Endgame (Book 1)

by W. A. R.

  “Your occupation.” Miles replied simply. He would ask something so simple, George thought glancing up at him for a moment. George sighed, remembering. In truth, the memories were slightly painful, laced with yearning and thoughtfulness.

  “I was a middle school English teacher.” He stated simply, remembering the bright mornings grabbing a cup of coffee and readying his lesson plans. He would grab one of his favorite books and drive Regina and Bobby to the school. His heart tightened a little at the memory. “Cassie was one of my students. The book she has with her? Phantom of the Opera? I gave that to her. I loved my job.” Miles nodded at this, the chair rocking against the porch the only sound as they both sat in deep thought. George didn’t offer any more information about it, but it was enough to satiate Miles’s curiosity, he thought, as Miles didn’t probe any further into it.

  “How do you know Amber and Brian?” George asked breaking the silence, and Miles sighed.

  “You just cut right to the chase don’t you?” he asked, and George crossed his arms against his chest, refusing to release the grin that he felt easing its way onto his face. Of course he did; there were things he wanted to know and he wasn’t going to beat around the bush about it all.

  “Well?” he prodded, and Miles sighed on a smile.

  “That is a long complicated story.” He replied, still rocking. George watched him with curiosity and maybe a little fascination. This man obviously had a story to tell, it was just difficult for him to tell it.

  George finally grinned, hopefully easing his friend’s mind. “Condense it for me.”

  “Alright then.” Miles said his tone wistful, “I grew up with Amber. We were kids, and I bullied her until we were just about in middle school. I met Brian at a bar years later.”

  George chuckled at the vagueness, and yet still was shocked at the fact that he had known Amber so long. He absentmindedly glanced towards the front door, suddenly wishing to speak with her and Brian as well. He had always been a sucker for good stories. “There is so much more to that story, isn’t there?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “So much more.” He replied thoughtfully, not sharing anymore. “Now, my turn; what was your son’s name?” he asked gently.

  George’s smile faltered only slightly, which surprised him. The pain was still there but it felt…nice…to talk about it, about him. “Bobby. Bobby Alan Clausen.” He glanced up at Miles, who had stopped rocking and was watching him. George felt as if he understood both his pain of losing a son and the peace of discussing it, like a weight lifting off of his fragile chest. After a moment, he began rocking once more, as if nothing had happened; like he never stopped. George pondered on his next question, determining which one would give him the most of a response. “So, what was up with Bobby-Jean when she first saw you?” George asked and Miles chuckled at the memory. Yes, George thought, he would determine a bit more of the story that he wanted to know.

  “Well, the slap was for bullying Amber when we were kids. I used to give her all kinds of hell.” He hesitated and George saw regret wash over him like the cold wind that whipped around them. He sighed, continuing in a low voice. “And the kiss on the cheek, well that was for a number of things.” Miles answered calmly, a small smile still on his lips at whatever memories those words conjured up.

  “Care to elaborate?” George prodded, making Miles sigh once again.

  “Why not? She already knows everything anyways,” Miles began, taking a deep breath, “As I said I was a bully to her until about middle school. A year or two into middle school, though, I got expelled for damn near killing a kid that touched her. I had to move. Years later, I met Brian at a bar and I drove Brian home one night while he was drunk.” He paused, reflecting on these thoughts, the flashes of what once was. “I found out she was his sister and I…” Again he hesitated and George watched his brows furrow in thought, a war raging in his eyes. “…anyways I saved her life the night chaos corrupted the world. At least, that is what I’m assuming the kiss was for. I should probably ask her, considering I haven’t done much else.” He exaggerated, still sighing to himself at the memory. George was floored at this revelation, and wanted to ask more. Instead, he bit his tongue and patiently waited for the next question. Miles glanced up at him and grinned. “What was your family like?” Miles asked, and he asked it so casually that George hadn’t even realized the extent with which he was answering.

