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Ellie's still reeling from the realization that the Fireflies are gone, that they've moved to an entirely different city, and trying to ignore how all of the clipboards and scattered records they've found indicate that a cure isn't possible—and neither is a vaccine. She's been clinging to that—that hope ever since Pittsburgh, since Sam, that maybe a vaccine was possible with more advanced technology than just smearing blood over a bite. The doctors in the recordings she and Joel had found had sounded completely disheartened though, like they were just going through the motions now. And the records of their experiments...
"Ellie, down," Joel hisses, interrupting her spiral. Ellie's moving before she's conscious of it, dropping into a crouch behind a long table up against a window. The window shatters a split second later, and Joel swears.
"Who the fuck are these guys?" she demands, but Joel cuts a hard look at her.
"It don't matter," he says grimly. "We know where the Fireflies went, now let's get the hell out of here. Carefully."
Ellie takes a deep breath, nods, and settles into her familiar spot behind Joel and just to the right. They can hear voices echoing as they get into the hallway, and Joel growls under his breath. Ellie thinks, distantly, that it shouldn't be so easy to work with him, to read the grim lines of his face, the tense set of his shoulders, and know what Joel's going to do, what she needs to do to have his back. She also probably shouldn't be so unbothered by the violence, how Joel foregoes the noise of a gun in favor of a knife or his bare hands. He makes it look easy, moves from room to room with a predator's grace.
She definitely shouldn't find the quiet confidence of Joel's violence attractive, but Ellie's been studiously ignoring that little tidbit for a while now.
Ellie doesn't bother keeping track of how many bandits she and Joel take out. Ellie follows Joel's lead, keeps her mother's switchblade in her hand rather than her pistol. She sets up ambushes for Joel, chucks bricks and bits of broken glass to distract the bandits, separate them to make their path easier. The two of them work through most of the building they're in, trying to get back to the courtyard where they'd left Callus tied up. By the time they reach the balcony overlooking a smaller inner courtyard, Ellie's feeling tentatively hopeful that they're gonna make it out unscathed.
Then she spots the bandit through the gap between the door hinges.
Joel's already gone through, he's looking the other way, and the bandit shifts on his feet. Joel turns towards the sound of boots scraping over stone, steps around the door carefully, shoulders tense and shiv gripped tightly in his hand.
Like a lightning strike, Ellie knows what will happen next, can see it play out in her mind's eye: The bandit charging, barreling into Joel, knocking him back through the glass railing to the courtyard almost fifteen feet below. Her heart seizes in her chest at the thought of just how badly that can end, and Ellie doesn't think, she just moves. She's only got a couple of feet for a running start, but she throws herself forward, gets as much momentum as she can before she hits Joel from behind. Ellie shoves with all her might, hears Joel's startled yell as he stumbles forward—
Then the bandit hits her like a charging bloater.
It's Ellie's turn to yell as the rusted metal railing breaks under her ribs, the glass shattering. The bandit's momentum carries both of them through the railing, and there's a sickening moment of freefall before Ellie's entire body explodes in pain. There's a sharp pain in her side, the bandit a heavy, crushing weight over her. Ellie can't fucking breathe, wheezes helplessly as her heartbeat roars in her ears—
Or maybe that's Joel. As she catches her breath, Ellie can hear him more clearly. "Ellie! Fuck, hang on, I'm coming, I'm coming." Ellie blinks away pained tears, gasps and tries to take tiny breaths. Her ribs ache, the bandit probably broke a couple when he landed on her, but he landed face-first on a piece of steel, so at least she doesn't have to try to fight like this.
She can hear Joel fighting; there are gunshots, more than before. He must've abandoned stealth, and Ellie finds herself worrying more about him than her. What if he gets hurt after she just—just fucking sacrificed herself to keep him safe? He's a lot more capable than she is, he's probably fine, but—
"Shit, Ellie, hang on, I got you." Joel's voice cuts through the haze of pain, though Ellie doesn't hear whatever he says next as he moves the bandit's body off of her. The sudden release of pressure makes her whine, pain flaring. Her vision actually whites out for a moment, static buzzing in her ears as she gasps. When she can focus again, she sees Joel's face over hers.
Ellie can't place the expression on his face for a long moment. Then she realizes why: She's never seen Joel terrified before.
"Ellie, baby girl, talk to me, please," Joel pleads, and Ellie opens her mouth, makes a noise that's closer to a keen than any actual words. Joel swears, and it's only when his hands move that Ellie realizes they'd been cupping her face. "You've got some rebar through your side, baby girl, I gotta move you, I'm sorry. Nod if you understand, just a little one."
It takes far too much concentration for Ellie to move her head, to nod in a tiny motion. This is going to suck, and Ellie reaches out blindly, manages to catch the fabric of Joel's flannel shirt and twist her fingers in it.
"That's it, darlin', hold onto me, let me do the work and pull you up, you just hold on," Joel soothes, and before Ellie can try to nod again, he gets his hands under her shoulders. He pulls, hauls her off of the rebar without hesitation, even as Ellie screams with the pain.
Joel lays her back down on the ground, apologies spilling from his mouth as Ellie's head spins. She loses track of time and of Joel, blanks out and comes back to her body to feel Joel tightening something around her. She makes a pained noise, more like a whimper, and Joel gives her another one of those terrified looks, but Ellie can see the determination in it now. "Had to stop the bleeding," he says, and he lifts his head, looks around quickly before turning back to the task at hand. "One of my shirts—tourniquet and brace, in case you got any cracked ribs. We gotta move, gotta get out of here."
"'kay," Ellie croaks, fumbles with one hand until she can catch Joel's, squeeze with the limited strength she can muster. "How?"
"I'll carry you," Joel says, and now the determination is getting stronger, taking over his expression. "Can you shoot?"
Maybe it's adrenaline, but Ellie's head feels a little clearer. "Yeah," she says. "Can you—"
"I got it." Joel's voice is soft, his hands gentle as he finds Ellie's pistol, pulls it out and checks that it's loaded before he hands it to her. Ellie keeps the safety on for now as Joel eases one arm behind Ellie's shoulders, the other under her knees. "This is gonna suck, Ellie, I'm sorry."
"Just fucking do it," Ellie grits out, takes a deep breath as Joel's arms tense, and then Joel stands up. Ellie's entire midsection is not happy with the change in position, the added pressure on her ribs, and she genuinely doesn't know if she's going to puke or pass out from the pain. Thankfully, neither happens, though Ellie does have to breathe through gritted teeth as Joel sets off.
Joel moves at a ground-eating lope, not quite running but certainly moving with purpose. The pace jostles Ellie more than a little, but she clenches her jaw and bears it; they need to get out of here. Aiming is difficult like this, but Ellie has been practicing every day since Pittsburgh. She's good enough to land body shots even as her hand starts to shake, the edges of her vision starting to go black.
