Left 4 Stories: Stay Away

Common are distinguished from their brethren in one key action. Specials can speak. What started at first as a scared-out-of-my-mind experience, presents itself as an unpredictable cauldron of emotions. Uncanny matches and bonds have been recorded throughout history. This is no love story.

He sat, waiting for them in the rain, his rifle held high. This was his last stand, and by God, he wasn't goin' out without a bang. It was him, a house, and a whole horde of these bastards headed for him. Then he heard it. The moaning of the many hollow shells he promised to kill with his own bare hands. Then he heard crying. A gut wrenching sob of sorrow; and also a warning.

He told himself this, "I finally realized just how fucked I truly am."

His name was Steven, Steven Brockwell, a man no older than twenty. He brushed his long, raggedy, black hair out of his face, looking for the sobbing, until realizing it was in his sanctuary. The house. "God dammit!" He shouted, going into the house. His brown jacket was bloodied, and so were his jeans. He walked inside the house, hoping she wasn't in the main entrance. He just couldn't believe his luck. The witch stood, and walked away, sobbing.

"Don't you want to claw the shit out of me?" He was being sarcastic to himself, whispering under his breath.

He began to break into a cold sweat as she turned her head. "No......Just...Stay.....AWAY." She walked off, sobbing. But poor Steven could not get enough, he followed her. She heard his foot steps, and she sat down, choosing the comfy corner she had chosen for at least a month. She sat, her long, gray, hair askew, crying. Steven wandered in, and fumbled for a light switch. She heard him, and she started growling. He raised his hand, laying his gun on the ground, defenseless.

"No harm," He said raising his hand, "See." She stopped growling. "No.....Hurt?" She asked. "Yeah, no hurt." He wanted to live (Plus this might be the only person he would talk to.) "Sit." She commanded. "Sure I-I'll sit." The last thing he wanted was to piss her off. "I....Like...Your jacket. Can....I wear." He complied, tossing the jacket. Right then Lightning went off, and he saw her groping for the jacket. He advanced towards her, hands raised. She hissed, stopping him dead in his tracks. She got on her knees and crawled, jacket in claw, towards Steven. She stopped and stood, looking into his eyes with her glowing red eyes. "Whatcha' lookin' at?" he said. She merely raised her claw and placed it on his cheek. "It's.....Been....So......Long.....Steven." He realized something just then and their. "Holy fucking Mary and Joseph. Kid?" she pulled her claw away, scratching Steven.

She cried, and walked to the room next to her. It hurt Steven, she was like his kid sister. He remembered it all. Since it was 2009, and her birthday passed a day ago, She was 19 right of now. Her name was Eleanor, but he always called her kid from the day they met. He met her of 2002. Being thirteen then and she being 12. He had moved to 212 Mountain Grove in the small town of Spruce Hill, Oregon, the town he just happened to be in, also the address. He moved into a big white house next to an old dingy house.

He had been unpacking until he heard a knock on the door. His mother rushed to the door and opened it, welcomed to the grinning face of a 12 year old girl. She had bleached white hair that went down to her shoulders, with big blue eyes, a pair of blue jeans and a gray T. "Welcome neighbors! My names Eleanor, I live across the street." She said happily, so cheerfully. "Well its nice to meet you, Eleanor." His mother replied. Eleanor looked around Steven's mother, spotting him. "Who's that?" She quickly asked, a quizzical expression on her face. His mother cocked her head and turned around, seeing Steven. "Steven, come meet our new neighbor. Well Eleanor, this my son, Steven."

Steven sighed and walked to the door, offering his hand to Eleanor in a handshake. In that moment she gripped his hand, she looked into his eyes with her two eyes and smiled. Immediately Steven was whooshed to the present, seeing the Witch move into the other room. "Eleanor, wait!" he yelled, walking after her. She quickened her pace, the sobbing getting louder. She suddenly broke out screaming, covering her head, running to the next room. He heard chairs being knocked down, dishes dropping and breaking. "Leave....me....A-Alone!" She screamed, huddling on the ground.

Steven went back, he remembered the handshake. He was sitting in his room, practicing his violin. He was playing Beethoven's 09. He finished up the the piece and put the violin away in its case. "What I would give to meet Beethoven." He sighed, stood from his chair and slipped a Beetles disk into his CD player. He grabbed a towel and walked to his bathroom. He turned on the hot water and began removing his clothes. He quickly took his shower, dressed, and walked out of his room. He was 16 then, and he was allowed to drive. He walked out of the house and was greeted by Eleanor's 14 year old grinning face.

