Hello everyone, and welcome to the sequel for I'm Not Letting You Go! I'm really happy for all the positive response the previous fic had and I'm really glad for the response of the first chapter of this one. I didn't have an author's note in the previous chapter because I wanted it to be a cold opening, but I'm really happy about the turnout! You guys are the bomb!

First off, I'm going to address the point of view. Unlike I'm Not Letting You Go, where the entire story was from Ellie's point of view and the story was told in sequence, I'm going to be switching back and forth between multiple characters. Not only that, some chapters will go back in time to tell the stories of Amanda and Elizabeth, neither of whom were fully fleshed out, but I will let you know immediately when a flashback chapter comes out.

Secondly, I'm going to address the title. It was inspired by the song Bartholomew by The Silent Comedy. Bartholomew deals with the struggle against the onslaught of the world, including one's own choices. Last time, the main theme was guilt, redemption, and forgiveness, but this time its more about struggling to survive, as well as the basic themes in The Last of Us. I wanted the title to convey the sense of the theme of this fic and I hope it comes across.

Thirdly, other than the summary, I shall not put warnings about the content of certain chapters. This is because I want things to come as a shock to people. I really wish to be considerate to everyone, but in novels, movies, and video games, the only warning you get is the rating on the package or the section you find in in the store. This means that my author's notes are going to be a bit more sporadic and there might only be a few.

Finally, I hope you enjoy this chapter and this fic.

Chapter 2: Captured

(Late Summer, Pacific Northwest)

"Keep moving," Fredricks grumbled roughly. Elizabeth trudged forward, keeping her eyes locked onto the path ahead. Fredricks was a dark man, probably in his mid forties. Elizabeth, however, was still at the age where anyone with a wrinkle was 'old.' The 'old' man wore navy blue military fatigues, black combat armor and boots, held a shotgun in his hand, and had a revolver secured in a holster on his right thigh. Elizabeth didn't look nearly as prepared for battle compared to him, considering she wore only a grey hoodie, a black t-shirt underneath, dirty, rough skinny jeans, and old work boots. Even though she was much lighter in skin-tone than him, the two of them could have passed off as father and daughter.

Which was funny to her because she was currently plotting to kill him.

He was one of the soldier's men and had captured her when she had stumbled on Riley's grave sight in her haste to get away. How he had snuck up on her on an open hilltop, she didn't know. But what she did know was that he had basically all of her worldly possessions. The only thing she was allowed to carry was her backpack and the spare set of clothes inside. Her pistol, her lockpick set, her supplies, and the mementos of her father were all tucked away in little back corners on Fredricks' person.

Still, she considered herself lucky. When he'd captured her, he'd said he couldn't tie her up due to a 'lack of equipment' and that he'd keep her unharmed due to 'protocol'. He could have done any number of things to her if he wanted. But all he did was put her on a forced march north, occasionally nudging her with the barrel of his shotgun when she'd slow down or stop.

But he was also working with the soldier. Before she had fled, she had seen them mercilessly butcher her neighbors. Her friends. She saw Marcus cut down in a burst of machine gun fire. She saw one of them split her neighbor Ron's head with a machete. Another clubbed a fleeing woman and began to savagely strike her over and over until Elizabeth put a bullet through his throat.

I hope Ellie made it.

That was perhaps the most painful part of the Jackson massacre. She didn't know who made it out. After all, the residents of Jackson gave as good as they got, even though the soldier had a tank and about a hundred fully armed and armored men. It looked like the fight might start turning in Jackson's favor after the tank exploded. Then, the infected showed and stole victory from both sides. That was the thing about them. No matter what happened, they would inevitably show up and kill whatever they could find. Ironically, the chaos of the infected making their appearance allowed Elizabeth to make her escape.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

She felt metal press against her back, a short, sharp shove. She stumbled forward, but caught herself and resumed walking.

"I'm walking," she grumbled.

"Not fast enough if we want to make the rendezvous point by nightfall," her captor growled.

