Bobby Turner is smoking one of his cigarettes in the post-dusk light, leaning against a building at the corner of Thompson and Avery. Ellie never bothered with the stuff, but it's days like today that make it look tempting. She passes him by, and if he recognizes her she doesn't pay him any mind.
That is not how she wanted things to end at Dina's house. Why did Dina have to ask her that? Why does she need to… dig, like she does? This is tainted ground, here. Dig too deep, and you won't like what you find.
Ellie presses her fingers into her eyes. Damn it, Dina. It's like she doesn't think sometimes. Caring as she is, she acts like she doesn't get how Ellie feels. Or maybe Ellie's just too fucked up to understand anymore.
She puts that thought away, not for the first time. But couldn't she imagine how it might make Ellie feel when she touched her like that? In her perfect fucking home? With her perfect fucking husband? And perfect little JJ…
No, she had to get out. She would see them again. Soon.
God, JJ. Seeing him again like that meant everything.
She comes up on Tommy's house on the southwest side of town, under the glow of one of Jackson's street lamps. His is one of the old no-paint wood siding houses, little more cabin like. Has a garage on the first floor and steps up to the front door. Tommy likes it since the back porch offers a good view not only of the butte outside town, but Taylor Mountain and Mt. Baird in the distance across the valley.
Ellie sighs. But was all that really worth losing Maria?
She trudges up the steps and knocks on his door. A textured glass oval in the door lets her see someone approach, but not who it is.
Tommy flicks on the porchlight and opens the door. He catches himself when he sees her.
"Ellie…"
He doesn't look haggard, but he does look tired. His good eye is hooded, bagged underneath.
"Don't act, Tommy," says Ellie, "I know Maria told you I was coming."
He grins softly. "Well, that's true. Don't make it feel too much different, though." To Ellie's surprise he steps over the threshold and pulls her into a one-armed hug, which she returns. When they break apart he glances down. He grabs her left hand and inspects it, meeting her eyes. "She really did that?"
Ellie pulls her hand back. His goes to the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Ellie, let's at least sit you down."
His house is pretty rustic. He's got a mounted buck, which she knows he got from old Hilfiger's, and a real bearskin rug. She hopes he traded for that too. Lots of rough-cut, varnished wood all around. There's a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.
"Can I get you anything?" He wanders into the kitchen. There's an unfinished glass by the sink but he doesn't go for it. He fills a glass with water.
"No. I ate at Dina's." Ellie sits down at the table. The old fashioned bulbs in the chandelier offer dim lighting.
He half turns. "You did? Good." Minding his leg, he joins her, sitting across the table. "How's that?"
Ellie, don't leave!
"It was fine. Good, actually. She let me see JJ."
"Oh, that's great. Yeah, that's one of the few places I make sure I get myself down to on the regular. Always insists I stay for dinner. Woman's a hell of a cook!"
"Dale is very lucky."
Tommy inclines his head as if he's very serious. "That he is. Be honest with you, took me a bit to warm up to that one, though."
Ellie smirks. "Yeah? Why's that?"
He gives her a look. "Oh, you know… he's nice and all. Not every young man needs to be out on patrol these days. He's just a… bit goofy."
Ellie can't help but chuckle. "He offered me tea. Wearing an apron."
That draws a laugh out of him that makes him turn away. "Yeah well, he takes good care of those two."
"Yeah," says Ellie. "I'm working my way up to being grateful."
"That's good… you are entitled to feel more than that."
"And?"
He regards her, careful. "And what?"
"How are you doing, Tommy?"
He has a subtle grimace for that. He wipes his nose and looks at the floorboards. He purses his lips and regards her. "Not that bad, Ellie. All told, I'll be honest." He glances at his leg. "Honest, could be worse."
"And you're getting out? Seeing your people?"
"Yeah," he replies, and she can finally see some of the anger coming through, "that's a hell of a question, coming from you."
"Yeah, I—"
"Where you been, Ellie?" His eyes say there's no getting out of this one.
He hasn't asked about Abby yet. Ellie knows it's coming.
"I had a… lot I needed to get through. To walk off." She wipes her nose. "Still do."
"Ellie, I hear that but… Dina and JJ?"
Ellie's face twitches as she suppresses a snarl. "Tommy…" She sighs. "Would it satisfy you if I said that I had to do it, and it's one of my biggest regrets?" Her eyes ask for mercy.
He scoffs, scratching at his stubble. "Well, to that… truthfully, I'd have a hard time arguin'."
"You had us all worried, girl," he continues. "And I ain't talking about fucking clickers, now. All that shit that happened… And Jesse, and everything. And you go off on your own?"
"I'm never alone, I have Joel with me." She didn't think. It just came out of her.
Tommy looks like he doesn't know what to say. "Well, that's some cold comfort, there."
"Yeah, I've got that in spades lately."
"Jesus, Ellie—"
"Ask." He stops. "Ask about her."
His face hardens and her heart sinks when she realizes that nothing has changed for him. Nothing at all.
His mouth forms an ugly line. "Tell me she's dead."
"I found her, but she's not dead. Not as far as I know."
His face isn't changing and Ellie is starting to get nervous.
"Talk," he says.
