A Yellow Dress Forgotten: REDUX

by VoltageStone

Walkers. Muertos. Deadheads. Lurkers... The dead which roamed, they wore many names. Monster was yet another one. Though, she knew most monsters didn't decay. Because Clementine was one herself: a monster with fire in her breath, and eyes that burned her own Hell. She drank. For her life. To forget. [Violetine/Violentine; Mature Content; Minor Canon Divergence; Rewrite/Remaster]

2. Ep1 BLOOD-STAINED

4/25/2022 | Last Edit: 11/05/2022

[14,803]

Hope you enjoy!

:)

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EPISODE 1 — BLOOD-STAINED

My story of Clementine, after the events of Season Two...

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Once, she feared the dead like no other.
They were rabid. They were monsters.
But time passed her by.
And then, she wondered how peaceful it would be to join them.
Because the living were the rabid ones, not the dead.
And as for herself? Well…
She was one of the monsters, wasn't she?

---

"L-Lee…? Did you have to kill those men?"

His eyes were shot by remorse—strewn by fear. The world seemed to have held its breath for his sake.

Snow bit through her shoes with every step, and like glass shards, the flecks that ravaged the air dug into her cheeks. Parasites. Rabid for the smell of blood. It coated her hands. It stained her clothes. The snow did everything to chip away her warmth, her security. Layer-by-layer, shrapnel-by-shrapnel.

Amidst her fogged mind, however, it did little to pain her.

Fogged mind, blank slate, white static—like the dead that roamed the world beside her, nothing could singe her away. She simply couldn't feel it. Her mind swayed, and her body swung to another rhythm. Every stride was numbed by the scalding metal she'd pocketed at the small of her back: a pistol. She still heard it, the ghost of its last bullet.

And Clementine felt it, the agonizing burn at the roof of her mouth. Where the barrel had kissed her its intended farewell. Where a charge haunted her—one not yet ignited.

His words were slow. Thoughtful as they always had been, spoken with care. But, with the world's held breath, every strummed vowel sunk deep. They burrowed into her shoulders. Wormed their way through her ears. And, as the days grew old, and the world fell around them, and its held breath suffocated itself, those words would fade into the backdrop.

Because they were the wise words of a dead man. Because she was still alive, and he was not.

There was only so much she could cling to. Recollection was nothing but a humble tote bag, after all. So, only the better, sweeter memories were kept safe…

The ones at a motel, mainly, stitched together by candlelight, woven sound by sheets and embedded cigarette ash.

Yet, those better, sweeter memories went rotten. All there was left, within snow, were his wise, dead words. Shards that clipped her strides. Parasites that aimed to steal the color of her complexion.

"Did you have to kill those men?"

What's more, those shards, those parasites, they all festered at the torn bullet-wound of her shoulder. They gnawed. They desolated. They dulled her mind's eye to slow, rattled drawls of consciousness. All Clementine knew, barely, was the street she was on, and how she lagged behind herself. A phantom amongst the dead, roaming wherever her intuition pulled her.

And, of course, there was the life she kept safe in her arms. Safe, and secure. Despite her blank stare, pointed over her shoulder, there was that, at least. Still. It wasn't as though the life nestled against her chest soothed her conscious. So, she roamed. Completely and utterly detached, and the most she could fathom were the whispers of her fractured mentality.

"Did you have to kill those men?"

Over and over and over again.

A ghost of herself. Maybe. This sounded like a little girl, anyway. She couldn't quite recognize it.

"Did you have to kill those men?"

Her recollection… It was waning. Those sour memories revolted her mind's eye.

"Did you have to kill those men?"

Over and over. And every time, Lee backed away. One step, then two, then three. Four. Further into the shadows. Away from her.

"Did you have to kill…?"

Because he was a dead man. She was alive, he was not.

A sick mantra that cleaved his wise words with ease.

He was a dead man. She was alive. Dead. Alive. Human. Not…

"Did you…?"

She was alive. With the smoking gun pocketed, right at the small of her back. Hands flecked by his blood. Everyone's blood.

Did you, Clementine?

A small weight.

No. The life she kept nestled to her chest. Clementine felt him shift within her arms. Snug, warm, in his blanket. Secure…

Her conscious seized into itself, and it snapped her blank eyes back to their place. Her coherence, it could no longer lag behind to ignore her maternal instinct. Everything around Clementine sharpened to clarity, and with that clarity came an agonizing harmony: her feet ached, her mouth burned, and her shoulder writhed of frost.

But, Clementine dropped her eyes to the baby in her arms, and through the strangled choke that rose up her jugular, she managed a pained, cracked smile. It didn't reach her eyes. It barely crossed the middle of her cheeks.

"We'll be okay…" she whispered, ingrained in another mantra she'd yet to crawl out of. "A.J, w-we'll be okay…"

His dark, brilliant eyes held her still for a moment. Had her forget.

For a moment, though. A mere lapse in time.

Because the snow that sliced her cheeks, it reminded her of everything again. So she walked.

Clementine scanned the cars as she passed them by. Many were unharmed. They stayed as remnants of the same, initial panic that overtook Clementine herself, sending her straight up her old treehouse all those years ago: Escape the dead. Just get out of here.

Just live and see another day.

If only the cars along that stretch of road were the answer. But there wasn't getting away from the dead—not when there would always be the living to run from. If only they hadn't been stuck in traffic, cut-short by the mangled corpses of metalwork that laid just ahead.

She swallowed before swerving around them, tucking A.J close to her chest. Clementine knew what happened. She knew that, through their panic, the living's reckless driving damned them to death, and the dead crawled out of those cars, and they stole more people for themselves. Broke through the windshields. Cannibalized their chances of life.

…and she found that she didn't particularly care.

The wreckage she left behind was akin to any other road block. Clementine kept her eyes out for walkers, as well as any silhouette of a promising structure. A building hollow of life. Far, far away from what hellscape she left behind.

"Did you…?"

She hissed air and rolled her wounded shoulder—if only to flick away the whispers of her demon. Clementine stalked down the side of another car, and before she could help it, her eyes followed themselves across the window.

The hazel in them…

Clementine couldn't recognize herself. The hazel, it had…mutated. Warped by the snow around her, they splintered with something new. Something unfamiliar. And it startled her, that mutated, warped hazel.

"My baby, my doll. You have the sun in your eyes. Who wouldn't want to play with you? You're the life of everyone's day!"

Who had said that? Her uncle? Her father?

Lee?

She didn't know.

But, they were wrong. It didn't matter if she forgot who, they were wrong. In the snow, within that hellscape, that color in her eyes bore no such resemblance to sunlight. It was, instead, an inferno. The same that her parents warned her about. The same that would have her burn to ash after crossing their conserved, faithful home; the girl would never shake the thought; she'd carry that sentiment to her shallow grave, she knew…

Clementine tore herself away. Her strained cry was swallowed, and she continued on. She kept A.J close to her heart, away from her shoulder. Yet, the snow, the ice, it still festered. Her thoughts, they pulled her away. She was flickering, that little girl. The one that asked Lee why? The one that asked how could you? The very little girl that asked the same of Clementine now.

Did you have to kill him? Did you?

Yet again, the world held its breath.

And it would do so for years to come.

To the point of suffocation, for Clementine never wanted to answer the little girl.

. . .

The train moved to a ceaseless rhythm. The wind it brisked through sang a mellow timbre, and the rattle down the tracks, a husk. Both melded together as a choir. A droning, endless harmony…

Clementine sat in the train-car's mouth, her legs swaying along the edge. She played with the hem of her dress, brows furrowed. It had been white. Once. But white cloth never lasted. It soured to a dismal yellow before long, yet it was the still best anyone could manage. It was comfortable, at least. That was the most anybody wanted…

"You loved this train, didn't you?"

She turned to him, and a quiet smile grew. "Yeah," Clementine mumbled. "I never rode on one before… But I just found one again."

"I remember you said that," Lee mused. He sat beside her and swayed his legs. "Does this one you just found move?"

"No," Clementine said. "Half of it's off the tracks. I think someone drove off with the engine and some other cars."

He nodded and leaned back, onto his hands. "I see…" Clementine felt his eyes on her before his hand found her shoulder. She winced, but, come to find, Lee's touch was a comfort—even with her damn shoulder.

Her father, while a compassionate man, never was one to embrace for too long. It was his way. He leaned more towards gifts and words… Something to his love-language, as her mother praised once. So, instead of hugs or even the soft pinch on the cheek, Clementine had gifts, and she had words. And Lee was just as compassionate, though he traded the gifts for what Clementine sought from her father:

Those hugs, maybe the soft pinch on her cheek.

But ultimately, a longer embrace, even for another few seconds.

And as Lee encircled her with one arm, she realized he'd done that tenfold.

"Do you ever get tired of it," he asked quietly, "meeting me here every time we talk?"

Clementine shook her head. "No. Never," she said. Her eyes trailed the woodland as it smudged passed them. "I want to be back here. With you." She frowned. "For— For real."

"I understand, sweet pea. I understand," Lee assured, his voice warm against the brisk air. "A lot has happened since I left, hasn't there?"

Her throat tightened. "I-I've… I've changed, Lee."

"In this world, I would expect you to." His hand squeezed before it soothed her back. "It's okay, Clementine. It's…part of life. You can't change that."

"You don't understand…" Her grip tightened around the dress. "I-I—" Clementine hissed air, then admitted, "I changed. I'm not— I'm not like you. I tried but I— I can't."

