Hope's Last Breath

You know what they say about strength in numbers? Yeah, well, whoever said that was preaching bullshit. Being in a group is the last thing you want to do; too many uncertainties, too many unnecessary variables that get in the way of survival. Sure, you may be able to do things quicker, scour areas for supplies faster and all that, but at the end of the day each person you're with is just like a bottle of champagne; it only takes a bit of encouragement for their top to pop and you just don't know when it's going to happen or what is going to do it. That sort of thing is something you need to avoid in a world like this.

When life is balanced on a knife-edge, taking chances is pretty much a no-go. Being alone means you only need to take care of yourself, and you know exactly what your limits are. Reliance on others is never something you want to end up pinning all of your hopes on. If you make a mistake you deserve to die in this world.

At least, that's what I've learnt in these past…how long has it been now…18 months? Heh. I guess time has no real place here now. Just like a lot of things don't. Thankfully maps are still a thing. Never did trust satnavs all too much anyway. Ruined one of my family's holidays once. Took us bloody hours to get back on track. Car felt like it was going to melt, too. On the radio they said it was around 35 degrees Celsius. I think that took everyone by surprise. We were more used to getting a bit of a thorough soaking more than anything else. Not that any of that matters now, though. Anecdotes aren't helping me get out of North Carolina, and this rain isn't doing me nay good either. The sound of the brutal combination of wind and rain out here does make sure my movements are as muffled as they can be, so that's always a nice thing.

Getting caught by groups of survivors is probably the thing I'm most afraid of these days. walkers? They're easy to suss out. Survivors are unpredictable. Dangerous. In fact, Savannah and its people were almost the death of me. Crawford was more perilous than I ever thought it would be. Bastards shot me in the right arm. Good thing that The Marsh House still wasn't ridden with zombies when I got there so that I could patch myself up. The people in that 'community' were more unrelenting than the damn walkers sometimes. My only hope is that they got what was coming to them. I took enough of their shit to keep me going for a good while, though: meds, food, ammunition…it's gonna be a while before they recuperate. Hopefully.

I brush the hair out of my eyes and grit my teeth as I trounce through the undergrowth. My gaze turns itself onto the river next to me; it's swollen to all hell. Falling in there is almost as much of a death trap as being locked in a room with walkers. Almost no way you're gonna be surviv-

"Kid, you are on my last fucking nerve!"

Survivors? What the hell is this? Why are they here in the middle of nowhere?

I reach for the revolver by my side before crouching down behind a thick wall of bushes, that particular sequence of actions now as natural as breathing. With bated breath, I slowly make my way forward, ever vigilant of any walking corpses heading my way. My attention soon lands on the one making the terrible racket. He looks like a typical bandit to me. Then again…everyone does these days. Who's this guy calling a kid, anyway? Any actual children would have died by now.

"Let GO of me!"

Oh, shit…that's a kid alright. A little girl. Who the heck would be attacking a girl?

I shake my head is disgust and raise the revolver. Whoever it is deserves to die. It's close enough to be at least a 70% headshot chance. With my index finger able to feel the deathly coldness of the steel trigger, I take one last look around and…No…no, no, no. FUCK! I fucking knew they would attract the walkers! No way am I going to be giving up my stealth advantage by risking the shot now. Even if I do land the shot, this place is going to be overrun with walkers any minute. Any chance of escape would be gone, and for what? A girl who I know nothing about? What if she's already bitten? Maybe…maybe that's why this guy's doing what he's doing…

I holster my weapon and take my crowbar out, deciding to use that to escape instead. This isn't a risk I can take. Not now. Perhaps it's not right, but…this is about survival, not heroism. I begin to back away, trying my best to shut out the sound of the girl's struggles. This isn't something I can get myself into. If there are more bandits nearby then I'm dead. It's a simple as that. I know how they work; they're merciless.

Before I take off downstream, I glance over my shoulder at the girl one more time, a walker now grabbing her by the arm. Her panicked state brings her eyes to lock with mine for a fleeting second. Words can't do justice to the look in those little girl's eyes. I don't think she's actually noticed me in this darkness, but the moment she looked in my direction lasts for what seems like an eternity.

