Chapter 52: Awakening

Bright lights…

An echoing voice…

Searing pain.

"…Zoey…? …Zoey…"

The girl in question raised a hand to her head, wincing when she jostled a bump on her forehead, above her left eyebrow. The reflex action sent a fresh wave of pain and nausea rushing through her, but luckily she managed to hold onto what was left of her meagre dinner.

"Whoa, easy there, girl," Louis said in a concerned voice, coming over to kneel down beside her. "You took a nasty fall earlier."

It was then that Zoey realised she was lying on the floor, a measly collapsed cardboard box as her mattress. The group's first-aid kit lay open near her, and she could feel bandages on her left cheek and her shoulder, near the base of her neck. The latter wound hurt the most – a dull throbbing sensation radiated out from it, interspersed with sharp jabs of pain if she tried to move too much.

"What happened?" she finally asked, giving up and lying back down on her 'bed'. "Where are Francis and Bill?" Her voice was still thick and slurred, and her tongue felt dry, like a cotton wad in her mouth.

"It's okay," the young man replied soothingly, apparently having not learned that patronisation did not make for good bedside manner. "They want off to make a quick sweep for supplies while you were unconscious. You've been out for over an hour."

He handed her a water bottle, which she took several greedy gulps from, quenching her parched and dry throat. She immediately started to feel less nauseous and disoriented.

"You seemed to stabilise a few minutes after you passed out, which we took as a good sign," Louis continued, almost speaking more to himself than to her. As if he was in a debate with himself. The gun in his hand, ready to be fired at a moment's notice, did not escape Zoey's attention. "All that worrying stuff – the vomiting, light sensitivity, loss of hearing – Bill reckons it was caused by a mixture of concussion and exposure to the smoke."

The former college girl nodded slowly, resisting the urge to feel the bump on her head again.

"Hell, I felt a bit sick after all that Smoker gas we inhaled," her friend said, shooting her a wary smile. "If you were gonna turn, you probably would have done so by now, back when all that freaky shit was happening to you while you were on the table."

"So… what? You guys think I'm immune? Like the rest of you?" The cautious relief which had flooded through her when she had found out that Bill and Francis were immune to the Green Flu almost paled in comparison to the idea that she could be too. That she would not turn into a maddened, rabies-bearing banshee, driven by a primal instinct to feed and kill.

That she would not be responsible for hurting someone when she was not in her right mind.

Louis seemed equally pleased. "Well, yeah. Francis warned me to keep an eye on you while they were out, but I've got a good feelin' about this. Your rationality seems to be intact."

It was then that the door crashed open, startling both of them and causing Louis to raise his pistol. However, it was Francis who bounded through the door, Bill bringing up the rear.

"Damn it, Francis, can't you open the door like a normal goddamn person?" the old man growled. His eyes widened when he saw the youngest member of the group awake. "Zoey! How are you feeling?"

"Uh, fine, I guess," she mumbled. "A sore neck, but that's about it."

"You're lucky that's all you have," Francis grunted. "That thing was just about to tear your throat out." Was that worry in his expression?

"Do you still feel like... yourself?" Bill asked hesitantly.

When Zoey nodded gingerly, the icy weights of worry around his heart evaporated, to be replaced by intense relief. His heavy emotional burdens had blown up tenfold when the girl had been lying there, choking and vomiting, and the prospect of having to put a bullet through her head had frightened him more than facing down a horde of Infected a mile wide.

But she was okay – for the moment, at least. That was what mattered.

It was Louis who voiced what was on everyone's minds. "So I'm thinking, either we're immune from all this, or we're gettin' real lucky."

"Four immunes in the same room," the grizzled war veteran muttered, sitting down on the table. "What're the odds?"

"How does that work, though?" Zoey asked as she sat up, wincing at a stab of pain that shot through her neck. "I mean, how are we immune? We've seen a grand total of, what, seven other people since Fairfield. Two of them definitely weren't immune..." Recollections of the looks of primal rage and animalistic fury in the eyes of Joe and the doomed helicopter pilot flashed through her mind. "Why have we survived, when so many others have been infected?"

"Maybe it's a reminder that there's more to life than gettin' the next pay-check, being promoted, and pleasin' a bunch of corporate douchebags," Franics grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "I hate corporate douchebags."

"I'd think of it more as natural selection," Bill said, a grim expression on his face. "Back in Mercy Hospital, Roger mentioned that everyone reacted differently to the virus. We're the lucky ones." Their predicament – holed up in a crumbling building, sporting various injuries, in a city that had a date with destruction in a little over nine hours – came back to slap him in the face. "Then again, maybe not."

