Hmmm….

Yeah.. I'm running out of ideas on what to name my chapters.. xD Oh well! But just to clear things up, this is 6 years into the storyline.. And this is IT. We are approaching the turning point of the story, people. This is.. (I have a VERY bad habit of not finishing my sentences, but.. I DON'T CARE. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! :D)

Note to self for you readers: No, I do not smoke weed, and I don't take pot thank you very much. :| Oh and also, I did NOT come up with the 'that time of the month' joke. Creds to whoever told me it, or wherever I read it. And 'ugly cry face' was a really funny reference from the YouTube Channel - Screen Junkies on The Walking Dead Honest Trailer. If you haven't watched it. Go. Watch. It.

As always, enjoy! :D

Everything sounds like echoes in here. As if I'm in a never ending cave waiting to collapse. I think I'm hearing things. "You think she'll ever get up?"

"Who knows? She might have gotten a concussion. She did fall pretty hard." A brief silence follows. "Are you still in shock?" I think it's Tess' voice.

"Obviously. I wasn't even expecting to see her again, not after what she did to me." It's Dad. He told her. Oh my God, he told her.

"Well, maybe that's why she passed out. Paranoia, panic, and shock, too maybe. It is possible, you know. How're your ribs?"

"They're better now," Dad says to her gruffly. "Besides, it's not like I was gonna kill her. I am still pissed that she actually up and left with Tommy to the Fireflies." Is that sadness in the tone of his voice..?

I slowly open my eyes, everything's blurry. It takes a minute or two for me to recover before I can actually see anything anymore. Tess' fuzzy figure becomes solid again as I regain consciousness. "Good. You're awake, Sleeping Beauty. How many fingers am I holding up? What year is it? And what're you lying on?" Tess asks me as she holds her left hand up, right in front of my face.

"You're holding up three fingers and the year is 2019. Plus, I'm lying down on a really shitty couch." I reply groggily but matter-of-factly. I'm still feeling a little dizzy, I mean, who wouldn't after the fall I just had? I must've landed head first to end up getting conked out that quickly and for that long. "How long was I out for?" I ask them, as I rub the sore spot at the back of my head with my right hand.

"An hour or two. We haven't exactly been keeping count." Dad steps forward to examine me; I guess he wants to see if I've gotten any other injuries. I freeze at that. I left him to die with his broken ribs, and now he's looking out for me. I'm surprised he managed to even get here in the first place, really. How did he get here, anyways? Dad plops himself down on the couch beside my legs and sits with both of his arms crossed. As if he read the thoughts flying by in my head, Dad explains with a smug look on his face, "There's this new thing I've heard of recently. It's called, 'Lack of Discretion.' Now, the Queen Firefly just insisted on broadcasting it across the USA now, didn't she? 'Look for the light and escape the darkness' and other shit like that. Figured I could find you and Tommy with that. Speaking of which, where is he?"

I sit up straight on the couch and cross my legs, trying to feel less awkward. "Umm.." I start as I rub my left bicep to get rid of the Goosebumps I have from the cold air in the room. It's probably just the tension. Shit, I can't think of anything! How am I supposed to tell him that Uncle Tommy left for Jackson a few weeks after Logan and I got married? Logan. SHIT. He doesn't know. My eyes widen in panic. They don't know. Logan's aware of Dad, but Dad isn't aware of Logan. Logan knows we're married, Dad doesn't. Dad knows that he's here, and Logan doesn't. Fucking hell! Why does all this have to happen at the same time, and to me of all people?! God dammit!

I can feel the cold droplet of sweat on my head rolling down my left cheek. Hopefully, Dad doesn't notice it. The eerie silence in the room is ridiculous, I'm pretty sure you could hear a pin drop at this point. "Uncle Tommy's.." My voice falters and I leave it at that.

"Is he dead..?" Dad asks me quietly after a long period of silence. Oh my God. Is he.. mourning for Uncle Tommy..? "What?! Dear God, no! Jesus, Dad!" I say to him in utter disbelief. "How the hell could you suggest something like that?!" Dad scratches his bushy beard stressfully, the raking sounds not that evident because of how thick it is. "No, he's not dead. He's gone to Jackson." I explain as quickly as I can. I hold my breath and wait for his reaction.

Dad breathes a sigh of relief as I continue to tell him why he left. "He got bored, didn't he?" Dad interjects. "Yeah, pretty much." I tell him, nodding my head. Dad's taking this surprisingly well. Is he staying calm for my sake, or is he just hiding his grief..? I can't tell anymore. It's been 3 years. The guilt of leaving him behind in that old cabin is still weighing me down from telling him anything else. I ball up my fists on my lap as I chew on my lip. Another long silence follows.

