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past (takes place before season one)
HE WALKED THE STREETS alone. By alone, he meant without another living human. Otherwise, he wasn't entirely alone. Holding onto the straps of his pack, kicking a rock down the side road he was walking on, a couple biters stumbling behind him. He'd turn his head every half hour or so, speeding up if he believed the biters had gotten a little too close for comfort. He'd take out his knife from time to time, twirling it in his hands, and occasionally dropping it on the asphalt.
Did he have a particular location in mind? No. Did he know where he was? No. He was just wandering. Until he found shelter up to his standard. Or, until he found anything for that matter. Food, water, not that he was low on either. What he wanted to find most was somebody. A group of people, even.
Scout Walker remembers when It started like it was yesterday. (It was only about a month ago, but still).
The weather was hot in the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia, knowing it was summer. He had come home early from a vacation spent with his friends. When his friend's car sped off after dropping him off, that's when he first came into contact with one of them.
She was freshly dead. A deep bite wound on her left shoulder. A few more were littered on her stomach, intestines hanging loose from where her clothes were torn.
Now, he had seen horror movies filled with nightmarish gore, but nothing could have prepared him for that. He let out possibly the most embarrassing, girlish scream ever.
Then, she reached out to grab his arm, and out of fear and instinct, Scout threw his suitcase into her face. It was useful enough, because it knocked her over, so he bolted inside.
He was lucky enough for his suitcase to weigh more than the monster could lift, so she was stuck to the sidewalk floor. Scout locked every door in his house as quickly as possible, immediately fidgeting with the television to see if it could bring him any answers. It wouldn't turn on.
His parents weren't home when he got there. They didn't return when he was cooped up upstairs, hiding in the attic as to not bring attention to his house during the day and night while he tried to convince himself he wasn't going crazy and that this wasn't a dream. They never returned, not even two weeks after when he decided he had to leave in order to find food and water.
Before he left, he decided to leave his home behind. His neighborhood was too heavily populated and dangerous for him to stay. He had no reason to besides the memories and comfort that it provided. So, he packed up a decent amount of clothes, and left.
