The Restless Dead

[DAVE KI]

Now that was worth waiting for then some.Now I'm not the type to say moar,but I will MOAR.
Is it just me or do you have two part 35's?

[The Mrs.]

Oooh, a zombie-eating monster. Me likee.

[majorhavoc]

Thank you everyone. That monkey's been on my back for a long time.

ETA: yes, DM, the "zombie digester" is a unique element to this story. But remember that one of my goals with this project is to try to explain some things about the L4D universe that aren't exactly clear in the games. This thing Donovan and Bill stumbled upon is part of that. More will be revealed later. And yeah, nauseating was definitely what I was going for. I grew up on the Aliens movies, after all.

@DK thanks for pointing that out.

[DeathDealer75]

MOAR, MOAR, MOAR !!!!

[majorhavoc]

From the fire escape hanging off the back of the building, Donovan and I discover that we can only go up. Laying discarded and useless in the parking lot three stories below us is the fire escape ladder that had once led down. The prior occupants of the building had torn it off the back wall in an ill-advised attempt to make their sanctuary more secure. All they succeeded in doing was to cut off their last avenue of escape when it became clear that the real threat was from within; that someone had brought the infection inside with them before they sealed themselves off from a world gone mad.

With no choice and little hope in finding a way out, the two of us ascend the metal ladder to the roof, which is revealed to be flat topped after all. A stout bulkhead marks the spot where internal access to the roof was once possible, from the room or rooms that must have been behind the second door off the third floor landing. The one that the rampaging Tank prevented us from ever trying. We certainly don’t try to open the bulkhead now. Nothing of this earth could get us to return to the hellish interior of this lair of the undead. If we’re meant to die in this place, let it be up on the roof: in the clear light of day and with fresh air for our last mortal breath.

The two adjoining buildings are each an additional story taller than the one we’re standing on. No ladder or staircase conveniently leads up the sheer brick walls on either side, but a narrow metal conduit, affixed with rusty steel brackets, ascends the wall of the building on the left. This is the structure adjacent to the alley way that Francis and the rest of our party used to make their escape some thirty minutes ago; the direction we need to go. I test the conduit by grasping it firmly and shaking it. It seems sturdy enough.

It takes me just long enough to clamor up the side of the wall to again marvel at my new-found strength and agility. Here I am looking at the backside of the seventh decade of my existence, and just a few short weeks ago, I would have been hard pressed to do a single chin up. Now I’m ascending a narrow metal pole that would have challenged me at age 40. If not for the horrors that I and those I care for face daily, I might actually feel blessed.

Hoisting myself up and over the shallow wall surrounding the flat roof of this second building, I spy the hooked rails of a fire escape ladder dropping over the far side; down into the alley way Donovan had prevented me from taking to follow Francis, Zoey and the others. I look back down behind me. Donovan is eying the metal conduit dubiously.

“Com’on, Donovan! This is the only way out of this hell hole. You’re not going to let an old man show you up, are you?”

Donovan tentatively grabs the conduit with both hands and places first one, then his other foot against the wall. And there he sags. At my urging I get him to try to reach up higher and pull himself higher. He ends up falling heavily back onto the roof top on his ass.

“It’s no use Bill!” He calls up dejectedly. “I can‘t do it!”

“Goddamnit, what am I? A babysitter?“ I mutter under my breath as I straddle the wall and begin lowering myself back down the conduit. Donovan is still sitting on his ass when I drop the last few feet onto the rooftop next to him.

“Listen Donovan, I’m going back up that wall in thirty seconds, understood? You can either be up there waiting for me or down here feeling sorry for yourself. But so help me God, once I get back up there, I’m not looking back. So move your ass and start climbing!”

“I can’t, Bill,” Donovan confesses, sobbing. “I’m not strong enough.”

With Donovan blubbering at my feet, I expel an exasperated sigh and remove my beret so I can scratch my head furiously. After a moment‘s thought, I come up with a plan. “OK, listen. I’ll help you, OK? We’ll do this together. First thing, stand up, and for God’s sake man, pull yourself together.”

Sniffling, Donovan shakily draws himself to his feet. “I can hang off it Bill, but when I try to reach higher, I lose my grip!”