"And that's okay, too. We were never the same people, Clementine. Not even back then." Lee smiled warmly, then pulled Clementine in. "Come here, sweet pea," he murmured.

She forgot how it felt to be the one held. Forgot how it was like to be someone else's A.J…

He pulled away, and his eyes sparked. "Look at you… You've grown!"

Clementine stared down her jacket. The sleeves were torn. Her body ached… It wasn't right. She was older than she ever was with Lee—it wasn'tright. "I changed…" she muttered.

"Naturally." When she turned away, Lee tilted his head. "Clementine?"

"Why do people fight?" The question was a mere whisper. Clementine didn't realize that it had left her, not until the silence hung as tragedy between them. "Even when there's no point?" she continued. Her eyes burned glass, lit by the fire which warped hazel. "They fight… And they fight… And they fight…" Clementine growled. "Without listening to anything, a-and then just—" She gave up. There wasn't a point.

Lee thought for a minute. "Sometimes…reason doesn't exist for a time." He soothed her shoulder. "To some." Another thought, then Lee said, "People grow themselves a blind spot, and they can't think." It did nothing to her heavy heart. His words only served to steam off of her. She felt her chest flare. "What is it, Clementine?" he asked quietly.

"W-Why…?!" she hissed. Clementine watched Lee for an answer. "It's pointless." She thrusted her hand towards the hellscape just off the tracks. "Why fight when the whole world is gone?!" Clementine snapped, the world blurring as she did. Clementine watched him again. "I tried to st-stop them Lee. I-I did. I really tried. But— But they wouldn't stop…fighting…"

"Clem?"

"W-Why do people fight…? Why do we kill each other…?!" Her throat was raw. It flaked with every serrated word. "A.J…was supposed to be dead, Lee. We thought— We thought he was. But he still fought her. Even— Even though I told them to stop. That I still needed someone f-for—" The frostbite grew. She grated her teeth together and clawed up her sleeve. "And she—" Clementine felt the snow itch. It writhed just underneath her skin. "She knew that— That he wasn't. Th-That A.J wasn't dead, but she… Sh-She still—"

"Clementine…"

"I-I thought she deserved it, L-Lee… I thought, but she didn't," Clementine explained, ever so wounded. She swallowed what could've been a knife. "W-Why do people die, Lee…?" she murmured. "Why— Why can't we just…live? And— And n-not—"

"Oh, sweet pea…" Lee said in kind. "The world, it isn't right. I'm sorry." He continued to rub her back. "A girl like you doesn't belong in it." Was that true…? Or was the wise man not so wise after all? "But…, it's never been right. How it is now, it's what's been hiding under the bed. Death was always there. I'm sorry you've had to see so much of it."

Clementine shook her head. "N-No, that's—" She tightened her jaw. "That's not— That's not what I-I'm saying, Lee…" she said, almost pleadingly. "I—" Clementine choked. "I-I thought she deserved it. I let Kenny do it. I let him kill her, b-but— But she didn't. N-Not like that…"

She grasped her shoulder. Felt the ice underneath her skin.

"And— And I kn-knew that the moment i-it went in. There—" Her breath was seething. Clementine felt the scales of her heart blister. "Kenny had s-so much blood on his hands, L-Lee. H-He had so much." She shook her head. "I-I saw it. I let him— I saw what he did—"

"Sweet pea—"

"So I killed him."

Clementine tightened her jaw and allowed the words to sink between them. As a fissure, down her spine. A weight, too heavy for either of them. "I-I saw what he did," she croaked. "I saw, Lee. A-And I looked into his eyes— I just wanted e-everything to be quiet. I-I wanted to breathe. Nobody listened. For— For so long… For so long, Lee, nobody listened to me…" She clawed her throat and soothed her devastation. "He didn't. They. Didn't. They just fucking fought each other. So I killed him. I-I killed o-our friend."

Lee didn't answer for a moment. A long, long moment. And when he did, it was quiet: "I'm sorry, Clementine…"

The train rattled. Clementine's shoulder seared agony.

"Do you—?" She looked into his eyes. Tried to search for the time when he was alive and well, watching her draw or read… Clementine searched for the motel. "Do you still love me? E-Even though I— I—"

"Of course I do," Lee murmured quietly. His eyes held a sheen. Of honesty, and of death. "I understand, Clem. The world's not right. Never has been. It twists us." His eyes grew drab, and his skin, a gaunt shade. A bleak hue of color—so unlike the strength he once wore. "But you're not a monster. You're human." Clementine frowned. She hardly believed it. And as she turned away, she felt Lee conjure a story of his. One she vaguely remembered: "My father, when I was around your age, he said that being human isn't in the things you do but in the things you feel."

Clementine swallowed. "…f-feel?"

His arms around her shoulders were strong, and warm… But one sloughed away. Fell off the train and into the abyss. "You're not a monster, Clementine… You still feel even after doing a terrible, terrible thing."

Her eyes widened. Her throat strained. The rest of him, he was starting to fall behind. "Lee? Lee, no, don't—!"

"It's okay. It's okay…" His voice was barely there. Just a thread. Wavered across gravel. "You got that boy, now."

Clementine shook her head. Her tears boiled her resentment—the anger she didn't know she brandished. "L-Lee? Don't— You can't leave!" she snapped.

"Go and live, sweet pea. For that boy, and yourself. Go and live…"

"Don't you f-fucking leave me again! You— Y-You can't…!"

She felt the gun in her hand, and then the charge that put the wise man down.

"Go and live…"

Clementine snapped awake to the sound of thunder. Her eyes navigated the shadows, the booths and tables around her—set in two rows—, and then the windows on either side of the train-car. It was a stroke of sheer luck. Howe's Hardware had the pamphlet that led her to the station many, many miles south, as well as the various essentials for A.J. The cursed haven also gave her time, which she used to hide from snow.

And people…

The essentials dwindled, however, as the snow left the land.

People eventually found it too.

They didn't find her, though. No. For Clementine had already left, pamphlet at hand, A.J cradled to her chest.

This train-car reminded her of a time before Hell. She couldn't quite place it—if it had been reminiscent of her grandparents or something she watched on television. Either way, it was a comfort. The dark wood furnishings… The pine-green, floral carpets…

There was even a twinge of cigarettes. Oddly enough, though, before Hell, she would've loathed it. Now, however, the life after the motel…

Out of anything, it soothed her to sleep.

Dark wood furnishings, pine-green, floral carpets, and then that twinge. It all remained as a comfort, though now broken, and torn, and abandoned.

And the train-car's musk—of rot and earth, lathered over cigarettes—knew just as well. The moment she stepped inside, inhaled the dust, it felt as though the train lit up for her. Having someone finally in its sanctum breathed life into its existence—gave the train a reason to nurture.

Clementine planned to leave in a day, maybe two, after she studied the pamphlet's map a little bit more…

The collar to her jacket was tugged, and Clementine met A.J's wide stare. He smiled. "Keeping an eye on the storm, goofball?" She looked out the windows again. Watched the hail as it pelted the gravel on either side of the train. "It sounds bad, doesn't it?"

A.J's mumble soared to a scream once the land ignited with light, followed by a devastating clap of thunder. That struck close. Just in the woods. Too close for either of their liking.

Clementine rocked A.J and whispered, "It's okay, A.J… We're okay. We're okay," and pecked his forehead. She looked out into the woods again. Saw the silhouettes that the light had illuminated. She realized that this was the first storm A.J would ever watch. The times before—the few times—were spent huddled in the dark corners of any building they found. "It was just lightning. It happens sometimes," she assured. "As long as we're under something and dry, we'll be safe."

A.J whined quietly. Perhaps he heard Clementine's anxiety: she knew that metal wasn't safe for anything electrical, and trains… Well, they were made of metal. And they were on rods made of nothing else. She just hoped whoever designed them knew that and worked around the lightning, because she wasn't about to abandon the only shelter around for trees and walkers.

Her collar tugged again. She looked down and hissed, "Hey, don't chew on that!" Clementine pulled the collar from his mouth. She dug through her backpack beside her. "Where's…?" But found nothing. "Oh." She scowled. And remembered the stupid walker that tore open her bag, stealing half her shit with it. "…right." Including every single one of A.J's toys.

Clementine sighed once she felt her collar tug again. It was the most she could do, allow A.J to chew on her clothes, in her arms, away from the lightning.

It was the most because she wasn't a wise man. She didn't know better than that.

Her spirits deflated. She nestled A.J close to her heart. And as the storm ripped across the hellscape outside, Clementine could only murmur a ghost of her dream:

"Lee…"

[Away From Ice]
(she thinks seven months)

This one had been conscious.

Getting to the ranch house had been like crossing the first ring of Hell, but it was manageable. The walkers that littered the abandoned pastures were easy pickings for her knife. The ones inside, even more so; they were particularly moronic—her size. Kids.

But this one.

This gargantuan of a walker had been reading. And by the time she had realized, it was already lurking in the doorway. Its stature shrouded the room in black, leaving its dead eyes to glow as somber moons.

Clementine recoiled the moment it stepped through the door. The walker ducked under the doorframe with precision. With the living's grace…

And now.

Nothing but mulch and blood to cake her arms. Numb, with her heart behind her ears, Clementine looked at the knife in her hand. Snapped. This walker had bones so thick, it snapped her knife. Her bewilderment engulfed her scowl as she tossed it aside.

Bitter hazel landed on the dead man.

