User:Five Dog/Story

Hello there! I see you have come down to read a story. A Left 4 Dead story, no less! Unfortunately, there are two problems with that.

The first problem is, right now I've only got the first five chapters written here.

The second problem is, you now have to read the short disclaimer notice!

Disclaimer
Here it is! The informative text!

It is very important to note that I am in no way involved with Valve. As such, the following story is fan made and is in no way a canon part of the Left 4 Dead universe.

Got it? Good, good. Moving on..

Left 2 Die: A Left 4 Dead Fan-Fiction
A small teaser - not even close to the full story...



Chapter 1
The city of Fairfield once stood proud as a beacon of good and hope. It was a symbol of human possibilities – a testament to human architecture and achievement. Yet not even the grand metropolis of Fairfield could withstand the infection. The chaos had destroyed the previously glamorous city and turned it into a pit of death and violence.

Professionals had claimed it to be a mutated case of human rabies. No one truly knew how it spread; whether it was airborne or caught through physical contact or even bodily fluids. All people knew was that it was spreading. Fast. Only one in a thousand people were immune to this virus that everyone had dubbed Ultra-Rabies. However, despite professional opinions and general belief, it was not a case of rabies. It was far worse. Anyone infected with the new virus would lose their higher brain functions and control of their own actions. They would become savage and rampant bloodthirsty animals. At first, the infected host would feel ill or sick. Soon, the infection would give you an excessive fever and you would begin to shiver uncontrollably. Despite this outwardly symptom, the host would begin to feel numb and cold. Cuts and scrapes would turn purple, blood would become a lumpy brownish colour, and your skin would turn a terrible grey. Once the virus reached full strength, the host turned into a ravenous infected human. Pale, bloody and manic versions of their old selves. Even the immune were not safe from the infected’s relentless attacks. They’d had lost their sense of self preservation; they were not afraid to rush a well defended barricade or attack a group of armed humans. Following the widespread chaos and confusion of the rapid outbreak, riots erupted on the streets as the infected were quarantined, power lines were severed, and only emergency electrical equipment or anything powered by a generator was still active. There was strength in numbers. And the infected certainly had numbers.

Survival was something well known to the old Vietnam war veteran. William “Bill” Overbeck had holed himself up inside a small grocery shop. It took two eventful tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals, a knee full of shrapnel, and an honourable discharge before the unthinkable happened: Bill ran out of wars. But now an army of infected have declared war on humanity. After decades of aimless drifting and dead-end jobs, Bill finally had back the only thing he ever wanted: an enemy to fight. However, this was not the enemy he wanted. Human opponents can think rationally, solve problems logically and form tactical plans. If you can understand your enemy, you can defeat them. But these things – the infected of this forsaken city – had no plans. They had no ideas, no rational thought, their actions could not be predicted.

Bill sat in the depressing darkness of the barricaded shop, with dim dirty beams of light seeping through the cracks in the boarded up windows. He was slumped against a cold metal chair, puffing on a small cigarette offering a warm glowing light in the dark nothingness. Even in the dark, Bill constantly tinkered with his old Vietnam rifle, adjusting scopes and magazines, fiddling with stocks and wiping the barrel. He knew that gun better than anything else. At this point, he was merely stripping it down and building it up again. He had to keep his hands busy somehow.

As Bill sat there, he listened intently to his old military radio. Apparently, military frequencies don’t change. The radio painted a very bleak picture of the world outside of Bill’s shop. Armed forces were moving from street to street, attempting to annihilate the infection’s presence. They were losing numbers quickly. Husky voices were talking over the radio.

''“Alpha, this is Bravo. You seen Team Charlie?”''

''“Negative, Bravo. Team Charlie is MIA.”''

''“Confirmed, Alpha. Regroup at sector V-5.”''

“Roger that.” There was silence for a few seconds. ''“Uhh, having trouble locating sector V-5. Can you locate?”''

''“Affirmative, Alpha. Sector V-5 is north Harlington Street. Repeat, Sector V-5 is north Harlington Street.”''

''“Roger that, Bravo. Alpha Team out.”''

Bill awoke from a bored stupor. Harlington Street? He thought. The building he was in was located on Harlington Street. Something within told him that the time for sitting and dwindling food supplies away was over. It was time to move, and what better way to move than with the military.

Bill tossed his cigarette to the ground and stamped the dim glow from existence. He stood up shakily, cracking his back and adjusting his posture. There was no denying it. He was getting old. He scratched at his grey beard and removed his green beret. Grey hair fell across his face as he wiped away trickles of sweat hiding in his wrinkled forehead. The green army issue jacket that he’d worn those many years ago still fit him nicely. Under this, he wore a simple and now ragged cotton undershirt stained with blood and sweat. Along with his jacket, he had a pair of green military leggings, padded and protected with Kevlar. His once black combat boots were stained permanently brown. He had a dark leather satchel slung around his chest, carrying bullets, cigarettes and his warm and matured half finished bottle of whiskey.

He coughed hard and picked up the radio. He cleared his throat.

“This is Vietnam veteran-soldier Sergeant William Overbeck of the Green Beret Special Forces. I am located within Thorn’s Grocers of sector V-5, requesting to meet with other soldiers, over.” There was a short period of silence, before the radio crackled into life.

''“This is Alpha Team. Confirm, Sergeant Overbeck; you’re not in the military?”''

“Confirmed, Alpha. I was in Vietnam. I am armed and awaiting aid.”

“Vietnam?” Chuckled the radio. “Aren’t you too old to be in this kind of situation, Overbeck?”

“Affirmative. But I’m not too old to fight.”

''“Can’t take the risk, Overbeck. You could be infected.”''

“I’m as immune as they come, son!” Boomed Bill. “I’m old, I’m tired and there’s infected on the damn streets! If you have any sense, you’ll let me help.” There was a long moment of silence as the radio considered his request.

“Can you confirm your immunity, Overbeck?”

“I’ve got scratches all over, bites and all. No symptoms of any kind after three days. I’m immune, son.”

''“Roger that, Overbeck. We could always use another soldier. Alpha is on its way. Out.”''

“Appreciate it, Alpha. Awaiting further orders, out.”

Bill stretched his legs and cracked his neck. Some more action? He thought. He must be crazy, he was in no condition to fight.

Meanwhile, in Fairfield’s Norton College, a few survivors remained hidden. Two students had stashed themselves away within a ransacked geography room. The room was cramped and dark with only a small amount of light piercing the blackness. Inside, the two students; Charlie Patrick Norman and Zoey Natalie Winters were looking towards each other for comforting.

“What’s gonna happen, Zoey?” Panicked Charlie.

“Don’t worry.” She assured. “In the past, military troops have risked life and limb to save trapped or endangered civilians and I’m sure now it’s no different.”

“Are they going to save us like in the films? They’re coming?” He whispered gingerly.

“Undoubtedly.” She responded calmly. Charlie still looked terrified. “Charlie, are you alright?” She whispered. Charlie was going out of his mind.

“No, no I’m not alright! I’m freaking out! We’re gonna die!”

“It’s OK.” Zoey hugged him. “We’ll be fine. The army is coming.”

“No they’re not!” He was getting too loud.

“Easy now,” she whispered. “You’ll give away our position to the infected.”

“I don’t care! We’re going to die anyway!”

“Don’t say that.” Whispered Zoey, grabbing his hand warmly. “We’ll make it. Just stay put.”

“No!” he yelled. “This is your fault! You and your stupid horror films! You had to make me watch them, didn’t you? Didn’t you!?” He yelled louder. Zoey was taken aback.

“Charlie… Don’t say that.”

“Why didn’t you keep me out of it! I hate those films! They freak me out!” Charlie pushed her out of the way and clawed at the barricaded door. “I’m getting out of here!” Charlie managed to rush out of the room before Zoey could hold him back. She was about to follow him out when he was mauled by multiple infected. Zoey stepped back and made sure not to be spotted. The creatures ripped and scraped at his chest, severing several arteries and mashing his lungs to pieces. Zoey watched, frozen with fear. She couldn’t bear to look away yet felt revolted at the sight. Charlie spat out a horrible and loud retching sound from the depths of his frothing lungs as his body surrendered to the pain.

