The Years Between

by Tulvarsi

When Joel and Ellie return to Jackson, not everyone shares his brother's enthusiasm over their arrival.

7. The Museum

I used to have this recurring nightmare about being naked in public.

It was never about stage fright or speaking in front of a crowd, but just ordinary, everyday situations from before the world ended. Like I'd be out shopping for groceries and suddenly realize I am completely naked, standing in the middle of an aisle putting something in my basket while fully exposed. Somehow I am always the only one who didn't realize I was naked and it's too late to escape unnoticed, because everyone is already staring and whispering and fully aware of every inch of my body I would normally keep covered.

This trip is like living out that exact nightmare, except instead of shopping for groceries, I am traveling through unknown regions to check an abandoned museum for potential Infected - and instead of being surrounded by random strangers, I am truly alone with Joel.

By the time the reality of what I have agreed to hits me, we are much too far from home to turn back. There is a drastic difference between marveling at the Teton peaks from within fortressed walls and riding fully unguarded through their winding trails. Within the very first miles of our journey, I have an intense awareness of how completely vulnerable we are to any awaiting attack. There are no defensive walls or back up patrols aiding us in an ambush. In the vast expanse of trees and grass and rocks around us, I am immensely small.

"Looks like we've gotta go on foot from here," Joel slows his horse to a halt as we approach an embankment. Ahead, a river flows quietly through a ravine of moss covered stone that snakes out of sight. There is no way the horses can safely traverse the narrow ledges and the water is much too deep to walk through.

"Are you sure there isn't another way?" The idea of navigating this more challenging terrain gives me pause. Up until now, the journey has been fairly smooth with minimal stretches of difficult landscape and a few wild animals bringing the biggest threat.

"Pretty sure," He throws his legs over the saddle and slides to the ground, locating a safe spot to secure the horses. "Shouldn't be too much farther accordin' to the map,"

Maria gave us a map of the area that she marked with the clearest possible path to the museum. The directions only became vague once reaching the river since everyone usually took a wide path around the area. I follow his lead and dismount, attempting to ignore the way my pulse is slowly elevating. Considering it has been years since I've traveled outside Jackson County, I have relied on Joel's navigation skills over the past two days of our journey. He managed to keep both himself and Ellie alive traveling from Boston to Jackson to wherever they went after the dam and back in the past year, so I would say his experience outweighs my own.

I shift the straps on my shoulders to adjust my pack before following Joel toward the edge of the ravine. A thin path winds adjacent to the side of the river, leading us along the bank. Patches of grass give way to slick, mossy stone that threatens to loosen our footing.

"Will Ellie be up for all this?" My hand grasps firmly to the rock face beside me as we move around a corner. "The traveling, I mean. This hasn't been a short trip,"

"We've been through worse," Joel approaches a pine tree whose branches are obscuring our path and gently bends the largest one down, motioning for me to pass him. I turn slightly to the side and scoot past, my stomach feeling as though it may flip upside down when I realize how far the drop is behind me. The rough calluses on his fingers graze my skin as his free hand grasps right above my elbow to keep me steady until I pass.

"I just hope this is going to be worth it," I admit as we continue forward. The thought has lingered continuously in the back of my mind that this could all be for naught. We could find nothing worth seeing or be unable to even approach if the place is swarmed with Infected.

"Quite the optimist…" He says in a mocking tone.

"I'm a realist, thank you very much," The path in front of us ends as the ledge blends back into the wall of the ravine, which is much too tall to climb. A few feet below us, the river rolls along gently, a fallen tree laying across the water like a crumbling bridge. "And how exactly do we get across that?"

"You a strong swimmer?" Joel begins to sit down, hanging his legs over the edge while assessing the height of the drop below.

"I mean, I'm not winning any medals anytime soon, but I can keep myself from drowning,"

I am not scared of swimming, I just did not anticipate that being part of the deal. Before I can begin to suggest an alternative plan, he slides off the edge and hits the water with an echoing splash.

"And what would you have done if I had said I can't swim?" I call down to him, watching him tread water while waiting on me to jump in.

"You can swim," He shrugs, not concerned by this hypothetical situation I present.

"But if I couldn't?" I repeat, stalling as long as possible from joining him.

"Will you just jump off the damn ledge already?"

Here goes nothing. But I'm not going to jump.
Following his lead once again, I sit down on the ledge and allow my legs to hang, then push off with my hands and fall carefully into the water below. A brief shock seizes my body as I break through the surface, the coolness of the water a stark contrast to the warm sunlight above. I manage to keep my head above water, using my arms to push through the rippling surface and keep myself afloat.

"See? You can swim," He doesn't wait for any retort I may have, instead swimming toward the broken tree to find a way around. He disappears beneath the surface without warning, tiny bubbles rising where he had just been. A few seconds later, he resurfaces and wipes the water from his eyes. "We can dive under here to get on the other side."

