A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, your Chapter Three has arrived. Again, I don't own Valve, if I did, if could probably buy a small European Country, yada-yada. Some violence in this chapter, but not as much as the last one.

Also: /Word/ = Strikethrough (Like a cross-out)

Happy Reading!

Prey is close. Veryveryvery close. Drool. Little growl.

Want to pounce. Wait. Sooo close. But don't jump now. Not close enough.

Right under tall thing I'm in now. Move on tall thing. Better spot for pouncing. Cracking sound as I move.

Prey stop. Takes out thing. Very fast.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Smell of smoke.

Smelled this smoke before. Smoke that means hurt. Bad smoke. Veryvery bad smoke. Can kill me with smoke-thing. Stay away from smoke-thing.

Smoke smell stops now. Doing something with smoke-thing now.

/'Reloading! Cover me!'/

Jump now.

Growl. Scare. Better hunt when scared. Pounce.

Too late.

The zombie came seemingly out of nowhere, screaming bloody murder. I only had time to cuss and react, as the dark blue blob launched itself towards me.

I raised my left arm to block, instinctively, and it crashed into me. The sonuvabitch knocked me to the ground, its teeth clamping onto my arm, biting through my (Regrettably) thin sweater, and the pain started to sink through to the bone.

I was scared shitless.

I was also angry as hell.

My attacker scrabbled, arms flailing, its teeth still latched onto my left arm, the only thing keeping me from the same fate as the pilot. My pistol was unloaded, still gripped in my right hand, all but useless in conventional ways. My arm hurt like a bitch, and I was playing a twisted game of arm/tooth wrestling with a zombie, with no-one to help me.

So I did what any sensible girl would do in the situation.

I clubbed it to death with my gun.

Pulling my right arm out, I swung the butt of the Glock in a high arc, landing it with a satisfying crack on the zombie's head. Asshole didn't know what was coming to him; It gave a surprised screech, until I shut it up with a second conk to the skull, falling limp, with its teeth still clinging to my now-bloody arm.

I shook it off, kicking the body away and clutching my bleeding arm as I got up, and ran.

It was only after I burst into The Cabin, slammed and bolted the door, and sat down against it that I finally unclenched my teeth. The adrenaline in my system slowly drained, and my hands stopped shaking, leaving me feeling tired and wrung-out. The bite on my arm had stopped bleeding, and had clotted; The shredded remains of my sweater sleeve stuck to the dried blood.

How long does it take to turn? I thought, as the hot fog of panic cleared away from my head.

Will I slowly start craving for flesh, or will I keel over and reanimate?

Ten I snapped, a little bit.

"Marzia Adelaide Walker." I said, clenching my fists, again. "You are the worst survivalist to ever walk this godforsaken Earth. You went out there, alone, with only a handgun, and panicked like a middle-schooler at the first sign of trouble. You reloaded without even a spot-check, and you should be ashamed of yourself. If you turn into a zombie, you damn well deserve it. In the meantime, get your act together and move your ass."

I was right, of course. If Dad saw what had happened back there, he'd probably hit me on the head with a 2x4 for being so damn idiotic. I reflected on this as I washed out the bite with vicious antimicrobial soap and bandaged it, the familiar motions of dressing all but muscle memory to me, as I got my thoughts in a line.

I was bitten by a person (Now dead and rotting in the woods. Great.) infected with a virus I knew next-to-nothing about, other than what I heard from the scattered CEDA reports on the radio. I had no medical supplies that were more advanced than morphine syringes, and the closest hospital was at least 100 miles away (And I doubted they'd be able to help me, in any case.) At this point, it seemed less like a question of what to do, and more about what my last meal would be.

(It was Ibuprofen, by the way. Zombies bites hurt. A lot.)

The Cabin, while fairly small, had enough room for a couch, in front of the woodstove. Though, like The Cabin, it was not an ordinary, lowercase couch. It was a couch with a flower-based design so horrendous it would send the tackiest of grandmothers into seizures. My multiple childhood attempts to burn it, tear it, and otherwise mutilate it were in vain; Like everything else in The Cabin, it could probably survive a nuclear bomb, and stayed in the same place for 12 years. I learned to tolerate it, eventually. A couch was a couch, after all, no matter how Hideous or Floral it could be.

As I sat down on the aforementioned Hideous Floral Couch, my head abuzz with thoughts and my arm abuzz with pain, I realized I was sitting on my (Now half-shredded) sweater, which I had discarded before washing my arm. I tugged it from underneath me, and something fell to the floor with a papery thud.

