As consciousness started to return to the broken and battered human he reflexively closed his eyes tighter doing his best to keep the blindingly bright sunlight from penetrating through his eyelids. Of course, not doing much to stem the stream of light, the man turned his head from side to side trying to escape the warm embrace of the sun’s rays. After a few futile seconds of shaking his head the man eventually got the bright idea to drape his right arm over his face finally resulting in some relief.

Heavily exhaling at a mission well accomplished Hank started to nod back off to sleep before his brian finally caught a gear, stopping his pleasant slip away to unconsciousness as an inkling of just what had caused him to be asleep started to resurface.

As the temporary amnesia faded Hank’s face hardened before in the blink of an eye he sat bolt upright as all the events of the last day came back in force reminding him of just what was going on and where he currently was.

His haste and need for information ignored by his eyes the man continued to shield his face with his hand as the sensory organs slowly adjusted to the level of brightness that surrounded him. Squinting, while doing his best to look around at the blur that was the world at the moment, Hank put a hand down and used it to push himself to his feet, the urge to be upright overwhelming the man.

Looking down to his feet Hank flushed the last of the sun out of his eyes with a series of forceful blinks and shakes of his head. His eyes no longer tingling, Hank opened them wide and immediately locked up at what he was seeing.

Staring down at the boot deep prairie grass that slowly moved in the gentle breeze that he was just now able to feel wash over his skin as well, the pleasant and soft touch of the breeze aided in helping his body finally catch up to the fact that it was conscious once again.

Still stuck looking down at the grass, unable to look away, Hank’s mind wrestled with the fact that he was no longer where he last knew himself to be before and the gnawing, deep, subconscious feeling that he knew just where the grass he was looking at was.

Finally gaining the ability to look away from the grass that had entranced him so deeply the man was finally able to take in more information, most prominent that he wasn’t in the same boots he had worn into the Everfree, and that he recognized the exact pair of boots that currently covered his feet as the pair that he had entered his last new school year with.

Moving up from his boots the man realized that he was also no longer wearing a pair of blood stained and tattered woodland BDUs, instead they had been replaced with a seemingly new pair of blue jeans besides a small tear above the left knee.

Further up his own frame Hank examined the shirt he was wearing only to find it changed as well, no longer was there a matching stained and torn BDU top covering his torso but a scarily familiar red tee shirt.

Heart starting to thunder in his chest as his breath shortened and quickened Hank brought his attention to his arms, letting go of the tee in his frantic grasp Hank looked down at his arms and hands somehow expecting the scars he had grown oh so familiar with to be gone.

Quickly finding the criss crossing marks of damage still present, the revelation somehow helped calm the quickly panicking man. Forcing himself to calm and take deep breaths Hank closed his eyes and let his arms drop to his sides as he focused on breathing and regaining his composure.

Bringing his head up as he let out a long exhale Hank the human mentally prepared himself for what he knew he was going to see and opened his eyes.

Just as his gut had predicted, laid out before him was no endless forest of twisted old growth trees, no raging rapids that had battered him to a pulp, and no black furred wolves. No, what was laid out before his increasingly watering eyes was… home.

His recently calmed breath instantly becoming shaky once again at the sight before him Hank couldn’t stop himself from looking around in all directions at all the oh so familiar but also foreign sights.

Green grass and lush trees meeting his gaze in all the spots he remembered, the human was finally snapped free of his trance and began looking around him for his weapons and gear when his brain caught up to the fact that he wasn’t wearing what he was supposed to and that his web gear had been completely absent from his frame.

Spinning around in circles looking for his missing gear, Hank started to pat himself down for anything before his right fingers brushed over the silver pocket clip of his pocket knife that he had always kept in his right pants pocket. Having the knife out of his pocket and deployed in a flash despite his trembling hands Hank gripped the knife with everything he had as his overwhelmed brain tried to fight its way out of the overstimulation feedback loop it was locked in.

Still spinning around as his head whipped from side to side, his eyes as wide as saucers, as he tried to look at everything at once; the human suddenly sunk to a knee before flattening himself out the soft ground stomach down in the prone as his training kicked in, commanding him to reduce his signature and get low in the open.

Ear pressed to the grass, his eyes still bouncing around in their sockets like pinballs, Hank hyperventilated and his head spun from lack of oxygen and confusion. Slamming his eyes shut as he attempted to calm himself Hank fought hard to regain control of his diaphragm and slowly started to win as his heart rate began to lower and his breathing became less and less shallow and wheezy.

At the same rate his breathing calmed, the choked sobs began. Clenching his teeth as he tried to keep it in, Hank found himself holding onto the grass that he was laying in for dear life, terrified that if he didn’t it would all be torn away from him again.

As the minutes passed by Hank continued to cry openly as all those memories he ran from constantly were forced to the forefront of his mind. Forced to confront the trauma with nowhere to run and nothing to distract him, the onslaught of memories had the man paralyzed with grief as he laid prone grasping at the prairie grass.

The sights of his home too much to bear, if even for a few seconds, the grief he was stricken with slowly started to morph into rage as his mind was slowly pulled from what had happened and what he had done to why those things had happened.

Hands clenching tighter, the prairie grass he had been holding onto was ripped from the dirt it had grown from before he started ramming his balled up fist into the same sod.

Finally opening his tear filled eyes Hank grit his teeth and brought himself to his knees while still striking out with the knife in his hand, stabbing it into the ground repeatedly. Tear stained face was a mix of extreme anger and extreme anguish as he continued to stab at the soil as hard as he had ever stabbed anything in his life.

After a long while of working through his storm of emotions the man’s arm eventually growing tired as he rain out of breath, not from crying or hyperventilating but from exertion, Hank rammed the knife into the well tilled spot of land one last time and let it stay there as he caught his breath and let his arm rest.

Huffing and puffing as sweat beaded off of his hair and fell to the land below Hank tried to form a coherent thought and plan of action but found himself so emotionally exhausted it took everything he had just to stay awake.

Sitting on the back of his calves out in the open field Hank had no understanding of time as he stared out straight in front of him. It could have been seconds or hours that he sat there, silently breathing as he took in the landscape before him, completely empty of both emotion and thought, so overwhelmed by that around him that after the initial shock he didn’t have the faculties to process anything anymore.

Mindlessly and wordlessly watching as dark gray storm clouds started to sweep over the prairie in the distance Hank was completely enraptured by his favorite combination of sights, smells, and feelings as the air cooled and the natural light started to dim. So enraptured in fact that he didn’t notice the figure walk up behind him until a hand softly landed on his shoulder.

Where his mind was so blank he didn’t even know he had been snuck up on, let alone touched, his body was keenly aware and halted his breathing before in a flurry of movement Hank had whipped around and tackled the person behind him. Not realizing what had occurred until he had taken mount and brought the knife above his head, ready to plunge it down on the unknown, a voice cut through his mind’s fogginess and instinct like a red hot razor.

“Holy…shit.” The voice called out in a strained tone, “You hit like a god damned truck son.”

Like a sledgehammer to the brain a voice Hank had thought he had forgotten rang through his ears instantly locking him up tighter than Fort Knox.

Starting down at the form of his father as he recovered from having his bell rung with the knife still raised above his head Hank didn’t move, he didn’t breathe, he didn’t even blink as he watched his father finally recover enough from the hit and look up to him in return.

The eyes of his dad going from his face to the knife still held aloft Joel’s face went from surprised to amused, “I don’t think there’s any need for that son.”

Son. A word that Hank hadn’t heard in five years since his mother and father died, leaving him alone in a harsh new world to fend for himself, hit his brain like a bullet snapping him out of his surprise.

Lowering the knife, Hank looked at it for less than half a second before winding up and throwing it as far away as he could. Not a second later Hank had wrapped his arms around his dad in the tightest hug he had ever given and promptly started to bawl his eyes out.

Moving too quickly to even protest, Hank’s father gave a muffled “oof” from the force at which his son had hugged him before wrapping his own arms around his boy and patting him on the back as he cried. Both content to just enjoy the reunion while they could it was Joel who sighed and gave Hank two slightly harder pats on the back and stopped hugging first.

“I missed you too, son…. I missed you so much.” Joel whispered shakily, finding it hard to get his own words out through his suddenly tight throat, the emotions too strong to ignore.

Clamping his eyes shut and holding onto his son with as much strength as he could muster Joel eventually let out a stuttering sigh. There was no rest for the wicked. “but unfortunately I have something we have to talk about.”

His words completely ignored by Hank as he continued to cry into the shoulder of his red flannel Joel sighed again. He really didn’t want to yell at Hank in this wonderful moment but he knew time was of the essence and the stakes monumental.

Willing enough fortitude into his mind, Joel took in a deep breath and mustered the will power.

“HANK!”

