The Walking Dead Apocalypse
A breezing chill raced its way through the child's body, causing him to cozy up with his furry coat. It used to belong to his father, and for the mean time John would hold onto it till he found him. They disappeared a few weeks ago underneath John's chin, right in the middle of night after hearing the echoing whispers call out his name repetitively. The family was heading towards this sanctuary they heard off, marked down on a labeled map of the state. John just had to make sure he would precisely follow these exact steps. With current remarks though, he was faced surviving in a brutal snow storm, with nothing but a 9 millimetre between him and the dead.
John was tired and alone, and flat out exhausted. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to take care of himself, he had proven more than that over the past two weeks. Under current circumstances though it started to bite him in the ass; more or less. The coat he was wearing wasn't warm enough, and that was saying something considering spring was supposed to come around pretty soon. A snow storm was the last thing he was expecting to deal with. Instead of being torn to part by the walkers, he might freeze to death first. It was too bad the dead don't know how to work microwaves.
Something caught the corner of John's eye, as well as his attention. It was dark, and the storm provided low visibility, but past the sounds of gushing air, he could hear the moans walk. Three shadowy figures were approaching John, each with a decaying face and the sound of choking on their own vomit. The wind also blew their foul stench towards the boy, causing him to react fast. "Son of a bitch," John replied, running down the snowy path.
John at the start of the turn was terrified of these monsters, cannibalistic beings that wanted nothing more but his demise. After about a year of it though, it didn't become as bad. In fact it was just a daily routine he would be forced to recon with from time to time. One alone wasn't even really a problem; just put a bullet through their skull and end of story. Being alone in the cold however, that was a different story. John didn't have the strength to deal with them individually.
John still had yet to use his physical might against the walkers . . . or demons as he would refer them sometimes. It would always be with a gun, that's exactly how his father taught him how to do back in his neighborhood . . . before everything truly went to hell. It took John a while to get the ankle right, holding his 9 millimetre to the point of death.
There was so much his father still had yet to teach John. How to shave, how drive, even how to fight, not like he didn't learn himself. This world created a large gap in John's childhood, taking away experiences every individual should learn at some point. Now John was all alone, helpless and scared, teaching himself how to survive a countless number of times over and over again. He missed his mother just as much as his father. He missed hearing her voice before he went to sleep. He missed the stories she told him when he was very young. He missed pancake Sundays. He missed playing sports. He missed playing video games. He missed his friends. Basically he missed everything that wasn't part of this current nightmare.
John ran out from the snow mist, seeing what looked to be shelter in the distance, but he wasn't sure. It looked to be some sort of a farm, with a house and a barn for his liking. Naturally he chose the house first, stumbling down the farm to see what remained. The storm was starting to dim down a bit as the night started to progress even further. Entering the house it seemed moderately clean, but a sense of emptiness. A smashed up China cabinet was shown in the dining room. There was also this slight smell he wasn't amused with, but it would have to do. The kitchen was the worst part, mold growing in places it shouldn't, and the fridge was completely empty as a part of his misfortune. John was starting to retract his statement about being moderately clean.
He opened up the closet, hanging up his dad's leather furry coat for the mean time. John was still exhausted, thinking it was high time he get some sleep. Walking up the stairs he heard something peculiar, something creaking within one of the bedrooms. He pulled out his nine millimetre; approaching with caution. It was hard to keep quiet, with the creaking of the wooden stairs every step up. On the top floor finally, he knocked on the door, catching the attention of whatever was inside. A strong force struck the door, catching John off guard, startling him. The door was locked, preventing whatever was inside to remain inside. Based on the sounds of the shrieking cries, it was most likely a walker. John wouldn't be sleeping in a bedroom tonight.
John stretched out his legs on a couch, shutting his eyes and leaving him alone with his thoughts. There was a television across from him, putting a pain in his stomach. He used to love television, missing all those old cartoons he would watch on Saturday mornings. Another moment of the past he took for granted. An hour had passed, and still he wasn't able to fall asleep. It became rather frustration how the stress was affecting his physical condition, with all the wondering about his parents fate is all. The thought of his parents possible being dead always entered his mind, but always he would block it out quickly. He just wasn't prepared to answer that question, he just couldn't. Regardless of that, he just couldn't sleep tonight, and as annoying as it may be, he decided just to keep watch.
John was standing in the living room, looking out the window down the field of the farm, but rarely paying any attention. He was distracted, constantly asking himself questions he hadn't had the answers to. Is this sanctuary real? Are my parents there? What if I don't make it there? Am I going to die? He would rapidly keep rubbing his eyes, hoping eventually he would get some sleep later tonight.
There were photos along the tables by the window, mostly of the farmer that used to live here. Maybe that was the same man upstairs? Or who he used to be at least. There was one photo in particular that caught John's eye. It was the farmer again, with his arm wrapped around a young boy close to John's age. This must be the farmer's son John figured, and they looked happy, just like how he and his father used to be happy. John slammed down the photo hard, feeling aggravated that such wonderful times have been torn apart from families. It was hard for him not to cry, it was hard for him not to think about his own father right now, and the chance of it being dead. Looking down past the field and up in the sky kept John distracted from that.
What the hell is that? He wondered. It was a cloud of black smoke rising into the sky, circling around the area miles away. John's eyes widened, thinking about what could possibly have caused that? Is it a fire maybe? Did people do that? Are people going to die from that? Whatever the case may be, John was glad he was far away from that place. It was probably nothing more than ash by now . . . that's all that was left.
"So you actually saw the smoke from the hospital that night?" Tristan asked. John retold Tristan the story of when he first stumbled to the farm, the same night everything went to hell. While John was lying on a couch pondering his life, Tristan and his friends were fighting for theirs.
"Yeah, next morning after I check out the barn, I see you stumble down the field and into the house," John replied.
"Where you were planning to kill me?" Tristan asked. Tristan remembered the first time they met, how John had a scheme to murder Tristan the first chance he got. Tristan still wonders if John would've had the guts to do such a thing, for a boy so young of age.
"Yeah, to put it bluntly," John said, laughing. The two of them were lying against a tree, looking up at the sky, and the stars from above. It would only be another day or so before they hit the supposed sanctuary John was speaking of, if they would make time without any more delays that is. Now was a time for relaxing, and for the first time in a few weeks, John felt safe, gladly knowing he had a companion with him through this journey. It wouldn't be difficult to sleep tonight.
John looked at Tristan, and the furry leather jacket he was wearing since they left. "You liking that jacket?" John asked.
"Warmest coat I've ever worn, why you ask?"
"It used to be my dad's."
"I'm sorry, do you want it back?"
"No, it's too big for me to wear anyways."
Tristan was glad he got to keep the jacket; it was quite a comfortable piece of clothing he's ever worn. Tristan was stumped for a second, asking himself how much has John really spoken of about his father. Really nothing came to Tristan's mind. "What was your dad like John?" Tristan asked.
There was a brief moment of silence between the two. It was hard for John to put into words the way to describe his father. "He was . . . busy I guess. Didn't spend a lot of time with me," John mumbled.
"That's a shame," Tristan replied. This was a moment of comparison for Tristan, feeling a similar feeling John has that Tristan used to have. The only difference was Tristan's dad didn't have a choice. "My dad died when I was just in my twenties. He was killed in Afghanistan." Tristan said.
"Jesus, what was that like?" John asked. The thought of that crushed John's spirit, feeling guilty he was complaining about his father not spending enough time with him.
"It's one of those moments where you don't really realize you have it till you lose it. I took my father for granted at times, and I regret it every single day. I guess that's why I joined the army, to follow in his footsteps. Still though, that's what the problem was. I thought I was trying to accomplish something he couldn't, when instead I was just making the same mistake he did."
"I'm sorry about that," John replied. This wasn't something John wanted to experience for himself, spending a life without his father, regretting anytime they spent together. This was just even more of a reason for John to be motivated in finding his parents. The thought of them being dead just couldn't happen, it just couldn't.
Snap.
Just looked forward, seeing the trees breeze by the wind, hearing a snap. Tristan rose to his feet, pulling out his revolver and aiming down the sights, taking two steps forwards. There was dead silence, but there was that feeling Tristan had that they were being watched. John was about to stand up with Tristan as well, but Tristan spread his fingers behind as a sign to keep quiet. Tristan continued to narrow his eyes, looking past the trees only to see nothing but darkness. And yet, still something was out there, he could feel it.
"What is it?" John asked.
Tristan bit his lip, lowering his revolver as he muttered "Nothing," watching the trees breeze by the wind.
All That's Left
The school bell rang, and John opened up his rusty old locker after leaving Science class. That was always his least favourite class, but then again it wasn't like he had a favourite class to begin with. He didn't much care for the social structure school provided. Yes, meeting new people was one thing, but that's exactly why John hated every second of this place, the people. It was just a load of immature morons who didn't know what they were talking about, thinking they were all tough and were above people. John didn't even much care for the teachers, them all thinking he was just as beneath them as the rest of the students. Gym was the only time he felt free, taking out whatever anger he had in this school into physical condition.
A strong thump caught John's attention to his left. It was Neil, and his group of mischievous morons. All students around here left a bad taste in John's mouth, there was no doubt about that, but they were only the tip of the iceberg compared to what Neil was. An immature ignorant child who thinks he's above everyone. Always he would make rude remarks to people behind his back, and the saddest part about it all was the amount of people who actually had his back. A low IQ was most probable in this case, and the fact people actually feared this boy just made it humours for John. Up till this moment when he noticed Neil picking on a kid half his size and a grade lower.