"Couldn't we just climb over?" I nod toward the lowest point of the tree, which has a deep opening that has broken open along the surface.

"It won't hold," He shakes his head. "Just follow me. There's an opening underneath that we can both fit through."

The world goes silent, muffled as I dive under after him. My eyes sting as I force them open and take in as much of the murky shadows before me and see his blurry form go under the tree and begin to resurface. Rising above the water causes a temporary overload to my senses, with the warmth of the sun enveloping my face as the sounds of the surrounding forest flood my ears and tiny droplets run down my forehead and over my face.

"You alright?" Joel calls back over his shoulder as he swims to the edge where a new path forms out of the rocks rising from the water. I follow as quickly as possible, anxious to get back onto land.

"I'm great," My soaked clothes hang heavy on my body now that I am out of the water, dripping on the ground below with each step. "You know, I don't remember the last time I went swimming,"

"Last week,"

"Excuse me?"

"Last week," Joel repeats, moving around a fallen log disrupting our path. "I've been teaching Ellie how to swim out at the lake near the mountain lodge."

It never occurred to me that Ellie wouldn't know how to swim. It makes sense though based on everything she has told me about herself. Swimming would not generally be on the lesson plans at military schools in any QZ. For a brief moment, I try to imagine Joel engaging in such a parental activity and the idea is unexpectedly endearing. I am brought back into the moment by an abrupt yet subtle splash…he's back in the water again.

"Again?!" He does not hear my dismay since he has once again disappeared beneath the surface to assess the way ahead. The path we are on slants straight into the water, offering no way to continue on land. Where the two sides of the ravine meet several feet out into the water, a natural archway forms. I already know what he is going to say before he ever returns.

"One more dive. There's a spot on the other side that should be our way out,"

Thankfully, there is no jump this time and I am able to simply ease myself into the water. Once the bed is too deep for my feet to reach, I dive into the depths and swim after him like before. This underwater tunnel runs slightly longer than the previous, but it does lead directly out, just like he said.

Joel reaches above his head, gripping firmly to the jagged ledge while using the exposed roots along the bank to boost himself up. He steadies himself before squatting down and extending his hand in my direction.

"Take my hand. I'll pull you up."

His grip is surprisingly strong, grasping my hand in his while bracing the other beneath my elbow to pull me out. I copy his method of using the roots to leverage my weight, relieving some of the burden from him as he guides me up from the water. It is only once I am pulled to eye level with his shoulder that I realize how muscular he actually is. The drenched material of his shirt clings to his skin, accentuating each tensed muscle across his chest and biceps as he hoists me up onto the ledge. Even being at a disadvantaged angle from above, he does not appear to struggle to lift me.

If there is anything the past three days have caused me to do, it is notice him. Being away from Jackson means being away from all thoughts of gardens and chicken coops and anyone who may be around to interject in conversations. When you are traveling days on end with only one other person, it's impossible to not notice things about your companion that may have slipped by before, like how he will always stop to point out wild animals along the path, even the dangerous ones as long as we are at a safe distance - or how the sleeves of his shirt strain against the contours of the muscle beneath…

"Everything okay?" His head tilts slightly down towards mine, assessing me for injuries as I sit next to him. My cheeks flush with warmth as I realize I am still staring at his arm, having fallen into some kind of disassociation for a moment.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," I stand a little too quickly in an attempt to recover from the fact that I have clearly been staring for an inappropriate amount of time. "Let's keep going. It can't be too much farther, right?"

"Should be in this area somewhere," Joel clears the log behind us and lands firmly on his feet, waiting for me to follow. My landing is not quite as smooth, but I consider it a success that I do not fall on my face.

A dense line of trees ahead make way to an opening, the afternoon sun revealing the space behind. Overgrown grass and weeds brush against my knees as the soft ground grips the soles of my boots with each step along the path ahead.

We are definitely in the right place.

"Well, I'll be damned…" Joel mutters in amazement, staring up at the marvel before us.
It's a dinosaur. A colossal stone tyrannosaurus rex whose color has faded after decades of neglect, legs covered in twisting vines that have taken root in the water below.

"That's a fucking huge dinosaur," I wade forward into the circle of water surrounding the statue, which splashes against my knees with each step. A large building sits nestled in the shadows adjacent to the dinosaur, as though it is protected by the surrounding trees.

"I'd say we're in the right place," Joel walks under the shadow of the dinosaur's head and ascends the steps.

The double doors and wall of floor to ceiling windows have been completely shattered, leading directly to the open lobby. Grass creeps up through the cracks in the floor, scattered in patches among empty display racks and two tall shelves still holding a handful of plastic souvenirs. Fake foliage peaks up from a row of benches along the back wall, leaves made of dark green plastic to resemble ancient ferns. Along the wall behind two dinosaur skeletons, a faded mural reveals our location: Wyoming Museum of Science and History.