Joel literally kicks the main doors open, and now he breaks into a run, heading straight for Callus. The horse is dancing in place, eyes wide enough to see the whites as he snorts, agitated from all of the commotion inside. Joel mutters an apology and hoists Ellie up, helps her get a leg over the saddle. Ellie white-knuckles the saddle horn, nausea churning in her gut. She lifts her head, spots a flash of movement.
"Joel, behind you—"
Joel's revolver appears in his hand as if by magic—or maybe Ellie blacked out for a second there—and two shots ring out. There's a thump, and then Joel's yanking Callus' reins from the tree, looping them over the horse's neck. Ellie manages to swing a leg forward, give Joel space to get his boot in the stirrup, and he mounts up behind her. Ellie can't help the groan that escapes as he reaches around her, picking up the reins and guiding Callus out of the campus courtyard.
"We're alright," Joel mutters like he's trying to convince himself as well as Ellie. "We're okay, we left them behind, we're in the clear. You still with me, Ellie?"
Ellie tries to answer, thinks maybe she makes a noise, but the pain from her sides is spreading, radiating through the rest of her body. She hears Joel say her name, sounding alarmed—
Then the pain hits her like a crowbar to the back of the head, and everything goes black.
"Ellie?" Joel's heart rate kicks up as Ellie sways out of sync with Callus' hoof beats, and when she grunts, then pitches forward like a marionette with cut strings, Joel swears. He catches her, manages to lean Ellie back against his chest. "Ellie, fuck—Baby girl, come on, talk to me." Holding Callus' reins in one hand, trusting the horse to keep moving, Joel lifts his other hand, rubs his knuckles roughly against Ellie's sternum, but she doesn't do more than moan weakly. He can see her eyes moving beneath her lids, but they don't open, and Joel has to beat back terror and guilt.
If he'd been paying just a little more attention, this wouldn't have happened. Joel moves his hand, presses carefully over the wound in Ellie's side; his shirt is wet, and when he pulls his hand away, there's blood on it. Joel swears, looks around desperately. The skies have darkened, clouds moving in faster than he'd have thought possible. Snowflakes are starting to fall, and Joel has no idea where he's going to find shelter anywhere that's remotely safe, let alone has any possibility of fucking medical supplies—
A sign catches his attention: Colorado Mountain Plaza. The sign lists several stores—including a pharmacy. The odds that anything useful is left after twenty years are slim, but Joel turns Callus towards the mall anyway, heart in his throat. He wraps his arm more securely around Ellie, holds her a little closer as he urges Callus on into a longer stride, not quite trotting.
He follows the signs for the Plaza and finds it easily. One of the stores is a frozen yogurt shop, but most importantly, there are no windows, no exterior entrances. The only way in is the main entryway; the security grate still works, even has the padlock and key on it. Joel eases himself and Ellie off of Callus, is careful as he lays Ellie in a dry corner, whispering apologies when she whines softly, still out cold. Joel grabs their packs, uses everything he can to cover the ground and Ellie, trying to insulate her from the concrete floor, keep her warm as the temperature plummets. It's snowing heavily now, snow coming down through the broken roof and blowing into drifts.
"I'm gonna be as quick as I can," Joel promises, voice hoarse as he tucks his spare jacket around Ellie. He reaches up, cups her face in his hands, sweeps his thumb over her cheeks. Her skin is hot to the touch, which... isn't great. "There's a pharmacy, and even if I can't find anything there, there's other stores. Someone has to have a first aid kit."
Ellie doesn't answer, and Joel takes in a shuddering breath, leans in to press his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry, baby girl," he whispers, voice choked. "I should've been paying more attention, should've—Fuck. I ain't gonna let you die, Ellie. I'm gonna find medicine, a first aid kit, something, I swear." His eyes are hot, stinging, and Joel squeezes them shut, uses precious time to breathe through the pain in his chest. "Know you can't hear me, but—" The breath he takes hitches, catches in his throat. "I love you."
It's something Joel's been avoiding thinking about for weeks, how thoroughly Ellie's twined herself into every part of him. She wormed under his defenses, fit herself into the spaces Joel thought no one would ever fill again, all before he realized it. It'd scared the hell out of him, been the whole reason why he wanted Tommy to take her, bring her to Colorado. Joel couldn't lose anyone else, knew instinctively that if he lost Ellie, that'd be it, he'd never fucking recover—wouldn't last the rest of the year. He'd tried to keep her safe, only succeeded in hurting her, first when she overheard him and Tommy, and now...
"Don't you dare stop fighting," Joel breathes, shifts so he can press a kiss to Ellie's forehead, smooth a hand over her hair. "Hang on, darlin'. I'll be back before you know it."
Joel makes sure that Callus is tethered far enough away that there's no danger of him stepping on Ellie, and then he heads for the entryway. It takes some effort to haul down the security gate, but Joel manages it, uses the padlock to keep it down. He tucks the key into his breast pocket, makes sure it's secure before he turns to the rest of the mall, runs a critical eye over his surroundings and starts figuring out how to get to the pharmacy.
Ellie's blood makes his skin tacky, and Joel can't help flexing his hand for the reminder of why he needs to hurry as he slips through the mall. He finds an old map on the second story at the top of the nonfunctioning escalator, takes a moment to study it. The pharmacy is close, and Joel lets out a shaky breath, traces the path to it with his eyes and takes note of the other stores nearby. The pharmacy is still his best bet, but it would've been a high priority target in the days after Outbreak.
The mall is eerily quiet; when something screeches off in the distance, Joel freezes. It's hard to tell given how the sound echoes, but he thinks it's on the other end of the mall, not near him. Not a concern for now, but something to keep in mind.
Weston's Pharmacy is easy to find. Joel eyes the barricades with FEDRA signs on them warily; he hadn't seen any signs of FEDRA being active around here, but who knows what they might've left behind. Maybe if he can't find anything in the pharmacy...
Joel shakes his head, refocuses. The security grate to the pharmacy is propped up with a couple of crates, just high enough for Joel to crawl under. He clicks on his flashlight and sweeps the shop, swearing under his breath. First impression isn't promising; most of the shelves are empty and broken, and what's left is mostly trash. Joel still sifts through it; he's been around long enough to know you can find unexpected treasures in places that look clean.
He picks up a bottle of painkillers, scoffs when he realizes it's empty. "The hell?" he mutters to himself, scowling as he puts the bottle back. "Did you just swallow the pills and leave the bottle?" Joel shakes his head, turns to another shelf. He finds a couple rolls of gauze kicked into one corner, a bottle of rubbing alcohol beneath one rack of shelves, tucks them away. Behind the consultation counter, Joel finds some scissors and a few other useful tools, but still no fucking medicine.
He tries the door marked 'employees only,' growls under his breath when he finds it locked. Joel raps his knuckles against the glass—thick, too thick to punch through. He considers shooting it, but dismisses the thought; this is reinforced glass, and he doesn't want to risk the noise just yet. Joel tries to shiv open the lock, breaks one of his last two shivs for the trouble and doesn't manage to get the door open—fucking fantastic, honestly. Muttering to himself, Joel grabs one of the pairs of scissors he'd found, breaks them and fashions more shivs.
