The train had been rumbling steadily for over an hour, eating up the miles between them and Savannah. Lee stood in the cramped cab beside Kenny, who sat hunched over the controls like a captain at his helm.
"I'm telling you, Lee," Kenny said, his voice buoyant with the increasingly common optimism, "there's a boat in Savannah with our names painted right on the stern. I can damn near smell the saltwater already."
Lee nodded absently, picturing the dilapidated riverboat he knew awaited them - missing parts, yes, but it wasn't impossible to fix. "Could be good. No walkers swimming out to get us. Fewer assholes with guns, too."
Kenny's grin stretched ear to ear. "Now you're speaking my language! We got enough fuel and supplies to last us—"
His words died mid-sentence. The color drained from his face as his foot slammed the brake pedal. Metal shrieked against metal as the train lurched violently to a stop, sending Lee staggering against the control panel.
Lee's gaze followed Kenny's stunned stare to the massive petroleum tanker dangling precariously from the bridge above, its rusted undercarriage twisted around the tracks like a metal noose. There was no going through—not without turning them all into a fireball.
As they spilled out of the train, Kenny's screams tore through the air, raw and guttural. "Fuck! FUCK! FUUUUUUUCK!" He kicked at the gravel, sending a spray of stones skittering across the rails.
Ben squinted up at the tanker. "Maybe... we could go around? On foot?"
Kenny hung his head as he felt his brain cells imploding. "That's fucking stupid, Ben."
Lee studied the swaying tanker, unease prickling his neck. This was where Christa and Omid should have appeared in his memories, yet the bridge stood eerily silent. No voices, no movement - just the creak of straining metal.
"There's a ladder," Mark announced, pointing to the rusted rungs bolted to the bridge support. "Someone should scout up top, see if we can shift this thing."
Kenny's grim expression melted into a shit-eating grin. "Well look at that. We got ourselves a volunteer." Mark's face cycled through betrayal, horror, and resignation as Kenny continued. "Let's review - David's on a cane, Lee's shoulder's messed up, Ben's basically a fetus, and I've got people who'd actually mourn me if I bit it."
"Ouch," Mark's shoulders slumped. "Way to say I'm expendable, Kenny."
Duck came barreling over, eyes wide. "You could be like a superhero! Saving us all by yourself!"
Kenny ruffled his son's hair. "More like sacrificial goat, but sure."
Lee couldn't help but grin. "I was thinking 'canary in a coal mine' myself."
Mark glared at them both. "You're both assholes, you know that?" He eyed the ladder, gulping audibly. "For the record? Terrified of heights. Thirty feet might as well be-"
"Oh for Christ's sake," Carley shouldered past him, already gripping the ladder. "Men." The look she threw over her shoulder made Kenny and Lee instantly school their smirks - though Mark's wounded pride remained plainly visible.
Mark hesitated at the ladder's base, glancing between Kenny and Lee the Carley. Their identical raised eyebrows answered his unspoken question. "Yeah... yeah, of course," he muttered, grabbing the rungs with resigned determination as he followed after Carley.
Lee's attention snapped to the silhouette of a train station just beyond the bridge. "Look—station up ahead. Might score some decent shit in there."
"Swear," Clementine chimed automatically, her small finger poking his arm in reprimand.
Kenny shielded his eyes against the sun, assessing the distance. "Just keep your head on a swivel. We'll come running at the first sign of trouble."
"Can I come?" Clem bounced on her toes, patting the familiar bulge in her hoodie pocket. "I remember all my lessons." The outline of her trusty screwdriver was clearly visible.
Lee ruffled her cap. "You're with me. We'll put those lessons to the test."
The station loomed closer with each step along the rusted tracks. Lee's eyes caught white paint flashing on the roof—he backtracked until the message came into focus: Survivors Inside?
"People live here?" Clem said with a head tilt.
Lee's grip tightened on his crossbow. "If they did, they'd have come running at the sound of the train." His voice dropped to a murmur. "More likely it's occupied by the dead now. We move carefully, understand?"
At the locked door, Lee spotted an open window just above. "Up for some recon?" He hoisted Clem onto his shoulders, her small hands gripping the sill as she peered inside.
"What're you—" Click. The door's mechanism snapped open under her fiddling fingers.
Lee set her down with pride. "Good work. Now, what's rule one for unknown buildings?"
Clem's face scrunched in thought before lighting up. "Test the waters!" She began a rhythmic clap that echoed through the station.
The response was immediate—shuffling footsteps growing louder. Two walkers rounded the corner, their milky eyes locking onto fresh meat.
"Perfect," Lee said, backing into open space. "Always fight on your terms." His crossbow sang, dropping the first walker mid-step. The second tripped over its fallen companion, giving Lee time to pin it with his boot.
"Next lesson," he said, nodding to Clem's screwdriver. "Where's the kill spot?"
"The... the head." Her hands trembled but her aim was true. With a grunt, she drove the tool deep into the walker's temple. Its limbs jerked once before stilling.
Lee pulled her into a one-armed hug, ignoring the black blood dripping from her weapon. "First of many, sweet pea. You did good." Clem's face was a little unsure but she eventually broke a smile.
Lee guided them inside, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor as he scanned the dim interior. "Now that we're in, what's priority one?"
Clem's nose scrunched in concentration before she answered in a hushed tone, "Exits. We need to know where to run if—"
A wet clang interrupted her. Across the room, a walker had wedged itself between iron bars, its yellowed teeth gnashing against the metal as blackened fingers clawed at them.
"I got it!" Clem darted forward before Lee could react. With practiced precision, she drove her screwdriver through its eye socket. The walker slumped with a final rattle.
