COLORADO

It was a little early to be setting up for the night, but stumbling upon a cabin - and the prospect of shelter and protection - was too tempting to justify another hour's ride into the twilight.

This one was a little too small to be anyone's vacation home - which, ironically, meant it could've very well been someone's full-time home. It didn't matter; the house was plenty big enough for the two of them, and smaller was better - less ground to watch. The trip south was dotted with these kinds of houses, most of them emptied for years. But no one survived 20 years with just good luck. It was almost muscle memory, sitting in the bushes, rifle raised, scanning every window for movement.

He waited until his legs began to ache, and then he waited a little more. Ellie was growing antsy beside him, but she knew better than to talk.

The sun was now starting its descent. It seemed he hadn't kept track of time. He drew a bottle from his backpack; he'd always preferred handling these to bricks; they were lighter and easier to carry, made a bigger ruckus, and was handy in a break-the-glass emergency. One deep breath, then another just to be sure, before he tensed and threw it against the wall, bringing the rifle to bear at each window in turn. No movement.

The next step was checking around the house for tracks. He wasn't anything special as a tracker, but it looked safe enough to him. They brought the horse in (what kind of a name was Callus? Joel hated the name), put him into the kitchen and barred the door with whatever they could find - chairs, mostly. They picked the most secure spot to set themselves up. They did this all in silence as the last rays of the sun died down.

Ellie scrounged up a few candles, but it wasn't until night had truly set in that Joel felt comfortable enough to light them. They ate a couple cans of beans, briefly speaking every now and again on nothing of consequence. Dinners were like dinners were like that. They used to pass the time reading the relentlessly cheery praise for Bush's Best - "'Try our new Tongue-flavored beans! An explosion of flavor with every bite!' No thanks, but I'll take some foot-flavored beans if you have 'em," said Ellie - but sadly there were only made so many new brands.

"So, who do you think lived in this one?"

"Hmmm?"

Ellie had set her can down and was pacing through the living room, examining anything and everything that caught her attention. "What do you think they did? What do you think they were like?"

Joel paused and looked around. Everything was plain, from the furniture to the floors. Some of it looked handmade, and not by any artisan; the table did its job, but so too would a large rock. An old cathode-ray TV sat over in the living room. A painting of some landscape or another hung from the wall. The house was just one floor, so no more than a couple people, and probably just one. A loner who lived out in the woods.

"I don't know."

"You...don't have any guesses? You're not even a little bit curious?"

"I was never much for these things. I wasn't a people watcher."

Ellie sighed, Joel sighed, too, and paused for a moment. Then two, and maybe three. "I don't think he had a lot of money. Probably the type to rely on himself. He built his own furniture."

"He? Not her? Just one guy?"

"Yeah, I think so. Most people who live in a place like this, they're not real chummy. They don't like company, neither."

"So, he had no wife, no kids? Or - no partner?"

"Nah, don't think so. Just a guy doing his own thing. Hunting, trading. Might've did the same after the...the breakout. Kinda like Bill."

Ellie made a face. "If he's anything like Bill, it's not surprising he had to live alone." Joel chuckled. "So, was your house like this?"

"Nah. It was a pretty ordinary house in the suburbs. I bought all my furniture. I worked my ass off to fill it up with things, but never built anything with my own hands."

"Was it just you and Sarah and...and your...?"

He didn't bother to correct her on the unspoken 'wife'; a curt nod was all he gave her. She knew not to press the question. It grew quiet again for a few moments, until she jumped to her feet.

"Alright. Well, I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool. I bet these beans could kill a Clicker when they come out. Be right back!"

"Ellie, that's disgusting. I don't need to hear that."

"Don't be such a prude, Joel. Everyone poops."

"Yes, but not everyone needs to hear it like that. Why are you going outside? There's a bathroom right there."

"Yeah, but someone left their number two in there. A lot of shit, or a lot of people, by the looks of it. I bet they had beans for dinner, too."

"So? It's still usable. And safer."

"That's disgusting, Joel."

He sighed. "Just be careful out there."

She rolled her eyes. "Aren't I always?"