She tells him, not like she told Maria, but at parts of the story she can feel herself being pulled back onto that beach. That cold, gray sand.
"And she disappeared into the fog. And that's the last time I'll ever see her."
Tommy's face is stone.
"And anything, that I might have fucking done to her was done ten times worse by those fucking monsters beforehand."
"You could have taken her life."
Ellie's lips are trembling. "That kid doesn't make it without her."
Tommy's leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Abruptly, he gets up.
Ellie gets up after him, reaching for him. "Tommy, wait—"
"Leave off," he spits, back to her. His tone makes her retract her hand. He throws open the door to his back porch with a bang, leaning against the railing. He doesn't bother to close the door.
Ellie's in a place she hates. It didn't happen often, but whenever she managed to get Joel well and truly pissed, this is how she would feel. Vulnerable. Helpless.
She follows him onto the porch. There's a dusting of snow over the wood, as flakes gently fall from above. She closes the door and waits by it.
The moon's out and you can see Mt. Baird clear as day. The gleaming white of its snowcap is beautiful. Other than that, there's no light beyond the limits of Jackson. A line of floodlights facing outward, then darkness.
"Ellie, this is just about the last thing I have."
She hates that he uses the word 'this.'
"Not ten minutes ago we were talking about Dina and JJ."
He shakes his head.
"Tommy, I'm sorry. I can't undo it—"
If somehow, the good Lord gave me the chance, I'd do it all over again.
She presses her fingers into her eyes. "I can't undo it and I wouldn't even if I could, but I am sorry. But Tommy—" She gestures helplessly. He's not looking at her. "Tommy I need to talk to you about why I didn't, okay? Why it's better this way."
He's not moving. Snow is collecting on his flannel shirt.
"Well, I suppose you'll go on, then," he says, gravelly.
Ellie breathes. She's scared. This is more delicate than any tangle with infected.
"I thought I wanted Abby dead more than anything. You were there too, but if you'd even seen half the things I did in Seattle, you'd—"
"I'd what?" he snaps. "I did 'em too."
"I know… So you know I mean what I'm saying. I killed every person she cared about in that city. And I regret every fucking one—" she grits her teeth against the image of the pregnant woman, blood running from her open throat. "—but do you know what I saw, when I had her throat in my hands, in that cold water?"
There's a gust, flurries of snow moving across the porch. It's getting cold.
"I saw Joel, Tommy. The last time we ever talked. I told him I'd start thinking about forgiving him." She's heaving now, cheeks wet and warm. She screams. "And I'll never get to fucking do it!"
She pants, limbs shaking. Her lips are trembling. Her chest is pounding, but her sight is clear. "That's why I hated Abby so much, because she took that from me. Just like Joel took her daddy from her. When I realized that, all the strength just went out of me. I couldn't have killed her. I'd have killed myself if I did. I'd never have come back to Jackson."
Tommy isn't moving but she knows she's reaching him. If she can just get a little farther…
"Then I realized something. It didn't feel good at the time, but it was. I didn't need Joel to be there. Here's there all the time, right here." She taps her chest. "I didn't need to see his face again. To forgive him. I just had to… I just had to let it go, and I did.
"And I'm alive to show for it."
"And what am I, then?" Tommy asks. Ellie's brow knits. She can't read his voice.
"You're where I was, Tommy. And you won't want to believe it, but that's even worse than what comes after."
He finally turns around. She can barely see his face in the moonlight, but there are tears on it. His bad eye doesn't cry anymore. He walks right over and grabs her, kissing the top of her head.
"Girl, not a thing of this shoulda been on you. Shoulda never met Joel and me."
"No, Tommy—"
"Quiet now!"
She pushes gently against his chest and he eases up, looking her in the eye.
"Damn if you aren't a strong one." He has a sad laugh. "You're stronger than me, that's for sure. I know you came to say that and you've said it." He leans in. She can smell whiskey. "Don't you forget where home is, you got that?"
Ellie nods.
He squeezes her shoulder. "Now get you on out of here. Your uncle's got some thinking to do."
He walks past her into the house.
"Tommy…" He doesn't slow or turn. He walks into the bedroom.
Ellie lingers by the back door for a while. It doesn't feel over. But Tommy sure acted like it was… She sighs.
Tommy had said it. Cold… and no comfort.
She closes his front door quiet, so he won't hear.
Some of the other patrollers would fight over afternoon shifts so they could sleep in, but Clint never got it. That time just before dawn is one of his favorite parts of the day. Cold will wake you right up.
He adjusts his padded jacket and gloves. The snow was light last night, but the sun hasn't come out to melt it away and it totally covers the street. Most of the shops are closed, except May's, which he stops at for coffee. She always smiles when she sees him. She used to ask after his mom all the time. Now she asks about him.
Clouds are gone, sky's a nice cobalt. He sips the black coffee from his thermos. It's still piping hot.
Yep, that's it right there. The best part of the day.
He's on North track today and he heads past the corral to meet Eric. Not his favorite patrol mate but a good shot.
