Thank God We Left it 2 Die

The group watched in rampant anticipation as the zombie leftovers shuffled by the force of a very large man crawling through them.

They did wince, however, at the loud gasp and curse when a mouth latched onto Spencer's leg. They weren't monsters. Just because they wouldn't care if he died, it didn't mean they enjoyed the idea of people in pain. For three of them, they were ordinary kidnapped people.

The other two had spent a hopeless two weeks after their world turned to shit. It was only natural for humans to bully the weakest link.

Plus, this isn't an ordinary weak link. This is Spencer.

He finally emerged, covered in head to toe in gore, wiping his precious glasses with the all two familiar actions. He was a trooper though. No tears, no more curses. It was weird, actually. People shouldn't be like this when their world turned upside down.

"You alright there, Spencer," Jason said in a rare moment of undeserved empathy. He watched as Spencer's face flashed from anger, to happiness, to his default prideful expression. It wasn't nuanced and hard to read. It was clear to all the survivors, even Jenny, that Spencer put on a show that crept every single one of them out.

Jason just thought back on how the guy was able to buy a UMP 45 and ammunition at the last checkpoint. When he checked the store, it listed the gun for 75 points, almost three times as much as he earned. He wasn't a suspicious person by nature, but Spencer rubbed people the wrong way and he was starting to feel a little paranoia towards him.

He sure as fuck wasn't planning on letting him touch a gun again.

"Ahem. I am fine, just a small bite," Spencer huffed as he flicked a piece of flesh off his shirt and lead the group in formation for the first time.

Without a weapon. If he wanted to draw aggro though, more power to him.

It didn't take long before a zombie hanging on the roof jumped down, latched onto Spencer's back and started clawing at his face.

A pistol whip, an elbow, a stock of a gun, and a fist rained on the jockey until it fell to the floor, dead.

Spencer stood up, his poise demanded attention. He looked possessed, red face from not only blood, but anger. The veins on his forehead were bulging and visible like a fat Donquixote Donflamingo.

"This!" he cried out, waving his arms. "This is unscientific! Jockeys are only in the sequel, not the original!"

Spencer raised his foot in the air above the corpse, preparing to stop on it before he paused. He made an, "ahem," noise and slowly retreated his foot before he composed himself, wiped his glasses and carried on silently.

They carried on I'm complete, unnerving silence until they came to a maintenance exit, where a chewed body sat against a wall, surrounded by zombie corpses.

In his arms, rested a hunting rifle where the valiant ex-survivor made his final stand. It was a touching moment where the group looked upon the sight and recalled their humanity amidst the turmoil that was warping their view of life.

Until Spencer waddled forward, jerked the gun from the hands that had it locked by rigor mortis before callously shifting the valiant warrior's remains and pilfering the ammo from his remains.

"My best gun was always the hunting rifle in Left 4 Dead, who's gonna be worthless now, fuckers?" he mumbled under his breath, barely audible to the onlookers.

Jason was totally going to take that gun, don't get him wrong. However, he wasn't going to be an ass about it.

As the group watched the meatbag finish the unnerving display, Jason walked forward and calmly took the rifle from his hands, making sure not to make certain motions.

After it was in his hands, he checked it over with his knowledge granted by his skill before grabbing the clips of ammunition that Spencer pilfered and got ready for battle.

"A boss battle is ahead of us. I need that," Spencer said matter-of-factly. Nonetheless, he made no motion to recover his stolen gun and ammunition.

"This is real life," Jason replied with a tone as even and deadpanned as he could manage. He was NOT letting this guy use a gun again. Ever.

"I have a skill for it anyway. Are you as accurate as I am?"

"Then your pistol, you have three of them!"

That statement was completely ignored by everyone. If the world had a boss battle, then so be it. Friendly fire was a greater concern.

As they made their way up the stairs I'm the maintenance access, Jason took stock of his possessions. He had 7 magazines that each held fifteen .223 caliber rounds for his new Ruger Mini-14, three 9mm pistols and 15 magazines stuffed into various pockets of his awesome jacket, as well as a red med-pack hung by his belt.

He was ready for anything. Or so he thought as the left the maintenance access.

Pillars holding up the building they were under surrounded their vision. The ragtag group of survivors were in an unfinished foundation of a large building. While it was tall enough to stand comfortably, it was quiet. Too quiet.

They made their way through the large room and heard a growl that was practically trademarked by the living dead. Except this time is was more guttural. Primal. Powerful.

Limbering towards them in a standoff, was a hulking mound of muscle and power. It lacked a neck, because it was all muscle. It had little legs that were somehow able to hold the pail, torso thick arms that screamed death. It roared loud enough to shake the room as simultaneous gunshots pecked it's form.

