Author's Note: Just a technical, I posted Chapter 8 a while back, but it doesn't seem like it showed up right away. Not sure what's up with that, you'd have to ask the site. Anyway, I'm still writing, and I'll keep posting. I know where this is going. That's all. Enjoy.
Someone slaps Clint across the face. His eyes shoot open. For an instant, he sees someone holding a camera, then a flash blinds him. He pinches his eyes shut.
Shit. His head is pounding, on the right side. He tries to move but his hands and feet are bound. He's in a chair.
"Not my best," says the photographer, "but it gets the gist."
"Alright," someone says. He's older. Clint can hear authority. "Do it."
He looks over and Ellie is slumped in a chair a few feet away. A black girl slaps her, hard. Ellie's eyes shoot open and she gets snapped too. She pinches her eyes shut. "Motherfucker! What the fuck are you doing?!" She struggles, but she's also bound. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" she screams.
A few of them laugh. There are at least eight in the room. The one who took the picture shakes the polaroid and inspects it for a few moments. He starts laughing.
"Oh my god, it's perfect. She looks stupid. Hot though."
"Nice," says the older man. He's got an ugly mien. He's not enjoying it like the younger ones, but he's got some kind of smile on his face. He looks at Clint. "Lock 'em up. Keep this clean." He walks away, and a couple of them follow him.
They're in an emptied out office in a building with concrete walls. Sunlight is coming in through a small window across the way. They grab Clint and haul him up. He resists minimally. He has no options here. And fighting is just going to make him mad, and maybe injured. Ellie kicks and screams the whole way.
They're in an old jail or something. A lot of concrete and ugly blue tile. It's pretty barren, but clean. The floors are even swept. They operate out of here. Eventually they're dragged into a large, open, two story room with jail cells lining the walls. Many of them are occupied. Quiet, sad eyes look up at them as they're brought in.
"Where do we put 'em? Reg would want them separate."
"Nah, fuck it. Throw him in with his girlfriend. Here." One of them—the narrow eyed guy—produces a key ring and opens a cell. There's someone in there already. When the door's open, they shove him in there unceremoniously. He lands on his right arm and shoulder. It hurts. He doesn't even look at them. He's not going to give them the satisfaction.
"I know all your faces!" Ellie rages. "You're all going to fucking die!"
A couple snicker. They shove her in too.
The cell door slams with a clang and they get locked in.
"Who's guard tonight?"
"Anya."
"Ooh, want company?"
"Fuck off, Travis." It's the black girl that slapped Ellie. The narrow eyed guy hands her the key ring.
"Well, I don't know about y'all, but I'm off to Paddy's. I heard Earl hunted down a hog."
"Oh, yeah! Me too! I'll get the first round." They're walking away as a group.
"Fuck you!" says Anya. "You owe me like five rounds, Larry."
"Shoot, bum luck. No drinking before duty. Guess it'll wait till next time."
Clint has pulled himself up into a slump against the cold, concrete wall. A heaviness has settled over him. They didn't even make it out of the first god damn city. He sighs.
He looks at Ellie. She's watching them go with hatred in her eyes.
He notices the third person in the cell. At first he thinks it's a woman, but she's got a masculine face and scrubby beard. He's got long, dark hair, and he's wearing a battered, maroon dress with a coat over it. He meets Clint's eyes. There's a deep and abiding sadness there. He's also sitting against the wall. He smiles weakly. "Clara," he says.
Clint's confused, but he doesn't ask. "Clint," he says.
Ellie isn't paying attention to either of them. When the hunters are gone she gets up and goes to the door. She works her fingers at the lock. She's concentrating.
"There's no way you can pick that with your fingers," says Clint.
"Obviously," she responds. She's still pissed. "But I can definitely pick it." She starts trying to search her pockets, without much luck since she's tied up.
"Here," says Clara. He gets up slowly. He produces a piece of scrap metal. One of the edges is rough. Ellie holds up her bonds and Clara works his way through them. When her hands are free, Ellie takes it and cuts her feet. Then she comes over to Clint and starts working on his.
"Assholes know you have this thing?" Ellie asks.
"Well, they must know we have something, since we keep getting out of our bonds. But they haven't asked." There's basically nothing in the cell. Just a long metal bench on the wall, supported by chains. Clara sits on it.