“Ah…” Zoey held in a scream. “Oh my God… Charlie…” Close the door, Zoey. She thought. Close the door! Slowly - not fully aware of what just happened - she pulled the black door closed. She locked it and placed a wooden board against it. “Alright.” She whispered to herself, clutching her stomach. “I just have to wait. Rescue will come. It has to.” Zoey sank to the ground, her back to the cold and unforgiving concrete wall. She would have been sick at the sight of Charlie, but she hadn’t eaten in many days. There was nothing left inside. Zoey keeled over harshly and squinted out of the window. Infected roamed the campus freely. The entire city was in anarchy. Maybe no help was coming after all.

Chapter 2
By the time the military arrived at Thorn’s Grocers, Bill was more than ready to go. A shadowy figure blocked the few beams of light that had managed to escape the boarded windows.

“Sergeant William Overbeck? Can you hear me?” Barked the soldier. Bill rose awkwardly from his metal chair. He reached into his satchel and brandished his bottle of whiskey. He took a quick swig and returned it to his satchel. Bill approached the now darker boards and coughed a response.

“Yes.” He spluttered. “That’s me.”

“Sergeant, if you want to join up, you need to get out here now. We’re going immediately.”

“Affirmative.” Coughed Bill. His crowbar was somewhere, he just had to find it. He felt around in the shadowed room. He soon found it on the small rusty metal table. His fingers gripped it firmly and gave a great swing at the boarded up door. Despite Bill’s age, he had a remarkably good physique and soon made quick work of the sturdy boards. The locks were unlatched, the boards were removed, and the metal door swung open. Blinding light flooded the store. Bill squinted at his first sight of sunlight in five days. His senses were overwhelmed for a few seconds. He had learned from Vietnam; even several seconds was too long to be disorientated. Bill had to adjust quickly. He could barely make out roughly fifteen soldiers around him.

“Sergeant Overbeck.” A soldier beamed. “Lived through Vietnam to fight again, eh?” Chuckled the soldier.

“Sure did.” Coughed Bill. Finally, things came properly into focus. Bill stared at the city. It was destroyed. Cars and trucks piled up on the roads whilst once proud skyscrapers now stood ruined as towering monuments to depression. There were buildings ablaze and streets crippled by rubble. It had been a real panic when CEDA attempted to quarantine the entire city. Now, five days later, all that withstood the harsh infection was the city’s fractured remains. “The city’s looked better.” He grunted.

“Sure has, Sergeant.” The soldier glanced around swiftly. “I’m Captain Jonathan Monroe of Alpha Team, responsible for the infection eradication. You’ll be joining my unit.” The soldier saluted. Bill perked up and responded with a salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re heading towards Norton College, according to our recent report, there may still be survivors inside.”

“Lead on, Captain.”

The Captain turned and addressed his men. He gave a short speech introducing their “new recruit”, explained their objective and marched forward. The other men, including Bill, followed on.

“Wow!” Exclaimed one of the soldiers as they marched forward. “You fought in Vietnam?”

“I sure did, son.”

“That’s so cool! I can’t wait to see you in action, sir.”

“Just stay alive.” Coughed Bill, now pulling a cigarette out.

“Sure thing sir! Boy, I bet you’ve got some stories to tell!”

“Uh-huh.” Groaned Bill irritably.

“Sweet!” Beamed the soldier. He glanced at Bill’s rifle. “Whoa, that thing looks pretty old.”

Bill stared at his rifle. It was his rusty and scratched M16 from Vietnam that he had dubbed Ol' Reliable. Not entirely true, as many components had already been repaired or replaced. Bill glanced up and gave the man a stern look.

“This is an M16 original, made for flexibility. Close and long range capabilities. Attachable scopes, hand guards, extendable magazines and a customisable stock. Adjustable firing rates; single shot, burst fire or full auto. This exact rifle is unique in that it is the only rifle of it’s kind to undergo complete internal replacement without replacing the outer casing. It’s not as old as it looks, kid.” Bill gazed at the soldier’s rifle and chuckled. “I’m sure it’d beat that thing in a fight!”

“Are you kidding?” Goaded the soldier. “This is an experimental prototype. It’s based on the cancelled project of the XM8. They call it the XM8A1. I’m not sure about much beyond that, but it sure kicks infected ass!” Another soldier joined the conversation.

“Ha! Don’t listen to him, Sergeant.” He chortled. “That things a piece of crap, much like the original. Sure, the M16 is a nice distraction, but if you want to rack up the kills, you gotta use one of these.” The soldier held out his weapon. It was a small silvery shotgun. “This is a limited edition Daewoo USAS-12 was fashioned by a team of ingenious Korean firearms specialists. The USAS-12 is a gas-operated, selective-fire weapon, designed to provide sustained firepower in close-combat scenarios. It accepts detachable 10-round box magazines or 20-round drum magazines. Both types of magazine are made of polymer, and drum magazines have their rear side made from translucent polymer for quick determination of the number of shot shells left. It has a range of forty meters. This, sir, is a real weapon.” The soldier grinned at Bill, proud of his shotgun. Bill puffed heavily on his cigarette and chuckled.

“Really?” Bill released a smile. “Well how about this; you wait here, I’ll move forty-one meters away and we’ll see who wins!” Bill took another quick puff before tossing it and stamping it out. The two soldiers chuckled with Bill. “I’ve got to hand it to you, boys.” Coughed Bill. “The military’s pretty organised about this infection.”

The two soldiers immediately stopped laughing. One went pale.

“Oh, no sir.” He stammered. “We’re pretty much all that’s left over here. All the rest have moved to ‘Evac Echo’; we’re the only force left in Fairfield. Command is even operating out of ‘Evac Echo’. It’s our last safe zone in the area.”

Bill’s smile disappeared. “Ah Christ. You mean if we die, that’s it for the military in Fairfield?”

“I believe so, sir.” Whispered the second one.

“So what happens then?”

“Well,” he began fearfully. “Command said if we can’t contain or destroy it, then they’d give the survivors a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks? ‘Till what?”

“Until… Until they bomb the city, sir.”

“Bull-frikin’-horseshit! No one’s going to get out in a couple of weeks!”

“That’s why we have to do this, right sir?” Bill gazed at the soldier. He was a rookie; a green. The recruit looked to him for inspiration. Bill sighed heavily.

“I suppose so, son. I suppose so.”

After what seemed like an eternity of marching, they finally reached the College. This isn’t going to be good for the old bones, thought Bill. He took out his bottle of whiskey, and gulped down a plentiful amount. After which, he lit another cigarette. Nobody lives forever, he thought firmly. The Captain hastily tugged on his radio and began to order into it.

“Command, this is Monroe of Alpha. We are here with Bravo and we are ready to continue Operation: Eradication. Say again, we are ready.”

“Confirmed, Alpha. Assume positions.”

“Roger that.” The Captain turned to his right and addressed another soldier. The soldier saluted and hurried to the left of the main building with seven other men, designated: ‘Checkpoint Bravo’. Apparently, that was Bravo team. The rest, Bill assumed, was Alpha Team. The Captain turned to them and issued a following order. The men followed him over to a back entrance of the college. It wasn’t quiet inside, there were definitely infected. Everyone’s radio suddenly crackled into life. Bill felt a joyous sensation he hadn’t felt since Vietnam. The question was; was he too old for this?

''“Command to all teams. Sound off!”'' The Captain picked up his radio and responded:

“Alpha to Command: Alpha Team in place.”

The other squadrons chimed in. “Sniper Lead to Command: Theta, Omega and Zulu Sniper Teams in position.”

“Bravo to Command: Bravo Team in place.”

“Tele to Command: Tele Team in place.”

“Command to Sniper Teams: issue the warning.” There was a small moment of silence before Bill heard a man with a loudspeaker howl authoritatively from a nearby rooftop.

“Attention! This is the United States Army. If there are any non-infected within the Norton College please remain on the ground with your hands on your head or in a small isolated room and await rescue. We are preparing to storm the building. Stay away from the windows, snipers will shoot anything not confirmed as survivors. That is all.”

Roughly thirty long seconds passed before Command announced a further order.

“Command to all snipers: fire at will. Repeat, fire at will.” There was a flurry of deafening bangs as the snipers attacked the infected inside the building. “Command to all units, we have a go. Repeat, the operation is a go.” The Captain held his hand upwards in a fist. Bill recognised the order. Hold position. After a few tense minutes, while the vibrant sun continued beating down on their tired backs, Command chimed in again.

