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46m

Savior Complex | Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part VI.

Summary: Save who you can save.

Tags: Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, name drop, angst, a disgusting amount of nostalgia, someone is haunting the narrative, canon-typical violence, lowkey some PTSD(?), the girls are fighting! If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~8.3K

Read on AO3

A/N: Whoever can point out all of the callbacks to the first part of the series (specifically the explicit roadtrip and motel stay) gets a kiss on the lips from me. I've really been looking forward to sharing this chapter with you all. It's an important one to me and to our dear characters. Sorry for any boat or geographical inaccuracies. I tried lol. All typos/spelling errors are on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

You’d rather be running from infected than sitting in Tommy and Maria’s shared office with Joel, Ellie, Jesse, and Adam.

All are sitting, moderately relaxed, but your back is pinned against the door. Arms crossed and on edge. Last to arrive, everyone turns to glance at you except Joel who is fixed forward with tense shoulders and a stiff back. Of course, you haven’t seen him since Friday outside of the Tipsy Bison, and the four days since have passed with a crawling pace.

“Y’wanna sit?” Tommy motions towards the empty chair between Joel and Ellie. You shake your head, forcing your lips into a tight line that somewhat resembles a smile. Tommy nods, putting his hands on his hips, and begins, “Alright, well, I’m sending five of you out to do some recon out near Hebgen Lake.”

“That’s pretty far out there,” Jesse says warily. “You hear something on the radio?”

“Couple’a survivors out that way at the”—Tommy studies a piece of paper on the desk—“Earthquake Lake Visitor Center. I figured we could help ‘em out. Check for supplies.”

Joel shifts in his seat and you finally get a peek at his face. It’s the scowl you knew so well in the QZ. The untrained eye would think it’s just Joel being annoyed and that’s not entirely wrong, but what it truly is? A mask. Joel is concerned and if Joel is concerned, you should be, too, but you don’t show it. You maintain your posture and your straight face despite no one being able to see you.

“How far is it?” Ellie asks.

“About three hours by car,” Tommy replies.

As he scoffs, Joel stands up and puts his hands on his hips. “So, a few days by horseback for the possibility of getting some supplies?” Tommy tries to respond, but Joel interrupts him. “A damn waste of time.”

Tommy gives his big brother a surprisingly patient look, and you wonder what their fights were like as teenagers. You bet Tommy was a troublemaker. There’s a glint of mischievousness in his eyes at times, whereas Joel is stern most of the time. Imagining Joel as the serious older brother that tries to keep Tommy out of detention nearly brings a smile to your face, but it’s quickly squashed as Joel’s eyes flicker over to yours, catching you staring at him. Averting your gaze, you focus on Tommy again.

“You’ll be takin’ the truck that Walker’s fixed up,” Tommy explains.

“That’s even dumber. What if somethin’ happens to one of our only vehicles?”

Finally, Tommy sounds irritated. “Joel, what else is the car for if not for this? We’re runnin’ low on medicine. It’s worth the trip.” Joel seems to consider this, staring down at his feet. When he stays silent, Tommy continues. “Figured it’d be a good learning moment for Ellie.”

The teenager perks up, sitting up straighter in her chair, and for the first time since meeting her, she stares at Joel with a sense of hope. Jesse, however, clearly doesn’t share that sentiment.

“So, why are we bringing the B-Team?” Jesse motions towards you and Adam.

“The B-Team, really?” you ask incredulously.

“I’m just saying, you guys just got here.”

“That’s why I want them to go. They’ve been on the outside for a while,” Tommy explains, then he smiles at Joel. “Still sharp unlike some of you bastards.”

No one says anything for a minute, all of you silently contemplating the offer. Ellie breaks the silence and throws her hands up before letting them fall to her lap. “I’m fucking in,” she says, barely concealing her excitement.

One by one, everyone nods and then, they look at you expectantly. Did you really want to be stuck in a car with Joel, Jesse, Ellie, and Adam? Absolutely not, but what’s a few hours? A restlessness has settled within you over the last few months as your nervous system struggles to adjust to a more civilian, mundane life. The most alive you’ve felt, aside from when Joel had his hands on you, was your patrol shift. There weren’t many infected to take out, but letting the animal side of your brain function in all its primal glory was a nice change of pace. It’s like you were acting out your purpose: surviving by any means necessary.

“Sure,” you say.

“I can’t believe he called us the B-Team. The fucking B-Team,” Adam mumbles as he leans against the white Bronco. Adam made some joke about OJ Simpson to you when it came into view, but it went over your head. With his arms crossed and a pout on his face, he’s like a grumpy teen. “Who does he think he is? Jackson’s golden boy?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh at the bitterness, almost teetering into jealousy, in his voice. Yeah, you were annoyed at Jesse’s comment, but Adam seems uncharacteristically pissed off.

“Adam, are you actually mad?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, “where does he get off on saying that?”

“Dude, he’s like…twenty-four, so he might as well be twelve.” This doesn’t seem to calm him down. “He grew up in a place like this. He doesn’t know shit. You could kill him with your bare hands. Don’t sweat it.”

“Are you okay?” Adam lifts a brow in your direction.

