Chapter Text
Morning light filters through the grimy windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Joel surveys the room, thinking through the day. After Ellie fell asleep, he’d sorted their supplies, packing the most important items in case they need to make a quick exit. He’s used to this — always planning the next move, always ready to run. It’s kept him alive so far. He needs to stay sharp to keep the girl alive as well. Today, they’ll test her stamina so he can plan their route while she recovers. If he doesn’t know her limitations, they’re both fucked.
He takes a moment to stand and stretch the stiffness from his joints before approaching the windows to scan the surroundings. The street remains empty, with no sign of movement. All clear. With a sigh, he checks on Ellie one more time, frowning when he finds her watching him with half-lidded eyes. The kid’s too observant for her own good, even when she’s nearly asleep. “S’early,” he says quietly, taking a knee by her head. “Go back to sleep.”
She sits up, groaning when he presses his hand between her shoulders to assist. Her movements are wary and measured to avoid causing more pain. Better than yesterday, but not where she needs to be. “What are we doing today?”
“Thinkin’ we check the nearby buildings for supplies,” he says after a moment. “Give us an idea of how well you’re movin’. Let’s get a look at your side. How’s it feelin’?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” The girl sighs but doesn’t argue as she lifts the edge of her shirt. “It isn’t as bad today.”
Joel peels back the bandage with gentle fingers, nodding to himself. The improvement is obvious — the swelling is down, and the redness he feared was infection fading. It’s healing, the skin around the stitches knitting together.
They got damn lucky.
“How long do stitches stay in?”
“Maybe a week,” he answers, grabbing the antiseptic. The bottle is getting low, and he adds it to the mental list of what they need to find. “We’ll keep an eye on how it’s healin’.”
She stiffens but doesn’t otherwise flinch or pull away from the sharp sting of antiseptic. The kid is tough and getting tougher by the day. Part of him — the part that spent years protecting another little girl from the horrors of a different world — hates how necessary that hardness is now. Ellie should be a kid, not spend months fighting for her life as they cross the country on foot. “We can leave today,” she says when he finishes. “I feel a lot better.”
“We stay another day.” He leaves little room for argument as he secures a clean gauze over her side. “If you move wrong out there, you’ll open this up and we’ll be back to square one.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Careful don’t cut it when you’re runnin’ from infected,” he says pointedly. “We have shelter, adequate supplies… better to take it slow now. We got no idea what’s waitin’ for us out there.”
She regards him for a moment, shoulders slumping when she realizes there’s no point in arguing. “But I can help check around here, right? I’m gonna go crazy if stuck in here all day.”
“You can help,” he agrees. Except for their short outings yesterday, she’s been cooped up for two days. Even injured, he senses the restless energy that’s been building in her without much to do. He gets it. He’s the same way. “We’ll wait for better light. Y’wanna get more sleep, or should I get some breakfast goin’? Reckon there’s enough fuel for a couple more hot meals.”
A wide yawn interrupts her response, and she looks annoyed at being interrupted by herself. “Food, then sleep.”
“Food, then sleep,” he confirms. “You got it.”
“Can I carry something?”
“No.” He turns before she protests, squinting against the sunlight illuminating the room. “Take your gun and your water. Won’t need nothin’ else.”
“But—”
“I’m only bringin’ the revolver and the rifle,” he interrupts, hoping to stave off the protest she’s trying to launch. “We ain’t haulin’ shit up and down for no reason.”
The last thing they need is for Ellie to tear those stitches because she’s too stubborn to admit not being at full strength. He wonders if she convinced herself that the injury won’t impact them, or if she’s trying to keep up a brave face for him.
Joel wedges a length of rusting rebar between the rusty padlock and its clasp, applying pressure until the metal gives way with a sharp crack. The maintenance door leading to the tower’s upper levels swings open with a screech that has him on high alert for infected, even though he secured the exterior doors not ten minutes ago. The familiar scent of abandonment and decay greets them as he takes a few steps forward, motioning for Ellie to stay put.
Holding his breath, he turns his left ear to the stairwell. No groaning, no clicking. Hopefully, the place is as uninhabited as it appears.
He waits another moment before turning to the girl and touching his ear and nodding toward the stairwell. On silent feet, she slips past him, eyes closed as she listens for danger.
“Sounds clear,” she murmurs, craning her neck until she can see up the spiral staircase that dominates the space. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of steps.”
Simply looking at the climb ahead makes his knees ache. “Tower’s gotta be tall enough for the signal to carry,” he mutters, adjusting his pack. As far as he can tell, the interior staircase winds up a few stories; he’ll have to get through the door to the roof as well. Hopefully it’s not locked, but in his experience, nothing’s easy.
“So we’re climbing to the top?”
“We ain’t climbin’ nowhere,” he says firmly. “I’m goin’ to check the roof.”
