Set after the events of Season 3, as Clementine, 13, walks away from the New Frontier HQ. With only one intention of finding Alvin Jr, she must endure many challenges on the way. See Clementine in a new way, with the determination of finding her...
The water soaks my red jacket, causing it to turn a darker red. My pants are drenched as I am pulled under. The sand below fells like stone, the roughness scrapes my legs. I feel a tear in my pants. My knee is fully exposed to the sand. I hold my breath, going up for air. As my gasps become much faster, I reach the top, breathing as much air as possible. The water in my eyes blurs my vision, making it near impossible to make out anything. I rub my eyes in disbelief, as the tempered father's corpse lies in front of me, blocking a drop in the stream. The flowing water causes my hearing to feel weary. The soothing sensation of flowing water has always been a relaxation for me.
I quickly pull myself onto a rock that has more than enough room to accommodate me. I lay flat, slowly feeling drifted from swimming. My body is exhausted, as I have been walking for days. I reach deep into my pocket, and grab a wet can of beans, forcing it down my throat. Beans taste terrible, but I need to eat. I scarf down the can and sip my camel-back. I see the fathers carcass, overshadowing the drop below. The father has a military style backpack on. Fully camouflaged with a rifle pouch. I kick at the father's leg, causing his body to float my way. I thrust my knife into his head, to confirm his death. The water turns red, as it flows down the river further.
Gripping the pack, I use all I have to rip it off of him. The pack comes surprisingly easily, slipping from his shoulders. The body falls into the drop below. A single splash is heard, and the blood below is contaminated so bad it is red. I open the big pouch of the soggy bag. An entire stash of medical supplies and ammunition is piled in. I rip out a med kit, still having its initial seal on it. A .50 caliber pistol is hidden in the ammo. I grip onto it. The handle is smooth, like a newborn's skin. The pistol is loaded, and heavier than usual. I finish examining, and place it in my holster. I dig deeper into the pack, and feel a paper like material. It feels freshly printed, so I slowly pick it out. I am quick to see it is a picture, a picture of the son, the father, and the mother. A tear rolls down my eye.
I am a monster. I am a monster. Those words repeat in my brain, until my body goes to sleep.
