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Ellie wakes up with a start.
She blinks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her breaths are loud in the silence of their – her – bedroom. It’s dark, with long shadows stretching across the floor from the streetlight outside. Riley would complain about how FEDRA put the brightest, most obnoxious lightbulbs in the lamps outside the student dormitories. Her grievances, offered aloud with Ellie as her sole audience member, usually included some variation of “If you don’t want us to become Fireflies, stop making us look at so much f**king light!” - this made Ellie cackle so loud most nights that she had to muffle her giggles with her pillow.
That was before Riley ran away. Before she left her.
Now the room they shared is eerily quiet, and Riley’s bed stands vacant in one corner of the room. It stares gloomily at her every night, sheet tucked and neat, leading Ellie to start sleeping facing the wall.
She sits up slowly as her senses return. Ellie’s a fairly light sleeper, so being startled awake by a bump in the night wasn’t unusual - but she hasn’t heard anything.
What was –
A flash of light interrupts her, followed by one of the loudest freaking crashes she’s ever heard in her life. She flinches backwards with a yelp, diving beneath her sheets. The building trembles on its weak foundations, and a BOOM lingers with a fading echo.
Ah. Thunderstorm.
Ugh. She gathers up her knees, curling into a ball. Thunder never bothered Ellie before, at least not really - it didn’t happen that often in Boston. When storms did roll in, she and Riley would transform into villains and perform evil monologues to each other in time with each CRASH. Riley always knew how to begin at the perfect moment so that at the climax of her wickedness, a clap of thunder would seal off her speech with a menacing flourish. It drove Ellie nuts - she couldn’t figure out how her best friend pulled it off. Magic, probably. As far as she was concerned, Riley walked on water.
But now Ellie’s not so sure. If Riley is capable of so many things, how come she hasn’t found a way back to her yet?
Are you sure that she wants to?
Military school sucked, Ellie knew; she’d spent long enough here to generate fairly strong hatred towards it. Riley didn’t love it either - but then again, did anyone? Maybe just the kids with FEDRA parents, giving them a little more privilege and a lot more love than a couple of orphans got to enjoy. The food was nasty, and the drills were somehow worse, but at least they were together. If they had each other, it would all be fine.
Right?
She doesn’t need you like you need her, idiot.
She swallows her anger, red-hot as it sinks down her throat. She sticks her head out from under the blankets, rolls over, and pretends not to care.
She’s used to this. It’s no big deal.
I’ll be fine on my own.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“Ellie?”
“Yeah?” She swings herself off the horse, gives him a little pat pat because why not (good boy, Callus), and stays low, creeping up toward the side of the house. She looks up when she reaches the wall, a question in her eyes.
“Mm-hm.”
Ellie nods, pulling her pistol out of her pack. She peeks in the chamber, pops off the safety, and holds it just like he taught her to. Left hand over the right.
“Okay,” Joel breathes, hand on the door handle. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Now.” The door creaks open and he moves in, silent and stealthy. Ellie’s not all that yet, but she’s trying - the floorboards creak in protest as she sidesteps into the house, but she feels pretty good about her entrance otherwise.
Joel moves in towards the kitchen while she sticks to the foyer. She gives the room a once-over as he walks further inside. It’s a one-story; thankfully, there’s not too much ground to cover. The entryway is empty, save for some cracked tile and a dust-coated welcome mat reading “Be our guest!” A candelabra - with a face? - is next to the words, sporting a cheesy grin. It’s quirky. Best not to question it.
Joel’s footsteps move farther away, and she hears a distant, “If someone’s in here, don’t shoot - I just need a favor.” A door banging open down the hall, some shuffling around…and then his head pops back into the foyer. “Coast’s clear. C’mon.”
She follows him into a living room, fit with a hideous green couch and a moth-eaten easy chair. It was perfect. “Who were you talking to?”
“No one. Just checkin’ to make sure no one’s still livin’ here.” He wanders into the kitchen, casually opening random cabinets. “Makes it easier - don’t have to ask for permission to stay.”
Ellie snorts, rolling her eyes. “Since when do you ask for permission?”
His feigned look of shock, complete with a hand pressed to his chest, has her falling into a fit of laughter. “How could you say such things to me? Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a total hard-ass.”
