'god loves you, but not enough to save you.' ethel cain
season 1, episode 1
when you're lost in the dark
Sept. 27, 2003
TW: 9/11 references
"Mama, wake up,"
was the first thing Samara heard as her brain sent rapid-fire signals throughout her body to awake. From the tone of her daughter's voice, the force she used to wake her, and a gut feeling that had bubbled inside her for hours, Samara shot up with wide eyes, meeting Sarah's.
"Something's wrong."
Green flashes illuminated the pink room. Planes breaking the sound barrier rumbled over them, shaking the room. The only thought that ran through Samara's mind was to run. Being barely fifteen minutes drive from the capital on a good day, if anything were to occur like they were in her mind, they needed to get farther away.
After the events of 9/11, Samara created a plan for her family if anything like that were to happen in their hometown. When realization that it was real hit, an obsession grew to ensure her family's safety: creating maps, renewing to-go bags every six months, supplying a container of non-perishable food, you name it.
In that moment, Samara forgot all her terror and focused on Sarah's safety. That's all that mattered.
"Stay right behind me, okay?" she ordered, grabbing Sarah's hand without a response.
Joel hadn't returned from getting Tommy nearly three and a half hours ago. God knows where those two could be, Samara had no choice but to prepare for the worst. They entered Samara's room, where she released her daughter's hand and pointed towards the closet. "Grab the three bags in there and put them by the stairs."
"But what about dad and Uncle Tom-"
"Sarah!" Her daughter's fear glowed as green flashes reappeared. "Please, baby, just do what I say."
And she did as she was told.
Her eyes latched onto Samara when she exited the room, but they immediately went to the revolver in her hand. Something she learned at a young age that only saw the light of day in moments of emergencies. She saw it once when she was eight to be told the dangers of it, and never again.
She didn't say a word as the two descended down the stairs, leaving the bags by the garage door. Once Samara verified their home was secure, she comforted Sarah. She tucked her gun in her waistband, right next to Joel's knife, grabbing the sides of her head. Her sweet curls flattened by sleep. She spoke softly, "I know this is scary-it's okay to be scared, but we're going somewhere we can be safe."
"Nana and Grandpa?"
"Yeah," she inhaled sharply, praying on repeat that her parents and brother were safe in West Texas. She let go of Sarah and exhaled. "Now, go get what you need, we're leaving in five minutes."
Sarah didn't move. "What about dad and Uncle Tommy? We can't leave without them."
"They'll be right behind us," Samara promised, not telling her the full truth."They know the plan for things like this. They know where to meet us."
Hesitation led Sarah, but she ultimately chose to believe her mom. Samara had no reason to lie to her. Alter the truths, yes, but never lie. She couldn't. Sarah entered the living room and turned on the TV. The noise filled the quiet home, but it all became white noise to Samara.
Samara snatched her phone off of the kitchen table and dialed Joel's number, trying to ignore the bubbling fear that turned into blistering pain. She rested her hand over her abdomen. She couldn't do this alone.
Nothing.
Please.
Again.
C'mon.
Nothing.
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon.
Tommy.
Nothing.
"Fuck."
A set of rapid footsteps passed her, heading towards the front door. Before Samara could say a word, Sarah was already outside. "Sarah!"
Following her without a second thought, she found Sarah kneeling on the porch with Mercy practically glued to her, whining like a puppy. Mercy was inching closer into her senior years; the Alders have had her since Sarah was a toddler, when their own kids were still at home.
"What're you doing out here, boy?" Sarah inquired, comforting the dog.
Everything was more clear outdoors. Cars going off, helicopters flying in the city and town. Whatever was going on brought chills to Samara's spine, raising the hairs on her neck. They needed to go.
"Sarah, let's get the bags inside the car."
She didn't listen. She only stared across the cul-de-sac at the houses. No light besides the porch light. Darkness controlled the home. As if they didn't hear the chaos around. Or they were doing what Samara wanted to do. "What if they're hurt? We can't just leave them."
Mercy's whines turned into aggressive barks. Either Sarah could not feel it, or she chose not to. "Please, mom."
To be selfish was a human response. So was selflessness. They were based on chemicals in the brains, as all things are, that shape who a person is. Samara wasn't raised to be selfish, nor did she raise her daughter to be.
