• Published 22nd Dec 2011
  • 32,282 Views, 2,326 Comments

Name's Ellis - MAGO5

A Left 4 Dead 2 crossover involving Ellis.

  • ...

The Bridge

"Ellis! Rise and shine, sweetheart!”

Ellis snorted as he was woken by his friend, in-taking the pungent scent of unwashed body odor and dried blood. He grunted in effort to resist the urge to hurl. Nick stood over Ellis’s mattress, lightly kicking his shoulder.

“Come on you lazy redneck we don’t got all day.”

“Goddamn, man, ah need my sleep every once in a while. Getting slammed against a wall by a charger can make a guy damn tired.”

Coach stifled a chuckle from where he was seated in a folding chair nearby. “You think you got it bad? Try having yo guts ripped out by some crazy zombie bitch!”

“Whatcha do in the bed with your girlfriend is not our business, Coach.” Nick snarked. Coach got up, glaring daggers at the suit wearing scammer.

Rochelle stepped between the two. “Alright, ladies, break it up. We got better things to do here, like gettin’ our asses across the bridge to be choppered outta this damned place.” Ellis was sitting up on the mattress by now, rubbing his eyes clean of dirt and fatigue. Rochelle tossed him a fresh assault rifle and five extra mags. “Merry Christmas, Ellis.”

“Thanks, girl. It’s just what I’always wanted.” Ellis deadpanned groggily. Using the butt of the gun as a crutch, he shoved himself up, swaying a bit before shaking his head to disperse the last of his tiredness. His three other companions prepared themselves and their weapons.

For the last four weeks Coach, Nick, Rochelle, and Ellis have been fighting their way through hell on earth: hacking, shooting, stabbing, and burning any and every zombie between the ragtag group of fighters and freedom. Every one of them bore scars from several recent near-death occasions. Ellis had broken and bruised ribs from the charger, Nick had acid burns around his ankles (courtesy of a spitter), Coach had laceration marks from a witch and a hunter, and Rochelle sported scratches on her head from a jockey’s jagged nails. The four’s will had nearly run out. Several times earlier they had been rescued, only to be shoved right back into the mess, their hard work undone due to rotten luck. Fortunately, they knew that just across the bridge was the last evac station for miles, containing a helicopter that would take them out of this hell once and for all. They’ve been dodging the military’s bombing runs since they arrived in this city, so the least they could do was get them out and put them in some paid-for fancy hotel in Vegas where they could drink, gamble, and party for the rest of their lives. At least, that’s what Nick hoped.

“I tell ya, I’ll never forgive them if we end up being set down on some street corner. We’re basically war heroes, better than any other war heroes combined. Who else has the right to say ‘I’ve killed thousands of bloodthirsty zombies with only a shotgun and a frying pan?'” Nick meandered.

“Mmmmhmmm... all by yoself, Nick? I seem to remember your ass being save a dozen or so times by us while you complain about getting your suit dirty.” Coach replied.

Nick, however, took it in stride. “What can I say? This is my favorite suit. It’s worth more than anything you’ve ever worn, so I think that obligates me to do so.” Coach sneered and waved him off, giving up on trying to show up the dense narc. Ellis chuckled to himself while he strapped his “lucky machete” to his back.

“Look at you two, y’all sound like a married couple.” He muttered under his breath, not really wanting to drag out the conflict any longer than Coach was willing to go. To an outsider, this exchange of insults and such may seem like bitter hatred, but in truth, no stronger an alliance could have been formed between these four companions. They've all had their share of hardships that they bore together as a team those past few weeks. These arguments and fights were just Nick being Nick.

Ellis shrugged and continued to prep. He strapped on the extra mags, slung a med-kit over his shoulder, and shoved a bottle of pain pills into his pocket. This was their last stop, Ellis thought, one way or another they were going to get out of this pit.

A few moments later, Nick was tapping his foot impatiently by the red steel door, his shotgun resting on his shoulder.

“You guys ready or what? We don’t have all morning. Military says they’re gonna blow the bridge at noon today, and last time I checked, exploding bridges does a number on life expectancy.”

"Well, honey,” Rochelle called from behind an open weapons chest. “It might just be worth the wait.” With that, she stood up and brandished a six-shot revolving grenade launcher.

Nick’s jaw dropped. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Coach snorted out a laugh, now carrying his sniper rifle. “Looks like her gun’s bigger than yours!”

“Yeah, very funny. Now can we kindly move our asses to the bridge?”

Ellis removed the iron bar barricading the door. “Well all ya had tah do is ask!” Ellis quipped, much to the annoyance of Nick.

The team filed out of the safe room and toward the spot where Nick had left the radio he used to contact the military. It hadn’t been easy, but they managed to make a pact with the martial forces on the other side of the bridge. They agreed to allow them rest and gave them a window of time to get across the bridge before they destroyed it, cutting off all passage from the city to the outside world and effectively containing the hordes of infected. As Nick had said, the only difference between a diplomat and a business man was who they worked for.

Nick picked up the hand radio. “Alright, Mr. military man. We’re all rested up and ready to go.”

There was a short pause before the person on the other end responded. “Affirmative, you are cleared to proceed. The chopper is being prepped as of now.”

“Copy that.” Nick signed off and turned to his companions. “Alright, amigos, we’re gonna drop the bridge...” He paused, presumably for effect. “...but it’s gonna make a lotta noise, calling every goddamn infected to us like we have sirens on our heads. So, before we throw ourselves into the fire at the slimmest hope of being rescued, again, does anyone have an intelligent plan to keep us alive?”

