A/N: Hello, all! Penultimate chapter! Next week or the week after (due to a tumultuous schedule, I'll avoid making promises I can't keep), I'll post the final chapter, which should hopefully provide some closure and tie in with the themes of the rest of the story as well as the parent game. Thanks for keeping with me, and enjoy the climax.
"All this time, I thought you were dead" - Ellie
Chapter 14: Don't Go
Nathan steps towards her, presses the barrel of his gun against her chest. "Restraint is a virtue, ya know. Not many people do."
She glares at him, tries to be intimidating with her gaze, but she knows that's impossible.
He scoffs and leans closer so that their noses are almost touching, and she can feel his hot breath against her frostbitten cheeks. "What's you name, huh? You already seem to know mine."
"Only 'cause you and your lackeys are pretty sucky at sneaking around."
"That so? Say, what's this?" His gloved hand curls around the pendant's chain, rips it off of her neck.
Ellie lunges forwards, barely lays a finger on the familiar metal before one of the bandits slams the butt of his gun against her head. She sees stars, she stumbles forwards, falls flat on her face.
"Riley Abel," Nathan reads in a monotone. "Who's Riley Abel? Your girlfriend?"
Her cheeks burn, she props herself up on her elbows, spits on his shoe, rises onto unsteady feet and holds out her hand. "Give it back."
His eyes widen. "After you spit on me? You dumb bitch, you think you the boss here? Let me tell you a little somethin. I'm in control, alright? I'm not the one with five rifles aimed at my tiny little ass."
She lets her arm fall to hang limply at her side.
"Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Who is this?" He dangles the pendant in front of her face, swings it back and forth like a pendulum.
"My best friend."
He looks about with a mock look of surprise on his scarred and pallid face. "Oh, dear, where is your friend now?"
"She's dead."
"Well, shit. That's too bad, Shortstop. Yeah, I'm gonna call you Shortstop. What are ya, five foot two? Three? You gotta weigh less than a hundred pounds."
She rolls her eyes.
"What you think, Steve?" Nathan grabs her shoulder and spins her around, tilts his head to the side and gestures to the tiny man with the shotgun.
"I'd say that's about right," he drawls out, smacking his lips together and making sounds like he's chewing gum.
Her hands curl into fists at her sides. "Why don't you guys go fuck yourselves and leave me alone?"
Nathan laughs, turns away, spins the pendant around on his finger. "You're from Jackson, ain't you?"
"No."
"You aren't dressed like a scavenger."
"Maybe I've got a fucking wardrobe back at camp."
"Maybe you do, but I'd watch your mouth."
"Fuck you, Man, and fuck your fucking friends."
He whips a knife out of his pocket, grabs her chin, presses the tip of the blade to the dark circle beneath her left eye. "I told you to watch your mouth. If you don't want to go blind, then you might wanna listen."
She puts up her hands in surrender, smiles at him, sticks out her bottom lip. "I'm a little girl, Nate. You don't want to hurt me."
"Kid, I wouldn't care if you were my own flesh and blood. You don't talk to me like that."
"You're pretty insecure. I shouldn't be able to disarm you like this." Her hands slip into her jacket pockets, she nods, throws the ball back into his court. He's only a thug, and she's dealt with more people like him than she can count.
"True enough." Returns the smile, jams the knife into a tree trunk, hangs the pendant from the handle, presses the gun against her chest again.
"Shoot her already," the guy who hit her on the back of the head spits. "We need to get back to the others by nightfall."
"Nah, not yet," Nate responds. "She's from Jackson, I know it, and she's going to tell me how to get inside. If she don't talk, I'll make her talk; I imagine that the ones born into luxury ain't hard to crack."
She sighs, grabs her switchblade. "I wasn't born in Jackson, Asshole."
Before he can respond, she's whipping the blade out of her pocket, slashing him across the face, grabbing his gun, and shooting the guy with the shotgun in the chest.
He falls backwards, the hitter fumbles for the trigger on his weapon, doesn't so much as touch it before a bullet slices through his brain.
The sniper ducks behind a boulder before she can get a bead on him.
Nathan wraps his arms around her waist, tries to lift her into the air, but she swings her elbow back, strikes him in the eye. Growling, he stumbles back towards the cliff, slips, and they're both tumbling down the hill, dashing themselves up against the rocks, rolling to a stop atop the frozen lake.
The pistol is lost somewhere in the foliage, and she isn't close enough to him to use her switchblade. Her eyes dart around for something to use, but a gunshot reverberates across the closely packet trees as a bullet cracks the ice a few feet to her left.
"Don't move," the sniper calls, stepping out onto the cliff and giving her the finger.
"Fucking kill her," Nathan says, waving his hand dismissively.