Everything is quiet, the only sounds filling the space come from the broken glass that crunches beneath our boots and the ambient noises of the forest outside. The air is thick with the musky scent of dirt and mildew.

"I don't see any spores," I share my slight reassurance as we walk cautiously around the lobby, observing the aging posters announcing the dinosaur exhibit that was installed only months before everything changed. "That's a good sign,"

"So far," Joel slides his rifle from his shoulder, but he does not grip it with urgency. His mannerisms are habitual, calmly yet deliberately moving to check the office space behind the front desk and scoping out the hallway that winds behind the main wall. "We still need to be careful until we are sure the place is clear,"

I follow him down the first hallway, which is lined with large, transparent panels engraved with the names of donors long gone. Opposite the panels, a collection of smaller dinosaur skeletons sit in formation on their display stand. Joel steadies the rifle against his shoulder, hands gripping firmly as he turns the corner to the next room.

The exhibit hall is covered by a two story ceiling made almost entirely out of a sunroof coated in a thick, yellow film that bathes the room in a blanket of soft light. Vines snake up the walls and around display barriers, mingling with the fake foliage scattered throughout. The room is filled with fossils making up dinosaurs of all shapes and sizes. The largest three sit together in the center, the neck of the tallest stretching all the way up to the second floor landing above. Several small hallways shoot off this main space, which means we will need to secure each one to be sure nothing hides within. As much as I want to explore the decaying exhibit before us, we cannot let our guard down. We choose to briefly separate, with Joel covering the left half of the space while I take the right.

Some skills just come back to you even after years lying dormant. Like riding a bike, as people like to say. It is as though my mind goes into autopilot as I step from room to room, staring down the scope of the rifle I have adjusted to carrying on this trip. Step, aim, breathe, step again. The process repeats like a stringent dance ingrained into my memory.

"All clear!" I call out, returning the gun to its secure place over my shoulder and making my way back to the main hall. He must not have found anything of note since I see him heading back in the same direction without any sign of stress.

Age and nature seem to be the only things that have aided the deterioration of this place. Paint fades and chips and foliage creeps through fractured walls, but the displays remain otherwise intact. Honestly, I expected to find a building full of vandalized, empty exhibits, but these dinosaurs stand as fully intact as the day they were installed.

"I can't believe it's all still standing like this," I place my hands on my hips while gazing up the neck of the tallest fossil. "I guess there's no use in looting old bones…"

"Fake, old bones," Joel follows my gaze as he approaches, observing the same towering creature and not noticing the confused look on my face.

"Fake? What are you talking about?"

"Most skeletons like this are fake," He explains, crossing his arms and nodding to the substantial leg bones in front of us. "They would make replicas of the real thing for a lot of reasons, but mostly because bones are so damn heavy. If that skull were real, it'd not only be damn hard to mount that far up, but a huge fuckin' liability. If it fell and took out a group of kids on a field trip, this place would've never recovered."

"Alright then, Mr. Curator," I tease, my confusion turning to amusement at this random piece of knowledge. "I didn't realize you were such an expert on museum procedure."

"I happen to know a thing or two, thank you very much."

"Why do you know so much about fake dinosaur bones?"

He hesitates for a moment, his expression shifting as a memory resonates.

"My daughter loved these kinds of places," The corner of his mouth perks with a soft, wistful smile, an expression so subtle that I barely catch it. "We probably went to every damned museum in Texas…"

We don't talk about the past. It's an unspoken rule set in place once our card games became a recurring event. Our connection exists within the confines of Jackson, comprised of crop rotations, patrol assignments, and occasional town gossip. Sharing this memory is a step into new territory which I am unprepared to traverse.

He must know that I know. Tommy doesn't talk about his niece a lot, but is not hesitant to share favorite memories he made with her and Joel. He blames Joel's violent behavior and callous disposition on her death. When he lost his daughter, he lost his whole world.
Maybe I am just as depraved as I have always believed Joel to be, because even knowing this part of his past never changed my opinion of him. Tragedy and loss have touched every one of us. It's not an excuse to inflict that suffering on everyone else.

But watching him as he reflects in this moment causes something in me to shift. The version of Joel I have come to accept is the man he is now, the one who gives his time to neighbors and teaches Ellie how to swim and absolutely devastates me at gin. When we don't discuss the past, it becomes easier to compartmentalize and separate Joel, my Jackson neighbor from Joel, the murderous smuggler. If he's suddenly ready to bridge into things from before, that line becomes much harder to define.