When Ellie's done with Clint's ties, she gets up and resumes searching her pockets. "Shit," she says. She starts on the pockets of her jacket. "Shit!" she says. "They fucking took everything!"
"They're thorough," says Clara.
"You guys got any other tools?" Ellie holds up the scrap metal. "Piece of metal? Long and skinny? Like a fence wire or something?" She turns and grabs the bars with her hands, addressing the others in the jail. "You guys have anything like that? Three inches? Fuck, two inches and I can get us out of here!"
No one responds.
"Damn it, seriously?!" She sighs in exasperation and pushes off the bars.
"If they catch you with something like that," someone starts, Clint can't see who, "they beat the shit out of you, or kill you, or both." Their voice is deep, and tired.
Ellie sighs. She looks at Clara. "Dude, what is this place?"
He's resting his head against the wall with a resigned smile. "A prison," he says.
"Clara…"
He sighs and considers. "They're slavers."
Ellie's brow furrows. "How does that work?"
"They took your picture, right?"
Ellie scowls. "Yeah."
"It's advertising. They don't talk to us, but they use those pictures to sell us to people on the outside. Every once in a while a caravan must come through, because they'll come in here and take a bunch of people out of their cells. They never come back." He looks at the floor and his face sags. When he speaks again, it's pretty quiet. "They only take the strong and pretty."
A woman across the room starts softly crying.
Veins are showing in Ellie's left arm. "How often?"
"Every four or six weeks, or so."
"How many since the last time?"
"About four."
Ellie looks at Clint. It says that is not going to fucking happen to us.
She squats, thinking. "Clint, help me look around." She starts crawling around the floor, brushing through the dust. Clint is really impressed by her determination. He complies.
"If any of you has anything like I described," she calls out as she searches, "and you don't want to be a fucking slave or die, you better sack up and tell me!"
They scuttle around the cell for a while, in circles. There are some pebbles, an old coin. Almost nothing. Clint actually does find a little piece of wire, and Ellie tries fervently for a while, but it's too flimsy.
"Damn it!" she curses, throwing it to the floor. She slumps down against the cell bars.
"There's a lot of fight in you." It's Clara. He's been watching patiently. "I like it. Don't lose that." His eyes are solemn. "Not in here. And not out there."
Clint's jaw his clenched. They'd both heard it. When that asshole had said that Ellie was a winner. They are gonna take her for sure. They might take him too, he's young and strong. But they would probably be separated.
Ellie was right. That can't fucking happen.
When he looks she's watching him. She looks into the distance and rests her head against the wall. "Good," she says. The shafts of light from the windows are turning colors. Evening is coming on. "For a while there I thought you were gonna give up."
Without much else to do, they settle into the routine. Which is basically sit against the walls with your hands clasped, ruminating on how much this sucks. Every once in a while, Clint can hear a muted conversation occurring somewhere in the cells. He can't make them out, generally. They're not usually very long. After an hour or so, he can hear one start up nearer.
"I can fight them, if you want. When they come." It's a man's voice.
"No." It's a woman.
"Sarah, how can I just let it happen."
"I'm going to talk to them. We can go together."
"Sarah—"
"Just tell them you'll go for free. I don't care what happens to me as long as we're together."
"Sarah, no one talks to them. You know what happens when you try."
"Just tell them you'll go for free."
"Come on. I'm not mine. I'm theirs. I can't give their property away for free."
"Don't talk like that." There's contempt in her voice.
"Sarah, that won't work. I'll have to fight, or they'll just take you—"
"And what?" She raises her voice. "Fight, and die? And I get to watch that and go alone and that's supposed to make it better?"
"Sarah…"
"I'd rather go alone and at least continue believing that you're alive. Listen—"
"Sarah, let's—"
"No!" There's urgency in her voice now. "No, Jason, you listen to me. I've got it. We're going to be separated. You can't die, you're not allowed to die. We're separated, but someday maybe we can escape. You get free, you go back to Kansas City. You remember? Home? You go back there and maybe we can be together again."
There's a long silence. When he speaks again, it's almost too quiet for Clint to hear.
"It's a good idea."
"I know."
"I hate it."
"I know."
"I can't watch you go."
"Well you're going to. For me."
It's quiet for a long time after that.
