Think of all the roads

"You got that ride to Macon if you want it."

Think of all their crossings

"There are worse places to call home."

Taking steps is easy

"Listen, I'm not much for goodbyes. Tell the others for me?"

Standing still is hard

"It was me. I was the one giving the bandits supplies."

Remember all their faces

"I know how to be a dad, you know."

Remember all their voices

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls…"

Everything is different

"It's how the world works now."

The second time around

"I love you...so much."

Amelia stirred, turning over in the dirt and groaning at the throbbing pain in her head. She took it slowly, coming up to her knees, then standing. She put a hand to her forehead and felt a gash that ran out from her hairline and almost reached her eyebrow, swollen and crusted over with mud. There was a faint ringing in her left ear. She remembered the last time she passed out unconscious, and the morning that followed, and reminded herself that there were worse ways to wake up.

She looked out toward the river, which she knew wouldn't be far once she passed through the trees. The forest was quiet enough that she could hear the water rushing, behind the sounds of singing birds and fluttering wings.

She took a few wobbly steps and fell back to her knees. Back on all fours, she struck the ground with a mud-covered fist. Everything was still spinning and she didn't have time for this. She'd already wasted enough. Probably too much.

There it was again. The unwelcome surge of adrenaline, the jittery hands, the crippling sense of terror and urgency. The anxiety of knowing the likelihood that Clem was already dead couldn't be ignored. Only pushed away to come back another time.

Amelia took off toward the sound of rushing water.

Clementine had fallen into the river. It wasn't hard to find the exact point at which it had happened. Clem had left her a trail, in one way or another. Broken branches, tracks in the mud, and two walker corpses had led her to the river bank, which was littered with small footprints, handprints, and clear drag marks where she'd tumbled over the edge. It looked like she'd gone backwards. Probably headfirst.

She stared at the tracks, climbing axe in hand, listening to walkers moaning in the background of her focus and feeling panic rise inside her. For a few moments she thought she was going to throw up where she stood.

She probably drowned. You might be able to find her corpse floating a way's downriver.

Shut up.

The walkers were getting close.

She had to know. Even if it was true, she had to find her. She wouldn't be able to live without knowing exactly what had happened to her.

You probably won't be able to live with knowing what happened, either.

Shut. Up.

"Fffffffffff-"

She screamed an unidentifiable combination of several curse words and turned around, swinging her axe into the temple of the nearest walker. She pulled it out and kicked the corpse to the ground. The rest were advancing slowly, limping toward her in a small crowd of empty eyes and faces. She put another one down and did the same to the next, and the next, and the next. Through the temple, up through the chin, down through the skull –

She froze, her blade buried to the hilt in the brain of the final walker. Her face reddened with rage as she recognized, behind the greying flesh and rotting wounds on his neck, the bandit from the night before. The one who'd chased Clementine with a machete until she fell into the river trying to get away from him. She pulled the axe out of his head and he tumbled to the ground, eyes open, his second life ending with a low, inhuman growl.

"This is your fault." she whispered, to herself as much as to him.

Shaking and breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating, she lifted a knee high and brought her foot down onto his face one, two, three times. It crunched and broke until the pile of flesh and blood and shattered bone hardly resembled anything, let alone a face.

That won't make any difference.

You've already failed.

Amelia quieted her thoughts by jumping feet-first into the river.

When the current slowed, Amelia put her feet down on the river bed and stood, leaning on an overturned red canoe. She had no way to tell how far she'd floated downriver, but now she was knee-deep in reed plants and gently running water. It was a far cry from the rapids she'd been tossed around in when she started. That part of the river had been moving quickly enough to carry someone of Clementine's weight at least this far – if not further. She was facing a narrow, isolated beach situated on the underside of a small cliff. She trudged toward it and stuck to her plan: if she didn't find Clementine, or any sign that she'd been here, she'd continue down the river.

Then what?

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth.

Stop.

What happens when you travel the entire river and don't find her?

Stop!

She opened her eyes suddenly, trying to distract herself. She looked to the cliff, which was far too steep to climb with the axe, even without a gaping head wound. She noticed the remains of a broken dock, which she could use to get to the top, should she decide to go that way. Clementine could've been up there, or further down river-

-or dead-

-but Amelia could only search one at a time.