  “I don’t know…We were happy in the beginning, but something changed after a few years. She grew distant; Bobby was growing up and developing his own life. In a time that Regina and I could have spent time on us, she spent her time with a coach at the high school. Bobby was always smart, and had known about it before I had. The strange part is that we kept going like nothing ever happened. I lost my family long before they were gone.” George rambled, the thoughts coming to him unexpectedly. The thought didn’t make him sad, however. Instead, it brought him a sense of comfort. The pain lessened. He looked at Miles, who was staring at the ceiling as he rocked and listened to what George had been saying. George sighed, ready to go for broke and ask the question he really wanted to know. “Ok…what are you keeping from Amber and Brian?” He asked and he could feel the tension fill the air around them. George sighed. So much for taking it easy on the guy, he thought to himself angrily.

  “Nothing like what you are thinking.” He replied cryptically and quickly. George suddenly felt shamed and yet still the question was out there. He wasn’t going to back down.

  “Try me.” He declared and Miles studied him. Melancholy gripped the air around them.

  “I had a son.” He said simply, plainly. He cut his darkened eyes to George. “That is what they don’t know. They don’t know about him or where he is or the fact that after I saw them last I went to get him.” He said the words quickly, almost with no feeling but George could feel the underlying sadness that dripped from his words. He leaned forward in his seat, a question obviously burning in his mind. “What really happened that night?”

  George swallowed. “What night?” he asked casually. He knew exactly what night Miles was talking about and he suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.

  Miles only grinned deviously. “The night in the car. What happened?”

  George gulped and sighed, knowing he would have to get it over with. Ripping off a Band-Aid. “Well, they grabbed Regina, and I ran to the car. I pulled the back seat down, crawled in the trunk while they had her, and closed it. Regina began banging and screaming on the seat. I tried to lower it…but couldn’t….” he locked gazes with Miles, and sighed. “Judge me all you want.” The confession came easier than he had expected and yet again, the band on his heart loosened, and the demon clawing at his mind backed off.

  Miles shrugged. “No judgment here.” He said simply.

  “I couldn’t…I tried…” George said softly, admitting the truth out loud. “Even if she could have made it, she was out of her fucking mind. She couldn’t be saved, in more ways than one.” He looked up apprehensively to see Miles smiling a gentle smile at him.

  “What happened was beyond your control. It doesn’t make you a bad person, so you shouldn’t convince yourself that you are.” Miles told him, leaning back in his chair. “Your turn and you get two questions this time.” Miles offered. George shifted uneasily on the hard wooden floor.

  He twisted his fingers in his lap, leaning forward. He felt as if they were connecting and he realized that it was needed, that he needed it. “You said you had a son. What was his name?”

  At this, Miles stopped rocking and closed his eyes, clearly remembering a happier time. “Michael. Michael Thaddeus Preston.” George nodded at this and leaned back against the pillar, taking in the information. They were more alike than he had previously thought. His heart was heavy with sympathy for the man, but he wouldn’t show him that. Miles didn’t want pity, and neither did George. They simply needed understanding. He looked back at Miles, who had once again resumed rocking, and he f
elt understanding; the understanding that he was yearning for.

  “How old was your son?” Miles asked him, and George sighed.

  “Fourteen. He had just turned fourteen. What about your son?” he asked, and Miles grinned fondly. George felt similar with his memories of his own son.

  “Twenty and a complete hellion. He was in college and everything.” Miles opened his eyes and leaned forward toward George.

  “What happened to your son?” George asked, and Miles took a deep breath.

  “I don’t think we are playing twenty questions anymore.” He replied on a genuine smile and George shrugged, uncaring of their little game.

  “Indulge me this one time.” He replied before Miles glanced at the front door, rubbing his palms together in apprehension. He lowered his head, remembering.

  “I’m not sure. He was in his apartment, and I went to get him. There was blood on the walls and floor, furniture everywhere, door wide open….I’ve been looking for a Biter that looks like him ever since….to take him out of his misery…or well, end mine.”