“Command to all units. Begin Phase Two.”

The Captain opened his fist and waved it frantically. “That’s our signal, boys. Let’s go!” The squadron stormed through the metal door and into the main classroom building. They rushed several corridors, spraying bullets and splashing infected blood in their dash to find survivors. The Captain froze just outside of multiple classrooms. He listened intently, all he could hear was muffled gunshots coming from the other teams. “No time to think!” He barked. “Search the classrooms!” Each man picked a classroom and entered cautiously. Bill chose the one left untouched. The Geography room. As he attempted to open the door, he found it to be jammed closed. He stepped back, prayed to God his spine wouldn’t misalign, and forced a hard slam at the door. He succeeded after a few smashes. He quickly raised his rifle, squinting and sweating. There were no infected. He puffed on his cigarette and was about to return to the corridor, when he heard a small female voice from below him.

“Don’t shoot!” She squeaked. “I’m not infected!” He inched closer to her, still aiming his gun. He slowly stepped up beside her and crouched. The woman was breathing heavily, she was panicked and afraid. She wore a rather faded red jacket and slightly ripped jeans. Her once white runners were now a bleak grey. She had straight, dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He whispered to her softly.

“Are you OK, kid?”

She laid still on the ground but raised her head slightly to glance at Bill. She had beautifully emerald green eyes. She spoke feebly. “I’m… OK.” She whispered.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to get you to safety.” He held out his hand. “No need to lie down anymore. Come on.” She gingerly grabbed his hand and stood up woozily.

“Oh,” She stumbled. “I feel ill.”

“You probably need some food in you.”

“Alright.” She stammered, absent-mindedly. “Thank you..” She checked his uniform.

“…Sergeant Overbeck.”

“No problem, kid. But call me Bill. What’s your name?”

“I’m Zoey. Zoey Winters.”

“Alright, Zoey. Here.” Bill grabbed his pistol from his belt and handed it to Zoey.

“Are you sure?” She spoke feebly again.

“Of course.” He handed her magazines and individual rounds. “We need all the help we can get.” Bill turned and faced the door. Wearily, he cracked his back and relaxed his muscles. After which, he snatched up his radio. “Command, this is Sergeant Overbeck. Be advised, we have a female survivor sporting a red jacket and jeans. Repeat we have a survivor.”

''“Confirmed, Overbeck. Attention all snipers. We have survivors, check your fire. Repeat, check your fire.”''

Bill swivelled back to face Zoey who was now examining her pistol. “You ready to move, Zoey?”

“Err…” She muttered. “Yes sir, Bill.”

“Ha!” chuckled Bill. “There’s no need for the sir horseshit. Not from you, anyway. It’s just Bill.”

“Alright.” She smiled weakly. “Ready, Bill.”

Just as Bill turned to exit into the hallway, his radio jumped into life once more. “Command, this is Captain Monroe. We have a female survivor shaken up and crying. Looks rather pale, scantily clad, and shows signs of—” He was cut off. His voice returned moments later. “Oh God! Get it off! It’s ripping me! Get it off‼”

“Captain!” Yelled Bill, taking off in the direction of the Science room. When he entered, he spotted Captain Monroe stone dead on the floor. His chest was peppered with deeply-made rips and had bled profusely. He lay motionless, drowned in his own pool of blood. And there, looming over the corpse, was the perpetrator. Something he’d never seen before. A strange type of infected. It was a small grey and blood coloured girl. She had long silvery wisps of hair and mutated claws as long as knives. She stood there, crying and sobbing, luring in and appealing to any survivor’s good nature to save it. At a distance, it did nothing. But when Bill stepped forward, it growled angrily at him. Bill quickly shuffled backwards and soon it calmed down. Unsure of how to handle it, Bill stepped out softly and quietly closed the door. He turned to see Zoey with a worried expression.

“What was…?”

“Nothing.” Coughed Bill quickly. “Just an infected that got to him. Strange infected, though.”

Before Zoey could respond, Bill plucked out his radio. “Sergeant Overbeck to Command.”

“Go ahead, Sergeant.”

“Command, Captain Monroe is K.I.A.”

“Did Monroe come into contact with infected?”

“Uhh, affirmative, Command. But it’s nothing I’ve seen before.”

“Can you describe, Sergeant?”

“Some sort of female decoy. She lured the Captain in with cries of fear and killed him when he approached her.”

''“Roger, Overbeck. Assume commanding role of Alpha.”''

“Affirmative, Command.” Bill stashed his radio back onto his belt a looked in front of him. Zoey and the rest of Alpha Team were waiting in the hallway. He stared at them sadly. “Alright. The Captain is dead. I’m assuming command.” The soldiers seemed upset, yet fairly content with this as many voices echoed down the hallway. Bill’s radio sprung to life once again.

Chapter 3
“Command to Alpha.” Boomed the radio.

Bill sighed deeply and yanked at it. “Go ahead, Command.” He moaned wearily.

“Proceed to Checkpoint: Zulu for extraction of survivors.”

“Where is Checkpoint: Zulu?”

“Zulu is located in the central College courtyard. Proceed there for airlift extraction.”

“Roger that. Alpha Out.” He gazed at Zoey. “I’m sure you know the way to the courtyard, Zoey. Can you take us there?”

Once Alpha Team had made it to Checkpoint Zulu, they met with Bravo and Tele team along with the total of two survivors they’d managed to find. The helicopter glided in like an angel descending upon Earth. Just as it touched down, a monstrous roar erupted from the west dormitory surrounding the courtyard. This came as a huge shock to Bill. Never in his life had he seen anything like it. Bill stumbled backwards clutching his heart. The still lit cigarette flung from the grip of his lips. His heart was pounding. It was beating faster and faster. He grasped his chest, barely managing to splutter out a few short breaths. He collapsed to the ground. His heart’s racing almost blocked out Zoey’s cry.

“Bill!” She screamed frantically.

“Sergeant Overbeck!” Yelled a soldier. Sergeant Overbeck? Suddenly ‘Nam had returned. Reality faded from existence.

Bill awoke to the sight of Zoey’s bright green eyes. “Zoey?” He coughed grimly, still clutching his chest.

“Oh thank God!” She cried. “You’re OK! He’s alright!” There was a flurry of hurried footsteps from the left of Zoey. Two soldiers scurried over and joined her over Bill’s body.

“Sergeant!” Exclaimed one. “God damn, we thought you died!” Bill recognised him as the soldier who’d highly recommended his shotgun. The soldier was a corporal: fairly inexperienced. His head had been freshly shaved to military code. On his uniform, Corporal 1st Class Derrick Rothschild was written in thick emboldened print. It was a wonder how this corporal survived that beast. Maybe that shotgun wasn’t so bad after all.

The other man was a tall and bulky, scar-skinned officer with a Military issue cap positioned perfectly atop his bald head. “Good to see you’re still alive.” Remarked the officer in a firm military tone. “Are you able to continue, Sergeant?”

Bill glanced at the man. His uniform read Lt. Colonel Richard Kingston. Pinned on his chest was a vast rainbow of ribbons and medals – several Iron Crosses, three Purple Hearts and an array of golden distinguished service medals. All were polished and glimmering. It was no wonder this man survived the encounter.

“I’m fine. Just a little rusty.” Bill grunted wearily. “Zoey, help me up please.”

Zoey grabbed Bill’s hand and awkwardly hauled him to his feet. She felt very weak. “Are you OK Bill?” She asked, tears streaking down her face from all the commotion.

“I’ve been worse, Zoey. I can shake it off. Now, what happened?” Bill turned towards the courtyard, only to be bewildered by what he saw in front of him. “What the…?!” The helicopter had been trashed, tossed to the ground and was burning brightly amongst the rubble of the smashed dormitory building. The courtyard was littered with mashed soldiers and mutilated corpses. Alpha team, Bravo Team and Tele team all lay slaughtered brutally in and around the courtyard. Amongst the corpses was the biggest corpse of all: the husk of that beast laid still in the dead centre of the courtyard. It seemed as if it had survived thousands of bullet impacts before succumbing to the pain. “Christ Almighty!”

“We call it a Tank, Sergeant.” Claimed the Colonel. “The girl,” He pointed kindly at Zoey. “Managed to pull you away from it. It destroyed the helicopter. And… It killed everyone. Everyone but us four are KIA. I can’t even reach the sniper teams on the radio. If it wasn’t for the combined firepower of every soldier, we wouldn’t be alive.”

