The Walker

11 years ago...

“What do you mean I have to go?” the boy bellowed.

Walker stood outside the bar, smoking quietly. “You heard me. You have to go. I’ve taught you all I can.”

He looked at the boy, who could see himself, as always, reflected in the silver of his visor. Walker couldn’t do this, he thought to himself. Train him up and then let him go, for what?

“I’m supposed to help fight the Order, join the Walkers, work with you! Walker, that was the whole point of... of all of this!”

Walker looked away, exhaling silver blue smoke into the twilight. “No. I saw a lost little boy with nothing but a stick and a temper, and gave him a life, taught him how to live. I never said anything about you fighting with us.”

The boy clenched his fists, teeth grinding, “And what will you do? Just go on running away, you and the other Walkers, hiding in the shadows, leaving the Order to do as they please?”

Walker sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I... have to go away too. Stop all of this. The Walkers, we…” He waved a weary hand at his satchel, which he had dropped on to the floor.

The boy stopped for a moment; Walker, giving up his books? It was unthinkable! The man had nothing else.

“What happened in there?” he asked, pointing accusingly to the smoky interior behind them.

Walker sighed, and flicked his cigarette away. “I met a friend. Michael, I told you about him. The man I trained with, at the academy.

“He told me the Order are on to us. They’ve been watching us for some time, and it’s only him that has prevented them from picking us up and... doing whatever it is they do to walkers in the library.”

“So what? We’ve always gone against the Order, it’s what walkers do!”

It was Walker’s turn to shout, “You are not a Walker, lad!” He softened when he saw the boy’s face, and continued, “We have done what we can. The Walkers are a lost cause. We’ve already lost too many.”

The boy growled at him, “What happened to you? You started all of this. The walkers followed you, did as you said. Now look at you,” he hefted Walker’s satchel, and threw it at his feet, “You’re weak. That Walker, Idris, he was right. They should be following me.”

Walker sighed again. “He’s dead lad. Almost all of them are dead.”

The boy continued to glare at him, jaw muscles tensing and rippling “Then we hit back, take revenge. Go out fighting, not whimpering!”

Walker shook his head. “No lad, I’m tired. Tired of all of this. I never should have left. We were wrong. Father was wrong.”

The boy couldn’t believe his ears. “So you’re turning your back on everything you believed in, because you’re old?” He spat. “And what am I going to do? I have nothing now! What was the point? You should have left me in that town, all those years ago.”

Walker stepped closer again to him, his face under the visor a mask of sadness. “Boy, forgive me. But it wasn’t all to waste. You can take your skills back with you, go home and be a good, strong man in your town.”

The boy was enraged again, “Go home? Go home? I’m hundreds of miles away, in some strange place, and you want me to go home? I don’t even have a name!”

Walker wilted further, shoulders slumped. The thunder in the boy’s ears rose, blocking out the wittering noise of the man who had been his master.

He didn’t deserve to lead the Walkers. He stared furiously at the armour and the hat; symbols of the Order, and the silvery strip on the man’s face; at the visor that blocked the wearer’s eyes from view. The boy saw himself reflected there, for the thousandth time, and something snapped, slowly and painfully.

“...can help you get home. Here” Walker finished speaking, and held out his money bag. The boy took it, and looked at Walker numbly. “And now I have to go.” He said sadly.

He hefted his battered satchel and headed down the west road, into the darkness of the woods.

The boy watched in the failed light, thoughts racing as he rubbed his chin.