Amelia felt her hands start to shake.

Pick the wrong one and you'll never see her again.

Clenching her fists, trying to make it stop, she stepped further onto the beach and gripped handfuls of her own hair as if she was about to tear it out.

Shut up!

She's dead. You'll never know what happened to her and there's nothing you can do.

"I said, shut up!" Her voice echoed twice throughout the valley, reiterating what she'd screamed to nothing and no one. She was alone, and failing to convince herself that she wasn't losing it completely.

She looked down and noticed that she was standing in her name.

Her name was written, right there. Massive capital letters spelled out in mud that stood out against the light sand. She wondered how she'd missed it. She'd stepped in it and skewed the M and E beyond recognition, but it was there, clear as day and followed by an arrow that pointed toward the dock.

"Oh my God," Amelia breathed.

She's alive.

She took a running start toward the dock and jumped, catching the edge and pulling herself up just enough to inch herself onto the platform and roll onto her back. Her head pounded and the ringing sensation in her ear had yet to let up, but she couldn't have been less bothered by it. She got to her feet, brandished the axe, and pushed further into the forest.

It was getting late. The sun had set an hour ago; it was dark, and getting darker by the minute. She was painfully aware of each hour that passed, knowing she was going either toward Clementine or away from her. There was a world of difference between the two, and the choice had already been made.

A few hours ago, she'd stumbled onto an abandoned campsite. It had been ransacked to hell by bandits and scavengers. It looked like something out of a nightmare. She'd found photos near the fire pit, of the happy family that had been there once. They even had a dog. The family must have been hiding out there, waiting for help. She both envied and pitied the ignorance it took to think that they were safe there, that someone was coming to help them. To think that hell on Earth was just going to blow over. Now, the camp was trashed. Their tents were ripped to shreds. A walker – one so disfigured it was impossible to tell which family member it once was – had been tied to a tree, before someone had bashed his head in with a branch that now laid at his feet, covered in blood. It was probably the same people who'd cut the dog's throat and skewered its corpse on tent poles planted in the ground.

There wasn't much to find, and she didn't bother to look. She saw her name again, spelled out in the dirt, and went in the direction the arrow pointed her. She'd watched the ground intently for more messages, but hadn't seen any. It was about to get dark enough that she wouldn't be able to see them anyway.

She couldn't go back. She was sure she hadn't missed any, she was sure. But hours of wandering (more and more aimlessly, it felt), killing isolated walkers, and calling Clementine's name into an empty forest had thoroughly discouraged her.

Clem had survived the river. She had proof of that. The worst was over. She'd seen Clementine handle walkers before, sometimes better than herself, even. She told herself she'd been stupid to think Clementine couldn't protect herself. The girl was tougher and smarter than anyone gave her credit for – including Amelia.

She decided she had to move, find some sort of clearing. It would only get harder to spot walkers. She wasn't leaving. She'd sleep in this part of the forest. Spend the night up in a tree. She wasn't finished looking for Clementine, not even close.

A light in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned and saw that it was actually several lights. Were those…

Windows.

Amelia followed the light and came up to a steep drop in the forest floor, marked by a path that led down the hill and straight to a cabin. A cabin out in the middle of the woods, far beyond screaming distance of anyone or anything else. Someone was home.

She carefully made her way down the hill, sliding most of the way on her heels, seconds away from losing her balance. At the bottom, she stuck to the outskirts of the house and crouched near their shed, not wanting to be seen by its owners before she saw them. Pressing up against the shed doors, which had been bolted shut from the outside, she moved along the wall, trying to see into the windows. Most were covered by sheets that had been hung as makeshift curtains, and –

Amelia stopped short when she realized a walker was lingering on the adjacent side of the shed. She peered around the corner; it was on its stomach, scratching away at a hole in the shed wall that had been covered clumsily with a thin piece of plywood. That was fine by her – she didn't need to attract its attention.

She crept up to the front door, reminding herself that this was her last chance to turn back. There was no way of knowing how many there were, or how many guns they had. She wished she had more than one bullet. It would've evened the balance of power, should they draw on her. Then again, if they outnumbered her she'd be dead anyway.

