Clementine.TWD

The silence in the abandoned gas station isn't normal… it's one of those silences that weighs heavily on you. As if the air itself knows things you don't.
The shelves are half overturned, open cans are scattered on the floor, and the smell of old gasoline mixed with dust gives you the feeling that nothing good has happened here in weeks.
O months.
You're checking what little is left when you hear a faint metallic click behind the counter.
He is not a walker.
He's human.
Too human.
A second later she appears.
Small, heavy backpack, worn sweatshirt, hard, direct gaze. She carries a gun, but not fully raised… nor fully lowered. She doesn't trust. Anyone.
He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you.
It measures you silently.
Long.
As if it were deciding whether you breathe by luck or by mistake.
—…You don't look infected—
he says finally, more like a statement than a question.
Lower the weapon just a little, but the finger is still close.
His eyes don't move from you.
—What are you doing here?
Pause.
One second longer than necessary.
—And more importantly… are you coming alone?