Samara stepped off of the porch, away from safety. "You stay right next to me no matter what. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Sarah held onto Mercy's collar as Samara led them to the Alders. Yet, Mercy refused. She fought against Sarah, whimpering in fear of something that laid in the darkness. Just as they were a few steps away, Mercy's collar detached and she ran back to the Miller's home.
The screen door was gaping wide. The second door was cracked. Inside the shadows, a crash echoed, but no human reaction other than theirs. Mr. Adler would have woken up in an instant. Samara recalled when Sarah was born, he woke up from her cries and offered to help the new parents. He told them stories to help them realize they would never be perfect parents in their own eyes, but would be in their children's.
To be selfish is a human response. It is also based on how people perceive actions. It might be seen as selfish to force Sarah into the car, locking her in, until Samara could confirm her safety, risking her own life in the process. It might be seen as selfish to run away without knowing if the Alders are okay. They would have to understand. They would do it too.
"Mrs. Alder?" Sarah called out, her voice shook as she peered around her mom. Her eyes were as bright as the moon, but filled with terror as if there was no such thing as light. "What do we do?"
To be selfish or selfless?
"Go wait with Mercy, I'll go check on them, okay?"
More fear swarmed Sarah. "You said to stay right by you."
"Now I'm saying to stay by Mercy. If she gets aggressive again, go lock yourself in the bathroom and wait for me."
Being a parent is one of two jobs that cannot be taught, but learned through doing. You can absorb all the advice you must, but each person is different and each child even more. To be a good parent is to do what you think is right. And only you can dictate that.
The other job is living. You can be given advice, guided, and even held through the whole process but at some point, you will be forced to act alone. You must do what you think is right. Or do what is wrong if you think that's best. No one can help you. No one will stop you. Only you.
"I'm not gonna repeat myself, Sarah Marie Miller. Go."
Samara would die for Sarah. Just as her mom would for her. Just as any parent would. And when she was young, she hated that idea. She viewed it as her mother not caring for her life. She could create another child if she pleased, but no one could recreate her. Fourteen years compared to thirty-four. Inexperienced versus experienced. But it was so much more than that.
Following behind the barrel of her gun, Samara stepped into the home as quietly as she could. The door rug was shoved around, as were Mercy's toys and leash. The front room was empty. Nothing was touched.
Still, a crash came from the kitchen.
"Mr. Alder, it's Samara," she warned, stepping forward slowly. No one answered. The saloon doors blocked her view of the kitchen. With each step, her heart grew louder in her ears. Boom, boom, boom,
Bang!
Samara spun around to the source. The sound was not as close as she believed. A car alarm followed, maybe a street or two down. She was fine. Sarah was fine. She inhaled slowly, counting to seven before releasing.
Continuing forward she applied pressure onto the floorboards, forcing them to release a groan. More noise came from the room ahead. She resisted calling for anyone. If there was an intruder, they would have attacked her already, using the loud noise outside to their advantage. Alas, nothing. This was something else.
Samara pushed the doors open, stepping forward as she did. She nearly slipped on a liquid in the process. She assumed water, until she looked down. The nightlight illuminated the crimson streak. As if someone had been dragged, she followed the trail.
Mr. Alder leaned against the door, blood soaked his wife beater. Blood handprints surrounded the surfaces around him. His ghost white face pleaded for Samara. "Help me."
Everything ached in Samara. That blistering feeling turned into an alarm. Blaring in her ears for her to run away. It wasn't safe. She couldn't help him.
But her foot took a step. Then the other one. Until she was right beside the island, keeping steady eye contact with Mr. Alder.
His eyes floated towards something in front of the fridge, something he couldn't see but knew was there. Samara followed his gaze. A high-pitched hum filled the air. She attempted to breathe in, but she couldn't.
Nana hovered over her daughter's body, breathing raspy, heavy breaths. Sloshing of blood and skin filled the silence. A mother feeding on her own like an animal, taking back her creation to where it began. Her head rose slowly, defying all of what the doctors told the Alders. Defying nature with stems growing out of her mouth, reaching for something as if it were alive.
Her breath quickened as she stood up, fixated on Samara. Everything Samara knew was being tested. An unresponsive elderly woman ate the only family she had, stood up on her own two feet after years of being in a wheelchair, and tendrils growing out of her mouth.
Fuck being selfless.
Samara shot her in the chest as she charged at her. Nana's body fell back, but she was clearly still alive. There was nothing in her eyes. No light. No emotions. She was supposed to be unresponsive. She was supposed to be dead.
But the hunger to get Samara kept her going.