There’s that guilt again. Shrugging, you say, “I’m trying to make you feel better.”

Adam studies your face before pushing himself off the side of the SUV. Joel and Jesse, with Ellie trailing behind, approach carrying emergency supplies. You know, just in case something goes wrong. Though you know it’s a possibility, you don’t have a bad feeling about the mission. If anything, you’re excited, but you conceal it as you wordlessly alleviate them of some of the items, helping to load the vehicle.

“Where are the keys?” you ask Jesse.

“Fuck no,” Adam interjects. “You are not driving.”

“Why not?”

“You act like you’re a Formula 1 driver, and you’re reckless,” he lectures with that stupid crooked smile. “Remember when you almost killed me and Tess outside of Pittsburgh because you were driving with your knee so you could light your cigarette?”

“Oh, fuck off—”

“‘M drivin’,” Joel cuts you off, rounding the front of the vehicle. Of course he is. “Take shotgun. I know you get carsick.”

The only time you were ever in the backseat on a drive with Joel, you had to stick your head out of the window to puke. It was the first time you worked alone with Tess and Joel. In your mid-twenties and still new to smuggling, they only agreed to take you because Adam couldn’t go. So when you vomited on the job? Yeah, you were embarrassed to say the least. Joel scoffed, but Tess graciously swapped places with you, the front seat giving your churning stomach sweet solace.

Though you’re endeared that he has offered you the front seat, you don’t thank him when you hop into the Bronco. The velour seats are in much nicer condition than you’d expect and there isn't a speck of dust on the dashboard. It’s like you’ve stepped back in time. With everyone in, Joel starts the engine and shoots Ellie a look through the rearview mirror.

“Seatbelt,” he commands, using that parental voice you find akin to cute. Ellie makes no moves to obey as she stares defiantly at the comic in her lap. The one you found on patrol. “Ellie, I’m not movin’ this car until you—”

“Jesus Christ, fine,” she gives in, buckling her seatbelt with the drama that only a teenager can muster. “Happy?”

Joel ignores her and you stifle a smile, covering your mouth with your hand. There’s a part of you that’s relieved that someone’s been giving Joel shit while you’ve been apart. As the drive begins, the men are going over the route and Ellie’s reading, but you’re elsewhere. Staring out the window, your mind wanders and you imagine a much younger Joel driving a little girl to school. Maybe Sarah’s teasing him about his taste in music or how he’s consistently five minutes late to her soccer games. Then, you think of Ellie and Joel on the road like this, bickering about directions in between rapid fire questions about the world before it ended.

The conversation around you dies down yet you remain in this illusory space where Joel gets to be a dad again. It’s only when you see him shift in the periphery that you snap out of it. He’s reaching into the pocket of his jeans, his driving never wavering (yours definitely would have) as he fishes something out of the denim. It lands with a soft clack on the center console and your gaze darts between Joel and the object.

Johnny Cash. Johnny Cash on cassette.

It’s impossible to contain your smile—genuine, wide, and truly hitting your eyes. Joel catches this as he gives you a sideways glance. You think his lip twitches and you know it’s the closest you’ll get to a smile out of him, and that’s enough for you. Popping it into the tape deck, you pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them. As “Rock Island Line” begins to play, you peer over at Joel and it’s like you’re in Lake George again, focusing on staying on the road as his hands are all over you.

“You’re starin’,” Joel mumbles, just loud enough so only you can hear.

“And you’re a thief, cowboy.”

This time, he actually smiles. It’s not a grin by any means, but it’s there for a moment, accentuating his crows feet. Joel shakes his head, wiping the smile off of his face like an Etch A Sketch. You turn your attention back to the road in front of you and try to quell the fluttering in your stomach. Try to extinguish the fire in your chest that creeps up your neck until your face feels blazing hot. It’s too much, all this feeling, so you turn up the music to drown it out. From the backseat, Ellie groans.

“This again?” Ellie complains. “You’ve listened to this like a million fucking times.”

Joel turns up the music and keeps driving.

Though you're but a few miles out from your destination, you can’t help yourself. Maybe the car ride is making you antsy or maybe you’re tired of hearing Adam explain Grand Theft Auto to Jesse and Ellie, but you need a cigarette.

“Headshots from a car window are a lot easier in a game, though,” he says from the backseat, overly pleased with himself for taking out a Clicker from the back window.

It’s easy to forget that the world stopped when Adam was a teenage boy until he starts talking about video games, music, or movies. Usually, you find it amusing, even sweet sometimes, but a switch flipped inside of you half an hour ago. Knowing that you soon might be in a life-or-death scenario, your brain began to prepare for survival mode. Digging in your pack, you take out a cigarette and light the end with a match. Hopefully, it’ll take the edge off.

“Do you mind?” Joel asks, taking his eyes off the road to glare at you.

You exhale a cloud of smoke out of the window, and extend your hand out to Joel, the cigarette pinched between your index finger and your thumb. “Shit, how rude of me. You want a hit?”

Plucking your cigarette from your fingers, he tosses it out the window.