"Whatcha' doin'?" she asked, trying to annoy him. "Going out for a drive, kid. What about you?" He replied. "Just came to visit. Did you finish the project for Mrs. Thomas's Class?" She was in all his classes, despite her age. She had skipped a grade and caught up with him in his classes. She must be some kind of over achiever or something, he thought. "Yup, I even did the extra credit." He opened the door to his small Volkswagen minivan his mother had bought them.

"More room mean's more more friends, dear." she had told Steven when they first got it. "Hey, Steven, mind if I tag along?" Eleanor asked. "Sorry kid, I have some business take care of. My dad's coming home from Texas today." Steven said. "How about showing him your girlfriend? Hint, hint." She suggested, putting a large grin on her face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." Steven said, as he was whisked back to reality. He walked away, trying to find his gun. "You.....Go, You......Die."

She hopped into the passenger seat, next to Steven. His cell phone went off, the caller ID being Morgue. He slowly answered the phone, trying not to cry. "Hello. This is Steven Brockwell speaking."

"Hello Mr. Brockwell. We are just calling you to inform you of your fathers death. Your cell was the only available option."

"I see. What happened to my father."

"Well first, he's dead," The caller gave a nervous chuckle, "He died of asphyxiation, It looks like he was compressed by something larger and more powerful than a common strangler. He's completely covered in bruises that wrap around him and his neck. It's quite an enigma, but CEDA found out and is now currently identify the wound and its origin. That's all Mr. Brockwell."

Steven leaned forward, his head hitting the steering wheel. His shoulders began to shake as he cried.

"Steven...It's all right. Everybody dies.....Someday."

Steven was once again whisked to his current situation. "Don't.....Go.......You.....Die." Eleanor said, still huddled. Steven whispered to himself "It's okay. Everybody dies." He regained his composure and defiantly walked towards her. He wasn't about to let his friend rot in a house, alone, and cold. He neared her, seeing her scramble to a wall, closing in. She started screaming, her eyes looking at him. He was 6 feet away, barely out of the reach of her claws. He lowered to his knee and extended his hand towards her. She lightly extended a hand towards him, nicking his finger. All Steven could do was smile. And she smiled, and by God, he bet the zombies were smiling too. "My names Steven, yours is Eleanor, and we are leaving."

Sadly, the love session did not take well to the imposing Horde, whom of course were waiting for the prey that lay in the house. Steven heard the roar of a Tank, the scream of a Hunter, and the cough of a Smoker. He stood, and went to the area he was in before, which was a barren living room. He kneeled, grabbing his gun and jacket. He slipped on the brown jacket, and reloaded his gun. "Eleanor do yo understand me?" He asked, looking at her. She nodded her head, getting up. "Good," He said, approaching the door, "Because if you remember, we easily got out of the college classes because of your random outbreaks. Now when I open the door, you scream, and well, maybe it will sort of go from there."

He heard the scream of a hunter and the solid thump of a head colliding against a door. An audible snap echoed out, the fact being that if you put two and two together, a neck will probably snap if it hits a door. "3....2...1, and go." The plan went to hell, all because these zombies were impatient, smashing open windows. He shot off his rifle, emptying a clip into at least three of the guys. He hated WWII weapons. It was an M1 Garand, and he had enough ammo to last against the horde. With a hint of meaning, Eleanor struck Steven behind her, screaming. The horde subsided, not wanting o accept Eleanor's challenge. The only one to take the challenge was a Tank, loud and proud. She screamed again as the tank roared from outside, bashing a hole in the wall. He charged Eleanor, roaring in rage. She charged as well, but in reality, it was a one sided match. He batted her into a wall, rushing Steven. When he approached Steven, he began crushing him, pounding him into the ground. But Eleanor recovered, and went to the aid of her Incapacitated friend. She jumped on the Tanks back, ripping chunk after chunk of flesh off.

Steven simply wandered off.

He was 20 at the time. It was the start of the infection, and his friend, Eleanor was in the hospital.......

He wandered at the sight of her skin graying, and her eyes reddening. It was the symptoms of some sickness, he knew, but it just wasn't coming to him. Suddenly, the machine monitoring her heart flatlined. She rose with a start and began vomiting blood into her oxygen mask. "Take the mask off Steven! She won't live if you don't take it off. Steven rushed to her aid, removing the mask. but it wasn't over yet. She threw up yet again, the floor slicking with vomit ad blood. A man with a defibrillator rushed into the, screaming "Clear!" Her heart once again began to beat.