The sun was almost up. Delicate streaks of pink, purple, and blue intertwined themselves in the sky. They mimicked the way watercolor paint bled out in swirls across a canvas; she could see them, far in the distance behind the mob of walking human corpses.
A gorgeous sunrise had always been one of her favorite things. She wasn't under circumstances to appreciate it, given that she was looking at it though an inch of open space between the shed doors.
It was quite a contrast, she noted. If she looked up, she saw color and beauty, a naturally-occurring reminder that not every nice thing could be killed and eaten by the dead. A quick glance down – where she was, where she would always be – and there was nothing but death and rot. Dead families. Haunting regrets. Walkers with blood in their teeth and human beings with just as much blood on their hands.
"So?" Nick asked, his voice strained. He was hunched slightly, supporting the overturned shelf with his back to hold it out of her way while she peered through the door. He was prepared to drop it if they needed to block the doors again on short notice. Looking out at the clearing, Amelia hard him grunt quietly under its weight, and she realized how easily he could drop it on her at any second. Something told her he wouldn't.
Not on purpose, at least. She could smell the alcohol on his breath from where she stood. There was still plenty of it in his system, but she couldn't help him there. She hoped he was collected enough to make the half-mile back to the cabin.
"I'm just looking…" she muttered, knowing he was asking because he was getting restless. The stunt they were about to attempt – the one she'd convinced him wouldn't get them both killed – had been unnerving to talk about. Actually doing it was disturbing on another level. What they were about to do went against everything they'd ever been taught to do in order to stay alive. Stay away from the dead. Don't get their attention on purpose. Don't let them into enclosed spaces with you.
She understood why he was fidgeting so much under the shelf, and wanted to tell him something that would calm him down. But she couldn't think of a way to do that without lying to him.
The walkers passed the shed in an uncoordinated shuffle, limping, dragging, bumping into each other. The horde's numbers had thinned out overnight, but there must have been dozens of them left. None of them were close enough for her to reach from inside the shed. She would need to get one to come to her.
Nick shifted again, knocking the shelf gently against the door. Amelia stood upright – she'd had her face pressed up against the door for so long she could feel an indent of its edge across her forehead – and pulled the door open another inch, trying to get a better look.
"Hey. Hey." Nick snapped when she didn't answer him, sharply enough that she stopped and looked at him. "Don't…don't do anything without telling me. You're not opening them yet, are you?"
Amelia wasn't used to sharing her thoughts as they occurred to her. She also wasn't one to share a plan she'd come up with before it was finished; what good was an idea they couldn't use yet? But it was clear from the look on Nick's face and the poorly-disguised fear in his eyes that she was keeping him in the dark, and it was making this worse on him than it had to be.
"I'm not doing anything yet. There are two just over there. I need to see them." She waited for him to nod, which he took a few seconds to do, before cracking the door another inch. She wondered if it was his sleepless night of drinking that had him looking so pale, and at the same time knew it wasn't. "I think we can get one of them in here before the others get to us."
"Okay…okay…shit…" he said quietly under his breath, sounding like he was no longer talking to her. She put her hands against the shelf and pushed. He followed suit, leaning back into it until they forced it into place. He crossed his arms and turned away from her. She waited, a cautious voice reminding her that this had to be handled carefully. There was no better way to shoot their chances of survival than by doing this before one of them was ready.
For a moment, she thought he was going to start pacing again, something he'd spent most of the morning doing. When he turned back he was biting his thumbnail, eyes fixated on the floor and a look on his face that said he was imagining the worst.
She decided to let him. He could only picture his worst fears so many times before they lost their power to cripple him. It didn't make them any less terrifying; but a nightmare he'd imagined a hundred times would eventually stop making his palms sweat and his heart pound. It would become an Old Fear, as she'd started to think of them. Something that would rear its head occasionally to remind him that it would always be here. But after living with it for long enough, it wouldn't be able to do much more than that.
Maybe Nick was already tired of thinking about it. He stopped biting his nail and looked back to her. "Do you know what you're doing here?"
She could see him trying to make sense of this, trying to understand an idea that would never be anything less than borderline suicide. The first time she did it, she thought the was already dying. She never had any second thoughts because it was a last-ditch effort, the only thing that could've gotten Clementine out of the city and back to Christa and Omid in the time Amelia thought she had left. She walked through the horde prepared to act as Clementine's human shield. It didn't matter because she herself was already expendable.
She and Nick weren't as lucky this time. She watched him stir uncomfortably and knew the fact that he still had plenty to lose was quite a weight to carry.
She reached for the door handles. The longer they stood around overthinking this, the harder it was going to be. "I'm opening it now. Okay?"
She didn't get the door open more than an inch before Nick put his palm against it and forced it shut. Slam. "Say it. I need to hear you say it."
"I know what I'm doing." Her response was too fast, almost automatic, and he could tell. She tried again to open the door and he didn't let it budge.
She didn't mean to sound insincere. But the way she answered his question wasn't going to keep either of them alive. Only staying calm and moving quickly could do that. She looked at him, found his eyes, and tried again. "I'm absolutely sure this works. We can do this."
Nick seemed to roll the words over in his mind – Amelia knew what it looked like when a person was trying to decide whether she could be trusted – before taking a position by the shelf. She was relieved to see he was prepared to do his part for a plan they'd discussed over and over again while they waited for the sun to come up.
Amelia stooped down to pick up Hilda, silently apologizing to an old friend for leaving it on the floor. She could feel her own doubts looming over her, about to make her rethink what she was doing, so she threw both doors open and let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle before they got the chance.
The two walkers turned their rotting heads to look at her, followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, all staring at her with bloodshot eyes and empty sockets while they dragged themselves toward her. Standing still while they did was one of the hardest things Amelia had ever done.
"Come on, come on…" she whispered so quietly even Nick didn't hear, reaching out with her free hand, ready for the first one to get close enough for her to grab. Somewhere behind her, she heard a sharp tapping sound that was getting faster by the second. Trying to figure out what it was without looking away from the walkers coming toward her, she realized Nick was violently drumming his fingers on the shelf, at a speed that wasn't much faster than her heartbeat.
The walker that reached her had once been a man in a flannel shirt – not at all far from the way Carlos dressed – followed too closely by another, the corpse of a woman that was missing an arm. The man came at her with outstretched arms, fingers hooked in a way that could tear her eyes out, if she let him. When he was three steps away from the shed, Amelia stepped out to meet him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt in her fist and kicked the woman behind him square in the stomach, knocking her onto her back. She dragged the plaid-shirted walker inside, struggling to move his body weight as she swung him through the doorway and nearly pushed him up against Nick.
"Shit!" The disgust was clear in his voice as he recoiled against the shelf.
Once he was inside, she let him go with a downward shove; he cracked his head on the floor, but it wasn't enough to put him down. She stood over him and raised Hilda, and as she did Nick slammed the shed doors shut behind her. She buried the blade in the walker's skull before it had a chance to get up, and by the time it was dead Nick had tipped the shelf over again with a crash so violent it shook the floors of the shed.
They couldn't have counted to five before the doors caved in against the shelf, walkers moaning and screaming on the other side and sticking their fingers through the small space they were able to open.
Amelia lifted her ice pick again, pulling it out of the walker's head and bringing it back down into its chest cavity, just below the center of its ribcage.
"Jesus!" Nick flinched at the impact, shuddering at the wet, heavy sound the blade made when it pierced the meat of a human chest. "You're just gonna…fuck…"
She knew that if she stopped, she would only waste more time they didn't have. She would start to feel afraid, and guilty, and she would try to stall by asking Nick something stupid or suggesting they wait another day or two for help. She didn't think, she didn't want to think. All she wanted was to find her sister. So she dragged the blade down the walker's torso and gutted what had once been a human being for the second time in her life.
Do this now. Don't stop to think. Deal with the guilt later.