Samara ran before Nana could fully get back up. Sarah stood on the street, trying to see what was happening.
"Mom, why'd you shoot? What happened?"
"Go to the car," Samara instructed, yanking Sarah's arm towards the garage.
Sarah fought back. "The car's gone!"
Shit. Samara forgot Joel took her car to get Tommy. Shit.
Instead of comforting Sarah, Samara became a barrier, holding out her gun towards the open door. Sarah begged for answers, but Samara couldn't offer any. She didn't know the answers. None of this made any sense.
"Samara!" A voice called out, taking her attention. Joel jumped out of the moving trunk and ran to his girls. "Get in the trunk! Right now!"
Samara pushed Sarah first, switching between Joel and the door. Joel tried to pull her next, but a snarl echoed. Everyone froze.
Nana sprinted out. She didn't make it another inch out the door as her body collapsed, her weak bones snapped. Samara hesitated to put down her gun. She survived the gunshot. How?
A gasped escaped the creature, rising once more, unaffected by her unstable skeleton. All she saw were four people, four opportunities to devour and endulge.
"What're we doin', Joel?" Tommy shouted, raising his rifle at the mad woman. Samara did the same, trying to fight her shakiness and track the creature.
Neither shot as it charged at Joel. He acted swiftly, striking it in the head. It fell to the ground. One second. Two. Nothing.
Samara let out a stranded exhale. Bile rose up her throat, falling onto the asphalt. Dizziness hit her. She propped herself against the trunk.
A hand cradled the side of her face, guiding her eyes to the person attached to it. Joel asked her without words if she was okay. She nodded before looking at Sarah. Her eyes were stuck on the body. The woman who it used to hold.
Joel forced her attention onto him. Her words broke Samara.
"You killed her."
"Hey, let's get you inside," Tommy offered, holding his hand out for Samara. She hesitated to take it. She wanted to comfort Sarah, she needed to. But they needed to live.
She let Tommy help her into the truck, closing the door right behind her and began to survey the area. He snapped his head back and forth, startled by the slightest of sounds. No matter how hard he denied it, his PTSD controlled him.
Sarah and Tommy entered the trunk as their neighbor, Denise, called out for Joel.
"Denise, you get back inside the house!" he ordered, scaring the mother.
Samara's hand shook as it hovered over her mouth. Her tongue was heavy with words that suffocated her. She wanted to help her. She didn't know. She didn't understand. She was a mother of two, two little ones who were frightened, just as Sarah was. Her husband was away visiting family. Denise was alone.
"Joel," Samara muttered, begging him with her eyes to help.
He said nothing.
As Tommy whipped around the cul-de-sac, Mr. and Mrs. Alder stood on the street. But they weren't themselves. They were like Nana. Creatures, no longer human. Infected with something unknown.
Tommy told them to hold on as he tried to drive in between them. Their bodies banged against the trunk. Sarah's mouth gaped, snapping her head back as Denise shouted, "Jesus Christ, Joel!"
"Hey, hey. Eyes forward," Samara instructed, leading Sarah face towards the front. She didn't need to see anymore. The last thing Samara saw before turning her head was Mr. Alder charging at Denise.
"You take seventy-"
"Seventy-one, I know."
Police cars sped west, towards Austin. The city had to be filled with terror and violence, just as the news stated. They blamed it on drugs like they always did, allowing people to brush it off because it would never affect them.
Tommy turned east.
"Daddy-"
"We don't know," Joel interjected immediately.
"They're saying it's a virus," Tommy said.
"No, it can't be," Samara told, running through everything she knew. She was a chemistry teacher for fuck's sakes, not biology. But she understood how things worked way better than Tommy. "She had...tendrils coming out of her mouth."
"What?" Joel looked at Samara, furrowing his brows as he realized how close she had been to it.
"Then, some kind of parasite," Tommy thought.
"Is it from terrorists?" Sarah thought aloud, feeling the same fear as she did two years ago. Samara grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze.
"We don't know," Joel repeated, not wishing to be harsh but had to be or else Sarah would continue down a dark train of thoughts.
But she couldn't help it. She fell further and further as panic infiltrated her mind. "Are we sick?"
"No. Of course not."
Joel was quick to lie to Sarah. She caught on almost as quickly.
"Why did things blow up?"
Joel ignored her, fidgeting with the radio. Static escaped, nothing else. "No cellphone, no radio."
