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She has to find Joel.
She has to find Joel now.
Joel drilled her for weeks on what to do in this exact situation. Stay out of sight, stay silent, stay still, stay alert.
What he didn’t tell her was what to do in the event he was overpowered.
As soon as they heard people — men — approaching, Joel thrust the rifle at her, shoved her toward the nearest pine tree, and told her to climb as high as possible. Before she could protest, he hisses, “If they ain’t a threat, I’ll call you down. But I need you safe. Go.”
Her muscles burned and her hands were raw from the frantic climb, but the fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins made Ellie oblivious to the pain. From her perch, she had a perfect view of Joel’s back and the approaching group. Five too-thin men with rifles, their faces obscured by grime and unkempt beards. They looked desperate. Dangerous.
Every rifle was pointed at Joel.
“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” Joel said in a firm, steady voice, hands raised in surrender. “Just passin’ through.”
The largest man stepped forward, barrel pointed at Joel’s forehead. “Funny thing about passing through,” he growled in a sinister tone. “Sometimes folks take things that ain’t theirs to take.”
From here, she could see the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the coiled readiness of a man preparing to fight. “Don’t need any stuff,” Joel responded, his voice steady. “Got plenty of my own.”
“That so?” Another man, shorter and stockier, stepped forward, his eyes cold. “Don’t you fuckin’ move,” he snarled as he disarmed Joel, patting him down and taking Joel’s visible weapons. Joel keeps a small handgun strapped to his ankle, which gets confiscated as well. Then he withdrew and gestured at Joel’s pack. “Slide it off, one arm at a time, and take five steps to the left.”
With slow, deliberate movements, Joel complied, holding his stance as the stocky man dumped the contents on the ground. He rummaged through the items, pausing at the small bag Joel carries for her — a change of clothes and tampons — then straightened and raised the gun again, this time pushing the barrel into Joel’s chest. “You’re travelin’ with a woman. Where is she?”
Fuck. Fuck. Even with the rifle, she’d never be able to take them all out before one of them shot Joel. Sure, she’s a good shot, but she’s not a great shot, and the tree branches obscure her sightlines.
“I’m travelin’ alone.” Joel nodded toward the now-empty pack.
The tall man — the leader, if she had to guess — stepped right into Joel’s space, so close that she thought they must be nose-to-nose. “If you’re travelin’ alone, why are you carrying women’s shit around? Nah, I don’t believe it. Where is she?”
In the tree, Ellie held her breath, willing herself to become part of the bark, part of the sky. The first time Joel made her climb a tree, she thought he’d lost it — he always stopped her from doing fun shit — and had mocked him accordingly. That’s when he started to teach her what to do if they had enough time for her to get to safety. She’s grateful for his paranoia because her tree-climbing skills are much improved, and she was almost certain they wouldn’t spot her if she stayed still.
“Had her, used her, killed her,” Joel replied in a flat, cold tone that sent shivers down her spine. “Take what you want and let me be on my way.”
“Generous of you,” the large man sneered. He jerked his head, and the stocky man stuffed Joel’s things back into the pack. “But generosity ain’t what we’re after.”
Ellie’s blood ran cold.
She watched in horror as the group leader signaled one of his men with a curt nod. The man circled behind Joel, rifle still trained on him. Please, she’d prayed. Please, let them just take him. Please don’t let them shoot him.
“You tell us where she is, maybe we’ll consider lettin’ you go,” the leader growled.
“There ain’t no woman,” Joel repeated. “An’ even if she were alive, she’d be no use to y’all. Cunt wasn’t worth it. Couldn’t even suck.”
The man behind Joel moved without warning, slamming the butt of the rifle into Joel’s knee. His bad knee. Joel crumpled to the ground with a guttural shout, his hands scrambling for his injured leg. Ellie flinched, nearly losing her balance on the branch as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She bit down hard on her lip, tears threatening to fall. She was powerless. Completely and utterly powerless.
“You’ve got a real big mouth,” the stocky man said, stepping forward to kick Joel’s shoulder. “Too big for your own good.”
He raised the rifle, and for a split second, Ellie was sure she was going to watch Joel die.
“No,” the leader barks, gesturing for the other man to step away. “He looks strong. Should get a good price for him. Tie him up. Legs too — don’t want him runnin’.”
Ellie watched as two of the men hauled Joel to his feet. He stood, hunched and favoring his injured knee, but silently allowed them to bind hands behind his back. It was torture, watching as they wrapped rope around Joel’s ankles with enough slack for him to take small steps forward.
“Move,” the stocky man spat, positioning himself to press the barrel of the rifle between Joel’s shoulder blades.
Joel’s voice rings through her head, steady and calm. Don’t care what you hear. If I don’t call you down, you stay put and count to six hundred before you even think about comin’ out of hidin’.
It’s excruciating, counting in her head as she stares in the direction they pushed Joel in, but she does it. The group didn’t seem particularly careful about moving through the trees; she should be able to track them.
When Ellie finally reaches six hundred, she shifts her weight, climbing down the tree with agonizing care. When her feet touch the ground, the reality of what she’d just witnessed crashed over her like a wave.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Joel’s fucking strong and the best fighter she’s ever seen, but he can’t defend himself against five armed men, especially if he’s tied up and disarmed.
Okay, she’s got to get a hold of herself and figure out a plan. What would Joel do?