Maybe it was reckless, and cowardly. But if physically outrunning her fears was the only way to keep them away, then so be it.
Nick's eyes darted around the shed like he was looking for a corner to puke in. She wouldn't have blamed him if he did, and that was before the smell hit them both. It rose up from the corpse's open abdomen, a cloud of hot, noxious fumes they could feel but not see; it was disgusting enough to make Amelia drop her axe and stumble a few steps back just to get a breath of air that wouldn't make her retch. Nick turned away, toward the doors, and put the sleeve of his shirt up over his mouth and nose.
"You've got to be kidding me." He coughed. As sick as it would've been, Amelia wished it was a joke. He turned around to look at the body, keeping his face covered. She put her head against the overturned shelf, ignoring the walkers clawing away at the doors and reaching for her hair. She stared at the floor like a child on time-out.
How long of a time-out do you think it'll take to atone for what you just did?
She had no idea. It was sick beyond words. It should've been measured in years of prison time, not minutes spent standing in a corner.
Nick's voice was muffled by his sleeve. "We're supposed to…to cover ourselves in it?"
Amelia turned around. You can avoid looking at the body all you want. It's still going to be there. "Yeah." Well aware that there was nothing she could say to make it sound less horrendous than it was, she knelt by the body and, with only a few seconds of hesitation, stuck both her hands into the opening she'd cut in it's stomach.
Nick wiped sweat from the back of his neck and put a hand over his stomach. "I think I'm gonna-" He stopped short and shook his head.
"Do it if you have to." She cupped both hands together to scoop out a massive handful of intestines and blood, and dropped all of it into her lap. She didn't need to look at him; imagining the look of horror and disgust on his face was enough. She didn't want to see him looking at her like that so she kept her eyes down while she covered the arms and front of her jacket.
"This is…this is so wrong…" Nick muttered.
"Yes, it is." Amelia said truthfully. There was a part of her that remembered she barely knew him. As long ago as it seemed, she'd only met him two nights ago. According to that part of her, what he thought of her didn't matter. There was another that desperately wanted him to know that she didn't want this. It was kicking and screaming for her to tell him, insisting that she didn't want him to see her this way.
It had been her idea, her kill. But no part of her wanted to do this and she hoped he knew that. She wiped the excess blood on her hands across her cheeks and her forehead, over her neck, and she wondered if he could believe that with the way she looked.
Nick didn't move, and she didn't want to push him more than she already had. She stood up and stepped in the stomach cavity to cover her feet and lower legs, one at a time. Then she picked up her axe and stood by the door, leaving him with nothing to do but follow her lead.
Follow the leader straight to hell.
He ran his hands over his face. Covering his eyes, he took a long, slow breath. Then, so quietly that she barely heard him: "Fuck it."
Amelia turned away, tired of staring at the door and looking at the walkers through the opening. Her heart was beating too fast and her hands were beginning to shake. This had been easier last time. Having Clementine around always made things easier.
This was all going to be worth it when she and Nick got back to the cabin and found her with the rest of his group, safe and waiting for the two of them to return.
And if that didn't happen…if nothing else, Amelia knew she tried. She would never be able to tell that to Clementine, which would be her only regret-
Something in the back of her own mind scoffed at her. Right. That's the only thing.
-about this whole thing. But she herself knew. This wasn't like last time. She tried.
Nick spoke a little louder. "Fuck it." He'd started to pace the shed, rising in volume and energy and confusing the hell out of her. "Fuck it."
"What are you-?"
"Fuck it! We're fucked anyway." He crouched over the walker, and after a few moments of staring at it with his hands hovering over it, grabbed two dripping handfuls of insides. Amelia watched as he covered himself and remembered that he'd wanted to stay behind, and maybe still did. It likely would've cost him his life, but it certainly would have been easier. His face twisted and his hands shook the same way hers had when she did it in Savannah. He gagged twice. But he kept digging into the corpse until his clothes were soaked in blood and entrails, all because he took her word that this would work. It was the reason she wouldn't have to do this alone.
She knew this wasn't the time or place to tell him that. If they survived, she'd consider doing it later.
Nick coughed and wiped his face with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a streak of blood across his nose and cheeks. He glanced at Amelia, unsure if he was covered enough and looking like he was hoping she wouldn't tell him to keep going. She answered him with a nod toward the door and he stood up to join her, picking up his rifle and looping the strap over his shoulder.
"Alright then." He said. "Let's get this over with."
She didn't understand how he was ready for this so suddenly; she was back to feeling jealous without knowing why. Whatever it was, it was working for him. He still knew the stakes, still knew they were one mistake away from being eaten alive, screaming and feeling every second of it. What the hell was he thinking that had him practically kicking down the doors?
He made her think of something her mother told her, years before: that confidence can be faked, and that if she was convincing enough, eventually it would become real. If she didn't already know Nick wasn't prepared for this, he could've fooled her. Maybe the same thing would work for her.
She straightened her posture to match his.
Fuck it.
"Just walk. Don't run, don't make any sudden moves, and don't make any noise."
He nodded. "Sure."
"Some of them might still approach you. Just push them away and keep moving. Kill them quietly if you have to. But don't fire the gun."
Nick didn't respond to that, probably still reacting to the news that some of the dead might still see him. Amelia regretted not mentioning it sooner, but it was too late now and she didn't want any misunderstandings. Their lives depended on it. She snapped red fingers by his head until she got his full attention. "Whatever you do. Do not. Fire. The gun."
She was tempted to tell him to unload it. But it made a better last resort than nothing.
He nodded again, and all she could do was hope he meant it.
She gripped the edge of the shelf and started pushing, before realizing she was pushing alone.
Damn it, she thought. He's freezing up. He stared straight ahead at the door, leaving them both with nothing to do other than listen to the walkers outside. She was out of time to give him; she couldn't take any more waiting.
"It's going to be fine," she breathed, hoping she sounded like she was trying to convince him and not herself. "All you have to do is keep-"
"I gave you the blanket."
Amelia only stared, and blinked. It was so unexpected, so out of place that she didn't understand the words right away. She slowly realized what he was talking about and thought back to the morning before as if it had been years. That blanket, the one she'd found and taken her best guess as to who left it there, hadn't crossed her mind in over twenty-four hours, and probably never would have again.
Nick finally looked at her, tightening his grip on his rifle. She could hear his fingernails scratching against the gun as his hands fidgeted. "I…really upset you with what I said. I felt bad."
"Oh."
"We're probably going to die doing this and…I didn't want you to…I just wanted you to know." Nick shook his head, maybe at himself. "I don't even know why."
Beats the hell out of me, too.
Amelia tried, really tried to think back, as hard as it was to get her mind off of the walkers they were about to face. She remembered his words and his actions, and what they really said to someone who was paying attention.
Yeah. Nick had left her the blanket, now that it had been spelled out for her.
"…thanks."
"Yep." Nick looked back to the door.
There was a long silence, during which Amelia wondered if there was something else she was supposed to say.
Nick put his hands on the shelf. "Alright. Open it."
They pried the shelf back out of place and pushed it up against the wall; it was barely upright when the walkers forced their way through, throwing the doors open stumbling into the shed with them. Nick and Amelia split, stepping out of their way and backing toward opposite sides of the shed. Three walkers wandered in, more on their way.
Her habit of preparing for the worst left her surprised by what happened. She'd imagined her own death so many times that morning, she wasn't expecting it when the walkers swept their empty eyes across the room – right over Nick and herself – and kept moving. They dragged themselves in on broken limbs, looking for something that, as far as they could tell, wasn't here.
Nick froze where he stood, keeping wide eyes on the walkers passing him by. This must've been the first time he'd ever been this close to one without attacking it or being attacked.
"Shit…" he whispered. "Holy shit…"
Amelia put a finger against her lips. Please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up.
She nodded toward the open doors; when the doorway was clear she stepped outside, hoping he would follow her. She'd forgotten to tell him it would only get worse from here. She had a feeling he already knew.