I should be feeling something right about now. Guilt, anger, melancholy, regret...something. I feel nothing. This is normality now, though, isn't it? Death and destruction lies around every corner. Being upset is just…too much of a risk to survival. This is who we are now. This is how we survive. Survival of the fittest. The girl's survived this long already. She didn't do too bad all things considered.

It doesn't take too long for the woods to fall silent once again. Only the occasional moan or demonic snarl of the undead and the satisfying shatter of its skull that follows is what breaks the eerie silence of the night. My grip on the crowbar is still so tight that it feels as if my skin is going to bind with the metal. I relax just slightly, being careful to keep a wary eye on anything that might decide to shoot me, bite me, rob me or rip into me. I smile to myself at the thought. There's nothing out here now that just wants to be friends with you, is there? Well…not that I'd ever trust them if they wanted to be friends with me. Not after last time.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the here and the now. The past is gone and there's nothing that's going to change that. I'm still breathing, so I must be doing something right. Speaking of breathing….I've already been walking since I first got up today. It's about time that I hunkered down somewhere for a while. My death isn't going to come from me being tired, not after all I've done for myself so far. I'd never forgive myself for it. These sorts of woods usually have small huts and the like along their tracks. Nothing fancy, but they're safe for about 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Just clear out what's in them and don't make any noise; I'm sure that waking up to a walker in your room wouldn't be too thrilling. You couldn't buy a better alarm clock than that, though.

It's been too long since I've been able rest with the peace of mind that zombies weren't going to abruptly end my stay in the land of the living, and that didn't change last night. Traps can only do so much and travelling alone means you need to travel light. These days, though, every step you take is a potential risk to your life. The only true defence I have against anything is silence and stealth. Get in, take what you need, get out, move on. Staying in one place for too long is just a long term death sentence, be it from bandits or walkers. I have no regrets about taking from those people who do that, no matter who is in their group. Out of sight, out of mind. That's what it takes to survive now. Before this had all started I would have been disgusted with my present self, but if I hadn't changed I would be dead.

It's places like these that pain me the most. The places that remind me of what it was like before. Rusted vehicles, unpacked belongings and shredded tents; it's the world in a nutshell. Photos of happy families…that's an alien prospect to everyone now. Not something I'd like to dwell on, either. Whoever this family was doesn't matter anymore.

Without too much of a care, I place the ragged and worn picture back into the cardboard box I found it in face down among the other abandoned pieces of junk. I turn my attention onto the rest of the camp, crowbar held loosely in my hand. There's probably nothing of worth here, anyway. It's likely already been looted to all hell. I'm here now, though, so I might as well look around while I can. I move around the perimeter of the camp, ensuring that I don't glean over anything whatsoever. It's the little things that make the difference now. Passing up any sort of supplies is insanity.

As expected, nothing comes of the search. Nothing other than empty cans, the smell of rotting food and…rotten flesh. It's never something someone can get used to, but, y'know…it's always a nice bit of motivation to keep on living. This poor sod tied to a tree? This would've been me if I was still the same person as I was in the first few weeks of the outbreak. I've seen people turn right in front of my eyes. There is no worse fate. Just seeing their personality drain right out of their body is heart-wrenching.

I crouch down just a couple of metres away from the walker. It doesn't look like he's been disturbed for a fucking age. I mean, damn, he still has the knife he must've used to try and cut the arm off lodged into his shoulder. Its snarls grow more vicious as the seconds pass; its outstretched arms are nowhere near close enough to worry me. Makes me wonder how long it's been here. No one's taken the knife, yet. Maybe people haven't passed through here in a while. That or they didn't have the balls to kill it. No matter.

In a flash, the walker's body turns limp and its skull caves in. I yank the crowbar out of the mass of rotting tissue inside its head. Crimson-coloured blood coats the bark of the tree and the ground underneath the corpse. I take the knife from its arm, slightly disappointed at just how small the blade is. My penchant for weapons that can destroy a head within mere moments still hasn't been lost after all these years.

Wiping both weapons clean on my trousers, I swiftly take off down the track leading out of the camp. The less time spent here, the better. I may have bagged myself a walker kill and not-so-shiny new weapon, but that isn't shit if I get caught by bandits. One brief compass check and I'm set. As long as I'm heading north I'm happy. Before yesterday night it'd been at least a week since I'd ran into other survivors or had a near-death scenario. The perks of the countryside, eh?

