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The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
She pushes forward through the snow.
The woods press in around her. The skeletal branches mark the gray skies with harsh black lines. The world is all but silent around her, nothing but the soft, muffled sound of snow falling.
Her feet feel frozen; she hasn't been able to feel her toes for a while now.
She flexes her fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again so that she can grip the bow string.
It feels like she's been wandering these woods for hours now, searching for any signs of life, any signs of food.
And for all that, she's coming up empty handed.
She can't go back empty handed. It's not an option.
She feels like an absolute fucking failure.
She feels like screaming or crying, or maybe both.
Suddenly she can't breath and she had to stop, doubling over as her hands grip her knees, trying to suck the freezing winter air into her stubborn lungs.
Tears string her eyes.
She allows herself one last panicked breath before forcing herself to get a grip. Deep breath in, slow breath out.
She can feel her breaths start to even out.
She can't afford to break down - there's too much riding on her keeping it together.
One more deep breath and then she retrieves her bow from where she had dropped it in the snow. She carefully dusts off the powder, making sure the bow string is clean. She carefully slips the bow back into her backpack and reluctantly returns the way she came.
After about 45 minutes of steady walking, she comes to a break in the tree line and arrives at a snow-covered road. She walks just inside the tree line, weaving her way through dead brush, observing the surrounding woods for any signs of life.
Up ahead lies a convenience store and several small houses. She makes a wide loop around the buildings, checking the ground for any unfamiliar markings. No fucking way is she getting ambushed.
Nothing looks out of place, so she quickly pulls up a garage door just enough for her to squeeze beneath and slips inside. She's greeted almost at once by a soft whiny. She follows the noise until she bumps into a large, warm body. It takes several moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark after being outside in the snow.
Callus' large form looms before her and she follows the curve of his neck until she rubs the soft velvet of his nose. He blows into her face and she offers him a small smile in return.
"Good boy," she whispers, patting his cheek. She frowns as she looks him over in the dim light. Callus has noticeably lost weight since they left Tommy's. She'll have to take him out once they reach a new safe house and let him graze for a while. Not that there's much to be had out there. The winter has been particularly harsh. She packs a plastic bucket she found with snow, knowing that it will melt down into water soon enough and leaves Callus in the shelter of the garage.
She doesn't dare to stay in one place too long. Two nights at the most. She can't chance it with all the hunters in the area. Luckily, she hasn't seen any for almost a week, but she's noticed traces of them when she's out scavenging. A fresh set of tracks, the remains of a fire, empty cans of food tossed into the bushes.
She has to be careful. She can't risk getting caught. There can't be another incident like there was at the mall. Honestly, she's kind of amazed that she's lasted this long on her own.
Well.
Not truly on her own.
She finds him right where she left him in a small bedroom. The window in the room is cracked, but hasn't completely shattered, making this little room the warmest in the entire house. He's on the floor next to the bed (because there’s just no way she could lift him up into the bed on her own) covered with at least three different blankets.
She kneels down beside him and tries to keep her hands from trembling. She’s so scared of losing him. He's pale and sheen of sweat lays across his forehead. So his fever hasn't broken. Damn. She rubs her hands together, trying to warm them, before gently resting her hand against his forehead. He’s burning up.
She chokes back a sob.
No.
She will not cry.
She has to be strong.
For him, for Callus, for herself.
"Come on, Ellie," she mutters, breaking the silence, "get your shit together."
She retrieves the first aid kit from Joel's backpack where she has stored it for safe keeping. She frowns at the hollow rattle of the aspirin bottle. She pops open the lid and tilts the bottle upside down. A single white pill drops into her hand.
Fuck.
The bottle had been half empty when she found the kit anyway. It had to run out eventually... she just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
She breaks the pill into several tiny pieces before kneeling down next to him. She chews on her lip for a moment. It always freaks her out, trying to get him to wake up enough to take the medicine. It only helps for a little while, brings down his fever for a little while, but it's enough comfort for her to catch a few hours of sleep. Most nights she just sits beside him, watching him, holding his hand, and praying to whatever god is up there that he makes it until morning.
So far, the stubborn bastard has held on, but she's afraid that if she keeps pushing, their luck will run out. She needs to find some real medicine - some antibiotics or something. She's checked his wound every day and although the stiches are holding, the skin has become red and inflamed. There is a possibility that he had internal bleeding too. If she presses too hard on his side, he'll grunt in pain. It's definitely infected. She snorts at the irony.
She's terrified that one day, she'll wake up to find him pale and cold. And then she really will be alone.
