The world hadn't gotten any kinder in two years.
After leaving Savannah, the trio—Micah, Lee, and Clementine—had wandered, surviving on scavenged scraps and stolen goods. They'd stumbled upon a small, struggling community six months in. Chuck, Christa, and Omid had decided to stay, too weary of the road. Micah had scoffed at the idea—settling down was a death sentence in his eyes.
What surprised Lee, though, was Clementine's choice.
"I wanna stay with you," she had told Micah, her voice firm despite her youth.
Lee had been baffled. "Clem, you sure?"
Micah had just smirked. "Kid's got sense. Towns make people soft. Roads keep 'em sharp."
And so, before they left, Micah made sure they didn't leave empty-handed. In the dead of night, they robbed the community blind—food, ammo, medicine. Lee had hesitated, Clementine even more so. But hunger had a way of bending morals.
Now, at 49, Micah was leaner than ever, his sharp features even more pronounced under the weight of constant movement and dwindling supplies.
At first, Lee and Clementine had refused to rob survivors.
"We ain't animals," Lee had argued.
Micah had just laughed. "No, we're winners. And winners take what they need."
So he'd done the dirty work alone, coming back with sacks of supplies while Lee and Clementine sat with empty stomachs and dry throats. It didn't take long for hunger to win.
The first time Lee held a gun on a trembling couple, his hands shook. Clementine had looked away.
But Micah? He'd been proud.
"There you go," he'd drawled, clapping Lee on the back. "Now you're learnin'."
Over time, the hesitation faded. Not completely—Lee and Clementine still had lines they wouldn't cross without reason. But survival came first. If it was them or some stranger? Well.
Micah had made sure they knew the answer.
"World's simple," Micah had told them, time and time again. "There's winners, and there's losers. Winners do what it takes. Losers die whinin' about 'morals.'"
Lee would argue, Clementine would frown—but neither could deny the truth in his words. Not when they'd seen what happened to the "good" people.
Still, they weren't him. Lee would still help a starving traveler if it didn't cost them. Clementine would still hesitate before pulling the trigger on someone begging for their life.
But if it came down to it?
Yeah. They'd do what needed to be done.
And that was enough for Micah.
If he'd had his way, Micah would've ridden alone. Always had. But this world? It was worse than his time. Worse than the lawless West. At least back then, men knew how to fight.
Now? The world was full of soft, scrambling rats. And rats turned on each other fast.
Lee was different. Micah had known from the start—the man had killed before. Had that fire in him, buried under guilt. With the right push, he could be useful.
And Clementine?
At first, he'd wanted her gone. A kid was nothing but dead weight. But Lee had been stubborn, and Micah hadn't felt like fighting over it.
Then… something shifted.
Maybe it was the way she listened when he taught her to shoot. The way she didn't flinch when he told her the hard truths of the world.
Or maybe, just maybe, he saw a little of himself in her—sharp, adaptable, surviving.
So he kept her around. Taught her. Made sure she'd last.
Because in the end?
Even snakes needed allies.