[It was real obvious that it was a dream. There was no way the grass was real, all green like emeralds shining in a real bright sun. And they were tall, those blades of grass, all the way to there
, and hard to move in. They tickled Clem's bare knees, and she looked on down to see herself in a dress
from her childhood, something her daddy had got her for her Christmas one year. Lorelei had hated that dress, calling it too young for a girl of nearly nine; Clem remembered.
She ware barefoot, toes grimy with dirt, but she wasn't a child. She was same age as she was while waking, hair brown as it was in the prison, the brown of her youth, the brown of summers spent running free, the brown she shared with her sister. And her hair was just as unkempt as it was in the prison, no conditioner or real shampoo for miles, not with the zombies eager to chomp at a person. She had a gun tucked 'neath the dress' dainty belt, and she smelled like industrial soap. At the end of the grassy field, there was something big
waiting. It cast a shadow, and it blocked out the sun, and Clem started toward it, though she couldn't tell what it was, no matter how she craned her head back.]