Hi. This is my first story I've ever uploaded to so please be nice. I've noticed that Boomer and Jockey have literally NO stories up, so I thought I'd contriboot. I really hope you like it, reviews are very welcome! And Jockey will be coming in later Chapters, I promise Anyway, please enjoy!

Boomer lay on the ground, the night sky above him and the fires and cries of the chaos around him filling his senses. Common infected ran past him and soon after he heard the screams of what he assumed to be survivors. He sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on the stars above, trying to look past the rising smoke. He remembered when he used to be an astronomer. An astronomer with a high paying job, a nice condo, a cute dog named Spanks, a bird named Starscream and the most kick ass computer set up the world had ever seen.

But now he was here; this bloated piece of shit lying on the ground in the middle of a chaos filled city and most embarrassingly, unable to get up. He assumed it could be worse. At least this way he wouldn't be seen by survivors, and if he was they would probably think he was dead. Well, more dead then he currently was.

He'd seen some of his 'type' get shot before. The fat bloated puking ones would explode and he could hear everything in their bodies splattering in every direction, like watching a star explode and bring out every planet orbiting it. Except instead of destroying the things around it, those who were hit by the disgusting mess would have the horde on them in seconds. And oh so very lucky for him, he happened to be the exploding type of infected.

He couldn't remember his real name before the infection hit, but all his friends at the lab called him Boomer because he loved to play video games with explosions. Whenever he would try to remember anymore names or people, he would find himself unable to remember and feeling cheated and angry. After all, why couldn't he be one of the cool infected? Like those ones with the hoods or the insanely strong ones that could run through freakin' walls? He figured it was because of his serious case of IBS and how he had been struggling with his weight his whole life. (Though he thought he was doing much better these days. He has lost 20 pounds and was starting to fit into his old clothes.) Maybe that was why the infection had changed him into the bloated, puking thing he had become.

A screeching sound emitted from beyond his sight, snapping Boomer out of his thoughts. The screeching echoed through the alleys and the sky and soon turned into a frenzied sound of feral noises. Boomer felt chills across his boil-spotted skin and he tried to look around himself, franticly trying to see where the noises where coming from. He knew those noises, those terrible noises. They belonged to one of the hooded infected, those madly strong, wild, but oh so awesome creatures that he would much rather be. But despite how cool they where, he knew they were dangerous, even to other infected.

The screeching and howling came to a sudden halt and the sounds of a feeding frenzy replaced it along with loud chewing, growling and…. Laughter?

'Oh god, I'm gonna die here' Boomer thought. His belly began to make noises and he could feel acid building up in his throat as the stress and fear built up in his system. He clenched his mouth shut, not wanting to vomit all over himself. (Even if he had done it so many times before)

The noises echoing through the alleys stopped and there was only silence. Though the fires still popped and sizzled and far away the sounds of gunshots could be heard, but the silence of that hooded infected scared him more than the screeching barking and growling. Or the thought of the survivors shooting him, causing him so explode. Not knowing what else to do, he began praying to the only god he'd ever known; Yevon, God of Spira from Final Fantasy 10. He murmured the prayers and did the hand gestures as best as he could remember, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could. He was going to die, die a fat, bloated, puking mess. Die all alone in this stupid burning city, never getting to see his puppy Spanks or his birdie again. But damn it, He thought, if I'm gonna die, I'm at least going to a better place! So he prayed, the image of what heaven could be and wondering if they had internet connections. (Or maybe Minecraft.)

"What are you doing?"

Boomer opened his eyes to see one of the hooded infected leaning over him, a confused look upon its face. It had messy brown hair that reached its jaw, fresh blood dripping down from its mouth and all over its front and its hands still bore flesh of its recent kill. As Boomer took in the sight, he realized this infected was female and surprisingly tall.

He struggled to find words and finally peeped out, "…n-nothing."

"Bullshit. You were doing weird arm things and mumbling," The girl pointed out, her voice rather raspy and low.