By now Neil was screaming at this kid; and he was just standing there taking all of it. He was completely terrified of Neil, but why should he be? Neil wasn't as tough as he made himself look, not by far. A second passed and Neil punched this kid in the stomach, collapsing him on his knees. A vein slightly stuck out of John's forehead witnessing this, causing him to slam his locker and approach Neil himself. His temper was now boiling; he was absolutely appalled that the teacher weren't doing something about this. It was high time he took matters into his own hands.
From the back of his hair, John grabbed Neil, slamming his face into the locker. Neil screamed the pain, turning around to see it was John who caused that. With a bloody nose, it was well broken, but that wasn't about to stop John now. John slammed his fist against Neil's face, causing him to fall to the ground. Neil was on his knees, and John didn't like that very much. A swift kick in the ribs collapsed Neil completely, and by now John was on top of him, continuously punching him in the face. The sensation felt good for John, this jackass deserved every second of this punishment. It disappointed John greatly to see a teacher from behind stopped him, as he watched Neil squirm around on the ground crying, exposed for what he truly is.
The scenery was getting too old for their liking, tree after tree, bush after bush, and creek after creek. Tristan and John both missed what it was like actually living in a town, having nothing but road and buildings surrounded at every corner. Maybe this is how it was like for individuals before anything revolutionary happened, evolution possibly. Those however were forces rose higher in question than they dared ponder. They were each simpler men than that, not philosophers. It just started to get annoying seeing the same thing over and over again, especially the walkers.
In this case it was a creek, filling up their bottles with water. All day they've been constantly saying what they've been missing before everything changed. A water cooler in this instant was what Tristan thought of, while John thought tap water.
"Alright, name something you don't miss," Tristan suggested, striking up a new topic. The discussion of what they miss started to grow depressing.
"Junior high," John immediately replied.
"Oh yeah?" Tristan asked, smirking.
"Oh I fucking hated that. Surrounded by a bunch of immature dumbasses all day long? Not my thing."
"That's what the teachers are for," Tristan reminded, standing up after filling his bottle.
"Yeah well, not when they treat you like a fellow immature dumbass all day long," John replied, also standing on his feet.
The two of them kept walking, naming items or events they proved not to miss. Tristan didn't miss traffic on the weekdays, or the numbing drunks that caused a ruckus in his own bar. John didn't miss having a particular bedtime, or handing in projects with a deadline. They both enjoyed the fact they could move around freely, without having to worry about the weight of time collapsing on their shoulders. In days like this, they were made of nothing but time. Tristan also didn't miss the snarky woman down by the drug store, as well John didn't miss his math teacher, who was always way to serious about everything. They were starting to figure there are a few bits of good that come out of this world, if you can get past the sleepless nights, fear of death at every corner, and the demise of everyone you love.
Tristan raised his arm, twisting it around his shoulder, slightly cringing. "You feeling any better?" John asked.
"I'm walking pretty normally now so I guess my leg is fine. My arm is still sore, but it's manageable. I guess don't be punching me in the ribs anytime soon though," Tristan replied.
"I won't, but I can't make that promise for the dead," John reminded.
Tristan smirked, replying "Fair enough."
The air was starting to feel warmer compared to a few days ago, and the snow started to melt drastically beneath them. Spring wasn't too far away, but it wasn't as if they could know anyways. Another added addition to the list of things they missed, calendars and a sense of time. Spring was John's favourite season. Wasn't too warm like summer, wasn't too cold like winter, wasn't a sense of depression like fall. Spring was a time of rebirth and the acceptance of what's the come after. To him it was like a chance to restart, kind of like New Years. Getting out of the cold and into the bloom was just something else they both could look forward too.
A red color was past the trees, gaining both of their attention. From the looks of it, it was just a torn bloody shirt, with a pile of both lying beneath the dirt. It looked dry, black, and out of date. Tristan leaned down, feeling the texture of the hollow bones. "It's been like this for a while. Walkers must've done a good number on them," Tristan said.
A familiar shriek came from behind, causing both Tristan and John to look over their shoulders. It was a walker, if not obvious. Female, decaying face, yellow eyes, basically everything that screamed hideous. It was always the teeth that got John, you could tell a lot about a walker just because of their teeth. Where they've been, what they've been doing, how they've been handling it . . . and what they had for lunch earlier. In this case, the walker's teeth were clean, as clean as any walker could get. Tristan rubbed his eyes, sighing from annoyance. At this point one walker was like dealing with a pesky mosquito.
He picked up one of the both lying in ruin, tapping the end with his figure to examine how sharp it was. It wasn't a knife, not certainly that, but it could get the job done he figured. He stood on his feet, thinking this was starting to turn into child's play. Half the time Tristan killed walkers was with his revolver, and the other half was usually with a knife of some sorts. In this moment, with only one round left, he would have to improvise.
"You sure you're up for this?" John asked, concerned for Tristan's physical peek.
"You remember the pool don't you?" Tristan asked referring to yesterday's event in the house.
"Alright fine, have at it."
Tristan just walked over the bones, constantly tapping his new weapon against his hand. He took his stance, holding the bone at one hand, with his left higher up. He pushed forward, piercing the walker through its eye. There was a strong kink in Tristan's rib cage, causing him to take a knee, forcing the bone to go through down past the walker's skull, deceasing it. The walker lay on the ground; and Tristan on his knee recovering. There was no blood, not from what he could see or feel, but that was a jolt of unexpected pain he didn't wanna feel again. He looked back over to John with an exhausted expression, giving him a thumbs up.
"I guess you're not tough as you think you are," John said, reversing Tristan's thumb up into a middle finger up.
Tristan turned back around, panting for air. From the corner of his eye, something was moving, and it wasn't pretty. Dozens of shrieking moans caught his attention once again, and they were all heading straight for him. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me?" Tristan said. Tristan with all his might stood on his feet, grabbing John's shoulder and turning the opposite direction. The two started to run, up a higher terrain towards a steep cliff, one of which would be abominable to drop from. The moans of the walkers started to fade, but the feeling of being in danger was still at bay.
The two of them continued to run for another five minutes just to be sure they were clear from walkers, running up higher and higher onto the cliff. Eventually they came to a stop, and open viewed stage of dirt with three walkers lurking about. John raised his 9 millimetre, aiming for the walker's skull. Tristan lowered John's hand, repeating "No gun fire," before taking out his bone. He swung the bone hard at the first walker, so much it broke in half on impact. The walker was still squirming around on the ground, presenting an even more disgusting image than before. The bone only had a fraction left, completely unnecessary with the remaining two walkers. Tristan put force into the end of it, silencing the collapsed walker.
With two more walkers left, Tristan had a much simpler idea. Tristan grabbed John's hand, slowly approaching the edge of the cliff. "Watch your feet," Tristan said. Tristan approached the second walker, kicking him right off the cliff and down into the terrain. The second walker latched itself onto Tristan, but not unguarded. Tristan elbowed the second walker in the head, grabbing the back of its shirt and throwing him of the cliff as well, down into the forest below.
Tristan took a knee again, feeling more pain coarse through his rib cage. His arm also wasn't feeling too great either, anymore of this and he'd be knocked out cold. It was exhausting dealing with the dead in the state Tristan was in, but it wasn't like everything could go unchecked.
Standing on his feet again, Tristan looked over the side of the cliff, witnessing the entire forest beneath his eyes. For the most part it was a beautiful setting, the sky across the horizon, the tree blowing against the wind. This would've made for a great painting spot for any artist on some kind of spiritual journey. For now, it would just have to do as a camping spot. Another day passed and yet still they haven't gotten to this sanctuary. One more day should do it, one more day.
"Alright, it'll get dark soon, we'll camp here for the night," Tristan said. John looked down at the side of the cliff, noticing how steep it was. It was a high fall if anyone would dare to try skiing, and even if you could survive on impact, it would hurt immensely. "Don't get too close to the ledge John, you could fall."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to fall," John replied.
"How are you so sure?" Tristan asked.
"Because I'm pretty sure I'm not a dumbass," John replied, giving Tristan a sigh from his sarcasm. Tristan was starting to wonder if this was how teen all acted. All those years he mouthed off to his step mother he was starting to regret.
Nightfall hit, and a warm campfire was all that surrounded the duo. Hours past with them talking about their previous lives, although Tristan had a lot more to talk about. Running a bar, fighting in the military, handling walkers the past year, Tristan had lived a hard life considering his age. All that was learnt about John was his unforgiving past as a junior high student, getting into trouble, his parents neglecting him, not doing the best with grades. To be fair it sounded exactly like Tristan's junior high days, only without as much homework.
John was a skeptic about the idea of school. Yes, it was necessary, that was undoubtedly true, but what he couldn't stand was the fact it was full of differing individuals who were all forced to take the same subjects. History was really the only class he understood, as well as enjoyed by remarks of study. American history, the French Revolution, the Renaissance, all events through history that John liked reading a book towards. Math and science however he didn't enjoy. It's not as if he couldn't have been exceptionally studied with these subjects, he just preferred not to. His parents didn't care for that, but instead of lying from the truth, he admitted it, by always saying "I just don't care."
"So what do you wanna do when you . . . or what did you want to do when you were older?" Tristan asked, forgetting the only option for the future is being a survivor.
"I was actually debating the military for a while," John admitted. For him it just made sense, serving your country instead of destroying it like any typical employment. Once again though, his parents strongly advised it.
"I don't recommend it," Tristan replied.
"Yeah why not?" John asked.
It was the nightmares to be perfectly honest, even during when Tristan was awake. Images of death at every corner, friends and comrades being murdered by the enemy, the cries of mercy from the opposing line. Even at this stage of Tristan's life, he could still hear the gunfire go off within his mind. Every round, every shell, and every target would become part of your identity after you came home . . . assuming you did come home. It was hard for Tristan to wrap up into words why he advised against military action. "Cause . . . it just haunts you," he mumbled.
"I decided not to though so it's fine," he replied.