Yelling just the way he did when Hank got in trouble as a boy the effect on his son was immediately effective causing Hank to quiet down and listen.

Having to strain hard to push Hank up so he could look into his eyes Joel was only able to make ground when Hank finally got the message and loosened his grip around his own back.

Looking into his son’s eyes for the first time since it had all happened, since his wife had… died and he had well… died, the thing that was so important to tell his son was completely wiped from his mind when he saw the face looking back at him with red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Jesus Christ son… they cut you up bad!” Joel exclaimed moving his hands to Hank’s face feeling the scars that criss crossed the boy’s face and even side of his head.

Looking at his son in horror at how much pain he must have been through since he was gone, Joel could hardly even believe what his own son before him had turned into. Hank looked much different than the last time he had seen him walking up that driveway on his last day. Besides the scarring, his son’s face was hardened and chiseled, showing an angry intensity even when he was sad, his hair was going gray in small patches and random strands all over his head. Joel could hardly recognize the man before him as his own son but he could still tell it was his boy. He’d always know his own son.

Lord above Hank… Ya look like you’re from Glasgow.” Joel finally said.

Snorting at his father’s remark Hank could help but blow a large amount of snot out of his nose that had built up when he was crying. Wiping his nose and throwing the snot rocket away Hank couldn’t help but laugh at the comment as he leaned back and away from his dad’s grasp.

Laughing as well at Hank’s reaction, Joel wiped his own face from the tears that had started to dry as they both laughed and slowly calmed down. As both father and son settled into a more calm state of mind Joel was the first to break the more comfortable silence as the discomfort of his substantially larger and heavier son in mount position on his stomach became too much.

“If it ain’t too much trouble could you work on getting your big ass off me?” Joel partially coughed out from the strain on his lungs, “You’re killin your dear old dad ‘ere.”

“S-sorry” Was all Hank uttered while removing himself from the mount position he had assumed after tackling what had turned out to be his father.

“I guess I was right after all.” The older man said with a curt laugh putting his hand on his knee while rising to his full height.

“Bout what?” Hank asked in a flat tone, still emotionally drained.

“You were a late bloomer.” His dad laughed, causing Hank to shake his head and give another short snort, “You really shot up in the last… few years, definitely got your height from your granddad on that one.”

“Luckily.” Hank huffed, thinking back to his younger more… pudgy years. “Still can’t grow any damned facial hair though, no doubt thanks to you.”

Laughing at the grin on his son’s face, Joel shook his head. “Like I always said: the good lord don’t let us grow beards so we can’t cover our pretty faces.”

“Didn’t quite pan out in my case.” Hank noted making his father shake his head again.

“No no, you’re lucky ya don’t! Think of how shitty a beard would look bein’ all segmented and disjointed. Plus think of the hell you’d have to go through trying to shave around all that.” Joel motioned to the scarring that covered most of Hank’s face.

“Suppose you’re right.” The younger man conceded, his father’s blunt, unfiltered, and unrefined words a great change to the unusual soft handedness most people took when it came to his physical appearance.

As the moment grew longer and Hank’s mind started to properly catch up and truly understand the strangeness of the situation he was in, even over the one he was in leading up to his current predicament, Hank took a deep breath and looked at his father who was still looking at him with a small smile.

“This ain’t real.” Hank finally said with a serious tone causing his father to give a small laugh and nod.

“No it ain’t.” Joel confirmed, “At least not in the sense that you’re back home and that I’m still alive in the… above the ground way.”

Letting the air go silent after his father had gotten done speaking for a second Hank gave a loud exhale and forced his body to relax, “Sooooo… What is… This?” Hank motioned to the landscape around him, “Am I dead? Am I actually, finally dead?”

“Well damn son… don’t sound so enthusiastic about that prospect.” Joel frowned while shaking his head.

“How in the hell can I not be?” Hank scoffed, “I watched you die, I saw everyone and everything die! Hell, that was the easy part. Half the damn time all those folks I knew were turned into those… THINGS! And tried to kill me! So I had to kill them.”

Pausing as he looked at his father Hank released the tension that had built up in his shoulders while bringing his hands to his face and wiping it off. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea how hard it is to push a knife into the eye of the mother of your best friend? Even as she’s tryin’ to rip your throat out?”

“No son… I don’t.” Hank’s father said in a sad tone.

“Ain’t many that fuckin ‘do.” Hank spit, “I had to kill Charles you know.”

At the mention of Hank’s best friend’s name Joel immediately brought his eyes to meet his son’s, “Him and his mother?”

“...Yeah.” Hank sadly confirmed, “I had to shoot him though. I just. I couldn’t bring myself to do it by hand.”

“What about Tom?” Joel sighed, already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Well…” Hank paused and laughed, “Can’t keep the missus and kid hungry can ya?”

“Christ on a bike.” Joel simply shook his head, “Look Hank. I know all of that must have been hard but -”

“BUT!?” Hank bellowed falling into a fit of laughter, “Don’t you fuckin’ ‘but’ me!”

Closing his mouth as Hank angrily pointed at him it was then that Joel realized that his son wasn’t the same as when he had last seen him, The boy, no. The man that stood before him now was heavily scarred inside and out. All that innocence that he had once held, that optimism that he used to always carry was gone. It was still his son, but his son plus five years of loneliness, pain, and terror.

“Not to mention what happened to mom.” Hank said in a much lower voice.

“Hey hey hey hey, no no.” Joel shook his head while walking over to his son, turning him so he could place his hands on his much broader shoulders, “That wasn’t your fault and you know that.”

Lip quivering again Hank shuddered out a breath, “S she just… a and I… it hurt so bad!”

“None of that. None of that son.” Joel reassured with a soft voice nearly brought to tears himself remembering the love of his life and what had happened between the mother of his child and his child.

“She wouldn’t blame you. She loved you more than life itself and you know that! It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t my fault, and it weren’t her fault. There ain’t no way any of us could’ve known she was sick with that sickness… hell she didn’t know. She went to sleep with a small headache and… didn’t wake up.”

“B but… I … I.”

“Now don’t you ‘but’ me.” Hank’s father said sternly but with compassion, “I should’ve been the one to do it. You should have NEVER had to do that. That is the one thing that I regretted more than anything else.”

Doing his best just to not hyperventilate again, Hank just weakly nodded along as his father spoke.

“And it ain’t fair. None of what happened to anybody was fair.” Joel sighed, “But as you know it happened fast. Everything happened so damn quick, especially with your mother. One moment we’re all holed up in the house and she's goin’ to bed with a headache, and the next she’s bursting through the door jumpin’ on ya. There ain’t a damn thing we could’ve done Hank. And that’s what makes it hurt so much.”

Bringing his gaze to his father’s from the staring contest he was having with his boots, Hank noticed the moisture in his father’s eyes as he gave a weak smile, “But that wasn’t your mom, that wasn’t my wife. That wasn’t Mary. Your mother died peacefully in her sleep and her body came back like all the others.”

A series of shaky breaths the only response from his son Joel shook his head in sorrow at the state the world had left his boy in. He desperately wished that all those years ago things would’ve been different and he could have at least been there for a while to continue to raise his son and help him through what Joel knew had been the absolute hardest time in Hank’s life. But unfortunately, that just wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

“You know son.” Joel began pulling away from Hank and turned walking towards a downed log that wasn’t there even a moment ago, “Come here and take a seat with me.”

Walking over to the log he knew wasn’t there before Hank couldn’t find it in his mind to care as he sat down and looked out at the storm as it continued to approach, the cooling air picking up speed as he put his elbows on his knees and took in a deep breath still attempting to calm himself.

“I hope you don’t look at the bodies you killed as people. Cause they weren’t, not no more.” Joel said in the soft but firm tone only a parent could while turning his head to face his son who was still looking out at the land before him.

Sitting up as he heard the words, Hank sighed, “I know, but it's the faces and the screams and the crying. I know you didn’t have much experience with the sick like me cause you… didn't get the chance.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Joel laughed, causing Hank to smile and let out a quiet huff or two.

“But I had er... have a lot of experience dealing with em. And let me tell you what,” Hank paused, shaking his head, “Those things, when they know they’re finally dyin’, they cry and scream just like how they would when they were them old selves. Fuck dad… those things fuckin’ talked sometimes.”

“Really?” Joel asked in complete curiosity.

“Yeah.” Hank nodded with wide eyes looking back at his dad, “It wasn’t anything.. I mean it was just crazed ramblings and butchered syllables but sometimes they would. The real fucked up thing though was the really smart ones.” Hank continued motioning along with his hands, “And I mean ones this smart were rare, really rare, maybe one in a few hundred or so but they would know a phrase like, well… so the first time it happened to me it was in the old pharmacy on Douglas street, remember?”