In all honesty, I never was a city guy. Sure, all the decent jobs and events were in London and those sorts of places, but they were just so packed with people that it never appealed to me. I suppose the walkers did thin out the crowd quite a bit, huh? The selfish bastards kept the space for themselves, though…Now they want to take over the damn countryside, too! If I didn't know that they were walking corpses then I'd say that they were some kind of crazy environmentalists or something. Can't get rid of them even in the zombie apocalypse and…wait, what the hell…? Ah, shit. Me and my fucking mouth.

Walkers. Where the fuck did they all come from? This is A-grade bullshit right here. Karma was never this much of bitch. Time to run the fuck away, I guess. Ah, this sucks. Cross-country running never was my forte. Then again, you don't exactly have to be Usain Bolt to outrun these piles of rotting flesh and guts. They're called what they are for a reason. I take one last look around and the sudden amassing of the undead, grimacing at one in particular. I haven't seen an undead child since Savannah. The sight never ceases to penetrate so deeply into my heart. I'd be…I'd be…

The fuck?

I unholster my revolver, firing a shot at one of the walkers nearest to me clean through the head. That isn't a zombie. It's the same girl from yesterday.

I dart forward, quickly covering the short distance between us before sweeping her up and dashing straight out of the clutches of the walkers in one clean movement. I've never been so thankful for tunnel vision in my life. My legs don't stop moving until I hear nothing but the sound of my boots crunching twigs and flattening the grass beneath me. A brief glance over my shoulder brings no threats to the fore. It takes a few moments for the weight of the kid I'm carrying to become apparent to the muscles in my arms. My eyes shoot wide open in shock as I take another look down into my arms. What the fuck am I doing? Now the fate of this girl's on my ass. Just a bloody liabi-

"You-you can put me down now…I can…I can walk just fine."

This is…ah, this is a terrible idea…

"You talk the talk, but you can't walk the walk. Literally." I continue to move forward, aware of the girl's tired yet defiant stare as much as I'm aware of the sun on my face. I ignore it as best I can. Having her on my books doesn't change anything. Well…other than the fact that the length of time my supplies are gonna last has been cut in half. And I'm constantly going to need to keep one eye on her…

I sigh to myself in exasperation. She must have been with a group to get this far. A kid her age wouldn't have survived on her own through this. They'll be searching for her if they really wanted to protect her, but I'd imagine that they wouldn't want any trouble if they were the sorts of people looking after children.

"So…how did you get here, er..." It only just occurs to me that I don't actually know her name.

"Clementine."

"…Clementine. Kids don't make it far without help."

"I'm not a kid."

"Is that so?" I raise my eyebrows in amusement and smile. "What are you, then?"

"A survivor." She answers firmly, if not somewhat solemnly. "There are no kids or men or women in the world today. There are no strong or weak. There are only survivors." Silence invades the air for a moment or two. Honestly, I have to agree with her there. It's just…not something I'd imagine someone her age to be saying. Then again, a lot has changed since the time of the internet and all-you-can-eat buffets.

"Can't disagree. How'd you survive so long, though? Not seen someone your age in bloody ages."

"I was…with…a group." Clementine replies. She's clearly not feeling too good, and that's a worry. I'd better ask her a few questions before moving on. Her group seems like a good place to start. Doesn't sound like she's with them anymore if her use of the past tense is anything to go by.

"Was? What happened?"

"We…we got to Savannah to try and find a boat, but it didn't work."

"Such is the way of life now." I answer heavy-heartedly. She doesn't need to say anymore for me to understand what happened. Savannah is a death-trap. I just hope Crawford didn't get them. "You with anyone at the moment? Savannah's a long way away now."

"I was with one person, but we got attacked by bandits. We got separated yesterday."

Damn, this girl has had it rough. Probably isn't something she wants to talk about. Not right now. Right now it looks like she just wants to rest.

"How're you feeling?"

"Horrible. I got bitten by a dog and it…really…really hurts."

I tense up for a second, but relax immediately afterwards. For a second there I swear my heart was in my mouth. In fact, it still kind of is. Dogs aren't exactly commonplace. And we've just met. If she's lying…

"Let me see it, Clementine." I place her down against a nearby tree before crouching down to her level and slipping my rucksack off my shoulders. I glance up at her as I unzip the main compartment. She gazes back at me anxiously. It doesn't take a lot to convince her to work with me. Just one look of reassurance and she's rolling her bloodied sleeve up, albeit with gritted teeth and a pained grimace. What she reveals is worse than I'd imagined.

