Clementine trudged through the mud, her fingers practically numb from the pile of snow she was holding. She dumped the melting white mess into her pot, then knelt down to examine the fire burning under it; it was going out. She tore some pages out of a magazine that was already falling apart, then fed the paper to the dying flame. It was little more than kindling but it had to do, it was hard to find wood not wet from the constant snowfall.
Looking up, Clem briefly thought she saw something moving across the road. She reached for her binoculars despite not having any; a habit she hadn't quite broken yet. She then pulled her machine gun off her back and clasped it as tightly as she could, her hands aching from the cold as she did. She watched the road and listened closely, fearful something was coming this way. She didn't see anything, she didn't hear anything, and yet she still feared something was out there.
Hurrying back to the pot, Clem saw the snow had melted. She moved over to where her backpack was lying on the ground and took out an empty jug and a funnel. Jet's survival guide said you don't need to boil snow if you gather it from the top of a heap. She wasn't sure where he had learned that but glad he had put it in his guide; he probably would have found a way into space if he had just been given enough time.
She carefully poured the water through the funnel and into the jug, careful not spill it. She felt a scratch in her throat as she held onto the heavy pot but held her breath and kept pouring, not wanting to risk contaminating their water supply. Clem dropped the pot as soon as it was empty and coughed into her gloves a couple of times. She was sick but there wasn't anything she or Sarah could do about it right now. They had no medicine and she couldn't afford to stop to rest right now, so she just ignored it the best she could.
Clem snuffed out the fire, what little there was left, packed up her things, then started walking. Carting two jugs of water along with a few boxes of bullets and most everything she had on her back was a literal load she was tired of carrying. She told herself she'd save time by not hassling with her bike this morning, only have to walk further than she expected to find snow still thick enough to safely collect for clean water.
After an agonizing walk that felt like a mile, a mile in which Clem's back ached, her feet throbbed and throat was sore, she eventually saw an old gas station come into view. It was a sorry old building that probably looked like it was ready to fall over before the outbreak, but Clem was glad to see it anyway. She burst through the door and dropped her bag on the ground, like a disgruntled Santa delivering the crummiest presents imaginable.
"Sarah?" called Clem as she stretched her back, trying to ease the stiff pain she felt. "Sarah?" repeated Clem a little louder as she looked around for any sign of her; nothing.
Clem found her hand instinctively moving to her pistol as she headed to the backroom where Sarah should have been waiting for her. Quietly pushing open the door, Clem scanned for any signs of her. The bundle of blankets resting on a pile of folded cardboard boxes that served as their bed was empty. Looking past it was the smaller bed they made, and Clem couldn't be sure if it was empty or not.
She hurried over to it, careful not to make too much noise as she moved in close. Clem knelt down, her hand trembling as she pulled back the covers. She found Omid underneath, carefully wrapped in layers of old shirts and other things they used for blankets. The dried tears and crusty mucus around his nose made it clear he had been crying, again; also he wasn't moving. Clem felt her heart in her throat as she reached her hand out.
"Omid?" she whispered as she shook him; no response. "Omid?" she repeated, unable to mask her terror. Omid's eyelids suddenly begun to stir and it was then Clem was struck with a horrible thought; what if he opened his eyes and she found a walker staring back at her? Omid blinked a few times and looked up at Clem, anxiety swimming behind his sad brown eyes as he awaited more bad news. "It's okay," reassured Clem as she pulled the covers over Omid to keep him warm. "I just…"
A slight bang from the other side of the room caused Clem to spin around. She didn't see anything, and turning back to Omid she could see he was frightened now, breathing rapidly as he started whimpering softly. "Just go back to sleep," whispered Clem as she wrapped the blanket around his face. "I'll be right back." Clem clutched her gun a little tighter and turned around to face the small door behind her; whatever she heard came from there.
She crept up to the door and pressed her ear up against it. It was quiet, but that didn't satisfy Clem. She switched her pistol's safety off, then braced the rest of her body against the door. She took a breath as she turned the knob as slowly as possible so it wouldn't make any noise. She heard a very soft click of the door opening, then burst inside with her gun out in front of her; she found herself aiming at Sarah, who was sitting on the toilet.
"Oh God!" yelled Sarah.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" yelled Clem as turned around in a hurry. "I'm sorry! I'll just go and—"
"Wait!" Clem waited, then keep waiting as Sarah seemed to hesitate to speak. "Can you help me up?"
"Help you up?" repeated Clem. "Are you okay? Did—"
"I'm okay," insisted Sarah with a hint of annoyance. "It's just… my feet hurt and so when I tried to stand up just now I slipped back onto the seat and—"
"I'll help," said Clem without hesitation. "If that's what you want."
"Yeah, I do…" Clem slowly turned around, taking care to keep her view aimed upward. Moving across the bathroom, she caught sight of Sarah's face and could see the overwhelming embarrassment on it; it almost overshadowed her typical look of exhaustion. Clem scooched up to Sarah and waited patiently for her to try to stand up, lending her a hand and helping her to her feet when she did. Clem herself found it a struggle to remain standing some days, and she wasn't pregnant.
"I'm sorry," repeated Clem as Sarah buttoned her pants. "I didn't see you when I came in and then I heard—"
"It's okay," mumbled Sarah as she started walking with Clem towards the door. "I'm just glad you're back." Clem felt Sarah squeezing her hand, which made her feel once less ounce miserable.