“Course, old man Cramer and his wife Ellie.” Hank’s father smiled and nodded along, “They thought the world of you ya know, every time I went in there they would always ask: “Hows the little shit doin’?” Joel let out an honest belly laugh as he recollected on the nice memory, “They always wanted to know what you were up to.”

Smiling as well it quickly soured as Hank thought of the details of the story he was about to tell, “Yeah… Well it was a few months after you… died, and I was sneaking around looking for some flu medicine cause I was sick as a dog. I didn't expect for either of them to be around of course, they were old and I figured if any segment of the population was any more doomed than anyone else it’d be the elderly so… anyways.” Hank flipped his hand getting off of his tangent, “I’m in there and all of the sudden I hear what sounded just like Cramer say, ‘Anyone? Please help.’. Course that really threw me for a loop, so I stopped grabbing what I could find just long enough for “Cramer” to round the corner and slam my ass through the glass display case that had all the jewelry Ellie was always making. Cut my right arm up something fierce.”

Pulling up his sleeve Hank showed off the cut scars along with the various others that covered his dominant arm, “He was the first one I ever encountered, and I only ever ran across maybe a dozen or two over the five years after you were taken from me.”

“Two dozen sure sounds like a lot.” Joel countered, finally taking his eyes off his son’s scared arm.

“Shit-” Hank let out a genuine laugh, “I’ve killed hundreds and hundreds of the infected, the turned, the sick, the damned, crazies, whatever you wanna call em’. Two dozen is hardly a drop in the bucket.”

“You’re serious when you say that? Hundreds?”

“Hundreds.” Hank sighed, “And quite a few people too. Some that deserved it, a lot that didn’t.”

Sighing as well, Joel turned his attention to the storm that drew ever closer knowing that their time together was drawing ever shorter, “I’m gonna say something you probably ain’t gonna like.”

“Go for it. I’m just happy to hear your voice again.” Hank turned to face his father.

“I am too, son.” Joel gave a weary smile, “But in the situation you were thrust into, there ain’t no room to be a ‘good’ man. The best you can do is be a ‘just’ man, but there’s no place for niceties and softness. I know it don’t make what you had to do, or just what you did, any easier to live with but that's just the path we humans take in times like that.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t a ‘just’ man neither.” Hank admitted, “I wasn’t for a long time. YEARS after you died.”

Nodding in understanding, Joel started to piece together just the path Hank had led himself down in his absence. Looking back on his own adolescence Joel couldn’t help but almost let out a laugh at the parallels he could see lining up. The only word that Joel could conjure up in his mind was: ‘fate’. He just hoped that Hank could end the cycle before he had his own boy… or whatever the word for young male horse was.

“Find something funny?” Hank asked, looking over at his dad with a grin on his face, his elbows still on his knees.

“Maybe.” Joel nodded in confirmation, before looking over to Hank who had a wry grin on his scarred face.

“So when did this mean streak of yours start anyhow?” Joel asked plainly.

“I always figured it was hereditary.” Hank laughed.

“Oh it is,” The older man chuckled, “from both sides of your family, you didn’t have a snowball's chance in hell of bein’ ‘level headed’. But really, when was it?”

Taking in a deep breath Hank took his elbows off his knees and sat up straight patting the tops of his thighs a few times while exhaling, “Right after you died.”

“The shooter in the top right bedroom window?”

“Yep.” Hank all but growled.

“And I’m guessin’ you didn’t just kill him?”

“...Nope.”

“Well I don’t mean to be a stickler but, I hardly count torturing the person that killed your dad as ‘unjust’.”

“That ain't all I did.” Hank looked over to his dad out of the corner of his eye.

“You were barely a teenager at the time, son. I ain’t doubting your meanness or toughness, you are a Lynch after all-” Joel smirked, “But at the time you were just a boy.”

Shaking his head Hank snorted out a laugh as he remembered every single solitary detail of that moment as if it happened an hour ago, “Let’s just say seeing you crumple to the ground with a hole in your chest broke that final little piece of decency, hell the final piece of sanity, I had left.”

Looking over to his dad who was just looking at him in that expectant way he always did when he wanted you to continue Hank took a deep breath and figured he might as well actually open up about it. It wasn’t like any of this was real anyways.

“When you hit the dirt I stood there like a deer in the headlights, not even knowing what to do. I watched the blood seep out of the hole in your chest and mouth and nose… I heard the echo of the gunshot trail off through the trees, and I just stood there staring at you still holding onto my AR, in complete shock. I thought about mom, I thought about Grandma and Grandpa, I thought about all the crazy shit that had happened in the last few weeks. I thought about all that in maybe a second. And then I heard it.”

Pausing to calm his rapidly quickening heart Hank continued on, “I heard the casing of the bullet that had torn right through you, the round that tore the last bit of what I loved from me, I heard the casing hit the hardwood floor of the farmhouse fifty feet away through a open second story window just after a gunshot as clear as day. I have no idea how I did, but I did. And the second I heard it I just started screaming the most angry yell my little ass could before whipping around to face the farm house and just unloading on it.”

Watching as his son told the story from his perspective, Joel listened as calmly as ever regardless if the story centered around his own morbid and untimely demise.

I sprayed down the top story window with a full magazine, just shooting as fast as I could, not even aiming. Then I reloaded and somewhere through the second mag I started advancing on the house, stomping, screaming, and just dumping ammo into the front of this house, top and bottom floor. I was just shooting and acting on instinct I think because after that second mag ran dry and I put in the third I started sprinting-

<><> September, 2013, Two Months + 2 Weeks Post Collapse, Southern South Dakota <><>

Light, cold, drizzle slowly fell on the trees and ground giving the air the familiar feeling of an early fall and perhaps harsh winter. The remaining leaves lightly moved in the mist like rain covering the earth in the calm sounds and scents of gentle rain on decaying leaves and dirt, yet there was no calmness to be found in the middle of nowhere South Dakota on this day.

The quaint sounds of gentle mist on soil was completely drowned out by the rapid and relentless gunshots from the screaming boy as he ripped into the farmhouse with every ounce of hatred his five foot six frame could contain.

Standing over the body of his just slain father, Hank screamed not in words or even curses but in complete agony and anguish that rapidly turned into boiled over murderous rage as his world came crashing down around him.

Psyche completely and irreversibly shattered Hank emptied the rest of the magazine as fast as he could not even aiming down the sights as he fired away. So entrapped in his mind as it broke into a thousand pieces Hank continued to scream and jerk the trigger even past when the rifle ran dry and the bolt locked to the rear.

As the gunshots finally stopped and the last few reports echoed through the trees the boy’s mind finally caught up to ears letting him know he was no longer shooting.

This couldn’t stand. All Hank wanted to do was… hug his father and mother one last time. Have things go back to normal so he could tell them how much he loved them. So he could tell everybody how much he loved them. But that was impossible, and now the last living link he had to that comfortable, better, past was gone.

So now all Hank wanted to do was Shoot and KILL.

As the rain and tears melded together on his rage contorted face Hank clumsily reloaded the rifle and brought it back to his shoulder, not wasting a second to start jerking the trigger again.

The deafening explosions were like a symphony to the boy as he began marching toward the house, spraying from one corner to the other. The more he shot, the more he hated, the angrier he became, the more the pain and unending anguish faded away.

Glass shattered. Wood splintered and filled the air. The never ending onslaught of bullets peppered the house and easily penetrated through to the once warm living space inside. And it was exactly what Hank was realizing he liked.

Soon enough the second magazine ran empty as well but this time the reload was far less shaky and clumsy. Hank couldn’t stand the silence when the gun wasn’t firing, it was too calm, too nice, too quiet. The quiet didn't reflect the anger the death of his father deserved. The calm didn’t match the hot boiling vat of hate in his gut, and if the world wasn’t going to acknowledge the loss and anger…then Hank would make sure he was heard.

Ramming the magazine he had in his rear left pants pocket into the rifle with a voice cracking yell Hank slapped the side of the rifle and started sprinting the last of the distance to the peppered farm house.

Continuing to fire as he sprinted toward the home the boy didn't care if he even hit anything, he just needed the noise, just needed the deafening gunfire to occupy his mind so he couldn’t think about everything that had happened.

Closing on the door while still firing and screaming his head off like the newly minted lunatic he had just become Hank only stopped the incessant gunfire as he reached the first step of the grand wrap around porch.

Propelling his body at full bore, Hank was up the steps and across the porch in less than three steps. And before he even knew what he was doing he was tucking his shoulder and blowing through the bullet minced front door entering the house with a crazed scream.

Hank had no idea what he was doing, he had no plan, he had no thoughts. His instincts had completely overtaken him inside and out. For the first time ever the new Hank emerged and took center stage casting away all threads of morality and mercy the original Hank had been so thoroughly taught through his youth.

