The Loud House: Reckoning

Prologue

A young man walks down a long road. The road is covered in cracks and tarnish. The wind howls, calling out for someone to listen, but it's statements are unheard of by human ears.

The young man stops; his white hair swaying gently in the wind, he takes off a filter that has been connected to a mask attached to this young man's face. 

He reaches into a satchel that is comfortably sitting by his side. After a few short seconds of shuffling around in the bag, the young boy pulls out another filter. He takes it in a firm grasp in his hand, and attaches it to his mask. The sound of the filter attaching to the mask is followed by a large gasp from the boy. He then begins to walk once more.

This man is known by the name of Lincoln. He once lived a life of peace and tranquility, but that seems to be long gone now, though it's only been 8 weeks since the event that changed it all. The bombs, the goddamn bombs.

Before the bombs, children used to play outside, they used to frolic about while their parents supervised them with an ice cold beer in their hands. The days seemed long and the nights were longer. But now, whenever days seem longer, it's usually because someone was killed.

Lincoln proceeds to walk down this road, his feet kicking the gravel underneath them. He was tired, he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his parents again. Hopefully, everyone was safe. It felt like so long since he saw his family. Ever since he moved into that apartment in the city, he hadn't really met with or spoken to his family. He had been so busy keeping a steady job, that he really had no time to see them. He prayed for their safety.

Lincoln came up across an old shack next to the road. But he seemed to hear deep, coarse breaths coming from it. He decided to take a peek inside.

The door creaked open slowly as Lincoln walked inside. He pulled out a 9 millimeter Beretta handgun. He couldn't be sure if this area was dangerous or not. He could hear the breathing coming from a room to the left. He began to slowly walk inside, step after step.

As he looked in the room, he could see a woman on the ground, clutching a photo. Lincoln couldn't see what was on the photo, but he wasn't worried about it. He ran over to the woman.

She looked sick. Her face was covered in veins that could be visible to a blind man. She was obviously infected, Lincoln could tell without a second thought. 

"Please..." The woman forced out of her, her voice sounding tired and coarse. "Please save me from..." She coughed so hard that blood shot out of her mouth. "Turning into one of.... Them." She pointed to a man in the corner. Dead from a bullet to the head.

Lincoln hesitated to rise back to his feet. However, he knew what had to be done. He stood up, cocked his gun, aimed it at her head slowly, and fired.

She died instantly. Lincoln lowered his head sadly. He had no choice. But then, he noticed the photo. He leaned over the woman to see what it was of. It was a picture of her family before the bombs fell. They were happy. As if they never had a care in the world. He took a look at the father in the picture. He sadly realized that the man in the photo was the same man with a bullet in his cranium in the corner. 

Lincoln decided that looting the home would feel wrong after what just happened, so he simply walked to the door, and left.