Author Note: Hello!
As a fan of the video games, I wanted to do my own little spin with my fic. This will follow the main timeline, but with the inclusion of new elements and canon divergences. I would also due to the games being over like to wrap up certain character arcs or character fates that weren't entirely fleshed out or finished. Likewise, it was a choice game so I want to reflect how the choices in the games affect the characters in the fic. If you wish to support for more chapters please follow, favorite, and review. Best regards and best wishes!
Chapter 1
Clementine didn't realize it at first, the ominous portent that hung heavy in the air. It mingled with the rain, the storming clouds echoing their tumultuous symphony, and the whirling of the leaves. The suddenness of it all didn't help to ease her nerves. She was on a mission, trudging through the woods in search of firewood for her and Christa's fire. She could've resorted to using memotes, but she discarded that idea like a useless bauble. Duck's drawing or Lee's photo? The mere thought of making such a choice horrified her.
"Are you deaf!" The boy's voice sliced through the tempest, sharp and commanding. "Get the hell on the ground right now!" His words overrode the storm, and Clementine finally understood the gravity of the situation.
He aimed a bow at her, a crude and nicked wooden bow that bespoke a certain homemade quality. If she hadn't been so consumed by fear, she might've pondered its origins. But his bow was notched, arrow aimed directly at her.
"O-okay," she stuttered, her knees bending as she complied. Yet for a moment, she hesitated.
Her mind flashed back to that day with Omid, her eyes widening as her thoughts drifted to the gun nestled in her holster.
The boy's eyes were hidden beneath a black mask, the deep eye holes boring into her as she met his gaze. Behind him, the storm raged, the forest trembling in its wake, and his next words sent a shiver down her spine.
"I've put women into the ground before, girl," his voice dripped with menace. "Test me and you will die, hear me, test me and you will die."
Clementine's knees met the forest floor, her realization sinking in. The young man...no, it couldn't be. He began to circle her, and she started to discern that, despite his height, he seemed young.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" he interrogated.
Clementine remained silent. He sighed, ripping open her shirt and tossing her gun into the woods.
"Hey, don't touch me there!" she snapped.
"Relax," he retorted sharply. Another sigh escaped him, a fleeting moment of relief. "I wasn't doing anything, but you were armed and I am going to disarm you."
Clementine sneered. "What do you want?"
He circled her again, arrow still notched, his movements deliberate. She observed him closely. He had to be around her age, meaning that despite her youth, she could still overpower someone of similar age.
He was taller, maybe a year or two older, but his features remained obscured. Thick brown boots, worker pants with reinforced leather segments, a belt adorned with a holstered pistol and a military knife, a coat with fur trim, and a splayed vest emblazoned with the word POLICE across his chest. A hunting rifle adorned his back, a stark reminder of his authority.
Yet, she also noticed a rabbit dangling from his belt, its fur streaked with blood. Hunger gnawed at her insides, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for real food amidst their usual scavenged chips, candies, and sodas.
"Are you bit?" he inquired.
Clementine sneered. "No, I am not," she replied, scanning their surroundings. "Obviously, there are no walkers around me."
"It's just a formality," he explained. "My Pa always told me to ask everyone I meet in these woods that question. There are men sent out by their groups at times, and they stake out places like this forest. It can get rough out here."
"So, it's just you and your dad," Clementine prodded.
"Easy, girl," he cautioned. "I'm the one asking the questions." His voice cracked slightly.
Silence settled between them, broken only by Clementine's laughter.
"Stop laughing," he demanded.
But Clementine couldn't help herself; she laughed even harder, relishing in the agitation she stirred in her captor.
"Stop calling me girl," she managed between bursts of laughter. "I have a name."
"Oh really, what is it then?" he retorted, shaking his head. "We're getting off topic. This is not why I have—"
"Clementine," she interrupted.
The air hung heavy with silence for a moment. "Like the fruit," he chuckled, amusement tingeing his voice. "Like the freaking orange." His laughter echoed through the woods.
