Hey guys, this is my first EVER fanfic. Debating on whether or not I should continue. Leave your opinions and thoughts in the reviews :) (Constructive Criticism Is Welcome)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The geniuses at Valve do...for now...MWAHAHAHHA *cue the evil music and laughter*
I sat alone in my dorm. The door was barricaded, and I had the pistol that my father had given me for protection in my hand, ready to shoot anything that tried to come through the door. I had already used two bullets on my roommate.
She forgot to mention that she was bitten when we trapped ourselves in our room, hiding from the infected. We had decided to take shifts at night for us to be able to sleep.
I had woken from a noise and looked up to see that my roommate had turned into one of the things we were trying to stay away from.
I cried softly as I grabbed the gun from the bedside table and aimed it at her.
"I'm so sorry Kimmie," I said, and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered everywhere as the bullet pierced her in between her blank, soulless eyes.
I gagged as I pulled her lifeless body into a closet and shut the door.
A day passed and all the sounds of panicking in the streets were replaced with sick moans.
It was almost noon when I started hearing gunshots. I heard someone breaking down the front door downstairs and thundering up the stairs.
I held my breath as I crouched under the bed and aimed the gun at the door. There was a soft knock at the door and I suddenly felt useless.
"Hello?" I called, my voice cracking from lack of use.
"Let me in, unless you want to become zombie lunch," said a deep, man's voice. There was struggling against the door, and I slowly came from the safety of my bed.
"Do you promise not to hurt me?" I asked, wishing instantly that I could take it back. I heard what resembled a chuckle come from behind the door.
"Yeah, sure."
I sighed as I began to take chairs and tables away from the door, slowly waiting for something to jump out and attack me. I opened the door and finally saw who was talking to me.
He was instantly stereotyped in my mind as some kind of biker, but shaking those thoughts, I decided to give him a chance.
He pushed the door in enough for him to get through and shut it behind him. He was easily eight to nine inches taller than my 5' 7'' stature. He was wearing torn jeans and black boots. He was wearing a white tank top and he had a black leather vest over it. His arms were covered with tattoos and scars. Everything about him screamed danger.
"Are you going to stand there and gawk at me all day or are we going to move out?" he asked, smirking. And he obviously had quite the ego.
"C-can I get a few things before we leave?" I said, jumping up.
He sighed. "Pack light and hurry up."
I opened the closet to grab a bag and stupidly forgot about the zombie-body.
I screamed and jumped back. Apparently on instinct, the biker turned around and without thinking twice, shot the lifeless body.
My heart racing and ignoring the crazy looks from him, I slipped past the biker and grabbed an empty backpack from the shelf and began stuffing it. I threw in a couple of shirts, two hoodies, three pairs of pants and four pairs of underwear for good measure. I raced to the little bathroom and threw in a brush, toothbrush and paste, with a couple dozen ponytail holders. I got the cross that parents had gotten me for Christmas last year and put it around my neck.
Satisfied, I zipped up the backpack and put it on my back. I walked back into the bedroom and found the biker watching me as I put the gun holster on my hip.
"I'm Francis by the way," he told me as I struggled with the stupid belt.
"Zoey," I said, still messing with the buckle.
"Here," Francis said, shooing my hands away and clicked the ends together with ease. His hand caught the hem of my shirt as he was helping me and grazed across the skin of my stomach.
I gasped softly and stared at him. He looked up at me and stared into my eyes for a moment. It was an instant spark that was felt between us, but it was interrupted by the sound of more inanimate moans from outside.
I cleared my throat, looking at the ground. "Maybe we should get going."
"Yeah," Francis said, reloading his gun and checking it one last time.
Thoughtlessly, I grabbed a pink jacket and put it on. I put my hair up and nodded towards him, ready to go.
We slowly crept through the empty, silent building. The humming of the lights and air conditioner was the only thing heard as we went down the stairwell.
"Stay close to me, and don't be afraid to use that pistol of yours," Francis said in a hushed tone. I took it out of the holster and cocked it, silently thanking my father for taking me to the gun range all those times when I was younger.
Francis stayed ahead of me as we entered the first floor lobby. I almost fainted when I saw how many of them there were just milling around, as if they had lost everything.
That was when they caught wind of us and most of their heads jerked our way. Francis started shooting them like they were moving targets, and so did I.
They began running at us with their arms flailing and eyes crazy. I must have shot at least fifteen before I finally ran out of ammo. I panicked and forgot that I had another clip.
Francis who was back to back against me was killing them left and right. I spotted an extra shotgun strapped to his back and unhooked it from him and began shooting.
The numbers dwindled and finally, all that was left were corpses. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I turned to face Francis.
He smirked at my excited expression. "It gets old fast kid, so don't get too trigger-happy," he said, taking back his shotgun.
"Sorry," I grinned.
We reloaded with some ammo we found in a little corner and got ready for round two.