The truck rumbled through the inky countryside, moonlight silvering endless rows of crops. The suburban horrors had faded behind them, replaced by the whispering stalks of corn that now towered on either side of the road like silent sentinels.
Lee glanced down at the weight against his side. Clem's small frame trembled slightly in the cool night air. "You cold, sweet pea?" he murmured, tucking his arm tighter around her.
Her eyes—wide and too big for her face—flicked up to meet his. "I'm okay, Lee."
He resisted the urge to brush a stray curl from her forehead. The kid was tougher than she looked, but that didn't stop the protective ache in his chest.
The truck slowed as a farm materialized from the darkness: a weathered two-story house, its porch light burning yellow against the night, flanked by a sagging red barn. The scent of turned earth and livestock washed over them as the engine died.
Shawn and Chet spilled out, the latter stretching with an exaggerated yawn. "Best get home 'fore my mama works herself into a state," Chet drawled, scratching his belly.
"Tomorrow night, same as always," Shawn clapped him on the back before turning to the truck bed. "You two coming—"
The screen door slammed. An older version of Shawn—same strong jaw, same sharp eyes, just tempered by time and framed with silver—barreled down the porch steps.
"Thank the Lord," the man breathed, his voice cracking as he gripped Shawn's shoulders. His hands shook slightly, the way men's did when they'd been holding fear too tightly for too long.
"Dad." Shawn folded into the embrace like a boy half his age, his voice muffled against the man's flannel shirt. "When I saw how bad town was, I thought—"
"I know." The older man pulled back, thumbs swiping at his son's stubbled cheeks before turning to study Lee and Clem with the careful gaze of someone who'd learned to measure newcomers in a world gone mad.
Lee felt the weight of that look. Knew what it meant to be judged by a father's love in the apocalypse. He shifted Clem slightly behind him—not hiding her, just... positioning.
The moment stretched, taut as a tripwire, until the old farmer nodded once. "Well," he said, voice gruff with unspoken relief, "I'm guessing it's just you and your daughter then?"
Shawn cleared his throat. "Actually, he's not—"
"Not her father," Lee cut in, meeting Hershel's gaze squarely. "Just keeping her safe."
Hershel's eyes narrowed. He knelt with a creak of aging knees, bringing himself eye-level with Clementine. "Sweetheart," he said, voice softening in a way that made Lee's jaw tighten, "you know this man?"
Clem didn't hesitate. "Yes, I do." Her small hand found Lee's sleeve, fingers twisting into the fabric.
Hershel, still unconvinced, stood up and relented with a huff. "Well, alright then." He looked down at Lee's leg, which was bandaged and had dried blood on it. "You get yourself injured out there?"
Lee nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. Although I did manage to patch it up with some supplies I found."
Hershel looked Lee up and down, noting the bulletproof vest that said Police and the large backpack and shotgun on his back. "So you 'found' all that stuff, huh?..."
There was something about the way he said it that Lee didn't like. "Yeah, I found it," he replied, his voice firmer than before.
For three heartbeats, their stares locked—one man's quiet suspicion meeting another's hardened resolve. Then Hershel turned toward the house with a dismissive wave. "I got fresh bandages inside. Sit yourself down 'fore you bleed on my porch." He jerked his chin at Shawn. "Go see your sister. She's been pacing since noon."
Shawn offered Lee an apologetic shrug before disappearing inside. Hershel followed, the screen door slapping shut behind him like a punctuation mark.
Alone with Clem, Lee exhaled through his nose. The wooden chair groaned as he lowered himself onto it, his leg screaming in protest.
Clem hovered near his knee, her brow furrowed. "He's… grumpy."
Lee huffed a laugh, ruffling her cap. "Yeah... But he's letting us stay. That's what matters."
A second later, Hershel returned with fresh bandages and knelt to examine Lee's leg. "Yeah, this is swollen to hell, but the bleeding's stopped and it looks clean," he remarked as he unwound the dirty bandages. "I'd say you did a halfway decent job."