Whipping his head around the interior of the house like a rabid dog Hank laid eyes on a teenage girl that couldn’t have been two years older than himself holding her bleeding arm, no doubt trying to put pressure on the wound from a bullet he had put there whilst he had been spraying down the house in a fit of blind rage.

Locking eyes with the girl as she stared back, Hank's body moved on its own, dropping the rifle on its sling and reaching his right arm back for the shitty, cheap, Mossberg fixed blade knife he had bought from the hardware store when he was just ten years old.

Pulling the knife free from its equally shitty nylon sheath Hank had no idea what he was doing but made no attempts to stop as he cocked his arm back and thrust the blade forward with everything he had right into the young girl’s stomach just as she had regained enough sense to try and run away from him.

His own screams of rage mixed with her shrill screams of pain and fear in the interior of the farm house as he drove the knife through her kidney before letting it go and pushing her to the floor.

Chest heaving as he looked down at the prone body of the girl as she screamed for her mother and father, her voice full of terror and pain as she cried.

Her cries didn't take long to yield result, and in a flash a very panicked young woman, no older than thirty, rounded the corner from the bedroom where she must have taken cover during the assault, her eyes wide and mouth slack as she screamed at the scene before her.

“Baby, NO!” She screamed, ignoring Hank and rushing to her daughter’s side, falling to her knees and pulling her sobbing daughter onto her lap, the sudden movement causing the young girl to shriek in pain.

“Mommy! I- It Hurts! It hurts!” The adolescent girl blubbered, weakly kicking her feet with her head buried into her mother’s stomach, her hands panickily grasping at the jacket her mother was wearing, too scared to look at the knife sticking out of her lower abdomen.

“It’ll be okay baby, it’ll be okay. I’m here sweetie. I’m here-” The woman said in a clear panic, not knowing what to do.

Completely blank at the scene transpiring before him, a scene he had caused. Hank stared down at the duo completely flat despite his heaving chest still crying eyes.

“M- Marty!” The woman suddenly cried out, “Marty!”

While it took a second for any response to come from the desperate pleas there was a slow creak of a foot step up stairs before something heavy fell to the floor with a scraping crash.

“What’s happening!” A distinctly male voice called out from the top floor instantly snapping Hank out of his near catatonic state like a lightning bolt

“It’s Sammie! She’s hurt! She’s-”

“Daddy!” Sam screamed out, peeling her face away from her mother just long enough before immediately putting it back as she hyperventilated from the blood loss and pain.

“I’m coming baby!” the man upstairs responded before grunting as the same heavy thing from upstairs moved from the floor.

At the same time as the father made his way towards the stairs Hank did as well, smelling blood in the water like a shark.

Raising his rifle once again Hank looked for any target as he steadily approached the stairs.

“Where’s the kid!? The one from outside!?” Marty called out taking his first shaky step down the stairs towards the landing, still blind from what lurked beneath him.

Looking at the exposed leg like a starving dog, Hank waited to fire, he waited for some reason he didn't truly understand but that his mind told him was a good idea.

As Marty took a second to lower himself a second step, steadying himself with a bloodstained hand on the banister his wife looked up to see the young boy looking up with a rifle and immediately felt her mind catch a gear through all the panic.

“Marty RUN!”

Just as she spoke Hank fired off the rest of the magazine into the legs of the man upstairs causing him to jerk as he turned to run upstairs before stumbling and falling back down the stairs to the landing with a pained yell and series of thumps as both he and his rifle crashed down.

Empty on ammo in the mag after the six rounds, Hank ignored the renewed screaming and crying from behind him and reached for his last mag in his right pants pocket, only to find it missing, meaning he was completely out of ammo.

Tossing the empty AR to the side, the young boy turned killer screamed and bolted up the landing towards his father’s murderer, nothing but pure hatred and rage filling his heart.

Reaching the injured man just as he was reaching for his rifle again Hank didn’t slow and crashed into the much larger adult, kicking him in the side of the head with his boot, knocking the glasses off the man completely as he reeled from the strike.

With no finesse or semblance of an idea of what to do, Hank set upon the man punching, kicking, and screaming like the wild animal he had become. Punching and kicking as hard as he could, the boy raged against the man that had struck down his father with nothing more than the desire to hurt and kill filling his mind.

Wounded from one bullet wound to the chest and a few to the legs Marty did his best to weather the onslaught as the fog from his mind slowly cleared from the fall down the stairs and kick to the head. Soon enough as the fog cleared enough, Marty could still hear the screams and cries of his daughter and wife over the deranged screaming of the kid attacking him.

Gritting his teeth the man caught one of Hank’s sloppy punches and delivered one of his own to the boy’s face immediately shutting him up before roughly pushing him down the stairs to the kitchen / living room below where he hit with a loud thud and moan as the air left his lungs.

Groaning Marty slumped back against the wall of the landing doing his best to grab his rifle and catch his breath from around his collapsing lung.

Laying on the floor as his ears rang and eyes filled with spots Hank did his best to choke in any amount of air into his deflated lungs as he stared up at the ceiling. Coughing and sputtering, after what felt like forever, Hank was finally able to get enough air into his body to begin to inflate his lungs as he blinked away the stars in his eyes and as the ringing in his ears lowered to a constant that had been brought on by all the gunfire.

Rolling around on the hardwood floor trying to recover from the series of hits Hank heard the sounds of crying from the girl he had stabbed, he heard the panicked words of a mother trying to keep her daughter alive, it was almost enough to make him want to turn and run away from the mess he had made. Almost.

As the thought about leaving the farm house and running as fast as he could blipped in his mind he was quickly reminded of the still cooling body of his own father outside and felt the coals of anger reignite in his chest.

Forgetting about leaving this place Hank grit his teeth and rolled onto his stomach before standing up and stumbling over to the kitchen counter top where he quickly found his hands on a steak knife.

Tightening his shaking hand into a fist around the handle of the blade Hank cut out the sounds of family tragedy that surrounded him and turned to the stairs before narrowing his bloodshot eyes and charging back up them with a yell.

As his feet thundered up the steps the young Hank found himself set upon the injured father again just as the much larger man closed the bolt on the rifle in his hands. Not caring about the threat of having a loaded gun pointed at him Hank lunged at the man nonetheless only to be struck across the side of the head with the butt of the rifle in a sudden burst of movement from his target.

Falling to the ground after slamming into the wall Hank could hardly see straight as his head throbbed and spun. However, his motivation to maim and destroy overpowered the pain in his head and neck and like a half blind rattlesnake Hank struck out with the knife at the blurry gray blob with all he had.

Lucky for Hank and unluckily for Marty the boy’s strike was true, sending the steak knife handle deep just above Marty’s pelvis as he propped himself up against the wall and did his best to line the rifle up on the boy.

“FUCK!” Marty cursed at the new jolt of pain jerking the trigger, sending a round over Hank’s shoulder as he slipped under the rifle’s barrel in his own sudden burst of speed.

Hanging onto the knife with all he had, Hank finally pulled it free with a wet sucking sound and pulled it back over his head intending to strike again but was pushed away from the still fighting man once again.

Stumbling back into the wall, bloody knife still in his hand Hank regained his composure just for a second before gritting his teeth and lunging forward once again.

Dropping the rifle, its length mixed with his greatly slowed movements making it near useless, he did his best to block the stabs and cuts that came his way, knowing he had to protect his family from the crazed boy but quickly found the cuts and punctures on his arms becoming too much to bear as the kid refused to slow or weaken.

Gritting his teeth as the knife drug over his forearm one again Marty let out a yell of his own and lunged forward taking the boy by his medium length hair in his left arm getting a steak knife to the tricep for his trouble.

Holding on despite the pain Marty used the last of his strength to go on the offensive and slammed the boy’s head into the decorative table in the corner of the landing, breaking the porcelain vase with the kid’s face.

Ramming Hank’s head down onto the table over and over, the boy struggled to get free to no avail as Marty continuously rammed his head onto the table, more and more blood covering its surface. Screaming at the kid as he ruthlessly waylaid down on him Marty balled up his right fist and drove it into Hank’s ribs getting a pained gurgling whimper from the boy in his grasp.

As the adrenaline wore down and his collapsed lung spoke up more, Marty refused to quit until the murderous little shit was dead. Refusing to quit as he may, Marty couldn’t help to slow down as his injured body started to put on the brakes.

“Die you little fuck!” Marty hit Hank in the ribs again causing the boy to flinch and gurgle again.

“Should’ve just-” Marty punched again but had to stop to pant as his vision started to fail, “Stayed away!”

Still holding the boy’s face down in the broken porcelain the older man cocked his arm back to strike again but had to catch himself from stumbling back as his balance and injured legs failed giving Hank just the opening his instinct driven mind was looking for.

