A/N: This one's a tad short. Sorry! Hope you enjoy anyway UuU

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead. It belongs to Valve.

Track #5: Surface of the Sun

Shit. This hurt like hell. Shit shit shit.

The sun beat down on Nick's face, scorching his skin as he lay sprawled on the boiling pavement, scorching right through his suit and burning his skin. Clouds of steam seemed to rise up from the pool of blood around him. Or was that just his vision getting blurry? He wasn't sure. Was that someone screaming? He wasn't sure of that either.

You may sit and cry on this lonely night
Waiting around, playing with fire
But it's alright
The best part you ain't got to yet

He'd wandered off on his own, weak and tired from a recent rampaging Tank, looking for a stray bottle of pills or pack of ammo. He hadn't even told his teammates; just branched off of the tail of their team. Just across the street, he told himself. He won't be more than a minute, he told himself. Nothing will happen, he told himself.

Fucking idiot.

The alarms had still been working in the corner store. The horde came on strong, biting, hissing, scratching, and just his luck, a Hunter got curious and joined them. Pounced him. Tore him to shreds. It was then that the others found him. A headshot from Ellis's sniper rifle had the Hunter falling off to the side, and the rest of the Infected running towards the source of the noise.

And here he was, sprawled out, getting a nice red tan to match that lovely shade pooling around his body.

Curiosity got the best of me this time
But it won't shake my destiny
Completely got away from me
I don't know my limit, or my strength you see

"Nick. Nick!" At least, that's what he thought he heard. Rochelle? Yeah, Rochelle. There she was, on her knees beside him, hands hovering over his chest, at a loss for what to do. And she was crying. Hell, she was crying. He never thought he'd see the day.

"Hey, Ro. Nice day isn't it?" he said, but it came out like he was trying to speak through blood pooling in the back of his throat. Which he was. She cried harder.

There was a lot of things he wished he'd done, suddenly. He sort of wished he'd called his parents before this all started and told them they weren't fuck-ups, he was. Whether he believed that or not didn't matter. He wished he could visit his ex-wife one more time and give her a hug. He wished he could have survived this. Maybe if he had he'd quit the gambling life, move into a suburban house with a white picket fence, get a proper job—the works. Hell, maybe with Rochelle. He could see that.

Sittin' in the sun with my head in the sand
I don't give a damn about the words they're sayin'
I'm just trying to learn how not to get burned
But the surface of the sun is always ragin'

Rochelle didn't try to patch him up. She already knew he wasn't going to make it. So she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

"You always had a heart of gold, you know?"

He smiled—grimaced—back at her, squeezing her hand, as much as he could. He couldn't have that picket fence anymore. Couldn't visit his ex. Couldn't call up his parents. So he had to settle with this. This was enough.

This was enough.

"Thanks, Ro."

The surface of the sun is always ragin'
It's always ragin'

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Track #6: Reel to Reel