Another bullet strikes the lake's surface, and she feels it cave in beneath her. A small cry escapes her lips as she falls backwards, wackes the back of her head against a jagged piece of ice, goes under. The water is deep, and it instantaneously sucks the energy and the warmth out of her body.
She opens her mouth, screams, can barely see the bubbles pop in the mirk, kicks her feet frantically and tries to climb back up towards the light peeking through the clouds. The screams are forcing the breath from her lungs, and she's already feeling fuzzy, dizzy.
A silhouette appears, and she knows Nathan is watching her, waiting for her to stop squirming and her heart to stop beating.
Finally, she finally manages to break the surface, she's gasping and sputtering, he's pushing her back under, making a joke about some farmer in Carolina to the sniper.
Dots dance around on the edge of her vision, and she's getting tired, tired, so tired.
Again, she manages to get in a breath of crisp, cool air, but, again, he pushes her down, keeps his hand on the top of her head.
She grabs his wrist, tugs, is enveloped by a swarm of bubbles as he falls in beside her. Another bullet goes off, misses her abdomen by an inch or two, spins off into the darkness. Barely able to will herself on, she grips the broken ice, drags her exhausted body upwards.
Nathan grabs onto her hood, pulls down on it so that it's choking her, straining her neck.
There hasn't been a shot from the sniper, and she knows it's because he thinks he'll hit his boss.
Whipping her head back, she hears a crack, a screech, and Nathan lets go. She's able to hoist her upper body onto the ice before the rifle goes off and that piece caves in too. "No," she chokes out, gags as the miniature waves force burning cold water into her mouth.
Nate has her by the throat, he's forcing her further down, he's pressing his index fingers down on her adam's apple so hard that she's pretty sure it'll pop out the other side of her neck. Then he's looking up, he's letting go of her, he's swimming towards the surface, looking about frantically.
She tries to follow, but she's losing track of which way is up and which way is down. But doing nothing floats her towards the light, and she manages to fill her lungs with air before she's pulled out of the water by her ponytail and thrown across the ice. A grunt, a sickening snap as she lands on her belly, slides for a few more inches.
"Who followed you?" he's asking. "Who? Where is Jim?"
"The sniper?" she manages to say, her head foggy.
"Yeah, the sniper, you idiot. Where is he? His gun fell into the water with us, and now he's gone. Jim would never drop his gun on the damn job." He kneels down in front of her.
Making the most of the tiny sliver of adrenaline she has left, she grabs a jagged chunk of ice and stabs him in the eye.
Blood sprays onto her face, he stumbles backwards, screams so loudly that any clickers within a five mile radius are probably on their way.
She stands, slips on the ice, falls, lands on her hip.
He pulls the knife of ice from his eye, throws it to the ground, looms over her, brings his foot down as hard as he can on the base of her spine. "You stupid bitch!"
Pain shoots through her back, but she can't crawl away before he brings his foot down again. And again. And again.
The ice cracks, gives out, but she manages to hold on, while he goes under.
He holds onto her ankle, tries to use her leg to climb back out. "Come here, you rat!"
"Let go of me!" She kicks him in the face, but he tightens his grip. Her heart pounds painfully against her rib cage, she takes a deep breath, kicks him again.
His head snaps back, the crack of a bone rings out impossibly louder than a gunshot, he lets go, slips beneath the surface, is gone.
She makes a sound that is halfway between a cheer and a sob, drags herself to shore, presses her cheek against the soft snow, closes her eyes. It's dead silent; not even the lapping of the water against the ice makes a sound.
Her clothes are soaking wet, glued to her skin, but she doesn't shiver.
She doesn't feel like moving, like staying awake, like breathing. An odd feeling, one she cannot really understand, one she does not really want to understand. The pain fades to an enveloping, all consuming numbness.
A few birds fly by overhead, and she wonders if they really do look like airplanes. The clouds are clearing, stray beams of sunlight are slipping through the cracks in the grey and stroking the treetops, the few visible blades of grass, the rocks, the bushes.
And then there's a figure on the cliff.
Raising a gun.
Boom.
The soft ticking of a clock, the rhythmic drumming of raindrops against the windowpane, the warm glow of the lamp beside the bed, the quiet rustle of the thick blankets.
Joel sits with his back up against the headboard. His fingertips never stop stroking the cracked face of the broken watch, his gaze never strays from the freckled face beside him.
It's been a long time since Ellie has looked peaceful, even in sleep. Her hands, kept warm by two pairs of mittens, are folded on top of her chest. Her auburn hair is loose around her shoulders. Her badly infected ankle is wrapped up in a thick bandage. Her yellow button-up top covers a sweater and a red undershirt. Color is slowly returning to her cheeks, and her lips aren't quite so blue anymore. Hypothermia, Marcus said. Keep her warm, keep her hydrated.
