Author's Note:

Undertaking the project of cleaning out the author's notes (mostly taking out the ones at the end since I find them rather useless now) so pardon the change if you're returning. If I spot an obvious issue in-story I'll fix it, but nothing significant will be altered.

I own Carter, Steven, and Hank. Valve owns the concept of the game and the designs for the infected.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Attack - in which a sweater causes panic.

"I can't stop the bleeding…Dammit, Hank, give me that gauze."

The voices were faint, muffled. It was like trying to hear through a thick door, only the door this time happened to be a blinding wall of pain.

"Think it hit an artery? …cut past the sleeve so I can see it…"

What happened?

"C'mon, Carter, don't give up on us now. Look at me, will you?"

"Don't snap at him, Steven, he's lookin' right at ya…"

"He's looking through me, not at me-"

Looking at who? The young man managed to blink once, suddenly aware that his eyes were open. That seemed to trigger every other sense and they crashed back into action. He could hear the distant wind but the buzzing of a florescent light overhead was much more prominent. The only smell that was distinguishable from a general underlying stench was that of fresh blood, strong enough that he could taste its metallic tang. His fingers clenched around the first surface they came in contact with which seemed to be a thin sheet that lay on top of a concrete floor.

"Alright kid, calm down…Breathe, Carter. We're patching you up. You're going to be fine." It took a moment to control his breathing which he suddenly realized had been near hyperventilation and another moment to focus his eyes on the silhouette crouched above him. Hank. This was Hank, one of the men he had found traveling through the city. Blonde, fairly well muscled and extremely skilled with the gun now strapped at his waist. A quick glance to the side - he didn't risk moving his head - found Steven kneeling nearby with the contents of a first-aid kit strewn around next to him. Steven Arthur, as he had introduced himself - Hank hadn't bothered giving his last name. The man's hair was jet black and had been fairly neat when they had first met. After a week he had given up on keeping it flat and it stuck up at every angle now. He was tall, quite thin, and the most down-to-earth of the group. His hands were covered in blood and Carter concluded grimly that, judging by their lack of serious injuries, it could only be his.

"How-" he attempted to ask, only to find his throat completely dry. He coughed once before stifling the rest; the sudden movement only intensified the pain in his chest. Swallowing once, he managed to let out a breath and grit his teeth as every wound seemed to throb as one. "How'd we get here?" The others exchanged a glance and Steven lifted Carter's left arm as gently as he could manage, beginning to wrap some white cloth around the gash that seemed to have no intention of stopping its bleeding.

"It's a safe house, I guess," Hank muttered. "You were out cold when we got here. There're signs pointin' toward it downtown."

"Door is steel," Steven put in. "Should keep any unwanted visitors out…most of them, anyway." Carter concentrated more on keeping back a groan than on any prospect of the infected bursting through into the enclosed space. He fought to ignore the pounding in his chest - and right leg and left arm - and attempted to remember what exactly had happened before he had blacked out.

They were doing fairly well, which was recipe for disaster. Hank could find routes around any large groups of infected and Steven, with the sub-machine gun he had taken from some cop car, could take down most threats before they reached the little group. Carter had the only practical short-range weapon, a crowbar they had found in a construction site, and he could usually beat away things that got too close.

He hated it.

The city was quiet, but not quiet enough for comfort. They could always hear distant screeches and moaning. Hank had once sworn he heard someone crying, but they let paranoia win over and kept out of the dark building they were passing. Carter was the one to spot something moving on a rooftop. It was a dark shape, and it was out of sight before he could really identify it. The young man shook off the thought quickly, blaming his constant state of terror for playing tricks on him. He noticed Steven glance up a few times, his brow furrowed in a frown, but he too seemed to ignore it and they pressed on in silence.

The alley was dark, but free of any wandering figures. Hank and Steven walked in front and Carter kept a careful eye behind them in search of anything that may attempt some sneak attack. The zombies weren't exactly bright, but he wouldn't put it past one of them to try an actual plan. At that thought, he snorted quietly.

"If they get smart, we're screwed." The others glanced back and Hank seemed to cringe, though his expression was hard to read in the shadows..

"If they start gettin' smart I'm gonna turn myself in," he muttered. "No use drawin' it out." A sudden screech cut off any potential replies and the three froze, guns and crowbar lifting impulsively. After almost a minute of silence, Steven swallowed.

"Probably trying to kill each other again…" Carter nodded absently, green eyes still scanning the entrance of the alley carefully. It was definitely an infected screech, but it seemed different from the ones he had heard so far. This one seemed clearer, even…predatory. It echoed too much around the bricks to pinpoint a direction, but whatever it was couldn't be far away. He fought back a shiver and followed his companions as they started off again.