The pair returned to the backroom and settled in for a lousy breakfast. Clem dragged her backpack in and set the water jugs and pot on the ground while Sarah removed a can of chicken soup from her own backpack. She opened the can and poured the contents into the pot, then filled the can with water and poured it in.
"Get out a can of beans too," instructed Clem as Sarah reached into her own bag.
"Why?" asked Sarah as she pulled a small metal grill out of her bag.
"Because we're gonna need more food today."
"But if we eat two cans… that leaves us with only two left."
"I… I know that," said Clem, finding it difficult to think as those words echoed in her own mind; only two left. "But we're gonna need to be strong enough to make the trip south today."
"You want to do that today?" asked a distressed Sarah. "Last night you said you wanted to rest today and—"
"The snow on the road has melted and this has been the warmest it's been in days. If we wait a day and it snows again, we're gonna be stuck here until it melts again."
Sarah stared at Clem in response. She wasn't convinced, but didn't seem to have a counterpoint to Clem's reasoning either.
"We need to do this. There's nothing here, I'm running out of things to burn for a fire every day, and we're right on Interstate Eighty," explained Clem, tensing up as she did. "If… if those people ever come further west… they'll probably come right through here."
Sarah turned away suddenly, trying to conceal her panic. It was useless though, Clem could hear her heavy breathing, the swallowing of her sobs; Clem felt the same way.
"I wish we could just go back to the bunker," cried Sarah in a quiet voice.
"We can't," declared Clem, finding it difficult to speak those words. "But, I found a building with a fireplace south of here. It's off the interstate, and it's near a river; I can fish in that. There are trees nearby which mean there might be a forest where I can find other stuff we can eat. There's also houses around we can get things out of, maybe even more food."
"You said you didn't find any when you went out there."
"Because I didn't have time to look for food, it was already past noon when I got there and I had to get back before it got dark," said Clem. "But I made sure to set up the fireplace so it'll be ready the second we get there. I even dragged some blankets in front of it, so we can just have a nice night in front of a warm fire for once."
"What… what kind of blankets?" asked Sarah, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"Real ones," declared Clem. "I took them from a house nearby. They'll be a million times better than these crappy ones we made out of the old shirts we found in here."
"That does sound good, but…" Sarah looked over at Omid, still resting quietly in his pile of cut up shirts. "Moving isn't good for him."
"I… I know." Clem stared at the little lump under the wad of torn up fabric, barely stirring as they spoke.
"Last time he didn't start eating again until the next morning."
"I… I know, but we gotta do this," said Clem, the confidence in her voice fading with each word. "Like I said, we'll have a couple of cans of food for breakfast and that'll make us feel a little better… make him feel better."
Clem covered her mouth and coughed. "You just warm up some soup and beans, I'll go get everything ready so we can leave right after we're done eating, okay?"
Sarah took a deep breath as she stared at the pot of uncooked soup. "Okay," she whispered.
Sarah moved the pot onto the metal grill she set up while Clem headed for the door. Moving back outside into the cold, Clem hurried over their bikes. She kept them out of sight behind the corner of the gas station facing away from the intersection. Their attackers may have seen them fleeing on these same bikes, and that meant if they ever saw them, they'd know right where they were hiding.
Rolling one of the bikes forward to the front of the station, Clem found herself looking out on the nearly empty parking lot. There were a few stray semi-trucks remaining, all of which Sarah had examined when they arrived here. They couldn't find keys to any of them except one, and it wouldn't start. Sarah's only suggestions required either a generator or an already working vehicle to jump off its battery. Clem always knew the Brave was a luxury, she just didn't realize how unprepared she was to lose it.
No matter where they had gone they always had it to call a home. Even when certain parts of it stopped working, it always had a big warm bed they could sleep in, instead of just rags on a concrete floor. It had a closet of toys Omid could play with, instead of a withered elephant crammed into Sarah's already overstuffed backpack. It had books and encyclopedias they could use to look up stuff, instead of just Jet's guide that Clem only had because it was already in her bag the day they fled for their lives.
With both bikes sitting in front of the gas station now, Clem stopped to double check the basket on the front of her bike. Omid was too big and heavy to carry in their backpacks, and there wasn't room even if he wasn't. This seat Sarah spent so much time building so they could go riding was the only reason all three of them could travel by bike, and she never intended for them to go cycling in the middle of winter.
With the bike secured, Clem headed back into the gas station. She hated this place and would be glad to leave it behind, she just wasn't looking forward to the trip necessary for escaping it. Moving into the backroom, she found Sarah sitting around the pot of soup, gently rocking Omid in her arms. He appeared stiff and was eerily quiet, which wasn't uncommon now.
"Is he okay?" asked Clem as she knelt down in front of Sarah. "I checked him a minute ago, and… it looked like he had been crying."
"He did cry this morning, right after you left."
Looking at Omid, his face was scrunched up and his eyes were firmly shut, like he wanted nothing to do with this world. He was also shivering slightly even after being wrapped in a jacket, a makeshift blanket and Sarah's arms. Ever since the attack, Omid had become quiet, more quiet than he'd ever been. He never laughed anymore, he whimpered frequently, and he spent most of his days either sleeping or laying still trying to sleep.
