Clementine pressed her back against the door.
Walkers threw themselves onto the other side, gurgling and thumping at the wood. Every dull thud sent Clementine and Nick lurching forward, struggling to keep their footing. Clementine pushed with her entire body weight. Maybe this shed wasn't such a safe place to hide, she thought desperately.
Suddenly, Nick walked off into the shed, leaving Clementine alone at the door.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Clementine hissed. The doors opened a crack, and Clementine just barely managed to keep them from opening further. Arms burning, she was just wondering how much longer she could hold them off when Nick appeared behind her with a crate. Shoving the crate against the door, they both stepped back and waited a few tense moments to see if it would hold.
When walkers didn't immediately break down the door, Clementine breathed a sigh of relief. Nick walked over to the wall and sat down while Clementine surveyed their surroundings. They seemed to be in a dark one-room structure. Dim light filtered in through the dirty windows. Nick stared ahead with unfocused eyes, his face bleak.
"Why'd you leave my uncle?" he finally asked.
Clementine looked down at the floor. "Pete was bit," she told him quietly.
Nick's eyes widened and he looked right at her. "What?" he gasped.
"He got bit. Back at the stream. He wasn't going to make it." Nick looked at her with pain in his eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze. She didn't know what to say in a situation like this.
Clementine stepped further into the shed, glancing at the grimy shelves. "What do we do now?" she asked.
"I don't care," Nick answered, his voice monotone.
Clementine sighed and investigated the shelves at the back of the room for an exit. Sliding a piece of plywood to the side, she found dozens of jars of amber liquid. This piqued Nick's interest.
"What is that stuff? Let me see," he asked Clementine.
She brought him a jar disdainfully. "Moonshine, I guess. Really old moonshine." She wrinkled her nose. She couldn't even handle beer.
Nick unscrewed the lid and sniffed it experimentally before taking a swig. He coughed a bit and brought his fist down on the table. "Aaah," he breathed. "Whiskey."
"Now what?" Clementine asked, arms crossed. She didn't approve of this new development. Nick downed another swig of whiskey.
"Aw, fuck if I know," he grumbled. "We wait, I guess."
Clementine sat down by Nick and took off her backpack, falling asleep before the sun reached the top of the sky.
She woke to the sound of glass breaking. Jolting awake, she opened her eyes to see the shed bathed in moonlight. Nick was no longer next to her. She jumped as another jar crashed against the stone wall. Looking out the window anxiously for walkers, she approached where Nick was sitting at the back of the shed. He was slumped against the wall next to the shelf full of whiskey, throwing jars across the shed with a bored expression. Either bored or hopeless.
Clementine leaned against the shelf with her arms crossed. She started to speak. "Nick…" But she wasn't sure what to say. He launched another jar at the wall and grabbed another, drawing his arm back to throw it… but he dropped his arm again weakly. He stared down at the ground with the same unfocused eyes.
"I had to kill my mom," he said in a low voice. Clementine let her arms fall to her sides and looked at him, horrified. "Hm. That sounds weird when I say it out loud, huh?" Clementine took a step forward, uncertain, but stopped. She bit her lip and sadness clouded her face.
"Luke always used to push me," Nick continued. "I never wanted to go into business with him." He cradled the jar in his hands. "I remember when he sold me on it. His big plan. Some fuckin' plan. A case of beer and he just said, 'Nick, we're burnin' daylight.' And that was that."
Clementine knelt down and scooted towards him until her knees almost touched his legs. He opened the jar and stared at it. "After six months, we were flat broke. But I didn't care. We were havin' fun." He took a swig of whiskey. "I wish I was like him. I wish I could just keep movin' all the time. I'm just not… built like that."
Should I reach toward him? Am I supposed to comfort him now? Clementine wondered. Her eyes fell to his knee, but touching him in a time like this felt… invasive, somehow.
Nick kept going. "Everyone I grew up with… It all… happened to them. And now it's gonna happen to us." He looked at Clementine darkly. "We're all so fucked."
Clementine opened her mouth, but how could she refute something that so often haunted her own thoughts?
"I mean, what's the point?" Nick asked. "We'll just march to some new place and somebody else will die. It's never gonna stop. And eventually, it'll be our turn."
He lifted the jar of whiskey to his lips for another sip, but Clementine reached out and grabbed his wrist. He looked at her, surprised, and she gently pried the jar out of his hand. He didn't resist. She set it carefully back on the shelf without letting go of his arm. Sliding next to him with her back against the wall, she held his hand in both of hers and leaned her head on his shoulder. She tried to concentrate everything she didn't know how to say into Nick's hand, hoping desperately that he would understand.
Clementine wasn't sure how long they sat like that. By the time she looked up again, morning sunlight was beginning to illuminate the cabin. Did I fall asleep? she wondered, stirring slightly against Nick. She felt him move, too, and he withdrew his hand from hers. He cleared his throat.
"Listen, they're not comin' for us. You should go. Run for it." He didn't turn his head.
Clementine scooted away from him and turned her head, looking at his face closely. "But what are you gonna do?" she asked, concerned.
He stared ahead hopelessly. "Stay here. I'm tired."
Clementine stood up and moved into his line of sight, looking at him with a determined expression. "No. I won't let you. You're coming with me," she told him flatly.
He gave a hollow laugh. "Are you kiddin'? And leave all this?" He shook his head.
Clementine's voice gained a note of urgency. "You can't just sit here and die."
"Why not?" he asked. "What does it matter?"
"You still have Luke and everyone else. They're family, aren't they?" Nick looked away from her. She sighed, pleading now. "Nick. I need your help. Please." I'm not about to let you die here, drunk and alone.
Nick stared ahead for a long moment. His eyes finally rose to meet Clementine's. "You're right." His voice cracked. He stood up unsteadily. "Now look, if we get separated, the cabin's only about a half a mile from here. You can't miss it." Clementine nodded, smiling up at him gratefully. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away. "You ready?" he asked.
Clementine walked over to the door and tugged the crate away from it, listening with her ear to the wood for any remaining walkers. Hearing nothing, she cracked the door open slightly and peered outside. Nodding to Nick, they both crouched and snuck outside quietly.
They hadn't made it five feet before a familiar growling sound met their ears. A walker stumbled at Clementine from the woods at the side of the shed. Nick stepped between them quickly, slashing the walker's head with a knife clenched in his fist. "Ha! Fuck you, motherfucker," he yelled triumphantly. How drunk was he? Clementine wondered incredulously.
A dozen walkers from the woods around them turned and began shuffling toward the pair. "Aw, shit," Nick grumbled. He looked at Clementine for a moment before running a ways away from her, waving his hands. "Hey! Over here!" he called. "C'mon, you fucks! Look at me!"
"Nick?!" Clementine hissed at him. She ran next to him and tried to pull him away with her.
"Get the fuck out of here. Go!" He shoved her away. Clementine fell to the ground, hard, and he moved away from her, still calling and waving.
Clementine scrambled up and ran for the cabin as fast as her legs could go.