Our Life (Sequel to "Remnants")

Third

-Riley-

The razor-sharp tip of the bolt sunk into his chest with a sickening crack.

My deranged assailant staggered forward, stopped in his tracks by the sudden attack, clutching the side of the tipped table for support, gasping for breath he did not have as he looked up and stared at me, his eyes almost pleading to me, wide in shock.

His stare struck me - traumatized me - in a way no other look ever had. Something about it, some part of it, just... It found a way to seep into my mind and make me feel guilty, sorry, scared, and more.

Whilst the shot would perhaps not have been fatal on its own, the man tried to haul himself back to his feet and failed.

He slipped whilst doing so, stumbling forward with his face impacted against the edge of the table in the process. If this was not bad enough, he then collapsed onto the crossbow bolt protruding from his chest - I jolted back at the disgusting sight that I had caused, as the arrow now emerged from his back, having passed completely through him.

"A-" he choked, his guttering voice barely audible, "A- A- Anne..."

Must be his wife...

Then, with a final hitched breath, his body became limp, and he joined the fate of so many others in this twisted remnant of our world.

Congratulations, Riley.

The third person you've killed, now, and this one was the most innocent yet...

What the hell's happening to me? I'm no better the walkers anymore...

"So you killed the crazy bastard, huh?" a voice suddenly startled me, and I turned around with my weapon raised, still on edge after my third kill's sudden aggression.

"Daryl," I sighed in relief at the sight of someone who could be trusted, "yeah, he - he's definitely dead. I think he had schizophrenia, multiple personality disorder, something like that... One minute we were talking, the next he gets up and tries to kill me."

Daryl chuckled slightly to himself - it was a dark chuckle, which was clearly a result of the killing of many other humans in his time. If I continued down this brutal path I would no doubt end up the same way - just... passing off the murder of a fellow human, like it meant nothing; like it was just part of our world now.

"Yeah, that's what bein' alone for so damn long does to people," he commented, rolling the body over to examine it thoroughly.

"He, uh... He was the one who set them traps back on the highway," I pointed out, grimacing in disgust as Daryl pulled the arrow free.

He nodded in response, having expected such information.

"It were a pretty good shot," Daryl remarked, regarding the body, "went right through his left lung, woulda sucked the breath right outta 'im."

Somehow that isn't exactly helping...

I nodded grimly in acknowledgement, as Daryl snatched back his crossbow from me.

Suddenly, we heard another set of footsteps proceeding down the hallway toward us at a rapid rate.

"Ah Christ," I cursed, walking toward the door with my pistol raised, when suddenly Michonne rushed into the room, her katana clutched firmly in front of her.

My finger was placed on the trigger - ready to end yet another member of my group's life; it seemed to be a recurring problem of mine...

"Easy kid," Daryl sneered, forcefully lowering the arm that clutched my gun, "you've killed enough good people by accident as it is."

Well, Daryl doesn't exactly put it sensitively...

"What the hell happened here?" Michonne inquired in surprise, holstering her sword as she noticed the pool of blood that spread from my attacker's corpse beside the table.

I shouldn't have felt sympathy for him, or so I told myself. He was deranged, wanted to kill his wife - hell, he probably did kill her given his condition - and tried to kill me, but I still felt remorse for what I did.

This cruel world made him who he was. Living without a reason - the way I would have lived, and probably died, were it not for Carl - in torment and solitude; that was what made him who it was, and it seemed... unfair.

Don't dwell on it - it'll just make your mentality even worse than it already is. People live, and others die. You just need to get used to it, because it's never gonna change - not now, not ever.

"You seen the traps around here?" Daryl asked, to which Michonne nodded with a knowing smirk.

"They ain't got shit on me," she grinned.

"I bet they ain't," Daryl agreed with a forced smile, having a very limited sense of humor.

"Yeah, they were on 'im," Daryl pointed to the elderly man, "crazy son of a bitch. He's got one o' them personality disorders."

Michonne looked at the corpse grimly, in the knowledge that his brain had not been destroyed, and we could face a walker threat at any moment.

"Let's get the hell outta here," I urged, with the body both unnerving me and making me feel remorse and guilt.

Michonne and Daryl nodded in agreement, and the three of us, now reunited, turned to leave the ill-fated building.