The horses are being let out of the barn. They don't look too pleased as they kick up snow as they go. He always feels bad for them, doesn't really seem like they were made for the snow. Seems like they should have those big horse coats on earlier in the season. Macky laughed that off the one time he said it, though. He says horses stay warm just fine, as long as they're moving. Must be something about their blood flow.
As he's walking down the fence line toward the gate, he sees a figure leaning on the fence watching the horses. He frowns. The body shape is wrong… it's not Eric. She turns, and Clint almost stops in his tracks when he sees Ellie. She grins.
"Mornin' sunshine!"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"Good to see you too. How's my face looking? Better than yesterday? Don't worry, I didn't tell Dina you did it."
He stalks on over to her and pulls up, crossing his arms and giving her a look.
"Where's Eric."
"I knocked him out and threw him in a dumpster."
He doesn't indulge her.
"I gave him a free day off so we can hang out."
"Hang out? You think Patrol is—" He stops. Her eyes are saying are you stupid? "Alright, Ellie, but if this is really gonna happen I want to know what this is about by the time we get back."
"And if you're meant to, you will." She turns. James is coming along riding a horse and leading another.
"Here's your legs, folks. Ellie." He nods at her. "Why you looking so down, Clint? You could scarcely be in better hands."
"Usually not high on my list of concerns," says Clint. He takes Starbeam. He likes her, but damn that's a dumb name.
"The fuck is this, James? Where's Macky? I told him I wanted my horse. Not this dummy." Her voice changes to baby talk. "I'm just kidding Wendy, you're the best." She scratches Wendy's jowls but Wendy side-eyes her like she understood.
"Haven't seen Macky all morning. Probably over inspecting East stable."
"Well he better be—"
"Sorry, Ellie, here we go." Macky is coming up the track riding a red-coated bay. "Come on, now, Eddie." Eddie snorts. "Dang horse better be worth it. He almost didn't let me ride him."
"It's 'cause you're fat," says Ellie.
"Well, that's…" he scratches his chin, apparently lacking a comeback. He snorts. "Kids these days, got no respect, I tell ya." He hauls himself down from Eddie.
"Hey, boy, how they treating you over there?" says Ellie. She strokes him with surprisingly tender hands.
Eddie tosses his head grumpily.
"I know, I should have visited more. Don't worry, we're together today."
This whole show is really failing to amuse Clint, and he wants to get on the road. "We almost done here? Sun's rising."
"Yeah, yeah," says Ellie. She gives James a look. "Jeez, this guy's all business."
Clint crosses his arms again. "Yes, I am."
A minute later, they're saddled, and Ellie starts Eddie walking. Clint turns to James as they go. "You know she kicked my ass yesterday."
James cuts one of those laughs you can't hold back. "Best be polite, then," he says as he starts walking Wendy back with Macky.
Ellie doesn't say anything but when he looks she's got a finger in the air, pointing vaguely in James' direction.
They're a mile out of the gate, almost around the butte, when Ellie slows down to a walk. She looks at him when he joins her. She gestures for him to come up alongside her.
"You weren't too happy to see me today," she says.
"Well… no. Look, I don't have anything against you, Ellie. Actually have a fair amount of admiration for you."
She looks almost flattered.
"But think of this from my perspective. Person I barely talked to and kinda figured I'd never see again plops herself down across from me at mess and starts giving me all these… tests."
"Yeah, it's pretty much bullshit."
He cocks his head at her. "You coulda taken the words out of my mouth."
"Look, I'm sorry, but it's for a good reason, all right? Same good reason I'm not telling you what it's about yet. I can't tell you. Not until I'm ready to put the proposition to you."
"Are you a Firefly now, Ellie?"
She gives him a look he can't piece out.
"No."
"This kinda secrecy is strange to Jackson, that's all. I didn't mean any offense."
"None taken. Where y'all been about lately?" She gestures to the land before them.
"About everywhere, in the last two weeks. In the last couple days…" He eyes her. "Ellie, we're supposed to go up Moose Trail, but we're not going to do that, are we?"
She shakes her head. "How about Teton?"
The ski resort? It's fairly close, and probably the most scavenged site in the whole county. Still dangerous pockets, though.
"Gary and Jessica hit it last… Thursday?"
"Still patchy?"
"Yeah."
She nods and turns Eddie to head West around the butte toward Teton. Clint sighs.
It's a fine ride, he's not denying that. He takes another swig of coffee. He offers the thermos to Ellie during a walking stretch and she takes it.
"Eugh! What!? Why do you guys like that stuff?"
Clint laughs. "Why did you want it, then?"
"I thought it was soup or something."
"Give me that, then, if you've no appreciation."
Sun's still melting the snow during the day, so it's just the snow from last night, starting to glisten. He'd have put face paint or his sunglasses on if he'd known where they were going, but this whole thing isn't really very planned out. The plains are a landscape of gently rolling white hills. Rendezvous Peak is as noble as ever. Good snowpack for the Spring.
They come up on the outskirts of Teton. Snow's a little heavier this way. The area is essentially comprised of long rows of what used to be luxury houses and cabins, separated by generous amounts of space. Clint would guess that just about every single one of them has been broken into by a Jacksonian at some point. Except for maybe some further up the hill.
