A\N: I was up all night playing L4D2 and I decided, "Hey, why not make a fan fiction?" So, here we go! I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep this up on my own, so if you want to, you can submit your own character and they can try to survive along with my own! :)
Cold, hard rain pelted the street, and it, along with the diluted oil—that had no doubt been spilled on the pavement during an earlier excursion by equally desperate, equally frightened survivors—made the ground slick and slippery; almost impossible to get a foothold on. It honestly didn't help that Hannah's sneakers had soft soles. No traction to keep the bumpy, uneven blacktop from slipping out from underneath her.
The young woman struggled to keep upright, as she pushed back as hard as she could against the unmoving vehicle; a red, Ford pickup truck in seemingly good condition. It had all its tires, the windows had not a scratch or crack—just a handprint here and there on the glass—from what she could tell on the outside, the interior was intact, the radio hadn't been jacked, and the keys were still in the ignition. Under the hood, nothing had been cut or shorted out. The vehicle was perfect. If not for the fact that it was without fuel, Hannah would be singing songs of praise. Instead, she was struggling to move the darned thing and was exerting too much energy, in the process.
Though, she knew how valuable the pickup would be to her survival—not only was it shelter, but it was also a weapon; one vehicle could mow down so many zombies—she was beginning to question if the reward was truly worth the risk. As the saying goes, all things worth having are never the easiest to keep, or obtain, for that matter... or something likely that. Still, the truck was completely without gas... yeah, if she could get it at least half a block up the road, that would be progress worth bragging about—progress that would certainly boost her morale—she just didn't want to get her hopes up again, only to found out that she was chasing hopes of her family being alive like a thirsty man chased mirages, or a dog chased its tail.
As she pushed herself more vigorously against the grill of the truck, she grimaced. Trying not to give into the painful throb of strain that pulsated through her legs, back and shoulders, she busied her mind with more pleasant thoughts. It wouldn't stay focused on delightful recollections of her life before the infection, and so instead, she thought of how, when she came into running into town with a horde of infected on her tail, she had sought out shelter inside a gas-station. She hid in the backroom, and though hadn't thought to check it for fuel; because she was too busy hiding indoors and raiding the shelves and powered-down freezers for food and water, she was sure there was still something in those pumps. There had to be...
Suddenly, lightning struck and the inky, melancholic sky lit up, as dazzling silver-violet bolts of electricity streaked across the flat bottoms of heavy obsidian-colored clouds in a pattern reminiscent of a spider-web. Hannah felt her chest tightened and it felt like she was vibrating, as the thunder rumbled loudly overhead.
The rain began falling in earnest, harder, faster and with bigger droplets. Hannah found herself soaked to the bone in a matter of moments; she shivered, as the cold moisture found its way under her layers and trickled frigidly into personalcrevices.
Gritting her teeth, as she spat rain-water out of her mouth, she wiped futilely at wetness on her brow and pushed all the more hard against the car. Praying that it would finally budge, Hannah leaned back and applied all her weight to it. And, as if the gods finally decided to answers her prayers, it moved. Unfortunately, it moved a little bit too much and a lot too fast.
"Whoa!" She exclaimed taken aback, as the truck lurched from behind her rather unexpectedly. Falling onto her butt, Hannah gasped at the pain that ricocheted throughout her lower body. The street was hard and unyielding, wet and cold. Her leather-clad palms scrapped painfully against the ground, and she gritted her teeth, as the gloves pressed deeply into shallow wounds that were torn into her hands.
Balling her hands into tight fists, Hannah quickly rolled onto her front and watched with muted horror as the truck rolled away; with it, went her fire-axe and rucksack. Throwing a hand out in front her, while she used the other to scramble to her feet, the girl screamed: "No! Please, no!" As if the vehicle would yield to her pleas and stop, despite the fact that it was now rolling downhill; that the momentum making its wheels turn wouldn't break, because it was commanded to.
On her feet, Hannah ran to the retreating vehicle with her heart lodged in her throat. She didn't know what she was going to do when she caught up to it, but Hannah knew that she needed to stop it rolling down the incline. As she reached for the retreating hood, Hannah managed to wrap her fingers around the wooden handle of her fire-axe; luckily, the axe had been tucked under the coarse fabric handles of her haversack, so when she pulled the weapon from the hood, the bag came with it. Pulling her belongings carefully to her chest, as she mentally thanked her lucky stars, Hannah wheezed.
Though she had recovered possessions, Hannah still ran for the truck—because; let truth be told, that's what she truly wanted.
As the incline grew sharper and the street wetter and wetter under the boisterous downpour; The Ford barreled down the hill with more speed than Hannah possessed. Even as a former track-team star, she didn't have the stamina the keep up with a vehicle plain-sailing downhill, at breakneck speeds. Hannah gasped, as her lungs began to prickle with pain. Lurching forward and catching herself, before she collapsed completely, with her hands on her knees and her shoulders stooped like the hunchback of Notre Dame, she panted and swore the best she could; whilst completely winded.
As she greedily sucked in much needed oxygen breath, Hannah glanced up and only had a moment to react, as she watched the truck smash into the side of a carwash. The glass and bricks crashed loudly, as they caved in upon impact, the roof of the building sagged, before completely crumpling inward; as a major support beam was cracked right in half, by the truck. The establishment's security alarm began wailing deafeningly loud, a dinner bell to the surrounding zombies.
Hannah felt herself thrumming with terror, as she heard the roar of the horde echoing off the walls of buildings and the sort, like a warning klaxon blaring in her ears. Before she could stop herself, she threw up onto the street.
Coughing and wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jumper, Hannah knew she had to get to a move on, before she became zombie-chow. Listening to the dead howl and clamor, as they tore through the streets looking for someone to feast on, Hannah steeled her nerves. Brandishing her fire-axe, she pulled up her hood to keep the rain from her eyes, and retreated up the incline. So, after an hour of struggling, wasting energy, and praying; she was back to square one.
"Bullshit," Hannah swore, as she stalked off into the night.
Name: Hannah (Nicknamed 'Annie')
Hair-style & Color: Messy, curly bob-cut. Dark brown.
Facial Hair: None
Eye Color: Hazel
Clothes: Black Jeggings; grimy, knee-length, light sea-foam green jumper, a black Hello-Kitty hoodie, Black Converse.
Jewelry or Extra Items: eyebrow piercing.
Secondary Weapon (also counts as Melee Weapon): None
Primary Weapon (can also count as a Melee Weapon): Fire-axe
Strengths: Was a distance runner in high-school.
Fear(s): Better left unsaid.
Personality: Guarded, hopeful, hot-headed, anxious, absentminded.
Previous Occupation: None
Background (Life before everything went to shit): Doesn't like to talk about it.