((I wrote this ages ago. I'm sorry for taking so long to upload it. My fanfiction muses aren't really letting me do much, and therefore, I'd completely forgotten about half the stuff I'd written. Anywho, here's a depressing little fanfiction about just how serious the survivors' situation actually is. Enjoy!

Dislcaimer: I don't own L4D2, the characters, or what little story there is. My muses made me write this. Don't sue me.))

A serious mental breakdown was in order. Actually, after seeing something like that, it was more like fucking inevitable.

All four survivors had seen it. Right there, out in the open, lined up around metal fencing and concrete walls, were the corpses of perfectly normal, pink-fleshed human beings. No blood all over their bodies, no bright red eyes. No open, screaming mouths. Just dead people. Dead people.

"This is freakin' me out more'n the zombies, man…" Ellis said.

"Christ, these are people!" Nick agreed. "They were shooting people!" From behind him, he could hear Rochelle vomiting, and Coach couldn't even choke out a word. Their eyes were all wide like a pack of deer caught in the headlights, and they could sense the car careening toward them, its horn—a dull mantra of gunfire and the sound of bullets tearing through flesh—screeching loudly at them.

They'd just realized that they would be just as fucked in rescue as they were right now. Nick could see it now. They'd be lined up against a wall and several feet away from them, a soldier would be poised before each survivor (or could they even be called that anymore?), gun in hand. There would be a miserable countdown from 'five' to 'one', and when 'zero' hit, they'd be dead and tossed in body bags for disposal.

Nick hunched over and vomited next.

Fucked. They were fucked. It was that simple.

Rochelle could be heard sobbing and Nick looked up just in time to see Coach make his way to her side. Ellis remained poised before the bodies, eyes wide with—for once, the con-man could relate—pure, untainted fear. It glistened like gold in the boy's eyes and for a split second, Nick almost expected tears.

Had the mechanic actually come to terms with his own mortality? In a dark way, Nick figured learning about CEDA killing off perfectly healthy humans was a manner of teaching someone a lesson, but because he too was scared out of his mind right now, he managed not to laugh. In fact, he started to feel sick again.

Was it really worth it anymore? They were standing right in front of what would likely be their own fates, after all, and sure it was quick and painless, but did any of them really want to plow through more of this hell just to be shot down, anyway?

"This ain't right, man…" Ellis finally spoke. "This shit ain't right! They got shot for a reason. There's gotta be a reason." His words started out fierce and unsteady, but halfway through, they dwindled into some sort of dark mumble, and he finally turned away, attention going to Coach, whose determination had been completely torn from his features. But the oldest of the group knew the youngest was looking for an answer, and everyone around him was desperately hoping he could provide.

Nick , instead of Coach, was particularly keen to respond. He approached Ellis, just as pale-faced as the mechanic, arms at his sides, hands balled into fists. He raised one and it trembled in the air. Ellis stepped back, and the con-man sighed, dropping his hand and letting it relax. Maybe now wasn't the right time to be trying to beat the density right out of the kid's skull.

"They're paranoid." He finally said. "They've probably given up on rescue. We give off the slightest sign that we might be infected—a drop of blood on our clothes, a ragged breath, anything—and they're probably gonna kill us."

Ellis didn't respond. What would have usually been a quick and particularly annoying retort was caught in the mechanic's throat, and he couldn't help but wonder if Nick's words were true.

"Let's just keep movin'." Coach finally suggested and motioned for the others to follow. They had a safe room to get to. And then they could discuss options.

….

Ellis and Nick fought that night. Nick was sure they should get moving if they even hoped to be rescued, and Ellis was determined that going out in the night would only increase the risk that they'd get attacked. Coach and Rochelle agreed with Ellis, and Nick eventually lashed out and pinned one of them—the only one he'd had the guts to do so to; Ellis—against a wall by his bloody yellow shirt. He hadn't expected the kid to fight back, but when he did, the con-man had fought back with the same fervor, venting his frustration and complaining about Ellis the entire way through.

Coach and Rochelle, having predicted this since day one, didn't interject. They were in a safe room and both doors were blocked off, and in here was better than out there, where the zombies would more than willingly join in. They merely sat in their corner and halfheartedly reassured each other that they would make it out alive. That they wouldn't be exterminated upon rescue.

