Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2015 16:51:53 GMT -5
There hadn't been time to register what had happened. All Raymond Ebner knew was that he had to get home to his son. As Raymond sped down the highway, running over the walking corpses as he drove, his thoughts on his son. Pat was smart, but not the most physically capable of boys--nothing like his father. Not strong, not fast. The boy was bound for Cornell, but that wouldn't save him from these monsters.
The Ford's tires squealed as Raymond pulled into the driveway--the walking corpses were already making their way towards the vehicle, attracted by the noise no doubt. The suit Raymond had been wearing from work was a bit restraining, but he had no time to truly consider that--his son was inside.
Raymond had lived alone with his son for eighteen years. Raymond had never married, and adopted Pat when he was but an infant. Raymond always believed he could do more good by adopting a child who otherwise would live a life of neglect, rather than bringing more lives into an overpopulated world. His son was the love of his life--his reason for living. That was why Raymond slaved away 60 hours a week--investment banking made good money, and his son deserved everything he could provide. But would an investment banker make it far in this new world? Just a normal guy? Unlikely. But they had to try. As he barged in the front door, Raymond called out. "Pat! Patrick! It's dad, Patrick--where are you!?" Raymond made his way up the stairs of their large home, heading towards his son's room.
There he found him, shivering in the corner of the room, cradling a book--history book, it looked like. Pat tended to read when nervous. A bookworm. European history, it looked like. No doubt the young man had seen some of the walking corpses. "Son!" Raymond dashed over to Pat. "Please--we have to go, now!" His son said nothing, simply staring into space. Raymond sighed in desperation. It was then he remembered the gun. He'd kept it in case of emergencies, but truth to tell, didn't know about it. The name was...some combination of letters and numbers. Raymond knew nothing of guns. It had been an impulse buy when he adopted Pat--to keep him safe. He'd never fired outside of target practice, and even then, it had been years since he'd fired it--period. "I'll be back, son. Pack clothes." He commanded with urgency.
Raymond jogged to his bedroom, only ten feet from his son's. He first went for the gun--only five bullets. He never bought any more. He loaded it quickly, and then grabbed a duffel bag, filling it with clothes and two half-filled water bottles that were sitting on his nightstand. He ran back to his son--in his bedroom. The 18-year old was still clutching the book, saying nothing. "Son! We need to leave now!"
It was then Raymond heard the shattering of glass--then the groans of the corpses. They were inside, downstairs. There was no time to collect food from the kitchen. They couldn't afford to go downstairs now at all. They had to get down to the car somehow, though. Raymond grabbed the European history book from his son and placed it in the bag. He grabbed his son by the arm, pulling him up and out of the room. They could get to the window overlooking the backyard. They'd have to jump, but Raymond could catch his son. Raymond stood at 6'4, and he was surely muscled enough to catch his 5'8 son.
He turned around to his son as they reached the window. "We have to jump, Pat. You can do it--you have to. Be brave, son. I'll catch you." Raymond spoke quickly, as he could hear the groans now at the staircase. He kissed his son on the forehead before throwing the duffel bag from the window. Next, Raymond thrust himself from the window.
The ground hit hard. Raymond groaned as his body made contact with the earth. But there was no time to focus on the pain. Raymond stood, firmly grasping the handgun. The backyard was free of corpses--thank God. He looked up to the window and spread his arms. "Come on, son! I can catch you!"
Pat spoke for the first time. "I--I can't, dad! It's...I can'!"
It was then Raymond felt the tears well up in his eyes. "Son! Patrick! Trust me, please! Please! I can save you! I can catch you! You'll be safe--please." He was pleading with his son--perhaps for his own sake just as much as his son's.
Pat took a step toward the window, placing his hands on the frame, but again backed away. "I just--can't, dad! Let me go downstairs!"
"You can't! You have to jump!" Raymond's voice cracked, he was almost sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. "Please, son!" It was then he heard the groans--the corpses were in the same room as his son! "Patrick, jump! Patrick, jump!" The walkers were no more than ten feet from Pat.
Pat said nothing, but shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. "Please...please..." Raymond whispered. "Please...do as I ask...comply. I can save you." His words were a mere whisper. He knew his son wasn't going to jump.
The corpses were five feet away--Raymond could see them behind his son. Their mouths were already agape, hanging open--their teeth ready to tear into his son's flesh. The pain...Raymond couldn't imagine it.
Raymond was sobbing. And he continued to sob as he raised his gun, aiming at his son as the first corpse took hold of his child's arm. "I love you, son," Raymond whispered as he pulled the trigger. Pat's lifeless body fell to the ground, knocking two of the corpses to the ground as well. Raymond stood sobbing as the corpses devoured his son--he watched it all from the safety of the enclosed backyard. But his son didn't feel a thing. Raymond saw to that.
Raymond slowly walked to his car, still parked in the drive way. Walkers stood in the front yard, and made their way closer as they saw Raymond. He was in a trance--he couldn't comprehend what he'd just done. What he...had to do. He stepped in his car and sped away to safety, breaking out in uncontrollable sobs as he did so.
For an hour he drove--to the middle of nowhere. To safety. When he finally parked the car, the true gravity of the situation fell upon him. He wept, and wept, and wept. For twenty minutes, Raymond's head was buried in his hands as he recalled what he had done. All he had of his son was a goddamn history book. It was all he had. Raymond quickly opened the duffel bag and opened the book to a doggy-eared page. It was a chapter on the Thirty Years War--Raymond let out a croak as he recalled his son's love for history...his love of learning. His love of life.
