Chapter II: Life, Unloved (Part I)

As far as I can remember, the only enjoyable part of my life lasted about two years. Those two years were the moments of my first conception, till I was barely able to walk. Those were the years I was raised by my mother, Tess.

Tess.

Tess...

Tess...


(Music: "The Last of Us (You and Me)", by Gustavo Santaolalla & Alan Umstead)


15 years ago...

"Ohhh! Little Jack! Where's the airplane? Oh, heeeeere it coooomes!"

I faintly remembered the sight of my mother; Her beautiful features, her silky brown hair, her opulent brown eyes. Every time I think of her, it fills me with warmth and comfort, however slight. It was the only period in my life that felt normal.

I can never remember much from that time; I was hardly old enough to comprehend my own existence. What I do remember comes in glimpses and fragments- there is never truly a whole picture.

"Jack, look at this! Oh, isn't it beautiful? Here you go, Jackie."

The memories were sweet, comforting, serene. I had never felt more at peace in my life than in those precious few years, when I could hardly understand anything.

Innocence.

That... was nice.


(Music: "Vanishing Grace (Innocence)", by Gustavo Santaolalla & Alan Umstead)


"Jackie... I'm going to be gone for a little while."

The last thing I remembered from my late mother was the tearful departure we had the day she decided to leave me. It is one of the only days in my life I can remember more vividly than anything else.

She had laid her hand over mine, tears falling from her cheeks; Her beautiful face scrunched up in sorrow and grief; The sounds that came from her were some of the most heart-breaking I'd ever heard in my life. I remember how much she had caressed my hand, which had been bleeding from an oversized bite mark- of how I got it, I cannot remember.

"Mommy's... going to see your father, Joel," she had said to me, doing her best to wipe her face, unsuccessful as her sobbing only intensified. "And... one day, we'll come back and we'll all see each other again..."

The single mention of my father's name, however brief, had been seared into my infant mind permanently. As she cried, so did I, though it was only because it was heartbreaking to see my mother in such a sorrowful state. It was only after she had kissed me on the head, parting with her love and sending me off with the Fireflies that I truly began to sob and grieve myself.

"Go with them... they promised to find a cure for you."

A cure...?

A cure for what?

Was this her excuse for getting rid of me? Was she leaving me by the wayside to go and be with him?

Whatever bullshit cure she talked about, there had been no time for it anyhow- Two days had passed, and the people in the Firefly camp came over to me in a great number, seemingly marveling at my very presence, for what reason I could not fathom at the time. During that day, the camp was suddenly raided by a group of Hunters. They slaughtered every single adult, looted and torched the buildings, and took the children, including me, captive, and dragged us back to their encampments.

It was a particularly big group at the time, called the Vultures, that'd proliferated through Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, and New Mexico. I remember being captured by them, and those were the years in which I began to develop my sense of self very quickly...


(Music: "Contrition", by Ben Matthews)


WHACK!

At four years old, I fell to the ground, crying loudly as one of the higher-ranking Vultures had struck me across the cheek. His cold, merciless gaze pierced through me like a spear, striking me with a mortifying terror.

"Shut the fuck up!" He hissed at me. "It's time for you to start earning your keep, boy."

I was deeply resentful of how none of the Vultures ever referred to us captive children by name- And only later did I understand why this was the case. A few hours after the incident, I was marched out of my cell, along with several other children, as we were brought in front of a burly individual, who began instructing us on our task.

"We have found a nearby settlement." He told us, his voice more compromising and softer than the usual yelling the other Vultures directed at us; Immediately, all of us children leaned in to better hear what he was going to say. "Everyone inside is very nice, and they have a lot of supplies. Food, too."

We all watered at the mouth- None of us had been fed consistently, and many of our numbers had originally perished in the years before from malnutrition and lack of proper care. The prospect of eating was the only bright part of our life, in those days. The burly man pointed at a map on the portable whiteboard next to him.

"These people don't want to help anyone, but they will make exceptions for good little children like you all. Us adults must also eat, so we want you little young ones to go up to their gates and ask to come in and get food for us both. You must make sure to put your hands up in the air so they know you don't want to hurt them, and you should also shout very loudly that you are hungry and you want to eat. They will be happy to help little children like all of you!"

What he told us might as well have been gospel to our infantile ears- He had hooked us in with the idea of food and kept us loyal to the plan with a nice little lie that appealed to our immature minds. And so, in the ensuing days, we rehearsed our acting, over and over again, determined to get food and supplies from the good people behind those walls.

Then came the day. The other children and I traveled with a large group of the Vultures, armed to the teeth. I had never bothered to ask myself why they needed so many guns if we were going to ask them for help. Once we arrived within a few dozen meters of the settlement, I saw the armed men scurry off into the woods, beckoning us towards the gates of the settlement.

All nine of us approached the gates, and while most of the other children were practically running toward the settlement, I and one other boy had lagged behind, sharing a mutual feeling of suspicion over the whole thing.

"I'M SO HUNGRY!"

"PLEASE, CAN WE EAT?"

"I WANT TO EAT!"

