Eighteen Months Later


The morning dawned, cool and biting, over half naked trees that marked to beginnings of autumn. Orange and brown leaves whirled at Lee’s at feet and crunched softly as he hiked a small ridge. It overlooked a town, and if his carefully plotted map was correct, it was named Gibson. White picket fences and carefully painted houses lined the streets. 

Not a hint of the dead, which wasn’t what Lee was expecting, it was silent and hollow wind blew through him, he braced his chin into the ratty scarf around his neck. He folded the worn map and pushed it into the pocket of his jacket.

"It’s quiet enough," Lee muttered to himself and headed back down the hill toward a dilapidated shack he and Clementine took residence in overnight. He scuffed the tiny fire and knelt to wake Clementine.

"Sweetpea," he said, placing his hand on her arm, "It’s morning."

The past year and a half wasn’t kind to the young girl and she had to grow up faster than was probably healthy. She was only 11 but she was mature and tougher than most adults were pre-apocalypse. Although she was as tough as someone should be with Walkers roaming the streets, she was still a child, even if it was hard for her to remember what it’s like to be a kid.

Her arm jerked away at his touch, a momentary panic and kneejerk reaction whenever something touched her in her sleep. She looked at Lee and sat up, rather tired from a restless sleep.

"Goodmorning." She said with a smile as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.