“A what?” Muttered Bill loudly. “A Tank?”

“That’s what the Military calls it. Some special type of mutated infected. More and more have been showing up. Not just Tanks, but other special infected as well. They’re changing.” Bill squeezed Zoey’s shoulder gently and peered at the two soldiers.

“You all saved me.” Bill beamed. “ Thank you. But one thing: what happens now?”

“We wait for orders, Sergeant.” Toned the Lieutenant, clasping his hands together behind his back and straightening his posture. “Command will have something for us. When they call, you’ll respond. Alright, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” Bill saluted stiffly. It felt very strange to call a younger soldier sir, however, it was the Chain of Command.

Bill plucked out his bottle of whiskey and chugged down the final drops. After draining it, he tossed it aside, smashing it against the Tank’s lumbering husk. Just as he attempted to light a cigarette, the radio crackled to life, catching him off guard.

''“This is Command. Any units please respond.”''

Bill groaned irritably and snatched up his radio. “Command, this is Overbeck.”

“We need a sit-rep, Sergeant.”

“Situation has gone to hell, Command. All that remains is Lieutenant-Colonel Kingston, Corporal Rothschild, a female civilian and me. We’re done here, Command.”

''“Negative, Overbeck. We’re not pulling you out.”''

“Repeat?” Demanded Bill angrily.

''“We can’t get you out. Too risky. We’re low on numbers as is.”''

“So you’re leaving us to die?!”

“Overbeck, this isn’t up to you.”

“Bull-frikin’-horseshit!” yelled Bill, burning with rage.

''“We can’t get you out. However, we can offer you safety.”''

“Oh really? How so?!”

''“There’s a military safe-room two clicks north of the courtyard. It’s on campus.”''

“A safe-room?” He grumbled furiously.

''“They’re designed to protect from the infected. Inside, you’ll find water, blankets and the like. Do with it what you will.”''

“That’s it? That’s all your going to do?”

''“We’ve done all we can, Overbeck. It’s up to you now. Do not contact us on this frequency again. Your superior officer – Lt. Colonel Kingston will know what to do. Command out.”''

“If I find out who is…!” But Bill stopped himself. He knew no one was listening, he could tell. This wasn’t the first time his superiors had left him to die. And hopefully, it wasn’t going to be the first time they succeeded in doing so. Bill stored his radio away and his eyes met the Colonel’s.

“I assume the news isn’t good, Sergeant.” Observed the LC.

“Affirmative, sir. Command is leaving us here. They’ve left us a safe room with water and food. That’s all we’ve got.”

The LC sighed heavily and released himself from his strict military stance. “Well that’s a start. We’ll set up a preliminary base there. On me.”

“Yes, sir.” Saluted Bill.

“Yes, sir.” Echoed Corporal Rothschild.

The Colonel shouldered his FN3000 rifle and marched forwards authoritatively. Bill could tell that this was a man of duty. He seemed military to the core. He had yet to slouch, yet to use an informal sentence. It was very comforting to have someone so competent and disciplined in control.

When their group arrived at the safe-room, Command chimed in for the last time.

''“Kingston. Just to be clear, you have three weeks.”''

The colour flooded from Zoey’s panicked face. Three weeks? She thought. That’s it? The three men filed in to the safe room, one after the other. Zoey, however, was rooted to the spot.

“Come on, Zoey.” Grumbled Bill. “Into the safe-room.” Bill urged her inside and closed the thick steel military door. He helped the Corporal to latch and bolt it securely. The Corporal and the Lieutenant-Colonel then proceeded to look around the safe room. The LC quickly spotted the small restroom and headed inside whilst Rothschild collapsed onto a sturdy metal chair. Zoey was frozen.

“You OK, kid?” sighed Bill, lighting yet another cigarette and slumping into a chair: not really looking for a proper response. She remained completely silent. “Kid? Zoey? Come on, say something.” Zoey sunk to her knees.

“I…” She whimpered. “I don’t think we’re going to make it.” Bill looked surprised. He expected a young woman like her to be courageous and optimistic, not sad and self pitying. Bill felt insensitive.

“We're fighting a war with a horde of brainless killing machines - I ain't exactly optimistic about our chances.”

“Bill.” She whispered faintly. “I’ve lost all hope.” Bill glanced at her sternly and sighed heavily. “I know how you feel, Zoey.”

“No.” She began. “No. You could never know. I’ve lost everything. Everybody I know is either dead or one of… them. It’s over, Bill. It’s hopeless…”

Something inside Bill snapped. He felt a true hatred towards her. He rose from his chair swiftly and angrily. He grabbed her firmly by her jacket and hoisted her to her feet. “You think I don’t know what hopelessness feels like? You think I haven’t had to endure that?” He tugged harder at her jacket, lifting her up and pushing her back to the wall. “You don’t think war is scarring? The effects of war are permanent. PERMANENT‼” He growled fiercely.

“Sergeant!” Protested Rothschild. “Leave her alone!”

Bill swung his head towards the Corporal and released a bitter yell. “Stow it, Corporal!”

Rothschild was taken aback. “Sir…!”

“I said stow it!” He thundered.

Rothschild snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

Bill grunted irritably and returned his focus to Zoey once more. “For decades, I experienced hopelessness.” Bill moved his snarling face closer to hers. “For decades, I embraced hopelessness!” he spat, fuming with hatred. Bill leaned even closer, their noses now touching. “For decades, I lived in hopelessness‼” He glared furiously into her eyes. She attempted to return his glare through her now tearing eyes. “Vietnam was no picnic.” He continued. “But I endured. If you want to live, you have to fight for it. Money, connections or anything else isn’t going to help you now, kid.” She was sobbing softly, still managing to look Bill in the eye. Bill was about to lengthen his rant when Kingston reappeared from the restroom and grabbed him hard on the shoulder.

“Stand down, Sergeant!” He barked. Bill slowly turned his head to face him. “Put her down!” Yelled Kingston. Bill released his grasp on Zoey’s jacket. She fell a small distance and crumpled to the floor.

“Yes, sir.” He muttered angrily.

“Into the restroom, Sergeant. I’ll be with you shortly. I want to have a word.”

Bill hesitated. It was aggravating to be ordered around by a younger, less-experienced and yet higher-ranked soldier than him but he grudgingly accepted it. “Roger, LC.” He grumbled. Bill marched hastily over to the compact restroom and closed the door loudly. After watching him leave, the Lt. Colonel focused his attention on Zoey. She was still heaped on the ground – bewildered by what had happened.

“Zoey, isn’t it?” He whispered softly, crouching beside her. There was no response, she was still frozen. Kingston held her chin tenderly and carefully lifted her head. She looked him in the eyes through her streaking tears. “Is it Zoey? Forgive me if I’m wrong. My name is Richard Kingston. What’s yours?” Kingston gazed affectionately into Zoey’s eyes like a loving parent. She felt comforted by his soft voice.

“Zoey Winters.” She croaked.

“Zoey Winters?” He echoed. “Has a nice ring to it.” Kingston moved from his crouching position and sat himself down beside Zoey. Zoey slowly found more words to use.

“What did I do?” She whimpered.

Kingston put his hand around her shoulder benevolently. “Oh nothing.” He assured. “The Sergeant is just—” He wanted to say irritable and easily triggered but he decided to search for a friendlier word. “—grumpy. It’s quite an experience we’re going through – how can he not be a little easily upset?” Kingston gazed into her eyes. They were a bright green with the sparkle of youthful tears dangling within. “Even for me this is a test of emotional and mental strength. We’re all dealing with it.” He searched his mind for further words. “And,” he added. “If it is this hard for a war-hardened Vietnam veteran and two currently serving soldiers, I can only imagine how hard it must be for a civilian.” Zoey clutched the LC with a hug.

“Thank, you.” She sobbed. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“There, there, Zoey. And please – call me Richard.”

“Richard.” She sobbed on to his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright.” He comforted. “I’ll sort everything out with the Sergeant, don’t worry. Speaking of which, do you know his first name?”

“It’s Bill.” She stammered.

“Yes, yes,” he pondered. “I thought I heard you call him that.” Kingston stared blankly at the wall – deep in thought and still hugging Zoey. He snapped back to reality. “Alright.” He released Zoey gently. “I need to clear things up with Bill. But, if you want to talk more about this—” He waved his hand and beckoned for Rothschild. The Corporal hurried over.

