Clementine found herself shivering as she stuck her knife into the fish's belly. The girl grimaced as she listened to noise of the blade slicing through its flesh. Her gloves were already soaking wet from the previous fish she had carved up, and she felt her fingertips going numb as she worked on their latest catch. She hurriedly cut out the organs, sliced off the head and tail, then tried to steady her hands long enough to cut the skin from the meat.
"Why the hell am I stuck out here at the crack of dawn catching breakfast for everyone?" grumbled Anthony as he adjusted his grip on his fishing rod.
"Because you're the best at it," reminded Clem as she skinned the fish a few careful gestures at a time. "And I'm here too."
"Yeah, and I hope you're paying attention," mumbled the young man.
"I am. Fishing doesn't look hard, there's just a lot of waiting."
"Especially when you're having to catch fish for six people."
"We only need one more," said Clem as she removed the skin and scales from one side of the carcass. "It shouldn't be much longer."
"Maybe for you. Once I'm done with this I'm stuck with Patty all day as we try to teach that old man how to get past the dead," griped Anthony. "And from the sound of things, then I'll probably be stuck teaching him and his grandson how to fish next. I still don't know why you three insisted on bringing them along."
"Because we don't just leave people behind," said Clem as she flipped the fish over.
"Oh no? We turned tail and drove the hell away from Houston the second we heard it was loaded with thousands of people," reminded Anthony. "And that's because more people just means more problems; I know it and you know it."
"Not always," said Clem as she started skinning the other side of their catch. "We know how to fish because of you. And you know how to get past walkers because of us. And Patty can fix things. And—"
"And what exactly can these new people do?" asked Anthony as he reeled in his line. "I doubt we'll find any more refineries the old man can work at and I'm willing to bet his grandson doesn't quite have your killer instincts."
"So what?" challenged Clem as she cleaved the meat from the bone. "Even if they couldn't do anything at all we should still help then."
"You really think that?" asked Anthony as he cast out his line.
"Yes. If I didn't, I wouldn't be taking care of OJ."
"What if you had another baby?" said Anthony. "You think just the four of us could take care of two babies and keep ourselves alive?"
"There's six of us now," insisted Clem as she dropped the freshly cut fish into their cooler. "Plus OJ."
"That remains to be seen. And seriously, just having the one baby is a big enough hassle. I mean you might be able to keep him locked up in that RV for now, but eventually he's going to get tall enough to open the door, and he won't understand why he should stay inside."
"We won't let that happen," declared Clem.
"Maybe, but if we keep just picking up every person we find, you and Sarah might not have the time to watch the kid every second of every day," reasoned Anthony as he started reeling in his line. "I mean, what happens if we did wind up with another baby somehow, or somebody who is seriously sick or hurt? Are we gonna take care of them too?"
"Yes!" stated Clem. "I don't care how many times you say it, but we're not just going to leave people behind."
"Except for everyone back in Houston," reminded Anthony. "That is, unless you want to go back and try your luck at helping them?"
"Sin said we probably couldn't get into Houston because of the military and mines and—"
"Yeah, all stuff he probably said because he didn't want to go back there himself. And if he hadn't of said those things, would you still have wanted to drive your RV and that baby right into a major city loaded with people we don't know?" Clem remained silent. "Yeah, I didn't think so."
"That's... that's different. Sin said it was thousands," argued Clem as she deposited the fish entrails into their bucket. "There's no way we could have helped that many people by ourselves, but we can at least help Sin and Jet."
"Okay, so what's our limit then?" asked Anthony as he reeled in his line and examined his lure. "Two more? Five? Ten? Twenty?"
"I don't know!" snapped Clem as she tossed the last of the bloody leftovers into a pail. "But we're not leaving Sin and Jet behind, so get over it."
"All right then, but at some point you three are gonna realize we can't be responsible for everyone." Anthony cast out his line yet again. "Because we don't need to get anywhere near thousands before we're in over our heads."
Clem sighed to herself as she wiped the blood from her knife. Peeking into their cooler, Clem saw they had four cuts of fish now for six people and a baby. As the girl tried to wring some of the water from her nearly numb hands, she watched as Anthony reeled in his empty line before casting it out once again.
"I know you and Patty like to give me a hard time about this stuff, but this is just how the world works," said the young man as he adjusted his coat. "Even before the dead started eating the living, I spent enough long nights just trying to stay warm to know there just ain't enough of everything to go around. Or if there is, most people aren't going to share it if it means they'll have to get by with less."
"That doesn't mean we shouldn't share," asserted Clem.
"Yeah, but how much can we share really?" pondered Anthony as he reeled in his line. "We're four people with a couple of vehicles, a trick for avoiding the dead, and a baby we're taking care off, and that's it. Even if the old man and that kid work out, that's only two more; two more people who will need food and water every day.
"I mean just think, you and I would be done right now if not for them. We got enough fish for ourselves, but now we need an extra one for our new guests. And as much as you might think of me as a master fisherman, I don't know if I could catch three fish every morning. Hell, I don't even know if I'm going to catch a third one this morning."
"We said we'd help them," repeated Clem, sounding less sure now.
"At least until they can take care of themselves," added Anthony. "Unless the old man knows where a literal paradise is, I'd be more inclined to just go our separate ways when the time comes. What about you?"
"I... I don't know," admitted Clem. "I—"
Anthony's reel began to spin and Clem watched eagerly as the young man pulled in his catch. It was just another puny bass, much like the previous two fish, but Clem was glad to see it anyway.
"Fucking finally," griped the young man as he unhooked the fish.
"I'll—"
"I'll gut it myself," insisted Anthony as he hastily laid the fish on the tarp and hit it with the hammer. "Just go get started on the cooking, I'm starving."
"Right."
Clementine collected their cooler and started moving back through the woods. Stumbling forward across the uneven dirt and maneuvering past the numerous dead trees blocking her way, Clem found herself more and more anxious to return to the warm comfort of her mobile home. Seeing a distant building through the forest, the girl began moving faster until she finally broke through back to the road.
Stepping back onto of the asphalt, Clem smiled as she saw the Brave glowing brightly in the morning sun. It was still parked in front of a gas station and between the others' vehicles. Hurrying back towards her home, Clem noticed Patty and Sin standing in front of the other RV. She knew the pair had gotten up early to tinker with the vehicle but was surprised to see they were still there.
Heading into her own RV, Clem quickly stored her gun and gloves. As she washed her hands, Clem could hear Sarah in the bedroom trying to pacify what was clearly an unhappy Omid. Wanting to help, Clem reasoned a good meal might be the best help she could offer right now and got started on breakfast.
The pan she had could only hold one fish worth of meat at a time, so she dropped a dab of olive oil into it along with a couple of strips from the cooler and turned on the burner. The sound of the meat sizzling, the scent of the roasting flesh, the feel of the lemon juice as she squeezed it into the pan all made Clem drool in anticipation. She was licking her lips as she slid the finished pieces onto a pair of plates. Ready to eat, the girl already had a fork in hand when Anthony walked into the Brave.
He had come to deliver the remaining fish to Clem, already cut up into neatly sliced strips. But upon seeing the freshly cooked meal just sitting on a plate, steam slowly rising off of it as he stared at it, it was obvious what else he wanted now. Seeing the genuine hunger on his face, Clem found herself unable to deny the man a meal and handed him the fork and plate, which he eagerly hurried away back to his camper with.