"Should we check the upstairs?" My movement toward the stairs is abrupt, ending any and all possibility of exploring the more vulnerable aspects of our lives. It takes him a moment to follow me, probably because he did not expect me to dismiss him like this. I realize my response was unintentionally rude, but it is too late to change it now so I just keep moving.

The round staircase leads to the landing we saw from below, the dinosaur skull staring straight toward us from over the railing. To the right, a dark hallway directs us to the next exhibit hall and past a largely overgrown mural titled Extinction.

I don't even bother attempting to move the rusting turnstile guarding the hall, instead vaulting over it before bringing my rifle back into position. The tight walls are painted pure black, splattered with images of stars across a galaxy. The smell of dust and mildew continues to grow stronger with each step, but there are still no spores in sight which puts me mostly at ease.

It should have been evident from the hallway of stars and foreboding story of extinction that led us to this spot, but the next exhibit is all about space. Models of planets sit on top of a hand operated carousel beside a model of the moon resembling a giant beach ball. Spaceships and rovers fill the rest of the room, walking each visitor through the timeline of space exploration.

Ellie is obsessed with space. I've spent many afternoons in the greenhouses with her listening to the latest facts she has learned from the books available in the Jackson library. Honestly, I've learned more from her than I ever did in school. Her enthusiasm for the subject makes even the most boring facts a little more interesting to me.

"Joel, she's going to love this," I tell him, and for the first time since we started on this trip, I am genuinely smiling. Any discomfort that formed between us in recent moments is gone the moment he sees the room.

For a moment, we both forget we are clearing this floor for potential threats. The discovery before us is beyond what we could have ever hoped and I am hit with a twinge of regret that I will not be here when they return and Ellie experiences it herself.

The layout of this floor is open enough to see from where we stand, no evidence of Infected or other threats.

"What do you think that is?" Joel points to a large, bulb shaped pod in the adjacent space. The vines from the level below have broken through, ensnaring the rusted pod and holding it in place. It's a perfect replica of a space capsule, spotlighted by the warm light from the sunroof.

"I bet you can get inside it," There is a handle attached to the hatch on the front next to a window that has clouded and obscured the view inside. "Let's see if that handle will budge."

I grasp the handle with both hands and place one foot against the side of the capsule, tugging with every bit of strength I can muster. It has probably been years since anyone tried to move the hatch, causing the hinges to become rigid. Even so, I can feel it attempting to shift. It will just take some effort. Joel steps forward and waits patiently while I make another attempt before stepping back to catch my breath. My palms are red from straining against the handle.

"Got it started for you," I tell him, leaning forward slightly to rest my hands on my knees while catching my breath. He only smirks at me before grabbing the handle. The hatch opens with a creak that reverberates off the displays. A cloud of dust erupts and surrounds us, which we quickly brush away before looking inside. The interior of the capsule contains two seats lying flat along the floor surrounded by control panels filled with all kinds of buttons and levers.

"Ladies first," Joel takes a step back and gestures to the opening, expecting me to step up and climb in. I slide my pack from my shoulders and rest the bag along with my rifle against the base of the capsule, then prepare to enter the rather small hatch.

"You better slide that pack off," I nod to him, hands holding onto the top of the opening as I swing both legs inside. "It's not going to fit in here with you."

"Oh, I ain't goin' in there," He shakes his head, leaning against the rusted frame as he watches me find the best position to slide into one of the seats. "You check it out and let me know what you think."

"What I think is that you're coming in and forming your own opinion. You know Ellie is going to expect you to climb in here with her when you come back, so you better practice now."

He contemplates my argument, knowing that forming a rebuttal is futile - Ellie will expect him to come with her, and he will not want to let her down. With a frustrated sigh, he places his belongings next to mine as I slip fully into the capsule and adjust myself to fit into the seat on the left. The air inside is stale, rolling with dust and smelling of aging plastic and vinyl from the cracks covering the seats.

Joel climbs in and slides into the seat next to me. His movements are cautious as to not step on my arm or hand, which is challenging considering the tight space we are navigating. The capsule was not built with comfort in mind and as he shimmies his hips into the seat it becomes alarmingly evident just how confined this space actually is.

My hands rest stiffly against my stomach with fingers intertwined and elbows locked while I stare at the collection of buttons above my head. For a moment I am reminded of laying in a dentist's chair and being unsure how to rest my hands, so they would lie heavy and awkward exactly like this. I am hyper aware of every movement I make and each breath that I take. In the silence of the confined space, every sound is magnified.

I can smell him. The musk of stagnant water from our damp clothes and the faintest hint of leather and smoke. When I swallow, I hear it pop in my ears and am sure he can hear it as well. But the thing I am most aware of is the way our shoulders brush at the slightest movement and his thigh lays against mine where the seats narrow. My eyes cut sideways to try and see if he is just as tense as I am, but without turning my head all I can make out is his silhouette. He's laying with his hands identical to mine, elbows at his side and pressed lightly against my own.