"What changed your mind?" Tristan asked, wondering why he didn't make the same decision.
"I don't know a couple reasons. At first it just seemed like it was doing service to our country, but after all that's happened it just seemed like senseless war to me. I was thinking maybe becoming a police officer instead, enforcing the law," John replied.
"Well hell, cut all the sarcastic bullshit and there you go," Tristan joked. John slightly tapped Tristan on the chest, while also laughing. "Why not become a doctor like your dad?"
"Basically because I have no reason to become a doctor, with all the hours he was working, and all the time he spent away from his family," John muttered.
"Understandable."
"Did you know any cops before?" John asked.
There was only one Tristan could think of, and it was a disgusting thought to name him. David Lee, the same bastard who almost killed Hannah in cold blood, and the right hand man of Scott. "I knew one . . . he's dead now," Tristan muttered, referring to his beheading.
Tristan had a distasteful look on his face, starting to think of his old enemies once again. Something was troubling him, John could see it. A different discussion would have to be brought up; otherwise this night may linger to be depressing. "Do you believe there's a heaven?" John asked.
Tristan slightly paused, hesitantly saying "I'm not sure I believe in anything anymore."
"Jesus said the dead would roam the earth, maybe there's a heaven too?"
"Well when he said the dead would walk, I thought it would look a little different. If there is a heaven, it might not be the way we've been picturing it all this time," Tristan replied.
"Maybe not, but if that's where we go, we'd be reunited with everyone we love don't we?" John asked.
Tristan started to gander a bit, thinking of everyone who has passed those walls. His father for starters; and even his mother might be up there right now together. Molly and her sister Nicole enjoying each other's company, maybe Savian too. Bailey might also be up there, probably not appreciating the way he went up there in the first place. Amanda, although Tristan doubts she'd be reunited with Scott up there. Murray might be up there, still thanking Tristan from the god's perspective. As long as she avoids continuously haunting Tristan in moments of being insane, Mary could also be up there, still awaiting Tristan's homecoming. Naomi, Phillip, Matias, Hannah, Katheryn, all of them could be up there . . . and now it was just Tristan all alone down here.
It was hard for Tristan to admit this, but he doubts he would be allowed into heaven even if it did exist. All the things he's done, they're his sins that can't be confessed anymore. Killing Murray from pity, murdering two strangers from doubt, causing genocide to The Foreigners, going to war with his best friend, starring into the eyes of a man begging for mercy and still pulling the trigger, and none of this even counted the crimes he committed back in Afghanistan. If there was some kind of utopia after you pass the world of the living, it was hard to believe he'd be going there after what this world has forced him to do. Instead of pursuing happiness with Mary from above, he would sink down into the depths of hell and face Scott for eternity. Once Tristan delivered John to this sanctuary, then he would really know for sure, one way or another.
"I'm not sure John . . . to be frank with you; I'm not much of a faithful person anymore . . . not after all of this."
It was hard for John to hear those words, becoming unfaithful after each turn. That was all John could try to respect longer now, faith and hope. Faith and hope were the only factors that led him to believe his parents were alive. Without that, John would've just given up a long time ago. "I . . . I have to be faithful," John muttered.
Tristan turned his head, looking at the heat glistening off his face. "Why?" Tristan asked.
John continued looking up into the stars, replying "I just have to."
John sat in the principal's office, awaiting his punishment for earlier this afternoon. Everything that happened though was well deserved, the beating Neil got from his behaviour earlier. Sure, picking on kids a lower grade than you is fine, but beat down the student who deserved so much pain calls for punishment. His knuckles were hurting bad, but he was glad about it. If his knuckles weren't hurting, he would regret not hitting Neil harder. This pain in his hand was only a fraction of what Neil must be feeling right now.
The principle walked in the door, Mr. Zilsky by the name of it. He was not a well-deserved principle, never doing a damn thing he should've done long ago. Instead of funding proper history books to learn from, he would rather pay the budget towards his own office desk, one of the most unnecessary things with this school. John did not respect him, he had the attitude of an imbecile; and the personality of military general, and being so strict it would make it impossible to enjoy any form of company with this man. He wasn't married, and John wasn't the least bit surprised. Even behind his back the teachers didn't really respect his authority.
"So John, what kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?" Zilsky asked.
"You mean you don't know?" John asked; disengaging eye contact to rub his eyes from this principles stupidity.
"I know damn well what you've done; I just wanna hear you say it."
"Do you think this is a game or something? What you can't get people to like you so you purposefully try to piss them off?"
"Watch your mouth boy, or you'll regret it."
"Okay sure, don't punish me when I kick some kid's ass, but punish me when I talk back to you," John replied with sarcasm.
"Alright, there's only one real thing I can do at this point," Zilsky said, leaving his desk and looking out the window. "You're suspended for two weeks."
"Alright fine, maybe I need some time away from this dump anyways," John said. This was actually terrible news to hear, he just didn't wanna look inferior in front of the principle. The real problem was his parents getting upset with this news when he gets home. There was also the fact they couldn't leave him alone at home for two weeks, which would annoy them to no end. John could already tell this was going to be a long while before his parents could forgive him for this.
The principle turned around, laughing. John didn't know why, and his laugh sounded a like a mouse digging its way towards cheese. "You know what your problem is John? You think you're better than people," Zilsky said.
John bit his tongue, trying not to laugh from the irony. "Look who's talking," John said.
The principle continued to further laugh at John, unaware of his ignorance. "Take these two weeks to smarten up and realize not everything is going to be about you."
John got off his seat, heading towards the door, and away from this moron. "See you in two weeks Zilchbee," John joked.
"I'm sure your parents are going to love the reason why you came home early from school today, right after I phone them," Zilsky replied. John ignored the principles subtle threat and slammed his door on the way out.
A strong gazing heat caught John's eyes, dimming his vision as he stared into the fire. There was a gap of silence between the duo, a man of faith, and a man of loss. All John had left was his faith, that's all that remained buried behind the ashes of the fire. It was all that was keeping the image of his parents alive; it was all that could keep him going. Faith is why this sanctuary exists, faith is why he belies his parents have not forgotten him. John even still had faith for Tristan, one way or another he was some kind of guide to his path, a light to the beacon of his hope. John was going to show Tristan somehow, there was an answer out there that would help him become the man he used to be.
Snap.
From the corner of Tristan eye, he saw movement through the trees. He squinted his eyebrows, slowly standing on his feet and walking past the campfire. It was the same feeling from before, the sense of being watched by someone . . . or something. His guard was up, placing his hand around the handle of his revolver. The heat of the fire was dead against his back, but there was a silent cold breeze to his front. Everything was quiet, and still there was that same sensation he was feeling, and it wasn't good.
"What's the problem?" John asked, unaware of why Tristan was doing what he was doing. Tristan didn't respond to John, instead continuing to focus down past the trees. The breeze grew colder, and again there was slight movement behind the trees, a shadow he couldn't quite spot. John's patience wasn't always contained; he very much didn't enjoy being ignored. It was as if he was talking to his own dad again. "Tristan, what's wrong?" John asked, raising his voice.
"Shush, be quiet," Tristan said back to John, looking over his shoulder, only to see John wasn't alone. A tall dirty blonde male was standing behind John, wearing what looked to be a gillie suit, holding a rifle of some sorts. Tristan's eye's spread, turning around and screaming "Behind you!" to John, before being struck from behind, hitting the ground.
"Tristan!" John screamed, seeing a man from behind attack him. He was black, wearing a gillie suit. John tried to leap up, reaching for his pistol, before being pressed down to the ground from behind.
"Easy Jones, he's just a kid," Marcus said, emerging from the trees a ways over to Steve.
"My bad. Hey he could've been dangerous for all we know," Jones replied.
"They're not who we're looking for though, we should report back to Wade," Marcus suggested.
"I agree, although I think I did a number on this poor guy," Steve said, laughing at Tristan.
Tristan bit his lip from rage, turning his eye to notice the black guy was caught off guard. The blonde guy was still holding John down to the ground, but by the looks of it the one with the glasses doesn't have his rifle out, that was going to be Tristan's play. Tristan took a knee, swinging his left leg across Steve, tripping him onto the ground with a thump. Tristan leaped towards Marcus, alerting him to pull out his rifle, but it was already too late. Tristan struck at Marcus with all his might, causing his body to rotate one hundred and eighty degrees. Tristan pulled out his revolver, grabbing Marcus and wrapping his arm around his neck, pressing the gun towards his head.
Tristan turned Marcus' body at Jones, screaming "Put down your gun!" Jones' humorous expression dropped, hesitating to drop his rifle for this man. John was still on the ground, pinned down by Jones' foot. "You just messed with the wrong guy," Tristan muttered in a gruff tone. Jones still didn't lower his rifle, starring into Tristan's eyes with diffidence. "Drop your gun, or I will put a bullet in his brain," Tristan threatened.
Jones smirked, slowly putting his rifle against the ground and taking his foot off of John. Jones raised his hands slowly, replying "I think you got it the other way around there buddy."
Tristan felt something press against his head, hearing Steve whisper "Let him go." Tristan bit his lip, aggravated his plan didn't fully workout like it was supposed to. Marcus' nose started to bleed, and still Tristan did not move the revolver out of the way or let him go. "Buddy we were just passing by, looking for someone, and you turned out not to be him. Unless you want a bullet through your brain, as well as through the kid's, you'll let him go; we'll be on our way, and no hard feelings.
"Right, no hard feelings," Tristan muttered, wondering why anybody would be stupid enough to believe that. Tristan turned Marcus' body towards Steve, grabbing hold of his rifle. There he pushed Marcus towards Steve while at the same time removing the rifle from his strap. Marcus and Steve hit the ground on top of one another, and now all that was left was Jones. Jones reached for his rifle, but Tristan wasn't going to let that happen. Tristan aimed down the sights, firing directly towards Jones. Jones leaped out of the way, leaving behind his rifle. "John move!" Tristan screamed. John picked himself off the ground, shuffling to the side so he wouldn't get in Tristan's way.