Before Clem could claim the other plate, Sarah entered the room, a still whimpering Omid cradled in her arms. The older girl's hair looked frazzled whereas the boy in her arms was noticeably pouting. Omid had been refusing to sleep the entire night lately and the girls had been taking turns staying up to try and console him; it had been Sarah's turn last night. Staring at the pair, Clem found the look of unhappiness on both of them harder to bear than her own hunger pains, so she gave the other fish to Sarah.
The older girl graciously accepted the meal and sat down to eat. As Sarah tore into the meat, alternating between eating it and offering small pieces to Omid, Clem turned back to the stove and started all over. Cooking the strips of fish wasn't hard, especially after just doing the exact same thing minutes earlier, but slowly watching that seasoned meat cook to a golden brown was just making the girl's stomach growl in frustration. She found herself barely able to control herself as she slid the next two neatly cut chunks of fish onto two more plates.
Before Clem could even grab a utensil, Patty stumbled into the RV, her face and hands covered in grease and bits of dirt. As she washed away the grime in the sink, Clem listened as she called to Sin, who was standing outside. Patty said she just desperately needed a bite to eat before she passed out, then Sin shouted something back about not being able to work much longer without breakfast. Reluctantly, possibly begrudgingly even, Clem offered the fish to Patty and Sin. The woman was hesitant to accept the steaming plates of freshly cooked food, but only for a second. She then grabbed them both and a pair of utensils before heading back outside.
Clem found it hard to concentrate as she cooked the final fish. Her head felt light, her stomach was rumbling constantly, and the smell had become utterly intoxicating. The girl couldn't stop herself from drooling a little as she resisted the urge to just pick the fish out of the pan before it was even done cooking. The slow process of watching the pink meat change colors for the third time this morning felt like an eternity, and once she saw the edges turn the slightest shade of brown, Clem couldn't stand it anymore.
Clem looked for a pair of clean plates, only to realize they didn't have any left. Instead, she fetched a dirty one from the sink and hastily rinsed it off. She turned off the burner, scooped half the fish onto the plate, grabbed a fork, and immediately took a big bite. The fish burnt Clem's mouth and the girl had to hastily spit the scalding hot piece of meat back onto her plate.
For the next few minutes, Clem alternated between drinking sips of water and trying to chew her fish. After what felt like ages, the fish cooled enough for Clem to finally eat it. Her tongue and the roof of her mouth were still sore from where they were burnt and chewing just made them both worse, but Clem ate through the pain, savoring her cooking the best she could.
The girl cleaned off her plate in no time, then took a deep breath to let her stomach settle. As she put her plate in the sink, she spotted the rest of the fish still sitting in the pan where she had left it. Clem went to wash off her plate, only to discover the water was barely drizzling from the faucet. She recalled something Sarah had told her recently about the lack of rain and assumed the RV's water tank was running low, or at least hoped that's what was wrong with it and not something more serious.
Clem did her best to clean off her plate and then slid the final cut of fish onto it. Looking at that piece of juicy meat just sitting there, the girl was tempted to eat it herself. She was still hungry and the smell was practically teasing her nostrils. Just seeing those golden edges was enough to make the girl reach out to take it, but then Clem stopped and pulled her hand back. She looked at the fish one last time, then stepped outside. Clem walked the short distance to the other RV and found Patty and Sin staring at one of the vehicle's tires.
"Is everything okay?" asked Clem.
"Yeah, just we were just finishing up," said Patty as she stomped down on a device sitting on the ground that had a pedal but no wheels.
"What is that?" asked Clem.
"Tire pump." Watching Patty stomp on the pedal again, Clem noticed the short tube running from the object to the wheel and realized it was pushing air into the tire.
"I didn't know we had one of those," said Clem.
"Picked it up when I got the battery charger and the generator," said Patty between pumps. "Figured if we were going to be towing a trailer, I might as well take some tools I couldn't fit in the RV or my motorcycle."
"Is there anything else we got when we got that generator?" asked Clem as she watched Patty kneel down to check the round gauge attached to the pump.
"Just a few tools for my tool box," said the woman as she unscrewed the pump from the tire. "You should talk to Sarah a little more about proper vehicle maintenance, she knows all about this stuff."
"I'll just leave that to you two," reasoned Clem before turning to Sin. "I just came over to let you know I've got another fish for Jet in the Brave."
Sin stared at Clem briefly before speaking. "We both appreciate your help." His voice was oddly emotionless. He didn't sound grateful, nor he did he sound resentful; it was just a stated fact. "Jet's in the RV, I'll go get him." The man slowly turned away and headed for the door.
"Is he okay?" Clem asked Patty.
"I think he's nervous," said Patty as she screwed the cap back on the tire. "This place me and Anthony scouted yesterday evening has walkers in it, and we'll be taking Sin out into them today."
"Maybe he's not ready?" suggested Clem.
"It was his idea," said Patty as she collected her tire pump. "I told him what we found yesterday evening, explained how walkers usually mean there's probably something left to scavenge since most people don't know how to get past them, and he said he wanted to come along with us when we went tomorrow.
"It'd make anyone nervous. I know I was nervous when I went back into Titusville with just a bloody raincoat that you told me would make me invisible to walkers."
"Hey." Clem turned her head to see Jet approaching her, his grandfather right behind him.
"Would it be okay if he ate in your RV?" asked Sin. "We're still yet to get plates or utensils of our own."
"Sure," said Clem.
"Oh, that reminds me." Patty moved to the trailer hitched to the back of the Brave. She deposited the tire pump and grabbed something balanced on the trailer's railing. "Thanks again for the fish," said Patty as she handed Clem a pair of plates. "As always, it was your best meal yet."
"Thanks," said Clem with a smile before turning to Jet. "You want to try it too right?"
"Of course." Jet happily followed after Clem as she led him into the Brave. While Clem placed the dirty dishes in the sink, Jet honed in on the fish resting on the counter. Watching the boy sit down to eat, Clem quickly washed off a knife and fork and handed it to him. He immediately began to tear into the warm meal while Clem turned back to the sink.
"Let me do that," said Sarah as she strolled out of the bedroom, Omid following right behind her. "You cooked, so the least I could do is wash the dishes. Just watch Omid."
"Okay," said Clem as she stepped back from the sink. "But I think we're about out of water."
Sarah turned on the faucet and sighed when she saw the tiny trickle that came out. "I guess we'll need to start boiling water again, at least until it rains."
"You enjoy breakfast OJ?" said Clem as she knelt down to collect the boy.
"Kem-men," he said with a smile as she picked him up.
"What about you Jet? Do you like what I made?"
Clem watched Jet devour several mouthfuls of fish before he finally noticed she was looking at him. "Sorry," he said as he finished swallowing. "It's really great. I was just really, really hungry."
"We gave you food the day before yesterday," reminded Clem. "You're not out are you?"
"No, we've been splitting a can each twice per day," explained Jet. "We... we didn't know if you'd give us more when we ran out."
"We're not going to let you starve," assured Sarah as she cleaned the dishes.
"I guess we're used to not asking for food, living with the military in control." Jet took another bite out of his meal. "Granddad used to not let me eat fish before things changed."