The flash of movement was the only warning. A blur of grey and blue sailed above them between the two roofs. They froze again, three sets of eyes staring up.

"What the-" Another screech cut off any further words and Carter found he couldn't even yell as the air was knocked from his lungs in an instant. The stars he tried to blink from his eyes only intensified as he felt sudden daggers of pain shooting through his chest. A distant part of his mind realized that he was pinned to the concrete, two sharp knees digging into his stomach and his right arm twisted beneath him. The crowbar was long gone - knocked out of his grasp when he fell - and it seemed that his left hand was frozen at the moment.

It didn't take long for the young man to manage a scream, his eyes focusing enough to take in the sight above him. It was a zombie of some sort, that much was obvious. The thing had a hood pulled down over its eyes and yellow teeth were pointed, bared in a feral snarl. Blood was caked around the mouth and down the front of the hoodie. It used to be human, he could tell…but there was no way any trace of humanity was left now. Carter barely realized that he was still screaming somehow, despite having such little air left to use. The infection had turned its hands into claws and they were currently tearing effortlessly through his jacket and into his chest and the arm that he hadn't realized he was using to ward off the blows. He felt sharp teeth close on his hand when it got too close to the thing's face and he yanked it back, ignoring the sharp pain as the skin tore. For some reason he couldn't look away from the face, the eyes that were shadowed by the hood. After a few seconds he realized that it was grinning. That snarl wasn't just one of some mindless beast attempting to intimidate its prey. It was getting a thrill out of tearing him to shreds. That wasn't right, it wasn't normal. They weren't supposed to be aware…

The weight was suddenly gone. He could hear scuffling, gun fire, shouts…the stars overhead were starting to blur and Carter blinked once. The low groaning caught him by surprise before he realized that it was coming from his own throat. Any nearby noise ceased and he was only aware of a figure blocking out his view of the sky for a moment, wondering blearily whether it was that infected coming to finish him off before the black of the sky grew to encompass his vision and he sank into unconsciousness.

His breathing had grown labored again and he could tell Hank was watching him with a good deal of concern as Steven continued to wrap the stubbornly bleeding arm.

"How you holdin' up?" the blonde man asked and Carter turned his focus to him with an attempt at a grin. It turned into more of a grimace, but he didn't have the energy to fix it.

"I'll survive. Just…just a little beat up, right?" Judging by Hank's expression, it was more than just 'a little'. He chose not to question that and glanced down at himself briefly. The bandages covered most of his bare upper chest and there was a bit of red seeping through already. He had a wrap on his leg, just above the knee, and his jeans were more torn than they had been before. Steven was just finishing applying the bandages on his left arm and he could see that the bite on his hand was already covered. "Good thing we don't have any girls around, isn't it?" Hank managed to force a chuckle, though as he looked up at Steven, the black-haired man still looked deadly serious.

"We'll have to stay here a day or two," he mumbled, tightening the bandage - Carter winced as the pain there spiked - and standing.

"Stay here - we can't stay here; what about the evac?" Dark eyes looked down at the injured man and Steven sighed, wiping his hands idly on his already-filthy jeans.

"You're not going anywhere for a while, kid. I've done the best I can, but that thing took a few pretty good swipes at you. We'll be lucky if there's no infection." The simple word 'infection' made the other two freeze for a moment and Hank's eyes darted toward the steel door.

"Just what we need," he growled. "Ya better not get any infection, ya hear me Carter?" The younger man managed a small chuckle, attempting to push himself up slightly with his good arm. It was a failed effort and he sank back down with a wince. The pain was still there, but it had lowered in intensity. A bottle of pain-killers in the pile of first-aid was probably to thank for that much.

"I'll try my best." His voice was strained and they seemed to notice, but no one commented. Steven simply grunted.

"Try to get some sleep. I'm going to see if there's a sink in this place…" He strode off again, apparently into the further depths of the safe room and Carter let his head fall back again. Hank sank down onto the floor beside him, staring at the opposite wall.

"'Destruction is eminent,'" he muttered, ignoring the odd look he received. "'CEDA brought this on themselves'…'watch for crying - not survivor'."

"What are you doing?" Carter muttered and his companion looked down.

"Readin' the wall. People've written all over this thing. Doesn't make sense, half of it. A lot is notes to family, I think." It fell silent, Hank's eyes still scanning the scribbled words. Family was an odd thing to think about now, after all this. They had seen Steven's old boss ambling down the street, green-tinged foam around his mouth. Hank swore that one of the infected he took down was his landlord - "And I'm not sorry about that one!" - and though Carter hadn't recognized any of the zombies yet, he knew it was a distinct possibility. He hadn't been in this city long; the office he worked in had just opened a month or so ago. As such, he didn't know many people in the area yet. His neighbors had fled a long time ago and he hadn't seen the receptionist he had befriended since she had gone to see her family across town.