Her thoughts race as she kneels where they emptied Joel’s pack. Her spare clothes, the tampons — they hadn’t taken those. She stuffs them in her pack as her mind plays through a reel of scenarios: Joel breaking free and making a run for it, Joel overpowering one of the men and seizing a weapon, Joel bleeding out as he dies alone in the forest.
No. She can’t think like that. Not now.
Ellie creeps toward the border of the clearing on light feet, eyes scanning for movement. The group left an obvious trail of broken twigs and trampled undergrowth she can follow with ease. But then what? She has Joel’s rifle and her pistol, but one kid against five men is shitty math, especially if she finds them and something terrible has happened to Joel.
With a deep breath, Ellie tries to slow her racing heart and steady her shaking hands. The forest is silent around her, ratcheting up the apprehension threatening to overwhelm her. She has to be smart about this; rushing in is going to get her and Joel killed.
Staying low, she follows the trail. Her mind whirls with possible plans, the most plausible of which is to ambush them one by one or wait until nightfall and sneak into their camp. Both have their risks, and neither guarantee success.
It’s difficult to tell how much distance she covers because she’s moving so slowly, but the sun is growing lower in the sky by the minute. It must be hours later when she hears faint voices. She freezes and drops to her stomach, crawling into the undergrowth with as much stealth as she can muster.
There’s a thick, sturdy-looking pine tree just behind her. When she’s certain the voices aren’t approaching her location, Ellie scales the tree, going higher than she should to get a clear look at the camp.
Three makeshift tents form a rough triangle around a fire pit. Each one has a man positioned with their back to the camp as they guard the surrounding area. Ellie’s heart pounds, threatening to explode as she scans the encampment again and again for any sign of Joel. Squeezing her eyes shut, Ellie forces herself to breathe. She can do this.
There’s one last strong-looking branch to her right, so she eases herself onto it and leans as far to the side as she dares. Relief crashes over her when she spots Joel, but it’s replaced in seconds by panic. He’s on his stomach, arms and legs forced behind his back and tied together. Hogtied, some part of her brain supplies. They used to hogtie people in the QZ. Sometimes those people died because they couldn’t breathe.
She reminds herself over and over again that Joel is fucking strong, and except for his shitty hearing and his shitty knee, he’s healthy. He’ll endure. He’ll survive.
He has to.
Ellie bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood as she contemplates her next move. She can’t take them all head-on, even though the sight of Joel bound and vulnerable makes her want to run into the camp with guns blazing.
Okay, what would Joel do? She needs to focus on what he would do. Assess, plan, and wait for the right moment. That’s what he’d do. So that’s what she’s going to do.
It’s getting dark now, and she’s still trying to figure out how to take the guards out when the stocky man emerges from a tent, grabs a rifle, and informs the others that he’s going back to the area where they found Joel “just in case.”
Ellie climbs down the tree as fast as possible, flicking open her knife and hiding herself in the dense underbrush. She’s had more than enough practice sneaking up on clickers; she can handle this. The man crunches toward her, his heavy steps careless and loud. When he passes by her without so much as a glance, she can hear that he’s humming.
Good. That makes it harder for him to hear her approach. Ellie slips out of her hiding place and follows him until she’s certain any sound he makes won’t carry to the camp.
And then she sprints at him, leaping onto his back and slicing his throat open in one fluid movement. Hot blood sprays across Ellie’s hands as the man crumples beneath her. She rolls to the side, coming up in a crouch with her knife held out in defense. She waits for shouts, for pounding feet, for the crack of gunfire. Nothing.
With trembling hands, Ellie wipes the blood from her hands and her knife using the man’s shirt. Despite her efforts, it’s impossible to ignore the way his throat is a gaping, bloody maw. Her stomach churns, but she squashes the sensation down. Not now.
She searches the body, clipping the sheathed knife to her jeans and stuffing the bullets in her front pocket. The rifle has three additional rounds that join them. Satisfied that she’s collected anything useful, Ellie drags the man’s body out of view. After a moment of indecision, she pushes him just enough to wedge the weapon underneath him. If Joel wants it later, they can come back for it.
One down, four to go.
Ellie sneaks back to the camp, circling around to one of the tents. As she’s trying to figure out the best way to draw this guard away, he announces he’s going to take a shit and puts his rifle down.
It’s her best chance.
She tiptoes parallel to him until he stops and pulls his pants down. This time, she doesn’t need to leap at her target; draws her knife across his throat, slapping her hand across his mouth when he tries to make a sound.
Two down.
Ellie is much more comfortable with three-on-one odds. And with the extra ammo, she can at least incapacitate them long enough to get to Joel.
Once she’s hidden this body, Ellie scans the area and edges around to the next tent, the one closest to Joel. There’s another sturdy-looking tree, one she can scale and use to snipe the remaining guards. It’s closer to the camp than she’d like, but her aim gets worse when she’s too far away from a target.
She stashes her pack deep in a bush and scales the tree, settling in a spot a little more than halfway up. The branches above her are dense, so she’ll be able to climb further if they figure out where the shots are coming from. Ellie checks the chamber and presses her back to the tree trunk; it won’t do Joel any good if she’s knocked to the ground because of recoil.
With a steadying breath, she takes aim at the man furthest from her; if the other guard turns toward his associate, it will be easier to take him out from behind. That just leaves the leader.
