I don't own any of the l4d characters, or world war z, from which i've taken a couple ideas. review, it'd be greatly appreciated.
My boots sloshed lazily in the puddles, my arms hanging at my sides. The rain was blinding. I didn't know if zombies relied on their sight as much, but it seemed impossible for any creature being able to see through the torrents. My hair was drenched and sticking to my face while I splashed around, aimless and lethargic, subconsciously looking for somewhere safe to close my eyes in repose.
I was stumbling down a deserted road in a pre-war deserted town. The smaller the population of people was before the war, the less likely there were many zombies around, I wondered hopefully.
My pistols felt like anchors in my belt, my AK-47 swinging idly at my side. It was empty of ammo, but I couldn't seem to detach myself from it.
The gash in my stomach was beginning to tear. Blood seeped through my white tank top and stained my sweater. Despite the cold rain I was sweating; never a good sign.
After what felt like eternity treading down this seemingly endless road, the rain lightened enough to see a house in sight. Not too far away, though it would take longer than one would judge due to my mangled body. The muddy road ahead of me was lined with grass and rotten corn stalks that reached my chest. I hoped they wouldn't prove as much of a complication between me and my destination. I looked at the sky and through the thick, grey clouds I could see the orange sun fading into to horizon.
"Shit," I moaned. I pushed my feet harder into the mud, every step generating blinding pain throughout my torso. I grinded my teeth in agony. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck in a corn-field without any source of reliable light or sense of direction, especially at night.
I was moving at a fairly steady jog now, switching my weight from one leg to the other to help alleviate the pressure each step produced. I hoped no infected took notice of me. As far as I knew, there were none around. But I had to move faster, I couldn't take a chance. I was in no position to fight for my life at the moment. The pessimistic thoughts flared at the back of my head, telling me to just give up, fall to the ground right here and let whatever comes first, zombies or excessive bleeding, to kill me first.
I was closer now. I reached my arm out, reaching for what I couldn't seem to get to fast enough. With my arms extended and the pale, bloody look about me, I looked exactly like the things I was running from.
Actually made it. Who knew I had the strength to even walk straight anymore?
There was a path leading to the steps of the house. They didn't look safe to walk on, but the red steel door was beckoning me.
So, I made it... But what next? What's the incentive to keep going?
A stone appeared beneath my foot and threw me off balance. I tumbled, trying to regain my stability, and slid forward into the mud. My face landed in a murky puddle, rain pounding into my back. My whole torso was numb in the cold water. It actually helped the pain.
Better to die here than at the hands of the enemy, right?
My hand released it's hold on my weapon.
I probably don't have the strength to stand up anyways.
I succumbed to the weakness, found myself agreeing with the severe pessimism inside my head.
I'll be with them soon.
I'd been holding my breath too long. I sucked in greedily, only to acquire a mouthful of muddy water. It caught in my throat and burned my nose. My head instinctively extracted itself from the mud and I rolled over onto my back, rain soaking the front of my clothes and blinding my vision. I was grimy, bloody and sweaty all over, I felt like death. The air stung my throat when I drew in frantic breaths.
I didn't come this far to die. They would want me to keep going.
This roused me. It took all I had to grab hold of my weapon, and use it as a cane to heave myself from the ground. I leaned all my weight on it and limped the rest of the way to the front steps, practically dragging myself towards the steel door.
Were the doors of other safe houses this heavy? Did it always take this long to pull it shut behind me?
After I sealed the metal bar across the door, I turned to face the blackness of the safe house. Farm house, to be exact. I shook my flashlight, forcing a weak glow from it, and waved it from wall to wall. The air was stale, dust floating steadily in the air, coating the toppled over furniture that hasn't been touched in what looked like forever.
I wobbled towards the slightly ajar refrigerator, having saw a thin beam of light cast on the wooden floors. The light was still on. Was there somebody still around to keep the power running?
My dry throat ached as I wobbled over to the kitchen sink. I could hardly muster enough strength to twist the rusted handle, but it was worth the effort when cold water came pouring out. I stuck my head under and drank the water eagerly, until my stomach felt as if it were about to explode. From the intake of too much water or the gash in my stomach, I couldn't tell. I ignored that my hands were caked in dirt and my clothes were camouflaged with mud and grime.
I stumbled back against the wall, blackness edging into my vision.
The fruitlessness of my actions set in. The lack of reason, of motive behind everything I did. How easy it would have been for me to turn my pistol on myself without thinking twice.
The emptiness of the safe house threatened to swallow me hole. The kitchen counters danced in front of me as my vision swayed from left to right. I reached out for something to hold on to as dizziness, fatigue, guilt, and remembrance flared in my brain. My hand found the counter and I squeezed until my fingers hurt, shutting my eyes tightly and attempting to clear my head.
Misery and hopelessness clung at my hollow chest. I realized I just might not be strong enough to continue on my own. Without them. I felt delusive when I dragged myself towards a room in the back, to a corner that called out to me. It was just me, myself, and my recollection. I curled into a ball, pain -both physical and emotional- crushing me. I closed my eyes for a moment before I surrendered to the night.
Francis' hand lay on top of mine, squeezing gently. "We made it." He stated breathlessly.
I leaned on his shoulder and felt his lips pressed into my hair. I took his hand in both of mine and closed my eyes. "Yeah, we did." It felt as if the weight of the world was lifted off of our shoulders.
Louis and Bill were sitting across from us in the small helicopter, their heads hanging back in exhaustion, but smiles playing on their lips nonetheless.
Francis' looked down at me and our eyes met. He didn't say anything, but he looked like he wanted to. Instead, he smiled, and I could tell he was fighting back tears.
I pulled away and leaned my head on his shoulder, nestling in his warmth as my eyes closed in reverie of the hopeful days to come.
What seemed like only a few moments later, the helicopter was trembling and the flames were kindling a whole new battle.