They ride over the wide, flat areas that used to be golf courses, apparently. Further up the hill, toward the slopes, there are several lodges and hotel buildings. Tall, proud, and derelict, these days.
Clint breaks the silence. "So we're looking for trouble."
Ellie eyes him. "You are, making noise like that. Could be snipers, ambushes…"
"Unlikely. We patrol here frequently. And I don't have to tell you that almost all travelers in this area come from either the North end of the valley, or from south on the highway. And they're generally all headed directly to Jackson. What I would be more afraid of are infected."
Ellie's eyes move up the hill.
"You got it," says Clint. Those tenacious bastards do surprisingly well in the cold. It's not uncommon for them to find a dead deer that had been mobbed by infected. They have an unfortunate tendency to wander down out of the mountains and repopulate cleared areas.
"How's the lodge?"
"Picked over. But that and the neighboring hotels are the only places we haven't fully cleared." He gives her a firm look. "For good reason."
She nods. "Let's just take a trot around the outskirts."
They're pretty quiet, hoofbeats dampened by the snow. Half the buildings they pass have broken windows, yawning black squares in the house. Some have burned down. Clint sees a couple houses that might still be sealed up the way, but scavenging is never his to priority. He's more interested in Ellie.
She rides ahead of him, again. She appears easy, upper body relaxed, but her eyes are always moving. Catching on things he wouldn't look twice at, either. Some wind chimes. A shrubby bush. A horse post.
"Hey," he whispers. She looks at him. "You're more careful than I am."
She cocks an eyebrow and looks forward.
"Might be the first one I've ever met," he continues.
"That bad, or something?"
"Not in your line of work, I guess. May's always telling me to relax."
"Who taught you?"
"What? To be careful?"
"To survive."
Clint chews on that for a second. "My sister." And that's a story for another time.
Whether she gets that or not, Ellie doesn't reply.
"Joel taught you?"
She looks at him sharply. "Yeah."
"Am I allowed to say that name?"
"Long as you're smart about it."
"No wonder you're so good at it, then."
She snorts. No smile though.
They hear it at the same time, the telltale moan of a runner. Ellie's shoulder goes up and Clint squeezes the reins. Eddie makes an agitated movement.
They get off their horses wordlessly and creep to a nearby half fence. The sizable house on the other side of it is the source. Ellie turns to him. Her face looks different now. She puts a finger to her lips.
Alright, no words then.
They approach the house. There's a busted window right in front of them, but without even looking Ellie slinks around the corner and is gone. She's not waiting for him.
He sighs. More tests.
He peeks over the windowsill. He can see one in the room, slowly rocking back and forth. There's a desk between them. He's able to lift himself onto the sill and into the room almost silently.
A lot of people—patrollers even—won't do anything but run from infected unless they have projectile weaponry. But time and again has stealth proved one of Clint's best weapons. The gloves help a lot for that. He's never understood other patrollers—like Ellie, he was disappointed to see—who don't wear fucking gloves.
The door to the room is open but it's dark. He pads over to the thing from behind, covers its mouth and plants his eight inch knife in its throat.
He grits his teeth as he saws out. Still hates that feeling. It's still essentially a human throat. It does not feel good to cut. One of the cleanest ways to kill though.
He peers out the door. Most of the windows are boarded, light is scarce but he doesn't need his flashlight. It will agitate some runners. He can see several overturned pieces of furniture and a huge rug that's just about rotted away.
He hears some clicks, and stiffens.
Just one, he thinks. He creeps behind the couch, arriving just as another runner stumbles into the room. It's unaware of him.
He hears a muffled thump in the distance. Ellie dropping a runner, probably. Is it a contest? Is he supposed to kill more than her?
No, fuck that, he is not doing anything stupid in here. Screw her secrets.
Runner B starts wandering his way, which is fortunate until another one comes behind it, pausing in the entry way. Damn it.
Fuck it, he can't let himself get surrounded. When Runner B rounds the couch he grabs it and gives it the same treatment as A. Warm blood runs over his wrist but the gloves protect his hand. Some gets up his sleeve. God damn it.
He freezes. Runner C has gone silent. Did it notice something? It usually takes a second or so of total exposure for them to enter attack mode. Other than that they're nearly mindless.
"Mm… yeh?" it babbles.
Clint shakes his head. He doesn't like it when it sounds like they're talking. Whatever, you don't think about that stuff until all clear. Or never, that works too.
Sixty long seconds later and the damn thing hasn't moved. He keeps hearing clicks. Screw it.
He throws a little piece of wood behind the runner. It gurgles in surprise and turns around. Before it makes any further decisions, though, it gets a knife in the throat.
Clint hears angry clicks and has about a second to get behind a wooden beam before the clicker appears in the doorway. Blood's still dripping from his knife. His breathing is shallow. He's almost wider than the beam, but this had been the plan. The clicker is making a lot of noise, but he should only be getting the empty room and the wooden beam. Maybe a sliver of Clint's outline. He hopes that's not enough.
The clicker resumes its horrid, jaunty walk past the beam. Clint doesn't move, since that would be the worst giveaway. When it's two steps away he turns, tossing the knife into the wood at the clicker's feet. The clicker is allowed the dignity of an angry snarl before a fire axe is buried in its skull. It makes an awful sound when he yanks it out. He wipes the blade with a rotted piece of rug. That's why you keep melee weapons in loose sheath.