The subchapter his son was about to start on focused on a Swedish King--"the father of modern warfare" apparently--a Protestant King by the name of Gustavus Adolphus.
The Ford's tires squealed as Raymond pulled into the driveway--the walking corpses were already making their way towards the vehicle, attracted by the noise no doubt. The suit Raymond had been wearing from work was a bit restraining, but he had no time to truly consider that--his son was inside.
Raymond had lived alone with his son for eighteen years. Raymond had never married, and adopted Pat when he was but an infant. Raymond always believed he could do more good by adopting a child who otherwise would live a life of neglect, rather than bringing more lives into an overpopulated world. His son was the love of his life--his reason for living. That was why Raymond slaved away 60 hours a week--investment banking made good money, and his son deserved everything he could provide. But would an investment banker make it far in this new world? Just a normal guy? Unlikely. But they had to try. As he barged in the front door, Raymond called out. "Pat! Patrick! It's dad, Patrick--where are you!?" Raymond made his way up the stairs of their large home, heading towards his son's room.
There he found him, shivering in the corner of the room, cradling a book--history book, it looked like. Pat tended to read when nervous. A bookworm. European history, it looked like. No doubt the young man had seen some of the walking corpses. "Son!" Raymond dashed over to Pat. "Please--we have to go, now!" His son said nothing, simply staring into space. Raymond sighed in desperation. It was then he remembered the gun. He'd kept it in case of emergencies, but truth to tell, didn't know about it. The name was...some combination of letters and numbers. Raymond knew nothing of guns. It had been an impulse buy when he adopted Pat--to keep him safe. He'd never fired outside of target practice, and even then, it had been years since he'd fired it--period. "I'll be back, son. Pack clothes." He commanded with urgency.
Raymond jogged to his bedroom, only ten feet from his son's. He first went for the gun--only five bullets. He never bought any more. He loaded it quickly, and then grabbed a duffel bag, filling it with clothes and two half-filled water bottles that were sitting on his nightstand. He ran back to his son--in his bedroom. The 18-year old was still clutching the book, saying nothing. "Son! We need to leave now!"
It was then Raymond heard the shattering of glass--then the groans of the corpses. They were inside, downstairs. There was no time to collect food from the kitchen. They couldn't afford to go downstairs now at all. They had to get down to the car somehow, though. Raymond grabbed the European history book from his son and placed it in the bag. He grabbed his son by the arm, pulling him up and out of the room. They could get to the window overlooking the backyard. They'd have to jump, but Raymond could catch his son. Raymond stood at 6'4, and he was surely muscled enough to catch his 5'8 son.
He turned around to his son as they reached the window. "We have to jump, Pat. You can do it--you have to. Be brave, son. I'll catch you." Raymond spoke quickly, as he could hear the groans now at the staircase. He kissed his son on the forehead before throwing the duffel bag from the window. Next, Raymond thrust himself from the window.
The ground hit hard. Raymond groaned as his body made contact with the earth. But there was no time to focus on the pain. Raymond stood, firmly grasping the handgun. The backyard was free of corpses--thank God. He looked up to the window and spread his arms. "Come on, son! I can catch you!"
Pat spoke for the first time. "I--I can't, dad! It's...I can'!"
It was then Raymond felt the tears well up in his eyes. "Son! Patrick! Trust me, please! Please! I can save you! I can catch you! You'll be safe--please." He was pleading with his son--perhaps for his own sake just as much as his son's.
Pat took a step toward the window, placing his hands on the frame, but again backed away. "I just--can't, dad! Let me go downstairs!"
"You can't! You have to jump!" Raymond's voice cracked, he was almost sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. "Please, son!" It was then he heard the groans--the corpses were in the same room as his son! "Patrick, jump! Patrick, jump!" The walkers were no more than ten feet from Pat.
Pat said nothing, but shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. "Please...please..." Raymond whispered. "Please...do as I ask...comply. I can save you." His words were a mere whisper. He knew his son wasn't going to jump.
The corpses were five feet away--Raymond could see them behind his son. Their mouths were already agape, hanging open--their teeth ready to tear into his son's flesh. The pain...Raymond couldn't imagine it.
Raymond was sobbing. And he continued to sob as he raised his gun, aiming at his son as the first corpse took hold of his child's arm. "I love you, son," Raymond whispered as he pulled the trigger. Pat's lifeless body fell to the ground, knocking two of the corpses to the ground as well. Raymond stood sobbing as the corpses devoured his son--he watched it all from the safety of the enclosed backyard. But his son didn't feel a thing. Raymond saw to that.
Raymond slowly walked to his car, still parked in the drive way. Walkers stood in the front yard, and made their way closer as they saw Raymond. He was in a trance--he couldn't comprehend what he'd just done. What he...had to do. He stepped in his car and sped away to safety, breaking out in uncontrollable sobs as he did so.
For an hour he drove--to the middle of nowhere. To safety. When he finally parked the car, the true gravity of the situation fell upon him. He wept, and wept, and wept. For twenty minutes, Raymond's head was buried in his hands as he recalled what he had done. All he had of his son was a goddamn history book. It was all he had. Raymond quickly opened the duffel bag and opened the book to a doggy-eared page. It was a chapter on the Thirty Years War--Raymond let out a croak as he recalled his son's love for history...his love of learning. His love of life.
The subchapter his son was about to start on focused on a Swedish King--"the father of modern warfare" apparently--a Protestant King by the name of Gustavus Adolphus.