Jones was in plain view, and again Tristan aimed down the sights, preparing to finish him off once and for all. From the side, Marcus kicked the rifle away from Tristan's hand, disarming him. Tristan swung one swift punch towards Marcus' direction, but he ducked, elbowing Tristan in the ribs. A jolt of sharp pain hit Tristan, causing him to collapse on his knees. His ribs still weren't healed up properly, and judging by the punch Marcus just laid on him, the stiches may have just opened. Marcus was about to throw a punch towards Tristan, but in no time he ducked, barrel rolling out of his way.
Steve was grabbing his rifle, only to notice the barrel was bent after it hit the ground. "Son of a bitch," he said in a gruff tone. He spat out blood from his mouth, picking himself off the ground and standing next to Marcus. Marcus removed his glasses, noticing they were cracked after Tristan struck him. "Got a spare?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, although I think I'll avoid putting them on for now," Marcus replied.
"Might as well break a few of his bones first, the little prick," Jones said, standing beside the two of them.
Tristan was still on his knee, looking down at the trio of gillie suit soldiers that stood before him. The pain still didn't run its course yet, and what made it worse was he started to bleed after he rolled away from a punch. Tristan continued to press down on his wound, hoping the bleeding would only be temporary. The three of them approached Tristan, and he was in no physical stature to take them all one anymore, not with his bleeding ribs and sore arm. Tristan pulled out his revolver again, screaming "Back up!"
The three of them stopped, but their expressions of assault didn't change. Tristan only had one bullet remaining, but they didn't know that. This was a gamble he would have to take, and if it didn't work, cutting his losses wouldn't be beneficial. The trio of soldiers kept away from Tristan, but they were still on guard, trying to figure out a tactic to flank him. Tristan could tell these guys were no joke, he could recognize their fighting technique, and they're military. Tristan started to sweat, showing more signs of weakness to the three of them, along with the blood still oozing from his side. His hand started to shake, thinking this might finally be his time.
All of the men's expressions changed from plan of attack, to shear surprise, as their eyes spread and mouths opened, each releasing a sound of unexpectedness. Tristan was also surprised, asking himself what could possible spook them at this time; they all had the upper hand, that was for sure. "Wade . . . we weren't expecting you," Jones muttered.
Tristan heard footsteps from behind, causing him to turn around to see who arrived now. There were two men standing before him, and one of them was also wearing a gillie suit. He was much taller than the other three, as well as more muscular, letting his massive arms show through his grey shirt. He was black, showing stubble around his lip and chin, and had the fiercest look amongst the bunch. This was no doubt their leader, another enemy Tristan would be defeated by. Tristan's eyes spread and mouth dropped from shear astonishment when he realized the second individual standing there was Matias.
Matias engaged eye contact with Tristan immediately, almost just as stunned to see him as Tristan was. They both assumed they just died at the hospital during Scott's assault, but from the looks of things they've been busy. Matias was seeing Tristan with a child, sitting down by a campfire. Tristan was seeing Matias surrounded by four militarized maniacs that just tried to kill them. Questions upon questions needed to be answered, and the worst part about all of this was they were on the opposing lines that needed to be resolved. Still through all of this conflict, they were each happy to see they were alive.
Bang.
Everybody's attention turned towards John, whom just fired one round from his nine millimetre into the air. John then aimed down the sights, pointing it directly at Wade. "Turn around and leave us alone!" John screamed.
This was the absolute last thing Tristan needed right now, John trying to act tough in front of these men. This was all one giant misunderstanding, if Matias was with these men, they can't be all that bad, he knows that. Skeptic, dangerous, strong, but not a threat unless you become a threat, which is exactly what John is doing right now. Wade had a look of pure frustration on his face, looking down the path at this child threatening him.
"John, this isn't the best place for this right now!" Tristan screamed.
"This isn't the best place for anything right now," Wade said, taking out his pistol, pointing it at John's direction.
"No!" Tristan screamed, leaping towards John.
Bang.
The bullet went right through Tristan's shoulder as he tackled John, sending them both over the side of the cliff. They continued to fall down the trail of dirt and leaved from the terrain, coming out of visual sight from the cliff immediately.
"No . . . No!" Matias screamed. Matias ran towards the edge of the cliff, looking down the terrain to see where Tristan vanished. There was no sign of him anywhere, just the sound of a gunshot piercing through the air. The one survivor he found from the hospital was just shot through the air and it as all Wade's.
"Jesus Matias don't fall of the edge or anything," Marcus said.
"Judging by the height, those two are probably long dead by now," Steve said.
Matias turned around, completely infuriated with Wade. A powerful thump across the dirt was Matias' approach, trying to take a swing at Wade himself. Jones and Steve grabbed both his arms in time to stop him, but Matias was squirming around trying to break free. Wade continued to stand there without fear, the same expressionless face as before, wondering why Matias was so wild up all of the sudden. "What the hell is your problem?" Wade asked.
"I know him!" Matias shouted. The four of them went silent; each puzzled by Matias' words. "He was part of the group I was last with . . . hell he was the leader! I thought he was dead . . . but he wasn't . . . and now you just shot him!" Matias screamed.
"He tried to kill us," Wade replied.
"You attacked them!"
"We made a mistake. That kid pulled his gun on us."
"He was just defending himself."
"So was I."
"He's just a kid! And you shot him!" Matias screamed.
Wade continued to eye Matias down ferociously, contemplating his mistakes. Yes, he thought what he did was rather rash as well as critical, but what other choice did he have? He had no idea the man he just shot at was Matias' friend, it was just a mistake. They could both be dead right now, and that would stick with Wade's conscious. Single handily took out a man defending a kid, two birds with one stone. Wade cringed, muttering "Jones, Marcus, Steve . . . I want you to find the two of them for me."
"Sir, did you see how steep that cliff is? There's no way they could've survived that fall," Marcus stated.
"Then just find me their bodies!" Wade shouted. The three of them went silent, not questioning Wade's order again. They each nodded, turning around back into the forest and finding a way down the cliff. Wade turned to Matias, whispering "Alive or dead . . . we'll find them . . . somehow."
Tristan's arm erupted through the stream of water, grabbing onto the nearest rock he could find. He pulled himself out, along with John against his arm. They don't know how it happened, surviving a fall of that magnitude, but it happened. Just another event Tristan would have to add to the list. Grazed leg, stabbed rib cage, dislocated arm, bullet through the shoulder, and a steep fall. John was coughing up water, almost nearly drowning once they landed in the water, but he was managing just fine. After choking up the last bit of water, he noticed Tristan was bleeding everywhere.
"Oh my god Tristan are you okay?" John asked, rushing over towards him. Tristan laid flat against his back, applying pressure to his shoulder.
"I . . . I knew him . . ." Tristan muttered.
"What? You knew who?" John asked. John was starting to think Tristan was going delusional.
"Matias . . . he was from my group . . . he's with those men . . ." Tristan muttered.
John was shocked to hear this news, as well as frustrated all at the same time. Not only were they dealing with new enemies, but old allies turned enemy. Right now though it didn't matter, Tristan needed to be patched up. John reached for his bag of medical supplies, only to realize it wasn't around his back anymore. During their impact, it must've come off and landed into the stream, going god knows where now. John wiped away the sweat from his forehead, pondering what he could do. He looked around the area, seeing from the distance what looked like to be a cave of some sorts. That would have to do as shelter for the rest of the night, a moaning Tristan in pain while bleeding would just attract any walkers in the area.
"Can you stand?" John asked. Tristan pressed down on the ground with his arm, trying to stand up without hurting his shoulder further. John wrapped his arm around Tristan to help him stand, but the pain was still to agonizing for him to walk alone. A moment later Tristan's revolver hit the ground below them. It must've washed up on the creek with them, one lucky moment at least. John picked it up; dragging Tristan along the dirt and towards the cave, praying a walker wouldn't spring at them during this time. "Don't worry Tristan; you're going to be okay . . . you'll be okay."
John laid back against his bed, reading the latest issue of the Noir comics. It was a tale of shadows and monsters roaming the earth, possessing innocent souls across the globe on a grand scale of darkness. John didn't much care for these comics; they were originally his fathers that were locked up in the addict. They were a bit old fashioned and grotesque for John's liking, however it was still better than reading nothing. Every other modern fiction he had within the house he already read through, sometimes twice. John, unlike many other students, actually enjoyed reading. Quiet, peaceful, and you go to learn something from it every second. F
John's door knocked, hearing his father's voice ask him if he may enter. Apart from all the neglect, his father did respect John's privacy, even at the most detesting of times. John allowed his father to enter, and from the looks of things he was not in a good mood from hearing about the suspension. "A two weeks leave of absence?!" his father asked, sounding absolutely baffled.
"Yeah, problem?" John asked sarcastically.
"Don't be a smartass," his father demanded. John didn't question his father's obedience, unlike principle Zilsky's. "What kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time John?"
"It was that Neil asshole, he was picking on a junior. All I did was knock him around a little bit," John replied.
"You broke his nose John, as well as a couple of ribs," his father replied. John knew his nose broke, but he didn't imagine the beating to be to such magnification. The broken ribs caught John off guard. "His father was thinking about suing us."
"Was thinking about it?" John asked.
"He's not anymore, apparently his son forgives you."
"He forgave me . . . but why?" John asked. This was the most confusing news John had received all day. After the intense beating he gave to Neil today, it was just shear rubbish he would forgive him after all of that.
"It doesn't matter why John, what matters is you need to learn to keep to yourself."
