I moved closer to the gunshot, slowing my steps as the noise grew louder. The forest was still, unnaturally quiet, and I slipped between the trees, keeping myself hidden as best I could. I didn't know who had fired the shot or what was happening here, and I wasn't stupid enough to walk straight into danger without knowing the situation.
As I crept forward, a sound reached me—someone crying.
I followed it carefully until I finally saw them.
A man in his mid-thirties knelt on the forest floor, his fishing cap tilted forward as he clutched a motionless woman in his arms. The truth was obvious the moment I saw her—she had shot herself. The gun was still loosely clutched in her limp hand. Seeing this a sharp mix of heartache and panic hit me all at once, but I forced the feeling down and kept watching.
A few feet away, on a fallen tree trunk, lay a small boy, maybe ten years old. His skin was pale—almost gray—and his clothes were soaked in blood. He looked like he could die at any second.
The man clutched the woman and shook violently.
"K-Kat, Kat…" he whispered, then suddenly shouted, "Kat, honey… oh god… oh fucking god"
The woman didn't respond. Her head was half destroyed from the shot.
Footsteps crashed through the trees, snapping branches, and another man burst into view wearing a blue T-shirt. His eyes widened as he took in the scene.
"What the hell happened? Did you—?"
Before he could finish, the man holding the woman choked out, "She couldn't do it… oh… oh fuck…"
He closed her eyes with trembling fingers, trying and failing not to look at her ruined face.
After a long, painful moment, his gaze drifted to the pale boy on the stump. His face twisted with grief. He picked up the gun from the ground, stood on shaking legs, and whispered, "What do we do now?"
"Give me the gun, Kenny. I'll do it," the man in the blue shirt said softly.
The man—Kenny—handed him the gun and staggered away, barely keeping himself upright.
Watching all this, I felt shock ripple through me.
Not because of the suicide.
Not even because the dying boy was about to be shot.
What stunned me was that I knew these people.
These were characters from The Walking Dead Telltale game.
The man holding the gun was Lee Everett—history professor, convicted felon, the protagonist of the story. I had played the game years ago in my past life. I still remember Season 1 almost perfectly. At least the main event. I never got around to playing the later seasons, but Season 1 yeah, that one had always been my favorite.
Seeing familiar faces eased something inside me but I stayed careful.
This world wasn't exactly the one I remembered. Things were already different. My knowledge might not save me.
Lee raised the gun. His face was tight with remorse. The boy—Duck—barely breathed as he stared blankly at his mother's body. Lee whispered something, swallowed, and pulled the trigger.
The boy went still.
Lee closed his eyes, pain twisting his features. He turned to leave.
That's when I stepped forward, letting a branch snap under my foot.
Lee spun instantly, gun raised. His eyes widened when he saw it was a kid. He hesitated, then slowly lowered the weapon, studying me like he wasn't sure if I was a threat.
I watched him carefully too, muscles ready in case things turned bad.
"Kid, what are you doing out here?" Lee asked, tucking the gun into his waistband.
"Hello, mister… I'm lost," I said, letting my voice shake. "I got separated from my family. Could you help me?"
He tried to smile warmly, though the grief in his eyes made it weak and tired.
"I can help," he said softly. "But first—where did you get separated? Do you know where your family might've gone?"
His gaze flicked to the sword at my hip.
"I was at a motel, far from here," I said, breathing unevenly on purpose. "We were attacked by the undead. I ran into the forest during the chaos. My dad and uncle said they'd go to Savannah if things got bad. Can you tell me how to get there?"
Tears welled in my eyes—fake, but convincing.
I hated lying… but dying was worse.
Lee's shoulders relaxed just a little. "I'm sorry you went through that, kid. We're heading to Savannah, too. You can come with us—maybe you'll find your family there."
I nodded.
He motioned for me to follow. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the others."
We walked through the trees. After a minute, he glanced at me.
"My name's Lee Everett. What's yours?"
"My name is Max. Max Walker," I answered honestly.
He chuckled. "You know… we call the undead 'walkers.'"
If it was a joke, it wasn't a good one. I just nodded.
He sighed and kept walking.
Eventually, the woods thinned, opening into a clearing beside a train track.
A small group stood there, faces pale, eyes empty, grief hanging over them like a heavy fog.
My gaze drifted across the group.
And then I saw her.
The baseball cap.
The red hoodie.
The small frame.
The wide, tired eyes.
Clementine.
I stared, stunned. She looked about my age, maybe a little younger. What is going on here?