“Joel,” you all but whine. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

He grunts in response and pulls the car off to the side of the road, driving into an opening in the woods. The five of you grab your gear and walk towards the visitor center as quietly as possible. As you approach, unease lodges in your throat, but you don’t say anything. However, when you and Adam make eye contact, you know he’s feeling the same. The visitor center is much smaller than you expected and very, very close to the road. To be blunt: it’s a shit place to hide out.

You all stop in your tracks. Jesse says what everyone is thinking. “Seriously?”

“If there’s anyone here, they’re dead or dumb,” you mumble. Ellie adds, “Or both.”

“Let’s just scope it out,” Joel says. “We stick together. No one goes off on their own.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head. “We’ll cover more ground if we break off.”

“How much ground is there to cover? This place is fucking tiny,” Ellie scoffs.

“Exactly. We can be in and out.”

“No. We’re not splittin’ up,” Joel reasserts. And that’s that.

Adam picks the lock with ease, only furthering your point that these “survivors” are morons, and you all enter cautiously with your weapons drawn. The reception center is a large, open area with glass windows taking up most of the wallspace. Surprisingly, only a few are smashed in, but they’ve been boarded up well. Behind the front desk, you spot three bedrolls, plates, and open boxes of ammo. At least Tommy was right about someone being here. Now, whether they’re going to be of any use to you? That’s still unknown.

Ellie begins searching the drawers and cabinets quite thoroughly; Joel must’ve taught her well. The rest of you open closets and scan the bathrooms. Nothing. All clear. What’s left is a narrow hallway that you and Adam don’t hesitate to venture to on your own. Joel yells your name in a quiet whisper, but you carry on, beyond focused on what’s in front of you. As you approach a door at the end of the hallway, you notice trails of dark crimson on the floor. Blood that hasn’t fully dried yet.

Glancing behind you, Adam mouths, I got you. Jesse, Ellie, and a grumpy Joel appear behind him. With a flat hand, you push the door open. There’s some resistance and a dull screech tells you that you’re moving something light across the floor. A chair, most likely. The door doesn’t budge all all the way, so you drop your pack to the ground, still hanging onto your 9mm, to shimmy through the crack. Once you’re in, you nearly slip on the puddle of blood that’s pooled around a limp body. A quick survey of the room tells you that you’re alone, although there’s a padlocked door across from you. You slide the chair over and swing the door open.

“Clear,” you say. With your foot, you motion to the slumped over corpse. “Except for that guy. I’m guessing that’s one of our survivors.”

Joel sighs, bending down to flip the body over, and when its—her—face is revealed, you think you’re going to puke. A woman, likely in her mid-fifties, with a bandana tied in her hair and a gnarly gash in her neck. Blink over and over again, you see Tess each time. It’s like a camera shutter that shows you the nightmare that you dread every time you fall asleep. Joel must be seeing the same thing because he holds his breath. The only thing that snaps the two of you out of it is a skittering in the vent.

Rats, you repeat to yourself internally. Just rats.

“Okay, so where’s the thing that killed her?” Jesse asks. “Obviously she barricaded herself in here, but the outside was sealed.”

Adam cocks his head towards you as he hands your pack back. “You think it’s—”

“Probably not,” you dismiss him. Reaching down, you search her pockets until you find what you hope is the key to the padlock. “We haven’t seen one this far out.”

“What’re you talking about?” Jesse asks.

“They’re called Stalkers,” Adam explains. “Infected that are strategic. Smart. We ran into them in Pittsburgh, but haven’t seen any this far West.”

“Smart?”

“Yeah, they hide and take cover. Wait for a good opportunity to flank you, usually.”

“Joel, why haven’t we run into them?” Ellie asks.

Groaning as he stands, Joel straightens his back. “Heard rumors, but haven’t seen ‘em before.”

“Wonderful,” Jesse deadpans. “Let’s just do our due diligence and get out of here.”

You nod in agreement and undo the padlock. Adam grabs the handle, nodding at you as he counts to three. When he opens the door, your pistol is face to face with a small hunting knife, shaking in the hands of a boy that’s not much younger than Ellie. He steps back, terror painted on his face, as he stares at the five of you. The boy is in rough shape, covered in grime and smeared blood, so everyone, except you, deems him a non-threat and they lower their weapons. You, however, hold your grip on your gun and take a step towards him. It’s only when Adam puts a forceful hand on your forearm that you drop it to your side.

“You alone?” Adam asks, voice heavy with concern and sympathy. The boy nods slowly. “It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.” He looks at you. “Right?”

You sigh. “Right.”

The boy is still trembling while he puts the knife in the sheath attached to his belt. His bottom lip quivers when he speaks. “Just me now.”

Jesse and Adam take turns asking the boy—who introduces himself as Peter—questions while you, Joel, and Ellie snoop around. The office is empty, you find nothing in the drawers or cabinets, but Ellie does. Motioning you over, you give her a hand, helping her slide a desk out from the wall. The faded linoleum is lifting near the molding. She’s got a good eye. Joel has trained her well.

Ellie steps towards it and as she does, the floor gives out under her. It happens so fast that you don’t have time to think. Before you know it, you’re throwing yourself into the hole in the ground, landing with a hard thud. The drywall creates a cloud of dust around you, making you cough and shut your eyes.

