Chapter Text
The restaurant still creaked behind them.
The fire roared like a dying beast refusing to be extinguished.
Joel had wrapped her in his jacket without asking permission. The fabric smelled of blood, gunpowder, and him. Ellie didn't protest. She didn't say anything. She didn't even seem to be there.
They walked.
It wasn't a decision. It was the only thing left to do.
Joel’s abdomen was rigid from the wound that hadn't finished closing. Ellie felt as though she were floating in an unreal dream. Every step was a silent negotiation. Ellie moved mechanically, fingers still numb, hip aching, her fingernails stained with dark residue beneath the skin.
The snow crunched under their boots.
They didn't speak.
The wind carried ash.
At one point, Joel tried to adjust the jacket over her shoulders. She tensed ever so slightly. Just barely. But he felt it.
"It’s okay," he murmured, more for the world to hear than to convince her.
Ellie didn't respond.
Her mind wasn't there.
There was a table.
A hand pinning her wrists above her head.
A knife.
Hot breath on her neck.
She blinked.
The snow.
Joel stumbled, and she reacted by instinct, catching him before he fell. Their hands met, and for a second, it was impossible to tell who was holding whom.
They kept moving, one foot after the other, one foot after the other—it was all that mattered.
One foot after the other regardless of the cold, regardless of the pain.
One foot after the other to get out of there and away from those bastards.
The town was left behind without ceremony.
The hill appeared like a white wall before them. It wasn't high, but it was steep enough to exhaust them.
Joel evaluated it with a glance, calculating strength he no longer possessed. Going around it would take too long, and the daylight was already beginning to shift.
The climb was slow. Painful. Two steps, pause. Two more.
Ellie slipped once. Joel caught her with an arm that trembled more than he would have liked. His abdomen protested with a sharp pang that reached down to his knee.
She didn't offer thanks. She didn't pull away either.
At the top, the wind hit harder, kicking up a fine powder of snow that made it almost impossible to keep their eyes open. From the height, the column of smoke was still visible in the distance—small, almost imperceptible. That reassured Joel; they had managed to put enough distance between them, and in this weather, no one would risk coming out to look for them—especially not when they had a fire to put out and corpses to find.
On the other side, the slope dropped abruptly in a steep decline covered in packed snow. Too steep to walk down.
Joel looked at the terrain, then at her.
She was staring at nothing.
"We’re going to slide," he said in a low voice, as if he feared breaking her. "On our backs. I’ll hold you."
There was no response.
He took her hand and guided her to a side where there were almost no trees to block their path.
For a moment, he feared she would pull away.
She didn't. She was so cold. They needed to find shelter soon, or hypothermia would make all the effort of getting out of there in vain.
They sat down with difficulty. Joel placed an arm around her torso, protecting her. With the other, he pushed off.
The slide was fast. The snow hit their backs; the air ripped the breath from them. Joel tried to control their direction with the heel of his boot.
Ellie closed her eyes.
Darkness.
Smoke.
A voice calling her name.
The impact at the bottom of the descent brought her back to the present.
They lay there for a few seconds.
Joel was the first to sit up with a low groan. He reached his hand toward her.
"Hey. Look at me."
She opened her eyes.
She looked at him, but it was as if she were observing something through him.
"Are you okay?"
No response.
Further down, rock formations emerged from the snow like black ribs rising from the earth. Between two of them was a deep crevice—a compact shadow.
Joel helped her up. Walking to it was harder than it seemed. Their legs no longer responded with precision. The cold was beginning to seep under their wet clothes, and the exhaustion was becoming evident.
As they drew closer, the opening revealed more than just shadow: a small cavity protected from the wind. It looked like the entrance to a cave.
Joel went in first, checking with his flashlight. It seemed empty.
He turned back to her.
"Wait here."
She didn't respond.
Joel took a rock and threw it inside to make noise. He raised his rifle, waiting for something or someone to come out and attack them.
Nothing.
He went in a bit further and threw another stone, further this time.
Nothing.
He moved forward.
The cave curved to the right. The flashlight’s beam reached the back. And that was where he saw it.
A corpse leaning against the wall in front of a small, improvised camp. Remnants of a blanket, a stone fire pit, an open backpack. Practically pure bone and fabric.
Joel jumped anyway.
The reflex was immediate: aim, hold breath, wait for movement.
Nothing.
The light scanned the skull. It wasn't deformed. There were no fungal plates attached. No Cordyceps growth claiming the flesh.
Human.
With a hole in the right temple and a larger one in the left.
An old, rusting revolver sat by its side.
Joel lowered his weapon slowly. The scene spoke to him with too much clarity: someone had made a final decision in the back of that cave. Maybe they were infected, or maybe just desperate.
The thought stuck like a needle under his ribs.
He spun on his heels and went back to the entrance.
Ellie was still exactly where he had left her.
Same posture. Same angle of the head. Same eyes fixed on an indeterminate point.
The wind lifted strands of her hair without her blinking.
