Author's Note:

Hey everyone (: I'm kind of new to this site, I'm usually creeping around on FictionPress, the sister site of FanFiction. I do usually write my own stories. In the past year I've had some projects going, but can't just seem to really get into them enough to do a substantial amount of work involving them. I'm in denial, because I think it's called writer's block. I just don't like calling it that. I needed a boost to get me going again and to get that enjoyable feeling back that I get when I do happen to write. So I've decided to dedicate my time to write a story based around this amazing game. I love The Last of Us, and everything about it. If you want to play factions with me, add me on Playstation Network. My PSN is December_Wind

And please, do enjoy my story! If you like it and are intrigued by it, go on ahead and click that follow/favorite button up there. It would show me that you are interested about it continuing. Feel free to also drop a review to comment this story or to give me advice of any kind!

Without further-a-do, let's get this started (:

[Disclamer]

WINTER

An icy December breeze whistled through the empty halls of Toronto's Sports Stadium through the main-floor exterior windows. It was freezing, and I could see the vapours of my breath with every exhale. I walked quickly, my winter boots echoing off the tile with each and every step I took. The tile was cracked and aged, covered with dead grass, plants, snow, and ice. Feeling my backpack and hunting rifle sliding off my shoulder, I adjusted them back to a comfortable position. Despite the cold, my body was warm. I had on black cargo pants with boots to match, several layers of shirts under my olive coloured jacket, gloves, a thin grey scarf, and a knit cap that was also dark in colour. Not exactly my taste in fashion, but it kept me warm, and that's all that matters in these winters.

The outbreak started twenty years ago when I, Susan Hart, was just fifteen. Born into wealth, I was greatly dependant on others to look after me and supply me with all my needs daily. Everything had happened so fast that it's still hard to recall every detail. I just remember one week I was living in a mansion, and the next week I was an orphan sitting on the street-side curb in Toronto's Quarantine Zone.

Society had broken down quickly. The Canadian and United States FEDRA (Federal Disaster Response Agency) declared martial law all around North America in the wake of the infection. When that failed to keep order, the government of the United States and Canada started constructing quarantine zones in a struggle to try and preserve what remained of modern-day society. The government and the military still try desperately to censor information to the people using aggression and violence. Ever since that started, a militia group calling themselves The Fireflies distributed themselves across North America with only two goals: to win the war against the now corrupt government and military, as well as to discover a vaccine for the infection. No one quite knows for sure what caused the virus, yet it was speculated that it was birthed from a common parasitic fungus that infects insects. In theory, it mutated to infect South American crops, and then evolved new properties to infect humans, so they say.

The last twenty years have also aged me. My natural beauty that all the women in my family tree had has still grown into my face through the years. I had always had nice eyebrows with light brown eyes. My dark brown-black hair was naturally half-curled at the bottom parts and ends that reached just past my shoulders. I liked to keep my hair out of my face, so I part my hair just off-middle at the top of my head. When I smiled, I can notice in the mirror the faint wrinkles around my chin and cheeks showing, but they're not as obvious as the ones showing in my hands.

I continued along the outer section of the stadium, careful not to slip on any ice at times. I passed a gift shop that was still filled with football merchandise and memorabilia. The jerseys hanging on the clothing racks looked tattered and weathered as they gently blew in the chilly winter wind coming through the windows. The wood shelves that held hats were rotted and falling apart. Framed and signed photographs of players were succumbing to moisture. The print was fading away and heavily wrinkled in the shattered glass frames. Not far from the gift shop was a set of windowless, metal doors. I inspected the sign above the entryway. It correctly read "Gate 9A". I approached the door, getting ready to reach into the pockets of my jacket to find my key to unlock it.

"Hey! Who's there?!" A male voice called out on the other side of the doors.

The sudden noise caused me to jump frightfully and freeze where I was, but I was quickly relieved due to the fact that I knew who that voice belonged to. "It's Susan!" I called out to the voice that I recognized. "Trey, is that you?!"

I suddenly heard the turning of a large lock. One of the two doors was then pushed open. I laid my eyes on Trey's familiar face.

"Sorry, I heard footsteps and I wasn't sure who it was." He apologized with apathy as he looked around outside for any dangers.

Trey was thirty-year-old African-American man born in Ottawa, the capital of Canada. He was ten when the outbreak started. No one knows much about him except that he spent eight years attending military boarding school in the Ottawa Quarantine Zone before graduating directly to the zone's military force. After many years of heinous duty, he escaped the capital and the quarantine zone in search of a "better place". It was also what I had decided to do after residing in Toronto's quarantine zone for fifteen years, and for the same reason. Trey's appearance was comforting and he was easily approachable to everyone in our group. His face was friendly and fairly round. He looked younger than he was, and I had always been jealous of Trey's genes that allowed that. Any facial hair he had was always kept at a bare minimum. His hair was also cut short, but was rarely seen due to the snapback hats he always found and wore. Trey's dog tags dangled in front of his scarf and grey military jacket, which contrasted against his black sweatpants and dark winter boots.

