The Walking Dead: Survivor Chronicles
Jake
Jake walked in the forest, avoiding any Walkers and people. His grey backpack weighed considerably on his back, but compared to the pain and guilt he had about his baby brother, it was nothing. It had been one month since he killed him; he could still hear the Walkers pounding at the door, slowly tearing it apart. They would have gotten in eventually, it was only a matter of minutes.
Jake removed the bottle of water he had in the bottle carrier of the bag, taking small sips; he needed to conserve his water. He had scrounged so many supplies; canned foods, medicine, ammo; everything but water. He wanted only to get someplace where he could be alone, where he could die the lonely, miserable death he deserved.
Jake placed his hand on his pistol. A Walker was about twenty feet away. A young girl, perhaps a few years younger than him. He drew his gun and his knife, walking to the corpse as calmly as he was. The creep spotted him, and began walking. It limped, it's left ankle being twisted in the wrong direction. When he was seven feet away, Jake felt someone push him to the ground from behind, making him drop his weapons.
The attacker punched him in the back of the head, and ripped off his bag. Jake could hear him running away. The Walker lunged at him, catching the young man off guard. It tried to bite at him, but it's jaw was dislocated, preventing it from doing any harm.
Jake reached for one of his weapons, and found his knife. He stabbed the dead woman in the back of the head, killing it. He pushed the corpse off him, and got to his feet. He looked at the ground; he could see the footprints of his attacker in the dirt. He grabbed his gun, and chased after him.
Jake soon caught up to his attacker, a young man in his late teens, jumping and grabbing the bag, knocking him off balance. Jake ripped the bag off him, throwing to the side. He proceeded to beat him with his bare hands; he needed to kill this person, this thief. He couldn't let him live. And besides, he needed to kill something, it might as well be his attacker.
Jake threw the man into a tree, knocking him to the ground. He pulled out his knife, but was tackled by someone. This man was maybe in his late forties, early fifties. He punched Jake in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He had a hard punch. '
Jake stabbed the old man in the stomach, then retracted the blade and forced it back in. Five times he did this. The old man collapsed to the ground, dying from his wounds. He bled heavily, and Jake knew he was going to die. Nothing could save him.
Jake turned back to the teen, who tried backing away while on the ground, but was blocked by the tree. Jake drew his gun; he didn't want to prolong this. He aimed the gun him, about to pull the trigger, when a crying came from his right. He turned his head to find a young child, at most only five years old, running to the teen.
"Please don't hurt big brother!" the child cried, digging his face into his older brother's chest. "Please!"
"Please!" the older brother said, "I'm sorry, just leave him alone! Please! Don't hurt my little brother!"
Jake kept his pistol aimed at the teen, then slowly lowered it, putting it back in it's holster. He didn't expect this. He looked at the dying old, who breathed weak breaths. He could see a resemblence in him and the brothers; he must have been their father. He looked back at the brothers, who lay crying on the tree. Jake could hear the older brother whispering. "Don't look at him! Don't look!"
Jake turned around and walked to his bag. He picked it up, putting it back on his back. He took a few steps before he stopped. He turned to look at the brothers; they had made their way over to their father, who was now dead, his chest not rising in the slightest. The two cried for their parent.
Jake let the bag drop from his back. He walked over to the brothers. They didn't know. He could tell. They didn't know their father would come back, that he would attack them, kill them the moment he awoke. He drew his pistol once more, and aimed it at the dead man. He fired a shot into his head, preventing him from coming back.
The brothers jumped from the sudden bang. The older brother shielded the younger brother, protecting him from Jake, who holstered his pistol once more. "You come back no matter what," Jake told him, still looking at the old man. He then looked at the brothers. "I'm sorry."
Jake walked off, leaving the brothers and the bag. He had gone through a lot to get those supplies, killed a lot of Walkers, nearly died several times. He didn't want it anymore. He didn't deserve it. He walked the path he was walking before, now with much more weight on his shoulders.