Ellie’s face hardens with a familiar stubbornness that makes him want to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You said I could help look for supplies.”
“And you can,” he agrees, climbing the first few steps. The metal groans under his weight, but holds. He peers up again, eyeing the supports. Looks sound enough. “I ain’t lookin’ for supplies right now.”
She tilts her head to the side, her frustration easing into curiosity. One of the things he’s noticed is that offering explanations of what they’re doing — and why — tames her ire. “Then why go up there?”
“Take a look, confirm area’s clear before we leave this place unsecured for a few hours.” He pauses, then turns to face her. She needs to understand the plan, even if she isn’t happy with her role in it. “And I wanna make sure the bridge is in one piece. If it ain’t, we’ll need to detour and we’re better off havin’ that pre-planned.”
Her eyes dart to the side as she considers his words. After a moment, she gives a slow nod. “That makes sense. Clear of people? Or infected?”
“Both. You stay here.”
She glares at him before touching the grip of the pistol tucked into her waistband. He needs to find her a holster before she shoots her ass off. “You know I’m not.”
“Ellie—”
“I thought you wanted to see how well I can move,” she challenges, eyes flashing. “Last time I checked, climbing stairs is moving.”
He studies her, noting the pallor of her skin despite a determined posture. She’s putting on a good show, but he can see the fatigue etched on her face, the stiff way she holds herself. Being up has her hurting. “These stairs go straight up. If you need to rest—”
“I can sit on the steps, jackass. Go already, I wanna see what that shithole looks like from the sky.”
With a resigned sigh and an exasperated shake of his head, Joel gestures in front of him. “You first. I wanna keep an eye on you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you,” he grumbles, eyebrows raised until she takes the lead. “But I ain’t lettin’ you fall down the stairs because you’re too damn stubborn to acknowledge your limits. Go on.”
The air grows warmer as they ascend, a steady breeze drifting through the broken windows that line the stairwell. Ellie breathes with intention, her steps matched to each inhale as she climbs. She’s pacing herself. Good.
They’re a third of the way up when Ellie’s foot catches on a tread and she pitches forward with a pained cry. Thank Christ he’s been expecting this; he tugs her back before she face plants. His hands grip her shoulders, bracing her weight against his chest.
“Alright, Rocky,” he mutters. “Time to sit.”
She grumbles but lowers herself onto a step, rubbing at her shin. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead, highlighting flushed cheeks. “I’m fine,” she insists breathlessly. “Just gimme a sec.”
He lost track of how many times he’s thought about how goddamn stubborn she is. “You ain’t gonna be up for scavengin’ if you tire yourself out on the stairs,” he points out after a moment. “Stay here, keep an eye out.”
Her lips press into a narrow line, but she nods, the fight easing from her posture. “Fine, but only because you can tell me if it’s worth the climb. If there’s anything cool up there, I’m gonna see at it. And you can’t lie to me about what’s up there.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” he drawls, eyeing her to make sure she’s steady before continuing upward. He makes decent time without Ellie slowing things down, though the final two floors are a real bitch. His lungs burn and his legs protest with each step, but he pushes through. Could be worse — could be a few dozen stories. The door at the top is a push-bar exit; since the last thing he needs is to be locked on a goddamn roof, he unshoulders his pack to use as a wedge to keep it from closing.
Joel steps outside, blinking against the bright sunlight. Even though the stairwell was well lit, the sudden brightness makes his eyes tear. The city sprawl stretches before him, spanning both sides of the river. He can make out the general area where the horde attacked just a few days ago. When he’s satisfied that there’s no movement in the streets below, he turns to water.
Two bridges span the river; one looks like it’s solely for pedestrians. If the structure sound, that’s the better option. Even though the armored truck that hounded them in the city was destroyed in the horde, those people could have another vehicle. He shifts his gaze to an alternate path, just in case.
A sudden, sharp gunshot has him ducking and reaching for his gun automatically. The sound echoes through the air, making his heart skip a beat. His eyes scan the distant edge of the neighborhood, searching for the source, for movement, for anything that will help him prepare. Two shots follow, unmistakable even though they’re further away, dampened by the distance between them. He waits. Watches. Listens.
Faint movement draws his attention. Something moves between the houses, too coordinated to be infected. He squints, then brings his rifle up to use the scope like field glasses. There — a group of people. Hunters. Four, possibly five, moving from building to building with purpose. He crouches lower, using the low wall as cover while he weighs his options. He’d hoped they’d be too busy dealing with the aftermath of that horde, but, apparently, the bastards are still hell-bent on tracking them down.
Fuck. He runs a hand over his beard, recalculating the plan as he tries to measure how much time they have left. They’re maybe three miles out, but steadily closing in. That gives them two hours; three if they get lucky. With Ellie not at full strength, they’ll need to leave in the next half hour to gain enough distance. Joel swings the scope across the river, now looking for cover and concealment instead of threats. Dense suburban sprawl with plenty of trees — good for staying hidden. His chief concern is whether the kid can make it there without collapsing.
