(Book 3) Left 4 Dead 3: Dry County

1.4

They had found a way to get to the school's roof, as it appeared to have also become a refuge for some of the forces that once took position before the place got overrun. The whole roof was deterred by sandbags and barbed wires. At first it was funny for Brenan to think, for they used to view school as a prison. And now the one they're currently on looks like one. 

They were able to build a fire and placed it in the center of the roof, granting them heat and illumination. A beacon of hope in the middle of the miserable sea of despair and lifelessness.

Daeshim felt the rope tighten around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the chair. As much as they hated it, they had to. A sterile dressing on the bite won't keep the flu from transforming him into one of those ghouls. 

Brenan knelt in front of him, his face twisted with guilt and regret. He looked into Daeshim's eyes and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it again and sighed, then tried again.

“Hey umm…I just wanna tell ya’ I'm sorry,” he said in a low voice. He lowered his head and fiddled with his fingers. “It was my fault for putting you through this shit.”

Daeshim's pale face didn't seem to have any mark of hatred towards Brenan, but rather an image of grief. He was already grieving himself. He faced the medic with that look as he listened to him. 

“I didn't know what I was thinkin’,” Brenan continued, his eyes shooting up to the dark horizon, shaking his head. “Bringing y'all into a fuckin’ deathtrap with me… That was, so far, the stupidest thing I've ever done yet.” Anxiety hung in his voice as he gawked back to Daeshim. “We could've found another place to stay, I dunno, like a motel, or gas station or sumthin’. Instead we're in a freakin’ high school filled with sophomore zombies—” he cut himself off and pressed his lips, shaking his head. “What was I thinkin’?” he uttered as he jerked his arm, shunting. Brenan bowed, the guilt eating him from within. 

“It's okay.” A voice turned his head up.

“It's not your fault,” Daeshim told him. His foreign accent was strong, but the message was clear.

Brenan pressed his lips again and shook his head. He looked up and gave him a weak smile. “Who knew it would take you a zombie bite just to talk,” he joked. He tapped Daeshim's thigh and flashed him his sad smile. “How do you feel, bud?”

Daeshim returned the smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I'm good.” 

Brenan nodded, lines formed on his forehead, his eyes narrowed. “You feel it yet?”

“No,” Daeshim sighed and drew his eyes away from him, bringing them into the skies. The night clouds are slowly disappearing, and the stars are gradually becoming visible. It's as if the heaven's thresholds are preparing to welcome him. 

“But I'll get there.”

Meanwhile, on a dark corner of the roof, Dwain was looming over a pile of sandbags. He had been keeping himself busy this whole time, trying to avoid thinking about... Well, it was pretty obvious what he wanted to avoid thinking about. But now… seeing Daeshim like that, with pale skin, inches away from zombification himself…

Dwain took in a shuddering breath. He could remember the sight of his daughter and wife, freshly-turned and with no light in their eyes, like it was mere moments ago, the vision as clear as a photograph. This was no death. It was worse than that.

Far, far above, in the sky, a lone bird called. Although he couldn’t see it in the darkness, he could recognize it by its call… It was a pigeon. (At midnight?)

A memory, startlingly powerful, suddenly forced itself into his mind. This was not like the uninviting, sharp, terror-filled memories that filled his brain from after the zombies came—this memory was eroded, fuzzy, worn at the edges. Restitched with pieces in the background he wasn’t sure had originally been there.

“Daddy?” a young voice called. She was sitting on the porch on a bright summer’s day, caught in a moment.

“Hey, Dana,” he had said, in a voice full of patience, if a little exasperated at her constant questions. (If he had known… If he could have ever guessed… He would never have—)

“Look,” she pointed to a pigeon. The five-year old was smiling, looking up with an expression brighter than the sun.

“A pigeon!” He had congratulated her for spotting it. “Good job, Little Dee.” 

“Not a pigeon, silly,” she had laughed at him, clear brown eyes glinting in the daylight. “A rock dove! ‘Pigeon’ is the fussy name for them.” She turned around to smile at him and–

But that part of the memory was gone, its image faded to mere words. Loved to dust.

The sunshine faded, the cold returned, and the world went dark again. Dwain looked up into the endless black, up and up and up, and he knew in his heart that Dana and Trish were truly gone. And soon, Daeshim too. 

Jess’s voice rang in his head like a knife.

 “You’re being sentimental, big guy… That’ll eventually get you killed.”

He was in free-fall. Gravity had ceased to exist and everything was gone and there was only nothing, only darkness. The clouds had covered the stars so that it looked like all light had gone out, and all the little lights of civilization that would normally be there had faded into obscurity.

‘And to think,’ Dwain thought to himself, almost hysterically, ‘That all of those, war, hard work, sacrifice, through years and years… It’s all gone to shit real quick.’ 

Dwain put his head in his hands. His internal monologue had come crashing to a stop, and now there was only silence. And finally, silently, he began to cry. 

‘Oh, fuck you, Jess’ he cursed in his mind, as if she were there and could hear his defense. ‘If I’m sentimental, what does it matter? The ones I tried hardest to protect, they already dead.’