When he swings his pack back over his shoulder, the slight breeze disturbs some papers. One catches his eye, and Joel squats down, grabs it and scans it quickly.
PLEASE READ!
Pharmacist went crazy and attacked me. I hit him pretty hard; he's unconscious. I locked him in the American Princess store next door. Please get him help.
There's a combination at the bottom, and Joel lets out a breath. The pharmacist must've gotten infected shortly after Outbreak. Joel passed the American Princess store; the security grate had been locked shut with a combination lock. If anyone would have a key to the door to the back of the pharmacy...
Joel tears off the part of the paper with the combination, holds it tightly in his fist as he slips under the security grate. He half-jogs down the hall to the American Princess store, breathes out a shaky sigh of relief when the combination works. Joel gets the grate open, then freezes—in the dim winter sun, something moves, flowing out from under the grate.
Joel drops it, winces when the grate clangs. "Fucking spores," he mutters, yanks his pack off to dig out his mask. He checks the seals, the familiar routine to make sure it's still working before he slips it over his head, reaches for the grate again. Joel pauses, straining his hearing for a moment, but nothing catches his attention, and he eases the grate open, slipping under it and guiding it shut more quietly this time. There's nothing nearby to prop it up, and Joel just grits his teeth and prays he doesn't need to make a quick escape.
Joel straightens, turns around and shines his flashlight over the store. "Jesus," he mutters, eyeing the dolls still on their shelves, some in boxes and some not, all of them with Cordyceps crawling over them. "Not sure I ain't seen anything creepier than this."
Sarah had gone through a phase where all she wanted in life was an American Princess doll. Joel catches sight of the one that Sarah had been particularly obsessed with—Princess Kelsey, that line had been called, a princess who trained as a knight, had this big line of horse-related accessories. She'd begged and begged for a Princess Kelsey doll and just one of the horses, and Joel had pulled God-knew-how-many hours of overtime in the weeks leading up to Sarah's birthday to get it for her. The long hours, the extra aches and splinters, it had all been worth it when she'd opened that box, then the one from Tommy...
Joel shakes his head, clears away the memories and rubs at his chest, chases the phantom ache. "Fuck," he mutters, breath shaky. "Gotta focus, old man, come on."
It feels like walking through the set of a horror movie, creeping through the store. The hairs on the back of Joel's neck rise, and he has to remind himself there's no way the doll's eyes are actually following him, that ain't a real thing, it's just the shadows from his flashlight. Still, he's far more relieved than he should be when he spots the corpse leaned against the fall wall, Cordyceps spilling out of calcified flesh and creeping up the wall in a futile search for a new host. The corpse is wearing a badge with "Weston's Pharmacy" on it, and Joel kneels down. He pats down the pockets of the coat, swears when he doesn't find anything at first—
Then in the pocket twisted under the corpse that Joel has to yank at to free, he strikes gold: a key, with the pharmacy logo on it. "Bingo," Joel sighs, slips the key into his own pocket. He hesitates, but then groans, pushing himself to his feet. The guilt is trying to yank him back to the pharmacy, but the survivor in him makes Joel stay in the store for several more precious minutes, gathering all of the supplies he can. There's a surprising amount of usable things in the store, plenty of fabric, and Joel even finds a boxcutter in the office, as well as a pocket knife.
When he gets back to the security grate, Joel pauses, listening; this time, he can hear footsteps, the grating chattering of a clicker. Joel bites his lip to keep from swearing, waits until the clicker is just on the edge of his hearing, and then carefully lifts the grate. He slips under it, eases the grate back down and grabs a shiv. The clicker is shuffling around by the pharmacy, and Joel grits his teeth, eases closer. He still doesn't want to use his gun, wants to keep as quiet as possible. If there's a clicker in here, there's runners, probably more clickers, and if Joel can avoid bringing them down on his head, that'd be the wisest course of action.
Joel manages to sneak up behind the clicker and take it out without making too much noise. He still waits for a moment, straining his hearing to see if there's any more infected that he somehow missed, but the coast seems to be clear—for now. Joel slides under the security grate to the pharmacy, hustles over to the employee-only door and fishes the key from his pocket, yanking the door open. The room beyond is a mess, picked almost as clean as the storefront—but next to the broken floor, Joel finds a first aid box.
His heart leaps into his throat and he doesn't so much sink to his knees as fall to them, snatching the box and fumbling with the clasps, throwing it open—
Only to be met with nothing but plastic, every supply gone. "Fuck!" Joel snarls, gives in to the urge to knock the useless plastic away, breathing heavily. He winces at the sound of the box clattering off the ledge, reaches up and runs his hands through his hair, tugging harshly at it, terror threatening to choke him just like it did twenty years ago. The pharmacy was the best shot, how long is it going to take to comb the other stores, looking for a first aid kit or something he can use to stitch Ellie up, try to stave off the infection?
Fuck, what if the rebar hit something more vital, what if it punctured an intestine? Ellie's small, the chances of the rebar missing every vital piece of her...
Joel hangs his head, breathes deeply and uses every trick he's learned to shove everything down, to drag that horribly-useful blankness he'd perfected in the years before Boston back to the front. He needs to think, not panic. He's no use to Ellie if he panics, loses control of himself.
Metal creaks, and Joel's head jerks up, gaze darting around, looking for the source. He finds it quickly: a helicopter, crashed through the roof. There's a FEDRA logo on the side, and Joel sucks in a sharp breath, beats back dangerous hope. The helicopter is perched precariously in a pile of rubble; the nose is hanging out in open air, but the main body...
Joel jumps the broken wall in front of him, skirts the edge of broken floor on the other side, trying to get a better look at the helicopter. Joel's on the other side of a FEDRA barricade now, and while there's no path from this floor to the helicopter or to the ground, an electronics store is missing a wall. Inside, Joel ducks under some rubble, climbs over more and swears when his boots slip in the snow, nearly bites his tongue off when a freezing gust of wind blows through and makes his teeth chatter.
From the electronics store, Joel finds himself in a salon. Most of it is ruined, and against one wall, Joel finds a skeleton in an old FEDRA uniform. There's a note pinned to its chest, and morbid curiosity makes Joel reach out. The note details the death of one of the FEDRA officers; they'd been transporting someone back to a QZ when they turned, biting the officer. The helicopter crashed during the fight, and after, the officer who wrote this note shot the one who'd been bitten.
Joel scoffs under his breath. "Fuckin' FEDRA," he mutters, dropping the note and pushing himself back to his feet. But if they'd been transporting a patient, if they'd crashed into this mall after FEDRA had abandoned this place, maybe...
The hope burns in his chest like bile in the back of his throat, and Joel turns, starts looking for a way out of this salon. He makes his way out to the second story hall, and there's still no way to the helicopter from this side, but he can see stairs that lead to a clear patch of flooring next to the helicopter on the other side of the first floor. Joel vaults the railing of the stairway, drops down and grunts with the impact.
