(Book 1) Left 4 Dead 3: First Blood

7.4

7.4

“Sir! Stop! Stop running!”

Brenan put hostility forward the moment he whisked throughout the line of fire for the military unit without care, which led the marines to set some rounds off their carbines. 

The bullets, however, landed straight to a portion of the snowy land Brenan was about to set foot on, shots that put him into halt immediately.

He shielded himself with his hands right as he stopped, repelling little crumbs of snow dirt from the ground as the bullets hit.

“Stay on your feet! Stay there!” 

“Hands up!”

“Don't move!” 

Yells that came out of a couple of marines from that line. They made a careful approach onto the paramedic, guns raised, they thought he surely will comply this time.

“The fuck were you thinkin'!” a marine growled at the medic. “You're lucky Johnny here's a former cop, otherwise your ass is dead!” 

“But it's not!” Brenan yelled back.

The marine cursed under his breath and tapped the yokel's shoulder, “Get your ass in the perimeter!” He then faced another marine and smote an order. “You! Get him outta' my face.” 

Shortly, the rest of the survivors fetched up at and through the infantry's frontline. The row of marines sifted them from the horde like gems from a chunk of mud. Those wild ferals had fallen out as flaccid dust against the deadly line. But rushing behind them were swarms of the bloated dead. Once again, the chatters went live.

“Firestorm, we got the civvies secured and have reached the safe minimum distance; you're clear to go!”

“Roger that, all systems green.”

The marines began to move around their artillery in a vigorous harmony. 

“Willie Pete, Deflection 2-7-3-8, Elevation 1-0-5-6, charge 3, set! set! set!” 

The gunner's abrupt duck cued the first blast. The quick and smooth camaraderie of the artillerymen led to another pair of discharge, firing up a triad that brought distant explosions.

As the shells hit the ground, they emitted a set of tiny flares and a burst of white cloud swaying in Waltz with the wind. 

Each and every fumebag deteriorated in the phosphate mist. Their inflated proportions gently kissed the snow-capped ground as they were rendered lifeless. The flow of the bloated swarm was then slowed and stopped shortly thereafter.

“Fire for effect!”

***

A pair of marines led the group towards another trail. Neither of the survivors have a clue of their arriving point. But not a few seconds had passed when the muffled gunshots behind them were replaced by other ones rising from across. 

Next thing they know, a lush egress broke out of their way. Gunshots are intensifying as they get closer. As soon as they reached the egress, a bright, wide slope bursted into their view. It turned out to be the base of a snowy mountain, where swarms of infected were rushing down like an avalanche. 

“Holy shit.” Brenan muttered as he caught that abominable chaos with his eyes. 

With a long wall of piled-up sandbags running on the mountain base dividing them from the killing zone, a company with a mix of military troops and civilians who are garbed with tactical gear and armed with different kinds of guns are lined up in a row as they engage in a firefight against the infected. The survivors barely slip as they walk over countless empty shell casings scattered on their icy path.