“Ellie!” Joel calls out from above. “Y’alright?”

“Yup. Fucking peachy.”

Both you and Ellie pull yourselves up and brush debris from your jeans. The drop is at least twelve feet. Thirty-five isn’t old by any means, but in the apocalypse, as you continuously push your body to the extreme, you might as well be seventy-five. Your knees ache from the impact and your palms are scraped from attempting to catch yourself. Blood slowly gathers at the torn skin.

“I’m fine,” you say with disdain. “Thanks for asking, Joel.”

Ignoring you, he asks, “You see a way back up?”

“There’s no way back up. It only leads to the outside,” Peter cuts in. He’s on his knees, peering down at you. “It’s a maze, b-but I can get you out.”

Before anyone can object, Peter jumps down, landing clumsily on his ass. You close your eyes and let out a sharp exhale. The last thing you want is to be responsible for the lives of two teens while you’re stuck in some dark bunker. It’d be preferable to be alone, truly. Joel must be on the same page as you because he mumbles Jesus Christ before tossing you the shotgun that’s slung over his shoulder. Peter tells them to meet you all on the North side of the building. There are cellar doors that you’ll emerge from. Apparently.

“Hey,” Joel barks at you, “you better—”

“I know,” you reply. “Go.”

The three of them disappear and you click on the flashlight that’s secured to your pack, taking in the room. It’s just a cellar, nothing spectacular, but there are three doors next to each other. All in a row. It makes you uneasy. It reminds you of a game show. One of the doors will have a prize, living, and the other two? Well, the other two mean you’ve lost. Here’s to hoping that Peter picks the right door.

“Left,” he says with confidence. Peter tries to stride ahead of you, but you catch him with an arm to the chest. “What?”

“I’m taking the lead. Ellie will cover the back,” you instruct, giving him the best strict look you can summon. It’s like you’re doing an impression of Joel. “You stay in the middle.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I got a feeling that you’re not very comfortable with that knife, and you’re our ticket out of here.”

The boy turns his head to his feet and sandwiches himself between you and Ellie. From behind, Ellie whispers, “Sorry about her. She can be a bitch, but she’ll keep you safe.”

Normally, this would piss you off and you’d find some snarky thing to say back, but hearing that Ellie’s confident in you strokes your ego. Even if the compliment is preceded by an insult. The truth is, though, you aren’t used to protecting others. When you were making your way across the country with Tess and Adam, you knew they could handle themselves. Sure, you looked out for each other, but there was an understanding that you’d be fine.

Until one of you wasn’t.

You can’t think about that right now, you tell yourself, because you have to move. There’s no point in being down here any longer than you need to be. Without needing instructions from you, Ellie opens the door on the left, allowing you to go in with your gun raised. She shuts the door behind you. Upon entering what looks like a kitchen, you don’t see any movement or hear any screeching. The relief you feel is fleeting, though, because you hear scurrying in the far left corner of the room. Of course it’s right by the only door.

“Peter,” you say quietly, “what kind of infected were you hiding from?”

“Um, they were f-fast and hid from us, but they were upstairs. It should be empty down here.”

It’s not empty. Every hair on the back of your neck stands up. You know you’re being watched. The question is by how many? While you’d rather not find out, you know that isn’t an option. If the only way out is through, then you’ll have to figure it out. You can figure it out.

“Okay, both of you get your backs against this wall,” you whisper, stepping to the side to press yourself against the cold concrete. “Listen to me, they’re going to try to get behind us, so we can’t let them. Ellie, you cover my back. I’ll cover yours.”

Ellie nods. “Can they see and hear?”

“Yes,” you confirm, “so we’re going to want to move fast but aggressively.”

“Got it.”

As if to reiterate your point, a raspy croak echoes from the vent to your right. The fucking vents. A humanlike moan responds to the croak from across the room. There’s at least two of them, and two of you. Well, three, but two of you that you know are capable of wielding a weapon. Ellie has fire in her eyes and a steel grip on her pistol. Some of that must have always been there, but some of it is Joel. You’re sure of it.

“I’m going to draw them out.” You gingerly lift a bottle that’s sitting on the counter. “Get ready to shoot.”

You toss the bottle into the middle of the room and it lands with a loud crack. The two Stalkers emerge on all fours, flashing their fungal crowns and snarling teeth. You take out the one closest to you with a shot to the chest. Ellie hits the other once in the neck and then again in the head. Falling to the ground, laying among the amber glass, they gurgle and twitch before going still. You put up a hand, signaling to Peter and Ellie to wait. When you’re met with only silence, you lower your weapon.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Ellie whispers.

“Don’t speak too soon,” you warn with a sigh. “They travel in groups. Peter, how many more rooms until we’re outta here?”

“Uh,” he stutters, “I think three more.”

“You think?” Ellie glares at him.

“I-I don’t know exactly, but not more than four.”

Swearing under your breath, you nod and walk quietly, but hastily, forward, careful not to step on any glass. Ellie walks with her back to you, watching from behind like you told her to. Honestly, you’re shocked that she’s this cooperative. You figured she would be more rebellious. Maybe she trusts you because Joel does. Does Joel trust you? It doesn’t matter. Hopefully he will after you get Ellie out of this labyrinth alive.

