Defective

Chapter One

"Awakenings"

A story by Greyfox1117

Based on the popular TV show The Walking Dead

{Disclaimer} I do not own The Walking Dead, Only the created characters.

{Author} Hello everyone, welcome to my TWD Fanfiction. I do have three stories in the pipeline so updates might take a while. Please do be patient with me. Also I took a few liberties with this story: It won't revolve around the main group, Instead focusing around my own, and the addition of special infected later in the story.

(58 Days After First Infection)

Alex sat upon the roof of the warehouse her group had settled down in, staring out into the horizon of the dawning sun. Worry plagued her heart as her thoughts returned to the team they had sent into Atlanta to scavenge for supplies. The focus of her concern was her boyfriend Mark who had gone with them. They should have been back yesterday. Her mind was drawn from her train of thought by a young familiar voice behind her.

"Hey Alex, what'cha thinkin' about?"

A brief, unflattering scream announced her attention. The sudden appearance of the young boy had startled the teenager, "Henry, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry Alex, I just wanted to see you" The boy said with a wide smile.

"Come on Henry, you know you can't come up here, it's too dangerous." Alex said with a sigh.

"I know...but can I just sit up here with you for a moment, please?" He asked with the broken formality of all youth, his smile faltering. She was about to wave the boy off and tell him to go back down stairs and play with Kendra. But the thought of the boy losing his family at the age of seven made her reconsider.

"Well...alright- But only for a few minutes." He consented tersely.

The boy immediately regained his glow and scurried over to sit beside her, "Thanks, Alex."

The pair sat there for a few moments in silence before Henry spoke again.

"Hey Alex," the child started while looking over at the her.

"Yeah?" she responded.

"Do... Do you think my brother is alive?"

The girl was surprised by this question. Normally, the boy avoided the subject of his family altogether. Part of her wanted to say "You're better off without him," for his older brother David had been caught up in the wrong crowd since the last time she had seen him; gang violence, drinking, petty theft- All things that David was a regular too. Under any normal circumstance she would unapologetically hate someone like that. But David had it tough since the death of Sarah, the youngest sibling, He blamed himself to the point of extreme mental stress leading to schizophrenia. From what she had heard whenever he went off his medication he saw hallucinations of her. Not to help matters any, their mother was an alcoholic and could never hold down a job. So David did most of the stealing to feed his little brother.

When the outbreak started Alex found Henry hiding in the back of her parents' SUV. Apparently, David had left early that day with his "friends" and hadn't come back. Their mother, from what Henry had said, was attacked and killed by a Walker in their home. Alex's parents were out of state on business but lucky for her, Mark had his license. From there they decided to take Henry with them to the Atlanta refugee center. Her own parents...she hoped they were alright.

It was only now that she realized she still hadn't answered the child's question; was David alive?

"Yeah Henry, I'm sure he's okay."

Henry just turned back to the horizon, seeming content with her answer, so she did the same. From where Alex was sitting she could clearly see the silhouette of Atlanta against the rising sun. The warehouse was a good few miles into the outskirts of the city, so very few Walkers ever traveled far enough to reach them. But they still had to be cautious; you never know when one of those "Things" would show up.

After a few minutes, Alex decided that they should go help out around the compound. She stood up and helped Henry to his feet, then motioned him over to the ladder. As the boy began to descend, Alex had to take one last glance over at the peaceful sky scape of the rising sun.

(4 Days After First Infection)

"Cold...It's cold."

A figure slowly began to twitch to life on the cold concrete floor.

It began to sluggishly flex and move its limbs with a groan of discomfort. Any movement it made brought about streaks of jagged pain and more hollowed grunts that resembled screams. Its eyes, underlined with deep black lines of fatigue, cracked open. The irises that once held color were now just a faded grey, devoid of pigmentation.

The figure, now discernible as male flipped over onto his stomach. He could barely hold his weight up more than half a foot off the ground. He began to heave violently, eventually spilling sour filth before him. After what little in his stomach was splattered on the floor, the male avoided falling straight into his waste by weakly rolling onto his back again, beside the fresh puddle of vomit. He began to slowly roll his head left and right tried to make out anything in the dizzying blobs that seamed to dance in his vision.