By the time Nick and Ellis had finished scrapping, they were both bleeding and panting and red-faced, and neither of them felt any less frustrated. Nick was sitting at one end of the saferoom, back propped up against the wall. His nose was bleeding and his left eye was swollen and darkening with the start of a bruise. His face was peppered with little red marks from the hits he'd taken and his hair was completely out of place. The skin beneath his clothing probably wasn't any different.

Ellis, sitting at the opposite end of the room, wasn't in better shape. His bottom lip was split and his right eye was already blackening. There was a cut on his forehead that had been inflicted by a zombie, and it was now re-opened and oozing blood.

Both men were scowling at each other. They panted and glared, and not once did they bother to glance at Coach and Rochelle.

"I'm leaving." Nick hissed, spitting out some blood that had trickled down from his nose. "I'm not going to stand here and wait for our rescue to give up any more than they already have."

"I bet you won't." Ellis growled back. "Yer too scared about bein' shot the minute you get there."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "You really think you know me that well, Overalls?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Don't count your goddamn chickens." He launched a nearby empty pill bottle in Ellis' direction lazily and it missed by several feet, clunking against one of the desks blocking the safe room door. "We've known each other for a few weeks. You don't know anything about me." The con-man hated being judged. He hated when others tried to point out exactly what kind of person he was. Like everyone was the same.

Ellis completely ignored the pill bottle, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "I know a lot more'n you think." He tilted his head and grinned smugly. "Like how yer always braggin' about bein' such a badass, about how you didn't plan on stickin' around long, and yet, yer still here."

Nick rolled his eyes. "That's nothing."

"I ain't done yet, shut yer mouth." Ellis snapped, and the same fierceness from their fight returned to his features briefly, before he went back to normal. "See, I have this theory." By now, Coach and Rochelle were listening in quietly from their spots. "Yer some sorta badass gambler who knows how to win all the money and shit, right? You ain't used to the real world. Yer used to winnin' yer way through life, and when somethin' like this happens, you can't run away like you keep talkin' about doin'." Nick opened his mouth to speak, but Ellis stopped him again. "Yer just a big wuss behind all that talk."

Nick lunged first, and they were fighting again. Ellis' words shone through clearly, now. It was almost as if the kid had held back the first time around, because Nick couldn't get a hit in edgewise. Ellis' arms were too strong, and before he knew it, he was pinned clean against the wall, tables turned completely from how things had been at first.

He shoved the kid back after several seconds just staring at each other, then gathered his first-aid kit and pills, as well as the machine gun and katana he'd been using.

Ellis' jaw dropped. "You serious?"

"Guess you'll find out, sport." Nick ground out and shoved the desks aside, leaving the safe room and slamming the door behind him. Gunfire rang out immediately.

Coach and Rochelle stood beside the now unblocked door, wondering. Just waiting. For some reason, they left it all up to Ellis to decide whether or not they'd be going out to stop Nick.

"He'll be back." Ellis grumbled, and shoved the desks back in front of the door. "I give him an hour. Maybe two."

And with that, they went to bed.

…..

Nick had a plan. Stay against something so he didn't have to cover his back and just shoot from around him. He picked up every pipe bomb and Molotov he could find along the way and crammed them into his pockets, using them generously to keep the zombies distracted.

It was only a matter of time before he used them all, though. Cursing and having only gotten halfway to the street the bridge passed over, he threw his last pipe bomb and made a break for the only open door he could find. There had to be something, something in there.

Just more pain pills, which Nick took without complaint, and continued through the house.

The sun was rising.

…..

Coach, Rochelle, and Ellis were all surprised Nick hadn't returned by dawn.

"We should've talked him out of it." Rochelle kept saying.

"It was a matter of time before he gone out and done this." Coach kept responding.

Ellis didn't say a word. Merely followed the group in gathering supplies before they too would be heading out. Silently, he hoped Nick hadn't made it. That the guy was holed up in a box somewhere, shaking like a leaf and ready to apologize.

The other, more understanding part of him hoped Nick was in a rescue chopper right now. It wasn't nice to wish something bad on someone, anyway.

"I hope he's alright." Rochelle wished aloud.

They passed through the door a little quicker on their feet. They knew Nick had been right. The longer they waited, the more their already slim chances of survival dwindled. After seeing what they'd seen yesterday, they weren't sure if they'd be rescued anyway, but that didn't stop them from trying. They hadn't come this far to give up.

Zombies gathered around their fallen friends, hands tugging at rotting flesh and tearing at tattered clothing, and it almost looked sad until the survivors remembered they were probably just hungry. By the time the realization was made, however, the zombies were on them and being shot down just like the others.

