New Girl in the Howe's

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to 'The Walking Dead Game'; it is strictly the property of TellTale Games. Please support the official release.

(Becca's POV)

I remember the day Clementine first stepped foot through the heavy metal gate that was 'Howe's' front door, as though it were yesterday.
I say 'front door' in the loosest way possible, not because it had once been the main entrance to the building, but rather it was our one and only means to get outside that wasn't blocked by thick iron bars or a pretty large drop. No, the former loading bay was our, by which I mean 'Us Prisoners', one glimpse of sweet juicy freedom; at least until Troy blocked it back up with his God Damn Truck! In retrospect it's no wonder Carver kept the thing guarded at all times.

The bearded psycho was kind of a dick that way… you know, on top of being a psycho… and bearded.

Yeah Clem didn't think it was funny the first time I told her either. Different tastes I guess?

Anyway, it was near the end of the second week in a row since Carver had left, still on the hunt for the 'missing' group. Although 'missing' had been the word Carver used, everyone else at Howe's Hardware/Survivors Camp knew better. Carver was a psycho, a bomb with a half-second timer, or as Eddie called him, "A bear with a cactus up his ass". Even with the seemingly endless amount of backbreaking work Carver put us through, that one comment still made us laugh every once in a while.
Nah, Carver had a different agenda. He didn't want what he considered to be his property to escape.

Frankly if they wanted to risk their lives out there in the cold with the Lurkers, I'd say let 'em go. Far as I was concerned it was the weak-links and head-cases that left anyway, so who cared? Rebecca and Carlos, those two were assholes just like Carver, always complaining about every little stupid thing. Luke walked around like he was the big man in charge, at least when he and Carver weren't butting heads. And as for Sarah… Sarah was the worst.
At first, a little after their group arrived, I truly thought we could be friends. I mean how lucky could I get, the youngest person I'd talked to since the world when crazy was this guy from my group, Russel, the guy was only sixteen and he still talked down to me. Now I'd get to hang out with someone my own age, sounds great right? Well that was before I talked to her; And Oh My God, it was like talking to someone who'd spent the last two and a half years in a soundproof box, buried miles underground and stuffed with packing peanuts! Sarah was the very definition of the word sheltered. Heck, my big sister Shel taught me enough about the state of the world and everything on it to know how to kick butt with the best of 'em, but Sarah was a lost cause, there was no way she could last a day on the outside. Her dad watched her like a hawk, and the first time I try and talk to her, she says to me… "You should go, I can't talk to you. My dad says you're a 'Bad Person'."

A Bad Person?! What the flying fudge was that about? Who did her dear old dad think he was, I'd never said two words to the guy and as for Sarah, she wouldn't say another word to me after, every time she'd just blank me. Acted like I wasn't even there. I don't care how petty it sounds, once she and the others ran off, I hoped she'd get chomped. Get herself a nice big hickey from a passing Lurker. Anything to take Miss holier-than-thou down a peg or two, same with her douchey dad. If him and others wanted out of the only survivor camp with water and power for who knows many miles, it was their funeral.
Unfortunately I wasn't that lucky; Not only did Carver drag them all back in chains, (all except old man Pete and Carver's stooge Johnny, for some reason), but they also brought friends with them.

I remember thinking, as Carver strode confidently ahead of the fresh meat, 'Great, the bearded psycho's back! And he brought more mouths to feed.'

But that was Carver in a nutshell, the guy was a survivor. He knew what he wanted and he wouldn't stop till he got it. He couldn't have stayed gone; no the universe wasn't that generous apparently. Tavia, the fat cow he'd left to run things in his place was a real hard ass, but I'd take her over Carver any day.