Clementine shot him a disdainful look, wondering where Christa was. "Well, Clementine the Orange, you're in my woods. I won't hurt you if you cooperate," he declared, taking a knee. "I need to ask you a select number of questions. If you answer truthfully, I'll let you go. If you lie, I'll know."
Clementine remained silent, her thoughts swirling like mist in the dark corners of her mind. She nodded, her gaze darting around the edges of the forest.
"Christa would've figured out by now that I'm taking too long. She'll be tracking my steps, catching him off guard, and..." Her mind recoiled, flashing to the chilling memory of what happened with Omid. This boy, roughly her age, attempting to assert dominance. Despite his brash demeanor, Clementine couldn't shake the haunting realization of what fate might have awaited her in the clutches of another.
"Did you find anything in the woods?" he inquired.
Arching an eyebrow, Clementine quipped, "Anything? That's rather vague."
The boy faltered, hesitating for a moment. "What, never done this before?" she needled.
"Quiet," he snapped, irritation flickering in his eyes. "You're so annoying...you're the first girl I've seen in six months, and of course, you're one of the annoying ones who survived the apocalypse."
"Hey!" Clementine retorted.
"Are you planning on staying in my woods?" he pressed.
Clementine shook her head, finally a question she could answer. "No, we aren't planning on staying here."
He scoffed. "What are you going to do then?"
Annoyance flared within Clementine. First, he had captured her, mocked her, and now he demanded answers to his questions.
"Screw you," she shot back.
The boy fell silent, exhaling heavily as he unnotched the bow. Clementine watched him warily.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"You've cooperated so far," he shrugged. "Don't make any sudden moves, but you can stand."
With a resigned sigh, Clementine rose to her feet.
"My name is Tobias 'James' Smith, but people called me TJ when there were people," he introduced himself, a trace of melancholy in his voice. "Are you one of those aiming for Wellington?"
Clementine's eyes widened. "You get visitors often through here?"
He slung the bow over his body, though his hand lingered on his belt. This one moved differently. He exuded a sense of ease, like Molly used to, yet there was an underlying tension, a vigilance that couldn't be ignored. Clementine couldn't shake the notion that he seemed to be alone. She hesitated, wondering if he was around her age.
"He could handle rifles, he could hunt, and he knew the forest. Maybe, just maybe..."
"Do you know of any good paths out of here?" Clementine pressed.
He regarded her with a steely gaze. "Now you're the one asking questions?"
She shot him a look, prompting a resigned sigh from him. "Keep heading north until you hit one of the hiking paths. Once you're on a path, stick to it. Follow the trail in the direction you want to go, but if you're heading to Wellington, take the Northern Route. We don't have raiders, but we've got slavers around here."
Clementine's stomach churned with realization. "Are they common around here?" she inquired.
TJ's expression darkened. "They're a bunch of torturers, rapists, and slavers. You don't want to be caught by them, hell, I don't even want to be around them. I've heard horror stories from passing groups that survived...all hollowed looks."
Horror flickered in Clementine's eyes. "Oh my god," she gasped.
He nodded grimly, turning to gaze eastward. "They're positioned over on the riverbank. They rarely venture out into the western part of the forest where we are, but they mostly push west into the ruins."
"Wouldn't you expect them to expand down here?" Clem questioned.
TJ shrugged, a gesture weighted with resignation. "The walker presence here is pretty high," he murmured, cocking his head.
Clem's breath hitched for a moment, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin.
"Relax," TJ spoke with a chilling calmness, as though he were smiling beneath his mask. "He's far away, following the sound of the storm. I think a tree fell down from the storm, and they're congregating towards it."
"So we're safe..." Clementine's voice trailed off, the statement more a question than an affirmation.
He chuckled softly, a wisp of amusement dancing in his eyes. "As long as we keep quiet, we should be safe."
"Alright then," Clem spoke. "What now?"
