After a few minutes, both Kenny and Lee finally calmed down, slumping against the cold concrete floor, chest heaving as the adrenaline bled out of them. I looked around at everyone in the group, searching desperately for any idea, any way out. What were we supposed to do now?
My eyes drifted to Clementine.
She had tears in her eyes.
Seeing her like that, helpless, weak, barely able to sit upright, made something in me twist painfully. Her eyes weren't just sad. They were afraid. Losing hope. Losing faith in herself.
She looked at me and whispered, so quietly I almost missed it:
"Max… am I dying? Am I gonna have the same fate as Duck?"
Her eyes searched mine, begging for an answer I didn't want to give.
The truth was horrible:
She was dying.
If we didn't get medicine soon, she wouldn't make it.
And even if we walked out of this building right this second, we might not find anything in time.
That cut on her hand… the swelling, the fever…
God, I prayed she didn't get tetanus from that rusty knife.
I opened my mouth, ready to offer a comforting lie, but she already knew the truth. She always did. Too perceptive for her own good.
And worst of all, she thought she was becoming a burden.
Her eyes—red and trembling—said everything she didn't.
I couldn't think of a single comforting thing to say.
So I did the only thing I could.
I nodded.
Clementine's tears spilled over, but she let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you… for being honest," she whispered.
She stared up at the ceiling, then back at me.
"If I don't make it… could you look for my parents? Please?"
Her voice cracked, but her eyes, so tired, so desperate, held a tiny, fragile spark of hope.
I nodded.
"We usually stay at the Marsh House Hotel when we visit Savannah," she murmured. "They… they have really good food. Look for them there…"
"Don't talk right now," I whispered softly. "Just rest."
She gave a weak nod. Her eyelids fluttered, and she drifted off.
The moment she closed her eyes, my hand began trembling.
At first, I thought it was exhaustion. Then I looked down.
My fingers were covered in blood.
My mother's blood.
Fresh. Warm. Dripping between my knuckles.
My breath hitched. My chest tightened. Sweat crawled down my spine as the room tilted.
I blinked hard—once, twice—and the blood vanished.
Just my hand. Dirty. Shaking. Empty.
Another hallucination.
They'd been happening since the beginning, less often now, but still sudden, brutal, dragging me back into memories I couldn't outrun. Every time, panic clawed at my lungs.
I wiped my face and forced myself to breathe.
After a few minutes of silent thinking, something clicked.
A way out.
A stupidly obvious one, something I should've remembered immediately.
Cover ourselves in walker guts.
Mask our scent.
Walk right through the horde.
The idea hit me so sharply I felt embarrassed. How could I forget something so crucial?
Heart pounding, I hurried to Lee. He sat against the wall, rubbing his bruised jaw. I crouched beside him and leaned in so no one else would hear.
"Lee," I whispered. "I… I know how we can get out of here."
He looked up at me, tired, but hopeful.
"We cover ourselves in walker blood," I said quickly. "The guts, the smell—it hides us. We can walk through the horde. They won't even notice."
I waited for him to smile.
To nod.
To look relieved.
Instead, his expression softened, sadly.
"Sorry, kid," he said quietly. "That won't work."
"Huh?" I blinked.
"It might fool one or two walkers," he said, voice low. "But big groups see right through it. We've tested it."
My stomach dropped.
Lee sighed, almost apologetic.
"And don't ever try it on newly turned runners. They never fall for it—not even one-on-one."
I froze.
So it didn't work here.
Not like in the game.
Not like in the show.
Reality was harsher.
"What you're thinking is good," Lee added gently, a hand on my shoulder. "Keep going. You're smart. You might come up with something better."
I nodded, though disappointment hit hard.
So much for the brilliant plan.
I returned to Clementine's side. She slept softly, breath shallow. Her face was pale, lips cracked.
She looked cute, sleeping.
We were running out of time.
Across the room, Christa slowly stood.
"Now that you two have calmed down," she said, eyes flicking toward Kenny and Lee, both bruised and exhausted. "We need to talk about what to do next."
She scanned the room.
Ben sat curled in the corner, drawing circles on the floor with a shaking finger.
"I don't… I don't know what to do," he murmured.
Christa looked at Omid.
"Don't look at me," Omid blurted, raising his hands. "You know I'm useless in situations like this."
Lee spoke, voice steady but drained.
"All of us are in rough shape. And honestly… you're the most stable person here, Christa. It's better if you decide."
Christa let out a long, defeated sigh.
"I have a plan," she said slowly, "but… It's suicidal."
Everyone tensed.
"We can't stay here," she said. "The horde isn't going to vanish. Luckily, all the runners turned into walkers these past few days—makes them a hell of a lot easier to outrun."
She pointed upward.
"Someone needs to get onto the roof through that hole we barricaded… and draw the walkers away. It's the only way the rest of us get out alive."
Silence.
"So," Christa murmured, "the question is… who?"
There was a long silence enough to make anybody scared.
Kenny stood.
"Let's write the names on scrap paper and draw one at random," he said. "That's fair. Whoever gets chosen goes."
No one argued. They all nodded.
"Alright," Kenny said. "Four names. Adults only."
He glanced at Clementine and me.
Everyone nodded again.
A few minutes later, Christa dropped the folded papers onto the concrete.
"Okay," she said, kneeling. "I'll pick—"
"Not you," Kenny said, grabbing her wrist. "The kid picks."
Everyone turned to me.
"He's the only one who doesn't benefit from choosing," Kenny said. "He won't save or sacrifice anyone. It's fair."
And everyone… agreed.
Their eyes pressed on me, handing me the responsibility of choosing who might die.
It was crushing.
Heavy.
Unfair.
But it was the only option.
My hands shook as I knelt, reached forward, and grabbed one of the folded papers.
I unfolded it slowly.
My heart sank.
Everyone watched me, fear tightening their faces.
"Max…" Omid whispered, holding Christa's hand. "What are you waiting for? Just tell us."
"Damn it, kid—spit it out," Kenny snapped.
Lee stepped closer, eyes soft.
"Don't be afraid. No one's blaming you. We all agreed. Whatever name you picked… it's on us, not you. Show us, okay?"
But I couldn't.
Kenny growled, stomped over, and snatched the paper from my hand.
"What the hell are you—" Lee started, but Kenny already slapped the paper onto the concrete.
Everyone froze.
Everyone stared.
The name written on the torn scrap was:
Lee Everett.