  George could relate only too well, he thought, but the thought was welcome, and he didn’t force it away. The only difference being that George knew where his son’s body was; Miles didn’t. He decided to change the subject for Miles’s sake.

  “Well I just learned a lot about the type of man you are.” George chuckled triumphantly. And he had, just as Miles had learned more about George. George appreciated their conversation. He felt more relaxed than he had in such a very long time. He glanced out into the distance, noting the empty fences. Biters had not come in yet, but then again there were no lights or sounds coming from the house. The night held nothing but silence for them.

  “Oh this conversation was mostly for you.” Miles told him plainly. George looked at him curiously, unsure of what he was saying.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, and Miles grinned knowingly. George, though his brows were furrowed in confusion, allowed a grin to make its way to his face.

  “Guilt was eating you up. You needed to get it off your chest. How are you feeling?” he asked, and George realized that the heavy weight that had burdened his heart and mind had been lifted substantially. He looked at Miles, and didn’t even have to say anything. Miles just understood. “The pain will never go away, but you can learn to handle it, and move past it, because that is all we can do now.” With that, he stood and clapped George on the shoulder. “If you ever need to talk, I’ll be there. Don’t let it eat away at you. It’ll destroy the good person that you are if you’re not careful.”

  After a moment of silence, George turned to look and saw that Miles had made his way back into the house. George turned back to the moon, and felt like he had all of those years ago. He closed his eyes and soaked it in, realizing that Miles was right. He needed to let go sometimes before it plagued him. He looked back at the house before standing and grabbing his spike, turning to check the perimeter, a smile on his face as he remembered all of the good times, before and after the outbreak.

  Chapter Twelve

  A month later…

  She couldn’t escape them…the blood, the stink of death and the smell of fear. They were there, always, every time she closed her eyes. The nightmares kept her awake at night, and in those times she would open her eyes only to hear the hunger filled moans that reminded her that her nightmares were still a reality. She was used to them; the nightmares, the smells of death, and she had even grown accustomed to the smell of fear. She knew that one all too well, and yet she no longer allowed it to cripple her. Instead, it fueled her courage and pushed her forward. Sometimes though, just sometimes, she couldn’t shake the aftermath of these nightmares as quickly, and so she would escape her room, escape the people around her, and retreat to her own idle space, wherever that may be.

  This was how Amber had come to be sitting on the porch sometime in the early hours of the morning. She had been out there for an hour or two, her mind a complete blank with the exception of the flashes of fear, gore, and hatred that blinded her every few moments. At times she would sit out there until dawn, when the metallic taste of blood would leave her mouth, or when her hands would stop their nervous trembling. It wasn’t as if she were frightened; on the contrary, it angered her. She was at peace with everything, had accepted it, but that would never stop the tumult of horror she had witnessed from haunting her. They were the horrible reminders that she had endured; bittersweet assurance of the fact that she had survived the perpetual end of the world. These things would always be something she carried with her until her very last breath and this was how she handled them.

  She briefly wondered where her brother had gone. Dawn was quick in coming and for the past hour or so she had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He was on patrol, everyone else having been asleep for the better part of the night. She was grateful for the fact that everyone had settled in so easily. It had been more or less a month since they made it back, and the relative bonding that had occurred surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. What did surprise her, however, was Shelly’s growing distance with everyone. She and Shelly had spoken in many private discussions since they made it back home. She could feel the sadness that had embedded itself into her friend’s mind from what she had done, was forced to do. It wasn’t fair, but then again, it never was. She sighed, glancing up at the sky that was slowly growing with light, extinguishing the stars that had provided her comfort in the darkness. She wished she could make things easier for Shelly, and she could sense the expanding distance as she put everyone at arm’s length. Amber hoped she would move past the anger and resentment that she harbored, not to anyone in particular, but more at herself. Amber understood that and tried to give her the space that she needed to come to terms with it. Amber had an inkling as to what else was bothering her, but there was no discussing it right then. She knew that Shelly would come to terms with it whenever she felt she should; she just needed time.