After a few moments of laying there the haze began to creep from his sight. The environment around him began to resemble a bathroom, musty and dimly lit by the light that streamed through the small window on the far wall. When he looked down he saw the figure of a women laying at his feet, the contents of her cranium spilled upon the dirty floor.

With a cry of fear and surprise the young man crawled away until his back was against the stalls, a great physical feat considering his condition.

He sat there. staring at the body in front of him. His stomach was now trying to rend itself again but with nothing to expel, all it brought were more contractions of pain in his abdomen. A claw hammer lay next to the woman's body, encrusted with dried blood and grey matter. Had he done this to her? Any attempt to recall any of the previous night- or any night for that matter- was met with fractured and broken images and sounds. The realization that he could not access even a minuscule amount of his memory only fueled his mounting fear and panic.

The man attempted to climb to his feet, failing the first several times before finally balancing his weight on the bathroom stalls. His sense of balance was still very unsteady so he had to lean on the walls as he shuffled to the sinks. His hand quickly moved to the faucet. As he turned the lever the low rumbling of water moving through the pipes was heard before finally spraying the sink with water, marred with a mucky brown at first before giving way to pure white.

He lowered his head to the sink and took his first drink of water in what felt like an eternity. Quickly his pace sped up, guzzling as much of the liquid as he could. After a good two or three liters of water he could take no more. The sink had solved his body's hydration problem but the agonizing gnawing in his stomach told him he would not last long without food.

As the young man stood straight again he nearly fell back in shock and surprise. In the mirror over the sink was a very disturbing sight. A young man stood there looking back at him with a bemused glare, probably somewhere in his teens. His face was a sick pale grey color, his brown hair dirty and matted to his scalp and forehead. His eyes seemed devoid of life. Was this figure really him? He couldn't recall what he looked like before but he knew that this was most certainly not normal.

The knot in his stomach grew even tighter when another realization struck him: What was his name?

He began to search his pockets frantically for a wallet or ID, anything that could give him some idea of who he was. Hope came over him as he produced a small leather wallet. He opened it quickly and stared at the picture on the driver's license. That hope was dashed when he saw that the photo was definitely not of him. It was a middle-aged man by the name of Steven Conrad. Why would he have someone else's wallet? The name and the photo brought no memories. As far as he could tell, the man in the picture was a stranger.

His search ended as quick as it had started. All he'd found on his person was an empty wrapper of a chocolate bar, half a pack of cigarettes and a folded piece of paper. He unfolded the note and read its contents.

B&E 3052 N Chestnut Road you better be right about this house man.

The sentence made no sense to him but at least he had a lead. He started shuffling towards the door, still hugging the wall. He grabbed the handle of the door and pulled.

The air and light changed radically from that one action. Having being in a small, confined room with a rotting corpse, the fresh air was a nice change. But on the other hand, his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the restroom. The bright rays of light blinded in a nearly unbearable way. For a few minutes all he could see was a bright white in his vision, After that the light began to fade to a more reasonable brightness. Taking in his surroundings the amnesiac could see he was in a gas station, the first thing that grabbed his attention were the aisles lined with random assortments of junk food.

For the first time since he awoke he felt happiness. Letting go of the wall he rushed over to an aisle with a wide range of chips. He ripped open a bag of Doritos, spilling some of its contents on the floor in the process. He devoured the first bag with a disturbing speed. It wasn't very long before wrappers and packaging littered the floor and the teen began to feel full. He also noticed that the disorientation was lessening; well, at least to the point that he didn't need an aid to stand.

Now that he wasn't starving he began to survey the area. The gas station wasn't in to great a shape with garbage on the floors, missing merchandise and it looked like the power might be out. Walking to the front window, he scanned the street in front of him. Turned over cars, burned out buildings, and not a soul in sight. He couldn't remember exactly how things were before he woke up, but this wasn't it.

{Author} Well, what do you think? I like how it started but it's not about whatI think. Reviews and faves are appreciated!