He sighed wearily. "Alright, wait here until I'm out of sight. Your gun is…" He scanned their surroundings quickly, then pointed to a glint of silver. "I'm going to start running in a moment. It was nice meeting you, Clementine, but stay put for a solid minute. If I catch you trying to track me or—"
Clem interrupted, her tone sharp. "You really assume the worst from people," she stated bluntly.
He paused, his demeanor shifting slightly. "Maybe, but it's kept me alive."
They fell into a tense silence, each lost in their own thoughts. "Alright then," he began, turning to leave. "It was nice meeting you Cl—"
But before he could finish, his hand darted to his belt, his eyes widening in shock as he spotted Christa. TJ hesitated for a moment, but then Crista's gaze flicked to his belt and the array of weapons, her expression mirroring Clem's shock.
She drew her gun, but TJ was quicker, drawing his pistol in one fluid motion. "Drop the damn gun!" he bellowed, causing Clem to instinctively step back.
"You drop yours!" shouted Crista, her eyes darting between Clem and TJ. "Clem, get—"
"No, she's staying right here," TJ interjected firmly.
Crista shot Clem a look of understanding, her revolver steady in her grip. "Enough of this, TJ!" she snapped.
Clem turned her gaze to TJ. "You know this kid!" Crista exclaimed.
"Only for a few minutes," Clem replied tersely. "Both of you, lower your guns. You don't need to fear each other!" she urged.
Silence enveloped them. Crista kept her revolver aimed, her eyes narrowed along the iron sights. She saw what Clem did, realizing that this was someone young, not much older than Clem herself. But her mind flashed back to Omid's death...his killer had been barely a teenager. In this new world, danger lurked everywhere.
TJ's breath came in heavy puffs, his father's teachings echoing in his mind. These were his woods, and now someone had drawn a gun on him. Crista noticed the strain in his left hand as he gripped the massive pistol. It was a .45, reminiscent of old war films' M1911s. Omid, a history buff, would have rambled on endlessly about it, but in the teen's hand, it looked weighty, burdened with a history neither of them could fully grasp.
Yet, a shot shattered the tense silence. "What the hell!" snapped TJ, his back pressed against the wall. "What did you—" He trailed off, turning to face the source of the disturbance. A walker, decomposed and grotesque, lurched into view. How had he missed its presence, its putrid stench, its threat?
It could've taken a bite out of him if they weren't so damned...
Groans emanated from the forest, a chorus of despair amidst the raging storm. Even now, amidst nature's fury, the undead clawed their way towards the living.
"Walkers," TJ stated bluntly, casting a glance at Christa and Clem. "I know we had our guns pointed a moment ago," he acknowledged, his gaze shifting between them. "But Clem was right, and you saved me...I guess I owe you one."
Walkers emerged, their flesh rotting and their moans echoing through the storm. Tattered shreds of clothing hung from their emaciated frames as milky white eyes scanned their surroundings.
TJ sneered, his grip tightening on his rifle as he clicked off the safety. Clem began to grasp the gravity of the situation.
"They're almost surrounding us," she observed.
"I know, Clem," affirmed Christa.
"What's the plan?" Clem asked, her voice tinged with urgency.
TJ muttered to himself, his eyes darting in all directions as the undead closed in around them.
"We'll cut through back to my cabin," he declared. "I'll let you stay and regroup, even feed you, but any hint of hostility and I won't hesitate to—"
"Kill us, we get it!" Clem interjected, surprising Christa. "Come on, we've got to go!"
The trio sprinted through the woods, the cacophony of groans drowning out their surroundings as they pushed through the forest. Yet...
Christa screamed as a walker lunged, grasping her ankle with a vice-like grip. "Christa!" Clem shouted.
TJ aimed his rifle and fired, the walker's brains splattering across the forest floor as Clem helped Christa to her feet. "N-nice shot," Christa breathed.
"Don't worry about it," TJ replied, his focus shifting back to the advancing horde as he unleashed another barrage of shots.
"How much farther!" Clem's voice cut through the roaring storm, barely audible over the howling wind. Lightning crackled across the sky, casting eerie purple streaks of power.