They knew which direction Nick had gone in merely by the path of fallen zombies.

…..

Nick was exhausted. He couldn't see straight and his jacket was gone, blue button-up torn into with little bleeding, crescent-moon-shaped wounds from zombie nails decorating his arms. His limbs felt heavy, and he knew that after so long without sleep, he wouldn't be able to function, let alone escape.

It was blurry and zombies crowded around it, but Nick could see the safehouse. The last one. The bridge above it was his marker that he was almost out, and all he needed to do was survive a little longer.

An adrenaline shot was jabbed into his thigh and Nick was running, ambling, legs flopping in front of each other weakly as if the adrenaline hadn't even worked, but he was moving and that was better than nothing. The katana was lifted and a few determined slices were offered to the zombies blocking the door. He pushed through them, arms swinging haphazardly, the attacks more knocking the zombies back rather than killing them, but he was in front of the door now, so it didn't matter. He tore it open and yanked it shut behind him, sliding the bar into place, and collapsed onto the cold concrete floor.

It was a bad idea to sleep. But if he didn't, he'd never make it to safety. There was going to be hell on the bridge—Nick could just feel it in his bones. He needed to rest.

Before he could decide whether or not to get up, he blacked out.

…..

"Through here!" Rochelle cleared a path through the zombies using her cricket bat, and motioned to the entrance to a house. She could see the bridge in the distance behind them. They just had to cut through this neighborhood. Mentally, she thanked Nick for showing them the way. In some really dark, morbid manner, the con-man had created a path for them.

Behind her, Ellis used his shotgun to keep the path clear for Coach, walking backward up the stairs and into the house. Coach thanked him with a nod and they blocked the door off, then continued through, exploring every room carefully.

"Y'think he's close by?" Rochelle questioned and Coach shrugged.

"Depends on how bad he wants outta here, I guess." He answered. There was no telling with a guy like Nick, honestly. He was so pessimistic, but absolutely sure he could make it at the same time. Or else he wouldn't have gone barreling out on his own. Coach shot Ellis a scolding look and added, "We shoulda tried to talk his ass out of leavin'."

Ellis recoiled visibly. "I didn't think he'd do it, honest to God!" He raised both hands in surrender.

"That ain't the point, boy." Coach growled. "You didn't try to stop him from leavin', either. I thought you two were closer than that."

They continued up a flight of stairs and Ellis silently wondered if they'd really been all that close. Honestly, how close were two people when all they could do is insult each other?

However, they'd both been by each other's side despite all the insults. Nick would holler at the mechanic and insult his hometown, but he was still right there to cover the kid's ass when he'd needed it. And Ellis, despite making fun of Nick's suit, had always been ready to shoot a jockey or smoker away from the con-man.

He grinned when he remembered how they'd run the coaster. The zombies had been on their ass, Coach and Rochelle probably fifty feet ahead of them, and they couldn't slow down, even over the steep drops and sharp curves. Ellis had tripped at some point, and Nick had waited there and shot the zombies off of him, then seized him by the forearm and tugged him along, all the way to the next safe room.

Fuck. Now Ellis felt really bad.

…..

Nick wasn't sure if he'd slept for hours or minutes, but the sun was fully up in the sky, so he figured it was probably late morning or early afternoon. Either way, it was daylight and he was partially rested and needed to get moving.

He scrambled to his feet and went to the usual task of collecting useful items—an adrenaline shot because something told him he'd need it for the final stretch, a fresh stash of ammo for his machine gun, and an axe. He dropped the katana and grabbed a pipe bomb, then climbed up the ladder.

Staring out the safe room door, he realized that this was it. He didn't know exactly what it would take to be rescued, but at this point, he wasn't stopping until he was either on a chopper or against a wall with a bullet in his brain. The second option wasn't his favorite, but it was useless waiting and not finding out.

That in mind, he lifted the bar on the door and kicked it open, sprinting out and starting his journey.

…..

Over a tractor and down a flight of stairs into the next house, and they were tearing down another alleyway. They were so close they could fucking taste it.

"I can see the bridge!" Ellis called out, letting out a whoop before breaking into a full-out sprint toward it.

Nick had at least gotten to the bridge, the southerner noted by the still-present abundance of dead infected and the lack of the con-man's body lying around anywhere. That was a good sign.