"It's clear," Joel said, his voice firmer than he felt. "We can go in."
She didn't react.
Joel approached slowly.
"Ellie."
Nothing.
He stepped in front of her, forcing his figure into her line of sight.
"Hey. Look at me."
One second.
Two.
She focused.
It wasn't exactly that she was absent. It was as if she had been very far away and had to walk miles just to return.
"There’s… a body," he added, without softening it. "It’s not infected. Been there a long time."
A shadow crossed Ellie’s eyes.
Body.
Table.
Meat.
Machete.
Her breathing hitched slightly.
Joel noticed.
"It’s not like that," he clarified quickly, faster than he had spoken in hours. "It’s not that. It’s old, just bones."
Ellie swallowed hard.
She tried to speak, but no sound came from her throat.
Joel hesitated for an instant before resting his hand on her shoulder. This time she didn't tense. She didn't relax either. She simply accepted the contact as something functional.
They went in.
The air inside the cave was denser. They were protected from the wind and the snow. The temperature was only slightly more bearable.
When the flashlight illuminated the corpse, Ellie saw it.
She didn't look away.
She watched it with a cold, clinical attention.
Joel wanted to step in between. He didn't.
She took a step forward.
The skeleton was sitting, back against the rock, like someone who decided to rest for a moment and stayed there forever. In one of its hands was a bottle. Inches from the other: a revolver.
"I think we can spend the night here," Joel said as he finished examining the back of the cave. "I’ll try to get a fire going. There are enough cracks for the smoke to escape without choking us."
Ellie gave a slight nod.
Nothing more.
Joel leaned the rifle against the wall and knelt by the body. He did it with respect. It was habit.
Carefully, he pried the bottle from the rigid hand. Whiskey. Half-empty.
"Sorry, friend," he murmured under his breath.
The corpse was still wearing boots, camouflage pants, and a thick military jacket. The fabric was worn but not in tatters. No bite marks. No FEDRA logos. No visible dried blood.
Joel checked the outer pockets first.
A lighter. A couple of bullets.
Then the backpack leaning beside it.
A change of clothes, neatly folded.
Thick socks. A wool hat. Gloves.
An aluminum space blanket, still folded.
Sealed military rations.
Honey bars wrapped in waxed paper.
A small jar of ground coffee.
Food cans.
A fixed-blade knife. A canteen.
By its side sat an oil lamp.
Joel held the lamp against the flashlight’s beam, shaking it slightly. It still had fuel.
"Let's see if it works..." he whispered.
He used the lighter as a flint and managed to light the wick. The cave brightened, revealing the small camp inside more clearly, transforming the shadows into something less threatening.
To the side, there was a small circle of stones with dry branches inside and a pot blackened by repeated use.
A sleeping bag lay on the floor.
Further back, a pile of dry firewood.
Everything indicated that the man had planned to stay for more than one night.
Joel found a photograph in the jacket’s inner pocket.
A man and a woman on a beach. Smiling.
Wind in their hair. The sea behind them.
"It stays with him," he said in a low voice. He took the body by the armpits and moved it to the very back of the cave, where they wouldn't have to see it.
"Come here, sit down," Joel called out. "I'm going to start a fire. We need to dry off."
She didn't answer.
The dry branches crackled; smoke began to filter through the upper cracks exactly as he had calculated.
The heat was minimal.
But it was heat.
Joel stood up and approached Ellie.
"Sit," he insisted. "You need to rest."
She looked at him as if she needed to process the instruction.
"I’m going to melt some snow so you can clean up and we have water to drink."
Ellie looked down at her own hands. They were stiff.
"Don't be long."
It was almost inaudible.
Joel felt a tug in his chest.
"I won't be."
He stepped out of the cave with the rifle slung over his shoulder. The cold hit him like a wall. He gathered clean snow into the pot and collected exposed branches from between the rocks. He moved with efficiency, but his mind was inside.
With her.
He checked the perimeter; it seemed safe.
The snow fell sideways due to the wind.
He took the branches and placed them near the cave entrance, then covered them with snow so it wouldn't be easy to spot.
He returned in a few minutes.
Ellie hadn't moved.
But now she was sitting in front of the fire.
The light from the oil lamp made her eyes glint in a strange way.
Joel placed the pot on the stones and began to melt the snow.
The sound of the water starting to form was almost comforting.
He broke a honey bar in two and offered it to her.
She held it but didn't eat.
"You need energy," he said, firm but without harshness.
Ellie looked at him.
For an instant, her pupils seemed to lose focus.
The cave shifted.
The light turned an intense orange.
The smell of smoke became burning flesh.
A voice whispering "Ellie… Ellie…"
A heavy knife in her hand.
Hot blood splashing her face.
She blinked.
The honey bar was still intact between her fingers.
Joel watched her for a few more seconds.
"Ellie."
She didn't answer.
"Look at me."
It took a moment, but she did.
"I need to know how you are," he said, keeping his voice low and steady. "If you're hurt... I can't help you if I don't know."
Silence.