This must've been where FEDRA was organizing people; there are tents scattered around this part of the mall, complete with folding tables and chairs. At the bottom of the stairs Joel needs, there's a motorized gate, but the lights are dim. Even if Joel dragged some crates over, there's still barbed wire at the top of the gate, so going over isn't an option. Instead, Joel follows the wires leading from the gate.
Those lead him past some gurneys; Joel finds another note from the captain who had executed one of her own men. The note mentioned a loading dock where they hoped to find supplies and instead found more infected. Another of her men was bitten and she'd tried amputation to keep him from being infected. Joel shakes his head, shoves away the vague sense of sympathy for this long-dead captain; he's got bigger issues right now. Namely, the fact that the wires seems to be leading down a maintenance hallway, where Joel would bet the loading docks are—and infected.
"Fuckin' peachy," he mutters to himself, checks his guns and makes sure they're loaded, just in case, before taking a moment to center himself. Joel heads down the hallway, which is dark and crowded with pallets stacked high with trash. Joel has to clamber over them, does his best to stay quiet, eyes peeled for any hint of movement in the circle of his flashlight.
He gets the shit scared out of him by a cat that hisses at him and pelts out of a corner, knocking over a couple of cardboard boxes, but nothing more exciting than that happens before Joel reaches the loading docks. They're flooded, the water up to Joel's knees and fucking frigid, but Joel can see the generator that the gate is hooked up to. Unfortunately, the fucking thing is empty. "God damn it," Joel snarls, forgets himself and smacks an open palm against the side of the generator—
There's a splash from the other side of the truck closest to him, and Joel freezes. He finds the ripples in the water easily, watches as they peter out. That's not reassuring. Joel strains his hearing, but he can't hear anything else. There's no groaning sighs of runners, no clicking, which means...
Fuck, Joel thinks, is very careful not to say out loud this time. Stalkers.
Out of all of the types of infected, Joel thinks stalkers might be the worst; runners are mindless, noisy, and easy to take care of unless you're swarmed. Clickers are sturdier, and bloaters are fucking tanks, but you can still hear them coming. Stalkers make no noise until they're about to pounce, are just as fast as runners but more coordinated, and have a penchant for fitting themselves into unlikely nooks and crannies. Thankfully, they aren't common, but it's just his fucking luck that there's one here—maybe more, because stalkers rarely travel alone, almost travel in fucking packs like feral dogs.
Joel lets out a slow, careful breath and scans the loading dock he's standing on. There's another note from the captain, talks about the guilt of murdering her man under the 'Infection Protocol,' and Joel's lip curls into a sneer when she mentions just leaving.
Coward, he thinks but doesn't spit the way he wants to. He can't imagine leaving, just abandoning Ellie here.
"Don't say I'd be safer with anyone else, because the truth is I'd just be more scared!"
Joel scrubs a hand over his face, shakes his head to clear the memory, make himself focus. He scans the dock again, slower this time, and spots a jerry can next to a rack of shelves. It's empty, nothing sloshing inside when Joel picks it up, but there's tubing nearby. Joel grabs that, too, turns to the bay and eyes the trucks sitting in it speculatively. There's probably still gas in them, enough to get the generator going, at least. He doesn't like the thought of being right next to the trailers, where something could jump down on him, but...
Joel takes a deep breath and eases down off the ledge and back into the water, pistol in one hand; if he's going to take down the stalkers before they get him, he's going to have to make some noise. He keeps his light on, lets his gaze go just slightly unfocused so he's got a better chance of picking up movement in his peripheral vision as he wades forward with slow steps. He does his best to not disturb the water more than necessary, not make a sound, and is rewarded when he hears something scrape against metal to his right. Joel whirls just in time to see something dart from behind a metal crate, and Joel fires. The stalker screeches, stumbling in the water, then goes down for good when Joel fires again.
Its death throes disturb the water, make a lot of noise, but Joel stays put; he's in a relatively clear space right now, nothing can drop down on him from above. He slowly turns on his heel, gaze sweeping the loading bay, and when he spots movement again, he doesn't think. Another screech tells him that he hit the stalker, and then the fucking thing is sprinting directly for him, making itself an easy target. Joel puts it down, and when the hairs on the back of his neck raise, he throws himself to the side; twenty years of surviving means he doesn't ignore his instincts. They've saved him too many times to count, including now: a third stalker hits the water with an almighty splash, having leapt for him from the top of the tractor trailer. If Joel hadn't moved, it would've landed on his fucking head.
It whirls, snarling, and Joel puts it down with two shots to the head, quick and ruthless. He backs up, puts distance between him and the corpses, strains his hearing as his gaze sweeps the loading bay frantically—but it seems like those were the only infected here. There's no rising clamor of a runner horde, no furious clicking, and as Joel's heartbeat slowly settles out, he becomes more confident that there aren't any more stalkers, either. He tucks his pistol into its holster, but takes a moment to adjust his shirt, tucking it into his waistband and making sure there's nothing impeding his ability to draw the pistol quickly.
The red semi yields a little bit of gas, but not nearly enough to start the generator. There's more in the white semi, and Joel breathes a quiet sigh of relief as he puts the cap back on the jerry can. He carries it back to the generator, fills it up and takes the cord in hand. It takes a couple of pulls to get the bastard running, but then it kicks on, rumbles to life. Joel straightens, wipes one sleeve over his brow—then tenses when he hears the sound of runners. He whirls, spots them coming through the loading bay—
Then something sparks, a wire dropping from the ceiling and touching the water. Apparently the fungus doesn't protect its host against electrocution, because the runners all seize before collapsing, twitching, into the water. Joel's jaw drops, and he sucks in a sharp breath. "Alright, no touching the water," he mutters, eyeing the now-death-trap. "So how the hell do I get back?" The way he came in is flooded, but there's a gate behind him that now has a flickering green light.
Behind the gate is a small storage room, and Joel swipes a few useful things before he spots the ladder leading up. The idea of crawling over the ventilation shafts isn't thrilling, but Joel doesn't see any other way across to the rest of the loading bay, where there's hopefully some fucking doors.
It's nerve-wracking, creeping along the creaking metal, trying to move quickly but not so quickly that he puts too much stress on the sheet metal beneath his boots. The first chance he gets, he drops down to the roof of one of the trailers, breathes a sigh of relief once he's got actual solid concrete under his boots again. Joel hustles back to the maintenance hallway, only slows when he reaches the door back to the food-court-turned-FEDRA-base. Through the window, he can see infected milling about, and he swears under his breath, drops to a crouch.
He takes it slow, despite the fear beating in the back of his mind in time with his pulse, urging him to move faster, reminds him that Ellie could be bleeding out right now. The only thing that keeps Joel remotely steady is the reminder that if he fucks up, if he gets himself bitten or dies here, then Ellie dies, too. The only way she has a chance at surviving is if Joel is fucking smart.
