Of all the times it could have happened, of course it happened today. Why not today?
Joel took a step back, away from the dark, concrete building that towered in front of him. As the bright summer sun illuminated the grimy interior through broken and boarded up windows, he could clearly see the thick clouds of yellow spores whipping around every dank and rotted space they could fit themselves into.
"A million times." Joel muttered to himself, his only audience the beginnings of moss in the gravel beneath his feet and the all-but forgotten urban streets before him. A million times he'd combed through buildings just like this forsaken heap, searching for anything and everything that could help bring him to his next destination; whether that be the familiar gates and walls of the Boston quarantine zone or the quiet streets of Tommy's community outside of Jackson County, searching for supplies through the ruins of the past was just the way of the new world.
Joel had always liked to think he was smart, but more importantly, he knew he was careful. Keep wounds covered, only sleep out of reach, and don't stay in one spot for too long. Avoid infected if you can, kill them quick if you can't. Listen first. Always watch for spores. These rules are what had made the difference between a raging, demented Clicker and a living, breathing person; a survivor, for the last twenty years. Nobody gets anywhere alive without them, and the "lucky" ones found that out pretty quickly ones the infected started to outnumber the living, right before they joined the ranks of an army they had no choice but to succumb.
"Careful doesn't do a damn bit of good sometimes." Joel's thoughts rang out in his head as the reality of the situation forced its way to the front of his mind. He sighed, tossing his gas mask down at his feet, its large outward-facing canister showing off a clear bullet hole through the center. Since the beginning of the infection, before people started shooting those with bites on sight, the phrase "dead man walking" was common. Now he really knew how it felt, what the thought of absolute, certain demise felt like. Every day he went to sleep knowing the next could be the last, and every day he thought he knew what to expect. But as he pieced it all together in his head, he realized he hadn't an inkling of a fucking clue what it was like, until now.
For a minute, he wanted to convince himself he was wrong. He couldn't be infected, he felt just like he always did. But he'd seen it a thousand times, Joel knew exactly how the process goes. Had he not noticed his mask was busted, he'd feel fine for the first twelve hours. It'd be back home, probably laying in bed that the seizures would start, and by then his humanity was lost. But he knew, and he couldn't go back to town knowing he was little more than a ticking time-bomb. He couldn't do that to Tommy, or any of the townsfolk. He wouldn't do that to Ellie.
"Ellie.." His eyes widened. A dozen promises started to flow through his head, mainly visions of teaching the little girl he loved like a daughter to play the guitar, or to finally learn how to swim. The look in her eyes when she came home from her first scavenging trip without him with a six-string that was still in decent condition reminded him of Christmas.
But now it was one more broken promise. "She deserves to know." Joel shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. He couldn't take that look he knew she'd give him, that panicked, fearful look in her eyes wasn't something he could face.
Not again.
Joel reached for the revolver at his hip, his fingers finding their way around the smooth grip like they have a thousand times before. The image of his wards stricken, devastated eyes haunted his thoughts as he lifted his gun from its holster. "I had this coming." He let out another sigh and pulled the hammer back. The only comfort he could find was that with him dead, nobody could tell her of his betrayal. He'd always been so selfish like that.
The world exploded into black.