The bridge from summer to fall.

Months had passed since the battle at the Hospital. Fireflies had faded into the wastes, abandoning their fortress to another gravesite picked apart by nomadic scavengers. Their Queen was nothing more than a bloodsplatter in a Salt Lake City parking garage, their work reset and thrown away to the dusty ruins of forgotten memory; twenty years of research and strife rendered mute with one fell, decisive swoop. With the passage of time giving him ample moment to look back and reflect upon those final hours – castrating the uncouth Firefly escort and dispatching the reinforcements across the hospital, barging into the operating room to see the surgeon over Ellie, executing the surgeon and his assistants, Marlene's last-ditch attempt to save humanity and then herself, Joel felt none of the weight of what he had done.

Ellie was the first beacon of light he had seen in the twenty years since Sarah croaked her final fragile breaths in his bloodied arms. The Fireflies demanded that she be sacrificed for the greater good, for the world to at last be saved. But what greater good was there? What world was left to be saved? This world? The ones who had massacred his daughter and countless others in their futile efforts to contain the infection? The ones who lurked in the shadows, lips panting as they prepared to slaughter entire bands for just one can of beans? The ones who sucked young blood from human veins, cadavers hung from hooks in giant meat lockers. Would he sacrifice another daughter, so that a world of bandits, rapists, and cannibals could receive their shots like a school-year vaccination? Fuck the world, Joel remained firm.

Joel suspected that Ellie knew, the hesitance in her eyes before she finally told him "okay." enough to affirm that notion. Ellie still spoke to him everyday, sharing her share of bad jokes and helping him with chores around the Jackson enclave. But she seemed more distant, more apprehensive of his presence despite her friendly attitude when the two were together. Why didn't the damn girl just confront him about it then, instead of middling about with her thoughts reserved to herself in a stupor of survivor's guilt? Perhaps, she respected the reasons behind why he did what he did in a world where you either eat the world or the world eats you well enough to keep quiet… maybe in a couple of years when she would grow up things would be different.

Things at Jackson had gone unbelievably fine since the day he and Ellie arrived. Tommy had brought his story about the Fireflies, no questions asked. No bandit attacks on the settlement or the dam, no infected outbreaks, and the power went out. True to his word, he was teaching Ellie how to play the guitar. She had mastered the f-chord at last, and soon enough he would introduce her to fingerpicking. He himself was surprised at how well he could still play the instrument, how even when buried underneath decades of gunfire and mutilated bodies the notes and chords still flowed to him like instinct. She kept pressing him to sing, a request yet to be fulfilled, with Tommy's teasing was growing ever relentless. Maybe he would finally relent, for her birthday or Christmas. And Maria was slowly teaching her how to swim. Soon enough, there would be no more having to find planks to escort her across water.

This morning, Ellie wasn't around in her bedroom when Joel woke up. As he rubbed his eyes standing in the doorway, he saw that the blanket was crumpled onto the floor, her collection of Savage Starlight and Kathryn McCormick joke books scattered across the floor. Joel shook his head as he saw the Savage Starlight. He had read a few issues. His opinion? How they had found all the comics lying across the country in near-mint condition in the most unfavorable of conditions and unlikely of places made for a more interesting story than the books themselves. Then again, like the video games, he'd never been too fond of the medium before the outbreak. That was Tommy's sort of shit. Tommy offered to lend Joel his dusty collection to give to Ellie but Joel continued to deliberately procrastinate on picking them up. Some of the material might bring back unwanted memories of her time at Lakeside, the events which Joel had not yet disclosed to Tommy.

On the kitchen table was a small note with pen scribbling. Joel looked it over. Went up to the dam to practice my backstroke – see you later. Joel smiled as he set it down. Walking out the door, into the clear blue sky-lit day, he decided with Ellie not around he might as well head to Tommy's for breakfast and a glass of post-pandemic bootleg coffee before heading up to the dam to catch up with Ellie.

"I'm just saying, Joel. Just because they've given up on finding a cure doesn't mean that we shouldn't give up on rebuilding everything that was good about society. We can finally make up for everything we've done, and maybe these nightmares will finally stop." Tommy debated as the two galloped away the dam, in the woods.