Feeling the pressure holding him down lift just a little, Hank used all of his strength to twist his body free of the hand holding onto his head and face the man. Not caring to even register the porcelain ripping at his face as he drug his cheek though it as he turned, Hank finally broke the hold on his hair and propelled his right leg directly up into the balls of the man who had been beating him as he stood upright.

The effect was immediate, causing the man’s knees to buckle sending him to the floor in a kneel as he held onto his damaged goods.

Coughing out the blood that had pooled in his mouth and seeing that the strike was effective Hank slumped against the wall to his back in an attempt to catch his breath and regain some composure. There was little to be found however though, because with every breath he took in a stabbing pain erupted from his right side, from his bruised, if not broken, ribs.

Coughing more blood from his mouth as it rushed down his face from the numerous cuts and out of his nose from the trauma to his face Hank and the man stared at each other as they both did their best to just breathe.

Bringing a shaky hand to his face Hank did his best to wipe the blood out of his left eye and absent mindedly pulled a few of the porcelain pieces that had embedded themselves in his face free causing more blood to rush down his front, thoroughly staining both his shirt and pants.

Finding it harder and harder to breathe with every breath Marty looked up to the minced face of the boy as he stared back, somehow still on his feet. Wheezing as they continued to stare at each other, Marty saw the quickest flicker of sadness cross the boy's face before once again his eyes narrowed and lips parted in a snarl.

Groaning as he tried his best to do anything, to move anything Marty wasn’t even given the chance as a blue jean covered knee crashed into his upper lip with a scream knocking his front teeth loose before with another yell the boy grabbed onto his hair this time and pushed him towards the stairs with all his might.

Growling as he shoved, Hank fell to his hands and knees and the large man was sent down the last set of stairs, Slamming into the hardwood floor below breaking an arm in an attempt to catch his broken body.

Putting a hand on the wall as his head spun Hank found himself falling back into the other wall and sliding to the floor as his head spun. Wincing at the broken porcelain that he found himself forcefully sitting in, Hank couldn’t find the power or ability within himself to move and instead dealt with the pain as he tried to steady himself.

Panting like a dog as he sat on the landing, blood still leaking down his face from the cuts and his nose the loud ringing in his ears and blurriness in his vision slowly started to subside allowing the boy to regain some sort of situational awareness about the world around him.

As sounds started to fade back in, Hank was keenly aware of the continued crying downstairs and slowly turned his head to look down the stairs and get a look at the situation, having to blink a half dozen times to get his eyes to focus.

“D-daddy…” Samantha blubbered, the sound of her father crashing down the stairs drawing her attention.

“I’m… here baby girl.” Marty did his best to sound comforting as he looked at his daughter from his position still flat on the floor, coughing not a small amount of blood up from his punctured lung.

“Oh god Martin.” His wife whispered looking at the state of her husband, the blood pool around him ever so slowly growing larger.

“It’ll be alright honey.” Martin lied trying his hardest to prop himself up on one arm and drag his way closer to his family, “Just keep pressure on the wound, I have most of the stations…. medical supplies in the back of the car.”

Grunting as he drug himself closer the mortally wounded man was forced to stop as the tunnel vision got too severe and the beating of his heart in his chest grew too fast.

Stopping just out of reach of his daughter's outreached and shaking hand Martin weakly groaned, letting himself lay back on the hardwood floor.

“I… I don’t wanna die daddy. I don't wanna die!” Sam cried, fully hyperventilating as she firmly slipped into shock.

“You’re not going to die baby, I’m here, I’m here for you.” Martin did his best to console his daughter as he slowly slipped into shock as well, his entire body feeling cold.

“M-Martin?” Cindy spoke up, holding pressure on the knife wound with one hand and wrapping and holding onto her daughter’s clammy hand with the other.

“Yes?” Martin responded, using most of his remaining energy just to speak the one word.

“Is the kid still… alive.” Cindy asked, looking to the wall that covered her view of the landing where she had heard the life or death fight take place, not having heard or seen anything of the boy that had rushed up the stairs.

“I… think so.” Martin coughed out the answer as he closed the last few inches and grabbed his daughter’s other hand, a great sense of relief taking over his body as he did so, “I’m here baby.”

As if summoned by the very mention of his existence, there was the sound of broken glass and porcelain crunching before a series of loud crashes came from the stairs, half of the table Martin broke with Hank's face hitting the floor and coming to rest in the blood trail Martin had left behind.

As Samantha’s crying picked back up, knowing more was to come, Cindy felt her heart sink as very slow footsteps started to descend the stairs. Nearly flinching in terror with every creak of the old wood as weight was put on the next step and taken away from the last Cindy felt a strange mix of fear and sorrow cross her mind as the same boy that had stabbed her daughter emerged from the staircase, his entire front soaked in blood from his severely cut and battered face.

Moving slowly from all the pain he was in Hank had been spurred back into action despite how much he wanted to lean against the wall and just sleep like a stalking mountain lion as he watched his target crawl away.

Now at the main level and staring at the scene before him, Hank met the terrified woman’s eyes and slowly started to approach.

“What… is he doing?” Martin asked, not able to move his head and look for himself.

“He’s coming towards us.” Cindy whispered, on the edge of a panic, “He has your rifle.”

Clenching his eyes shut at what he knew was about to happen Martin fought to hold back a sob so he could appear strong for his family. He should have never stopped here, they should’ve just kept making their way to Canada.

Reaching Martin’s boot-covered feet, Hank slung the Remington across his back before slowly bending over and grabbing onto the man’s ankles and pulling his hardest.

Trying his best to hang on to his daughter’s hand his blood soaked grip finally failed, breaking the only, and what he knew to be his last embrace with his daughter.

“Daddy!” Samantha weakly cried as her father was forcefully pulled away from her touch, her small hand shaking as she tried to reach for him.

“I love you baby.” Martin tried his best to say loudly as continued to be pulled away from his beloved family, powerless to fight against the boy turned monster who he had slighted.

Dragging the man around six feet away from his family Hank finally dropped the man’s legs and took a second to catch his breath once again. Dragging the well over two hundred pound man was no easy task when with every breath and tug your ribs felt like they were shattering over and over.

Having to lean forward and put his hands on his knees as he wheezed, Hank had to fight the desire to cough knowing how much it would hurt. After a good minute of just trying to breathe and fighting back tears as a few coughs inevitably fought their way through Hank spoke for the first time since the events of the day had transpired.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Immediately catching the attention of everybody in the room, hearing the person who had ripped their family apart speak after only hearing cries and screams since he had burst through the door, they were all surprised at how high pitched and choked his voice was. It really cemented that he was just a child, an extremely violent child, but still a child nonetheless.

“...no shit.” Martin could do nothing but whisper out the retort, his pride more than a little hurt at losing to the actual boy that could not have been over fifteen years old.

Only getting a grunt in response Martin heard his assailant slowly walk toward the kitchen and watched as his wife’s gaze followed him.

Leaning on the counter, his bloody hands leaving dark red prints, Hank looked over the tools at his disposal before settling on the large cleaver, no doubt the knife Terry and Christine, the actual owners of the home before collapse, had used to butcher their famous Christmas honied pork roast.

Mouth nearly watering at the thought Hank gripped ahold of the cleaver and gave it a few swings to get a feel for its surprising heft.

“O-oh god.” Cindy felt her heart start to pound faster as the boy turned around, cleaver held tightly in his right hand.

Seeing the panic growing in his wife's face as she covered their daughter's eyes, Martin’s own heart started to thunder in panic at just what was about to happen to him. He could act tough all he wanted but when faced with a final and most likely extremely painful death one couldn’t help but be scared.

“W- what does he have?” Martin asked, his breathing starting to quicken again as his body filled with energy one last time.

“Oh god Martin, oh god…. Y- you don’t have to do this! Please don’t do this!” Cindy pleaded, not doing anything to calm his fears.

“What does he have?!” The man asked in a panic, trying his hardest to get up and at least see what was in store for him.

Sam’s crying picking back up at the panicked sounds of not just her mother but also her usually always strong and silent father, the man who had been their rock since before the fall, and especially since after, the room was immediately cast into a dark and dismal mood as hank approached with the cleaver.

“Please! PLEASE!” Cindy pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

“What does he HAVE!” Nearly in a full panic, Martin yelled, finally propping himself up on one arm again, but getting nothing from his ruined legs.

“A Cleaver!” Cindy sobbed as Martin’s face fell into full realization just as the hardwood floor creaked right beside him.

Standing above his target Hank hesitated to swing it down on his neck just as a small light kicked on in his head, reminding him just of why he and his father had been at the farm house on this day.

“What happened to Terry and Christine?” He asked flatly over the combined sounds of crying.

“W-what?” Martin choked out, not at all expecting the question.