Tess walks over towards us, both arms crossed as she stands beside the couch. "So.. Are you still up for that job offer?" Tess asks breaking the silence. We both look up at her for more clarification. "Since you've got an idea of who you're gonna be working with now, I'll give you some time to think about it, okay?" I look up at Tess gratefully, "Thank you."

I hop off the couch and walk towards the door. "You know where to go from here, right?" Dad asks in concern.

I moisten my lips and reply shortly after, "I got it."

An hour later..

"I'm home.. I didn't see you at the ration line just now, so I figured I'd just go home first." I call out as I push the door of my apartment open after unlocking it. Silence. No replies. I furrow my brow in confusion. "That's weird. Logan should be home by now, maybe he's asleep." I say aloud to myself as I walk towards our room.

LOGAN'S POV

2-3 hours ago..

"This is fucking bullshit. I can't believe they sent us for outside work duty!" Mark shouts in anger indignantly, kicking the plants we come across. "Someone's gotta do it. Besides, it's nice to take a break from being 'the bad guy'." I reply to him calmly as I prop myself onto a nearby rock. "You and that calm attitude of yours! You really do piss me the fuck off you know that, pretty boy?!" Mark hisses at me in reply. I pull my cap off and push back my mahogany brown hair in frustration. I have to be careful; otherwise I'll end up bald prematurely because of constant handling. My hair looks weird pushed back anyways, so why do I even bother? "What the hell did I do to piss you off this much?" I ask Mark in a relaxed but confused manner.

"Everything about you!" Mark snaps at me in an even angrier intonation than before. "Fine, is this that time of the month? Go change your pad, man. Jesus." I mutter quietly as Mark continues kicking anything and everything that his eyes have fallen upon.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, smiling at the sky. September weather. Clear and crisp. Fresh and clean air, truly the best remedy for the headaches and migraines we get from the super shitty smell of the city, it makes you feel alive the moment you get a whiff of it, not the way weed does, but I'm pretty sure you know what I mean. You feel like you're walking and living in a rotting corpse if you stay in the city for too long, it's probably because of the smell of the dead. Blame FEDRA since they didn't even bother to find proper places to dispose the bodies. It's because of them it fucking reeks wherever we go. Plus there's the smell of rotted wood and other old things in the city. A proper clean up would actually be quite pleasant if the government weren't so corrupt.

Man, I wish I could just sit out here forever, but this would be a million times better if Mel was here too. Ah, Mel. A flawless beauty in my eyes and everyone else's too, no doubt; but she worries too much. She's got the image of a fighter, but the moment anybody brings up the subject of her family, she'll snap. She'll break down and take her time to pick herself back up. She's that touchy and sensitive about her family, but hey, now that I'm her family too, does that mean she feels the same way towards me..? I'm taking care of her now, so I don't see how there's much to worry about now.

Mark eventually collapses onto the grass just a foot or two away from where I'm sitting, his breathing ridiculously heavy with his left forearm covering his face while his right arm is spread out, limp on the ground but clenched into a fist. Is he.. crying? "If I die, it'll all be their fault." Mark moans hopelessly outright. "Anna needs me. My kid needs me." His sobs are making me ridiculously uncomfortable, it's weird hearing a guy crying since it normally comes from a girl, not trying to be sexist or anything, just an observation. They've broken Mark, Anna's his Achilles Heel, how I never realized this till now I don't even know. The concept of Mark's breaking down for his caring for Anna almost seems alien to me, he's always been a jerk towards everyone, especially Mel, but by the shininess of his face and the 'ugly cry face' he's making, something tells me it'll be a while till he gets back to his bullying days. We stay silent for a while.

Half an hour later..

"You, um, recovered now, Mark?" I ask him with a hint of concern in my voice as I offer him a hand up. Mark wipes his eyes furiously using the heel of his palm. "I'm fine, pretty boy. Stop worrying about me." Mark grumbles to me as he accepts my hand. "Again with the pretty boy?" I snap at him, giving him a well-earned scoff as well as an eye roll. The smug grin he shoots back at me makes it pretty obvious that he's back to his old, jerky self. "Come on, it's getting late. I think our shift is over. Let's head back." I state matter-of-factly as we start walking.

"Oh, just one thing I want from you, Ross." Mark interjects. "Oh my God, how many have I told you not to call me that? It's even worse than pretty boy." I say, giving myself a hard facepalm. "But, it's your surname. I like calling peeps by their surname." Mark says to me, his voice a little too cheery. I sigh exhaustedly, "Fine. What is it?" I murmur quietly. He claps me on the shoulder and gives me a hearty laugh, "Well.."