To his horror he hears clapping and turns to see Ellie in the doorway. He looks at her in disbelief, standing up. "Well I guess we're clear then," he says loudly.
Ellie raises her eyebrows and gestures as if to say guess so.
"Alright, Ellie, how'd I do?"
"Good."
"Yeah? How many did you run into?"
"Three. You?"
"Four, including the only clicker."
"Ooh, tough guy."
"I'm supposed to impress you here, right?"
"Please tell me you weren't trying to outscore me."
"Know what, Ellie? I'm calling you. If you had gotten four you would rub it in my face."
She laughs. "Probably. Let's get back to the horses."
She goes to walk past him and he stops her. She looks at him. It's dark but he can make out her features. There's a glint in her eye from some light.
"Ellie, I know your super-secret mission is important and you can't trust it to some scrub, but this shit is dangerous. Next time, I want to communicate before we go in."
She nods, then walks away. Clint clenches his teeth. He's not convinced.
The morning passes pretty fast on Ellie's blood hunt. She seems to be satisfied slowly trotting up and down the lanes, since it takes maybe a few minutes at best for more infected to announce themselves. Clint's starting to think Gary and Jessica did kind of a shit job last Thursday. Then again, Thomas said he thought they were dating…
Anyway, here's how it goes. They're just riding along, not talking. Ellie was fucking whistling at one point. Then they'll hear something. Then she'll get off her horse without saying anything, and go on in without saying anything.
Clint is not scared. Well he is, he always is, and if Ellie were to say she isn't she'd be full of shit. Here's the thing; you don't let fear run the show, but you pay it the respect it deserves. Like the words of an elder or something. Fear wants you alive, that's what it's for. Ellie's acting like she's deaf.
If blood is what you're after, it's a good haul. Clint's right forearm starts getting tired from all the knifing. He keeps cleaning his gloves in the melting snow but the gore is adding up. It's disgusting.
He normally doesn't keep track, by the time noon rolls around, it's nineteen runners, six stalkers, and five clickers. Neither of them has discharged a single firearm, a point Clint would take with pride if this whole thing weren't such a shit show. There was one tense moment where had to open a fridge door to conceal himself from a runner. He almost blew chunks from the smell.
They're almost at the base of the mountain, sitting on horseback while the horses munch some grass poking up from the snow. It's a damn nice day, but Ellie doesn't seem to notice. She's squinting down at all the houses they've passed through, looking dissatisfied.
"You know, Ellie, I'm starting to get hungry."
She smirks at him. "Hope you brought a snack."
That being more or less what he expected, he produces some from his bag. Bunch of nuts, an apple, a hunk of bread. He likes himself a waffle sandwich, with fries, if it's on offer, but he sticks to healthy stuff outside town. Ellie's not moving. He wonders what she's thinking.
"Aren't you?"
She considers him briefly and shakes her head. He doesn't like that.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out the real treat; some of Olmwood's venison jerky. He claims he cures it with soy sauce, which if such a thing exists in Jackson, Clint has never laid eyes on it. Whatever it is, though, it's damn good. He offers some to Ellie.
She looks, but doesn't take any. Clint doesn't like that either. He bumps her arm with it. She gives him a disapproving look, but takes some. They chew for a minute in silence.
"That shit ain't soy sauce," she says.
"Have you ever had any?" he asks.
"Yeah. In New York."
"Bull shit."
She takes another bite and gives him a knowing look.
"Sun gonna set on us out here, Ellie? Cause this is a shit date."
She huffs. "We can go home after."
After what?
"Clint," she says. She looks at him. "Tell me you want this."
It's a pretty outrageous question. After a couple of seconds of searching he knows she's not going to elaborate. So he thinks about it.
You can't see Jackson from here. If it was night you could see the light on the surrounding hills. Morning's bread and pastries would be going on sale at May's. Rush at mess, Thursday, Raul is probably tossing stir fry right now, not that he'd get any. His mom would be hanging up laundry. Would be.
"Yeah," he says with an expulsion of air. He looks at her.
She doesn't move.
He looks her dead in the eye. "Yeah."
She nods her head toward the lodges. "Let's ride."
Clint sighs, but he did figure. "So be it. What's our prize?"
She looks a question at him.
"What are we looking for that will finally satisfy you?"
"Not sure, but I bet we'll know it when we see it."
Without further ado she nudges Eddie, who—reluctantly—starts trotting down the hill toward the central complex.
Clint's hackles rise when they start passing through the outer buildings. It's damn quiet out here. He meant what he said about bandits, but if there were any posses in the area, this would be a good place to hole up, once you cleared the infected. He and Ellie don't have to say anything, their eyes are scouring the windows around them.
She leads them to a building with a sign in front that says Alpenhof Lodge. It's a smaller lodge, three storeys, rustic and old-fashioned looking. The first floor is barricaded to shit.
"Let's tie up," Ellie whispers. Clint's mouth is a flat line.
After talking it over, the roof is probably the best way in. They're able to climb up the side, with a fair amount of effort. A fire ladder helps them for the last storey.