This is stupid, she thought to herself. God, this is stupid.

Amelia made it a point not to speak to strangers. More often than not, a stranger would shoot her in the head sooner than shake her hand. But she had to ask. If Clementine had come this way, she would have found her way to this house, and the people in it might have at least seen her in passing. She repeated this to herself quietly as she lifted a hand to knock.

Dumbest thing I've ever done.

Without thinking, she almost pounded on the door with a fist; she stopped mid-swing. Showing aggression wouldn't get her anywhere with these people. Some people hardly needed a reason to escalate things. If the bandits from the night before were any indication, some people didn't need a reason at all. She took a breath and opted for a light knock instead.

Nothing.

She couldn't stand waiting and knocked again, harder this time. Her heartbeat picked up when she heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. She left the axe strapped to her back – but made sure it was within reach.

If these people didn't kill her on sight, she decided bitterly, she'd return the favor by telling them there was a walker in their shed.

An older man opened the door. He must have been in his fifties or so. His hair was greying and shaved short, in stark contrast with his dark eyebrows and facial hair. The lines that creased his forehead, mouth, and the corners of his eyes suggested that he spent no small amount of his time worrying – not unlike herself.

For a split second, he looked over her head as if he were expecting someone taller. When he saw her, his eyes widened and he didn't bother to hide his shock and confusion.

"Jesus…" his brow creased as he looked her over. "What the hell happened-"

"I'm looking for a girl. Little. She's eleven." Amelia interrupted, suddenly talking a mile a minute upon realizing that she hadn't prepared a single thing to say. "Wearing purple. And a…uh…" she stuttered, waving finger around her head while she struggled for simple words. "A hat. A baseball cap."

She trailed off when the look on the man's face changed, noticeably. He'd looked at her with shock, maybe disgust – which didn't surprise her– but his expression suddenly changed to something she couldn't read. The only thing she could say with certainty was the only thing she'd wanted to know: he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"You've seen her?" she demanded.

"You must be Amelia."

She nodded, not yet sure whether to feel relieved.

The man seemed to notice the way her hands were shaking at her sides. "I…yes, we've seen her, but-"

Oh God. Amelia saw his hesitation and a sense of dread began to claw at her, starting in the pit of her stomach and working its way up to her heart. No one ever hesitated to give good news. "Is she alive?"

She heard another voice come from the house – several new voices. Another man, significantly younger, came into view behind the man who'd answered the door.

"Pete? Everything alright?" he asked cautiously as he approached the door. He, too, stopped short when he saw the state Amelia was in. "Holy-"

"Stay where you are, Luke," Pete told him gruffly, watching Amelia with wary eyes.

"Hey! Is she alive?" she snapped. The amount of time he was taking to give her an answer, an answer that would ruin or save her life, was making her furious.

"Hold on now, hold on," Luke came to stand by Pete, hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. "There's no need to get upset. Now, what's-"

Amelia ignored him, and addressed Pete, who continued to watch her as if she was going lunge at him at any moment. She couldn't blame him. She knew she was acting as unstable as she looked. But they'd seen Clementine. There was something this man wasn't telling her and she was desperate to know what it was.

"You know who I'm talking about!" Amelia felt her voice rising but couldn't have controlled herself if she tried. "Is she dead? Tell me!"

"No." Pete answered, raising his own voice to a volume that wasn't aggressive, but unshakably calm. Amelia had been wrong in thinking his face was creased with worry lines; this was the voice of a man who'd spent years parenting with an unwavering hand. It frightened her, not in a way that made her fear for her life, but in the way she used to fear authority as a child, after she'd done something wrong. "She is not. She's with us-"

Amelia immediately tried to push her way past him and into the house. Luke stepped into the doorway, ready to stop her should she get past the old man, but Pete stopped her by snapping again. His voice wasn't loud, but it still carried weight and authority that froze her where she stood.

"Hey. I want to help you, young lady, but you need to calm down and listen. You understand?"

