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Walker [Story Series]

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(I wanted to write something. I'll update this every so often, so check back if it interests you.)


Modern Wastelander


Struck Down

A crimson mirror, my blood gathered then on the chunky asphalt road. Though my ears rang with a heated intensity, I could hear their laughter as my vision danced about the red and grey.

"Сука! That was an ugly blow, haha!" shouted the lackey. I felt my collar pull back as he pulled my limp body back. "That's going to leave one hell of a mark!"

I lulled my head to the left, the blood running from my nose down into my open mouth. There, I got a good look at this bald asshole.

"Спасибо, we wouldn't make it past the border without your car. As long as you keep going south you'll be fine too. If you don't run out of water, that is."

I heard the wet slap of the water being poured onto pavement nearby.

"Why are you doing this," I managed to mutter. "What did I do to you?"

"We're on a tight schedule, and we've wasted enough time and ammunition as it is," he shouted, gesturing to the bodies about the ground with his bloodied crowbar. "Let's get going."

The lackey dropped me, and one of his friends tossed the now empty plastic bottle at my face before climbing into the dingy sedan and driving away.


I lied there for a long time, I think. When I finally got my shit together and stopped sobbing, the sun was already beginning to set.


It was going to be a long walk from wherever the hell I was.

I don't even want to try to walk through what I was thinking when I pulled over for him. I knew it was shady, some random ruskie on the side of the road begging for help with his "dying friend". How could I be so God damned gullible!?

They were already so far down the road that they weren't visible anymore.

I began collecting my things from among the mess of the dead infected. Shell casings rang as I kicked them when hopping over a dead cop. Anger bubbled inside of me like I was a giant bottle of soda and somebody with Parkinson's was trying to hand me to his paraplegic friend.


I remember feeling for her across the sheets. That soft, warm glow of the morning coming in through the curtains hitting her face as she sat up was an image that a thousand Da Vinci's couldn't paint, a thousand Robert Frosts couldn't write about.

"What're you looking at?" she said with a sleepy half-smile and a faux bad-attitude.

I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes as I yawned and stretched. I spoke, returning the attitude. "Someone who's not hungry, apparently. I don't dine with grumpy people."

She smacked me with a pillow weakly.

"Use your words, Ziva. We've talked about this." I stood up to preemptively evade her assault as she laughed aloud.

[will update regularly]

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Very great read man, make sure you update it regularly aye ;) 

Awesome title text aswell :)  

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told you once and will tell you again

its good man :)

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better than mine

keep going please

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