The rain pattered lightly against the leaves, the fire hissing as droplets found their way into the flames. Micah, Lee, and Clementine sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of burning wood and the distant rumble of thunder.
Then—footsteps.
Three men emerged from the trees, guns leveled.
"Hands where we can see 'em," the lead man snarled, a scar twisting his lip. "All your shit. Now."
Micah, Lee, and Clementine stood slowly, backing up just enough to put space between themselves and the barrels pointed at their chests.
"Hurry up, or we start shootin'," another man growled, his finger twitching on the trigger.
Micah tilted his head, his voice dripping with false concern. "You boys sure you wanna do this?"
"Shut the hell up," the scarred man snapped. "On your knees. Beg for your lives."
Micah smirked.
"Lee. Clem."
In a flash of movement, three guns cleared leather.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Micah's bullet struck the scarred man between the eyes before he could blink. Lee's shot punched through the second man's skull. Clementine's first round hit the third man in the chest—he staggered, but her second shot finished him, right through the temple.
The rain washed the blood into the mud.
Clementine's hands trembled slightly.
"You okay?" Lee asked quietly.
She took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Micah holstered his revolver with a scoff. "Kid, you gotta get used to killin'. That's what keeps you breathin'."
Lee shot him a glare. "She doesn't have to like it."
Micah opened his mouth to retort—
Then the groaning started.
Dozens of walkers shambled out of the trees, drawn by the gunfire.
"Goddammit," Micah spat. "Where the hell do they keep comin' from?!"
He snatched up his duffel bag—Lee and Clementine were already moving, slinging their packs over their shoulders.
Guns were holstered; blades came out.
Micah's machete cleaved through rotting skulls with brutal efficiency. Lee's hatchet split walker heads like firewood. Clementine's hunting knife—reluctantly gifted by Micah—found its mark in eye sockets and temples, though she grimaced with every kill.
Micah cursed under his breath as his joints protested. Age was catching up to him, and the years of smoking (which, in his time, everyone swore was good for the lungs) weren't helping.
"River ahead!" Lee shouted over the groans of the dead.
They broke through the tree line, the churning water just beyond. The horde was still coming.
"Shit," Micah muttered. Then, louder: "Come on!"
He slid down the muddy bank, Lee and Clementine right behind him. They sprinted along the shore, but the walkers were gaining.
"What do we do?" Clementine panted.
Micah didn't answer. Instead, he stopped, yanked off his duffel bag, and hurled it across the river. It landed with a thud on the opposite bank.
"We swim."
Lee threw his bag next, then helped Clementine with hers. Micah didn't hesitate—he plunged into the icy water with a string of curses.
The current fought him every inch of the way. Lee made it across, coughing up river water. Clementine struggled the most—her small frame was no match for the rushing water. Her head dipped under once, twice—
Micah and Lee lunged, grabbing her arms and hauling her onto the bank. She gagged, spitting out water, her whole body shaking.
Micah slapped her back hard, grinning. "Hah! Been a while since I did that."
Clementine shivered, wringing out her sleeve. "I'm soaked."
"Gotta change," Micah said, already digging through his bag. "You'll catch your death otherwise."
Lee nodded. "Especially in this cold."
They found a broken staircase leading up to higher ground. Lee boosted Clementine up first—she scrambled onto the ledge, then turned to help Micah. The older outlaw jumped, caught the edge with a grunt, and pulled himself up, his muscles protesting. Lee followed, heaving himself over the lip.
At the top, a small clearing waited. They built a fire quickly, setting cans of food to warm nearby. Then, one by one, they changed in private spots among the trees.
Micah emerged first—dirty white shirt, a red leather jacket (faded but still bold), worn jeans, and scuffed boots.
Lee had swapped into a gray hoodie, dark cargo pants, and sturdy hiking boots.
Clementine, now in a dry blue flannel and black jeans, her hair still damp, rejoined them by the fire.
They sat side by side on the single log they'd found, the fire crackling as the rain finally eased. The cans of food steamed—beans and some kind of mystery meat.
No one spoke as they ate.
Micah chewed slowly, staring into the flames. Lee kept an eye on Clementine, making sure she was really okay.
And Clementine?
She just watched the fire, thinking about how much easier killing had felt this time.
And how much that scared her.