My sister and I were taking inventory of the survey group's latest haul when the weak-links returned. Mostly bottles of shampoo and toothpaste, but hey beggars can't be choosers. The group marched in two's through the heavily guarded hall like some sick parade of human misery; my sort of friend Russel was one of the guards posted on the walk ways, lording over the hapless prisoners/workers with their big guns. He told me most of them had this defeated look about them, as he put it. Like they'd just given up. Now I only got a glimpse through the gap in a shelving rack, all I could see was Carlos getting dragged in one direction while Sarah and some other girl got pushed toward the pen by Tavia.

"He'll be back…" At least I think that's what I heard the girl say, and when Sarah asked when that would be she replied, "I don't know, but he will be back." And of course she, the girl who I'd later learn was named Clementine, was thanked.

You have to understand, at the time I didn't understand. I didn't know Clementine. I didn't know where she'd come from and what she'd been through. I didn't know how amazing she was. I didn't…

Look, mistakes were made. Mistakes and regrets that if I could take back I would. I had only just turned fourteen and the only family I had was my big sister, the person that nature dictated I wasn't supposed to get along with except on trips to Disneyland or when we're in our twenties and living separately. At the end of the day, what I did lead to where I am now. Would things be different if I'd done things differently? Would I even want to? I don't know. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The moment I saw Clementine or as I knew her at that moment, 'Clem', get thanked by Sarah of all people! Well needless to say, I wasn't happy. My group was here first, then Carlos arrives here with his ditzy daughter, his group drives the bearded psycho even further over the edge, and he has the nerve to call me a bad person. But oh wait a second… apparently this random girl covered in blood, sweat and what I hoped was dirt, was worthy of almighty Sarah's friendship. How blessed she must be.
Sarcasm aside, I was ticked off. Of course Sarah had to come back, but she also brought a friend. Great, two people near my age I can't talk to.

I watched as Troy ordered the prisoners through to the pen. From up in his proverbial ivory tower, Carver announced his latest royal decree to us lowly peasants. For some reason I thought back to my old house, specifically the 'Robin Hood' adventure book on my nightstand that I never finished reading. It's probably still there now.

"Becca, we have to finish taking stock. Carver's back now, if he catches us not working…" I heard my sister say beside me. Looking up I could see Carver wasn't at his office window anymore. Which was all the more reason to get busy; you never knew when the psycho might spring out at you like some demented jack-in-a-box.

"Whatever, so how come 'Grizzly Adams' brought new folks back?" Shel acted skittish for about a minute, her eyes darted this way and that, before they fell back on me.

"Bec for the love of God, don't say stuff like that out loud! Do you wanna get thrown in the pen? Cause that's what he'll do if he finds out." I didn't like what the end of the world did to my sister. She went from my sporty, movie watchin' buddy to full on den-mother. Lots of fun to no fun at all. Maybe that was my problem, deep down I knew she cared but I just couldn't accept it. I wanted my sister, not a stand in for mom.

"Hey, you guys see the newbies? They have a kid, an honest-to-God kid. Hell she's even smaller than you Bec." Russel was leaning against the shelving rack we were organizing, both hands held a tight grip on his rifle, almost as though he was expecting trouble.

"Jesus Russ, don't sneak up on us like that. I thought you were Carver… and who are you calling small?" I liked Russel, I really did. The guy always knows when to talk and when to keep it shut. He's careful, but not overly so. Nice guy.

"Relax Lil' Becky, Boss man's talking' business with Tavia. Troy's on watch at the pen and Stan's gotta work double time on the main door. We got a few minutes to ourselves."

"What's wrong with the door?" My sister had a knack for butting into conversations. A skill I had yet to master.

"How did you not hear? Troy backed into the damn thing and almost ripped it off the wall, now it won't close all the way." Pretty sure I was being phased out of the conversation about now.

"Are we in any danger? The Lurker swarm is only a few days away."
"Relax, if Stan can rebuild half a truck engine, he can fix a dented door."
"I know I just worry. Nowadays it's like, if something can go wrong, it goes wrong."

"What'd I tell you about calling me Lil' Becky?!" I thought it sounded intimidating, but Shel and Russ's rising grins told me otherwise.