"Come on, let's get him some soup," said Clem as she sat down near the battery-powered hot plate. At least, she had thought it was battery powered. It turns out the 'battery' was a single tin of strange fuel with a big wick sticking out of the top of the can, almost like an industrial strength candle. Sarah would light the wick and place under the metal grill, which turned it into the primitive hotplate sitting in front of them. Apparently, there was a whole closet of them in the bunker, but Sarah had only packed one when they left.
Clem felt foolish for never noticing any of this when they lived in the bunker, especially after pointing out to Sarah she never saw a heater that ran on batteries. Leaning in for a closer look at the label on the can, Clem saw it read '6 HOUR CHAFING FUEL'. She'd lost track of how much they had used it, and she had no idea what chafing fuel was. It was a constant reminder of how ignorant she was about so much of the world, and they were depending on it to warm up their meals and themselves while indoors.
Sarah set Omid down so she could stir the pot while Clem rubbed her own legs. They were still sore from yesterday, and carrying water this morning didn't help. Yet Clem couldn't look at Sarah and think she didn't still have it easier. Even with so little to eat, her stomach was still getting bigger, and it and everything else that came with pregnancy made Sarah's already difficult life even harder every day, like it had this morning. And then there was Omid.
Too young to understand what was happening, but more than old enough to be scared and miserable because of it. They talked to him when he was listening, tried to speak comforting words whenever they could find them. But comforting words didn't keep him warm, or put food in his mouth. Watching him now, lying on his side, Clem couldn't ignore the fact he looked skinnier as he trembled on his bed; then he reached for the flame under the pot.
"Don't!" Clem snapped out her hand just in time to stop Omid from burning his.
"What happened?" asked Sarah.
"He tried to grab the fire." Clem looked down at Omid as he stared at her, his eyes trembling in fear.
"Come here Omid, I'll keep you warm."
Clem watched as Omid meekly crawled away from her and into Sarah's grasp. Sarah unzipped her jacket, carefully wrapped it around Omid, and then zipped it up around him. Seeing the two together, grasping each other for warmth, Clem found herself envious of them. She knew it was nothing personal, Sarah's jacket wasn't covered in dried walker blood that smelled bad like Clem's. And Sarah didn't have a cough that might make Omid sick. But it still hurt to see Omid crawl away from her like that.
The soup was barely warm and nearly flavorless. Clem lamented she hadn't pocketed any spices that could make it more palatable. What was and wasn't essential changed after you spent two weeks carrying it around with you. The bullets she had taken were effectively just weights in her backpack she felt were too valuable to throw away. Whereas a pepper shaker would have gone a long way to making their food taste better, have weighed barely anything, and taken up almost no space in her backpack; if only Clem had thought to take one.
Watching Sarah try to feed Omid, he clearly didn't care for the soup either. They knew he was hungry but without any food he actually liked, there wasn't much they could do but beg him to eat a few bites and hope he'd oblige. Even after Sarah warmed up some beans, Omid expressed no interest in them. Between it and the soup and as much urging as Omid would stand before he'd start whimpering, he had eaten only five bites.
Then came dessert, the one and only thing that Omid was eager to see. Sarah took out the opened package of freeze-dried ice cream, broke off the absolutely smallest piece she could, then carefully fed it to Omid. It was very small, little more than a flake, but every time she opened the package his eyes went wide in anticipation. Sadly, even that wasn't enough to make Omid smile, just look relieved for a few seconds as he got to taste that sweet flavor, and then disappointed when Sarah didn't give him any more.
The last pack of ice cream, some freeze-dried apples, and a little bit of jam. These were practically pieces of treasure now, and Clem and Sarah agreed to make them last as long as possible. It might be months before they find food Omid enjoyed again, if ever, and if nothing else, they wanted to be able to give him one tiny treat every day. He deserved so much more than that, but it was all they could manage.
After that, it was time to go. They packed up everything they had, then headed for the bikes parked outside. They had only done this a few times, and it seemed to get harder each time. The first was the evening they escaped their attackers. The only shelter they could find was an old barn and Clem remembered spending all night alternating between finding things to keep a fire going and listening for signs of their attackers approaching; it was the longest night of her life.
The next day wasn't much better. They left as soon as there was light and pedaled for miles, the stinging cold whipping at their faces every step of the way. By the time they found a town they were ready to collapse and barricaded themselves in the first house they could find. The town was named Laramie, and it was good to them. It still had a few scraps of food left to find, and it was big enough that the buildings gave them cover from possible intruders.
After recuperating for a few days, Clem made a solo expedition back to Cheyenne, hoping their attackers had moved on and missed the bunker. She had gotten as far as the overpass before she could hear it, the sound of an engine in the distance. Clem was almost certain it was the same one that belonged to the race car she riddled with bullets. It was still working, someone was still driving it, and the sound of it was coming from the direction of the bunker.
Their hopes of ever reclaiming their previous home dashed, they tried settling in the town of Laramie, at least for as long as what little food they could find held out. It wasn't much longer than a week did Clem hear that same engine sound again. This time it was right here in Laramie, and she, Sarah and Omid all sat in terror as they listened to it encircle them, slowly patrolling the roads just outside the house they were hiding in.
If they were looking for them or something else Clem didn't know, but they had sent only one vehicle and it left after a few minutes of searching. Even replaying that horrible day they were attacked in her head a hundred times, Clem didn't know the first thing about these people. Just that Vaquero was Spanish for cowboy according to Sarah, and now it was becoming clear their caravan of vehicles was probably used to roam around in search of supplies, or victims.