The fire crackled between them.
Joel looked down slightly at the stained clothes, stiff with dried blood.
"That blood..." he swallowed. "I know it’s not just yours."
It wasn't a question.
Ellie looked back at the fire.
"I need to know what happened," he insisted, softer now. "What they did to you."
The words hung in the air.
She gave a slight shake of her head.
"No."
It was immediate. Final.
Joel felt something break inside. Not because of the refusal... but because he understood exactly why.
He knew how far men like that could go.
He knew what it implied that she didn't want to say it.
His jaw tightened.
"Ellie..."
"I don't want to tell it," she repeated, her voice more fragile this time. "I don't want you to know."
That dismantled him.
Because it wasn't shame.
It was protection.
She was trying to protect him.
The only thing that gave him slight peace was that when he found her, she had murmured, "He tried..."
Joel looked down at the stone floor, taking a slow breath. When he spoke again, the pressure was gone from his voice.
"It’s okay."
He didn't push.
Ellie began to tremble.
At first, it was almost imperceptible. A slight shivering in the fingers. Then in the shoulders. The cold, the hunger, the adrenaline fading, the memory returning with the silence.
Joel reacted immediately.
He opened his backpack and pulled out a dry shirt, a sweater, pants, and socks.
He approached slowly.
"You have to change," he said gently. "You’re soaked. That doesn’t help."
She didn't move.
Joel placed the clothes beside her.
"I can..." he paused briefly, "help you. If you let me."
Ellie looked at him. There was something broken in her eyes. Something that wasn't there before.
Mistrust.
Not toward him.
Toward the world.
Toward hands that draw near.
Joel saw it. He instinctively backed off, giving her space.
"I’m not going to touch you without you saying yes," he clarified, firm but calm. "You decide."
The trembling increased.
Ellie looked down at her own hands, still holding the honey bar. She let it fall to the floor without realizing.
"I can't..." she whispered.
Joel knelt in front of her, at eye level. His wound protested.
"You can. Slowly. I’m right here."
The fire cast long shadows behind him.
Ellie’s breathing was ragged. She tried to take off the jacket. Her fingers wouldn't respond.
Joel extended his hand... and stopped it inches from her arm.
Waiting.
She closed her eyes for a second.
She nodded.
That was all he needed.
Joel slowly moved the jacket off her shoulders, as if he were handling glass.
Every gesture announced.
"I’m going to lift the sleeve."
"I’m going to unbutton this."
There was no rush.
No roughness.
Only care.
Joel dampened a piece of cloth with the lukewarm melted water and passed it with extreme delicacy over her face.
Ellie grit her teeth but didn't pull away.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head.
She was lying. Her nose was broken; he knew it the second he looked at her.
But she was enduring it.
Then he cleaned her hands, letting a little water run over them until they were clear.
Ellie was still trembling.
Joel passed her the dry shirt.
"I’ll turn around," he said. "I'll help you with the socks when you're ready."
He turned, giving her his full back.
He heard the rustle of fabric. Short breaths. A small, stifled sob that she tried to hold back.
His hands clenched into fists.
Don't turn around.
Don't rush her.
Don't break her more.
A few minutes passed.
"Okay."
The voice was barely audible.
Joel turned back.
The shirt was too big for her. The sweater even more so. She had taken off the wet pants and tucked her legs under the sweater. Her wet socks peeked out from underneath.
Small.
Far too small.
He approached and, this time without hesitation, placed the space blanket over her shoulders, wrapping her in it.
Ellie stared at him.
"I killed him," she said suddenly.
There was no drama in her tone.
Just a fact.
Joel held her gaze.
"I know."
She swallowed hard.
"He wouldn't stop."
Her voice broke there.
Joel moved before he could think. Not fast.
Not invasive.
Just enough to be right in front of her.
"Hey."
Ellie was breathing chaotically.
"I thought..." the sentence died.
Joel placed a hand on the floor between them. Visible. Not reaching out yet.
"What you did was survive."
She shook her head, tears pooling without falling.
"It didn't feel like that."
That, he felt.
Joel hesitated for only a second... and then he carefully rested his hand on her forearm, over the sweater.
Ellie tensed.
But she didn't pull away.
"Listen to me," he said, firmer now. "What he did. What he tried to do... that is what’s wrong. Not you."
The trembling began to turn into a stifled sob.
Joel slid his hand up to her shoulder.
"I'm not going to ask for details. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
She lowered her forehead.
And then, without warning, she leaned forward.
It wasn't an elegant embrace.
It was a collapse.
Joel caught her immediately, wrapping both arms around her, drawing her against his chest.
Ellie buried her face in his jacket.
And she shook.
Not like someone who was cold.
Like someone who was finally allowing themselves to feel.
Joel closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her hair.
"I’m here," he repeated, over and over, like an anchor. "I’m here. I’m here."
Outside, the wind battered the rock.
Inside, the fire continued to burn low and steady.
And for the first time since they left Boston, Ellie was able to cry.
*****