When the time comes, it's Ellie who breaks the silence. "Clara."
Clara doesn't say anything but he rolls his head over and looks at her. He's on the bench and Ellie is on the ground, leaning against the bars to the next cell, back to someone else, playing with the hem of her jacket.
"Is anyone you came with still here?"
Clara is mute for a few moments.
"We don't have to talk," says Ellie.
"I'd rather," says Clara. He shakes his head. "They never made it this far. We fought them. They fought them. I'm shit with a gun." He takes a deep breath. "They lamented…" He's talking about the slavers now, Clint can tell. "They lamented that I was the one who survived."
"Well their lamentations are worth dog shit," says Ellie.
Clara chuckles. "Yeah…" He chuckles again. "Yeah, that's right."
"It might not be pretty," says Clint, "but one way or another we're gonna get out of here. We have to. We have a mission."
Ellie looks at him with eyes that say that's enough.
"A mission?" asks Clara.
Clint twists his mouth. "All I'm saying is that when it happens, stay close to us. We can protect you."
"He didn't ask for protection," says Ellie.
"What, he's gonna stay here? He said he's shit with a gun."
"She," says Clara.
Clint looks at him.
"I prefer she."
"Oh." Clint can feel himself blushing. He doesn't really understand at all. Except what he needs to, he guesses. "Sorry. She." The dress makes more sense, now.
"It's going to be bloody." Ellie's voice is louder now, so that the rest can all hear her. "Make no mistake. Anyone who's afraid can stay in their cell. I'm sure they'll be glad to keep you. People will die." She looks at Clint. It's pretty stony. "Trust us."
Ellie looks over to Clara. Clara sighs. She's wants out, but she's scared. Clint gets it. She should never have been put into a situation like this. Ellie reaches out and squeezes her arm. Clara's brow pinches. It takes Clint a while, but he thinks he gets it. Confusion. Confusion at a little bit of hope.
The sun sets and it starts to get dark in the cells, then there's some electric buzzing and the lights flick on. A little while later, Anya comes back. She's got a bag in her left hand and an automatic rifle slung across her torso. Her eyes pass over the cells and she rolls them. She drops the bag on a counter in the center section. A delicious smell drifts to Clint's nose. Anya pushes a chair into position with her feet, but doesn't sit down. She starts pacing around the cells, slowly, inspecting each person in them. There's a… drift, to her movements. Almost a saunter. Clint furrows his brow. He's pretty sure she took Larry up on a couple of those rounds.
Ellie's up at edge of the cell, hands on the bars, watching her. When she gets close, Ellie addresses her.
"Hey bitch."
Anya looks at her, face devoid of amusement. She walks directly toward her.
"Remember when you slapped me?" says Ellie.
When Anya gets to her, she doesn't say anything, she just raises the gun and plants the barrel right into the indentation at the base of Ellie's throat. Her face is expressionless. "We don't like talkers around here." Ellie's lips move like she would speak and Anya jabs her with the barrel, silencing her. "Most of these ones have the good sense to recognize that, or can't you tell?
"Now unfortunately," she continues. There's a very slight slurring to her words. "I'm stuck with you all night. And it's going to be a quiet one." She puts on a nasty fake smile. "Okay?"
Anya finally retracts her gun, and turns to leave.
"How'd you join them?" asks Ellie. Anya turns back to her in disbelief. "I bet you got picked up. Too ugly to sell."
Anya closes in on the bars. Her eyes are pretty dangerous. "I can literally kill you, for any reason I want. All I have to say, is that you tried something. You dumb, fucking bitch. So shut. The fuck. Up."
Ellie smiles. "When I get out of here, I'm gonna kick your ass."
Anya is just shaking her head. "No, you aren't."
Ellie laughs. Anya's eyes go even wider.
Jesus, Ellie, what the fuck are you doing?
"You're right," says Ellie. "I lied. It's gonna happen before."
Ellie reaches out, grabs the sides of Anya's head, and begins slamming her face viciously into the bars.
"Holy fucking shit!" someone says.
Anya goes immediately for her gun, but her head is hitting the steel so brutally her hands go up to try to break Ellie's grip. Ellie's entire body is rocking back and forth, generating force. Anya's head is making a horrible, fleshy sound over and over. Wham, wham, wham, wham.