She pulls the trigger.
She hits her target.
The man stumbles forward, collapsing in a heap. Ellie doesn’t wait to see if he’s down for good — she swings her aim to the second guard, who turns at the sound. From the corner of her eye, she sees the leader emerge from his tent and rush to the body, aiming into the forest.
The stock bucks against her shoulder as she squeezes the trigger again. She winces when the shot goes wide, tearing through the fabric of a tent and splintering a log in the fire pit. As the leader turns and shouts, scanning the area, the guard drops his rifle and dives for cover. She shifts her weight and aims again, this time for the leader.
He goes down with a scream, blood soaking through his jeans in seconds. Not dead, but she’ll take care of that soon enough.
The guard takes off running, and Ellie knows it’s only a matter of seconds before he gets to his weapon. She slides down the tree, branches scraping over her exposed skin, and hits the ground running. As she dumps the rifle and pulls out her pistol, she pushes herself forward, faster. Joel’s words about how speed can sometimes be a better weapon than a bullet echo in her head as she bursts into the camp and drops to the ground, aiming for the remaining guard.
This time, she doesn’t miss.
The leader. She still needs to deal with him.
Ellie doesn’t look at Joel as she sprints past him, even though every fiber of her being wants to rush to his side and cut him free. The leader is clutching his leg, his face contorted in pain and fury. As she stands over him, pistol trained on his forehead, she kicks the weapons well out of his reach. He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off.
“How many?” she demands.
He raises his chin in defiance and spits.
“I said, how many.” Her voice is steel, but inside, Ellie thinks she might vibrate into nothingness.
The leader just stares her down, lip curling into a sneer. “So you’re the used cunt he—”
His head snaps back, and a neat hole punched through his forehead. Ellie stands motionless, the gun still aimed at where his head used to be. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. The silence in the camp is suffocating.
She just killed five people.
“Ellie.” Joel’s voice is hoarse, strained, but it cuts through the weight of her actions and the buzzing in her ears.
As she swallows down a sudden wave of nausea, Ellie drops to her knees at Joel’s side, unclipping the knife from her jeans with one hand and touching the back of his head with the other. “Stay still. I don’t want to cut you.”
She still hasn’t seen his face, but his body is trembling, bucking under her hand. “Okay,” she mutters, sawing through the ropes that bind his limbs. “Okay, almost free. Almost.”
The ropes give way, and Joel can’t suppress a shout as his arms drop like stones. Ellie manages to catch his legs before they slam into the ground. He doesn’t move to rub his wrists or stretch as he lays face down, wheezing and gasping.
“Joel,” she murmurs, her voice shaking as she slides her hand between his shoulders, frowning at the twitching, rippling muscles. “I’m gonna get you on your back, then I’ll free your legs.”
He mumbles something unintelligible, a pained groan escaping when Ellie rolls him over. The sight of his face makes her heart drop: his skin is paper white, one eye partially swollen shut, a gash across his cheek, lips cracked and bleeding. His chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths, each one a visible effort.
“Ellie,” he rasps again, his good eye locking on her.
“I’m okay,” she assures Joel, resting her palm on his sternum. “I-I got five of them. Are there more?”
“No,” he grunts as he clenches his eyes closed.
“Okay,” she mutters, rubbing her hand over his chest. “Okay, just hang on, okay? You’re almost free.” It’s easier to slice through the ropes at his ankles, and within a minute, she’s pushing his jeans up. His ankles are bleeding and ringed with bruises that extend down into his boots. She crawls up to his head, turning his face toward her with shaking fingers.
“Hey you,” she whispers again, forcing a smile when he focuses on her. “We’re okay. I’m gonna get you some water. Be right back.”
Ellie stands, her legs unsteady as she hurries to her stash in the bush. She retrieves her pack and unzips it, hands fumbling for her canteen.
She just killed five people.
The thought loops in her mind as she rushes back to Joel’s side, clicking on her flashlight and kneeling at the top of his head. “‘Kay, okay,” she mutters to herself. “Joel, you with me?”
“Yeah,” he rasps, eyes opening when Ellie touches his hair.
“Good,” she murmurs, shifting to help him sit. “We’re gonna get you up now. I think… I think it’s gonna hurt, but I won’t let you fall. On three, okay?” At his slight nod, Ellie slides her arms under his back and braces herself. “One… two…” She lifts on two, stifling frightened tears at the deep, guttural sound that emerges from Joel’s throat.
They pause for a moment, his torso propped against Ellie’s chest. She can feel every tremor wracking Joel’s body, every labored breath. “We’re safe,” she whispers as she slips one arm around his side and brings the canteen to his lips. Ellie hooks her chin over his shoulder, watching as he takes a cautious sip, then another, before turning his head away.
“You need more than that,” she chides, lowering it when Joel just shakes his head.
“Gimme a minute,” he breathes, tipping his head to rest against hers. “S’hard to swallow.”
Ellie puts the bottle down and tightens her grip, holding him steady as she tries to figure out their next steps. The camp is still, the only sounds Joel’s harsh breathing and the faint rustle of leaves. She swallows hard and eases his arms into his lap. “Your hands are purple,” she whispers as she starts to massage them with light pressure. “Are they numb?”
“Startin’ to burn. Pins ’n needles.” His fingers twitch in hers. “Y’don’t need to do that.”