Sunlight stung her eyes after so long in the dark and cold morning air bit her nose. She looked out at a forest crawling with the dead. They surrounded her, coming out of the tree line on every side and passing behind her so closely they brushed against her jacket. She looked everywhere for a clearing in the mob, a single empty space for her and Nick to run to, but there wasn't one. Not yet. They had to find it first. The only way out was through.
She looked out at their empty faces, their gaping, bleeding chest wounds and dislocated limbs. Every one of them had hollow eyes and skin that had gone grey. Some had remains of something they must have eaten alive still hanging from their teeth and-
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
The lines came back to her out of nowhere, surprising her because she hadn't read them in years. She vaguely recalled them from a textbook, as part of a class she couldn't quite remember taking. Not now.
Maybe her world had become the new hell. She didn't have a hard time believing that.
Nick came out of the shed, flattening his back against the outer wall to avoid a walker limping by him; it stared straight ahead and saw nothing. He started walking behind her, keeping his rifle up against himself to keep the dead from walking into it.
They walked in slow, purposeful movements, leaning this way and that, taking small sidesteps to keep out of their way. Everywhere Amelia looked, there were more coming out of the brush. You can run as far as you can, kill as many as you want. There will always be more of them than you. As far as she could tell, there was no way out. She could only hope they were moving toward one they couldn't see yet.
Once or twice, she heard Nick make a low, panicky noise – brought on by a walker that got too close – and was struck with a sudden fear that he was about to lose it. Amelia caught his attention and, approaching the closest walker in front of her, gave it a gentle push to the shoulder. It took a lumbering step back, clearing a space for her to walk, and then stood there, motionless and blank. Nick seemed to understand, and when the next walker bumped into him, he turned it around by the shoulder, guiding it to wander off in another direction.
They walked for what seemed like hours. Corpses lumbered by, choking and hissing in her ears, closer than Amelia ever wanted to be to them. She breathed through her mouth, knowing that if she inhaled through her nose she would start choking on the stench of rotting flesh.
They came up on the hiker's path - the one that cut through the forest and led the way back to the cabin – and spotted it when it was maybe a hundred yards away. It was there. There were walkers scattered between them and where they wanted to be, but it was right there.
"Nick," she got his attention despite speaking quietly, her heart pounding. He looked from her to the trail and understood. All they had to do was run. They were fast. Those things were slow. It would have to be enough. He seemed to be waiting for something, some signal of agreement. She gave him one in a nod and they both sprinted for the path, barreling past the corpses in their way.
Amelia ran, as frantic as she was hopeful-
-we're going to do this, we're actually going to do this-
-and swung her axe into the face of a walker in front of her, not killing it but not caring. It wasn't until she was almost to the path that she realized she was ahead of Nick, and had been for a while. She slowed to a stop and looked back to check on him. In the second she did, a walker came at her out of the bushes, not unlike the one that surprised her years ago-
-repeated mistake-
-lunging low out of the brush and into her legs. She was down before she could react, falling hard and fast and knocking her head against the ground. She cursed through gritted teeth, trying to see through the spots of color swimming in her vision while the walker pinned her legs into the ground, crawling its way up her body. She turned her ice pick sideways and pressed it into the walker's mouth as it leaned over her. It gnawed away at the metal, trying to bite through it and into her.
Hot blood seeped slowly down her face – she could feel it warming her cheek – and while she struggled to throw off the walker on top of her, another came out of nowhere and began to lower itself over her, coming for her neck.
A gunshot sounded off and echoed through the forest. The walker biting into her axe fell limp; its skull shattered and brain matter went flying from its head, suddenly leaving her crushed under its full body weight.
No.
Nick appeared behind the second walker and stepped on its neck, lifting his rifle and bringing it down onto its head one, two, three times. Amelia listened to the sound of its skull being crushed to pieces and stared up at the sky, still pink, still beautiful. She watched the flock of birds that had been startled by Nick's gunshot disappear over the horizon.
What have you done?
He pushed the corpses off of of her one by one, and then pulled her to her feet with more strength than she knew he had.
"We need to go." She said the second she was upright again. I told you not the shoot the gun, I told you not to shoot the fucking gun! "We have to go now…"
She trailed off when she looked past him and realized the walkers behind them were looking at the two of them. Every single one. Checking over her shoulder, she saw the walkers crowding around the hiking path doing the same. For a moment, every one of them was still, herself and Nick included. All Amelia could hear was a distant ringing in her ear.
Then they started closing in.
"Run. Just run!" She made a grab for Nick's arm, but he moved it out of her reach and instead caught her by the shoulder. He turned her around and gave her a rough shove toward the path. Amelia stumbled toward it, looking out at the walkers – too many to count, there are so many – closing in on the only opening they were going to get.
"Go!" he shouted at her, raising his gun on the horde.
"You too!" She didn't move. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You have your sister! You have to make it back!" Nick fired off one, two, three shots at the mass of bodies coming toward him. He dropped one of them. The rest took the bullets somewhere in their chests and kept coming.
"You have to come with me!" Amelia insisted, ignoring the voice that quietly reminded her he was too hung-over and uncoordinated to keep up with her. How do you think you got so far ahead of him in the first place? The insisted to herself it wasn't true, that he could make it if he tried. She looked back to the path. They were almost out of time. "Nick, what the hell?" They were so fucking close. Why would he do this now?
He turned around and opened fire again, this time on the walkers between her and the path. He got one in the leg, crippling it and leaving it to drag its way toward her on the ground. He got another in the head, leaving a dark red bullet wound in its forehead before it fell down face-first.
He'd opened up a space for her, that was closing more by the second. She had to go now, and she still clung to the idea that he could make it if he came with her. Just like that, she was back to lying to herself, lying to the rest of the world. Nick can make it back. We'll find Mom and Dad. Duck is going to be fine.
I can keep Clementine safe for the rest of her life.
Charged by anger at someone she couldn't place – it could've been at him or at herself – she ran back to him and slipped a hand under his arm, trying to get him to move with her. "Turn the fuck around and-"
He yanked his arm out of her grip and pushed her toward the path again, harder this time. "Dammit, get back to the cabin, now!"
It broke her heart to realize his last words sounded just like Pete's.
But they weren't his last words, they couldn't have been because he wasn't about to die here-
The path was nearly overrun. Nick kept shooting, swinging his rifle at the walkers that got close enough. "Fuck you, motherfucker!"
He wasn't listening to her. She couldn't stay here with him. He wasn't listening. She couldn't help him. He didn't want to be helped.
That's what she told herself as she stumbled onto the path and ran. That's what she repeated in her head as she sprinted all the way back to the cabin. Somewhere along the way, Nick's gunshots stopped and the forest went quiet again. It could've meant he was out of bullets. That's what Amelia tried to believe. But, somewhere else in her mind, quiet but still there all the same...
Dead men don't pull triggers.
By the time Amelia arrived at the cabin, her breath was dragging painfully in and out of her lungs. She'd hoped that if she found the group quickly enough, there would be time to go back for him, this time with friends and loaded guns; at the same time, a part of her knew it was too late. It was always too late. They could organize a search party, bring all the guns, go out as a group. The whole nine yards. But Amelia already knew what they were going to find.
She came to the steep incline of the hill just in front of the house and stopped, dropping into a crouch and taking a minute to breathe.
You fucked up.
She'd been locked in that shed for a day. She had one problem and over twenty-four hours to come up with a decent plan. And she had a bleeding head wound, a missing sister, and a dead friend to show for it.
Oh, God.
What was she going to say to his group? How was she going to explain this to the people who cared enough about him to threaten her into behaving herself the night before?
How was she going to tell them what had happened?
Don't sugarcoat it. Not 'what happened.' What you did.