Another sigh escapes as he shoulders his pack and starts down the stairs. He doesn’t get far before she calls up, “What’s up there? Is it cool?”
“Quiet,” he hisses, paranoid that despite the distance, her voice will alert the hunters to their location. Sound carries.
When he reaches Ellie, she glares at him. She’s no longer flushed, the exertion from climbing stairs having abated. “Why do I have to be quiet?”
He studies her for a moment, shaking his head at how she maintains a defensive posture even while sitting. “There are hunters a few miles out,” he says lowly. “Comin’ from the city. We need to move.”
She absorbs the information with a frown, attitude draining from her face within seconds. He’s glad; she’ll put up less of a fight knowing people are pursuing them. “Shit,” she whispers, voice suddenly unsure. “Are they still looking for us?”
“I think they’re lookin’ for anything that moves.” She winces as he helps her to her feet and they begin their descent, Ellie matching him step for step.
“We won’t make it far if you fall down the stairs because you’re checking on me instead of looking where you’re going,” she says after he’s glanced back one too many times.
By the time they reach their makeshift shelter, Ellie is a little breathless but steady on her feet. Better than he expected, considering the climb and stress of what’s coming up. He’d prefer she rest until the moment they leave, but that won’t fly. “Sit,” he orders, gesturing to the crate they’ve been using as a chair. “Have some water. I’m going to make sure the other buildings are still clear—”
“You said I could help,” she asserts before he can finish.
He glares at the interruption. “—so you can search for supplies while I get our stuff packed and make it look like we left days ago.”
Her determined nod surprises him; he’d been bracing for another argument. “How much time do you think we have?”
“An hour, maybe; not as long as I’d like.” He waves toward her bag with impatience. “Water. Take everything out of your pack and lay it out on the desk,” he instructs, checking the rounds left in his revolver. Enough, but barely. “You ain’t carryin’ anything for a few days.”
“But—”
“Ellie.” The sharp edge in his voice makes her blink in surprise. He reminds himself that she’s young and inexperienced; it’s good that she asks questions, but they don’t have time for a lesson. Every minute they waste here is a minute closer to those bastards finding them. “This ain’t up for debate. Right now, we need to get ourselves together and get out of here; we’ll reassess tonight.”
Sulking, she plops into the makeshift seat, her eyes on him while he heads for the door. It takes only a few minutes to sweep the two nearest structures, his mind in overdrive the entire time. Empty rooms, broken windows, and enough supplies that Ellie will feel like she’s accomplished something. They’ll need to stay on the move, make sure they’re covering ground faster than the hunters. With Ellie’s injury, that’s easier said than done. She’s tough, but tough don’t fix torn stitches or compensate for blood loss.
When Joel returns, he finds Ellie sitting with the contents of her pack spread before her. Everything is laid out neat and organized, which surprises him even though it shouldn’t. She’s a FEDRA brat, after all. The only non-practical items are her joke book, comics, and a Walkman he didn’t know she had.
“Did you see anyone?”
There’s a childlike quality to her voice — the same uncertain tone she’d used back in Boston when things turned hairy — that tugs at something deep in his gut. She’s scared, but trying not to show it. “All clear,” he reports, picking up the Walkman. “Been a long time since I saw one of these. Got any batteries left?”
She shakes her head, watching as he examines her belongings. “I found some at Bill’s house, but they’re in the truck.” She chews on her lip as she thinks, then shrugs. “Still are, I guess. Are those buildings worth going through?”
“I didn’t check,” he says truthfully. His focus was on threats. “Start with the second buildin’; seemed like there was more to sort through.”
Teenage sighs and eye-rolls greet the rest of his instructions, but she dutifully agrees to the rules before disappearing through the door. At least she’s listening. For now, at least. He gets the sense she isn’t a rule-abiding kid, which… well, it could go either way for them. She listens when it matters, and that’s about all he can ask for. Just as he begins organizing his pack, he hears a soft, “Um, Joel?”
He looks over his shoulder, finding her lingering in the doorway. She’s fidgeting, her posture rigid as she avoids his gaze. “Yeah?”
“Is there extra space in your bag?”
He takes stock of their gear, then turns to her with a nod. “Should be. What for?”
Ellie’s eyes dart to the side as she opens her mouth, but she stops herself. “Oh, uh… no, I was just asking, ‘cause—”
“I didn’t say no,” he interrupts, leaning his hip against the crate. He’s curious about what she isn’t willing to admit she wants.
She looks down, fidgeting with her thumbs for a moment before nodding toward the remains of Henry and Sam’s belongings. Her voice gets smaller, almost uncertain. “I was just asking.”