"You're tough, I'll give you that."

"I need to be tough now." The girl says, her voice as weary as her body.

I nod lightly in agreement, reaching out to carefully take her forearm in my hands. A sigh of relief almost immediately leaves my mouth.

"Well, it isn't a walker bite, I'll give you that. Walker bites don't have that sort of shape." I examine the laceration for a few moments more until I'm pretty damn certain that no walker could have done that. I put my hand on her shoulder and shoot her a smile. "I'll get you fixed up. It'll hurt a little bit, but that's no problem. I know you'll deal with it just fine."

"You sound different."

"Different?" I tilt my head in surprise at the sudden change in subject. "I'm from Britain, if that's what you mean." I say nonchalantly, beginning to root around in my rucksack for my medical supplies. "I was on holiday in Florida. Me and a few of my mates. Great timing, eh? I knew there was gonna be a catch to that fuckin' economy flight…"

"Mates?"

"Eh, British slang for friends. You can take the man out of Britain, but you can't take the Britain out of the man. If you're going to be staying with me then you'll need to get used to it."

Ah, shit. I'm already getting soft. I pretty much just offered her the chance to stay with me long term.

"The name's Lucas Carter, by the way." I reach down into the depths of the bag, pulling out a small box containing a syringe of morphine. I was hoping not to have to use this for a while, but…it doesn't matter now.

"Lu-Lucas Carter!? I know you. Christa and Omid were friends with you. They told me about you."

I…I don't…what?

"Omid? Christa? Shit…they're alive?"

"I-"

"Hey, now! You two over there! We don't want no trouble so just stay calm! We were out hunting when we heard a gunshot so we came running."

I turn to my left and my whole body freezes in fear. Two men come running down the hill, weapons in hand. The younger of the two is carrying a machete, the older man with the crossbow. My eyes meet Clementine's again for a brief moment before returning to the two strangers. She's just as afraid as I am.

"Yeah, we're just worried is all. I mean we got a group to protect. You ain't bandits or anything are ya?"

"Come on, Luke, you really think bandits would be travelling with kids?"

"I'm just patching her up. She got bitten by a dog and-"

"A dog? I ain't seen a dog 'round these parts for god knows how long." The older man cuts me off, stepping closer to get a better look.

"I've been surviving out here alone for the past year. I think I know what I'm bloody talking about." I chastise, giving the pair an icy cold stare.

"Well look, if you're alone then you can come over to our cabin and we'll get her all fixed up in no time. We have a doctor. He can take a look at it, make sure you're not makin' a mistake with that wound."

"Yeah, you can even stay with us during the time the injury takes to heal up. It's safe where we are. Walkers got no chance of storming the place." The young man, presumably Luke, says to us, glancing back and forth between Clementine and I. He seems to be about my age, actually.

"Nowhere's safe forever..." I mutter under my breath, out of earshot of the two newcomers. Clementine hears it, though, and she gives me an understanding look. At least she isn't stupid…

"Whatd'ya say? If ya don't like it then you've got no obligation to stay." The crossbow-wielding man inquires, taking a friendlier stance. Though that could mean anything…

"Clementine? You wanna take them up on their offer?" I ask.

"I say we go with them. They might know about Christa." She remarks hopefully, a glint of happiness in her eyes.

"Alright…If we can find any info on Omid and Christa then it's worth it." I throw the box of morphine back into my bag and zip it shut, slinging it onto my shoulder. My attention turns back onto the two survivors. "There's a reason why I travel on my own. I don't trust groups. And I don't trust you, either. Not yet. Any funny business and I won't be best pleased."

"Well, looks like it's settled then. I'm Pete and this is Luke." Pete steps towards me and offers his hand for me to shake. I reluctantly comply after helping Clementine to her feet and taking her into my arms. He gestures for me to follow him.

"I said I can…urrgh…I said I can…I can walk." She whispers to me. I don't buy into it, and I won't no matter how hard she tries.

"Save what energy you have. You're going to need it later, alright, Clem?"

"Okay, Lucas, o-kay…"

Oh, this is such a bloody bad idea…