And after a few seconds, she goes limp.
"Oh my fucking god!" someone else says.
"That's right," says Ellie, as if comforting her. Still holding her head, face all bloody, Ellie begins lowering her to the ground. "That's a good bitch." She reaches out and detaches the key ring from her belt.
"Oh my god, she actually did it!"
Ellie fumbles with the keys for a while. She keeps looking furtively at the entrance, but there are no sounds yet. It takes a while, but eventually she finds the key, and the cell opens. She immediately turns and throws the keys to Clint. "Open the cells. Now."
Clint clutches the keys to his chest. He realizes his mouth is hanging open. He starts moving. Ellie is rummaging fiercely through the center counter area and all its shelves. She keeps cursing. After a couple cells, he realizes there's numbers on the keys. It helps.
Most people come out of the cells, some don't. Some are excited but they keep getting hushed. There are still no sounds of alarum from the entranceway. When Clint is finished with the first floor, he hears someone call him. It's a guy on the upper walkway, he holds out his hands, and Clint tosses him the keys.
"Where are the guns?" It's Ellie. She's not asking anyone in particular.
"Upstairs." It's a haggard man, thirtyish. He's got brown hair and a blue plaid shirt. "That way, you can hear them talking about it."
"Jason!" It's a pretty, blonde-haired woman of about the same age in blue jeans and a green jacket. Sarah.
"Babe, it has to be now."
"This isn't safe!"
"Clint!" Ellie is getting his attention, she's annoyed with him. When he gets to her she grabs his arm and pulls him in, whispering in his ear. "We are not leaders. We get out. That's plan A through Z. Now move. They can follow if they want but we do not die for them."
Clint nods.
Ellie leads him up the iron-grate spiral stairs on one side of the room. They step carefully, trying not to make their feet clang.
"Where's she going?"
"To get the guns, dumbass! Follow her!"
There's an exit hallway on the second floor as well. They follow it. Ellie's shoulders are hunched, and she's loping. She is in maximum fight mode. This is so sudden. Clint is not sure what mode he's in. But he knows what mode he needs to be in. He sets his jaw.
They turn a couple corners and reach an intersection, but at the end of the hall there's a blue, metal door with 'ARMORY' stenciled on it in black. Ellie walks right up to it, pulling out a key she apparently removed from the ring at some point. She turns the lock over and pushes the door open.
Thank god, there's no one inside. There are four vertical racks with all kinds of mismatching guns, there's a long counter in the back with parts and tools, and a long horizontal case on the left wall. There's probably a couple hundred guns in here. Ellie looks over the racks for a minute, then sees something in the corner that catches her eye. She walks over and picks up her pack, inspecting it. It hasn't been sorted yet. Her guns are even still on it. Clint can see his axe. He goes over and shoulders his own pack.
Others are following them into the room, not being as quiet as Clint would like. They start grabbing long guns.
"Ammo over here," one of them says. Jason is there.
Ellie pushes past them and goes out into the hallway. A crowd is forming at the end, less certain than the men grabbing guns. Clara is there, holding her elbows. One of the guys comes out of the armory with a handful, he starts handing them out. Sarah is standing by the wall, shoulders bunched and arms wrapped around her. She looks at them, but Ellie doesn't acknowledge her. Ellie speaks to him as if it's just them. "Still a chance to get out of there before this gets loud. Which way?"
Clint's about to point left when Jason comes out of the armory.
"I found a nine millimeter." He gives it to Sarah. Her hands wrap around it and her shoulders loosen up a little. Jason looks at Ellie. "Which way are you guys going?"
"Separate," says Ellie. She walks off to the left.
The building is pretty big, but quiet so far. The straight lamps cast a sickly white light over all the ugly blue tile and ratty brown carpet. They pass a bunch of dark offices. They're approaching a four way intersection when they finally hear voices. Ellie holds up her hand and they all stop. A bunch of people are following them. The voices become clearer.
"Like what?"
"I don't know, Kenny said he heard something. Footsteps or something."
"Like Anya?"
"No, a lot of footsteps."
Jason whispers. "What do we do?"
Two guys turn the corner in front of them. They both have rifles like Anya's. They pull up, stunned.
Ellie levels her gun. She shoots one in the head, and the other in the chest. They both drop. It's quiet again.