I form a mental image of how this is going to have to work, and it isn’t pretty. “Well, that’s a start. This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to be right behind you and you’re going to put some of your weight on …. my head,” I instruct, wincing at the thought. "Then you’re going to quickly reach up higher. When you get a new grip you’re going to use your legs to push yourself up a little further, got that? Not your arms, or you'll just wear yourself out. Then I’ll come up with you and we’ll just keep repeating that until we get you up over the top, OK?”

“You’ll be right behind me?”

“Right behind you.”

“Bless you, Bill. God bless you. God meant for you to be here with me, to help me through this.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah. I’m sure it was God’s plan all along for me to be here so you could plant your ass in my face while we shimmy up this pole. Just start climbing, mister.”

“You’ll see, Bill,” Donovan calls over his shoulder as he grasps the pole with both hands. “You’re involved in something larger than either of us. You’ll see!”

Donovan, I soon discover, has wet himself at some point in the last half an hour. Further, a considerable amount of stomach contents landed on the inside of his legs when they were violently disgorged in the room below us. I try to remind myself I’ve known plenty of men who wet themselves and tossed their lunch before doing something truly heroic on the field of battle. The thought should help me now, but somehow it doesn’t.

My own arms and legs are screaming for mercy when I finally manage to get Donovan over the edge of the wall, and then only by burying my face in his groin and pushing with all my might. We end up sprawled on the rooftop panting heavily from exertion.

“Not bad for a country pastor past his prime, huh Bill?” Donovan finally says, congratulating himself. “I guess I had more in me than either of us knew!”

Donovan, I know exactly what you had in you, I think bitterly. Because it’s smeared all over my face.

[Sheriff McClelland]

I knew Bill was too soft hearted to leave D's dead ass behind

Onward men !

[DAVE KI]

It takes me just long enough to clamor up the side of the wall to again marvel at my new-found strength and agility. Here I am looking at the backside of the seventh decade of my existence, and just a few short weeks ago, I would have been hard pressed to do a single chin up. Now I’m ascending a narrow metal pole that would have challenged me at age 40. If not for the horrors that I and those I care for face daily, I might actually feel blessed.

Hmmm wonder if it has anything to do with broken glass? All over his face?Now that is above and beyond the call of duty.Great post!

[majorhavoc]

Don't know if you're familiar with the video game. But as in most video/computer games, the player's character can absorb a totally unrealistic amount of physical damage and quickly heal with just basic first aid treatment. And 66 year old Bill is somehow able to keep up with three far younger, far more physically fit characters.

Since one of my goals has been to try to provide a plausable basis for some of the conventions in the video game, I had Zoey develop a theory early on in the story that while she, Bill and Francis enjoy immunity to the zombie virus, it doesn't leave them wholly uneffected. They seem to have developed a few "zombie-like" qualities, one of which is the ability to absorb a lot of punishment, even a gunshot wound, and keep functioning. And to very quickly recuperate from trauma. A by-product is a general improvement in overall health. It's especially noticeable for Bill, who was not doing well at all at the start of the zombie infestation.

Is it possible that the virus is affecting these characters in other, less obvious ways? Time will tell........

I really apprecate your insightful comments, DK.

[DAVE KI]

Not real familiar with the one in question, but I do know what you mean.It's just that he is aware of his health seeming to keep improving over people much younger is all.This is really one hell of a good story.

[The Mrs.]

People like Donovan irritate the hell out of me, in real life, so I wondered, while reading that last post, if I would have done the same thing Bill did.

[DAVE KI]

The Mrs. » Fri Jul 13, 2012 5:16 am
People like Donovan irritate the hell out of me, in real life, so I wondered, while reading that last post, if I would have done the same thing Bill did.

Ah if it really came to one of those "oh shit"moments it could be handy having him(Donovan)around,cause all he would have to do is out run him.Donovan is zombie poop.

[The Mrs.]

Ah if it really came to one of those "oh shit"moments it could be handy having him(Donovan)around,cause all he would have to do is out run him.Donovan is zombie poop.

LOL. Yeah, you have a point there, Dave. I kind of see Donovan doing the same thing to Bill, if he could. Still irritates me when he'd say he's being saved because there are great plans for him. I know people like those, irl.

[m249saw]

story time?

[SByrd89]

moar please?

[DAVE KI]

The Mrs.
LOL. Yeah, you have a point there, Dave. I kind of see Donovan doing the same thing to Bill, if he could. Still irritates me when he'd say he's being saved because there are great plans for him. I know people like those, irl.