The girls didn't wait to find out. They returned to the road the next morning, which after a long day of pedaling, led them to this single truck-stop in the middle of nowhere. There they had remained for the last three days, trying to make sense of an uncertain fate and these Vaquero, along with just trying to stay warm in the unforgiving Wyoming winter. After making little progress in any of those pursuits, the time had come to move again while the roads were still passable.
Carrying Omid out of the gas station, Clem could sense his apprehension. Wrapped tightly in every scrap of clothing they had found wasn't enough to entirely shield him from the frigid air, and it would only get worse once they were on the road. Approaching her bike, Clem could feel Omid shaking now, not shivering. He knew what was about to happen, and it absolutely terrified him.
"It'll be all right." Setting him in the basket, Clem's heart sank as she saw the misery and fear in his eyes. Something that had once brought him so much joy was now a torture he had to endure for their survival. "It won't be for long," she lied. "I found a place for us to stay, a little like we were staying before. It's got a fireplace, and once we get settled, I'll find us some food, and maybe even get us a fish to eat in the nearby river. Doesn't that sound worth it?"
Omid didn't answer, he just sat there in the basket, whimpering loudly as he looked out anxiously at the road.
"Give him this," Clem looked over to see Sarah holding Omid's toy elephant. It was barely recognizable, having lost a lot of its stuffing and been squished into an odd shape from being buried in Sarah's backpack for so long. It looked more like a crude gray pillow now, but it still had that floppy trunk and big button eyes. Clem took the toy and turned to Omid.
"Omid?" She whispered. "Do you want your Elma?"
Omid looked over upon hearing that word. He saw Clem holding out his favorite toy, then reached out to accept it. "There you go, you just keep each other warm," said Clem as she clutched Elma to his body as tightly as he could. Sitting there in the basket, miserable and already shivering from the cold, Clem felt compelled to say something. "It won't be like this forever," she said, trying to assure herself more than Omid. "Things… they'll get better, and when they do, I'll make it up to you for all this bad stuff."
Clem made sure Omid's jacket was zipped up, then wrapped their crude blankets around him as tightly as she could before buckling the basket's seatbelt. Looking at him sitting there, anxiously clutching his toy for comfort, Clem thought about kissing him on the forehead. It would give him some reassurance, but then she remembered her cough. She sighed to herself, then wrapped a blanket around his face so the cold wouldn't get to him as easily.
After checking to make sure everything else on her bike was secure, Clem looked over at Sarah. She looked more miserable than usual and seemed to struggle to even get on her bike. Clem wanted to go over to her, but the look on her face told Clem she didn't want to talk or do anything other than get this over with. Clem put her backpack on, struggling from how heavy it was, then mounted her bike. She briefly checked to see if anything had changed in the distance, if anything was coming, then pedaled out onto the road.
The asphalt was still slick from the melted snow, and Clem couldn't be sure there wasn't still some patches of ice left, so she kept a modest pace. It was just as well, they learned the hard way that overexerting yourself has consequences. Their arms and legs were sore well into the next day after that first night, and by the time they reached Laramie they were shivering from being soaked in their own sweat. It was two days before they felt well enough to go outside again.
It was maddening though, rolling forward slowly as the frigid air cut at any part of their skin not entirely covered. Before long the gas station disappeared from view and now they were surrounded by muddy fields of dead grass and melting snow quickly turning to mush in the morning sun. It'd be a sorry sight on a good day, and they'd be stuck looking at it the entire way to their destination.
It was a tiresome slog when Clem made it yesterday and is even more difficult now. If they were walking they could at least talk to each other as they moved. But then it would take twice as long to get there, and they'd have to carry their gear and Omid entirely on their own, and be even more vulnerable than they were right now. Clem started pedaling harder, if just to force herself to not think about how much worse things could still be.
Clem's mind wandered a lot while they were on the road like this, mostly because it had little else to do. She was always fearful of threats, and was growing increasingly concerned with Omid, Sarah, and her own heath. But mostly she found herself asking questions. Why did those people try to kill her? Would they have been better off hiding in the bunker like Sarah said? What were they going to do to them if those people ever caught them? What were they going to do if they didn't?
They had no plan anymore beyond their immediate survival. The location Clem scouted yesterday carried the promise of maybe a few unclaimed old cans of tasteless food if they were lucky and possibly a regular supply of fish if they were even luckier. Was that all they had to look forward to anymore, a bit more time trapped in this miserable world? She told Omid this wouldn't last forever and that wasn't a lie, they'd die if things didn't change for the better, and soon.
"Is that it?" Clem almost lost control of her bike when she heard Sarah shout that. She tightened her grip on the handlebars and made sure Omid was still seated in his basket before finally looking up. Not far ahead were tall power poles crowded around a substation, and beyond that some short buildings budding up just on the horizon. Clem recognized these sight's from yesterday and knew what they meant; they were only half-way there.
"No," called Clem as she moved her bike a little closer to Sarah's so she'd hear her better. "We got—"
"I gotta stop!" blurted out Sarah as her bike suddenly veered off the road. Clem watched as Sarah stumbled off the bike, nearly tripping over it and staggering forward a few steps before throwing up onto the dirt. Clem deployed her bike's kickstand and hurried over to Sarah just as she collapsed onto her knees.