"I'm not gonna let some dickhead pick on little kids," John asked, raising his voice and temper.
"Don't raise your voice with me John," his father said, toning down John for a moment.
"Dad look . . . I'm sorry I did what I did . . . but the damage has already been done. I'm suspended two weeks regardless of how this conversation turns out."
"Yeah I guess you're right . . . you're grounded for two weeks. You are not to leave a foot of this room. No exceptions," his father ordered.
"But dad!" John yelled.
"No exceptions!" his dad screamed, shutting the door on their conversation. John's temper was off the charts, feeling as if he needed to punch a wall. He tried to go back to reading his Noir comics, but instead it resulted in him flinging it against the wall. This just really wasn't his day.
The bleeding finally stopped after hours of steady pressure. The sun was starting to rise; a long night of fear in instability was all that remained. Tristan passed out shortly after entering the cave from blood lose, and John had no idea how he could solve this. Tristan needed to be patched up, and fast, otherwise his wounds will get infected. Stiches, disinfectant, thread, everything John had been inside that bag and it's gone who knows where. John thought it was possible it washed up further down the creek, and that might be his only chance. However, that would also mean he would be leaving Tristan alone in the cave.
John placed his hand over Tristan's head, noticing he was starting to burn up. It might be a fever John was thinking, but if that was the case he had no time to waste. Several different threats were still out there. Walkers, gillie suited men, and there were still the whispers he heard from a week ago that was lurking, whatever that might be. But still, Tristan helped John get this far towards the sanctuary, he saved his life. John thought now it was time to save his, and he better get a move on.
John was just about to exit the cave, right before Tristan grabbed his arm. Tristan woke up, sweating from his forehead and read as an apple. "Tristan . . . I didn't know you were awake," John said.
Tristan leaned his head against the rocks again, shutting his eyes as he started to mutter "I'm . . . I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for anything," John said.
"B-Bailey . . . I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I couldn't save you . . . I'm sorry I couldn't save anyone," Tristan mumbled.
"Wait what? What are you talking about?" John asked. Tristan was starting to sound delusional.
"P-Please forgive me," Tristan said, starting to shake. "Forgive me . . ." Tristan said, sounding as if he ran out of breath, passing out again.
"Tristan?" John asked. Tristan was out cold; his fever was starting to get worse. Not only was his color looking off, but he wasn't thinking straight anymore, calling out name's John has never heard before. John leaned down at Tristan, pressing his hand against his wounded shoulder whispering "Everything will be okay, I promise."
John looked down past Tristan, noticing his revolver was still tucked away. There was a great possibility of John running into trouble out there, and with no weapons he would certainly be killed. A revolver with one bullet sounded better than nothing at all, so he picked it up, opening up the chamber, and starting to exit the cave. Tristan's most cherished weapon now was the only material standing in between John's safety. One bullet would determine what would become of John's life . . . that's all that's left.
It appeared to be a beautiful day, apart from everything previously before. John had to detach his fear and starting acting more confident if he wished to save Tristan's life. The bag of medical supplies was around here somewhere, and John had a clear trail of where it could've ended up. He started following the creek down from the forest, praying it hasn't vanished for good.
Hours upon hours of shear darkness was all Matias roamed through, right beside the same individual who started this dilemma. Wade Thompson, a special ops sniper in command, tried to kill Tristan and a young boy. Matias still couldn't believe Wade did what he did, and his excuse for it was just intolerable. The kid was scared, and in danger after what Wade's men did to him, it was no wonder he pulled his gun on them. This man went out of the way to save Matias' life from a herd of walkers; even though he could've just walked away and let Matias get eaten to death. The fact he tried to shoot a kid down just wasn't making any sense to Matias.
Then there was Tristan, the leader of his last group that he hadn't seen for a week, a man he just presumed was dead. During the hospital attack, he was outside during the assault, and after was nowhere to be seen. Yet there he was, alive and well, attacking three of Jones men with just his bear fists, just like the good old Tristan he knew. There were so many questions Matias wanted to ask him. How did you get out alive? Did you kill Scott? Are you the only one left? What are you doing with this kid? Instead of a warm hearted reunion though, Wade shot him off a cliff, and now Tristan might be permanently dead.
Jones Marcus and Steve split up with the two of them, searching for more ground near where they fell. It was just Wade and Matias now, searching the grounds for his possibly dead friend, and Matias was being as silent as possible, like a never ending game of charades.
"It's been all night, still no sign of them," Wade said. Wade tried to engage eye contact, but Matias was still continuously ignoring him. "What you giving me the cold shoulder now?" Wade asked. Matias was boiling with rage, wanting to snap at Wade. "Look I'm sorry I shot your friend, but you have to realize this was just a misunderstanding Matias," Wade said.
"A misunderstanding?!" Matias said, spinning around ferociously. "You shot a kid!" Wade was a little bit caught off guard, not expecting Matias to call out on him like that. "He was scarred, and he had a right to be. He was just trying to defend himself, but instead of talking to them, you just went right ahead and possibly murdered them both!"
"I did what I was forced to do!" Wade screamed back.
"By doing what shooting a kid!" Matias shouted, trying to place his hand Wade's arm.
"Take your hands off me!" Wade shouted, leaving Matias in silent again. All they did right there was staring into each other's eyes, contemplating exactly what their relationship. Are they allies? Are they friends? Neither of them knew now . . . not yet anyways.
Wade made a face of shame, pulling down his shirt past his shoulder, showing what look like to be a bullet wound. "You see this? I got this back in Iraq, right before this man pulled his rifle on me. He must've been on older than about twenty one I'd say, maybe a bit older, but it didn't matter. I tried to talk him out of doing what he was going to do, tell him he was making a mistake. See he wasn't a soldier; he was just part of the local residence we entered. We were just trying to save them, get them out of the city and to safety, but he thought I was lying. He went right ahead and pulled the trigger. Now see I don't know if you get it yet, but anybody who pulls a gun on you is a threat. Man or woman, child or adult, anybody putting a gun to you is dangerous, and I wasn't about to make that mistake again. After all this fighting, I thought to myself I don't wanna die so I went right ahead and made my decision! Yes did I possibly kill some kid in the mix . . . maybe . . . but I'm still here."
Matias kept silent, not fully realizing the stakes of why Wade did what he did. It wasn't something that was forgivable, not by a long shot, but he understood why Wade did what he did. It still didn't change the fact he may have murdered his friend.
Wade pulled his shirt back up, and his expression of rage turned back to somewhat apologetic. "Matias look . . . I made a mistake, we all do. I didn't know he was your friend; I would've tried to talk to them if I did, get them to come with us. Was shooting that kid maybe a bit of a hasty move? . . . Yes it was, and I'm regretting doing what I did. But . . . in this world people are unpredictable. Now see the dead, they're an easy threat. Easy to figure out. Easy to kill. But people? You can never imagine what they could be capable of now."
"Let's . . . let's just keep looking," Matias said, not yet accepting Wade's apology.
"Jones Marcus and Steve are out there looking, they might have found them now . . . they have supplies to heal that wound your friend may have suffered . . . I'm sorry what was his name."
"Tristan," Matias said, looking back over at Wade. "His name is Tristan, and he's not as forgiving as I am Wade. He too was a soldier, enlisted in Afghanistan . . . and after everything he's had to endure, you might wanna start worrying for the safety of your men."
"I can handle him, not trying to get cocky but I haven't seen a threat out there that's been more dangerous than us four," Wade said.
Matias was starting to think back of a particular individual, one who still gives him nightmares at night. He too was a soldier, a sergeant in Afghanistan that just snapped. He was the man responsible for the fall of the hospital, the deaths of Wesley Molly Ben Austin . . . and even Kiersten. His name was Scott McGregor, and after having him cross Matias' mind, he whispered "You're wrong," to Wade.
John continued to walk down the stream for the past hour, looking around for the medical supplies that would save Tristan's life. The clock was ticking; every second passing was another threat to Tristan's life, so John needed to hurry. The lack of sleep he received last night created sheer exhaustion on John's part, but now was not the time to start complaining. John was tougher than this, he knew that. Tough enough to handle four militarized men? He didn't know about that. As long as he could avoid them, he should be fine, assuming they weren't searching for him. They may have already assumed he and Tristan were killed after they fell off the cliff, and that would be sublime for the situation he was in. However, based off the luck he was having lately, that might not be the case.
Snap.
John spun around towards the bushes, pulling out Tristan's revolver and aiming down the sight. At first there was nothing there, but time required patience if he wanted to stay alive. A few more seconds passed, and still nothing emerged from the tree. John took in one long breath, telling himself to call down, and breathed out slowly. He turned around, seeing a walker spring at him from behind.
The walker latched onto him, and John used all his force to try and keep the walker away from him. With all his might, he pushed away the walker closer to the creek, and still it was approaching him. John didn't wanna waste the last round in the revolver, not now. He ran towards the walker, using all his strength to kick him into the stream. The walker fell backwards, landing in the walker, and started to follow the stream while trying to stand up. A few seconds later, the walker went completely under water, leaving John alone in safety.
John dropped to his knees, taking in long deep breaths to help himself relax. Don't worry John, you're safe now. You can protect yourself; you've always been able to. John didn't need to use the only bullet remaining within the revolver, it was relieving. Still, that walker took a hard hit at John, depleting his stamina and strength tremendously. Now was not the time to sit down and give up, he had work to do. Looking from the corner of his eye, he was starting to think mission accomplished, seeing the bag of supplies wash up on the dirt.
John stood up, running towards the bag of supplies as fast as he could. He sat on his knees, opening up the bag to see what was left. Bandages, stiches, disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, it was all there. Slightly wet, but it would have to do. All John needed to do was get back to Tristan and stich him up before time runs out. John was confident, thinking he didn't need an adult to always help him out of these situations. He put the bag around his back, turning around and heading back towards the cave, only to see someone standing in his way.