Once the last infected is dead, Joel opens the gate, quickly slides through, and shuts it behind him. That should block any infected; they're not smart enough to work something like this, thank God for small mercies. Joel eases up the stairs to the second level, finds another small camp from the crew of the crashed helicopter. There's no useful supplies, just a recorder that Joel pockets after listening to out of long habit. He turns to the helicopter, starts picking his way through the rubble towards it. There's a pile of rubble a few feet from the thankfully-open side door, but no way to just climb in. It's open air, which leaves only one option.
Joel takes a deep breath, then another, backs up to get a slight running start—
And jumps.
The whole fucking helicopter rocks under the added weight, and Joel swears, immediately throws himself towards the back, towards the part of the helicopter that's on relatively-solid ground. He grabs onto whatever he can reach as the helicopter settles with a metallic groan, holds on tight and stays perfectly still for several heart-pounding moments. When he's confident the helicopter isn't going to move again, Joel lets out a low, shaky breath, and starts searching.
He finds an intact medkit under one seat, claws it out with desperate, shaky hands. He opens it, and damn near sobs at the sight of all the medical supplies inside—gauze, tape, disinfecting wipes and antibacterial cream, but most importantly there's a field suture kit. Joel snaps the medkit closed, cradles it to his chest and lets his head bow as he pulls in shaky, desperate breaths, struggles to keep himself together. "I've got you," he gasps out, clutches the kit so hard the plastic creaks in his grip, his fingers slipping a little with the remnants of Ellie's blood smearing against the white plastic. "Oh, fuck, I'm not letting you go." It's half-directed at the kit in his hands, half at Ellie, the memory of her pained breathing and pale, fever-hot skin burning behind Joel's closed eyes.
Joel's making his way through another rundown store, skirting rubble that had blocked the hall, when he hears voices. He freezes instinctively, then eases closer, staying low and hidden as he cocks his head, strains his hearing.
There's the sound of infected screeching, men shouting—and then gunshots ring out. "Shit," one of the men swears, and Joel risks lifting his head, peering through the window to watch as three men emerge from a record store. "What the hell are we even doing here? Who gives a fuck about an old man and a little girl?"
Joel's blood runs cold. These men must be part of the group from the university. He hadn't seen any signs of hunters around, but that group at the university had been large, well-armed, and now these guys?
"The sooner we find them, the sooner we can get the hell out of here," one of the others says sharply. "Let's make sure this area's clear. You, with me; you two, check that other store."
'That other store' is the one that Joel's hiding in. He slips into cover, waits for the two bandits to split up before he moves. It's child's play to take them out, and then he uses his bow to take out the other two with neat headshots through the broken windows of the store they'd been checking. Joel recovers his arrows—plus some extras—and keeps the bow in hand as he moves, alert for any more voices.
He finds more bandits, usually in pairs. He deals with them quickly and quietly, barely pauses to search the bodies for anything useful before moving on. At one point, he spots a couple of infected in a store before the bandits do. Joel decides to kill two birds with one stone—or brick, as the case may be.
It's probably a sign of just how fucked in the head he is that Joel lingers, takes a vicious pleasure in the screams of the bandits as the infected tear them apart. Joel mops up the rest, because you don't leave infected alive if you can help it, and keeps working his way back towards Ellie.
Joel hears the bandits before he sees them, approaching the frozen yogurt restaurant he'd left Ellie in. "Guys! Fresh tracks here—hoof prints. There's blood on this lock, they're in here!"
Joel sees red and any plans of stealth go out the window. He uses one of Bill's shrapnel bombs to catch their attention, lobs it right at the back of one's head and snarls with satisfaction when it explodes on impact, causing instant chaos. More bombs, shrapnel and smoke, as well as molotovs bring bandits and infected running. Joel loses track of time, caught in the flow of fighting, snatching ammunition from corpses and reloading, throwing together more explosives whenever he gets some breathing room.
Finally, finally, he's the last one standing. Joel's breathing hard, has more nicks and bruises and scrapes than he did before, but he's alive, and the security grate to the yogurt shop is still in place, still untouched.
Joel ignores the corpses littering the mall as he rushes to the shop, gets the key out and unlocks the padlock. It's sheer stubbornness that keeps his hands from shaking as he drops the grate again, locks it from the inside for good measure before turning to Ellie.
She's exactly where Joel left her, and Joel drops to his knees, reaches out and checks her pulse, breathing out a sigh of relief when he finds it. It's not as strong or steady as Joel would like, but it's there, and Joel can work with that. "Hey, baby girl," he whispers, lifts his hand and brushes Ellie's bangs back from her forehead, frowns at the heat lingering in her skin. "I found a military medkit, got plenty of supplies in it. Hell of a story; I'll tell you when you wake up."
Joel keeps talking as he carefully peels back the layers he'd covered Ellie in, has to pause and take a couple of deep breaths when he unwraps the shirt he'd turned into a tourniquet and dressing. The fabric is soaked with blood now. "Fuck, Ellie," he sighs, runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I'm so goddamn sorry, this is all my fault."
Ellie doesn't respond, and Joel does his best to ignore how the silence aches. He tells Ellie everything he's doing, mostly to keep himself focused as he peels back the shirt and padding, exposes Ellie's wound to the air. He cleans the area as best he can, stitches Ellie's skin together with tight sutures that aren't exactly neat, but they're functional. He uses some of the gauze from the medkit to cover both sides of the wound, tapes the dressing in place and ties the shirt around her again as an extra layer of protection.
"Okay," He says, finally sitting back on his heels and scrubbing his hands over his face, grimacing at the stinging scent of rubbing alcohol he'd used to clean Ellie's blood from his skin. "Alright. Your temperature's high, but there's no antibiotics in that kit, nothing in the pharmacy. I don't think we can stay here any longer, not if there's a larger group of bandits or raiders here than we thought. We gotta go, gotta..."
The dead researcher's recorded message flashes in his mind, the memory of Salt Lake City, Saint Mary's. That's where the Fireflies are, where they're still trying to make a cure or vaccine.
A cure or vaccine that that researcher was convinced was impossible. Joel read the notes, the recorders that talked about how it was impossible to vaccinate against fungal infections before the Cordyceps outbreak. Treating fungal infections before the outbreak was tricky then, too, and now...
Fuck it. Ellie might hate him for it, but if it means she'll be alive to hate him, then fine. Joel gets them packed and ready to move quickly, opens up the security grate and leads Callus to one of the booths, where the horse stands patiently as Joel carefully climbs onto the booth, uses the extra height to get mounted with Ellie in his arms. Joel carefully guides Callus out of the Plaza, and turns the horse north, back to Jackson.
They make it out of the main city before the snow starts getting heavier, and when the drifts start reaching up over Callus' knees, Joel caves with a frustrated growl. There's a small suburb off of the main road, and Joel gets them into the first house that's mostly-intact that he can find. He sets Callus up in the garage, carefully puts Ellie on the floor of the dining room while he scouts the rest of the house. The roof isn't great, but the walls are solid enough. There's a basement, and the mattresses in the two bedrooms are relatively clean. Joel hauls them down to the basement along with whatever blankets he can find, clears an area to set up camp. He gets a small fire going on the concrete floor below a small window that he cracks for ventilation, arranges the mattresses next to each other before he goes back upstairs and carries Ellie down, settling her on the mattress closest to the fire.