"Why not?" asked Sarah.
"He said I'd get mercury poisoning."
"Really?" asked Clem.
"If you ate it all the time, maybe," said Jet with a shrug.
"We have been eating it all the time," said Sarah with a hint of panic. "Anytime we catch some."
"Oh... well... I'm pretty sure you'd be okay," said Jet, his voice sounding fairly unsure. "He ate the fish Patty brought him, and he didn't look worried about it."
"But what about babies?" asked Sarah. "They're smaller, so it takes a lot less of something to affect them."
"I... I don't know." Clem and Sarah just stared at Jet with a look of concern. They all seemed to wait for the other to say something, but no one said a word. Instead, a small grunting noise broke the silence when the trio noticed Omid trying to grab at Jet's plate. Jet pulled back the plate at the same time Clem pulled Omid away from the dining table.
"Mah-bah," said the toddler.
"No OJ, you... you already ate earlier," reasoned Clem.
"I'll ask Granddad about it in a minute," said Jet with a sigh as he looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, this sounds important," said Clem. "It's good you told us."
"But if it's true, we can't eat fish every day, even if we catch them," said Sarah with a sigh. Jet looked down at his plate, then shrugged and ate the last piece of fish. Clem left Omid with Sarah before walking with Jet back to his own RV, where Patty and Anthony were standing alongside with Sin.
"Did you enjoy your meal?" asked Sin, not sounding all that interested.
"Mostly," answered the boy. "I told them about how you used to say I shouldn't eat fish because I would get mercury poisoning, and now we were all wondering if that could really happen."
"That's the least of our concerns right now," assured Sin.
"Yeah, but they have that baby," said Jet. "And—"
"If you insist, I can tell you everything I know about mercury poisoning when I get back later."
"How much would... wait, get back?"
"I'm going with them to learn... how to fight those things and look for food," announced Sin, sounding like he had trouble believing what he was saying.
"What? You're doing that today? Right now?"
"You didn't know?" asked Clem.
"You did?" replied Jet.
"And while I'm gone, you should learn whatever you can from her and her friend," said Sin as he turned to Clementine. "You're still willing to teach him, right?"
"Umm... yeah. I—"
"Thank you," said Sin before turning to Patty. "I'm ready."
"Okay, we'll all be piling into Anthony's truck. Even with the camper, it's smaller than either RV, so it's easier to maneuver but still can haul plenty."
"All right." Sin turned back to Jet, who was just staring at the man in disbelief. "We're not in Houston anymore, our safety is in our own hands now. Listen well to what they tell you."
"I can't believe... I..." Jet sighed and looked down at his feet. "I will."
Sin's gaze lingered on his grandson for a moment, then he began walking with Patty and Anthony. Clem watched the trio climb into the rusty old truck parked behind the Brave, and then watched it drive away. After seeing the truck disappear into the horizon, Clem suddenly realized she was alone with Jet now. She stood there with the boy, awkwardly wondering is she should say something, then he started moving on his own. Clem followed Jet back into the Brave, after which he turned around and looked at her.
"So... now what?" he asked Clem in a shaky voice.
"Um... I don't know," she realized. "What do you want to do?"
"I got to do what I wanted yesterday," reminded Jet with a sigh. "I should probably do something else today."
"Well." Clem found her eyes moving towards the cupboard running over the front of the RV. "Have you ever used a gun?"
"No," said Jet with a sigh. "But I guess I should." Clementine grabbed the stool and used it to reach the cupboard. She eyed the pistols tucked inside before collecting her own and a magazine for it. "I guess we need to go back outside."
"Yeah," said Clem as she hopped down off the stool. "We'll go on top of the Brave so we can keep a lookout; the noise might bring walkers." Jet flinched upon hearing that but otherwise dutifully followed Clem back out. Climbing on top of the Brave, Clem took a moment to survey the area better. There was little to see beyond rows upon rows of dead trees running along both sides of this rural highway and the small gas station tucked in-between them. It almost looked like nature was preparing to rid the area of the final reminder that people ever lived here.
Turning to Jet, Clem noticed the boy appeared to be frantically searching for something. Remembering how mentioning walkers made him nervous, Clem realized he was probably anticipating them. "Don't worry, they're slow, and stupid; we'd see them long before they'd get here." Jet breathed out upon hearing that. "And we've got this if we see anything."
Clementine drew her pistol from its holster and held it out so Jet could see it. "Don't be afraid of it, it's just a thing."
"A thing that kills people," noted Jet.
"It can't kill anything if you don't let it," informed Clem as she offered the weapon to Jet. "Don't be afraid of it, but do... um... you know, treat it right, like with..."
"Respect?" suggested Jet.
"Yeah, that."
The boy stared at the weapon in the girl's hand for a few seconds before reaching out to take it, but Clem wouldn't let go of it. "The first rule is that the gun is always loaded."
"But it's not, I can see that—"
"Always," repeated Clem. "Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it." Clem let go of the gun, which Jet took into his hands.
"And anytime you pick up a gun, you should check to see if it's actually loaded or not."
"Is that rule two?" asked Jet as he turned the pistol over, confirming there was no magazine in it.
"It's more like part of rule one."
"So assume a gun is loaded until you've checked it," concluded Jet. "This one isn't."
Clem leaned forward and pulled back on the top of the pistol. "Don't forget to check in the chamber too. A bullet can be in there even if the gun doesn't have a magazine."
"Right, sorry," said Jet as peered into the weapon's innards.
"Rule number two is you never point a gun at something you don't want to kill, ever."
"Does... does that mean you wanted to kill Granddad and me?" asked a concerned Jet. "I remember you aiming a big gun at our car after it crashed."
"Of course I didn't want to kill you," assured Clem. "I... I just mean..."
"If you point a gun at something, you could kill it," realized Jet.
"Yeah... basically."
"Well... thanks for not shooting us."
Jet sounded sincerely grateful as he said that, which just made Clementine cringe with shame. "Rule three is always know what you're shooting at and what's behind it, because bullets can go through things."
"Got it," said Jet as he tested the weight of the pistol in his hand.
"And the last rule is keep your finger off the trigger until you're sure you want to shoot." Clem looked at Jet's hands, then watched as he removed his finger from the trigger. "Just leave it here," suggested Clem as she gently moved the boy's finger to the piece of metal looped around the trigger. "I think someone said this is the trigger guard. I guess—"
"It guards the trigger from your finger," finished Jet. "So there was no way you could have shot us because you didn't even have your finger on the trigger when you were aiming at the car."
Clem was about to answer Jet, but then she remembered briefly moving her finger to the trigger when Sin first spoke up. The girl tried to think of something to say to the boy, but her silence had said it all.
"Oh..." Clem noticed Jet was staring at her now, a hint of fear hanging on his face.
"When things are bad, and you're scared, it can be easy to forget the rules," confessed Clem in just a whisper.
"You were scared of us?" repeated a surprised Jet. "Why?"
"Because we didn't know who was in there. It could have been anyone, including someone bad."
"We had just crashed our car," reminded the boy.
"And you might have wanted to take our RV," suggested Clem.
"You think we'd do that?"
"Not you, now that we've met you. But when I was aiming that gun at your car, I thought it could be anyone in there."
"Has anyone ever tried to take your RV?"