He hadn't been dead for long. A week or two maybe. And the kids downstairs, the same story. Though, they looked to have been decaying for longer…

Another week. Maybe a mere few days. Or, they had withered away before death claimed them.

It didn't take long for Clementine to realize what had happened. The gargantuan had already a bullet through its head—an exit wound, along the crux of its jaw and neck. But not an entry wound. Not one visible…

Clementine held herself by the jugular. She had a feeling that she knew where it was. The entry wound. Her mouth throbbed, and her eyes found the face the man last wore. It was sad. Mournful, and guilty. The devastation around the ranch told the story, and the kids downstairs, they looked sick. Feverish beneath the ghastly layer of death.

The living couldn't stay in the house for long, Clementine knew. Something plagued it. A mere cold, a little bug, or something worse. Either way, Clementine didn't have anything for it. But, hopefully, the house would give enough to take onto the road.

Clementine lingered, then roamed to the book left open on the floor. She picked it up, then read the front cover. Her hum was light. Sleeping Beauty. And at the bottom, the Disney insignia. "I think…this is yours," she murmured, slipping the book in the man's large hand, tucked against his chest.

Before she could leave, her eyes followed the lines down the arms. Wondered if there were more. Wondered if he'd gotten caught in something, or if these were intentional. Self-inflected.

Clementine shivered and shied away from the body. Her eyes found the bullet wound in his head, and they stayed for a minute. She held her shoulder, absentminded, then turned away.

The walker was a monster, so she put it down.

But the man before, he was not. She knew that much. So, Clementine closed the bedroom door behind her. Left the man to rest in peace.

She found the bathroom. Discovered how the man took care of the kids. Washed them with wet rags and pails. Probably in the bath, to rinse away grime the best he could. In the pails, the water frothed of dust, and the rags were hardly damp, but it would be enough. Clementine washed her hands, dried them, and stepped into the hall. She picked up her pistol—the one that the walker had smacked from her grasp.

Clementine meandered further down the hallway, to another closed door. She nudged it open—the handle didn't work—and found A.J where she left him: on the bed with wide, bright eyes and a growing smile. He hopped in his seat and raised his arms.

"Is this a good room, A.J?" Clementine asked—brow arched, grin light. A.J giggled and kicked his feet. He then sunk to his stomach and pointed. Curiously, she crouched beside the bed. "What's there, goofball?"

"Aah."

"Did you see something when we came in here?"

He paused, then subtly nodded. Clementine lifted the hem of the bedcurtain and—

She smiled. "A trunk…! You did find something, A.J!"

His smile was as bright as his eyes.

"Alright…" Clementine unbuckled the latch and pulled it open.

Gold. They struck gold. "Holy shit, A.J. Look at all this!"

Food. There was food. And a thick blanket. Small clothes. Pictures. Books. Bottles. A flask. Water. Boots…

Clementine grinned. She sat herself comfortably, set down the pistol, unshouldered her backpack, and eyed A.J. "What do you think, goofball…? Should we go through this stuff?"

His pitched giggle said enough.

She started with the blanket. Tucked it away in her backpack. Same with some of the books. Once the water was at hand, A.J hopped in his seat. "Careful, we don't need you falling," she chided quietly. "But do you want some?"

"Aah! A-Aah!" His hands flexed for it. "Aah."

Clementine sifted around the blanket and grabbed one of the few things they had: his sippy-cup. It had been a Godsend the instant she recognized the thing. And as she filled the Godsend with its water, A.J practically vibrated on the bed. She couldn't help another grin. "Okay, A.J. Here you go. Here's your water—now quit with the hopping." His answer was a squeak, and with his drink at hand, there was nothing but quiet hydration from the boy.

She shook her head, grin maintained. "Goofball…"

Her attention was promptly bought by the trunk. As she rifled through its contents, she kept herself away from the pictures, kept them in place. The boots and denim clothes were pulled out. "…these clothes might fit you." Clementine heard his silent question, and she said, "Finish your water, A.J. We'll check after you're done. W—" Her eyes caught the food again—a bag of chips in particular. "Actually, maybe pace that water out a little bit more. We can eat a little bit."

Clementine scanned the label. "Salt and…vinegar chips… These might be stale— Yeah… The date's passed a while ago." She opened it with bright eyes peered over her shoulder. "Well, they don't look horrible… Maybe a little brown." A chip was sampled. Which felt like cud, tasted like…vinegar pudge.

With a shrug, however, she said, "It's better than nothing, A.J. It'll have to do." Another chip, now offered to the baby. "Try it."

He gnawed the chip, and his fingers, as the sippy-cup sagged in his other hand. A.J chewed, then paused, then screwed his face tight.

"Is it too sour for you?"

"Aah! Aah!"

"Okay, okay! You like it! Got it!" Clementine kept a small handful for herself and laid the bag on the bed. "There you go. Eat while I pack the rest of this."

A.J chirped.

Jerky. Crackers. Every packaged food not yet opened was packed away. She'd throw out what went bad later. The remaining water bottles were next. Her eyes landed on the boots. Black with thick soles, meant to snag a grip, half of Clementine wanted no part of them. They were too big. Surely.

But, it didn't hurt to try. The Converse she wore were falling apart at the seams, and as she eye-balled the size of the boots in comparison, she wondered how too big they really were.

Clementine pulled off the left Converse for the boot. Her foot slipped inside, and when she stood, there was room to stretch her toes. Room to grow.

"Huh." Her smile was just short of beaming. "Bet if I tightened the laces on these and found thicker socks, it'll work." A.J glanced from his food and watched the boots. Already, the mess across his face would've fed another orphan. Clementine, the other orphan, sighed.

She got to work with the boots. The Converse were tossed aside, and with her own mouthful swallowed down, the boots were tied securely. Content with her prize, Clementine glanced into the trunk. There wasn't much left: only the pictures, and some other fabrics, then a flask.

Actually, for the water, might as well… Clementine reached for the flask and—

Full. A third of the way.

She hesitated.

If it was anything else, then… Then she'd dump it. Simple.

Yet, the thought had Clementine rock her jaw. Her curiosity unveiled itself. Reminded her of a distant time. That of a lifetime ago.

A lifetime, though how long had it truly been? That, she didn't know.

And Clementine didn't care that she didn't. So she'd keep it there. Keep it as a lifetime.

It was easier that way. It was always easier that way…

She eyed the flask, and with her curiosity spilled over the edge, she uncapped it. Then, tentatively, she inhaled its lip. The moment she did, Clementine recoiled. To the baby's anxious eye from the bed, she smiled and murmured, "It's definitely not water, A.J. We won't—"

Then Clementine hesitated. Doubted herself, and so too the instinct to put it back. …which rivaled another instinct of hers. A newborn one. With a frown, she pulled the capped flask away from the trunk. She slipped it into her backpack.

And pushed it to the back of her mind. It was easier that way.

"Come on, A.J. Let's see about these clothes on you."

A.J watched her with chips across his face, up his arms. Clementine shook her head again, then reached for a bandana she'd left in the trunk. "How about—" she wiped his cheeks, then his arms— "we don't leave that there." After a thought, the bandana was tied around his neck. A.J played with its hem, then giggled. Clementine grabbed the rest of it. A denim—

"Oh. Even better." Overalls. Not pants like she assumed, but overalls.

It took a moment with A.J's bright eyes never leaving her, and Clementine pulling the legs he kept kicking through the pants. But, once the last button was done, Clementine managed that beaming smile. "You look like a little farmer!" she chuckled quietly.

A.J threw his arms up.

Clementine couldn't help but to mirror the boy, her chest light, head cleared.

Yet…

Her beaming smile plummeted.

Because.

Oh God.

Just outside the window, she heard it. A triad's timbre. The growl of their engines, they snaked across the ranch.

"Fuck…" she breathed. Clementine darted to the window. Plastered herself against the wall. With a covert eye, she spared a glance down.

Three men, trudging through the mulch—their eyes trained on the porch, for the front door. "A—"

She heard him topple. Clementine ripped herself from the window and found A.J, on the floor, stumbling for balance before landing on his hands and knees. He watched her with his bright eyes. "Alvin! I said stay on the bed!" Clementine snapped.

He whimpered, but there wasn't the time to console him.

Nor to restrain the anxiety that bled off her.

Collecting everything for the backpack was swift work, and without a second to lose, Clementine swiped her pistol and hoisted A.J—both in one fluid rhythm. She scampered down the hall and rattled down the stairs. As Clementine snatched the backdoor's handle, she heard the men at the front, bewildered by the couch she'd overturned as a barricade.

Clementine fled.

She escaped to the woods. Her strides, winding around nature, were panicked yet calculated. Every lunge forward, met by the beat of A.J's heart. Each hurtle over roots tangled together, as an echo of his sharp breaths.

It wasn't until the house was far behind, but a mere spark of color between the trees, did Clementine look back.

She stood in silence. Heard no motor. Saw no headlights.

"We lost them again, A.J…" she murmured quietly. "In record time, too. I don't think they saw us this time."

"Aah…" A.J mumbled.

Clementine nodded. She dipped the bill of her cap down. "We have to hide, A.J. It'll be dark soon… And tomorrow, we'll make a break for the railroads. Get out of this place…"

His response was a fleeting hum. She turned away from the house. She didn't think about what other gifts it had. The gifts she left behind.

It was easier to think that Clementine's luck wasn't all cashed in.

That there was some luck to spare. For the future.

With all her hope, there had to be.

…her pessimism reminded her that lucky girls weren't followed by men day-after-day.