“Your hands are purple,” Ellie repeats. “Are your feet numb too?”
“’Cept where they’re crampin’.”
She nods, gaze traveling toward his shoes. “I’ll look when you can sit up.”
They fall quiet as Joel attempts to catch his breath and Ellie rubs some warmth into his digits. She can feel his chest expand more with each inhale despite his uneven breaths.
After a few long minutes, she squeezes Joel’s fingers with gentle pressure. “Were you able to tell if they have buddies nearby?”
“Don’t think so.” His voice is hoarse and painful sounding; he really needs more water.“Heard somethin’ ‘bout bein’ two days from the market.”
“Market?”
“Slave market.”
Ellie’s stomach twists at the thought of people — of Joel — being traded like cattle. And for what? For her? “They say which way?”
Joel twists his head to catch her gaze, scoffing as he says, “West.”
“Of course,” she mutters, looking around the camp. Her eyes drift to the scattered bodies as a cold rage simmers below the surface. “Are we safe here for the night? I can’t carry your heavy ass for miles through a forest like you’re some sort of fairytale princess.”
“Brat,” he huffs.
“Old geezer.” Ellie snakes a tentative hand up to rest on his sternum. “You’re breathing better.”
“Gettin’ easier,” Joel agrees as he shifts against her, nodding to himself. “Think I can manage on my own now.”
Ellie hesitates, her grip tightening. She doesn’t want to let go; not because she doubts his strength — Joel has been more than clear about what could happen to either of them if they’re not honest about their physical capabilities — but because the contact is grounding her, keeping her from spiraling over what she’s just done. With a nod, she releases her grip, moving to Joel’s side and watching as he steadies himself.
He reaches for the canteen, cursing when he can’t wrap his fingers around it. Before he can get too frustrated, Ellie picks it up and wraps his hands around it, steadying it when spasming muscles cause his grip to falter. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“We need to move the bodies,” he says, sounding far more like the Joel she knows. “Can’t leave ‘em like that.”
“We don’t need to do anything,” Ellie mutters as she studies Joel’s face. “Can you even feel your feet yet?”
Joel glares at her, straightening abruptly as he grunts, face screwing up in pain. “Back cramp,” he grates out before Ellie can react.
With a gentle touch on his leg, she crawls down to Joel’s ankles. “I’m just gonna check,” she says in a quiet voice. As his face relaxes, she asks again: “Do you think we’re safe here for the night?”
Joel looks around the clearing and sighs, shaking his head. “No,” he grunts, wincing when Ellie pulls one of his boots off. “But we ain’t safe in the woods either, not when I can’t move well. This’ll have to do ’til mornin’.”
“Oh my god, your feet fucking reek.” She mimes a gag and then pinches her nose closed, waving the smell away. “Do you keep dead skunks in there or something?”
When she meets his gaze, he raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Smells like a fine provolone to me.”
“A provo-what?”
“Cheese. We’d put it on sandwiches.”
“You ate feet sandwiches? Fucking gross, man. The world was so weird in the Stone Age.” Ellie wrinkles her nose at Joel as she pulls her shirt up over her nose and mouth, hissing when she peels his socks off. “Shit, your ankles look worse than your wrists. Your feet aren’t so bad, though. Want your boots back on?”
Joel nods, grunting as he leans forward. “Yeah. Not tight. And then you’re helpin’ me up.”
And he calls her stubborn. “If you crush me to death, I won’t be able to help you find Tommy.”
“I ain’t gonna crush you,” Joel grumbles as Ellie finishes with his shoes and gets to her feet. “Might drive you into the ground like a stake, though. So goddamn skinny.”
“Asshole.” She extends her hand, already bracing herself against the inevitable strain. Joel grasps her forearm with a still-unsteady hand, nodding when he’s ready. With a concerted heave and muffled cursing from them both, he staggers to his feet. She braces his chest, stuffing herself under his arm when he lists to the side.
“See?” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Told you.”
Ellie shoots him a withering look, then juts her chin toward the firepit. “You’re sitting there.”
“Ellie—”
“You’re sitting there, you delusional piece of shit,” she repeats in a forced tone. “I can’t take care of everything if I’m hauling you around the fucking camp.”
Joel’s expression darkens, familiar anger brewing behind his eyes. For a moment, Ellie thinks he might snap, that he’ll try to shout her down. But then the tension in his jaw loosens, and he gives a reluctant nod.
“Fine,” he mutters, allowing her to guide him to the firepit. Together, they manage to lower him to the ground without causing too much pain. Or, at least, he doesn’t show it. Ellie stands over him, hands on her hips as if daring him to protest again. When he doesn’t, she turns away to survey the camp. Technically, she doesn’t need to go through the what would Joel do process. He’s right here, but if he keeps deluding himself into thinking he’s okay, she’s the one who’s going to crack.
“You need to—”
“I know what I need to do,” Ellie barks as she moves to retrieve the water and her bag. “Do you think you can eat? I’ve got that can of soup still.”
Joel eyes her warily before shrugging. “We’ll see.”
With a nod, Ellie hands the water over and says, “Keep drinking. You look super dehydrated.”
Joel takes the canteen with a sigh, tilting it to gauge how much remains. “You need to be drinkin’ too. Don’t wanna waste it.”