There's canned food in this basement, and most of it even looks edible, which is an unexpected blessing. The downside is it's all canned fruits and vegetables—no protein. Joel's got some jerky left from their trip down from Jackson, but that's going to be difficult to get into Ellie. Joel makes do, digs out a pot and uses some melted snow to make a kind of broth from some jerky and the vegetables. When it's ready, Joel gets Ellie carefully propped against his chest, tips spoonfuls of broth into her mouth, lets out a relieved breath when she reflexively swallows.
Ellie's still unconscious, doesn't respond when Joel calls her name, just makes a pained noise when he tries another sternal rub, and Joel tries to ignore the sinking pit in his gut as he eases her down onto the mattress again. He gets her sleeping bag zipped up around her, double-checks that the fire is contained, and heads back upstairs. He untacks Callus, takes some grain out of the saddlebag and puts it into an empty garden bucket for the horse.
Then Joel bundles up, arms himself, and starts scouring the other houses. He finds some useful things—sugar and flour for explosives, some alcohol, plenty of rags for first aid and for molotovs—but the only medical things he finds are plundered first aid kits, a couple of bottles of ibuprofen with a handful of pills left inside. He finds a tube of Neosporin in the first aid kit of one bathroom, takes it just in case. By the time he returns to the house he'd set up their shelter in, Joel has managed to locate some Tylenol, too. He's not sure how effective it'll be, the expiration date being fifteen years ago, but he has to try.
Callus barely lifts his head when Joel jimmies open the side door into the garage, and Joel makes a beeline for the basement. Ellie's still there, still unconscious, and while the basement is chilly, the fire is doing enough work to keep it from being freezing. Ellie's temperature is still elevated according to the thermometer—and thank God the medkit from the helicopter had one of the old-fashioned mercury ones, and that it was intact—but not dangerously so, not yet.
Joel sleeps fitfully that night, keeps waking from dreams that jump between the past and present and that make his heart threaten to pound right out of his chest. He ends up holding Ellie's wrist, his fingers over her pulse, just to be able to get to sleep, to reassure himself more quickly when he wakes from another nightmare.
He does another sweep of the houses in the morning once the snow has stopped, but doesn't turn up anything new. There's still no medication, and Joel throws himself into fortifying the house he's picked as their base as a way to keep himself from panicking. Every time he checks on Ellie, her temperature is another fraction of a degree higher. He tries some of the Tylenol; Ellie's still able to swallow on her own, thank God, and she swallows the caplets with a spoonful of broth. Unfortunately, they don't do anything; her temperature rises, and Joel's hesitant to give her more expired medication. He remembers reading some news stories about how people got sick from them before the outbreak, how they could be dangerous. He's not willing to risk that, not with Ellie.
The next day, Joel makes the call to go hunting. They're out of meat, he needs to see if he can at least get some rabbits or some birds. Joel changes Ellie's bandages, grimaces at how hot her skin is beneath his fingers, and makes sure the basement and house are secure before he tacks up Callus. He rides out into the woods, senses on high alert for any signs of danger.
The woods are quiet, and Joel doesn't have any luck until that afternoon. He gets a rabbit with his bow and arrow, and while he's tying it to Callus' saddle, he hears some branches cracking. When he follows the noise, he spots a deer—healthy-looking, a good size. It'd be a lot of effort to dress the thing, to preserve the meat... But it would mean Joel wouldn't have to leave Ellie for longer.
Joel leaves Callus tied to the tree, grabs his rifle and starts stalking the deer. He has to get close, even with the rifle; he doesn't want to take a chance at missing, or shooting the deer only to have it run and get out of reach before Joel can finish it off. When he finally takes the shot, the deer leaps into the air, kicking out before bolting, but it's stumbling as it crests the hill. In the snow, the deer is easy to track, and Joel follows it into what looks like an abandoned quarry.
Joel's studying the deer when he hears snow crunch; he whirls, rifle raised to his shoulder, finger resting on the trigger guard as he sweeps the area. He doesn't call out, just strains his hearing, trying to tell if it's infected—
Two men emerge from behind one of the buildings.They've each got a rifle slung over their shoulder. One man's older, grey in his hair; he's wearing a dark blue jacket and jeans, his shoulders straight. Joel immediately pegs him as the leader; the other man, younger, follows a step behind, his shoulders hunched beneath his brown jacket.
The older man lifts a hand, aims what's probably supposed to be a reassuring smile at Joel. "We just want to talk," he calls, voice cordial.
"Any sudden moves, I put a bullet between your eyes," Joel says shortly, eyeing them warily, the barrel of his rifle perfectly steady as he aims. "Ditto for your pal. What do you want?"
"M'name's David," the leader says, gesturing to himself. "This here's my friend, James. We're from a larger group—we've got women, children. We're all very, very hungry."
Joel feels his lip curl. "Same here—women, children, all hungry," he returns, watches the two warily, keeps an ear out. He doesn't hear anything, no hint that they're not alone, but something about this doesn't feel right.
James glances at David, shifting on his feet; David doesn't look away from Joel, takes a step closer and freezes when Joel's finger drops from the trigger guard to the trigger. "Well, maybe we could, ah, trade you for some of that deer," he says carefully. He's watching Joel with a wolf's eyes, and it makes Joel's hackles rise. "We've had good luck scavenging lately, what do you need? Weapons, ammo, clothes—"
The word leaves Joel's mouth like a bullet: "Medicine." It's too fast, desperate, but the hope rising in the back of his throat makes Joel reckless. "Antibiotics."
David's head dips in a nod. "We've got those," he says. "Penicillin, back at camp. You're welcome to follow us—" He steps forward, only to freeze when Joel snarls, shifts his stance and braces, preparing for the kick of his rifle.
"I'm not following you anywhere," he rumbles, gaze flicking from David to James, who's got a hand on his own rifle sling now, watching Joel with wide eyes. "Your little shadow can go get it, you stay with me. He comes back with what I need, you can take the deer." Joel can always find another one, or more rabbits—real, actual medicine is too precious to pass up.
David glances over his shoulder; James is scowling, looking from David to Joel, and Joel's finger doesn't move from the trigger. James shakes his head—but David nods. "Go on back, grab two bottles of penicillin and a syringe. Make it fast," he orders. James clearly isn't happy about this turn of events, casts a distrustful look at Joel—but he goes. Once he's out of sight, David turns back to Joel. "Well. How about we go ahead and get this deer into some shelter, instead of standing out here freezing our asses off?" he suggests, tone light.
Joel's got several shivs on him, as well as his revolver and pistol. He still doesn't trust David as far as he can throw him, something about the man making every instinct Joel has sit up and take notice, but... Joel doesn't like being out in the open. "Fine," he says shortly, slowly removes his finger from the trigger and slings his rifle over his shoulder. "Grab the back legs."
