nonsensical bullshit you go to on a typical day.
My morning, however, started with loading loose ammunition into clips for weapons 'owned' by a group of 4 untrustworthy strangers and one shaky friend with a practically endless bungie cord for a tongue, as they did mostly the same with roughly the same opinions of each other as I.
Not so typical, eh?
Bill scanned his eyes around the room, giving each of us a short overlook as we jammed whatever we needed into our pockets, backpacks, what have we, until he gave his own gear a quick look over. Probably satisfied with his military-grade preparing, he lit a cigarette and turned the safety off on his M16. "Ready," he said, putting a hand on the metal bar keeping the safe room door secured. "You better be damn well ready too."
We all gave our own acknowledgement to signal that we were ready, Francis chuckling lightly to himself. Probably imagining what poor dead souls will end up being fucked by those shotgun rounds today.
In one swift motion, Bill lifted the metal bar off it's hold as it clattered on the ground, and pushed the red door open. The creaking sound it made was only echoed by the narrow alley to the side and cramped buildings. He effortlessly kicked an incoming Infected to the ground before sending the butt of his rifle into the zombie's skull. Blood splattered from where the rifle slammed into, but Bill either didn't notice or care as he continued to the small building opposite of ours.
Our goal was rather simple. Shoot through the small clutter of Infected blocking us from the bridge, start up the loud as hell generators, and shoot everything to kingdom come until the bridge lowered, we get on, and raise it back up to escape the hoard and get on a boat to Bill's next step in the plan.
It was easy on paper. Oh how fucking easy it looked on paper.
The 'small clutter' of Infected turned out to be a mini-horde of rather pissed zombies, and the second we opened fire on them all hell broke loose. At least, as much as it could considering a round or two put most Infected down. If anything the annoyances broke loose.
We followed Bill as closely as possible, since we were mostly used to gunning down Commons (At least I knew Kyle and I were, and Bill just seemed like that kind of ex-military prepared for it). Through the small building I could see a somewhat of a junction, splitting off between a ramp leading down near the bridge and a wide alley/road headed towards the main road. Of course, I knew at least two generators were more easily locatable if we cut through the alley, so I directed them that way. "We can find the generators quicker this way," I called out as I sliced through a miniature mob with a fire axe. The Survivors seemed so against getting this up close for quicker kills, I don't understand what the worry is.
Bill nodded as his Survivors headed down the alley, running up to the front as Kyle and I covered the back. Clearing out Commons was almost a simpleton's job by now, so idle conversation was easy.
"How about we get set up by all the generators and press them at once?" I suggested once Kyle was within talking distance. With him taking all the heavy weaponry it was useless trying to yell to get his attention. I could see the thought on his face, and he gave me a short 'Yeah' before speedwalking to the group ahead of us.
"John says we should find all the generators and prepare rather than start each one individually," the Smoker said after getting the group's attention.
Francis had a blank face before speaking. "What do you mean?" he asked, as his autoshotgun sent flechette into an undead woman's face. Kyle rolled his eyes, more than done with the biker's questions. "These generators are loud as hell. If we started them all at once we would have every Infected on our ass before we could even consider starting the last one." The biker seemed to understand enough of the reasoning behind it, and nodded. "Alright. Got it, all at once."
"How about we go in pairs?" I asked as a break in the pitiful wave of Infected showed. "Perhaps Louis and Francis, Bill and Zoey, and me and Kyle." Aside from Louis and Francis, the pairs seemed to be good enough for the small task. Then again, nothing's easy with Francis.
Louis made somewhat of a groan, but once we got to the house by the bridge we split up. Bill and Zoey took the generator next to the fence and the bridge, while Louis and Francis took the one down by the hedges.
That left me and Kyle with the "third" generator. Of course, we kind of lied saying there were three generators when we were all planning this morning. It was all planned so Kyle and I could have a private meeting on what to do. I knew he was just as tense about following the Survivors as I was. We only helped with occasional ammo and medical shit, this is way outside both of our comfort zones. We both carefully walked over to the general store up the road, where there was supposedly the third generator.
Once out of earshot, Kyle (silently) exploded at me.
"What the hell are we going to do?!" The Smoker's false calmness melted away into anger and nervousness as he gently paced back and forth around the store. "Sooner or later they're gonna find out, and frankly I'm not in the mood to die, and ESPECIALLY not on a boat out in the motherfucking ocean!" I quickly stopped him as I peered out the window. "Kyle, just calm the fuck down," I demanded, watching his frustration grow. "You just need to chill out." His face grew beet red in anger. "Chill out? Chill out?!" he repeated. "John, we teamed up with a group of unpredictable and probably unstable killers. If anything happens and they find out, I can guarantee we will be killed without question and-"
"GET A FUCKING HOLD OF YOURSELF." I hissed, slapping the Smoker in the face. "You know that dumbass story you told them last night? About that time we ran from Hunters and a Tank? Honestly it seems like it's the exact opposite right now and you're the one having a fucking meltdown."
Kyle took some time to regain his composure, before giving me a death glare. "We are in HOT WATER, John," he growled back. "You want to trust your LIFE with a cranky veteran, a psychopathic biker, a tech guy with a gun obsession, and an unstable college girl. And may I remind you they have been effortlessly murdering what we just about are without batting an eye." I stared at him in disbelief. This is the guy that thought AT FIRST to start helping other Survivors. The guy that thought of grabbing all kinds of supplies around the city for when humans came by to help them out. The guy that sat on a fucking roof dangling medical supplies by his tongue in front of said humans without a damn care in the world.
I'm not sure what happened. One minute I'm yelling at him, the next I'm lunging at him.