Pausing to stare at the mangled bodies, you can hear Ellie wince when she speaks. “Nasty looking fucker.”

“Aw, c’mon,” you lilt, “don’t say that about yourself.”

“Ha-ha, so funny,” she deadpans.

Just like before, Ellie opens the door for you, but this time you’re not met with another room. Instead, you enter a long, twisty hallway. Every few feet, there’s a door and each looks identical. You’re about to ask which one when the door behind you slams shut. Much to your chagrin, you jump and hope Ellie doesn’t notice. Once again, you don’t get the chance to speak because you’re distracted by clattering in the vents.

“Which—”

“Circular knob on the left,” Peter cuts you off. “No lock.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “When I count to three, we run. I don’t want to try to fight any of them in a hallway this narrow. Ellie—”

“Watch the back. I know.”

If you could risk letting your diligence slip, you would’ve shot her a dirty look. Sometimes, when she gets snarky with you, you feel like you’re looking in a mirror. A cracked or distorted mirror, sure, but a mirror nonetheless. Moving with surprising synchronicity, you feel it now more than ever.

Fingers up, you start counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

The clunky gear on your back swishes and sways much louder than expected. That, combined with heavy boots, draws a Stalker out of its hiding spot in the vent. You don’t notice it until Ellie is lodging her knife into its throat with a practiced ease. Luckily, others don’t emerge and you’re able to slip into the next room safely. Catching your breath, you look Peter and Ellie up and down. Ellie, wiping the blood onto her jeans, just gives you a nod which you return.

This room has no vents, no furniture, nothing. Just blank walls and one blood-stained door, held shut by a long board and a chain that binds the handles together. To put it simply, it looks like something out of a horror movie. It might as well have DO NOT ENTER written on it. At least you have a second to pause, breathe, and collect yourself.

“Two more rooms after this, then we’ll get to the stairs out.” Peter’s brows pull together, concern so prominent that they nearly touch. “But that room—”

“Is going to be a shit show?” Ellie scoffs. “Yeah, kinda figured by the boards and chains on the door.”

Dropping to one knee, you retrieve the bolt cutters from your pack and strip the door of its confinements. Ready to get it over with, you rip the door open. Much to your dismay, you were right. A horror movie. It’s not possible to count all of them, not with how fast they’re moving, but there are at least six Stalkers. And, by the rustling in the vents, a few more circling above. You had a healthy amount of nerves going into this situation, but now? Truthfully, you’re panicking, though it doesn’t show on your face. Putting your back to the wall, Ellie and Peter follow suit.

“Ellie, I’m going to have you go first,” you whisper, “and Peter, stay in the middle. I’ll cover you guys.”

“I’m just booking it?” Ellie, for the first time, looks at you with doubt. “That’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a fucking plan,” you snap. “There are too many of them.”

Without thinking about you, you had turned your entire body towards Ellie while speaking. Back exposed, you’re now the perfect target. Dropping from the ceiling onto all fours, a Stalker runs at you, but its snarling is its downfall. You have enough time after hearing it to swivel around and place a bullet between its bloodshot eyes. After that, the floodgates open. Like a firing squad, you and Ellie take out seven Stalkers while Peter stands behind you, wide eyed and, frankly, useless.

When a few of the Stalkers retreat to the vents, you give Ellie a single look and she’s running ahead to the fork in the room. Peter directs her to the right and she flies through the door. You’re almost there, pushing Peter by the back to keep going, when one of them tears the sleeve of your shirt clean off. It pins you against the wall and you hold it back with your forearm against its chest, bits of fungus crumbling from your touch.

If you let go, you know it’ll rip your throat out, so you try wedge your leg between you and the Stalker. It’s proving to be more difficult than expected, and your foot slips. Slamming your head against the wall when it snaps at your neck, you think this is it. This is how you go out. One fucking infected will be your demise, after everything you’ve been through. That’s fine, you suppose. Closing your eyes, you’re ready to accept your fate when a screech and the cold of blood covers your arm, pulling you out of it. Peter, looking shellshocked, removes his knife from the neck of the Stalker. Before you think to thank him, or even register that he saved your life, more infected come barreling towards you.

Before you can be captured again, you and Peter make it into the next room to find Ellie crouched behind a table that’s fallen over. She raises a finger to her lips and points across the room. Right near the door, there are two Clickers, feeding on some animal that’s unrecognizable. They must have been too busy with their meal to hear the door slam. Bending down next to her, you raise an eyebrow. The two of you could probably sneak around the Clickers and take them out. That is until you hear two Stalkers whimpering and whining from above. To add fuel to the fire, the infected you left in the last room are now banging on the door, the weak barrier between you and them.