"Antennas are down, powerlines, satellites, everything," Samara muttered as the thoughts appeared. "It's not just us."
"How do you know?" Sarah questioned.
"What?"
"How do you know we're not sick?"
Joel didn't know what to say. Samara felt Sarah's eyes on her. She couldn't look her way.
"They're saying it's mostly people in the city. That's why they got the highway blocked off."
Before more questions could form, the whole truck went silent as they passed a burning farmhouse. Jimmy's farmhouse. Flames engulfed the house, possibly the people inside too. The world was falling apart in front of their very eyes.
"The Alders would take Nana into the city. To the hospital for stuff," Sarah theorized, knitting her eyebrows.
"That's right. They would. That's probably why."
"But...you'd have to go a lot...right?" Sarah's head lifted up slowly, looking at her mom. "Mama, you went to the hospital today."
Samara felt the eyes of the Miller brothers' on her, but she forced hers onto her daughter. "But I'm fine. I didn't go in, I just dropped James off."
A bitter taste grew in her mouth. James. If it came from the city, spreading through the crowded hospital, he was surely gone. All of her students, co-workers, friends, and family. How could she be sure they would ever be okay?
"We're all fine. Trust me."
"All right..."
Tommy slowed down as they neared a broken down van with a family standing in the dark. The father called out to them, waving for them to see them and stop.
"What're you doin'?" Joel asked his brother.
"They've got a kid, Joel."
"So do we. Keep driving."
"Joel," Samara urged, her guilty conscience added, towering higher than her. He didn't look at her. He couldn't.
"We could put them in the back," Sarah suggested, following the family as they passed them. Samara couldn't help but do the same.
"Somebody else'll come along."
Almost karmic, as they accelerated onto the highway they learned they weren't the only ones desperate to get out. So desperate that people drove on the opposite side of the road to escape.
Tommy began to panic. He swerved to miss the speeding cars that only cared for themselves. How could Samara blame them? They were doing the same.
"All right, take the field," Joel guided, somehow being the only one with a clear mind. "We cut across and we pick up on the, on the west side."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. West side. All right. hang on."
People began to follow their self-made path. As they drove over the hill, they got a clear view of the chaos that brewed. Helicopters hovered over the town, barriers began using armored cars.
"Shit! Fuckin' army."
"Isn't that good?"
"It's good for them, but that's the highway we're tryin' to get to." Tommy halted as the other vehicle moved passed them.
"All right, keep movin'. Head north."
Samara shook her head, running through her escape plans. "No, no. It'll be the same." If this was a virus, parasite, something to cause a mass spread of violence, the army wouldn't allow anyone to pass. They would close all exits.
"We have to try. Go, Tommy."
He hesitated. "Could be a lot of people."
"Well, we can't go south, we can't go east, we can't go west. Hell else we supposed to go?" His question was rhetorical. "Tommy, come on!"
Samara jumped at his volume, squeezing Sarah's hand a little tighter. She wanted to wake up. This was just a bad dream. Please, please, just let it be a bad dream.
But it was real.
Tommy stomped on the gas, turning towards the river. Across it was a town, further away from Austin, meaning less military. They couldn't block everything that quickly.
"Yeah, I know that place. This can work," Joel thought aloud.
Tommy glanced at him. "Yeah, but then what?"
"I don't know. Mexico. Just far, far as we can. How much gas?"
But it didn't matter, Samara wanted to say. It hoarded on her tongue, molding over until it was all rot. It didn't matter how far they went or where they went. Nowhere was safe. Not anymore. They were better off hiding out in their garage with their supplies than driving into something they didn't know with nothing but the clothes on their back and weapons.
"Three-quarter tank."
"Go through town, golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade...then we're out."
With her other hand, Samara held her stomach. Barely two months into her pregnancy. She was content with having the fetus in the safety of yesterday, before the chaos ensued. She was content with raising another child, fourteen years younger than Sarah, because they were finally financially stable. She was content.
How could she bring another being into this world? A world she did not understand yet, with violence and uncertainty.
Even worse, how could she protect her already living daughter?
"Maybe it's everywhere," Sarah started again. The silence left her alone with her thoughts as it did Samara. "Maybe there's nowhere to go."
Above them, a loud rumbling filled the silence. Sarah let go of her mom's hand to cover her ears. Planes were being forced to land. A mass of police cars drove ahead, stopping in the middle of the road to prevent others from getting in or out.
