this is just going to be a short fiction (maybe 4 or 5 chapters), been playing l4d lately and figured i would write one. A little rusty on fan fiction but figured hay what the hell. Read and review if ya want.
Hell. That was the only way to describe what had happened. Everyday a new challenge, be it swerving the APC to avoid a tank, making the best time to help survivors or just trying to run over as many walking dead as possible, James did what he could with what he had.
They had most groups evacuated but still the odd call came in. After dropping off a group of three adult males, he had just gotten another call to an old barn. Tired to the point of dropping off James agreed to go and grab them, since the other vehicle was already out.
Most runs had soldiers with rifles or even just handguns to help but they had all gone with the other group, and the remaining always busy. Rather than take the four that was decided nessesary, James took his two friends.
The APC started to fill up on gas as he ran around grabbing things.
Turning he saw his two friends run up to him. They were both geared up to go, and while both were brothers, they geared up incredibly different.
Rick was the younger of the two cresting the six foot mark easily and weighing in at easily three hundred pounds. It was an on going joke that he saw a Tank and got jealous so he bulked up to go hand to hand.
Rick had honest to god plate armour on. A breastplate with a combat vest overtop of it. Two pistols were holstered there along with extra clips, for that, and a riot issue shotgun. To cap the image off, Rick had a old fashioned cavalry sabre strapped to his back. his pride and joy, when something got close he would slash and hack with the blade, causing more damage than his pistols did. The two small guns were really only for cover, and the shotgun only truly used for a tank. Rick had earned the nickname, Tankbuster for his habit of unlimbering the shotgun, and emptying the whole thing into a Tank, then resuming with the sabre or pistols. Normally jean of black for his lower half and hikeing boots with steel caps.
Stan was the older brother by a full eight years, but was much less physically imposing. He had black hair with streaks of grey giving a salt and pepper look. Unlike his younger stronger brother, Stan was a marksman. No armour, against claws but clothing and the steel weapons or bullets that decorated his body, Stan was known to take crowd control to a whole new level. Two pistols, decorated his sides, all easy to draw for a quick fire shot. Then there was a long barrelled military issued sniper, one that took hollow point rounds to ensure maximum damage per target was always strapped to his back, for long range witch hunting. Below the two pistols was a pair of SMGs, with solid tipped bullets designed to shred and pierce bodies for crowd control. On his chest were four grenades, normally for a quick exit. Then beside the sniper was Stan's pride and joy; always polished to perfection and ready to lay waste, was a gleaming grenade launcher.
"You look like hell." Stan bluntly said.
"Just got back and I'm getting sent out. Four people at a barn apparently."
"Just get us there, and we will do the rest." Rick rumbled.
James grinned. It was his job to carry hurt people back to the vehicle or to give field aid if needed. And of course to make sure no infected were on the transport. If a survivor was infected then they would be shot and dumped. No exceptions. Of course HQ had made up some serum that more or less killed the effects if caught early. Figures it took them a couple weeks to do, and of course it wouldn't work on fully infected people but it had helped to stop the infection and now the number of survivors at their HQ was just about a thousand.
"just don't try to arm-wrestle a Tank."
The APC was out and on the highway in ten minutes. Lighting up a smoke, James took a drag.
"So how long ya figure?" Stan asked.
"Not long. Assuming we don't get stuck behind a bus maybe an hour."
No one spoke that to get mauled took less than a minute.
"Were they under attack when they radioed in?" Rick questioned.
Both he and his brother rode in the back, that officially held 8 people, the small area was reinforced with metal everywhere, not only to strengthen it but to increase weight so as to protect form a tank.
James took a long drag and exhaled before answering.
"if they were i doubt they would have had time to radio in. They said they would be hiding in a house, so if they are smart they're shutting up and hiding. May not have to fire any shots at all if we are lucky, course we could be going to find a merry little party of retarded teenagers getting munched on by a hunter."
"Don't even joke." Stan scolded.
The vehicle flew along the road, the odd time James swerved, to either hit a zombie, or avoid rubble of a car or corpses, often barely missing in the darkness.
The sun stared to peek out to thin out the darkness.
"Shit." James muttered.
Dark shapes ran around the old wooden house, and gunfire rattled out.
"How many?" Rick asked, standing in the small compartment, limbering out.
"Too many... wait no. Those four are putting up a good fight, we may be able to tip the scales."
James spun the wheel, so the vehicle was reversed with the compartment to the door. He began backing up.
"time to kick some walking dead ass" Rick crowed.
The door opened and gunfire erupted into the closest zombies.
Shouldering his rifle James went to the back and knelt. Stan and Rick stepped out and kept shooting while rick tapped a few buttongs. The lower grate lifted so Hanes had some cover, and one on top also folded down, leaving a narrower area. Enough for James to start shooting though, and with a button the doors would spring open, making for a fast get away.
James started shooting, he mostly looked for the long tongued fuckers.
"There's the vehicle!" the older man yelled. He had a cigarette in hsi mouth and was using an army assault rifle, shouldered against an old army Vietnam uniform. He had a limp in his knee form shrapnel and a bear that everyone seemed to hate.
"Francis! Zoey! Lous! We gotta move!" Bill hollered spraying the stairway, trying to hit the head but not overly fussy.
