Chapter Text
It was cold when Scar woke up, which he should honestly be used to by now (but a kid can dream!). His choice of shelter wasn’t any different from his previous ones, an old broken down building made out of stone with so many holes in the walls it was pointless to even think of trying to keep the chilling wind out, although these were all conveniently small enough to not let any unwanted visitors inside and, in all fairness, these sorts of structures were all that occupied this forest for miles. That and of course, the hordes of zombies that want nothing more than to eat your flesh ‘till you’re nothing but a couple of bones on the ground.
At least you found yourself some neat-lookin’ winter gloves, Scar! the voice in his head exclaims and he lets out a chuckle despite his dry throat. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he replies as he wiggles his fingers while looking at the green knitted gloves with a silly waving yellow cat printed on the back he had on. Bestest birthday present ever, right? the voice says and he couldn’t help but hum his agreement, Now c’mon, we’ve gotta get a move on. We’ve gotta find somethin’ to eat or we’ll never survive another day! Scar heaves out a tired sigh at the thought of spending yet another day walking across this white wasteland but pulls himself up to his feet anyways because he does need some food in his system. Alright, let’s go go go! Don’t forget to say goodbye to Mr. Snowy before you leave.
He removes the barricade made out of packed dirt he had placed on the entrance (dirt, an apocalypse boy’s bestest friend) and exits the building, blinking at the quiet morning sun that glared down at him. Once his eyes adjust to the brightness, he stomps on the ground for a bit, crunching the snow beneath him, before turning to his right and smiling at the small snowman (he hurriedly put together yesterday) standing guard for him at the front. “Thank you for letting me stay for the night at your place, Mr. Snowy,” Scar says with a bashful smile plastered on his face as he twiddles his thumbs nervously. Don’t worry, Scar. Mr. Snowy will be fine out here alone. The zombies won’t bother him. He nods his head once, grateful for the reassurance, then awkwardly salutes at the snowman before quickly saying his goodbyes and running off, sniffling.
The day went on with Scar scavenging for supplies, jumping from one building to the next. After the first two fruitless raids with nothing but a dull rusty knife and a hello kitty bandaid he can show for, he started sticking out his tongue and catching snowflakes. Scar was half tempted just to start eating the snow (not the best meal in the world, it gives you nasty diarrhea!) but luckily on the fourth building he found himself an easy to open can of sardines.
Scar really really wanted to heat it up and have a warm celebratory meal for himself so he decided that he needed to make a good ‘ole campfire. Sure, almost all of his previous attempts at constructing one ended in total disaster and the light and smoke always attracted zombies, giving him more trouble than he wanted, but it’ll be fine (hopefully). He wrings his hands together and hypes himself up a little; “You can do this, Scar. You’ve got this, what’s another trip outdoors gon’ do?”, before setting off. He jogs to a nearby group of trees and starts picking up a few branches and sticks from the area. Minutes pass and Scar eventually lets himself settle into the silence because maybe just maybe today’s one of those lucky zombie-free days. Unfortunately for him, this was not the case at all. As he was bending over to grab another stick to add to his collection, a zombie suddenly attacked him from behind. It crept up to him and he didn’t even notice it until it groaned and slashed at his arm, tearing through his skin and making him yelp and drop all the wood he was carrying in his hands. He turns and tries to push his undead assailant away but the zombie was faster in digging its clawed fingers into his shoulders and using its weight to topple them over and pin him down on the ground. It snaps at his face with its rotting jagged teeth, making Scar squeak and swivel his head away before it could bite him. While his left hand was busy shoving the zombie's face away, the other was desperately clawing at the ground near him in hopes of grabbing a rock or one of the sticks that he dropped earlier. He manages to grab one of the bigger branches which he immediately raises in the air and smashes into his attacker's head. The branch easily plunges into its decayed skin, making Scar’s eyes widen at the feel of grazing its skull with the meager blow. This dazes it long enough that he manages to kick it away from him.
He scrambles to his feet and barely gathers his bearings when the zombie lunges towards him. Instinctively, Scar brings the branch back down on its head. When it falls to the floor, he does it again. Then again. And again.
He doesn't stop even when he hears bones crack. Only when it stills and he realizes that the sound of his battering might attract more does he come down from his high.
After fully registering that the bloody mush on the ground with chunks of broken cartilage mixed in was formerly the zombie’s head and that the lump of mangled body parts next to it was its putrescent body, does Scar assess himself. He’s gasping in lungfuls of air, sounding like a wheezing old cat, and his body is visibly shaking. His arm and shoulders were bleeding, trickling downwards and in between his fingertips. He looks at his hands, bloody and a little scratched from gripping the branch too hard.
Is… Is it normal for 12 year olds to bash the skull of a zombie open with a piece of wood on their birthday? Scar can't remember. He’s never engaged with the zombies like this before, preferring to run away instead of fight, but the rush does warm him more than the multiple layers of clothing he has on on this snowy day and he can’t help but laugh at the strange tingly feeling growing inside his chest. He feels like he might explode!
Or maybe he just broke a rib. Scar doesn’t really care.
Instead, he takes a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. Then shakily lets it out.
Scar drops the bloodied piece of wood, appreciating for a moment at how it paints a part of the snow red, before plopping down back first onto the ground.
He's tired. He’s been walking all day. He wants to go to sleep, but the snow stings him just enough to keep him awake. Instead, Scar looks at the sky and once again settles into the silence. Hopefully nothing bothers him this time.