"What's wrong?" asked a terrified Clem.
"I… I…"
"What?"
"I'm… so tired…" Sarah rolled onto her side, breathing heavily as she clutched her swollen stomach with both hands.
"I… I know," said Clem in-between deep breaths as she took a step forward. "I'm—" Clem's calf gave out and she found herself falling forward. She tossed out her hands just in time to stop herself from plunging face first into the mud.
"Clem?" said Sarah as she forced herself off the ground. "Are—"
"Yeah…" Clem pulled herself up and sat down on a small patch of dead grass. "My legs are just really sore."
Clem took a deep breath as she rubbed her aching calves. Looking up at the sky, it was already past noon. They had been on the road a lot longer than she had realized. Looking around, she spotted a rickety shed nearby, and a very small lake just past it. "Let's rest here for a little while. Go get Omid and I'll try to get a fire going. Then, maybe I can catch us a fish out of the lake over there."
"Do… do you really think you could catch one?"
"I don't know, but I got nothing better to do while we rest. I can't hold Omid or he might get sick." Clem coughed a couple of times, trying to clear the phlegm from her throat.
"Are—"
"None of us are okay," answered Clem before Sarah finished asking. "I'll get a fire going, just take care of Omid."
Sarah hurried over to Clem's bike while she took off her backpack. Dragging the heavy thing behind her, Clem drew her gun as she neared the shed. She stopped and listened for any signs of a threat, then inched towards the door when she didn't hear anything. Pulling on the door caused it to fall off completely, leaving the contents of the shed exposed, which was nothing. It was a sorry excuse for a structure that looked ready to fall over at a moment's notice. Eying the broken door lying on the dirt, Clem figured it could at least be useful to them as firewood.
She retrieved her tomahawk, which was strapped to her bike along with her machine gun. Remembering the saddlebags from Patty's motorcycle, Clem was able to create crude approximations for their bikes with shopping bags and a lot of duct tape when they were staying in Laramie. She had wanted to do more, but the reappearance of the Vaquero had cut those plans short. If they had a come a day sooner then they wouldn't even have these right now, and they'd have to carry even more on their backs.
Stopping to look over at Sarah, she saw her cradling Omid in her arms. He was whimpering loudly and even from where she was standing Clem could see face was scrunched up in pain and his cheeks glistening from his tears; it was enough to make Clem want to cry herself. She resisted though and hurried back over to the shed door. Clem used her tomahawk to chop the wooden door into smaller planks, then arranged them and a few pages of kindling from a magazine in her backpack into a circle.
Seeing Omid clinging to Sarah for warmth as she carried them into the shed, both their faces racked with agony, Clem started working faster. She pulled a lighter out of her pocket and lit the pages she laid out, then started gently blowing on them to feed the struggling flames. The door wasn't very dry and the cool air was making it harder to catch fire, but Clem kept tending it. Eventually, the flame spread to one of the planks, and then to the others, giving them a warm fire to sit by.
After tossing a few more pages into the fire from her nearly empty magazine, Clem looked over at Sarah and Omid. Omid was whimpering quietly in Sarah's arms while she just stared blankly at the fire. Clem tried to think of something to say to them, but nothing came to mind. Instead, she just removed a half-empty jug of water from her backpack and a couple of cups. By the time they were done sating their thirst, that jug was empty and they had one left for the rest of the day.
Too tired to speak, Clem simply stood up and returned to her bike. She put away her tomahawk and retrieved a fishing rod from it. This wasn't her rod, that one got left behind with the Brave. Clem salvaged this one from a garage in Laramie. Its reel was rusty, making it hard to cast, and Clem only found a couple of dusty lures to use with it. She had been looking for roaches or any insects around the gas station to use as bait but hadn't seen any. It's like they ate up all the trash and just left this world behind.
Moving over to the lake, Clem saw it was very small and shallow, really more of a big pond than anything. She had scouted it out the other day and there were no rivers or streams leading into it, which led Clem to believe there probably wasn't even any fish to catch. But she cast out of her line the best she could and settled in for a long wait on the wet dirt, grateful to rest her legs if nothing else.
After a few failed attempts at tricking the probably non-existent fish to bite an empty hook, Clem abandoned her rod and marched over to her backpack. She pushed aside the boxes of bullets and collected Jet's survival guide from the bottom. She started thumbing through it as she walked back over to the lake. Jet had written a whole section on fishing, and right now felt like the perfect time to read it.
A lot of it was stuff that Clem already knew, some of it being things Jet clearly quoted Anthony on. There were a few pictures of fish and illustrations on how to cut them open. There was a section on how to use scented lures and what kind of fish they attracted that'd be useful if Clem actually had any scented lures. Most of it didn't help Clem much right now, but one paragraph did catch her eye.
'Fish are cold-blooded which means the temperature greatly affects their mobility. They move faster in warm water and slower in cold water. As such, some species of fish will expect their potential prey to be affected in the same way. On cold days, it's advisable to reel in your line slowly so as not to raise suspicion.'
Clem still didn't have much faith there was even a fish to catch here, but she had nothing better to do right now. So she tossed out her line, waited about a minute for the water to settle, then started reeling it in as slowly as possible. Sitting there in the cold mud, Clem couldn't help feeling bitter over her predicament. She was a child, and here she was trying to make sense of cold-blooded animals' behavior so she could feed a baby and her friend who was pregnant with a baby she didn't want for one more day.
