L4D2: One Shot

Life is like one of those horrible one-shot stories. Ya' know, it's only so long then it dwindles down to nothing, and all you are left with is the thirst for more or the urge to push the corny plot and characters from your eyes and in the trash can, or even into a black hole.

That's exactly what Rochelle felt. Even somewhat before this piece 'o crap zombie infestation or WHATEVER it's called happened. Life IS a one-shot story. But you choose how it ends. That is what she usually thought, when her one-shot was a nice one.

You live, you have fun. The plot is engrossing and grabs onto you with talons, and makes you happy 'til the last word. Isn't that how life supposed to feel? Ellis was still half-awake, strumming a little song on his old three-string, a little song that he mumbled along to.

Bet his life always and is still great. she thought as she turned over on her belly and stared at him as he played the strings with ease. What was MY life before this? she asked, humming along to the broken tune. It was like that story some kid put together. Not horribly exciting but so not horrible itself, either.

Ellis heard her hum, and stopped, his finger hovering over the chipped F fret. "Still 'wake, Ro?" he asked, quietly. She nodded and stared at the sleeping form of Coach. Every once in a while a snore would escape, and Ellis would forget they were sleeping and bust out a laugh. Rochelle knew his plot was happy, while hers was dingy.

Ellis looked out the saferoom door and sighed at everything. He was on guard, and, as usual, it was uber-boring. The zombies didn't even scrape the door. There was a very distant cry, but he didn't know if that was what he thought it is or Rochelle moaning.

She got up carefully and looked at the lavender bags under his eyes. "Ellis, sweetie, get some sleep. I'll work here." Ellis tipped his hat, smiled and layed on the sleeping bag, leaving her with the guitar, which she strummed quickly, trying to get her worry out on the old strings. Those strings, which had split open heads easily.

—

She woke up, back on a sleeping bag. Nick was on duty, while Ellis played the guitar, and Coach made something for them to eat. If there wasn't enough… him. "Blarg," she moaned, sitting up on the old sleeping bag and rubbed her eyes. "Awake already, sunshine?" Nick asked, sarcastically.

She shrugged and stood up, shaking out her bed head and stretching. Ellis put his guitar on his back and rubbed the leather strap that held it to his body. Once Coach came back with nothing, Rochelle checked for running water. She came back, empty handed, crestfallen.

—

Blood-soaked, starving and thirsty, Nick fell again, hitting his knees hard, and bruising the bone. As he gathered himself back up, a Hunter pounced from the top and tore at his stomach. He reached up to fight it off, but it just clawed his palms, letting blood well up. It was horrible.

He couldn't reach his Chrome, pinned under him. The blunt, splintered bat bore into his head as he swiped at the Hunter. The body hit hard as Coach popped it with his gun and Nick, struggling, shot the Magnum at the being. It made a dog noise and hit the ground, slumping against the fence.

Nick was helped up by Rochelle, who looked very distant. "Ro, you okay?" he asked carefully. She snapped back, Nick's voice breaking her dark reverie. She half-smiled, half-frowned at him, and nodded quickly, her throat dry. "Nick. Heal up." He shook his head.

"Don't hurt too bad."

Lies. He wouldn't admit it felt like flaming, red-hot daggers being pushed through his torso. The last healthpack was toted by Rochelle. He grabbed a few pills and attempted to down them dry. Once they finally passed, he was healed, the guaze pressing up against the wounds on his stomach.

"Uh, oh, thanks, Ro," he said, quickly, still surprised as he pressed up against the stinging wounds. She laughed. "No problem." Nick raised his Chrome and closed his eyes in pain. His head throbbed from the noise, sun, and bruises, and this whole lurid thing.

—

Ellis ran ahead, his feet slapping the concrete hard as he attempted to outrun the Tank. Coach stood back and squeezed off his AK into the beastly body. The slabs of ground smashed against his body. Sliding about thirty feet filled of road-rash and cracked bones, he turned over, weakened as he raised his M16, inhaled and popped a few into the Tank. The towering fury tossed another a slab over his head, just barely missing it.

As it halted on the ground, the ground for a small radius trembled. A few punches bombarded on his shoulders. Grunting in pain, he managed to knock them far enough away to then release a bomb from his belt.

"Chase this, you sons–" he was cut off from his cuss out by the trembling body of the Tank connecting to the ground, dead. His throw flew far, stopping some Infected, but leaving some ripping at his flesh with their mutated fingers. A few broke the skin. The small wells of blood attracted another horde.

—

The saferoom only held three that night. Ellis pressed at his arm wounds, baring his teeth whenever it stung. "Man, I do miss Coach, man." He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. He had left his guitar on his battlefield, where Coach's blood had spilled.

Nick wasn't much harmed by his passing. Sitting by the door, polishing his gun with his palm.

"Heehee, good luck," Ellis said, laying down tenderly, not to hurt himself.

Nick grimaced and put the safety on his gun and cast off, letting it skitter. "Any food for just us three?" Rochelle asked, as she grabbed an old flannel blanket and tossed it at Ellis. He grabbed it and fell asleep. Nick shrugged as he got up. "I'll check."

—

"Canned beans." Ellis said flatly, picking one and crushing it with his fingers. Rochelle shrugged as she forced down another. "Aw, good thin' Coach ain' here, 'r we'd be sleepin' ou'side." He giggled at his own joke as Nick absent-minded, ate his ration, choking it down, but happy to eat.

"Now we need water."

Ellis piped up, "Y'all know you can drink yer own pee." Nick half-gagged, half-scoffed.

"Haha, yeah. How would we drink our own pee if we have nothing to drink in the first place."

Ellis fell silent as he thought. "We kin drink our blood! Like them weirdo sadistic vam-"

Rochelle cut in. "Or zombies. Ellis, sweetie, we have nothing to drink. And I will not drink bodily fluids."

"We kin go find C-"

"NO."

—

The night was extremely long. Nick was at the verge of sleeping, but everytime he was pulled under, Ellis fired his mouth.

"I ever tell ya-"

"Yes."

"Oh, okay… I ever-"

"YES."

"Hmm. Okay, okay. What about the time K-"

"SHADDUP! I swear to God, if I was on a plane, I would push you off. Now let me sleep, you moron."

—

As soon as Ellis had fallen asleep, Rochelle turned over to look at Nick, still awake, sticking his gun out of the bars. "Morning." Rochelle greeted him as she got up. Nick nodded.

"You know, a few hours ago, you were pretty rough on Ellis."

"Yeah. So." he said, carelessly without remorse.

"We might need him sometime."

"Keyword. Might."

Rochelle  frowned and stood up next to Nick as she cracked her back. "All I'm saying is, just be nicer." Nick grimaced at her as she sat back down.

—

Ellis woke up in the middle of the night, stepping over a sleeping Rochelle to get to Nick. "Hee-haw, if you tell one story I will punch your adams apple so far back into your neck, it will show on your back. Kapeesh?"

Ellis slightly laughed. "Y'all know, I wusn't gonna say nothin' 'bout Keithers."

Nick looked up at Ellis, exasperated. "Sorry 'm buggin' y'all." Grrr. Kin he be nice fir one time. Nick shook his head in disgust, dismay and dis-whatever. He was about to diss Ellis when Rochelle woke up, wide-awake. There was a growl as the zombies came to the door, gashing open the air.

"El oh el, what?" Ellis asked, raising his gun in defense. Nick shoved the bar off and rampaged, his gun lighting the air as the bullets sprayed. Once they were all slain, he stepped back into the saferoom, popped the bar back on and lay down. But Ellis was gone. In the nothingness. He was gone. Lost.