5 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

Four and a half hours after Zoey woke up, the group was gearing up to continue their journey. Bill had insisted on the "downtime" to make sure that she was okay, despite her reassurance. Fortunately, with a handful of pain pills from the health pack, and sleeping as well as she could on her makeshift mattress, the throbbing in her neck felt considerably better.

"The airport's not too far off from here," the war veteran said, tossing the medical pack over to Louis and lifting his assault rifle, one of his last cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. "We keep quiet, don't stir up a horde, and hopefully things will go over a bit smoother than they have been ever since we set foot in this godforsaken town."

As Zoey turned to grab her hunting rifle, she found the old man picking it up and handing it over to her, a solemn expression on her face. "Everything okay, Bill?" she asked sheepishly, their argument a few hours ago still in the back of her mind.

"Yeah..." he replied, handing the gun over to her.

"What's wrong?" she pressed.

After a moment, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "That's the second time you've nearly been killed on my watch, and in two days, no less. I just want you to know that I ain't gonna let anything like that happen again."

"You don't have to make a promise like that. It'll be impossible to keep, anyway."

"Well I'll keep it or die trying!"

Zoey was startled by the old man's outburst, and she looked around the room to see the others staring in their direction.

"Uh, we'll go make sure the hallway outside is clear," Louis said in an unsure tone. He promptly left the storeroom, Francis on his heels.

As soon as the door closed, the former college student turned to him. "Bill, what the hell?"

"I meant what I said," he replied crisply, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and crushing it on the table. "You three are my responsibility." He stood, ready to leave this conversation behind him, but the young woman planted herself firmly in his way, the look in her eyes demanding to know what was on his mind. The veteran chuckled darkly at the irony of their positions being reversed a mere six hours later. "What do you want from me?" he snapped.

Zoey was taken aback by his rough tone, but hesitantly pressed on. "You've shut yourself behind a wall, and I need to know that you're still..."

"Still what?"

"...okay."

Bill's expression softened at her uncertain tone, and he sighed lightly, gesturing around. "Before all this happened – before the shit hit the fan – I was a hollow shell of the man I used to be. Two tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals and a knee full of shrapnel are what I had to show for the service I did for this country."

Zoey remained quiet, surprised that he was opening up to her. She had been able to piece bits and pieces of his personality together, but knew almost nothing of his past life.

"I spent decades drifting between dead-end jobs and shithole apartments," he continued, bitterness seeping into his tone. "But this... epidemic has given me a purpose again: to get you three to safety."

He was taken aback when Zoey threw her arms around him in a surprisingly strong hug. "Of all the people I got stuck with... I'm glad one of them is you," she said softly.

The old man returned the hug, rather awkwardly at first. "You know," he said hesitantly, "I've come to care for you like a daughter."

"I know, Bill." She had known for quite a while that she and Bill had, in many ways, a father-daughter relationship, and she was okay with it. Ever since those terrible events at the outbreak of the Infection, she never would have expected to find comfort, trust and companionship in a hardened man like Bill.

But find them she had.

"Aw, man, this is bullshit!" came a gruff voice from the doorway. "How come the old timer's gettin' all the play?"

"Shut up, Francis," the oldest and youngest members of the team shot back at the same time.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Thank you all for the reviews and comments so far. We are approaching the business end of 'Dead Air'. I hope you're excited! I'm not, as I still haven't figured out how exactly things are going to go down at the airport. But I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Feel free to leave a comment, review, flame, or what have you. Thank you for your time and have a great day.

FEEDBACK:

Guest(s):

C: "Hey! So it's been a while since you updated.. An update would be nice soon.. just saying"

A: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not too much action, just some attempted character development on my part to prevent the cast of characters from becoming "static".

C: "This was amazing and funny this might not mean much but can't wait for the next chapterrr big fan of l4d"

A: You and me both.

C: "Sigh... WHERE'S THE GODDAMNED TANKS ALREADY! There'd better be one in the finale."

A: Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about ole' Tanky. I'm sure he'll turn up at some point in the future. If you can spot it, there is actually some foreshadowing in 'Chapter 49: Skirmish in the Dark'.

The Grey Wolf Ghost:

C: "Excellent chapter, I know I've said it before, but you've captured this game so perfectly, you have brought it to life in such a great way. Keep up the great work and please as soon as you can! Thank you for such a great fic!"

A: Thank you for such kind words, it's always nice to hear such comments.