The sirens wail overhead, almost louder than the huffed rhythm of breathing they share as they weave and wind through the maze that is Tommy’s community. Ellie nearly falters when she hears it – the first, dreadfully high-pitched shrill of a woman. The instinct of fight or flight kicks in, and she nearly breaks away from her companion, but she’s not stupid. The rapid pops in the distance tell her to just go home, to lock the door, to meet anyone who tries to break in with the blast of a shotgun. Bandit attacks were nasty business, and she was not willing to jeopardize the safety of Nate and herself.
Panic seems to settle in the air like a disease, filtering itself in their lungs and quickening their pulses and breaths. Ellie finds herself looking over her shoulder and keeping her gaze darting to her peripheral surroundings more often than in front of her. People are hastily trying to pack up wares, trying to run, trying to search for family members or children that had been separated in the rising chaos. Joel would undoubtedly be armed and ready to defend by now – he always was – but she still felt a surge of worry for their own well being as they rounded the corner.
The house was there – the house was right there–
The girl nearly yelps as Nate’s hand suddenly locks in an iron grip around hers and he yanks her off their course, pulling her abruptly off to the side. Her initial instinct is to react, to respond aggressively to the sudden contact, but she finds herself so suddenly afraid and charged with nerves that she simply allowed him to pull her, her own fingers gripping his so tight that it might as well turn to a battle of who would keep their hand on longest.
Their backs making a dull thud in unison against the wood of the crate, Ellie winces as a few more screams and shrieks fill the air. Someone in the distance is wailing loud enough to be heard over the distant gunfire; it puts a rock in the bottom of the girl’s stomach. She wants to make the dash to the house, she wants to grab a gun, she wants to fight. Her instincts go against running, go against tucking tail and hiding like a rabbit in the brush. But she won’t risk it. Not with Nate right here. Huddled next to him, her head rises ever so slightly to peer over the top of the crate, hoping to get a glance at what kind of destruction was unfurling right in the very center of the place they called home.
A haughty breath left her as the view surprised her, her head ducking right back down. These were soldiers. They were not ragged-looking men with pistols or shotguns. She’d spent a good portion of her years being prepped to join their ranks; the community had no idea of the brutality of someone in armor. “Nate,” The girl said carefully, trying to keep her voice level, “We need to get to the house. Now–!!”
Her voice was abruptly cut off with a yelp as a gloved hand gripped her shoulder, hauling her up by the fabric of her shirt. She tried to twist around, tried to grab her attacker, but her hand was wrenched from Nate’s and held up. “Let me go!” She snarled, a slightly frantic edge to her voice. Instinct told her to go for the throat, to jab her blade just beneath the helmet – - but her back pocket was empty and she did not have the strength to effectively yank away.
A grimace pulled the corners of her mouth up as a stinging sensation raced across her forearm, and the grip on her shoulder released to yank away her torn sleeve. Suddenly time stopped, as if to give the world, to give Ellie, the moment necessary for it all to piece together.
“Gotcha,” The soldier growled.
Ellie’s eyes went wide and her struggles worsened tenfold, her feet bracing against the wood of the cargo box. “Nate, go,” She said, her voice raising to a ragged shout. She was telling him to run, to get himself to safety, but she couldn’t hide the raw, newly found fear in her voice that begged him to help, to do something, to not leave her to be dragged away.
She tells him they need to get home and in her tone he finds something, something different. He's seen her anger, her sadness and pain, but this— there is a seriousness to her that scares him. There is worry that spreads, settles within his veins and wants to make him, run and run, like he always does, far away, out of reach— but not without her. He looks at her, and he wants to nod, but before he can even blink, it's too late.
He yanks her away so fast he can almost feel the air knocked out of his own lungs. He yells for him to release her before he even gets a good look, says it loud, hoping someone will come and help, someone armed.
But the man holding to Ellie is guarded by three more, all armoured and armed to the teeth, and they're holding just one girl, like she's worth the entire town.
"Let her go," he doesn't listen to a word she says. He's moving forward now, and he knows there's nothing he can do but he'll do anything, even if he hadn't got a gun and—
And the one on the right trains a rifle on him. He freezes up, staring into the man's eyes, green and focused, and empty. "Back off, kiddo," his voice is rotten and unforgiving. It's the closest thing to death he's ever heard. He makes to look at the others, to find some sort of opening. And the soldier holding Ellie's looking at him, really looking. Horrified. "Listen to him, boy. Please."
"I can't do that," he's vaguely aware he's spoken. There's something in him that makes him step forward again, and he knows he wants to, but doesn't quite feel like he's doing it, like the distance is so huge he'll never reach, it won't be enough. He looks at Ellie, telling him to run, but he thinks maybe they both know he won't. He looks at the scar on her arm, and he knows, he understands, but he also doesn't.
"I'm not kidding, kid. Stop."
But he doesn't. He doesn't because yesterday they were both home laughing together, and it felt like he had a family, like maybe he was worth something even if he wasn't great yet. And now they're taking his friend away, and there's a gun pointed at him, and he wouldn't be able to look Joel in the eye, the pieces are falling away and he can't let them, can't turn around and let them take everything.
"You let her go right now!!"
"Mike, please, he's just a kid," only the one holding Ellie argues, but he can see the hint of a doubt in another one, just beneath the surface, thinking maybe this isn't right, isn't how it was supposed to be. And then it's gone.
"You shut up," the gunman takes his eyes off him just for a second. "Don't get soft. We get the girl, no matter what. Now, kid, for the last time, back away or I put a hole in you."
And he wants to. He's scared, so scared, and he hates the way he feels so helpless, the way he wants to shout for Joel, how he's never needed the old man's help so badly. So he lunges forward.
But it only lasts a second. He wants to tell the soldier to calm down, it's fine, it's fine. He's gone forward but he's stopped now, and it's fine. But there's blood on his chest, blood all over, and he doesn't feel anything, just sees the look on the soldier's face, and Ellie twisting against his grip, screaming, and biting at his arm, and she almost gets away. But he steels his grip, frozen in place no matter how much she hits him and he lets her, lets her hit away.
Because he's dying in front of her. There’s so much blood, he knows, they all know, they can see it all slipping away from his grasp just like he can feel it.
"Ellie," he wanted to smile, but his voice comes out in a choke, and it's so hard to speak, to stand, to breathe. He can feel himself shaking, he wants to reach forward but he hears the gun being loaded again. And all he can see is the soldier dragging Ellie away, his hand over her mouth now, lest they draw even more attention to themselves. He reaches forward but his knees buckle and he just falls, the world tumbling around him, and it still doesn't hurt.
He thinks it should. But none of it hurts as much as them taking her away, he'll never see her again, not once. There's blood seeping on the ground and dirt in his face, and the world isn't there anymore, but he still sees them walking away. The image is stuck in his head, the last time he'll ever see her. He wants to smile, because at least he won't have to tell Joel, and he wants to smile, just one more time, just once, please. But he can't. Because she's gone.
Because they're both gone.