He could've made it, if he hadn't fired that gun to save her life. If he'd kept his finger off the trigger, he would be the one sitting here, and she would be the one…
She shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands over her eyes. Here she was. Alive, for some reason, and trying to decide what to do next when all she could think about was what she'd already done.
She needed her sister. Not just to know she was alright. That was a given, always true.
Clementine would know what to say. She'd know how to stop the gut-wrenching guilt Amelia was feeling, to tell her it wasn't her fault, or at least to make her feel like she could live with herself even if it was. She would know what to say to Luke, to break the news to him so Amelia could explain herself.
If this group was going to despise her, she needed at least one ally. And there was no better ally than the one she knew she would always have.
She looked down at the house, and for the first time realized what she was seeing.
Something wasn't right.
She made her way down the hill in large, shaky steps, jogging to the porch and slowing to a stop in front of the steps. She listened; the house was dead silent. No sign of anyone inside. She'd expected the group to be out searching – if not for her and Clementine, then for Nick and Pete – but they wouldn't have left the house completely empty.
Especially not with the front door open.
Amelia pressed her back against the house between the door and the front window. She didn't like this.
Maybe you should turn around. Go look for Clem out in the woods.
But Clementine had had an entire day to get back to the cabin. The chances that she'd found her way were good-
-the chances that she's dead are better-
She heard sudden footsteps. Heavy footsteps she would expect from a grown man; she thought of Alvin, or Carlos, and listened for their voices but didn't hear them. Instead she heard the deep, unfamiliar rasp of a voice she didn't know and…
Clementine.
She took the steps two at a time and almost charged inside without thinking. She'd never heard the other voice before. She was positive it belonged to a stranger who was alone in this house with her sister.
She forced herself to stop just outside the door. Rash decisions – especially ones driven by fear – would only get her or Clem killed. After straining to hear for a few seconds, she realized they were just…chatting.
"Well, I'll cut to the chase." The man was saying. "I'm out looking for my people. Eight of them to be exact. They've been gone a long while and I'm worried they might have gotten lost. Maybe you've seen 'em."
Amelia knew the undertones of a person who didn't get worried. At least not about other people.
"Couple of farm boys and an old man. Spanish guy and his daughter. Quiet girl. A bit taller than you. A woman, might be about your mom's age…she's got dark hair and big blue eyes. A big black guy…this big. And a pretty little pregnant lady."
Clementine answered carefully. "That's a lot of people to lose…"
"Tell me about it," the man chuckled. If she didn't pay much attention to his words, he might've sounded charming. But there was a predatory edge to his voice not far beneath the surface. "This whole damn thing's a pain in the ass."
The growing volume of their voices said they were coming closer. From what she could hear, it sounded like they were walking from the kitchen into the living room. Amelia stepped back and pressed her back against the wall, next to the door.
She caught a glimpse of the man before she did. Tall. Somewhat old. Brown coat. Grey hair. She wasn't able to catch more than that.
"Well, this is a real nice place," the man said, maybe thinking he sounded pleasant. "Kinda cozy."
Amelia peeked into the doorway, catching Clementine's attention after the man had passed. Her sister's face lit up, but her surprise was quickly replaced with worried discomfort.
"What are you looking at over there?" the man asked her, coming back into view.
Amelia moved, circling the house and going quietly for the kitchen door. As she did, she heard Clementine come up with a quick answer. "I'm not supposed to leave the door open like that."
"Well, we'll just close it then."
In the kitchen, Amelia closed the back door behind her slowly enough not to make any noise. She left the ice pick in its harness. She'd spotted a gun on the man's hip and decided against violence as the best approach, for now. If the was quiet and patient, he might leave on his own. She was more than prepared to kill him if he wouldn't. At least that's what she told herself.
She listened to their conversation through the door.
"I knew a guy that always wore shirts like this. Doctor. Real smug son of a bitch. But a smart man. I miss him."
"What happened to him?"
He answered, "Let's just say we had our differences," in a way that sent a chill down her spine.
She didn't like this man. No one had managed to make her this uneasy in a long time. She thought about rushing him when his back was turned. It couldn't have been a coincidence that he was here so soon after the massacre at the river. Whether this was the Carver Nick had talked about or someone who worked with him, she didn't know. Either, way he was capable of doing a lot a damage. She saw it in the way he moved, heard it in the way he talked.
You should do something before he gets the chance.
No. That would be stupid. She had an icepick and he had a gun. If she ran at him, he'd kill her and Clementine both. This had to be handled another way. Carefully.
"Sooner or later," he said. "People close to you find a reason to cross you. Happens every time."
Clementine was too smart to respond to that.
"Well, well…white's in trouble. Three moves away from checkmate." They must have been near the coffee table. "Mind if I take a look upstairs?"
For what?
Clementine stayed quiet – she probably knew that her answer wasn't going to matter – and the next thing Amelia heard was heavy footsteps on their way up to the second story.
Amelia counted to five, then came into the living room. Clementine, who waited at the bottom of the stairs to keep watch for the man, caught Amelia's attention by waving her arms, and pointing to the couch without words.
No, not at the couch, but at a terrified girl crouched behind it, barely older than Clementine. She sat on the floor, her knees hugged up against her chest, and her red glasses her crooked on her face. Amelia could see her shaking from across the room.
Who the hell-? Amelia thought, before remembering that Carlos had a daughter. Sarah.
Clementine made increasingly frantic gestures, telling her to get Sarah out of the room. Amelia crouched to make eye contact with Sarah and silently gestured for her to cross the room and come to her.
Has she been hiding there this entire time?
She girl shook her head hard, knocking her glasses even more askew than they already were. Amelia gestured again, whispering through her teeth while trying to keep an eye on the staircase.
"Come here," she hissed.
Watching the stairs, Sarah got up into a crouch and scurried into the hallway, stopping in front of Amelia.
"He can't see me…" she breathed, wide-eyed and hyperventilating. "You can't let him see me, please, you have to make him go away…"
Amelia shushed her and helped her to her feet. She opened the door to the hall closet as the man began to make his way back downstairs.
Sarah didn't hesitate to run inside. Amelia shut the door behind her and, checking on Clementine as she passed, left through the front door.
She waited for a full count of ten. Then she went back in and shut the door loudly behind her.
"Clementine," she called. "You still here?"
She turned the corner, saw the two people in the living room, and froze. "Oh…" An awkward pause followed. She held her breath while she waited to see if she was getting away with this.
The man was tall. Taller than she'd realized after his quick pass through the doorway. His shoulders were broad and the realized that in deciding she shouldn't start any fights with him, she still underestimated him. If she tried attacking him, she'd get tossed around the room. She hoped he would leave on his own; if he didn't want to, she had no way to make him, unless she got that gun away from him.
He had a thick grey mustache and deep frown lines in his forehead. He fixed Amelia with a steely glare that made her feel like he was looking through her rather than at her, seeing things she was trying to hide before she even spoke to him. Looking down to his hand, she saw he'd drawn his gun at the sound of the door opening. A silver revolver, which she would've bet was loaded in all six chambers. Enough bullets to have four left over after shooting her and her sister.
Clementine shifted uncomfortably, stepping back to gain distance from him as he stared Amelia down.
The pit of her stomach ran cold. She waited for him to say or do something, but in her heart she already knew he wasn't buying it.
She couldn't take the silence anymore, so she spoke first. "…who are you?"
The man broke out into a smile that was as sudden as it was fake. He put his gun away and spoke with the soft, cunning voice of a man who spent more time thinking than speaking.
"Of course! Where are my manners? You must be a part of this…group of dozens I've heard so much about."
Amelia walked cautiously into the living room, wanting to be closer to Clementine. "Yeah…why are you in our house?"
"Forgive me, sweetheart, I'm looking for some of my people. They went out some time ago and still haven't come back. Looks like you were just out in the forest yourself."
There was another silence, while Amelia wracked her brain for something to say.
Something, something, say something, anything!