They get the deer into what looks like an office, and David starts a small fire. Joel keeps his back to the wall, sits where he can see David and the windows on three of the four walls of this building. "So," David says after a few minutes of silence, glancing at Joel from where he's kneeling next to the fire, Joel sitting on a crate. "You out here on your own?"
"I don't like company," Joel says shortly, glances at David and away again.
David huffs a quiet laugh. "You got to have some company, needing antibiotics," he prods, and Joel has to take a deep breath, force himself to not bristle.
"Antibiotics are priceless," he says instead of telling David to shut the hell up. "Ain't gonna pass 'em up."
The fire crackles as David pokes at it a little, humming. "What's your name?" he tries.
"'You there,' works just fine," Joel drawls, takes some satisfaction at the visible frustration on David's face before he composes himself.
"Look, I get that it's difficult to trust a couple of strangers in today's world, but... Whoever's hurt, you clearly care about them." David's gaze is piercing, shrewd, and Joel keeps himself still, tries to ignore the lance of pain in his chest at the thought of Ellie, how fucking still she's been the past couple of days.
How she's like this because of him.
He's yanked from his thoughts by a distant, echoing screech. David and Joel both shoot to their feet, David grabbing his rifle as they scan the windows. "Fuck, there's a whole horde out there," David breathes. "Clickers, too."
Joel grits his teeth. "You get the left side, I've got right," he says grimly; David doesn't argue, immediately sets himself up, and then the horde descends. They hold out for a while, but eventually are forced to retreat through the backroom, where they find a bridge connecting this office to an elevator down into the quarry. Joel chucks a couple of nail bombs down the bridge; they're not powerful enough to affect the structural integrity, but with any luck, they'll slow down, maybe even kill, some of the infected.
It's rough, fighting with someone Joel doesn't know; he's gotten too used to having Ellie at his back, too used to the familiarity between them making it seamless to fight together, to guard each other. David isn't incompetent, but Joel doesn't know him, doesn't trust him, and by the time they finally take out the last of the horde—including a goddamn bloater—Joel's sore, has collected a lot of new scrapes and bruises, but he's alive.
He and David limp back to the office where the deer is miraculously untouched; with the promise of fresher meat, the infected probably ignored it. Joel can't quite stop a pained grunt from escaping as he squats next to the fire, reaches out and warms his hands over it. David joins him, kneels on the opposite side and gives Joel a thoughtful look.
"You got something to say, spit it out," Joel says shortly when David doesn't speak.
"You handled yourself pretty well," David says slowly. "Been doing this a while, I guess."
Joel eyes him warily. "Since Outbreak."
David hums. "We made a pretty good team."
Joel scoffs. "We got lucky," he says, checks out the windows and cocks his head, listening; it's quiet out there, no infected or sign of James returning yet. Joel tries to ignore the itch under his skin.
"No, no; don't believe there's such a thing as luck," David says, still poking at the fire. "Nah, y'see, I believe that everything happens for a reason."
Joel raises a brow. "Sure."
"I can prove it to you," David says easily, lifts the hand with the stick he'd been poking at the fire with, gestures with it as he continues. "Now, this winter has been especially cruel. Don't know if you're from around here, but hunting's been real slim pickings, and there's more infected than usual. We needed supplies, so a week or so back, I sent a group of men out scavenging. Capable men; they made it into the city. Only a few came back. Had a hell of a story to tell. Apparently the others had all been killed by one man. Slaughtered, they told me."
Joel grew up in Texas playing poker in bars he had no business being in at his age, learned how to keep his cool in front of clients—learned to be smart and not react after the world went to hell, as a hunter and as a smuggler. David's gaze goes flinty, and Joel very carefully doesn't move, meets his eye without flinching, without shifting his grip on his rifle or fidgeting.
"They said it was a crazy old man," David says quietly, voice intense as he stares at Joel. "Best part, though, get this: He's a crazy man, traveling with a little girl." Something shifts in David's eyes, a light that Joel realizes he recognizes with a sick jolt in his stomach.
He's seen that look before, that hunger. A few years after the world ended, Joel and Tommy had fallen in with a group of hunters. Joel had risen to second-in-command; the leader, Matthew, was a cold, cruel bastard. He liked to torture the survivors they found, laid traps and liked to bait them in.
He got that same look in his eye whenever they found a group with little kids. He liked to capture them—liked to make them scream, and not always with the traps.
White-hot fury surges in Joel's chest, goaded by the guilty, protective instincts Joel's been running on since the university, since Ellie saved him and all he could do was watch as she fell, took the fall and the injury that should've been his.
Joel's on his feet before he makes the conscious decision to rise, rifle aimed at David, who stays kneeling by the fire. "Now don't get upset," he says. "I get it; you do what you gotta do to survive out here. Hell, you did me a favor, clearing out those weaklings. If they couldn't beat you with a numbers advantage, they weren't any use to me."
The soft crunch of snow behind him makes Joel whirl, finds James standing in the doorway with his own pistol aimed at Joel. Joel bares his teeth, shoulders tensing as he tries to think—
"James, lower the gun." David's voice is calm, collected; the order is a shock to James, whose mouth drops open.
"No way, David," he protests. "He killed them, I'm not gonna let him go—"
"Lower the gun," David repeats, voice harder this time. There's a long, tense moment where James just stares at David—but then he obeys, lowers the pistol. Joel doesn't lower his rifle. "Now give him the medicine."
A muscle in James' jaw jumps, but he fishes a small pouch out of his jacket, sets it on the table next to the door. "The others won't be happy about this," he bites out.
"Yeah, well, that's not your—"
Joel pulls the trigger. A neat red hole appears right between James' wide eyes; the new corpse wobbles on its feet for a moment before toppling. There's a furious roar beside him, and Joel drops the rifle, rolls with the tackle as David hits him, sends them both scrambling over the floor. David's angry, snarling like an animal, but Joel's bigger, more experienced with this kind of fighting. For the first time in years, Joel gives in to the viciousness he'd tried to leave behind after he left the hunters. He gets behind David, gets his arms around the other man's neck, and then it's muscle memory, a ruthless twist of his upper body that results in a crack as David's neck breaks, severing the spinal column. David goes limp in his arms, and Joel shoves the body away, snatches his rifle off of the floor and waits, breathlessly, for an ambush—
Which never comes.
James must not have brought backup, which is just... breathtakingly stupid, especially if he had suspicions about Joel being the one to wipe out their men. Joel's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. He quickly searches the bodies, pockets some ammo and a rather nice hunting knife and matching sheath. Joel uses the knife to field dress the deer, moves as quickly as he can without making a mess or wasting any meat.
