Great Divide

PART I: RETURNING

ONE

Fuck Santa Barbara. Fuck me.

Somehow I found the energy to get the boat up the coast a bit, to get away from that place . . . I don't even know where I am now. I ended up back at Abby's boat somehow. She wasn't there. I don't know what I would have done if she was.

I remembered noticing medical supplies on board earlier, some antibiotic cream and gauze. Not enough for these injuries, but something. I took everything I could find and cauterized the wounds, but I still feel so weak.

I kept going until I passed out for a while and the waves knocked my boat up against a tall cliff face. Some rocks on one side seem to be making this little pocket of calm water, and the waves are holding me here now as the tide goes in and out. It's not so bad. Would be hard to get jumped like this, at least.

It's daytime now. My face feels warm. I don't know how long it's been. I think I'll just rest for a while.

I think I'm going to die here. In this boat, by this shore that I thought was so beautiful when I first saw it. I kept picturing Dina seeing it, thinking how happy it would make her. Now it just feels like another version of the same hell.

It's night again, but there's some light on the horizon. I'm not sure if the sun just set or if it's rising. My skin feels so hot. The antibiotics aren't working.

Is this how Joel felt that winter?

I feel like I've read a hundred notes written by dying people. Sometimes it's like that's all that's left of the world. Like someday there will be a museum for humans that's just millions of letters scribbled onto random pieces of paper by people dying or infected, trying pointlessly to say goodbye to the people they loved. I've thought about what I would write before, but now that it's here, I can't think of a thing.

Dina, if you ever read this . . . fuck. Who am I kidding? You'll never read this.

I can't really tell if I'm awake or not anymore. I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Sometimes I'm back on the beach. Sometimes I kill Abby. Sometimes she kills me. Sometimes the fucking slavers show up and kill us both.

Or I'm back in the basement, and Joel is dying and I'm trying to scream, but I can't. I'm trying to tell him I'm sorry, but my voice doesn't work.

Or I'm the one Abby's killing, and Joel is yelling at me and telling me to get the fuck up. He sounds so angry.

Or Abby isn't even there, and I'm holding the golf club. He tells me he's sorry and I swing.

I'm starting to lose track of what really happened.

I see so many faces. Abby's friends. Jesse. Tommy. That Scar kid. The wolves. The slavers. The Fireflies. Riley. They drift in and out. They say things, but I can't remember what. I cover my ears, but I can't shut them out.

Sometimes I see something good. The farmhouse. Dina and JJ. I see us dancing in the kitchen, painting and singing. I feel Dina holding me at night.

Everything hurts so much. I just want it to end.

Joel, I'm sorry. I wish you'd just let me die.

Dina, Potato - I love you more than I could ever say.

I'm an idiot and I'm so fucking sorry.

I'm not dead.

I don't know how I keep fucking surviving when I shouldn't, but somehow I did it again.

I woke up feeling like I can think again. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but the fever seems to be gone. The wounds don't look infected.

I don't know if I've ever felt this weak. Sitting up takes all the energy I have. I'm so hungry, but there's no food left. One of the paddles drifted away at some point. I can't get the boat away from this cliff. It would be really stupid if I survived the fever and died stuck in a boat, but I guess I shouldn't count myself saved yet.

Gotta wait for the tide to go out.

It took me the better part of five days to make it from the coast to this forest area further inland. I found a fire lookout tower that seems to be pretty far away from everything. I've just been laying low here for a bit. I can see for miles, and I scavenged enough food and water to last a while.

Wyoming has a lot of these towers. I remember when Joel told me what they were for, I thought he was screwing with me. Imagine – having nothing to watch for except fires.

Getting here was rough. There are Rattlers everywhere. I don't think I could have fought them like this. My side hurts like hell, and I can't hold a gun very well. The bow shakes when I try to draw it. I need to figure out what to do next.

I almost scratched out everything I wrote before this, but . . . I don't know. I guess I'll just leave it for now.

Should I go back? Will you be there? Will you want to see me?

Where else is left to go?

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! More chapters to come. This story will be chronological and focused on a single plot, but it will shift in format and focus on key moments over time. First-person/italicized sections will be journal entries or letters. Third-person/standard font will be more narrative. I'm largely writing this because I can't get Part II out of my head (in the best way), and I want to create some closure for myself and for these characters.

This story will focus on trauma, contain descriptions of violent events, and include a LOT of swearing, but if you've played the game, you've seen worse than anything I can write.

As always, I own nothing represented here. All characters/situations from the Last of Us belong to Naughty Dog/Sony.