“Sir?” He queried at attention.

“—Then the Corporal will work it all out with you, OK?”

“OK.” She sniffed. “Thank you, Richard.”

“No problem.” The LC stood up straight and turned to Rothschild.

“Take care of her, Corporal. She’s fragile.”

“Roger that, Colonel.” Rothschild saluted swiftly. Kingston returned the salute and proceeded towards the restroom. He entered and closed the door firmly behind him. It was a small restroom, big enough for two people to talk, but not big enough for a meeting.

“Bill Overbeck.” He stated in a neutral tone. “Short for William, is it?”

“Yes, sir.” Grunted Bill.

“Well, William, you mind telling me what just happened?”

Bill moaned audibly and cleared his throat. “I got carried away. I felt angry and I attacked a civilian outright. I have brought shame to the military and I know not to repeat my actions. Disciplinary action is required on your part, sir.”

Kingston guffawed loudly. “Brilliant!” He exclaimed. Bill was utterly befuddled. “Yes, indeed. I too gave that speech a few years ago when I attacked someone who I thought was going to assassinate the president! As it turned out it was just a civilian!” Kingston held out his hand. “Richard Kingston, and I do believe we both understand the best way to talk out of a situation: honesty!”

Bill gripped his hand and shook it. “You know my name, sir.”

“Yes I do.” He beamed. But that smile died quickly. “On to more serious matters. William, if we are going to make it out of here alive we need to work together. That includes Rothschild and our civilian: Miss Winters. We all need to work together. Understand?” Bill nodded. “And,” the LC continued. “To achieve full ‘team-status’, I will no longer be giving orders as your superior. Nor will you be giving orders to the Corporal or any of us giving orders to Zoey. I won’t be making choices, the team will be making choices. You may still refer to me as sir if you so wish. Otherwise, it is unnecessary. I don’t truly believe in ranks. My given title far surpasses yours yet you are on a level of combat experience that I cannot even begin to comprehend.”

Bill finally no longer felt like an ignored old man, but an appreciated veteran. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He paused. “However,” He asserted. “Don’t let this happen again. You two can become close, I know it. And to prove it, I want you to train her.”

“Excuse me?” Stuttered Bill, clearing his throat. “As in military training?”

“Correct. If she learns our moves, our tactics, our tricks and our abilities, she can become a very deadly member of our little team. We’ll be able to formulate an effective infection resistance.”

“Train her on everything?” Replied Bill, still amazed at the notion. “That would take years!”

“Everything you can. We’ll be here for a few days. Plus it’ll give you that father and daughter type relationship I know you two can achieve. It’s perfect.” Bill had to admit, the plan sounded solid. Another soldier would certainly help the cause.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Richard may have been mistaken, but he could have sworn he saw a faint smile on Bill’s face. “For the team.” Bill added.

“Excellent.” He beamed. “You can begin working with her tomorrow. For now, Bill, let’s get some sleep. I know we’re all tired.”

“Affirmative,” Replied Bill confidently. Richard opened the door and headed back into the main room. “Sir.” Added Bill under his breath, entirely out of respect, not the Chain of Command.

As Bill stepped out, he spotted Zoey curled up awkwardly in her sleeping bag. He immediately felt strong regret. Richard grabbed a sleeping bag and laid down on it next to Zoey. Rothschild, however, was still awake to speak with Bill.

“Sir?” He beckoned. “Corporal Derrick Rothschild, sir. I overheard that we’d be working as a team.” Bill glanced down at Derrick’s hand and then at his face. He looked very innocent and unaware of any danger. Bill grinned heartily.

“Sergeant William Overbeck. Call me Bill, teammate.”

The soldier smiled excitedly.

Chapter 4
Night had fallen over the downtrodden city of Fairfield. This model city now stood as a warning of danger. The buildings that still stood, basked in the glow of the blazing fires raging on the streets beneath. Light and refreshing showers of rain covered the entire city. It was certainly a city that never slept. Day in and day out, the infected would roam the ruined city aimlessly searching for food. Some had turned to cannibalism, and feasted on the flesh of freshly slain humans. Some had taken this further by killing other infected and eating them. If anything, they had retained their hunger instinct. One building stood at the centre of it all, illuminated and noticeable, it was a beacon of hope. Mercy Hospital.

Many rooftops away, on the other side of the city, a door eased open. Out stepped a young, bald, black man bearing a stained white shirt and a blood-red tie. He stepped forward, out on to the roof. He wore a pair of cotton black trousers with dirty grey shoes. An embroidered designer watch was slung around his wrist. The man took in a deep breath of the night air. It was cool and crisp. Small refreshing droplets fell from the heavens, blessing his hot and bothered skin. Slowly and calmly, he approached the edge of the rooftop. He peered over and gazed at the once beautiful city. Horrible, he thought. It had fallen so far. This man, still sporting his work clothes, was no typical, run-of-the-mill office worker – this man, was Louis Jacob Harlow.

Louis had been working up the courage to quit his job as Junior Systems Analyst at Titan Electronics’ IT department when a virus showed up and downsized his world. Now Louis has a new set of goals and a new set of tools to help him achieve them. With any luck, he'll figure out how the new management operates before they get a chance to murder him. The rooftop he was on was his old office building. Over the days leading up the quarantine, fewer and fewer employees had shown up for work. Many had called in sick, falling ill to the infection. But Louis remained loyal and healthy – even though he was planning to quit. He knew that to make it in the world, you needed a well paying job, and at the time, his salary was very high. But it meant nothing to him or anyone now. Civilisation within Fairfield had completely collapsed. Money was rendered useless.

“This shit was not in my plans.” He croaked.

Louis – like the rest of the city – was not ready for the rapid outbreak. However, unknowingly, he was the most prepared person at the office. Thanks to the terrorist attacks a few years ago on Fairfield’s neighbouring cities, Louis had felt a very odd sense of approaching danger. Before the infection broke out, he had taught himself how to fire a weapon accurately and fight defensively. Almost every lunch break he had, he would head towards the rifle range to improve his aim. He almost began doing it merely for fun. Despite this, he was currently unarmed. The rifle was property of the shooting range, and he hadn’t got around to buying a personal firearm. What he did have was the binoculars he used at the range to determine where his shots impacted.

The infected wouldn’t find him on the rooftop, he thought. He’d just have to wait. To die or for rescue. No, he corrected. Help was coming, he just had to wait for it.

Louis peered down through his binoculars at the dimly lit street below him. There were many infected milling about. More than last night, he noticed. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a lone infected trying to bash down a door. What caught his attention was that this infected was using some sort of crude baton to help destroy it. Were they getting smarter? Louis adjusted the zoom and noticed that the baton was actually a shotgun. A projectile weapon? If this person was indeed an infected, it could potentially push the advantage towards the infected even further. The thing turned to glance around the street. Louis had a clear view of his face. He wasn’t infected! His skin was still a nice pink and he looked rather pleased with himself. Perhaps, Louis thought, he’ll have to deliver help instead of wait for it. The man successfully crashed through the door and entered the barricaded building. No infected seemed to notice.

This was his opportunity, thought Louis. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, otherwise he’d end up waiting on the roof forever. He headed back inside, to descend the stairs and meet the shotgun-touting man before he disappeared or got himself killed. He felt around in the dark for his desk. On it, he had a medical pack, a kitchen knife, and a small bottle of warm water. They had been there in the office building for days, just as he had. He hastily snapped up his things, put the bottle in his trouser pocket and slung the first aid on his back. Hurrying down the dark stairwells, he tried to remain as quiet as he could, lest there were infected still in the building. Clutching his knife loosely, he reached the ground floor and stumbled around, attempting to locate the entrance. He eventually came across it warily and without thinking, he yanked the door open. As he did so, a large group of infected down the street to the right of him took immediate notice. They each let out shrill cries of hunger and charged desperately at him. Completely unarmed, Louis was forced to sprint in the direction of the small grocery store in the hopes that the armed man would save him from his predicament. Or even still be there.

Cocky, loud, and pretty sure he's indestructible, Francis Gregory Logan acts like the zombie apocalypse is the world's biggest bar fight. When the virus hit, everybody else stockpiled food and looked for a place to hide. Francis found a gun and had some fun. No cops, no laws, no order—if it wasn't for all the zombies, he could almost get used to life like this.

