Note: I do not own VALVe or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer to the characters/themes/what have you presented in this story.
Five
"We got plenty of samples; RG1-A—an abundance of RG1-A—RM2-A, RM1-A, and this girl—this girl is simply covered with RM1-C."
"Has she been through quarantine?"
"We took the samples off of her, but we want to see how resilient she really is. We haven't had a chance to see a survivor from a RM1-C attack, and we need to see if her body can properly heal."
"Properly heal? Why would the rabies mutation have any impediment on proper cell regeneration?"
"We don't know what else it does, that's why we're locked up in hazmat suits and face masks while they're locked outside. This is the safest and most efficient way to observe the infection."
"So, that's why the doors were locked during that attack."
"Partly. We couldn't risk anyone carrying the infection inside in case they weren't actually immune. Plus, we didn't expect our fortifications to be so inadequate. When that RM2-A broke through the wall like it was putty, a few of the staff overreacted."
"Overreacted?"
"Survival instinct calls for every man for himself. You would have done the same Peters, I assure you."
"So everyone else is still locked outside?"
"No, they're free to wander. The infection is only spread through physical contact, so everyone who was unharmed was cleared. It was a bit of a challenge to get the conscious victims inside, though. We almost had to knock them out. They're isolated in other rooms."
"...Well, about the wall, are they repairing it?"
"A few units were working on clearing the field and repairing any damage possible, while a few men with some basic skills are doing their best to mend the wall. It'll be a sore spot, but we're counting on hordes like those to be at a minimum in the future, so we might just hold off until the reserves arrive."
"We lost the helicopter?"
"Yes."
"That reminds me—do we have an idea on the infected death rate so far?"
"Mm, I was afraid you'd ask that. Since it's a mutation of rabies, we only hoped that the fatality rate would be the same, but we have evidence that suggests they can live as long as their other bodily needs are met."
"Are you sure?"
"No, we're not. If it is true, there's also evidence pointing to the fact that an infected individual's rationale for caring for their basic needs is hindered considerably. The soldiers have been watching a few lonely drifters in the fields; they meander a bit before collapsing on the ground, and then they just sit there."
"I don't know if that's comforting or nerve-wracking."
"I don't think it's meant to be either."
Silence.
"How long has she been asleep?"
"Eleven or so hours. She's due for a swab at O-nine hundred."
"How did she survive that RM1-C?"
"A few people pulled it off of her. They beat it to death with a fire extinguisher."
"Mm. Did we get the body?"
"Yes. It's in the lab. There aren't any reports on it yet."
"Don't you find all of this just a little frightening?"
"What do you mean?"
"We're surrounded by the apocalypse, and the only thing we have to protect ourselves are clown suits. One scratch, one bite, and it's all over. Some of the soldiers had to be discharged from the facility. They were screaming at the wall for hours. We practically killed them, James."
"...Each man for himself, Lyson."
Zoey lay very still. She wasn't sure if the researchers were concerned she might be able to hear them or not. Eventually, she heard them walk away. She was alone now.
She didn't dare open her eyes, for she was afraid of what she might see. From what she could tell, she was lying on her stomach on a cot with a scratchy blanket covering her. There was an IV in her left hand, and it irritated her skin. Her back felt numb and cool; they must've put ointment on it or something. That infected woman must have scratched her up something horrible.
It was dark, too. The only light she could feel on her eyelids was coming from that small window in the door where the two researchers had been talking. It was cold and quiet, save for the soft hum of a computer or a machine next to her bed. After a few minutes, she realized that sticky circles were attached to her temples and her chest. They were monitoring her, just like those men had said. What was going to happen now?
After what felt like hours, the door opened. Zoey jolted out of surprise, almost as if she were getting ready to retreat to the back of the room, away from the intrusion. The door closed.
"Miss Connor?"
It was a woman's voice. Deep, smooth, relaxing. Zoey didn't reply.
