Zombie survivor

[59] The bridge

The RV swerved wildly down the road, bullets pinging off its battered frame as raiders in their customized vehicles gave chase. Inside, the group was rattled, their adrenaline pumping as Ms. Heather wrestled with the wheel, her bubbly voice punctuated by panicked squeals.

"Hang on, everyone!" she shouted, narrowly missing a pothole that would have sent the RV airborne. "Oh gosh, oh gosh—this thing handles like a bathtub on wheels!"

"Just keep it straight, Ms. H!" Jean yelled, gripping the edge of a seat as the RV lurched to the side. "We've got this!"

He pointed toward the top hatch, a rusted metal panel above the driver's seat. "I'm going up!"

"Are you insane?" Evan shouted, his face pale as he clung to a window frame. "You'll get shot to shit out there!"

"We don't have a choice!" Jean snapped. "We need to fight back!"

Akira, already at his side, nodded firmly. "I'll hold you steady. Let's go."

Jean climbed onto the chair below the hatch, twisting the handle and shoving it open with a groan of rusty hinges. The night air rushed in, cold and sharp, carrying the sound of roaring engines and gunfire. Akira gripped his belt tightly, anchoring him as he hoisted himself halfway out of the hatch.

Inside the RV, the others scrambled to arm themselves with the weapons they'd discovered in a hidden compartment under the floorboards—pistols, shotguns, and a single assault rifle with a near-empty clip.

"Yo, this is sick!" Jordan shouted, grinning as he held up a shotgun. "We're basically in an action movie now!"

"Focus, dumbass!" Tyler barked, loading his pistol. "This is real life, and I'm not getting my face chewed off because you think you're Rambo!"

Jean braced himself against the roof of the RV, clutching an assault rifle as Akira steadied him from below. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, squinting through the sights.

The first raider vehicle came into range, its spiked grill gleaming in the moonlight. Jean squeezed the trigger, the rifle kicking hard against his shoulder as he fired. The bullets struck the windshield, shattering the glass and causing the driver to swerve. The raider lost control, the vehicle careening off the road and smashing into a tree.

"Nice shot!" Akira called from below, her grip steadying him as the RV jolted again.

"Keep them off our backs!" Ms. Heather shouted from the driver's seat, her voice panicked but determined. "I think we're almost there—oh, wait, nope, wrong turn! Sorry!"

The RV veered sharply, throwing everyone off balance. Tyler and Luca leaned out the side windows, firing at the vehicles that were still in pursuit. Tyler's shots were erratic, but Luca managed to blow out the tire of another car, sending it skidding into a ditch.

"Yo, this is lit!" Luca shouted, his excitement barely masking his terror. "We're actually doing it!"

Jordan, crouched near the back, aimed his shotgun at a raider climbing out of a car window with a grenade launcher. "Not today, asshole!" he yelled, firing and catching the raider square in the chest. The grenade launcher clattered to the road as the car slowed, its driver panicking.

"Another one bites the dust!" Jordan said with a cocky grin.

"Don't jinx us!" Evan snapped, reloading his pistol with shaking hands.

Ahead, the bridge loomed into view—a large lever bridge that stretched across a wide, dark river. But as the RV closed the distance, the group's collective relief turned to dread. The bridge was lifted, its span angled upward like a steel jaw barring their escape.

"No, no, no!" Ms. Heather wailed, slamming on the brakes. The RV screeched to a halt, its tires skidding on the asphalt.

Jean ducked back into the RV as the group scrambled to regroup. Morgan pulled up on her bike beside the RV, her expression unreadable as she dismounted.

"Bridge is up," she said flatly, scanning the area. "Control room nearby."

The group piled out of the RV, their nerves frayed but their resolve steady. The control room was a small, weathered building at the base of the bridge, its windows grimy and cracked. Morgan led the way, her pistol drawn, and kicked the door open. Inside, she found a rusted generator hooked up to the control panel.

"Generator's out," she said, running a hand over the machine. "Needs fuel."

"Where do we get fuel?" Chloe asked, her voice sharp with frustration.

Morgan gestured toward a small warehouse about fifty meters away, its corrugated metal walls barely visible in the dim light. "There."

"Of course," Brittney muttered, rolling her eyes. "Because nothing's ever easy."

Morgan didn't reply. She walked up to the warehouse's padlocked door, raised her pistol, and fired. The lock shattered with a metallic clang, and she pushed the door open with her shoulder.

Inside, the air was stale and thick with the scent of rust and oil. Stacked haphazardly along the walls were rows of fuel cans, their metal exteriors coated in grime but otherwise intact. The group stepped inside, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

"Jackpot," Jordan said, picking up a can and inspecting it. "Let's grab these and—"

A bone-chilling, blood-curdling howl pierced the night, freezing everyone in place. The sound echoed across the open space, low and guttural, and was quickly followed by another—and then another. The warehouse seemed to vibrate with the sheer intensity of the noise.

"What the fuck was that?" Evan whispered, his voice trembling.

"Nothing good," Akira said, her tone eerily calm as she tightened her grip on the broken pipe she carried.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she scanned the open warehouse door. "The horde," she said grimly, stepping forward with her pistol raised. "They're close."

Chloe let out a shaky laugh, her hands trembling as she grabbed Brittney's arm. "Great. Just fucking great. We're in a zombie buffet line."

"Shut up and focus!" Jean snapped, his voice sharp but steady. "We need to move fast."

"Fast?" Luca scoffed, his voice rising. "Dude, they're probably already on their way here! What are we supposed to do, just throw the cans at them?"

"Quiet!" Morgan barked, silencing the group instantly. Her voice was low and steady, but the intensity of her glare left no room for argument. "We don't panic. We get the fuel. We restart the generator. And we get the fuck out."

The group nodded, their fear momentarily quelled by Morgan's commanding presence. But as the howls grew louder, echoing across the open landscape, it became clear that time was running out—and the odds were stacked against them.

Q: Have you played L4D2 before?