Boomer felt his stomach acid bubble up again and tried to swallow it down. "I was just…" He tangled his chubby fingers together, "Um, looking at the stars."

The girl looked up at the sky. "Why? There's no prey up there."

"C-cause it's pretty." Boomer stuttered.

"Oh." The girl sat down beside him without warning and stared upward.

A long silence followed as the two stared at the stars. It would have been an odd sight to onlookers; two monsters who were so calm in the center of all that chaos, looking up and appreciating a bit of nature while the world around them melted into anarchy.

As the hooded infected stared upward, Boomer dared to let his eyes wander to her, trying to figure her out. He noticed that she wore a black sweater with the letter S on the arm and under all of that gore her skin was spotted in what may once have been freckles, contrasting her pale, sickly skin. She was built too, breasts generous in size, a thin, flat middle and her arms and legs so muscular that it showed through her yoga pants and sweater. She seemed so strong and on the thin side, like someone who played a lot of sports or taught classes at the YMCA.

Her glowing red eyes met his in a sharp movement of her head and she raised her eyebrow, "What are you looking at?" she barked, feeling threatened.

Boomer raised his hands, trying unsuccessfully trying to move himself back a bit, "Nothing, nothing!" He cowered, tasting bile raise in the back of his throat. "I-I was just wondering what your name was!"

The girl seemed to relax a bit. "Oh," She snorted, "I don't know. Most of us just go by our titles."

"Titles?" Boomer repeated.

"Yeah!" The girl smiled, leaning forward, "Titles! Like what we are! You know, I'm a Hunter, You are a Boomer."

Boomer's eyes widened, "How did you know my name?"

The girl growled a little, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Because that's what you are!" she said, reacting as though he where a complete idiot. "You're a Boomer! You puke and explode! I'm a Hunter, I….well, I hunt shit. And Tanks are those huge ugly guys who break through safe houses! Get what I mean?"

"I guess. But what are the others called?" Boomer asked, feeling rather stupid.

The hunter rolled her eyes, "Well, those ones with the tongues?"

"Yeah?"

"Smokers. And the crying bitches are witches. Then there are the Spitters. You'll know those when you see them. There are those ones that are kinda like Tanks, but like, half of one. They're called Chargers. There are also these weird ones. And I mean really weird. They don't ever stop laughing and they jump on people who aren't infected and rape their heads or something. They're the weirdest."

Boomer tried to picture what kind of infected would laugh and try to rape peoples' heads. He couldn't imagine it being very pleasant. He winced and looked back to the Hunter, "Sounds terrible."

The hunter nodded, leaning on one of her hands, "Called Jockeys. Don't taste very good either. Not even worth the effort."

Boomer thought about that for a moment, wondering if she has tried to eat every one of the different types of special infected. He tried to put it to the back of his mind.

The hunter suddenly jumped onto her feet with a small growl.

"Oh," Squeaked Boomer, "where are you going?"

"I smell survivors. They smell better than the others." She said matter-of-fact-ly.

Boomer realized if she left, he wouldn't be able to get up and leave before the survivors arrived. It killed him a little inside to have to ask, but he pushed past the embarrassment to further his existence, despite how blubbery his existence may be.

"Um, could you help me up please?" He stuttered as quickly as he could, trying not to miss her.

The hunter's lips curled into a bemused smile, "HA! I knew you were stuck!" She snickered, her devastatingly long and pointed fangs showing between her parted lips. Boomer's cheeks felt like they were on fire before the hunter stopped laughing. She threw her hand forward, a smile still on her face. "Alright. Take my hand you big lug."

Once Boomer was up the hunter gave a little wave and sprinted off happily, her growling and barking still echoing through the air after she was out of sight. Boomer sighed, relieved that he didn't die and had perhaps made a new friend.

