A/N: I didn't think I would be writing another Last of Us fic so soon, but here I am, giving you another taste of the organized chaos inside my head. I am excited to be writing another fic for this category, and this will be my third. I appreciate any comments, thoughts, constructive criticism, and predictions. Without further ado, I invite you to read and enjoy!
My mother was dead. I had gone out on patrol at sunset, muttered a quick goodbye to her like every other night, and I come back at midnight to find Fireflies crowded around a corpse in the dank underground parking lot with grief, fury, and shock written across their faces. Nobody dared to look me in the eye as I roughly pushed through the conglomeration, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest as I gazed down at the dead body of my mother.
She had been shot twice, that much was obvious. Once in her abdomen and once in the head. Blood splattered my army boots as I gently laid the black plastic tarp over her, handed to me by a Firefly whose pendant claimed his name was Taylor Walters in the bright light cast by the elevator.
I rose, turning around to meet the eyes of my subordinates. I was just promoted from guard patrol to leader of the Fireflies. The two dozen or so soldiers stared back at me, awaiting orders. I'll admit, I don't have many leadership skills. I don't really have any sort of skills, unless being incompetent at pretty much everything counts as a skill. I certainly don't have enough experience to lead what was left of the Fireflies. Hell, I'm barely seventeen.
My knees trembled a bit as I cleared my voice, getting everyone's attention. I'm not one for speeches, and to be honest, I just really wanted to throw up. I hate the smell of blood, and right now I was standing in a half-inch deep puddle of it. My mother's blood. My blood. It burned my throat as I inhaled, coppery and acrid.
"Marlene is dead." My tenor voice was pitifully weak, barely travelling far enough to reach the back of the group. To make matters worse, I was at that stage where my voice hadn't fully changed, so I sounded like a parrot who was trying to imitate a man and a woman at the same time. I cleared my throat again, I had to be strong. Take charge. Grab the bull by the horns.
"Marlene is dead." I could hear my louder, more authoritative tone echo off the concrete columns supporting the underground parking lot. That sounded better, but at the same time to hear myself say it…a lead weight settled on my shoulders. "I, Aaron, am your new commanding officer. Now…who killed my mother?" I could feel my voice crack, and I blamed it on my adolescence instead of the heat I felt behind my eyes.
At first, nobody spoke. They shifted uneasily, not looking at me. Are they deaf? I growled mentally, waiting for an answer. No, I realized, they're not used to being commanded by someone half their age. They'd better get used to it. "I said, who the fuck murdered my mother? And why?" I shouted, my reluctantly-developing adult voice ringing through the parking lot.
Someone moved beside me. I snapped my head in their direction so fast, I was afraid for a second that I was going to get whiplash. Taylor fumbled nervously with his rifle strap, his furry gray eyebrows scrunching together as his cracked lips formed words. He was clearly in dire need of a shave in my opinion. If I lived long enough to grow facial hair, I made a mental note not to cultivate a wolf-man beard like him.
"Marlene captured a man in his late forties and an immune girl, Sir." Taylor began.
Sir. Hmm. I liked the sound of that. I nodded, letting him continue.
"Long story short, this girl was very important to your mother. She could have provided us with the cure for CBI. That man that came with her…he killed our entire force here except for those you see and whoever is still alive on sentry duty. He was the one who murdered your mother." Taylor explained gruffly, scratching at his silver beard.
Everyone looked to me again, waiting for my reaction. I pursed my full lips, one of the many things I inherited from my mother. I loved my mother, as a son was obligated to, but I suppose that with a combination of teenage rebellion and a considerable lack of parental affection, I was less upset than I thought I would be. No, that wasn't it…
I was numb.
If I held like this for long enough, I could slip away and truly mourn for my mother. Just a few more minutes…I could feel my resolve crumbling. My knees felt weaker by the second. I bit the inside of my lip hard. Just a few more minutes.
"I want them found, even if I have to find this man and this girl myself. Does anyone know where they went?" My hands were shaking, I could practically feel the sweat dripping down my palms. My subordinates shook their heads, and I turned to Taylor again. He was one of my mother's good friends, an adviser at times, even. If there was anyone I could turn to, it was him.
Taylor also remorsefully shook his head, "He took a car. He's long gone by now. But I heard Marlene mention that Tommy was this man's brother. He would know where he went."
Tommy. I knew Tommy. He was a good man, sort of like an uncle to me. "Tommy left years ago." I reminded Taylor, a bitter sting mixing with the crushing grief threatening to collapse my chest. He hadn't even said goodbye to me. I suppose the affection didn't go both ways.
"Last I heard he was settled in Jackson, Wyoming. It's worth a shot, Sir." Taylor said.
"We have a plan, then. I leave at dawn." I turned on my heel, heading for the elevator.
"Sir?" My elder comrade queried. I heard equally confused muttering from the rest of the Firefly survivors.
One thing I didn't inherit from my mother: I was not dependent on others to do the dirty work for me. I didn't really even care about her cause. The way her eyes lit up at the mention of the word "vaccine" or "cure", it made me want to cringe. It was a hopeless cause, that much I knew from the start. She probably knew that deep down too, because she hadn't trained me to do shit if she ever got killed in action. I had no idea how to carry on. Honestly, I didn't want to. I didn't want to see that spark of insanity in my eyes that she had. Yes, I said it. My mother was crazy. Delusional, even. I wouldn't deny it.
"You heard me," I said calmly over my shoulder, my finger hovering over the button marked 8. "I leave alone at dawn." I pushed it, and I heard a ding as the doors slid shut. I could finally breathe.
My breath came out in a loud whoosh, accompanied by wetness falling down my cheeks and my shoulders trembling in silent sobs. My mother was dead. My mother was dead. What do you do when you find out your mother was murdered by an old man and his little girl?
I glanced at my reflection in the polished metal panel surrounding the elevator buttons. The tears made my chocolate skin darker where they had fallen. I had my mother's high cheekbones, narrow face, and curly ebony hair braided down my skull in cornrows. I had her thin, lanky arms and legs, straight nose, and my collarbones stuck out too much under my black tank top.
But I had my father's onyx-coloured eyes, tinged with just enough brown that you could separate the iris from the pupil. I had his muscled back and shoulders, his brashness, and his merciless attitude. Despite my initial shyness, I could be brutal when I had to.
This was one of those times.
I knew what I had to do. And just like my parents, I would stop at nothing until I achieved it.