"Once, when we were using the generator to watch a movie," recalled Clem. "People with guns unplugged it and waited until we went outside to check on it. They were going take the RV and everything we had."
"Did... did you have to shoot them?"
"No, not that time, we talked them into letting us keep the RV."
"That time?" repeated Jet. "So you've shot someone before?"
Clem found herself tensing up upon hearing that question. Jet must have noticed because he suddenly turned away from the girl and looked at the gun in his hand instead. "So... what do I do?"
Clementine removed the magazine from her pocket and handed it to Jet. The boy loaded the gun without being prompted and then, after a short pause, cocked the gun.
"Let's find something to practice with." Clem surveyed the desolate road they were parked on for a possible target. "How about that? Can you shoot that?" Clem pointed at the speed limit sign planted about thirty feet back from where they were positioned.
"I can try," said Jet he took aim at the road sign.
"Just line up the sights, and take your time," instructed Clem. "It's going to be loud, and it'll hurt your hands."
"Anything else I should know?" asked Jet as he tried to steady his arms.
"Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. And don't hold your breath, just try to shoot in-between breaths." Clem watched as Jet squeezed the trigger, and it didn't move. "And always remember to check the safety."
Jet examined the gun briefly before finding the safety, which he clicked off. Clem sat and watched as the boy tried to line up a shot. He was clearly unsure of his aim, constantly adjusting the placement of his arms and trying to hold his hands still for a few seconds before rearranging himself to try again. Suddenly there was a shot and Clem jumped to her feet. What she heard sounded a lot louder than what she was expecting and the girl immediately searched the surrounding area for the shooter.
"Are you worried about those things finding us?" asked a nervous Jet.
"No, I... I thought..." Clem sat back down. "You shot the gun, right?"
"Um, yeah," answered a confused Jet. "But I missed."
"It's okay, I missed the first few times I shot a gun," reassured Clem as she waited for her heartbeat to slow down. "Just take your time." Clem watched the sign carefully as Jet took aim. There was another gunshot, but the sign was unharmed. A second shot followed shortly after the last, and then a third, and a fourth, and yet the sign remained untouched.
"Ugh, I suck at this," grumbled Jet.
"You're lining up the sight between the the two little things on the back of the gun, right?"
"Yeah," said Jet as he examined the weapon. "Maybe you could shoot it, and I could watch you?"
"Sure." Jet handed the gun to Clem, who immediately took aim at the sign. She lined her up sights and squeezed the trigger, creating a pop mark on the sign that produced a loud metal ding the girl could hear all the way from the Brave.
"You make it look easy," awed Jet.
"Just take your time until it looks right," explained Clem as she handed the gun back to Jet. "That's what I do." Clem watched Jet take a few more shots, the last of which grazed the edge of the sign. "There you go."
"That wasn't where I was aiming though," said Jet, sounding frustrated. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong."
"Well, let me see if I can help you," said Clem as she moved behind Jet. "Okay, aim at the sign." Clem inched in close so she could watch the boy over his shoulder. She was going to try and correct his form, but he seemed to be holding the gun the exact same way she was a minute ago. His hands were shaking a little, but not much. Clem leaned forward and put her own hands on Jet's to stop him from trembling. "Okay, try it now." There was a slight pause, and then a shot; it was another miss.
"Dammit," swore Jet. "Can I watch you again? I must be doing something different." Clem took the gun and moved back into position. She slowly took aim so Jet had plenty of time to observe her and was about to fire when the boy said something. "You're right-handed."
"You're not?" said Clem.
"No. Maybe shooting left-handed is different?"
"I... I don't know. You could try shooting with your right hand, see if that helps."
"I guess it's worth a try." Jet took the gun back, awkwardly transferring it from his left hand to his right, then took aim. Clem noticed the boy was struggling to keep his arms straight now. He fired and there was a metal ding sound in the distance.
"You did it," said Clem as she noticed the new bullet mark on the sign.
"Yeah, but I can barely aim with my right hand," said Jet. "I'm gonna try again with my left, there's gotta be a way I can shoot with it."
Watching the boy closely, Clem noticed as Jet changed hands, he moved the gun towards the right of his body after gripping it with his left hand. Looking carefully, she suddenly realized what he was doing differently.
"You're only keeping your right eye open when you aim?" noted Clem.
"Yeah, just like I saw you did."
"But if you're left-handed, shouldn't you use your left eye?" Clem's words caused Jet to blink a couple of times. She watched the boy close his right eye and open his left one. He then moved the gun a little to the left until his hand and shoulder were lined up. There was another shot and a metal ding followed as the sign got another blemish.
"Good job," congratulated Clementine. "Now—" Another shot sounded, followed by another, then a third. A couple of these hit the sign, one missed, then the next two shots missed and then there was a click. Clem saw the gun's trigger was stuck now, which confused Jet.
"Oh crap, I think I broke it."
"No, that's just what it does when it's out of bullets," said Clem as she took the gun back.
"Sorry, It's just... it felt really good to finally get it right," professed the boy with a smile. "It's not so bad. Could I practice some more? Now that I know how to use it, I'd like to get better at it."
"We could, but I don't want to use up too many bullets," said Clem as she double-checked to make sure the gun was empty.
"How many do you have?"
"We've got like eight boxes of nine-millimeters I think, and there's fifty bullets in each box."
"So that's four-hundred bullets then," calculated Jet. "That's plenty."
"Yeah, but it's hard to find more of them," said Clem. "We've found guns in a few people's houses, but never bullets, at least not yet."
"In Houston, they asked if we had any guns or bullets in the house. We didn't, but other people who did said the military took them away."
"The only places we've found bullets are at gun shops, and then only the ones that had tons of walkers."
"Like... where Granddad was going?"
"No, Patty said there wasn't a lot of them where she was going," assured Clem. "The only times we've found bullets there were walkers almost everywhere. Both times, we almost got killed."
"I... I thought they can't find you if you did... whatever it is you said, cover a raincoat in their blood?"
"If you smell like them, then they can't smell you, and I don't think they can see, or if they do they don't know what to look for," informed Clem. "But if they hear anything loud they'll try to grab and bite it, and if they taste fresh blood, they'll keep biting."
Looking at a visibly frightened Jet, then at the empty gun in her hand, Clem passed the weapon back to the boy. "It's probably okay to use one more magazine." Clem hurried back into the Brave and retrieved some bullets. After letting Jet load the magazine, the boy cocked the gun and took aim at the sign.
"Don't hurry, it's more important you hit what you're aiming at then how fast you shoot," said Clem. "It doesn't do any good if you shoot a walker anywhere but in the head."
"It doesn't?" asked Jet as he steadied his arms. "Why not?"
"Nothing else kills them."
"You're sure?"
"Pretty sure. I shot one in the neck once, and all it did was slow it down as it tried to eat me," said Clem. "And I've seen them lose limbs and all kinds of stuff and not even notice. They really are dead bodies that just keep moving for some reason."
Jet fired the gun and another bullet mark appeared on the sign.
"Why do they eat people?" wondered Jet. "If they're already dead, what good does eating do them?"
"I have no idea," admitted Clem as Jet fired on the sign again.
"In Houston, I think the military was using cows as bait for... you call them walkers?"
"Yeah," said Clem. "Why cows?"