Why did I tell him to get in here with me? My antagonization is the only thing to blame for this. First I walk away from the man when he opens up to me about his late daughter and now I've tricked him into crawling inside the tiniest space possible, where we practically lay on top of each other while surrounded by a million plastic switches and knobs.

The silence is deafening and I cannot take it any longer. I made this mess, so I have to get us out of it.

"I'm sorry I've been such a dick," My voice catches in my throat and struggles to find a stable volume.

His laughter echoes through the capsule and out into the exhibit hall. Though startling at first, I feel my anxiety begin to quell with each amused bellow.

"You haven't been anything of the sort," I can see his head shaking in my peripheral vision.

"I have though," My eyes focus on the button directly above me. "I've been short tempered and complaining pretty much the entire time we've been out here, and I just walked away from you like it meant nothing for you to tell me about your daughter…"

"Hey," He turns his head to fully face me, still laying on his back. "You don't owe me any apologies. I asked a huge favor of you, comin' all the way out here. You don't owe me anything."

"You didn't force me to come though. I could have said no, so I shouldn't be acting like an ass."

Our eyes lock onto each other when I turn to face him as well. I can make out every detail of his face, from the fine lines surrounding his eyes to the weathered texture of his skin that fades into the thick, graying scruff of his beard. It's impossible not to notice when our faces are close enough to feel the heat of each exhale that is slowly released.

"You're not an ass," He assures me in a tone rich with sincerity. "I wouldn't've asked you to come if I thought you were."

"I don't know about that," I tease, practically whispering through a coy smirk. "Tommy probably would have been better company."

There is an almost green tint to his hazel eyes. It's hard to look away from them when he is watching me so intently.

"I happen to think you make mighty fine company," His voice lowers, deep and gravelly in his throat. "I'm real glad you decided to come,"

A lump begins rising in my throat and my pulse quickens. Despite being fully covered by my still damp clothes, I feel so incredibly exposed.

"Honestly, I'm glad I did too,"

I'm not sure how long we have been laying here. Time seems to stand completely still while every one of my senses heightens and threatens to overload my mind with a complicated barrage of sensation. All I know is that each breath that crosses my lips softly collides with his in the space between us that seems to have grown smaller. The tip of his broad nose brushes lightly against my own and the already minimal space between our shoulders closes cautiously.

The sharp, resonant bang of impact against metal reverberates through the entire museum, jolting us back into the moment like the initial crack of lightning in an unexpected storm. Joel exits the capsule first with surprising ease, swiftly grabbing his rifle and immediately taking position. I practically leap out behind him, hands trembling with adrenaline as I ready my own weapon. There is no visible threat, but the source of the noise cannot be far off. There is only so much space left to examine, so my attention turns to the double door across the room positioned underneath an exit sign that has not been illuminated in years. As though our minds are connected, we move swiftly to the doors and flank either side, taking a moment to collect ourselves before I nod to Joel and he kicks the door open in a single, forceful punt.

The early evening sunlight blazes over the roof of an adjacent building, temporarily blinding me as my eyes struggle to adjust from the low interior light. The door leads to a balcony where families once ate snacks and looked over maps while observing the fish in the pond below. Now it is full of dilapidated furniture and interrupted by a fallen section of the roof above, isolating the area from any possible exits. The railing ahead is torn apart, jagged curls of metal splayed out like the vines dominating the walls around us and creating an opening to the water below. The drop off to the water below is easily twenty feet, if not more, nothing like the casual leaps we took into the river leading us here.

It all happens in a blur, each isolated incident seeming to take place at once. The round being chambered. The piercing shriek that rips through the air and sends a sick chill down my spine. Joel shouting my name with horrified urgency. The crack of my skull hitting the concrete and the breath knocked from my lungs upon impact.

The runner's putrid breath assaults my nostrils as another shrill howl escapes its bloody, decaying mouth. Before I can fight back, a shot rings out and the creature drops, leaving my face wet with spit and splattered tissue.

"Are you alright?!" Joel drops to his knees beside me, shoving the Infected corpse aside and assisting me in reaching a sitting position to assess the extent of my injuries. My ears ring as everything spins, my body reeling in shock from the impact of the fall and the rush of adrenaline.

"I'm fine…" I attempt to speak, but an involuntary cry escapes instead. Sharp, agonizing pain shoots up from my arm and splinters through every nerve. I grasp my arm across my chest, unable to identify the source of the pain. It is only when I look down that I see thick streams of crimson pouring freely from a gaping wound above the outside of my elbow. The sight of skin ripped as freely as pages from a book, revealing layers of tissue and the screaming fury of exposed nerves, churns my stomach.