  On the bright side, Amber thought as a small smile came to her lips, Miles, George, and Brian had adapted well. As a matter of fact the three had become close; they all had. While both George and Miles had taken a little time to get used to the living situation as well as the constantly being around other people, it wasn’t long before the two were behaving as family. They had fit right in and Amber felt as if they were maybe a little over-protective at times, such as Brian. She knew they were struggling to protect them, as if they had learned from losing those they had lost before. Still, she found comfort in their presence, even if they were a little over-bearing at times. George had become like a brother to her, a friend. In the beginning, there had been a few times she had stumbled upon him in his weaker moments. She was saddened the first few times, finding him beside one of the three trees that was in the yard. It was always nighttime whenever she would find him, thanks to her nightmare induced insomnia. Those first few times they both just stood there on either side of the tree; refusing to look at one another or to speak. He cried and she simply listened, gathering their reality around her, absorbing it so she would never forget the horror or the pain the world had to offer. After about the fourth time of finding him leaning against the tree, she had asked him if she could help. She asked if it would help if she wasn’t there. His response? He smiled warmly and told her: ‘I’m getting it off of my chest and not letting it destroy the good person I am. I’m really glad you’re here. It helps me.’ It had brought a smile to her lips, and from that point on things changed. Every time after that one, he would find her and they would escape to the tree and sit, leaning not on the tree but on each other, and wordlessly they would listen to the pain echoing through the trees, coming to grips with reality in their own ways. Those times were growing fewer and further between for him. Amber, however, came to grips with reality a long time before, but being there for her friend brought her some comfort and eased the harshness of it all. It helped her sleep a little better when she actually did sleep at all.

  And then there wa
s Miles. He adjusted well too. He and George had grown closer, and Brian was like their ring-leader. He seemed to get them all in trouble at times, reminding them to have fun even if the world had gone to hell. She laughed, remembering only a week before when the three had gone fishing in the pond and had come back to the house soaking wet, covered in mud and laughing hysterically, and with no fish or poles. They had refused to answer questions as to what happened, all three seemingly embarrassed. They were still the only ones that knew what happened at the pond. And yet still, despite the sometime merriment the three men exhibited, they had their serious moments. She had come to the conclusion, when she had seen that he was alone at her aunt’s, that Miles had lost someone dear to him, and though she wanted to ask him about the boy, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she would step lightly to avoid distracting him as he worked. That was his way of dealing with the horror. Every morning when the sun lifted higher into the heavens, he would be up, if he wasn’t already on patrol, and he would either check the fences, cut logs, scour for food, work the garden…you name it, and he would do it. Amber would watch him sometimes, sitting on the back porch or leaning against her tree (the tree she would sometimes escape to). He would see her, and he would sometimes offer her a small smile, the likes of which she would return, or other times he would simply pause and stare at her as if he had never witnessed such devotion. Sometimes she worked with him, alongside him, and she would make a joke, bring out his laughter because while George needed to be held, Miles’s form of comfort needed a different approach. She had asked him one evening as the sun set why he worked so much. She already knew the answer; she simply wanted him to admit it. He eased up, stretching his tight muscles and wiped the sweat from his brow before responding with ‘It helps.’ She had furrowed her brow in confusion, and asked him what it helped with and he had merely offered her a smile and ‘It helps keep my mind from things I either don’t want to think about or shouldn’t be thinking about.’ And he had left it at that. She didn’t question any more of it, and she wouldn’t question anything else about it. There were times when he would look at her and open his mouth, the wheels turning in his mind, but he would always think better of it and turn away. George had also offered her this same look, and she knew what the look meant. They were keeping something from her, something they had wanted to tell her but weren’t sure if they were ready to. Brian had given her the same look when their cousin Rick, Brian’s best friend, had died. She sighed, knowing they would tell her in time whatever it was that was bothering them, just as Brian had.