The Walker

10 years ago...

The boy lowered his pistol, flicking the empty rounds from the chamber, before sliding it into its holster. He grabbed the hat, removing it carefully from the corpse at his feet. He donned the hat and, after a second’s thought, retrieved the visor from the ground. He looked at himself in its shiny surface and licked his lips.

The hat suited him perfectly, but there was something else... ah.

He knelt in the morning dew and began to work, removing the armour rig from its previous owner. He struggled it on; it was too big, and he had little idea as to how it worked. He played with a few switches here and there, finally managing to activate the hydraulic lifting plate, now on his back. There was a soft peal as the armour adjusted to his frame.

He examined himself in the visor again. Yes. He looked the part. A walker.

The Walker.

He lifted the book satchel onto his back, feeling the weight of it, smiling easily to himself.

The leather cloak comes too, he decided; Walker had always worn it, it was part of the costume... no, not costume. Uniform.

Official.

He nodded. The outfit felt powerful, felt right, like something he’d been destined for. He’d never had a uniform before. Or power, come to think of it.

He draped the cloak about him, and patted down the pockets. There. The tobacco pouch. He grinned to himself and rolled a cigarette.

He shifted the book satchel, its valuable contents now his to guard, and looked down at the body huddled at his feet.

“Sorry, old man, but you deserved this. Walker should be someone people know, and fear.”

The deep brown eyes stared accusingly up at him, unseeing and murky in the lightless dawn, the hard lines still etching a frown on Walker’s face.

“I’ll finish what you started.”

He smiled to himself.

The boy finally had a name.

Walker.