There's a decent view up top. The mountains jump up right in front of them, not even a mile from the lodge. Sky's still clear. He can see all the way to where the valley opens up, miles to the north, and south to the pass and highway. The bed of the valley is a tranquil snowscape, dotted with the green of trees and patches of melted snow. Snake River cuts a dark blue line through it, far too warm to freeze yet.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Ellie says. She's walking over to the lone door on the rooftop. It's locked, of course. Her eyes start wandering around, looking for another way in. What a damn day this is turning out to be.
The roof is covered with snow, but there are six large, raised boxes jutting about four inches out from the slush. Ellie is walking across them now. It clicks.
"Ellie, don't walk on there—" Then it happens.
The concealed skylight shatters and Ellie drops like a rock into the building. "Shit!"
He runs over, leaning over the side. The room is a black void, a single square of light revealing Ellie. She's alright. He doesn't even get time for a sigh of relief before the infected start going off. Ellie whips out her magnum. "Motherfucker!"
Two deafening blasts and Ellie's eyes go wide and she turns and bolts. Three, then four and five runners pass through the light after her. He can hear clicks.
"God damn it!" Clint yells. He yanks on his mask and hurls himself over the edge.
He lands in the glass with a crunch and turns on his flashlight. Brief glances tell him this used to be a banquet room. The only obstacles are circular tables. The runners aren't close, but his entrance gets the attention of two clickers barely ten feet away. The turn as one and start flailing at him.
His shotgun is in his hand then against his shoulder. A boom and a shock to his shoulder leave the closer one without a head. It flails to the ground. Another pump and pull and the other one meets the same fate. They both die within three feet of him.
"Jesus Christ."
The runners chasing Ellie are behind a wall now, but he can hear them. He hears her yelling and then several more shots. He sees an open doorway on the side of the room its coming from. He's about to move there when he hears new runners. He turns to see three of them pour in from the other side of the room, with more behind.
"Jesus Christ!"
He sprints to the open door. It's been ripped off its hinges. There's an over turned couch and not nearly enough time to move it. It's pitch black in here, the only light is coming from his chest. He runs down a hallway full of doors he doesn't even have time to check. The runners are not far behind him. He sees an open door and runs through it.
It's the stairwell. The way up is barricaded, the way down is open. He throws the shotgun up there, runs, jumps, and grabs the metal hand rail up past the barricaded section, climbing onto the stairs.
The runners spot him when they arrive, but the barricade is between them.
He offs the first one clambering over after he finds his shotgun—Jesus fuck his visibility is shit—then he throws it back down because he knows he only has one more shell. He pulls out his nine millimeter. Headshots or death.
Their thrashing limbs bring them over the piled up furniture in ones and twos. Forehead. Left eye. Carotid. He has seven left in the clip. Eyebrow. Temple. Cheek, then forehead. There's one left, he can hear it. He puts the gun away and pulls out his axe because he wants to. He splits her head down to the nose.
His breaths are coming in heavy bursts through his nose. He hears more running and he goes quiet. The running stops outside the stairs, but they're still activated. They heard the shots. They're looking for him. He turns off his light and crouches behind the barrier.
They wander around out there, bumping into walls. One wanders in and Clint tenses up. After a few second it stumbles and falls down the stairs. It goes quiet. He could almost laugh. It knocked itself out.
For the first time he thinks about what might be behind him. He thinks it over and turns his light back on. He's totally blind without it. A brief glance before turning it off reveals a rotted skeleton and a door; the one on the roof that had been locked.
Moving very slowly through the dark, he eventually finds the handle. It opens. He lets a bitter laugh. He props it open to let some light in the well. He listens. The runners are still down there, quieter now.
He's obviously not leaving without Ellie, and holsters his weapons and climbs back down the rail to the lower landing. He can hear one runner close to the door, but not the other. He grits his teeth. He steps out and turns on his light.
The runner is facing away from him. It goes alert from the light, but there's no target. It gets a knife in its throat.
He hears the other and turns in time to see it running at him. He has to dodge twice, then he plants his axe in its collar bone. It wails, but it's stuck on his weapon. Clint winces. He likes clean kills. He boots the thing and when it comes back at him, he catches it in the skull.
It's quiet.
"This is a fucking nightmare," he mutters.
He's damn well betting Ellie went down the stairs. The well is empty, except for the unconscious runner. Feels even worse cutting its throat, but it had to be done. The door to the first floor is fucking welded shut. He takes the second floor.
Long hallway, more doors to rooms on both sides. Country wallpaper peeling in rotting spirals and littering the ground. He's greeted by the bodies of five newly dead runners, but no sign of Ellie. He follows the bodies.
The doors to the rooms are rough-cut, varnished wood that was probably charming at some point. Ellie could be in any one of them but he is not fucking opening every door. He takes a breath, and taps the wall three times. The kind of soft sound infected will overlook, but human ears pick up immediately. Common patrol tactic.
No response.
He advances down the hallway and does it again to no effect. He holds his breath turning the corner, but it's just a long empty hallway, more doors. He can hear more infected, but it sounds like another floor.
He needs to meet up with Ellie, now.