The roaring sounds of aggressive growling are heard all of a sudden. The volume of the rapid flow of footsteps increases substantially, but it isn't us that are running. "Shit! Runners!" I yell at Mark as I shove him towards the direction of the Boston QZ's back gates. I immediately reach for my revolver, Sheriff style and sprint full speed, trying to get the hell away from them. "How did we even fucking miss them?!" Mark asks me in a panic when I catch up with him. I'm running at full speed, my heart and mind instinctively telling my body to swing my arms and legs as fast as my body can. All that time I spent working out and building muscle before and after the outbreak of the Cordyceps is being put to great use since I'm considered a rather fit soldier in the ranks of the US Government's Armed Forces. The morning runs in Atlanta, picking up breakfast for Mel every morning, making her flustered just by being me; if I make it out of this, I have to remind her about those days.

When I turn around to check and see if we've lost them, my heart drops into the pit of my stomach. The Runners are starting to catch up with us; I notice that they're wearing the same navy blue uniform as us as well as the same body armor too, except that theirs are tattered and torn into shreds. I'm surprised at how little damage the armor has taken. Only now I realize this: They're the missing soldiers that FEDRA have kept their mouths shut about, and the same ones that have been the talk of the town for the past month around the apartments.

Despite my training and working out, I'm still the same huge and clumsy idiot from before the Cordyceps hit, I just do a better job at hiding it; but not today. Nooooo, I end up tripping over my own legs and falling flat on my face into the dry mud on the ground, dropping my revolver in the process. I scramble to get up and start to search around frantically for my gun. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" I keep saying repeatedly, the panic rising in my voice. Oh my God, they're getting closer, their strangled roars are gurgling over and I can literally feel my heart going into my mouth now. I'm gonna die because I tripped over my own legs. YAY. What a heroic way to go. Suddenly, I hear this manic scream coming from behind me, MARK, if you can believe it. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!" He's taking pop-shots at them, and if he's not careful, one of the bullets will end up in me.

I roll away to the side and pick up my gun the moment I see it, dusty and a little slippery because of my sweating like crazy palms, but still easy enough for me to grip and aim with. Mark, you IMBECILE. He may be a total douchebag most of the time, but he still cares about his friends and family. I'm proud to call him my friend. I smile and join him in his shooting fiasco.

5 minutes later..

"Shit! I'm out of ammo!" Mark says as he checks his ammo clip after his constant trigger pulling with no luck. "Use a shiv!" I yell at him as I use an old fallen brick to hit the Runner that attacked me. "I don't have it! I only have the switchblade I borrowed from Anna!" he yells back at me as he uses the butt of his 9mm to hit his attacker's head.

"Use it then, moron!"

Just as Mark clicks it open in his right hand, another Runner comes and attacks Mark, the switchblade still in hand. Mark jumps backward, both arms flailing around. First of all, that is an idiotically dangerous and risky thing to do, and second, nobody ever realizes the risks until something actually happens. In my case, the switchblade's sharpest point comes towards my face. I back up as best I can, but the damage has already been done. The switchblade is lifted off because of Mark raising his hand up high; in the process, my left eyebrow is left with a deep gash starting from just above my eyelid stretching towards where my hair starts. I didn't expect it to be that fucking sharp. The scream of pain and agony I let out is loud enough for the civilians in the Quarantine Zone to hear.

People always say that when they're either killing someone or in excruciating pain they start seeing red. I'm literally seeing red right now because of the blood from the gash pouring right into my left eye. It stings, it burns like hell. It's as if someone volunteered to pour acid into my left eye and the 'acid' is burning away at the insides of my eye socket. I drop to the ground on my knees, my left hand applying pressure to the gash and my right hand firmly gripping my left forearm to stop it from shaking.

I close my eyes and wince because of the pain on the left side of my face. The gash is literally 1-2 millimeters away from my left eye. I was that close to being blinded by Mark, and why? Because he kept flailing his fucking knife around.

I feel so sleepy now. I feel like I could sleep for the rest of my life. The pain in my gash is finally subsiding now, but I think I'm gonna collapse, I feel like, no, I want to fall to the floor. I want to let my arms go limp. I want to relax. Problem is, 'I want' doesn't get.

In the end, I do get what I want, except the landing isn't as soft as I wanted it to be. Oh well.

LE GASP. LOGAN HAS A POV. GASPS SOME MORE. xDD This was surprising quite simple enough to write. Problem was, how to connect each part. (Looks like Mark CAN be nice when he wants to!) GASPS EVEN MORE. LOGAN'S PASSED OUT FROM BLOOD LOSS. NUUU ;_;

Next chapter. OMGGGG MY EXCITEMENT! :DD

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Follow/Fav would be highly appreciated. I'll see you guys later. I'm feeling sleepy.. G'night! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ;)