"And how do you suppose we're going to the damn deed, Tommy? You think FEDRA is just going to toss away control of the remaining QZs and help rebuild? You think that we can just talk to the bandits and convince them to stop killing everyone they see for a pair of shoes? And what about the millions of infected lurking in the shadows, dying everyday and spreading spores through the air? US alone will take centuries, Tommy, and that's not even counting the entire fucking continent or the whole fucking world."

"That's your problem, Joel. You think just cause the world hit rockbottom there's nothing for us to do but join the flotsam and become part of the problem. It's not that different from the dark ages, Joel. Just look at Jackson, Joel. It was a one in a billion shot, and we made it. We've already re-lit the fire, now all we need to do is carry it." Tommy rebutted.

"After all we been through, Tommy. After all you saw me do and after all the shit you did yourself, you can still believe in that fucking dream?" Joel shook his head at Tommy as their horses leapt over an overturned log.

"Someone has to, if no one else will?" Tommy replied firmly.

"Goddamn it, Tommy… why couldn't Ellie learn to stay put in one place? First she tells me that she's going up to the dam to practice swimming, next thing Maria tells me Ellie's gone into the woods for a pony ride. Woods are dangerous, girl ought to know that." Joel shook his head and swore.

"Lighten up, Joel. I'm sure Ellie knows her way around and how to handle herself out here. None of us would still be here if we didn't. Say, Joel, there was something I've been meaning to ask you… I was planning on setting up the projector for the kids again this week to celebrate another month of no bandit attacks or power outages, and I was wondering if you and Ellie might be interested in attending. I'd think she'd enjoy it… keep her mind off the real world for a bit, dontcha think?"

"I think she would… what are you showing?"

"I was originally going to put up something like The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly or one of those dumb kung fu flicks, but I think since you're going to be in the audience that it's time for something real special… like a Dawn of the Wolf marathon." Tommy winked at Joel.

Instantly, Joel's heart sunk. Memories of a dimly-lit theater rooms came back, horrible romance and choppy acting delivering out forced dialogue as he sat cringing in a theater alongside several other parents dragged by just to make their kids happy. Badly buttered popcorn and vomit-inducing hot dogs… making even getting a bad laugh out of the experience impossible. And from the movie the channel switched the memories of a night sky burning bright red, as he fled with his daughter in his arms from a horde of bloodthirsty runners. He never let her down, he protected her all the way. But it was the humans who took her from him, not the infected.

"Goddamn it, Tommy. You're treading on mighty thin ice, here." Joel's voice dropping to a growling whisper. While keeping one hand on the reins, his other reached wildly at his side, trying to find a pistol or a knife of some sort. Something that he could use to make Tommy change his mind.

Tommy, unaware of Joel's discomfort, chuckled. "Joel, just think of this as a little payback for all those times you stole my Halloween candy as kids."

Ellie dismounted the horse, saddled it to a nearby tree. She retied her hair, now that it had dried out. On her knees, she stooped over the small pond. Ellie gazed at her reflection, face clean of all the grime and bruises for the first time in months. Fish swam beneath the surface, frogs making great wide-arc kicks. Falling leaves dotted the surface, making faint ripples on the tranquil shell as they lightly touched the water. There was a thought that had been running through her head ever since the two of them had settled in Jackson. Of leaving and setting off on her own. It was just a small thought… but there nonetheless. Why would she want to leave, she wondered. It was nice her in Jackson… it was peaceful. Everyone was kind and worked for a common goal. There were no power-hungry bullies like the military, no infected, and no men… who wanted to… like David. Her heart still quickened at the thought of him…. how friendly he had seemed to be, but how quickly he turned on her, dark side of the soul revealed.

It would hurt Joel more than anyone else. He was more than just a friend, a parental figure… and she would always appreciate what he had done and sacrificed like Tess for her but the thought of dishonesty and selfishness kept running through her mind.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden screech and whistle. The sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. Instinctively, she whipped out the revolver by her side and held her finger ready at the trigger. In front of her was a beaten Lamborghini, the window reduced to bullet-hole tinted disarray. In the back was a shrine to an ugly man in a suit. The plaque beneath the picture read Donald Trump. Someone was walking towards her. Tall like Joel, a man and a woman accompanying him. Even older, face wrinkled and hair grayed. His hair was wild and ragged, an unkempt beard hanging down to his chest. He wore a torn black-blue stripped suit, the burnt strings of a tie around his neck. A raincoat, pierced by stab marks, hung over him. His eyes were hidden by a pair of aviators.

