Not One of Them

By Bling Bling Euro Necklace

Rating: PG-13 just to be safe

Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead. It is property of Valve. This is sort of based on a dream I had a while ago. Please review but no flames.

Chapter 1 - Yoga

He crouched down, watching the four humans as they exited the building. He could smell them, the hunger was almost overpowering. All he had to do was separate one of them from the rest and-

No, he was not like that. Not yet anyway. He was still alive. The infection hadn't quite reached his brain.

He pulled the hood of his sweater back over his face. Maybe they wouldn't see him in this corner.

The smell of human flesh was overpowering, however. He was so hungry as well. It felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. Perhaps he could catch another one of those who had already succumbed to the infection. He let out a low growl.

"Quiet! I hear a hunter!"

It was too much. He needed to control himself. The stench of their fear was intoxicating.

"Once we get through the subway, we'll be that much closer to Mercy Hospital. if we can get to the roof, then the helicopter should take us from there."

That was it! Perhaps it was his way to get to a cure. There had to be a cure. He now had a plan. He just had to get to them.

With several bounds, he found himself near to the four survivors. They had amazingly enough not been infected.

"There he is! Watch out!" the woman in the group screamed.

"Wait! Don't shoot me! I'm not one of them!" he cried out. "I'm still a human, I promise!"

He was afraid. They all stood in front of him, their guns aimed at him. The fear nearly paralyzed him.

"He's a hunter!" the dark skinned one shouted.

"No. My name is Mike Thompson. I work at the yoga studio up the street. I was out jogging when I was attacked. I just need to find a cure!"

He looked up at them. He recognised one of them vaguely. The one with the tattoos. That was it! Francis DeCarlo. He came into the yoga studio every tuesday. He was one of his best students.

He knew that Francis recognised him as well. They all cocked their weapons

"Please! Don't kill me! I'm not one of them yet!" Mike growled.

"How can we trust you won't turn on us?" The old man in the group said.

"I can help you get to Mercy Hospital. I've observed the infected. I ... I know how they think. I can help you. In turn, you try and get me to the cure."

"We don't even know if there is one!" The dark skinned one said.

"There has to be."

He looked at each of them. Perhaps the hoodie was frightening them. He sat up on his haunches and began to pull the hood off. He looked up at them to see the horrified looks on their faces.

"Is it really that bad?"

"So that's what they look like under that hood!" Finally his former student was speaking. "God, is it really you, Mike?"

"You know him?" The woman asked.

"Yeah. I know him. For the record, I hate yoga," Francis said.

"Please ..."

They all exchanged looks. He knew they weren't going to accept him. It was too dangerous.

"I could help protect you against them. They would just think I was one of them." He said, hoping to sway them."

"Well, what do we have to lose? We may not even get up to the rooftop anyway," the old one said. "You can come with us, but one wrong move-"

"I know and I accept that." Mike said. "But I promise you will not have to worry about that. I will help you."

With that, they turned and began to head for the subway. Mike cautiously rose up on two legs and followed. No need to walk on all fours for now.

He was not allowed to sleep in the safe room with them. It was just not safe, and he was aware of that. He sat outside the door, huddling for warmth. He could hear the scuffling of feet to his left. He looked over. That was one thing he would miss if he was cured, the incredible night vision. He crouched low. His victim wouldn't know what hit it.

The infected man didn't even know what hit him. While his flesh already tasted rotten, he was still a meal and that was all that mattered. Mike ripped him open and feasted on him. He had to accept this part of his life for now. At least he was still alive.

He finished his meal and crawled back over to the door. the rotted flesh made his stomach ache, but he needed to keep it down. He rose on his feet and looked into the safe room. What made them so special? Why weren't they affected at all? Perhaps if he ate one of them...

No. That was a terrible idea. They were his only ticket to the cure, if there was one. He sighed and laid down in front of the door. He had to get his sub-human instincts under control if he was going to get help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He turned in the direction of the dripping. Water! All of this inner struggle had distracted him from his debilitating thirst. He ran in the direction of the dripping. It wasn't a very large puddle, but it was enough.

He began to scoop water out of the puddle. It was delicious, moistening his bloody lips and slaking his thirst. He looked down at the puddle. The hood covered his eyes. He could see his stubbly chin and the blood on his lips and teeth. He pulled the hood back and recoiled at the sight of his own reflection. His face was covered in sores and his eyes were a dull yellow. His hair was matted and shaggy. He didn't even resemble his old self.

Mike wept.