"REALOADING!" He called ejecting the spent clip and slamming a new home.
The college girl beside him kept shooting with her pistols, hitting the head most of the time, the odd time missing. Her brown hair was pulled into a pony tail and her leg was bleed from a scratch through her jeans. The pockets on her hoody bulged with fresh clips and her back pocket with a first aid kit.
To her back was a black man with no hair, a white dress shirt and black pants, shooting with an assault rifle of his own, not down the stairs but out the window, stopping them form being overrun from behind. After it was clear he would often reload the rifle, and spin to help clear the stairs form the never ending mound of zombies.
On his other side was a man with tattoos, a leather jacket and combat boots. He blasted with a shotgun down the stairs and loved every minute of it.
"Bill, i think we are stuck here for a bit, if we go out there we are too open!" Louis cried, spinning to shoot down the stairs.
Bill grumbled as he kept the cycle of firing and reloading. This had been going on for the past few minutes, after the radio call they had remained hidden in the upper level of the house, a bedroom with a clear line of fire on the stairs.
A roar took Stan and Rick's attention. Rick had his sabre out and was using it and a pistol to eliminate horde zombies close by. Stan was using his own pistols to kill off the straggling zombies close by.
A hunter landed on Stan.
Reacting quickly Stan pointed both handguns up and let fire. The hunter jerked as bullets tore through it but after a couple died, well before it could start ripping into Stan.
"You okay?" Rick cried swinging the blade around.
"peachy!" Stan replied reloading his two guns.
The line of zombies stopped and it appeared all of them were in front of the house, fighting to get inside.
Both soldiers charged. Stan Saw a boomer in the middle and holstered the pistols and had the sniper out in a fluid motion while his brother stayed close to protect him. Most thought Stan covered Rick but in really it was the other way, Stan shredding the bulk of the zombies form afar while Rick pulverized the closer ones.
The powerful sniper roared out the 6 bullet clip, killing the boomer, a number of horde, a hunter and hit something with layers of muscle.
The tank roared and charged out, coated in boomer bile smashing zombies that tried to grab it.
"That tank going out of the house?" Francis asked, sounding almost disappointed.
"There's two guys outside, its after!" Louis called, shooting shapes trying to enter the window again.
Grumbling Stan slammed a new clip in and let rip all six shots into the tank; It kept charging, not even slowed as chunks of flesh left it. A group of zombies turned to run with it.
Rick stabbed his sword to the ground and limbered out the shotgun. The tank got closer before Rick unloaded. The shotgun shots peppered the tank, tearing skin and layers of muscle from bone in a spray of gore. Ten shots hit the tank before it went down, after that last two were pumped into it as well to make sure it stayed down.
Rick began re-strapping the gun to his back seemingly un worried by the running horde.
Explosions rocked the area, three of them in quick order. Stan had holstered the sniper and used three half of the ammo for his launcher to devastate the zombies.
"SURVIVORS! ASSES OUT OF THE HOUSE, GET TO THE TRUCK!" Rick bellowed, using his pistols once more to shoot the remaining zombies. The sword was once again in its sheathe.
An older man in a Vietnam uniform ran out, closely followed by a grol who looked about twenty, a black man and a biker looking man.
Their guns fired wildly to clear a path.
"follow us to the truck!"
The six ran for dear life.
James grumbled, firing as fast as he could. Another group, a really large group were coming his way, and he really didn't want them to scratch up his baby.
"Rick! Hold up, range those guys bee lining for the truck!" Stan hollered. He stopped and spun toward the growing horde. Unleashing his last thee shots from the launcher, Stan effectively cut it down by a quarter.
"just run!" the old man cried. Stan held out a hand to stop them, running ahead was a ticket to death by zombie or crossfire.
A tongue lashed around the hand and began pulling Stan.
Scoffing he yanked back hard as he could, and in a fluid motion slashed the tongue off.
The four survivors started spraying into the horde, and they ran in their direction now.
Three bottles arched out and lit a blaze, slowing the advance.
A beeping pipe bomb even reversed it slightly.
Stan finished re strapping his prize, and his hands drew out his crowd control. The solid point bullets tore through the ranks, shredding meat and sending blood and chunks of meat everywhere. While it truly didn't kill a zombie unless it hit the head, or severed the spine, it was touch to move without any muscles.
"Move in!" Stan cried, all six people moved at a steady walk towards the ride, spraying bullets as they went.
"FUCKING HURRY UP!" James screamed, shooting out another clip.
Another horde approached as the group finished off the first.
They just ran to the truck, the doors sprung open.
James already had it in gear as a hunter leapt in and landing on Rick, just as the doors began to close.
Bones cracked at the hands found no flesh but cold steel. Rick punched the zombie off him and his brother pumped it with rounds.
Just as the doors were finishing closing James pulled two grenade pins and hurled them toward the group.
The explosion rocked the vehicle and obliterated the lead pursuit.
Silence reigned as the group breathed easier.
"HQ? James here, we got four live ones and toasted maybe three hundred zombies. At least two hunters, a boomer and a tank."
"Roger that, hurry back."
"You guys are in for a treat, you lived. When we get back, drinks on us." Rick told them, as he began cleaning his sabre
"He means on him." Stan grumbled as he began the task of reloading all of hsi guns and cleaning his launcher.