Ellie rolls her eyes as she opens the can and sets it on the embers. “My lips aren’t cracked. And it’s not a waste if it keeps you from keeling over. Drink.”
As she watches, he takes a small sip, then a bigger one, before holding it out to her. “Humor me.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that?” Ellie grumbles as she takes a swig. “There. You’re finishing the rest while I deal with…” She gestures to the nearest body. “Anyway, these fuckers must have water somewhere. And they have your canteen. I’ll be fine.”
Joel glares, shaking his head before sighing. “Go on, then.”
Focusing on the steps she needs to do is much better than allowing her mind to run wild with what she’s done and all the what-ifs she’s been ignoring. After she’s collected all the discarded weapons and placed them next to Joel, she shoulders her bag. She clips the flashlight so she can see before dragging the first guy across the camp by the ankles. Pausing for a moment of hesitation, Ellie hauls him to the area where she’d killed the first guard.
When she returns to the camp, Joel watches her, following her every move. She hates it, but she can understand. She’s reluctant to let him out of her sight, too.
Ellie moves to stand over the leader, her eyes glued to his forehead. It’s not the first time she’s shot someone — not even the first time she’s shot someone in the head at close range — but something about having to deal with the aftermath is majorly fucking with her. After a moment, she steels herself and drags him into the woods as well.
Only one left now, which is good because her back is aching. Joel is hurting more, she reminds herself as she makes her way to the corpse. This one is the furthest away from her little body pile, and she’s getting tired. Ellie grabs it by the feet as she prepares herself for the effort.
And then it moves, hands scrabbling at the dirt.
With a strangled shriek, Ellie stumbles back, dropping the ankles as if they were on fire. Her hand flies to her gun, out and aimed at the man’s head in seconds.
“Ellie?” Joel calls with alarm, struggling to rise.
The not-so-dead man makes a sound — half groan, half whimper — and Ellie’s mind races through the possibilities. Could he be faking it? There’s a large, bloody hole through his midsection, a pool of blood soaking into the ground below. Joel told her once that stomach wounds can take a long time to kill someone.
The man’s voice is a rasping whisper, almost inaudible over the pounding in Ellie’s ears. “Please…”
“Joel, stay down,” she orders. “I got it.”
After a second of indecision, Ellie pulls out her knife and crouches by the man’s head. She watches the blade instead of his face as she digs it into his throat, jerking away when blood spurts everywhere. Then she wipes the knife on her jeans and takes a deep, shaky breath before hauling this one into the woods.
She just killed five people.
No, if she thinks about that too much, she’ll be useless to Joel, and that’s the last thing they need right now. Ellie makes her way back, kneeling next to him. “How we doing?” she asks quietly.
He nods, tension evident in his features whenever he shifts the slightest bit. “Better. Be runnin’ a marathon later.”
“Good luck with that,” Ellie snorts as she tests the temperature of the soup. She busies herself with dumping some into her cup, filling it less than halfway in case he has trouble holding it. “Here.”
For a fleeting second, she thinks Joel will protest, but he just accepts the mug and surveys the camp. “Think they were well supplied,” he says once he’s finished what she gave him. She pours more and hands it back. “Might have some’a that heavier gear we need.”
Ellie takes her time, choosing to watch Joel drink the soup. His hands are steadier, but there’s a fragility to his movements that scares her more than any of the things she did today.
“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice softer. “Looks like the tents have been here a while. I’ll check them now.”
Ellie stands, turning away when she realizes just how heavy and uncooperative her legs are. The adrenaline that kept her sharp — kept her going — is draining away, leaving her raw and fatigued. She needs to push through because Joel was right about one thing: they’re running low on water.
She moves to the nearest tent and peeks inside with her flashlight. The beam flickers over two sleeping bags, a backpack, and a pile of clothes that might as well be rags. She steps in and starts rummaging through the backpack, pulling out the items one by one: a box of all-weather matches, some jerky, bullets, a flask. She unscrews the flask’s cap and sniffs — whiskey. When Joel’s better hydrated, that could be useful for his pain. At the very least, she can use it on the raw skin circling his wrists and ankles.
Ellie stuffs the loot into her bag and moves to the next tent. Two more sleeping bags, one with the contents of Joel’s pack scattered across the top. She repacks it, leaving the canteen out, and looks around for anything else that could be useful, her eyes landing on a lantern. It’s the kind with a hand crank, which is incredible. Joel told her about those, and she’s been looking for one ever since so she can read her comics at night without draining her flashlight.
With the items and the cleanest-looking sleeping bag she’s seen so far, Ellie returns to Joel’s side and sets them down. “More water,” she says, shaking it at him. “Almost full, too.”
Joel eyes the bottle for a minute before shaking his head. “I ain’t drinkin’ from that until you do.”
“I’m gonna fucking kick you in the nuts,” she mutters under her breath as she uncaps it and takes a gulp. “I don’t give a shit if you’re already in pain.”
With a roll of his eyes, Joel accepts the canteen and takes a few sips before setting it down. “You need to eat too.”
“When I’m finished,” she dismisses, already heading for the last tent — the leader’s tent. This one has supplies they need right now: several jugs of water, a crate of canned foods, and a very battered first aid kit. The sleeping bag is in the best condition of all of them, too.
Finally, some real luck.