“Uh-huh.” The armchair looks mighty comfortable, so she takes advantage while Joel is occupied and curls up on it. “Hard-ass.”
“Shut up.” He appears in front of her with the world’s tiniest can of beans. She’s not even sure if that tin fits a single serving size. “Ta-da.”
“Yeouch.”
“Yep.” He lobs the can up in the air a few times, catches it, and then tosses it to her. It lands on her lap with a quiet plop . “That’s not gonna cut it for tonight. I’m gonna go take a look around, scout the area, hopefully catch us something to eat.”
She nods, knowing the drill. This wasn’t an atypical process during their travels - when they settled for the night, they either had enough food or they didn’t. When they didn’t, he took the liberty of hunting for a meal while Ellie maintained camp. Even when she insisted that no one had to “maintain camp” and she could help.
The argument is on the tip of her tongue, but then he’s leaving and she chooses to let him. He’s just opened the door when she calls out, “Hey, Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.” Something cold grips her every time he goes out alone. If only he’d let her help, and then she could try to keep the dangers away. The worry eats at her insides.
She doesn’t tell him this, but he almost sounds gentle when he responds, “Alright,” and shuts the door behind him.
She doesn’t know when she fell asleep, but she does remember that she was catching up on Savage Starlight .
She likes that phrase, “catching up” - it makes her imagine when new volumes of the comic would release, and kids like her would be lining up on the streets to get one. They’d be waiting at one of those bookstores Joel described: walls filled with shelves and shelves of comics, novels, histories, fantasies, any story that a person could hope for. Their faces would be pressed up to the window, eyes wide upon seeing the glitzy cover art, and their conversations for weeks on end would be Savage Starlight this, new edition that. She’d love to experience it, just once - in her head, it seems like fun.
This volume is one she’s read a bajillion times. The pages are worn, thumbprints leaving indents on the corners where she turned the pages over and over and over again. But she loves it, and so she reads it. Not like there’s much else for her to do. Will Livingston’s an option, but something in her stomach turns to stone when she thinks about picking it up. So it stays buried in her backpack, and Savage Starlight is her entertainment for the late afternoon.
She knows she was on page 32, where there’s a nice frame of the comic’s fictional city skyline, because the book is still open on her lap when she jolts awake with a startled shriek. It’s raining, fat drops of water rolling hurriedly down the clouded window panes. When did it get so dark?
A blinding flash of light cuts through the darkness, and Ellie freezes.
No.
The crash is deafening - worse than when she dropped her Walkman on the floor in the silence of her room, worse than the screaming of the FEDRA officers at school, worse than the distant explosions of bombs and bullets from outside the QZ.
So much worse.
There was a thunderstorm on the night Riley died.
Rain tapped relentlessly against the mall’s glass-dome ceiling, falling in thick sheets. Ellie could hear it dripping through the cracks in the walls, creating dark puddles of water in the corners of the Halloween store. The sky above grumbled menacingly in warning. Occasionally, a lightning bolt would slice through the dark clouds and send forks of light branching overhead. It was quite the show.
She had never seen lightning like this before, never knew the shapes it could make. Normally, she would either ignore the flashes outside her window or huddle beneath her blankets at the sight of them. She’d never gone for a closer look, and now they were on full display – twisting, wild, and unstoppable – through the opening of the store. She dimly thought it might fascinate her beyond belief, if only she could clearly see them through her tears.
Thunderstorms never really bothered her. I’d like them better if I could understand them, she used to think as she lay in bed and listened to them. The science of it all seemed intriguing - she couldn’t fathom why the atmosphere above could generate blinding lights and booming clouds, but it was probably an interesting process. Maybe I could even learn to enjoy them .
So she was startled when, upon noticing the telltale signs, all she felt was deep and unbridled hatred. It was dark and painful, in a way that almost frightened her.
My favorite person in the world is dead.
She couldn’t hate Riley - it wasn’t her fault for dying. She’d been trying to protect her, trying to help her get out of this forsaken mall alive. And besides, Ellie loved her. She would never stop loving her, could never stop loving her.
The Infected that bit her, she could blame them. But then again, they were dead too, and being angry at them didn’t bring Riley back. And that person, whoever they were, probably hadn’t meant to get infected either.
And she already hated herself. She hated herself for going, for agreeing to go running around in the sealed-off mall late at night and making enough noise to lead an Infected right to them. She hated that Riley would be safe if she refused to go. And she hated that despite everything, it was the best night of her life. Her first date, her first kiss, her first love.