"Don't come any closer. Who the hell are you?" Ellie shouted, holding the revolver steady.

"I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there."

"Um… okay. Hey, fuckheads, I said don't come any closer." She moved the gun towards his companions.

"Tim, better do what she says. Say, small-stuff, cool it with the cowgirl threats, okay?" The raincoat man smiled at her. "You're a fucking ugly bitch. I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood. I like to dissect girls like you, y'know? I'm totally insane."

"Um, say that again, asshole and I'll shoot the hell of your chickenshit coat." Ellie's finger tightened.

"Try not to get blood on the suit, okay? It's a vintage Armani with a handtailored Italian tie and shoes imported by private plane along with some very delicious lasagna and cannoli but I only have the clothes on me right now. What's your name, little girl?"

"Ellie."

"Ooh, that's a pretty name. Ellie who?"

"Ellie the girl's whose going to crack your fucking shades with her gun."

"Ask me a question, Ellie."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm into murders and executions mostly. I think you'd be a fine addition to the list, Ellie. I've killed a lot of people. Some girls in the apartment uptown uh, some homeless people maybe 5 or 10 um an NYU girl I met in Central Park. I left her in a parking lot behind some donut shop. I killed Bethany, my old girlfriend, with a nail gun, and some man uh some old faggot with a dog last week. I killed another girl with a chainsaw, I had to, she almost got away and uh someone else there I can't remember maybe a model, but she's dead too. And Paul Allen. I killed Paul Allen with an axe in the face, his body is dissolving in a bathtub in Hell's Kitchen. I don't want to leave anything out here. I guess I've killed maybe 20 people, maybe 40. I have tapes of a lot of it, uh some of the girls have seen the tapes. I even, um... I ate some of their brains, and I tried to cook a little. Tonight I, uh, I just had to kill a LOT of people. And I'm not sure I'm gonna get away with it this time. I guess I'll uh, I mean, ah, I guess I'm a pretty uh, I mean I guess I'm a pretty sick guy."

"Yeah, try that. I dare you." Ellie flipped him the bird.

"My, my, a tough little cunt aren't you? Say, Ellie, you know what Ed Gein said about woman?" He was mere steps from her now. Any moment now… she'd pull the trigger.

"Who the fuck is Ed Gein? He your buddy boy or what?"

"No, no, not Tim Price over here. Serial kiler, Wisconsin. The '50s."

"I don't want to hear what Ed has to say. Now step back or I'll do worse than just kill you!"

"Cool down. Say, you want a cookie?" He was reaching into his coat now. Ellie saw the glint of something silver.

"Fuck off, I don't want any sort of shit from you!" The man pulled his hand out, with nothing.

"How about a pet, then? I got a nice little friend I carry around with me, and I think that he'd be a perfect fit with you." He pulled out of his other coat pocket an abnormally large, lesion covered rat. Neck twisted as if it had been hit by multiple mouse traps. Green pus and purple blood dripped from its crevices. It pulsed slightly, Ellie could see it was still breathing. And then she noticed the man was staring down at her pants, where the zipper of the jeans ended when it was fully pulled. There was a large, throbbing bulge in his pants. In his other hand was a cardboard tube. He was starting to fit the rat into the tube.

"I call him Phil, after a big idol of mine. Do you like Phil Collins, Ellie?"

"Phil who?"

He ignored her.

"I've been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, Duke. Before that, I really didn't understand any of their work with Peter Gabriel. Too artsy, too intellectual. Basically, elitist junk. It was on Duke where Phil Collins' presence became more apparent. I think Invisible Touch was the group's undisputed masterpiece. It's an epic meditation on intangibility. At the same time, it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums. Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Collins and Rutherford. You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument. Jean, remove your dress. In terms of lyrical craftsmanship, the sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism. Jean, why don't you, uh, dance a little. Take the lyrics to Land of Confusion. In this song, Phil Collins addresses the problems of abusive political authority. In Too Deep is the most moving pop song of the 1980s, about monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting. Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I've heard in rock. Phil Collins' solo career seems to be more commercial and therefore more satisfying, in a narrower way. Especially songs like In the Air Tonight and Against All Odds. Tim, just don't stare. Hit the music, will you? But I also think Phil Collins works best within the confines of the group, than as a solo artist, and I stress the word artist. This is Sussudio, a great, great song, a personal favorite. Tim, I said hit the fucking music."