"Oh fuck…" I reach instinctually for the wound, desperate to staunch the blood flow, but the moment my hand even grazes the torn flesh I want to scream out in agony.

"Hey, look at me," Joel moves into action with efficiency that comes from years of lived experience. He rips the already tattered sleeve from my shirt and pulls a clean shirt from his pack, supplies clattering to the ground as he presses the shirt to my wound as a makeshift bandage. "You're gonna be alright,"

"Did it bite me? Do you see anything?" My eyes clamp shut as shock fully sets in. "Fuck, Joel…I should have seen it coming…"

"No, no, you're just cut," Joel visually examines my arms, neck and hands while continuing to apply pressure to the wound. "We need to get you back and cleaned up. I'm gonna get the bleeding under control, and we'll get you taken care of."

Frantic, heaving breaths rise and fall in my chest and my mouth fills with the metallic tang of blood. My tongue runs along the back of each tooth, fearfully assessing any potential damage but nothing is out of the ordinary. I must have bitten my tongue when I fell. Joel works diligently to get the bleeding slowed, reassuring me as he works and I focus all my remaining strength on pushing through the searing pain.

Once the bleeding is under control and my arm securely bandaged as a temporary fix, Joel scouts out the remaining portion of the balcony for any of my attacker's friends. Turns out he was an isolated traveler who ran into a horde and took shelter in the museum. The note he left behind in frantic scrawls told his sad yet unfortunately common tale. When we are sure there are no others, we consider the building cleared and travel back to set up camp for the night. It takes almost twice as long as our trek that morning since Joel is adamant we find a path around the water so my wound is not submerged. By the time we make it back to the horses and locate our spot for the night, the sun is nearly set.

Another benefit of coming from Jackson is that Maria sent us out with ample supplies. Our packs are equipped with the necessary first aid supplies to keep my wound from growing infected. The only thing we will not be able to aid is pain management, which happens to be the biggest obstacle I currently face.

Now that I am able to sit and allow my body to be still, the full impact of the attack takes hold. Every muscle in my body aches not only from the fall, but from the strenuous hike afterward. It feels as though my back were split in half and then put back together, every muscle stiff and desperate for rest. A dull headache grips my head and fuels a constant pulsing behind my eyes. I am physically and mentally exhausted, but the injury on my arm still has to be properly addressed before I can sleep.

Joel stokes the crackling fire and works to organize the first aid supplies in the light of the growing flames. Two scavenged logs serve as our seats, which does not help the gnawing tension that clenches my spin.

"Alright, let's see what we got here…" He sits next to me on the log, moving slowly to remove the t-shirt dressing that has become thick with dried blood. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but this ain't gonna be uncomfortable,"

I don't even have to look. I can feel the angry throbs radiating from my skin as the open wound meets the air, nerves on fire as the material is pulled away. I focus my attention fully on the fire, watching the flames lick ravenously at the night air. A calculated, almost defeated sigh rattles from his chest.

"You need stitches," His tone is flat and he wastes no time collecting the suture kit from the assembled supplies. "And I've got to properly clean it. If you get an infection, it won't matter how neatly you're stitched up."

"Fabulous," I make no attempt to hide my sarcasm. I have very little to say to him, not out of anger or frustration but because anytime I open my mouth the entire contents of my stomach threaten to release. I close my eyes and try to force all my attention on my breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth…

"Here," Joel places a small, cold object in my hands as he straddles the log behind me. "Tommy sent it along as a joke - to loosen things up if you decided to kill me, he said - but I think it might be more useful to you right now."

Through squinted eyes, I see the object in my hands is a flask. The lid is already removed so I raise it to my mouth without question and allow myself an unreasonably large gulp. The burn as it slides down my throat is pleasant in comparison to the pain in my arm.

Despite providing me ample warning and talking me through each step of the process, I still let out a gasp when the antiseptic meets my skin. The alcohol will not hit fast enough to ease this pain, but taking another sip can only get me a step closer to hopefully numbing at the least the mental discomfort. But if the antiseptic hurts like this, I cannot imagine what I should expect from the stitches.

"You're doing great," Joel assures me, but I can hear him preparing the needle and a layer of cold sweat breaks out along my neck.

"I'd pay good money for you to just knock me out right now. Seriously, just club me over the head and put me out of my misery." Another long sip from the flask and my cheeks flush with warmth.

"Too bad money ain't had a real use for a long time now," He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and I feel the rough skin of his fingers slide carefully around the inside of my arm, steadying the site of the wound as he prepares to work. "I won't knock you out, but I can suggest something to keep your mind off the pain."

"Besides alcohol? And what is that exactly?" I use this moment to drain the final contents of the flask, waiting to feel the effects truly hit.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"What?"

"Tell me something about yourself." He repeats. "Something to take your mind off the pain. If you're talking, you won't think about it as much."

