This is my first fan-fiction that I've ever posted. Apparently, The Last of Us managed to push enough of my buttons to actually make an account and actually write something. This is something that I've been working on for the past month or so; I've tried to stay as faithful to the story as much as I can. If possible, please take some time to leave a comment or review; I highly appreciate it.
Credit: Obviously inspired by Naughty-Dog's epic masterpiece, The Last of Us. (I own nothing.)
MOMENT OF SILENCE.
It was that moment of silence when the crying stopped that was forever burned into his memory.
Hearing her cry was hardly new to him; be it from the bullies who had the nerve to pick on a defenseless little girl, to the cuts and scrapes from soccer practice, or the occasional nightmare—Joel was used to rocking her to sleep in his arms. How many times had that gentle, innocent heartbeat, fluttering softly within the folds of his arms, shot tender waves of warmth through his entire body? That warmth—he had hardly noticed the weight he was carrying as they fled. But this time, it was different. Now, as the strangled gasps faded into whimpers; Joel, who had just turned helplessly to Tommy for guidance, suddenly felt the small, pajama-clad figure tense violently—then slowly relax, into silence. As the warmth that had once been his daughter slowly ebbed away into nothing more than a cold, wet, lifeless weight in his arms; the young father suddenly felt his own heart seize up, settle coldly into his stomach, and lie still. His mind splintered; it tried, sputtered, and refused to comprehend it all.
Don't do this to me, baby girl… don't do this to me… Please… Don't do this to me…
Those grey, little eyes; the innocent way she had watched him just over an hour ago—eagerly anticipating his reaction... now stared vacantly, tear-stained—through him—into the sky. The young father desperately held her close, his fingers running unconsciously through the short, golden hair. Joel found it increasingly harder and harder to breathe; confusion, mind-numbing and lethal, enveloped him in a choking mist as oblivion claimed its prize, and he lost all track of time and space…
The nurse's high-pitched scream jolted him back to his senses.
"You fucking animal!"
"Carrie—shut the hell up!"
Joel's eyes flitted back and forth between the cowering doctors and the unconscious form lying on the table. His pupils violently dilated as he saw who it was, and the bloody scalpel he had used to stick the surgeon clattered loudly to the ground. Ellie. He yanked the wires free, and the monitor's steady "beep-beep-beep" flatlined into the ambience.
"Come on, baby girl, I gotcha…"
The sound of a door being forced open echoed dimly from the way of which he had come, and Joel's focus snapped back to his immediate surroundings. Already, the searchlights were wandering across the windows, and the sounds of running boots, heavy with intent, were getting closer.
"Oh shit…"
In a single, sweeping motion of his hands, the girl was in his arms, hers draped limply over his shoulder. Joel started for a moment; in the bathing halo of the medical lamps, Ellie's red ponytail had turned into gold. Neither of the medical assistants dared move as he kicked open the rear door and fled.
"I'm gettin' you outta here, girl…"
The sounds of pursuit were everywhere—orders were being shouted, rifles were being cocked, boots were flanking him on all sides; and somewhere in the distance, an emergency alarm began to wail. The weight in his arms was impossibly heavy. The door immediately behind him burst open.
"Shit!"
The gun-mounted flashlights casted long shadows down the hallway. Amidst the din, Joel thought he vaguely heard voices. Most of the lights were sweeping the corridor to his left, but it would only be seconds before they spotted him. The alarms continued to wail.
"He's carrying her to Pediatrics! Get over there, now!"
"You don't have to worry about her anymore…" Marlene's words echoed in his head.
"This is your fault—it's all your fault!" The image of Henry's brains splattered on the walls made him involuntarily flinch.
"You got nowhere to go!"
"This stuff's good for one thing—getting' ya killed. You ain't gonna make it." That timeless, infinite look of sadness on Bill's face… Frank.
"She's just cargo, Joel…" Tess had whispered.
"No—we are survivors! Things happen, we move on." It was the voice of a survivor, but it was not his voice…
It was that moment of silence that was forever burned into his memory. Tommy had told him to run—he had just turned to say something to him… that moment of silence.