"They're slow and they usually don't run away from people, even sick ones. One of our neighbors used to work at one of those industrial cattle yards, and I remember him saying something to Granddad about how the military took over and would just tie a cow up outside every night. He said in the morning, the cow would be dead and they'd find people with their stomachs busted out, like they had exploded, but were still walking around. Granddad thought he had gone crazy, but I guess he was telling the truth."
"Probably, they never stop eating unless it's something they don't like," said Clem. "And they only like eating things that are alive."
"Yeah, that same guy who told us about the cows said the people never finished eating them, but they'd always try to eat the soldiers the next morning," said Jet as he lowered the gun. "I remember when I first heard about the soldiers shooting the sick people, I thought it was horrible. But... they're not really people are they?"
Clem shook her head. "They're monsters, like real monsters. All they do is kill things, and that's it."
"My parents always told me real monsters usually looked more like people than monsters," recited Jet. "I don't think this is what they were talking about, but I guess they were right anyways."
Jet fired and created another dent in the dead center of the sign.
"I guess that's enough for now," said the boy as he handed the gun back to Clem. "Thanks a lot for teaching me how to do this. It's not so bad once you know how. Well, at least not against signs. I guess it's different when it's one of the sick—or just dead people."
"It is, but you don't feel bad about shooting them either," said Clem as she unloaded the gun. "Or at least I don't. It's living people that..." Clem found herself instinctively biting her own lip. She momentarily lost her train of thought before realizing she was still holding the gun. The girl removed the round in the chamber, then hurried down the ladder without a word.
"So, now what?" asked Jet as he followed Clem back into the Brave. "What else should I know?"
"Um, well..." Clem found herself looking around the room for possible suggestions, only to find her eyes falling on the pistol in her hand again. "Do you want to learn how to clean the gun?"
"Okay," shrugged Jet.
Clem stored their ammo and retrieved a small bundle of tools from the cupboard. After setting the bundle down on the dining room table, Clem aimed her gun away from anything important and pulled the trigger.
"What did you do that for?" asked Jet.
"It's how you take it part," explained Clem as she tugged on a pair of tabs above the trigger before wiggling the top half of the gun off the rest of it.
"Wow," awed Jet as Clem laid out the pistol's barrel, spring, and slide. "Is every gun that easy to take apart?"
"No, the guy who taught us how to clean guns said this one was easy," said Clem as she grabbed a handful of cut-up patches of fabric from the cupboard. "Other ones usually have screws and stuff." Clem gave Jet a bore brush and sprayed the end of it with solvent.
"Finally..." Clem watched as Sarah shuffled out of the bedroom. "I finally got Omid to take a nap."
"Are you okay?" asked Clem as Sarah plopped down on the couch.
"Yeah, just tired," yawned the older girl.
"Don't worry, I'll watch him tonight so you can get some sleep."
"Oh, are you teaching Jet how to clean guns?" asked Sarah. "Remember, you want to push that brush through the barrel until it comes out the other side, then pull it all the way back out. If you change directions while it's in the barrel you might bend the brush."
"How do you two know all this stuff?" asked Jet as he pushed the brush through the barrel as instructed.
"The place Sarah used to live taught us and the other kids there a bunch of things about surviving," explained Clem as she threaded a piece of fabric onto a long plastic tool. "They taught us how to clean guns, a man taught me how to cook, another one taught Sarah how to drive."
"Really?" said Jet. "Why'd you leave there?"
"Because they were only teaching us that stuff so we could be useful to them," recalled Clem in a bitter tone.
"And if you weren't useful they'd let you starve," added Sarah, anger creeping into her voice as she spoke. "Or worse."
"Real... really?" asked a horrified Jet.
"Yeah, really."
"Even you two?" Clem and Sarah drearily nodded at the boy in response. "That's... that's..."
"Horrible," finished Sarah.
"We were lucky to get away." Clem handed Jet a long plastic tool with a piece of fabric stuck to the end. "Just push that it and out a few times to get the dirt."
"Where... where is this place?" asked the boy as he cleaned the barrel.
"Near Savannah, Georgia, where I used to live." Jet breathed a sign of relief upon hearing Sarah say that. "I actually wanted to go back to my old house when we first started traveling but... we didn't want to risk going near that place again."
"Here, use a fresh one now." Clem traded a tool with a fresh piece of cloth for the dirty one in Jet's hand.
"I still want to go back to Houston," admitted Jet in a weary voice as he continued to clean the barrel. "I feel like it was wrong to just leave, and not even try to help them. I mean, just knowing how to get past the sick—I mean dead people probably would have made a big difference."
"We left a message on that water tower, and we've stopped and crossed out New Orleans on every road sign we've seen so far," listed Clem as she tried to think of a rationale to soothe her guilty conscience. "We... we can't help everyone."
"I know, and I know that Granddad was probably right, and we may not even have been able to get back in the city, especially after what happened," lamented Jet. "But I still wish I did had done something instead of nothing."
Clem saw that the cloth Jet was using to clean the gun barely had any grime on it. Reasoning the barrel was clean enough, Clem put the pieces back in their places and snapped the weapon back together. As she moved to store the gun back in the cupboard, Clem looked over her shoulder and noticed Jet was slumped over in his seat now, likely weighed down by the same guilt Clem felt.
"How bout we go paint something on the gas station next?" suggested Clem as she headed for the closet. "That's something we could do. We could leave the message about using the smell again and a warning to stay away from New Orleans, and Houston, and Savannah, and—"
"Who would read it?" asked Jet.
"I don't know, anyone who stops here I guess," shrugged the girl as she grabbed a couple of cans of spray paint. "We can't be the only ones needing diesel, and if other people in Houston knew about this place your grandpa knows about, they might come this way too."
Clementine's reasoning created a slight smile on Jet's lips, and soon after the pair headed out together. Looking for a place to start, Clem noticed there were flat concrete walls between the gas station's windows; they might as well been blank canvasses. Clem started with repeating her message about the dead not eating the dead while Jet wrote short warnings about the various places they had already been.
Next, Jet thought to draw a circle around the hatches for the fuel tanks after he realized despite his grandfather's profession, even he didn't actually know where to access fuel without working gas pumps until recently. Clem then knelt down and painted 'GENERATOR + WATER PUMP' across the pavement, along with an arrow pointing specifically to the cover for the buried diesel tank.
"I think that's pretty good," said Clem as she studied the sprawl of warnings and instructions they had plastered all around the gas station. "Do you feel better?" One look at Jet's face and Clem could tell the boy still wasn't content. "Did you want to do something else?"
"I want to let my parents know I was here," he said. "You said it yourself, people from Houston might come this way going to... north, and they might get back there someday and go north too, which means it's possible they could drive by this gas station."
"Then leave them a message," encouraged Clem. "Write 'Jet was here' in big letters."
"Granddad wouldn't like it," muttered the boy. "I told him yesterday that we should leave a note or something behind. That way, if Mom or Dad ever go to one of the places we had been, they'd see it and know we're still alive. But he said it wasn't a good idea because if anyone from the military came this way, they might recognize his name, and try to find us."
"Why would they want to find him?" asked Clem, finding herself more than a little curious to the answer.
"I don't know. I guess because he ran away when the refinery blew up," shrugged Jet. "They might blame him for that, or blame him for leaving."