A bolt struck a nearby tree, sending shards of wood flying as everyone shielded their eyes. "Hit the deck!" TJ yelled, instinctively diving to the ground as the massive trunk crashed down with deadly force.
On one side of the fallen tree lay Crista and TJ, on the other was Clem. She scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding as she came face to face with the hollow-eyed visage of a walker. "Guys, I need help!" she shouted over the raging storm.
Dazed but determined, TJ mustered the strength to toss his hatchet in a desperate arc over the fallen obstacle. Clem seized it from the ground, gripping it tightly as she charged forward. With swift, practiced motions, she slashed off the creature's outstretched fingers before driving the axe head deep into its skull.
TJ helped Crista to her feet, the three of them scanning their surroundings. "Doesn't seem to be any more around…" TJ observed.
"They probably got confused by the storm," Crista replied. "We likely outran them."
TJ nodded in agreement, his gaze shifting to the others. "I owe you two a meal. Follow me to the cabin, and I'll point you in the right direction."
As they trudged forward, Crista paused, turning to Clem. "Hey, Clem," she began.
"Yeah?" Clem replied, her brow furrowing in curiosity.
"Do you trust this boy?" Crista asked. "He may be around your age, but I can't help but remember what happened with Omid…"
Clem met her gaze, her expression thoughtful. "He seems trustworthy. Rough around the edges, sure, but he's also cautious. Lee taught me that being careful in this world can mean the difference between life and death."
Crista sighed, understanding Clem's sentiment. "That's not exactly what I meant, but I get what you're saying."
Clem nodded with a smile, and they continued on after TJ. It wasn't long before they reached his cabin, nestled deep in the heart of the woods. It was a modest abode, secluded from any roads or trails. Crista couldn't help but marvel at its existence in such a remote location.
The cabin stood before them, a rustic sanctuary amidst the desolation of the wilderness. Crista couldn't help but notice the rough-hewn nature of its construction as they approached, the jagged edges and splintered wood betraying its handmade origins. This wasn't the work of machines or skilled craftsmen—it was a testament to survival in the harshest of times.
As they stepped inside, darkness enveloped them like a shroud, sending a shiver down Crista's spine. But TJ, ever the resourceful guide, swiftly banished the shadows with a flick of his flashlight, illuminating the sparse interior—a simple counter, a sink, a fireplace.
TJ wasted no time in tending to the fire, kicking the logs into place with practiced ease. With each addition, the flames danced hungrily, casting flickering shadows across the room. "That's nice," he remarked, his youthful features bathed in the warm glow of the firelight.
Christa couldn't help but marvel at TJ's youth. Beneath the mask and bulky clothing, he was just a boy, barely a teenager. "How old are you?" she ventured.
"Thirteen," TJ replied matter-of-factly, his tone belying the weight of his words.
Christa's eyes widened in disbelief. "Thirteen, and you're out here—"
TJ knelt by the fire, his gaze fixed on the crackling flames. Beside him, Clementine joined, and Christa followed suit. "My family and I came here when the walkers showed up," TJ explained. "My daddy thought it was God's reckoning."
"So, you've been in these woods for..." Clem trailed off, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"A good couple of years," TJ confirmed. "We've encountered others from time to time, but I try to stick close to home for scavenging. My pa taught me how to survive in the wild...he was a military man."
Christa surveyed the modest cabin, taking in its homely features—the dinner table set for a family that was no longer there, the cluttered kitchen with its unwashed dishes, the closed doors hinting at bedrooms and a bathroom. A couch and a silent television completed the scene, casting a pall of loneliness over the room.
But it was the question hanging in the air that drew her attention back to TJ. "Where is your family now?" she inquired, her voice cutting through the stillness.
TJ's response was as stark as the reality they faced. "Where everyone else's families are," he replied, his gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire. "In the ground...or worse, still wandering this earth."
As he busied himself with a pot, his demeanor softened slightly. "You can stay here for the night," he offered, gesturing toward the makeshift kitchen. "Enjoy some food while you're at it. You saved me from that walker, had me at gunpoint but saved me nonetheless. My Pa would've wanted me to extend that courtesy."