"Tell you what, the second you can high-five me without jumping, that'll be the day I stop calling you that." I knew better than to challenge him on that. I still had my dignity, though it was lessened slightly when he mussed my hair as he left. This is why I liked Vince and Russel so much; they were like brothers to me. Big doofus brothers, but they made things fun, even if it was just a funny comment or a poorly executed high-five. I think my sister liked Vince, but for completely different reasons. None of that for me though, I hadn't met a guy I liked like that… still haven't to this day.

Well after so many hours of counting label-less grey cans that could contain anything from dogfood to reindeer meat, Tavia finally came down from the office to let us rest for the evening. Behind her I spotted Alvin being led up the stair case of almost no-return. From what I'd heard Shel and Wyatt talking about Carver's involvement with Rebecca, something told me we wouldn't be seeing much of Alvin after today. Does that sound harsh? Looking back, yes. But at the time all I thought was, 'I don't like Rebecca, and if this gets to her, who am I to get in the way.' I made toward the living quarters with Shel, but Tavia's big arm blocked my way. The other shoved a broom at me.

"Carver said he wants you to sweep the loading area, those escapees tracked allot of dirt through there so you're gonna be busy for a while." God I hated that woman; it wasn't enough that I was gonna miss dinner over this, but that condescending grin of hers told me she was happy about it. I liked her better when she first brought my group here; she seemed more genuine back then, now she just seemed jaded and kinda cynical. I guess you really can't judge a book by its cover, or maybe you can in Carver's case.

"What? No, we've been working all day. She's tired, she needs to eat and get some rest." Shel was at a weird cross road with me during her more than a little embarrassing outburst. On the one hand I was happy she cared, and I really didn't wanna sweep the entire loading bay by myself. But her coddling and way of speaking made it sound like I'm a toddler, a baby who can't do things for herself or worse, Sarah!

"Oh yeah, well Carver just thought that if you two have time to yak it up with the guards, then clearly you're not working hard enough. Or maybe you are workin' hard, and you just decided to goof off. Now I wonder what he'd say to that, hmm Shel, what do you think?" Forget being embarrassed; now I was pissed. Shel had this tired look about her, like she wanted to say more and probably could, but it would just be a waste of air. Reluctantly she was led off by Wyatt. He quickly shot me a look of silent apology but my mind was too tired to respond.
I don't know if you've ever stayed up late after a really busy day at school, or maybe work? I did once. After a while I started seeing black spots in my vision and my head felt like I was balancing a pole up there with a fat pigeon on one side.

That was how I felt at this very moment. An entire warehouse to sweep, by myself, next to a busted door that may or may not have Lurkers on the other side. And to think, people thought Carver was a bad leader. I know right? Where'd they get such crazy thoughts. Stepping through the double doors I had to resist the urge to groan. It looked even bigger when I was tired.

Over by the door were Stan and some guy with a gun whose name I'd never learned, mainly because I didn't care. The door was open slightly at the bottom. I'm pretty sure if I got on my hands and knees I could probably crawl under there with no trouble. Not that I ever would of course. If there's one thing running away from our old leader, Roman, taught me. It was to know when to stand strong and when to run. I still had no regrets for what we did at the dinner, under Romans orders. We did what we had to do. But the guy was losing it and unlike Carver, Roman wasn't outgunned if (or rather) when he went off the deep end.
I got to work sweeping right away, my hope being that I could still eat something before lights out. But the dirt and dust was thick; I kid you not, the floor was a different color underneath. Which sadly meant I couldn't sweep at a fast pace. One missed spot and Carver would be on my case with a toothbrush in one hand and a moist napkin in the other, demanding I do it again.
My legs hurt. My head hurt, my… well let's just save time and say that everything hurt. I mean really? Berry picking at the crack of dawn, or sometimes you're sent out scavenging for supplies; then building extensions to our perimeter fence, one quick break and then we were back to the fence. The stronger of us clear out the few wondering Lurkers still shuffling around in the parking lot, whilst the rest got to work on either inventory or guard duty. And of course those of us whom the supervisors claimed 'did a piss poor job' or whoever they didn't like at the time got shafted with the late night cleaning. I was the latter. Some days Howe's felt less like the oasis Carver said it was and more like a slave labour camp, with prisoners who'd willingly walked in. Well not all of us, but the extras in Sarah's group were guilty of association. No way would Carver risk leaving a few able bodies behind, especially with a swarm on the march.