“The people who were here before you. Where are they?” His patience already at a steady zero Hank just wanted the answer for nothing more than closure really. He and his father had come over to the property to see why Terry hadn’t responded over the radio for three days, but now Hank had an idea. He just wanted to hear it.

“I - I - I don’t-”

Not even waiting for an excuse or denial Hank raised the cleaver above his head and swung it down, cracking the man hard on the back of the neck with the quarter inch thick spine of the blade instantly shutting him up.

“I’ll ask one more time and then I’m taking your right arm off.” Hank said matter of factly, looking at the clearly broken appendage, “What happened to the people that were here before you?”

“They were gone. They were gone. There was nobody here!” Martin answered in a panic.

Jaw clenching in anger Hank stomped down on the broken arm while tightening his grip on the cleaver. Screaming in pain as the fracture was instantly upgraded to a compound fracture Martin shook violently in pain, choking on his own throat through the screams.

Bullshit!” Hank yelled over the man’s agonized screams pressing his boot harder into the shared and now bleeding appendage.

“Their car is still here,” Hank spit through grit teeth, “And Terry... this is Terry’s rifle! The one he was given as fuckin’ boy! The one he taught his boys to hunt with. It’s been in the family since the fifties, he’d never leave it behind! Answer my god damned question!”

Huffing like he had just ran a marathon as the aggression coursed through him Hank took his foot off the arm and watched as the broken man slowly brought it under his body in an attempt to shield it from further harm.

Sobbing as the pain and surrounding events became too much Martin wasn’t able to answer and instead took to pleading for his life, “P-Please don’t. Please don’t do this!”

“YOU DID THIS!” Hank bellowed as angry tears streamed down his own bleeding face, his own emotions consuming him, “WHAT HAPPENED TO TERRY AND CHRISTIE!”

The pure anger at display mixed with the brutalization of her husband and daughter was too much for Cindy to bear as she held onto her dying daughter, shaking like a leaf on a tree. She just wanted to get to Canada with her family and escape all the death that had ripped through their little suburb of Arizona. And they had been so close, so close to safety. And now all that was for nothing.

“They’re d-dead. They were infected when we got here!” Martin defended.

Instantly knowing that the man was lying and that Terry and his wife had been immune just like him and his father, having both been attacked and bitten by their youngest boy Hank starred icey daggers at the back of the still sobbing man’s head. It wasn’t enough that the man had killed his father, but the bastard had also killed the last two people he had known from before.

So angry that he had reverted back to calm besides his shaking hands Hank took a deep breath. “Tell the truth or I'm gonna to gut your daughter in front of you. Terry and Christine were immune. Like. Me.”

Heart beating ever faster in his chest Martin looked at his daughter with terrified eyes as she looked back at him crying before switching his gaze to his shaking wife who met his look with wide, frantic, eyes.

“I- I killed them. We needed a place to stay.” Martin answered truthfully while looking at his wife who’s eyes somehow widened further as the truth came out. “I had to! I had to protect my family!” Martin started to sob.

“Did ya kill my dad to protect your family as well?” In an eerily calm voice Hank asked, his right hand tightening further on the heavy cleaver.

“W-we’re good people! We’re good people!” Martin screamed, feeling his gruesome end rapidly approaching.

“I’m not.” Hank responded letting the words hang in the air just a second before letting out a yell and cocking back the cleaver and once again swinging it spine first at the man, this time striking him directly in the temple.

Wife and daughter screaming as their protector slumped forward with twitch they didn’t stop crying and pleading for the life of their loved one as the boy stepped over the broken form of Marty.

Begging and pleading, falling on deaf ears Hank grit his teeth and grabbed onto the concussed man’s left shoulder before pulling with his might, using every ounce of strength in his adolescent frame to flip the man over.

Stepping back to his right Hank flipped the cleaver back to blade forward as he looked at the face of the man he was about to butcher, taking a concerning amount of pleasure in seeing him shake from the hit.

Turning his attention back to his target Hank locked his eyes on the stomach of seizing man and raised the cleaver above his head with a heavy right hand, letting it hang in the air just for a moment before using everything he had to swing it down into the stomach of the man with an animalistic roar of a yell.

What seemed like gallons of blood instantly poured from the wound as Hank stood back up from the strike, leaving the cleaver at home in the man’s intestines. Hank watched as the man tensed before letting out an agonized scream with everything in his lungs.

Gritting his teeth at the mix of sights and sounds, Hank raised his left foot and stomped down on the spine of the cleaver sinking its entirety into the man causing the scream of pain to devolve into choked gurgling as his body tensed and untensed, deeply seated in its death throes.

Taking a step back from his handiwork, Hank's chest heaved in both anger and realization. Watching the father and husband shakily bring a hand to his abdomen as he choked in pain and his wife and daughter wailed in sorrow, both reaching out for the man he had brutalized slowly brought the boy out of his anger fueled state and back into the present.

As the feeling that he had just done something horrible set in and remorse started to grow Hank picked up his empty AR in a rush and put it on his back much like what was once Terry’s Remington.

Keeping his eyes forward, doing his best not to look at the scene around him, Hank also tried to close his ears to the sounds of sorrow that surrounded him as he walked toward the door, stepping through the large and ever growing blood puddle.

Walking for the exit like a robot Hank ignored everything around him, doing his best just to get away from what he had caused, before he was faced with something he couldn’t ignore.

Faced with the sight the open door granted him, Hank stopped mid step as he looked out at the driveway and the form of his dead father. His own blood puddle running away in thin streams from the increasing, cold autumn rain.

Staring at the sight before him Hank’s right hand mindlessly reached for the Remington on his back. Still staring forward Hank held the rifle at his waist before pulling the well oiled and cared for bolt to the rear.

Looking down at the internal magazine of the rifle Hank saw the two rounds still inside as the empty casing that had held a bullet that had been meant for him fell to the wet wood of the porch.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes the boy pushed the bolt forward, chambering an eight millimeter Remington magnum into the chamber, before opening his eyes and turning back into the home and to the scene of despair before him.

Looking on as the mother and daughter cried, doing their best to hold onto their husband and father gurgling out his dying breaths, Hank walked back forward and stood to the opposite side of the dying man.

Looking at the two as they grasped for Martin, Hank looked down at the man who had taken his remaining family and friends from him and felt that feeling of remorse and disgust instantly fade away, replaced with that same feeling of hot rage that made all the pain fade away.

Placing a boot on the side of the man’s face so he couldn’t look away from what was about to happen and pointed the rifle at Cindy, holding it at his hip.

Drawn to look up as the boy placed his boot on her dear Marty’s face Cindy sobbed as she brought her gaze up to the still standing boy only to find him not looking at her but out the door as he leveled the large rifle, that looked far too large for the kid holding it, at her face.

Initially startled at having the gun pointed at her Cindy eventually turned her attention to where the boy was looking, eventually setting her eyes on the still form of another man, laying dead in the dirt of the driveway.

Putting the pieces together as to why the boy had done what he had done Cindy opened her mouth and shakily spoke, “Y- you don't have to do this. Y-you did what you had to do, just p p please help me help my daughter.”

The voice speaking to him grabbing his attention Hank finally tore his gaze from his dead father and his internal thoughts and set his eyes on the woman looking back up at him.

“Y-you don’t have to be alone, you can stay with u us. I’m s so sorry about your da-

Cutting the woman off with a point blank eight mill Remington to the face Hank jumped himself, surprised that he had pulled the trigger and looked wide-eyed at the remnants of the woman’s head as she slumped forward over her wailing daughter, all three of the families blood mixing together.

Weak cries of ‘no’ coming from the man under his boot as he pulled at his pant leg in a vain attempt to stop the murder of his family, Hank ignored the cries and rechambered the last round into the rifle before leveling at the teenage girl and pulling the trigger, wiping her life away in an instant.

Only kept in the moment by the weakening pulling at his pant leg, Hank looked down at the man and pulled his leg away with a jerk.

Looking at the broken man as he tried to cry and weakly paw at the leg of both his dead daughter and wife, Hank regripped the rifle around the warm barrel and stock just behind the trigger and raised it high before slamming it down on the side of what was left of Martin, his dad’s killer’s head.

Again and again Hank raised the rifle and again and again Hank slammed it down, more blood splattering both him and the family heirloom turned murder weapon with each strike.

His yells growing louder with each strike Hank watched as the man’s head deformed and slowly turned to mush under his countless strikes, only stopping when the lack of air in his lungs nearly caused him to pass out.

On his knees, holding onto the rifle for support as he heaved air into his burning lungs, blood that wasn’t his own dripping down his face, Hank started to cry as the weight of the day's events hit him in full.

With no more fire in his heart and no more things to take his anger out on there was nothing to distract him from what had happened and nothing to dull the reality of what he had done.