"We were getting worried about you. You were gone longer than expected. I was just coming to see if I could find you." Trey explained as he moved aside to let me inside.

I couldn't help but crack a quick smile as I hurried in. "Well, thanks for looking out for me." I said, hearing the door creak shut behind me.

When the door closed, there was darkness for a few seconds before Trey clicked on his flashlight. He shone it over to me as I turned to the doors and locked the deadbolt. Knowing the door was now secure, Trey and I both turned and started making our way down the long and dark hall.

"So…Get anything good today?" Trey asked in a tone as if he knew what my answer was going to be.

I took a deep breath before replying. "No…" I spoke, sounding discouraged and shameful.

"Goddammit… I'm so sick of eating rabbits only two times a day now." Trey sighed. "Where have all the deer gone? I haven't seen a single one in a week."

"Me too… They've probably all moved farther down into the river valley." I suggested.

Trey and I made our way up a flight of stairs towards a set of metal double-doors; I wasn't far behind him as our boots scuffed the steps. "Yeah, that makes sense. The wind-chill has us running for shelter. I wouldn't be surprised if it had the deer running as well. This week has been the coldest so far this year."

"Either that or the clickers haven't been sharing." I added in, trying to lighten the mood.

Trey let out a short and deep chuckle before stopping in front of the doors. "I sure hope not." He said as he pushed on one of the handles.

The door didn't budge. Trey groaned under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

This was a common occurrence in the winter for us. The doors themselves were made of metal and the septum in the middle of the doorway that held the doors shut was steel. Moisture would make its way into the seam between the door and the septum post and freeze, making the door hard to open.

"I just got this thing open… and the door is already stuck again?" He asked himself before turning to me, following to wave me over. "Here, come help me with this."

I joined Trey at the door and got ready to push with him. "Okay, on my count." He told me. "Three, two, one."

We both pushed into the doors and their handle at the same time. It didn't move.

"Alright, as hard as you can this time." Trey encouraged before he counted down again. "Three, two, one."

We both shouldered the door as hard as we both could. This time, the door opened up with ease. In front of us was a small spectator section where people would stand and watch games that were going on in the playing field. There was a guard rail, and it followed the section all around the entire stadium. It served more of a walkway to us because it led to various doors leading into each quadrants of the stadium. Before Trey and I could step outside, a series of loud cracks made me jump. Just before the rails, large icicles fell from the edge of the overhanging celling and shattered like glass on the smooth concrete floor below. Trey and I exchanged a "whoa" each in surprise.

"Be careful of those." Trey told me as he clicked his flashlight off and pointed up to the other icicles hanging off the edge.

"For sure." I said back, closing the door behind me.

Trey started walking. I followed after him. As we trotted along the walkway, I overlooked the gigantic playing field that was once used for football games, and at most times transformed to accommodate for baseball matches. What was once a place of sportsmanship and pride was now a small forest more than anything. Twenty years with no maintenance had taken its toll on the lawn. Variations of Oak, Pine, Maple, and Elm trees had shut out the playing field long ago. The trees were also accompanied by dense bushes, tall grass, and even a frozen pond. Towering over the sleeping trees were the goal posts on each opposite sides of the field. They still stood tall and strong, but their yellow paint was greatly chipped away and the exposed metal looked heavily corroded. In these winters, the posts only gathered snow and icicles. Not field goals. Outside the playing field and in the stands, deep snow blanketed the seats. Only the tips of most seats could be seen peeking out from under the snow. On one end of the stadium, the retractable dome-like roof was closed overhead just enough to shield the huge screen displays and a couple small sections of the stands from the elements. The scoreboard and giant television display, however, were both coated in a thick layer of ice as a lighter and more powdery snow wisped along the empty seats. The opening above that exposed three-quarters of the stadium to the outside was an all-around decorated view of downtown Toronto's many office and apartment buildings surrounding the area, which weren't as pretty as they once were. Piercing high into the sky was also the famous CN Tower of Canada, built directly beside the stadium. When Trey and I reached the end of the walkway, he proceeded to haul open another set of metal doors. I was antsy to get inside and out of the cold caused by the wind. Scurrying inside, I closed them behind me and made sure they were shut properly. I turned around and saw Trey starting to walk. I started after him.

"There's no way the infected can survive this winter." I shivered, relieved to be out of the wind. "It's way too harsh."