"Hold onto somethin'," Tommy shouted once more, making a sharp right down an alleyway. On the other side people were screaming and sprinting away from something. Something Tommy turned towards.
It was all madness. Everyone was trying to escape, create paths out of nothing to pass the blockades. One car nearly crashed into them if it wasn't for Joel taking the wheel. Samara covered Sarah's body with her own.
Their new path wasn't any better. The street was filled with people. They were running, injured, and fighting. It was pure anarchy.
"Tommy, you can't stop here."
"I can't drive through 'em all."
"Are you serious? Just keep goin'!"
Then the glass windows of the theater broke, releasing a horde of people. Only they weren't all people. Some chased after others with the same intent as the Alders did. Blood splattered everywhere.
"Back, back, back, back!" Joel repeated as if Tommy didn't know. Samara could only hold Sarah, keeping her from watching the world fall.
They both watched out the back window to provide Tommy aid. There was no use. Samara faltered as she noticed a plane swerving in the sky, gradually nearing the ground. "Joel..."
"We're gonna be okay, just keep drivin'."
"Dad!?"
Both men looked back, spotting the two women found. "Holy shit."
Samara faced forward, blinking slowly as the sound of the plane rushing towards them was all she heard. She held onto Sarah, closing her eyes as everything became white noise.
Boom!
Even behind her eyelids, Samara saw the light expand as if it were the sun. Then everything went black.
A thick liquid coated her palms. She felt it trickle down over her eyelid, forcing her to open them. Sounds were muffled and distant, nearly nonexistent.
An eruption of coughs shoved their way out of her throat. Flickering oranges and reds filled her vision. The type of gradient that you would find in a perfect sunset. It only missed the pinks and purples.
Gasoline filled her nostrils, causing more coughs. Everything ached and screamed, begged and pleaded. A hand shook her thigh.
"Hey, hey, Samara," Joel called out, reaching over Sarah. "Can you move?"
She blinked slowly, maneuvering left arm that got wrapped around the seat belt. A groan left her lips as she did so. Joel called out for her, trying to get her to focus on him and not the pain. But everything was agonizing.
Heat grew near, almost kissing her bronze skin as she looked out the shattered window. Tommy crawled out, eyeing the woman eating a child. He swiftly held his hand out for Samara, pulling her out. She bit down on her tongue, letting out a cry.
"You're okay, Sam, you're fine," Tommy consoled. He snatched up their guns and was reluctant to give Samara's hers. Thankfully, she was right handed. Tommy peered over his totaled trunk to find Joel and Sarah as okay as they could be. "We gotta get off the street!"
An ambulance siren blared. Samara and Tommy looked towards the source, finding it barreling towards them. Tommy yanked Samara in front of himself, guarding her as he shouted, "Oh, shit!"
"Tommy! Samara!"
The two spotted Joel and Sarah in the small opening of the two vehicles. Flames flickered, covering their faces. Samara couldn't see if they were okay. She wasn't even sure if she was okay. "Joel!"
"Head to the river! We'll find a way," Tommy assured both parents and their daughter. "Get her outta here, Joel! I've got Sam. Go!"
Shaken and reluctant, Samara shadowed Tommy as they maneuvered around what the town had become. Her heart ached terribly at the thought of her family going through this, without weapons and injured. Vehicles left stranded, if not destroyed like their own; buildings broken into; people scattered in fear and death; and the infected with an appetite unmet.
They just needed to find a way towards the river. But everything was in shambles. Every direction, every alleyway, every road blocked.
It was a maze. Each and every turn was a dead end, causing the mother's heart to ache in her chest. Her child and her husband were unarmed and injured, traversing the same terrors as they were. Why didn't she follow after Joel instead of allowing Tommy to get her out? Why didn't she act quicker? Why didn't she-
"Samara," Tommy muttered, pulling her into a crouch, hiding in the shadows of an alleyway. "Look at me."
Samara hadn't noticed how quick her breathing was. Her ears were filled with her pounding heart, drowning out other sounds.
In the years Tommy had known Samara, he knew how she could become a puppet to her own mind. A single thought of a dangerous what-if and it would spread like a forest fire. "We're gonna get out, ya hear me? Joel and your little girl are gonna be just fine. We're gonna be just fine."
Looking up at her brother-in-law with half-lidded eyes. "Don't lie to me," she spat, hearing the screams of terror echo throughout the town. "Don't you dare tell me another lie like that again, Tommy, or so help me God."