Peter, like the child he is, begins to tremble even more than he was. This time, though, it’s a danger. His knife slips from his hand and it’s the floor. You instinctively reach for Ellie, dragging her up as you sprint in the opposite direction as the Clickers who are now coming at you like angry bulls. You get one in the head with your shotgun while Ellie aims for the other, only hitting its arm. Peter, now well behind you, scrambles to get off the ground, only drawing more attention to himself. Whipping your head around, you see his frail body caught between the concrete floor and a Stalker. You raise your gun, hoping you can make a clear shot with all of the movement, when the door behind Peter gives in. Two Clickers, three Stalkers, and everything else that’s in the room with you? Not great odds at all. Then, you hear the rumbling. You’d rather not stick around to confirm whether or not it’s what you think it is.

Eyes darting between Peter and Ellie, you grip her wrist to drag her forward towards the door, but she fights you on it. Peter begins to scream—wail—and you tune it out. It’s easy, as much as you hate to admit it, to ignore his pleas.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ellie sprays you with spit as she yells in your face. “We can’t leave him!”

“We gotta go!”

Aiming over Ellie’s shoulder, you take out a Stalker that dropped from one of the vents. She continues to fight you while you shove her towards the door, but you successfully get her through the threshold, pushing her hard enough that she stumbles back on her feet. You slam the door shut and push a desk in front of it. Scanning the room, you only find broken furniture and, thankfully, no fucking vents.

“What is fucking wrong with you? We-we could’ve saved him!”

“Maybe,” you say between pants, back against the wall with your hands on your knees, “or you would’ve gotten bit, then I’d have to answer to Joel and I’d rather not.”

“Oh, right,” Ellie lets out a dry laugh and takes a step forward. She cocks her head and stares at you. It sends a chill down your spine, that look in her eyes, but you remain composed. “You seem to really give a shit about what Joel thinks about you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“That’s why you’re here, right? You came to find Joel? He must have really meant a lot to you for you to go across the country looking for him.”

“I’m going to give you one chance to stop talking—”

“Or what?” Ellie, now inches from your face, lowers her voice. “Are you gonna leave me down here to die, too?”

“Maybe I should,” you say, parroting her tone back to her. Your anger tries to dampen your embarrassment, but to no avail. It has been that obvious, hasn’t it? Everyone knows, you think. They can tell just by looking at you. “I don’t even know why I jumped down—”

The infected must have finished with Peter because the door pulses with pounding and snarling. Frantically, since you somehow managed to forget the situation you’re in, you search for an exit. There are three doors to choose from and you’re acutely aware that opening the wrong one might seal your fate, but there isn’t any other way to know. You’ve just got to pick one and hope for the best.

Ellie is a step ahead of you and is already prying at the doors with little caution. After fiddling with the handle, she finds a concrete wall. She moves onto the next, and you sprint to the other. Pistol in hand, you part the door slowly and, thankfully, it gives you enough time to register the three Clickers that stir at the sound. You’re shutting it as Ellie calls you over to the other door. Just in time, too, because the desk is futile in holding back the infected who are falling over each other to get to you. Pushing Ellie through the open door, you narrowly avoid a bite from a Clicker, just enduring a scratch that burns enough to know that it broke skin. You slam it shut, and start to sprint up the stairs to the basement hatch that you were promised.

When you’re a few steps from the top, Jesse rips the cellar doors open. The daylight is harsh yet welcoming and your lungs are grateful for the break from the stale, wet air that suffocated you underground. Ellie breaks the threshold and Joel grabs her by the shoulders, asking if she’s okay while inspecting her for any injuries. Not a scratch on her. You’re welcome, you think. Adam does the same to you, pawing at the gash on your arm, and his face floods with relief when he realizes it’s not a bite.

“Stalkers,” you answer Adam’s unspoken question between pants. “And Clickers. Maybe a Bloater, too. Couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to find out.”

“And the kid?” Adam sounds stupidly hopeful. You shake your head, maintaining a straight, blank face. “Okay,” he sighs, “we should get back to the car.”

“Agreed,” Jesse chimes in.

As you’re turning the corner towards the direction of the car, the door to the basement splits and God only knows how many infected begin trailing you. Running now, you’re cut off from Jesse, Ellie, and Adam, a Stalker breaking through the glass of the building. You stop hard, Joel running into the back of you, and Adam spins on his heels, decapitating the infected with a machete.

“Now you’re just showing off,” you tease, continuing ahead. “Where did you even find that?”

“Found it by—”

Jesse cuts him off, yelling, “Turn around!”

In front of you, multiple Clickers screech and behind you is just the same. Completely surrounded. The five of you hit the infected closest to you, but you’re massively outnumbered. There is not a chance of shooting your way out of here, so you decide to book it, whistling at Adam to follow you. The others must have caught on because they follow you into the treeline. Maybe you can lose them in the forest.

Joel, the slowest of the bunch in his old age, is practically jogging backwards and taking out infected as you go. All of you make a few shots here and there, but you continue on. In the rush, it all blends together. The trees become one blurry mass until they part and you’re met with sparkling blue. Earthquake Lake looks like a safe haven right now, especially with a boat waiting for you at the dock.

Infected don’t take swimming lessons, you hear your father say. Get on that boat.

No one questions you when you sprint onto the dock or jump into the boat. Even if they did, you wouldn’t have heard them. You’re entirely tuned in to your instincts or, rather, the sound of your father’s voice in your head. Completing each step of preparing to start the boat with ease, there’s a sense of certainty that hits you like a tidal wave that you haven’t felt in ages.

