*IMPORTANT: I do NOT own The Walking Dead, Torn Apart, or any of its characters. It is the property of AMC Networks, Robert Kirkman, and their respective owners. This is a nonprofit book that is written just for fun. However, any OCs are mine*
At th...
1 Hour Ago (Before "Domestic Violence" and Andrew's Zombified Wife)
Andrew is in the basement of a house, desperately searching for anything of use. The man checked under the workbench as he breathed heavily. But there was nothing underneath the workbench.
"Come on..." Andrew muttered as he inspected a golf club bag up against the workbench.
When coming up empty-handed the second time, Andrew started ransacking the shelves nearby. He started at the bottom shelf and then went up to the top. While doing so, he heard his dog howl in agony.
"I know boy. I'm trying. Come on."
Just when Andrew was about to check the top self, he felt the muzzle of a shotgun aimed at the back of his head and immediately froze for a second.
"Put your hands up." A sudden, deep voice told Andrew.
The man turns his head slightly to see who is aiming at him. It was a man with somewhat balding hair. He was wearing a dark green button-up shirt and dark tan pants. It's Andrew's conspiracy theorist neighbor, Mike Palmer.
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Andrew backs away slightly from the shotgun with his hands still up, With Mike still holding him at gunpoint. "The hell you doing down here?" Mike asks his neighbor in a cold tone, making Andrew hyperventilate slightly.
"I'm looking for guns..." Andrew says with a desperate facial expression.
Mike briefly snickers when hearing this, then lowers his firearm and reverts to his serious look while keeping his eyes on Andrew. "Ain't that precious..." He scoffs.
The older man then speaks like he's releasing all the resentment towards Andrew. "Always thought you were better than me, huh? You might've- You might've brought a better paycheck home. But, I ain't the one who failed his marriage."
"And you're down here looking for guns?" He questioned. Andrew just stood there processing what Mike had just said to him. Max was still howling in agony.
Mike heard the howls as well and seemed to show some concern about the young man's predicament.
"If you don't mind me askin', what the hell you plan on shooting?"
Andrew was unresponsive for a moment but then just came out with it. "My dog...Max...Something tore into 'em."
Max continues to howl in agony. Mike deems that Andrew isn't a threat and lowers his gun. "You got- you got bigger problems than a rabid dog..." Mike tells Andrew as he sits on the basement stairs.
"Ain't you be watching too lately?" The older man continues while he reaches down at his right ankle. The bottom of the pant leg was covered in blood. All Andrew does is stand there in utter shock when his neighbor moves his pant leg to see a dish sponge covering the wound with two large strips of duct tape.
Andrew didn't know what to say.
"You gotta get to a hospital..." Andrew bluntly tells Mike. Mike, however, disagrees with what his neighbor just told him.
Mike then looks up at Andrew and down at his leg again while slightly panting. "Ain't ya heard? The CDCs' working up a cure. Of course, that's what the Asian chick says on the news now," he jokes slightly but not laughing.
Andrew, still silent, continues listening to Mike. The older man takes a breath before speaking about what's happening.
"It's terrorists," Mike says bluntly. "Yup... They figured out how to blow us away without using bombs." He adds.
Andrew is still quiet. Most likely from all the stress with his dog, Max. He looks at Mike again. Mike scrunches his face due to the pain of his ankle.
"Oh boy... I'm feeling it." He says, his breathing was getting heavier with each breath. Trying to make light out all the shit happening, Mike tries changing the subject.
"Today's my birthday..." He starts.
Mike continues and holds up five fingers. "Big five-0. Kids, they fixed me some cards. There's glitter all over the damn rug. Guess I have to clean that up. Maggie, she... she baked me a cake." Andrew is slightly confused as to where this topic suddenly surfaced. "Fudge cake. That's my favorite." Mike continues when his demeanor suddenly changes from reminiscing to grief. "I shot her a while ago..." he mutters.
Andrew was speechless. All he could mutter was a simple "What?" Mike looks up at Andrew.
"My wife..." the older man clarifies to his neighbor while Andrew looks at him solemnly. "Not the kids. I couldn't do the kids." Mike tells Andrew.
Suddenly, a bunch of loud banging and thumping noises came from above the basement. As well as growling and snarling. Andrew was caught off guard by the noises.
Mike however wasn't as concerned as Andrew.
"Hold your horses up there!" Mike yells up the basement steps. "Papa's on his way!" Mike knows he's not getting out of this situation. He can't bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood.
While Max continues howling in the background, the older man points to his shotgun: "She got eight bullets... including one in the chamber. Me, that dog, and two upstairs. That leaves... 4 for you."
"Just pop it. End of story." Mike gestures to his head. Andrew looks at his neighbor in silence once again.
"Good luck to you, Andy." Mike cocks the shotgun and flips it around towards himself so Andrew can take it.
"I'll live for you," Mike adds as Andrew takes the shotgun while Mike still grips the shotgun's forend and barrel.
Mike says one last thing to Andrew.
"I never did like you... until now." Mike puts his forehead against the shotgun's barrel and closes his eyes. Then, without warning, Andrew pulled the trigger, Killing his neighbor, who didn't want to suffer anymore.
