Sam Printer Hype: Feb. 2019

Sam Printer finished cleaning and oiling his old pistol. Checking the gunsight once more, he holstered it and went to grab his backpack, checking for the 100th time whether or not he had everything.

The voices in his head while quieter than normal were still ever present, mocking him. “What do you think anyone actually missed you at Bravo? Do you really think anyone cares? You know it’s still 2 weeks away, still plenty of time for you to back out. Yeah, something is bound to happen to pull you away. No one wants you there anyway.”

He did his best to ignore the voices and ran through his mental checklist of what was necessary to bring into town and what he could leave behind. Mind you it was still a couple of weeks away, but he was excited and ready. His letter had been delivered to his bosses and none of them had said anything. Not an eerie sense of silence on the topic but definitely not a rope or chase off scenario he had half-way expected. He snorted in thought, would that be the case if Remington Masters was around? He knew Remington may still be looking for him. Not out of malice or hate, but out of duty for his lost friends and community. No, not out of revenge but out of justice. Sam was surprised that Remington hadn’t found him yet to be honest.

Ignoring the voices in his head and his own bleak thoughts of yesteryears sins, he focused on how good he had felt a couple months back standing toe to toe against the undead and monsters of the wastelands; his utter fearlessness against the horde to rescue (attempted) his friends (failed, they died you lived… just like before…)

Sam stopped.. The voices were right. It didn’t matter his courage, his finally being able to overcome his own fear and hid flight response to stand and fight. He had tried to rescue others and in the end he had survived, while they had dies. He hadn’t really changed had he? He was still letting those in his community, his family die around him while he stayed safe.

He looked at his backpack and considered unpacking it. He was no good at Bravo, just as he wasn’t any good at the two communities he had left in his past. Everyone dead or dying. The few alive probably still looking for him to enact if not vengeance, then justice. And could he blame them?

Sam turned his back on the back pack and the voices, though he still heard them. They had a hold of him and wouldn’t let go so easily. Not when they found a niche in his armor. He would go to Bravo as planned with his caravan. He would keep his back straight. Inside though the voices reminded him over and over again how unworthy he was to be there.

Once again he checked the sights on his pistol. A sense of dread starting to overcome him.

Photo Credit: Heather Halstead