There's a gaping hole where a door to a room should be. Clint inspects it.
A big fucking bomb must have gone off at some point. Half the room is destroyed, leaving a massive hole to the first floor. He can see infected from here. There are spores. Light from the first floor windows actually half-illumines the room. He turns off his light. He gives it one more try, tapping the wall three times.
No response.
He grits his teeth. Either Ellie is in too dangerous a position, or incapacitated. He peers over the edge. It's one of those edge-of-hell miracles. There's a mattress down there. He drops on it.
No infected react, but he's instantly on high alert. He crouches next to a nearby counter. A furtive movement catches his eye and he turns to see Ellie getting his attention. She looks surprisingly unshaken. He breaths a quick sigh of relief.
He fumes, breathing out hard through his nose. Why the fuck didn't you respond?
She gestures over her counter and Clint looks. The wide open floor is actually visible due to light peeking in from over the tops of the barricaded windows. There are walls, columns, furniture… it's a mess. And several infected that he can see. But, most importantly, in front of the front double doors, there's a god damn bloater.
Tss.
He looks over when she makes the sound. She's crafted an unlit Molotov. That's actually fucking perfect—
She throws it at him.
He catches it, too stunned to think for a second. He looks at her. She nods.
He's gonna fucking deck her when they get out of here.
He secures it on a belt loop and they get to work. A runner is stumbling toward him. He lopes up and as soon as it jerks in recognition, he grabs it about the jaw and back of head and snaps its neck. Not his favorite way to kill, but quick and stealthy from the front. He hears Ellie's knife break skin.
A clicker perks up. Damn it.
There's an open doorway in one of the divider walls in front of him. He approaches it just as a clicker walks out. It jerks in surprise. Clint suppresses a strong instinct never to approach a clicker from the front and lunges in, driving his knife under its jaw and into its brain, terminating its angry shriek.
He hears reactions from runners around the floor, followed by a wet grunt from the bloater. Fuck. Heavy footfalls tell him it has started moving.
His brain catches his attention and he reloads his nine millimeter. He creeps through the doorway to a short hallway with another counter. A runner stumbles around the corner in front of him. It's too far to knife and there's no time. He stands up and shoots it in the head.
Almost as if on cue, Ellie discharges two shots.
"Here we go, Clint!"
There are shrieks from several sides, the worst possible result. Clint can't see anything in front of him and runs that way. It's an open section, near the front, but he can't see the bloater anymore. He finds a corner, and turns to see two runners sprinting at him from where he'd come. He headshots the first one and puts three in the second one's chest. Two more come from the right, followed by an ambling clicker.
He puts another three in the first one's chest, then misses a shot. Instantly, he changes strategies and swings his gun down as it approaches. Its reeking forearm impacts his face but does little damage other than skewing his glasses, his pistol butt crunches its forehead and it goes down. The clicker is almost on him.
He rolls to the side and the clicker's head swivels, it keeps coming. He goes to get up and trips over a piece of wood.
Fuck!
As he's stumbling backward, the clicker is almost on him. He misses the first desperate shot, puts the second in the clicker's faceplates, stunning it. Then his gun starts clicking.
He throws it behind the clicker. It jerks, half turning. Then it starts clicking and it's obviously going to make him. It shrieks at him and he boots it in the fucking face. While it's on its back he gets up, and when it tries to he decapitates it with his axe.
The bloater roars on the other side of the building.
"Fuck!" It's Ellie. She sounds scared.
Clint sprints down the central corridor, boots pounding the floorboards. It will draw any remaining infected, but Ellie needs a distraction more than him.
He arrives to see Ellie rolling over a counter as the raging bloater swings, taking the fucking corner off the wood. It's momentarily distracted by Clint's arrival. She's trying to creep away. It makes her somehow and grabs one of its disgusting pods, hucking it at her. She rolls over another counter as it bursts.
"Clint! Shit!"
He's down to one fucking shotgun shell. He steps forward, shouldering it. The bloater turns toward him and snarls, stomping forward. He grips and pulls. The shell takes out its knee.
It falls forward and catches itself. It stumbles, confused about its leg no longer working. It's time enough for Clint to light the Molotov. It smashes against the thing's chest.
It starts roaring with terrifying rage. It somehow gets onto its good leg, supporting itself with the wall, advancing on Clint.
"Ellie-e," he says in an escalating tone.
More magnum blasts. She catches it in the side, shoulder, then back of the head. It stumbles to the ground. It growls, rising, then it turns into a sort of spasm. It goes limp, and then it's just the crackling of burning fungus.
Clint is panting, mask half fogged over. He looks around, but it's quiet. Any remaining infected would be on them already. They cleared the fucking building.
"Holy shit, Clint!" Ellie sounds excited. Clint is not interested.
He turns around and walks straight to the front door, thinking of nothing but fresh air. He starts ripping down the furniture, taking out anger on it. He finally lifts one end of the couch on bottom and hurls it away. There are double doors with large glass panes. He doesn't even try the handle. He smashes the glass with the back end of his axe, stepping out into the light.
The horses are startled and nervous as he walks out under the covered entranceway. He rips his mask off, still panting.