"He's over here!"
Oblivion, dead and dark, pooled around his feet and tickled his ankles with cold, shadowy fingers; Joel's watch rubbed painfully, knowingly, against his wrist. His feet felt sore, his arms ached even more, and his lungs felt like they were going to explode—but his feet flew faster, and his wrists somehow found the strength to shift the dead weight in his arms into a better position. The image of his fingers, red; not with his blood, but the blood of his blood, leapt at and temporarily blinded his vision.
"I gotcha… I gotcha…"
Joel dared not look back, and broke into a run. His ears rang, his eyes bulged from the effort, but the strength was there—an infinite pool of energy had seemingly welled up somewhere within him; somewhere dry and ancient.
The hallway up ahead was blocked, with two Fireflies checking the barricade.
"Dammit, which way?!"
The flashlight barely missed Joel's head as he ducked into the corner. In the darkness, Joel's eyes could and couldn't see at the same time—images, there were so many images, grotesque and fantastical; he gritted his teeth as a table corner grazed his side.
That fucking piece of rebar.
He had fallen down so many times at the University—his hands had been wet and slippery with crimson. In the hazy images of his half-open eyes, she had been knocked off her feet… Her jacket had been splashed with red… it was as if someone had dumped a bucket over… there was so much red…
The sounds of footsteps grew closer.
"Can you walk?"
"YES."
"Then fucking walk!"
Oblivion grasped him, and in the darkness, Joel tripped over something. His hands sought to reach ahead to stable himself, but they were full. The footsteps behind him were almost on him.
"I swear to God, I get you out of this, you're so singing for me…"
Ellie's voice. Her voice. Somehow, she had pulled him up, and Joel found his arm draped over her tiny shoulders. He had tried to keep as much off her as he could—he expected her to collapse under all that weight—his dead weight; but she had gritted her teeth and kept walking. When his own feet had given way, she had stumbled for a moment, but did not fall. He was, in all aspects, a dead man—and she had…
"I used to be addicted to soap—but I'm all clean now…"
"I'm whistling!"
"What's not right…?"
"Left."
"Yeeeaaaah!"
At the last moment, his feet corrected themselves loudly and painfully; Joel grimaced as the nearby flashlights clicked and snapped towards his direction.
"Move around to the other side!"
At the farmhouse, she had shoved him hard.
"Stop with the bullshit. What are you so afraid of?"
"How many close calls have we had?"
"I'm not her you know…"
"What…"
"Maria told me about Sarah…"
That moment of silence, as they stood there, facing each other down, as the memories struck him, again and again, with the force of a thousand lightning bolts… The way that the name had rolled off her tongue… how easy it sounded…
That moment of silence that was forever burned into his memory.
He was a dead man. It all made sense. What difference, aside from having one's head sprouting mushrooms, was there between him and one of those goddamn clickers?
That fucking piece of rebar.
"I'm okay."
"You're not okay, Joel!"
Her. That tiny, vulnerable bundle of spindly little arms and legs, clad in nothing but a medical gown that he was now holding in his arms. Suddenly, in that moment, he was surprised to find that Ellie hardly weighed anything at all. A warm, tingling sensation rippled dully in fuzzy circles through his body.
"We just want the girl!"
"Joel…"
Vague memories of winter; of feverish, burning delirium—her face hoveringly ghostly over his own—the infinite, indescribable chill of a storm—the burning restaurant and the acrid smell of smoke—the ugly image of the man with the ruined face—with Ellie straddled atop, hacking away in a mindless frenzy; made his skin crawl and his arms twitch. He hadn't forgotten how long, or how tightly, he had held her tiny, shaking body, cradling her tear-stained face in his hands as the smothering blizzards of oblivion howled angrily around them…
"We're okay… we're okay… we're okay…"
Joel ran for his life. There must have been at least a dozen Fireflies behind him, ahead, the light of the open elevator beckoned warmly towards him. Dimly in the background, Joel thought heard the final, heavy click of automatic weapons.
"I got him in my sights!"
