I refuse to think of my mother waiting in the hallway or thoughts of my aunt dead in the locker room. I try to block out the picture of them attacking, killing the women that I have known as my rock, while I run away like a coward. My feet slip, almost gliding towards the group with my haste.
“We have to go. Now!” I don’t stop to explain anything more. The words will destroy me if I have to speak them out loud.
Mr. Peyton slides in the driver’s seat of our car not asking for any explanations. Mrs. Ginjer runs to the passenger side, leaving me in the back seat. Mr. Collin opens the door for me, helping me inside. I can’t meet his questioning eyes. I just can’t.
Mr. Terrence hurriedly pulls himself behind the wheel of the Jeep and Kent rushes to get in on the other side. Their southern Jeep pulls around our compact, letting their larger tires make a path in the snow and ice for us to follow. Kent is pressed up against his window as they pass. My eyes lock with his and their many questions place a crack in the resolve I was fighting to hold.
My mother’s notebook sits on the floor in front of me. Picking it up, I run my fingers over the worn cardboard. I flip through the pages of her script where she has left all of her secret thoughts and fears from that which she protected me. I remember going through the Ziploc bag just hours ago with the many versions of myself that stare back at me. There are no pictures of my mother or aunt in this bag. My resolve is gone and I let forth the pain that I tried to deny.
Soft sobs turn into wails that shock me. My chest feels as if it is bursting and breaking at the same time from the pain of their deaths. I can’t pull in enough air to keep up with my misery. I am alone. My family is gone. I left them behind to die so that I may escape.
Mr. Collin pulls me to him and rocks me. I hear his whispered words through his chest. Their soothing rumble contradicts with the fast beating of his heart. He is fighting his own misery over losing my aunt.
“I don’t think we have ever been properly introduced,” he tells me, whispering the words into my dark brown hair so much like my aunt’s. “My name is Collin Hawthorn. Your aunt and I had a daughter together twenty-four years ago. That makes you my niece in a way, too.”
He pulls my face from his chest with gentle hands, holding my face so that I am looking straight into his blue, blue eyes that are spilling forth as many tears as mine.
“So, you see, we are family. You and I. You’re not all alone now and neither am I,” he tells me, reading the thoughts of my drowning soul.
I hug him, clinging to him like a port in a turbulent storm. Almost a year ago, I stayed home, avoiding a vaccine shot that brought the world to its knees with its domino effect of destruction. My mother and I ran from the monsters with Mrs. Ginjer, fighting to stay alive. Fate brought us to this group and to my aunt. We learned to trust again through them and through us they learned to live. Fate brought us to this Welcome Center that hinted at past hardships, but we didn’t take heed of its warnings. We ignored the whispers left in the bones strewn across the parking lot and the mayhem inside. Now my mother and aunt are two more victims it has claimed with a chain of misery that was started long ago. I will tell everyone that asks that my mother died for me. She died so that I may live.
Once upon a time, there was a perfect girl, with a perfect life, in a perfect world. Once upon a time, that was me. Someone threw it all away for love; the love they held for me. Now I am shattered, rebuilding my heart and soul with the promised hopes of what a high school scrawled on a long forgotten note may hold. I am a remnant of the girl I once was, the life I once had. We are all remnants now, stalked by the ghosts of those we loved, just trying to form a new whole.
About the Author
Marie F Crow weaves her stories around the human element of the horror verses the ‘monsters’ themselves. She believes that the real horror of life does not come from the expected, but from the unexpected responses of the human nature and what depths of trauma a person must survive in certain situations. She began writing The Risen series when feeling that the popular genre was slipping too deep into the realm of pure ‘slasher’ and forgetting what the horror of zombies can mean for a story.
Now, with her children's series launched, Marie hopes to use her favorite ‘monster’ as a teaching tool to inspire children to understand that not everything that looks scary, is scary. With Abigail and Her Pet Zombie series, Marie hopes to further spread her love for all things "that go bump in the night" with small children showing them that it's okay to be different and to embrace those same differences in those around them.
Social Media Links
Facebook: @MarieFCrow.Author
Instagram: @authormariefcrow
Twitter: @MarieFCrow
Additional titles by Marie F Crow:
The Risen Series
Dawning
Margaret
Remnants
Courage (Coming Soon)
Defiance (Coming Soon)
The Siren Series
Crown of Betrayal
The Abigail and her Pet Zombie Series
Abigail and her Pet Zombie
Zoo Day
Spring
Summer
Halloween
About the Publisher
Kingston Publishing offers an affordable way for you to turn your dream into a reality. We offer every service you will ever need to take an idea and publish a story. We are here to help authors make it in the industry. We’ve been hurt by publishers in the past and we want to provide a positive experience that will keep you coming back to us.
Whether you want a traditional publisher who offers all the amenities a publishing company should or an author who prefers to self-publish, but needs additional help - we are here for you.
Now Accepting Manuscripts!
Please send query letter and manuscript to:
[email protected]
Visit our website at www.kingstonpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
About the Publisher
The Risen Series | Book 3 | Remnants Page 15