A Yellow Dress Forgotten [ABANDONED]

Interlude || Ep. 1.5.2 | A Little Girl Remembered || 14.2k

[5 Months After]

As they walked, starved and survived on and on up north, the months became bitter and cold. And slowly, so too the conversations between them. Drifting apart, day by day, one less long night of talking week by week.

All until now, where the sky was dark from behind thundering clouds, and the two sat on either end of a log as the downpour soaked their bones. Christa stared into the weak fire where their excuse for a meal "cooked". And to hell if either of them knew it would be their lunch, dinner or breakfast. There was barely any smoke. The flames were dull, and the crackles of fire were feeble.

From beside Christa, who wore her orange jacket close to her chest, she heard Clementine plead,"Christa... Talk to me."

It had been hours since she'd done so, talk to the girl. Right after the rabbit was caught, skinned and gutted, then put over the fire. That was the last one. And before, when she roused the girl awake to walk another few miles.

Christa barely turned to her. She couldn't see her. She could no longer bear witness the absence of that sun, the same that... That died with Lee, and that she hoped her stillborn would've held. Fuck, that baby would've fixed everything. After he was born, healthy, Clementine would've helped care for him, and together, they'd raise the boy. And, and Christa...would've been the mother she always hoped to be.

She hissed and pulled herself forward, dragging a long stick with her. "This will never work," she murmured. "Look at this." Christa pointed to the excuse for a meal. "It's pathetic." She began to tend the fire. "The wood's too wet to burn... There's more smoke than flame. At this rate, we'll be eating this for breakfast."

Clementine shifted on the log, and she asked, "What else...can we do?"

"Find something that'll burn, maybe," Christa answered, her voice graveled with exhaustion. "I dunno. It won't be easy in the dark and in the rain..." She frowned, and she shook her head. "You should be doing this, not me." The fire wasn't burning any more than with her efforts. Christa sighed, and she stood up. Clementine watched her, huddled and shivering with fat droplets of the rain falling from the bill of her cap. "Tending a fire so you can cook and stay warm... It's something you have to be able to do, Clementine. Otherwise..."

Christa swallowed, and the words died in her mouth. She crouched on the other side of the fire, prodding the stick in a vain attempt to encourage the flames.

"Omid said that—"

"I know what Omid said," Christa growled, her glare hardening from over the fire. Clementine faltered, and she turned away, leaving Christa's expression to crack and soften with her ever-growing guilt. That was another thing, too. Within the past month, Clementine barely slipped a word of Omid, and her apologies went extinct. Verbally, anyway. Every so often, Christa would catch her sorrowful eyes, though she'd turn away from the girl. It was simply too much to bear. Without that sun, but with that burning shame and remorse, it wasn't something Christa could ever go asleep to.

Clementine curled further into herself. "I'm freezing."

"You think this is bad?" Christa sighed, and she muttered, "Wait until we get into Wellington, then—" she gave a bitter chuckle— "talk to me about cold... If we make it. We still have a couple hard months ahead of us." Christa stood, walked around the fire, then knelt for the last angle she could find. "This rain will turn to sleet. Then ice. Then snow... It won't be easy."

Clementine didn't respond. Christa watched her as the girl stared into the fire. Just as before, Clementine hardened her solemn gaze; she was growing narrower, and it defined her cheeks and jaw. The jeans, too, weren't so long now, and her shoes were far more comfortable.