One of the hardest things to do in this world was keeping oneself entertained. Joel had no shortage of things on his to-do list; he needed to check on the horse, check on his guns, scavenge the house, clean his teeth - clean every part of him, when he could - but none of those were fun. It had been a long time since he'd had 'fun'. Maybe cleaning his gun was enjoyable the first time he had ever handled one, but shooting was much less of a leisure activity these days. It was his job, if anything was.

He watched Ellie walk out into the woods, taking note of where she was headed. Then, he sat back in his chair. He looked at the painting, looked at the wall. Looked at the table. Back to the painting. Crossed the wall, glancing over Ellie's backpack...Come to think of it, he had never looked inside, and he found that he was a little bit curious. He had his things, and she had her things, and they had kept it that way. It almost felt a little violating to be an intruder into another person's space, but it was strange to think about how he knew so much about Ellie, and so little at the same time. He knew that she could steal, fight, and kill, but what did that tell you about a person? He glanced outside. One little look couldn't hurt, right?

He unzipped the big compartment. Inside were her comics, her joke books, and her load of food, ammo, scavenged goods - nothing of interest. She knew what she needed to survive. He zipped that back up, and opened the small compartment in the front. Inside was one of those old, stupid robot toys that would turn into a car. It was way before her time, why on earth she keep that? There was some sort of metal pendant around its foot, a Firefly one - probably taken off a body. Also in there was an old letter, worn and wrinkled; on the back, he could make out, "Forever...your loving mother." He would never have read on - he might be rummaging through Ellie's belongings, but he wanted a little peek, not something so...personal. His misgivings weren't what stopped him from reading; he didn't even realize he had stopped reading at first. He barely registered his fingers trembling as they pulled forth the photo behind the letter. A girl in a soccer uniform, turquoise and white stripes, holding a trophy in one hand; her father had one arm around her, 20 years younger than the man that stared down at him. "What in the hell? How...?" He glanced outside again. No sign of Ellie, but he quickly zipped the backpack shut anyway. Was it Tommy that gave it to her? When did he do that? He couldn't remember when it could've happened. Why did Ellie even have that damn thing? Did Tommy tell her to pass it on? Did she stare at it when he was asleep, thinking...what, exactly?

He put his head in his hands. She would've been...what, 32 now? Not that much younger than Tess, which was an uncomfortable thought. He couldn't imagine what she would look like as an adult; she'd never even been a teenager. That one hurt. Funny to think that his biggest fear used to be Sarah growing older, drifting away, meeting boys and leaving her dad to face being middle-aged on his own, to retire to his own little cabin and die there. Well, that one didn't come to pass. The tears didn't come, but the thoughts spilled out, each a visit from very familiar demons. He knew what was going to happen, he had performed this Sisyphian ritual over and over again, but no matter how much he repeated it to himself - thinking about it did no good for him - he could never control his thoughts. He could control his face, he could make himself swallow up those feelings and bury them inside his stomach, but that didn't make them stop. He knew the inquest that was coming - if he had told Tommy to take the highway, if he had forced Tommy to back up, if he had walked a different route. If, instead of throwing Sarah into the bullet, he had rolled and taken it.

"That was in the past," he told himself. But no one ever ran from the future.

The doorknob turned, and Joel jumped for his gun, only releasing the handle when he had double- and triple-checked to make sure it was Ellie.

"It's just me. I left the world a big stink bomb out there." She looked at him. "Everything alright?"

He sat up. He knew there were no tears in his eyes; maybe it was his expression. "No. everything's fine." He paused. "All quiet here," he added.

"Good. Hope it's all quiet in your stomach, too."

It was silent for a moment. Ellie seemed to know that something was wrong, but she didn't say anything.

He patted his lap. "Ellie, could you...come here?"

She gave him a look. "What?"

"Just come here."

"Uh, you're being really weird, Joel."

"It's not like that, Ellie. Please." His voice cracked, his face begged, and Ellie didn't say a word as she climbed onto his lap.

When was the last time he had held someone like this? Daughter, lover, friend - he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember how many years ago it was since he last cried, and afterwards he couldn't remember what Ellie said to him, or how long they stayed like that, but he remembered sobbing once again as he clutched at a little girl that meant the world to him.

He had failed one. He wouldn't fail another.