There was nothing in his mind but trauma.
Had the events of the day actually happened? He couldn't remember. His head throbbed maliciously, blocking out all forms of calculation and sensible thought. A natural and musty smell of sweat and canvas hung over him, mixed with the steel-flavoured stench of artificial smoke. Every time they drove over a lump in the terrain, it was like being knocked out all over again.
The men who'd attacked them… one of them was dead, at least. Joel had seen to that personally. He managed to take some humour from the fact that the Kukri had managed to kill a man after all; Ellie's amazement hadn't been in vain.
Ellie. He didn't even know if she was alive.
The thoughts came crashing back into his mind, hurting far more than the gun-butt had. He'd never be able to forget the dart crashing into her throat, the sound she made as she fell to the floor, the final splutters of the man he killed… and the red circle emblazoned on the sniper's tac-vest.
He stirred slightly, and then stiffened as he controlled himself, sensing presences in the back of the truck alongside him. Moving would be a stupid and fatal mistake – all they'd do is put him under again, and not with a method as kind as tranquiliser dart. His head was damp where his blood had matted his hair, and pain poured from it, almost unbearably; regardless, he stayed stock still, as to not alert his captors. There was nothing he could do but lie and listen.
"… Yeah, we did. Some punk kid and her dad. Little bitch bit me when she woke up, can you fucking believe it? Despite that, the idiots walked right into the trap. I tell ya – losing Jake and Skip may not've been so bad after all! We thought the mess would scare people off, but I guess they were just too damn eager."
Another voice spoke.
"Or hungry, genius. That's a nice rifle we left out in the store, though. Shame. It'd be put to much better use popping infected than rotting on a counter-top."
"Stop whining, just 'cause you can't hit shit with yours!"
A third.
"Enough! We've gotta keep this situation under wraps. If anybody leaks that we've set this town up, the Watcher's bound to find out. If he turns up, I ain't taking him down as easy as that girl."
"The Watcher? What, you been living under a fucking rock or something?"
"What?"
"Krass pulled the Watcher in ten days ago. He managed to flank around the bastard as he tried to snipe out one of our hunting teams, luckily enough. He's tied up tighter than a tourniquet; he ain't getting out of the base."
"Holy shit… you mean that bastard's been in the base for the last week? Fuck! He killed half of my guys!"
"Relax, idiot. If Krass ain't killed him already, then he's been beaten to a fucking pulp."
A fourth voice, now. Fighting his way out wasn't an option given his injuries. He'd have to ride this out until he got a decent chance.
"Guys… who the hell is the Watcher?"
"So you're the one who's been living under a rock, eh Rookie? Fill him in, Fitz."
"We didn't know who or what he was until Krass captured him, but he's made ends meet by going round the country and slaughtering people like us. He 'saves' the idiots we capture, without realising that we need to survive too. He rescued so many that he became a fucking legend, claiming he 'watches over the innocent' or some shit. He's nothing more than a cold-blooded motherfucker who's been constantly harassing our operations. And, he's got ties to the boss. That's why he sent Krass after him. That's why we're here."
"Wha… what? I thought we were here to bait survivors and take their shit, not be cannon fodder for some supersoldier!"
The third voice sighed. "Isn't everyone just cannon fodder nowadays, Rookie?"
Joel sat there, unmoving, listening attentively to their conversation. The imbeciles, in their ignorance, had given Joel a lead; he needed to find and spring this 'Watcher' guy if he wanted any chance of getting himself and Ellie out alive. And also, to his advantage, their conversation told him that their syndicate wasn't in the best of shapes. This 'Krass' they kept mentioning sounded like a tough character, but Joel had met worse. He was sure they'd meet soon enough, if he was high ranking in the group. The sniper spoke up again.
"So, how's the outpost holding up? I've been on recon for the last few days. Wasn't there an infected scare?"
"Yeah, but it was nothing." Fitz replied. "Some dumbass blew a cylinder in an engine and the noise was loud as fuck. We had a few runners, nothing else."
"Still though, I'm shocked to hear they came so far out of the cities. It's unusual."
"Yeah, but nothing a few bullets can't fix."