It was all gone. Because of her.
The hate was too strong to live only within herself. It would tear her apart; she just knew it.
So she turned her chin up towards the sky, and she screamed.
Joel is soaked.
Damn it.
He’d been trudging back towards the cabin, with his new prized possessions slung over his shoulder - two rabbits. A mighty fine catch, and one he was proud of if he did say so himself. Emerging from a clump of pine trees, he could spot the house just on the horizon. Twenty more minutes of walking and he’d be there.
Boom. A distant rumble had traveled towards him as a group of dark clouds surged forward. Maybe just a little rain. He looked up again at the house. It really wasn’t that far. He could make it.
Or so he thought, until a streak of lightning collided with the ground and sent a few sparks flying up ahead. The worst of it was maybe a mile or so away, but not for long. Staying low to the ground would only be effective in the short term, and time was running out.
So he ran, turning a twenty-minute leisurely commute into a thirteen-minute frenzied sprint. Or an “old-man jog” - Ellie would probably prefer that term. She constantly reminded him to “mind the knees”, trying and failing to act concerned. All out of the goodness of her heart. Smart-ass.
His boots hit the porch drenched and covered in mud, and he had to wring out the sleeves of his jacket to remove all the rainwater. The wet clothes made him shiver, chilled by the brisk early evening. But he was alive, and not fried to a crisp. That was a win in his book.
“Ellie?” He swung the door open and stepped into the house, removing his filthy boots and setting them in the foyer. “I’m back.”
He could’ve heard a pin drop, it was so quiet. The thunder and his footsteps were the only things breaking the silence. For barely a second, he panicked - had someone found this place while he was gone, and Ellie had to deal with it by herself? But nothing looked out of place, and his hand moved away from the pistol in his belt.
“Hello?” He checked the kitchen - empty. The cabinets he opened hours before were still ajar.
Scanning the living room, he saw that the armchair was now vacant. Ellie’s comic was facedown on the floor. His heart leapt with worry. “Ellie?”
“Here.” The voice was quiet, barely a whisper, and Joel whipped around to face it. A square dining table, fairly large and slowly rotting, stood in the corner of the room. He sank to his knees, which creaked painfully in protest.
“What on earth are you doing under here?” She doesn’t even look at him, knuckles white as she grips the closest table leg. As soon as he asks, a better question comes to mind. “Are you alright?”
“-kay.” It’s less of a response and more of a gasp.
“What?”
“I’m okay ,” she grits out, hands shaking as she peels them from the table leg and wraps them around her knees. She looks too small, sitting here, and too young. It takes him off guard; she always seems older than she is. When she’s cussing back at him, when she’s keeping watch, when she handles the brutal world with a seemingly impossible grace that he might never be capable of. But she’s just a kid.
Her eyes meet his, wide and full of fear, and he is made overwhelmingly aware of that fact.
He inches closer and lowers himself to the floor, sitting under the edge of the tabletop. Ellie doesn’t move, but he can see her hands shaking from closer up. Her breaths are hard and fast, as if she can’t get enough air.
Joel bides his time, staying close enough for her to reach him but far enough away to give her space. He had a daughter who would get stressed from time to time - maybe not to this degree, but it still wore on her occasionally. Combine school, friends, homework, and sports, and she became pretty overwhelmed. When things would flare up, the best thing he remembered doing for her was giving her control of the situation. Plenty of time for herself, and a loving dad available if she wanted him.
Sarah. It doesn’t feel real sometimes - when the memories resurface, it’s like he’s remembering scenes from a movie. Not moments from his own life.
Ellie’s breaths slow down as the seconds pass. He clears his throat, and she jolts at the sound.
“Easy.” Her eyes flick up towards him. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
Her answer blocks him out like a brick wall. “Okay. If you change your mind…let me know.”
They don’t speak, and the splattering of raindrops fills the silence for them. Joel finds that he doesn’t mind the quiet. There hasn’t been much quiet on their journey, save for sleeping and sneaking away from paramilitary forces, so he welcomes it. It’s just…weird, without Ellie’s voice breaking through it once in a while.
His head falls back against the table leg. With his eyes closed, he can pretend they’re having a lazy rainy day. Like in that house in Jackson, or even twenty years ago down in Austin. Anywhere but here.