"You afraid your soldier buddies are going to leave you behind?"

"If we don't get there by 0900 tomorrow morning, yes they will. If that happens, it won't end well for you."

She fought the urge to turn around and stop, "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't have the resources to support two people on a trek all the way back to Chicago with no working vehicles. I can't afford to leave you to your own devices either. So I'll have to...consolidate."

"Pretty way of saying you'll leave me for dead in a ditch," even though her tone was sarcastic and dismissive, she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. Her pace quickened a little.

"That's right, so you'd better hurry up."

That made it imperative. She had to escape. She had to escape as soon as humanly possible. She sped up a little more.

"That's more like it. Keep that up and we should make it in time."

She sped up a little more, taking quick, long strides.

"Hey."

Fear's icy grip began to strangle her heart and her throat. She had to escape. It didn't matter that he had all of her stuff. If she didn't leave him, she was going to die, sooner rather than later.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

She spun around and kicked hard. Her boot found his knee and the blow knocked him to the ground. She leapt over him and began to run, heart pounding, fighting a scream.

"Motherfucker!" he roared as he scrambled back to his feet and gave chase, "Get back here, goddammit!"

She sped through the woods back the way they came. She had to lose him. There had been a stream they'd come across about ten minutes ago. She could go through there. She burst out of the woods onto the bank of the stream and ran into the water. The mountain runoff chilled her to the bone, but she was too warm from her panic. I might make just make it!

He caught her about halfway across the stream.

"Come here!"

Steel arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her to him. He hauled her up in the air, her thrashing sending water spraying in all directions. He pulled her back toward the riverbank. She thrust her elbow toward the side of his head. Her aim was true. The blow connected, striking the plastic and metal of his combat helmet. His grip loosened and she thrashed even harder, trying to wiggle free of his grip.

One arm released her. But before she could exploit it, steely fingers grasped her wrist, brought her arm behind her, and pushed it up against her back. Pain lanced from her shoulder all the way to her fingertips.

She was completely at his mercy.

He dragged her the rest of the way to the riverbank and dumped her onto the sandy ground, spitting curses. She saw that he'd dumped his weapons so that they'd stay dry. She reached out for the closest gun. His boot landed on her wrist, trapping her hand. She heard a gun cock. She looked up to a drenched, furious Fredricks pointing her pistol at her head.

"Lost my fucking corn because of you running off like that," he snarled. He reached down to his hip, grasping at empty air. She remembered suddenly that he'd had a radio. His expression twisted even more. There was no doubt he was absolutely livid. His boot pressed down hard on her wrist. He bent down and retrieved his other weapons, putting them back where they belonged.

His hand grabbed her by the collar and he hoisted her up to her feet before shoving her northward. His hand kept a grip on her collar.

"Move."

The fire crackled loudly in the night, painting strange shadow productions onto the surrounding trees. It might have been pretty. Or spooky. But Elizabeth didn't really care right at that moment. She stared at the man who tended the fire. He sat on a log, bent forward with his hands tossing wood into the flames, his shotgun cradled in his lap. His helmet sat beside him, allowing her to see his shaved head. He sat back and sighed, turning the spit roasted rabbit. Elizabeth shifted on her log, rubbing her wrists, extending her hands toward the fire to warm them. Fredricks grunted as he reached behind him, yanked her pistol from his pants, and set it on the log right by his helmet. He turned the spit roast again.

Elizabeth's eyes fell on the pistol.

"Don't even think about it."

She looked up to see that his shotgun had been angled in his lap just so that the barrel pointed directly at her in a not-so-subtle threat. She saw that his finger rested just above the trigger, tapping the metal. His brown eyes glowed in the firelight as he glared at her, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"I need my gun back," she said flatly.

"That's too fucking bad."

He returned to the rabbit. Elizabeth sat and watched him sourly, "We're both gonna die out here with a fire like this. Someone could be sneaking up on us right now."