. . .

Those boots had been a lifesaver.

After hours of walking, ditching paths for other paths, they gave Clementine the stability which her old shoes couldn't provide. She didn't trip, not through her urgency to lose the men. And every so often, she would hear them—motorcycles, snarling across a distant landscape.

The boots gave her stability, but moreover, they gave her warmth.

Winter wouldn't come for months. Clementine knew that. Yet, it was as though this hellscape wanted nothing more than to remind her what cold felt like. The brisk air, it hung to ignore the sun, and the morning dew stuck until the evening as frost.

She hated it. She hated the cold. She hated winter.

Clementine hated everyone—

With her heels dug into the earth, arms wrapped around the baby cradled to her shoulder, Clementine paused, then crouched. Her eyes scanned from the guard-rail to a long, frigid road just beside it. The trees were green; they were nice. The sky, a brooding, blank slate of grey. The road, black and gleamed with morning frost. And the lines dashed down its backbone, the yellow, it laid as a sharp contrast. Reminded her that, in a world damned to frigidity, there would be warmth.

The boots weren't enough, however. A.J, her boy, was indeed the brightest sun, but he, too, needed it. He too needed the warmth which could envelope them both whole. Nowhere close by her, but it was somewhere. Out there…

Somewhere. Surely.

Clementine felt her irritation. It spat every thought that passed her by, only to twist around and taunt:

Cold. Winter. Everyone.

Her lips tightened to the thought as it ignited. Everyone. Every damn person. She hated them. All of them. Even herself. The living were far, far worse than the dead. One needed to be put down or avoided. Beasts. True monsters. The other to be avoided as well, but swiftly laid to rest in the end—like any animal.

All of them. Those beasts, those true monsters… Every person. Even herself.

Not A.J. Of course.

But he was the brightest sun born in a vacuum. He was worth it, though nobody was worth him.

She stroked A.J's back as he shifted, easing his fumbled vowel to a slow, gradual silence. "It's okay, A.J… We'll find somewhere for you to sleep soon."

"Aah…" he mumbled.

"Yeah. We will," Clementine promised.

Another few moments left to wait, and once Clementine was sure she couldn't hear any motorcycle engine, she crossed the road. As she did, Clementine saw that the woodland on this side was thin.

Come to find, a gas station.

She meandered through the trees and met the station's parking lot. It wasn't what she hoped. It wasn't the railroad Clementine kept herself on, nor a busy maze of buildings to hide in, but it would do. For the night, at least.

There was only one car. A small van with its roof caved-in.

The hazel in her eyes scanned the gas station's overhang and read the sign with furrowed brows: hell.

A.J cooed anxiously into her shoulder, and as Clementine stroked his back, absentminded, her curiosity strafed around the car. A large S laid as a broken spine, dug into the windshield. She looked up at the overhang again. A.J mumbled and pointed at the car, and she said, "Yeah, it fell, A.J. This gas station looks like it was one of the newer ones too…"

She took another few steps, and then—

"Oh."

A.J squealed into her ear, pitched by terror, and Clementine stroked his back again. "It's okay, A.J. He's dead."

Just before the hood, there was a man. His body, laid in that spot before winter fell, she knew. Shot in the head, and judging from the axe tight in his hand, he wasn't the kind that rose. The man was never given the chance to.

Clementine moved away from him. "It's okay, A.J. That's just what happens to people when they die."

"A-Aah…?"

"Your body doesn't stop changing until it's just bone. He's not going to hurt us," she assured. Her eyes found the front doors, and the rotting barricade gave reason to worry. At one point, it had been a strong wall. Made of nails and wood, taped over and glued together—a mangled construction with everything you'd find in a gas station.

All torn apart.

As if a battering ram had bulldozed its way through.

Clementine found the splinters that flecked the ground, and then the holes that punctured chunks of its surface. So not a battering ram but, instead, spitfire incarnate. "People with guns," she mumbled, pointing at it. The bullet-holes were smaller, different, than what took the man behind them. "And these look like they came from automatic ones."

"…ehmba."

Her smile was weary. It was the first syllable change of the day; knowing A.J, though, it would be the only one. "Yeah. We don't like those guns. They're not good."

Clementine nudged the door open.

From glance alone—without a candle lit nor the odd lamp illuminated—, she knew the place was vacant. From smell alone, she knew the place was dead. But how vacant and what kind of dead, Clementine knew not to assume. She kept the grip on her pistol firm, and the hold around A.J tight.

Her eyes adjusted, and Clementine swiftly realized that the shelves had been cleared away. Not entirely—there were rows aligned like barriers, littered with holes identical to the barricade outside, and others that were pushed against the refrigerators. The rest, she assumed, were used for fires or were dumped somewhere else. There were mattresses, sleeping bags. Trash. Ruin.

Oh, and the bodies.

Every one of them, culled like the lone body outside.

Except, by the hand of spitfire.

It wasn't until Clementine saw them did she realize that the bodies didn't smell. They were older than the one with the axe. Nothing but cloth and bone.

The longer she roamed this hellscape, the more Clementine learned how many stories were out there. Each and every building had a past. Any and all roads led to tales. Ones of horror, mainly. There were never any good memories now.

She wondered about this one. Most of the bodies wore the clothes that belonged to a gas station: gas station workers, and the average civilian that passed by. The man outside wore leather upon layers upon grime.

Clementine tensed her jaw. She roamed the gas station, and within minutes, it became evident that all the station had to offer were bodies and shelter.

"Well shit," she breathed, knowing there wasn't any better option. The sun was coming down with a bloody sky. Her legs were sore. Her head ached for sleep. This was the end of the road, for the night. Clementine sat A.J down on an empty booth pushed to the side, furthest from the bodies. As she stepped away, he reached for her. "Not right now, A.J. You stay there. I'm just going to move them."

"Aah! A-Aah!"

"You can see me. I'm not going anywhere, A.J," Clementine sighed, then with a repeated, "I'm just moving them."

Once A.J was sure his eyes remained steady on Clementine, she went to snatching the bodies by the collars of their shirts and lugging them to a corner, out of the way. By the side-door to an empty kitchen. Out of A.J's reach, hopefully. The bodies fell apart one way or another. Legs were left behind to be kicked aside. Arms rattled, left to be thrown.

And.

For fuck's sake.

She wasn't ready for the Goddamn head that fell off a dead woman's shoulders and rolled towards A.J. After a startled yelp echoed by another pitched squeal, Clementine kicked the head far away and hoped that the sight of it deterred any curiosity of the baby's. By the look of A.J's face, wet and teary-eyed, it did.

Once it was done, Clementine found a rag and managed to scrounge up enough water to vigorously scrub off a layer of her skin.

"See, A.J? I didn't leave," she murmured at the booth. Clementine scooped A.J back into her arms and adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulders. "Now, we're going to get away from the windows. And no looking at the bodies. We stay away from them."

"…aah?"

"Yes, we stay away."

There wasn't a clean mattress in sight. The best Clementine found was a thick sleeping bag, stained by only God knew what, that she folded over and laid her blanket across. "Okay. Here you go, goofball. There's a bed."

Once A.J was settled with the blanket wrapped around his small body, Clementine unshouldered the backpack to slip her vest off. The old vest was bundled, then left to A.J as a cushion. He laid into her lap, though, as he always did. The vest was nice, but Clementine was nicer. The vest only did so much, and by this point, it was wearing away. Time claimed everything, and so too the sweat and grime that leeched every fabric's color.

Clementine watched him. He nestled deeper, batted his eyes closed…

And it was just like that, as if the world wasn't Hell, and the dead didn't roam, A.J fell asleep. As if there weren't men following the girl and her baby, A.J escaped to dream.

He looked utterly peaceful. A sort of serenity clung to his body. So effortless. So natural.

…Clementine wanted some for herself.

She couldn't remember the last time she slept well. Not a dream to escape to. No serenity to cling after.

Clementine rubbed his back and fixed the blanket right. Though it pained her, if they both couldn't have their peace, the least she could gift A.J was the time with his.

After a light twitch of his brow before he buried himself deeper into the blanket, Clementine leaned against the wall, eyes closed. Sleep wouldn't come, she knew, but shut-eye was better than mindless stares across the room—looking into shadows, seeing things that weren't there. Things that paranoia teased into the world. Like the glimmer of dead eyes. The husk of a body. Anything, really…

Yet, instead of peace, Clementine had always been gifted with a busy mind. It was a compliment throughout the few years of school she had. Busy mind, busy mind—something every teacher noted whenever they met with her parents. "She has a busy mind in there, but she's so well-behaved!" Or, it was, "Your daughter is quite smart. Upstaged the grade above her at the spelling bee with that busy mind of hers!"

"Never gets into trouble!"

"Always the model student of her class!"

Warm smiles—all of them. From behind their desk, every one of their blurred faces turned to her. Smart. Talented. Quiet. Good-mannered. Mature.

And humble, and kind.

With a promising life set out for her…

Clementine wondered about them.

Wondered if they knew what she'd grow into.

Wondered if they could've guessed that she found a second father within a convicted murderer.

"You have the sun in your eyes…"

Maybe it had been her dad who said that.

Hazel cracked open, and she frowned. Clementine's hand skimmed the brim of her ballcap. It made sense. Her dad always liked the sun. But… His face…

Clementine scoured for it, yet all she managed were the glimmer of his dead eyes. The husk of his body. Her mom's too. And though their bodies lurked as dead monstrosities where she didn't want them to, it was nice, knowing that they stayed together in death. An odd relief, at that.

