Oh my god. I've been working on this thing for weeks. I have literally written six different versions. I'm still not happy with it, but I spent all this time on it, so why not post it? This is only the first chapter, I plan on writing more...hopefully the subsequent chapters will be better.

Truthfully, I just really wanted to write this because I'm from Savannah and L4D2 has given me a reason to be proud of that. I am lame.

Coach broke the boards down with the butt of his rifle and they poured through the door like foxes being smoked out of their den. Ellis and Rochelle set to work re-barricading the entry while Nick righted an overturned chair and sat, sighing wearily.

"What the fuck," he mumbled over and over, "what the fuck?

Savannah had gone to seed, and quick. It wasn't a good place to fight a war, after all, not with all the fragile buildings so painstakingly preserved by the Historical Society, not with the tight-packed houses and trees that could go up like lit matches.

And those trees, they burned and burned and burned, thick curls of southern moss writhing upwards as if they could retreat into the safety of charred, coal-glowing limbs. And beneath them, the infected screamed and ran, their bodies black against the flames.

The Thunderbird Inn, shut down due to illness ("No shit!" Ellis had barked after seeing the sign) would have to do as a temporary stop, a place to rest and hold off any infected that came their way.

Nick lifted up his head toward Ellis, who had finished hefting furniture against the door and was now turning to face the others.

"What the fuck?" he repeated, "all I've ever heard about Savannah, all my fucking life, is how beautiful it is. How beautiful this," he gestured wildly toward the door, or more accurately, what lay beyond it, "this shit hick town is. Well, I gotta tell you something--"

Ellis laughed an interruption, leaning a well-worn shotgun against the wall.

"What, you think we been breedin' zombies here all our lives? Naw, this here's a new development. Well, kinda. I been hearin' about this shit on the news and stuff, but I ain't never thought it was gon' come to Savannah. I mean, shit, nothin' happens here, 'cept for this one time Widespread Panic was playin' at the Civic Center, and--"

"Boy, we ain't got time for stories," Coach shook his head, wiping an old rag against his sweaty brow, "'specially not about that tired-ass band."

"Evacuation point. We gotta find an evacuation point," Rochelle said worriedly, wringing her hands together so fiercely that the two seemed to meld into one.

"I was jes' at one 'fore I met y'all," Ellis tipped the bill of his cap back with a thumb, "and that'n ain't gonna do us no good, it was already overrun by the time I had got there. Them bastards did a number on my truck, too, and here I was thinkin' I built that sucker to be zombie-proof!"

"Have you seen them big ones?" Coach asked with a shake of the head, "Lawd have mercy..."

"Those are Tanks...at least, that's what the anchors had been calling them," Rochelle seemed to pull herself together at last.

"Goddamn, they're giving them names now?" groaned Nick, rolling his head back and clenching his eyes in mental agony.

"What, you been on a boat or somethin'?" Ellis grinned, earning a nasty look from the older man.

"Actually, yes I have, Overalls."

"For real? Man, I love boats. Me an' my buddy Keith, we was on this boat once...well, it was just an ole rower that Keith's daddy had in his backyard, but anyway, we took it out to the Savannah River t'do some shrimpin'. 'Cept, it turns out, there ain't no shrimp in that river. And we weren't exactly s'posed to be in the part of the river we were in--"

"Ellis...it is Ellis, isn't it? Is now really the best time?" Rochelle asked, fidgeting again. Her golden hoop earrings caught the rogue ray of light filtering in through an unboarded section of window, and the shine danced in their eyes.

"Well...no, I guess not. But you didn't let me get to the part where me 'n Keith caught a drownin' hobo in our net!"

"Knew I never should have come here," Nick grumbled, "stupid goddamn town filled with zombies. Inbred hick zombies."

None of them argued with Nick. They all sat silent in the lobby, the sounds of chaos consuming the world heavy and suffocating, like heat shimmering off asphalt. Far off gunshots, pained groans, the distant drone of choppers heading in and out of the city. They sat in the dark amidst noises and wreckage.

"So, anyway," Ellis started again, slowly, "there was this hobo in the river..."

Nick stared at the boy and already didn't like him.

Nick found that nonstop travels through the forsaken countryside did little to quell Ellis' enthusiasm for...anything, really. As the three others were just getting used to the long hours of physical exertion and constant fear, Ellis plunged straight into the mix with a shotgun in his hands and a fireaxe strapped to his back.

Killing was the hardest obstacle. The killing itself was relatively easy; while rage had made the infected strong and persistent, it also made them perfectly willing to walk into the path of a bullet. But the survivors couldn't pretend that exploding the heads of your fellow human beings wasn't upsetting. They had to adapt quickly, and so they did, but none of them could quite forget the first time a horde had amassed and Ellis had run into the fray, pumping lead into the screaming throngs, and when the bullets had all gone, burying his ax into quite a few heads and laughing like a maniac while doing so.

He was animal-like in his killing and it had disgusted and scared them all. It had made Nick very, very wary.

But soon after, forced to find joy in the darkest of places, they had all caught themselves laughing or whooping after a particularly good kill. Coach, with his learned eyes, had realized this first, but he could only lament it with a somber shake of the head and keep on moving.

It was a slow, steady push westward along desolate stretches of highway, flanked by crop fields and farms and dotted like bloodstains with dark, deserted towns. They hunkered down where they could to rest and eat what little they could find, and ready themselves for the next day of struggles and survival.