He turned to Clementine, his eyes narrowing slightly. "She tells me you're headed to Wellington?"
Christa interjected, a note of caution in her voice. "Clementine, you can't go blurting out our plans to strangers, even if they're your age."
Clementine shrugged. "He had a bow aimed at me, same difference."
TJ redirected his attention to Clementine, issuing a command. "Clem, check that drawer over there. Grab the first map you find."
Clementine complied, moving to retrieve the map as TJ and Christa convened at the table. "How long have you been out here alone?" Christa asked, her curiosity piqued.
TJ paused, his hands deftly working with ingredients. "Are you asking me how I survived out here for so long?" he mused, a hint of bitterness in his tone.
"You're only thirteen," Christa pointed out bluntly.
TJ chuckled darkly. "I'll take that as a compliment. But you needn't worry. My older sister died during the outbreak. My Ma followed a few years later, and my father passed just last year. He taught me everything he knew. He was ex-military. Showed me how to fend for myself, how to navigate the wild like a seasoned hunter."
Christa let out a heavy sigh, the weight of their reality pressing down on her shoulders. "It's almost unbelievable that this is our reality. You should be playing video games, or riding bikes, or playing basketball. You shouldn't have a gun at your hip or..."
But TJ's response cut through her lament with a curt sigh of his own. "I don't know anything you're really talking about. Your memories aren't mine," he retorted as Clem approached with the map.
TJ wasted no time, pouring their provisions into the stew pot and setting it to cook over the fire. As Clem unfolded the map, he leaned in, tracing his finger along the river's winding path. "You're going to want to stick with this river," he advised, then pointed to a grayed area. "Avoid this area at all times."
"Why?" queried Clem, her curiosity piqued.
"You want to be walker food?" TJ shot back, tapping the grayed section again. "It was a camping pit stop. I figure some people went there to escape the infection. But someone turned, and now there are dozens of walkers roaming that area."
Christa studied the map intently. "What about here?" she suggested, pointing to an alternate route. "We can still stick to the river, but cut through..."
"That area is filled with mud and it's bandit territory," TJ interjected, his tone firm.
Clem narrowed her eyes. "You're a real bearer of bad news, TJ," she remarked.
TJ crossed his arms defiantly. "I'm just being honest," he countered, leveling with them. "Stick to the river, sure, but avoid that path." His gaze shifted to a small trail branching off, drawing their attention.
"It's an old hiking trail," he explained. "Follow the river until you reach this off-path, then use it to rejoin the hiking trail. It's the closest and fastest way out of this forest."
Christa and Clem scrutinized the map. "How long do you think it will take?" Christa inquired.
"Not too long," TJ reassured them. "Maybe a day, half a day if you're fast. But I'd be more worried about safety and taking your time. There are multiple ways to leave the forest, but walker and raider movements have been high."
Christa and Clem exchanged concerned glances, realizing the gravity of their situation.
"Both of them," Clem replied, her voice firm amidst the crackling of the fire.
TJ let out a low chuckle, the sound carrying a hint of weariness. "Well, the raiders came along first in the forest. Set up camp in some ruined old building, they brought guns and started robbing travelers. Worked well for a bit, but then people started shooting back... now all that shooting is slowly turning my forest into a walker forest."
Christa studied the map intently, her brow furrowing with concern. "What do you think, Clem? What should we do?"
Clem's eyes flickered over the map, her expression thoughtful. "The safe option is always the best option," she declared, her voice tinged with conviction. She glanced towards TJ. "If TJ knows these woods, going along with what he's saying seems to be the best bet."
"Alright then, that's settled," TJ affirmed, his steps carrying him towards the kitchen area of his cabin. With practiced hands, he retrieved the rabbit carcass from his belt, a glimmer of culinary intent in his eyes.
"Christa, Clementine, have either of you ever had rabbit stew before?" he inquired, his tone inviting and hospitable despite the grim circumstances.