Walking Dead Game Collection

"Fear Immunity"

Title: Fear Immunity
Characters: Clementine, Omid, Christa
Summary: Clementine, Omid and Christa all panic when eleven-year-old Clem is bitten, but as time passes and there are no changes, they learn that the child is immune to walker bites.
Author's Note: omg nanowrimo is kicking my ASS but I still had time to throw this together lol enjoyyyy
Requested By: Anonymous
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"Shit shit shit!"

"Omid!" Christa hissed, pulling the gas station door shut behind them, albeit struggling due to her belly. "Set her down and come help me."

Omid flipped around, hugging the child tightly to his chest, momentarily glancing down to study her. Her eyes were droopy and her skin was pale. She was definitely shaking, he knew that for sure, but he didn't know what state she was in. He didn't know how far in she was.

Swallowing his pride, and temporarily swallowing his pain, he set her against the dirty floor and darted for the front doors. "Go sit down." He said, his hands brushing at Christa's shoulders. As he did so, she was already making her way past him toward the cowering child on the floor.

Clementine had been bitten two hours prior. Since then, Omid and Christa had been on a constant move, despite Christa's pain and Omid's panic. They knew they needed to keep moving. They couldn't afford the luxury of not. Clementine, more than both of them, couldn't afford it.

As time passed, she'd grown pale. Her crying had slowed and her tears left dried trails on her cheeks, and the wound — located on her right ankle — continued to bruise on its cruel purple, green tones. She seemed groggy — sleepy and out of it — while also jumpy and hyper alert. It was a horrible, and terrifying, combination.

That was why they knew they needed to barricade the doors shut while they figured out what they were to do; for her sake and theirs. Everyone was safer if they just sealed themselves away.

Omid groaned, pushing a vending machine in front of the double glass doors. Christa, on the other end of the room, pulled Clementine between the gas stations shelves, sitting on the ground with her and studying her vacant face.

"Okay," Omid wheezed, darting to where the two were sitting. "As long as we stay down, we're fine. Nobody will pass by and bother us." He didn't know if that was entirely true, but hoped saying it would calm Christa down.

It didn't. She knew the world that they lived in; she knew how cruel and unforgiving it was. She knew that if someone passed by, the chance of them staying safe was slim to none. After all, look at Clementine. The world hadn't shown any mercy to her, and she'd done nothing wrong. Who was to say it would show them any mercy?

"What are we going to do?" Christa asked, whispering her wheeze Omid's way.

Omid sank into one of the shelves, a hand wiping over his face, through his hand and pulling against the back of his neck. His gaze fell to the girl on the ground, rolled up in her sweater and half-asleep, pale as a ghost. "I don't know." He whispered.

Christa stared, one hand on her pregnant belly and the other propped up behind her, holding her up. "I can't believe this."

Clementine groaned, extended her wounded leg out as she curled deeper into her sweater. Omid could feel his heart crack at the sight. He pressed a hand to his lips, thinking, his eyes quivering as they sat against her body.

He didn't know how much time they had until she turned, until she left, until they were in danger. If it was soon, with the door barricaded with Christa pregnant, they would be on the clock to get out of there. That was asking for time Omid knew they wouldn't have.