Tim held a big portable battery operated boombox behind him. He saw sorting through his backpack in dismay. He nervously glanced at Raincoat, and sheepishly muttered.

"Um, Pat, you didn't bring along any Phil C or Genesis. I have The Wall, though if you want it."

"Fuck The Wall, Price! And fuck Pink Floyd too! The same elitist art garbage as Peter Gabriel's Genesis! Well, except for the brilliant albums A Momentary Lapse of Reason and The Division Bell, with the infinitely superior talents of David Gilmour in the lead." As he said this, Pat tore the album from Tim's hands and was currently stomping it into pieces.

At that moment, there was a galloping of horses. A skidding stop. As the dust cleared, Tommy and Joel were standing in front of Ellie, guns drawn.

"Get away from her." Joel threatened Pat.

Pat seemed undeterred, even unaware that Joel was ready to shear off his head with a single shell.

"Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?"

"Why the hell are you asking that?" Joel gritted.

"Why the hell do you keep dropping these like, dinosaurs on me? I'm not a fucking paleontologist."

"Eh, they're ok." Tommy said.

"Their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when Sports came out in '83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor."

"Why are you wearing a raincoat? We haven't had a drop since spring." Tommy asked.

"Yes I am! In '87, Huey released this, Fore, their most accomplished album." Tim loaded a CD into the boombox and hit a button.

"I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip to be Square" a song so catchy most people probably don't listen to the lyrics."

A flood of guitar and drum shattered the tranquil forest atmosphere. A man's voice started to belt out lyrics. Joel clamped his hands over his ears, muttering curses. This rock n roll crap was even worse than he remembered.

I used to be a renegade, I used to fool around
But I couldn't take the punishment, and had to settle down
Now I'm playing it real straight, and yes I cut my hair
You might think I'm crazy, but I don't even care
Because I can tell what's going on

It's hip to be square

"But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself."

Pat started to dance, waving around an axe in his hands while he did it.

I like my bands in business suits, I watch them on TV
I'm working out most everyday and watching what I eat
They tell me that it's good for me, but I don't even care
I know that it's crazy
I know that it's nowhere
But there is no denying that

It's hip to be square

Joel demanded "Can't you at least put on something good, like Johnny Cash?"

"Of course not." Pat jeered. "Country is filth of the lowest hierarchal order of musical 'talent'. Let that pretentious Christian Cash and his 'talent' at pumping out emotionless, passionless covers of songs by better artists or pseudo-religious bullshit rot in hell! Why don't you listen to better stuff, like Whitney Houston or Madonna?"

At that moment, a light bulb burned out in Joel's head. Electrons culminated and dimmed, setting forth for a decisive course of action. The thin ice cracked, a megalith bursting from below the surface to wring your neck in two. Stars in the night sky dimmed, leaving nothing but a full veil of absolute darkness. And almost as quickly as his world had went away, it came back in the biggest of bangs. And at the moment where Pat went "Hey Ellie!" and raised his axe Joel swung his shotgun and knocked Patrick Bateman down.

He pointed the barrel down at Patrick. "Any last words, you son of a bitch?"

"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant noth-"

With an explosion of shrapnel, Patrick's head was sheared off. His mouth, what remained, hung open tongue flopping out.

As the red mist and bits of brain and bone settled, Joel proceeded to summarily kill both of Bateman's companions as they screamed and reached for their guns.

"Jesus, Joel! What did you do that for?" Tommy and Ellie both asked as he kicked Patrick's body repeatedly.

"He was about to kill you with an axe. And to make matters worse, he dared to piss on Cash's grave. Now, if you excuse me, I'm heading back to Maria's for some lunch before the stink attracts cougars or worse. Come on, Ellie."

Then with a devilish smile, Joel smiled.

"Not you, Tommy."

"But she's my fucking wife, Joel."

"You clean up the goddamn mess, Tommy. Someone has to!"

"Didn't you just hear what I said, Joel? She's my wife, not your's!"

Joel laughed and put his arm around Tommy. "Tommy, just think of this like all those times I used to steal your Halloween candy as kids."

With that, the two rode back to the dam and the day passed like normal as if nothing had happened.