L4D Ch1 RD
“I’ll have my Tits Lager’ Bill said as he pulled a chair into the bar, taking out a coupon. It was Friday, beer night for him. He was in his seventies and had thinning grey hair, an unreasonably thick grey beard, and was dressed in a green coat, a white under shirt, grey baggy pants, brown boots and a green military beret to top it all off. The outfit was worn in celebration of the 43rd anniversary of his service in Vietnam (his uniform was unavailable for anonymous reasons wink this was also a good day to celebrate because Bill won the very first bottle of the new beer released exclusively to the bar he lives by.
“Make that two,” said a man squeaking an old wooden stool into an empty spot next to Bill after having a label-covered bottle put in front of him. The man appeared to be in his forties, and looked like the kind of douche-bag biker who’s giant-ass Harley Davidson chopper is loud enough to make an angry mob out of your whole neighborhood. He had a buzz-cut, side-burns, and his chin and lip area looked like a soul-patch, a goatee, and a moustache hade a baby and that was the result; he was wearing a black jean-jacket, a white under shirt, black pants, and black shoes, and his arms were covered in tattoos. “Name’s Francis,” he said, offering his hand to Bill. Bill shook the outstretched hand and introduced himself. “I see you fought in the army,” Francis said, vaguely nodding in the direction of Bill’s majestic head ornament.
Bill searched himself in confusion for what Francis might have seen as a hint at Bill’s past, realizing that his whole outfit was a stereotype all on it’s own without the hat he said, ”Either that or prison, the army was supposed to be a form of punishment, I just saw it as more asses to kick.”
“Haha! What was the prison for?”
“Disturbing the peace” Bill said with an arrogant voice,” Namely bar fights, I almost killed a guy.”
“Yeah, but fightin’s a man’s sport, if the pussy didn’t to get hurt then he should’ve backed out when he had the chance!”
“Heh, you said it man!”
“To those with balls!” Francis said raising his full glass, which was met by Bill’s bottle, but before the two could even sniff their ale it was snatched away by a new stranger.
This was a large man, so large, in fact, that he made Fat Bastard look like a super model. He was clad in brown yoga pants, grey tee shirt that pressed up against his chest, leaving a massive imprint of his oversized moobs, and white socks inside cheap black sandals.
“What the hell! Do you want to pay for that in blood or booze!” Francis said jumping out of his seat to meet the fat man’s smirk.
“Sit down Francis!” Bill said reaching for his new friends arm, ”It’s not worth goin’ to jail just for some beer.”
“Yeah Fran, besides, the new stuff should always go to those most deserving of it!” the stranger said with an empty mug at his side, and a half- full bottle on it’s way to his lips.
“Most deserving? What entitles you to that status?”
“Not being old and feeble.”
“Alright Francis, kick his ass,” Bill said rising up to meet his friend.
The fat man burst into a spontaneous downpour of sweat as the two snarling men slowly approached with fists raised and eyes blazing with anger, but before the packed fists could make contact with the puffy face the bar was silenced by a series of loud, deed, gurgling sounds.
“What the hell?!” Bill said backing away in a state of bewilderment and fear.
“HAHA! Good thing we didn’t hit him, he would have blown up!” Francis said hurling his head back in hilarious laughter, but he couldn’t have been any more right.
As the gurgling became louder and more grotesque, the man began to grow massive greasy boils and his skin a pale grey-green, unleashing shrill and increasingly inhuman cries of pain. A half-passed-out woman stumbled back into the plains of reality and released a shrill cry of terror at the sight of the deformed human grease-ball. As the sound of the woman’s cries the creature hobbled over to her at lightning speed, leaving a trail of inhuman green goop. Before the frantic damsel had time to react the massive grease creature unleashed an uncontrollable stream stream of vomit into his victim’s open mouth.
Soon after, the woman began to transform herself, but not into a putrid grease-monster, instead, her skin her skin grew pale and her eyes grew a ghastly pale white. Before the bar of drunkards had time to grasp a concept of the new torn-apart reality, the pair of creatures had already begun transforming and killing the remaining humans. The old bar tender, who was among the first of the drunk to regain consciousness, quickly drew a shotgun from under the beer taps and loaded eight shots. He had managed to take out three of the creatures before being pounced on by a creature whose face was shrouded by a black hoodie, he was also wearing brown, and strips of shining tape marked his wrists and shins. Pinned and helpless against the deformed hoodlum, the old man was clawed to death. Being the only ones who hadn’t been intoxicated, Bill and Francis decided they didn’t want to see what they would turn into, and launched themselves at the door faster than an obese man to a fast food restaurant. The two almost made it to the large wooden gateway to freedom when Bill was pounced on by a hooded creature; having thought ahead Francis took the bartender’s firearm, quickly, he unloaded an empty shell thus triggering a new buckshot shell to take its place. With his weapon loaded and positioned he fired the cluster of pellets into the attacker’s skull, freeing his friend.
“Merry Christmas,” Francis said coolly, offering his hand in assistance to Bill.
Once arisen Bill tried to open the heavy wooden door, his relentless tugging gradually transformed into a strenuous heave, until he fell backwards in defeat. Rising up to challenge his inanimate wooden foe he tried the lock, after numerous fruitless attempts he said, ”Damn thing’s stuck, looks like some zombie sh*t dried up on it.”
Francis said, “These things are zombies? Says who?”
“No one needs to say anything,” bill said nodding in the direction of the fumbling creatures, all equipped with empty eyes.
“Right,” Francis said, ”Watch out, this door is coming down.”
As Francis primed his weapon for another shot Bill moved aside. As the supply of the living quickly dwindled, and the zombies became aware of the presence of the two escapists Francis shot off the lock, and the two men burst into freedom.
“We made it!” Francis said catching his breath after the breakneck sprint across the six-lane street, but their joy was short-lived when the duo looked back at the hell-hole they had just escaped to see a flood of horrid zombies pouring through the open door, and as a pair of demon eyes stared them down they realized that the war had only just begun.
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