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, reciprocating her emotions right back. He tightened his hold on the rifle, flickering his eyes to the street.
"You say...you've got my back," she said, inhaling deeply, forcing everything back as far as she could. "And I got yours."
Disapproval crossed his mind but did not utter a word of it. He knew better, as did she. For different reasons but it was all the same in the end. All that mattered was surviving.
Each step had to be as calculated as the last. Not a sound could be made louder than the flames and screams, or else they would become them. Samara even contemplated her breathing patterns; how long she needed to hold her breath before her body quivered, how long she could let it out.
"Please, please, please, please," a voice spewed out rapidly, slurring and mashing their words together into an object.
Samara had made the mistake of nearing a broken window of a clothing boutique. An even bigger one when she glanced over at the sound. A man rocked back and forth over a body, cradling it as the shadows enveloped their bodies. Her breath hitched.
His body froze.
An instant. A split second, just enough time to process. That's all it took. A single inhale. A single glance. The smallest of actions. That's all.
As if something had clicked in his brain, the man sprung up onto his hands and knees. His eyes were swollen with darkness as one eyeball was forced to share space with tendrils that reached out like a third hand. He slammed into the counter, but swiftly continued as if pain was not real.
Tommy lined the notch with his eye, taking a shot. It hit the infected shoulder. Just as it did Nana's corpse, it rendered useless. The shot sounded louder than the flames and screams, and for a moment, a split second of a moment, Samara thought the world went silent.
But she was blinded by hope. Hope was just a bystander, as was God, listening to the pleas like the chorus of a song they knew by heart. The words rolled off their tongues like they were their own. It had been ingrained in their heads for so long, yet they would never need to beg.
The ground rumbled as a handful of feet stomped on the asphalt, terrorizing Mother Nature herself.
"Go. Go, go, go, go."
The Millers ran with no other choice. God watched, sending them his best wishes despite having a piece of himself longing to see them get ripped apart.
Tommy ushered Samara to run ahead of him as he made sporadic looks back. His mind was racing almost as face as his legs were. He nearly missed Samara darting into the shadows of an alleyway and into an open door.
She pulled him into the wall, clamping her hand over his mouth as the group of infected passed by them. She watched through the slit of the door, holding her breath for as long as she could.
Once they had passed-ensured by the screams of some other innocent people-Samara inhaled shakily, letting go of Tommy. Her hand rested over her abdomen, over what would've been.
The crack provided a sliver of light in the window-deprived room. Samara hovered over Tommy as he led the way through the building. The building turned out to be an apartment complex. The long hallway from the laundry room they were just in felt like it elongated with each step. Stiff air rubbed against Samara's fears.
Tommy motioned towards the left hallway. Samara hesitated. She glanced at the entrance where darkness stood waiting for her. He knew better than her at this moment, so she followed.
"What're you doing?" Samara dared to break the silence.
His hand hovered over an apartment door. "The river's on the other side, Sam, we gotta get through."
The risks were evident in his expression and his adjusted grip. He turned the knob slowly. Unlocked. Creeping in just as slowly and cautiously, Tommy scanned the destroyed living room. The couch had been flipped, papers scattered around accompanied by shattered photos.
"C'mon."
It was almost as if God was finished with his games, the river was visible to Samara. Empty and vast, untouched by the havoc. Untouched by her family.
"They're probably hidin','' Tommy suggested, easing Samara's thoughts. She nodded, choosing to believe him rather than herself.
Tommy set down the rifle against the wall to open the window. Her eyes couldn't help but wonder. They fell on a family photo. Smudged with mud and pieces of shattered glass on top, the family of three smiled brightly and without fear. A father, a mother, and a daughter.
A lump formed in Samara's throat. Her eyes bounced off of every wall that had a door. Open. Open. Open. Closed. Right beside the bathroom, a closed door with smeared bloody handprints was adjacent to her position.
Frustration boiled in Tommy. He snatched his rifle, taking the butt of it against the window. Glass burst before Samara could fathom what he just did. They locked eyes before a snarl came behind Samara.
Hands gripped her thin shirt as she spun around, knocking her left foot with her right. She and the infected woman tumbled over the flipped couch. The monster crawled over her, screaming in her face as tendrils reached for Samara.
Up-close, Samara could faintly see the woman in the family photo. Her green eyes were dull, eyebags sunk like craters in her skin. If it weren't for the tendrils, she would have just been a tired version of the woman in the photo. But she wasn't.
