Micah leaned back, inspecting his handiwork—crude but effective. Then, with a sharp slap on Clementine's back, he burst into his signature laugh. "Hehehe... hehe!"
Clem winced, wiping her eyes with her good arm as Lee helped her stand.
"How you feelin'?" Lee asked gently.
"Like I got stabbed a bunch," she muttered.
"You'll live," Micah said, lighting a cigarette. "Long as you don't get a fever. Then you're fucked."
Lee shot him a glare before turning back to Clem. "We'll find medicine. Just gotta keep moving."
They trudged deeper into the woods—Micah on the left, Lee on the right, Clementine between them, cradling her injured arm. She was exhausted, her steps dragging.
Then the groans started.
Walkers emerged from the trees, shambling toward them from all sides.
"Goddammit," Micah spat, drawing his revolver.
Gunfire cracked through the air as they picked off the closest rotters, backing away fast.
Then—THUNK. THUNK.
Arrows sprouted from walker skulls.
The hell?
Micah's eyes snapped toward the source—a grizzled older man with a crossbow and a younger guy wielding a machete.
"You folks look like you could use a hand!" the older man called. "Come on, move!"
Lee and Clementine glanced at Micah, but Lee didn't wait for permission. "They might have medicine," he whispered urgently.
Micah scowled but didn't argue. They bolted after the strangers.
Once they'd put enough distance between themselves and the horde, the group slowed.
"Think we're clear," the older man panted, lowering his crossbow.
The younger one eyed Clementine. "Y'all alright?"
"Peachy," Micah drawled.
"Been better," Lee admitted.
"Arm hurts," Clementine mumbled.
The older man studied them. "What the hell are you doin' out here?"
Micah lit a cigarette—Camel, the worst-tasting brand he'd ever had the misfortune of trying. The first drag made his face twist in disgust. "Christ, what do they put in these?"
Lee ignored him. "Got swarmed. Ended up here."
"Name's Luke," the younger man said, nodding toward his companion. "This is Pete."
"Lee," Lee replied. "This is Clementine and Micah."
Luke smiled. "Nice to meet ya. We've got a doc back at—" His eyes landed on Clementine's bandaged arm. "Oh, shit."
Pete turned. "What?"
"She's bit," Luke blurted, backing up. "What the hell are we supposed to—"
"It was a dog," Lee snapped, stepping between them and Clementine.
Micah's hand rested lazily on his revolver, but he didn't draw. No need—yet.
Pete frowned. "Didn't see any dogs."
"We were surrounded," Luke argued. "How do we know it wasn't a lurker?"
"Then look at it," Lee growled.
"So she can sink her teeth into Pete's neck?" Luke shot back.
"Why my neck?" Pete demanded.
"Because I can't tell the difference between a lurker bite and a dog bite!"
Micah couldn't help it. He laughed. "You're real sharp, ain't ya, kid?"
Clementine's voice was small but firm. "It was a dog."
Micah rolled his eyes, spat out his awful cigarette, and stepped forward. "Listen, geniuses. I sewed her up. If it'd been a walker bite, I'd have put her down already. More merciful than lettin' her turn—or wastin' supplies on a lost cause."
Pete studied him, then nodded slowly. "What happened to the dog?"
Micah groaned. "What the hell do you think happened?"
Lee pinched the bridge of his nose. Even he couldn't believe how stupid this conversation was.
Luke looked horrified. "You killed it?"
"The hell would you have done?" Pete snapped before Micah could.
"You don't just kill dogs!" Luke protested.
"Yeah?" Micah sneered. "Tell that to her arm."
Pete exhaled, rubbing his face. "Enough. We're takin' 'em back to the cabin. Our doc can look at the girl's arm."
Luke hesitated but finally nodded.
Micah smirked, glancing at Lee. "Well. Ain't this cozy?"