He began to think to how pretty she must have been before the infection hit as turned to find a safer place to hide. Even after all the infection her hair didn't look that bad. And her figure was really nice (unlike his.)She probably had no trouble getting dates. Taking a few steps forward he could hear her feral call, then the scream of a survivor. He picked up the pace a bit, feeling the acid that he had forgotten about rising again in his throat. Suddenly the sound of Gunshots rang through the air, silencing the hunters call. Not even a moment after the gun shots Boomer could hear the sickening sound of raw meat hitting the ground. His entire being filled with panic, inflating as he gasped. He exhaled, all the acid in his throat and belly flung uncontrollably out of his mouth and all over the ground before him, splattering with sickening noises. "Shit!" He cursed, realizing what would happen now that he had puked. So, still dripping from the mouth, he began to run for cover, hearing the approaching survivors and the horde in the distance.

His mind screeched at him, telling him to fight, to attack the survivors, the infection trying to make him the violent killer he never wanted to be. It told him how satisfying it would be to slice into bodies and eat raw flesh, how happy he would be and how fulfilling it was. Images of murder and cannibalism began to pop up in his mind and it pressured him and screamed to turn around and fight, kill the non-infected, but his common sense told him to hide, HIDE FOR GOD'S SAKE!

The horde was coming from all around him, he could hear it now and his mind raced as he looked for an immediate hiding spot, a spot somewhere in the hopeless, empty street. In a car? No, he wouldn't fit. In the broken down restaurant behind him? No, the windows were broken and they'd find him in no time. He spun around, looking for something, somewhere to hide, anywhere that would work. The stress was making his belly quiver and the acids build up again. He felt as though he was about to vomit again, the bile building up in his throat when suddenly;

"YES!" he shouted. He noticed a dumpster in the corner beside an alley. Perfect for his size and perfect for hiding. He ran over and pulled himself in, shutting the top once his massive body had made it all the way in.

The smell wasn't so bad, considering he was use to the smell of death, this was nothing in comparison. He lay quietly against the plastic bags, his hand in something sticky and he could feel rotten food pouring out through a ripped bag onto his lower half, releasing a whole new stench onto him. He ground his teeth together thinking, 'great, as if I couldn't smell any worse.' Boomer could hear the horde had arrived outside the dumpster now, fighting and scratching at one another to try to find the puke. Why they liked his puke so much, he'd never know, but he waited quietly as he listened. Then he could hear the survivors' guns going off and the cries of the infected.

He didn't know how long he lay there in the garbage, practically fermenting in the rot. After a long period where he could hear nothing but gun shots, everything quieted down and he could hear the survivors talking.

A woman's voice started, "That's weird. They were attracted by the puke, but I didn't see a boomer. Did you guys?"

There was a shuffling, then a rather grouchy, gruff voice said, "No, but maybe he's still around."

"Man, I dun't wanna find out. Lets git outa here" Said a southerner.

The other voices agreed and Boomer could hear them walking his way. He assumed they must have been going down the alley his dumpster sat beside, but his stomach still reacted as though he had been spotted. It began to burn and bubble again, and he pinned his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it in. Just as he moved his hand he heard a forth voice right outside the canister. It was low and sounded like it came from a very tough man.

"Figure there's a safe house nearby?" He asked. After he spoke Boomer could hear the clicking of a gun being loaded.

The southerner was the first to respond, "th'rs gotta be. This is an evac city, ain't it?"

The rest sort of grumbled as they moved along, out of Boomer's range of hearing. After a few moments he swallowed hard then let out a relieved sigh. Finally, he thought, I can get out of this dumpster. He reached his thick arms to the rim of the canister, his fingers barely holding the folded metal as he tryed to pull himself up. He struggled, feeling the strain in his arms and shoulders. It was then that he realized why jumping into the canister was a bad idea;

He'd be laying down in it.

He couldn't get up when he's laying down without someone to help him.

He sat there silently for a moment in the garbage, the crackling of fire and distant screams and gunshots still in the air, audible even through the dumpster. He took in a calm, deep breath then …

"AW FUCK!"