They trudged along one day when the sun was blocked by hazy gray clouds, following the road, a winding black mark against fields of smokey white crops. Nick raised his eyebrows and snorted.

"Cotton fields? Really? Should I be expecting a plantation owner zombie to come running out at us with a whip?"

That remark earned him a frigid glare from Rochelle and a dangerously disapproving grunt from Coach. Nick decided to shut up. Ellis, however, as if oblivious to the tension (and he may very well have been) gave a low whistle.

"Shit, all this cotton reminds me of m'friend Keith. Sonuvabitch ran his truck clear through a cotton field an' jes' 'bout wrecked half of that year's crop. Sheee-it! You shoulda seen the look on the farmer's face, I ain't never seen someone so upset since--"

"Farmhouse!" Rochelle yelled, her bracelets clinking together as she pointed a long, slender arm toward a darkened structure on the horizon.

"A farmhouse probably ain't gonna be very secure," Coach muttered, "but goddamn it, I'm 'bout dead on my feet. Lord, please let there be food in that house."

"C'mon, y'all!" Ellis grinned back at them before breaking into a run toward it.

"Dammit, boy!" Coach's voice thundered, stopping Ellis in his tracks, "get yo' sorry ass back here!"

Ellis slunk back like a beaten puppy, his head lowered and his eyes peeking out shyly from underneath the bill of his cap. Rochelle laughed, and Nick couldn't help but smirk.

"We stay together, son," Coach slapped a hefty hand down onto Ellis' shoulder, nearly making the boy's knees buckle, "don't be runnin' off again like some goddamn fool. What if you'd been grabbed by a Smoker, huh?"

"Yessir," Ellis grinned in apology and fell into step beside Nick, who rolled his eyes and mumbled that they should have let him run ahead.

The farmhouse wasn't exactly in the best condition, but they reasoned that it would do. There had been a few infected the area around it, but they were easily taken care of. At one point, a Jockey had launched itself out of an old doghouse and latched onto Ellis' shoulders, making him stumble and yell until Rochelle blew its head off with one well-placed shot.

Since then, Ellis carried a vaguely disgruntled look about him and seemed to try to prove that he was, in fact, a man, and thus above being ridden like some kind of animal. He had ventured out into the storehouse and come back with his arms full of food, right when Nick was shaking his head and remarking,

"Wasn't that like the twentieth Jockey that's hopped on Ellis so far? Maybe they were pedophiles in their past lives, or something, because they sure pay him more attention than they do us."

Coach and Rochelle chuckled, then looked away as they noticed Ellis walking in. Even without light, they could see his ears burning red with embarrassment, but he managed a smile.

"Look at this right here," he lifted his arms slightly to emphasize the fact that he had food, and small packets of it dropped to the floor with the motion, "looks like we gon' have ourselves a right good feast t'night!"

"Well I'll be damned, good job, boy!" Coach exclaimed and Ellis beamed with pride.

"Find any cigarettes out there, kid?" Nick asked, not really expecting an answer. Ellis' eyes went big as he set the food down on the floor and started opening the bags and boxes.

"Nah, I didn't. I didn't know you smoked."

"I'd like to."

"Want me to go look around fer some? I can take this here machete fer protection and--"

"Son, he can do without cigarettes for a while," Coach reached down and opened a container of dried figs like it was a Christmas present, "don't go riskin' your life for somethin' like that."

Nick shrugged in disinterest, but was secretly pleased by Ellis' enthusiasm.

When night fell and it was time to sleep, however, his pleasure soon evaporated into annoyance as Ellis snuggled up near him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, kid?"

"Aww, c'mon, Nick, it's so danged cold!"

"It's not cold at all!" he growled, turning over to look at Ellis. In the dark, his face was rounded and smooth, and Nick noticed how full the boy's lips were, how plump, like a woman's.

"Not t'you, maybe, 'cuz you're wearin' that getup. But all I have is this here T-shirt."

"I don't care. Go away."

"If I find you some cigarettes, will you lemme stay?"

Nick groaned and shut his eyes, trying to force sleep to come so he wouldn't have to put up with the boy's talking any longer.

"Yes. Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Ta-da!" a half-empty pack of Marlboros was shoved under Nick's nose. His nostrils flared with the their sweet, familiar scent. He took the crumpled back and twisted his head around to look at Ellis.

"You little fucker. You had these all along!"

"Nope, found 'em jes' a few minutes ago. When I was explorin' upstairs, y'know? They were under a bed, in a shoe box," he chuckled to himself, "I reckon they belonged to some kid who didn't want his mama and daddy to found out. Anyhow, I got 'em fer you, so that means I can stay."

Without waiting for another word, he lay down again and pressed close to Nick. Nick sighed hopelessly, cramming the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket for later.

It wasn't so bad, though. Honestly, he really had been a little chilly, and Ellis' warmth, while not exactly welcome, couldn't hurt. Besides, cigarettes were hard to find nowadays. Nick reasoned that in some areas, they were probably even being used as a type of currency. And if the price for these was a night of Ellis sleeping next to him...well. It just wasn't so bad.

He was a useful boy. Nick was sure he'd be able to find other ways for Ellis to do him some good. He drifted off to sleep with the sound of Ellis snoring, before thinking once again of the boy's lips and how they looked just like a woman's.

I had to include the part with the Jockey because when I play (always as Ellis) the Jockeys always ALWAYS get me. They don't even TRY for anyone else.

Oh well. Hopefully the next chapter will be better!