The Walker

The teen swore.

“He’s gone,” she muttered to her partner. He was puffing gently, sweat running down his soft face.

“Come on, you don’t actually think it’s the same guy, do you? It’s just another Walker; they all stink of shit and think they’re better than us.” He flopped down on a defunct and rusted air-conditioning unit and closed his eyes against the sun.

The teen rolled her eyes and looked away from her brother. The years had not been kind to him; since their father’s death, he’d stopped caring. Drink and easy drugs had softened his once strong body, leaving a man that looked and acted many years older than his true age.

She retracted her half visor and tried to peer into the alley that the man had vanished into, but could only see shadows and litter whipped up by the winds. She crouched and ran her fingers through her dark hair, trying to stop it from blowing into her eyes. She had been waiting ten years for this, ten years for something to happen. But she had missed her chance, he had been there, in Bernie’s bar but her cowardly brother had stopped her from confronting him.

“Anyway, he looks pretty dangerous. Even if it was the guy who gave you that book, suppose he didn’t remember you? It’s too hot up here.” Her brother sighed and scratched his arm. “I need some Flash, I’m tired.”

He stood, slowly, and stretched his back. She heard the clicks and pops as he momentarily stood straight, before he resumed his usual hunch. “Come on,” He began, “We can still catch...” He broke off slowly, as something clicked menacingly.

He was there, holding his handgun against her brother’s forehead.

Her stomach dropped away in fear, but her eyes widened in anticipation, “It’s—” He cut her off.

“Why are you following me?” he growled.

A cigarette hung lazily from his mouth, moving as his words rumbled out, threatening to drop but never quite managing it.

She gulped. “It’s... it’s me” she murmured. She clenched her fists, squashing her anxiety. Her brother shook, eyes closed, mouthing some prayer that no god would hear.

Her words fought each other, tumbling out in her excitement, “You gave me the book!

“We were following you to make sure it was you, but I know it’s you, you haven’t changed a bit; you even smell the same,” she caught the gushing tone of her voice, and added, “Don’t you ever wash?”

She could feel the Walker’s gaze from under his visor, the same one she had seen her own reflection in all those years ago. The cigarette moved from one side of his mouth to the other, and then suddenly, he laughed. It was a soft one, and didn’t last long, but it seemed genuine.

He rubbed his chin and murmured, “Treasure Island girl”. He lowered the gun, and made a show of patting off her brother’s sleeve.

“Sorry there fella,” The man said, as he replaced his weapon. “Can’t be too careful around these parts. Some people don’t care for Walkers these days.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned and, with two long strides, was face to face with her. It suddenly dawned on her how much taller than her he was; even now she had grown taller herself. His smell was just as pungent, his chin still stubbled and unkempt.

“Takes guts to offend a man’s smell when he’s just had a gun pointed at her fella’s head.” He grinned, “Been a while.”

He offered her his hand, but she ignored him. “Firstly” her brow furrowed slightly, “He’s my brother, not my ‘fella’. Secondly,” she roughly pushed his outstretched hand away, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting ten years for you to show up!”

She turned to her brother, who had collapsed onto the gravelly rooftop, holding his chest. “I told you it was him. One of the ones Dad used to tell us about. He gave me that book” She turned back to Walker. “The Walker. And you led the no-eyed men here.”

She resumed her scowl, glaring into the eyeless, grinning face under the vintage cowboy hat.