"Going somewhere?" the man asked. This was the same man from before, dirty blonde hair, wearing a gillie suit, and the same asshole that pinned John down by the campfire. John turned around and ran into the woods as fast as he could. "Why do they always have to run?" Jones asked.
The snapping of branches illuminated all around John as he continued running. These men were too much of a threat for him to deal with alone, if he stays and fights, he'll certainly die, and Tristan won't be able to be patched up. Progressively John kept looking over his shoulder, noticing the blonde man wasn't behind him anymore. Did I outrun him? Is he gone? John kept asking these questions, right before being tripped onto the dirty.
John turned around, noticing another familiar face. It was the black male that knocked Tristan onto the ground first, and he wasn't alone. Standing near him was the male with black hair and glasses. John bit his lip, trying to reach for the revolver. Immediately his hand was being crushed by a foot, from the very individual he was running from. It was the blonde guy, preventing him to grab the revolver. Somehow he must've caught up, and now John was alone dealing with these three men, without any kind of weapon, and on the ground pretty much preparing for death.
"Alright kid you're going to have to take us to that man you were with," Jones demanded.
"Fuck you asshole!" John screamed. John wasn't about to give Tristan up, that would be the very last scenario he would get out of this alive. It just wasn't going to happen.
Jones looked annoyed, starting to press his foot down against John's chest like before. John started to squeal from the pain, trying to find the strength to move, but he just couldn't conjure it up. "Kid I don't think you understand who you're dealing with," Jones said.
"I don't think you heard me. Fuck. You. Asshole." John said.
Jones started to press his foot down even harder than before, causing a swift amount of pain to be compressed down on John's chest. He was wrong, he couldn't protect himself, and he needed someone to help him out of this. Only this time it didn't seem like help was coming, reminding him of that one unfaithful day of school.
Two weeks went by, and it was the dullest suspension John had ever received. He was trapped in his room. Two weeks of his dad yelling at him about how he needed to improve his attitude. Two weeks reading the same fiction over and over again. Two weeks without television or the outside world. Two weeks of homework his friend brought to him after school. Two weeks of his parents ignoring him. Two weeks of him regretting his actions. Two weeks of him vouching to get back at principle Zilsky. Two weeks of the same beating replaying in his head over and over again.
It was his first day back, and halfway through the day he was already finished. Each teacher kept giving him dirty looks for what he did, and every other student was terrified of him, who wouldn't be. So far this was looking to be the worst day back in a long time. He kept telling himself if he could just get through this day, it'll all be worth it.
The bell rang, and John opened up his locker, preparing for math class. "Hey Johnathan," a voice said from behind. It was Neil, having a bandage covering his nose, as well as a large gapping black eye. John was surprised that hasn't healed by now. Neil was also standing next to four of his friends, who all started to encircle John. "It's time you pay the price for what you did," Neil said.
"What Neil, you can't be enough of a man to face me yourself? You need your posy to help get back at me for kicking your ass?"
"They're here to just make sure the favour has been repaid," Neil said.
"Alright, might as well get it over with," John said. John acted hard and fast, striking Neil hard against his broken nose. Neil screamed out a jolt of pain, having one of his friends tackle John to a locker. Another friend made sure John couldn't fight back, wrapping both his arms around his back. John was immobile, trying to break free. Neil turned back to him, with a bloody nose again, approaching John with rage. Neil started striking John swift and hard against his skull, causing him to bleed immediately. The rest of his friends started to join in the action, pounding away their troubles against John.
After a couple minutes of shear brutality, Neil's friends let go of John, letting him collapse against the floor. Neil started to laugh long and hard, saying "You're pathetic Johnathan," as they all started to walk away. Ever bone and muscle around John's body was aching, wiping away all the blood that was dripping down his mouth. Slowly, and painfully, he stood on his feet, leaning against his locker. The bell from above rang, indicating the next period was about to begin. John grabbed his math textbook, slamming his locker and limping his way towards class.
Jones continued to pin John to the ground, rendering him completely immobile against all odds. John was trying to squirm his way to freedom, but this man overpowered him immensely. His hand holding Tristan's revolver was starting to get crushed, his only hope just being slaughtered away by these maniacs. John kept swearing these men would pay for their actions, but under all of these conditions, that seemed to be a blatant lie. There was nothing John could do nothing but stare up into the sky of light, waiting for the end to come.
"Jesus Jones go easy, we need him alive remember," Marcus stated.
"Don't worry I won't kill him, but that doesn't mean I can't roughen him up a bit," Jones said. Jones started pressing down even harder on John's chest, causing him to squeal like a pig. "Tell me where your friend is!" Jones shouted. John continued to remain silent regarding questions; he wasn't planning on giving Tristan up under any circumstance.
"I don't think he's going to tell you anything Jones," Steve said.
"Alright," Jones said, loading up his rifle and pointing it at John. "We'll have to resort to other measure then."
A flashing shine of light flew across John's face, slicing Jones' gun barrel in half, knocking him off balance. He fell on his ass, and John was now free, but he didn't know how. He looked to his left, noticing the same object that set him free. It was a blade of some sort, curved in a form that gave it a familiar texture. From the looks of it, it was a boomerang.
"Who did that?!" Jones screamed out of rage, standing on his feet again.
"That would be me," the man standing on the fallen tree said. John spun around, noticing the man who just saved his life. He was an Asian male, long black hair, and with a fierce expression that would render any individual speechless. In his hands seemed to be a sheathed up machete.
"Who the hell are you?" Marcus asked, raising his rifle. Steve and Jones were now left with no automatic weapon now.
"My name is Andy, and if you don't step away from the child you'll regret it," he threatened.
"Or you'll do what?" Jones asked in a picky annoying school boy tone.
Andy unsheathed Hannah's machete, admiring the shine that came off from it. He could clearly see his reflection in the blade, and once again it rendered him silent for a second. "Or I'll do this," he whispered.
Andy leaped forward, shuffling from side to side, avoiding the gunfire Marcus was letting lose. Jones approached Andy, trying to swing a punch, but Andy ducked. A swift spin around from his leg tripped Jones on his ass again. Andy pressed forward to Marcus and Steve, still avoiding the rounds he was popping like flies. He readied his machete, taking one lung of a swing, coming across Steve's face. A millimeter closer and Steve would be dead right now as he backed away, thinking it was his lucky day. Andy continued swinging left, slicing Marcus' barrel in half, leaving it useless. Steve realized that was his intention all along, he had no plans of killing him immediately.
Steve reacted fast, trying to grab Andy. Andy with his side still turned, elbowed Steve in the nose, causing him to step backwards. Marcus dropped his rifle, kicking away Andy's machete, sending it flying away. Steve shook of the pain, grabbing Andy's right arm, while Marcus grabbed his left. Andy was completely pinned, immobile by the grasp of these men. Jones quickly stood on his feet again, approaching with shear blinding rage at Andy. Steve and Marcus pushed Andy forward, giving Jones the clear shot he needed. Two strong hits in Andy's stomach he endured, getting ready for the next one. Jones was thoroughly enjoying this, maybe a little bit overly so. They all thought they had Andy wrapped around their finger, and a moment later they discovered they were all idiots for thinking that.
With Andy's two free legs, he kicked downwards at Jones' ankles, collapsing him on one knee. A second later Andy lifted his body, with both feet kicking Jones in the face, sending him flying backwards. He looked to his left, head butting Marcus in the face. His left arm was free, sending a swift punch flying towards Steve's cheek, loosening his grip around Andy. The Asian assassin was now free, barrel rolling towards his front, picking up his boomerang stuck within the ground.
Marcus and Jones were still trying to recover after their blows, but Steve was crouching to Andy, slowly pulling out his knife. "You're a lot tougher than you look," Steve said. Andy also started crouching, moving with cautions and preparing for his attack. "You could've been one of us you know? It's a shame things had to end up this way."
"I agree, a person of your abilities . . . it's a shame you'll have to die in such a brutal fashion," Andy said. Steve was now thoroughly ticked off with Andy, lunging forward, making the first strike. Andy caught the site of his blade with his boomerang, swinging it around and causing a slight indentation around Steve's leg. Steve thrusts his knife forward, but Andy turned around, grabbing his arm; and lifting him upwards and down onto the ground. Steve rolled over a few times, completely out of breath and weaponless again. Andy pulled out his machete than landed on the ground a ways over, pointing it at Steve's throat. Steve was paralyzed with fear, seeing this man smile from admiration from the first time.
Andy heard a strong call charge at him from the side, seeing Marcus sprinting towards him. Before even thinking up a way to defend himself, Marcus tackled Andy to the ground, pinning him. Two hard punches across Andy's face were dealt, but shortly after he wrapped his arm around Marcus', attacking back with one hard hit that spun them in the opposite direction. Andy noticed Steve and Jones start to approach him, and he just wouldn't have that. He picked Marcus up by the hair, pointing his blade into his throat.
"Back up!" Andy shouted. Jones and Steve remained still, trying to keep Andy from doing something they would both regret later on.
"You kill me, they'll show you no mercy," Marcus said.
"You'll show mercy to me, but not any to a child?" Andy asked. Jones and Steve were starting to move closer. "If you take one more inch, I will cut his throat," Andy said.
Andy heard a clicking sound, as well as a man say "I wouldn't do that if I were you." This was someone knew, a tall black male whom looked much more muscular than these three died. He had a scar down his lip, and was pointing a 9 millimetre right towards Andy. The next person Andy noticed was someone who appeared to be familiar.
"Andy?" Matias asked, finding it atrocious to see him again.