The other boy and I watched in silence as the other children came ever closer towards the gates of the settlement, crying loudly about their hunger, raising their hands to the sky, and pleading aloud for food and shelter. Moments passed, before the gates of the settlement finally lifted, and two armed soldiers warily exited through the gates, approaching the children and beckoning for them to come inside. I felt a moment of great joy, seeing how warmly the soldiers treated those children- Finally, some good days would be ahead of us-

BANG!


(Music: "The Hour", by Gustavo Santaolalla)


I believe it was this very moment in which I gained full awareness of myself and my surroundings. Seeing the guards shot and crumple to the ground, the ensuing firefight sent me into a panic; Time seemed to slow for a moment as Vultures fired at the settlement, and the armed guards in the settlement began firing back. I had scrambled for the cover of a nearby boulder, hyperventilating as warfare, bloodshed, and violence raged around me. Quivering uncontrollably, I peeked my head out for a moment-

BRRRRT-T-T-T-T!

I was paralyzed with horror- I could only watch as the other kids, having seen those guards die right in front of them, flee and freeze in traumatized terror, screaming for their lives; Only for them to be gunned down by machine-gun fire from the settlement, or caught in the crossfire by the very people that had sent them in there as bait.

Insurmountable grief and fear gripped me more tightly at that moment than ever before- I had narrowly avoided a horrific death. I had fallen hook, line, and sinker for this trap, as expendable bait! And none of those bastards that'd shot my friends would likely lose any sleep over what they'd just done.

This was the way of the world now.

In that moment, it was the only thought that calmed my nerves, and stilled my slipping sanity- I had to accept that one truth.

This... was the way of the world. There was nothing I could do to change that. And thus, there was no point in worrying over any of it.


(Music: "Consumed", by Anthony )


Five years later...

"P-Please, kid! Don't fuckin' do it! Please, God! I have a daughter I need to get back to, she needs her father-!"

BANG!

Thud.

...

...

...

I released a shaky breath, having counted for three seconds to make sure I had not lost myself. I lowered the Beretta pistol, looking around the small encampment for any other Houstonites. Spending minutes after searching the pitched tents and surrounding area with the other Vultures in my patrol, we concluded that we'd killed them all. With that sentiment, we stoked the fire pit in the middle of the camp, warming up the canned food we'd stolen from these poor dead bastards.

With violent gusto, I took out my pocket knife (which I'd found in Austin, on the skeletal remains of a 'Boy Scout', whatever that was). I plunged the blade into the thin metal top, sawing it open in a circular motion and placing the can on the cooking mesh placed over the fire pit. As I sat staring at the canned food, I salivated at the thought of eating warm food; It'd been months since I'd had a hot meal. There was nothing else in my mind to ponder at that moment except that food. No guilt to spare, no remorse to pity those I had killed and watched die over the years, no existential torment to ponder what kind of Hell I might be sent to once I inevitably perished.

The only room I had in my mind was for food. I could only think of FOOD.

God, I was so hungry. I was always so hungry. Maybe it was because of how often I starved in my younger years, or maybe because it was the only thing to look forward to when I committed so fully to these horrible actions. No matter the reason, the singular principles that drove me in these years were the prideful, dogmatic instinct to survive over all others, and food.

"Hey, Roach."

I grit my teeth- A habit that had been forming thanks to the naturally-antagonistic nature of my fellow Vultures. The Vulture who'd called to me was over six feet tall, black, and incredibly strong. Despite his intimidating stature, he often hung back during raids and scouted out any stragglers, putting them down so as to protect our flanks. Hence, he was given the name 'Crow'.

"I'll say it again: My name is Jack. NOT 'Roach', you fucking pig-faced mutt."

Despite the sheer vitriol behind my words, Crow only grunted in amusement.

"Did you forget our way of life, Roach?" He said with a mean, brutish face. "We are animals and insects. We feast on those that would otherwise be fodder for other, more savage beasts. We are merely surviving as lions and foxes do. We take no joy in their killing, nor do we mourn their loss."

He leaned in towards me, and I had to admit that it intimidated me to the point that I could no longer keep on glaring at him, averting my eyes.

"We are not deserving of proper names, because we have rejected our humanity to continue living on in this world. We. Are. Animals. And that is why you are Roach."

I bit my lip with deep-seated anger, tasting iron and blood as it seeped into my mouth. They had given me such an unpleasant name after I had survived the first year as a 'Trojan Horse', the name of which I had found for what I and the other children had been doing five years ago. Once that first year had passed, and I turned five years old, I was handed a gun and taken on my first scavenging run.

During the run, we had come upon a large mall that had a suspiciously large amount of food left on the shelves, and plenty of useful supplies in the other areas of the outlet. Foolishly, we crept inside, and ended up stepping into a trap; Several Vultures were slaughtered by gunfire, and I had narrowly avoided a hailstorm of bullets, using my small figure to find cover behind an overturned shopping cart. Luckily, our group was far more experienced in warfare than the enemy, and in the subsequent minutes, the remaining Vultures had outflanked and killed the bunkered-down, mobility-limited survivors.