Weakly pulling to the stock of the rifle from the space where the man’s head had once been all Hank could see left from his onslaught was a lower jaw and eye ball, his brain and skull matter splayed out for feet around him.

Getting up on shaking knees Hank wiped the brains from the stock of the rifle and stumbled back to the stairs and where Terry had his den. He was on his own now, and no matter how much he just wanted to leave Hank knew he needed all the supplies he could get if he were to keep surviving. To keep living no matter what and no matter how ugly it got, just like his dad had told him.

<><><><><><>

Staring at his son as he finished his perspective of the story Joel was at a complete loss of words at what his at one time kind hearted and mild mannered son had just admitted to doing.

“I uh…”

“Yeah.” Hank nodded looking at his own hands.

“And I thought I was mean.”

“Ain’t nobody got nothin’ on me.” Hank stated, picking his head up and looking at his father.

“I’d fuckin’ say so.” Joel huffed, shaking his head in disbelief, “And Christ, what were you? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Thirteen.” Hank confirmed with a nod.

“Was that… hard to deal with?”

Exhaling loudly Hank stayed quiet for a moment as he thought of an answer, “It was for a while, but I pretty quickly got over it. It was far harder getting over you and mom, and Charles, and Mark, and Quinton, and Hannah, and… you get it.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Joel nodded knowing that even though Hank said otherwise, the event had deeply scarred and changed who he was. After hearing his boy talk about it Joel was willing to bet it was the exact moment the old Hank died and the Hank he was now had been born, “Do you regret it?”

Leaning back on the log Hank let out a long exhale as he clasped his hands together, "It's a hard mix. Which makes it all the harder to deal with."

Nodding, Joel motioned for Hank to continue, knowing that talking about it would help, even if barely.

"I regret nothing of what I did to him." Hank explained, "I wish I coulda done more honestly.... But to the girl... to the mom..." Hank's lip quivered causing him to stop and take a long series of breaths, "They didn't deserve that none. I shouldn't of hurt them but... But I hurt them so bad! Just so I could hurt him!"

Breathing harder, on the edge of hyperventilation, a stray tear started to make its way down Hank's cheek before it was quickly wiped away by the man in an attempt to hide his emotion and shame. "They were so scared dad, and I caused it. All because that... FUCKING! BASTARD!" Hank punched the log as hard as he could looking for a source of pain to take some of the focus away from the memory.

"I have thought about their faces... their screams... what was left after I shot them... every day without fail since it happened." In a quiet voice Hank shakily admitted, "And every time I think about it I just... I just wish I could go back and make myself walk out that door before icing them."

"And what about the man? The father?" Joel asked in a soft voice, his eyes full of concern and understanding.

"That fuck?" Hank huffed, his voice morphing from one of deep remorse to one of hatred, "I think about what I did to him and I can't help but fucking smile. Even the look on his face when I killed his family that I regret so much... I smile. I... I fucking smile."

Holding his head in his hands Hank groaned, "What in the hell is wrong with me?"

"It runs in the family son." Joel answered with a sigh.

“What ya mean?” Hank slowly brought his head up, looking at his father with red puffy eyes.

“Two things Hank. One: those crossed wires. And two: Well... being a child soldier,” Joel Laughed a humorless laugh, “My Da was, the grandfather you never met, and hell… I was too.”

The confusion on Hank’s face was clear to the older man despite the general lack of expression his son seemed to show anymore, Joel sighed and repositioned himself on the log, “That’s somethin’ I never told you. Never told nobody other than your mother and Grandfather. It’s why I left Northern Ireland and came to the states when I was seventeen.”

Attention firmly held, Joel looked back at his son who looked at him, clearly expecting him to go on.

“In 1979 when I was ten or so my older brother Cillian, that uncle I said you had but had died long before you were born, was leaving the bar with his mates one night and started throwing insults at a group of English soldiers passing by. And what did that group of soldiers do? They beat Cillian damn near to death once his mates had run off and left him in an alley in the cold winter drizzle. Three days later he would die in the hospital from the beating and pneumonia he had caught lying in a puddle of his own blood all night long before being found.”

Fists clenching as he revisited his memory, Joel’s voice morphed into a low growl as the images of his comatose brother resurfaced in his mind, “He was sixteen fuckin’ years old and his death ruined my family.” Joel grit his teeth, fists clenching so tight his knuckles turned white. “Ma took to the bottle and Da… Ha, Da found the three soldiers and beat two of them to death and paralyzed one with a claw hammer once the courts had failed. Of course being sentenced to death for daring to seek retribution for his murdered son.”

Clearing his throat Joel pushed forward through his dark and seedy past, telling his son what he needed to hear in that moment: That someone understood, “At fourteen I was practically an orphan. I dropped out of school and quickly found myself taken in by a little group called the IRA. The men there gave me a new home and the opportunity to do just what I wanted to do.” Forcing himself to relax, Hank’s father unclenched his trembling fists and took a deep breath, “I was so full of hate and rage at what had been done to my family, like you, that the second I got the opportunity to cause harm, I did. And I was bloody good at it.”

As a lull formed in the so far one sided conversation Hank continued to pay rapt attention to his father as he fell silent. Obviously reminiscing about what he had been so good at, “And what did you do?” The younger man finally spoke up.

Pulled out of his thoughts Joel let out a series of humorless chuckles, “What didn’t I do is the better question. And… I’d rather not get into it too deep.” Turning to face his son, Hank quickly nodded in understanding.

“Just know by fourteen I’d killed my first few men and run plenty of missions that resulted in the deaths of many others.” Hank's father admitted with a nod before turning to his son, "And like you, a lot of em I didn't regret. Hell I looked back fondly on a few, but there's those three... Oh god those three. There's three that I regretted so damn hard it broke me for years. So I understand son, I understand what its like to enjoy what you've done and know you're not supposed to. And I know what its like to do things that change you forever.

Processing what he had been told Hank let out a long exhale just like his dad, “I guess it really does run in the family.”

Turning to his son, Joel looked into Hank’s with an intensity and seriousness he had only seen a few times, “Our blood runs hot and our fists find themselves heavy. Neither I nor you are descendants of peaceful, hell, even merciful men.”

What you did that day at Terry and Christy’s doesn’t surprise me in the slightest son.” Joel shook his head, “Not one bit. You are the culmination of my and your mother’s blood, that violence, that “crossed wire”, it’s genetic. You didn’t have a damn chance.”

Smiling as his father laughed Hank shared in the laughter of the morbid and dark topic for a moment before they both quieted back down as different but similar heavy thoughts came to the forefront in both of their minds.

“Your environment and your choices definitely played a part in turning you into what you are today, but the generations of suffering turned our family stubborn and… mean. That comes at you from both sides and is what allowed that to happen. Your survival, your brutality, your ability to do the things that no one else can; that may be unique to you compared to others, but that’s not unique to us.” Joel pointed at his son and then to himself, “There’s history going back as far as it goes on both sides of the family that tells that. And also a history full of regret.”

“I suppose.” Hank agreed, “I’ll have to take your word for it, cause I don’t really know a damn thing about our lineage, on either side. All I know is that you’re a first gen from Ireland and Mom and Grandpa and Grandma were from Scotland; Grandpa bringing Grandma over in the sixties when they were young.”

“That’s a regret of mine, and your Grandfather, actually. We talked about telling you about all of our history but you were too young at the time, there was no point in putting all that in your head at such a young age.”

“Lotta good that did.” Hank huffed.

“That’s no shit.” Joel agreed, now knowing what his son had been through to a minor degree. “There ain’t no way we coulda known though.”

Not disagreeing Hank decided to stay silent and think over what his dad had let come to light, “ So did Grandpa leave Scotland for a similar reason, was he running from the things he had done?”

Not responding immediately Joel pursed his lips as he thought about just what to say while keeping the promise he had made to the old man over the night of drinking when they had shared their stories, “You could say that, yes.”

“Well what was he up to?” Hank asked with genuine interest in anything that had to do with his usually closed book grandfather.

“Can’t say.” Joel shrugged.

“Why not?” The young man scoffed.

“Made a promise I wouldn’t tell nobody, not even you. He told me that if he wanted somebody to know then he would tell them.”

“Grandpa is dead, YOU’RE dead, everybody is fuckin’ dead. I’m all that's left, why not just humor me damnit?”

“HEY! I made a promise to him and the good lord above that I would never betray the trust invested in me, and I ain’t gonna break that! No matter how fuckin’ dead we are. Got it?!” Joel yelled sternly, putting his son in check.

Staring at his father with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes Hank slowly relaxed his posture and exhaled an annoyed breath. “Got it.”

“You know better than that. Us Lynchs and Campbells NEVER betray our word. We may be violent, no good, ruffnecks but we’re honest damn people. Ain’t that right?”

“Yes sir.” Hank answered much like he would have when he was still a kid.