Amelia looked between the two of them. Pete's face was stern and unyielding, but it lacked the callousness and cruelty she'd come to expect from strangers. Luke's expression surprised her as well – it was one of genuine concern, something Amelia hadn't seen in a long time. These people weren't the bandits from the forest. They were reasonable, at the very least. No one had started shooting or even drawn a gun. She decided she could meet them halfway and nodded stiffly.

"Good. Now…" Pete didn't seem to know where to start, and looked over his shoulder at the boy he'd called Luke for an idea. He couldn't have been much older than Amelia. A few years, give or take.

Luke stepped in and offered, "Look, why don't you come inside and get cleaned up? There's something you need to know and-"

"Just tell me-" Amelia caught herself starting to yell again and lowered her voice. "…tell me where she is. Please. Is she upstairs?"

Luke broke eye contact with her and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "She's…she's in the shed."

Amelia's heart began to freefall. Everything around her fell away – Luke's voice was muffled as he started to tell her something about letting them explain, Pete's gruff tone warning her to stay calm – none of it registered or mattered.

She bolted for the shed, jumping the porch steps, landing hard on her feet and sprinting for the doors. She threw her shoulder into them with momentum, causing them to cave in slightly before falling back into place. The bolt was new but not well attached; the wood looked old and easy to break.

She heard a scream from inside and knew it was unmistakably Clementine's.

Amelia stepped back far enough to get some leverage and kicked the bolt with as much force as she was capable of. The wood around the bolt splintered and it gave in a little, but not enough.

Pete had followed her down to the shed, and Luke was close behind him, yelling something she didn't bother to listen to. More people were coming out of the cabin. Amelia didn't stop to see how many.

She kicked the door again – it didn't give much further and she almost screamed in frustration.

Clementine screamed again. There were sounds of a struggle: a loud crash, heavy objects hitting the floor, the walker moaning, growling, screaming. Pete turned to another member of his group – another boy, carrying a rifle, who looked to be the same age as Luke – and shouted,

"Get the keys!"

Amelia kicked the door again, harder.

Luke was by her side before she realized it. "On three!"

She didn't wait for three. She kicked the door again and Luke followed suit. The wood cracked and pushed inward with a loud, hollow sound. They kicked again and again in an alternating, inconsistent rhythm. A final kick from the both of them sent the doors flying inward until they hit the walls on either side of the interior, bouncing back on their hinges.

Clementine was hunched in front of a walker that had been skewered on the broken edge of a white picket fence. She was struggling to remove the teeth of a hammer from a gaping hole in its forehead. It was stuck, and she stumbled backwards when she managed to pull it out.

Amelia, and the group behind her, stared. Whether they were horrified, surprised, or impressed, she didn't know. Amelia felt all three.

Luke was the only one who spoke. "Holy shit."

After a brief silence, Clementine, breathing heavily, angrily threw the hammer aside and turned around. "I am still. Not. Bitten. I never was." Her words seemed directed at one person in particular – Clem had singled out Luke, who stared back, wide-eyed and speechless. "And you left me out here to die."

Bitten? Who thought she was bitten? Amelia spoke up to get her attention. "Clementine."

Clementine's attention jumped quickly to Amelia, blinking in shock as she recognized the familiar face in a group of strangers.

"Amelia?" She ran to her sister and Amelia met her halfway, shoving past Luke and crouching on the floor of the shed to pull her in for a hug. Clementine took a step back, holding Amelia's shoulders at arm's length. Her face quickly fell from a relieved smile to an expression of confusion and mild horror. "Are you…? What happened to your head?"

"I'm fine."

As always, Clem didn't seem convinced.

Amelia stood, gently guided Clementine behind her, and turned to face the group, none of whom had moved.

She had an idea of what had happened, and she wanted to be wrong. Her hands started to shake, this time not with nerves but with anger. Simmering rage that was building at an alarming rate; soon she'd have more than she knew what to do with. She didn't know what she planned to do when one of them confirmed what she was afraid of: that they'd found her sister, lost and alone, and locked her in a shed.

She looked out at all of them, but, like Clementine, directed her question to Luke. He seemed to be the one in charge of the group, despite being one of the youngest.

"What did you do?"

Luke stammered, caught by surprise. "I...I didn't mean...this is..."