The last of them made a mad rush toward me, and I froze in panic as the towering figure rushed me madly, screaming in guttural rage and swinging a bloodied machete around in the air. Using what shaky willpower I meagerly possessed, I aimed the sights of the pistol at his head and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

I stared in abject shock as the towering man came crashing down onto the tiled floor in front of me, blood leaking from his head. I stared at the bullet hole that went clean through his skull, seeing the bits of bone and brain matter splayed over the back of his head. I believe it was at that moment that I lost my empathy for others, along with a bit of my sanity.


In that same year, settlements began catching onto the Vultures' deceitful ways, and from thereon they refused to let any children into their settlements until hours had passed to confirm they were not Trojan Horses for a Vulture raid. This led to some children dying as a result of being chased by Infected and then finding the gates of a settlement closed shut on them, leaving them to be torn apart.

Once the Vultures realized their methods were no longer working, they resorted to even more barbaric tactics- Strapping children with suicide bomb vests, then sending them close enough to the gates until they were detonated. This was the breaking point for the faction as a whole- Half the Vultures refused to stoop to such atrocious methods, while the other half insisted it was necessary to practice such cruelty in order to command fear and get settlements to surrender their supplies without a fight. Essentially, we were inhumane pirates for a period of time.

That practice quickly died out as settlements began outright executing children that approached their gates with no adults present. It was mercilessly assumed that any children who had somehow survived in this post-apocalypse without a guardian were more likely to be decoys for raids than legitimate vagrants. And so, the Vultures descended into a short civil war.

The faction split into two sub-factions, and in just under a year, the more humane sub-faction dissipated and was absorbed into nearby settlements. Their crimes were forgiven in exchange for them working as valuable soldiers, labor, and resource-gatherers, as well as giving up all information they had on the remaining Vultures.

I happened to get absorbed into the more inhumane sub-faction of Vultures. And once we'd seen the other sub-faction completely fall apart, we soon realized how much of the country was turning against us.

The remaining Vultures.

By this point, we were declared terrorists, baby-killers, cold-blooded murderers with not a shred of humanity left in our souls. Perhaps they were right- But despite the villainous reputation we'd gained, I had clung to the remnants of our group to the very last few- For four more years, I carried on with these raids, helped deceive innocent groups of travelers to rob and, in some cases, killed them; I infiltrated large settlements, gained the trust of those inside, then worked to sabotage their defenses and supplies. And once they suspected me, I slipped out in time to watch the Vultures raid the settlement and pillage it down to the crumbs and coins.

Four. Long. Years. Of thievery, of cold-blooded murder, of deceit and betrayal. While our own group was very usually tight-knit and loyal to one another (following that intrinsic 'honor amongst thieves'), over time and years our strength declined. More of our group was killed off, captured and tortured, or consigned to worse fates, while our methods of recruitment dwindled as fewer people wanted to join a group with such a horrific reputation, and there were fewer children that could be abducted and brainwashed. I was so deeply entrenched in the group because I had nothing else to rely on- No other path to turn towards.

And then, one day, when we were down to only sixty-two of us, we decided to migrate from our most recent base of operations, as the neighboring factions had caught wind of our location and were planning to raid it. During our migration east, we got caught up in the swamplands of Louisiana, and it was there that we were ambushed by another faction.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

BRRRRRT-T-T-T-T!

BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG!

Once more, I was helpless to watch those I had built trust with get slaughtered en masse; Our legs had become sluggish in the swampy marsh, which made us prime shooting targets as enemy survivors ducked out of the tree foliage, sat upon hidden stands, and picking us off with rifles and bows. Once again, I heard the cries, the groans, the moans and screams of those around me as they died violently and horribly, just as they lived.

And still, amidst all of this chaos, all of the death and terror...

I persisted.

I ducked my head below the waterline, closing my eyes, and swam with sheer desperation in one direction. I swam, and swam, and swam until I had no more oxygen left in my lungs. And finally, with no breath left, I surfaced above the waterline-

"G-huuuuuuuh!"

I gasped for breath, sucking in air like I were about to asphyxiate, only to be greeted with several dozen rifle barrels pointed at my head- burning eyes of anger behind every single one of them.

"Caught you, little rat." The closest survivor muttered angrily.

I was roughly taken and thrown into a dingy jail cell, where I did my best to stave off hunger and disease as days passed and no food nor medical attention was given to me. By this point, I had attributed my survival to sheer, stupid luck, and I spent many hours in that cell, quietly pondering when my death would come, and how much pain I would have to endure to reach it.

Because I had lost everything. My humanity, my prospects of a future, my closest allies. I had nothing left to live for. So I resolved that I would do fight as hard as fucking possible to survive until Death itself dragged me, clawing and screaming, to the Black Gates.

It was my own laughable naivete that prevented me from seeing that death would not embrace me at this point in time. One day, as the cell door finally opened, and I was hauled out to a large hall, with an iron gate lying at the end of it, I began to have a slow, dreadful revelation, as other captured Vultures and Hunters were hauled into the same large space. Seeing the assortment of random weapons on the rack opposite of the dilapidated bench we sat on, I started to fully understand something that made my skin crawl with unease, and sent my mind into a whirling blaze of despair.

Life had far more punishment in store for me.