She heard foot steps approach her bedside, then faint sounds of the woman handling something. Suddenly, Zoey felt the woman's hands on her gown, untying the gap on the back. She jolted out of surprise but she kept her eyes closed.
"Miss Connor, are you awake?"
After a few seconds, she replied, "Yes."
"I just need to take a swab of your back. It might feel strange."
"Okay."
The woman finished untying her gown, then held it open. Zoey felt this strange fear come over her, like that infected woman would leap onto her back again and tear her asunder if she didn't watch her back. She thought of how fun those old movies were to watch, where the zombies would limp around with dead eyes and grey skin. It wasn't so fun to imagine anymore; all she saw were those teeth, all she could hear was that growl. All she could feel was the strange numbness in her back.
The woman's swab touched on her back and swept across it. Her back was numb, but Zoey could still feel the path the swab took. She almost screamed. Her back had become a country hillside of bumps and valleys.
"Oh my God!"
"Miss Connor, are you all right?"
"Oh, God, my back!"
"Miss Connor, you're just fine. I need you to calm down now—"
"What did you do to my back?"
"Miss Connor!"
Zoey was trying to thrash. She couldn't feel her body. Fear was coming back again.
She felt an odd sensation in her arm, sort of like feeling a car hit something else, like it wasn't part of her. Zoey was gasping and shouting, and she looked over to see another needle sticking out of her arm. The nurse pushed the plunger down hard. It felt like her veins exploded. She started to shout in pain instead of panic.
"Miss Connor, you're going to go back to sleep now," the woman explained, but it was already far off. She didn't catch the rest of the sentence.
"Ten o'clock!"
Everyone spun around, but they heard the odd explosion as Louis took a few shots at the strange infected man before they spotted it. Everyone knew what that sound was—one of the different infected, the ones that puked on everything, attracting hordes. That wasn't the only reason it was important to spot one before it got close—it's barf smelt like feces, urine, decay, death... everything unpleasant mixed into a flood of vomit.
"Man, did you see that thing pop?" Louis said enthusiastically, waving his SMG in the air. "That was like a goddamn water balloon! POW!"
"Keep yer voice down," Bill grumbled. "You don't know what'll hear you."
"There's nothing else around down here," Louis said, but he did get quieter. "Should we take a break?"
"Fuck no!" Francis barked back.
"I said pipe down!"
"Ah, go stuff a..."
"Francis is right, Louis," Bill started again after a second. "You know as well as I do that we can't stop out in the open."
Zoey was the only one who seemed alert. She slowly circled on the spot, watching the tunnel behind them, to the upper left, and beyond. Fear had nothing to do with it. She hadn't been afraid since the first few days of infection. All of them had accepted the epidemic with a flat complacency that appeared akin to a man on the job. Zoey was hit hardest of all by all of it, so she was the most docile, the most serious, the most contemplative. She was almost completely and utterly withdrawn.
"Yo, Zoey."
She turned around. "So?"
"What?"
"We asked you if you wanted some pills." Francis waved them in the air at her.
"No, I'm fine."
"You sure?" he asked. "We haven't found a safe house for hours now. I could use a cup of joe myself."
"I'm fine," she repeated.
It had hit her the hardest.
"Well, where to now?" Louis asked.
"North," Bill replied. "The service tunnel leads right to the entrance of the hospital there."
"Is that such a good idea? I mean, climbing up a manhole into an open street?"
"That or we wander around down here for a few more weeks lookin' for the back door."
"North it is."
"Zoey, how you holding up for ammo?" Bill turned to her.
"I've got plenty."
The four of them started moving up the tunnel. Zoey held her pistols in front of her as if they were her eyes, and she couldn't walk without them pointed forward. It was a dark part of the tunnel, so they all had their flashlights on. An infected man sat slumped against the wall ahead of them. Francis shot him with the shotgun. The man flipped head over heels before landing in a bloody mess a few feet away from where he sat. No-one seemed in any way bothered by it. Just another day on the job.
Bill was walking closest to her. He turned halfway around and looked at her, his unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. "How you holding up?"