Yeah hear that.Maybe he is being saved,even the Digester has to eat or have the raw materials.On second thought maybe a bad idea,they could have some really screwed up zombies.

[majorhavoc]

I changed the name for this new chapter.

[majorhavoc]

The fire escape on this next building brings me down to the alley way four stories below. As I stand there on the pavement, waiting as Donovan slowly negotiates the steep, narrow flights of metal stairs above me, I consider for the first time the risks that accompanied my decision to stay behind to preserve the life of this odd, self-absorbed man. I realize I can’t recall thinking about the choice I made. No conscious recollection of weighing the odds, the potential benefits and likely costs involved in further splitting up our beleaguered group.

I conclude that somewhere along the line I’ve unconsciously arrived at the realization that there is really only one chance any of us have to survive in this horrifying new world order. And that is as a group, and with the iron clad understanding that no matter what, we all have each other’s back. Even Donovan’s back.

I’ve been asking these people to do things that nothing in their life experiences have prepared them for. Following orders, maintaining discipline. Handling gasoline bombs, firearms and axes. Fighting a foe with a ferocity and single-minded purpose that demands that they kill - violently and without hesitation - or die in the attempt.

For fuck’s sake, I sent that young woman; a girl; a child really, on what might reasonably have been considered a one-way mission to draw out a horde of monsters. What if one of those hunter zombies had been among them? What if that Tank had been on that thoroughfare when Zoey rose up from behind that car, quaking in fear to face down over three hundred ravenous undead? What if I had missed when those two zombies were on the verge of running her and Francis down? She told me to never ask her to do anything like that again. But that’s a promise I cannot keep. At some point I’m going to have to ask her do something just as dangerous, if not more so.

Who am I to expect any of them to do any of this if I’m not myself willing to charge into the crucible at any moment to try and save them? We’re all dead anyways. It’s just a matter of when and under what circumstances.

It’s at that precise moment that I realize why I cannot remember making the choice to stay behind and save Donovan. It’s because there was no choice to make. There was absolutely nothing to consider. This life, such as it is, is not one of half-measures or self-conscious reserve. We don’t have the luxury to back down, or lose our resolve; not once; not ever. Either we give it our all, every single goddamn day, or we roll over and die.

There is no choice. Only a sacred pact among the still living; a covenant of the damned:
I will die for you because I expect you to die for me.

“You look reflective, Bill,” I find Donovan saying as he joins me on the pavement. “Almost as if in prayer.”

“Hardly, I was just thinking about the rest of the group.”

“Have you given any more thought about what I said?”

“About what?

“About being part of something larger than any of us. About God’s plan.”

“Listen Donovan, I’m happy for you that you have that to focus on, to keep you going, but --

“-- Bill, don’t you see? What we just went through back there? I’ll admit it; I felt scared out there on the sidewalk when you wanted me to move up with the others. Almost too scared to move. But now I have to wonder. I mean, what if it wasn’t fear? What if God was telling me to stay put? What if you and I were supposed to endure all of that? Together?”

I grab two handfuls of Donovan’s sweat-drenched shirt and throw him up against the alley way wall.

“Why I came back for you has nothing to do with God, OK? In fact, if anything, it was to spite God!”

“That’s not how I see it, Bill. I see the things you do for the people around you. The choices you make. You came back for me because - “

“- let me tell you why I came back for you, Donovan. I came back because I’m dead already, that‘s why. My life is forfeit. It’s been that way long before any of this horseshit ever started, but it’s doubly so now that it has. The only plan I’m following is my own, understand? My agenda here is to keep all of you alive long enough for you to realize that the only chance any of you got is if each of you, at any moment, is willing to lay down your life for anyone else‘s. The moment any of you let ‘God’ and his ‘plan’ get in the way of that basic truth is the moment you all stop thinking about what you need to do for each other. And when that happens you’re all fucked! Fucked! Do you understand me?”

“What I understand,” Donovan replies calmly as he pries my hands off his shirt front. “Is that you see yourself as a hollow vessel. Ready to be filled up with a higher purpose. Something beyond yourself. I’m trying to choose my words carefully Bill, because I can see you’re not ready to accept the truth. So call it loyalty to your people or penance for whatever it is that you’ve done in your past that torments you. But when I look at you I see a vessel desperate to be filled with a purpose larger than yourself. You can call it whatever you like. I chose to call it God’s love.