He saved her the trouble. "I don't mean to be rude, miss, but you look like you ran into some trouble out there. You must've gotten caught in that lurker horde moving through here."
Amelia nodded slowly.
"Well, I'm glad you made it out alright. That last group was a big one. Nasty, too."
Say. Something. "I got lucky."
"It's a good thing you did. Did you see anyone else while you were out there?" One corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk. "Living, I mean."
Amelia paused, hoping she looked like she was trying to remember. "I did see some people. Yesterday. By the river. Headed East."
The man crossed his arms. "Really?"
"It didn't look like they had anywhere to stay. They carried a lot of supplies with them."
"That so? How many were there?"
She didn't like the tone of his voice. She felt like she was being scrutinized in a way she wasn't aware of. Like he was asking her trick questions and her life depended on her answers.
"I saw three."
"Can you describe them for me?"
It was clear in the way he talked that he didn't want to know what they looked like. He sounded like he'd already caught her in a lie and now he was just toying with her, watching her dig herself into a deeper and deeper grave. He folded his arms and grinned.
"I didn't get close to them."
"That's smart. You never know with strangers. There are a lot of dangerous people out there."
Out there. In here.
"What did you say your name was?"
She didn't. She hesitated to tell him, wondering how much damage he could do with her name. "Amelia."
"Pretty name for a pretty girl," An unpleasant twinge jumped somewhere in the pit of her stomach. He pointed a finger and moved it between her and Clementine. "Don't suppose you two are sisters?"
Clementine was quiet, and Amelia was relieved her sister was letting her do the talking.
She nodded her answer. The fewer words she said to this man, the better.
"I knew it. You look just like each other. Uncanny, really."
"What's your name?"
"George. Pleasure to meet you."
The man took another glance around, from one end of the room to the next.
He's looking for something. What it was, Amelia didn't know, and she wasn't about to ask him. The only thing she could say she did know was that his name wasn't George.
"You're bleeding, Amelia."
She remembered that she'd hit her head, having almost forgotten about it completely. She put a hand up to her hairline and felt a broken stitch jutting out of her skin. She looked at her hand and found her fingertips stained with fresh, bright red blood that actually belonged to her.
The man placed his hands on his hips and talked to her in that tone again, the one that said he knew more than she realized and challenged her to try to convince him of something that wasn't true. "You popped your stitches. Now how'd you do that?"
"Just an accident."
"Come on, now. You've got me worried."
Right.
Amelia didn't volunteer an answer. A small part of her already knew there wouldn't be any point.
"Whoever stitched that up for you did an excellent job."
"My cousin lives with us. Med student."
He grinned. "Your cousin, huh?"
"That's what I said."
"What's his name?"
"Her name is Diana."
That made him chuckle. It was a deep, gravelly laugh that could only have come from years of booze and cigarettes. "You might want to take care of that. Bad things happen when you let that kind of thing to unattended."
"I'll keep that in mind." Amelia changed the subject, knowing there was no inconspicuous way to do it. "Did you want some water before you go?"
He looked at her, a ghost of a smile on his mouth and something wrong in his eyes. "No, ma'am. But that's kind of you to offer. You don't meet many polite young ladies such as yourself these days."
"That's a shame."
"Yes it is."
He stared at her for a long time – much longer than she was comfortable with – leaving her with no idea what to expect him to do at any second. She imagined him lashing out without warning and hitting her across the face. Maybe he'd take out his gun and shoot her in the head. She was out of ideas to stop him from doing either. So she waited.
"I suppose I'll be on my way, then. There's just one more thing." He reached into his jacket pocket and showed her a photograph. Of Sarah. She had an ear-to-ear smile and she was waving to whoever was behind the camera. It had clearly been taken recently, and in this house. "Who's this?"
Amelia felt the blood drain from her face. He knew. Of course he knew. He always had.
"I wouldn't know."
"Are you sure? Try again. Take a good look. You sure you don't know this girl?"
"I've never seen her." Amelia spoke slowly and kept her voice level, hoping it would make her sound calm.
He looked down to Clementine, and held the photo up for her. "And you?"
Clementine took a step closer to Amelia, crossed her arms, and glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." The man lowered the picture, turning to address Amelia again. He shook his head slightly. Stood up straight and looked down his nose at her.
"You have no idea who these people are, do you?"
"I wouldn't. They're your people."
"Right. Let me ask you this." He stepped forward unexpectedly, abruptly closing the gap of space between them in a way that made her want to run and hide. Sprint up the stairs, dive headfirst out the living room window, anything to stay away from him. Clementine tried to step in front of her. Amelia put an arm out to stop her, pushing her back. "When you met them, how much did they trust you?"
"How much do you trust strangers?"
Did I just defend them? She asked herself, shocked at her own words.
To this asshole? Gladly.
"I'll tell you how much I trust you. Not one bit." The man shook his head. "You're not a good liar, sweetheart."
"Leave."
"Now are you sure there's nothing you want to-"
"Get out of our house."
"-tell me, Amelia? Any help finding my people would be much appreciated. I'll be sure not to forget it."
She tried to swallow but her throat had gone dry. "I have nothing to tell you."
She got the feeling the decision she'd just made would have more consequences than she realized.
"Well, then." The man straightened up, and after a moment walked calmly to the front door. "You girls have a real good day, now."
Amelia didn't return the gesture.
He shut the door behind him. Clementine quickly ran over to lock it.
Amelia paced the room, trying to think while Clementine helped Sarah out of the closet and tried to calm her down. She was still shaking violently and had yet to say a word since she'd come out. Amelia wanted to ask her who that man was, since she obviously knew. The way she whimpered and shook her head at Clementine's reassuring words changed her mind. If this was her reaction to seeing him again, Amelia didn't want to think about what she must have seen him do. Her own imagination on the subject was terrifying.
Amelia took a seat alone on the couch. This was much worse than she thought. An ominous feeling loomed over her, one that said something overwhelming and destructive was on its way. The last time she'd had this feeling was –
The bells rang throughout the city for miles, a deep, heavy death march that would soon fill the empty streets with soulless dead. The living would have to clear out fast, unless they wanted to join them.
"Ask not for whom the bell tolls," Chuck said to no one in particular.
She put her head in her hands, remembering that shortly after, Clementine was stolen away and she was infected. Last time, this feeling foretold something awful, and history had a way of repeating itself.
It tolls for thee…
Maybe the catastrophe had already started. The group had already lost two people.
Maybe she was a part of it. Something was about to happen to these people, and maybe whatever cosmic force was pulling strings and orchestrating their deaths had decided the end of their lives would begin with meeting her. People had a way of dying around her.
"Amelia." Clementine said forcefully, raising her voice to get her attention. Amelia met her eyes and blinked, realizing it wasn't the first time Clem had said her name. Her sister looked her over with concern. "We need to figure out what we're going to do."
Amelia wasn't surprised to see her sister was the collected one, again.
Sarah stood at the window, staring out at the front yard. She surprised Amelia by turning around and asking,
"What if he comes back?"
Amelia ran her hands over her face. Out of nowhere, she'd become the oldest in the room. The only adult, or the closest thing to it. For the first time in years she was in charge of someone other than Clementine, a group larger than two. It was a job she didn't envy, and hoped she'd get the chance to pass it back to Carlos, or Luke.
She sighed, talking more to herself than to anyone else. "He will."
Sarah gasped. Amelia hadn't thought it possible, but her eyes went even wider. "What? No, no he can't!" She looked to Clementine, maybe hoping Clementine would tell her Amelia was wrong. "Clementine?"
Clem shot Amelia a look. She didn't understand and looked back at her questioningly.
Clem lowered her voice. "Sarah is…fragile. Just…be careful what you say around her."
"I told her the truth."
"Exactly."
Amelia looked for another way to answer her. "We won't be here when he does."
