Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.
-Benjamin Disraeli
What the hell did we think was gonna happen? We brought 'em here. WE caused this to happen to us; every pitiful part of it that culminated in our defenses being broken down, being taken from us. We, or I, wanted to provide shelter for those less fortunate than us. What a stupid mistake that was. I can almost hear my father laughing at me from the grave, shaking his head and telling me in his gravely voice how naive I had been to put my trust in something that was flawed from the start. Now look at us, starving and with nothing left other than the imprisonment in the traincar, and the few members of our group who had not died.
Alex's words burned through Gareth's mind as he finished writing on the scrap of paper that was found strewn on the filthy floor of the traincar. What the hell did we think was gonna happen? His younger brother's words had been spoken through a voice that trembled with each word he uttered as they both heard the unforgivable sounds of their mother being violated by the savages that invaded their home. Their mother. The woman who rocked them to sleep, and told them to be exactly who they are without fear of conforming to what society thought was appropriate. The same woman who assured Gareth that he was doing a fine job despite his reservations. Now her son had no choice but to listen to her screams, listen to her struggle, knowing her efforts were absolutely futile.
We brought 'em here.
Gareth settled against the back of the traincar while those words floated through his mind at varying degrees of intensity-they had brought their attackers there but with the best of intentions. They advertised a place of sanctuary for people to call home. They were trying to be human beings, they were trying to do something with what they had been given, and it had blown up in their faces in ways that they could not have anticipated. When they first stumbled upon Terminus, bodies worn from weeks on the road, Gareth had visions for that place that encompassed all of them. A thriving place; walls that secured their fortress and gardens that provided food. His mother was the one who first put it in his mind that he could take advantage of what the world offered them.
Wood could be used for building fires in the fireplace, and even the occasional fun time around the fire pit. Swiping his hand across his swollen eyes, Gareth remembered a time shortly after they took over Terminus when the three of them (his mother, brother, and himself), ventured outside the protective walls of their new home to start a fire like they used to. They could hear the rotters from outside the fencing, but for once they were not running from the threat, but observing from a safe distance. Leaning back, knuckling Alex in the shoulder when he made a teasing comment to his big brother, all of it felt like he was still living in a functional world that was not taken over by the dead.
More screams, this time more desperate and agonized than before. Not able to stand hearing his own mother pleading with her attackers, he buried his head in his hands and tried to block the horrific sounds from his mind and body. What kind of pathetic excuse for a son was he that he allowed those monsters to rip his mother from his arms, and then rape her in front of them? What kind of person was he that he did not do something more to stop them? His black and blue eye was a product of his latest beating, which resulted from him trying his hardest to rip his mother from their hands when they came for her. Their flashlight was used as a paddle to smack him across the face, sending him stumbling back into Alex's trembling hands.
No matter how many times he screamed at them to stop, they could have cared less what they were doing. Gareth's voice was hoarse from the number of times he used it to full capacity. If he wasn't yelling at them to bring her back, he was crying as quietly as he could so he would not upset his brother any more than he already was. Even though he knew they made a mistake in being as trusting as they were with newcomers, they were doing something good. They were defying the "norms" in the new world, and actively pursuing people to help them.
Leaning forward from the darkest part of the traincar, he locked eyes with Alex's terrified ones, and tried to be the voice of reason for the both of them. "We were trying to do something good. We were being human beings." At least, that was the aim of Terminus, to be a source of safety for those who had nothing to lean on. No connections, no anything to support them.
"What are we now, Gareth?" Alex demanded, after letting out an ironic laugh that cut Gareth to his core.
What are we now? Cattle waiting to be butchered. After seeing so much of that through the walkers attacking the humans, I thought we were past that. I thought we would be able to have a better life after getting out of that world. Now I realize that it was only blind stupidity on my part, and maybe a small amount of hope that the world could be restored through community and promise.
"We're above ground," Gareth whispered. "Everyday-" he paused to collect his tears before they could start again. "Everyday above ground is a win."
"It sure don't feel that way now," Alex remarked.
"I know," Gareth confirmed. "This isn't our end, Alex."
In reality, Gareth knew he was saying that to himself as well as to his brother. The hours they had been locked in the traincar, had stretched to weeks with little in the way of food or water. The only sustenance they received from the people who invaded their home, came from scraps that were thrown to the ground when they brought someone back from being assaulted. Ever the thinker that got them through the initial days of the outbreak, Gareth divided the food and passed a small amount to everyone. Living that way was pitiful, and the only choice they had.
Standing up, his legs resembling the feel of Jell-O, he trudged over to the far end of the car and looked around the area for anything he might be able to use to attack when the bandits returned. His fists proved to be useless when attempting to overpower two or three of the monsters at once. Running his hand along the scratched wall, he knew any plan they attempted, would have to be done quickly and with little to help them in the way of weapons. All of theirs had been confiscated from them when they were thrust into their prison.
Somehow, they would get out. Somehow they would survive.