"What do you want to know?" My inquiry is not defensive, but genuinely curious.

"I don't know, whatever you feel like discussin'. Just talk about something, anything. I know you garden and make blankets and can't win a game of cards to save your damn life…"

"That's cruel," My arm jostles painfully as I laugh. "But you're not wrong. I should never have suggested we start playing."

"At least you can admit it," I can't see his face but I can clearly imagine the smug expression he has. "So, start talking. I'm about to start the first stitch, so take a deep breath and try to relax."

Maybe it is the alcohol starting to kick in, but the first thing that comes to mind is hardly the surface level details I've allowed him to know up until now. I find myself at a crossroads. A slow, intentional breath fills my lungs. A thousand thoughts race through my mind at once. The pain radiating from my arm as the needle makes the initial stitch. How Joel's face softened when he voluntarily spoke about his daughter. The way I have allowed my heart to become encased by a hardened, obstinate barrier. Before I can talk myself out of it, I allow the words to just start flowing.

"I didn't leave Atlanta by choice," My eyes squeeze shut as the needle pierces through a layer of throbbing skin. "I was part of a group, like six or seven of us, who found ways to trade contraband items for ration cards, better clothes, and all the other stuff that was hard to come by…"

I wait for the needle's recurring sting, but it does not come. His hand is still steadying my arm, but with less attention than a moment before. I allow my head to turn slightly to gauge why he has suddenly stopped.

"You were a smuggler."

It is a fact, not a question. So yeah, maybe I have been a little hypocritical - but there is a very distinct line between smugglers and hunters, and that is where my judgment of him took root. It is one thing to apply some mild force when a deal starts going south and another entirely to torture and kill innocent travelers who cross your path.

"Yeah," I nod, staring off ahead because I don't want to acknowledge that look I know he must be giving me right now. "I was a smuggler. Why do you think I didn't trust you?"

"Go on," He does not warn me before the stitching resumes, but I don't really blame him. A single breath rises and falls in my chest before I keep going.

"I wasn't really the leader of the group, but I made my fair share of drops. Atlanta is where FEDRA makes the big stuff, all the pills and weapons. Moving it was as high risk as you can get, but the payoff was always worth it. I never relied on ration cards and avoided the nastier jobs. I mainly worked with this one group, this faction of Fireflies who were focused on medical work."

Joel shifts between stitches, his grip on my arm briefly tightening as he moves. I can only imagine what is going through his mind right now as I allow him to access this part of me that has stayed so heavily guarded, especially since it is no longer a secret that our pasts share these similarities I chose to withhold.

"So you were a Firefly?" I cannot quite decipher his tone.

"Firefly adjacent. I never bought the whole mission, to be honest, but I had no issue helping get them supplies they claimed to need. So I didn't join, but I'd deliver their pills and they'd make sure none of my people were hit in their ambushes." He does not speak, so I continue before I lose my nerve. "Everything was fine for the first few years, as fine as it can be when you're constantly dodging authoritarian government tyranny after the end of the world. I don't even know how it all started, but the last drop I tried to run went completely wrong. The buyer fell through and we nearly got caught by some officers while sneaking back into the zone. It was like they knew exactly where we'd be, just waiting for us."

"Someone snitched on you," He knows. He's been there before.

"Yeah, they did," I nod a few times, gritting my teeth as he ties off the final stitch and begins applying the clean bandage to protect it. "My brother always had this knack for getting ahead, like even when we were really young. He knew which teachers to suck up to at school so no one would suspect him when any trouble took place, or he'd spin a story in his favor so I was always the one getting in trouble at home. He's a resourceful guy, so I shouldn't have been shocked when he jumped at the chance to climb the ranks within FEDRA."

There was a reason that Tommy felt sympathy toward me in the beginning, and it had very little to do with the fact that I was near dead when they found me. He knew what it was like to attribute your darkest moments to an older brother serving his own agenda, to feel completely and wholly betrayed by your own blood. Maria had been more hesitant to take me in. Jackson was so small and resources were scarce, but I was completely transparent with them once I had the strength to talk and my honesty earned their trust.

"Your brother sold you out," Even though he has finished securing the bandage, he stays in the same position behind me, as though moving may spook me and shut down the unprecedented moment of vulnerability between us. But there is no turning back now that we are this far in.

My brother had always known I was a smuggler, but he did not use this information against me until he saw the advantage. By turning me in, he earned a more advanced rank, which meant better living quarters and increased rations. I doubt he even batted an eye at the price of his private apartment being a noose around my neck.

"Yeah. A group of us decided to risk leaving over dying in some FEDRA lock up or being hung in the streets. The Fireflies we traded with had mentioned setting up a base out in Colorado, so we decided to try and find them."