“’God’ and ‘love’ are two concepts I can’t reconcile any more,” I hiss. “I’ve seen too much in this world to ever believe that again.”

“So don’t, Bill. But whatever you want to call that which motivates you, what you feel towards Zoey and Francis and the others? It‘s not so different from what I feel when I’m in the presence of God."

"You and I,” Donovan says in summation, directing his finger back and forth between our chests. “We’re not nearly so different as you make us out to be.”

[majorhavoc]

Following the path that Francis and the others took turns out to be easy. When we first round the corner of the alley way and out into the parking lot behind the storefront buildings, we find three zombies scattered on the pavement. Two are have deep, bloody clefts in their skulls, exposing rancid, rotting brain matter pooling on the asphalt. The third is missing its head entirely.

A little further in the direction of the public safety building, we spy another headless zombie. Just a little bit beyond that one, two more in similar condition. Jogging along, we follow a steady trail of bludgeoned, decapitated and split-skulled undead leading straight towards the building where Francis and I escaped in that ambulance just four days ago.

“Your man Francis is quite proficient with that ax, I see,” Donovan observes appraisingly as he trots alongside of me.

“He does have certain undeniable talents,” I reply curtly, skirting another trio of zombies felled like trees, doubtless mere steps from where they first spotted Francis and his party. Freed of the nightmare that was the Asian food market building, Donovan has suddenly gotten quite chatty.

“I can’t quite get a read on that man, though,” Donovan continues, undeterred. “I mean, he comes from a very checkered background, yet he seems genuinely protective of young Zoey. But at times I detect real hostility, directed even at me. Although I simply can’t fathom why.”

“Do yourself a huge favor. Don’t try to figure him out, at least not to his face,” I caution Donovan as we round a building corner. We stop in our tracks. Directly across the street in front of us is the public safety building. We’re approaching it from the side housing the police station. Four more undead lie toppled in more or less a straight line leading to a side entrance for official police vehicles: the station’s sally port.

“He’s capable of shocking brutality, yet he’s obviously thinking of others, Bill. Don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence that you and I have found him on our path to do God’s bidding?”

I turn to my newly garrulous companion and chose my words carefully, as I suspect this may be perhaps my last opportunity to prevent an imminent assault and battery. If not justifiable homicide.

“Listen, Donovan. He’s a regular Paul Bunyan with the axe, but I seriously doubt patience for your proselytizing is among his talents. I’d hate to think that everything you and I just went through back there was in vain. So I suggest you keep your opinions about where Francis fits into God’s plan to yourself.”

[DeathDealer75]

This is great moar please !!!

[The Mrs.]

Hope they get reunited with the group soon.

[majorhavoc]

The sally port of the police station is wide open, the massive oversized garage door raised to reveal a large darkened recess inside the sprawling building. Inexplicably, the dull glow of a red electric light is visible on the back wall of the otherwise unlit interior. As Donovan and I cross the street and draw nearer, I begin to make out the rough outline of an abandoned police cruiser parked haphazardly inside. We‘re half way up the drive leading to the sally port when we stop dead in our tracks. A cluster of shadowy figures stagger into view from behind the cruiser. They begin to move haltingly in our direction and I tense, preparing for a fight.

“Donovan?“ I hear a tentative female voice call out from the darkness inside the sally port. “Oh good heavens! Donovan, is it really you?“

Suddenly two figures separate from the rest and as they emerge from the open sally port, they materialize into Lottie and Rebecca. Donovan rushes forward to greet them.

“Oh Rebecca, look! They’ve come back! They’ve made it!“ Lottie cries out joyously. “Oh Donovan, we thought you two were dead!“ The two women and Donovan converge in a warm embrace, a joyous celebration of renewed hope and answered prayers. I continue walking forward, looking anxiously further inside the building. The smaller of the two remaining figures abruptly pushes away the larger shadow and out into the daylight marches Zoey, eyes fixed directly on me, moving resolutely in my direction.

I experience something quite unexpected; something I haven’t felt in years. An almost forgotten feeling of warmth and belonging washes over me as I see Zoey pick up speed, raise her arms to her sides and spread them wide.

I close the distance with her, a smile beginning to break across my ancient, weathered face. We’re almost together and I’m preparing to embrace Zoey when I see her swing her right arm back and cock her left elbow in front of her. My smile is beginning to change to a look of puzzlement as we close the last few feet. But my arms are still extended useless by my sides when Zoey whips her right shoulder forward, accelerating that tiny, bony fist until it connects with a solid right hook straight across my jaw, wiping the last traces of that smile off my startled face.