Time seemed to freeze to a complete standstill as Joel's vision suddenly blazed white. This can't be happening. It can't be happening… This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.
The image of his fingers, stained in red, stared back at him; the moment of silence that was forever burned into his memory loomed ahead, distant and large.
"This is your last chance! Drop her NOW!"
Her.
That tiny, vulnerable bundle of spindly little arms and legs, clad in a pair of pajamas, that he was holding in his arms…
Her.
That tiny, vulnerable bundle of spindly little arms and legs, clad in nothing but a medical gown, that he was now holding in his arms…
Fuck you, Fireflies.
The elevator was less than ten steps ahead when the gunfire erupted behind him. The first bullets sang past his ears; and another tore a hole in his trousers, barely missing the flesh. Sparks flew everywhere as holes suddenly dotted the walls in front.
"We're not… sick! Listen buddy… we've just been through hell, now we just need…"
"Stop!"
"It's my daughter, I think her leg's broken, and I—"
"STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Five steps to the elevator.
"We need help…"
Joel closed his eyes tightly shut—he already knew what was going to happen next. The image of Sarah's tearstained grey eyes, staring vacantly back up at him—flashed before his eyes and made his hairs stand on end… The sad, forlorn faces of Bill and Henry floated welcomingly towards Joel in a cold embrace. Either the elevator wouldn't work, or that the Fireflies would catch up to him before he closed the door…
Joel's fingers fumbled for a moment finding the right button, then leaned his entire weight into the elevator control panel. Outside, the sounds of shouting were clawing through the slowly-closing gap of the elevator's steel doors.
"It's okay, baby, we're safe…"
The doors closed and locked; Joel closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, all of the screaming thoughts inside his head went silent.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Joel readjusted the weight on his arms, and for the first time, took a moment to closely examine his year-long traveling companion. It was the first time that Joel had an actual good look at the bite mark on her arm—the flesh had been lacerated deep, and the surrounding skin had scarred and discolored into a sickly pattern of teeth marks and bubbling pustules. His fingers ran unintentionally through the messy strands of the red ponytail, and his beleaguered eyes traced sadly over the scars; from the faintest one over her eyebrow, to the cruel dent across the bridge of her nose—the physical mark of winter—the only surviving testament of her sacrifice…
There were too may scars to count.
But the battered face resting on Joel's shoulder was young—the childhood freckles had not yet faded and her eyes, heavily lidded in drug-induced sleep, were taut and unwrinkled. Through the din of the their descent, Joel listened to Ellie's shallow breathing and watched in fascination as Ellie's chest slowly rose and fell in unison with the soft fluttering heartbeat cradled in his arms.
Oh God.
It was in that moment of silence that everything clicked. He had seen this coming and had refused to accept it, fearing it, flying from it, fighting it; but now, the last of his resistance had melted away in an instant. An explosion of color—as the old, splintered pieces inside him fell back into place, and Joel found himself gasping for breath.
From the cold depths of oblivion, the hardened survivor—the withered husk of what was once a father, felt something in his stomach give a slight, feeble twitch; then a sharp, jagged gasp as it roared back to life. As he stood there, trembling, with an unconscious Ellie in his arms, Joel took a deep, long breath as his heart slowly rose, painfully red and quivering like the morning sun, back into his chest.
Light.
Life.
Love.
The Last of Us.
"You were always complaining about your broken watch… So I figured… You like it?"
The elevator gave a final chime and opened its doors onto the empty parking garage—Joel impulsively tightened his grip on the limp form lying in his arms, his body braced for the worst.
The image of Sarah's golden hair, fluttering lifelessly in his hands, rose again momentarily before his eyes, and Joel blinked furiously to dispel any last tears that had come twenty years too late.
"He tried to—…" The ugly image of her straddled atop, mindlessly hacking at the man with the ruined face in a frenzy, briefly flashed before his eyes.
"Oh, baby girl…"
Joel took a tentative first step out of the elevator and prepared to run. In the dim, grey lights of the parking lot, Ellie's hair was clearly red again.
.
But she was alive.
.
.
.
And that was all that mattered.