Francis was a fairly tall man with short brown stubble for hair and a small brown goatee. His smooth black biker vest and stained white vest only served to promote his local biker club; Hell’s Legion. Francis’ muscular arms were coated in “hardcore-biker” tattoos. His jeans were in remarkably good condition; given the current situation.

When the infection arrived, Francis was in prison. He was soon released under the condition that he would cooperate with the police and head with them to an evacuation zone. On the journey there, many officers were killed. When only a few remained, Francis realised something. He didn’t want to get away from the city. No law, no rules and a whole lot to kill! He wasn’t going to leave like a sissy, he was going back into the city to fight and thrive. Life was finally good; no one could judge him, no one could penalise him for anything. He was free. It was the American dream.

However, even a zombie apocalypse couldn’t entertain the excitable biker. He quickly grew bored of slaying the infected and scavenging bullets. Soon, it became about survival instead of entertainment. He realised he’d missed his opportunity to get out, and decided that attempting to leave by himself was pointless – and of course cowardly. Each day he would scavenge food from wherever he could, and kill the infected for entertainment. It wasn’t the nicest life, but it suited Francis just fine. There are very few people who become happier under the threat of a zombie apocalypse, but Francis was definitely one of them.

Another night of scavenging, thought Francis. He’d spotted a small boarded up food store across the street earlier that day. He decided that today he would remain in the barricaded biker clubhouse. He was alone there – he was either the only immune member of the biker gang or the only one stubborn enough to stay – but it reminded him of fond experiences. Plus, it was currently the safest place he knew of in the entire city. However, at night, he wanted to head out and scavenge the shop for various supplies… and maybe a little fun.

Francis turned off his small dingy television. The biker had managed to scavenge a small working generator from a nearby abandoned military outpost, and so he had enough electricity to power the lights. However, he decided that lighting up the clubhouse would simply attract the infected. It was only static, but his television provided a nice glowing light – bright enough to see around the room but not so bright that it could be noticed from outside. It was time to head out.

Francis shifted the metal desk away from the front door. He pressed his ear against the icy-cold metal entrance. He couldn’t hear anything outside. The biker unlocked the door and gradually eased it open. He peered cautiously outside, gripping his shotgun tightly. It was raining lightly. In the immediate area, there were no infected. There were, however, infected further down the street. Francis assumed they wouldn’t notice the difference between him and another infected at that distance. If they did, there was fun to be had.

Francis hurriedly slipped out on to the road and across the street. No infected had taken notice of him. He quickly shuffled over to the entrance of the boarded-up grocery store. The door was not entirely boarded, but it was jammed. Presumably barricaded. Francis decided he would slam the door open. He checked around him. No infected were close. He turned back to the door, stepped back a few paces, and rushed fiercely at it. His only result was pain. His arm throbbed. Gently he rubbed it, trying to soothe it. As he did this, he noticed the handle was in an awkward position. It was probably purposely done to jam the door. Francis raised his shotgun and took a swing at the handle. He quickly felt a strange sensation that he was being watched. Not by infected, but by someone still alive. He glanced around, grinning stupidly. No-one was there. Francis turned, mildly confused, and continued attacking the door. After many brutal swipes, the handle finally flung free, and the door opened easily. Francis stepped in cautiously and scanned the interior. All was pitch black excepting a small brightly lit room at the far back. Could this be the hideout of another survivor?

“Hello?” whispered Francis gingerly. “Is anyone in there?”

There was no response. Francis crouched and softly stepped over to the doorway. He pressed his back against the wall and peered into the room, aiming his shotgun. It was not a pretty sight. A heavily bloodied corpse was slumped against the grimy wall enshrined in his own gore and viscera at the other end of the small room. He was gripping a small sub-machinegun and had blown his own head off. Francis shrugged. Sissy! he thought. Suicide is the coward’s only way out.

Before Francis could retrieve the coward’s weapon, he heard someone scrambling into the store and yelling for help. He’d left the door open. Probably not the smartest move. Francis hurriedly left the small lit room and pointed his shotgun intently. He was greeted by a well dressed and bald black man. The man held his arms in front of his face.

“No, man! Don’t shoot!”

Francis lowered his gun slightly, but not fully.

“Who are you?” He grunted.

“No time!” Yelled the man. “They comin’!”

Francis didn’t require an explanation. “They” were the infected.

“Alright, move!” He barked, lifting his shotgun again. The man sprinted behind Francis and prayed to God that he had a steady aim. Almost immediately, the infected rushed through the doorway, ravenous and crazed at the sight of two possible meals. Francis aimed calmly and squeezed the trigger firmly. His buckshot shells quickly dispersed small metal pellets, ripping apart the hungry horde. Francis tugged on his shotgun pump and another cartridge was loaded. His shotgun lit up a second time. More and more infected continued to flood in as Francis unloaded on each and every one. Soon, the final infected had been killed, and the store was awash with blood, bodies and used shotgun shells.

“Thanks!” Beamed the man. “You really saved me there.”

“Ah bullshit!” Bawled Francis furiously.

“What?” Trembled the man, now unsure of Francis’ intentions.

“Do you know how many shells I wasted?”

“No… how many?”

“Too-freakin’-many!” He glared.

“Oh, I uhh,” He stammered. “I’m sorry.”

Francis glared over at the man angrily. His anger soon shifted into a small grin.

“But that was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” Francis shifted his shotgun to his left hand and extended his right. “Francis Logan.”

“I’m Louis.” Muttered Louis, still unsure if he had actually upset him. “Louis Harlow. Thanks again. It’s so good to see a…” Louis thought quickly, but he couldn’t put it any other way. “…friendly face.”

“For you, maybe.” Groaned Francis. “But y’know, I’m no babysitter. You look after yourself, got it?”

“Shouldn’t we stick together? I don’t even have a gun!”

Francis sighed, irritated. “Fine. But I’m not covering you. I’m covering me, understand?”

“Yes. Sure.” Louis scanned Francis’ shotgun. “Say, you don’t have another weapon, do you?”

Francis paused and took a moment to think.

“No…” he began slowly. “But I think someone in there has something for you.” He pointed at the brightly lit room.

“There’s someone in there?” Asked Louis, now moving over to the room. When he peered inside, he spotted the dead body clutching the sub-machinegun. He approached it warily and leaned over to search his pockets. Inside, he found many ammunition magazines for the sub-machinegun. Louis emerged thirty seconds later gripping the Micro-Uzi and examining it extensively.

“Good.” Commented Francis. “Now you can cover yourself.”

“Oh man.” Beamed Louis, becoming very excited. “I’ve seen this kind of weapon before! It’s just like Counter-Strike!”

“Sure Lou, whatever. Now can we move? I’m tired of waiting around.”

“Oh yes.” Replied a cheerful Louis. “Where are we going? What’s the plan?”

“Oh I don’t have a plan.” Smiled Francis. “I’m just bored of this place, y’know? It’s getting old. I’m gonna grab some food and leave. Stick with me for some fun.”

Fun? Thought Louis. This strange man before him actually felt it was fun to fight day-to-day for your life whilst trying to hold on to your own sanity? He wasn’t his ideal survivor partner, but, he stood a better chance in a fight alongside another person – no matter who it was. It was his only option.

“Uhh, alright.”

“Great, let’s get some food and go.”

The two moved around in the dark shop, lifting infected bodies and scavenging tinned goods. They found tins of beans and canned pineapple. Nothing else was edible or available. It seems that the man in the back had eaten a lot from the store before committing suicide. Francis bent over to collect his cans. Once he stood up, he stuffed his vest pockets to the brims with them and cracked his large knuckles.

“Ready for some fun?”

“I guess so.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Francis grinned and headed for the door.

“Wait.” Called Louis. “We’re just leaving? We don’t even know where we’re going!” Louis looked panicked.

Francis breathed in heavily and groaned. “Fine!” He grunted. “We’ll head west towards the centre of the city. Happy?”

“That’s it? West?”

“You know, I don’t think we can afford to be picky about where we go.”

“Yeah, but…”

“OK see you, Louis.” Francis spun away, and headed outside.

“Hey wait!” Louis caught up to him. “I’m with you.” A large smile swept swiftly across Francis’ face.