She never asked for any of this. No one did, but most of them had more time, both to enjoy the world before it went to hell and to learn the kind of stuff that would help them for when it finally did. Clem had to give up her childhood after the walkers came, then kept giving up on everything she ever wanted from life to make room for everything she had to learn to stay alive, until that's all she had left now.
Clem's old life was nothing more than a distant dream to her now, one she couldn't recall through all the terrors and nightmares that haunted her from this life. And even the better times from this life, like just this summer on the farm, were starting to fade from her memory. Looking over at Sarah, still cradling Omid in front of the fire, it dawned on Clem they were the only thing that mattered to her anymore; she had nothing to live for beyond them.
There was a sudden whirring noise and Clem looked down in time to see her reel spinning. She grabbed the rod with both hands and started reeling her catch in. It resisted her, the fishing rod more than the fish. Despite all the advice in Jet's guide, none of it mentioned how to fix a rusty fishing reel and Clem hadn't found a better one yet. So she struggled against it and the fish, her already tender arms made even sorer, until finally her catch came flying out of the pond.
It was probably the sorriest looking little fish she had ever caught, but it was an actual live fish flopping across the wet dirt. Clem didn't hesitate to kill it, plunging her bayonet into the fish's eye with a single decisive strike. She didn't even wait for it to stop twitching before hurrying its corpse over to the fire where Sarah and Omid were sitting.
"Oh my God!" exclaimed Sarah. "You actually got one!"
"Yeah, I know." Clem started digging through her backpack.
"What are you waiting for? Cut it up."
"I need to get my knives," said Clem as she dug around the bottom of her pack; she hadn't used these tools since gathering them in Laramie.
"Your knife is stuck in its eye," reminded Sarah.
"Yeah, the one I've stabbed a hundred walkers with, and in the part of its body I'm gonna cut off," said Clem as she retrieved a bundle from the bottom of her bag. "If we don't want to get sick I got to make sure we do this right."
Her blades for gutting and descaling fish was yet another thing they had lost with the Brave. Clem hadn't found another set like it but did salvage some similar looking knives as a means of replacing them. Actually cutting up the fish and slicing off its skin proved problematic. The blades she had taken were dull and they had no whetstones to sharpen them with. Struggling to remove the hard scales, Clem kept accidentally cutting of small bits of flesh with them, turning her small catch into even smaller filets.
Things didn't get much easier when she tried to cook it. The only had a pot instead of a pan, and it didn't appear to be a nonstick one either as bits of the fish started sticking to the metal when Clem awkwardly tried flipping them with her knife since she didn't have a spatula. She once again cursed herself for not taking any spices from the kitchens she raided in Laramie; a little salt and pepper would go a very long way right now.
By the time she was done, they had a pot whose bottom was coated in burnt pieces of flesh and a few edible morsels crudely arranged on the lid since they didn't have a plate to eat off. Clem didn't think to take forks either so they had to waste a bit of water rinsing off a couple of the knives to use as skewers just so they could eat the remaining morsels without tasting everything they had touched with their gloves in the last two weeks.
The meat had been burnt by Clem's clumsy handling of it, it had no spice or seasonings, and there wasn't much to eat; it was still good. It was warm, it was fresh, and even unseasoned it still left a pleasant taste that easily beat any old canned goods they had eaten all year. Seeing a tinge of pleasure disrupt the grimace on Sarah' face made it all worth it, and watching her close her eyes and savor the taste just made it even better.
Omid must have noticed too because after he watched Sarah eat a piece he turned to look at Clem, a rare eagerness glimmering in his wet eyes. Clem skewered a piece of meat sitting on the lid and held it in front of his face. Omid eyed it briefly before looking up at Clem, as if he wanted permission, to which she gave him a friendly nod. Omid leaned forward and bit the food right off the end of the knife.
He chewed it happily, probably the happiest he looked in weeks. Right after he swallowed it, he looked at Clem again, desperate for another piece. The fish was small, and after losing bits of it in the process of skinning it and cooking it, there was barely three bites worth for each of them. They were good though, and the warmth of them settling in Clem's stomach gave her a small burst of contentment that eased her anxious mind.
After they were done, Sarah tried to convince Clem to catch another fish. But between the fire going out, their only pot's bottom covered in bits of burnt fish, and the sun starting to go down, it was time to get back on the road. Returning to their bikes, Clem was annoyed this trip wasn't getting any easier. Although resting let her catch her breath, the soreness in her legs had also settled in and made pumping the pedals all the more difficult.
They couldn't keep up the same pace as before and had to settle for just going fast enough to keep the bikes upright. Sarah suggested they just stay the night in the town ahead of the lake they stopped at, but Clem insisted they keep going. She took great care setting up their destination as a place where they can rest comfortably, and it was better to tough it out a little longer than risk spending another night in somewhere as awful as that gas station.
At least that's what she thought when they first left. Now an hour out from that same town she dismissed and Clem was regretting her decision. She was hungry, she was tired, and she was struggling to even breathe. Her lungs ached as the freezing air felt like a cloud of razors cutting into her already sore chest with every breath. It was going to be dark soon and Clem still didn't see their destination.