The air was getting colder, gradually; it was nearing night again. It'd been dusk when they'd been captured… how long had he been out? A day? The cramping in his body told him it was at least twelve hours since they'd started driving. The thought of Ellie being alone with these hunters was almost too much to bear; she wasn't in the same truck as him, the way they were talking. With a little luck, he'd been out for most of journey, and they'd reach their destination soon. He just needed to see her, and know she was alive. He couldn't think straight until he had that security.
"Oh my god… we getting close yet? My ass is fucking killing me."
"Get out and walk then, you wimp."
"Ignore Fitz, Rookie. We're not going to the main base; we're going to the outpost. Krass wants this fuck and his daughter."
"Why? What's he gonna get out of some kid and her attack dog?"
"Dunno. All I do know is that they came from the south. Ring any bells?"
"Oh, right. You're talking about that survivor town down near Jackson? I heard we were gonna make a hit there. Think they might know something? We still don't know where it is, or who's guarding it."
"Details. It can wait a while. We're almost there, and Krass wants a debrief from us."
Joel was glad he was awake to hear that. By survivor town, they obviously meant Tommy's. No one else had any supplies for a hundred miles, and he was the only one with a set-up in that area. He committed that to memory, making sure to remember to warn Tommy, or alternatively, kill every one of these hunters.
The truck shuddered to a stop, and Joel smacked his head against the metal exterior. It was all he could do not to cry out. He heard the shifting of feet, and the opening of the back of the truck; two of the men, he couldn't tell which, grabbed him under the arms and pulled him out. He stayed limp to play coy, and let them drag him across the dirt. He knew now was not the right time to strike, and any abrupt movement would lead to an unavoidable death. He sensed a compound, a wide, open area – and people populating it. He could hear the dull thrum of voice, interspersed with the odd growl off an engine.
A man in the distance yelled something - he missed what it was. The man on his left replied, identifying him as Fitz, the surly one from the truck. There was a loud creak of hinges swinging, and he felt them pass through an entrance into a building, where the air was warmer and dryer than it had been outside. It wasn't comforting to him at all, as the place reeked of antiseptic… and blood. Slowly, realisation came that he was in somewhere far worse than a prison.
The men had mentioned that they were headed to Krass' outpost. He vainly wondered whether the Watcher would be here, being interrogated in one of the cells.
Another man muttered something, and they passed through another door. Fitz and the other man carrying him lowered him down onto a plastic chair, and closed the door just in time to catch the noise of a muffled scream further down the corridor. Fear rippled down his spine in a cold, unforgiving shudder.
They tied him, hands and legs, to the chair. Any chance to escape was now long gone. The chains were rusted, but steadfast, lashing him firmly to the thin metal legs of the chair.
"Open your eyes." A voice spoke in front of him.
Joel didn't know if the command was directed at him, but he only just managed to comprehend it – the voice who delivered it was thick with a foreign accent he hadn't heard in decades. The sound of a Russian.
"I'm not stupid, and neither are you. These two idiots may have thought you were dreaming, but I know you're awake."
Joel didn't move, and didn't respond. The interrogator was undoubtedly targeting him, and he vainly hoped the Russian was bluffing, acting on a gamble.
"Open your eyes and look at your daughter. She's here to say hello."
His resolve wavered, and vanished. He carefully opened his eyes and raised his head to look forward.
"Ah, ah! Fuck you, let him go!"
The man was there, holding Ellie by the hair, a gun to her head. Fitz and the other man, who turned out to be the sniper, were standing behind the chair Joel was seated at.
"As much as I hate to introduce myself on bad terms, I'm afraid I am rather short on time." The hammer of the pistol clicked backwards, the barrel aimed at Ellie's head. "My name is-"
"Krass…" Joel uttered.
A wide grin cut across the man's gaunt, pale and menacingly sharp face.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat? Maybe speak up a little."
"Krass." Joel stated firmly, meeting the man's gaze, a look of sheer anger spread across his face. "Your dumbasses in the car weren't quiet about you."
Krass was slightly taken aback, and shot Fitz and the sniper a murderous glare.
"I thought I told you to knock captives out." He snapped, impatient. "How long was he awake for?"
"Uh, I… I dunno, boss." The thick man, Fitz, responded, stuttering as he was addressed.