Ellie, who is a little less skilled than the others with a gun, becomes your right hand. She undoes the rope when you ask, flips the battery switch, and turns the key after you prep the motor. Despite the choice words exchanged earlier, you do work pretty well together. Finally, you start to move.

“Hey,” Joel calls to you, “can you hurry it up? Runnin’ low on ammo here.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?” Jesse asks through grit teeth, still shooting as the infected grab at the side of the boat.

“Bow rise, fuel consumption, stalling the engine—”

“Alright, alright,” he says, “I get it.”

Eventually, you’re out of the woods—literarlly—and the infected get smaller and smaller as you go South. Once you’re far enough away, you shut off the boat. The current and wind should push you in the right direction, and you didn’t properly check how much fuel the boat has. It’s what Dad would do, you repeat to yourself, hoping that at some point you’ll magically feel more confident in your decisions.

As the engine settles, everyone seems to be able to take a deep breath and silence engulfs the five of you. Though you appear inscrutable, inside you’re buzzing with adrenaline. Joel, on the other hand, seems exhausted as he sits down across from the captain’s chair that you’re standing in front of. It’s still enough that you can hear the crack of his knees and a groan that he softly exhales. He’s never looked older, you think. You would ask if he’s doing runs or patrols like this often, if he’s doing okay, but you know it’ll come off as condescending despite your intentions.

Instead, you say, “We’ll let the current take us a little farther South and hopefully there’s somewhere we can dock.”

“And if there’s not a dock?” Jesse asks.

“I’ll look for a landing, then. I’m not really worried about damaging this piece of shit.”

And what a total piece of shit it is. Now that you’re able to get a better look at it, you’re surprised it even turned on. If you had to guess, it hasn’t been taken out in a while. There are cobwebs on the dash, the seats have been worn by exposure, and the stench of mildew is overpowering. A heaviness is draped along your shoulders as you take it in. There was a time that it wasn’t always like this. A pair of water skis is stored off to the side. You can picture them in Christmas wrapping paper, excited hands tearing it apart. Maybe the new owners waited and waited, counting down the days until the boat was back in the water. At some point, this was probably someone’s prized possession.

Now, it’s just the piece of shit that saved your life.

Jesse points at the map, leaning over the seat so you can see. “Looks like there’s a dam not too far down.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “Adam, can you keep an eye out on the shoreline for anywhere we can beach this?”

Adam, your first mate, takes position with a rusty pair of binoculars. “Aye, aye, captain.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say with a short, dry laugh.

“I don’t even know how you can laugh right now,” Ellie scoffs. “You left someone to die and you’re laughing.”

Before you can control it, you roll your eyes and lean against the dashboard. “Didn’t we already go over this? It was us or him.”

“You didn’t think twice, didn’t hesitate to leave him.”

“Hesitation gets you killed,” you reply flatly.

“Hey, I think we’re all a little on edge,” Jesse cuts in, attempting to be the peacemaker. “Maybe we can all talk about this once we’re home.”

“Agreed,” Joel grumbles. “Best if we—”

Ellie continues, as if Joel and Jesse aren’t there at all, and snaps, “We could’ve tried to save him.”

“A…friend of ours used to say, ‘You save who you can save.’ Right, Joel?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Joel shifts his jaw and nods. “That’s right.”

Pushing off the dashboard with your palms, you take a step forward towards her. “And I chose to save you, so maybe you should be thanking me.”

“Yeah, right. Like you actually give a shit about me—”

“Enough!” Joel snaps. “Quit it. Both of you.”

Face burning hot, you nod and stab the inside of your cheek with your tongue. You have to admit, she’s right. There wasn’t a moment of deliberation or consideration; you just acted. Would you always have made that choice? Maybe, but maybe not. Five years ago, it certainly would’ve been harder to decide. It’s a different story now. Not a single part of you regrets choosing Ellie’s life, or yours, over a stranger’s.

The stares on you are heavy and, right now, it feels intolerable to have critical eyes on you, so you look for a distraction. Taking into consideration that gas breaks down over time, it’s probably best to search the boat for extra fuel. Footsteps, Joel’s by the sound of it, follow you as you walk down the two steps to the cabin. The doors don’t budge when you push on them lightly. Someone must have either blocked the entrance from the inside or tried to tie them together. Using your shoulder, you slam them open.

The stench burns your nostrils and you stifle a cough with your forearm, undoubtedly smearing some of your own blood on your face. When your eyes adjust to the dark of the cabin, your vision blurs and the familiar ringing accosts your ears. Surely, you’re not seeing what you think you are. The edge of your father’s jaw has been blown to pieces. There’s a bit hanging on, like a door coming off its hinges. The arm that isn’t loosely draped over a tarnished Smith and Wesson is draped around you. On your shirt, the one with scattered stars that Susan found in an old townhouse, has been dyed with burgundy blotches that resemble holes.

It’s not him and it’s not you, but might as well be. Maybe this is how it should have ended.

