Ashes - A Walking Dead Fanfic

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

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The small group urged us onward, and suddenly I had no idea what had just happened. Aimee had died, I had seen it, but it all happened so fast. She was just here, alive and playing with her dolls a few days ago, and that was right about the time that the disease had broken out. Never again would we see her smiling face, her rosy little cheeks, or hear her squeaky laughter. She was just...gone.

I was brought back into reality by the sound of Mom sniffling, turning to Margo and I as we traversed silently through the backyard. She never cried like this, except for when Dad died. He had been deported to fight in this war across the globe, and a few months later, we got a call saying that Charles M. Zaroff was dead, that the body would be shipped home as soon as possible. It was terrible, and our little family sobbed for days without end.

As we neared the dulled white fence that surrounded our property, a voice dripping with sympathy broke the silence that was growing between us.

"I'm sorry," it said, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a stocky woman with a dirty blonde pixie cut, looking at my mother with deep brown eyes which held back tears. She didn't look much older than twenty-seven years old. "I know how it feels."

Mom heaved a shaky sigh as more tears slipped from her ducts, but she didn't face the other woman.

"Okay," started the red-headed man, coming to a halt at the worn down fence. "We have a camp set up not far from here. You and your family are welcome to come with us, or you could go off on your own. It's your decision, but I would suggest coming with us."

Mom pondered for a moment, thinking over the options. Didn't she say yes like, what was it, a half hour ago? Man, it seemed like so long ago already, the group breaking into our house and coming to the rescue.

"Yes," she said, nodding her head to confirm. "Yes, we'll come with."

"Then come on. Those things won't be distracted for long."

Placing both of his meaty hands on the fence, he pushed himself up and over the barrier, and the rest of us soon followed.

Mom took hold of Margo, who was still trembling violently. She hoisted her into the air, setting her feet down gently on the opposite side of the fence. I was next, I supposed. Mimicking the red-head's motions, I jumped up, placing one foot on the wooden divider and pushing myself up and over, landing clumsily on the other side.

"The name's Aaron, by the way," said the red-haired man, nodding to our mother, who was just about to leap over the fence. "That's Taylor-" he motioned towards the short woman with the equally short hair. "And Franklin."

At the mention of his name, a young, lanky man raised his hand from his side in a slight wave. He seemed familiar from somewhere. Like, really familiar. I was wondering where I knew him from, then it hit me. He went to my school a while back. I was in second grade, he was in fifth. Never really talked to the guy, but he always seemed super chill on the playground.

I did happen to know his younger brother, though. Felix was his name, and he was two grades older than me at the time. Felix was a pretty cool kid, like his brother, and I wondered what happened to him, if he was still alive or not.

I nodded back to him, hoping that the days of Woodfield Elementary were behind us, mostly because I was a strange little child, and Frank caught me chasing older girls around the playground with either boogers or worms.

"And you are..?" Aaron asked expectantly, like we were automatically supposed to respond.

"Nicole," Mom stated. "Nicole Zaroff. And, uh, these are my children. Murphy and Margo."

The man nodded and spun around. Behind us, the creatures were pooling at the patio doors, and we could hear the sound of cracking glass.

"Let's go."

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The hike up to the camp was harsh, trekking through the Sycamore Park, which was mostly covered in trees and shrubs, and the Grant Shopping Mall parking lot.

"I thought you said your camp wasn't far from our house." I grumbled, raising my arm and drawing it across my forehead, glistening with sweat.

"It isn't far now." Franklin replied, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag that was carelessly slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy; heavier than my backpack, at least. "Just up here a ways."

He wasn't lying. About a half mile from our last position, we're trudging up a narrow gravel road, flanked by skyscraper pines on either side. I recognize the weathered wooden cabin that lay ahead, and I figured it was the so-called camp we were headed to. A makeshift fence was put up around the building, reinforced with a few old, rusting cars in some spots where the boards were weaker. The building was once a cabin owned by my history teacher, Mrs. Hamilton.

How did I know that the cabin was her home, you may ask? No I'm not some young pedophilic creep, if that's what you're thinking. I know because Mrs. Hamilton had a son who was in my grade named Calvin. Calvin was a nice kid, I had a few sleepovers there when we were younger, but he and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton moved away near the beginning of the school year and I haven't seen them since, and I was kind of wondering what happened to them. Ah, nostalgia is always there at the most random times, yeah?

"We're here," grunted Aaron, unbolting the lock of the front gate. He swung it open, and it emitted a creak in defiance. Mom kissed Margo atop her head and we all followed our new group members inside.