Ellis thought about this for a moment. “How ‘bout we just run like hell and shoot every zombie between us and the chopper?” Coach and Rochelle nodded in agreement.

Nick shrugged. “Works for me.” With that, he opened the control box and flipped the switch.

A loud, grinding noise resounded as the mangled bridge was slowly lowered. As it came level with the ground, the ramp pneumatically bent it’s upper half upward, started to lower itself, stopped mid-ways, and fell the rest of the distance, causing a ear shattering crash that reverberated through the team's spines, making them stumble.

“Here they come!” Coach warned. As if on cue, the collective wail of the hordes of infected reached their ears.

The sound of death itself.

“RUN!” They collectively shouted. All four sprinted across the bridge. guns in hand. The first zombies came into view from behind the mess of abandoned cars, trucks, twisted metal, and broken asphalt. Ellis was the first to open fire, aiming down the iron sights and squeezing the trigger. The assault rifle barked in his hands, flinging death at the carnivorous beasts that had once been human. Smoking brass casing hit the ground with soft clinks as the bullets impacted putrid flesh. Viscous blood erupting from the wounds. One by one, the infected fell to the ground, motionless and dismembered. The rest of them opened up with their weapons. Nick blasted out buckshot with his semi-auto shotgun, Coach picked off zombies from a distance with his sniper rifle, and Rochelle saved her grenade launcher and sported her magnum instead.

Onward they continued, killing any and every bloodthirsty monster they came across. The four climbed up onto the upward slope of where the bridged had been buckled and then hopped down onto a semi, where they subsequently touched back down onto the paved road. The tide of infected had ebbed for the time being, so the group (or more likely just Coach) decided to stop and recover from their sprint.

“Well,” Ellis spoke through his heavy breaths, “This ain’t goin’ so bad after all!”

A throaty, monstrous roar sounded in the distance, accompanied by the sound of stomping, glass breaking, and metal scraping against asphalt. Fear shot through the party like electricity.

“You just had to open your goddamn mouth...” Nick said grimly.

The hulking figure made it’s entrance onto the scene by ripping right through a sideways-parked semi trailer, its various boxed contents flung off in several directions. Ellis could see it’s rippling, swollen muscles under its thin, see-through skin. He could see its beady, rage-filled eyes that were devoid of almost all intelligence Its tongue hung limply from it’s jaw-less mouth. It gave another hate-filled roar and charged towards them.

“TAAAAANNNKKKK!!!” Ellis yelled.

Immediately, Coach, Nick, Rochelle, and Ellis were galvanized into action, trying to quickly maneuver around the Tank while they unloaded as much lead as possible. Rochelle decided it was as good a time as ever to use her new grenade launcher, taking cover behind a car and aiming it up with the hulk-zombie. The other three were chased around by the Tank as they continued to shoot it until their guns went click.

The Tank started to falter under the barrage of bullets. it flailed its meaty arms around in an attempt to protect itself from the onslaught of pain. It howled and beat the ground with its meaty paws.

“YEAH! GET SOME, BIG AN’ UGLY!!!” Ellis shouted with enthusiasm over the chatter of gunfire. After this, though, he immediately regretted doing so. He had no idea if it was just the noise he made, or if it actually heard the insult, but the Tank stopped flailing and locked his bloodshot, dilated pupils onto Ellis’s terror stricken own. Ignoring the pain and the blood pouring from multiple craters on its body, the Tank bellowed and beelined straight for the life-loving mechanic. At this moment, Ellis’s gun ran dry with a dreadful click. Being stricken with fear at the moment, Ellis fumbled and dropped his last mag. The Tank was almost on top of him at this point, so he did whatever anyone would do when facing two tons of pure raging zombie muscle.

He ran like hell.

“RO! SHOOT THE DAMN THING!” Ellis screamed without reservation.

Rochelle panicked as she squeezed the trigger. The shot went wild, hitting a car right next to the Tank and Ellis, resulting in a powerful explosion compounded by a full tank of gasoline igniting. The Tank and Ellis were sent flying off the side of the bridge. The group was shocked beyond all words or expression when they realized what had happened.

Rochelle choked out a gasp as she witnessed her happy-go-lucky friend flung into almost certain death. She cried out in defiance of his fate. He was like a little brother to her. Nick felt a sorrowful pain stab his heart. He constantly picked at him, put him down, make fun of his accent, and called him a redneck. He never imagined what it would be like to loose the little guy. Coach embraced Rochelle, reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault as she sobbed into his jersey shirt. Nick looked down at his feet, trying to fight back the tears welling up around his eyes.

“We’re gonna miss you, buddy...”

Meanwhile, Ellis was in free-fall. Time seemed to slow down around him; noise seemed to deafen into a low, calm ambiance. Ellis could see the Tank falling a distance away from him, hollering and thrashing in slow-motion. Thoughts, emotions, memories... they all flashed across his brain at the speed of light in random order.

A head injury while working on an engine...

His first art project in grade school...

That one scene of his favorite movie...

Flirting with that one cute girl in high school...

Getting trashcanned by said girl’s boyfriend...

His best buddy Keith...

Ellis’s brain met a realization.


An all pervading serenity washed over his mind, body, and soul as the cold, black waters rushed up to meet him.

"I’ll see ya soon, Keith..."