“Good.” He grinned. The biker continued forwards and down the dark street. As much as Louis hated to admit it, right now he really needed Francis, no matter how irritating or irrational he was.

As the two men proceeded down the street, they came across something odd. A small group of infected had surrounded a thick and bulging metal door on the side of the street. The door was the entrance into some kind of small warehouse. They were banging at it furiously, attempting to break it down and wreak havoc to within.

“What are they doing?” Whispered Louis, quick to crouch behind an abandoned car.

“Who cares?” Responded Francis bluntly. “Probably some asshole in there.”

Louis stared at this ridiculous creature beside him. Francis will take some getting used to, he thought. “Asshole? It could be another survivor.”

“Exactly.” Grunted Francis. “Everyone but us is either a zombie or an asshole.”

Louis sighed, aggravated. “Can’t we just help whoever it is?”

“Why?” He moaned. “Do you want to get eaten by vampires?”

“No of course not!” Louis peered over the car and then looked to Francis once more. “And I don’t think the person in there wants to either. Hey, we get to kill more, right?”

Francis grinned a toothy smile at Louis. “I think you’re getting the idea, Louie. But let me do the shooting.”

“By all means.” Sighed Louis, relieved that he finally convinced biker-boy to help.

Francis stepped back several paces, charged towards the car and gracefully leaped atop. He raised his shotgun in his left hand and reached upwards, taunting the infected. “Hey!” He yelled. “You want a fight? I’m right here!”

The infected swung their heads away from the steel door to glare at Francis with their bloody and scar-laden faces. There was a shrill burst of fury as the group charged towards Francis. He unleashed a hail of metallic pellets, pumped his shotgun, and continued firing. Louis felt this was a good time to test out his new gun. He hopped atop the car alongside Francis and pointed his sub-machine gun intently. The gun unloaded a quick succession of 9mm rounds into the group. Together, both guns shredded and ripped apart the ravenous creatures, spraying flesh and spattering blood.

“Louis,” Bellowed Francis with a glistening smile. However, he quickly destroyed his outer happiness and converted it to anger. “I said let me do the shooting!”

“We need to work together, Francis!” Retorted Louis irritably.

“Fine. Whatever. Can we save the pussy behind the steel door now or what?”

Louis turned away from him to face the door. You’ll get used to him, he thought firmly. Or you’ll just have to accept him. Louis put Francis out of his mind and approached the door.

“Hello?” Beckoned Louis, his knuckles rapping the cold steel. “Is anyone in there?” There was a very faint shuffling from within. Then, a male voice emerged.

“Are you human? You’re immune, right?”

“Yes, we’re immune. Can we come in?”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re just-” But Francis took charge.

“We’re the heroes who just saved your ass! Now open the Goddamned door!”

The voice hesitated for several seconds. Then there was a series of metallic clinks as he unlatched the sealed door. When it opened, there stood a medium height man bearing grey eyes, blonde hair and pale skin. He was wearing a blue tattered and hooded jumper with ripped jeans and brown sneakers.

“Thank you.” He whispered feebly. “Come in, then.”

Francis and Louis stepped inside quickly and helped the man to lock and bolt the door. Louis shone a warm and grateful smile.

“The name’s Louis Harlow.” He beamed, extending his hand.

The man was impressed with Louis’ upbeat attitude and grasped his hand firmly. “Carl Garson.” Carl turned towards Francis. “Carl Garson.” He repeated.

“Yeah, yeah,” Francis shook his hand reluctantly. “Francis Logan.”

Carl let go of his hand, sensing his dislike of the situation. He quickly changed the subject. “So where are you two headed?”

“West.” Grunted Francis.

“West?” Echoed Carl. “Isn’t that towards the centre of the city?”

“Yes,” Sighed Louis. “I think we’ll head for Mercy Hospital. It’s still got plenty of lights on.”

“Mercy Hospital?” Protested Francis abruptly. “Did ya ever plan on lettin’ me in on that one, Louis?”

“Francis, come on,” Louis grunted. “You think we can just wander out there? We need to get out of here, and I’m pretty damn sure Mercy Hospital is our best bet.”

“You know what?” Snarled Francis, edging towards Louis. But he dropped his snarl. “If you’re so damn sure you can get us out of here, then do it. We’ll head there.” There were a few moments of silence as Louis smiled at him widely. Francis quickly finished. “But only ‘cause there’ll be a lot of infected to kill between here and there.”

Louis’ smile didn’t fade. Perhaps he does have a reasonable side to him. “So,” Continued Louis, pivoting to face Carl. “Where are you going?”

“Well,” Began Carl. “I’m heading for Riverside. It’s held out.”

“Do you mind if we spend the night here?” Queried Louis hopefully.

“Of course!” Exclaimed Carl. “It’s not my place. It’s a safe-room. A military safe-room.”

And with that, the three men moved around the room and settled in. It was quiet now. Eerily quiet.

Chapter 5
Bill awoke to the sound of infected milling around outside the military safe-room. He clambered out of his flimsy sleeping bag and approached the metal door cautiously. It was strong thick steel, yet he could still hear the infected bickering and ranting around outside.

Bill swivelled and glanced at Zoey. She was still asleep. His tired eyes sluggishly scanned her. She was so small and timid, never before exposed to anything remotely like this before. Not in real life at least. He realised that he had been much too hard on her last night and quickly regretted his actions. Vietnam had made him strong – that he knew. What he’d failed to realise was that this strength made others seem weak. Especially civilians. Not everyone is cut out for this kind of life. As Bill looked closer, he noticed multiple cuts and bruises. It looked as if she’d been hurt in their escape. Bill felt a sudden rush of protective parental feelings flow within him. He’s responsible for this girl, he was to be her guide. In a dazed stupor, he wandered over to the small metal chair and collapsed on to it. His cigarette supply stashed away in his satchel was rapidly disappearing. There were only a few left. Nevertheless, he snatched out a fresh cigarette and lit it with his silvery compact lighter. The taste was refreshing, the puffs of light smoke were calming and the sensation was relaxing beyond comparison. Smoking was one of the things he couldn’t do in Vietnam. Bill had always found that smoking was a remarkable stress reliever. Yet, in Vietnam they couldn’t smoke or else they’d give away their position. There, he had taken to chewing on the end of the cigarettes, but here: he was free to smoke.

Bill was dosing in the chair with his cigarette barely gripping the corner of his mouth. He was almost asleep again, almost at peace. However, this ended when Zoey tapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Bill?” She whispered. “Bill are you awake?”

Bill opened his eyes slowly. “Yes.” He began quietly. “Yes, I’m awake.”

“Sorry to wake you.” She stuttered nervously. “But Richard,” She paused. “Colonel Kingston, I mean, told me you’d be teaching me something today.”

Bill processed this slowly. He vaguely remembered: he was to train her the art of the military. “Yes.” He coughed, sitting up straight. “I’ll be teaching you combat skills.”

“William!” Interjected Richard from across the room. “I’ve got some food here for you.” The LC strode over and held out a several metal tins. Bill observed them.

“Oh boy.” He exclaimed jokingly. “Rations. This brings me back..”

“Yes, yes.” Chuckled Richard. “But better than nothing. I’ve got some for you too, Zoey.” He handed her a small crate of tinned goods. “I’ll bet you’ve got a mighty hunger.” Zoey was quite possibly the most grateful person in the world towards him.

“Oh, thank you!” She began scoffing down the food rapidly. Her happiness went slightly sour. “Ew…” She remarked. The rations had a rather ‘stale-packaged’ and bland taste. She attempted a different tin only to find that although it was different food, it tasted almost identical. “Wha…?”

“That’s rations for you!” Guffawed Richard. “But that’s not to say we should be ungrateful. Oh heavens, no. These things may taste like mould, but they’re stuffed to the brims with vital vitamins and nutrients. And they’re made to last, virtually no expiration date! Space age stuff, really.”

“Why can’t they change the flavour?” She queried, still eating them despite.

“Apparently some people like it. Perhaps it’s an acquired taste.” Theorised Richard. “Anyway, eat up. You have thirty minutes until you two commence working together.” The LC marched back to the large crate of rations, pulled out some tins and offered them to Derrick.

After Bill and Zoey had finished eating, Bill noticed the cuts and bruises that still coated her.