Busy mind, busy mind.

What a shit compliment. Clementine scowled to herself. She'd rather be as dumb as a fucking rock and be able to sleep than to hear her every thought rattle.

She needed it. A dream, or two.

And warmth. Of course.

Her mind drawled, and her eyes lazed across her lap. They landed on the backpack to her other side. It was no use, though. A.J had th—

The flask.

Clementine half-jolted, half-tensed with A.J cocooned just beside her. She turned to the backpack and reached into its mouth. That was right. Clementine did manage to find the flask, didn't she…?

And now.

It was in her hand.

There was a long moment of nothing but thought. Clementine gnawed the inside of her cheek. There were laws against this. Her parents— God, her parents probably would've loathed this. Maybe. She didn't really get to know them in the end, did she?

But they were dead, and laws were too.

Clementine didn't know what the point was thinking about it. Because there wasn't any.

So, she thought about the first. Beyond a lifetime ago… Her eyes followed the flask's reflection, and Clementine saw brick and mortar. Grey—all a lousy grey—, with cracked windows and mulch on its doorstep. She remembered a wrecked still, and shelves, and then, thrown glass. Hearing it shatter. Feeling it grate her every last nerve.

If her memory was sound, Clementine was trying to sleep then too. And though broken glass still felt like nails dug into a chalkboard, she understood it now, sat across her memory.

Because as her eyes traced the faint, grey brick that lined the walls, a part of her wanted to break something.

To just reach out into the shadows and strangle.

…but Clementine was tired, and she had A.J just beside her. It didn't do any good back then, and it wouldn't now.

She stared into the flask and followed its sheen. It led to scratches which bruised its neck, then a dent on its side. A small one. Nothing that worried her…

"I had to kill my mom."

A ghost. A memory.

His voice was defeated. Even now, Clementine could hear it, how limp he was, sagged against the wall. With a jar in his hand, one not thrown, he breathed a laugh and mumbled, "Sounds weird when I say it out loud, huh…?"

She shook her head. "No, it doesn't, Nick," Clementine said quietly. The words she almost did say, back when they would've mattered. "I've had to do that too." She thought. Then, near-silent, she admitted, "I had to kill Rebecca, believe it or not. After she turned…" Her brows pulled themselves together. Her face found new angles, hardened by maturity. "That was after you died though. I think…" She found A.J again. "I think giving birth drained her last strength away."

Clementine thought about her, for a moment. A.J's mother. How Rebecca smiled with bright eyes, looking down at her boy. Nursed him the few times she could. Cradled and rocked him every chance she got…

A.J had her eyes.

And Clementine wanted nothing but to keep those eyes pure. She wanted him to have those bright eyes for the moment when he too would be a father—with or without a child of his own blood. With or without Clementine there to witness it.

She stared into the flask's neck. Already, it was warm in her hands. While Clementine knew that she provided it, through her skin, she couldn't help but feel that it was the flask promising her comfort. It wasn't her skin that coddled the thing, no. Instead, the flask coddled the warmth it vowed for her. Just inside. Just a sip away.

Maybe.

She desperately hoped so…

"Luke always used to push me. I never wanted to go into business with him." Clementine looked up again. Right then and there, she saw herself in his eyes. But instead of her bitter hazel, there Nick wore but a bleak shade of blue. "I remember when he sold me on it. His big plan. Some fuckin' plan."

Her smile was subtly charmed. Luke's effect, really. "I can see that. Sounds like something he'd do."

Nick held the jar to his chest in thought. He massaged its belly, and as he did, she tried to remember what it was. Ale, perhaps? No. Whiskey. Whiskey sounded right. "A case of beer in, and he said, 'Nick, we're burning daylight.' And that was that." Nick laughed, shrugged limply, and muttered, "After six months, we were flat broke. But I didn't care. We were havin' fun." He frowned. His voice turned hollow: "I wish I was like him. I wish I could just keep moving all the time."

She nodded, her eyes latched to the flask. "All we can do now is keep moving. Staying in one place doesn't work. It never fucking works…"

"I'm just not…built like that."

Once, Clementine liked to think she was more like Luke. Or like Lee.

But now…

She wasn't sure. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound like whiskey.

"No, you weren't," Clementine mumbled. Because maybe she was more like Nick after all. "I don't know if I am. I just…have to move." Like Nick, and… A-And…

"I'm only alive for him, you know. He— He saved me."

Like him.

Like the shadow that lurked just over her shoulder. His one eye pierced to her soul.

And she ignored him. Clementine watched A.J, and she rubbed his back. In a mere whisper, she confessed, "He stopped me from staying in place."

"Everyone I grew up with, it all…happened to them." She nodded again. Nick was right. He was right. "Now, it's gonna happen to us." He spoke no lie. "We're all so fucked. This world is fucked…"

The drunk man was a wise man, albeit dead.

But, then again, the wise drunk's words rang all the more true now that he was dead. Clementine didn't really know if it was ironic or not, how the only wise people she knew were rotting away as any other corpse.

It didn't matter. Ironic or not, her drawn laugh was sour, and she nodded to the drunk man as he faded into the wall. "You were right, Nick… And we did march to some new place, and everyone is gone now. You're gone now." Clementine looked into the flask. "But you're with him, right? With Luke? With all the money in the world to spend on that big fuckin' plan?"

The drunk man didn't answer, of course.

She leaned back against the wall. "They're all gone… You're gone… Luke's gone… I'm the only one left…"

"Hey kid."

Clementine didn't need to look back. She knew that Nick was gone. She was the one that had to put him down, in the end. So yeah, she knew. But, his voice sounded crisp. Like he was still there—right beside her. As if they never left that brick shithole.

"Have a drink with me."

Hazel drew to her left—the Devil's shoulder, as someone murmured once—, and Clementine looked into his dead eyes. They were nothing like the bleak blue moon Nick wore alive. They were white. Like snow. Like ice. And his skin, tacky as the skies which threatened whiteout. Blizzards that sought to pierce open wounds, then claim frigid bone.

She rolled her wounded shoulder and nodded. "Of course," Clementine whispered. "Why wouldn't I?"

There wasn't the same hesitancy as with her first drink beside Nick. She knew what to expect. And if it wouldn't taste like the sour, brittle grain in that shithole, then maybe it would taste like the rum. Sweet as a cat's tongue down her throat, and though the thought of it had her squirm, the warmth of that fire, underneath the pylon, it was a nice one.

She twisted the cap open, and then—

"I asked you not to drink." Clementine froze. He, alive, was a distant memory, but through the veil, he was as crisp as Nick beside her. "A girl your age… It ain't right."

She worked her jaw, inhaled the spice that brewed from the flask's lip, and murmured, "I have to Kenny…" Her throat knotted. "I-I need to take care of A.J. And I can't do it like this… Everything hurts, please Kenny."

"Yeah, I'm sorry… You're right." Clementine watched the shadows across from her. He was there. Lurking. Head hung back, waiting for the moment he fell into the snowbank. "It's probably not my place to be tellin' you what to do…"

Kenny fell into oblivion.

It was quiet for a long minute.

Then, Clementine tentatively braced for it—noted to take a only a humble swig. Which she did. And as it went down, she heard Nick's droned laughter. But now, there wasn't a knowing hand stretched for a jar back. Other than A.J, Clementine was completely and utterly alone.

The flask was tipped away. She thinned her lips together. Third time was indeed the charm. The girl handled the drink well. Though it burned, Clementine found the taste she sorely missed before—how whiskey wasn't just brittle grain, but there was, indeed, some flavor to appreciate. She looked into the neck and swirled it around. Then, another swallow—this time, less of a sip and more of a mouthful. Again, it burned. Again, she found how adults willingly ignored the fire for the rest.

Her busy mind persisted. Clementine thought of Nick, whose words were wise in hindsight: "What are you going to do?" she had asked him.

After his long, drunken ramble, Clementine didn't get it. Not back then.

"Stay here. I'm tired."

She did manage to get him back on his feet. And she felt strong for it. Felt like it meant something. But as Clementine bitterly reminded herself, through a mantra, he'd been dead. So no. It didn't matter. It didn't mean anything.

Clementine understood now, though. She got it.

Because she was tired too.

She wanted to stay in place. Wanted to only sleep…

As Clementine drank another mouthful, as it clawed its way down her throat, she felt it, the flask's promise.

It was warm after all.

. . .

Bliss.

All around her, Clementine was cradled in nothing but bliss.

The world was dark. She was submerged. The girl, quite alone. Yet she could breathe. The blood on her hands slipped away. The phantom in her shoulder was quiet, and her mouth—

Oh, her mouth. Her tongue grazed its roof, searching the outline of the gun's barrel. The pistol's kiss. Clementine couldn't find it. A fire had blossomed—across her mouth, down her throat. It swallowed the pain whole.

So that Clementine could forget what she almost did.

And within the shadows of a lake, she was stuck there. The metal that haunted her teeth, then the frost in her shoulder, swarmed by the whiskey which sounded right.

It was…

Wonderful.

Clementine kept her eyes closed. She didn't have to dream. If her flask was indeed her poison, and the shadows of this lake laid her to rest, she felt that it was okay. The poison rocked her to sleep. Allowed the princess at heart to rest in her treehouse. Watched over her in black, shining armor.

Even the good part of her which remained, the one that condemned such thoughts, was soothed by the lake. You have to go back to A.J, that part reminded Clementine. You can't just leave him.