What if they didn't find it before nightfall? Clem had managed to make this route and back in a single day yesterday, so she figured they could make it there easily before it was dark. But she wasn't carrying nearly as much in her backpack then, or Omid in her basket, or had Sarah struggling to keep up. She knew all that would take more time but not nearly this much. Clem was suddenly struck with the horrible image of all three of them freezing to death on the side of the road, and it was all her fault.
"Is that it?" Clem could barely hear Sarah's words over her own heavy breathing. Looking at the horizon, she could see some buildings silhouetted against the waning sunlight.
"Yes!" yelled Clem, straining her already sore throat as she did. "We're almost there!"
Her own words gave Clem a second wind and she started pedaling harder. Seeing their destination looming in the distance was encouraging, but it was taking so long to close the distance it felt like they were never going to arrive. Clem was pedaling so fast now she nearly missed the intersection at the front of town. She skidded to a near stop then swung left, and there was their new home, at least for tonight. It was a small wooden building with an angled roof, a chimney, and a sign that said 'Groceries' on the front of it.
"Is… is this it?" asked Sarah between deep breaths as she pulled her bike to a sudden stop in front of the building. "Groceries… is there food in there… or—"
"No, there's no food," said Clem between breaths. "But it's got a fireplace, and—"
"Just tell me about it inside," said Sarah as she rolled her bike over to the door. "I'm so tired…"
"Yeah, me too…" Clem brought her bike to a stop and immediately get off. She wiped the cold sweat from her brow and then immediately headed over to the basket. Peeling back the blanket, Omid was shivering but he wasn't whimpering now, which just frightened Clem more than usual. Looking at his face, it's possible he fell asleep along the way, or at least she hoped that was all that was happening.
"How's Omid?" asked Sarah from the floor as she watched Clem come in.
"He's really quiet…" reported a concerned Clem.
"Give him here, I'll warm him up," insisted Sarah as she tried to stand up.
"I'll get the fire going," said Clem as she handed Omid down to Sarah so she didn't have to stand up. Sarah immediately started reaching into the mess of blankets lying in front of the fireplace. Clem had found them along with some nice pillows while doing a quick search of the surrounding area and set them up so they could have a nice place to rest when they got here. She didn't think they'd be quite this tired though.
Sarah quickly wrapped Omid in one of the blankets while Clem hurried over to the fireplace. She had already stacked wood and kindling in there the day before, meaning all she had to do was light it. A quick application of the lighter was all it took to get things started, and while the fire grew Clem did a quick check of the building. The windows were still closed up like she had left them from yesterday and after locking the front door she jammed a towel under it to keep the cold air from getting in.
Heading back over to the fireplace, Clem saw Sarah hovering over Omid, who was bundled up tight now in fresh blankets close to the fire. Kneeling down, she could see he wasn't shivering anymore. That should have been a good sign, but it also meant he wasn't moving at all anymore. He just lay there, perfectly motionless. Clem just stared at him in anticipation, and with each passing second it seemed less and less likely he'd ever start moving again.
"Omid?" said Clem as she gently shook him. "Omid!"
"Clem, give him a minute," urged Sarah, her voice trembling as she spoke. "He… he—
"He's dead!"
"Don't say that!"
"He is and it's my fault!" yelled out Clem before collapsing into her hands.
"Clem… stop." She didn't stop, she just started crying. "Clem…" She could hear Sarah gently weeping now; then she heard a third voice whimpering. Looking up, Clem saw Omid's eyes were open now, and he was looking right at her, visibly distraught at what he was seeing.
"You see, he's okay!" announced a relieved Sarah.
"It's okay, it's okay," insisted Clem as she crawled over to Omid, a conflicted smile on her face. "I… I was just really worried about you." Omid kept staring at her, clearly unnerved by her behavior.
"Wait, I know what you'll make you feel better." Clem crawled over to the fireplace and immediately grabbed a metal handle on each side of it. She pulled on them, unfolding a glass shutter that formed a window in front of the fire once it was in place. "Come on," urged Clem in the sweetest voice she could muster. "You can get as close to this one as you want and it won't burn you. It's really warm over here."
Clem kept waving for Omid to come closer, and eventually he crawled out from under his blankets. He crept up to the fireplace, then looked at Clem for guidance, who just gave him a gentle nod, signaling him to get closer, which he did. He stood up and moved right up to pane of glass. Clem watched as he placed his hand on the window, and a rare look of relief spread across his face as he felt that soothing warmth wash over him.
"Is that why you picked this building?" Clem turned her head to see Sarah watching the pair of them. "It had a fireplace that was safe for Omid to be around?"
"One of the reasons." Clem turned away and coughed a couple of times to clear her throat. "It's off the interstate, there're houses we can scavenge from, there's a small river just a minute away we can get fish out of or water or…" Clem coughed again, this time finding her throat incredibly dry.
"Speaking of water, I think we could all use some." Sarah took out the other jug from her bag and the trio drank until there was only half a jug left. Not long after quenching her thirst, Clem discovered she was incredibly hungry, and it occurred to her there wasn't time to go fishing again. It was already dark out and her entire body was aching for rest now.
"Sarah, can you get out a can of soup?"
"We're only gonna have one left for tomorrow then." Spoke Sarah, frightened by own words.
"I know that, and I'd go fishing, but it's dark, and I'm really tired, and…"
Sarah looked at Clem for a second, then retrieved two cans from her backpack.