She was nothing like the woman before.
With her hand pressed against its jaw, forcing it to look up into the ceiling with her nails digging into pale skin, Samara fought off its hands with her other hand. "The head!"
Her hand slipped, allowing the infected to gain the upper hand. Hunger versus survival. The infected's head was too close to Samara's for Tommy to take the shot and not take her out as well. "Tommy!"
God was laughing. Crackling with tears in his eyes as he knew what was to come.
Using her arm to keep it away, Samara reached around herself for her gun. Instead she found something jagged and sharp. It cut her palm and fingers, but she didn't care. She drove it into the infected's temple.
Tommy yanked it off of her, pulling her onto her feet. "Did it get you!? Are you good?" He took her bleeding palm into his.
She could only stare at the corpse, trying to regain her breath. Its fingers lingered around her throat and collarbone. The attempts to ravage on her skin failed. She was alive. She was alive. "'M good."
Tommy nodded, ushering Samara out the window first once she picked her revolver up again.
Two figures stood on a pathway. One with a flashlight, aiming it on the other. No. The other figure was two people, one holding the other, cradling their head into their shoulder. Samara could recognize the brown cloud of curls and messy brown locks from anywhere.
Her legs started before her brain could compute what she was really running towards. All she saw was her family. They were safe.
And then they weren't.
The other figure was a soldier, carrying an automatic rifle, aiming the barrel at her world. Bullets released in a frenzy. Joel spun the shield Sarah. Her yelp echoed up the hill, triggering Samara's brain to act.
The bullet escaped the revolver quicker than her exhale, taking down the soldier that towered over Joel before he could finish the job.
"Mara," Joel let out in relief, followed by a grunt. He lifted his shirt to find a gash, but no bullet wound. It has grazed his skin,
only to enter Sarah's. Through and through.
"No."
Gasping for air, Sarah's eyes frantically flickered between her parents. A foreign strand of panic and fear blistered in Sarah. As if they were still connected, Samara felt it. The agony and fear that ached through her small body. For once in her time being a parent, Samara unprepared. How could you prepare for this?
"No."
Samara had never thought of what it would be life to be without the sun. As a scientist, she knew its importance and the one-in-a-million chance that Earth received. Earth was the goldilocks planet. So lucky. So rare. Unheard of.
There was nothing like the Earth. If there was, it simply was. Past tense. At some point they always succumb to an end. Everything does. There is no such thing as beginning if there is no end. All that in between was time.
Samara could not help but think of all the time wasted. The amount of times she missed Sarah's soccer games. The amount of times she focused on the bad things Sarah had done, instead of the thousands of good things. The amount of times she let her go too soon instead of holding on. A hand filled with things that could have been filled with Sarah.
"No!"
Now they were all that remained of her.
She would become one with the Earth. Her energy would be transferred into something new. Something almost as good as what she was. Past tense. Her body would decompose, providing energy to other living things as she did when she was living. Flowers will sprout and die in her place as winter comes and goes. Someone will pass them without care and they will never know it was Sarah who caused them. How could they?
How could he? How could someone rip away a life that barely began? How could they take away her chance of being known for all that she is instead of was. Past tense. How could they take away Samara's chance to see what would become of her daughter? Hypotheticals.
Sarah did not deserve to be spoken in past tense and speculations. She deserved the present and certainties. She deserved to wake up in the same endless cycle of their simple life until it was time for her to make her own endless cycle. She deserved life.
Why give life only to take it? Samara began to think of the God or Gods she did not believe in. How heartless they were for this. Why did they give humans fire only to burn them with it? If they needed a life, she would have gladly given her. A thousand times over, a thousand ways, a thousand times more painful. Anything for her child.
In all honesty, it felt as if the Gods received two lives when they asked for one. And he must have enjoyed it. His laughter boomed over them, tears falling down his cheeks-not of pain, but of joy. This was a glorious moment for him.
How could Samara be alive when all that she lived for was gone? She wasn't. She was not living. She was just bones, skin, and blood. She was just breathing, blinking, and there.
She just was.
And Sarah was not.
"...no."
6.2k words
ngl i procrastinated the end so hard because it hurts so much. I couldn't write the actual scene so i stuck to Samara's head, hopefully that still hits the same way as the show.
i really hope you guys liked this chapter, sorry for the wait!
also! please give helpful feedback and tell me your thoughts! it not only helps me become a better writer but lets us interact more <3