Prologue
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Circa 2023, Paris France, 12 years post outbreak—
❝I remembered how it all started. How the world went from civilized with jobs, normal people, conversations. Without the fear of being consumed alive by undead man. Torn apart, left to turn into one of them.
I stared at my bandaged hand, the splits on my knuckles still visible just barely at the edge of the bandage. I flexed my fist and let myself feel the burn of the open wounds.
I remember the time before I met Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, all of them. The time before I feared for my sanity.
I remember that day at the hospital when a man was rolled in unconscious and injured, my fifth GSW case that month alone. I remember all those cases before him for the past month, the fevers of 110, the quick unstoppable deaths.
The bites.
I remember the first time I smelled burning flesh and gunpowder. How it coiled around my lungs and burned my nose as I inhaled. The mangled body of my intern littered with bullet holes.
I remember the time before the war, I remember when I could go home and sleep without fear of being bitten the next day.
I remember the day I had a son, blood or not, and I remember the day he was murdered in front of my eyes. I remember it all. I remember too much.
Why were we the ones who live? Why not Glenn? Why not Carl? Henry, or Enid? Any of the other many people we lost for the sake of what, humanity?
I had a son once,
I had a family.
And where are they? ❞