Krass swallowed his anger, a look of grim distaste contorting his unusual face. A vein tensely stood out of his neckline where he repressed his displeasure. He looked back to Joel.
"As my… 'colleagues' have no idea how much you overheard, I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip the formalities. I hope you understand."
Krass was the complete opposite of what Joel had imagined – he'd envisioned a brutish individual, large and stupid, with a shaved head and short temper. What actually stood before him was quite different; he was a tall, lean man, although undoubtedly strong, with a thick and surprisingly well kept mop of jet-black hair that outlined blue eyes, too cool to be merciful, that hid something darker and scarier within. He also obviously had brains in his head, unlike his idiotic coworkers. This one would be dangerous; his pristinely straight, white smile screamed that as much as his feigned courtesy did.
"J… Joel? I'm so sorry." Ellie admitted, cringing under Krass' grip on her hair.
"Ah ah ah, young one." Krass slapped her. "Speak when spoken to."
"You bastard." Joel blurted, his anger flaring. Fitz followed it by hitting him in the face.
Krass wrestled with Ellie, keeping a firm grip on her hair. He laughed as he placed the gun back to her head, almost gaining vitality from the situation.
"He's a tough one, is he? That's a shame. You see, I've managed to break even the most resilient individuals. But only because… they refused to give me what I want. So I'll make this simple for you. Give me -"
"- What you want, and you'll let me go?"
Krass cracked a smirk, one far from being pleasant, reeking with horrific intent and it spread across his face.
"I see you've been in this situation before. Very well."
The Russian handed Ellie to the sniper, pulled over another chair, and sat down in front of Joel. It was typical interrogation strategy to cosy up to your victim, pretending to be courteous, but subconsciously intimidate him to breaking point, and then some. Joel wasn't intimidated easily, but even he was wary of Krass. There was something more to this man than met the eye.
"You see… Joel, is it? I have a small issue. Surviving nowadays is difficult business, and no-one wants to share food or resources with the cast-outs of society! They all want to rebuild, to start a new world for people. Unfortunately for us, we're no longer fitting for that name, as I'm sure you know. So, we have to source our income from any ways possible, if you catch my drift."
"You look well off enough already." Joel countered, the anger rising in his voice.
Krass remained cool and composed, his earlier anger forgotten.
"We're not fairing badly, I'll admit… but my superior has different plans."
He reached over to the table, and picked up a map of Missouri.
"There's a survivor's town somewhere in the vicinity of Jackson County. You tell me where, and you and your daughter can go free."
Joel stared at the map for a few moments, then looked Krass in the eyes, staying silent.
"Don't do it, Joel!" Ellie yelled from the other side of the room. "Fuck these guys! All they'd do is-"
"Shut up, bitch!" Fitz yelled, striking Ellie again. Joel reddened, and gave Krass an unforgiving look. These men had marked themselves for death.
"Enough, idiot. Leave the girl alone." Krass turned to meet Joel's enraged glare.
"You don't want to make the wrong choice here, old man."
Joel spat.
"I ain't telling you shit." He spoke, straining the syllables of each word with added hatred.
Krass paused for a moment, nodded politely, thrown slightly by his failure to persuade Joel out of information, and proceeded from there.
"Very well. I'll be sure to tell them how valiantly you fought when I kill them all. Fitz, lock the girl up in the cell. Keep him on the chair. Marcus… administer the medication."
He leaned in so close to Joel's face that he could smell the unusual cleanliness of the Russian's breath.
"We'll talk again later, Joel."
Krass turned and left, striding out of the room swiftly, and as composed as he had been for the majority of the interrogation. Fitz wrestled Ellie into a cage behind him, which was merely more than an improvised storage cupboard sealed with iron bars. Marcus the sniper made his way over to Joel. A needle scratched into his arm, and he felt a liquid being inserted, seeping eerily into his bloodstream. Instantly, the world began to fade and collapse into darkness. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, he overheard two things.
"Fitz, man… you okay? You're not looking so hot."
"I… I'm fine, Marc! Just gotta get some… some rest. Let's go."
And lastly, quietly from behind him:
"You did the right thing, Joel."