Our Life (Sequel to "Remnants")

"Who's Next..."

-Riley-

"Carl," I whispered, shocked by the image and fearful revelation I had just uncovered, "Carl, we have to go."

Carl, who was far too preoccupied with the luxury of real chocolate to pay full attention to my insistence, responded with a glance of confusion.

"Now," I urged, holding up the crumpled photo to display the cause of my worry. Half way through his Snickers, Carl now halted his eating and regarded the picture in a similar disbelief to me.

"Alright," Carl began, sliding the Snickers bar into his pocket, "we need to get out of here, now."

Finally, he listens to me!

"No shit," I nodded hastily in agreement, turning around to seize my backpack.

Much to my fear, however, I discovered that a pair of much larger dirt-encrusted hands had got there first.

Carl and I stumbled back as we discovered the barely recognizable body of one of Simon's cousins stood at the entrance, pointing a pistol at the two of us.

"It's been three God damned years," he sneered in a familiarly sadistic manner, motioning for us to exit the tent with the aim of his pistol alternating between Carl and I's faces as we obliged reluctantly.

I exited the tent, and upon leaving the stench of stagnant air inside it, I took a quick opportunity to look around, checking the area.

Of Simon's two cousins, only one of them was here right now. The other was either elsewhere, or dead, and if he was as relentless as his surviving cousin, I could only pray it was the latter.

"The name's Michael," our captor introduced himself with a voice that practically begged for blood.

"What do you want?" Carl sighed, raising his hands with a surprisingly calmness given the situation.

I suppose that we had been held at gunpoint countless times before – three times by Simon, and twice again by Negan. It seemed to have become an unfortunate reoccurrence over the course of the past two years.

"Isn't it obvious?" Michael growled, "I've trekked across seven states looking for you two and your group, ever since I came home and found my cousin dead in our living room."

I grimaced in recollection of that day, the day in which I had killed two people: one of them I had murdered in such a harrowing manner that it haunted me to this day, and the other – the father of my boyfriend – was gunned down as a result of my own stupidity.  

"Half of the group you saw then are dead now," Carl explained grimly, his voice displaying an emotional pain that only enhanced my feeling of guilt, "and I'm guessing that your cousins turned out the same way."

I flinched at Carl's spiteful remark, fearing for his safety. My boyfriend always seemed to know how to antagonize people if he wanted to, but sometimes that was not a helpful trait, especially when the person being irritated is holding a gun at him.

"Simon was always the one who'd take charge – decide what to do, and when to do it," Michael reminisced, "but after he died, it was just me and my other cousin, Joe. We didn't last too long after that – maybe... a few months, at most – before we got cornered by about two dozen walkers down an alley. We were real low on ammo, and the only way out was down a manhole, but we wouldn't have time to get down."

Carl rolled his eyes spitefully, clearly disinterested by Michael's pitiful survival story, but our captor continued none the less. 

"You see, if we want to survive in this world, we have to be tough. We have to let go of what we had before – family, friends, everything like that... They can't be with us in this world, because it's like mixing the old and the new together and it just doesn't work."

"That's what went through my mind when I was trapped down that alley," Michael continued to explain, "and I got out my gun, and used my last bullet on Joe. Shot him in the arm, made sure he screamed, and then pushed him forward into the walkers. They got Joe, and while they ate him I had enough time to escape."

Carl, who previously displayed no interest or concern toward Michael's story, now regarded Simon's equally deranged cousin as though he were worse than the walkers.

"I've never forgotten that," Michael sighed, "I've never forgiven myself for it. The only reason I kept on living was in the belief that one day I'd be able to avenge Simon's death. And here we are."

Carl and I exchanged nervous glances at Michael's spiteful conclusion to his admittedly tragic monologue, as the latter now slid out his magazine and inspected it.

With Michael's weapon now unloaded, this would be a good opportunity to attack if only he were stood slightly closer, but he was not stupid enough to risk that and Michael ensured that he stood a few feet away – ample space to avoid being disarmed.

"If you're gonna kill us just spare the sob-story and the shitty monologue and just get it over with," Carl sneered, clearly trying to rival Michael's aggression and prove that he was not going to die cowering and pleading for his life. Once again, however, I was worried by Carl's hateful comments, and given that Michael had the mentality to murder his own cousin it was clear that he was not a man to be screwed with.

"Was it you who killed Aiden?" I blurted out, unintentionally voicing the question that plagued my mind.

"The prick up on the church tower?" Michael laughed wickedly, "yeah, I killed him. And it was me who fired that shot too – if I'd let Aiden take the shot you wouldn't be here now."

So he saved my life then, just so he could get the pleasure of killing me himself later on...

"But that's not all I did at Alexandria," Michael continued, and Carl and I both looked at him in confusion and worry.

Michael did not answer initially, instead reaching into his backpack and pulling out a small electric timer with a lump of plastic explosive attached to it.

"I took the liberty of scattering a few of these around the camp last night ," he elaborated with a sadistic grin, "this one here hasn't been primed yet, but the ones I left behind at Alexandria have."

He then withdrew a small controller-like object from his pocket.

"And this," he explained gleefully, "is the trigger. As soon as I push this button, one of the plastic explosives will detonate. When I press the button again, the second one explodes, and so on."

"You're lying," Carl remarked, trying but ultimately failing to sound confident in his remark, and only fueling Michael's twisted happiness in the process.

"You think so?" he smirked, "how about we find out?"

Oh God...

Michael firmly tapped the switch on his controller, and Carl and I turned to hopelessly bear witness to Alexandria's church steeple erupting in a shower of debris and flame in the distance.

"Who's next, I wonder..." Michael grinned.

—

I found temporary WiFi :)

Hope you liked that chapter. It was fun to write, and who knows who Michael's gonna blow up next...