It had been a well intentioned plan, though the execution was a little rough. How prepared can you be when you only have a few hours to get everything together and leave? The details pour out like a raging tidal wave from a broken dam, and he soaks in every word with rapt attention. Atlanta to Boulder was no easy trek, taking us through vast expanses of abandoned terrain and outskirts of fallen QZs. We fought off hunters and Infected and went days without food, but somehow managed to stay alive through it. Until Wyoming.

"We couldn't have been more than a few miles outside Jackson, but we had no idea it existed. It was early and we had just packed everything up and started moving again, and I honestly don't even remember how it happened. The whole day comes back to me in pieces. We were ambushed by a horde, the biggest horde I have ever seen, and they just completely blindsided us. The last thing I remember is my horse barely outrunning a clicker, hearing their screams, and then it all goes black. Tommy and Eugene were patrolling Hoback Pass and found me bleeding out in a ditch. My shoulder was dislocated and bloody and it left me with a huge fucking scar. We've always just assumed I'm the only one who made it out because we never found the others."

For a moment, we sit in silence. It hits me all at once that I have actually just shared all this with him and I feel the fear and regret begin to bubble up inside. In hindsight, this may not have been the best moment to open up and release such an intense outpour of personal trauma. There is no place to escape aside from the hardly isolated interior of our tents and we still have three long days of traveling home together to make it through. I may have just guaranteed the longest, most silent three days of my life and honestly, I would not blame him. The man just saved my life and stitched my wounds and I repaid him by admitting I have essentially been lying since the day we met. Having my back still turned to him seems strange, so I slowly shift my body to see him.

At first, he looks past me as the information I have just thrown at him processes in his mind. With his legs still straddling the log, my shoulder is practically touching his chest. His hand runs along the lower half of his face to his chin, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Then his attention comes back to me, eyes meeting mine with a type of intensity I have not seen before.

That's when I realize I am crying. Not a deep, heaving sob but the kind of quiet tears that come when you have truly hit capacity and cannot hold anymore. It is all the perfect storm of emotion. The pain devouring my arm is merely a physical manifestation of the grief I have kept so tightly contained within. My life before Jackson feels best left forgotten, but it is forever a part of who I am.

"I was unfair to you," I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye with the hand of my uninjured arm and allow him to see my uninhibited grief. "And I won't apologize because you keep telling me I don't need to, but I had no right to treat you so rudely. I hate what I used to be and what that life did to me, so I just channeled all that toward you because we're the same."

"We're not the same," Joel finally speaks, a heaviness permeating his tone as his head drops slightly so his eyes stay locked on mine from under his dark brows. "You weren't wrong about me. I've done some terrible things, hurt a lot of people…and you may have done some things you aren't proud of, but we've all been doin' what we can to survive for a long fucking time now. You and I got lucky, I'd say, because not everyone gets a second chance. And that's what we've got livin' in a place like Jackson. Tommy always had a big ol' bleedin' heart, so it seems right that he'd help build a place where someone can start over again,"

Words fail me as another tear streams down my cheek, but as I wipe it away with the back of my hand I can feel the overwhelming grief make way for something new, something lighter. This entire situation feels so ludicrous that I find myself beginning to laugh.

"Damn, Miller. You know there were probably easier ways to get me to tell you my life story than to invite me out into the woods for a week and nearly get my arm sliced off, right?"

"You know…" Joel offers a wry smile and arched brow, "I'm not so sure there was. I think you may have been that hard to crack."

He has a great laugh, the kind that wraps you in warmth and comfort like the best cozy sweater and draws you in. I glance down at the bandage he so skillfully applied to my arm, which despite being swollen and sore is now pristine in comparison to before. I lift my hand gingerly, scared to put too much strain on the fresh injury, and bring my hand to his knee closest to me.

"Thank you," I hope my tone adequately portrays even a fraction of the emotions running rampant through my chest. "For saving me today, for fixing my arm. And for dragging me out here and wearing me down, even though I know that wasn't your intention."

For a brief moment, his hand rests on mine with a reassuring squeeze, his thumb tracing circles over my wrist. His fingers are scarred and callused and reliably steady, capable of placing delicate stitches in a tattered shirt, binding my lacerated skin back together and plucking intricate melodies from the worn strings of a guitar.

"We should get some sleep," He releases my hand and begins to rise, rolling his shoulders back leading into a stretch.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," I nod and push off the log with my arm without thinking and wince at the shooting pain. "We should come up with some ridiculous story to tell Tommy about what happened to my arm. He'll lose it."

"Well, we have a long few days ahead of us until we get home. That should be plenty of time to think of something,"

I have allowed myself to be known to Joel in a way that cannot be undone, and we still have three days left to travel home together. There is no turning back from that kind of vulnerability, but even knowing this, I find myself drifting off to sleep with an ease I have not known in years.