Title: Remember Me
Rating: T
Warning: Swearing, violence
As the tendrils of slumber begin unravelling from Luke's vision, and he finds the snow-topped head of a crow mere inches away from his face. It gives a squawk, a tilt of the head, then delivers a sharp peck to the side of his cheek, the impact not quite as painful as he expects.
A freezing gust rattles into his sore bones, icy ache surging through his shivering-wet body as he finds the strength to sit up, droplets of cold water slithering off his hair and clothes like snakes. The crow flutters off at the motion, Luke's vision following the its inky feathers as they fall off its wings and gently drift onto his torso.
Damn.
The soaked orange jumper he's wearing looks like it's been to hell and back. Faded reddish-brown marks were smeared all over it, the bits where it wasn't riddled with tears and holes.
Glancing over, he sees that he's next to a frozen-over river, a vast landscape of glossy ice beyond him. There's a rather large chunk missing from the ice. He has no idea how he got here, wherever 'here' was. A dense forest of pines was on the other side of the lake, the trees sturdy as brick walls against the howling breeze.
He tries to stand up, first pulling his left leg up to his chest-
An agonising pain shoots through his leg, and he's curled up into the snow again, back to where he started.
Shit.
A coin-sized hole was ripped through the mangled mess that was his left knee. His failed attempt at standing up seemed to have reopened the injury, a light ring of red already visible around the fabric. It felt like somebody had literally poured salt into the wound, not to mention set it on fire.
There's an unfamiliar weight on his back.
...The hell?
His arm reaches over his shoulder. and his shivering fingers manage to grip around some sort of handle, or at least what his numb hands think is a handle.
He roughly pulls on the maybe-handle and damn near slices his head off.
What the fuck?!
The thinking, sentient part of him tells him to drop the blood-encrusted machete which has probably been involved in no less than twenty homicides, while a subconscious instinct he didn't know he had wills him to keep holding onto it.
He comes to a midway between the two and puts the machete back into the shoulder sheath. It feels different now, like it was meant to be there, but at the same time not.
After some swearing and numerous clumsy steps, he finally manages to stand up properly. He looks around, and there's nothing but the frozen lake, an eerie, barren whiteness, and screaming wind skittering across dried leaves. There's no civilisation or technology as far as his dry, stinging eyes can see. The painful truth smacks him like his ex-girlfriend.
He's in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
Under 'normal' circumstances, whatever that meant, Luke could have lost hours staring at the mesmerising sunset that engulfed the sky, dreaming up ways of how he could sketch and paint the maelstrom of clashing orange and azure onto paper.
"Help!" He shouts with whatever energy he has left, hoping for a response but not expecting one. Half of the word is swallowed up by hacking coughs and wheezes as his lungs screw up at the one thing they're supposed to do.
Several more short-breathed gasps and he gives up. He frantically scrambles through his pockets, desperately searching for his last link to civilisation.
Where the hell is it? Oh god…
…Where the fuck is my phone?!
He didn't exactly think it would work after being drenched in water. There probably wasn't any service out here anyway, but he would just feel somewhat safer to have it. Didn't really matter now. He's completely cut off from everything.
His two options were staying to sift through the clusterfuck of snow for his phone, or moving on. He considers for approximately four and a half seconds before deciding that leaving would be a much better idea.
As he limps along the snow-flooded bank, ice crunches beneath his feet, the coarse sound his only companion.
The reflection in the ice stares back at him as he glances over the familiar face that he's woken up to every day. A mop of messy brown hair that was in need of a haircut, square jaw, and a less-than-impressive stubble, a harsh reminder of his inability to grow a beard.
His skin was pale as death, but his eye circles were so dark and murky his eyeballs could have been planets floating around in deep space.
There was also what looked like a dead caterpillar underneath his nose.
"The hell?" He thinks out loud, the voice he hears much hoarser than it should be.
The 'thing' feels strange and scratchy against his strangely calloused fingers, his hands so rough and unfamiliar they might as well have been rocks.
Dammit Luke, there is more important shit to be worryin' right now about than some sorry excuse for a moustache.
With everything that was going on, he was somewhat relieved that all of his face was still attached. However, he felt about fifty times worse than the morning after he discovered Nick had a higher alcohol capacity than him.
A small smile crawls up his numb cheeks at the thought of the memory, as his mind drifts to a happier place.
Man, that was so long ago.
A few beers in, and Nick had preposed a challenge between the two, to see who could hold in more liquor. Luke's liver would have probably shrivelled up and died that night if Nick hadn't put a stop to his drinking binge and hauled his drunken ass back to their apartment. Despite the event occurring well over five years ago years ago, Nick still teased him, to this day, about all the shit he blabbered about in his alcohol-induced state.
Now, in Luke's defence, he was, admittedly, a lightweight, and Nick was not. But the thought of winning (with the possible side-effect of permanent liver failure) sounded a lot more appealing three drinks in.
The sudden thought of sheer hopelessness of his current situation shatters the mental scene.
With each other step sending a jolt of pain up his leg, and eyelids feeling as heavy as weights, he continues onwards, limping on the slippery ice.
A cloak of darkness slowly begun draping itself over the sky. Stars bloomed into life, dotting the black canvas that was the horizon.
He shambles along for what feels like decades before some sort of house finally grows into view, a beacon of hope amidst an ocean of desolation.
Making his way at a less-than-steady pace towards the building, he gets to about fifty meters from the house when he notices a girl sitting on the doorsteps, an assault rifle propped up next to her. She pulls out something from her pocket, and a small flicker of flame lights up in the darkness, revealing red hair in a ponytail, dark blue eyes, a skinny frame, and sorrow plastered into every feature.
She lights a cigarette, and her sadness releases in swirling puffs of smoke.
Her head shoots up at the sound of snow crunching under Luke's limp, eyes widening in fear. She looks over to the source of the noise, and her tired eyes swirl with a million different emotions.
She raises the gun and aims it at Luke.
He wants to shout "Stop! Please, I just need some help!" but all that comes out is a garbled groan, his throat frozen with dehydration.
The reflection of red embers glow in her frozen tears.
And she pulls the trigger.
The world goes spinning as the bullet shreds into the flesh of his shoulder, pain exploding like electricity through every nerve in his body. The sky swallows up his vision as he topples over, hard snow slamming into his back.
Doors slam open, and the gruff voice of a man echoes through the night.
"What the fuck did you do?!"
It's is the last thing Luke hears before unconsciousness coils around his mind and takes its hold.
A/N: Hope you liked chapter one of my first fanfic. Just to clarify, Luke doesn't lose memory of his entire identity, just the time in the walker apocalypse. Next part should be up within the next few days or week. Rate/Reviews will be appreciated :)