I'd been sweeping for what felt like an eternity. Occasionally I'd hear a dirty remark from Stan as he worked away on the door, and every now and then his guard would climb under the door and comeback with just a little more Lurker blood on him then the last time. I never heard a single gunshot and the guy just went back to standing there like nothing had happened. Honestly, that scared me more than any Lurker. Lurkers are predictable; but people? You never know what they're going to do.

The sound of rustling paper snapped me out of my thoughts; on the ground, under a thin layer of dirt was what appeared to be a ripped picture. Specifically it was a ripped photograph of a dark skinned man, his face smiling and looking cheerfully at the camera. Glancing back at the two men, both distracted by their own menial tasks, I dusted the picture off and took a look at the back. Someone had written on it, in surprisingly neat handwriting.

It read…

Dear Clementine

I thought if anyone should have the other piece of this picture, it should be you.
Today you made me promise I'd never leave you. A promise I intend to keep.
I know what happened with the dairy farm and now Lily was scary,
but don't let it sour you on other people. Because people, they can surprise you
in so many ways. Like when Hershel fixed up my leg. Or every time Kenny takes charge
when there's trouble. I guess what I'm trying to say is, go with your gut.
Having a little trust has saved our lives more than once.
And you've got a lot of life to live.

Always here for you… Lee.

Nearly the entire back of the photo had writing on it. Clearly this, 'Lee' had more than a few things to say. From the name at the top it wasn't hard to guess who it belonged to; I had a feeling the name 'Clem' was short for something. The picture was worth nothing to me, but to Sarah's little friend, it was probably priceless.

For a while, as I swept the growing dirt pile toward the open door, I thought about handing the snapshot over to Carver. It might get me out of this work, could even get me a few shower privileges, which in this world today is beyond a luxury.

But I didn't. I know; survivalist, look out for number one, the weak vs the strong and all that crap. But for a split second, it dawned on me. I don't have a single picture of my parents and if someone did what I was thinking about doing, to me. I don't know what I'd do. Hell, I'd probably be a complete wreck.

I didn't like Sarah and I had no loyalty to her friend. But if nothing else, I could use this to wipe away that 'Bad Person' remark. Maybe I was too hung up on it? I just don't take insults very well, never have.

Scanning the room for prying eyes, I stuffed the picture inside my jacket.

"Hey, Becca! Get back to work; if Carver comes down here to supervise we'll both be on thin ice." I don't think Stan noticed my hand in my jacket. That was good, one slip up and he'd have me thrown to wolves in a New York minute. Anything to boost his rep with the boss. Guy was still on Carver's bad side after our first truck cracked an axle and he couldn't fix it.

"Sorry Stan, just a lot of dust in the air. Gets everywhere you know."

"Whatever." Fortunately Stan wasn't so bright when it came to people; Trucks, motors and general machinery were his lot in life. But he was forever in a nose dive when it came to social sense. The man couldn't tell sarcasm from a fact in National Geographic. Or a joke from a serious order. A real stick in the mud that one, there was probably a reason but I didn't know him well enough to ask; which was probably the smarter option.

As I got back to sweeping, I had to ask myself how I would get this picture back to the girl with the dirty hat. Would she or the others even be let out? And what would I say if we met? Would she be angry? Grateful? I wondered if she'd cry.

Who knew? Maybe I'd get a buddy outta this place yet.

A/N: Please review and follow; Your honesty and support are greatly appreciated.