"If I don't have any energy, I can't outrun or outfight anything that catches us in the day. I'd be eating fucking corn in pitch black darkness if you hadn't tried to run off."

As time drew on, Elizabeth got the sneaking suspicion he wouldn't share any with her because of her escape attempt. That was a shame, because she was damn hungry. She rubbed her hands and looked at her pistol again.

"Look at it again and you won't get any of this rabbit."

This fucking guy.

She gave him a glare. He'd tightened his leash on her since her escape attempt, and it wasn't that long to begin with. It was stupid, running off like that. Nice going, Elizabeth.

Fredricks continued his work on the rabbit, which was smelling better and better by the minute.

"Fucking soldier and his fucking rearguard," he muttered to himself, "Wouldn't be slogging through the fucking woods if it weren't for those fucks."

He pulled the rabbit off the spit. The rabbit's meat was a juicy reddish brown, dripping with its own grease. It sizzled as some of it dripped into the fire. Elizabeth could smell the grease and the fire's burning embers. She went from furious to ready to beg on her knees in half a second. She saw him reach over to the hunting knife embedded in the log on his other side and wrench it free from the wood. He gently removed the rabbit from the spit and sawed it neatly in two down the middle. He speared one of the halves with a long, sharpened stick she just noticed, and held it out toward Elizabeth. She snatched the meat right off the stick when it got close enough to her and tore directly into it.

Fredricks coughed, loudly. Too loudly to be an accident. Elizabeth looked up at him from her meal.

"Aren't you supposed to say something?" his hard look told her he was not joking.

She swallowed a hunk of meat and her pride, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said bitterly before diving into his own rabbit.

They both devoured their food in silence, the meager meal sating their starving stomachs. As she ate, Elizabeth stared at the pistol on the log.

If I could just get to it...

Should you?

She looked up at Fredricks. He was too focused on his rabbit meat. His shotgun pointed away from her as he shifted on the log to get better purchase on the rabbit meat.

Now would be an excellent time.

Are you fucking crazy? He'll kill you, not to mention it's poor form to shoot the guy who just gave you half his food.

So? He and his friends burnt Jackson to the ground. They tried to take Ellie away and kill her!

She looked from Fredricks to the gun. He was distracted. It was now or never.

Elizabeth chose now.

She lunged from her seat toward the pistol, hands outstretched. Fredricks reacted faster than she could blink. Her fingers brushed the barrel of the pistol right before something hard collided with the side of her head, knocking her aside and knocking her senseless. She scrambled to get to her feet and go for the gun, but as she got to her knees, a boot pushed against her back, forcing her back down on her front. She looked up over her shoulder to see Fredricks, his face contorted with anger, her pistol in one hand, his helmet in the other. She realized that he'd hit her with the helmet.

"What the fuck did I say?" he growled, livid, "Two fucking stunts in six fucking hours?!"

He tossed his helmet aside and turned her over on her back. As he bent forward, she snagged a rock in her fist. He grabbed her by the collar of her hoodie and jerked her to her feet, placing the barrel of her pistol to her forehead. His eyes burned with fury. She was about to strike him with the rock, but he pulled the hammer back on the pistol with a menacing click. His eyes glanced toward her armed hand.

"Try it."

She got a good look into his eyes. A good, long look. She assumed that the soldier's men had simply been assholes, no more than hunters or bandits or other survivors. People eeking out an existence in a crumbling world. But now, as she looked, she saw a lifetime of pain, murder, and torture. He was an automation of death. He could kill her with no hesitation. But she also saw the humanity, hiding like a small star in the swirling night sky.

He didn't want to have to kill her.

The stone fell from trembling fingers and hit the ground with a soft thump.

He pulled the pistol away from her head, de-cocked the pistol, and tucked it in his waistband before dragging her back to her seat and forcing her to sit down. He went over and scooped his meal from off the ground.

"Made me drop my rabbit, God dammit."

She looked him over with a new perspective. Maybe, just maybe, she'd survive.