"Good."
He watched her for a few more seconds, then turned around again. "Sorry."
Her eyes darted away from her pistols' aim only briefly. "What?"
Louis and Francis were chatting quietly a few paces ahead. They weren't listening. Francis laughed out loud, making sure to keep his voice down. Bill sighed.
"That was a pretty lousy question. Nobody's holding up."
Zoey didn't reply.
They made it to the end of the tunnel. A red light lit up the platform, reflecting off the metal siding to the passenger car that lay derailed in front of them. The doors were ajar, and the lights inside were open. A dead man sat on one of the benches, his inflamed head bent over himself as bodily fluid dripped slowly from his mouth.
Just like a horror movie, Zoey thought. This is the part that's "Too quiet."
Francis and Louis started moving up through the train, and Bill and Zoey hung back to cover the rear.
"You're too young for this, Zoey."
She didn't say anything. She thought she saw something move in the dark, but there was nothing. Just expecting something to be there.
"When we found you, and I first saw you, I expected you to break into hysterics. All you said was, 'Which direction are you headed?'."
"Yeah, I did."
Bill shook his head, but Zoey didn't see it. "Too young."
They passed into the next train. Louis took shots at another infected from beyond the window. Then there was silence.
"Are you from here, Zoey?"
She shook her head, then added, "No."
"Have family back home?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Norwich. In New York."
"Small town girl?"
"Yeah."
Bill checked the windows, then led them forward. "Know if they're okay?"
After a second, Zoey sighed. "I don't know. Everyone I knew at school... everyone's gone. I don't know their chances."
Bill didn't look back. "I lost my family a long time ago. Had nothing left to lose."
They exited the train and came to the other side of the tunnel.
"You're too young for all of this."
"So you keep saying."
"Zoey, most people need a thing to fight for. Some of us don't know what that is."
She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "What're you in it for?" she asked.
He slowed his step to look back at her. "I'm one of those people that don't know."
"Me, either."
"We'll still get by."
Zoey did know, deep down. It hadn't been long, but she'd already grown attached to all of their faces, their mannerisms, their voices. If they made it out of this thing alive, she couldn't imagine living her life without them ever again. She watched Bill's back as he hunted the dark corners, listened to Louis's laugh, felt a smile on her lips.
"Three o'clock!" Bill shouted, and they all spun on their heel.
Zoey woke slowly. She felt nauseated, like the world was sloshing back and forth in a giant aquarium. She was still on her stomach, but this time her back felt puffy and hot. It throbbed with every pulse.
This time, she opened her eyes.
The room was small and simple. She was the only one in it, save for the man sitting next to her bed. He leaned over into her field of vision; he had a large, square-shaped mask over his face, just like everyone else had. She felt like am animal with a tranq in her system; she tried to focus on him, but it was like playing darts in the dark.
"Miss Connor?"
She made a grunt of confirmation.
"I know you're probably scared and confused right now," he said, "but I want to assure you you'll be just fine. We're trying to help you get better."
So you can run more tests on me.
"You're going to have to stay here for a little while on your own, though," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She realized he was very careful where he put his hand. She was damaged goods. "Once we get you patched up, you'll be free to use the facility.
"Where are my friends?" she tried to say. It came out something like: "Wurmurfred?" Her tongue felt like a thick, soft turnip in her mouth.
"You just take it easy," he replied. "An orderly will be in soon to swab your back again. That RM1-C took a toll on you."
Then she recognized his voice—it was the same researcher who was talking to the other in front of her door, the one who claimed it was "each man for himself."
"We'll see each other soon," he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She felt as if her skin burned there. They had her connected to computers and antibiotics flowing through her system, they had all the advancements and capabilities of a hospital, but she did not trust them. She was not going to like it here at Ripken stadium.
The door closed behind him, and Zoey's heart began to beat faster. The computer blipped next to her, picking up the increase in her BPM. They were watching her, her every move, her every thought. She was trapped between the monster's jaws.