Sarah didn't acknowledge that she'd heard her. She'd gone back to watching the front yard, waiting for the man to return immediately after he left. Amelia addressed Clementine, who she knew she could trust to keep a level head. "We're leaving."
"Are you sure?"
"What else is there?"
"I mean, are you sure we shouldn't wait for the group?"
"We'll leave them a note telling them the direction we're walking in. And warning them to leave as soon as they get here. We can't wait around for them. Grab as many supplies as you can carry. They'll pick up the rest." She thought again of Nick. "We have a stop to make on the way out."
Even if it was just to find his corpse. She wanted to have answers for the group when she saw them. She'd have been lying if she said it wasn't also to get closure for herself. She had to know if he was dead so she could know whether she should hate herself.
"Okay." Clementine nodded, and went off to do the job she'd been given.
"Wait," Amelia stopped her, kneeling down to her level. Her first thought had been to hug her sister, but she looked down at herself and remembered that she was a blood-soaked mess. "Right. I wanted to give you a hug, but-"
Clementine stepped forward, put her arms around Amelia's shoulders, and squeezed before she knew what her sister was doing. It took a moment for Amelia to recover from her surprise and return the hug.
"I was worried about you," Amelia said over her sister's shoulder.
"Same here." Clementine said as she let go and stood upright to find red spots staining her purple shirt at the collar. It made her shudder and she didn't hide it well.
"You don't know how worried I was."
"Yeah, I think I do."
"What happened to Pete?"
"We hid inside an old truck. There were walkers everywhere. He…he didn't have the strength to get away. But I made run for it." Clementine looked down at her feet. "I left him."
"You couldn't have helped him. I tried to tell you that before you left the river with him."
"He needed my help." Clem frowned at her, suddenly defensive. "You wouldn't have left him either."
Clementine's choice hadn't been smart. It could have gotten her killed. But Amelia couldn't argue with behaviors Clementine had learned from her.
"So, did you…?" Clementine trailed off, looking over Amelia's face and clothes. She didn't need to finish for her sister to know what she was asking. She nodded. "And it worked?"
"For the most part."
"Then…where's Nick? You were with him, right?"
"We got separated this morning. We're going to look for him at the last place I saw him. So get the supplies, please."
"Got it." Clem nodded and jogged up the stairs.
"Sarah?" Amelia stood up and called to her, and didn't get an answer. So she crossed the room and pulled up a chair next to her. "Sarah."
Sarah turned to look at her, her hands on the windowsill, but didn't say anything.
"We need to be smart about this."
"What…what are you going to do?"
Amelia purposely altered her voice to sound more calm than she felt. They were on a time limit, but she had a feeling if Sarah knew that, things would only get worse.
She thought back to what Carlos had told her the night before about Sarah, that if she was put under enough stress she would stop functioning altogether. From the look on her face, she was dangerously close to a complete shut-down. "I'll show you. But I need you to stay close and listen, okay? I know this is scary. But…we have a problem to fix. And you can't fix anything if you're panicking."
"But I don't know how to fix things," Sarah shook her head, close to tears. "My dad does that. I just want my dad."
"And we're going to find him." Amelia answered, keeping her tone light and her words gentle. "But you have to pull yourself together first. Understand?"
Sarah nodded in a way that said she didn't, not giving Amelia much more than an empty stare. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and looked up at Amelia's forehead.
"You're hurt."
"There's a way to fix that, too."
Her voice still shook as she talked. "My dad can do it when he comes back. Or Luke."
"I can show you how to do it," Amelia said. "It's not as hard as it sounds."
Sarah didn't give any indication that she'd heard or understood. "Nick could fix it, too. Last week, I f-fell, and-and he put a Band-Aid on my knee." She turned back to the window and her voice finally broke. "I just want everyone to come back now. I want my dad…"
Amelia realized this conversation had gone as far as it ever would. And that Sarah had a problem that would take more than a few minutes of talking to address. It was a new problem altogether, and solving it involved an unpleasant conversation with her father.
"We're going to find them. Just be ready to leave in a few minutes. Go upstairs and pack a bag."
Sarah didn't move.
Damn it.
She'd stopped listening, and Amelia doubted she'd be able to get through to her again. She seemed to like Clementine. Maybe she could convince her to move. At the very least Clem could pack her things for her.
Amelia went to the kitchen, trying not to waste time they didn't have. When Clementine came in to join her, she would tell her to go help Sarah. But at the moment, Amelia needed to stop herself from having a meltdown that would put Sarah's to shame.
She went for the sink, lifting the faucet handle and putting her hands under the freezing water. She did her best to scrub the muck off of her skin and out from under her fingernails.
I'm not a corpse yet. Get this shit off of me.
When her hands were clean, she cupped them into a bowl, brought water to her face, and rubbed, not at all gently. She tasted blood and spit it into the sink. The sharp, metallic smell lingered in her nose even after she watched the last of it seep down the drain.
She'd made a mistake. A huge one, that she didn't know could be fixed at this point.
You'll have to be more specific than that.
The kitchen door opened and shut loudly. Amelia looked up, her first thoughts being of that man, returning with more people and more guns.
"Amelia," Luke stood in the doorway, surprised to see her. There was an exhausted rasp in his voice, and she could see the shadows under his eyes from across the room. "What happened? Is Clementine with you?"
"She's fine." Amelia turned away from him, pretending she needed to face the sink. Any excuse not to look at him. You've lost your friend because of me. And he didn't even know yet.
Luke walked further into the room. "Have you seen Nick or Pete? You know where they are?"
"I don't…" Amelia pressed her fingertips to her stitches. They came away red and she smeared the blood across her fingertips with her thumb before rinsing them off in the water. "I don't know where they are."
"When was the last time you saw them?"
"We got separated from Pete yesterday, at the river. I was with Nick but we were separated this morning."
"That…that mess up at the river. Y'all weren't involved in all that, were you?"
"No. That was…" Amelia gripped the edge of the counter and stared into the drain. "That'd already happened."
"Those gunshots in the forest a few minutes ago? We heard it and came running, but then they just up and stopped and we couldn't figure out where they were coming from."
"That was us."
"Alright…alright…" Luke came to stand by her and she heard him curse quietly. He put a hand on the counter, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. "Okay." He looked up. "The others are right behind me. We'll rally and head back out to look for them. You can show us where to go."
"We need to leave the cabin. And we can't come back."
"What…? What makes you say that?" Luke looked over his shoulder, having heard something Amelia didn't. She followed his line of sight to the living room door; it had opened so quietly that neither of them had noticed. Clementine stood in the doorway, aiming Amelia's gun at him and just now starting to lower it. "Clementine?"
"Luke," she said, rushing into the kitchen to meet the two of them. "You're back."
"You're alright," he said, relief clear in his voice. From the look on Clementine's face, Amelia guessed the worry had been mutual. Luke's expression changed. "…and pointing a gun at me…"
"Sorry," Clementine put the gun on the counter, leaving it there for Amelia. "I thought-"
She stopped short when Carlos opened the back door. Rebecca and Alvin followed him in, single-file, both carrying rifles.
Carlos looked to Clementine and asked her immediately, "Where is Sarah?"
Clem went back to the living room door and knocked on it twice with a fist. "Sarah, you can come out," she called into the other room. "Your dad's here."
Sarah came rushing through the door so quickly Amelia thought she must've been waiting on the other side, running straight into Carlos' arms for a hug.
"Come out?" he demanded sharply. "Why was she hiding?"
"You can tell us on the way." Luke cut in. He addressed Carlos, Rebecca, and Alvin. "Nick and Pete are still out there somewhere. Alvin, you and Rebecca stay here and wait for Pete. Amelia's going to take us to the last place she saw Nick."
Amelia and Clementine answered him simultaneously.
"I just said we can't stay here."
"No, Luke, we can't do that,"
Amelia recognized the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened – something she'd only seen once and knew didn't happen often – and understood why he addressed her and not Clementine.
"What are you talking about?"