She stirs, coughs, her eyes flutter open. At first, she doesn't seem to know where she is; her breathing grows more rapid, her fingers dig into the sheets, her body tenses. But then she sees him, relaxes, settles back into the pillows.
He kisses her forehead, puts an arm around her shoulders, gently tugs her over so that her head rests against his side.
"Let me have it," she whispers, her voice weak.
"Have what?"
"I screwed up." Her teeth chatter, and she curls into a ball, grimacing and holding one hand to her back.
"Happens," he responds, reaches into the nightstand, pulls out another blanket and drapes it over her. "You want something warm to drink?"
She pulls the sheets up over her head like a hood. "No. I want you to be honest with me. Be mad at me."
"But I'm not mad at ya, so that wouldn't be honest," he tells her, kissing her head again and gently massaging her bruised spine. "I'm glad you're okay, El, and that's all I care about."
It seems to confuse her; she blinks up at him through bloodshot, puffy eyes, wraps her arms around him, mumbles incoherent, unintelligible things into his shirt.
"What?"
She pulls back, shivers. "Do you have another blanket?"
He goes back into the nightstand, hands it to her.
"I was coming back," she finally says, wraps herself up in the thick cloth, goes back to leaning on him. "I got a few more miles out, realized I was being an idiot, tried to turn back. The bandits found me, were going to use me to get into Jackson until I shot at them."
A smile touches his lips. She was coming back.
"Y'know, things are goin to change. They have to."
Their fingers lace together, his hand squeezes hers, she squeezes his back.
"Here's how this is gonna play out. From now on, you come to me or Uncle Tommy or Aunt Maria with any issues you have; you're done taking it all on by yourself. I talked to Marcus, and he feels the same way. Twice a week, you and him are gonna sit down, and you're gonna talk. About yourself, about your friends, about your family, about everythin. You're taking care of yaself, alright?"
"Okay."
"Repeat it."
Those big green eyes catch his gaze. "I'll start taking care of myself."
He laughs, tussles her hair. The words are out before he can stop them, but he doesn't have the slightest bit of apprehension about saying what he knows is true, what he's known for months to be true. "I love you, Ellie."
She sits up straighter, rubs her hands up and down her arms to force warmth into her freezing body. "I love you too."
Ellie spends the rest of the afternoon fading in and out of sleep, overcome with the weight of exhaustion and the oppressiveness of the cold that refuses to let her go. For the first time in as long as she can remember, she doesn't feel stressed, doesn't feel guilty, doesn't feel much of anything, and emptiness is better than endless self-loathing.
A knock at the door cuts her nap short, pulls her from a dream where she actually becomes an astronaut and has to protect the earth from the invading Travelers. She yawns, stretches her arms above her head, sits up. "Joel?"
Not a second after the knob turns, Sammy is climbing on top of the bed and pulling her friend into a tight bear hug. "Oh my God, you're okay, you're okay, you're okay."
"Sammy?"
"Dang it, Ellie, I thought you were dead. I practically had a heart attack when I heard about what happened."
"Then you should stop suffocating me."
The blonde blushes, releases her grip. "Sorry. How are you feeling?"
"I-"
"God, I'm disturbing you, aren't I? I'll leave."
Ellie grabs her friend's hand, giggles. "You need to relax. Stay. I'm fine, just tired."
Sammy sits on top of her feet, blushes again, lightly punches the younger girl in the arm. "Don't ever do that to me again."
There's a slight pause.
"I can't lose you."
Ellie frowns, sees something in those grey eyes she's never seen before. She can't put her finger on it, but she knows she should be able to. It's familiar. "You won't."
Sighing, Sammy nods, looks from side to side. "You know, I'm never gonna let you out of my sight now. I don't think you can be trusted."
"Probably not." Ellie lies back down, shivers, curses under her breath. "Oh, Man, it's cold."
The bed frame creaks as Sammy slinks closer. "We could always snuggle, you know. Keep each other warm."
There are a billion and one questions that that suggestion raises, and there are a billion and one reasons that Ellie's gut reaction is to say no. But, while she stares up at that soft face, she also recognizes what she saw, what she continues to see in Sammy's eyes, and none of those reasons are all that important anymore.
Now, she has one very convincing reason to say yes.
As darkness falls and the flickering street lamps sputter to life, Joel climbs the steps to check on Ellie once more before getting ready to hit the sack himself. It occurs to him that he sent Sammy up, but he never saw her come back down.
He opens the door, finds both the girls fast asleep.
Wrapped around each other so tightly that it's clear they'll never let go.