"Slow down! Jesus!" Rochelle cursed behind him and they rounded a semi truck, bounding toward what was now seen as a safe room door. Behind them, Coach used his pistols to shoot away a few zombies and Rochelle knocked away the closer ones.

"We're almost there!" Coach cheered them on, and Rochelle and Ellis nearly smacked into the door they were moving so quickly. They tore it open and covered Coach until he was inside, then slammed it shut and locked it, stepping back.

…..

"Christ! That's coming from the bridge!" The voice over the radio sounded nothing short of surprised, and Nick smirked at the thought. "Bridge—where are you?"

"I'm on the…on the west end of the bridge." Nick answered obediently. So far, they didn't seem ready to blow his brains out.

"Bridge! Are you immune?" The soldier on the radio questioned this time, and Nick answered quickly.

"I'm not infected!" The answer was given with a harsh sense of sarcasm, almost as if he were daring them not to rescue him. Then again, that was part of the con-man's nature.

"Negative, Bridge. Are you immune? Have you encountered the infected?"

Well, wasn't that a given? Jesus Christ, these people were idiots.

"You could say that." Nick answered plainly, just wanting to lower the goddamned bridge and find these guys, wherever the hell they were.

….

By the time the other three survivors had gathered their supplies and climbed the ladder into the second floor, the bridge had already been lowered and zombies were clawing and screaming at the safe room door. Rochelle and Ellis spent a good five minutes shooting them all away before they replaced their stock on ammo and stepped out the door.

"Let's go!" Coach demanded, and started the morbid zombie-killing parade the three would form on their way across the bridge.

What had started out as a mess of hungry zombies turned into a full-out disaster. Cars were everywhere along the bridge and they were impossible to run around without either coming face-to-face with a zombie or nearly running into one of the many holes that had been bombed into the bridge. A bomb exploded close to Rochelle and Coach had to tackle her away to keep her from getting knocked into next week by a large piece of rubble.

They needed to hurry before they ended up exploding right along with the bridge.

Ellis sped ahead of them and neither Coach nor Rochelle protested. They merely nodded their understanding and covered themselves and the mechanic when they could, then kept their pace behind him.

The southerner leapt onto the hood of a car, then sprinted over it and hopped off, dodging a smoker's tongue in the process. A Molotov was thrown to finish the thing off so it wouldn't go after Coach and Rochelle when they passed. He beat his way through a few zombies, then crammed an adrenaline shot in his leg, moving just quickly enough to get out of the way of the infected.

He had to find Nick. He had to find him and apologize to him and let him know that he didn't want him to leave. It was awkward going through the final stretch without the con-man, and it'd taken Ellis far too long to realize that. He'd make up for it somehow. He'd buy the guy a brand new white suit or something. He'd figure something out, dammit.

…

Nick wasn't too far ahead. He'd been rather slowed down by taking on a tank by himself. He was sure he was a dead man, judging by the way the thing threw itself forward at him, gargantuan, ape-like arms swinging every which way and sending cars reeling off the edge of the bridge. He could hear the helicopter screaming on a megaphone to get to the chopper, and he knew he needed to hurry. But the bullets of his machine gun didn't seem capable of penetrating the thick flesh of the monster before him, and it continued toward him, as fierce as ever.

Nick had resorted to scooping up molotovs and propane tanks wherever he could find them, and when the tank finally collapsed before him, he was nothing short of shocked. However, he was on the move, so he quickly collected himself and kept going.

After the tank, Nick realized how much he needed the rest of his team. It was hard not to turn back and go find them.

There was no way he deserved to board that helicopter on his own, though.

…

"That's a tank!" Rochelle's voice could be heard behind Ellis, and her words had the mechanic's stomach plummeting . But she was right. The bridge rumbled and protested, and cars could be seen flying like ragdolls off the bridge and into the river below.

Nick was ahead.

Ellis' throat went dry, and he willed his legs to move faster. He could see the helicopter below—they were so close. There was no way one of them was going to go down not even a fucking mile away from safety.

Or extermination. But it was still worth trying.

And then the rumbling stopped. With a resounding crash (which everyone recognized as the sound of a tank collapsing to its death), all went silent. Something….someone had killed the tank.

Ellis grinned, then made to call the older man's name.

"Ni—" But before he could get the name out, something cold and slimy and acidic slipped around his throat and yanked him backward. He felt his body slide along the cold, bloody concrete of the bridge until his back came in contact with the grate of a semi-truck. The tongue was angled upward, and Ellis could feel the smoker beating on him from the windshield of the truck. The southerner couldn't speak, couldn't protest. He merely clung to the thing around his neck and struggled fruitlessly to free himself.