Amelia knew what he was about to find, and she didn't want him expecting too much. "Look, I don't actually know where he is-"
"What do you mean you don't know where he is? You just told me you left the river with him."
"I told you we got separated."
"Separated where? We've been out looking for you for hours. Where were you?"
Where was she? She bristled, already on a short fuse and not taking kindly to the tone of his voice, and the way it implied this was her fault. She already blamed herself more than enough for the two of them. "The shed, up the hill. We were half a mile from the house the entire time, so where the hell were you?"
"Hey. Come on, that ain't fair," Luke snapped back at her just as quickly. This wasn't the first time Amelia had talked to him like that, or the second. It occurred to her that even people as nice as Luke had a breaking point. So did she; the threshold for hers was just much lower. "That part of the forest was overrun. If we could've looked for you there, we would've."
"Stop it!" Clementine interjected, looking between the two of them. "We can't fight right now!"
Again, Luke didn't answer her. "Hard to believe Alvin and I spent all night out there looking for you, if this is the thanks we get."
"You couldn't have sent someone better at it?"
Amelia glared, arms crossed. Maybe on another day she would've said thank you or found some other white flag to wave. But she didn't feel like making peace. She felt attacked, and very aware that one person blaming her for anything that had happened – especially if that one person was the group leader of all people – would quickly have the rest of the group doing the same.
For the first time she'd seen, Luke raised his voice. "Alright, you know what? Do you have some kind of problem with me? Did I do something to you to make you act like this, because I'd love to know what it was!"
"Enough!" Carlos silenced the room. "I've heard enough from all of you!"
It took the loud, thundering voice of a father figure – certainly not her father, who never yelled at her like that –
-yeah, and look how you turned out-
– backed by authority and rage to wake her up. He was right. This was childish, and a waste of time they didn't have.
It was also unfair, to one person in particular.
Going off like that was something to be expected from Carlos. But Luke wasn't one to do that. Alvin and Rebecca's dumbfounded expressions confirmed that. Luke was patient and forgiving, which he'd made abundantly clear, given Amelia's behavior and the way he normally responded to it. But he'd finally lost it, and she'd been the one to get him there. It sounded like an accomplishment, but it was something she wasn't even remotely proud of.
Fighting wouldn't solve any of their problems. And attacking Luke wouldn't make her any less responsible for what happened to Nick.
"Clementine," Carlos demanded. "Why was my daughter hiding in this house?"
Sarah answered before Clem could. "A man was here."
"What?" Carlos' eyes widened, just for a second. If Amelia hadn't known better, she would've thought it was fear. More than that; it looked like undisguised terror.
Rebecca spoke from the other side of the room. "What…what did she say?" She'd gone pale, and Amelia thought she heard her voice crack.
"Someone came to the cabin," Sarah stared at the floor, throwing her words out quickly and wringing her hands together. "Clementine talked to him."
Rebecca was quick to jump on her. "And you just opened the door for him?"
"Back off." Amelia warned her. This wasn't Clementine's fault-
-might be yours-
-and she wasn't about to let Rebecca blame her for any of it.
"Oh, I better not get any shit from you,"
Luke shot her a look, arms crossed. "Calm down, Rebecca."
"Calm down? I am calm! You calm down!"
If nothing else, Amelia was familiar with aggression. Tact, grace, patience…those were difficult, but aggression she spoke fluently. She knew what it looked like, sounded like, and when it was being used as a defense mechanism to deal with fear.
"I didn't open the door," Clementine shot a look to Amelia, of all people, to her surprise. Maybe to remind her that she was capable of defending herself. "He just came in."
"She's telling the truth!" Sarah said, speaking to Carlos more than anyone else. "Amelia made him go away."
Carlos looked to Amelia. "Is this true?"
She shook her head. "He left on his own. He was looking for something and he didn't find it." She had a feeling she knew what it was; if she had to guess, it walked through the kitchen door minutes after he'd gone.
Clementine nudged Amelia in the hip, looking up at her. She looked worried.
"Amelia,"
"What?"
She felt a sudden sting in her eye; whatever it was, it was warm. She flinched and shut her eyes, wiping blood from her eye socket with her fingertips. It had started dripping from her forehead again, in a thin line that ran down into her eyelashes. She could tell a few people in the room had noticed by the way they stared at her without trying to look like they were staring. She caught Luke looking – who didn't bother to pretend he hadn't noticed – and turned away, trying to wipe the blood away but only smearing it over her skin and making it worse.
Luke went back to the sink, opened a kitchen drawer, and started digging through it.
"Did he say his name? Did he say what his name was?" Carlos asked. There was that look again. Amelia could see the whites around his eyes and wondered, if this was coming from someone as stoic and collected as Carlos, whether she should've been as worried as he was.
Rebecca made a suggestion that even she knew wasn't true, given the way her voice shook. "Maybe it wasn't him,"
Alvin answered her before anyone else did, with disdain in his voice that didn't sound right coming from him. "You know damn well who it was."
Luke found a clean dish rag and put it under the faucet for a few seconds, before shutting the water off and wringing it out over the sink. When he turned back and approached her with it, Amelia half-expected him to throw it at her. She would've, if she were him, and she'd have thrown one hell of a dirty look with it.
He held it out to her, and waited for her to take it. No smile this time.
"…thanks."
She turned away again, not wanting everyone in the room to watch her clean herself up, and pressed it to the bleeding half of her face.
"He talked about you, Dad," Sarah muttered anxiously. Carlos brought up a hand to scratch his jaw. She didn't like the look in his eyes. Maybe Sarah didn't, either. "You're not going to hurt anyone are you?" She asked hurriedly.
"Of course he won't Sarah, alright? Your dad's the nicest man I know, which is why…" he looked to Carlos, his next words pointed and clearly intended for him and not his daughter. "…he's not going to do anything crazy…or not nice. Right?"
Amelia doubted Carlos was the nicest man anyone knew. She tried to think of the nicest man she knew, and came up with Luke.
Carlos turned to Sarah with a hand on her shoulder. He used a voice Amelia had never heard from him before. To her own surprise, she found it endearing, seeing a man so formidable and unmoved speak so gently to his little girl. "You know these are bad people, sweetie. They will do or say anything to hurt us."
"What do you think?" Luke looked between Clementine and Amelia. "Did it seem like he would be coming back?"
"Of course he will," Carlos answered for them. "He was scouting. We got lucky. He wasn't expecting to find us; the girls must have surprised him. He was too smart to stick around. But he'll be back with the rest."
"He's right." Luke agreed. "Everyone pack up. We're moving out in five."
Carlos leaned down, once again softening his voice to talk to Sarah in a way that wouldn't scare her. "We have to leave now, sweetie. Before he comes back with more bad guys."
"But Dad…"
"It's going to be okay." Carlos gently turned her by the shoulder and directed her toward the living room. "Just go get your things."
Sarah did as she was told, and left the kitchen.
As the door closed behind her, Alvin left, in front of his wife for once, rather than behind her. This time Rebecca followed him out, pleading,
"Alvin, wait,"
Amelia exchanged a look with her sister. She'd finished wiping the blood from her face – the rag was spotted with blotches of bright red – and had gotten the bleeding to slow down.
"Are you going to be okay?" Clementine asked. Amelia nodded.
Carlos seemed to remember the two of them were here. "Amelia. Clementine. I don't know what he told you. But William Carver is a dangerous man."
"I gathered." Amelia said quietly, bunching the rag up into her hands.
"He's the leader of a camp not far from here, and he's very smart. We were lucky to escape him. I'm sorry to involve you, but now that he's seen you, you'll be safer with us."
Amelia avoided eye contact, staring out at nothing. She knew she'd been right about staying with these people. She should've marched Clementine out of this house the minute she woke up the morning before. She'd have had to deal with Clem resenting her for a while, but disappointing her was a small price to pay to keep her safe. It was nothing Amelia hadn't done before.