The sight, the smell—it becomes unbearable. You spin around on your heels, shoving past Joel like someone’s on your tail, and throw yourself over the side of the boat. There’s not much in your stomach, so it doesn’t take long to gag your way to emptiness. Trying to catch your breath, you heave with such force that the water gets closer and then farther away. Closer and farther, closer and farther. It would be so easy to fall forward and let the water swallow you. You could float gently to the bottom like your father, held by the bottom of a river. Different rivers, but it’s all the same when you’re dead.

Draped over the boat, your body crumples until a pair of arms yank you back. Clawing at Adam and thrashing like you’re a trapped animal, your hyperventilating only gets worse. Each inhale doesn’t reach far enough into your lungs to crush your panic. The restraint that you know is meant to be comforting is suffocating like you’re in a machine press, moments away from the pressure turning you into dust.

“Hey, hey.” It’s muffled—the voice—so maybe you are underwater after all. Then, low and clear, he says, “S’okay, baby. You’re okay. ‘M here.” With his chin resting on your shoulder, Joel shushes you and holds you even tighter. “Jus’ breathe. Breathe for me.”

Closing your eyes to block out the world around you, you focus on Joel’s breathing and do your best to match it. Eventually, cradled in his arms, your chest rises and falls evenly.

Shuddering, you whisper, “It’s just…they were—”

“I know.”

That’s all he needed to say to confirm it: Joel saw himself and he saw Sarah. The twin wounds that mar your hearts fuse you together. Joel’s hand eclipses yours, giving it a squeeze, and you’re about to let yourself melt further into his touch when you remember you’re not alone on the boat. Wiggling in his grip, he lets you go and you turn to face him.

Behind Joel, Adam and Jesse have redirected their attention elsewhere as if to give you a moment of privacy. Ellie, however, stares directly at the two of you, her expression entirely unreadable. Something catches her eye, though. Ellie looks beyond you and points.

There it is. Somewhere to land.

The failed mission took more out of you than you expected. Your time in Jackson has changed you. Being a survivor is ingrained in you now, but the time off from being barraged by adrenaline, when you thought you’d always be in fight or flight mode, has tempered you. Getting through the day feels like a chore, like you’re trudging through each hour. Time is thick like molasses. You spend more time trying to pull your feet out of it more than anything, and you find yourself fatigued by the time you come home.

Yet each night, sleep slips through your fingers most nights even though Adam is there. Adam who you suspect has been avoiding you. Keeping himself busy with extra patrol shifts or horseback riding lessons with Walker, you don’t see him most days. He slips into bed late at night, much too late for it to be considered appropriate to confront him, and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t want to. Most nights, you find yourself pretending to be asleep by the time he comes in. It’s easier to be in the dark, to remain skeptical, to give yourself reasonable doubt. If he confirms your fears, you have to face him.

You can barely face yourself lately.

Adam’s been avoiding you, you’re avoiding you, and you’re avoiding everyone else. It’s been two weeks or so and you can’t bring yourself to look at Joel or Jesse, but especially not Ellie. You’ve figured out their routines for the most part, so you make sure you’re not in the dining hall at the wrong time and you keep your head down on the streets. It’s been easier than you initially thought. Maybe they’re avoiding you, too.

Tonight is like most nights except you know Adam won’t be coming home. Earlier in the week, Adam told you in passing that he and Walker would be going on an overnight patrol. While a feeling of dread struck you like lightning, you maintained a cool composure. You were worried for his safety, of course, but you were also worried about spending the night alone for the first time in what feels like forever. So, you decided to sneak into the clinic and snag whatever pills you thought would knock you on your ass. It was easier than you anticipated and you considered telling Tommy that the honor code that he’s trusting the good people of Jackson leaves a lot of room for thievery.

The pills work much faster than anticipated. Within thirty minutes or so, you’re out cold. Who knows how long you’ve been asleep before it starts. The incessant, haunting echoes invade your subconscious with a vengeance.

In your right ear, you hear Tess. You had the chance to do something different.

But you didn’t. In your left ear, Peter’s voice, juvenile as it cracks.

The two of them, forming a sick cacophony of cries. You didn’t help me.

With each flash of light, you see them. Tess in anguish and defeat as you grab at her hand pathetically. Peter’s skin tearing with each slash of the Stalker’s boney fingers. The worst part? When they stop talking, when all you hear are screams and pleas.

You wake with a gasp, sweat beading on your lower back as you pant. Blinking rapidly, you beg your eyes to adapt to the midnight black of the room. Once you can make out the dresser, the one you share with Adam, their presence vanishes. Just like ghosts. The empty side of the bed serves as a reminder that there’s no one here with you to check under the bed or in the closet. The apparitions can return—they will return. And you? You’ll be alone.

It’s a blur. Getting dressed, leaving your apartment, taking turns you didn’t even realize you had memorized. It’s surreal until you’re standing on the porch and your knuckles rap on the door on the front door. Once, then twice. You’re about to knock a third time when you hear shuffling inside. The lock clicks, the knob turns.

“Beck?”

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#MY FAVORITE PFK CHAPTER. ….#read it NOW !!!#tess is never letting go of the narrative …#fic

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