Our Life (Sequel to "Remnants")

Scars of the Past

-Riley-

(Four years earlier)

"Mom?" I call out desperately, my voice drowned by the tsunami of frantic commotion and cries of distress as thirty families struggled to gather whatever supplies they could before we were overwhelmed by hoards of the undead.

Deafeningly loud music blared out from the tavern at the far end of the street. Nobody knew for sure what had happened, but amid the cursing and worried conversation I deciphered that someone had got drunk at the bar and turned on a disco set that had been left behind before the apocalypse.

My parents were nowhere to be seen, but I discovered much to my horror that finding my parents was not my biggest concern right now, as several shambling corpses began to emerge on the horizon, their silhouettes highlighted by the eerie moonlight.

"Mom!" I shout out again, becoming even more terrified as at least a dozen walkers began lumbering toward us, transfixed and beckoned by the music. As several adults began collecting firearms from the back of a truck, I realized that I had never seen blood spilled before now, and as I watched pistols and rifles being loaded, I knew that the day would not end without that changing.

Meanwhile, I watched as a middle-aged man walked over to one particular family, practically dragging another clearly intoxicated one behind him. Judging from the excessive use of profanity toward the drunken man, followed by a well-aimed punch to his nose, this man was responsible for the large cluster of undead that grew closer by the second.

About half a dozen survivors clambered atop cars, brandishing rifles and pistols, and began taking shots toward the advancing corpses.  A few of the walkers collapsed were killed, but these people were clearly inexperienced with firearms, and this combined with the poor visibility of night meant that a majority of the bullets missed their mark.

"You stupid piece o' shit!" I heard someone yell, and I turned to discover that the drunken man had now been knocked to the ground, before being kicked once more by an infuriated survivor.

Whilst I could not help pity the intoxicated victim at the moment, who was almost too drunk to even comprehend what was happening, if he had caused this then his punishment was more than deserved.

"Mom! Dad!" I cried once more, my yells becoming more frantic as I discovered that many of those who were previously shooting at the walkers had now holstered their firearms and prioritized retreating, running to find their families instead of staying to fight.

I rushed over to the truck containing weapons, which too had been abandoned, and picked up the only weapon that I would be able to carry: a small 9mm pistol.

I didn't know what I expected to do with it – I had never even held a weapon before now. I didn't know how to load it, how to aim properly, how to fire or how to compensate for recoil, and the prospect of spilling blood and gore was an utterly nightmarish one, but I still felt safer when I clutched it tightly in my grasp.

"Leave the pathetic bastard!" I heard someone yell, clearly regarding the drunken man, and I turned once more to see that he had been left behind in the street, with a bleeding nose and split lip, to suffer the fate of the walkers that he had brought about.

I considered helping him, but I was only eleven years old – hardly capable to fire a gun, let alone be a hero who runs around saving people. I turned to walk away, and that was when I heard the scream.

My mother's scream.

"Riley! Run!"

—

(Present Day)

Something about that gut-wrenching memory seemed... familiar now, as I glanced between a sadistic Michael, a shocked Carl, and a blazing Alexandrian church.

Then it clicked to me.

After all this time...

"You," I turned to face Michael, "it was you."

Michael and Carl now both turned to me in confusion, prompting me to elaborate with a burning fury.

"You got drunk and switched on the music..."

It took the two others several moments to realize what I was talking about, and Carl realized first, glaring at Michael with an even more intense hatred.

When Michael finally realized what I meant, he looked at me in disbelief.

"No...," he laughed in disbelief, "you were there? Holy shit, it's a small world, ain't it?"

I clenched my fists tight in fury, but ensured that I suppressed my anger to some degree, since I couldn't forget that Michael clutched a detonator with the potential to destroy half of Alexandria.

"Did I happen to kill Mr. and Mrs. Palmer in the process, huh?" he grinned, drawing a finger across his throat and making a sarcastic choking sound for the sheer pleasure of tormenting me.

And he was doing that very well.

"Go to hell," I spat in hatred, only serving to humour Michael even more.

"Riley, don't use language like that," Michael smirked in a soft tone, "your parents wouldn't like to hear you saying that sorta thing."

Until now, I had been able to maintain control of my anger, but I had seen him that day – beaten to the ground, I had pitied him, even considered helping him. It sickened me, and now knowing all of that just proved too much for me.

I lunged forwards, forgetting about the fate of Alexandria and the pistol aimed at me as my swung my fist with the sole intention of avenging the fate of my parents.

"Riley, don't!" Carl yelled defensively, gripping my shirt and pulling me back, preventing me from initiating a reckless manoeuvre that would have cost me my life and the safety of Alexandria. At the time, however – fuelled by hatred – I did not see it that way, and without thinking I swung my fist around, connecting with my boyfriend's jaw.

As Carl recoiled and fell back, with Michael howling in laughter as I looked at my clenched fist – knuckles red from the impact – I could ask myself:  what I am becoming?

"I hate to interrupt the domestic," Michael chuckled wickedly to himself, "but I think it's time for another light show."

With that, Michael clicked the detonator again, and somewhere in Alexandria, another household was vaporized, a plume of fire and ash rising upwards to mark another family's graves.

Peering in horror between Carl, who wiped a smear of blood from his lip, still shocked by my actions, and Alexandria in the distance, with two huge clouds of smoke dissipating into the sky, I had a sickening feeling that I had just walked into a situation that I simply couldn't – and wouldn't – be able to walk out of...