Honestly, he hadn't spared his own family much thought these past two weeks. It seemed almost selfish, but the need to survive seemed to overpower any concern. Had they been turned? He couldn't imagine his younger brother as some mindless zombie stumbling down an alley…but then again, Steven probably hadn't pictured his boss like that either. And were they truly mindless? The 'normal' infected they came across appeared to be simple beasts - humans reverted to basic animalistic instincts - but that one that had jumped on him earlier didn't exactly mirror that. It had pounced from the roof, it had been following them until they got into an alley; it had a plan and apparently took great pleasure in carrying it out. The thought made him shiver and Hank glanced over but didn't question it.

"You think-" Carter hesitated as the other man turned to him, wondering whether he should even bring it up. "You think they can still, you know…think?" There was a pause before Hank sighed, glancing up as Steven came back in. Judging by the dark stain still on his hands, he had been unsuccessful in finding running water.

"I don't like to consider it," Hank muttered. "The commons, nah; they haven't got a thought left other than attacking anythin' that makes noise. That one in the alley, though, the one that jumped ya…" His face wrinkled in a quick grimace. "That one was smart. Knocked the crowbar from your hand, pinned ya down…bullets didn't seem to do a whole lot. Steven here shoved it off of ya, but it ran. Don't think we killed it."

"It was too fast," the older man growled. "I only hit it once, I think, and that was just in the shoulder. That thing stalked us, you know. I noticed it at least twenty minutes before it jumped." Carter managed a hollow laugh.

"So now we've got stalker zombies, too? What, did it get out of a prison?" The others didn't seem to find it amusing and he fell silent again, one hand gingerly feeling his chest. Subject change. This one was getting a bit too creepy for his tastes. "You find any water?" Steven managed to get most of the scowl off of his face, sinking to the floor beside Hank.

"A good amount of bottled stuff, but the plumbing is shot. It's best to save what we have for drinking. Personal hygiene is less of a priority than staying alive."

"How much is there?"

Steven hesitated before shrugging.

"Enough. We'll hold out until we can find another place like this or some store that isn't stripped clean." The three were quiet for a while, each in their own thoughts. After a few minutes Steven reached over to grab some piece of fabric that lay against the wall and handed it to Carter. "That was the only shirt I could find. Your's was torn to shreds, we had to scrap it." The younger man managed to sit up slightly, wincing as he rested his weight on his good elbow and shook open the garment. It wasn't anything spectacular; a simple dark blue sweatshirt with some drawstring hood. It was simple, but the sight made his breath catch in his throat.

"This is-this is just like…" He glanced up to see the others watching him curiously. They apparently hadn't seen that stalker zombie close up. They didn't notice the resemblance this hoodie bore to the one it had been wearing. Granted, this was much darker in color and free of the various bloodstains. It was actually whole, not tattered and torn in places.

"You alright, kid?" They didn't know. It had been moving too fast, they hadn't even seen it. It's just a sweater, idiot. Better than walking around without a shirt.

"Yeah, fine." He swallowed and attempted a grin. "Just reminded me of something my brother used to wear." What if it had been his brother under that hood, underneath all that blood…? But no, James lived three states over. No way he would end up here. He wouldn't attack me. Infected or not, that thing was smart. He would've known it was me…Steven nodded, settling back against the wall and glancing up at the light as if willing it to turn off on its own.

"Get some sleep. We're camping out here tomorrow, but I want to get out of this place as soon as we can. The food isn't going to last forever and we need to make that evac." Carter nodded, rolling up the sweater and laying his head on it. Much better than some concrete floor with only a sheet for padding.

"I'll take first watch," Hank offered, getting to his feet. "That door's strong but I wouldn't enjoy somethin' comin' through without warnin'."

"Appreciate it, Hank." Steven rubbed the back of his head idly - a habit Carter had noticed within the first day - and glanced around the safe room quickly. "Wake me up after a few hours. We'll let Carter sleep through the night. And don't give me that look," he warned, cutting off any protest the younger man was about to make. "I want to get out of here fast. We can only do that if you get better, you hear me?"

"Fine…"

It wasn't always easy to fall asleep during a zombie apocalypse, but the combination of exhaustion and pain-killers did the trick then. After only a few minutes of darkness - Hank had turned the light out in order to keep attention off of them - Carter managed to relax very slightly. Sleep hit him like a boulder to the head a few moments later and the last thing he saw was Steven pushing himself to his feet and crossing the room to stand beside Hank, their figures silhouetted in the faint light from the door.