"Could he have fixed things if he stayed?"
"I don't know, I just know there was fire everywhere outside the car as we drove away..." Jet sighed. "If he saw my name painted on the gas station he'd know it was my idea, and he wouldn't be happy about it."
"Well, what if he didn't see it," said Clem as she looked at the curb. "You could paint your name on the road in front of the gas station and then we could hide it by parking the Brave on it. Your granddad wouldn't even know it was there and once we leave we'll never come back, so he'll never know."
"Yeah, that could work," Jet smiled at Clem, then shook up his can. She watched as he spelled out his message in big letters just as she suggested, but it didn't say 'Jet was here'.
"Namsing?" read Clem.
"It's my last name," said Jet as he stood up. "Granddad met with the military all the time so they probably remember his name, but I was just his grandson. Some of them might know my first name, but I doubt any of them even knew I had a different last name from him, let alone remember what it was."
"But you're just going to leave your name? You don't want to add 'was here' or something?"
"A lot of people probably won't even know what this means. Even the ones who know it's a name won't know what to think of it. But if Mom or Dad saw it, they'll know it had to be me," said Jet with a burst of confidence. "Although, which way is north?"
Clem checked her pocket for her compass, only to discover it wasn't there. It was late in the morning, but still early enough for the girl to determine which way east was by looking towards the sun. "That way would be north," determined Clem as she pointed down the highway.
"Great," said Jet as he shook up his spray can. "I'll just draw an arrow so they'll know which way we went."
"Wait, are you sure that's a good idea?" Jet stopped shaking the paint and looked at Clem. "I mean, if a bunch of people came this way, they might not know your name, but if they saw an arrow they'd could go that way, and they might find us."
"So?" asked Jet.
"So, you remember what I said about someone tried to take our RV?" asked Clem. "We've seen people do worse, way worse than that."
"But... the people who find this might not be bad people," reasoned Jet.
"But they could be," reminded Clem. "I... I just don't want to risk it. I mean, you said other people in Houston knew about this place your grandpa knows about, so they'd go north anyway, but they don't need to know someone went down this road."
"My parents would." Jet stared at Clementine for a few seconds, then sighed. He put the cap back on his spray can, then turned to move back towards the Brave.
"Hang on." Clem held out her arm to stop Jet, then walked over to where he had written his last name. She shook up her own can of paint and Jet watched with great interest as Clementine drew a circle around the first and second to last letter in his name.
"What'd you do that for?" asked a confused Jet.
"I circled the N's, for north," explained Clem. "Most people won't even think about it, but if your parents see it they'll know it's important and figure it out."
"Yeah, they would, they're both really smart." Clem could see a grin forming on Jet's face, which made her smile as well. "And Granddad will definitely know I did this; we should move your RV before he gets back."
The pair hurried back inside. After explaining their plan to Sarah, she started the vehicle and pulled forward. Clementine felt a sense of pride wash over her as the name disappeared under the Brave, completing her scheme. She turned to see if Jet felt the same way, only to discover he was still standing at the entrance.
"You guys are keeping track of how tall you are," said the boy as he examined the marks by the door. "I used to keep track of how tall I was because you had to be at least five-foot-two to be an astronaut, and I wanted to be sure I was going to be at least that tall."
"If you want, we could still keep track of that for you," offered Clem.
"What's the point? There's no way I'll be an astronaut anymore."
"Because it's fun," said Clem as she got out of her seat. "Just wait right there." Clem rushed into the bedroom and fumbled through the junk drawer for their markers.
"Kem-men." Clementine turned to see a half-awake Omid slowly rising from his crib.
"Did you have a good nap OJ?" said Clem as she found and pocketed the markers. "Why don't you come up front with us and we'll see how much bigger you've gotten." Clementine scooped the boy out of his bed and carried him back towards the front.
"Oh, he's up already," noted Sarah as she saw the boy.
"Kinda," said Clem as she handed Omid to the older girl. "I figured it was time we check to see how much he's grown." Clem removed the bag of markers from her pocket. "But we'll do you first Jet since you're already standing there." Clem fumbled through the bag before settling on a dark purple marker. Jet carefully stood with his back to the wall why Clem drew a line above his head on the doorframe. "There you go," said Clem as she wrote Jet's name next to the line.
"So, who are these other lines?" asked the boy as she studied the recently updated height chart.
"Clem's red, I'm blue, and Omid is black."
"And this green one?"
"That's Patty's."
"Huh, she's a little taller than me, but I'm a little taller than Sarah," observed Jet.
"Now let's make a new one for OJ," said Clem as she collected the boy from Sarah's arms. "Let's see how much you've grown." Clem set the toddler down on the stairs. "Jet, could you draw the line?"
"Sure." Clem handed a black marker to Jet while trying to keep Omid standing still. It was harder than the previous times they had measured the toddler. Now that he could walk, Omid kept trying to move away from where Clem had placed him. He also kept turning his head to look at the door handle. Eventually, Clem managed to hold him still just long enough for Jet to draw a fresh line on the doorframe.
"Good boy," praised Clementine as she helped Omid back up the steps.
"Come here Omid," called Sarah in a sweet voice.
"What's the date?" asked Clem as she took the marker back from Jet.
"January sixteenth," said Sarah as she scooped Omid into her arms. Clem wrote the date over the mark Jet had made, then moved back to observe the chart as a whole. The newest line was only a hair above the last one, but it was proof just the same Omid was getting bigger every day.
"So, now what?" asked Jet.
"I... don't know," realized Clem. "I guess I could teach you what I know about fishing, but Anthony knows a lot more about that than I do, and..."
"You're probably still worried about the mercury poisoning thing I mentioned."
"Yeah..."
Silence filled the room for a few seconds before Sarah spoke up.
"Want to play chess again?" she suggested.
"Sure." An eager Jet hurried back to the dining table while Sarah carefully carried the chess board out, the pieces already on it.
"I'd like to play too," pleaded Clem.
"You can, as soon as we finish," promised Sarah as she set the board down.
"You played chess together yesterday."
"Yeah, and we didn't finish," said Sarah as she sat down in front of Jet.
"You didn't?"
"No, I had to go before we could actually finish the game," explained Jet as he started eyeing his pieces.
"You were playing the same game the whole time yesterday?" Sarah just nodded at Clem but kept her eyes glued to the board. "Huh, that's why you didn't want me touching the pieces when we put it up."
Clem collected Omid and for the second day in a row, found herself entertaining the boy the best she could as Sarah and Jet faced off against each other in chess. Eventually, Clem managed to deposit Omid back in his crib and hoped he wouldn't grow bored with his toys before too long.
Returning to the front, Clem couldn't help noticing how much longer it took Sarah to decide on a move against Jet than herself. She knew Sarah would hold back so as to give Clem a chance to play longer, but watching her play against Jet made Clem think she had been giving her a lot more slack than she ever suspected.
Clem also noticed Jet would occasionally look out the window. It was just the occasional glance every few minutes at first, but as they moved slowly into early afternoon, he was looking outside more often and for longer periods of time. Eventually, he seemed to forget he was even playing a game and just started staring out the window.
"Jet," said Sarah.
"Yeah," he said as he turned to the older girl. "Did you move?"
"Yeah, like a minute ago," said Sarah, sounding concerned.