Oh. I nearly forgot about the purloined file folder. Might as well take a look at it now; It was in better lighting, and I couldn't do much until the painkillers kicked in (Or until I became zombified. Whichever came first.)

There was an official looking stamp on the front, and CEDA: CLASSIFIED REPORT COMPILATION was lettered underneath it. I tugged the staples holding the folder closed out with my nails, and opened it, reading the first paper in the file.

CEDA FILE REPORT GF-21097

CIVILIAN DISTRIBUTION

Green Flu:

A highly contagious mutated form of rabies, communicable by bite, aerosol, and bodily fluids. Initial symptoms include dizziness, fever, aching, and chills; later stages include vomiting, hallucinations, and dementia, degrading into animalistic, aggressive behavior, with the instinct to attack all non-infected. Incubation time varies from individual to individual, but typically is around the time of 1 hour.

Avoid all contact with infected individuals; if you suspect you are infected, quarantine yourself and contact the nearest CEDA facility. While a vaccine is not yet available, all available resources are being dedicated to research for a cure.

The virus is 99% communicable,(Though not reportedly transferable to other mammals) with some individuals possessing resistance to the disease. However, contact with these individuals is discouraged, as they are able to spread the disease without displaying any outward symptoms. (CEDA Officials are to consult REPORT TM-17ll for further instructions regarding Carriers)

I stopped reading, putting down the report. Carriers, eh? So I had a 99% chance of mutating into a vomiting, rage-filled zombie (Like my dead friend in the woods, Mr. Bitey) or being forever condemned as a host to the disease, forced to lived separate from my fellow humans, until a vaccine is invented.

Actually, the latter didn't sound half-bad. This was going to be an awfully fun hour.

Head hurts.

Many things hurt. Stupid prey hurt me, and ran away. Can still taste blood in mouth. Feel hot, stomach making funny noises.

Stupid prey.

Shake. Little black things flying around when I get up. Feel heavy. Shake head.

Prey is gone now, but scent is still fresh. Blood-smell on the ground, in a trail.

Hunt.

/Stop/

Head feels funny now. Hear noises sometimes. Quiet noises. Now the noises are louder.

/Human/

?

/Murderer/

Shake head again. Growl at noises. Don't smell anything making the noises. Keep following blood-trail. Still hurt, but want to hunt too much to care.

Pass be tall thing /tree/

Stop. Tall-thing…a tree?

Sniff tree. Smells the same. Why does head say it is different?

Head is saying very funny things.

My head hurt.

I began to panic again. Oh, god. I thought. Surely this is the first step of my viral transformation into a mindless creature of instinct and unbridled rage, and I will only continue to degrade as my mental capacity slowly drains away.

Or, I countered, it could be just another headache.

I took another Ibuprofen and left it at that.

I had good reason to have a headache, anyways. The zombie situation wasn't going well. At all.

For one thing, I don't think I would have to worry about the plants in the apartment anymore. I looked at the map that came after the Green Flu report in the file; the crimson-colored spread of the virus spilled past Pennsylvania, and crept up to Maine, not quite reaching the northern part, and was also slinking south, towards Virginia. My home city, of course, had been swallowed; the only solace I could take from that was the fact my boss was probably either dead, or a zombie.

It wasn't much of a consolation prize.

As I stared up at the ceiling, I felt a shocking lack of response. Call it dead-mode again, but I didn't have much to tie me to my old town, or anything, really. I'd taken a semester off from college to work, and it wasn't like I had any bonds to my fellow classmates or professors. I didn't talk much with the people at work, and the most interaction I had with the people at my apartment was to occasionally discuss the weather. There wasn't much to care about, so I didn't.

Guess I was alone. Again.

Sniff ground.

Head still feels funny. Ignore head. Keep tracking prey.

Feeling veryvery warm now. Water coming off of head.

/Sweat/

What is head saying?

/Thinking/

I am thinking.

/My thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth/

Turn head. Hear something. Nothing there.

Wait…

Sounds are in head.

/Music/

There is music in my head…

Feel very confused now. Head keeps thinking new words…

/Remember/

I am remembering.

A/N: Well, we'll leave it on that note for now! Extra nerd points for the people who got the references I made in the chapter :)

Thanks for reading, please leave a fav if you liked it, and a review. Remember, readers: Reviews make the Author happy, and a happy Author means that your favorite characters don't die horribly. (Ok, please ignore that. I wouldn't do that, I promise)

Also, I'm still hunting for a beta reader. Shoot me a PM if you can, please!

-Author