“So,” Began Zoey awkwardly. “What’s the first lesson?” Zoey glanced at Bill looking for a positive response and hoping to start things over with him. Her words sparked an idea to life within Bill. He marched over to a medical crate and opened it up. From within, he extracted a First-Aid kit.

“First Lesson.” He stated, tossing her the kit. “First-Aid.”

“First-Aid?” She repeated. “But I only have a few scrapes.”

“You may think that now,” Began Bill. “And it may even be true. But you have a medical kit and wounds to heal, why not use it? If you don’t use it now, you’ll allow your cuts and bruises to build up over time and then you’ll only realise you need to heal when it is too late. First to aid: last to die. Keep that in mind.”

“But I don’t know where to begin.”

“And that’s why it’s a lesson. You’re not supposed to know, otherwise there’d be no point in teaching it. So let’s begin shall we?”

“Alright.” She smiled, happy that they were getting along. “What’s first?”

“First thing is to remove all unnecessary clothing. That includes your jacket, shirt, trousers and shoes.”

Zoey’s smile faded quickly. “What?” She asked, befuddled. “I can’t just strip!”

Bill chuckled at her. “It’s not like you’ll be naked! Besides, I’m a seventy-five year old man! Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before!”

“Yeah,” She whispered shyly. “But…” She nodded her head in the direction of Kingston and Rothschild.

“Alright.” Sighed Bill, not in actual annoyance, simply out of fatigue. “Sir?” He queried.

The Colonel was filing through a large green crate when he turned and responded. “Yes, William? Is there something you two require?” Bill marched over to him and whispered into his ear. “Ah,” announced the Colonel. He looked over Bill’s shoulder and shot a large grin at Zoey. She turned away, blushing slightly. “Of course.” He began. “We’ll be in there then.” He pointed at the restroom. “Call us when you’re done.” The Colonel marched inside along with the Corporal and closed the door gently.

“Alright, kid.” Coughed Bill, checking his cigarette stash but not pulling one out. “Take the excess clothing off would you?”

She hesitated. Bill was old, but it still felt awkward. However, she eventually removed her jacket, shirt, jeans, shoes and socks. Bill was flabbergasted at what he saw. Zoey had completely understated her condition as ‘a few scrapes’. She was riddled with bruises, deep cuts and livid lacerations. Her skin had gone almost blue from bruising in parts. Some cuts were actually in the process of bleeding.

“Jesus H. Christ.” He croaked. “Zoey, you’re not in good shape.”

Zoey glanced at him in a very panicked manner. “What? I don’t feel that hurt.”

“Well you certainly look it. We’ve got some work to do, let’s get to it.”

There wasn’t much that Kingston could make out clearly, but he did pick up small snippets. One in particular confirmed his plan was working. They were cooperating.

“Good job. But sometimes there are wounds that you can’t reach. Like these.” He touched her back. “Let me help you with those.”

“Aha!” Giggled Zoey. “Bill, that tickles!”

“Seriously? I’m touching open wounds, it’s really not supposed to.”

“Well I’m highly ticklish, so please, be careful.” She smiled, happier than Bill had ever seen her. “Oh you are, are you?” He chuckled.

“No, no!” She laughed. Bill seized the opportunity and set her off in a tickling frenzy. She couldn’t stop laughing. “No more!” She laughed. “No, I can’t take it!” Bill began to ease off. “My, my,” He chuckled cheerfully. “You are ticklish aren’t you?”

Zoey was positively glowing. She had food, healed her own wounds and had now laughed harder than she had in weeks. She was radiating with happiness. Bill felt highly content with what he had done. He was positive he had made up for last night, what’s more is that he was fond of the idea of a ‘soldier apprentice’. Perhaps there was more to this girl – this civilian – than he’d previously thought.

Around an hour later, Lesson One: First-Aid was complete, and the two soldiers had exited the restroom. Kingston gave him a warm, congratulating and generally pleased smile. Bill returned the smile surprisingly earnestly.

“So what’s next?” Asked Zoey in a rather perky tone of voice.

“Next…” Bill pondered. “Well, combat training can start tomorrow so we’ll stick with non-physical training for now. Hmm….” Bill paused. “Everything about the military….” He mumbled. Bill shook his head and cleared his throat. “Lesson two will cover simple commands and respecting the Chain of Command itself. Which shall we start with?”

Zoey paused to think. “The Chain of Command.”

“OK. During the rest of the training you will address me as Sir or Sergeant. That is a very basic way to respect command. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Zoey saluted almost mockingly. Bill couldn’t help but laugh.

“Good.” He chuckled. “Now, the Chain of Command is simple. Ranks indicate levels of experience. Higher ranks than you require you to address them by their rank or as Sir or Ma’am. Lower ranks mean you can address them by their rank, last name or even a combination of both. Do not call them by their first name unless told it is acceptable. It is highly disrespectful to do so without permission. As you do not have a rank yet, for the duration of training, I will address you as Soldier, Cadet or Winters. Understood?”

“Yes sir, Sergeant.”

“Very well. I’ll cover it in depth later. For now, let’s press on to basic commands.”

Bill covered all the frequent commands such as: Hold position – hand held in a fist; Move up – A flick of the wrist forward with two fingers pointed; Regroup – make a circle in the air with one hand. He even taught her how to sound off correctly when doing certain things such as tossing a grenade, reloading and even taking cover. Then he described minor things such as at ease and attention.

“Grenade!” She yelled. “How was that, sir?”

“Good, good. Just make sure your team knows where you’re throwing it.”

“Roger that, sir.” She nodded.

“That completes lesson two.” He beamed. “Lesson three?”

“Ready and willing, Sergeant.” She replied saluting him swiftly. Bill returned the salute.

“At ease.” He ordered. Zoey dropped the salute, spread her legs apart and clasped her hands together behind her back.

“Expertly executed.” Commented Bill. “Now, lesson three…”

They commenced lesson three. Lesson three involved the most tedious thing a soldier had to do. Studying military jargon and codes. Codenames had to be learned – and there was a military codename for almost everything. These included: “The LZ”, “Tangos” and much more. Next to learn was the military alphabet, from Alpha to Zulu. Zoey spent a great deal of time learning and revising these things from the military handbook that Richard kindly offered.

Although she was far from done, she had spent a great many hours focused on studying these things. She certainly is committed, thought Bill.

“Alright, soldier.” He spoke authoritatively. “That’ll do.”

Zoey rose from the chair she was studying in. “Yes, sir.”

“Fall in.” He ordered. Zoey marched towards him and halted.

“Sir.” She repeated.

“Alright, time for lesson four.” Commanded Bill. Zoey looked up at the safe-room clock. It was half-eleven at night.

“Permission to speak, sir.” She requested.

“Granted.” He smiled, amused at how seriously she was taking the training.

“Sir, with all due respect, isn’t it late to commence another lesson?”

Bill chuckled. “Well, with all due respect, not when you discover what that lesson is, soldier. Lesson four consists of two simple lessons. The first we’ll do now and the second can begin tomorrow. The first one is a lesson that many people underestimate. The power of sleep. Sleep makes you ready, alert and confident. Every good soldier requires good sleep. Understand, soldier?”

Zoey beamed at him happily. “Sir,” she began. “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Now you have the theory, let’s put it into practice. I think you know what to do. Lesson four ends tomorrow morning. Get some sleep, Winters. Dismissed!”

“Affirmative, sir.” Zoey excitedly scurried over to her sleeping bag and gave Bill a look of sheer joy. She was happy. Something inside Bill reactivated. His emotion and care had returned. Vietnam had rid him of that years ago, and this girl – this small and fragile teen – managed to return it in a single day.

Bill felt fantastic, better than he thought possible in a post-apocalyptic, zombie-ridden world. He truly believed she had accomplished something spectacular today. No, he believed that they had accomplished something spectacular. And, apparently, so did the others. There was a small series of clapping coming from the two men behind him. He turned and spotted Richard and Derrick grinning widely.

“Well done, William.” Complimented Richard. “Well done, indeed.”

“Nice work there, sir.” Grinned Derrick. “I mean, Bill.”

“Didn’t I tell you, William?” Smiled Richard once more. “Not only will she become a strong ally, but a good friend, too.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bill hesitated then corrected himself. “Thank you, Richard.”

“Don’t thank me! You and Zoey did all the work today. Remember, tomorrow is the last day of training: in two days, we’re heading out. Now, let’s follow your forth lesson and get some sleep, shall we?”