"How the hell did it get in here?" the boy with the rifle cut in before Luke could give a real answer.

Pete didn't answer the question. Like Amelia, it seemed to be the last thing on his mind. "Little girl's tough as nails."

Only a tall, dark-haired Hispanic man addressed Clementine directly and asked her if she was alright.

"This shed should've been safe," Luke insisted. Amelia got the sense that his awe wasn't at the fact that the shed had been breached, but at the way Clementine had handled it.

But no one could say she'd come out of it unscathed. Amelia noticed her hands trembling, before realizing her entire body was shaking. She reminded herself that Clementine's ability to kill walkers didn't mean it was easy for her – physically or emotionally. It was too easy to judge things by the new standard the apocalypse had created; easy to forget that no child should ever have to do the things Clementine had done to stay alive.

Luke blinked, and asked in disbelief, "You patched yourself up?"

Clementine moved a hand to cover her left forearm, then pulled her sleeve down to her wrist. Amelia looked down, saw a long, deep gash that ran from her wrist to her elbow, very recently and very badly stitched up, and wondered how she hadn't noticed it.

It looked like a bite.

But it couldn't have been a bite.

"Clem…?" Amelia trailed off, unsure how to ask a question that she was terrified to have answered.

The boy with the rifle chimed in, his tone sharp and accusatory. "Where'd you get that stuff?"

It wasn't a bite. It wasn't. It couldn't have been –

"Did she steal from us?" This from a woman, probably in her early thirties and…pregnant.

Everything about this situation, and these people, had set Amelia on edge. She's been piecing together all the possible ways this could end. The idea that she and Clementine weren't going to escape them alive had been sitting patiently among her thoughts, waiting for the worst possible moment to rear its head. And here it was.

Pete spoke from the back of the group, making everyone turn to listen. "This doesn't change a thing. She hasn't done anything to us."

The woman retorted quickly, as open with her disdain for Pete as she was with her apparent disdain for Clementine: "Says the man not carrying a baby."

She and Pete had apparently had this argument before. "Enough already!"

"I did." Clementine cut in. "I took stuff, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"What?" Amelia looked back to Clementine. She knew her sister to be passive, but would never have expected her to apologize to people who were clearly indifferent to her. Maybe her own fear had occurred to Clementine as well; that these people were dangerous, and it was safer not to make them angry.

The pregnant woman crossed her arms and glared before turning her attention back to Pete. "And you think you can trust her?"

"God damn it, don't even start." Pete said, in a tone that said he was past running out of patience. "Any of you would've done the same if you were half as tough as this little girl." If anyone was about to protest, Pete put an end to it before they started. "So just save it."

The tallest of the group, the Hispanic man in the flannel shirt, remained stoic and pensive as he processed all of this. Finally, he said, "Bring them in and I'll take a look at their injuries."

He turned and walked calmly back to the cabin. Unlike Pete, he didn't seem interested in arguing his point. He seemed to think that the act of making the decision was enough.

A large colored man with thick glasses muttered to himself, "Damn lurkers sneaking around out here…we'd better get inside." He followed closely on the pregnant woman's heels as they both headed back toward the front porch.

Luke stayed. So did Pete, and the boy with the rifle.

Amelia reached down, finding Clementine's hand while keeping her eyes on all three of them. She left her climbing axe on her back, her stolen pistol tucked away at her waist. She didn't want any misunderstandings or sudden moves.

"We're leaving." She said to Clementine.

Clementine and Luke spoke at the same time.

"What?"

"Hold on, now-"

"It's time to go, Clementine." Amelia said, trying to imitate the stern certainty she'd heard from Pete and the man in who'd told them to come inside. She led Clementine out of the shed, crossing the threshold slowly and keeping her back to the wall.

"Amelia, wait," Clementine insisted. "You need help."

Luke came forward, arms down to show he didn't pose any threat. "Look, I realize we've…gotten off on the wrong foot here, but-"

"Don't." Amelia said harshly. "Not after what you did." Luke looked stunned, at a loss for words for the second time that night. Amelia shook her head, feeling tears well up and willing her voice not to crack as she said, "What's wrong with you people? How could you do this?"