He’s humming a little tune, of which all he can remember is the chorus. The name is on the tip of his tongue, and he’s desperately racking his brain for it when Ellie speaks again.
“She…she-” Ellie rasps, voice hoarse, and he’s a little embarrassed at how fast he turns towards her. “R-Riley. Riley loved thunderstorms.”
That name sounds familiar. He’s heard it from her before - but whether mentioned in passing or mumbled during dreams in the night, he’s not sure.
“She loved them.” Ellie stops, and her face suddenly seems to break into pieces. “I hate them so, so much.”
“Oh, Ellie.” She’s crying now, tears making spots on the dusty wooden floor, and he holds out his arm. “Ellie, hey. Look at me.”
Her shoulders shake, but she lifts her head from between her knees. Something in his chest aches, fiercer than any hunger or fear from their travels. He hurts for her, but he’s not sure how to make it better, and that worsens the pain. “It’s okay,” he chooses, even though this is very much not okay . “It’s okay to be scared. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”
One trembling hand grabs his, and his heart swells with a feeling he can’t quite recognize. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. You’re good, I promise.”
She nods, brushing tears from her cheeks with the back of her other hand. Her face is pink, as if she's embarrassed, but she also appears a lot more Ellie than before.
“This has been…therapy with Joel Miller,” she mutters under her breath, tone similar to a radio show host, and he can’t hold back a snicker. “Thursday nights at 7.”
“Alright, alright.” He makes a show of rolling his eyes, drawing more giggles out of Ellie. “Ready to get out of here?” Her eyes light up in their usual way, and he guides her out from under the table. She wriggles towards him and pops to her feet, and only then does she let go of his hand.
“Thank you.” She smiles a little, and everything feels better again. “For that.”
“S’no problem, Ellie.” And he means it. “Anytime.”
She goes to collect her comic book from the floor when he holds out a hand. “Hey, wait. Can you come here for a second?”
Her face is puzzled, but she follows him anyway. He moves toward the right side of the couch, where a window shows off the highlights of the storm. Branches of lightning tear through the clouds, followed by deep rumbles of thunder. She stops several feet behind him, shaking her head. “No, no - dude! I did just tell you I fuckin’ hate thunderstorms, right? Did you even hear me?”
“I did.” He sits criss-crossed on the floor and pats the ground beside him. “I’m gonna teach you how to make ‘em less scary.”
Her eyebrows raise, and she shuffles skeptically over to his side. Crossing her legs, she plops on the floor beside him. “Okay…?”
“These storms, the thunder and all that? You can predict ‘em.” Her eyes go wide. “When they’re coming, when the noise’s about to happen.”
“How?”
“Watch.” He tilts his head towards the window. “The next lightning strike that you see. Wait for it.”
They wait, watching the clouds for a flash of light. He steals a glance at her and has to bite back a laugh; she’s so still and concentrated on the storm, he can’t even tell if she’s breathing. A bolt strikes through the air. “There’s one!”
“One, two, three, four, five –” BOOM. Thunder fills the air, and Ellie yelps. He catches her with an arm as she scoots back, keeping her from scurrying off. “Five. Divide that by five…that means the storm’s a mile away.”
She swivels back towards him. “Wait, really?”
“Yep.”
She mulls that over for a second, then tilts her chin up. “Okay, I wanna try.”
“Wait for the lightning, then start counting.”
Another flash. She starts to count: “One, two, three, four, five – ” BOOM. Instead of flinching, she turns toward him with an unexpected grin. “Wait, no way! So that means it’s…just one mile away?”
“Yep.”
“Will the thunder always happen on five?”
“Well, not always. The storm’ll probably move further away from here, so it’ll start to take more an’ more numbers before it shows up.”
“Cool.” Her eyes are glowing, replacing the previous fear, and he can’t help the joy he feels at the sight. After months of being afraid, on the run, hunted by men and monsters alike, she’s finally got power over one of the scary things out there.
Another strike of lightning. “One, two, three, four…” she whispers, lips moving with almost no sound. She gets to six this time before the thunder groans at them - perhaps even the weather tires of their shenanigans. Joel doesn’t care.
“Oh my gosh, Joel, did you see that? That was so cool! ”
As long as she’s happy.