She stuffs as many cans as possible in her pack, grabs a jug and the bedroll, and deposits it all next to Joel. “Do you want me to get more wood?”
“Nah.” Joel gestures to the empty spot next to him. “Sit. I can tell you’re runnin’ on fumes.”
Ellie hesitates, glancing around the darkened perimeter of the camp. She wants to tell Joel that they’re not safe here, not really, but he’s right. If something were to happen, she wouldn’t be of any use to him in her current state.
With a sigh, she eyes him and unzips a sleeping bag, draping it over Joel’s shoulders. He reaches up and grabs her wrist, tugging until she’s in front of him. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll be okay in a few hours.”
She shrugs, laying the other bedroll next to him. “You’d do it for me.”
“Reckon I would, yeah.” The way he’s watching her makes her skin crawl; it’s so intense. Joel lays a hand on her knee and squeezes. When she looks down at it, she’s glad to see that it’s a normal skin color.
“You did good,” he says eventually, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Ellie’s stomach knots. She doesn’t want praise for this, for killing. Anger would be better. It’s easier to handle anger, to deflect it and use it as fuel to burn through the fear and guilt inside. But praise? That just makes it harder to reconcile what she’s done with what needed to be done. There wasn’t another way to save Joel — she knows that, and she’ll never regret it — but still. She killed five men, most of them right up close and personal.
She looks away, focusing on a point in the distance because she can’t bear his scrutiny. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Course you didn’t,” Joel replies in a gentle tone that makes her want to scream. “Ain’t easy, takin’ down a group of armed men on your own when you’re outnumbered.”
Instead of acknowledging his words, Ellie stands and stretches, her muscles protesting every movement. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Ellie—”
“You should have more water,” she mutters, picking up the rifle. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
She watches Joel straighten and reach for her, but his hands fall into his lap with a defeated sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs. She’s not sure if it’s for taking watch, or for telling him to drink water, or for killing five men to save one. Ellie doesn’t want to know. It doesn’t matter in the end.
She does a slow lap around the edge of the clearing, her attention divided between the woods and Joel. Even from this distance, she can see how his arms shake as he tries to lie down without collapsing. When she’s certain he won’t get up or do something equally stupid, Ellie steps into the darkness surrounding them. He told her to do three laps on perimeter patrol, each one wider than the first.
The rifle in her hands is heavy, uncomfortable in a way it’s never been. The smell of gunpowder and the sound of each shot keep assaulting her, even when she devotes all her attention to ensuring their safety. It doesn’t help that the forest is silent, only the sound of rustling leaves for company. There aren’t even birds or bugs or anything around to distract her.
The fourth lap brings her past the mound of bodies. She freezes, eyes glued to the spot. Shapes and shadows play tricks on her mind; for a moment, she thinks she sees one of them move, but she knows better. They’re dead.
She would know.
Ellie forces herself to walk closer. The moon slips from behind a cloud, casting a pale light over the proof of her deeds. She counts them again, not because she doubts they’re all there, but because some part of her hopes she’ll come up one short.
Still four. The fifth is hidden in a bush ten minutes away. She talks herself out of checking to make sure.
Her grip on the rifle tightens until her knuckles are locked in place. This is what survival looks like, she tells herself. This is what it means to live. To fight.
This is necessary.
She tries to summon the anger that carried her through the day and back to Joel’s side, but she finds only hollow exhaustion. As she turns away, Ellie catches sight of the leader’s head. His eyes are still open. She didn’t notice that before.
It feels like he’s staring at her. Mocking her.
Condemning her.
The thought makes her sinuses burn with shame and responsibility. Ellie rips her gaze away before the burn turns into tears and trudges back to the encampment. As she approaches, she lightens her steps to avoid disturbing Joel. He’s asleep, mumbling under his breath as his face twitches and contorts.
Ellie knows she should wake him — she’s fucking exhausted — but she has been able to move unassisted all day. Joel hasn’t. He needs the rest far more than she does, even if he won’t admit it.
She observes him, shaking her head at the way he zipped the sleeping bag up and laid on top of it instead of using it as a blanket. What a dumbass. Ellie rests the rifle on the ground to pick up the other one. She takes a few steps away to open it, then covers Joel, careful to not wake him. After a minute of indecision, she settles within reach and draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. The embers in the firepit are almost out, leaving creepy glowing spots that seem more like the devil’s eyes than the remains of a fire. It reminds her of the glowing red eyes of the fucking whatever it was that had her sprinting through an abandoned mall to save Riley.
She didn’t save Riley.
She killed Riley.
The first person she killed was her best friend. Her only friend, really. They only had a few minutes where it could have been more. Whether it’s two minutes or two days…
In the end, it was twenty-two hours. And Riley wasn’t… she wasn’t Riley for the last hour. Not really. Riley couldn’t speak at the end; she knocked her arm into Ellie’s, eyes pleading as she looked between Ellie’s knife and Ellie’s face.
And then Ellie killed her. Slit her throat, just like she slit three men’s throats today.
Her chest hitches at the memory of Riley’s blood spraying just like that one guy’s did. Riley had been lying down, too. Ellie had to close Riley’s eyes because they stayed open even after she died.
“…Ellie.”
She jumps at her name, head whipping toward Joel. He’s still asleep, face drawn into a deep frown and his hands twitching as if he’s trying to find something he dropped.