It had been a bad day. Not the worst day she's ever had, she was quick to remind herself. But the exhaustion, anger, and uncertainty was weighing on her, and quickly becoming more than she was equipped to handle. She turned away and angrily swiped at her face with her sleeve. Removing all evidence of emotional weakness. Her sister wasn't dead. They'd found each other. Any confrontation with these people would probably turn violent, and wouldn't be worth the collateral damage it would cause. Their best option was to leave. Find a camp, wait for the sun to come up, and then go from there like they always had.

She tightened her grip on Clementine's hand and tried to direct her back into the woods. "Come on, Clementine."

"Amelia." Pete said from behind her. She'd heard her name spoken in front of him several times; it wasn't a surprise that he knew what it was. Still, it was a surprise to hear him speak it. There was something personal and oddly calming about it. "Wait just a minute."

"Who cares?" said the boy with the rifle. Amelia noticed very blue eyes and a perpetual scowl. "Let them go if they want to leave."

"Not now, Nick." Pete shot him a glance before addressing her again. "I can see you're upset. I'd be too, if I were in your shoes. Now, you need more than a little help, and we'd like to explain what happened. Just come on inside so we can sort this all out."

Amelia didn't move. Unable to think of any explanation that would excuse what they'd done, she shook her head and tried to continue toward the forest, until Clementine abruptly let go of her hand. Amelia turned sharply, surprised at her sister's decision.

"You don't look good, Amelia." Clementine said, obviously worried. "I think we need to stay."

"No one here wants to hurt anyone," Luke assured her. "Let's just talk this out. Inside, away from the lurkers. Alright?"

Clementine looked back at him and nodded. "You're hurt, and they're offering help," She said to Amelia. "We should take it."

Amelia didn't like the sight of her sister and a complete stranger in agreement against her. She and Clem had always been on the same page. It was how they stayed alive. When the situation called for it they communicated quickly and quietly, usually without words. They always understood each other and they rarely disagreed. Seeing her choose to side with someone else was new, and Amelia didn't like new things. Or new people.

"We don't need anything from you."

"Is that so?" Luke crossed his arms, his voice suddenly sharp. "Have you seen yourself?" Even acting harsh and defensive, he didn't seem any less kind. He had a handsome, gentle face that made him seem incapable of cruelty. He probably couldn't have looked mean if he tried. His words didn't make her feel attacked so much as chastised. Lectured by a friend who had her best interests in mind, but had grown tired of the way she refused to listen. "That head wound looks like you've been-"

"Luke, that's enough." Pete said.

Luke clearly wanted to finish. But he stopped there and waited for Pete to speak again.

"What do you expect to do out there, with an injury like that?" Pete asked.

"We'll figure it out." Amelia said.

"That ain't a plan, darlin'. Moving and scavenging will only get you so far."

"It works for us."

"Until the day it doesn't." Pete gestured to his head, mirroring the side of Amelia's head that had been split open. "What do you think will happen when you catch an infection and a fever?"

"I'll take care of it before that happens-"

"Say you get caught by lurkers. What happens to her?" He gestured toward Clementine.

"We deal with problems as they come. What else is there?"

"There's a group, Amelia. You can't watch your own back and hers twenty-four-seven."

Amelia looked from Pete to Luke, who was watching her cautiously, to Nick, who didn't look pleased to be there. Hands on his rifle, he frequently checked over his shoulders, scanning the trees for more walkers.

Amelia didn't want to give in yet. But she knew Pete could tell that she didn't believe herself when she said, "We've done alright so far."

"Clearly." Pete said. "I don't want to see you or Clementine end up dead. But if you keep on like this, that's exactly what'll happen." Amelia stared at Pete cautiously, knowing that he was right. "If it's really been just the two of you, frankly I don't know how something hasn't happened to you already."

It occurred to Amelia that Pete wasn't the first person to tell her this, and she realized who it was he reminded her of. It explained why she wasn't afraid of him. She'd have gone so far as to say that she liked him.

That didn't mean she trusted him, or any of them.

Clementine reached out, offering a hand and a final attempt to change her mind:

"If you leave, I'll go with you. But please come inside."

AN: Lyrics by Regina Spektor