"Holy shit, they're dead."
"This chick is as cold as ice!"
Now they can hear distant yelling.
"Move!" growls Ellie.
They run to the intersection and look around. Fucking building is too big. There's windows, but they're still on the second floor. The voices grow louder, and a couple more turn the corner off to their left.
"Shit, they're armed!"
"Fire!"
They raise their automatic weapons and bullets start ripping through the air. Someone screams, and the crowd instinctively moves away to the right. Ellie goes straight, out of the guards' line of sight.
Jason starts shooting back and so does Clint. The guards move back behind the corner for cover. Clint gets one of them in the leg.
"Fuck!"
The other one starts roaring. "They're in here! They've got guns! Ring the fucking bell, now!"
"Jason." It's Sarah. Her arm's bleeding and he's shaking, leaning against the wall. Jason runs to her.
"Clint!" It's Ellie. She's looking at him like he's an idiot. Clint looks over to Sarah and Jason. When he looks back, there's something else in Ellie's eyes.
Too late.
She turns and starts running. Clint is about to follow her when he hears more footsteps, and three more guys appear the way they originally came from.
"Shoot!"
Clint dives for cover as bullets start flying. He rolls to his feet. He's next to Jason and Sarah, and a few others. There are bodies down. Clara is there, holding a gun, but she's terrified. They're still in line of sight of the first two and Clint knows what they're thinking. On cue, the uninjured one leans around the corner, raising his gun to provide crossfire, but he meets Clint's eyes. Clint rips off four shots. They all miss, but the guy pulls back around the corner.
"Advance!" It's the group of three.
"Move!" Clint roars. "Now!"
They pound the floor, and they're able to get around the next corner before the guards get a line on them, but they are not far behind. Through windows, Clint can see some kind of interior courtyard, and stairs leading down. One of the guys in the lead pulls the door open and they start filing through. Clara makes it, followed by Sarah.
The guards are going to get a line on them, quick. Clint holsters, reaches into his pack, pulls a grenade and the pin.
"Did you just hear—"
"Shut the fuck up! Move with me! Ready?"
They're right around the corner. Clint hurls it, and it bounces off the wall out of sight.
"Oh fuck!"
The explosion is deafening in the hallway. Dust and plaster fill the air, and a spurt of blood trails up one of the walls.
"Jesus!" says someone. Then there's shooting in the courtyard. Feet pound the pavement.
"Fuck, more of them!"
"Come on!" It's Jason. He's holding the door for Clint. Clint starts moving, then sees someone down the hall from Jason.
"Well that was real cute." It's the older man. Reg. He's holding a shotgun at hip height. He aims at Jason and pulls.
"Shit!" Jason twists through the doorway at the last second. Pellets bounce off the open metal door and Clint a can hear Jason fall down the stairs. Reg looks at him and aims.
At the last second Clint grabs the open door handle and gets behind it for cover. There's another boom and he can feel the impact against the door. Reg is advancing. Clint's heart is pounding. He reaches into his pack again. Reg must put two and two together, because he charges. Clint retracts his hand and rounds the door just in time to receive him.
He seizes the shotgun with both his hands. Reg's face is red with rage. He spits and Clint turns. It lands on his cheek. He wrenches the gun but Reg is fucking strong. They struggle for a second. Reg rears back for a headbutt, and Clint runs right into it.
The impact hurts like hell and blurs his vision. His glasses go flying off. But it does the trick and Reg lets go of the gun. Clint lands on his ass and hurls the gun behind him. A decision he instantly regrets.
Reg's face is bloody and he's half stunned. He looks at the tossed shotgun, then at Clint. As Clint gets to his feet, he reaches back and pulls out a sledge hammer. Clint has just enough time to pull out his axe to block Reg's first blow with both hands. He can feel the impact down to his feet. He cannot keep that up forever. He shoves Reg off and takes a swing. Reg takes a step back and it's enough time for Clint to run through the still-open door to the courtyard.
The landing isn't that big, maybe eight by eight feet. He can hear Reg coming and turns. He jumps back, just clearing a whistling blow from Reg's hammer that probably would have shattered his ribs. Reg has an ugly smile on his face. He swings the hammer again, but not with full force. Clint dodges. Reg is feeling him out. Clint feints him. Reg moves, but not dramatically. He steps into an easy stride and they're circling.