"Hey Matias," Andy said, finding a long awaited greeting. It all made sense now, it was Matias who escaped the suburbs right after Kiersten died, and these four must've been the men who saved him, the same men who took down those tens of tens of the dead.
"You son of a bitch!" Matias screamed, thinking this was one of the last individuals he would've liked to see. Andy Ta, the Chinese assassin, and one of Scott's men in command during the war. "Wade, shoot him, this guy is bad news."
"What you know this guy too?" Wade asked.
"He was one of the men who destroyed my last home . . . one of the men responsible for killing almost everybody in my last group."
"There's a slight misunderstanding I don't think you've figured out yet Matias," Andy said.
"Shut up!" he shouted. "Wade, shoot him."
"Unless you want your friend to die, I wouldn't do that," Andy said, digging his blade closer to Marcus' neck.
"I don't know, I'm a pretty good shot," Wade said.
"Do you really wanna take that risk though?" Andy asked. Wade shut one of his eyes, aiming down the sight. There was a slight clear shot he could take, blowing off this bladed wielder head clean off. However, even an inch of movement, even one slight mistake could kill Marcus in the process. Wade knew however if he didn't do anything, this man would slice Marcus' throat regardless. This was a large gamble Wade wasn't sure he was willing to take. Then he heard a click.
"Drop your gun asshole," John said, pointing the revolver at Wade's head from the side. John had a fierce look on him, he was done playing around.
Wade started laughing immensely, replying "You've got some ball on you kid, I'll give you that."
Tristan woke with a start, galloping sting prickling its way through Tristan's shoulder as his eyes awaken. Everything seemed to be in the wrong spot, his vison addled with the loss of blood. A shadow at every each, noticing he was in a cave. It was hard to subject what happened to him, for it happened so very fast. He remembers seeing Matias briefly, he remembers being shot, and he remembers falling down a cliff and into the stream. The last thing Tristan remembered was John leaving him alone, out into the wilderness.
"John?" Tristan asked, hearing his voice echo through the cave. He got no reply, John was nowhere to be seen or heard from. "John?!" Tristan screamed, trying to stand on his feet. He collapsed immediately, the swift pain in his ribs and shoulder made it hard to stand, also due to the blood loss. Tristan slammed his head into the ground, squirming around on the rock, trying to fight off the pain. Now's not the time to give up Tristan, just deal with it. He bit his lip, moaning as he stood on his feet and out of the cave.
The sunlight at first blinded him, reacting to him raising his sore arm. The other arm was still pressing down against his shoulder, still trying to ease out the pain. Once he could see clearly, it was nothing but dirt trees and the stream he could see, and not John.
"John?!" Tristan screamed, but again he got no reply. He figured John must've left the cave to find the medical supplies he dropped, and a moment later Tristan noticed he took his revolver with him. This was not a good sign, not one single bit. Out there were five armed men looking for them, one of them being Matias, and the other being the man who shot Tristan. There was no time to waste, Tristan had to find him, and fast.
"Where are you going?" Echoed around Tristan. Tristan spun around, hearing the voices from before the day he met John. "Give us your faith," the whispers said, causing Tristan to turn to his life. "Give us your soul," the whispers said, causing Tristan to fall on his knees, plugging his ears and shutting his eyes.
"No . . . no no no no no!" Tristan shouted.
"Don't give in, not now," the whispers said.
"Leave me alone! Go away!" Tristan screamed. Tristan opened his eyes again, seeing a pool of blood beneath him. It was coming from his shoulder, the bleeding still hadn't stopped. He began to feel dizzy, vision growing darker as he leaned in closer to the ground. Tristan passed out moments later, still hearing the voices surround him. I guess I was wrong, I couldn't protect John. I guess I'll be seeing the rest of you guys very shortly.
"We are your saviors, leave it to us, and save your faith for the faithful," the whispers said.
It was a stand-off like no other. Four trained militarized snipers, a Chinese assassin, a surgeon, and a child. The strangest part about all of this was the fact the child had the upper hand. The leader of the snipers was caught between a rock in a hard place, having this youngster point a gun in his face, while the assassin wraps his blade around the throat of his comrades. The surgeon insists the assassin dies, while his fellow comrades tell him to proceed with caution. From the mind's eye though, the child was calling the shots, and the leader of the snipers was actually impressed.
"I'm not gonna ask again, if you don't drop your gun I'll fucking kill you," John said. John finally had the situation under control, and he planned to keep it this way. Jones Marcus and Steve didn't have any more firearms threaten with; it was just John and Wade making things clear. However John was skeptical about that man with the boomerang. He saved John's life, but he didn't know what to make of him. If Wade tried to harm him though, John will put the last round in the revolver through his head.
"You've got a mouth on you kid, one day that'll get you killed," Wade said. Wade lowered his gun, turning his body slowly to John. With hesitation, Wade dropped the weapon on the ground, exaggerating the gesture though. "This is the second time you've pointed a gun at me, and yet still I stand tall."
Matias walked over right beside Wade, raising his hands to show no harm. "Hey kid look . . . this was all a mistake okay," he pleaded, also laying down his shotgun near Wade's pistol. John figured this must be the same man Tristan knows. "What's your name?" he asked.
"I'm John, I take it you're Matias," he replied.
"Yes that's right. We didn't mean you any harm, in fact we were out here trying to find the two of you and bring you to safety," Matias said.
"You've got a funny way of showing it," Andy said. The blade was still wrapped around Marcus' neck, and Andy could just let it slip anytime now.
Matias for a second forgot Andy was still standing there, and blinding with rage he turned around screaming "But we're not going anywhere until I see that man be killed!"
"No!" John shouted.
Matias sighed from annoyance, figuring John had no idea who Andy really was. "John . . . this man . . ." Matias muttered.
"Just saved my life," John said, interrupting Matias. "We're not going anywhere unless you show him no harm," John said.
"We'll do that, just take us to Tristan," Wade said.
"How do I know I can trust you?" John asked.
"You don't . . ." Wade muttered. This was a tough choice John had to make. It would make perfect sense for John just to walk away from here, running off from the men that tried to kill him last night. However, one of these men seemed to know Tristan from before, and he couldn't let that slip by. Then there was Andy, and like before, John was skeptical.
"You're weapons . . . I want that pistol," John said. Without any hesitation, Wade kicked his pistol over towards John. "And that rifle," John said, referring to Wade's sniper around his back. Wade sighed extremely from his annoyance, but unstrapped his rifle and tossed it over at John. "And that shotgun . . . give it to . . . the boomerang guy," John said, still lacking his name.
"My name is Andy Ta in case you were wondering," Andy said, while Marcus was starting to shake.
"Yes right . . . give it to Andy," John said.
Matias looked down on the ground, and back over to Andy, giving him a dirty look. There was no chance in hell Matias was about to give his weapon over at one of Scott's men, it was just unprecedented. "Do what he says . . ." Wade demanded. Matias continued to be silent, letting the gun sit there on the ground. "Matias . . . do it now," Wade said in a much darker tone than before. Matias bit his lip, aggravated from these circumstances. The only way he would see Tristan again is by doing what John says, so annoyingly Matias picked up his shotgun, making his way over towards Andy.
The two of them eyed each other down for a second, and Matias was not pleased with this at all. Andy could understand why Matias was acting the way he was acting, however that doesn't mean he was about roll over and beg for forgiveness. Andy let Marcus go, sending him run off beside Jones and Steve. Slowly Andy grabbed Matias' shotgun, not saying a single word as he walked by him. Andy grabbed the machete lying on the ground, and Matias just realized it was the same one Hannah had.
"What, did you kill her too?" Matias asked. For a second Andy stopped walking, creating this awkward silence that filled the air. He didn't bother responding to that question, making his way over beside John.
"Alright do you trust us now?" Wade asked.
"No . . . but this way I know you won't be a threat," John said. John absolutely couldn't believe the turnout of all of this. These four trained military men were now completely unarmed, doing whatever he and Andy told him to do. Matias wasn't pleased with these events; however this was the only way it was going to work for them both. John tucked away Tristan's revolver, saving that for the grateful return. He took out his brand new 9 millimetre, feeling nothing but sheer confidence.
Wade started laughing feebly, replying to John's statement with, "You keep telling yourself that kid." John's smile dropped, feeling slightly more diffident than before.
John limped through his door and into the house, wondering what his mother would say once he returned. Immediately once she saw him, she shouted, asking "My boy what happened?!"
"Neil and his friends jumped me," John muttered, trying to speak through the pain. His mother sat John down against a chair, taking out band aids and other medical supplies she had. John didn't have any broken bones luckily, but plenty of bruises to show for it. The beating he laid down on Neil two weeks ago was nothing compared to this. His mother was trying desperately not to cry as she stitched him up.
"John . . . why can't you just get along with people?" his mother asked.
"Because . . . I just can't . . ." John muttered.
"Sweetie I'm your mother, you can tell me what's bothering you."
"What's bothering me is you and dad!" John shouted. Those words caught his mother off guard for a moment. "Dad's always working! He's never around, and whenever there's a problem you don't stick up for me, you just go along with what he says! It's unfair for a dad to treat his son that way!" John yelled.
"John . . . I . . . I didn't know you felt that way?" his mother asked.
"I've been feeling that way for a while . . . I thought we could be okay after she died . . ." John admitted. From the corner of John's eye, he saw the photograph of Erin . . . his deceased sister.
"I know John . . . I miss her too," his mother said, staring to tear up from her eyes. John couldn't hold it in any longer, he just started to cry right in front of his mother. About a couple years ago, his younger sister Erin Perez died from lung cancer. She was so young, and it was so unfair for this world to just take her right from their fingertips. Their family wasn't the same after that; none of them could be the same after that. His father's anger, his mother's lack of confidence, and John's mishap of behaviour is what resulted after Erin's death. The sound of her name just brought John and his mother into each other's arms. "John . . . I promise things will get better soon . . ." his mother pleaded.