"Right, sorry." Jet examined the board closely.
"You're worried about your grandpa," realized Clem.
"Yeah," admitted the boy.
"We know how you feel," assured Clem. "Sarah used to worry about me when I would go out with Patty, and we both worry about her all the time."
"What about that tall guy?" asked Jet. "Anthony?"
"Eh. I don't really worry about him that much."
"Clem!" scolded Sarah.
"What? I don't. He's always talking about how we should only take care of ourselves and not worry about other people. It's hard to worry about someone who always talks about only worrying about himself."
"Well I worry about everyone," asserted Sarah. "Including Anthony."
"I know," said Clem in a sweet voice. "It's one of the reasons I love you."
"All I've ever done is worry about things getting worse," interjected Jet. "I used to listen to Granddad talk about how messed up the world was and was worried about how it could fall apart at anytime, then it happened. After that, I worried about having to leave Houston if something went wrong, then it happened. Now I'm worried something will happen to Granddad and I'll be all alone."
"You wouldn't be alone," assured Sarah. "We'd help you."
"Then I'd worry about what if something happens to you two." Jet sighed and looked up at Clem and Sarah, both of which appeared unsettled. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying any of this stuff."
"It's okay," said Clem. "We worry about that stuff all the time too."
"The worst part is... I think I only worry because I'm selfish," confessed Jet. "I was worried about the world falling apart because of all this stuff I'd lose if it did. I was worried about leaving Houston because I wouldn't be safe. I'm worried about Granddad now because if something happened to him... I wouldn't know what to do."
"That doesn't make you selfish," insisted Sarah.
"Yeah, I think it does," stated Jet. "You both came to our rescue because you're not that."
"I thought about not saving you." Jet suddenly turned to Clem, surprised by her confession. "When Sarah said we had to go down there to save you... I said I don't know, and she had to tell me we couldn't just let you die."
"And I just wanted to leave after Clem killed the lurkers," added Sarah, shame dripping in her voice. "Because I was scared of what might happen to Clem if we checked to see who was in the car."
"I know you think we're brave for saving you and your grandpa, but we get scared and can be selfish too," admitted Clem. "You said it was wrong we didn't even try to help the people in Houston; we all didn't want to go there because we were worried about ourselves, and not all those people you told us about."
"Yeah, but you guys still helped us at least," said Jet as he turned away. "Ever since I saw that neighborhood where everyone was starving, I wanted to do something. I wanted to sneak out at night and try to give some of our food to them. Even if it was only enough for one person for one day, I would have helped them... but I never I did because I was afraid and selfish," lamented Jet as he lowered his head in shame.
"You're only twelve," said Clem.
"You're only ten," rebuked Jet. "And you saved my life even though you were afraid. I'd never do that because I'm a coward."
"That's not true," said Clem.
"Yes it is."
"No, it's not. You just wrote you name outside so if your mom and dad ever came here they'd know you were here too, even though your grandpa didn't want you to."
"I painted something on the road, and only after you figured out how we can hide it from Granddad," says Jet. "I don't really think that's brave."
"Just give it time," said Sarah. "I spent months just living in a shipping yard with my dad after the lurkers came. I was afraid all the time and never knew what to do, and after he... died, I thought my life was over," recalled Sarah with a heavy heart. "But I had Clementine, and she took care of me."
"And you took care of me when I needed it the most," added Clem as she moved in close to Sarah.
"We've both had to do a lot of things we never thought we could do," said Sarah. "I'm sure you can too."
"Maybe," spoke a melancholy Jet. "But that worries me too. You said we don't have to feel bad for killing the dead people because they're just monsters, okay. It was wrong to just leave Houston behind but there probably wasn't anything we could do, maybe. But if things get worse, what else will we have to do? What if we have to do something terrible?"
Jet's question threw a tense silence over the room, one that tied Clem's stomach into knots. The longer that uncomfortable quiet lingered in the air the more the girl's anxious mind twisted Jet's words until she was asking herself a slightly different question; what if she had to do something even worse than she already had just to stay alive.
"They're back!" Clementine hadn't even noticed the approaching vehicle until Jet had sprung out of his seat. She hurried after Jet while Sarah stopped to lock the Brave's door. Rushing back outside, Clem spotted Jet just ahead. He was watching Anthony's truck slowing to a stop near the curb. The engine cut off and out came Anthony, then Patty, and finally Sin. The man was shuffling slowly away from the vehicle, a bloodied and crumpled raincoat wrapped around him as he gazed at the asphalt with a blank expression.
"Granddad." Sin stopped for a moment and continued to stare at his feet, then suddenly looked up at Jet, as if he had just heard him. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, it's just... been a strange day," admitted the man as he rubbed the back of his head. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Did you... learn anything from them?"
"Clementine taught me how to shoot a gun, and then how to clean it."
"Did she?" Clem found herself unsettled by the way Sin looked at her as Jet said that, as if he didn't approve of what he just heard.
"And we left some warnings on the gas station." Sin briefly eyed the messages sprawled across the walls before turning back to his grandson.
"And we played chess," added a sheepish Sarah.
"What about you?" Jet asked Sin. "What did you do?"
"You're old—well older man, got a crash course in hacking people into tiny pieces," reported Anthony with a smile as he approached the boy. "He was a little squeamish about it but—"
"Shut up Anthony," ordered Patty before approaching Jet. "We basically taught him all the fundamentals on how to get around walkers and how to kill them, along with a lot of tips for scavenging food, which we had to use today since there wasn't a whole lot to find."
"Does this mean you could get food from places with dead people now?" asked Jet.
"Yes, I'm fairly confident I could," said Sin, not sounding confident. "The means for avoiding attention from those... things, are actually very simple."
"Move quietly, and carry a big stick," said Anthony as he brandished his bloodied baseball bat.
"That and wear something covered in their guts so they don't smell you," added Patty.
"Then what's wrong?" asked Jet.
"Like I said, he's squeamish," said Anthony.
"They're not people anymore," Patty told Sin. "When they change, that's it, they're not that person after that."
"Or if they are people, they're people trying to eat you," said Anthony. "So they're asshole people and—"
"They aren't people!" declared Sin. "Those things defy almost everything we've learned about the natural world! I saw a severed head still gnashing its teeth after you knocked it clean off its own shoulders!"
"Yeah, my aim was a little off," lamented Anthony. "Was a little too close to the neck so it didn't squish the brain like it—."
"The brain, as if it somehow can function without the blood or oxygen the body provides!"
"We told you, that's the only way to kill them," reminded Patty.
"Just like you told me how they can't smell us if we're smeared in their innards," mocked Sin as he gestured to his raincoat. "Rotting corpses who still have working olfactory neurons somehow."
"Well they do," shrugged Anthony. "Unless it rains, then they—"
"Rain washes away smells!" barked Sin. "How well you can smell in the rain?" Silence followed that question. "So unless these... fucking things people turn into can't find us in the rain, then it makes even less sense to say smelling like them is what's keeping them away."
"They can." Everyone turned to Clem. "The walkers can smell, or find you somehow in the rain, it's happened to me before. My clothes were covered in the gross stuff that came out of them, then rain washed it off and all the walkers started attacking again."
"But they always come after fresh blood," noted Sarah. "Maybe they don't smell it, but they always come after it."