Clint can't say why, but he doesn't see him winning this fight in melee. There's a gun in his bag, but no time and the one in his holster fell out at some point. He can feel the weight missing on his leg.
"You kill my men," Reg growls. "In my prison. Mm." He shakes his head. He's wearing an evil look. "You should know I extract a price. For every one."
Clint glances down the stairs. The courtyard is quiet, the fighting is elsewhere now. Jason is collapsed in the corner landing. There's a lot of blood.
Reg advances and levels a mighty overhand swing that might shatter Clint's handle if he tried to block. Clint stumbles backward and pretends to fall down the stairs, half-sliding with his hand on the railing. He lands on Jason.
Reg still has a gun but he doesn't pull it. He hops down the steps gingerly with a wide smile. When he's close enough, Clint drops the axe, reaches over, and shoulders the shotgun that had been laying next to Jason. Reg's smile disappears.
"Well, here's your price." Clint pulls and Reg's face disappears.
The older man instantly drops to his knees, falling the rest of the way down the stairs and landing on top of Clint. The newly made gore of his wound is right in Clint's face. Blood gushes, covering his face in hot, sticky wetness. Some gets in his mouth.
Using every ounce of strength Clint has he throws Reg off of him, pulls himself up to the railing, and vomits forcefully down to the pavement below. He spits and sputters for a few seconds. He uses his shirt to wipe the blood from his eyes. He's panting. He looks at Jason. His eyes are glassy. He's gone.
Disoriented and somewhat numb, Clint stumbles the rest of the way down the stairs. He trudges across the courtyard into an open door. There's no one in the hallway. He walks for a while. At one point, he almost walks into an intersection but he can hear feet pounding his way around the corner. They're shouting. Around the corner and up the wall he can see a segment of a stair railing. He can see their feet as they pour up the stairs. They're not aware of him.
In front of him at the end of the hallway there's a little table with a vase in front of a window. He walks up to it. He grabs the table, lifts it, and moves it to the side, carefully so the vase won't fall. He looks at the window. He unlatches it, and lifts. It slides open easily. He climbs out.
He's between the outside of the building and a tall bush that runs around its perimeter. It's good cover. He crouches and starts moving along the building. He stops. He turns around, closes the window, then resumes. He turns a corner and Ellie is maybe twenty feet away.
She's hiding behind the bush like him. She turns, sees him, and recoils. She's disgusted. She beckons him. He walks over to her.
"Jesus, dude," she whispers. "What happened?"
Clint's breathing is somewhat steady, but he can't seem to speak. He keeps clasping his right hand, but it goes right back to shaking. Ellie is frowning at him. She reaches into her pack and pulls out a rag. She splashes alcohol on it. "God, clean yourself up."
Clint takes the rag, confused for a second. Ellie gestures about her face. Clint wipes his face all over with the rag. It feels a lot freaking better. For good measure, he reaches into his pack. The brandy is still there. He swishes some around his mouth and spits it out. The taste of the alcohol brings the nausea back, but he pushes it down.
He still doesn't feel like talking so they wait there for a while. Ellie is looking between cracks in the bushes. A couple times a truck drives by, headlights illuminating the bushes for a second.
"Didn't go too well, did it?" Ellie asks him. She's wearing a kind of permanent frown. "Back there."
It makes Clint more than a little angry but he shakes his head.
She gestures to the outside. "They're scattering. Trying to sneak away, through the city. I can hear some gunshots, here and there. There's a lot of these bastards. They're out in their trucks in hunting parties. They're methodical, which is bad for them.
"The next time I see a truck drive up that road, we'll follow them. They won't come up that way again for a while. We get to the horses, and we're clear."
Clint nods. He's feeling tired. He's ready for this night to be over.
It happens like Ellie called it. Maybe thirty minutes later another truck comes and drives up that road. She crawls under the bush and he follows her. They have to creep through the front yards of all the houses. There's good brush cover, but they don't need it. They can hear more infected, but they're all behind walls. The whole thing probably only takes an hour, but it might be the longest hour of Clint's life. The horses are sleeping when they get to them.
