When Micah, Lee, and Clementine returned to the classroom, they found Chuck standing by the now-broken armory door, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Took you long enough," Micah said, though there was a hint of approval in his voice. "Good work."
Chuck gave a tired nod.
Micah's eyes flicked around the room. "Where the hell are Christa and Omid?"
No one answered.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Lee, Chuck—go find 'em. If they're still pokin' around that nurse's station, drag 'em back."
Lee hesitated, glancing at Clementine.
"She'll be fine," Micah said, already pulling out his revolver. "Go."
Once they left, Clementine sat down at one of the small student desks, swinging her legs nervously. Micah dropped to the floor, cross-legged, and pulled a rag and a small bottle of gun oil from his satchel.
Clementine watched as he began meticulously cleaning his revolver, his movements practiced and precise.
"Can I clean the other one?" she asked after a moment.
Micah paused, then smirked. "Fine. But if you screw it up, I'm beatin' your ass."
Clementine nodded seriously as he handed her his second revolver and showed her how to oil the cylinder and barrel. They worked in silence, the only sounds the soft clicks of metal and the distant groans of walkers outside.
By the time Chuck, Lee, Christa, and Omid returned—Christa clutching a bag full of medical supplies—Micah was spinning his freshly cleaned revolvers on his fingers before smoothly holstering them.
"Took you long enough," he said, standing. "Let's move."
They filed into the armory, only to find it stripped bare.
"So much for the armory," Lee muttered.
Micah scowled. "Can't go back the way we came—still crawlin' with biters. This way."
They descended the stairs, but when Lee pushed open the door at the bottom, a sea of walkers turned toward them in unison.
"Shit—!" Lee slammed the door shut, but the wood groaned under the weight of the dead. "It's not gonna hold! Back upstairs!"
Micah's eyes locked onto a corpse slumped against the wall, a rifle clutched in its rotting hands. He snatched it up and tossed it to Chuck. "Here. Lee's already got one."
The group bolted back up the stairs, Lee covering their retreat, firing controlled bursts into the horde. Then—CRACK. His foot punched through a rotten step, trapping him.
"Lee!" Clementine cried.
Lee gritted his teeth, alternating between shooting walkers and yanking at his leg. Just as the dead closed in—
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Five walkers dropped in rapid succession, each with a bullet between the eyes.
Micah stood at the top of the stairs, smoke curling from both revolvers. He didn't say a word—just jerked his head toward the exit.
Lee finally wrenched free and scrambled up the remaining steps, rejoining the group.
Micah's gaze locked onto the distant train tracks—their way out. "Savannah's a dead city," he said. "We're leavin'. Now."
Everyone nodded in agreement—except Clementine.
"But what about—" she started.
"Kids don't get a say," Micah cut in. "Move."
He climbed the ladder first, revolver in hand, scanning for threats. Clementine followed, then Christa, Omid, and Chuck.
Lee was last. As he reached for the ladder, a snap echoed above him—a hanged walker, dangling from the bell rope, lurched toward him with a guttural snarl.
BANG.
But Lee shot it with his rifle before it could reach him.
Then Lee hears Micah shout for him. "Hurry up, Lee! Train ain't waitin' forever!"
And with that, the group fled Savannah behind them, leaving the dead city to its fate.