"I said—"
"One can won't do us much good tomorrow," admitted a nervous Sarah. "If we eat good tonight, and rest, we'll feel better tomorrow and… hopefully we'll figure out something."
"It'll be okay, I'm gonna take care of us," promised an uneasy Clem. "I… I screwed up today," realized Clem as she looked down at the blankets she was sitting on. "I should have brought one of these back for Omid to the other day. I was going to, but I couldn't fit it in my pack, and it was getting late, and I was afraid I wouldn't make it back before dark and I should have just… cut on in half and taken that, because he's not very big so he didn't need the whole thing and…" Clem found herself suddenly gasping for air. "I'm sorry, okay? But I'll do better tomorrow, I…" Clem looked up and saw Sarah's face was racked with agonizing pain. "What… what's wrong?"
"My feet are killing me." Clem watched as Sarah took off her shoe and sock. Her foot was swollen and had dark red spots on it. Watching Sarah rub her foot in frustration just heaped an entire new layer onto Clem's guilt. She knew Sarah was suffering because of her pregnancy but she pushed her anyway, instead of stopping for the night earlier like she wanted. Clem should have planned for this to be a two-day trip. It would have been easier on all of them, but she hadn't.
"Why do they hurt so much…" grumbled Sarah through her teeth as she took off her other shoe and sock.
"I remember Christa said something about swollen ankles when she was pregnant," recalled Clem.
"Did she say there's anything someone can do to make them better?"
"I… I don't think so," said Clem as she tried to remember anything that would help. "Oh, but a couple of times Omid, the first Omid, he would rub her feet to make her feel better." Clem stopped speaking and locked eyes with a weary Sarah. "Do you want me to rub your feet?"
Sarah looked at Clem for a second, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."
Clem took off her gloves and very gently started grasping one of Sarah's feet. Her skin was cold and the swollen parts felt spongey to the touch, and Clem felt all the worse knowing she was probably responsible for making them worse. She had never actually seen Omid rub Christa's feet, she just knew he had a couple of times from passing conversation. She did her best to massage Sarah's sore foot for a few seconds, then looked up.
"Is… is that helping?" asked Clem.
"A little bit, yeah," said Sarah as she leaned back a bit, looking ever so slightly relaxed from a second ago. "Thanks Clem."
"It's no problem," said Clem with a smile as she started rubbing Sarah's foot a little more firmly, hoping it would ease the pain. "I'll get our pot out and make some soup, and then some beans, and then I'll put some more wood in the fire, and we'll actually have a good night for once. Does that sound good?" Sarah just nodded in response, looking tired but at ease now.
"What about you Omid? Does that sound good to you too?" Clem looked over to find Omid was staring at her from the fireplace. "Well?" spoke Clem in a friendly voice. "Doesn't that sound nice?" Clem watched as Omid stood up and walked over to Clem, but stopped a foot away from her. She thought he wanted something from her, but then he started looking down at Sarah's other foot.
"Omid, do… do you want to rub Sarah's foot too?" He didn't say anything, but he looked at Clem for a second, then up at Sarah next.
"Oh… you do wanna help, don't you?" said Sarah, a bit of giddiness slipping in her voice. "Well, go ahead."
Omid turned back to Clem, who eagerly nodded at him in response. The pair watched as Omid sat down in front of Sarah's foot, then started clumsily pawing at it with his chubby little fingers.
"He's actually doing it." Clem couldn't stop herself from smiling, and Sarah apparently couldn't stop herself from giggling. "I know, it's crazy."
"It's not that," giggled Sarah. "He's tickling me!"
Watching Omid, it's clear he had no idea what he was doing as he just kept gently poking the bottom of Sarah's foot, producing more giggles from her.
"You want him to stop?"
"No, it's… it's fine," said Sarah between giggles. "It's making me feel better actually."
Watching Omid closely, Clem noticed he wasn't frowning anymore. He wasn't smiling either but this actually been the happiest Clem had seen him since losing the Brave. He actually looked more satisfied now then after eating ice cream this morning or fish for lunch, and it was while helping Sarah feel better.
"God I love him," professed Clem.
"Me too." Clem looked over and saw Sarah staring at Omid, the same wonder in her eyes as in Clem's. They sat there in almost silence for a moment, Sarah giggling slightly as Omid tried even harder to tickle her. For a brief second, everything felt right in the world, but then Clem noticed Sarah staring at her.
"What are we going do?" she asked in a hushed whisper, like she didn't want Omid to overhear her.
"I… I'll figure something out," asserted Clem. "Things have… changed again, and I've made some mistakes, but it's gonna be okay. I'll take care of us, all right?"
"You shouldn't have to though. There… there's gotta be somewhere left that's safe, somewhere that cares," reasoned an uneasy Sarah. "I mean, we can't the only people left on Earth who want to see a baby grow up."
"I don't know," said Clem in a whisper. "No one ever seems to care if we grow up or not."
"We've met people who've cared."
"And they're all gone now," recounted a bitter Clem.
"Yeah, I know that…"
Clem looked up at Sarah, doubt hanging off her tired face. "It's gonna be okay," asserted in as stern a voice as Clem could muster. "I'm gonna take care of us," she insisted as she found her gaze drifting back to Omid, who was still clumsily pawing at Sarah's foot. "You and Omid are everything to me… I'd do anything for you."