"You hypocritical SHIT!" I yelled, tackling the Smoker. We both slammed into the wall, and I heard an angry grunt from Kyle as he hit, but I didn't care. I went into a blind rage as I punched, kicked, and clawed at him. For ONCE he can't trust one fucking person, and yet he practically ASKS to get killed!
Kyle growled back, shoving me off of him as he wrapped his disgusting tongue around me. It pinned my arms to my sides as he slammed me into the walls and ransacked shelves. My vision kept getting blurrier and blurrier with each hit. I think it did. After a while it was just dark blurs and fast movement. Did I hit the floor? No, he's still swinging me. No... oh holy shit this is dizzying.
Suddenly, one sound made it through. The sound of a small gasp made both of us immediately freeze. But it wasn't from a Witch. If anything, all I had to do was outrun Kyle and I'd be fine in that case, but the source was not a Witch.
It was much worse.
"W-... What?" The college girl whimpered. I barely noticed her standing at the door, her dual pistols at mid-draw. Kyle almost immediately retracted his tongue, as I regained my balance and wiped the Smoker's blood off my claws/hands.
But there was no way to hide it.
"Zoey, this isn't-" I was cut off as she turned to run to the Survivors, and I was about to run after her when yet another sound made me freeze. An all too familiar low, heavy, and very angry growl. My brain went into auto-pilot, tackling Zoey and pinning her low below me to keep her from moving. "Shit your FUCKING mouth," I hissed to her, "Tank nearby."
She barely cared to listen as she shoved me away, and I stumbled backwards. If only I could do what Hunters did when they pinned victims down. "No... You shouldn't... you can't... speak, you're..." Zoey gasped, scrambling away. "Zoey, Kyle and I have been speaking since you met us, we're sane, not like them," I said softly, but it didn't change the fear or the hatred on her face.
However the fear ultimately won as a startled yet angered grunt blurted out as she bumped into a large, meaty fist, and only one thought came to my mind as I was then sent flying 30 feet.
I told you so.
I was sitting on a porch outside a house, sitting among a large field. Something told me in my head that it was my home. I decided to take a glance around.
There was grass and fields spread out all along the... 20 acre span. Where'd that number come from? Is this a memory? A dream?
Although from what just happened I'm sure I'm dead.
There was a long trail that led out into what seemed to be a town surrounded by forest. Something in the back of my mind told me to turn around, and I did. I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong.
There was a tall man, dressed in dirty jeans and a light coat, with a wife beater beneath it. It was a little chilly, I was quick to guess it was fall.
The man's face was surprisingly detailed for a dream, or memory or whatever the fuck was happening. He had a strong jaw with hollow cheekbones, and the dark five o' clock shadow and dark bags under his eyes told me he was one of those men that always worked. Always serious. His steel gray eyes stared straight ahead, down the road, his face emotionless. But I saw a slight hint of... sadness?
The voice in my head said this was my father.
Rather than jumping up and hugging the man I never remembered, I turned to see what he was watching.
A black car was driving down the road to our home. Its windows were tinted too dark to see through, and looked like the same type of car that the police uses. As it pulled up to our house, I felt my dad put a hand on my shoulder, and he leaned down towards my ear.
"Get in the house," he whispered, and I went inside without question. I never remembered a situation like this in my life, yet I know exactly what's about to happen.
Two men in dark suits stepped out of the car. One of them looked towards my father, pointed at him, and they both pinned him to the ground, handcuffing him.
I don't remember what I said, but I yelled something as I bolted out towards the men. One stepped away and held me back, telling me something I again couldn't understand. The other man took my dad, put him in the back of the car, and drove off with him while the other man held me back.
"Where is he taking him?!" I asked the man, struggling. He said nothing, but instead brought me back into the house until more police could arrive.
The Tank's roar was the first thing I heard when my eyes opened.
I jolted up, almost immediately regretting it as my side screamed in pain. I looked down to see it bleeding severely behind wrapped cloth. But as I looked around, I saw nobody near me.
Then again, I was in the back of a fucking van.
I stepped out to see machine gun fire whizz by me at a Tank-
No, FIVE Tanks. Five giant, pissed the fuck off Tanks.
"What the fuck is-" I was quieted by a tongue wrapping around me and quickly pulling me aside into a large generator room. I turned around to see a tired, very bloodied, and limping Kyle. "They're up on the bridge," he wheezed, "but those Tanks... won't fucking give up..." I took a quick look outside. Four crazed gunmen indeed were up on the now raised bridge as hundreds of Infected poured into the streets, along with five Tanks taking the gunfire head-on. Us being Infected, we were able to watch from the generator room next to the bridge without being attack.
"So they know, huh," I muttered, and Kyle scoffed. "No fucking shit, they know," he retorted, "We're damn lucky Bill was reasonable and gave us a choice." I gave the vet on the bridge a stern look before turning back to the Smoker. "What choice?" I asked. "He said if we help them clear out the rest of the Infected here, they'll let us be as long as we don't get in their way when it comes time for them to head out. If we don't, or come back, they'll treat us like them," he said, gesturing to the Commons being blown to bits by a pipebomb.
It didn't seem like we proved ourselves worthy to be treated as equals. I growled to myself and yelled as I punched the wall. How was I so stupid?! The voice in my head is almost always right, why didn't I follow it now?!
Screw it, if it'll keep the Survivors from shooting us, I'll go with it. "Get the rocket launcher," I demanded. "Get as many explosives as possible. We're clearing these motherfucking Infected out for good."
The Smoker nodded and ran/limped off as I grabbed the nearest gun and shot at anything that shouldn't be standing.