She wore her thoughts plainly on her face, and Carlos seemed to pick up on them. "There's no doubt he knows you're with us. I am sure he's got people out looking for you. I'll take a look at your stitches when we are a safe distance from the cabin, but right now we need to leave."
Clementine guessed what she was thinking as well. She'd probably known before anyone else did. By now Clem could see Amelia's decisions coming from a mile away. It was both a good and a bad thing.
"It's too dangerous for us to go out on our own." She leaned forward, trying to get into Amelia's line of sight and catch her eyes. "Especially now…"
Every place was dangerous. Amelia still thought they were taking on more problems than they had to. She didn't want that man following her or her sister. They didn't need this.
If that's true, then do it. Own up to what you've been saying. Leave these people right now.
The thought of taking Clementine's hand and striking out into the forest kept her mouth shut. They would be alone again, and anything that happened to Clementine out there would be her fault, for choosing that.
That, and her conversations with Nick in the shed amounted to the most interaction she'd had with another human being in…almost three years. Even when she ignored him, there had at least been another person in the room. A person trying to talk to her, to his credit, even when she didn't make it easy.
It felt selfish to make her decision this way. It didn't feel like a good enough reason to stay; that wasn't going to stop her from using it.
"You said we leave in five?" Amelia asked Carlos, knowing it had been Luke who said it. She ignored a prodding voice that told her she was making another mistake.
"Yes." Carlos answered her. "Five minutes. Take what you can carry."
Add it to the list.
Amelia turned and left through the kitchen door, telling herself she had supplies to find when she knew damn well she was hiding from the people the room, including – especially – her sister, and Luke.
Once in the living room, Amelia stopped and leaned up against the back of the couch. She had five minutes to find something useful and no idea where to start looking. Alvin got her attention from the top of the stairs, leaning slightly over the banister.
"Hey, Amelia, could you come here for a second?" Then he turned and disappeared into one of the bedrooms upstairs.
Oh. She knew what this was about. She tried to think of something to say as she climbed the stairs, knowing that if she and Clementine were staying, she should do some damage control after her most recent…lapse in judgment.
Or you could stop doing the damage in the first place.
Upstairs, Amelia turned the corner to see Rebecca, folding clothes that were strewn out across the bed. She'd rolled them, to take up less space, and was busy packing them into two backpacks that laid open in front of her. She glanced up at Amelia for a brief second, then went back to it.
Alvin came into view in the doorway. He grinned and held up a hand as Amelia approached the room.
"Woah, woah, that's close enough."
Right. Amelia had almost forgotten she was giving off a smell that could peel paint. Clementine loved her enough to tolerate it, which had almost fooled her into thinking the others wouldn't be revolted, but that had been wishful thinking.
"About…back there…" With the way she'd acted she couldn't imagine Alvin joining the search party the next time she went missing. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to seem ungrateful."
Alvin's face changed; he blinked, and seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh, that?" Just like that, his smile was back. "Amelia, let me tell you something. My wife is eight and a half months pregnant." He leaned in and lowered his voice, just enough so Rebecca could no longer hear. "I'm pretty good at dealing with women who get a little…" he paused, looking for the word. "…cranky."
Behind him, Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "Alvin, what did you just say to her?"
Alvin straightened up, and looked at his wife over his shoulder with a smile so big, it would've seemed fake coming from anyone else. "Don't worry about it, baby." He turned back to Amelia. "I'm a damn expert by now."
Amelia nodded and tried to smile, but didn't quite get there. She remembered Clementine telling her to smile when people did nice things for her, and considered it the next thing to change.
"Anyway," Alvin turned around and picked up two pieces of clothing folded into a neat stack; from what she could see, they looked like a shirt and a pair of jeans. "Bec wants you to have these." He said, as he came back to the doorway and handed them to her.
Rebecca continued folding, and didn't look up or disagree with him.
"Um…" Amelia kept the clothes at an arm's length, trying to keep them away from the clothes she was currently wearing. "I..." The confusion made her inarticulate, and she struggled for the phrase thank you.
"Yeah," Alvin looked back, talking to Rebecca. "She doesn't believe me."
"I told you."
"She figured you could use them." He said to Amelia. "The pants were with all the stuff we found when we moved in, and we don't throw anything away in this house-"
"We don't throw things away when they break. We fix them."
"-so, they're all yours. And the shirt is one of Rebecca's."
Amelia leaned to look past Alvin and talk directly to Rebecca. "Thank you."
Rebecca didn't look at her, and answered dismissively. "It's for everyone's sake." Like Amelia, the woman was guarded in many ways, but completely transparent in others; the tone of her voice didn't make any secret of the way she really felt. Just go put them on and leave me alone.
If that was how she wanted her to return he favor, Amelia didn't have a problem complying with it.
"Thanks," she muttered to Alvin.
"Don't mention it. Just be ready to move out soon."
From behind him: "Close the door, Alvin."
He listened to his wife, but he left her with a smile before he did.
She turned around to see Clementine and Luke on their way up the stairs. By the time she saw them they were almost at the top, and they had her only escape route blocked unless she was willing to jump the banister.
"Hey," Luke said, wearing an expression she didn't quite understand. She could tell he'd cooled off enough that he wasn't visibly angry with her anymore. Of course, no one in the room - not her, not him, not Clementine - was naive enough to think his feelings weren't there just because he wasn't wearing them openly.
Clementine stopped by his side and looked up at him with crossed arms. She seemed to be waiting for something.
"I'm sorry." He said. He was sorry? He seemed to be trying to make eye contact with her, which she avoided by staring down at her new clothes. Another thing these people had given her that she hadn't earned and didn't deserve. "For yelling at you," he added.
"I would've yelled at me too." Amelia mumbled, playing with a loose thread that stuck out from Rebecca's shirt.
"Really, I shouldn't have done that. I don't…" Luke brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. His face had softened, but Amelia could still see frustration in his eyes. "I don't normally talk to women like that. God, I sound like an asshole…" He looked away and mumbled to himself. "'I don't normally do this.' No one ever believes that…"
Amelia did. She was suddenly able to connect dots that had always been there. His thick accent, the gentle nature, the place he was likely born and raised all pointed a sense of Southern chivalry. She didn't fully understand it, and had always thought the idea was dated. She didn't think women needed any more protection than men, at least not in her experience and not in Clementine's. The remembered some of the women she'd met since the world had gone to hell; the thought that any one of them needed help they couldn't give themselves was almost laughable.
But it made her remember they way her father always held doors for her mother. It was strange and pleasant to see it again, especially in a time she'd thought no one found it worth keeping around.
"It's okay. Really, it's fine." Amelia knew Clementine would be staring an apology out of her next, and decided to beat her to it. "I'm sorry for everything I said in there. I don't know what I was…what I was doing."
She glanced at Clementine, and saw she was giving her the look anyway.
"We've all been on edge since yesterday. It's hard on everyone when people go missing, and now all this, with…with Carver finding the cabin…I'm just…" Luke said. "Nick is my best friend. Just about the only one I got left. He's been gone for a long time and I don't even know if he's alive."
I do.
She understood that, being impatient and quick to go off when she was worried about someone she loved. If she could be forgiven for doing it damn near all the time, then Luke could be forgiven for doing it once. "I'll show you where we hid out last night. It's where we got separated." She knew better than to make any promises beyond that, and Luke knew better than to ask her for one.
"Thank you." He wore a look of genuine optimism so often that it was easy to tell when his expression was forced. It didn't look right; his smile didn't reach his eyes.
He was halfway down the stairs when Amelia called after him.
"You didn't." He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Do anything, I mean." He answered her with a nod, and left the room.
Clementine put a hand on the banister, pausing at the top of the steps. "I'll see you outside?"
"Of course you will."
"Good."
Thank you again to author BHBrowne for helping edit this chapter. His stories are personal favorites, and I can't recommend them enough!