"Another mystery," scoffed Sin. "These things hunger for blood, but lose interest in it if it's not fresh."
"Man, what the hell is your problem?" asked an annoyed Anthony. "You wanted to know how we deal with these things and we told you."
"And yet none of you have the slightest idea how any of these particular tactics work," said Sin. "You just know that they do."
"Yeah, they do," repeated Anthony. "So what the hell does it matter if we know how they work?"
"If you don't know the how of something, then you're helpless when it fails you; that's why it matters."
"Oh, so if we don't find out why the magic dead people like the smell of their own shit, we're gonna end up helpless someday?" mocked Anthony. "Holy shit, we'd better get right on this gang!"
Sin groaned as he rubbed his forehead. He mumbled something inaudible to himself before opening his mouth to speak again. "What if there's some chemical in their rotten bodies that's responsible for signaling other corpses, and that's why they don't attack when you 'smell' like them?
"Then what if this chemical degrades over time or something in the air changes it and the corpses no longer recognize it. These bloody raincoats you put so much faith in would suddenly and without warning become useless, and the corpses would be able to find you again. And this would most likely happen while you're already out there using them, unaware anything about your camouflage had changed, because they always 'just worked', and you never thought that would ever change."
A deathly silence followed Sin's words. The man's hypothetical situation had cast doubt on everyone. Even Anthony's smug grin had vanished and the young man had become quiet. Clem often had a lingering fear the smell would stop working, but she never could think of a reason why; now she had one. Eventually, the gravity of what Sin said finally dawned on him as well and the man's stone-faced expression cracked.
"I... I apologize," he muttered. "It's just... I always heard about these things, I saw a few a couple of times, but seeing them today close up... there's no explanation for them, none, it baffles the mind, and trying to make sense out of is... maddening. They're..."
"Monsters," finished Clem.
"I was going to say impossible, but I suppose it really doesn't matter; they're here and that's it." Sin sighed, then eyed Anthony's camper. He exchanged glances with Patty and Anthony briefly before all three headed for the vehicle's door. The trio retrieved a cardboard box each from inside and then lay them out on the pavement.
"That's all you found?" Clem eyed the three barely half-full containers sitting before her and sighed in disappointment.
"I'm afraid that's it," reported a weary Patty. "We didn't find anything at the gas stations or stores, and even raiding what was left of people's pantries just turned up crap they didn't want to take with them when they left." Clem noticed a couple of cans of lima beans and grimaced. "After a few hours, we thought it best to cut our losses and head home."
Sin picked up one of the boxes and moved towards his RV before Patty grabbed his shoulder. "Hold up, we gotta split the food."
"I thought I already did," said Sin. "Three of us went out, I divided it into three boxes of food before we came back."
"Yeah, you'd think that would be fair," said Anthony. "But not her."
"I made sure to evenly distribute the types of food we found amongst the three of us," assured Sin. "If you want to check—"
"There's seven of us total," stated Patty. "Not three."
"Seven?"
"Omid eats too," reminded Sarah. "Not as much as us but he does."
"So I'm responsible for your baby now?" asked Sin.
"Granddad," said Jet, his tone making it clear he disapproved.
"I'd like to think you're as responsible for us and we're responsible for you and your kid," said Patty as she crossed her arms.
"I didn't ask you to be responsible for us; I asked for guidance so we could be responsible for ourselves," clarified Sin. "I never implied I wished to be responsible for you or your children or vice versa."
"My children?" repeated Patty. "Wow, that's a nice way to refer to the people who saved your lives."
Sin sighed and then set the box down. "How much?"
"Huh?"
"We will not be a burden on you," dictated Sin. "How much would it take to repay our various debts to you?"
"It's not about that, it's—"
"You just reminded me of how those children saved our lives; clearly you feel we owe you for everything you've done. I understand." Sin knelt down and grabbed a couple of cans from his box and then placed them in the box closest to Patty.
"What are you doing?"
"You can take half of our share of the food I collect until such time you feel we've repaid our debt to you," insisted Sin as he set another couple of cans in the box.
"We don't—would you stop it!" Patty grabbed Sin's wrists as he tried to drop a couple of bags of oddly shaped pasta into the box.
"We didn't save you because we wanted something from you," said Clem.
"But saving us has placed a burden on your limited resources and you feel a desire to be compensated," observed Sin. "At the very least, we do owe you the food you gave us after we met."
"Don't forget the fish," said Anthony. "The fish were my doing."
"We just wanted the food split up fairly," Patty told Sin.
"Fairly by your terms," added Anthony.
"Shut up," barked Patty.
"I thought this was fair," said Sin. "The food is split between the three who went out, then those people may divide it however they like amongst the people they are responsible for."
"I think that's fair," said Anthony.
"No one is asking you!" barked Patty.
"Why not?" asked Sin. "Does his opinion not count?"
"Not as long as she and her two buddies all agree," noted Anthony as he looked over at Clem and Sarah. "The three of them gang up to shout me down anytime I suggest something they don't like."
"That's not true," argued Clem.
"We don't shout at you," added Sarah.
"I meant figuratively," said Anthony. "When have either of you ever sided with me over her on anything?"
"Patty didn't want you to come with us when we met, Clem and I did," reminded Sarah, a trace of irritation creeping into her voice as she spoke.
"And I listened to them," said Patty. "Because despite what you may think Anthony, we decide things as a group."
"Do you?" asked Sin. "Does that mean Jet and I have a voice in how the food is distributed?"
"I vote that they do," blurted out Anthony.
"Would you just..." Patty groaned then looked at Clem.
"I... I don't know." Patty looked past Clem to Sarah, who could only shrug at the woman.
"Look, how about this?" Patty returned the cans Sin moved to his box. "Since you're still getting adjusted to all this, and you don't have anything to eat beyond what we gave you a few days ago, we'll just do three-way splits for now. And once we get into what feels like a comfortable routine, then we can hash out all these details then, sound good?"
"I have no objection to that." Sin looked at Clem and Sarah. Neither girl had a response, and Anthony just seemed to roll his eyes. Sin picked up the box and headed back towards his RV. "I do not wish to be ungrateful," said Sin as she stopped in front of his door. "But gratitude is not the same thing as obligation. I will gladly repay whatever you feel I owe to you, but saving our lives does not mean they belong to you."
Sin stepped into the RV and out of sight. Jet looked over at the vehicle, then turned back to Patty, Clem, and Sarah. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't sweat it," said Patty as she forced a smirk onto her face. "Just go enjoy a good meal. Or at least as good a meal as we could find today."
Jet smiled at the woman, then ran off to his RV.
"So you said three-way splits, so that means—"
"Just take your fucking box Anthony," grumbled Patty. "It's not worth arguing with you over a few extra cans of shit I don't even want to eat."
"Works for me." Anthony placed his box back in his camper, leaving just the one left.
"Grab that would ya guys?" asked Patty as she headed for the Brave.
"Let me unlock the door," said Sarah as she ran ahead of Patty.
Clem picked up the box, thinking it felt lighter than she was expecting. Walking back to the Brave, she couldn't help doing a tally of the small selection of cans, jars, and dried goods inside. Briefly adding it all up in her head, Clem calculated everything inside this box probably wouldn't last them for more than a few days; less if they couldn't eat fish.