She pulls a bottle of water from her backpack that is filled with melted snow. She nudges his shoulder gently to no response.
"Joel," she said, keeping her voice calm. He stirs slightly, his head turning toward her voice.
She scoots forward on her knees. "Joel," she says again, "I need you to take this."
He mumbles incoherently. She sighs and slips a hand under his head to lift him up.
He grimaces at the motion but attempts some kind of movement. She quickly takes the small window that he's responsive to shove the broken pill between his teeth and lift the bottle to his lips. She tips a small amount of water into his mouth and then waits as he attempts to swallow. He chokes back a cough, but is finally able to swallow down the small mouthful of water along with the crushed bit of aspirin.
"Do you want more water?" she asks, hopeful.
He grunts a negative-sounding response before a rough cough shakes through his chest. His head jerks beneath her fingers and she feels paralyzed with fear. His bottom lip gets coated in bright red. She carefully wipes away the blood with the edge of her sleeve and then lifts his head again, insisting that he drink some water. He's able to swallow several mouthfuls of water before he leans back against her hand, his hair slick with sweat. She gently lowers his head back to the ground.
He gazes up at her for a moment, piercing hazel eyes taking in her face before they lose focus and drift shut.
She swallows the lump in her throat and carefully caps the water bottle before returning it to her backpack.
Don't leave me.
She settles back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching him.
"Hey, I have a few more jokes I haven't used before," she says, on the off chance that he's still conscience enough to hear her.
She pulls out her pun book and flips through several pages before finding where she left off. She clears her throat. "What kind of shoes to ninjas wear?" she asks, pausing for effect. "Sneakers." She can't help the small grin that tugs at her lips.
"What do you call dangerous precipitation? A rain of terror."
She flips to the next page, glancing at the sleeping man before her.
"Two fish are in a tank. One turns to the other and asks 'How do you drive this thing?'" She smiles. Riley would have loved that one.
"Okay, okay, here's another one - What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? A thesaurus." She chuckles despite herself, glancing over at Joel. He seems to shiver slightly and that makes her worry.
She frowns down at her pun book, tracing the edges with her cold fingers. The skin around her nails is dry and cracked, but hell if her fingers can feel anything at the moment. Sighing, she returns her precious pun book to the safety of her bag.
Surveying the light in the small window, she figures she has maybe an hour left of sunlight. She pulls a book off the bedside table and thumbs through it. It’s a book of poetry she found the night before when she found the house.
Not her usual choice of literature, but it has some interesting stuff in it.
She turns to the page she had dog-eared last night. She had been drawn to the poem on the page - it just seemed fitting. Even the author's name seemed to echo their circumstances.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep
The last part is what really gets her. Promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. If that doesn't ring true, she doesn't know what does. She promised Joel that they stick together. And she meant it. Both then, and especially now. There is no way that she is letting go of him without a fight. And she is determined to find medicine, something, to make him better, even if she has to walk all over the goddamn state of Colorado to find it.
She plans to move him tonight.
The moon has been clear and bright the past few nights. It should be enough light for her to navigate through the forest without too much difficulty. She had noticed a group of houses across a large lake when she was out hunting several days before and after several days of observing, hadn't noticed any activity. No fires, no voices, no human movement. No infected either.
Later, after the moon has been in the sky for several hours, she painstakingly drags him into the garage and settles him into the blue plastic sled she found at the mall. She piles the blankets on top of him to keep him warm, although he's already starting to shiver again as the fever returns. Fuck, she needs to find him some real medicine. She ties Joel to the sled with a length of rope and a long orange electric cord.
She places her small hand against his burning forehead. "Don't you dare think about dying on me, you hear old man?" she whispers. She lingers for a half a second longer, gathering her courage. As dangerous as the woods are at night, she would rather take her chances moving Joel in the dark with the wild animals than in board daylight when the chances of hunters spotting them are higher.
She double checks that her bow is still in good condition and recounts her arrows - one, two, three, four. She slings the bag onto her back, adjusting the straps. She grabs ahold of Callus' lead and kneels next to the garage door. She listens for a heartbeat, straining her ears to pick up on any sounds of danger. All she hears is static and the beating of her own heart in her ears. Getting a grip at the bottom of the heavy door, she counts it out and then, taking a deep breath, heaves the door open with all her might. The door creeks and groans, but rolls up the tracks. She leads Callus out of the garage and makes sure the sled is pulling smoothly.
Satisfied, she mounts Callus and settles into the saddle. She gives a command and pressed her heels into his side. Callus blows and shakes his head before trudging out into the snow.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep...