Thunderous Silence

SyntheticProduct

Chapter One: The Beginning or the End

HOPE never liked her name.

"You were my last hope," her mother always said as she cried, "the name seemed to be an easy pick." Hope Louise Whittle, Louise was her grandmother's name her mother told her; she never liked her name.

"It's ironic that your name is Hope," her brother told her once, "because you bring death and destruction wherever you wander." Her brother Marcus was only two years older than her and he never liked her. It was like an episode from a bad soap opera, everyday of her normal life was. Her brother wasn't necessarily her brother, "half brother," Marcus would correct when she called to him, "I never will be your brother, just like you will never be my sister." He wasn't always a cruel man, when Hope was younger he was her big, strong brother - someone she always looked up to.

Hope never liked her name and she never liked her family.

"Dad says you'll be good as dead when he gets home," her little sister mocked her, "hopefully he won't hit too hard or our little Hope will be snuffed out like a flame."

She never liked her name.

"Your mother was a humorous whore it would seem," her father spat at her, "naming you Hope must've been her last joke."

Her name was cursed.

There was no hope left. Even the slightest bit of it was gone now, now that Hope stared into the eyes of her dead brother. The gun she held was shaking as smoke escaped from the end of the barrel. A bullet hole was placed between her brother's eyes and the glossed over, a sign of death. There was no hope left. Her little sister lay a few feet away with a knife plunged into her cranium, blood spewed out from the wound like a fountain. At least her eyes were closed.

Her father was sitting against the wall, holding his arm that her little sister bit into. No one knew; no one knew that she was going to become one of them. Her father insisted that she was just sick, a cold a nothing more. When she stopped breathing, her father blamed Hope. "She was your damned sister and you couldn't even save her, you are an eyesore; get the fuck out of here." That was before her sister breathed once again and latched onto her brother's hand. At first they thought she had gone rabid with fever, delusional. Marcus struck her with the back of his hand and she groaned with a mighty force. The next thing any of them knew, her little sister who was only seventeen, sprung up and bit down on Marcus's neck, tearing away skin and muscle. He bled out before they could do anything. Hope was the one that drove the knife into her sister's head, her father wailing about his princess.

He cursed Hope for killing his daughter. Cursed her like she was the Devil himself. While her father sat over his daughter's corpse, Marcus got up from where he sat. He looked confused at first, but when he saw his father - he attacked. He attacked with a mighty force, biting down and clamping his jaw onto his father's bicep and ripped out the muscle. Hope had never seen so much blood in her life.
Her father pushed Marcus off of him, cursing at Hope again. Hope didn't know what to do; she stood, shell-shocked by what was happening. When her mother said that they'd be tearing themselves apart, Hope didn't realize that this could be what she spoke of. Her mother couldn't have known, but she might as well have.
Marcus took note of her then, grabbing her ankle in his strong grip and pulling her down on the floor with a loud bang. Her hands searched for anything and everything, she kicked and screamed for her father, but he just sat there with dead eyes.

"Hope is dead."

Her father whispered, a snarl coming to his features as he pressed his good hand over his soon-to-be fatal wound.

Hope reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun she had stolen a few days earlier from her father's bag, she could hear him chuckle with a raspy voice, "a thief and a whore, just like your mother." Hope didn't wait. Hope didn't want to die. She shut her eyes and pulled the trigger. She had always imagined that the sound of a gun would be like fireworks, loud and over with after a few seconds. No. A gunshot was loud and it rang in her eyes. When she opened her eyes, she saw doubles and triples of everything around her. Her head thumped with something painful and she could've sworn that blood was running out of her ears; maybe she was just being dramatic.

Marcus laid dead at her feet, eyes wide and staring up at her with confusion. She felt guilt swarm inside of her, anger building in her throat, and then she vomited. She leaned over on her side and puked up the last few days of food that was sitting in her stomach. She vomited until there was nothing left and she was dry heaving; tears poured down her face and down her neck in sloppy, wet streams. She could hear her father laughing, haughtily so.

"Look what you've done, you killed everyone here Hope. Are you happy now? Are you fucking happy?" She had heard her father's voice this angry before, it scared her. She cowered against the wall, shivering and shaking, but noticed he wasn't getting up, "I'm dying Hope. I'm dying and you killed me." Hope knew what happened when people got bit. Her sister was proof of it, her brother was proof of it; she wasn't going to be proof of it.

Aiming the gun at her father, she said only a few words before pulling the trigger: "Hope isn't dead. Goodbye father. I love you." She didn't wait for his reply. She didn't wait to see his shocked face as she pulled the trigger and shot him right in the neck. Blood pooled down the front of his plaid shirt, covering his jeans. She missed. She shook as she aimed, this time shooting him in the head.

Hope wasn't dead. She was here.

Days had passed. She traveled through the forest trying to find safety of any sorts. A house, a cave, even a tall tree would do; she needed security, she needed somewhere to call home.

"There is no home anymore," she said sadly to herself as she closed her eyes, "there is no home. No family. No mother. Nothing. It's all gone - burnt to ashes." She lit the house on fire after she regained the ability to walk. She burnt the house down with her family inside of it, there would be no trace that she was there, there would be no trace of what she had done. She was a killer, a murderer.

Emptiness overcame her like a force of nature. She struggled to stand and soon found herself on her knees. More tears began running down her face as she looked up towards the sky. Her hand became heavy, and when she looked down she noticed she had grabbed her gun. "Funny how life works," Hope called out into the forest as she opened the chamber and saw one remaining bullet, "funny how I came all this way to just kill myself." She laughed at her own black thoughts.

"Always save one in the chamber." Was the last bit of advice her brother gave her. Seems like he was right. Closing the chamber, she turned the barrel of the gun against her temple and pressed against the soft skin there.

"It'll be gone in a blink of an eye," tears burnt at her eyes, "one moment and all the pain will disappear." Closing her eyes, her finger gently squeezed the trigger.

An ear piercing shriek shook the air and Hope found herself unable to pull the trigger any more.
It was a child.

A child was screaming for help, she could hear it. The faint sounds of 'someone please help me' were singing to her. Before she knew it she was up on her feet and running towards the screaming. Her feet carried her far, hopping over fallen trees and leaping over rocks that became an obstacle in her path. Fear overcame her.

If she was able to save this kid, maybe just maybe ... She could redeem herself.

"Redemption is for fools."

She shook her head and kept running until she got through and into a clearing. She saw on the opposite side of the field that a little girl with mousy brown hair was running away, horribly so, from three things. Zombies, geeks, walkers, crawlers - they were things to her, there was no point in giving them a name if you were just going to kill it. She ran towards the girl who didn't even seem to notice her.

One bullet was all she had.

She got her gun out and aimed at the thing closest to the girl, "get down!" Hope yelled at the top of her lungs, forcefully drawing the kid's attention. The girl stood stock frozen to the place she stopped and Hope wanted to scream in aggravation. She squeezed the trigger and shot the closest thing in the head. The girl crouched down, covering her head with her hands, "don't just sit there, run over here!" Hope screamed again, but the girl sat there. Sweat poured down her face and neck, she had no choice but to charge the damned things. Filled with adrenaline, Hope dropped her gun in the dirt and pulled out her father's huntsman knife. She spun it around, holding it offensively as she ran towards the last two things. One of them noticed her too late as she slammed her knife into its ear canal; it screamed for but a moment and fell to the ground. The other one noticed her transgression and wrapped its decaying hand around her forearm. Mustering all her strength, Hope pulled away from the thing only to fall onto her back. She was faster than the thing and she impaled its hand into the ground. It groaned in what she would consider pain before she pulled it out and pushed the knife into its forehead.

Dead.

The adrenaline slowly lost its potency and she fell onto her back, panting and breathing heavily. She remembered the girl. Rolling onto her stomach, she forced herself up and walked to the girl only to collapse right in front of her.

"Are you alright dear?" The girl only sniffled in response, "hey, look at me - are you alright? Were you bit?" The girl looked up at Hope with red eyes and snot running out of her nose.

She shook her head, "no, I-I ran real fast. T-they co-couldn't catch me."

"Good girl," Hope praised the kid, "it was right to do that," Hope looked around the slightly clearing, "where's your mom? Dad? Was someone taking care of you?" The girl nodded her head, wiping the snot away with the back of her hand before sniffling.

"I was wi-with a big group of people, but my m-mom was there. My dad di-died," tears formed in her eyes once again, but she forced them back, "there was a big group of wa-walkers that came through our camp. I-I got separated from them. I just ran and ran and ran, I didn't look back; I was so afraid." She was wailing by the end of her explanation and Hope awkwardly patted the young girl's head, massaging her scalp with the tips of her fingers; her knife was left beside her as an empty reminder of her father.

She shushed the girl quietly, "you're fine. I got you, we'll find your mom okay? I promise."

"Pinky promise?" The girl's muffled voice answered back.

"Pinky promise," the girl held out her small pinky which Hope took in hers, squeezing it tightly before letting it drop, "what's your name?" Hope asked curiously.

"Sophia Peletier," the girl, Sophia, dried her eyes and smiled innocently up at Hope, "what's your name? How old are you?" Hope smiled kindly at the little girl. She acted like she wasn't attacked by walkers a few moments ago, she was strong - strong in a different way.

"My name is Hope Whittle and I'm twenty-eight, how old are you?"

"Twelve, just turned twelve." Sophia corrected herself half way through and Hope found it adorable.

"Come on, we have ground to cover," Hope sat up from her spot on the ground, her breathing was labored slightly, and she smelt like death probably, "where was the last time you saw your Mom? Or the group?"

"The road! Uh, the highway I think." Sophia nodded her head, agreeing with herself in some way. Hope nodded and began to think about which way the road would be. It wasn't the way she came obviously, so the first thing to try was to retrace Sophia's steps.

"Okay, well we'll retrace your steps first; following the way back from where you came, how does that sound?"

Sophia nodded again, "sounds like an adult like plan."
Hope chuckled, "that's because I am an adult." Sophia said something along the lines of 'oh yeah' before going to Hope's side and taking her hand in hers. Hope looked down surprised and Sophia only smiled, swinging their connected hands back and forth, "so we don't get separated."

"Sounds like an adult like plan." Hope replied which earned her another giggle from Sophia. Retracing Sophia's footsteps would be hard, but Hope only knew that she needed to do this. Picking up her empty gun and her father's knife, they started on their way.

This was her redemption, her final good deed; she could go after this, after she found Sophia's mother and reunited them.

This was her last hope.