"Thank god they didn't find you," says Ellie, walking up to Eddie. She's finally starting to look relaxed. Eddie's eye cracks open. She goes on talking to him, more quiet. As he starts to rouse, he makes anxious noises and tosses his head. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry."
Clint goes over to Starbeam, untying her. "Hey girl." They weren't supposed to be here for so long. There's plenty of grass for them, but no water. They'll have to get them some, as soon as they can. He still feels bad for them. He looks. Ellie seems preoccupied with Eddie. It's not really his style, but he… He just…
He wraps his arms around Starbeam and holds her for a minute. Little trembles go through him now and then. She starts making noises and nudges him. "I'm sorry girl. We had a close call, back there." He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, not wanting Ellie to hear. He lets go of Starbeam and pats her. She's watching him. It almost looks like concern. "Alright, Ellie."
She turns to him.
"Let's get out of here before light."
"You said it."
They climb on the poor horses and start walking back up to the foothills. The stars are out in such force they could probably light their way by themselves. There's a sliver of moon to join them, though.
Sometime later the sun starts to rise, and it gets bright enough to see down into the city. "Hold on, Ellie," says Clint. He climbs off Starbeam. He doesn't know what compels him, but he pulls out his binoculars.
"What are you doing?"
"Just give me a minute." The binoculars are military grade. He has to up the magnification quite a bit, but he can see the streets. He sees a couple trucks moving back and forth. He can see the jail, but it's impossible to say what's going on in there. The slavers definitely didn't lose, though.
Then he sees. They're tiny, ant-like, but he can make them out. Up one of the empty streets, a woman with long, dark hair, broad shoulders and a maroon dress and jacket is marching, head hanging. Two armed men are escorting her back into town.
"See anything down there?"
Clint lowers the binoculars. He takes a breath and swallows. He keeps his voice even.
"No."
Ellie was right. It's worse out here than I remembered.
Those were some of the most evil pieces of shit I've ever met. That Reg guy, damn. I'm glad he's dead, but I'm sorry I was the one who had to do it. The way he went out, god. I want to hurl right now.
Fuck, I barely held it together that night. Fucking glad I did though. I mean, I'm not sure Ellie really needs me, but I told myself I wasn't going to fail her, and I'm not. It's a miracle I found her like that. Lucky for me.
Holy shit. I mean, that was a hot mess, but we made it out of Grand Junction. With a new lead. We're actually doing it. Portland. Mom told me once that she went hiking in the Pacific Northwest when she as a teenager. She said it was gorgeous. I'm actually looking forward to it.
Ellie is brushing Eddie again. Shit, I need to brush Starbeam. Ellie takes such good care of him. They're… sounds silly, but they're close, I can tell. Sometimes Ellie gets… like, she's carrying a lot, and sometimes it weighs on her. She could talk to me, but she doesn't. I don't ask. I sense boundaries. But she'll go straight to Eddie. He's a good horse. Funny. He's scared of squirrels! What the fuck? Ellie told me not to tease him about it. Weirdo.
There's also… the thing. I hesitate to write about it. Ellie's sneaky. I can't be sure she won't dig this up and read it when I'm off taking a dump. Whatever she said about hers…
Right, Ellie?
Did I get you? You have to tell me if I got you.
So yeah, the thing. It's under control, pretty much. I won't let it get bad. Yeah. It's good.
Ellie's been weird since Grand Junction, though. I don't know what it is. I know I should just ask but she can be prickly, right?
Ah, man. Why people gotta have feelings?
Ellie squats over the new-made fire. It's a good camp. They're a few days West of Grand Junction. Still avoiding trader trails, they're moving up and down foothills. There are streams and decent tree cover. Little slower going but better than the wide open plains. Today they're under a grove of tall pines. There's animal sounds, which means no infected. The air is green, and fresh. It feels really good. Plus she shot a rabbit and Clint found good mushrooms, so it'll be soup for dinner.
Just one thing souring the mood. She looks over her shoulder. Clint is brushing Starbeam. He's started doing it more often. Probably because of her and Eddie. Cute. He makes an effort, she'll give him that.
She doesn't really want to do it, but the thing is stuck in her chest and she knows she needs to get it out. The fire's good. Won't need tending for a while.
"Clint," she says. He turns to her. She stands up. "Would you come over here?"
He hesitates, eyeing her, but in the end he drops the brush and walks over, hands on his hips. "What's up?"