The television channel changed, screaming out breaking news on the forecast. Immediately it caught both of their attention, reading articles and viewing events they just couldn't believe. From what the reports have been telling, cannibalistic beings have started to come back from the dead, and attack anybody on sight. Anybody within the area was also told to start packing up their belongings and start heading towards the safe zones supposedly built up inside Chicago. John wasn't sure if this was really happening or not, but if it was, his Noir comics came to life.
The group of now seven made their way down the path of the stream, approaching closer and closer to the cave Tristan was being held up in. The tension was strong, everything considered. Wade and his men were practically captives to a child, and the very men who managed to get the best of three of them were also under control of the situation. Wade just had to keep telling himself he owed it to this kid, considering before he almost killed him if it wasn't for Tristan. Jones Marcus and Steve though felt like they were puppets. And then there was Matias, the individual who was most uncomfortable with this transaction than anybody else.
Andy needed to explain himself to Matias, one way or another. Andy is expecting a similar reaction from Tristan once they arrive at the cave, it would be best not to have the two of them at his throat in the meantime. Andy walked near Matias, whom was now avoiding eye contact. "Matias," Andy said, trying to gain his attention.
"Not now Andy," Matias said. Matias was furious, there was no denying that. However right now was not the idealist of times to deal with confrontations. All he cared about right now was seeing Tristan again, Andy would have to wait.
"We found Kiersten," Andy said, and now Matias made eye contact, gaining his attention almost immediately. "The night before the attack on your home, I tried to leave where we were holding up, try to give you the warning before he arrived. Except Scott tracked me down and almost killed me . . . he thought he killed me. I didn't arrive till after the shootout. I saw David try to kill Hannah, so I saved her. We went looking for the rest of you . . . found Austin's corpse . . . then we followed a trail you and Kiersten left I guess. We entered the suburbs you two were in. We saw all the corpses . . . we found Kiersten's body and two of Scott's men. Looking back on it now, Wade and his men must've killed all those walkers and saved you."
A lot of this was hard for Matias to hear, as well as comprehend. The fact he tried to send a warning to the group before the assault, the fact he came across Hannah, the fact they found Kiersten's body . . . it was an immense amount of knowledge gathered at once. "Hannah . . . where is she now?" he asked.
Andy was silent for a second, thinking back to what happened yesterday. "Sometime after we entered the suburbs . . . she was taken, and I don't know by whom, and I have no idea where she is now . . . or if she's even alive," Andy said.
"Well . . . I guess I have to thank you for saving Hannah's life . . . but you should have killed Scott when you had the chance. You knew he was a monster, and you still decided to follow him. Two of his men tortured Kiersten and me . . . So don't go thinking you'll go unpunished after we find Tristan," Matias said, brushing past Andy, wanting some alone time to comprehend this all.
John kept his gun pointed at Wade, but he didn't find this a threat anymore. Wade instead was thinking this was some kind of joke he was playing on him, but he was at no rate alarmed by this child. "You don't have to keep pointing your gun at me kid, I won't bite."
"You tried to kill a fifteen year old boy, so yeah I think I do."
"You pulled your gun out first."
"I was defending myself."
"So was I," Wade said. "The only difference is I was enough of a man to pull the trigger." John crouched his eyes, feeling the urge to just kill Wade where he stands. "Look, I'm sorry I tried to kill you, but I can imagine you know what people are capable of. Fifteen or not, you still presented yourself as a threat."
"You better hope Tristan understands that. When he sees you I doubt it'll be a warm greeting," John said. John was considering what Tristan's reaction would be once he saw Wade, as well as Matias and Andy. From what Matias has said, Andy was on the opposing side of the battle Tristan last fought before the two of them met. However, Andy went out of his way to save a kid, one versus three, and he still didn't hesitate. Andy claims he didn't do what he did intentionally. So this was a tossup, who would Tristan try to kill first? Andy or Wade? The only way they would find out was to just see how these events would turn out.
John looked to his right, noticing they finally arrived at the cave Tristan was staying in. John lowered his weapon and ran past Wade as quickly as he could, pulling the bag to his front and intending to heal Tristan as quickly as possible. By now the wounds could be well infected, and even more blood loss was possible. John was no doctor, but Matias is supposedly. Along with all of that, Matias joined John in there run inside the cave, gladly wanting to see Tristan again. Upon reaching the end of the cave, they were left with nothing but disappointment, seeing he was no longer there.
"H-He . . . he was right here," John said.
"Well . . . he's not now?" Matias stated.
John ran out of the cave, looking left from right as to where Tristan was. "Tristan?!" John called out. There was a long pause of silence in the air, growing more stressful for the group. "Tristan?!" John echoed.
"From the looks of things, your friend may have just got up and left . . ." Marcus said, pointing over at the tracks beside the cave. John was speechless, seeing the footprints left beneath the dirt, although a lot of it didn't seem to match. "And from the looks of things . . . he wasn't alone."
Tristan, where the hell are you?
Tristan woke with a start, looking up at the ceiling to see a painting of Jesus from above. Am I dead now? Is this heaven? He rested his head, looking over at his shoulder to notice it had been patched up. He lifted his torso again, noticing his ribs were also stitched up again. "What the hell?" Tristan asked. There were candles all over the room, as well as several more statues of the lord himself. He was lying down against some kind of carved rock bed, completely shirtless. It was a well lit room, warm, sensible, and it looked secure. Tristan would've have mind waking up in a place like this, if he just knew what this place was.
Tristan moved off the bed slowly, feeling a swift pain in his sides. His wounds were still not fully healed up yet, it would require more time after being shot so recently. He moved with caution, looking up at each individual statue that seemed to be glaring at him. "Did you do this?" Tristan asking one of the statues. Jesus decided not to reply this time. He smirked, wondering if the lord really was watching him. The candles kept this place heated; a nice brisk tone after all those months of winter he's had to endure. However all of these little pleasures would have to be renewed later. He still needed to find John.
There were these sharply carved wooden like bars blocking him from the outside; and from what he could perceive he was underground somewhere, seeing nothing but rock. "Where am I?" Tristan asked. From the corner of his eye, Tristan could see a wooden door. He rushed over immediately, placing his hand on the handle, trying to open the door. It was locked form the outside; someone put him here on purpose. Tristan roughly started banging on the door, shouting "Hey! Is anyone there! Hello!" but he got no reply. He punched the door, starting to feel aggravated.
"Tristan . . ." a voice hushed from behind. Tristan turned around, noticing yet again another familiar face, and it was one he didn't wish to see. Tristan ran forward as fast as he could, tackling Logan against the wall and knocking over a few candles in the process. Another one of Scott's men someone seemed to find Tristan, but Tristan would give no mercy this time.
"You son of a bitch," Tristan said in a dark tone.
"Tristan, Tristan wait," Logan said eagerly, sounding panicky. His arms were wide open, trying to show he was no threat to Tristan.
"You were with him when it happened! You watched as he burned the hospital to the ground! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't snap your neck!" Tristan shouted.
"Because he's with me," a voice said from Tristan's side. Tristan's presented face of dangers changed into a stun of shock, seeing yet again another familiar face.
"P-Phillip?" Tristan asked, trying to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him like before.
"Hey Tristan," Phillip said, smiling. Tristan let go of Logan, running over to Phillip and embracing a long awaited hug. They were both very pleased to see each other alive and well, even regarding their certain circumstances. "I thought you were dead," Phillip said.
"As I thought you were dead," Tristan said. Tristan was absolutely happy to see Phillip again, yet there was still one pressing matter he had concerns about. He pointed his finger over towards Logan, asking "What's he doing here?"
"He helped save us," Phillip said.
"Us?" Tristan asked, wondering if there were more survivors from the hospital he didn't know about.
"Naomi," Logan said from behind.
"Naomi's here too?" Tristan asked.
"Yeah," Phillip confirmed. "She's here somewhere, but I'm not sure exactly." Tristan spun around, proceeding to the door again, while Phillip had some unanswered questions. "Tristan, were you alone?"
Tristan dropped his eyes to the ground, hesitantly saying "No, I was with a young boy named Jonathan . . . he's still out there I have to find him," as he started slamming onto the doors once again.
"Tristan . . . that might not be for a while," Logan replied.
"How . . . how did you guys get here?" Tristan asked.
"The three of us were surrounded by walkers, trying to fight them off. We were as good as dead . . . but then they showed up," Phillip said.
"Who's they?" Tristan asked, remembering he heard whispers before passing out.
"About a dozen of them, hooded figures all holding lit candles," Logan said.
"They put bags over our heads . . . we have no idea where we are right now," Phillip said.
Something just didn't seem right about all of this, considering all the secrecy. Statues of Jesus Christ at every corner, well lit unscented candles, and then there were the whispers. Tristan couldn't get his finger wrapped around all of this, and there was also the question of where Naomi was under all of this.
"If you listen closely, you can hear them," Logan said.
"What do you mean hear them?" Tristan asked.
Phillip came over, grabbing Tristan unwounded shoulder, and taking him over by the wooden pillars. They both started looking up throughout the cave like area, hearing sometime extremely strange. It sounded like drums beating, dozens upon dozens of people saying the same thing, and the constant screaming. Whatever this place was, it was a sign from trouble.
"What the hell is that? What are they saying?" Tristan asked.
"They're chanting something, I don't know what it is . . . but it sounds like bad news," Phillip replied.
Tristan continued to look through the pillars, eyeing down the entire underground area. He then glanced over at the candles, as well as the statues. He then noticed there was a large white cross engraved into the locked door keeping them inside. "Guys . . . where the hell are we?"