"Good form," Lee murmured, though his praise was cut short as he spotted the prize—a blowtorch resting on a workbench in the locked area. Above it dangled a keyring on a pegboard. His eyes flicked to the narrow gap beneath the bars, then to Clem's small frame.
She was already moving. "Lucky I'm tiny, huh?" With a quick wriggle and assist from Lee, she slipped through the gap like an experienced thief. The lock clicked open moments later. "Easy-peasy," she declared, a note of pride coloring her voice.
"Don't get cocky," Lee warned, though his eyes crinkled with approval as he collected the blowtorch. "But yeah... this went textbook. You've been paying attention."
Clem's smile was as bright as a daisy under the sun as they retraced their steps. The blowtorch landed at the base of the ladder with a metallic clank, its grey tank glinting in the sunlight.
"We need somethin to bust this hatch! Maybe a-" Mark peered over the bridge's edge, his face instantly draining of color. "I-I'll be down in a sec!" he called, his voice cracking as he began an excruciatingly slow descent.
Lee rolled his eyes skyward. By the time Mark's boots finally hit the gravel, Kenny had already inspected the blowtorch twice over.
"Wait, this is perfect! This beauty might melt that hatch right off!" Mark declared, his earlier terror forgotten as he hefted the tool. "You think it'll work, too?"
Lee shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fire types beat steel types."
Mark blinked, then burst out laughing. "Good enough for me!" He hauled the blowtorch back up the ladder with renewed vigor, where Carley waited at the top. She shot Lee an amused wave before turning to help the struggling man over the railing.
"All aboard! This is gonna be loud as hell!" Kenny bellowed, herding everyone back onto the train.
Lee's heart hammered as he watched Mark cling to Carley's arm like a lifeline while she leaned precariously over the bridge's edge. The blowtorch's blue flame licked at the tanker's hatch, metal glowing cherry-red before—
BOOM.
The tanker hit the ground with an earth-shaking crash, sending up a dust cloud that choked the air. Walkers emerged from the surrounding woods like ants from a disturbed nest, their groans rising into a chorus of hunger.
Mark and Carley practically flew down the ladder, sprinting for the boxcar as rotting hands grasped at their heels. They tumbled inside just as Kenny threw the engine into gear.
"Right on schedule," Kenny muttered as the train lurched forward. The wheels screeched against freshly cleared tracks, building speed as the horde faded into the distance behind them.
Lee stepped into the cab where Kenny manned the controls and Clementine perched on a makeshift stool. The weight of the pistol at his waistband suddenly felt heavier.
"Clem?" He knelt before her, drawing the handgun with deliberate care. Sunlight glinted off the steel as he offered it grip-first. "I think you're ready for this."
Her small hands hovered uncertainly between them, eyes darting from the weapon to his face. "I... I don't know, Lee."
"You've trained every day for months," he said softly, pressing the cool metal into her palms. His calloused fingers wrapped around hers for just a moment. "You know how to use it. You understand what it means to pull that trigger." His thumb brushed her knuckles. "This would let me breathe easier."
Clementine's grip steadied as she nodded, accepting the responsibility with a solemnity no child should possess. "Okay. I'm ready."
Lee exhaled. "One more thing - can I borrow your walkie?" Her instant hesitation made his chest tighten. "Just five minutes," he promised, holding up three fingers in an old scout's honor gesture. "You'll get it back."
After a moment's hesitation, she dug through her bag, crayon drawings rustling until she produced the radio.
"I'm stepping out the front." Lee said to Kenny who had watched their interaction with a raised eyebrow. He stepped onto the front platform, the wind whipping at his clothes as he thumbed the walkie-talkie's power switch. The childish stickers Clem had applied scraped against his palm.
"Hello?" Static hissed back at him. His grip tightened. "I know you're listening."
A dry chuckle crackled through. "Well now... not Clementine. You must be," the voice paused dramatically, "Lee."
"Manipulating a little girl. Real classy," Lee spat, his knuckles whitening around the radio.
"Don't twist this. I'm saving her," the Stranger's voice dripped with false concern. "From you. I know what you are - murderer, monster. She tried to protect you, but children can't keep secrets forever. She's not safe with you."
Lee's laugh was harsh. "And you're better for her? A man who couldn't protect his own family?" He dropped his voice to a venomous whisper. "Failed husband. Failed father. That's who's judging me?"
The silence stretched so long Lee thought he'd lost the signal. When the voice returned, it trembled slightly. "That's... impossible. How could you—"
"Here's the deal," Lee cut in, watching Savannah's skyline emerge in the distance. "We're almost there. You want me? I'm coming."
Another pause. Then, almost amused: "I didn't expect this... though I suppose it simplifies things. You're not coming to talk, are you?"
Lee's gaze hardened as he glanced back toward the boxcar where Clem sat. "We're way past talking. When we meet? Only one of us walks away. Although I'm sure that was your plan anyways."
The Stranger's chuckle crackled through the static. "Good. Very good." The radio hissed before delivering his final words: "I'll be at The Marsh House. Room 214. Waiting..."
The transmission cut abruptly, leaving only empty static. Lee powered off the walkie, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
First the Stranger. Then the boat.
A rough plan crystallized in his mind with brutal clarity. He'd put a bullet between that bastard's eyes before he could so much as look at Clementine. After that... Crawford. The parts they needed would be there, buried in that overrun hellhole.
They needed someone who knew Crawford's labyrinthine streets like the back of their hand. Vernon's face flashed in Lee's mind - that weasel-eyed bastard who'd stolen their boat after all their hard work. Even if they were memories of a future that didn't exist, the fire they ignited was all too real.
But there was another option. Someone who didn't give a damn about boats or deals. Someone else who'd survived Crawford's collapse.
Molly.