Chapter 5
[Author Note: Sorry if it is bad]
After a few minutes of conversation, they collectively decided to bring Clementine downstairs. They spoke in hushed tones, assuring her that they posed no harm. Clementine introduced herself, revealing that she was eight years old and that her parents were currently on vacation in Atlanta. Left under the supervision of her babysitter, Sandra, Clementine ended up encountering the walkers on her own.
Lee also introduced himself, disclosing that he was 37 years old and previously worked as a teacher at the University of Georgia. Finally, Poul introduced himself as a 22-year-old car mechanic, although he concealed his past as a freelance getaway driver.
Poul hesitantly asked, "Do you want to come with us, Clementine?"
Lee, taken aback, inquired, "Wait, us?"
Poul, confused, responded, "What, don't you want to come with me?"
Lee paused, studying Poul for a moment, before admitting, "Actually, I do need the help," gesturing towards his injured leg.
Looking at Clementine, Poul gently asked, "Well? I'll take care of you. Would you like to come with us?"
Quietly, Clementine nodded in agreement.
"Alright then. Come on, both of you. I have a car parked nearby," Poul pointed behind him with his thumb, indicating the direction.
They began making their way towards the driveway gate, with Poul retrieving his steel pipe from his belt loop. Lee and Clementine followed closely, with Clem holding onto Lee's hand.
Just as they were about to leave, Clementine suddenly stopped in her tracks. Lee crouched down, despite the pain from his injury, and questioned her about the reason for her hesitation. Clementine expressed her concern about her parents returning home to find her gone.
Lee glanced over at Poul, who shook his head as if confirming their unfortunate fate. However, he refrained from vocalizing the truth, knowing that both of Clementine's parents had passed away.
"We won't leave you alone," Lee reassured her, offering a warm smile.
In response, Clementine smiled back and clung onto Lee's hand for comfort.
Poul pondered to himself, "I haven't seen Shawn and Chad yet. It's probably nothing," trying to push his worries aside.
As they stepped outside the gate, the groan of a walker echoed in the air. Clementine, gripped by fear, sought refuge behind Lee, who assumed a defensive stance. However, Poul intervened by raising his right hand and declaring, "I'll take care of it," before pointing to a blue Nissan on the left. "Get inside that car."
With determination, Poul marched forward and firmly gripped the pipe with both hands. As he neared the walker, he swung the pipe above his head and then brought it down horizontally, shattering the walker's skull. In an unfortunate turn of events, the vile mixture of decaying blood and brain matter splattered onto Poul's face and T-shirt.
"Oh, damn," Poul muttered under his breath as he glanced down at his stained t-shirt. With a shrug of his shoulders, he accepted the fact that his clothing was already covered in blood and brain matter. Pulling up the end of his t-shirt, he used it to wipe his face clean.
After ensuring there were no more walkers in sight, Poul's gaze turned towards the right and to his dismay, he spotted six more walkers approaching. "Damn it," he cursed softly, realizing that he wouldn't be able to take care of them all. It was not his objective either; he simply wanted to practice fighting against walkers.
Despite his disappointment, Poul made his way towards his stolen Nissan, where Clementine and Lee were waiting in the backseat. As he settled into the car, he skillfully hotwired the engine. Lee observed Poul's actions, tempted to question him about the stolen vehicle. However, he hesitated, reminding himself that he had taken a life, a far worse offense than stealing a car.
With the engine purring to life, Poul glanced at Clementine's attire through the rearview mirror. His eyes then shifted towards the hoodie lying on the passenger seat, seemingly a perfect fit for her. Without hesitation, he grabbed the hoodie and extended it towards her with a warm smile. "Put it on if you're feeling cold," he offered kindly.
Clementine gratefully accepted the hoodie, her gaze avoiding Poul's. She uttered a soft "thank you" and swiftly slipped it on, finding comfort in its warmth. Poul redirected his attention back to the road, pressing down on the gas pedal. Maneuvering skillfully, he executed a U-turn to avoid the approaching walkers. Making a quick right at the first intersection, he aimed to circle around the street where Clementine's house stood.
As they continued down the desolate street, filled with abandoned cars, Poul noticed that Clementine had drifted off to sleep. A sense of relief washed over him as he glanced at the dashboard, realizing that there was still a considerable amount of gasoline left in the tank.
'Oh shit! I completely forgot to loot! I was so engrossed in the conversation,' he chastised himself mentally, feeling a pang of frustration. 'Well, it's alright. I'll find a tranquil spot to stop and look around'
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In the heart of Denmark's Nørrebro neighborhood, a worn and tattered couch served as the throne for a 14-year-old boy named Poul. Nestled within what locals referred to as a "traphouse," Poul found himself immersed in a world of danger and uncertainty. This house, once filled with joy and warmth, now pulsated with the energy of illicit activities, attracting individuals from different walks of life.
Though young in age, Poul had already been lured into the perilous embrace of gang activities. Seated on the couch, he was captivated by the rhythmic beats of Orgi-E's music, subdued by the intoxicating effects of ganja smoke swirling around the room. His eyes focused on the white powder in front of him, a substance whose true identity required no explanation.
Joining Poul in this den of precariousness were others; children of similar age or even younger, adults with their hard-worn faces, and even elders whose tired eyes gazed out with stories of a tumultuous past. Each person was preoccupied with their own tasks, unaware of the impending catastrophe approaching their haven.
Suddenly, like shattered dreams, the windows above the couch, where Poul sat, exploded from the impact of speeding bullets. The room erupted in chaos, and Poul felt a searing pain in his shoulder as one of the bullets found its mark. Uncowed, he swiftly reached under the table, retrieving his Charter Arms Bulldog, mirroring the actions of those around him.
Amidst the panic, the adults and elders mustered their courage, bellowing orders for the younger ones to escape through the back door. Following their instructions, the youthful souls sprinted in desperation, their frightened faces contrasting with the elders' worn expressions. Tragically, as the bullets rained down, two or three fell lifeless to the floor, their blood staining the worn carpet. Some succumbed to death instantly, while others clung onto life, gasping for their final breath.
Cornering the twists and turns of the house, Poul suddenly encountered a masked man, a chilling sight that sent shivers down his spine. In a flurry of instinct and luck, Poul evaded the masked man's shotgun blast, his ears ringing from the deafening noise. The sound faded into a persistent, piercing beep, a reminder of the peril that surrounded him.
Displaying a maturity beyond his years, Poul leveled his gun at the man's stomach and pulled the trigger. A mixture of shock and agony contorted the masked man's face as he clutched his wound. Without hesitation, Poul fired again, this time aiming for the man's head. The room fell silent as the man's body slumped to the ground, his presence no longer a threat.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Poul made his escape, a desperate attempt to reunite with the others. Fear and determination fueled his every step, as he yearned to find solace in the embrace of his surviving companions.
[Author Note:
I must confess, my knowledge about guns and gang activities is limited. If the following chapter seems confusing or poorly written, I kindly ask you to overlook its flaws. I apologize for any sloppiness present.
Also, I don't want to make the MC too 'badass' or 'smart', as he's only human.
Also saw a comment about shouting status...no, there won't be any system.
To be honest, I'm very tired of system novels, as well as harem, that's why I'm reluctant to make one.]