"Well, it's not too bad now. Hurt like hell at first though." Lee winced slightly as Hershel wrapped the fresh bandages tightly around his leg.
"I bet it did..." Hershel tied off the bandage securely. "By the way, I never caught your name. I'm Hershel Greene." His expression softened into something friendlier.
"Lee."
"Well, nice to meet you, Lee, and..." He glanced at the girl standing close by.
"Clem-Clementine," she offered with a small smile.
"Clementine - what a lovely name." Hershel stood up, brushing his hands on his pants. "You mentioned this happened in a car crash. Where were you headed before it happened?"
Lee hesitated a moment before answering. "Getting out of Atlanta. Didn't really care where I ended up, so long as I wasn't there when everything went down."
Hershel frowned slightly. "The news said to stay put."
"You believe everything you hear on the news?" Lee smirked. "Besides, seems like that decision saved my life, considering Shawn says it's a hellhole now."
"I suppose so," Hershel conceded. "But how'd you end up crashing?"
Lee kept his tone neutral. "Hit one of the walkers. Sent us spinning into a ditch."
"Who was with you? The girl here?" Hershel's gaze sharpened like a hawk spotting prey.
Lee clenched his molars to keep from rolling his eyes. This again. "A police officer," he answered, technically truthful. The handcuffs could stay his little secret. "Gave me a ride out of Atlanta."
"Awfully charitable," Hershel muttered, thumbs hooked in his overall straps. The lantern light carved shadows under his brow.
"Protect and serve." Lee's grin felt like a rusted hinge. Clementine watched the exchange with quiet intensity—her first glimpse into the life he'd had before the world ended.
Hershel jerked his chin toward the weathered barn. "House is full with my kin. Got a family of three in the loft, but there's straw enough for you and your daughter."
Lee didn't correct him. Maybe the old man's memory was slipping after all—they'd just established Clem wasn't his. Or maybe, in this broken world, the lie was kinder than the truth.
The farmhouse door creaked open. Shawn emerged, tension lining his shoulders like coiled wire. "Dad, first light tomorrow, we're reinforcing the perimeter fence."
Hershel scoffed. "Ain't necessary."
"The hell it isn't!" Shawn's voice cracked. He glanced at Clem and dropped to a hiss. "There's serious… shit brewing out there. News ain't telling half of it. Lee—" He turned desperate eyes on him. "Back me up."
Lee met Hershel's stubborn glare. "Shawn's right. Cities are collapsing. The dead don't stay dead." He chose his next words carefully, watching Clem from the corner of his eye. "Strong fences are just the start."
Hershel rubbed his neck, the leathery skin there red from sun and frustration. "Fine. Take Lee and the barn folks at dawn. But I won't have my farm lookin' like some militia compound."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Lee said dryly, testing his freshly bandaged leg as he stood. "Appreciate the patch-up."
Hershel waved them off toward the barn, the lantern casting his silhouette long and lean against the clapboard walls. "Get some rest. Dawn comes early."
The barn loomed ahead, its weathered red paint peeling under the moonlight. Clem's small hand found Lee's as they pushed the creaking door open. Dust motes swirled in the dim light, catching on hay bales stacked along the walls. To their left, a narrow staircase led to a loft—where Lee knew Kenny, Katjaa, and Duck would be sleeping. His chest tightened. Kenny had been his favorite in the game, a flawed but fiercely loyal man who'd eventually risked everything to get Clem to safety. Maybe here, Lee could return the favor and change his fate.
"Are those for us?" Clem pointed to two sleeping bags laid out near a pile of fresh straw.
"Yeah, kiddo. Get comfy." Lee kept his voice low as they settled in.
Quickly, he took of his vest, backpack, and gun; making sure it was within arms reach should he have to use it.
He took a moment to inspect the barn—checking for weak boards, loose hinges, anything that might give way to the dead. Satisfied, he lay back, the musty scent of hay and animal musk thick in his nose.