"Can you say—" Ellie rips her mask off, approaching from behind, "—we fucking did it?" She has far too big a smile.
His jaw is clenched. "We didn't get shit in there."
"Oh we got it," she says, smacking his arm. "We got all of it, damn."
His breathing is approaching normal.
"Come on Clint. Alright, fine, that was fucked. But we did it! It's over."
He fights the impulse as long as he can. Then he starts laughing. "You are a crazy fucking bitch, Ellie."
She smiles big. "Damn straight."
She walks toward the front of the covered walkway and starts checking herself and her gear. He does the same.
"Did you even think what would happen if I didn't catch that thing?" Clint asks her.
"It wasn't lit."
"It wasn't lit—Jesus, you're about to be lit up by my fist."
"Alright, we're actually done, okay? A+."
"A what?"
She chuckles. "It's what they said before the outbreak when you did a good job."
"Tell me that was at least in your top ten of shit shows."
She looks at him then gives that some honest thought.
"Jesus, Ellie."
"I mean it's close, I don't know."
"You're pretty damn foolish for a smart girl." He finishes velcroing his glove back up. "I mean I thought you might have the sense to know a skylight when you—"
The silence carries on for a second. Ellie stops fixing her gear. His back is turned to her, but he can tell she's looking at him.
"I mean it's not like I could see through the—" she starts.
He turns and advances on her. She reaches, but he grabs her by the shirt and shoves her forcefully into the pillar supporting the walkway cover.
Her face has changed again. Eyes cold as glass. There's something sharp poking his belly.
"Easy," she says.
His breath is coming in bursts through his nose. "Except you did know that was a skylight." Eddie whinnies nervously, tugging at his tie. "And that entire fucking thing was on purpose."
She's wearing that stupid fucking smile again. As if he's not five seconds from killing her.
"You got me." She says. She searches his face. "You're pretty sharp yourself."
"You tell me now," he spits. He shoves her against the pillar again. Her knife breaks skin.
"You wanna fucking let me go?" she asks him. There's subtle danger in her tone.
"I don't know, you wanna fucking gut me, or what? I mean, you almost got me killed in there."
"You said you wanted it." Her eyes are level. "I asked."
He can't believe it. She's actually fucking serious.
He lets her go and backs away five feet, crossing his arms. He can feel a drop of blood on his lower abdomen.
She retracts her switch blade and puts it away casually. Her eyes on him, she for some reason starts rolling up her right sleeve. She displays her tattoo.
"So you are a Firefly?"
She shakes her head.
"Explain."
"I am. Under this tattoo—"
"Is a chemical burn, yeah."
"I did that to myself." Her eyes are very lucid. She's being real. He's still feeling the rage, but she has his attention. "I did it to hide what's underneath. A bite mark."
His face twitches. "From an infected person?"
She nods. She's waiting for him to deny it, but he wants to do anything but indulge her right now. He works his lips. "Prove it."
She beckons him. He approaches. She puts his hand over the scarring. He searches with his thumb. It's a rippled mess, it covers half her forearm. Then he notices. A series of ridged bumps, in the shape of a human mouth. She pulls her arm back.
"Why should I believe this?" he asks her.
Her brow is wrinkling now. This is touching on something for her. She looks to the side and her eyes are far away. It takes her a minute.
"My parents died before I knew them and woman named Marlene took care of me back in Boston. One night when I was young and fucking stupid, me and a friend snuck into a condemned mall. We got attacked. We both got bit. We decided to wait it out. She turned…" Her voice quavers. Her mouth moves again but she doesn't annunciate, he has to read her lips. And I'm still waiting.
"When Marlene found out, she said she needed to get me to HQ. That they might be able to use me. To make a cure." She looks into his eyes.
He's not ready to respond. He gestures for her to continue.
"She made Joel smuggle me out of Boston. He didn't want to. Things kept going wrong… A lot of shit happened, it's not important. Eventually he and I get to Salt Lake City. Saint Mary's Hospital, it was their research base. I wasn't even conscious… I found out a lot of it later, don't ask why.
"There was a doctor there. Andersen. He was going to be able to do it. Or thought he could. But he had to remove the infection." She gestures to the side of her head.
Wait, remove the infection? Holy shit, that would—
"Joel didn't like that." She winces and looks to the horizon. "He killed a lot of people and got me out of there. He killed Andersen too. I went back years later and found a recording saying that he had been the only one who could have done it. There was no point anymore, even if they had an immune person." She finally looks at him again. She looked a lot older all of a sudden. She takes a deep breath. "But that was almost six years ago."
Somehow, Clint is not angry anymore. His arms feel heavy. He uncrosses them. "You think there might be someone else."
"If there's any organization left that could find them, it would be the Fireflies. So I'm going. I would go alone… but Maria made a 'demand.'" She does air quotes. She shakes her head. "Honestly—"
"I'm in."
"No, you aren't," she says, eyes closed, shaking her head. She looks at him. "Clint you don't know—"
He moves toward her until their faces are close. She's defensive at first, but she meets his eyes. He pushes how that makes him feel to the back of his mind. She can't talk her way out of the meaning in his eyes. He doesn't even have to say it, but he does.
"I'm in."