And then the tongue went limp and a puff of smoke erupted behind Ellis, and he collapsed to the ground. He wasn't sure who had shot the creature, but it was dead now and he needed to keep moving. Still struggling to breathe, he got to his feet and rushed forward.

And there he was. Standing there, unmoving, waiting for Ellis. Nick was right fucking there, that same sarcastic, tired-looking expression plastered on his face. He fired a shot every now and then, and Ellis could hear zombies collapsing around him. The mechanic couldn't help but grin widely.

"Nick—"

"Behind you!" Nick was already firing, but before Ellis could turn around to tell what was going on, something rammed violently into his back and clung to his shoulders. The laughter served as a disgusting reminder of the creature's identity. It cackled and waved, dragging Ellis backward, and despite his screaming and struggling, the kid was dragged around, from side to side in confusing zigzagging motions that made it hard to fire a decent shot.

When Ellis hit a patch of scaffolding, he knew he was at the edge of the bridge, and it was only a matter of steps before the jockey dragged him downward and into the water. He swallowed hard and made one last attempt to free himself from the creature's grip, but to no avail. His heels hit the edge of the scaffolding, and one foot slipped—

BANG.

The jockey slipped from Ellis' back and a hand caught his wrist. It all happened so quickly that it wasn't until Ellis was on his knees on the ground that he realized he'd been saved. He was panting, and beneath him, he could hear the jockey cackling its way to death. It landed with a sickening 'splash' into the water.

"Let's go, let's go!" Nick demanded and hooked a hand underneath Ellis' underarm, tugging him back to his feet. "We've got to move!"

Ellis nodded and righted himself. He was a little wobbly, but once they started running again, he was fine. Behind him, he could hear Coach and Rochelle shooting. They weren't far, which was good.

"Through here!" Nick pointed to a spot that branched off from the bridge, marked by barricade fencing and tables with ammo and first-aid scattered on them. The con-man seized a first-aid kit as he passed and Ellis did the same, reloading his gun in the process. They followed the street, right past a military vehicle. Nick jumped from a ledge and down onto a bus beneath, and Ellis followed. The landing was a bit rough, but they continued regardless, jumping off the bus and onto the concrete, then sprinted off toward a path that led them directly to the helicopter. The man on the megaphone was screaming even more desperately than before, and behind them, Ellis could hear Coach and Rochelle landing on the bus.

Zombies swarmed in around them, their hands making one last desperate attempt to reach their target, claws digging into flash one last time, and Ellis was happy this would be the last time he'd see one of the wretched things vomit blood.

"C'mon!" Nick seized Ellis by the wrist and tugged him onto the chopper, just as a zombie had lurched forward to attack. It fell comically onto the ground, and got back up to attack. Coach and Rochelle could be seen in the near-distance, and Ellis and Nick shot away the infected trying to get into the chopper while the two made it. It wasn't until the door of the helicopter swung upward and shut that the survivors let their guard down.

They all dropped their guns. Rochelle fell into a corner, sobbing, and Coach made quickly to comfort her. They were both covered in sweat, but that didn't stop the woman from burying her face in Coach's sweaty, blood-covered chest. They were still alive, and they all deserved a little crying right about now, to be honest.

Ellis' gun hadn't even hit the ground before he was on Nick's chest like a jockey, knocking them both to the ground. He wrapped his arms around the older man and laughed. It was a shaky laugh that made Nick wonder if the kid wasn't sobbing somewhere amongst all that cackling. Either way, he lifted both his hands and hugged the mechanic back tightly, smiling a little, himself.

Ellis finally pulled back, and with a huge grin, stated plainly. "I could kiss you, man. I'm so happy to see yer alive."

Nick smirked, high on relief. He'd never see another goddamned zombie again. "So do it."

Ellis' eyes went wide, and Coach grunted uncomfortably in the distance. Rochelle had collapsed on his chest and was now drifting off into sleep.

"You serious?"

Nick merely shrugged, and Ellis leaned forward and obeyed.

They didn't separate until Coach yelled at them for lack of discretion.

They didn't know if they were going to die. There was no telling what they would meet when they stepped off the chopper and came face-to-face with the military. But at this point, they were sure any fate was better than being stuck with the zombies. Or worse, becoming one of them.