The Walkers: The Return

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Music: Violent Noise – The XX

I sat in the church's dorm room, eyes closed, and listened to the bustling streets outside. The erratic footfalls of the humans became a strange symphony, punctuated by their voices and the noises of the cars passing by. I arched an eyebrow when I heard Tobin grouse from the corner, and I smirked when Collin told him to shut up. Silence followed. We were confined to quarters following our explosive fight in the mall parking garage. All things considered, it was a mild consequence and one I would complete willingly—my brother was not as compliant.

Tobin started pacing the room. "This is ridiculous."

Collin, laying on one of the beds, turned his back to Tobin. "Shut it. If I have to be stuck here with you, the least you can do is be quiet."

"I am not thrilled to be around you either," Tobin said and rested his hand on a nearby wall. He placed a tiny bit of pressure and all three of us heard it creak slightly. "But why are we locked up like children?"

"Because you threw a tantrum," Collin said, a growl following the last word. "Look, I know you want to be out there, but you have to realize you brought this on yourself."

"If you say so," Tobin said before going silent.

And that was how the rest of the day played out—Tobin and Collin in tense silence, and me trying to fill the time to stave off boredom. Our isolation was rendered more annoying as a handful of the church workers (those that knew us) frequently peeked through cracks in the wall and through the slightly ajar door to catch a glimpse at us. Collin grew so irritated that he stood and moved a bit faster than necessary toward the door and pulled it open. The door creaked and fell off its hinges, revealing two older women who shrieked and retreated at the sight of his strength.

After positioning it against the doorway at an award angle that just barely blocked the path, he turned to us, a guilty yet satisfied smirk on his face. From his place in the corner, Tobin laughed and I followed suit. Tobin was right; humans really were like mice.

I glanced over to the wall where the church's calendar was posted and noted it had been over six months since I had last contacted my mother. Although Shiloh and Dex slightly disapproved, I had tried to maintain contact with her since becoming a Walker. She understood I could not contact her often, and frankly, sometimes I forgot. My memory had reoriented, with focal points geared toward different processes—but that human part, the need for familial connection remained.

Leaving my brothers where they were, I ventured out into the church and found Shiloh laying down on one of the pews, her eyes closed and arms crossed at her chest. She sensed me and her eyes opened. Although Shiloh did not require the typical Walker decorum anymore, I figured by signaling her—touching my fingers to my forehead and bowing—as a superior would soften her and she'd let me call my mother. She sat up and arched an eyebrow as I formally greeted her, and I noticed the corners of her mouth were twitching slightly, the closest to a smile she often got.

"Yes?" She asked softly.

"It's been awhile since I called my mom," I said, immediately noting the change in her demeanor. She looked away and sighed before standing up. Her disapproval was obvious. "I know it's not something you and Dex approve of, but, it helps me."

Her expression was unchanging. "In what way does it help you?"

"I'm not exactly sure," I said. Honestly, I didn't. I didn't know why I needed to maintain that last link to my humanity. Perhaps there was a part of me that was scared of losing more of my past. "You think I'm hanging on to the past?"