But…, you can come back here when he sleeps too.

We can forget everything here…

. . .

There was something wrong.

It woke her up. Through the cold spot on her lap and the haunting melody of engines, her violent urgency snapped Clementine awake. A.J wasn't there. It was still dark. But. The windows.

They were illuminated.

"A-A.J!" she barked. The boy had climbed onto the booths. She told him to stay away from the bodies, but dammit the fucking windows.

His eyes were wide and over his shoulder, silhouette shrouded by headlights. Her body sparked horror. The bliss of the lake, mutilated out of her grasp. Clementine snatched the backpack mid-stride towards A.J, and she strafed for the booths. A.J yelped in her arms. The shock of it, her dexterity as it whipped her momentum away from the windows, it startled him silent. In her arms, Clementine felt him hang as a ragdoll before his nails dug into her side.

"A-Aah!"

A.J was stronger than she thought. Never before had he held onto her with a grip of stone.

Clementine ignored him to barge through the station's side-door—the one without a handle, to a modest kitchen. Just beside the pile of bodies she left behind. "Fuck… Fuck, A-A.J they're here! We—" Her hand latched onto the backdoor's handle. And she yanked on it. It didn't budge. "W-Why—?!"

Her heart sank. A.J screamed into her ear, and Clementine found the door's narrow window.

And in it.

A face.

His dark eye gleamed. A new moon. A dead moon. His gnarly teeth stretched with his smile. And just behind him, the growl of a motor, then the hunter's harrowing light. "THEY'RE IN HERE! GET THE FRONT!" he howled, creasing his cheeks into his covered eye's bloody bandage.

Clementine bolted. She kicked over a tray table as the backdoor flew open. The kitchen door, she barreled through. She reached for the pile left behind. Her fist snatched a body—a torso—and blindly flung its weight. The body managed to trip the man just as he crossed the doorway. "HOLY SHIT!" The door slammed. The kitchen bellowed, and the tray table screamed.

Clementine didn't look back. Her heels scraped the tile. The other two—a blond, then an older one—, right at the front door. Her weight lashed her imbalance. The man from the back. Then the other two. Closing in. She was—

Surrounded.

A.J cried in her arms. Bawled the panic that threatened Clementine to… To…shoot…

Fuck.

Her pistol.

It wasn't— She didn't have it.

Her back smacked the wall. Her eyes darted. The men closed in.

"Get the little bastard," the one-eyed man snapped.

The blond clawed after A.J. The baby wailed. Clementine grappled. "Leave him—! L-LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

It was no use. Her boots were burrowed into the floor, her arms strained, her lungs, pierced by air—all for nothing. The blond punctured her ribs by the edge of his knuckles, and to tug A.J's leg would be to break the boy. "YOU FU—"

"QUIET!"

The one-eyed man swung, and Clementine buckled. The backpack snaked across the wall, off her shoulder. Her jaw, spiked with newfound agony. And her vision was but a disorientating blur. The older man crouched by where she landed, not before he hiked his pantlegs by his knees, and all she could gather was how his ghastly complexion smeared itself with his pale eyes and white hair. A ghost.

"You've got quite the spitfire there…" he murmured. "Gave us hell the past few days, haven't you?" Clementine wavered on her hands and knees, though her glare was as sharp as ever. The ghost-man chuckled quietly. "But we've caught ya now! Thought you'd be able to get away, didn't you…?" He stood and fixed his pants. His shoes were a fine leather, torn by blood and debris. "Daron, get the girl. We'll take the boy on ours."

"N-No!"

Clementine's voice was weak. Weaker than what she wanted. Pathetic. Drained. Tired.

The one-eyed man snatched her shoulder. His voice, an animal: "You're getting up! Now!"

He wrenched her to her feet. She tossed against it. Reached for the screams of a boy by the front door.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

No use. Never any use.

She was too small. And the man, far too alike an animal. The one-eyed man booted the door open. Marched her through the kitchen—in disarray—with her scraping for any sense of balance. The moment her heels caught asphalt, Clementine managed to hook an ounce of her footing. She wrenched herself away from his grasp, only enough to jolt it to her wrist. Her nails dug. Her jaw, tempted to bite.

"Would you quIT THAT?!"

The one-eyed man swung.

And that was all it took.

Her body, forced into a dumpster's hull.

The impact alone sent her world to disorder. She tripped over her weight. Steel and ironwork drilled her skull into a dismal throb. Clementine swore she would vomit what meal she had—the whiskey, and then the measly few chips. The man—the Devil, he had to have been—was engulfed by his own bark of laughter.

It echoed.

So unlike Nick's amusement, it echoed to ravage…

Everything a haze, she fell to the asphalt.

. . .

Yet again, cradled in bliss. Rocked by poison. Soothed by the lake…

The world was dark. She was submerged. The girl, quite alone. Yet again, she could breathe. The blood underneath her fingernails flaked away. The phantom of her shoulder was mute, and her mouth—

Her mouth.

Swallowed by the drink's buzz. It felt wonderful. It felt painless.

Clementine was stuck within the lake's shadows, though she didn't mind. Be it her royal heart, she was safe. She was secure. She wasn't a princess to be saved for the lake was her elixir…

She opened her eyes.

Above her, ice. A frigid wall that kept her there, locked in place. A blanket, perhaps. Or the shield of a proud knight.

And all around Clementine, she saw the hue of fire. Warm and bright—a comfort, really. It swarmed her body. It pushed away the ghosts that haunted her.

The pistol's kiss. The shoulder's frost.

Both, singed away by the gracious fire.

Clementine heard the lake call for her again. As it soothed the flame on her tongue, as it pocketed the fragments of her mind that drifted away, the lake thrummed, Stay here with me, and you won't see that… A monster, you called it? Well, you won't see that man again.

She felt the good part of herself—the angel, perhaps—, twist into distortion. But A.J, the angel whispered urgently. You need to go back to A.J.

You'll go back to him. You will, the lake assured. Clementine listened. She shrugged the angel off by the strength of her unscathed shoulder, the angel's perch, and listened. I can promise you that. you've already survived winter's bane for the child.

But stay with me. When you sleep, when you wake, stay with me, Clementine.

That monster, as you called it… Well, he's nothing more than a mutton rack. You'll figure out how to hunt him down.

With every word, the angel couldn't find its way. Claimed by the shadows, it watched as the lake lulled Clementine over.

I am here to take away your pain. For the meantime, you can breathe. Savor it. Ferment in that feeling.

And stay with me. I'll make it easier to keep 'em away.

For good…

. . .

Her ears rang herself awake. All around her, musk. Of wood. Of leather. Dirt, grime, blood. It lathered her senses stale, and as she picked herself up, Clementine realized that she had been dropped onto a ratty, grey couch which frayed at every corner. All around her, lanternlight hung off the walls. Candles fashioned into the lamps. "A.J…?" she murmured quietly. "W-Where—?"

Glass shattered. A man's voice bellowed.

"A.J?!" Clementine whirled in her seat. "Where— Where is he?!"

"SHUT IT!"

The one-eyed man. Except, now, the bandage had been removed. His skin was leathery, and his eye… It was nothing but fog. Even so, it wasn't enough to deter Clementine. Not with A.J absent. "Not until you tell me—!"

He swung and clubbed her by his knuckle-ridge.

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY?! QUIET!"

As Clementine hissed and held her cheek, she saw the blond step out of their kitchen. It was a small house. The kitchen had a bar, and on either side of it, doors outside—facing one another. She spared a glance behind her. "Holy shit! Would you calm down?!" Doors to other rooms… "She just woke up, my god!" Clementine watched the blond again, then the one-eyed man.

He sat down on the ottoman beside the couch. "Well I don't want her to get any ideas, alright?!" he snarled.

The blond rolled his eyes. "Oh what is she going to do, step on your toes?" He thrusted a hand towards Clementine. "Look at her and tell me she can take your ass." Both stares pierced her. Belittled every bone in her body. Deemed them frail.

She let them fall for that lie.

Clementine wasn't almighty. She knew her limits. She had only a mere handle on the few strengths she had.

But, she knew that when giants fell, it was to succumb. She fell to sink her teeth in their Achilles' heel.

Clementine wasn't almighty, but she knew how to take down a dead giant—and the one at the ranch, he had been one of the biggest people she'd ever come across.

So, yes, it was a lie. A devastating one to succumb for, at that.

What's more, it was one which she slowly nodded her head to. Her eyes were left wide, and her face, soft. As if she still was crowned a halo's innocence—that of a mere child.

"Yeah, see? Even she knows." The blond smacked his hand against his pantleg. "She ain't the fuckin' quarterback. No need," the man continued. Between them, a glare, then he watched Clementine. While his face remained pricked by his disgust, it was better than the glower from the ottoman. "Anyway, if you're asking about where the baby is, he's fine. He's just in the barn." After a jutted chin towards one of the doors, he strode for the other. "Now if you're going to break this one, do it after you get answers, yeah? There's only so many children from that camp."

Clementine frowned. What…camp…?

The one-eyed man didn't answer. He merely grunted and shook his head, and his greasy hair with it, leaving the blond to march through the door and slam it behind him. "Fuckin' twink—" Clementine flinched— "doesn't know what he's talking about…" His seeing eye found her again. "Now. Missy. Where's the rest of your camp, huh? You know where your counselor is?"

"I don't have—" Her bewilderment strained her line of thought. "I'm on my own!" she insisted. "I don't know anything about this camp!"