“Men!” Zoey hisses. “You’re all alike! Stupid, thoughtless, selfish bastards! What the hell were you thinking Bill Overbeck?”

[majorhavoc]

I manage to stay on my feet. Barely. I’m doing a sort of backwards, sideways dance, trying mightily to keep my feet centered under my body weight, which keeps drifting madly amid a swirl of dazzling stars. Otherwise, my vision is grayed out and the only sense I have of the outside world is the distinctive sound of Francis laughing his ass off.

“Oh man! Oh that’s fucking awesome! Oh, shit if only I had my camera phone! Look at him!-Look at him!-Look at him! He looks so retarded but he’s still upright! Slow down old man! You’d better plant your ass on the pavement right now or you’re going ass over teakettle! Oh, this is so fucking awesome!”

I take Francis’ advice and sit heavily on my ass, planting my right hand on the ground behind me to stabilize the orbit I find myself in while I cradle my aching jaw with my left. My vision still a blur, I make out the shadowy figure of Zoey kneeling in front of me.

“Sonnofabitch, child,” I stammer. “What the hell?”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! OK, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. But you make me so angry sometimes Bill!”

“This is not the greeting I was looking for, Zoey. Tell me, have Lottie and Rebecca cleaned Donovan’s clock yet?”

“What? No, of course not! They’re still hugging. And sort of watching us with, like, really weird looks on their faces.”

“Hugging. Not punching. Happy to see each other. Does any of that mean anything to you?”

“Bill, of course I’m happy to see you.”

“Really? My jaw says otherwise.”

“Why the hell did you run off like that? How could you just abandon us? I’m your mission, remember?”

“Are you kidding me? Zoey, have you forgotten that speech you delivered on the roof of the Shake n Bake? ‘Get your ass back down there mister and help that man or I’m going down there myself‘? I thought you’d be proud of me for going back for Donovan!“

“No, you silly old fool! Francis was alone down there fighting off a horde of zombies. Protecting us! He deserved our help. But you abandoned all of us to go back to be with Mr. ‘Holier than Thou!’ Why? We need you!”

“We need all of us, Zoey. I wasn’t going to just leave Donovan to die. Besides, you were with Francis. He can protect you.”

“Yeah. Right! Francis. That miserable bastard! Fat chance!”

“Why all the hate towards the men in your life Zoey? Judging from all the zombie carcasses we passed, it looks like he did a damn good job of protecting all three of you! I’d say you owe him your gratitude.”

“I’d say I owe him another punch! Big hairy bastard wouldn’t let me come back for you!”

“Wha-what? He kept you from coming back for me?”

“Damn straight! Can you believe it? Like he’s in charge of me!”

“Then I owe him my gratitude! That’s exactly what I would have hoped he’d do. What a minute - Zoey, did you just say ‘owe him another punch’?”

“If it makes you feel any better, old man,” Francis interjects, “She’s an equal opportunity man-hater. She packs a helluva wallop too. For such a small person. Of course, I didn‘t do the hokey-pokey dance like you just did when she clobbered me.” I look up to see him towering over me, extending his hand. “Sorry I laughed so hard man, but that was fucking hysterical.”

“Thanks,” I offer as I’m hoisted to my feet.

“Oh, that’s so like you men!" Zoey declares angrily, hands on her hips. "Always sticking up for each other! What you never see is how you all go around half-cocked all the time, acting like you’re in charge and got it all figured out - right up until the moment you get yourselves killed!”

“The way I see it, you should be thanking me, Zoey,” Francis says, clearly relishing the moment. “It wasn’t my fault Bill hung back to save Donovan’s ass. You wanted to run straight back into that horde, including that Tank! I saved a life today!”

“And it’s not my fault I had to go back to save Donovan,” I add, still rubbing my jaw. “He put me in that position. I saved a life today too.”

“You know what? Those are the first things you two have said all day that actually make sense to me,” Zoey says, rolling up her sleeve. “Thanks boys.”

With that, she turns on her heel, marches straight over to a bewildered Donovan, and drops him like a sack of potatoes with another right hook.

[DAVE KI]

Sounds like clobbering time,only wrong ones getting clobbered lol.Great post.

[The Mrs.]

Poor Bill.