"Spread out!" Bill yelled as he charged at an angle past it, by a pillar and nailed a spray of his shotgun directly in its face.

It wasn't happy.

Jason yelled out a curse and it was as if time slowed down when he looked down the scope of his rifle. The world lost color as he was in the perfect zone. As the hulking tank smashed into Bill's shoulder, tossing him against the room, a shot nailed the tank in the left eye, destroying it along with its depth perception.

The tank stopped charging Bill and looked for the target that hit him. When it stared Jason down, he paled for the first time all night. He saw his own death, but noticed on the other side of the room in the corner, Spencer knelt behind a pillar smiling.

That wasn't a normal smile. It was a crooked and evil grin that was delighted at the thought of watching the infected monster tear Jason limb from limb.

Panicking, Jason acted without thinking.

He pulled one of the notoriously hair triggers from his pocket, switched the safety off and threw it across the room towards the corner where the boomer look-alike hid.

His action was noticed by Deshawn, but Zoey was busy crying out towards where her grandfather figure was tossed to the other side of the room.

The pistol went off and the tank paused. Silence rang through the air as Deshawn stopped shooting when Jason tossed his gun, praying for the tank to charge the racist, annoying prick.

And charge, it did.

Zoey turned her head from Bull's form because the possibility of imminent death was far more important at the moment only to see the tank running THROUGH several pillars, shaking the foundations of the building, running at Spencer.

The fat man freaked out and waddled as fast as he could towards his 'comrades,' but it was too late.

The building shook and the floor gave out. Jason tensed his entire body, put on his best smile and waited for the crashing rubble to claim there lives. This was a rush. This was life. This was worth it, even if he had little choice in the matter.

He wouldn't be like the sobbing Jenny or the scheming Spencer.

He was Jason Howl, a man. A warrior just like the man they passed before they entered this room of no return.

The world crumbled around them, but by a miracle it only took the corner where Spencer was. As the dust cleared from their eyes, the group, no, the team (plus Jenny), realized they were alive.

And so was Spencer.

His legs were trapped under rubble, pieces or rebar steel were pierced through his blubbery form.

"You..." he wheezed painfully as the survivors watched the life flash from his eyes. "You..."

The sounds of heavy breathing were all that were heard before Zoey screamed out, "Bill!"

She darted to his side and the old man pushed her off, but his shoulder was dislocated and he looked tore up. Deshawn took a moment to fist bump Jason with an unusually somber expression for the man.

Jason remembered his med-kit on his belt and handed it to Deshawn, "Here, give it to Zoey to get that old bastard moving. I don't know if the whole building will collapse soon or not and we have to get moving."

He nodded back and ran over to his girl while Jason went through his routine of checking his weapons. "Too bad I lost a pistol," he mused calmly. In his head though, his nerves were freaking out. He just KILLED a man. Not directly, sure, but it was because of him that he did. Just because of a few feelings, instinct, and a creepy smile? Spencer wasn't that bad, was he? He didn't deserve that, no one does.

"FUCK YOU!" a roar that proceeded a coughing fit echoed through the room.

Spencer spit out a mess of phlegm, blood, and bile while he forced himself to speak with a willpower that no one in the entire multiverse could have imagined he had in him.

"FUCK YOU! I was going to be a god!" he coughed some more and wheezed painfully. "Women, money, power, I was going to have it all. The points..." his injuries were taking there toll, but the other survivors let him say his piece.

"I was going to win! First this level of the game, then I was going to rule everything! You! You will not stop me!," Spencer yelled. "I will be back like the motherfucking terminator! I will rise from the pits of hell to end your existence!"

The building started to shake and it only took one look before the able bodied survivors headed towards the exit before the building would collapse.

"You hear me, all of you! Especially you, Jason! You and your fake ass empathy and stupid fucking grin! I will end you! I will skin your body, defile your corpse, bring you back to life and torture your soul for the eternity where I live as an omnipotent god! I. Will. END YOU!"

His cries of revenge echoed from behind them as Bill grunted as his recovering arm pumped as fast as he could. They barely made it out in time when dust from the crumbling structure started pouring into the air.

"That way!" Both Jason and Deshawn yelled as the former pointed to a pawn shop with metal bars that reinforced the building. The cries of the undead stirred the city as the survivors threw everything they could at the doors and windows, hiding their presence from the massive horde.

They made it to the safe house and they now have three and a half hours to get to the roof of the hospital several miles away.

No one deemed it necessary to speak about Spencer's words upon the throes of his death. They just caught their cumulative breaths from the sprint here before tapping the yellow, glowing orb in the center of the room.

At least Jason felt better about an arguable charge of murder from his conscious.