He laughed. "A child on her own? Right. Likely story."

"I'm telling you the tr—!"

His face twisted. His eye detonated. "Quit your fucKING LYING!" The one-eyed man leaned close, and his eyes—both the living and the dead—searched her own, set on a prowl. "You and I both know you were the one that stole our goats! That hat says it all!" he snapped.

"What?! No! You got the wrong girl!" His body flared. Clementine knew the glimmer in this giant's eye: he wanted nothing more than to snap her neck. She paused, then said, "Look, I'll just leave with A.J, I don't care! If I manage to see this camp, I won't say anything!" Another pause, and when she realized he was waiting for another piece, Clementine added, "All I know is that you've been following me for days!"

The man shook his head. "You. Little. Lying piece of shit," he muttered.

"I'm not—!"

It took him a second flat to hoist himself to his feet. "Shut up and fucking listen!" the man snapped with a pointed finger. He threw his hands in the air, mangled the cabin's musk as he began to pace. "I am tired of you children. We told you to stay. Off. Our land. We don't care about your fucking trades." His knuckles cracked. His palms rubbed together. And Clementine remained quiet. She watched him. The monster. He was nothing more than a rabid animal himself. "But no. You fucked everything! My eye! Look at it!" A rabid animal, forever at heart, now too by the skin of his eye. Clementine recoiled. She saw it, though, the fire that burned his flesh. It was in his eye—locked in time. "I am done with your little fucking games. I am done with you motherfucking kids." He stamped away. Rolled his shoulders. Paced like the giant he was. "So quit with the lying. I know who you are. Where you live.

"But tell me. Where's the rest of you?!" He whipped around. "Back at the camp?!"

Clementine worked her jaw.

She didn't care about a fucking camp. She didn't care about any other fucking kids in the world. So, she remain adamant, stood her ground: "You have. The wrong. Girl."

"Really?! You're going to keep giving me that shit?!"

"Yeah! You're half-fucking-blind! You wouldn't even recognize me if I did know you!"

"You little—!"

A mistake.

Clementine forgot how cattish a man's wounded ego could be.

His knuckles found her again. They belted her jawline and sent her to the ground. She hissed on impact, then gasped for the air knocked out of her. As the man's bellowing drilled her ears, her palms scuffed the floorboards. Caught a nail—

Caught a nail by her wrist.

Clementine eyed it. The nail was loose. It was thick, and black, and crusted in every ridge, rust. Experimentally, she teased it from the hole. And the nail, long and sturdy, it slipped into her palm. Even with her closed hand, the nail was brandished between her fingers…

Her luck left her stunned. Her luck— So it had been saved for this. Leaving that house when she did, it had been the right call.

She tensed her fist around it. Kept the rust to leave an imprint. Felt blood drip from her nose. Heard the man—

"I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING GET UP!"

His hand captured her Devil's shoulder with a thumb dug deep into the bullet wound. She yelped as the one-eyed man yanked her onto the couch. Clementine wriggled away, and sank deep into the cushions. The man had his hand raised, though the moment Clementine realized her licked lips tasted like iron, and the cushion had a fresh smear, the hand relaxed. And his smile. It was satisfied.

The door whined. And again, the blond stared at them both. He shook his head. "Jesus Christ, Daron. What has she told you so far?!"

The one-eyed man sat back down on the ottoman. "Nothing," he growled.

Clementine spat, "You have. The wrong. Girl." She watched the blond. Met his eyes. "I've never gone to a fucking camp."

"Really?" he asked, more curious than anything. "Then where did you come from?"

"I follow the railroads."

They looked at each other. It was then that Clementine realized they had the same noses—down from the bridge to the point. That, and she realized they didn't believe her. Not for a second. Which, frankly, she was almost glad for. The last thing she needed were people following her along the train routes.

The one-eyed giant shrugged, then snapped, "It's called lying, Dan."

"Don't care. Just do your job, and I'll do mine and fix the gate." The blond picked up a toolbox just beside the door. "If I come back and she's dead, you better have some idea about those other kids."

"Fuck off."

Once again, the front door was slammed shut.

The man watched Clementine. His seeing eye sharpened, and the fog in the other curdled his hostility. "Tell me where they are."

"I—" Clementine hesitated. As she shifted into the couch, she realized how her eyes threatened to burn. Because, her shoulder… It stung. Her nose, it leaked. Neither were pains that sought to remain, but the aches, their echoes, were enough to burn.

Perhaps for the better. Her busy mind went to work: "B-By the lake…" Clementine granted her eyes the permission. Tears spilled. Her throat knotted tight. "The— The creek has these fishing huts. And—" The one-eyed man sank his chin into his hand. He nodded, and for a moment, Clementine managed to sneak the patience out of him. "A-And, um, there's a bunch of them because th-there's different team stations…"

He narrowed his eyes. "How many?" The gravel of his voice remained as a husk. "How big are they?"

"W-Well, I don't know how many are left now… There's been fires."

"I fucking know about the fires." He flared again. He pointed at his eye.

Clementine shook her head and eased, through a whimper, "But— But I mean a l-lot more. Like in the b-beginning and every y-year and stuff." She swallowed. Thought of her haven, the first shelter when it started. The motel. Room 108. It was her favorite one. "So, m-maybe seven? Ei-Eight?" She shrugged limply. Recalled a time of recess and games. "I-I know a lot of the younger kids like, um, like elementary schoolkids hide there."

"Like you?"

She frowned. "Well, yeah… I— I-I guess…"

He grunted. Folded his arms. "Anywhere else…?!"

"W—?"

"Anywhere else?!" he snarled, flared yet again. "You said the younger ones hid in those sheds. Where else would they be?!"

"U-Um…" Fuck. A— No. Wind turbine— No. Ski— Her shoulder. Snow. Snow and ice. In her shoulder. "Well th-there's a few places…" Him. Him. Clementine fought the urge to look away—to forget about his one eye. To look away would mean death. Suspicion—she couldn't risk it. A.J. Because there was A.J. "There's, um, like a lodge far up in the woods. For the— The winter camps. Like sledding…"

She burrowed her shoulder deep into the cushion. And there, she felt it bleed. He broke skin. Torn her scar.

"Or skiing."

"I've never gone skiing." Yes she has.

"Of course you haven't," he muttered. After another moment, the one-eyed man continued: "Where else?"

"U-Um…" Camps had animals, didn't they? "A barn, for the horses w-we had."

"You have horses."

"I-I know we still have some." Shit. "I mean the other h-horses." Clementine floundered. She scoured for what she knew. Katjaa— Fuck… "My— My favorite ran away." Katjaa taught her some names. "He was a— A-A palomino."

The man nodded.

Oh God, the man nodded. He was buying it. She had the giant in the palm of her hand.

He shifted, and with his gnarly hands clasped together, he asked, "Where d'you get the baby? Off some of the other farmers?"

She shook her head before she could help it. Before she could hesitate. Again, perhaps for the better. Babies didn't go to camps, and the man probably knew some of those farmers anyway. Any hesitance would've done something. Flared the monster. He had a look. In his eyes, there was a look. He was searching for something. To pierce—alike her shoulder. "His parents were running from this huge camp."

"There's another camp?!"

"N-No. Not like ours. Not a camp from before. Like— Like a, um, a-a settlement." Clementine swallowed. Tasted the blood, thick down her throat. "They ran from them but ended up dying anyway, so I take care of him."

The one-eyed man hummed. His glower trailed towards the window, towards where the blond surely worked on a gate, in the dead of night. Clementine didn't follow it. She kept steady on him. Watched—

His eye snapped to her. Whatever lurked within the dead moon of the left, Clementine saw it in the fog—the right. She swallowed. Felt apprehension claim her gut. "What's his name…?" the man gruelled quietly.

"A.J," Clementine whispered.

"That short for something?"

"Well, yeah." Don't give it. Lie. "A-Aaron Junior."

Skeptically, the one-eyed man arched his brow. "Will he know that?"

Wait. Fuck. No— NO.

Clementine shrugged into the couch. His name—what's this brother's name?! FUCK. She knew where she was. She knew what she just did: backed herself right into a corner. Laid herself to be hunted. And what an easy hunt she could be… Already wounded. Already weak.

So.

She kept her eyes soft, and her voice softer. "I call him A.J."

He worked his jaw. Then, he stood. "Go get him, then," the man snapped. "Let's see how much this Aaron Junior of yours knows you."

Her grip tightened around the nail. Numbly, Clementine slunk off the couch. The moment her boots met the floor, the man turned away to lead her out. The moment her heels scuffed the rug, she felt a quiet, dismal ache at both ankles.

The moment she stepped off the couch, her scheme ignited.

You're not following him.

Don't let this man anywhere near A.J.

Your time is now. Go.

Clementine limped, and from the depths of her gullet, she ushered a small yelp of surprise. The man eyed her from over his shoulder. Like a lamb cooing for its mother, she whimpered, "I-I'm fine. My foot just hurts…"

He rolled his eyes. Muttered a cruel line under his breath. And stepped forward.

The nail was ready in her hand.

Your time is now. Your time is now.

She jolted with the nail reached back, winding for her trap to strike.

You're not following him.

The nail found the wrinkle of his jeans—at the bend of his knee, from the back. Her weight slammed his balance over itself.

Don't let this man anywhere near A.J.

Clementine strafed as the giant fell. Her weight alone wouldn't have been enough to knock him down, but her nail—the teeth to pierce his Achilles' heel—compensated. The one-eyed man howled. He collapsed as a writhing mass.