Hauling the deer back over the hill and to Callus is exhausting after everything else that's happened today, but Joel manages it. It's a little trickier getting Callus to stay still while Joel ties the deer to the back of the saddle, but eventually Joel's heading back for the town. There's a fear in the back of his mind that he'll find more of David's people there, that someone will have found Ellie—
It's an unfounded fear. The town is quiet as Joel approaches, and there's no sign of anyone having been through since he left this morning. Joel lets out a breath, takes a moment to hang his head and get his heart rate under control. When he lifts his head, his expression is grim, determined, and he gets to work.
He checks on Ellie first, gives her the first dose of penicillin. Joel has to focus to keep his hands from shaking as he draws the dose and gives it to Ellie intramuscularly. She moans, a miserable little noise, and Joel whispers apologies, rubs firmly over the injection site to try to take away the sting before he digs out the first aid kit. The last thing he wants is something else getting into her system, so he puts a simple bandage over the injection site.
It'll take a while for the antibiotics to work, Joel knows. He stores the medicine carefully on a shelf next to Ellie's pack, checks on Ellie one more time before heading back upstairs to take care of the deer. Before Boston, it had been years since Joel needed Lou's lessons on living rough; the old woman had been the first one that Joel and Tommy had fallen in with, living by herself out on the edge of the national forest. She'd taken them in largely thanks to Tommy's charm, taught them how to survive the old-fashioned way.
She'd been a thorough teacher; her lessons had come back to Joel quickly within a week of being on the road with Ellie. Now, Joel moves quickly, butchers the deer and sorts the meat. He improvises an ice box for some of it, sets up the rest to smoke, and in between he climbs the stairs to the basement a dozen times.
That night when Joel checks on Ellie, her temperature is still high—but it hasn't climbed. Joel settles onto his mattress in his sleeping bag, takes Ellie's wrist in his hand again, and drifts into a fitful sleep counting the beat of her heart. He gives her another dose of penicillin in the morning; her temperature has dropped, just a little bit, and this time she actually tries to squirm away from the needle.
The next two days are repeats of the same routine; Joel splits his time between Ellie, taking care of Callus, and preserving as much of the deer meat as he possibly can. He's still left with far too much time to think, and he spends most of that time at Ellie's side, holding her wrist, hand lifted so he can press the back of her hand to his lips in silent apology as he watches over her.
On the third day, Joel's just come down the stairs from feeding Callus when he hears a groan. He almost trips on the last step in his haste to get around the corner of the shelves, heart in his throat—
Ellie isn't sitting up, but her eyes are open. They're hazy, a little unfocused, but when she spots Joel, she visibly slumps. "Joel?" she says, voice a soft rasp that Joel can barely hear.
Joel stumbles to his knees, reaches out and frames Ellie's face in his hands, breathes a quiet sigh of relief at the fact that her skin feels normal. "I'm here, baby girl," he chokes out. "How are you feeling?"
"Shitty," Ellie croaks. "Thirsty."
"I got water," Joel assures her, grabs the canteen from where it's leaning against the mattress. "Here," he says, shifting so that he's sitting behind Ellie, propping her up the way he has so many times to feed her over the past few days. "I got you, just—slow sips, darlin'."
Ellie obeys, and Joel gives her as much water as she can stomach, caps the canteen and sets it to the side when Ellie finally turns her head away. She tucks her face into Joel's chest, breathes deeply, and Joel curls his arm around her, hand coming to rest lightly over the dressing still covering her stitches. He has no idea how long they sit like that, but it could be the rest of the forever for all he cares, as long as it means Ellie is alive.
It takes another three days for Ellie to feel ready to travel. She's weak, shaky on her legs, and frustrated with the weakness; she snaps at Joel a lot, who refuses to take it personally. In her shoes, he'd be a much worse patient. When she is finally able to climb the stairs from the basement to the main floor of the house without needing Joel's help, Joel decides it's time to leave. He's managed to smoke all of the deer meat that they haven't eaten, and distributes it between their packs. They take some of the canned food, too, and then the only question left is...
"Where are we going?" Ellie asks, standing in the garage petting Callus' nose as Joel ties the saddlebags into place. Joel pauses, because he hadn't really thought this part through, but then Ellie continues. "My vote is we go back to Jackson."
Joel's head snaps to the side, taking in the serious expression on Ellie's face. "We can do that," he says slowly. "I was gonna suggest it, but I thought you'd want to go to Salt Lake City."
Ellie grimaces. "I... You saw the notes, Joel," she says quietly; there's an air of defeat to her shoulders that makes Joel's heart clench, and he turns, steps closer to Ellie. "Can't vaccinate for a fungal disease, and treating it is complicated, even for something less complex than Cordyceps."
Joel steps closer still, reaches out and puts a hand on Ellie's shoulder. She leans into the touch, and Joel follows the tugging in his gut, closes the distance between them and pulls Ellie into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her. "We could try for Saint Mary's in the spring," he says quietly, has to offer the option, even though all of his instincts are clamoring to take Ellie back to Jackson and never let the Fireflies in spitting distance of her.
Ellie's arms wind around Joel's waist, and he feels her shake her head in denial before she shifts, turns so she can speak clearly. "No. I'm just—I'm done, Joel." Joel's heart clenches at the exhaustion in her tone, and he holds her tighter, rubs one hand over her back as she sags against him. "We couldn't make it out of the fucking city without getting hurt; what are the odds the Fireflies could make it to a different state? And even if they can make a cure, how are they going to get it out to everyone? FEDRA has been wiping them out in Quarantine Zones, and any place that doesn't have FEDRA isn't exactly friendly to outsiders. I heard Marlene talking about how many Fireflies were being killed, how many people she lost, and that was just in Boston."
Ellie's voice is choked, and Joel rubs her back, gives in to the urge to press a comforting kiss to the top of Ellie's head. "Might've had a plan you didn't hear about," he says, but he knows he doesn't sound optimistic. "But this is your decision, baby girl. Your blood, your immunity, your call. Whatever you choose, I'll back you."
The breath Ellie takes is shaky. She doesn't answer for a long moment, and then she sighs, seems to sag against Joel all at once. 'I want to go home," she says plaintively. "I want to go back to Jackson, and figure out how to be—to be normal, or at least fucking happy."
The pain in her voice makes Joel's chest ache, and he holds her tighter, lifts one hand and strokes it over her hair, heart twisting when Ellie leans into the gesture. "Then we'll go to Jackson," Joel promises. "Tommy said there's room for us, he'll let us in. It'll be an adjustment, but we'll do it together."
Ellie pulls back just enough to lift her head and meet Joel's eye. He can't quite read the expression on her face as she demands, "You swear? Together?"
"I swear," Joel says, and means it. The last few weeks have only reinforced how important Ellie is to Joel, the lengths he's willing to go to in order to keep her safe and happy—and how she seems to feel the exact same way. Joel should probably feel bad about that, should be worried about fucking her up, but he can't find any remorse when Ellie's looking at him with such naked relief and—and love. Joel swallows, feels his hand move almost of its own accord to cup Ellie's cheek, thumb sweeping over the soft skin there. "Where you go, I go."
"Good," Ellie says fiercely, tilts her head into Joel's hand. "Then let's go home."