Joel eyes her, brow furrowing at her sudden hesitancy. This isn’t like her — she asks for what she wants, consequences be damned. “Should have room for whatever you find,” he says, careful to keep his tone neutral. “I’m plannin’ to bring as many cans as we can fit. If there’s somethin’ you want me to carry, tell me now.”
Her attention returns to the brothers’ bags, and he realizes she wants something from them but thinks he won’t approve. “No.” She blinks a few times and turns, steadying herself against the doorframe. “What should I do if I can’t carry everything?”
“Gather what you can, and I’ll come pack it there. Focus on medical supplies and ammo; we have enough food.”
She nods, squaring her shoulders with a determination that doesn’t mask her fatigue. “Got it. Wish me luck.”
When she departs, Joel methodically sorts through their belongings, separating them with weight distribution in mind. He’ll have to carry everything until that wound heals. His pack gets the heaviest items, but he leaves space for whatever Ellie might find. And for whatever she’s too proud to ask for.
As he arranges Ellie’s backpack, his eyes stray to the spot she had been looking at earlier. Bright red and yellow plastic poke out of Sam’s bag. The robot he’d wanted… that must be what she wants him to carry.
She’d been careful with her words, like she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea about what mattered to her. He lets out a low breath before adding it to her pack, along with her comics and joke books. She’s still a kid — he has no problem if she wants something that reminds her of a friend. A handful of ammo goes into the smallest pocket before he tests the weight. She won’t be able to wear it without aggravating the stitches, but if she insists on carrying it, it shouldn’t wear her out too quickly.
Once he finishes, he shoulders both packs and rids the place of any signs they’d been staying there. Those hunters might not be skilled trackers, but there’s no point in making it easy for them. Satisfied, Joel heads outside to find Ellie.
A distant gunshot makes him pause. Same direction, and it doesn’t sound closer than before. If they’re lucky, the hunters are searching for supplies to replace the ones they lost in the horde. Still, he crosses to the second building with urgency. They need to get out of here.
Ellie emerges as he approaches, wiping sweat from her brow. Her face is flushed again, hands clasped together to hide how they’re trembling. “Think I got everything.”
“You sort through it?”
“Yeah,” she replies, leading him to a desk. Her movements are stiffer, more deliberate than earlier; he’ll need to keep a close eye on their pace if they want to cover decent ground without exhausting her further.
“Not bad,” he says, picking up a half bottle of rubbing alcohol. They’ll need every drop. “This’ll come in handy.”
“There’s a plastic tarp in the other room,” she says as he packs the items in his bag. “I thought maybe it would be useful if it rains or something, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.”
“S’a good idea.” He looks over, nodding in approval. “Let’s see it. Might be better than the ones I found the other day.”
By the time she returns with a folded sheet of canvas, Joel is satisfied with the limited supplies they’ve accumulated. It’s not much, but it will keep them going — and more importantly, keep Ellie somewhat comfortable — for the next few days.“This should hold us for a while,” he says, tying the tarp to his pack. He studies the girl, noting the growing paleness of her skin. Already pushing herself too hard, but they don’t have a choice.“We’ll take a break once we’re away from the river.”
“I can handle it,” she dismisses, rolling her eyes when he shoulders both packs.
“I know.” And he does. But that don’t mean he enjoys watching her push through pain.
“Can we say goodbye?”
The boys’ grave is not far and the hunters are a couple of miles away, but lingering isn’t wise. Still, when she looks up at him, something in her expression makes it impossible to refuse. Pleading, he thinks.
How can he say no?
The walk to the boys’ burial site is silent. Joel keeps his head on a swivel, searching for anything that doesn’t belong — voices, unexpected bird flights, footsteps — but it’s clear. When they arrive, she stands with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the mound of dirt covered with wilting flowers. She kneels, bowing her head as she digs her fingers into the dirt. When her shoulders shudder and her breath hitches, he resists the urge to crouch down and offer comfort. He can’t coddle her, not with hunters on their heels. They stay like that for a few minutes, Ellie kneeling in the soft grass while he maintains watch from behind her.
“Alright,” he murmurs when her hand drifts to her injured side. She’s been hunched over for too long. “Up you get.” She nods in acknowledgment, stifling a hiss when he helps her to her feet. She lingers for another moment, bottom lip clenched between her teeth.
“Do you think…” she starts, voice cracking. “Do you think we’ll find other people we can trust?”
He hesitates, then steps close enough to place his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe,” he says finally. They might. In his experience, it’s more likely they won’t.“Reckon there are still good people out there. ”
She looks up at him with an intense, almost suspicious expression. When she learned to read him so well — and how she managed it in such a short period — he doesn’t know.
“Yeah,” she agrees quietly. Something in her voice makes him think she isn’t just agreeing with him. There’s a deeper meaning there, one he has no desire to understand. “Yeah, there are.”