"Grand Junction."
He frowns, not following. "I was there. What about it?"
"You fucked up."
His frown deepens. His face tweaks as he chews on it. "Well shit, Ellie. The whole thing was a mess. It got ugly, yeah. Had some close calls. But I made it. On my own, practically, like you. So how the hell did I fuck up?"
"When the moment came. The critical one. You hesitated."
His face firms up and his body goes still. He's taking it more seriously. "Which moment?"
"I don't think you need me to tell you which one."
She can see him standing there, in the middle of the fucking intersection, maximum exposure. She's being patient, she really is. The time is now. We move or die. She gets his attention. And what does he do?
He looks at Jason and Sarah.
He's defensive. He doesn't like the position he's in but he can't seem to think of a good argument. "You're angry because I was worried about a couple people?"
"I'm angry," she says, closing the distance between them, "because you hesitated. Clint, you haven't been out here as long as I have. You don't understand that's all it takes. One moment. One slip-up. And bang. You're dead. I've seen it happen a hundred times."
Mostly on the other end of my knife.
He does that thing where he flexes his right arm. He thinks for a couple seconds. "Those who go alone, will die," he ends up saying, with ridiculous solemnity. "We were with a group of people, and when that happens, there's an unspoken contract. We protect each other. I offered Clara my protection."
"I don't give a fuck about Clara!" She's raising her voice now. "We have a mission. Or did you forget that?" It takes him a couple seconds to realize she's mocking him. "But at the end of the day, it isn't your mission, Clint." She bares her forearm, showing him. "It's mine." She's getting through to him. She goes ahead and says it.
"And if you're not taking this as seriously as I am. If I think, for one second, that you are going to get you or both of us killed…" His face is only a foot away. "Then I will ditch you, and you will never, ever see me again."
His face is still for a few moments. His lip starts trembling. It pulls up in a half snarl. When he speaks, it almost doesn't sound like Clint.
"How the fuck are you gonna say something like that to me."
Ellie's nonplussed for a second. It's not the reaction she expected at all. She has no idea how to respond and Clint just turns around and walks away, fists clenched.
He's gone for half an hour.
When he comes crunching back through the underbrush, Ellie is whittling a stick by the fire. The soup's ready. She doesn't like this position at all. She was chastising him. Why does she feel like this?
He plops down against a log opposite her. His limbs aren't as stiff, and he's not as angry. He looks at her. "Life or death, huh?"
She doesn't know what he means and she doesn't respond.
"Nothing gets in the way of Ellie's mission. Ellie's, mission."
It doesn't feel good, and he isn't making it easy. But there's only one thing to say. "That's right."
He sighs. "You're not a very good partner."
Fuck you. "I know."
"But I'm not going anywhere."
The logs crackle under the whistling orange flames.
"And neither are you," he continues. "Because I'm not going to fuck this up. I've decided." He reaches into his pack and pulls out his tin mug. He dips it into the pot and pulls out some soup. "And when Clint decides something, that something comes to pass."
"Oh," says Ellie, relieved he's lightening the mood. "Well I didn't realize you'd decided." She pulls out her own mug and fills it with soup. There's no seasoning at all but it still beats most of their meals. "I didn't…" she starts, then regrets starting at all. She winces. "I didn't think you'd react like that."
"It was personal, for me. Don't ask why, it doesn't matter. You said what you felt you needed to. I'm glad you did, you've been acting weird for days."
"No I haven't."
"Oh, yeah." He chuckles. "Must have my eyes on crooked."
"Weird like how?"
"Weird as in you talk to me like you're on patrol with that guy you don't like."
"Oh, don't be…" She looks at the soup in her cup. Damn it, why do you have to be so…
"What?" He's looking at her almost in disbelief. "Don't be so sensitive? Is that what you were gonna say?"
She rolls her eyes. This dude is impossible.
"You're a butthole," he says. He gives her another one of his stupid looks. "I've decided."
"Oh no, he's decided."
"We're good," he says. He's looking at the fire, but there's some determination there. "No more hesitation."
It'll have to be enough.
The mood doesn't really rise that high. They're both still feeling Grand Junction, after all. Why did he have to bring up Clara? The soup is good, though. And the stars come out. No clouds today. They call it an early night.