“Ellie,” he mumbles again, grimace deepening as he turns his head to the side. It sends a shiver down her spine because it’s hard to stomach the thought of anyone dreaming about her. Sure, she’s important to humanity and to the Fireflies, but she’s not important to any specific person. Not anymore.
When Joel says her name a third time, Ellie stands and makes her way back to the perimeter, intentionally leaving the rifle. If something comes, she’ll handle it with her knife. The gun is too loud, too impersonal; the switchblade gives her control, and that’s what she needs right now.
She doesn’t bother with a full patrol; just wanders back to the evidence of her actions. It’s hard to reconcile killing humans, but what scares her the most is how effortless it is. And it’s easy because she cares about someone. He’s standoffish and grumpy, bare tolerates her presence most days, but he’s all she has. Flinging her into a wall aside, Joel’s only ever protected her. It seems only fair to protect him in return. Almost every person she’s killed was to protect Joel and herself.
Ellie’s not sure how long she stands there, but when she looks up, the sky is starting to lighten. She needs to get back to Joel before he wakes; he’ll be worried if she’s nowhere to be found.
It doesn’t take her long to return to the camp, but the fog of exhaustion blurs her thoughts into an overwhelming cacophony. Does Joel think about the people he killed? The evil ones? The innocent ones? Does he feel remorse, or has he compartmentalized so much that it’s like nothing ever happened? She’ll never ask him, but she wonders about it.
As Ellie steps into the clearing, her mind and body go into overdrive. Joel isn’t here. What if there were more of them, just biding their time until she left so they could take Joel and sell him? What if they’re waiting for her as well? Anything could have happened while she was gone, and she has no idea how long she’s been—
“Over here.”
She whips around, shoulders hunching forward in relief at the sight of Joel standing next to a tree, one arm stretched out against it. As she tries to steady her nerves, Ellie hurries over to him. “Why are you up?” she demands, her voice more harsh than she intended.
“Why are you?” he counters, letting his arm drop to his side. “You were supposed to wake me.”
She shrugs, “You needed the rest.”
Instead of arguing like she expects, Joel studies her with unnerving intensity. “Gonna be a slow day,” he says, glancing up at the sky. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, have you?”
“Wasn’t hungry,” she lies.
Joel eyes her up and down, but his silence is enough. He knows. He always fucking knows. “C’mon.”
“Joel—”
“C’mon,” he repeats, making his way back to the sleeping bags with stiff, deliberate movements. “Kept the embers goin’ so we can have somethin’ hot. Think I managed to throw a passible chili together.”
“Like you know how to cook,” Ellie grumbles as she follows.
Joel shoots her an exasperated look as he kneels next to the firepit, fills both their camp mugs, and holds one out for her. “Bon appetit.”
“You’re an ape tit.” She hesitates, staring at the mug in Joel’s outstretched hand. It smells good, far better than most of their meals, and her stomach growls despite herself. She takes it and sinks to the ground, cross-legged, and digs her spoon out of her pack.
Joel watches her for a moment before settling down next to her. He stirs his chili, letting the steam rise into his face. “You on your feet all night?”
With a shrug, Ellie stares at her food. “How do we get around the slavers?” she deflects.
There’s no immediate answer, but she can sense his gaze boring into the side of her head. He’s calculating something, maybe judging her, and it makes her skin prickle. It’s a relief when he speaks.
“Thinkin’ we swing north. Might add a couple of days, but it’s safer.” His spoon clinks against the mug before he continues, “We’ll take a look at the map when it’s brighter.”
She nods, still not looking at him. Her mind drifts to the slavers, wondering if they’re just as scared as she is when they kill. Probably not. They’re professionals.
So is Joel. Does he get scared? He never seems scared.
“Eat,” Joel says, and she realizes she’s been holding the mug so long her hands are burning. She takes a cautious bite, glancing up in surprise — it tastes a lot better than she expected. “Told you,” he smirks. “Passable.”
“It’s no Chef Boyardee,” she mutters, biting back a small grin at how pleased he looks.
He huffs, and they eat in silence for a while. Each bite seems to make her shoulders slump as the exertion of yesterday makes itself known. This is why she didn’t want to stop; it’s going to be fucking hard to push through the day now that they’re somewhat safe.
Joel gets himself a second helping, then nods at her cup. “More?”
“No.” She’s sick to her stomach now, and they can’t waste food even if there’s enough for them both. “If you’re up to it, we should move.”
Out of her peripheral vision, he sees Joel stiffen as he puts his mug down. “You see anything on patrol?”
“No,” she sighs. “Just fucking quiet.”
He nods, getting to his feet with a grunt before grabbing the rifle. “Good. You sleep, I’ll keep watch.
Fuck that. “Joel—”
“Ellie.” She can’t identify his tone, and she doesn’t like that one bit. “We ain’t leavin’ ’til you’ve slept.”
She wants to argue — should argue — but it’s futile. When Joel makes up his mind about something like food or rest, there’s no changing it.
“Fine,” she says, making a show of crawling to the sleeping bag. Instead of getting in, Ellie watches Joel check the perimeter, rifle slung over his shoulder. He’s still in pain — she can tell by the way he moves, each step stilted, almost mechanical. Before he steps out of the camp, he shoots her a pointed glance.