Kill the monster.

And because she was no lamb, and she had no mother, Clementine forced the nail deep into his flesh by one final strike of her boot. The kick was the same she used to flatten the life out of the walkers. Caved-in their skulls. Smothered brain matter into the dirt.

The moment when the nail's pike met bone was the same.

Like the rest of them, this monster's life was nothing more than a vile sin beneath her.

Clementine narrowly avoided his leg—the one that thrashed to give her a true limp—, and she staggered for the kitchen bar. Her eyes skimmed the disarray. A pan. Pots. Knives. A—

A Glock.

Behind her, the one-eyed man got to his feet. Every stride was a lurched monstrosity in itself. A violent hurricane that sought to rip her flesh off the bone. The look in his eye, cruel, set to torture.

It didn't matter.

Clementine hurled her weight, reached forward, with the hazel in her eyes set ablaze. They crackled, they flourished, through the pulse of her adrenaline. Her heart pounded behind her ears.

This was it. Life or death.

And rather than a frigid vat of ice, her blood surged to a boil. Her eyes flecked to the Glock, captured the knife.

But instead, Clementine went for the pan.

As he fumbled for the blade, his mind set to torture, and grazed it by the tips of his fingers, she grappled and swung. The Glock was sent across the kitchen. The knife fell at their feet.

And the pan… It saved her. It did exactly what she needed. The chime of it meeting his face was lurid. The pan spun to the momentum in her hand, and Clementine struck once again. The giant fell to catch himself on one of the bar stools. "You… Li'le… Shid!" he spat thickly, fighting the blood in his nose, his mouth, and whatever lurched through his esophagus.

Clementine threw the pan into his knee and dove for the knife. His realization came swiftly. He ignored the pan. Once again, he laid his hands on her. For the final time, the one-eyed man caught her jaw by his knuckle-ridge.

She fell. And as she fell, she heard the knife skid past her ear. The man didn't go for it, no. His hands found her neck. His eyes, drunk on gratification.

Her nails dug. She kicked the man at his stomach. But he was unbothered. The man— This was his sport. Knowing that he could pop a child's head off with his bare hands alone…

He knew how to deal with children underneath him. Ones that laid declawed. Ones with teary, honest eyes.

Clementine needed that knife.

Dots plagued her vision. She kept one hand to rake his skin. Both heels, locked against his weak knee. She hissed. Her heart screamed for A.J's life.

Keep this man away.

Do not let him close to Alvin.

"You've alrea'y gone reb…!" His words, a crackled distortion. "Wha' 'o you have 'o 'ay for yourse'f…?"

Through the grit of her teeth, a veil of blood, she snarled, "You. Got. The wrong. Girl."

Realization struck him, and it swindled the violence from his grasp. "You…" She reached for the knife at her fingertips. His strength returned. Clementine choked. "You lie' righ' ou' your ass, didn' you…?!"

She didn't answer him.

"Have 'o admi', you would've been the fu'ing smar'est kid there…"

Busy mind… Oh, how her teachers would've loathed what she was about to do.

And her parents indefinitely, for the matter.

I'm sorry.

But I need to.

Clementine snagged the handle.

"'oo bad tha' head on your shou'ers will roll in'o my ditch."

Through the static of her vision, she felt the blade puncture its mark. The man spasmed and choked on his blood. His hands sprang free from her neck—his vain attempt to tear the knife away from his eye. But he was too slow. A giant still disoriented by the pan's onslaught.

Because Clementine didn't take the second to breathe. Instead, that valuable, fraction of a second, it was spent towards driving that blade further.

The man sucked in his last breath. It rattled down his throat. So twisted. So confused. His seeing eye widened as the other sunk deep into the back of his thoughts—to the barrel of his skull. It wondered what happened. It wondered where he went wrong.

But, Clementine stared as his weight began to sag against her body. Her lungs grew sharp, and air tore its way down her throat. The monster saw the hatred as it blistered across hazel. Watched it molt. Witnessed the moment where that hazel seared itself as animosity.

"Th-The wron'…" he croaked. "The wron'…g-girl…"

The slain giant sank across her. His blood pooled. His heart ceased.

Now, a true one-eyed man…

With the hilt of the knife dug into her chest, Clementine kicked and kneed the body off of her. It took a minute. Maybe two. Once it was done, and she got to her feet, her breaths were sharp, but the pain at her side was shrill. Gasped, she looked down. At the height of her hip, a crevasse. A deep gorge of flesh where blood pooled at her belt. With the knife at hand, Clementine held the wound tight.

She hissed and staggered her way into the kitchen. Looked across the floor.

And there the Glock was.

Clementine swiped it off the ground and stalked along the cabinets for leverage, until she rounded the corner and made her way towards the back. She hissed on her knotted throat. She felt tears bead across her eyes, then blood along her fingerti—

Hinges whined. Bootheels scuffed a doormat.

At the doorway, she heard his appalled whisper:

"W-What the fuck…?!"

Clementine met the blond man, dead in the eyes, with hers set ablaze. He was gaunt at the sight. The mangled pan. The man's dead body with his stare set at the door. It was clear: the false halo Clementine had dawned for him, it had been traded for carnage.

And she knew he saw the lake behind her eyes. The fire within them, how it aimed, then spat, without thought.

A bullet cut through his head cleanly.

The blond plummeted as yet another giant damned to succumb.

…on behalf of the Glock in her hand, perhaps Clementine was almighty after all.

Once the door closed, only to stop at the blond's shoe, Clementine expelled a weak sob that teetered the line between relief and revulsion.

Oh… Oh God…

She sagged against the doorframe, her hand plastered across the new ravine of flesh. Clementine would have to find a first-aid kit, or a tacklebox. Staples, if it came to that. She looked down. Her shirts, seeped by her blood, slashed to ruin.

But, more than that.

The blood on her hands. The death behind her eyes.

"Fuck… Fuck…" Clementine whispered. Her chest pattered to the tune of her adrenaline.

And, it swelled to the hum of alcohol. A fire had been ignited. The fire, from the bottom of the lake.

The blood on her hands, the death behind her eyes…

It was easy, deciding their fate. Looking into the depths of their soul until they released their final breath.

Clementine held her shoulder with the other hand. It was…quiet. Numb. And her mouth—

Oh, her mouth.

She swallowed, and come to find, it too was quiet.

Her eyes strayed towards the slain giants—monsters, to decompose and be claimed by the world. And as she did, she heard it. The depths of her mind's eye. Something clicked into place.

The lake called for her again. It laid a contract.

Stay with me, and that feelin' in your gut, it'll be easier to follow.

You're no damn lamb. Poach them.

All of them, Clementine. And raise that child right.

She swallowed her hoarse breath. Then, she tore her eyes from the men and laid them to the barn. That man, that monster, deserved it. He deserved it. So now, he was gone. For good. And the blond too, for the matter.

Both of them. For good.

Be that wolf that looked me in the eye, back in the cabin. And the one that fed me to the crows.

Stay and have a drink with me.

Of course.

Clementine felt the lake's fire crackle along the gold in her eyes. It singed the gold away. Molded it anew.

She knew she wasn't any better. She knew that.

But A.J was. And regardless of her royal heart, be it the dragon in her breath, Clementine would keep it that way. Through the means of a monster, perhaps, she would. That was her contract's vow.

Clementine nudged open the door with the pistol in one hand, and her bleeding wound—with the knife—held by the other.

The barn was quiet from the cabin. Despite the looming clouds above, the sun's hue had begun its embark. A deep, smoldering orange that bled the night's sky like ironwork to a blacksmith. A livid color which threatened the night's reign…

As she trudged through the soft gravel path, with every step, she gradually heard A.J's whimpers. Not of pain but rather distress, she heard him. Halfway across the gravel, she heard the ghost-man as well—hissing at A.J to quiet down:

"—ee? That's what happens when you don't listen to Daron, kid. Now shut it before he shoots you too, alright?" Clementine's face twisted with sardonic poise. "We don't need another child in the ditch."

Her shadow crept into the barn's mouth. The ghost-man stood with his back to the door, and A.J had been sat on haybales beside the man. A.J was the one to turn. He called for Clementine. Reached for her.

And those cold eyes followed. The man blinked, and his complexion paled to that of bone. "W-What did you do…?!" he strained. "What… What did you do to my boys…?!"

She didn't answer. Clementine stepped into the barn. She cocked the gun. Readied it for the inevitable. "Let him go," she muttered, throat raw. The ire in her eyes forced the man to silence. He didn't move. He held his breath.

She rocked her jaw. Then, with that ire seeped into every word, Clementine hissed, "Let my boy go."

He stood there, as a gravestone. Clementine narrowed her eyes. The moment dragged between them, and as it did, Clementine realized that all three men really did look all alike. Same nose. Same jawline…

His face snapped him to the present, and it twisted the same way both his sons' had done. He lunged forward. His hand stretched for her head. The Glock jolted in her hand.

It was easy.

The ghost-man was dead before he hit the ground.

And the thing to haunt his soul, hellfire. Nothing but hellfire in her eyes. There was no gold, no hazel.

Not a spit of daylight, but rather the livid, rising sun…

---

Alrighty... I think that's a good start to a remake. Especially since this is a passion-project. Lol. But I gotta say, it feels nice seeing this version in a FF doc. I work on it on Word now, but the first was with FF. So like. Feels nice seeing it in Verdana. xD

Ah well. Round two. Hope you enjoyed.

:)