Clem's nose wrinkled. "It smells like..."
"Shit," Lee finished, grinning when her eyes went wide.
"Shit," she echoed, barely suppressing a giggle.
The chuckle died in Lee's throat as he stared at the rafters. Today had been hell—for him. For Clem? Losing her home, her parents, everything? His chest ached just thinking about it.
"Lee?" Her voice was small in the dark. "I miss my parents."
The words hung between them. What could he say? Empty platitudes wouldn't help. "I know, sweet pea," he murmured, because it was the only truth that mattered.
"How far is Savannah?" Hope bled into her tone like sunlight through storm clouds.
Lee hesitated. "It's far." Her face fell, and he quickly added, "But not impossible."
She sat up so fast her cap nearly flew off. "Can we go?"
Lee propped himself on one elbow. "If we're ever near there, we'll look. That's a promise."
Clem's fingers twisted in the sleeping bag before she thrust out her pinky, eyes glistening in the moonlight. "Pinky promise?"
God, she was so small. So brave. Lee hooked his finger around hers, calloused against tiny. "Promise."
The smile she gave him could've powered cities. As she snuggled down, Lee made a silent vow—he'd get her to Savannah if it killed him. Even if all they found were ghosts.
"Goodnight, Lee."
"Night, sweet pea."
The barn creaked around them, but for the first time since the world ended, Lee felt something like peace.
---
"Hey, rise and shine." A boot nudged Lee's leg with just enough force to stir him from sleep.
Lee blinked awake to find Clem already sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she stretched with a yawn. Standing over them was Kenny—thick mustache, just like Lee remembered from the games, with that same easy confidence.
"I'm itchy," Clem complained, scratching at her arms.
Kenny chuckled, leaning against a hay bale. "Slept in a barn, darlin'. Be surprised if you don't got spiders in that hair of yours." Clem gasped, frantically patting down her frizzy curls as Kenny grinned. "Aw hell, looks like your daddy scared 'em off."
"Not her dad," Lee corrected, standing and offering a hand. "Lee."
"Kenny." Their handshake was cut short as a freckle-faced blur barreled around the corner.
"Dad! We're building a fence! There's a tractor and—" The boy vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, his voice fading into the yard.
"That's my cue." Kenny jerked his thumb toward the barn door. Outside, the boy—Duck, Lee remembered—was already clambering onto a rusted tractor beside a slender blonde woman. "My wife Katjaa," Kenny said fondly. "And the tornado's Kenny Jr., but we call him Duck."
"Lee," he introduced, nudging Clem forward. She half-hid behind his leg. "This is Clementine."
Katjaa smiled warmly. "What a beautiful name."
"Where you two headed?" Kenny asked, though his eyes kept darting to where Duck was attempting to balance on the tractor's hitch.
"Macon first," Lee said. Clem perked up at his next words. "Then maybe Savannah."
Kenny let out a low whistle. "Savannah's a hike, but Macon's on the way. Tell you what—ride with us that far. Extra hands are good, 'specially ones who can crack a few skulls if needed."
Lee glanced down at Clem. "Sounds like a plan to me. What d'you think?"
She nodded, her cap bobbing. "Yeah."
"Then it's settled!" Kenny clapped his hands just as Shawn arrived, toolbox in hand.
"Morning. Let's get that fence started—we all know what's out there." A collective grimace passed through the group. The memory of gnashing teeth and hollow moans was still fresh.
"I wanna build the fence!" Duck announced, puffing out his chest.
Shawn played along, ruffling the boy's hair. "Perfect. You can be foreman—yell at me if I slack off."
"A real job? Cool!" Duck scrambled after Shawn, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Lee watched them go, smiling at the kid's enthusiasm—until a sudden, icy realization slithered down his spine. Something nagged at the back of his mind, half-remembered, like a nightmare upon waking. Then it hit him.
"Shit."
Clem's tiny finger poked his arm. "Swear."