She burrows into the sleeping bag and pulls it over her head, hiding from him. The chili sits heavy in her stomach as she closes her eyes and wills herself to sleep. Her thoughts keep drifting back to the bodies, but she’s not sure why. It’s not like she’s never killed a human. She doesn’t even know how many people she’s killed, but it’s way more than five.
And yet these five keep fucking with her brain. Stupid fucking brain.
She tries to clear her mind and sleep, but every time she begins to drift off, she’s assaulted by images of bodies and blood, of Joel tied up and helpless as men beat him. The last one is enough to make her sit up, heart pounding as she scans the clearing. Joel’s in the woods, she reminds herself. Patrolling. Nothing happened to him. He’s fine.
It’s a mantra she repeats until the soft crunch of someone approaching draws her attention. She fumbles for her pistol, whipping around to point it at… Joel. Of course. Because he was patrolling.
So fucking jumpy.
Ellie lowers the weapon at once and wiggles out of the sleeping bag, standing with a suppressed groan. Her whole body fucking hurts, probably because she dragged five full-grown men around after climbing trees and being scared shitless yesterday. But she doesn’t hurt as much as Joel must. He never shows pain for more than a few seconds, and she can see it etched deep in his face now.
Joel lumbers over, eyeing her as he settles on the ground a few feet away. “Thought I told you to sleep?”
With a shrug, Ellie draws her knees towards her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I tried.”
He says nothing for a moment, just runs a hand through his hair. The silence stretches long enough for Ellie to start fidgeting. She hates these moments when she doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what to say. It’s like waiting for a bomb to go off.
“Why didn’t you fight them?”
From the corner of her eye, Ellie watches Joel shift so he’s facing her instead of just looking at her. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“Yesterday,” she says into her knees. “You didn’t resist them or anything. Why not? I’ve seen you take on more than five guys.”
“Had five guns on me. Even with you coverin’ from the tree, we wouldn’t have taken them all down before I got shot.” He’s quiet for a moment, then sighs and leans forward, eyes fixed on her.
It sounds like the bullshit adults say when they want to appease a child. “So it was a calculated risk?” she asks, her voice more challenging than she intended.
“Sometimes all you’ve got are shit choices,” Joel says after a moment, tilting his head as he studies her face. “And anyway, I knew you’d come after me.”
She doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s almost like he trusts her to do the right thing when he’s not around to tell her what that is. It’s uncomfortable thinking about having Joel’s life in her hands. Yeah, she’s defended him before, but that was always when he could defend himself.
But that’s not true because the first time, just after they lost the car, her options were to defend Joel or watch him die. And she can’t do that.
“What if I hadn’t been able to find you? Or if I couldn’t kill them before they k-killed you?” Fuck, why is she stuttering? She asks Joel questions all the time. Why can’t she keep her composure now that the fucking emergency is over?
“Look at me.” Ellie can’t tell if it’s an order or a request, but either way, he sounds serious, so she turns her head just enough to see him. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t,” she shoots back.
“And why not?”
Because I’m cargo. Because I’m a kid. Because I’m fucking terrified all the time and knowing you trust me makes it so much worse.
Ellie doesn’t say any of that; she just shrugs and turns back to her knees.
He watches her, allowing the silence between them to go from expectant to awkward to oppressive. It makes her eyes burn and her chin wobble, and right now, she hates Joel and those fucking hunters or slavers or whatever. But mostly, she hates herself for not being able to move on. It’s what Joel keeps telling her — things happen and we move on — but that’s fucking hard. And she doesn’t know how to let go of things. Not like Joel can.
With a sigh, he slides closer, bumping his shoulder into hers. “It ain’t easy survivin’ out here,” he remarks after a beat. “Ain’t easy for me, and I’ve been doin’ it twenty years. But… you’re smart. Got good instincts.” Joel ducks to catch her eye, huffing when she turns away. “You did real good yesterday, Ellie,” he murmurs, resting a tentative hand between her shoulder blades “I’m proud of you.”
Those words shatter something within her. A dam, maybe, or some sort of pillar that was holding everything inside her up. Tears well in her eyes and she bites her lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to let them spill.
“Don’t,” she chokes, but it doesn’t come out sharp like she wanted. It comes out small. Scared.
“Ellie,” he starts, and she knows whatever he’s going to say next will undo the little composure she has left. She can’t take that, not now.
“I’m fucking tired,” she cuts in, voice trembling. “Can we go?”
Joel tenses his fingers against her before withdrawing his hand with a sigh. “Alright,” he agrees, reluctance obvious. “Can you eat a little more?”
“No,” Ellie lies.
She’s a little surprised when he doesn’t push it, but she’s grateful. Instead, he hauls himself up with a grunt and offers her a hand. Ellie takes it, and he pulls her to her feet with more strength than she expected, nearly sending her toppling into him. They stand there for a moment, too close, and she thinks he might try to hug her. She’s not sure what she would do if he did.
But Joel steps back and starts packing up their gear. She watches him for a second, then bends to help. They move in silence as they load their bags with food and the useful items she’d scavenged last night.
Joel stops her before she can shoulder her pack. “How sore are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ain’t what I asked,” he says.
She glares at him for a moment and throws her bag on. “Less than you. North?”
Joel doesn’t argue; just shoulders his pack with a wince and juts his chin toward the tree she’d perched in last night to shoot the guards.
“Yeah,” he says, his tone quiet. “North.”