"There's no way we can survive this winter… not without supplies or food, both of which we are low on. I have a feeling that he won't be very happy due to the fact that you didn't bring a single thing back." Trey told me, looking back to me as I followed him through the dark, wide corridor.

"I know." I softly said after a short silence as we came upon an opening at the end of the hallway.

Trey and I walked through the opening and into the light. We both entered a small and curricular atrium room. Surrounding the perimeter and encasing what was left of a sitting area were stone plant holders, which contained dead plants sprinkled with snow. Two small flights of snow-coated steps led down into the area. In the middle of the open space was a large trash drum with a fire burning inside it. The smoke ascended, but exited the building to the outside through a broken skylight up on the high ceiling. As smoke exited, snowflakes and faint sunbeams entered, gently showering the area. Hanging from the walls next to the skylight were decayed banners with pictures of players that once played for the Toronto Argonauts.

Due to the heat of the fire, it was a little bit warmer in the room. I took off my hat and gloves and stuffed them into my coat pocket as I walked down the steps. Trey was right behind me. Sighing as I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stopped at the atrium set-up before me. Around the fire were several metal chairs. There were people sitting in a few of them as they talked amongst each other and stayed warm beside the fire. Having noticed me, one man quit his conversation with another and stood up. He took a few steps towards me and stopped several meters away from where I was.

"Did you catch anything out there this time Susan?" He asked me with little expression.

I kept little direct eye contact. "No, Cortez, I… didn't." I replied.

"Oh." He spoke. "Well, did you at least scavenge?"

I shook my head nervously.

"Why don't you put your stuff down Susan? Stay for a while." He demanded.

Hesitant but obeying his orders, I let my backpack and hunting rifle slide off my shoulders. They dropped down next to me onto the snow-smeared tile.

Cortez was the man who ran our group. Only twenty-five and standing five-foot-ten, he was a ruthless survivor brought up and grown into the post-apocalyptic world. Cortez was strict and aggressive towards the people in our group. He was heavily focused on keeping everyone alive and ensuring everyone did their part to contribute. Cortez was of Puerto Rican descent, and had shaved black hair. His facial hair was dark, and he often liked to keep it short and trimmed. His face was a perfect oval shape, with faded eyebrows and brown eyes to match them. He wore gloves, a knit cap, a long wool peacoat, and winter boots. He also had on a pair of jeans and a ratty white hoodie under his coat.

"Okay… So you're telling me that you brought back nothing?!" He boomed.

A silence swept over the room. Everyone in the atrium made nervous eye contact with each other. There was no noise, except for the crackle of the fire.

"You're not doing well." He sternly told me with a shake of the head, looking hard into my eyes in a strict manner. "You know how it works around here. We don't keep people around that don't contribute to the group."

"I understand that." I spoke weakly and softly, not sure if he heard me, but I nodded my head to re-assure him in case.

I didn't say anything more. There was nothing more to say. "There's always one, Susan. This winter, it's you." Cortez lectured, pointing to me with a smug smirk before turning serious again. "You gotta learn."

Leaning against a nearby chair was a wooden baseball bat. Cortez slipped it into his hands. He marched hostilely and quickly towards me, gripping the bat horizontally in his hands.

"Hey, what? Hey, no." I panicked, stepping backwards and putting my hands up to my chest in defense.

I wasn't fast enough to get away from his swift approach towards me. I knew what was coming. He got ready to strike. "Hey!" I screamed out, fearing pain and instinctively shielding my face with my hands.

Cortez used the handle-end of the bat and bluntly jabbed it into my gut with a devastating force. I felt like I had got hit by car as I choked out a loud exhale. I hunched over immediately and slowly fell down onto my hands and knees. Clutching my stomach with one arm, I struggled to get a breath out. It was just one long exhale as I groaned loudly in pain. Not being able to swallow or breath in, my saliva dribbled off my lips and onto the dirty tile floor under me. Eventually, I rolled myself onto my side and started to feel the sensation of being able to breathe come back again. Inhaling and exhaling quick and short breaths, I felt weak and tired. I closed my eyes and felt the world around me start to blur out. I heard the echoing and fading voices of Trey and Cortez; the vain sound of an argument. I breathed a little easier now. Knowing that I was going to be okay, and that I probably hadn't had any of my ribs broken, I felt myself gradually pass out into a sleep. There was nothing but darkness. Before my conscience slipped through my hands, I recited a saying in my mind to try to relax myself; to find that happy place away from the situation, and where everything was okay. It was a saying that I adopted in the world that I know as today, and that gave everyone a sliver of hope, even if it was taboo and not ever to be said amongst certain parties.

"Remember, when you're lost in the darkness, look for the light." I thought.

The Last of Us: Susan