“Atta boy.” Joel smiled and slapped his son on the back of the shoulder, not getting an ounce of movement from his son who was much larger and stockier than the last time he had seen him.

Sighing Hank’s father popped his neck, “As much as I tried to change the fact it seemed you were designed to grow up fast and grow up mean. Like the rest of us.”

“Lynch and Campbell family curse?”

“You could say that as well.” Joel laughed, “No rest for the wicked…. Speaking of….” Hank's father said with a sudden change of tone into something more sad and serious.

“What?”

“We’re almost out of time here.” Looking out into the distance as the black clouds that used to be far away were nearly on top of them, mist starting to blow in on the wind.

“And that means what exactly?” Hank asked, not following.

“It means you have a decision to make, son.”

His already normally short patience growing thinner Hank motioned with his hand for his dad to go on.

“You got two options. One: you stay here with me and you die.”

“Pretty sure I’m already dead since I’m in the pasture next to home talking to you.” Hank laughed.

“Well you ain’t.” Joel said sternly, “While you may be here with me your body, the physical you is still laying face down in that forest and you ain’t got much time left.”

“Alright, so I’m in purgatory then, better than where I figured I’d end up.” Hank huffed at the absurdity of the situation, “So what’re these options?”

“Again. You stay here with me, at home, and see all of those you lost. All the pain ends. No more fighting, no more nightmares.” Joel offered.

“Everybody?” Hank asked in a quiet voice, “Mom? Grandma? Grandpa?”

“The whole family, son.” Joel reassured with a solemn smile, hoping to himself his son wouldn't choose the option.

“A- and the other option?” Hank asked, even though his mind was already almost made up.

“You wake up in the forest and continue on through tremendous pain and hardship and do what you do best.”

Silence overtaking the young man, he thought about the two options he couldn’t help but start laughing at the lopsidedness of the two options, “I won’t lie and say one isn’t a lot more appealing than the other.”

“Just make sure you chose wisely.” Joel warned.

“What? On one hand I get to finally fuckin’ die and see all of you again, I don’t have to constantly live with the burden of my countless failures? And on the other I keep going through agony, never getting more than three hours of sleep a night, being tormented by the memories of all those I’ve lost and failed to protect? Pretty fuckin’ clear choice there.”

“And who would you be failing if you let yourself die like a dog?” Joel countered simply, wiping the smile off Hank's scarred face.

Instantly snapped back to reality, or as close as he could be at the moment Hank felt his body go stock still as he remembered just why he had been doing what he was doing and who it was all for. Zecora, Applejack, Big Mac, Apple bloom, Granny, Rarity, Fluttershy… All of them. Even those in the town that didn’t even like him didn’t deserve to die at the thrashing maws of the wolves like how his world had at the thrashing teeth of the infected horde.

Smiling as he saw the gears turning in his boy’s head Joel couldn’t help but feel proud, even if it was a little preemptive, cause he knew what Hank would choose.

On his world Hank was a failure. He failed to protect those he loved at every opportunity, only ever able to avenge their deaths with the brutality of a rabid lion. He was always too weak, too slow, too late to do anything but see their dead body or in the good cases hear their dying words.

So bad at saving those he cared for, Hank secluded himself and instead took to doing what he did best. By himself Hank slaughtered hundreds of the sick with all the pent up hatred for, not just those who had turned his world into a mass grave and taken everything from him, but for himself. A vessel for nothing but carnage with mercy not even being a word he could remember Hank killed and murdered his way through small town to small town, hitting every single resting place of the infected.

But even with his death toll that very well could have reached into the four digits Hank even failed in his task of genocide. For every infected he killed there were ten more to take its place, eager to repopulate the towns he had cleared numerous times. In Hank’s mind he was a failure through and through, trying so hard only to accomplish nothing but accumulate more scars and more anger.

On his new world though, things were going better, he at least had a foot hold, and an idea of what needed to be done. He hadn’t walked into an issue too far gone like last time, like rubbing Neosporin on a gangrenous arm. This time he had been present at the start of the issue with all of the knowledge he had absorbed over those five years of failure.

This time he had a chance, an honest to God chance, to make a difference and save those who could not save themselves. To save those who were too naïve to their plight and too weak to stop it once they realized, like he had been.

Now he wasn’t just the ointment on a diseased limb placed on a body destined to succumb to the infection, he was the knife. The blade cast to remove the gangrenous appendage before the body died.

Celestia and Luna may have realized the seriousness of the issue but were bound behind endless layers of red tape that prevented them from doing what they needed too. They were too slow, too naïve.

And even if they weren’t, Hank had been on that hill that day all the same, they were too weak despite their demigod status amongst their fellow pony kind.

With a fire lit in his stomach and behind his eyes that had been cold and empty for so long Hank shot to his feet, his every nerve set alight.

“Send me back!” Hank nearly yelled, his fists balled at his sides.

“That’s my son!” Joel stood as well, albeit much slower, his creaky knees following him even in death, “But before you go there are a few things I need to tell you.”

“No.” Hank denied, “I must go now. We’ve talked for too long.”

“If you don’t listen to what I have to say you’ll die before you get the chance to make a difference.” Hank’s father countered as the rain picked up and the black clouds finally overtook them.

Impatiently Hank turned towards his father, “We don’t have much time. Like you said.”

“We have enough.” Joel laughed, “We have till that twister hits us.” Joel motioned, catching Hank's attention as a small rope tornado touched down a few hundred yards away.

“Alright then.” Hank said, tearing his attention away from the tornado.

“You’ve been out for three days on the forest floor, you’re dehydrated, starving and have shrapnel in your back that you’re gonna need to get out.”

“Okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Hank nodded.

“But.” Joel tittered, “There is something approaching you from your left side, it’s caught your scent, and it wants to kill you-”

“Alright so send me back.” Hank cut his father off, “What is is?”

“God dammit boy let me finish and I’ll tell you.” Joel narrowed his gaze, casting a quick look at the tornado that was now only four hundred yards away and growing larger.

Taking a deep breath Joel gathered his thoughts to make them more concise, “I don’t know what it is, all I know is that it’s coming fast and from your left.”

“Okay.” Hank nodded curtly.

“You’re holding your rifle in your left hand by the heatshield, the safety is on, and you only have seven rounds total in the gun. This thing is gonna take more than seven rounds to kill.”

Wondering how his father knew all of this and if it was even good information Hank nodded nonetheless having no other option but to have faith.

“The old wadcutters you had in the revolver have seeped water and are all duds, go for the mag change. Forth mag from the front on your left side. Don’t stop shooting even once it’s fallen, plug it in the head as many times as you can.” With extreme seriousness Joel yelled over the whipping rain and wind.

“Got it!” Hank confirmed, “Anything else?”

“Be careful what you’ve wished for, it might yet just come true.” Joel said with a solemn smile and nod.

“Alright!” Hank nodded quickly looking over to the tornado only two hundred yards away, “I got it!”

“That’s my boy, I love you son.” Joel smiled and pulled Hank into a quick hug that he knew would be their last.

“I love you too.” Hank reciprocated, the edges of his mouth quivering.

“None of that! Now go put that Viking blood to use!” Joel grabbed onto Hank’s flannel and pulled him closer in a sudden motion of aggressiveness.

His nod cut off by confusion Hank shook his head, “I don’t have any Viking in me! I’m Irish-Scottish!”

“Boy…” Joel shook his head, a grin on his face, “Your grandfather was six foot eight with bright blonde hair and blue eyes and your grandma was six foot one. They mighta been from Scotland but that’s norse in those veins. When I say we’ve always been mean… I meant it!”

With the final word Joel shoved Hank as hard as he could. Falling to the ground Hank looked at his father as he fell, and fell, and fell further away, through the ground, a sense of weightlessness overtaking him just like when he had been careening toward the river.

Looking at the form of his father grow ever smaller as the tornado slowly overtook him, Hank heard his father yell out at the fringes of his hearing one last thing before it all faded away, “Maybe send up a prayer for your father once and a while! Faith is never a weakness!”

Hearing the words and linking it to one of his father’s sayings he remembered from childhood Hank felt himself suddenly hit a solid floor before his eyes snapped back open bringing him back into confusing, painful, reality.

Author's Note

Well Well Well. Look here. Yes I realize not much action I also don't like that. I also realize this chapter may be really choppy and disjointed. That's cause I've been writing it for four months while getting hit by cars and graduating college, and moving, and getting a job, and going to the gym, and blah blah blah.

My life has been quite busy so I do apologize for the wait. The next chapter shall be shorter so hopefully quicker to release.

One last thing.... You're Gay. Have a frog

Weird chapter though right? Really different from the stuff I usually do... Very introspective. I personally blame it on the concussion.

No editing as well, as if that isn't obvious.