This Isn't A Game Anymore (VenturianTale fan fiction)

Chapter 8- He's Been Left 4 Dead

Running.

Voices.

Running.

Shouting.

Why not run?

Why stay?

Leave them.

Keep running.

Ignore the pain.

Ignore the shouting.

Keep running.

He’s here.

It’s him.

It’s me.

It’s us.

We’re here.

A bright light.

A laugh.

Stop running.

Jump.

Fall.

Gunshot.

Pain.

***

Isaac was awoken by a bullet suddenly becoming embedded in his leg.

With a shout, he lept to his feet, an overwhelming feeling of vertigo clouding his sense of perception. A dull ringing resounded in his ears, drowning out most of the noise in the area. He became dizzy and fell again, landing on what he realized was a rusty tin roof. He looked down, the world coming into focus. Despite what he believed to be a huge amount of rust, the roof was sturdy and had no clear fault or intention of caving in. He stuck his hand in the rust, and a lot of it stuck to his hand. This was not rust, he discovered.

After all, since when was rust liquid?

He shook off the blood, not sure whether it was his own, and attempted standing again. He began looking around, the ringing fading. The world around him was made up of ruined buildings, surrounded in scorched landscape. Fire poured from the windows, ash raining from the sky like the stormclouds themselves were collapsing. Flames lapped at the streets, figures dashing about madly. Their screams echoed around Isaac, their heads exploding as four figures charged through the center of the horde-

Wait, what?

Isaac strained to see the people and the four gunmen(and women), trying to see clearly what was happening, his eyes finally adjusting to the scene. The people, he noticed almost instantly, were not in fact people. Their bodies were rotting and decayed, screeched coming from their bloody mouths. There were plenty of normal-enough looking ones, appearing like regular civilians that resembled zombies, but others were incredibly deformed.

There was one, who was currently attacking one of the taller members of the human gunmen/women(people?) that was ridiculously fat, easily the width of a small car. Pus oozed from various places on its body as it launched a projectile of vomit at the humans. They deftly dodged, but the substance seemed to rile up the other zombies.

Isaac rubbed his eyes and looked again, having difficulty believing what he was seeing. Another gunshot shook him out of his stunned silence, and he stifled a scream as it whizzed past his head. His leg began to hurt again, and he limped forward to try and get off of the building. He soon realized that a.) That was a very bad idea, and b.) that the bullet had come from one of the survivors, who was aiming a gun at him.

The first of two things that he found wrong with his current situation was that some of what he assumed to be zombies had taken notice of him, and were quickly progressing towards him in a small horde. He turned around and bolted for the other side of the roof, but found that a larger amount of zombies were climbing up that side as well. He searched around for a weapon expecting to find his gun or something, but he couldn’t find it. He probably lost it when he-